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simon-x-billy · 7 months

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Year of the OTP: September

September prompt: hurt/comfort

Chapter 9: Let the slings and arrows commence

AN: It was such a beautiful day. But then Simon’s PA Kelly happens, and everything goes sideways. Particularly since Simon had planned on a lusty afternoon. And then that asshat in NY he thinks of as his best friend decides to resurface after Simon has suffered the indignity of being quite so completely blown off. This again on the same day that Simon already has plans for said lusty afternoon. TWs: Whomp. This chapter heavily features drunkenness, angst, a triggered character, coping mechanisms, dissociation. More TWs: Long chapters. Wondering if large blank spaces are typos. Disappointment at the lack of sexytimes. A whopping Zero horny purple demons on the smut-o-meter. Zip. Nada. Masterlist || ao3 || Prev || Next wip!

Chapter 9: Let the slings and arrows commence

————/Billy/————

“This place sucks for scandalous road sex,” Simon declares. “The scenic overlooks keep getting looked-over. And there’s nowhere to, like, run into the trees, or behind a bush or something.”

“Behind a bush?”

“I’m speaking figuratively. Or metaphorically. Whatever. That’s not the point.”

“No? Seems to me that’d be precisely the point.”

“Don’t distract me with your distractions, Delaney. I mean, even the Jersey Turnpike has rest areas and truck stops.”

“Are you saying that you prefer this Jersey…thing?”

“Jersey Turnpike,” he says, as if it’s obvious.

“Whatever. You prefer the roads in this Jersey place over the Amalfi Coast?”

“Only for scandalous road sex,” he answers.

“So you’ve made a study of this sort of thing, have you?”

“No, but I’m willing to start,” he promises, the cheeky monkey.

The expression is priceless. “If you could see your face, mate. You look like you’re salivating.” Simon, you sly dog.

“Bother you?” he asks innocently. Less sly dog, more wolf now.

He can blow my house down any day. “Who am I to stop yer man gettin an eyeful?”

He’s staring at my bits without a lick of shame. “An eyefull as fuck.” And that shuts me mouth right the fuck up. But it’s grinning.

————/Simon/————

“Absolutely not! No fucking way! Don’t even think I’m caving on this, Kelly.” To truly drive home the point, I’m angry-pointing at her as if she can actually see it.

“Johnny wants a meeting. And you want to hear this, Simon. Serious,” she emphasizes in that supposedly ‘English’ accent it took me years to understand. (Who even knows where the Midlands are? Do they even exist? Like in real life?) She remains undaunted. “Listen to me, you knob! Wear a suit, yeah?”

“Why does it have to be in person? And who wears suits?” Nuh-uh. Nope. No way. This can’t be happening. “Can’t we just FaceTime or whatever?”

“Si-mun. It’s important. And besides, you’re on a fuckin panel. And you fuckin forgot. Because you’re a twat.”

“Oh my god, when is it? Fuck! SHIT!” I’ve dropped my phone scrambling to pull up my calendar. “Grrrrrraarrrrr!” What? It felt like something to roar over.

Kelly interrupts my roar. “Panel’s morning after tomorrow, half nine, yeah? But you got less than twenty four hours to get to Johnny’s meeting.”

“What?! Kelly! What the fuck!”

“The fuck is this, Simon: The panel’s on your schedule. You’re the one who said yes. You’re the one who’s suddenly back in Italy — for a week — with no call! Until you want in to a party. A party in another fuckin country, you prick! Why are you back in ITALY?!!! I am so fucked off at you right now.”

“Well, I’m fucked off at you right now, too! Whatever that means, I mean it. Even though everything you just said is right. God I hate that!”

“God I hate you! You’re such a dickhead. When were you planning on coming back to me?”

See? She loves me. Even when she hates me. Even in that barely intelligible accent.

Everyone I care about says horrible words to me as a habit, and it makes me feel loved? There’s gotta be something seriously wrong with me.

“Do I even rate a visit?” she demands.

See? She love/hates me. Angrily.

The phone vibrates against my face.

“Aw, Jesus fucking Christ, Helena Handbasket!* I’ve got another call. And I totally don’t want to talk to him, either. Sort of like how I didn’t want to talk to you, my own personal pet harpy. Text me everything, like you already planned to, whatever bye.”

I take a calming breath. I really, really don’t want this call right now.

Ugh.

“Chase. It’s been a minute.”

“I know, feels like a year, man,” he exclaims jovially. He’s jovial. Fuck him. “But don’t worry about it,” he continues. “I get it. You’ve been with Lisa. I’ve been with Lily. We’ve all succumbed to the ‘practically married’ lure of contentment and hibernation.”

“Inaccurate. You fell into domesticity. But me? There was never any domesticity to fall into. And Chase? Never speak her name to me again.”

“Wait, what?”

“Like I said, it’s been a minute,” I remind him, voice flat.

“What happened? Fuck man, I’m-” He pauses. “Hang out with me tonight. We have shit to catch up on.”

“You think?” I’ve just realized I don’t want to tell him a damned thing. And anyway, “I can’t tonight.” He doesn’t get details or explanations after blowing me off for a year.

And the thing that really pisses me off is that I love Lily! Always have. He knows this. It’s not like I didn’t want to hang out with them as a couple, and they know that. Because I fuckin introduced the pair of them! They just disappeared off the face of the earth. When I really needed my best friend. I am so pissed at him right now, it might just be the last nail in the coffin of my happy day. “Look Chase, I gotta go.”

“No, wait! I-“

“Later bro.”

I don't want to leave Italy!!! I DON’T! WANT! TO LEAVE! ITALY!

“Arrrrrgh!” I turn to Billy, “Can we put that song back on and put the top down?” I’m already pressing the button, aaaaaaand? The top is down.

This calamity doesn’t get to ruin the most awesome day of my adulthood.

Um.

Wow.

Is that an overstatement?

I literally can’t remember the last time I felt so good, so positive, so yes!!! It just feels right. God, does it feel right. I don’t know how to process my reaction to this thing that’s happened with Billy. Best day I can remember? That’s some fucking heavy shit.

“What’s all this, mate?” Billy hesitantly asks. “Who are these people and why?”

“My agent wants a meeting. In person. Wants me to come back. Johnny doesn’t usually need a face-to-face, and wearing a suit? I’m somewhere between suspicious and intrigued.”

“Sounds uncomfortable.”

“And the worst part? I literally forgot about NY Comic Con. I always cosplay Comic Con. It’s the only time I ever get to be a vampire. (D, because obviously.) And even more worst? I forgot I’m on a panel, and that’s just irresponsible. That’s my career.”

“Oh, right.”

What’s going on with his voice?

“Right. And now Chase remembers I exist after like a year of silence. And all I can feel about it is pissed. I want my happy vibe back,” and the moment I take a breath, “Shitfuckfuckinfuck!!!” because the phone’s vibrating again. “What the actual fuck?!” I ask the Medi/Tyrrhenian sky.

With no answer from that quarter, I turn on Kelly. “Kelly, what the fuck.”

“Shut up and listen, you dick. I’ve chartered a jet from Naples. You’re coming home.”

She hung up on me! “I don’t-” I drop my head back against the head rest and roar “FUUUCK!” at the Medi/Tyrrhenian sky.

“That’s a lot of fucking,” Billy says, unhelpfully. He nudges my arm. “What do you need, Simon? What can I do?”

“Damn, that’s- Why do you have to be so awesome all the time? So annoying.”

“Simon, you barely know me.”

I feel like I’ve just been slapped in the face by his seriousness.

“That’s not true,” I say, softly.

“No, hang on, hold up, that came out wrong.” He squeezes my hand. “You haven’t known me long enough to see my bad bits. That’s all I meant.”

“Ok. Accurate. I guess.”

“So what do you need?” he asks again.

“Long term parking at the airport. Is that a thing that exists here?” I ask.

And because he’s aiming for perfection, he replies, “Let me drive yeh.”

“That’s way too much to ask. We’re almost home.” The word ‘home’ just kinda rings out, hanging there in the fresh silence.

A few minutes later, Billy pulls off into the hotel’s courtyard, makes a big u turn, and asks, “Want to run in and get your stuff?”

“Nah. Let’s just go,” I sigh. “Walking into that room? I’d never want to leave.” And I really don’t want to lose a minute of this absolute rush of a crush I’ve got on this guy, and the high of actually getting to have him.

That is, getting to have him for all of a hot second, at most. I mean, seriously, what the hell? God just punched me in the nads with fate.

“I can’t believe how completely I forgot about Comic Con. That’s like, I mean it’s kinda, um, part of my bones. My frickin identity. Happiness that sort of mushrooms up into the atmosphere over the Javitz Center at the same time every year. My very bones should have been screaming at me really loudly to remind me. And I just didn’t hear them this time.”

He nods once. Why did the vibe just get all weird?

Ok, then. This is an obvious cue to start babbling.

“Yeah. I have zero reason to be invited, but I guess they want a voice for the young people. I’m supposed to talk about what it was like getting started so early.” Pfff.

“Like it’s my job to convince them all to be graphic novelists or some shit. Which in itself makes no sense. I am not a graphic novelist. My books have only ever been prosaic print books. I mean I would almost-kill to have somebody turn them into graphic novels. And even more almost-murderous for manga.” I shiver, theatrically.

Then it occurs to me, “Oh my god, I’m a character. Holy fucking shit, can you imagine a manga me??? That’s just fucked up!” I reprise my theatrical shiver. Instead of squealing, which is what I really want to do.

“Yeah. And this year I’m on the schedule? Being real-me on a stage with a microphone, ‘educating’ this community? The community I treasure as my family of choice, even if they’re all strangers. My esteemed fellow aliens, vampires, superheroes, plushies, hardcore manga and anime perfection, I salute you! Transformers, Horus Heresy with chainswords and shit. I AM VAMPIRE HUNTER D, FOR GOD’S SAKE!!! I feel like a fraud.”

Oh no, I’m not done yet. “Allow me to repeat, I have zero reason to be included. Something about being confident enough, trusting myself to find an agent and a publishing deal, blah blah blah. I dunno, maybe it kinda makes sense, kinda.”

“Mmm,” is all I get back.

Now all I can think about is this weird, sour pall hanging over everything. In the car at least. I think it would be impossible for the Amalfi Coast to have a pall. Except when Vesuvius erupts. Obviously. That’s a big, hot, body-melting pall. (So? I’m scared of volcanoes, I’m not ashamed.)

Oh please, stop my brain from trying to fill the awkward silence growing between the two of us. It feels horrible and I want it to go away.

Oh God, I can feel it coming, the babbling turning into incessant nervous chatter. It’s somewhere between word vomit and lactose intolerance. Sentences become explosive diarrhea of the brain, and particularly unpleasant word-gas that lingers with a foul smell. Gross, right? Yeah, gross.

“Yeah, and I have to find out how badly Johnny wants to kill me right now. Oh my god. The two people who hate/love me most in the world. And I have to see them both this week. There will be blood. Lots of it. Mine. More.” Yes, I am still talking. “This sucks! Worst timing ever. Why doesn’t God want me to get laid?”

Billy doesn’t laugh like I’d hoped. Instead, he’s gone all stiff. Definitely something I said. His grip tightens on Lola’s steering wheel. This is weird. Why is he being so weird? I don’t think I’ve ever seen him be anything but gregarious and positive. Now he’s just kind of gone invisible on me. Blank. Like he’s not even there.

“I’ll have Leo mail your things back to yeh,” he offers.

Huh?

Why?

“Huh? Why? I’m confused. If anything, I’ve needed more stuff, not less.”

“Well, if you’re leaving…..And you have to…..” and he just sort of trails off at the end. Then after a beat, he mumbles to himself. “I should have known.” The mumbles turn to grumbles. “Never fails. Never fuckin fails.”

“I know, right? Murphy’s Law.” Then it occurs to me, “Murphy must have been Irish. And stout.”

He doesn’t take the bait.

“Right, well, it’s been really fun, Simon. More than fun. Seems like such an inadequate adjective for, well, you know what I mean.”

“Huh?”

“It’s just- I’m glad I got the chance to know you a bit better, before yeh had to be goin.”

“Oh! Is that what this is? Billy?”

He waits in silence, a look of blank resignation on his face.

“I’m coming back!”

He pauses, like he’s waiting for the other shoe to drop. But nothing drops. “You are,” he states, as if I’m about to correct him.

“Of course I am, you idiot! How’d you put it? ‘Thick as pig shit’?”

Finally he glances over at me. He looks distinctly grey. Not his hair, I mean his face.

Oh frack. I think I really fucked this one up. Fucking Kelly! She gets me all worked up with her bald-faced contempt for my input and ineptitude.

“Billy. Look at me for a sec.”

As he glances over, I say, “I’m coming back. I wouldn’t just run off after what happened. You should at least know me better than that, Delaney. And anyway…” I have a bit more difficulty spitting this one out. “I like y- Us. I like us. You. What happened. I’m-”

Then a horrible thought arrives. “Do- I mean, do you want me to go?” comes out kinda quietly, sounding straight-up cowardly.

“Course not!” he almost bellows.

The fuck? “Hey.”

He doesn’t answer.

“Good,” I say softly.

“Good? What’s good?!” I can see him folding in on himself.

“You don’t want me to go away,” I admit even softer.

“Course not!” he yells once again.

“Hey,” I try again. “Billy, pull over.”

“Where? And anyway, you’d be late for your flight.”

Maybe he really does need reassurance. Who knew such a beautiful man could be bothered by concerns of the ego, just like the rest of us. “Hey. I don’t want to go, ok? Know that, ok?”

“Yeah, ok.” So unconvincing. Maybe he really didn’t go to theatre school.

“Billy! Come back this instant!” I use Ma’s voice, cuz maybe that’ll work on him like it works on me.

“Where do you think I am?”

“Behind your face!” I exclaim.

Tables? Turned.

“Ha. Ha.” He looks annoyed. He’s annoyed with me.

I decide some hand-holding might make a difference. He holds on tight.

I bring his hand to my mouth and brush my lips across the fingers. “I hate when people use this line, but I’m using it anyway. You can’t get rid of me that easy. Meh. Takes at least a round of antibiotics to affect that kind of change.”

“Ok,” he whispers.

“You know, maybe it’s a good idea that we have some alone time. I mean, it’s been an insane 24 hours.”

“Yeah,” he answers.

“Maybe we need to process,” I offer.

“Yeah,” he answers.

Wow, his mopes are just as epic as mine. We are going to have to talk about this. Eventually. Probably.

But for now, “I’m really not psyched about leaving, just so you know. I’d keep you in bed all day and all night, leaving Vittorio in the dark, so you lose your job and have to come back to New York with me. It’s all part of my sinister plot.” I lick his palm and finally get a snort.

“Animal, that’s what you are!” He can’t help cracking a smile.

“What’s this really about?” I ask quietly.

He lets the silence stretch on, but I can tell he’s just formulating an answer.

“I don’t know,” he finally admits. “When are yeh goin back? Like, leaving-leaving. For real.”

“I dunno, actually. I have thought about it a couple times. But every time, I just banish the thought. It’s a terrible idea. Going home.”

“Why?”

I roll my eyes quietly. “You know why.”

“Oh,” he says, a little pink emerging on his cheeks.

“Oh, what?”

“Just…good.” His voice is a little bit like cracked pavement. It’s been through an ordeal and now it’s got fissures. “I don’t want this to be over the day it started. It’s not enough time.”

“Facts,” I echo. And I decide that, since there will be no quickie, I should scoot a little closer and lick a stripe up his neck.

His nostrils flare as he sucks in a breath. I test the plumpness of an earlobe with my teeth. His hands grip the wheel more tightly, knuckles whitening.

“Simon,” he says in a warning tone. But I just peel one hand off the wheel and suck on a finger. Not something I’ve done a million times before. Just seemed like a good idea.

“Giving me a highway handy is…” He takes a deep breath. “…is just going to get us killed. But sucking on my fingers is good. Go on ahead doin that, if you still feel like it.”

I giggle. He sounds full of, um, I guess, affection? And that’s how my chestal region feels. Affection. Affected. But the rest of me is definitely feeling his fingers with my tongue.

————/Billy/————

Why is my heart pounding so hard in my chest? It’s…

I literally feel unable to speak at the moment. I’ve barely registered the fact that I've been sat here at the curb and there’s a busy airport in front of me. All I really have in my head is motion and colour.

I’m still stuck on the seconds before Simon walked away. He took my face in both his hands and pressed his forehead to mine. My mind’s been constantly racing around madly, lookin for something concrete to cling to ever since he… And the ferocity we had in holding onto each other, hard. Breathin together.

He could tell something was wrong, which clearly means I have to be better. Try harder. I’m slipping, and that way lies madness. Depending on people. Countin on ‘em. “You need to be better than that, Delaney. Control yerself, yeh great eejit. Then just breathe. Just breathe.”

A car’s horn sounds behind me, and I realize that it’s been over twenty minutes since Simon got out the car and walked away. That horn startled the fuck out of me. I don’t think taking up prime curbside is the most considerate thing I could do.

Pullin out.

Red light, Billy, red light. Am I permitted to turn right on red here? I have to pull over again. It’s just

My head feels woolly and I’m staring into space, rather than the road.

“What are yeh playin at, Delaney. Just look at the state of yeh. Mind on the road. Mind on the road!”

And I never even got to kiss him. Find out how he tastes.

Um. “I need a pint.”

I really need a pint.

And someone who speaks the way I do. Kieran, and that’s yer man. Kieran. He’ll pull me a pint while talkin like an Irishman would do.

Pint.

Pint, Billy, pint.

A Guinness it’ll be. Something thick, something a bit like a coffee milkshake had sudsy sex with the darkest of darkest beer.

“Black Rose it is, then,” I sigh the sigh of a thousand parched men.

Dissociation. That’s the term. Disappearing behind your face a while, starin out into the middle distance. The void. It’ll make a man’s face go slack, leavin him looking forlorn for all the world to see, and none the wiser for it.

I feel heavy. Like I’ve gained a stone in weight and all it wants to do is compress and compress and compress me until I’m naught more than a crushed can of Fosters.

Lady Madonna, children at her feet. (Especially Irish and Italian children, because we’re all catholic.) Maria’s voice has led me to the right place, but she can’t be bothered to make me stand and go in.

My body feels odd. Like it’s only partially awake.

“Guinness.” It’ll fix what ails yeh. Because Guinness is good for you. Truth in advertising! All the vitamins and grains a lad could ever want in a meal. Consider it room temperature barley and hops soup. So thick you could chew it if yeh liked. Oh lord yes.

“Guinness. Motivation.” I’ve parked Lola in holy Maria’s recommended parking zone.

I gots to shake this off. No use dragging others down with me. I tense and release, tense and release until the body wakes up, and I can shake off this… whatever it is I’m feelin at the moment.

“Shake it off, buddy. It’ll be all right. All right? Shake it off. Get your head in the game.�� I even give it a physical try, shaking it off like a dog shrugging off fleas. You can’t really see them, but they’re there and they’ll drive that dog mad with memories. “It’s going to be all right.”

I promise myself it’ll be all right.

Game face.

————/-/————

I clear the door, and already Kieran’s callin me over. “Billy! Howeyeh?”

“Couldn’t stay away, mate.” I like this guy. I mean, not in that way. Oh lord, I need a pint. “What’s the craic?”

“The craic is what’s at the bottom of a pint.”

“And what’s at the bottom of a pint?” I’m askin.

“Another pint.”

Laughin, I promise him, “Truer words. I’m gonna borra that, and fair warnin.”

“Free to use as fit to use,” he nods. “You’re one for Budvar, that right?”

“Ta, mate. But for tonite, a Guinness, and do us a favor, mate. Keep ‘em comin. Don’t let my glass stand empty. Just keep ‘em comin til I’ve drunk the lot. It’s been one a them sort a days, d’you know what I mean.”

I’m numb. That’s what it is. I recognize it. It’s this sort of blankness. I can’t think clearly, and the clock ticks along too slowly.

I’m hollow. It feels empty here in the space beneath my rib cage.

Each good Irishman knows his way round sadness, givin it its own familiar pet name, inviting it in to sit a spell and make itself comfortable by the fire, spot o tea, givin it a room to sleep in, then devourin it, swallowin the pieces down whole.

Right, Delaney. Back in the game, back in the game.

Checkin my reflection in the mirror, I look well enough. I’ve had no comments tossed my way, such as the favorites: “Are you ok?” “What’s wrong?” And the worst of the lot, “Is there anything I can do?” Fuck that.

Posture up, Delaney. Slap a smile on yer face, and not a one will have a clue. No clues, none the wiser. Breathe. Deep breaths.

I scan the place. “Nice one, Barry’s here. I’ll shout him his next, yeah?” I can see him down t’other end of the bar tryin it on with a beautiful Italian girl - who, apparently, can’t understand whatever it is he’s tryin to say. She rolls her eyes and leaves him standin there gawping.

The man could likely use a hand.

“Save me Barry!” I shout full throated down the length of the bar.

Up snaps his head in confusion. When he finally spots me, his face splits into a wide smile. “Billy?”

“Melonfucker! If it isn’t that bastard Barry. Cuff ‘im and bring ‘im here, he owes me money!”

“Melonfucker?” Kieran asks, as Barry’s takin his place next to me at the bar.

“I loved my mother. Just can’t bring myself to say the real thing. But sometimes a man just needs that many syllables in an expletive. So, melonfucker it is. Howeyeh? All right, man?”

“Yes,” Barry answers with an elfin crinkle to his eyes, like the whole world is smilin back at him.

“What are you on, mate?” I ask, givin his arm a nudge.

He looks at his shoes a second, and smoothes the top of his hair. Then, with a conspiratorial look, “Just a little high. Just a little. W-want a hit?”

“What sort o’hit we talkin ‘bout here?” I clarify.

“Here,” and he passes me a thin little spliff.

“Um, Kieran? This ok with yeh, mate?” I ask, cos there’s not a lot o pubs as would be fine with this.

Kieran shrugs a shoulder, and Barry grins a bit harder when I take it.

“Never have been to Wales, Barry, tell me all about it.” I make m’self comfortable. Might could do with a bit of Barry’s amicable blandness while I’m so messed up about what I got up to last night.

Huh.

First time it’s come to mind that it’s not just Simon leavin as has me messed up. It’s also what we got up to. In every detail of what we got up to. I’m feelin messed up, and more besides.

I am. I don’t want to be. But I am.

I pass the spliff back to Barry.

It all happened so suddenly, and so intensely. And then poof, he’s gone. Feel as though I’ve been hit by the bus for Sorrento.

Shitting my pants, more like. What the fuck?! I can’t just, I mean it was, like, last night. And this morning. And here I am, at a-

If I can just have a couple nonsensical, nothin-serious nights. Maybe gettin really drunk. Dunno, it could happen. Barry passes the joint back to me, and I fill my lungs.

I mean, if Simon doesn’t come back, at least I’ve found my local. “I’m shoutin this round, mate. Nah, Barry. Don’t argue with me, just let me buy yous a fuckin beverage, Beverly.”

————/-/————

“What’s up wit you, you mopey fuck?” Kieran bumps my arm. I’m lookin at the clock and think I must’ve been starin into space a while, cos it’s suddenly 2 hours into the evening.

“Because we’re men. And the moment called for it,” I raise my pint and chuckle to myself. Appears Kieran has no answer for that.

I like it when I’m stoned and then the alcohol kicks in. It’s that point between tipsy and toppling to the dirt, when the two substances race to catch up with each other. So, not quite soused, but yet still very much on the verge of being oh so very fucked up.

“Hammered. Tanked. These are words my American friend uses at times like these. Or times like 4 shots from now.” Probly just snorted again. Can’t help it and don’t want to.

“It’s early, yet.” Kieran points to the glowing bar clock. It shows half six. “Slow it down a bit maybe.”

“Oh, I’m going bit by bit tonight,” I promise him. “D’you know what I mean, like appreciating each and every single hop and barley as it goes down.”

“Not quite what I was goin for, but-“

“Sure’n the last 24 hours wasn’t at all what we was goin for,” I mutter to myself. “But happened all the same.”

“What was that?” Barry leans closer. “Didn’t hear you.”

I take a long, slow breath and shrug, “Sorry, just an old song I used to know.”

Kieran and Barry are doin some sort of silent conversatin with their eyebrows, while I polish off this pint. I’ve always envied that kind of telepathy between friends. But they can’t compete with our eye caterpillars. “The two of yous make a cute pair.”

Um…

Wait. Did I- “Wait a tick, that came out wrong. Not like you’re a couple or- Em, I meant cute, like mates are cute.” Fuck, Delaney, shut your mouth’n stop talkin out of it.

They’re lookin at me with concern, and no small wonder. I’ve caught a babbling case of simonitis. Spreads with repeated contact. Another reason to wear a condom, younglings. Wrap that shit up.

Kieran leans his forearms on the bar. “Right, like I said before, what’s up with you? You don’t seem like the same man what come in two nights past.”

It’s true. “I’m not. The same man as was here two days ago. Fuck me, that’s a weird thought to try and swallow.”

Kieran looks at me like a mother hen would do. “Billy? Where you stayin mate?”

“Don’t know. Sleep it off in the car or something. It’ll work itself out.”

He doesn’t much like my answer, nor is he impressed with my lackadaisical delivery.

“You’ll sleep at mine,” says Kieran, waving away my arguments. “You could do with a kip, couldn’t you. Is all I’m sayin.”

“You’ve only just met me. You don’t barely know me, either, man.” It’s just plain fact. He doesn’t, does he.

“I know well enough. Remindin me of myself, you are. Myself in darker days.”

Ah, misery loves company. “Oh right? You’ve had somebody like that come along, have you?”

“Like what?” asks Barry, sounding confused.

“Like yesterday.” I almost slosh Guinness into my eye, gesturing with my pint in an animated fashion. “Like yesterday you were one person, and now today, you’re not. You’re nearly certain it’s down to a person or thing and then that came along and now it’s not.”

“Not what?” Barry’s lookin worried. “Was he making sense before?”

“Acourse I was,” I say. “That’s an easy question. You’ll need to throw me a harder one than that, Beverly.”

“All right, then-” Barry begins.

But not fast enough to beat Kieran’s “Who is she? Where’d you meet her?”

“Oh it’s like that, is it. Go on why don’t yeh, Cupid, yeh wee blighter. Straight to the heart of it. Well I’ll tell yeh, lads. Nobody I didn’t already know.”

Kieran ‘hmmmm’s thoughtfully, takin my measure as though I’m a puzzle for solvin.

“I don’t know, it’s a bit like,” and I scrunch my shoulders as I look for the words. “And then it’s too late. You know it’s gonna happen but you don’t know when. You have no idea, and you make the first move! You!” I point right at Kieran for emphasis.

“And then you’re a totally different person, am I right?” I nod my head. “You lot are here with me, the one that I am now. Before, it was me, before me now.”

“Quite the philosopher,” says Kieran, wiping down a glass with a funny expression. He should write it on the bathroom wall, like all the best bar poets do.

I need to make a toast.

“Gentlemen, a toast. To you two gentlemen.” They hold their pints aloft. “For bein there then and here now. Thanks for helpin me work through this. I think I just needed to say it out loud. And now I have. Thanks, lads,” I smile at them, and throw an arm over Barry’s shoulder like we’re old mates. “I needed an ear. Or four,” I chuckle.

Somehow they both get that this is genuine. Which is good. Yes. Good.

——/-/————

“Right, it’s better that I tell everyone knows so that I’m a little drunk. Just for being responsible purposeness, yeah? I mean they deserve to know. I’m sure they’ll be all right with it.”

“Who?” asks Kieran.

“Remind me, Billy,” says Barry. “How long did you say you’ve been in this situation?”

“What’s that? I didn’t. Say, I mean.”

The world is making this, “wuh-wuh-wuh-wuh-wah-wah” sound. “I feel like I’m on drugs. Why do I feel like I’m on drugs? Ohhhh, it feels like nitrous. Wah-wah-wah-wah.” I look up and I have no idea what I just said or why. “Hi. Heya.” Wait, that’s not Simon. Hm, when’s he supposed to be here? I’m looking around for him. He’s not spottable at the mo. But I *think* he’ll be here right now. Right? “I’m confused.”

“Yes,” says Kieran. “Yes, you are.” He hands me a pint of ice water. Quite refreshing really.

“Billy,” says Barry, smoothing his hair in that nervous gesture of his. “So you’re with- um, that man Simon? His boyfriend.”

I snarf my beer. Not out my nose, saints preserve us. “Boyfriend? Um. Er. That’s um. That’s. Why do you say that?” I am definitively taken off guard. And so bluntly. Jesus, Mary, and Joseph.

“What, aren’t you?” asks Kieran.

“What - boyfriends?” I can feel my chin still falling toward the floor. They can tell it’s an honest reaction, so now it’s even more awkward.

Redirect. “There’s a song I need to hear. Is there something that will make that happen?”

They both look pretty taken aback. Cultural social lesson for the future. Thou shalt not dj.

“What’re yeh thinking?” Kieran asks.

“Just one song. But you must make an oath you’ll make everyone sing, or it’s worthless.”

Kieran thinks that’s funny. But also odd. He shrugs, “Which one is it?”

“Don't be laughin at me for bein trite, it being Bono and the lads, but I need Beautiful Day. Like you don’t even know.”

It comes on, and Kieran hollers, “Alright you lot! You know the words! Let your grandad hear us in Galway.” Happily, everyone yells some variation of “ok,” but it all sounds like “fuck yeah” to me.

All in all, it works out pretty well. “You thought you found a friend to take you out of this place. Someone you can lend a hand, in return for grace. It’s a beautiful day.” That sounds about right. Next thing I know, the chorus riles em up and there’s a great amount of beer-sloshing to dodge.

“It’s a beautiful day. Don’t let it get away.” But I did. I let it get away. Aaaaand now, despite an entire pub of folk practically shoutin about beauty, I’m depressed.

Me? Depressed? When I’m this drunk? Not likely. I snort. That’s just bonkers. A scoff is the best that thought deserves. And maybe a Bushmills.

“Bushmills on the rocks, Jeeves.”

“You from up in the North then?” Kieran asks. “Don’t much sound it.”

“Spent some time there.” Redirect, and anyway, I’m curious. “Why am I so high?”

Barry turns his implish little face to me, and passes me a fresh spliff.

————/-/————

‘Baby, I’m wasted. All I wanna do is drive home to you. Baby, I’m faded. All I wanna do is hm hm hmtown. Baby, hm’sumthin, sumthin sumthin la la la, beep boop beep-boop.

“Reckon I like this pub. Ye Olde Black Rose. La Rosa Nera in Italiano,” I say to no one in particular. “Sometimes it’s good to just make a declarative statement, know what I mean.”

“I heard that declarative statement, and I thank you mate,” Kieran gives a big-hearted grin. Which has now refocused over my shoulder. “Barry, you goodfornuttin. Harp? Budvar? Harp?”

“I don’t like Bud very much,” says Barry, the strange little man. He speaks in that halting, almost nervous way of his. He also frequently speaks in declarative statements, which most people shy away from, by and large. I’ve decided I like that about him.

“Don’t yeh dare be askin me fer a Black and Tan,” Kieran warns. “Try sayin something like our Billy here, makin a strong declarative statement bout how well he enjoys our fine drinkin establishment.”

“And I do, at that,” I affirm. “‘Cept, maybe the clientele are a bit, well, y’know…” and I balance my hand side to side.

Kieran gives me a dry smile and passes Barry his pint, allowin me a moment to down another shot of tequila.

Wonder what a Welshman’s doin down Mediterranean way. They’re a cold water lot. “You livin here, then, Barry? This your local?”

“Yes, I do. And y-yes, it is.”

I decide we need to get some facts straight. I announce, “Now, I’m not one for swallowin, but-” and halt my progress. I’ve suddenly gone blank. “Wait. What was we talkin bout?”

“How far into your night are you, Billy?” Kieran asks instead of answering. That’s Irish Barkeep for, ‘Seems like you might’a had more drink than you can handle, Billy.’ “What sort of day you have, mate? I’ve seen a face or two like yours is now.”

I’ve no doubt he has done, bein a bartender and such.

“My day.” I try to laugh, but all I emit is a snort and a burble. Way too much goin on in my head. Too much goin away on planes. Too much touch. Too much of the way he smells. Too much suckin on fingers. Just far, far too much o’ life to hold in one head alone.

What was we talkin bout? Oh…holdin my drink. “Are yous lot aware that I am an Irishman? Yes, yes you are.” I wait for encouragement to continue. “How could yeh dare to impugn my honour thinkin I don’t know how t’hold my drink.? Yeh think they’da let me outta Ireland if I couldna hold my drink? Embarrassment to my country, kin and kind.”

The room spins. “What was we talkin bout? I feel like they’re right there just beyond me,” I sigh.

“What’s right there?” Barry asks.

“Words, man. Words!” Then I remember something else, too: “Beer!”

“What happened, Barry?” Kieran stands in front of him, wipin down the counter, talkin low so they think I can’t hear. “All I did was walk a few steps to help those two lovely ladies, then back again to find we’ve reached nothin but babble. It’s like we’re only getting one side of the conversation. You farin any better than that?”

“Am I?” Barry asks in surprise. “No,” he says emphatically.

“Well, lads,” I step in. “Here’s the truth. I did have a, uh, night last night.”

I wait for some signal that they heard and understood me. They did, so I continue.

“Here’s the thing. I was out with someone. Someone I’ve, em, y’know, been talkin to. But we was only ever mates. Ever. Never figured for more than that, know what I mean. But suddenly, somethin happens and boom, everything in my life is unrecognizable to me now.” I might could’ve turned a tad morose in my old age. “It felt like everything I’ve ever wanted.” Lovely. Another sentence out my mouth without originatin in my brain. “But with hi- them? Never, ever occurred to me. Not once!”

“Looked so fuckin fit, d’you know what I mean? Dancin that way and all I could do was watch. You know? Just watch. But then everything I wanted became mine,” I continue. “I had it all in my hands, and I wasn’t wastin a moment of that time on ‘what if’ and shyness. I mean lads, I think you know me well enough by now. Don’t yeh?”

They both nod emphatically.

“I wake up. Both of us wake up and can’t keep our hands…our…” I sigh. “The desire was there. It was just — everywhere. Can barely keep from havin a horn everywhere I go. But, like, it’s different when something that might be real is on the line. Know what I mean.”

Again, they nod emphatically.

“I just-“ Spit it out, kid. “I mean-“ Not doin much better. Out with it. “I just don’t want to go back to how it was before. Friends. I want to level up. And that, lads, is some deeply terrifying shit.” I can feel my eyes widen. “Maybe not for some, but that’s the way of it for me.”

I stare at my reflection in the bar mirror. I still look like me, even knowin all that transpired. I can’t have changed that much. I don’t look horrified. Which is good. But a bit stressed? That I am. And maybe a whole lot worried. My eyes look distinctly hollow and haunted. “It was so good,” I mumble.

“She’ll be back, mate. The girls love you,” Kieran grins conspiratorially at Barry, then back to me. “I bet you can’t beat em back with ennathin but your stick, know what I mean. Can’t keep ‘em off you, can you?”

“I have no response to that question,” I laugh. “It’s true. I know I’m a man whore, for certain, it’s true. But it might be I’m a one-man man whore.”

And the room sets itself to spinnin.

————/-/————

Masterlist || ao3 || Prev || Next wip!

————/-/————

*Helena Handbasket is one of the very best characters TJ Klune has ever written. And now I’ve adopted Ms. Handbasket as my favorite expletive. It’s a phase. Meanwhile, you should drop everything and go read the first 2 books in the At First Sight series. (Tell Me It’s Real, then The Drag Queen and the Homo Jock King.) I basically created Simon from the afterglow of that series. Go forth and discover TJ Klune. Right now. Go.

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ded-and-gonne · 1 year

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🍂 🎃 🍂 Sheehalloween 2022 🍂🎃🍂

Devil’s Night Part 3: A Green Man

<<———😵‍💫———>>

AN: I’m chopping a huge post down into manageable chunks. Hope you enjoy. Triggers: two not-brothers flirting, my sense of humor, treasure hunts, kitchens. Ded & Gonne is and will always be a gen fic.

Ded & Gonne || Devil’s Night || Start || Prev || Next

<<———😵‍💫———>>

“Is there such a thing as a sub-sub-basement?” It’s Klaus asking.

They’ve emerged from a non-descript door on an oddly ornate hallway. Lots of gilding. Crowns. Mouldings. Cherubs all over the place, a green man, and a gargoyle or two here and there. Wyrd-looking little squidgy symbols in random places, like the carpet, and light switches. A complete suit of armor. Other fancy stuff rich people would buy. For a really fancy sub-sub-basement.

Klaus asks, “Which way, Bennerino? This is your story, after all, and you get the honors of directing the particulars. You could even order me around, if that would cheer you up.”

That would definitely cheer Ben up. He needs to find a way of keeping Klaus willing to be bossed around indefinitely. Problem for another day.

Turning back to his not-brother, Klaus decides that Ben’s facial expression isn’t one to be trifled with. He can put off trifling for a while, for Ben’s sake. “Yes, dear one?” Klaus responds with fluttering lashes.

Ben swallows heavily. He wants to kill Klaus, but that would be a little too on the nose for Devil’s Night. “Shut up and tell me how the hell this Devil’s Night thing is supposed to be a story. What exactly about this thing screams story to you?” is what Ben had wanted to say. Instead, he attempts the word “story” with a question mark at the end. Unfortunately, the explosive breath required by the word “story” is not available at the time due to losing his vocal chords. So he splutters a bunch of consonants, hoping “s,ry?” is close enough for Klaus to unpack.

Klaus unpacks. “Simple, Ben. We scare the shit out of each other as many times as possible between sundown and sunrise on Halloween morning. And then we get to tell everyone a bunch of awesome stories about how scared we got. Didn’t Dad make you guys play this?”

“Nnn,” Ben rasps his answer, and attempts to sigh a sigh of forbearance. Such a martyr, that Ben. “Storytelling? I’m sorry. But storytelling wasn’t a thing at the Sparrow Academy,” he would have responded, voice thick with disdain (rather than pain). Instead, he gives up and shakes his head, no.

“Really? Dad thought it was really important for our missions and the fate of the world that we tell good stories.”

“Namae nnnsense,” Ben whispers, lip curled, without explosive letters, and eyes squinting in doubt and pain.

“Sure it does. Like, ‘It was a dark and stormy night near Boston, when a short man — about 5’2” maybe, with a mustache, and a muscular build which looked really odd on such a tiny individual. He wore black leather jeans way too tight to hold out hope of ever producing enough live swimmers to father a child one day, a lime green t-shirt, and a lime green Mohawk. A caucasian male driving a 2012 Honda Civic Hatchback — beat me up and left me for dead at mile marker 25 on the Mass Pike heading west, before the Framingham exit. The license plate was suspicious.’ There. That’s a story. A really short and helpful one.”

“Cool story, bro,” says Ben, back to his eye-rolling sarcasm. It comes out more like a tiny, “Lll rrry, ro.” Again, the explosive letters giving him trouble. The humming, nasal letters, not so much.

A sharp left and on down a dark-ish hallway leads them to what Ben is guessing was once the belowstairs area for kitchen staff. A lightswitch proves the electricity still works, shocking, and a few footsteps into the largest room gives them a clear look at their treasure. At an industrial kitchen.

The layer of dust on the kitchen floor alone is at least an inch thick. Like an actual, measurable inch. Walking through it feels like disturbing freshly fallen snow. Plus the room has that eerie quiet that hangs over everything during a snowfall. Not a soul has traversed the room in, well, as many years as it takes to gather an inch of dust. The surfaces are even worse, which, if you really think about it, is not normal. Being abnormal in the sense that it lacks logic in almost every way.

It strikes Klaus as odd that the room lacks any trace of smell. On the contrary, it is a particularly noticeable freshness after what they’ve just come through.

No scent at all. Not musty, nor antiseptic, nor lemon-scented fresh. Nor like shit water, rot, or dead things. Ben smells no scent of freshly grilled and steaming fillet mignon, left to rest in peace, while the drippings are kept at a rolling boil for the Yorkshire pudding. As if food has never been prepared in this room. Not a sign of grunge, nor of stained surfaces. The kitchen appliances, the paint, the cabinets, countertops, all of it appears a lot newer than the rest of the, well, the rest of the entire building, actually.

The cupboards are officially bare. Officially. Not a dish nor a plate, let alone grilling utensils. And certainly no booze. And you know as well as anyone else that Klaus is a pro at finding booze, so, naturally, he’s checked. Like he’s really checked very hard.

Retracing their steps, a sharp right leads them out of the belowstairs quarters. On their way back, they continue beyond their original point of entry, and past more of the wyrd finery. This end of the hall culminates in a formal dining room. Don’t picture the one where Luther and Sloane got married. It’s not that cavernous, nor as twinkly and sparkly. But it’s got something the wedding didn’t. ooooWOOOOoooo

The glass French doors into the room stand open, as if expecting guests. Klaus is struck dumb. (That’s a miracle, by the way. Never happens.) The only occupants of the entire room are one long dining table and enough chairs for a substantial family or two — well over 20 chairs, possibly 30. The opulence of that dining table and its chairs is remarkable. So is the length. “It’s long. Longer than you were picturing, isn’t it, Ben. Like, stupid long,” Klaus remarks. “Normally I’d say who has room for that? But this room has room, so I guess they got what they paid for.”

As with every other room they’ve investigated (peeked into) thus far, the dining room is thick with dust, which kicks up from the floor into swirling eddies as they enter. Even the small panes of glass in the doors are covered in a layer of silt. Not just a dusting, but a mass of it clinging to the glass as if it’s been trapped there in an oily substance.

Ben now has a greater sense of foreboding than the foreboding he’d already been having, because the room, for all its opulence, has no windows to the outside world. Possibly because it’s a sub-sub-basement, but it could be for other reasons, too.

Against the far wall stands a massive, totally unexpected, green man.

“Look!” Klaus whisper-shouts, pointing at the green man. “It’s a green man!” He approaches the huge face. A man’s face, and only his face, Klaus can see that it had been cast in some sort of metal. The pink kind that turns green with age. Copper?

Ben stands back to take in the whole of it. Oval, tapering at the top and bottom. Almost like a huge imitation of a battle shield. Definitely not pretending to be a shield for actual fighting, Ben’s thinking. Not with this kind of ornately sculpted surface. No, this is pretending to be a formal, ceremonial shield. He couldn’t even guess what the weight of this thing would be to hang. He inspects it closely. Nah, that whole thing can’t be solid copper, that’s insane. Could it?

Ben has been fascinated by something other than conflict so rarely in his life, that he doesn’t even realize he’s been sucked in. “What are you on about? What’s a green man?”

Klaus turns slowly around, with the careful excitement of a small child who is in love with a new toy, but is afraid that even though his daddy gave it to him, he is about to take it right back out of Klausie’s chubby little baby hands. “Ooh! Ooh! I know this one.” Klaus stands up straighter, and holds his hands behind his back, while trying not to bounce on his toes. He speaks as if he’s giving a report. Maybe one of those ‘stories’ he likes so much. “They are pagan protector spirits or elementals in the Celtic lands stretching all the way back to the time of the druids. oooooWOOOOooooo, spooky.” Twinkle fingers. “But yeah,” he scritches his beard. “I dunno, though, something smells fishy. Because this big guy over here is a little bit younger than he should be, if he’s a green man.” Scratching his beard, he adds, “It’s not ancient. Not even medieval.” He is correct, it’s neither ancient nor medieval.

Klaus steps in closer to check out the detailing. Leaves grow in place of hair. His eyebrows, likewise, have grown leaves. Like an elemental would do. And the mustache and beard, also leaves. Standing up straight again, Klaus returns to his oral report. “Green Men are said to watch over rivers, lakes, streams, and woodlands. Doesn’t he look like he’s surfacing through his greenery? I don’t know about you Benny Bear, but I’m curious just what kind of greenery he’s been surfacing through. Think he’s got a leaf stuck in his teeth?”

Klaus walks up to only a nose’s distance, just to see what he can see, and starts to fondle the green man.

Not quite how it sounds. He’s running his fingers over bits of it, following every swirl in the lines of the oak leaf on one of its eyebrows. Or the lips, which seem about to speak. “Mirror, mirror, on the wall…that green man sure is tall. Am I right, ben? Yeah!”

Ben agrees. Stubbornly, so he doesn’t make it too easy for Klaus to have him around. Old habits blah blah blah whatever.

Thing is, Ben has been watching Klaus stroking down the length of the nose, and onward to the- the whatever it was they were- what were they- the fingers following sinuous lines. He shakes his head free of the hot, pink cobwebs that have suddenly regrown in the corners of his brain.

Klaus isn’t so much in a stupor as he is completely engrossed in his sensory experience, following all those snaking curves and ridges. “Boop!” Klaus pokes the Green Man in the eye.

Silently swinging open, the green man is a door.

No screech, creaks nor groans, no carpet to get caught on, unless you count all the dust. He would have at least expected the door to sound like metal against wood — whatever that sounds like. Or even a “fwoosh” sound. But nothing. Dead air.

“Ben? I’ve got a feelin, man. I’m thinkin like, maybe we shouldn’t go out there, y’know? This door was, it was way too easy. Right? I mean, that, that’s like a secret door, y’know? It should be harder to open.”

Klaus is actually quite shaken by this. “I’ve seen Indiana Jones and I know what it means when something is way too easy to open. Bad things happen. Bad.”

<<———😵‍💫———>>

Ded & Gonne || Devil’s Night || Start || Prev || Next

<<———😵‍💫———>>

Images: If anyone knows to whom I should credit any of these images, please tell me. Middle green man: john-howe.com

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firstpersonnarrator · 2 years

Text

I’ve got a job for you:

🎃🎃 Sheehalloween 2022 🎃🎃 Prompts

I’ll be joining Sheehalloween 2022, and there are so many possibilities. I need your help. This is my first time ever using prompts, so I’m shaking in my boots. Which is season-appropriate, so I’m going with it.

Prompt List: 9 Days, 9 Ways

Greetings Robert Sheehan fans and all his hard-core feasties! Klaus shall open the WooWoo Room with tarot for you beasties. Hear a frightening fortune for the Robbie of your choice, until the witching hour does bring an end to our rejoice(ing).

Choose one from each of the three lists below.

Note: Please specify if you have triggers

>>>>>Sheehalloween Day#<<<<<<

1. Seance

2. Trick or Treat

3. Scary Movie

4. Reanimation

5. Free Space (I am taking this quite literally. Choose outer space or inner space or free rent.)

6. Ghosts

7. Ouija

8. Possession

9. Magic

>>>>>>>>Choose-a-Rob<<<<<<<<<

—Nathan Young

—Vladek Klimov

—Klaus Hargreeves

—Jack (The Messenger)

—Simon Lewis

—Kai (Season of the Witch)

—Mark, bog man (Lowland Fell)

—Archie Eden

—Luke (Cherrybomb)

—Billy Delaney

—Vincent Rhodes

—Duncan Taylor

—Cormac MacNamara

—Louis XIV

>>>>>>>>>Scare Factor<<<<<<<<<<

1. Death

2. Murder

3. Betrayal

4. Unrequited love

5. This is just the beginning… / relentless

6. Hunger / craving

7. Chaos

8. Ruin

9. Haunted

10. Envy

11. Ritual

12. Grief

13. Madness

14. Heartbreak

15. Tragedy

16. Self-sacrifice / martyrdom

17. Prophecy

18. Lies

19. Helpless / trapped

20. Black out / amnesia

21. Your own worst enemy / multiplicity

22. Sacrificial

23. Accidental

24. Blood sport / hunted

25. Gaslighting

26. Aliens

27. Old school creature feature / here there be monsters

28. Natural disaster

29. Fear the McGuffin / evil object

30. Cult

Note: I’d include stalking, but I’m afraid of giving myself ideas.

Eek, I’m skeered. 💀

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imyourbratzdoll · 9 months

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Hii can you write a nathan young fic that he really likes the reader but tries to hide his feelings until something happens makes him tell her how much he likes her

Tia💗

hey honey! I apologise for taking so long, but I hope you like it!

summary - nathan has been crushing on you since the beginning, but it takes something terrible to happen for him to finally man up.

warning - slight angst, violence (not too bad).

the gif I use isn't mine, divider by @newlips

Nathan didn’t know how it had happened or why he had fallen for you, but he did. You were possibly the most beautiful woman he had ever seen, which was messing with his mind. Ever since the storm that gave everyone weird abilities, Nathan had become protective over you. You were so cute and fragile, but the power you held was dangerous, and sometimes he feared that if you showed the wrong person, they’d take you away from him.

He had done so well hiding how he felt about you, everything was going fine, and it wasn’t like you needed to know how he felt. You would never feel the same for the cocky Irish boy anyway. You deserved better, and you were better. So why did something have to happen? Who knew that when a freak storm gave everyone powers, it would become like those American superhero movies? All of the bad guys came out of the woodwork, and for some reason, the misfits thought they had to be the ones that saved the day.

Why did you have to be so kind? Why did you have to go near that man? You knew he was dangerous, yet you thought you could help, and Nathan loved that about you, but right now, he hated it as he watched the man throw you around. He knew he could’ve easily taken your place, but his mind was stupid, not allowing his legs to move no matter how much he wanted to move them.

When the rest of the gang managed to distract the man, leading him away from your tired and bruised body. Nathan ran over, kneeling to the ground and pulling you into him. “Oh god! I’m sorry, love! Don’ die on me! Dammit, I shoulda done more to help!” Nathan strokes your cheek gently, looking down at you with sad eyes. “I like ya, dammit! Don’ die on me so I can take ya out!” He begs and pleads.

You groan before giggling softly, peering up at the curly-haired man. “I like you too, dumbass. What took you so long?”

Nathan’s lips widen into a watery smile, and he laughs. “Tank god! Taugh’ I lost ya!” He hugs you against him, and he leans down to place a kiss on your forehead. “Liked ya since da beginnin’.”

You squeeze his hand. “I’ve liked you since the beginning too.”

thank you for reading!

feedback and reblogs are greatly appreciated.

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super-unpredictable98 · 1 year

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Oh that's lovely. Can you do Klaus Hargreeves falling for a Johanna Constantine kind of reader while working with her? (She is an exorcist , an excellent demon hunter on hire , is a beautiful mixture of selfish, selfless , self-hating , self important and I feel mirrors Klaus but is not his female version if you get what I mean) Love ya 🤧

Not So Haunted | The Umbrella Academy AU

Pairing: Klaus x Reader

Word Count: 1,1 k

Warning: Strong language, alcohol

a/n: Thank you for the request, I hope I was able to capture the character you imagined. I'll admit I was not familiar with this idea, but I did my best to make it come true and I hope you like it <3

(Masterlist)

You were already used to the creepy houses, the creaking doors, the dark rooms. It was your job after all, to go to these haunted houses and cleanse them so some hipster could remodel them and tell all of his friends he lives in a house where there's a ghost but without having to deal with an actual ghost.

"God, but this place is a dump..." you mumbled to yourself.

"I don't think it's that bad," you heard a voice and looked around trying to find the source. Spirits could be vocal, even though they usually didn't straight up talk to you like that.

But there was no ghost, there was a man. He was tall and slender, wearing a long coat with a furry collar. His leather pants were as tight as they get, his eyeliner was smudged, black nail polish chipped from his nails, and he wore a top that could only be described as slutty.

"Excuse me, what are you doing here? Something tells me you're not the owner," you quirked an eyebrow at him.

"This place has an owner? I could've sworn it was abandoned... I just came here to get high in peace."

"It was just bought by some guy who wants to flip it and resell it. But first I need to clean it up."

"So you're the maid."

"I'm the exorcist."

The man's mouth fell open and he nodded, finally understanding what was going on. He held his hands up almost like you had a gun pointed at him and you tilted your head seeing those tattoos on his palms. Maybe with a better light, you'd be able to see he was quite attractive.

"That's why this place is so weird," he sighed, relieved to be intoxicated and not having to deal with the spirits. "I'm Klaus, by the way."

"Y/n," you held out your hand for him to shake, but he kissed it instead. Despite his affectations, he was quite sweet.

"So, y/n, can I interest you in a drink?"

Klaus held up a bottle of whiskey already half empty, and you thought for a moment. You were strictly against drinking while working, but... he was so intriguing, you didn't wanna blow him off and miss the opportunity to have a conversation and unveil his mysteries.

"Why not?"

After a while, you were both laughing and talking like old friends. Alcohol has that sort of power. The house didn't seem scary anymore when the lights were on and you were both sitting on the floor sharing that drink. It was just a silly house with some spirits in it, nothing you were not both used to.

"So, you hear these spirits and all that shit and that doesn't freak you out?" Klaus asked after taking a large sip.

"Not really, I'm sorta used to it and it gives me money. I think it's a pretty cool talent actually," you shrugged.

"Well, I think it's a nightmare. These ghosts are horrifying, I hate seeing them, I hate hearing them, I hate when they ask me to finish their unfinished business. I'm not a fucking mailman, it's exhausting!"

"Is that why you're like this? You're constantly drinking and God knows what else to drown out the voices?" you asked.

"Yeah... I gotta stay high all the time, to keep them off my mind," he sang, slurring a little bit from all the whiskey.

You laughed, taking the bottle from him to drink some as well. Even though you knew good decisions never came from drinking too much, you couldn't help but want to get that buzz and show him you were also interesting and cool. You wanted to make bad decisions if they would lead you closer to him.

"So, what else do you do besides exorcisms? Any hobbies, interests, dates..." he casually asked.

You swallowed before answering, it had been a long time since you thought about dates. Not that you were saving yourself for someone special, but you also didn't want anything to do with the assholes that crossed your path.

"I like... movies?" you laughed.

"Movies? Oh, come on! This is the most cliche thing ever, everybody likes movies. Give me something real!"

"Fine! I don't really know, when you put me on the spot like this I get nervous and I don't know what to say."

"Do I make you nervous then?" Klaus smirked and you looked away, trying not to think about his penetrating gaze locked on you.

"Someone thinks highly of themselves. I'm way out of your league," you scoffed playfully.

"That's cause you haven't seen me with my clothes off yet," he teased.

"I gather you're single?"

"Always, relationships haven't been really my thing. I liked someone a long time ago, but it didn't work out."

It wasn't hard to understand why he would open up to someone he just met half an hour ago about things he was hesitant to talk about with everyone else in his life. There was nothing to lose, someone from the outside wouldn't judge and if they did, it wouldn't matter as much.

"I'm sorry it didn't work out. I'm sure you have no shortage of people interested in you though," you said before you could stop yourself.

"You really think so?" he grinned smugly, knowing damn well how attractive he was. "Would you get in line?"

"You wish!"

Klaus took a bit of a chance and leaned over, pressing his lips against yours. You could taste the alcohol on his tongue, but also something sweet, you couldn't quite put your finger on it, but you liked it.

"Oookay, we just met and you already interrupted my work to get me drunk, asked me all sorts of questions, and now you kissed me?" you tried to hide how much you wanted to keep going. "How am I supposed to concentrate on the cleanse now?"

"Sorry, but I think I waited long enough, usually at the club I don't even have all this talk, we drink and get down to business."

"Wow, romantic."

"I didn't peg you for a romantic type."

"That just shows how little you know me then."

Klaus bit his lip, watching how red your cheeks had gotten and it felt like a victory to him.

"If I help you cleanse this house, will you go out with me?" he asked.

"I thought you hated the ghosts."

"I do, but it's worth it sometimes. So, will you?"

"Why do you even wanna go out with me?"

"You're nice and funny and your face makes me wanna smile."

Those peeks at his sweet side melted down your walls and you couldn't say no. "It's a date."

"See? I knew you liked me."

Tag List: @elliethesuperfruitlover @salvador-daley @seanfalco @firstpersonnarrator

#request #tua klaus #tua #tua imagine #tua fanfic #umbrella academy fanfic #umbrella academy imagine #umbrella academy klaus #klaus hargreeves #klaus hargreeves x reader #robert sheehan character fic #robert sheehan fanfic #fanfic

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seanfalco · 2 years

Note

Hey! You’re a fantabulous writer could I request a smut with Nathan young where reader sends him some sexy pictures whilst their at community service which then develop’s into bathroom sex ? With Nathan just worshipping the reader?

aww thank you! you sure can 💚

All Yours

word count: 1.8k warnings/tags: f!reader, pwp, dirty photos, semi public sex, unprotected sex, breast play/worship, panty theft/panty sniffing, slight daddy kink, creampie, marking

“Where’s y/n?” Simon asked as he grabbed his trash picker from the storage closet, noticing your absence.

“Think she was still in th’locker room,” Kelly answered offhandedly, ambling back into the hallway, following Curtis and Alisha who had already headed off out the door.

“We’re just going to leave her?” Simon asked nervously, his round eyes seeking the locker room entrance.

Just then Nathan’s phone chimed an alert and he frowned, fishing it out of his jumpsuit pocket. As soon as he opened your message his eyes lit up, a delighted laugh bursting from his lips.

“What?” Simon demanded, trying to get a look at the tiny screen of Nathan’s phone.

“Nothin’!” Nathan yelped, quickly averting his phone so Simon couldn’t see the naughty photo you’d just sent him before clearing his throat to steady his voice.

“You go on, I’ll wait for y/n and we’ll catch you up.”

Simon looked reluctant, but finally nodded and briskly hurried off after the others. Nathan waited for a moment for Simon to disappear before checking the other hallway and heading for the locker room, whistling a cheerful tune as he went.

“I got your message, y’saucy minx!” he called as he entered, searching under the stalls to figure out which one you were in. “Now where are yeh? I wanna see th’goods with my own eyes.”

When he stopped in front of your hiding spot, you swung the stall door open slowly and motioned him inside. As soon as his eyes fell to your lacy bra and matching knickers, his brows rose and an incredulous grin spread across his face.

“All of this for me?” he asked in awe, his hands hovering over you as if he still couldn’t believe he was allowed to touch you.

“Go on then,” you said, laughing as he eagerly cupped your tits, his thumbs brushing your clothed nipples, getting them to harden before your bra was even off.

While he was preoccupied with your breasts, you reached down to palm the noticeable bulge forming in his jumpsuit. At your caress, Nathan’s breath hitched and his hands froze.

“What’s the matter, Young? You’re usually a lot gobbier than this,” you teased, feeling his back hit the stall door behind him and he cleared his throat.

“Can’t help it, a sexy bird’s got me by th’balls. Besides, thought maybe our bodies could do th’talkin’,” he breathed, swallowing thickly as you massaged him through the fabric, a smirk on your face.

“I like the sound of that,” you replied, reaching up to grip the pull of his zipper and slowly unzipping his jumpsuit, your eyes flicking up to his.

The way he watched you, wetting his lips in anticipation, as if you were the only thing in the world that mattered, filled you with a heady sense of power and you gasped as the spell broke and he surged forward to claim your lips with an eager kiss. With a groan, his tongue invaded your mouth and you let him swap places, shuffling in an awkward circle in the cramped stall.

Without breaking the kiss, he shrugged out of the top half of his jumpsuit, letting it fall down past his waist, one of the sleeves nearly falling into the toilet, til he blindly reached behind him and let the seat fall shut.

Plopping down backwards, Nathan freed his cock and pulled you closer, letting his hands run up your body. “Wanna see th’girls,” he whined, impatiently pulling your bra down to let your tits spill out. Fondling them almost reverently, he pushed them together and buried his face in them, letting out a contented sigh as he burrowed deeper.

“I think I could stay like this forever, your tits are like heaven,” he murmured into your chest, his voice somewhat muffled.

Letting out an amused puff of air, you stroked his hair, running your fingers through his curls as he littered your tits with wet open mouthed kisses, working his way down to take a pert nipple into his mouth as you ground against his erection, the cotton fabric separating you quickly soaking through.

Pulling your nipple from his mouth with a soft pop, Nathan moaned as he switched sides, latching on insistently, his tongue swirling teasing circles around your raised bud. Heat filled you, swimming through your veins as your cunt throbbed needily, contracting impatiently around nothing, just begging to be filled.

“Nathan,” you whimpered, trying to satiate the unrelenting ache in your nethers, “as much as I’m enjoying this, I need you. I can’t stand it any longer,” you whined, pouting at him.

Extricating himself from your breasts, he flashed a cheeky grin, smugness radiating off him in waves. “Never had anyone beg me t’shag ‘em before,” he said, his eyes darkening with lust. “Wanna bounce on daddy’s cock?” he teased, bucking his hips upward against you, tearing a gasp from your lips.

“Yes, God yes!”

“Then get these knickers off and c’mere, y’minx.”

Getting up from Nathan’s lap in the small space was slightly awkward, but you managed to stand, peeling your now sopping knickers down and tossing them at Nathan’s head. Catching them, he brought the wad of damp fabric to his nose and took a deep breath, his eyelids fluttering.

“Didn’t know you were a panty sniffer,” you snorted, watching him with a raised eyebrow.

“I’m not usually, but y’smell so good, it’s gettin’ me goin’,” he shrugged, stuffing your knickers into his pocket.

“Hey!” you yelped, but Nathan’s smug expression only deepened.

“Ah, ah, not gettin’ these back, little missy. At least not until yeh’ve creamed all over my cock!”

Without another word, he spun you and gave your bare ass a slap, watching the way your flesh jiggled and reddened before pulling you back down into his lap, holding the base of his length to guide it to your tight entrance.

As you sank down onto his cock, your breath hitched in time with his and you could feel his chest heave against your back as you wriggled your hips, taking him all in. For a moment neither of you moved, Nathan swallowing behind you.

“Fuck, you’re so tight,” he breathed, his hands finding purchase on your hips, holding you in place while he composed himself, not wanting to cum too soon and look foolish.

Turning, you caught his eye and grinned. “Yeah, and this tight fanny’s all yours,” you purred, slowly rolling your hips.

Nathan’s lips stretched into a lopsided smirk, guiding your movements. “I like th’sound o’that,” he exclaimed, his hands once more traveling up your body to cover your exposed chest. “And these glorious tits, they’re mine too?” he asked, waiting for your answer, wanting to hear you say it.

“Mhmm,” you hummed, “all yours, love.”

At your words, Nathan’s grin widened and he pinched at your nipple as he pressed his face to the nape of your neck. “God, I love you,” he breathed, still half in disbelief that you were his.

Pressing your hands to the walls on either side of you, you began to move more vigorously, anchoring yourself so you could bounce on his cock properly as he fondled you shamelessly. The low moan that echoed in your ear was positively sinful and filled you with heat while each warm breath that fanned across your neck sent fresh goosebumps pebbling your skin.

Losing yourself, you focused on the pleasure building and pooling in the pit of your stomach while Nathan used his hands to lavish you with attention, grabbing and fondling wherever he could as he kissed your exposed neck, sucking hard enough to leave a fresh bruise behind, marking you for the estate to see.

“Oh yeah, f-fuck yeah, y/n,” he groaned in your ear and you had to bite down on your lip to stifle the needy moan that nearly spilled forth when his callused fingers found your throbbing clit. “Yeah, y’like that, do yeh?” he panted in your ear, a smugness leeching into his voice at your reaction.

“Yes,” you whined, grinding down against him, blindly seeking your pleasure, your release hovering just out of reach. “Yes, please, just like that. Don’t stop,” you pleaded, a wanton mewl catching in your throat. “I’m-I’m almost there,” you gasped, turning to look back at Nathan, your eyes frantically searching his.

“Then cum for me, beautiful!” he cried, capturing your lips in a sloppy kiss as his fingers moved faster against your slick bundle of nerves, desperately trying not to lose his rhythm while you writhed in his lap.

“That’s right, darlin’, cum for me. Cream all over daddy’s cock!” he urged, his voice breaking and you gasped as pleasure flooded you.

“Oh fuck!” you swore, your muscles tensing, but Nathan didn’t stop, jerkily thrusting up into you several more times, pushing himself deeper as he came, your walls constricting around him, milking him dry as he crushed you back against his chest.

Finally spent, he swallowed and lifted his face. Several of his curls were stuck to his brow and the sheen of sweat he’d worked up. “Well,” he panted, not too tired to flash you a grin, his lips brushing your temple sweetly, “I think that was th’best toilet shag I’ve ever had.”

At his words, a laugh bubbled from your chest and you relaxed back against him, resting your head against his shoulder. “Agreed,” you breathed, reaching up to caress his cheek. “You outdid yourself, Nathan.”

“Yeah, well, you did most of th’work and y’certainly know how t’get me going, y’saucy little thing. Who knew I was datin’ such a dirty little birdie,” he joked, helping you up.

“I think you’re forgetting somethin’,” you said, fixing your bra and turning to face Nathan as he zipped himself back up.

“Ohhh, y’mean these?” he asked, pulling your knickers out of his pocket.

“Yes, those,” you echoed, looking at them pointedly.

A shiteating grin spread across Nathan’s face as he glanced down at the garment in his hand. “Actually, I think I’ll keep ‘em a little longer. A little somethin’ t’commemorate th’moment,” he said, trying to keep a straight face before laughing at yours.

“And what am I s’posed to do? Go commando under my jumpsuit?” you demanded, your mouth falling open as Nathan stuffed them back into his pocket.

“Looks like it.”

“You’re such an ass!” you gasped, fetching your jumpsuit from where you’d slung it across the top of the stall. “And after I sent you those sexy photos and shagged your brains out!”

“Aw c’mon now, don’t be like that, love,” he giggled, wrapping his arms around you once you’d suited back up. “If you’re a good girl maybe I’ll give ‘em back tonight,” he mused cheekily, his lips hovering over yours.

“And what’s tonight?” you asked, unable to stay angry at him for long.

“Round two?” he responded hopefully, grinning against your lips as he opened the stall door and walked you backwards back out of the locker room.

By the time you caught up with the others, if it wasn’t the length of your absence that gave you away, the fresh hickey on your neck and your disheveled appearance surely did.

@super-unpredictable98 @salvador-daley

#misfits #e4 misfits #misfits fanfic #nathan young #nathan young x reader #nathan young smut #nathan young imagines #robert sheehan character fic #robert sheehan #joz.fic #prompt request

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salvador-daley · 1 year

Text

Clone | Part 2

Robert Sheehan x Reader x Female!Robert Sheehan

A/N: Oops - forgot to post this earlier in the week. Forgive me, I am old and senile.

CW: No filth, just some very intense flirting. Bisexual awakenings akimbo. But the next instalment? Pure wall-to-wall smut. 🍑🍆

Words: 5.5k

IRISH STEPS forward and so does she. His mouth falls open and so does hers. He reaches out to touch her and she reaches out to touch him. Their fingertips meet in the middle and he tilts his head in awed fascination. Her head tilts in the opposite direction, but instead of looking back at Irish, her eyes meet yours.

“Aren’t you guys gonna say something?” the woman asks.

“Oh my God, she talks!” cries Irish, leaping backwards with a squeal.

“Of course I talk,” she says in the same Irish accent as his, looking a little offended. She gazes around the room, taking in the long lab benches, the cages filled with small animals, the woman in the long white lab coat, the naked man in front of her. “Who are you? Where the hell am I?”

“It’s okay, you’re safe,” you say, trying to sound authoritative and calm. “We can explain everything.”

“Can we?” Irish squeaks in your ear, staring at you now with a look of blind panic.

“Look, just fucking calm down, okay?” you hiss at him. “You’ll freak her out. And put some fucking pants on.”

“Pants… pants…” he mutters, searching the floor for his discarded clothes. He manages to find his underwear and stumbles into them.

You step towards her with your hands out, as if approaching a wild animal. “Do you feel ok? Are you hurt?” you ask the woman, whose truly striking resemblance to your boyfriend is all the more apparent the closer you get.

“I feel fine,” the woman says with a shrug, fingering the tube she just stepped out of and taking in the rest of her surroundings.

“She seems very chill for someone who was just magicked into existence,” Irish whispers.

You nod. She’s certainly the calmest person in the room at this moment. Her whole demeanour is one of zen stillness and quiet curiosity, despite being thrust into being just a few seconds ago.

“W-what’s your name?” you ask.

She thinks for a second, her brow furrowing in an uncanny way.

“I-I don’t think I have one,” she says, approaching the desk now and proffering her fingers for one of the rabbits to sniff.

“We should give her a name,” says Irish into your ear, still cowering behind you.

“We can’t name her, we’re not… we’re not qualified!” you say in a hushed voice.

“Well, we created her,” he says, insistent. He thinks for a second. “I think she looks like a Robin.”

“Robin?” you repeat.

“Ooh, that’s a nice name,” she says, apparently listening the whole time.

“See, she likes it,” says Irish.

“Robin it is, then,” you say with resignation. “Robin, sweetheart, we’re going to explain everything, okay? But first, we have got to get you out of here.”

Irish grabs you by the shoulder. “Get her out of here? You want to take her with us? Shouldn’t we call someone? Isn’t this kidnapping?” he hisses at you.

You turn to him and level your gaze at him. “Look, she can’t stay here, okay? And we can’t call anyone, I’ll be fired. And they’ll do all sorts of experiments on her and shit. We’ve got to get her out of here, right now. Understand?”

He nods, realising the gravity of the situation. “Okay, okay, w-what do we do?” he asks.

You start to shimmy out of your lab coat, going into problem-solving mode. “There’s some flat shoes in my bag under the desk, go grab them.”

He darts under the desk while you attempt to dress your boyfriend’s naked double.

“Here, Robin, put this on,” you say, holding your lab coat out for her to slip into.

She inserts her arms into the sleeves, then turns so you can do it up, watching you with quiet fascination as your shaking fingers fumble with the buttons. She tips her head slightly as she observes you, a soft smile playing on her lips.

Irish returns with the shoes and you help her to step into them.

“Hey,” she says once dressed, looking down at her body and smoothing the lab coat with her hands: “this is kinda sexy.”

Irish pauses and smiles, then looks at you: “See? Told you so.”

“Get dressed!” you growl at him.

“Right, right,” he says, searching the ground again for his scattered clothes.

“Okay, g’night Joe! See you on Monday!” you call out to the elderly security guard, hoping your voice sounds breezy but so breezy that it sounds like an invite to conversation.

“All finished for the night, are we?” Joe asks. To your disappointment, you see him moving around the reception desk, clearly looking for a chat.

“Yep, all done, gotta head on home,” you say, attempting to usher Irish and Robin through the building’s revolving door.

“Oh, I didn’t realise there were three of you here tonight? I was sure I only counted two,” says Joe, checking the sign-in sheet on his clipboard.

You realise now that despite Joe’s advanced age that it was ambitious to imagine you could smuggle out a 6ft tall adult woman wearing nothing but a lab coat.

“Nope, three of us,” says Irish, stepping in with his characteristic charm. “You’re going senile in your old age there, Joe.”

“Oh, I feel I would’ve remembered you,” says Joe, looking at Robin. He proffers a hand to introduce himself.

“How nice to meet you,” says Robin with a wide smile, shaking his hand.

“This is my friend,” you say, improvising now. “Professor, um, Doppelgänger.”

Irish shoots you a look that says: Doppelgänger, seriously?

“She’s been helping me with some research,” you add.

“A professor?” says Joe, impressed. “And what’s a smart, beautiful woman like you doing in a place like this?” he chuckles.

Robin’s mouth falls open as if to reply.

“Oh Joe, you old flirt!” says Irish, slapping him on the back before Robin has a chance to answer. “Anyway, we better be off. The, er, professor has a train to catch,” he adds.

Irish bundles you both through the door before Joe can say another word.

“You guys are terrible liars,” says Robin once you get outside. “Even I could see through that, and I was literally born five minutes ago.”

You wake up late, the excitement of the previous day having expended all your energy. The soft sounds of a high-pitched tune spread through the flat on a gentle wave, rousing you from your slumber. There is no sign of Irish - he must have gone out. You rise from the bed and head into the living room. Robin is sat cross-legged on the pull-out bed. The wide neckline of the oversized T-shirt you gave her the previous night has slipped down over one of her shoulders, her curly hair haloed by the morning light as she plays happily on a penny whistle. She stops when she sees you, flashing you that familiar smile.

“You can play that?” you ask.

She shrugs: “I guess so.”

Even Irish can’t play it that well. You wonder for a second what else she can do, then you remember you’re being a bad host to your new houseguest.

“You must be starving,” you say, heading to the kitchen. She follows you and perches on one of the stools at the breakfast bar. “What do you like?”

She shakes her head and waves her hand through the air.

“Of course,” you say, “you have no idea what you like because you’ve never eaten before.”

Following last night’s escape from the facility, Robin had taken the news that she was a clone created in a lab accident surprisingly well, you felt. She didn’t panic or freak out or try to call the cops.

“So I’m… you?” she had said, pointing to Irish. “And you’re me?

“Yes, well, technically you’re female me,” he had said, foundering in his attempts to explain.

“And how did you end up inside the machine?”

“Err…” Irish’s mouth had fallen open and his eyes had darted to you in a panic.

“You know what, we can go over all the details in the morning,” you had said, stepping in to spare him the embarrassment. “I’m sure you’re tired and it’s been a crazy night. A lot to take in.”

“That’s a great idea,” Irish had announced. “Let’s all get a good night’s sleep and we can talk some more in the morning.”

You open the fridge and peer inside. Amid all the chaos, you had forgotten to buy food. All you have is gin, milk and orange juice.

“Let’s start with some coffee,” shall we?

You head over to the coffee machine and begin to fiddle with it, becoming aware of her 6ft form looming over you as you work.

“You put the water in here,” you say, demonstrating, “and then you put this in here, and press this button, and then the coffee comes out here.”

She’s watching you, but you have no idea if she’s listening. Silently, she reaches out to brush a stray strand of your hair behind your ear and you catch yourself blushing.

You clear your throat. “Cereal? I have cereal.”

You grab a couple of bowls from the cupboard and begin to pour corn flakes into them.

Watching you, she rests one elbow against the counter, stretching her long body out in front of her. She seems just as comfortable in her own skin as Irish is, a quiet confidence exuding from every pore.

You fill the bowls with milk and press one of them into her hands. She looks at it, then at you.

“Spoon!” you remember. “You need a spoon.”

Her ass is blocking the cutlery drawer and you have to nudge her out of way with an awkward “‘scuse me” in order to reach inside, your hand brushing against the silky smooth skin of her hip.

“Here you go,” you say, plopping the spoon inside her bowl.

She gives you another blank look.

“See?” you say, raising your own bowl and lifting the spoon to your mouth, “like this.”

Although seemingly a little hesitant, she follows your lead and you both stand there for a moment staring at each other and eating corn flakes in silence until you hear the door opening and Irish clattering through it with handfuls of grocery bags.

“How are my two best girls this morning?” he sings, plonking his bags on the breakfast bar.

“Your girlfriend is teaching me how to eat cereal,” says Robin.

Suddenly feeling quite stupid. You turn to look at her now. “You already know how to eat cereal, don’t you?”

Robin shrugs an apology. “You were on a roll, I didn’t want to hurt your feelings,” she replies. “I know how to do a lot of things.”

Before you can question her further, Irish grabs you and pulls you to one side, leaving Robin to eat her corn flakes in the kitchen.

“So, how’s it going?” he asks in a low whisper.

“Really bad, Irish!” you say. You try to keep your voice down but it comes out as a high-pitched squeal instead. “You left me all on my own and I have no idea what I’m doing!”

“Calm down, okay? I went to get food, there’s only gin and orange juice in the fridge.”

You put your hands to your temples and squeeze. “I’m freaking out, man. I mean, how does this even work? Does she have your memories? She can play your penny whistle!”

“Really?” he says. “That’s interesting.”

Irish cranes his neck back into the kitchen area. “Hey Robin, how many siblings have you got?” he asks.

“I don’t know,” she says, munching a mouthful of cereal. “I don’t think I have any.”

“How’d you get that accent?” he asks.

“What accent?” she replies, giving him a quizzical look.

He turns back to you: “She doesn’t have my memories.”

“This is so crazy. Your genetic double is eating corn flakes in my kitchen and I think I’m losing my mind,” you say, hyperventilating now.

“Look,” he says, holding you by the wrists. “Everything is going to be fine, okay? Let’s just get to know her a little bit.”

He leads you back towards the breakfast bar and you sit at the twin stools as Robin finishes off her breakfast.

“You still hungry, Robin?” asks Irish, reaching into one of the grocery bags. “Why don’t you try some of this, I just got it from the Japanese place down the road.”

He removes the lid from a small sushi platter and places it on the breakfast bar.

She selects a piece of nigiri and holds it up to her face.

“Go on,” he urges.

She pops the fishy morsel in her mouth and chews, her eyes widening as the novel mix of flavours ignite her tastebuds.

“Wow, that is amazing,” she says. “What is that?”

“Yellowtail,” he says. “My favourite. Here, have another. What’s mine is yours.” He pushes the platter closer to her and her fingers dance over it as she decides which piece to eat next.

“No offence,” she says to you, “but this is much better than cereal.”

“None taken,” you say, holding your hands up in defeat. “Okay, so we’ve established that you both like sushi. What next?”

“Ooh, I know!” says Irish, jumping down from the breakfast bar and running over to the bookcase in the living area. He returns with a book of collected poems and flicks through it until he finds what he’s looking for, passing the open book to Robin. “Have a read of this, tell me what you think.”

Robin scans the page for a few minutes, absentmindedly scratching her neck as she reads. You watch as Irish raises his hand to his own neck, floating his fingers over the same spot.

Eventually, she rests her hand on her chest with an awed expression. “That is beautiful,” she says.

“I know, it’s one of my favourites,” he says.

“So you’re both poetry fans,” you say. “Look, don’t take this the wrong way, but how do you know how to read?”

“I don’t know, I just do,” says Robin. “It’s like muscle memory. I can do everything he can do.”

“Can you drive a car?” he asks.

“Yes, but not very well.”

“Bit hurtful. Can you ride a bike? Can you ride a horse?”

“Yes. And yes.”

“Do you pee standing up?”

“Do you?” she returns, one eyebrow cocked.

“Fair play,” he says quietly.

You give him a look.

“What?” he says, “I like to read.”

You shake your head. “I think we’re getting way off track here,” you say. “Robin, do you have any questions for us?”

“Not really,” she says. “Although you never did tell me how you ended up in the cloning machine.”

Irish releases a nervous chuckle. “Oh, I don’t think we need to get into all that,” he says, bringing his hand down hard on his forearm to swat a mosquito. “Ah, you fucker!” he exclaims, inspecting the site for bites.

“Ow,” says Robin under her breath, rubbing her own arm in the same place.

“Guys, let me just try something,” you say, moving around the breakfast bar. You grab a cocktail stick from the kitchen drawer and return to your seat. “Stick your hand out,” you say to Irish. He puts his hand on the counter and you jab him on the tip of his thumb.

“Ow! What did you do that for?” he says, pulling his hand back and shooting you an accusing look.

At the same time, Robin shakes her hand in the air with a soft “Ah!” and sticks her thumb in her mouth.

“Ok, that’s interesting,” you say. “Let me try something else now.”

You move around to Robin and stand behind her.

“Can you lift your arms for me for a second, honey. It’s for science,” you ask.

“Sure thing,” she says, giving you a sideways smirk.

You tickle her under the arms, knowing that it’s one of his most sensitive spots.

Robin laughs and squeals, meanwhile he writhes in his seat, as if ghostly fingers were invading his armpits.

“Ah-ah! Stop! What are you doing to me?” he screeches.

“Well, that proves it. You two have some kind of weird connection,” you say, releasing Robin and returning to your seat. “It’s like a sensory telepathy or something. She feels what you feel, and vice versa.”

His brow knits in confusion, his mouth gaping. Then his expression changes and his eyebrow curls towards the ceiling as a realisation dawns on him.

“Well, that could be fun,” he says, a wicked glint in his eyes now.

“I’m depending on you not to abuse that,” says Robin, extending a finger at him and wagging it in his face.

“Well, I could say the same thing to you,” he says, turning defensive.

“I’m going to use the bathroom,” Robin says. “Try not to stub your toe or anything while I’m gone.”

She pats you on the shoulder as she leaves, allowing her fingers to linger on your skin for a split-second too long. The gesture doesn’t escape Irish’s attention and he crosses his brow, watching her with a hint of suspicion as she leaves. His mouth opens as if he’s about to say something, but you interrupt his thoughts before he can articulate them.

“Irish!” you hiss at him, grabbing his attention. “Now what do we do?”

“I dunno,” he shrugs. “Maybe we should take her out, you know, let her see some of the city.”

You look at him with a baffled expression. How is he approaching this whole thing so casually? Did that bump on his head shake some of his screws loose?

“Have you lost your mind?” you say, your voice pitching higher. “We can’t wander around town with your female clone like she’s some kind of visiting relative. We’re not taking her anywhere, we are staying right here until we figure this out.”

“Why not?” he says, leaning in closer to you. “Look, she’s 34 years old and she hasn’t experienced anything of the world. We can’t keep her cooped up in here forever.”

“But she’s not 34, she’s only a day old,” you insist. “What if something happens to her, what if she gets hurt?”

“She’s 6ft tall and she can do everything I can do, right? That means she can throw a punch if necessary,” he replies.

You know deep down that he is right. Keeping her locked up in your flat indefinitely wouldn’t be feasible or fair. And Robin seems perfectly capable of looking after herself, if a little naive.

“It’s interesting actually,” he continues, “I wonder if she can act. I’ve always wanted to play Lady Macbeth on the stage...” His mind is wandering now, indulging in some egotistical fantasy in which both his faces are on the poster.

“Irish!” you snap, nudging him back to the present.

“Right, yeah, sorry. Come on, let’s just go out somewhere, show her a good time. Everything will be fine.” He rubs your thigh as he speaks. You can already feel yourself giving in to him, once again.

“Ooh, are we going out?” says Robin, returning to the kitchen.

“Come on,” says Irish, pleading with you. “I think we could all use a little fun. What harm will it do?”

You look at Robin, those green eyes begging you to say yes, mirroring Irish’s expression. His persuasive powers are hard enough to resist at the best of times, let alone when there’s two of him.

You sigh. “Oh, fine,” you say, waving your hand in a gesture of surrender.

“Robin, my love,” says Irish, turning to her now, “how would you like to get drunk for the first time?”

Robin emerges from the en-suite bathroom in a towel, a couple of wet tendrils escaping from the nest of curls piled into a loose bun on top of her head, her wet skin glistening in the soft light of your bedroom. A light curl of steam follows her from the bathroom, wrapping around her slim ankles, caressing the tanned skin of her long legs. In her hands, a bottle of lotion, which she applies with care to her arms, allowing her fingers to drape over her skin with gentle, massaging strokes, skimming over her collarbone, the curves of her chest.

She tilts her head to meet your eyes. “Is everything all right?” she says.

In that moment, you realise you’ve been staring at her and you force yourself to snap out of it.

“Yes, er, yes. Let’s, erm, let’s find you something to wear,” you say, heading over to the closet. You throw open the doors and gesture at everything you own. “Just help yourself to whatever you want,” you say. “You are ever so tall, but I’m sure you’ll find something. We will get you some clothes of your own later, this is just for now.”

“Thank you,” she says, allowing the towel to drop to her feet and reaching up for the jeans on the top shelf. Her breast meets your eyeline and you avert your gaze, feeling the blood rush to your face. She certainly seems comfortable being naked, but then that shouldn’t surprise you - Irish seems to resist being fully clothed at every possible opportunity. You head over to your dressing table and finish applying your makeup, trying your best not to spy on her through the mirror.

“So, what kind of place do you want to go to? Somewhere lively with lots of people, or somewhere a little more chilled out and relaxed?” you say, attempting to make casual chit-chat despite the circumstances.

“Well, I don’t really have any frame of reference, so I trust you to make the call,” she says.

“There’s a great little place in town that does cocktails and finger foods. All of the drinks are named after famous… writers…” you trail off as your eyes fall on her approaching form.

She is dressed now and you take in her selection: a pair of extremely tight skinny jeans, in a shade of distressed dark grey with strategically placed rips up the legs, a tiny black bralette you can’t remember buying, over which she has chosen a sheer knitted top several sizes too big, the neckline draping loosely off one shoulder, the front tucked into her belt buckle.

“What’s the matter?” she says, observing your slack-jawed expression as she rolls up the sleeves. “Is this not ok?”

You blink hard and shake your head. “No, no, you look great. It’s just…” You bring your eyes up to meet hers and she shakes her curls loose from her bun. “You dress just like he does.”

“Ooh! These are pretty,” she says, fingering the box of bracelets and trinkets on your dressing table.

“Oh, those belong to Irish,” you say. “But I’m sure he won’t mind.”

She sits down on the bench next to you, rolling his beads and leather bangles up each arm.

“Well, he did say what’s his is mine, right?” She says, glancing at you with a smile. For a split second her eyes rest on your lips and you feel your heart pick up speed.

“Yes, yes. He did say that,” you laugh, trying and failing to hide your nerves. You go back to applying your lipstick under her watchful gaze. After a minute, you withdraw the product from your lips and offer it to her. “You want to borrow it?” you say.

She shakes her head. “That is something I definitely don’t know how to do,” she says with an apologetic smile. “You could do it for me?”

Of course, she can only do what Irish can do and he definitely can’t do makeup. The one time he tried for a Halloween party he looked like a melted Liza Minnelli waxwork.

“Okay, sure,” you reply.

You turn to face her and apply a thin coat to her lips. As you work, her sea-green eyes scan your face, the intensity of her gaze causing your hand to falter.

“Oops, hold on,” you say, correcting your mistake. For a brief second your eyes meet as your hand cups her face, your finger sliding under her bottom lip, your faces merely inches apart. Your pulse beats so loud and so hard that you worry she might hear it.

You pull your eyes away and clear your throat. “There we go, all done,” you say.

But she doesn’t move and neither do you. She holds you captivated in her gaze like a tractor beam.

“How are you girls getting on in here?” says Irish, sticking his head through the door. “You nearly ready? The cab is waiting downstairs.”

You jump as if caught red-handed. “Yes, all done here,” you say, a little too loud.

Robin rises and walks over to Irish, beginning to circle him. The two of them look each other up and down in the doorway like two wild cats sizing each other up.

She leans into his ear as she exits: “I’ll meet you two downstairs,” she says in a low voice. She pats him on the ass and gives you a wink as she leaves.

You hear the front door close behind her and throw Irish a shocked look.

“She is flirting with you!” you say, stating the obvious.

Irish scoffs: “From where I’m standing, it looks like she’s flirting with you!”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” you say, bending down to put on your shoes, hiding your blushing face from his eyes.

“Well, think about it,” he says. “I’m attracted to you, therefore it makes sense that she’d be attracted to you, too.”

“Yeah?” you say, standing now and facing him in the doorway. “Well, why is she apparently attracted to you too?”

Irish gives you a shrug, a guilty smirk passing over his lips. You nudge him in the ribs.

“Because you’re so fucking in love with yourself!” you say, only half-teasing.

Irish laughs, ruffling a hand through his curly hair. You roll your eyes at him and fold your arms with an exaggerated sigh.

“Look, everything’s going to be fine,” he says, holding you by the shoulders. “Let’s just go get a drink.”

“You were getting a blow job?” asks Robin, incredulous.

“The door just sort of swung open and I smacked my head on the wall. I was knocked out cold for a good few minutes. And when I woke up, well, there you were,” he says.

Robin turns to you with an open-mouthed expression.

“I’m sorry, sweetheart,” you say, cringing. “I wish we had a better story to tell you.”

Her face creases and she releases a high-pitched laugh. “You guys are hilarious,” she says. “Do you do that a lot, sex acts in public places?”

Irish shrugs, opening his mouth to speak.

You cut him off before he can embarrass you further. “No!” you insist. “No, we don’t.”

The more drinks that are consumed, the more the conversation veers towards sex. Irish is being his usual giddy self, telling stories and making crude jokes. Robin, meanwhile, is becoming increasingly tactile, clasping your shoulder as she laughs, pressing her long fingers into your arm as she fires questions at you.

Her displays of affection seem to be making him territorial. Every time her hand brushes against your leg, his follows. Or perhaps they are just mirroring each other; echoing each other’s movements and mannerisms. Either way, you are sitting between them and it’s starting to make you feel like a baby goat in the tiger enclosure.

The worst part, you decide, is how alike they are. Robin seems to agree with everything he says, especially his drunken ideas. Stay out longer? Great idea. More shots? Great idea. Go to another bar? Great idea. You are outnumbered. And now everything is starting to get hazy and wobbly, furry around the edges.

“So, do you both have jobs? I know you’re a scientist, but what do you do?” asks Robin, gesturing to your boyfriend.

“I’m an actor,” Irish replies, puffing out his chest. “Been doing it since I was a kid.”

“Wow, that sounds like so much fun,” says Robin, her eyes widening. “I’d love to do something like that.”

“Of course you would,” you mutter under your breath.

“Did I say something wrong,” asks Robin.

Her brow furrows in the middle. You can see Irish glaring at you out of the corner of your eye. He thinks you’re being rude. You instantly feel bad for being crabby.

“No, honey, I’m sorry,” you say, reaching forward to clasp her knee. “It’s just… well, you two are so damn similar! It’s actually kind of infuriating.”

They both laugh at the same time, then look at you: “What’s the matter, are you feeling left out?” they say in perfect unison.

Realising their thoughts have synched, they immediately turn and point at each other: “Oh, we both said the same thing!” they say at the same time.

“Ok, stop that, it’s freaking me the fuck out,” you interrupt, not wanting to find out how long they can do that for.

They share a look, synapses firing at the same time, cogs turning in synchronicity. The chemistry between them, between the three of you, is palpable and it terrifies you as much as it excites you.

Robin looks at you, then at him.

“You know what I think, Irish?” says Robin, leaning her head towards you. “I think your girlfriend…”

“Our girlfriend,” he corrects.

“Our girlfriend,” she says, walking her fingers up your thigh, “needs to lighten up.”

Robin’s face is centimetres away now. Her eyes, at first locked on yours, float down to your lips, then back up to meet your gaze again. She tilts her head slightly and you feel your breath deepening, your heart beginning to race in your chest.

“What are you doing?” you ask.

She shushes you gently as she cups your face, allowing her thumb to trail over your cheekbone.

“Just relax,” she whispers, bringing her mouth down on yours.

As her plump lips part yours, you are struck by how similar the experience of kissing her is to kissing him - only softer, gentler. And as her tongue inches across the inside of your lips, you feel him join in, trailing a string of delicate kisses down the side of your face, down your neck.

They each wind an arm around your body and you suddenly remember that you are in a public place, giving the patrons of this bar something to stare at. And they are staring - you feel their eyes boring into you as two hands belonging to two separate owners begin to pass over your legs.

Robin lifts her head, moving to your neck, and her mouth is replaced with his.

“Guys,” you say in between deepening kisses, your voice trembling, “we have to get out of here.”

They lift their heads and look at each other, then at you. “Great idea,” they say together.

REBLOGS FEED THE WRITER - PLEASE FEED ME! 🥺🤲

If you’ve been tagged it’s probably because you asked to be a long time ago. If you don’t wanna be tagged in future updates, just send me a DM: @iamsexytrash @pickledbeefwastaken @m0onlitmadness @blog-kyku-us @super-unpredictable98 @love-is-dirty-baby @maerenee930 @simplymesam99 @sheehaniphilia @rob-private @rina-cydonia @icarusklaus @nostalgiawings @orangepear18 @p0tat0nug @21stcenturywitchcraft @ssanjuniperoo @the-freckled-luba @motherofanimals @archivemysins @faceache111 @lezzy-4 @firstpersonnarrator @inspiremeandsetmefree @sands7 @granddeaneaglesports @hanatashii @one-dizzydreamer @itscarolsainz @septicrebel @zombiedixon89 @amanda-hotchner @spaceclone-mom @readersinflammation @jender123 @juicyj28 @badsext @bunybordelaux @vomkimmeren @shaneen828 @klausmikaelsonswolf @kittenqueen04 @itsophiebby @itsjustmylifeconfessions @mypsychoticlove @jizzmans-world @thislovelylife

#robert sheehan #robert sheehan x reader #robert sheehan character fic #klaus hargreeves #robert sheehan smut #Robert Sheehan rpf #robert sheehan fic #the umbrella academy #robert sheehan fanfic #tua #umbrella academy #rob sheehan #Robert Sheehan au #klaus umbrella academy #Rob Sheehan fic #robert sheehan fan #tua cast #tua Netflix #bisexual

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sheehalloween · 2 years

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This is Sheehalloween…

Everybody make a scene/fic/gifset

Psst, Sheepeeps, remember last year when we brought you Sheehanksgiving, well this year we're back with something new...

✨ Introducing: Sheehalloween! ✨

What is it?

Nine whole days of spooky fun from October 23rd - 31st, featuring our favourite gorgeous Irish actor, Robert Sheehan. Once more hosted by your favourite neighborhood Sheefanatics, Salv (@salvador-daley) & joz (@seanfalco)!

The Prompts:

This time we're doing things a little differently and have chosen general prompts for each day that you can interpret and use in any way you like, or throw them out and do your own thing entirely, if you'd rather.

🔮 Day One: Seance

🔮 Day Two: Trick or Treat

🔮 Day Three: Scary Movie

🔮 Day Four: Reanimation

🔮 Day Five: Free Space

🔮 Day Six: Ghosts

🔮 Day Seven: Ouija

🔮 Day Eight: Possession

🔮 Day Nine: Magic

The Rules:

☛ This event is open to all creators: whether you’re an artist, a writer, a gif-maker or someone who carves sculptures out of mash potato. If you make fanworks relating to Rob and/or his characters, we want to see them. If you’ve never made a fanwork before, now is your chance! We welcome collabs, first-time artists, established writers, people from peripheral fandoms… this event is open to everyone.

☛ Please tag your work appropriately and hide any NSFW content behind a read more. If you are creating NSFW art, make sure adhere to tumblr's rules so your art won't get flagged.

☛ There is no word limit on fics, however, if your fic is longer than 500 words, please use a readmore so as not to clutter the dash.

☛ The only thing we ask is that you don’t submit noncon or underage content. If you are a minor, please do not submit NSFW content as it will not be shared.

☛ When posting your fan works, make sure to tag your work with #sheehalloween 2022 & also tag us here at @sheehalloween so we can share your works!

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m0therfuck3rofunderw0rld · 1 year

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Halloween Night: The Scape - Werewolf by night

Summary: Halloween, Samhain, All Hallows' Night, call it what you will, but this day is more than just a holiday, many humans could easily not believe the ancient legends and tales about this date, but supernatural beings know very, very well. as it is the real Halloween, let's see a little more about this dear holiday…who knows what it could bring this time.

Word Count: 1.745

Pairing: Jack Russell x Fem!OC(Hayley García)

Warnings: Child abuse(mentioned), Gore(maybe?..), Private prison, Violence

Faceclaims: Phoebe Tonken as Hayley García Márquez, Robert Sheehan as Adult Eros García Márquez, Diana Silvers as Young Hayley García Márquez, Spencer Mcpherson as Young Eros García Márquez, Cillian Murphy as Sebastian and Eiza González as Javiera García Márquez

A/N: I watched the Halloween special, and I have to say.....Jack Russell is so cute and adorable, when he smiles it's incredibly cute, but he's also so---...I don't even have words to say, just WOW...And I also want to apologize because I promised a one-shot but I decided to split it into chapters, the first one will be introducing Hayley, Eros and Sebastian.

Trapped in her cell, Hayley sat against one of the gray, cracked walls of the place she had lived in since a very young age, a little lost in her mind that day, wondering when the last experiment of the vile vampire who had taken her from her "mother" when she was so young had happened, not knowing why she still called the woman a mother since she would never want the child since it was still in her womb, perhaps..perhaps it was the lack of a mother figure to protect her from her alleged kidnapper, unfortunately she did not know that the woman who had given her life actually gave her to the evil vampire.

When she got up from the floor, she walked to a small cardboard box where she kept a "thing" that she had managed to steal from the vampire without he having noticed, since at the time she stole it, he was very worried about just continuing with his enhancement experiments on Hayley. Her eyes became a golden hot as fire but at the same time they looked so...apathetic, as if she didn't feel as encouraged as had before, after all, she had left that place so few times and most of them had only been to be once again a guinea pig for experiments. She frowned in disgust as looked at the "thing" trying to understand exactly what it was, let out a sigh after a few minutes not knowing how she could use it to escape and gain her long-dreamed freedom.

As much as Hayley was still afraid of the Vampire, her need to run away was greater than any fear, and that was what she counted on most now, since she planned for some time to kill him. For a full stop in all her suffering of years.

As much as that was a dark thought-even though the man was the cause of her pain and the pain of her brothers, well, brother...but that's a matter she should think about another time, since now she should keep focused on how to escape from that place full of suffering, escape with her younger brother, Eros.

In the other cell next to Hayley's was Eros, the girl's younger brother, the poor thing was lying in a dark corner in the fetal position while his pale body had slight tremors due to the cold air that entered through the cracks in the walls, sometimes he wondered if he would survive everything that happened every two weeks, his body seemed to get weaker and paler every day, there were times when he considered "trying" to face the vampire he still called "father", he knew...he always knew since he was little that as much as the older man treated them as mere experiments, he was still the father of Eros and Hayley, at least that was what the boy thought.

— I wonder if Hayley's okay..? Eros closed his greenish eyes for a few minutes while frowning slightly, let out a long tired sigh but decided that he couldn't lie there forever, even though he was still only 14 years old, he didn't want to look weak when he saw his older sister and even when his father saw him. He opened his eyes slowly as he lifted his torso so that it was now sitting on the cold floor, extended his legs to slightly lengthen them, and raised his left hand to bring it up to his short curly hair.

- I'll make you two proud...especially you ... Hayley.

◇◇◇◇◇◇

A few days later

◇◇◇◇◇◇

A few days had already passed since the young 19-year-old girl had finalized her "grand plan" to assassinate the vampire who "took care" of her and her brother, at that moment she was with a little more control over her werewolf side, after all, she had been preparing and training for that plan for many, many years since she was 9 years old, even at a tender age, she already knew that she wanted to destroy the man who imprisoned them. She fixed her gaze on her right hand focusing on being able to change her normal nails to the claws of her werewolf form, but not everything is that easy, and she ended up that she had not obtained even a small result, she frowned angrily while unknowingly, her eyes changed to a golden color because of wolf instincts only manifest when she is with strong emotions, such as hatred, for example, Hayley closed her two hands in firm fists while lowering her head, she was shaking but it was not because of the cold but because of the angry. Great anger that she was feeling at that moment, in a fluid and fast movement she raised her left fist to immediately take it to the wall closest to her, the punch she had given to the wall had been so strong that it had left cracks much larger than those that had already been in the place, it had even shaken that whole place...without a doubt, Sebastian, her dear father but not so dear had noticed what had happened.

In a quick movement, Hayley turned in the direction of where the iron door leading to her cell was, fear ran through her veins completely cold, she was afraid, very afraid, but, she did not know what to do, he would probably punish her for having done that and surely she would not return to her cell so soon if that happened. Her eyes continued in that golden hue even without knowing it, his senses were sharper, she could feel from the smallest to the strongest smells that were in that place.

Suddenly, it's like the world is in slow motion, a strong odor seeped into Hayley's nostrils, it felt like a slight mixture of the musk of sweat along with the Woody touch of an aftershave, and the smell seeped into her brain like a drug, she could feel exactly where she saw it and whose smell it was. More elongated and pointed canines were beginning to appear in the girl's mouth inaccurately and even hurt a little, her normal short nails were now claws as sharp and pointed as a well – honed knife for a precise cut-that...was no longer Hayley, well, technically it was, but in its most primitive and animalistic state, her wolf side finally come out to play, and Sebastian would not like to play with it...not this time.

Sebastian carefully placed his feet on the steps of the old wooden staircase that led to the basement of his mansion, where he kept Eros and Hayley imprisoned in their cells, was loading a shotgun with bullets made specifically to kill a hybrid of vampire and werewolf, bullets that he had created himself a few weeks ago, in case experiment 212, also known as Hayley García Márquez, got out of control...like that day. He heard and felt the powerful punch that the girl had given somewhere, a punch that had shaken the mansion, or at least part of it, he thought to himself if it was really worth risking his life at that moment, after all, his beast was out of control, and an uncontrolled and afraid beast...it was something very, very dangerous.

He frowned angrily and was soon seized by an impulse to just destroy the hybrid girl, after completely descending the old and dusty wooden staircase, Sebastian walked in long strides to the iron door of Hayley's cell, raised his right leg to give a strong kick at the door so that it came out of the JAMB and flew into the cell on account of the Vampire's strength, cautiously he entered the cell looking for the young woman.

Unfortunately for Sebastian, in Hayley's cell there was a place that was totally dark because it was there where he put the meals that the girl made during the day, although it was a little tighter and lower than usual, for that young wolf it was even very easy to hide in that small place and watch the vampire like a hungry predator, you could clearly see that the man knew he was being watched but had no idea where exactly he was being watched. The hybrid was kneeling on the ground while his hands were also in the same position, watched in silence waiting for the right moment to attack his prey, but, the Vampire was not silly and soon noticed the low tone of the girl's breathing, turned in the direction of Hayley, putting her in the sights of his rifle and in a few seconds later he fired the gun at her. The hybrid narrowly escaped taking a shot in her right shoulder, and when she noticed that Sebastian wanted to kill her she released a high and serious face, left her observation point of prey to go towards the man at a speed far above human, perhaps, her vampire side also wanted to make a small appearance, not that we could know, only that when he saw Hayley run up to him the man reloaded the gun with the intention not to miss the next shot but it was too late for him because the girl had put a good part of her strength in her legs to give the impulse for a jump in such a way that she fell on top of him, with her left hand she took the shotgun out of the man's hand, throwing it away.

Hayley opened her mouth over Sebastian's head as if to take a big bite out of him, a bite so strong it could shatter the Vampire's skull, a trickle of saliva trickled through the hybrid's teeth to the man's face as he writhed from the girl's strong grip, but she was stronger than him since he had created her for that exact reason, to subdue the Vampire and werewolf races, to make the two races completely his slaves.

— Grrr...you thought...you could control me for how much longer? Hayley is not afraid of you...she just didn't want you to touch her brother anymore...and now, you will never touch either of them again... — So said the werewolf half of the 19-year-old girl before squeezing her hands even more on Sebastian's wrists, and soon she quickly lowered her head and bit the Vampire's face with all her strength, he man's blood flew to the gray floor as Hayley sank her fangs into his face, several splatters of blood splattering around them and onto the hybrid's face. She kept biting into the vampire's skull until she heard the sound of the bone breaking into several pieces, then she pulled a chunk out of Sebastian's face and then spat it from her lips in disgust...

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xtrashmammalstefx · 2 years

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Hi. I was wondering what fandoms you wrote for. :)

Hey. I actually like to write for many fandoms.

For example:

BORHAP

Queen

Motley Crue/ The Dirt

Guns & Roses (mainly Duff McKagan cuz he is...well....

Marvel Universe (mainly Loki, Thor, Tony Stark, Druig, Shang-chi Pietro Maximoff, Scott Lang, Captain America, and Bucky fucking Barnes)

Teen Wolf ( Stiles/ Dylan O'Brien, Scott/ Tyler Posey, Derek, and Peter)

Criminal Minds ( yes I am a slut for Dr. Spencer Reid)

Palaye Royale

Black Veil Brides

HARRY POTTER CUZ I'M A DAMN PROUD POTTERHEAD/ RAVENCLAW! (This includes Marauders Era cuz let's face it they are the best!)

Umbrella Academy ( Klaus/ Robert Sheehan, Ben, and Diego)

Star Wars ( Anakin, Obi wan, Din "Dilf" Djarin, Poe, Ben Solo)

Twilight (mainly Seth/ Boo Boo Stewart since he's the only character that doesn't royally piss me off).

Stranger Things (Steve Harrington, Eddie Munson)

Ghost Adventures (mainly Zak Bagans)

On My Block ( OSCAR "SPOOKY" DIAZ BABY!)

Motionless In White ( Chris Motionless, Ricky Horror)

Stray Kids (Hyunjin)

Seventeen (Vernon Hansol)

And many others I can't seem to remember at the moment.

I write smut and fluff and usually have stories up as fast as I can once I have an idea.

So if you're interested lemme know and I shall fulfill your fanfic needs!

#fanfic #smut #fluff #fandom #imagine #fanfiction

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kwbih · 1 year

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𝐖𝐞𝐥𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐞~

- ♡ -

INFO

Hello~ I am Cypher (or just kwbih) and I'm eighteen. My pronouns are she/her, and I'm from Ireland (now living in Seattle). My content will mostly be AUs and fanfics with a side of random photos, lol. I am a fan of the umbrella academy, which will be what most of my content is based around. I'm also a fan of robert, aidan, txt, and enhypen, which I will post occasionally. I'm a slut for nathan young and cormac macnamara.

!! minors can interact unless stated otherwise !!

- ♡ -

REQUESTS

: ̗̀➛ i don't accept disrespectful requests.

: ̗̀➛ i don't accept requests about minors involving smut.

: ̗̀➛ i don't accept requests involving non-con sex (real people/celebrities).

: ̗̀➛ i don't accept requests that are adult x minor (real people/celebrities).

: ̗̀➛ specify fluff, angst, smut, etc. (can be more than one).

: ̗̀➛ specify tropes (if you have one in mind)

: ̗̀➛ specify gender of reader

: ̗̀➛ if character is from a show/series, include what season/movie (ex. ben hargreeves s1) this is not necessary, just depends on the character's development throughout the show/series

: ̗̀➛ specify the length (ex. oneshot, scenario, dialogue, etc.).

: ̗̀➛ specify relationship (ex. romantic, platonic, bsf, fwb, etc.).

: ̗̀➛ you can request AUs or specific timelines

- ♡ -

FANDOMS

✧.* the umbrella academy

✧.* tomorrow x together

✧.* enhypen

✧.* robert sheehan

✧.* aidan gallagher

✧.* misfits

✧.* marvel

✧.* scream (1996-VI)

✧.* maze runner

✧.* wednesday

✧.* harry potter

✧.* nicky, ricky, dicky, & dawn

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✧.* you can request fandoms and ill see what i can do :)

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simon-x-billy · 1 year

Text

Simon x Billy

Year of the OTP: March

March prompt: Acceptance

Meet my OTP: Simon Lewis, author of a best-selling paranormal book series, who keeps writing himself into his novels; and Billy Delaney, Irish handsome devil and nomadic man of mystery, who chefs internationally. AN: Simon x Billy is a slow-burn m/m first-time-bi fic (nsfw at ch. 7). TW: References to the pain of being cheated on, language, Irish-isms, massive rewrites. Event details || ao3: Full Event || @yearoftheotpevent

Masterlist || ao3 || Start: Jan Ch. 1 || Prev: Feb Ch. 2 || Here: Mar Ch. 3 || Next: April Ch. 4

————/-/—————

March Chapter 3: My red stripe of pain

———/Simon/———

Ooh, my ass is sunburnt. In a slightly-but-mostly-not sexy way. Look at that. I’ve taken on a rather tomatoesque appearance after four hours in the meaty embrace of the sun at midday without sunblock. But even pain can’t spoil this utter relaxation and bliss I feel.

Huh. I’ve just realized I’ve never done this before — traveling to another country alone. Maybe it’ll turn lonely again later. But right now, watching a boat streaking across my view, I feel free.

And slightly dehydrated.

————/-/—————

“You have a stripe on your arse. That’s what yer tellin me, is it.”

“Yes.”

“A stripe of pain. Have you been naughty, Simon?” Billy asks with the most obscenely good looking smirk. Ew. How dare he.

“Don’t grin at me like that, you barbarian. My red stripe of pain isn’t worthy of that kind of interest, trust me.”

“Why not?” He’s pouring me his favorite wine at the hotel bar, while I wait for my table at the very-big-deal restaurant outside.

“Why n- Are you- My red stripe of pain is a boring kind of red stripe of pain, I assure you.” After a second’s very deep reflection, I’ve realized I want to know, “Why are you so focused on my red stripe of pain, anyway? Never mind. I’ve changed my mind about wanting to know that. Ugh, look at this place. I have no words,” I sigh as the sun dips toward the horizon.

“Finally noticed you’re in Italy, did you,” he chuckles. He’s chuckling. Great.

“Even I had to notice sooner or later. And though it was a little, ok fine, quite a bit later, it’s ok. I’m good with that. Look, the point is…” What was my point? (I am the essence of cool rn.)

Now he’s raising one of his eye caterpillars at me.

He squawks out a laugh and then ducks, as a few of the other patrons look up at the bar.

“Tell me I didn’t say that out loud,” I ask weakly.

“You didn’t say that out loud. But the truth is, yeh said that out loud, mate. And I’ve never heard quite that arrangement of words, ever. Eye caterpillars,” he chuckles.

“Yeah, yeah, whatever. I bet they keep your face warm come winter. But don’t worry, I was once described as having eye caterpillars, too.” By whom I can’t remember. But am I admitting to furry eyebrows? Fuck no. His are far furrier than mine.

“Mate, looks like your seating is ready.” He inclines his head to the side to indicate the host coming to claim me.

“Oh. Ok. Have a good night Beelee.” I waive as I say, “Ciao,” then cringe. “Oh kill me now, I said ciao.” All I can think every time I hear it is puppy chow. Or puppy ciao.

“Keep using it, til you don’t think about it anymore,” is Billy’s random advice. ”Ciao, Seemon.”

“Does he talk dirty to all the guests?” I mumble as I’m seated.

“The list of the wines, signore.” The host hands me a binder so freakin big it requires tabs. Oh look, there’s another one for their selection of olive oils, too.

I never was any good at languages. I’m thinking maybe I should have spent some time on important things, like “Where’s the bathroom? Right and left. Do you have a cell phone charger?” The essentials.

I was too focused on setting everything up for the proposal. The one I’d planned for tonight.

…Fuck, man, I miss her. Why? Why the fuck do I miss her? Why does she get that from me, karmically? It’s so unfair.

I mean, at least I finally feel buzzed. But it’s not cheering me up. It’s just making me all moony.

…I’ve never seen a lavender sky before. Have you? This would be an impossible place to contemplate suicide. Not when you get this sky every day.

…Why does she get to have me miss her? That’s just not cool. “What did I ever do to you?” Maybe I really shouldn’t shake my fist at the sky in the middle of a Michelin-starred restaurant. Even when there isn’t somebody here to get embarrassed by me. So I’m hereby mentally shaking my fist at the sky. Screw y-

Whoa. Look at that.

Is that a freakin schooner? I mean that looks like the Pirates of the Caribbean came to the Mediterranean. I just- I can’t- It’s- It’s a freaking cruise ship. A sailboat version of a cruise ship. My god.

That is simultaneously brilliant and an unholy alliance of two things that should not exist in the same paragraph on a travel brochure. I dunno. I’m just jealous. I’ve always wanted to be in Pirates of the Caribbean.

…You ever wonder what he or she saw when they looked at you standing there at the end? I can’t stop thinking about it. What had I turned into in her mind, right before she finally got the balls to say and do what she wanted to? How long? Why didn’t I notice the change? How much of this can I blame on myself? Because I will find the things I can blame on myself and then I’ll chew on them like an old piece of beef jerky. And my whole head will ache after, because of all the chewing.

…Towns lit up, like a diamond necklace draped aaaaaaaaaaall along the bay. I would have bought her a diamond necklace. I totally would have. I already bought the ring. Would have felt obligated to keep it in my underwear, so, at least there’s an upside to her dumping me. Oh hey look, that must be Vesuvius. Why would you want to live near Mount Vesuvius? It’s alive.

…I shake my head back to consciousness as someone steps in the way of my view and leans toward me over the back of Elijah’s seat. (That’s a joke. An empty chair for Elijah. If you’re Jewish you get it.)

“How you doin there, mate?” It’s Billy.

I don’t much like that careful, quiet tone he’s using.

“Yeah, totally. Amazing restaurant.”

“Em,” he looks back over to the kitchen and says quietly, “Mate, you didn’t eat.”

“What? I ate!”

“You ordered olives. At a Michelin-starred restaurant that people can only reserve a year to the day ahead of time. Everything ok?"

Or you call and bribe them. That can get you a table, too.

“Yeah, the olives were good.” And are still largely untouched, I see as I glance down at my plate. Yet I’m certain I’ve ordered something. Beyond the wines, I mean.

“Shit.” I now realize that the staff of the restaurant are waiting for me. “This outdoor patio is a patio all day. Doesn’t it just turn back into a patio at night? Like when the clock tolls midnight?”

“Sure but midnight’ll still be two hours away.” He pauses to look behind him and motions to someone that he’s going to sit down with me.

“Um…” I don’t know what to say. Cuz I really don’t want to talk to him rn. It’s not that I don’t - I just - I don’t want to have to try so hard to speak in complete sentences.

“You’d rather that I didn’t join you. Well, if you can put up with my less than ideal company for the next half hour, then the kitchen will be locked down and you can sit out here staring at Naples all night by yerself. Or is it me specifically?”

I snort.

Billy shifts in his seat. “Simon? You didn’t actually answer the question. You just sort of breathed loudly at it.”

I shake my head, not sure what he’s talking about.

“Leave by yourself, or sit for 25 more minutes with me.”

I feel like he’s speaking a different language and frown at him. Why is he looking at me like that?

“Mate, you’re thinkin out loud again. And for your information, I’m speaking English, with an Irish accent, which really isn’t that different to all other versions of English. Because it’s English. And I’m lookin at yeh like this cos you’re startin to scare me, yeah?”

“Is that a rhetorical question? I’m not sure that was a question at all.”

He slides his chair back looking kinda pissy.

“What did I say?! Don’t look at me like that,” I finish in a mumble.

He stands. “Em.” It’s Billy, who is annoying the fuck out of me rn. “You’re not looking too-”

“Fuck it. Where can I sit?”

Billy takes a step back, definitely looking pissed off now, and raises his hands in an “I give up” kinda gesture. “Enjoy your solitude. I’ll just tell the owner to turn the lights off on yeh, then.” He turns and starts to walk away toward the kitchen again.

“Yes! Thank you. I’ll be able to see the view better,” I say, tapering off at the end. I hear the kitchen door close.

I go to take another sip of wine, but my glass is gone. All that’s left is the last bottle I ordered, already uncorked, thank god.

The lights go out. Finally.

————/Billy/————

“Well if it isn’t the lovely Rosalina. What brings you my way this early in the day, love?” She always blushes when I greet her this way. If she didn’t work here at the hotel, I’d be finding all the places I could make her blush. Christ, she’s beautiful. They grow ‘em like that here. “To what do I owe the pleasure of your company?”

“It is the American on the roof. You come, please.”

That can’t be good. “On the roof?”

“Or maybe I do not speak it well. He is on the floor of his room, on the floor next to his room. He sleeps there. Maybe he drops his key in the sea? Or the window?”

“He’s asleep on the floor?”

“Si.”

“But not in his room?”

She shakes her head. So do I. What now, Seemon.

Haven’t laid eyes on him in a coupla days. Hoped he’d be doin better.

She looks very serious now. “And I do not like to see the other girls also seeing him when they go to clean. You speak English to him and you are tell him to go to his room for the sleep.”

That’s really very sweet -- she doesn’t want to embarrass him. “I do not like them seeing him like that, either, Rosalina. Thank you. You are very kind.”

“Kind?”

“You have a beautiful heart,” I say, tapping my chest. No use listing everything else beautiful about her. “And your English is improving.” She smiles, and twists away so I can’t see her blushing. Why do women do that? When are they more lovely?

She’s a coworker, Billy, she’s a coworker. I already regret my feckin principles.

She shoos me toward the stairs to the top floor, and all but flees down the hallway when I aim a smile her way. She’s sweet.

————/-/—————

Even before I top the stairs, I can already hear him snoring.

Actually, that sounds more like choking.

Aw, mate, this isn’t good. He snores until his head lolls too far to the side, then he chokes, making his head roll back against the wall, where he starts up with the snoring again. Jesus Christ, has he been choking like this all night?

He’s sat propped up next to the door to his suite. The closer I get, the more I smell fumes. It’s sickly sweet, and oof, he’s got sticky-looking drool migrating in a slow stream from his mouth down the side of his chin.

The label on the half-empty bottle says Limoncello. “Aw, mate. The pain you’re about to feel is a unique suffering.” I hate to get in his face to wake him up. Something tells me Simon’ll be mortified, but there’s nothin for it.

The hall is dim with the storm shutters bolted tight from the inside. Maybe if I shed some light on the situation… Result!

Simon choke-snorts, then groans as he attempts to shift away from the source of light. So the – oof, they stick – shutters at the far end of the hall are open. Result again.

He mumble-whines. “Mmmfm mmmmbnnnaway.” Then there’s groaning, as if the sound of his own voice is too offensive to bear. Then growling and groaning. Until I finally hear some English I recognize. “Ow? Owwwwwwww. Nooooooo. Make it ugly again. n’Go away.”

“Make it ugly?”

“Dark. Too pretty. Hate it.” Followed by whimpering.

“How can something be too pretty?” I mumble under my breath.

“Just can.” Then he tries to roll his head toward the sound of my voice and fails. “Owwwwww?”

Probably needs a hand up. Leaning down, I can see his pulse pounding in his temple. I’d take the pain away if I could, mate. I would if I could. “Let’s get ye to bed, get ye down for a kip, mate. It’ll make you feel better, promise.”

“s’Too pretty in there. Don’t want pretty. You’re too pretty, go’way.”

I can’t help snorting.

“Said go’way.”

“Sorry, mate. Not happenin. Anyway, I can shutter the windows in there to keep it dark. The bed’ll be more comfortable for yeh to sleep it off than this floor, at any rate.”

“Don’t wanna be comfortable.”

Hm. “Here, man. Take my arm. We’ll get you sorted.”

“Go’way!” he shouts, then clutches his head and whimpers. “n’Stop being so nice. s’Disgusting. Don’like it. Don’like you. Go’way.”

“Yer lucky I’m pretendin to be hard of hearin, or I’d go ahead and leave ye here. Now take my arm and-”

“Stop it!” He tries slapping my hands away. And misses.

Shaking my head. Just shaking my head.

“Can do it myself,” he demands. But no, he really can’t. He gives standing a go, and all he manages is a high pitched sob.

“Aw, man. Go on, lemme help yeh.”

Apparently there is a threshold of stupidity with Simon Lewis, thank Christ. He holds out his arm.

But before he takes my hand, he squints up at me. “Never speak of this,” he says with deadly seriousness. “Never happened.”

As I shutter the windows and draw the curtains, he shuffles into bed, fully clothed. “Gross. Why am I sticky?”

“Aw, mate. Ye don’t want to be sleepin in those clothes. I promise yeh, mate. You get your kit off, and I’ll fetch you a wet cloth.” I hold up my hand to stop the inevitable complaints and refusals. “Enough whingeing, man, just do it.”

I come back from the bathroom to find a pile of clothes on the floor, and Simon snoring away with the sheet stuck to his face. It would be endearing if he wasn’t such a feckin pain in my arse.

————/-/————

Simon’s been silently staring out the window for 45 minutes. But not out the window with the gorgeous view. He’s staring at the rock cliff face blurring past too fast to see much of anything.

I want to reassure him that everything will be alright. But it’s not my place, and he’s not for hearin it, anyway.

And what if it isn’t alright.

I try to just leave it be, but I can’t help myself. “You alright man?”

“Why.”

“You’re usually a lot gobbier than this. I’m worried about yeh.”

“Italy was a bad idea.”

“Italy is never a bad idea.”

“Says the man not living my life.”

He’s got me there. “Ok.

As I’m pulling his bags out the boot, I feel like I can’t leave it like this. I don’t know why. It’s just unsettling seeing someone in pain like this, and not bein able to help. I wasn’t lyin -- I’m worried about him.

“Thanks, Beelee,” he says, holding out his hand.

We shake, and before I give him his hand back, I find myself saying, “Text me in 6 months and let me know you’re alive, yeah?”

He huffs out a breath and looks at me. After a moment he shifts uncomfortably, and finally says, “Yeah.”

I’ve no idea why I feel so relieved. “What’s yer number, I’ll text yeh.” Shocked be fuckin I when he gives it to me.

“Thanks, Billy. You’re a good guy. Appreciate you.” And then he’s gone.

————/-/—————

Start: January Ch. 1 || Prev: February Ch. 2 || Next: April Ch. 4

————/-/—————

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ded-and-gonne · 2 years

Text

>>——————————————————————————-——————————<<

Ded & Gonne brings you Klaus & the Bens in

>>——————————————————————————-——————————<<

The Mystery of The Dead Letter Office

Part 1: The Eventuality of Evil

AN: Still a gen fic, still starring Klaus and the Bens. But this time, they sleuth. It’s about time we start exploring, and detecting ghosts. Introducing our first D&G Mystery! TWs: Reading on ao3?

“Hello!” Klaus says, cheerfully. “Welcome to Ded & Gonne and oh, okay, bye.”

A man blinks at the whore’s boudoir vibe and never even makes it all the way over the welcome mat. It says “Bonsoir,” and Klaus loves the fact that the lettering is in black on a hot, pink background.

Klaus has received feedback that hot, pink in any material, let alone panne velvet (or jute, for god’s sake), is possibly the wrong vibe for a bookstore and detective agency. What do they know? It’s hot and pink — two of his favorite things. (Read on ao3…)

>>——————————————read the rest———————————————<<

Masterlist: | Start: Ch 1 | Prev: Ch 4 | This: Ch 5 | Next: Ch 6

>>——————————————read the rest———————————————<<

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1990jeevas · 2 years

Note

TUA GO GO GO GO !!!!

favorite male character: klaus wbk

favorite female character: ig cha cha? i think all the women in this show suck in a way that is hot but also very questionable and i think cha cha's questionable is most appealing to me

least favorite character: since watching the new season ig sparrow!ben but that feels like a copout bc he is Supposed to suck. idk who else id choose tho bc all the umbrellas are my fucked up blorbos (luther has officially grown on me) and the other sparrows r like. meh to me.

prettiest character: klaus and allison. klaus moreso in a gender way but also if i was robert sheehan and i looked like that, id never stop wearing the sluttiest shirts ever. and allison is just hot idk what else to say

funniest character: klaus ofc

favorite season: 1 tbh, i like the other two but i think i enjoy all the dynamics best in s1 and it was my favorite season fanfic wise as well so

favorite episode: s1e3 and s1e4 are my besties

favorite romantic ship: none, they r all too background, boring or fucked up to like (allison and raymond get a pass but i still wouldnt call them a favorite)

favorite family ship: i used to live in the klaus & ben ao3 tag so take a guess

favorite friend ship: almost all the pairings in this show are also family pairings so if i had to choose a non family friendship it would be klaus and raymond? bc they were fun together and i wish we had seen them more. also ig that could technically still be family but wtv

worst ship: all the incest ones, pls get help

#shit self #asks #luvquackity #isak tag 🦇#the umbrella academy

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imyourbratzdoll · 11 months

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Hiiii do you think you could do a Nathan young x an easily flustered reader? Somebody who would easily fall for his charm

hi baby, i'm so sorry for taking so long! I hope you like it, and I apologise for how short it is.

summary - nathan goes out of his way to make you flustered.

the gif I use isn't mine, divider by @newlips

You could feel your cheeks heat up as your eyes connected to Nathan’s from across the community centre. You quickly look away and continue to paint the wall in front of you. “Oi, pretty girl!” You ignore him, not wanting him to see how flustered you get from his words alone. Nathan whistles, making his way over to you. “Hey, pretty girl, didn’t ya hear me?” His Irish accent filled your ears, causing you to look at him. “There ya go! Finally got ya attention!” He gives you a cheeky smile, enjoying how flustered you get around him.

“W–what, uh….” You stumble on your words, staring into his pretty eyes.

“Aw! Pretty girl can’t speak!” Nathan smirks, “Do I get ya all flustered, baby? It’s cause I’m so charming, huh?” You giggle, turning your head away.

thank you for reading!

feedback and reblogs are greatly appreciated.

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super-unpredictable98 · 9 months

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Can you do Vincent being jealous of Lydia's past crush, now friend and blabbering some things in front of him that genuinely embarasses her , probably something that she told him about her past feelings or past incident and then the extra exaggeration?

Tysm ❤️

The Skeleton in Ramona's Closet | The Road Within AU

Pairing: Ramona x Vincent (OC - Exposure Therapy’ Verse)

Word Count: 1,8 k

Warning: Strong language, mental illness stuff

a/n: Thank you so much for your request, that was the first I got to work on, I'll be working on the other ones over the weeks. It says Lydia, but I imagine it was meant to be Mona, the pair I created for Vincent. I hope you like it anyway <3

(Masterlist)

"Do you think he'll like me?" Ramona asked for the millionth time.

The week before Vincent had told her his father was coming to visit. He knew she wasn't a big fan of surprises and bringing it up on the day of would only stress her out, especially after all the things he had told her about his dad. It was safe to say she was sure the man wouldn't like her and was scared of him from the get-go.

"Of course, he's been a lot nicer lately, ever since he- fuck fuck divorced Monica. And what's there not to like about you? FAT WHORE."

"See?"

"You're not a fat whore! You know that was a tic, I'm sorry."

"I know, what I mean is that you're tics are off the charts! Means you're nervous, means you're scared, means he'll hate me!"

"You know I have a few CUNT days when I'm worse. It's just fucking Tuorette's."

Okay, that part was true, but this time Vincent was actually nervous. It would be the first time introducing a girlfriend to his dad like that. When he met Marie back in the day, they were all running away from him and it was completely different. Now if anything went wrong he would blame himself til the end of his life.

"I can hear your tics all the way from my room, can you tone it down?" Alex stood at the top of the stairs, watching as Vince contorted with spasms.

"Sorry, I'll just dial my- cunt! My Tourette's down pressing the button up my asshole!" Vince growled.

While it wasn't so apparent, Ramona was just as perturbed. She wasn't able to eat that morning, she felt queasy and she felt her heart beating on the tips of her fingers. She was fighting with all of her willpower not to give into a panic attack or shut down completely, she couldn't just hide in her room while Mr. Rhodes came all this way to visit.

"Hey, let's breathe together, okay?" Mona took her boyfriend's hands and calmly guided him while trying to calm herself down as well.

"Think about it, it can't be any worse than when I met your mom..." Vincent joked.

That was true, Mona's mom was still traumatized after walking in on them doing it in the shower. Every time she came to visit, Vanessa would knock very loud on the door before walking into any room and even before coming out of them. Initially, she despised Vincent, but after seeing how he managed to bring out the best in her daughter, she ended up coming to terms with their relationship.

Before any of them could say anything else, the doorbell rang. The sound made Vincent tic again and Mona shiver. Alex disappeared back into the guest room to finish cleaning it for Mr. Rhodes.

"Just breathe and try to relax the most you can," Vincent nodded before opening the door, saying it both to Mona and to himself. "FUCK! CUNT!"

"Always so sweet," Robert taunted. "Hi, Vince."

"Hi, Dad," he looked down, trying to hide his twitching. After all this time and after making amends, he was still embarrassed to tic in front of his father. "Come in, this is Ramona, my-slut whore! My girlfriend."

"Hey, Mr. Rhodes," she waved timidly, trying very hard to look him in the eye and failing miserably. "Vince told me you work with politics, I played Evita Peron in a musical once."

"Oh... That's- interesting, like that movie with Madonna?" Robert asked.

"Yes actually, but Patti LuPone did a much better job with it on Broadway... It's nice to meet you."

"Nice to meet you too, Ramona. Can I shake your hand?"

"Yeah, of course!" She excitedly held out her hand. "I'm not very good at eye contact, but my handshakes are a transcendent experience I've been told."

Robert chuckled, he already liked this one way better than Marie, but he definitely wasn't going to say that. He remembered how crushed his son was when she left and the last thing he wanted was to bring back those memories and trigger another string of violent tics.

"Happy to be back at the madhouse," he joked.

"Madhouse?" Mona repeated, slightly confused about what he meant.

"Yeah, you know... Cause you all have mental illness and disorders and stuff."

"Dad, I don't think that's very politically correct," Vince smacked himself across the face. His girlfriend was very sensitive, he knew that comment would hurt her, even if she didn't say anything. She was a horrible liar, but that never stopped her from trying to hide her feelings when something got under her skin.

"It's fine," Ramona nodded.

"Hello, Mr. Rhodes!" Alex waved from the second floor. "Your room is ready, I just cleaned it up."

"Oh, I'll get settled. How about some ice cream then? You do eat ice cream, right Ramona?" Robert asked.

"Yeah, my autism doesn't stop me from eating ice cream," she laughed.

Next to Mr. Rhodes, Vincent's tics were so much more violent, almost like he was always on edge, which in turn made Ramona feel on edge and anxious as well.

When they eventually arrived at the ice cream shop, Robert asked what they would both want to spare them the embarrassment of ordering. The couple was in charge of getting them a table.

"Does he always do this? He tries to stop you from doing things?" Ramona asked.

"Yeah... fuck cunt! He's a little embarrassed I think," Vincent murmured in between tics.

As if the day couldn't get any more awkward, Ramona saw the last face she ever wanted to see leaving the shop. She prayed he wouldn't recognize her, but that would've been too good to be true.

"Ramona? Ramona Wilson!" A tall guy with a dirty blonde wolf cut approached their table and Vincent started twitching even more. "You look so different!"

"I- I know... it's been a while, Matt," she mumbled, avoiding his eyes at all costs.

"Matt? The Matt you told me about?" Vincent whispered.

"Yeah... this is my boyfriend, Vincent. Vince, this is my friend Matt." It was true, they were friends back in high school, they were drama club colleagues and played romantic interests several times. Of course, along the way, Ramona ended up catching feelings, but never had the nerve to make a move.

She crushed on this boy for years until she eventually graduated and moved on, but he was an important part of understanding herself and what she liked. That's why she told Vincent the whole story.

"Nice to meet you!" Matt shook his hand, Vince flipping him off with the other hand.

"Sorry, I have- fuck! I have tourettes," he explained.

"Oh, that's alright. Don't worry about it." The most irritating thing to him was how nice this guy was, he was so sweet and probably would've been a way better boyfriend for Ramona if she ever took a chance on him. He hated feeling so inferior, he hated feeling like he wasn't enough...

"Ramona kept the underwear you left at her house under her pillow!" Vincent blurted out. He didn't mean to, but he couldn't help it and that only made him more sure that he was a horrible partner.

"What?" Matt laughed, thinking he was joking.

"It wasn't under my pillow! It was behind my headboard!" Ramona groaned, not realizing she was just confirming the information.

Matt's eyes grew and he blushed furiously. Everyone in that conversation wanted to disappear or die or both. "You did? Did you have a crush on me or something?"

"Y-yeah... I used to, but I never said anything because you were too unattainable and eventually I just forgot and-" Ramona hid her face behind her hands. "I'm so sorry."

"Hey, no, it's okay. I guess it's better than if you did some sort of cloning ritual with it, right?" Matt joked. "I'm glad you are happy, you really deserve it."

"Thanks, it means a lot."

"Sorry, you sick fuck!" Vincent shouted and punched the table.

"It's cool, it was a nice ego boost, I guess. Ramona used to be the hottest girl in class," Matt admitted.

"Used to..." those words felt like a pile of bricks to her.

"Cause she's fat now!" Vincent said and covered his mouth, shaking his head with the most horrified look. "I didn't mean it..."

"I think she still looks gorgeous. You're a very lucky guy," Matt said sincerely. Ramona felt like he didn't mean it, even if he did, but she nodded anyway.

"Thank you," she mumbled.

"I'll see you two around, I'm late for work. Have a good day!" Matt waved before he left.

Vincent was nearly crying when his father brought back their orders. Ramona was just in shock, she couldn't even speak.

"What the hell happened? Somebody died?" Rober asked.

"Yes, my dignity," Ramona grumbled.

"I'm so so sorry, Mona. I love you so much, I hope you know that. I swear on my life!" Vincent cried, the tears finally escaping his eyes.

"What did you do?" His father asked.

"I had a tic and accidentally told Mona's old crush a secret she trusted me with... then I said something about her weight."

"Jesus, why don't you kill her dog for a trifecta?"

"No, it's okay. I know he didn't mean it," Ramona said despite being very sad.

Unable to face any of them, Vincent ran away, Robert was deeply embarrassed and felt for this poor girl having to deal with it.

"I'll get him, just wait here and-"

"No, it's okay, I know where he is," Ramona took their paper cups and left the store.

Just as she imagined, Vincent was at the beach, sitting on top of his hands to stop himself from moving and crying as he watched the sea come and go.

"Hey, you forgot your ice cream," Ramona called, sitting down next to him. "Do you need me to feed you?"

"Stop, don't be nice to me, I don't deserve it," he sniffled.

"Vince, don't say that. Of course you deserve it, you deserve the world and I'm not angry, I know you couldn't help it."

"Doesn't matter... I- fuck I hurt you anyway."

"What hurts me is seeing you like this. I love you, you're the only one that matters. Who cares what Matt thinks? You're a way better kisser anyway," she joked.

"Really?" Vincent laughed while he tried to stop crying.

"Really, no comparison!"

And watching that girl console his kid better than he ever could, Robert took a step back to go into the house again. They would be fine on their own... he trusted Ramona and for the first time in a while, he felt relaxed knowing Vincent was being cared for.

Tag List: @seanfalco @salvador-daley @elliethesuperfruitlover @firstpersonnarrator @badsext

#the road within vincent #the road within fanfic #the road within #vincent rhodes #vincent rhodes x oc #fanfic #robert sheehan character fic #robert sheehan fanfic #exposure therapy

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