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rambling-at-midnight · 4 months ago

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omg a part 2????

i loved it so much!!!

Ahh I'm so glad you liked it!!! It's my first Jason x reader fic :) Here's a part 2!

Pros and Cons of Midnight Snacks (Part 2)

Pairing: Jason Todd x Gender Neutral Civilian!Reader

Summary: Now it’s time for a meet-ugly-ish with some dude named Jason. Also, you see the Red Hood again.

Word count: 6.3k (holy shit)

You’re not crazy, right? It’s weird that the library is completely empty because it closes in two hours and the weather is actually nice outside for once, and some random dude wanders in and sets up two seats down from you. He’s not even here to study; he pulled out a sci-fi novel as soon as he sat down.

Who comes to a GCU campus library to read recreationally? The seats are uncomfortable and plastic. And the sun is shining. Everyone else is outside soaking up the Vitamin D.

Honestly, you’re mostly surprised the chair he’s on didn’t snap as soon as he sat. The dude is huge. Football player huge. Shouldn’t he be at practice, instead of forcing the chair to make the most irritating squeaking noises known to man every time he moves an inch?

You grit your teeth and put on your headphones, but you can still hear the poor chair’s dying lamentations, so you turn on an instrumental playlist that hopefully won’t distract you too much from studying.

You let yourself stew over the annoyance until your stomach growls so loud you hear it over the soft music. He has the good grace not to look at you, but you definitely see him pause.

Okay, you’ll call it even. This is what you get for running to the library right after six hours of classes. You need to cement the knowledge in your mind while it’s still fresh, and if that means you have to forego lunch…

He’s still there two hours later when the closing time alarm goes off. It’s a shrill old-school bell, the kind no one can ignore, and he jumps like he’s never heard it in his life. The poor chair finally gives up. He tumbles to the ground.

You look over in case he needs any help, but he’s scrambling for the book, face bright red.

If he is a football player, you wouldn’t be surprised that he’s never heard the bell before. That sort rarely stays this late at the library—if they enter at all.

He rushes out. You pack up a little more methodically. All that’s left for you to look forward to tonight is trying to study in your apartment, but you never have much luck.

He’s outside the library on his phone when you walk out. Maybe waiting for a ride? You’re a little on edge from the events of two days ago, so you watch him out of the corner of your eye as you walk away.

Thankfully, he doesn’t follow you.

At least the library closes earlier on Wednesdays, 6 pm instead of 9:30. You don’t know why. It’s still a weekday. But it forces you out while the sun’s still shining, which is probably a good thing.

Within two minutes of the twenty-minute walk home, your hip hurts. By the ten-minute mark, you’re trying not to limp.

Despite your better judgment, you keep your gaze turned to the rooftops, even though you know the vigilantes are nocturnal. It’s stupid to want to see a flash of red helmet, anyway. The Red Hood probably saves hundreds of people every week; there’s no way he would remember you.

Of course, when you finally get back, there are the stairs to contend with.

Your cat, that ungrateful little beast, beeps at you furiously for being gone so long. Never mind that your roommate works nights, so at most the cat’s been alone for an hour. He makes a break for the hallway, and you box the doorway with your legs and slam the door closed against your hip as you slip through.

Your injury explodes with pain, but at least the cat doesn’t get out. Ungrateful little beast. As if he isn’t fed and loved enough.

You finish slipping through the doorway and just stand for a moment listening to the blood rushing through your ears. Damn, but that hurt.

In the bathroom mirror, you hike up the hem of your shirt and check the state of your injury.

All in all, it could have been much worse. The bullet scooped out a fair chunk of skin, but it was just a surface wound. There’s no fresh blood on the gauze, and when you change the wrappings, the skin is pink and raw but starting to scab. It scooped out a chunk and left a trail of bruising, but you got off fairly lightly, all things considered.

The GCPD released the robber’s mugshot yesterday morning. In the picture, the man’s eyes were so swollen from your pepper spray he could hardly open them.

You preferred the bullet, honestly.

You try in vain to study a bit more, but even after you take more painkillers, you’re not in the mood. You feed your cat, then curl up on the couch to watch a couple episodes of the show you’re currently in the middle of.

That was the first time you see the huge guy, but it’s certainly not the last.

You wouldn’t notice him so much if he wasn’t the size of a damn refrigerator. He’s gotta be a linebacker for the Knights, but he’s not on their roster. You looked it up after the third time he wandered into the library just a couple minutes after you. It’s probably not updated yet, but you see him so often, you’d like to know his name.

Also, he’d bleached a patch of hair right at the front of his head—was that a trend now, or something?—so it wasn’t hard to spot him.

On Saturday, your feelings shift from mild annoyance and curiosity to a sinking sort of dread when you notice him at the coffeeshop you always visit on the weekends. The employees know you by name and use it to call out your order, so now he knows it, as long as he’s paying attention.

You think he might be.

You don’t want to be that person. Not everything in the world revolves around you, obviously. But you might still be shaken from what happened on Monday, because the thought wiggles in the back of your brain: what if you have a stalker?

You try to tell yourself that it’s just paranoia. GCU isn’t that big a campus, after all, and there are only so many places in the city that are: A. close to campus, B. reasonably priced, and C. comfortable to work in. You’ve run into classmates here before, and you don’t have a monopoly on the library or this coffeeshop. Just because he shows up at the same time you do doesn’t necessarily mean anything. He might be establishing a schedule that just so happens to line up with yours.

But, you have to admit, it is easier for stalkers to stalk people when they know their regular schedule.

You keep a watchful eye out and are pretty good about keeping off the streets after dark, but a week and a half later finds you stranded an hour’s walk from your apartment. The buses worked for two days, then shut down again, and you foolishly believed that following the detour that said would get you home would actually get you home. You don’t want to call an Uber because traffic would make the ride longer than the walk and bankrupt you in the process. Same reason you can’t call anyone to pick you up unless you waited the two hours until rush hour dies down.

Walking is, unfortunately, the best option.

So you clutch your trusty pepper spray and prepare yourself for a long night of looking over your shoulder and ignoring the pain in your side. The wound has mostly closed, although the bruising has gotten worse.

Three minutes later, you hear the roar of a motorcycle followed by angry car honks. You barely pay it any mind until the motorcycle pulls up next to you and doesn't pass.

You keep walking, avoiding eye contact. Maybe ignoring them will dissuade the rider from catcalling you.

It doesn't work. "Hey," the rider says, and it's only because the voice is mechanically distorted, recognizable only because of how many videos of him that you won't admit to looking up the last week, that you look at him. "What are you doing?" asks the Red Hood.

"What are you doing?" you counter. He's blocking the flow of traffic talking to you.

The Red Hood looks over his shoulder, flips off the person honking behind him, and steers his motorcycle onto the sidewalk. He drives fast, and you flinch in case he tries to run you over, but he screeches to a halt at the last second.

"Haven't seen you in a couple of weeks," he says casually, like you two meet up often.

"I've been staying out of trouble," you say.

"Not tonight?"

"No. That wasn't my fault, though. I took the Southwest bus because it was supposed to connect with the L line, but all the signs they posted were a lie, apparently, because—" You cut yourself off. "Never mind, I'm sure you don't care. Point is, I'm walking home. It's not too far."

"It's about an hour," he points out. "How's your bullet wound? Will it object to that walk?"

"I'll be fine."

He pats the back of his motorcycle seat. "Hop on. I'll drive you."

You take a couple hasty steps back. It may not be a white van, but you know better than to follow candy into someone's vehicle. "Oh, no, thanks. Traffic's pretty bad right now."

You get the sense he's smiling when he says, "I bet I can get you back faster than walking." If only he wasn't wearing the stupid shiny helmet, you would be able to read his expressions better.

"Really, I'm okay. I'm sure you have better things to do than drive me home."

"Helping people is literally my job," is his response. "I have to make sure you get home safely. So either you get on the back of my bike, or I follow you the whole walk back to your apartment."

You know a losing battle when you see it. As a general rule of thumb, it's usually smart not to argue with the dude carrying at least two guns. "Don't kidnap me," you order before slinging your leg over the seat.

He chuckles. It's the first time you've ever heard him laugh, and it makes him sound so much younger. "You can't ride like that."

"Like what?"

He cranes his neck to look back at you. There's at least six inches between both your bodies. You clutch the sides of the seat with both your hands, hoping he doesn't take off with such a lurch that you topple off the back. "I drive fast. You'll have to hold on."

"I am holding on."

"To me."

You've only met the man twice. You're pretty sure clinging to someone's back is at least a third-meeting type of touch, but he reaches back. The Red Hood snakes a hand nearly twice the size of yours into the crook of your knee, then yanks you to him. You shoot forward with a strangled yelp and catch yourself on his back.

You've never before understood the phrase 'wall of muscle,' but you get it now.

He is huge. And strong. You gingerly put your hands on his shoulders. That's not an inappropriate touch, you think.

He has to live at the gym, right?

"You're still not holding on," he chides. "I don't have a helmet for you, so you really shouldn't fall off."

You swallow and move your hands, but he's too thick for you to link your hands around his front. So you fist both of them into his jacket. It presses your bodies tight against each other from shoulder to thighs. Through the layers his body radiates heat, but you shiver.

"Going," is all the warning you get.

Then you're gone; the bike shudders beneath you, then takes off like a jet.

You can't catch your breath. This must be what riding a dragon feels like, is your first nonsensical thought, a side effect of your roommate's obsession with Game of Thrones.

The bike roars beneath you, but you can hardly hear it over the rush of wind and the pound of blood in your ears. You can't see much with the wind drying out your eyes, so you press your head against the Red Hood's back and squint to one side. Cars and street lamps blur together into a stream of mismatched lights and colors.

The Red Hood drives fast. He weaves between lanes, runs through red lights, cuts onto the sidewalk. A couple bikers shake their fists at him when he passes them in the bike lane. A lot of cars honk at the two of you.

Judging by the way his shoulders shake with laughter, he likes pissing them off. You have to admit, the feeling is a little intoxicating.

You can't hear the sound, but your front is plastered to his back. Even with the layers of his suit and leather jacket, you can feel the vibrations of sound deep within his chest. He has a fairly deep voice, after all, unless the helmet changes that.

No less than ten minutes later, he parks abruptly. You lift your head, blinking moisture back into your eyes, and stare dumbly at your apartment building.

He'd actually brought you back.

Maybe he really was reformed.

You stumble off the bike onto unsteady legs. The Red Hood kicks his stand into place and rests against the bike, leaning with elbows on his handlebars. Like he expects a Midwest goodbye. And you find yourself dawdling.

Maybe you want one, too.

"Thanks for the ride," you finally say awkwardly.

"Anytime," he says, and you laugh, thinking it's a joke, but he doesn't. After a brief awkward pause, the Red Hood tries, "So how have you been?" as if you're old pals meeting up for brunch, and the question is so ridiculous coming from a sort-of-reformed crime lord slash serial killer that you respond without thinking.

"Pretty good, except I think I may have a stalker."

His helmet doesn't do a great job translating whatever sound he makes in response to that. It comes out as a crackle. "What?"

"I've noticed this dude recently showing up wherever I go," you say. "But I think it's just a coincidence. Sorry. That was a bad joke." It wasn't, but you don't want to accuse someone without proof of stalking you. If he's not, you'll seem self-obsessed. If he is, then he knows that you know, and it's not like the GCPD will do anything. One of your friends from your hometown had a stalker for literal years, and the police never did anything, even after he sent her death threats. They said there wasn't enough proof to make an arrest then, so someone showing up at the same places you are definitely isn't enough proof now.

The Red Hood tilts his head. "Does he make you uncomfortable?"

"You don't need to beat him up or anything on my behalf," you say. "I mean, you've seen me with a bottle of pepper spray. I'm pretty sure I can handle myself."

"I know you can," he says. You can hear the smile in his voice, like he finds something about the situation funny. "And I'm pretty sure that you know that I'm going to check this out anyway."

"No," you say, surprising yourself with your firmness. You can't rely on vigilantes to solve all your problems for you. "Seriously, it's okay. Thanks for the ride. Maybe I'll see you around."

"I'm counting on it," he calls as you walk away.

And he's right. Two days later finds you at the gas station at ten-thirty at night. You don't want to see him, per se. You're definitely not looking over your shoulder at the slightest sound. You definitely didn't check the parking lot for a notorious red motorcycle on your way in, and you certainly aren't taking peeks out the window every time headlights pass by on the street.

You're just... curious.

Maybe.

But you have absolutely no warning, not even a suspicion that someone is behind you, when you reach for a box of Cheez-Its. Someone else's hand gets there first and you nearly jump out of your socks.

"Hey," the Red Hood wheezes. He's clutching his side like he has a cramp. "Question: if I buy these for you, will you patch me up?"

"What?"

"I may have been cut," he admits. Judging by the angle of his hunch, it's a little more serious than just a 'cut'. "So: do we have a deal?"

The thought occurs to you, as you help him up five flights of stairs to your apartment, that you're escorting a strange man into your place of residence. You haven't even given your roommate a heads-up, though you're pretty sure tomorrow's his night off.

Sure enough, the only person there to greet you when you walk in is your cat. As per usual, he tries to escape. The Red Hood gently but firmly ushers him inside with his foot with such ease he must have one of his own. "It's cute," he says, still clutching his side.

"Thanks," you say. "He always tries to get out, but if he actually escapes then he just freezes in the hallway until I bring him back inside." Then you realize that you're discussing your cat, of all things, with the Red Hood. You clear your throat and say, "Let me take a look at you."

The crime lord and cat trail after you into the bathroom. It gets a little cramped because the Red Hood's about as small as a fridge is small, but you two figure out a passable system: he's too tall, even while sitting down, and you don't want to bend in half while you stitch him. So you sit on the toilet, he stands in front of you, and your cat jumps on top of his leather jacket on the counter to observe and judge. Luckily, the suture kit is still in the bathroom from when you thought you would have to stitch yourself up, so it's not long before you're instructing him to lift up the hem of his shirt so you can see the damage.

You hiss between your teeth at the sight. Someone grazed his side with a knife, by the looks of it, but the wound is deep. It might go all the way to his subcutaneous tissue.

After you clean it off, you're sure that it does. "You call this a cut?"

"I've had worse," he says gruffly.

"And you're still alive?" You squint at him.

He huffs like that's funny.

"They basically cut you in two! I don't know if I can fix this. I've never stitched someone up before!"

"What do you mean?" He tilts his head. "You stitched yourself up, remember? You told me you would."

Shit. Of all the ways to stick your foot in your mouth—

"It wasn't that bad," you say weakly.

“It looked pretty bad.”

“It just looked bad because I was wearing a light colored shirt. Don’t worry; I’ve learned my lesson.”

The Red Hood scratches under your cat’s chin. “About wearing light colored clothing, or about getting shot?”

You’re trying to thread the suture needle, but the stupid thread won’t cooperate. “Hmm?”

“Which lesson did you learn?”

“The former, mostly. Believe it or not, ‘try not to get shot’ is something most people, including me, know intuitively.”

"Let me see."

"Yeah, right," you say, "my apartment's basically a strip club, isn't it? First your shirt's coming up, then mine. Absolutely—" You slap his hand away— "Not. I'm fine. Now hold still while I stab you."

The process goes by quickly. He stands like a statue the whole time, like he's used to the pain of getting stitches. Considering his profession, he probably is.

Actually, you can see a couple healed-over scars on his torso just from the small bit of skin he's revealed by pulling up his shirt. And, you're pretty sure, a perfectly defined six-pack, but that's none of your business.

"I don't have the fancy dissolving sutures, unfortunately," you say while you tie off the thread. "These should come out in about a week."

"Yeah, I know," he grunts, letting his shirt fall back down. And you're not disappointed. At all. "Same time next week, then?"

"What?"

"To get them out."

"Uh." Your brain stalls out. You'd been operating under the assumption that this was just another freak coincidental run-in.

Is it just you, or is the Red Hood looking to make a friend out of you? Or maybe just a free pseudo-surgeon?

"Sure," you say. It's not like you can stop him, really.

"Thanks," he says, stroking your cat one more time. Then he nudges the pest off his jacket and shrugs it on, even though there's not really a need for it. The weather's been pretty mild the last week.

You walk him out the door. He pauses in the hallway, turns, and says, "By the way, what's your name?"

You tilt your head and tell it to him.

"Nice to meet you," he says. Then he walks away.

You watch him walk down the hallway until your cat escapes, and then you have to chase him. You're pretty sure the Red Hood sees it, because low-pitched laughter hits your ears as you gather the little bastard up, but when you look, the vigilante's gone.

"God, I hope he's up to date on his tetanus shot."

You find yourself at the coffee shop the next morning, determined not to let a buff bookworm change your routine. You're the first customer, and they have your order ready by the time you finish setting up your stuff on a small table in the corner of the shop, far from where the line will build up when more people trickle in.

Like clockwork, the bookworm wanders in just a couple minutes after you do, orders two coffees, and settles down across the room with his front to you.

Every time you glance up, he's utterly focused on his book. He's probably not watching you. Right?

Fifteen minutes later, the coffees untouched, he stands up. You watch out of the corner of your eye as he picks one up, approaches the counter, and...

Walks right past it.

Walks in your direction.

You stare blatantly, and he holds your gaze with a set jaw and something a little challenging in his gaze.

He's walking to you.

The coffee cup slams on the table, splashing a little over the edge, and you jump to move your laptop away from the liquid.

"Shit, sorry," the bookworm says. He runs away.

You stare until you realize he's grabbing napkins and hurrying back. At least ten, even though the spill's pretty small, and he piles them all onto the table.

His face gets redder the longer you watch without saying anything.

Once he's absolutely sure your laptop is safe from the couple drops he spilled, he balls them all into one large fist and rushes out, "I'm sorry—I was supposed to meet my brother here, but he canceled, and your drink cup's empty, so I was just wondering if you wanted this one? It's a little warm, but..."

"But free is good," you say, deciding to put him out his misery. And he certainly looks miserable rambling in front of you. Like he's mortified for some reason. "Um, thanks. What..."

"Just an iced coffee. Probably watered down."

You take a sip, just to be polite. It is watered down, but he didn't add any milk to it, so that's probably a good thing. "Thanks..." You tilt the cup to look at the name written on the side. "Jason?"

"Yep." He nods. He's still standing in front of you, like he wants to be invited to sit, but you have a lot of work to do, and he's a complete stranger, and all his stuff is still on his table across the room.

Something clatters behind the counter. You both turn in time to see the two baristas duck out of sight, whispering furiously. Probably about the spectacle you two are making.

"You go to GCU's campus library a lot, right?" Jason asks suddenly.

"Yeah, I do. So do you." You don't phrase it like a question.

"Yeah," he says. "It's peaceful to read in there. Quieter than my apartment."

"Okay," you say slowly. You're really not interested in this conversation, but you don't want to be rude.

He must understand you, though, because he rubs the back of his head and steps backwards, mumbling something about getting back to his book.

Jason's brother never does end up meeting him. You tell yourself that's why you keep glancing at him. Once or twice, you two peek at each other at the same time, and you always look away first, face hot like he's caught you doing something wrong.

The next time you go to the library, it's packed. The weather has turned, so students have nothing better to do than prepare for their finals. You head to the quiet floor, slowly losing hope that you'll find a seat.

A head snaps up the moment you walk in, dark-haired with a striking streak of white at his forehead. Jason.

Something like relief passes over his face, and he waves you over.

"I saved your seat," he whispers, dragging his bag off of the chair.

"Thanks," you say, actually touched. "You didn't have to."

He shrugs. "You're my reading buddy."

The next day, he's sitting at the library's entrance when you walk in. Jason shakes his head. "All the seats were already taken when I got here."

"Ugh." Strictly speaking, you don't need to study tonight. You're pretty confident about the next test's material, and you're also pretty burnt out.

"We could check out the Student Center?" he suggests. As if it's a given that the two of you are going to spend the afternoon together. And, you realize, after two straight weeks of studying in his proximity, you don't mind the presumption. That's how you made your closest friend in undergrad, anyway.

In fact, you think you might want to get to know Jason. Maybe ask about his white streak; you've been growing more and more curious about it. And why he's about seven feet tall and two hundred fifty pounds of muscle but has a passion for romance novels.

"I don't think I've studied in there before."

"It's not too bad, but it's a little louder than the library."

So you two head to the Student Center, but he doesn't open his book, and you open your laptop but don't turn it on. He buys you coffee, though you insist that you can pay for it yourself, and a simple query into what book he's reading currently turns into a two-hour conversation.

Jason likes to read every genre, but he likes classics and romance best. He doesn't just have one brother, he has four, and a sister. He's not on the football team like you'd assumed; he just likes to work out. He's finishing up his sophomore year of undergrad studying English Lit—he sees how your smile freezes at those words, and you're asking how old he is, and he's laughing when he tells you he took a couple gap years. He's your age, actually, and that's relieving for reasons you can't quite put to words.

When you check your watch and curse at the time—it's almost time for your cat's dinner—he asks for your number, and you put it into his phone.

You feel good on your walk home. You haven't made a new friend since the first semester of vet school; the course load is too demanding for you to participate in any GCU clubs. Your roommate asks why you're smiling and you wave him off. Of course, your cat doesn't care that you're in a good mood. He only cares about getting fed.

You see Jason a couple more times over the week, and soon you're too embarrassed to admit that you thought he was stalking you. He's almost as bad a texter as you are, responding at such hours you're half-convinced he doesn't sleep, so you're less self-conscious about taking hours to respond.

You've just gotten around to answering his last text when something knocks against your window.

You drop the phone on your face.

The Red Hood is laughing at you when you open the window to let him in. You'd forgotten he was coming, but you don't say so. He tumbles in, moving a little stiffly, but a lot better than he'd been last week. Your cat, the little traitor, runs to greet him and rubs against his ankles, purring like an engine. The Red Hood bends to pet him. "Hey, kitty." The red helmet tips up and those unnerving white lenses fix on you. "Hey, doc. Here to get my stitches out."

"How have you been feeling?" you ask.

"Good," he says, almost defensively.

It makes you suspect that something is wrong, but when you all pile into the bathroom again like it's a clown car and he pulls up his shirt, the wound is healing nicely. No pink or heat that signals infection, no puffy skin. You remove the stitches quickly, and again he hesitates, like he wants to stay longer.

You find yourself thinking about Jason. You're pretty sure you wish he was here.

"Well, thanks."

"Anytime."

He pauses. "Really?"

You shrug. "I mean, not if you need a hospital. Then I'd expect you to head straight to a hospital. But stuff like this—no worse than this, ideally—I guess I can help you with."

"You're pretty cool for a vet," the Red Hood says. "The last one I visited kept freaking out on me for stealing codeine."

"Well, that's a restricted—wait, you were stealing codeine? What for?"

He shrugs.

"What were you using it for," you repeat sternly.

"Okay!" he says loudly. "Well, thanks for patching me up, doc. I'll see you later, yeah?"

"Wait," you call out uselessly, but he vaults out the window. You gasp and rush to the sill, but there's no Red Hood-shaped puddle on the ground. Instead, his rapidly shrinking form disappears in the distance, swinging between the buildings that make up the Gotham skyline.

You don't see the Red Hood for a while after that, but you hear whispers of him wearing a new costume. You get caught up with finals and Jason, who asks you out after the semester ends.

Your vehement 'yes' takes you by surprise. Him, too, judging by his wide eyes and wider smile. You wonder why he asked if he thought you would say no. You wonder why you didn't realize earlier how desperately you wanted him to.

Now that you're out of school, you pick up shifts at the vet clinic. By some unhappy circumstance, they can only schedule you for the evening shifts. Jason works nights, too, and you've never fully squirreled out where he works, but at least you can spend some days together.

It's when you're walking back from your first shift that you see the Red Hood again after almost three weeks of radio silence. He pulls up next to you on the motorcycle. It's so late that there's no one on the road, so he stays on the asphalt and idles along at your walking pace until you break and say, "Long time no see, Hood."

"Did you miss me?" he teases.

You stop walking, because.

Most of his costume changed. Because it's summer, and even the nights are hot and muggy, you assume.

The pants are the same. So are the boots. But his jacket is red and sleeveless and has a hood that goes down to his eyebrows, the armor beneath short-sleeved, which means most of his arms are bare.

And...

Your mouth is dry. You swallow.

You're pretty sure not even Batman is that ripped. He looks like he's chiseled out of marble.

The longer you're speechless, the more amused he gets. You don't know how you know that, but something about his posture seems smug.

"You're taking 'red hood' seriously now, are you?" is all you manage to say. Because what else are you supposed to comment on? His bare forearms? His veins are so beautifully pronounced, they would be a dream to take blood from, but you have a boyfriend of a whole one and a half weeks, and you may be many things, but you're not a cheater.

He laughs, then pulls his hood low when it slips back a bit. His voice is still modulated, although it's not through a red helmet anymore. This is more like a muzzle. You can't tell if the eye covering is part of it, or like the domino masks that Batman and Robin wear, but the lenses are red now instead of white.

He's really leaning into the theme.

"You want a ride?"

"We're two blocks from my apartment."

He shrugs. "I'm heading there anyway."

What the hell. You've already hopped on the back of his bike before. It's easier to do so the second time. You wrap your arms around his torso again, and when his arms settle over your own, they're warm with his body heat, but not hard, even though the muscles look sharp enough to cut glass. He's firm all over, but his skin is soft, apart from the raised, bumpy scars that seem to cover him from head-to-toe. It makes you worry about him, just a little.

He doesn't drive fast this time. He drives slow enough to hold a conversation and tosses over his shoulder, "So what's new with you?"

"Not much," you say into his ear. Is it just you, or does he shiver? "I finished another semester of vet school."

"Top grades, I'm sure. Did you get extra credit for patching me up?"

"I wish." No, your grades are good, but not exceptional. But exceptional is what got you into vet school. As long as you graduate with a DVM, even if you're the lowest in your class, you're a licensed doctor. There's some relief in that. "The dude I thought was stalking me asked me out, actually."

"Really?" he asks, interested and alert. "Was he really stalking you? Do you need me to scare him off for you?"

"No," you say, smiling at the thought of the Red Hood trying to scare off Jason. They're about the same build, now that you think about it, which you're sure the vigilante isn't used to. And Jason's never been anything but gentle and polite, but you saw an undercurrent of something strong, something like titanium, under that gentle spirit the one time he stood up for one of the baristas at the coffee shop that you first spoke to each other. He hadn't needed to do much apart from stand up and glare at the beleaguered corporate guy angry that there wasn't enough sugar in his coffee, and the dude shut up and scurried out as fast as he could.

It was probably the hottest thing you've ever seen him do, except for that one time you pushed your laptop a little too close to the edge of your desk while studying, it tipped over, and he caught it one-handed without looking up from his book. What can you say? Saving you a couple hundred dollars in getting that fixed was hot.

"It was a misunderstanding," you say. "We just ended up in the same places at the same times."

A gust of wind pushes back the Red Hood's hood, exposing a head of thick, dark hair, the same shade of black as Jason's. The motorcycle swerves in his haste to pull his hood back up, and when you reach your apartment and hop off the bike, he's pushing his hair back, back, beneath the hood.

What's the point of ditching the helmet if he's just going to be fussing with the hood all the time?

"What's new with you?" you ask, scuffing your toe against the sidewalk. Your shoes are falling apart; the sole is peeling away.

"Same old, same old," he says. His voice sounds rougher, but that might just be the new modulator.

"How's your side?"

"How's yours?" he counters. "You still haven't let me see it. I bet it scarred because you were too stubborn to take my advice and patch it up."

You will never admit that he's right. You challenge, "Let's compare scars, then," knowing full well his armor dips below his pants. It's a little silly to picture the Red Hood wearing an armored one-piece, but that's all you can imagine.

He clucks his tongue and shakes his head. It dislodges the hood. A patch of hair falls down to his forehead, and it's white.

But the back of his hair is black.

White and black—

Your stomach flips.

"I thought you had a boyfriend, honey. Why're you asking me to strip?"

So that's what all the teasing's been about. He hasn't been flirting—or he has, his own weird version of flirting, because he's a dumbass.

For a moment all you can hear is the rush of blood in your ears, then you flex your fingers to regain feeling in them. You roll your eyes and say, "I think we've established that my apartment is basically a strip club. Why don't you come up and show me, Jason?"

"Well, I'm flattered, but—what?" He splutters like he's choking on his own tongue. Serves him right. "I'm not—why do you think that—I mean, I could be anyone—"

Yeah, he can have his little crisis on the street. You tug on your own fringe, then swipe into the building.

You hear his muffled cursing as the door closes.

You look forward to him catching up.

(My requests are open, so let me know if you want me to write anything in particular! Also let me know if you want to be added to a taglist.)

Forever tag list:

@lemirabitur @annymcervantes @queenmissfit @quiet-because-it-is-a-secret @iksey @thehyperactiveteen @luxmoonlight @andreasworlsboring101

#reader insert #jason todd x y/n #jason todd x you #jason todd fic #jason todd x reader #jason todd

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augiewrites · 1 year ago

Text

"secret admirer" - dead poets society (part 3)

summary: y/n joins meeks and pitts for a study session

pairing: anonymous!dead poet x gender neutral reader

word count: 977

previous | next

Y/N approached the bespectacled boy before they could lose their nerve.

“Hey—Meeks, right?”

“Yeah,” he stumbled a bit, surprised to be approached by his usually reserved classmate, “you’re Y/N.”

Y/N chuckled, “that I am.”

He signaled to the taller boy waiting for him by the door—Pitts, Y/N remembered—before he gave them an easy smile, "what can I do for you?"

“You tutor Latin, right? I could use a study partner that actually knows what they're doing,” a laugh, "if you have the time, of course.”

"Oh, sure," he glanced at his watch, “Pitts and I are going to the library during common hour if you want to meet us there.”

Y/N touched Meek’s arm briefly, “thanks, Steven. You're a lifesaver.”

The boy turned a shade of red that rivaled his hair and excused himself.

Relief bloomed in Y/N’s chest as they released a breath they didn’t realize they were holding. Their half-cocked plan was in motion.

_________________________________________

“So much for ‘we’re just going to have to wait and find out’ huh?” Quinn mocked Y/N from their seat at the lunch table.

“Well I can’t just let him be the only player in this whole thing,” Y/N shook the latest letter around, “if he wants to play a game, I want to be the one winning.”

“Y/N, the man is infatuated with you. I wouldn’t exactly call it a game.”

Y/N huffed as they shoved the letter back into their bag, “these things are starting to get annoying.”

“Oh, yeah,” Quinn rolled their eyes, “it must be such a burden to have Whitman reincarnate writing you love letters.”

“Whatever.”

“So, what is your plan, exactly?” Quinn asked around a mouthful of pasta.

Y/N was suddenly bashful, “I honestly didn’t think I would get this far.”

Quinn stared blankly back at Y/N.

“This is the part where you tell me what to do, Quinnie.”

“Torture. Medieval style. Get your answers.”

“You’re truly unbelievable,” Y/N ran a hand through their hair and stood from the table, “I’m going to be nice, and I’m going to study latin. Roll with the punches.”

_________________________________________

Meeks was mildly surprised when Y/N actually showed up at the library. He was well aware that Y/N wasn’t struggling with the subject matter—Welton made sure that its students knew who was at the top of the academic food chain. He was one of the rare lucky ones to be among them. He was curious why Y/N sought him out, but he knew better than to push the subject.

It took nearly all of common hour before Y/N started to feel at ease around the two boys. It seemed the feeling was mutual.

“So, Y/N,” Pitts started, looking bored by his trig homework, “have any hobbies?”

“A few,” Y/N muttered as they finished their last verb conjugation, “I like to read and write. I used to draw, but I barely have time to breathe outside of schoolwork.”

The boys shared a glance that Y/N couldn’t quite decode.

“Welton isn’t exactly a breeding ground for creativity,” Meeks sighed.

“That’s an understatement,” Y/N scoffed, “Welton is where creativity comes to die.”

Another look between the boys.

“Touché,” Meeks drawled, “so…you’re roommates with Quinn, right?”

Pitts grinned as a blush tinted Meeks’ cheeks.

Y/N raised their eyebrows, breaking into a cheeky smile, “yeah, I am.”

Meeks was suddenly very interested in the wall, the bookshelves, his textbook—anything other than Y/N, really.

“Are they…seeing anybody?”

Pitts laughed, earning a scolding hush from the librarian.

“No, they’re not,” Y/N smiled, “I’ll put in a good word for you, Meeks.”

Relief flooded the boy’s features and he was finally able to look at Y/N again, “thanks. I—”

“Like you could pin down someone like Quinn.”

Charlie Dalton had a habit of showing up at the worst times.

“Very nice, Dalton,” Y/N closed their book and slid it into their bag, “that’s my cue to leave.”

“Oh, please. I—”

“Don’t let him get in your head, Meeks,” Y/N looked between their study partners, “see you two around.”

Before Y/N could leave, Pitts called out, “we’re usually here during common hour,” he laughed and nudged Meeks with his elbow, “maybe you could bring Quinn next time.”

Meek’s head turned to Y/N so fast they thought his neck would snap, “could you?”

They grinned, “I’ll see what I can do.”

Y/N could hear the three boy’s rushed whispers as the door closed behind them.

_________________________________________

“So you don’t think it’s either of them? Why?”

Y/N turned onto their side in bed, facing Quinn, who was doing the same.

“I don’t know,” Y/N looked at their nails, “I could just tell they weren’t interested like that.”

Quinn scoffed, “well, we’ve established that you aren’t exactly aware when people are interested like that.”

“Well, they gave me a pretty open invitation to join them again,” Y/N smirked, “maybe you could come and run interference.”

“You’re not taking this seriously enough, Y/N.”

“Whatever,” Y/N flipped to face the wall, “goodnight.”

Y/N couldn’t fall asleep, though.

The issue with infatuation is that it’s nearly impossible to not let it consume you at all times. It burrows deep into the fibers of your very being and suddenly you’re fully engulfed by the idea of that person.

And that’s all this was, really—an idea of a person. Y/N didn’t know what their admirer looked like, how they acted, or even if their proclamations were truthful. Could reality meet the expectations being set by the letters? Y/N didn’t want to admit it to themselves, but they were afraid to find out.

Y/N dreamed of a faceless poet that night.

Their heart ached in the morning.

~~~

part four

#dead poets society #dead poets society x reader #dps boys #dps #dps fanfiction #todd anderson #neil perry #steven meeks #gerard pitts #charlie dalton #knox overstreet #todd anderson x reader #neil perry x reader #steven meeks x reader #gerard pitts x reader #charlie dalton x reader #knox overstreet x reader #dps x reader

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kjack89 · 7 months ago

Text

Dial Drunk

5 times Enjolras bailed Grantaire out of jail, and one time, well...

The door of the holding cell clanked open and as one, the nine men sitting inside glanced up. “Alright,” the booking officer said in a bored tone, glancing down at his clipboard. “Bail’s been posted for arrestees Bahorel, Combeferre, Courfeyrac, Enjolras, Feuilly, Joly, Lesgle and Prouvaire. You’re free to leave after you sign out at the front desk.”

There were a few grumbles as the men started to get to their feet, but Enjolras remained resolutely seated, his brow furrowed with a frown. “What about Grantaire?”

The man in question chuckled darkly, tilting his head back to rest it against the wall of the holding cell. “Is that actual concern for me that I hear, Apollo? I could die happy.”

Enjolras ignored him. “Pontmercy was supposed to post bail for all of us,” he said instead, aiming his words at Courfeyrac as if the man was somehow still responsible for the actions of his former roommate some five years after they had stopped living together.

Courfeyrac just shrugged. “Don’t look at me,” he said. “I mean, we all know Marius is a bit of an idiot, maybe he miscounted.”

Combeferre shook his head. “I’m probably wrong and should defer to the lawyers amongst us but I thought I remembered reading something in one of the articles about reforming pre-trial detention that an individual can only post bail for 8 detainees at a time.”

“And so I must’ve drawn the short straw,” Grantaire sighed. “Story of my fucking life.”

Bossuet clapped him sympathetically on the shoulder. “On the other hand, you could take it as a compliment that Marius thinks you’re the one most likely to survive an extended stay behind bars.”

Bahorel snorted so loudly the bars of the cell almost rattled. “Sorry but literally not a single one of us would survive an extended stay behind bars.”

“Speak for yourself,” Feuilly said. “I know how to whittle.” At the blank looks he received, he huffed a sigh and added, “So I can make a shank. No wonder none of you would survive in jail.”

“This is making our goal of prison abolition seem oddly self-serving,” Joly murmured in an undertone to Jehan, who stifled a laugh.

Combeferre cleared his throat. “Not that I’m not sympathetic to Grantaire having to be stuck in here, but I’d just like to remind everyone that since Marius posted bail, we’re technically now here voluntarily.”

“Yeah so GTFO,” Grantaire said with a grimace masquerading as a smile. “Let me rot in peace, etcetera.”

Enjolras looked like he wanted to argue more, but Combeferre muttered something in his ear and he made a face before filing out of the cell. “Serious miscalculation on Marius’s part with this one,” Courfeyrac said brightly as he followed everyone else out. “Because God knows you’re going to complain about this for the rest of all time.”

Grantaire gave him the finger and Courfeyrac winked as the officer closed the cell door behind him.

Sighing again, Grantaire sat upright, rolling his shoulders and cracking his neck before settling back against the bench. “You need anything?” the booking officer asked.

Grantaire shook his head. “Nah,” he said dismissively. “Not my first rodeo. Hopefully I won’t be stuck overnight, but I’ve slept in worse places.”

“Oh, yeah?” the officer said with mild interest.

Grantaire nodded. “Central booking at the 16th Precinct is a piece of shit,” he said brightly.

The officer barked a laugh. “I’ll keep that in mind.” He gave Grantaire a long look. “Should I ask what you were picked up for previously?”

Considering the answer to that question was a vast litany of misdemeanors (and felonies reduced to misdemeanors) that the boys in blue tended not to appreciate, Grantaire hesitated. Thankfully, he was saved from having to answer at all by the crackle of the officer’s walkie-talkie. “Just a moment,” the officer told him, heading out of the booking area and Grantaire let out a sigh of relief as he slumped on the bench.

“You’re free to go,” the officer said upon returning, and Grantaire looked up, surprised.

“Really?”

The officer nodded, opening the door to the holding cell. “Bail was posted. So I guess you’ll have to save your rap sheet for the next time you’re in here.”

Grantaire snorted a laugh. “I’d say there won’t be a next time, but…”

He ducked out before the officer could respond to that, making his way to the front desk, stopping in his tracks when he saw Enjolras leaning against the desk, clearly waiting for him. “What’re you doing here?”

Enjolras straightened. “It didn’t feel right leaving you in there,” he said with a shrug that didn’t quite come across as nonchalant as he’d probably intended. “And I happened to have some cash on me, so…”

“Between this and being worried about my welfare, you’re gonna give me the wrong impression,” Grantaire said.

“Guess that depends on what impression you’re getting,” Enjolras said, and Grantaire’s eyes flickered to his and away again, feeling suddenly tongue-tied. Enjolras cleared his throat, a faint blush coloring his cheeks. “Anyway, we should get to the Musain to debrief.” He glanced at Grantaire. “Unless you’ve got something better to do.”

Grantaire just shook his head, and gestured for Enjolras to lead the way. “After you,” he said, his voice low, and together they walked out of the precinct, their arms just brushing against each other as they headed to meet their friends at the Musain.

— — — — —

“Jesus Christ,” Enjolras muttered as the booking officer removed the handcuffs from a sheepish-looking Grantaire. Well, as sheepish as a man sporting the beginnings of a pretty impressive black eye could look, anyway. “Here,” Enjolras said roughly, holding an ice pack out to Grantaire. “I posted your bail as well.”

“Thanks,” Grantaire muttered, taking the ice pack and wincing as he pressed it against his eye.

Enjolras pursed his lips as he gave him a once-over. “Any other injuries I need to worry about?” he asked.

Grantaire just shrugged. “Nothing that won’t heal on its own.”

“Because that’s reassuring,” Enjolras sighed, rubbing his forehead, but when he looked at Grantaire again, there was something almost soft in his expression. “You didn’t need to do that.”

What he could see of Grantaire’s expression tightened, just slightly. “You didn’t hear what that guy called you.”

He said it calmly, evenly, but his hand automatically balled into a fist at the memory. Enjolras reached out automatically to rest his hand on Grantaire’s fist until it relaxed. “It doesn’t matter what he called me,” he said, his voice low. “I can take care of myself.”

“Of course you can,” Grantaire scoffed. “But that doesn’t mean you should have to.”

Enjolras just shook his head, running his thumb across Grantaire’s bruised knuckles, a testament to the fact that despite the black eye, he’d emerged from the fight victorious. “I should’ve brought another ice pack,” he murmured.

Grantaire just half-smiled, twisting his hand so that he could lace his fingers with Enjolras’s. “It’s fine,” he said softly. “It doesn’t really hurt at the moment anyway.”

Enjolras cleared his throat and looked away, but he didn’t try to untangle his fingers from Grantaire’s. “Well,” he said, “we should, uh, get out of here.”

“Before they realize you have about a half dozen outstanding warrants for your arrest?” Grantaire asked with a smirk, his voice quiet enough that only Enjolras could hear.

“You’d be amazed what having a multi-million dollar settlement pending against the city will do to the police’s willingness to bring you in,” Enjolras said with a smirk. “Not that I want to test that, of course.”

“Liar,” Grantaire said, grinning. “But better safe than sorry, I suppose.”

He started toward the door, pausing when Enjolras didn’t immediately follow. “Thank you, by the way,” Enjolras said, and Grantaire glanced back at him.

“Anytime,” he said simply. “Thanks for bailing me out.”

Enjolras gave him a look that was half-amused, half-exasperated. “Just don’t go making a habit of it,” he warned. “One day I won’t be here to bail you out.”

“Only because you’ll probably be locked up with me,” Grantaire said.

“Well,” Enjolras murmured, not quite able to stop his smile, “you’re not wrong.”

— — — — —

Grantaire rested his elbows against the bars of the holding cell, his arms dangling into what was technically freedom on the other side. The booking officer, some new guy he didn’t recognize, gave him a look but didn’t say anything, which he took as a small victory, and he allowed himself a small smirk.

A smirk that faded as soon as he saw Enjolras, escorted by another officer. “No dice on bail?” Grantaire asked, seeing the look on Enjolras’s face.

Enjolras shook his head. “No, they’re going to go through the whole arraignment rigamarole. I’ve already let Pontmercy know.” He made a face, casting an irritated look at the booking officer who was pretending not to listen to their conversation. “Apparently they take battery of a police officer pretty seriously these days.”

“Can’t imagine why,” Grantaire muttered. Enjolras sighed and Grantaire gave him a look. “Don’t even start,” he warned. “This wasn’t about you not being able to take care of yourself—”

“That wasn’t what I was going to say,” Enjolras interrupted, his voice tight. “I’m well aware that cop would’ve bashed my head in if you hadn’t intervened.” He shook his head and sighed again. “I was going to say thank you.”

“Oh,” Grantaire said, managing a tight smile. “You’re welcome.”

Enjolras just shook his head again. “You still shouldn’t have done it,” he continued, “because honestly, I’m not worth all that—”

“You are, though,” Grantaire said, in a tone that brooked no argument. Enjolras scowled and Grantaire rolled his eyes. “Fine, then why don’t we make a deal?” he said. “I’ll stop defending you when you stop bailing me out.”

“At the rate you’re going, I won’t be able to anyway,” Enjolras said sourly. “Not without putting up some major collateral.”

Grantaire shook his head. “And I’m definitely not worth that,” he said.

Enjolras’s eyes met his. “You are, though.”

For a moment, it looked like Grantaire might argue. Instead, he reached for Enjolras’s hand, bringing it up to kiss his knuckles through the bars of the holding cell. “No touching,” the booking officer barked, and Grantaire rolled his eyes as he reluctantly let go of Enjolras’s hand.

“Will you be at my arraignment?” he asked.

Enjolras shrugged. “Someone’s got to post whatever bail amount the judge decides,” he said.

Grantaire half-smiled. “In that case, I’ll be the one in the front.”

“Pretty sure that’ll be the judge,” Enjolras murmured, grinning when Grantaire rolled his eyes. “I’ll see you tomorrow. I promise.”

“It’ll be the only thing that gets me through spending the night in here,” Grantaire told him, and it was Enjolras’s turn to roll his eyes, though there was obvious affection in the motion.

“Pretty sure Bahorel was right,” he said. “You definitely wouldn’t survive in jail.”

Grantaire just shrugged. “Only if you were in there with me.”

Enjolras shook his head, reluctantly backing away toward the door. “Still time,” he said, and Grantaire’s eyes narrowed.

“Don’t you dare do anything stupid while I’m locked up in here.”

Enjolras just smirked. “See you tomorrow,” he called over his shoulder as he left, and Grantaire sighed, though there something strangely content in the noise, despite, or maybe because of, the circumstances.

— — — — —

Grantaire didn’t meet Enjolras’s eyes as he rapped his fingers impatiently against the front desk at the precinct, waiting for them to bring him his personal effects. “Do you have any idea what time it is?” Enjolras asked, his voice tight. Grantaire looked pointedly at the conspicuous clock on the wall and Enjolras’s scowl deepened. “Exactly, it’s 2 in the fucking morning. I have a 7 o’clock meeting, which you knew damn well, so why you had to go pick a bar fight with some guy twice your fucking size—”

“So sorry to be an inconvenience to you,” Grantaire drawled, slurring his words just slightly. “Can’t imagine what it must be like to have made plans that get interfered with by someone else’s priorities.”

Enjolras ground his teeth together. “Are we really doing this here and now?” he asked.

Grantaire just jerked a shrug, not meeting his eyes. “Do you have something better to do?”

Enjolras sighed and scrubbed a tired hand across his face. “I’m sorry that I had to cancel tonight,” he said, with as much patience as he could seemingly muster, considering the circumstances. “But I needed to get this proposal done ahead of the meeting tomorrow, and I don’t really see what the big deal—”

“You never do,” Grantaire interrupted, still not looking at him. “That’s the problem.”

“You knew going into this—”

“Just like you knew going into this that I’m a drunk and a disaster,” Grantaire interrupted, finally looking at Enjolras, his expression hard. “Well, congratulations, Apollo, it looks like we both knew what we were getting into and yet somehow, we’re both still disappointed.”

Enjolras just shook his head. “I’m not,” he said tiredly. “I’m not disappointed, Grantaire, because that would require me to actually expect better from you, and I learned my lesson on that a long time ago.”

Grantaire just grinned, a horrible, twisted grin. “Right back atcha.”

The officer returned with Grantaire’s belongings, and Grantaire grabbed his phone, wallet and keys, returning them to his pockets. Enjolras took a deep breath, but whatever he clearly wanted to say seemed to stick in his throat, and he looked away. “C’mon,” he said instead. “Let’s go home.”

Grantaire nodded once, shoving his hands in his pockets as he slumped after Enjolras, neither man touching the other.

— — — — —

“He’s not technically under arrest,” the cop told Enjolras as he led him back to the holding cell. “But that’s because we couldn’t really mirandize him when he was passed out.”

Enjolras eyed Grantaire, sprawled across the bench in the holding cell, and sighed. “So once he’s coherent, he’ll be charged with, what, drunk and disorderly?”

The officer nodded. “Yeah.” He glanced at Enjolras. “Look, it’s not my place, but, uh, maybe look into getting your friend some help?”

“Yeah,” Enjolras murmured, his expression drawn. “Maybe.” He sighed and turned. “Guess I’ll go preemtively pay his bail—”

“Apollo?” Grantaire croaked, and Enjolras sighed again.

“Give us a moment?” he asked the officer, who just shrugged.

Enjolras crossed to the bars of the holding cell, his arms crossed tightly in front of his chest. “Tell me,” he said, his tone clipped, “were you trying to get hit by a car by passing out in the street, or would have just been a fun little side effect of this spectacular attempt at blowing up your life?”

Grantaire groaned as he forced himself into a sitting position. “Honestly don’t remember if it was deliberate or not,” he muttered, swaying slightly as he blinked unfocusedly at Enjolras.

“There are easier ways of killing yourself,” Enjolras said.

Grantaire managed a small, sharp smile. “Don’t worry, I’ve considered those as well.”

Enjolras’s expression tightened and he looked away. “You used your one phone call for me,” he said.

Grantaire shrugged. “Didn’t know who else to call.”

“Probably anyone besides your ex.” Grantaire flinched and Enjolras sighed before telling him, as firmly as he could manage, “This is the last time. Do you understand?”

Grantaire barked a dry, humorless laugh. “If there’s one thing I can promise, Apollo, it’s that this won’t be the last time.”

“Maybe not for you,” Enjolras said. “But I’m done. So the next time you get picked up for a bar fight or public intoxication or whatever suicidal shit you decide to get yourself into next time, call someone else.”

He didn’t wait for Grantaire to answer, just turning on heel to leave him in the holding cell while he went to go pay his bail.

One last time.

— — — — —

The phone rang, and rang again, and Grantaire’s grip on the phone tightened. “Come on,” he muttered to himself. “Come on, pick up, pick up.”

But the phone just rang until the tinny, robotic voice informed him that no voicemail had been set up for this phone number, and he heaved a sigh as he hung up, a headache blooming in his temples that had absolutely nothing to the better part of a handle of whiskey that he’d worked his way through that evening.

“Nothing?” the booking officer asked, and Grantaire ground his teeth together at the fake sympathetic tone.

“Nope,” he said, popping the ‘p’, and he scrubbed a hand across his face before heading back to the holding cell.

The booking officer trailed after him. “Do you, uh, want to try calling someone else?”

Grantaire just shook his head. “No,” he said, crossing his arms in front of his chest as the officer opened the door of the cell for him. “I’ll try again later. He’s probably asleep.”

The officer glanced up at the clock that showed it was barely 10pm, and he shook his head as he closed the door after Grantaire. “Your choice,” he said with a shrug.

Grantaire sighed heavily as he slumped down onto the hard metal bench, his fingers twitching as if he wanted to reach for an absent glass or bottle of beer, or else for a hand that used to be his to hold. His throat felt tight and he swallowed hard, tilting his head back to rest it against the wall of the holding cell.

He closed his eyes against the tears that he could feel prick in the corners of his eyes, though he honestly didn’t know if he was crying because Enjolras hadn’t picked up, or because there was a part of him that still thought that maybe, in the morning, he would. One more time.

#ExR #Enjolras x Grantaire #Enjoltaire #Enjolras #Grantaire #Les Amis #fanfiction #Les Miserables #modern AU #5+1 things #developing relationship #established relationship #and because it's me #former relationship #mild angst

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maximoffgxrl · 8 months ago

Note

hi i’m not sure if you still take requests but would if you ever have time a yelena belova x reader (platonic) with lots of cuddling and kisses? just a whole ton of fluff and it doesn’t need to be too long? if you can’t/don’t want to do it that’s totally fine but i have such a soft spot for sweet yelena <3

Home {Yelena Belova}

Pairing: Yelena x gn!reader (platonic)

Summary: Yelena arrives from a mission and all she really wants is you

Note: yelena is the best i swear <3 hope you like it! this request has been sitting on my drafts for months, but now it’s finally here!!! so, enjoy 💕

You sighed as you flipped another page on your book, a pink highlighter on your hand and a bunch of loose pages resting in your lap. Were you studying on a friday night again? Yes. Sure, you had promised to yourself that this kind of nerdy behaviour would be left behind in high school, but who could blame you? It's not like you had anything else to do and you actually enjoyed studying.

- Oh, absolutely not. - a familiar voice with a thick accent sounded behing you and you smiled.

- Hey, Yelena. - you turned your head towards the voice, seeing the blonde girl climbing out the window. - Nice to see you're home again. And still unable to use the door.

- I already told you, sometimes I need to climb the window so I can make sure that no one else can climb the window. It is science. Just like your book. - she said, taking off her shoes and coat, her cheeks red from the cold weather. - Now, what are you doing reading a book? When I left, a whole week ago, you were doing that exact same thing.

- Well, I have to. It’s called studying. And if it helps, it was a different book last week. - you answered, watching as the blonde went straight for the kitchen. - But I wanna know about you. Your super secret mission went well? Where were you, after all? Now you can tell me, right?

- Bolivia. And yes, it went well. No one blew me up and it was not for lack of trying. - she said, frowning at the refrigerator. - Now, tell me, Y/N, this studying of yours does not require eating? There’s nothing in here.

- I was planning on ordering something later and I didn’t know you were coming home today. - you said, finally closing the book and resting your head against the armchair. - What do you mean they were trying to blow you up? Are you okay?

- Peachy. - Yelena said, sitting on the sofa. - I wasn’t even shot this time. It’s a big win.

- I don’t think I’ll ever get used to this. - you glanced at her with your eyes a little widened. You still remembered when, a year ago, Yelena showed up holding your announcement and asking if you were the one looking for a roommate. At the time, you didn’t knew you were getting a best friend and a giant headache all in one person. - You know, every time you leave I get worried sick.

- That is very sweet, Y/N Y/L/N, but you don’t have to worry. I am the best, so yeah, no danger here. - she smiled and you held back a laugh. Yelena could be so unintentionally conceited sometimes. - Now, will you please stop with the books, order some pizza and watch a movie with me? I missed you a lot.

- Own, Lena, I missed you too! - your heart melted at the russian’s words, smiling at her. - I’ll just bring this stuff to my room and then we can watch anything you’d like, okay?

She agreed with her head and you piled up all your books, papers and pens and carried them to your room, leaving it all on your desk. Fishing a blanket out of your closet, you picked up your phone and went back to the living room, sitting comfortably in the armchair again as you dialed the number of the pizza place you guys always ordered from.

- The pizza will be here in 40 minutes! - you yelled to make sure Yelena would hear you and went back to your phone, waiting for the girl to come back.

A few minutes later, she showed up in sweatpants and a My Little Pony white t-shirt, her hair wet and carrying a sweet lavender smell. She used your shampoo, but you didn’t really care, just watching as she practically fell onto the couch, resting her head against the pillows.

- So, what are we watching? - you asked, toying with the remote.

- Can we watch the one with the sirens again? You know, the one with the song that was stuck in my head for like a month? - she asked with big puppy eyes.

- Barbie A Mermaid Tale? - you asked with a laugh. Yelena was a big Barbie fan, but she specifically loved this one. - I think we’ve seen this at least five times.

- Please? It’s my favorite! - she pleaded, holding her hands together. - I love the evil fish.

- Okay, okay. But I’ll choose the next one.

- YES! - she exclaimed in pure delight, making you laugh again. If there was something you loved about Yelena, was her almost childlike joy about the little things in life. It was adorable.

You were about to press play when she cleared her throat, making you look in her direction only to find her already staring at you, brows furrowed.

- What? - you asked, a little confused.

- Aren’t you forgetting something? - she asked, rolling her eyes at your absolutely lack of perception. - Cuddling, Y/N Y/L/N, you’re forgetting the most important part of a movie marathon. Get your ass on this couch right now.

You couldn’t help but smile as you got up, laying beside the blonde on the couch and throwing your blanket over the two of you. It wasn’t long until Yelena’s arm was around your waist and the russian’s cheek was resting against your head. You hummed in contentment, feeling relaxed and warm and safe, like you always were with her.

- Now you can start. - she said simply as she placed a kiss against your forehead, making your heart melt all over again.

- It’s nice to have you home. - you said softly, grabbing the blonde’s hand and kissing her knuckles. - You know I love you, right?

- Yeah, you big softie, I love you too. - she said rolling her eyes as she kissed your cheek. - Now shush, my movie is starting.

You just smiled, too enthralled in the feeling of being in Yelena’s arms. She was home now, and it was all that mattered. After all, she was your home.

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youcalledmebabe · 3 months ago

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webgott pretty please!

75. “I’m going for a swim. Do you wanna join me?” (preferably it’s joe who asks. if you are so inclined. 🙂🙂🙂🙂🙂🙂🙂🙂🙂🙂🙂🙂🙂🙂🙂🙂🙂)

send me a pairing and a number and I’ll write you a Drabble

happy Webgott Wednesday yna!! enjoy some hot pygmalion summer Webgott. full disclosure this will 10000% be a fic someday.

Waves crash onto the shore. David can just barely make them out from the porch of the summer house. The moon shines bright tonight but his vision isn’t what it used to be; all the straining to see his journal in the dark in Europe has caught up with him. Or maybe he’s just getting old. Twenty-six tomorrow.

He lights a cigarette and takes a contemplative puff. Laughter and chatter filter out through the windows. It seems nobody has noticed the guest of honor has absconded.

The screen door creaks open and David sighs. Please don’t be his mother. He glances up to see Joe, offering him a glass.

“Water,” Joe says. “You’ve been mainlining gin all night.”

David takes a sip and pats the step next to him. When Joe sits, he offers him a drag of his cigarette. Joe doesn’t give it back.

“People keep asking me if I’m Bobby.”

David grins. He supposes Joe does have the reediness of the Kennedys but one word out of his mouth would disabuse anybody of that notion. “My roommate from Harvard. He’s in Hyannis for the summer. But maybe you’ll get to meet him.”

“You really think I’m gonna stick around the whole summer?” Joe says, but it’s a half-hearted barb. He’d come to Long Island at David’s request, had endured a week of the Websters already and earned the affection—if not approval— of everybody but his father. And David hadn’t even managed that in twenty-six years, so he could hardly fault Joe for it.

“Maybe,” David hums and lights another cigarette.

David watches Joe smoke his cigarette, how his face looks marble under the moonlight. Age is doing him nothing but favors. He feels a little guilty for not being completely honest with Joe.

“I lured you here,” he blurts out. “Under false pretenses.”

Joe stubs out his cigarette, amusement flickering in his expression. “I miss you and I want you to come to my summer home was a pretense?”

“Well, no. But it wasn’t the entire truth.”David sighs and takes a drag. “My parents want me to get engaged this summer. Or to go to law school. ‘War Hero’ got me through 1946 and Harvard student got me through now but my mother needs a new accomplishment of mine to brag about at her functions.”

“Just go to law school, Web, Jesus. You talk enough for it.”

David shakes his head. “Bobby’s going but…it’s not for me. I want to write. Lawyers have to actually work.”

Joe flicks his arm. “You’re a spoiled brat.”

“I invited you out here because I want you to get engaged.”

“So that’s why you tried to marry me off to Ann the second I walked through the door,” Joe muses.

“If you marry some wealthy heiress, your life is set, Joe. And we’ll see each other every summer. Maybe even during the year, depending on who the lucky bride is.”

Joe smirks. “I want no part of this life. You’re all crazy. If I were a writer like you I’d write some great piece on this place.”

“Very Nick Carraway,” David says, frowning. Joe was supposed to want to marry rich.

Joe snaps his fingers. “Gatsby.”

David stares at him, surprised he remembered. But then, he shouldn’t be surprised. Joe had read it too, and Joe had a great memory. So sharp, so intelligent.

“You look like you want to kiss me. Just because I get your little book joke. You’re so easy.”

“Maybe,” David sighs. “But it wouldn’t be very ethical to do while I’m trying to marry you off.”

Joe snorts. “None of these women want to marry a cab driver from San Francisco.”

But what if they did? David knows plenty of rebellious young women, plenty of fathers who would be indulgent enough to let Joe slide into the family. If David could just teach him how to walk the walk, talk the talk, he’d be in.

“I bet that I can get a girl to want to marry you. Probably more than one. I’ll teach you to be a perfect gentleman. It’ll be like Pygmalion.”

David would do Pygmalion right though. There was absolutely no danger of him falling in love with Joe. A bit of fooling around in Austria wasn’t love; Joe had made that very clear. And David was much older and wiser now. He wouldn’t make the same mistake twice.

“Whatever that means. We can talk about it in the morning. Speaking of luring,” Joe says. “Can’t believe you haven’t tried to get me in the ocean yet.”

The truth is David doesn’t entirely trust them to be around each other in a state of undress. He glances out at the water, waves pushing into the shore. It does look inviting, and so do Joe’s eyes. But his party persists inside.

Joe sheds his jacket and loosens his bow tie, scowling. He stalks down the steps. “I’m going for a swim. If you want to join me.”

“Well when you ask so nicely, how can I say no?” David retorts, but he’s taking off his own jacket and running after Joe anyway.

By the time they reach the beach, Joe’s only in his trousers. David’s itching for him to take them off; to see moonlit skin.

“You hate swimming. You just want to see me naked,” David says. “Now who’s easy?”

“Nobody hates swimming, Web. It’s just that nobody else is as weird about it as you.”

David grins at him. How he’s missed Joe’s affectionate ribbing. It just doesn’t read the same in a letter. A whole summer of Joe’s teasing; a whole lifetime of summers if he can just get Joe to marry one of Ann’s ditsy friends, or maybe one of the women being offered up to him. “I’m so glad you came.”

Joe waves a hand. “Just here for a free vacation,” he says, but he’s smiling back, and inching closer.

“Kenyon? Kenyon! Come inside. You need to say goodbye to the Gilmores.”

David turns and squints at the porch. His mother is framed by the lights, martini glass in hand. He looks back at Joe and the water longingly.

“Duty calls, Kenyon,” Joe says but his expression softens. “Come meet me back out here when the party is over. We’ll go for a birthday swim.”

“You’ll be okay out here alone?” David asks.

“Survived a war, Web. What the fuck could go wrong in rich person USA?”

Plenty, David wants to say, but it’s mostly psychological. Joe will be fine. He nods at Joe and slouches back up the beach to a woman his parents want him to marry, already counting the seconds until he can be in the water with Joe.

#webgott #david webster #joe liebgott #gigi writes #my fair liebgott

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bluemirrorangel · 27 days ago

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the DPS book & characterisation

so I'm reading the Dead Poets Society book and while I don't particularly like it all that much it has made some bold choices when it comes to the characters, some I really dislike and others I really love. I'm going to go over that in this post :)

Todd Anderson:

Todd is so much angrier than he is in the movie and honestly he’s so real for that. He and Neil actually don’t get along as much as they do in the movie, they don’t really get each other because they are in opposite situations, Neil’s father has too many expectations for him and controls his every move giving his son little to no agency whereas Todd's parents actively neglect him, they both want what the other one has to a certain degree; Todd wants someone to care about him and Neil wants freedom.

The book also gets rid of the flying desk set scene and we instead get a more sombre scene

“Todd?” He called, walking over to get a better look. Todd sat shivering in the dark about a coat. “What's going on there?” Neil asked his roommate, Todd didn't answer. “Todd, what's the matter?” Neil sat next to him on the wall. “It's freezing out here.” “It's my birthday.” Todd said flatly. “It is?” Neil said. “Why didn't you tell me? happy birthday, You get anything?” Except for his chattering teeth Todd was silent and still. He pointed to a box. Neil opened it to find the same monogram desk set Todd had.In their room.”This is your desk set.” Neil said. “I don't get it.” “They gave me the exact same thing as last year” Todd cried. “They didn't even remember.” “Oh” Neil said in a hushed tone. “Oh.” Todd mocked. “Well, maybe they thought you needed another one, a new one” Neil suggested after a long, awkward pause. “maybe they don't think at all. Unless it's about my brother” Todd said angrily. “His birthday is always a big to do” He looked at the deskset and laughed. The stupid thing is, I didn't even like it the first time.” “Look Todd you’re obviously underestimating the value of this desk set” Neil said flippantly trying to change the mood. “What?” “I mean” Neil said and tried to smile. “This is one special gift. Who would want a football or a baseball bat or a car when they could have a desk set as Wonderful as this one?” “Yeah.” Todd laughed, infected by nose humour.”And just look at this ruler” they both laughed. They both looked at the desk set. By now it was pitch dark and cold Neil shivered.“You know what my dad would call me when i was growing up? Five ninety-eight. That’s what all the chemicals in the human body will be worth if you bottled them raw and sold them, he told me. That was all I'd ever be worth unless I worked every day to improve myself. Five ninety-eight.” Neil sighed and shook his head in disbelief. No wonder Todd was so screwed up, he thought. “When I was little” todd continued, “I thought all parents automatically love their kids. That's what my teachers told me. That's what I read in the books they gave me. That's what I believed, well, my parents rather have my brother, but they did not love me.Todd took a deep anguished breath and walked into the dorm. Neil sat motionless on the freezing Stonewall, groping for something to say. “Todd,” he called lamely. As he ran after his roommate.

Todd is less shy and nervous in the book and more quiet and brooding which changes his dynamic with most of the characters specifically Neil.

Neil Perry:

Neil is meaner in the book, not flat-out mean just meaner, this makes him feel more like a real teenager. His dynamic with Todd is still a friendship and they still mean a lot to each other but there’s more depth.

“So what do you think of my father?” He asked blankly. “I'll take him over mine,” Todd said softly, almost to himself. “What?” Neil asked “Nothing” “Todd, If you're gonna make it around here, you've gotta speak up. The meek might inherit the earth but they don't get into Harvard know what I mean?” Todd nodded, holding a white button-down Oxford cloth shirt. Neil held the achievement pin in his hand as he spoke. “ The Bastard!” He shouted suddenly, jabbing his thumb with the metal pointed pin and drawing blood. Todd winced, but Neil just stared at the blood intently. He pulled the pin out. And hurled it against the wall.

He also calls Cameron a jerk to Todd instead of saying ‘he was born with his foot in his mouth.’ like he does in the movie this paired with his comment about Todd being ‘messed up’ shows that Neil can be judgmental of his friends and peers, this being said Neil still cares deeply for his friends especially Todd; talking to him gently and trying to figure him out.

“By the way, there's a meeting this afternoon.” Neil said, “Are you coming?” I guess, Todd said as he grimaced. Neil put down the play and looked over at his roommate. “None of what Mr Keating Has to say means anything to you, does it?” He asked, incredulous. “What’s that supposed to mean?” Todd was defensive “Being in the club means being stirred up by things. You look about as turn up as a cesspool” “You want me out? Is that what you're saying?” Todd said angrily. “No,” Neil, said softly. “I want you in, but it means you gotta do something. Not just say you're in.” Todd said angrily “Listen, Neil, I appreciate your interest in me, but I'm not like you,” he insisted. “ “When you say things people pay attention, people follow you. I'm not like that.” “Why not? Do you think you could be?” Neil Pressed. “No!” Todd shouted. “Oh, I don't know. I'll probably never know. The point is, there's nothing you can do about it. So, butt out, all right? I can take care of myself just fine, alright” “No” Neil said “No?” Todd asked astonished. “What do you mean no,” Neil shrugged matter of factly and repeated “No, I'm not going to butt out” Neil opened his play and began to read again. Todd just sat and stared at him. “OK”, todd said defeated “I’ll go.” “Good” Neil smiled and continued reading the play.

Charlie Dalton:

Charlie is more emotionally open in the book, he’s also a lot more annoyed by Knox’s Infatuation (obsession) on Chris.

“I feel like I've never been alive,” Charlie said sadly as he watched Neil go. “For years I've been risking nothing. I have no idea what I am.Or what I want to do. Neil knows he wants to act. Knox knows he wants Chris” “Needs Chris? must have Chris” Knox groaned “Meeks,” Charlie said, “you're the brain here or did the dead poets say about somebody like me?” “The romantics were passionate experiment as Charles. They dabbled in many things before settling. If ever,” Meeks said. Cameron made a face. “There aren't too many places to be an experimenter at, Welton Meeks.” Charlie paces as the boys considered Cameron’s observation. He stopped and his face lit up. “I hereby declare this the Charles Dalton cave for passion experimentation.” He smiled. “In the future, anyone wishing entry must have permission from me.” “Wait a minute, Charlie” Pitts objected. “This should belong to The club” “it should, but I found it now I claim it. Carpe cavem boys seize The Cave.” Charlie

countered with a grin. “Good thing there’s only one of you around here Charles” Meeks said philosophically.

Meeks & Pitts: they mainly stayed the same, however they gave Meeks’ poem about the Congo to Pitts and cut out Pitts’ poem about the man that killed his wife, they also have Meeks call Charlie Charles and I think that’s kind of cute.

Knox Overstreet:

Knox has no personality outside of his infatuation (obsession) with Chris, which is disappointing because they could have done more with his storyline, he’s the most athletic of the poets and has an awkward friendship with Ginny Danburry, his reason for not joining the society was that he didn’t really get it and I think they could have made him into a more interesting character by giving him more moments with Ginny and having him do more at the party than assault Chris, he could have brought all the poets and that would have been such an interesting plot point, having all the boys interact with public school students.

“Might as well sit down until dinner,” Ginny suggested in an awkward moment of silence followed. “Chet only Wanted the Buick so they can go parking.” She confided with a blush, not being able to think about anything to say.

Richard Cameron:

Cameron’s betrayal in the book hits so much harder than in the film because he’s a real friend to the other poets, he’s the first and only one to ask where Todd is at their first study meeting, he calls a club meeting when Charlie asks him too, and he’s the most invested in Knox and Chris. Book Cameron also takes more indicative with the club, he reads from the poetry book something he doesn’t do in the movie.

“Say what happened to Todd?” Cameron asked as they gathered up their books.” Said he wanted to do history,” Neil said. “Come on, Knox”, Cameron said. “You’ll survive this chick. Maybe you'll think of something to win her love. Remember, seize the day,” Knox smiled. Got up from the couch and followed the boys to their rooms.

Cameron took the book. “This is serious,” he said and began to read.

“You know what the dead poets would say” Cameron laughed, “Gather ye rosebuds while ye may…”

Cameron was still well-behaved and overly nervous but he felt like he genuinely cared about the others, kind of like Claire from Derry Girls.

leave a ship or fandom suggestions for headcanons, fics or just questions in general and I'll do them if you want :)

#richard cameron #dead poets society #charlie dalton #gerard pitts #knox overstreet #neil perry #anderperry #steven meeks #chameron #todd anderson

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shieldofiron · 6 months ago

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Vibe Check Part 3: Quid Pro Bro

The Frat Boy Au, Part 3

Read Previous on Ao3 or tumblr.

Steve wakes almost falling out of a chair.

He blinks, looking around the empty lecture hall and then finally looking up at the girl who’s still shaking him.

“Hey, yo, I’m up, I’m awake!” He wriggled out of her iron grip.

“You have to leave.”

“When did I pass out?”

The girl scoffs rolling her eyes hard, “Like halfway through the lecture, dingus. You snore, by the way.”

“I do not!” He snapped. Billy’s never said anything, and they’d roomed together all of last year.

“Oh yeah,” she nodded, crossing her arms. “Drool too.”

Steve just began to gather his books, “Why are you even here? Just let me drool.”

“I’m the TA,” She smirked. “And I didn’t want to be caught grading your absolutely half baked paper.”

“Yeah,” he smirked right back, giving her a little of the patented Harrington sparkle. “A likely excuse.”

She just huffs, heading back to the front of the room and gathering some papers, “you try to help a guy.”

“Want me to walk you home?” He glanced at his watch. “Kinda late.”

“I live off campus.”

“Your car, then.”

She blinks at him, “you’re not getting in my pants.”

“Excuse me?”

“I’m gay.”

“And I’m just offering a walk home,” Steve shook his head, “you try to help a girl.”

She pauses, “you’re serious. You don’t have to do that.”

He nods, “yeah I am, dude, it’s like 9 pm. I’m not gonna let you walk home alone.”

She’s pretty, short hair sort of messy around her freckled face, which morphs slowly from a scowl into a more confused expression.

“Okay, I guess.”

“You thought I would just leave you in the lurch?”

“Not-“ She just laughs and shakes her head. “Fine, dingus. Prove to me that frat boys aren’t all the same.”

“We’re not!”

“Your taking a nap during the lecture non withstanding. Like it wasn’t even during a film day.”

Steve massaged the back of his neck, “My neighbor at the house has this girlfriend, she’s like a banshee. We didn’t sleep at all last night.”

She swung a multicolored patchwork tote bag onto her shoulder, “Can’t you just outbang him? Fight fire with fire?”

Steve’s brows rose as he scrambled to shove his notes into his backpack. “Whoah, I didn’t expect you to say that!”

She giggles, “I’m a TA not a nun.”

“Fair enough. How do you get to be a TA anyway?” He holds open the heavy metal door as she sails past, her tote bag hitting him hard in the solar plexus as she did.

“Sorry,” She says. “You take enough of Herman’s classes that he starts to remember your face. It’s a blessing and a curse, I wouldn’t recommend it to anyone. And the pay is dismal.”

“You get paid too?” He followed her down the hallway and out into the brisk fall air.

“I thought frat boys had all the money for keg parties and togas and house dues and lawsuits…”

“Not all of us,” He scoffs, as if he isn’t absolutely the exact type of guy she’s talking about. “It’s always good to let the brothers know about stuff like this.”

She rolls her eyes, “I can’t believe you actually talk like that.”

“What? Brothers?”

“Yeah,” she raises one shoulder. “Isn’t your boyfriend one of your brothers? Isn’t that a bit creepy?”

At first he thinks it’s the fall wind. That whooshing sound.

“What?” He realizes he’s frozen, locked to the spot in his adidas slides, staring at a tree rather than her.

“Oh,” She falters in her skipping. “Did you two break up?”

“Who are you talking about?”

“Uh, I don’t really know his name but he used to walk you to class last semester for Women in Film? Blonde guy with the curls? He has an embarrassing and frankly dated 80s thing going on?” She blinks at him. “God, you did break up. I’m so sorry, Steve.”

“How… wh… we’re not boyfriends,” he finally manages to stutter after a few seconds of autumn-chilled silence.

“Oh,” Her expression morphs into pity and it’s fucking awful. “I get it.”

“No, no I… we’re not like that at all. Billy and I are roommates. We’re…” he couldn’t bring himself to say brothers, his mind still scrambled. “Friends.”

“Oh.” She tips her chin down. “Sorry. My mistake.”

After another stilted second, they start to walk again with purpose towards the parking garage.

But she keeps sort of glancing over at him. Like she’s checking.

“We’re just friends,” He repeats after a moment.

“Got it.”

“Nothing going on there.”

“Okay.”

“And we’re straight.”

“Interesting how that came up last.”

“I’m fucking serious. We’re just friends.”

“Got it. Broken gaydar. It happens,” She shrugs, and he tries to do it too. Just like… no big deal.

But he can’t seem to stop wanting to say it. They’re just friends. How could anyone read them as anything else.

The more he thinks about it the funnier it seems. Of course nothing is going on, it’s so crazy that she thought so. He’ll have to tell Billy, even though the idea makes him feel like he has a nest of angry scorpions in his stomach.

Finally, they turn sharply for the nearest dorm, just past the garage near the theatre building.

“I thought you said you lived off campus.”

“I thought you might be a serial killer. I don’t know which one of us is more disappointed.”

He laughed through his choked throat. “I’m Steve, by the way.”

“I know. You’re Steve ‘the Hair’ Harrington. You’re the party chair for Theta House and you’re like,” she puts on a silly high voice, “so cute.”

“And straight.”

“And straight, that too,” she giggles a little nervously. “I’m Robin Buckley. We’ve had classes together for two years.”

He rocks back on his heels, “you did the John Waters short for Dr Casey’s class. That shit was legit.”

“That’s me,” She smiled, “sorry about confusing you and you’re friend earlier. You’re just so… anyway. See you next time.”

“See you next time, Robin,” He says.

The whole way back to the house he can’t shake the feeling. Like a leaf blowing on the back of his leg he’s jumpy, sure he’s feeling spiders and skeletons.

He whips out his phone and dials the first number he can think of. Surely it will all just seem like a joke tomorrow. A harmless mistake.

“Hey,” Billy picks up on the second ring.

And it’s like all the words in the world have dried up in his throat and he can’t speak for the corpses. He just makes a little aborted wheeze.

“Stevie? What’s up?” Billy asks.

“D-do… do I snore?” He asks, not even sure where that came from.

“A little. But it’s cute. Why, is some girl giving you grief?”

Steve is so nervous he just up and disconnects the call. The wind blows at the name of his neck and his whole body breaks out in goosebumps.

#billy hargrove #steve harrington #billy x steve #shieldofiron #harringrove #Harringrove #Billy Hargrove #Steve Harrington #Billy x Steve #Steve x Billy #my writing #frat boy au #vibe check au harringrove

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twilightmalachite · 2 months ago

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Yuuta Aoi - Someday in the Future

Writer: Yuumasu

Characters: Yuuta, Hajime

Translator: Mika Enstars

I hope by then… I’ll have grown even more and have become proud of who I am, as “Aoi Yuuta”.

[Read on my blog for the best viewing experience with Oi~ssu ♪]

Season: Winter

Location: Yumenosaki Library

Yuuta: ……

…Huh? Only about five minutes have passed…

I’m looking at the clock too often, actually. I’ve completely lost my concentration.

I’ll take a break from studying.

Maybe I’ll read some books, since I’m in the library. And that even I can enjoy are…

Hmm. I don’t know which books are on what shelf. At bookstores, I only go to the manga section…

Oh well. I’ll take a look outside the window for a change of pace, then.

Ooh, the glass is so squeaky clean I can see my reflection clearly! Was it wiped down not long ago?

…My hair sure has grown long.

(It’s nothing compared to my roommate, Ran-senpai, but… For someone who hasn’t ever grown their hair out before, it’s a big venture.)

(I wonder how long I can grow it… Maybe as long as Hakaze-senpai’s?)

(I could also tie it like Shiina-senpai, couldn’t I? It would be a bit of a show just by letting it down during a performance.)

(It’d be nice to be able to arrange my hair intensively like Hibiki-senpai too… Like with braids, or buns…)

Hajime: —Yuuta-kun?

Yuuta: Whoa!?

Hajime: Eek!? I-I’m sorry if I surprised you! I didn’t mean to, I was just wondering why you were staring at the window’s glass so blankly.

I thought I wiped it down well, but did I maybe miss a spot…?

Yuuta: Oh, so you’re why the windows are wiped down squeaky clean, Hajime-kun! Oh no, it looks really nice!

I wasn’t looking at the window, but my reflection in it… Wait, that makes me sound like a narcissist.

I got distracted by my hair all of a sudden. “It sure has gotten long~”, you know?

Hajime: Ahh, now that you mention it, it has grown quite a lot, huh?

Isn’t bathing and such quite the chore now, with how much time it takes to wash and dry it?

Yuuta: Hmm…? It’s not like it grew out suddenly. I don’t mind it all too much at the moment.

I feel those are the things that you’d notice once you get a haircut. Come to think of it, actually, aren’t you not allowed to cut your hair due to unit policy or something, Hajime-kun?

Hajime: You remember that~? Yes, that is right.

I would like to get something economical like a crew cut, but I’d rather not make it any shorter than it is now.

Yuuta: Ahaha, the opposite of myself, who’s intentionally growing their hair out.

Hajime: Fufu, for sure. ♪

Oh, wait, I apologize. You’d been wanting to grow your hair long, and here I am complaining…

Yuuta: Don’t worry about that~. I’m just happy to hear experiences from someone who has had long hair longer than I have!

Yuuta: Given you want to shave it all off, you don’t seem to be all too particular about your hair, but… When you started growing your hair out, what was it like? Was it weird?

Hajime: Umm… It’s been quite a long time since I’ve had a crew cut, so my memory’s a bit hazy, but…

It came with a little bit of discomfort. It felt like I was becoming less of who I used to be, little by little.

Everyone around me kept saying, “your hair has gotten so long!” But being told that just made me feel uneasy.

Gradually, that discomfort faded, and people stopped bringing up my hair…

And now, this hair has become the new “normal” for me. Earlier, I had mentioned something along the lines that everyone wouldn’t let me, but…

Even if I were told I could cut it, I don’t think I would. Growing it out takes time, but haircuts are instantaneous. You have to be prepared for it.

And I’ve found myself liking my hair like this, too…♪

Yuuta: It does suit you~! ♪

I hope that maybe someday… Myself, and those who support me won’t care so much about my long hair, either.

To accept it as part of my individuality, with no more discomfort.

I hope by then… I’ll have grown even more and have become proud of who I am, as “Aoi Yuuta”.

Hajime: I’m sure of it. You’re great enough as you are now.

Yuuta: Oh you~, aren’t you a smooth talker, you~!

Hajime: I’m not kidding, you know! I’m serious. Can’t you see it in my eyes? *staaaares*

Yuuta: I don’t need to bring my face close to yours to know that. Thank you, Hajime-kun.

…Even if it’s a pain for you, your hair is gorgeous, Hajime-kun. You’re taking care of it well, it’s impressive~.

Hajime: Fufu, I haven’t done all that much, really.

I bumped into Narukami-senpai in the shower room once, and she recommended that I choose a shampoo suited for my hair type.

Yuuta: Really? I suppose I should try doing that too.

Hajime: Yes, I can’t recommend it enough! ♪ Just changing your shampoo can make such a huge difference!

Would you perhaps like to go shopping with me, sometime? I’m running low on the shampoo that I’m using, so…

I’d love to help you find something while I’m out refreshing my supply. ♪

Yuuta: For real? That’d be great! What would make a good time…

Yuuta: Oh, I know! Rather than sometime, how about now? I’ll just study for my test tomorrow!

Hajime: Hmm… But procrastinating with your studying now will just encourage bad habits later on, you know…?

So, how about you study hard, and I’ll work hard at my library duties. And at the end of the day…

We can go shopping together. How’s that?

Yuuta: I’m in favor! ♪ I’ll work hard, then!

Let’s go out for dinner together while we’re at it, too! I know a good place!

Hajime: Wow, sounds like a fun plan! Good luck with your studies, alright?

Yuuta: Will do! Good luck to you as well, Hajime-kun.

Yuuta: …I’m all motivated now, thanks to Hajime-kun. Having a reward sure is a game changer~!

Aaalright, let’s get this out of the way! ♪

[ ☆ ]

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love-kurdt · 6 months ago

Text

Swooping, Sloping, Cursive Letters: 31

word count: 447

PLEASE READ THIS IS ME TRYING FIRST, AS THIS STORY RELIES HEAVILY UPON THE CONTEXT OF TIMT

October 11, 1989

Dear Will,

Let me catch you up on what’s been going on. I’m writing a book! I’m calling it The Wanderer for now, but I’m planning to change the title once an official manuscript is completed and I have more of an idea as to where the series is gonna go (I intend to make it a trilogy). I should probably mention that I made the protagonist a gay male, and I hope that it’ll end up turning into something for young queer fantasy readers to connect and relate to.

Since I write better at night and can’t really fall asleep before five in the morning anymore, I’m practically nocturnal. I can’t tell yet if it’s a good or bad thing, because on one hand, my writing is flourishing like you wouldn’t believe, but on the other, I’m not really going to many of my classes. Don’t get me wrong, I’m doing well with all my coursework, but the attendance policy is three absences per semester for a three day a week class. I’ve already exceeded most of those limits within the first month, but I’m hoping maybe my professors will understand, because I’m doing what’s otherwise being asked of me.

On another note, I’m officially a party person! Craziness. Remember the time when I actually judged you for drinking? That was funny. Because I’ve discovered that I have a particular affinity for tequila and whiskey. “Particular affinity”-- who the fuck am I? God, I sound awfully pretentious.

I’ve gone to a pretty high number of parties since I got here (enough that I lost count). I am a fucking party animal. For example, last month, I stood at the counter during a random frat house party and tried every single type of alcohol available until I couldn’t feel my face! I was wasted. So wasted that the next morning, I woke up and— noticing our naked forms in the same bed, curled up into each other— realized that Elvis and I slept together. Elvis as in my roommate. I lost my virginity to Elvis Presley. Well, Kuiken. Same thing. I want to laugh, but I’m actually kind of crying right now, because I’d always thought I’d give my virginity to you. And I don’t even remember how it happened or how it felt, and I just want to disappear.

Lucas said you guys talk regularly, and that you’re doing well… with whatever you’re doing. He still won’t tell me much at all. But I take the slightest bit of comfort in knowing you’re okay, even if I’m not in your life anymore. I still love you. I hope you know that.

Love,

Mike

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pedroshotwifey · 1 year ago

Text

Topped With a Bow

Pairing: Frankie Morales x afab!reader x Santi Garcia

Word Count: 4.5k

Tags/Warnings: no use of y/n, oral sex m&f receiving, PIV sex, ass eating what who said that, anal sex, double penetration, blowjobs, dom/sub dynamics, daddy kink but only like once, vaginal fingering, wifey thinks she's hilarious with her titles, i'm probably forgetting stuff but oh well

Summary: On your birthday, you expect for Santiago to have something waiting at home for you. What you don't expect, however, is for that something to be Frankie Morales.

A/N: So, funny story, this was actually supposed to be written in time to post on my birthday, which was October 3rd. Obviously, that didn't work out, but it's proof that wifey can get her shit together every now and again, (although apparently not her birthday) so we'll take what we can get. Anyway, please enjoy! Likes, comments, and reposts are veryyy much appreciated! <3

***

“Good morning, birthday girl!”

You jump, almost spilling your coffee as you walk into the door of your office, only to be ambushed by one of your co-worker’s cheery greetings. Kira, who is always somehow completely awake in the mornings, seems to be more energetic than ever today. Not that you mind, of course, this dull office needs her morale.

“Thank you, girly,” you say with a smile before going in for a hug. You’d never tell, but she’s by far your favorite person to work with. It makes you feel warm inside to know that she bothered to remember your birthday in the first place, so when she separates from you to shove a gift bag into your free hand, you feel like you might cry.

“Aw, Kira, you really didn’t have to do that!” You already know that she is going to insist, but you tell her anyway. You roll your eyes playfully as she immediately tells you that ‘Of course, she had to!’

“Okay, hold on, lemme just set my things down,” you tell her, jerking your head for her to follow you. You smile and shake your head at her in disbelief as you pass through the heavily decorated office. Everywhere you look, you see balloons and streamers of your favorite colors.

Almost all of your co-workers peek their heads up to tell you happy birthday, and it makes you feel special, even though you’re not really one to make the day a big deal.

Once you get to your desk, you place your coffee and purse in their respective places before peaking inside the gift bag. Taking the tissue paper out, you find two books that you’ve been wanting to read for a while, as well as a starbucks gift card.

“Girl!” You grin brightly at Kira. “You spoil me, really.” You take a step forward to pull her into a hug one more time, which she gladly reciprocates. “Thank you,” you say, giving her a small squeeze.

“You’re welcome, babe,” she says as she steps back. “I’ve got to go ahead and get back to work before the boss chops my head off, but I hope you have an amazing day, hottie,” she sends you a friendly wink at the nickname.

You playfully roll your eyes and tell her to do the same before plopping down in your office chair to boot up your laptop. It doesn’t look like you have too much work to do, which means you might be able to get out of here early. Perfect.

***

You skip your lunch break and get your work done by 2:30. Surprisingly, your boss gives you permission to go home, which is perfect because you had told Santi this morning that you were hoping to be back by 3:30 at the latest. You’re eager to get back to your apartment to your roommate–and on occasion, fuckbuddy.

You don’t remember exactly when it started. One day both of you just kind of realized you missed intimacy, but neither of you wanted another commitment. Santi’s attractive, you’re attractive, and this way, neither of you have to worry about the stress of a relationship. Thankfully, it hasn’t messed with your dynamic, and now it’s just a normal thing.

Both of you are allowed to see other people, and if one of you wants to stop hooking up at some point, there’s no offense to be taken. It’s honestly the best arrangement you could ask for at the moment. Anyway, whatever Santi is, You kind of figure that he’ll have a certain “surprise” waiting for you for your birthday. Your panties are slick just thinking about it.

Wasting no more time, you pack your stuff and say a quick good-bye to Kira before rushing out to your car. You immediately call Santi to let him know you’re on your way.

“Hey, baby!” You say as soon as he picks up.

“Hey, babydoll. On your way?”

“Yup, should be there in like twenty minutes or so.”

“Okay, baby, I’ll be waiting.”

Smirking, you hang up. He sounds awfully cheeky to not have a surprise. You’re glad you decided to wear your nice matching panty and bra set today, you have a feeling Santi will want to get right to it once you walk in the door. You hope so, anyway. Your thighs clench as you begin to think of scenarios you hope to find yourself in when you get home.

***

With traffic, it takes you about 22 minutes to get to your complex. As soon as you park, you jump out of your car and bee-line to your door. You don’t even have a chance to put your keys in the door before it’s being pulled open by your roommate.

He immediately grabs you and pulls you to him, pressing his lips against yours. You giggle as you drop your purse and kick the door shut behind you.

“Wow, someone’s enthusiastic,” you say, pulling away just enough to get the words out.

Santi looks for a second like he might want to say something, but obviously changes his mind as he pushes you back to pin your against the door. His plush lips crash into yours once again, and you let yourself melt into the kiss. As it gets more heated, you can feel his dick hardening against you, and you subconsciously begin to grind into it, making him moan into your mouth.

Suddenly, he pushes off of you.

“Santi, wha-”

“I know, honey,” he says, his eyes pleading. “As much as I want to stand here and devour you, I want you to see your gift just a little bit more.”

“A gift?” You ask, your own eyes lighting up. “Santi! You really didn’t have to!”

“Oh,” he says, mischief suddenly appearing in his gaze. “But I did.”

You eye him suspiciously as he pulls you toward your room, stopping once he reaches the hallway. You’re about to open it when he begins talking, signaling for you to wait.

“You remember that thing we talked about last time we were out with the guys?” He sounds sheepish yet excited at the same time, the tone making you raise an eyebrow in suspicion. When he doesn’t elaborate, you try to wrack your brain for the memory.

The entire group had met up at a bar, and you had gotten pretty drunk, to be honest. You begin to shake your head, but then something clears up. That can’t be what he’s talking about, right?

You recall making a comment about Frankie. You aren’t sure exactly what it was, but Santi had caught you looking him over. Sure, you’ve always found Frankie extremely attractive–I mean, who wouldn’t? But you never meant to make it known, especially to Santi. You were too scared of him telling Frankie, and you wouldn’t be able to handle getting turned down by such a goddamn hunk. Though, if you remember correctly, you had been thoroughly surprised by what Santi had to say.

Apparently, he and Frankie had their fair share of hook-ups throughout the years, though they stayed completely platonic other than that. Santi had asked you if you would hook up with Frankie if you had the chance, and, because you were drunk off your ass, you told the truth–yes. Santi had smiled with an amused look in his eye, and that was that. Or so you thought.

“You don’t mean that thing about Frankie, right?” you ask, your cheeks beginning to redden with embarrassment. Santi just smiles wider.

“What are you trying to get from this, Santi?” you question, suspicion lacing your voice.

“Nothing at all, baby,” he assures you. He pulls at your wrist before you have a chance to ask anything else, immediately setting a path for the bedroom. You struggle to keep up as he tugs you down the hall to the cracked door.

When he opens it, your jaw drops. You had expected Santi to have a certain ‘surprise’, but you hadn’t expected him to bring in an extra.

Sitting on your bed, completely naked except for a red bow tied loosely around his hardened cock, is none other than Frankie Morales.

“Happy birthday, carino,” Frankie says, a knowing smirk plastered on his handsome face.

You can’t think of a single thing to say in response to that, but that's okay, considering your throat is too dry for you to make a noise anyway. Luckily, Santiago saves you when he gives you a small push toward Frankie. Through the shock, you had almost forgotten he was behind you.

“Go on, honey, open your present,” he says as if all of this is completely normal. “Though I guess there’s not much left to unwrap,” he adds with a chuckle, which Frankie joins in on.

Jaw still wide open, you slowly turn to Santi as if to make sure this isn’t some kind of trick. When you face him, however, you find that he’s already working at the zipper on his jeans. Clearly he’s just as eager as you are for you to ‘open your present’.

As the situation really starts to set in, you feel a tug of excitement in your chest, and then another from in between your legs. Once he has his jeans on a heap on the floor, Santi looks at you, and you can feel the smile that slowly creeps onto your face. You’re about to fuck both of these drop-dead-gorgeous men. Holy fucking shit.

He smiles back and nods at you as if to say ‘go on, baby’. You don’t have to be told twice. You quickly flip back around to watch Frankie place his hand around his thick cock, slowly starting to jerk off in front of you. He keeps dark eyes on you while he touches himself, daring you to come toward him. You reciprocate his lusty gaze with one of your own as you walk toward the bed. You can feel Santi trailing right behind you.

“You want to suck Frankie’s cock, baby?” Santi asks as he gently gathers your hair and lets it fall down your back. “We both know how much you love having a good dick in your mouth,” he continues. “So good at it, always make me feel so fucking good.”

A small moan slips from your lips as you nod, keeping your eyes on Frankie. The way his tongue peeks out to wet his bottom lip for a brief second makes your knees buckle. With Santi’s help, you slowly sink down to your knees so that you’re eye level with Frankies cock.

His hand is still moving in slow strokes, rustling the ribbon tied around him with every pass. A bead of precome dribbles from his slit and runs down his shaft, making you whine at the sight.

“C-can I?” you ask him once you find your voice. He chuckles quietly and uses his other hand to smooth down your hair, before he drops it down to your shoulder to place it over Santiago’s.

“Of course, hermosa, it’s all for you, go ahead and take it,” Frankie tells you as he brings his hand back up to rest on your head. You’re still a bit hesitant, but you know it’s what you really want.

With shaky hands, you reach up and untie the bow around his cock. Frankie removes his own hand as you get to work, setting it down on the bed beside him. You look up through your lashes to find Frankie staring hungrily down at you. The look gives you a sudden boost of confidence, and you smirk as you slowly tug the ribbon off of him, letting the silk slither around the base of him.

He groans quietly and bucks his hips at the feeling. As you get more comfortable, Santi leaves your side to strip the rest of the way, keeping an eye on the two of you as he does so. The whole situation has your panties absolutely drenched, and you want nothing more than to take them off, but Frankie’s cock is right there. Okay, maybe there’s one thing you want more.

You lick your palm and begin to stroke him off as Santi resumes his position, commenting on how good you look on your knees. You don’t waste another minute before you’re taking Frankie’s tip into the heat of your mouth. He groans but keeps his palm steady on your head, not pushing you down, but not letting you up, either.

“God, baby, fucking mouth feels so damn good.”

You smirk around him as he praises you and begin to take him deeper, increasing your suction as you go. When you’re at the base, he bucks his hips again, making you choke slightly. You try to pull your head back out of pure reflex, but his hand holds you where you’re at. The action somehow makes you even wetter.

You’re quickly distracted from the tears that well up in your eyes, however, when you feel your dress being flipped up behind you, exposing your ass to Santi, who delivers a sharp slap to one of your cheeks.

“Such a pretty ass, babydoll.”

At that, Frankie lets you off his dick just enough for you to take in a gulp of air and say a quick ‘thank you’ to Santiago. Before you can put your eager mouth back on Frankie, Santi swats your behind for a second time.

“Thank you, what?” God, that fucking tone, you could never resist it.

“Thank you, Daddy,” you half moan. Frankie moans right along with you as you say it. Apparently both of the boys have a thing for that. You don’t hate it.

You don’t wait long before taking Frankie back into your mouth and starting to bob your head up and down at a brutal pace. You choose to listen to the whimpers and moans that tumble from his mouth as Santi begins to pull your panties down your legs. As your clit is exposed to the cool air of the bedroom, it twitches, making you whine yourself.

“I know, baby, I’m gonna take care of you,” Santi says as he brings a hand to your dripping cunt.

“Damn, carino, so fucking wet already,” he says, slipping two fingers into your pussy. “Such a desperate whore for us.” Based on the sounds coming from behind you, you can guess that Santi has his other hand wrapped around his cock.

“D-damn fuckin’ right,” Frankie grunts out as he rocks his hips up to your mouth. “Can’t believe you’ve been keeping her all to yourself, Santi.”

“Hey, I’m sharing now, aren’t I?” Santi begins to pump his fingers in and out of you, crooking them into just the right spot. You can feel your orgasm approaching already.

The way the two engage in what sounds like a casual conversation only serves to turn you on even more, which is made clear in the vigorous way you continue to blow Frankie. You and Frankie are pushed over the edge at the same time, and you find it extremely difficult to swallow his cum while your eyes are in the back of your head, but you manage.

The sounds that Frankie let out are absolutely delicious, and you find yourself already craving more. The hand he has in your hair pushes you down and pulls at the strands at the same time as he whines and groans above you.

You try not to gag as his dick finishes pulsing in your throat. Once he’s sure he’s done, he loosens his grip on your hair and lets your head back up. He notices a rogue tear falling down your cheek and smiles at you as he swipes it away with his thumb.

“Good fucking job, hermosa,” he praises before locking eyes with Santi, who is busy sucking your cum off of his fingers. “Santi’s been training you well, huh?”

“Tastes fucking delicous, too,” Santi says after he pulls his fingers out of his mouth. You feel his hand return to your cunt shortly after. You shiver as he dips his digits into your pussy to collect more of your spend before offering it to Frankie, who takes Santi’s fingers in his mouth.

“Fuck, he’s right, sweetheart,” Frankie says after Santi pulls his fingers away. “Wanna eat that sweet pussy out all day, but I think Santi here deserves to get a turn to get his dick wet, don’t you?”

Still hazy from your orgasm, you simply nod up at him, letting him pet your hair back as you do so. Frankie’s eyes soften as he takes in your disheveled appearance, his gaze holding a sense of both pride and passion.

“Good girl,” Frankie says as Santi walks around to your other side, now fully undressed.

“Why don’t you hop on the bed for us, baby?” Santi says it like it’s an option, but you know better than that–not like you’d deny him anyway.

“Yes, Sir,” you say as you pull yourself onto the bed, getting ready to settle on your hands and knees. Suddenly, you’re stopped by Santi’s hand on your hip.

“Y’know what, Frank?” Santi asks thoughtfully, making you look over at him. As you glance at Frankie, you can tell he is just as confused.

"What's that, santi?”

“I think she could actually use a bit more assistance before I stuff my cock into her.” His smile widens as he grabs the back of Frankie’s neck, pulling him toward you.

“Why don’t you go ahead and have a taste to help her out?”

Before you know it, you’re positioned on your back, your ass almost hanging off the bed, and Frankie is between your legs, groaning into your cunt. He eats you out like a starved man as you grope at his curls, your screams letting him know how good he’s making you feel.

He alternates between sucking harshly on your clit and dipping his tongue into your weeping core, the combination absolutely blinding all senses but touch. Just as you’re about to come, you feel the devastating loss as Santi grips Frankie’s neck and pulls him away from you, making you and Frankie let out equally pitiful whines.

“Aww, I’m sorry, baby.” He says, a shit eating grin adorning his features as he looks down at the two of you. “Had a better idea. Scootch up on the bed a bit. Frank, you take her place.”

You’re not sure what Santi has planned, but with the way Frankie’s eyes widen with recognition, you can guess it will be good. You obey him almost immediately, Frankie right on your tail, pushing you until your head lands on the plush pillows near the headboard. He wastes no time in wrapping his arms underneath your thighs and delving back into your pussy.

“Ass up, Frank,” Santi’s tone leaves no room for argument, but Frankie definitely doesn’t want to fight it. His compliance is evident in the way he pushes his knees under his torso, presenting himself for the other man.

You can tell the exact moment Santi shoves his tongue into Frankie’s ass by the way he groans and picks up his efforts on your cunt. After a moment, Frankie begins to falter as his body shakes with pleasure, and Santi delivers a slap to his ass, making Frankie whine and buck up into him.

“C’mon, Frankie,” Santi scolds him. “Gotta treat the lady right if I’m gonna make you feel good.”

Frankie nods between your legs, but clearly it’s not enough to satisfy the other man, because Santi suddenly has his fist in Frankie’s hair, pulling him away from you. You feel tears brim your eyes from being denied again, but you can hardly complain with the scene that’s unfolding in front of you.

Both you and Frankie whine simultaneously, Frankie from the stress on his hair as Santi clenches his fist, and you from the way the man submits so easily.

“Words, sweet boy,” Santi says, pulling Frankie close enough for him to say it face-to-face. “Say ‘thank you, Santi’.”

“T-thank you, Santi,” Frankie pants, obviously appeasing Santi as he’s allowed to come back to you.

“That’s a good boy,” Santi says, smoothing down Frankie’s messed curls. “Don’t get distracted again.”

As fast as he left, Santi’s back to eating Frankie’s ass, and Frankie’s back to devouring your cunt, whining and whimpering like a mad-man. He must have looped an arm around to grab Frankie’s weeping cock as well because you can feel Frankie grinding up against something. If you weren’t so consumed with bliss, you would wish you could watch the two men get eachother off.

The entire time, you hear Santi telling you both how well you’re doing for him. He scatters in promises of fucking Frankie in the ass if he does good by you. You never thought that’s something you might want to see, but right now, you’re half tempted to stop everything in favor of the suggestion.

Before you know it, you’re at the edge of release once again. It takes maybe one or two more flicks of Frankie’s tongue and then you’re cumming in his mouth. The hot pleasure courses through every fiber of your being, the feeling easily warming you.

As soon as your high is over, You feel Frankie being pulled off of you once again, only to be replaced by Santi, who quickly lines himself up with your entrance before sinking in with one thrust. Frankie, who is now to your side, covers your scream with his mouth as it spills from your lips.

“God damn, baby, feel so fucking good,” Santi grunts down at you. “Warmed her up nicely, Frankie, good job.”

At the sound of his name, Frankie pulls himself away from you, opting instead to lean up against the headboard. He looks genuinely tired, panting heavily, but if his cock is anything to go by, he’ll be ready to go again if you just said the word.

Your body is physically pushed up the bed with the force that Santi is thrusting into you with. He hits that spongy spot inside you with every thrust, causing you to gasp and moan with every punch. It’s almost too much, but when Frankie moves one hand to rub at your clit, you don’t dare think of pushing him away.

“Look at you, both so f-fucking good,” Santi continues to praise you and Frankie as he somehow picks up his pace. “Think you both deserve a reward.”

You perk up slightly at that. What the hell more could you want right now. You’re in bliss as you get pounded into, Frankie’s fingers rubbing circles on your clit, Santi’s cock in your deepest parts. When you look over at Frankie to find that he’s pumping himself with his free hand, you almost come from the sight alone. But somehow, Santi always finds a way to make things better.

“You want Frankie to take your ass, angel?” Santi asks.

Your moan is enough of an answer to have Frankie shuffling to sit you up and get behind you before lifting you slightly to line himself up. With all the slick that's traveled back toward your other hole, you are more than prepared to have him sink in.

Santi slows down to let Frankie slide in with ease, and all three of you groan at the sensation. Your eyes roll to the back of your head at the same time your mouth drops open, a bit of drool escaping as you do so.

You’ve never felt so full in your life. You’ve tried both holes on different occasions with Santi, but you’ve never had both your ass and your cunt being used at the same time. You feel Frankie and Santi shift around you, sandwiching you closer as each of them grabs the back of the other’s neck.

You feel Frankie thrust into you, and then Santi follows. It takes them a moment to find a good rhythm, but once they do, it's absolute nirvana. You can feel the way they both rub up against your middle wall, sliding against each other and creating an intense pressure.

“Oh-h mph… Ah!”

You’re well aware you’re trying to say something, but the words simply can’t form. Every single thought in your head is focused on the men on either side of you. Their grunts and grasps get harsher each time they up their pace, making you bounce on both of their cocks.

“I know, b-baby,” Santi says, using his free hand to grope at your ass the best he can. “Words are hard when you’re getting fucked good, aren’t they?”

You clench around them both at his condescending tone, making Frankie whine and Santi hiss through his teeth. Frankie’s hand comes around to tweak at a nipple, and you’re quickly blinded by the pleasure, your orgasm taking over.

You scream as you gush around Santi, and before long, you feel both of their dicks pulsing inside of you, splattering your walls with hot, thick cum. You don’t realize you’re crying until you feel one of them wipes away a tear. The three of you collapse onto each other, each of you trying to catch your breath as you steal sloppy kisses through your orgasms.

Everything sounds like it’s underwater as you feel your body get moved off of the guys and laid flat on the bed. Both of the men are showering you with praise as they move to get you cleaned up. They take turns bending down to plant a kiss to your lips, and you use all of your effort to reciprocate.

You watch them smile at each other as they walk into the bathroom, and then you close your eyes.

***

When you open them again, you find yourself lodged–once again–between Frankie and Santi. You feel significantly much cleaner, happy not to wake up covered in dried cum. Though you really probably wouldn’t have minded that much.

As you take in your surroundings, you see both of the guys lounging in their briefs, watching some movie on the T.V at low volume. You’ve been covered in a light blanket, but you feel much warmer with the way either man has an arm wrapped around you.

“Hey, sweetheart, welcome back to the land of the living,” Santi jokes once he notices you’re awake.

“Hey,” you say, smiling between a yawn. It feels good to stretch out. You look over to Frankie only to find him dozing off. You have to stifle a giggle at the sight. Typical Frankie Fashion.

“He looks tired,” You whisper quietly.

“Yeah, he really does,” Santi says, his voice laced with humor. “Fuckin’ deserves the sleep, though, we tired him out.”

“We really did, He was practically in the middle the entire time.”

You both laugh quietly as Santi pulls you closer into his side. He gives you the slowest kiss you’ve received the whole night.

“Did you have a good birthday, sweetheart?” he asks, his voice barely a whisper.

“Of course, baby, it was perfect,” you say. And you mean it, even if you might not be able to walk for a week. Frankie will definitely be back.

#pedro pascal #oscar isaac #fan fiction #ao3 #smut #pedro pascal smut #frankie morales #santiago garcia #triple frontier #oscar issac smut

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roadkillremi · 1 year ago

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Randy x GN!reader where they go to a bar in college for the first time? 💖

(I really don’t know what to request but your writing is amazing!)

Thank you!!!

I am so excited for this one! I hope you like it! :)

Randy Meeks X GN!Reader

Pairing : Randy Meeks X GN!Reader

MasterList

Warnings : Mentions losing virginity, drinking, Randy gets anxious.

Summary : It's Readers 21st birthday and for that special day, Randy takes them to a bar :).

You sat on the grass flipping through your notes, Randy's head rested on your thigh. He was busy looking at your face, but when you gave him a weird look he'd claim he's looking at the sky. He laid down when you claimed you didn't want to party for your birthday. He was a little shocked you didn't want to do anything for your 21st birthday.

'You've been excited about it and you won't throw a party?' he'd say.

'I'm happy with just being with you.' you'd smile.

Randy sat up leaving his spot on your thigh. He looked over at you with a smile, "What is going on in that head of yours?" You said giving him a look.

"We should go to the bar for your birthday"

"Randy-"

"Don't say it!- I know, you already drank beer. But this is different, there'll be music and dancing!"

"That's a club not a bar-"

"No it's a college bar." He corrected pointing his finger at you. You smiled, "and when did you become the party animal?-".

"I've always been a party animal" he said raising his eyebrows. You scoffed, "Totally, like at Stus?-". You have him a devilish grin mentioning him being too drunk to remember the details of the crime.

"Hey that was before I lost my virginity." He smiled giving you a kiss.

"you're such a dork." You joked. He laid back on the grass dragging you down with him. He planted kisses on your cheek then your neck.

"Saturday night. You, me going to the bar." He mumbled between kisses. You laughed softly, "Okay okay!".

You got ready to go out with Randy, putting on an outfit you felt confident in. You styled your hair and did any makeup if necessary.

"Randy's at the door!" Your roommate called out. You grabbed your belongings quickly going towards the door.

"Happy birthday!" He smiled pulling you into a kiss. You smiled, "Thank you! Is that a present for me?" You pointed at the wrapped rectangle in his hand.

"No, it's actually for my partner. It's their birthday." Randy smirked. You rolled your eyes walking out into the hall closing the dorm door. He smiled and handed you the gift. You took it and ripped the paper excitedly. You smiled, it was the book Carrie, one of your favorite movies.

"I love it!" You smiled and hugged him. He hugged you back, "I knew you would! I remember you talking about how your parents wouldn't allow you to read it..". You kissed him.

"You're the best."

"I know, it's a full time job." He joked. You softly laughed and grabbed his hand. He took you to a bar near the college. Music played loudly through the building. The lights seemed to shine every which way. You squinted holding on to Randy's hand for guidance. He dragged you to the bar you sat on one of the stools.

"This place is insane.". You said over the music. Randy smiled, "Yeah! But it's birthday party worthy!".

"What can I get you two?" A bartender leaned towards the two of you. Randy pulled his wallet out as he spoke, "Two beers! It's this one's birthday!" He smiled gesturing to you.

"Happy birthday!" The bartender smiled, "Imma need an ID.". You nodded showing them your ID, Randy did the same. The bartender nodded and went to go make you two a beer. You looked around, you recognized some people from class. You squinted, "Is that..Mickey?" You pointed at him trying to talk to girls. They awkwardly shuffled away from him. Randy laughed, "It is! God, and I thought I was a geek.". You shot Randy a look, "You still are, mister.". He put his hand over his chest, "Ow!".

The bartender put your drinks on the counter. You took the glass taking a sip, it wasn't the first time you drank.

"Let's see who can finish it first." Randy said challenging you.

"You're on."

You both counted down at the same time and aggressively chugged the beer. Randy put down his glass first, "I win.".

"That's not fair you took like 5 sips before I did."

"No I didn't!" He said shocked.

"You're such a liar!" You laughed. He smiled at you kissing your beer covered lips. You look into the crowd and smile at Randy, "Let's go dance!". You yanked him by his hand over to the crowd. Randy awkwardly follows you through the clusters of people. You turn towards him and place your arms on his shoulders. You gave him a bright smile, "You know this is like moments before Carrie went insane.' Randy referenced. He gave a small smile, you could tell he was a bit anxious.

You kissed him , "Come on, I'll make sure no Ghostface gets you, I promise!" You slid your hands down his arms and grabbed his hands. You started dancing trying to get him to dance along. Soon enough he danced with you giving you sloppy kisses every now and then.

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navigator-vahnya · 2 years ago

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I’ve been listening to the Thrawn 2017 audiobook with my husband on our way to and from work. We just finished the Dromedar incident and got to the part where Captain Rossi gets all pissed off at Thrawn for saving the Dromedar’s crew instead of the Tibana gas. She suspends him, but then Thrawn razzle-dazzles her with some reverse psychology, getting her to kick Eli off the Blood Crow along with him. For those that don’t remember, the convo goes something like this:

Rossi: “One word out of you, Ensign, and your ass is staying behind on Ansion too.”

Eli: *seethes silently*

Thrawn: “i’M sUrE EnSigN VanTo WiLL bE Of gReAt VaLuE tO yOu On tHe ReMAiNDeR oF yOuR PaTroL.”

Rossi: “On SECOND thought, I can hardly deprive my extra special lieutenant of his aide. Congrats on the extended shore leave, Vanto. Peace, bitches.”

Eli: *surprised pikachu face*

At this point, shaking his head in disbelief, Ricky paused the audiobook. This was the conversation that followed:

Me: “What’s wrong?”

Ricky, exasperated: “Why is Thrawn OBSESSED with Eli?”

My brain, who’s an unapologetic Thranto shipper: «Where do I even BEGIN? Let me launch into a detailed monologue on how Thrawn and Eli are actually soulmates, only at this point in the story, Eli doesn’t know it yet.»

But in reality, I don’t want to sway his opinion, and I’m really curious about his unadulterated take on the Thrawn trilogy, so all I said was this:

Me: “Why do you think Thrawn is obsessed with him?”

Ricky: “I dunno, because he keeps manipulating his life? First he asked Palpatine to put Eli with him. Then he pulled that shit to get Eli assigned to the Blood Crow instead of the job he wanted. Now he’s getting Eli kicked off the Blood Crow too. Wherever Thrawn goes, he’s making sure Eli comes with him. Seems pretty obsessive to me.”

Me: “Hmm…”

Ricky, thoughfully: “…Is Thrawn in love with Eli or something?”

My brain: «Yes. Definitely.»

Ricky, not waiting for an answer: “Well, my man Eli better watch his back. Thrawn seems like the kind of dude who’s got people chained up in his basement.”

My brain: «Yep. I’ve definitely read that fic before.»

Me: “Lucky for Eli they don’t have basements in space.”

Ricky: “Are they still roommates? He might not actually need a basement…”

My brain: «And they were ROOMMATES!»

So I really enjoyed my husband’s take for several reasons. Firstly, he picked up right away on the fact that Thrawn’s early relationship with Eli was super manipulative. When I first read the book, I think I was wearing Thranto-colored glasses. I only saw the things I wanted to see. Like how Thrawn saw potential in Eli and wanted to cultivate it. Or maybe it was the bonding experience of Thrawn and Eli both being outcasts together, “the Wild Space yokel and the Unknown Regions alien”; they could succeed when all those core-worlders wanted to see them fail. But in reality, even if he did indeed see potential in Eli, Thrawn screwing around with his whole life and career was hella manipulative. Of course I know now that Thrawn wanted to keep him close because there was concern of Eli being a spy or even a Grysk plant. Even though he did indeed come to appreciate Eli’s unique talents over time, that’s not why he kept him close at first. But I was impressed that Ricky immediately called Thrawn’s behavior out as “obsessive,” because…well, it does come off that way.

Secondly, the Thranto shipper in me found it really interesting that Ricky asked me, “Is Thrawn in love with Eli or something?” Even though the love in question is of the manipulative and obsessive variety, I found it interesting that that word crossed his mind. It goes to show that even people who aren’t looking for it, and who aren’t reading between the lines, can pick up on some sort of Thranto vibe while reading (or in our case, listening to) this book. I really can’t wait to hear what he thinks once Eli’s loyalty to Thrawn begins to grow.

#thrawn #eli vanto #thranto #thrawn 2017 #ricky listens to thrawn #lilythoughts

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p8rasite · 2 years ago

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“ MAYBE THE NIGHT. ”

* ── ‘ 1.3k words : fluff / angst : jeon wonwoo x gn! reader : no warning : can be read as sequel to the eighth wonder of the world or standalone . ’

the red light's taking longer than usual.

drumming your fingers upon the steering wheel, you watch the outside world through the windshield. there's not much to see: just a couple walking their dog, some pigeons flittering around a lamppost, a bespectacled male with his face buried in the collar of his jacket—

“wonwoo?” before you second guess your next move, the shotgun window's rolled down and you call, “jeon wonwoo!”

he stops, takes a few steps back, and turns to look at you. your name comes out as a surprised breath. “wow, it's been a while.”

“yeah, it really has..” almost a year. “where are you heading?”

“home, actually. i just popped out to the library and returned some books.”

“let me guess, trying to read all of the books in the sci-fi section again?”

“nearly, i'm taking on the young adult novels this time.”

“very nice,” you giggle. with your mind so caught up in seeing your ex again, you almost don't notice him digging his face further in his jacket. the sight doesn't surprise you; he was always the one who forgot to wear a scarf. “if you'd like, i can give you a ride home.”

“it's alright, i'm sure you have much more important things to do.”

“please, my schedule is free.”

it's a lie. you've been looking forward to watching all four seasons of legend of korra.. but what he doesn't know won't hurt him.

without any excuse, wonwoo finally concedes. once he gets in and buckles in his seatbelt, he can't help himself from looking around. you're still using that cherry scented air freshener that only lasts a month, there are a few squishmallows resting in the backseat, and your cup holder is occupied by a mini powerbank.

nothing has changed.

perhaps the same applies to the car's owner.

the small huh that slips from your lips brings his attention back to you. as you shift gears and drive again, you think aloud, “the traffic light only turned green after you got in my car.”

“really?” his brows furrow slightly. “that's a little strange.”

you nod, confused yet relieved that you're moving again. right as you turn the corner, the urge to smack yourself rises steadily. “hold on, do you still live in the same apartment?”

“fortunately, yeah. it's a miracle that the landlady hasn't kicked us out yet.”

you snort at that, fully aware of how hyper his roommates can be. as endearing as soonyoung and mingyu are, they can be compared to kids that have been given too much sugar. meanwhile, wonwoo is the tired babysitter who does his best to make sure neither of them hurt themselves, especially mingyu.

“perhaps she has a soft spot for you three. it wouldn't be surprising, you did say she calls you her grandkids.”

he's taken aback. it's an insignificant detail, something he told you during one of his drowsy rambles, yet you remember. “you know, she still asks about you.”

your grip on the wheel loosens slightly. “huh, that's a surprise.”

“i guess she's fond of you too.”

what about you—it sounds too strong, you decide to not ask.

silence fits itself in between the two of you until the roundabout comes up on the horizon. a soft melody begins to play from the radio, one you strain to hear, until wonwoo turns the volume up. once you hear the lyrics, the reason why it sounds so familiar becomes clear: it's your favorite song.

when you glance at wonwoo, he merely shrugs his shoulders. “i remember you enjoyed singing along to this song. ‘said it made you feel like an actual singer who's performing for a stadium full of fans.” as he explains, the apples of his cheeks darken. assuming he's still cold, you increase the heating some more.

“true, but you're already freezing so i won't inflict more misery on you.” you joke, but he doesn't react with a chuckle, not even a smile.

a frown mars his face. “you might not be a professional, but i enjoy your impromptu performances.”

you bite your bottom lip, silently wishing he'll stop feeding your hope. but there's no fairy godmother who can grant it with one bibbidi bobbidi boo, so you have to figure it out on your own.

his apartment complex isn't hard to miss, its modern design makes sure of that. you park by the sidewalk, and he waits for you to unlock the doors, but you don't. instead, you face him properly to address the elephant in the vehicle.

“that night, why did you come pick me up?”

now that, that is definitely too strong. but for almost a year, you've been turning the reasons over in your head. it's time to put a full stop to it; to cut the line that shouldn't exist anymore.

as wonwoo faces you, he feels the need to tell the truth. that's just how it is; he almost never has the will in himself to lie to you. the only time he did was when you asked him if it’s okay that you two go on your separate ways. of course it wasn't—why else would he still have a folder on his phone full of your photographed moments—but the two of you had been so busy in your lives, he understood where you were coming from.

his breath condensates his glasses, yet his words are clear.

“because i needed to make sure you got home safely. even if that meant leaving my friend's party early, i did it. had anything happened to you..” you reach out to hold his hands, lightly brushing his knuckles to soothe him. “..i would have asked you to give my heart back. because if i can't take care of you, then it's time i move on and let you be free of its weight.”

you swallow thickly. that reason had appeared in your mind, but you called it silly. now that your former lover himself is engraving it in history, several feelings and thoughts wash over you. the most potent of them all elicits you to lean over, only to be restricted by your seatbelt.

wonwoo chuckles when he hears you mutter ‘fuck seatbelts’ once more, followed by the click. it's like deja vu, the way you cup his face in your hands like you're holding the eighth wonder of the world. a little more confident than your past self, you ask him, “would it be bad if i asked if we can try again?”

the corners of his lips quirk as he answers, “i'm not sure, would it be worse if i said i'd like that?”

your hands fall slightly, arms weaving around his shoulders for a hug. the stick shift slightly digs into your side, yet you're far too happy to care. he removes his own seatbelt to reciprocate the gesture, face buried in the crook of your neck. perhaps this is the moment, the one he wants to be engraved within forever.

almost nothing could ruin it—

“you owe me, kwan!” hoshi's voice reverbates through the once quiet street, accompanied by seungkwan's complaints through the speaker of the former's phone. if you cancel out the pair's banter, you can hear the other guys celebrating. mingyu is quieter, yet just as ecstatic as his noisy roommate is. the big grin and thumbs up he gives the two of you makes that obvious.

wonwoo digs his face further, too embarrassed to witness the chaos personified that is his best friends. you try to soothe him again by rubbing his back, laughing as you do so. it doesn't matter if they witnessed one of the most important moments in your life, their reactions only made it better.

you look forward to seeing how they react once you make it official again.

#seventeen #wonwoo #seventeen imagines #seventeen scenarios #wonwoo imagines #wonwoo scenarios #jeon wonwoo imagines #jeon wonwoo scenarios #svt imagines #svt scenarios #seventeen x reader #wonwoo x reader #svt x reader

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