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tojisun · 3 months ago

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immoral in a stranger’s lap (WIP)

established price x f!reader; poly!141 x f!reader

cw: smut - mdni; switching povs; older men x younger women trope; so much speedrun yearning from the squad; john calling the ‘shots’ and shots being reader; power dynamics at play // 2.6k words

extra notes: filing this as WIP wednesday because i could no longer find the inspiration to finish it. i have a concrete idea of how i wanted it to go but writing it became so difficult, still hope it’s a good read! (title from gibson girl - ec)

Captain has a pretty darling—apparently she’s doe-eyed and young.

She packs him food when she can and always writes him letters, dainty envelopes spritzed with perfume and sealed with wax and baby’s breaths.

They always sit atop every other sealed envelopes because the rookies are afraid of damaging the package. No one can really blame them, not after seeing the extent of care and love put into a single parcel. Apparently, she writes to their Captain even when she has a burner to use to contact him; choosing to, instead, fill up envelopes with a love so sweet it makes their teeth ache.

Captain has a pretty darling—that’s the news that’s been circulating around the base recently, cascading through the gaps of their barracks and settling into the corners of their own rooms. The knowledge of normalcy pierces against the hard-set routine that sustained them through the years, and fills their jowls with their own yawning desire.

Because now they know it’s achievable. Liveable. Guilt no longer races through their veins when they dream about the idea of settling and, instead, they lean into the want yowling from the bases of their stomach. It makes them twitch, leaving them feeling too hyper-aware of everything.

Hunger swirls from their irises and they watch, on the sidelines, as their Captain submerges himself in the one good thing he has. They refuse to name the new feeling, the one rising from their desires, but it is futile—it bloats, leaving them gritting their teeth and clenching their jaws as though by doing so, they could stop the venom.

They couldn’t. Jealousy sings in their blood.

They were startled by the invitation, frozen in their steps when the Captain extended his home to them—“My baby wants to get to know my friends.”

His smile was kind, gentle, the years having made him brighter, but his eyes—the look in them is cold, calculating. Dangerous on all fronts. There was a beast lying in waiting and its presence bore down on them, the siren sounds of a threat ringing because this one was greater than them all.

“Alright,” Ghost replied, the first to get his voice back.

“Great,” their Captain said, then he was off, hand fishing his burner from his pocket to call his pretty darling. His beautiful sweetheart.

‘My baby’ he said.

And now, they get to meet you.

Their gums ached with the phantom desire to bite; to have their teeth digging into flesh—not tearing fully but puncturing enough to mark. To taste.

Their eyes met, their blood thrumming with singularity, and their excitement palpable as it left them in tethers. Because there was much to be said about the mutual desire; how it rippled amidst them all, now noticed by their Captain and invited to play.

The quaint little house lives on the outskirts of the city, not really detached but far enough to know that this was a conscious decision carved out by their Captain.

It has a huge front lawn from inside the white picket fence, littered with a well-tended garden full of shrubs and flowers and stone plants. Their trained eyes flit to the hanging entryway sign—“Home Sweet Home”—and to the small baby’s breath wreath tacked underneath the plank, and feel viscous nectar slide down their throats.

It’s all so domestic, so gentle, that a strange feeling settles deep in their stomachs, their steadied steps dying down to shuffles as their boots crunch against the gravel. They feel like intruders, even when they have yet to set foot inside their Captain’s home. Their mission-trained bodies are stark against this place, which oozes with comfort and flowery scents so delicate it makes their blood jump.

Simon takes the lead again, herding the pack in silence. He raps his knuckles against the well-loved door, sharp knocks bouncing from the wood. Soap and Gaz are both quiet behind him, and they are all tense in their reluctant patience.

It seemed like now that you are close—just a door away—they no longer know how to leash the desire lapping at their feet; ears straining, mouth dry. The hunger scratches at their throats, ragged. Angry.

(It had taken weeks when their Captain finally reached out again with a date and a location, disclosing the details in a way he always did for missions. It had grounded them for a while, bodies locking the way they do when their Captain barked out orders—his expectations pushing them to their limits, their mind geared into a focal point.

“Be kind,” he said, lighting a cigarette.

Gaz ran his tongue on the back of his teeth, head tilting at the sudden twitch from Soap.

“‘Course,” the Sergeant replied with a grin, one that was a bite too big. “We always are.”

Their Captain hummed, eyeing Johnny with a pensive look. Kyle looked away, hoping to melt into the background to avoid any more of their Captain’s playful teasing.

Then, Kyle met their Lieutenant's eyes, wide and rabid, and saw his desire leaking from his pores. His fists were balled, leather gloves straining against the force, and Kyle felt a shiver rack his body at seeing the tangible excitement coming from Simon.

It was so huge, it felt daunting. Addicting.)

Their fingers twitch at the sound of the door’s lock clicking—something they catalogue—before it swings open.

Johnny’s shoulders tense up, his breath getting stuck in his throat at the morbid anticipation burning through him. Simon’s bulk is hiding the view, a solid wall between him and you, but Johnny waits, sees the way their Lieutenant’s gait changes, and knows he needs to be good.

“Oh! You must be John’s friends!”

Simon devours the sight you make, razing his eyes down your form, noting the fine details of domesticity that you’re clothed in—all soft and flowy material that brings out the shine in your eyes as you look up at him, head tipped up to account for the ridiculous height difference.

Something glints in his peripheral—

“Yeah,” he hears himself say. “It's nice to finally meet you.”

A diamond ring.

Their Captain introduces you to them, cinnamon in his eyes and his words honeyed. Your name settles on the tip of their tongues, waiting to be digested. To be sounded out by their own voices.

Simon murmurs it to himself, feels the word sliding between the cracks of his teeth like milk, and gulps it down, starving. It fuels him, this little piece he now has of you, and sets him ablaze as you flutter between them with gentle questions and quiet giggles.

You are soft—too soft for any of them, in fact—but they can see why their Captain is enamoured, his own desire greater than their own. It is intense as it scalds down their spines and jagged because their Captain isn’t a good man, they all aren’t, but there is something disconcerting in the way their Captain had claimed you.

It was rushed, sweet to a fault, but done so rapidly it felt like a beast pouncing on its prey. Like their Captain had seen the beauty of your soul and decided, then, that you’re all his.

Simon washes down the taste of defeat in his mouth with his whiskey, mentally dedicating this drink to his Captain because he knows he would’ve done the same. He would’ve kept you in a home just as cozy; would've played house with you to distract you from the foulness of his virtues because kindness, civilian to that extent, can become so foreign to them now. He would keep you full of him, satiated with his presence and dripping with his cum—

“Sweetheart, c'mere.” Their Captain’s voice pierces the staccato of his thoughts. Simon twitches, suppressing the full-body jolt because there’s something measured in the way their Captain called you.

They watch as you pad towards him with a hum, a bounce in your steps, before reaching to cup his cheek the moment you get close.

“Hi,” you murmur, a breath too quiet.

Their Captain chuckles, basking in your warmth, before curling an arm around your waist and tugging you to his lap. You fall with a little gasp, your hand tight on Price’s shirt as your eyes swing to them in surprise.

“John, they–”

Price kisses the back of your shoulder, fixing his arm over your stomach. “They won’t mind.” Dark eyes turn to them too. “Would you, boys?”

They feel parched; thirst palpable in the way they have their jaws clenched, their tongues heavy inside their mouths. They devour the pretty sight you make—all bashful looks and hunched shoulders, looking so utterly soft, so charmingly fragile, atop their Captain’s lap.

It sets off their base instincts, their desires ravaging their sanities.

“No,” Gaz is surprisingly the one to reply. His voice was smooth and clear, bouncing against the walls with surety. “Don’t mind at all.”

There must be something in the way Gaz was looking at you or perhaps you were also able to hear the unabashed want coating his words, but whatever it was, it made you sit up straighter, head tilted to the side, thinking.

Considering.

It makes all of them jolt, even Price feels a stirring inside his jeans at the sudden shift in your posture, because this changes everything.

It was not that they would be satisfied with only having a look, with only seeing what they want and pretending that their thoughts—dirty and ragged and full of filth—are enough to satiate the fire stoking deep inside, but they didn’t want to set off their Captain.

They didn’t want to meet the beast inside the man’s eyes, and be further punished by having you be taken away from their reach. Because the moment they crossed that little door, the moment you smiled up at them and told them that they’re welcome in your quaint little home, in your space, you were theirs.

And their Captain would just have to deal with that.

But Price is already looking at them with crinkled eyes, his lips busy as it dragged all over the expanse of your shoulder, his palm gentle as it rubs over your stomach.

Kyle takes it for what it is—a permission.

Johnny fists his cock, muffling his moans on the back of his palm, remembering the way you looked. The way you smelled.

All flowers and vanilla—it’s cliche yet so, so fitting.

You were so curious, poking at Ghost’s tattoos and murmuring your awe at every revelation of their becoming, stories that were watered down because they didn’t want to scare you. They didn’t want to push you away.

You were so enamoured by them, all giggly when Garrick told you about his recent mission with the Captain and Laswell, pressing yourself to his space and vibrating in anticipation at every turn. Their Captain rumbled in laughter when you turned to him with a gasp, disbelief coating your voice as you whined, “John, you didn’t!”

There was that pride in your eyes when their Captain reassured you of their success, and you preened when he said, “We had to return to you, after all, baby.”

You got so quiet and shy, then. So docile, just like the precious darling that you are.

So it burned him when it had been his turn to receive your attention.

“‘Soap’?” you asked, nose scrunching in that way that made him coo.

“Yeah, lassie. S’cool, huh?”

You were sitting so close, he could feel the heat from your thigh reverberating from where it was pressed to his. He breathed you in, slow and careful, and felt ablaze with the knowledge that everyone’s eyes were on you two.

Not only their Captain’s but Simon’s. Their Lieutenant whose growled promises ravaged his throat the night before, grunting and groaning, using Johnny’s skin as an alternative to yours.

(“Imagine ‘er, Johnny.” He rutted forward, lips tickling the shell of Johnny’s ear. “Imagine ‘er so full of you.”

It had Johnny mewling, ragged gasps rasping between his clenched teeth because he could imagine it, alright.

He imagined the way you’d be stuffed—greedy holes gaping as you took their cocks and their cum. Their Captain would be there, Garrick too. Their Captain would fuck his own fist as he watched them take you apart with pleasure, and Garrick would have your mouth, his tip painting your lips with his pre- before fucking it down your throat.

“Fuck!” Johnny cried out, humping the mattress to get more stimulation; to feel better.

He imagined that he was rutting against your chest, sliding between the valley of your tits while Ghost took him from the back. He imagined the way you would watch them, enraptured amidst your pleasure because he knew you wanted a show.

They always do.

“Cum for me, pup,” Ghost rumbled into his ear and Johnny’s body locked in obedience, intense euphoria seizing him whole.)

He cums with your name on his lips, rumbled in a way he hopes would drive you mad. Would make you desperate.

Johnny wants to make a slut out of you. Strip your sweetness and tinge it with sin—show you what they say about men like him. Like them. He wants to take you, or whatever scraps their Captain gives them, because every inch and every part of you is too delectable.

“Fuck,” he whispers, eyeing the thick rivulets of cum pooling in his palm.

What he would give to see you lick this clean.

“So, what’d you think of her?” Their Captain asks as he twirls his glass of bourbon, the alcohol sloshing carefully from inside the cup like liquid gold. It snags fractures of light, smothering the little glints with its every ripple.

Simon hums, distracted, his mind a gallery made up of all of the little bits and pieces he was able to snatch from that day in the quaint little house: the sound of your voice, the titter of your giggles, the way you looked up at him when he offered to help pluck out the cups stowed away in the highest shelves, before your lips danced into a grateful little smile, dimpling your cheeks and wrinkling your eyes.

You were everything he adored. The woman of his dreams, there, in the pretty little cage that their Captain has you in.

“She's beautiful,” Ghost says, quiet. Honest. “The most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen, really.”

It is in the stretching silence that follows that he picks up his own whiskey and pours it into his parched mouth to wash down the desire lodged in his throat. He doesn’t look at his Captain; he doesn’t want to be the one to ask.

He wants it to be offered; to be presented to him like the twisted blessing that it is.

Simon wants to know if you would allow him. If you would allow all of them to have you too.

Price huffs, his glass clinking against the table when he had put it down. Simon licks the back of his teeth as he waits, patience thrumming underneath his veins raggedly. He feels like a boy, waiting to be told that he’s done good; that his obedience is going to be rewarded lucratively.

Price chuckles like he can read the thoughts churning in Simon’s mind.

“Not yet,” is all that their Captain replies.

Not yet—it was not a rejection, then.

Simon burns, feeling the way such simple words sustain him. The idea that they were allowed to taste, not now, not yet, but soon, in that cage that you call a home.

#suns #john price x reader #captain john price x reader #task force 141 x reader #tf 141 x reader #poly 141 x reader #simon ghost riley x reader #kyle gaz garrick x reader #johnny soap mctavish x reader #x reader

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teaandspite · 9 months ago

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The Great Goodreads Diss List (Part 1)

Context: For many years now, I have been collecting funny lines from Goodreads reviews to share with my coworkers. (I do collection development, reader's advisory, and weeding at a public library, so I read a LOT of reviews)

Are some of these, perhaps, rather mean? Yes, but they are also very funny, and come from a place of honest frustration. In the tradition of Bargepole threads and lists everywhere, names and titles have been censored.

"First, I want to say that I understand how hard it is to write a book and how amazing it is when it is actually published. Congrats to the author for that accomplishment. That said--"

"Warning: This review will be lengthy due to pure hatred."

"I found myself feeling really, really annoyed with the world that this book is allowed to exist. We live in a universe where the passenger pigeon is extinct but this book goes along merrily being read by unsuspecting lovers of words and ideas and stories? It just seems like too much, you know?"

"Don't do it. Don't spring the cash for the hardcover. Instead, eat an entire bag of Twizzlers, spend some money you don't have at a high-end department store, look up on Facebook the shady college boyfriend that made you cry, research the current value of your home or 401K and then read all about how the big hedge fund managers are faring during the economic crisis. You'll feel about the same stomach pain if you waste your time reading this book."

"This wretched novel begins with the mugging of an old lady and it appears I may be in the process of repeating that loathsome crime as [author] was 78 when she wrote it. It is not nice to put the boot into such a poor defenseless old creature lying there with only a damehood, a Booker Prize and a few million quid. It’s a nasty job but somebody has to do it."

"I think this is the way dead people would write, if they could."

"I am considering setting up SPABB: Society for the Protection of Accurate Book Blurb. This blurb appears to have been written by someone from the publishers who met [the author] the night before, got very drunk, lost his notes and then constructed something in a fug of hangover the next morning."

"I congratulate [the author] on the early half of his book, which was thoroughly fun and made me laugh and think. I congratulate [the author] on the second half of his book, for finishing it. It reads like that was difficult."

"…a woman whose taste in contemporary literature has roughly the same batting average as a pitcher in the National League."

"The author is a pompous windbag."

"Recommends it for: No one. Recommended to me by: A friend who apparently wished to cause me great suffering."

"Makes me wonder: is it possible to obtain similes at a volume discount?"

"The repeated phrases made me want to mail a thesaurus to the author."

"I'm disappointed in myself for finishing this book."

"if the author described [character's] eyes as "obsidian" one more time I was tempted to write her and ask if her thesaurus broke."

"They say that an infinite number of monkeys with an infinite number of typewriters would, if given infinite time, eventually produce the complete works of William Shakespeare. [This book], on the other hand, would probably take the average monkey just under two hours."

"I can't imagine what the author had to do to get this nadir of Western literature printed on innocent trees, but he does seem to know a LOT about being well-connected in New York."

"This book is so bad it is almost worth reading just to make you appreciate the other books you are reading."

"Reads like it was written by a brilliant author, the night before it was due."

"raises interesting questions, like: can a book be so bad as to constitute an act of terrorism"

"has this author ever spoken to a human woman"

"This acorn has fallen so far from the tree that it can’t even see the forest."

"I’m guessing they are touted as ‘beach reads’ because no one will care if they get dropped into the ocean."

"This book begins with all the energy of a hand vacuum near the end of its battery life, and the pace doesn't quicken much from there."

"At least everybody’s eyes stayed the same color this time around.”

Part 2

Part 3

#the diss list #book review #goodreads #tumblrarians #literary criticism #library #bargepole

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ittybittyfanblog · 2 months ago

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Error 404: (Self-Aware!AU, Sylus Edition) – Epilogue

Summary: A LADS self-aware!AU featuring Sylus and his lover :) That’s it, that’s the plot. Tags: player!reader x sylus, fem!reader x sylus, reader x lads, self-aware!au, suggestive language, finally some fluff lol A/N: I missed writing for Error!! God, deliver me from the shackles of schoolwork and capitalism pls (I wanted this, I wanted this....) Enjoy! <3

Pt. 1 - Pt. 2 - Pt. 3 - Pt. 4 - Pt. 5 - Pt. 6 - Pt. 7 - Pt. 8 - Pt. 9 - Pt. 10 - Epilogue (-> spin-off)

“When I look at you, I can't believe it's true You're all I ever dreamed of, and you love me (And you love me) And you love me.”

The two of you are holding hands as you make your way to the new café that just opened on 6th Avenue, near Darlington Square, your fingers woven into his like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

You’ve heard great things about the place, and not just the usual noise from clickbait-y blogs desperate for engagement, but from people who actually know what they’re talking about. The hipster types—the new-age purist fucks who claim they can taste the "notes of apricot and the warmth of an abuela’s love" in a single origin Santuário Sul pour-over, brewed with beans ethically scoured from the mystical depths of Carmo de Minas or whatever.

You think they’re full of shit. But for all their unbearable pretentiousness, they’ve never steered you wrong. So.

It still feels… unreal sometimes. Sylus, here, beside you. Present, in a way he never could have been before. In a way you two could only think of as a passing pipedream, not so long ago.

He’s here. Solid, tangible. And so, so warm.

His thumb traces soft circles against your knuckles, an absentminded caress that sends a shiver up your spine. He does that a lot—little touches here and there, like he’s committing the texture of your skin to memory. Like there’s still a part of him that can’t quite believe that you two exist in the same space now. In the same plane of existence.

And maybe you’re just as bad; sneaking glances at him whenever you could, half-expecting him to flicker out like a glitch in the system. Like some cruel error will right itself and erase him from this reality at any given moment, when you least expect it.

He never does.

He’s still with you. Always with you.

And day by day, the knot in your chest loosens; not all at once, but in slow, steady increments. Like frost clinging to the soles of your boots, melting under the first touch of spring. Day by day, the small voice in your head—the one that whispers warnings of borrowed time, of happiness slipping through your fingers—slows to a mum.

Not gone, not yet, but it's quieter. Fainter now. Sounding more and more like the lingering echoes of a bad dream.

(You hope that one day, when you look into Sylus’ fathomless grey eyes, the reflection staring back at you will be filled with certainty. Of this. Of him. Of what you have. Nothing else.)

And whenever reality hits you – and what a novel thing it is, that this is what you now consider reality – it steals the very breath from your lungs.

It’s an exhilarating kind of happiness; the way it makes you feel as if your heart's too big for your ribs, too much for your mortal body to contain. It spills over, bright and absurd—almost to a ludicrous degree, honestly.

You don’t think you’ll ever get used to it. The utter magnitude of your bliss.

And he’s just as lost in this as you are—though you suspect he’s just a tad better at making it less obvious.

He never strays too far away from you. He stays close to your orbit, always within arm’s reach; his fingers brushing against yours when they can, as if he doesn’t quite trust himself to let go. Your personal shadow.

It’s more than just physical proximity. There’s a gravity to him now, almost on a molecular level, like he’s in the very air you breathe. Inescapable, even if you tried.

(Not that you’d ever want to.)

Sometimes you think you’re not even consciously doing it, but when he moves, you move with him. You lean into him as if by instinct, finding the curve of his body and the spaces in between as though it was made just for you. It’s a rhythm that feels both thrilling and comforting, the kind of closeness that makes your heart thump a little faster; your cheeks a little redder.

“Sweetie.”

Sylus’ voice breaks through your thoughts. It settles over the buzzing noise in your mind, soothing as ever. As it always has.

Has it really been four months?

You still find yourself mesmerised by the way he’s easily integrated himself into your world. His world now, too. All six-foot-five (!) of him; impossibly tall, broad-shouldered, and so naturally magnetic.

It’s in the way he carries himself—not unlike the way he’s always done, back when he was no more but your impossible, sentient character. That presence is still there, the one you always thought was larger than life. But it's slightly more subdued now, toned down into something less intimidating. Something less… exorbitant.

Something just for you.

And then there’s also the fact that he’s stupidly, ridiculously handsome.

It’s unfair, really. As if it weren’t already enough of a miracle that he’s here, real, flesh and blood, he had to step into this world looking just as breathtaking as his video game counterpart. And hey, maybe you’re a little biased, but you think the changes that came with his mortality only made him all the more perfect in your eyes.

Sure, you miss the silver hair from time to time. And occasionally, your brain still expects the sharp contrast of crimson when his gaze cuts to yours—only to be met with a monochromatic grey, deep and electrifying as a thundercloud in mid-July.

But then there’s everything else. The way his chest rises and falls under your palm, the steady heartbeat that lulls you to sleep at night. The way his hair sticks up in all the wrong places in the mornings, no physics engine rendering it down to a smooth perfection. The scratch of stubble when he steals kisses from you throughout the day, because body hair is a thing now (thank god).

The off-key singing when he’s taking a shower—

Oh. Nevermind.

The little imperfections that weren’t designed to be attractive but somehow make him even more so.

He isn’t all clean-cut lines anymore, no longer a carefully-crafted fantasy meant to appeal to an audience. There’s a rawness to him now, something that’s inexplicably human. He’s just some… guy.

Granted, an extremely hot guy, but still.

Just himself. Just Sylus.

And maybe… maybe, that’s what makes this version of him the most beautiful of all.

Because he’s yours. Completely and wholly yours.

“Sweetheart, we’re here.”

There’s laughter in his voice. You blink up at him, only to find that look in his eyes—amused and endearingly fond. You realize, a beat too late, that you’ve been spacing out for the last couple of minutes.

Sylus tips his chin toward the double doors a few metres away, and he feels the way you startle slightly.

You give him a sheepish smile. He merely chuckles, squeezing your hand in response.

He’s used to this, revels in this. The way your mind drifts so freely when your hand is in his. It’s not unlike the way you used to depend on him, back when his existence was confined to a screen.

But now, in this corporeal form, he can be more than a voice in your ear—do more than just watch from the sidelines.

He can pull you back when you get too close to the curb, for one. Tuck you into his side when the cold bites too sharply at your skin. He can prevent you from walking straight into oncoming traffic whenever you get too lost in your own head… because of course you would. Carefree thing that you are.

He likes seeing you at ease; so completely trusting of the man who, in the grand scheme of things, has only truly been here for a fraction of a year.

As if he’s always belonged by your side.

Oh, how he adores you.

He’d take care of you forever, if you let him. His little dove.

You two enter the café, and immediately, your eyes are drawn to the eclectic décor of the place. It’s almost like you’ve entered a fever dream—or what you can only describe as a frankensteined aquarium.

Circular faux windows line the stone-clad walls, imitating a sort of subterranean oceanic sanctum, drowning the space with an atmospheric blue. There are hanging lamps reminiscent of jellyfish floating at sea, casting vivid hues of bioluminescent purples and pinks across the room; the mix of colours gives off the illusion of something sunken, almost psychedelic. An abundance of plants of varying sizes can also be seen at every corner, from the creeping ivies to the potted lilies, as if they��ve simply sprouted into existence.

The main kicker, though, is that – aside from the predominantly nautical motif – the owner seems to have a strange fondness for… the cabaret?

Framed photographs of harlequin girls wink from gilded edges, and there’s a signage in cabochon lettering that looks like it belongs outside a burlesque theater rather than in here. It spells out a cryptic phrase in a swirling font, in a language you don’t recognize.

You’re still trying to process the visuals of it all when you register the familiar notes of Paradise Circus filtering in through the speakers.

…They’re committed, you’ll give them that.

"Woah," you can’t help but say, momentarily disoriented by the overwhelming interior of the unassuming—or at least, from the outside—café. "This is… definitely something."

Sylus glances around, his lips curling into a wry smile. "Well, I certainly wasn’t expecting a full immersion," he remarks dryly. "I was wondering what all the fuss was about. Glad to see they didn’t oversell it."

You snort. “I hope good coffee is part of the experience.”

You both amble toward the counter, third in line behind a girl with a bob cut who’s swaying to the music in a pair of silver bell-bottoms, and a shorter fellow wearing a flatcap and trench coat like he’s on the damned set of Peaky Blinders.

Clearing your throat, you quickly glance up at Sylus—just to see him watching you with a knowing look, an eyebrow arched.

You roll your eyes, pressing your lips to suppress a smile. Judgemental little shit.

"It’s possible we missed a dress code somewhere," he says drolly.

“Shh,” you hiss at him, trying to keep your voice low—or as low as you can manage—trying your hardest not to laugh. “You’re wearing leather pants. You don’t exactly have the fashion high ground here.”

Sylus pinches your side in retaliation, and you swat his hand away.

Tommy Shelb—rather, the cap wearing twenty-year-old-something dude—gives the two of you the stink eye, clearly unimpressed by your not-so-quiet banter. You can’t help but think that maybe he’s the type to take himself a little too seriously.

After a few minutes, you two are next in line.

You’re looking up at the hanging menu—an aged wooden board with elegant yet slightly smudged calligraphy, suspended by fibre twine that gives it a rustic feel without making it look too tacky. Your eyes skim past the more familiar offerings before landing on something called The Drowned Saint.

It’s intriguing. You’re intrigued.

Why not?

“Ready to order?” an easygoing voice asks, prompting you to tear your gaze away from the menu.

The barista in front of you is tall, with large, square glasses that sit slightly crooked on his nose, like they’ve been knocked askew one too many times. It gives him a friendly, bookish vibe, the kind of charm that might fool you into a sense of security… if not for the sly look in his eyes.

Something that spells mischief.

“Oh, hi—yeah, can I get The Drowned Saint? Just, uh, a regular.” You say, glancing down at the silver name tag pinned to his shirt.

… Red. Does everybody in this establishment need to have a certain degree of quirky to them...?

“–-and a strawberry muffin, too.”

“And for you?” The dark-haired man seems to size Sylus up, his gaze sharpening with something you can’t put a name to. “Sir?”

There’s a pause. It makes you peek up at Sylus, and you’re surprised to see the same look of quiet consideration on his face.

You shift your weight awkwardly, glancing between the two men. Um.

Finally, Sylus lists his order in a measured tone. Red hums noncommittally, grabbing a paperboard cup from the stack behind the counter.

"Alrighty, and can I get a name for that?”

“... Silas.”

A snort; followed by a barely-restrained cough.

Your brows lift. Okay. What’s this guy’s damage?

“Riiight, so do you spell that with an ‘I’?” There’s a deliberate smirk playing on Red’s lips. “Or maybe a ‘Y’? Sorry, still getting the hang of–” he makes a vague gesture with his fingers, “all this.”

You squint, getting a little annoyed by the whole ‘cool guy’ act. Fucking hipsters, man. “Look, it’s not that complicated. It’s S-I-L–”

You feel the light press of Sylus’ palm at the small of your back—a silent reassurance while he cuts in, unperturbed. “It’s alright, sweetie,” he murmurs by your ear.

Then, without looking away from the irritating barista, he languidly pulls out his wallet. There’s something almost amused in the way his brow lifts, the barest flicker of challenge. “Write it however you want.”

Red, looking unruffled for the most part, is already jotting something down on the cup. There’s no visible reaction; just that same ever-present ghost of a smile, which you’re starting to find… kind of weird, to be honest.

After paying, both of you move to the side, settling into the wait. You narrow your eyes at the flamboyant man who's busy humming something upbeat under his breath as he moves effortlessly behind the counter. Steam rises in the air while he works the espresso machine like he’s done it a thousand times before.

You wouldn’t be surprised if he started twirling a milk frothing pitcher mid-pour, like a performer in some kind of latte circus act. He seems like the type.

Finally, Red pings a tiny brass bell by the pick-up area, the tinkling chime almost mocking. “Order up,” he calls out, flashing the two of you a toothy grin. “Enjoy, lovebirds.”

Sylus scoffs, unimpressed. He doesn’t respond—just picks up the tray in one smooth motion, nudging you toward an empty table near the centre of the room, right below a floating indigo anemone.

He pulls out a chair, and you drop into it with a huff. “The fuck was that guy’s deal?”

He takes his seat across from you, unbothered. To your surprise, instead of the ire you expected to be written on his face, he looks more fascinated than anything.

He studies you, eyes flickering with something you can’t put your finger on.

“Does he remind you of anyone?”

You frown. The question throws you. “Huh?” Your brows knit together, head cocking sideways in confusion. “Wait—you know him?”

He gives you an indulgent smile, but doesn’t say anything. He picks up his cup, gaze dropping briefly as he turns it in his hand.

Do you know him?

Sylus watches you, patient, the faintest curl of his mouth betraying nothing as you mull it over. It’s as if he’s waiting, trusting you’ll make the connection yourself without his help. But how would you know the owner of a newly-opened café—if he even is the owner? (He sure carries himself like he owns the place.)

You wrack your brain, trying to pin him down. Where else would you know a roughly six-foot-tall guy with dark, wavy hair and shifty-looking eyes the color of a dead aubergine?

He’s certainly… a character. And he doesn’t pass off as local—maybe foreign, or at least mixed—so should be easily recognizable, right?

Yet, for some damning reason, nothing’s clicking.

It’s in the way he acts too, you think. The easy arrogance, the look of mirth lingering in his expression, as if he’s in on some inside joke you’re not privy to. It’s nagging at you, like an itch in the back of your brain. You’ve seen him before, right?

You’re pretty sure you have… but for the life of you, you can’t figure out where.

“I mean, like, he does look kind of familia—” Wait.

Oceanic décor. Dark irises that glint into a near-violet hue under the dim, overhead lights.

Red.

Reddie.

The realisation hits you like a ton of bricks.

“Wha—no.” You spin your head around so fast it almost gives you whiplash.

And as if he’s already expecting it, Rafayel meets your wide eyes.

He gives you a wink.

Holy fucking shit.

“So he found a way out, as well,” Sylus muses, his large hand comically dwarfing the coffee that he’s back to examining. When he meets your stunned gaze, he casually flips the cup around, revealing the name scribbled on the sleeve.

‘Sylus’

And just right below: ‘still got here first lol ;)’

You let out a sharp exhale, the dots starting to connect in your head. “Did you know?” Your voice pitching higher than you intended, brows scrunched up as you look at the calm man in front of you—the nonchalance to your overreaction. “Is that why you wanted to come here?”

He picks up your strawberry muffin, tapping the excess crumbs off the edge of the plate. “I had my suspicions,” he admits, cupping a hand beneath the pastry, angling the muffin closer to your face. “Ahh, baby.”

With no small amount of frustration, you take a bite, your eyebrows still furrowed as you chew. The flavors don’t even register on your tongue as you try to wrap your head around this… unexpected development.

Of course, that’s putting it lightly—inside you’re freaking out. What does this mean? When did this happen? Two of them now?

Are you losing it? Again??

It’s too much to process in one go. You’ve just come to terms with your very own freak of nature, thank you very much.

Sylus tuts gently, dabbing a napkin at the corner of your lips. "No need to stress over it, my love," he rubs his thumb on your lower lip to draw your focus back to him. The corners of his mouth curl into a small smirk when he sees you nibble on it absentmindedly. "Careful now."

Suddenly, your ears pick up a voice calling out, “Raf!” from behind, and you glance over your shoulder just in time to see someone step out from the small kitchenette.

They’re wearing a navy blue apron over a glittery top, carrying a square pan of what looks to be a fresh batch of cinnamon rolls.

On the taller side, standing only a couple of inches shorter than Rafayel, sporting a silver nose ring. Their hair is in a split-dye, parted down the middle, and styled into intricately braided space buns—likely a labor of love from the man himself.

“Ah, that must be his partner,” Sylus notes idly.

Rafayel reaches for the tray with all the confidence of someone who has absolutely no plan beyond offloading the weight from their lover’s hands. His partner, quicker and clearly wiser, snatches it away at the last second with a knowing look. "Cutie, I was about to get that," he whines in protest, lips forming a pout.

"And yet here I am, actually getting it," they reply dryly, maneuvering the steaming buns out of his reach.

Undeterred, he makes another attempt; only for them to sidestep, holding the tray higher like a seasoned veteran at dealing with his antics.

Rafayel huffs but refuses to back down, making for another grab. This time, faster.

He gets his fingers around the edge of the baking tray—only to hiss in pain and immediately jerk back. "Just let me– ow, fuck, hot!"

His partner gives him a long, unimpressed stare. "You don’t say."

"You could’ve warned me," he accuses, shaking out his hand with all the theatrics of a man in peril.

"I did. With common sense," they deadpan, but you detect a hint of laughter beneath the monotone.

That earns a full-blown scowl, but it’s betrayed by the way his eyes soften—something unmistakably fond in the way he watches them, as if their amusement alone makes the now-forgotten burn worth it.

You don’t miss the subtle shift in his posture; the way his shoulders loosens, the telltale twitch at the corner of his mouth like he’s biting back the urge to grin.

After a few more playful back-and-forths (one of which involves Rafayel attempting a truly ridiculous reach-around that gets his wrist lightly smacked in retaliation), they finally place the cinnamon rolls into the glass display, arranging them alongside the rest of the baked goods.

It’s the ease between them that sticks with you. The way he casually fixes the strap of their apron, how they don’t even flinch when he brushes a stray crumb from their cheek.

It’s an old, familiar rhythm—one that speaks of something long-established. The kind of comfort built over time. Like it's already habit.

It makes you smile.

(In your periphery, you catch Sylus smiling, too.)

You exhale a long sigh, sinking back into your chair, only now noticing the weight you’d been carrying—the one you hadn’t even realized was there—finally lifting off your chest.

Questions swirl in your mind, most of them aimed at the busy couple manning the counter. The hows and whens. The adjustment period. The hardships.

And, honestly? Just the need to have someone to freak out with and scream say, Can you actually believe this?

… But you suppose it can wait. There will be time for questions, for stories, for untangling the mysteries of it all.

For now, you’re just going to enjoy a normal weekend afternoon with your very normal boyfriend.

After all, they’re not going anywhere. Nor will the two of you.

- -

An errant thought pops into your head.

Before you can stop it, your mouth blurts out: “You think Xavier’s ever gonna come out of the game, too?”

A beat.

Sylus freezes for a split-second before his gaze locks onto you, wry and amused—like he’s debating whether he heard you right.

You get the bad, bad feeling that you’ve made a mistake somewhere.

He lets out a low, throaty chuckle. “Xavier, huh?” he muses, almost patronizingly, eyes alight with an intensity that makes you squirm in your seat.

The nervous little action doesn’t escape his notice.

“Look at the time, kitten.” His voice drops an octave, deceptively calm and even, but there’s an undercurrent to it that has you squeezing your thighs together. “I think we’ve stayed here long enough. Don’t you?”

Uh-oh.

End A/N: Ok, so I’m a big, fat liar who lied about not including anything about the silly lil fishman ≽^-⩊¬^≼ I’m anal about spoilers if you haven’t noticed.

Tagging: @xxfaithlynxx @beewilko @browneyedgirl22 @yournextdoorhousewitch @sunsethw4 @stxrrielle @mangooes @hrts4hanniehae @buggs-1 @michiluvddr @ssetsuka @imm0rtalbutterfly @the-golden-jhope @beomluvrr @bookfreakk @ally-the-artistic-turtle @sapphic-daze @sarahthemage @cchiiwinkle @madam8 @slownoise @raendarkfaerie @sylusdarling @luminaaaz @greeenbeean @vvhira @issamomma @blueberrysquire @lovely-hani @fiyori @peachystea @aeanya @sylus-crow @queen-serena88 @xthefuckerysquaredx @rayvensblog @poptrim @goldenbirdiee @amerti @angstylittleb1tch @reiofsuns2001 @j4mergy @touya-apologist @gladiolus-mamacitia @btszn @wrimaira @writingmyladsdelusions @borkunlimited

#love and deepspace #lads #lnds #love and deepspace sylus #lads sylus #lnds sylus #sylus x reader #sylus x you #lads x you #lads x reader #love and deepspace fic #self aware au #sylus qin

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eicsferrari · 2 months ago

Text

so my darling - cl16 smau

requested: yes♡

face claim: nailea devora & other pinterest pictures

a/n: i LOVED this concept and i think this is my favorite au i've done so far. tysm for the request<3 also idk and i will never learn the difference between in/on/at, i just vibe it bc i don't care

masterlist

જ ♡ જ

Then

charlesleclerc beach forever⛱️

tagged yn

♡liked by arthur_leclerc & others

yn shell yeah! seas the day

charlesleclerc my god your puns are terrible

yn shut up😔 u secretly like them

charlesleclerc if that's what you need to believe...

arthur_leclerc without me? i sea how it is

charlesleclerc DON'T ENCOURAGE HER

yn YES ARTHUR WELCOME TO THE PUN CLUB we get together every thursday🤝🏼

pascale.leclerc.355 ❤️ hope you had fun! ♡liked by author & yn

જ ♡ જ

Now

📍london

yn dump of a great weeekend

♡liked by bestfriend & others

bestfriend prettiest girl😍

yn youuu

user1 new music when???

user2 i miss seeing charles in the comment section

user3 it's been 3 years move on🙄

arthur_leclerc bet the england rain makes you miss home ♡liked by author

yn i always miss home❤️

user4 i don't understand what happened between charles and her but it cannot be that bad if arthur and her are still friends

user5 i agree but idk how close they still are. they comment on each other posts but we never saw them together again

જ ♡ જ

Then

yn can't believe this kid is going to be a f1 driver. charles, my best friend, the most important person in my life: i'm so incredibly proud of you. you deserve this more than anyone. whatever happens, whatever you do, i hope you know you'll always have me❤️

♡liked by pascale.leclerc.355 & others

charlesleclerc i love you

yn i love you more

pascale.leclerc.355 i always adored that picture of you two!

yn me too <3

arthur_leclerc you made him cry

yn he's not special i've Been crying

જ ♡ જ

Now

જ ♡ જ

Then

yn he won me a plushie :)

♡liked by charlesleclerc & others

charlesleclerc two plushies*

yn liar you said you wanted to keep the big one

charlesleclerc well in my defense it's ferrari red, call it a manifestation tactic

arthur_leclerc only yn could convince you to do karaoke

charlesleclerc it's not fair! she said "bet you won't do it" so my competitive ass had to

yn nooo don't spill my secret way to make you do everything i want

arthur_leclerc acting like he doesn't do anything you want regardless🙄

જ ♡ જ

Now

yn posted a story

💽scott street - phoebe bridgers

↪bestfriend replied to your story: good luck🤞🏼

જ ♡ જ

yn bday boyyyyy!! cheers to pour decisions

♡liked by arthur_leclerc & others

arthur_leclerc last night was so much fun!! thank you for coming

yn always❤️ how's your head?

arthur_leclerc it hurts. i think the tequila was too much

yn you should've drawn the lime!

arthur_leclerc i-

user6 charles and yn were at the same place, this is not a drill. i repeat, charles and yn at the same place!

bestfriend hot pics but text me!

yn better yet come over

user7 let us in, share the convo with the chat🙏🏼

જ ♡ જ

yn posted a story

💽best friend - conan grey

જ ♡ જ

charlesleclerc life has been good lately

♡liked by pierregasly & others

user8 is that yn or am i going insane???

user9 you might be onto something

yn was the boat on sail?

charlesleclerc don't

yn you missed my puns admit it

charlesleclerc i missed all of you

user10 i waited years for this😭

જ ♡ જ

yn don't mind me, just (tea)sing

♡liked by charlesleclerc & others

user11 THAT'S LEO

user12 charles in the likes war is overrrrr

scuderiaferrari that jacket🔥 ♡liked by the author

yn thank you admin, i've been saving it for a special ocassion

user13 this better mean we are getting yn back on that paddock 🙏🏼

charlesleclerc red looks good on you❤️

user14 he is flirting, right? or am i delusional?

જ ♡ જ

💽cowboy - selena gomez & benny blanco

yn cowboy boots give a kick to any outfit🤠🏆

texas u were fun. ferrari 1-2❤️

tagged charlesleclerc

carlossainz55 perfect weekend, forza ferrarri!

yn congrats on p2!! just two chili guys on the podium

carlossainz55 houston, we have a pun!

charlesleclerc it's contagious, it's a disease at this point

iamrebeccad beautiful girl😍

yn i love youuu let's get coffee soon

charlesleclerc it was special having you there<3

yn can't believe i was there to see you win!! i sobbed the entire time

yn problem is now you set the bar too high. i expect you to win every time i go to see you

charlesleclerc i'll do my best😉 anything to impress you

user15 yes he is flirting

જ ♡ જ

arthur_leclerc posted a story

જ ♡ જ

yn "so my darling" out now

comments have been disabled

જ ♡ જ

charlesleclerc remember i'll always love you

♡liked by yn & others

bestfriend ok leclerc guess i will share the best friend title🙄🙄

charlesleclerc i was here first ?

bestfriend i already said i agreed to share it don't push your luck and take what you can

arthur_leclerc fucking finally! it only took you like twenty years

yn always and forever❤️

charlesleclerc ❤️

જ ♡ જ

taglist: @justaf1girl @anamiad00msday @readtoooomuch @2bormaybenot

#f1 smau #formula 1 smau #charles leclerc smau #cl16 smau #f1 fic #f1 x you #f1 x reader #f1 fanfic #charles leclerc au #charles leclerc x reader #charles leclerc fic #charles leclerc fanfic #cl16 x reader #cl16 x yn #cl16 au #cl16 fic #cl16 fanfic #childhood friends to strangers to friends to lovers

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nightingale-prompts · 2 months ago

Text

Demoted-DCxDP prompt

Another day another hero coming into Danny's space. Danny's R&R pocket dimension has been host to heroes coming and going as they please and at this point he has surrendered to it. The only real issue he has is them asking for help or advice. Sure he's on the level of a multidimensional God but that doesn't mean he actually wants to interfere with the world. He sees the bigger picture and the movements of the universes and knows the full extent of his powers effects on it. Simply put. He helps them in a wrong way and it will mean the aftershocks will ripple across all reality.

Sure it's enough to make a believer to reject all gods when they realize that he has to power to do whatever but chooses not to. But listen Danny is not a god. It's their job to manage their creations. Not his. He didn't make any sentient being.

Still, they come asking for help, and Danny does what little he can/wants to do(which is little). He makes artifacts. Small and useful things to help like a magical gadget to assist them.

He expects payment of course but that another thing.

Right now he was being badgered for advice by...um what's his face? Umm, green guy? The one with the uh...ring. Yeah him not the other green one with the stupid beard. Danny thought he was cool dude. Not like the other one from that other dimension, ugh. He was an edgy asshole, no wonder no one cared when he died. Danny didn't went want him so he booted him into a new dimension and life almost instantly.

Always the green guy was asking for advice about something.

"The red lanterns have their own reason to exist but is that right? To live in hate? Of course, they are evil but if their leader was vanquished could they turn to better purpose?" Hal asked the floating teen who was half listening as he observed the universe from inside his observatory.

Danny sighed as he adjusted his telescope. The view instantly focused on Atrocitus.

"The question is if anger could be put to good use. Atrocitus wants revenge but you seek him and his lanterns to avenge. One is done in vindictiveness and the other in righteous justice. Righteous, anger, justice, resentment, malice, and desire. These are all just words to me created to describe abstract excuses you make for yourselves. Right or wrong it doesn't matter." Danny sighed.

"Right and wrong does matter." Hal frowned.

"Oh, so you are telling me? The way I see it, it a petty concern because rage will always exist. Who are you to say it's wrong Green." Danny laughed at him like he was talking to a child.

"There is a wrong way to express anger. When you hurt innocent people to get your revenge. And there is a fair way to get retribution so that other people do not get hurt. You should only hold those who have done wrong accountable but punishment should be fair. It should be done to prevent more pain. Even if no one is happy with the results you shouldn't torture someone because you are hurt. There is a right way and anger isn't always the answer....but it is a part of healing. I won't condemn them for being angry because I understand where it comes from. But their way as it is now is not the answer."

Danny rolled his eyes.

"Great, so you have your answer. Didn't need me to help you did you?" Danny said shifting the viewfinder again back to his previous task "Seriously, if you need validation on whether you are doing the right thing get a sidekick."

Hal got a weird look in his eyes.

"No way. I'd have to demote myself back to a solid corporeal form." Danny crossed his arms.

"But you are still a kid. A teenager at that. I'll take good care of you and everything. What's wrong with going back to being a human.'

"Half-human." Danny corrected "and stop talking before the other ancients overhear and agree."

"Actually, I agree. You need to stay connected to sentient life while you're still young. And you have been rude lately. I think the lanterns will suit you."

****

Hal:So this is my new sidekick the Grey Lantern.

Danny:*crewing off his fingers to get rid of the fused black and white Lantern ring he has been fused with*

Bruce: Isn't he the god we have been using as a contact?

Diana: Ancient actually.

Barry: I think he's trying to kill himself.

Hal: Don't worry, he can't. His rings unique oath is about forming a cycle of life and death. He can't die or be revived. He's just stressed, like how a parrot plucks it's feathers.

#dc x dp #dpxdc #dc x dp prompt #danny fenton #dp x dc prompt #hal jordan #green lantern

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caoimhewrites · 1 month ago

Text

Unexpected Addition

How TF 141 + König would react to coming home to find you have a new dog. Pt2 here

WC: 818

moved to @caoimhewritesfics

Ghost walked through the door of the flat, his boots echoing off the hardwood floor. All he wanted was a quiet evening, but as he stepped into the living room, his eyes immediately landed on something, no, someone that he hadn’t expected. A small and quite obese, scraggly looking dog sat on the couch... in Simon's spot. "What is this... thing?" He muttered, raising a curious eyebrow at you. “Isn’t she adorable?” You reply with an excited grin. He looked down at the little dog, its tail a blur of motion. The dog barked happily, clearly more enthusiastic about the situation than he was. "It's... ugly," he says simply "really ugly... I like it." He pulled off his balaclava and gave you a wink. "It better not get too comfortable in my spot though."

König blinked once, then twice, his eyes landing on a large mass on the carpet. A Great Dane. A huge Great Dane, with its massive body taking up nearly half the space of the room, and its ears perked up in an almost comical display. König wasn't expecting this at all. He usually avoids pets, finding them too much of a hassle. You emerged from the kitchen, casually wiping your hands on a towel. "Surprise,” you smile as you gesture vaguely to the large beast of a dog that's still lounging on the floor. "You like her?" The dog padded toward him, its giant paws almost making the floor creak. “I thought it would be nice,” you said with a grin, leaning against the wall. He stares at you for a moment before giving you a small smile, his hesitation about the dog fading when he sees you smiling so happily, "She's cute. Certainly a surprise."

Price kicked off his boots, stretching his sore shoulders, and took a deep breath, ready for the peace and quiet of home. But as he rounded the corner into the living room, he came to a screeching halt. A small, furious ball of fur was standing in the middle of the room, its beady eyes locked onto him with intense, undiluted disdain. A Chihuahua. A fucking Chihuahua? Out of all the things you could have picked? Price loved dogs, he's been wanting one but he didn't mean anything like this little, evil looking creature that was yapping up at him and biting his boots. "Hi, honey," you say brightly as you walk to the living room, drawn by the intense barking. "Love, what is this thing doing in the house?" He asks without hesitation. He really can not fathom why you brought this mangy little thing home. "You said you wanted a dog, I got one. She's cute, don't you think?" No. No, he did not think that at all. "Love, this... thing isn't what I was talking about." He says lightly, not wanting to hurt your feelings. His heart breaks when he sees you frown. "You really like her?" He asks as he steps closer to you, reaching out to play with your hair. You nod and he sighs, "So... what's her name then? She'll be needing one."

Gaz is over the moon when he walks in to see a fluffy ball waddling up to him and letting out rough barks. It's eyes were huge and bulging, going off in two different directions. It's fur was far too long for it's little skinny body and was tangled beyond belief, and it's impossibly skinny legs looked bent in all the wrong places, but he was ecstatic. “You’re a strange one, aren’t you?” Kyle laughed, crouching down to pet the dog's scruffy head. Kyle picked up the bizarre looking animal, gently stroking its tangled, greasy fur. "You need a bath... like now," he chuckles, setting off for the bathroom. He's surprised to see you already in there and running a bath for the weird little dog. "Hey, Love. Where did you find this beast?"

Soap was used to this, random animals popping up around the house when he got home and tonight was no different. When he trudged up to the bedroom he came face to face with another dog perched on the bed, next to the other three that you insisted on having. It was lounging across the sheets, eyes half-closed. The dog had a massive head with big, floppy ears, and its fur was a mishmash of colors. It didn’t seem particularly energetic, but it was sprawled out in the middle of the bed, like it owned the place. "Not again," he sighs to himself and kicks his shoes off. "Love!" He calls out for you, "What's this one named? You find it on the side of the road like the last one?" He gave up on trying to stop you adopting whatever sorry animal you came across a long time ago. He never had any room on the bed now but at least you were happy.

Taglist: @little-mini-me-world

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dare-writes · 3 months ago

Text

But God Works Too.

After asking Dave for a break, Kick-Ass comes to your window after a week?

aaron masterlist

dave lizewski x female reader

genre: slight hurt/more comfort, smut; 18+ MINORS DNI

wc: 3.5k

sexual content warnings: making out, biting kink, breast play (it’s dave.), slight blood kink, marking kink, hint of jealousy, lying down 69, oral (m&f receiving), he calls reader Ma’am and God, Dave doesn’t wear boxers with the Kick-Ass suit, cumplay, cum swallowing (both parties!), implied p in v

warnings: f!reader, college!reader, college!dave, implied cheating, reader asks for a break, dave cries and asks for forgiveness, he didn’t cheat, hit-girl mentioned, hurt/comfort, dave loves you

i am such a self indulgent writer! 😓

It had been a week since you asked for a break. It tore you apart to even ask such a thing, and it wasn’t great that you weren’t being honest with how you felt. You were emotionally overwhelmed, Dave was late to get another date, and you just wanted Dave to ask why you were upset. When you said it, you regretted it immediately but the damage was done. Dave sighed and left with one last kiss to your forehead and said to come to him when you were ready.

You were exhausted from Dave being late to everything. Every date, study session, every single thing you wanted him to be there for, he was late with a terrible excuse like the traffic. He rode a bike, for Christ's sake. You didn’t want a break, you wanted Dave to be honest and find a way to be honest with him back.

You knew this wasn’t a healthy way to start this conversation, but fuck were you an emotional wreck after being hung out to dry for the 5th time this month. Your days blended together, honestly it hasn’t even felt like a full week. It feels more like you have been droning on like a lifeless office woman.

Now, it was 7 p.m., and you had your taser in your right pocket as you walked through the streets of New York to return to your shoddy apartment with three roommates. It was past sunset, and your boots were thudding against asphalt and concrete as you crossed the streets to Broome Res Hall. You shrugged everything off immediately, got inside, and trudged to your room, your house slippers scrolling on the floors.

After hanging everything up or tossing it into the hamper, you quickly showered and were out in minutes. Damp hair trickled water against your skin, and you tugged a smaller towel around your neck to take the damp instead of your sleep shirt. Your laptop and various worksheets lie across your desk, filing through them at insane speeds so you can go to bed. Your playlist of any alt-rock band played off your laptop at a loud enough volume to not hear the jiggling of your window.

A loud knock came, and you screamed at the sight of a masked individual at your window. He yanked off the mask to reveal Dave Lizewsk. Instinctively.c you ran towards the window at the sight of his beat up face. It almost distracted you from the bright green suit with yellow accenting lines. Your eyes jumped around, his bloody face, green and yellow suit, the mask in his hand, and back to his face.

“Dave- what the shit!” You shouted as you opened the window latch and yanked him inside from the fire escape. He ducked in, banging his head on the window, but ducked in nonetheless.

You purposely distanced yourself from him. You wanted to grab him and inspect his entire body for wounds, but fuck you needed space that’s what you said. A gray zip-up fell off one shoulder as you crossed your arms protectively over your chest. Your heart was manically pumping as you calmed down.

“I can’t do this anymore,” Dave whined with a crack in his voice. Finally, in the light of your room and a real chance to look at him and his attire, it clicked, You recognized the suit; I mean, every person did. Everyone knew who Kick-Ass was. Only there was blood everywhere.

“Dave… why are you in Kick-Ass’s suit?”

“Baby, please let me explain,” he begged as he walked closer. Dave was never aggressive; his doe-eyes brimmed with water, and his hands were open gently as he tried to beg for acceptance. Regardless, you took another step back. It felt like a stab to both of your hearts, and Dave knew you didn’t. The way your eyes watched him with remorse, watching blood drip from his forehead down to his cheek.

“You… your drawer still has a shirt and sweats, I’m sure. I’ll go get a first aid kit,” you said, creating the distance again.

The distance wasn’t for Dave to remember their break; it was to stop you from running into his arms and holding him, asking who kicked the shit out of him. The way you saw this, it was going two ways.

A) Dave was going to say he was Kick-Ass.

B) Dave was going to say he went to some convention and got his shit rocked.

You couldn’t decide which made more sense, but the inexplicable amount of times he’s had random bruises or even scarring from “old dumb things” he did as a kid made a lot more sense.

You needed this distance to pretend you didn’t want to crawl into his arms and kiss him like mad. He looked so pretty, even with his face bloodied; you couldn’t help but want to kiss him stupidly.

Returning to your room quietly with a glass of water and a warmed-up hot pocket, Dave sat at your desk, reviewing some of your math assignments. He was writing on the sides with a pencil.

“Dave?”

“Oh, sorry… I was… helping you with some of the stuff here. I know you aren’t a fan of math,” Dave said awkwardly. He set the pencil down and spun the chair to face you. It felt so typical having him back here. A swell of warmth flushed your body as you watched his bruised and bloodied face face you. You cleared your mind with a quick blink.

“Come sit on the bed. I’ll fix you up there,” you said quietly, handing him the hot pocket on a paper plate and a glass of water. Dave wore an old, shoddy navy blue T-shirt, the arm hem cutting nicely around his biceps and gray sweats. He devoured the hot pocket–a typical college kid.

He had to know those were your favorite sweats on him. There’s no way he didn’t. You tore your eyes away, took a small stool from your makeup desk, and cleaned off his wounds.

“Can I explain… please,” Dave asked quietly as you stood above him. Your hands carefully worked around his face and forehead, and the blood was still sticky as you took small alcohol wipes to his skin. Orangey-red blood smears dragged across his forehead and temple.

“Dave,” You started slowly.

“Please, I’ll explain everything. I know you wanted space, but— god, space from you felt like my world was ending,” Dave said with a slight whine. He was killing you, and he was still so undeniably cute.

“You’re Kick-Ass,” you asked quietly. He met your eyes and nodded slightly.

“Kick-Ass came out four years ago, Dave. You’re telling me you’ve been Kick-Ass since you were in high school?”

“It was dumb, and it wasn’t a lot. I took a lot of breaks because… I mean, why wouldn’t I? But you know Hit-Girl?”

“I heard about her.”

“She’s like my sister… I got her dad killed when she was like 13, so I try to be there for her,” Dave began quietly. “She came back into town and needed Kick-Ass.”

You glanced down at his eyes before tearing them away to grab out bandaids. A hum left your lips. The tone and inflection of the hum was neither impressed nor dissatisfied. You refused to be jealous of some kid, but if she was taking more of his time and priority, what? Dave could tell it was off. He was always good at that.

“It started before we started… dating-dating. Before we made it official, like the day before.”

“And you’ve been helping her this entire time but put me on the back burner?” You bit. Admittedly, your tone was a lot meaner than you intended it to be. Your eyes shot down to Dave with regret. “I’m sorry— I didn’t mean it to sound so mean. You have to understand why I asked for the break, though.”

Dave, whose eyes were watery from the proximity of alcohol to his wound and likely your comment, just nodded.

“I should have been honest from the start,” he added. “I’m sorry, I just want you back already… I was hoping a week was enough, but if it’s not—”

“Dave, I just needed time to breathe.”

“No, you didn’t. I get it. I was being a bad boyfriend,” Dave shook his head. He wasn’t a bad boyfriend, but you didn’t appreciate being left behind. It was always like that, with Marty or Todd covering or giving each other a look at each other as if asking What excuse this time?

You knew you would not get anywhere if you didn’t admit your feelings. You dragged the desk chair over and sat before Dave while you put away the first aid kit objects. Your tone was quiet and meek. “I asked for a break because I thought you were cheating. I hoped you’d just rip off the bandage and call it quits.”

His silence horrified you, and you couldn’t look away from the small white plastic box. The latch wouldn't press into the receiving end to keep it closed. The plastic rattled until Dave took it from your hands, and your face met his abdomen. He smelled like sweat. Even with his suit sweat, you smiled softly into the hug. Dave took your hands while he slid down, kneeling in front of you with damp cheeks.

“I never wanted you to feel like that–baby, I’m so sorry. I’m sorry I wasn’t honest earlier,” he whispered. His lips kissed your knuckles, putting his freshly bandaged forehead into your thighs with a despondent sigh. “I love you. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you I was Kick-Ass. I want to be more honest with you.”

Before you could even get to it, Dave looked up at you. His cheek pressed against your thigh with tear streaks, “I want you back.”

“Dave–”

“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have–” Before Dave could try to stand and pull away, you took your hands from his and grabbed his face to kiss him. You pulled off and ducked your head beside his face, unwilling to meet his eyes. “Dave. I– I needed answers… I was scared.”

“Do you still want answers?”

You took your face away from him, and looked back perplexed. “You… already explained it?”

“I’m sorry I was so out of touch with you, I never want you to feel that way again. Hit-Girl has always just been my little sister, I swear,” Dave whispered.

“I—“

“I’ll do anything,” he added lastly. You smiled down at him, and pulled him to sit back on your bed. You sat beside him and pulled your arm around his shoulder to lean his head into your neck.

“Dave, you’ve explained enough. It’s okay.”

“Promise?” He hummed into your neck. He honestly fought the urge to pull you into bed and cuddle you into oblivion.

“Promise.” Dave threw himself into you more if it was possible. His arms wrapped tightly around your torso as his lips kissed up your neck to your face.

Between kisses, he input each word. “I missed you so much…” He kissed your lips, without giving you a chance to return it, he was pulling away and mumbling into your neck again. “Missed holding you and kissing you.”

“Then can we keep kissing?” You asked teasingly. You hooked your finger beneath his chin to look up at you. A small giggle left your lips as you met his eyes, he was lacking his silver wire glasses. “Can you even see when you’re in that suit? You don’t wear your glasses when you’re Kick-Ass.”

“I squint really hard all the time,” he answered with a whine.

“We should get you some contacts then, love. Or lasik,” you teased. Your fingers held his chin tightly before pulling his chin to yours to kiss him softly. Dave whined at your teasing before kissing you back.

Dave would never admit to any of his friends, or anyone else in the world that he liked sitting on your lap. It wasn’t a surprise when he kneeled over your thighs and pushed you into the bed with him on top of you. His hands felt up the edge of the gray sweater and grazed around your tummy. His lips fell from yours, instead focusing on your neck now. His hand hooked onto the zipper’s tag to reveal your chest more.

“Missed the way you smell,” he whispered before biting down into your collarbone. A loud moan of shock left your lips and your hands moved to grasp his hair.

“I heard some guys asked for your number…” Dave mumbled with his teeth in your collarbones. His teeth grazed away, nipping up your neck. His next target was biting in the soft pulse point next. When you mumbled his name out, Dave couldn’t help but bite harder. “Todd told me… it happened in your guys literature class. I almost found him myself and…”

He laughed before pulling away, a glint of satisfaction in his eyes. “Well, I almost kicked his ass, as yours truly.”

He leaned back down, his hands tugged down the loose fabric of your zip-up to reveal your breasts. “But I didn’t, cause I’m good,” Dave added before he returned licking and kissing down your chest. “Dave…” drool leaked from his mouth slightly as he sucked around your chest mindlessly.

“Mhm..?” His hum vibrated you, your hips ground up into his sweats. He laughed again before taking one breast into his hand and jiggling it. Dave wrapped his lips around the hardened nipple and groaned around it. Your thighs squeezed together as you felt a pulse of dampness between your panties and your pussy lips.

“You're a tease.”

He took his lips off, keeping his teeth wrapped around the nipple, “I learned from you.”

He did. You taught him all of this when you sucked his cock the first few times. Weirdly enough, Dave was overly attentive to the way you sucked his cock. He loved it, watched like you were a magician. Your hands lifted his face off your breast and reached to take his t-shirt off. “Lie down,” you commanded as you sat up on your right elbow.

Dave has no issue following your command. He slinked off your waist and sat in the middle of your bed. You kneeled up and shed your sleep shirt off, lifting one knee, you trapped Dave’s thighs between yours.

You dipped down, kissing his face and doing the same pattern with him. Your teeth sank into his pulse point as he whined out, his heart rate raced beneath your tongue. A metallic taste entered your lips and you pulled away.

“Fuck… Dave, I’m sorry,” you whispered. You got ready to stand up and grab your small medical kit you left by the foot of the bed. Before you could even leave his thighs, his hands clamped down on your waist and kept you there.

A bulge made eye contact with you before Dave did. “Leave it,” he whispered.

Your lips gaped at the sight of Dave’s neck, a small bead of red trickled down. There wasn’t anything more, but his flush red face and boner told you enough. Your hands touched down his abs to the tip of his hard on, a small whimper released from your renewed boyfriend.

Leaning down beside his left ear, you taunted as you play with his cockhead through the gray sweats. “You like when I bite you Davey? When I make you bleed?”

“Yes… ma’am,” he whispered with a nod. You left his ear, hovering your head above him to give him a gentle kiss. “Mhm… my good boy aren’t you? Always so obedient, so good for me hm?”

Dave limply nodded, his hips grinding into your hand. You gave him some leeway. Taking his elastic band with you as you slid down his legs.

There were no boxers below the gray sweats. Your eyes shot up, his eyes watching you with either horror or pure lust. “Did I speak too soon, have you been bad? Where are your boxers?”

“Don’t… I don’t wear them with the suit on sometimes… It’s uncomfortable,” Dave answered shakily. You tutted, before pulling back his foreskin and licking up from his balls to his tip. You spat on his tip and sighed.

“Perhaps I should get a treat too, considering my goodboy isn’t all that good apparently,” You wondered out loud. Dave had no idea but just nodded. “Whatever you want.”

Your eyes squinted. “Ma’am.”

You smiled before getting off the bed and rolled down your shorts and lace white panties. “Those are my favorite,” Dave whispered quietly as he watched you intensely.

“Glad I wore them?”

“God I missed you,” he added with a puppy dog gaze and nod. You smiled, joining him back in bed. “God yes, please,” he whispered as your pelvis and pussy neared his face.

“Normally I prefer ma’am,” you said. Your face was towards his cock, your hand took it, letting hot spit dribble out your mouth and fall onto his tip. You finally took your seat before Dave could respond or cry. “But God works too.”

Dave hummed, his lips mumbling out. “Hold… thighs,” he said between sucking your cunt, trying to drink you dry.

“Mhm, go ahead,” you answered before lowering your lips onto his cock. He moaned as he hooked his arms around your thighs to smother him further. You groaned on his cockhead as you did your best to deepthroat him, never an easy task with him. His cock was damn near the size of your face while hard. He wasn’t thicker than normal, but his length took you out enough.

The room was full of crude slurping and sucking sounds from the two of you, thank god your roommates were out partying instead of staying in for the night. Not more than a few moments later, Dave was crying between your thighs.

“Maam I wanna cum, please please,” he cried against your clit. You waited, you entirely stopped, his cock lodged near your tonsils. Testing him to see if he remembered what you said earlier. His mind spun, feeling you gagging slightly around his tip. “Please God, please make me cum. You’re the only one who can make me cum God.”

You hummed around his cock, resuming your sucking and licking. Your hand jerked off the rest of his cock you couldn’t reach. “God, yes I love you,” Dave whimpered as his thumb made contact with your clit. His tongue ravished your hole, it felt constant but so fast that time was blurring together. Your hips ground into his face slightly with moans around his cock as you neared completion.

“Mhm.. Dabbve,” you hummed around his cock.

“Can I cum, god please?” his voice asked small as he fingered your clit with his thumb. “Please God, I know you’re close I can feel it.”

“Come on, Dabbve, come for me,” you responded with his tip in your mouth. You sucked down again, lodging him in your mouth near your throat as you squeezed around his tongue one last time. Cum spilled down your throat, you did your best to make sure it wasn’t at an awkward angle that would make you choke. Your mouth was full of cum, and couldn’t keep taking it all. You pulled off and sat beside Dave, your thighs shaking from spending so much time bent over his face.

“Fuck…” Dave whispered, cum still trickling down his softened cock. You sigh heavily, cum was also down the side of your lips. You leaned over, kissing his lips softly, exchanging some of his cum with him.

“Babe,” he groaned as he took some down his throat.

“You deserve it,” you said with a wink. You took the rest from your lips and dragged it across his nipples. “I just came like a water fountain, and you’re trying to fuck me again?”

“What— did you not jerk off this entire week?” You asked as you laid beside him. He sat up and shook his head no with an embarrassed smile. “Why do you think I came in like 3 minutes?”

“Cause my head game is wonderful?” Dave giggled and leaned down to kiss you softly.

“It is,” he replied. The taste of each other on your lips as you swapped spit. It was slower now, softer, but still messy with all the liquids on their faces. Your arms wrapped around his neck as you two kissed, happy flits of moans left you both.

“I love you,” he said into the kiss. You responded the same, with a large smile before giving one last big smooch to his lips. He pulled you by the waist to lie in front of him. “Please… God, can I have more of you?” Dave begged as he leaned to close the space between you. His needy eyes made you warm, and your pussy swell with warmth.

His cock was hard against your lower tummy. You couldn’t believe him, it’s like he was still a high school freak who jerked off three times daily.

“Fine.”

Dave didn’t waste any time with you, he had a whole week to make up for.

#aaron taylor johnson #aaron taylor johnson x reader #atj #dave lizewski #dave lizewski x reader #dave lizewski x you #dave lizewski x reader smut #dave lizewski smut #kick-ass #kick-ass x reader #college!dave lizewski #aaron taylor johnson x reader smut

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bamsara · 2 months ago

Note

Do you have any kind of separate fund going for a new laptop? Asking because I'd definitely contribute to help you get towards that goal if there was one

Nope! While it would be nice to have something capable of leaving the house and touching grass while I work, I have a great desktop and Arson still boots up and can usually run 1-2 browser tabs and my writing program as long as I am careful with him, so I'll use the desktop for normal work/creation and Arson at night/when my legs are really bad and can't sit at the desk.

I do eventually want to get another laptop, something that can handle art and streaming (not so much anything past lightweight games since I have desktop for that now) for travel purposes and to help my whole mental stuck-at-home issue, but it's at the bottom of my priority list. I'm more focused on getting some dental work done soon, since I gotta pay $400 for one tooth next week not including the rest of me XD

Arson might be dying but with a little bit of glue and gumption hopefully I can make him live a little longer (years, forever, hopefully)

#also im sentimentally attached to that laptop #so trying to be frugal but also thats my boy sldkhgklsdhgs

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bet-on-me-13 · 1 year ago

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The First Supervillain

So! A Typical "Early Start" AU where the events of The Show happen early in the Timeline. Like, in the 70's or 80's.

Danny never quite managed to fix his Public Perception, and even years into his career people still saw him as the Villain.

Coincidentally Valerie was seen as a Hero because of how often they were seen fighting. Even after they revealed their Identities and got together, they still had the occasional Battle. It was their love language.

His role as the Villain was Cemented when Pariah launched his Second Invasion of Earth after some dumbass accidentally freed him, and Danny took the Blame for it. Instead of being seen as the Hero who battled Pariah and stopped the Invasion, he was seen as the Tyrant to launched the Invasion in the first place, with Red Huntess being the one to defeat him in one final Ultimate Battle.

And honestly? He was fine with that. Now that he was the King of the Ghost Zone, he had the Authority to Regulate the Portal so villains stopped getting through. And that meant that he wasn't needed to stop random Ghost Attacks anymore. He could finally focus on College and his own Life, instead of sacrificing everything to act as the Protector of the Human Realm.

Val continued to be a Hero for a few more years, eventually retiring when it became Clear that the new generation of Heroes could pick up the Slack.

He went to College, got a Job as an Aerospace Engineer, and eventually proposed to Valerie.

About 20 years since his initial Accident, and he was doing great! He had moved into a humble home on the edge of town with his loving wife Val, his beautiful daughter Ellie, and his cute dog Cujo.

Yeah, life was good.

Until the day Danny accidently caused a Mass Crisis.

...

Superman was having some extreme trouble in dealing with his current Opponent. He had just been flying around the City, patrolling as Usual, when all of a sudden he had been attacked by a Flying Mech Suit.

At first he had assumed that Lex was giving it another Go, but he quickly realized that was not the case when the Armor seemed to Phase though solid matter in the middle of the battle. Lex had never made Tech advanced enough to do that on the fly.

This opponent was tough too. Strong enough and Durable enough to go blow for blow with him, and seemingly able to pull Advanced Weaponry from out of nowhere whenever he wanted. As tough as it was to admit, Superman as losing the Battle.

Then, without warning, the battle stopped. His opponent was staring at the space just behind him, with a look of pure dread. He turned around, and his heart stopped.

Floating behind him, staring right past him and directly at the Mech Suit, was the First Villain Phantom.

He looked much the same as when he had last been seen, although he was definitely Older. He had snow white hair, and glowing green eyes that seemed to stare right past him and into his very soul. He was wearing what seemed to be a costume of sorts, with an all black suit, white gloves, and white boots. Over his Shoulders sat a Cloak made of Stars, and above his head sat a Crown made of an Icy Blue Fire.

The Mech tried for a greeting, "Er- Hello t-Lord Phantom. How do you d-"

"Skulker."

"Y-yes?"

"What are you doing here? I thought I gave you explicit orders to stay in the Ghost Zone until further notice. You disobeyed me."

"Okay look. I got excited, that's my fault. It's just, I got anxious waiting. Can you really blame me? I've been waiting 20 years to take another Crack at the Human World, what's it matter if I left a few weeks Early?"

"I told you. You were supposed to wait exactly 20 Years, and you left Early. This calls for punishment."

"No wait!"

"Let's see how you feel after a few days as Soup."

The Villain pulled out a Thermos, and in a flash of green light, Skulker was gone, and the King was capping the Thermos. He then turned to Superman.

"I apologize for him, he decided to leave ahead of schedule." The King addressed him. "Now, Kryptonian. Rest and tend to your wounds, you will need to be in your best health if you want to continue saving the lives of those people below us."

With a dramatic flare, the King reached up and Tore a hole in Space. Through the Hole, Superman could only see an infinite Green Void, with the sound of screams cheering being heard through the rift.

The King departed through the Tear in Spacetime, and it closed behind him.

Superman tried to collect himself, and activated his League Emergency Comms.

"Attention All Founding Members, and Justice League Dark Members. This is Superman calling for an immediate Emergency Meeting."

He took a deep breath.

"Phantom is Back."

#Dpxdc #Dp x dc #Dcxdp #Dc x dp #Danny Phantom #Dc #Dcu #Phantom is the first Supervillain #Red Huntress is the first Superhero #Danny/Valerie #Danny x Valerie #When Valerie and Danny battled against Pariah Dark they both managed to beat him #So they both became the King and Queen of the Zone #But nobody knows this and thought that Hero Red Huntress had defeated Villain Phantom #Danny went along with this since if was just easier and he didn't plan to ever break out the Phantom Persona again #Until Skulker decided to break the terms of his Parole #Skulker was supposed to be released in a few weeks but he got excited when he learned that a new Rare Species had become a Hero #He violated his Parole and left to the Human Realm Early #Misunderstandings #Now Superman thinks Danny is planning an Invasion of the Human Realm #They need to find Red Huntress #she would know how to defeat Phantom #Too bad for them she never let her identity be revealed

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readerihardlyknowher · 28 days ago

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In Every Universe | Pt. 5

Reader is referenced as a "girl" at the end. Also my favorite one so far.

Spencer Agnew x Reader Warnings: None WC: 1,748 Pt. 1, Pt. 2, Pt. 3, Pt. 4, Pt. 5, Pt. 6

“Hey, what’s up you guys? Now, today Angela and Amanda are a little busy, but we still wanted to film a games video. So, Spencer, what’re we doing today?” Your enthusiastic voice introduced before gesturing to Spencer, who is sitting beside you with an unenthusiastic face. He looks into the camera and in a monotone voice, says, “We’re going to collect my pages.” “That’s right you guys, we’re playing Slender: The Eight Pages today. Now, I don’t know about you, but I used to watch my little cousins playing this game when it first came out, so I’m excited to get to play it for real now.”

“Yeah, I mean it’s a pretty simple game in terms of premise, but I’ve only beaten it a handful of times back in college,” he casually says as he boots up the game. You look to the camera and hold your hands up as you lean back.

“Alright, didn’t know we had an expert here.” At this he looks at you with a cute, cocky look on his face.

“I’m always the expert here.” You scoff at his bold proclamation and play-punch his arm. Spencer decides that since he’s already had plenty of experience with this game, he’ll let you go first. It feels a little clunky playing games in front of the crew and on camera, but after a few minutes of just wandering around the forest, you ease into it. That is until Slender appears behind you and you turn only to be jumpscared by sudden static and Slenderman’s face. That’s when Spencer decides to take the mouse next, so you move to the right a little to allow Spencer to take the center stage, but instead of allowing it, he grabs your chair and pulls you closer.

“Don’t think you can escape,” his playful voice says as he loads up the new game. You roll your eyes at his idea that you were trying to get away from him.

“I wasn’t trying to escape, I was just giving you more room for the people at home to see this handsome face,” you say as you bring your hand up and poke his cheek, which he swats away. You glance over at him and see the familiar flustered smile on his face.

“Yeah, well the people will have to deal with your fat head covering me up,” he says cheekily. You scoff at him, smacking his arm again before leaning against him some. There’s always been something about Spencer that made you and everyone else around him want to just cuddle up with him, and it’s great that he allows it. Even through his hoodie, he’s rather warm, which you enjoy using to warm yourself up when the set gets chilly.

“Yknow, this kinda reminds me of that game we played the other day. What was it? The roblox one?”

“Doors?”

“Yeah, Doors. That one was way more terrifying than this though, way more jumpscares.”

“Yeah that’s because you sucked at it and kept dying.”

“Hey, you died as much as me, don’t lie.”

“I died as much as you because you’d get me killed.”

“Not true! You’re such a liar, dude.”

Spencer shrugs and you watch as he collects his sixth page, narrowly avoiding Slenderman’s static each time. By now, you’ve unknowingly begun clinging to his arm, leaning closer to the screen to watch how good he is.

“This isn’t fair. Bring Angela and Amanda back, I don’t want to be the only one bad at games here.” He laughs at this, which nearly gets him killed, but he looks away just in time. “Did you ever see Marble Hornets?”

“Yeah, a couple times. That was a while ago though, probably like, 2015.”

“I rewatched it recently, and honestly? So good.”

“No yeah, better than the stuff I made back in college for sure.”

“I don’t know, you had some good stuff. You looked so cute back then.”

“And not now? Wow, I see how it is.”

“No, you’re actually really pretty. Pretty fucking ugly.” Spencer’s laugh rings in your ears, but not long after do you hear the familiar static as his screen is overtaken and he dies. You both groan and he turns to look at you.

“This is your fault, you distracted me,” he says as he pokes you in the shoulder. You bring your hand up to rub the spot as you scoot forward to the desk, grabbing the mouse and keyboard to move them closer to you.

“It was my plan all along. Now you’ll be forced to sit here for ten minutes watching me.”

“Ten minutes? Really?”

“Shut up.”

Like Spencer said, you did not last ten minutes, probably at most four. But, like the gentle soul he is, he allows you to play again. Surprisingly, you find yourself getting the hang of it. You’re so tuned into the game you hardly notice when Spencer speaks up again.

“Y’know, I’m surprised we never played this game back when we joined Smosh,” he says, you glance over at his somewhat wistful expression, snickering before turning back.

“We were too busy being the best people on set.” You smile before realizing that this is a piece of information your fans don’t know about, and you also quickly remember that you are, in fact, on camera. “Oh yeah, guys, so we both joined Smosh around the same time in 2014. I was also an editor, so we had to work together a lot, and what do you know? We became besties.”

“Yeah, Y/n’s my bestie.”

“Yeah, but I wasn’t as well versed in the videogame scene as Spence, I mean, no one is, so we would spend time after work playing games together. So this is really just like old times.”

“One time in a behind the scenes video, you could see us in the background hunched over a screen together. The comments were crazy, like ‘Yellow shirt guy has a girlfriend at Smosh’.”

“But this was years after we had joined, after we had had our fair share of HR meetings about whether or not we’re dating. Even my friends at the time did.”

“And now we just can’t seem to stop ourselves from making out on camera, nothing's changed.” You laugh at this and turn to look at him, before dramatically looking down to his lips.

“Oh no, it’s happening again…” As if reading your mind, the both of you slowly lean in, before quickly pulling back with a laugh. You look over to see Alex shaking his head behind the camera, and you retreat into your embarrassed shell. “Okay, cut that, cut that.” Spencer shakes his head.

“No, we’re keeping it. Also, you died.” This draws you back to the screen, where you hadn’t even noticed that your screen was overtaken by static.

“Shit!”

“That’s why no girls kiss me. They immediately die.” You laugh before scooting back from the desk to give him room.

“Well, that explains a lot about you.”

The game starts up for the final time. Spencer has thoroughly decided to lock in, wanting to beat this stupid game and prove himself as the best gamer at Smosh. You sit beside him, still leaning on him as you watch him play the game. Pretty quickly though, you realize what the comments are going to say. You were already pretty heavily shipped together as Y/s/n, but you leaning on him? Joking about kissing him? Calling him cute? It’s nothing other cast members haven’t done, but still, you know the Y/s/n shippers are going to go crazy. Now, you personally don’t mind it, finding the edits of you two to be pretty cute, but you don’t know how Spencer might feel. Maybe he really wants to keep the closeness of your relationship private, maybe he doesn’t want to see edits of you two together. Deciding to maybe reduce the fuel to the fire, you pull back once again, not too far, but now you’re no longer touching. It only takes him a second to notice your absence.

“I swear to god, if you don’t get back here right now, I’m firing you.” You huff out a laugh at this, still not moving back yet.

“I- what? You’re not even my boss, dude.”

“While you’re on Smosh Games, I am. Besides, my arm is getting cold.” At this, you see him glancing back at you, giving you a look which you know is meant to comfort you. It’s one thing you hate about Spencer, how he sees through you so easily. I mean, being friends for about 10 years does that to a person. Rolling your eyes, you move back in, leaning up against his shoulder and watching him play. 7/8 pages collected. Every time he moves the screen there’s static, and it’s putting you on edge.

“How do you keep knowing where all the pages are going to be?”

“I just know. I’m that good.” You roll your eyes again at his hubris. “I think you could beat this though, with time.”

“Think I could get as good as you some day?”

“Hundred percent.”

The conversation falls silent again as you both stay locked in on the screen. Your hearts racing in your chest as you see out of the corner of the screen, the final white page. You hold your breath, watching as Spencer darts through the woods and just as static is appearing again, he collects the final page. At that moment, you release a heavy sigh, clapping your hands together in excitement. You see Spencer turn his chair to face you, a smug look on his face as he holds up his hand, and you do the same, before clapping your hands together between you two.

“This just in, Charles Spencer Agnew has collected all of his pages. We did it folks.” You look over at Spencer and see him pushing his curls back with his hand, sighing heavily and looking at you with a large grin.

“That felt pretty good, I’m not gonna lie. Got to show a girl my gaming skills.” You scoff out a laugh and turn back to the camera.

“And now I’ve been swooned. Guys, this has been Y/n and Spencer. Be sure to check back in next week where we’ll hopefully have Amanda and Angela back. I hope you all have enjoyed this in the meantime. See y’all later!"

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Tag list: @lisiliely

#smosh fanfiction #smosh fic #spencer agnew #spencer agnew x reader

193 notes · View notes

megalony · 2 months ago

Text

The Ties That Bind Us

This is a new Dark! Evan Buckley imagine, requested by anon. I hope you will all like it, feedback always makes my day.

Taglist: @justagirlthatlovedtoread @musicistheway @avada-kedavra-bitch-187 @luula @missdreamofendless @bradleybeachbabe @woderfulkawaii @amberpanda99 @daggersquadphantom @marvel-and-chicago-fan @angryknightstatesmantrash @minjix @lyje @kmc1989 @itsmytimetoodream @noonenuts @hiireadstuff @ashie-babie @jayyeahthatsme @sp1ritssz @dumb-fawkin-bitch @oliverstarksbae @gimatida @heart-35 @supernaturalstilinski @kyky9103 @gay4hotmilfs @itshamleth @chaoticnosleepinfluencer @gs29 @wh0reforsmutstuff @mel-vaz @natashamea18 @chrisevansdaughter @alexandra848484 @deena-beena-weena @targaryenluvs @kpoplover-19 @marvelmenarebeautiful @gillybear17

@zoeybennett @mrspeacem1nusone @zephyrmonkey @estella-novella @eleventhdoctorsangel @kniselle @senjoritanana @shauna-carsley @dottierose @cfdhouse51 @darkfemme1 @rainechase45 @lolalolsstuff @jupiter1700 @ashdoctor @an-aliens-ghost @lunaroserites @houseoftwistedspirits @callsignwidow @winterreader-nowwriter @reneinii @bellsbomb @western-pyro @itsgigikay @harry-satellite @midsummereve1993 @babyqueen17 @buckyyyismahhlife @sammiejane22 @mrsyixingunicorn10 @op-81-lvr-reblogs @talicat713 @niamhmbt @strawberry-canyon @bieberhoodforever @911fangirlie @hollandxxmix @jasmineee05 @creat1venat1onn @devilslittlehelper @darlingcharling-blog @bear8585 @nickie-amore @elliott-calls @person-005

Dark! Evan Buckley Masterlist

Summary: For a while now, Evan has been dating Bobby's daughter, and he thinks things are going great. But when he hears her doubting their relationship, he does whatever he can to keep them together. He isn't about to lose her.

Enjoy.

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Tiredness washed over Evan like the tide rolling across the sand when he entered the apartment. It felt like he was moving on autopilot, desperate to get inside and crawl into his bed that had been calling him for the last few hours that had dragged on into an eternity.

His movements were sluggish when he kicked off his boots and dumped his work bag down by the front door to be dealt with in the morning. He didn't have the time or effort for anything but getting into bed right now.

He reached a hand up to rub at his sore eyes and veered to the left, moving without really looking or paying much attention at all.

He felt like he was moving around the bathroom in a daze, stripping and tossing his clothes in the hamper until he was stood in his boxers and bare feet. Brushing his teeth with his eyes almost closing and his weight resting more on his right foot than his left allmost like he was a flamingo- a certain ADHD habit he had done since he was little.

He moved around the dark apartment with ease, gliding through the darkness like it was his natural habitat, but even in his tired state, Evan noticed a few minor details.

He had seen (Y/n)'s bag hung up beside the front door, and her shoes resting on the rack. He noticed the spare toothbrush in the pot in the bathroom, the one he always kept in the cupboard for when she stayed over.

(Y/n) was still here.

Not that Evan expected her to have disappeared while he had been at work. He had left early this morning but he always told (Y/n) she could stay over as long as she liked. And that he wanted her to be here when he got back.

He loved being able to come home to someone, to not have to come home to the quiet darkness and be left with his own thoughts and an empty bed. Evan loved when (Y/n) stayed over, or when he would go to her place, though admittedly they were here at his loft more than they ever went to (Y/n)'s place. She was practically living here at this point, and that was the next goal Evan was hoping to achieve at some point in the near future.

But it made him smile to know she would be up there as he clambered up the stairs and aimed for the bedroom.

And there (Y/n) was, exactly where Evan expected her to be. She was fast asleep, which wasn't surprising since Evan was sure it was sometime after eleven at night. He hadn't kept track of the time, as soon as the last call was done and he'd showered and scrubbed down, he clocked out and hurried to his jeep to come home.

He didn't have the heart to wake her, not when she looked so peaceful. Burrowed down into the pillow she was practically hugging to her chest with the cover tucked around her like she had formed herself into a cocoon.

Evan tried to be careful when he peeled back part of the cover so he could shuffle in behind her without waking her. It didn't look like she had been asleep for very long. The tv remote was on the edge of the pillow and (Y/n) had one arm stretched across the other side of the bed, considering that she was laid in the middle.

Her hand was next to her phone. Strange. Evan didn't usually notice her sleeping like that, she must have been on her phone and fell asleep, something (Y/n) didn't do very often.

Reaching over, Evan moved the remote and placed it on the side table out the way and he took the time to lean over (Y/n) and attach his lips to her temple for a few seconds. He smiled against her skin and brushed her hair away from her cheek while he stretched his arm over her. His chest merged into her back and he tried not to lean on her too much as he carefully picked up her phone.

He pressed a few more kisses to her temple and then down to her cheek before he finally turned over.

He laid on his back with his shoulders slightly propped up against the headboard and pillow behind him. And his left arm stretched out to rest his hand on (Y/n)'s hip while he unlocked her phone, which wasn't hard when he knew all of her passwords. It was just safer that way.

"Let's see who you've been talking to." Evan muttered to himself as he scrolled to find the last app she'd been on.

After all, (Y/n) must have been doing something or talking to someone if she had fallen asleep on her phone, and it hadn't been Evan she had been talking to. He had messaged her a few hours ago while he was on shift, but she hadn't answered him. Why answer someone else but not him?

She didn't like showing Evan her phone, something which really bugged him because he let her see his phone if she ever asked. He didn't have anything to hide, so (Y/n) shouldn't either. He didn't like it when she messaged someone but tilted her phone away from him. It always made Evan wonder who she was talking to, or if she was talking about him.

Evan didn't like to think about (Y/n) keeping secrets from him. The only secret the pair of them were keeping or should be keeping was the fact that they were together.

(Y/n) was Bobby's daughter, therefore they hadn't told him or anyone else that they had been seeing each other. It didn't seem a safe move until they were certain about this relationship and where it was going. The others at work might think Evan would get special treatment for Bobby, and Bobby was always protective over (Y/n) and grilled and potential partners.

Keeping things secret and to themselves for now was what they had decided on. But Evan was hoping that (Y/n) would move in with him soon, and then they could tell everyone about their relationship.

His fingers danced up and down her hip while he flicked through to her messages.

She had been messaging someone called Anya. Evan had heard of her, one of (Y/n)'s close friends, but he hadn't met her. He'd not really met any of her friends and likewise (Y/n) hadn't met Evan's friends that weren't working at the 118. Curtesy of the privacy they kept around their budding relationship.

Why had she tried deleting some of the messages from tonight?

A frown set into Evan's features as he went into the settings to restore the messages. Nothing was ever permanently deleted, something a lot of people seemed to overlook.

But when he scrolled through some of the messages, it felt like a fire had started to burn deep within Evan's gut and his chest tensed as the frown on his face deepened and burned in intensity.

What had she done?

Why had she sent that stuff about him? Evan's name hadn't been mentioned, but it was pretty obvious who she was talking about. The 'new guy' she had met clearly referred to Evan, but what (Y/n) had sent was wrong.

Why had she told Anya she was unsure about their relationship? She hadn't said anything like that to Evan, she hadn't given him any impression that she was uncertain or that something was off between them. Why was she talking about Evan was if he was some kind of problem? Why was she lying about him?

The more messages he read through, the more panic Evan started to feel. She said she loved him, that was a relief. But she also said he was overbearing. He was starting to become controlling.

Did (Y/n) not understand how deeply Evan loved her, how badly he had fallen for her? Didn't she realise that he was trying to look out for her? He was trying to protect her. He couldn't do that if he didn't know what she was doing or who she was with. He saw people go missing every day. He saw people getting hurt in minor, horrific and strange accidents. He saw people get hurt, disappear, get into trouble.

And Evan didn't want any of that happening with (Y/n). She was Bobby's daughter. Evan had to be extra careful, he had to look after her, make sure she was alright and protected when she was around him.

There were two certain messages that caught Evan's attention and sent his heart rocketing up into his throat.

*You can always leave, you still have your own place, right? x

*Not that easy, he knows my family. He's close, to everyone. x

All of a sudden his mind was wide awake. Sleep was no longer ebbing away at his mind. Instead, paranoia and unbridled anger tormented his system that was overflowing with adrenaline to the point he was starting to shake.

(Y/n) loved him, that much was evident, but Evan didn't like this turbulence and confusion.

She shouldn't be so confused about their relationship when they were meant for each other. (Y/n) was everything to Evan, she was his world. Everything he wanted in a partner was personified in (Y/n). And the fact that she was Bobby's daughter just made things so much better.

Her family was Evan's family. They had the same interests, the same friendship groups and Bobby was like a dad to Evan. He was someone Evan looked up to and thought of as the family he'd never truly had growing up. Everything was as it should be. This was meant to be.

(Y/n) couldn't go around saying things like this to people. She couldn't be talking about ending things when she hadn't spoken to Evan first. She hadn't talked things through with him and let him explain. He could quash all her worries if she opened up to him properly. He could stop those incessant thoughts and set her straight again. If she just understood that Evan was being protective, not overbearing, then she might stop panicking so much and overthinking their relationship that was as strong as ever, if not more.

One thing was for sure, Evan loved her far too much to let her go.

She couldn't be considering leaving him, Evan would physically break if that happened.

After so many horrible, confusing and strange relationships, finally Evan had found something that was stable and certain and true. He had found someone he loved who was exactly what he had been hoping for. Someone who understood him, someone who loved him and didn't want to use him or gain anything from him. Someone who saw him and made him better.

He wasn't going to lose her.

With a deep breath, Evan locked her phone and tossed it on the other side of the bed.

He was going to have to do something. If (Y/n) was questioning their relationship then Evan was going to have to do something to stop those worries and take her mind off it. He would have to cement their relationship in her mind.

He wasn't going to give (Y/n) any reason to leave him. He would find a way to bind them together. Fate had brought them together, and Evan was going to make sure that they were bound to one another.

And he knew just what to do that would bind (Y/n) to him, no matter what.

***

The sound of knocking on the door made bolts of lightening shoot through (Y/n)'s system and she jerked back against the wall, lifting her head from her trembling hands. Her head snapped to the right and looked towards the door, but to her surprise it didn't fly open.

"Babe, everything okay? You've been in there a while now."

Maybe she had been in here a while, (Y/n) wasn't sure anymore. Time was slipping away from her as she sat here on the bathroom floor, her back up against the wall and her knees coiled up to her chest. Her fingers were anxiously tapping against her knees as she stared at the door just waiting for Evan to walk right in.

It wasn't as if there was a lock on the door anyway. Somehow Evan had broken the last lock that had been on his bathroom door and he never got around to fixing it. He lived alone and when (Y/n) stayed over she was his girlfriend anyway, so why would he need a lock?

Moving her trembling hands, (Y/n) tried to run them up and down her face, wiping away the few tears sticking to her skin.

She didn't really know why she was crying. Nothing bad had happened, she wasn't hurt or ill or frightened or hiding from Evan. There was no context for her to be crying, except for the small white stick resting on the floor next to her.

A pregnancy test.

She had to take the test to know for sure, but she had noticed the warning signs. The random bouts of sickness that weren't from any flu or illness or food poisoning. The headaches, the lack of appetite, the slight changes to her body and the fact that she hadn't had a period for two months, only a bit of spotting.

She didn't know what to do if this was going to be positive. (Y/n) didn't know if she and Evan were ready for this, they couldn't be. Not when (Y/n) wasn't sure that the behaviour Evan was displaying was normal.

He got riled up if he didn't know her plans or what she was doing at almost every moment of the day. He hated it if she messaged a close friend but wouldn't tell him exactly who or what she was saying. He didn't like her being at her own apartment without him, he always wanted her with him if he wasn't at work. It was like she was being smothered.

Would a baby change that? Would a baby make Evan calm down, would it give (Y/n) a bit more freedom in their relationship? Would a baby calm Evan down and prove how strong their relationship could be if he got over those paranoias and controlling issues.

(Y/n) always wanted kids. Despite the turbulence in her teenage years after her mum and brother died, she knew a family was still what she wanted. The fire in their old apartment had brought her and Bobby even closer rather than pushing them away. And (Y/n) knew her dad would be thrilled to see her settle down and to have a grandchild to help nurture and be around.

And knowing that Evan would be a part of their family would make Bobby over the moon, even if he had never seen this controlling side to Evan before.

A baby could easily change things for the better… or the worst.

"Babe?"

Turning to the left, (Y/n) wiped her eyes one more time before she reached out for the test. She had waited almost ten minutes, sitting here in turmoil, too nervous to actually look and see what the result was.

The moment she looked at the test, she turned in the other direction and tapped on the door. "Evan… please," She wasn't quite sure what she was asking, but it didn't matter because as soon as he heard her, he pushed open the door.

He wasn't expecting to see her sat on the floor, that much was clear by the panic that etched onto his features the moment he looked at her.

"Hey, why the tears? What's wrong?"

(Y/n) wiped her sleeve along her face before Evan crouched down in front of her. Her breath caught in her lungs when his hands reached out and cupped her face, and the feeling of his thumbs swiping along her cheeks made her heart stutter. He looked so worried, so much concern flooded his face and made (Y/n) feel like there was nothing else on his mind but her. But sometimes that was the problem.

"Look." She tried to control her voice as she reached out for the test and held it out towards him.

That test, that little insignificant white test was the reason (Y/n) was going through so much internal panic and confusion.

She watched through watering eyes as Evan let go of her so he could look down at what she was holding out towards him. His brows furrowed as he stared down at the test and gingerly took it from her as if he thought it might vanish before his eyes.

It was positive. (Y/n) was pregnant. They were going to have a baby, and the proof was in Evan's hands.

"I know we didn't plan this, and- and it's so sudden, but I don't know what to d-"

(Y/n)'s breath caught in her throat when the test was dropped somewhere on her lap and Evan's hands were suddenly back to cupping her face again. The breathless, wide smile on Evan's face took (Y/n) by surprise before his lips were suddenly on hers and the little breath she had left in her lungs was stolen by him. He was kissing her. His smile was beaming. He was happy, not angry or confused or unsettled.

(Y/n) found herself reaching out to grip his wrists, clinging to him as tightly as she could to reassure herself that this was real, that this reaction wasn't part of her imagination.

They hadn't been planning for this, much the opposite. They always used protection, they were careful. (Y/n) hadn't been expecting to think about being pregnant so soon into their relationship. They weren't even moved in together yet and Evan's actions were confusing and worrying. A baby wasn't something they had planned for.

The tears falling from her eyes finally began to cease as Evan shifted from crouching so he was down on his knees in front of her and he leaned in so close that their chests were touching and he was almost wrapped around her like a blanket.

"Maybe it's quick, but that doesn't mean this is bad. A little piece of us running around, that doesn't sound too bad, does it?" Evan brushed his thumbs across (Y/n)'s cheeks as he pressed their temples together and finally opened his eyes to look down at her.

"Not too bad," (Y/n) mumbled softly as she leaned her cheek against Evan's palm and closed her eyes.

She had been panicking about this for a days since she suspected she might be pregnant. She thought of every possibility and every reaction Evan might have. But seeing him smile so brightly and hearing that breathless laugh against her lips made the panic in (Y/n)'s chest simmer down.

Maybe she had been worried about this relationship, but a baby was going to change things. They would just have to wait and see if this was going to cement their relationship or break it apart. (Y/n) hoped for the former.

When she leaned into his touch, Evan lifted his head so he could smother his lips against her temple and take a few deep breaths against her skin. He couldn't stop the smile from spreading across his lips and he didn't want to either.

This is what he'd been hoping for. This is what he had planned for because deep down, Evan knew this would be the glue that would keep them together. This was going to bind them together.

(Y/n) could never leave him or disappear from his life if they had a child together. A baby would tie their fates together forever.

***

The nerves raging through (Y/n)'s system felt like they were beginning to eat her alive. Her foot was tapping incessantly against the floor like she was a drummer with an invisible set and her hand was already clenched tightly in Evan's grip. She wasn't quite sure who was holding tighter, her or Evan. But she knew that his knuckles had long since turned white and the blood was cut off to both their fingertips by now.

The moment the front door opened, (Y/n) felt like her lungs had popped and she wavered until Evan stepped closer so his chest was moulded up against her back.

She tried to put the bravest smile on her face that she could muster and she was silently relieved when Athena opened the door.

"Hi honey," She leaned over the threshold to bind (Y/n) into a hug, but when she looked up, her brows rose and her lips pressed together when she realised who was standing behind (Y/n).

It had been (Y/n)'s idea to have dinner together tonight, and she had asked if she could bring someone with her. It didn't take much for Bobby and Athena to figure that she was bringing someone special around to meet them. The person who had been taking up most of her time recently.

They had clearly seen that she was in a relationship with someone, the calls, messages, going out and not staying at her own apartment. It was clear, and they were happy for her, but they were relieved to finally meet this person.

But Athena hadn't expected it to be anyone they knew.

"Come on in, you two. Your dad's in the kitchen." With a kiss to the side of (Y/n)'s head, Athena ushered them both inside.

(Y/n) kept tight hold of Evan's hand, even as Athena pulled him into a sideways hug before she let them both hurry past her. She had to have Evan close by her or she was going to lose her nerve about going through with tonight.

It was going to be a big bombshell to drop on her parents that one, she was in a relationship with Evan who was like her dad's protege. And two, they were going to have a baby together.

When Evan let go of her hand (Y/n) almost stopped breathing until his hands settled on her waist. She felt him press a kiss to the back of her head as they wandered past the living room and into the kitchen, but that was where Evan let go. He knew (Y/n) was going to go and hug Bobby and he couldn't exactly wrap around her when she did that, no matter how much he wanted to.

He stood in the archway, hands clasped behind his back as he stayed just out of reach but well within earshot. And his eyes followed (Y/n) as she glided across the kitchen and bound her arms around her dad's middle and pressed her cheek against his back.

"Hey, there you are." Bobby reached down to squeeze her hand and he set down the spoon in his hand and took a step away from the oven, not wanting any accidents to happen.

When he turned around, he reeled (Y/n) into his chest and kissed her temple. "How are you, sweetheart?"

"Good, I'm good."

"So, did you bring your date?" The words were whispered against (Y/n)'s ear and Bobby grinned when (Y/n) hummed and took a step back so she could look up at him. But she didn't get chance to say one word before another voice entered the conversation.

"Hey Bobby." Evan tucked one hand into his back pocket and curled his other hand around his hip as he slouched against the wall to his left.

A grin lit up his face when he watched the confusion morph into surprise on Bobby's face and his lips parted as he held a hand out in Evan's direction.

"Buck, what're you… y- you're (Y/n)'s date?" A bundle of emotions flurried through Bobby's voice as he looked from the bashful expression on Evan's face to the worried smile his daughter was glancing up at him with.

Oh. So this was why she hadn't mentioned a name thus far whenever she said she was going to meet up with someone or staying over at a 'friends' place. She hadn't wanted to bring up Evan's name in case it caused some controversy. Dating him could cause conflict, especially if they only had a few dates which went wrong. Then things would really be bad for Evan and her dad at work.

A quiet "Surprise," left Evan's lips as he pushed off the wall and stepped into the kitchen, resting his hand on (Y/n)'s lower back as he moved to stand beside her.

He was a little more than shocked when Bobby rested a hand on his shoulder and actually continued to smile at him. Part of Evan had been expecting a lecture, a cross word or a word of warning that he should have told him straight away or asked him first before starting to go out with (Y/n). A smile wasn't what he was waiting for.

"This is a surprise. Why don't we all sit down, foods almost ready."

(Y/n) could feel the panic slowly dwindling away when the four of them sat down and began to eat.

It wasn't going as bad as she thought, and even though her dad was asking Evan quite a few questions, he wasn't upset. He wasn't giving them the third degree for not explaining sooner, he wasn't asking (Y/n) why she didn't tell him or why she was going out with Evan of all people. He wasn't inquiring and part of (Y/n) wished he would.

Maybe if her dad got upset or vented, then (Y/n) would feel better. She wasn't sure why she felt so uneasy about everything. Evan was happy, he was glad about the baby, more accepting than (Y/n) thought he would have been. He was taking this in his stride when usually he didn't like change and had to take time to adapt to new things. It was almost as if he was anticipating or hoping for this, and that was lovely.

It was lovely that he was happy and involved and eager straight away rather than deflecting or backing away from her.

But he was still overwhelming.

He was still overbearing and when she realised last week that he knew the password to her phone and laptop, she subtly tried to change them. If he noticed he hadn't said anything, but (Y/n) didn't know what to make about that either.

She hoped that if they went ahead with moving in together and trying to start this new family that maybe Evan would relax.

If she lived with him he might not be so worrisome about where she was during the day and what she was doing. He might not want to check her every move and text if she lived with him. He might calm down and be more settled and this baby might give her a new sense of freedom and bring something more to their relationship.

After all, (Y/n) had seen Evan when he was around kids and he was the best version of himself. Seeing him with a child of his own was going to be magical, he was going to be the best dad out there and that was the thought that kept (Y/n) going and made her want to smile when she looked down at her stomach that had yet to change shape in any way.

(Y/n) found herself drowning out of the conversation for a while until Athena reached over and rested a hand on her arm, bringing her back to reality with a bang.

"You know, when you said you were seeing someone, I would never have guessed that it would be Buck." The smile on Athena's face showed she wasn't being rude or insinuating, she was simply shocked.

She wouldn't have thought they would have gone together, or that they would have kept their relationship a secret. Athena knew Bobby had mentioned a few times that Buck seemed more preoccupied, less eager to spend his entire life at the station and he actually wanted to go home now. Bobby saw it as a good thing.

He was glad Evan's focus wasn't entirely on wearing himself thin at work and that he was finally settling down and being happy with someone. It was clear Evan was happier recently, that he was messaging and calling someone and cancelling plans to be with them. He was doing things for himself rather than pleasing everyone else and covering all the shifts at work. Bobby was happy for him.

"You two seem good for each other." Athena's comment caused (Y/n) to look down at her plate and she tried to smile but it was hard with every emotion washing over her and knocking her down.

She could feel Evan's hand gliding across her thigh beneath the table and the way his fingers danced along her skin made her take a deep breath. She wasn't sure what his intention was or what he was trying to do, but when he settled for gripping her thigh and dragging his thumb along her side, she let herself relax.

Her head lifted and she looked across the table at her dad when he cleared his throat and looked between them both. "Why didn't you say anything before?"

"We didn't wanna make things awkward, dating the Captain's daughter is kinda big… like crossing a line."

Evan reclined in his chair and slouched down a little but he kept looking between Bobby and (Y/n).

He had wanted to tell Bobby for a while now, but at the same time, he was slightly nervous. Bobby was his mentor, the man he looked up to and aspired to be like. He was the father figure Evan had never had in his life. Going and dating Bobby's daughter felt like he was intruding and stepping over an invisible line drawn between them.

He didn't want to do anything that would upset Bobby or make him think that Evan was being rude or uncaring or selfish. And he didn't want Bobby to worry that he might have to pick sides or act differently around Evan at work. Dating the Captain's daughter could cause trouble.

Bobby might have to declare this to his own superiors in case of emergencies or anyone finding out and complaining or pretending that Bobby was giving Evan special treatment. It might cause rifts or problems with them working together.

But Evan felt better for telling Bobby because if this went well then things would get even better. He had the girl of his dreams, they were having a baby and now he had a cemented family around him who he loved and was intergrated with.

"And you don't seem to like any of the guys I bring home." (Y/n)'s voice was quiet but she tried to add an air of humour to her words.

She could feel the fire igniting within her stomach when she watched her dad tilt his head back and laugh.

Part of her had been hoping that her dad wouldn't be happy. She expected- or wanted- him to say that this was too close home, that if something went wrong with this relationship then Bobby would have to pick a side. He would have to choose between agreeing with his daughter or siding with the person he classed as family.

She wanted him to say that he worked with Evan and it was a conflict of interest and would cause problems at work. She wanted him to give her a reason to back away from Evan, but deep down, she knew that wasn't going to happen.

If she wasn't pregnant, she would wish for a reason to part from Evan so it wouldn't be her fault and so she wouldn't have to hurt him. Finding a reason now didn't make a difference because she couldn't drag herself away from Evan.

They were having a baby and (Y/n) wanted to go through with this, she couldn't get rid of this baby and this was going to connect her to Evan forever. She couldn't start out by separating and trying to raise a child without being together.

It would be so much easier to try and do this together because she couldn't deny that she loved Evan, even if he was giving her reason to worry about this relationship. She loved him, he loved her more than words could say and this baby deserved a chance at some sense of normality and a loving family. (Y/n) was just going to have to work harder to make this family proper and to dampen down Evan's overbearing nature.

"I'm not that bad." Bobby looked over at Athena before he sighed when she gave him that certain look with one arched brow and her chin tilted down towards her chest.

So maybe he was a bit of a frightening parent at times, but it was only because he loved (Y/n). She was his daughter. He had almost lost her once, Bobby wouldn't risk losing her again or seeing anything bad happen to her, he had even more reason to want to protect her now, from anything.

Leaning forward, Bobby set his elbows down on the table and ran his hand along his chin as he laughed and nodded before he looked over at Evan.

"When you first joined the station, yeah I would have been angry at you getting with my daughter."

He didn't have to say it for Evan to know what he meant. He would of had a big problem with Evan getting with (Y/n) when he was a probie at the station because he had a problem. Evan had slept around, he had flings with a lot of women before and after he joined the station and he did it for the sex, not the company or to find a relationship with any of them.

Bobby wouldn't of allowed Evan to get with his daughter and make her one of his trophies, one of the women he bedded and then forgot about. He wouldn't let Evan string her along.

But Evan had evolved since then, he was finally looking for a proper relationship and wanting to better himself and commit to someone.

Bobby just didn't see the full change that had evolved in Evan. He didn't see how the lack of commitment Evan once showed had twisted into an obsessive need to control whatever relationship he committed to. He didn't see how Evan wanted to give himself to one person and focus on that relationship to the point that he obsessed over it.

He didn't see how Evan became paranoid that he wasn't enough and how he needed to know what (Y/n) was doing because he thought if he didn't then he couldn't protect her and he couldn't trust her to be without him. He didn't see Evan's panic and how it made him shout and punch the walls when (Y/n) didn't tell him who she was messaging or where she had been or when she went out somewhere without telling him first.

Bobby saw the good changes, but he didn't see the darker nature flaring to life. (Y/n) felt like she was the only person who saw that side of Evan and sometimes, in the dead of night, she wondered if she was imagining it all.

No one else saw it. What if it was all in her head and Evan was truly being protective over her? What if she was blowing this all out of proportion? She couldn't push Evan away and tell her dad or anyone else if this was just her imagination getting out of hand.

The smile that lit up Bobby's face made (Y/n) curious and made Evan hopeful. "But now… now I think there's no one else I'd rather have looking out for my daughter. I know you're good for her."

(Y/n) sincerely hoped her dad didn't see the wince she tried her best to hide. He didn't know how wrong he was.

"Thanks Bobby, that's- that's relieving to hear."

"Oh?" Athena set down her fork and reached out for her glass of wine instead, looking at the couple with a curious smile because she heard the enlightening tone to Evan's voice. And she could see the grin spreading across his face.

Evan looked bashful as he flashed his teeth and tilted his head down so he was looking at his plate. He knew (Y/n) wanted to be the one to tell them. She had tried to ask Evan if they could break the news slowly, if they could tell of their relationship first and bring up the baby another day.

But Evan thought it was best to let it all out in one go. It would be easier to get everything off their chests now, to tell their good news so then they could tell the rest of the team and then their friends. And (Y/n) could tell her friends and Anya and make it clear that their relationship was solid and there was nothing to fear or worry about.

"We have something to tell you." (Y/n) couldn't help but lean to the right, resting her head on Evan's arm as she felt the panic rising inside of her.

She needed the support he gave, she needed some of the confidence Evan had because he seemed to know that everything would be okay, but (Y/n) wasn't so sure.

This news was going to make her parents so happy but (Y/n) didn't know how to think about it herself. She wanted this to be a fresh start, but she couldn't quite believe it. Not until she had witnessed Evan's attitude and demeanour change for the better, then she would calm down.

She felt Evan's hand curl around her thigh and it was like he was engulfing around her like a security blanket when he leaned against her arm and his lips attached to the side of her temple.

"I'm- I'm pregnant, we're having a baby." (Y/n) could barely breathe when the words passed her lips and she watched their expressions change.

She watched the light sparkle in her dad's eyes as his smile punctured up through his cheeks and Athena was already up out of her seat, laughing through a smile.

"Oh honey congratulations!"

(Y/n) felt like she was moving in a daze when she got up from her chair so she could hug Athena. It felt like a weight had been lifted from her shoulders when Athena reeled her into her chest, hugging her so close that (Y/n) felt like she was going to be tucked into Athena's chest right next to her heart. She had been a mother to (Y/n) ever since she married Bobby.

She felt a lump forming in her throat like all the words she wanted o say were getting clogged up in a bundle before she could say any of them.

She heard her dad mutter "You're really pulling out all the surprises tonight, huh?" as he pulled Evan into a tight hug.

If only they knew.

(Y/n) wavered on the spot when Athena let her go and moved over to congratulate and speak to Evan. She wanted a pair of arms back around her, someone to hold all her pieces together when she felt like she was falling apart. Her head was swimming with panic and confusion and love and uncertainty.

It was a relief when she saw her dad weaving around the table to get to her. His smile was warm and inviting and made (Y/n) feel like a child again and when he enveloped his arms around her, she could of cried.

She meshed her head into his chest and bound her arms around his middle, tucking herself against him.

He always knew what to do. Her dad was always good like that, even when her mum died, even when he started drinking, Bobby still had that sense of control and calmness about him. He still knew what to do, how to make amends and make things right and progress with their lives. He knew how to make (Y/n) feel safe and secure again when she felt like the world was ending.

She needed that, she needed her dad to tell her what to do and how to make everything right.

(Y/n) wanted her dad to make this situation better. She wanted him to talk to Evan, to tell (Y/n) if having this baby and being with Evan was the right thing to do.

"I'm gonna be a grandad." Bobby couldn't seem to stop the blinding smile from lighting up his face as he looked down at his daughter.

Their family was changing, adapting and this was something he had always hoped for. He always hoped (Y/n) would find someone to be happy with and have her own family with and Bobby knew his girl was going to be one of the best mums out there.

But when he looked down at her, something tugged at his heartstrings. Something churned and bubbled up and twisted in Bobby's stomach when he saw his daughter's expression.

Her smile didn't reach her eyes. Those beautiful eyes he had looked into hundreds of times weren't full of love and hope like he expected.

Her eyes were close to watering. Her smile was wobbling and the slight twitch in her nose and the way she bit down on her lip were all tell-tale signs that she was getting nervous. She didn't look thrilled by this news that shouldn't have been so damning as it seemed. Panic was bubbling away in those eyes. She looked at him like she did when she was little and she thought she was in trouble for something. Like when she was too afraid to leave their new apartment after the fire and Bobby had to work hard in stages to get her back out into the world.

She was looking at him like she needed to reassurance again, like she needed him to do something to make this all better. What was Bobby supposed to make better? How was he supposed to help her? Why wasn't she so happy about this new change in her life?

"Sweetheart, is everything okay?" Bobby kept an arm secured around (Y/n)'s waist and carefully ushered her a few feet away from the table until they were stood near the patio doors.

"Course." Her voice wasn't convincing and (Y/n) knew it. There was a wobble to her tone that showed she was verging on tears.

"You know you can tell me anything, if you're worried or if there's something else playing on your mind. Talk to me."

Bobby's tone made (Y/n)'s knees tremble and she looked out towards the garden, hoping to fight off the tears threatening to fall.

She didn't know whether she wanted to laugh or cry. She was having a baby, this was a new exciting experience and this was going to be great for their family. But it was so soon, so sudden and unexpected and combined with Evan's strange behaviour, it was worrying.

What was she going to do if Evan's behaviour continued to get overbearing when she had the baby? What if she couldn't get him to relax or relent or curb his possessive side?

(Y/n) tightened her hand around Bobby's arm and leaned into his side as she started jittering from foot to foot. Her dad would know what to do, if she explained about Evan's behaviour, he might know how to talk to Evan and try to get him to calm down. He might know how to approach Evan and what to do next in this situation.

But before (Y/n) could get the words out that were on the tip of her tongue, a pair of strong arms bound around her waist and her body froze. She felt a pair of familiar lips nuzzling into the crook of her neck and a broad chest gluing up against her back. Evan. He was wrapping himself around her like a blanket, protecting her, securing her, controlling her.

She reached her hands down to lightly clasp her hands over his arms that felt like cages enclosing around her.

"All good?" Evan whispered into her hair, almost like he was giving her a warning sign and (Y/n) found herself nodding without really giving herself time to think.

"Hm. Just, just so much to work out, my flat, work, telling people," (Y/n) tilted her head back against Evan's shoulder and tried to look up at him but her head was already spinning.

There was so much to think about, so much to talk about and so much that (Y/n) wanted to tell her dad. But she couldn't. Explaining what was wrong was admitting that it was true and (Y/n) didn't want to deal with the fallout.

The smile on Bobby's face remained, but the brightness in his eyes dimmed somewhat.

He couldn't place what it was, but there was something about (Y/n)'s expression that worried him. Something in the way she looked up at him like the frightened child she had once been which made Bobby revert back to that time. He didn't know what was troubling her, but he knew he was going to have to try and bring it up at some point. Not today, but soon.

Something was worrying her, and he needed to know what it was. He needed to help her.

#evan buckley #911 imagine #imagine #evan buckley x reader #evan buckley imagine #buck x reader #pregnant! reader #buck imagine #dark! buck #dark! evan buckley

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sanguineterrain · 9 months ago

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professor pretty | charles xavier

Summary: You duck into a pub to escape a creep. Just when you've lost hope that you'll get to go home at all, a pretty-faced professor comes to your rescue.

Pairing: young!Charles Xavier x gn!reader

Word count: 1.8k

Warnings/tags: creepy guy intimidating reader, charles to the rescue, flirting, drinking, professor!reader, i tried to make it accurate to an english university and make him English but if there's any mistakes feel free to lmk.

this is a modern au in that movie canon is the same but they have cellphones here bc it's easier lol

the divider

There’s a man at the back of the pub, in a scary leather jacket and combat boots, and he won’t stop staring at you.

Instinct tells you that he’s not going to let you leave either.

You noticed him after you left the school. That’s what first pushed you into this pub across from the university. Now you’re parked on a stool. You really want to go home, but instead you’re sticking close to the frazzled barman who’s managing about thirty first years who are just jazzed about the new school year.

You’ve ordered a pint, even though you’re not really a beer drinker, but when in Rome and all that. You’ve had about two sips.

You sneak a look over your shoulder. The man is still there. Fuck.

“Could I have another pint, please? Cheers.” A man leans against the bar top, hand running through his light brown hair as if on instinct. You’ve seen him once this week, at the university, when you were trying to get your own classroom set up for the term.

You don’t know his name or what he teaches, but you do know that he likes the poofy-haired, off-duty secretary in the red dress that came in about an hour earlier. And she seemed to like him back. You’re surprised he’s still here.

You rest your chin in your hand, watching detachedly as he orders. He’s got a nice smile and even nicer manners. Posh. Probably a jerk.

“Hello.”

You look up. Professor Pretty Boy is standing closer to you, blue eyes warm. His smile fades as you look at him.

“Is everything alright?” he asks, brows knitting in concern.

You sigh. “Yeah, great.”

The last thing you need is another guy screwing up your night. Even if this one is considerably better looking.

He rests his elbow against the bar top and pushes his finger against his temple.

“Is someone bothering you?” he asks after a moment.

Your eyes widen. “How did you–?”

“I recognize the look. Fella in the corner, yeah?”

His words make you tense. You sneak a look back. The man is still there, though he’s now on the phone.

“I think he’s going to follow me home if I try to leave,” you whisper.

His eyes soften in concern. You watch him watch you. Then he seems to make a decision.

“I’ll be right back. Stay here, alright?”

He heads straight for the creep. You watch, slack-jawed, as your unsuspecting knight in a crisp, white button-up says a couple words to the man. Then they go outside.

You turn around, guilt washing over you. What if he gets hurt?

Well, so what, says another part of you, it’s not like you told him to confront the guy.

But your knight returns in thirty seconds, every hair in place. He gracefully slides onto the stool next to you and takes a gulp of beer. Foam gathers on his upper lip. You can’t help your disbelieving smile.

“You’ve got…” You gesture to your mouth.

“Ah.” He takes a napkin and wipes his mouth, avoiding your gaze. Is he flustered?

“There’s just no dignified way to drink a pint, I’ve learned,” he says, clearing his throat. He smiles at you, less rakish and more bashful.

“How did you do that?” you ask. “He must’ve been there for half an hour.”

“Hm? Ah, well, I politely explained that that sort of behavior isn’t tolerated here, and that I was very happy to call the police.”

Your brows rise. “Wow. He seemed determined to stay.”

“I can be very persuasive, I’ve been told. Oh! How rude of me.” He sticks out his hand. “My name is Charles. Charles Xavier.”

You shake his hand. It’s cool and soft. You tell him your name. He repeats it softly.

“It’s very nice to meet you, though I wish we’d met through better circumstances,” Charles says.

You nod. “Me too. But thank you, seriously.”

“No thanks necessary. Men should let others live in peace.”

“Words of the century,” you say, raising your glass.

“Cheers,” Charles says, clinking your glasses together.

You both take a drink. You’re considerably more relaxed. And no, you’re not really Professor Xavier’s type, but you like the company. At least for tonight.

“So, are you visiting?” he asks. “Pardon my saying, but you don’t sound…”

“Like you?” You playfully raise an eyebrow.

His eyes widen. “I didn’t mean it like that.”

“No, it’s okay. I’ve only been here a week, actually. I took a teaching position at the university.”

“You don’t say! I teach here too. What are you teaching? Wait, no, let me guess…”

Charles squints in concentration, putting his hand to his forehead. “Hmm… ah! Women’s literature?”

You shake your head. “You’re on a roll, seriously. I’m in awe.”

Charles waves you off. “You’re too kind. I’m just perceptive.”

And there’s a pinch of something in your gut, something that tells you that it’s more than good perception. But you don’t detect any malice in Charles. In fact, you feel nothing but kindness and genuine interest emanating from his gaze.

“Well, let’s see if you’ll go two for two. What author am I teaching first?”

Charles smiles at you knowingly, and you’re sure he’s about to say it.

“Oh, I haven’t a clue. Hmm… Ms. Austen?”

You laugh. “No, I’m very sure that the students at Pembroke have gotten their fill of Austen in their A-levels. Do you give up?”

He grins. “Yes, I do. Tell me all about it, please.”

“I didn’t peg you for a quitter, Charles.”

“I know when I’m beat,” he says softly, and the tips of his fingers touch yours.

To your surprise, you don’t pull away, even though getting involved with a professor your first week would be bad.

But there’s something magnetic about him.

“I was thinking I’d teach The Haunting of Hill House.”

Charles raises his brows. “Horror? My, my. Quite a first impression. I like it.”

“Got to make it memorable, don’t I?”

“I don’t think you’ll have trouble with that,” he says. Your face warms under his incessant charm. “You’ll get on fine here. I’ve been teaching for a few years. My sister keeps pushing me to find a place in America, but I have a hard time letting go of the familiar.”

“I bet you’re popular here,” you say, and Charles immediately catches onto your meaning.

“Heh, well…” Charles purses his lips mischievously. “Ahem. I try to make the course engaging, especially since I teach graduate courses. But I’m a homebody, truly. It’s my sister who pulls me out here, and one thing leads to another, and I get to meet lovely new lecturers with impeccable literary taste.”

You turn and focus on your all but abandoned beer, tracing shapes into the condensation and hoping you’ll get some reserve back.

“Does this charming routine work on everyone?”

Charles laughs. “Actually, my routine is something like, um…”

He leans in, half-lidded. “I have all the time in the world for a darling with the TCHH gene. You would call it curly hair, I call it a mutation. A most alluring mutation, mind you—you see, mutations are what took us from single-celled organisms to the dominant form of reproductive life on the planet. And being that it’s my field of study, and I take my studies very seriously, I would love to explore what other genetic wonders you’ve been gifted with.”

It’s quiet for several moments. Then you begin to giggle. Charles schools his expression, feigning indignance.

“And what’s so funny?”

“You’re not serious,” you say. “Does that really work?”

“I don’t know why you’re laughing—it has a nine out of ten success rate,” Charles says, sticking his nose up. “People like genetic facts.”

“I think they like your pretty face more than the facts, Professor.”

You wince as you realize what you’ve said. Charles pounces immediately.

“Apologies, I can’t hear you very well in this loud pub… did you say my face is pretty?”

“Oh, put a sock in it,” you say, rolling your eyes. “Like you don’t know.”

That draws a full laugh from him, face scrunching in delight. You smile back, shaking your head.

You check your phone out of habit, feeling like it’s been a long time and… holy hell! 11:46. You curse, scraping your stool back.

“Dammit, dammit. I’ve got a lecture tomorrow morning! I’m so sorry, Charles, I have to go.”

You hadn’t meant to stay so long, but the stranger had frightened you, and then you’d met Charles, and…

But you stop short upon seeing the door because of the terrifying thought of the stranger waiting outside for you.

Charles must sense your hesitance. “I can drive you home.”

“Oh, it’s fine. I’m only a ten minute walk away,” you say, but it’s weak.

He puts a hand on your back. The touch is fleeting, but he’s warm through your shirt.

“Then I’ll walk with you. I love walking. And the rain will come soon—got to take advantage of clear nights.”

You look at him. He already has his coat. You suddenly remember the woman he’d followed to the back table.

“Are you sure? Didn’t you have a…”

“She wasn’t interested,” Charles says, back to his perceptive ways. His gaze is fond. “I’d rather walk with you, anyway.”

“You’ve already charmed me, Charles,” you say as he walks you out of the pub.

“No charm,” he says simply, holding the door for you. “Just being honest, darling.”

You feel infinitely better on the way home. Charles keeps your spirits high, providing you with endless advice and assurances for your new job.

You go up the steps, taking out your key to the flat.

“Look, um…”

You stop and turn. Charles follows you up. He starts to touch your arm, then stops. He straightens his tie instead.

“If you see that man again, or someone like him. Someone who doesn’t look right. Promise you’ll tell me, alright? You can reach me on my mobile any time.”

He hands you a card. Charles Xavier, Mutant Expert. Huh.

You look at him, fear returning. “Do you think he’ll come back?”

Charles shakes his head. “No, he won’t bother you. But if… I don’t know. Never mind. No, I’m worrying you. I’m just making you paranoid. Forget that.”

You shrug. “You’re keeping me safe. I like that.”

Charles chews the inside of his lip for a second. Then he leans in and kisses your cheek. You inhale sharply.

His thumb lingers on your jaw before he pulls away completely.

“Good night,” he says, pupils dilated in the dim light.

“Good night, Charles. Thank you.”

“Any time. And if you just want to go for a pint, that number isn’t just for emergencies.”

“Are you that sure of yourself?” you ask, hand on your hip.

“No.” He smirks. “I just happen to be very perceptive.”

#charles xavier x reader #charles xavier x you #professor x x reader #charles xavier imagine #charles xavier fanfiction #xmen fanfiction #xmen x you #xmen x reader #marvel fanfiction #mcu fanfiction

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rainydaygotham · 4 months ago

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I MARRIED MY STALKER —more on page 4

Tim Drake x reader gn || part 1 || 1760 words

a/n: okay so some context, this is supposed to be an isekai’d reader. only been in this universe for a month but knows dc lore. also i wrote 90% of this literally 2 years ago lol i stay silly

It was a strange situation. Laughable, in a twisted kinda way. You knew you had a stalker. You hear him follow you home every night after work. Or, well, morning technically. You get off that late.

You've never been one to write something off as paranoia. Especially now that you lived in Gotham. Especially especially since you lived in the Narrows. Like you're not stupid.

Whenever you would turn around, checking your surroundings, you wouldn’t find him. The footsteps weren't on the ground, you've elicited. He was up in the rooftops, doing parkour. Great.

You really hoped it wasn't a supervillain. Imagine that, you're given the miraculous opportunity to carve out a new life for yourself in a big city and you almost immediately get killed horrifically by a guy in a halloween costume before you even get a chance. Actually, with the way your luck goes, that checks out.

It was becoming increasingly clear the predator didn't just know your work schedule, either. When you'd go out for groceries, or to a diner, he’d often find you then too, following you around town. It was like he was studying your behavior patterns, which actually is pretty typical of a true old fashioned stalker, now that you think of it.

Even so. He never got any closer than he always did. Never actually attacking you. And eventually, you got used to his presence, thinking nothing of it when you heard the occasional scuff of boots against the concrete and metal of the city.

But the strangest thing happened as you shambled home from your second job tonight, eager to get on with your evening.

You see him.

Or, at least, you see his shadow. His form silhouetted against the wall, standing bold as he eclipsed the red glow coming from some sort of neon sign.

He doesn't move, as you stare at the shadow on the wall. Which strikes you as odd, if not terrifying, because you had gotten the vibe that this man knew what he was doing. It was like he wanted you to know he was there.

And you recognize the silhouette. That's Red fucking Robin.

You take a deep breath. You are relieved, truthfully. Even if it was clear he thought of you as some sort of target.. Or maybe he was protecting you from the real stalker, and the supervillain theory was truer than you'd hoped…

“I don't believe I have any information you would want,” you call out, trying to figure just what the hell he thinks he’s doing.

“That’s not necessarily true,” his voice is different than you expected.

“So like. You gonna beat the shit out of me or can we go up to my apartment and have this discussion over a pot of coffee?”

“I— I would never hurt you,” his calm and deep voice cracked for a second, like he couldn't believe what you just implied. You know as if he hadn't been stalking you almost the entire time you'd been in this goddamn city.

“So my place it is, then,” you confirmed.

“You’d invite a dangerous vigilante into your home?”

“Are you saying you don’t have the ability to ‘let yourself in’ at any time you please?”

“Well, no,”

“Then I don't see how me voluntarily letting you in is any less dangerous.”

And that's how you wound up in this situation, nervously pouring a mug of coffee for one of Gotham's infamous vigilantes.

You were glad that he for some reason took this softer route. As you recall, whenever a Bat wants to have a talk with someone they usually just appear in the shadows of their home or office, scaring the bejeebus out of them.

You couldn't completely tell, because of the mask, but you got the feeling he wasn't looking around. He'd already studied your apartment, most likely. His eyes were trained solely on you.

"Room for cream and sugar?" you ask. You know the answer. You're a barista in the daytime, and you've served a certain Wayne Ent. CEO more than a few times already. Which, now that he could be your stalker, makes sense. He was scoping you out. Great.

"No thanks. I prefer it black."

"Dark like you, right?"

He cracked the smallest of smiles as he took the mug from your hands, like he was holding back from outright grinning. Strange. That was a really lame and overdone joke. Maybe he doesn't get out much.

"I like it black too," you ran a hand through your hair,

"I know you’ve been following me around," he looked a little guilty at your accusation, "but I don’t know why. I haven’t done anything suspect—“

“I’m protecting you,” Tim butt in.

“I’m in danger?”

He shifted uncomfortably.

"…I can’t say that you aren’t.”

“Goddamnit," you set the mugs down on the table a little too aggressively, "So what am I looking at here? Joker? Poison Ivy? Condiment Man?”

Tim looked sheepish as you poured the coffee into the mugs. As much as he could with that mask, anyway. He grabbed a mug and took a long sip, swallowing loudly. Ah, it was a little too hot, but he was trying too much to act cool to let on to the fact he just burned himself. He let out a breath to cool off his tongue, but played it off as a sigh.

“I can’t tell you.”

You sighed deeply, yeah, that’s what you thought he’d say.

Well. As much as you didn’t like the sudden interruption of your new life, you had been wondering when you were going to be pulled into something like this. You knew it was inevitable, otherwise you wouldn’t be here.. Right? People don’t get sent to other dimensions for no reason, right? And besides, now that you’ve settled in, you’ve started to get bored.

"So what’s our game plan?” you asked as you took a sip. Ah, a little too hot.

“Game plan?”

“You know. The part where you’ve got an overly complicated plan to catch this criminal and you need my help as bait,”

He smiled at you, incredulous, “You’d want to be bait?”

“Not. Necessarily. No,” you took another sip to cover up your eagerness, “I just want to help,”

“Helping is my job, Sweetheart,” he took a long sip to look roguish, “you’re a civilian,”

“Yeah but,” you tried not to sound put down by his reluctance to let you into his world, “You— I… I’m interested in not being a civilian, if you know what I mean…”

Tim stared at you, trying to compute what you were asking of him. Feeling silly, you put up your dukes and mimed punching someone to make your point. It was really cute, actually. He grinned at you.

He did not expect.. this. He thought you’d be scared. He thought he could metaphorically take you to a scary movie just so you’d cuddle into him out of fright. He did not think your brain would’ve picked the ‘fight’ option out of ‘fight or flight’. Maybe he underestimated you. Miscalculated his moves. Albeit, this might be way more interesting…

“Train me,” you tried not to sound too desperate.

You held your breath, waiting for his answer.

Tim focused on the coffee, letting what you just said linger in the air. This was a dirt cheap brand of grounds, burnt and acidic. He’d have to get you some real coffee soon.

“Okay.”

You released the air in your lungs with one big huff. Hopefully your breath didn’t smell too bad, as you basically washed his face in it. Even a strand of his bangs fluttered. Real smooth, dumbass. But you quickly forgot that insecurity as your brain caught up with what he said.

“Really?”

“Yeah, really,”

“No interview or anything? Not that I can’t be trusted, but how would you know I can be trusted?” hey stupid, stop trying to talk him out of this.

“Well I already uh,” he coughed awkwardly, “I already know a lot about you,”

“Ah, yeah, you were stalking me, weren’t you?”

You had no idea what the fuck kinda info he could have considering you don’t really have a background to check in this universe, but okay.

Tim scratched the back of his neck, “Yeah.. Sorry about that. It was all for your safety, I promise,”

You giggled, “Thank you, Mr. Robin, I do feel safe now, knowing it was you,”

“Oh uh,” you could see a blush start peeking out from under his mask, “My pleasure— I mean uh, it’s my duty to you. —As you are a citizen of Gotham, I mean.”

“So when do we star—“

You were cut off by his communicator beeping. He put a hand up to some earpiece he had.

“On it. Be right there,” Tim told someone over the line.

He looked back at you guiltily. You waved your hand in a “it’s fine” gesture.

“Go be a hero Mr. Robin,” you stood to start taking the mugs to the sink.

He held up a finger to ask you for a second as he basically dumped the entire mug into his mouth and gulped it all down. He parted from the mug with a gasp of satisfaction, and you snickered as you finally took it from him.

He stood and brushed himself off while you busied yourself at the sink. You didn’t really worry about whether he was about to disappear into the night like he was never there in the first place. He’d be back. Watching you in the shadows like he had been every night you’d been here...

Did he know you weren’t ‘native’, so to speak? Maybe whatever trouble you’re in now is apart of how you got here in the first place. You’ll have to ask him later…

A hand found its place on your shoulder, and you turned around to him fumbling with his communicator with the other hand. You felt a buzz in your pocket.

“Here’s my number, I’ll text you later, okay?”

You noticed how he didn’t even go through the formality of asking you for your number. Guess we’re a little past pretending this is a normal interaction between two people who want to get to know each other better. You smiled at him as he started making his way to your door.

“Bye Mr. Robin,”

Chuckling at the nickname, he turned back one last time as he held the door, “Bye Y/n,” he grinned at you before making his disappearance back into the shadows of the night.

#red robin x reader #tim drake x reader #red robin x you #tim drake x you #dc x reader #tim drake x male reader #tim drake #red robin #tim drake imagine #red robin imagine

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eleanor-is-probably-my-real-name · 28 days ago

Text

—The Running and the Hiding— (3,9k words)

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Emperor Geta x fem!reader

Request: @coruja12345: I would love to read a time travel fanfic, in which the modern reader goes back in time, Geta is obsessed with her and she doesn’t like him because she thinks he’s arrogant.

Summary: On New Year’s Eve you make a small wish that maybe could be responsible for you falling quite literally into a different time. Drunk and clueless you find yourself at the feet of a Roman emperor, who may or may not wants to kill you. Now you have to try your best to not die—which gets awfully complicated with that emperor finding some interest in you…

Shorter summary: time travel is a bitch and Geta, too.

Trigger warnings: alcohol (alcoholism if you squint really hard)

A/N: i am horribly sorry for posting so rarely. also, i wrote the first bit somewhere in january and finished the other two thirds, or smth like that, just now at 1:30 am. i plan to do some more parts and if you’re lucky you’ll get it even before this year ends, ha! i hope you like this piece of something here, i’d love if you give some feedback! love you!

Part: 1/?

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Be careful with what you wish for.

You have heard that phrase — of course you have — but no one ever pays attention to these kinds of wannabe wisdoms, as you believe. So why would you?

Oh, but how could you have known the silly little wish you’ve written on that damn piece of paper on New Year’s Eve would ever find a real meaning? That the wish for a “drastic change of that boring life” you’ve burned in a drunken haziness over that stupid lighter would come to hit you like a train?

Maybe you should have thought about that phrase, after all.

When the first of January sees the first light, your guests (three friends it were; you like it quieter) have already left, and you are still awake. Sitting on the kitchen floor with a half-empty bottle of tequila and smeared lipstick, you regret half of the evening. You don’t regret it for people you miss or people you desire, no, you never minded a more lonesome life. You’ve simply drunk too much of everything.

And so, still slumped on the floor with only one shoe on and hair in a total mess, your head starts to hurt, and you consider getting up and making yourself a nice hot tea.

Minutes pass. You don’t move.

Then you groan and take another sip from the tequila. What a great way to start the new year, you think. It is just the same way it started last year. And the year before. And the year before that.

You grab the bright red hair clip, of which you are not sure if it is even yours, lying on the kitchen floor and try to put your hair away into something. You only half succeed, the alcohol in your blood is not helping.

Eventually you decide that you need to do something—anything. Considering cleaning up your apartment and deciding against it very quickly, you get up, nearly fall, and search for your second boot. You feel dizzy, horribly dizzy.

When you finally find that shoe (it was behind your sofa), you believe that for this very moment there is no better thing to do than go out for a walk with a bottle of tequila.

And that’s what you do.

Or, at least, try to.

With a jacket, boots, and that glittery mini dress of yours, you stumble out of your small apartment, drinking from the bottle like an alcoholic (you are not an alcoholic, you tell yourself). You don’t know what makes you think you have a plan or even a destination to go to, but you don’t care.

You reach the stairs and, once again, are horribly aware of your dizziness. Things seem much farther away, and they turn and twist and spin. Awful feeling.

And then you trip. On the stairs.

And you fall, and you scream. But when your already miserable head hits something, no noise leaves your mouth anymore. Pain and dark is the feeling.

And you think you are dead.

You are, in fact, not.

When you slowly come back to your senses and feel a hard floor under your back, you don’t open your eyes right away. Legs and arms are twisted under and over your body in weird ways, and you fear that something is broken. You don’t dare moving yet.

The air is the next thing you grow to be aware of. It feels fresher and smells warmer — unlike your hallway. But maybe your senses are mocking you after that pathetically hard fall down the stairs in the drunken mess of yours.

Your eyes flutter open. First, you don’t recognize your surroundings because of your awfully blurred view. You blink a couple of times, trying to push the headache away and to see.

And when you finally do, you realize that you really don’t recognize your surroundings.

What?

You jolt upright from your lying position, sitting straight. Your look darts around, trying to understand the things you find in front of you. Instead of the narrow green hallway walls, you see wide and open marble columns. The walls are gigantic, adorned with colorful frescoes of ancient people. The floor is not dark and dirty, something you normally avoid touching with something that isn’t your shoes, no, now it is smooth and light and noble. Again, marble, you think.

And then you turn your head to the stairs you have fallen off and find no dirty old wooden staircase. It’s also marble. And it’s wide and high, and you feel incredibly small with all of this looming over you.

“What the hell…,” you mutter slowly.

Where are you? The room must be in a palace, you have never seen anything bigger. But you very certainly do not remember ever making your way towards such a building, no amount of alcohol would make you forget something like that. There is no palace in the small town where you live, anyway.

Then how did you get here? Are you dreaming? Are you in a coma? You count your fingers, watch your surroundings, and count your fingers again. Ten. Nothing has changed. And how detailed the frescoes are, how vivid the colors. You have never dreamed in such realistic ways.

You take a very deep breath. But it has to be a dream. There is no other reasonable explanation. You must have fallen way too hard, you decide.

A dream, just a dream.

You suddenly hear voices. And heavy steps, rattling with iron. People are coming, heading right for where you are crouching, probably very pathetically. And you hear their voices growing louder, deep and strange.

Deep, because there are men laughing. And strange, because the words leaving their mouths are very much not your language. Not at all! Oh, damn, your fall must have been really hard, your hallucinations are now speaking new languages.

The hall, in which you sit in your puddle of misery, is big, so the men‘s voices sound much louder when they enter that room. Your heart begins to race as you see the figures coming through the massive door, right in your direction. Shit, shit, shit! What do you do?

You try to stand, pressing your hand into something sharp. You curse, pain darting through your hand and blood running immediately from that ugly cut on your palm. That the tequila bottle has shattered into a hundred pieces you only realize now, and you would have taken the time to mourn the waste of the good tequila (it was never good, you just like getting drunk) (you definitely don’t have a problem) if it wasn’t for the men freezing a couple of meters away from you.

Oh, fuck.

You have to get up.

Your legs are shaking when you try to stand, needing to avoid using your poor cut hand for that. A headache stings through your forehead once you are out of your seated position, and your vision runs dark for a couple of seconds too long (you blame it on the fall). You nearly tumble to the ground again, you aren’t close to being sober.

“What are you doing there?” One of the men calls with an aggressive tone, that makes you flinch.

Strange, you think. The words are so horribly unfamiliar, and yet you understand. Your brain is a genius for coming up with a completely new language.

Still, you are confused.

You take some time until you answer; your head spins, your hand hurts, and you slowly start to feel warm liquid running down your fingers. You wipe it off on your jacket and remember afterward that it’s blood.

And the men come closer, and you think you can answer anything because it’s not real, it can’t be real! You could ask them where you are, and you could ask who they are. Also, you could try to explain that you would like to go home (or maybe a hospital, if you think better of it), but after blinking at them for too long, you say:

“What?”

Oh, they don’t like that answer. They understood, you realize, and after recalling the word you just said, you notice that you haven’t spoken your language.

“Are you not hearing right, girl?” They are closer now, and you back away a step.

“I have no idea,” you say, because you really are clueless.

“Oh, so you’ve forgotten the reason for your little visit to the palace, right?” the other man mocks.

That man is taller but slimmer than the other, but he is dressed the same as his companion. They are wearing armor and helmets, fully made out of metal, and on their belts are hanging dangerous-looking swords. Swords! You gulp and hope they are only decoration.

They are, actually, not decoration, because the first man suddenly pulls his sword out in a sharp motion and points it right at you, and you gulp, stumbling another couple of steps away.

“Wait, wait, wait!” You pull up your hands in a desperate attempt to appease the men. “The thing is, I have no fucking clue how I got here, okay? I fell down the stairs, being drunk like shit, and boom, I am here.”

You chuckle nervously.

There is a long pause. The men look at you and seem incredibly uncertain whether they should laugh at you and kill you or kill you right away. That’s what you read from their expressions.

“I know, I sound crazy.”

The taller man nods slightly. “Yes, you do.”

You inhale and exhale deeply, shivering, and let your gaze dart around to maybe find an answer in this hall, written on the columns or drawn on the floor. But that only makes you more miserable and hopeless. Everything feels a little bit too real, and you don’t like it. You really don’t like it. The throbbing pain in your head and the bleeding wound on your hand remind you that things seem to be pretty existent. You never cut your hand so painfully in a dream and you start questioning your mental stability.

“You have to believe me,” you then plead, “it’s the truth!”

“What are we supposed to believe?” The first man says again, “That you have fallen from the sky? Like a present from the gods? Ha!”

The muscles in your face tense as you feel yourself getting more and more desperately frantic.

“And what are you wearing there?” the other man remarks. “Are you a whore? A whore from the barbarians? I have never seen such clothes.”

“Ouch,” you are offended, “I like my dress, actually.”

The dangerous-looking men share an uncomprehending glance. Then the one who has his sword pointing at you turns again towards you, his expression becoming that aggressive sternness again.

“You know how you look, right?” He moves a step closer. “You, girl, look like a damn intruder. Like someone who breaks into the palace of the emperors and is, let me say, up to no good. What are your plans, huh? Espionage? Stealing? Murdering the emperors?”

A subtle fear starts to cramp around your gut. You realize that you not only have no idea how you got here but also have no protection. If all of this is real and these men are right when telling you that you are in a royal palace of two emperors, then you are screwed. Nothing else can explain what you are doing here in the middle of the night.

You absolutely look like an intruder with very bad intentions, and you have nothing to make you denying it believable. This is probably a good moment to start praying, because everything feels, again, too real and too hostile to rely any longer on your hallucination theory.

“I—I don’t—“ you start, but get cut off.

“Yes, of course, you are innocent, completely harmless. You can tell that to your cellmates in the dungeons.”

Oh, no. No, no, no. This is really bad.

“If I think about it,” you start, taking slow steps back, “I’d rather not visit the dungeons, you know?”

You turn around and run. Or you try at least, because you only come two steps forward before being dragged back by your jacket, your arms being forced onto your back, and every attempt to wriggle your arms free is futile and only answered with a harsh grip.

“Oh, yes, you think you are smart, don’t you?”

“No, not really—ouch!”

Your arms are being twisted painfully.

“Oh, just shut your mouth!” The man who is not holding you, the smaller one, barks.

If you really think about it, you come to the conclusion that talking back, giving unfunny retorts, and trying to run away are the worst possible things you could do in your terrible situation. But you are still drunk. You don’t think rationally. And that is a problem. You should be much more scared.

The men drag you through the halls, your curses and insults (that are horribly loud, by the way) echo in these high rooms, with their massive walls. The ceilings are being held up by these gigantic and elegant columns, and fine statues of soft women and heroic men fill every corner. You would have been amazed by the beauty of this place if it wasn’t for you being painfully torn by two men towards the dungeons. God must hate you very much, because you probably will die here.

It is a long hall where you come to a sudden halt.

“What in the gods’ names is this insufferably loud noise for?” A voice calls out, turning into a scream at the end, making your captivators flinch, now.

You try taking a clear notice of your surroundings again to see to whom that voice belongs. That’s harder than expected, because the alcohol in your blood denies you a clear vision, your eyes simply refuse to focus quickly enough. Not that you have had any chance anyway, because your head, no, your whole torso, is pushed harshly down to bend over. You’re now facing marble floor and your feet, thanks to the man holding your head down.

Steps come closer. Two people, three? You are not sure, everything is too dizzy anyway.

“Your majesty,” the taller man holding you speaks. He also has his head down, bowing, you realize, and suddenly he doesn’t sound so confident and harsh any longer. Humbled, he is. “My emperor, please, forgive us this disturbance.”

“It is in the middle of the night, and you are not even able to make sure that this palace is not being kept from sleeping.”

“Greatest apologies, your highness, greatest apologies,” the other man beside you quickly says.

“We make sure that the prisoner is being silenced and brought to the dungeons as quickly as possible,” the man gripping you mumbles, “your highness.”

Ah. A prisoner you really are now. Great, your new year couldn’t be better!

The man, who spoke and screamed at the two men holding you captive, scoffs.

“Cut out her tongue if necessary.”

What?

“Of course, your majesty.”

“I wouldn’t like that,” you mumble without thinking.

“What was that?” the so-called emperor says.

The air is thick suddenly, and horrible tension seems to be crushing you. Even the two men beside you shift uneasily. They are not bowing any longer.

“We will punish her for that, your—“

“I don’t remember talking to you, idiot!” He snaps. “Show me your face.”

Finally, the grip on your head loosens, and you inhale deeply to steady your racing heart when you slowly get back into a straight and less humiliating position. You feel, however, not less small.

The man in front of you has a killing big authority, according to the way the men are acting, but he himself isn’t big. In fact, he’s rather small, with red hair and no shoes, only dressed in a red sleeping gown, you guess. If it isn’t for his unpleasantly stormy expression on his face, you would believe him to be pretty harmless, like a sweet, sweet dog. (If you really think about it, he could be categorized as a furious chihuahua. But you stop thinking of weird dog metaphors.)

Beside him stands a woman, not bigger than the emperor himself. Light fabrics are hanging from her shoulder, wrapping elegantly around her body down to the floor. Beautiful jewelry adorns her arms, her neck, and her hair, and the long, dark curls fall nicely coiffed over her back. She looks obediently down at her feet, and you are not sure of the role she has to hold.

You start to feel weird in your clothes.

“Speak up,” the man with the red hair, the emperor, demands.

The situation is overwhelming, and you want to go home very much.

“Um,” you start, because you think too slow and need to remember what it is exactly he wants to hear, “I said I wouldn’t like that.”

He raises an eyebrow, and you want to run away.

“I could also let you fight to the death in the arena if that suits you better,” he says blankly.

“Excuse me?” You gulp, and a nervous smile shivers itself onto your lips. What have you gotten yourself into? Where the hell are you? You find no reasonable explanations anymore.

The emperor seems to enjoy your reaction, chuckling, and you wouldn’t be surprised if he starts shouting at you again just to see your miserable face.

“Please, don’t act as if you don’t know what happens to intruders. You surely can’t be that stupid,” he says and makes a step toward you.

“I—“ your voice cracks, “I am not an intruder, I promise!”

He looks you up and down, judging you. “What weapons was she carrying?”

The smaller of the men guarding you stutters around. “She, um, she wasn’t carrying any weapons, your highness.”

His gaze wanders back to you. “I seem to have misjudged you, you really are stupid.”

You feel pathetic.

“I don’t even know how I got here, I swear! I fell off the stairs, bumped my head, and, just like that, woke up here,” you explain hastily, trying to somehow prove your innocence of any crime. When you see the emperor not reacting in favour of your well-being, you quickly go on: “And I am not insane!”

That makes you, actually, sound more insane.

“You think you’re funny, don’t you?” He starts, his voice low.

“Sometimes, yes…” You mumble, not thinking.

“Stop that!” He shouts, and the taller guard gives you a hit on your already hurting head.

“Do you even realize how incredibly ridiculous your story sounds?” he goes on, his voice loud and his face furious. “Do you even have the slightest idea who you are talking to? Jupiter, have mercy on me. I am Emperor Geta, ruler of the Roman Empire, and I forbid you from lying to me like that, you—“ he struggles to find an insult—"you barbarian!”

You traveled through time. That’s the first thing that comes to your head, the next thing is the tears forming in your eyes without you wanting them to.

“Please!” You beg, suddenly falling to your knees. “I don’t know anything, really! Do you see my clothes? I don’t know what happened. Do you think I would come up with that weird explanation to disguise stealing? I don’t want to die!”

There is a weird silence where you crouch on the floor in the most humiliating state possible, the guards not knowing what to do, Geta eyeing you with anger and some sort of interest. Your sniffing is the only sound that can be heard for that time, and when the confused man lets your hands go, you wipe your nose with your hand. It’s the bloody one, and you now have blood smeared under your nose and on your lips.

“My emperor, Geta,” a shy voice suddenly speaks up. It is the soft woman. “May I state a thought?”

He turns towards her, realizing that she is present, and makes a disinterested “hm” and an approving hand movement.

“I don’t see why she would be lying about that. The guards haven’t found a weapon or something stolen. She seems to be severely wounded, it could explain the loss of memories. I know from experience that that is something possible to happen.”

“That doesn’t explain how she got into my palace!” he snaps.

“No, no, it doesn’t. But,” the woman looks at you, “she doesn’t seem to have bad intentions. Before you want to raise your judgement, which I trust to be fully reasonable and legal, we could maybe give her some time to remember some things about… her story.”

You don’t understand why she is helping you, you really don’t.

Geta seems to consider. His eyes twitch over your face, then your body.

“How do I make sure she won’t hide anything she remembers from me?” he thinks out loud, an awfully presumptuous tone in his voice.

The woman is about to speak up again, but he raises his hand sharply, signaling her to stay quiet. She obeys.

“If you, you stupid girl, have to tell me something in the next weeks, I will grant you a punishment that does not involve your death,” he says and goes down onto his knee to look you right into your eyes, “because Cornelia believes you didn’t want to murder me in my sleep, and I trust her. Besides that I think that you,” he suddenly grabs your face, holding your cheeks too tightly between his thumb and the other fingers, “have a quite interesting pretty face.”

You startle at the sudden touch of Geta. His face is much too close to yours, and your stomach clenches.

“Also, I am not in the mood to see you dead.” He lets go and stands up again.

How merciful, you want to reply, but this time you can stop yourself. You just escaped death for at least some days.

“Prove yourself.” He holds his hand right in front of your face, and you need some time to grow aware of what he’s demanding with that. While you slowly lean forward to press your lips as softly as possible (you don’t want to touch him at all with your lips) onto his fingers, you think that you could as well bite him.

But you choose life this time.

He pulls his hand away (thank God) and looks at the taller man, who is still standing right beside you.

“You.” He points at him.

“My name is Augustus, your highness.”

“I don’t care the slightest for your name,” he hisses. “You lead her down to the dungeons. You,” now he speaks to the smaller man, “leave. Tomorrow I will talk to her.”

Oh, no, no, no! Not the dungeons! You try to wriggle yourself free again when your arms are again being grabbed, but you have no chance of escaping.

Emperor Geta turns around, already about to leave, but he stops and hesitates.

“Cornelia,” he speaks to the woman, “bring her something proper to dress in. These clothes she has are horrible.”

“Wait, no, I really like my things—hey!” You are dragged off.

“Gods have mercy, don’t you ever shut off?”

That’s the last thing you hear from Geta before he is gone, out of the hall, and you are, once again, being dragged through the massive palace towards the dungeons.

Never in your life have you been in such a desperately pathetic situation, and you curse yourself for ever finding your normal life boring. Right now you would like to do anything that didn’t involve trying to convince a crazy Roman emperor that you suffer from amnesia and needing to come up with a damn good explanation of how you got here.

And you have not the slightest idea how to do that.

Shit.

#emperor geta #gladiator ii #gladiator movie #emperor geta x reader #geta #time travel #i exclusively write impulsively so the next part can be expected in maybe five months if i feel that way

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