#as a boy in the circle he’d rather have just blown some shit up than learn anything ( which he did and later found out some shit was

[empathsies]

león is such a stereotypical DudeTM send tweet

[kyberphilosopher]

Hiss

[Part ii. of Bite] Jason’s been resurrected, only to find he’s been replaced as Robin. Luckily, an old enemy of the Batman has the attributes to help. Word Count: 6465

Warning[s]: guns, crime, language, crude humor, Mitski, non vegetarian reader, age gap, glorified taskmaster ally. Following part i the readers official gender is not disclosed. 

“Uh, Jason? We might wanna let god fix it, because if we fix it, we’re going to jail.”

☈ - ✮ ✭ ✮

Six months. That’s how long it took for Jason to die. Six. Whole. Months. In an abandoned warehouse, in some foreign country that he couldn’t even remember. He’d been fifteen, small for his age but fifteen nonetheless, when that clown had beat him. And what had Batman done? Nothing. He’d let him sit in that warehouse, in that foreign country, with that clown at age fifteen- for six months. And he had done nothing.

Not that it really matters now. It had, at one point, to Jason. He’s in denial that it still does. But to Batman? Oh, it never mattered at all. How long had it taken Bruce to replace his son? A week? A month? No, it had been six months. Barely. And the clown? He was safe and sound, very much alive and loose as he usually was. Batman had put him in Arkham, after a while, but of course it hadn’t lasted for very long. Jason’s death? That was permanent. At least until there was a new and improved and very much replaced Jason running with Batman, six months later. That was permanent too.

So one can imagine the confusion you felt when you opened the door to find a very much alive ex-Robin on your apartment doorstep. 

201 Arkham Street, apartment 317 Gotham City, Gotham County, New Jersey

That’s the address given to him by the Riddler. Putting him in Arkham seemed to be one thing that the Batman had got done during Jason’s little time away. Clearly it had ended up well enough for at least one person. Jason hadn’t even needed to threaten the Riddler out of riddling. In less than ten minutes, Edward Nygma had revealed the Mockingbird’s address, who they like and don’t like, what their suit was made of, and finally their name. Batman had always assumed Riddler and Mockingbird were best friends, birds of a feather with all the times the they’d seemed to make some kind of appearance by the others side. Some friend Riddler was now. 

Jason had snuck into the Batcave recently, and while going through files, decided to take a glimpse into Mockingbird’s just for the sake of curiosity. He wasn’t expecting much. When he was fifteen, it had been near empty. But sure enough, the file had been expanded upon relatively greatly in the past- what? Four years? That sounded right. But one thing that hadn’t changed was your seemingly long standing friendship with Edward Nygma, the Riddler. Still, so much for it. 

Batman had seemingly made a note of allies of theirs, then crossed out multiple names. Poison Ivy, Bane, Deadshot- and yes- the Riddler, stayed. Scarecrow, Black Mask, and Catwoman were all shockingly crossed out. Jason hadn’t expected the last one. Below the allies were the list of crimes. That had changed too. They’d gotten more violent towards the end of the list, straying away from the Mockingbird that the ex-Robin had known. Mockingbird had picked a fight with Dick’s Nightwing enough times for Batman to make a note of too. Before Jason could get to the new pictures of Mockingbird, he quickly closed the file. Didn’t need to see anymore. 

So based on what he had gathered, you should’ve looked different. He’d memorized your face when he was fifteen. Was expecting it to have changed compared to then. But when you open the door and Jason’s face to face with you, Mockingbird, it’s like the first time. Only your eyebrows have gotten slightly darker, and your eyes have rung with dark circles. 

✮ ✭ ✮

The same can’t be said for Jason Todd, however, who you let into your apartment rather quickly. 

You’d done your research on him, too, but only after you’d heard about his death. A death which was confirmed. After locking the door and beginning to turn around, he answers the question before you can ask. 

“Superboy and Lazarus Pits.”

“Ah,” you respond, crossing your arms. The man stands tall in your living room, though it’s not forced. You’ve got no idea what a Lazarus Pit is, but it seems to have changed the Robin you knew before. He was scrawny before. He puffed his chest out before. He had something to prove before. Now his broad shoulders make him look bigger naturally. He could reach up and touch your ceiling with no effort. His face and jaw are masculine and strong, eyes bright green and blue and cyan like you remember. That’s how you know it’s Jason Todd.

“It’s because of the power struggle, isn’t it?” says Harley beside you as you both look over the side of the roof, her flat on her belly and you crouched on the ledge in watch. 

“Hm?” you’d tossed back through your voice changer, not even looking away from the busy street below. 

“Jay killed the Robin,” Harley chirps. “You know- Batman’s little boyfriend? In the shorts and the tights with the flips and the kicks? Oh, that kid went bing, bang, boom. Jay’s been real pumped about it.”

This had made you turn to Harley Quinn. You looked at her over your shoulder, still in position. Though you hadn’t thought about it at the time, it was a good thing she couldn’t see through your mask right about now. 

“The kid?” you say at last. 

“Yeah! Jason Todd! Ya’ know him?”

Harley doesn’t look at you, bubbly as ever in her own world. But you watch her for a moment. Then you turn back around to the direction of the street. “No.”

“Well I’m sayin I bet that’s why there’s so much crime goin’ on now. Old Batty’s got it...”

“I heard,” you tell Jason, before he can go into further detail. He nods once in understanding, in line with a breath, and then looks around the room. Your apartment is small, seemingly in decay, and looks like a shithole. Just like the rest of the building. 

“Mockingbird, I presume,” he offers finally. “Y/N L/N was it?”

You nod once, holding your gaze at the ground in thought before taking a step toward your kitchen. It’s close by to the living room. So close, in fact, that your island counter practically touches the back of your couch. “Robin,” you greet in turn. 

“My name’s Ja-”

“I know what your name is.”

Just then a sprinkle of dust falls from your ceiling, mixing with dirt and shit and pollen. “Nice place,” Jason condescends. 

“I’m sorry,” you put your hands on your counter as you lean in to look at him. “Weren’t you under the ground not too long ago?”

“Weren’t you in jail not too long ago?”

“I never went to jail.”

“But your buddy Ed did didn’t he?”

Your eyebrows crease, and Jason notices you lean forward a fraction of an inch more. He got to you. “How do you know about Edward?”

Jason Todd gives a small smile. His right hand reaches up until it’s poking the side of his head a few times. “Bat knowledge.”

You frown tightly. “Don’t do that. I didn’t like that.”

“You like beating up Dick Grayson?”

You shift. “Yeah. I did.”

“And Catwoman? Huh?”

“Yeah,” you say a little louder. “I did. What wonder boy? You wanna see the scar to prove it?”

“Okay,” Jason huffs. He closes his eyes, his jaw clenching, and then he speaks softer to control himself. “Okay. I’m not Boy Wonder anymore, or wonder boy. Don’t call me that.”

You look him up and down. His eyes, his jaw, his brows. The Robin you knew those years ago. He’d been beaten and blown up. He must’ve cried for help. 

“Okay,” you say, equally as soft. “But just for the record, I haven’t been the Mockingbird for years. Can’t really call me that either.”

“Why not?” Jason Todd questions, turning around so his back faces you while he observes your apartment. You can see his muscles through his shirt. 

Because you were just a kid. Because I liked you. Because you didn’t deserve it. Because Batman didn’t help. Because you were replaced. Because most of my friends laughed it off. Because I couldn’t go after Joker myself. Because I got angry. 

“Just grew out of it,” you shrug instead, turning around. You open your dirty fridge and pull out a bottle of lemonade and two glasses. “What are you doing here, Jason?” you say as you pour the drink, your back now turned to him. 

“I need your help.”

“Whatever with?”

“I’m thinking of getting a little...” Jason’s voice goes low into something like a masculine purr, “...revenge on Batman.”

“You came back from the dead,” you turn around with two glasses of lemonade, “to get revenge on the Batman? That’s your great plan?”

“No,” Jason says simply. He’s since turned around so he’s facing you. “Screwing with the Batman is just a piece of the fun. He’s nothing.”

Jason accepts the glass that you hand to him. You sit down on your couch in front of his figure. That simple motion is enough to bring out some more dust from your walls. “So what’s the revenge?” you take a sip of the sweet, gritty liquid. It coats your teeth strangely in seconds. 

“New Robin. Ever heard of Tim Drake?”

You stop your sip, looking up at the big, broad Jason. You can already tell where this is going. “Uh, Jason? We might wanna let god fix it, because if we fix it, we’re going to jail.”

His brows shoot up. “You hit me in the face with a pipe.”

“I didn’t hit you. You walked into my swing. But you wanna go after the kid, Jason? Really?”

“Yeah.” He crosses his arms so his forearms flex. 

“Tim Drake?”

“Yeah.”

You roll your eyes in thought. On one hand, you hadn’t been Mockingbird for years. You stopped when you were eighteen, and you’re twenty one now. Not that it’s helped you very much. You’re still struggling in a shithole, broke and unhappy and no longer able to afford school. And Tim Drake hasn’t really done anything wrong. But on the other hand, Batman is a dick, and you really stopped liking him after what happened to the former Robin. You’d wanted to go after him and the Joker for it, but you’re not far enough in the Gotham food chain for that. Trading swings with Selina was as close as you got. 

“Alright.” You stand. You’re not even close to Jason’s height. “Lay out the deal. You got a suit?”

✮ ✭ ✮

And that’s how you and Jason Todd ended up on a roof that night. You, at the crisp age of twenty one, and he at what you suppose is his version of nineteen. Still working on wrapping your head around that one. 

You’ve pulled out your Mockingbird suit from under the bed. It was a bit dusty, but not hard to slip into. Everything seems in place. It’s just old. Your voice scrambler is still working okay and all the eyes light up efficiently. Jason’s got a suit too. 

“I don’t,” Jason answers, his face suspicious. His eyes are twinkling as he looks down at you. It’s so hard to believe he’s just a boy- or was, last you saw him. 

“Don’t worry,” you tell him. “I got you.”

You lead Jason to your room, into your closet, and into a space even farther back where an illuminated glass case the size of several yard sticks stands. It must cost more than your whole apartment. Inside of it is a metal suit like a military uniform, similar to Bruce’s Batsuit but with an Arkham emblem over the chest. 

“Call it the Arkham Knight. You like it?”

“Where did you get this?” Jason steps forward, raking his eyes up and down the design. Bruce would hate it. 

“I stole it from the Batcave.”

“The whole display case?” Jason snaps to you. Then his brows shoot up and he takes a step closer. “How do you know where the Batcave is?”

“How did you know where my apartment is? And yes, I took the whole case. It was just sitting there.”

Jason turns back around to the suit. It’s growing on him. He admires it. It’s perfect. The Arkham symbol will put the Batman into a state of despair. “Hard to believe you and Selina aren’t friends anymore.”

“We never were,” you mutter back. It’s really not his business that you ended so many partnerships because of his death.

“You’re sure this is the place?” you question. It sends Jason into a state of euphoria, hearing the distorted villainy of your voice again. It feels like the first time too, just like when he saw your face again. It feels how it did when he was fifteen and infatuated with the Mockingbird. It’s almost dizzying. It’s just strange to hear it knowing that now you’re on the same side. 

“Yeah,” he answers through his helmet. His voice is distorted too. “This is the place.”

You’re overlooking a Gotham street at night, something you’ve both discovered vigilantes, heroes, and villains do a lot of. Smoke fills the air along with police sirens and building lights. You’re positioned in one of the outer districts though, away from most of the commotion. 

“I can’t remember the last time I was here,” you say, half to yourself. 

“I can,” Jason says back. “When I ran with Batman. Last year. I was fifteen.” Jason's voice drops. “Or was I...”

You frown behind your own mask. Of course. Jason died four years ago, and he was fifteen when that happened. He came back- you’re not sure when- older and stronger and behind on the changes of the world. He must not know about social media, or the latest television crazes, or the new roads in Gotham. It makes you sad. 

All Jason sees when he meets your eyes through his visor is several red slanted lines. You’re both unreadable through your helmets. 

“There’s a good restaurant down on this corner,” you both turn back to the street, crouching in wait. “Maybe B-Man likes it.”

“He never eats,” says the ex-Robin. “Never sleeps. Never does anything.”

“You know he broke my buddy Scarecrow’s bones last Halloween?” you scoff. “Literally for not knowing where Black Mask is. Your old boss is weird as hell.”

Jason cocks an eyebrow you can’t see. “Thought you weren’t friends with Scarecrow anymore?”

“Anymore? B-Man keeping tabs on me?”

“He keeps tabs on everyone,” Jason shakes his head. “You’re just a file.”

“Hm,” he hears you say. Contemplate, more like. You speak again after a moment of silence. “Well Scarecrow and me are fine, thank you for asking.”

Jason scoffs. “He your boyfriend or something?”

“My boyfriend’s over in Metropolis.”

Oh. 

“How’s your girl?” Your head snaps to Jason at once, hands twitching around. “Or guy.”

He tosses a look to you that you can’t see, but you can guess at. Somewhere between ‘what the hell’ and ‘why the hell’ and an eye roll with furrowed brows. 

“Come on. Rose Wilson seems your type. Ooh, Artemis?” You suddenly nudge his arm with your elbow. “Batgirl? Is it Dick?”

Another look is thrown your way. This time it feels more angry. “Whatever, Robin,” you offer lightly. 

It dawns on you that perhaps Jason has never had a partner before. That seems more likely, especially after thinking about his situation, and suddenly you feel bad. It’s too late to vocalize an apology now though.

“Fine,” you say at last. “Let’s just stop talking.”

“Let’s do.”

✮ ✭ ✮

It starts raining not long after that. 

The drops bounce off your suits harmlessly. There’s still no sign of this Tim Drake and Batman. 

“Hey,” you break the silence. “Has anyone ever told you you look exactly like a statue?”

“Must be a resurrection thing.”

“Yep.”

The rain falls harsher.

“So,” Jason begins. “I have to ask. How do you do the- the…” he spins his pointer fingers around rapidly.

“What the fuck are you doing? What is that? No- what is that right there?”

“The thing that you do.”

“I’ve never done that in my life, Jason. What is that? Finger jiu jitsu?”

You hear Jason suck in a breath as he turns away. “You think you’re so funny.”

“You asked me for help. And between the two of us- who has died here? Not me. I’m hilarious.”

“Oh,” he scoffs. “So hilarious.”

“You seemed to think so. When…” your voice trails off. You almost wanted to mention that night in the warehouse to him. A memory of him looking up at you, his hands bound behind his back as he stares in wonder flashes in your mind. But it doesn’t linger for long. Movement in the street catches your eye. “Jason.”

Both your heads snap down to the place below. Sure enough, after a few seconds, a figure steps into view of the moonlight. A skinny kid with dark hair and a bright red and yellow costume. He looks younger than Dick or Jason.

“That’s him,” your partner says. He reaches behind his back and pulls out a long rod. It unfolds with a click that you recognize- the click of a gun.

“What?” you furrow your brows. “Woah- what?”

“I’m gonna shoot him,” Jason tells you casually, fiddling around with the weapon. It’s coming into shape more and more as a sniper rifle.

“That is a child,” you whisper hiss. “He’s like ten!”

“I don’t think he’s ten,” Jason puts his eye over the scope. “This is revenge.”

“Please, do not shoot a child for replacing you in your job of tightie whities vigilante.”

Jason huffs through his mask and looks over at you. “What did you think this was, bird?”

“I thought we were just like, gonna kick him in the balls or something! This is exactly what I meant by ‘we are going to jail’! I told you we should’ve let god fix it!”

“He’ll be fine.”

You knock the rifle out of the Arkham Knights hands with a bang. It clambers across the roof top until it’s nearly over the edge, half on half off.

Jason and you go down at once, shoulder to shoulder in a tackle. Thunder booms overhead. Through his visor, Jason sees you raise a white, gauntleted fist back in a punch, aimed right for his face. Luckily, he manages to catch you by the torso and neck and throw you off.

When he pushes himself to his knee and foot in a kneel, he looks up to find an exact replica of himself. Not literally, of course, but looking at you is like looking into a mirror. Your hand is placed on the rooftop the same way his is. Your knees are bent at the exact same angle as his own. When Jason cocks his head to the side slowly, yours follows him at the same time. So this is what it means to fight the Mockingbird.

He decides to reach for the gun at the side of his leg. He manages to fire once- and miss- a bang going off that he’ll be lucky Drake doesn’t hear over the storm. You knock the gun out of his hands easily, dodging a punch to the stomach before countering with one of your own to his face. It hits the exact same way Jason’s do. He sees your knuckles coming closer to him and almost thinks they’re his own.

Next idea is toss you off the building. Key word: you. Not him.

Jason grips the back of your head through your hood, reaching around. He carries you with him while he stands, tensing his abs as he feels you hammer your elbow away at them. It’s the knee to his crotch that makes him let go and let out a strangled groan.

But before anything else can happen, you spring forward at him in a pounce. Your palms latch onto his shoulders. His feet disconnect from the surface of the roof and the both of you go backwards until neither one of you are on the building at all, over the side.

Jason gets tangled in the emergency stair well. His metal suit clangs against it as he falls and tumbles down, either causing or saving some head injuries. You hit your back on an old street light before landing in a trash bin.

This is it, you manage to think to yourself. Lying in a garbage bin in Gotham at night. And in the rain. This is rock bottom.

I am going to kill everyone on the block for this, thinks Jason.

✮ ✭ ✮

You do eventually get up and remove yourself from the garbage bin. Jason sits at the bottom of the stairs, watching you. You do not exchange words. He does, however, follow you down the street as you essentially stomp.

“Ma’am,” he offers quietly to a gawking older woman.

You enter a small restaurant. More of a diner, really. The door jingles as it opens, and Jason watches you walk to the side until you find a table by the window. You sit down with a huff, tapping one of your helmets red eyes. He shuffles into the space ahead of you, nearly skirting the table across the floor with the bulk of his own muscle and suit. He can feel your judgy eyes on him as he clambers into the seat like a large, run down father.

“Hi there,” a chirpy waitress bounds. She’s a large, redheaded woman in a bright yellow uniform and a hat with a spring connected to a plastic burger on top. It is ridiculous, funny, and you are sadly not in the mood. “My, aren’t you two some interesting looking people! We don’t get a lot of men of metal around here!”

You both look at her silently, masks on but hatred seeping through boredly.

“What can I get you tonight?”

“A gun,” you drawl tiredly, rubbing your palms over your mask.

“We’re not sellin’ those right now, my dear. Something else?”

“Two cheeseburgers would be fine,” Jason speaks up for you.

“Two burgers,” the waitress repeats with a smile, writing it down in her burger notepad. Her cheeks are rosy as she beams happily. “And should I be expecting Superman?”

“Die,” you snap to her, watching her hurry off to the kitchen. Then you put your head down in your folded arms on the table.

Jason glanced around. It’s empty except for the two of you and some dumpy guy in a trucker hat with wide eyes. “What’re you staring at?” Jason all but barks. Normally, he tries to make himself as unnoticeable as possible in public. Not very confident or secure, it seems. But now he’s tired. He just fell down about a million floors worth of metal stairs. It’s late and he lost two of his guns.

“What?” you raise your head, also looking at the trucker hat man. “You’ve never seen two people in superhero suits before?”

“Beat it,” Jason orders.

The man is quick to stand and speed walk away. Still you egg on, “get out of here, bozo!”

“What a fuckin’ prick,” Jason grumbles as he watches the man trip down the street through his view from the window, the door still ringing to signal it’s been opened.

“Yeah,” you agree tiredly.

Your nimble fingers reach up and back to push your white hood from your head. Then they click against the sides of your face and pull the helmet away, revealing your face. You inhale as if you couldn’t get enough air before. Jason watches you, still as a statue, his visor giving him the luxury of being able to monitor your breathing.

“Now what?” you gripe, rubbing your eyes. It can’t be comfortable with all the armor on your hands, but you don’t seem bothered. You must’ve gotten used to it by now.

The Arkham Knight ahead of you only cocks his head to the side slightly. Silent with his helmet. “I’ll help you punch Tim but that’s as far as I’ll go.”

“Why are you defending this kid?” you hear Jason breathe in return. For a split second, electricity runs through you at the sound of his distorted voice, the way his body looks in his suit of armor and how unreadable he is through the helmet. It shocks you all the the way down to your crotch.

“You know,” you begin, eyes widening and voice quieting with a sudden nervousness. “He’s just a kid. Younger than you were.”

Jason scoffs and turns his head away from you, now looking out the window. Gotham is dark and damp outside. “Bullshit,” he scoffs. Then after a few seconds and continues. “Tim Drake and I are the same age.” His head pulls back slightly, fingers giving a strange, sudden twitch. “Or were. We’re-”

You’ll never know what Tim Drake and Jason Todd were. Jason never finishes his sentence, and only his suit flashes with little codes and details to let you know he’s still alive in there. Besides that, he’s as still, lost in sudden thought. You frown and lean in a bit, tapping your elbow with your fingers while you shift uncomfortably. “You’re nineteen, Jason.”

His head twitches again. Now you know he’s heard you. “I’m two years older than you,” you reason. “You’re nineteen.”

He’s quiet for a moment. “Why did you let me go?”

Your eyebrows scrunch and unscrunch. Another wave of electricity shocks down your body, but this time it’s because his voice sounded more like his own. You could hear it under the layers of metal and distortion. But option one is to respond to his question by pretending you don’t know what he’s talking about. That seems like it’s for the best.

“You were just a kid,” you tell him honestly. He silently presses you on. “And I just- I looked at you and I…” I really liked you, kid. Best night I had in years. Made me smile. God, you had to stop working with so many other Gotham city villains just for making jokes about the kid. “You were fifteen,” you say, looking away. “Just a kid.”

Jason watches you. Again, your head turns so you look out the window. He would’ve expected that to be the end of it, but you continue. “Why didn’t you turn me in?”

Jason’s about to pretend to not know what you’re talking about, because it seems like it’s for the best that way. But then he remembers you can’t see anything through his helmet. “What’re you talking about?” he gruffs.

“You saw my face in that warehouse,” you press. “If you had told Batman, I would’ve been to jail. Maybe Arkham. But that never happened. So why didn’t you tell him?”

I was obsessed with you, Jason’s mind screams. In love with you! It hisses, which makes Jason cringe. “Guess you were a kid too.” That’s right. You were seventeen back then. What is that? Last year of high school? You balanced a criminal career and the required education for a minor at the same time. Where were your parents during this?

Jason bites down on his lip hard. Parents. Should shut up about that, probably.

“I’m uh,” you bite your lip and then lick it. “I’m sorry for pushing you. On the roof.”

He shifts. “It’s nothing.”

You turn back to the window. Your arms uncross from atop the table and go to rest in your lap. This close and this still, Jason can make out all the details in your suit. It’s impressive. Kevlar and rubber and plastic, the Riddler had told him. Not the gloves. That’s metal and plastic. 

“So,” Jason decides. “How do you that?” Your brows crease in confusion. He tries to do the finger motions he’d down before, which makes you cringe. “The mirroring. And the fighting and the…” he goes through the motions again. “It in your helmet?”

Your confusion sinks away. A new expression washes over your face as you lean in. One finger reaches up, poking your temple and you smile softly. “Bat knowledge.”

Just then, the waitress saves the day. “Two cheeseburgers for the scary suit people!” she beams, setting the plates down. For a second, her breasts are pressed into each of your faces. Jason first, who does not move and you can’t see under the helmet. You bite back a snicker but instead seep a childish look. Then you’re next, and you can feel Jason’s silent laugh under his Arkham Knight suit as your eyes go wide. “Enjoy, dears!”

“Boobs,” you shiver. “Just got boobs in my face.” And then Jason watches you carefully pick up the burger in your dangerous gloves, and take a bite.

Indeed, for the first time that night, the man in front of you reaches up and pulls off his own helmet with a click. You watch it be taken into his large, veiny hands and passed to the edge of the table, against the wall of the window. Then your eyes wander up to his face, which makes you chew slower.

A strong face. Sharp jaw, perfectly in line nose. Lips always pulled into a scowl. Bright eyes with tired circles and scars across his skin. There’s a streak of white in his dark hair you hadn’t noticed at all before, though now it’s practically blaring you in the face. Jason Todd is very handsome. 

“What?” he says behind his burger, raising it to his lips but freezing before he can bite into it.

You shrug and focus again on your burger. You hear Jason bite into his own.

“I don’t have any money,” you tell him after a moment, swallowing down a bite.

“Me neither,” Jason answers. He nudges his head towards the window. “There’s an ATM across the street.” You nod in response.

A few bites in you speak again. The minutes have been filled with the noises of chewing and swallowing and yummy meat and cheese. “You ever heard of Mitski?”

Jason swallows his bite, which are bigger than yours. “What?”

“Mitski,” you repeat. “The singer?” Jason shakes his head. “You seem like you’d like her. My boyfriend hates her.”

Jason’s brows twitch.

“Why aren’t you with him?” he questions, taking another bite.

You roll your eyes. “Too expensive. He’s-”

“But he lives there.”

“He just didn’t offer,” you shrug. “I don’t have the money anyway. It’s fine.”

Jason cocks a brow. Your own boyfriend didn’t offer to get you out of this shithole?

You roll your eyes. “We haven’t talked in a long time okay? He’s busy. I’m busy.”

Both of Jason’s brows raise now, almost playfully. “Busy with what?”

You’d be offended if you weren’t busy trying to answer. What were you busy with? After you graduated, money went dry with university. It became less frequent after retiring from the Mockingbird mantle. Most of your jobs were minimum wage and short lived. You’re a bartender now, but not somewhere that’ll keep you going probably. Most days you sit around the apartment or run errands, sometimes hosting Ivy. Last time she’d been over, she’d given you a plant that had quickly died and spoke about Harley quite a bit. And Riddler obviously doesn’t come over anymore. Scarecrow had once but he’s off doing god only knows now. 

“Shut up,” you hiss. “What are you busy with?”

“Controlling crime in Gotham,” Jason takes a bite.

“How’s that working out for you?”

“Well.”

“You know you didn’t have to ask me to do this,” you say. “You could’ve just asked someone else. There’s a lot of people in Gotham okay with child killing.”

“I wanted you,” Jason explains. He’s quick to speak again to keep you from thinking about his words. “You were the first person I thought of.”

You’re nearing the end of your burger. “How did you find me?”

Jason shrugs mid-chew. He’s almost done as well. “Riddler.”

“Gave me away that easy?”

“Yep.”

You chew your last bite. It was a good and hearty burger, the cheese melting perfectly against the patty and your tongue.

“You want anything else?” Jason asks.

You watch the street outside, eyes squinting on the ATM. “Jason,” you mutter. “Jason.”

✮ ✭ ✮

Three men snicker as they load up dark blue duffel bags. They’re slimey and smelly, like an old sewer. Money falls from the machine like a waterfall.

Their success doesn’t last long.

One of them comes in contact with the Mockingbird’s elbow and slams his head into a brick building. The other two are just inexplicably on the ground, incapacitated while the Arkham Knight stands overhead.

“Fuck,” you breathe through your helmet. “I missed this.”

Jason’s just picked up the duffel bag when the sudden sound of sirens blare through the air. It’s close. Too close.

“Well that’s no good,” you mutter. You turn to Jason, taking a sharp step forward. “Give it to me.”

His brows furrow under the mask.

“I’ll pay the waitress,” you say. “You run.”

Jason reaches behind his belt and shifts the weight of the bag into one hand. A gun appears- a small handgun. You duck down as he raises it at you, holding your head down as the BANG! rings through the air.

You stand back to your feet, bracing yourself at the sudden sight. The Arkham Knight charges you, but only to pick you up like you’re nothing and jump through the glass window he previously shot at. The adrenaline makes things hazy, but you can see the blue and red lights now. It doesn’t matter. The two of you fly across what turns out to be a pawn shop, burst through the back door and back room until you hit the cold outside air of Gotham again. Multiple doors slam shut behind you. You’re both out of breath and panting, and it’s raining again. This time in an alleyway.

But the cops won’t follow you out here.

It’s quiet besides the panting from you two. Jason has more endurance, you’re sure, but you can hear his breathing inside his helmet. He lets the duffel bag slip out of his grasp as you double over. “I did miss that,” you offer. “Running from the police.” The Arkham Knight just continues his breathing.

“Thank you,” you tell him.

✮ ✭ ✮

Two days after the incident, you enter your apartment lazily. Your keys are tossed onto the island counter before you wander through your mail. One of your letters is from Ed in Arkham, warning you about “some big guy asking about you”. A bit late for that now. You haven’t heard from Jason since that night.

It isn’t until you go to sit on your couch that you notice a large, nearly bursting open envelope. Your fingers stretch to reach it, examining it. No return address, but written in pen in sloppy letters is the word “Bird”. Luckily, it doesn’t feel like a bomb. It feels more soft but firm.

You open the envelope. Your breathing hitches, breath slowing when you see what’s inside. Then a smirk comes over your face.

Just then, dust falls from your shitty apartment ceiling.

✮ ✭ ✮

A week after the failed Tim Drake incident, a young man decides to pay a visit to your building. He is tall and strong, with raven hair laced with a white streak at the front. He frowns at everything, ducking his head to make himself smaller and less noticeable. He cares not for being perceived by other people. He’s well aware of how he looks.

The man’s knuckles tap against apartment 317. He shifts, looking back and forth. The man is quite attractive in is casual red hoodie and jeans, but he wants to be out of the open as soon as he can. After a moment, there is no response from inside.

He scrunches his brows and knocks again. When he takes a step closer, he can hear something from the inside. Music. A piano and drums and maybe an organ?

Jason twists the door knob with ease and steps ahead and inside. The apartment is completely and totally empty. The music becomes louder and more clear. It’s a female singer he doesn’t recognize.

Only the bones of the kitchen remain. Counters, cabinets, a sink, and an old fridge. There’s mold in the corner of the space. But in the middle of the floor where the couch and living room used to be is a cluster of things. Things meant for Jason Todd. 

The man eyes the pile for a few seconds. Then he sets towards it. The first thing he recognizes is a CD player with the volume turned all the way up. He still doesn’t know the song.

Besides the player is a suit he’s quite familiar with. It’s clunky, but folded as neatly as it can be given that it’s made of metal. On the top is the helmet that gives it away. The Arkham Knight suit. It sits on a dark duffel bag in front of a small white piece of paper with the promise of ink inside. Jason decides to open that first.

You’re coming back… and it’s the end of the world…

Haha! I knew you’d show up!

Jason nearly rolls his eyes at the first sentence.

Thanks for the money. I know it was you. Thanks for the fun night too. Sorry about hitting your balls. They felt really big if that makes you feel better.

It didn’t.

I was thinking of Metropolis, but what do you know, me and the boy toy decided it might be better to hold off on it. I got a bit of dirt on the kid by the way. You’ll find it on the back of this paper. Oh and I hope you like the Mitski soundtrack. I bet Drake’s the kind too. I’m going to keep the Mockingbird suit if you don’t mind. I guess our night of fun kinda reignited an old flame. Don’t even think about coming after me.

Son of a bitch, Jason internally screams.

I have a gift for you though. You get the Arkham Knight. You look good in it. And a little something extra in the bag by the way. 

Love, Mockingbird.

I just need a quiet place… where I can scream, how I love you…

Indeed, inside the duffel bag Jason Todd finds some cash and red fabric with an R emblem over the chest. He doesn’t need to pull the rest out to understand what it is. He decides not to question how you got his old Robin suit or when, but lets himself smile a bit, his chest expanding with his breath. It’s a real smile too. 

You’ve given Jason everything he needs to go after Tim Drake himself.

✮ ✭ ✮

I hope I’ve ruined everyone’s day. You think I would let the reader and Jason be happy together? You absolute baffoon. Maybe I’ll make a part three for gits and shiggles though. I’m not sure about this one. Definitely more based around their interactions than the drama unlike the first one. It was fun though. I hit the paragraph limit. I think I did a good job with the chemistry. I do apologize for giving the reader a real set in stone age though. I don’t like to to that because I think it takes away the point of having a ‘reader’. Also if you’re vegetarian please just eat a cheeseburger it’s so good y’all are weird. Oh and fun fact I just got a Red Hood tattoo on Saturday! Look at me go!

Tagging everyone who asked for a part ii: @yunho-leeknow @fyowyn-writes @martianmilfhunter @beardedfandiplomatprofessor

[aliendes]

Eventually (NSFW) 18+

From this ask: Jungkook + impregnation kink <3

A/N: I did a bit of reading for this one lol. This is not something I have written before, so hopefully it’s okay. This turned into more of a oneshot than a drabble lol

Warnings: impreg kink, unprotected sex (stob it), lots of cum cos it me, oral (f receiving), fingering, sweetness. It’s sweet, so sweet. Tooth rotting, even. oh & it’s unedited bcuz of course it is byeeeeee! 

Word count: 3.1k~

About a month ago, you overheard your sweet and usually shy boyfriend talking about his kinks with his best friend, Taehyung. Typically, Jungkook is very reserved, a bit of an introvert, and definitely not one to overshare. However, you came home from class early one night to overhear Jungkook talking through Discord with Tae, and you really didn’t mean to eavesdrop, but when you heard you bunny boy talking about getting you pregnant, you blanched.

After listening in to their conversation for a few minutes, you realized they were actually talking about kinks and he didn’t actually want to get you pregnant, at least, not yet. You two have been dating for about three years now, and you’re both entirely committed to one another, but you’re also both only sophomores in college, so starting a family isn’t on your list of things to do quite yet. 

But, you were intrigued by the idea that his kink involved finishing inside of you with the thought that he’d get you pregnant. After hearing their conversation, you started to read about it a bit online, trying to figure out if it’s something you’d be into, and you decided to give it a try.

Three weeks ago, you went to the doctor and started birth control, a week ago you were officially safe to start having unprotected sex, and tonight, is your date night with Jungkook. You haven’t told him about the birth control yet, and you wanted to keep it a surprise until you could get him in the bedroom.

The two of you went to a cute cafe for dinner, a place you’ve been wanting to try for a while now. It was a really nice night, and you were excited to get home and show Jungkook just how much you appreciate him. You just hope he won't be too upset with your eavesdropping and you can make it up to him with your surprise. 

You had just finished cleaning your makeup off your face and getting ready for bed. You decided to forgo any pajamas, in hopes that Jungkook would get your message. It was Saturday night, neither of you had work or classes tomorrow, and it didn’t take much to rile him up, especially since you’ve both been so busy recently you haven’t had much time to spend together. 

When you walk into your shared bedroom, wearing only your panties and a bra, Jungkook is relaxing on the bed, one arm folded under his head as he lays back on the pillows, scrolling through his phone. It looks like he’s already gotten ready for bed, as he’s only wearing his boxers. You clear your throat slightly and bite your lips as Jungkook looks over at you. 

At the sight of you wearing next to nothing, he gapes slightly, as his phone slips from his grip, smacking him in the face. You bring your hand up to your face to stifle a giggle as he rubs at the spot on his cheek, groaning. 

“Don’t laugh,” he grunts, one eye closed as he puts his phone on the nightstand, “what’s the occasion, babe?” He looks at you, reaching his arms out with grabby hands as you walk over to him, crawling over his body and straddling his waist. You feel the rumble in his chest from his contented hum as you make yourself comfortable on top of him. His hands slide down your sides, resting just above your butt, rubbing soft circles into the skin as he takes a deep breath, a happy smile on his face when he looks at you. 

“I miss you,” you whisper, placing a lingering kiss on his bare chest, making him look down at your funny, an overexaggerated frown on his face. 

“Honey, I’m right here,” you can tell he’s being playful, yet cautious, unsure of where you’re taking the conversation, “is everything okay?”

“Mm, yes,” you whisper, bringing your head up and placing a sweet kiss against his lips, “just wanna feel close to you.”

Jungkook smiles at you, kissing your lips again. “Okay,” he whispers softly, “let’s cuddle.”

You smirk at him, giving a small shake of your head, making him look at you in confusion. “Want more,” you say lowly, “want to feel you, Kook.”

“Mm, yeah, baby?” You could feel his member starting to harden beneath you. Gently, you push your hips into his, making him groan. “What’s gotten into you?” He chuckles at your antics. You aren’t usually so forward with him, usually letting him initiate sex, but ever since you heard his conversation with Tae, you couldn’t stop thinking about this.

You weren’t sure how to broach the subject. Should you just bring up that you overheard them? Should you tell him while you’re in the middle of the act? You decide on the former, grinding into one more time before sitting up slightly, propping yourself up on his bare chest. You bit your lip shyly, looking down at him with a bashful expression. He cocks his head to the side, furrowing his brow slightly, but a smile still on his face. 

“So, I heard you talking with Tae,” his face immediately drops, so you rush out, “not like that! It’s a good thing, promise!” He raises a brow in concern urging you to continue, his lips in a slight pout. “I came home early one night and heard you talking about…” you trail off, looking at the headboard rather than his face, “kinks?” Your voice is small and reserved. 

When you finally gain enough courage to look him in the eye, his face is drained of color, eyes wide in shock. You instantly regret your decision, bringing a hand up to push the hair out of his face, your features soften. “Baby, I wanna try it. I started the pill.”

You don’t think you’ve ever seen Jungkook look so much like the animal people compare his eyes too than right now. His eyes are so wide, mouth slightly agape as he starts at you. He has that look on his face that he gets when he’s thinking really hard about something, and for a second, you think he might laugh at you, tell you it was all a joke, that he didn’t really mean it.

But then, all of the sudden, you’re flipped onto your back faster than you can blink, and Jungkook is on top of you, caging you in with his strong arms. The look in his eyes when you finally look up at him is something you’ve never seen from your sweet boyfriend. His pupils are blown wide, he looks almost… animalistic as he grinds his hips into you one time, letting you know how hard he is.

You gulp, staring up at him as he speaks slow and quiet. “You better not be fucking with me,” you shake your head back and forth quickly, letting him know you are in fact, serious. “Why were you eavesdropping, little one?”

Your eyes widen in shock at the way he’s talking. It’s not like he’s not dominant in bed, because he definitely can be, but this is a whole different side of him you aren’t used to. “I-I’m sorry, Kook. I really didn’t mean t-to,” you whisper the last part, “I just overheard part of it, and it w-worried me, so I listened to what you guys were talking about. After I heard it was a kink, I looked into it…” you trail off not sure what else to say to him. 

“And what did you find out?” His voice is low, nearly a growl, arousal pooling in your panties at his tone. 

“I- I wanna… try it,” your voice is tiny, barely a whisper. 

Jungkook smirks above you, a glint in his eye. He’s so turned on right now by you, one wrong move of his hips and he could definitely cum in his boxers. This is his biggest fantasy, coming to life without him having to have even said anything.

“Yeah? You want me to fill you up? Fuck you full of my cum?”

Holy shit.

You knew you were interested in this, but the gush of wetness between your legs was telling just how much it was turning you on. “Y-yes, please, Kookie.” You don’t break eye contact, biting your lip as you thrust your hips upwards to get some sort of relief.

Jungkook leans down, pressing his lips against yours for a moment before pulling away. Looking at you with love in his eyes, his next words are barely a whisper, “You’re really okay with this? You’re on the pill?” 

You nod, “Yes, Kook. More than okay with it.” You smile up at him as he places another kiss to your lips. When he pulls back, he rolls his hips into you again, making you whimper softly. 

He closes his eyes and throws his head back, sucking in a deep breath through his nose. “God, you’re amazing. I’m gonna fill you up so good,” he moans as he reaches down, feeling the wet spot on your ruined panties, “holy shit. Does this turn you on that much, baby?” You nod at his words, eyes slipping closed as he pushes the crotch of your panties to the side, finger running up and down your slit, collecting your juices and teasing your clit. “Fuck, you’re so wet, let me taste you?”

Again, you nod aggressively, making him chuckle. On his way down the bed, he shucks his own boxers and pulls your panties down your legs, his breath hitching in his throat at the sight of your pink pussy, already swollen with arousal. Without warning, he dives in, eating you out like a man starved. 

You gasp as he immediately pushes his tongue into your entrance, swishing it back and forth, tasting all you have to offer him. Back arching off the bed, you reach down and run your fingers through his long, curly hair. You aren’t sure if it’s just the way he always treats you, or if it’s the dirty talk he’s been spewing, but your senses feel heightened, and every little touch is making you tremble. He seems to notice this, gripping your thigh with one hand, the other coming up to tease at your entrance while his tongue works your bud.

“Gonna stretch you out, you’re gonna take my cum so well, baby,” he groans into your pussy, inserting two fingers right off the bat, making you moan at the stretch. It’s been about a week since the two of you fooled around, so it was a little more of a stretch than you were expecting, but it felt amazing with how wet and ready you were. He attaches his lips to your clit, sucking harshly, and lets out a moan when you clench down on his fingers. 

“Kookie,” you pant, trying to catch your breath from the pleasure he was giving you, “Kook.”

He pulls his mouth off you for a moment, face covered in your slick as he looks up at you. 

“Wanna cum on your cock, p-please,” the sight of him, your juices all over his chin and mouth, has you moaning again, “need your cum.”

“Fuck,” he sits up immediately, but leaves his fingers in your pussy, scissoring them as his other hand reaches for his cock, languidly stroking it as he watches you, squirming for him. “Say it again,” he demands, pulling his fingers from you when he thinks you’re sufficiently stretched. 

You make your voice as whiny as you can, knowing that’s what he wants, “Please Kook, need your cum. Fill me up, give me a baby.”

His cheeks are on the verge of pink, and you can’t tell if it’s from exertion or embarrassment, but it doesn’t deter him. Leaning over you, he pushes his tip against your slit, gathering your juices. He moans out, squeezing his eyes shut at the feeling. In the three years you’ve been together, you’ve never had sex without a condom. Well, except that one time you were both drunk and he accidentally slipped it in before realizing.

“Holy shit,” he whispers, pushing into your gently. Both of you are moaning messes, relishing in the way his smooth cock is rubbing against your velvet walls, the feeling nothing like what it usually feels like with a rubber barrier. “I don’t know how long I’m gonna last,” he whimpers, fully sheathing himself inside you, “this feels incredible.”

You hum in agreement, but it comes out more like a moan. “Feel s’good, Kook,” you let your eyes slip closed as he slowly pulls out of you until just the tip is still inside, “please fuck me!”

He groans, just the sight of your blissed out face is almost too much for him. Steeling himself, he pushes back into you, and then again, and again, until he finds his rhythm. The feeling of your warm pussy squeezing around him feels so good against his cock, he can’t even begin to explain it to you. 

His thrusts start to get sloppier after a few minutes, as he leans down, pulling the cups of your lace bra down beneath your tits so he can capture one of your nipples in his warm mouth. You scream out at the feeling, one hand fisting in the sheets, the other coming up to tug lightly at his hair. His pace slightly falters, thrusting even harder into you, chasing his high. 

“Cum for me, baby,” he moans, popping off your nipple before diving back into the other one. He sucks and nibbles at it for a moment before pulling away again. “Want to feel you cum around me bare,” he moans when you clench down, “let go, babe. I got you.”

You arch your back off the bed as his hand slips between your bodies, two fingers expertly finding your swollen clit and drawing small circles on it. “You’re so swollen, baby,” he groans, leaning down and sucking at your collarbone, “your pussy is so pretty, so ready for my baby.”

You let out a wanton moan at his words. You had no idea this would turn you on so much, but you can’t get enough of it. “Kook, please!” You scream out, not sure what you’re begging for, but he seems to know, as he puts a little more pressure on your bud, making your legs twitch, your orgasm building quick. 

“You like that, babe? Want me to fuck you full of my cum? Fill up that pretty little pussy until it’s leaking out, yeah?” He groans, losing himself at his own words, “You’d look so pretty carrying my baby, YN.”

That’s what does it. The dam breaks, your coil unravelling as your whole body tenses. You clench down on him harder than he thinks you ever have before, walls fluttering around him as he stills for a second, fingers still rolling your clit between them to help you ride out your high. 

It’s like electricity is flowing through your veins, and he feels it too, a fire burning in his belly. “Fuck,” he draws out the word, pulling back out only to thrust in, harder this time, “gonna cum, fuck gonna cum.” 

You barely realize what’s happening, still dizzy from your own orgasm, as Jungkook stills inside you, pushing his cock as far into your pussy as he can. You curse at the feeling, hands coming up to grip and his biceps. The moans and grunts coming out of your boyfriend are like nothing you’ve ever heard before. You can feel the way his cock is twitching inside you, shooting rope after rope of warm cum into you. The feeling is amazing, a warmth spreading through your middle up to your belly. 

You reach up with one of your hands, pushing his sweat-dampened hair out of his face, dragging it down his perfectly sculpted cheek, watching the way his face twists in pleasure. You smile at him when he finally looks at you, a panting, sweaty mess. 

Both of your chests are heaving as he sits up slightly, letting your hand fall back down to the bed, and he looks down at your abused pussy. The sight is enough to make his cock twitch inside you again, making you whimper lightly. 

“Oh fuck,” he moans, pulling his cock back slightly to see it covered in both your releases, “shit, that was hot.” He pulls out farther, bringing his hand up to cup your heat as his softening dick falls out, gathering up his cum and pushing it back into you. He swirls his fingers around a bit, playing with the cum and watching like it was the most fascinating thing in the world. You watch, mouth slightly agape as he pulls his fingers from you and holds them up in front of him, inspecting them. The sight is weirdly hot, and before you can stop it, you let out a loud moan.

He lifts an eyebrow at you, a smirk on his face. “You like this, baby?” He chuckles, bringing his fingers down to your face, to which you obediently open your mouth. He slips his digits into your mouth as you wrap your tongue around them, sucking his and your cum off them. “You’re gonna be the death of me,” he groans when you pop off his fingers, licking your lips seductively. 

You smile up at him innocently and he swears he’s about to get hard again with how sweet and pretty you look right now, tits hanging out of your bra, hair a mess, pussy leaking cum. “Thank you,” you say sweetly. Fuck, and you’re thanking him for his cum? He thinks he might pass out.

Grinning his big bunny grin, he leans down, kissing you passionately, before he pulls away and looks into your eyes. His dark brown orbs conveying all his love to you. “Do you think it’ll actually happen eventually?”

You furrow your brow, confused by his words for a moment, before you realize what he means. “Yeah, Kook. I do.” You smile again, kissing the tip of his nose.

“I can’t wait to really give you a baby, YN,” he whispers, resting his head in the crook of your neck, leaving quick kisses on the skin there, “not now, of course, but eventually. Can’t wait to have a family with you.”

You nod, wrapping your arm around his head, pulling him closer, “I can’t either Kookie, I love you.”

“I love you, too.”

[pterodactylterrace]

Guys Like You ~ENDING~

Title: Guys Like You

Chapter: 20

Chapter Summary: My ill fated attempt to tie everything up nice and pretty and end on a positive note. In my head, this went a different way, but I decided to go the happy route for everyone

Rating: 18+

Warnings: Mentions of blood and childbirth 

“I feel like a blimp.” Faye groaned, giving up on trying to fasten her sandals herself and plopping down on the bed instead.

“I think you’re gorgeous.” Henry soothed, straightening out his tie in the mirror and crouching down to help her with her shoes.

“I can’t see my feet.”

“They’re still here.” Henry chuckled, leaning forward and pressing a kiss to her swollen belly.

“What about my vagina?” Faye grouched, smoothing a hand along her bump.

“I plan on thoroughly investigating that later.” Henry purred, wiggling his eyebrows suggestively.

“Why not now?”

“Because we’ll be late if we do. Now come along, darling. We both know everyone is dying to see the bump.” Henry encouraged, standing and gently helping her to her feet. They had posted earlier that week to his Instagram about their newest addition. Just a picture of a Superman onesie, captioned “Baby Boy Cavill, coming early next spring.” To say it had blown up would be an understatement. This was going to be their first public outing since they had announced the pregnancy. Faye had gone back and forth several times on whether or not she had wanted to actually accompany him, ultimately deciding to spend the evening out with her fiancé.

“Carry me?” Faye whined, giving him a pouty look.

“I’ll carry you around all you like after the premiere. If we show up in wrinkled clothing, people may get the wrong idea.”

“Henry, I’m pretty sure they know we’ve been having sex.” Faye pointed out, gesturing vaguely toward her belly. “Plus, you’ve done a wonderful job of making sure I’m satisfied at all times.”

“The pleasure is all mine.” Henry chuckled, placing a hand on her lower back to urge her to the door and quickly readjusting himself in his suddenly too tight trousers. This woman was going to be the death of him. All she had to do was allude to sex, and all the blood would rush straight to his groin. He was fairly certain she had trained his dick to get hard with just a look, not that he was complaining. He’d heard several men grumbling about how their partners didn’t want anything when they were expecting. He seemed to get lucky with the opposite. She’d been much friskier during her first trimester, but after she hit the halfway point, she was damn near insatiable.

“Now make sure you behave. Hands to yourself.” Henry murmured in her ear, the couple stopping just long enough to remind the babysitter that Briar had to be in bed by eight and to tell the little girl goodbye.

“You were joking about the hands to myself thing, right?” Faye questioned almost as soon as the driver had rolled up the partition.

“It’s been less than two hours.” Henry half laughed, tangling his fingers with her wandering digits.

“So? Are you really going to turn down getting busy?”

“Darling, we’ll make a mess right before we end up in front of a ton of cameras.” Henry pointed out, kissing the back of her hand lovingly. “Just try to contain yourself for a few more hours, then I’ll be yours all night.”

“All night?”

“All night.” Henry confirmed, kissing her temple adoringly and gently placing a hand on her swollen stomach. “You look beautiful.” Henry whispered, shamelessly staring at her cleavage.

“Don’t be a tease.” Faye pouted.

“My apologies, darling.” Henry chuckled, resting his cheek against her head.

~*~

“I’m not leaving this house again until this baby is born.” Faye declared dramatically as she flopped down on the couch.

“Does that mean you’ve decided on a home birth?” Henry asked, glancing up from the puzzle Briar was trying to put together.

“Yes.” Faye growled, glaring down at her extended belly. “Tell me, Mr. Cavill. Is there a particular reason you decided to put a gigantic baby in me? Hmm? Is this some sort of payback for something?”

“Darling, the doctor said he’s only slightly larger than average.”

“Baby brother is BIG!” Briar giggled.

“Yes, he is.” Faye agreed, pushing herself up from her slouched position. “He also likes to kick Mommy in the ribs.”

“I’m sorry, darling.” Henry cooed, pushing himself up from the floor to sit next to her on the couch.

“You should totally carry the next kid.” Faye grumbled, leaning against him.

“I would if I could, darling.” Henry assured, wrapping his arm around her and kissing the top of her head.

“My feet are swollen, my belly is huge, I’m pretty sure I just peed a little and all I can think about is oranges.” Faye grumpily listed off, wiggling her way to the edge of the couch and rocking herself to her feet.

“Oh…” Henry mumbled, his eyebrows pulling together as he watched the wet darkness rapidly spread across the back of her sweats and down her legs.

“Oh shit.” Faye gasped, staring in horror at the wetness soaking into her pants. “Oh fuck… Henry!” She yelled, trying to peer over her stomach to see her legs.

“Yes?” Henry asked unsurely as he stood himself up, intent on cleaning the mess before it soaked in anymore.

“I don’t think that was pee.”

“What?”

“That. Wasn’t. Piss.” Faye ground out, snapping her head around to look at him.

“I don’t know what you’re trying to get me to understand, darling.” Henry admitted, his brows pulling together as he studied her face. “Wait… you don’t mean?” Henry whispered, realization washing over his face. “But he’s not due for another couple of weeks!”

“Well, it looks like he was just as tired of waiting as I was!” Faye grumbled.

“Mommy, you had an accident.” Briar pointed out as she put the last piece in her puzzle, hopping to her feet and scampering off down the hall, assuring her mother she would find her something else to wear as she ran off.

“Ok… I’m not going to panic.” Henry promised, more to himself rather than to his fiancé. “I’m going to call the doula and the nanny. Do you need me to help you to the bathroom?”

“I’m not contracting, I can walk.” Faye pointed out.

“Just in case it starts, then.” Henry suggested, resting one hand on her lower back and taking her hand with the other, keeping pace beside his fiancé as she did an odd combination of a shuffle and a waddle to the bathroom.

“FUCK!” Henry shouted as soon as the door was closed, his heavy footsteps falling down the hallway as he ran back to the living room, frantically trying to locate his phone. “KAL!” Henry called, his wild eyes darting around the room. “Kal where’s my phone?!”

“KITCHEN!” Faye yelled from the bathroom, rolling her eyes to herself. “So much for not panicking.”

“Thank you, Kal!” Henry called back, his rapid steps sounding again as he crossed the house, snatching his phone from where it was peacefully charging on the counter, hitting the contact number for the doula and impatiently listening to it ring.

“He does know the dog can’t talk; I promise.” Faye sighed, shoving her wet clothes down and sitting on the toilet to kick herself free. “Papa’s just a little excited right now. He’s going crazy waiting to meet you.” She assured her swollen stomach.

“Faye?” Henry called softly from the other side of the door, slowly cracking it open and giving her an apologetic smile. “She’s asking questions I don’t know the answer to.”

“What does she want to know?” Faye asked, watching as he slowly slid his giant frame into the bathroom with her.

~*~

“You’re doing so good, darling.” Henry whispered, gently running his hands up and down his fiancé’s back. “Another one’s coming up, deep breath.” He instructed, his eyes flicking to his watch back to Faye. He gripped her hips firmly and dug his thumbs in right where she’d shown him so many contractions ago, rubbing in slow small circles to ease the pain in her back.

“I wanna get in the tub.” Faye groaned as the tightness in her belly began to ease.

“Alright, darling. I’m going to need you to stand up with me.” Strong arms wrapped around her and slowly helped to her feet; an adoring kiss being planted to the crown of her head. “Now I need you to walk with me, can you do that?”

“Yeah. It’s not bad between the contractions.”

“I’ll be right here if you need me.” Henry assured, taking her small delicate hand into his calloused paw, slowly leading her to the bathroom. He let her rest against the sink as he fiddled with the taps, plugging the drain once the water had warmed.

“Fuck… Hen…” Faye hissed, her jaw clenching along with her distended abdomen.

“I’m right here, I’m right here.” Henry quickly took her back in his arms, letting her lean against him as he tried to find the spot on her back from the new angle.

“For fucks’ sake, how long has it been?” Faye groaned, helping Henry pull her shirt off and toss it onto the growing pile of laundry she was creating during her labor.

“Just over three hours.” Henry informed, biting his lip at his fiancé’s hopeless groan.

“That’s it?!”

“You’re doing so good.” Henry repeated, expertly unclasping her bra with one hand and casting it aside to help her step into the warm waiting water. He settled in next to the tub, holding his phone up where she could see it and pulling up one of her favorite shows, hoping to distract her.

~*~

“I wanna push.” Faye gasped, her knuckles going white as she squeezed the side of the tub, her entire body tense with a contraction.

“That’s great, that’s your body telling you you’re ready to have your baby.” The midwife assured, gently wiping her face with a wash rag. “You’re in charge here, how do you want to do this? Do you want to stay in the tub, or do you want to move somewhere else?”

“I’m staying.” Faye groaned, maneuvering herself to her knees with Henry’s help.

“You’re so close, darling.” Henry whispered, kissing her forehead adoringly, wincing slightly when her next contraction came, and her nails dug into his arm. “You’re doing so good.”

“Henry, I need you.” Faye hissed, desperate hands attempting to drag him into the tub with her. “Come here, please.” She pleaded, throwing her arms around his shoulders when he carefully lowered himself into the tub with her.

“I’m right here, darling. I’m right here.” Henry assured, rubbing her back softly, letting her lean into him as much as she wished. He paid no attention to the blood tinging the water or her nails digging into his shoulders. Instinct took over when Faye said she could feel the head coming. He reached between himself and his fiancé, gently cradling his son as he was pushed into the world.

“He’s here. He’s here.” Henry gasped after a final push, bringing the baby to his chest, quickly wrapping an arm around Faye’s shoulders to ease her back against the side of the tub.

“He’s here.” Faye breathed, a tired smile spreading across her face as Henry gently laid their son on her chest, peppering her forehead with adoring kisses and pushing her wet hair from her face.

“You did it, Faye.” Henry whispered, smiling down at the baby in her arms, his heart swelling with pride. She did that. His fiancé just brought a new life into the world. In that moment, he was simply blown away at just how strong she could be. It took almost all the mental focus he had remaining not to propose to her again, still crouching in the blood and goo filled water with her.

Reluctantly, Henry removed himself from the tub, taking a second to appreciate Faye’s demand of the oversized bathtub when they had renovated the bathroom. He was quick to rinse himself off in the other shower, throwing on dry sweats and returning to the bathroom where Faye was still gushing over their newest addition. The baby was handed to him while the midwife attended to his fiancé, draining the tub and gently rinsing away the sweat and mess clinging to her skin with a cool stream.

“He’s so tiny.” Henry whispered in awe, staring down at his minutes-old son.

“The hell he is!” Faye groaned, shooting him a look fit to kill.

“I think he agrees with you.” Henry grunted, his son’s chubby fist finding his chest hair and gripping it tightly, squirming his newly freed limbs the best he could in his tight swaddle.

“He’s only small compared to you.” The midwife compromised, Henry helping Faye step out of the tub with one arm, the other tightly cradling their son to his chest, hovering close as the midwife helped her to redress. “You have another child already, right? So, you know the bleeding is going to continue for a few weeks. Make sure you rest as much as you can. Now isn’t the time to be a hero. You’ve just gone through a lot; you need time to heal.”

“Can I have our son back now?” Faye asked, raising an amused brow at her already doting fiancé, who reluctantly handed the infant back to his mother.

“Rest, darling.” Henry reminded her, securing one arm around her rapidly deflated waist and holding her tight to his side, walking her back to their waiting bed, their son’s bassinet already pulled up close to her side.

“I wanna hold him a little more.” Faye pouted when Henry took the baby back, holding her hand to help her into bed the best he could.

“Lay down first. You’re getting shaky.”

“Then can I hold him?”

“I suppose, since you did just birth him an all.” Henry playfully sighed, handing off their son again and seating himself on the edge of the bed, content to just watch mother and child for the time being.

~*~

“Papa?” Briar yawned, shuffling into their room with her stuffed bunny in tow.

“Yes, princess?” Henry mumbled, already half asleep after changing his son and passing him back to his mother for a midnight feeding.

“He too noisy. Can you tell baby brother to be quiet? I can’t sleep.”

“You heard her, Liam. No more screaming in the middle of the night. You need to use your inside crying after 9pm.” Henry informed his young son, the only reply being his son’s usual cooing grunt as he continued to nurse.

“Sorry, Briar. He’s still little, he needs a lot of attention right now.”

“I like attention too.” Briar pouted, stubbornly climbing into their bed and perching herself on Henry’s stomach as she watched her mother.

“I know, baby. I’m sorry.” Faye sighed, fighting the tears welling in her eyes.

“How about Mummy takes you to the park for a little bit tomorrow?” Henry suggested

“Liam is too little to be bringing out to a playground, Hen.” Faye pointed out, relatching the child when he stopped to stare at her nursing bra in confusion.

“So feed him right before you go, and again when you get home. You need a break from baby duty, babe.” Henry suggested, shifting Briar off his stomach to sit next to him instead.

“I wanna go, Mommy!” Briar whined, looking up at her mother hopefully.

“What if he gets hungry while I’m gone?”

“I know damn well you have extra in the fridge. It’s a bit of a surprise when you add some of that into your coffee in the morning by mistake, by the way.”

“So that’s why I was missing some.”

“I thought it was that ‘fancy’ cream you get from the farmer’s market. I was wrong.”

“It was in the same bottle, though.”

“You little…” Henry grumbled, pushing himself up on his elbows to glare at her properly. “Why would you refill a container with milk that looks startlingly similar to what was in it in the first place? You set me up for failure!”

“Mommy, I sleep with you tonight?” Briar asked hopefully, blissfully ignorant to her parent’s playful discussion.

“No, baby. You’re not going to get any sleep in here with us. Baby brother wakes up too much at night.” Faye explained, glancing hopefully at Henry. Understanding what she was trying to tell him, Henry snatched the little girl up and rolled out of bed, smiling at her excited squealing as he carried her down the hall under his arm surfboard style.

“Do you want me to turn on your Baby Shark music?” Henry asked once she had been replaced in bed, Kal lazily licking at her ear when she rejoined him. He didn’t bother even waiting for an answer before flipping through her tablet, pulling up the hour long loop they usually played for her at bedtime.

“Kal wants ice cream.” Briar informed him, batting her lashes up at her father figure hopefully.

“Kal knows he can’t have ice cream. It’s too hard on his stomach.” Henry yawned, looking suspiciously at the canine.

“No, he wants it for me, silly.” Briar giggled.

“You know the rules, princess.” Henry sighed, brushing her hair from her face softly. “Now get some rest. We all love you.”

~*~

“Did we wait long enough? Do I still look like a slob?” Faye fretted, turning this way and that, her eyes fixed on her lower stomach, trying to see if it still protruded further than she wanted.

“Faye, relax. You look amazing.” Her sister assured, turning her away from the mirror. Briar was happily running in circles with her little flower basket, all too excited to be involved in the affair. Her twin sister was in a beautiful, blue floor length bridesmaid dress, her younger sister in a matching shorter dress and her brother struggling with the matching tie.

“Are you ready to marry?” Her mother asked her giddily, squeezing her daughter’s hand softly.

“I am. I really hope he is too.” Faye replied, stealing a glance at the closed door.

“Oh please, he was ready to marry you the first time he saw you.” Her brother scoffed, finally taming his tie into something passable. “You’ve been killing the poor guy making him wait this long.”

“I didn’t want to get married while I was pregnant.”

“I really don’t think he would have cared.” Her youngest sister pointed out. “He seems pretty convinced the sun shines out of your ass.”

“Hear that, Delilah?” Her brother jumped in, setting his teasing eyes on his sister. “Get you a man that looks at you the way Henry looks at her.”

“It’s the same way you look at pizza.” Their sister added.

“I’ll find someone when I want to.” Delilah grumbled, shooting her younger siblings a glare out of the corner of her eye.

It took the effort of three people to hold Briar back once the music started, all desperately explaining that she was going to be almost last to go. Once the time came, she threw all her flower petals on the ground at the start of the runner and then sprinted down to the other end while laughing wildly. It was deemed that was close enough and it was finally Faye’s turn to walk the aisle.

Her father’s arm was a steady, comforting constant, something she desperately needed in that moment. She could swear she saw a small tear forming in the corner of her husband-to-be’s eye, but mostly his face was one of proud surprise.

Niki was elected to hold the ‘ring bearer’ the baby happily drooling all over the ring box he was allegedly in charge of. The photographer went nuts with pictures when Henry gently pried the box from his son’s chubby fist, removing the ring from inside and handing him the box back to chew on.

The couple stared into each other’s eyes, everything else melting away in that moment as they both closed a chapter in their lives, only to begin a brand new one they hoped would be filled with adventure with two simple words.

“I do.”

Tags:  @weallhaveadestiny @lunedelorient @summersong69 @mis-lil-red @lharrietg @amberangel112 @mansaaay @packerfan43

[singtotheskiies]

to the rescue // teen! ben hargreeves x reader

summary: when it’s your turn to be parenting experiment of the week, ben decides to take matters into his own hands—or, rather, tentacles.

request (by a lovely lovely anon💕): Hi I adore your writing❤️. Can you do a Ben Hargreeves x reader where the reader is restrained in a cell by Reginald and Ben comes and saves the day. Thx

words: 1893

warnings: emotional manipulation (it’s prick of the year reginald hargreeves, what do we expect), imprisonment

a/n: i feel like this one is right shit bc i wasn’t in a really good groove while writing it but ANYWAY please enjoy our bb boy:))))) (also!! empath!reader)

✖️✖️✖️

Dad stands in your doorway, intimidating as always, light glinting off his ever-present monocle. “Number Eight,” he says—crisp, harsh, and clear. “Come with me. Today we have a different form of training for you.”

“Where are we going?” you ask him. He’s not leading you towards the usual training room, and you’re without a partner—something you’ve never trained without due to your empathic abilities.

“Never you mind,” he says bluntly. You sigh, looking down at your feet. Trying to get information out of Dad is unnecessarily difficult sometimes—and you can’t read him as easily as you can your siblings. He’s scarily good at hiding his emotions.

He leads you down a few corridors before pausing and taking a blindfold out of his coat pocket. “Turn around.”

“Why? Where are we going?” You’re a bit worried now. “Turn around, Number Eight,” he repeats, harsher this time. “I do not have time for your questions.” You’ve got no choice, so you do as he says. The blindfold is tight—a bit too much so, but you know it’s pointless to bring it up. The two of you walk in silence for several minutes—you don’t think you’ve left the house, but your steps haven’t followed a route you’re familiar with. The Academy is big, though—maybe you’ve misjudged and you’re really just being led in circles to confuse you. Dad’s voice cuts through your thoughts, telling you to watch your step. You carefully move into some sort of space, confused as to why you’ve stopped. His hands come up to the nape of your neck, untying the blindfold from around your eyes. The fabric drops away to reveal a dark, metallic room with no furnishings. You’ve never seen it before or heard Dad talk about it—it almost looks like some sort of prison, and anxiety begins to push up into your chest. “Uh, Dad? Where are we?” you ask, fear making its way into your voice. You silently curse yourself for it—Dad hates any display of weakness. He doesn’t answer, instead busying himself with a huge hydraulic lock on the outside of the door. This does nothing to help your growing panic. “Dad?” you ask a few more times, voice rising with each repetition. “Dad!” “You will stay here until I let you out.” He finally answers, still not looking at you. “Goodbye, Number Eight.” He steps out of the chamber, locks hissing as the door seals itself behind him. Your brain enters full-blown panic, and you bang on the door, screaming for him to come back. You no longer care about showing weakness—tears spill over your cheeks as Dad’s back fades away and your banging grows weaker and weaker. When your voice gets too hoarse to yell and you’re convinced no one can hear you, you sink to the ground in a miserable heap. After a few minutes of crying, you sit up weakly and attempt to clear your head. You’ve never seen this chamber or the hallway it’s situated in before, but it logically has to be within the Academy somewhere. Maybe it’s underground or in a wing you’ve never been allowed access to? You instinctively close your eyes, reaching out to see if you can pick up on anyone’s emotions. Usually, you can sense your siblings from across the house, but the impenetrable walls of your cell and your admittedly less-than-functional mental state don’t help your case. You give up after a few minutes of mental searching and rest your forehead against the cold metal of one of the walls. And, since you have literally nothing else to do, you think. Clearly, this is one of Dad’s experiments—probably not too far off from when he’d lock Klaus in the mausoleum or when he’d throw dangerous weapons at Diego to see if he could save himself. They historically haven’t gone so well, as both siblings have ended up scarred—Klaus emotionally and Diego physically. You’re a bit worried as to what he has in store for you, but you’re not about to let yourself get hurt if you can help it. It’s likely that Dad’s locked you up to see how your abilities react to not being around people and their constantly-changing emotions. Maybe he thinks you’ll wither away. Perhaps it’s the opposite, and he’s examining the possibility of you tapping into your own feelings. Whatever the case may be, you resolve to try and remain as positive as you can about the situation, so you push down your fear and focus on happier things. Inevitably, almost embarrassingly, your thoughts roam to Ben. He’s the quietest of your siblings, always nose-deep in a book or sitting in silent contemplation. Despite his antisocial nature, the two of you have formed a close bond over the years. You find the contrast of his visceral power with his shy nature interesting, and he’s been perfectly content to sit and listen to you babble away about everything and nothing.

There’s also the fact that the two of you usually get paired together for training, since you can’t read him as easily as you can your other siblings. Dad says it’s likely because of the alien presence underneath his skin—the tendrils block his human presence somehow. And so, to create the biggest challenge for you, Dad’s made you spend hours on end with Ben, studying what feelings you can discern in order to strengthen your abilities. While some would become frustrated by the lack of ease you’ve experienced, it only eggs you on. You find Ben absolutely fascinating—a feeling that’s deepened over the years until you’ve come to accept the fact that you’re crushing on him, hard. Despite wearing your heart on your sleeve at all times, you’ve desperately tried to keep your feelings hidden—you can’t have any way of knowing if he returns those feelings, and your embarrassment would be supreme if he found out and didn’t feel the same.

Your cheeks heat up as your mind drifts to his jet-black hair, fine features, and adorably shy nature. There’s nothing better to do, so you let your mind spin scenarios of the two of you together—holding hands, going on small dates, cuddling on the couch. The thoughts stir a fluttering warmth in your chest that makes your present circumstances slightly more bearable. You hardly notice your breaths evening out and your eyelids blinking slower and slower as you daydream away.

You start awake an indeterminate amount of time later. You can’t remember falling asleep, and you have absolutely no way of knowing how much time has passed since Dad locked you up. Your crooked perception of time pales, however, to your all-consuming thirst. There’s no compartments or nooks anywhere that could be hiding a water supply—just smooth metal walls. Sinking back against the door, you try your hardest not to think about the dryness in your throat crying out to be lessened.

You judge it to be a few hours later when you see movement out of the corner of your eye. Instantly, you sit up, hoping it’s Dad come to let you free—but what you see instead is a million times better.

Ben’s sprinting down the hallway leading to your cell, face overtaken with concern. When he gets close enough to see you, he visibly softens. He tries to say something, but the thick hydraulic door blurs his words together. You shrug, pointing to your ears and shaking your head. He tries again, pointing to you with questioning eyes. You okay?

You nod, secretly thinking yes, now that you’re here. His brows are still knit together with worry, so you smile to reassure him that you really are okay. His eyes roam over your face for a few moments before he blinks and takes a step back, motioning for you to do the same. You’re not sure what he’s going to do, but you trust him completely.

He doubles down on himself before flailing his limbs out and arching his back. His tentacles erupt out of his stomach, lashing out and latching onto the huge handle of your cell door. The metal and glass shriek at the new pressure before slowly but surely bending from the force of Ben’s attack. When they’re broken enough to satisfy him, his tentacles retract and he scrambles forward to open the door separating the two of you.

As soon as you can slip through the door, you rush into his arms, wrapping him in a fierce hug. He hesitates for the briefest moment before returning the embrace. After being by yourself for so long, his arms feel so good around you, and your heart leaps in your chest as you catch a whiff of his smell—comforting and exciting all at once. Even though you could stay right here in his arms forever, you pull away slightly after several moments.

“How’d you know I was here?” you ask, grinning at the look of relief on Ben’s face.

“I thought it was weird when Dad didn’t schedule me to train with you like we usually would. No one knew where you went, so after a few hours, I decided to try and find you. Earlier I saw Dad coming out of a doorway I’d never seen anyone use before, so I used that as my starting place and, well—he’s got a bunch of charts monitoring how you’re doing. I knew I was in the right place. I’m just glad you’re okay,” he says, voice getting quieter. “I was really worried.”

“We’ve been through worse,” you laugh, but his eyes don’t brighten at your joke.

“This is different, though,” he answers, voice rising again in anger. “He literally locked you up, I mean—that’s actually insane. No father should ever do that to their child.”

“I’m sure he means well,” you say weakly, but you both know it’s not true. Dad really only cares about himself. There’s a beat, then Ben speaks again.

“You sure you’re all right?” His eyes are sad and searching as they look into yours.

Summoning your courage, you say, “I am now that you’re here.” Ben’s eyes widen immediately, scanning your face almost hopefully. The corners of his mouth tilt up slowly, almost hesitantly—as if he’s afraid to let himself go completely.

“Good, ‘cause I don’t know what I’d do if you weren’t,” he breathes, and you notice that the distance between the two of you is narrowing. Just a few more inches and your foreheads would be touching—and so you take it upon yourself to both reassure and thank Ben in one motion. You tilt your head forward and gently press your lips to his.

His breath hitches at the contact, body freezing for the briefest of moments before his hands come up to cup your jaw. You smile and whisper a thank you against his lips before drawing back a fraction. Ben’s eyes are slow to open, and his cheeks are flushed when they finally do, gazing at you with so much half-lidded admiration your heart swells. You press a soft kiss to his cheek, and you don’t need your powers to tell you that somehow, Ben is just as smitten with you as you are with him.

And when the two of you are given an inevitable harsh scolding in Dad’s office, you can’t bring yourself to care much—you’re too focused on how Ben’s fingers are laced gently around yours.

[weasleypogues]

jealousy is a two way street

request: Hi could I request a young Sirius black imagine where reader and Sirius have a argument blow up infront of the rest of the marauders in the dorm with lots of shouting because they are both to stubborn to admit either of them are wrong. Lots of snide remarks and sarcastic comments (also reader and Sirius are already dating) I love your writing 

thanks so much!! hope u enjoy xxx

finally trying to get back into the groove of writing!! requests are open <3 

masterlist.

“Fuck, Marry, Kill: (Y/N), Emma Cooper, and Allison Wood.” James called off names as the Marauders, Lily, and you sat in a circle in the common room. It was approximately 2:45 AM and after a stop at HoneyDukes, needless to say no one was falling asleep till later or at all for that matter.

“Kill Emma, Fuck Allison and Marry (Y/N) for sure.” Sirius answered without even hesitating. You slightly clenched your jaw and looked at the ground.

“Course.” You muttered under your breath and looked in the opposite direction of Sirius immediately. You mentally cursed James for even bringing up Allison and cured Sirius even more for choosing her. In the past you two had arguments because of Allison whether it be that she was getting too touchy with Sirius and he wasn’t stopping it or constantly talking about her when you two were alone. But why couldn’t he just choose Emma? Was he completely oblivious to the months of constant arguing?

Sirius Black knew how to get under your skin. As much as you loved him as your boyfriend, he could be a dick from time to time and found it hot when you would get frustrated after he would push your buttons. But this time he’d gone a little too far.

“What was that?” Sirius inquired, raising his eyebrows at you. 

“I said ‘Of course”. Of course you would pick Allison instead of the sweet Emma. I knew this game would make me jealous but your dumb fucking answers are making me infuriated.” You replied, feeling like your whole body was on fire.

“Babe, we’ve been over this. She means nothing to me, I’d rather spend the rest of my life with you than be with Allison.”

“First of all, don’t babe me. Second of all, we endured months and months of conflicts because of her. She hates me! I hate her! It’s a two way street and you seem to stick yourself in the middle of it instead of choosing a side. You know how jealous I got when she would put her hand on your leg or on your arm. Run her hand through your hair. Or on date nights when instead of a nice and loving conversation it’s ‘Guess what Alli did today?’ or ‘Alli is actually too funny’.” You said, not taking a breath until the end. All of this anger and emotions that have been bubbling up inside of you were finally released and you didn’t feel any remorse at all.

He opened his mouth to say something but chuckled darkly and shook his head. “I’m not even going to say it.”

“No, say it. Please do. I’m sure we would all love to hear what you have to say.” You spat back, crossing your arms. 

“For months on fucking months during our fights you know who you would constantly go to? James. My best fucking mate. My fucking brother. At points, I felt like you liked him better than you liked me. It made me feel like shit to see you two always having a good fucking laugh. You could have came to me! Yes, there was tension between us but never on earth would I turn you away. We could’ve figured this out a lot quicker and calmer if I didn’t believe you were out shagging my best friend.” Sirius admitted, his face beet red and hair wild. Your jaw dropped and you were at a loss for words. What you were feeling was exactly what he was feeling?

“Sirius I had no-” You started but were soon cut off.

“No idea, yeah I know. If you haven’t noticed I’m an expert at keeping my feelings hidden.” He grumbled. “You know what. I’m done. I gotta go.” And with that he stood up and left the room, walking up the stairs to the dormitory. You immediately stood up and was about to take your first step until a hand held you back.

“Give him some time to cool down. If you speak to him any more he’s only going to get more heated and it won’t help anyone.” Remus spoke softly and gave you a sympathetic smile. 

“Fuck that, I’m going to talk to him.” James bursted out and shoved himself off of the ground and walked up the same stairs Sirius had moments ago.

“I really fucked up this time. If I had just kept my mouth shut.” You mumbled and ran your hand over your face and let that run through your hair. 

“You didn’t fuck up. You were angry and there were still some unspoken feelings between you two. This will get resolved. Sirius is so whipped for you that he wouldn’t do anything to lose you. Trust me.” Lily state simply and gave you a reassuring smile. You let out a shaky breath and nodded before getting up and walking to your dorms. 

“I’ll just let us both sleep on it.” You responded, though you were not completely sure of that.

“Give him a couple of minutes for he and James to sort this out between them. But you don’t want to go to bed angry, that’s not going to work.” Lily said, looking extremely sympathetic. You groaned loudly and let your head roll to the back of the couch.

“Why must you always be right, Lily?” She laughed in response.

“It’s just in my DNA.”

You waited downstairs for another half hour, fiddling with your thumbs and going through mini arguments in your head on what to say to him to clear this up. You heard the creak of the boys dormitory door open and looked up immediately to only see James walking out with his hands in his pockets, looking quite sheepish.

“I told him I’d send you up there.” James stated, taking a seat on the couch next to you. 

“How’d it go with you?” You asked, worry written all over your face.

“Not that badly. He just needs a pair of ears. He may be dramatic but he isn’t the type to want to start yelling at you.” You nodded and with that, lifted from the couch and made your way up the stairs. You chose not to knock but just walk right in to see Sirius sitting on his bed and looking out the window that was next to it. He had his hands folded in his lap and was quiet.

“Sirius...” You said, hoping not to spook him, but in reality you just wanted to soflty grab his attention. Sirius moved his head slightly but still didn’t look directly at you.

“I’m sorry about, you know, everything. I never put myself in your shoes to take in what you must have been feeling when all of that was going down. It’s just that James knows you the best so I thought that he could give me guidance on how to make things right but I never realized how it must’ve looked to you. I really do apologize for that.” You said, still feet away from him, standing with your fingers interlocked with themselves. Sirius finally looked in your direction and gave you a small smile.

“Thank you, (Y/N/N). But really I should be apologizing. I shouldn’t have blown up on you down there. I just got jealous and didn’t want to admit I was wrong considering you going to James for advice is way different than Allison heavily flirting with me all the time. It’s hard for me to take blame where it’s deserved and I let my pride get the best of me. But I want to assure you that you’re the only girl I ever want to be with. Allison is Allison and that’s it. You mean the world to me and absolutely no one could ever get in the way of that. Not even my pride.” Sirius responded, worry etched in his furrowed eyebrows and glossy eyes as he slowly made his way towards you and grabbed your interlocked hands. 

You subtly smiled, realizing if you showed anymore emotion that the overwhelming amount of emotions you were feeling right now might make you start crying. You instinctively let your body nuzzle right into his chest and you wrapped your arms around his torso, taking in his warmth and scent. He didn’t hesistate to wrap his arms around you and kiss the top of your head a couple of times. 

Pulling your head away but keeping your arms around his body, you looked up at him and smiled. “I love you.”

“I love you too.” Sirius responded with, not hesitating whatsoever. You leaned in for a long kiss and were in each others arms for a few moments longer.

[johnshelbystoothpick]

'NO MORE HIDING'

[PETER MAXIMOFF X FEM!OC]

WARNINGS — explicit sexual references, strong language

WORD COUNT — 1,608

PROMPT(S) — “just a little more” & “i want everyone to know that you’re mine”

TRANSLATIONS — koroleva; queen

WRITTEN FOR — @lazylangdon’s one shots contest, round four (smut); she is also the one who was kind enough to make the above graphic for me! <3

———

“If we get caught, Maximoff, I’m going to fucking kill you.”

Peter quirks his signature grin, all cockiness and bravado with no trace of humility to be seen. If Peter Maximoff is capable of embarrassment, it is not something that has ever been witnessed by another human being. Certainly not by Arcadia, at least, and she is quite literally capable of feeling his emotions - something she ordinarily finds useful, but in such circumstances as these the arousal radiating off of him in waves threatens to submerge her in a sea of eroticism.

“I love it when you’re feisty,” he growls lowly, dipping his head so that silver hair brushes against her sharp cheekbones. It tickles, but the sensation is sensual as opposed to playful which one may consider strange for somebody with as natural an affinity for immaturity as Peter. If Arcadia has learned over the past few months that the Peter Maximoff the world sees is not the whole man but rather a fragment projected.

Her fingers twitch with the need to move and suddenly Arcadia finds herself sympathetic to Peter’s everyday plight because this must be how he feels in any given situation: like things are moving too slowly. Torturously, agonisingly slow.

“I’ve never really understood the whole academic spiel,” Peter says after a lengthy pause, “but damn if thinking so hard doesn’t look hot on you, Brodeur.”

She rolls her eyes, more exasperated than annoyed, and her hands find the collar of his shirt. Yanking him forward with more force than strictly necessary, Arcadia effectively swallows his sharp intake of breath when her lips crash against his own.

It’s messy and without preamble, as is always the case when the two of them can find a spare moment alone away from the prying eyes of telepathic professors and fathers who aren’t yet aware that their adult son is living under the same roof as he is, currently making out with his girlfriend in an abandoned classroom two floors above his bedroom. There is still the raw passion that consumes Arcadia whenever Peter is in her presence, but the tenderness is quashed in favour of the rapid removal of clothing and skin-on-skin contact which drives her dizzy with desire every time.

“Are you done with the whole hate sex act?” Peter questions, one eyebrow raised. He’s obviously amused, almost definitely aroused if his body’s natural reaction is any indication, and looking at Arcadia through pupils blown wide with lust.

She brings a hand up to his cheek, cradles it for a moment, then lightly drags her nails across his cherry red, kiss-swollen lips. “Just a little more,” she whispers, breaths tapering into uneven huffs when she feels Peter’s hands weaving through dark tresses and lightly tugging the strands with just the right amount of pressure that the pain is gratifying. “How am I supposed to be annoyed with you when you make me feel like this?”

“It’s all part of my natural charms,” he claims brazenly, breath hot against the shell of her ear. The phantom sensation of his words across her skin sends a stimulating jolt of pleasure through her entire body. “Now, do you wanna talk or do you wanna make out?”

“God, you are such a boy,” she scoffs, slapping his arm lightly. It may have been effective in conveying her point, but it only makes Peter’s salacious smirk widen as he grabs her wrist and pins it above her head with a victorious expression.

“You love me for it,” he states.

It is not a question, though Arcadia finds herself nodding along nonetheless. “And what if I do? I could show you just how much, if you like…” She bats her eyelids with a faux innocent expression.

Peter groans, the sound deep and guttural. With her unrestrained hand pressed flat against his chest, she can feel the vibration of the sound. “Don’t say shit like that right now,” he warns, “I’ve gotta meet Jubilee for training in fifteen and she’ll never let me live this down.”

Finally, it’s Arcadia’s turn to smirk as she glances down at his hardening erection. “Not my problem, Pietro.”

Something she has come to learn in recent weeks is just how much her boyfriend enjoys being referred to by his given name in any circumstance, but especially when they are alone and domesticated, so to speak. The pressure on her wrist increases for a second before Peter relaxes, exhaling slowly.

“You’re a fucking tease, Arcadia Brodeur.”

“Don’t you forget it.”

He leans forward to capture her lips in a kiss which is so uncharacteristically soft that it takes her by surprise. His tongue moves languidly, glides effortless with hers as though they were destined to come together in some synchronised dance, and a plethora of metaphorical fireworks explode in the small room they are encased in.

“I love you,” he says against her lips, repeating the words a dozen times when his mouth leaves hers to trail wet, open-mouthed kisses across the expanse of the exposed flesh of her neck. His teeth lightly graze her collarbone, then again in the same place with a sharper bite, and Arcadia lets out a sound somewhere between a moan and a shriek at the paroxysms of pleasurable pain it leaves in its wake.

“I love you,” he rasps once more, tongue flicking out to soothe the stinging pain he had caused. Arcadia finds herself missing it, though the expert way that Peter works his tongue against her flesh more than makes up for the loss. “And I want everyone to know that you’re mine.”

He brushes his lips against her palm before finally releasing his hold on her wrist which hangs limply at her side for a moment before both of her arms wrap around his neck, clasped at his nape. The ensuing staring contest is charged with electric energy, the sexual tension so palpable one could almost certainly reach out and touch it.

“I love you too,” she says at long last when the silence has run its course. “I just wish we didn’t continue to hide away like this is something to be ashamed of.”

He cups her cheeks, thumbs rubbing soothing circles into the grooves of her cheekbones. “I’m not ashamed of us, koroleva,” he insists firmly, “I just didn’t want to put any strain on our relationship with the whole Daddy Issues thing I’ve got going on here right now.”

“You’re an idiot,” she deadpans, “if you think I wouldn’t want to be here with you every step of the way, Peter. Even if your dad is terrifying…”

“Nah, he’s a softie really,” Peter claims, “otherwise he’d have smothered me in my sleep by now with how annoying I act around him.”

“Just around him?”

Peter mock gasps. “I am hurt, Arcadia. Shocked and hurt.”

“You should get over it pretty fast, Quicksilver,” she teases before unlooping her arms and giving his abs a firm pat. “You’d better go now before Jubilee sends out a search party.”

They both know that she would, so Peter doesn’t object beyond a frustrated sigh.

“Maybe deal with that first, though,” she adds. Her hand reaches out to lightly palm him through his jeans, revelling in the ensuing groan he emits as the heat travels from her cheeks to her clit in a way that causes her knees to quiver. She hooks her thumbs into the belt loops of his jeans to steady herself.

For a moment, neither of them speak. They aren’t confident that they could string together a coherent sentence with their hips grinding together with unadulterated lust; their ragged breaths indiscernible from one another’s so that it seems impossible to know where Peter Maximoff ends and Arcadia Brodeur begins.

“To be continued,” he pants after a minute or so has passed. He takes a step back but doesn’t tear his hooded gaze away from the dishevelled Arcadia. “We’ve got unfinished business here.”

“I’ll hold you to that,” Arcadia responds, excitement rushing through her at the thought of continuing their little rendezvous. It’s excruciating to have to wait, but she figures having sex in a classroom with windows overlooking the lake where hoards of people seem to be more often than not probably isn’t the wisest decision, no matter how much she and Peter may enjoy the thrill of sneaking around so carelessly. The soft, red lace of her panties becomes wetter with the thought.

Alas, public makeout sessions are hot in places like the mall or the cinema, not so much at a school.

Pausing just before Peter leaves, she has to ask, “Seriously though; why this room?”

Peter’s smirk returns with a vengeance. It’s unclear whether this is due to whatever answer he may give, or if he’d picked up on the tremor in her voice as she’d asked. “Because Scott and Jean walk past here every day at precisely three pm,” he informs, watching with impish glee as her eyes widen comically, “and would you look at the time. No more hiding, koroleva.”

The clock strikes three hardly a second later and Peter gives a mocking salute before speeding out of the room in the blink of an eye.

“Peter Maximoff, I’m going to fucking kill you!”

Peering through the open doorway, Scott and Jean make no effort to conceal their snickering. “Might want to deal with that hickey first, Cady,” the redhead advises, flouncing away with her boyfriend before Arcadia can formulate a witty retort. She can feel the amusement emanating from the couple as they disappear.

God, she needs to get her own place. And possibly a new boyfriend. First things first: makeup.

[mizunetzu]

Maybe some Kuroo x Male reader,, I just need some of my boy 😩

Of course !!! Kuroos the HOMIE I tell you-

————

Kuroo x reader - I’m not gay

⚠️ Warnings - Confused reader, pretty much none

Prounouns - Male, He/Him

——————

I’m not gay,

is what (y/n) told himself, at age 7.

He was over at his friends house, deciding on a movie to watch before they had to go to sleep.

When he held up a rather feminine looking cd, one of them snickered, and the other didn’t even spare it a glance.

“(Y/n)- thats for girls!”

“I-I know that! Shut up! It...it looked interesting...”

“Kuroo-give (y/n) a break...” Kenma murmured, looking up from his Ds briefly.

——

I’m not gay,

Is what (y/n) told himself, in his third year of Junior high school.

He wasn’t going to lie when he said he was a bit curious about the topic, but he’d never considered himself being attracted to the same gender.

Which is why he asked his close female friend if he could kiss her.

It was an odd question, but (y/n) needed to settle something within himself. Just a quick peck on the lips to see if the feelings would go away.

(Y/n) was rather surprised when she nodded yes, because people usually say no when people ask you to kiss them. But he wasn’t disappointed, no.

She leaned up on her tippy toes, pressing a chaste kiss onto (y/n’s) lips, before settling back down on the balls of her feet and hiding her flushed face with the mass of her uniforms sleeves. She peeked through her fingers to see (y/n’s) eyes fixed on the ground in front of him, with a distasteful frown gracing his features.

That didn’t feel right, (y/n) thought.

——

I’m...im not....

Is what (Y/n) told himself, during his second year of high school.

He was in the volleyball club in his school, and the intrusive thoughts hadn’t cross his mind since back in junior high. It was actually going pretty good.

He only had one girlfriend the entire time he was in high school, but he ended it pretty quickly to focus on himself, his feelings, and building Nekoma’s defense. (Hell yeah, sports!!)

Nekoma had a training camp where other schools were invited, which is how he found himself sitting in a circle with a few other teammates and managers, playing ‘never have I ever’.

Most of Nekoma was crowded in the circle, with some stragglers from fukurodani, and Tanaka with Nishinoya and Hinata.

The managers from other schools, both fukurodani’s managers, along with Kyoko and Yachi were there too. (Y/n) was pretty sure that Tanaka, Nishinoya, and maybe Yamamoto were only there to “protect Kiyoko Senpai”, but hey, at least they had more players that way.

People went around saying things like “never have I ever cheated on an exam”, “never have I ever served straight to the libero,” or “never have I ever been the cause of bokutos emo mode”

(That question itself put bokuto in his emo mode)

(Y/n) was the only one who had all fingers up, followed by Kuroo, who had only 2 fingers down, then Akaashi, with 4 fingers down.

It was going pretty smoothly until Yukie, one of Fukurodani’s managers, asked,

“Never have I ever had a crush on someone in this circle.”

Not many people put a finger down, but the question made (y/n’s) questionable thoughts come back in a flash. It forced him to think if he did find any of the girls in the circle attractive, and after ruling all them out, he, half jokingly, turned his attention to the boys.

His eyes drifted from each of the volleyball players, until his eyes landed on Kuroo.

Kuroo. One of his childhood friends. Someone he, regretfully, considered attractive. I mean, he had a nice build, he was in the college preparatory classes, and his thighs could crush-

No, shut up. He’s a man.

You’re a man.

....What the fuck?

(Y/n) didn’t even notice his finger fold itself in, until everyone gasped and started berating him with squeals and questions.

“Who is it?!?”

“It better not be Kiyoko Senpai!”

“It has to be to be Kaori, (Y/n’s) been talking to her alooooot lately!”

He couldn’t help but scrunch up his nose at the idea of dating one of Fukurodani’s managers.

“It’s...it’s not Kaori, no offense but I’d never date Kaori...” (Y/n) mused out as nonchalantly as he could. The second those words flew out of his mouth, he regretted not pretending it was Kaori, so they could drop the topic.

Everyone’s comments went in one of (y/n’s) ear and out the other, until yaku cleared his throat and said,

“If it’s not any of the managers, is it a guy then?”

All of the questions died down almost instantly. (Y/n) felt his blood ran cold.

“I mean...is it?” Akaashi broke the silence, maintaining direct eye contact with (y/n).

I’m not too sure with myself, (y/n) thought, chuckling dryly.

With (y/n’s) answer, or lack thereof, everyone started listing off the boys names or saying “is it me?? If it is sorry dude! Haha..” or some variations of that.

(Y/n) felt like he was going to combust with all the “is it —?’s” and “is it me’s??” He never wanted to think about it again, yet here he was, being-

“Is it Kuroo?” Bokuto grinned, half joking, gesturing to the 3rd year sitting right next to him.

(Y/n’s) eyes widened comically. Was it Kuroo?

He wasn’t sure why this one flushed him so bad. His hands started trembling from their spot in the air, and a red tint spread across his face like a virus. He knew he admired his captain, but having a full blown crush on him? He didn’t dare look up at everyone’s prying gaze, instead suddenly finding immense interest in a broken seam in his red volleyball shorts.

“Oh my god, it is Kuroo!” Someone squealed, probably someone like Bokuto. All their voices seemed to merge together and sound the same. People were gasping, nudging (y/n’s) shoulder, or saying stuff like “I support you!!” Or “you too would be soooo cute together!”

(Y/n) brought his fingers down and entangled them in his sweaty hair. “I’m..I’m not gay. I’m not...” (Y/n) rasped out defensively, trying to convince himself more than anyone else.

Warm hands grasped his wrists, pulling them away from (y/n) gently, forcing him to look up. Kuroo held a shit eating grin that made (y/n’s) stomach churn in both a good way and a horrible, horrible way.

“Oi oi, it’s ok to like boys (y/n)-what, are you in denial or someth-“

“Shut up! I’m straight, and I don’t like you! Don’t touch me!” (Y/n) suddenly lashed out, whipping his wrists out from Kuroo’s hold. He stood up abruptly, choked out a weak “I’m gonna get some fresh air” and staggered out of the room.

No one seemed to notice that Kuroo had put a finger down, as well.

——

Im not gay. I’m not gay. I’m not gay.

Is what (y/n) repeatedly told himself, in the bathroom.

(Y/n) threw water onto his face, before slapping his cheeks as hard as he can. He then backed into the bathroom wall and let himself sink down to the cold floor tiles.

“Goddamit...nnNNFUCK!” (Y/n) dug both his fists into the dirty bathroom floor. His hands stung from the impact. A sigh escaped from his lips as he hid his sopping wet face into his hands.

“What...the fuck...I’m not...they’re just...just stupid! Yeah! They’re stupid and I don’t have a crush on stupid Kuroo! Yeah! Y-Yeah..! .....Yeah...”

He sat in silence for what seemed like forever, before he got sick of listening to his own thoughts. He shakily brought himself up to his feet, and exited the bathroom.

——

Im not gay,

Is what (y/n) told himself, more calmly than before, heading towards the sleeping rooms with a stable smile.

He almost made it scott-free before he felt a hand firmly grasp his shoulder.

“Hey.”

(Y/n) didn’t dare to turn around.

“I...they..might’ve jumped to conclusions, but I really need to know.”

Do you now? Cause I’d like to know, too.

A heavy silence consumed both of them whole. Kuroo forced (y/n) to turn around, tilting his head up with his finger.

“Do you like me.” It was more like a statement than a question.

“I...i don’t know? I think? Maybe?? I-I’m not sure...” Kuroos serious gaze boor holes into (y/n’s) face.

“You don’t know?”

“I don’t know! I mean-I’ve always thought about it, but I never considered that I could be...y’know...and I never really thought about you like that till Bokuto brought it up...”

Kuroo was tacken aback by the sudden raise in pitch, but quickly regained his neutral expression.

“Kiss me.”

It was (Y/n’s) turn to be shocked.

“What-“

“You heard me.”

“You can’t be serious,” (y/n) awkwardly chuckled. He ran fingers through his hair. “Kuroo, hey-“

The middle blocker grabbed hold of the (h/c) boy. He yelped and struggled in his grasp, but Kuroo held his hand firm.

“You don’t know how you feel about me, right? Do you want your answer or not?”

It was rare moments like these where Kuroo wasn’t being smug, or wearing his shit-eating grin, that ignited a confusing flame inside (y/n’s) chest and/or dick. (Y/n) let out a shaky breath.

“Yeah, fine-whatever lets get it over with.” (Y/n) grumbled, red in the face.

Kuroo took hold of (y/n’s) chin with his thumb and index finger, and snaked his other arm around the boys waist. He leaned in slowly, letting their lips meet in the middle.

This didn’t feel similar to the kiss he had in junior high. It felt better. It didn’t feel forced or boring like it did when he kissed that girl, this one feels nice. (Y/n) let his eyes flutter closed while he clutched Kuroos shoulders weakly.

Kuroo began to pull away, but (y/n) whimpered and lunged forward to connect their lips once more. It was a sensation that he never wanted to let go of, but of course, air was also something he couldn’t live without.

They pulled away simultaneously, (y/n) very obviously heaving while Kuroo let out a few deep exhales.

“So...” Kuroo said, wiping spit from his swollen red lips. “How do-“

“I love you.” (Y/n) said, testing the words out on his tongue.

“Hm?” Kuroos vague response dug a pit into (y/n’s) stomach. Did I misread this situation?

(Y/n) broke into a cold sweat. “Aah...I mean-I think, no hard feelings if you don’t like dudes-I mean I just found out myself so it’s all good-“ Kuroos booming, stupid hyena laugh broke (y/n) out of his rambling session. (Y/n) looked up at the middle blocker, and slowly relaxed and let himself smile at his antics.

“You really think too much...” Kuroo said, wiping an invisible tear from his eye. “Don’t worry, I like you too~”

He patted the boy on his head, as (y/n’s) cheeks flushed involuntarily.

I could be gay,

(Y/n) told himself, hand in hand with his newly found boyfriend, Kuroo Tetsurō.

And that’s fine by me.

———————

Extra:

“Get it, (y/n)! Kuroo! Use a condom boys!” Bokuto yelled, from behind a gym wall with Akaashi. The two turned around, surprised.

“Sorry. Bokuto was curious when you said ‘I need to find my new boyfriend, I’ll be right back’, and left.” Akaashi said, fiddling with his ring finger.

“It’s fine. I wasn’t lying when I said ‘new boyfriend’ though, huh, (Y/n)?” Kuroo smirked, slapping his ‘new boyfriend’ firm on the ass. (Y/n) gave a yelp before blushing and clutching the spot where Kuroo smacked.

It would’ve been fine if it was a normal person who slapped him, but in his case, it wasn’t.

But let me tell you, volleyball players spikes are very, very hard. And Kuroo was no exception.

There was a hand-shaped mark on (Y/n’s) ass for a week straight.

————————

[reinvent-and-believe]

Hi :) Dialogue prompt 44, Eskel + Geralt?

Dialogue prompt 44 - “I still remember the way you taste”

Wow anon. You get me. You really get me.

Firstly, what a perfect prompt. Secondly, sorry it took me 2+ months to actually write it! And thirdly...I added Jaskier. I’m sorry, I know you didn’t ask for that, I can’t keep him away. Geralt/Eskel is still the primary focus here, but in the context of established Geraskier and with Jaskier still very much involved. This accidentally turned into something like 7.5K of Jaskier and Eskel soft-domming the hell out of Geralt. So, uh...enjoy?

CW: rough sex/soft feelings, undernegotiated kink, nonexplicit references to teenage sexuality, brief discussions of internalized homophobia

—

“Really should be playing for coin.” Geralt grins as he clears his cards after his second victory of the night and shuffles his Nilfgaardian deck.

Eskel curses under his breath.

The witchers sit in a pair of ancient wingback chairs with worn, faded upholstery that might have been crimson in a former life, drawn close to the hearth, a small end table between them holding their Gwent cards and pints of mead. Jaskier sits perched on the arm of Geralt’s chair, his legs draped casually across his lover’s lap as he brushes soft white hair through his long fingers, humming softly to himself.

“Wiping the floor with me like that is its own reward.” It’s a grumble, but a good-natured one. Most everything Eskel does is good-natured, from what Jaskier’s seen. He appreciates that about the witcher.

It’s a fairly usual night at Kaer Morhen.

Well, as usual as a night at Kaer Morhen can be. After years of only vague, grunted acknowledgements of wintering in the mountains, Jaskier had been shocked and delighted at Geralt’s unexpected invitation when beset by an early first frost traveling through Kaedwen. “Winter’ll come before you reach Oxenfurt,” he’d justified brusquely, mindlessly tracing circles into the warm skin of Jaskier’s back as they huddled together on the inn’s musty straw pallet, but when the bard kissed him softly and told him he’d be delighted to see his home, the deep wrinkles on his forehead relaxed into something open, peaceful. They arrived a few weeks later, just before the snow drifts made the mountain pass nigh unbreachable.

Just being in these cold halls, rich with history and joy and pain, feels akin to the unsettling mystery of watching someone observe a religious sacrament, something Jaskier can only view from the outside, can never truly understand. But after upwards of a month sequestered in the remote keep, they’ve established something of a routine. Vesemir retires to the library after dinner most evenings. Every four or five days, Lambert gets restless and disappears into the surrounding mountains to hunt for a few nights.

(The first time Jaskier had been mortified, sure that he’d driven him away. “It’s just Lambert,” Geralt reassured him. “Bastard’s not well socialized.”

“And you know it’s bad, coming from Geralt,” Eskel added, but there’s nothing but fondness in his genial smirk.)

So most nights it’s the three of them whiling away the hours before retiring to their chambers. Jaskier finds he doesn’t mind; while Geralt clearly cares a great deal for Vesemir and Lambert, it’s only when they’re alone with Eskel that Geralt’s guard seems to vanish entirely. They catch up on jobs they worked throughout the year, drink together, occasionally reference shared history, although always briefly. In his years of friendship with Geralt and the years of something more, Jaskier has always been the one to keep the conversation going, an unending prattle that Geralt rarely interrupts, but here, Jaskier finds himself listening more often than not, observing the quiet, unassuming intimacy between the two witchers. Here within the walls of Kaer Morhen, here in Eskel’s warmth, Geralt is loose and comfortable and safe in a way Jaskier has rarely seen him in over a decade spent together on the Path.

Jaskier smiles at Eskel, a little too brightly, perhaps, but he doesn’t mind. He’s far from drunk, but between Geralt’s arm wrapped around his waist, the easy comfort of Eskel’s presence, the roaring fire before them and the honey-sweet mead, he feels pleasantly warm all over. “Eskel,” he starts as the witchers draw for another round, “you’ve known Geralt longer than anyone else in the world. Well, Vesemir excepted, of course.”

He hums in affirmation. “S’pose so. What about it?”

“That being the case, I think it only fair that you indulge me in some dirt.”

Eskel looks at him blankly.

“Come on, dirt! You must have plenty, you’ve known each other for, what, at least five hundred years now?”

“At least.” Geralt snorts at Jaskier’s obnoxious shit-eating grin at the exaggeration and plays a third spy card in a row, easily blocking the punch Eskel aims at his arm.

“Come now, Eskel, please? I’m sure you must have loads of dirt you’ve just been dying to, well, to unload! Let’s unlock those memories, boys, and tell me the greatest Kaer Morhen scoop of the past century.”

Eskel’s smiling, but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “Not sure you really want those memories unlocked, bard,” he says gently.

Jaskier’s breath catches. The last thing he wants is to spoil the relaxed evening with whatever cruelties spark the haunted looks he’s caught a few times during his stay. “No, no, of course not those kinds of memories,” he amends. “None of the witchery sort. The fun things, silly things! Come on, it can be anything. Embarrassing stories, charming anecdotes, stupid pranks you pulled on each other, youthful indiscretions—wait, no, what did I say?”

Both witchers suddenly seem preternaturally focused on their Gwent cards.

A delighted grin slowly creeps onto Jaskier’s face. “Youthful indiscretions?” he repeats, noting how Geralt looks almost sheepish. “I was joking about that one but by all means, I love a good scandal! I simply must have all the details, the tawdrier the better.”

“No scandal,” Eskel answers easily. “There’s nothing…”

“Oh ho ho no, my friend, I’m afraid I’m a bit too well acquainted with Geralt’s non-expressions to let this pass quite so easily.” He’s practically bouncing with excitement in Geralt’s lap, which earns him a glare, but not a very heartfelt one. The most delicate shade of pink has taken up residence in the tips of Geralt’s ears, the apples of his cheeks. Jaskier kisses him lightly on the nose. “What youthful indiscretions, Geralt?”

Geralt rolls his eyes, but his lips quirk upward. “Nothing as obscene as you’re dreaming up,” he mutters drily. “Dumb kid stuff.”

“Just a little healthy competition in the training yard.” Eskel’s smiling, but he’s watching Geralt carefully. “Everybody loves an incentive.”

Jaskier leans in conspiratorially. “Incentive?”

Eskel shrugs, placing a commander’s horn to double his ranged combat cards. “You know, loser jerks the winner off, that sort of thing. ‘Course, you dose up a bunch of horny teenagers with a couple times the regular helping of hormones, and, well, things tend to...escalate?”

“Of course.” Jaskier shifts and inadvertently rubs against the line of Geralt’s cock, which seems to have taken a distinct interest in the conversation, no matter how disinterested its owner tries to look behind his cards. “So, to the victor goes the handjob, eh? A noble endeavor.” He squirms again, very advertently rolling his hips in just the right place this time. The heavy arm around Jaskier’s waist slips down to stroke casually at his thigh. He stops himself from preening at the unexpected rift in Geralt’s composure, but only barely. “Was this all the young men in your—class? Cohort? Uh, battalion? What do you call it?”

“Hands caught on with some of them,” Eskel acknowledges. His eyes, all blown-wide black pupils rimmed with thin rings of gold, track every minute movement of Geralt’s hand on the bard’s thick thigh, straining beneath deep indigo satin. “But a few of us progressed to mouths. Thighs.”

“I’m sure that was delightful,” Jaskier breathes. He threads his fingers into Geralt’s hair, tugging gently on a lock. “So you partook in these escapades, did you, darling?”

Eskel snorts. “Partook,” he parrots, eyes flickering teasingly to Geralt. “Like he wasn’t the one casually suggesting it every time we hit the training yard.”

“Oh please, do tell.” The fire crackles in the hearth before them. By all the gods, there’s nowhere Jaskier would rather be than here, caught in this sparking current between the two witchers.

“Geralt’s the best fighter.” There’s a hint of a growl in Eskel’s gentle voice Jaskier’s never noticed before, low and hot and dangerous. “Always been the best with a sword since the first time he held one. But once we started messing around, didn’t take long to notice I was winning more than usual. After a few weeks I was beating him just about every time we fought.”

“Gods,” Jaskier breathes.

Eskel licks his lips. “Don’t act surprised, bard,” he says softly. There’s a new, intoxicating heat in his gaze. “The whole castle’s heard you two. You seem pretty familiar with Geralt’s taste for cock.”

Geralt’s arm slips tight around Jaskier’s waist, pulling him harder into the ever-more insistent press against the bard’s arse. He palms brazenly at Jaskier’s cock, but his eyes don’t leave Eskel, his face collected, calm. “Still remember the way you taste.”

“Fuck, Geralt.” Eskel’s hand drifts to mirror Geralt’s, grinding roughly against his codpiece.

Jaskier plants a hand on the chair’s back, twisting around enough to pull Geralt into a heated, messy kiss. “Gods, you’re stunning, you know that?” he moans against his lips, tangling a demanding hand into that long white hair. “Gorgeous, shameless thing, throwing fights you were perfectly capable of winning just to get a good dicking, was that the way of it, love?”

Geralt’s eyes flicker closed, accompanied by an aborted, keening noise in his throat.

“Which was all fine, until Vesemir called him out for holding back in the middle of the training yard.” Some of the teasing quality drains from Eskel’s voice. “You know Geralt. Being berated in front of the whole school by your mentor for your piss poor performance is devastating anyway, but for Geralt?”

“I’d forgotten about that,” he admits quietly. “That was a shit day. Halfway through his lecture I swore off sex forever. Nothing kills the mood quite like Vesemir’s disappointed face.”

Jaskier kisses his temple. “Glad that didn’t last, love.”

“Didn’t last long at all,” Eskel chuckles. “Pretty sure you had my dick down your throat in the back of the stables twenty minutes later.”

Geralt’s wry grin serves as confirmation. “It’d been a rough day. Sometimes you need a little consolation.”

Jaskier looks between the two, looks at the soft smiles on both of their faces. The sheer eroticism that was all-consuming a moment ago lingers, shifting into a background pulse as this gentle, familiar openness emerges.

They love each other.

Jaskier feels an overwhelming rush of relief, suddenly, of gratitude, to know that even with all the cruelties Geralt has faced over the past century, he’s had this easy warmth to come home to nearly every winter.

But love isn’t something readily acknowledged, let alone expressed, for Geralt—if anyone knows that, it’s Jaskier. So he smiles disarmingly and goes to work.

“How right you are, Geralt!” he says brightly. “Everyone needs a consoling touch now and then. What about after you left training? Any consolation during chance encounters on the Path? Or when you returned for the winter, perhaps?”

Jaskier doesn’t miss the way Geralt stares at the floor, nor the hunger that flashes in Eskel’s eyes before he looks away, too. When he speaks, it’s measured again. “It didn’t continue past training.”

“What a shame. Well, during training, then, what about fucking?” he asks blithely.

Geralt’s the first to find his voice, a defensive grunt. “Wasn’t like that.”

Eskel leans back in his chair, folding his hands in his lap. “Well, it was, of course,” he says slowly. “A hand or a mouth in the dark you can write off as just getting your rocks off. You start talk about fucking…” He shrugs stiffly. “It starts to mean something. Starts to say something about you.” He’s quiet for a moment, staring into the fire. “You get told a lot of things when you’re a kid. Think we all understood pretty clearly how it’d be if anybody found out. So you start coming up with reasons why it’s not like that, why you’re not like that. To make it easier.”

Geralt hasn’t spoken, but he clings a little closer, leaning his head on Jaskier’s shoulder.

“Takes time to sort through it all,” Eskel muses. “I think most of the stuff they taught us, Vesemir and the others...most of it came from a good place. They wanted us to survive, and part of that means not making yourself any more of a target than you already are. Doesn’t mean it didn’t fuck us up even more, though.” He leans forward in his chair, elbows on his knees and eyes fixed on Geralt. “I’m proud of you, Wolf,” he murmurs, a little sad smile on his lips. “Never thought either of us’d get to have this.” He gestures briefly at Geralt and Jaskier entwined in the chair, a twinge of something that might be yearning flashing through his eyes before he looks away, taking a drink.

Geralt plants a small kiss on Jaskier’s shoulder, holds him a little tighter. He wants to comfort Eskel, the bard understands suddenly, showering Jaskier with all the tender physical assurances he doesn’t feel he can give Eskel. And Eskel, with his sweet, melancholy smiles, his gentle percipience, his quiet understanding...he deserves everything Geralt wants to give him and more.

“It seems to me,” Jaskier begins in a delicate singsong, “that we have some unfinished business here.”

“How do you figure?”

“I feel this competition has not been followed to its logical conclusion. Not reached its full potential. You’ve played for hands, mouths, thighs. It seems that the natural progression should be playing for arse next. Winner takes the loser, as it were.”

Silence.

Jaskier wonders, briefly, if he’s made a mistake; but, he reasons, nothing ventured, nothing gained. He barrels on. “I think that the two of you want each other, quite a lot. Now, now, we’re being honest, Eskel just made that lovely speech, so save your protests, both of you. I think you want each other but you don’t know how to have that without the competition.” Jaskier gesticulates widely to emphasize his conclusion. “So compete.”

Eskel’s quiet for a moment, taking a deep breath as he meets Jaskier’s gaze. “Wouldn’t ask that of you,” he says finally. “The pair of you’s got a good thing here. I wouldn’t want to get in the way of that.”

“Oh, darling.” A surge of affection rushes through him as he takes in the Witcher’s concerned eyes, the hesitant posture, the look of astonishment at the endearment directed towards him. “I don’t think Geralt will love me any less for having loved you,” he says softly, leaning forward and placing a steady hand on Eskel’s forearm.

“We fuck other people,” Geralt adds helpfully.

Jaskier squawks in indignation, and Geralt’s mouth twitches in silent laughter. “Yes, Geralt, thank you for that ever so romantic assessment. So there you have it, Eskel! We fuck other people, no conflict there.”

Eskel’s looking back and forth between them, a small, slow smile breaking through. “It’s a little late for a sparring match,” he says. It’s not much of a protest.

Geralt shrugs casually. “Up for another game of Gwent?”

Golden eyes lock, a challenge. Eskel wets his lip and reaches for his cards.

Geralt gently steers Jaskier back onto the arm of the chair with a quick kiss to his shoulder, reaching to pull the forgotten box of his various decks into his lap. He packs his Nilfgaardians away carefully, muses over the cards, then reaches for the forest green deck.

And Jaskier may be no expert when it comes to the intricacies of Gwent strategy, but he’s watched Geralt play enough to know that Scoia’tael is his most neglected deck, the one he’s least likely to use in tournaments, the one he’s spent the least time building up.

Fuck.

From the way that Eskel’s gaze trains on Geralt’s big hands shuffling the sparse deck, a hungry, wrecked gleam reflecting in his golden eyes, he’s noticed, too.

It doesn’t take long, this Gwent game.

Geralt isn’t playing poorly, not really, he isn’t blatantly throwing the match, but the low-powered deck can’t compete with Eskel’s Northern Kingdoms and its unstoppable siege cards, its seemingly endless supply of spies. Even after Eskel passes the second round in a show of sportsmanship, there’s no real suspense.

Anticipation, on the other hand…

Jaskier drapes himself over Geralt languidly, tucking his chin over his lover’s shoulder to watch the game. “Geralt,” he coos, “it’s looking as though you may lose this one.”

“Hmm.”

“What a shame, I know you must be dreadfully disappointed by the prospect of taking his cock.” He’s staring shamelessly now, eyes running over Eskel’s sinewy arms, wide shoulders, broad chest, muscular thighs. “Gods, I bet he’s proportional, isn’t he. Big all over.” His breath is a warm tickle on Geralt’s ear before he begins lightly kissing the sensitive skin of his neck. “I bet he’s bigger than you, isn’t he, love?”

Geralt looks up from his cards, considering. “Girthier,” he concedes lightly.

“I can only imagine.” He sighs, musing with the tiniest of pouts. “You know, if you’d told me when we arrived at Kaer Morhen that one of us would wind up in bed with the gorgeous Eskel before winter’s end, I never would have dreamed you would be the one with that honor. Actually, I’d have put good coin on it being me.”

Eskel drops a scorch card in surprise that knocks out his own 24-point ballista.

“That counts.” Geralt shoves the card towards Eskel’s discard pile. “And you’d’ve lost your coin, bard. He never would have fucked you.” He shrugs off Jaskier’s offended whine. “Would’ve seen it as betraying me, even if you’d explained.” He’s studying Eskel carefully. “He felt guilty enough already, and all he’s done is look.”

Jaskier follows Geralt’s gaze, taking in the deep flush, the heavy breathing, the slightly abashed expression. “Have you been looking, dear Eskel?��

Eskel wets his scarred lip. “Looking respectfully,” he clarifies with the smallest of grins.

Jaskier laughs, delighted. He’s been uncharacteristically modest in his dress since arriving at Kaer Morhen, adjusting the biting chill of the drafty halls, but between the fire, the inferno of Geralt beneath him, and the strong rush of arousal, he’s plenty warm now. He slips his doublet off casually, dove gray shirt open halfway to his navel. “Look to your heart’s content, darling. Respectfully or otherwise.”

Eskel obeys, eyes raking over the bard’s flushed neck, the dark curls on his chest, the taut trousers doing little to disguise his erection. When he speaks, his voice is husky, grating. “If I win, will you be joining us?”

The breath catches in Jaskier’s throat.

He glances down at Geralt. They’ve always been welcome to take other lovers; it’s only practical, since they sometimes travel apart for months at a time and both have a few long-standing arrangements they’re loath to renounce. But they’ve never welcomed someone else into their bed, explored another lover together. Shared.

Geralt’s staring up at him, eyes questioning, hopeful.

Jaskier flits out of his embrace to situate himself easily in Eskel’s lap. “I thought you’d never ask.” He brushes a dark lock of hair out of the witcher’s eyes, tilts that strong, square jaw toward him with a single clever finger. “May I?” he asks, and when Eskel nods wordlessly he draws him into a soft kiss.

Eskel’s lips are slow and gentle, his kiss courteous, restrained in a way that threatens to break Jaskier’s heart. “Relax,” Jaskier whispers against him, “you’re not the first big scary witcher I’ve encountered.” He plants a teasing peck on the corner of his mouth before pulling away and shifting to take stock of the cards in Eskel’s hand. “So how is it looking? Oh.” He giggles helplessly, glancing across the table at his lover’s somewhat dazed expression. “Oh, Geralt, you are fucked.”

Their matching groans at his word choice are nothing short of intoxicating.

“Finish him off, darling,” Jaskier purrs, a hand drifting down Eskel’s sturdy chest. “Then we can play.”

--

Jaskier drags Eskel unabashedly into the bedroom, kicking off his boots as he goes in a practiced maneuver that might have otherwise proven disastrous. He tugs off Eskel’s padded jerkin, leaving him in a thin cream-colored shirt that Jaskier balls his fist in, pulling the witcher towards him in a breathless, giggling kiss.

Geralt trails slightly behind them, taking off his boots in silence. Jaskier can feel his eyes on the two of them as they part, not jealous, not upset, but unsure. Never one to shy away from tension in the bedroom, Jaskier reaches a hand toward his lover, beckoning him close, close enough to touch, and then he steps back to watch the moment unfold.

As if by instinct, Eskel moves to the side in an evasion of Geralt’s approach, where a sword would glance off him, had one been swung. Golden eyes lock as they circle automatically. It’s a dance. A witcher’s dance, dangerous and calculated, each move precise, graceful, deadly. It’s the most arousing thing Jaskier’s ever seen in his life.

And then Geralt shoves Eskel.

It’s just a light push to one shoulder, no real weight behind it, but the effect is instantaneous. Eskel pins him to the cold stone wall, the full weight of his body pressed into him, his hands trapping Geralt’s wrists tight. They’re both panting, hard, and when Eskel shoves his leg roughly between Geralt’s thighs, he’s met with Geralt rocking savagely against him.

“Like a bitch in heat, huh, Wolf?” Somehow, the words aren’t demeaning in the warm gravel of Eskel’s voice; instead, they’re fond, appreciative. Reverent.

Geralt bucks against him again, a cut-off, desperate growl from the back of his throat, and Eskel buries his face at the juncture of the neck and shoulder and bites the scarred flesh.

Geralt immediately goes limp and compliant against him, capitulation written into every line of his body. He stays that way as Eskel releases his bite, nipping lightly then nuzzling into the skin.

Jaskier lets out a shuddering breath at the sight of his lover so docile, so malleable. They’ve certainly explored such games before, power dynamics and what have you, and he’s known Geralt to drift into a gentle haze of submission on a handful of occasions when he felt particularly safe, but he’s never seen this immediate, intentional surrender. It’s breathtaking.

Eskel releases Geralt’s wrists, still kissing at his neck as he slides his hands down his sides. “Good,” he murmurs against skin, “being so good for me, Wolf. Don’t worry, gonna take care of you.” He tugs the black shirt from Geralt’s trousers, slips a big hand to stroke the bare skin at the small of his back. “Gonna fuck you so good. That what you want, sweetheart?”

“Fuck, Eskel.”

“Tell me.”

“Fuck.” His eyes flutter shut as Eskel’s hand moves to pull him forward by the curve of his arse, grinding their hips together roughly. “Want you to fuck me.”

“Mmm.” Eskel pulls the shirt over Geralt’s head and tosses it aside. “What about your boyfriend? What do you want from him?”

Geralt’s eyes shoot open, casting about frantically for a moment as though disoriented. “Jaskier?”

“I’m here, love,” he says, rushing to his side and pulling him into a soothing kiss. Geralt relaxes again in Eskel’s arms.

“You’re beautiful like this,” Jaskier continues, running his thumb reassuringly against Geralt’s cheekbone. “Do you want us to take you to bed, love? Let us work you over between the two of us, wring out every drop of pleasure we can?”

Eskel still supports Geralt’s weight, but he’s shifting, opening towards Jaskier, creating a space for him. Geralt pulls the bard in, kissing him desperately and tugging off his shirt, and Jaskier clings to them both.

He drinks in the sight of Eskel in the firelight, lips red and parted, eyes hooded beneath dark lashes. He cradles his smooth cheek with a gentle hand. “My, but you are just unreasonably handsome, aren’t you?”

Eskel freezes for a split second before flinching away from the touch, turning his scarred face to the safety of the shadows.

Before Jaskier can react, Geralt places a hand on the back of Eskel’s neck, drawing him in and massaging the flesh lightly. “He’s not mocking you.” His voice is soft and steady. “Or lying.”

After a moment, Eskel meets Geralt’s gaze, holds it silently for a moment before his shoulders relax, a rueful smile twitching on his lips. “Just got shit taste, huh.”

Geralt returns the grin. “He is with me.”

Jaskier splutters with indignation that’s only partially feigned. “Well, excuse you both, I happen to have exquisite taste, thank you very much!” He reaches out, his hand hovering over the scarred skin, a question in his eyes. Eskel takes a breath and turns his face into Jaskier’s touch.

He runs his fingers lightly over the hardened scar tissue, mapping the uneven terrain in caresses. Eskel’s eyes flutter shut. “I can’t speak for the rest of the world,” Jaskier murmurs. “I can’t imagine how cruelly men have treated you. But I do think you’re beautiful, Eskel, truly.” He pauses, glancing at Geralt. His gaze is fixed on the pale fingers and scarred flesh, concern writ large in his golden eyes. Jaskier wonders, not for the first time, how he ever thought his witcher inexpressive. “And I do believe Geralt thinks so, too.”

Geralt startles at the mention, but he leans in, resting his forehead against Eskel’s.

The intimacy of the position strikes Jaskier. Wasn’t like that, Geralt had immediately defended at the slightest implication that there was anything more than the occasional illicit orgasm between them. It’s not the first time he’s seen his dear witcher deny himself affection, connection, especially when it comes from another man, so he can’t help wondering how deep that denial may have run. “Geralt,” he asks softly, “have you and Eskel ever kissed?”

Geralt shakes his head, his eyes shut.

“I think you should.” It’s barely more than a whisper.

A moment of stillness stretches between them all, the two witchers looking at each other wordlessly. Eskel is the first to move. He carefully cradles Geralt’s face, eyes searching before he leans in, capturing his lips gently. It’s slow, hesitant, a meticulous exploration before Geralt moans against him, big hands threading through dark hair and pulling him in harder.

Jaskier moves deftly, slipping behind Eskel and threading his arms around the witcher as he plants reverent kisses down his neck, hands roaming luxuriantly across the hard body. Nimble fingers find the laces of Eskel’s trousers, untying them but making no immediate move to remove them, drawing the roughspun cotton of his shirt from the loosened pants so he can slip beneath to bare skin. He worships every inch of that broad torso with callused fingertips. Eskel is every bit as muscular as Geralt but built differently, thicker and wider and more pliable beneath Jaskier’s curious hands. An appealing layer of fat cushions his hard abdominals like a gambeson; strong, flexing pectorals have the give of flesh beneath his grasp. It’s an altogether delightful body, Jaskier thinks in warm contentment, belonging to an even more delightful man who Jaskier would be delighted to be absolutely railed by.

But that isn’t tonight’s objective; no, not with Geralt panting so beautifully, head thrown back against the stone wall as Eskel sucks a blood red mark on his collarbone. The finesse between them has vanished, replaced by the desperation of a century’s delay. Eskel paws at Geralt’s waist, nearly ripping the buttons from the fabric in his haste to get a hand down the front of the tight black pants, his other hand bracing him on the wall beside Geralt’s head.

Geralt is quick to return the favor, freeing Eskel’s cock from the codpiece, shoving the trousers roughly down his thighs, sinking to his knees.

Jaskier tries in vain to enjoy the sight from over Eskel’s shoulder, but the cream-colored shirt billows loosely enough around his body to veil Geralt. Yanking the offending garment off, Jaskier tucks his chin over the witcher’s shoulder and watches as his lover pumps Eskel’s cock in a pale hand, leaning in to lap greedily at the head before stretching his lips obscenely around the ruddy flesh.

When he speaks, Eskel’s voice is a hoarse wreck. “Isn’t that a sight for sore eyes.” Geralt growls in the back of his throat and takes him further down. “Fuck, Wolf.”

Jaskier snakes a hand down Eskel’s hip to his groin. He circles the base of his cock in a sure grip, grasping the thick shaft and moving in concert with Geralt’s shallow bobbing. Eskel inhales shakily, reaching the hand not buried in white hair back to anchor himself onto Jaskier by the back of the neck, arching into the bard’s embrace.

Jaskier pulls him into a messy kiss. The careful restraint has evaporated into something rough, strong, unleashed. Jaskier loses himself in the kiss, the racing tattoo of his rushing blood making the groan from Eskel something he feels more than hears.

Geralt bats away the bard’s hand jacking Eskel, and when Jaskier glances down he sees Geralt sinking down the thick shaft until his nose is buried in the dark hair at the base.

Eskel rips away from Jaskier’s kiss, breath ragged. “So good at that, shit.” His head falls back on Jaskier’s shoulder, eyes closed. “Used to choke on me when you tried,” he grunts. “Remember? Almost got us caught with your coughing a couple times. But you weren’t ever satisfied unless you tried.”

Jaskier massages at his chest, relishing the little gasp as he rubs a nipple. “He’s had plenty of practice since then. Haven’t you, love? Love swallowing cock, don’t you?” Geralt’s hands grasp Eskel’s hips roughly. “He wants you to fuck his face,” Jaskier says, planting a kiss on Eskel’s temple. “You wouldn’t deny him, would you?”

“Fuck.” Eskel complies, releasing Jaskier to anchor both hands in Geralt’s hair. He pistons forward experimentally, shallow. Geralt tugs at his hips until he’s set a brutal pace, the muscles in his thick body straining as he fucks him with abandon until there’s nothing else, nothing but slapping flesh, labored breathing, and pleased, desperate, muffled moans.

Eskel pulls abruptly back, holding Geralt off him by the hair.  “Fuck, Geralt, enough. Don’t wanna come yet.”

“Want you to.” Geralt’s voice is a raw rasp, his eyes red-rimmed. He nuzzles at the juncture of his thigh and groin, sucking at the sensitive flesh between words. “Want you to come fucking my throat. Come again later.”

Eskel pushes him away firmly, discipling his voice into something deep, reproachful, but with a surprising touch of tenderness cutting the sting of his words. “Listen, little cockslut, I said not yet.”

Geralt whimpers, but he withdraws, sitting back on his heels and awaiting further instruction, eyes fixed on the other witcher.

Eskel steps back from both of them, shoving his trousers the rest of the way down and stepping out of them before he looks at Geralt. “Up, Wolf.”

Geralt scrambles to obey.

Eskel pulls him into a kiss, praises spilling out against his lips. “So good,” he says. “Pants off.”

Once Geralt’s naked Eskel pulls him close, hoisting him easily into his arms as strong thighs wrap around Eskel’s waist. Eskel kisses him, holding him effortlessly. It’s a rare thing, Geralt not being far and way the strongest in a room at any given time, and to see him so evenly matched, see him carried about and manhandled as though he weighs nothing at all, is quite an alarming, appealing experience.

“Wanna take you to bed.” Eskel nuzzles against Geralt’s neck, his words barely audible. “Wanna be inside you, Wolf.”

“You did win the game,” Geralt grunts.

Eskel’s brow is furrowed when he pulls back. “Fuck the game, Geralt, wanted this as long as I can remember. It’s not just a game.” He carefully smoothes the messy white locks away from his face. “Wasn’t ever just a game.”

Geralt nods slowly. He holds Eskel’s gaze as he tilts his head, closing the space between them to brush his lips again Eskel’s. “So take me to bed.”

And he does.

Eskel lays Geralt out with an expression of sheer reverence. He crawls between his legs, slotting their bodies together, taking them both in a firm grasp before he leans down to capture Geralt in a sensuous kiss.

Jaskier observes the writhing pair silently as he makes necessary preparations. He rids himself of his trousers and smallclothes. Folds the discarded clothes and sets them neatly on a chair. Retrieves the oil from the chest at the foot of the bed. Stalls.

Because they are beautiful together, their touches familiar yet entirely new. There’s an unmistakable sense of scale between them, a history that Jaskier is loath to disrupt, a tale spanning a century in which Jaskier is barely a footnote.

“Jaskier.”

They’re still entwined, all muscled, scarred limbs curving around each other like one flesh, but they’re both looking at him. Eskel’s face crinkles into a crooked smile. “It’s a big bed, bard. Plenty of room.”

And there is. So much room in Geralt’s outstretched arm, curling immediately around his lover as he slips in bed beside them. In Eskel’s astute gaze as he runs a hand down Jaskier’s back and squeezes his hip reassuringly, pulling him into a nigh unbearably sweet kiss. In the way the three of them move together, exploring, discovering, building a gentle rhythm all their own.

“Have you ever fingered him?” Jaskier asks, his words nearly lost in the velvet-soft skin he’s thoroughly lavishing.

Geralt’s breath catches, though whether it’s at the question or the warm mouth on his balls is anyone’s guess.

“No,” Eskel says, his hand carding through the bard’s hair. “Show me what he likes?”

Jaskier reemerges to kiss them lightly, first Geralt then Eskel. “I’d be delighted.” He sits up on his heels, pulling Geralt with him. “Up, love.” He turns to Eskel as Geralt turns over to settle wordlessly into place. “Hands and knees is best for opening him up. He tends to get overwhelmed otherwise, don’t you, darling?” He kisses Geralt’s scarred shoulder, petting his arms, his back, his sides, nodding with a bright grin when Eskel’s hands join his in their caresses. “You can open him up when he’s lying on his back, but only when he’s absolutely relaxed and he’s already gotten off once. Otherwise he’s self-conscious, can’t lose himself in the sensation.” Geralt is already—perhaps unconsciously—rocking his hips ever so gently back towards him. A wave of warmth spreads through Jaskier as he rubs at the small of his lover’s back. “Eager for us, aren’t you, Geralt?”

A breathless grunt is the only answer.

“It’s all right, love, we’re going to take care of you.” He uncorks the oil, leaning down to nip lightly at the swell of Geralt’s cheek as he pours some into his palm. Cold. He warms it in his hand, rubbing vigorously. Eskel’s eyes track each movement. Silent, the bard holds out his lubricated hand. Eskel hesitates for a second then swipes his fingers through the mess until they’re dripping, coated thoroughly.

“Touch him before you touch him there.” It’s a rush, hearing the professorial tone of his own voice, seeing the witcher scramble to follow his instructions. Using his dry hand, Eskel pets the expanse of skin, running his fingers indulgently through the pale hair on his thighs, his arse. “Good.” Jaskier’s voice resonates deep in his chest, a low, soothing murmur. “Acquaint him with your touch. Let him know where you’re headed. Then when you’re both ready…” He takes Eskel’s wet hand by the wrist and guides it. “Just a finger. Start up here, down, down and past, and then up again. Again. Circle his rim, give him some lovely pressure, get him nice and wet but not in, not yet, not until…” He laughs as Geralt cants his hips back toward them with a desperate moan. “There we are. Now you can press in, just a little—oh, you’re being so good for us, love, taking his finger so well. Thicker than mine, isn’t it? What a treat.”

It’s too much, too arousing and too heady and too intoxicating, seeing hefty sword-callused fingers prodding carefully at the flesh Jaskier had seen stretched around his cock only this morning. He reaches out, an oiled finger lightly stroking the taut rim before slipping in effortlessly alongside Eskel’s.

A keening sound almost like a sob is muffled as Geralt rests his forehead on the bed, a full-body shiver running through him.

Eskel pats at his thigh. “Your boyfriend’s back here trying to kill me, Wolf.” He shoots a look of wonder at Jaskier before he leans forward, kissing the slight dimple at the small of Geralt’s back. “Hadn’t even thought about how good you’d look speared on us both ‘til right now.”

Geralt shoves back against them hard, pants as he fucks himself back on their fingers until Eskel adds another. “Not tonight, though,” he growls. “Tonight that hole is mine.”

“Gods, Eskel.” Jaskier pulls him into a breathless kiss. “He’s perfect, isn’t he?” he murmurs against scarred lips. “The way he can’t help seeking out more. Fuck, but he’s going to look so stunning on your cock. How do you plan to take him? Like this, let him whine and cry and shove himself back on your prick as hard as he can? Or have him ride you, watch him desperately take his pleasure as he stuffs himself full of you? Or…”

“Fuck, Geralt, does he always talk this much?” Eskel’s other hand shoots to the base of his own cock, giving himself a few rough strokes.

“Always,” a muffled rumble confirms. “It’s hot.”

Jaskier beams.

He slips his finger nimbly from Geralt’s stretched hole, drizzling a little more oil where Eskel begins to tease a third before Jaskier reclines on the bed, lying his head on the pillow where Geralt’s buried his face. Gently, he tilts the witcher’s chin toward him, taking in the wrecked breaths, the serene, softened gaze. He runs a warm thumb over Geralt’s lips before following it with a tender kiss.

He runs a hand over the muscled abdomen, down the sharp angles of the juncture of his hips, the pale coarse hair at his groin. Geralt’s softened some in the excitement of penetration, as he’s wont to do. Jaskier cups that lovely, familiar cock, rubs against him with just the pressure he knows his lover needs to coax him gently back towards hardness.

A breathy, high-pitched whimper that barely sounds like it could come from the same throat as Geralt’s usual guttural utterances breaks through the hazy atmosphere. “He’s ready for you,” Jaskier murmurs softly, reaching to squeeze Eskel’s unoccupied hand.

Eskel drapes his body over Geralt’s, covering his back and shoulders with fiery kisses as he rocks against him soothingly, fingers still buried deep as they rut together. He turns his face toward Jaskier, a heady desperation in his eyes. “Can I take him on his back?” he begs. “Don’t want to...to overwhelm him. But…”

Jaskier plants a reassuring kiss on Eskel’s cheek.

Geralt whines piteously as fingers slip from him, but he follows the gentle hands guiding him onto his back.

“Love,” Jaskier whispers, soothing fingers massaging his scalp, “are you with us?”

Geralt takes a breath, as though opening his eyes to meet Jaskier’s takes tremendous energy. He nods.

“You’re doing so well, darling.”

Geralt leans into his hand at the praise, eyes fluttering shut again.

“Stay with me, Geralt. Do you need a break?”

“Need Eskel.”

Eskel, kneeling between his legs, surges forward to capture Geralt in a careful kiss, gripping his shaft as he lines himself up. “Oil?” he pants, and Jaskier slips a wet hand between the two bodies to coat the thick, twitching cock liberally. “I’ve got you, Wolf,” Eskel whispers, sinking slowly into the pulsing tight heat, Jaskier’s oiled fingers lingering, anointing the site of their union.

The electric energy swells, inundating them, sweeping them into its current. The rough, slow grind as the witchers find a rhythm. Meandering callused fingertips dancing across scarred skin. Oil and precome and sweat mingling as they slide together. The earthy, sharp smell of the fireplace meeting musk and heat and desperation. Goosebumps covering warm flesh against luxuriant soft furs.

Geralt comes with a harsh cry from nothing but the movement within him and the insistent rub of Eskel’s abdomen against his cock.

Eskel fucks him through the aftershocks gently, bringing himself to a stuttering halt as Geralt trembles beneath him. He pants against Geralt’s neck. “Fuck,” he swears, kisses messily at the sensitive skin, “so beautiful, Wolf, feel so good under me.”

Geralt lets out a long breath.

“Had enough?” Eskel whispers against him.

Blissed out, relaxed, all loose limbs and satisfaction written in every line of his body, Geralt grins, his eyes suddenly clear, kissing Eskel as he rolls his hips pointedly back onto his cock.

And with this second wind it’s different, Geralt’s haze melting into something far more vocal, more demanding. “More,” and “fuck, Eskel,” and “hard,” and “won’t break me, Eskel, fuck,” and movement and manhandling and Geralt back on his hands and knees, Eskel burying himself hard and fast and too much, it’s got to be too much, Jaskier’s sure of it until “don’t hold back, please, please I can take it.”

A hand reaches out to grab roughly at Jaskier’s hip, dragging him in place before Geralt, his back against the headboard. “Please,” Geralt moans, mouthing frantically at the base of his cock, his drawn-tight balls, “need you too.”

He threads his fingers through sweat-damp white locks as Geralt hungrily sucks him down. The harsh, accelerating thrusts from Eskel rip through Geralt, slamming him further onto Jaskier’s cock and it’s so much, the delicate arch of Geralt’s back, the loud slapping of skin against skin, the strange unifying sensation of the three of them melding into one, the tight fluttering of Geralt’s throat milking the head of his cock, the way Eskel’s whole body seems to convulse, the choked-off howl as he chases his climax, the way he shakes as he collapses forward onto Geralt...

The adoring light in those stunning amber eyes as Geralt looks up at Jaskier through thick lashes, the way his hand sneaks up to hold onto his lover’s as Jaskier’s breath hitches, coming with a cry as Geralt swallows around him.

They topple gracelessly into a breathless tangle of limbs. Geralt groans piteously as Eskel unsheathes himself, leaving the bed swiftly, and Geralt hates feeling empty while he’s still coming down so Jaskier finds himself trailing long fingers to his messy hole, pushing the escaping come back into him, massaging and plugging him gently and running a soothing thumb over the stretched rim as they trade languid, exhausted kisses.

Eskel watches them from the beside with a look that might be wonder. “You two are a handful,” he chuckles softly. He climbs back onto the bed, wiping away drying spend from Geralt’s stomach with a warm, wet cloth that drags down, down between his legs, down to where Jaskier extracts himself one finger at a time, cleaning him with attentive care.

Geralt smiles up at Eskel lazily before pulling him down into a quick, filthy kiss, nipping at his lower lip. “You like us, though.”

“Hmm.” Eskel pulls away enough to grab a cup of water, tilting it to Geralt’s lips, careful not to spill. Then he offers it to the bard, reaching over to pet his hair with unexpected tenderness. “Thank you, Jaskier,” he says. “For sharing him with me tonight.”

“Should be me you’re thanking,” Geralt yawns, shifting around until he’s nestled comfortably on Jaskier’s chest, ear pressed soothingly above his heart. His eyes flutter shut as Jaskier traces aimless patterns on his warm skin. “Arse you were fucking happens to belong to me.”

Eskel snorts. “You sure about that?” He blocks the sleepy, playful swat aimed at him, taking the cup back from Jaskier and setting it carefully on the bedside table. He looks down at Geralt, already halfway to sleep on the bard’s chest, and rolls his eyes fondly. “That didn’t take long.”

“Well, in his defense, you did work him over pretty thoroughly,” Jaskier murmurs. He reaches out, tracing the muscles in Eskel’s scarred upper arm gently.

He leans into the touch, looking down for a moment. When he meets Jaskier’s gaze, his eyes are unspeakably bright. “Thank you. For tonight.” There’s a reverent rasp in his voice. “And for being good to him.”

Geralt’s breathing has evened out as Eskel slips out of bed, rifling through the discarded clothes.

“Bloody witchers, gods save me,” Jaskier sighs, flopping a dramatic hand to his forehead. “Geralt always used to try to slink off into the night after sex, too.” He catches Eskel’s gaze and extends a long hand towards him. “It’s a big bed, darling.”

They stare at each other in silence for a moment, something like awe blooming on Eskel’s exquisite, kind face as he nods, climbing back into the bed and molding his body carefully against Geralt’s back, a square hand finding Jaskier’s and squeezing.

And though it’s the dead of winter, Jaskier doubts Kaer Morhen’s ever felt quite so warm. He drifts into a peaceful sleep.

[handwrittenhello]

where the road then takes me

Prompt: Law of Surprise Relationships: Geralt/Jaskier/Renfri, Geralt/Renfri, Geralt/Jaskier, Jaskier & Renfri Rating: T Warnings: None Summary: When Jaskier runs into a pack of wild dogs while searching for his lost hen, he's lucky that Geralt is nearby to save him. But he has nothing to repay the witcher with except the Law of Surprise, and who do they find upon returning to the farm, but Jaskier's sister, Renfri, back early from marauding?

For @witcher-rarepair-summer-bingo!

(ao3 link in reblog)

--

Jaskier, eighteen, had grand dreams.

They were little more than dreams, unfortunately, because seeing as how he and Renfri had grown up fending for themselves, stuck in a tiny village on the border of Creyden, he didn’t have much opportunity to go to school or learn to play the lute or anything, really, besides tending to the farm while Renfri got… freelance work elsewhere. That was all he cared to know about it—she would leave, and return home every couple of weeks with a decent bag of coin and blood-spattered clothes, which Jaskier would bitch about cleaning. She made enough for them to live, though not comfortably—Renfri had kept him fairly sheltered, but he knew that they were one of the poorer households in town.

Which was why Jaskier only dreamed of traveling the Continent, singing songs and weaving grand tales for the commonfolk. Instead, he was stuck here chasing down their old hen again, after the coop had blown down in the storm for the fourth time. Henrietta was a sneaky fucker, already gone by the time he woke up in the morning. He cursed but pulled on his boots and stumbled out into the cold morning air to look for her.

He cursed all the way to the edge of the forest, where she’d apparently disappeared into, judging by the tracks and the few scattered feathers he found. “Damned hen. Ought to just eat you and be done with it,” he muttered, pulling his cloak tighter around him before heading into the forest.

He followed her trail as the sun slowly rose, stopping when he heard barking in the distance. Fuck, he hoped that was the hunters’ dogs—he hadn’t thought to bring a knife to defend himself with. Whatever it was, he trudged onwards, because they couldn’t afford to lose a hen. Renfri would kill him if—when—she found out.

And then he heard it—familiar squawking, accompanied by those same barks, louder. He crept closer and saw exactly what he’d feared—a pack of wild dogs circled Henrietta, one of them darting in every so often to snap at her slashing claws. She was fending them off pretty handily, actually—Jaskier knew how vicious she could be firsthand.

But the dogs would no doubt attack in force soon, and then she’d have no chance. Without thinking, Jaskier picked up a rock and threw it at the nearest one, hitting it square in the nose. It recoiled and turned its attention away from Henrietta, which was exactly what he wanted.

Unfortunately, it turned its attention towards him, which was exactly what he didn’t want. “Oh, fuck,” he spat, and turned tail as the pack gave chase.

He dashed over tree roots and fallen logs, blind stupid terror coursing through his veins. He had no plan beyond don’t get caught—and he could only run for so long before tiring. He threw a glance backward and saw that they were gaining on him—and fast.

Not looking where was going, he was taken completely by surprise when he slammed into something hard, bouncing off it and landing with an oof on the mossy ground.

Dazed and still half-blind with fear, he didn’t even notice that he’d slammed into a person until they moved, stepping over him and taking on the dogs with an easy confidence, sword swinging with preternatural force.

Two swords, armor, incredible speed and fighting skills? As the man finished dispatching the last of the pack and turned around to reveal mutated cat eyes set in a heavily scarred face, Jaskier realized who the man was. He sucked in a sharp breath.

The witcher sheathed his sword, holding out a hand as if to calm Jaskier. “It’s alright,” he rumbled, voice full of gravel. “I’m not here to hurt you.”

Jaskier picked his jaw up from where it had dropped. “I know that,” he answered, getting to his feet and half-heartedly brushing the dirt off himself. “You’re a witcher.”

“I am. Usually fight more dangerous things than wild dogs, though. Also don’t usually see unaccompanied kids running around being chased by them.”

“I had to get their attention somehow. Henrietta was—wait, Henrietta!” Jaskier, remembered, abruptly spinning on his heel and dashing back to where the pack had cornered her.

“Wait!” the witcher called from behind him, but Jaskier paid him no heed.

He was gratified to see that while he’d been running for his life, Henrietta had seen fit to begin making herself a nest right in the same spot. “Oh, aren’t we cozy?” he grumbled, creeping closer in an attempt to grab her. He was almost upon her when the witcher ruined it, crashing through the underbrush behind him and sending her clucking away just as Jaskier pounced.

Jaskier sighed and turned to face the witcher, who at least had the good grace to look a little guilty. The guilt soon disappeared, though, when Jaskier rounded on him and began to lecture. “Now look what you’ve done. It’ll take me ages to catch her,” he complained, watching as the witcher’s eyes grew incredulous.

“You risked your life for that scrawny thing?” the witcher asked, amused disbelief coloring his tone.

“That scrawny thing is probably the most valuable thing we own, so yes,” Jaskier snapped. He couldn’t stand it when out-of-towners looked at him like that, like he was a stupid farm boy who knew little more than dirt and chickens. Which, to be fair, he didn’t, but it wasn’t as if he wanted it that way.

The witcher’s face cleared to something more akin to understanding—thank the gods it wasn’t pity. “Then I suppose I owe it to you to help catch her,” he said, and in the blink of an eye he’d snatched Henrietta up. Jaskier accepted her into his arms somewhat stunned.

“Thank you,” he eventually managed to stammer. The witcher said nothing in return, and they stood there for a long, awkward moment, before Jaskier realized he was probably waiting for something. “Oh! I don’t—I don’t have anything to pay you with…” he trailed off, recalling all the old adages, that witchers never worked for free. Fuck. Renfri wouldn’t be home for days if not weeks still, and the only coin he had he needed to save for the market day after tomorrow.

The witcher began to speak—what it was he was going to say, Jaskier didn’t know, but he interrupted as an idea struck him. “But I can offer you the Law of Surprise!” he suggested, recalling the ballads of children promised to witchmen. “We’ve a bitch due for pups soon—perhaps we’ll return home and you’ll find yourself with a companion to warm the long nights on the road!”

“Hmm,” the witcher replied, but it wasn’t a no, so he figured that it probably meant he wasn’t about to be forced into the witcher’s debt. Humming, he led the way back to the farmstead, the witcher a silent, hulking protector at his back.

Once they arrived, Jaskier was quick to secure Henrietta in the barn, where normally there would be pigs, but now, after sickness had taken their only sow, there was only dust and hay and the occasional mouse. He left Henrietta to her mouse hunting and led the witcher to the cottage, throwing open the door, excited to see what surprise he might find.

“Jaskier, why the fuck have you brought a witcher home?” asked Renfri, perched on the table and cleaning underneath her fingernails with one of her many knives.

Jaskier paled. “Renfri! You’re—you’re not meant to be home yet,” he choked out.

“What, you’re not happy to see me?” she drawled, eyebrows knitting together. Jaskier, helpless, threw a glance back at the witcher, who was wearing a thunderous expression. Shit.

“I—not in this case, no,” Jaskier said tersely. “Fuck.”

“Some welcome,” she said faux-calmly, hopping down off the table. Jaskier recognized the tenseness in her form that spoke of a predator preparing to pounce. Sure enough, she lunged a moment later, her knife held a half-inch away from the witcher’s throat. Jaskier yelped. “Did he hurt you, Julek?” she asked, not taking her eyes off the witcher’s face.

“No, nothing of the sort, now put that down,” Jaskier hissed, tugging ineffectually at her arm. “He saved me, in fact, and…”

“And?” Renfri asked lowly.

“…and I may have promised him the Law of Surprise in return,” Jaskier finished all in a rush, wincing. “I swear, Ren, if I’d known…”

“That’s the thing about surprises,” the witcher interjected. “But you needn’t worry. I have no plans to claim your—sister?” Jaskier nodded. “As I said before, I need no payment.”

Renfri lowered her knife, and Jaskier breathed a bit easier for it. Renfri was a formidable fighter, but Jaskier doubted even her strength against a witcher. If a fight had broken out, he’d have had to—well, not help, because he was rather useless in a fight, but it was the principle of the matter.

“I suppose I could do worse for myself,” Renfri mused, looking Geralt over critically.

“Wait you’re—Renfri, he said he wouldn’t claim you, you don’t have to.”

“And what if I want to?” Renfri answered. “He seems a decent sort. And not too hard on the eyes, either.”

The witcher, looking uncomfortable, stood there and said nothing.

Jaskier threw his hands up. “You’re insane. And you!” he said, turning to the witcher. “Are you agreeing to this?”

“The life of a witcher isn’t well suited to… companionship,” the witcher replied, face twisted. “Walking the Path is difficult.”

“And if I promise that I can handle myself?” Renfri asked, twirling her knife in one of the many tricks she was proud of. “I’m no stranger to the road. It’s Jaskier you’d have to watch out for.”

“I resent that,” Jaskier said mildly, mostly out of principle. But the prospect was too exciting to dwell on it for long—was Renfri truly proposing that they set out with a witcher? “Ren, do you mean it?”

“If your witcher is fine with it, then I don’t see why not,” she replied. “What do you say, witcher?”

“Geralt,” the witcher corrected her. “If we’re to travel together, you ought to at least know my name.”

“Geralt,” Jaskier repeated. It rolled off the tongue wonderfully. “Oh, this is so exciting! I’m going to write so many songs, just wait,” he gushed. “The Witcher and the Shrike—I can hear it now.”

Renfri pulled him out of his thoughts with a cuff to the shoulder. “Ow,” he said mildly. “Wait—you are planning on sharing, right?” he interjected. “Because, I mean, look at him.”

“Am I a toy to be shared among siblings?” Geralt asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Is that a no, you don’t want to sleep with both of us? Because I’ll respect that, I will, but also, not to objectify you or whatever, but dear gods please, I think my poor heart might break if I didn’t get to fuck you at least once.”

“Jaskier! Leave my Husband Surprise alone,” Renfri said, shoving him away. “Go get packed. Essentials only!”

“Alright, alright, I’m going,” Jaskier placated, raising his hands in surrender. “Don’t get up to anything while I’m gone, you lovebirds.”

As he left, Geralt turned to Renfri. “Is he always like this?”

“Yeah, he’s chronically stupid. Gets it from our father.”

“Remind me again why I agreed to this?”

“Don’t know, but it’s too late now. You’re stuck with us, witcher,” Renfri replied, looping an arm around Geralt’s.

Geralt made a show of sighing, but in truth, he wasn’t annoyed as all that. At least it would make life more interesting.

[redhoodieone]

I Want to Suck Your “C”

A/N: Hiiii everyone! I haven’t written smut in so long, so I thought…what the hell? Write something dirty for the hell of it! So, here it is! Hope you enjoy it! P.S…if this becomes a big hit…I’ll write a Part 2 where Jason Todd returns the favor for the reader and eats her…you know…hahahha!!!!

Warnings: Smut…language…just filthy stuff.

Plot: Reader wants to suck Jason’s cock so bad. He doesn’t mind one bit. Once they’re alone in church, she shows him how much she needs him. Two horny teenagers in Catholic school give into temptation and they soon learn being bad is so good.

  I Want to Suck Your “C”

I know I shouldn’t be proud. This revelation should be a wakeup call to get help, or go all our church services to beg for mercy and forgiveness.

Because what would my parents say if they found out I was secretly a cock slut? What if they think if I just came right out and said I’m a cum slut...

For Jason fucking Todd.

Here I am, an eighteen-year-old who is about to graduate from St. Mary’s Catholic School, sitting in the church with my other classmates and listening to Father Peter telling us stories about...wait for it...

Temptation.

I silently whimper, wiggling my ass in my seat to properly pull down my plaid skirt to my knees, but the length isn’t as long as it should be. I swallow hard when I chance a glance at the other side of seats where Jason Todd is sitting with his friends.

For an eighteen-year-old boy, Jason isn’t like the other guys in our grade who still look like they’re growing out of puberty. Already taller than most boys, Jason’s body is as masculine as I could imagine despite always wearing his school uniform of gray slacks, a white button down, blue blazer, and blue and yellow striped tie. I can’t lie and say I’ve never noticed how his pants really define his rather large bulge and how his biceps flex every time he’s reaching out to throw a football on the front steps of the church before and after school.

And don’t get me started on his dark hair and blueish/gray eyes. The guy could be a fucking model when he graduates, but the sexiest guy in school has already claimed he wants to become a priest.

If Jason Todd really becomes a priest, consider me his devoted believer.

Or sinner...

I can’t really say that I disagree with Jason’s future plans considering I do know for a fact that he had a very rough past. Details about his upbringing and parents have never been discussed amongst us peers as Father Peters and our other teachers have told us Jason’s past will always remain a secret. But they couldn’t blame us for being curious anyways since Jason was brought into the church and school when he was just fourteen years old  after getting into dangerous trouble. Father Peters actually saved Jason’s life, and in a way, he gave Jason a second chance at life.

And he gave him a home here in the church.

Maybe that’s why Jason is dead set on becoming a priest...maybe to help others and give them a second chance at life.

I’m completely staring at Jason now. He’s facing forward, listening to Father Peters ramble on and on, while I’m imagining the ways I would commit sin and give into temptation to Jason Todd.

I would suck his cock.

Fuck that. I WANT to suck his cock.

Damn...I bet Jason has a big, heavy, thick cock.

I mean, his hands and feet are huge, and I overheard from some other girls that the size of hands and feet could confirm boys’ dick sizes.

Even my best friend Bree had said her boyfriend Ryan’s dick size was accurate from just the size of his big hands and feet.

My mouth waters from just thinking about Jason’s cock. I bet if I sucked him hard and swallow his dick good that he’d shoot his hot, delicious cum down my throat and have such an amazing orgasm all because of me.

But then to my horror, Jason turns around in his seat and spots me staring at him like a psychotic, creepy stalker. Embarrassed and wanting to die in this church, I slowly sink in my seat and force my eyes away from him.

What the hell is wrong with me? Why am I suddenly losing my cool? How in the world could I be so fucking horny?

True, as a Catholic teenager, I admit I haven’t ever engaged in any sexual activities because of my vow to wait until marriage. But just because I’m saving myself until marriage doesn’t mean I have to ignore and suffer through the agony and war of my sexual urges. And it’s simple: I masturbate.

Most of the time it works. I’m no stranger when it comes to massaging and pinching my sensitive nipples or finger fucking my pussy until I literally explode through my wet release. But lately my uncontrolled horniness seems to be coming from my longtime crush Jason who has lately been hanging around my inner circle.

True, we do have mutual friends and we are in most of each other’s classes, but I can’t help but wonder why. Why is Jason always close by? Why does Jason always look like he’s watching out for me when I’m by myself?

And why is Jason staring at me right now during our church service?

From just the corner of my eye, I can see Jason staring at me with an unreadable expression.

Is he mad at me for staring at him first?

Is he wondering what my deal is?

Is he trying to tell me I need to get help or he’s going to file a restraining order against me?

The church bell soon rings, and we’re all dismissed to go home.

Standing in the hallway just outside the church doors, I slide my messenger bag over my shoulder. I then notice everyone had quickly taken off to go home. Skipping my way down to the doors, a hand grabs a hold of my elbow and tugs me backwards until my back hits against a strong chest.

“Where do you think you’re going?”

Jason Todd.

I would recognize that deep, addictive, and unforgettable voice anywhere. 

I initially freeze. Is he really talking to me right now, after I made a complete idiot of myself for staring at him like he’s some sort of expensive prime rib?

“I said, where do you think you’re going, Y/N?”

I’m suddenly being turned around to face him. His hands move up from my elbows to my shoulders. I’m able to finally see how serious he is and how he wants me to answer to him.

So, I look up at him and squeak an answer out like a mouse because I apparently can’t speak like a human being. “Home.”

Jason raises an eyebrow. “You’re really going to go home right now?”

His hands are still gripping me, and I swear his fingertips are rubbing hard through my blazer so I can feel him touching me.

“Well, everyone else has gone home so...I have to go, too,” I answer weakly.

Jason licks his lips and instantly smiles down at me. “That’s a shame...because I thought you wanted to stay behind and explain why you were staring at me like you wanted to eat me.”

You mean, eat your cock. I think to myself.

“About that, I’m really sorry I was doing that to you earlier. It was...very creepy of me to do that,” I apologize, feeling more embarrassed about how stupid I am, and how I can’t handle this stupid crush I have on him. “I won’t do it again. I know it bothers people, and I-I don’t want to make you uncomfortable.”

“But you didn’t make me feel uncomfortable,” Jason speaks out fast and stares into my eyes. His pupils are blown. “In fact, you made me feel like you wanted to do something...”

“Something?” I whisper.

Jason leans in closer to me. I can feel his hot breath on me. He smells so fucking good. He must be wearing a woodsy type of cologne, and his breath smells minty from chewing gum earlier.

His lips practically touching mine, but there’s still that thin open space between us.

“Yeah...but what? What were you wanting to do...to me, sweetheart?” Jason whispers.

“I wanted to suck your cock.”

WHAT THE FUCK?!?!?!

DID THOSE FUCKING WORDS JUST LEAVE MY FUCKING MOUTH?!?!

Holy shit, Y/N!

I stare at Jason; horrified and humiliated at how blunt I am, how I can’t keep my sexual thoughts to myself, and how I’m going to have to change schools because of this!

Jason is going to hate me now. Any chances I had with him before graduating school are now gone.

I need to leave. I need to get the hell out of here now. I need to leave town.

I force myself to look up at him after having my eyes shut tightly in fear from what I did. But Jason’s eyes are not angry. He doesn’t seem offended or even weirded out.

In fact, Jason looks...horny.

His eyes have darkened, and his pupils are huge. His hands grip my shoulders tighter and I can see he’s breathing kind of hard; almost restraining himself.

“I’m sorry. I’m so-so sorry for what I said. Please. Please don’t hate me,” I plead, after noticing he hasn’t moved or said a word to me. “Let’s just pretend this never happened. Okay? Let’s just pretend I never said that and I never meant it.”

I expect Jason to leave now. I even expect him to tell Father Peters what I said.

But no. What Jason does next is something I could have never imagined.

“No.”

I blink a few times. “Excuse me?”

“I said no. No, I don’t want to pretend this never happened.”

“But...but I seriously made you uncomfortable. I know you don’t like me, but-”

“That’s bullshit! Of course, I fucking like you, Y/N! I’ve always liked you!” Jason snaps, obviously angry at me for a reason. “Why do you think I’ve been hanging around you more? And don’t tell me it’s because of our friends, because if you watched me more, you would see I was the one staring at you the whole time.”

I softly smile. “Really?”

“Hell yeah, Y/N. You’re so fucking beautiful, and that completely confuses the shit out of me that you can’t or don’t see that.”

I open my mouth to speak but Jason beats me to it again.

“I want to eat your pussy.”

My eyes widen at Jason’s confession. I don’t know what startled me more: Jason having a dirty mouth and swearing, or him actually admitting he wants to go down on me?

Maybe both.

I feel like I’m dreaming. I’m probably asleep in the church from earlier. Oh yes. I fell asleep during Father Peters’ story.

Jason pulls me towards him until our bodies touch. I feel his lips against my ear. “Is that something you’d want, Y/N? Huh? Is that something you’d want me to do to you?”

I feel my pussy tingling with excitement. I know I’m getting so wet in my panties. I rub my thighs together but unknowingly rub myself against Jason during the process.

“Do you want me to eat that delicious, wet pussy of yours?” Jason whispers to me.

“Only if I can suck your cock, Jason.”

Jason quickly pulls back to look down at me with such heat and adoration that he kisses me hard. He wastes no time licking and nibbling my bottom lip for me to open my mouth. His tongue searching throughout my mouth, rubbing against my tongue, and just swallowing each other’s moans is everything I’ve ever dreamed of.

Breathless, we pull away from each other; but not for long.

“Father Peters won’t be back for another half hour. Let’s go to the church.”

Not even a second to think, I agree with Jason’s suggestion. We need to be alone now.

Jason takes my hand and leads me into the dark silent church. We stand behind the alter where no one could see us unless they turned on the light. But with the sun still out for another hour, we could see each other just fine.

He quickly brings me close to him so our bodies are touching. He slams his lips against mine and we fall back deeply into our kiss. I can feel his hands running down my shoulders, down my back, until he grabs a hold of my ass with both hands.

I moan into his mouth. I allow my hands to rub his hard chest until I move my hands down his abs and eventually down to his crotch area.

I pull my lips away from his only enough so I can whisper to him. “I want to suck your cock so badly, Jason. I want to suck so hard. I want you to fuck my mouth until you cum. I want to taste your cum so much. I’ll swallow every single fucking drop until you can’t give me more. I just want you, Jason. I want every inch of your masculinity, please,” I plead like a desperate little slut. And I literally feel no shame or embarrassment now.

I can see Jason’s hunger for me in his eyes. He’s panting so much right now that I know for a fact this won’t last long.

“Fuck...doll. Are you my cock slut? Huh? Are you my cum slut now? You want my cock and cum, don’t you?” Jason asks me breathlessly.

I grip his tie so hard. I’m having the hardest time controlling myself until he gives me the green light. “YES! Oh God, yes Jason! I’m your cock slut! I’m your cum slut! I want your cock and cum so much! Please let me!”

Jason grins cockily and unzips his pants. “Drop to your knees, Y/N.”

I fall to my knees. Hard. But I don’t care. I’ll handle the pain because nothing is more important than Jason’s cock.

Unbuckling his belt, I waste no time pulling down his boxers until his long, hard, thick cock slaps against his stomach. I stare in amazement. It’s everything I imagined it to be. I quickly reach up to grab a hold of dick just so I can lick the tip, sucking and swallowing his precum like I’m drinking from a ripe peach.

“Oh fuck...Y/N,” Jason moans out breathlessly. His hand quickly runs through my hair until he’s holding a good handful of it to tug. “Suck my cock good, sweetheart.”

I moan from just the smell and taste of him. Despite the natural sweat of his, his scent is pure musk and it’s just...so Jason.

Jason is literally all man. And I love that.

I then lick his cock from the base back to the tip while looking up into eyes. “Go ahead, Jason. Fuck my mouth. Give me everything you’ve got.”

“Y/N...”

I wrap my lips around his cock while holding the rest I can’t fit into my mouth. Slowly, I begin to bob my head back and forth just to get used to Jason’s cock. I’ve never sucked a dick before so I just try to go along with what seems like could feel good and by the hot sounds coming from Jason.

Jason begins to pant hard; moaning every time I swallow his cock only to pull back and suck his sensitive tip just to get a response from him.

And that’s what I’m getting myself off on: Jason’s moans.

I grab a hold of his hips and begin to push him into my mouth: showing him he has my permission to thrust in my mouth. He starts off slow; gradually gaining speed when he sees that I can take his cock no matter what.

I could feel myself wetting more in my pantries. With one hand, I reach down under my skirt and rub myself against my underwear; feeling the juices I’m making because of this hot guy.

“Ah shit...oh fuck...Y/N,” Jason moans louder. “You suck my cock so good. Fuck...you like sucking my cock, don’t you? You like sucking my big cock?”

I nod my head and moan my answer; humming around his cock that vibrates and makes him whine.

God, I fucking love destroying this guy with my mouth.

I quickly glance up and see Jason with his head tilted back and eyes shut tightly when I begin to go faster. I start to jack him off fast, gripping his cock in a tight fist while sucking harder. I moan around his cock to encourage him to fuck my mouth with every hard thrust he’s giving me.

His hips colliding against me doesn’t bother me at all. The way his cock goes farther and farther into my mouth makes my eyes water, but his whiny moans and the thought of him cumming because of me is worth it.

I start to imagine Jason fucking my pussy. I imagine him fucking me with his deep, hard, and fast thrusts. I know he could make me scream his name and cum. I could cum right now just because of what I’m doing to him.

“Y/N...I’m-I’m gonna cum,” Jason moans and grips my hair tightly. He’s breathless. He’s whimpering because he’s going to cum hard. “Fuck...I’m gonna cum in your mouth. I wanna see my cum on your tongue.”

Just the thought of Jason cumming from me is what I want the most. I know once this is over that this can’t be the end.

It just can’t be.

Suddenly, Jason thrusts hard three times in my mouth; gasping and choking out my name as he cums hard into my mouth; spurting and coating my throat and tongue.

“Y/N...” Jason moans my name. “Fuck...”

It’s delicious. Jason gently pulls away from me as I sit up straighter on my knees and open my mouth for him.

There on my tongue. Jason’s cum. Hot and delicious, just for me.

“Fuck doll...do you like my cum? Does it taste good?” he asks, panting hard from his orgasm.

I swallow all of it. “I love it. It’s yummy.”

Jason’s eyes darken again from what I said. He growls. He immediately almost turns into a predator as he kneels down to the floor and crawls over to me.

Without any warning, Jason pushes me down onto my back. Lying down on the floor, he gets on top of me only to pull down my skirt and panties. I squeal when his hands finally settle on my hips only to hold me down.

My bare pussy is on display. Just for Jason.

 With a cocky grin, he looks into my eyes and licks his lips.

 “I want to eat your pussy.”

[hstyleshoney]

Stay With Me  - part one

AU friends with benefits but things get complicated, like they always do

word count: around 8.3K // angst, alcohol consumption, language 

A/N: Hiiiiii! So, back in September I posted a preview kinda thing to a fic I was just casually writing and now I have finally finished it! Took a while but I’ve been going through some shit but now it’s done! It’s gonna be a two part thing (I think) because it turned out way longer than I first expected, and this part is still so long, woops.  It’s the first thing I’ve written in YEARS so please be nice haha.  (Also, English is not my first language so I’m sorry if some grammar is wrong. I’ve proofread it many times but it could still be bit off in some places.)

AND please let me know if you liked it and if I should post part 2 as well. Feedback is so so so appreciated because it’s been sooooooooo long since I posted anything and I’m scared hahah anyways..!

Hope you like it!

His lips were hot against her skin when he leaned in and whispered in her ear.

“Your place or mine tonight?”

She smiled to herself and her heart skipped a beat when she felt his warm body press against her back. The music was loud around the two of them and she could hardly hear herself think, yet his voice was clear as day. She turned to look at him and was met by his familiar warm grin as he looked right back.

“What makes you think I’ll be going home with you tonight?” she teased.

He snorted and raised his eyebrows, and she had to bite down on the inside of her cheeks to stop herself from smiling too much.

“Well, love” he started and spun her around so he could place his hands on her hips. She felt her cheeks flush under his stare as he pulled her even closer to him. He smelled like beer and tequila mixed with that cologne she loved so much. Her knees weakened and he smirked. “I think we both know you are.”

He was right.

But she wasn’t going to let him have that.

“It’s awfully bold of you to assume such a thing, Mr. Styles.”

“Is it though?” He was still smirking and she felt her knees weaken even more as his tongue poked out to wet his pink lips. Her heart was beating so hard she was sure he would’ve heard it if it wasn’t for the loud music. Sweaty bodies kept bumping into the two of them on the overcrowded dance floor, which normally she couldn’t stand, but she was drunk. Very drunk and she was hungry and tired... and also in a huge need of a wee.

However, now Harry was standing in front of her.

So needless to say nothing else really mattered anymore.

His mere presence made her forget about all the people around them and suddenly her bladder didn’t seem so full after all. That’s the effect he had on her and he knew it. With his soft brown hair that curled so pretty at the tips, his smooth skin and green eyes; there was no way she wasn’t going home with him again tonight. He was the best thing she had ever laid her eyes on and he also wanted to take her home.

So who was she to say no?

“Yours then,” she replied and tried to not sound too eager. Harry squeezed her hips again as she finally confirmed they would indeed go home with one other again and pulled her even closer into him. His chest pressed against hers and she swore she could feel his heartbeat against hers.

“See that wasn’t so hard to say, was it?” She rolled her eyes as she noticed his smug grin and as much as it pained her to do; she pushed him off, pointing a finger into his chest.

“We’re stopping to buy fries on the way though... and you’re paying!”

Harry laughed and agreed, but not before adding; “I can give you something a lot better than fries once we get back.”

And well… she didn’t disagree.

-

She wasn’t entirely sure when this thing between the two of them started, or how it started even. It was just one of those things that happened one night. Harry first came into her life when her flatmate Louisa started dating his mate Tom during their first year of uni.

The first time she met him they didn’t really speak to each other. It had really just been a case of her admiring him from afar as he was approached by a handful of women at the student bar. She thought he was probably the prettiest guy she had ever laid her eyes on and thought to herself that he was just way too cool to ever notice her.

It was obvious from the start, by just watching him, that he had an aura around him that drew everyone in. People, both boys and girls, flooded around him wherever he went. He was always the center of attention and she understood why. Because not only was he the prettiest guy she had ever seen, he was also one of the nicest guys she had ever met. At first she had just assumed he’d be an arsehole because to be fair she had never really met a guy that got as much attention as him that wasn’t one.  

However, as Louias’s and Tom’s relationship grew more serious; the more all of them hung out and she started talking to him rather than just staring from afar. She got to know him and even though the two of them were quite different from each other, they still became good friends.

While she was more of a typical girly girl who enjoyed spending a little too much money on overpriced makeup palettes and listened to whatever songs were in the top list that week Harry was a little more into old school music, bringing up bands and songs she had never heard of before. He did all his shopping at different thrift shops. He wore weird shirts and painted his nails without caring what anyone else thought while she couldn’t even leave her house without checking with all her roommates at least three times if her outfit was okay. She loved scrolling through Instagram. Harry didn’t even have an account.

He was interesting, alluring and cool.

She just wasn’t any of that.

She wasn’t his type and he was simply just out of her league.

Until one night.

It was at the start of their third year at uni and they were out to celebrate their friend Jax’s birthday. To make a complicated story short, there had just been a ridiculous amount of alcohol consumed and when she told everyone she was leaving Harry stood up too and announced he’d come with her, and because everyone was so drunk, the two of them included, no one thought more about it.

They left the club together. Harry got them an Uber and when it stopped outside her house he got out as well.

Kisses were shared and clothes came off and the next day she thought she was still dreaming when Harry was right there next to her when she woke up. There was no awkwardness though as they shared a cup of tea and he made them a full English breakfast to cure their hangovers.

And then they did the same thing again next weekend and it kinda just became a thing. That was three months ago now and it was still nothing they really talked about. Which was fine; she didn’t really want to talk about it. Because what was she supposed to say? Whatever was going on between them was working and she didn’t want to complicate things.

She was fine with just waking up next to him every now and again. Especially now when the nights were getting colder it was just nice to have a warm body to snuggle up to.

It was an agreement that worked well for both of them, even if she did fancy him a little it wasn’t a full-blown crush and Harry kept calling her his friend so that’s what she also settled on calling herself. She knew she wasn’t the type of girl he usually went for and that somehow made it easier to keep her feelings for him platonic. He was too cool for her anyway.

This way she just didn’t have to swipe through tinder or chat some random guy up at the bar to get laid.

Louisa kept warning her that she was going to get her heart broken but it was just sex. Amazing sex. He made her feel like no other man ever had. Harry knew just how to work her and it made her lose her breath every single time. Her whole body was on fire anytime he touched her. She didn’t want to think about getting her heart broken.  

“What time is it?”

Harry’s raspy voice startled her out of her thoughts and his body vibrated against hers under the duvet as he chuckled at her reaction. His arm was slung over her waist loosely and she could feel his warm breath on the back of her neck, leaving goosebumps all over her skin.

“I dunno,” she whispered back and leaned into his touch a little more. The hair on his legs tickled her smoother ones and she could feel her skin sticking against his, but neither of them made any effort to move away from each other. It was still early though, that much she knew. The sun was barely shining in through the blinds in Harry’s bedroom.

“Hm,” he hummed and tightened his grip a little. “Can’t sleep?”

“Just thinking. “

“About…?”

“Nothing really.”

Harry hummed again but didn’t say anything else. They laid in silence while Harry circled his thumb over her stomach lightly. It felt like the most natural thing in the world. Just the two of them, tangled in each other’s naked bodies and the sheets. She could feel a hangover coming over her slowly. Her head felt heavy and throbbed painfully against the soft pillows. There was a glass of water on the bedside table tempting her but reaching out for it meant moving away from Harry and she was just way too comfortable to do so.

It wasn’t long until Harry’s soft snores filled the room again and his thumb stilled. She sighed deeply, sleep creeping over her too. They were friends. Friends that slept together and cuddled. Nothing else. Just friends.

… but she really could stay like this forever.

-

The next time she woke up Harry wasn’t next to her anymore and the room was a lot brighter. A weak whimper left her lips and she buried her face into the pillow; the sunlight too much for her sensitive eyes and raging headache, which only seemed to have gotten worse.

Blindly she reached out for the glass she’d spotted earlier, but instead of actually getting a hold of it it was knocked over. It landed on the floor with a soft thud and her eyes shot open at the sound. Glancing down she noticed that, thankfully, the glass hadn’t broken into a million pieces, but unfortunately there was water everywhere.

“Damn it,” she muttered and fell back, hiding her face in the pillow again. Stupid water. Stupid hangover. Stupid everything.

Her head was spinning and her body ached. This hangover was going to be rough and she cursed herself for letting Jax and Beth persuade her into taking all those shots the night before. She knew it was going to come back and bite her in the ass today. Stupid Jax. Stupid Beth. Stupid shots.

Outside the bedroom she could hear Harry roaming around in the kitchen, talking to his flatmate Isaac and every now and then he’d sing along to the music playing softly in the background. She relaxed as she listened to his voice. At least there was something good about this morning.

And it was enough to eventually get her out of bed.

She found her black underwear at the bottom of the bed and pulled them on, stepping around the water she had just spilled as she got out and made a mental note to herself to fix that mess later.

The black strap dress and oversized blazer from the night before were stern across the floor and she stared at them for a long time before deciding she wasn’t in the mood to put them back on at this time. Looking around the room she spotted something very familiar. The yellow jumper she always wore when she slept over was hung neatly over Harry’s chair by the desk, waiting for her, and she smiled to herself knowing he’d put it there for her to wear.

Always so considerate.

“Jesus, you look like absolute shit,” Isaac teased when she eventually emerged from the bedroom and into the kitchen “Wild night?”

“Fuck off,” she groaned and walked straight past him and over to the sink to pour herself a glass of water, downing it in pretty much one gulp. It spilled down her chin and onto the jumper, leaving a big wet stain, but she really couldn’t care less. Water had never tasted better.

“Ah, I’m just saying,” Isaac laughed. “You look like you got run over by a truck.”

“Feels like I was,” she admitted and slumped down on one of the chairs next to the kitchen counter. “Ugh, I’m never drinking again.”

“Ha! Yeah, I’ve heard that one before.”

The kitchen was surprisingly cold and she regretted not stealing a pair of Harry’s sweatpants before leaving his warm comfy bedroom. She let her eyes wander over to him and felt her pulse pick up. Harry was standing shirtless in the kitchen, only dressed in his regular Nike sports shorts, and she just couldn’t stop herself from staring at his tattoos and toned chest. The same chest she’d left kisses all over just hours ago and it gave her goosebumps just thinking about. He had a spatula in one of his hands and a cup of coffee in the other. As always, he was perfect and she looked like a mess. Great.

Harry smirked as he caught her staring, but didn’t say anything about it.

“Do you want some breakfast?” he asked instead.

“Please.”

A minute later he placed a plate of eggs and some toast in front of her. The smell of it made her nauseous but she also knew that if she didn’t eat anything she was going to feel a lot worse soon. She’d much rather crawl back into Harry’s bed and maybe sleep for another hour or two, preferably with him beside her.

But now she had a plate of food in front of her that Harry had made and it would be rude to at least not try to eat some. So she ate in silence while listening to Harry tell Isaac about the previous night and slowly she realized that she had a few blackouts from the night.

Shit, how much did I drink?

She really shouldn’t have taken those shots. Her mother would have lectured her for hours if she knew about the heavy party nights that sometimes occurred, having a strong belief alcohol was indeed a gift from the devil himself. Alcohol and sugar. She had lost count of the number of books her mother had given her about healthy living and mindful thinking, and she was pretty sure she was getting another one for Christmas. Harry once found her hidden stash of books she’d put in the back of her closet and begged her for one. She happily gave it to him.

Harry would probably love her mother’s rants about the dangers of alcohol and unhealthy meals she thought to herself and almost rolled her eyes. She could picture it now; Harry and her mother sharing recipes with each other that claimed your life would be twenty years longer and ganging up on her about the lack of exercise she did. What a nightmare.

Yet, she had to ignore the warm feeling in her belly at the thought of Harry getting along with her mother.

“Alright well,” Isaac announced after a while and stood up. “I gotta get to work. Fuckin’ Jake called in sick so now I gotta cover his shift at the shop.”

“Sucks mate,” Harry replied while he shoved the last piece of his toast into his mouth. “At least you’re getting some extra cash.”

“Yeah yeah, something like that,” Isaac muttered as he dropped his dirty plate into the sink. “I’ll see you guys later. Hope you feel better party girl!”

She shot him a weak smile and a nod as a thank you. Her plate of food was still half full and the cup of tea Harry had also made for her was now cold. She just couldn’t force herself to eat more. Stupid shots.

“You really do look like you got run over by a truck,” Harry chuckled when Isaac was gone and she sent him a glare. “How much did you drink? Didn’t realize you were that drunk when we left.”

“I actually have no idea. I think Jax and Beth might have poisoned me.”

“Ah,” he nodded. “That explains it.”

“Mm.“

“Can I get you anything else?”

“No, that’s okay” she told him. “Kinda just wanna go back to bed if I’m honest.”

“‘S your lucky day then,” Harry said and rose to his feet, offering his hand out to her. “Let’s go.”

She could have cried out of happiness when she finally crawled back into Harry’s comfortable bed. The sheets had never been more comforting as she pulled them up to her chin and made herself into a little cocoon. She never wanted to leave his bed ever again. “You are ridiculous.”

She peeked out at him from under the duvet and noticed him smiling down at her fondly, but his smile soon turned into a small frown. “Is that water all over the floor?”

“Oh yeah... that was me. Sorry,” she pouted.

“I repeat, you are ridiculous,” he rolled his eyes but she also knew he wasn’t upset when she noticed his little dimple.

He quickly cleaned up the mess she had created earlier and then jumped up to join her. The bed shook as he landed and she groaned as another wave of nausea washed over her. But having him next to her again made her forget all about it. He smelled so good. How did he always smell so good?

She rested her head on his shoulder as he pulled up his laptop and signed onto his Netflix account, picking the first random movie that caught his interest.

And that’s how the two of them spent the next few hours. Just laying in bed together watching random movies on Netflix with her dozing in and out of sleep for most of the time. Harry kept running his fingers through her hair, gently scratching the top of her head and it was probably the most soothing thing she had ever experienced.

Eventually, she started feeling better but made no effort to move or get up.

Not until he did.

“I’m gonna take a shower quickly,” he announced as the third movie finished. She followed him with her gaze as he got up and pulled out a pair of fresh boxers out of his drawer. Her heart beat a little extra. “You can watch something else if you want.”

“Thanks. Are you doing something later or?” she asked casually and pulled his computer onto her lap.

“Yeah, uh, I forgot I have a date actually.”

She’s pretty sure she forgot how to breathe then.

A date.

Harry had a date.

“Oh... “ is all she managed to say. Her mouth felt as dry as it did when she woke up earlier that morning and she racked her brain for something else to say. Unfortunately there was nothing. Harry stopped and looked at her.

“Is - I mean...  um, is that okay?”

“What?”

She felt stupid. So utterly stupid but she just couldn’t find the words to speak. She felt weird, even though she knew he was technically only her friend and she knew they were not even close to being exclusive. But Harry was going on a date. Like a proper date. Not just hooking up after a night out. A date. With someone else.

“Are you okay with me going on a date... ?” he asked slowly, inspecting her closely and that’s when she realized she needed to say something fast.

“Yeah, no, of course!” she tried to laugh but it was more of a strange cackle coming out of her mouth rather than a laugh. Harry eyed her for another minute and she sat up. Her palms were sweaty and her cheeks hot. She felt like a bigger mess now than she had all morning. “Harry, we’re friends. Why would I care if you go on a date?”

Harry looked at her a bit startled.

“Well, because we-”

“I’m fine,” she interrupted before he could finish and cursed herself yet again for being so fucking weird. They were friends. She had no reason to not be okay with it. She knew she wasn’t his type. Of course he was going on a date with someone else. She knew this and she needed to get herself together before he wanted to talk about something related to the two of them and make things complicated. The thing between them wasn’t something they ever talked about and she refused to start doing it now. “I’m excited for you even,” she shot him the biggest fake smile she could muster. “Who is she?”

What a stupid question.

“Uh, a friend of Matt’s or something like that,” he shrugged, but he looked at her with uncertainty written all across his face; almost like he didn’t believe a single word she was saying.  “I don’t know really. He set us up.”

“Cool.”

“Cool... ?”

Suddenly she doesn’t want to be in his bed anymore. For the very first time, she felt awkward sitting in front of him.

“Yeah, cool.”

“Oookay.”

Silence.

It’s uncomfortable and she knew she messed this up. Both of them were frozen in place and she had to look away from him before it was all too much. She was so aware of how her cheeks had turned into a deep color of red and she felt nauseous, only this time she knew it was not from the alcohol.

“I’m just,” Harry coughed in an attempt to break the heavy tension and she wanted nothing more than to disappear.  “I’m gonna go take that shower.” He pointed awkwardly towards the door.

“Yeah, uh,” she said and tried her absolute hardest to get herself back together. To act normal. “I’m going to head home anyways I think.”

“No, you don’t-”

“It’s okay,” she interrupted him again. “Beth wanted to have pizza night and I should stop being such a lazy ass anyways. I have some studying to do before my lecture tomorrow too, soo... yeah, gonna head home.”

Harry looked at her for a moment, scanning her face after any other sign that something was wrong, but she managed to keep it together and he nodded.

“Alright, well I’ll see you around yeah?”

“Of course.”

When he left the room she let out a breath she’d been holding ever since Harry first mentioned the word ‘date’. She also realized she did not like the way she just reacted and that maybe, very possibly, Lou might have been right.

She was fucked.

-

For the next few days she couldn’t stop thinking about Harry and his date. She wished she could go back in time and take back everything she said; wished she would have reacted differently. It was hard to think about anything else and all she wanted to do was to go and see him and ask him all about it. How did it go? Was she nice? What did they do? Was he going to see her again? Did they kiss?

And if she hadn’t been so embarrassed about her behaviour she probably would've done so, but she had no explanation as to why she’d been so weird and she was too scared to go deeper into her own feelings and find one. So as much as she wanted to see him she was also extremely terrified to do so.

But it was really eating her up.

She couldn’t focus on anything else.

And it was strange.

Before all this, she was sure of her feelings towards Harry. Sure he was attractive, he was nice and he made her laugh, but she thought she’d managed to keep it platonic. Now she just felt weird. Everything about their arrangement felt weird, and she didn’t know what to do. Deep down she knew there wasn’t much she could actually do about it. He went on a date and she was his friend. Friends with benefits. They weren’t anything exclusive. He hadn’t done anything wrong. She told him so herself.

Still, something felt wrong.

On Thursday night their whole gang made plans to meet up for their regular quiz night down at the pub and she stood in front of her mirror for an hour, preparing herself to see him again. She changed her outfit five times and rehearsed what to say when she saw him over and over again.

Only for him to not show up.

So instead of being squished into his side all night, she was stuck between Jax and Louisa and she found herself missing him. She didn’t even have to ask to know he was on another date, yet when Isaac confirmed it later she felt her heart drop down to her stomach.

Louisa glanced over at her when Isaac told them and she forced a smile, not ready to let anyone know about the weird feeling in her chest. Louisa also tried to bring it up on their way home, but she brushed it off with the same thing she always did.

“We’re just friends.”

But once she was home in bed it was harder to act like nothing was troubling her. Harry was out on another date and it shouldn’t be bothering her but it did. It bothered her a lot. He should’ve been right there with her, laughing along at their friends' jokes all night and then suggest coming back home with her.

Now he just wasn't and it felt wrong. It was only three months ago that he came home with her for the first time but somehow it wasn’t until now she realized that she may have gotten a little too used to it.

It was so stupid the whole thing. Like ridiculously so.

She knew from the first night that she would never be more than a few drunken nights to him. That his touch wasn’t hers to keep. It belonged to someone else. So why did it feel so weird now?

On Friday night, Beth invited a few people over from uni to their place for a game night and some wine. She joined them but decided to stay away from the wine. They played monopoly for most of the evening while gossiping about everyone they knew. It was nice. It was fun. She won at monopoly. But most importantly it helped her to not worry about what Harry was doing or who he was seeing. It felt like her brain got a long awaited break from everything and she slept better that night than she had all week.

It was on Saturday it all came crashing down.

They were all going out. The whole gang. As always everyone had shown up for pre-drinks at the house she shared with Louisa, Beth and Aliyah as it was the biggest one. Jax had as usual brought along a bottle of Fireball that he forced everyone take a shot out of. Beth refused to let anyone else control the music. Tom and Louisa were loved up on the sofa together. Isaac was in the kitchen mixing drinks for everyone while Aliyah complained about Beth’s choice of music. All in all it was a pretty typical Saturday night and it was all going well.

Until Harry showed up. With a girl.

She almost dropped her drink when she saw them and everyone in the room turned to look at her when they entered. Once again she had to force a smile to assure them she didn't care and more than ever before she tried to ignore the way her heart sank inside her chest.

And for some very odd reason; she was the first to stand up and greet Harry’s new lady friend. Maybe because everyone was looking at her and it felt like they were just waiting for her to start crying in front of everyone. She didn’t want their pity so she stood and shook this new girl’s hand, acting like everything was completely fine.

“Cleo,” the girl introduced herself with a cheery smile.

And that was about it.

After that she didn’t really talk to her anymore. That’s something she left for the rest of the group to do.

It was hard to concentrate on anything else for the rest of the evening and despite promising herself to not take a shot from Jax’s bottle of Fireball; she had three. The alcohol was warm as it made its way down her throat and she noticed Louisa watching her with worried eyes.

And Harry? She couldn’t even look at him. He tried to talk to her and start a conversation at one point but it felt like her brain was about to explode from anxiety so she quickly excused herself and hid in the bathroom for a good twenty minutes.

She tried her very best to be engaged in the conversations around her and she tried so hard to have a good time. Just like she had the night before. But with Harry right there with Cleo it was fucking impossible and she felt like a green little goblin watching the new pair.

Cleo was pretty much everything she expected her to be and more. She just couldn’t stop staring at them. Harry had a hand on her thigh and she was so polite to everyone. Just like him. She had tasteful tattoos all over and it was almost like the two of them had coordinated their outfits before coming over. Both dressed in checkered prints and matching colors of pink and red. She felt so stupid in her boring and basic black jumpsuit and her dull eye make-up.

Cleo was so effortlessly pretty and she just wasn’t.

It was a slap in the face just how right they looked together.

And it just got worse when they arrived at the club because under the flashing lights on the dance floor she saw how Harry leaned in and kissed Cleo. One of his hands was low on her back while the other caressed her face. Everything was spinning as she watched them kiss she knew it was not only because of the alcohol in her veins.

It hit her hard. Because a small, a very small, and naive part of her thought that maybe he’d still want to go home with her and not Cleo. But as she watched him kiss Cleo the way he used to kiss her ruined all hope she had ridiculously built up.

And maybe it wasn’t the kiss itself that hurt so much but more the fact that Harry was now with someone else and it was real. It was so bloody real.  Just last week it was her and now he was kissing Cleo and had barely looked in her direction all night. And even though he technically hadn’t done anything wrong it still hurt and she was angry. Angry with him for kissing someone else, but mostly at herself for still wanting him. For wanting to walk right up and pull him away and take him home. She still wanted him despite everything, but she couldn’t have him.

So instead she had some tequila.

Except, tequila probably wasn’t the best company because in the wee hours of the night she regretted every single shot she had taken. The alcohol in her body made her stomach turn heavily and it was a miracle she even made it into a bathroom stall before it all came back up. Someone on the other side of the stall asked if she was okay but she could barely hear them over the loud buzzing in her ears and her own gagging.

It took her several minutes before she found the strength to get back up on her feet, brushing away the dirt from her jumpsuit, trying desperately not to think about all the germs she had most likely caught from resting so long against a public toilet seat.

As she exited the stall another girl looked over and she didn’t even try to pretend like she hadn’t just been throwing her guts up minutes ago. Instead, she splashed some cold water on her face and took a steady grip of the sink to keep herself standing up.

Fuck.

When she stumbled out of the bathroom a while later she had to lean against the walls to not fall over. The dim lighting in the club made it even harder for her to see where she was going and she kept bumping into bodies as she eventually made her way through the crowd.

Then all of a sudden someone grabbed her by the shoulders.

“Heeeey, party-girl, are you okay?”

The buzzing was still loud in her ears and her vision was blurry, but she still somehow managed to recognize the voice and the striking blonde hair. Isaac. As soon as she knew it wasn’t a complete stranger that had grabbed her she fell into him without a warning and he stumbled a little as he tried to catch her body. “Woah, steady on.”

She tried to talk to him. Tried to explain how she got to this point but no coherent words were coming out of her mouth and she had to use his whole body for support. He wrapped an arm around her and hoisted her up a little before taking a hold of her chin so he could get a good look of her face. She could tell that he was talking to her, his mouth was moving, but she had no idea what he was actually saying. It was too loud and she was too drunk. The club atmosphere made her stomach turn once more and all she wanted to do was to get out of there before she was sick all over again.

And somehow she managed to communicate that to Isaac.

The air was cool and refreshing when they finally made it out of the club and she was clinging onto Isaac as if her life depended on him. He had a strong arm wrapped around her as he pulled out his phone with his other hand to get an Uber. As they waited for it to show up Isaac slowly guided her over and sat her down on the curb next to the road. He crouched down in front of her and took a hold of her chin again. That’s when the first tears fell. She didn’t even try to hide it, once again too drunk and too sad to care if Isaac saw that she was crying.  His eyes widened as he noticed.

“Heey, noooo, no, don’t cry. What’s wrong?”

She didn’t know what to tell him. Everything was spinning too much to be able to think of what to say. The alcohol and emotions had taken over all of her senses and it was all just too much. There was only one explanation for her behavior tonight after all and how would she even begin to explain it to him? She had no idea. So all she said was

“Cleo.”

Isaac didn’t say anything in response but she was pretty sure he knew exactly what it meant when he reached out and squeezed her shoulder. Nothing more was said as they waited for the Uber to show up and the last thing she remembered was crying about not having the key for her house.

-

The next morning was arguably the worst morning of her life, which seemed quite fitting as she’d had the worst evening of her life the previous night. Most of the morning was spent on the cold tiles of the bathroom floor, head first down the toilet, regretting every single decision from last night.

This time though it was all her own fault. There was no one else to blame for all the shots she downed but herself.

It was embarrassing. So so embarrassing how drunk she got and how much Isaac had to take care of her. He had brought her back to his and Harry’s shared flat after they couldn’t find her key and realized she was locked out from her own home. She cried her eyes out in the Uber while Isaac tried to comfort her and when they got out she almost got vomit all over his new sneakers.

However, Isaac was nice about it all. He didn’t say anything and just helped her inside, put her down on the sofa, made sure she drank some water and covered her with a blanket. She couldn’t remember exactly what she told him but she knew she had talked about Harry and it was killing her.

But Isaac continued to be nice and he didn’t bring it up when he wandered in and said good morning.

“Y’alright?”

“I feel like death,” she confessed and her throat hurt a little from being sick all last night and earlier that morning.  Isaac chuckled lightly.

“Yeah, I can imagine.”

She bit the bottom of her lip and struggled to look at him where he sat on the armchair opposite the sofa she was spread out over. She had known him for as long as she had known Harry, but she had never actually been alone with him in a room and now when she was sober she felt so stupid, and also so incredibly self-conscious because she knew her make-up from last night was smudged all over her face and she had vomit on her jumpsuit and all over her hair. It was the lowest she’d ever been.

“So um,” she grumbled. “Thanks for last night, eh... yeah, I don’t know. I’m sorry for being a mess.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Isaac waved it off and smiled at her. “We’ve all been there.”

“Yeah, well, thank you anyway.” She still couldn’t look at him as she spoke. Because he knew. He knew her feelings for Harry had changed and she didn’t know how to act now.

“So much for never drinking again huh?” he joked lightly to ease the mood and she forced a laugh.

“Yeah, didn’t stick to that one, did I?”

Silence fell between them after that, but in some ways, it was a comfortable one. Isaac sat in his chair and scrolled through his phone as he drank his morning coffee while she just laid on the sofa and tried to collect her mind and emotions. He offered to make breakfast but there was just no way she was going to be able to stomach it. Water was pretty much all that her stomach allowed and she was barely holding onto that. It was early still and she could tell it was raining heavily outside as the raindrops drummed heavily against the windows. It was comfortable though. Pleasant even.

And then, out of nowhere, Cleo emerged from Harry’s bedroom and all the emotions from last night washed over her like a tsunami.

Plus, it felt like someone was playing a practical joke on her when she saw that Cleo was wearing Harry’s shirt from the night before.

“Good morning!” Cleo was as cheery as she was last night and looked even better. Issac nodded and greeted Cleo politely. To make things worse Cleo sat down in the other armchair and started a conversation. Time stopped as she watched Cleo and Isaac talk and it felt like someone suffocated her with one of the pillows. “Did you guys have a good night then?”

She couldn’t take her eyes off Cleo, who looked perfect even after a night out. Her hair was still flawless and her skin looked like it was glowing. It wasn’t ideal for anyone to see or be next to Cleo when they woke up after a chaotic night out and they themselves were covered in vomit. It honestly made her more nauseous than her hangover had all morning and she’d probably never felt as ugly as she did in that moment laying next to Cleo.

“It was decent, yeah,” Isaac said and then looked at her. His eyes filled with pity and she hated it. She hated it so much. “You?”

“It was super fun,” Cleo answered with a big smile. “Harry and I got in sooooo late though. We stopped to get some food down at that kebab place around the corner before we got in and I swear to God it was the best food I’ve had in my life! Thanks for letting me come out with you guys.”

And just like that, it was all too much. There was just no way she could sit there and talk to the girl who was dating the boy she had come to realize she liked more than just a friend. There was a lot she could do and put up with, but that wasn’t one of those things.

“Um, excuse me,” she mumbled as she got up from the sofa. Isaac called out her name but she ignored it. Her whole body ached and her head felt heavy. She had no idea how she was actually going to make it home in this state but she’d try her damn hardest, even if she was sick along the way it would be better than staying here.

Then she heard her name being called again.  

This time however it was from someone else.

Someone whose voice she’d recognize anywhere.

Harry.

“What are you doing here?” He looked at her with furrowed brows, clearly not expecting to see her.

“Oh, eh, hey,” she managed to croak out and fought back the urge to be sick all over again. “I came back with Isaac last night.”

“You uh, you came back with Isaac?” Harry asked slowly, his eyes never leaving her as a small line formed between his brows. He opened his mouth to say something else, but closed it just as fast. The silence that fell between them then was defeating.

“I mean, I wasn’t feeling very well so he helped me out a little.”

“Oh, okay,” he nodded and the corner of his mouth twisted into a small smile, but then it faltered just as fast. “Did something happen? Are you okay?”

“I’m okay.”  She knew she was being short with him and the look he gave her burned into her skin, but with tears threatening to fall at any moment it was a conversation she really didn’t want to have. Not with him. Not right now. “Look, Harry, I gotta go.”

“What?” he said and pushed himself off the door frame he leaned against, and as he came closer she took a step back. “You’re more than welcome to stay. It’s so early still and by the sounds of it it’s bucketing down outside. Stay for some breakfast. I was gonna make some pancakes.”

“I have to go.”

“Wait,” he called after her when she turned her back to him and got ready to leave. “Hey, wait a minute!”

She didn’t really care at that point though. Whatever thing she and Harry had was already gone and there was nothing that could make things worse than what they were now. She just wanted to get out and get as far away from him as fast as possible.

So she left without saying another word to Harry despite him calling her name.

- “Harry’s a fucking prick anyways,” Aliyah began and threw her hands up dramatically. “Like, is he just going to sleep with you one week and then replace you next week? No, fuck that. You deserve better.”

“He did tell me about it though,” she noted with a small sniffle and curled up further under her blanket. “I mean, he did tell me he was going on a date so it’s not like he lied or I don’t know... went behind my back.”

“Yeah, well, he’s still a prick,” Aliyah grumbled and slumped back against the sofa, arms crossed over her chest.

“Besides, we’re just friends, you know... ”

“You’re clearly more than just friends though,” Louisa added carefully with knowing eyes. “Like, I hate to break it to you but it’s pretty obvious you like him.”

“I... “ she trailed off not knowing how to respond to that. Because she knew she couldn’t keep denying it anymore. Not after showing up at her own house, drenched from the rain with red puffy eyes in last night’s clothes and without a key. No matter how scary it was to admit what she had buried inside her heart for so long it was impossible to deny it any longer. “Yeah. I do. I do like him.”

She let out a huge breath as she finally admitted it. It was strange, but also so right. The feelings she had for Harry was something she had buried inside for so long and it was freeing almost to now admit it out loud in front of her best friends.

“Maybe you should tell him that?” Beth suggested.

She almost laughed.

“That’s definitely not happening,” she shut down the suggestion straight away. There was no way she was telling him how she felt. Especially not now. “He obviously doesn't like me back, and besides he has Cleo now, and you know.. he’s like actually dating her and stuff so…”

“So what?” Beth cut in. “He might like you too. I’ve seen the way he looks at you.”

“Me?” she scoffed. “Yeah, I highly doubt that.”

Beth shrugged.

“I don’t know. I think he might do.”

“Yeah, well, it doesn’t matter anymore does it? He has Cleo now.”

“You won’t know unless you ask,” Louisa pointed out with a small twinkle in her eyes. Before she had the chance to object to the faulty statement the sound of the doorbell ringing echoed through the house.

“That’s probably the food,” Beth announced and stood up swiftly. “I’ll go get it.”

She gave Beth a small smile and wiped her wet cheeks with the ends of her blanket. As soon as she had left Harry’s flat earlier that morning she broke down in tears and called Louisa who offered to come to pick her up straight away but she declined, needing some time for herself before facing anyone.

But after showing up a mess, drenched from the rain in last night’s clothes after walking all the way home it was clear that she needed all her friends today. So Aliyah ran her a bath while Beth ordered food and Louisa went out for snacks and her favorite drink.

And she couldn’t be more grateful.

“Uhm,” Beth popped her head back in the living room and it was obvious by the look on Beth’s face that something was off. “It’s Harry.”

“W-what?”

For a moment she thought that maybe Beth was just taking the piss but judging by the confusion spreading across the room she quickly realized that wasn’t the case. “I don’t want to talk to him.”

“You sure?” Louisa asked. “This might be the perfect opportunity to talk things through.”

“No,” she shook her head quickly. “I can’t. Not now.”

“I’ll go talk to him!” Aliyah announced with fire in her eyes and leaped off the sofa in one go, only to have Beth stop her in the doorway.

“I think maybe I should talk to him,” she offered and looked at Aliyah with both her eyebrows raised knowingly. Aliyah only mumbled something under her breath but accepted Beth’s proposal and returned to her spot on the sofa without a fuss.

“You okay?” Louisa asked when Beth disappeared again to go talk to the boy who had her heart aching so badly. Louisa reached out to squeeze her knee gently when she didn’t respond. She just didn't know what to say; because she wasn’t okay. She was very much far from okay today.

Tears welled up in her eyes for the hundredth time and she shook her head and attempted to blink her tears away. She didn’t want to cry anymore. Louisa sighed and pulled her closer and wrapped her arms around her in a long hug. It was embarrassing really how much she had cried all day but she just couldn't stop. Never in a million years did she think she’d ever get so upset over a guy.

But it was Harry.

Harry who left jumpers out for her to wear after she stayed at his flat. Harry who made her breakfast in the morning and knew exactly how she liked her tea. Harry who made her laugh until she couldn’t breathe anymore. Harry who rubbed her back after a night out. Harry who let her steal all of the duvet in her sleep even though he was cold too. Harry who texted her stupid jokes just because he knew she liked them. Harry who also texted her cute pictures of puppies because she loved dogs. Harry who made her feel like no man ever had.

Harry who was now with Cleo.

Cleo who was absolutely perfect for him. Cleo who probably went thrift shopping with him and helped him find silly shirts with crazy prints and knew about all the bands he always talked about.

Cleo who was just so much better than her.

-

Harry Styles 8:27 AM Heeeyyy are you mad at me?

Harry Styles 10:12 AM Hello?

Harry Styles 10:46 AM Ok so mad then? will you pls talk to me? don’t like the way you stormed off earlier :/

Harry Styles 12:01 PM Hellloooooooo? pls talk to me

Harry Styles 12:30 PM Isaac told me you were quite upset last night... did something happen?  

Harry Styles 12:56 PM You’re making me a bit worried, did you make it home okay?

Harry Styles 1:15 PM I tried calling a few times but it’s not really coming through.. Are you okay?

Harry Styles 2:49 PM I'm coming over

Harry Styles 4:37 PM Beth said you weren’t feeling so well,  I hope you feel better soon, make sure you drink loads of water! .xx

Harry Styles 11:26 PM Ok sooo, i dunno whats going on. i dunno if Beth lied to me today or not... i just hope you're okay. you know you can talk to me if something is bothering you right?

Goodnight .xxx

-

PART 2 ♡

Let me know your thoughts. Thank you for reading! <3 

[remys-lucky-franc]

I’m Bringing Sexy Back (To Regency England) - Immortal Heart Society

So this happened because I referred to new series IHS’s baddie Lord Montague as ‘Lord Timberlake’ due to the coiffuring similarities and it made @aquagirl1978 LOL and she made me this:

See how alike they look though?! I’m not crazy.

Literally no one in the world wants this fic, and it’s just stupid, but I had a giggle writing it, so 😆 Also, I genuinely know nothing about JT, if any of you are superfans and I’m way off, it’s just a bit of fun, no ill intent or offence meant 💕

Also it’s just in time for all the good old memes... (At the end if anyone needs a ref point)

Word Count ~3500 (yeah, I’ve gone off)

[MORE] [[MORE]]

In the grandiose but soulless marble bathroom of the Boston penthouse, Justin squeezed his eyes tight-shut, splashing his face with frigid water. He inhaled sharply as the moisture hit his skin, opening his eyes and staring intently at the reflection mirrored back at him. It had been quite a night so far. He’d been courted by ‘The Society’ for a couple of months now and on receiving their latest invite, he had finally acquiesced. Over the course of the evening he’d exchanged pleasantries and mingled with a fusion of intriguing individuals - all very different, very separate people, but all who clearly had gotten the memo: convince him to join. Justin suspected before he arrived, from the exclusive address on the invite alone, the sort of members The Society would have on its roster and he wasn’t surprised - even if most of them were no more than masked silhouettes. Initially when he had exited the elevator and caught sight of all those shaded faces, Justin’s heart stuttered: had he inadvertently accepted an invite to some sort of sexy party? How would he explain this one? ‘Hey Honey - funny story...’ But it didn’t take long to deduce that the disguises were all part of the prestige and served as identity protection rather than a conduit to anyone having any real sort of fun.

The mixer itself had been entertaining enough, but the hushed secrets shared in the drawing room were what had piqued his interested and saw him hiding in the restroom searching his own soul for answers. He’d been trading anecdotes with a handful of members before he was interrupter by a well dressed blonde and ushered through a side door, where he was greeted with a firm handshake by one of the top men within the society (apparently), Richard - Something. Initially Justin had smiled but internally rolled his eyes as he considered how these shady types only ever give out their first names - and how that felt particularly unfair when everyone here knew fine well what his surname was... Richard was perfectly charming and charismatic - in the same faux-caring, calculating way politicians are as they try to snare floating voters. His smile was bright and his words were warm, but his eyes were a stark contrast. The Society’s hoi-polloi were obviously deemed to have played their part in warming him up and now Richard was here to give him the hard-sell: and sell he did.

And at first, it sounded relatively normal. At first. Until Richard started with tall tales of how society members held all of the power in the world through power stones. Initially Justin got to his feet and scoffed - weren’t crystals just for spa days and hippies? This had to be a set up. He scanned the room looking for any clue of a hidden camera, Ashton Kutcher’s sneakers showing from behind a curtain perhaps - but nothing. It all sounded truly ridiculous, but as Richard stood, laying a firm hand on Justin’s shoulder, directing him towards a plush chair, pouring him two fingers of whisky, something held him; fascinated him. Stopped him from barging straight out of the room. Justin observed in silence as Richard thumbed through various documents, showing him photographs, pulling up search data online... Explaining. Convincing. Persuading. Justin didn’t trust the suave smarmy suit as far as he could throw him, but the more Richard divulged of the spiderweb of societal involvement in major global events and current affairs, the more sense it made... And in spite of himself, Justin started to succumb to this strange reality. Every word out of Clever Dick’s mouth was revelational, peeling away one layer after another, after another, until Justin’s mind was blown; his brain hurt the same way it did the first time he watched Inception. He couldn’t bend his mind around why Richard was telling him all this, or why a collective more powerful than The Walt Disney Company would want a musician to join their ranks? Richard shrugged coolly as he continued to play for Justin’s buy in, simply smiling and saying that, as a big pop star, it would be quid pro quo - a very mutually beneficial arrangement. The society had access to the best labels, the best A&R departments, they could get Justin as much airplay, fame and publicity as he wanted.

Justin couldn’t deny it sounded appealing - but what did they want in return? So far it was all ‘quid’ and no ‘quo’. He had to ask. Even the easy, practiced grin on Richard’s face couldn’t offset the glint of ice in his dark eyes and menace in his voice that chilled Justin’s blood.

“Justin, come! Everyone knows that music is what shapes the youth of today! The influence wielded by artists, the loyalty inspired by them, their marketability, it’s simply insurmountable! Think about it, dear boy? If The Society control the music, they control the populace.”

Justin cleared his throat as he sized himself up, readjusting his skinny black tie and squaring his shoulders. Richard must be insane. The Society’s logic was fatally flawed: they couldn’t seriously think that it was possible control the entire world’s population through having a singer in their ranks? It was infeasible. Impossible. But what they were offering him in exchange? Now, that was a very attractive proposition indeed. If he agreed to join, and got all of that out of it, it would be worth it? The Society would surely realise at some point that they couldn’t rule the world through the power of song? Yes, the power of a one-line harmony had already been proven by McDonald’s to sell a shit-tonne of burgers - and while it was a pretty convincing argument, selling fast-food to hungry people was one thing - but full-scale global domination?? That was something else entirely. But if he could ride along on their coat-tails and reap all the benefits until they realised just how crazy that idea had been in the first place...

—- two years later —-

Cash carded his hand through his dark hair, exasperated as he listened to Alana’s latest report, “You all understand that Timberlake is completely out of control, yes?”

Emilio grunted flatly as his head fell into his crossed arms on the table like a five year old ready to play heads-down-thumbs-up, “Yeeeeees.”

Cash bristled further as he looked to Rafe and Kiran for their input, both simply nodding back at him as though to say, ‘yes, we know.’

Alana looked down at her phone, worrying her full bottom lip between her teeth, “It’s worse than you think though, Cash.”

He was instantly on his feet staring at her, Rafe and Kiran leaned forward and Emilio raised one weary brow from his slumped pose, concern evident on all their faces.

Kiran was first to speak, “Alana how can it be worse? Richard’s vanished off the face of the earth. Justin’s last billboard count had him go multi-platinum - again, and his lyrics are becoming...”

Rafe offered flatly, “Odd.” He stood, cracked his neck from side to side and headed towards the small stove, absentmindedly filling a saucepan with water and a packet of instant noodles.

Cash shook his head at Rafe then turned back to glower at the rest of the Inner Circle, “Thank you all for the recap. It’s bleak, we know. Alana?”

Green eyes fixed the room as Alana cleared her throat and mouthed, “One hundred and ninety-four.”

Dumbfounded silence filled the room; jaws hung slack. Until Kiran broke the spell, a spluttering cough turning into an uncomfortable laugh, “One hundred and ninety-four what? Because I know you definitely can’t mean stones. We know the exactly location of over fifty percent of them? They’re safe?”

Rafe, back at the table with his ramen by now, paled as Alana shook her head at a loss for words, red curls bouncing around her shoulders, “How is that possible?”

Alana threw her hands in the air, confessing “I honestly don’t know. But he has ones that we knew the location of, and more besides.”

Cash paced the room, clearly agitated as he cursed and barked,

“That’s every stone in existence, except ours and one other.”

Alana puffed out her cheeks before huffing out the breath sharply, “Correct. He has the lot, excepts ours - and the Garnet.”

Emilio’s hand slid under his shirt, a double-check to be sure his Alexandrite remained firmly on the chain hidden beneath the dark fabric, fiddling with it like a child with a comfort blanket as he spoke, “I- I just don’t understand. How? How did he get so many without us knowing?”

Rafe shrugged as he shovelled a spoonful of noodles into his mouth and chewed thoroughly before answering, “Richard’s protege. His pet project. Nothing surprises me when he’s involved. Everything he touches gets tarnished.”

Alana sighed sadly, “Justin seemed like such a sweet guy when he first joined. I really liked him. I thought he could have been part of our Inner Circle someday.”

Rafe shot her a rueful smile before looking down into the noodles, “Same. He changed. Fast.” Coiling his fork in a thick helping, he swung them into his mouth without ceremony.

Cash pinched the bridge of his nose, stopping pacing for long enough to stare and snap at Rafe,

“What is it with you and those blasted ramen noodles??”

Rafe shook his head silently as though to say, ‘I don’t know’: he wasn’t entirely sure why, but every time someone mentioned Timberlake, he couldn’t stop himself from carb-loading. All he wanted a big bowl of ramen in his belly and he couldn’t think about anything else until he was full of noodley-goodness. He’d eaten more instant ramen in the past couple of years than he did during college, and that was saying something.

Kiran cut through the atmosphere between the two men, venturing, “So how are we going to shut him down?”

—-

Richard had been missing for months, and although all trails had gone cold and no one was one hundred percent clear on what had happened to him, there was very strong suspicion within the group of five that Justin had something to do with it. How else had he managed to acquire almost every power stone in existence? He must have dispensed of Richard and taken them for himself - there really didn’t seem, to be any other explanation. The Inner Circle had been aware that Richard was hoarding stones, but his haul had escalated significantly and quickly with Justin by his side - at the Circle’s last count maybe six to eight months ago, Richard only had sixty-five stones in his custody. The dirty duo had been busy.

Emilio shuddered solemnly as he thought about what must have happened to the rightful owners of those stones. He was at the tower with the Inner Circle, minus Cash. Cash would arrive soon, bringing Justin to the table with him. Creating a rouse of support, and then double-crossing him to recover the power stones had been deemed the only feasible plan. Emilio watched the rest of the group: Rafe stirring at a saucepan at the small kitchen set up, Kiran flipping aimlessly though a fashion magazine and Alana tapping at her cellphone. They were all feeling nervous about this, the stakes had never been so high. He scrubbed his brow as he ran through the various scenarios of what could possibly happen with Cash and Justin arrived.

He didn’t have long to wait as the door opened and laughter reverberated around the room. Cash was manoeuvring Timberlake expertly, and Justin seemed to be lapping up everything he said. A round of smiles and handshakes later everyone sat around the table, eyes expectantly on Cash.

“Justin, firstly, thank you for joining the group here today. As you know, with Richard... Let’s say, elsewhere. I’ve been standing in as the ‘interim leader’. And I’ll be frank, Justin, I always thought it would be for me, but it’s not. And it takes a lot for me to admit that. I can do the decision-making, the negotiations, but what I cannot abide is dealing with attitudes and egos all day long.”

Rafe chortled, “He thinks he should be the only one allowed an attitude and an ego!”

Justin grinned and visibly relaxed within the larger group.

Clearing his throat irately, Cash gestured towards Rafe, “Exactly what I’m talking about. Justin, my calling doesn’t lie in leading The Society. I am more interested in having a less ’public facing position’ shall we say, where I can really put my true talents to use. And that’s why I invited you to sit with us today, Justin.’

Timberlake nodded enthusiastically, “ I see.”

Cash stood, wearing a trail in the carpet as he walked back and forth,

“What are your goals, Justin? We understand you must be distraught about Richard’s disappearance, you two seemed close. Do you have aspirations for The Society’s Leadership? We’ve been observing you for some time, and feel that we could all benefit each other within this little group, everyone here wants to progress and wants ‘more’. And we feel like you may have some ideas that could help us all to achieve just that.”

Justin leaned back in his chair observing the group sat around the table. Of course he knew what his goals were. He’d never really considered leadership of The Society until recently - his mind had been consumed with his plan for ultimate pop domination over the past two years. And he’d progressed so far that it was within his grasp - and that was when he and Richard had begun to clash. Badly. Richard’s vision was so- So limited. He couldn’t see Justin’s potential past being a Society tool used to control the public. Justin knew his worth, he was more than a tool for Richard to implement as he saw fit. He felt the anger bubble inside him as he recalled the final fight with Richard. They could have controlled the entire world together: why couldn’t Richard have seen that? Why couldn’t he have got on board with Justin’s plans? As he sized up the twelve eyes watching him, he thought about the dozens of power stones locked securely in the safe in his apartment: these people could see his strength. His power. His star ascending. He leaned forward, his decision made,

“I have acquired many power stones and my plan is, to use our time-travelling abilities to go back in time and wipe other pop stars from existence, so that I am the single biggest pop star in the world today. Then with my influence, The Society will control everything. We, friends, will control the world.”

Alana and Kiran eyeballed each other as the men nodded at Justin.

Kiran interjected,

“There’s no doubt that The Society would benefit from that sort of influence, but what about all of the damage that would be done to culture and humanity without artists?”

Justin looked confused as he stared at her, “But they’d still have me?”

Kiran chewed the statement over before asking, “And who are you going after? Are we talking about Elvis? The Beatles? Frank Sinatra?”

Justin waved a hand as though he’d practiced this very conversation in the mirror a hundred times, “No, no. Only today’s artists. I can’t disrupt anyone who directly or indirectly influenced my career. Butterfly Effect and all.”

The Inner Circle nodded sagely as Justin continued, “And when my plan is complete, who, I ask you, will be the biggest pop star in the world??”

Alana glanced up grimacing, “I don’t know Justin, I mean Lady Gaga is pretty huge? Iconic, even.”

Emilio shook his head, “Right now, Ariana Grande’s the biggest artist in the world, I read it somewhere.”

Justin fixed them both with an affronted stare, “But think about it, if none of them ever existed... Then who would be the biggest pop star in the world?”

Alana and Emilio exchanged a world-weary glance as Justin cackled, “Guess what? It’s gonna be me.”

Rafe scrunched his nose, confused, speaking through a mouthful of ramen, “May? What? Are the Emmy’s not always in September?”

Cash shotshim a withering glance before grinning at Justin, “You’ve thought a lot about his haven’t you?”

Justin, visibly flattered, shrugged off Cash’s praise, “Just a little.”

Cash leaned towards Justin conspiratorially, “So tell us, what more do you need to make your dreams a reality, and how could we, as a group, facilitate that?”

—-

Over the next few weeks the Inner Circle had planned for two consecutive missions. One intricate scheme with Justin, that involved him travelling back over two hundred years to Regency England to secure the Garnet power stone from a Lady Foxworthy. And their own private secondary mission that involved luring Justin back to Regency England where there was no power stone to be found.

When the day to venture back in time arrived, Justin paraded around the tower preening in the mirror at his era-appropriate garb. Kiran had stitched it to perfection, a beautifully embroidered waistcoat over his cravat, fitted cream pants and a midnight blue, velvet long-tailed coat that really made his eyes pop. Rafe let out a low whistle, winking at Justin’s reflection in the mirror, “Looking sharp! Nice work Kiran.” This look was a definitely a step up from double denim!

Kiran moved around Justin turning him, dusting down his shoulders, “Oh hold up, you have a thread. Let me just get that for you. Can’t have you looking less than perfect!” She reached for her scissors and touched the back of his jacket whilst swiftly clipping a tuft of hair from the back of his head.

The corners of Cash’s mouth quirked upwards at her almost imperceptibly as he spoke, “Very elegant, good Sir. You look quite the part.”

Justin gave Cash a delighted twirl to show off his new threads before performing a low, sweeping bow - completely unaware of his missing locks - speaking in a haughty-sounding English accent, “Pleased to make your acquaintance, Mr Tarkhan, I am Lord Timberlake.”

Alana had to swig at a cup of water to stop herself from bursting into peals of laughter, it was like the only English person he’d ever heard speak before was Queen Elizabeth herself! Cash raised an eyebrow in her direction before addressing Justin, “You’re definitely comfortable travelling back alone, because it would only take Alana here a few minutes to change into something suitable and accompany you?”

Justin waved a hand dismissing the suggestion, quite honestly he didn’t want anyone cramping his style. It wasn’t Justin’s first time in Regency England - when he and Richard had travelled there previously he’d had a ball. He had exactly eight hours to get there, get the Garnet, have some fun in a previous era and get back - and then. Then a whole new era would begin. His era... Leader of the most powerful Society in the world and the biggest pop star in history. Justin grinned as he stepped forward, placing his hands around the ornate pocket watch and beginning the arcane chant to begin his voyage through time. The rest of the Inner Circle joined the chant, turning back the clocks within the tower as Justin’s world started to blur at the edges, drifting backwards through two hundred years of history.

After Justin was gone, a series of stealthy grins were exchanged around the group. Emilio breathed a sigh of relief, “We did it.”

Kiran tossed the little velvet bag with Justin’s hair inside to Cash - their insurance policy, should he need to be dealt with ‘more permanently’ at a later date. Today’s plan didn’t involve the singer being turned into a surprised-looking statue, just giving him an extended stay in Regency England instead... The garnet wasn’t there - in fact, there were no stones left there. It was common knowledge within the Inner Circle where the garnet was: firmly on the finger of Richard’s blissfully unaware and estranged daughter - passed down by his long-missing wife. A point that Timberlake was sadly remiss of: they all had banked on Richard never disclosing a topic so sore as his failure as a father out of pure pride and vanity - and they’d been correct...

Now there was nothing more to do than wind all the clocks back to the correct time, then sit and wait until Justin would try to get back.

—-

Seven and three-quarter hours later, the group within the tower saw a blurry portal loom in the corner of the room. Suddenly alert, they listened intently as Justin’s voice crackled through,

“Rafe, Cash, guys! Are you there? Help me! I can’t... I can’t get back! Alana?? The ritual, it’s not working, I’m not fading back through??”

Cash drawled as he examined his fingernails, looking thoroughly bored,

“Ah, so our little ritual worked then. Good to know.”

The passage through time became narrower and narrow as a sickening realisation suckerpunched Justin, panic rising like bile in his throat, “You... You did this on purpose!! You screwed me over!! You bastards!!!!”

As the portal flickered and shrunk to no more than a pinhole, echoes of the roars of their names reverberated around the room, until the gap sealed itself trapping Lord Timberlake in Regency England for ever more. Silence settled over the tower for a few moments, until Rafe glanced up at the rest of the group thorough his sweeping fringe, a smirk slowly stretching from ear to ear as he shrugs,

“Cry me a river...”

[midnightmoonkiss]

If Only.

Izuku Midoriya X Fem! Reader

Summary: Who knew having to work on a Saturday could make your pouty boyfriend turn to petty revenge?

WARNINGS!: Short mention of masturbation. Teehee.

Category: Smut / Crack?

Word Count: 1.7k

A/N: A weird short fic I came up with at midnight because I was bored.

Just To Clarify:

Reader and Izuku have been dating for a long while

They do not live together

Izuku is precious but also a little shit.

Of course.

This type of shit always seemed to happen to him.

It had been nearly a month now since he had a weekend off, a weekend to spend time with you, his lovely girlfriend.

Now that he finally had that time off, of course your asshole of a boss had to ruin the lovely date he had been planning to surprise you with by calling you in to write up a stupid ass report that could have definitely waited until Monday.

It really grinded his fucking gears.

Het whined and tried to beg you to stay home early this morning when you called him and told him of this sudden development.

If only you lived together, or if only you had spent the night at his apartment… maybe he could have convinced you to tell your boss off. He was blessed with a skillful tongue after all, one capable of bringing you wave after wave of pleasure as he made himself at home between your glorious thighs.

He sighed heavily, getting up from off his bed where he laid brooding just to go out and collapse back onto his couch.

He could use some of that sunlight pouring in from the large windows.

His room was dark, curtains drawn as if to hide from the world so he could be all pouty by himself.

But it was noon now, and he needed to come out eventually.

On the brighter side of things, he got to catch up on a bit of lost sleep.

That wasn’t enough.

Actually? Fuck sleep.

He’d rather be out on your date he planned with you.

Gah!

Sure, he had tomorrow to spend with you, but who wants to do anything on a Sunday? 

Lazy Sunday!

The day reserved for people to relax and.. and be lazy!

A day to cuddle.

A day to use his girlfriends’ boobs as a pillow.

One he’d much rather be using now than the stiff one currently under his head.

He rubbed the sleep from his eyes, just so that he could stare blankly up at the ceiling fan idly spinning in a circle.

His thoughts drifted to you again.

He wondered what you were doing.

Was it lunch break time for you yet?

No.. you had lunch around 11.

Damn. Maybe he could’ve visited you…

He groaned, flinging himself off the couch, dragging his mismatched sock covered feet over to the kitchen so he could begrudgingly make himself some coffee.

He propped his elbows on the counter, leaning his body down just so he could watch in childish wonder as the tan liquid rained down in a heavy stream from the Tassimo coffee machine he had recently purchased.

Coffee was never really his thing as a kid, but as the stress of his late teen years consumed his exhausted body, he quickly found that coffee could be an amazing friend.

Thus started his addiction, fueled on by his friends, mother, and hell - even you.

Something about.. ‘Joining the ranks of eternal, bitter madness.’

Whatever the fuck that meant.

You’re a goofy shit, he can’t tell what half the crap you say means anyway.

That’s why he loved you, though.

Always kept on his tiptoes.

He could always read people so easily, predict their moves almost to a T, but you? Damn if he wasn’t left with questions every time you met up.

You could say, in a way, you were like coffee.

Something he didn’t know he needed until it hit him in the face and caused him to fall down three flights of stairs.

He smiled to himself as he sipped at his steaming hot cup o’ joe.

That day was painful, but in the long run - he sure was glad it happened. Even if he did have a first degree burn from the boiling hot coffee you spilled on him.

Yeah. That meeting wasn’t exactly dreamish like how most couples described how they met.

Then again, his best friend did meet the love of his life on Grindr, so who knows? 

Couples just like to sugar coat things in order to look good in front of others.

Him? No. He didn’t sugar coat anything. How you met was funny, and it always brought a smile to people’s faces. 

It even made his mom pass out from laughing so hard.

Absolutely mad.

You brought a good crazy to his life.

That’s why he needed you.

Especially now.

He was lonely, and all this reminiscing just made him miss you even more.

With the buzz of caffeine coursing through his body, he felt more energized than before.

He wanted to text you.

Surely he could, right?

But what about?

He pulled at his bottom lip, eyebrows furrowed as he paced around his silent apartment, deep in thought about ways to suddenly ‘slide into your dms.’

.

..

…

He stopped, a sinister smirk creeping onto his angelic face.

oh , he certainly knew how to catch your attention.

He didn’t waste a second of his time, teeth chewing at his lip as he made his way back into the bedroom, turning on his red lava lamp to envelop his dark room in that sinful glow you loved so much.

He stripped himself of his shirt as he sat down on his bed, hand coming up to style his curly green hair in a way he knew you liked from all those seductive stares you’d give him.

This was all about you. 

Well, him too he supposed, but honestly? He wanted to give you a peek at what could’ve been if only you stayed home.

No doubt you’d find him cruel, perhaps respond with hostility, but he craved it.

He loved teasing you.

And getting a bit of petty revenge.

Besides, this was your fault, after all. None of this would have been unlocked if you hadnt given him a major boost in confidence with every kiss against his skin, every praise, every longing stare.

You should have known what you had gotten yourself into.

He let his ‘innocent’ thoughts drift to the dirtier side of his mind, trailing a hand down his toned stomach just to palm his already half-hard self through his boxers. What could he say? He got worked up quite easily when it came to his princess.

For a guy publically labeled ‘The Epitome Of Purity,’ his thoughts surely would prove everyone who thought that wrong with just how explicit they were.

Images of you flashed through his mind, your face so cute and angelic as his cock fucked your throat raw.

Boy, did he wish you were here, doing just that instead of his hand that had just now wrapped around himself.

He indulged for a moment, getting lost in the sweet pleasure his experienced hand brought to him, spare arm flung over his eyes as he moaned breathlessly into the quiet air.

After a few more pumps mixed with thrusts of his easily excited hips, his hand was coated in the precum he always seemed to make too much off.

He groaned in frustration as he realized he’d have to perform his next task with his left hand, he could only hope it’d turn out well and not a shaky mess as it has been before.

He grabbed his phone conveniently left on his bedside table, thumbprint quickly unlocking it.

He entered the camera app, tapping on the camera switch tool so that his face was shown on the screen.

Oh.

Hm.

Perfection.

He looked impatient, desperate like he was having a good time and couldn’t wait for you to join in the fun. He knew full well you couldn’t, you wouldn’t get off from work for another four hours - that’s where the revenge came into play. You’d sit there in your office cubicle, knowing damn well by the time you got to him he would have already finished and started dinner. His cheeks were a pretty rouge, pupils blown wide.

Moving the camera back, he fought for the perfect angle, wanting this picture - and maybe a few more after, to be absolutely perfect.

The red glow of the lamp showered his body in a lewd light, sweat glimmering even on the screen.

He made sure his fully hard and throbbing cock dripping with pre-cum was in the picture, having to sacrifice the top half of his head in order to fit it in.

His hairstyling went to waste for this one picture, but he’d be sure to include it in others.

His pecs were covered in faded marks you had left on him from nights ago, nipples perky and wanting some rough attention.

He gave a lopsided grin, the only part of his face that was in the picture was his mouth, and he’d be damned if he wasn’t going to use it to make your blood boil.

He snapped the picture, and a few more in different poses for later use. 

The end result? A new private photo album labeled ‘Pictures To Send To (Y/N) To Get Her Panties In A Twist.’

God, he’s an ass when he wants to be.

With a dark, twisted look in his eyes and a creepy smile on his freckled face, he sent the photo to you, body shivering in anticipation. His thumb hovered over the send button, ready to send a reply to his photo once he saw that you read it.

Meanwhile, you had just finished typing up a long report when your phone buzzed with a message.

Hope surged in your chest, praying it was your cutsie boyfriend Izuku.

You hadn’t heard from him since 6AM when you called to deliver the disappointing news, and you had assumed he either went back to sleep or decided to work out till he passed out.

You really hoped it was the first option.

Maybe you could ask?

With a sigh of triumph, you emailed the report to your boss, fishing your phone from the far side of your desk where you had left it after lunch.

Ah!

It was Izuku~

You hummed in confusion when you noticed it wasn’t a message, but instead - an image?

Lips pursed, you swiftly unlocked your phone and opened the messenger app.

You nearly squealed when you saw the image - the embodiment of lewd and lust.

Fuck.

Your face was burning red, hair no doubt frizzing up as your face contorted into embarrassment and anger.

Suddenly, a reply popped up - one that made you fidget in your seat as a familiar wet heat started to pool between your thighs.

“If only you stayed home, huh?”

Oh, he was so going to get his ass beat once you got off work.

[morgana-ren]

For Anon: Just the alleyway scene! Here you go! 

There was no better display of the sickening plethora of filth that was ‘hero culture’ than the mall.

Hoards of humans crowding inside a concrete cage to throw their money at any cheap, shitty knockoff item with a famous face plastered on it. Kids ran amok, screaming and crying and leaving a trail of crumbs and slobber in their wake. Teenage girls and boys huddled around the hippest stores, fawning over the latest heart throb and shoplifting trinkets while no one was looking. It was absolutely disgusting.

They flocked to the stores like rats chasing poisoned peanut butter. Endeavor t-shirts, Uwabami makeup. Midnight lingerie. Fucking All Might everything. They all flew off the rack as fast as they could be stocked. Moronic NPCs shoveling every ounce of garbage they could find into their inventory. Every bone in his body longed to run his hand along the wall and just watch it all turn to dust.

His hatred of the general populace was one of many reasons Shigaraki didn’t make a habit out of leaving the bar. Assuming that Father had kept enough of his face hidden during his exploits for it to be somewhat safe, he still didn’t particularly enjoy crowds. People of all sizes, shapes, colors, smells, cultures, ideals, and morals but they all had one thing in common.

They all looked down on him.

In public, he always kept his head down, hood and hair covering his marred face. Hands steadily in his pocket, eyes on the ground. He pulled himself into his own body, doing his best to not draw any undue attention. It wasn’t for their benefit, of course, but his. If one more NPC stared at him, a single person let their eyes linger too long on his chapped lips, dry skin, scars, or emaciated form, he would snap and ruin everything. A massacre that ended in his incarceration would probably throw a massive sized wrench into the gears of All for One’s plan, and that was the last thing Tomura wanted.

Regardless, it made him so angry.

Not that he cared what they thought. They could drown in their own filth as far as he was concerned. He just didn’t like being stared at. It was so rude. These pack animals always pretended like they were so much better than everyone else, with their laws and their heroes. So superior. But the way they looked at him, the way their eyes crinkled in disgust, mouths agape, looking at him like he was a wet rat who crawled out of a sewer grate.

How would they look at him when their expressions were melting from their faces as they disintegrated into ash?

The situation made his fingers twitch and lip curl. Wasn’t it enough that idiot Stain had polluted the minds of the city’s villains with his ridiculous ideology? Did everything have to be such a pain in the ass?  

Luckily, Shigaraki had a few hobbies that helped to calm his mind. While drinking at the bar and crisping newspapers was always a quick and easy stress relief, he had always been particularly taken with video games. Not only did he enjoy them, but he was good at them. No one could look down at you for your appearance or ideals, the only thing that mattered in the end was victory, and that was a strategy he could work with.

It didn’t matter the genre, the rating, online or off, he knew he could dominate it. He never had much trouble climbing the rankings or leveling up. Nothing mattered but his prowess, his skill, both of which he had in spades. Not to mention, it allowed him to exercise his destructive and domineering personality without drawing any real attention to himself. In fact, it even made him cool. People would fight for his allegiance during battles or races, sending him an wave of friend requests and messages with offers from their guilds or promises of friendship from their groups. He didn’t care about that. He deserved the recognition. He was only getting what was coming to him.

But even video games weren’t completely safe from the influx of hero paraphernalia pandering garbage. Gaming companies flocked to video games featuring heroes like a fly to shit. It was easily avoidable, sure, but it still pissed him off that heroes could infect the one thing he genuinely enjoyed.

Still, he had to admit, it fun wiping the floor with famous heroes in those games sometimes. Even if the villains were hideously under powered. In fact, that made it even better. If he could win a fight with a nobody villain against a famous hero in a video game where there were limited controls, can you imagine what he could do in real life where the possibilities were endless?

Soon the whole world would see. This was only the beginning.

Frankly, there was only one downside to gaming. Most new releases from the companies he liked didn’t come out with PC ports for a little while after the game’s initial release, which meant he had to leave the safety of the bar and adjourn out into the world to get brand new games. Sure, he could send Kurogiri to do it, but more than once he had come back with the wrong game in the series, or even the wrong one entirely. It was a frustrating mess, and it was easier to just avoid it all together by going himself.

Besides, sometimes walks helped him clear his head. Sometimes.

That was how he found himself here. One of his favorite companies had just released a brand new action and adventure game that he’d been dying to try ever since he saw the trailer. He’d even had Kurogiri call in advance and reserve a copy. At least he could do that right.

Shigaraki needed this. Needed to get his mind off of the Hero Killer Stain and All Might and fucking all of it. He was driving himself mad going around in circles in his own head asking himself questions he knew he didn’t have the answers to. He needed to put his head in the clouds, if only for a little while.

So he dodged through the crowds of people, weaving in and out of families and groups trying to get into the game store before he finally lost his last ounce of sanity. There seemed to be more people here than usual, which just soured his mood even further. He should have known better than to come on a weekend. He grunted past several bystanders, biting his tongue to hold back the onslaught of insults fresh in his mind. It was only when he reached a rather impenetrable wall of people that he inhaled sharply, ready to start grabbing.

A large group of pedestrians had gathered in a circle around something, which was blocking off a large portion of the walkway and therefore his path. He mumbled under his breath, tempted to forcefully move them out of the way. What in the hell was going on that was so important that it saw fit to hinder him?

“Hey, isn’t that the hero class from UA?”

“Yeah! Wow! I saw them compete in the sports festival! So awesome!”

“You guys are so cool! What’s it like at UA?”

Shigaraki stiffened. So they were here. He peered upward for a moment and saw the class huddled together, some blushing, others posing, obviously basking in their new found fame. That kid was here too. The mop of hair and splattering of freckles was visible even from where he stood. That one willing to put himself in danger over and over again for All Might. Midoriya.

Maybe it wasn’t entirely a negative thing that he found himself here on this particular day. That boy obviously had his pulse on hero culture. Maybe he could explain why people were so taken with Stain and yet completely ignored him. An ear splitting smile cut through Shigaraki’s face, irritating one of the blisters on his lower lip. He wiped the blood and waited for the crowd to disperse as the students each went off in their own direction.

When it was only him and one other student, a young girl with short brown hair, he made his move. He started heading in the direction of Midoriya, grinning wider when the young girl sped off, leaving the kid all by himself. It was so perfect. He was about to reach out and make his move when he heard it.

A voice. A voice that made his blood pound in his ears.

He stopped cold, hand stopped short of the oblivious Midoriya’s shoulder. Instinctively, his head turned in the direction of the voice, heart thrumming in his chest. Surrounded by a couple of fellow UA students, she was standing in front of a window, joking around with one of the people nearest her.

Her. She was here

His fingers began to shake as he withdrew them from Midoriya, stuffing them back into his pocket before anyone noticed him. She was here. He should have known. She was in the class too. These kids stuck together like glue. If they were here, it was certain she was nearby. Stupid stupid stupid. He had almost blown his chance.

But he hadn’t.

He turned and stalked in her direction, staying only far enough back as to not draw attention, crimson eyes glaring into the back of her head. She was laughing at something some blonde idiot in her class had said. He felt his temper go through the roof, and allowed one hand out to scratch and dig at his neck. Why was she talking to him? Why was she laughing so hard? What he said probably wasn’t even funny. He didn’t like the way that guy was looking at her. Did he like her? Did she like him?

He felt a thin trickle of liquid down his neck as his scar reopened.

He managed to tame his anger just enough to keep from rushing him. Instead, he followed the group at a distance for a while, waiting for his opportunity. He overheard something about a camping trip and something about training. Interesting. He would have to make a mental note of it. However, right now, he had other things on his mind.

The opportunity finally came when a few of the students rushed ahead to drool over some restaurant while she stayed behind, digging in her bag for her wallet. They ran off ahead, yelling at her to catch up and complaining about hunger. He heard her laugh and tell them she’d be there in a minute, she just needed a second to get some cash out. She was alone. It was time.

He came up behind her, placing his hand on her shoulder, doing his best to mask his voice.

“Hey, you’re one of those kids from UA, right? You’re practically famous! Do you think I could get an autograph?”

He felt her stiffen underneath his hold. She knew something was off, a shiver rolling down her spine as she tried to turn and look at him. He was just out of the reach of her peripheral, hair and hood hiding his features.

“Y-yeah, I am.” She raised her hand as if to pry him off, but thought better of it. “If you’ll just let me go for a second, I’ll get in my bag and get out a pen and some paper.”

Her voice was on edge, her shoulder muscles clenching. He couldn’t help but smile again.

“I saw you compete in the sports festival. You came in fourth, right? It was so cool. I bet you got so many offers from agencies. I bet everyone wants you to be their hero.” He could feel her breathing getting more shallow, feel her neck flex as she swallowed.

“I-um-Sir, I don’t really feel comfortable being touched by people I don’t know, but if you’ll remove your hand, I’ll get you an autograph or a picture if you want.”

Sir. She had called him sir. It was adorable. He wanted to hear it again.

“I noticed you got your costume fixed too. I liked better it the other way, but that way is fine too.” He chuckled. “Hey, you’re a little tense. It’s okay, we’re friends, remember?”

Realization hit her like a truck. She inhaled, biting her lip as she turned her head as much as she could in his direction. “Shigaraki!”

He leaned down, perching his head on her shoulder. “Careful, you don’t want to make a scene. All Might might not be busy this time, but there certainly a lot of civilians around. A lot of your friends too. I’d hate for something to happen.”

“What do you want?” She snarled, making a slight effort to jerk away. He didn’t let her.

“I just want to talk. Is that so bad? Or are you too cool now to catch up with an old friend?”

“We are not friends!” Growling, she reached up and dug her fingernails into his wrist.

He giggled. She had certainly gotten more feisty since their last meeting. “That’s not a very nice thing to say. I thought we hit it off pretty well.

Before she could respond, the same blonde classmate came running towards them from inside of the nearby building. Shigaraki sneered, tightening his grip on her shoulder in warning. He was no doubt coming back for her.

“Hey! We got a table and be-Woah! Who’s this guy?” The kid stopped a bit short of them, shifting between looking at her in confusion and peering suspiciously at him.

Shigaraki leaned further in and whispered under his breath. “Unless the next time you want to see him is in an urn, I suggest you get rid of him. Quickly.”

She pulled herself together, smiling happily while waving at him. “It’s cool, Denki. He’s an old friend.” A sly smirk pulled at Tomura’s mouth. “We ran into each other and thought we’d catch up a bit. Don’t wait up! I’ll meet you guys there!”

Denki continued looking back and forth between the two of them, eyes lingering on Shigaraki for a brief moment before retreating. “Okay, then. I’ll save you a spot. Don’t take too long or I’ll eat your food too!”

As they watched him walk back into the restaurant, Tomura hummed. “You’re certainly a good actress. If I hadn’t known better, I wouldn’t believe you were lying.”

“Say what you need to say and then leave.” She hissed quietly.

“Walk forward and turn into that alleyway on your left.” He gripped her with his hand, careful to leave his middle finger levitating.

“Like hell! You think I’m just going to walk into a dark alleyway with the leader of the league of villains? You’ll kill me!”

“You don’t have a choice, hero. Assuming that’s what I’m planning, it’s either you or everyone else in this area, starting with Denki.” He began walking, shoving her forward lightly. “And if I start feeling anything funny, I’ll dust you first and then move on to them.”

She exhaled in defeat, shuffling her feet forward as Shigaraki steered her toward the desolate alcove. That rendered her quirk completely useless. Shigaraki would know if she was trying to use it on him, and she didn’t want to test his promise. She had no doubt in her mind that he wouldn’t hesitate.

That didn’t mean she couldn’t get the drop on him though.

Remember your training. Duck and jab. Get out of his reach!

Not quite halfway down the passageway, she ducked and lurched back, sending her elbow careening into his stomach. He grunted in pain as he was driven back several feet away from her, taken too much by surprise to bring his hand down. She turned to face him, readying her defensive stance as he recovered from the blow.

“This again?” He wheezed, rolling his neck.

“I’m not going down without a fight!”

Sighing, he straightened his back and held his hands up. “Have it your way, then.”

She sent a few punches his direction but he dodged the brunt of them, only landing one on his injured shoulder. It was exponentially stronger than the last time they met, enough to send him reeling backwards while grabbing at his weakened limb. He coughed a few times, quickly evading her other jabs.

“You’ve been practicing.” He noted.

“I train with Midnight every week in hand to hand combat to keep people like you away!” She sent another loaded punch towards his face, which he easily sidestepped.

“Looks like it’s going well.” He deadpanned, seeming unimpressed. “I’m getting bored.”

She ignored his prodding, sending a few low kicks to his shins. He brought his own foot up, catching on the back of her knee and yanking, sending her toppling to the ground. She growled in frustration, pushing herself away from where he stood and standing back up, immediately taking stance again. She charged him one last time, sending her leg on a collision course with his hip in the hopes to knock him aside, but he simply raised his arms, catching her leg and holding it.

Her eyes widened as she began to lose balance, but before she could fall again, he slammed her into the wall closest her back using her own leg as leverage. She cried out, letting her guard down. He used the opportunity to move on her, pressing against her and pushing her further into the brick as one hand slid up from her calf to her thigh, never relinquishing its grip, while the other calmly wrapped around her neck, middle finger flexing.

He could feel her erratic breathing. She had lost to him not once, but twice now, and it barely even took any effort on his part. Her frightened eyes searched underneath his hair, but it was too shadowed beneath his hood to see much of anything. All she could make out was his teeth, visible underneath his simpering lips.

“Quiet now. Your little outburst is bound to have attracted attention.” He placed his forehead to hers, leaning forward slightly to cover her face in a curtain of his hair. She tried to pull away, but he tightened his grip on her neck “Unless you want a whole lot of nice people to die, you’ll play along.” He pressed her harder into the alley wall, crushing her body with his. He hiked her thigh up around his own and held it there with the hand that still had a grasp on it, maneuvering his hips between her now open legs.

She made a sound of disgust, trying again to turn from him, but he dug his fingernails into her thigh, eliciting a shocked gasp from her. Through the tendrils of his hair, she could see a few curious people beginning to peak into the alley entrance, drawn by the sounds of their fighting. He pushed his face so close to hers that she could feel him smile.

“You’re not making this very convincing.” He whispered. “All it would take is one little touch and I could dust them all.”

She swallowed hard, closing her eyes and preparing herself for what she had to do. Slowly, she raised her arms up over Shigaraki’s shoulders, one hand resting uneasily on the back of his neck, the other tangling up into his hair. She let her leg rest up in his hand instead of squirming, wrapping her knee around his thigh and relaxing her stance so it appeared more natural.

Shigaraki was absolutely not a fan of being touched. In fact, casual brushes in the street were often grounds for a permanent ashing. But this? Oh, he could make an exception for this.

“Good girl. Make it seem like it’s just two lovers in an alleyway looking for a little privacy.” He could smell her again, that scent he’d been dying for, trying so hard to emulate over the past few months. His heart rate was reaching peak levels, but the blood was beginning to divert away from his brain. He couldn’t help himself. He ground into her a little bit, the front of his jeans scraping against her body as he rutted, feeling the warmth of her body.

“You’re despicable.” She seethed, swallowing down a wretch.

He giggled, letting his thumb run small circles over her exposed thigh. “Prove how heroic you are, Hero. Convince me these people don’t deserve what I could do to them.”  

He pushed his mouth to hers, instantly trying to snake his tongue into her mouth. At first she was unresponsive, until he brought the fingers on her neck together and clasped at a necklace she had been wearing. It crumbled instantaneously, sending a splay of ash down onto her chest. Almost immediately, she allowed him access, pliantly opening her lips for him to invade and slowly responding to his ministrations.

She tasted like she smelled, and it took every ounce of self control he had not to push her further. Although her movements were unenthusiastic and light, it didn’t matter to him. He knew he wasn’t exactly experienced in any of this, going off of tips he’d learned on Internet forums or books. He tried a few things, like biting and sucking on her bottom lip or fighting her tongue for dominance, but it seemed to make little difference to her besides the occasional tightening of her fingertips in his hair.

Despite that, he was almost beside himself. He could learn how to make her react to him in time. He was too focused on engraving her into his memory to care. He could feel every last bit of her body pressed against his own, every movement and muscle. Every curve she offered up to him and him alone and it was just like how he had imagined it would be in the dreams that had haunted his few dreaming hours ever since their first meeting.

Shigaraki had certainly not woken up that morning with the belief that he would have his tongue shoved halfway down her throat that day. If he had, he likely would have been in a much more amicable mood. Right now, he felt absolutely ecstatic. He had her right where he wanted her. 

Well, not right where, but close enough. She was submitting to him because he knew her weakness. He wondered, in time, how far he could push that weakness. How far was she willing to go?

But he was nothing if not a strategist. He wouldn’t push it too far too fast. He wouldn’t risk it. He would chip away at her resolve slowly, breaking away her boundaries one at a time until there was nothing left but her submission. If it meant threatening her friends, her family, random children on the street, he didn’t care. She would be his. He decided that a long time ago. She belonged to him, and frankly he didn’t really care what she had to say about it. It wasn’t her decision.

Eventually, the last of the onlookers had left, leaving behind a handful of heckles from teenagers and reprimands from angry parents ushering their children away while covering their eyes. Her hand was yanking at his hair erratically, not in lust but in a likely plead for him to back off of her finally so she could breathe. He gave himself a minute longer, cherishing the moment before withdrawing himself, unable to stop the grin that crawled up his face.

“See? It’s not so bad now, it is? You just saved all those idiot’s lives and all it took was a few minutes.”

She couldn’t stop herself. Her hands were shaking in rage, stomach churning. She’d never felt so violated. So utterly disgusted. She could taste him in the back of her throat and feel his leftover saliva on her lips and it made her want to vomit.

She looked directly up at him, and spit in his face. It landed with in an undignified blob sliding down his cheek.

It took Shigaraki a moment to fully register what happened. He unhanded her leg, bringing it up to his face and squelching the small plop of liquid between his fingers. Slowly, he raised his head up, finally giving her a full view of his face for the first time.

She immediately regretted her actions.

He looked enraged, eyes open with beady pupils staring down at his hand. His cracked mouth was contorted in rage, snarling while rubbed three of his fingers together, spreading the coating around. His eyes flashed up at hers, and his hand clamped down on her throat, fourth finger twitching unsteadily.

“You little brat.” He spat, tightening his grip more and more by the second until she could no longer breathe. “You think you’re all high and mighty, that just because you’re a Hero that there’s no consequences for your actions. That you can treat people like trash.” His fingers dug in with bruising strength, and the longer he held them, the more little black dots began dancing in front of her vision. Her chest was trying desperately to inhale, but she couldn’t with his palm crushing her windpipe. Fear welled up inside her, and the longer she struggled for breath, the more overpowering it became. “I can show you how wrong you are.”

“I-I’m So-orry!” She croaked out, pleading with him for air. His eyes flashed dangerously, and he loosened his grip only enough that he could make out her words.

“Speak up. I can’t hear you.”

“I’m sorry! It was-” Her mind raced, searching for the right words to placate him. “It was rude of me, and I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have done it. I beg your forgiveness, Shigaraki. Please forgive me!”

He let his hand sit firm for a few more seconds. He was still twitching with anger, but something about hearing her beg, beg him for forgiveness sent a wave of pleasure through him. Of course she was going to be defiant at first. He could forgive her this once. After all, she would be making it up to him in the end regardless.

He smiled down at her, ghosting his fingers on her neck as she coughed and sputtered, trying to catch her breath. “Just don’t do it again. I hate people with no manners.”

She shook her head, eyes bright and fearful. After that, she didn’t dare try using her quirk on him or bothering to fight him again. She was entirely at his mercy. This guy was insane. He didn’t even need to use his quirk to kill her. He would just suffocate her and leave her body in the alley way. What was his deal? Was he still harboring a grudge from their last encounter? Why was he here now?

Finally regaining her breath, she peered up at him hesitantly, studying his face. “Did you follow me here?”

He seemed taken back for a minute, before chuckling a little underneath his breath. “Follow you here? No. I was actually here for a completely separate reason and just happened to run into you. Isn’t that lucky?”

“Yeah. Lucky.” She grunted, lamenting her choices. She knew she should have stayed in bed today

“I was actually about to grab Midoriya when I saw you. I just couldn’t help myself.”

She furrowed her brows. “But why?” She didn’t understand what this man wanted with her. He didn’t seem to outright want her dead, but wasn’t content letting her live in peace either.

He let out a heinous cackle, letting three of his fingers on his free hand wander up to his neck and scratch. Why was he telling her any of this? “I guess I just find you intriguing.” He tore at his neck anxiously for a moment while she stared at him. The way she was looking at him was making him feel itchy and hot all over. Underneath his hoody, he felt like it was one hundred degrees, which given the weather, might not have been far off. He felt uncomfortable in his own skin, anxious, stomach twisting in knots. He hated that she had this control over him.

He pulled his hand away from his sweating neck, reaching up to touch her face once more. He wanted to feel her skin, how soft it was. Just wanted to graze his fingers across her face so he could remember how she felt even after she’d gone. However, when he raised it up by her head, the sleeve of his jacket rode up his arm, revealing the piece of cloth he had tied around his wrist.

Immediately her eyes were drawn to it, and she gulped hard, a horrified expression etched on her features. “Is that… Is that my…”

Shigaraki realized what had spooked her. Tied around his wrist was the unmistakable pattern of her costume, ripped from her torso during the attack on U.S.J. His eyes darkened. There was no sense in lying to her now.

“You recognize it, huh?” He lowered his hand down, bringing it between both of their faces. “I’ve kept it on me since.”

Her breathing became inconsistent and staggered, mouth agape in terror. “W-why?”

He leaned in again, scraping the cloth against her neck, hoping to siphon some of her scent back onto it. “I think it helps keep me focused.”

Her vision spiraled. She could ignore a few consistencies but this was all to much to be a coincidence. Something she had done had gotten his attentions enough to keep it on her, even endear herself to him in some twisted way. He wasn’t just doing this because it made her uncomfortable or to spite her like she initially thought. If she didn’t know better, she would say it was something resembling a crush.

“S-Shigaraki, I don’t-” She cut herself off. What could she possibly say? ’Hey supervillain, not interested?’ ‘Thanks for the flattery but I’m a hero?’ Our careers kind of make it impossible for us to be together but thanks for the interest?’

It didn’t really matter, she had a feeling he wasn’t interested in her opinion on the matter.

“You’re everything I hate, you know.” His voice was soft, gentle even. He had hidden his eyes behind his hair again, and despite refusing to move away from her, he seemed a few miles off. “You heroes. You piss me off. If I had my way, I would have killed every one of you the first time we crossed paths.” There was a distant cold in his voice that made her shiver. “I wanted to. Kill you. It would have been easy too. All I had to do is wrap my fingers around your pretty little neck and squeeze and you’d have been gone before you could even scream for help. I bet that really would have thrown one over an All Might too. One of his precious students turned to dust while he was in the same room. Sometimes I think I should have.”

There was no deception in his voice. He was telling the truth. Somehow it terrified her more than when he had gotten violent. He lowered his hand back down, grabbing her chin with his thumb and index finger.

“But I have better ideas now. There are worse things than death.” He lifted his head, and she felt her soul plummet. His eyes were manic and deranged, boring down into her with the promise of unknown horror. His smile was wide and frenzied, nearly breaking his cracked lips into shards all over again. There was a strange flush across his pallid cheeks, something almost akin to a blush, like he was flustered even thinking about it.

She wanted to cry. She wanted to crawl away. Find a rock somewhere and hide under it, anywhere where he couldn’t find her. Something told her he wasn’t saying this just to frighten her. The possibilities that could run through a madman’s mind were things she didn’t want to consider. Things that he considered worse than death were beyond the realm of what she wanted to realize herself. He placed another soft kiss to her mouth, and she was too paralyzed in fear to stop him.

He looked like he was about to speak when Denki’s voice rang through the alley way. “Hey, what gives? We’ve been waiting forever!” Both she and Tomura turned their heads toward the entrance to see Denki standing there with a beaming smile, eyes closed and holding up several bags of food in his closed hands. “We didn’t wait for ya, but we got you leftovers! Took us forever to find you! What the hell are you doing down here anyway?” He opened his eyes and nearly dropped the food, face red with embarrassment as a few of her classmates crowded around as well with equally shocked expressions.

“Someone’s getting’ some.” Eijiro whispered to a blushing Mina who was giggling behind her hand. Momo scowled over at the pair, giving them a death glare.

“Are we interrupting something?” Fumikage asked, trying to be as polite as possible in the given situation.

“I didn’t realize you were with so many people!” Shigaraki immediately withdrew his hands, stepping away from her but taking care to keep his face shadowed. “Sorry about that. I didn’t mean to keep you held up.”

Eijiro chuckled at his words and she felt like she could just die.

“I’m off then. It was nice catching up. Don’t worry, we’ll see each other soon!” He spoke loud enough for them to hear before he leaned inconspicuously and whispered in her ear. “If any of you follow me, I’ll get angry. I’d hate to kill half his class without All Might here to see it.”

He started walking but stopped short a few seconds later. “Oh! One last thing, hero.” He pulled her in close to his side, hands fishing his phone out of his pocket. “You promised me a picture.” He held his phone up, getting one snapshot with her in frame. Although his features were still almost entirely hidden behind his hair, she was completely exposed, expression like a deer in headlights. It would do for now. He placed his phone back in his pockets, giving her one last look before turning away and ambling off down further into the alleyway, turning out of her sights after a few seconds.

“Aren’t you going to introduce us to your friend?” Mina called, still giggling behind her palm.

“No!” She shook her head vigorously, trying to hold back the tears and the sick that were clawing their way up her throat, acting as natural as she could. “Look, can we just get out of here? Please?”

Her friends all looked at her confused for a moment, shrugging before following her as she took off.

As he heard their voices drift further and further off, Shigaraki brought his fingers up to his lips, grazing where hers had been. He still tasted her, and he was trying to savor every moment. He didn’t know for sure how long it would be until she was in his arms again, only that she would be. He needed to calm down. He needed to be patient.

He forced himself down the streets and passageways away from the mall, farther from her but thinking of nothing but all the while. His head didn’t feel any clearer, if anything it felt more clouded and stimulated than it had before, but he was fine with that. He didn’t get to ask Midoriya what the difference between him and Stain was, but that mattered little to him now. There would be other opportunities for that. He did curse himself as he remembered he had forgotten to pick up his game, but he shrugged it off. If his estimates were correct, it wouldn’t be available for much longer anyway.

The sun sank behind the horizon, giving way to the darkness of the night sky. When he felt secure enough, he placed Father back on his face, making his way back home under the cover of shadow. His body was shivering, but not from the cold. He could hardly believe anything that happened today.

When he finally turned the knob to enter the bar, Kurogiri immediately turned towards him in a panic.“Tomura Shigaraki, is all well? The mall you attended today has been shut down. I was worried that you were detained and perhaps incarcerated.”

“Don’t be stupid, Kurogiri. I’m right here.” He lumbered over to the bar, sitting half-haphazardly in the seat. Kurogiri decided it was better not to question him, opting to pour him a drink instead. He turned towards the TV, which was playing news footage of the mall, giving minimal details about the incident but describing a notorious villain spotted there. “So she told.” He muttered under his breath, smirking. “I figured she would.”

Kurogiri heard his words, but decided it would go against his mental health to question Tomura on the incident if it was indeed what he thought it was. Revealing his face would have far reaching consequences for the league. Judging by the way he was lovingly picking at the ratted material tied around his wrist, he had found that girl again. So his obsession hadn’t in fact died. This would not bode well.

The rest of the night continued on relatively average. Tomura drank and cussed and ranted about All Might and the Hero Killer Stain, staring down at his phone in the intervals. Kurogiri polished his glasses, offering advice where he could and bearing the brunt of Tomura’s abuses when he couldn’t. It almost gave him hope that maybe Shigaraki could put this whole incident behind him instead of obsessing over it like he often did.

That is, until most of the way through the night, Tomura stumbled off the bar stool, clinging onto the counter as he shambled towards his room in the back. He paused momentarily, turning to face Kurogiri for a few seconds before slamming his door.

“Hey Kurogiri, you know those old storage rooms we have? I need them cleaned out. We’ll be having a guest soon. I want to make sure she’s comfortable.”

[ruorelabrealis]

Behold the xiaoven oneshot I impulsively wrote without a title;

Notes: I didn't revise this yet so criticize if you must. This ship will be the end of me one day.

He really doesn't want to fight Venti. Xiao thinks as he waits in the room below the stadium, hearing the crowd cheer aa the last battle's winner is declared.

He spends like last seconds before stepping out for the next battle composing himself.

Venti, the Anemo Archon, Xiao knows, is the same boy who plays beautiful melodies on his flute and makes flower crowns for the village children. Just the thought if him beaten up is enough to make Xiao grimace slightly.

Still, He can't let Rex Lapis' name be tarnished just because he would pity this certain bard if he'd see wounded, beaten up, green clothes torn, hair in a mess... He sighs.

He doesn't know the reason why Rex Lapis was so eager to participate in this Mondstadtian event. All he knows is that he is to dutifully follow his every command. This one isn't an exception.

If he thinks about it Rex Lapis has given him far worse requests than this. This wasn't even a big deal.. supposedly. If only he hadn't heard that bard's tune that night.

The huge cage-like door that divides Xiao from the main arena opens, snaps Xiao away from his brooding, and a duplicate of it does the same on the other side.

Across the even grounds of dirt and dust he sees the familiar shades of aqua blue braids and how the wind violently thrashes with the white cecilia kept on his hair and the white hood at the back. Venti is... not wearing his usual attire. This must be the stuff he wears as an archon, Xiao concludes as he assesses the silk garments and flamboyant gold linnings.

He can almost feel it, the smile coming from that direction.

Meanwhile Xiao narrows his eyes at the figure, pulling out his spear and warily stepping half an inch forward when he sees that the other does not draw a weapon.

When the two step out where the shadows no longer proon over them and into the sunlight making it's declaration under the absence of a roof above the battle field.

The crowd's cheers louden. Many cheering for Mondstadt as they were on it's grounds. Familiar faces looking down upon Xiao which he does not need to look back at to know who. They're assessing him.

He could feel the thrill of excitement vibrating from the stands and how Xiao hates being in the spotlight.

The crowd's screams soften into doubtful murmurs when they take in the sight of the Xiao's oponent. What is a mere bard doing battling a skilled adeptus? they must be thinking.

"Boy, get out of there!"

"You're gonna get yourself killed!"

"This is boring we have a clear winner already"

Such idiots they were, Xiao thought. Although he could not really put the blame on them, only few knew of the bard's true identity and those who did either gasp or have a solemn line on their lips.

Against the growing protests and remarks of doubt amongst the people, Venti only grins wider. The mischief never leaving his eyes.

"Xiao, Conquerer of demons, Mighty Yaksha!" Xiao cringes at the call of his name, "versus... Venti.." The anouncer declares with lack of climatic rise at the last part.

"That's my name" He hears the boy chuckle from afar. "So dear adeptus, shall we start?"

Venti's stance is slovenly, showing no conduct of offense or defense. Xiao's grip on his spear tightens. Hesitation begins to flood his senses voices saying 'Him too?' 'No more' He inores them all eyes shut.

He trudges forward with his spear swiftly. The attack is quickly evaded with a burst of wind. Xiao might admit it wasn't his most precise attack but it was one nonetheless and he can't help but feel a gush of relief that it was dodgable.

"How rude, surely we must start with proper introductions, even if we are in a battle field," Venti says after finding his footing, placing his hands on his hips.

"So, who shall go first?"

"I know who you are," Xiao says, they are now on the opposite sides of where they had started.

That statement was meant to cut this conversation short but Venti only beams in pride, "My my how delighted I am that the breeze had blown my name to Liyue. Shall i sign a poster for you?"

"You can drop the act or I'll tell them your true identity right here right now," Xiao says knowing that thr winds would shield the audience from picking up this conversation.

"You wouldn't." Venti challenged. Xiao attempts another front attack with his spear that is evaded again. And another right after that pointing to Venti's head, he ducks.

"Hmph fine, so you already know who I am, What about you then? Do I know you?" Venti says after avoiding all of Xiao's plays.

His patience is wearing away. "Xiao. loyal server of Rex Lapis, yaksha. The announcer told everyone earlier, maybe you were too caught up in presenting yourself to hear."

Venti disregards the remark and frowns, "Your telling me about the warrior, the one who follows commands, I'm not asking for him. I'm asking about you. I want to know who Xiao is."

Xiao beginning to get more frustrated by the constant philosophical sentennces, only ignored that comment and lands another attack only rougher.

"Don't tell me you don't know who he is?" Venti questions after multiple dodges.

Xiao stares dumbfoundedly, spear pointed at the other boy's chest. A meter away from peircing through. "Ofcourse I know who I am,"

"Do you really?"

He stays silent at that and the other boy only frowns more.

"Enough chit chat we want to see action!" A random voice shouts from the crowd. "Yeah!" And a chime of voices agree.

"Alright alright" Venti rolls his eyes at whatever direction, "It seems we have to cut our introductions short, my apologies,"

"No apologies needed." He had opted to make this quick, fewer riddles to think about would help in that matter.

At one point, Xiao notices the crowd getting evidently used to their battle pattern. Attack, Dodge, Attack, Dodge. That was all that was ever seen. Venti never went on an offensive and that was all Xiao did. Neither ran out of stamina.

At one point it's the hundredth or so attack Xiao lands, when the sunny skies suddenly blink to night. Cheering was replaced by the familiar sound of the Dihua flute. And Venti's armour flickers to the green clad attire he normally wears.

When Xiao blinks the world goes back to normal and he realizes that his spear is an inch away from the other boy. He staggers on his feet, aim clumsly redirecting to the empty space beside him.

In the crowd's eyes it looked like Venti has yet again dodged Xiao's attack but those in the battle field could clearly tell that Xiao made a mistake. Venti sees this.

He makes a step forward to the recovering adeptus. "If you have no plan on fighting you should declare a defeat now before time runs out."

"I won't let down Morax's name" Xiao replies, though it, too, sounded to him that he was desperately convincing himself rather than the archon.

Xiao was about to land another attack when the Archon begins drawing out a bow from wherever it came from and shoots Anemo embedded arrows.

Xiao doesn't dodge, he doesn't need to, the arrows are shooting right past him forming a circle with him being it's center.

Is the Anemo Archon belittling him? He was about to ask just so when a bursts of air coming from every direction where the arrows were shot shakes the arena resulting in a cloud of dust in the battlefield.

A smoke screen, he realizes. Had this been his plan all along? The other boy could no longer be seen admist the fog of brown dust and Xiao is ready to defend himself from all attacks he might pull.

What he wasn't ready for was the Archon's body slamming against his, both of them fall on the ground. Venti is ontop of him, pinning both of his arms to the floor. Shit he was caught off guard.

Despite his feeble form the boy's grip manages to keep Xiao pinned to the ground. Had he used less energy than this Xiao would've successfully broken free.

"What makes you think I'd hurt you?" The Archon asks out of nowhere as Xiao struggles to move. Wrong question to ask really, to an adeptus whose been in bloodshed for as long as he knew.

"Get off," He warns.

"I'm sorry, this will only be painful for a little bit," Venti apologizes, to his surprise, looking genuine despite his micheivous demeanour. He bends down to the point where Xiao can't see anything but the bright glow of blue eyes fading to green.

Venti's lips touch his own. Xiao lets out a burst of surprise from the sudden act.

He tries to ignore the alarming amount of heat creeping upon his cheeks as he attempts in breaking their contact.

But then he softens, and how he curses himself for it. He closes his eyes and melts into the other boy's kiss.

As the kiss goes on longer the more his grip is lossening on his spear, the more of his struggling to get out of Venti's hold and protests in his mind die down.

Until he feels Venti pull away and refuses to meet his eyes.

As the other boy's eyes seem to light up, literally, and he can see the reflection of his own glow. He feels a gush of air arise in his viens and flows everywhere throughout his body.

Despite what Venti had said, it isn't painful at all, he notices, only a tad uncomfortable. It's like getting a vaccine shot.

As the unknown gas stems to his inner organs, all the hidden tension in his body completely slips away. He feels numb but the voices in his head disappear. He can no longer move, he can't feel his fingers, legs or anything for that matter.

Then suddenly he remembers Zhongli saying "Acharis Demeanti, An ancient spell only to be used by archons. Causes the victim to be rendered immobile by the touch of an Archon's lips"

He is left there lying on the ground by his spear as Venti walks away. He looks at the clouds that pass by as he remains still.

The cloud of dust that was surrounding them dissipates as a burst of anemo energy is shot out of the boy's hands. Venti stands there, hand on his hips and the other stretched out to wave as the crowds cheer.

"Venti wins!"

Some look to be in confusion. And the millions of murmurs about what could've happened within the vision obstructing cloud of dust that made the strongest adeptus lose.

I'm sorry, he thinks as he sees Zhongli frown from the corners of his eyes.

"Drink this," Venti comes into his view a moment later, looking down so that Xiao could see him. He places a bottle of bright blue liquid onto Xiao's open palm and winks before he's out of sight.

Minutes later when he feels that he can move his fingers enough. He plays with the small glass bottle in his hands and feels the anemo energy stored inside it.

This could be another trick, he ponders. But would Venti be the type to pull another stunt right after a battle. After consideration, he gulps it. It tastes like... Dandelion wine?

Whatever witch brew that was, The trance he was in completely fades as he stands up and leaves the open arena.

"Rex La– Zhongli, my apologies.." He says, guilt rising from his stomach, as they walk out of the stadium amongst the crowd.

Zhongli waves it off. "There is no need for that, I'm not mad" It's hard to tell, he has that same stoic expression. "We should've known he'd pull a trick like that,"

"But"

"You were rendered uncapable of continuing the fight because of his spell, were you not? It isn't anything to apologize about" Zhongli questions.

That only made Xiao feel even worse, for his grip on the weapon had loosened long before the spell had made it's way to his body. But he did not argue any further.

"Now, We ought to find Childe and have dinner–"

Two loud voices in the plaza nearby cut him off. "What was that" A man with blazing red hair crosses his arms.

"Hey, I won didn't i? Now you have to treat me to a years worth of wine haha!" Venti cheers to himself, looking proud and victorious even if from afar he looks like a child being scolded by it's guardian.

"You cheated, didn't you" The taller one acusses.

"Rules don't say anything about me not using magic alright? I won fair and square!" Venti huffs and glances to his side, his eyes widen in delight, "Right Xiao?"

The man in question turns away, embarassed. But Zhongli walks toward them, to his demise.

"My apologies for his actions" The man– Diluc– bows to him, placing one hand to his chest. Zhongli shakes his head stepping forward, while Xiao keeps a distance.

"Although I hate to say this, He's right," Zhongli says proving his statement when his eyebrows crease "Congratulations" He sounds bitter.

"See! I told you so!" Venti turns back to Diluc.

"That doesn't mean you should go smooching around placing the forbidden Archon's spell on people!" Xiao only backs away more at the phrase 'smooching'.

"Adepti," And turns even redder when Venti doesn't correct him about it.

"Not the point." Diluc sighs and brings a hand to his forehead.

"Hmph. I'll make it up to you later Xiao! I promise!" Venti promises to the boy before lightly skipping away, "Now, thou art must be taking my leave! Farewell! For the vin we must retrieve!"

"Where do you think you're going?l!" Diluc shouts but Venti doesn't stop.

"Wine! wine! wine! Here I come!" He says in a sing-song manner and disappears to a burst of feathers before Diluc could reach him.

Xiao thinks he peeks at mirth-filled blue eyes one last time before they vanish, What exactly did he mean by 'make it up to you'.

The endddd tundundun i don't know what to write as a continuation.