#//oh look another wasted starter

[robertdowneyjjr]

when tony started working for bucky, he never imagined that anything would ever, could ever happen between them.

for starters, bucky was a decade older than tony. not that he had a huge issue with age differences, but still. tony was only in his early 20s when they met.

but more importantly, as far as tony could tell, bucky was happily married.

so despite the immediate attraction that he felt the second he laid eyes on bucky and the growing feelings he began to develop the more they got to know each other over the years, tony knew that nothing could ever come of it and that he needed to be content with just admiring the other man from afar.

but sometimes bucky would say things, or just look at tony a certain way, and he’d wonder if maybe, just maybe, the feelings he had were reciprocated.

regardless, though, he knew he would never do anything about it. there was no reason for him to do such a thing and nothing could change his mind about that.

not even when tony complained about another failed attempt at dating during happy hour one day after work and bucky said, “i could never understand why these idiotic bastards would rather waste another day getting drunk with their equally idiotic friends instead of spending time with you.”

or when bucky took him out for a celebratory lunch after signing a major deal with a new partner and their knees kept brushing under the table, and bucky just kept smiling at him for the whole meal like they were sharing a secret.

also not when they were on the phone with each other at midnight trying to salvage an important client relationship and suddenly the conversation segued into personal relationships and when tony sadly confided that he didn’t think anyone had ever loved him before, bucky vehemently declared, “doll, how could anyone know you and not love you? hell, i’m pretty sure i’ve been half in love with you for years.”

and especially not when they were on a business trip and heading back to their separate hotel rooms after a dinner with their biggest client and bucky kissed him before the elevator doors opened on his floor, and tony’s lips tingled for the rest of the night.

no, tony didn’t do anything about his feelings even after all of that because bucky was married.

then tony meets steve at a big company event, where this big beautiful blond man looks adorably lost and alone in a room with four hundred people. tony can’t help but drift closer to him and introduce himself, offer a drink, and ignore everyone else if only so he could make steve feel more comfortable in this crowd of strangers.

they spend the rest of the night together, talking for hours and giving each other meaningful and longing glances, smiling like they both know where they’d like this to go next. tony’s fingers absently stroke along steve’s hand that is placed on the cocktail table they’re leaning against, and steve’s other hand is playing with tony’s hair and sending shivers down his spine when his fingers brush against tony’s neck, and tony has to resist the urge to rub against steve’s hand like a cat.

steve has just leaned closer, lips and breath whispering across tony’s skin to speak softly into his ear when bucky finds them.

tony reluctantly pulls away from steve, refusing to feel embarrassed or guilty in any way, especially when he knows bucky likely interrupted them just so he could ask tony to get back to work. this is a work event, after all.

but then steve looks at bucky and smiles, and says, “oh hey sweetheart, finally got some time for us?”

and bucky glances between steve and tony, sees how there’s barely any space between them and grins from cheek to cheek. “looks like you’ve met my husband, doll.”

and, oh.

oh.

well.

it looks like tony suddenly has a lot to think about.

[prettynice8]

My Bodyguard Part 1

Jeon Jungkook x male reader, haters to lovers?

This wonderful man

Stuff: fluff, angst, this whole thing is just a buildup to Part 2.

Word Count: 1,501

Notes: I was inspired by ai. Fun fact, Jungkook is by bias so that's fun.

Fucking great, Jungkook has to guard another prissy little girl who has never faced any kind of troubles in her entire life. Some rich bitch who doesn't even need a bodyguard and yet here he is, practically wasting his time.

This wasn't his first rodeo, though he was at the young age of 26, he's seen a lot of shit. A lot of annoying, prissy, useless, and rage inducing girls who always try to have their way with him. He's never given in though, not very hard to do when they're all, well, girls.

Jungkook nearly dreaded when your father finally led him to your room. He desperately wanted to leave and quit this job forever, but it would be a waste of all the training he has had to endure over the years, so he stayed his ground, expecting the worst.

As the door opened, Jungkook was greeted by an enormous room full of personality. The walls were covered in various posters, stuffed animals and dolls littered the room. It was a little different than the rooms he'd been in before, but that doesn't mean anything. You're probably just as spoiled as all the other girls he's had to guard.

"She's just another spoiled rich girl." He whispered under his breath.

"Well for starters, she's a he." You stated, Jungkook was incredibly surprised, he did not expect you to actually hear him, most of the others don't give a shit about what he has to say.

"O-oh dear I'm so sorry." He apologized, trying to cover up his mistake. He looked at you, and you were in fact a boy, a pretty cute one at that.

Your father was long gone by now, leaving just you and Jungkook to awkwardly talk.

"So, what's your name?" He asked, trying to be friendly.

"You're supposed to be my bodyguard and you don't even know my name." You said, sass apparent in your voice. "Well, I feel like I'm in safe care."

He completely forgot what your name was, the person whose life is technically supposed to be in his hands, and he was so caught up in dreading seeing you that he didn't take the time to see what your name even was. Fuck did he hate this job.

"It's y/n." You stated coldly, already questioning this man's competence. "And yours?"

"My what?" He questioned back.

"Your name dip shit." You answered, not having it right now.

Jungkook was taken back, people never ask what his name is, though you could've been a little nicer about it.

"It's Jungkook, Jeon Jungkook." He replied, a smile making its way on his face.

"You also didn't even know my gender, god you suck at this." You stated flatly, not impressed by whatsoever.

His smile was crushed, your words feeling like poison each time you talk.

"You really are like all the other rich bitches I've had to deal with." Jungkook complained, growing tired of your behavior.

"You don't even know me." You exclaimed, growing equally tired of him.

"I know enough." He stated coldly before leaving your room, leaving you to stare daggers at the door.

That was your guy's impression of each other, minor disdain. He hated how you seemed like every other shit head he's had to deal with, and you hated him because he just assumes shit about you, he also kind of sucks at his job, where did your dad even find this guy.

Though you both kind of hated each other, he had to be around you. All. The. Time. No matter where you were, eating, in the bathroom, even sleeping, he was right there or just right outside the door. You both haven't said a word to each other since your first meeting, and you both hope to keep it that way.

"Why do you hate me?" You asked flatly while eating your dinner, finally breaking the weeks-long silence between the two of you. Also no one else was there so this seemed like the best moment.

"Why does it matter to you?" He questioned right back, hoping to prolong the silence.

"Because I don't want the person who's supposed to save my life to dislike me, but more importantly I feel like you have no reason to dislike me the way you do." You responded, arms crossed over your chest.

"No reason! I have every reason to hate you! The moment I got here you greeted me with disrespect! Your so fucking stand offish and it's clear that you have no idea what the real world is like, able to be in your fucking mansion and eat your fucking food while I'm in a job that I hate, having to be around clueless people I hate, like you!" He shouted at you, every word hitting like a bullet.

You just stood there in silence watching each other, tears daring to come out of your eyes. He stares at you heavily breathing, too angry to realize your sad state.

"You don't know anything about me." Was all you said before the tears fell down your face like a waterfall. You stormed out of the dining hall and into your room, leaving Jungkook standing there alone, feeling like an idiot, which he was.

He finally got the courage to walk up to your room. Knocking on the door to see if you're okay. Hearing nothing but your sobs, he took the liberty of opening the door. He was greeted with the sight of you sitting on your bed, curled up and crying into your legs.

"Go away, it's not like you actually care about me." You ordered, not wanting to see the face of the man that made you an emotional wreck.

Jungkook just stood there, so he just sat next to you and awkwardly patted your back.

"I-i'm sorry I said those things, it wasn't fair, I really don't know anything about you, except that you're pretty when you cry." He said with that charming smile, causing you to laugh.

"I'm always pretty." You replied, wiping the tears from your face.

"Can't argue with that." He said, causing you to laugh more.

Since that interaction, things between the two of you have been lovely. There was no ill will anymore and you might even say the two of you were friends.

"Why do you always just stand there and watch me eat, sit down, there's plenty." You ordered, Jungkook was taken back by this act of kindness, though it wasn't a big deal, it surely felt like it was. He took the seat right next to you and started to dig in.

"When do you eat anyways?" You asked.

"When you go to your room, or when there's off time." He answered.

"Well, you're always welcome to eat here with me." You stated. "Do you have any hobbies; it seems like you're always just around me?" You asked another question. Finally wondering what he does when not around you.

"Mostly work out." He answered quickly, enamored by the taste of the food.

"I can see that." You said, but then suddenly stunned with your own words. Jungkook almost chokes on his food, also surprised by your flattery.

"I-i mean y-you're like objectively built." You stuttered, digging your own grave deeper and deeper. He starts laughing at your nervousness.

"Thank you. I try." He said, the rest of the dinner goes smoothly, though your words still hang in the air.

Once you both finish the meal, you two walk to your room, talking along the way.

"Wanna come in?" You offered when you got to the door of your bedroom.

"I'd love to." He eagerly answered, a little too eager.

You both take a seat on your large bed. You lay on the pillows while Jungkook awkwardly sits on the edge. He looks around the room, never actually getting a very detailed look. It's incredibly big, almost the size of an apartment. There's even a balcony that leads to a gorgeous view of the ocean, looking especially incredible because of the sunset.

He gets up to get a closer look at it, making his way to the balcony. You realize this and get up to chase after him.

"Pretty great huh?" You ask rhetorically, already knowing the answer. He just nods in agreement, totally dumbfounded by the amazing view. The way the water reflects all of the colors makes it all the more vibrant. The pinks, reds, oranges, and yellows mix together beautifully. This has to be the most wonderful sight of his life, almost magical. Though he's pulled away by the sight of you.

Your equal fascination with the view that you've had to have seen so many times before is enchanting. The way your face lights up and how your hair is carried in the wind is to the sunset like the Mona Lisa to a child's macaroni art. Finally, he realizes that all other beauty in the world is utterly and totally dwarfed by yours.

wait for part 2.

[starr666]

Cw: submissive!idia shroud x fem!dom!camgirl, whip usage, slight embarrassment kink?,

Minors dni

By scrolling past the line below, you are consenting to seeing nsfw content

————————————————-

Fem dom cam girl reader x Idia Shroud

He lost the bet— Idia Shroud, Gloomurai— the forever anxious, introverted, gamer boy, who’s only stroke of confidence comes from his smarts or his expertise in the world of gaming— had lost the bet to her. His best (and only) friend had beaten him at a new fighting game that came out, loser had to do whatever the winner says…and who knew that it would lead to his best friend having him laying on her luxurious bed with nothing but a cover over his shivering body and high quality cameras covering the different spots in the room, y’know, for perspective. While she stood at the edge of the bed, body adorned in black lingerie, royal blue bows accenting the corset-like middle, and fishnets her curves more defined than ever. She looked down at Idia with rope and a leather whip in one hand, gently swiping it across the other gloved hand and some rope tucked under her arm. An assortment of dildos that were compatible with her strap’s harness.

“A loser’s debt is quite deep, isn’t it, Gloomurai~? Now be a dear and wave to that camera for me, hm?”

The blue haired man attempted to further hide himself under the cover to hide the ends of his hair turning a bright pink, but as soon as his arm was up, she briskly made work of him with the rope, arms behind his back in a beautiful style. She pressed down onto his back and he immediately knew that meant for him to have his ass up for her and the cameras to see, and the next thing he feels is the whip making contact with his ass.

crack

“Since you dont know how to follow directions, you won’t be able to touch me through this whole process…now, go on, look at that camera riiight in front of you and tell them why you’re in this predicament.”

His head lifts to look at the camera that showed his face and he is already struggling to stop himself from drooling from the first hit

“I-I- l-lost tHe bet—” he stuttered out, his voice slightly cracking from the pressure

CRACK

“Louder, less stuttering.”

“A-ah~, yes ma’am— I lost the gaming bet to you.”

“And what does that mean for you?” her tone dropped, the words almost coming out in a hush but still loud enough for the microphones to pick up on

“That I…have to join your cam show for the day-“

“Good boy~.”her gloved fingers were already covered with lube and she wasted no time pressing her middle and ring finger into his ass, already meeting his prostate and feeling him clench in pleasure.

“Oh you poor thing, have you been anticipating such an opportunity with me? You’re already clenching around me~”

“Mm~N-no- ma’am.“

slap

“Are you sure? Because mistress doesn’t like liars” her other hand was wrapped around his throat, the statement was growled into his ear

“O-okay…m-maybe a little bit…”

another slap to his ass was made and he let out a screechy moan

“Cut the shit, you’re my biggest donor, aren’t you~”

his hair turned completely pink as he realized that she knew from the beginning…but he didn’t find much time to bask in such a thought after she added another two fingers, which were essentially sucked in by his needy hole

“Tsk…tsk…tsk, what a pathetic slut. Might as well make it worth your while, top donor~”

He tried to keep it quiet but the microphones still picked up on his gulp and whine that followed shortly after he no longer felt the fingers in his ass. Before he gets the chance to ask what happened, he groans as he feels a sudden fullness take over him

“Ohmygoditssofuckingbig” he whispered under his breath

“Oh…you think that’s big darling? This is just from my starter pack…I’m going to fuck you until you can truly call me your top donor~”

A/N: hehehe, get it, like a top who is also a sperm donor-

[marksbear]

hate sex with patrick bateman? perhaps 🤔

patrick hating reader for being "better" than him (contemplates killing him), they fuck, patrick turns into a desperate mess

i <3 seeing these cocky "alpha males" turn into whiny desperate sluts <33

Anon we both think like great request my friend! Cocky men becoming a slut is one of the things I live for. And sorry for taking so long I fell asleep writing this

Warnings! SMUT, brat taming, teasing, talking about killing, about to kill, Patrick is a asshole, swearing

PATRICK BATEMAN X MALE READER

"Hey did y'all hear that Y/n got another big promotion?"

"Oh my fucking God." Patrick thinks to himself. He feels like hes gonna puke if he hears your name being mentioned one more time.

"Yeah! The man is gonna have it all. He already has the women dropping to his feet and the bosses practically worshiping the man." The guy next to him says causing Bateman to clench his fist.

He never met Y/n personally but he has to hear about him all day long. "Y/n this. Y/n that. Y/n.y/n. Y/n." Patrick says mentally feeling a headache coming from hearing about the things he did.

"What about you Bateman. What do you think about L/n?" All of the men's heads turning around giving Patrick their full attention.

"That hes a annoying son of a bitch. And he makes me wanna kill him with my bare fucking hands. And he's a waste of space in this damn earth"

Well of course he didn't say that but he only imagined he did and says this instead.

"I never met him, but he seems like a great guy." Patrick gives them a short lie making them all pleased. "You never met him!?! That truly can't work. How about I schedule a dinner for you both to meet?" One of the men offers his co-worker.

"Yes, for I can finally kill him." "Sounds good how about tonight?" Patrick says instead of his first thought. The co-worker gets the phone calling up Y/n so Bateman can hear. "Hey L/n, are you busy tonight? I have someone you should meet. You are great! I know you're gonna like him. Meet at the restaurant where I always take you. Okay bye."

"I just changed your life for ever Bateman! Get ready to meet the greatest man in your lie."

TIMESKIP

Patrick arrived before Y/n checking his watch impatiently and slightly annoyed.

"You're here early."

Patrick looks up at the figure that he's guessing is Y/n.

"Fuck hes handsome. And he looks sharp wearing a suit that hasn't even gotten released yet. Y/n looks exactly like hes described from the stories he heard. Why the fuck does he look better than me!?!"

Bateman rambles in his mind and sticks his hand out. "Patrick Bateman."

"Bateman? I heard of you. And seen you around at work a lot just never made an effort to go up and talk to you. Y/n L/n nice to meet you." Y/n says with a smile and takes a hold of Patrick's hand giving it a tight shake.

The dinner was far from quiet. Y/n almost had every single conversation starter under his sleeve. Some sparked a short topic and some sparked a long conversation and some even started a debate or an argument.

"Hey L/n it's getting late. How about we continue this in my place?"

"Good idea Patrick. How about I pay?"

Right when Patrick opens his mouth about to argue about how Y/n doesn't need to pay Y/n hands the waiter his card.

TIMESKIP AT PATRICK'S PLACE

As soon as the two step inside the place Y/n pins Patrick on the wall by the front door. "Patrick. Tell me what do you want from me? Because I know you hate me. I know we were not friends, so why invite me here?"

Y/n backs away from Patrick slowly with a smirk on his face before heading into the living room. "You think you're better than me don't you Y/n?" Patrick says in his mind before quickly follows after the man. Patrick stops in tracks fighting with himself mentally just to get his axe and drive it through the other man skull.

Patrick snaps himself out of his thoughts and goes to the living room. "Nice place you got Patrick." Y/n says looking outside through the window watching cars and other things. Patrick finds a knife and walks up to Y/n slowly raising it.

Y/n turns his head around slowly and Patrick throws the knife somewhere else becoming nervous. "For a man who hates me you sure do love being close." Y/n puts his hands on Patrick's hips bringing him closer.

"Tell me Patrick. Do you love being close to me?" Y/n uses his right hand to bring it to Patrick's chin then uses his thumb caressing Patrick's bottom lip.

Patrick hated you. He hated how you talk, how you walk and even how you breathe. He hated you with his life. But now why is he acting like this, His body became putty by your touch. The way you look down at him, the grip you have on his hip, your hand on his chin and your thumb lazily on his lip.

What are you doing to him?

Patrick gives Y/n a weak nod as an answer to his past question. "Use your words." Y/n smirks moving his thumb off of Patrick's lip and back to his chin. "Yes." "Good boy Bateman."

Y/n pushes Bateman away from him and walks around looking for the bedroom. Patrick quickly picks up the knife from the floor and follows after Y/n.

Y/n stops in the hallway turning around at Patrick staring at him like a predator like hes taunting Patrick to come closer to him. Patrick clenches his jaw tightly setting the knife on the nearest flat surface. Patrick's blood boils and his veins pop once he's the smirk on Y/n face.

"After you Patrick." Y/n opens the bedroom door inviting Patrick in. Slowly Patrick walks into the bedroom already knowing where this is leading. Y/n shuts the door after he goes inside walking up behind Patrick. Y/n takes off his shoes and socks then takes off his suit jacket. Patrick watches the men take his clothes off.

"Can you just strip and stop being a brat." Y/n says catching Patrick a bit off guard.

Patrick takes off his clothes and shoes. After hes done Y/n attacks his lips with his own.

The kisses are rough and a bit painful because Patrick refuses to be the submissive one. Y/n groans in annoyance and tackles Patrick on the bed so hes under him. Patrick tries to push Y/n off of him but fails just ending up scratching his arms. "You're such a brat Patrick." Y/n says pulling away from the harsh makeout,

"What? You don't like underneath a man like me? Well you better get used to it." Y/n laughs at Patrick before using one of his hands going down to Patrick's cock.

"You're already hard? Wow and the only things we did were just kiss." Y/n doesn't waste anytime jerking off Patrick. "Fuck! L/n s-stop touching me!" Patrick tries to contain his moans but some fall out. "Ohh~l-let me go! fuck!"

Y/n hand doesn't slow down anytime soon he even goes faster up and down every time Patrick begs.

After a while Y/n stops moving his hand with a smirk on his face. Patrick doesn't even notice Y/n's hand not moving and raising his hips up and down into Y/n hand. Y/n lets go of Patrick cock and puts two fingers on Patrick's lip."Suck them."

Patrick didn't want to. At first he bit them because he didn't want to look weak and desperate. Y/n watched him bite his fingers and let out a sigh. "If you keep acting like this i'll just fuck you dry and you get no prep." Y/n warns Patrick but lets out another sigh when Patrick tries to flip him over.

"I warned you Patrick. Now your just getting me fucking irritated." Y/n flips Patrick over so his belly and chest are on the bed but Y/n holds Patrick ass in the air.

Y/n spits a few times on Patrick hole making him mad. "Stop spitting on me Y/n! You're a dirty disgusting bastard!" "Don't you fucking dare put that disgusting cock inside of me---- fuck~" Patrick insult was cut of by his own moan once he felt Y/n cock pushing inside him. "Oh!~ fu-- oh gOD~" Patrick holds the sheets tightly as he feels Y/n moving inside him. "Ju-just shove it in already!~ please just gi--vie me your cock." Y/n decided to be nice and answer Patrick begs by thrusting his cock fully inside him.

Patrick lets out breathy moans feeling Y/n cock go up and down inside of him. "Fa-faster! fuck me faster Y/n!" Patrick hates himself for begging but god Y/n felt too good inside of him he couldn't help it. Y/n snaps his hips into Patrick at a face pace abusing his hole like he was a toy.

Patrick sneaks his hand down to his cock jerking himself off as hes getting fucked.

Y/n take Patrick's arm harshly holding it above his own head pinning his hand down. "Sluts like you aren't allowed to touch themselves without permission" Y/n thrust became aggressive using his free hand to Patrick hair.

Patrick feels Y/n cock twitch inside him and he panics. "No no no! Don't cUm~ inside of me! fu-fuck no!" Patrick's own cock twitches from imagining Y/n cumming inside of him but his mind feels disgusted at the thought.

Y/n thrust quickness searching for Patrick prostate. "Shi~ FuCk oh fuuck~! agaIn hit it again!~ more more please." Patrick screams into the sheets when he feels Y/n cock push against his prostate.

Y/n hits that spot over and over again until Patrick cock is twitching rapidly and aching precum leaking out of the tip. Patrick feels the knot in his stomach become tight and moans words and sentences that don't even make sense. "I'm cumming! fu-fuck i'm cumming! ahhHh!~" Patrick cums hard on the sheets and his head is in full bliss not even feeling Y/n hot cum inside him.

After Patrick gets out of his high he feels something hot and sticky leaking out of him and getting onto his thighs. "Y-you asshole! you dirty bastard I told you not to c-cum inside!" Patrick shouts.

Y/n laughs and says "I couldn't even pull out. Your slutty hole kept me inside~" Y/n teases letting go of Patrick's hand and hair putting both of his hands on Patrick's hips. Y/n snaps his hips deep inside Patrick causing him to yelp out. "fuck~ Y/n give it to me please! I-im your desperate slut please! keep fucking me until I pass out please! Fuck me like that slut I am!~"

"Fuck I hate you Y/n for making me like this!~" Patrick thinks feeling Y/n cock inside of him moving slowly.

"Be a good slut this time Patrick. Then I may let you suck my dick."

THE END

[laterosal]

♤ Blind Heat | Chigiri Hyoma x Reader

▽ featuring: chigiri hyoma x fem reader … no repost on any platforms © laterosal 2024 … a female track student who jokingly confesses to (shitty? personality) chigiri … word count: 3.4k

📌 AO3 | one-shot

Sprint race, straightaway. 100 meters… Your eyes wandered down your lane. Lane 5.

“On your marks!”

You stretched out your arms, your long, wavy hair tied into a high ponytail. Another day, another run with the wind. Your spikes dug into the synthetic rubber, and you positioned yourself in the starter position on the starting blocks.

“Set!”

Your eyes are full of a fiery passion as you pull into a complete set position, with your teammates next to you. You held in your breath—

As the gun went off, you felt a sense of rush in your head, a thought to reach the end. Your legs were burning by the 50-meter mark—Were you wanting an extra boost to the end..?

You felt your steps falter, a realization that most of your teammates were in front of you now. A final push, and you made it to the end.

“15.39, L/N.” Your coach nodded as he clicked a button on the stopwatch. Your breathing grew sporadic as you stood in front of your coach, trying to catch your breath. “Consistent timing, though. Not bad.”

“Thank you.” First year in high school, and for practice, you were put in Varsity with the other girls who have trained for two-three years. Not many female students enjoyed Track and Field, after all, since most of the students only joined due to their talent or passion. For you, the latter.

“Nice job, Y/N-kun. You’ve improved since the first practice.” Your friend, Nori Ayaka, the captain of the Girls Track and Field team, fist-bumped you. “You just need a final push at the end. Overall, your form was great, so no need to worry about that.” She gave you a warm smile.

“Thank you, thank you.” You inhaled a deep breath, turning to the stands in the school stadium. “Oh—Who’s that?” You pointed at a boy wearing your school uniform with reddish-pink neck-length hair, with crutches laying on the stands next to him.

“Ah. You don’t know anything about the football people, hm? That’s Chigiri Hyoma—pretty cocky on the field, until he tore his ACL recently.” You cringed at the mention of an injury, since you often thought how an injury could ruin your life, your career on the track as well…

“Is he alright?” Ayaka stared blankly at you when she heard you murmur the words.

“What’s that about?”

“He looks…” You scrunch your eyebrows together. Sad. That didn’t seem like it fit his aura—his eyes that looked like his sole purpose of life was gone. “Defeated.” You nodded slightly, thinking that the word best suited Hyoma Chigiri’s spiraling emotions.

“I guess. I mean, yeah.” Ayaka shrugged knowingly. “It’s like for us; if you tore your ACL, it would be more difficult…” To continue your life on the track. “I pity him, honestly.” Your friend sighed dramatically. “Enough with this sad talk. Go finish up your cooldown with the others, and you can head out after. See you tomorrow, Y/N.”

“‘Morrow,” you murmured. “Ayaka-kun.”

You finished up your cooldown workout with the other girls, ending practice with a fistbump between each other. You turned your head around, noticing Hyoma Chigiri still on the stands, his eyes peering at each one of you guys. You made your way to the stands, plopping next to him, a towel wrapped around your neck as you brushed off the sweat still dripping down your face.

“Hey. You’re Hyoma-san, right?” You cocked your head to the left as he noticed you next to him. His dull, magenta eyes were visibly annoyed, as if he didn’t want to hear any more words coming out of you. You suppressed a sigh, knowing that it would be difficult to talk to Chigiri Hyoma.

“Are you also here to dramatize how my talent is wasted? Save yourself a breath.” Chigiri hissed angrily. You sat up straighter, your interest piqued.

“‘Also?’ Hyoma-san, are you being bu—” He shoved his hand on your mouth.

“Don’t. And I don’t need another one of you guys pitying me.” He released his hand on your mouth.

“I wasn’t even going to bring up your football career. Not that I even know anything about that.” You murmured as you saw Chigiri going for the crutches.

“Then what?” He stared at you intently. “I’m sorry, I’m not interested in being in a relationship with you.” Chigiri Hyoma huffed. “So? What else do you need, if you still aren’t budging?”

A smile tugged on your lips. “Well, I was going to ask you why you were so interested in sitting here on the stands alone.” You shrugged. “And you’ve been here for a while, since most likely before my last 100-meter dash practice to after practice.”

He frowned, his magenta eyes dimming.

“I have my reasons.” He dragged a hand along his face. “And stop bothering me.”

“If you didn’t want to be bothered, you didn’t have to say anything to me in the first place.” You retorted. You winced at the slight sharpness in your voice. “Sorry.”

He clicked his tongue, before half-heartedly waving at you.

“Later.”

He maneuvered down the stands with his crutches, and you were tempted to help him. Though, you assumed that Chigiri Hyoma would most likely refuse your assistance and call you bothersome again.

The rest of the day passed by smoothly as you rushed back home, stepping into the shower to feel the warm water trail down your skin. Chigiri Hyoma… He seemed like a pretty blunt kid. Even after you tugged on your pajamas and stuffed your dinner into your mouth, as you shut off the lamp light to go to sleep, you still thought of his words. “I’m sorry, I’m not interested in being in a relationship with you.” You kick your feet under the bed cover as you giggle yet again. He thought you were going to confess to him.

“I’m surprised you’re here in the library. You don’t seem like the type of studious person.” You grinned at Chigiri Hyoma. “Is this seat empty?”

“Rejected. Stop bothering me, dumbass.” Chigiri Hyoma didn’t even look up from the book he was reading from. He flipped to the next page, not bothering to look at you. His crutches seemed to have disappeared, too, as you noticed that nothing laid beside him.

Your mouth dropped as he called you a dumbass.

“‘Dumbass.’ Dumbass? Excuse me? And do you think I’m even trying to confess to you?” You feigned being shocked. “Oh, maybe I should pretend I’m confessing to you. Oh, my, Chigiri. Can I, like, have your phone number? You’re so cute~” You mimed gagging. “Bleh. You’re not even my type.”

Chigiri frowned as he closed his book shut. You heard him murmur for a second.

“... a first.”

You grinned at him again.

“Well, then I’ll stop. You continue on with reading your book, Prince Panther.”

He scowled as he heard the nickname, then swiveled to you, getting a better glance at you. You had your hair up in a bun; on one side, some strands that you braided were carefully tucked behind your ear.

“I’ll confess to you another day, then.” Your grin was more wide this time, full of mischief. “I’ll just continue bothering you, Prince Panther.”

“I hope that was a joke, dumbass.” He returned to his now-shut book, a loud sigh escaping his mouth.

“Okay, okay. See you later on the track, maybe?” You leaned in more forward to see what Chigiri Hyoma was reading. You crinkle your nose as you see unfamiliar—foreign words on the pages. “English? What the… English freak, Prince Panther.” You rolled your eyes as you slung your backpack on one of your shoulders again, heading out of the library. Behind you, Chigiri Hyoma looked up from his book and stared at you again. A dumbass who didn’t even look at Chigiri Hyoma romantically. A first, really. His heart fluttered as he saw your figure disappear into the crowded hallways.

A daily routine turned into a weekly, then monthly routine. Everyday after school, you would catch Chigiri Hyoma staring at you as you tried your best to improve your 100-meter times. After practice, you would tease him relentlessly and pretend you were trying to confess to him again. He would roll his eyes, tell you that you were a dumbass, and the day ended there. You noticed that instead of being so blunt like the first time you’ve met him, he seemed to speak a little more gently towards you. Although sometimes, you would let him know the day before about another track meet—so there were days you and him never met up together.

Now, it was almost summertime, the heat finally catching up to you as you trudged to school early in the morning.

“Mornin’, Ayaka.” You waved at her as you lifted up your droopy head. “It’s too hot, and I just want to jump into the swimming pool…”

Ayaka burst into laughter.

“At least the track season ended yesterday, yeah?” Ayaka folded her arms as you both walked into the school. “No more running under that demonic Sun trying to kill us. The heat, really, is unbearable.” She fanned herself with her hand to cool down.

You stared dead into her eyes.

“What? Track season ended? I thought we still had practice…” You blinked in confusion.

“You really weren’t listening yesterday, hm? I can probably tell you why.” Ayaka’s eyes twinkled in mischief.

“Oh, yeah? Why might that be? Is it because of summer? Or am I just really, really exhausted… Oh, it’s the heat. The heat is catching up to me. For sure.”

“Neither, actually. You can be so clueless sometimes, Y/N-kun.” Ayaka’s smirk creeped up her face. “You’re always so bright and full of energy every time Coach announces that practice is over. Actually, I take that back. The heat, to some degree, is catching up to you.”

“Huh?” You scratched your head. “Wait, so I wasn’t listening to Coach because I was so excited that practice would end? And what ‘heat, to some degree?’”

Ayaka rolled her eyes.

“Uh-sure, I—” Ayaka started.

“Wake up, dumbass.” Chigiri gently smacked your shoulder, then walked right past you to his homeroom class.

“Oh—Hey.” You saw Chigiri strolling past you, his reddish hair now halfway to shoulder-length.

“Speaking of the devil…” Ayaka’s grin grew wider and wider. “Man, you two have really gotten closer than ever. You’re probably his only friend in the school, you know.”

“Huh? He doesn’t have any friends from football?” You snapped your head up.

“Do you guys not text and talk about these things?”

“I… didn’t even ask him for his phone number.” You cackled as you realized that your past interactions all started because you were “pretending to flirt and confess” to Chigiri Hyoma.

“Pfft—” Ayaka raised her eyebrows knowingly. “Oh well. I mean, no, I guess, since he being the cocky bastard from before—Well, you know. Most people looked up to him and envied his talent but didn’t want to be friends with such a blunt person.”

“Oh. I didn’t…”

“Oh well. He looks a lot happier when he’s around you, you know that?” Ayaka sighed dreamily. “I’m envious of you, Y/N-kun.”

You smacked her head playfully.

“That’s enough teasing me, Ayaka-kun.” Your face was blushed, the tips of your ears reddening. “Plus, he doesn’t even like me.”

“Uh, uh. And now you’re really, really—”

“No more teasing me, Ayaka-kun.”

Both of you walked to your separate homeroom classes, waving at each other with Ayaka casually mouthing: “I’ll root for you no matter what, Y/N!”

You rolled your eyes and swatted in the air as if physically dismissing her words.

His phone number… His phone number….

During lunch, you found Chigiri Hyoma yet again immersed in another English book. His reddish hair was easily spotted in the library, and you casually slid into the seat next to him.

“So, Hyoma-san—Your phone number, please.” You batted your eyelashes at him, who still continued reading. “Hyoma-san, your phone number!”

“I don’t know if this is another half-assed attempt on your joke-flirting or not anymore.” Chigiri scrunched his eyebrows together. “So? Rejected, for every joke-confession that you have ever uttered to me…”

“Wait.” You paused suddenly, staring at Chigiri blankly. “What did you just say?” Your mouth dropped open as you processed his words.

“That I’m going to reject each and every joke-confession you’re going to..?” You grinned at him as you mouthed: “That was not a confession.”

His face flushed, and he put the back of his hand to his face.

“You thought that was meant to be another confession? No, I was genuinely asking you. Plus, what do you think will happen if I actually confessed to you?” You smiled at him, batting your eyelashes.

“Then I’ll drop you.” You groaned as he returned to his book.

“You’re no fun, Hyoma-san.”

“Neither are you. Let me continue on with reading, since you disrupt me every lunch period to bug me.”

“Whatever.” You left the library with a silly grin on your face. What if you confessed to Chigiri Hyoma, someone with the shittiest personality?

“Were you waiting for someone?” You tip-toed to get a better glance at Chigiri Hyoma. “You don’t seem like the type to wait for anyone.”

“And you don’t seem like the type to question everything I do.” Chigiri Hyoma rolled his eyes. “But you are, and you do.” The end bell had just rung, and you were tempted to run back home to get started on the anime and k-dramas you wanted to binge-watch, with microwaved popcorn and blankets surrounding you in a cozy environment. Chigiri Hyoma stood in front of the school gates, folding his arms as he noticed you with the same mischievous grin.

“Who were you waiting for?”

“You. Who else, dumbass?” Chigiri Hyoma frowned as you cocked your head to one side.

“What, are you here to bring me on a date~” You teased Chigiri Hyoma.

“Yeah.” You choked on your spit as you stared at him in shock. You froze in your step, widening your eyes.

“Okay then, date it is. Where are we going?”

“My house.” You coughed some more, inhaling a fresh breath in.

“Are you just casually inviting me to your house?” You smacked him in the shoulder, leaning against his arm. He walked a few steps, hesitated, then reached for your hand nearest to his—locking them together. You didn’t breathe the whole way you walked to Chigiri Hyoma’s house, with you nervously padding on the sidewalk. “My house…” His house… Your palms felt sweaty as you arrived at his house, hearing a cheerful voice from inside the house.

“Ma, Hyoma-chan is back! Oh, and with a pretty girl, too!” A girl, with the same reddish hair below her shoulders, smiled warmly at you. “Hyoma, is this your girlfriend?”

“Stop it, nee-san,” Chigiri Hyoma’s face was flushed when his sister teased him. “She’s just a friend.”

Your step faltered as you followed behind him. Just a friend? You suppressed a sigh, staring at his flowy hair. You seemed to want more, even after all those joke-confessions. Maybe… you didn’t just want to confess to him jokingly.

“Y/N, are you alright?” You snapped your head up as Chigiri Hyoma his hand up to your forehead. “You don’t seem to have a fever… or anything.” He stared at you intently.

“I’m alright, really.” You forced a smile, the familiar eccedentesiastical manners you often showed to strangers in the school hallways. She’s just a friend. Boundaries, Y/N. Boundaries.

“Okay.” He linked his hands with yours. “Come on in. Ma made some food—and some extra, since you’ll be our guest.”

“Ah, no, it’s alright. I don’t want to disrupt—”

“Don’t be shy now, Y/N.” You snorted and finally accepted his invitation to eat dinner with his family.

The food Chigiri Hyoma’s mother made was delish—the warm miso soup and sushi she had made by hand—followed by karinto manju for dessert. Chigiri Hyoma’s eyes lit up like a child receiving a Christmas gift when he saw the plate of karinto manju on the dining table as his mother asked us all to dig in.

“Thank you for the dinner, Mrs. Chigiri.” You smiled at her after stuffing a karinto manju into your mouth, then adding: “Oh, I’ll help with the dishes.”

“No-no-no,” Mrs. Chigiri shook her head. “Hyoma, take care of Y/N. Oh, that is your name, right?” You nodded. “No need for cleaning up. You’re our guest, after all.” Mrs. Chigiri leaned in close to you. “Plus, it’s been a while since I’ve seen Chigiri Hyoma make new friends and invite them over. He seems really happy now, with you here.”

After some waving off from his mother, you finally gave in and followed Chigiri Hyoma to his room. Happy… with you here.

“You’re persistent, huh.” Chigiri Hyoma raised his eyebrows at you. “Though I’m glad you’re willing to help.”

You shrugged, taking a look at Chigiri Hyoma’s room. Everything was organized, as even the blankets were folded neatly on the bed. The window blinds were slightly tilted downwards, the sunlight seeping into the dark bedroom.

“I’m used to doing things alone, anyway.”

“Oh.” He sat on the ground, leaning against the side of his bed. “Here, sit down next to me.”

You hugged your knees to your chest as you stared at his eyes full of energy, contrasting the eyes you noticed when you first met him. You instinctively reached for his hair, then started braiding it. He didn’t seem to mind; rather, he stared at you as you continued on with your intricate work of weaving strands of hair together.

“Would you ever get into a relationship?” You murmured as you unclipped a hair clip from your hair to clip his braid together. “Aw, look at you.”

He snorted as he touched his hair gingerly, as if viewing a valuable work of art.

“Maybe… someday.”

“I see. Waiting for the perfect girl, yeah?” A smile tugged on your lips as your eyes were laced with pain.

“... clueless.”

“Excuse me?”

“You’re a dumbass, that’s all.”

“What would someone say as a confession… for you to accept?” You asked quietly, fidgeting with the loose strands.

“Who cares about that?” Chigiri Hyoma drew his eyebrows together as if annoyed. “I mean, it doesn’t even matter what words they use to confess.”

“Okay. Even if the confession sounds far-fetched?”

Chigiri Hyoma shrugged, responding with: “Sure, I guess.”

“I… like you, Hyoma-san.” Blush crawled onto your face as you averted your eyes, fidgeting with your hands while feeling your heart pound against your chest. Done. And that’s all. You shut your eyes together, bracing for the worst.

You felt his hand slip under your chin, lifting your head higher.

“May I?”

Your eyes met, his soft pink eyes that gazed at your lips, a desire for a gentle kiss. You nodded gently as he leaned forward, caressing your flushed cheeks, then pressed his lips firmly against yours. Surprised, you pulled away, feeling the soft breaths between you two. The electricity of the kiss sent a shiver down your spine as his eyes longed for more.

“Waiting for the perfect girl?‘” His voice softened. “It’s you, Y/N. I already know it’s you.”

“How would you not think that my confession was a joke?” You murmured as you leaned against his shoulder in the bedroom, closing your eyes shut.

“Because… you’re you. And you never directly confessed to me like that.” He put his hand over yours as you fidgeted with your clothing. “Your eyes tell me a lot, too.” You pop open your eyes, staring at his grin. “You always seem full of energy every time you leave practice, too.”

“Oh, Ayaka also mentioned that.” Your thoughts wandered to when both you and Ayaka were walking into school, talking about Chigiri Hyoma.

“It’s not unnoticeable. Your feelings, I mean.” Chigiri Hyoma chuckled as he kissed your forehead, your cheeks heating up.

“Then why did you tell your sister that I was just a friend?” Your voice tightened as you fiddled with his hand, eyes wandering up the walls as if viewing a beautiful artwork.

He hesitated to answer.

“You’re not. I just didn’t want my sister to tease me any further. She’s… very observational.”

“So she knew you liked me?”

“Yeah. Did you not?” He stared at you in surprise, his dark pink eyes twinkling in the shadows of the bedroom. “I thought…”

“Maybe I am a dumbass, then.”

“Then, dumbass, do you want to go on a date with me tomorrow?”

[becauseicantthinkwritings]

With All That I Am

Billy Russo x Female Reader

Part 7 of my Accidentally on Purpose Series

Warnings: Hospitals, injury recovery, cockwarming, oral (f receiving), angst, hurt/comfort.

SIX MONTHS AGO

There's something about Dominic Saintclair that Billy had never liked.

He could never put his finger on it. Maybe it was the pretentiousness of his actions, the way he looked like he'd never had a hard day in his life, the lackadaisical way he treated things as if they were replaceable.

The way he didn't understand that the most valuable thing he had, was the one thing he was mistreating right now.

"I swear, she doesn't know when to leave me alone." Dominic says loudly in the opulent bar, a place that was more red velvet seats and accented gold ornaments than anything else. It was somewhere Billy brought the clients he could impress easily, ones that didn't understand what the best brand of gin for a negroni was, or that whiskey shouldn't be served with ice. It was simply a place that glittered, gorgeous on the surface with no real substance... or character... not unlike the man in question.

Billy looks down at Dominic's cloned phone. All you had said was that you hoped he was having fun. 

"Maybe you're just not fucking her enough." One of his friends joke.

"Oh fuck off. I fuck her more than enough, maybe that's why she's so needy." It gets a round of laughter from his friends, and a disgusted frown from Billy.

At the bar, only a few tables away, Billy's hand tightens on his glass of whiskey, his back is to the group, and he's positioned in a dark enough corner to be unnoticed while still being able to hear the conversation.

"Anyways, enough about that, finish telling me about the red head." Dominic says, and Billy is forced to listen to him talk about other women when he has the best one.

Billy thinks about how stupidly simple it would be to kill your boyfriend, but doing it now would create more problems. You wouldn't know how much of an asshole he really was, for starters, you'd probably convince yourself that you'd been deeply in love with him before his untimely death. People tended to put dead loved ones on a pedestal, forgiving them unless their crimes were truly heinous. 

No, you had to see Dominic for his true colours first. Then, and only then, he would wipe your stain of a boyfriend from the earth.

Billy listens to Dominic say some more vile things, fully understanding his hatred for the man now. Dominic was manipulative, showing you one face, and yet secretly thinking something else behind your back. With a frown, he scrolls through your older messages.

You always seemed to be reaching for him, supportive of the things he said. He never voiced his support for you in return. 

What a fucking waste of space. To have someone as precious as you, and to take you for granted.

If he had you... he'd worship you. Without a doubt, Billy would kiss every inch of your skin, kneel at your feet if you asked, kiss you at every waking moment.

When another text comes in from you, he smiles.

As predicted, you text a second time after you've seen his read receipts and no response has come in from your idiot boyfriend.

'Are you alright?' You text.

The corner of Billy's mouth lifts, he wishes you were sending texts like this to him.

Dominic responds.

'Yes. I'm fine. Stop bothering me.'

Billy's smile drops.

You don't respond, but you see the message. He knows that you're hurt by it.

Billy's thoughts go violent again.

Anonymously, Billy has bought round after round of shots for the men, until they're wasted, and their lips are loose and he can soak in all the information possible. He plots while he listens, and he learns so much, until he could pick apart any man there in his sleep.

Their numbers dwindle, until it's just two men there, and he waits patiently for Dominic to stand on inebriated feet and head off to the bathroom.

Billy knows that Dominic is barely functional right now, having taken shot after shot, Billy is aware that Dominic will not remember any bit of whatever is happening right now.

With that information, he texts Dominic's companion from the cloned phone.

'Feeling better now, ordered an Uber, you can go ahead without me.'

Billy watches his friend read the text, finish his drink and then leave.

Too easy.

Dominic is so far gone that when he returns to his seat, he barely notices that his friend's things are gone, and Billy acts fast to stop Dominic from realising that anything is amiss.

"Saintclair." Billy greets, whiskey in hand, looking around to make sure that no one is looking, "Drinking all by yourself?" 

Dominic looks up at Billy and squints.

"Mister Russo?"

Billy hums the affirmative.

"Got room for company?" The words are bitter in his mouth.

Billy doesn't wait for an answer, pushing the inebriated man deeper into the booth and sliding into the space next to him. He hates this place, literally just designed for showing off, he glances at Dominic, who's lost in his own head, staring at his drink.

Nothing this man was thinking could ever be worth your time.

He raises his hand to the bartender, calling for another round of shots.

Dominic only has time to adjust his body, from his slumped, hazy demeanour, to appear like someone with all their critical thinking skills functional.

Billy spikes the drink with a little bit of melatonin, it's more than enough at Dominic's current level of intoxication.

"Wasn't drinking by myself, but the rest of guys have already left." Dominic slurs, and Billy raises his eyebrows, extending the spiked shot to the already drunk man.

He gives Dominic the opportunity to decline the shot, doesn't force it into his hands, just holds it out expectantly and watches the younger man choose his own self-destruction.

He kind of delights in it, the anarchy he's capable of. Each person has a role to play and it's always nice when they do it as expected.

Dominic throws back the shot with him and internally, Billy begins his internal stopwatch.

"I hope the job's treating you well." Billy hums, uncaring of what the man next to him has to say. He just has to make small talk for fifteen minutes, before the drug kicks in.

Billy asks about some of his coworkers, and then his phone pings, alerting him to a message. 

"Clingy." Is all Dominic has to say, looking at his phone when Billy inquires casually.

His eyebrows raise, watching his employee yawn, the drug beginning to take effect.

"If you don't like her that much, then why are you with her?" Billy asks, trying to keep the anger out of his tone.

"Why not?" Is the last thing Dominic says before he slumps over onto the table, asleep.

Billy blinks, an angry sneer growing on his face. What a careless piece of shit. He reaches for Dominic's phone, unlocks it and opens your messages the way he's done a hundred times before.

'At least tell me you're okay.' You'd texted.

"Prick." Billy swears, typing out a message to you on Dominic's phone.

'I'm alright sweetness, just getting ready to go home.' After a moment, he sends another message.

'I'm sorry about that last message, you don't bother me.'

He finds himself smiling when your text bubbles appear almost immediately.

'That's alright! I understand that you probably just wanted some time with your friends.' You say.

You were so quick to forgive, it made Billy's heart sour with the thought that Dominic didn't deserve your forgiveness.

'How was your night?' He asks, smiling fondly when he gets a picture of you wearing a fluffy robe and face mask.

'Very pretty, baby.' He replies, which earns a little '😳' face in response.

How sweet you were, saccharine and sticky, Billy could find himself eating you up quite easily.

'I mean it. I think you're fucking gorgeous.'

It takes a moment to get your response.

'How much have you had to drink exactly?'

Billy grits his teeth, looking over at the unconscious fuck. He barely ever tells you how pretty you are. It's why you think he's drunk now.

'A bit, but that doesn't make it any less true. You are beautiful.'

You don't respond immediately, Billy spends five minutes refreshing Dominic's phone until he gets a very shy 'Thank you,' in response.

He smiles, pockets Dominic's phone.

"Time to get you home, Saintclair." He says to the unconscious man.

He gets someone from the bar to help him get Dominic into the back seat of his car, uncaring of how he's placed, thanking the larger man with a hefty tip before getting into his car.

'You didn't tell me what you did today.' He sends before driving off.

He hears several different message notifications while he drives, and he can't help smiling, because for once, you were finally talking to him, and not as a stranger, but as someone familiar.

It was much harder to get Dominic to his apartment due to the lack of help he'd had from earlier, yet Billy made do with tossing the unconscious man over his shoulder, and then putting him down when they were in the elevator.

Billy really could have left Dominic anywhere, at the bar, or at the front steps to his apartment, or even at the door, with his keys in hand to have him wake up there in the morning horrified that he was so drunk he couldn't even make it inside.

But Billy drops Dominic on his bed instead, after accidentally bumping his head on a few door frames, he decides that he'd keep the drunk asshole safe this time...for you.

After, Billy sits in Dominic's living room, and opens up his phone once more.

'Okay, this doesn't mean anything but I went to a jewellery store today. I was looking at earrings and then I couldn't help looking at the engagement rings.'

Oh? Billy thinks.

'They were all shiny and even though I like shiny, they didn't feel like me you know? I feel like if we ever... uhhhh.... you know.... get married, I'd want something more unique you know?'

'Hello? Are you there? Did I scare you off? This isn't me asking for a wedding, I'm just saying.'

'Dominic?'

Billy sucks in a breath.

'I'm here, sorry, just got home.' he replies, tries to ignore the pain inside of him that worsens with the thought of you getting married to anyone other than him.

'Oh... Hi' you respond.

Billy smiles.

'Hi, do you have any ideas of what you think might be for you?'

He can almost see your excitement.

'Are you sure? If this is weird, you can say so.'

How cute, the way you care.

'I'd really like to see them.' He answers.

You send a link, and indeed, they're beautiful and unique and Billy can't help the thoughts of wearing it, and having you wear the other.

'These are the ones I've always dreamed of.' you add on with the attached pictures.

He bites down on his bottom lip, closes his eyes, and imagines how perfect your hands would look linked together, decorated with matching rings. The thought makes him hard.

'They have to be custom ordered though, really expensive, I'm sure we can find something cheaper.'

Absolutely not.

'They're beautiful. Tell me your ring size so that I can surprise you.'

He makes note of it when you send it.

'I can't wait to marry you.' He says.

'Well now I know you really are drunk.' You respond.

Billy has a quick moment of realisation when he remembers that you think you're talking to Dominic.

His smile drops.

'I am drunk. But you're still the most amazing person on the planet. I think you might be it for me.' And Billy means it. He means every word. He plans to marry this sweet girl that waltzed her way into his life and believed in him after two conversations.

'I love you.' Comes your reply.

Billy smiles.

'I love you too.' 

He stays with you until you fall asleep, telling you all the sweet things he's ever wanted to say, dodging personal topics that he doesn't know the answers to. When you're finally asleep, he stands, checks the time, and goes back to Dominic's room, dropping his phone onto the bed beside his sleeping form.

Billy almost considers hitting him, enjoying the thought of giving him a black eye in the morning, but that had the possibility of scaring him into not drinking again, and Billy couldn't have that.

So he leaves, walks out of your boyfriend's apartment, and does not set it on fire like he wants to. 

.

NOW

You stare calmly at the elevator doors. The smell of hospital filling the air around you. In a way, there was an ease to it, a comfort in the sterile cleanliness, a place designed to turn chaos into order.

You sip on your coffee, feeling refreshed after popping back home for a quick shower and supplies for Billy. You didn't want to leave, but you knew you wouldn't be able to stay while the nurses changed his bandages, the wound too fresh to introduce any foreign bacteria. So you'd decided to make yourself useful in the meantime.

Frank was still here somewhere, waiting for you to return so that he could leave. You'd both had tentatively agreed that Billy should not be left alone under any circumstance, surprised that you and his best friend had been on a similar wavelength when it came to caring for him.

Frank's in the waiting room taking a call when you see him. He gives you a little nod, and a gesture of his head that tells you it's okay to go see him.

You do exactly that, making your way to the nurses' station to sign in before heading to his room.

You stop short when at the door, you hear the sound of female laughter. 

It's not laughter exactly, it's... giggling.

It's obviously flirtatious, in that pitch that's just too high to be normal.

You hear Billy's voice next, too far away to make out what he's saying but he sounds polite.

Followed by more giggling.

Pure jealousy rears its head. 

You had only been gone for an hour and someone had taken the opportunity to begin flirting with your husband? 

Something dark blooms inside you, and you take a deep breath, and walk through the doors with your head high.

Two pairs of eyes turn to look at you.

"I'm back." You say calmly, smiling.

Billy smiles at you, his hair askew in every direction as if he hasn't ever heard of a brush. It's adorable, makes him look so much more boyish than usual. Your eyes go to the young nurse, that's currently taking Billy's blood pressure, quietly sizing her up, deciding if she was worth any sort of trouble at all.

"Hey baby, did you get one of those for me?" He asks, referring to the cappuccino in your hands.

You look down at him, close enough to see the tiredness under his eyes although you know this is the most amount of sleep he's ever gotten.

"Sorry, doctor said no." You respond.

Billy lets out a pained groan, and you can't help it, leaning forward to place a soft kiss on his temple.

He sighs, reaching up to take your hand in his, you watch his eyes linger on your wedding ring.

"I was just explaining to Becca here how easy it was to ignore the pain for so long."

Becca?

Your eyebrows raise in amused displeasure.

"Yeah," she adds in with a wistful smile, "If he didn't pass out from the pain he probably wouldn't have gotten help in time."

Great, a reminder that you weren't there when he'd almost died. You're pretty sure that the only expression you show her is one of disdain.

'Careful,' you think maliciously in her direction, 'If he likes you enough he'll cage you like a bird.'

"How are his vitals?" You ask blankly, trying to get her out of here as soon as possible, ignoring the way Billy looks up at you in confusion at your clipped tone.

"They're uh, they're good! But-" She begins to say, but stops short and presses the back of her hand to Billy's forehead. You blink, clenching your teeth together. You're pretty sure this wasn't medically professional, and you suck in a slow breath to stop yourself from smacking her hand away from your husband.

"Are you feeling okay Bil- Mister Russo? Your heart rate is a bit high." she continues.

You glance up at her monitor in question, and sure enough the little number on screen next to the pulsing heart symbol was just a little above one hundred.

You knew that his heart shouldn't be going at near a hundred beats per minute if he was mostly stationary in bed.

Billy lets out a nervous laugh. You look down at him in confusion.

"Yean, that's- I'm fine- It's just... well... her." He explains, glancing up at you for a second.

Me? You think incredulously, blinking.

His heart is beating fast because you were near him?

Your anger dissolves as fast as it had appeared, stomach fluttering, you try to fight the smile pulling at your face but you inevitably fail.

He doesn't look up at you, so you grip his jaw, tilting his head up.

Absentmindedly, you're aware of the nurse excusing herself from the room.

You press your lips to his swiftly, delight spreading down your body when he groans against your mouth. You deepen the kiss and he accepts it eagerly.

After a moment, you pause, turning your head to look at the little monitor, His heart rate having gone up to one hundred and twenty.

"Still jealous?" he asks, with a cheeky smile.

You don't answer, leaning in to kiss him softly once more.

. 

"Please." Billy begs.

"No." You whisper, bumping your nose against his, adjusting your body under the sheets so that you're both fully covered.

"Just a little bit." He tries to bargain.

"You move, and I'll stop. You cum, and I'll stop." 

He lets out a harsh breath.

"You're being really mean to me." He pouts.

"If you rip a stitch, I won't touch you until they come out."

He groans, frustrated.

Unable to resist, you clench around his cock.

"That's not fair." he gasps desperately.

"Sorry, this isn't entirely easy for me either."

Currently, you were both under his sheets, on your back, both legs draped over his hip, while he lies on his left side facing you. It was a position that had made it very easy for him to slip himself inside of you, allowing you to keep his cock warm. 

He swallows, looking at you with warm eyes.

"You feel so good around me. You know that?"

How was he allowed to say things like that while literally stretching you open? God, you could feel the tip of his cock nestled snugly in the very deepest parts of you, every inch of your cunt sighing in relief at finally being so full of him.

You feel yourself get smaller under his gaze, soft, gentle, unnameable in its unfamiliarity.

"If it feels half as good as it does for me, then yeah, I know." you reply easily.

He smiles, it causes butterflies to flutter in gentle circles within you.

"You're beautiful." he murmurs softly.

It's your turn to swallow and look away.

Your eyes are drawn to his bare chest, and the snake tattoo that resides on his shoulder. He could not be real with the way he made you feel, like all the air in the room had simply vanished by his command, held even further out of reach by the thickness of his cock sitting still inside you.

"You really mean that?" You ask, your insecurity gaining a foothold in your head.

He reaches for your left hand, raises it up to his face so that he can lay a swift kiss onto your wedding ring.

"I do." 

The door swinging open has your eyes widening from your shared spot under the sheets. Thankfully, you were still mostly clothed, where Billy was fully naked.

"Bill?" comes Frank's voice in question from his spot by the door.

Billy winks at you, before moving the sheet off your top halves to reveal you both to the open air.

"Hey Frank." Billy greets.

Frank takes one look at your positions and lets out a tired sigh.

"You two are fucking, aren't you?" The exasperated sound of his voice drawing a smile from you.

You can't help the laugh that leaves you, giving everything away. 

Frank's disappointed expression makes Billy laugh too.

"Alright. I'm walking out this door, I'll be back in five minutes, your pants better be on, Russo."

"Make it ten!" Billy shouts just as Frank gives another disappointed shake of his head, and leaves the room.

.

Clothed now, in long blue linen pants, Billy kisses your temple, one arm wrapped securely around you as you lie beside him.

"Thanks for being here with me." He says softly, his hands gripping onto any available part of you he could reach, anything to pull you closer to him.

"What? Is Frank not good enough company?" You tease, beginning to laugh when you feel the scratch of his beard as he kisses your throat.

"Frank is usually in the bed beside me." he says into your neck, and you laugh at the imagery.

"Plus," he says in a softer, more serious tone as he pulls away for a moment. You turn to look at him curiously.

"I've never had someone worry about me the way you do."

"Ever?" You ask.

He shakes his head, looks down.

You're not sure what he's thinking, but it looks like guilt, all soft lines and sadness and you ache to make him feel better.

You lean forward, cupping his jaw. His eyes are so open for you that you think you can see his soul in them- a dark web of shadows, that glitters with vulnerability the more you look. 

You wanted his vulnerability, you wanted him to open himself up to you, and share everything he was, everything he could be, until you were full of him.  

Until you could taste him in your mouth, even when he wasn't around.

"I'm here now, and I'll worry. I'll fight anyone that stops me from getting to you. Including Frank Castle." You promise.

His frown grows into a smile.

"You're sure you don't wanna ride me? I'll stay really still." 

You groan.

"No, no vigorous activity for at least four weeks."

"You riding me isn't vigorous."

"Yes, but I'd consider your orgasms vigorous." You reply, contemplating the way the muscles of his abdomen tended to tighten up when he came.

"Wait," Billy says in horror, "I can't come for four weeks?"

"You'll be fine." You huff.

"No I won't be." He protests.

"Just let me take care of you."

He couldn't argue with that.

. 

"You hate me don't you?" Billy asks.

You try not to grin.

You turn to face him, clad in only your plainest underwear as you get ready for work. Somehow, he still saw beauty in you, even when you weren't trying. It was exhilarating.

Unfortunately you couldn't stay with him, a meeting had been scheduled that you didn't want to push back due to the difficulty in actually getting the meeting in the first place.

"Why? Is there something wrong with it?" You ask, turning playfully to show him the back and the front.

"Everything's fucking wrong with it," Billy grumbles from his spot in bed, head tilting back for a second in what looks like a plea to God himself.

"When I get these stitches out, you're gonna be in so much trouble." he says with a little grunt.

You hum, in thought.

"You know, now that I think about it, I don't think I'll wear underwear today." You taunt.

Billy groans loudly.

Something delightful blooms within you.

. 

Wrong.

This was supposed to be wrong.

The more you think that, the more you know that this is the most right feeling in the world.

There was nothing in your old life that could ever possibly compare to him.

Usually, people coerced into marriage were subjected to inhumane treatment, impossible and abusive environments, that sucked the very living soul out of them.

The most soul sucking being done to you was when you'd been forced to deny Billy the pleasure of tasting you last night.

The pleasure of tasting you... because to him... it really was a pleasure.

You swallow, sitting at his desk, tense in his comfortable chair. You'd become someone he'd wanted.

Or maybe you'd always been. When had he decided to marry you anyways?

You blink, shock spearing through you.

What if your feelings weren't real? But simply a defence response to your circumstances.

A tired sigh leaving your lips. A shake of your head.

Would you want him if you weren't trapped by him? 

The question eats away at your sanity. You spin it around and around in your head and still you can't find an answer.

You're scared by it. By the notion of losing him.

You're also scared by the idea of staying with him, still not fully understanding what he was capable of.

Which fear was right?

And which one would break your heart? 

. 

Billy says your name in question when he hears a door slam shut.

"Just me, Bill." Is Frank's answering voice.

"Where is she?" He murmurs, throat dry, looking up at the ceiling. The pain meds held him in a state of mild confusion, spaced out so that he wasn't in any pain, but unable to truly focus on the things happening around him.

He hears the slow pour of water, peeks an eye open to find Frank beside him. He struggles to sit up, tucking a second and then third pillow behind him for support and gratefully accepting the glass of water from Frank.

"It's only two, her meeting just started so you'll see her a little later."

Billy nods, ignoring Frank's gaze as he sips the water.

"I've never seen you so down bad before."

Billy's laugh bubbles in the glass he's holding.

"What can I say? I'm a romantic." He answers flippantly.

Frank snorts loudly in knowing disbelief. Billy frowns.

"You don't think it's fast? Is she... does she have something on you?"

Anger spears itself through Billy, some at Frank, most at himself.

I'm a monster, he thinks.

He turns away, not wanting Frank to read the expression on his face, wondering if his look of guilt alone will put the pieces together in Frank's head.

"It's not like that." He says easily, thinking to himself what a sick fuck he must be to coerce someone so glorious, so awe-inspiring, into marriage against her will.

He thinks he hates himself for it.

"She told me you got accidentally married. I can't imagine a version of you, however drunk, that would accept marriage."

Frank was getting too close. Billy had to say something to appease him.

"I'd met her before, at... a company party or two. I liked her, but she had a boyfriend."

When Billy doesn't continue, Frank is forced to prompt.

"And?" 

Billy stares down at the sheets. The very sheets you'd slept under last night.

"And when I met her in Vegas, they'd just broken up, and I wanted something with her, and I don't remember how, but the next day I woke up married to her and I was so happy."

It's mostly the truth, the best tale he can spin in his state.

"I know it doesn't make sense, Frankie, but when I'm with her... I'm the man I've always wanted to be."

Frank is quiet for too long now, and Billy is forced to turn his head and look up at his best friend curiously.

Both men stare at each other in silence for a moment.

"Alright, okay, I'm sold, bring her around to meet Maria and the kids." Frank says finally.

If anything, this was Frank Castle's ultimate seal of approval. Introducing strangers to his family was not an occasion to be taken lightly.

Billy grins up at Frank.

"I can't believe I had to lose my appendix to get her invited to a Castle family dinner. You're so gullible, Frank." Billy teases.

He's rewarded with a gentle smack to his shoulder.

. 

You run your hands over the fabric of your dress, deep in thought.

Was it too much? You think you might be overdressed.

It was a lovely beige colour, maybe tan, knee length with a vintage design and little puff sleeves. You'd liked how it looked in the store. Now? You honestly felt like it was a little much.

Maybe Billy would be able to help you decide.

You call his name, walking out of your shared closet and toward the living room where you saw him last.

You spin the corner and find him already coming toward you.

"Are you okay?" He asks, dressed casually in a grey shirt and black pants.

You stumble over your words, your brain spinning too fast for you to keep up.

"W- yeah- I was coming to ask your opinion, but I am so clearly overdressed." You turn on your heel to go back into the bedroom.

"Oh no you don't." Billy says, and before you know it, he's grabbed a hold of your wrist, pulling you into his body.

You gasp, eyes widening on his face as he presses you against the wall of the hallway.

Your heart pounds in your chest at his proximity. Your need for him outweighs rational thought until you have to remind yourself that he's still recovering. If he touched you right now though, he'd find you already wet, and eager for him.

While you've been fighting your aching desire, he's taken the time to run the tips of his fingers across the apple of your cheek.

"God. You're so pretty." He whispers, warm eyes spilling euphoria into you.

He couldn't mean that. Could he?

You glance away, only to be forced into looking back at him when he grabs your jaw roughly.

The tension between you feels like an electric charge, that heightens as he gets closer. 

It's like he's never touched you before, like the sensation is brand new, and not months old. 

"I should change," You whisper, "This dress is too much."

He takes a deep breath, his hand glides from gripping your jaw to curl around your throat. Your breath stutters at the feeling. Something flutters low, an ache to be filled rears its head.

"You're gorgeous. In anything you wear. I'd want you in a ball gown or a potato sack."

Good lord.

When you smile, he brings his fingers up to press against your lips, exploring the shape of your smile, appreciating the softness.

"You mean that?" You ask, a little unsure.

His dark eyes devour you, unfocused as he looks at you, balancing on the precipice of admiring you and imagining just exactly what he wants to do to you.

"Why don't I show you?" He offers.

You reach to grip his elbows when it seems like he's going to kneel.

"No, we- you're still recovering and I don't think it's fair that I get to cum if you can't."

He lets out a low grunt, pressing his body roughly against yours, his palms against the wall on either side of your head, his forehead and nose pressed to yours. The intensity of his gaze makes you turn your head to look away, he's got the demeanour of a man starved, desperate, borderline unhinged.

He doesn't let you move far, fingers curling around the back of your neck to bring you back to face him.

"Little wife," he says so deeply that you're not sure if it's a promise or a threat.

"Lift your dress up for me, or I'll tie you up and lick your cunt anyway."

You gulp. The very thought of being helpless while he-

Fuck, but you didn't even have the time, Frank would be expecting you in an hour. 

You let out a breath, feeling more than seeing the smile that forms on his face as you begin gathering the materials of your skirt into your fists.

"Good." he says finally, and you can only feel your body throb with heat in response.

There's the gentlest kiss to your mouth, something of a promise, a pledge that when he's done with you, you won't remember how to walk.

You squeeze your eyes shut as he kneels, you know that when he reaches up to tug your underwear down the length of your legs, that he'll see the desperation he causes.

He swears when he sees it, drawing out the syllables as he witnesses the way your arousal clings to the little piece of fabric protecting your modesty.

You swallow, the materials bunched in your hands no doubt wrinkling with the force.

He takes his time, tracing coarse fingers over your calve, behind your knee and up your thigh, pulling gently to guide one of your legs over his shoulder. 

He doesn't bother to touch your centre, circle your sweet bud with his thumb like he wants to, he uses his tongue right away.

You take in a sharp breath at the contact. The tip of his tongue meeting your clit affectionately, like old friends reuniting.

A shiver goes down your spine, you crush your bottom lip between your teeth.

"Billy." You whisper softly, tilting your head back as his tongue flattens on you.

He takes it slow, remarkably gentle on your hypersensitive body, having gone relatively long in recent times without an orgasm, you feel like just the right move will pull you apart at the seams.

You let out a little groan, sighing as his pace quickens, his tongue pushing deeper, so that he can get a taste of you directly from the source.

It's primal, soft, ritualistic in the way that his tongue worships you, your eyes rolling back in your head as he draws you close to your peak.

There's an obscene sucking sound, followed closely by a hum of pleasure from between your legs. You feel your body tense, coiled tight on the precipice of bliss, thighs trembling as he keeps his tongue focused on your clit, lapping gently, and then a little harsher, to be gentle again.

His beard scratches your thighs, and even that is an aphrodisiac by itself, reminding you constantly that it's his mouth on you, his tongue on your cunt, his head between your thighs.

A sharp whine of warning, your stomach tightens, your breath stutters. 

A groan of approval from him, the soft twist of his fingers on your skin, as if to encourage you, to tell you how good you're being for him, and all you ever want to do now is be good for him.

Being deconstructed by his mouth should be a lot harder, and yet, Billy makes it look like a basic endeavour.

Your toes curl, head knocking the wall, you feel like you're coming apart, atom by atom, the force of your pleasure barely contained within your skin. You feel the walls of your cunt clamp down into a tight vise, as wave after wave of bliss fills every square inch of your body.

You barely make more than a quiet gasp- too inebriated on his tongue to even scream. 

He keeps licking you gently, lazily, trembling shudders working through your system until you're forced to tap his shoulder for a reprieve.

Another obscene sound when he pulls away, looking up at you, his mouth and beard shiny with your release.

He puts you back on two feet, but your knees buckle once the full weight of you is on them.

He stands swiftly, arms wrapping around you to pull you to his body keeping you upright, a small grunt leaving him.

You blink, struggling to restart your brain.

You realise his grunt is one of pain, as he tries to hold you up, it's what kickstarts your brain into working.

You grip his biceps, straightening your legs under you and willing them to stay that way.

"Sorry." You whisper, trying to take a deep breath.

"It's alright. If I could, I would have picked you up myself." He whispers back, and you raise your head to look into his eyes.

Something unnameable passes between you, you can't put a finger on it- but it feels like quiet appreciation for each other. 

He helps you to the couch, sitting you down before disappearing into the bathroom.

When he re-emerges, it's with a clean face and a damp washcloth. 

He encourages you down to the car after cleaning you and redressing you. You try to tell him that you're capable- but he won't have it.

He slides into the back of the car beside you, and almost immediately tucks your body against his, pulling your legs over one of his for comfort.

You sag, still fatigued from such a powerful orgasm.

Jesus, was it always going to be like that? All mind-consuming and explosive?

You smile when he kisses your forehead, tilting your head up to let him kiss you softly on the mouth.

Delightful, consuming, everything about him was just so... tantalising, you wanted to spend hours learning him, take days to map every thought in his head, every idea in his heart.

He was a dangerous enigma, a slippery slope.

And you were falling. 

. 

When Frank pulls the door to his house open, he gives you both a very suspicious look.

After a moment, he lets out a long sigh of disappointment.

"You two better not fuck in my house." He threatens.

"How can you even tell?" Billy asks in disbelief, reading into the quiet accusations being made by Frank.

"Isn't it obvious?" Frank asks, opening the door wider to let you in.

"Hi Frank," you say in greeting as you walk past him. He says your name, with a small nod of acknowledgement.

You take a moment to appreciate their house, it's warm and cozy, with lots of baseball trophies lining the mantle over the fireplace. There's a lot of pinks and beiges, a cozy line of couches near the fire.

Before you can do more looking, you hear a woman's voice.

"Is that them?" She asks, spinning into the room.

This must be Maria, you think, as you watch her take Billy into an aggressive hug, giving him a kiss to the cheek before letting him go in a flourish, a look of violation comically painted on his face.

When she turns to you next, you gulp.

She's very pretty, with lovely auburn hair. You notice a large scar curving from the corner of her eye down to the edge of her chin.

You only get a second of awareness before she's taking you into a hold just as violent as the one she'd trapped Billy in. 

You can't help but giggle at her blatant showing of affection.

She says your name in greeting.

"I hear you kneed Frank in the balls. Well done."

You splutter for an excuse.

"I'm sorry-"

"-Don't be," she interjects, "I wished I'd seen it myself."

You smile, looking over to Frank, who is mid-roll of his eyes.

"That'll cost you later, big boy. Come! Dinner is almost ready." Maria says quickly, turning away and you let out a little chuckle in response to Frank's apologetic face. 

"Billyyyyyyyyy." You hear someone shout, and you watch in horror as a small blur begins racing to your husband.

Your mouth opens, subtly stepping in front of him, ready to catch said blur.

Frank beats you to it, grabbing his son under the arms and picking him up for a second before putting him back down.

"Woah there slugger, take it easy on Uncle Billy, he just had surgery." 

You sigh, moving away from Billy so that he can hug his godson in peace. You catch Maria staring at you. You give her a smile of apology before looking away.

"Frank, I want you to meet my wife," Billy says, turning the younger Frank's body in your direction.

You can instantly see the suspicious look on his face.

You tell him your name, extending your hand politely in greeting.

He takes it, shaking your hand politely, it's the best you can hope for, being a stranger in their home.

"You're not a gold digger are you?" Frank Jr. says suddenly.

It's met with lots of scolding from his parents. You can't help laughing at everyone's shocked expressions.

"Where did you even learn that word?" Frank says, exasperated.

"In school." Younger Frank answers honestly.

Billy straightens, gives you an apologetic look.

"She's not with me for my money, junior, I'm with her cause she's sweet." He wraps a hand around your shoulders, pulling you into his chest.

You can't look at him, leaning in and accepting the comfort.

You meet Lisa next, Frank's older daughter, she's polite, but you can also see the accusation in her eyes.

You figure it's nice, that at least there are people looking out for Billy, though, you almost want to shout his crimes so that you stop being treated so abrasively.

Billy had warned you that the Castles could be protective, that they'd like you once they got to know you.

You'd hoped that were true.

.

When Maria asks how you and Billy met during dinner, you both pause in horror as the answer comes to mind.

You let out a long sigh.

"We met a couple of years ago, at a Christmas party, my boyfriend at the time was working at Anvil." You say with a smile.

Maria nods eagerly in understanding. You can see how bad it looks.

"Alright," you say, finally having enough. Your fork clatters onto your plate and you watch Billy turn his head to you in alarm.

"Cards on the table. No, I'm not with him for his money- and I'm not pregnant either if any of you are thinking it. I like him. I like his stupid face and his stupid laugh and I feel safe around him and I never really had that before." You pause for a second, taking a sip of water before continuing.

"Sure, how we met wasn't the best, and how we got married was even worse, but I like him."

Billy reaches over, taking your hand in his, you glance up at him, your stomach tying into knots as you meet his eyes.

"He's my best friend." You finish.

You feel his hand squeeze yours.

Billy leans forward, his other hand cupping your cheek and hiding your mouths from view as he kisses you softly.

The entire table erupts into groans, mostly from both Franks and you can't help laughing into his kiss.

It lightens the mood though, and there's less tension in the air by the time dinner is finished. 

.

Everyone helps with cleaning up, and you find yourself drying dishes next to Maria while the rest of the family clear the table.

"He's not someone we'd ever thought could settle down." Maria murmurs.

You look up at her curiously.

She sees your confused expression and tries to explain.

"He's always just been so focused on himself, there were a lot of bad things about his childhood, and more in the military, and we just never thought he could be in a spot where he could live with someone. He tends to push people away after a while. Even us."

You look down, letting out a long sigh, wondering what you would do if he ever tried to push you away.

Accept it, you guess. What could you really do if he decided he didn’t want you anymore? Nothing.

“But don’t worry.” She interjects, you look up at her, eyes settling on her wicked scar for a second before you look down at your dish, “He likes you, he really does, maybe you did have a rough start, but I have faith in both of you.”

Your mouth pulls into a smile, you thank her for her kind words.

.

You play Jenga with them next, laughing and tickling Billy’s left side affectionately to distract him while he moves.

He grins, his hand remains remarkably steady while you torment him with your fingers. Everyone jeers, encouraging his loss, booing him when he manages to get the block on top of the tower without toppling it.

Your turn is next and you smile happily as you lean forward to make your move. You feel his hand on the small of your back, rubbing affectionately as you pick your piece. He doesn’t try to shake you or cheat like you did while you pull your piece out. The rest of the Castle family boo you in funny ways, and you have this moment of realisation that this is what family feels like.

When you get your wooden brick seated next to Billy’s, he kisses you on the temple, murmuring a ‘Good job, baby.’ into your ear in a low voice that has your body responding eagerly to him.

There’s a look that passes between you, something warm and electric, the silent guarantee that if you were alone right now, you’d be ripping at each other's clothes.

It’s Frank that drops the tower, after Maria whispers something into his ear quietly, and you smile at the way he looks at her in half betrayal and half adoration as everyone cheers for his loss.

You see it, you understand why these people are so important to him, the humanity inside each Castle is a unique thing, that makes the whole family unit just work so easily.

You’re glad to have met them, and you’re also sad when you have to bid them goodbye at the end of the night.

Maria hugs you both, Frank gives you an almost friendly pat on your shoulder. There’s a bittersweetness to it that you’ve barely felt before, a real family that you can be a part of, a promise to reunite soon that sparks hope inside of you.

You leave, hand in hand with Billy, a little bit happier than you were when you first arrived, feeling like you understood your husband just a little bit more.

.

In the car, he lets out a slow breath, tilting his head back. He’s in pain, you realise.

“My scar is starting to hurt.” he confesses, turning his head to look at you.

Your heart squeezes in your chest. 

“We’ll get you home and get some medicine into you, okay?” You say softly, leaning into him, till your nose rubs affectionately against his.

He nods, eyes drooping as he feels your hand move to cup the healing area of his abdomen over his shirt gently. He leans into you, resting his head into the crook of your neck, your other hand moving up to play with his hair.

You feel him sigh in bliss.

.

You tug your heels off so that you have better balance to support him, encouraging him to lean into you a little so that he’s in a little less pain while you get him up to your apartment.

His pain has worsened by the time you sit him in bed and rummage through your cabinet for his medicine. 

You get it to him first, making sure he finishes the glass of water you gave him before you begin taking his shoes off.

“You don’t have to-” He tries to sit up, “I can-” He grunts in pain when he curls forward too much.

You push him back gently, giving him a kiss to his forehead.

“Let me take care of you, yeah?”

You stroke his cheek with the backs of your fingers while you wait for him to respond.

“Yeah,” he sighs.

You tug his shoes off, and then undo his pants, giggling slightly when he struggles to lift his hips to help you.

You can’t help touching him, feeling over his thick thighs as they’re exposed to you. You kiss his happy trail when you see it, giggling when he groans.

“Tease.” He pouts.

You kiss his pout too.

Only after you strip him down to his boxers and carefully check his scar, do you tuck him into bed, moving to dress down for the night too. 

When you struggle for too long with the zipper, you sit on the edge of the bed beside Billy and ask him for help.

He kisses your exposed back when he gets the zip undone.

When you’re finally in your silky PJs, you slide into bed beside him, noticing that he’s still awake, but blinking slowly.

“Are you still in pain?” You ask, tilting your head to observe him.

“No pain.” He answers, “Groggy.”

You sigh in relief, sliding closer to him, till you’re pressed to his side. Your hand slides into his rough one, and you quietly enjoy the feeling of being next to him until he speaks.

“I’ve never had this.” Billy whispers. You raise your head to look at him, noticing how unfocused his eyes are, staring up at the ceiling, blinking slowly, as if to remind himself that he’s still awake.

“The old me would have never confessed to anyone that I was hurting.” 

He turns his head, glassy eyes focusing on you.

“But you… The way you fight for me makes me want to trust you more and more each time.” He swallows, “It’s scary.”

He raises a hand, cups your cheek and you can’t help leaning into him, closing your eyes in hopes that it puts him at ease, that he doesn’t feel stared at while he opens himself up to you.

“No one has ever taken care of me before. Not like you have. You look at me- and I- I mean something. You know?”

You open your eyes then, staring at him for a long moment, finding that your throat has closed up from your abundance of emotion.

“You mean a lot.” You whisper, your hand raising to cup his.

His eyes are glassy, almost on the brink of tears.

“I didn’t know.”

.

You’re in the kitchen making coffee two days after, scarily deep in thought. 

In the quiet of the morning you think about everything that’s happened. From Dominic dumping you to the despair you felt when your annulment request had been denied. You think about it all, and you think about your mother, whose call you had ignored yesterday after walking out of her house when you found out Billy was sick. 

You didn’t know how to approach her, or what you would say when she asked you the question she’d asked before.

Before you can think yourself into a downward spiral, an arm wraps itself around your waist. His hand is broad, spreading over your tummy and leaving warm tingles behind, his touch so comforting that you can’t help but smile and lean into him a little.

“Good morning, Mrs. Russo.” He grumbles softly, letting you know exactly what he thought of waking up alone in bed.

“What can I help you with, Mister Russo?” You tease, smiling as you both sway together.

There’s a moment of silence, filled only with the sounds of your shared breaths as you enjoy the presence of each other.

“I would like you to come back to bed. It’s a Saturday and you haven’t cuddled me for nearly long enough.”

You grin, rolling your eyes.

“Yeah? And what do I get if I come back to bed with you right now?”

He hums, nose pressing against your ear, one hand on your stomach and the other rising up to cup your jaw securely.

“I can think of many imaginative ways to thank you.” He murmurs, the heat of his breath tickling your ear gently.

It’s something you could never even think to dream of.

.

.

.

A/N: Sorry I've been so inactive... bad things have happened, just popping in to post this cause I don't want it to sit in my drafts for any longer.

[cheerstotheelites-if]

Life Update

I'm not dead, ya'll—

As you've noticed, I've been real quiet here and my last post was back in July. Uh, yikes. 😬

So, where have I been these past few months?

WELL, for starters, I've been busy with college since I managed to get back in (love you, grandma), and I've been busy making up for my bad grades because I had to repeat a year and retake some subjects I failed. So... there's that.

Second reason is that I experienced the worst dose of Depression in my life. It was last summer, and I wasn't happy and disappointed with myself and where my life was going at the time. It came to a point that I couldn't take care of myself proplerly (really bad sleep schedule, insomnia, refusing to eat to the point that I look so wasted, not wanting to take care of myself in general) and it went to a moment where I wanted to commit suicide, because I felt so ashamed of, well, me and my own failures. I had a note ready and everything, already committed to do the deed. Though, in the end, I'm lucky and grateful for the people that never gave up on me and helped me get out of that void. My Depression is still there, but I'm doing better now and hopefully continue to improve on that.

Speaking of, writing has been on hold because of that, writer's block, and dissatisfaction on my work. I like where Chapter 1 is going now, but at the same time I can't help but think that there should be something more and that the plot that follows after doesn't feel right to me. Though thankfully I've come up with a solution during my hiatus.

It's a rewrite. The answer is a rewrite. 💀

Not a full on rewrite, but just a few changes to the plot beats I initially had in mind. I'm not going to change Chapter 1, because for the life of me I won't be able to rewrite 26k+ words and the implemented code in Twine without getting a headache or two. But I will edit it a bit to make it flow better. Hopefully I'll be able to make some huge progress and update the demo soon in the near future.

In other news, I've been working on other things like that Discord server that's way overdue. I feel a bit more confident in being able to manage and handle a server, so I might as well try, right?

Sneak peek for the curious minded:

I'm still planning to add more things, besides needing to digitize the custom emojies of the RO's and Emery. Maybe a few more roles and channels will be added, but Imma see where that takes me.

I've been dabbling back in digital art too, albeit few because of my busy schedule and I am working on Halloween art of the RO's that will be posted soon. Nothing too big, but here ya go.

Aislinn and Lothric, oh how I've missed you both. 🥹

On the final piece of news, I'm working on commissions! Well, commission since it's only one for now, but I am thankful regardless. I am planning to open up headshot commissions and smaller, cheaper 500~1k word drabble commissions somewhere in the future. Though for now, if you wanna pay me $10 to write a 2k~3k drabble of your OC and another character from Cheers, then feel free to head over to my Kofi in the pinned post to commission me!

So, um, that's that. For now anyway, and I'm very excited to be able to work on this again after so long.

For those who has stuck around and has been patiently waiting, thank you so much for being here and for being so kind. I really am grateful and thankful.

– L 🫴🖤

[mlmvoreconfessionals]

Drayden from Pokémon deciding a trainer and his team have no potential, with Drayden eating and rapidly digesting the trainer’s team in front of him before consuming the trainer. Could you also include disposal? Please and thank you.

Oh yeah, this is great!

D.rayden lets out a dissatisfied huff as the trainer before him returns his last P.okemon. This was simply embarrassing. While D.rayden believes that a firm and direct hand can guide most trainers to an acceptable skill level, perhaps there are some that simply nothing can be done about.

This one has a team of strong, fully evolved P.okemon. But he was so lacking in every possible sense when it came to skill and strategy. It really just shows that raw power isn’t everything. If you don’t know how to channel it, it’s a waste.

D.rayden has no patience for those who waste it.

The trainer was grumbling to himself, already turning to leave and heal his team. D.rayden grabs the trainer by his belt and pulls. It makes the young man stumble back and it rips his belt right off, taking the Pokeballs with it.

The trainer whips around, eyes wide. “Hey, what are you doing?! Those are my P.okemon!”

“And you clearly don’t know how to use them,” D.rayden retorts with a gruff voice. “They’d be more useful dead. So sit there and watch what you caused.” D.rayden opens the first Pokeball, releasing the trainer’s starter, an E.mboar.

The big pig looks around, clearly confused as to why he’s still in the gym. He tries to stand but winces and rubs his side. He’s still exhausted from his battle. So he has no hope of escape when D.rayden squeezes his shoulders and opens wide.

E.mboar blinks and stares down into the human’s drooling maw. He’s not really going to..? A hard tug pulls E.mboar down, and he lets out a startled squeal. It’s muffled by his face planting into D.rayden’s jaws and the thick swallow that rings out to suck him deeper.

Despite his bulky and large the P.okemon is, D.rayden’s hard swallows are easily dragging him down. The E.mboar’s legs kick around weakly as they’re lifted off the ground. D.rayden hoists the pig up as he gets to the chest, starting to gulp and slurp down his gut. D.rayden’s own belly is bloating out, stretched tightly over the E.mboar. As the gym leader slurps down a pair of kicking legs, his stomach drags down to rest on the ground, the massive Fire type curled up tightly inside. D.rayden looks the trainer in the eye and lets loose a deep, roaring belch.

“M…My P.okemon…” the trainer says softly, staring with wide eyes.

“Not your P.okemon anymore,” D.rayden huffs. The E.mboar is roaring inside, struggling and pushing around with what little energy it had. It was panicking. D.rayden grunts and closes his eyes, his gut starting to groan deeply. “Now it’s just…” D.rayden’s stomach begins to shrink down. The E.mboar screams louder as its mighty body reduces. Strong abs and frothing acids help to mulch it in moments. The pig’s screaming turns into low gurgling as D.rayden’s belly loses shape and size. Soon, that noise is gone, too, and the gym leader’s gut flattens out. “…a pile of shit,” D.rayden huffs out, opening his eyes again. He follows that up with a roaring, bubbling belch.

As if to make his point for him, D.rayden’s gut lets out a deep, wet groan. He undoes his suspenders and lowers his pants. With his muscular, furry ass on display, D.rayden squats down. He grunts and pushes, squeezing out a thick, dense log. It screams slightly in the open air as it slowly coils up. The E.mboar’s skeleton comes out feet first, mostly intact from its quick flush through D.rayden’s system. The pile comes up to D.rayden’s waist, the skull coming out last with its jaws open. With a huff, D.rayden stands up again and pulls his pants up.

“Look at that,” D.rayden rumbles. “You truly are a terrible trainer. No fat, no muscle—I reduced your P.okemon entirely into shit. It’s less than junk food.” D.rayden takes another Pokeball. “If none of your P.okemon can add even a pound to my figure, you’ll follow them. Shit belongs with shit.” D.rayden looks away from the terrified trainer to let out his next meal.

The next one out is a bit taller than the E.mboar but now as beefy. A towering B.eartic, who fell due to receiving a burn. Even now, he still looks exhausted and winces when he moves. He’s even easier to overpower than the boar, as D.rayden crams the bear’s head into his maw.

The B.eartic doesn’t struggle. Every deep swallow works out a distressed whine as it slowly goes down. Each gulp is tight and uncomfortable, pushing him towards a tight and sweltering out of death. When his head starts pressing into D.rayden’s stomach, and it smells like E.mboar musk, his whines start turning into panicked roars. It’s nothing like the tough and proud bear that had been in battle not long ago.

The B.eartic’s twitching feet are slurped down and he’s packed in tightly behind D.rayden’s abs. And like the E.mboar before it, they begin to shrink down. The B.eartic screams out in pure terror as the walls close in and boiling acids strip him down. The sound downs out into a wet gurgling sound as he’s swiftly compacted into meat slurry and a dense shit.

The pile is added to as B.eartic squeezes back out. Skull first, jaws open wide, baked into the man’s scat, the bear coils up steadily. Ruined white tufts of fur mark the brown mess along with bones. D.rayden grunts as he forces out a bulky ribcage. “This one was hardly mature,” he grumbles. “Screamed like a Cubchoo. Did you even train this one or just force it to evolve?” D.rayden huffs as the last of the bear drops off and moves on.

Next is a K.rookodile, who went down in battle before even being able to fight. He’s barely standing when he comes out and ends up on the ground when D.rayden grabs him. His thick tail is scooped up and slurped into D.rayden’s lips. And the swallowing begins again.

The crocodile tries to claw at the ground, still dazed and sore. His tail goes down fast and his ass starts being engulfed, his legs folding up. It makes the K.rookodile start roaring and thrashing more in confusion and distress. But it keeps going down the hatch, stomach slurped up, and then the rest of its body going down. Its roar is cut off as its head disappears, muzzle slipping past D.rayden’s lips and disappearing for good.

The K.rookodile lasts the shortest. The second it drops into the gut, it lets out a scream, which is swiftly cut off as D.rayden’s gut rumbles hard and flattens out. He grunts and closes his eyes, ripping ass in a rumbling fart that sends black and red scales scattering. The K.rookodile comes out fast, heaping up onto the pile of manure. His skeleton is entirely intact, forming one long and dense log that comes out in high pressure. The skull comes out fast, shit coming out of the jaws and sockets.

“That one was just pathetic,” D.rayden grumbles with a shake of his head. “I’m almost glad that one was dead. How you got so far with it, I’ll never know.” He moves on to the next, dropping a thick and fat S.colipede before him.

The big bug has been lazy in battle, not willing to listen to his trainer. So even standing before D.rayden and a pile of shit clearly made of his teammates, he remains unbothered. At least until he’s seized by the horns and dragged down. The S.colipede’s eyes widen as its muzzle fits into D.rayden’s maw, breath stinking of death.

S.colipede goes down fast. While it’s big and fat, it’s basically a giant sausage. And D.rayden has little difficulty slurping it down like one. The S.colipede’s thick legs kick slightly as it’s hoisted into the air, massive body disappearing from sight. D.rayden shoves down on its fat ass and sends the last of the bug horse away.

It’s easily the biggest meal he’s gotten so far and might be the only one that has a chance to let the trainer survive. The S.colipede trills and thrashes around for a good few seconds, its hide protecting it momentarily. Then D.rayden’s gut flexes hard, the bug crunches, and his gut rapidly deflates again.

The Poison typing is rough on his system. Enough so that he forced out another fart that even makes him wince. The S.colipede slops out in a mess, most of its exoskeleton reduced to chunks in the semi-solid mess that smothers the pile of shit. D.rayden grunts with a slight wince as his gut groans out in mild displeasure. “Urgh…Poison types. This one simply didn’t respect you. I have to agree on its decision…” He grunts as the last of the big drops out. No real pain, just a slight uncomfortableness. But the bug is gone, D.rayden is no bigger, and the next P.okemon is sent out to die.

A large B.raviary comes out, looking around frantically. It sees the huge pile and starts flapping its wings. It’s a coward, and that was its downfall. Now it will be again. It’s grabbed by the ankles and jerked back as it tries to fly. It squawks and flaps, trying and failing to escape. D.rayden shovels its feet into his maw and begins gulping.

The B.raviary’s squawks get more panicked and desperate as its body disappears from sight. It’s wings keep flapping around, up until they’re forward upward by D.rayden’s gullet. The panicked sound continues up until its head disappears down D.rayden’s gullet. Its wingtips follow soon after and the bird is gone.

Like K.rookodile, the process is instantaneous. The B.raviary lets out a squawk before D.rayden’s stomach suddenly flattens. It bubbles wetly and a deep belch explodes out of him, sending most of the bird’s feathers scattering into the air. The B.raviary comes out fast because of how little waste it even makes. The bird slithers our feet first rapidly, bones baked into shit up to its skull, which has cracked. “This one was hardly fit for battle,” D.rayden sighs.

There’s only one P.okemon left. One more life that has to end, but might let the trainer live. D.rayden releases it, putting the mighty Z.ekrom before him. He has no idea how the trainer got his hands on something like this outside of sheer luck. It’s mighty and powerful, but in the hands of such a worthless trainer, it’s been wasted. Terrible moves, a lack of training and strategy, a complete disservice to the sheer potential Z.ekrom has. As far as D.rayden is concerned, this is a mercy. Z.ekrom will be better off as a heap of stinking shut, killed by a human’s stomach, than being this trainer’s P.okemon. So he has no hesitation in bringing Z.ekrom’s muzzle to his jaws and engulfing it.

Z.ekrom is passive other than the annoyed huff it lets out as its muzzle is engulfed. It is just as aware as D.rayden over its misuse, but it is a being of ideals, and loyalty is important to it. It would have to die to reject a trainer it allowed to control it. But it was also defeated by D.rayden…and it accepts its punishment. So it doesn’t move as it’s devoured, slowly and methodically. Its large body disappears into D.rayden’s tight, slick gullet and presses into an even tighter pit behind the man’s abs. Even its massive tail is slurped up in the end, sealing the dragon away entirely.

D.rayden’s gut is well defined, Z.ekrom curled up tightly inside. Even if it wanted to move at this point, it couldn't. It is a mighty being, a living representation of ideals. D.rayden’s gut lets out a deep, rumbling groan and immediately begins to shrink down. Z.ekrom’s clear and identifiable form folds in on itself. The gym leader’s stomach shrinks down, grows rounder and softer, and in only a minute, has reduced to a set of abs yet again.

D.rayden shakes his head and crosses his arms. “An absolute waste in every sense of the word. Look at what you’ve done.” D.rayden looks at the trainer again as he begins to dispose of the last P.okemon. It’s the largest and densest of the piles. Thick and heavy logs weigh down the rest of the pile, dense bones stretching D.rayden one after another and deep black scales poking out of the brown mess. It takes much longer to drop off Z.ekrom than it did to kill it. Even its skull takes a minute to push out, and it plants muzzle-first into the crap pile with a soft splat, sinking in slightly.

D.rayden sighs out and stands up again. “Even a Legendary P.okemon is utter shit under your command. You are truly the lowest of trainers I’ve seen. I’ll feel no regret in being the one to get rid of you.”

The trainer in question has nothing to say. His eyes are wide and his face pale, mouth hanging open slightly. He’s completely gone mentally and hangs limply as D.rayden lifts him up by the back of his shirt. He’s lowered down feet first, allowed to stare down the piles his team got reduced to for his entire trip down the hatch. Darkness only greets him when his head sinks down D.rayden’s gullet.

The trainer is gone in seconds. D.rayden’s stomach doesn’t even bulge out. It reduces the man so quickly and thoroughly that he spends maybe a fraction of a second within the gym leader’s gut. The second his head is gone, he’s coming back out, cooking up on the ground in a meager pile of crap. D.rayden sighs deeply as he pinched the last of it off. “Finally…”

He’ll have to close the gym for a bit now. Get the mess cleaned up, have Z.ekrom’s bones cleaned and sent to the museum, and take a break. There was no effort in turning shit into shit. But it’s always mentally exhausting seeing so many P.okemon that had potential be reduced to nothing. Even before he gets his hands on them. At least they have use as shit.

[wolfintestinez]

ADAM GETS PIERCED. ‘ a waste of a good twenty ‘. in which adam is yet again pressured into another stupid idea made by his friend.

( this is not well written honestly, and i didn’t proofread so, bless. i said i’d write it and i did)

. . .

The last twenty bucks he had was burning a hole in his pocket, igniting more and more as Scott droned on. Either it told him off for even considering spending it, or it was urging him to go along with this stupid plan. The plan that the scraggly looking ‘punk’ next to him had conjured up within an hour of being holed up in his shithole of an apartment. Half off piercings from some tattoo parlor on stale street, a particularly grimy part of Newark. It didn’t shock him when the unfortunate news that it was going out of business slipped into Scott’s argument.

“Since the whole store is kind of goin’ to shit, they’re tryin’ to get their moneys worth, I guess.” An oh so convincing starter. Even so, the tattered leather singeing through his jeans did well to guide him to Scott’s will. He always won anyway, with enough peer pressuring. So, he determined that his last twenty was just going to be wasted on anything other than the necessities anyway, might as well try something new. It earned a praising shove from the taller man, the subtle gesture that he was doing right by him.

What Adam had failed to remember until he had made it to the parlor, was that he was deathly afraid of needles. He was fine, really, except for when he turned his head when in the waiting room and locked eyes with a wailing man who had just got his nipples pierced. A twisted stomach forced him forward, his hands settling in between his thighs and his figure hunching over. The staticky radio blasted blink-182, Scott’s sneakers beat against the floor to the discombobulated tune. The tile spun beneath his boots with each chord, leaving him dizzy. the distant humming of the inked up clerk didn’t help, and neither did her next words.

“Whoever wants next, c’mon.” A less than sympathetic tone. He huffed in a bitter manner, a slight side eye being passed over to sir guyliner over here — swinging his arm to drag Adam up. God, if his spine were any more dense, Scott could probably break it in half. Have a back bone for once. He could’ve volunteered his best friend first if it weren’t for the mocking sigh that beat him to it.

“I’ll go first, since someone’s deciding to be a pansy about it.” A damn middle school graded, passive aggressive comment is what had gotten him into this mess. Where he mumbled a quick ‘fuck off’ and trudged his way into a closed room. Away from the stereo that was barely holding on, oddly relatable as he felt as though his guts were going to spill onto the following tile. Oh god, oh god. He was letting some amateur impale him. And worse, he hadn’t even decided where. The piercer had to of been able to tell what he was losing his head over, she grinned.

“A tongue piercing would look sick, and if you don’t like it — just take it out.” She shrugged her shoulders, and yet again he was swayed by a dark eyed charmer. One that was clamping his tongue down in place, straining it further as she tugged it. His eye twitched and his fingers dug into the cold plush of the table he sat on. eyes began to cross as she raised the tiny dagger, ready to sever. He couldn’t even object, his tongue stuck in place and he found that a pathetic whine pushed from the back of his throat as she practically stabbed him.

The slight watering of his eyes caused him to shut them tight, thank god Scott wasn’t in the room with him. The pressure of the clamp was released just as soon as the jewelry was placed. It ached, as if he had punctured his tongue with his nervous teeth clenching habit. As if there was a giant, gaping hole in the middle of it. There very well could’ve been one. His suspicions were only combatted when she raised a mirror with an amused expression.

The silver ball rolled about as he curled his tongue about, his brows furrowed in concentration as he looked for any sign of tearing. In all honesty, he had felt a little cooler the more he studied it. That wrench in his stomach had eased up, at least now that the needle was discarded elsewhere. Still, there’d be no way in hell that he’d do it again.

“Oh shit, ow.” He interrupted with a wince, not even being able to compliment the assumed unprofessional. She handed him a red sucker, and gave him a pat on the back.

“Since you did so well for me.” A comedic play on doctors. But he’d devour that sucker as he left the room, almost easing the stinging sensation leftover. his burning twenty being put out as he handed it over to the clerk. Now to see the damage that Scott had done, who was sitting in the same place he was before, arms crossed and sadistic grin in place. He hopped up.

“What’d you get done?” Adam’s interest piqued and his eyes narrowed as he scanned for any new piercings upon his friend.

“Oh I changed my mind.”

”you’re fucking kidding me!” The piercing would then get infected within the next 24 hours, half of which he had spent begrudgingly with Scott.

[hymemena]

Schoolyard Heroes Abominations Lyric Starters

Feel free to change pronouns as necessary, and remember to specify muse for multimuse blogs.

CW: Torture, death, violence, injury, sacrifice, insect mention, ghost mention

—

Dude, Where's My Skin?

"Cut out your tongue and sing for me."

"You're so dead to me."

"I wanna see you suffering for me."

"Sink your teeth right into me."

"Death calls."

"The insects crawl."

"The ghosts you created are calling you out."

"Take off your skin and dance with me."

"Stare to the heavens."

"These lovely cadavers will block out the light."

The Plastic Surgery Hall Of Fame

"Fifteen minutes is much too generous."

"Suffering with none of the benefits?"

"They will be your plague tonight."

"Nothing shatters like broken glass."

"You're so pretty."

"And you're so dead."

"Look at what they've done to us."

"Built for deception."

"Man-made smiles make the mirrors ache."

"Now your face displays the modern age."

Cemetery Girls

"The skies weren't always black."

"We're still burning."

"My dear, nobody's safe."

"Do you hear me?"

"We will rise tonight."

"The cemetery line has wrapped itself around the world."

"We're still screaming."

"Did you pray?"

"Why would you waste another word on God?"

"I am the Devil and I've come to do the Devil's work."

Violence Is All The Rage

"Let me introduce you to your nightmare."

"You set it to burn?"

"You set it to life."

"You're screaming out but no one's listening."

"We're burning tonight."

"Oh, won't you lie to me tonight?"

"You're saying everything I wanna hear."

"Blood thirsty?"

"You're hiding diamonds in your pockets."

"Darling, there's no way to stop you, now."

Children Of The Night

"They said we'd never make it out of here alive!"

"Everything you touch shall be destroyed."

"Everything you love is crushed and broken."

"Oh, children of the night."

"There's no one waiting for you."

"You're a creature born without a name."

"I'll call you shame."

"Maybe vengeance?"

"Won't you tell me?"

"Tell me!"

The Last Man On Earth

"The world's on fire."

"Wrap me in your napalm blanket."

"You and I are the king and queen of nothing, Baby."

"Take my hand."

"It's better now together, though it's only us."

"We'll raise our glass."

"Now, there's nothing left."

"Fall asleep."

"You and I must make a pledge."

"One more time?"

Razorblade Kisses

"Your lipstick tastes like murder."

"Our hands are sewn together?!"

"We'll come to one another."

"Destroy me to your liking."

"Razorblade kisses leave you bleeding, Baby."

"You're so gorgeous."

"Your lovers' hearts will destroy me."

"Pay me with their lives tonight."

"You are mine."

"Some curses make things worse."

Sometimes They Come Back

"I've come to warn you."

"They're coming for you."

"I've come to tell you how they'll deceive you."

"Tell me!"

"Tell me all the filthy things I wanna hear."

"We have never felt so hollow."

"I'm listening."

"You're not coming back."

"We tried to warn them. They never listen."

"Pray you'll make it through the night."

Beautiful Woman Hunter

"There's a million stitches!"

"How they love to see us shaking."

"Watch the minute hand chase the hour."

"Boys you wanted, girls you devoured!"

"You are the lover, I'm the destroyer."

"Sing for me."

"Won't you take my hand once more?"

"We're still trembling."

"There's no telling what we'll do, now."

"There are no lovers-- Only destroyers."

All The Pretty Corpses

"They will sing to you in praise."

"Darling, won't you touch me?"

"Into the hearts of everyone you love?"

"I hope you hurt so badly, Baby."

"We'll die so slowly!"

"My dear, we'll burn tonight."

"All the rotting harlots, they will memorize your name."

"Revealing that the faces are the same."

"Darling, turn me inside out. Destroy me just for fun."

"Do you hear them screaming?"

Screaming "Theatre" In A Crowded Fire

"If I'm not mistaken, I've murdered you twice before, my dear."

"It's true, my dear."

"You smeared my blood like a whore's mascara."

"It was the right thing to do at the time."

"I snapped my fingers and I made you mine."

"Tonight you're mine completely, Baby."

"I've torn your heart out three times, now."

"You tore me up like I was made of paper."

"You're never gonna see me again."

"Tonight you'll be my only one."

[roleplay-evil]

Resident Evil 7 Biohazard Starters

"You know what they say—once family, always family."

"You're part of the family now."

"Welcome to the family, [name]."

"That's family business, [name], and not your concern, understand?"

"This is my home. Apparently, I belong here."

"So, why are we in hell this time?"

"They're relying on me. Everyone is relying on me. Everyone!"

"You don't exactly seem like you're playing with a full deck yourself."

"Goddamnit, how am I gonna replace this?"

"Ah, shit! I knew I shouldn't have worn my good shoes."

"You came to the wrong house, [name]."

"I told you to stay out of here."

"Alright, new deal. We-we find [name] and we go."

"You, my friend, you are one lucky son of a bitch."

"I'm sorry... but they're, uh, they're dead now."

"Yeah, it is your fault. But that doesn't mean I'm gonna let you die."

"You kill me, and I just come right on back!"

"I'm going to enjoy watching you die."

"Motherfucker! You were supposed to die!"

"Sure as shit beats the hell outta dying."

"Idiot—you can't kill me."

"Do me a favor and stay dead."

"Leave me to die!"

"Forget that you ever knew me."

"Come on—don't you die on us now. You have work to do."

"You don't understand or is it that you just don't care?"

"Don't worry, I'm still here."

"Now, we got several calls about some missing persons lately."

"[name]! Thank god I found you. It's me. It's [name]!"

"Rise and shine, sleepyhead! It's time for supper."

"Glad I had my shots."

"You better now?"

"Well, come on. Take a chance. You never know."

"That is not groovy."

"What the fuck? That's special."

"You can't hide from me, [name]!"

"Don't you go anywhere!"

"Alright, you little cocksucker, let's get down to business!"

"I know you and [name] are plotting. I know you are scheming."

"Where'd you get yourself to, hm? Where are you?!"

"Thought you'd just slip out before dinner was done?"

"It won't be long before I find you and kill you."

"I'm gonna squash you like a bug."

"You think you can hurt me?"

"You're going to wish you'd never been born."

"I'm gonna take you for a ride!"

"This is going to be fun. Just you wait."

"You're gonna die in this hole and you're gonna like it!"

"Fuck it! I'm gonna kill every one of you."

"I will find them and I will make them suffer."

"You better start running, [name]!"

"They're dead! They're all dead!"

"I can't let [name] catch me again!"

"What's wrong? Step on it!"

"You're the first I've ever seen make it this far."

"Gotta say, I'm impressed. Not only are you still alive, you have all your fingers and toes."

"You're gonna have to do better than that, [name]."

"You're wasting your time."

"Here I come."

"You need to go. I won't be able to resist for much longer."

"You gotta give me your gun!"

"Oh! Good news! I'm going to be coming home soon! Yay!"

"Who the hell else was I gonna choose?"

"Are you having fun yet?"

"You got yourself a booboo?"

"I told you, don't you fuck with me."

"Not now. We need to get out of here first."

"You were right. I did lie to you."

"You gotta earn your way, [name]!"

"What is this place? What did they do to you?"

"There's another door here. I'm sure of it."

"You're a son of a bitch!"

"Now look what you've done, motherfucker!"

"Fuck you and the horse you rode in on."

"Kiss my ass."

"Dumb son of bitch wouldn't know good if it hit them!"

"Goddamnit! I bet it's that cop again..."

"I only work with professionals."

"I'm an old man, [name]. You can't take on an old man?"

"Hey! One of those is mine."

"Why are you putting me through this?"

"Well, don't just stand there—do something!"

"I know I can't expect anything from you. Not after what happened. After what I did."

"I am sick and tired over being sick and tired of your bullshit."

"I'm tired of waiting."

"It has taken me weeks to finish this, and it is finally ready." And it's all for you."

"What the fuck are you, [name]?"

"I got the gift running all through me! All through me!"

"I don't understand you at all. This is a gift."

"There are known unknowns here, and you are not paying fucking attention!"

"Do I have your attention, [name]? You're about to see something wonderful."

"We love you... Why can't you see that?!"

"Why does everyone hate me?"

"You see, [name], not everybody wants to turn back the clock."

"This joy? Why, you can't fake this."

[starlesswritings]

❪ ♛ › * ✰ ❫ ⁖ ⁀ ➴ interpersonal. ░. ꒱

Vil Schoenheit never got up and close with anyone. It wasn't in his life to be able to get close with people. He was a public figure. From childhood, his personal life had slowly been stripped away from him, to be put on display, for others to swoon and fawn over the personal details that no longer were personal. That was okay. Vil was used to being in the spotlight. When one is under the lights and the flash of cameras are like second nature, things stop feeling amazing.

Perhaps that's a bad way to put it, but Vil wasn't sure how else to describe stardom. People thought it felt monumental, like a huge weight to bear, but when was born into the industry and raised like a prodigy, like a star, it was difficult to feel as if that wasn't... normal. Because, that was the normal for Vil. He worked harder and smarter so he could keep getting called back to the stage. He made himself likable. Why? So he would keep getting called back to work again.

"So. You have a few questions for me?"

"I do."

"Well, let's hear them," Vil said, leaning back with a regal air to relax a little bit, but just a little. He wouldn't want to look as if he were totally relaxed, unable to sit up straight at a moment's notice.

"You're a celebrity in this world, correct?"

"I am. I've been a model and actor, acting since I was a child."

"Oh. You started as a child... What made you keep going back for more? Wasn't it difficult?"

"Perhaps, but it's... useful."

Of course it was difficult. Nothing was ever not difficult in life. Men were not born to exist. Men were born to work. It was an intrinsic fact of life whether people wanted to acknowledge it or not. Men were useless if they didn't work. They needed a job to do. Vil had a job. It was a difficult job that had many faces, where more happened behind the scenes, and no one would ever see the full truth because he'd never tell them. That was his job. His job was to be perfect and exactly as everyone wanted him to be. That was his work. That was what made him useful.

"Do you have to be useful to live?"

"For me? Absolutely."

Why live at all if one was not useful? If they were simply wasting space and breath without making a contribution to the world, why were they there? Contributions didn't have to be something like donating large sums of money to organizations and charities that pocketed most of that cash anyway. Contributions didn't have to be sacrificing your own life to save another. It didn't have to hold that sort of weight that people recognized. It could be something foreign and unrecognizable.

Something, like smiling at the old man crossing the street as he could have needed some encouragement for the day. Lending a hand for a child who had tripped and fallen. Holding the door open for a large family. Greeting the sun and the morning air with a sense of gratitude. Allowing one's self to realize that it was okay to feel insignificant, because a lot of other people felt the same, and that just made the world turn.

"But, you aren't one of those, Vil. You're a star."

"Of course. That was just my path in life."

"Do you even like it? You're good at it, sure. But, doesn't a part of you hate your life?"

Vil flinched. The question was offensive. How dare some incompetent potato ask something like that? "Do I look as if I live uncomfortably?"

"Doesn't it ever bother you?"

"What would bother me?"

"Being recognized, for starters."

Vil laughed. "There's nothing wrong with being famous."

"Your every act is interpreted as a bigger statement. You are no longer living for yourself. You have to be under the constant gaze and scrutiny of people you've never even met, people who shouldn't be important to you, but they are. They say things about you, and it becomes so important to make sure they never say anything bad about you, right? Isn't it difficult? How would it not be, when you have to maintain a good figure that suits the audience — but your audience is the whole world? Get too thin and they'll say you're starving yourself. Gain a bit of weight and suddenly you're lazy. You think you can slouch for even a second, take a little breather, but nope! There's someone out there with their camera or the phone, and they're peering into your life like a stalker, like a faceless monster who doesn't even care that your life has been turned into a play for them to watch."

Vil wasn't sure how he had gotten into this conversation, but he wondered if there was a way to escape it. Another thought came to his mind, but he didn't want to ask, didn't want to broach upon what might have been a deeply profound subject.

"But, you can't remain quiet forever, because then, then! Someone comes along and asks whatever happened to you, as if you have to be in the spotlight under fire your whole life. You have to keep breaking records, making statements, and putting yourself out there, because you're not you anymore, you're what they asked for. If you become quiet, they suddenly think you're no good anymore, that you can't be any good because... well, why haven't they heard about you in the news? Why are their social feeds not teeming with thoughts of you, images of you, pictures and videos with your face all made up to be pretty to their standards?"

"Prefect..."

"Is it wrong to have a desire to get away from all of that?"

"What happened to you?" Vil wondered aloud, unable to help but become grotesquely curious at the person before him, speaking as if they had been in Vil's line of business for years. "Who are you?"

"I am Me. I don't know who else I am beyond that. Does it matter? Do you wish to know my star qualities? The talents I honed for years?" A bitter echo, a discordant laugh that was more like the pained cry of an animal. "Why do I have to show you? What makes you want to see me put on a show? I'm tired of that stage."

"The stage eventually calls you back," Vil reminded them. "Once you reach your audience, and you feel their support, don't you feel as if it pulls you back in?"

"You silly little dreamer."

"What did you just call me?" Vil hissed, as if he had been stung with a poison dart, straight to the heart. "I don't dream. I work. Dreaming is useless. Stupid."

"No. No, you keep working because you are still dreaming," the Prefect said with a sad smile. "You still dream, because you have hope, that things will change. If you keep working hard, that you can change the aspects of your life that haunt you. The things that torment your existence, the very air you breathe will become less stifling."

Vil wasn't sure what to say at all as the Prefect laughed. "I have given up on such fantasies. I am just selfish and stupid. I have no dream. No wishes."

That somehow made Vil feel angry. If asked, he would not have been able to give a coherent answer as to what particularly had made him so upset, but he said something incredibly harsh in the moment. It was most likely deemed wrong to say something like this to someone who clearly had suffered, but his anger made him do it. His anger made him spit out the words, "Then, why aren't you dead?"

"Hu?"

"If you find your life so unbearable... If you see no point to making any effort at all, why haven't you died yet?" Vil leaned forward. "What makes life worth living if you can't get what you want? If you are hopeless, why are you still here?"

"I..."

"There has to be a point to your life. If you can't find meaning in the things that you have done, what are you living for?" Vil challenged the Prefect with his words, voice swaying them to try and think about what they had said, the darkness that was blatantly there, and wrong, in Vil's opinion. "There must be a reason you had talent and chose to work on that talent."

"Whoever said I was talented?"

"I did. When people are young, their parents tend to guide them in the direction of wherever they seem most skilled, to try and give their child a head start in life."

The Prefect chuckled. "How miserable."

"You are only miserable if you choose to be so yourself."

"I choose to be miserable? How rich. I'm choosing to be miserable?" The Prefect shouted, "How does it feel to know that there are people out there who hate you when you've done nothing but live? How do you sleep when people mock you, make fun of you, spread false rumors and lies from things that have no basis of truth at all? How does it feel to be ostracized and cast out? I'm choosing to be miserable?!"

"Who are those people to you, that they make you feel pathetic?" Vil countered, fists balled up and clenched tightly at his side. "They don't know how hard you suffer, so of course they say reckless things! They don't understand the cost to get here!"

"How am I supposed to feel when that's all I'm seeing?" The Prefect weakly beat their fists against Vil's chest, because of course Vil was taller than they were. "People I thought were my friends! People who were supposed to be teaching me! Helping me! They hurt me most, what do I care about strangers? How about my friends?!"

The brief visage of blond hair and startling green eyes entered Vil's mind, but he pushed the mental image away. That wasn't quite the same thing. But, it was a little uncanny, how similar their stories felt, wasn't it? "Teachers," he repeated softly.

"Friends. Distant family. People close to me. People far away. It's as if everyone's out to get me."

Maybe they were. Vil knew better than to stalk his social media and check for himself, how bad the hate could get. The jealousy that ate away at human hearts and corroded the brain until it was rewired for violence and destruction. He knew that people were cold and bitter on the inside. Everyone was suffering from something, but did that mean one should cave in on themselves and give up? Giving up was unacceptable. That was what kept Vil going.

Rejection after rejection. He knew he could play the part of a protagonist. He knew he would play the part well, he knew it, but no one seemed to believe he would suit well. No, they wanted someone weak. Someone who didn't know what real suffering was like. Someone innocent and bright. They thought that was beautiful because they wanted to say they found that easy to relate to.

Ha, as if sunshine, rainbows, and daisies were relatable. The human hearts suffered. There were more cries of pain and tears of loneliness than there were jubilation and triumphs of joy.

Where were the heroes who had hit below the surface of rock bottom, and still chose to do the right thing? Couldn't Vil play that part? He just wanted to stay for the last scenes. He wanted to be the ending. He wanted to see that sight, what a glorious sight that must have been. He was chasing after that hope — it wasn't a dream, it was an aspiration, it was a dedicated goal.

"Whatever you want to call it, that's a freaking dream," the Prefect stated. "It's not going to happen."

"How dare you say that?!" Vil asked, pain shooting up his spine, towards his traitorous heart. "What would you know?!"

"They already found their figure for heroes," the Prefect spat out bitterly. "What does it matter if I think you'd be a perfect hero? What does it matter if you work your hardest if they clearly don't want you to succeed in your endeavors? They don't have to actively push you down. They just have to keep doing what they've always done. Things don't... things don't change. Life is a disappointment."

It was getting somewhat difficult to keep fighting someone who was so persistent in their darkness. Their twisted mind. The pierced holes others had struck into their skull were open wounds, the happiness and positivity they should have had kept oozing out of the holes like blood, flowing outside their form when it should have been kept inside. They had lost their ability to see the happiness they could have had in life. "You can change how your life feels. It doesn't have to feel so... difficult."

"Is that what you do every time you're given the part of a villain? Again and again? Do you tell yourself that you're grateful to be even acting? Is that what you should be telling yourself?"

What was the right way to think about this, actually? To not address to overwhelming agony that Vil felt every time he was to play the part of the bad guy... that's why he had blown up. He had overblotted because he had failed himself by not properly containing his rage. His anger. The negative emotion and pain that accompanied him, a person who others thought wanted for little to nothing. He had failed himself. Life was a battlefield not against the press, the reporters, the fans, the anti-fans, but against himself. He cared most about his own opinion. Rook Hunt could tell him he was beautiful all he liked. To an extent, he believed him, but that would only go so far.

No, he wanted to feel like he was beautiful. Inside and out.

But, Vil wasn't beautiful. He had such a long way to go before he could call himself beautiful. He was just an ugly teenage boy who was trying to be something he wasn't.

"I think you should stop talking," Vil muttered in anger. He didn't want to hear what the Prefect had to say. He was curious about their past, sure, their life before Twisted Wonderland, but he didn't want to hear this. He didn't want to get involved in their pain and suffering. He didn't want to hear. He didn't want to see.

He didn't want to think about how they had parallels and how they were similar in the most uncanny of ways. It was too much to ask of him. Too painful.

"If you wouldn't listen to me, who would?" the Prefect asked, voice twinged with a sadness and a pain Vil understood. "Why do I have to scream at myself alone? Why do I have to bear all of this by myself? Do I have to be strong all the time? Are you too, just like everyone else? Can't I cry? Can't I be sad? Am I supposed to hold my bleeding hands and feet to my chest and cry on my own? When I'm left holding my own scars, the ones I made, who's supposed to tell me it's alright?"

The more Vil listened, the less he wanted to hear. Too painful. Too much. Too similar. He wasn't sure if they were making poetic imagery or talking about things they had literally done to themselves, but either way, it was too damn much. He gave the same heartless answer he gave to himself. "You are strong. You'll manage. If you don't, you're weak, and the weak do not survive in this world."

"That's what a villain would say. What do you say?"

"Don't be foolish."

"Am I the fool here?"

What a riveting question. Vil was too young to know for sure. The world was full of uncertainties and this was certainly one that was far beyond his ability to answer to a satisfactory level. He didn't want to think about it. Didn't want to try and address this difficult question in the context of a heartless world. "You lack imagination to think up a brighter future for yourself."

"Try thinking of a brighter future when no one supports what you want. No one believes in you."

"What, in Twisted Wonderland, do you think I do every day?!"

"Lie to yourself!" the Prefect said with angry confidence. Hell hath no fury like that of a person who had been hurt repeatedly, again and again, scarred by one and all as if it didn't matter who hurt them, the truth of the matter was that everyone ended up hurting them. "Stop it. What's the point? You're never going to be a hero."

That hurt, coming from the Prefect of all people. At the end of the day, Vil was eighteen years old and somewhat unstable in the mind (as were most celebrities, whether they cared to admit it or not). Such pressure from so many outlets was not healthy for anyone to endure, and Vil was religiously hellbent upon enduring his sufferings all by himself. He didn't want others to know that things bothered him, that he was affected by the things others said about him, that he was deeply traumatized and scarred by things that did not exist any more.

He was still young, still trying to learn how to cope, with his personality, and in the end something within him snapped.

"What would you know about me?!" he yelled, hands clawing their way to the Prefect's throat, pressing down hard, cutting off their circulation and all ability to breathe in an instant. Anger. Pure rage. Jealousy. He was green with envy. Tons of people liked the Prefect. They were honestly teased but genuinely adored here, in Twisted Wonderland, or at least viewed as a person of great interest. They literally came from another world. There was some pulling sway that they had. "Who are you to judge me for trying so hard? I haven't given up because I don't want to, so why are you making it seem as if I'm the one in the wrong?!"

What would anyone know about Vil's suffering? What would anyone understand about it? How dare some idiot fool tell him to stop when he had a goal he was chasing after? He was Vil Schoenheit. If he wanted something and worked really hard for it, it was only a matter of time before he got it. Wasn't that the idea?

"Vil," the Prefect gasped, struggling to remove his hands from their partially crushed throat. "Hurts."

And, just like that, the curse was broken as Vil dropped his hold over the person that lay in a heap on the floor before him. His eyes shook within their sockets, hands trembling. What had he just done? Such strength... they were sure to be hurt. No, he knew. He had hurt them. He was everything everyone had ever said about him. A bully. A monster. Evil. He was a villain. Did he really deserve to even breathe?

His mind tugged this way and that. His ego versus his conscience were having the biggest smackdown of the century. "How could I have... after all that work... my efforts... was it all in vain?"

But, wasn't everything in vain? Hadn't that been the Prefect's point all along? Nothing ever came out the way he wanted. The results did not match his work and what he desired. No matter how much he sacrificed, it was never enough. He was never good enough. It was all a fruitless endeavor that would bear an empty harvest.

"Why is it that nothing goes my way?"

"I've been asking myself that question for a long time, now."

The truth of the matter, was really quite simple. Life was unfair.

People said that all the time without really thinking about the deep meaning behind that statement. People didn't want to address just how fair the unfairness went, or what kind of damage it wrecked on so many lives, while the real villains got away, scot free without having to suffer at all. Of course, some evildoers got caught, but it was always too late, and the punishment didn't feel like enough. The consequences did not match the suffering of the innocent, of those who didn't deserve what they got or did not get.

Maybe the Prefect was right. Maybe Vil would never be able to play the part of a hero. He wasn't cut out for it, according to those who had the power to give him that role. It didn't matter that Vil thought he could do it, Vil believed in himself, because the important people did not believe in him. That made his own opinion rather irrelevant and unimportant. Was this why he sought approval from the crowds? Was this what made him ask for other opinions besides his own. Validation, from outside sources, that told him he was beautiful?

He wasn't sure. It wasn't as if he devalued his own opinion. If he did not start out by thinking himself beautiful, there was no point in even asking others if they thought so or not. That was how he viewed things. That was how he chose to live.

"I'm sorry."

"Whatever for?"

Vil bristled. "For hurting you. I should not have, it's wrong, and now you're throat's damaged." It was, there was an ugly nasty bruise already forming across a neck that he had been squeezing just moments earlier. He was not an animal. He wasn't that floppy eel, he was supposed to be better than this, so why wasn't he? Was he really just not good enough? Was that really the issue?

"Oh, it's fine," the Prefect reassured him, waving a hand with a sad and totally empty smile. "I'm used to that. Though, I usually pass out before I get that far."

Was he supposed to take those words seriously? Were they for real? Vil didn't know, couldn't tell, because the Prefect had a mask on and Vil was beginning to think he couldn't read them at all, perhaps he couldn't read anyone well. After all, he hadn't been able to read him whatsoever, but could that really be blamed on Vil or was that Rook? Was it something just unique to the frenchman?

He didn't have time to think. The Prefect sunk to the floor and lay down. It alarmed Vil. Appearances, appearances, appearances. They would get dirty. They'd possibly get germs and other sick things from the shoes that had trodden these carpets. It was always about appearances until it simply wasn't. Why was he so obsessed with how he looked? It wasn't just how he looked, but he was obsessed with his outlook, and look where it got him. Look what he did.

"Prefect!" he cried, rushing to ascertain their condition. Several raging thoughts rang in his head like poison darts hitting a bell.

This is your fault.

You are to blame.

Vil Schoenheit, you are an evil villain.

"I'm sorry," he gasped, not at all sure what to do with someone who looked like they were seconds away from dying. This wasn't acting. This was real. It was really happening, and it was all Vil's fault, so of course he had to try and save them, but what could he do? The neck was such a tender area, it was so easy to permanently damage or kill someone from the neck...

"Please, live. I'm sorry. To think that I... I would do this!"

The Prefect smiled. Not necessarily a calm or happy smile, really. It was a little bitter and had some odd sense of bite to it. Not meant to hurt, but somehow it still did. "I won't die, don't be dramatic."

"You collapsed!"

"I told you. Normal. I was surprised it didn't happen sooner," they wheezed. "This is more or less an anxiety attack rather than you damaging my airways, you know. You didn't grip hard."

But, he had. He had gripped far too hard. He had hurt them. They had been hurt and it had been his fault, so he had to bear the responsibility of that. He had to take the blame because he knew that he had done something that had most definitely aided to the Prefect falling, no matter what excuse they tried to give him. He was most aggrieved at his own actions. He was really disgusting. Really villainous. Totally nasty and not worthy of staying on stage the longest.

"Can you breathe?" he asked quietly, briefly wondering at himself, how he could let a simple questionnaire from a person who came from a different world turn into something like this. Why hadn't he taken better care to keep the situation under control? Why had he been so stupid as to even answer such personal questions in the —

Oh, but there, he was already placing blame onto the Prefect by thinking those thoughts. No. The fault was his. He had acted out. He had been in the wrong. It was him that was wrong, not the rest of the world, no matter what he thought. Because, at the end of the day, what he thought was wrong. He was just wrong. Bad. No good. There was no goodness in him, and his actions only illustrated that loudly, for one and all to see.

"I can breathe, but Vil, you aren't breathing."

He'd been doing it again.

Vil released his own neck with a soft sigh, angry red marks visible, red, and ugly.

"I'm sorry," he repeated.

"I'm sorry."

He woke up. Startled, because he actually remembered that dream, this time, and it made him feel a certain emotion that he could not quantify nor even begin to describe. Vil was the picture of perfection. Even when he slept, he was beautiful, and it was not something to question, argue with, or deny. Vil was a beautiful man and he did things in a manner he felt was beautiful. Beauty had so many characteristics and interpretations. Beauty could not be defined with just a single word.

The Prefect had fallen asleep on his chair. Typical, really. They were overworking themselves and stressing about nothing and everything all at once. They didn't know how to be anything else, did they?

Why was Vil thinking about that, exactly? He wasn't sure anymore, but the dream felt real. It felt raw and powerful and it was...

"Pathetic."

Why had he had that dream? Why was it a dream that he had to remember out of the hundreds, if not thousands, of other dreams he had dreamed which he could not recall even a little. Why had he remembered this dream, and was it supposed to mean anything to him? Was he supposed to take it as a deeper sign.

A flash of pale cheeks and an innocent smile.

No. Dreams were not meant to be taken as deep signs from above. It was a message from himself, to himself, about what he must do to further take steps that worked towards his goal. At the end of the day, it was just hard work wrought in reality that would get him where he wanted to be. Absolutely beautiful, to the point that everyone acknowledged it, that everyone would see it.

That he himself would feel that he had truly reached that monolithic goal.

He could do it. He knew he could do it. He had worked harder than anyone all his life so he could achieve that star that was far beyond him, to grab ahold of his wish and make it his own, to catch it, to make sure that this wish, this one wish, would never leave. He wouldn't let it leave. He couldn't. Not even the stars would be able to deny him if it was his own hard work that had gotten him there, right?

Why had the Prefect been in his dream?

Vil wasn't sure. Maybe because they just happened to be in the room while he slept? That didn't sound like a good enough reason. It was never a reason as flimsy and dull as that that made someone dream — he didn't really understand himself, did he? He didn't really understand the Prefect either. Why had they said all those things? Why had they looked so helpless and hopeless? It was really...

"Pathetic."

He repeated himself, going in an odd type of circle, his thoughts ringing in his head painfully as he drew near and grabbed the Prefect from the chair they were almost falling out of. It did not cut a graceful figure, and in any case, he didn't want their back to get twisted out of shape or for their neck to hurt later. They were clean, he knew this because he had made them wash themselves properly for the first time in their life (Vil knew his chemicals, knew his potions, and the Prefect was glowing, if he could say so himself). They would not soil up his sheets by simply lying there, and besides, he had to work. There were things to be done, so he gently laid them down and stared for a minute or so.

Ethereal.

Vil started. That was not a thought he should have had. He wasn't sure why that word had come to mind. The Prefect was the last thing that could be described as ethereal in every sense of the word. And yet, as he stared down at the sleeping figure, that word kept repeating itself in his head. Chant-like in a sense, the word kept being whispered, like a soft beckoning call, as if the word itself was a type of siren that was making him lean forward.

"What a curious creature you are, Prefect."

Of course, there was no response.

Vil kissed the Prefect's forehead with an amused puff of cold air leaving him after he rose to his full height once more. He had things to do. Work to complete. Tasks and goals to set for himself. Dreams were not for him. Maybe his dream had been for them.

Satisfied with himself in an indescribable way, he stretched his muscles and began to prepare himself for an early morning. Whenever the Prefect woke up, it would be most amusing to see how they reacted. Should he put on a show for them? No, probably not. It was more likely to create more problems than not. That dream he had dreamed was already being pushed to the back of his mind. If it had significance, that significance would show itself in real life. Not, just in dreams.

He failed to catch sight of the angry red marks on the Prefect's neck.

[iomadachd]

Closed Starter for @alastors-radioshow

The other shoe had to drop eventually. There was always another shoe when it came to the Ghost Project. Ghouls and Papas came and went, but the Project kept moving along despite, or maybe because of, death and the passage of time.

Dewdrop hadn't expected that other shoe so soon. Even when Aether was released from his contract, Dewdrop still felt confident in his place within the band up until today. Why waste the time and effort of two failed fire summonings and an element change by banishing the Ghoul that was the result of it?

The blood-red envelope handed to him by a sibling knocked all that confidence down into the ground and into the catacombs where Papas I, II, and III lay below his feet.

Imperator so rarely sent these types of letters, and it was never anything good. The last red envelope had been for Aether. Letters before that... well, they had come after the event in question. Omega, Alpha, and the others hadn't had the chance to dread the end.

He doesn't bother to read it, and he doesn't leave it behind. He can't do that to the others. He tucks it into his shirt and slips out the door to take the long way to her office. He can put off the inevitable for a little while longer. Just five more minutes topside.

Rain gasps awake, magic thrumming through them screaming that something's gone horribly wrong. They've felt this before, and that had been bad enough. At first, they think it's just a nightmare, but the feeling isn't dissipating like a nightmare would. It's getting worse, and they can hear the others moving around, doors opening, and muffled words that sound just a touch too loud to be greetings.

It's not that they're bonded with the other band ghouls, they're not exactly a pack. It's simply that if you spend enough time around a specific set of people, you get a sense of what everyone feels like, and Rain's gotten comfortable feeling the other elements around them.

Stepping out into the main common room, the others have already beaten them there, in varying states of dress, but every single one is looking to see who doesn't join them.

Rain doesn't have a heart as far as they know, but they swear it breaks when Mountain realizes Dewdrop isn't with them because his howl is the most painful sound they've ever heard. They might still prefer it to the heartbroken expressions on Phantom and Aurora's faces when it's explained to them what's just happened.

They don't know how to process the idea of the band without Dewdrop. This whole time they've been topside, the band is all they've known. Yes, this year was the first big change, but it was still largely the same. Dewdrop is just... such a big part of it. He is... was their lead guitarist, the head of the Ghouls. He'd come into his own finally taking over fully after Aether had left.

How did they begin to cope with this?

Oh... oh no.

They step back, and then again, turning tail and walking towards Dew's room with purpose. They know who to tell, and who they have to tell because one of the others will be running to find Papa. They have to be the one to tell Alastor.

Rain still hesitates at the door, even knowing that Dew isn't there to be disturbed, and that hurts even more. They enter, and the bed is cold. The bed's never been cold before. Dew always has something in there to keep it warmed, if he's not in there himself.

It takes longer than they'd like to find the portal Dew uses to communicate with Alastor, and their hands tremble slightly as they hold it up in front of them.

"Show me Alastor, please..." they request, and they aren't even sure if it will listen to them.

It does, even though it's slow to do so. Maybe the portal knows what's coming as well, or it's just naturally slow. The relief that it does doesn't override all that they're feeling in that moment.

How does one inform a Prince of Hell that their consort has been banished?

They know who Alastor's expecting, so the surprise isn't unexpected, but Rain's eyes widen all the same.

"I... Dewdrop's been Banished to the Pit."

[lfghughes]

for requests, something like best friends older brother with jack or quinn?? and they have like a teasing / flirty relationship…

a/n: thanks to your request i have a feeling im going to be making more parts to this

There were always jokes that Luke was your other half but in the most platonic way possible. You two had met when you were teenagers and had become inseparable. At first there were plenty of jokes here and there about you two marrying each other one day but you both proved that what you had was a very deep platonic love for one another.

Now when it came down to his brothers that was a different story. For starters every girl in your grade and close to it thought Jack was cute so it wasn’t a surprise that you did too. But Quinn that was a whole other level of crush you had on him growing up. To him you were always just Lukes best friend though.

Until last summer when it almost seemed like he was starting to see you in a different light now that you were an adult and in college. Nothing ended up transpiring between the two of you except for some flirty comments here and there. Maybe this summer would be different though. Luke and Jack were officially back home for the summer from New Jersey and Quinn was back from Vancouver.

To celebrate your best friend being back in the same place as you, Luke had invited you over to their family house because the boys were planning on getting the fire pit going and doing a bonfire with some marshmallows. You sat outside with the three boys and their parents, it felt just like old times as you messed around with Luke.

Quinn had chosen the seat next to yours and you both continued on with your teasing. “You’re doing it all wrong, you’re going to burn your marshmallow like that.” He commented and you rolled your eyes at him. “I like my marshmallows burnt, I’m not a weirdo like you, Q.” You teased and he grabbed the last marshmallow from the bag throwing it at you.

“Quinn stop wasting marshmallows!” Luke yelled at his brother and you got up from your seat. “Don’t worry, Lukey I’ll go get you some from the kitchen.” You offered and it wasn’t a weird offer since you had practically lived in this house at some point. “I’ll help and get something to drink while I’m at it.” Quinn quickly said as he followed you back into the house.

“Luke’s going to kill you if you keep wasting his food.” You teased as you grabbed the bag from the cabinet. “It’s not the only thing he’s going to kill me for.” “Huh?” You asked but as you turned, Quinn was there, his hand going to your cheek as he pulled you in for a kiss. Your lips moved back against his, dropping the marshmallows because they were the furthest thing from your mind. Your fingers went to his shirt, gripping onto him because you were sure the room was spinning.

You pulled away, slightly breathless from the kiss. “Oh he’s for sure going to kill you.” You whispered and a small grin grew on his lips “I’m okay with that.” The butterflies in your stomach were still fluttering when you grabbed the marshmallows off the floor. Both of you headed back out to where everyone was sitting.

“Took a long time to get marshmallows, don’t you think bud?” Jack asked, a knowing grin on his lips but Luke looked clueless as ever. “Didn’t you say you were going to grab a drink?” Luke asked, a confused look on his face as you tossed him the bag of marshmallows. “Yeah, I drank some water in there.” Quinn quickly said as he sat down back next to you. “I’m sure that’s the only thing you did.” Jack laughed again but a pointed look from Ellen told him to stop teasing. Oh this was definitely going to be a fun summer alright.

[tokuvivor]

May I please request a character dynamic between Mrs. Beakley and Gladstone?

Okay, sure.

Just to note: When I got this request, I still had another story queued up (the Donald and Fenton one) that you requested that I had to wrap up. But that’s done, so now there’s this!

Update: I’m sorry this took so long to put up, but ultimately, here it is. After this, I’m going to take the fics that I have done for both this prompt and the platonic sentence starter prompt and pop them onto AO3.

I give you…

On a Warm Summer’s Evening…

Originated from this post.

It was late. Gladstone was too tired to sleep. On this particular evening, he just so happened to be staying at McDuck Manor, as was Fethry (they had spent the day hanging out with Donald and Della).

Trying to be as quiet as possible, he snuck out of the guest bedroom. ‘Crap,’ he thought. ‘What now?’

His eyes wandered around the dark hall. He noticed a door to a room that he hadn’t been in before. He decided to check it out.

When Gladstone flipped on the light, he was surprised to see, amongst various games and game pieces, a solid mahogany pool table. It was rather immaculate, as if it hadn’t been touched in a while. Even the playing field seemed to not have any nicks or tears on it.

“Incredible,” he murmured. “I never would have guessed Uncle McDunkle would have something like this hidden away. Okay, maybe I would have, but a pool table? Surprising.”

All 15 balls were nestled snugly in their rack, but the cue ball was nowhere to be found. Gladstone started poking around to find it. He was so invested in his search that he didn’t pay attention to how much noise he was making. And he didn’t notice the looming figure coming up behind him, flashlight in one hand, wooden club in the other.

“AAAAAHHHHH!!!”

“What the feathers?!”

It took a bit for Gladstone’s eyes to adjust to the figure in front of him, but eventually, he realized that the figure was a stern-looking Mrs. Beakley.

“Ah- buh-“

“Gladstone,” Beakley whispered sharply, “what in Heaven’s name are you doing rooting around the mansion at this hour? I had reason to believe you were a burglar.”

“I couldn’t sleep,” Gladstone admitted. “My mind’s just-“ he used two fingers to make a zooming motion to try and illustrate his point.

Beakley was rather annoyed with Gladstone for disturbing her sleep. But she couldn’t say she didn’t relate to his situation.

“Well, then,” she replied. “Have you tried anything to go back to sleep?”

“I figured maybe taking a walk would help,” the gander suggested. “But I don’t know-this doesn’t usually happen to me.”

“I see you found Mr. McDuck’s billiards table,” Beakley continued, changing the subject.

“Pffft, guess so,” Gladstone replied. “I never saw him as the kind of duck to have one of these, though.”

“Oh, he bought this years ago,” Beakley explained. “Said he would use it after meetings with clients or fellow businessmen. But, to the best of my knowledge, he never did. So it’s just sat here. I’d suspect he probably views it as some sort of a status symbol. Massive shame to let such a purchase go to waste.”

Was Gladstone’s hearing playing tricks on him, or could he sense a bit of resentment and frustration in the housekeeper’s voice?

“You up for a game?”

Beakley could not believe what she was hearing. “What?! Absolutely not!” she hissed. “It’s past 11 in the evening, and I’d like to get back to sleep, thank you very much.”

She then went silent, weighing her options. Even though she wanted to get back to sleep, after Gladstone woke her up, in all honesty, it would be quite hard for her to actually get back to sleep. Plus, like she said, she had no idea why McDuck would make such a purchase if he wasn’t going to use the pool table.

“Well…” she reluctantly admitted. “I suppose we could play a game. If that will sate your desire.”

“Fantastic!” Gladstone replied. “Then I guess it’s game on.”

“I should warn you,” Beakley continued, “I was quite the billiards player back in my day.”

“Very well, then,” remarked Gladstone.

“And I will not go easy on you.”

The two stared competitively at each other.

“Care to make it interesting?” Gladstone asked.

“What do you propose?” Beakley shot back.

“100 bucks?”

As high a standard of morality as Beakley held herself too, she was also not one to back down from a challenge. “Make it 200.”

“Deal.”

Gladstone broke. “Call it, Veintidos.”

Beakley ignored the nickname. “Solids.”

The fifteen balls went scattering about the table. However, Gladstone didn’t sink anything, at least not yet.

Beakley was now up. The cue ball had a good position relative to the 6. She took aim, and fired. The cue ball struck the 6, and sent it flying into a corner pocket.

“Not bad,” Gladstone remarked.

“Oh, I am just getting warmed up,” Beakley retorted. She had her eye on the 3 now. She changed her position as needed, and after the cue ball struck the 3, it peeled off in the opposite direction, and dropped into the opposing corner pocket on the same side of the table. “Hm. 2 for 2.”

Gladstone wasn’t worried, though. He could bounce back in a big way. It wasn’t just luck, though. It was skill.

Beakley tried for the 7 ball next, but she didn’t get enough power to sink it. “Your turn,” she said curtly.

“Alright,” Gladstone noted. “Let’s see-“ He sized up his ball situation. He eyed the 12, took aim at the left corner pocket on the other side of the table, and fired. The 12 was just past the center of the table, so Gladstone needed a lot of power in his shot. The cue ball smashed into the 12, sending into the corner pocket. 2-1.

“You’re not so bad yourself,” Beakley echoed.

“Well, I try,” Gladstone answered. His next target-the 15 ball. It was in the center of the table, and with how close to the center pocket the cue ball was, Gladstone was going to have to do some maneuvering. He angled his cue as far down as he could, and took his shot. The cue ball successfully struck the 15, but the 15 veered just to the left of the opposite center pocket, coming to a rest right at the edge of the playing field.

“Well, I guess it’s your move, then.”

“Quite so,” echoed Beakley.

She eyed the 7 again, and this time, her aim was true. It dropped into the center pocket.

Next up, the 1 ball. She took a good shot at it, but the 1 fell just shy of the right corner pocket.

Gladstone took a look at the field. Which ball would give him good position at another point?

He eyed the 14 on the edge. He prepared to take his shot, and…fired. The cue ball crashed into the 14, and started towards the opposite wall. With as much force as Gladstone put into his shot, the 14 rolled all the way to the opposite right corner, and dropped in.

Gladstone sharply exhaled in response. He needed to be in the zone. He was a confident player, but he knew Beakley was bringing her A game.

He tried to sink the 9 into the same pocket, but he came up just short.

“Hm,” Beakley quietly remarked. “Back to me, then.”

Looking back at the 1 ball, she set up her aim, and easily dropped it in. She sunk the 2, which was along the corresponding side of the field, in short order. Beakley then eyed the 5, floating near the middle. She moved over to one of the longer sides, intending to sink the 5 in the opposing center pocket, which was exactly what she did. Just the 4 and the 8 to go, and she would win. However, the 4, which she shot towards the pocket to the left of where the 5 went, bounced off the edge of said pocket and came to a stop just right of her intended target.

“Back to you.”

Gladstone nodded, then set up his second go at the 9 ball. It easily went in. He tried sinking the 15, which had eluded him before, into the corner pocket on the other side, but no dice. It bounced off both edges, then reversed course a bit. It was still within close range of the pocket in question, but now it was back to Beakley.

Beakley came towards the 4 ball, and it went into the corner pocket with ease. She now went in for the kill. The 8 ball was near the center of the table, so this would be somewhat of a shot in the dark. She tried to pot it in the opposite right pocket, but came up empty. Gladstone was still alive.

“Third time’s the charm,” he muttered under his breath, seeking down the 15 once again. This time, he made it in. Now he needed to keep it going.

In the corner diagonally opposing where he’d just potted, he saw the 10 ball. And the 11. If he used enough force on the cue ball, he could sink both in one go.

He took aim. He fired. The cue ball zipped towards the other corner, knocked into the 10, which, in turn, pushed the 11, and the two dropped neatly into the corner pocket. Gladstone was only down by a single ball now.

Beakley was thoroughly impressed. For someone so obnoxiously drunk on luck, she’d figured, he had major skill at this.

Gladstone had landed the cue ball pretty close to the 13 ball. The angling seemed too slim to try for the side pocket, but if he could just get it back to the other side of the field…

He aimed for the opposite corner pocket. The cue ball knocked off the 13. The 13 rolled towards the pocket in question, tailed off a bit in speed, but on what was seemingly its last leg of momentum, ultimately dropped in.

Gladstone and Beakley stared at each other wordlessly. They knew this next pot would be for all the marbles.

Gladstone took his first shot at the 8 ball, aiming for the other corner on that side of the table. No luck.

That left the door open for Beakley, and she repositioned the cue ball, took aim, and finished Gladstone off by sinking the 8.

“Very nicely done,” Gladstone remarked quietly.

“Thank you,” Beakley answered. “You’re not so bad yourself. And now, I believe we had a wager?”

Gladstone fished around in his breast pocket, pulled out two $100 bills, and slammed them on the table. “There you are, Downton.”

Beakley nodded in acknowledgment. “Goodness, what time is it?” she wondered, checking her watch. “Well! Just about 12:30. That certainly whiled away time.”

“Yeah, it was actually pretty cool,” Gladstone added. “You’re like a regular Calisota Fats.”

“Well, I usually played either while undercover in my S.H.U.S.H. days, or against a fellow agent,” Beakley recalled. “‘‘Twas quite a rush. This was not too bad itself.”

Well, Gladstone was satisfied, and as much as Beakley was downplaying it, she was as well. So they bid each other good night, and returned to their rooms. As they did so, the same thought crossed both of their minds:

‘Who knew?’

[serjthejerk]

Sewer Trotting

Bullfrog x gn! neurodivergent! reader

Content: Fluff, Small panic attack, Dissociation, Comfort, Pet names, Temporarily-Nonverbal. ( for plot sake, pretend the sewers isn’t just a pipe and is instead a sewer hallway with the sewage in the middle and concrete cat walks on the side🫶)

Words: 1.5k

A grimace painted itself onto my face as I lifted up the grimy metal cover for a manhole. The stench of raw sewage seemed to blast me away with the stench, my lungs contracting and forcing me into a coughing fit.

“Dear god..” I wheezed out, forcing myself to open the lid further for my amphibious colleague. Dutifully, bullfrog wasted no time dropping in, completely avoiding the rusted ladder that I had the misfortune to climb down.

Leaning my head away to catch my last breath of fresh air, I start my decent into the sewer; closing the manhole behind me.

“Faire attention, mon ami.”

I give out a grunt of recognition to my acquaintance, easing one leg after another. It wasn’t long until my boot met the ground and I could drop down, my weight making a disgusting squelch upon impact.

“This is fucking gnarly, man” I cringe, wiping my hands off on my pants. The frog only chuckling at my complaint.

“The faster we get through this, the faster it’s over” Bullfrog’s accent curling the words he spoke, it was a honest truth that I hate to come to terms with. Taking the lead, bullfrog started our trudge into the foul-smelling labyrinth, i begrudgingly followed after him. The ambience of diluted water pushing over itself and the hollow footsteps filled the corridor, accompanying the awkward silence between us.

Perhaps I should say something? I mean, there isn’t much to say. I mean, what the hell would I say? ‘Oh hey yeah blah blah we have bombs in our head so that’s not cool’ doesn’t seem like a good conversation starter. Maybe I should just stay silent? I mean, this is a high stakes high stress mission so I don’t think anyone would want to be chatty during this.

“I-”

“Sh.” Bullfrog hushes, holding his arm out to signal a stop. My ears perked up, trying to focus on what could be a disturbance but I was met with nothing. My eye brows furrowed while looking down at the frog, nervousness starting to take ahold of my throat.

Bullfrog lowered his arm, unmoving and alert. Keep it cool y/n, don’t lose your shit. Keep it together, we’re fine.

“Je suis desolé(e), mon ami. I thought I sensed another person.” Although still alert, he let out a sigh of relief, looking back to check on me. I could only bring myself to look at his eyes for a mere second before looking ahead.

“We should get going.” I comment, my right hand fiddling with the end of my shirt. I know I wasn’t a star perfect Eden samaritain by a long shot, but the weight of this mission and the fucking bomb takes my usually nervous nelly-self to a whole new level.

Bullfrog gave a nod in agreement, vigilantly trudging forward with me in pursuit. Despite being given goggles to navigate the dark terrain, I’m still blind in the darkness. The goggles having as much use as “night vision” on a hand cam made in 2004.

“We make a left here.” The amphibian took a hard turn, catching me off guard. My foot slipping slightly on the filth that had built up on the concrete. I fell right on my ass, my tailbone aching from the sudden drop.

I’m fine, I’m fine, I’m fine. I’m okay. Keep your shit together y/n. Dear god, the filth, the texture, the smell is fucking ruining me. My skin feels as if it’s puking.

“You okay, mon ami?” My acquaintance asked with a tone full of concern.

“I’m…I’m fine.” I struggle to get out. My throat feels as if it’s going to close, almost as if someone is choking me. I can feel my eyes start to tear up and gloss over.

I pull my hands in, wrapping them around me to try to ground myself. Almost as if I’ve mentally took a back seat, everything around me fees distant. Everything is nonexistent except for the cold slimy floor on my ass and my hands trembling around me. I’ve been like this before. I’m overstimulated and and at the start of dissociation. If I knew better, I would’ve done something to lessen what I’m feeling. Whether it was a nose clamp or gloves to keep me from feeling the ground, anything would help at the moment.

Although my focus was blurry, I could tell Bullfrog had back tracked to stand in front of me, his muffled voice saying something I couldn’t quite understand.

With strain, I lift my head up. Although my vision was unfocused, I could barely make out his bushy eyebrows furrowed in concern. Moving my hands from around my arms to pull them in, I push them down on my chest in an attempt to mimic a weighted stuffed animal. Weighted things usually help whenever something like this comes about. Something about the pressure that gets exerted in to me is soothing. It’s been like that for me since I was a child.

Bullfrog reached for me, putting his hand on my shoulder. Usually I would’ve shrank away from touch, but something about the touch of another person made me yearn for more. My vision focused a little, his touch curing my ailment.

“I know this is hard, but we got this. As long as I’m here, I will keep you safe. No harm will touch you.”

My gaze looked up at him, finally making eye contact with him after trying to avoid it. His golden irises seemed bigger than when we were in the light; I suppose that’s a quirk of being a hybrid.

“If it will help, take your goggles off. I have excellent vision, I will guide us” Bullfrog spoke in a low assuring voice, his accent bending some words as he comforted me. Despite sound usually upsetting me more, I craved to hear more of him. Any interaction to distract me lessens the feel of it all.

“I will stay here as long as you need, forget about the mission, just focus on yourself.” I could tell he was speaking from a place of worry. The mission is a big deal and I’m slowing us down. I just….i just need…

Impulsively my arms open up against my will. Bullfrog flinched a little, startled at my action but took the hint and closed in for a hug.

We held each other for at least 30 seconds, his small body feeling cool against my skin that had heated up in amidst of my worry.

“Here, position me to face ahead of us, I’ll direct us while you hold onto me, oui?” Bullfrog offered. I give a nod in response and let him step back to face the front before picking him up, standing up to my fullest height.

His small body against mine provided the right amount of pressure I needed to calm me down.

I finally rounded the corner that had tripped me up, and continued our plow. Instead of the ambience of the sewer, I focused my ears on Bullfrog. Waiting for his voice to break the silence.

“You know, if you told me a week ago I would be here, I wouldn’t believe you.” He reminisced. There was a beat of silence before he spoke ip again

“I mean, I had gotten paid last week before I was given another job. Y’know, before I got caught. I had given money back to a few friends who were struggling and I was stopped. No call, no alert that they wanted me to do a job, they didn’t even use the code. They just knew who I was and assigned me a job. I knew better than to not accept it but he had caught me while I was at a friends house, I didn’t want him to send anyone to the location I was at if I didn’t comply.” I listened to him, absorbing the information he was dishing out.

“You’re gonna make a right in about 3 steps, mon ami. After that we keep straight, there’s another man hole to crawl out of.” He added. 3 paces in, I took the right. Still silent as a mouse.

“The job was unlike any others I’ve taken, however after killing the target, I was shot with something and all I remember is darkness.” He continued. Interesting. For him it was a set up from the start. For me I could barely remember how I had even got to the supermaxx.

“Is it okay to call you a friend?” I questioned after minutes of silence. I enjoyed that he comforted me, and maybe at the risk of being embarrassed, he let me carry him.

“Yes of course, mon ami. I consider you a friend to me.” Bullfrog piped up. A gentle smile flashed across my face before I let it drop.

Maybe this mission won’t be the fucking death of me.