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chaithetics · 10 months

Note

For a fluffy request: Stewy taking care of a sick reader

Couchside Comfort

Pairing: Stewy Hosseini x f (Roy) Reader/ Stewy Hosseini x reader (can be read as either the usual Roy reader or Roy-less reader as there's only one small reference to Shiv Roy at the end)

Word count: 2.5K

Author's note: Thank you so much for this request Nonnie! I absolutely adore this type of fluff! I know you probably meant sick like a cold or something minor but this felt like the perfect opportunity to do a chronically ill reader, I then had a lovely ask regarding endo from @emeraldsandelderberries and I was convinced to finish off the idea about a reader having their period and making this ask endo related. I hope you don't mind Nonnie, if you had another illness in mind or wanted something more generic, please do let me know and I can do that! I think having chronically ill readers and fics is so important and endo is so important, so this is dedicated to those two and anyone reading who has endo, a chronic illness, gynae pain etc. You all deserve a Stewy who will take care of you and I hope you all enjoy this! I'm very tempted to write more chronically ill fics! As usual, reblogs and comments are more than welcome and appreciated! PS has not been proofread (shocker!)

Content/chapter warning: established relationship, mentions of endometriosis, chronic illness,pain, periods, fluffy fluff. There is no physical description of the reader but they are AFAB/have endo.

*********************

It had been an absolutely miserable day, you’d woken up feeling a bit bloated and with an ache in your lower back. It wasn’t a great feeling but having dealt with a chronic illness for a significant amount of your life that flared up randomly and consistently through your cycle, you had sadly become used to waking up with discomfort and bloating. At least with your career and home life, you didn’t need to worry about the oxymoron of wearing jeans with an endo belly.

But the morning had very quickly progressed from mild (for you) discomfort to a full-blown flareup with the culprit being your period. You ended up staying home and having a sick day then going to work, you didn’t text or call Stewy as there wasn’t much he could do. Endometriosis wasn’t something that had an easy guide to fix and cure, it was unpredictable it fluctuated and maybe if you just rested you might feel better by the time Stewy came home. Which you knew was unlikely anyway.

You’d taken anti-inflammatories, had an obscenely long magnesium bath, you’d tried napping but you couldn’t get into a position anywhere that was comfortable enough and didn’t hurt. Hours had painfully, slowly gone by and you were now curled up on the sofa watching one of your favourite comfort films Dead Poets Society, even though it always made you cry.

Stewy was home a bit earlier than usual, he wasn’t expecting you to be home already but he knew you were as he could hear the sound of the television playing something. You hear the door open and the sound of him coming in and the usual routine of shoes off and so forth. You hadn’t called or texted so he just assumes that you finished work early and you’re unwinding on the couch.

“What are we watching?” He calls out as he follows the noise of the television to you.

“Dead Poet’s Society.” You tiredly and quietly call out as you feel a new shooting pain travel through your abdomen.

“Why are you watching a sad movie? This one always makes you cry.” Stewy asks as he can now see you and he knows the answer before he even finishes that question.

You’re awkwardly curled up on the couch with a blanket around you, an electric heat pad tucked into your pants against your abdomen to provide some relief against the sharp, pelvic stabbing. There’s water and chocolate nearby. Your face is in a grimace and Stewy can see that there are some tears in your eyes, he’s been around long enough to know that they’re a product of both your physical pain and tears from this film.

“Do you want to watch something else?” You softly ask rather than directly answering as you close your eyes, trying to sink further into the cushion on the sofa. It was quickly starting to feel like the migraine that had been haunting you for most of the day was coming back and sinking its cruel claws into you.

“Literally anything else that isn’t so depressing.” He bluntly says as he watches you carefully. He doesn’t really complain but he’s never really understood the whole sad comfort movie phenomenon, he’s hoping something a little lighter might be a better distraction.

“I have my period.” You say as you squeeze your eyes with another grimace, it’s a shoot wave and it feels like it’s poking your ovary.

“Who directed that one?” He asks as he comes closer to you.

He immediately knows the grimace and his heart pangs at that, he can tell you’re in pain but it seems like you’re in a state that you can put up with a bit of his humour. He’s hoping that it’ll at least make you smile a little or distract you just a small amount from the searing pain, even if it’s only for a brief minute.

“I guess you since I’m not pregnant.” You say with a small smirk trying to focus on Stewy’s kind teasing as a distraction.

“Huh, interesting, I don’t think I remember that one. Who was in it?” He questions, as he kneels down on the floor next to where your face is on the sofa. You chuckle a little, the smile feels nice but the small laugh does send another shooting pain up your side and you gasp at that before you’re able to respond.

“Well, not you since, again, I’m not pregnant.” You try to tease back.

“Noted.” Stewy chuckles with a small smile as he carefully smooths your hair, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead, he pulls your blanket up around you a bit more. “Do you want some peppermint tea baby?”

“Yes please.” You reach for his hand to hold it as he kneels next to you. His hand quickly envelops yours, it’s nice and warm, comforting. But Stewy is always comforting. You wonder for a moment if it would be a better heat pad than your current one or maybe if he could just be an additional one.

“We’re out of berries.” You sadly whisper as your mind tries to focus on anything but the pain and a priority for you is of course that fruit, it’s one of the only things you feel like you could stomach right now, the chocolate had gotten too sweet far too quickly.

“We’re not. I’ll make some tea for you and get some, okay baby?” Stewy says as you continue to hold his hand and he strokes your cheek with his thumb, you can’t help but melt into his kind, safe touch.

“I don’t want to move, and I don’t want you to go.” You groan out as you curl inwards, trying to find some position that isn’t too uncomfortable while internally it feels like your organs and the endometriosis tissue are going off to another war against each other and you already know who has won.

“I’m not going anywhere. They’re frozen, there’s always an emergency stash for you.” Stewy reassures you as he continues to stroke your face and presses a few more soft kisses onto your head as he becomes more worried at your pain, he often thinks it and he knows you do too but moments like this always surprise at how awful such a common illness can be and he wishes that there was a cure, some magical treatment to completely prevent the flare-ups, that it wasn’t all trial and error and ridiculous potential side effects.

“Really?” You question, your eyes opening at that. That simple, thoughtful piece of knowledge is without a doubt, the highlight of your awful day. You’re so in love with him and grateful for him. You smile a little bit more at that.

“Yes… But it’s that bad you don’t want to move?” Stewy asks visibly concerned. As any partner would, he hates seeing you go through this and it always concerns him, how awful it is and that not much can really be done.

“If I move it eliminates the possibility of the couch swallowing me whole.” You nonchalantly answer.

It had been a fantasy you’d had when today’s endo flared up, the internal uprising had begun and it was still a very appealing fantasy. You were certain that if the couch did swallow you whole it would be rather soothing and you wouldn’t feel any pain.

“I guess I skimped out on this couch babe, it doesn’t have that feature. I’m sorry baby. But I did it because I know of your wanting to be couch-swallowed tendencies.” He teases as he continues to stroke your face and you giggle a little at his ridiculous joke.

Stewy’s many things, ridiculously handsome, intelligent, savvy and witty but he’s also extremely gentle and even goofy. You’re so grateful for him and he’s always this way with you, he’s so loving and you don’t think there’s ever been someone who has seen this all and has continued to show up, to support you and make you feel so loved. You wished this migraine wasn’t here and you could take in his physical beauty and not just his emotional beauty.

“I’m going to make you some tea and grab the berries, okay baby?” He asks softly in the sweetest voice he has, it’s a voice reserved only for you. It’s literal warm honey to your ears and soul. You nod, he kisses your hand and gets up to head to the kitchen.

You close your eyes again and snuggle into the blanket more. The couch still hasn’t swallowed you whole, unfortunately, which is surprising considering how large it is. But you suppose that’s a good thing since Stewy’s here now. You listen to the soft patter of his feet that you can hear in the kitchen and him humming as he opens cupboards, and makes the cup of tea.

After a couple of minutes, he comes back over, placing a bowl of the aforementioned berries onto the coffee table and has 2 mugs in his other hand. You move to try sitting up and he sits on the end of the sofa as he carefully hands you the mug of the warm peppermint tea. It’s so nice and warm in your hands, you take a few sips of it and then a large gulp, wanting the herbal medicinal effects to hurry up and kick in. You hold the warm mug in your hands for a few moments, basking in the heat as Stewy sits next to you with his hand running up and down your back, soothingly tracing gentle patterns across it.

You lean over to place the mug carefully onto a coaster on the coffee table, you try to stretch a little as you know movement will help but it feels impossible. You then lean back and curl up into Stewy’s side but after a few moments you slink down until you’re lying on the couch again but with your head and part of your upper body curled up into his lap. You close your eyes as you feel the gentle movements of his stomach moving a little with each breath and the warmth of his cosy, signature turtleneck.

“Do you have a migraine as well honey?” He asks softly and you nod.

“It’s been on and off all day, like a goddamn ghost haunting me in a haunted house.” You exasperatedly sigh.

His heart breaks at that and he quickly moves a hand to gently massage at your lower back, he knows it always gets tense and is frequently a source of pain during your flare-ups. But he moves his other hand so that he can gently press a bit of pressure to the pressure point near your temple to try and bring you a bit of relief from your migraine.

“Is that okay?” He gently asks as he continues.

You smile at the feeling, of having such gentleness, love and support. Despite the pain and how cheesy it sounds, just his presence is already helping and giving you a bit of comfort during this awful pain. You nod quickly, moving your hand up to give a gentle squeeze to the hand massaging your lower back.

“Yes sweetie, thank you. I love you so much.”

“I love you too baby.” He says as he continues with what he’s doing. The film eventually ends and he’s happy about that, he’s silently praying that your next choice might be something a bit lighter or that you’ll be open to a minor suggestion, although he totally respects that not being the case. Today is a day with you and your comfort being the focus.

You’ve had some more meds and you’re still in pain but you’re feeling a little bit more comfortable with movement and having an extra blanket around you. You sit up for a moment to drink some more of the tea and eat some of the mostly thawed-out frozen berries. There’s something about the cold taste of them that helps during a flare you swear. You look at Stewy and the migraine is definitely currently feeling a little bit better.

You’re in awe of his gentleness and the way that those deep brown doe eyes of his are looking at you with adoration, even with you looking and feeling absolutely miserable. He’s always been handsome but there’s something even more special about him in moments like this you think.

“Thank you for-” You start to say before he can cut you off.

“You don’t need to thank me for this baby.” “But-”

“No, I don’t even want you to try.” He says with a playful but kind smirk on his face as he looks at you.

You laugh a little and nod. Then lean over to give him a kiss on the lips, it’s soft, gentle, warm and loving. You feel yourself melt into the gentle but brief kiss, and his hands gently rub at your back as he kisses you back softly. It’s a sweet kiss and when you pull away, you place your hand on the side of his cheek, feeling the perfectly trimmed dark stubble of his beard.

“I really do love you, you know?” You say with a small smile.

“I know, it kind of helps in these romantic situations.” He teases and you roll your eyes before moving back down to lay in his lap again. “But I love you too baby.” He has a hand stroking your face again and you can feel yourself starting to feel like maybe napping is finally an option. “Did you want a bath?” He asks after a moment of thought.

“I had one a few hours before you came home.” You answer tiredly.

“Did you want another one?” He asks in that ridiculously sweet voice that would absolutely melt you if you weren’t in so much pain.

“Maybe later.” You pause for a moment thinking while in his lap and enjoying being surrounded by him and the warmth from his body, the heat pads, and the blankets. “Did you want to watch Little Women?” You ask a little bit more cheerily. You hear Stewy sigh a little at that.

“I thought you’d never ask.” He’s so glad it’s something a bit happier than Dead Poets Society. “I think I’m more handsome than Laurie.” He says it almost absentmindedly as the film starts.

“You are.” You immediately agree, he is, without a doubt and always has been, no matter what adaptation you watch. Although the 2019 one is a favourite in this household. “But you are an Amy.”

“What?” He asks in shock.

“You are!” You respond with a smirk.

“If you weren’t in excruciating pain right now I’d consider biting you.” He says it mockingly and you giggle a little at that.

“Are you saying you don’t want to play bitey?” You tease. Knowing that as you’d gotten older that was not a normal game in normal households.

“Well, I know for a fact that you don’t like bitey.” Stewy immediately says, it was a fact, Shiv was always known for taking the game too far. “But I just can’t believe you’d say that baby, that’s cruel. I’m so not an Amy.”

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stupidthoughtsinwriting · 2 years

Text

Spiraling (Sherlock Holmes)

Hi, this is just a thought I've concocted. I honestly dont know what it is. I dont know if anybody will enjoy it, i hope they do but i already expect disappointment. Pardon my writing as i am still new to this. there was still a bit left after this but i didnt know how to run through it so just posted this but maybe ill finish that one once ive thought it through

Summary: After an accident during a case, a hostage situation leaves you in a coma for a week. During that week in the hospital, things are going horribly in Baker Street

‘Ohh Sherlock darling that’s beautiful, though I haven’t heard it before. Dare I ask who wrote that’ I asked Sherlock as he played the unfamiliar song. It was odd that I was unfamiliar with the beautiful tune as Sherlock has played plenty and more melodies than I can count, all of which I was familiar with, however that was new. I knew that he likes to compose as it helps him think but this was different, so I assumed was he’s playing another great’s piece. His melodies were always a bit solemn, deep and intense but this was lively, light and dare I say romantic.

‘Me’ he said flatly as he continued to play. Shocked as I was, I remained quiet as he carried on fiddling with his violin. Apparently, the shock was evident in my face as a smirked crossed his. I shrugged it off and listened until he finished the number. He was focused on the violin when he started to play but now his gaze was held on me. I gave him a soft smile which caused his features to soften into a smile of its own.

After a little while he finished and set the instrument on his chair, eyes still fixed on me. The grin I’ve plastered on grew wider as he walks over to me, hand in offering. I accepted and rose from my seat as he led the way to an open area. He moved to face me, a hand that belonged to him crept up to my waist and the hand he held in his was raised. Confused of his actions, I went along with it and raised my free arm to his shoulder, having an inkling where this was going. Guessing correctly, we moved around the living area, dancing as much we could in the small, confined space. Having known the dance as the same one done at John’s wedding; I was pleased to not have forgotten the steps.

As we continued waltzing, I asked ‘what has you all cheery?’

‘What has you so inquisitive’ he countered

‘Fair enough, though what had transpired to get you to write such a beautiful melody’

‘Nothing just got bored, so I composed. I was just very fortunate enough to have a great model and inspiration.’ He smiled as I beamed at the realization of what he meant. I was sat all day reading -a rather fascinating book might I add- on John’s chair as the boys finished up on a case. He’d come in around just after noon, bored of having been done with the previous case and not being on one currently. I greeted him when he walked in and went to the kitchen to fix up some tea. When I returned, giving one of the two mugs to him -a kiss on the head as a thank you-, I returned to finishing my book.

We continued dancing around the flat for a little while, nothing but the silent music and the rustling of our feet was heard. I laid my head on his shoulder at some point, happy and content of where I was and what I was doing. His voice broke the silence as we went for one last round.

‘Darling, can you do me a favour?’ he asked, voice a bit changed from the one he used earlier but I thought nothing of it.

‘Sure love, what is it?’

‘Wake up. Don’t leave me. Please come back to me’ His voice was now pleading and serious.

I raised my head as I said ‘What are you talking about, I’m right…’ I paused as his body and hold were loosening and disappearing ‘…here’ I continued with my sentence as I raised my hands to hold Sherlocks face. Everything had started to disappear in black. The flat and slowly his body.

‘Please come back, I can’t lose you, I need you please’ were his final words as he disappeared, slipping through my fingers, into the darkness. Nothing but a spotlight overhead of me. I put down my hands from where they were clutching on to his face, looking around into nothing but darkness.

…

‘Ey, how’s she doing?’ Greg asked John as he walked into the hospital room. It was quiet, nothing but the steady beeping of the heart monitor, breathing of the people in the room and the rain pattering on the window. John was sat at the chair at the end of the bed where you laid, nearly dozing off but was aroused by Lestrade breaking the silence of the room. Mycroft, unnoticed yet by the DI was stood at the dark corner beside the door. He was staring at your unmoving body, wondering how such a fierce, smart, brave and strong woman could ever lay looking so fragile.

‘Same as yesterday’ John replied with a yawn. The lot of them have been juggling staying here with you, looking after Sherlock and taking care of Rosie. John and Molly’s focus were taking care of Rosie, while Mrs. Hudson looked after Sherlock somewhat. She’d inform their little group of what’s been happening with him, keeping tabs of his activities and mayhem in the flat but the woman could only do so much. Greg checked up on him from time to time, more often than John and Molly but it was no use. What greeted them was a mess that was once the great Detective Sherlock Holmes. No one could get through to him but you. Even Mycroft tried, but he knew that what his brother needed, and the lack of it resulted into relapsing back to old habits.

John went straight here after Molly came to take care of Rosie. He was absolutely knackered. Rosie couldn’t sleep through the night which kept him up as well. He’s been living off of pots of coffee the past week with barely enough sleep. He’d nod off at times when it was his watch and the others would let him.

Mycroft came to check on you from time to time and occasionally kept watch of you as well. He knew that when you woke up and found him fully rested, not having bothered with helping the others, you’d have his head.

Now it seems the boys are all here at once. Greg came to relieve John of his duties to get some rest and inform him of the situation with the younger of the Holmes brothers, still unaware that the older was in the room.

‘Just got a message from Mrs. Hudson about our boy, it isn’t good.’ Greg announces, drawing Mycroft to rub his temples and John to release a sigh. Ever since the accident, Sherlock has only visited you once. The lot of em guessed he couldn’t bear to see you that way so for the past week, he’s been holed up in Baker Street.

‘Christ, what the bloody hell has he done now’ John said exasperated. He was exhausted. Before Greg could respond, another did.

‘You wouldn’t want to know’ Mycroft breathed out. Lestrade’s head snaped to the corner of the room, where the voice originated. Mycroft walked to the centre of the room, down the foot of your bed. Greg’s eyes followed, still startled by the unseen fellow.

‘What are you doing here’ he asked Holmes.

‘I could ask you the same thing’ the eldest Holmes retorted.

‘It’s my shift with y/n’

‘Well there’s no need, you lot look like rubbish’

‘Gee Myc, thanks’ John interrupted.

‘As I was saying,’ he continued, glaring at Watson ‘You lot should get some rest. If y/n finds you’ve been staying here with her, tired and looking like rubbish, she’d have my head.’

‘She’d already be livid by us just not leaving her alone’ John chuckled

‘Ohh wait till she sees Sherlock, she’d be in flames carving us up’ Lestrade groaned with a snicker, rubbing his head at the thought.

‘She already is’ said an unknown voice. A voice they were familiar with but haven’t heard in a while.

All three heads snapped towards the bed. There they found a woman shifting in the bed, trying to sit up, groaning as a pang of pain shot up her shoulder and stomach. Her eye’s fluttering, adjusting to the light and scene in front of her. John quickly stood up from where he was sat as all three men went to check on y/n.

‘Call the nurses and her doctor’ John ordered to anyone in the room, mainly the two lads he was in conversation with and Lestrade followed, rushing from the room to get your attendants.

‘Hey there, sleeping beauty, stop moving around, your going to pop your stitches. Do you remem…’ John fretted as he started examining you, but got cut off.

‘Oh shut it John, I’m fine. Yes I remember what happened. I got shot. Last thing I remember was staring at a barrel of a gun. My name is Y/N Y/L/N, I’m presuming I’m in the hospital. I’m also presuming Elizabeth is still the queen of England now leave me alone.’ She growled and the former army doctor backed away as her doctor came in with a few others, some nurses followed by Lestrade.

‘Ahh, it seems our VIP has awoken’ the doctor said.

‘VIP!’ She took another once over the room, seeing it is rather posh than a normal one, but her focus was on the three blokes taking a laugh at what her reaction was to be when she woke, before she shot her gaze to Mycroft who is to the right of her bed ‘Mycroft Holmes you moved me to a VIP room!’ she fumed as the government official backed away.

‘Okay Ms. Y/L/N please calm down. If you don’t mind, I will perform an examination to check your abilities.’ The doctor mused as he slowly and carefully approached the bed. He asked for permission to lift up your gown to examine the wound on your stomach. You waved him off and he began asking questions.

‘Ughh, John repeat’ you grumbled, already having answered the question before John could even ask.

‘She’s fine, she answered the questions before I could even ask.’ John explained to the doctor who nodded. He asked to uncover your shoulder, as he covered your stomach, to examine the wound on your there. Complying, he examined your arm. After the examination of the wounds, he checked your mobility and reflexes, lifting up your arms and etcetera. Finished with the inspection, he explained what happened to you medically. Apparently, the shot had you fall backward, in which you hit you head very hard -that explained the headaches-. You got shot at four times, three bullet hit you. One just a graze, one a flesh wound on the shoulder and the last on the edge of your stomach. It hit no vital organs but did graze the stomach. They took you to surgery and came out with minimal complications. They left you in a medically induced coma for a day to get the swelling on your head down. You haven’t woken up till now. You nodded every so often until he left, leaving you in the room with the boys and a nurse checking up on your vitals.

Running your uninjured hand to your hair, which was full of knots and a tangled mess, you sighed. You had pads stuck on your shoulder, stomach and arm, covering the holes and grazes on each area. The doctor said it was a miracle that you haven’t sustained much damage. He said miracle, you thought those were the odds of your predicament. ‘It could have been worse’ he said, that you believed. ‘You were lucky’ he added, you didn’t believe in luck.

‘Did anybody else get hurt?’ You asked, eyes closed, leaning back on the bed.

‘No, everyone’s fine, the hostages weren’t harmed, just… you’ John hesitated as he knew the lot of them were threading on thin waters.

‘How bad is it’ You asked, looking at Greg. He knew what you were talking about, he’d be stupider than you thought if he didn’t. He realized you must have heard his news about your lover. He doesn’t respond immediately, hesitating. Just from that you knew it was bad.

‘Bad’ he replied anxiously

‘Be more specific’ you sneered, ticked off from the lack of detail

‘He’s using’ John said plainly. ‘He is, isn’t he?’

‘Yes’ both Mycroft and Greg replied.

‘Fuck’ you breathed out, unintentionally ran you hand through your hair again, pissed to be greeted with a tangled mess. You look at John. He looked tired, bags and dark circles under his eyes, he looks like rubbish.

‘How long was I out again’ you asked, having ignored the doctor most of the time during his explanation, you let that little information slip.

‘A week’ John answered. You nodded as a thought crossed you.

‘Where’s, who’s with Rosie?’ you asked, concern over who’s with your god daughter. John smiled at your concern over his offspring.

‘She’s fine, she’s with Molly.’ he explained. You let out a breath, wincing a bit at the movement. You were given a PCA pump to help you control your pain, you pressed the button to add a dosage, not to much to get you fucked high but enough so the pain was manageable.

‘Speaking of, I should inform her and Mrs. Hudson that you’re awake.’ he said pulling out his phone.

‘Wait. Where are my things’ you asked so to get your own phone. The nurse’s head picked up and she gave you a plastic bag full of your belongings. You greeted her thanks as she continued on scribbling on her clip board.

‘John, could you get me anything to eat, I’m starving’ you asked your friend. He gave you a soft smile and nodded, glad that you had an appetite, he headed out to the canteen. Your gaze moved on to Mycroft who was sat on a chair near the window.

‘You, get me a less fancy room please. I do not want to be treated as if I’m royalty.’ he opened his mouth to object, but you cut him off. ‘Please’ you begged, which caused his resolve to break and agree. Not many could order around the Holmes boys, you were just one of the few that could. He left the room with his cane in tow, shutting the door. The nurse was about to leave as well but you called her over before she could.

‘Hi, could you please get me an AMA to sign and please be discreet.’ you told her gently but the intent an order. She looked at you for a second before nodding quickly and rushing out to get the document. You knew very well you could just leave without signing a damn thing but you didn’t want to cause a problem with the hospital, so this is just a courtesy.

‘What the are you doing’ Lestrade asked you as you ripped open the bag full of your stuff.

‘Did you guys get me anything to change?’ you said as you riffled through the bag looking for your phone.

‘Yah um sure.’ He went over to the closet and took a bag from a shelve. ‘Molly went to your flat while you were in surgery.’ He explained putting the bag on the bed. Having found your phone, you opened the bag he had given you and took out a change of clothes. You grabbed a clean pair of knickers, your denim jeans, a white shirt and a blue cardigan from the bag as you told Greg to close the curtains and look away. He followed as you gently put on your underwear and jeans. Taking a deep breath, you pressed the button of the PCA pump to administer a bit more, scratch that, a lot more of morphine a few more times before pulling the needle out. You grimaced and threw the needle away. The nurse happens to have chosen that moment to come in and see what you were doing. She came to help you and pulled a plaster from one of the many drawers of medical equipment next to the machines. Greg who was still looking at the window asked what was happening.

‘Nothing just… did Molly happen to bring me any shoes’

‘Uhh yeah, bottom of the bag’ he replied.

‘Okay’ you say as the nurse helps you with your bra and shirt. You carefully put your arm through the hole of the shirt and rummaged through the bag of your items for a hair tie, your hair was killing you. Having found one, you attempted to tie your hair but a pang of pain shot your shoulder and stomach, mild but it was still there. The nurse having noticed this took the hair tie from you and tied your hair up in a bun. You were so very grateful for her at that moment.

‘Greg you can turn around now.’ Following your orders, he turned to see you fully clothed, a nurse tying up your hair.

‘What the bloody hell are you doing’ he exclaimed as he walked over to face you.

‘You are taking me to Baker Street.’ You say flatly as you reached for the clip board of forms.

‘I am not’ He handed it to you, and you asked for a pen.

‘You are’ you said sternly, leaving no room for argument.

With a sigh, he found one in his coat and handed it to you. You quickly scribbled and signed the discharge papers before handing them to the nurse, who was removing the rest of the wires attached to you.

‘Can you find me a wheelchair’ you asked Lestrade who fully knew it was an order and not a request. Grumbling he followed and left the room leaving you with the nurse. You pulled the shoes from the bag, threw the plastic bag of bloody garments in and zipped it shut. Slipping on the trainers carefully, you stood up fully from the bed and walked around with the help of the nurse, to wake up your legs from its week rest. Your clothes hung loose and big as you’ve lost a bit of weight during your hibernation. As you walk around the room, your leg starts to get a bit more feeling. The morphine was relieving most of your pain but that didn’t mean there still wasn’t some left.

Lestrade came in with a wheelchair as you’ve just slipped on the cardigan. You took a seat from the chair and asked for you bag to be placed on your lap. You thank the nurse, asking for her name as you were going to send her a gift basket or something as a thank you for getting you out of the hospital. She bided you with instructions and precautions with wounds, which you told her to tell John when he got back from the cafeteria. A thought occurred and you also asked her for a favour of giving John a few of the pain meds -morphine really- when he returned and maybe a suture kit, she nodded questionably. You thanked her one more time before asking Lestrade to wheel you to his car and head to Baker Street. You made a mental note of giving that nurse a very good thank you basket for all the things she’s done for you.

…

As Mrs. Hudson came up the stairs, a tray of tea and biscuits in hand, she heard the ramblings of her tenant. From what she can tell, he was reciting Shakespeare. As she slowly opened the kitchen door -finding it much safer than the main one directly opening to the flat-, she’d find her kitchen a mess. Her table filled with beakers, a microscope, tubes and whatnot with a bunch of other experiments in different bins. Her counters and cabinets filled with the same thing, with an added touch of pinned and hanging files and photographs. The floors ridded with stacked piles of papers and boxes. She just managed to squeeze in her tray of tea and biscuits on the table, before being startled by a gunshot. She jumped and headed to the living room where the shots originated, checking on the lad she treated like a son. As she finally managed to weave her way to the living space, she was greeted by another shot, one her wall had to suffer.

She found Sherlock shouting and waving a revolver, as he rounded the flat like a mad man.

‘Once more unto the breach, dear friends, once more; Or close the wall up with our English dead. In peace there's nothing so becomes a man as modest stillness and humility: But when the blast of war blows in our ears, then imitate the action of the tiger; ' he recited loudly, pacing around the flat, pointing the gun at pictures that hang on strings and objects he found no longer useful, before shooting a picture pinned on the wall.

Startled from the shots fired and getting quite scared of Sherlocks erratic behaviour -though she’s somewhat used to this-, she rushes out the flat and down the stairs. She was going to ring up John or Lestrade to inform them of the increase in violence in the detective’s behaviour. More shots followed at her decent down the stairs when the front door slammed open revealing a y/h/c head of hair she knew belonged to the only person who could help the bloke who live in the flat she just rushed out on.

…

As the car got closer to 221 Baker Street, a clear sound of a bullet wrang through the block. A sound I know a bit too well from a recent experience. I flew out of the vehicle before Greg could even stop the car, pain searing through my body at the force of my movements. A faint ‘Eyy’ was heard coming from Greg but again faint as I was rushing to the front door.

‘STAY THERE’ I shouted back. The slanted knocker flew at the force of the door being slammed open. That was going to leave a dent on the partition, but I didn’t care.

‘Y/N!’ Mrs. Hudson was descending the stairs but was frozen in place at my arrival. I quickly sped up the stairs, past the landlady as pain wrecked through my body. ‘NOBODY COME UP HERE’ I shouted again, my throat getting sore even from the minimal exchange of words. I slow my steps as I get to the closed door of the flat, a booming voice heard from this side of the door. I slowly and very carefully open the door, not wanting to startle and get sent to the hospital with another bullet wound.

‘On, on, you noblest English. Whose blood is fet from fathers of war-proof! Fathers that, like so many Alexanders, have in these parts from morn till even fought and sheathed their swords for lack of argument’

‘Sherlock’ I said softly, announcing my arrival in between his rant. As I entered, I find chaos with the man I found to love in the centre of it all. What once was a somewhat organized flat, morphed as if a tornado passed through. Papers and pictures cloud and scattered on any available space. Strings hang at odd places. Bullet holes and pictures fill the walls, shattered pieces of glass crowd the floor along with knocked over furniture. It’s a mess.

You look up at Sherlock after scanning the room. Focusing on the detective, you take in his ragged and worn appearance. His curly head of hair, a greasy mess, sticking out at odd places. A heavy stubble has grown from the lack of shaving the past week. His features, primarily his jaw and cheekbones sharp from the scarce to none amount of food consumed. His skin, sickly pale as mine from when I woke up just less than an hour ago. His clothes hung loose on his body, the navy robe wrapped around him, fluttering as it followed his movement. He looks worse than me at the moment.

‘Dishonour not your mothers; now attest That those whom you call'd fathers did beget you. Be copy now to men of grosser blood, and teach them how to war.’

He’s ranting, no reciting Henry the Fifth at the top of his lungs, waving the revolver around as he paced the flat, pulling at the papers stuck on the mirror, kicking anything his foot touched. Still in the midst of this chaos, what stood out to me were his eyes. Rounded by dark circles, sunken deep. However, behind those blue changing orbs, were emotions. I was always rather good at reading him, but his eyes always gave me the confirmation of my suspicions. Now what hid behind those beautiful cerulean blue orbs was guilt, worry and anger. I know that Sherlock cares for me and he has told me himself that he loves me, but I never knew that my absence would ever have this affect on him. Come to think of it, we’ve gone through far worse incidents but on the other hand he was always the one on that deep end. I never thought and always assumed that nobody cared enough for me to care if I was ever injured or dead. How wrong am I.

With a sigh, I whispered ‘Oh Sherlock what have you done’. I gulped before finding my voice to speak out again. I don’t think he knows of my presence yet as he’s still quite dramatically delivering the scene.

‘And you, good yeoman, whose limbs were made in England, show us here the mettle of your pasture.’

‘Sherlock’ I spoke up, receiving no response nor acknowledgement in return.

‘Let us swear That you are worth your breeding; which I doubt not; For there is none of you so mean and base, that hath not noble lustre in your eyes’

‘Sherlock’ I say louder, hoping to break through his train of thought.

‘I see you stand like greyhounds in the slips, straining upon the start. The game's afoot: Follow your spirit, and upon this charge cry 'God for Harry, England, and Saint George!’ He finished loudly before sending steady shots at a picture pinned to the wall behind the couch, causing me to duck with a whimper, my hand flying to my stomach. I definitely popped a few stiches.

‘SHERLOCK’ I screamed, only to have the colt pointed at me again. Having a bit of a deja vu as the last thing I remember before waking up this noon was staring a barrel of a gun. Quite used to this from my previous job and years running around with the boys, I’m fairly tired of it. I raise my hands as a faint of innocence, hoping once again to save another trip to the hospital.

‘Sherlock’ I repeated softly, wincing as I slowly stand. A wave of recognization flashes through him and he wavers slightly. Taking the opportunity, quickly taking a step closer -ignoring the throbbing pain coursing through me-, I smack the hand that wields the gun upwards, causing his grip to falter and ultimately letting go of the gun. I quickly snatch the revolver mid-air with my other hand, a tight grip on the handle, holding it far away from him, taking a few steps back.

A bit fazed from recent actions, Sherlock remains frozen, possibly shocked from my presence. I on the other hand go to remove the bullets from the cylinder but find it empty, before place the firearm on the coffee table that was pushed to the side. I wince again when I stand up straight after bending to place the gun carefully on the table. I turn back to him, his stare boring a hole through me. I say his name in a soft tone once more as I slowly walk back over to him. A foot remains, the distance being the only barrier keeping us apart.

I see him looking over every inch of me, deliberating if I was a hallucination from his drugged high or really standing in front of him. He’s deducing every little detail on me after being deprived of my appearance the week. Greg told me while we were in the car that he’s only come to see me once during my stay at the hospital.

I say his name again and close the distance, sparing him the torture I’m sure he’s come up with trying to push through the intoxication. I place my palm on his cheek, caressing the sharp jawline as is eyes flutter to a close. He melts under my fingertips and leans into the hand. A bit of my heart chips and withers away, the sight of him, he looks tired, exhausted.

‘Ohh darling what happened to you’ I whisper.

My other arm goes to rub his back but instead decides to scream in pain. Sherlock feeling the wince, opens his eyes and draws back, terrified at the thought of him hurting me. With a deep breath, I try close the distance again, yet he moves away.

‘I’m fine.’ I gave him my best smile and fill the space keeping us apart. My good arm wraps around him. He hesitates but wraps his arms around me before breaking down. No one has anyone seen Sherlock Holmes break down. No one even knows if he’s ever had a break down, possibly besides his family. Mycroft told me of his emotional youth. Yes, he was traumatized after Redbeard but as far as I was told he never broke down. Not like this.

His head drops and hides at the crook of my neck, hugging me in a tight embrace, not enough to hurt much but there were still bits of it, the morphine dosage I took evidently wasn’t enough or the hospital have bloody horrible pain meds, I choose to believe in the latter. I resulted to bending my other arm caress his back, moving the good one to his hair as I kissed his head. He then sobbed, soaking up the fabric of my garments before collapsing. I eased him down the messy floor carefully -a bit more for my sake than his-, letting out a shush as he sobbed. I grimaced a bit a few times, letting out a small hiss that was thankfully barely audible due to his snivelling. Sitting at the back of my legs, I held the man I would, without second thought give my life for if it came to it. The man that has managed to capture my heart without realizing it. The man many have called heartless but had the biggest of them all.

‘it’s okay darling, let it out’ I whispered to his ear.

I held him for a long while. Rubbing his back, caressing his hair, ignoring the pain of my wounds, consoling and murmuring words of comfort into his ear. At some point the tears stopped, left with sniffles before ending up with his slow and steady breathing down my neck. He fell asleep. I smile, he was finally getting some rest and I was happy with that. Considering the state he was in I doubt at the possibility of him getting any sleep. I kissed the side of his face that was still tucked on my shoulder. He nuzzled himself closer and his never faltering grip on my ribs tightened a bit.

With my good hand, I reached to my back pocket, grabbing my phone to send a text to the boys. At some point during the wall getting packed with bullets and me consoling Sherlock, I heard the taxi pull up at front, the sound of the front door opening and the unmistakable voice that belonged to John. He had attempted to go up, but Mrs. Hudson stopped him, the same thing she did to Lestrade and the same thing she did to Mike after John had asked.

I sent a text to John You can come up now. A minute later, the stairs rumbled at the footfalls of the men rushing to flat. I looked at the open door and saw all three – or two as Mike is taking his time waiting for the two to pass- dashing to check up on us. I sent a glare at them for their loud behaviour as they stepped to 221b. I shushed them and they apologized quietly.

‘Help me get him to bed please.’ I said in a nicer tone as I’ve realized I haven’t exactly been the kindest, ordering them around. Of course that’s what I was still doing but it was better to ask or demand in a kinder tone. Greg came up to us and I kissed Sherlocks temples one more time before slowly releasing his grip on me. He stirred but I managed to lull him back to his slumber. With the help of John, they carried the detective to his room and carefully -instructed by me after sending a glare- laid him on the bed. I haven’t bothered to stand up yet so when Mycroft came up to me and offered his hand, I accepted, wincing and grimacing when ache and agony shot at different part of my body. He helped me stand up steady after wobbling my steps, the numbing of sitting on the back my legs and not being fully recovered from its week rest nearly sends me tumbling on shards of glass.

‘I should be very mad at you’ he said.

‘And I cared if you were mad because…’ you retorted with a smirk. You looked past the kitchen to the bedroom just as the Lestrade popped his head out and walked back to the living room.

‘Fuck, my bag’s still in your car now isn’t it’. I sighed, exhausted from the days crusade. Before I could even attempt to move toward the door or ask someone to get it, Lestrade is already out the door. A smile creeps up my lips and I move to the kitchen, followed closely behind by Mycroft. I find a tray of tea and biscuits -no doubt left by Mrs. Hudson-. The teas gone a bit cold, but I didn’t care and take a sip of it. I’m parched and starving so I take one of the biscuits and stuff my mouth. I turn around to see Mycroft give me a disapproving look before the kitchen door opens and the landlady comes in.

‘Hello dear, its good to see you’ she greets to me with a half hug.

‘Nice to see you too Mrs. Hudson.’ I smiled pulling apart.

‘John had this with him when he came in but left it down at my flat when he got your text.’ She waved around Johns medical bag. Speaking of, he walks into the kitchen where the party seems to be as I stuff my face in biscuits and cold tea. Mrs. Hudson noticing this, scolds me and says she’ll make a new batch for the whole lot of us. Me and John say ‘thank you’ in unison and she leaves the flat.

‘What are we doing here?’ John looks at Mike who ignores him then turn to me.

‘I was going to the bedroom, but I saw these’ waving to the tray ‘and I’m starving’ reply taking a sip of the tea.

‘Yeah, speaking of, the food is still in the bag’ he nods to his bag which I’m guessing has hospital food in it.

‘Hospital food? Bleck no thanks, I’m fine with these’ gesturing to the tray again as I go take another sip of the tea to clear my throat.

‘For goodness sake enough of that’ John frustratingly releases the cup of my grip and I glare at him. He weirdly doesn’t like me drinking cold tea.

‘Eyy I wasn’t done with that’ I pout but he ignores me. He give me a once over and gesture to my stomach.

‘Your bleeding’ he say and I look down to see a red spot on my shirt.

‘Oh really, I didn’t notice’ I counter sarcastically as he picks up his bag and looks for his equipment.

‘Do it in the bedroom just’ I sigh, I’m really exhausted. I turn to Mycroft who is looking around at files attached to the strings. ‘Mike thank you for your help, please stay until Mrs. Hudson comes back with the tea then you want you can go’ I announce but get interrupted by Greg, who’s in the living room ‘In here’ I say and open my mouth to continue but get interrupted again. ‘Ey, isn’t that the shooter at the school’ He asks, pointing his thumb at the living room. Confused and intrigued, I limp on back to the living room followed by my posse, to see his pointing at the bullet ridded wall, a picture of the shooter indeed there but with a bullet hole or holes on the face. That’s what Sherlocks been shooting at. Christ.

‘Yeah, that’s him’ I sigh and continue on what I was previously saying. ‘Greg you can leave the bag anywhere, I’ll fix it later. Stay until after Mrs. Hudson’s tea then leave. Thank you for your help really.’ I smile and finally head to the bedroom, John at the heels.

As I enter the room, I find Sherlock sound asleep in the bed, on his back. The boys haven’t bothered with the sheets, so I cover him up with a blanket. I sit down carefully on the bed with the help of John, wincing every once and a while because of the pain. I lift my feet up to the bed gently, trying not to disturb my stomach anymore as he pulls out a suture kit and painkillers. I then turn to Sherlock, fix his head on pillow and stroke his head of curls, a bit greasy. I take a deep, knowing what I have to do, that I must check but its daunting. I exhale and get on with it, grabbing his arm and pulling up his sleeves. Fuck. His arm is riddled with needle scars. Too much to even count. Fuck. I look over at John who’s also staring. He’s getting angry just looking at it, so with a sigh, I cover up his arm again and gently place it back on his side. Looking back at John, he’s still staring at the arm.

‘Hey’ snapping him out of his thoughts. He looks me in the eyes, livid at how his friend is treating himself. I lift up my shirt and he diverts his gaze to my side, peeling off the pads and checking on the wound. He’s awfully silent as he puts on a pair of gloves and opens the suture kit. He remembers the painkillers though, so he covers the wound back up temporarily and gets a syringe he’s laid out and sticks it to the bottle.

‘They had horrible pain killers’ I try fill the quiet room with humour, but the hospital did have horrible meds. His features soften when he looks at me, tapping the syringe as I remove the sleeve of the cardigan. He finds a vain before sticking the needle in to give me some relief.

‘Those are good. They the one the nurse gave you?’ I ask. He nods as he goes back to the hole on my stomach. He stitches me up after sticking another needle around the area to numb it -a whole lot better than before because I can’t even feel the wound-. He’s pulling rather aggressively on the needle and while I can’t feel it, I don’t appreciate his way of releasing his anger on my skin.

‘John, If you are to keep doing that, I’m kicking you out.’ He glances back up at me and he mutters an apology before continuing his work, gently this time.

‘I’ll make him pee in a jar, just let him sleep.’ I say glancing back at Sherlock. He just looks exhausted, I’m exhausted but I want nothing more than to hold him in my arms and run my fingers through his curls but if I do that now he’ll wrap himself around me and I don’t think John would appreciate getting interrupted from his work.

‘This is worse than Mary’ I merely murmured, barely audible but it seems John heard. I run a hand up my face, leaning back, letting out a breath as John looks from me to Sherlock.

‘It could have been much more worse if you didn’t wake up’ he looks back down to finish the sutures as I look at him. He’s right of course, he always is with these things.

‘That’s it? I expected a lecture, or you be mad about me leaving the hospital.’

‘Oh, I am mad, just there’s no point of it is there when you don’t give a damn and will do what ever the hell you want anyway’ he ties of the last stitch and grabs some gauze to cover. My lips curl up into a grin knowing he is once again right about that. I hold the gauze as he tapes it up before putting another bandage just in case. He finishes and starts to clean up his things.

‘Thank you, John. I’m really really grateful for all that you’ve done. All the things everybody’s done.’ I beam.

‘That’s it? I expected a lecture or you livid’ he humours, repeating what I said just moments before with his own twist.

‘Oh, I am. But I get it, I would have done the same with you lot, but It’s done and just thank you.’ I admit, though I still want to be cross, I get it. They care.

‘He needs you; you know. More than you know. He lost it after you didn’t wake up when they took you off the meds for the coma. You’ve somewhat replaced his high from the drugs with your own and the probable thought and loss of it just scared him, so he resorted back to the old habit.’ He explained. I take in his deduction of his best mate with the only thought bearing through the surface is that he right. The Sherlock I know now is very different from the one I met all those years ago. That hard robotic exterior now has a beating heart. He cares more than he will want to admit but he really does.

I look at mop head beside me and beam. Since John is done with tending to my wounds, I roll my shirt back down and finally let the sleeping detective wrap himself around me. He does as soon as I placed a hand on his cheek, he rolls over to my side, draping an arm over my ribs and pulling me close like he’s always done, enveloping my side with his warmth, his head snuggling and hiding itself on the crook of my neck.

I’ve spent years thinking nobody gave a damn about me. Thinking no one cares if I was dead or not. Never have I ever been more pleased to be proven wrong. All those years alone, holed up, thinking I served no purpose to this world, ready to lose what I thought was a useless life only to be brought up the wide and bright opening and end of the cornucopia. I have friends, who will stay at my bedside just to make sure I wasn’t alone when I wake up from a gunshot. A god daughter, who’s laugh brightens up the darkest shadows cast upon us, who’s lost enough people in her few years in this rock. And a partner, fiancée, who’s meant more to me and evidently, I to him than more than we both ever thought possible. We’d be lost without each other, there’s enough evidence to prove it.

I gaze back at John, eyes getting a bit droopy, I’m surprised my mind has been making long hard thoughts. He’s just standing there, staring. Creepy admittedly, but also lovingly. Sentimental, possibly thinking of Mary.

‘Hey’ I say softly, breaking him out of his thoughts. ‘Go home. Sleep. Stay if you want tea from Mrs. Hudson but go home afterwards. Take the two if they’re still here. I’m going to sleep, just give Rosie a kiss for me and make everyone get some rest. Thank you again for staying with me at the hospital. Leave the mess, I’ll get it sorted.’ I instruct before a yawn escapes me. He looks back at the detective snuggled up at my side.

‘I’ll take care of him, don’t worry.’

‘And who taking care of you, he’s not the only one I’m worried about at the moment.’

‘I’ve got you lot now don’t I. I’ll phone you if I need anything. Right now, I just want to shut my eyes for a bit.’ I give him droopy smile, sleep really wanting to overcome my body. He bids his last warnings to take caution with my wounds and I wave him goodbye and goodnight. He nods and leaves the room, while I nestle myself better in the detective. His grip tightens and he nuzzles himself closer to my neck as I slowly drift off.

#sherlock #bbc sherlock #bbc sherlock x reader #bbc sherlock x you #sherlock fanfiction #sherlock holmes #sherlock holmes imagine #sherlock angst #bbc sherlock imagine #sherlock holmes x reader #sherlock holmes x you #sherlock fanfic

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cheeriecherrymain · 1 year

Text

The Alchemist [Chapter 3]

Pairing: Viktor x Reader Chapter Rating: T Chapter Warning: None Proofread: no beta we die like men Taglist: @bangtanbecks @uniquedeerwitch @underpriceddirt @the-high-lady-of-3am-crackposts Chapter Summary: In an attempt to prove that he loves you, Viktor sends you on a scavenger hunt.

Viktor has been startlingly quiet since your talk on the couch. He’d left you well enough alone for most of the afternoon, instead finding a seat at his own desk to hastily work on…something.

You weren’t entirely sure what he was doing, if you were being honest, but he was doing it with great urgency and focus. You’d tried on a couple of occasions to sneak a peek at his papers, but he’d caught you and shooed you away each time, without fail. It was only a little bit infuriating, to not know what was up, but most of all concerning.

You’re fairly certain that he’s still under the effects of the potions, so knowing that he’d gotten some kind of idea was…well, concerning.

But you figured as long as he stayed nearby, and you didn’t let him out of your sight, then no harm could really come of it.

It’s at least allowed you to get some of your own work done.

You’re still not positive what exactly was happening with Viktor, but you’d spent the past several hours cross-referencing ingredients and effects, and you have a theory.

“See, if he’d just drank one potion, then it might not have affected him so much,” you explain to Jayce, whom you’re fairly certain is barely listening to your ramblings. “But the brew I made to mimic happiness could have potentially been too strong - which would have made the feeling closer to love. And that would have been fine on its own; it would have faded in a couple of hours. But combined with the other potion, that was supposed to get rid of my feelings for the rest of my life?”

“So the second potion backfired, and made the gooey mushy emotions…perpetual?” Jayce suggests, and you nod, secretly pleased that he was actually paying attention.

“I just don’t know how to fix him without dipping into the arcane,” you admit with a sigh, slouching back in your chair. “I mean, you know better than anyone how trial-based that is. If I make one wrong move, it could…”

You don’t even want to think about what kinds of ill effects you could bestow upon Viktor, should you make a mistake again. Though having him be so openly affectionate towards you was a bit of a pain -not to mention unsettling- it was still better than not having him at all.

Jayce finally sets his pencil down and turns towards you, sensing the sudden drop in your demeanor.

“Why don’t you two take the rest of the night off?” he suggests. “Vik isn’t getting anything done, and you look…tired.”

“You can just say I look like shit,” you say, swatting at him and missing completely.

He laughs, nudging you away and off towards Viktor. But as soon as you lay eyes on your scientist, you freeze.

“Jayce,” you squeak, swiveling on your heel to face your friend, “Where’s Viktor?”

—

The next two hours are spent running all over campus, checking every single one of your best friends’ frequent haunts. There aren’t many students milling around at this time of night, but anyone that you run across, you ask for help. No one has seen him, according to their replies, and it both worries and frustrates you.

It’s an hour until midnight, and you have no clue where the hell he is. You briefly wonder if his disappearance might have something to do with whatever he was working on earlier, but honestly…you’re tired.

You’re tired, and you want to cry, and you want to go to bed.

Surely if Viktor wanted to be found, he wouldn’t have made himself so scarce?

Thinking such a thing immediately fills you with guilt, despite knowing it’s probably true. As nervous as you were about leaving him alone in his current state, he was still a grown man and was fully capable of taking care of himself.

Maybe you just…needed to let him be for a while?

Maybe, you think, as you trudge back to your dorm, the potion effects have finally worn off. Maybe he’s just annoyed about it, or embarrassed.

Or hell, maybe he’d gone back to your room already!

But once you set foot into your dark little apartment, you know you’re wrong. Every light is off, and there are no sounds that suggest anything living is nearby - no soft breathing, no rustles of clothing, no creak of your bed. Just…silence.

Deafening, sickening silence.

You let your shoulderbag drop to the floor in the front hallway, and you nudge the door shut behind you, leaving it unlocked in case Viktor decided he wanted to come home sometime, and you wander into your bedroom.

The lights stay off, as you’re not in the mood to see anything or deal with any problems you might come across. Instead, you plop down on top of your bed, above the sheets and still fully clothed, and curl up into a ball.

You’re unsurprised when you can feel hot tears beginning to burn behind your lashes. The last couple days have been rough, and you can’t help but feel like you’ve ruined all the good things in your life. You’d been by Viktor’s side since the day the two of you met - always looking out for each other, and picking one another up. You never would have gotten as far in life as you had, without him.

And now he’s returning your feelings - showering you in affection and sweet words and gentle touches. All you’ve ever wanted was for him to look at you the same way you looked at him.

And to know that his feelings are entirely false?

It breaks your heart.

It breaks your heart to know he doesn’t really love you, and it breaks your heart even more because you know you have to make things right. You love him more than anyone, so though you know it will make you ache to never feel his love again, you know you have to give him back his autonomy.

You have to.

Fuck, you wish you’d never made those stupid potions.

—

When you awake the next morning, you can already feel a headache coming on. The back of your neck is stiff and sore, and it radiates a dull pressure all the way up to your temples. Normally you’d gulp down one of your homemade pain remedies, but with how your brewing had completely upended your life, you don’t really want anything to do with them

Headache or not.

Your resolve wanes when you roll over, though. The other side of your bed is cold and undisturbed, and your concern shoots another sharp pang through your skull. Viktor hadn’t come home last night - and you know he very well could have retired to his own room, but with how he’d been acting, such a thing was unlikely.

But you can’t fathom where he would have gone.

There was the off chance he’d ventured into the undercity, as he sometimes did on his days off, but would he have gone without telling you? Though you usually declined his invitations to return to your stomping grounds for an afternoon, he still always asked if you wanted to join him.

Why would he suddenly stop?

With a groan, you finally manage to sit up, and it’s only then that you notice a blanket has been tossed over you. Thick and fluffy and soft, and certainly not one you remembered ever owning - nor did you recall covering yourself before falling asleep.

Thankfully, your questions are answered when you toss your legs over the side of the bed, and your feet meet with…paper?

You glance down at the floor, to find a single envelope.

It’s small -smaller than the standard size- and the paper it’s made of is a pastel shade of your favourite colour. It’s also a little bit crooked in its folding, and the way it’s cut is…unusual.

Is it handmade?

You pop the wax seal open, and slide the contents out: a letter, at first glance, though the card is strangely thick. But the words scrawled neatly across it is distinctly Viktor’s hand.

You’re not sure if you’re comforted or unsettled, to know that he’s been in your dorm.

Regardless, you turn your attention to the note:

The day we met, I had no idea how significantly my life would change. Through thick and thin, you’ve kept pace with me - followed me as I chased my dreams, and carefully led me past my problems.

There’s a tiny arrow at the bottom of the card, so you flip it over.

Oh, you realize, It’s a photograph. Of a very familiar place, no less - as pointed out by the text underneath the image.

Follow me again, to where we spent our first night in Piltover.

You’ve half the mind to ignore the note and go on with your day of work - to not humour Viktor in the slightest, and keep pedaling towards finding a cure for him. Even though you didn’t really know where to start.

Even though you were abysmally curious as to what strange plan your best friend had concocted.

Fine, you think, shaking the blanket off your lap to stretch your arms above your head. I’ll take a break, and follow the silly note.

—

Your back hits the wall with a dull thud, the plaster beneath the paint creaking under the pressure. Your breathing is laboured and quick, and your lungs burn with effort - your legs, too.

Four flights of stairs is a lot of steps - too many, in your opinion, but you weren’t about to send Viktor to carry boxes up to your new apartment. Though the amount of items you were able to bring with you were scarce, you were still regretting taking as much as you did.

When you’d been packing, it had all seemed necessary. Dried ingredients, bottles and stoppers, your entire alchemy set that was just about on its last leg of life. But now, after traveling up and down through a startlingly warm building, on the hottest of summer days, you think you might have been better off bringing nothing.

“You’re taking your sweet time,” Viktor says, poking his head out the open front door of your new home, “I thought you were excited to get settled?”

You can hear the teasing in his voice, and swat blindly at him with barely enough strength to raise your sweaty arm. “Like you’re one to talk,” you wheeze, your hits missing him entirely, “I’m the one doing all the lifting.”

“Something tells me you would not appreciate the outcome were I to carry your things,” he retorts, nothing short of cheeky.

You groan in dramatic despair, sliding down the wall to the ground. Your hair snags in the crooked wood paneling, but you don’t have the wherewithal to care.

“Am I supposed to be this dizzy?” you whine. “Viktor, are we sure that oxygen is good for us?”

He doesn’t dignify a reply.

“Viktor, I’m serious,” you continue, “I think there’s too much air here. I feel like I’m going to pass out.”

“Then it is a good thing you’re already seated, no?” he finally calls, flippant and without worry.

You pretend to be offended.

But only for a couple moments.

Eventually your heart rate slows back to normal, and you’re able to get back on your feet to finish dragging your belongings up. There are only two more boxes, if you remember correctly, and if you push yourself you might be able to bring them both up at the same time.

It works, in the end, though not without consequence.

You kick the front door shut behind you, set the remainder of your items on the coffee table, and all but collapse onto the tiny, lumpy couch.

All the furniture you had, had come with the apartment. Just a couple of basic things, like beds and places to sit, though you’d also been fortunate enough to have a full kitchen. The appliances were dated and slightly disgusting, with old food baked and dried into them, but it was nothing a little bit of cleaning wouldn’t solve. Nothing was broken, and for that, you’re grateful.

Even though everything was old, and dusty, and the floors were creaky and worn…it was yours.

Your home, with Viktor.

The student housing budget hadn’t been particularly generous, but it had at least allowed you to board together in Piltover; and with the job you were meant to start in a couple days’ time, you’d be able to spruce the place up. It just needed a little bit of love, and some patience.

“What are you smiling about?” Viktor asks, wandering out of the kitchen to come and stand at the edge of the couch, where he bemusedly stares down at you.

You tilt your head back on the arm of the couch, and grin up at him as hard as you can. “Welcome home,” you tell him, “It only took half the day to get everything sorted out, but it’s done. We’re…home.”

The two of you share a soft expression for a few seconds, your words unspoken but loud as ever: We did it. We made it out.

Until realization dawns on you.

“Viktor!” you squeal, jumping off the couch to run to the window. You peer out through the glass in excitement and - yes! “Grab a blanket, and I’ll get the pillows!” you order him, darting into your shared bedroom for half a second, before reappearing in the front lounge.

Though confused, your best friend doesn’t question you, and instead does as he’s told - he knows better by now than to even bother asking what you’re doing - that you’ll do what you’re doing regardless of whether or not he’s with you.

Most of the time, though, your ideas are brilliant. Most of the time, when he follows you, it leads him to some kind of dazzling experience.

Like tonight.

The two of you climb the rest of the stairs in the building, all the way up to the rooftop. You’re quick to find a good spot to unroll the blanket and spread it out, and plop the pillows down on top of it. Really, it does very little to lessen the hardness of the concrete beneath your bodies, but it at least hides some of the dust and grit.

“Have you ever seen so many stars?” you ask him in awe, as you stare up at the twinkling black mass above you.

You stay out there for the rest of the night, curled up beside each other as you observe the beauty of the abyss. You count the shooting stars you see, and you try to get him to reveal the constellations to you. You doubt he knows much about them all, but he’s able to point out a few of the brightest - you in turn point out the ones you recognize, though really you’re just drawing shapes in the sky and making up stories.

Viktor doesn’t correct you, though. He just nods along with your tall tales until sleep claims him.

—

You arrive at the old building where you’d first found a home in Piltover. It looks the same as it always has, though it’s more noticeably cracked and dusty. And if the gate across the front entrance is anything to go by, it’s also been condemned. Your heart twinges to think of your old home being knocked down, after making so many memories there.

You slip past the metal gate with ease, making sure to remain silent and out of sight, and slink into the old building.

The interior is far worse than the outside. The wallpaper and plaster is crumbling to reveal the wooden slats underneath, and there are miscellaneous piles of stuff stacked in nearly every corner. Everything is coated in a thick layer of brown dust, and the ceilings are littered with sticky cobwebs.

The stairs creak as you slowly make your way up them, taking care to stay close to the wall. You doubted Viktor would have brought you somewhere if the structural integrity was a true danger, even though you can’t help the way you wince with each groaning step.

As you pass by the apartments on every floor, your heart grows heavier. Where had the families gone? The people you once knew and loved? The little old couple who would often bring you home cooked meals, and the single mother with her three rambunctious children that you would play with on the street?

It was one of the poorest parts of Piltover, though nowhere near as desolate as the undercity. Everyone who had lived there with you had also come from nothing, had also fought tooth and nail to escape the hell that you were born into - none of you had much, but you had some.

You had food, you had water, you had a roof over your head. Clothes, clean air, and access to safer jobs.

You wipe hastily at your eyes, trying to tell yourself that it was just the dust.

But you know better.

You finally make it to your old home, and are unsurprised to find the front door unlocked. It squeaks quite horribly when you nudge it open, as it always had - no matter how much you oiled the damn thing, it wailed in pain every time you used it.

The rest of the apartment is much the same, too. The wallpaper is the same faded beige as when you’d first arrived, and all the scuffs in the floor are where you expect them to be. You even catch the toe of your boot on the lip between the lounge and the kitchen, as you had so many times in the past.

It’s all very bittersweet, to revisit your true beginning.

And boggling.

“There’s nothing here,” you realize out loud, once you’ve wandered from room to room, reliving your memories. No furniture, no appliances, no decorations - that much you expected.

What baffles you is the lack of Viktor.

Not even a sign of him. No footprints in the grime, no letters left behind.

With a frown, you pull the old photocard from your pocket.

“Follow me, to where we spent our first night in Piltover,” you mumble. Several times, in fact.

Until it clicks.

“First night!” you gasp, and take off out the front door.

—

Viktor is…also not on the roof, you realize, when you barge through the old trap door. You’re not sure why you expected him to be there, of all places. If he was trying to woo you in some grandeur romantic gesture, then the top of a condemned building would certainly not be the place to do it.

You do, however, find another letter.

Much the same colour and shape as the first one you’d received, held down by a stone in the exact spot where you’d set up your blanket on that first evening.

You hate the way your stomach does a flip when you open the envelope.

“We spent so many nights up here,” you murmur, scanning over the words scribbled in his handwriting, “talking about everything while staring off into the universe. Admittedly, I spent most of my time staring at you, though you never realized. Do you remember the day you got your academy acceptance letter in the mail? You were so shocked - you had no idea you’d even sent in an application.

Truth be told, I’m the one who sent it in…though you probably figured that out a long time ago. I had run into your boss on several occasions - she was a lovely woman, she loved you a lot - and we spoke about what potential you had. She didn’t have a family anymore, but I know she considered you as such. It’s why she agreed to sponsor you, if you got into the academy.”

You try in vain to swallow the lump forming at the back of your throat as you continue, “We both knew that you’d never take the opportunity on your own, so we conspired. We filled out your application, and listed as many references as we could, and then we sent it off. I know you were shocked to receive an acceptance, but I wasn’t - you’re brilliant, and you always have been.

You’re tactical and clever, always looking to understand how things work, and what they do - it’s one of the things I admire most about you. Even if it does cause you to commit crimes from time to time - but you’ll face no judgment from me. I cannot say I haven’t done the same.

If you’ll continue to follow me, might you come to the place we’re not allowed to go? Forgive me, you’ll have to be a little sneaky.”

By the end of his note, you’ve got tears staining your cheeks.

How you’d managed to create a potion that so vividly duplicated love, you did not know. But the way he writes of you, the way Viktor seems to be in awe of your very existence - it’s nearly enough to fool you into believing he really does have feelings for you.

It makes the pain in your chest so intense you can barely breathe.

You can’t imagine letting him go after this, though you know you have to.

It’s what’s right.

But in order to cure him, you first have to find him. And you have a sneaking suspicion you know where you’ll find his next clue.

#viktor x reader #viktor arcane x reader #The Alchemist #im putting as many cheesy things in this as I possibly can

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rayshippouuchiha · 1 year

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I've finally hit the point where I have to write the first fic for a fandom. I'm crying. There's nothing on Ao3 and I didn't bother checking FFN since I don't know how they tag CNs. Heroic Death System is so good, though. Maybe that's the problem. Its so good that no one ever wanted to add on. Or CNs just aren't popular. T-T All I wanted to do was read about Shang Ke BSing a reason for the change in behavior. But there's nothing at all. So now I'm going to have to write all the fics for it. I'll start with Arc 2 Redux since that Arc eats at me the most.

BTW, Heroic Death System is a Quick Transmigration story where Shang Ke has to have a Heroic Death as ordered by the System to fix the plotline that went badly thanks to the OG body. (Quick Transmigration refers to the Host being tasked with a mission and once its completed, taken to another world to continue on. Sometimes its to fix the plotholes, sometimes to "keep the plot on track". Usually in the case of the later, the Host accidentally gets the MC or target character to fall in love which derails the plot entirely. Whether or not there's penalties or workarounds depends on the System. Most of the QT novels I've read, in the case of romance, have the partner reincarnating across the worlds as well, so its still one partner. Usually it means there are Past Life Shenanigans in the background.) SK has a great internal thought process, its always funny. In the earlier Arcs he's a bit oblivious but he catches on partway through Arc 2. Also, it's a bit spicy in the later Arcs. SK ends up eagerly welcoming his lover's advances in the later lives even if he has to hold off for a while to stay in character. Each Arc is a great mini-story in its own right, if you like tragedy, with all but 2 Arcs having a repeat where SK can return and live a happy life with his partner. If SK gets a good score on his life, he can earn Rebirth cards that let him live with his lover's different incarnations. Also, there's Past Life Drama that comes up and makes it so there's suddenly Plot! in the later Arcs. It was pretty interesting. Good Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Time Travel (in some characters PoV), MPreg (in some lives), some Torture not explicitly described, Illnesses/Disabilities, Shapeshifters, Beastpeople, Sentinel&Guide, Fantasy, Cultivation, AlphaxAlpha, God AU and Ghost AU are the main things SK lives through. Also, his partner is very ... forceful isn't quite right. He loses SK every life in traumatic circumstances so his subconscious wants him to make the most of every moment, which leads to quick romance and ... OK, honestly, he's kinda yandere in some lives from past life trauma. He's very much the domineering CEO type in this, blended with yandere moments. SK is ok with this since he can get back together with his partner quickly in the new life and because his partner chills out in his redos since he stays with him. I'm trying not to give out spoilers for anyone who wants to read this later. Each Arc, not counting his redos, are about 10 or so chapters each, so they're good for bitesized reading. There's 275 chapters altogether, fully translated on snowycodex . com.

Anyways, I love the redo lives and I just keep imagining how SK explains his differences/BSing a reason for the change from OG body's actions. My Heart Beats For You (CW: brain tumors, heart diseases, car accident, kinda suicidal behavior(which occurs throughout the novel, i.e. the title)) has me in a death grip that randomly visits me a lot so I have high hopes I can write something good for it. I'm planning on having SK be "drunk" and whitewash his past to his lover and his friends. I have so much of the story he'd tell plotted out by now but I'm just going to have to figure out how to space it out and add in interruptions from the other characters.

(*/▽＼*) I want to share it with you if I can finish it. I'm a huge fan. I'd love to see what you think.

Fuck yes babe this sounds fantastic. Link me when you get it done and I'll check it out!

#RayRambles #love when y'all get passionate about stuff like this

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elphabaoftheopera · 8 months

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HELLO!!!! how are you? it's been a while haha 😅... but, long story short, after watching wicked last night im back in the fandom! and what better way to celebrate than read a fic by my favourite author 🥳 ? so, i read "In Any Universe", and boy do i have a lot of good things to say about it!!!!!

this fic is awesome, im sad that i didn't read it earlier! it had my favourite tropes that were amazingly executed, along with so many wacky and interesting alternate universes 😁😁! some that stood out to me were fake dating, masquerade, family and musical. to say that i really enjoyed these would be an understatement!!!! first of all, fake dating is my absolute favouriteee trope, so i was so so excited to see it applied to fiyeraba so well! the masquerade was honestly a really interesting plotline, and the musical universe was cool to see referenced! and family au was soo adorable, and parents fiyeraba make me feel so happyyyy ❤️❤️! overall, they were all so so romantic and cute and made me realise how much i miss fiyeraba 🥺!! i also really liked the general storyline, and the pipeline of fiyero coming to terms and accepting his situation was so lovely and satisfying to read!

i was wondering if you had any little facts about this fic? it was super creative and i couldn't help but love every separate storyline!!!!!

sorry for gushing, im just super happy to be back and reading your fics again! ill hopefully in the fandom again for a while, so i can find the time to read some other works of yours and maybe reread 😁😁😁

@melop-sia!!!!! It's so wonderful to hear from you!!!! Welcome back to the Wicked fandom! Your message just made my entire day, I actually screamed when I read that I was a favorite author of yours, words like that TRULY go a long way. thank you for your thoughts on In Any Universe. I had so much fun writing that one!

Welllllll since you asked, I'd love to share a little bit about it!

Light spoilers for In Any Universe below the cut!

The idea came to me when I was just thinking a lot about fanfiction tropes in a loving way, inspired by fanfiction writers and our tendency to put the same characters into countless different situations/lives and have them fall in love all the same. I got the idea when I was driving (most of my ideas come when I'm driving) about my otp essentially going on a "tour" through the different tropes. Initially it was supposed to be 100% comedic and self aware.

I didn't have a strong throughline planned out in the beginning that would set them off on their journey. I thought about (and even drafted) Fiyero mentioning how "random" it was that they got together and if any one thing was different they'd probably not be together, then I'd have Elphaba take offense to that. But it just wasn't working, especially because I was clinging to the idea that I wanted Fiyero to be human in the present timeline. Once I finally released my hold on that idea and let him be a Scarecrow, the story throughline became much clearer to me! It was easier to write when Fiyero had a "lesson" to learn (sort of "It's a Wonderful Life" style, though I've never seen that movie). That of course made the throughline a bit more serious, as well as some of the timelines getting increasingly darker.

I just can't resist angst and hurt/comfort no matter how hard I try!

I just really love the quote I put at the beginning of the story about finding the same person over and over.

As for the stories within the story, I just started by making a list of as many tropes I could think of. Fake dating, fix-it fic, crossover, etc. and eventually trimmed it down to the stories that made the cut. I wrote them all out of order and then stitched them together later with the throughline story. I think I did the coffee one first, then the masquerade, and then I put it down for several months (as is my style) and picked it back up with the Wicked actor one.

I really considered breaking the story up into chapters and sometimes I regret the fact that I didn't, I still consider breaking it up because I know it's very long. Still I think it flows better as a singular piece but at least can be easily read in multiple sittings if you're like me and need mind breaks.

When I decided to make it one single piece I made a real effort to keep the sections snappy and not longer than they needed to be. I was pretty obsessed over word count and keeping it below a certain amount (I think 1000 words). I think the Fake Dating one ended up being the longest and the hardest to keep trimmed. Still, I wanted each story to have a satisfying arc in its own way.

One challenge I gave myself (which was VERY difficult) is that I didn't use the word "love" until the very end when Fiyero told Elphaba he loved her after getting shot. I came to that idea later on and had to edit a lot of the earlier stories. Then he says he loves her many times in the finale scene.

I thought it strengthened his lesson about being grateful for what they did have. I found it really important to mirror the "can't imagine thinking about how things might be different" (paraphrasing) in the worst timeline with her dying in the cornfield with what he'd said in the beginning.

As for the ending I did leave it slightly ambiguous, but I believe as the writer that the journey he went on was real and not a dream (kind of like I believe that in Wizard of Oz Dorothy's experience really happened, even though it seemed like Dorothy was waking up from a dream). However, I wanted to the reader to decide for themself!

I think my favorite ones to write were the Fiyeraba family (I love them as parents!), Coffee shop AU, and the Masquerade. I also found it clever and trippy to do the Wicked actors, but that one was by far the hardest challenge!

I so appreciate your readership and engagement with my work!!!! Please reach out in the future if you ever have thoughts or questions.

I don't want to jinx it because it's still early days but I'm excited to say I've been writing again (Fiyeraba, obviously) now that my life has more time. We'll see where it takes me, so be on the lookout!

#melop-sia #wicked fanfiction #in any universe #writing tag #comments and reviews #story: in any universe

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expired-bat · 2 years

Text

we met in september - chapter 5

a/n: hihihi!! sorry ive been MIA for a week!! i went to art camp and i was so exhausted when i got home. i didnt have the time nor the motivation to start this chapter. it’s back now finally!! I think for now on ill do weekly updates cuz its summer and what not. enjoy the chapter and thx for ur support!!!

-milo

As soon as the door was unlocked, Y/N rushed to her room and slammed her door. Natalya was shocked to see her exchange daughter zoom through the house. She looked shaken and asked her daughter what happened.

Tatyana smirked. “A boy.”

The mother sighed. She was worried over nothing, unless the boy was harassing or stalking her. She then started to panic as those thoughts started to come up.

Back in Y/N’s room, she thrashed on her bed, kicking her feet up and screaming on her pillow. Her mind kept on repeating what happened and the many thoughts that swarmed her head.

Did he read it? Does he think I’m more of a loser now? What if he tells someone? What if he tells everyone?! Oh my god, I think I need to go somewhere else now.

Y/N remained flopped on her bed until she heard her door creak open. She looked up, her hair messy and on her face. She sees Natalya, worry stuck in her face.

“Y/N dear, did something happen?” she asked.

Y/N sat up from her bed and fixed her posture, “No ma’am, nothing happened today.”

“Are you sure? Taty mentioned something happened between you and a boy. Is he harassing you?”

The girl was flustered, “N-No! He’s not hurting me! He…”

Natalya then sat next to her and held her hand. She gently caressed her back. “It’s okay darling, you can tell me anything.”

The warm atmosphere her exchange mother soothed her down. She hasn’t been treated this way in so long. The dam broke, as she released her tears and began to sob. She hugged Natalya as if her life depended on it.

Y/N then told what happened today at school. She didn’t feel welcomed there, besides the two teachers that greeted her. She was left alone. She wanted to talk to people but was so afraid because of what they would think of her. And then she told her about her losing her journal. A boy who sat next to her gave it back to her at the end of the day. She then ranted about him; about his unwelcoming atmosphere, he radiated of douchebaggery, and that he might’ve read her journal.

Natalya was quick to assure her. “Dear, you don’t know if that truly happened. It’s your first day and you just met him. Maybe you should talk to him for a bit and get to know him. It’s okay to feel alone. I am here for you, and so is Taty and babushka.”

Y/N took in deep breaths. It’s going to be okay. You’re just overreacting. Stop that.

She swallowed the little saliva that was in her mouth and looked at her mother. Natalya was smiling. She then patted her head, closed her eyes, and whispered prayers.

When she was done, she got up and announced to Y/N that dinner would be ready in about thirty minutes, then walked out the room. Y/N sat there for a while figuring out what just happened. She then got up and changed into some loungewear.

Y/N went down the hallway, smelling borscht on her way to the kitchen. Tatyana and Olga sat on their seats while Natalya was preparing the dish. The girl sat next to her sister, giving her a glare.

Dinner was unusually silent that night.

— — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — —

It’s midnight, and Y/N couldn’t sleep. All she could think of is what happened earlier. Her seemingly breaking down over her first day. How childish.

She got up and looked in her school bag, the journal was still there. Though the light is dim, she could see his fingerprints. Y/N clenched the journal, and searched for a clean page.

Tuesday, Sept 16, 20XX midnight

That dickhead!! He got my journal and probably read it. I’m so sorry that our privacy was violated. You’re great and all, but I probably have to dispose of you and get a new journal. It feels icky writing in this now that someone looked at it. I’m so sorry. Don’t be upset, tho, your pages are already getting filled up and you have like 6 pages left. It’s probably time to get a new one.

Anyways, Natalya figured out what happened and I had to spill the beans. She actually listened to me, something that hasn't happened in a long time. I'm thankful that she's there for me, and Taty and Babushka as well. Pray for me that the second day will go well.

Y/N closed the book and put it back in her bag. She crawled into her sheets and hugged her bat Squishmallow. Lowkey, she imagined that she was hugging someone.

— — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — —

The jingle awoke Y/N, interrupting a loving dream, something she hasn’t had in a while. It took her nearly 10 minutes to get out of bed and to get ready for another day. After doing her usual morning routine, she decided to go for a more relaxed masculine look.

She ate her breakfast, and headed out the door. She prays for a good day this time.

As she entered her English class, Y/N could see him sitting on his spot. She sat next to him and got out her notebook and pen. She could feel him staring at her. She took a glance and saw his head quickly spin back to the board. Y/N could’ve sworn she saw him blush.

Class began as usual, but Y/N couldn’t help but feel watched the entire time she was taking notes. It bothered her a lot. She snapped her pen, the ink spilling everywhere on her paper and got out a new one. Y/N could hear her classmates snicker. She hates this.

The feeling continued on for the rest of her classes, even during lunch. Her palms were sweating and shaking. She almost ripped a book in half while she was in the library.

— — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — —

The day was over, with not much happening that day besides the pen incident. Y/N was carrying her sketchbook, journal, and a large thick paper that is for art. a portrait of someone, and the student gets to choose the medium of their choice. She doesn’t know anyone around that is willing to be a model for her besides her exchange family.

Y/N was lost in thought, she couldn’t hear the fast tapping of footsteps coming her way. She couldn’t see what was happening, but someone shoved her out of the way, knocking everything she was carrying in her hands. It took her a second to process what happened, then rage consumed her.

She looked up to see a boy with brown hair running down the hall. She screeched from the top of her lungs, “YOU ASSHOLE! I HOPE YOU GET RUN OVER AND BECOME ROADKILL!!”

Y/N was pissed, but too tired to chase him. Once again, tears were falling as she was picking up her things. She was about to pick up a drawing of L Lawliet until she saw a larger hand with painted nails. She looked up to see who it was; much to her surprise, her seatmate.

He looked at the sketch for a moment. “Did you draw this?”

Y/N jumped when he spoke. It was yesterday all over again. “Y-Yes…”

“L, huh? He’s cool, but Ryuk is my favorite,” he said as he gave the paper back to her.

Y/N shoved the doodle in her bag and rushed her way out to the door. She paused her tracks when she heard a “wait!”

The trotting of heavy boots came her way. Y/N could tell he was trying to keep his cool as he was fidgeting in his pockets.

He cleared his throat. “I know you’re new and that you’re not feeling welcomed here. I’m sorry that I’ve not been the nicest as well. I’m not good with meeting people,” he said as he rubbed his neck.

“I’ll just get it out of the way; I read your journal out of curiosity. I’m sorry about that too.”

Y/N’s world shattered. She fucking knew it. She felt so violated, all of the vents and secrets she wrote out, and he knew.

“Please don’t avoid me because of that. I just… want to know you.” he let out a sad smile as he said that.

Y/N had enough. “You want to know me? Why won’t you just introduce yourself like anyone else would?! Don’t be a creep and look through my journal!! Do you know how personal that shit is?!” she cried out as she clenched her fists.

He was clearly panicking. “I’m sorry about that. Please, Y/N, I…”

He was at a loss for words. Y/N was done with this and clearly frustrated. “ What do you want with me?!”

“I want to be friends!”

His cry echoed through the empty hallway. Y/N clearly couldn’t believe it. The dude who has been giving him dirty looks yesterday wants to be friends with a lowlife like her? That’s funny.

The pause was too much to handle. Someone had to speak.

“What’s your name? I forgot what it was.”

He was surprised. He swallowed and fixed a hair that was sticking out, “It’s Dee, Dee Shvagenbagen.”

#metal famliy #metal family dee #metal family dee x reader #fanfiction #fanfic #dee x reader #canon x reader #x reader #reader insert #female reader #milo writes

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charcherry-weekly · 6 months

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Charcherry Weekly - Issue 171

Hello Everyone, this is your Page of Mind, Samm. Unfortunately the two siblings usually in charge of running the newsletter are out with a cold this week. So, I've stepped in to help out so that they can both get some well deserved rest. Now, as you might imagine, I lack the same abilities a these two that would make it easier to oversee how everything has gone since last time, but I will do my best!

Birthdays and recent holidays

First, as was mentioned in last week's article, this month has been jam packed with birthdays!

The birthdays of Hazel, Katyleen, Blaze, HAZEL and HAZEL have passed just as Nick said, but I didn't attend or leave presents because I was, and still am, uncertain what they might like. I don't know them as well as I might wish to, but I'm making a mental note to change that given half the chance. Maybe some movie night or something?

Oh, and I missed my Halloween visit to Thanatos too...dang it. Add that to the list.

As well, the birthdays of the Emit Siblings have come and passed. For these ones too, I was late on, but at least they have been sent out. Rise and Brae both receive accessories that I hope they like, as I know they like oranges, Flux got a knife I thought suited her, and then I paid Thoren a visit. Given how busy and stressed they must be lately, I decided they might appreciate a visit more than any material thing I could think to give them. I might have bumbled that up by accidently letting slip about an illness of mine (more on that later!) but they seemed to appreciate the visit anyways.

Still to come is the birthday of Nick and Aeons. I don't know if anyone has anything planned for November 16, but a little something might be nice. I haven't heard from either of them in a while. Maybe I'll drop by and...drag them to that movie night? Who knows!

editor's note: I have no idea when movie night will be a thing again. It largely depends upon the setup in the lab's living room working in the presence of more than one godtier individual. Not sure why it's particularly sensitive to aspect interference like that. I appreciate the sentiment though.

My plans for Grass 3 are on hold and have been for a little bit now. As you can see, there's a lot for a momma to be doing lately that more important than her hobby project. But you know what isnt on hold? Dastardly plans, of course.

Antechamber Antics

Earlier this week, Korosian President Thoren Emit, Unity Mayor Brae Emit, your back up newsletter writer Page of Mind Samm, and a few others received a distress signal. The request was sent by Thoren's wife, Raine, who had gone off on a journey before and not been keeping up communications. I've been worried more than once during that time, but I also hadn't wanted to hear that she was captured and chained up to a dungeon core!

Thankfully, she was able to hang on for a few days as the Dungeon Crashers located and planned for a crashing of the dungeon. Thoren drove as we approached a fire pokemon gym in some region named Distan.

Also joining the initial group included Rogue of Heart Charles, Maid of Void Skitis, Bounty hunter Samus, and Page of Rage Jovin.

Finding our way in wasn't all that hard, and we met with a cute little charcadet, who we fixed right up with a potion, after charles got a little case of the butter fingers.

And soon enough, we were face to face, and pokemon to pokemon with a Team Abyssal member, that we defeated quite handily, despite the intense heat and some of us needing a little coaching. I'm glad to say I might also be starting to get a hang of pokemon battling. I can only hope.

Anyways, after defeating our opponent, we apprehended them, and in lieu of a given name, dubbed them Squidward. I admit I got a little angry with Squidward for their role in harming my family, but I managed to limit my rage to a few slaps (mostly!)

After Squidward's defeat, we went on to face our next challenge, the mysterious puzzle of... three unknown hallways. After some coaxing, Squidward let us know there was a graveller down one way that would explode, but that all of them would actually lead us to the same spot. So we carefully went down one way, met the graveller, talked our way through, and continued onward to rescue raine and, we presumed, the gym leader as well. I also spoke to the graveller and recruited them while the team faced the next challenge...

Somehow Chandelure and the many litwick were down there too, and chandelure was turned into a shadow pokemon!

Some of us moved to subdue the angry pokemon, while some of us struggled with the idea of attacking friends.

But either way, something went wrong, and the ceiling above us became unstable. Jovin was knocked unconscious, and squidward, chandelure, and litwick were all buried. With a little time, we all got our wits about us, found Raine's location, and dug straight there.

It was a simple thing to release Raine and the other chained trainers, though now that everyone was safe, my guard was down. Then Raine was told about Chandelure and well...let us say that I could feel strong waves of rage, and that made my illness act up.

I shall not go into details here, but everyone present was able to witness the effects of the strange illness that I have been trying to keep from everyone, and I ended up worrying a few folks, likely by the strange change in my appearance and demeanor. And I may have threatened Squidward with death and possible torture a couple times. Sorry everyone. And a thank you to Brae, who stayed back to make sure I, and everyone who hadn't immediately left, was fine and sent off to safety.

The dungeon core was transported to a desert on Korous, and recently was safely destroyed by a bomb squad, at Thoren's command.

Squidward, chandelure and litwick all ended up fine, if anyone was worried, though last I checked, chandelure was still in Shadow mode.

As of today, we're all safe and recovering. Some of us have gotten checked by a doctor, and some of us have come down with a cold. Thoren is looking into setting up transportation to and from Antechamber of the Distan region to further relations in all social aspects, and in trading commerce, while Brae has offered assistance and a contact number from Unity Village to the Antechamber gym leader, as a gesture of support and solidarity.

All in all, a fine, almost mundane, wrap up to the week.

This week's known market stands in Desertia Town:

Katie’s potion stand (Not available to plitlanders due to regulations, available to all others however)

shinyjiggly pokesnacks stand (ran by Rufus)

Antique Cookware Stand

Hunters shop

- Shortbow (25 gp)

- Crossbow, Heavy (50 gp)

- Longbow (50 gp)

- Fishhook (1 sp)

Bird Shop

- Duck (2 gp)

- Falcon (40 gp)

- Chicken (1 gp)

- Raven (2 gp)

- Owl, ruffled (20 gp)

Yes, so I'm sorry if the formatting on this last bit is rough, but I'm just happy to source this information for all of yall.

Take care and stay safe.

- Signing Off, Page of Mind, Samm

Editor's note: I'd like to thank you again for writing this last night so I could focus on recovering. As you might know from the very late timestamps on most newsletters, it tends to take me a long time to write these. It's hard work to get myself focused, and I didn't want to impede my health with that struggle. If you ever need anything in the future, let me know, because I definitely owe you a solid.

-your usual newsletter writer, currently acting as editor, Mage of Light Nick Card

https://letssosl.boards.net/post/8250/thread

#charcherry weekly #sbarg2.5dungeoncrashers #sbargv2 #pokemon

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adminleonsrestingplace · 3 years

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Hey guys so I'm stuck on mobile and can't update my title because that would break mobile links BUT currently all requests are closed!! I was gonna work on what I had today, but last night sadly my laptop officially passed on 😔 I ordered a new one and it should be here by match 3rd at the latest, so I'll reopen them then!

For now though,,, I cri 😔😔

Edit: why did a couple of the tags get placed out of order? This is why I don't use mobile tumblr djdndndn

#lmao no youre not bye #ok......#admin leon speaks #important #literally i just got a request the other day and i was like ooh interesting im gonna do that #but then my laptop said #and i said #i have a backup laptop but its currently not wanting to connect to the internet #and i refuse to work with mobile tumblr hdndbdbdn #maybe ill get that fixed and come back a bit earlier though #well see uwu #also lmk if anyone needs me to tag this since i kinda refer to d**th

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fandomele · 2 years

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hello, want me to write a thesis on how sexless love is seen just as terribly as loveless sex, from an aroace person who knows both as seen as pure horrors by most? watch out for comments about aphobia, whether it’s arophobia or acephobia

I saw a post that I didn’t want to derail with complaints, that was talking about how sex without love is demonized unfairly (agreed!) and it goes against aromantic people in particular who are accused of using people for sex and that comes from a sex-negative place (I agree but it also comes from sexism, from wanting to control other people’s lives, from amatonormativity)

but it also said that, and I’m paraphrasing, it’s not like the opposite, romance without sex is accepted

and just... no? Unless it’s a temporary state in which the two are ‘pure’ and waiting for the right moment? If anything romance without sex can be equally unacceptable to society. In fact there are some rare cases when someone being ‘single for life’, usually a man, becomes an admirable quirky special person who isn’t ‘into romance’**, there is basically no case in which someone who has a stable romantic partner and admits there is no sex involved isn’t met with horror, pity, judgement, suggestions on how to fix it, as well as having their partner be told: it’s not real, you are both sick for accepting it, you are being cheated on, you are being mistreated and must leave the other person. ( **Note that this is only acceptable if he doesn’t admit he never feels romantic attraction unless he’s like a tv genius who says he’s just too focused on his passions. But even then there is some eye twitching because YOU WILL, it’s part of being human! It has to be a phase and then it’s okay.)

Unless you talk to people who are very well-versed in lgbtqia+ matters, of course, then you may get a ‘cool’.

(Though honestly I’ve found in my experience many lgbt people will say ‘aww cute’ if there is sexless love because it sorta proves how much a couple is in love if they are willing to be together without it, and hate the idea of loveless sex if the loveless part is permanent, while many straight people will accept loveless sex but despise sexless love. I could write some hypothesis about it, connected to how lgbt people go through some awful sexual experiences before figuring out their sexuality that they are told they didn’t have to go through, and inability to love the person you are having sex with in a romantic way is a reminder of those?, while straight people and especially straight women who have awful sex encounters are told that’s just life, sex is fundamental and that’s how it happens, and if it’s missing then there is no love, so maybe that’s why sexless relationships are seen as a crime. It also probably comes from instinctively infantilizing too much the people who don’t want sex but want love, and criminalizing the ones who don’t want love but want sex, also due to media’s influence: the villains, the monsters, can’t love, the traumatized and the innocent souls like children can’t have sex. Nothing good in these stereotype either. Because we go back to the fact that yes, you are seen as evil for not wanting love, but unless you are a literal child you must either be very mentally ill to not want sex or be equally evil because you owe it, or not in love because love is sex too) Normally, people in general without particular lgbt knowledge will just hate both concepts: loveless sex and sexless love. You must be able to fall in love and eventually fall in love, and you must have a ‘moderate’ amount of sex with multiple partners and then find the one person for you. That’s society’s standard for human interaction. And don’t tell me that society wants you to stay a virgin, society TELLS you that’s what society wants while simultaneously telling you there is something wrong with you for not having had sex by age 16. Earlier in my country, maybe a bit later in the US, I don’t know. And society sure as hell doesn’t want anyone to be a virgin after marriage. Society wants you to have sex while feeling more or less ashamed about it depending on your gender, while also desperately looking for love especially in your sexual partners, because you must want both.

now obviously sexism plays a part in the sex-shaming people going after aromantic who dare to have a sexual life, if a woman loves sex and has a lot of it is going to be shamed for it way more than a man, though both women and men can be ‘allowed’ to have some no-strings attached flings as long as they make clear that they want to eventually have romantic love, and after all women and men will both be told that eventually they’ll settle down even if they just said they don’t want to have a relationship. Like, you can have a loveless life but don’t tell anyone you don’t feel romantic attraction, how dare you? Even as a man, there must be something wrong with you. Suddenly even the people who were just looking for some fun have been robbed of your potential ability to fall in love with them and have been hurt. Even if they didn’t want it either. Ah well. It’s not good, if you are aro you go through a LOT of pain, I’d know, I’m aroace, and people will tell you that love makes you human, and that you will find someone no matter what, you must want it and accept it in your life, and maybe you are a bad person for having perfectly consensual sex with people who agree that no feelings should be involved, because this is meant to be a ‘phase’ but ultimately you must want love and if you don’t, then you are using people, and all other bullshit that we are told even though we are all adults in the equation

so don’t get me wrong: not feeling romantic attraction, not wanting to have romantic love in your life, is still seen as horrible, is still going to be met with hate, especially if you want to have sex with people, even if those people know it’s a no feels type of thing, and you are expected to eventually be in love and married especially if you are a woman (but men go through pressure too)

HOWEVER

don’t tell me that on the other hand romance without sex is acceptable, because people will question your sanity and humanity and will tell you that you will have to have sex with your partner whether you like it or not. Otherwise it’s not real. Otherwise you are depriving him/her. If you are a man and don’t want sex, obviously there is something wrong with you, ‘all men want sex’, and your partner may feel the same way. If you are a woman and don’t want sex... well, maybe that’s part of being a woman but still, not really your choice, you have to do it whether you like it or not, and again your partner may feel the same wat. Your romance without sex is not valid in the eyes of anyone except other asexual people and very few other people who know about this orientation and accepted it. By law, at least in Italy but I bet I can find similar things in the US, your marriage without sex can be not only made null, but also terminated with you being found ‘at fault’ with all the consequences of it including not being allowed to ask for anything from your ex partner no matter your situation, just as if the divorce happens over cheating or abusing your partner. If for any reason you disclose you are asexual, which most people will have never heard about, unless you are still willing to have sex you are going to be told you have to be cured. It’s not normal. It’s selfish, it’s evil. You are meant to love the person you are with, right? So how can you not give it to them?

Now, you don’t have to tell people you don’t feel romantic attraction or that you don’t feel sexual attraction unless they are people you are getting into a relationship with who should also be able to consent to a loveless/sexless encounter/relationship, but if you get out of the closet it’s game over for the both of you. And yes, as tumblr always reminds us, ace people can have sex, but this is about romance without sex so we are talking about those like me who will never have it. Because somehow we went from people needing to be told that asexuality isn’t about behavior but about attraction therefore ace people are free to have sex if they want to to people now expecting ace people to be able to do it and needing to be reminded that some people don’t want to, ever.

Final statement just so we are clear: the whole thing is bullshit: aromantic people having sex are doing exactly what straight people do when having casual sex. Aromantic people entering in relationship that involve consensual adults aren’t hurting anyone. Romantic love doesn’t make you human. If someone wants a romantic relationship with you and you don’t, you aren’t personally abusing them, whether you are aromantic or simply don’t like them, and the only thing I can suggest is that if there is any doubt it has to be discussed first so the other person knows what’s getting into. If they can’t handle it, they shouldn’t. That’s all. Consent is part of every type of relationship after all.

Asexual people wanting a relationship without sex aren’t depriving their partners of shit, and there consent applies too: the partner has consented to be in a relationship without sex therefore they are fine. If they change their mind it’s hurtful but that’s also their problem, you can’t force yourself to have sex if it repulses you, so it may be a deal breaker but nobody is at fault there and especially not the person who states their boundaries. Asexual people are just as human, sex doesn’t make you human either.

Both face discrimination, of different kinds, from lgbt and straight people alike, and it would be impossible determine who has it worse and what’s worse, also because the ‘stay in the closet, then’ has never been a solution for anyone ever. Society doesn’t accept sexless love and loveless sex, not if they are permanent. Society can go to hell.

#aphobia #acephobia #arophobia #aromanticism #asexuality #discrimination #amatonormativity

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strawberrymilkgeorge · 3 years

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Part Three. Ex-boyfriends and Mr. MoneyBags

warnings: ex-boyfriend is a dick, mentions of emotional and mental abuse, swearing word count: 933 (not including pictures)

behind the screen (irl dream x reader) series masterlist ultimate masterlist

edit: omg the dates on the dms between dream and yn are SO wrong just don't look at them lol

edit 2: added another photo for Karl/yn conversation two days after posting bc I forgot it

**********

A wave of discomfort washed over Y/n as it alway did when talking about her ex-boyfriend. It gave her an ominously unsettling feeling in her stomach that she was not fond of. She shook her head and pretended like she couldn't hear his voice in the back of her head as she fixed her hair in the mirror. Healing, she reminded herself. Not perfect, but healing.

"Y/n?" Naomi called through the house.

"In my room!"

Naomi appeared moments later at Y/n's door. "Hey, I'm getting food, do you want anything?"

"I'm okay, thanks."

"Oh, hey, I watched Karl's stream from a few days ago earlier. You were so good."

"Thanks," Y/n thanked as she sat back down, forgetting all the disgust she felt moments ago from thinking about her past. Naomi sat on the corner of the bed. "Could you tell I was nervous?"

"Not at all. You were so funny. And George is so sweet. If only I had a friend who could set me up on a date with him..."

"Naomi!" Y/n laughed. "I've never even met him in person, how would you go on a date? Fly to England?"

"Yeah. He and I could work all those details out if you gave me his number."

"He'd fly here just to kill me if I gave anyone his number."

"Fine," she sighed jokingly. "Are you still going to Karl's later?"

"Tomorrow."

"Oh. Well.... I'm hungry soooo I'm going to go get something to eat."

"Drive safe," Y/n ordered as she turned back to her computer and Naomi left the room.

"I will. Love you!"

As Y/n looked back at her computer to figure out something to cure her boredom, her phone lit up with a DM from Twitter.

She giggled to herself as she set her phone down and opened up Minecraft. She had nothing to do all day so she decided to start a stream, titling it "chill minecraft?? if any mobs ruin the chill ill actually cry??"

Y/n laughed to herself even though she knew it wasn't that funny. She didn't even bother to start with her usual "starting soon" screen, jumping right into playing.

"Hello, hello everyone," Y/n greeted vaguely as she opened the survival world she usually streamed. She had made decent progress on it, but it hadn't been long since she started it. "Hello. I'm super bored so I figured I'd stream and we can all just hang out and chill out. Is the music too loud? Can you hear it? Everyone type yes if it's good..." she paused as she waited for responses and adjusted the volume of the music accordingly.

She tried to not think about how much larger her viewer count was than usual, figuring it was probably mostly because she had been on Karl's stream not long before.

"Welcome, if you're new! Sorry if you don't find house building exciting, usually I do a lot more chaotic things but I'm determined to get my base done today. I can't keep coming home to a dirt shack."

Her chat started spamming one thing, making her roll her eyes slightly, a smile on her lips.

user3: DREAM HELLO

user6: Dream's here!!!!!

user7: DREAM

Y/n couldn't help but see the few negative comments that passed, calling her a clout chaser.

"Judging by everyone saying Dream's here, I assume Dream's here?" she said with a laugh as she continued collecting dark oak wood and making sure to replant the saplings. "Hello, sir."

user10: are they finally actually friends??? not just Twitter friends????

user16: Dream just lingering we see you sir

"Chat, should I make my real home first or the treehouse? I'm thinking the treehouse but I don't really have an idea for how to do it yet."

user1: TREEHOUSE

user2: treehouse treehouse treehouse

user4: do a cottage!!

user6: treehouse but make it on multiple trees and connect them with bridges

user11: it's so funny seeing bugsy just peacefully building bc usually I only catch her chaos streams

"Okay okay overwhelming amount of treehouse answers," she breathed out with a laugh as she looked around the forest for a good tree. "Thanks sarahnotfound for the ten gifted subs!"

A donation lit up in the corner of her screen and she read it out loud. "Face reveal when? Thank you, Jasmine, um..." she paused, thinking. "I don't know. I do want to eventually but I have no plans to or anything. I'm not ready to right now so it'll still be a while before I do a face reveal."

Donations and gifted subs continued, Y/n expressing her gratitude for each one of them. She had the base down for her treehouse as a large one came through.

"Dream!" she yelled angrily, a laugh bubbling behind it before sighing. "Thank you Dream." She looked away from the amount and read his message, which read, save some of that building for the smp. "DREAM! Why would you give me– ohmygosh. Is this your way of announcing to everyone that I'm joining the SMP? By giving me $100? I can't stand you." Her words were no threat since you could clearly hear the smile in her tone.

She glanced at chat before talking again and continuing her house. "Yeah, yeah, everyone, I'm joining the Dream SMP. But considering I'm fantastic at PVP, I'm not going to be doing much building. Sorry," she said now directed at Dream. "Maybe you can hire me to build something but I don't work for free."

A few minutes passed before a second donation from Dream came through.

yes I did announce it by giving you money and I'll do it again, under another $100 donation

"DREAM, I SWEAR—"

**********

PREVIOUS | NEXT

behind the screen (irl dream x f!reader) series masterlist ultimate masterlist

**********

A/N: part 3 pog! lowkey don’t really like the chapter because it’s mostly a filler but i hope you guys do!! i needed to get a lil bit of background about y/n’s ex but we’ll get deeper into it later on!

let me know how y’all like this chapter!! do you prefer parts like this with mostly social media or do you like the previous ones better when there’s a lot more written??

also thank you thank you thank for all your continuous love for this series!! it seriously means so much to me and i love y’all so much lol

taglist: OPEN (at the time) @hydrate-tion @loraleiix @tinaswagbd @charsdummb @smileyyuta @1ghoste1 @cerberus-hellhound @gaysludge @queestionmark @carnations-red @letsloveimagines @the-fictionwriters-hairdo @boiled-onionrings @a-cryptic @fee-btheweeb @letsloveimagines @erwinss @just-a-stan @axths @kayleigh2703 @furiouspockettoad @sometimeseverythingsucks @powerpuffyn @itshaileyn @millavalntyne

#rpf #real person ficiton #dream x reader #dreamwastaken x reader #dream x y/n #dreamwastaken x y/n #mcyt x reader #mcyt x y/n #dream smau #dreamwastaken smau #social media au #social media ficiton

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aggressivelyclueless · 3 years

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ouija board

in which it gets out of hand. . . but only a little

warnings: v spooky

(heads up this one’s kinda long, whoops lol)

(@qoinq-qhost u were looking for more danny being a lil shit? vvvv)

Sam was just about ready to get the seance rolling. Thundery and weeping outside, candlelight inside - it seemed like a good night for it. This time around, there were four of them: her, of course; Felicity, from third-hour, had brought the board; her bestie Star (who Sam had almost uninvited, as she hadn't been deemed goth enough, but she owed Felicity a favour and letting this slip was it); and Star's boyfriend-of-the-week, Jake (also not goth, and very much on thin ice).

They sat clustered together on the full-moon rug in Sam's room, a jumbo bag of Chex Mix forgotten on the floor by Jake's backpack. Only the little brown bits were left. "You're host," Felicity was saying, scooting up into a proper cross-legged sitting position and centering the board on the carpet between them. She produced the most important piece - the polished wooden planchet - and dropped it into Sam's waiting palm. "You start."

Star opened her mouth, almost thought better of it, and then asked, "Are we going to get a demon?"

"That's not how this works," said Felicity, shooting Sam a look to keep her quiet. Felicity had the tolerance for questions like those, and the patience not to be cross. "We're not summoning demons. We're communing with the dead. There's a difference."

"Is it still going to be scary?"

Sam bit her tongue. With luck, it would be, and she wouldn't have to deal with Star's antics next time, whether they were at her house or not.

"I don't know," said Felicity, "Maybe. We've never done one at this house before. We might not get a ghost at all."

Sam shrugged, setting the puck down in the center of the board and keeping her first two fingers on it. The others scooted closer, getting comfortable, and followed suit. The candleflames throughout the room were perfectly still.

"Is there anyone here with us tonight?"

For a moment: nothing. She glanced up into the empty air, as if she could spot a slinking shadow on the wall or a flickering shape hovering by the ceiling. She couldn't, even though she wanted to.

Then the slight pull of the token under their collective fingers, and the drawn scraping sound as it crawled slowly across the board: YES.

So they weren't going to come up empty tonight. She glanced over at Star, wondering how intense things would get before she'd bail. Sam was certain that, at some point, she would, or maybe she was getting her hopes up. Star didn't exactly look like goth material. All things considered, this was probably the wrong scene for her.

But she had owed Felicity that favour.

"Why are you here, spirit?" Felicity asked, shifting a little in place. Right to the point.

The planchet under their fingers was still. Sam knew the rules better than anyone: if the ghost chose to answer, it would have to tell the truth.

The ghost chose not to.

Star's eyes darted to Felicity, but there was a hesitation before she spoke. When she did, the words were wrung-out and barely there. "Ask him if he's friendly."

"You ask him," said Jake, nudging her with an elbow. Between the four of them, he was the least invested in the endeavor, seeming more bored than anything. He shrugged, trying to scoot his letter jacket a little higher on his shoulders without having to take his fingers off the puck. The jacket refused.

"Okay." Star took a deep breath, turning her eyes back to the board. The planchet, for the time being, rested on YES. "Ghost," she said, somewhat uncomfortable at directly addressing the dead, "Do you mean us harm?"

Immediately, she could feel the wooden puck go cold under her touch. It slid off YES, veered partway across the board, and went still again. The chill at her fingertips vanished.

"Don't like the looks of that," muttered Felicity. "Sam, you think we should call this one off?"

Sam gave it a moment of consideration. "I don't know. Maybe, but not yet. Let me try once." She cleared her throat. "Spirit - will you tell us your name?"

The planchet didn't have to think about it this time. Star could feel the cold tingling in her fingers again as it moved, slowly but deliberately, and spelled out: JAMES. She frowned.

"What's your purpose here, James?" Felicity ventured, but the ghost revealed nothing. The silence stretched on; finally, she sighed. "Doesn't like me much, does he?"

"I don't know," said Star, which she thought sounded better than a flat-out no. It didn't do any good; Felicity was already looking a little put-out, and Star reached up with her free hand and patted her on the shoulder. "Don't feel bad. We still like you plenty, even if that silly ghost doesn't."

Sam fought back a groan of distaste. Whatever Felicity saw in Star, Sam was seeing none of it. She wanted to tune Star out, didn't want to see her so distracted as if communing with the dead was a mere game.

If things started to hit the fan, Sam was sure she'd never want to come again. In fact, she was starting to count on it.

But would provoking the ghost be worth it? "James," she said, still contemplating it, "Why are you here? What is it you're seeking?"

The puck meandered for a moment, as if conflicted. It rested on the empty part of the board between F and S, turned around, and aimed mostly toward H.

That was when Star jerked her hand back, as if the planchet had burned her. All of a sudden she seemed to be paying attention; Sam wondered if she had finally realized what, exactly, they were dealing with. Whether she did or not, it was too late. She'd disrupted the connection.

Sam had never seen it, but she'd heard the stories of what happened at sessions when someone did that.

Every single candle around the room went out at once.

"Star, what the hell," said Felicity, "Remember how earlier I said you couldn't do that - "

Star's already-high-pitched voice was pinched. "Sorry, sorry! It's just it got cold all of a sudden, I thought he wanted me to - "

Sam scowled in the dark. "What are you talking about, no it didn't - "

"It did so! Just now!"

"Oh for fuck's sake, I knew we shouldn't have invited you - "

"Hey, what's that supposed to mean?"

The flash of lightning through the window made the ghost into a spindly and angular silhouette, floating in the air by the glass and jolting Star and Sam both out of their argument. The planchet on the board, still under six fingers but by now forgotten, shot out from under them and flew across the room, bouncing off the side of the desk and skittering somewhere under the bed.

Oh, it was hitting the fan now, all right. "This is your fault," Sam hissed through her teeth, glowering in Star's direction, but already her mind was racing to find a way to appease the disturbed spirit. She'd held plenty of seances before, but generally found audience with lesser or fragmented dead. Only twice had she been forced to close a session early.

Never had she met such an angry spirit before - and not only was it angry, it was in her room.

"Ideas," Felicity snapped, in an effort to keep Sam from boiling over, and in the same effort to keep Star from tears, "What do we do?"

"Run, maybe?" said Jake, but the sharp and thunderous BANG from the walls around them cut him off. His eyes darted to the door, but it slammed itself shut before he could get up to his feet and make his escape.

"Hold on a sec, guys," said Sam, "Jake, sit down, we're not done yet - hang on, I said! I got a flashlight." She groped for her backpack, brushed over one of eight plushy spider feet, and yanked it unceremoniously into her lap. Half-unzipping it, she produced the promised flashlight and clicked it once, twice, a handful of times in quick succession as nothing happened. "Shit. Shit shit shit - "

"There," Star whispered, her eyes fixed on the shadowy side of the room behind the bed. She pointed with one manicured finger, making the rest of them turn to look.

The ghost was only there for an instant, hanging in the air as a smoky and ill-defined shadow against the hazy grey light from the window, but flickered away an instant later. The pounding rain outside almost masked the haunt's staticky and echoing laughter.

Felicity put a hand over Sam's and tried not to squeeze it too hard. Her fingernails dug in a little anyhow. "Do you think we can still close this out?" She didn't sound too hopeful.

"No," said Star, with a sudden and bone-chilling certainty. "He's staying."

Sam looked over at her, agape. How can you know that? she wanted to say, but her mouth had gone dry and she couldn't force it to move. Star's eyes were on her; just for a moment, Sam swore there was a glint of something behind their usual blue-grey, but it was there and gone before she could be sure.

"We're staying," she said again, and this time Sam heard the echo in it, and this time the glint of green in her eyes lingered. The ghost had her, appearing as a dark and swaying wisp in the air behind her, hands on her shoulders, keeping her still and calm. Her eyes - the ghost's seyes - were on Sam, and a sudden, absurd thought struck her:

Isn't James his middle name?

The knot of rising terror in Sam's gut broke, and cold tingling relief poured over her. For a moment she let it, willing the adrenaline to fade and the pounding heartbeat in her ears to settle, and then shifted gears.

That sonofabitch, I'll kill him for this one.

"No, you're not."

Star's head and the shadow's head cocked to one side in unison. "No?"

Sam was locked on the spirit but her voice was directed at Felicity (and Jake, but to a lesser extent). "Come here."

Felicity hesitated. "What, are you serious - ?"

"Come here," Sam snapped, setting her first two fingers on the center of the board, ignoring the fact that the planchet was still misplaced somewhere under the bed.

"I don't like this," Felicity whispered, but followed Sam's lead regardless.

Star's fingers came out and rested gingerly on top, and Sam was certain that, underneath the veneer of shadows, the ghost was smiling.

"You listen to me, James," Sam commanded, with a seriousness that made Felicity and Jake both flinch, "You'd better get out of here."

Star's mouth turned up in a smile. "And why's that?"

"Because if you don't, I'll banish you into next week."

"Sam," Felicity breathed, "I don't think that's such a good idea - "

"I'll do it," Sam reiterated, cutting Felicity off.

The smils on Star's face widened. "Promise?"

Then the fingers on the board were moving, overcome by a pins-and-needles sensation that turned the board to static beneath them, and came to rest solidly over GOOD-BYE.

"See you then. . . "

Sam looked over and Star looked back at her with those big blue eyes. She didn't seem distraught but Sam had to wonder how much of what had happened she'd remember. She'd heard on several occasions that those puppeteered by the dead didn't tend to recall the influence, and Star wasn't horribly upset.

Still - she felt that ghost had crossed a line somewhere. Crashing a seance, fine. Overshadowing at said seance, even if he'd picked the least-favourite attendee?

That didn't sit right.

"You okay, Star?"

Star blinked once, twice, then cocked her head to one side and smiled. "Of course I'm okay," she said, as if she hadn't been overshadowed at all, but the next thing out of her mouth, spoken with the utmost certainty, sent a chill down Sam's spine.

"He wasn't really going to hurt me, you know. He let you win."

- - - -

Sam shut the door as the others left and then rounded on the ghost. "I know you're still here. There's no way you'd dip after a stunt like that."

(Damn right I wouldn't) said the shadowy thing under the bed, hauling himself out of the darkness a moment later. In the light from the ceiling fixture overhead, the shadows fell apart, relenting to his more human texture and shape, and he shook the dustbunnies off once he got up to his feet. In his hand was the forgotten token that went with Felicity's board, and he held it out to her. "This is yours?"

Sam grabbed it from him, and only then did he get the impression that she wasn't entirely happy with him. "You could have given me a heads-up, y'know."

"Hey, I was in the area, thought you could use a hand. For goth cool points, or whatever." Danny shrugged, leaning back and half-sitting on the side of the bed. "I mean they do think you can scare off a real ghost now."

"And what the hell was with you overshadowing Star?" Sam went on, and at last the dopish grin at the corner of Danny's mouth vanished. "So, okay, maybe I didn't want her to come. But that doesn't mean you get to - "

"Wait, wait, hold on," Danny put a hand up in concession, "I didn't - well, I mean I did, but. Listen for a sec, okay? You don't like her, fine. But I think something's up."

"Something's up," said Sam, nonplussed. She crossed her arms, leaning back slightly in the desk chair and making it creak. "You overshadowing people as a joke is what. And whatever you were telling her in there, guess what She remembers it now."

"That's what's up," said Danny impatiently, "I didn't tell her anything."

That made Sam pause. "What?"

"You heard me. But that's not it, let me say something else too. I swear I'm not making this up: she saw me the second I drifted in the window. I'm invisible and she's looking right at me. The whole time. It was like she was watching me."

"Bullshit," said Sam, wanting to believe it was.

Danny shook his head. "You heard what she said. After you banished me into next week."

"That you let me win," Sam recalled slowly. In the moment, it had struck her as dumb-chills naivety on Star's part, but the way that Danny talked made it sound like she was serious. Perhaps she'd just wanted to think that Star was that stupid.

"She knew it, and I didn't tell her. I'm dead serious, Sam, she practically invited me to overshadow her. I didn't even have to go all the way in her. You saw it."

Sam had most definitely seen it. "And what does this mean for the rest of us? Or for you? You're gonna tell me - what, she's going to miraculously guess you're half-ghost too?"

"I don't know - but you saw her the same as I did. She wasn't scared of me. Hell, I gave you guys a name and she was the one that didn't call me by it. Like she knew it wasn't quite right."

"I get it," said Sam, thinking that maybe she would have been just as well off not calling him that either, "But what are we supposed to do about it? Are you saying we should invite her onto the team? Or what?"

Danny sighed, running a hand through his hair and letting it come to rest on the back of his neck. He shrugged helplessly, his gaze picking out dustbunnies and imperfections in the floorboards at his feet. "I don't know yet. Keep an eye on her, maybe. See if she starts saying things. She's not as stupid as she looks, Sam. Low bar, I know, but the last thing I need right now is somebody else to have to watch out for. I know you don't like her. I'm not asking you to."

He met her eyes then, and the earnestness in them struck her.

"Just, don't let that put her in the way, okay?"

#Ectober Month 2021 #Ectoberhaunt 2021 #Ectoberhaunt Trick #danny phantom #fanfiction #ectober

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narrators-journal · 3 years

Note

Hello, I hope you are well, can I ask Yandere Akutagawa who probably hates you for how you make us feel? I may degrade you but get mad if someone else does

I hope this is good and is what you wanted! I'm a little rusty with Yandere content, so it might be a bit subtle here. I hope you enjoy nonetheless!

As a new low ranking mafia goon you had expected some harsh bullying from your coworkers, but that didn't mean you couldn't despise them for it, or have the occassional breakdown in the headquarters bathroom or something. That was actually how you'd met your first friend-like person in the organization, Higuchi had found you fighting to not cry in the bathroom one day, and instead of belittling you for the moment of weakness, she gave you a paper towel to dab the tears from your (s/c) cheeks and assured you that she understood your predicament.

In all honesty, the harassment wouldn't be that bad if it weren't for one specific man. Akutagawa Ryuunosuke.

Akutagawa was a violent, hostile, rabid dog of a man who took any possible chance to insult you without mercy. It didn't even have to be anything that would get you into trouble or annoy him, he would belittle anything he could about you as a person, not just your work for the mafia. It had quickly lost all of the leeway you had for newbie-hazing. At least now you had a reason to blame for the prickly mafioso hating your guts. Turns out he isn't a fan of his fashion being labelled 'hot topic tween goth.' After that, you just avoided him as best you could, which seemed near impossible with how much he continued to pop up in your life, even after you'd insulted him.

Of course, Mori would pair you with the goth pretty frequently despite your reluctance, Akutagawa had a pretty variable set of jobs he could be assigned to and thus would be a good on-the-job teacher for a newbie such as yourself, but after you'd insulted the goth he didn't leave you alone like you might've thought he would. Instead, he seemed to pop up a lot more frequently, even outside of the jobs you were paired with him on. Of course, you would see the pale vampire at the headquarters when you weren't working with him, but now you had gone from seeing him maybe once a week for a task or to retrieve or deliver ill-gotten cash, to seeing him a distance behind you in the hallway of the headquarters almost every other day, or in one of the spare sitting rooms the goons had overtaken and claimed as a sort of 'break room' on nights when you'd stay super late into the night and should've been alone.

However, you couldn't really accuse the hostile man of stalking you just to glare at you or spit insults. After all, Higuchi had always had a very valid point as to why you were running into him when you brought the occurrences up, and you'd be labelled a loon for thinking he'd been trailing you just because you had spotted him in the grocery store. So, you opted to keep your mouth shut and just ignored him whenever you could get away with it.

Though, every once in a while a snide remark or two slipped out, like one had on the day he limped into the headquarters after another spat with his rival, Atsushi Nakajima. "You look like a cat's half digested dinner," you snorted, watching the wheezing vampire flop into one of the fancy velvet chairs in the empty break room. He was still glowing a pretty vibrant red, with his coat ribbon lashing like the tail of an angry cat, but he ignored your comment and instead focused on wrapping his slashed up arm and leg in bandages. Then, just as you were beginning to leave the room to find your own place to do some paperwork, you felt fabric slither around your neck to tighten into a razor-wire choke-collar and yank you none-too-gently over to the chair Akutagawa sat in.

You weren't likely to cut an impressive figure with your (e/c) eyes wide with shock at the sudden attack, and fear at the feeling of Rashoumon's sharp edges biting into your (s/c) skin to draw blood under your bully's cold, humiliation-filled glare, "I think you're beginning to forget your place here, newbie." He spat, his raspy growl dripping with venom, "Not only do I outrank you, but I am much stronger than you. You are nowhere near Jinko's strength, fucking Higuchi is more of a threat to me than you are, so the next time you want to feel more significant than you are and insult me, I suggest you have a fucking grave dug beforehand." He got right in your face as he spoke, barring his teeth at you with sin-worthy wrath in his grey eyes, but, just for a moment before the lethal ribbon threw you away as easily as he would a gum wrapper, he hesitated. It was brief, only a few seconds, but Akutagawa's anger lessened, and instead he leaned forward just a hair. Just as quickly as it appeared though, the moment was gone. His fury returned with a vengeance and the ribbon that held you captive launched you across the room, sending you sliding across the floor and into the wall hard enough to crack it just a bit.

You took the hint and scrambled to your feet as soon as you got some air into your lungs, coughing and wheezing as you fled the room before Rashoumon could be sent through your spine next.

Admittedly, being snippy with the vampire after he'd already been embarrassed like that hadn't been a shining example of your best timing, but you tried to move past it, and that weird moment of hesitation, and label it a learning experience. Your fellow goons however, caught wind of your confrontation and did not give you such kindness. They instead turned it into more ammunition for snide remarks about how intelligent you were.

"Hey! Look who just walked in!" A goon you had yet to learn the name of almost crowed one day when you were eating lunch in the breakroom, just trying to watch some tv before your next job when Akutagawa had come in. "Hey, (y/n), wanna try and see if he'll knock your braincells back into place?" You just glared at the man while he continued to call you stupid and just try to instigate whatever fight he could it seemed. You didn't fall for his trap though, keeping your mouth firmly shut and not responding to his insults or assumptions of how masochistic you were. No, you instead simply returned your attention to the tv and blocked out Akutagawa's existence until you finished your lunch and left for your job.

Thankfully, it was a solo mission, a new extension of trust from Mori, and a prime chance to not only prove yourself, but to get away from the assholes you worked with. So, by the time you returned to the mafia headquarters, you were feeling pretty good and had almost completely forgotten your earlier run-in with that asshole of a goon around your lunch time.

Of course, the sky was dark by the time you returned from the job, so on top of your improved mood, you were also spared further heckling since everyone else had finished their work and gone home for the night. So, you were gratefully able to fly through the report you had to write about the mission, and cataloging of the goods you'd distributed without issue. It wasn't until you stopped by the bathroom to change out of your clothing and into some more comfortable, not-dirty clothes before your walk home that you smelled the stench of blood.

It hit you like a brick as soon as you had opened the bathroom door. The whole bathroom reeked of the dizzying smell of iron and death so badly that it poured out into the empty hallway. All it took was a few steps inside to investigate for you to spot the source of such a strong stench. A corpse huddled into the far corner across from the stalls.

Through your stinging tears, you could see that it was likely one of the other mafia goons, and judging by the one bloody tuft of hair you could see amongst the chunks of flayed flesh...it was the same goon that was messing with you earlier. Since your only identifier was the shredded and blood soaked suit that the heap of shredded flesh and spilled entrails somewhat wore and a bit of hair, you couldn't say for certain, but something in your gut told you it was the same man.

"You know, you should really grow a spine." You whirled around to face the doorway as soon as the raspy voice spoke, (e/c) eyes wide and your hand instantly falling to the small pistol you had at your hip. But, instead of some demented intruder out to murder any mafia goons they found, you were instead met with Akutagawa. Your worst bully.

For a moment, all you could do was stare in shock, your brain frantically scrambling to recollect its composure under the pressure of an almost primal terror, just letting you stammer out a shakey, "What?" before your legs began to turn to jello, the thick blanket of coppery blood in the air making your stomach want to escape out of your mouth. However, you put your hand on the cool glass of the sink and bit back the urge to vomit. The last thing you wanted was to give the sadistic mafioso more ammo against you in his harassment, and if he was the goon-slaughtering-psycho, you didn't want to go out because you were too busy retching to defend yourself. However, he didn't attack you. He just stood in the doorway and glared at the mutilated pile of flesh as if it had insulted his family for a moment before speaking again, "You're supposed to be a mafia member, (y/n), you can't just let people use you as a doormat, it reflects poorly on the organization." he chided with a derisive sniff, "Grow a damned spine and begin to stand up for yourself. No one's going to 'defend your honor' like this..." He trailed off, fixing you with a cold, irritated look for a long moment before he turned on his heel with a huff, "Clean that bastard up, before he stains the linoleum anymore than he already has."

With that, Akutagawa stomped off back to wherever he'd come from. Leaving you to deal with the bloody carnage you'd discovered, and to ask yourself why he had even been here. It was the middle of the night, most everyone should be home by now, but the goth had appeared only a moment after you'd entered the bathroom, how had he shown up so quickly? He didn't bring Mori or anyone else, so it wasn't like he'd discovered the body first...

You got a sick feeling that he'd been the one to leave such a nightmarish scene. And that he'd been waiting for you to find it or something.

#bsd #bungo stray dogs #Akutagawa ryuunosuke #x reader #Yandere akutagawa #ask #scenario #yandere

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i-dont-want-your-hysteria · 3 years

Text

Up In the Air (Joe x Reader)

(surprise gift for you guys on Joe's birthday ^_^ I started this almost exactly a year ago, and it's finally done! Someone pointed out that I slightly hinted at the plot of this in my last fic post... you caught me.)

Words: 4,028

Prompt: Spring, 1983. Joe has an opportunity in his sights, but as luck would have it, it does not go his way (or does it...?)

-----

(1983)

"God, it was so embarrassing!" Joe put his palms over his eyes as he whined to Sav. The singer was flat on his back in the middle of their bed, and Sav's back was against the wall opposite him. The bassist had his arms crossed in exasperation.

They were back in a fresh, new hotel room after another flight to another city. They'd been settled in for a while, and- as far as you knew- Joe was physically well. Emotionally, however...

"What are the odds that things were placed so perfectly for me today, and then-?!" he swatted the air above him, "That happens? 'Just my luck!"

Sav didn't consider it as dire of a situation as Joe did. In fact, he seemed rather entertained than sympathetic.

"That was out of your control, mate."

"I know it was, but-" he sat up, "Y/n was right there! How was I supposed to keep it together?!"

"If it were anyone else other than her, you still would've had to keep it together, you know," Sav tilted his head down, but had his eyes looking up.

"Well, you're no help," Joe grumbled, crossing his arms back at the bassist and flopping back down onto the mattress.

"There's nothing to help you with!" Sav took a seat at the foot of the bed, "It's not my fault you got-"

Joe sat up again in a snap, warning with a pointed finger, "Don't say it."

"I was just gonna say that I had nothing to do with you being-"

"Don't say it!" Joe pleaded again.

"Joe, it's not that big of a deal that you-"

"Sav!"

"Alright, fine!" Sav threw up both hands, shaking his head and narrowly fighting off a laugh, "I won't say it!"

A loud sigh came from Joe, his head hanging now. The heat of embarrassment refused to leave his face.

"...do you think she's still hung up on it, too?" his voice went quiet, and his tone adopted a sad air.

Sav raised his hand, rubbed his fingers together, and patted Joe's ankle reassuringly.

"It's hard to say no," he admitted, "I know I wouldn't have liked to be in either of your shoes today."

~(5 hours earlier)~

A hand took a grip on your right forearm without warning. It snapped you from the hypnotic, musical trance you'd been in for most of the flight. Having been placed next to the singer for the first time on an airplane, you knew it was his action without a doubt. You looked down and sure enough, Joe's hand was there- holding onto you just a bit too tightly.

Your free hand took off your headphones and you asked him, "Everything alright?"

The singer wasn't focused on you, or anything, it seemed. "Unfocused" was probably the best word you could think of to describe him. His head was slightly tilted downwards, but his eyes were fixed on the back of the chair in front of him. Despite that, it appeared as if he couldn't see it no matter how hard he tried.

You gathered this impression from a split second of looking at him, but as soon as he heard your question, Joe's hold on you was instantly released. His own trance was snapped as well.

"Yeah, yeah, sorry. I thought you were the armrest..."

"You were holding on pretty tight," you pointed out, "Something wrong?"

That same look on his face was back again; unfocused. His hand slowly found its way back to the armrest- now that he knew it wasn't your arm. You saw his hand shaking before he gripped it tightly.

"You don't look so good," you noted, adopting a frown.

He hesitated slightly before going very quiet, his face suddenly appearing pallid.

"Fuck..." Joe cursed himself, "I fucked up, I fucked up..."

You pressed again, "Joe... tell me what's wrong..."

He lied to you in a halting voice when a new blush seemed to form on his face, "Um... it's nothing much. There's just- something I haven't told you, and I should've mentioned it before we got on board. But I..."

He fell quiet.

"Yeah...?" you urged him to go on.

"I get... seasick- airsick... sometimes. Not every time, but... every now and then I do- and..."

He visibly swallowed, his breath trembling when he slowly shut his eyes.

Your eyebrows went up, alarmed, "And you're not feeling so good?"

"No, no, no...!" his inner voice screamed.

"Not really, but I'm fine, don't worry about me. It just happens."

His efforts to shrink the overall worry didn't work, as you instantly knew that if things went south, you were the only nearby acquaintance of his who could help him. You were also trapped with him for 2 more hours until you landed, so you would've had to help him if need be.

"Oh god- are you gonna be sick?" your hand raised up slightly to reach for a sick bag.

"No! No, I'm more dizzy than anything..."

"Well, take this-" you handed him a sick bag, "-and just try not to focus on your surroundings. And if you can't hold it down... well just keep it in the bag and away from me, okay?"

"...okay," he exhaled and took it from you, desperately hoping it wouldn't come to that. For fuck's sake, he was already embarrassed enough. He felt like a child. Even worse; he felt like your child.

Joe shut his eyes again and rested his head back on his seat. His whole body looked drained of energy, and you saw sweat forming on his forehead. It was obvious to you he was trying to make himself appear more okay than he was.

"I can do this," Joe nearly said aloud, "I can get through this without her knowing."

Unfortunately, for him, you already knew.

"The poor guy," you were thinking with sympathy, "Never knew he could look so ill."

You asked, "You've been feeling bad for a while, haven't you?"

"...what?" he squinted under his eyelids, lying to you again, "No, not really. Why, can you tell?"

"I don't wanna sound rude... but yeah, you kind of look like hell."

Joe quietly whined at your declaration.

"I know that look, Elliott- I've been in this position before."

The man next to you was intrigued by what you implied. He was suddenly beginning to think that maybe his situation wasn't as embarrassing as it appeared.

His eyes opened, "Wait, have you ever-?"

"Oh- no, I never get sick on planes, but you're not the first case I've ever seen."

"Great. This means she's stronger than me."

You held up your bottle, "You want some water? Maybe settle your stomach a little?"

Joe felt his stomach turn at the mention of liquid and shook his head, "No, I'll be fine..."

It was another lie, but you decided maybe it was best you just let him be. Perhaps he wasn't that bad.

Joe, on the other hand, was fighting the sickness with all the strength he could muster- hoping you wouldn't see it.

"Don't mess this up," he was telling himself, "She's right there. Keep it together and don't balls it up...!"

Going with your plan, you let him be, and put your headphones back on.

He took a deep breath, "Fuck, if only the seatbelt lock wasn't on... then at least I could hide in the bathroom..."

The Leppard waited in terrified silence for his ailment to subside. With the current turbulence, it was impossible. Every shudder and bump made him want to heave until there was nothing left in his stomach. Worst of all, there was no where he could run to; he was trapped.

Oddly enough, before the sickness hit him, he was actually excited to be trapped there.

It was no secret among the band members that Joe quickly developed a crush on you. What started out as a feeling of preferring you over anyone else in the crew soon turned into a reach for romance. There was no time for him to make a move in the midst of the tour, though, which left him to suffer in his teenage desire alone.

When he heard he would be seated next to you on the next flight, he instantly knew it was an opportunity he couldn't afford to waste. This was the first time he'd sat directly by you on a plane, after all. It was a brilliant time to make a move and bond together. He'd been nervous ever since he sat down, but he never got the chance to make a flirt or decent conversation before his body betrayed him. Yes, it was an optimistic opportunity, but now Joe wished it'd been anywhere except up in the air.

The stress of the situation only made him feel worse- but he wouldn't accept the fact that he was about to lose this divine opening.

Not 4 minutes of your music went by when the plane shook yet again. When it did, you thought you saw Joe suddenly move from the corner of your eye. When your head turned, you saw his fist pressed against his mouth, an arm around his stomach, and a green tint over his pallid face.

"Woah, you alright?" you took your headphones off again.

Joe only nodded, closing his eyes to reassure you (but also to reprimand himself under the surface).

"No, no no!! Stop being sick for fuck's sake! You won't have a chance with her!!"

"I'm good, I'm good," he swallowed again, wiping sweat off his bangs, "Go back to your music."

"Don't lie to me, Joe. You look terrible-! Are you sure you don't need anything?"

"I'm really not that bad, Y/n. Just a little... motion sickness..." his breathing became labored, and he angled his body as far to his right as he could. He began to fidget with something as he swallowed, "Ohh..."

The cabin teetering around him somehow made things even worse.

"Honey, I don't think it's just a little," your concern was peaked, and a hand was hovering over his arm, "You look like you're about to throw up or pass out, so how about we get you some club soda and you can rest, okay? If you want to, you can even-"

Joe was turned completely away from you, and had suddenly lurched forward to vomit into the sick bag you'd given him earlier. You knew that any hope of him holding back his condition was impossible now.

You'd initially flinched at his retching; cringing and holding your breath. Only a second passed until you remembered your duty; you were the only friend nearby.

"Uh oh-" sympathetically, you sighed and reached out to him, your hands holding his hair back, "That's not good..."

***

"I feel so humiliated... I was just- so deathly sick! I threw up twice, Sav- twice! And she was right next to me! I feel awful that she had to put up with it...! I feel like that's on me. She probably thinks I'm disgusting; she probably sees me as this huge fucking pansy who can't keep his lunch down while flying..."

"Mate, getting sick on flights isn't a personality trait, and I'm pretty sure Y/N knows that, too."

Joe, who was laying down again, scoffed and rolled his eyes.

"...I think this situation isn't all that bad, really," Sav shrugged, his voice going up in pitch to take on a suggestive tone.

"What on earth makes you say that?"

"It's quite obvious! I just think you were-" he adopted Joe's voice and air quotes, "-'so deathly sick' that you didn't even realize exactly what was happening...!"

"Really? How so?"

"Oh, don't even get me started, Joe."

*** Joe was laying against you now, exhausted from the physical labor forced on his stomach and throat. He was still pale and shivering, but finally willing to accept your advice and remedies. You'd ordered him some club soda (and some mints from your purse), and suggested he take a rest.

This left you where you were now. He had a hand on his stomach, and another one under your hand to calm him.

To say the least, it felt like having a nice, heavy blanket partially draped on you. You couldn't help but think it was at least a little funny. To most people, they'd be absolutely repulsed by a man with a weak stomach sleeping on them during a flight. You couldn't blame them, as Joe could still hurl at any given moment. However, the instinct to care for him overpowered any repulsion you may have had. To you, Joe was like a sick puppy, and you were the one who found him first. You knew he needed you in that moment, and you were okay with it. It was a nice feeling, to say the least.

Joe moved his head against you in his weary and mostly-asleep state of consciousness. A soft grumble vibrated from his sore throat.

Amid those circumstances that would normally gross you out, you managed to smile at him. That, and you gently squeezed his hand to reassure him that he was safe.

That pale, clammy version of the singer you were trapped with wasn't the form of himself he put on display to just anyone. This was a whole new side of him that you knew he never intended you to see; he was helpless. Joe had given in and finally let himself be helpless around you. You found it was rather sweet, and even somehow softening your heart.

It almost felt like a strange honor that not many people had the privilege of possessing, given that Joe tried so hard to hide it from you.

Him desperately vying to avoid your concern was typical for any one of the guys. Naturally, none of them wanted to appear vulnerable around you, but Joe seemed so hell-bent on keeping up his charade of feeling fine. You wondered what reasons he had for his strict act. Perhaps it was the intimate public setting that drove him to conceal his motion sickness at all costs. Maybe it was in order to save himself from certain embarrassment; you really didn't know.

Whatever reason he had, it didn't dwell in your mind for long. All you knew was that even with a half-dead, cold-sweated Joe on your shoulder, your heart was fluttering in a way that was even more inexplicable than his behavior.

*** "First of all," Sav held up a sassy finger at Joe, "She was the one who suggested she hold your hand, plus she held your hair back, plus she let you sleep on her shoulder and tried to make you feel better. Sounds rather tender, if you ask me. Tenderly intimate."

"I'll tell you what was 'intimate'-" Joe's grumpiness was still prominent, "-her watchin' me regurgitate my fuckin guts from 10 inches away!"

"But those were all girlfriend duties!" Sav bounced in his seat, trying to get the point across.

Joe finally fell silent. He sat up, and Sav could see the blush in his cheeks.

"...girlfriend duties?" he nearly whispered to the bassist.

"I'm right and you know it. Tell me those weren't girlfriend-ly actions! She got affectionate with you!"

Joe let his sight fall, then rise back up after a brief moment of pondering.

"She did, didn't she..."

"She definitely did."

Sav was smirking at him now.

Joe asked him again, "You really think she did...?"

"There's not a doubt in my mind."

"Oh-" Joe made a swatting motion and shook his head. He looked diagonally down at the floor, "She probably would've been affectionate to any one of us in that situation..."

Sav laughed out loud at his friend's comment. If he didn't know any better, he'd say he was back at home, gossiping in Joe's childhood bedroom during a sleepover.

"Mate, when I had food poisoning last month, she didn't wanna get near me! But today, she was touchin' you and strokin' you and whatnot! Now that I mention it, I saw her smile while you were sleeping and holding her hand! Believe me, she wanted to help you. It was like she had an excuse to get close to you, just like you saw the flight as an excuse to get close to her."

Resting his case, Sav crossed his arms, tongue in his cheek.

They both remained quiet while Joe sat in thought. The pieces slowly began to fit together in his head, forming a train of thought he could somewhat follow.

"Suppose you are right; what do you suppose I do about it now?"

Sav could tell his argument was a success. His work there was done.

"That's entirely up to you."

*** You hadn't been awake that long, and were still pretty groggy when dawn began to break the next day. The unfortunate sensation of jet lag was beginning to catch up with you at that time, too. It didn't matter, because it was all part of the business. Your day would begin soon enough, jet lag or not.

After rubbing your eyes and throwing on your robe, you drew back the curtains and peered out at the misty morning. Thinking the hypnotic trance might wake you up more, you began to stare. Just as quickly, your eyes began to flutter shut again. Right before they did, however, there came a gentle knock at your door.

Blinking yourself back awake, you brought yourself to answer the call.

Initially, you found no one outside your room via the door's peephole. However, when you opened the door to search for anyone nearby, there came an unexpected surprise.

Rather than a person standing before you, a colorful bouquet of flowers lay on your doorstep. Of course, it was strange, but it also left you quickly growing bashful. You just hoped it wasn't one of your guy friends playing an early morning joke on you. Even so, your mind would be too cloudy to process that.

Looking around with sleepy confusion and flattery, you crouched down and picked up the bright bundle. You shuffled your fingers through the top of the arrangement to try and find a label or card that would give away the sender's identity. Eventually, you found the exact clue you were looking for; in the form of a small note.

The fresh, awakening scent of the blossoms wafted around you as you made out the handwriting.

"I'm so sorry I almost threw up on you on the plane! 🙁 -Joe"

It couldn't have been any more straightforward if it'd been put up on a neon sign. You chuckled out loud in the empty hallway and peered around to find a trace of the man in question.

Instantly, you found his eyes peeking from around the corner a few yards away. A guilty smile on his lips made him look so shy- in contrast to his average demeanor.

"This was really unnecessary, you know," the bundle was waved teasingly at him.

"I felt it was necessary," Joe's body slowly appeared more from behind the corner, "Considering you had no choice but to put up with disgusting ol' me."

Leaning on your door's frame, your eyes followed him while he strolled forward and leaned his shoulder on the wall in front of you. You both wore humorous smiles aimed at each other. If you could think any more clearly, you'd recognize this as flirting. Maybe it was- but it seemed oddly natural in that moment.

"Despite what you may think," your eyebrows lifted as you raised the bouquet up to your chin, "You weren't as gross as you expect. That, and you weren't any trouble."

"I just feel icky about the whole thing," he scrunched up his face and shrugged in disgust, "I promise it won't happen again- if I'm seated next to you."

"Don't worry about it, Joe. You just had a bad flight; everyone's got them from time to time."

"Not you, apparently."

Joe's smile turned rather bashful when he diverted his eye contact elsewhere. He silently chuckled with a hint of embarrassment. When you'd reassured him, he all of a sudden realized what Sav was trying to make him see. There was something in your eyes and your smile and your voice that just spoke to Joe; something that hit him and made him realize you wanted to be in the position you were in the day before.

You wanted to be affectionate with him.

Out of his daze, Joe spoke up after a brief hesitation, "So- um, I know it's early... but it's the perfect time for breakfast, so would you wanna go downstairs and get something to eat?"

"You mean with disgusting ol' you?"

"Don't worry-" his face almost went red at the cheeks, and his dimple appeared at the corner of his mouth, "You don't have to think about me keeping it down this time."

Your arm holding the flowers dropped down to your side as you broke up into giggles.

"I'm not worried- in fact, I'd love to go."

You couldn't be certain, but you swore you saw Joe's face actually go red that time.

"Cool! Cool. Did you wanna get dressed or-?"

"Well, you don't seem to be dressed either, so why should I?" you reached back into your room to place the bouquet inside. When you shut the door, you joined the singer, "Let's hit it before Mike and Mal take all the good pastries."

Joe showed his teeth in his grin when you came to his side and began walking.

"If they're all taken, I'll steal one for you- considering I owe you a favor after what you did for me yesterday."

"What did I do?"

The answer was simple, but Joe didn't know how to say it without implying his feelings for you.

"You nursed me back to heath- or at least tried to..."

"I told you not to worry about it..."

"Alright, alright, I'll try not to."

"I'll tell you something, Elliott," you giggled as you both got inside the lift, "You've got a strange way of flirting."

Heat rushed to Joe's cheeks, and more threatened to join them at the thought of you noticing.

"Oh yeah?" he laughed.

"You hope I won't notice every tiny effort, yet you keep doing tiny things to make me notice. Even if we're, for example- up in the air..."

"Oh, god..." just like that, Joe thought he'd be the first person on earth to die of embarrassment. He pinched the bridge of his nose, "Fuck- please don't tell me I was that obvious..."

"Calm down, don't make yourself sick again," you laughed and patted his back, "If it makes you feel any better... I did notice what you were trying to do on the flight. And- um... it worked. So..."

You stood on your toes, and lightly planted a kiss on his cheek, "Let's just say- you don't have to be sick if you want to hold my hand next time."

Joe's hand lowered from his face, and he quickly flashed a bashful glance at you before darting his eyes away.

The elevator doors opened, the smell of coffee seeping everywhere. Instead of walking out, Joe reached out to you.

"You said I didn't have to be sick next time, and I'm quite well now..."

A bashful smile of your own made an appearance as you took his hand like you did the previous day. When you did, Joe giggled to himself.

You glanced over, "What?"

With a pause, Joe rolled in his lips, then looked right at you, "Oh nothing. Just- if you get sick on the next flight, I guess we'll be even, then."

"So, you're gonna sit with me on the next flight, then?" you raised an eyebrow.

"If it means getting even with you, then yes."

"And if it doesn't mean getting even with me?"

"Well," Joe said, smiling widely, "Then the answer is still yes."

That answer was more than enough for you.

Strolling out together, hand-in-hand, you and Joe made your way towards the breakfast counter. In the corner of your vision, you noticed him snagging a pastry off of Mike and Mal's table when he passed by.

The end

#this took me exactly 359 days to 100% complete g__g #another very rare occurrence where a fic isn't based off a song or has the title stolen from a song #unfortunately the next fic is going to break that streak hah :3D #def leppard #joe elliott #def leppard fanfiction #joe elliott x reader #def leppard x reader #original content #rick savage #sav is a perfect mediator I'm sorry I have him in that role all the damn time orgiwroimvwr #everyone is a dumbass and sav is the keeper of dumbasses #I also spent nearly 4 hours making that moodboard i hope you're happy g_g #I just recycle the same boring joe birthday post every year bc I don't have any ideas nor do I have any resources in order to make-#-something different and/or better

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bobathirstaccount · 3 years

Text

We’re into august; inching closer to Dec… 🧋 💦

***

Sore Winner

Boba x fem!reader, established relationship, bickering then some smut

Translation (Mando’a)

Cyar’ika - sweetheart

*** 

You called out to Boba, “How’s that work?”

“No.”

You untwisted the wires and twisted different wires, hitting your head in the low space. “Now?”  ”No.”  You sighed and repeated the action with different wires, asking again.

“No.”  Frustrated, you said, “Can you say something other than just “no?” This is such a mess in here... the last mechanic you had really fucked it up.” You sighed, ill tempered.

There was a pause, “That sucks.”

“Yeah. Well. Let’s get it fixed so I can get out of here.” You squirmed, cramped.

“‘Kay.”

You laughed to yourself at Boba’s reticence. He was still mad about the argument you’d won earlier, so he was being a bit bratty. You tried different wires, stripping them and touching them together.

 “That’s it.”  ”Finally!” You cleaned up the area and pulled yourself out of the wall of the ship.

You looked up. The lights no longer flickered. You basked in success. Boba stood, arms crossed. You could tell he was pleased about his ship, but was still annoyed with you. He didn’t want to praise you, but said, “Good job. I can’t believe it took that much work to fix a light.” You smiled, shrugging.

“Now what?” You asked, cleaning your hands off on a rag. You tossed it into your toolbox. He approached you slowly. “Now... we are done for the day.”

You shrugged, thinking it was a bit early to knock off but not wanting to complain. You weren’t keen to twist yourself into another pretzel in Slave 1 so soon. “Okay, what’re we doing for the rest of the day then?”  ”I thought we could target practice.”  You smiled; you had been asking for Boba to help you shoot better. “Let me get my blaster.” You ran to your cubby hole and grabbed a packaged wrapped in fabric. Pulling it open, you revealed your blaster; an old dinged up Republic blaster. You lovingly looked at it. Wasting no time, you jumped up and dashed back to Boba. He was waiting for you at the mouth of the ship. Wordlessly he turned from you and started down the ramp. You trotted up to him and fell in step.

Boba made you wait as he set up some targets for you. You looked at the furthest and wondered if he was purposely putting them too far out for you. He could be a brat when the mood took him. Coming back to you, Boba said, “Alright, aim for the closest one.”

You widened your stance and sighted down the barrel. Breathing slowly, you squeezed the trigger. A satisfying ping! sounded as the scrap metal was knocked back by your blaster bolt. Satisfied, Boba said, “Faster. You won’t have so much time to aim at an enemy.”

You raised your blaster again and tried to pull everything together at double speed. The blaster bolt hit the edge of the metal. “Not bad,” Boba said, moving behind you. “Now, aim further out.”

You worked your way through the targets until you’d missed the last one enough times you decided you weren’t going to hit it. Giving up, you turned to Boba. He was directly behind you with his arms crossed. You took a step back, surprised at his proximity. He raised an eyebrow, “Giving up so soon?” He grabbed you by the shoulders and spun you around. Grabbing the hand holding your blaster, he brought it up and fired. The farthest target pinged. Annoyed, you turned your head, “No need to show off.” He looked at you, smiling slightly. “Do it again,” he said. You muttered to yourself, but set up your shot. Just as you were about to fire, you felt fingers run down your spine to the small of your back. “You should learn to be able to deal with distractions,” Boba said, hand sliding lower slowly. You shook your head and took aim again. His hand grabbed your ass cheek. You held your breath and focused... a quiet ping! sounded.

“Ha!” You said, elated. You felt his breath on your neck. “Again, faster.” His hand released your ass and started to slide between your legs. “Are you just using this as an excuse to feel on me?” You asked, breathless. “Maybe...” he commented softly.

You took a deep breath in and out and aimed at the target again. You felt fingers sliding between your legs, and made a soft noise as you fired, missing completely. “Oops,” Boba breathed into your ear, “You have to focus.” His fingers found your clit and rubbed light, slow circles through the fabric of your pants. Your heartbeat ticked up. Determined not to let him win his game, you took aim again. He leaned into you, moaning softly into your ear. Shaking, you missed again. “I don’t think I would have to deal with this sort of distraction in a real combat situation,” you said, wriggling. His hand continued its ministrations, but he said nothing.

Aggravated and aroused, you brought the blaster up quickly and fired again, trying to aim with instinct. A ping sounded very far away. “Yes!” You exclaimed, biting your lip. “Good job,” Boba said into your ear, licking it. He wrapped his other hand around your waist and pulled you to him. “You deserve a reward.” You smirked and tried to turn around, but he held you fast. The hand around your waist moved higher and cupped a breast. You sighed and leaned back into him.

He squeezed you and you felt a growing erection poking your asscheek. You smiled, anticipating. His hands moved to the front of your pants, and you felt him undoing them. A gloved hand slipped in between your panties and your skin. Your head lolled back as your eyes closed. Boba slid his hand down to your pussy, encountering your slickness. “Wet already?” He asked, sliding his fingers into your folds and teasing your entrance. “Mmm, you know what you do to me,” you said. He bit your neck softly in reply.

Two of his fingers entered you, curling slightly. “Oh baby,” you murmured. You felt his cock jump. You rubbed your ass against him, making him momentarily forget himself. His fingers stopped moving and his other hand went to your throat. You whined and wriggled your ass again. He groaned and slightly more pressure was applied to your throat. “What about my pussy?” You whispered. He grunted and released your throat, focusing on his task again. You moaned.

He played with your tits and pussy and ground himself into you, bringing you to the edge of orgasm. You were calling his name softly, whimpering almost. Suddenly his hands stopped moving. Confused, you let out a breathy, “What?”

“Earlier, who was right?”

“What?” Your sex addled mind wasn’t catching on.

“Earlier. When we were... debating.”

You realized he was referring to the argument you’d won. “Me.”

His hands twitched slightly. “That wasn’t the right answer.”

“Well. It’s the true answer. Did you bring me out here to get me riled up and then do this?”

He remained silent. You decided to return the bratty attitude at him to hopefully teach him a lesson. You feigned anger. “I can’t believe you’d do that!” You pulled away from him, fasting your pants quickly. Your pussy protested by clenching, but you ignored it. Surprise was apparent on his face for about a second before he wiped it of emotion. “You think it’s funny to do this?”

“No, I—“

You cut him off, “That’s so immature. I’m going inside. To masterbate. Alone.” You marched off, hiding a smile as you stomped into Slave 1. You went to his room, leaving the door unlocked. Quickly stripping, you jumped into his bed to wait.

It took longer than you thought. Impatient, you wriggled in the sheets and sat up, glaring at the door. Finally it slid open, revealing a dejected Boba. He didn’t notice you immediately, and came into the room sighing. Then he noticed you. He stopped dead in his tracks and eyed you.

“Why... are you here?” He asked softly, expression uncharacteristically open.

You smirked at him, saying nothing.

“I’m... sorry about before,” he said, sitting down in a chair across from the bed.

You turned your head to watch him, brow furrowing. This was not going how you thought. Where was his mischievous attitude?

 He sat, seemingly waiting for a response from you. You turned your body towards him, revealing your tits. His eyes glanced down then back up. He seemed guilty. “What’s wrong with you?” You pestered.

“I didn’t mean to upset you so much.”  You smiled, “I know.”

“Then why did you leave?” He asked carefully.  ”You were supposed to come after me,” you said, eyebrow raising.

“I was?” He perked up.

“Duh. My pussy’s been waiting this whole time.” You laid down in bed and pulled the sheets up chastely. He sat for a moment, then jumped up and into bed with you, shedding his outerwear. His hands tentatively went to your body. You rolled over into his embrace, and looked up at him lovingly. “You’re so silly. You act like a brat but when I return the favor your feelings get hurt?”  He blinked. “My feelings... can’t be hurt.”

You laughed, “Okay, Mr. Tough Bounty Hunter.”  His lips nearly formed a smile. “You are still wrong, though.”

You snorted, nearly indignant. “Obviously not or we wouldn’t still be talking about it.”

He paused, then said, “I just wanted to remind you how wrong you are.” He grabbed your left asscheek and squeezed lightly. You lifted your leg and threw it over his hip, grinding softly into him. He closed his eyes and squeezed harder, inhaling. You inched forward to kiss him on the mouth; he smiled before kissing you back. Slowly you removed his remaining clothing, kissing his skin as you went. When you were done, he was on his back and fully erect. You sat in his lap, pussy rubbing against the base of his cock. You slid up and down his length, making him moan your name loudly. “I want you,” he muttered. You smiled and put the head of his cock in your pussy, making him grunt. “More,” he said. You smiled wickedly, “Who was right this morning?” He glared at you. “No.”

You shrugged and stayed put, teasing him. He growled. “Who was right?” You asked again. You slid down his cock about halfway, then pulled up so you just had the tip in yourself again. He groaned but didn’t speak. His hands went to the tops of your thighs. He pressed gently on them, trying to get you to take him inside yourself. You resisted. “Who was right?”

He glowered, “You may have had some good points.” You smiled widely, snorting your amusement. This increased his sour expression, which made you laugh more. You rested your head against his chest, laughing into it. He shifted under you, impatient to fuck. You lifted your head and sat up, sliding down him halfway again. You stopped there. He pressed gently on your thighs again, eyes filled with lust. You resisted your own urge to fully take him inside yourself, and instead let your arousal drip down his cock, making his eyes roll back. “You had several good points, in fact,” he said, straining.

“How many good points exactly?” You slid slowly down his cock. “Mmm, hn,” he said, enraptured. You stopped moving. He twitched inside of you. “You had.. mmmhphh... You were mostly correct about what we happened to be speaking about.” You grinned again at his stubbornness. “How correct was I?” You sank fully down onto him. He groaned, “Mmph... very. I mean, uh, what’re we talking about?” You laughed and started to fuck him. He gripped your hips and looked up at you wantonly.

You started to fuck him harder, wanting to chase your own high as well. He started to fuck up into you, taking over as you released control to him. He flipped you over onto your back and pulled your ankles over his shoulders. He drilled down into you making you nearly scream. Boba’s hands moved over your body as he bent slightly forward, changing the angle he was fucking you at. You deliriously called out his name, making him smile again. Then his mouth dropped slightly open in pleasure as he watched you take his fucking. You murmured a request for him to fuck you harder. He complied, clenching his jaw.

“You’re gonna make me cum, baby,” you said, your words punctuated by his thrusts. Boba gripped your hips and fucked down into you. The burning hotness exploded in your pussy, extending to your limbs and making you call out his name shamelessly. He groaned as he fucked you through your orgasm, pussy clutching around him. Finally he could take no more and stiffened over you, cock twitching inside of you. He lowered his body to the bed, pulling you to your side and pulling your leg over his hip. He rested his hand lightly on your leg.

“Hmmm, you still didn’t ‘win’ the... conversation.” Boba started up again, still breathing hard.

You gave a short laugh, “Karking hell, you are such a sore loser.”

He snorted softly, but didn’t argue. Instead he lightly slapped your thigh and leaned in to kiss you. “I’ll give you something to be sore about,” he said, smiling mischievously. “Don’t make such promises,” you whispered against his lips. The hand on your thigh found its way to between your legs. He pushed two fingers inside, making you yelp in surprise. “Okay?” He asked. You moved your leg further up his body in response. He leaned forward and bit your shoulder, finger fucking you roughly. “Oh holy shit,” you said, growing incredibly wet.

“Naughty, naughty, cyar’ika,” he murmured, his fingers exploring and stretching you as they moved in and out of your pussy. You whimpered in response. He pushed you onto your back and added a third finger to your pussy. You spread your legs obscenely for him. He grabbed your left breast with his other hand and played with your pussy for a moment, making your pulse quicken even faster. You looked at him through hooded eyes as he said, “So wet for me. So needy. Are you gonna be a good girl and take my cock?” You nodded feverishly as he pulled his fingers out and slammed into you. His penetration and subsequent strokes were so forceful he had to hold you in place. You closed your eyes as he stroked you, feeling him bringing you to orgasm, his roughness adding to your pleasure.

He pinned you down by your throat and continued to thrust into you. You squirmed against him, close to cumming. He felt your pussy fluttering, “About to cum on my cock hm? Tell me how much you like it.”  ”I love it—“ you were cut off by his powerful fucking. “I love your cock,” you continued breathily as you started to cum. He drilled into you as you called out his name, telling him how much you loved him fucking you. Your body turned to jelly. He grunted and stilled over you, pulling out swiftly. He collapsed into bed and pulled you to him gently. Kissing you, he rubbed your cheek lightly. “You okay?” He asked softly.

“Hmmm yes,” you murmured to him. “You should do that more often,” you stretched. He smiled and kissed your forehead. “I’ll tell you one thing though... you were right...” you said softly.

Boba eyed you, waiting.

“I am sore. So I guess that makes me a sore winner.” You smirked while he rolled his eyes.

#boba fett fanfiction #boba fett x you #boba x reader #boba fett x f!reader #boba fett x female reader #boba fett x reader #boba fett smut

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