#is this my first fanfic on here

[slashy-ashy]

I think I like Dick so much because I just like vibe with him because I vibe a lot with my older sis, so it’s like she’ll be unapologetically her and I’ll be like “wow thats my oldest sib 🤩” and then I’ll relay what she did and like imagine what if Dick did this or said that🧐 so this is all to say that Dick has picked up roller skating and you can’t tell me that back in the day Dick wouldn’t be hitting the rinks up and it helps that now there’s this resurgence of people going roller skating or blading so this is what has been in my head for a literal year now, Dick Grayson with his own personalized roller skates, but like at first he has some regular ole skates that he just takes to the rink with him but on his birthday Tim’s like “I noticed you’ve been skating a lot so I thought that you’ll love these” and just hands Dick these absolutely beautiful red,green, and gold or some blue,black and gold skates I don’t know I’m leaning towards the blue, but Tim made sure to wrap them up in like this wrapping paper covered in chirping cartoon robins which gets a laugh out of Dick, so after Dick tears off the paper he sees this unassuming box and he starts thinking “oh no, please don’t let this be a prank” and so he flips the lid but the object is covered in some thin paper so he just bites the bullet and rips the paper off. He looks down at the skates and up at Tim, before again looking down at the skates again. Now the rest of the family don’t know what he has right now because Tim made sure to be secretive about his gift, so they’re all thinking some variation of “oh, is this a prank? Is it a good one or a bad one?” But Tim already had his phone out recording so he can see how Dick is unconsciously widening his eyes and how his hands are shaking a bit, so this goes on for three seconds before Tim asks him with a smile in his voice “so...you like them?”

And Dick SHRIEKS and he covers his face with his hands while squirming in his seat, because the minute he got to his apartment he was ‘kidnapped’ by Robin and Black Bat and was taken back to the manor where they forced a birthday hat onto him and sat him at the head of the table and they hadn’t let him get up before singing happy birthday and handing him his gifts, so Dicks like in almost hysterics and screams “I LOVE them!!” Before pulling out the skates and so everybody follows suit and starts feeding off the positive vibes and giving them out, and Dukes like “ aye, I bet you can’t wait to take’em out for a spin” and Dick, still grinning from ear to ear is like “yes I want to go to the rink right NOW” but Tim is like “you still have to open all these other gifts!” And Dick is like yeah your right so he puts the skates right beside him and he’s so happy that when the doorbell rings that surprises them because it was supposed to be only them so who could that be? But Alfred already knows who it is, so he opens the door and in comes Jason looking all cool in his leather jacket and what not so he goes into the dining room along with his family and gives Dick a hug, and Dick’s confused but he welcomes the hug anyway, so when this hug goes on for a while Dick’s confused and asks if Jason’s okay but he just pulls away and says surprise and moves out the way, and Dick’s scream was so LOUD but short too, because in comes Donna, Wally, Roy, Garth, Gar, Vic, Kori, Rachel, even Joey and is that...? Clark, Lois, and Diana!? Oh! And they brought Jon and Konner. And Dick justs sits dumb founded for a minute before covering his mouth, “you said you weren’t be able to make it!” He says shrilly, Roy shrugs a shoulder “ I said that MAYBE I won’t make it, and besides like I need an excuse to come see you” and goes up to hug him and Dick most noticeably has tears in his eyes when he looks at the others, and Roy looks at him with both his eyebrows raises “are you crying right now!?” He asks incredulously, “well what do you expect he OBVIOUSLY wanted me to hug him, now move you didn’t do it right” Roy was then hip checked by Wally and Dick couldn’t help but not laugh at how offended Roy looked, “but seriously dry those tears the fun has barely begun!”

He said before drying Dick’s face, “did you really push me out the way West?” “I told you before and I’ll say it again Harper, he wanted me to hug him, seeing that ugly mug of yours frightened him” he said condescendingly before he went to hug Dick and putting a big show of patting his back and rubbing his hair, even had the gall to add in a couple “there there’s” while he was at it. Dick smiled and pushed Wally off of him “ but really what are you doing here? I thought you guys had plans for tonight” Donna came and pushed Wally out of the way and got an offended “hey” from her actions and a couple chuckles out of Roy “we do” she said pressing a kiss to the crown of Dicks head “ and those plans include taking you out to the rink” and Dick gasped “really?!” “Yeah dude, we called around and did you know that apparently out there is a skating dimension? I mean really, entities love creating dimensions for fun” Wally said, a slice of cake in hand “ so whenever you’re ready you can come take those new wheels out for a spin” and he gasped before diving for the skates beside him “did you guys see them yet! Look at the colors and Tim even got more wheels! Thank you so much Timmy!” Tim laughed “ no problem I’m happy you like them!” He grinned “like them I love them, once I get through all these gifts we’re all going to the skating dimension no if’s ands or buts, I can’t wait to test these puppies out!” Dick said.

And so he open ups the rest of his gifts and they go to the skating dimension and he tears that place up, I mean the place defies the laws of gravity so like imagine that one ride at the fair/carnival that has you lean on the wall and the ride spins so fast that you can stand up perpendicular to the wall, I think it was called the tilt a whirl, or something like that? It looked like an space ship. So anyways Dick skating forwards, backwards, even takes one skate off to do a trick before putting his skate back on and is just living his best life with his friends and family, and it’s even better if he puts on a outfit that closely or is radiating the disco aesthetic, and one thing I love about Dick is out of the many hairstyles and lengths of hair that he rocked you could just pick and chose a style and length so I imagine him with his longer hairstyle and say what you want but I have seen mullets make a comeback so he can either have a mullet or he’s rocking his natural hair which I imagine to either be 2/3 a type of curl pattern. Haaa it feels good to finally get this all down 😌

[podiumsitter]

best friend privilege 🏁 gr

summary; george takes you to as many races as he can, because you're his best friend. but that's not the only privilege you have.

warnings; so filthy i'm sorry. pining, masturbation, mutual masturbation, dirty talk, kinda praise kink, slooow burn,cocky george obviously, will probably have a part two i think

word count; 5926

You’ve been George’s best friend for a few years new, having met before he even got his seat at Williams. You were friends through it all—supporting him through the harder years, and celebrating with him when he won the F2 championship, when he got his first points for his team, and when he finally signed his contract to drive for Mercedes like you knew he deserved.

There was never any doubt in your mind that you and George would be best friends for as long as you two were on this earth, if you were being dramatic about it, and you had no doubt that George felt the same about your relationship.

You were friends, best friends, it has always been that way.

However, ever since he joined the top team, something changed about him. He was more serious, more determined than you’ve ever seen him (even more so than before his qualifying session in Spa) and that changed something in you, too.

His blue eyes were always filled with a fire, a hunger—one you were so so used to seeing, but now, that fire was burning against your skin every time he looked at you.

Perhaps, you had some sort of feelings for your best friend.

And that was absolutely fine, because feelings come and go—but you knew your friendship with George was forever. So this was just something that was going to pass, it was just because of how close you two were, it was just that stupid black suit.

It must’ve been—because you noticed something similar moving in your stomach that night in Sakhir. That black suit had powers, ‘sall.

And if anything, it was definitely only physical, considering you only noticed a longing for him when you were at the races with him. On those weekend when you couldn’t travel out with him, you felt normal things people feel for their friends; pride, joy, happiness, as you watched him on the podium, or sometimes disappointment when his weekend wasn’t going as well as he’d hoped. And then he’d call you after, and the pair of you would discuss the race and his weekend and then your weekend and it was all normal.

It was just that suit—you swore—as you walked next to him all day on the Friday. You were in Barcelona, so the weather was intensely warm, and George pushed that black suit to his hips, as low as it could possibly go, and strutted to the media pen.

You were talking about something unimportant, George asked you to find out the details of your mutual friends’ birthday party, and you told him what your friends had planned, and he was trying to remember if he was free to join, and you were so not listening as he sucked on that stupidly long straw of his.

“Water is important,” you said when the conversation stopped midway as George drank half his bottle in one go.

“It’s so fucking hot,” he complained. As if on cue, his trainer appeared beside him with a towel. George wiped the sweat off his forehead as the four of you arrived to the media pen. His trainer handed him another bottle, and his press officer was telling him something and you were just standing there and, frankly, admiring the view.

“Can I take these fireproofs off?” He groaned, as he tried pulling them away from his skin—but they were clinging onto him for dear life. You remembered a race last year, god knows where in the world you were, with similar weather to today. His white fireproofs were so tight you could see the outline of his stomach and--

“You can’t do the interviews shirtless, George,” his press officer rolled her eyes.

“I’m sure people would love that, though,” he smirked down at her.

“I’m sure they will,” she indulged him with a roll of her eyes, “but you’re on national television.”

“We’ll keep that for the late night shows, then?” He asked with a glint in his eyes.

“George,” she chuckled, shoving him slightly.

George was such a fucking flirt.

“Can you talk some sense into him?” She turned to you with a sigh, the same way she did almost every weekend you were around.

You laughed, rolling your eyes as you shrugged. “I think it’s best to wait for a shower before you take anything off,” was the best you could come up with. In all honesty, you wouldn’t mind it if George needed to rid himself from some layers. Who would blame him in this heat?

“Shower!” George said, snapping his fingers and pointing at you as if you came up with the best idea he’s heard all day.

George turned to his trainer, grabbing the second bottle from him, and pouring half of it on his head. He took his towel, drying himself up, and running it over his short hair. Suddenly, you had an urge to tug on those locks, wanting to see them get that messy from your pulling as his face sat in between your---

“Right,” his press officer said, “now that you’ve cooled down, let’s go.”

George nodded, making sure he didn’t look too unpresentable and took his hat from his trainer, placing it neatly on his head as is expected of him.

“We’ll be about an hour,” she turned to you.

“I’ll be in your driver’s room?” You offered.

“Yeah, figure out where you want us to eat tonight,” George said, offering you a thumbs up before walking over to the nearest unoccupied microphone.

You easily made your way back to the Mercedes hospitality, the layout of the paddock staying more or less the same regardless of where you were in the world. It was easy enough to remember, considering it was the first one in the long row of buildings—definitely an upgrade from the thirty minutes it took you to get from the centre of activities back to the Williams hospitality every weekend in the last three years.

Once back inside, you grabbed a can of Monster from the mini fridge at the front and made your way into George’s room.

You settled down, scrolling through your phone and relaxing under the breeze of the AC in George’s room. Once you finished your drink, and you checked your social media, you let your mind wander to where it was a few minutes ago. Where it always went when you spent time with George.

The pair of you doing things that friends don’t usually do with each other. Him using that cocky tone with you, him using his mouth on you, his fingers.

As you let your imagination linger on the way his lips sucked on his straw, you pushed your Mercedes shirt (the one with 63 on the back) up enough for you to have access to your tits. You rolled your nipple in between your fingers, the coolness in the room helping the sensations you were feeling, as you imagined your best friend’s fingers working on you instead.

His lips working on you, wrapping around your nipples as you tug on his short brown locks. How his stubble would feel against your abdomen.

His blue eyes looking up at you as he slid down your body and onto his knees.

You brought your free hand into your skirt, gasping at how definitely wet you were from your imagination alone. And well, maybe it helped that you were sitting on the sofa in his driver’s room that always smelled so strongly of his shampoo.

Your fingers rubbed against your clit, sending a jolt of pleasure through your thighs. You wondered to yourself, as you did many times before, just how cocky George would get when he had you gasping above him. He’d smirk at you constantly, wouldn’t he? And he probably loves hearing how good he is, he probably lets out that little chuckle of his every time you ask for more.

You sped up your fingers, pinching at your nipples as you tried to imagine just how big he was—if that’s what made him so unbearable cocky, so attractively cocky.

You could feel it building up and you went faster, urging yourself (or rather, the imaginary George in your head) to keep going, that you were so close, that please baby, that--

“He’s such a fucking prick sometimes, I swear to god!”

You jumped up, noticing the very real George in front of you and the stunned look on his face.

Holy fuck.

“Who, um, who’s a prick?” You asked quickly, tugging your shirt down and covering yourself up.

George took a moment, or maybe six, to look over you—to confirm he saw what he thinks he just saw. Although your heart was beating incredibly quick, and you could feel the blood rushing to your toes, and you made a very strong point of keeping your legs shut, you weren’t shy under his gaze.

He seemed like he was almost, unbothered at all, but what he saw.

“Will Buxton,” he answered finally. He took the hat off his head, ran a hand through his hair with a huff, and kept talking, “he was going on and on about how happy I must be to be beating Lewis.”

“Well, we both know what he was trying to get you to say,” you offered, and neither of you acknowledged the water George offered you, a very knowing look accompanying his actions.

You took a very large sip as you listened on to what George had to say, and the promise he made to one day mount Will’s head above his fireplace.

“Anyway,” George sighed as he plopped himself on the sofa next to you, “I’m starving.”

“There’s a place that looks nice about twenty minutes from here,” George nodded, “I reckon the traffic is more or less done at this point.”

“Yeah,” George nodded. “Are you gonna change first?”

You swallowed, thinking maybe now was finally the time he’ll talk about what he saw when he walked in and how you were so very clearly touching yourself and how your tits were just out but he just said, “You know I love that shirt on you but it makes us stand out.”

“Bro, I think the Formula One driver is what makes us stand out,” you retorted, grabbing one of the grey pillows beside you and throwing it at his chest.

George caught it with ease, chuckling at you as he flashed you that beautiful smile of his.

“I wanna wear my Georgie merch,” you pouted at him.

“Yeah, um, alright,” he stuttered slightly, before getting up and grabbing a change of clothes. “Shower and we’ll go.”

The dinner was no different than any other dinner you shared with George. Neither of you mentioned what George walked in on and by the time the race on Sunday was over all the pair of you could talk about was George’s phenomenal battle with the reigning world champion.

“Fuck, that felt so good,” he smiled in conclusion, and you reciprocated that smile as he rewatched the race highlights a few hours later. If you saved that soundbite for later that evening, that was between you and your trusted toy.

*

Canada was too long of a flight, and you only had two days off work that week anyway, and so you decided not to join George for that weekend. That didn’t stop the pair of you from texting each other through the day like you always did, and concluding your night with a FaceTime call. George was frustrating in the sense that whenever he called you before bed he was already shirtless under the covers.

And how the fuck were you supposed to deal with that like a normal person who was definitely not attracted to their best friend?

“So, Mr. Consistency,” you greeted him, trying your hardest to focus on his face or even your face and definitely not the dark curve of his pecs. “P4.”

“Got beat by my teammate though,” George shook his head, that determination you loved so much about him shining through your screen.

“This time, but it’s a close fight babes,” you assured him.

“I know,” he sighed, “just wanted another podium.”

“You’ll get that.”

“If we’re talking about things I want,” George said, licking his lips slowly. Your heart (and your pussy) skipped a beat, “I want that fucking win already.”

You chuckled, hoping your desire wasn’t written all over your face in capital letter.

“You’ll get that too, Georgie.”

George shifted slightly, his hand disappearing from behind his head to somewhere you couldn’t see as he coughed slightly.

“How was your day, though?”

And then the pair of you talked about your boss’ new obsession with performance reports and the new coffee place that opened up by your house and the conversation went on and on and on until you were starting to dose off.

“I think I need to sleep now, babe,” you mumbled, your phone tucked in front of you as you snuggled on your side. George smiled at you.

“Good night, beautiful,” he said, and that’s the last thing you remembered.

Silverstone wasn’t a good weekend. Seeing his teammate on the podium again when it could’ve been him broke George’s heart, and it upset him even more to be unable to even finish the first lap of his home race. Finally he had a chance to do something incredible on British soil, and that chance was taken away from him. It’s been a while since you last saw George crying, and it was your job (and honour) to rub his shoulders as he let his sobs out.

You listened to him ranting about how stupid the FIA is and how scared he was to see what happened and how Toto didn’t even have his back and all you could do was nod and listen.

“There’s next year,” you tried, and George knew that already. All he did was just shake his head.

“Is there something we can do to get your mind off it?”

George’s eyes gaped at you, taking in what you just said. You didn’t think too much of it, really, as you said it but then you realised how close the pair of you were. Your thighs were pressed against each others, and your hand around his shoulder was pulling him nearer to you, and you could see the little stubble on his cheek.

For a moment, you thought you saw George’s blue eyes flick towards your lips.

“How do you mean?” He all but whispered.

You swallowed, your throat dry and scratchy. You brought your free hand over his bicep, squeezing him. “Whatever you need to put today behind you, Georgie.”

George exhaled slowly, eyes focused on you, his breath hitting your skin. You felt warmth spread through your stomach.

“You’ll do whatever I need?” George tried to confirm, and this time you were sure George was looking at your lips. You hoped they didn’t look too dry—you licked them just to check.

You noticed his jaw got tighter for a moment.

You wanted to say something, to tell him that he could ask for anything and you’d give him that—but you didn’t know how to say it, and the more you considered it the warmer your stomach got and you were scared you might actually just stutter and it wouldn’t come out as cool as you thought it would and what were you even going to say that wouldn’t be extremely inappropriate in the very real chance that he didn’t think about you that way at all and what if you just leaned in and kissed him and--

“George!” A knock came from behind the door, pulling the pair of you away from each other. “It’s Seb!”

And then the pair had to go have a lengthy chat about the events of today, as the two heads of the GPDA, and George only came back three hours later. By that point, he had concluded watching a movie would make him forget about today.

You weren’t sure why you thought it would be anything else.

Austria was another weekend to forget, and although still scoring a top five finish—George was outraged. He was so upset he didn’t even want to say anything, repeating the mantra that at least it was good points for the team.

“You don’t have to say the media shit with me, babes,” you tried, but George just shook his head and said it again.

“Let me shower and then we can go check out that club you spotted?” You offered, thinking maybe a dance and some drinks will put him in a better mood. George nodded.

“Can I join you?”

“Yeah, I’m not going to the club alone,” you joked as you rummaged through your suitcase for something a little nicer than the baby blue shirt George gave you in Silverstone. It was a very nice shirt, the 63 on it your favourite part, but maybe it wasn’t exactly right for a night out.

“I meant in the shower,” George said, his jaw tightening for a moment.

“What?”

Silence took over the room as the pair of you just looked at each other—George’s eyes turned grey. He licked over his lips once, his teeth catching his lower lip for a moment and you could’ve sworn he looked you up and down. You’ve seen George give people this look before, but you were never on the receiving end of it.

Now—you realised that was a good thing, because seeing that look on your best friend’s face had rendered you speechless.

“I, um,” you helpfully said, after approximately twenty minutes. Seconds. One of the two.

George flashed that smile of his, then chuckled. It was empty.

“See you in a bit,” he said, walking away with his head down. You’ve never seen George look… insecure before.

That was different.

You met up with a few other drivers there, and the music was just alright, and so a bit after midnight you decided you were tired and wanted to go back to the hotel. George put his drink down in an instant and grabbed your hand, taking you outside to find a taxi.

“So,” he started, hands tucked into his pocket, “did you find anyone nice in there?”

You were a few shots in, and if you weren’t so concerned about the chance of losing George, you would’ve told him there’s no one you want other than him. You would’ve told him it’s his face you see as you touch yourself at night, you would’ve told him you’d do anything to be able to kiss him and suck him off and ride him.

But you weren’t drunk enough to say anything like that. Instead, “wasn’t looking for that tonight. Just wanted a dance. What about you, racing driver?”

George chuckled, his eyes finding a spot way above your head as his smile took over his face.

“No one I could have really,” he shrugged.

“You? Striking out?” You fake gasped at him, adding a hand to your chest for dramatic effect.

“I didn’t even try,” he confessed.

“What?” You grabbed his arm, shaking him slightly. “Since when do you chicken out?”

“What does that mean?” He asked, eyes gleaming, as you drunkly swayed next to him—his bicep acting as a form of anchor for your body.

“I’ve never met anyone as confident as you are, Georgie, it’s truly inspiring.”

He shook his head, the smile still stuck to his face. “Well, it’s a bit more complex.”

“Oooooh,” you let out loudly. “Tea?”

“Stop,” he laughed, rolling his eyes at you.

“Come on,” you gasped, “you’re not gonna tell your bestie all about it?”

“I will when you’re not this hammered,” he said, bringing a hand around your shoulder. You let him pull you into his chest, finding warmth in his body as you wrapped your arms around his waist.

“I think you could get anyone you wanted,” you said, rubbing your hands up his back, “you’re the best person I’ve ever met.”

“Thanks,” he said, lightly pressing a kiss to the top of your head.

“Plus you’re fit as fuck,” you said, speaking in the lower voice you used when you were mocking George and your other male friends.

“You’re fit as fuck, too,” he laughed, and escorted you into the taxi that had finally arrived.

France was good. France was really really good. Not only did George take his first pole position in F1, but he managed to convert it into a win—and the pair of you were out celebrating all night.

George hugged you first as he got out of the car and he gave you the comically large champagne bottle for safe keeping and he wouldn’t keep his arm off your shoulder as the four of you (press officer and trainer included) walked throughout the paddock so George could speak to absolutely everyone that wanted to hear from the new race winner.

The smile just wouldn’t leave his beautiful face all night, and honestly, you weren’t complaining. You’d pay good money to see that smile so vividly on his face—and you were lucky enough to be in pole position of that sight.

You even got a new lockscreen out of it; George’s arm around you as you held the champagne and he held the gorilla trophy, his pirelli hat soaked through from the podium showers.

It was the prettiest picture you’ve had of George, and the fact you looked oddly like a couple in it didn’t go unnoticed by your mutual friends.

But they didn’t comment on it to your face.

You weren’t able to attend another race after that, but George promised you it was alright. It was the summer break soon anyway—and he had planned to spend as much of it as he could with you and your friendship group.

You couldn’t take any time off until Amsterdam, and George was always understanding of that, so you made the most of the time he got to spend back in the UK. Nights out and picnics and beach days and sight seeing and anything the group of you wanted to do, and it was so refreshing to have George there with you guys.

It was three days before he was meant to fly out to Spa and one of your friends was having a house party at theirs.

There was beer pong and shots and Spotify’s Top 40 playing in the living room. Naturally, you and George teamed up together to become unbeatable at beer pong—although truly, it was mostly George that did the work. You just drank if someone scored into your cups.

The night went on and on and at one point a few of you went to sit on the huge trampoline in your friend’s garden.

Without thinking, you rested your head on George’s lap. His fingers found your hair in an instance.

“So George,” one of your friends prompted, “you’re gonna win another one this year?”

“Damn hope so,” he said, and even though you couldn’t see his face you knew his eyebrows jumped up at that.

“You better,” they offered back.

“Wait until Zandvoort though because I don’t wanna miss it,” you said. George soothingly rubbed circles into your scalp.

“You should come to all my races, I could win any of them,” he said. There’s a reason he’s called Mr. Consistency, you thought to yourself.

“Sadly, I have bills to pay, sir,” you huffed.

“If George makes you his trophy wife you’ll be sorted,” your friend pointed out. The fingers in your hair stopped moving.

“Ha ha, very funny,” you managed to say.

The conversation shifted when one of your friends came from inside the house to beg for a teammate in another round of beer pong, and the talks of a trophy wife were forgotten. But you very much noticed how stiff George became after that.

A few weeks (and one Monza podium) later, you were back with George. Maybe all your friends noticed you were attending a lot more races than you did last year—and a lot more than all of them combined. Most of your friends came to Monaco and Silverstone, and sometimes Abu Dhabi. But you already had half a dozen under your belt.

You weren’t complaining though, you loved going to the tracks, and your best friend wanted you there—so what was wrong with it?

You thought maybe you should encourage George to invite a few of your other friends out as often, too.

“Yeah, but your my best friend,” George pointed out once you brought up the subject. “I don’t want a bunch of people around me all weekend.”

“I’m around you all weekend,” you said.

“I want you around me all weekend.” And maybe you didn’t quite hear the end of that sentence, as a blush took over your face.

“But if you don’t want to come so much that’s fine, I know it’s exhausting to travel and you’re using all your time off work to be here--”

“—don’t be ridiculous, Russell,” you threw a hand around.

“Last naming me?” He gasped at you.

“That’s how ridiculous you’re being,” you said, and George accepted that with a meaningful nod.

At that, you got back to your phone, and so did George, and the pair of you sat on the sofa in his hotel room as you spent your Friday night relaxing before George’s big day tomorrow.

You perched your legs on his lap, and at one point or another George moved closer to you so his large hand rested on your thigh.

If he drew circles on your leggings, inching up and down your thigh, you definitely weren’t going to tell him to stop.

“Y/N,” he said, bringing your eyes away from the never ending scroll you were putting yourself through, “can I ask something?”

“Sure,” you locked your phone, bringing your attention over to your best friend.

“Remember Barcelona?”

You nodded slowly.

“Those moves on Max?” You tried confirming, thinking back to that weekend and not remembering much else of note.

“What happened in my driver’s room,” he corrected you. The hand on your thigh had stopped moving, George tucking it in between your legs like he usually did when his hands were cold.

It wasn’t cold in September.

As soon as George said it, you remembered exactly what happened. You must’ve blocked it out of your mind but now it was coming back to you in it’s full glory—reminding you of the terrifying moment your half naked body just sat there as George looked at you.

Why was he bringing this up?

“Um, George, I,”

“I’m sorry I interrupted you that day,” he said, looking at the hand tucked between your legs.

“Oh, don’t worry,” you chuckled lightly, “it would’ve been weird if I kept going, I think.”

“Would it?” George finally turned to look at you, his eyes showing you that same beautiful fire they had before George got in a car on a Saturday. Maybe it was just starting early this week.

“I was in your room, it’s not like I should’ve done that there…” you trailed off.

“I didn’t mind,” he said simply, “I don’t mind.”

“Sorry?”

“If you wanted to do that again in my room, you can,” he licked his lips. You realised his hand wasn’t as close to your knees as it was last time you checked. It sat much higher now.

“We’re in your room now,” you pointed out, your voice catching in your throat lightly.

“We are,” George agreed.

You locked eyes, his stare burning into you as he raised his eyebrows lightly. As if to ask if he can push you any more. You nodded.

George moved his hand down your inner thigh and grabbed it, pulling your leg upwards and disconnecting your thighs from each other. You wondered if there was a visible wet patch—but your leggings were black. You could feel the wetness either way.

“It was a really interesting sight, you know,” George said, watching as you slowly spread your legs in front of him, “you touching yourself in a Mercedes shirt.”

“Can’t recreate it for you,” you smiled apologetically at him, shrugging at your blue tank top.

Before you could even predict his next move, George pulled his own Mercedes shirt off and handed it to you.

You felt your breath hitch.

You nodded slightly, grabbing the shirt from him as you ripped off your tank top.

George was staring, his eyes raking over your skin like a lion after its prey.

It made you feel powerful, and his heavy gaze on your blue bra gave you the courage to reach behind your back and drop the bra to his floor.

“Fuck,” he let out as he looked at your exposed chest.

A twitch in his hand made it seem like he wanted to reach forward and grab your tits, but something stopped him from doing so—and all he did was watch as you pulled his shirt over your head, your nipples poking out against the white material.

“What now?” You asked him, as if to give him a way out of this. But George didn’t want one, and instead he smirked at you in that cocky way of his.

“Touch yourself.”

You never thought you’d hear George say those words, let alone to you, and so how could you deny him that request?

You brought one hand to your chest, glad you freed yourself from the constrict of your bra, and swirled your nipple in between your fingers. Your mouth hung open as you tried to control your breathing—the pleasure already running up and down your body.

“You don’t have to be quiet,” George suggested, leaning back as he took in the sight in front of him, “it’s not like you aren’t allowed to touch.”

As soon as he said those words, you let a moan escape your lips. Maybe it was the words themselves, the implications behind them, or his stupid cocky tone, but it turned you on even more.

“That’s my girl,” he smirked.

“Oh, fuck,” you let out, and George’s eyes sparkled at that reaction.

You scrunched the shirt up, getting a whiff of George’s perfume, and brought both your hands to your chest—the fabric no longer in the way as you pinched and twisted and pulled.

“There you go,” George encouraged, “make sure it feels good.”

“It feels really good, George,” you sighed, gasping as you pulled harder on your nipples.

“Do you wanna touch anywhere else?” He asked, looking you up and down with a glimmer of a lust on his features. It almost felt like he wanted to devour you.

You wanted that, too.

“Yeah,” you gasped.

“Where do you wanna touch, baby?”

“Wanna, fuck, wanna touch my pussy,” you said, your eyes glazing over slightly as you couldn’t quite comprehend you just said that word to George.

“You wanna touch your pussy?” He confirmed. You nodded desperately at him. “Was that what you were doing in my room?”

“Yes,”

“You were touching yourself when you knew I could walk in, huh?”

You knew where this was going now, and you knew how insufferably cocky he was going to get in two seconds, but you didn’t fucking care. You wanted to play whatever this game was—and if it was possible, you wanted to win it.

“I wanna show you how I touch myself, Georgie,” you let out.

It almost sounded like George growled at you, and he quickly nodded his head—leaning forward to get a closer look at your hands.

You brought them down towards your clothed pussy, gasping as you realised you soaked through your underwear and leggings. You felt your face heat up.

“What is it?” George asked, seeing the surprise on your features.

“It’s really wet,” you gasped, rubbing circles on your clit.

“Show me,” George demanded. You dipped a finger inside your underwear, gasping at the contact, making sure to coat it in your wetness before you showed it off for George to see.

He bit his lip at the sight, his hand running over his hair.

“That’s fucking hot,” he praised, palming himself for a moment before he brought his attention back to you.

You kept going, using your fingers on yourself in the ways you knew would send you over the edge, and having George’s tight gaze on you only made it feel better,

You took in his features, how tight his jaw looked, the way his eyebrows scrunched in the middle slightly, the way his chest stood so beautifully in front of you—just asking to be touched and kissed and marked.

Then, you noticed the tent in his sweats.

“Touch yourself, George,” you let out quickly, wanting nothing more than to see George in the exact position he put you in.

George didn’t need to be told twice, and he quickly moved his sweats down to his thighs, a small wet patch on his boxers.

He freed himself, the sight of him fully hard making your mouth water.

“I think I have some catching up to do,” he said when he noticed your breathing got a lot heavier, and your movements much quicker.

You nodded frantically at him, barely able to say anything, as you watched his fist pumping up and down his length.

He definitely had a reason to be as cocky as he was.

The pair of you locked eyes again, each focusing on the movements of your own hands, and the sinful sights in front of you, and before long George was shutting his eyes as he moaned into the room.

That was the best sound you’ve ever heard.

“I’m close,” you said desperately.

“I’m close, too,” he nodded.

“Together?”

“Fuck, yes,”

You sped up your movements even more, the noises coming out of your mouth even more desperate than they’ve been all night, and in a matter of seconds you felt something snap within you and that fantastic curl in your toes.

It wasn’t long after that George threw his head back, a hot white pleasure taking over his face as cum shot onto his exposed stomach.

“Fucking hell, George,” you let out in a chuckle.

All you wanted to do was lean forward and clean his stomach with your tongue, but instead you reached over for a few tissues on the side table by the sofa.

“Thanks,” he cleaned himself off quickly, taking a second to catch his breath. “Can I get you something?”

“Water, please,” George quickly got up and grabbed a drink from the mini fridge, opening the bottle for you and handing it over. You could barely sit up straight, the sensitivity in your core sending tingles up and down your body.

You were almost tempted to ask George if you could go again.

But instead, the pair of you just sank back to your previous position, George shifting your legs so they were back on his lap.

“Want some food?”

And that was that.

George got on the podium that Sunday, and Max invited everyone to go out to his favourite part of Amsterdam, and what happened on Friday night was all but forgotten.

Or at least that’s how you acted. But almost every night, when you couldn’t fall asleep, you replayed the events of that day in your head—your orgasm hitting you just as strongly as the night before.

But it was never as good as when George was right there in front of you.

[neiptune]

rain is bad luck

pairing: sanemi x female reader

warnings: cursing, an almost anxiety attack, a lil blood/wounds, a lil angst

wc: 4.6k I'm so sorry

Sanemi isn’t very good at remembering that some people care and need his ass to come back alive from missions

Storms made you nervous.

You didn’t exactly succeed at getting used to the colder, harsher climate you were met with when you decided to leave the Okinawa prefecture to move to the mountains, ready as ever to begin your training to become a demon slayer. 

Considering everything you had lost, it was dumb for you to find yourself missing the sun or the sea so often. Yet, you couldn’t help but feel tense whenever rain fell as if an invisible hand hovering above decided to violently empty buckets on buckets of water.

Your dad used to say storms were bad luck and you always believed him. After all, everything you had lost, you had lost while it rained.

The hashira meeting ended on a hopeful note: Muichiro and Tengen had just returned from a successful mission and the demon slayer ranks seemed to have suffered less casualties in the previous months. Master Ubuyashiki was content and the pillars felt more motivated than ever, everything was fine. So why did the goddamn weather have to ruin it for you?

Some of the members decided to stay at the estate for a while longer, they rarely had the chance to spend some time with other people and the storm was a good enough excuse not to hit the road right away. Amane-san had been kind enough to serve some tea and you all sat happily on the engawa, chatting animadetly. Well, not all of you, since Giyu and Obanai sat in religious silence, occasionally looking outside and frowning, but that was nothing unusual.

You grabbed two cookies from the big plate that was placed in front of you and handed them to both without saying a word. You couldn’t force them to have a conversation but you didn’t want them to feel left out.

“Oh, wouldn’t that be fun? There are a few next to a village I patrol, I think you’d love it!”

The insect hashira smiled politely.

“I can’t really say that matches my idea of fun”.

Mitsuri pouted.

“Why not? It’s relaxing and we’d get to spend some time together. You can’t refuse, it’s me and y/n against you, right?”, she lightly nudged you with her elbow. 

“Sorry, what?”, you had stopped listening without even realizing, mesmerized by the leaves bent from the heavy rain falling on master Ubuyashiki’s beautiful garden.

“I’m trying to convince her to take part in an onsen getaway, please actively support the idea instead of zoning out!”

You blinked a few times.

“Right. That’d be nice but we don’t really have the time, do we?”

Kanroji rolled her eyes.

“Not with that attitude, we don’t. What are you so distracted by? You haven’t said a word in ten minutes!”

You cleared your throat, taking a sip from the cup you were holding with both hands. 

“I’m not distracted”.

“You seem worried”, Shinobu tilted her head slightly. 

“It’s just that I hate this weather. I’m officially supportive of the onsen getaway plan, I’m sick of feeling cold all the damn time”, you laughed, hoping they would follow. 

Instead, Shinobu sighed heavily and Mitsuri leaned alarmingly close to your face, eyes glimmering with a mischievous light.

“I know what you’re really worried about”.

You put the emptied cup down on the floor and looked at her, genuinely taken aback.

“What?”

Her rosy cheeks extended to show a smile so bright it could have blinded you.

“Shinazugawa-san isn’t back yet, is he?”

Thank fuck you had finished your tea and could no longer choke on it.

“What? ”, you repeated, playing a little too dumb for her liking. Kanroji’s patience wasn’t infinite.

“You spent the entire meeting looking over at his empty seat. It’s fine to admit that you’re worried, he’s not here to hear you say it anyway”.

“I’m not worried, Mitsuri”.

It was true, you weren’t. He was strong enough for you not to get worried by his longer-than-usual absence. Plus, when he walked past the entire group right when you were entering the estate, he gave you his usual shit eating grin as you asked where he was going.

Priority mission, he announced proudly.

Try not to become the dinner.

Get fucked.

The love hashira snorted and was about to say something but, much to everyone’s surprise, Obanai anticipated her.

“He’s late”, he observed, speaking for the first time in what felt like forever.

You shifted nervously in your seat on the floor, suddenly feeling the concrete danger of anxiety overwhelming you. 

“It happens all the time. It happens to all of us. Can we go back to the onsen topic?”, you were one step away from begging and Kanroji knew when to get the hint so she smiled again, taking your hand and squeezing it lightly.

“Yes. Even if it’s just for one day, we should go. Actually, we probably won’t have an entire day off anytime soon, so what if we go for a few hours?”, she turned towards Shinobu, looking at her with her signature big, puppy eyes.

The insect hashira sighed again but smiled nonetheless.

“I’m fine with a few hours”, she gave in, earning a triumphant squeal from Kanroji.

Giyu stood up, you guessed he was getting increasingly annoyed by the noise you guys were making.

“Tomioka-san, don’t go yet. You’ll get drenched”, you tried as hard as usual. It felt so unfair for him to be the only one without a proper friend in the group and although you knew friendship wasn’t something you could force on him or anyone else, you hated the idea of not even trying.

“I’ll be fine”, he replied, giving you a small nod. You hoped it was his way of saying thank you.

“Are you sure?”, Kanroji, sweet and kind as always, looked just as worried.

There was no chance for him to reply because a crow suddenly appeared over your heads, flying in desperate circles.

“Kocho Shinobu urgently needed at the Butterfly Estate! Shinazugawa Sanemi in critical condition! Kocho Shinobu urgently needed at the Butterfly Estate!”, the animal was screaming so loudly the sound of the rain seemed to disappear for a moment.

Something cold crawled inside your stomach, it felt like steel. A sour taste took over your mouth, heart pumping in your ears.

Mitsuri was still holding your hand, eyes wide. You didn’t even notice everyone had been on their feet the second the crow started screaming. 

“Don’t panic”, she whispered, voice shaky. 

“Shinobu”, it was the only thing you could let out, throat dry.

“You can come but I have to be quick”.

“I’ll catch up”.

You blinked, she was gone. Oh the days you have spent begging her to train you to be faster.

“Whatever it is, she’ll fix it”, Mitsuri squeezed your hand one last time before letting it go. 

Yes, she will. I’m not worried, I won’t be worried. It happens all the time. It happens to all of us.  

You looked at Obanai and gave him a fake, tense smile.

“It’s gonna be fine. Please don’t worry, I’ll send a crow”.

It helped, taking the role of the one who should’ve reassured someone else. It meant you didn’t have the time to give in to the blind terror threatening to engulf your brain and every other cell of your being. 

Obanai nodded at you.

“Go”, he simply said.

“This is taking too long. Does it usually take this long?”, you ask nervously for the millionth time. She has been nothing but patient and kind, considering the increasingly freaked out state you were in. 

You were cold and wet and breathless when you arrived at the Butterfly Estate. Aoi was quick to bring you some towels and you absentmindedly used one to dry your face, too distracted to care about being absolutely drenched and freezing.

“It can take longer sometimes. Shinazugawa-san was badly injured but Kocho-san always knows what to do”, Aoi spoke calmly, hoping to relieve your stress even if just a little. She offered a change of clothes, more towels, herbal tea, but you refused everything and just stood in front of Shinobu’s treatment room for what felt like excruciating hours. 

“The crow said he was in critical condition. At least tell me more about his injuries”, you begged, voice going up an octave.

She hesitated but you took her hands in yours, leaning closer.

“Aoi, please. Just tell me something. Anything ”, you cried. Fuck dignity, you didn’t need it anymore. He was not there to hear you anyway.

“Crushed ribs, probably a punctured lung. He hit his head and we couldn’t stop the bleeding. Whatever he was fighting, it covered him in deep wounds all over his back and legs, he also threw up a concerning amount of blood right before collapsing in our garden”.

You quickly blinked a few times, breath getting more and more irregular. 

“What if the rib punctures the heart?”, you asked, slowly sitting on the floor because you no longer trusted your legs. Aoi was quick to kneel in front of you.

“That’s very rarely seen, y/n-san. Please-”

“He dies, right? If he moved the wrong way after getting injured, he’ll die. I don’t want to sit here and wait for it to happen, let me in”.

Her face crumpled.

“It’s not gonna happen. Kocho-san will handle it, please just wait-”

“Don’t”, you interrupted her reasonable and optimistic pep talk because you simply couldn’t take it anymore. 

God, you were so angry at him. You just knew he had to have pulled some stupidly reckless, overconfident shit again. He always did, he never cared about anything or anyone enough to keep in mind that maybe someone needed for him to come back alive.

Fuck him, fuck his cocky attitude, fuck the day you gave in to the unbearable physical attraction you felt and found yourself in his futon three nights in a row. Dumbest thing you ever did, worst person you ever started caring for.

“Y/n”.

You got up the second you heard her voice, Aoi istinctively supporting you.

Shinobu wasn’t smiling, a bad sign, but she didn’t seem alarmed. You didn’t say anything, waiting for her to drop the news. Any news.

“We’re gonna have to wait for him to wake up. He lost a concerning amount of blood but I took care of that. I honestly believe he’s gonna be fine and yes, before you ask, you can see him. But first you have to get rid of those clothes because I don’t want two of my most difficult patients here injured and sick at the same time”.

You let out the breath you didn’t realize you were holding. You never wanted to hug her so badly but you knew that she didn’t love that kinda stuff, so you just squeezed her shoulder.

“Thank you, Shinobu”, you whispered. 

She finally have you a familiar small smile and put her hand over yours.

“You can change in my office, I asked the girls to provide one of my clean uniforms”.

And you did. You stumbled all the way to the room you’ve visited so many times, since the very first day you became part of the corps.

Although as a hashira she was still your superior, you soon became close enough to drop the honorifics and any other formality. With Mitsuri, it had been even easier. You remained respectful of every other member of the group, except for Muichiro, because you honestly refused to address a fourteen-year-old as Tokito-san. He didn’t seem to care anyway.

You folded your wet uniform the best you could and put on Shinobu’s dry one. It was warm and smelled like lavender, much like her. You noticed how shaky your hands were and felt so incredibly stupid all of a sudden.

What did you panic so much about? You were familiar with injuries, you have had broken ribs before. Hell, Tomioka was pushed down from a temple just a few weeks before. You were slayers, you got hurt all the damn time, you didn’t have the luxury of hesitation, of fear. Your reaction had been embarrassing.

“Y/n-san, everything okay?”, Aoi peeked through the half-open door.  

You turned around quickly, folded damp clothes in your hands.

“Yes, uh, sorry. Where should I put these?”

God, she must think I’m such an idiot. I won’t be able to show up here ever again.

Aoi smiled at you and extended her arms.

“I’ll take them. Kocho-san thinks Shinazugawa-san could wake up any moment now, you can go be by his side”.

Fuck, this is mortifying. Does she think I’m his girlfriend or something? Good, that’s what you get for overreacting like a dumbass.

You thanked her with a small bow, to which she replied by blushing.

Shinobu was waiting for you at the door but before she could say anything, you folded your hands and faked a smile.

“Look, I think it’s not necessary after all. I’ll head back to the headquarters, maybe tell Iguro-san that everything’s fine and call it a day. I’m sorry for having bothered-”

“Y/n”, her interruption was gentle but imperative. When she used that tone you easily remembered that she was, in fact, one of your superiors. 

“You are allowed to care. Go, and if he gets difficult you can tell him that I asked for your help, alright?”

You scoffed.

“He knows you don’t need any help”.

“He doesn’t know how bad I can make a medicine taste, so he better watch it”.

She had such a special way of comforting others. Shinobu wasn’t as physically affectionate as Mitsuri and yourself but she was caring, generous, always observant enough to know just the right thing to say. You were older than her but you felt so much younger every single time.

“Fine”, you said, and she gave you a small push, before you got the chance to change your mind again. 

The room was almost completely dark but your eyes would get used to it soon enough. It smelled terrible, like antiseptic, sweat, blood and medicinal herbs. He was laying on a futon, looking so frail you feared he would crumble under your stare alone. Bandages were wrapped around his head and, you guessed, around almost every other inch of his body. Were all of them already crimson stained just like the ones you could see?

“You look like shit”, you muttered, slowly sitting on your heels, just beside his futon. The room became purple for a whole second and the sudden loud crack of the thunder made you flinch.

The silence that followed was unbearable but you used it to close your eyes and calm your breathing, just like Rengoku-san had teached you to do so many times. You were so used to maintaining the swordsman breathing technique used to strengthen demon slayers in combat, that you found it hard to remember what it meant to breathe just to heal or calm yourself down.

You opened your eyes, heart still slamming concerningly hard against your ribcage. 

“Hey. Sanemi, I really need you to wake up. Please, wake up. I can’t stay here all day, you know? I’m busy”, you paused for a second, clearing your throat. Should’ve asked Aoi for some water or accepted the damn tea.

Yeah, the breathing wasn’t working. Rengoku-san didn’t know shit. What if Shinobu just told you what you wanted to hear? What if he didn’t wake up? What if he was so badly injured he would’ve had to retire as a hashira and you never saw him again? Not that you needed to see him. You just hated the idea of the demon slayer ranks further dropping in number. 

“Fucking hell, am I gonna have an anxiety attack in front of him?”, you angrily muttered to yourself, one hand pressed to your chest, cold sweat covering your forehead, breathing still irregular. “I need you awake and talking, please Sanemi, just wake up”, you raised your voice ever so slightly, too afraid to touch him, growing scared and impatient by the minute. Didn’t Shinobu say any moment now?

“Can’t remember the last time you called me that”.

You almost jumped out of your skin at his low, husky voice; istinctively pulling back with a gasp.

His eyes opened so slowly it made you think he was channeling all of his remaining energy into an action so simple. The expression that took over on his face showed surprise, maybe even confusion. 

“What’s wrong?”, he asked, looking at you with furrowed brows.

You stared back in shock.

“What’s wrong? You almost fucking died, that’s what’s wrong!”, you snapped, too upset to enjoy the relief taking over your heart, which was finally slowing down.

He scoffed, lips wearily curled in his signature smirk.

“Takes more than a sorry ass demon to kill me”.

“Shut the fuck up, Sanemi”, you hissed, “this stupid mindset is exactly why you’re laying there looking like hell right now”.

He paused for a moment, staring at you with inquisitive eyes. Then he tried to sit up but you were quick to keep him down, your entire being burning with rage and dread at the same time.

“Don’t move, you dumbass”, you ordered, pushing his shoulders ever so delicately. You were terrified he was gonna manage to hurt himself even more.

He groaned.

“Then come closer”.

You ignored the way your heart skipped a beat at those words, irritation taking over when you felt your cheeks heat up.

Nevertheless, you leaned towards him, holding your breath once again. He slowly raised an arm, frowning in pain for just a split second. You didn’t expect the back of his hand to stroke one of your cheeks so suddenly, so gently. You pulled back once more, surprised.

“What are you doing?”, you asked, making him roll his eyes at your alarmed tone.

“Jeez, when did you become so fucking dramatic? Stop crying”.

“I’m not crying”, you scoffed. When you touched your own cheek, however, you froze in shock. 

He let out a sarcastic laugh and you had to resist the urge to throw something right at his stupid, bruised face. Did the stain on his head bandage grow larger? You should’ve called Shinobu instead of sitting there, bickering like a teenager.

“Why are you wet?”

You focused on his face again, blinking in confusion.

“What?”

“Why-is-your-hair-wet?”, he articulated the words slowly, irritating you beyond measure.

“It’s raining ”, you replied in the same way, making him scoff.

“No shit. Did you run all the way here through the rain or what?”

You stayed silent long enough for him to grasp what you weren’t saying but you couldn’t see his eyes ever so slightly soften in realization, cause you had turned your head to look at the wall on your right. 

Well, he wasn’t saying it either. How reassuring it had been to hear your voice so suddenly, so close to him, when the last thing he remembered was the feeling of being sliced in half. The warmth he felt at you calling him by his name after what felt like an eternity. He never knew what exactly it was that you did but you had such a way of articulating it, he would’ve done unthinkable things if it meant having you say his name over and over again.

You never asked him for anything but for as long as he could remember he wished that you had. It would’ve been easier, less complicated. He ached to give you something. Anything.

“Yes, I ran all the way here through the rain. Because I had to make sure I knew what to tell to the people who actually give a shit and were worried about you”, your voice was bitter, he could almost taste it. 

“How heroic of you”, now it was his turn to get bitter, almost resentful. You snorted, patience growing thin by the minute.

“Guess this is what I’m gonna tell Genya and Iguro-san, that you can’t stop being an asshole even after you almost got your ass killed”.

“Can you also tell them that we hooked up what, two times, and now you think you’re my mother?”

Your breath hitched in your throat and you looked at him with wide eyes, surprised at the sudden pain you felt in your chest. Wow. Just wow.

He closed his eyes for a second and exhaled slowly.

“I didn’t mean it”.

Of course he didn’t fucking mean it. But you knew better that bringing Genya up.

He wasn’t good at communication, he couldn’t move and you increasingly irritated him, you were just so good at irritating him. And he was just so good at snapping, at saying the wrong thing, the worst thing.

Your anger disappeared, leaving place for… what was it? Pain? Humiliation? It almost felt like you were about to have an anxiety attack. Again.

“I’ll go”, you said slowly, trying to hide how accelerated your breath was getting. You knew it was useless, his hearing was perfect. 

“I didn’t mean it, you know I didn’t”, he sounded harsh and you mistook his fear of seeing you leave for aggressiveness.

“I never know what you mean, Sanemi. Or think, or want”, your voice was suddenly low, almost a whisper.

He stayed silent for a few seconds, pale eyes glued to yours. 

“I’m sorry”, once again, he articulated the words as slowly as he could. 

You shook your head.

“What happened?”

Sanemi resisted the urge to sigh. You were so good at deflecting, always had been.

“Upper moon”.

The horrified expression that took over your features would’ve been funny on a different occasion.

“What? How are you alive?”

Of course he called a goddamn upper moon a sorry ass demon. Jesus. 

“He was summoned, or whatever the fuck it was. He disappeared”.

“Did Oyakata-sama know? Did he send you against an upper moon, alone?”

“Don’t use that tone. It’s a stupid ass question, of course he didn’t”.

“Can you fucking stop ordering me around?”

He cracked another smile.

“Relax, then. I’m fine”.

“You’re fine”, you repeated mockingly, “I wish you could see yourself right now”.

“I’ve been injured before, you have too. It’s part of the job, you’re overreacting”.

Never have I wanted to punch you in the face so bad.

“I got scared, okay? When your fucking crow came and said you were in critical condition, I got scared shitless. Not because you’ve never been injured before but because I know how you get injured. You’re reckless and stubborn and impulsive and you never once stop to think about the fact that you have friends, allies, a master and a brother worrying and caring and waiting for you to come back alive. So yes, I’m overreacting, you fucking idiot!”

He didn’t reply immediately, too busy taking in the sight of your heated cheeks, the determination glimmering in your eyes.

Sanemi liked how easy it was, getting you riled up, but he also liked how genuine it was, the worry you felt for others. He was almost always there to hear you tell Shinobu she needed to get more sleep, offering Gyomei to walk him to the shrine, asking Obanai if he wanted some time alone so that he could remove his bandages and be comfortable.

You worried about Giyu the most, something Sanemi hated, because Tomioka just didn’t seem appreciative enough whenever you approached to sit in silence with him or ask for some help in your training. You were so good at finding excuses not to make anyone feel left out, ever. You were the complete opposite of him.

“Stop staring at me like that”, you snapped again.

“Like what?”

“Like I’m being histerical”.

“You are being histerical. But”, he was quick to add, amused by the daggers you were glaring, “you may have a point”.

You exhaled, emotional fatigue suddenly weighing on you like one of those giant rocks you knew Himejima-san used to train his possible Tsugukos.

Holding his stare was always difficult, mostly because it was impossible to decipher his thoughts. You, however, felt overwhelmed by yours.

The relief finally came and a little voice inside your brain reminded you how badly you wanted to touch him, lightly squeeze one of his hands, graze his bruised cheek. You could tell by the way he was breathing that he was focused on stopping any bleeding he had enough strength to stop, maybe even heal an injury or two. 

“Come closer”, he demanded again, voice dangerously soft.

He ever so rarely spoke like that and you weren’t sure about how many people could say to have experienced him whispering sweet nothings to their ear, hands lightly stroking their hair, cheeks flushed, eyes giving them no place to escape. You hated how vividly you remembered all of that, especially when sitting closer to his futon, especially when you gave in to the urge of delicately moving a strand of his messy silver locks out of his forehead.

“I remember there’s people waiting for me”, he said, eyes closing the second your hand brushed against his hair. 

You hummed so skeptically he wasn’t able to hold back a snort.

“I remember. That’s why I’ll always come back in one piece”.

His eyes opened again and were now staring at you with such an intensity you felt your face heat up again. 

“I can’t promise I won’t overreact again”, you muttered, “or beat your ass myself, the next time you do something reckless and stupid”.

He finally smiled, a genuine smile that made your heart flutter.

“That’s my girl”.

You didn’t realize how close you were leaning until he said that and you felt your body suddenly burning so much that you had to istinctively pull back. The smile only grew larger: oh how he wished he had enough strength left just to pull you close once again.

“I think that’s enough chatting”, a sudden, melodic voice made you both flinch. How did you manage not to hear her come in?

“I have to take a look at those injuries and you have to rest, Shinazugawa-san. The faster you recover, the more you can help me heal you with your breathing”, Shinobu spoke softly. It was so comforting, seeing her smile again.

He groaned and you got up, dusting off the uniform she was kind enough to lend you.

“How long will this take?”, he grumbled, any softness long gone from his sharp-edged features.

“A few weeks. Less, if you decide to actually listen to what I tell you, for a change”.

You let out a small laugh that was soon interrupted by a loud sneeze. Shinobu turned to face you, her entire aura screaming exasperation.

“You’ll stay here tonight. I already told Aoi to prepare a bath, go take it before you catch a cold”.

“There’s no need, I actually wanted to…”

Her smile grew wider and you knew better than to test her patience so you stopped talking, embarrassed.  

“Fine. Thank you”, you muttered.

You glanced at Sanemi, who was already staring with tired eyes.

“Do what she says”, you warned him.

He yawned.

“You can come check on him after dinner. If he’s awake”, Shinobu looked at you with a complicity that made you clear your throat with a condesceding nod.

“I will be”, was the last thing he said before a soft snore escaped his mouth, making the both of you chuckle.

“You know, the first thing he said after waking up, was your name. He thought I was you”, the insect hashira whispered.

You felt a familiar heat rise from your neck.

“He was already awake when I entered the room?”, you hissed in disbelief.

Shinobu tilted her head, not really getting why you seemed so flustered again.

[welcometogrouchland]

[ID: a digital illustration of Luz and Hunter from the owl house. Luz sits on the right with her hand on hunter's shoulder. Hunter sits on the left facing Luz. They're both in their designs from the end of Thanks to Them. Hunter has his eyes closed and is crying with a pained expression, while Luz looks on with tears in her eyes. The background is dark and the scene is dimly lit. The second image is a variation on the first image where a spectral version of flapjack sits on hunter's shoulder and Manny's hand in on Luz's shoulder. End ID]

Felt like posting something devious today. Do you think they'll ever talk about what they've lost? Bond over it? Mourn??? Grieve????

[fuckentoastybitch]

Phone Call

A NakedToaster x reader drabble. GN reader but reader's server username is defaulted to LovelyLola.

This is my first fic here. I wouldn't call myself a writer per se, I haven't written in a long time and tbh I don't brush up my skills often so my writings are usually very simple, the same could be said about this one but I think it's nice enough

"I don't mind at all. Take your time."

Bloombot thanked you and you left the call, leaving her with Toasty to discuss their matters in private. You were being truthful that you didn't mind leaving them. Needing some time to process your thoughts, Toasty's love declaration from a moment ago was still ringing in your head.

"Fuck it, I love you."

They really said it, holy shit.

You look down and remembered the pink note in your hand where you had hastily scribble down his phone number, but you realized the note is now folded in a few places.

Fuck, you must've crumpled it in your excitement when you asked Toasty for their name.

Before Bloombot interrupted, that is.

God, you're such a lovesick dork. Your phone was right there next to the monitor and yet you chose to grab a PINK NOTE out of all things and wrote down the number like some swooning high schooler. A grin formed at your lips regardless as you read the number in your head again and again. You're so smitten it's ridiculous.

You wondered about Toaster's real name once again when a familiar sound effect rang from your computer and you look up to see xyx had messaged the general channel. The server is back up! Everyone flooded the channel with hellos, clearly happy to see each other again. You know you are too. It's almost unbelievable you somehow had managed to persuade a bot to not bring and end to your one source of happiness in this moment.

If Bloombot had really shut down the server…

Ugh, you don't even want to think about it. Especially not right after you and Toasty had just being honest about your feelings. You found such a special person in such a short amount of time but you cared for him too much to lose them in the matter of seconds.

The #juicy-gamers channel lit up and you already knew it was Toasty.

Click

NakedToaster: I just want to tell you again

i love you

a lot

FUCK, they're so affectionate now?! How the hell will you be able to handle this?

NakedToaster: text me tomorrow?

Oh, no. Bloombot's shut down yesterday gave you too much of a fright. You decided you need to call him now.

LovelyLola: how about i call you?

NakedToaster: now?

LovelyLola: no toasty, next year

jk lol

yes now

please, yesterday scared me

i want to hear you again

NakedToaster: fsjgdjdfh

fuck

ff

okau

okay

xyx: disgustang

LovelyLola: LMAO

NakedToaster: LMAO

xyx: get out of my christian server NOW

Your palms were a little sweaty mom's spaghetti so you wipe them down on your pants before dialing his number. The first ring didn't even finish before they picked up. Someone's eager.

Not that you can blame them.

"Hel- oh fuck-"

You hear a thud on the other end followed by the sound of someone clambering under what you assumed to be his chair, a string of curses tailing their noises.

Yep. You really love them.

"Sorry, my hand was uh…"

"Mhm?" You hum innocently, just to tease him a little.

"The.. the phone slipped, " an awkward chuckle buzzes through your speaker.

"I heard."

"Shut up," his voice was exasperated but affectionate. "Fuck, is this really how we're starting our first phone call?" You both laughed.

"Seems like it."

"Hm. I thought a it'd be kinda similar to the vc but this is… different. I mean, in a nice way!" he fumbled. "It feels more personal."

"Yeah."

A moment of silence passes you both, but the silence is comforting. It feels almost as if they're really there with you. God, you want them to be there with you.

"Anyways," you hear him taking a breath. "Hi."

You smile.

"Hi, Toasty."

[lilacponds]

✨ venti comforts you

just something quick and short i wrote. venti is a big comfort character for me, so he was the first character i thought of while making this. enjoy !

venti x gn!reader, alcohol mention, no use of y/n

──────────────────────────────────

Your eyes start open with a gasp. You're frazzled, near-panicking, as you sit up quickly and look around. Your heart is thumping out of your chest, you're near tears, your breath is shallow - you're a complete mess, just a moment away from trembling.

Then your eyes find what you're looking for.

It takes a bit for them to adjust to the darkness - you'd realize it's still the middle of the night if you had the mind to look outside your window - but when you see the figure laying next to you, you can feel your body start to relax.

You never thought, before tonight, that you'd wake up with Venti in your bed.

You were in the tavern, last night. It's not where you usually spend your evenings, and alcohol not your usual pick of poison, but that's where your feet dragged you. You only meant to start with a drink, maybe two, but it didn't take long for you to lose count and find yourself laying your head on the counter, tears gently running down your cheeks. You don't know at what point Venti came in, don't know when you clutched onto his shirt, don't know when you started sobbing "I can fix it, I swear", don't know when he started petting your hair. You don't know when he held you up, his arms safe and warm and stronger than you expected, nor when you got to your house.

But you remember him gently laying you on your bed, vaguely, and pressing a glass of water in your hands. You don't think you even told him what you broke down about, but he still smiled at you sickly sweet, brushed your hair away from your face, and held you close, humming softly in your ear.

He didn't need to know. You were upset, and that's all that mattered to him.

His eyes open, and he looks at you. Sleepy eyes and mussed hair and loving smile - you think you feel your stomach flip, before he turns on his side to look at you fully and reaching out a hand. He grasps your wrist, gentle, almost as if you could break between his fingers if he's not careful, and tugs you. It's not forceful, not hard, not even enough to really move you - it's a suggestion. An invitation.

You let yourself fall into his arms. He closes them around you, settles his head on top of yours, and sighs happily when you hold him back.

You'll still have to face what upset you, face your feelings, face your obstacles. But that can wait until tomorrow.

For now, you're in Venti's arms, and that's all that matters.

[buckets-and-trees]

Bucky and the Bench

Pairing: eventual Bucky x female!Reader Word Count: 802 Summary: It’s not enemies to lovers, but it definitely doesn’t start out well.

Warnings: Slow burn

Additional Notes: Well, here’s my first post here… This will not strictly be a WIP, but it is a series of drabbles with a plan, if you will. Or if you won’t. I still will be drabbling…

“You’re on my bench.”

You look up, so shocked at this stranger’s audacity that you couldn’t hide the look of harsh scrutiny on your face. “I – this is a public park.”

He nods. “And you’re sitting on my bench.”

Your scrutiny turns to a glare. “You can’t have a bench at a public park.”

“Fine, it’s my favorite bench in the park. It has the best view.”

Your face softens slightly. “You’re not wrong.” Two things are working to disarm you. You don’t glare often, but when provoked, whoever receives it usually backs down immediately, and the fact that he hasn’t is intriguing. But he’s probably not because he’s likely never had to back down from anything in his life, the imposing hulk of a man that he is, well over six feet, built frame, and a piercing blue stare. He’s more than the definition of tall, dark, and handsome, and that doesn’t go unnoticed by you.

“Fine,” he sighs. “Can I?” he gestures to the right side of the bench.

You weren’t sitting in the middle of the bench, already slightly favoring the left side, so you shrug and scoot to the other end of the bench, moving your things along with you. He sits without another word. Out of the corner of your eye, you see him pull a book out of an inner pocket of his jacket, and he becomes immediately engrossed.

It’s only after another few moments that you realize the look out of the corner of your eye had turned into a full-on study of the man at the other end of the bench, and then you quickly move to rummage in your bag. You weren’t staring at him.

Except you had been, because how could he really have had the audacity to disturb you about, and then insist on sitting on, this bench? There were plenty of good benches here, and he could have sat at any one of them. And then he just sat there, reading To Kill a Mockingbird as if nothing had happened to get his handsome frame in that spot. And this may be his favorite bench (it was yours, too), but that was one of your favorite books, and you couldn’t tell if you were annoyed that he had it in his hands, or if you were curious. It was a classic, to be sure, but had he read it before? What did he think?

You glance up from your bag to look at him again. He was still reading with rapt attention.

Back in your bag, you settle on just pulling a mint out of a small tin, then settle back to reading your own book. For your lunch break today, you’d opted for a fluffy new romance recommendation alongside your sandwich. You aren’t embarrassed to be reading a fluffy, trendy romance book, but you did hope the stranger hadn’t noticed how vibrantly pink the cover is. You move the book to rest in your lap, pressing the pages open across your legs, effectively hiding the cover from any eyes that may judge.

Once you are back into your book, you only have eyes for the pages until your phone’s alarm blares, which is only a moment of interruption to you, but causes the man at the other end of the bench to jerk violently, nearly drop his book, and glare at you angrily when he realizes it is only your phone.

You give him a half-apologetic grimace as you slip your book and your phone into your bag before slipping it over your shoulder. He settles back into the bench, but this time hunching over his book, elbows resting on his knees, clearly attempting to block out all his surroundings, including you.

You stand and walk away. As you begin your journey back to work, you can’t help thinking how awful a meet cute that was, if your life was a romance novel or rom-com film. Maybe it could be worked into an enemies-to-lovers plot, but even that was a stretch.

Those brooding blue eyes though…

You laugh to yourself, exiting the park and truly getting back to normal life.

Normal, standard life, void of meet cutes, but a life you are generally content with, no need to worry about the man with the impossibly blue eyes or his strong jawline.

Because, honestly, what kind of man was so particular about a public park bench anyway?

So strange.

You don’t go back to the park and the bench the next day, but the day after that you do go and reclaim your bench. You’d been to that park and sat at that bench during your lunch many times – not every day, but two or three times a week, and you’d never seen him there before, and you don’t see him there again.

next part

↠ Main Masterlist | Aspen's Ask Box | Field Guide to the Forest

I do not do tag lists, but FOLLOW @buckets-and-stories and TURN ON NOTIFICATIONS to be updated any time I publish a new work!

[aqua-daydreamer]

saw someone's tweet about Daemon, Laenor and Rhaenyra co-parenting and I've been thinking about it ever since.

------------‐--‐-----------------------------------

Rhaenyra being the boss queen that she is dealing with Alicent and the Green club while Laenor took his "sons" out for fishing to the nearest river of King's Landing. He is that Dad.

Daemon happens to pass by with the twins (with flower crowns on their hair). They did some rabbit hunting but as much as Baela enjoyed it, Rhaena was collecting wildflowers and sticks instead much to their father's amusement.

The twins are fond of fishing like their uncle, their mother used to tell them childhood stories of her and her brother at Driftmark, of how they would sail the seas at dawn for a good catch. The excited squeels made Laenor grin and extend his arms to give bear hugs to his nieces only for them to run pass him to join the boys in fishing.

Poor lad. Daemon chuckled to himself

The Dads get along while the kids have a world of their own comparing the sizes of the fishes they caught.

Later that night, Rhaenerya passed out (stupidity in the council is rather draining) on a chair infront of a fireplace when the targ&velaryon kids come running towards her and expressively recalled the fishing adventures they had that afternoon.

Nyra is spent but with tired giggles, she rubbed the hints of mud off their cheeks and picked the leaves and twigs left on the twins' hair.

Laenor, with baby Joffrey in his arms, knelt beside her, asked if she's okay while rubbing her back. In which she nodded and smiled in response.

Rhaenyra couldn't ask for a better companion in life.

He too was adamant of telling his wife what happened that afternoon and spilled that one of the kids slipped and almost got drowned on the river.

No doubt it's Luke. Nyra thought. It had to be Luke.

Apparently it's Baela.

Joffrey reached out to touch his mother's cheeks and she leaned in to kiss his tender forehead. Children's noises can be jarring sometimes but this is exactly what she needed right now. Doesn't matter if Jace loudly complained about Daemon teasing him the whole day of only catching one fish.

With the mention of his name, Rhaenyra glanced at the side and saw him leaning on a wall near the fireplace, staring back at her. There is a mixture of contentment and melancholy in his eyes, a rare sight of the uncle she had never seen or spoken to in 10 years.

Laena is probably wrapped around Daemon's arms if she's still with them today, adoring the wholesome commotion of the little family they have. Giving way for her daughters to bond with the beacon that is Rhaenerya Targaryen.

She knew her uncle loved his late wife, as shown through his undying love for his daughters. Laenor knew it too and he respects Daemon for it.

Loosing your one true love for 10 years is excruciating enough, how much more if they're taken away from you forever?

Laena's beautiful soul will carry on through the girls, and both Rhaenyra and Laenor will make sure that they'll feel welcomed and loved.

Is if guided by her, little Rhaena curled up and leaned her head on Nyra's leg, and she can't help but tear up a bit. She can never replace their mother in their hearts, but she will be what they want her to be. A source of comfort and strenght.

She saw Daemon hitched a breath at the corner of her eye and its almost painful to tear her gaze away from him. She could feel the mourning deep in her core. Pain of loosing his wife. Pain of seeing his children suffer. But pity is the last thing she wanted to give her uncle. Pity and Daemon Targaryen is not something you can mix together.

No words are exchanged between them.

There's no need to.

It's with the soft but intense glances that they're certain... they have each other for the rest of their lives. Whatever it takes.

Protect the family. Fire and blood.

For the shithole that is King's landing and the constant battle for the throne, Rhaenerya is glad to have moments like this to bask on.

.

.

.

Near the doorway, engulfed by the shadows, is a young princess with same shade of silver hair as Rhaenyra's. Keeping a pet snake close to her chest while listening to the banter and laughter of children inside the room.

Longing.

[snackles-maniacals]

[cashmoneymermaid]

leave it to the land, this is what it knows

There is always work to be done, and Katya cannot afford to neglect the earth that is her parents' only legacy. Katya herself does not count as a legacy. Katya does not feel like a person, most days.

She's taken off her gloves to grip the pliers easier, and her fingers slip, the sharp edge of the barbed wire piercing the flesh of her index finger. She watches the blood dripping down over the tip of her finger into the earth to be absorbed by the soil.

Blood. Soil. Legacy.

Katya has spent her life using the earth, taking, and taking, and taking, squeezing every last drop of life from the soil, the rivers, the forests. What does she give in return?

Read on ao3

[hiromiikunn]

Gosho boys but

pink??

[bi-buckrights]

In a Beautiful Dream (You Wanted Me Like I Wanted You)

“I never learned to dance.” Buck says quietly, looking almost expectantly at Eddie. Again, Eddie’s breath is taken away by Buck standing here in his kitchen, his shirt bringing out his blue eyes.

Eddie takes a deep breath, trying to build courage and find his voice. He takes a step closer to Buck without breaking eye contact and puts his hand out. “Then let’s dance.”

or:

Eddie discovers he is in love with Evan Buckley, and everything falls into place.

Read on ao3

[hailsatanacab]

Chapters: 12/? Fandom: Danny Phantom, Batman - All Media Types Rating: Not Rated Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence Relationships: Danny Fenton & Damian Wayne, Batfamily Members & Danny Fenton Characters: Danny Fenton, Bruce Wayne, Tim Drake, Damian Wayne, Alfred Pennyworth Additional Tags: Good Sibling Damian Wayne, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Danny Fenton and Damian Wayne are Twins, Danny Fenton Needs A Hug, Implied/Referenced Torture, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Not Phantom Planet Compliant (Danny Phantom), Bad Parents Jack and Maddie Fenton, Gun Violence, Blood and Violence, Gunshot Wounds, Mugging, Medical Torture, Vivisection, Panic Attacks, Anxiety Attacks, Child Neglect, Past Child Abuse Summary:

“If you ever find yourself in danger, go to Bruce Wayne. He will help you.”

His mother had loved him, in her own way. If she hadn’t, she wouldn’t have helped him escape. If she hadn’t, she would have dragged him back to the League of Assassins, to Grandfather. If she hadn’t, he’d be dead.

She loved him, but she loved the League more.

Jack and Maddie Fenton loved him too, they did, but they loved their work more.

They loved their work more.

--

After his parents react poorly to his reveal, Danny escapes to the only person he thinks can help him - Bruce Wayne. He doesn't know what to expect when he gets there, but it has to be better than where he is, surely? He certainly doesn't expect to be reunited with his long lost twin brother Damian. It's funny how things work out that way.

Danny is 16 years old, not Phantom Planet compliant

--

Chapter 12!! Chapter 12!! Chapter 12!!

[t4tdrarry]

hello friends, it’s been a while! i’ve been away from fandom for a bit due to health and other life reasons but i’ve slowly been inching my way back. so i thought a good place to start was sharing some of the great fics i’ve been reading recently this past month or so! + banner pic

Drarry

The Dust of Water by Lomonaaeren | M | 144k

lomonaeeren is one of those authors whose fics i can always appreciate for the plot and the world building and this one does not disappoint in that. it features a harry who has woken up with no memories beyond just after the battle of hogwarts despite it being ten years later. i won’t say more to preserve the mystery, but the direction this went was darkly gripping.

Ancient & Noble Houses by Lomoraaeren

another lomonaeeren fic that has a darker twist on a beloved trope, we have harry who inherits grimmauld place and the sinister traditions of the black family. this fic is brilliantly creepy and a fascinating take on magical houses.

Telling The Bees by @cibeewastaken | M | 31k

this fic is heartbreaking and beautiful in all the best ways. it’s a story of loss and grief but so so filled with love. scorpius is a delight in this one and we feel draco’s loss so strongly, but it certainly lives up to the angst with a happy ending tag.

Blessed Are The Lambs by @cannibalschism | M | 50k

this fic,,, oh my god this fic,,, i think being a mcr fan means vampires + priests are just a Thing for me and This Fic has it all. and the relationship between religion and the wizarding world is so interesting and explored to a depth i’d never read before. brilliant!

In The Bleak Midwinter by @the-fools-errand | E | 105k

peaky blinders drarry, need i say more?? i read this immediately after finishing the latest season and it really did feel like i hadn’t left. it captures the intrigue and magic of the show and draco as tommy is perfect. also as someone who wasn’t the biggest fan of grace and tommy’s relationship in the show, draco and harry in their place gave me a much better appreciation of the story!

Heal Thyself (podfic) by astolat read by lazulus | M

i listened to this while sewing my outfit for a wedding i went to and it was so so good. healer draco is a favourite of mine and this fic is such a good example of why! the general reading and voices is also very well done and made for great listening.

Others

Gen

Buried Memories by BellaBix | T | 207k

i love severitus fics and slytherin harry so this was kind of a no brainer for me. the paganism element and the magic was very interesting as well. it’s also tagged as eventual drarry.

Drarreo

just call this what it is by queens_crown | M | 27k

this fic was actually inspired by this piece i drew a while back and i’ve been wanting to yell about it since i found out it existed. and then i read it. and now i am going to yell about it. it perfectly captures the soft, healing vibe i love from eighth year fics and specifically from these three together. their dynamic is just what i pictured, and i loved theo! a lovely addition to my slow growing drarreo collection.

[lenievi]

[daggryet]

Do you think you have to make something content wise, like art and fics and stuff like that, to be a good member of a fandom? I feel kind of useless just reblogging stuff

absolutely not. i can without a shadow of a doubt tell you that to the people whose posts you reblog, to the people whose art you reblog, the people whose fics you read and maybe comment on; you are absolutely invaluable.

when creating stuff like art and fics, you first should do it for yourself, but when you decide to share it; you're doing it to see the response to your work, appreciation for it. reblogs, tags, views, comments, these are everything an artist who shares their work with a fandom craves.

when i joined the dsmp fandom, i kinda lost what i was best at, which was editing photos/creating manips, and i didn't really feel like writing fanfic - analysis was much more interesting. so i spent a lot of time just making some posts here and there - and reblogging. now, with the transcripts and getting more interested in video editing, i've kinda found my niche of what i can offer (well, besides analysis).

maybe you'll also find your niche, but whether you do or not; someone who reblogs and shows appreciation for the works of others in their fandom are always treasured and always important. never useless :)