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galaxiasgreen · 4 months ago

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🍺🖤This Hell We Create

Sebastian x F!Muggle!Reader with eventual smut [E-Rated, 3.6k words]

"It's hot." "No, and here I thought it was the Arctic." When he makes no move to do anything, you raise your chin, glaring up at him. "No shirt, no service." "I am wearing a shirt." A glint of mischief pierces briefly through his mood. "You know, most women usually ask me to take off my clothes—"

The freckled stranger has been visiting your pub for three months now, drinking to forget the worst times.

You might be the person he needs to remember the best.

[MASTERLIST][NEXT] [read on AO3, read on Wattpad]

TW: swearing, alcoholism, grief, discussions of death.

1: stupid questions

The freckled stranger has been in your pub every day for the last three months.

It never matters whether it's windy, raining, or overbearingly sunny. It never matters whether it's busy, tables crammed, the counter sticky with spills, or if the tax on drink has gone up. It never matters if he's in a good or bad mood. Every day, right as expected, he shoulders inside Ye Olde Hen House, ignores the chorus of greetings from the tipsy regulars, lumbers to the bar and orders a drink. His choice is always the same: cold stout, brought over in as many glasses he can take before he's one whit away from passing out.

You're used to hauling out drunkards. In this part of the old city they trundle in after labour shifts, seeking to forget the day's worries, and wind up on the floor by hour's end. You pity them their weak constitutions and poor decision-making, and the wives who will have to suffer their company upon their brazen return in the middle of the night.

To his credit, the freckled stranger has never been that drunk.

Yet you pity him most of all.

The first time he steps foot inside the pub he immediately draws your eye. Most of the regulars are in their forties, pot-bellied and cheerful like Christmas adverts of St Nick – but the freckled stranger is around your age, five-and-twenty, with youthful skin, a smooth gait and broad, firm shoulders. His hair is a bed of chestnut curls, and the ends shadow his eyes, also a dark brown, like coffee. Stubble grows in patches over his sharp jaw. In the heat of summer he wears only a linen shirt rolled up at the sleeves, and you can see muscle there, and tattoos, though you force yourself to look away before you can determine what they are, burying your curiosity behind professionalism.

When he makes it to the counter, he slaps down a handful of change and sinks onto the barstool, looking at you, gaze burning expectantly but not with disdain.

"Pint of beer, please."

"Two pence."

He pushes all his coins over. You extract two pennies, then fill a glass to the brim. He drinks quietly but greedily, siphoning the beer like it's his first liquid in days, and when he finishes, every drop consumed, the glass clatters to the countertop in a white-knuckled grip, pronouncing the veins in his hands like cobalt forks of lightning.

"Another, please."

You raise an eyebrow. "Knock that back any faster you might see Heaven before you mean to."

"What makes you think I'm going to heaven?" He throws out a few coins – pennies and halfpennies this time. "Pint of beer, please."

He drinks slower and slower each time as the alcohol alleviates his worries. You feel pity, strong and true. Same age or abouts, and people would look down on you for having a peasant's job, but at least you're not wasting your life away like the freckled stranger.

At least of yourself you make a name, whilst the freckled stranger makes a fool.

By his fourth, sometimes fifth drink, he's spread-eagle on the countertop, playing with the pocket change between his fingertips, wide-eyed with fascination.

"Don't fall asleep," you tell him, squeezing a cloth over a soiled plate. "Or I'll kick you out."

"Not sleepy," he slurs, flicking a half-penny into a tailspin. "Am pensive."

"Pensive... right."

"Pensive about pennies." He chuckles to himself. "Your coins are so funny. What's the point of half-pennies and farthings?"

The use of your is unusual, but he's drunk, so what's new. "Why don't you ask King Edward?" you say humorously.

"You say it like he's only next door. Know him, do you?"

"'Course. We're best mates."

"Put me in contact. I'll change— more make sense."

You purse your lips. He's too drunk to respond coherently, though there's still about three fingers left in the glass, which he eventually works up the means to finish, leaving his lips sticky with cream. By this point it's almost closing time and he struggles to get to his feet. You don't help him. Why should you?

"Ta," he hiccoughs roughly in your direction, and staggers out the door, out of view. You wonder where he goes, what he does in the daytime, whether he has family, or friends, or a pretty girl who pities him too.

He's in a mood on a particularly hot June evening, when he walks into the pub with his shirt unbuttoned.

Do not look. Despite being a complete wastrel, the freckled stranger, you hate to admit, is extremely well-built, with a finely-toned chest and brawny arms that could easily win many wrestling matches, and many hearts too. Maybe he already has. The long stripe of flesh between the two front panels tease a wide chest tattoo, inked over his pectorals like fine canvas – what appears to be two runic symbols and the number 706.

You quickly glance away. That's already too much. Just because a man is attractive doesn't mean you should be staring. You compose yourself and make your way over before he reaches the bar.

"Shirt," you say. "Button it up."

He halts, drinking in the sight of you. Up close, all you can smell is his musk, salty like the sea, and just as powerful. His hair is soaked with it too – there are dirt marks there, like he's been in a scrap, but he appears uninjured.

"It's hot."

"No, and here I thought it was the Arctic." When he makes no move to do anything, you raise your chin, glaring up at him. "No shirt, no service."

"I am wearing a shirt." A glint of mischief pierces briefly through his mood. "You know, most women usually ask me to take off my clothes—"

"Do up your shirt," you grind out, "or get out."

The mischief dissipates as his eyes narrow, but he reluctantly buttons up the front. The shirt is ratty and torn at the elbows, but still smells enticingly like him, and he doesn't bother going up all the way, leaving an annoying glimpse of that unusual scrawl of symbols.

"Happy now?"

You go around the counter, ignoring him. "What do you want?"

"What do you think?"

Your eyes narrow. "You know the cost."

A hand slips into his pocket and produces a handful of coins, which he dumps out flippantly. They clatter to a stop in a wide arc.

Impertinent. Your lips flatten. Two can play that game.

"You've been here enough times to know the correct change by now."

He snorts. "Every bloody coin looks the same."

"It has Britannia wielding the trident on one side."

"Who the hell is Britannia?"

You roll your eyes. "Edward is on the other. Know who he is or have you really been living in the Arctic?"

"I remember your best mate." Finally he takes two pennies from the pile. "You could've just said it was the biggest bronze coin and saved yourself the hassle."

You could've also told him it literally says penny on the rim, but who knows if he's able to read – or whether he can right now. "You don't learn if you don't figure it out for yourself." You take them from his proffered hand. "Pint or half-pint?"

"Another stupid question."

"In that case, I won't serve you—"

"Wait." He grunts in annoyance and holds out the pennies again. "One pint of beer, please."

"That's better."

He takes the drink, and your gaze dips to the hand clenching the glass – you've never seen a drunk with such... muscle definition before. His frame is broad, his chest like full barrels of whiskey. He looks like he knows how to handle his body – how to use it to full advantage.

Shame. If only he didn't have the personality of a wet rag.

You serve another few people before he motions for you again, and this time you pour him the drink without saying a word. He exchanges the right money for the glass.

"I'm sorry," he mumbles, before you go away again. "I've been rude."

You hesitate, suspicious. "Yes, you have."

"You're just doing your job."

"Yes, I am."

"Can you forgive me?"

That same glint of mischief there, except this one is charming – this one prods a little more insistently at your mental walls. You snort.

"This time."

He takes a sip, leaving a trail of foam on his mouth – he thumbs it away and licks the tip.

Hastily you look away.

"How long have you been working here?" the freckled stranger asks one Tuesday night, when the pub is dead.

You slap your cloth to the countertop, soaked with wood polish. You've talked to him a few times now, but this is the first that's been more than polite greetings, menial chatter, and get out, you're completely sozzled.

"Why?"

"What d'you mean, why?"

"Why d'you want to know?"

He leans back, lips tugging upwards. "I know you but I don't know you, if that makes sense."

"And it should stay that way."

"I just think it would be nice to properly appreciate the woman who serves me drinks every day."

You roll your lips. He's a good talker when he wants to be – when he's sober. "Been working here longer than you've been drinking here, that's for sure."

"A year? Five years? How old are you?"

"Careful."

"I'm twenty-six."

"Didn't ask."

His gaze on you is lowered but penetrating when he braces his chin in a hand. You can't help but feel a little flushed.

"Do you own this fine establishment?"

"I do."

"Not your husband?"

"Not married."

"But you're so old."

"Do you want to get kicked out?"

His smile curls. "Put-off marrying because it will mean handing all your assets to your undeserving husband?"

You pause to glare at him. "So you know the lack of women's rights but you can't figure out which coin is a penny?"

"Women's rights makes sense. The coins don't. Why do all the bronze ones look the same? I'm still waiting on a meeting with Ed about that, by the way."

"Oh, the lack of women's rights makes sense, does it?"

"I said women's rights makes sense. I'm on your side."He shrugs. "Personally, though, I'm more of a supporter of women's wrongs."

A laugh gutters out of you, and with a self-satisfied, feline grin, he drinks.

Something is very wrong when he comes in on his four-month anniversary.

If rain could embody a person, the freckled stranger would be a barely-contained hurricane. He looks the worst you've ever seen – dark crescents beneath red eyes, skin frighteningly wan, burst blood vessels webbing across his cheeks like crinkles on a flattened wad of newspaper. He glowers at anyone who looks at him askance, a clear signal to stay the fuck away.

He slumps bodily onto his normal barstool – and there comes the pity, an avalanche crashing through your body.

"Beer."

You don't move.

He lets out an annoyed sigh. "Pint of beer, please."

You pour it. "What's the matter with you?"

"Nothing."

"Fine. All the same to me." It's not all the same – he looks like the truth might kill him from the inside. "Stout's out. I've got porter."

His eyes flash. "Porter's weak shit."

"That or ale. Take your pick."

"Porter then."

You pour it. It's infamously dark in colour, like his eyes right now, black and molten and unforgiving of a world that has cut him up and left him to die. When he takes the glass he doesn't thank you, just jams the rim between his teeth and gulps ravenously. The slam on the countertop reverberates.

"Another."

"Seem to be missing a thank you and please—"

"Can you just—" He catches himself. "Not today. Just not today."

"Today is a regular ol' Thursday for me," you point out coldly. "If you want some leeway for your absent manners you're going to have to give me a reason."

He mumbles something inaudible.

You lean forwards. "Didn't catch that."

Finally his gaze settles on you, and it's guarded, striking, like steel.

"My twin sister died four months ago today."

When people turn to drink, it's mostly because of one of two things: grief, or loneliness. Now you know the freckled stranger is both. You can see it in the shadows that cling to him, in the trembling of his cracked knuckles, grasping the glass like it's the only thread between him and sweet oblivion.

It doesn't surprise you to hear it, nor see it with your own eyes – but a death of a twin... now that's something you've never heard before. Especially not from someone so young.

"Sorry to hear that." The condolence softens your disdain, just a little. "I can't imagine—"

"No, you can't imagine what it must be like, yes, it's awful, is there anything you can do? Sorrows and prayers, sorrows and prayers!" The laugh is hysterical. "I don't want that. I didn't come here to listen to your pity."

Strange... until this conversation, pity was all you felt.

Now you're just angry.

"Why'd you tell me then?" you shoot back, as your temper builds in your belly. "You blurt your sob story and, what, expect me not to say anything?"

"I came to drink, so that's what I'll damn well do."

"Then shut your cakehole, drink your damn porter and stop fishing for sympathy."

Something cracks along his expression. He splutters. "Like hell I'm fishing—"

"Four months, you said? Yet here you are, sulking. You look like she passed only yesterday. Is this what she would've wanted, for you to drink yourself into stupor every bloody day?"

Genuine anger clouds his face. "You don't know what she would've wanted."

"I know you care for her deeply, so I can guess she cared deeply for you too, and I don't know a single loved one of mine who'd want me to live in this hell you've created for yourself."

He stands to his feet – nearly stumbles. "You can't talk to me— like— you don't—"

"Look at you, too drunk to even stand. You drank before you came here, didn't you? You've been drinking all day, feeling sorry for yourself. If you won't accept my condolences, fine, but you better heed this warning instead: if you ever talk to me like that again, I will have you chucked out and barred not just here, but every damn pub this side of the city, and I won't give a rat's arse about your grief or your shitty coping strategies. Do you understand?"

Something lifts and vanishes from his eyes, like a dark shape that flees arrest in the cover of night. The crack in his façade widens, and maybe it's the reek of him, of old stale drink that wisps out of him in short breaths, but something makes you lean back, give him space to process your words, to process his mistake in crossing you.

You were yelling all that, and the rest of the pub has quietened in response. One of the regulars stands up and makes eye contact with you, but you wave him away. You're all right. The freckled stranger understands now.

The look on his face is not just defeat... but clarity.

"Understood," he rasps out eventually.

"Good." Your heart races – you fight to control it. "Now, I've got other customers waiting, so if you don't mind keeping your voice down?"

But he knocks back the rest in one go and leaves without saying a word.

Maybe you were a little harsh.

You stew on it the next morning as you prepare for a busy day. Wiping the surfaces, preparing the stock, checking the tills, rallying the other staff and replenishing the taps – so much to do and occupy your mind, yet there you are, face creased as you think of the freckled stranger and his grief.

He needed the push, you don't regret that, but you do regret, just slightly, how you delivered it. It could've gone so many ways – he could've complained to the police and tarnished the pub's reputation, could've destroyed furniture, glass, could've hurt you. You might own Ye Olde Hen House but at the end of the day you're a glorified barmaid – a wench, some of the older patrons sometimes use against you derogatorily. Who are you to offer the freckled stranger life advice?

You thought he might not appear that evening, but at eight o'clock, he shoulders through the door and takes the same bar stool, right in front of you, as always.

"Pint of beer," he murmurs, "please."

You pour it for him, making it extra frothy, but say nothing when you slide it over. This time he pays the correct coinage, no fuss. So he's capable of using his brain just as much as you're capable of feeling guilt. His knuckles blanch over the glass, clenching it hard – you find yourself distracted by his hands, solid and engulfing, like he would never yield anything in his grip.

You let out a scathing sigh. "Look, I'm sorry."

He raises a finger and tips the glass back until all the porter has slid down his throat.

"Can't have this talk sober," he says, using his muscled forearm to wipe his mouth messily. "Another. Please."

He sets out the coin, you pour him the drink. He doesn't say a word until the next one goes down, and the next. Eventually he massages the bridge of his nose.

"I'm sorry myself," he forces out, even though the drink softens the consonants. "You shouldn't have to apologise."

"I was harsh."

"You were an arsehole."

"Funnily enough that's why I'm saying sorry."

"No, but... it was nice, your bluntness." He sags on the counter, but his gaze is still locked on you. "Every bloody person I know has been coddling me for months. Sorry about Anne this, I'm sad for you that. The condolences and sadness and hugs and well-wishes has never stopped. Even my best friends Ominis and Garreth keep tiptoeing around me like I'm as fragile as a Remembrall."

"A what?"

"Glass," he amends swiftly. His thumb presses into the curve of his jaw, protruding the strong cords of his neck. "I'm so fed up with it. So fucking fed up."

"You know you're not helping yourself, right?" you say, hoping this doesn't cross a line again. "Coming in here to drink—"

"Every day, I know. I just need it. I need to drink. I need to— to forget what I did—" He shakes his head and grasps his temple fiercely. "Tell me something. Quick."

"What?"

"Anything. Your favourite book, how your parents met, the drama of whoever you're shagging at the moment, I don't care. I don't want to think. Just – give me anything. And another beer. Please."

So you tell him your favourite book – you don't get to read very often, you're lucky you can read at all – and you tell him the less-than-exciting story of how your parents met. You're not 'shagging' anyone at the moment, which you say with a roll of your eyes, so you're relatively drama-free. Your life is utterly mundane, as you like it.

You don't leave him with nothing, however.

"I've been at this pub since I was eighteen, seven years ago. Inherited it off my parents now that they're too old to work."

He must do the maths as he squirrels away another beer.

"You must enjoy it."

"It was either here or the match factory. You must know how that went."

He smiles indulgently. "Expert in women's rights, remember?"

You huff a snort.

"You get how this place works, then."

"I've been helping out here since I was a tot, so yes, I know everything there is to know. Plus it pays well and keeps me mostly protected, and I get to be part of the community and meet new people."

He lets out a breathy chuckle.

"Like me?"

You tip your head.

"Yeah, like you, I suppose." You gently pry the empty glass from his hand. "Another?"

"Stupid question."

But he smiles fondly this time, so you make a face and pour his fourth beer without complaint.

You don't talk much from then. You're busy with other customers and he's probably tired of chatting, though you meet his eye several times during the last hour, like a hook on a thread that catches by accident – or fate. It's those coffee eyes that you're drawn to. They dance like fingers on skin, to a rhythm as constant as ocean waves, cascading down your spine even when you turn away.

By the time the other patrons have left and the gramophone has run out of records to play, all that's between you and closing is the freckled stranger.

"What's your name?"

You glance his way. "Why?"

"Why what?"

"Why'd you want to know?"

"It's not an interrogation. It's just so you're not the bar girl in my head."

"In that case," you smile sweetly, "it's none of your business."

"You drive a hard deal, bar girl," he says, taking it in his stride. "My name is Sebastian Sallow."

"Didn't ask."

"Trade you? I'll even throw in a middle name as a bonus."

"No thanks." You flick towards the door. "Now, it's nearly one o'clock and my pub is about to close, so you better skedaddle before I toss you out by ear, Sebastian Sallow."

"That's a lot more effective now that you can use it against me." The barstool scrapes – Sebastian Sallow manages to make it to the door without stumbling once. "Will I regret telling you?"

You hold the door and smile indulgently as he steps out.

"Stupid question."

You shut it in his face.

[MASTERLIST][NEXT] [Divider credit]

#hogwarts legacy #sebastian sallow #sebastian sallow x reader #sebastian sallow x mc #hogwarts legacy fanfic #azkaban seb #muggle reader #thwc #the bar girl #my writing #my stuff #being a good author and promoting my work lol

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miryum · 3 months ago

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"Negotiation"

Summary: Detective!Jason Todd x detective!Reader based on Jake and Amy's relationship

Series Warnings: Swearing, descriptions of violence (but nothing descriptive), guns and other police stuff

Series Masterlist

“L/n,” Wayne rapped his fist on Y/n’s desk urgently. “There was a botched B&E at a jewellery store on Benbrock that just turned into a hostage situation.” He sighed and said, “they want you to be the negotiator.”

Y/n gasped and let out a strangled noise of excitement. “Oh my God, my prayers have finally been answered!”

“You pray for a hostage situation?” Jason asked incredulously.

“Yes, I did.” Y/n turned to him, serious as stone. “Every single day.”

Jason frowned, more concerned for the hostages after they heard Y/n’s jokes than Y/n herself. He knew she could handle herself. ”I don't understand. Why isn't ESU handling this?”

“Apparently, the hostage-taker asked for Y/n by name.” Wayne raised a brow and stared down at his detective like she had an answer.

“Oh, it's getting even cooler!” Y/n hummed and contemplated, “man, I wonder who it is. Maybe it's the sister of someone I put away for life. Ooh! Or the identical twin of someone I put away for life. Ooh! Or the fraternal twin of-”

Captain Wayne cut off her tangent. “L/n! Just get down there! And take Drake with you.”

“You got it!” Y/n beamed and jumped up. “Yep, yep, yep.” She turned to Tim who had come to stand next to her. “How do I look? Police-y enough?” She waved him off before he could answer. “It doesn't matter. Let's go negotiate!”

When Tim and Y/n got the the jewellery store, the block was closed off and police cars were surrounding the building, sirens going on and off periodically. Y/n waltzed up to the area and pronounced, “don’t panic, everyone, I'm here.” An officer beckoned her over and Y/n introduced herself. “I'm Y/n L/n, the negotiator.”

The man stared at her, unimpressed. “So you're Y/n L/n?”

“The negotiator, yes. And… who are you?”

“Arnold Flass, ESU. This was my crime scene before you bozos got here.”

Tim sipped on his coffee before noting, “nice to meet you too, Arnold.”

“I've spent ten years as a negotiator and you just took my first hostage situation,” Arnold exclaimed. “All I've done up until now is talk jumpers off of rooftops.”

“Well, that must be satisfying in its own way, right?” Y/n offered. Tim walked off to talk to a more senior, professional officer.

Arnold scoffed. “Yeah, really satisfying saving a crazy person's life. Here's a little advice: I don't like you.”

“Not so much advice as a hurtful statement based on limited interaction,” Y/n muttered.

“He wants to talk to you,” Tim came back and motioned to Y/n.

Arnold rolled his eyes and ripped the label off his vest. He handed it to Y/n begrudgingly. “Get the hell in there.”

“Oh, it says ‘negotiator’ on it.” Y/n happily put it on and weaved through the crowd of officers and bystanders. She took a bullhorn from a cop and called into it, “this is Y/n L/n. I am unarmed and I'm approaching the building.” The door swung open ominously and Y/n glanced back at Tim. He gave her a nod of encouragement. ��You wanted to talk to me?” Y/n stepped into the jewellery store, peeking around the corner.

“Keep those hands in the air,” a voice commanded. Then, in a lighter tone, the voice joked, “and wave 'em like you just don't care.”

“What?” Y/n’s brows furrowed, confused.

The hostage-taker finally came into view. “I'm just messing with you, L/n.” Roy Harper grinned. “Put your hands down, give me a hug, darling.”

“Roy!”

“Okay, so are we gonna talk about it?” Steph slipped into the seat next to Jason and leaned on his desk.

“Nope.”

“Todd, you frustrate me,” Damian said. Steph blinked at him, not realising he was listening in.

Jason’s chest clenched. “There is nothing we need to talk about.”

“I disagree,” Damian muttered.

“Listen,” Jason turned away from his computer and Steph knew that it was about to get real. “I just went out on another date with Rose. She’s a lovely girl and I was thinking of taking it to the next step. I’m planning on asking her to be my official girlfriend tomorrow night.”

Steph shook her head. “Yeah, that’s not gonna work. You see, my big plan in life is to push you and Y/n together so you can all be happy and possibly make even cuter babies.”

Jason blushed and swallowed thickly. “I’m not interested in L/n.”

Damian scoffed. “Brown, we have a lie detector at the precinct, correct?”

Steph grinned, eyes lighting up with mischief. “Hey…. Richard!” she called to Dick. “Wanna have a little fun?” Dick looked up, beaming impishly.

“I gotta admit, man,” Roy said, shrugging. “I thought you'd be more happy to see me. Why’re you being so weird?”

“Oh, I don't know.” Y/n pursed her lips together. “I didn't sleep well last night, so I’m just tired. Oh, and also, this is a hostage situation!”

“Wow!” Roy sucked in a dramatic breath. “It's like that.”

“Yes, it's like that. What the hell, man? You called me, remember? You promised me that you wouldn’t do anything to wind up in jail!” Y/n referenced the time when Roy called her in the middle of the night to promise to stop his life as a criminal.

“I didn’t! I work at Tiffany and Co. now.” He rested a proud hand on his chest. ”I sell luxury jewels to the rich and famous and I do it legally. Last week I sold a sapphire necklace to the dude who played Johnny in Hotel Transylvania.”

“You met Johnny?” Y/n exclaimed. “Was he cool? Does he actually like vampires in real life? Wait- no.” She caught herself. “We’re not chatting right now. You have three hostages.”

“You mean Pam and the two Bobs?” Roy looked at the three people on the floor, rope loosely tied around their wrists. “They’re not hostages. I prefer to call them ‘collateral friendships.’ I gave them each one hundred bucks out of my own pocket.”

One of the Bobs spoke up. “Thanks again, Roy.”

The other Bob nodded his head in agreement. “You’re the man, Roy.”

Pam stuttered, “a-actually, I'd rather not be a hostage.”

“Pam hasn't come around to me yet.” Roy shrugged. “Tell her I'm a nice person, Y/n.”

“I'm so sorry,” Y/n said to Pam.

“Officer, are you friends with this criminal?” Pam asked, aghast.

Y/n’s nose scrunched up. “Not really…”

However, Roy replied at the same time, “absolutely, best friends.”

“It's a layered relationship, Pam,” Y/n defended.

“Best friends,” Roy corrected.

”Harper,” Y/n hissed, pulling him towards the door. “What is going on, dude?”

“This isn't my fault, darling!” Roy protested. “Two years ago before I went straight, I stole a big ruby from a drug dealer: Jack Napier.”

“Oh, no, Roy.” Y/n groaned. ”He's a bad guy.”

Roy whined, “I know! When I realised it was his jewel, I torched the briefcase it was in along with the drugs that were in there! Who the hell puts drugs and rubies in the same briefcase?!”

“Oh, no, Roy,” Y/n groaned in the same pitch as before. ”Briefcase drugs?”

“Millions of dollars of them! Napier just found out it was me. Said I had to do a job for him to pay off my debt.”

“But did you tell him you went straight? Did you tell him about Johnny?” Y/n asked desperately.

“I did. He said he didn’t watch Hotel Transylvania.”

“Oh, this guy is the worst.”

“I know.” Roy’s voice turned desperate and low. “L/n, he said he's gonna kill Lian if I don't do this job.”

Y/n’s eyes went wide and her mouth dropped open. “He can't do that. I won’t let him do that. The GCPD can help you guys. We can put you in witness protection!”

Roy shook his head. “I can’t mess up my daughter’s life ‘cause of my mistakes. That's why I'm here stealing this big ‘ole bag of rubies; to make up for the one I stole. Y/n, you know how dangerous this guy can be.” He took a breath. “I need you to help me save my daughter.”

“How can I help?” Y/n responded immediately.

“Easy. I have a plan that's good for everyone. All I need is for you to-”

“-let him go so he can arrange a drop with Napier.” Y/n explained Roy’s plan to Tim. “We arrest Napier, save Lian, Roy turns himself in, and why is that amazing, Tim?”

“Napier’s a huge crime boss,” Tim answered.

“Aaaand what else?”

“GCPD's been trying to get Napier for years.”

“And?”

“That's it.”

“Yeah, it is.” Y/n said, “so, since we all agree, I'll go tell Roy the plan is on.” She swung around to go back inside, but Arnold stopped her.

“No, we don't all agree. He's trapped and frantic. Everything he told you is a lie.”

“Why do you say he's lying?” Y/n asked.

Arnold frowned. “That's all negotiating is. Two liars lie until one liar stands too close to the window and gets shot in the head.”

Y/n scoffed loudly. “That can't be all negotiating is!” She noticed Tim’s head lolling to the side. “Timmy, I can’t believe I’m saying this, but have some more coffee.”

“It absolutely is. Now, get in there and coax him to a window.” Arnold pressed a button on his walkie talkie. “Snipers to one. The window plan is on. I repeat: The window plan is on.”

“No, no, no, no, no!” Y/n cried and tugged the walkie talkie away from Arnold. “Snipers to zero! Snipers take a nap. The nap plan is on. It's nap time, snipers!”

A couple minutes later, Y/n regretfully told Roy, “ESU won't take your deal. They think you're lying.”

“I'm not lying!” Roy gasped dramatically, offended. “I don't wanna be a criminal. I love my life as an average citizen. I voted for the first time this year! It was huge. Lian helped me fill in the little boxes. She chose Ed Breakfast for school board.”

“Who?”

“I don't know,” Roy muttered. “He had a funny name. He deserves a shot.”

“That's exactly why I voted for Stacy Ladle! Anyway, I'm sorry, but they're not cutting a deal.”

“So that's it?” Roy sighed. “I gotta turn myself in and let Napier kill Lian? You’ll take care of her, right?”

Y/n’s heart broke and she could feel a plan formulating in her mind. “Actually… there might be another way.”

“Alright, Todd.” Dick strutted in front of Jason. “We’re gonna do this one time and one time only. Do you have feelings for Y/n?”

“Are you shitting me?” Jason’s head fell into his hands. He was strapped to a lie detector test that Steph was currently monitoring. “We’re actually doing this?”

“Yep!” Dick said. “We have to know. Now, let’s go over the evidence.”

Damian wheeled in a large cork-board which was covered in index cards, push pins, and signature red string. The index cards said things like: ‘Halloween incident,’ ‘Valentine’s Day nicknames,’ ‘1000 pushups blanket,’ ‘googly eyes,’ ‘lack of dates,’ and more.

As Jason read over the cards, his face slowly got more and more red. Dick gleefully snapped a polaroid picture of Jason’s current face and secured it to the board, adding it as another factor of evidence.

Roy shouted from the doorway of the jewellery store. “I've taken your negotiator hostage! If you come in here, I will shoot her.”

Y/n wailed, “just do whatever he says! My life is in his hands! Please!”

Roy slammed the door behind them and then broke out in giggles. “That was so much fun!”

“Oh, man, you sounded really scary.” Y/n exhaled.

“No, no, it was all you. The tremble in your voice sold it. ‘Just do whatever he says.’” Roy mimicked Y/n’s panicked voice

“I mean, I just made that up. Ah, I was so in the moment.” Y/n silently praised herself on her acting skills.

“Darling, seriously? You are a great hostage,” Roy complimented.

“Aw, thanks, Harper. You're a great hostage-taker.”

Outside, Arnold was talking to Tim, lamenting, “I can't believe L/n got taken hostage. The good news is… I'm now the negotiator. Finally!” He slapped another marker labelled ‘negotiator’ on.

“Congratulations,” Tim said dryly.

“I've been waiting for this moment for so long!” Arnold exclaimed.

Roy’s voice from the bullhorn cut him off. “I'm ready to negotiate. But I'll only talk to Tim Drake.”

“That's me, Arnold.” Tim ripped Arnold’s label off and placed it on himself.

“Oh, come on!”

“Welcome, my man!” Roy waved to Tim when the latter entered the store. “I don’t think we’ve met before, have we? I’m Y/n’s bestie. I’m a hugger; bring it in.” He walked over to Tim with open arms.

Tim, however, yanked on one of those arms and looped it over Roy’s head, effectively holding him in place. “Roy Harper, you're under arrest.”

“Holy fuck, Tim’s strong?” Y/n mumbled. “But he’s so lanky and only runs on coffee. Wait, Tim, stop.”

“What's going on?” Tim grunted as he tried to place cuffs on Roy.

“Look, this is not really a hostage situation. I mean, Pam and the two Bobs are definitely being held against their will, but not for much longer.”

Roy spoke up, trying to be helpful. “Y/n’s helping me take down Napier.”

“We can't do it without you,” Y/n pleaded.

“Seriously, L/n?” Tim scoffed. “Isn’t this the guy that you and Cass tried to take down? The one you did a thousand push ups for?”

“You did a thousand push ups for me?” Roy cooed.

“Not important.”

“This is like that story my dad told me as a little kid. He used to quiz me on fables from different cultures.” Tim said, finally releasing Roy. “You're the frog and he's a scorpion. You're gonna help him across the river. In the end, he'll sting you. And then you'll both drown.”

“Geez, that's dark.” Y/n grimaced.

“Yeah, I’d never tell Lian that story,” Roy said.

“My parents didn't read to me at all,” Y/n commented. “I just watched cartoons ’till I fell asleep. Do you think that our childhoods shape the adults we become?” She hummed thoughtfully.

“They do,” Roy and Tim said at the same time.

“And cartoons shaped you into a naive little frog,” Tim said.

“Okay, first off,” Y/n held up a finger. “Little frogs are adorable, and second, he's not that kind of scorpion anymore.”

“I'm a changed bug,” Roy said.

“Actually, scorpions are arthropods.” Tim and Y/n spoke together. Tim looked at her, surprised. “What?” She shrugged. “I listened to the documentary you made us watch. Tim, I know he used to be a criminal and has fooled me in the past, and yes, he is currently engaged in criminal activity.”

“Innocent until proven guilty,” Roy reminded Tim. “But yes, I technically am robbing the store.”

“But, Tim, his daughter is in danger and we have to help her. He agreed to turn himself in when this is all over. Right, Roy?” Y/n scrutinised him.

“I promise.”

Tim sighed. “Cass warned me about him. But okay. What do you need from me?”

“We have an airtight plan.” Roy grinned. He poked the bullhorn out of the door and shouted, ”all we demand is pizza!”

“I’m in a relationship with Rose,” Jason insisted.

“You’re not answering the question!” Dick exclaimed, growing more frustrated.

“That’s because the question is stupid and doesn’t need to be answered!”

“Todd, you must have lost half your brain if you think you’re fooling us.” Damian didn’t look impressed.

“Jason,” Steph exhaled. “By not answering the question, you’re answering the question.”

“Yeah, well, you don’t make sense.” Jason shot back lamely.

“It’s okay to have feelings for L/n.” Steph said, oddly calmly. “You’re not admitting defeat.”

“No, I’m aware, but just…” he sighed heavily and stared down at the table. “What if she doesn’t like me back?”

Steph slowly shut off the computer and the lie detector. Damian had a rare look of sympathy glazing over his eyes. “But she does,” Dick said softly. “She’s told all of us herself. Right, guys?” he asked his friends.

“If I had a nickel…” Steph smiled and huffed, trailing off.

“She’s interrupted many movie nights with tangents of you,” Damian frowned at the fact. He had yet to finish The Gladiator because of Y/n.

“We'll be safe here,” Roy directed Y/n towards a small, neon-lit shop. Tim had provided them a distraction long enough for Roy and Y/n to sneak away. Tim said he would meet with them later. “I know the owner. He'd never turn me in.”

“Yeah,” Y/n nodded along knowingly. “I have the same relationship with the guy who runs this laser tag place I love. I- I mean, gun range.”

Roy chuckled. “L/n, why’re you lying to me, huh? I love laser tag! We gotta go sometime, darling.” He led her inside the place and to a back room which had a large screen and a karaoke machine plugged in and ready to go.

Y/n beamed. “I was hoping you'd say that. Alright, let's text Napier and set up the drop.”

“Okay, yeah. ‘Got the diamonds. Let's meet.’” He clicked his phone and the message was sent. “Done.”

“Okay, now we wait.” She clicked her tongue and hummed. “You know, it’s kinda weird, sitting silently in a private karaoke room, not singing.”

“Yeah, yeah,” he muttered. “But we're on a mission, so, you know, we gotta stay focused.”

“True, true, true, true, true, true.”

“So I wake in the morning and I step outside and I TAKE a deep breath and I GET! REAL! HIGH! And I scream at the top of my lungs ‘WHAT’S GOIN’ ON?’” Roy sang in a falsetto as Y/n accompanied him in a lower tone.

In the middle of the song, Roy’s phone dinged and he paused the song. “Ugh. It’s Napier.”

Y/n pouted in disappointment. “Yeah….”

“The drop is set for 5:00 p.m.” Roy informed her.

“Let's do this.”

“Totally. Although…” Roy shot Y/n a knowing look. “That is an hour and a half from now.”

“And the drop point is actually pretty close to here,” Y/n added.

“So..."

“DANCING QUEEN! YOUNG AND SWEET! ONLY SEVENTEEN OOOOOOOH…”

Tim walked into the room and slowly sipped on his coffee, looking more tired than ever.

“I feel more sympathy for our perps now.” Jason ripped the lie detector off himself.

“Can you please just admit that at some point, past or present, you’ve had feelings for Y/n L/n?” Dick begged. They had spent over three hours in the interrogation room, grilling Jason on his feelings and not getting any work done.

“If it makes you let me go, then yes.”

“I’ll take it!” Steph cried. “It’s close enough!”

“I still say I could’ve made fine use out of a pair of pliers.” Damian glared at Jason. Jason couldn’t help but shudder under his stare.

“Torture me all you want,” Jason said. “But I don’t like Y/n like that. She’s like a sister to me. We’ve worked together for over four years. I don’t love her romantically.”

If he had still been connected to the lie detector, its lines would’ve jumped widely.

Steph said quietly, “just know this: to remember is to love.”

Roy explained the plan to Tim and Y/n in the parking lot where Napier would meet them. “First, a jeweller will come out and inspect the rubies. Then, when he gives the okay, Napier will come and get them.”

“And then I'll take him down.” Y/n cracked her knuckles dramatically.

“Here we go,” Roy mumbled as an expensive car pulled up and a thin man got out. Harper, Drake, and L/n got out of Y/n’s old car and Roy greeted, “What's up, dude? Did anybody ever tell you that you look like the most interesting man in the world? You get that a lot?” After an awkward silence, Roy inhaled sharply. “Geez, I get it. We're not friends.”

The thin man held out his hand and Roy placed the sack of small rubies in it. The man inspected a random ruby and then nodded. Another man got out of the car and Roy said, “There he is. Napier! What's up, Mr. Napier? How’re you doing?” Napier’s car pulled away to give them some privacy.

“Shut up.” Napier licked his lips. “Give me the rubies.”

A new voice shouted from the other end of the parking lot. “L/N!”

Y/n cringed. “No, no, no, not now.”

Arnold yelled out, “I tracked your phone, idiot. I knew you were working with this criminal! You were gonna double cross us!”

Y/n’s head whipped back to Napier, but he was already running down the street, phone pressed to his ear, likely calling his driver.

Arnold gasped. “That's Napier. Harper wasn’t lying. Well, we gotta arrest him!” Arnold grabbed Y/n’s vest and pulled her back.

“Y/n, he's running!” Tim cried, already in pursuit of Napier.

“Lemme go!” Y/n tried to yank away.

“Only if I get the collar and one hundred percent of the credit.” Arnold growled.

“Are you negotiating right now?”

“Always.”

“Okay, that was actually a really cool line. Deal. Let’s do it.” She pointed harshly at Roy. “Stay. Here.”

“Okay.” Roy shrugged.

Y/n and Arnold ran off after Napier, catching up to Tim. “GCPD!” Tim shouted. “Stop and put your hands in the air!” Napier continued running and Tim groaned. “Why don’t they ever listen?”

“Drake,” Y/n swerved towards another street. “I’ll block him off!”

“Not without me, you won’t!” Arnold changed direction and sprinted after Y/n.

Napier’s eyes grew wide when he saw Y/n and Arnold appear ahead of him. He glanced over his shoulder and when he saw Tim, still in pursuit, he cried out in frustration. Y/n tackled him to the ground and threw handcuffs on him. After she was done Mirandizing him, she apologised to Arnold. “Sorry I ran out on you at the jewellery store. But I couldn't let this guy get away.”

“Look, I'm fine with it.” Arnold said. “Arresting Napier’s gonna get me a promotion and at the end of the day, that's what this is all about.”

Y/n squinted at him. “Right, that and getting a major drug lord off the streets.”

“Yeah, right. I don't care about that.”

Y/n stared at him, wide-eyed before brushing him off. “Whatever. Let's bring in Roy Harper.” She left Napier with Tim and ran back to the parking lot. Finding it empty, she cried, “Oh, fucking hell! Where is he? Roy? Roy?!”

Arnold saddled up behind her. “Don't worry. We'll get him. At least we have Napier and the rubies.”

Y/n simply shouted, “Roy!”

“Why are you still calling for him?”

“ROY!”

Arnold realised, “oh my God, he has the rubies, doesn't he?”

“Roy!” Y/n quickly composed her wits and muttered to herself, “I'm sure Harper didn't run off with the rubies. I bet he's looking for me right now. You know what, I bet he's worried that I’m in trouble!” She frantically pulled out her phone. “I'll just call him and put his mind at ease.”

Arnold raised a brow. “Lady, he's already gone.” He placed a hand on Y/n’s shoulder and Y/n pushed him off, giving him an icy glare. “He's not gonna picking up.” Y/n’s jaw clenched at Arnold’s words.

Suddenly, Roy’s voice filtered through her phone and she breathed a sigh of relief. “What's up, L/n?”

“Ha!” Y/n pointed a victorious finger at Arnold. “He did pick up. In your-”

“This is goodbye forever,” Roy cut her off.

“No!” Y/n stomped her foot. “I can't believe you deceived me. I can't believe you used my love for Lian against me.”

“I love that you love her.”

“Of course I do! She’s the living embodiment of the reminder that childhood innocence never dies.”

“Amen,” he agreed. “But, I wasn't lying though. Napier was gonna hurt her and you saved her life. Buuuut then I was all alone with the rubies and next thing I know, I'm hotwiring a car and driving away.

”But I thought you liked being a good citizen? You voted Ed Breakfast for school board!” Y/n whined.

“And he immediately had a sex scandal.” Roy reminded her. “It was very disillusioning.”

“Understandable. Our democracy is crumbling. But, Roy, this is not what we’re talking about. They could take my badge!”

“Tim was right.” Roy smiled faintly. “I'm a scorpion. I thought you knew me better by now. I'm sorry I can't be the man you want me to be.”

“Damn it, stop being so romantic.” Y/n choked on her words and begged, “now turn around and come back to me, you fool?” The line clicked and she called, “hello? Hello? He's gone…. He broke my heart.” Tim walked up behind her as her lip quivered theatrically. She turned towards her fellow detective and hugged him tightly. “Now you tell me everything's gonna be okay, Timmy boy!”

“Everything's gonna be okay,” Tim reassured monotonously.

“You don't know that, Tim!”

“I just got off the phone with the brass,” Captain Wayne said to Y/n. “It doesn't look good. They're still trying to decide on a punishment for your actions.”

Y/n sniffed and asked meekly, “Did you tell them I feel so bad I have a tummy ache?”

“I did. They were unaffected.”

“Are you sure it’s not cramps?” Jason pushed a box of chocolate towards his coworker. “It is your time of the month.”

Y/n grimaced in disgust. “It’s creepy that you know that.”

“Not really,” Tim said. “You, Steph, and Cass have all synced up. We all know when to have desserts in our desks.”

“I think even Kori is synced up to you guys,” Dick added. “Somehow.”

“So no.” Damian spoke up. “In this instance, Todd isn’t creepy.”

Y/n looked up at Wayne as if to ask his opinion on this matter. All he said is, “I have no comment to add in this conversation. Back to the topic at hand, the brass said they could’ve justified your tactics if you'd gotten Napier and the rubies, but as things stand, there are no rubies.” He sighed and said, “you're looking at a suspension, maybe worse. Unless you can track down Harper and recover those rubies.”

“Can they wait twelve months?” Y/n asked hopefully. “I usually run into him about once a year.” Her eyes caught on something on her desk. “Wait a minute. What doth we have here?”

Y/n walked into the karaoke place and looked around hesitantly. “I've got this coupon for a private room?”

“Yep,” a worker said. “Right this way. We already have a song cued up for you.”

The screen blinked on as soon as the worker left the room and a large picture of Roy Harper with Lian on his hip showed up.

Y/n shook her head and muttered, “Harper.”

“What's up, L/n?” the recording asked happily. “Thank you so much for coming. So, I thought about it and I think I did you dirty. I never meant to cause you any trouble.”

“Yeah, well, you caused me a lot.” Y/n kicked at something at her feet.

Roy chuckled and said, “you're talking to a pre-recorded video, but it's cool. I know what you're saying. I hear you in my heart,” he said emphatically.

Y/n rolled her eyes. “What am I doing here?” she asked herself.

“I feel the same way,” the recorded Roy placed a hand to his heart. “You’re my best friend too.” He nodded thoughtfully and said, “look, I'm not coming back. We started a new life here in San Diego.” He jostled Lian who was giggling on his hip.

Y/n shook her head, grinning. “It’s stupid telling me where you are.”

“Come on, darling, I’m not in damn San Diego.” Roy laughed loudly. “Everybody knows that place sucks! But, I got you a little something as a going away gift. It's on the table next to you.”

Y/n opened the small velvet sack and gasped. “The rubies. Yes! I- I can’t believe you actually brought them back…”

“The rubies!” Roy cried from the screen.

Y/n let out a lighthearted laugh. “Yeah, you mistimed that one.”

“No, you're the best. Look, even though I am a scorpion, I will never drown your adorable little frog ass. So that's all I gotta say.” He glanced down at Lian who was smiling happily, staring at something in the distance. “I'm sure I'll see you again at some point,” Roy said, his eyes softening. “But for now, that coupon you got there, that's for a full hour in a private room. So…”

“Oh mama mia, mama mia, mama mia, let me go! BeeLZEbub has a devil put aside for meeee… for meeee! For meEEEEEEEEEE!” Lian sang along as Roy and Y/n banged their heads to the music.

#title of your sex tape #jason todd x reader #jason todd #dc x reader #dcu #detectives au #b99 #b99/dcu #slow burn

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wolfytae-exe · 1 year ago

Text

Ouija. (S) (A)

summary: in which your boredom leads to stupid decisions and dangerous consequences.

warning: fear, anxiety, predator & prey, seance, dubcon, dacryphilia, breeding(?) kink, name-calling(cutie, darling, little human, dollface), degrading(slut, whore, nasty), sadism, forced orgasm, death, gore, marking(if you squint), praise at some point, jjun really enjoys the mcs pain, master kink, biting, aphrodisiac,

paring: Incubus! Yeonjun + afab! Reader

wc: 3.4k

Playlist

It’s cold; was October always this cold? You shiver in your living room, a mug of freshly brewed coffee steaming in between your sweater-pawed hands, allowing the apartment to smell like pumpkin spice.

Your TV replacing a fireplace and warm fairy lights are the only thing lighting the area around you as you relax on the couch, the cushions cold as you struggle to afford a heater.

You’re fresh out of school, majoring in linguistics had you living off waitress tips and your savings at the moment, but as badly as it stresses you out, you can’t help but feel content, affording yourself and your life is enough for you to enjoy your coffee and warm lights in autumn. Not to mention it’s your favorite time of the year, Halloween time.

You already had your Halloween candy out, sitting in a big bowl with purple and orange candies on it, waiting for the clock to strike midnight so you can enjoy Hallows Eve in the best fashion, an Ouija board. You knew there was no need to freak out, you messed with the board a couple of years back with a group of sophomore college students during a Halloween party, and the lack of movement in the planchette caused an embarrassment like no other that night.

with one last sip of your coffee, you checked your watch. 12:02 AM October 31, 2023, you sat up and set your coffee down grabbed the box holding the board, and placed it on your coffee table. With a sigh, you pulled the board and planchette out along with the instructions.

After glancing at the paper a shiver ran down your spine. ‘DO NOT USE ALONE.’ scribbled in bold all over the page, you couldn’t make out the other words all over it. “What kinda sick joke?” You muttered as you held up the planchette. It’s Halloween, this is supposed to be creepy, you told yourself before placing it on the board.

You placed your fingers in the planchette and took in a breath. “Is there anyone here with me?” You asked with a slight shake in your voice, anxiety racked you as the room dropped in temperature and the planchette began to move slowly. The sound of the wood rubbing made you want to let go, the planchette didn’t do this before, what the fuck what the actual fuck.

The circle of the planchette hovered over the word ‘YES.’ “O-Okay- Uh, are you nice?” You asked, knowing it was dumb to ask a spirit, why would it ever say it’s bad? The planchette didn’t move for a moment before moving to the letters. ‘H-U-N-G-R-Y’ You gulped, lump in your throat refusing to move. “I-I’m sorry about that uh- what’s your name? Who am I talking to?” You tried to change the topic as goosebumps rose on your skin from the cold.

The planchette didn’t move again for a moment before repeating itself. ‘H-U-N-G-R-Y’ then it moved again, staying on the Y extra long. ‘Y-E-O-N-J-U-N’ the planchette froze. “Is that Korean? But you speak English? Interesting..” You breathed. “What are you Yeonjun?” You asked, pronouncing the name to the best of your abilities as you were rusty in the language, your anxiety lessened the more interesting the spirit became.

The planchette moves. ‘D-E-M-O-N’ never mind, anxiety was back and stronger than before. “O-Oh.. And what do demons eat” You pant, actually terrified now as the planchette moves faster, more fluid, like the control wasn’t in your hands anymore. ‘L-E-T G-O- H-U-N-G-R-Y- L-E-T- Y-E-O-N-J- Y-/-N- D-E-M-O-I-N-C-U-B- L-E-T-G-O -H-U-N-G-R- GOODBYE.’

Your stomach dropped and you could no longer see, unsure whether to let go or not as your lights flickered and switched off, your teeth chattered as you shut your eyes and tried not to cry. “Yeonjun! I don’t understand!” You begged, knowing you weren’t going to get any answers, you were going to die. Your fingers slipped off the planchette, covering your ears as you couldn’t handle the silence.

Eventually, your light flickered back on and the board seemed fine, you seemed fine, you deducted from your ability to breathe, see, hear, and feel. “What the fuck..” You sighed before grabbing the planchette and board and putting it back in the box. Yeah, you were done, it’s time to sleep and throw that board away in the morning.

And that’s exactly what you did, you showered, changed into a warm hoodie and shorts, and tucked yourself right into your bed, ignoring the feeling of being watched and chalking it down to just being paranoid. It took you a while but you were able to put yourself to sleep.

Unbeknownst to you, however, you had a guest, a very hungry and awake guest. Yeonjun watched as you slept, tossing and turning every few minutes. God, he was starving, you looked so cute and tasty he just wanted to ravage you. Yeonjun hid in the shadows of your room a bit longer before giving in to his hunger.

As the demon moved into the light of your nightlight and onto your bed by your feet his clothes disappeared in the dark red smoke surrounding him. His eyes began to glow a sharp red, in contrast to his black hair as a long tail and sharp horn twisted from his lower back and hairline, the sound of his bones maneuvering and crunching to fit the additions along with a deep moan following it filled your room and invaded your dreams.

Your blanket moved over you, hovering over your frame, you curled up, whining before slowly opening your eyes to see why your warmth was gone. A scream left you fast, ringing loud into the room as red glowing eyes stared back from under your blanket, a grip on your hips coming quick, the feeling of the sharp nails causing a whimper to leave you. “P-Please..” You cried for your life, you’re too young to die. “Spare me please.” Tears fell from your eyes, sliding down your cheeks helplessly.

“Yeonjun please,” You knew using his name would do absolutely nothing. “So cute~” His voice rumbled from under the covers, a taunting purr etched into his tone. “You’re not dying yet, Y/N,” He wickedly chuckled. “You just have to feed me, and maybe I’ll let you live longer.” The eyes under the bed darkened, pupils in slits like cats and blood red in hunger.

“I-I- Anything please, I’m sorry I’ll feed you,” You pleaded, attempting to move only to yelp at his nails digging deeper into you, drawing blood. “Ow! I said yes! Yes! Let go please!” You panicked, kicking before the pain seeped into you deeper like you were being branded. “Ah- Stop!” You kicked harder but his grip never loosened. “I like it when humans fight~” A dark chuckle filled the room as he rose.

His horns being the first to catch your eyes, twisted and coiled into the sky, what you didn’t expect was his face, foxy eyes, and plump lips curled into a smile, he was beautiful. But the demon still had you pinned and in pain.

He rose higher, face to your chest and you noticed the bareness of him, his thighs brushing against yours. “Wh-“ You gasp out as you feel his hard cock pressing up against your clothes heat. Tears well up in your eyes again as he slowly ruts into you. “What- What are you..?” You whimper, too scared to let your voice go over a whisper.

Yeonjun cooed before pressing small kisses to your neck and cheek. ��I told you,” you let out a sob as he spoke, a moan coming from in as a response. “I’m a demon, a very hungry one at that. An Incubus if you’re asking for my breed. Speaking of breeding.” He moans out, thrusting harder. A yelp leaves your lips as he grabs your hair, pulling back so you are level with him.

“You look so scared, but I can smell it, you’re so aroused~” He smiles, the red glint in his eyes lighting up at the way your legs shook under him. “That’s why you summoned me, isn’t it? You just wanna get dicked down, let go of all your stress?” You couldn’t respond, trying hard not to burst into more tears at the way his cock left you wanting more, wasn’t this assault? Why do you want him to stop and just fuck you already?

“Please… Stop- I don’t want this,” you plead, you knew you were lying, he knew you were lying, he’ll help you relax. “Shh, calm that pretty head little human.” the demon whispered before leaning in and kissing you, you fought, squeals leaving your throat as your hands lifted to hit him, only to be pulled back and pinned to the bed. A sob left you again, you wanted him to leave, you wanted to turn back time and never use that board again.

His tongue pushed through, long and snake-like, you could feel his saliva slide down your throat with ease, numbing the back of your tongue on the way down. Once he pulled away and took a good look at you he smiled. “Huening would eat you up, I’m so glad I answered you instead of that freak.” He knew you’d feel the effects soon, his saliva working as an aphrodisiac slowly but surely. “I got to you first and I don’t share my food.” His sharp tooth grin was the last thing you saw clearly.

Your mind almost instantly felt foggy before a pulse of pleasure shot through you. “Oh- God! What- What did you do to me?!” Your thighs attempted to slam shut on the demon, a rush of arousal ruining your panties. “God won’t save you, Y/N, you have to ask the devil for forgiveness this time.” The demon taunted as he watched your skin turn clammy, sweat dampening your forehead.

Your chest rose up and down, breathing uneasily. “I-It’s hot- ” You panted, the heat you wanted so much ran over your body in waves making you feel suffocated, the pressure in your lower tummy making your head spin. “Relax cutie, it’s just an aphrodisiac, don’t worry your pretty little head.” Yeonjun dipped down, head in between your neck now. You didn’t even feel him at first, mind blown over with disgusting, distasteful, explicit scenes.

“You’re so hot.” Yeonjun chuckled into your neck, licking and kissing at it before biting down, his sharp teeth ripping into your skin and holding on like a vice. You screamed, screamed like hell, there was no pleasure, no arousal; just raw searing pain. Hot tears ran down your face as you clawed the demon, you could feel your blood rushing out be wound like a broken dam, you could feel Yeonjun lap it up, moaning and growling at your taste.

When he finally pulled off his bloody face looked up in pure pleasure like your blood was his aphrodisiac. “Your soul will be such a nice dessert. I won the jackpot tonight.” All you could do was cry, blood stained your sheets and pillow, you couldn’t breathe and you felt like you were gonna die. That was until another wave of heat crashed over your body, you tensed, a whine ripping through your sobs as you felt the teeth marks on your neck closing up, skin building back fast and rough, stretching and burning until completely sealed into a scar of his bite. You were marked with his scent, with his life.

You could have sworn you blacked out, the pain becoming far too much to handle, too fragile as your heart beat fast, pumping back the blood you lost. By the time you came to, you were naked, sprawled out into a star shape, and unable to move. Yeonjun was nowhere to be found but the phantom of his bite and the tightness in your stomach lingered. A sob left you once more, unable to stop when the realization that this was all real crashed into you like a truck.

The more you moved your neck to see yourself, you realized how badly your body was used, bruises and bites riddled all over your arms and legs, scratches all over your torso, hips, and breasts. Your body burned, and arousal pooled under your ass as the aphrodisiac continued to move in waves, as disgusting as you felt you knew you needed Yeonjun. He did this to you, he knows you need him too, that’s why he left. You didn’t deserve this, everything was a mistake, you didn’t know an actual demon would be coming to torture and kill you, you just wanted to celebrate the spooky season.

“Why me..” You sobbed harder, tears rolling into your ears and hair. “Because you’re just so fun to play with darling~” You flinch, Yeonjun's voice vibrates through the walls, a rush of arousal and fear finds its way to you just at the sound of him.

“Stop this…Please..” You mutter helplessly. “But don’t you want my cock? Wanna be filled with my cum?” The demon taunted, still failing to show himself.

“I’ve cum so much in the time you’ve been out darling, your body is just so tasty I couldn’t help it.” You can hear the smirk in his voice before you see it, he’s crouching just at the foot of the bed watching your cunt push out more arousal. “Want me to fuck you?” He grins evilly, “Maybe I’ll keep you if you’re a good fuck, feed me so well.”

A whine leaves you at the thought of him splitting you open, nipples rubbing against one another as he thrusts, legs stretched wide and open for him to take you fully and completely. “Please- Yeonjun please-“ You needed him, needed him in you, anything to stop this sickening edge. “N-Need you-“ You whimper, as much as you wanted him you were terrified of what would happen afterward. You knew he’d kill you, but would it hurt, is it as painful as this? Is it as painful as knowing you’ll never see your friends and family again but all you can do is get dicked down beforehand.

Maybe this was a sign you were a shitty person after all, after the attempts to be a happy woman and live life to the fullest you still were horrible enough to suffer this way. “Get out of that pretty little head and look at me,” Yeonjun growled, eyes glowing in the darkness, his cock pushed against your folds so nicely, your slick way more than enough to help the stretch.

You let out a moan at the feeling of his cold cock, everything was cold about the demon, just another reminder he was anything but human. “Mmm so full already, you must not get good cock often.” The demon teased as he rubbed his cock against your sore clit. A whine was your only response, your hips unable to move. “Shh, Let master take care of you,” Yeonjun whispered before pushing in nice and slow.

“B-Big- too- Ah~ too much~” You moan out as the demon bottomed out into you. You were so close, so delirious, you could feel him everywhere. “Let me take over you, mmm yes~ Just like that, give in to me, melt under my cock.” Yeonjun growled as you clenched and shook. Slowly he dragged out of your soaked hole, letting the pull be nice and slow, he wanted you to feel it all, the veins, the way he emptied you and made you feel like nothing but a shell without his cock inside you.

“Please~ M-Mmmaster~ More please please please~ need you, nothing without your cock please-“ Your begging was cut fast as Yeonjun thrust himself right back into you, filling you so quickly you felt him in your throat. Your eyes rolled back as Yeonjun sped up, hitting that one spot that gave him such an incredible burst of energy. “You love master's cock huh? Say it! You love my cock don’t you?” Yeonjun’s hand found its way to your throat and his thrusts never slowed.

You were turned to mush, unable to even breathe as his hand tightened around your throat. Strained whines gargled from the back of your throat as you attempted to answer him. A loud “Nghh-yesss~“ left you as your toes curled and your pussy clenched around his cock that just would not stop ramming into the spongy part of your heat. Your orgasm hit like a truck, you couldn't hear or see Yeonjun anymore, and your body tingled like pins and needles pricked you all over.

It took a couple of seconds for your high to come down and soon you could see Yeonjun's changed, darkened, expression. He was still, staring at his fist that stayed closed slightly on your throat. Before you could draw in a breath, his eyes began to glow brighter, so bright you could make out the features on his face a lot better. They were sharper than before, his soft face long gone and replaced with the features of a true demon.

His cock stayed buried in your cunt, keeping you nice and full and his fist began to close tighter, causing panic to run through your veins and your lungs to burn as they pumped against each other fast for relief. You couldn't move, couldn't breathe, couldn't think, you were going to die; he was going to kill you, you knew it. “Did Master say you could cum?” His voice was rough and deeper than before, leaving your already sore cunt to clench around him again.

“Oh~ you like when master has to threaten your life?” Yeonjun growled, completely unamused. Soon enough when he could hear your heart pick up in pace he let go of your throat, watching you gasp and shudder for air. “Be a good slut and lay pretty.” He growls out before digging his claws into your hips and beginning to abuse your sore, overused cunt again.

Your mouth fell open, whines, squeals, and mewls pulled from your burning, dry throat as he thrust fast and hard without reprieve. “This the good fuck you wanted huh? Give you my hot cum before I take that soiled little soul of yours.” Yeonjun leaned down into your face, forehead pressed against yours as he moved his hands to wrap your legs around his waist. You sobbed in response, completely numb in your lower half. You didn't want to die at all, you’ve barely even hit your mid-twenties.

The sight had Yeonjun reeling, his long snake tongue slipping out to lick the big fat tears that ran down your face with a hum at the saltiness. “Keep crying dollface, you're so tasty when you're this scared.” The demon taunted before pressing kisses to the violated side of your complexion.

You whimpered, unable to handle the fear of the fact that he not only was going to kill you, but he was going to enjoy every bit of it and make you orgasm again in the process. “Ah- yeah suck me in like that~ bring yourself closer to your last breath.” He moaned with a chuckle at the end, “Make master cum in your needy pussy,” he continued before throwing his head back at the way you clenched tighter. “Yes- oh yes just like that- mm~ you're so good~” Yeonjun whined before his heavy hips stuttered and stilled deep in you.

More tears fell, sobs loud and broken as your throat couldn't take the torture. “Nononono- please nnnah~” you begged the demon not to cum, not to stop and end your life. Your wails and cries did nothing as he spilled more and more cum deep into you, coating your gummy walls in his hot sticky seed. “Ah~ Yes~” Yeonjun sighed at the release he felt before thrusting just a bit more to milk out more of his cum, a ring of your creamy orgasms mixed against his balls.

“Mmm~ all done, dollface~” Yeonjun smirked as he watched you pant and scream for help. “Ngh~ yes keep begging, feels so good~” Yeonjun moaned out before pressing kisses against your jaw and cheek. “Wanna live! Please- I wanna live!” You begged him and turned your head to face him. “So cute~ But my mind is made up.” Yeonjun smiled before his jaw opened up wide and inhumanely.

You attempted to scream again, fear being the last emotion you felt as his chest puffed slightly, and your breath left you once again. You could feel your heart slow and your veins slowly rub against each other as your skin grayed out. You couldn't move or speak, just watch with teary eyes as he slurped up a wispy, white, and smoke-like ball. The moment he swallowed he pulled out of your mummified corpse, feeling full and satisfied. “Tasty to the end.” Yeonjun sighed before disappearing under those pesky covers.

it's cold

okay, I had to repost this so it could get out there. If this doesn't fix the issue I don't know what will to be honest.

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madamlaydebug · 1 year ago

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CRITICAL WARNING!!!! Radio talk show hostess, Kim Komando, did some digging about TEMU and this is what she found!

Seemingly overnight, everyone’s talking about Temu (pronounced “tee-moo”), an online shopping app that boasts deals that seem too good to be true, like $17 wireless earbuds, $1 “gold” necklaces and $23 wedding dresses.

Over 50 million Americans have downloaded Temu since it launched state-side in September 2022, after it gained traction with expensive Super Bowl ads promising to let you “shop like a billionaire.”

Today, Temu is the most popular shopping app in the U.S. behind Amazon. But most of us don’t know much about the app’s true origins. Reader Daniel Mayer asked an important question, “Is [Temu] something we should be concerned about?”

So, I did some digging. And as it turns out, yes, you absolutely should be. Here’s what I found:

Where did Temu come from?

This isn’t some fly-by-night operation. Temu is based in Boston, Massachusetts, by PDD Holdings Inc. (Nasdaq: PDD). PDD is headquartered in Shanghai, China.

PDD also owns the e-commerce platform Pinduoduo headquartered in — you guessed it — China. So, Temu is a Communist China-based app and site.

What you need to know before using Temu

First, you’re buying goods directly from manufacturers in China and other parts of the world. That’s why shipping times are often 12 days or longer. The prices are low because the goods are cheap. The pictures of what you see advertised may not be what you actually get.

Temu’s BBB rating is 2.21/5. Reviews at TrustPilot are interesting, with 38% 5-star reviews and 41% 1-star reviews.

But that’s not the worst of it.

Temu is downright dangerous.

The app is a clever, pervasive digital stalker. As you shop, Temu monitors your activity on other apps, tracks your notifications and location and changes settings.

🛑 It gets worse. Temu gains full access to all your contacts, calendars and photo albums, plus all your social media accounts, chats and texts. In other words, literally everything on your phone. This is scary

No shopping app needs this much control, especially one tied to Communist China. If you’re using Temu, delete the app from your phone ASAP.

On iPhone, Long-press an app, then tap Remove App > Delete App. Tap Delete to confirm.

On Android, touch and hold an app, then tap Remove App > Delete App > Delete.

Pro tip: If you downloaded Temu, to be safe from Chinese spies, you really need to do a full factory reset.

But wait, there’s more! Temu’s sister app was removed from Google Play because of malware.

Do not buy from this company, or use their app!

COPY AND PASTE PLEASE

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senselessviolets · 2 months ago

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“dream a little dream of me”

Roman Roy x Fem. Reader

Rating E

Word Count: 2.3k

AO3 Link

WARNINGS:

EXTREMELY dubious consent, somnophilia (reader is in and out of sleep), sleep/drunk sex (both Roman and Reader are drunk but Roman is more active/the one initiating during encounter), smut, alcohol, language, implied Roman eating disorder, erectile dysfunction mention, pervert!Roman, needy Roman, no uses of Y/N

Author's Notes:

A oneshot by @cum-a-calla opened my eyes recently and I realized “Roman + somno” might be my peanut butter & jelly. Like wow. What a concept. Jokes aside, this fic is dark so PLEASE be wary of the warnings above. <3

Summary:

Post-S4, Roman and Reader begin to date after working at Waystar Studios together. While they bond and flirt more and more, he continues to keep her at bay. One night, the two get extremely drunk at his apartment and suffice it to say—they both wind up getting what they want.

This was maybe your third or fourth time sleeping over. You honest to god never thought you’d make it this far. For all of his gross jokes and sexual provocations, Roman reviled intimacy.

It’s why when he first started to court you; you were so taken aback. You’d been around; you knew what the mumblings were about his ‘eccentricities’. You were the Director of Creative Affairs at the Waystar Studios L.A headquarters. A position you were remarkably young to have; your famous two-time Oscar-award-winning actress mother and prominent movie producer father having nothing to do with it at all.

Following the Gojo acquisition, Roman withdrew from executive operations, accepting the fact he no longer had a place there. That and he outright refused to be in the same room with Lukas Mattsson.

As such, he returned to the entertainment side of things (this time with no Frank to boss him around) and went back to living in L.A around the clock. Things hadn’t changed much in the three-year hiatus he had from working at Studios.

Well, except for you.

It was only in his absence that you got your job. You wondered had he been around during that time, if he would’ve made a stink over your dad pulling the strings and landing you the job. A practice that was completely foreign to him, no doubt. Of course with it being Roman, you knew with full certainty the answer—yes. Because who was he if not the world’s biggest hypocrite/walking contradiction?

You found this to be even more apparent after your first date. Roman made a point of booking the two of you a reservation for the most high-end, gourmet French restaurant in the city. Even though when the waiter came around to your secluded table with the 16 oz beef ribeye he’d ordered, Roman did no more than fidget with the garnish on the plate.

While on that same date, though he’d surprised you at the beginning of the evening with an ornate bouquet of red roses and white orchids—he didn’t deign to even so much as hold your hand the rest of that night.

Three months later, you and Rome had exchanged a myriad of kisses and flirtatious squeezes around the office. The suggestive texts the two of you exchanged, making tempting offers and filthy propositions. All of that build-up only to result in chaste nights in at his flat, eating takeout and bitching about the latest tentpole flop your studio was in the midst of developing. It could be worse, you thought. To say your needs were being met, though, would be a lie.

Tonight was different. Tonight was heavy.

The two of you had spent a good portion of the night sprawled out on the wooden floors of his living room, talking about nothing and downing a Japanese whisky neither of you could pronounce. The taste hadn’t left your mouths. You wondered if his would taste the same.

After deciding to turn in for the night, you gradually make your way toward the master bedroom, stumbling over yourself. He stops you from colliding into the wall several times. You and Roman make the most obnoxious-sounding cackles as the both of you hap-heartedly flop onto his Hastens Superia bed. You let yourself fall deep into the cotton wool mattress, landing somewhere between sleep and a drunken haze.

You feel yourself be pried out of this state as a force slowly turns you so you’re on your back. You can tell by the faint outline of his fluffy hair that it’s him. In this lighting or lack thereof, you don’t really know for sure. You give a weak smile, maybe even whisper a small “hi”. He waits to proceed until the expression has fully faded from your face and the heaviness in your eyelids takes over. His lips made rough with the scratch from his beard, are forcefully pressed onto yours. Once again, you are ripped out of the peaceful purgatory between awareness and slumber you’d just been slipping into. It’s hard to not liven up at the wet sensation of his tongue slipping past your lips.

Roman hadn’t ever kissed you like this.

Using your chin, he pries your mouth with his index finger so it's more open to him. Briefly, you consider gliding your tongue along his own, to reciprocate the motions, to achieve the taste you yourself so desperately craved. But you didn’t want him to stop.

To get in his head like he had a tendency to. To sever himself from you yet again.

So you remain still. Pliant. His.

Meanwhile, his one free hand has wandered elsewhere. Roman’s fully straddling you at this point so you can feel a firmness in between his thighs that hadn’t been present before. The hand alternates from palming himself to cupping your bare mound. The chill of his fingers causes you to flinch. You suppose in the arduous journey to get to his bedroom, you must have lost your bottoms. You don’t entirely remember having ever taken them off yourself.

It would remain a mystery.

The oversized white button-up blouse of yours has opened itself to Roman and his gaze. He moves the opposing sides of the fabric so they’re no longer covering your chest. Roman dives face first, smushing his face against the warm pillowy flesh of your breasts, inhaling deeply. He kneads them with his fingers and takes them into his mouth, sucking more gently than he wishes to. It’s clear Roman wishes not to disturb your ‘slumber’.

He shows you a devotion other men had hardly shown you when you were fully awake. It was all a jumbled mess in your head. Due to the surrealness of the whole situation but also the liquor as well.

Instead of working his way downwards like most guys naturally would, Roman instead makes his way up to your neck, burrowing his head in the crook near your shoulder. He takes a deeper inhale of the tender flesh there. Eventually his nose prods into your hair which was strewn all over the pillow your head rests on. There were times at the office when you could’ve sworn he took a brief inhale of your hair when sneaking past you. You didn’t say anything. Even after you two had begun ‘dating’, you still didn’t question it.

While Roman halts his movements and lies on top of you, your mind drifts, thinking something to the effect of, ‘if he’s this much of a pervert when I’m asleep at night, what kind of disgusting shit does he get up to in the daytime behind my back’?

You have no time to dwell on the thought because something cold and slender traces your opening. Due to its tensility, you’re able to make out that its his finger that now fumbles around your entrance. There’s no foreplay, no crescendo because in an instant, Roman is inside of you. You can’t help but mumble a whimper at the sudden intrusion. He freezes, keeping the tip of his finger in you. When he sees you don’t stir and go back to sleep, he plunges what feels like his index finger deeper into you. So deep, you fear he’ll run out of space to fill. He stops just before it becomes too uncomfortable. Not that the interaction was all that pleasant.

Mentally, you were aroused but physically, your body had yet to catch up.

“...not wet,” he says to himself.

He withdraws his hand quickly, spitting multiple times on his now two fingers, and wedges them both inside of you. The lube of his saliva provides some slick but it’s still making you sore.

“That better…? Hm…? Yeah…?” he coos, watching your emotionless face, “That what you need..?”

He smirks briefly when he sees your eyes flutter.

“Oh…you dreamin’, baby? Hm, you dreaming about me?” Roman taunts, in a shrill soft voice, “You better be. You better fuckin’ be.”

You clench reflexively as he says it. Roman drags his lower teeth against the smooth skin of your arm as he continues to pump his fingers into you rapidly. Fast enough that your increasing wetness is audible in the still silence of his bedroom. Roman ceases all of his movements at once, letting out a sharp exhale. Gradually, he removes his fingers from your pussy and a moment passes before you begin to feel something warm and moist being smeared across your lips. You realize it's your own fluids. The notion makes your stomach flip.

Roman proceeds to lick it off your lips. His tongue becomes more and more greedy and taking the opportunity to drag along the sides of your full cheeks. You get the impression this is something he’d thought about doing before, if not entirely because of how slowly he does it.

He’s fucking savoring it.

‘This’ll be it. He’ll just continue to fuck around a little more and use it as spank bait later,’ you predict.

The thought of Roman penetrating you with anything more than his fingers was truly unfathomable. There’d always been the rumor at work about him having ED (though the type of ED varied depending on who you were talking to) and needing the little blue pill to so much as jerk off. You never knew what to make of those claims. You disregarded them. But the stiffness that has been rutting against your hips and waist and thigh for the past half hour had you now wondering; ‘was he gonna go all the way?’.

A few more moments of nothingness pass. Then the metallic sound of a zipper being undone overwhelms your senses—the sonority soon replaced with dread. Even if he did position himself between your legs and bury himself fully inside of your unaroused cunt; ‘what would it really change?’

It wouldn’t suddenly make it ‘rape’.

That ship had sailed several digits ago.

You were on the pill if he decided to be lazy. You were clean and he had assured you many times he was as well—and you chose to believe him. The answer to your self-questioning was that it would simultaneously change ‘nothing’ and ‘everything’.

So you brace yourself for his full weight on top of you once more along with the new sensation of being stretched open on his cock.

But it doesn’t come.

Roman rolls off of you completely, laying adjacent to you on the mattress. There’s the rustling of fabric as he shimmies his slacks down his thighs. Roman’s hand flies to your wrist as he slides his dick into your relaxed grasp. Spitting into his palm and gliding the wet over the head of his cock, he begins to fuck your own fist in earnest.

The most pitiful, squeaky boyish moans leave his lips and he pants them into your shoulder, hot from the heat of his breath.

“F-f-fuck…oh f-ff…I…I fuckin’ need this, need this,” Roman whines into your hair, “Oh…oh…ohhh…needed this, need this, fuckin’ need this,”

His hips continue ramming into your hand at the same relentless pace. He’s clearly pent-up. Probably from the months of emotional anguish, familial turmoil, betrayal—with a dollop of grief on top. Small dabs of wetness is felt on your skin. At first, you think he’s drooling from arousal but you later realize those were tears.

It doesn’t deter from his sheer desperation, his uninhibited need, all on display.

You had been the one submitting yourself to him but somewhere along the way, the roles seemingly had become inverted. You hold back from biting your own lip. You had made it this far. You couldn’t fuck it up now. Not for him. If he stopped, you felt like you’d die a small death then and there.

“Oh, please, my sweet. Sweet little thing, please be sweet. Please be good. Please take what you need. What you’ve earned,” you’d chant, if you were even capable of speech, “Please cum. Please cum now.”

There’s no humanly possible way he could’ve heard your inner dialogue but his hips buck wildly and he unloads into your palm like he did.

“Thank you, thank you, I needed it, I needed it, baby…oh, I fuckin’...I fuckin’ needed …,” he trails off.

His vibrating body eventually after a long while goes still. You’re able to unravel your hand off of his softening cock. The stickiness between your fingers is still lukewarm. If you had the strength or the agency, you might wipe it off with a Kleenex or onto the sheets or the perv in you may try to sneak a sniff or a lick. But you like him are beyond spent. He stays facing you, laying on his side, now sound asleep with a gentle snore. You remain on your back, shirt ripped open, naked from the lower half, face staring deep, deep into the void of the ceiling.

It was this empty blackness—this dark—that you slowly felt yourself being compelled to. It’s where your darkest urges liked to dwell. The desires you never felt the courage to voice, even to those you trusted the most. It felt cliche to say you often saw Roman on the other side of this void. You got the impression it’s an island he’d marooned himself on for a long time. Every partner that tried to swim out to him sunk to the bottom of the ocean floor. And there they stayed in the depths of his subconscious. Submerged, sodden, drowned memory of a person that for years would continue to be buried by guilt. By shame. Fear. You refused to succumb to that same fate.

As you let the sleep overtake your tired limbs and melt into oblivion, you swear you see him in that void. Expressionless. He’s numb, like you. He’s scared, like you. He doesn’t know what he wants, much less what he needs. And neither do you. So in the meantime, you silently agree to meet him there in that void. In that black. Again and again.

As long as you found each other in the end.

{ Feedback is welcome! }

Follow me on twt: @endlessviolets

#roman roy x reader #roman roy angst #roman roy fluff #roman roy smut #roman roy x you #roman roy imagine #roman roy succession #succession fanfic #succession x reader #succession hbo #succession #roman roy

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whattimeisitfic · 6 months ago

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So I was fucking around with an incorrect quote generator and these are some of the funny prompts I got for Luci and his brothers. Most of them are just Raphael and Gabriel having the pettiest sibling rivalry in existence.

—

Pre-Fall days. Lucifer is still getting the hang of proper utility usage…

Gabriel: Hi could I ask how exactly does one accidentally set a lemon on fire?

Lucifer: Microwave for 40 minutes

Michael: WHY WERE YOU MICROWAVING A LEMON?!

Lucifer: I read boiling lemons helps cover up bad smells and I wanted to cover up the scent of burnt oranges, but I didn’t on any pots…

Raphael: Did you burn an orange too? HOW?!

Lucifer: Microwave for 40 minutes.

—

Gabriel addressing the Council. Probably on some really memorable, meaningful event for him or something.

Gabriel: I just wanted to say that over the years, I have come to regard you as… people I met.

—

Does this need context? Could happen literally any time.

Gabriel: You look mentally ill.

Lucifer: I am. Let’s go.

—

Once again, could realistically happen any time, though more likely in their younger years.

Gabriel: Bet you can’t eat 15 crayons

Raphael: Bet you I can!

Michael: *sips coffee, checks to make sure 911 is still on speed dial and goes back to reading the paper*

—

These two I stg—

Raphael: Can I have some water?

Gabriel: *starts chugging their water bottle*

Gabriel: *chokes from drinking too fast*

Gabriel: *spills water all over themselves*

Gabriel, coughing: I don’t have any water.

—

My man is absolutely clueless in the most adorable way possible. We love him for it tho. Was probably Rals texting him.

Lucifer: Gabriel, what does IDK, ILY, and TTYL mean?

Gabriel: I don’t know, I love you, talk to you later.

Lucifer: Alright, I love you too, I’ll ask Michael

Gabriel: Wait, Lucifer, no—

—

You can’t tell me Lucifer wasn’t a chaotic little shit pre-Fall.

Raphael: I have a question.

Michael: Shoot.

Raphael: Is the S or C in scent silent?

Gabriel: Fuck you, I’m going to be thinking about this all day.

Michael: Okay well, cent is pronounced the same way as scent so I’m gonna say the S is silent

Raphael: Okay, but sent is also spelled the same way

Gabriel: Google says that the C was added in the late seventeenth century, so I guess the S is silent.

Lucifer: Plot twist, both the S and the C are silent and the E actually makes the sss sound

Gabriel: Lucifer is not allowed to talk anymore

—

Once again, plausible any time at present.

Michael: You’e ignoring all your problems.

Lucifer: I know.

Michael: You also know it’s an unhealthy coping mechanism?

Lucifer: I’m ignoring that fact as well

Michael:

—

Lucifer can do no wrong.

Michael: WHOEVER CAUSED THIS MESS IS GOING TO-

Lucifer: it was me

Michael: …Is going to be forgiven because very one deserves a second chance.

—

He lasted all of five seconds, and the he had to sass.

Raphael: Oh, hey, I didn’t see you come in! You should have come by and said hello!

Gabriel: Oh! Yeah, I uh…

Gabriel: Didn’t want to bother you.

Gabriel: Or talk to or listen to or be around you.

—

Back when Lucifer wasn’t recovering from near death, and actually didn’t sleep.

Raphael: Truth or dare?

Lucifer: Truth.

Raphael: How many hours have you slept this week?

Lucifer:

Lucifer: Dare.

Raphael: Go to sleep.

Lucifer: I don’t like this game

—

They had an argument. Typical occurrence.

Michael: You have to apologize to Gabriel!

Raphael: Fine!

Raphael: Unfuck you or whatever!

—

I think this about sums it up.

Raphael: Are you alright?

Lucifer: Short answer or long answer?

Raphael: Short?

Lucifer: No.

Raphael: Long?

Lucifer: Nooooooo

—

I’ll say it again: these two—

Raphael: Guys, I have a question.

Gabriel: kys <3

Raphael: I love you too.

Michael: Ah. Yes. Siblings.

—

If Lucifer ever went out drinking w/ his siblings (u know, to the places that actually serve shit to get him wasted)

Lucifer, clearly drunk: Gabriel, hit me another drink… wooOO HOOoo…

Gabriel: I think you need a therapist and not a bottle

Lucifer: I think yooOOoouu need to shuUT YOUR MOUTH!

—

Last one. You can’t tell me Raphael doesn’t get weird obsessions w/ shows like this and convinces himself he’s gonna somehow end up in a similar situation. Michael is concerned

Raphael: When I get murdered, can you make sure I become an unsolved case?

Michael: wHat?

Raphael: I want to be on Buzzfeed Unsolved

Michael: Can we go back to the part when you said “when I get murdered”?

—

Alright that’s all I got for now ducklings! I just thought it was kind of funny.

If you’re reading this with no context but are interested, consider checking out my Hazbin Hotel Lucifer-centric fic on AO3 What Time Is It. I try to update daily and do my best to answer all comments ;)

#fanfic content #hazbin hotel fanfiction #lucifer fanfiction #fanfic #fanfiction #hazbin hotel lucifer #hazbin hotel #i love luci #lucifer hazbin hotel #lucifer #hazbin hotel michael #hazbin hotel raphael #hazbin hotel gabriel #incorrect quotes #fyp #they are all such idiots #siblings #sibling dynamics #sibling rivalry

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angiechia · 3 months ago

Text

Can I go?

(a 12 year old John and 22 year old Arthur short story)

Arthur goes hunting, John wants to go too

I realized a love writing this young John and young Arthur stories ^^ I've been having some rough days and this truly gaves me the serotonin im lacking lol

Again NO SHIP INTENDED please this is a kid and an adult😭 i just love their brotherhood so much

☆☆☆

Hosea placed the book back in front of the boy after he had thrown it to the ground in frustration.

"I don't want to! I don't know how!" John turned his gaze away from the book, resting his head on the table.

"Son, this isn’t like years ago. Nowadays, you can't go around not knowing how to read; it's necessary if you want to be somebody later on," Hosea explained patiently, though his voice carried a hint of annoyance.

"I don't want to be somebody! Don't you guys rob and kill? If I'd known this was a damn school, I would've run away from you two!"

"Then right now you'd be hanging by your neck like a Christmas ornament. Now sit your butt in that chair and read these letters!" Hosea quickly responded, managing to get a groan out of John as he reluctantly picked up the book. "Now, what does it say there?"

"...I don't know."

"Yes, you do, because you did it before. What letters are these?"

"...T...H...E?"

"Good, and what word does that make?"

"...The..."

"Exactly, John. See? You can do it. Now, the next letters."

"H...o...r...s...e," he pronounced the letters slowly.

"That's right, these letters make a longer word. What is it?"

"Uhm... House?"

A wheeze was heard behind them, and John quickly turned to see who it was. He frowned when he saw it was Arthur mocking him.

"The kid's dumber than a rock," Arthur said mockingly as he walked up behind them.

"I am not, you jerk!" John quickly slammed the book on the table, causing Hosea to let out an exasperated sigh—he had been so close.

"Arthur, don't make fun. You were as slow as a turtle when it came to reading a three-word sentence," the older man said, and Arthur made an annoyed face.

"HA!" John taunted, pointing at Arthur with his finger.

"Whatever," Arthur said, dismissing them as he started walking toward the horses. "I'm going hunting."

Something sparked in John's eyes as he quickly lifted his head when he heard the word "hunting." He watched Arthur leave.

"I'll read the sentence tomorrow!" he quickly told Hosea as he hopped down from his seat. "Not just the sentence, the whole page, please!" he begged to end today’s ‘class.’

Hosea sighed. "Alright, I reckon—"

"Thanks!" John shouted as he ran toward the stables.

He arrived just in time as Arthur was leading Boadicea out, walking alongside her. When the blue-eyed man saw the boy standing there expectantly, he only gave him an annoyed look and ignored him, continuing to walk.

John thought Arthur would ask what he was doing, but receiving only silence, he ran to catch up and walked beside him.

"Can I go?" the boy asked.

"No," Arthur replied curtly.

"Please! I want to go, I want to see what hunting is like!"

"No," Arthur repeated as he mounted Boadicea. The act surprised John, and before the tall, ill-tempered man could even think of leaving, John stood in front of the horse, stretching both arms out to the sides to block the way. "What in the hell are you doing, Marston?!" Arthur shouted angrily.

"Take me hunting with you, dammit!"

Arthur tried to steer the stubborn horse around the boy, but wherever he directed her, John quickly stepped in front again.

"Damn it, let me go! We need to eat!"

"If I go, we can hunt more!"

"You wouldn’t even hit a cow in a corral with a rifle. Now get out of here!"

"Arthur!" John cried out in desperation, making the mare nervous as she pinned her ears back. Arthur finally had enough of the brat.

"Damn it, John, get on!" John instantly lit up with excitement and let out a laugh.

He quickly ran to the side of the horse, and Arthur had lifted his foot from the stirrup for the boy to use it to climb up. John tried, but it was too high for him. He grunted and sighed in frustration, falling silent for a few seconds.

"Help me?"

"For heaven’s sake, come on!" Arthur grumbled as he reached down to pull John up. As soon as he was seated, Arthur took off at a trot, faster than John had expected.

"In the orphanage, there was a boy. I think his name was Bruce..." John started talking, and Arthur immediately let out an annoyed sigh, realizing the quiet ride he hoped for wasn’t going to happen. "Or was it Matthew?... No, no... Bruce. Yeah, it was Bruce because Matthew never rode a horse."

"Just get on with the damn story," Arthur urged.

"Well, he once told me that his pa was a farmer, and he bred racehorses, like, horses specifically for racing. And I asked him which horse was the fastest, and he said it was the Arabians. Is this one?"

"No, Arabians are too expensive," Arthur replied curtly.

"Oh... so what breed is this?"

"Hungarian Half-bred," again, Arthur answered in a dry and rough tone.

"Oh... and it’s a girl, right?"

"You see any balls?"

Despite Arthur's sharp response, John laughed immaturely at the comment. "No." He stopped laughing and paused before continuing. "Bruce once told me that boy horses—"

"Stallions," Arthur interrupted, as if superior for knowing horse terminology.

"Yeah, them. Is it true that in the cold their balls shrink?" The boy laughed again after saying that.

"I don’t know, John," Arthur replied. "Hey, what happened to that kid’s father?"

"Oh, he told me he found him dead. He got killed at the entrance of his ranch, by some men who, like, wanted to get revenge on him, I think."

"Jeez..." Arthur said, considering the possibility that the man might have been involved in something shady with the horse races. "And you? Why did you end up in an orphanage?" Arthur wasn’t known for his tact, often considered "heartless" by others in the gang.

"What’s it to you?" John snapped back.

"Damn, if you wanted to talk so much, I was just trying to make conversation."

"I don’t want to talk about it."

"Okay..." Arthur responded with neutrality.

When they reached the valley, they managed to hunt a deer. Arthur feared that bringing John along would scare off all the animals, but it seemed the boy knew when to keep his mouth shut when it mattered.

When they found the deer, John volunteered to carry it on his back, and even though it was clearly too heavy for him, he never gave up or told Arthur he couldn’t do it. Arthur respected that.

Now they were back on the horse, heading back to camp.

"So..." John started another conversation, "Next time we go hunting, I’ll bring a rifle, and—"

"That won’t happen. You don’t know how to use a gun yet."

"Yes, I do!... Well, sort of."

"See? I’m not risking getting shot by a kid."

"Then teach me!"

"No."

"I’ll tell Hosea to make you teach me."

"I still won’t do it."

"Arthuuuuur"

#arthur morgan #john marston #hosea matthews #rdr2 #fanfic #rdr2 community #red dead redemption 2 #red dead fandom #rdr fanfiction #red dead fanfiction #rdr2 fanfic

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thisapplepielife · 11 months ago

Text

Written for the @steddieholidaydrabbles December challenge.

A Solid Plan

Prompt Day 5: Domestic Fluff | Word Count: 1000 | Rating: Light E | CW: Sexual Content | Tags: Established Relationship, Teamwork Makes the Dream Work, If You Build It: He Will Come, Idiots in Love, Silly Sex Mishaps, First Apartment, Flat Pack Furniture

"Are you sure you don't need the instructions?" Eddie asks, and Steve shakes his head. He definitely doesn't need the directions. It's like a picture booklet, more than actual plans on how to build this thing. So, he's good without, he's pretty sure.

"No, it's not that hard," Steve says, for the tenth time.

It's a bookshelf, not rocket science.

"Because, I think-"

"Eddie! Just let me do this, okay?" Steve snaps, cutting him off.

Eddie makes the motion for zipping his lips, and throwing away the key.

Steve smiles at him, can't not. Even if he's tired of putting together all this furniture. But he'll do it, for Eddie.

Eddie dragged him into this huge store, with names he can't pronounce, picking out pieces they had to put together themselves. That's not Steve's experience with furniture. Growing up, a truck brought a new couch, or a new bed frame, and the delivery guys just carried it through the double doors. Ready to use.

This? Is not that. They don't have the money for that kind of treatment, at least not right now. So, they're stuck with this headache. This is Lego furniture, he's pretty sure. But it's made out of particle board instead of plastic.

It's okay. Right now all they can afford is furniture with vaguely shitty instructions.

So, Steve turns the Allen wrench that came with it, tightening all the pieces until he has a bookshelf. He stands it up.

"See? Done," Steve says.

"Anything look wrong?" Eddie asks, a smug look on his face.

Steve looks at it, really looks.

The back panel is on backwards. Fuck.

"Shit, I can fix it."

"You wouldn't have had to fix it if you used the instructions," Eddie taunts, but he's smiling.

"Yes, you're right. I'm wrong," Steve says, dryly.

"Damn straight," Eddie says, but he holds onto it while Steve unscrews the back panel, so he can flip it around and screw it back on, the right way.

The bed frame takes both of them to assemble, and Steve isn't sure it's going to be sturdy enough to sleep on. Let alone fuck on. He should have brought his bedroom furniture from home. It's a little ugly, and his mom's taste, not his own, but it was solid wood. But they didn't want to move it halfway across the country.

So, now, they're stuck doing this, and Steve hopes it'll hold up until they can afford something better, sturdier.

Once it's built, Eddie helps him put the sheets on, and then he sits on it delicately. Eddie is thrilled, Steve is skeptical.

He was right to be skeptical. One thrust too hard, and Steve hears it give way at the same time they're suddenly falling.

They hit the floor, the mattress falling straight through the slats, the legs giving way to total collapse. Steve is stunned. He knew it was possible, but he wasn't expecting this to happen. Not really. Okay, maybe a little. But not the very first night. He thought it'd give way under heavy use. Not just fall to pieces immediately.

Maybe he put it together wrong.

"Shit!" Eddie yells, "Are you okay?"

Steve's fine, but that was a rough ride. Eddie's somehow still in his ass, but he's gone half-hard from the unexpected scare.

It really shouldn't have been so unexpected. Steve definitely predicted this exact thing to happen.

"I'm pulling out," Eddie says, and Steve laughs.

"Sounds like a solid plan," Steve answers, bracing for it.

Eddie laughs with him as he eases out of his body.

"You sure you're okay?" Eddie asks, rubbing his hand against Steve’s back.

"I'm fine," Steve assures. "The bed? Uh, I think we killed it."

Eddie laughs, then accuses, "Why would you pick this bed?! You nearly killed us!"

Steve just laughs. Eddie picked the bed, but he'll take the blame. He doesn't mind.

"Are you really okay?" Eddie asks, laying his cheek on Steve's back.

"I'm fine. You didn't break your dick, did you?"

"No. Just scared it," Eddie teases, pressing his lips to Steve's shoulder. Again. And again.

Steve knows Eddie's kissing his moles. It's not an unusual occurrence.

Once they've caught their breath, and stopped laughing, they get dressed and clean up the broken pieces, throwing them in a pile, then shoving their mattress on the floor.

"This'll do," Eddie says.

And Steve nods. It will, for now. He knows Eddie's bed at home didn't have a bed frame, so it's definitely not a necessity to him.

While Steve doesn't want to crawl up off the ground forever, they can do it for a while until they find something. They're still young.

Steve looks in the phonebook the next day for thrift stores in the area. He's gonna find something heavy. It can be ugly as sin, as long as it's made of actual solid wood. He writes down five places that advertise furniture, not just clothes, and they get in the truck and go.

The first place has nothing, but the second has something that's perfect. It's a little scratched up, but it looks like it'd stay exactly where they put it. And it's a bargain, with two nightstands included in the price.

Steve watches as the employee takes the tag to the front, and organizes for the pieces to be taken to the truck.

He pays, and outside, in the daylight, it's uglier than he thought. The lamp that Eddie has in his hand is absolutely hideous. It has fringe. Together, it feels like it weighs a combined thousand pounds, but Eddie helps him load them into the back of the pickup.

The new frame is not easy to put back together with no instructions, but he finally gets it done. And Eddie flips the switch on the lamp that's now on his nightstand.

"Let there be light," Eddie says, and Steve flops on the bed.

It doesn't give an inch.

But maybe later, if he's lucky, Eddie will give him seven.

Notes: IKEA was in the US by the late 80s, just not near Hawkins. So, if this stuff came from IKEA, they moved far, far away for this one to happen, lol.

And here's a little piece on how IKEA utilized the power of the Allen wrench for their flat pack furniture.

If you want to write your own, or see more entries for this challenge, pop on over to @steddieholidaydrabbles and follow along with the fun! 🛏️

If you want to see more of my entries into this month-long challenge, you can check them out in my Steddie Holiday Drabbles tag, right here!

#steddieholidaydrabbles #domestic fluff #steddie au #silly fluff #steddie ficlet #steve x eddie #steddie #eddie munson #steve harrington #thisapplepielife: short fic #thisapplepielife: steddieholidaydrabbles

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thrawns-babygirl · 1 year ago

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Hello there lovely, is there any chance that you could write something - anything really idc if it's a drabble, hc or oneshot- involving tatted Crosshair and his send nudes tattoo?

No pressure of course. love your stuff and keep it up^^

have a nice day <3

This was only meant to be a drabble but I got carried away.

And yes I know this fic starts off almost identically to one of my other fics (I think it was one of the follower celebration ones) but for this specific fic I needed to reuse an old trope dont @ me please I've had writers block （；¬＿¬)

This is also another one of my classic medic!reader fics because I wanted it to be gender neutral and doc is the easiest gender neutral nickname I can come up with.

I am not a creative person lmao.

anywho, this is based off of @cloned-eyes absolutely sinful art, which is honestly some of my favorite Crosshair art of all time.

Rating: E (18+) Warnings: Sexting (I think that's it lmao) Words: 2200+

Been a while since ive written anything this long so i hope my writing is still up to snuff

Masterlist

Where could he be? Where on this maker forsaken facility could he possibly be? You storm through the halls of Kamino looking for Wrecker, the errant clone needing to come and see you for updates to his immunisations before he or the rest of clone force 99 are allowed back out into the field.

It’s not surprising that he’s avoiding you, out of all of them, Wrecker is by far the worst with needles. The man can’t stand them, avoids you like the plague when he knows that it’s time to keep his vaccinations up to date and for what its worth you can’t really blame him. No one enjoys needles.

You huff and place your hands on your hips as you think about where the lovable giant could possibly be. You’ve already checked the mess, the armoury, the Marauder and the training centres with zero sign of him. When you got to the marauder Tech just gave you that look that says, “I understand you need to find him but I’m not going to rat him out” and while you often applaud clones for their loyalty to one another, when it stops you from doing your job it makes you want to rip your own hair out in frustration.

You make your way over towards their barracks, hoping and praying to whatever deities that will listen that you’ll find him and be able to get on with the rest of your job. You take a deep breath, standing out the front of their doors, before keying in your medical override and stepping inside.

You don’t find wrecker, and you wish you had knocked.

Standing in front of you is Crosshair, in just a towel, dark lines of ink on full display over his tanned body. You’ve never actually seen him without his shirt on before, never needed to. The sniper usually manages to stay out of trouble and doesn’t need any assistance when the boys return to Kamino so you had no idea he was covered in tattoos.

You run your eyes over his chest, taking in all the impressive art that litters his toned form. The silhouette of his beloved 773 Firepuncher that stretches along his chest, the artfully done letters of aurebesh that stretch above his stomach, the other smaller words and phrases that extend down his hips, tantalizingly low, slightly obscured by the fabric of the towel that’s gripped in his left hand.

You run your eyes up his arm towards his face, knowing that he’s going to be wearing that sickeningly infuriating smirk of his and wanting to avoid the cliché “Like what you see?” you know he’s going to drawl at you like you’re in some terrible holodrama.

As you brace yourself to face him, your eyes catch on a single phrase tattooed on his left arm, slightly more patchy and faded than his other ink as if it were the result of a drunken night out in some shady tattoo parlour in the Uscru District of Coruscant. Two simple words that have a profound effect on your physiology causing even more heat to rush to your face, deepening the blush that you know is already far too pronounced on your cheeks and ears.

“Send Nudes”

You finally have the courage to snap your eyes up to his and just as you expected you’re greeted by his frustratingly handsome smirk, his eyes boring into yours, as if he’s waiting for you to say something, as if this is going to be the final nail in the coffin for your poorly hidden mutual attraction to one another that’s been simmering the last few cycles that’s threatening to reach boiling point as you maintain eye contact.

You lamely open and close your mouth trying to find something to say to the barely covered man in front of you before he decides to end your suffering, breaking the silence with the just as cliché “See something you like doc?” he raises an eyebrow at you before walking over towards his bunk, reaching into a pouch on his discarded armour and producing a toothpick, slipping it between his lips as he looks you up and down.

“I um-” you finally look away from him, suddenly finding the old training posters above his bed intensely interesting trying to figure out what to say to him as if you weren’t just ogling his naked chest and arms for an unprofessionally long amount of time.

You clear your throat “I was just looking for Wrecker… he needs his shots” your eyes dart around the room, avoiding his smug, self-satisfied face for as long as humanly possible.

You cringe at how your voice falters, yours and Crosshair’s interactions are always a battle of wits and snark, constantly trying to one up each other as the rest of the batch endeavour to ignore your vague attempts at flirting with one another. Both of you trying your best to goad the other into making the first move, dancing around the invisible line you’ve both drawn in the sand but never crossed.

From the corner of your eye, you see him walk towards you, you see his arm adjusting the towel around his hips and your eyes are drawn to that stupid tattoo on his arm again, the one that makes you want to throw professionalism out the window and jump his bones regardless of any regulations or rules that would get in the way and muddy the waters.

“Wrecker’s not here” his voice has dropped an octave, as if getting you alone in his room has made him realise that there is nothing physical stopping the two of you from muddying the waters of your relationship and taking that final step. You swallow the saliva that’s started pooling in your mouth, attempting to remind yourself that you’re on duty, you’re in the barracks, any one of the rest of his squad could walk through those doors at any moment an interrupt whatever lewd and improper things you both want to do to one another.

While you were wrestling with your own thoughts and feelings you miss how close he’s managed to get to you, his silent footsteps bringing him directly in front of you and you stare up at him. Has he always been this tall? You lock eyes with him, neither of you saying anything as you just stare at one another, each of you silently willing the other to close the distance between the two of you and take the leap.

He begins moving his face closer to yours, his warm breath brushing over your face, it smells minty you vaguely register as you move your face closer to his, closing your eyes and the distance between the two of you when suddenly you hear loud, boisterous laughter approaching from the other side of the door.

You curse under your breath. Despite this being the whole reason you’re in the barracks to begin with, you would give anything for a few more moments alone with Crosshair. Both of you pull away from one another, Crosshair grabbing a spare change of blacks and walking back into the refresher before the door to the barracks opens and you see the wayward clone himself stare at you with wide eyes. He knows he’s got nowhere to run now as you fix him with a glare that one would assume is because of the amount of time and effort you put into finding him and not because of the fact he just interrupted… whatever was about to happen between you and Crosshair.

You walk out of the barracks with Wrecker in tow, attempting to push whatever it was that was happening with Crosshair to the back of your mind, at least for now.

After another few hours on duty, you finally return to your quarters, sore exhausted and replaying the interaction you had with Crosshair over and over again in your mind. No matter how you try to distract yourself, whenever you close your eyes, you see the dark lines of ink that cover his sculpted body. Does he have more tattoos? Do the go lower? You mind is reeling, and you can’t focus on anything else, you can’t even sleep all you can think about is stupid Crosshair with his stupid tattoos and that stupid send nudes tattoo he has on his stupid arm.

You sigh, picking up your datapad in a vague attempt at tricking your brain into doing something productive when you get an idea. Arguably a terrible and stupid idea that could have a negative affect on your career but… an idea, nonetheless. Sighing and shaking your head you throw your datapad down onto your bed as you stand up to take a shower.

No… this is a terrible idea.

You undress and stare at yourself in the mirror. Maybe… its not a terrible idea? Your mind keeps going back to his tattoos and you decide to throw caution to the wind. Walking back into your bedroom you snatch up your datapad and open an encoded chat with Crosshair’s personal frequency double and triple checking the recipient to make sure what you’re about to do doesn’t end up in the wrong hands before steeling your nerves and standing in front of the mirror. The lighting isn’t the most flattering but you don’t let yourself dwell on that for too long before you strike what you hope is an appealing pose and taking a series of pictures, attempting to highlight your assets.

You flick through the pictures selecting the ones you think are the most flattering and before you have a chance to second guess yourself you send them through to Crosshair with the caption “As instructed”.

You wait for a moment, encrypted chats don’t have notifications for when the recipient has seen the messages so you wait with baited breath for a response. When one doesn’t come immediately you throw your datapad down onto your bed and run your hand through your hair, deciding that maybe he’s just not looking at his datapad right now you finally take your shower, attempting to wash away your nerves and embarrassment, pushing your fear of rejection out of your head as you let the warm spray wash over you.

When you exit the shower and towel yourself off you look at your datapad and see a reply from Crosshair. Your breath catches in your throat as you move to open the message and see that it comes with an attachment.

Holding your breath, you open the attachment only to be greeted by a picture of Crosshair, standing in the refresher in his barracks, wearing only a pair of loose fitting black pants that are pulled down to his thighs revealing what can only be described as the nicest cock you have ever seen. You’ve never thought that cocks were attractive before, but somehow he’s managed to change your mind. It’s long and thick and the way his slender fingers wrap around his girth makes your mouth water.

After spending far too much time searing the sight of it into your memory you read the text that he sent along with the photo just one simple word; “More”.

You dive into bed, datapad in one hand, legs spread however before you get a chance to take and pictures you receive another message from Crosshair, this time there is no text, only a video. You open it and press play.

You watch in pure delight as the recording of Crosshair’s hand moves over his hard, weeping length, his fingers tightening as he gets to the tip creating more pressure around the head. Small sighs and choked breaths can be heard from the audio as his hand works his cock and just as the video ends you swear you hear a whisper of your name.

You scramble to return the favour, attempting to capture the best possible angle as you manoeuvre one hand down between your legs to begin working yourself over. You have the luxury of not needing to share your living space with anyone, so you put on a bit of a show, moaning and whimpering and gasping his name as you touch yourself and push yourself over the edge with a final long moan of his name. Your chest rising and falling as you hit send before you can change your mind or second guess yourself.

Not long after that you receive the final video of the night, your mouth waters and you can feel heat rushing down south again as you watch Crosshair vigorously stroking his cock, muffled gasps and groans coming from his end as he works himself, the head of his cock is so red it’s almost purple and you can see beads of precum leaking out of the tip and running onto his hands as he brings himself closer and closer to the edge. You watch as he bites his lip, face contorting in pleasure as the lines of ink on his skin move with the rise and fall of his chest as he struggles to stay quiet.

He screws his eyes shut and bites his lip so hard you think you see him break the skin, as he stifles a moan of your name, spilling ropes of cum over himself, his hand and his chest, panting before the video ends.

You get one other message from him on the encrypted channel.

>Might need to see you in medbay tomorrow for a busted lip

@where-is-my-mind-tho@antishadow2021 @healingskywalker @crosshairlovebot@ilovestarwarsmen725@vincentferard

#bad batch crosshair #tbb crosshair #crosshair smut #crosshair x reader #crosshair x reader smut #crosshair x you #tbb crosshair smut #bad batch crosshair smut #bad batch x reader #bad batch x reader smut #the bad batch crosshair #crosshair #tbb smut #bad batch smut #the bad batch smut #tbb x reader #crosswifewrites

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octuscle · 1 year ago

Note

Hey there! A good friend of mine gets recently a wrong suitcase from the airport and suddenly disappeared. I never got a text from him anymore. It seems like he has forgotten his real life - I hope he's alive! My problem is that I get a strange suitcase too now. It's from SBH. Maybe I should bring it back?

Really a strange suitcase. You could have done more with a decent hard case from Samsonite. You've been wanting one of these for 30 years. But this? A pretty ugly bag for your taste…. Seems to be from France, the name has an accent on the second e in any case. No idea how to pronounce it now. You take a picture of the bag and let Google Lens see if you can get something for it on ebay….

WHAT THE HELL! 8.500 EURO! For a bag. You get out your reading glasses. You need to take a closer look. Okay. You've made a mistake. It's 85,000 euros. You're getting dizzy. Are the zippers and the lock made of white gold? What justifies this absolutely absurd price? For a company that nobody knows. At least you've never heard of it… Now you are curious about the contents. The lock hangs only decoratively on the bag. It is not locked. It would be better if it was. The contents are two sets of underwear, two pairs of silk boxer shorts, a couple of T-shirts, a toilet bag, which you assume costs a fortune… Everything is incidental… Most of the space is taken up by bundles of hot-off-the-press 200-euro bills. There must be several 100,000 euros in there. What the hell!

Take the bag and run? Seems like a shitty idea to you. The shipment went to your address. Whoever owns it (and it's not you) knows who you are and where you live. None of this makes any sense! You search the side pockets. An airline ticket. First class. From Paris back to Saint Barth via Saint Martin. And a booking confirmation for an overnight stay in a suite at the Pullman Paris Roissy CDG Airport. Tonight. All in your name. Fuck, you can't just fly to the Caribbean with some underwear and two swim shorts and an incredible amount of money. But if you do, you have to hurry. Shit, you'll regret it. But you buy a train ticket to Paris, put on your best suit. And you're on your way.

On the train, everything was still okay. But in the lobby of the airport hotel you get a lot of looks. Yes, first of all you don't fit into the elegant frame. Your suit is enough for a customer appointment as a representative of construction machinery. But here all the people are slimmer, more elegant, prettier…. You look like a slightly overweight piece of dirt. With a 15-carat diamond in your hand. At the reception, the lady smiles at you briefly. Then her eyes fall on the weekender. And just breathes a "How beautiful!" Then she apologizes that they can't offer you anything better than the Superior Suite. There were other VIPs here besides you who had received the very large suites. As an apology you would receive a bottle of champagne in your room. And they would be very grateful if they could invite you to dinner. Your luggage has already arrived, they were so kind to bring it to your room. If you need help unpacking, you can reach the butler service at extension 940.

You thank her and ask for a discreetly placed table at 8:30 pm. The champagne gladly with your meal. In fluent French. You beam at the young lady, she blushes and smiles back.

It's a good thing your suitcase wasn't checked in directly by the Air France service. You would like to change again for dinner. The suite is okay for one night. In the bathroom, you look in the mirror. Why did you put on that cheap suit? You must have been really mentally deranged. Were you trying to disguise yourself? Silly! You jump into the shower. While drying off, you think to yourself that you are actually quite firm for a man in his late 40s. Yes, a little more exercise would be okay. But otherwise… You open the Hermès suitcase, take out a black suit and a black shirt. And you change your clothes. You find the Royal Oak to match. And as a statement, the crocodile sandals. Let everyone see your freshly pedicured feet.

There's hardly a pair of eyes that don't turn to you when you enter the restaurant. If your ego wasn't bigger than the Eiffel Tower, you might be embarrassed that the entire staff looks after you first and then the other guests. You see people whispering. Everyone wonders who you are. The problem is: you don't know yourself… For a moment, you look at your manicured fingernails and wonder what's going on. Then you take a sip of champagne. Veuve Clicquot. Well… It's a gift… It's okay for that…

After dessert, the waiter asks if you would like to have coffee and digestif with a cigar at the bar. Normally you think this is a good idea. But not today. The flight to Martinique leaves quite early. Before that, you would like to get some sleep. So you decline with thanks and put a 100-euro bill on the table as a tip.

A message on your cell phone wakes you up at 4:00 in the morning. You are supposed to take some courier goods with you. You can get it at the hotel reception. Fuck! What is this again? Anyway, you are awake now. Then use the time at least. 100 situps, 100 pushups. You like the picture in the bathroom mirror afterwards. The hair on your chest is jet black. Just like your beard, there's not a gray hair to be seen. And sweat drips in the grooves between your six-pack. You get a hard-on like you haven't had in years. You can't help it. You have to jerk off. And boy, there was real pressure on your balls. Your cum runs off the mirror like someone threw a cup of yogurt at it. It's just before 6:00 now. You call 940 and ask Yves to pick up a package at the reception desk, which would be deposited there. Until he arrives, you do another 100 push-ups. When the knock comes and you open the door, your eyes fall on a turquoise package in Yves' hands. Yves' gaze falls on the package between your legs. Shit, you are naked. Yves asks if he can help you in any way. He still does not look into your eyes. You pull him into the room and throw him on your bed.

Two hours later Yves serves you breakfast in your room. You are ready for departure. Airfrance has already picked up your luggage with the package, which is probably not from Tiffany's, and your boarding pass is in an envelope on a silver tray on the breakfast table. In half an hour, someone will pick you up and take you directly to the plane. Security checks are something for people who have to travel in business class.

Flights with Air France are orgies of champagne and foie gras. The nine hours fly by. The fuck with the purser in the bathroom certainly played its part. The guy thought you were in your late 30s and asked if you were flying on your dad's credit card or your own. For the impudence he had to blow you unfortunately. Whereby he was not so wrong. Somehow you fly with daddy's credit card. But you still don't know who Daddy is. The pilot of the private plane who meets you in Saint Martin directly on the tarmac and flies with you to Saint Barth doesn't tell you that either. You have never been here before. But you feel right at home. This is how you always imagined the Caribbean. There is a Maybach on the tarmac. When you get off the plane, the driver comes to meet you, takes your suitcase and weekender and puts both in the trunk. Wordlessly. And just as wordlessly, he gets into the car and speeds away.

Shit! Now you're standing at the airport. You don't even have an ID card. You have the clothes you wear on your body. Okay, the watch you're wearing on your wrist could get you back home if need be and feed you for a year. That's where the Maybach comes back. The chauffeur gets out and asks you for the watch. Fuck!

At that moment, an open jeep rolls up to you. At the wheel is a young guy, maybe in his mid-20s, waving at you. Damn, you know that face… He reminds you of your lost buddy. Did he have a son who is a personal trainer in the Caribbean? That's definitely what the man looks like. The guy jumps out of the car, hugs you and welcomes you to Saint Barth. "Come on, get in! The boss wants to meet you!" You drive around the island for half an hour. Everything is incredibly beautiful! A gate opens in front of you at the end of a dead-end street. And your buddy steers the car through a tropical park. He parks the car in front of a palace, grins at you, says "Not bad, huh" and tells you to follow him. You walk through the house for what feels like a kilometer. There is a pleasant coolness here. Your buddy knocks on a door, waits a moment and opens it. A wave of autotity hits you. The whole room literally reeks with authority. You almost feel like falling to your knees and kissing the man's hand. "This is the boy from Paris?" Your buddy nods mutely. "Good job," says your boss. And extends his hand to you. With a dry mouth you say that you would do anything for him. He laughs and says that for now you should enjoy the island for a few days. And with a twitch of the corner of his mouth, he tells you that you can say goodbye.

You had hoped a little that you would be allowed to stay in the palace. But your buddy runs back to the jeep. And drives with you to a far less pompous house. But the beach is close. Your room is spacious. Your closet is well sorted. And you have a few days off on the island of the rich and beautiful.

03:30 the next morning. Message from the boss. Have you ever been to Abu Dhabi? Be at the airport in an hour!

#male tf #muscle tf #reality change #male transformation #muscle transformation #age reduction

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mahs-dumpster · 7 months ago

Text

Bilingual.

a/n: I don't have what to say uh anyway this came to me randomly while I was thinking of another totally different idea but it didn't make sense for Daisy I don't think so ┐⁠(⁠￣⁠ヘ⁠￣⁠)⁠┌ anyways

cw: oc x canon (Ruggie x Daisy); probably most likely horrible french translations I limited myself to like, 1 word, 2 names and 2 small phrases just to not fumble this more than I could but idk it probably is terrible yeesh

setting: after book 6; Rook and Daisy have been stablish to talking fully in french with each other

Words: 830+

🏷️: @viilpstick @justm3di0cr3

Dividers.

“How long are you going to be upset at me?” Daisy sighed, staring at her boyfriend who was just sitting down beside her on a bench, playing with a dandelion he found. “I already told you, I don't like Rook, do you not trust me?”

Ruggie stayed quiet for a moment, before mumbling something. Daisy asked him to repeat it and he clicked his tongue, looking at her with his eyebrows furrowed.

“I do.” He said. “But I don't like how you're able to speak your native language with him and not me.”

Oh. That's the problem? Daisy chuckled, hand covering her mouth and Ruggie pouted.

“Ya think this is funny?”

“A little bit, yes.” Daisy looked at him with a soft smile, petting his head as if petting a dog for being a good boy. “I can teach you a bit of french. Just some words or phrases.”

“Really?” Daisy didn't imagine Ruggie would get actually excited about the idea, tail wagging fast as his eyes seemed to shine. “Then what can ya teach me first?”

Daisy let out a small giggle before she started to think. Let's see… what was a good phrase or word she could teach him?

“Hyène. Repeat it after me.”

Ruggie rolled his eyes, able to recognize the word as soon as it left her mouth. He tried to pronounce it but his accent was plenty strong, making him have difficulty. Daisy shook her head, pointing at her lips and telling him to look closely at how she moved her mouth, then, she spoke the word slowly, trying her best to exaggerate the movements so Ruggie would have an easier time. Ruggie tried again, and Daisy clapped her hands, making him laugh.

“See? Easy.”

“That was one word. Also congratulations on being so original.” Daisy stuck out her tongue for him childishly. “How can I say your name?”

“My name?”

“I still can't pronounce your given name no matter how hard I try. So teach me.”

Daisy's face went a bit pink, she scratched her neck, a bit embarrassed, before nodding and telling him to look closely as she spoke her name.

“Eléa Carbonneau.” Ruggie frowned, and Daisy laughed. “Alright, one more time, slower: Eléa. Carbonneau.” Ruggie stared at her lips for a long time, making her a bit shy, but she tried acting as if it didn't affect her.

“Elea–”

“The ‘e’ is more accentuated, my love.”

“Eléa.”

“That's it.” She smiled at him. “Now my last name: Carbonneau.”

“Car– why is your name so difficult and long?”

“Just repeat it.” Ruggie rolled his eyes, asking her to say it one last time, and she did, slowly, until Ruggie nodded and tried:

“Carbonneau.” His pronunciation could get better, especially where he needed to accentuate the tone, but it was good for a beginner, and she was happy that one of the few words he learned is the right pronunciation of her name.

“That's it! You got it!” Ruggie playfully bowed as Daisy pretended to cheer, telling him how good he was for a beginner, and he gave her that sweet and wonderful laugh of his, making her heart flutter. “Is there anything else you want to know?”

Ruggie pondered for a moment, before his cheeks went red. He looked at her as she tilted her head curiously.

“How can I say ‘I love you’?”

She froze. That's what he wanted to learn? ‘I love you’? She fidgeted with her fingers, trying to ignore the embarrassment and how fast her heart was beating, and slowly said:

“Je t'aime.”

Ruggie stayed a moment looking at her, staring even, and gave her a smile.

“How can I say ‘you’re mine’?”

Daisy chuckled, looking away embarrassed, but still said:

“Tu es à moi.”

“Your language is quite dramatic, flower.”

“That's because you're making me say dramatic things.” She laughed and Ruggie followed, they ended up laughing for a while, both a bit embarrassed but happy nonetheless. After Ruggie dried a tear that had fallen from how much he laughed, he looked at the girl who was still giggling, and tried:

“Je t’aime.” Daisy immediately stopped, looking at the boy in shock. He pronounced it incorrectly, but she understood what he meant. “And the other was…?

“Tu es à moi.”

“Tu… es à moi?” He laughed, yet his eyes didn't leave hers, and Daisy couldn't help but stare, her heart beating faster than ever. “It's a bit dramatic, but I like it. Next time you see Rook tell him you belong to me.”

Daisy smiled, her hand moving to caress his cheek. He leaned into her touch, kissing the palm of her hand.

“I don't think he’ll care but… alright.” Ruggie looked at her for a moment, before reaching for her hair, and making the dandelion he had been holding stuck to it, behind her ear. Daisy touched the flower, her other hand falling to her lap as she smiled at her boyfriend.

“There. Now everyone will know you're already taken.”

“I don't think that's how it works, Ruggie.”

“Oh shush, let a man live.”

#💌! daisy #💌! mah writes #twisted wonderland ruggie #ruggie bucchi x yuu #yuu twisted wonderland #twst yuu #twst oc #twst #oc x canon #twisted wonderland #💌! daiggie

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annabelle-creart · 10 days ago

Text

Adventure Bots Shenanigans. Part 1

*half asleep, already on the berth*

Boulder: Heatwave?

Heatwave: hm?

Boulder: I can't sleep

Heatwave: Have you tried some tea?

Boulder: yes

Heatwave: and the chips Knock Out did?

Boulder: yes

Heatwave: have you tried counting?

Boulder: yes...

Heatwave: ...hm, do you want me to sing?

Boulder: yes, please

Heatwave: hmm... come here, pumpkin, let me hug you. Nightmare or just insomnia?

Boulder: insomnia

*Heatwave's "hum" were so funny, and trying to tune it was as worst as trying to pronounce the words, but the caresses on the cheek gave it a special touch. Boulder loved when Heatwave sang for them, Boulder really needed that today*

---

*from outside*

Blades: BUMBLEBEE!!!!

*from inside*

Bee: What the??

Ratchet: Again that freaking-

OP: Ratchet, come on! You can't be mad with the kid all your life

Ratchet: Yes I can!

Blades: BUMBLEBEE!!! are you ready? Guys?

Chase: Are you sure this will result?

Knock Out: oh! Don't be a pessimist, honey! We're ready

Blurr: Let's break the silence!

*the guys started to play their instruments in a beautiful tiny symphony, but Blades voice was so damned it gave chills*

Ratchet: Are they singing?

OP: Awww

Ratchet: AW NOTHING! I'M GOING TO- *Ratchet shows his head through the window, Blades is singing with such passion that OP feels bad for the guy* HEY- YOU!

Blades: Ratchet! Can Bee show off? I need to talk with him!

Ratchet: GO AWAY FROM MY HOUSE!

Blurr: HE HAS A CANNON!

Breakdown: Oh dammit!

Blades: NONONO! RATCHET, PLEASE, I JUST WANT TO TALK

OP: Ratchet! What are you doing!?

Ratchet: THAT BARD HAD BROUGHT US ONLY PROBLEMS-! BUMBLEBEE PAX, WHERE ARE YOU GOING?!

*Bee was already out of the house*

Bee: CAN YOU STOP YELLING?! Blades, what are you doing here?

Blades: I want to say sorry! I did a lot of stupid things that you didn't deserved and I know I don't have anything to give you except my spark but- but I want you to, at least, give me an answer, I can accept anything but-

Bee: Oh, shut up, Blades! You're already the worst bard I've ever met and your apologies are worst!

Blades: I know! And I don't have poems right now, this was my last possible idea, that's why I'm mostly a rescuer, but I'm completely serious! I love you a lot! And I only want you to be happy. I can't be everything you deserve but I can be everything that is on my hand to make you be the most fortunate bot of the world because that's the only thing I want from you, nothing else, because you're the most beautiful, delicate, brave and smart bot I've ever met.

Blades: so, at least, can you give the worst bard of the word and his damned violin an answer about how can I make you happy? Just tell me now and I'll make it possible! Do you want me to travel the word and bring you a rare gem? I'll do it! Or if you want me stay and do whatever you want I'll also do! Or if you want me to never come back I promise I'll go to the farthest place on Middle Earth and never let you see my face again but please! Don't leave me with this agony... please

*silence was made for a moment*

Ratchet: BUMBLEBEE, WHAT ARE YOU DOING?!

Bee: OPTIMUS, CALM DOWN YOUR CONJUNX, I'M TRYING TO THINK!

Bee: Blades, you are the most insane, weird, maybe stupid bot I've ever met, and also the worst singer I could hear despite how good you are at violin, and your spells needs a lot to be fixed. You're also the most weird and extravagant for no reason, you like to draw attention despite how damn anxious you are and your friends are always getting in problems- your damn brother-in-law is a demon and your friend is a black wizard! Sometimes you scare me how weird your ideas are! And damn! You literally lied at my face! And then again, you do something like this and convice me and- and I don't know what's the problem, if you're too much for me or if I'm too emotional and-

Bee: Dammit! I love you a lot! But I'm tired of ending like this. And I don't know if we should still be together but I can't imagine a live without you because despite everything, you make me feel alive... I like our adventures and our conversations, and I love you're so bad and despite that you still want to improved, you're also so cute and caring and- I'm sorry- I don't have an answer but I don't want you to go away. But I need you to talk more with me about everything, no more secret friends or weird adventures without telling me, if you need me you will tell me everything, the only surprises I need are this ones when you want to make me happy AND I want you to never quit something just because of me like the theather group. Those are my only conditions for you to stay with me. I don't know if we always will manage to make the other happy but at least I want us to say at our last days that we don't regret being with each other... I want you to stay with me

Blades: ...oh Primus- Bee, thank you!

*Blades throwed himself with tears at Bee to hug him, both were like that for some minutes, which Blurr and her dads used to go to give the pair some privacy*

Ratchet: I'm going to-

Ratchet: But-

OP: You're not going to anything, Ratchet! Leave Bee alone! He's a grown bot! We gave him our advice but the rest depends on him

OP: Oh, Ratchet! Don't make like if you didn't were the same

Ratchet: ...hm...

OP: now you're relaxed?

Ratchet: ...something

OP: better

---

Blurr: Hey! Salvage!

Salvage: hm? What's up?

Blurr: Boulder taught Sissi to explode things, wanna come with us?

Salvage: ...yes!

---

Heatwave: hey, Sissi? Whatcha doing-? IS THAT MY ARC?!

Sissi: ...am-

Heatwave: Give me that!

Sissi: BUT YOU DON'T EVEN USE IT!

Heatwave: BUT IT'S NOT OKAY YOU USE WEAPONS WITHOUT MY PERMISSION- GIVE ME THAT!!

---

Please, pay a visit to The Garden, my new project, this is the first short of many to come

#transformers #d&d #maccadam #rescue bots #tf rescue bots #tf #tfrb #tfrobotsindisguise #tfp #tf au #dungeons and dragons #tfrb au #tf prime #shenanigans

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bellablue42 · 1 year ago

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Writing Advice: (fake?) Latin

not necessarily for writing, but general latin advice. I'm meaning Latin the language, not any other meanings here.

if you're making fake latin, maybe just use real latin.

google translate is pretty alright, actually, if you don't know latin

if you're set on dog latin, don't make it sound exactly the same

3 addendum: not all latin words end in 'um' or 'us'. they also end in 'a', 'ae', 'I', 'orum/arum' 'ibus' 'is' 'ibus' 'is' 'o' 'es' 'is'. this is a list for nouns.

verbs are important. you can maybe have an implied verb, but you do not want to. verbs have a variety of endings, depending on person, number and tense. I'm not getting into mood, because I can't be subjunctive about it, and it is imperative I opt out of indicating what moods are. (I don't feel like it)

common verb endings: '-o' (I do x), '-I' (I did x) '-imus' (we did x) '-te' (you[pl] do that [order]) variations on '-nt' (they do/did/have done/will do x)

please, please, if you are going to use latin as a base for magic words, do not do as She Who Must Not Be Named did and mix actual researched latin with pig latin. it's really annoying, and also not hard to pick up a latin-english dictionary.

MORE IMPORTANT: don't use greek letters. just don't. if you are going to get a tattoo of latin words with greek letters 1) don't do it, 2) if you're dead set on it make sure the greek letters say what you want them to say.

ɸ - this letter is not ever a replacement for I. it isn't. trust me. it makes a 'ph' sound.

⍴ - this looks like a p. it is not. it is an 'r' sound.

Σ - this is a capital letter. it is not an e. it just isn't. it is an 's' sound.

𝚲 - this is not an a. nor is Δ. they are 'L' and 'D' respectively.

𝜭 - this is 'th', not o

𝜞 - this is not L. it is 'g'

𝜰 - this is actually 'u', but pronounced more like 'y' so I guess you can use it.

yes this post is aimed at those bad tattoos of Veni Vidi Vici spelt with greek letters, and that one tattoo of a terrible translation of in the valley of the shadow of death that actually used 'of' when they should use the genitive instead.

I know this post will get no notes but I needed to say it

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spacecadet-ticklesinspace · 8 months ago

Text

Hablar en Español

Summary: Steven looses a bet with Jake and has to speak in Spanish the entire day.

Warning: An introduced character near the end of the story is a racist stereotype used to prove a point and does not reflect the author's personal beliefs or opinions ❤️

(This is my first time making a fic like this ❤️ If I could have some feedback on this fic, it would be very much appreciated ❤️)

Marc yawned as he made his way in to the kitchen, thankful it was finally the weekend. Over at the table sat Steven stirring a bowl of cereal while Jake skimmed through a newspaper.

The oldest knight nodded to his two companions. "Morning."

Jake flipped the page of his newspaper. "Morning hermano."

"Steveo." Marc greeted as he ruffled his hair. "You sleep well?"

"Ci. Buena tardes."

The eldest knight stopped and looked at him. "Steven?"

Steven looked up at Marc then over at Jake.

The older American then turned his attention to the middle counterpart as well. "Jake?"

Jake looked back at the youngest. "It's buena dia Steven. Tardes is afternoon."

Steven looked down at his feet. "Lamento."

Marc threw up his hands. "Okay, will one of you tell me what is going on here."

Jake turned another page of his newspaper. "Someone lost a bet."

Marc lifted an eyebrow. "Oh?"

With a huff, Jake motioned back to Steven. "Tú explicas."

The youngest wilted then replied. "Tengo hablar español todo el dio."

"Again, it's día." Jake turned another page. "And it's pronounced ablar, not hablar."

"Una h!"

"H is not pronounced."

The youngest growled and crossed his arms. "Esto estúpido."

"Eres estúpido."

Marc held up his hands. "Alright, alright, alright, let me get this straight. Steven lost a bet he made with you."

Jake nodded. "Sí."

"And now Steven? You have to talk in Spanish for the rest of the day."

The youngest slumped back in his chair. "Cí."

"And if he decides not to?"

"Mi cabez que ser fallecido."

Marc bit his lip to keep from laughing. "Ihi dohon't think that means what you thihink ihit means."

"Que?"

"You are not fallecido Steven." Jake tugged on one of Steven's curls as he made his way to the sink. "Your cabello will be teñido.

Steven pulled his head away. "Que tu cara p-parece fallecido!"

Jake shrugged. "Don't care what my face looks like hermano."

Steven groaned and dropped his head on to his arms. "Español apesta!"

Jake narrowed his eyes at the youngest. "Tomar de nuevo!"

For a moment, Steven looked confused at Jake's response. "B-es la verdad!"

Marc placed a hand on Jake's arm. "Explain what you mean Steveo?"

"Forma de hablar apesta!"

Marc released Jake's arm. "You mean your Spanish speaking skills suck."

"Cí!" The youngest shrank back. "Q-qué hice?"

"You dropped off 'mi'."

"Acuerdo?"

Marc stepped closer to him. "'Mi' means 'my'. So when you dropped it, the sentence went from 'My Spanish sucks' to just 'Spanish sucks'."

The youngest's eyes went wide. "No! No! No! No quise decir es!"

Marc lifted his hand before Jake could respond. "Es?"

". . . E-eso?"

"Yes. Eso."

Steven's shoulders relaxed a little as he smiled. "Gracias."

"Happy to help Steveo."

"He needs too much help," Jake muttered.

The smile on Steven's face immediately dropped as he turtled into his shoulders.

Marc shoved Jake's shoulder. "Anyway, we need to do a grocery run later. We're out of almost everything."

"No quiero mi."

Jake crossed his arms. "It's---!"

Marc stopped him. "Mi is my."

Steven's brows furrowed.

"So, what's 'to go'?"

". . . Oh! Ir!"

"Bueno." Marc leaned against the counter. "You can stay home if you want, but if you want your veggie stuff . . ."

Steven groaned and thunked his head on the table.

"You don't have to talk much. Just get in and get your stuff."

Steven wilted as he turned his head. "Fino."

Jake scoffed and rolled his eyes.

"Ignore him." Marc sipped his coffee. "Jake es un cabeza de puta."

Steven snorted.

Jake growled then stormed away. "My head is not poop!"

With a grin on his face, Steven hurried away to get ready. "Gracias Marc."

Meanwhile, Marc hid a grin in his coffee cup. "De nada."

An hour later, the three scurried into the store.

"Steven, puedes agarrar un cochecito?" Marc asked.

The youngest stopped.

"Steven?"

"U-un cochecito?"

A light clicked on for Marc. "A trolley."

"Oh!" Steven took off. "Por supuesto!"

Jake sighed. "Don't baby him so much hermano."

"Baby him?"

"Ci! If he doesn't understand, he needs to just figure it out."

"But how will he learn if you don't help him to understand what he doesn't know?"

"He doesn't want to learn."

"What makes you say that?"

"If he wanted to know, he would have put in the work to understand."

Marc studied his counterpart. "Is that how you learned?"

"Ci."

"And how did you like getting treated that way."

Before Jake could respond, Steven returned. "El carrito."

"Gracias Steven."

"Marc?"

"Que?"

"Qué estás hablanda español?"

"Why am I speaking in Spanish?"

Steven nodded.

Marc shrugged. "Just wanted to."

Without another word, Marc directed them to the back of the store for their paper goods. He noticed as they made their way down the aisles, Jake seemed to be actually trying to help Steven understand Spanish instead of just snapping at him. For a bit, the middle knight would point to an object and ask Steven to get it. In response, the youngest would fetch the object before tentatively putting it in the cart. Jake would then give him a nod before searching for the next object.

However, the problem came when Jake would reask for one of the objects already in the cart.

"Steven, pásame los limpiador."

The youngest knight looked up at Jake in confusion. "Que?"

The middle knight huffed. "Limpiador."

Steven looked between Jake and the cart. He hesitantly reached in before pulling out the lemon juice Jake had picked up.

"Los limpiador. Not jugo de limon!"

"Que limpiador?"

Jake snatched up the cleaner from the cart. "Limpiador Steven. You literally put this in two minutes ago!"

The youngest turtled into his shoulders. "Lamento."

"Forget it." Jake threw the cleaner back in the cart. "You're not even trying."

Marc stepped forward. "That's not fair Jake. Those are easy to mix up."

"If he were paying attention, he would have remembered."

"He just learned that word Jake. He needs a little reminder to make it stick."

Jake scoffed. "Stop defending him hermano. He'll never learn."

A tense silence settled over the trio.

Marc turned to Steven. "Steven, go get the produce please."

The youngest quietly crept off.

The eldest knight then turned his attention back to Jake. "Why are you such a jerk?"

"He doesn't care hermano. Loosen up."

"But you're literally making him speak in a language he doesn't fully understand. He's going to struggle and need some help."

Jake rolled his eyes.

"You know what." Marc shoved him away. "Just go get the frozen stuff."

"Fino."

As Jake stomped away with the cart, Marc turned his attention back to the produce section. He took a couple of deep breaths before searching for Steven. It wasn't his fault he was so angry.

He eventually found him doing the oddest thing. The youngest would pick up one of the items on shelf, mutter something to himself, look at his phone, then mutter to himself again as he put it back.

Marc moved a little closer, but before he could get close enough, an elderly woman with gray hair tapped Steven's shoulder. She kindly smiled at the youngest before continuing a conversation. The two started talking back and forth with each other as Steven stuttered along.

Curiosity pulled Marc a little closer to the duo.

The older woman picked up a head of lettuce. "Uno cabezas de lechuga."

Steven nodded. "Cí. Uno cabezas de lechuga."

"Bueno." The lady picked up a second one. "Cuantos?"

Steven blinked.

The lady moved the first one up. "Uno."

Understanding dawned on Steven's face. "Dos?"

"Ci!" The lady picked up a third. "Cuantos?"

"Uno, dos, tres."

"Ci!" All three went into the reusable bag Steven had brought with him. "Tres cabezas de lechuga."

Steven showed her something on his phone. "Ayúdame . . . por favor?"

"Desde luego!" The lady squinted before picking up some potatoes. "Y esto es?"

"Papas."

"Ci. Cuantos tu?"

Steven paused and looked at the potatoes then back at the lady.

"Uno? Dos? Tres?"

Steven held up five fingers. "Cinco?"

The lady gently squeezed Steven's shoulder as she helped him count out the needed potatoes.

While the two finished, Marc stepped closer. "Steveo?"

The youngest turned. "Marc! Papas y cabezas lechuga!"

"Good job Steven." Marc gave the elderly woman a smile. "Gracias Señora."

"De nada sobrino," the elder woman squeezed his arm then gave Steven a hug before setting back off.

"Hey Steven?"

"Ci?"

"Why are you so determined to finish this bet?"

The youngest turned back to the shelves. "No nada."

"You have a long weekend. If you got your hair dyed today, it would be mostly faded by the time you go back to work. If not, we can always dye it back."

"No quiero teñirme pollo."

"You don't want to dye a chicken?" Marc bit back a smile. "Do you mean pelo?"

Steven huffed. "Soy estúpido!"

"You're not stupid Steven. It takes practice to learn a new language."

Steven sniffed. "Yo desear comprensión."

Something clicked in Marc's head. "You want to understand?"

"Ci."

"Why do you want to understand?"

"No sabo Jake, nosotros estamos cerrar." Steven fiddled with the straps of his bag. "Yo impresiono Jake, puedo acercarme más."

Marc softened. "You want to get closer to Jake by showing you understand his language?"

". . . Ci." Steven's shoulders sagged. "Yo estúpido."

"You're not stupid Steveo. That's actually extremely sweet."

The youngest looked up.

"It shows you care so much about Jake that you want to communicate with him more." Marc gently squeezed his arm. "Most people wouldn't go through all the stress of learning a language for someone unless they care a lot about that person."

"Perro qué Jake estó enojado?"

"Why is Jake mad?"

Steven nodded.

"Jake only knew Spanish when he was introduced to the world so he had to learn English fast to communicate."

"Por qué?"

"Because not everyone is as accepting of those that are different from them."

"Eso rudo."

"It is rude."

"P-perro genitales!"

Marc snorted. "I think you mean genial. And you're right, it is cool. However, you aren't showing that to Jake."

Steven cocked his head.

"Steveo, what is the biggest thing that helped you and Layla bond?"

"Nostros hablar el Francés."

"Yes, and since both of you speak French, sharing that language helps to strengthen your communication, right? Just like with me and Jake?"

"Ci."

"Now, I don't speak French well right?"

Steven shook his head.

"But that does that mean that I don't try to learn so I can improve?"

Steven shook his head.

"That's right, I have Layla teach me it brings us closer together because I show her that I have a desire to understand her more."

"Perro yo comprensión como eso!"

"Two rs is dog.

"Oh, pero?"

"Yes. And I can see you want to learn, but do you also see why Jake is so upset by the way you chose to learn?"

"Un poco."

"You're doing this because you lost a bet. Jake doesn't think you're serious about learning because you care. He thinks you're doing this because you're forced to."

" . . . Oh."

"I can see you definitely care." Marc ruffled his hair. "But I would have chosen a different way of showing that to him instead of just loosing a bet."

Steven's shoulders slumped. " . . . D-debería hablar Jake?"

"I wouldn't talk to him right away. Give him a little space first." The eldest knight headed off. "I'm going to grab a couple things. You going to be alright on your own?"

Steven nodded. "Ci."

"Alright. Call me if you need me."

"Cosa segura hermano."

With that, Marc headed off back down the aisles. He found Jake aggressively taking things out of the freezers and putting them into the cart.

"Jake?"

"What?"

"Can I talk to you?"

Jake shrugged as he slammed another item into the cart.

"Look, I know why you're pushing Steven so h---."

"He doesn't want to learn."

"He didn't choose the best way to show you---."

"He showed me enough." Jake glared. "He showed me he's only going to try if it benefits him."

"That's not the full story."

"What do you mean?"

"He has another reason."

Jake paused. "And what would that be?"

"He thinks that by impressing you with his desire to learn after loosing this bet, he'll get closer to you."

The younger knight was quiet.

"I know he didn't go about it the best way, but Steven does care." Marc squeezed his arm. "And he does want to get closer to you."

Jake still didn't say a word.

"Take a breather and finish up here. I'm gonna go grab some things and I'll meet you up front."

A moment later, Marc headed off to the right aisle. It didn't take long to find the needed bread items and headed back to the front of the store for the youngest.

Marc found him studying something on his phone. "Steveo, vamos."

The youngest hurried up to him. "Donde esta carrito?"

"The trolley? Jake's bringing it up."

Steven froze. ". . . Debería hablar él ahora?"

"Talk to him now?" Marc ran a finger through his curls. "Let's see how he acts when he gets up here first."

The youngest nodded.

A few seconds later, Jake came storming up to both of them with the buggy.

Marc tensed at his younger counterpart's movements. "Jake, you alright?"

The younger man grabbed Steven's arm and herded them all to a checkout line. "Vamos, actualmente."

Steven studied his older counterpart. "J-Jake . . . Que pase?"

"Después hermano."

Marc opened his mouth to respond, when he was cut off by another voice. "Thought I told you to go back across the boarder!"

Jake froze while the other two turned. An older man, dressed in jean shorts with cowboy boots and matching hat, stood glaring at the group.

"What are you? The three amigos?"

Marc stepped in front of the other two. "Who wants to know?"

"A fellow American." The man's oversized hat tipped to one side as he pointed to Jake. "Something he clearly ain't!"

Jake kept his gaze on the cart handle. He looked one more comment away from snapping at the older man.

Marc raised himself to his full height. "He has as much right to be here as you do."

"Says who?"

"Says a man who willingly volunteered to sacrifice his life for everyone to have the freedom to live."

"I ain't the enemy here! They're taking our jobs! They're invading our land! They're attacking our people! You should be attacking them, not your own people!"

"Just because you have a few people who take advantage of the situation doesn't mean everyone will. There are some people here looking to live a simple life just like you me."

The man scoffed.

Meanwhile, Jake studied the man's boots.

The man glared back. "We gonna have a problem?"

Jake gave the man a glare, but didn't comment.

"I'm warning ya!"

Marc kept one arm slightly raised incase the man lunged. "Hey, knock it off."

"Why should we respect 'em if they aren't respecting us?"

"Respect is earned, not given."

"I ain't respecting no one who isn't an American."

"Eso rude," Steven muttered.

"Quiet," Jake hissed.

The American took a step forward. "What did you say to me!"

"Nothing," Jake replied.

"No! What did you say to me!" The man tried to stalk forward but Marc's arm kept him back. "You can't tell me to shut up! It's called freedom of speech!"

"This isn't América."

"Are you calling me stupid!"

"Pero eres estúpido!" Jake snapped.

The man's face turned red. A moment later, he caught Marc by surprise by shoving him backwards before rushing toward Jake whos arm shot up to protect his head.

However, before the man could lay a hand on Jake, a reusable shopping bag filled with lettuce and potatoes swung around and connected with the American's face. "Callarse l-la boca gringo!"

The man turned his attention to Steven.

The youngest froze. "Oh bueyes!"

The American's fist connected with Steven's lip before he then tackled him to the ground to get in a few more blows.

Marc jumped forward. "Steven!"

Both he and Jake yanked the guy back while several nearby bystanders helped to wrestle him to the ground. Steven even scrambled back over to pin his feet to the ground.

Once the man was restrained, one of the clerk's piped up from the nearby register. "The coppers are on their way!"

"Why are you arresting me!" The man growled. "I'm one of you!"

"Save it for the police!" A man, presumably the manager, helped several of his clerks yank the man to his feet. "Now kindly take him to the front until the officers arrive!"

While the man was pulled away kicking and screaming, Jake grabbed the youngest knight by his shoulders and shook him. "What were you thinking! Estas loco?"

Steven stayed quiet as Jake yanked his chin up to study the bruising.

"Respóndeme Steven!"

" . . . Nada habla a mi hermano de esa manera," the youngest mumbled.

"Qué?"

Steven moved forward and wrapped his brother in a hug. "Lamento Jake. Te amo . . . lamento, fui un idiota."

It took a moment for Jake to respond, but eventually he got his arms up to return the hug. "I love you too hermano."

Steven buried his face into Jake's shoulder.

Meanwhile, the older knight couldn'thelp but tease. "That was the clearest I've heard you speak."

"Yo practiqué," Steven responded with a chuckle.

"Oho really?" Jake playfully pushed him back and pushed his own hat down over the youngest's eyes. "Tú practicaste?"

Steven lifted the hat up to beam at his older counterpart.

Marc smiled as he joined the two. "Are you alright Steveo? That guy split your lip pretty good."

"Eso bien, pero adolorido."

"Ihid imagine it is pretty sore." Marc gently moved the youngest's chin side to side.

Thankfully, one of the clerks from before placed a zip lock bag ice pack in Steven's hand. "The store owner has taken care of your groceries."

Jake nodded. "Gracias."

"Of course. We hope you'll come back again, and don't let that wanker be a representation of our store."

"Bueno." Jake herded the two toward the door. "Gracias Señor."

After gathering their bags, the three started their walk back to their apartment.

"Jake?" Steven asked.

"Yes Steven?"

" . . . Puedes tú enseñar español mas?"

"Teach you more Spanish?"

"Ci!"

"Of course hermano." Jake smiled as he gently nudged the ice pack back up to Steven's mouth. "But after we get tu labio healed."

Steven chuckled. "Sure thing mahate. Let's pop by thehe barber's shohop while wehere at ihit."

#marc spector #jake lockley #steven grant

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