#he probably just named him frank as well the bastard

[charmac]

Hi! Do you have any thoughts on Mac and Mrs. Mac’s relationship? I find the whole McDonald family dynamic so interesting, but especially after season 16/frank shoots every member of the gang I’ve been fascinated by those two. You always have such impressive, well thought out answers!

Thank you!

I do have a lot of of thoughts regarding Mac's upbringing, especially in terms of his relationships with his family and how they clearly affect his current-day relationships and misconceptions of love, but I'm not sure I've really fleshed that out so, great question.

First of all, I have a gripe with Frank Shoots Every Member of the Gang, as it really insanely retcons Luther's age. Mac Kills His Dad established that he was 59 at the time, which would have made him a teen when he had Mac. Shoots establishes that Luther's dad served in WWII and wrote him letters during that time, which means he had to have been born before 1945, and would have been at youngest in his 30s when Mac was born. It's not like it's a huge issue, but it does change some previously-thought dynamics. (Though, the fact that they weren't younger-cast in A Sunny Christmas does better-align with the idea that they were in their 30s when they had Mac.)

There was/is always kind of the vibe that when they were together, pre-Luther going to jail, Ms. Mac did really love Luther and vice-versa, and Mac was more kind of like a by-product of unprotected sex more than he was a part of the family. (I mean, they named him after the Hamburger Clown). Luther clearly love(d) him as the idea of having a son, someone who could carry on his bidding and his name, but doesn't love him as the child he actually has. I think Ms. Mac didn't love him as the idea of a son and doesn't love him as the child she has, and never did. BUT she did love Luther, and Mac observed that as a young kid, his parents loving each other but neglecting him. Looking at Christmas, we can kind of assume the order of anything in Mac's childhood home was Ms. Mac > Luther > Mac. So for his early development he was kind of sidelined, saw no love from his parents toward him, but did see love between his parents (in a definitely not healthy way, as it goes).

We know in the deleted scenes of Sunny Christmas that Mac's dad is going to prison probably right after the events of the video tape... I honestly think it's reasonable to assume that Mac's screaming that woke up the residents of the house they were robbing might have been probably was what led to Luther being arrested (with whatever warrants he had hanging over him catching up with him once he had been detained). So, does Ms. Mac blame her son for her husband being locked up for the next 25 years? Probably. She didn't even want him, didn't care for him, and then his obnoxious behaviour was their downfall.

Back to Shoots, I did really like it for what it gave us in terms of (Char)Mac childhood lore. I think it definitely wasn't a shock for them to drop the cigarette lighter line, but it was a hit to the chest for me. Everything I kind of assumed before, re: didn't want or care about having a child equated to strictly-neglectful, Mac clawing for the love he saw his mom give his dad, now with his dad gone even more-so, and being brushed off, now escalated to retaliation in response to Mac failing to be brushed off. Sometimes the dismissive, grunting and not moving from your chair approach just doesn't work on a hyperactive little bastard like Mac, sometimes you have to make him shut up by giving him something else to fuss over. I think Ms. Mac probably hoped that would be what breaks through his skin, makes him realise she doesn't love him, but Mac only sees it as a warning, a pause, a try-again-later, mom's just in a bad mood.

Presently, what we see of Ms. Mac is almost always the same: completely indifferent. Shrug, cough, I don't care at all about you. Mac's a serial killer? Yeah. Mac's dead? Ok. You're gay? Meh. She'll fuck with him though, sure: your dad is actually Dutch. You wanted these letters that meant something to your father? I needed toilet paper. Who cares. She doesn't love him, never has, never will, and Mac has no ability to understand that.

Based on his upbringing and the past 20 years, I think he has a complete misunderstanding (and at this point inability) to recognise and understand what love is, mostly because of his mother. Because she just, doesn't love him, never did, but Mac thinks that parents have to love their children, that's a fact in his mind. If he has a mom and a dad they do love him, they have to, especially when he was a little boy, right? His dad loves him, he's just in jail so he can't show it, but his mom is here. And mom did love dad, he remembers that, he saw it, so he just has to make himself known, she can love him too because she's capable of it and she's his mom. He loves her, he says it over and over, she never says it, but she just doesn't see him because she's busy, working, or making a home for him, or just for some reason she's not paying attention... So love for Mac is fighting neglect, love is refusing to be ignored, love is pestering over and over because if you can get away with your bombardment without a finger being raised, without being scored by a cigarette lighter, they must really want you to continue... they must be waiting for you to really prove yourself before they show or admit their love for you. There are people in his life who have to love him, it's like a law, so they'll admit it as long as you keep asking, keep making yourself known, keep trying to prove yourself... and if it comes to the point where you're getting burned, stop for a minute, take a step back, and reevaluate how (or when) you can try again...

#iasip #mac mcdonald #ms mac #luther mcdonald #mac meta #i suppose... #do you like my leading ending #you can work out where that's going lol #i didn't go into sex bc it was hard to connect properly without it coming out weird or clunky #but it does loop there #clearly... #also ive def done some ask on this similarly before #but i cant find it #cos i never tag shit properly lol oh well #ty for the ask!!

[blue-rose-soul]

What if in Devil Bastard au Alastor's shadow is like Razzle and Dazzle meant to keep Lucifer's *child* safe only Luci never really specified which child and well shadow ended up with Alastor.

That sounds like a fun idea, but to be frank, Alastor's shadow just doesn't seem like something Lucifer would make. His tastes lean a lot more, um...

Cutesy.

I do like the idea of one of Lucifer's creations seeking out Alastor on their own though! Something that, like Razzle and Dazzle, appears small and adorable most of the time but is capable of taking on a bigger, more monstrous form when its charge is in danger. The creature probably was a prototype, or something Lucifer set aside in favor of Razzle and Dazzle and let gather dust. But when it sensed one of Lucifer's children in Hell, on his own, it did what it was designed to do and sought him out! Lucifer never even noticed its absence from his workshop (probably because it had been buried under a pile of ducks).

Personally, I think it would be hilarious if this creation had the appearance of a dog. A more animalistic hellhound than Beelzebub's people. A tiny, cute, fluffy puppy with black fur and six legs and a little set of horns on its head. When it thinks Alastor's in danger, however, it turns into a behemoth, with reptilian legs and a forked, serpentine tail and spear-like teeth that protrude out of its mouth.

Alastor does not care for the little beast when it first comes to him. He's not scared of dogs, per se, but he certainly doesn't like them. No matter how he tries to shoo or ditch the little creature, though, it won't go away.

Then he gets into his first turf war after the little dog shows up and it unveils its second form, ripping apart Alastor's enemies in moments. And, well...

Sure, he could have taken care of the small fry himself. But far be it from him to turn away a useful minion! So when it comes trotting over in puppy form, blood dripping from its maw, Alastor doesn't turn it away. He decides to name it Nicasius.

#ask #anonymous #Hazbin Hotel #the Devil's Bastard AU #Alastor #Hazbin Hotel OC #my first OC and its a pet #just imagine the look on Lucifer's face when Hell's Greatest Dad ends and then Nicasius comes trotting up to Alastor wagging its little tai #it takes Lucifer a hot minute to realize why the six legged dog looks so familiar

[whatiswrongwithpeople]

can i request the lads meeting Tabasco’s ex for the first time (sorry for possible double request, didn’t know if my first one went through, my connection crapped out 😔😔✨)

A/N: Hello my friend and thank you so much for your request! I got sick , which finally gave me the time to write something again. I hope this isn’t half as bad.

Summary: The trio is visiting a market, where they run into Tabasco’s ex boyfriend.

Hope you enjoy 🍊

“Oh ,for heavens sake.“ Tabasco mumbled , her facial features hardening quickly. Picking up on the angry tone in her voice, Lemon followed the deadly gaze of the girl, his eyes landing on a man. “Who’s that?” his voice was laced with suspicion. “That’s my ex , Fabio.” The woman sighed, turning back to the market stand the trio had stopped at. Upon hearing Tabasco’s statement, Tangerine quickly put down the item he was inspecting, whirling around so quickly that he almost suffered a concussion from it. Positioning himself next to Tabasco he simply grumbled a “Where?” , wide deadly eyes scanning the area. “Dark hair , tall , currently checking out that chick in the red dress over there.” Lemon replied. Sensing that Fabio was no good news , Tangerine pulled out his brass-knuckles , flexing his fingers a few times before putting them on.

“I’ll show this bastard how to treat-“ he stilled completely upon feeling Tabasco’s soft hand on his , every sense in his body focusing on the warm sensation. “As much as I’d LOVE you to beat some sense into him, I don’t want anyone out here to get suspicious of us.” Tabasco whispered, the anger in her eyes being replaced by sincerity when locking with Tangerine’s baby blues. “Ey lovebirds, the bastard is approaching us.” Lemon hissed , shoving a sharp elbow into Tangerine’s ribs. The latter glanced down at the woman grasping his hand even tighter, suddenly she looked so vulnerable and insecure. Knowing that the man approaching them was the cause of it , a fire ignited in Tangerine’s eyes. Fabio stopped right in front of them, an arrogant tilt in his chin. “I can’t believe I am running into you ,doll. Long time no see ,huh?” Upon hearing the pet-name bile simultaneously rose in the brothers’ and the female assassin’s throats. “And you are who now?” Tangerine eyed the man up and down , his arm protectively wrapped around Tabasco’s waist. “I am Fabio , you know, the little misses over here used to be head over heels in love with me. Thinking about it I bet she still is. I am sure she’s told you about me, hasn’t she?” Fabio’s lips curled into an arrogant grin , his chest puffed out and his shoulder squared.

Glancing over at Tangerine , Lemon noticed that his brother’s intense gaze was studying the man in front of them. Probably burning every facial feature into his memory, a dark mind calculating how to make the his victim suffer the most. “Nah, never heard a single thing about you Fabian.” Tangerine nearly snarled. “Fabio-“ “Yeah ,Frank ,whatever mate , we are kinda busy here. So it would be very nice of you to just fuck off to wherever you came from.” Fabio’s eyebrows raised in surprise, the arrogance in his eyes fading for a split second before shifting his focus entirely on Tabasco. “Is this what happened? You can’t even speak for yourself anymore? Now I am actually kinda relieved that I cheated on you.” At this point Tangerine’s fingers were almost digging into Tabasco’s skin, hot fuming anger running through his muscles. Unclenching her own jaw , Tabasco lifted her chin , cold eyes finding the man in front of her. “Oh I can speak for myself perfectly fine. It’s just that I neither have anything to add , nor do I consider you worth my time.” Opening his mouth to respond, Fabio was interrupted by Lemon’s voice. “Guys, not to interrupt your little standoff, but we promised not to do any dirty work today and I am hungry. You know how I get when I’m hungry.” “Well,” an unsympathetic smile lingered on Tangerine’s face “Seems like our time’s up ,Francesco. Can’t really say that I had a great time meeting you.” Removing his arm from its place on Tabasco’s waist , Tangerine firmly gripped Fabio’s shoulder and pulled him in until his ear was close enough to whisper “And if you ever show up here again , I will make sure that you will never meet anyone again. EVER.“ With that he gave the man a hard slap on the shoulder, almost making him topple over. “How about we check out that new Cuban place down the road ?” His companions hummed in approval, leaving Fabio behind with both ,a damaged ego and a surely broken shoulder.

Tag list: @spookyspecterino @peachydoesstuff @shittingonyourgrave

#tangerine x reader #tangerine x tabasco #bullet train x reader #tangerine imagine #tangerine x original female character #bullet train #bullet train imagine #tangerine #tangerine oneshot

[hummingbird-of-light]

In Our Favor

Part 65

McCoy

“How was studying?” Scotty asked as they walked across campus after dinner. The sun was low and the air was still warm. McCoy’s fingers were warm too, wrapped around Scotty’s.

“Good. The test is going to be a breeze.” McCoy smiled. “Straight back or want to walk a bit first?”

“A walk is nice. Maybe we’ll find a place to hide away somewhere.” Scotty bumped his shoulder against McCoy’s. “Too bad there isn’t a lake.”

“No hills on campus to be pulled down either,” McCoy joked. He leaned into Scotty for a moment. “Is Jim alright?” he asked after another few minutes of walking in silence. “He seemed a bit distracted at dinner.”

“Oh,” Scotty said. “Did ye hear about the Hammersley coming in tomorrow evening?”

“No,” McCoy shook his head. “That a ship?”

“Aye. And the officers will be on campus for cadets to talk with.”

“Well that’s nice.”

“So,” Scotty said slowly. “It’s the ship Jim’s brother is assigned to.”

McCoy stopped walking. “His brother?” he asked in confusion. “Jim doesn’t have—” He stopped. The Kelvin history came to his mind. “George Kirk,” he began, “husband of Winona, father of Jim, who was born as the ship went down…”

“And Sam who was a wee lad at home,” Scotty finished. “Named for George, but called by his middle name. Aye.”

“Jim never talks about him,” McCoy stated. “I’ve never even thought about him having a brother.”

Scotty tugged his hand and they began to walk again.

“Jim has some very… strong feelings about Sam. He…, well, he…, Jim’s idea to run away wasn’t quite original,” Scotty finally got out.

“What?”

Scotty sighed. “Before Jim got his scholarship, he and Sam both lived at home with Frank. And well, Frank is Frank. Sam couldn’t stand it anymore and, well, he left. Leaving Jim behind.”

“Oh.”

“Just a wee lad left with that bastard. Rarely a word from Winona and never from Sam. He’s never forgiven Sam for leaving him with Frank.” Scotty was quiet as he spoke. “He got the scholarship a few years later and Pike looked out for him as best he could. He had served with George and Winona after all.”

“And now Jim is worried about running into his brother while the Hammersley is here.”

“Aye. He’s afraid he won’t be able to control himself around Sam. A cadet going after an officer, ye know how bad that would be.”

“And no one like Pike to mitigate the damage,” McCoy said quietly.

“I told the lad I’d watch out with him. Keep him from doing anything daft.”

“We all will,” McCoy said decidely. They walked along in silence again. “We probably should get back. I have a test and time in the simulator tomorrow.”

“How’d ye do in it today?” Scotty asked with sudden concern as they turned to head for their dorm.

A small shiver went through McCoy’s shoulders.

“Jaylah took the first turn today. Then Uhura. They both did great.”

“And ye love?”

McCoy let out a long sigh. “I froze. I knew where everything was, but…”

“Oh mo ghràdh…”

“The instructor thought I hadn’t studied and- and I let him think that. I got marked down.” McCoy’s head dropped toward his chest. “I don’t know how I’m going to get through it.”

“I’ll help ye! And so will the girls!” Scotty said firmly. “Come on, we’ll get home and I’ll help ye relax.”

McCoy sat in the simulator the next afternoon and his hands trembled. Jaylah sat beside him, whispering encouragement when the instructor wasn’t looking. He breathed slowly through his nose and thought of Scotty. Scotty rubbing a hand soothingly up and down his back. Scotty leaning into his side and murmuring in a mix of English and Gaelic. Scotty, the night before, holding him tight as their bodies worked together.

“You can do this Leo,” Uhura whispered behind him.

He took another deep breath and his fingers began to move across the console, starting preflight sequences. His stomach tightened as the simulator made noise and rumbled beneath their feet.

’Breathe. Just breathe,’ he thought to himself.

“Good,” Jaylah said under her breath.

“That was very slow, but correct,” the instructor’s voice came from behind them. “Cadet McCoy, shut it down, then Cadet Uhura your turn again.”

McCoy’s fingers flew and the simulator quieted and settled. Before he could draw another breath he was up from the pilot’s seat and moving to the seat behind Jaylah.

“Cadet McCoy—!”

He buried his face in his hands and his breathing that had been steady became ragged.

“Just Leonard! It is ok!” Jaylah had turned and had her hands on his shoulders. McCoy was grateful for the contact and attempted to get his breathing back under control. It took another minute, but finally he pulled his hands away from his face and looked at the girls.

“Cadet McCoy?”

“Sorry sir,” McCoy said, getting to his feet and trying to keep his knees from shaking. “First time. Just nervous.” He tried to put as much confidence into his voice as he could, but the teacher still frowned in puzzlement at him.

“Right. Cadet Uhura, if you would.”

Uhura moved to the pilot’s seat quickly as the instructor moved on to the next simulator. McCoy sat again, heavily, and his elbows went to his knees as he bent over.

Part 66

Scotty

The next day of classes passed him by quite fast and Scotty was still grinning to himself as he walked across the campus to meet up with Jim.

Once again Aporal had beaten Francis during their self-defense class in the morning and it had once again been way too satisfying to see Kinnear's nephew lose. He didn't deserve it any better!

Scotty sure as hell wanted to learn some tricks from Aporal.

His smile faded as he thought about the reason why the Andorian was that good at fighting. It must have been horrible to fight for his life every single day, not knowing whether he would make it to another morning.

Scotty tried his best not to freeze in his movement as a disturbing question crossed his mind.

Aporal had told him that the Andorian hostages had sometimes killed each other. Had... he taken someone else's life too? Not by his own will! But maybe... to defend himself? 

It sent a shiver down the Scotsman's spine to even think about that possibility. To think that Aporal could have...

He quickly shook his head to get rid of the image. His feet started to carry him even faster across the campus.

The sooner he met up with Jim the better. Then he had other things to worry about.

He found his friend right where they had agreed to meet. Jim was sitting on a bench, eyes focused on the PADD in his hands. He apparently already tried to distract himself from the arrival of the USS Hammersley that was scheduled to happen in less than twenty minutes.

Scotty sat down next to him, a gentle smile on his face.

"What are ye reading?" he asked, leaning in so he could see more of the PADD's screen.

Jim shrugged his shoulders. It didn't seem to be very interesting.

"Some homework."

Now that surprised Scotty quite a lot. He chuckled.

"Jim Kirk doing his homework the day he gets it? I cannae believe it!"

A smile pulled at the corner of Jim's lips, but it didn't really reach his eyes.

"Anything to keep my mind distracted," he mumbled and Scotty wrapped his arm around Jim's shoulder, pulling him closer.

"It's just one weekend, Jimbo. I'll make sure to stay around all the time."

At that, Jim finally looked up and grinned at Scotty. There was a mischievous twinkle in his eyes.

"Really now? What about Bones? I'm sure he'll miss you if you spend all your time with me." Jim looked around searchingly. "Where is he anyway?"

Scotty sighed.

"He has a long day. We agreed to meet at dinner."

Leonard's last class of the day was the shuttle simulator and Scotty really hoped that it wouldn't go too badly. His husband really needed a successful experience in there.

However, he had faith in Leonard. With the help of Jaylah and Uhura he would surely overcome his fear somehow. If only Scotty himself could be at his side and spend him comfort...

The Scotsman gently tapped his ring and waited for a reply which he received quite quickly. He smiled. Everything seemed to be okay.

"I see. Spock and I meet at dinner too. He needed to call his parents right after classes," Jim said and Scotty sighed theatrically.

"Well then, guess it's just us lonely fellas, trying to spend their time, eh?"

Jim grinned.

"That's right. So... enough of this." The blond held up his PADD before he quickly shoved it into his bag, hiding it from the world.

"I knew ye wouldn't finish yer homework," Scotty chuckled and Jim once more shrugged his shoulders.

"If I have time until Monday afternoon?! Certainly not! Come on, let's go and play a game of chess, shall we?"

With that they got up and headed to one of the rec rooms.

#star trek #montgomery scott #leonard mccoy #scones #au #in our favor

[pentopaper23]

The Boy at The Door - Chatper 3: Th Final Straw.

10th of April 1953

Claire was staring at Fergus while he slept, trying to take in all the little details of the boy she left behind. Fergus has fallen asleep on the lounge and Claire had sat on the ground by his head with a large glass of whiskey, silently she took a sip as her eyes raked over his face. He had new freckles across his nose and cheeks, a faded scar on his right eyebrow and he was less round in the cheeks, his childish have had hardened into a teenage one. His hair though was the same mop of dark brown and had retained its curls. She ran her hand through it brushing it out of his eyes and smiled when he moved in his sleep to press his head into her hand. Her sweet boy. 

“Who is he?” Frank asked as he leaned against the hallway arch, his eyes and slightly flushed cheeks showing the telltale signs that he had been drinking.  

Fergus has fallen asleep on the lounge and Claire had sat on the ground by his head with a large glass of whiskey, silently she took a sip.

“Do you really want to know?” she asked, this whiskey burning her throat. Frank scoffed.

“We agreed that I would never talk about it. I kept my word, Frank.” Claire said, taking another drink.

“That was before your word turned up on our doorstep” Frank snapped.

“Frank please” she said getting to her feet. She drank the rest of her glass. She smiled as she looked at Fergus, his mouth slightly hanging opened as he slept, and the blanket was pulled up to his chin. Frank noticed the look on her face and scoffed again.

“Claire, who is he?” He asked again. Claire sighed closing her eyes she turned to face Frank before walking past him and into the kitchen. She poured herself another whiskey and took a long drink. Frank has followed and was blocking the doorway.

“I did everything. Everything you ever wanted,” Claire said pointing at him with the hand that was holding her glass.

“We agreed Claire” he said.

“I know!” Claire yelled, “I’m reminded of it every day. I kept my past in the past like you asked. Even though every day they called to me and haunted my dreams. I see their faces every time I close my eyes, the family I loved. The man I loved.” Claire whispered that part, taking a drink. Frank face was unreadable as she stared at her, but his white knuckles gripping the door frame gave him away. Rage simmered just below his skin at the mention of Jamie; his neck flushed with it.

Claire didn’t know if it was the whiskey that had given her the courage or if she had just had enough, in hindsight she probably shouldn’t have said what she did, at least not while he has been drinking. But truthfully, she was tired. Tired of lying and pretending that everything was going according to plan. She hated that she couldn’t keep her promise to Jamie, that she couldn’t stay and give their daughter a normal life. She took another drink of said whiskey and threw caution to the wind. If she was going to end her marriage, she may as well make it worth it.

“I never spoke of them that was the agreement, Frank!” She yelled. “In exchange for you loving Brianna, I locked them away. The boy that I loved as my own. WE raised him and I left him. I left him because the man the I loved more than my own happiness asked me to. Do you think for one moment that I would back here with you, if he hadn’t made me leave. For God’s sake Frank! I was never coming back; I had a husband that loved me. I had a man that I loved with my whole self, a man that I choose again and again, every time! I had a son! A son Frank! A boy that I left.”

“That bastard’s son?” he hissed.

“Don’t you call him that! Jami…” Claire caught herself before she could finish his name. She closed her eyes and shook her head trying to displace the face that filled it. Franks lips curled into a sneer.

“Say it!” He spat out loudly, Claires heart skipped a beat at the tone. A tone that she prayed she would never hear again. “You had a lot to say a moment ago. Say. It!” Frank yelled slamming his hands against the door frame. Claire took another swig of her newly filled glass and walked towards Frank, a sly smile spreading across her face. She could feel that this was the final straw in a very lose bale of hay. The straw has been slowing falling out over the last five years and tonight the twine had finally snapped.

“James. Alexander. Malcom. Mackenzie. Fraser.” She bit out each word in sync with her steps as she walked towards Frank. When she reached him, she took a long sip and smiled. She didn’t see it coming, but the next thing she knew her cup had been hit out of her hand and Frank had her pushed up against the door frame. His hands were shaking with rage as he held her shoulders. She laughed.

“Is that all you got?” She whispered leaning in closer to him, “Do it. It wouldn’t be the first time a Randall did”.

She felt his hands tighten on her arms his nails digging into the thin fabric of her night shirt, she knew there would be bruised finger marks on her skin come morning. A single tear left her eye, but she raised her chin and stared down her nose at him, until with a final shove against the door frame he let her go taking a step back.  

“I want you out” Frank said reaching down to pick up the fallen glass.

“With pleasure,” Claire said running her hand through her hair.

“Brianna stays here,” Frank snapped as he poured himself a drink.

“Like hell,” Claire snapped back brushing past him knocking over his freshly poured whisker with a flick of her fingers.

He followed her.

“You so much as…”

Claire cut him off spinning to come face to face with him again, “I so much as what? She looks nothing like you, it wouldn’t be hard to convince people that she isn’t yours”.

The slap rang out as Frank’s hand made contact her face. Her check stung as he grabbed her again and threw her against the hallway wall. Claire laughed and his hand made contact again this time ironically splitting her lip open with his wedding ring.

“You like that?” he asked menacingly, Claire saw a flash of the Black Jack in his eyes as he tightened his hold on her.

“You have no idea what I like,” Claire teasingly said back fully expecting another blow to come. She was right, his slapped her again and this time grabbed her face. Claire jerked her head to the left trying to break the hold her had on her, but it only made him tighten his grip and his other hand slammed into her rib cage stealing her breath. She felt her jaw starting to throb and a warm trickle of blood was slipping down her neck. For a moment Frank looked as if he wanted to kiss her, his eyes flicked to her lips, and he leaned in closer pushing her harder into the wall. He might have kissed her she thought if it wasn’t for the knocked at the front door. Both of them looked towards it as someone knocked again.

“Claire?!” A voice rang out as the person knocked again. They heard the voice talk to someone else before knocking a third, “Brianna called, said you and Frank were fighting.” It was Joe.

Frank thinking quick covered her mouth before she could yell out.

“Claire open up!” Joe yelled again, this time rattling the doorknob.

“Mama?” She heard Fergus say from the loungeroom, having woken up from all the noise. His eyes darting between her split lip, bruised cheeks and Frank. His face hardened.

“Let her go!” he yelled starting toward them, then everything all happened at once.

The front door was kicked in revealing Joe and David, one of the other doctors from the hospital, Fergus lunged at Frank his fist contacting his nose and Claire slipped from Franks grasp and stumble towards the stairs in search of Brianna. She could hear the men trying to subdue Frank as she made her way towards Brianna’s room, only it was empty. Looking around the upstairs hallway in panic she saw the phoneline leading from the hallway table into the linen closet. She wiped her nose on her shirt before she gently pulled the door open to find Brianna hiding on the floor clutching the phone to her ear. She could hear Gail talking to her on the other end.

“Mama!” Brianna screamed and threw herself into Claires arms sobbing into her shoulder.

“I was so scared Mama!” she sobbed.

“I know baby, I know.” Claire tried to soothe her as she reached for the phone.

“Gail?” she asked bringing the receiver to her ear.

“Oh, thank the lord!” Gail yelled, “Are you okay? Brianna said Frank and you were yelling, she sounded mighty upset.” Claire sobbed as she hugged Brianna tighter to her chest.

“I need you to send the police to the house Gail. Everything is okay, we just need the police.” Claire said.

“Claire…,” Gail tries to ask.

“The police please Gail” she says before hanging up.

Meanwhile downstairs Fergus is being held back by Joe while David is holding Frank by the collar and has him pinned the wall.

“Laisse-moi! Je vais te tuer, fils de pute! (Let go of me! I'll kill you, you son of a bitch!)” Fergus yelled as he pulls against Joe’s hold.

“Calm down man!” Joe yelled trying to drag Fergus into the living room. He could see that lights in the homes across the street were starting to turn on, the sounds of the domestic having travelled. Joe grunted has Fergus elbowed him in the stomach and he almost lost his grip on the boy.

Frank was slumped against the wall, blood pouring out of his nose and a cut under his eye from where the boy had gotten in a few licks before Joe and David has pulled them apart.

The house was suddenly awash with blue and red lights and the sound of police sirens filled the normally quite street.

“You stay down” David said as he tightened his fist around Frank collar when he tried to get up.

“What’s going on in here!” A police officer yelled from the door as another followed him in, unsurprisingly both their heads flicked to Joe as he struggled to control Fergus.

“It wasn’t him officer,” Claire said as she made her way down the stairs carrying a crying Brianna, “My husband and I were in a fight, and he hit me”.

“Mama!” Fergus yelled finally pulling himself away from Joe. He raced towards her and threw his arms around her, she stumbled slightly and collapsed onto the stairs in a mix of arms and legs. Her vision started to flicker in and out as she felt Joe prod her face and ask her how many fingers he was holding up. The last thing she saw was Frank being hand cuffed before she passed out.

#pentopaper23 #outlander #outlander fanfiction #fan fiction #outlander fandom #claire fraser #fergus fraser #fanficion #cross posted on ao3 #brianna fraser #frank randall #jamie fraser

[orowyrm]

brooo do you have a laz lore master post i wanna see more about this guy . blorbo from my person i follow on tumblr

waaa im so glad u like him!!!!!! his lore is kinda.....scattered all over unfortunately hdsjnkfdjkfn im very unorganized. the main big posts that ive made about him in recent memory that i havent accidentally retconned are here (eternalism bullshit and how the his drifter and operator selves tie into the version we know and love) here (answering a bunch of questions about him) aaaaaaaaaand here (explaining a little bit about how his oculus and void echolocation works)

his tag is kinda sparsely populated cuz a lot of his character building has been happening behind the scenes and i havent shared much due to being forgetful as hell and for the longest time sorta just assuming nobody cared about him but me lmao BUT i can give you a rundown of everything ive got so far: (it's gonna be long, sorry in advance)

on the zariman, he was separated from the other kids and ended up hiding in a ventilation shaft to avoid the adults. he hid so well, in fact, that the orokin actually almost missed him entirely and nearly left him there when they were collecting the tenno after the void jump. he was so paralyzed by fear and pain that at first, they had assumed he was a corpse, and only realized otherwise when he freaked the hell out and blew a massive hole through the poor bastard they sent to go drag him out of the vents.

in the aftermath of the zariman and for most of the old war, he was sort of just... squirreled away and treated more like a feral animal than a kid. he was jumpy and uncooperative, his connection to the void was strong enough that he could do some serious damage when startled, and he didn't remember most of his life before the zariman incident at all, so he was difficult to reason with and in their eyes a waste of time. he didn't even remember his own name, so they called him 'Lazarus' as a reference to the fact that he was assumed to be dead when first recovered, and seemed to be pretty good at surviving against the odds. eventually he just accepted this as his name.

im not entirely sure if margulis knew about him or not... i feel as though she would want to help him, but he probably wouldn't trust her one bit. ive been tempted to go all in and say he couldve been the tenno who accidentally blinded her, which would lend credence to why the orokin felt the need to isolate him so thoroughly from everyone else, but i dont know if im gonna commit to that. as far as being a 'weaponized' tenno, he was treated as sort of a last resort.

he only had the one frame during the old war - he was paired off with a particularly uncooperative umbral ash that they weren't sure would even be able to be 'controlled', but despite most of the handlers assuming theyd tear eachother to shreds, they ended up sharing a really close bond. This ash is his primary frame, Styx! styx is like a father to him, really. they only ever had eachother for a very very long time.

he only ever saw combat once before the war ended. the orokin were getting desperate, and threw pretty much everyone they had at a particular area-- including laz. he had no idea what to do with himself, but he was suddenly outside of his 'room' (more of a holding cell, to be frank) for the first time in years, so he did what any sensible scared kid would do-- he ran for his fucking life. before his handlers realized where he'd gone and tried to interrupt his transference to his frame, he transferred out of his chair completely and essentially escaped for good. they assumed he wouldnt survive on his own and marked it down as a loss, but he was ultimately forgotten. one less little void demon to deal with, really.

he ran for a long time, just sorta trying to get as far away from anything and everything orokin as he possibly could, but too afraid of being recaptured to dare trust anyone he met along the way. at some point before the end of the war, he had a run-in with a lone sentient that cornered him, and he had no choice but to try and defend himself.

he lost this fight. the sentient very much killed him, but in his final moments, all of the void energy trapped inside his body was released like a bomb going off, which killed the sentient pretty much instantly. the implosion also created a weird little pocket void of sorts that pulled in his body and the bits and pieces of the sentient that were left behind. slowly, over the years, the void pieced him back together, replacing whatever was destroyed with pieces of sentient technology, essentially creating the first amalgam.

the entire time laz was in his void coma, styx was helpless to retrieve him. he knew he wasn't gone - he could still feel his presence - but he couldn't get through to him.... so he waited. and waited. and waited some more. eventually, the ruined old building they'd been in all but collapsed, plants began to grow through the foundation, his joints began to rust and his blades tarnished. grineer and corpus and infested alike discovered the place over the years and all were promptly slaughtered in fits of protective rage. by the time another tenno stumbled across his resting place, the old war was ancient history, and the lotus had already located and awakened most of her children-- but laz had never had a chance to form that connection with her. he barely knew margulis, let alone natah.

the tenno who eventually found him and woke him up was none other than @helmofhades' specialest boy Rigel! they have a very special relationship. i love them both deeply. by the time rigel had found him, he'd been mostly put back together-- but the somatic scars on his face had progressed to the point where his eyes were damaged beyond repair. rigel and the other tenno who eventually made up their little clan helped him get back on his feet and adjust to this strange new world he found himself in.

laz and rigel are basically married if it wasnt obvious already. they are boy best friends <3

he went through the main story quest more or less the same as happens in the game, although he never really had a very close connection with the lotus and was more wary of her and confused by her for than anything for a very long time-- at least until the new war, anyway

the drifter and the operator are two separate entities - but there's also a third, completely separate laz who is basically a conglomerate of all of his alternate selves. i call this special third guy 'laz prime' to make life easier for myself, but neither of them are any more 'real' than the others.

operator laz is him but in babymode. nothing much else to that. hes just a little guy, and its his birthday, hes a little birthday boy!!!

drifter laz i uh... kinda havent touched on much. im waiting for duviri to drop so i can really get into the nitty gritty of all the time loop bullshit. hes kinda a bitter asshole though. not that i blame him.

laz prime is the funny guy i post about so much!!!! after the cutscene in the new war where the drifter and operator meet, neither of those two actually LEAVE that dormizone, at least not in the version of reality we see-- their meeting causes laz prime to just sorta... start existing! he remembers being both of them, although only vaguely. it's him who finishes the quest, and it's him who eventually returns to the zariman for the angels update and all that fun stuff. im sure driftlaz and oplaz are still out there, doing their own thing, but i havent the slightest clue what that may be.

laz prime is more severely amalgamated than either of his counterparts-- while theyve got the horns, hooves, and claws, laz prime takes it up a notch with an extra set of arms and a tail! he's also absurdly huge.

he has a cane to help with the mobility issues caused by having to balance on those teeny tiny itty bitty stick legs-- it's actually a little sentient! he calls it a mobilyst. it's his little buddy. i really like it

laz prime can't really use amps in the traditional way, considering his sentient parts react very poorly to large concentrations of void energy. he pieces together makeshift weapons with cores and fragments he scavenges from other sentients or amalgams that he kills to make up for it. he can also breathe void-fire, but he doesn't do that very often because it singes his scruffy little beard :( love loses

his lack of ability to effectively channel amps makes him VERRRY very interested in traditional weaponry. he's especially fond of incarnons-- JUST because theyre cool weapons. no other reason. none at all. unrelated, but do you think cavalero likes men? asking for a friend.

#TUMBLR YELLED AT ME FOR MAKING THIS POST TOO LONG LMFAO SO I HAD TO CUT IT SHORT #OOPSIES!!!!! #anyway i hope this doesnt break i poured my heart and soul into it. thank you anon for caring about him #long post #ocs #laz

[jaydonsjam]

Trigger Warning: suicide is mentioned in this post. So we move on to more Marvel HORROR! I think I’m in love with Tomb of Dracula. My favorite artist out of all of the books I’ve read from this era, Gene Colan returns (From Strange Tales, Doctor Strange [Vol. 1]) and while I love what he did with Doctor Strange, I think he fits a horror book just as good if not better. Whew, that was a run-on sentence. The way he’s able to use shadow and light is amazing and really makes you feel like you’re reading a horror comic. Everything about the art, I love. I didn’t realize that three writers rotated between these first 6 issues so that’s a good sign. The amount of reading involved in these issues really engrossed me and I honestly think they work way better for these horror comics. But again like I said with the Werewolf post, I can see the amount of reading turning off some people which is fair. I will say the first two issues are probably my favorite. I think they build dread so well before we even see Dracula in the flesh. We start off with our protagonist Frank Drake and his girlfriend Jeanie with his friend, (who is the former lover of Jeanie) Clifton Graves venturing to Drake’s ancestral castle of Count Dracula. Drake is convinced by Graves that he needs to venture to Transylvania because they can make a lot of money by turning it into a tourist trap. Unbeknownst to Frank, Clifton wants to be with Jeanie and means to kill his friend to take the castle for himself.

I think Jeanie was the least interesting out of the three but I liked that she got turned into a vampire by the Count. My favorite moment comes at the end of issue 2 when Frank is forced to stake Jeanie in the heart and it was actually a really powerful moment and after that, I was all in on Frank as a character. Clifton becomes Dracula’s familiar after he awakens him by taking out the stake (that was driven into him by Abraham Van Helsing.) And I have to say that Clifton from issue one seems like he’s going to be a great antagonist and he ends up being a good “bad guy”.

Dracula is a fantastic villain. He betrays anyone and is very intelligent, he’s definitely the bad guy you want to see get his comeuppance. I will say one negative is the fact that several times (because he can’t die anytime soon) they repeat the same outcome with a character shooting an arrow at him and he just turns into a bat and flies away. At least they changed it up in #6 where he uses Lenore (another vampire) as a shield when they shoot an arrow at him, instead killing her and it was a great moment. He’s an evil bastard for sure.

In issue three we meet Rachel Van Helsing and her “mute servant” and strongman Taj. Rachel has a great line and is the reason and motivation for Frank to not unalive himself when she finds him after he’s distraught for killing Jeanie. She’s a badass vampire hunter and Taj might be my favorite character. It leads to an interesting idea that Frank (a descendant of Dracula) and Rachel (a descendant of Abraham Van Helsing) teaming up to hunt and kill Dracula.

They introduce a black mirror in #3 that can be used as a portal into other dimensions and for time traveling. I liked that device and it adds for a cool moment in #4 where Dracula pulls Taj into a demon dimension. I liked that in issue 5, Dracula was smart enough to “save” Taj when they are attacked by the dimensional demons so that Count had someone to “feed on”. Something I initially loved was Dracula is able to jump through a mirror again and ends up in Abraham’s time after he had already slain Dracula. They have a confrontation but are interrupted by the heroes and I feel like, there could’ve been a moment shown between Abraham and his granddaughter, Rachel but it’s kinda ignored and they just go through the mirror again.

Issue three also introduces a new character named Ilsa Strangeway who is trying to find a way to be young and beautiful again through occult or magical means which is where the Black Mirror comes into play. Again, I loved that Dracula played her for a fool and made her into a vampire making her think that she’d be young again but to her dismay, she looked the same. I liked that she was actually horrified by having to kill people to live as a vampire so she asks Rachel to kill her. It was a nice twist and worked well for me.

Issue 6 might be my least favorite for the reason that they introduce a new character “Moorlands Monster” who turns out to just be hairy and disfigured due to a genetic condition. There’s a great moment near the end where he saves Frank and Rachel and they refer to him as a man and not a monster which he thanks them for.

My main problem with this issue is that Dracula leads the heroes to a castle and traps them in a medieval pit and closes the top with a cement lid. #1 he tosses the lid at Taj knocking him out after hitting him in the head but it doesn’t kill him which I found unbelievable. #2 the only reason Moorlands Monster was brought into this issue was to save the heroes at the end, he did nothing other than that. It was a nice theme that you shouldn’t judge a book by its cover but that wasn’t enough for me.

Something that was not expected was Frank confessing his love for Rachel as they thought they were going to die. I don’t know the timeline here so maybe it has been weeks or even months since they’ve been adventuring together but it did come out of nowhere for me. I should’ve seen it coming or maybe they should’ve held off on it for a few more issues.

So overall I loved these issues and couldn’t put this comic down! It’s fantastic. There are some weird, even problematic signs of the times in here a few being, Frank smacking Jeanie, the idea that Taj is Rachel’s “mute servant” (I have a similar problem with how they use Wong in the early Doctor Strange comics) and they call signing for deaf and dumb people. There might be more but I can’t remember it all. Other than that stuff, I totally recommend this series! Thanks if you read this whole post, it’s the most I’ve written on here so far!

(Tomb of Dracula #1 written by Gerry Conway with pencilling and inking by Gene Colan

Tomb of Dracula #2 written by Gerry Conway with pencilling by Gene Colan and inking by Vince Colletta

Tomb of Dracula #3 and #4 written by Archie Goodwin with pencilling by Gene Colan and inking by Tom Palmer

Tomb of Dracula #5 and #6 written by Gardner Fox with pencilling by Gene Colan and inking by Tom Palmer)

#tomb of dracula #marvel #marvel comics #vlad Dracula #count dracula #Rachel van Helsing #abraham van helsing #frank drake #70’s comics

[the-firebird69]

ZZ Top Eliminator Car at GearFest 2018 - YouTube

Everything you said was true except for what the band was doing with it they are doing it as a promotion and he missed the big part about it this is the first model A that was modified in this way ever and it is haunted and our son told him the story a part of it that we had it and we're racing away from something and we had to ditch it and escape and it starts the area put a hundred square miles for 10 days. Has sunset it was probably a leprechaun and we have to say no if he says it if you say it we don't say anything then you say tons of stuff they didn't say it was a leprechaun and we say maybe... How's Frank Castle hardcastle it was one of his agents it was not Chris or Hera and Ken owned it for a while and he was using the name Gabriel and is a parent of Hera the only male parent and the other one didn't have her okay it's like a stepdad. Again the video freaked out but really it's Trump and he knew about it he started saying it's haunted and says what does it do it's like Christine and he says how do you know I have Chris and Hera has Christine when's a Ford the other ones are Chevy and he says we looking at well the movie is real parts of it. He almost got sick. And he fell a little faint a little later and said I can't believe this the stuff is real so he wanted to drive it real bad that's the owner if they sell it and they said no he said what's your price he said cool your sister needs to know why you want to buy it so I think it's haunted since you want to break it and then have a comeback cuz that's fine and dandy but I don't want you to do that and you left so it breaks it and if it comes back it kills him so you saved his life but he doesn't look at it that way he's an a****** don't know who he was so he keeps the coming of the guy like a million times I know what the car can do I got to keep a secret cuz he took that out and he smashed it a little actually did it and it was back fine the next day no marks and no work on no dust no paint. And the guy said I can't let you have it if you come at me I'm going to kill you. So he started this fight but that's how it is when you come across one of these cars and if you own it long enough and it's the way it is with our son's firebird even though it's get dented and it stays dented. There's other cars don't and we don't mean the ones he owned as himself.

Here we go he's asking for a redesign and says a lot of cars these days are zippy and sporty and look like sports cars or look like some sort of radical Jeep and they're not my car SIM card and those don't sell in the United States that much nope it's all in Asia and Europe and that's about it in Russia has her own version. So he's trying to think of how to capture the essence of this and he tried doing it before it came out looking stupider and he couldn't do it and you have to have those weird front tires with a strange rims and I mean the offenders the odd fenders and they're all molded and they're they're separate from the car and it's crazy looking so we made one different and it didn't sucked and people didn't buy it it's not the PT cruiser it's supposed to be a retro chopped model A or model t and it looks like some sort of strange bastardized car and they designed it for weeks and then he said that's perfect. Inside and said what is that it looks I didn't say anything like a year ugly as sin. So he says this you take the ZZ top car and Melissa and I have a history with the band and not not like personally just the music and it was an experience she and I and she's listening all the time and I I knew that but she was living through me so she didn't mention it now she's doing great and just does not fail to make me upset when she has to. And there's a few things going on but I'd like to see what she thinks I think you take the PT cruiser concept and hang on to it and then you make this easy top car exactly how it is for the most part but more using a modern materials and stuff and so that was our son and daughter and I did that and we sat and looked at it and we said this I don't think we can change it from that and he tried it and it came out looking really s***** and what are you saying is you're trying to go and do the whole thing and it just looks like the whole thing you're trying to part of it it looks really stupid and trying to make it look like an accents it came out okay with a PT cruiser car it's like a little SUV and so looking at it we figured out some what makes it look really cool is it is chopped and they did that with the Dodge for a time and it looks real cool but people couldn't see anything and a son complained right away I said I can't see a damn thing and this guy's blind as a bath it was a guy from work and she was offended but he said I can't see a damn thing and he rented it and then I couldn't get killed really it was bad so they stopped chopping it even though it was really cool looking so he's thinking about now he hasn't looked at long enough

Thor Freya

#Youtube

[flyingfiinn]

𝐕𝐎𝐈𝐂𝐄 / 𝐒𝐏𝐄𝐄𝐂𝐇 𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐃𝐂𝐀𝐍𝐎𝐍𝐒.

𝙽𝙾. 𝙾𝙵 𝚂𝙿𝙾𝙺𝙴𝙽 𝙻𝙰𝙽𝙶𝚄𝙰𝙶𝙴𝚂: in order of fluency: finnish, french, english & some italian.

𝚃𝙾𝙽𝙴 𝙾𝙵 𝚅𝙾𝙸𝙲𝙴:   high  / average  /  deep.   

𝙰𝙲𝙲𝙴𝙽𝚃:   yes /  no   — he pronounces english words with the rules of finnish and it’s honestly pretty hysterical. rolls his r’s in words that don’t require it. speaks in an almost monotonous voice that makes him sound bored of everything. if you looked up rallienglanti in the dictionary, his picture would be next to it.

𝙳𝙴𝙼𝙴𝙰𝙽𝙾𝚁:   confident /  shy /  approachable /  hostile  /  other.   — not exactly the most approachable man in the world. he just has a stone-faced expression all the time and he will almost never start a conversation first.

𝙿𝙾𝚂𝚃𝚄𝚁𝙴:   slumped  /  straight /  stiff  /  relaxed.   — after the accident, alex basically wears a back brace and knee braces all the time because his body is basically falling apart on him.

𝙷𝙰𝙱𝙸𝚃𝚂:   head  tilting  / swaying /  fidgeting  /  stuttering  / gesturing /  arm crossing /  strokes  chin  /  er , um, or  other  interjections  / plays  with  hair or  clothing /  hands  at  hips  / inconsistent  eye  contact /  maintains  eye  contact  / frequent  pausing (while he tries to find the correct words in english) /  stands  close  /  stands  at  distance.

𝐂𝐎𝐌𝐏𝐋𝐄𝐗𝐈𝐓𝐘.

𝚅𝙾𝙲𝙰𝙱𝚄𝙻𝙰𝚁𝚈:                     ⬛  ⬛  ⬜  ⬜  ⬜  

𝙴𝙼𝙾𝚃𝙸𝙾𝙽:                           ⬛  ⬜  ⬜  ⬜  ⬜  

𝚂𝙴𝙽𝚃𝙴𝙽𝙲𝙴 𝚂𝚃𝚁𝚄𝙲𝚃𝚄𝚁𝙴:       ⬛  ⬜  ⬜  ⬜  ⬜

𝙽𝙾𝚃𝙴𝚂:   this is for when alex speaks english lmao. in finnish or french, it would be 4/5 on vocab and 4/5 on sentence structure. emotion is still quite low for any language because he’s just not really an excitable man. though it may be hard to believe, the guy is quite smart and has some depth to him--- you just have to talk to him in finnish or french. he just cannot express himself in english too well.

𝐏𝐑𝐎𝐅𝐀𝐍𝐈𝐓𝐘.

𝙵𝚁𝙴𝚀𝚄𝙴𝙽𝙲𝚈:        ⬛  ⬛  ⬛  ⬛  ⬜    

𝙲𝚁𝙴𝙰𝚃𝙸𝚅𝙸𝚃𝚈:      ⬛  ⬛  ⬛  ⬛  ⬜    

𝙽𝙾𝚃𝙴𝚂: almost always swears in finnish. sometimes french, sometimes english. but the default is “perrrrrkele” and the more he rolls the r, the more annoyed he is. other evergreen classics include “vittu!” and “ai saatana!” if he’s speaking in french, he’ll probably drop “putain” every other sentence. 

𝐁𝐎𝐋𝐃 𝐀𝐋𝐋 𝐓𝐇𝐀𝐓 𝐀𝐏𝐏𝐋𝐘.

arse. ass. asshole. bastard. bitch. bloody. bugger. bollocks. (but ironically, he learned that from harry and it amuses him to no end.) chicken shit. crap. cunt. dick. frick. fuck. horseshit. motherfucker. piss. prick. screw. shit. shitass. son of a bitch. twat. wanker. pussy.

𝐆𝐈𝐕𝐄𝐍 𝐏𝐑𝐎𝐏𝐄𝐑 𝐑𝐄𝐋𝐈𝐆𝐈𝐎𝐔𝐒 𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐗𝐓.

christ  on  a  bike.  christ  on  a  cracker.  damn.  goddamn. godsdamn.  hell.  holy  shit. jesus. jesus  christ. jesus  h  christ. jesus  h.  roosevelt  christ.  lord  have  mercy.  jesus ,  mary  and  joseph.  sweet  jesus. jesus  fucking  christ.

𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐒 𝐎𝐑 𝐓𝐇𝐀𝐓

straightforward  or  cryptic?  |  finding  the  right  word  or  using  the  first  word  that  comes  to  mind? |  masculinity , neutrality , or   femininity?  |  formalities or  abrasiveness?  |  praise or   equivocation?  | frankness or lies?  |  excessive or minimal hand  gestures?  | name – calling or magnanimity?  | friendly or blunt | nicknames? (only if he considers someone a close friend.)

𝐈𝐌𝐏𝐎𝐑𝐓𝐀𝐍𝐓 𝐐𝐔𝐄𝐒𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍𝐒.

𝙳𝙾 𝙿𝙴𝙾𝙿𝙻𝙴 𝙷𝙰𝚅𝙴 𝙰 𝙷𝙰𝚁𝙳 𝚃𝙸𝙼𝙴 𝚄𝙽𝙳𝙴𝚁𝚂𝚃𝙰𝙽𝙳𝙸𝙽𝙶 𝙾𝚁 𝙷𝙴𝙰𝚁𝙸𝙽𝙶 𝚈𝙾𝚄𝚁 𝙲𝙷𝙰𝚁𝙰𝙲𝚃𝙴𝚁?    almost  always  /  frequently  / sometimes / rarely  / never. — not a problem hearing, but understanding through his heavy accent? good luck.

𝙳𝙾𝙴𝚂 𝚈𝙾𝚄𝚁 𝙲𝙷𝙰𝚁𝙰𝙲𝚃𝙴𝚁’𝚂 𝙿𝙾𝙸𝙽𝚃 𝙲𝙾𝙼𝙴 𝙰𝙲𝚁𝙾𝚂𝚂 𝙴𝙰𝚂𝙸𝙻𝚈 𝚆𝙷𝙴𝙽 𝚃𝙷𝙴𝚈 𝚂𝙿𝙴𝙰𝙺?   almost always / frequently / sometimes  /  rarely  /  never.

𝚆𝙾𝚄𝙻𝙳 𝚈𝙾𝚄𝚁 𝙲𝙷𝙰𝚁𝙰𝙲𝚃𝙴𝚁 𝙸𝙽𝙸𝚃𝙸𝙰𝚃𝙴 𝙲𝙾𝙽𝚅𝙴𝚁𝚂𝙰𝚃𝙸𝙾𝙽𝚂?     almost  always / frequently  /  sometimes  / rarely /  never.      

𝚆𝙾𝚄𝙻𝙳 𝚈𝙾𝚄𝚁 𝙲𝙷𝙰𝚁𝙰𝙲𝚃𝙴𝚁 𝙱𝙴 𝚃𝙷𝙴 𝙾𝙽𝙴 𝚃𝙾 𝙴𝙽𝙳 𝙲𝙾𝙽𝚅𝙴𝚁𝚂𝙰𝚃𝙸𝙾𝙽𝚂?     almost  always  / frequently /  sometimes  / rarely  /  never.

𝚆𝙾𝚄𝙻𝙳 𝚈𝙾𝚄𝚁 𝙲𝙷𝙰𝚁𝙰𝙲𝚃𝙴𝚁 𝚄𝚂𝙴 ‘𝚆𝙷𝙾𝙼’ 𝙸𝙽 𝙰 𝚂𝙴𝙽𝚃𝙴𝙽𝙲𝙴?    yes  /  no /  yes, but it’s always wrong

𝚈𝙾𝚄𝚁 𝙲𝙷𝙰𝚁𝙰𝙲𝚃𝙴𝚁 𝚆𝙰𝙽𝚃𝚂 𝚃𝙾 𝙼𝙰𝙺𝙴 𝙰 𝙲𝙾𝚄𝙽𝚃𝙴𝚁𝙿𝙾𝙸𝙽𝚃. 𝚆𝙷𝙰𝚃 𝚆𝙾𝚁𝙳 𝙳𝙾 𝚃𝙷𝙴𝚈 𝚄𝚂𝙴?    but /  though  /  although /  however  / perhaps /  mayhaps / maybe

𝙷𝙾𝚆 𝙳𝙾𝙴𝚂 𝚈𝙾𝚄𝚁 𝙲𝙷𝙰𝚁𝙰𝙲𝚃𝙴𝚁 𝙴𝙽𝙳 𝙲𝙾𝙽𝚅𝙴𝚁𝚂𝙰𝚃𝙸𝙾𝙽𝚂?     walk  away  /  ask  if  that’s  everything  /  say  that’s  everything / give  a  proper  goodbye  / tell  their  company  they’re  done  here  /  remain  quiet  /  they  don’t.

𝙷𝙾𝚆 𝙳𝙾𝙴𝚂 𝚈𝙾𝚄𝚁 𝙲𝙷𝙰𝚁𝙰𝙲𝚃𝙴𝚁 𝙰𝙳𝙳𝚁𝙴𝚂𝚂 𝙾𝚃𝙷𝙴𝚁𝚂?  titles / first  names  /  surnames  /  full  names  / nicknames.

𝙸𝙽 𝚆𝙷𝙰𝚃 𝚆𝙰𝚈𝚂 𝙳𝙾𝙴𝚂 𝚃𝙷𝙴 𝚆𝙰𝚈 𝚈𝙾𝚄𝚁 𝙲𝙷𝙰𝚁𝙰𝙲𝚃𝙴𝚁 𝚂𝙿𝙴𝙰𝙺 𝚂𝚃𝙰𝙽𝙳 𝙾𝚄𝚃 𝚃𝙾 𝙾𝚃𝙷𝙴𝚁𝚂?    accent / vocabulary /  tone /  level  /  politeness  / brusqueness  /  it  doesn’t.

#* hcs.

[illusorygardens]

Here is the thing Regis that really can’t forgive Mors for, and there is little he can not forgive when you have a good enough reason, but even Regis had been... tested.

Regis and Mors were meant to present a united front on all things—and Uncle Ardyn too, to a lesser extent as a “bastard” of Regis’ grandfather, but this is neither here nor there—but try as they might, neither Regis nor Mors could manage to get close enough to a common ground on this to do so.

Mors wishes to pull back the Wall to Insomnia. Regis questioned the wisdom of this and many other side effects of such an action. Mors had dismissed all of Regis’ concerns out of hand, sounding remarkably like President Shinra.

“Regis,” Mors said, as though he were talking to a small child, “the people of Lucis revolve around us, not the other way around. The Wall is a kindness our family has shown to the people of Lucis. We need not concern ourselves with what they think, they have no power here.”

It’d started an argument, one Regis thinks they may never resolve. But Mors, for all he is an elitist bastard in ways Regis is no longer, is at least smart enough to realize he is dying. Perhaps it is the magic, perhaps it’s the rare genetic disease that Regis was lucky enough to not inherit. Either way, Mors is well aware that he is not long for this world, and is willing to make concessions with Regis on certain things as Regis will be ruling sooner rather than later.

Aulea questions Regis in turn, on this, and Regis finds her frank, no-nonsense manner refreshing when he has to deal with politics all day, every day. The doublespeak can be fun, but it’s still exhausting no matter how much Regis enjoys extorting people and ripping the disloyal and corrupt from their positions of power.

“He’s probably doing it to live longer,” she suggests, aiming her gun at a target. 

“Oh, most likely. If not him, then me,” Regis agrees absently, peering at her stance, pursing his lips, and then gently adjusting her elbow and doing his best to ignore her flinch away with a pained grimace before leaning back in to allow Regis’ touch. Her treatment was going smoothly, but it left its marks on her. “It’s not something I can allow, either way.”

“Why’s that?” Aulea prods, eyeing him sharply before she focuses back on the target and fires.

The shot rings, and the bullet misses the head by a hairsbreadth. Aulea curses softly, scowling at the target.

“Great job, just mind your elbow—all that’s left is training your hand-eye coordination,” Regis states, eyeing the still blank target. If it were moving, he has no doubt that it’d be a perfect, textbook headshot. “And which answer do you want exactly? The one that makes me sound like a good person or the one that a good prince would think?”

Aulea snorts. “I want the one that you actually think.”

Regis allows his usually impassive face to shift into amusement as he takes the gun she offers him and slots it back into his armiger. His impassive, neutral face descends again. “I think you already know how poor of a relationship I have with Mors.”

“You call him by his first name,” she points out, dryer than Niflheim’s deserts.

“Well, as much as I dislike the man, I also acknowledge that he does have some good points, no matter how terrible they may appear to everyone who doesn’t have to deal with the weight of the crown. This... this is just senseless selfishness on his part.” Regis rolls his shoulders, gently lays a hand on Aulea’s wheelchair and raises an eyebrow.

She smiles at him gratefully. It’s about time she returned to her room anyway, meeting her quota of physical exercise that Uncle Ardyn recommended for the day.

“Perhaps he has good intentions, perhaps he doesn’t. It’s not important, I don’t care. What I do care about are the people that live outside of Insomnia. We’d be all but conceding our land to Niflheim, allowing them to build bases and move in closer to our main stronghold. As of now, most of the war is being fought on their turf and while desert warfare is... uninviting, it’d be much harder to actually rout Niflheim when they’ve been allowed to close in. On top of that, we already have a hard enough time recruiting into our armed forces—we hardly need to add the potential of even more homegrown spies into our ranks, much less the dent that losing the loyalty of Outer Lucis gives the Crown already. Then there’d be the side effect of elitism of Insomnians versus the rest of Lucis, not to mention possible resentment inside of Insomnia due to the fact that many Insomnians have family outside of the Crown City. This isn’t even mentioning the favor we could lose with Accordo, Tenebrae, and Galahd, as well as our spies placed in other countries.”

Regis lets out a frustrated sigh. “Mors is too focused on himself or me to acknowledge the potential turn the war can take. We may be in a war of attrition now, but that can change at any point in time and Mors’ grand idea will just get people killed. I’d rather the Wall stay up and face the consequences than the consequences of the Wall going down.”

Aulea is silent and for a moment, Regis wonders if this was too much, too fast. Then she comments, “Yeah, alright, I see where you’re coming from. I also see where Mors is coming from.” And then she’s silent for all of a moment. “You’re definitely going to be a far better king than him.”

“Well, I certainly hope so.”

#invi's writing #mortala au #the Full Divergence of how canon regis thinks vs rufus!regis #c!regis is understanding and loving when it comes to his emotionally distant and sometimes physically distant father and trusts him to make #the right choices for their ppl no matter what his own opinions are on the subject #r!regis is very good at understanding motivations and reasoning but not so much intentions as he's a very logical sort of person and bc of #that he's very outspoken when someone is not being smart abt situations. he's chosing to be logical and tactical when it comes to his #decisions due to his past experiences and his own personal brand of morals combined with the fact that he simply can't give his position up #since lucis is at war and there's a prophecy in play so he's choosing instead to preserve and improve his resources in response. c!regis #chose to trust his heart when it came to ruling and never really thought of the prophecy like the other lucii #the fact that even in ff7 canon you can tell that rufus is a sort of logical person who hasn't entirely grown up is exactly the reason why i #chose him to reincarnate into regis. they're both so similar and so different at the same time. esp an older rufus who has grown up #.....anyways that was a weird ted talk i just gave. so here's wonderwall-

[girlbossfrankshepard]

Frank & Beth 🙏 Marvin & Trina (having either one or two sons depending on the version)

#merrily we roll along #in trousers #falsettos #i just refuse to acknowledge frank's second son lol #he probably just named him frank as well the bastard

[pillage-and-lute]

Prompt: fake realtionahip/marriage, whoever you like!

Ooohoho! This has been chilling as a draft for ages, now I have completed it. *mildly evil laughter*

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The funny thing about Geralt, Jaskier thought as he did up the buttons on his best doublet, was that he really didn’t lie. He said things that weren’t true, but they were usually things he believed, or thought he believed because he was tired or grumpy. Sometimes he told half truths. He didn’t lie though.

It wasn’t even as if he didn’t have a poker face, Geralt’s face was all poker face, he just hated lying. Normally it wasn’t an issue, but tonight, Jaskier reflected, it wouldn’t be ideal.

Jaskier had heard through some whispered words at a pub that a bunch of Nilfgaardian nobles were having a gala, and the temptation of finding out what political secrets they could was two strong for their odd little family. So Geralt and Jaskier were going undercover.

There had been quite a bit of debate about that. Jaskier was obviously going. He’d grown his hair longer and had a bit of scruff going, and to be frank, all a bard really needed to disguise themselves was a new name, people saw the clothing and heard the music, but rarely remembered the face. Yennefer would have been the ideal partner in crime except for a crucial thing.

When Yennefer had been changed by magic, her eyes had been left the same. Somehow, the transformation had solidified them, and no spell would change them. Her eyes were too distinctive, and so she would stay behind with Ciri. That left Geralt, and since the ball was only for the nobility, he would be the fiance of Julian Pankratz, Viscount de Lettenhove.

Damn.

See, Geralt didn’t lie, and that was bad enough. Jaskier wouldn’t be able to rely on Yennefer’s in-depth knowledge of the nobility and that was worse. Worst of all though, was the fact that Jaskier would have to spend a night full of wine and dancing pretending to be in love with, and engaged to, Geralt. Who he loved.

And who had, not three months ago, blamed Jaskier for every bad thing in life.

Since then Geralt had caught up with him half-way down the mountain and there had been some grumbled words about how Jaskier ‘wasn’t actually, exactly, a total curse’. Not a glowing review, but then Cintra had fallen, and they had Cirilla and they’d found a wounded Yennefer and it had all gotten so very busy.

Jaskier cast a last look in the mirror as the door to his room creaked open. He turned, expecting Geralt, but it was Yennefer.

“I suppose,” she said, eyeing him. “That this is as good as you get.” It could have been said cruelly. A year ago it would have been. Now, though, the words were fond. 

“I like the kohl, it goes well with the wrinkles at your eyes,” she winked. He smiled. There were no more wrinkles now than had been twenty years ago, and they both knew it.

“I wasn’t sure about the eyeliner,” Jaskier said, trying to sound haughty. “Overdramatic eye looks are your thing.”

Yennefer chuckled and sat on the end of the bed. “A tiny smudge of eyeliner is hardly overdramatic.” She studied him approvingly, then looked at him. Her expression was frighteningly soft.

“Have you told him that you love him?”

“Never,” Jaskier said, fiving his cravat in the mirror.

“Why ever not?”

“It would only be the mountain all over again,” Jaskier sighed. “I tried, you know. I spent years trying, and then on the mountain, I thought I was being clear...”

“What did you say?”

“I asked him to leave it all, just for a little while, with me. I thought we could go to the coast.”

“The coast,” Yennefer said from her spot on the bed. “As in Lettenhove? You wanted to show him where you grew up?”

“Partially. I could explain the immortality business easier if he met my sister, but mostly I just thought it would be peaceful.”

Yennefer snorted. “With Geralt? Peaceful? He’d spend the whole time fighting drowners and telling you not to write about mermaids because they’re vicious.”

Jaskier smiled wanly. “That’s pretty peaceful for him.”

“But he said no?”

“He didn’t say anything,” Jaskier said. “Then he, well, you know, he spent the night in your tent.”

“Ah,” Yennefer said. “For what it’s worth, I hate that it happened too.”

“He doesn’t though!” Jaskier cried, whirling around to face her. “He wants it to happen again! And you! You don’t want him but he wants you while I want him!” The frustration of the whole situation and nerves for what was to come were overwhelming. “And you’re here, trying to help me,” he said more quietly. “Why?”

“Because I like you,” Yennefer said, simply, standing from the bed. “And I like him. I also never, ever want to kiss him again. The djinn is sitting, somewhere in my chest, telling me I love him, but the feeling is...sick. It feels like love, as well as I can remember, but it’s poisoned and twisted and I want no part in it.”

Her purple eyes pinned Jaskier to the floor.

“And that poison pales in comparison to how much you love him. He deserves that.”

She swept out the door, tossing a “Sort it out,” over her shoulder.

Well.

The next knock at the door was Geralt, Ciri in tow. Jaskier hoped the witcher hadn’t heard any part of his and Yennefer’s conversation, but he suspected that no one overheard conversations that Yen didn’t want them too. 

“Dandelion!” Ciri said, leaping at him and using the name she’d first met him under. “You look nice! Like a prince in one of your stories!”

Jaskier blushed and thanked her quietly as he scooped her up and tossed her, laughing, onto the bed. 

He looked at Geralt for his opinion.

Oh he looked so good too. Yennefer had charmed him so that anyone else would see a different man in Geralt’s place, but to Jaskier he looked just the same. But he was wearing white. 

A white chemise, the collar and cuffs with fine red embroidery, with a cream colored cape, half length so it fell just to Geralt’s hips. It was embroidered too, green and pink and so many other colors, despite being overall still mostly cream. The pants were the same creamy fabric with a stripe down each side. Dark boots and a wide, decorative, dark belt completed the look.

“Wow,” Jaskier said.

“Rivian traditional clothing,” Geralt muttered. 

“I thought you’d hardly actually been to Rivia,” Jaskier said,.It was a better choice than the other thoughts in his head, which were half-formed screams about how absolutely skin tight those pants were.

“I haven’t been, but my...character is.”

“Right,” Jaskier said, dragging his eyes above Geralt’s shoulders. “My fiance, Ludomir of Rivia.”

Geralt said nothing.

Jaskier kicked himself for mentioning the fiance thing.

“We should go,” he said.

And they went.

The lord’s castle was small, as castles go, and the guards at the gate didn’t even bother to check their invitations. With all the other lords and ladies streaming past, no one would guess that the pair were out of place. Jaskier and Geralt enterred the ballroom and Jaskier felt his stomach drop straight through to his shoes.

The walls were positively lined with Nilfgaardian soldiers. Geralt’s shoulders stiffened too, but they steered themselves to a feast table as if nothing was wrong.

It took them almost a full circle of the tables to find the two little cards for ‘Viscount de Lettenhove’ and ‘Guest’. Getting onto the guest list had been laughably easy, and Jaskier just sent up a silent prayer of thanks that the stupid title was finally useful for something.

They sat in their places and guests populated the seats around them. There was a lady next to Jaskier who already smelled of the strongly alcoholic sherry that was being served. Her hair, probably a wig towered, and was strung all over with so many pearls and little tiny golden ornaments that when she stepped outside she must surely be attacked by magpies.

“My lady,” Jaskier said, as chivalrous as he could around a mouthful of her rose perfume. “I’m afraid we haven’t had a chance to be introduced.”

“Oooh,” she giggled, “You’re sweet, I’m Dame Au’Vigne, and I can see by your card that you are the Viscount de Lettenhove, I knew your father.”

Yes, Jaskier thought. I remember, he turned down your proposal. Jaskier had been a lad then, barely eight years old, but he remembered through a child’s eyes a mountain of lace and perfume who had offered to marry his father while actually at his mother’s funeral.

“It’s a pleasure,” he said. Heinous bitch, he thought. He remembered rumors too, which are always a bard’s stock and trade, that Dame Au’Vigne’s husbands were always wealthy, usually handsome, and all of them had shockingly short lifespans. 

Rumor also had it that she was backing Nilfgaard financially and had been playing the shipping stock with insider knowledge of their movements. A very good person to be seated next to tonight. 

“May I introduce my fiance, Ludomir of Rivia,” Jaskier said, gesturing to Geralt. Geralt nodded and hummed, somewhat politely.

“How handsome,” Dame Au’Vigne stage whispered. “Where ever did you find him?”

“You wouldn’t believe me if I told you,” Jaskier said.

The lord of the castle stood up and gave a droning speech. It was full of euphemisms about ‘upholding standards’ and ‘fostering strong relations’ that boiled down to ‘I’m an untrustworthy bastard who believes that allowing the deaths of my people en masse is fine so long as I make money.’ It was depressing, too, as Jaskier looked around the ballroom to see so many people nodding in agreement. 

Traitors and bastards, the lot of them.

Geralt’s face hadn’t changed even an inch.

“So,” Dame Au’Vigne said as the appetizer course was served. “You two aren’t exactly in a honeymoon phase, are you?”

And she was right, for a couple, newly engaged, Jaskier and Geralt hadn’t acted the part yet at all.

“I’m afraid,” Jaskier said, inventing wildly. “That we’re both just a touch nervous, the engagement is so new, you see, and this is our first event,” he took Geralt’s hand, above the table, so Dame Au’Vigne could see. “As a couple.”

“Oh how sweet,” she said airily. “You know, they’ll have dancing between the courses, it’ll be a great way for you to wet your social feet. Sir Erdin and the lady in the lavender dress,” she pointed across the ballroom. “They’re newly engaged as well.” She lowered her voice.

“Sir Erdin is very supportive of the cause, word has it he’s in with the very inner circle,” Dame Au’Vigne giggled, as if being in the inner circle of a murderous group of intruders was as delightful as a recent engagement.

“How interesting!” Jaskier said, affecting a jealous and impressed tone. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Geralt’s eyebrow twitch, the way it did when he was listening hard.

“Oh yes,” Dame Au’Vigne said. “And Lord Snapcase, in the corner, he...” and she went on, was the marvelous thing, she couldn’t seem to help herself but gossip about everyone. And she had all these details about how they were helping ‘the cause’. Destiny must have finally decided to throw Jaskier and Geralt a bone.

Then the appetizer course was finished and Jaskier felt much less lucky. Dame Au’Vigne was ushering him and Geralt out of their seats to dance. It wasn’t one of the quick, hopping around, switching partners dances either. No, the band seemed insistent on only slow, romantic music. 

Awkwardly, Geralt slid one large hand around Jaskier’s waist and they turned in slow circles on the dance floor. The witcher’s face looked like a thunderclap.

“Try and look like you’re having fun, darling,” Jaskier said. Please don’t look at me as though holding me is torture, his inner self begged.

“Hmmm,” Geralt said. Jaskier leaned in.

“Really dear heart,” he leaned in even closer, lips almost touching Geralt’s ear. “People are going to suspect something,” he said in the barest of whispers.

“Let them,” Geralt hissed back in the same fashion. “We’ve got the information, we can leave.” 

Jaskier, keeping up appearances, tossed his head back and let out a delighted shriek of laughter, as if Geralt had just told him a joke or, perhaps, made a wonderfully indecent proposal.

“Later, perhaps,” he said, stage-whispering for the sake of those around them. Leaning in again he whispered for real, “We can’t leave until the party’s over, no one else will, they’d send some of those soldiers after us for sure.”

The music changed, and Geralt and Jaskier’s slow circles changed speed with it. 

Geralt hissed in his ear again, “I don’t see why I had to be your,” this close Jaskier could see Geralt’s jaw working with distaste. “Lover.”

“Fiance,” Jaskier said, trying not to let his heart sink. It couldn’t possibly go any lower. “There’s a difference.”

They said no more to each other, and after the second dance, declined the third to sit back at their seats and await the arrival of the soup course.

The man sat beside Geralt was some old military man, mostly mustache and the rest of him was a rather musty and very old fashioned uniform. It had gold braid and a colonel’s insignia. The hat that sat next to his chair had a plume. 

He leaned over to Geralt and said, rather loudly, in a voice that implied tone deafness, to both volume and social situations, “Just marrying him for the money, eh?”

People to both sides of Jaskier and Geralt looked around. Dame Au’Vigne looked at them askance.

“Hmmm,” Geralt said. It was a negative answer to the colonel’s question, but the man didn’t take it as such.

“Often is the way,” the man nearly bellowed. “My missus hated me right up to the day she died.”

Jaskier curled in on himself. The role of Viscount wasn’t a big one, mostly administrative and, these days, completed by his sister Rowena, who was better at sitting behind a desk. Still, argued a battered part of his long ago but still proper upbringing. The name of Pankratz was being dragged through the mud. Lots of these people would know the name too, these sour, vindictive, unpleasant, murderous people. And they’d know the gossip, would have taken part in the gossip about ‘Young Julian running off to be a bard,’ (this generally said with the same tone as is usually leant to slave trader) and how ‘he’ll never find a good marriage now,’ how he was ‘a disgrace to the name.’ 

And here was their long awaited confirmation. Jaskier-Julian, couldn’t find a good marriage, was being wed only for his money. Of course, more than half the pairings here were only in it for the money, but to have it said, so loudly too, and before the wedding had even happened, it was social condemnation.

Jaskier looked down at the table cloth, his face hot. He’d faced social condemnation before, of course, he’d survive. What hurt was that Geralt wasn’t really protesting, Geralt couldn’t even pretend to like Jaskier, not for a single evening. Twenty years he’d done a good enough job of acting to convince even Jaskier, mostly, apart from the punches and the insults and...maybe Jaskier had been a little blind to the truth but still. 

It was ruining their cover though, so he protested quietly. “Not just for the money,” he said, patting Geralt’s hand where one fist wrapped around his goblet. “My fiance is just shy, that’s all.”

The damage was already done, but the old colonel hiccupped. “Well lad,” he said, giving Geralt a slap on the back. “This ale’s pretty good so drink up. Got me through three years of happy marriage, strong ale did.” The man took a slug of his own drink. “And fourty seven more unhappy years.” He guffawed hugely and unpleasantly, little drops of ale flinging from his mustache. 

Wherever the soul of the unpleasant man’s dead wife was, Jaskier felt sure she was happy to be away from this miserable old drunk.

Geralt, however, was looking at Jaskier. Their eyes met. Jaskier knew he probably looked as hunted as he felt, and his cheeks were probably still burning from the embarassment. Still, it seemed as though Geralt was about to say something. His golden eyes were full of emotion, but Jaskier couldn’t parse out what kind. 

Whatever kind it was, it caused Geralt to take the colonel’s advice and drink like there was no tomorrow. 

Great. Jaskier had driven his companion to drinking. 

He felt a little like doing so himself. 

The soup course was good, hot and savory, but underspiced. Geralt slurped it up gratefully. Jaskier knew that rich food was usually too much for his senses if it was spiced to Jaskier’s taste.

More dancing. Jaskier didn’t stand, at first, assuming that Geralt would rather sit and drink more. There were some snickers as people judged him. Geralt stood though, and he offered a hand and led Jaskier to the dance floor.

“You need to act drunk,” Jaskier whispered in his ear. “If you were a normal man you would be.”

“I am acting,” Geralt rumbled.

“You’re very steady for a drunk,” Jaskier sniffed.

“You said I was shy, now I’m less shy,” Geralt whispered. “And I’ve been drinking. So...drunk.” It was torture, being held like this, having that voice in Jaskier’s ear. That hand, so warm cupping his own. He wanted to cry.

A couple whirled past them. It was the Dame Au’Vigne, gossiping to some new dance partner. A snippet of her words caught them.

“-de Lettenhove. Entirely loveless of course. Unlovable, his father said once, of course as a bard-” then the tide of conversation and other dancers stole the rest of the words.

Jaskier sagged. His father hadn’t been a nice man, and unlovable wasn’t the worst of what he’d been called in his life, but now, with Geralt so close and so disgusted by the prospect...well, it hit a little close to home. 

“Laugh,” Geralt whispered in his ear.

“What?” Jaskier hissed.

“Like before, laugh like before, but...more so. Pretend I said a dirty joke.”

Jaskier did, heads turned as he pretended to laugh, half scandalized and half delighted at something Geralt said.

Geralt even chuckled along with him. Then his hand crept down Jaskier’s back to his hip. It wasn’t dirty. It was just so,so spine tinglingly close to dirty.

It was almost worse. If Geralt had gripped his ass that would have been bad, but this, Jaskier was left to speculate. He had a very active imagination. The couples next to them were giggling and tittering, scandalized, but not too much, at the pair.

They danced all three dances. During the second dance Geralt spun Jaskier out and then back in flashily, dipping him over one arm like a dainty maiden. Jaskier, who was no dainty maiden, knew the strength that elaborate dip must have taken and his head spun. The third dance was slow, and once again they simply held one another and turned in slow circles. Except Geralt pressed their cheeks together in a way that was so intimate that Jaskier finally gave in. Just tonight he had Geralt, all of him, his attention, his warmth. 

There was only so much a bard could take, and Jaskier gave in to the fantasy.

“I wonder how Yennefer is,” Geralt whispered. “And Ciri.”

It was like having cold water poured all over him. Jaskier’s fantasy shattered as soon as it had formed. Of course Geralt wasn’t enjoying this, of course his mind was elsewhere. He had a beautiful sorceress to think of, even if they weren’t sleeping together. Geralt and Yennefer and Ciri made the perfect, happy family. Where did Jaskier fit in to that?

He pulled back a little, already missing the warmth of Geralt’s cheek against his own. They finished the dance stiffly.

Back at the table, squished between Dame Au’Vigne and the colonel, the main course was awful. Jaskier couldn’t judge it on the food, which he barely tasted. Dame Au’Vigne and the colonel, however, had apparently come to the conclusion that Geralt or, Ludomir, rather, was marrying Jaskier for the money and the sex. They tittered, loudly and drunkely, to those around, and Geralt leaned in.

“Surely we can leave after this course,” he whispered.

Desperate to be rid of the charade, Jaskier thought. To not have to be engaged to me. “Can’t,” he whispered. “Have to stay for dessert and more dancing, else it looks suspect.”

“Hmmm.” It was a displeased hum.

“And, there will be small talk, with dessert. You need to say something, people will think you’re mute.”

“You two twitter into one another’s ears all the time,” Dame Au’Vigne said loudly. She was fully drunk off the sherry and very loud. “But not one kiss,” she lowered her voice, as if trying to be discreet. It didn’t work. “Is it truly as loveless as they say? I know you aren’t waiting until marriage.”

As who say? Jaskier thought. The only person quite that invested seems to be you.

“Not loveless,” Jaskier said. It seemed weak even to his ears.

“Surely you’ll join the dancing again, then,” Dame Au’Vigne said. 

“No,” Jaskier said, fiddling with his napkin. “I’m feeling quite too full to dance, ate too fast, I’m afraid.” He hoped she was too drunk to notice he’d picked at his plate. It seemed she was.

“Lovely little veranda, get some air there,” said a man who, according to Dame Au’Vigne, was shipping weapons to Nilfgaard behind the backs of multiple heads of state.

Jaskier nodded,stood, bowed, and made his escape. He sighed, but wasn’t surprised to find that Geralt had followed along behind. Of course he wanted to escape the party too, but Jaskier wanted to escape...him.

To his shame and surprise, he found tears in his eyes. The pressure of sitting in a room chock full of people who wanted to kill him, combined with the fact that every last one of them reminded him of being bullied in school, and add to that that he was supposed to be fake engaged to Geralt...it was too much. Fake engaged and even in their fake engagement Geralt didn’t like Jaskier. 

Jaskier’s rational brain knew that Geralt did like him, mostly. He just didn’t love him.

Jaskier leaned his elbows on the railing, overlooking some moonlit gardens, and felt the tears roll down his face.

“They think I don’t like you,” Geralt said quietly.

“Yes,” Jaskier said. He knew Geralt could smell the salt of his tears or whatever, but still turned his face away so the witcher couldn’t see.

“I danced with you though.”

Jaskier chuckled wetly. “Nobles dance with people they hate all the time.”

Geralt was quiet for a minute then, very gently, he took one of Jaskier’s hands. “I don’t hate you.”

It was too much, Jaskier started crying in earnest, sobbing.

“C’mon, Jaskier, I like you. A lot.” Geralt was, for him, panicking clearly. Jaskier almost smiled. He was so bad at dealing with other people’s emotion. And his own.

“You’re my friend,” Geralt said, a little stuntedly. “You know I’m not a good liar.”

Too much. Twenty-two years and he finally said the word ‘friends’ and Jaskier wanted more. He whipped around to face Geralt.

“Tell me the truth, then, Geralt. Tell me you love me, it doesn’t have to be the truth for forever, but can you love me just for a night? Can you make it the truth for tonight?” Jaskier’s tears were ugly and blobby and drying up fast but he continued.

“Because I’ve loved you so long I don’t know any other truth,” He leaned forward and planted his forhead on Geralt’s collarbone and sniffled through the last of his tears, curling one, shaking fist into Geralt’s lovely pale cape as he cried. “Just this one night, Geralt, love me back.”

He hadn’t meant to say any of it, was half expecting Geralt to toss him off the low balcony into the bushes below. 

Instead Jaskier was lifted by two strong arms and sat down on the railing. Warm, delightful lips pressed against his and suddenly he was being kissed within an inch of his life. 

“The truth, you want,” Geralt said, pulling back and panting. “Is the only one I can give. I can’t pretend to love you.” Here Geralt looked into Jaskier’s eyes, like being struck by lightning. “I only love you, no pretending, I swear it.”

“But-” Jaskier was cut off.

“They think I don’t like you,” Geralt said, furiously. “I think you think I don’t like you, Jaskier I like you, I love you so much I don’t know what to do and I’m...I’m not good with words. Or emotions.” Geralt’s shoulders dropped a little. “I just am, and the way I am is... The way I am is better with you.” 

Geralt’s face screwed up with anguish. “And I’m the reason you think I don’t like you, it’s my fault and that feels so...so bad. Yennefer’s been working with me on the feelings thing and always says ‘bad isn’t a feeling’ but I can’t tell you what all the feeling is.”

Jaskier was staring, mouth open, as frustrated, stilted, fumbling words left Geralt’s mouth. They sounded angry, but only at himself. Geralt was looking up at him as if seeking benediction.

“Tell me you love me again,” Jaskier said.

“I love you.”

“Again.”

“I love you.”

“Again.”

Jaskier giggled as Geralt lifted him and spun him around before tucking him in close and kissing his forehead.

“I,” he said.

A kiss to Jaskier’s nose. “Love.”

A deep, breathtaking kiss to his lips. “You.”

There was nothing left for Jaskier to say except, “wow.”

Geralt smiled, that lovely warm little smile he saved for special times and offered his arm to Jaskier. “Shall we?”

They paraded back into the ballroom and danced the final dance of the set. Geralt whispered a suggestion of what he’d really like for dessert and this time Jaskier didn’t have to fake the scandalized giggle. “Back home, perhaps,” he said.

Dessert meant more conversation with Dame Au’Vigne, which was of course unbearable. There was plenty of Champagne though, which was pretty good, and the bubbles seemed to fill Jaskier all the way up. He took pleasure in picturing the downfall of all these horrible people when Nilfgaard was finally defeated for good.

He especially enjoyed sticking it to her gossip when he fed Geralt a strawberry with cream from his fingertips and recieved a kiss in thanks. Geralt was clearly enjoying himself too. He had a sweet tooth, and that certainly helped, but his hand that never left Jaskier’s under the table was a much better clue.

They walked back to the inn, flushed and warm in the cool night air, bidding farewell to the other drunken lords and ladies all filtering to finer inns or grand coaches. 

Then they were alone on their path back, Geralt’s witcher senses confirming their isolation. Then, Geralt, who never told lies, whispered sweet nothings into Jaskier’s ear the entire way home. Jaskier believed every single one.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

It’s done, this one’s quite long and I loved writing it. Geralt is useless at playing pretend, but very good at loving Jaskier in his own way. I imagine his emotion lessons with Yennefer must have been rather intense. 

#the witcher #geralt x jaskier #geraskier #fake dating #getting together #fluff #fluff and angst #tiny amount of horniness #read with caution

[haikyuu-scenarios-drabbles]

you weren’t supposed to hear that (F! reader)

A collection of instances where your roommate hears you moaning their name whilst your fingers are between your legs. Or your neighbor. Or maybe you walk in on them saying your name. Take your pick 😈

warnings: NSFW, manga spoilers (in terms of what the boys do post timeskip) words: 9.7k (oops)

a/n: wow it’s been awhile since I wrote one of these!! This has been half finished for a while and i finally got the inspiration to complete it. please enjoy!! 💖

Other parts: Kuroo | Sakusa

Ushijima Wakatoshi 

Being Ushijima’s roommate is fairly simple. He’s easy to get along with once you get past his jarring frankness and strict regime. Seriously, the guy never changes his routine; working out at 6am, breakfast at 8, leaving for practice at 9, home at 5, dinner at 7, and in bed by 9 o’clock. He’s a machine, but you don’t mind his predictability. It certainly makes your life easier being able to plan around his tried-and-true schedule.

You saw his ad for a roommate a few months ago when you were desperate to get out of your parents’ house and into the world. They weren’t too keen on the idea of you living with a man, but upon meeting Ushijima, they changed their minds quickly. Neither of them able to believe that stoic Ushijima Wakatoshi would ever lay a hand on you. Plus, the deal was far too good to pass up, he is seriously underselling the room you’re currently renting; and there’s the bonus that he’s frequently absent at away games, leaving the entire apartment for you to enjoy alone.

You learned quickly to keep your mouth shut on who exactly your roommate is, never inviting anyone over anymore in fear of them finding out from the various volleyball paraphernalia Ushijima so sparsely decorates the apartment with. It became difficult for you to tell if people you just met actually liked you, or if they just wanted a glimpse of the infamous Ushijima Wakatoshi and maybe an autograph. And don’t even get you started on his fangirls that he’s so oblivious about.

To your surprise, he was indifferent about having a roommate of the opposite sex. You thought for sure he’d try to ‘keep your honor’ or some shit like that, but all he’d asked you was what your job was to make sure you can pay rent, if you were tidy, and if you didn’t mind being alone. He’d seemed satisfied with your answers, and you’d moved in the following week.

The first and only time Ushijima has someone over, you get home from work surprised to see an interesting looking character standing in the kitchen across from him. They both look up at you, Ushijima giving you a slight nod in greeting while a wide smile spreads across his friends’ face.

“Ushiwaka! You didn’t mention your roommate is that pretty!”

Ushijima blinks as if he’s never considered that about you before, while you chuckle. “Ushi…waka?” You don’t think you’ve ever heard anyone refer to him in such a casual manner before.

The red-head beams, slinging an arm around Ushijima that he surprisingly allows. “Yup, me and Wakatoshi have been friends since high school!”

Now it’s your turn to blink, never having expected Ushijima to have friends outside of volleyball. Especially not ones who call him by his first name. In fact, you don’t even know if he considers any of his teammate’s friends either. He doesn’t spend any time with them outside of volleyball (that you know of) and so far, this is the first person he’s brought to the apartment since you moved in.

“Well,” the visitor nudges Ushijima in the side, who’s expression hasn’t changed throughout this entire interaction. “Are you going to introduce me or what?”

Finally, Ushijima speaks, his deep voice rumbling through your chest as he says, “This is Tendo, we played volleyball together in high school.” He doesn’t show it, but he notices your piqued interest at that information.

“Oh?” You say, “Do you still play?”

Tendo waves his hand dismissively, “Nah, it wasn’t for me. And I’m nothing compared to golden boy over here.”

You try to hide your amusement. This is definitely not what you were expecting from one of Ushijima’s friends. Tendo is rather enjoyable and chatty, much unlike the stone of a man sitting beside him.

“Tendo is a chocolatier in Paris,” Ushijima supplies.

Now you can’t hide your surprise. “Wow! That’s really amazing. What are you doing in Japan then?”

“Just visiting,” he beams. “And of course, I had to see my best friend Wakatoshi-kun.”

“Are you going to his game tomorrow?” You ask, ignoring the way Ushijima’s attention focuses on you. He didn’t think you paid much attention to his volleyball schedule besides when he’s going to be away.

Tendo nods excitedly. “Wouldn’t miss it! You should come too!”

You open your mouth to give some excuse, but then close it again at Tendo’s expectant expression. You bite your lip nervously; in the time you’ve been living with Ushijima you’ve never once actually seen him play. There’s a part of you that avoids it, fearful you might become one of his dreaded fangirls. But you can’t refuse Tendo’s invitation, and to Ushijima’s surprise, you agree to attend.

Clapping his hands together Tendo says, “We get to sit in Ushiwaka’s special seats! Maybe I’ll bring some chocolates for us to snack on…” And when he sees your eyes light up at that, he smiles again, “Chocolate for the lady, done.”

You laugh, and then Tendo is seeing himself out, telling you he can’t wait to see you both tomorrow. And once he’s gone, you can’t help feeling like you don’t know what to with yourself now. Not with Ushijima’s stare boring into your back. After a minute he says, “You don’t have to come.”

And if this had been the first week you’d known him, you might’ve taken that a little personally. But knowing him, he thinks he’s just stating something. He doesn’t see how it can be interpreted as him not wanting you there. “No, it sounds fun! And Tendo seems nice.”

“Tendo is very kind,” he states, and you have to resist the urge to chuckle at him. Ushijima is not a man of words and if that had come out of anyone else’s mouth you would’ve thought they were little strange. But in the months of living with him, despite your limited interactions, you’ve gotten used to his mannerisms.

Looking away from him, you start retreating down the hallway to the safety of your room, but before you disappear you say one more thing. “Plus, I’ve never seen you play.” Then you’re gone, not to be seen for the rest of the night. You don’t see him watch you until you’re out of sight. If you had, you would’ve been shocked by his dumbfounded expression at how the small smile you gave him made his heart stutter for a moment.  

Ushijima has to leave much earlier than you do for the game, but he informs you that Tendo will be by to pick you up and go to the game together. Then, for the first time probably ever, he bids you goodbye and tells you he’ll see you afterwards.

Tendo comes by the apartment a few hours later, sporting an Ushijima jersey and a box of chocolates he asks to hide in your bag. For having just met him yesterday, he easily leads the conversation, asking you all sorts of things—though he seems particularly interested in your relationship with Ushijima. You try to assure him it’s nothing. Really, you aren’t even sure if you can consider Ushijima your friend. Right now, you’re pretty much strictly roommates and that’s it.

When you let it slip that you’ve never seen Ushijima play, Tendo is shocked. “Really? Not even on TV or anything?”

You shake your head. “Nope! I guess I never thought of it.” The lie slips through your teeth easily and Tendo doesn’t bat an eye at it.

Though he does grin telling you, “You’re in for a treat then! Have you ever watched volleyball at all?”

Your regretfully admit to him that no—you’ve never seen a game. You do vaguely remember the rules from high school, but they’re a bit fuzzy now. Tendo tells you not to worry and spends the rest of the train ride to the stadium filling you in on all the aspects of volleyball. And the more he talks, the more excited you get.

When you finally enter the stadium, Tendo is amusingly proud to show off your VIP tickets to be allowed entrance to the special seats reserved solely for Ushijima’s guests. To your delight, they’re some of the best seats in the house and you and Tendo get to work on the chocolates you snuck in while you wait for the game to start. Already the stadium is buzzing with excitement and you can feel your own continue to grow.

Meanwhile, Ushijima hasn’t said a word that he has visitors today. So, it comes as a complete surprise to his teammates when a chorus of cheers erupts from his seats when he enters the stadium. He doesn’t take note of how shocked his teammates are—he’s never had any spectators before. And none of them ever expected one of them to be a girl.

“So, who’re your friends?” Heiwajima asks during warm-ups, nudging Ushijima in the side and motioning his head towards you and Tendo.

“Isn’t that Tendo-san?” Kageyama notes, his own eyes up in the stands.

Without looking upwards, Ushijima replies, “It is.”

Heiwajima rolls his eyes. “Yeah, we aren’t so interested in him as we are the beauty sitting next to him.”

Now Ushijima lifts his attention, eyes drifting to you. He hasn’t told anyone on the team he has a roommate. Not because he has any reason to hide you, but there has never been a reason for him to bring you up. So, he doesn’t think much of it when he says, “That’s my roommate.” And then introduces you.

Everyone on the teams’ eyes nearly bug out of their heads at that information.

“Ushijima, you bastard!”

His brow furrows. Why is he a bastard? You’re just his roommate. And he never lied to anyone about you, nobody ever asked.

“Keeping that a secret from us this whole time!”

He ponders that. He wasn’t really trying to keep any secret. “It’s not a secret,” he says. “You never asked.”

The team guffaws at him and continues to grill him about you until Hirugami claps his hands and tells everyone to focus on the match. They’ll have plenty of time to discuss Ushijima’s secret roommate later. Again, Ushijima tries to explain it you were never a secret, but Hirugami brushes him off and tells him to start spiking warm-ups.

It isn’t hard for him to ignore you and Tendo during the game. He’s used to having nobody here for him, so he just treats it like any other day. It’s nothing special, he’ll play the way he usually does. Meanwhile, up in the stands, you can’t keep your eyes off him. You finally see why he works so hard, and maybe understand him a bit better.

He loves volleyball, you know that—but seeing him in action really drives it home. He’s a machine. Every time he serves or spikes you swear the other team’s arms are going to rip off from the force of the ball. And the sound that ricochets in the stadium when the ball connects solidly with the floor is unlike anything you’ve ever experienced. It’s like a clap of thunder rattling your bones and before you know it, you’re cheering loudly alongside Tendo with no qualms.

It’s exciting being here. You can feel your heart racing in your chest each time the Adlers or the other team is at a critical point, and sometimes you catch yourself holding your breath in anticipation for the outcome. You never thought watching a sport could be so thrilling.

And Ushijima is incredible. You suspected as much, but actually watching him for the first time is something else. You can’t help gobbling up the sight of him, his powerful thighs thrusting him into the air when he jumps, his biceps on display when his hand connects with the ball—and above it all, that sharp look in his eyes that sends goosebumps prickling down your spine without your permission. If Tendo notices you shamelessly ogling your roommate at all, he doesn’t comment.

He's oblivious to the fact he’s actually playing a lot more intensely than he usually does. Which some of his teammates never imagined possible. And most of them, besides the clueless ones alongside Ushijima, have a pretty good idea what’s different about this game. Though they can’t pinpoint if it’s just a result of having spectators in general, or if it’s you specifically.

The Adlers come out victorious after four hard sets, winning the first and second, but then having to snag the win in the fourth. You watch as the team gets swarmed by reporters looking for a post-game interview and Tendo tugs on your arm telling you that Ushijima is going to meet you by the locker room. You must give him a surprised look because he holds up the card dangling around his neck with a grin. “VIP, remember?” You giggle and follow him out.

In the locker room, Heiwajima and others try desperately to invite him, you, and Tendo out with them after the game. But he has to decline, you three already have plans. And he doesn’t wait around to see their disappointed expressions as he heads out of the room to look for you and Tendo. He finds the two of you nearby and once you catch sight of him, a smile splits your face in two.

“That was amazing, Ushijima! I’ve never had so much fun watching a sport before!” You gush once he’s in earshot.

“Volleyball is very fun.” He nods as the three of you head towards the exit. Ushijima purposefully avoids the spots he knows he is likely to be ambushed by reporters or fans, opting for a back exit instead that he sometimes uses when he wants to make a quiet escape.

“I had no idea being left-handed was such an advantage! Tendo told me it really throws people off apparently.”

Tendo sneaks him a smile and then throws an arm around his shoulder. “So, where is the great Ushiwaka takin’ us for dinner?”

You end up at a nice restaurant not too far away, and of course Ushijima gets recognized a couple times being this close to the stadium. He politely agrees to autographs and declines photos, seemingly unaware to the fact they’re just taking them secretly when they return to their tables. And while you’re waiting for your food to arrive, you can’t seem to stop talking about volleyball. Admitting that you’ll probably watch a few more of his games from home now and even cover your face in embarrassment when Tendo suggests you get your own Ushijima jersey to wear in support.

It’s then that Ushijima realizes he very much enjoys listening to you talk about what you thought of volleyball. Though he does feel heat creeping up his neck at the thought of you wearing one of his jerseys. All the while, Tendo is sitting beside you smirking up a storm, and Ushijima can’t for the life of him place why.

After dinner, when you’re walking a bit ahead of them and out of earshot, Tendo nudges him playfully in the side. “She’s pretty great, right?”

He looks at your back, expression unchanging. “She’s a good roommate.”

Tendo groans dramatically. “No blockhead—like, she’s pretty great, if you know what I mean.”

He blinks. “Do you want to ask her out?” Tendo can’t help slapping himself on the forehead. Who was he to think that Ushijima has any idea you are available, and he has a very high chance with you?

“Not me,” Tendo spells out slowly. “You.”

“I don’t want to ask her out.”

Tendo’s thin brows lift. “Are you sure about that?”

Tendo doesn’t miss his slight hesitation before he says, “Yes.”

And he doesn’t—you’re his roommate, and a good one. He likes having you around, but not the way Tendo seems to think.

But Tendo isn’t convinced. “Okay~,” he sing-songs before skipping up to loop his arms through yours and make you laugh about something. Ushijima thinks about that for a few minutes, why doesn’t Tendo believe him?

~

When you first moved in, it took a few weeks to get accustomed to each other. But once you figured out his schedule it became a lot easier. You know exactly when to hide in your room if you want to avoid him and when to come out once he’s gone. After going to his volleyball game, you especially try to avoid him during the times he’s walking down the hallway towards the shower, damp with sweat from a workout. Your brain can’t seem to function seeing him slick with the shine of sweat, his hair clinging to his forehead, and a towel draped around his neck—it’s too much for you, as much as you hate to admit.

But one week, you swear he’s on a warpath to make you a stuttering, flustered mess. Despite knowing the fact you’re certain Ushijima has no clue he can have that effect on people, much less do it on purpose. But every single day he’s waltzing around the apartment without a shirt on and while he doesn’t seem to see the problem with it, you don’t think your heart can take it much more.

And it’s the final straw when you see him a few days later, a thin sheen of sweat covering his skin as he saunters across the apartment from his home gym towards the bathroom in the hallway. All while you’re standing dumbfounded in the kitchen trying really hard not to get caught staring at his enormous biceps or the way the shine of sweat accentuates the dips of his abdomen. It’s in this moment you can truly understand why he has so many fans despite his rather stone-like demeanor.

“You have got to put a shirt on,” you blurt when he’s halfway across, knowing this will turn into some dangerous territory if he keeps walking around the apartment half-naked.

He stops in his tracks, his head cocking the only indication he’s confused by your statement. “I don’t want to wear a sweaty shirt,” he says by way of explanation. He doesn’t seem to notice your flustered expression. “I might catch a cold.”

You resist the urge to groan and slap yourself on the forehead. “Fine, then I’m wearing whatever I want around the apartment,” you say, determined to make him realize why he can’t just walk around like that. Though knowing Ushijima, you’ll never get through that thick skull of his.

And as you suspect, he simply replies, “Alright.” Before disappearing into the hallway and the bathroom to take a shower.

You lower your forehead to rest it on the cool countertop, shaking your head at how dense he really is. And you’re beginning to realize you think it’s endearing. While his infuriatingly toned body may be a major perk, you’re starting to see that you like him too. Now you actually groan. You swore this would never happen—not with Ushijima at least. But here you are.

After that, you make a pointed effort to wear the shortest shorts you can possibly find whenever he’s around. And you purposefully pair them with an oversized shirt, so it doesn’t look like you’re wearing pants at all. But if it has any effect on Ushijima, you can’t tell. You can’t help cursing his dumb impassive expression every time you retreat to your room for the night. Seriously—is he swayed by anything ever?

However, Ushijima hardly knows what to do with himself the first time you strutted out like that. He might be dense, but he’s still only human. His eyes naturally span down the expanse of your exposed legs and he has to grip his water bottle like a vice in order to keep it from clattering into the sink when you rise to your tiptoes to grab something from the top shelf. Your shorts ride up even more, hugging the curves of your ass as you stick it out to balance yourself.

You let out a surprised sound when he appears behind you, easily picking up the thing you were vying for and handing it to you without so much as a word.

“I really need a stepstool or something, huh?” You joke, taking it from him gratefully and blissfully unaware he was just blatantly staring at your ass.

He doesn’t say anything, but the next week you find a small stepstool leaning against the cabinets for you.

~

Staring at your phone in your hands, you thank any god listening that you brought it with you. How stupid do you have to be to lock yourself out of your apartment when you’re taking the trash out? Sitting on the floor against your door, you lean your head back on it and let out an exasperated sigh. You already went down to the office for help, they called a locksmith, and they aren’t available until tonight. And by that time, Ushijima will be home from practice and you won’t need the service anyways.

You have several options here. You could call a friend and stay with them until Ushijima gets back from practice, but they all live too far to walk to, and you don’t have your wallet. You could hang out in the apartment buildings lobby until he gets home, but if your phone dies, you’re stuck with nothing to do and no way to contact anyone.

The last option is slowly beginning to seem like your only option: calling Ushijima at practice for help. Burying your face into your hands you groan—you really don’t want to do that. Plus, you doubt he’s going to answer his phone anyways. After you sit there for a few more minutes, you take a deep breath and steel your courage. Leaving a message is better than nothing.

Despite deciding to call him, you still stare at his contact for a few moments before finally pressing the ‘call’ button. It rings a few times, then unsurprisingly goes to voicemail. When it beeps for you to leave your message, you swallow your pride and say, “Hey Ushijima, I know you’re at practice, but I locked myself out of the apartment…and the locksmith can’t come until tonight. If you by any chance get a break, would you be able to let me back in? I’d really appreciate it…sorry for the inconvenience and disrupting practice!”

Then you hang up and slump against the door again. Might as well head down to the lobby to sit somewhere more comfortable than the hallway floor. You turn the brightness down on your phone to conserve battery and resist the urge to just sit in the lobby scrolling through social media to pass the time. If he by some stroke of luck calls you back, you want to make sure your phone isn’t dead.

“Hey Ushijima, your phone was ringing in the locker room while I was in the bathroom. It was your roommate~,” Heiwajima teases. Ushijima slowly looks past his shoulder back towards the locker room door—that’s odd. You’ve never called him before. “And she left a message!” He coos.

Before Heiwajima can make any more comments, Ushijima strides past him to check his phone. They’re taking a short break and he doesn’t see a problem with making sure everything is alright. You wouldn’t have called if it weren’t important. He doesn’t see the rest of the team share suggestive looks behind his back. Before you, Ushijima refused to check his phone during practice, no matter how many messages he had (which are few and far between but still).

Upon hearing your message, he calls you back immediately.

You’re shocked that he’s calling you back within a half hour of your call.

“Uh, hi,” you say upon answering the call. “Sorry for bothering you. I’m surprised you saw my message so fast.”

“Heiwajima heard my phone ringing while he was in the bathroom.”

“Lucky me,” you joke.

He gets straight to the point. “I’ll leave now.”

Your eyes widen. He’s going to leave practice right now to let you back in? “Oh—um, you don’t have to do that! I’m just waiting in the lobby; I can wait until you have a longer break or something!”

“I can come now,” he says plainly. Then he hangs up on you. You sit back in the chair you’re sitting in and huff out a breath speechless. Never once has Ushijima left practice early. And now he’s just dipping out without hesitation because you’re a major idiot? You can’t fathom it, and the little voice in the back of your head that’s been slowly falling for him is absolutely swooning at the thought.

When he enters the gym again, Heiwajima finds him immediately, while the other members of the team look curiously on as he asks, “So, what’d she want?” Immensely interested in the fact that judging from his sweatpants and jacket over his practice clothes, Ushijima looks like he’s about to leave.

“She’s locked out of the apartment,” Ushijima explains as he heads towards the door.

The team looks around at each other surprised. They don’t get another word in as Ushijima explains to the coach the situation and says he’ll be back in less than hour. Then he’s out the door and a few of them start chuckling to themselves, while the more clueless members wonder why in the world Ushijima would willingly leave.

The gym isn’t far from the apartment, so it’s not long until you see Ushijima step through the front doors and sweep his gaze across the lobby. You greet him right away and the two of you get in the elevator. The silence is unbearable for you—though you’re sure he’s completely fine with it.

When you reach the door and he lets you in, you finally say, “Thank you. You really didn’t have to leave practice though; I could have waited.”

You swear his eyes soften, but it might just be your eyes playing tricks on you. He appreciates that you are being considerate for his time, but he found he wasn’t keen on the thought of you being locked out. It didn’t sit right with him. Not when he’s only 20 minutes away. He’ll be back in under an hour, and that’s better than you just sitting out here for several hours.

He just nods his head and says, “I’ll come anytime.”

At those words, that voice inside your head becomes a pathetic puddle and it’s an effort to keep your knees underneath you.

He can’t explain the way his heart lifts at the smile you give him. Stepping backwards into the apartment, you say as you’re closing the door, “See you when you get home.”

Home.

He’s surprised how that word coming out of your mouth makes him feel.

~

Any feeling of domesticity is thrown out the window the morning you’re walking around the apartment in one of his sweatshirts he lent you a few weeks back when you were cold. He’s stops in his tracks in the hallway seeing you in the kitchen at the stove cooking breakfast, his sweatshirt too big for you covering your shorts and just brushing your bare thighs.

Without giving him the chance to quell it, against his will, his dick strains against the front of his sweatpants and he rushes out the door with barely a goodbye in hopes you don’t see it. It doesn’t even go away on the train on the way to the gym, no matter how hard he tries. His thoughts subconsciously drift to the sight of you and how soft your thighs looked. It’s shocking to him how much he liked seeing you in his clothes. It was the same sort of sensation he felt when Tendo suggested you get yourself an Ushijima jersey—only it’s a hundred times worse.

He tries to ignore it, walking into the locker room like nothing is wrong, stripping his sweatpants and jacket off and shoving them into his locker before he looks around and sees Heiwajima staring at him with raised eyebrows. Then his eyes pointedly look downwards before he lifts them to meet Ushijima’s again. “You wanna deal with that before practice?”

“It’s fine.” He’s sure it’ll go away once he starts warming up.

But then his thoughts drift to you warming up and stretching in his clothes. You bending over, his sweatshirt sliding up your chest, revealing more of your ass and thighs as you count to ten. And any sort of effort he’d put forth to settle down is destroyed as his shorts feel uncomfortably tight. What is going on with him? He hasn’t been able to stop thinking of you as of late, and it’s only been getting worse.

Heiwajima just starts laughing. “Seriously dude, nobody wants to look at that all day.” Then he motions his head in the direction of the showers.

Ushijima’s eyes widen, realizing just what he’s suggesting. He hesitates for a moment, but eventually concedes. He won’t be able to play like this. Nobody seems to care as Ushijima grabs his towel and heads off to the showers, despite feeling distraught about what he’s about to do. He’s never really been one for masturbating, so it surprises him how easy it is to let you in his sweatshirt come to mind as he wraps a hand around his cock. And he comes a lot faster than he expects too.

That’s the first time he jerks off to the thought of you. He tries to brush it off as a necessity for him in order to practice well that day, but it soon becomes a terrible habit he can’t stop. Especially when you keep doing things that make him uncomfortably hard. Like still wearing those tiny shorts around the apartment, doing yoga in the living room, showing him your Ushijima jersey you finally ordered online—seriously, never in his life did he think this would ever become a problem.

He hardly knows what do with himself at this new infatuation.

~

Recently, you’ve started going out on dates because you’re beginning to feel this strange tension between you and Ushijima, and you have no idea how to deal with it besides letting some other guy pound you into a mattress while you ashamedly picture it being Ushijima instead. One night, when you’re bidding him goodbye as you’re on your way out the door, he asks you, “Will you be home tonight?”

Your heart stutters a bit at that word. Home. And then you feel disgustingly guilty that he’s noticed you don’t usually come back after these dates. Meaning you think even he can put the dots together on what you’re doing.

But really, he’s asking because what you’re wearing is already making his pants feel tight and even though it makes him feel a little ashamed, he needs to get his frustration out somewhere that you’re out spending the night with other guys. It makes him feel incredibly jealous—an emotion he’s not used to yet.

“Probably not,” you tell him, swallowing your pride about it and shutting the door.

For the next couple of hours, he tries to resist the demon in his head telling him to go sprawl out on his bed and think about you with his hand wrapped around his cock. But even after he makes dinner, works out, and takes a cold shower; it’s still there nagging at the back of his head. And he knows it won’t go away until he’s coming into his hand with your name spilling from his lips. He resigns himself to this becoming something he does now and heads off to his bedroom to satiate himself.

Your date is terrible. He wasn’t like this when you met him at the coffee shop last week, but tonight he must be feeling extra lucky. Enough to let his cocky, asshole nature shine through and you find yourself forcibly smiling your way through dinner. It doesn’t help that all you can think about is a certain stone-faced, stoic, gentleman who’s just sitting there waiting for you at your apartment. And just the thought of letting this guy touch you tonight makes your skin crawl. So, once the dinner is over, you end the date short, blaming it on not feeling well. He looks pretty put out that he won’t be getting his dick wet tonight, but you’re not inclined to care very much.

Unsurprisingly, the apartment is dark when you return. Ushijima goes to bed promptly at 9 o’clock every night, so you weren’t expecting to find him awake. So, you’re stunned into silence when you hear sounds emitting from his room on your way to yours. It sounds like he’s…panting? Is he working out?

Your brow furrows and your curiosity gets the better of you. You know it’s wrong, and such an invasion of privacy, but you just can’t stop your fingers closing around his doorknob, turning it slowly to just get a tiny peek into his room.

Your heart comes to a jarring halt at the sight you stumble upon.

Never, in your entire life, did you think you’d catch Ushijima Wakatoshi masturbating.

It never even occurred to you that is something he might do, not really seeming the type to.

And holy shit—is it a sight.

Your mouth involuntarily dries up at his enormous hand wrapped around his equally massive cock, pumping it from base to tip as his hips work in unison with his hand. His hair is a bit damp, and fuck—his cloudy, lust-filled gaze is making heat pool in your core. Additionally, he’s completely and utterly naked. Who the hell jerks off totally naked is beyond you, but you aren’t complaining as you watch the way the muscles of his abdomen ripple with each movement of his hips and breath he takes.

You could probably stand here watching him do this forever if you’re being honest.  

That is, until your name falls from his lips.

You swear the floor drops out from under you.

At first, you think he’s caught you. But you soon realize that is very much not the case. His hips start shuddering, his pace becoming erratic as he chases his orgasm and you’re suddenly struck by the thought of: you don’t want him to finish without you.

And before you can hesitate, you open his door fully and step into his bedroom.

His reaction is nothing like you imagined from someone who just got caught masturbating by their roommate who’s name not two seconds ago escaped his mouth. Anyone else would have yanked their hand away and scrambled to cover up. But not Ushijima.

To his credit, he does cover himself, but he does so in such a calm manner, you’re shocked. Plus, you can see he clearly still has his hand around his cock beneath the blanket. The two of you just look at each other for a few moments, and after what seems like eons of silence, he opens his mouth and says, “You said you weren’t going to be home.”

Your brows raise, amused he’s chosen that as his defense. “I think I said, ‘probably not’ actually.”

His expression doesn’t change as your gaze drifts downwards towards his impressive erection that somehow has not gone away despite that he’s lying there in all his naked glory caught red-handed.

You lick your lips subconsciously. “Can I help you?”

He wasn’t expecting that. Nor was he expecting the way his dick twitched in his grasp at your words. Or how heat is spreading across his entire body at the way you’re looking at him. Is he really going to let this happen? He’s pretty embarrassed you caught him, but you don’t seem phased at all. To him, you almost look…excited.

You don’t really wait for him to respond, taking the way he eyes you up hungrily as a yes, and stepping further into the room. Tentatively, you start lifting away the blanket he covered himself with, and he seems to be in a daze as you toss it aside, baring him for you to see. Glancing up at him, you see he’s breathing heavily, his pupils blown wide as he watches you—and while he may not be able to tell you with words how he feels, his body is telling you enough.

But you still want to make sure. Settling yourself between his thighs, you set a hand on each of them and squeeze lightly to get his attention. His olive gaze rises to meet yours and you ask, “Is this okay?”

Without hesitation, he replies, “Yes.”

And if you know Ushijima at all, he means what he says.

You get yourself a bit more comfortable between his legs, chastely kissing each of his thighs, finding it immensely ego boosting at the way they tremble at your touch. You make your way to the base of his cock and lick one stripe up to the tip. He groans quietly at the sensation, realizing his hand will never be enough again.

His fists curl into the sheets beneath him as you take his head into your mouth, and you fail to suppress the quiet groan that emits from you at how heavy he sits on your tongue. Your mind immediately wandering to what he might feel like inside you—if this goes that far, that is. His eyes haven’t left you, watching you intently as you take more of him into your mouth, the weight of his heady gaze making heat pool between your legs.

Steeling your confidence, you hold his stare as you take nearly all of him into your mouth and start bobbing along his length. A barely audible hiss escapes him, the muscles in his arms straining with how hard he’s fisting the sheets. Yet, you still have his rapt attention, and it makes you want to make him feel so good he has to close his eyes and lean his head back against his pillow.

The thought of having Ushijima Wakatoshi a puddle beneath you makes your thighs clench together. An action that surprisingly doesn’t go unnoticed by him.

In a matter of minutes, you’ve made him throw all qualms out the window and you soon get your wish of seeing him let go. His eyes close, head leaning back revealing the strong column of his neck, and his hips start to move in tandem with your bobbing motions. A guttural groan escapes him when you hollow out your cheeks, and the sound rumbles through you before adding to the growing ache between your legs.

You can’t imagine he’s even close to reaching the end of his stamina, but you are certainly losing patience. So, you pop off his cock, and start making the motions to undress so you can finally fulfill your fantasy of riding him.

He startles you by lifting himself to rest on his elbows, his deep voice filling the silence, “Wait.” You pause, your dress already halfway off. He sits up and pulls you into his lap, completely unbothered by the fact your clothed core is now sitting directly atop his prominent erection. “Let me,” he says so softly you think you might combust.

His hands replace yours, and he gingerly unzips the back of your dress and starts sliding it off your shoulders, each inch of newly exposed skin met by the soft press of his lips. You have no idea if he’s ever been with anyone before, but whatever he’s doing is making your insides scramble and burn. His movements are slow and meticulous, like he’s savoring each touch are you’re positively melting in his lap.

Eventually, you have to stand up to shimmy the dress down your legs, but he sits at the edge of the bed waiting patiently before his large hands rest at your hips and pull you back into his lap. Now you’re looking down at him, so you lean down and press your lips against his.

He’s somewhere else entirely—heaven, maybe, as you kiss him. Your lips are soft, body pliant and warm against his as his fingers dig into the plush skin of your hips. He groans involuntarily when your fingers slide into the hair at the base of his neck, tilting his head so you can kiss him even deeper. You’re pleasantly surprised when his tongue darts out questioningly and you happily open your mouth for him.

I’m doomed, you think as his tongue sweeps in at the same time he uses his hands at your waist to grind you down onto his hips. He feels absolutely huge beneath you, and you have no idea if he will even fucking fit inside you. “Fuck…Wakatoshi,” you breathe. His fingers grip a little harder at your voice saying his name like that, but you’re too dazed to notice what it does to him. You continue, “Fuck me, please.”

He makes a noise in the back of his throat, and for a moment you think he’s going to comply with your request. Instead, he murmurs, “Not yet.”

You almost pout, but then he’s unclasping your bra and lifting you to set you down on the bed. He doesn’t waste much time ridding you of your underwear next, and you have to resist the urge to cover yourself as he stares at you with a near predatory look in his eyes. “You’re perfect,” he says, clear as day and you feel heat course through your veins at his words.

He’s looking at you like you’re the only thing in the world to him right now. The intensity of his wanton gaze making you squirm beneath it until he lays his body over yours, the comforting weight of him pressing against your skin as he takes your lips again. He elicits a moan from you, his fingers dancing along your sides and his tongue sweeping into your mouth, making you nothing more than a trembling mess underneath him.

His lips leave yours, but he slowly begins trailing kisses along your jaw, down your neck and across your collarbone; almost as if he’s worshipping every inch of your skin before he reaches your breasts. He takes both of them into his enormous hands, the callouses of his fingers scratching along the supple flesh, making your back arch into his touch. Pressing a chaste kiss to your sternum, he rolls your nipples between his fingers, all while keeping his steady gaze on you. And you have no idea how the simple action of him just teasing your nipples while pinning you with those olive eyes is so unbelievably erotic your head begins to feel light.

And then he takes one of them into his mouth and you about lose your goddamn mind. How the fuck does he know exactly what to do? In the time you’ve known him you’ve never once seen him be even remotely interested in anyone. But at this point, you’re well past the point of caring how he learned his way around a woman’s body.

His tongue laps at the pert bud, all while he keeps his meticulous pace on your other nipple before turning the attention of his mouth to it. Without thinking much of it, your fingers dive into his hair, curling into the strands as he continues his worshipping. Though it does pull a deep rumble of pleasure from his chest that goes straight between your legs.

“Wakatoshi,” you pant breathlessly, chest heaving, desperate for him to do something about the growing ache at the apex of your thighs.

This time, he seems to heed your words. He pops off your breast and wanders with his lips down the expanse of your stomach, his hands finding purchase at your hips as he settles himself between your thighs. Your thighs tremble in anticipation as he presses soft kisses to each of them, fingers kneading your hips and pulling you closer to his mouth.

Never in your life did you think you’d have Ushijima Wakatoshi between your legs, looking for all the world like he’s about to devour you.

He groans as he slides his tongue between your folds, drunk on how wet you already are. And despite the fact his cock is throbbing almost painfully and leaking on the sheets, he knows to take his time. If you want him to fuck you, he has to make sure you’re ready for him.

You throw your head back, fingers fisting into the sheets as a lewd moan escapes your throat that only makes him bury his face even deeper into you. His tongue finds the bundle of nerves at the apex and sweeps across it, moving in small circles that have you finding purchase in his hair to keep him there as you move your hips in unison with his tongue.

A loud gasp fills the air as one of his thick fingers enters you, the ministrations of his tongue not stopping as he slowly pumps it in and out of your core. He’s kept his attention on you this entire time, his gaze never wavering as he watches you fall apart at his mercy. And he finds he’s thoroughly pleased at how easily his finger slipped into you, enough that he tentatively prods another one at your entrance that after a moment slides in without any resistance.

It’s so satisfying that he buries his face even deeper, his tongue pressing harder against your clit as you fuck yourself on his fingers. At the sensation of his second finger, your own find purchase in his hair, babbling utter nonsense that if you were in a clearer state of mind you might be a little embarrassed about.

“Please,” you beg, desperate for his cock inside you, “fuck me Wakatoshi. I want you inside me.”

He nearly falls apart at your needy request, but he isn’t finished yet.

You continue to plead with him, until you abruptly feel the absence of his tongue and you look down to find him staring intensely at you. Your throat clams up at his smoldering gaze as he says simply, “You aren’t ready.”

Your mouth drops open as you blink in surprise. Is he joking? Are you not frantically fucking yourself on his fingers right now, desperately asking for him to be inside you? How can you possibly be anymore ‘ready’?

“What are you talking about?”

Now his eyes drop, and very quietly he murmurs, “I’ve been told I am…quite large.”

“By who?” You blurt.

All he says is, “Others.”

You decide to leave it at that, your attention traveling to his erect cock, it pulsing so hard you can almost see it and dripping from the tip. You swallow nervously trying to imagine that going inside you. Ushijima just watches you eye him, his two fingers still knuckle deep in you, which he seems to have forgotten about as he angles his head in question. “Do you want to keep going?”

Warmth blooms in your chest at his concern. “I would very much like to,” you reply, smiling innocently at him, despite the fact the position you’re in is very much the opposite of innocent.

And the answering small smile he gives you makes your stomach flutter. It’s so soft and dazzling, it nearly knocks all the breath out of you. He presses his lips to your inner thigh, smiling against your skin, and all you can do is stare in awe of him.

Then, as if remembering where is fingers still are, he drags them slowly out of you, his mouth latching on to your clit once again before sliding them easily back in. Soon, he’s got you writhing on his fingers once more, toes curling and your own fingers gripping onto his bicep you can feel flexing with each thrust of his hand.

He waits a bit longer, until his fingers are soaked with your wetness again, before tentatively prodding a third finger at your entrance. He stifles his groan against you when he finds that it slips in along with the others effortlessly. Particularly as the grip you have on his biceps tightens, nails digging into his skin and eyes flaring open at the new sensation.

“Fu—fuck,” you mewl, holding on to him for dear life as he continues his slow and methodical pace. At this point, you’re practically shoving yourself onto his fingers, wanting him to fuck you deeper and trying to match the pace at which his tongue is flicking against your clit. The sensation becomes overwhelming, your thighs starting to tremble with the effort to not come around his fingers and mouth.

“Wakatoshi, please—I’m going to—,” you try to warn him, nails digging so hard into his arms that you’re leaving small crescent indents in his skin. He doesn’t stop though, not until you’re practically sobbing, “Let me come on your cock, please.”

That seems to be his undoing. His fingers and mouth abruptly leave you, eliciting a small sound of discontent from you. But you quickly shut your mouth at the sight of him leaning over you, aligning his hips with yours, one massive hand palmed around his cock as he pushes forward.

When the head of his cock sinks into you, a strangled gasp rips from your throat at just how utterly massive he is. Instinctively, your fingers wrap around his wrist to keep him from going any deeper as you say, “Slow.”

His brow is furrowed in concentration, as if it’s taking all of his willpower to keep from snapping his hips forward and sinking to the hilt in you. “Of course,” he growls, his voice taking on a deep tone that makes your toes curl.

And inch by glorious inch, he pushes deeper into you. His forearms coming to rest on either side of your head as he takes your lips to distract you from him nearly splitting you wide open. You tug him closer, fingers tangling in his olive hair, slanting your mouth against his and slipping your tongue inside which he gladly allows.

Eventually, his hips meet yours, and he pulls away to rest his forehead against yours, his toned chest rising and falling with the deep breaths he has to take in order to keep his sanity. The feeling of your tight walls clamping down around him is enough to make him hiss through his teeth, “Shit.”

The word alone makes heat pool in your core. Ushijima Wakatoshi never swears.

“Holy fucking shit.” You correct him. He’s seated fully inside you and you’ve never felt so full in your entire life. Your legs splayed out to either side from just how big he is, and once glance down confirms his thick thighs are shaking with the effort to be gentle.

He just shakes his head at your crass words, then pulls out slightly before ramming his hips back into yours. Wrapping your arms around his neck, you pull him close to you, your chest meeting his and his head finding the crook of your neck and he begins slowly. And while you’re very much enjoying each of his careful, deep thrusts, you very much would like to be pounded into his mattress. You’re certain he can.

You wonder if he’ll dirty talk with you.

Running your fingers through his dampening hair, you whisper against his ear, “You feel so good, Wakatoshi.” He merely responds with a kiss against your neck and a small approving growl that makes you keep going. “You know what I thought about anytime I was in someone else’s bed?” He makes no indication whether or not he likes you talking to him, so you press on. “This,” you murmur, “You.”

He stops, and for a second you think you’ve gone too far. But then he rises from your neck, and you swear to god—you almost come on the spot at the carnal glint gleaming in his eyes. Like he is about to utterly and completely destroy you. Your entire body buzzes with anticipation as he finally draws his cock almost all the way out of you before driving his hips home in a way that sends you into total euphoria.

His pace becomes brutal, his hips punishing, wordlessly making you realize it was a mistake for you to ever think anyone but him should be between your legs. It was pure luck you stumbled onto something you didn’t realize—he was immensely jealous every time you came home in the morning, clearly having spent the night with someone else.

It drives him so wild that he growls against your lips, “You’re mine.”

The words are so deliciously possessive, you can’t help the way your walls tighten around him, nor how your legs wrap around his waist and start helping him with each thrust of his hips.

“Yours,” you say, lips brushing against his. His hands wander down your sides, fingers digging into your hips pulling you even closer so that there is virtually no space between your bodies. He’s resting almost his entire weight on you, and his warmth and build is so strangely erotic, the coil in your stomach winds tighter and you can feel your impending orgasm begin to climb.

He cages you in his arms, hips never relenting, seemingly chasing his own release. His quiet grunts of pleasure are going straight between your legs, and you can’t help but start exploring the expanse of his exquisitely toned chest pulling an even deeper sigh from him making you almost melt on the spot. Your hands eventually find a place to rest in the dimples of his hips, relishing the sensation of his muscles moving beneath your fingers.

He refuses to finish before you, no matter how unbelievably tight you’re pulsating around him. So, he reaches between your bodies, fingers finding your clit, pride filling his chest at how you moan lewdly; your head falling back and fingers grappling even harder onto his hips. He takes the opportunity to press kisses to your throat, shoulders, collarbone—any expanse of skin he can get his mouth on.

“Fuck—yes,” you groan, hands leaving his hips to weave their way into his hair, using your legs to push him even deeper and meeting each of his thrusts with your own. You start quivering under him, your body preparing for the onslaught of pleasure rising in your chest, threatening to snap at any moment.

You come completely undone when Ushijima commands, “Come for me.”

Something about his husky, lust filled tone; his lips making their mark all over your skin, and the harsh thrust of his hips sends you over the edge. Your body bows off the bed, and Ushijima meets you, his arms wrapping around your middle to press you against his chest as his lips latch onto your neck and he buries himself to the hilt in your wet heat.

For the second time tonight, he curses quietly, holding you to him as your walls pulse with your orgasm and he finds his own release alongside you. You hold on to his shoulders for dear life as waves of pleasure roll through you, your body spasming in his grip all while he kisses you softly. It’s tender and erotic at the same time. As you start to calm down, he claims your lips, tongue sweeping in as you push his damp hair off his forehead before cupping his cheeks.

He pulls away from you, only to set his forehead against yours, your warm breath mingling. Both of your chests are still heaving, and although it’s silent, it’s comforting as he holds you.

After a moment, you open your eyes and find his closed, his lips curved into a barely noticeable smile. It fills your heart seeing him look so…content. “Wakatoshi?” You say quietly. His eyes open and your throat closes at just how handsome he is. “I…I like you.” Your eyes close now, embarrassed at how pathetic that sounded.

“I’d hope so.”

Your eyes burst open finding him looking at you comically seriously. You know he doesn’t mean it as a joke, but you can’t help the smile that rises to your lips. He gazes at you curiously as you ask, “And? Do you like me?” As if his softening dick isn’t still inside you right now.

Though, it still makes your heart flip when he replies without hesitation, “Yes.”

“Good.” You grin. “I’d hope so.”

You kiss him again before he finally pulls out of you and without a word, he gets off the bed and disappears out into the hallway. You grimace at the mess between your legs but are pleasantly surprised when he returns with a warm towel to clean yourself up with. While you deal with the mess, he rummages around in his drawers and at first you think he’s looking for clothes for himself, until he hands you a pair of his briefs and a t-shirt.

You must eye them curiously because he sets them on the bed saying, “Sleep with me.” He doesn’t word it like a question.

Taking the clothes, you smile teasingly up at him. “I just did.”

To nobody’s surprise, he’s relatively unfazed. “Overnight,” he explains further. “In my bed.” Though the light dusting of pink coloring his cheeks as he says this makes you want to smother him with kisses all over again.

You slip on his clothes and climb beneath the sheets as your response. You watch him dress, marveling over the muscles shifting in his back and arms until he covers them and joins you in the bed. He draws you close to his side, letting you run your fingers across his cheek before settling at his chin and pulling his lips to yours. You kiss lazily until you both grow tired and you tuck your head under his chin, letting his fingers intertwine with yours and enjoying the affectionate kiss he presses to the top of your head.

He surprises you when he says into the silence, “Are we going to do that again?”

The chuckle that escapes you is by no means meant to be mean. He just fucked you better than anyone in your entire life and if you were in deep shit falling for him before this—you’re doomed now. Yet, you don’t mind in the slightest. Not when being here in his arms feels exactly where you should be.

So, you kiss his neck and reply softly, “Yes.”

You don’t see his answering smile.

~

taglist: @bobawithpomegranate @anothermessedupbitch @abswrites @toorus-goodgirl @apollochjld @vicassa @sssjuico10

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[stardustincarnate]

CONFESSION // Mello x Reader

word count : 4016 genre : fluff a/n : i haven’t gotten over my writer’s block, so yes -- here i am, once again posting old fics from my wattpad account. 

Today is the day.

After contemplating about it for a couple of weeks and confiding it to his best pal, Matt, Mello has finally decided to confess his feelings for you tonight, exploiting the situation where you two will normally go riding on the city streets during Friday midnights such as this one.

To say the least, he isn't the best in this kind of thing— love, that is. Before, all he could think about was one thing which was proving that he's better than Near, and besides, no one really piqued his interest. But then the enigma that you are came.

You can be cunningly evil at times if you want to. You'll often say to the ones you've fooled or to the other mafia members, "It's nothing personal, it's just business." You also have a harsh mouth as he would like to describe. Anything that comes out of it may sound derisive or blatant, but it's basically the truth. You don't sugarcoat things— you don't even try to. Although sometimes you seem to make the truth more cruel than it really is, which makes you look too intimidating for the others. They're only thankful that you don't talk very often and only will if you have something conducive to say.

But that's not all that you are. Mello could feel it, so he grew curious of you. Just a mere speck of curiosity, but then it grew. He wanted to talk to you, but then he asked himself what's the point of doing so, thus he disregarded the idea. That's why you developed a friendship with Matt, who you think is really fun to be with, first. Then as your friendship grew, he thought of introducing you to Mello, and that's when it began. To be frank the beginning of your friendship wasn't easy, and to think that friendship only started growing not until you celebrated a year and a half of being with the mafia.

It was a long process, but in the end, it was worth the wait. Day by day he started lowering the walls he barricaded himself with, and same as you. He became really outgoing and deep down truly caring as your friend, like he is with Matt, because after all you two are the only family he has. And— let's not forget his strange addiction with chocolates! And, well, you like it.

You like him.

Mello knows this as well. He knows that his feelings are reciprocated and he's happy with that. But the question is, who's going to make the first move? Certainly not you. Between fighting the devil and confessing your feelings for someone, you'd probably choose the former. You don't seem like the kind of person who will make the first move. He as well is like that.

And that leads us to his acquiescence of doing it instead. Did he have a choice? Well, maybe, if one considers you doing it instead, but that will definitely take several months, or even years, from now. And he can't wait that long! What if you suddenly start to develop feelings for another person? He can't lose you, you that is just in front of his eyes, one step away from him. He needs to grab the opportunity while it still is there.

Because with you, he feels happy and contented. And for the first time he finally feels like he is number one.

And he really is, in your heart.

"Wooh!"

Matt exclaims after slamming the door, causing Mello to jolt upwards from his reverie. "You know I almost got caught by another mem!"

"Is it done?"

"Of course."

"Hm. You sure this suggestion is for the better? You know how scary that woman can be when she's mad. Especially after finding out that her tires have been flattened."

"Didn't you say you wanted something more romantic tonight? So, I thought of flattening her tires so she can't use her own scooter, that way she can ride with you."

"Uh-uh... Is it romantic though?"

"You two will be close enough. And—no perverted thoughts—she gets to wrap her arms around you while riding. If that's not romantic, I literally don't know what is."

"I'm having qualms about this one."

"What? I'm just as clueless as you are when it comes to romance. I'm doing my best here to help you ya know?"

"I know, I know. Sorry."

"It's your fault you fell in love with her." Matt jests, chuckling. But he immediately behaves himself when he sees that deadly glare of his friend. "Hey! I was only kidding! Don't look at me like that, Mels. You're creeping me out."

"Hah. But I guess you're right. My fault. And great— now I'm having more doubts than before and feeling.. tentative."

"The almighty Mello is nervous? Wow. I never thought I'd live to see this day!"

"Say one more word and I'll make sure it's the last you'll ever emit."

"HE-HE-HEY! Now you're just being belligerent. Don't worry. I'm sure you two will come back here as a couple. Swear it on my life. So stop doubting yourself. And just.. don't act awkward and dorky when confessing towards your little devil."

"Just how am I supposed to do that?"

"I don't know. Just don't."

Mello heaves a sigh. "Sometimes I do wonder if you're really the smart Matt they used to talk about back in the orphanage."

Matt only grins. He's about to reply, but then they both hear footsteps—angry footsteps—coming closer.

"Oh, speaking of the devil. Here she comes. In three.. two.. one.."

With that, you kick the door open and look around. You look like you're about to whip someone's ass and the men can almost laugh at your reaction knowing the reason behind it. You give them a steely look when they unknowingly start to curve their lips to a grin. They quickly change their reaction.

"This has gotta be one of the worse days of my life!" You exclaim as you slump on the sofa beside Mello. "I can't go with you. I've got a flat tire, and I have no idea why. Someone must've done it.."

"Who would do such a terrible thing? Especially to you, the devil no one else even bothers to approach?" Mello momentarily glances at Matt before taking a bite of his chocolate, which you then steals from his grip. "But don't worry, I gotcha. You can ride me... with me I mean! You can ride with me, NOT RIDE ME—good Lord I'm sorry."

'Aha, and there goes Matt's reminder that I shouldn't act awkward.' He looks away with a blush.

"I think [Y/N] is okay with either of that—"

You raise an eyebrow at Matt. "Oh, you mean you Mathematics. You can ride him all you want so don't be shy and put my name in your shoes."

"That's not—!"

"—ANYWAYS, Willy Wonka, you sure you okay with me riding with you? You won't mind?"

"Jesus, stop calling me that! And yes. You're my friend so I won't mind."

"Thanks mate!" To his surprise, you hug him from the side. And you are hugging him a little too much. "You know I've always wanted to ride your motor. It looks cooler than mine."

"Ah.. well— you're squeezing me a bit too much.. don't you think?"

You pull away and snicker. "Sorry. You're like a marshmallow that I just want to squeeze sometimes."

"EHEM. Pardon me, will you? I need to go to the restroom."

Matt stands up, thinking that his job here as cupid is done—or not quite yet. He has one last plan in mind. And even he isn't sure that that plan is going to make things better or worse.

"Enjoy taking another dump!" You shout as he leaves the room, making sure to lock it. Now you and Mello are completely alone, facing one another in utter silence. And it's too silent that you can hear some of the other mafia members arguing in a distant room. You can even hear someone moaning. Mello can hear it too.

You both give each other a look that only you two can understand.

"Oof. Must be nice. Err, so anyways," you start. "The usual place tonight?" And by that you mean stopping by to go atop a dilapidated building in a forsaken road to stargaze with him for ten minutes. You two make sure to always include going there to find tranquility in the stars and with each other. It temporarily removes all the problems and worries you have.

With Mello ruefully shaking his head, you frown. He puts an arm over your shoulder and nods reassuringly instead. You hide a smile.

"We can do that next week or earlier if we're not too preoccupied so don't be so glum. I'll be taking you somewhere new. I'm sure you'll like it."

"I hope so. Otherwise I'm gonna kick your ass."

"You'll be the one getting your ass kicked it if you don't give me back my chocolate right now."

"But I need chocolate too! Chocolate makes you happy. So I need it, 'kay?!"

"As far as I know that chocolate is mine and not yours???"

"But I'm your friend aren't I? You still have a lot of stock in there I'm sure."

"I'm running out of chocolates so give it back you little demon."

He hastily maneuvers before you can even stand up and try running away. He seizes your wrists and places your arms behind your back to prevent you from moving. Since you two are facing each other instead of him being behind you, the position is rather awkward. The proximity of your faces makes both of you blush and in an instance he backs away. You cackle in triumph as to his dismay of not getting his chocolate back.

You look at your wristwatch before taking a bite of the sweet. "Well Marsh-Mello, what are we waiting for? Let's hit the road! I'm already bored." You hold his hand the moment he stands up and you two run outside.

Mello throws the helmet to you which almost hit your face, earning an irked look from you. He then starts the engine as you wear your helmet.

When he starts to move just before you can take a seat, you panic. Of course he only wants to toy with you. He stops at a corner and waits for you, who's running and ready to smash his face. You pant as you finally reach him.

"You little bastard! Why'd you have to make me suffer?"

"Why shouldn't I?"

"You groan and then sit behind him, wrapping your arms around his waist. The closeness of your bodies make you both blush. He makes sure you're all set before once again driving in a high speed that made you hug him tighter. You've always known that he drives this fast, but to experience it yourself? It feels like your skin is being blown away and seperated from your bones.

"W-Would you mind slowing down, just a bit?"

"Come on [Y/N], that's not fun."

"So you call this fun? You're gonna kill us both. I'm too beautiful to die right now!"

"Tsk. You're no fun." You're about to make a rebuttal but he slows down reluctantly and matches the speed you will normally drive at. You sigh in relief and absently rests your chin on his right shoulder, looking at the stores, buildings, and a few people walking on the sidewalk which you are hastily passing by. On your left you see numbered vehicles and a few more buildings.

You're enjoying the ride, however, you hear the tire from behind pop. That is already bad, and worse comes when the front one pops too. He goes to the side before halting.

"Shit! Just our luck!"

"Haha seems like you and I share the same fate, huh? Goals."

Mello sighs as a realization dawns him.

'Matt.. you little shit.'

"Whadda we do now?" You worriedly ask.

"We're still halfway to the place I'm taking you and this happens.. I suppose I can just park this somewhere. You wouldn't mind walking, would you?"

"Sounds fine with me then."

He nods and parks the motor beside a bicycle and a car in front of a store, placing a tracker in it just in case it gets stolen. But if it ever does, he can just get another one. Legally or not. Doesn't matter.

In silence, you and Mello start walking side by side. Arriving upon a city bridge you can't help but stare at the river. The limit to what you can see on its side is a lively city despite the hour, with skyscrapers and billboard signs lit up. You can hear the occasional, distant sounds of car engines.

You avert your gaze back in the front, meeting chatty people on your way who are walking opposite to you and Mello. You realize that they're mostly couples who are matching clothes and openly talking, not caring if they're to be heard by others. Mello also notices, and not only that but the way you two undeniably look like one. Without any intentions, your clothes match. Not that it's a big deal since everyday you two wear black, but because of your surroundings, he might as well seize the opportunity.

Beaming from ear to ear, he holds your hand and intertwines your fingers together. You're confused, but at the same time liking it, a blush creeping on your face.

"Don't mind if I do. We don't wanna look like a couple who can't bear with each other after some kind of quarrel, do we?"

"But we're not a couple."

"No, not yet."

You stop and raise an eyebrow.

"Oop. Did I say that out loud? My bad."

He cheekily grins. It's only a joke, you think, but at the same time you wish that he's not joking—which he really isn't.

"Hey, how long are we going to walk?"

"Why? Are your feet giving up already? Want a piggyback?"

You completely turn red. He smiles at that.

"Nah.. I—"

"Don't waste the opportunity. I might change my mind later."

"I don't care. This is enough."

You squeeze his hand tightly—too tight that he swears he feel his phalanges breaking—but unexpectedly, he just moans. And people look at the two of you.

"The fuck was that?!? I didn't know you were some kind of masochist!"

"DID YOU REALLY HAVE TO SAY IT OUT LOUD?"

"AHA so you do admit being a masochist!!"

"WHAT? NO! I'M NOT!"

"Why so defensive now?"

"Because people are hearing you???"

"Let them! HAHAHAHA! MY BOYFRIEND IS A MASOCHIST! ISN'T THAT CUTE??"

But after realizing what you just said, you stop and gnaw your lower lip.

"Oh earth swallow me right now.. Sorry! God I'm embarrassed. You're not my boyfriend—"

"Didn't I tell you? Not yet."

You punch his shoulder playfully. "Stop joking around! I might actually believe you ya know?"

"Who said I was joking?"

"..Of course you are—"

"—OH, here we are!"

He diverts the topic, leaving you to slightly pout to yourself as he turns left to an unoccupied and dark area, pulling you to the railing where you two halt and see the perfect angle to view the city and the river from. The water and its light ripples glimmer under the moonlight as the brisk wind hits your skin, making you slightly shiver. Mello notices this and takes off his jacket, insisting you should wear it instead. You don't argue.

"Mello, this is.. magnificent. And a nice spot to stargaze as well! It's pretty wherever I lay my eyes on."

"Except behind us, maybe. You don't like trees that much."

You cackle. "They give me the creeps, especially during night. But at least we don't have to face that way, do we?"

He shakes his head as he laughs, inclining himself closer to you. He places his hands just beside yours on the railing, looking up and then looking at you, who's still busy admiring the sky.

He can't help but smile admiring you in your adorable placidity.

"The stars are pretty tonight." You say as you notice him looking at you in your peripheral vision.

"You always say that. They're always pretty. Sparkly."

"Mesmerizing to look at." You add. He nods, still staring at you.

"That's why I love the stars.."

"Uh huh. And chocolate." You grin.

"And you."

You stand flabbergasted, daring not to look at him directly. Your heart feels like it's about to jolt out of your chest. Your fingers begin to tremble on their own as you feel something intangible whirling inside your stomach. You know what it is—and he's making your heart flutter. But you can't trust this feeling as you aren't even sure if he's joking or not. And if he is, you kinda hate it. You want it to be real.

"Aye, don't flirt with me. That's so not you." You snap, rolling your eyes.

It doesn't take him too long to perceive what's on your mind. He taps your shoulder before sitting on the railing, inviting you to join him. You're a little hesitant for the fear of falling to the water. And when it comes to this kind of thing, you don't trust Mello. You're sure he'll eventually push you. The number of times he had done this to you in some places before is something you can't even count anymore.

"C'mon [Y/N]. Don't be scared. I won't push you. Or if I do, you're free to drag me as well."

"Tch. So you do intend to push me." Nevertheless, you sit beside him and grip the bars tightly with your clammy palms. Luckily the concrete extends six inches after the railing.

Mello feels like you two aren't physically close enough, and he thinks it's not 'romantic' enough, so he slides even closer to you until his palm is already above your hand and your shoulders bump.

"Oh, no. You keep your distance, Mr. Wonka."

"It's not like we're having social distancing here you know?"

"You're too close."

"And I'm going to get even closer.."

He whispers, his hot breath tickling the side of your neck. You sigh and face him, and your noses bump. You urgently back away and you almost slip if not for him.

"What's gotten into your system for you to act so flirty all of a sudden?"

"You."

"MELLO!! I'm damn serious. Like, all the jests can wait but for now, just.. don't flirt with me. I'm in no mood."

"Aww, trying to shoo me away huh? After stealing my heart and my chocolates, here you are suddenly breaking my poor, poor heart."

"One more attempt and I'm going to drown you."

"Heeeeeeey. Don't be so vicious now." He softly bumps your shoulder with his. You only click your tongue in annoyance.

"Seriously. Stop messing with me. I hate you."

"No you don't. I'm not messing with you. I'm serious—"

"Tch. Serious my ass."

"..You don't have one—"

"See? You little fucktard. You keep on messing with me. So just stop flirting with me. I swear I'll kill you if you continue."

"Whaaat? Seriously, I'm not messing with you. You gotta—"

"Mels, no, no, no. You can poke fun of me, push me off right now or anything but just don't flirt with me. You're a bastard for torturing my feelings. That's not cool at all. Damn it," you spat. He keep his silence, his mouth starting to gape.

"Don't make me assume things because I really, really, really like you!"

The words pour out unbidden. Your voice resonates and immediately you shut up and look down with a furious blush.

'That's it, congratulations for possibly ruining your friendship.' You think as you bite your lower lip.

Your blush vanishes as the fluttering feeling in your chest does, being replaced with instant regret, as if your heart has dropped to your stomach.

The look of surprise in his face turns to a cheeky grin. With much glee, he chuckles.

"I've always known this devil is a pure softie inside..."

"M-Mello.."

You are about to tear up, but then he says, "Do you know what you just did? You ruined my plans, [Y/N]! But I suppose I can forgive you for that."

"What?? Plan?? Damn you, damn you, damn you! I knew you were up to no good! Damn it, Mello! Pretend this night never existed. I'm outta here—"

"No no, it's not what you think. 'I like you' was supposed to be my line, not yours!" He can't help but burst out laughing, leaving you momentarily dazed, but then when you realize what he possibly meant by that, it's as if your heart has come back to life. Your face turns red.

"I was going to confess to you tonight, but it looks like the tables had turned. You are a.. partypooper! Do you know how many times I've practice saying that in front of Matt, just to end up with you saying it instead of me? Unbelievable!"

He wheezes, catches his breath, then looks at you. "And look, I'm not complaining, alright? Haha.. but the way things turn out to be in the end is just so.. whimsical. But I'm gonna say it anyway: I like you. I like you a lot."

You scrutinize his facial expression just to be sure that he's serious, and you confirm he truly is. He's absently smiling, and just from staring at you is the reason. Rapture dances in his eyes. He looks genuinely happy and candid at the moment. And here you are left speechless, only staring at him as a sheepish smile slowly invades your face.

You almost lose your grip on the railing when he briefly kisses your cheek. And again, nothing comes out of your mouth.

"Do I also need to say that I wanna be your boyfriend? Because, isn't it obvious?"

"Mello..."

"No pressure, [Y/N]. If we both like each other but you're not yet ready for a relationship, I understand and I can wait."

"Well.." You hide your face on his shoulder because you feel like the longer you stare at him, the more probable it is that you'll faint. "Uhm.. Err... Have you ever been.. in a relationship?"

"No, not really. You will be my first one. If you accept."

You smile. "Well, same as you here."

"Really? I thought you already had a partner or two before."

"I had no time to be in love. Add that some of the people I was acquainted with sucked, and the kind ones.. well, let's just say that they seemed to be missing something.. something that, I suppose, only you have. And.. it will really make me happy if you are to be my first," you lift your head up to meet his eyes. "So I accept."

"You serious?? Right here?? Right now??"

"Need I repeat myself, partner-in-crime?"

"Haha! Course not!"

You peck his cheek as your warm smile broadens. You then rest your head on his shoulder, your eyes never leaving the distant city as he wraps an arm around your waist, meticulous so that you two wouldn't slip from the railing and fall down.

"I think it's safe to assume now that you're the one behind flattening my tires. And just so I can ride with you. You're a cunning man, so I suppose you also did something with your own scooter just so we could walk together, like couples in movies. Haha I never thought you'd think something like that!"

"It was Matt's idea. Swear. He thought it was more romantic that way. And he's probably the one who rigged my scooter. He really can be a huge pain in the ass sometimes."

"Like you are."

"Aw come on. Take that back you little demon!"

"Noooopeeeee! Pfahahaha— AAAA SHIT!"

And with that, you both plunge into the frigid water with a loud splash.

#death note #death note x reader #death note x you #death note imagine #mello x reader #Mello Death Note #death note mello #mihael keehl #death note fluff #anime x reader #character x you #death note x y/n #matt death note #death note oneshot

[jay-and-dean]

Don’t look down, Baby   Part 1/3

Dean x reader

Summary :  Dean told her to ignore the “thing” between them and to jump in any guy’s arms. Any of them but him.

When we think of a guy our Y/n could be with, longing for Dean, it’s usually a nice dude, a little boring, right ? Because who can compete with Dean ? Now, what if this guy was as badass as Dean ?

Characters : Dean Winchesters, Sam Winchester, Reader, Abraham Hale (OC)

Warnings : Angst, jealous Dean, Smut (unprotected sex -you’re smarter than this !-, oral, also kinda lame sex if it’s a warning), cheating, swearing, smoking, drinking... More warnings in the second part.

Wordcount : 6k (yes, just the part one... now you get why I cut it.)

Note : So for the Aestetic, I used the face of Jax Teller from Sons Of Anarchy, and you have to know, even if Abraham Hale looks like him, he is totally an OC.

This is writen both in Reader and Dean’s Pov. Dean’s thought are in italic. 

Text divider by the talented @talesmaniac89​

Jay’s Masterlist

September 16, 10:33pm

 Dean’s POV

           I always thought that when Y/n finds a guy, it would be the perfect douche I wanted for her. Some nice dude named Robert, a cop maybe, or a realtor with a friendly family.

           He would annoy me to death with his stories about growing up in a farm, and call her Pumpkin. He would worry a little when she goes out with us because he thinks we drink too much when we’re together.

           He would tear her from me and I would hate him for that. She would skip a hunt to meet his parents, another to spend a few days in the cabin he rented… But even if it breaks my heart, it would be exactly what I want for her, so I would let her go.

           I had it all planned.

           But, of course, she didn’t play by the rules.

           And that guy is no Robert…

           His loud manly laugh tears me from my thoughts. His tattooed hand wraps around his whiskey glass and I turn my head to that waitress that always gives me warm smiles, she’s staring at him now, with the sweetness that was once for me.

           Abe.

           Ex-gang member, Abe. Bad guy turned good. Raised by the widow of a gang member, in a violent environment, he already had a criminal record at fourteen, started selling guns before he was officially allowed to drink, ended up in prison at Twenty-two.

Sweet smile Abe. Reformed bad boy with an attitude. Became a hunter after he met a vampire gang and slew them to the last. Now defender of the good citizen, he found his fight, and the hunters talk about him as one of the bests.

Afraid of nothing and ready to fight, charismatic, alpha Abe. His muscular arm in the back of my girl, his long blond hair falling on his face when he lights up a cigarette in a grunt of content while she touches his neck.

Abe. My new nemesis.

“So Dean” he says with his deep voice hoarse from smoking too much. “How did you meet my girl ?”

I met her on a hunt, invited her to my room and took her on that wall. Do you remember, Y/n ? Don’t look down baby, look at me.

“On a hunt.”

“That’s how I met her too” he smiles and kisses her temple. “Seems like we have a lot in common.”

“Looks like we do” I state.

           Her eyes darken and she turns her head, I know how to read her, she is pissed, and I don’t even know why. I did nothing, I said nothing, and her rock-and-roll version of prince charming is worshiping her, so what causes that bitterness ?

What is it, baby ? Am I missing something ?

“So I heard your brother and you have this fucking palace ?” he gives me a corner smile, smoke coming out of his nose.

“Who told you that ?” I grunt.

What is the point of a secret bunker if it is as secret as a freaking tweet ?

           He chuckles and takes a sip of his whiskey, not answering.

           Abe never answers all the questions he is asked, maybe it is some cool thing for guys like him, maybe it is his way of look mysterious or powerful. What is sure is, as annoying as it is, it freaking works. But each time he smirks with his eyes lost in the bottom of his glass in a little huff instead of speaking, I get closer to losing it and smashing his pretty face on the table.

“I told him” she says almost coldly. “Like you did all your friends, Abe is my boyfriend, Dean.”

I nod. What can I say, she’s right after all. She’s always right…

           She was right about that cop being the bad guy the first time we hunted together, right about the fact that my so-called bond with Amara would fade the second she gets whatever she wanted. She was right about Jack being a good kid but dangerous enough to need to be watched and educated instead of pushed away. Right about Mary hurting me more than I admitted…

She was right when she said I was wrong. The day I told her we shouldn’t sleep together again, that she should just ignore that thing between us and jump in any guy’s arms. Any of them but me…

I really say that : any of them. I did.

Did you choose Abe just to annoy me, baby ? To prove a point ? You had to bring a guy who would beat me at my own grumpy-loner-badass-crap-drink-too-much game, right ?

“That place sounds sure awesome, because Y/n keeps coming back to it” he states, not letting me know the true meaning he puts in that sentence, his piercing blue eyes free of any emotions on the surface.

“Well it’s home for her” I say, and that bastard chuckles. “Is it funny ?”

“Not at all !” he says with a warm and kind laugh, and a friendly tap on my shoulder. “You should relax Dean, you look like the bar is full of demons !”

I stay stern, I know I should probably look friendly, but I rarely hated someone nice that much.

           He gets up and kisses her head before he walks away, his manly way to move catching women’s attention, and some men’s too. One of his hand goes through his blond hair while he walks to the bathroom with the other hand deep in his jeans’ pocket.

“So… Abe, huh ?” I ask, the second he’s gone.

           I should be more coherent, I know. I want her gone, but I want her for me. I was sure I was ready to see her with someone else, it’s been three years. Three years ! After we only made love six times. She is not mine, she never was.

And I thought calling her Baby in my head would make me strong. It’s a weird feeling, like I could let her be happy, but still feel special. I would have been the passion of her youth, the one that died young and of which she would think a little when she rocks her baby in her pretty house…

I had somehow romanticized my heartbreak.

But that doesn’t feel romantic at all. And all I can think of is that he is passion too, I’m not dead, and I just have to see him touch her and imagine them at night…

“Yes” she says, still with that bitterness in her voice. “You could make an effort, Dean. He has been nothing but nice, and you act like he’s an enemy.”

“I haven’t decided if he is one yet.”

She rolls her eyes and shakes her head in disapproval.

I recognize hurt. My Y/n, when she’s hurt, she gets angry. Always. And I made her angry so often. Her irritation is growing, I can see it in her burning eyes.

“You can’t do that” she says low. “You can’t treat him like that, no one gives you the right.”

“And him ?” I dare asking, staring at her reddened face. “Does he treat you right ?”

Her eyes fills with tears again and her jaw clenches.

“Better than you did, you mean ?” her words feel like a stab in my heart.

 Reader’s POV

           I didn’t want to say that, it came out by itself.

           I’m thin-skinned lately. I feel like I could cry or scream any moment, all the time. My emotions have always been loud, my sensibility overwhelming, but for a few weeks I’m drowning.

           The fact that I decided to try to get over Dean Winchester probably caused that.

A long time ago, I thought living with Dean without ever having him would be the worst, then I saw him with other women and was convinced I was mistaking before : the worst was definitely that. How wrong was I ?

           The worst is having had him. Not once, but several times, each time a little more intimate. More kisses, more touches, more suspended seconds watching in each other’s eyes… Until we spent that night together, that last night, and he fell asleep against me for the first time.

           It was over. It was too much for Dean, and not enough for me.

           Dean Winchester can’t belong to anyone, not again. He doesn’t want to be a boyfriend, and he doesn’t want me to be his girl ; who am I to insist ?

“Well, that’s a minimum” he answers in a soft groan after a little while, and my heart breaks because I just did what I swore I would never do : Reproach him for any of it.

“I’m sorry” I sigh, thinking of those weeks after the last night, when I had to hide the worst pain I ever felt because I didn’t want him to feel bad about not wanting me.

I still do... -feel that pain and try to hide- because Abe or not, I still live with Dean and he doesn’t deserve to carry my pain on top of the world on his shoulders.

“Can you at least try ?” I beg, low, seeing my boyfriend getting out of the restroom but stopping next to the door to talk to someone he obviously knows.

“Yes” Dean answers. “I’m just… He’s a hunter and…”

“He’s a good man” I assure him, looking at Abe walking toward us above Dean’s shoulder. “He comes from a dark place, like us, but he is a good man.”

 September 21, 08:12pm

 “That place is crazy !” Abe says, sitting at the table of the library. “I have never seen anything like this.”

           While Sam tells him a little more about the bunker, I look at my boyfriend.

           I stare at him, trying to get rid of that uncomfortable impression, that feeling screaming that he doesn’t belong here ; because if he doesn’t belong in the bunker, then he probably just has nothing to do in my life.

           A lot of memories cross my mind, like it happens a lot lately.

The memory of entering the bunker for the first time and deeply knowing that, as long as I am welcome here, this would be my home. Because it just feels right and because, even if I’m not the granddaughter of Henri Winchester, he trusted me with this place, as much as he trusted his family. That man actually welcomed me like Mary never really did, like I was just as legit as blood.

At his frank smile, the memory of meeting Abe crosses me too. I was alone in this hunter bar, trying to get information for a case. I hadn’t told Sam and Dean that I would go there, because I know how much uncomfortable the hunter community makes them. And I was introduced to him : Abraham Hale. I found him so beautiful, with his mischievous smile that seemed to mock the entire world, his wheat blond hair and his tattoos. Something felt so safe about him, not because he looked like a bad boy, but because he was light and happy, laughing at everything and taking nothing seriously… All that Dean wasn’t.

I loved his wild energy right away. Abe was like the drums in a rock song, like summer wind. In his arms, I forgot about Dean for a few seconds a day during the first weeks. We spent days sleeping and having sex behind the curtains of that motel room, hiding from summer heat, and nights drinking and listen to rock music...

But now I look at him, his bright blue eyes seem pale next to the deep green looking back, and his beauty is bland.

“Thank you for showing me your home, Treasure” he says, putting a tender hand on my back like he always does.

And my eyes cross Dean’s.

           I know what he’s thinking, he’s cringing at the nickname, and that reminds me why I am with Abe : Dean never gave me a nickname, he never called me anything else than my name, he will never and even when others do, he thinks it’s lame and cheesy.

 Dean’s POV

           That hurt on her face again.

Baby, you can’t look at me like that each time he calls you Treasure . I don’t like it, but you’re supposed to do.

           This is much harder than I thought, and I was aware it would be impossible.

           Each and every one of his actions makes me face my own contradictions : The more loving he is, the more I want to push him away from her. But the more she seems distant and to have her head in the clouds, the more it eases the pain. Am I selfish enough to hate her happiness even though I love her ?

           I was in control, during those three years not touching her, my heart was aching with craving and my soul was screaming at me to make her love me. But as much as the heartbreak was constant, I had chosen it. I was in control.

           I never realize that it was only bearable because she was still here, my partner, my best friend, my roommate. Mine.

           Now she took it back. She raised her middle finger right in my face and decided she wouldn’t be mine anymore.

And that is a whole new level of pain.

           I don’t sleep when she’s not home, and sometimes food just won’t let me eat it. She texts during our movie nights and wears that pendant he gave her. I hate that pendant because it reminds me I never gave her a present. Not once in all those years.

“Another drink ?” Y/n asks him with the bottle in her hand.

“Don’t you drive ?” I cut him before he answers and I see her eyes shoot me with imaginary bullets.

I’m sorry Baby but it’s movie night tonight, can’t he just leave already ?

“He’s right” she says giving me a little hope that she will ask him to leave soon. “You should stay for the night.”

My breathing gets stuck in my lungs.

No Baby, don’t do that to me. Please.

“With pleasure !” he smiles.

 September 21, 11:49pm

 Reader’s Pov

           He grabs my thigh to lift it a little and grunt in my ear. His kisses are hot on my neck, his heavy body moving cautiously on top of me.

           My eyes are on the ceiling, my hands on his sweaty muscular back and I wait.

           Damn, what is happening ? He’s close, I am going to fake it ? I swore I would never fake, I swore if the guy can’t get me there, he should know, but… Abe is not the problem, I am.

           I just watch the ceiling wondering what is wrong with me. He did everything right, nice foreplays and those love words he always has for me. But nothing seems to turn me on anymore, and without the need and the pleasure, his thrusts are just uncomfortable and I feel weird.

           Come already.

           I sigh. I know what is making this impossible. Dean. This fucker is the last I had in my own bed, the only one in fact. And everything reminds me that Abe is not Dean fucking Winchester !

“You okay Treasure ?” he pants in my ear, nibbling at it.

I’m not a freaking snack, what is it with his mouth and teeth always ?

“Yes” I fake a moan. “I’m close Abe, come.”

Just don’t be loud, that would be so awkward.

           When he loses rhythm, I close my eyes at the relief, it won’t be long now, make it stop. He shakes a little and grunt loud, filling the condom inside of me ; and, to make my fake moans credible, I clench my walls around him one time or two, rolling my eyes at his proud groan.

           Sex with Abe used to be so much more than this. I'm getting frustrated. Did I break something in me ? Why can't I enjoy anything anymore ?

           He rolls on my side, panting, and smiles tenderly at me. He’s beautiful, I have to admit that, and he’s nice and loving.

“You’re amazing” he hums. “I guess I can’t smoke in your bedroom ?”

“I don’t mind” I answer sincerely. “The air co is magical, just, don’t smoke more than one.”

           He sits on the bed to get his pants, his beautiful tattooed back on me. The smoke flies in pretty wreath. I put my hand on the lion tattooed on his back. It suits him, with his solar attitude and his confidence, his beautiful blond hair…

           Yet I keep longing for my wolf.

 Dean’s Pov

           Now I know I could kill him. And now I know what the limit amount of pain I can take is.

           I pace my room like a crazy man. He is taking her, my Baby. He is sinking inside of her and stealing pleasure. Does she wrap her legs around him like she always did with me ? To push me deeper. Is she as responsive ? As lost in pleasure as she was ? With that way only she has too beg for more with her entire body, voice strangled and arms caging me the best she can…

           Is she…

“F-fuck…” I whine, holding my heart.

I think I just felt it break.

Baby…

Breathing is painful now, I feel like I’m drowning.

Baby… Why did you have to do that to me ? I know I hurt you but your revenge is unbearable.

I sit on my bed, still holding my chest.

I can’t take it, you know.

“Shit” I grunt.

How can this kind of familiar panic attack be back ? How can this hurt so much ? It’s not Hell, it’s not Purgatory…

“It is Hell” I say out loud.

Loosing you, Baby. It’s Hell. Do you love him ? Because…

“Fuck, I love her” I whine.

 September 28, 06:05pm

             Sitting in my “Fortress of Deanitude”, I wait. The tray with snacks is there, beers too, and Netflix is ready for our next episode of Stanger Things.

           But there is a big chance she won’t come. Our movie nights are getting rarer and rarer, like our time together in general. And this place is slowly becoming a Fortress of Solitude…

           You never know how much you need something until you lost it, right ? I was stupid enough to think I could be stronger than the need for her and now look at me, alone in that big empty room in a bigger emptier bunker.

           All I can think of is how much each day pulls her closer to him and further from me. They are building memories in which I’m not, they are building an intimacy that I lost three years ago. She will forget me and he will have her, maybe even make her change a little, until one day she is among those people who talk about their personal tastes by saying “we”. “We prefer red wine”.

           Ew.

           Is he going to change my girl, for real ? Make her love Led Zeppelin a little less, make her a little less her, make her want other things, another life, need me less ? Our things will become unimportant and be replaced by all kind of other things I have no idea about.

           I take a long sip of my glass. It’s not like I had my word to say anyway. I lost her. I lost her in the worst way possible : willingly.

           But just when I’m about to get up and go put the snacks away, she opens the door, panting a little, like she had ran.

“Dean” she says entering the room. “I’m sorry. There was an accident on the road and the traffic was disturbed.”

You were at his place, Baby, and you ran to me ?

A little smile lights up my face when her presence revive my heart.

“It’s okay” I say.

“I’m late, but I have…” she takes her hand out of her purse. “Giant skittles !”

“You found them ?” I smile, sitting straighter when she hands me a bag.

Our things are not all gone. And she still cares about me and about our time together.

“Yup ! I made Abe stop in every shop yesterday.”

So you think of me when you’re with him, Baby ? Have you ever thought of me while he was inside of you ?

“Sit” I pat the armchair next to mine. “Let’s find out if Dusty’s girlfriend exists !”

“I really hope !” she exclaims, taking off her jacket.

I try not to look at her, but when she quickly takes off her jeans to slip in her pajamas pants, I swallow hard. Those thighs could have been for me, and I could have watched the show while holding her.

           She sits with her knees up against her chest in the big chair next to me, and takes a beer. My eyes are glued to her, looking for anything unusual, and fearing it more than anything in the same time.

“What ?” she calls me out of my thoughts.

“Nothing, I…” have no idea how to finish this sentence.

“I’m still okay you know ?” she says without looking at me, playing with the label of her beer bottle. “You always stare at me like something had happened to me. I know what you think of Abraham, but he doesn’t treat me bad.”

 Reader’s Pov

“I’m sorry” he sighs. “You know how protective I can get. Especially with you…”

A chuckle escapes me and I know he doesn’t like it, but protective with me ? He broke my heart. He ripped it and threw it on the floor because I had said those words.

“Yeah…” I nod, nibbling at my lip. “You won’t find bruises on me.”

He doesn’t answer.

           When did we become like this ?

           After a silence, he hands me candies and presses play. But, chewing on sugar and my eyes on the screen, I keep my full attention on him.

           I have everything any girl would want : A lover with hot blood, beauty and a heart of gold. But I'm not any girl, and the only thing I want is Dean Winchester. The genius who thinks he's dumb, the scared little boy who lost his mom, the leader, the victim of his fate, the killer, the loyal friend, the rebel, the torturer, the perfect brother, the wary hunter, the crappy dancer ; grumpy Dean, childish Dean, stubborn Dean, all of Dean...

           I look at him and my eyes travel down his neck, his beard is fighting to grow back there but I know he won't let it. The slow movements of his chest are mesmerizing. My eyes go down, to his thighs and crotch...

           I really shouldn't let myself look there but his smell and aura are like a mermaid song and I'm drowning. His strength is radiating of him and I feel myself respond to it in everyone of my heartbeats.

           He could make me scream. He always did, so easily. Dean made me cry of pleasure more than once, sometimes without any effort, the brushes of his fingers, the burning of his kisses... And when he finally buried himself inside of me, it was like a firework in Heaven. He never had to do anything really special...

           And now I wonder : Is something broken about me ? Abe is passionate and loving, we used to work great, he was easy as whiskey. And he loves me. Why am I unable to enjoy any of it lately ?

           My eyes trace the bump in Dean’s pants and I remember the simple ecstasy of feeling his cock twitch for me. Dean... I bite my lip to hold back the moan hanging on my tongue. His thigh moves a little, strong muscles hidden in his jeans, and I think of his stomach contracting that time he came on my tongue. I…

“I see you” his deep serious voice hits the air like thunder.

I look up to meet his eyes and realize I have been staring at his crotch, licking my lips and probably visibly holding back moans.

“Do you need something ?” he asks with a proud aura on his face.

I want to punch that expression off of his perfect features.

           I look down and sigh. Yes, I do. I need him, not only want like I would like to think, but need indeed. I need him to feel my body, to make it alive, and to hear my soul breathe again.

“Dean…” I just say.

Like it was an answer or reproach but of course, he hears it for what it is.

           A call.

           So he gets up, suddenly so tall that he eclipses the TV, the light and my will. He comes in front of me, standing there, making me look up timidly through my lashes. His strong hand lands cautiously on my cheek, gently holding my face while I lean on his touch.

           I can resist him. I can.

           I think of Abe's sweet smile, of his deep voice and his arms around me. I think of this night he told me about jail and I tried all I could to make him feel safe again, that was a beautiful moment... We are something beautiful Abe and me. We are going to make it right, to make it count. Right ?

           As my heart fights itself, playing all the love songs I know at once in my head in a deafening dim of emotions, my eyes fill with tears. I know what is going to happen, and the cruel god writing my story can stop there, the end is already obvious.

           I can't resist Dean. I just can't.

           And Abe will cry, right ? He trusts me. He will take his bag and yell maybe, the sun inside of him will get clouded, he will drive away. Then I will let my body slide on the door frame, unable to hold my weight up, because I will have broken the only man that ever truly loved me.

           I look down to hide the pain from Dean, but he knows me better.

"I can leave" he says.

But it's the last thing I want because I miss him, I miss him like a part of me died years ago and I still feel empty and cold... I miss him when I'm alone, and even more when I'm not.

           When he's about to move, take a step back to leave me alone, I grab his belt and hold him in place firmly. I have no plan, no solid thought, but I know I can't be away from him for now. He smells both like the most familiar home and the wildest dream.

           My other hand grazes the fabric of his jeans on his thigh, I close my eyes for a second and a little whimper escapes me. I started touching Dean less than a day after meeting him, and it seems I can't be around him without having my hands on his body.

           He hums, staring down at me, bow legs slightly parted like he needed balance, like he was gripping the floor for both of us. Dean had always been my anchor. His shoulders look wider from down here and I want nothing more than letting my hands grab his butt to rub my cheek on his crotch like a cat marking its territory.

"Touch me like you need it, Baby" he murmurs and a little sob escapes me unexpectedly.

He never ever called me Baby.

           He never gave me any nickname like he never gave me the place I thought I could take in his heart. And Abe, he calls me Treasure. He welcomed me in his heart...

"What's wrong ?" Dean asks like he didn't know.

Dean Winchester is the world's greatest hero, saved basically everyone's life without any reward, and for this he is a saint ; and still, he's the one that is going to be the end of me. Hero or not, he's my villain.

"Everything is wrong, Dean" I answer in a broken voice. "Everything."

He squats in front of me and my hand panics at losing my grip on his belt so it grasps his flannel like my life depends on it.

"Not everything" he whispers, bending to let his poisonous lips graze my skin.

My treacherous mouth opens in reflex at the proximity of his, making him respond by biting my lower lip. I whimper again and pull him closer.

"I got you" he states, letting his burning lips trace down my chin and my neck followed by his thumb, scratching my skin with his short nail. And I catch fire.

I let my head falls back and I surrender totally.

           That's how bad he is for me : I could let him break my heart again without an hesitation, after it took me years to recover just enough to just function. And oh, I will. I will shatter the heart of the man that trusts me just to let Dean selfishly remind me how much I love him.

           His breath is burning my skin, spreading in the fabric of my t-shirt when he buries his face on my chest, opening his mouth wide to pretend to bite my breast, hand cupping my sides like he had missed me for real. I let go of the plaid fabric to grip the short strand of his hair like I can.

"Dean..." the moan I have been holding comes out, filling the room with sin and the echo of future lies.

"I got you" he repeats.

His hungry hands seize my jeans and tear it open, fighting the metallic button's resistance brutally. The fabric hurts my lower back in a last resistance but is ripped off of me the second after, taking my panties in its way.

           And before I can sit straighter now that I'm on the edge of the chair, before I can talk, think or breath. Dean's anaconda arms grab my thighs firmly and his burning breath is on my folds.

"Wh-" I start but what can I say now.

He kisses my folds like no men ever did : like he was in love with that part of me. An open mouth kiss, tongue eagerly lapping my juice from my entrance to my clit.

"AH !" I scream, arching my back but Dean doesn't take a second to breathe, burying his face on me.

I squirm, licking my lips like I was kissing him back but the place he is devouring can only respond with throbs and getting soaked, which is does.

           I'm panting, I'm being eaten by the flames of that indescribable pleasure that is back. My stomach is shaking, my temples are beating so loud. I suck a breath when he sucks at my clit, moist hand gripping the leather of the chair.

"Dean" I moan again in the subdued light of the warm room.

He answers with a hum, and his nimble tongue pushes at my entrance, making my thighs shake violently in the vise grip of his arms.

           I can't escape what Dean does to me so I let go.

           My whole body falls backward when I come, harder than I have in years, holding his hair so tight it might hurt him, legs shaken by electricity, back arching and chest fighting itself to breath. My sensible clit seems to have nerves in my whole body and I fall silent, covered in sweat, suffocated by a forbidden crushing orgasm.

           I whimper desperately, limp and lost, panting in the chair like I didn't realize yet what just hit me. But Dean knows what he's doing, he knows where this goes.

           He opens his jeans, I can feel it even though I don't see him, my head still back, moaning at the caresses of his tongue on my neck. I bite my lip hard, hand moving from the arm of the chair to his, to feel his eagerness.

           And he grabs my thighs harshly, making me fall on the floor with him and holds my back when I can't, keeping me against him.

"So wrong..." I whisper in a dying echo of my disgrace.

His hand grasps my face firmly and makes me look at him. His eyes have this fire in them, he clenches his jaw when I roll my lips a little, wetting his craved cock on me, dying of being finally filled by him.

"Keep your eyes on me" he groans, grabbing his length to guide it at my throbbing entrance.

"Dean..." I moan, fingers reaching his stomach under his clothes to feel it tremble.

"Eyes on me baby" he repeats low.

 Dean's Pov

           She can't think of him. Not now. I need her with me, I need her for me.

Feel me, baby.

           I smile slightly when she dives her unfocused pupils in my eyes. She's perfect and I love her ; but I must say when she seems to surrender so completely to my touch, that's when forgot why I asked her to stay away.

           When I enter her, her phone lights up once again in her back, on the floor. I groan loud as she wraps me like only she can, like she was trying to suck me inside her core. She's shaking, she's fighting to keep her eyes on me and I'm fighting that urge to grab her phone and shatter it in a million pieces against the wall.

           She gasps, her body threatening to fall back so I hold her.

That's it baby, stay with me, feel me, let me take you like I used to when you were mine.

My hand fists her hair and my mouth gets attracted to her pulse point so I bend to suck at it, barely thrusting for now, just enjoying to be inside of her, feeling her pulsating with desire, the concrete hard floor digging in my knees.

           Her arms wrap around me, she cling to me and I try to ignore my jealousy shouting at me.

Baby, you try to ignore me but can he do that to you ? Can he turn you into a purring cat like that ?

"Dean" she moans, clenching around me, her thighs trying to get herself even closer so she takes me impossibly deeper.

"Say you want me" I murmur against her skin in a voice I barely recognize.

"I want you" she gives in, exhaling in my ear.

           Behind her, her phone lights up one more time with a text : "I found us a case in California, Treasure."

=> PART 2

FEEDBACK IS GOLD

Tags : @parinarain @mogaruke @masterof-agony @rainflowermoon @tftumblin @deans-baby-momma @roonyxx @thefaithfulwriter @vicariouslythruspn @emeow1496 @daryldixonandfrogs @holylulusworld  @cocklesbelli @sandlee44 @screenchingartisancashbailiff @donnaintx @stormchasingchick32 @akshi8278 @magssteenkamp @sister-winchesters99 @neii3n  @lyss-dw79 @im-a-shrub @sadwaywardkid​@hopelesslydevotedtoyou1912 @slyqueenj​ @i-love-superhero​ @waywardsisterandpie @sunsetsandbooks​ @mrspeacem1nusone​ @stylesismyhubs​ @deanwanddamons​ @jawritter​ @peridottea91​ @chelsea072498 @chocolateheart​ @vicmc624​ @teresa-67​ @jessie-michael​ @doctor-hp-mcu​ @hawkerz12​ @mariaenchanted​ @hobby27​

#supernatural #supernatural fanfiction #SPN #spn fic #SPNFamily #spn dean x reader #dean winchester #Supernatural Dean Winchester #dean x reader #dean x y/n #dean winchester x reader #Smut #dean winchester smut #fluff #dean winchester fluff #jealous dean winchester #cheating #OC #angst #jay and dean #part 1 #don't look down baby

[eddie-scarpa-lived]

Sergio Morello Jr. headcanons:

he is indeed a lucky bastard, not just by surviving lots of assassination attempts, but also with women and in games

he probably spends a lot of time in casinos (or at least did before there were assassination attempts)

at first, Salieri saw him as the sort of “irresponsible playboy who spends all the money and doesn’t do shit” younger brother and looked down on him

eventually, Sergio proved he’s very smart and ruthless with his enemies, which at first Salieri was impressed by, but then got a bit jealous (because Sergio was practically all that he was but more intelligent and handsome, luckier, younger, with blood relation to Marcu)

he loves music and probably plays the piano well (read it here and cannot get the idea out of my head; in the remake he literally is the type of villain who would be playing the piano at night in his mansion lmao)

he loves saying that he represents his brother, he loves when Marcu calls him little brother, but cannot stand when other people refer to him as “Morello’s little brother”

his and Marcu’s father probably died/disappeared from his life when Sergio was very young, so he always looked up to Marcu and idolized their absent father (that’s why he takes pride in saying “Do you know who I am? I’m a Morello!”, because he believes in the grandeur of the name)

maybe their father wasn’t really all that glorious, but he doesn’t know that - maybe he just believes in the stories that his mother and older brother would tell him (how he was a saint and how everyone respected him) - but maybe they just made those stories up the fact he was just a crook who ran off or something and Marcu eventually had to be the provider and protector of the family

their mother probably lives in some nice house Marcu bought for her in the countryside, and both her sons come there for sunday lunches sometimes (she’s a sweet confused old lady who thinks Marcu is in politics or something. and she actually remembers Salieri as Marcu’s friend and mentions him sometimes at the table, not knowing that they are no longer friends hehe)

while Ennio and Marcu are too focused on their fight, Sergio actually enjoys the créme de la créme lifestyle, and has a reputation of a playboy

he can be actually very charming and a great company, but once he gets mad he turns psycho

even back when they all used to work together, he would casually insult Frank (+ mockingly calling him “old sport”); Frank would always ignore it, and Sergio would be like “I’m just joking, old sport” while Frank just looks at him like ‘fuck you too’

generally speaking, he uses the words “pal”, “buddy” and “old sport” as derogatory terms for people he can’t stand

but I believe he would get along perfectly with Vincenzo (they both seem to have passion for what they’re doing, and enjoying the adrenaline of that - also from the cigarette card, we know that Vincenzo likes to brag about himself lol, and that’s definitely something Sergio would also do). so maybe they used to get along, but Vincenzo is fiercely loyal to Salieri, and when the Morellos try to assassinate him, he does not hesitate to go after Sergio (and takes it as a challenge, which excites him since Sergio “has a lucky rabbit’s foot up his ass”)

he definitely cares about expensive nice cars, and it was probably his idea to get Morello involved in the racing and sponsor Lichtenberg

he knows that if he pisses Marcu off, all it takes is to call him “Don Morello” to get back on his good side

he is very superstitious and believes that the small routines bring him luck, so he always wears a “lucky tie” or uses one specific gun. breaking these routines makes him nervous - and of course when his life is in danger, he has to change his habits, and it never feels right

#sergio morello #lucky bastard lives in my head rent free now #mafia 1 #mafia: definitive edition #marcu morello #headcanon