#(his dart bounced off and almost stabbed his thigh)

[borvooven]

Schindi risking his life onstage today lmao

[chicaboom-chic]

Untimely- Travis Bickle X Reader (18+)

Travis cums early and ruins everything 😒😢 (I'm sorry for that one line in the story... hehe)

Travis bickle is a gooner

The groan is what catches you off guard, the loud, guttural sound that erupts from Travis’s throat so suddenly almost shockingly.  It is so loud and unexpected that it tears through the apartment, bounces off the ceiling, and echoes against the wall. It is undeniable; the sound of a climax. It is desperate and premature, very premature. But a climax nonetheless.

He is slow to pull out and his cum splatters onto your thigh, tickling your skin slightly. The sensation causes you to jolt. Your eyes dart down to your bodies, they warm and pressed together. It is a strange assortment, limbs meshed together in the dim light. You have to squint to see, but you notice it quickly. Your eyes widen at the sight of his thick, white seed on your leg.

He’s done already? But we’re only two pumps in?

“Travis did you-” Your question is cut short but a flurry of stammers from Travis. His voice shakes.

“Just give me a second.” Travis pulls away from you and sits up on his heels. You feel your pussy instinctively clench around nothing. The wave of dissatisfaction is instant and any chance of an orgasm is killed. Your eyes flicker towards Travis, you feel a stab of irritation but it mingles with curiosity and confusion.

Travis has his hand wrapped around his now softened cock, jerking furiously. His forehead is creased, the veins in his neck bulge.

“I’m sorry, just give me a second, I just need to-” Travis chokes on his words. He jerks himself off harder. 

You wince. The sight looks painful; the furthest thing from pleasure. The lingering irritation in your body dwindles completely. It is replaced by worry. You sit up and grab the sheets from his bed. You wrap them around yourself and run a nervous hand through your hair. “Travis, give it some time.” You say.

Travis shakes his head and continues his assault on his cock. “That was an accident, I’ll get it right this time, I just need a moment.” The desperation in his voice is just as palpable as it is on his face. However, his efforts bear no fruit as he groans, and he eventually lets his limp cock slip from his hand. 

You remain silent as you watch. You wait for a moment to speak, afraid that a singular word or sentence could chip away at his masculinity. “We can try again?” You speak softly. “Travis, honey.” You creep closer towards him. You tentatively place your hand against his. “You know this is completely normal.”

Travis flinches and bolts right up off the bed, almost appearing as if he is stumbling back. You curse internally for saying the wrong thing. You open your mouth to quickly rectify the comment, perhaps say something else that will calm him but Travis marches to his bathroom. His bare booty cheeks clapping as he reaches the door, slams it, and then locks himself inside.

“Fuck.” You say as you flop back onto the bed and stare at the ceiling. A wave of guilt hits you, perhaps you could have handled the situation better, or perhaps it was doomed from the start. How could one even react to their boyfriend cumming after only two pumps?

“Perhaps my kitty is just too good…” You muse, trying to find humor in the situation but it falls flat. It’s dry and offers no comfort in the silent apartment. You close your eyes and wallow in the awkward and odd atmosphere. After forty minutes and no movement from Travis, you fall asleep. The sounds of the passing taxis and swearing from the junkies outside the apartment act as your lullaby for the night.

By 2.AM the bathroom door unlocks with a soft click. Travis steps out and stalks towards the bed. He’s covered now, in shorts and he slides onto the small mattress beside you. His hands find their way to your hips, his body presses against yours. He grasps you with shaky hands. “Y/n?” He murmurs softly, trying to gauge if you are asleep. You stir almost instantly, you weren’t sleeping that deeply.

“Travis.” Your hands find his, you squeeze the hands that are glued to your hips. You hesitate to speak, fearing that you will misspeak once more.

It takes a while but Travis finally utters a few words, his voice is quiet, hesitant, almost fearful.

“I watch a lot of peep shows, you know. It’s just what guys grew up watching…. I watch a dirty film here and there.”  He stares at the discolored, white walls. His eyes focus on the speck of dirt on the wall. He feels his throat tighten; the inadequacy is clear in his voice. 

“I actually, watch a lot of dirty films… I think more than the average New Yorker. I have a problem,” His eyes rake over your frame, and the shame engulfs him, almost threatening to make him sick. His shoulders tighten. “It’s why I can’t please you…”

The confession seizes you almost immediately after it is uttered. You stammer, you blink, you’re speechless all in one. You could have never imagined this. Your mind was racing. 

Dirty films?

Dirty films were for creeps, horndogs, wankers! They were for the sleazes who hung outside the diner you worked in, asking for your number,  Not Travis. Travis was odd, awkward but he was no creep, was he? Perhaps he was. A part of you wanted to pull away and sit up, a part of you wanted to leave through the door and not have to deal with this… mess. But the vulnerability and rawness of his voice kept you firmly rooted beside him, it tugged at your heart. You swallow.

“It’s alright,” You say again. “We’ll figure it out.” You say nothing more after that. You resume the night in silence. Travis moves and places his head in my lap and you welcome him, you weave your fingers through his hair and touch the ridge of his nose.

You’ll figure it out.

This was kinda of serious and perhaps a conversation about erectile dysfunction… idk… it’s weird like Travis.

[julieee404]

Kinktober day twenty-three!!

Unmasking desire

❥ Mask kink, Knife play, ❥ Mattheo Riddle

POV: It was Halloween, you've been teasing your boyfriend Mattheo all night. That was however until he pulled you to the side, telling you to be ready for when he makes you pay.

Trigger warnings: Knife, mask, Ghostface, P in v, Unprotected sex, swear words, Blood, Spanking, Edging(once)

The room was dim, shadows dancing across the walls as the flickering candlelight barely illuminated the space. I was sat on the edge of my bed, my breath coming in shallow uneven gaps as I waited. My heart raced, anticipation curling in my stomach, knowing he was coming.

I've been teasing him all night, now it was time for payback. Mattheo had something planned for tonight. And when he had something planned. It was. Always. Intense.

The floorboards creaked softly and i straightened, body tensing with anticipation. My eyes darted to the doorway as the handle turned, the door slowly swinging open.

And there he was.

Mattheo stood in the doorway, his tall, lean frame was clad in black. But what made my breath hitch was the mask he wore, the iconic Ghostface mask.

Its hollow eyes and twisted mouth stared at me, blank and menacing, hiding his face completely.

I swallowed hard, my pulse quickening as he stepped into the room, the door clicking shut behind him. The silence was deafening, the only sound was the soft rustle of his clothing as he moved toward me.

The sight of him in that mask sent a thrill of excitement and fear coursing through me.

"Mattheo?" I asked softly, my voice trembling slightly.

He didn't respond, didn't even utter a word. He stopped right in front of me, towering over me with his tall frame. His masked face tilted downward as he looked at me. The air felt suffocating, thick with tension.

The mask. The silence. The mystery. It made everything feel... forbidden. Dangerous.

My breath hitched as his hand reached out, trailing a finger along my jawline. The touch was familiar, yet the mask made it feel foreign, almost like I didn't know him. Like he wasn't my boyfriend, the man I loved so much.

"You know why I'm here." His voice finally breaking the silence, it was deeper than usual, rougher, laced with that same predatory edge that always made my skin tingle. "You've been teasing me all night, haven't you, love?"

I bit my lip unable to suppress the shiver that ran down my spine and the smile that was forming on my face. He was right, i had been teasing him. Wearing a black tight dress that hugged my every curve while glancing at him with a knowing look in my eyes.

Now, I was about to pay the price for it.

His gloved hand cupped my chin, tilting my head up so I was forced to look directly into the vacant eyes of the mask. My body trembled, both from fear and desire, as I waited for his next move.

"You've been a very bad girl." He growled his voice dark and commanding. "And you know what happens to bad girls, don't you?"

My heart pounded in my chest, the heat between my thighs growing unbearable as his words sent a jolt of arousal through me. I nodded, my lips parting as I whispered, "Yes."

His hand dropped from my chin, and in one swift motion, he pushed me back onto the bed, my body bouncing slightly against the mattress as he stood over me. His eyes hidden behind the hollow mask raked over my body, devouring me.

"Take off your clothes," he ordered, his voice low, almost dangerous.

My fingers fumbled as you reached for the zipper of my dress, hands trembling with anticipation as you peeled it off, revealing the lace lingerie I had worn just for him. The cool air hit my skin making me shiver as I laid back on the bed, completely exposed to him.

He didn't move, he just stood there, watching me. His chest rising and falling with controlled breaths. The silence was deafening, the tension almost unbearable.

And then he pounced.

In an instant, he had stabbed his knife into the bed next to me and he was on me. His body pressed me into the mattress as his hands roamed over my bare skin. The weight of him, the feel of his gloved hands gripping my thighs, sent waves of pleasure crashing through me. His mouth, hidden behind the mask hovered near my ear, his breath hot against my skin.

"You look so fucking good like this," he growled, his voice sending shivers down my spine.

I whimpered beneath him, my body arching into his touch as his fingers slid between my thighs teasing me. The friction of his fingers against my clit made me gasp, my hips bucking up in desperation for more.

"Please, Mattheo," I breathed, my voice trembling with need.

"Not yet," he murmured, his voice dark and filled with promise. "I'm gonna make you beg for it."

He pulled back slightly, his hands gripping my hips as he flipped me over, pressing me into the mattress. My breath hitched as his gloved hand came down on my ass, a sharp sting that made me cry out in both pain and pleasure.

"Did I say you could speak?" he asked, his voice cold.

"N-no" I whimpered, my heart racing as I buried my face in the pillow, the heat between my thighs becoming unbearable.

"Good girl," he purred, his hand caressing the reddend skin of my arse before slipping down between my legs again, his fingers teasing my entrance.

I gasped, my body trembling with anticipation as he continued to toy with me. Driving me closer and closer to the edge without giving me what I truly wanted.

He took his knife and pushed the handle against my entrance. I gasped at the cold sensation and shivered from the anticipation running through my body.

Mattheo was gonna fuck me with his knife. A soft scream left my mouth as he pushed the knife into me. It wasn't big, not even half of his size but it was strange, uncomfortable.

He started fucking me with it, the reality of all of this and the sensations pushing me closer and closer to the edge.

Just as I was about to cum he pulled the knife away and threw it across the room making me whine in protest. He growled, "The only thing you're allowed to come on is my cock."

"Please, Mattheo," I begged, my voice muffled by the pillow. "Please, I need you."

There was a pause, and then I heard the sound of him undoing his belt, the leather sliding through the loops with a soft, deliberate hiss.

My pulse quickened, and I could feel the heat of his body as he pressed against me. The hard and thick length of him teasing my entrance.

"You're mine," he growled, his voice thick with desire as he pushed into me in one hard thrust.

I cried out, my body arching off the bed as he finally filled me completely, the sensation was overwhelming. Mattheo didn't give you a moment to adjust, he didn't need to. His pace was rough and unforgiving, each thrust sending shockwaves of pleasure through my body.

The mask, The gloves. It all blurred together into a heady mix of lust and desire, pushing me closer and closer to the edge.

"Say it," he growled, his voice strained as he thrust into me harder, faster. "Say you're mine."

"I'm yours," I gasped, my body trembling beneath him as the pleasure built to an unbearable peak. "I'm yours, Mattheo."

With a low growl, Mattheo's hand gripped my hair, pulling my head back as he buried himself deeper inside of me, pushing me over the edge.

My orgasm crashed over me, my body convulsing around him as I cried out his name.

Mattheo's pace quickened, his own release following soon after, his body tensing as he spilled inside of me with a guttural moan. He held me there, both of us trembling in the aftermath, our bodies slick with sweat and desire.

For a long moment, the only sound in the room was our ragged breathing, my body still quivering from the intensity of it all. Finally, Mattheo pulled out of me, collapsing beside me on the bed as he removed the mask, tossing it aside.

I turned to face him, my heart still racing as I met his gaze, his dark eyes filled with a mixture of satisfaction and raw hunger.

"Next time," he said with a smirk, "You won't be so quick to tease me, will you?"

I smiled, my body still humming with the aftershocks of pleasure. "Maybe I will," I teased, my voice breathless.

Mattheo's smirk deepened, and he leaned in, capturing my lips in a heated kiss that promised this night was far from over.

Kinktober masterlist 2024

[total-drama-brainrot]

Question about p! Noah..

How would he hypothetically react to being stabbed. (Accidentally) Like not a deadly stab wound but one big enough for it to be considered concerning.

How would the rest of the cast react?

Ok so what I'm asking is how committed is p! Noah to the bit? How for would he go in such a serious situation. Maybe he didn't care at all and walked around bleeding? Maybe he was only thinking of ways to torment the others using this to his advantage. Idk.

Also love this au sm!!

"Hypothetically", just say you want to stab him. This is a safe space, I'm not judging. ...Okay I'm judging a little bit.

I actually have a few thoughts about reactions to stabbings, as someone who's been involved in more than my fair share of them, and generally I think a lot of people don't tend to understand just how much it fucking hurts to be stabbed, even when it's non-fatal. It is a very painful experience, even with the added anaesthetic of adrenaline, and seeing just how often media portrays people walking off stab wounds or regarding them as little more than scratches is just. Infuriating.

Now, I personally headcanon Noah as someone with a fairly high pain tolerance. This is backed by a lot of the bone-crushing and otherwise painful experiences he suffers through in the show and is generally able to shrug off without complaint (and really, Noah would realistically have so much chronic pain after World Tour in particular, given how much he's crushed, tossed and thrown about in that season alone). But that doesn't mean I think he can just brute-force his way through acting unconcerned by a literal stab wound.

Even p!Noah wouldn't have that unwavering of a constitution, and he's crazy. Though I do think he'd make a good effort of maintaining his persona as the unflappable unstable wildcard, he'd be quick to abscond from the situation at hand and treat the wound. Again, that shit hurts, and it's really hard to keep up any pretences under the pain of a stab wound, so getting himself out of the situation as fast as possible would be his top priority- the less time he spends around the others in his vulnerable state, the slimmer the chances are of them seeing behind his mask of mania to the scared person hidden behind it.

Because his detachment from reality is the vast majority of his defence mechanism game plan; if Noah allows himself to be seen as anything but the psychopath he's portrayed himself as- either by the audience or the now aware cast- he's lost practically everything he's spent seasons building up on camera. Letting himself be seen as vulnerable or even affected by something as "inconsequential" as a stab would is a no-go, so he'd stutter out a few witty zingers and bounce.

(Which is an incredibly unhealthy mindset to have, but p!Noah isn't exactly mentally sound even without his exaggerated persona. His commitment to The Bit is strong enough for him to momentarily disregard his physical wellbeing, but not enough to grant him the ability to completely ignore it.)

It'd play out something like this:

---

Noah's eyes momentarily widened in shock as he felt the cold steel of Duncan's knife embed itself into the meat of his upper thigh. The pain was searingly sharp, molten agony burning like lava in his veins, and the bookworm found himself reflexively stumbling backwards from the punk.

"Did you just stab me?" He asked incredulously, sparing a glance down towards the weapon sticking out of his now ruined cargo shorts. The sight was almost comedic; Noah's oversized shorts rested against the hilt of the knife like cushions, completely blanketing the wound beneath them. He was almost amused enough to laugh, but the constant screaming of his nerves had his laughter congealing against the back of his throat with the rest of his saliva, leaving his mouth uncomfortably dry.

Duncan, in turn, seemed just as shocked by the turn of events. The delinquent's terrified blue eyes darted from Noah's face to the knife jutting out of his thigh. Which prompted the cynic to contort his grimace into a toothy grin, as any sign of weakness here would completely ruin his carefully cultivated image, though the edges of his smile were soured by the constant throbbing pain in his leg.

Truly, it was Noah's own fault. He shouldn't've provoked the stab-happy jailbird, but messing with Duncan was just too fun an opportunity to pass up.

"Oh fuck! Oh shit, dude, I'm so sorry!"

And he really was. Noah could tell by the shaky panic in his voice, the bulging of his ice-blue eyes, and the way Duncan seemed to curl self-consciously into himself. Not that the pessimist thought he had any right to act to timid- he was the one with the knife in his leg.

Again, Noah wanted nothing more than to laugh at the absurdity of the situation. Here he was, stood before the resident metal-faced punk, brandishing the other's knife deep in the flesh of his thigh like some sort of twisted fashion statement. Every minor twitch and spasm of his muscles had white-hot agony lick at the back of his mind like flames, matching the welling heat of pained tears he desperately choked down; Noah refused to cry in front of Duncan, refused to let the other know just how much pain he was in.

He took a few tentative steps backwards, edging towards the exit of the Economy Cabin and towards the relative safety of the Confessional. Each step was a test in his composure, as every time he put even the slightest bit of weight onto his pierced leg Noah felt liquid hot torture bubble through his veins.

"Wow. I know you offered to give me a piercing, but don't you think this is a bit much?" Noah snarked, playing off the unsteady tightness of his voice as mirth with a humourless giggle, and disguising the wince he couldn't quite subdue as a cocky tilting of his head.

Noah placed a steadying hand on the doorframe of the exit, never once turning his back to his assaulter or letting his feral grin falter, as his tear-fogged eyes scanned across the cabin. He'd made it to the exit, but really needed a moment to catch his breath. It was so hard to breath around the sharp, burning pain.

The cynic felt, more than saw, the concerned looks the other occupants of Economy were shooting him. In fact, both Owen and Alejandro had jumped from their seats to, assumedly, assist him. That wouldn't do- Noah staunchly refused to show any semblance of helplessness in front of Alejandro. The latino's hero complex and overblown ego would never let Noah hear the end of it, and making himself even the slightest bit sympathetic in front of their audience would offset the persona he'd worked so hard to maintain.

Damn his team and their inconstant bouts of humanity; concern was the last thing Noah wanted! The whole situation was jeopardising his image! He'd have to do something drastic to stop his well intentioned teammates from following him- something crazy.

"I'm keeping this, by the way."

The bookworm yanked the knife from it's nested perch in is thigh, scattering scarlet droplets of blood in its wake, and brandished his newfound weapon with performative flourish. It hurt like a bitch, and Noah had to force down a shudder at the feeling of his own rapidly welling blood as it began to trickle down his leg like molasses in rivulets of crimson. No doubt his shorts would be ruined, not that they weren't already.

A resounding cry of disbelief rattled through the cabin, though Noah payed it no mind.

It... probably wasn't the best idea, ripping the knife out of his stab wound. But Noah was nothing if not committed to his act, and it wasn't as if he could just re-plug the bleeding with the knife.

Unless? ...No, no that was stupid. The persistent throbbing pain of his sluggishly bleeding wound was probably just messing with his head.

It was, however, satisfying to watch the well-intentioned concern on the other's faces drain into white-faced revulsion and terror, as Noah playfully began to spin the blood soaked weapon between his fingers. Both Owen and Alejandro came to a halt a few meters away from him, the Spaniard in particular seemed to recoil at the stray droplets of the cynic's blood as his face took on a peculiar green tinge.

And Duncan stood shell-shocked in his original position, apparently still stunned by disbelief by his own actions. Not that Noah cared, but it was a little ironic to him; the big bad delinquent couldn't handle the ramifications of his own violence. How sad, Noah's heart was just bleeding for him- or was it his leg? It was hard to tell, the rapid loss of blood made his deductive skills a little wonky.

"Thanks for the gift, Duncey. Toodles!~"

With that, Noah skittered his way out of the cabin, leaving a trail of scarlet behind him.

"Dude, what the fuck."

---

And then p!Noah hobbles his way to the Confessional to treat his stab wound and stop the bleeding. And probably has a little cry over it because ouch, being stabbed hurts. (Obviously he'd muffle the sounds of his sobs and agonised hissed breaths as he deals with the wound- he wouldn't want anyone overhearing his moment of weakness.)

Then, of course, he remembers that the Confessional is decked out with a camera and quickly re-masks into his usual persona and waxes poetic about how pretty he looks covered in his own blood, and how Duncan was so generous in gifting him his prized knife, and how Noah would love to repay the favour. Or something along those lines.

Duncan in this scenario would have the added bonus of not only dealing with the guilt of stabbing someone, but also the paranoia of Noah's rebuttal. Of which Noah would relish in, because of course he would.

As for the others, Noah would make a conscious and continuous effort to keep them as unconcerned with his wellbeing as possible, since his whole goal is to make himself seem as inhuman and unstable as possible. Letting the others care about him would humanise Noah in the eyes of the cast and the audience at large, which is a big no-no for his game plan.

That doesn't mean he wouldn't let Owen fuss over him in private; Owen's one of the very few people around who knows that a lot of Noah's instability is an exaggeration, so Noah isn't as hesitant to lower his walls.

[steviewashere]

Return to Sender

Slaps you in the face with this chapter of my new fic, Return to Sender. Which I will update every Saturday, or at least attempt to. Different first meetings, strangers to friends to lovers to strangers (and then endgame). Hope you enjoy, I'll add tags when necessary.

Characters: Steve Harrington, Billy Hargrove (A Warning in Itself), Eddie Munson (E.M.)

Relationships: Steve Harrington/Eddie Munson

General Audiences (May Change, but Will Not be Explicit)

Tags: Pre-Season 2, Rewriting Canon, Though Keeping to Main Canon Events (i.e. Steve getting roped into finding Dart, Billy smashing in Steve's face, The junkyard, etc.)

Expanded from This Post!

Next Part is Out! ------>

Enjoy <3

------- Steve picks up a little piece of paper that somebody shoved inside the grates of his locker door. It's folded, crumpled, creased and stained. He glances around. If the messenger just left this, they must still be around, right? At the bathrooms, nobody stands. Or at the narrow opening that floods into the main hall of Hawkins High. Or even peeking from under the stairwell. He runs his thumb over the paper. It's soft, most likely worn down from being held onto for so long. From being in somebody's pocket. Pressed up against the radiating warmth from their naked thigh. Possibly held between their fingers, twirling and folding in the gaps.

Does he open it? He's curious, he should. But what if it's another one of Tommy's pranks, which have increased tenfold since they stopped being friends. What if it's Carol giving him a fill-in on gossip he no longer wants a slice of? Or...What if it's Nancy apologizing? He shakes his head at that. What does she shave to apologize for, he questions himself. If anybody should say sorry, it would be me.

Basketball practice is in ten minutes. He's got his sweatbands on. Retied his sneakers. Changed into shorts and a particularly revealing muscle tank. Slathered on deodorant, lip balm, and baby powder to prevent chafing on his thighs. He's ready to go. Gotta go, he hastily thinks.

But...

The note. Somebody left it just for him.

Oh, but what if it's to tease him? To poke fun at the fact that he lost his girlfriend to somebody the whole school deems as his rival. To laugh at the new cut near his hairline, pink and puckered, laughing at his inability to fight back (parents teach their kids the damndest things). From that insufferable guy, Billy, that's barreled in through town from California and shoved him on the spikes of his King Steve crown. From that band girl with choppy strawberry blonde hair that's always too observant. From somebody else...somebody who wants to see him bend over, gasp for air that's too sharp and fleeting, and cry with nothing else to do.

He blearily thinks, Fuck it. He thinks, Men don't cry. Though the voice is his father's and they're almost the same in intonation, does it matter who's ridiculing him? He thinks, I just want to go home and rest.

It unfolds without him willing. The paper still soft, not yet agitating his palms. Gently torn around the edges. Blue pen glowing up at him. He takes a breath and reads.

"You seem haunted. But you're lovely. I hope you find peace soon, Steve. -E.M."

Steve's watch beeps at him. Time to shoot some hoops. And all the while he will think, Who the hell is E.M.?

---- He's at the three point line practicing his free throws. Back wet with sweat. Hair drooping over the sweatband around his forehead, the prickly ends threatening to stab his eyelids. The ball is in his grip just under the tip of his nose. He gives it another couple dribbles for luck. Poises to shoot.

Just as his arms flex, he goes tumbling down to the ground. A thump across the waxed gymnasium floor. His head misses, thankfully, but the rest of him is in a gigantic sore heap. Limbs splayed out around him. The basketball bouncing off somewhere to his right. And the impact scared him into shutting his eyes. Opening them, blearily and blinking fast, he realizes he's now nose to calf with that asshole, Billy Hargrove.

The guy—broad, tall, muscular with an ugly shaggy mullet and a permanent sneer to his lips—has been consistently knocking Steve down. Whether it be on the court, as it is right now. Out on the track in gym class. In the hallways, slamming Steve's left shoulder into the closed locker doors, enough he swears it dislocated at least a couple times. Even once in the parking lot; leaving a ding on the trunk of Steve's BMW. It's one of the nicer things he owns and it made him see red the way the metal was dented in. He'd tried to fight back against Billy, but that ended up with him and a blood nose. He's retired all efforts in making this guy leave him alone. Too pussy to be the first to throw a fist. Too smarmy to confront a teacher.

Steve groans and tries to sit up, but is promptly shoved back down by the bottom of one of Billy's sneakers. He hears from above, "Fucking stay out of my way, Harrington." And then his presence is gone. Footsteps, heavy and quick, making their way away from Steve's supine, sweaty, adrenaline leaking body.

He successfully sits up with the next groan and gasp from his lips. Rubs a firm hand on the small of his back. And decides, Fuck this. Rising from the ground is no ambitious feat. And choosing to barrel past his coach, give him the finger, slam the locker room door behind him, take a quick hot shower, and reclothe himself in a usual school outfit—none of that is ambitious either. It's freeing, in a way.

Sure, he loves basketball. Loves gym class. Loves working out in general. He's been on a basketball team every year since he was seven years old. Watches games from the middle cushion of his parent's three-seater sofa. Skims through Sports Illustrated every chance he gets. Has assisted with little league teams and the junior varsity tryouts annually since freshman year—always there to encourage and uplift nervous players, because he had been one once, so he gets it.

But, also, the amount of running up and down the basketball court. The amount of watching from his peripherals. Dodging and very nearly hiding away from other players. It all just reminds him of...Of that stupid flower-faced motherfucker that tumbled through the Byers' place. All the trouble for wanting to apologize. Now he's more scarred than a pink eraser some distracted kid uses in math class—puncture wounds in his brain where the images of blood, snarling saliva, and twirling some weaponized bat are permanently flashing. All the time. In his waking existence and in his sleep.

Playing on the sports teams also comes with expectations. Not from his peers. Or friends. Not even the coaches. But, rather, his parents. And damn it, if being bullied off the court is a way to try and get them off his back, then he'd fucking take being roped by his ankles and shook like a can of pop for his lunch money. He thinks, Fuck what they think. Fuck what the coach thinks. And fuck Billy Hargrove.

When he's finally out of the locker room and back at his everyday locker, he notices another little white paper making a minor appearance. It's a fresh piece. From the way it's bright in the light and sharp around the edges in his hands. Even the blue pen marks are smeared slightly, as if the person—E.M.—was in a rush to get away. To not be caught.

It reads now:

"I'll charge that dickwad more for his weed. It's fucking stupid that he thinks he rules the school now. Hargrove gave one of my friends a swirly last week. Tried to dump my lunch earlier today. Don't worry, Steve, I'll drain him for more than he's worth. -E.M."

His hand falls away, note still gripped, and slams against his thigh. Runs a hand down his damp face. And becomes dizzy with the implication of the last line; or at least, his interpretation.

Now, Steve's smoked before. Came home one time from the quarry smelling like it and knew what it was like to be caught by a ring on the face when he'd walked through his front doors. But...that had been weed that Tommy's cousin brought around during the summer they were in town. Steve isn't aware of anybody in Hawkins who would be dealing. And, if he's honest, marijuana isn't a top choice for unwinding. He prefers a beer or a cigarette, something that won't leave a trail of evidence behind.

So, now he's aware that somebody—a stranger—is watching him from a distance. Somebody who goes to school with him. Somebody who deals drugs, maybe even does them. And...their initials are E.M.

He almost wants to shout out for the person to make themself known. But the mystery behind it all is intriguing, to say the least. Like they're playing hard to get. And, Steve doesn't usually go after people that make anything—friendship or romantic relationships—hard on him, but the lack of info, the observance, the knowing somebody has their eyes on and out for him...

Well, that makes something stir in his gut.

And he doesn't know what that says about him. To be swooning, slightly, for somebody without a face. Somebody who could be a stalker if he thinks about it. They're protective, though. And that's not something Steve usually gains from somebody else.

It's frustrating, though, not knowing who this person is. Maybe if he can ask around, maybe get Billy to slip up about his smoking habits.

He wants to put a face to this mystery person.

Wants to...see if they're just as attractive as their instincts.

--------

Next Part is Out! ------>

[jolalibrary]

How about some hds about zemo and a shield! reader 👀 imagine the conflict

for this, I’ve bent the shield bit a touch and had reader a bit like Sharon Carter in CW. and imagine there’s a touch more time in the JCTC before Sam hunts him down.

If you had known who he was when you first took him home, you would have cuffed him to the bed for a different reason.

Instead, you found him enigmatic, handsome, intelligent and even funny. A chance meeting in a bar and now he kept buying you flowers whenever he got the green light you were free.

You never asked what he did. He never asked what you did. The two of you keeping it strictly… after hours.

They all ended the same. One of you on your back, against tiles, against sofa cushions, floors and once you even bent over your kitchen counter.

Your eyes catching his as he runs from the chaos with Barnes. The sound of people fleeing below you, the entranceway screams and shouts bouncing all over the walls.

Your feet taking off before your brain caught up, slamming into him. His eyes catching yours.

“Schatz?”

“Zemo.”

His eyes dart to your gun, kicking it from your reach before slamming into you. Pinning your back on the floor, smirking.

“This feels familiar.”

Growling, you try to pivot him, a soft hmmph leaving his throat as you force him off you. His lips parting, eyes wide as the two of you stare at one another, the gun in between you both.

“Under different circumstances, I’d afford you the luxury of escaping unharmed,” he says, eyes narrowing before he lunges.

Hands grasping for the gun.

You just as quick, moving kicking him into his stomach, grasping for the gun as his hands find your neck. Thumb pressing down, thighs pinning you down hearing soft, little chokes as your nails dig in.

“This also feels familiar,” he smirks, removing one hand, furrowing in his pocket. “Fuck I love your fight, Schatz. But, I need you to sleep now. If you do, I’ll come back for you.”

Your eyes narrowing, full of fire and determination.

“Reward you with that thing I do with my tongue,” he grins. “You’re such a pretty thing, I hope you know that.”

He almost pities you. Even as your lashes begin to flutter, your hands tapping and tapping at his hands.

“I’ll find you when I’m done,” he says with finality, before stabbing your neck with a needle.

Watching the little light left on fading, and fading. Slowly releasing his hand, brows raising as he sees the marks he’s left.

“I hope they’re there when I return,” he mutters, if only to himself, standing as he brushes himself down before fleeing.

[quickspinner]

Month of Miracles Day 1 - Popcorn

Find the prompt list here!

“This is kind of a weird tradition,” Luka commented, picking up another piece of popcorn from the bowl in front of him and considering it. He was tempted to pop it in his mouth, but he knew from several earlier trials that the unseasoned, unbuttered popcorn was bland and not really worth the effort of chewing it. “I’ve seen it in movies and stuff, but I’ve never done it myself.” 

Marinette reached for a piece of popcorn too, but she didn’t hesitate before piercing it with her needle, sliding it down the thread to rest against its previously impaled fellows. “It probably wasn’t weird when it started,” she shrugged, reaching for a cranberry from the neighboring bowl to give the popcorn garland some color. “I don’t know what the history of it is and it’s kind of fallen out of fashion. I really think Maman just got me started on it to keep me busy as a kid. She’d hand me bowls of popcorn and cranberries, and a needle and thread, and I’d spend hours sitting on the floor coming up with different patterns.” She shrugged. “Plus you don’t have to store them, you just throw them out at the end of the season.” She grinned up at Luka. “Biodegradable too.” 

“Well, that is something,” Luka admitted, grinning himself as he tried to find a way to spear the bit of popcorn that would hold. More than once he’d stabbed himself either instead of or in addition to the popcorn, but his fingers were tough and he barely felt it. He was far more aware of Marinette’s thigh pressed against his and her warmth against his side. She was so close that he had to lean back slightly when she pulled her thread through the cranberry, but he didn’t mind. He could have suggested that they portion the supplies into smaller bowls so that they didn’t have to sit so close, but he had no plans to do so unless Marinette was uncomfortable. 

She didn’t seem uncomfortable at all. On the contrary, she was smiling and happy, more light-hearted than he’d seen her in a long time. They chatted and joked while the supplies in the bowls gradually diminished and the garlands draped over their laps grew. Marinette occasionally leaned into him to giggle when something particularly amused her. She buried her face in his arm with a whine when he teased her a bit too far, and then peeked up at him with her pretty blue eyes before hiding her red face in his arm again—possibly because his smile had gotten a little too warm and fond as he looked down at her. 

Luka returned his attention to his work, but the fond smile remained. Despite the silliness of the task, and his general lack of skill at it, Luka was about as happy as he supposed it was possible to be in life. He was warmer here in the living room above the bakery than he ever was on the boat in winter, he’d had an excellent breakfast pastry when he arrived, and Juleka’s texts had been full of glee at her successful holiday shopping endeavors. Marinette was beside him, including him in a tradition she enjoyed, and she was relaxed and content and enjoying herself—there really wasn’t much more he could ask for. 

“That’s it!�� Marinette said cheerfully, bouncing a little as she held up her finished garland. The bowls were empty, and the rug in front of the couch was littered with bits of popcorn. Luka was pretty sure he’d accidentally stepped on a dropped piece and crushed it into bits, but Marinette didn’t seem to care about the mess. 

“Will you help me get it on the tree?” Marinette asked, turning towards him. “You’re taller.” 

“Of course,” Luka smiled, and let Marinette lead him down into the bakery. He draped his garland, which wasn’t nearly as full or as well-made as Marinette’s, on one of the small trees decorating the counter. Then he patiently followed Marinette’s instructions to help her get her garland wrapped around the larger tree. The tree took up half the bakery floor, and there were already a few popcorn garlands wrapped around the lower half. Luka could hear Tom singing in the back, but Sabine was nowhere in sight. After several failed attempts to arrange the top of the tree to Marinette’s satisfaction, Luka finally just wrapped his arms around her legs and picked her up bodily so she could fuss with the garland herself. When she was done he let her slide to the ground, and they both regarded the tree, Marinette with satisfaction, and Luka with contentment. 

Marinette turned to him and Luka looked down at her. “Thank you, Luka,” she said, and popped up on her toes. Luka moved almost unconsciously to receive her usual kiss to the cheek, but instead her hand cupped his face, turning him, and the shock of her lips against his reverberated through his entire body. 

She held it long enough to prove it hadn’t been a mistake or accident, then released him with a mischievous mwah. Luka blinked stupidly at her, his tongue darting out unconsciously to taste her on his lips. Marinette blushed hard but looked extremely pleased with herself. 

“Are you, um…” Marinette gestured vaguely, clearly trying to be nonchalant though she was nearly visibly vibrating with repressed nervous excitement. Her eyes were sparkling and though she was clearly trying to restrain her smile, she wasn’t succeeding very well. “Are you all popcorned out, or would you like to hang out a little longer and watch a movie with me?”

Luka was already grinning stupidly, but now his face was beginning to hurt. “Ah,” he began, raising his eyes to the ceiling to gather himself before he could look back at her and grin with anything approaching smoothness. “The only thing I would like less than popcorn right now is pizza, but...if there’s Dupain-Cheng hot chocolate and biscotti on offer…” 

Marinette leaned forward slightly. “It’s already on the stove,” she said, and then turned, picking up an entire jar of biscotti off the counter as she went. 

Okay, Luka thought as he quickly followed, barely restraining himself from running after her to crush her in his arms, he could admit he’d been wrong. It was actually possible to be happier. 

Fiction Master Post | Month of Miracles

[ellemcu]

I don’t wanna hurt you

 Part 1

Part 2 Your mission in DC

Word count: 1576

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

You grabbed all of your weapons and put on your black suit. You were sitting on your bed, which was a battered old mattress on the ground, waiting to be escorted out of your cell, not thinking of anything in particular until the door swung open and a dozen guards flooded into your tiny cell. You stood up from the ground and studied their faces with a fixed stare, looking deep into their eyes so deeply it was as if you were staring at their soul. You looked around and that's when one of them put a pair of handcuffs on you and brought you to a plane. You didn’t fight back, you had already tried too many damn times and it all brought back to the thing you dreaded the most: torture.

You sat on the plane and it departed quickly, everything was planned perfectly so you couldn't afford being one minute late. The flight was really long but unfortunately you couldn’t sleep, you hadn’t slept in weeks. You kinda feared sleeping because your mind would remember all the lives you took, all the tortures you went through it was as if you were reliving those moments again and again and again. So you kept to yourself, thinking about what moves you were gonna use in your mission, still focused on each and every move the soldiers in the plane made.

After hours you finally arrived in Washington and you were brought in a secret bunker under the city. You waited for the time to strike and went inside a black van. The car kept moving for a couple of minutes until it came to a stop. 

You got out of the car ( looking like a bad bitch) and stood in the middle of an empty road. You saw a tall and muscled man standing in the middle of the road ahead of you. He was wearing a black suit with knee protections, a black mask and some goggles, moving exactly like you did. He looked so familiar so you studied his actions thoroughly until something wasn’t right. 

He was standing exactly where you were supposed to be. 

He was gonna make you fail and you were not gonna let that happen.

You started running full speed towards him reaching down to where your gun was. In less than half a minute you had run up the whole street and was standing a few feet from him. You raised your gun “ Дви��ай мудак (move asshole)” you spat at him. His eyes darted towards you and then his head turned towards a car speeding towards our way. “кто ты, черт возьми (who the hell are you?)” he snapped back at you. You were not gonna let this man who spoke your language stop you therefore you aimed for his leg with your gun so you could question him about why you were identical. 

He hissed in pain and grabbed a pocket knife from his thigh and started flipping it in his hand, ready to strike. You dropped your gun and brought your fists to your chest ready to box. You punched him in the side and was ready to throw an uppercut to him but he tightened his grip on the pocket knife and stabbed you on your shoulder, dragging it down your whole arm . You cried out in pain as you grabbed your 9mm pistol and shot his side. He hissed in pain but grabbed an automatic pistol and aimed for your stomach, he shot the bullet but you dodge it easily. 

He grabbed you by the neck and pushed you against a nearby wall, pushing your head on the wall, not to kill you but to knock you out but as a supersoldier it's almost impossible to knock you out. He was choking you on the wall, slowly tightening his grip, you closed your eyes and without thinking twice you lifted a trash can( with your mind) and threw it against him. He turned his head towards the flying bin which distracted him so you kicked his shin and elbowed the arm which was choking you while he was busy dodging the trash can. He rolled on the floor while you stood exactly where he was earlier, ready to flip your target’s car. 

You took out your vehicle grenade and threw it under the SUV coming your way. You stepped back, letting the car flip in front of you. The car continued to slide down the road until it stopped on its back. 

You walked to the car with a shotgun in your hand, breaking the window but being pushed off by someone with high force, sending you sliding on the hard gravel on your side, face first. You breathed heavily looking towards the car, seeing the tall man standing over the car. He ripped off the side door and looked inside but froze. 

You squinted your eyes to try and see why he had frozen until he retracted himself from the entrance and turned his gaze to you, studying your body. He sighed deeply and began marching in your direction.You weren't scared of him but you knew he wasn’t gonna treat you nicely and after you shot him. You tried to sit up from the ground but a sharp pain stung in all of your body, You had already felt that pain: you had broken your rib. You groaned in pain trying frantically to get up, at least to sit up or kneel on the floor. Lying down on the floor made you vulnerable and you knew that. 

You placed your left hand on your ribcage, trying to ease the pain but suddenly something in your mind clicked. It was as if someone had turned off your ability to sense pain turned on instant kill. You knew it wasn’t gonna last long so you had to act fast.

The man was walking quickly towards you as you got to your feet, blood running down your forehead but you still couldn’t feel it one bit. You grabbed your pocket knife and when he was close enough you threw it with precision to his heart at an incredibly fast speed.

 A normal human being wouldn’t have seen that coming, the knife you would have pierced through the muscle easily and been dead in a few minutes but that man was surely different. He dodged the knife slightly and it hit his shoulder but to your surprise it made a loud clunk while hitting metal and it bounced off his shoulder and  landed on the gravel.

 The man kept striding your way, nothing stopping him. 

Just as he was about to grab you, you picked up the car door that was laying on the ground beside the car and launched it with all of your power towards him. He was standing directly in front of you. You punched him in the ribs and threw yourself in the air, flipping yourself forwards to dodge the car door coming that way. He was clutching his ribcage when the car door hit him violently and made him collapse on the floor.

You breathed in and out after seeing him fall. The effect was wearing off and you were losing too much blood to stay conscious for much longer. You limped to the overturned car and peared in. Fuck. The man had made a hole in the ground and had escaped. You were about to jump in the hole to find the man but your body was incapable of moving. 

You put your whole weight on the car, sliding down the side of it until you were on the pavement breathing shakily. You looked at your arm, blood was gushing out. That fucking bastard, it’s all his fault, I’m gonna kill him. You ripped off your suit covering your ankle to wrap the cloth on your cut to stop the bleeding. After a few moments you stood up and made your way where you had left that mysterious man. You felt an agonizing pain on your hip bone, you slowly raised your top to see a gunshot wound on your pelvis, it was curable but man, it hurt like hell. His shot might have not missed after all.

You raised your head in the direction to where the man had fallen and he wasn’t there anymore. That caught you by surprise as you inspected the full perimeter and there was no trace of the man. “черт(damn it)” you sighed. You started limping back to where you were gonna get picked up by the van. Your mind blank only thinking about your next mission. You couldn’t fail that too.

 The truck was waiting for you at the end of the street. You walked to it, opened the sliding door and shut it quickly. All of the car ride you remained silent with a cold and emotionless facial expression, clutching your ribs.

Your eyebrows knitted together “who the fuck was that man? And why the hell was he there?” you thought to yourself while thinking about all of his actions. 

His moves, his precision, his suit, they all looked too familiar. 

He looked way too much like you.

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

Part 3

So what do you think? sorry if it’s been a while if been busy with school

If you have any requests or if you wanna be tagged tell me , no problem! I really hope you like it.

Elle

[adashofniallandasprinkleoflunacy]

PORNSTAR!HARRY WITH THE NEW BEARD (me? wet)

“What d’you think, then?”

Harry scratches absentmindedly at the thick stubble covering the lower half of his face, the coarse, light brown hairs heavily dusting his upper lip and haloing around his mouth and chin.

His eyebrows perk up at Y/N expectantly, awaiting her response as he sits across from her in the break room, laid out on the sofa with his head mounted against the elbowrest. His arms tighten around the maroon velvet cushion he’s hugging to his chest, a certain anxiousness jittering in his veins. He doesn’t know why her opinion matters to him or why the suspense is tearing his stomach to shreds, but it does and he can’t stop it and it’s fucking annoying, to say the least.

In his line of work, Harry had learned not to make severe emotional attachments to his partners. A platonic relationship is fine— he tended to naturally attract people without much effort and he thrives in social settings; friendships were bound to form— and a casual “friends with benefits” type of arrangement isn’t off the table, either. However, the industry had hardened him into being the kind of person who doesn’t care what others think of him. He never put much thought into people’s mundane concerns towards him (like whether his new beard was attractive or not) unless he had started to develop deeper connections, which then leads to him harvesting feelings, which in turn causes him to act like a complete lovesick moron and usually topples him into an actual solid dating situation. And if there’s anything Harry has painstakingly learned through multiple trials and errors is that being an adult entertainer while simultaneously engaging in a serious relationship never mixes well.

Yet here he is, waiting for their assigned filming room to be ready so they can go in and shoot a scene for a new video. Here he is, playing with a loose seam thread on the couch pillow, tugging at it nervously to give himself something to focus on other than the silence suffocating the room— a silence he himself had instilled by asking such a random, pointed question. Here he is, with sparks firing off in the pit of his tummy as the leg hanging off the side of the sofa bounces restlessly on his heel, toes curling in his pastel yellow Vans. He hasn’t felt this like this in so long he thinks he might vomit right onto the coffee table.

Y/N is extended across the loveseat opposite his, her legs draped over the armrest, knees bent and feet swaying back and forth distractedly. Her hands are cradled against her stomach, fingers sifted together as she taps at her knuckles, head snuggled into a throw pillow identical to his.

She had snapped her head to the side at his sudden question, surprised by the low thrum of his voice reaching across the still air since she thought he had fallen into a nap.

She’d run into him earlier as he had hurried inside the building, Nike gym bag slung over his shoulder and thudding against his hip as he made a beeline for his dressing room, itching for a shower. She figured that after exerting himself with a heavy workout and washing away the tension in his muscles with warm water, he’d probably want to get some sleep in before their shoot in order he to be at the top of his game. But evidently, Harry is wide awake, staring at her over the glass table between their makeshift beds, eyebrows raised in curiosity at her thoughts on the facial hair he’s sporting.

Y/N stares at him thoughtfully for a few seconds, eyes narrowing slightly as she takes in this never before seen appearance.

She’d been working for this company for just over two months now and she had never seen Harry with more than just a light bit of stubble. One can imagine her shock when he had waltzed in with a decently thick bushel covering half his face. She almost didn’t recognize him, being so used to his clean, boyish face rather than a hairy, full-fledged man. She hadn’t quite processed the change since their fleeting interaction prior to his bath, but apparently her take on it interested him and for some unknown reason, that notion makes her cheeks sizzle.

The response she blurts out makes her wish she could implode on command.

“You kinda look like Paul Bunyan.”

Harry blinks at her blankly exactly three times, shifting upwards higher against the armrest and cocking his head to the side in awed confusion. “Pardon?”

Y/N parts her lips to speak but her brain can’t seem to find a way to justify the idiotic, nerve-induced comment she’d just made. After a moment of charged silence, she splutters out a semi-acceptable explanation.

“Y’know, Paul Bunyan. The lumberjack guy? With the blue ox?”

Harry continues to stare at her, emerald irises twinkling with a mystified haze and eyebrows scrunched down in bewilderment.

She swallows quickly, feeling heat crawl up the sides of her neck. “He’s this folklore legend that they use to tell us about back in grade school. Disney even made a cute little short film about him.”

He blinks at her again, not sure how to react to her response since he has no fucking clue what she’s going on about. All he knows is that he wants to calm the ragging in his belly and possibly ebb some type of compliment out of her to tide over the craving for her approval.

He takes a wild stab and hopes for the best.

“So he’s a lumberjack, yeah? That must mean he was ripped. Was he hot?”

Y/N bursts into a round of easy laughter, feeling all the tension wash out of her in a huge wave of relief. Leave it to Harry to be a total dolt at the perfect time.

“Yeah, he was, actually. I used to have a crush on him, despite the fact that he was a literal cartoon.”

Harry’s lips break into a cheeky, satisfied grin, his dimples pinching into place. He sits forward, dropping the couch cushion into his lap and leaning back onto the palms of his hands, head lulling on his shoulder as one of his knees bends upwards to rest his heel at the edge of the sofa. He gives his brows a cocky shrug, well aware of how her gaze momentarily flickers to ogle at his widely parted thighs. He’d made the right call to wear his Adidas joggers, the thin polyester material obviously strained by what resides between his legs.

“Guess that means you have a crush on me now, too. By association.”

Y/N’s glazed eyes dart back up to his face and she tries to cover up her little escapade by snorting humorously, shaking her head lightly in amusement. “He was a bit taller than you, though. Makes him sexier.”

His voice comes out slathered with fake pained insult. “That’s no fair, I can’t even control that! How tall was he? Bet I could take him.”

She bites into her lower lip, a small playful grin peeking around her teeth at the ensuing banter. “Well, according to the myth, he’s seven feet tall.”

Harry scoffs dismissively, swinging an arm forward and settling his wrist over his bent knee, hand turning palm upwards for emphasis. “I can take him, no problem. A foot is nothing.”

Y/N props her chin onto her shoulder, maintaining her comfortable position stretched out across the couch, her back supported by the armrest. She sucks at her teeth in disagreement, pursing her lips with exaggerated contemplation. “I dunno, H. A foot is more than you think. What are you gonna do, jump on his back?”

He points at her warningly with his index finger, tone adamant. “I just fucking might!”

She releases another fit of bubbly giggles, cupping her tummy instinctively and for some reason that simple, unintentionally adorable action makes Harry’s pulse flutter in his temples.

He remains quiet for a bundle of heartbeats, just admiring the way her entire face glows when she smiles. He loves how bright she is— how lively and tender and easy-going. Her personality always shines through, no matter the instance. Whether it’s at a restaurant with their friend group, or at a get together at someone’s house, or when they’re sitting in the break room having a random, silly chat, or when he's balls-deep inside her with cameras trained on their every movement and there’s people watching every brush of their swollen lips, every caress of their heated skin, and every desperate plead whimpered onto eager tongues — no matter the tone and texture of the situation, she’s always the most blinding factor in the room. She’s just so golden.

“So you really think I can’t take this Bunyan bloke?” Harry inquires with a joking edge, his two front teeth chewing at the corner of his mouth to keep himself from grinning like an enamored fool.

“He’s a pretty big guy.” Y/N quips matter-of-factly, giving her shoulders a gentle shrug.

The edges of his lips twitch into a sly smirk. “Yeah, well, I’m pretty big, too...and you can attest to that.”

Even from across the room, he can see the way her whole body tightens at his lascivious dig. Her fingers halt the tapping on her knuckles and her eyes can’t seem to break free from his coy gaze, air struggling to expand her lungs.

Harry somehow always manages to make her speechless and she wishes he didn’t have that hold over her. They’re friends and coworkers; this influence on her could end in a real mess if she isn’t careful and the gig she has here at the company is too good to risk it. The porn industry is littered with producers that exploit their workers and women are more susceptible to this abuse than men, but somehow amidst the pile of shitty businesses, she had managed to book a permanent spot at a facility that treats their workers with the respect and dignity they deserve. Harry had been working here way longer than she had— he’d been here before she even knew the company existed. If things went downhill, she would have to be the one to leave.

Technicalities aside, Y/N’s worst fear is ruining her relationship with Harry. He had been the person that had comfortably eased her into the whole world of sexual entertainment and she would forever be thankful to him for making her experience smooth and seamless. They’d developed a decent friendship along the way, their personalities clicking together perfectly from the second they had been introduced, their chemistry practically palpable. Harry had been her partner in almost all of her videos— save a handful she had done with other stars as a way of testing the waters and branching out— and had introduced her to all of the friends she had made here. He’d shot with her for her first ever video in this profession and helped welcome her into something she had been extremely terrified to try. She cherishes him beyond words, which is why the idea of allowing some harmless flirting to grow into something with the potential to end in disaster outright ices her blood.

What she hates the most is that such a simple cocky comment had sent her into a midlife crisis.

She anchors herself back into reality, clearing her throat softly as her lashes flutter. “You’re a moron.”

Harry cracks a self-assured simper, messing with the chunky rings of the hand hanging off his knee. “You’re not denying it, though.”

Y/N huffs offhandedly, finally breaking the intense eye contact he’d pinned onto her, glossy eyes zoning in on tracing the checkered pattern of her worn sneakers. “Your dick is obviously big or else you wouldn’t have a job here.”

The deadpan bluntness behind her tone sends Harry into a round of boyish snickering. “I know, but I just love hearing you say it. Strokes my ego like nothing else.”

Y/N picks at one of the tears of her cosmetically tattered jeans, a strangely contented smile threatening to string across her lips at the idea of him enjoying the way she specifically praises him. “And we both know how much you love having things stroked, now don’t we?”

Harry bites into the inside of his cheek, humming in agreement deep in the back of his throat. He absolutely adores the way she can go toe to toe with his vulgarity. “Touché. Although, if I recall correctly, you never seem to have any complaints about being the one doing it.”

“S’part of the job.”

“I’m pretty sure your kitchen isn’t one of the designated filming rooms.”

“Practice makes perfect.”  

Y/N’s jaw clenches as she feels Harry’s delighted condescending stare boring into the side of her face. He swings his arms out from behind him, slumping into the backrest of the couch, flexing forearms settling across the light blue fabric of the vintage Mickey Mouse t-shirt stretching over his broad chest. The foot resting on the ground braces itself onto the edge of the coffee table, the one on the couch shifting some, his thighs parting open even wider. She has to resist the urge to look, having to make due with the blurry image registering from her peripheral vision. Even out of focus, he looks incredible.

“D’you know what we’re shooting today?”

The change in topic gifts her the chance to recuperate and regroup; work talk is a sanctuary she is more than happy to inhabit.

Y/N cranes her neck to look over at Harry, refusing the impulse to check him out in his new, much more revealing position, meeting his eyes with an indifferent attitude that hides how buzzed he truly has her. “It’s something for a series you’re doing on your channel, right?”

Harry bobs his head in an easy nod, thumbing over the inside of his right elbow— a mindless mannerism. His lips twitch into a goofy grin. “Wanna know what I named it?”

“Something dumb, probably.”

“How Many Licks Does It Take To Make a Cherry Pop?”

Y/N sighs heavily through her nose. “Expected no less. It’s a bit long, though, don’t you think?”

“Maybe a little but the Wow Factor outsells.”

“Whatever you say.” Y/N checks the time on her phone, slipping it back into her rear jean pocket. They’d been sitting here waiting for their call for almost fifteen minutes now. “So from the looks of it, it’s mainly based around eating girls out?”

Harry scratches at the back of his neck casually, playing with the ringlets that curl along the nape of his neck. “Mmhm. Just thirty minutes of me making you cum as many times as I can with my tongue.”

The shells of Y/N’s ears burn. “Sounds like a dream. I’m getting paid just to lay there and I won’t even have to take off all my clothes.”

“Good karma, I suppose.” Harry glances impatiently towards the door of the break room, eager to get started. He doesn’t really know why, but he’s just gained an abrupt hunger to be nose deep between her thighs right this second. “Although, do you think you can pull your shirt up? Y’know how much I love a good view and you just look so fucking good in lace.”

She kinks an eyebrow up in mild shock at his accurate statement, pushing down the way his admiration makes her pulse skip a beat. “How did you know I was wearing lace?”

His tongue sweeps over the front of his teeth teasingly, Cupid’s Bow curving with a hint of perceptive glee. “Because you know it makes my balls ache.”

Y/N’s thighs unintentionally clasp together at his crudeness and she decides to put his insight to the test. “What color am I wearing, then?”

Harry sits forward, interest elating his limbs, forearms flushing against his thighs as he twiddles his thumbs between his separated knees. He takes a second to think it through, tilting his chin up slightly with a confident air. “Pastel peach.”

Her hands slap down against her tummy, the action tainted with disbelieving outrage. “How’d you know?!”

He chews on his bottom lip pensively as if carefully sewing his words together. “Because I complimented you the last time you wore it.”

A rush of white hot energy surges through Y/N’s entire nervous system. “Didn’t think you’d remember since you always compliment everyone.”

Harry shakes his head gently, twisting a metal rose ring around his middle finger. “Always remember you.”

An electrified silence falls between them, zizzing every molecule in the chilled air.

Y/N is well aware of the large number of people Harry’s been with and she had always assumed she would melt into the masses without much of a second thought. But here he was, telling her that she stood out to him enough that he could vividly recall the little odds and ends of flattery he gave her. It probably wasn’t much of anything and he was just being his polite, courteous self, but it made her stomach somersault nonetheless.

Her lips part open as if to speak, but her vocal chords can’t seem to find the pitch of her voice. She just lays there with her mouth agape for a second or so, fishing for a response that her brain has yet to conjure. Harry waits in anticipation, wanting to know her thoughts on small but meaningful confession.

Y/N is saved by a collection of swift hard knocks to the door of the room.

The knob turns and the door cracks open, a familiar face peeking in, bare chest covered in a sheen of short, disheveled hair and a complimentary company robe. Niall— a mutual friend and fellow entertainer— throws up a relaxed wave, icy blue eyes lighting up with the effortless jolliness he’s so well known for.

His voice filters through the heavy atmosphere, his thick Irish accent cutting the tension like a knife. “Oi, Jeff told me to come get you. Room’s set up.”

Harry licks over his lips absently, keeping his muted olive irises glued to Y/N for an extra heartbeat before breaking away, forcing an easy smile for Niall’s sake and matching it with banter. “Couldn’t come get us himself? Lazy prick.”

The sky-eyed young man shrugs his shoulders sloppily, his exorbitant laughter bouncing off the walls. “Was headed for my dressing room to clean up and you guys happened to be a pit stop on the way so it wasn’t much trouble.”

Harry pushes himself onto his feet, stretching out his back and twisting his torso from side to side. “S’about time, too. Been sitting here so long I thought my bones were gonna cement.”

Niall whistles sympathetically. “That’d be real shit for business.”  

The British boy sputters into his next sentence with a flurry of giggles. “Fuck off.”

Y/N speaks up for the first time since before Niall burst in. “Jeff would basically lose all his income. Can you imagine the headlines? ‘World renowned adult entertainer Harry Styles hospitalized, leaving mother company in shambles!’”

“A right Shakespearean tragedy, that is.” Their blonde friend cackles, the suspicious bite marks on his lower lip tinting darker as his skin stretches.

“Lucky for me, I already have experience with Shakespearean tragedies.” Harry quips proudly, walking towards the exit and standing beside Niall with his arms crossed over his stomach nonchalantly.

The fellow pornstar scowls jestingly, reaching forward and tugging at the corner of Harry’s mustache. “Romeo and Juliets: The Four-Crossed Lovers doesn’t count, Obi-Wan.”

“Whatever.” Harry snaps in return, slapping Niall’s fingers out of his facial hair and smothering him with the palm of his hand, shoving the boy out the door. “Go clean the jizz off yourself.”

“Go clean the jizz off yourself.” The shorter man mimics mockingly, backing away from the door with both of his middle fingers prevalent.

Once Niall’s gone, Harry glimpses back at Y/N over his shoulder, coughing awkwardly. “So I guess I’ll see you in there, yeah?”

“Yeah.” She gives him a timid, watery smile, barely nodding her head.

“Alright. Show time, Peach Lace.”

The joking nickname eases the pressure of the situation to a bearable level. She repeats his phrase in agreement, shrugging her brows as cool and collected as her churning tummy will allow. “Show time.”

Harry’s messy quiff of curls disappears down the corridor that leads to their designated room and Y/N can properly gulp down air for the first time since he asked her what she thought about his beard.

It’s then that she realizes she never really answered his question directly, but she gets the feeling that he knows where her opinion lies.

[pentopaper23]

Klaroline Prompt - #34 “How long have you been standing there?”

Caroline knew he was there leaning against the door frame of their bedroom, she felt his stare on her back as she brushed the tangles out of her hair. The bath towel she had wrapped around her body barely covered her ass, the edge brushing her upper thighs. She leaned forward a little so that the edge raised ever so slightly higher, she heard him growl. Locking eyes with him in the mirror she saw him brush his hand over the front of his pants, blue eyes locked with yellow ones and she bit her lip when saw noticed that his fangs are dropped down.

“How long have you been standing there?” She asked, turning around to lean back on the mirror letting her towel fall open revealing her bare hip. Klaus’s eyes followed the split as it moved again to reveal some of her tone stomach. Pushing off the door frame he stalked over to her his eyes trailing up her body.

“Long enough,” He said leaning into her personal space, he ran his nose along her neck his fangs grazing her pulse point leaving a red line of broken skin. Caroline groaned at the sting of his venom entering her blood stream, she felt his hand gently push her head towards his wrist. Her eyes closed as her fangs pierced his skin and she moaned around his wrist as blood flooded her mouth, she drank quickly. After what felt like forever Klaus pulled his wrist away from her mouth and ran his thumb over the healing broken skin of her neck watching in fascination as the skin knitted itself back together.

He leaned forward to lick the fading line, Caroline groaned as she felt him lean his weight against her, his overheating skin….wait. Overheating skin? Caroline thought, her eyes snapped open and she pushed him away. Reaching up she cupped his surprised face fulling taking him in for the first time. He was panting his chest was rising and falling in rapid movements, his skin was covered in a thin layer of sweat and most noticeable were his double fangs that had dropped and his vampire eyes in full bloom. Caroline quickly counted in her head and sighed in remembrance.

Klaus was in heat.

Caroline mentally kicked herself for not realising sooner, her eyes darted to the window that framed the almost full moon. Klaus was nuzzling his cheek into her palm, looking back she smiled softly at him as she rubbed her thumbs gently over the pulsing veins under his eyes. She pressed her lips softly against his feeling him pant into her mouth as she pulled away. Klaus hands tightened around her waist, she felt the blood vessel burst under his fingertips, her skim blooming with deep purple fingerprints.

“What do you want?” Caroline moaned pushing herself away from the mirror, she wrapped her arms around his neck and he pulled her flush against him. He bumped his nose against hers and they played for a while until Klaus let out a whine and rolled his hips against her. Caroline laughed and pulled away from him again.

“What do you want?” this time she asked with more force breaking his wandering mind. He growled at her and spun them so he could throw her on to the bed. She bounced and leaned back on her elbows, Klaus was slipping his shirt off and unbuttoning his pants as he stalked towards the bed. Caroline let her legs relax and part, she saw Klaus’s nose sniff and he ripped the zipper of his pants down with so much force that she heard the little teeth break off and fall to the ground. She smirked. Klaus shook his head.

“Don’t tease me.” He snapped kicking off his pants and reaching for her legs. He pulled her roughly to the end of the bed, her towel bunching up around her hips leaving her bare for him. He ran his hands up and down her legs his fingertips just brushing against the soft skin at the apex of her thighs. Caroline let out a sigh and her head rolled back against the quilt cover. She let out a soft scream when Klaus’s tongue joined his hands leaving a cold wet train from her ankles up to just below her bellybutton. She felt her nipples tighten as the towel was untucked and ripped out from under her, she realised at that moment she had has her eyes closed, she blinked up at him. He was panting more now and there was small droplets of sweat running down his chest, his stomach was moving in and out as he breathed. Her eyes finally trained down over his stomach to his cock, it was stand up against his lower stomach a small bead of milky precum sitting on the end. The base has slightly widened the start of his knot forming, Caroline’s insides clenched and she felt a new wave of wetness flood her pussy a single bead rolling down the inside of her thigh. Klaus clenched his hands into fist at his sides his control was slipping. Caroline stood up placing a hand on his chest to push him backward, he stumbling over his feet as he took a small step backwards his eyes not leaving her, she flicked her thumb over his nipple and watched as his cock jerked and leaked more pre-cum from the tip.

Caroline slowly turned round and crawled onto the bed, she looked back over her shoulder when she heard him swear under his breath and reach down to squeeze tightly around the base of his cock, she giggled and he flashed his fangs at her moving towards the bed, but Caroline shook her head and he came to a standstill cocking his head to the side in question. Bending at the waist Caroline braced herself on her elbows and bend forward into the bed, her legs parted and she arched her ass into the air. She heard Klaus groan and the wet sound of his sliding his hand up his length. Caroline took a deep breath and moved further forward to hold all her weigh on her right shoulder, turning her head to the side so her cheek was resting on the bed she reached down to part her folds with one hand. She smelt her arousal as she sunk a finger into her wet heat groaning as she brushed against her g-spot. Slowly she moved her finger in and out gasping each time she brush that place inside herself. Her hips jumped and she let out a loud moan when her wet finger rubbed against her hard clit. Rubbing it in fast circles she felt herself tumble over the edge for the first time tonight, her release flowing down her wrist. She let out a deep groan when she felt Klaus’s hands on her hips pulling her closer to the edge of the bed, her hand shot out to join the other in bracing herself against the bed and her back arched further when she felt Klaus’s tongue against her wet opening. 

“Klaus...now who’s teasing?” she laughed as he felt his tongue enter her heat. Caroline yelped as Klaus smacked her ass with an open palm the sound echoing around the room. When Klaus ran his hand over the heated skin he felt her shiver when his fingertips brush the skin on the inside of her cheeks, but when his finger brushed against the knotted skin of her anus Caroline jumped forward out of his reach.

“Settle Caroline, we are not doing that tonight” he soothed as he pulled her back to within his reach.

“Okay, sorry…I” Caroline blushed with embarrassment hiding her face in the covers.  Klaus sighed and spun her around to look at him. He cupped her face between his hands and made her look at him.

“You never apologies for not liking something that we do in bed. You hear me?” Klaus asked forcefully, but not unkindly, Caroline nodded but Klaus shock his head.

“I want to hear you say it,” Klaus continued, “I need to hear you say it.” He said holding her eye line, a tear fell onto her cheek and he wiped it away with this thumb.

“I never have to apologies for not liking something that we do in bed” She replied in a quiet voice, Klaus sighed and wiped away another tear and all thoughts of continuing left his mind. 

“Do you want to stop?” He asked moving his head down to keep her eye line.

Caroline smiled and leaned forward to kiss him, “No, not for a second. But thank you for asking”.

The bump noses again, and Klaus placed a kiss on her forehead.

“Now…where were we?” Caroline said trailing her hand down his stomach to grasp his cock, even during their brief conversation he hadn’t grown soft and was still leaking pre-cum from the tip. He grunted as she moved her hand up and down his shaft her thumb flicking over the head with each pass. He let his head roll back and his eyes closed letting his mind concentrate on the slide of her hand, when he felt his lower stomach start to tense and his hips started to move against her he grabbed her upper arms and spun her back around throwing her on the bed again. She landed with a small huff as the air was knocked out of her and she struggled to brace her elbows before Klaus pulled her hips up aching her back again. Caroline let out a moan when she felt his tongue flick against her opening, the slick slide as he pushed his lounge inside made her back arch further and her legs widened to open more to him. 

“Ready love?” Klaus asked as he lined up his cock with her opening, she nodded and then the let out a loud moan as she felt herself stretch painfully around the head of his cock. She reached around to confirm her suspicion and felt the knot at the base of his cock. His cock had already swelled to his in heat size, Klaus was above average on a normal day but when he was I heat everything was bigger. His cock swelled to a size that Caroline was unable to wrap her fingers around and the knot at the base was eye watering wide and not to mention the length, it was typical for Caroline to have trouble sitting the next day after Klaus knotted her, if she was human the pain of him hitting her cervix would have made her pass out, but due to her vampire healing she only felt a slight stabbing pain with each thrust and she would be lying if she said she didn’t enjoy the slight pain.

Caroline jumped as Klaus’s hand came down on her ass and she realised that she had never answered him, spreading her legs further Caroline nodded and Klaus thrusted home in one slick slide. He groaned and laid himself over her back, his head nuzzling into her neck. Caroline wrapped her arms around his neck as he set a punishing pace, the sound of slapping flesh was heard throughout the room. Caroline screamed when she fell over the edge for the second time that night, she felt a rush of hot liquid run down her ass and on to the bedcover. Klaus laughed and brush the hair away from her face, his thrusts slowly so he was grinding against her as he spoke.

“How does it feel being fucked by the big, bad wolf?' Klaus teased her as he began to again force his overlarge cock into his beautiful wife. The force of Klaus's thrusts had Caroline’s inside clenching down again, her third orgasm just sitting out of reach, she flung her hand above her head as she arched her back again and moved her hips to meet his thrusts. He dug his fingers into the skin of her hips to stop her from moving and pulled her roughly into this cock, Caroline screamed in pleasure and a little bit of pain as he slammed against her cervix. She saw dark spots behind her eyes as she came for the third time, Klaus’s movements didn’t stop, he pushed in and out of her clenching pussy pushing past the hard muscles that were trying to push him out.

“Your cock feels so good! Klaus….oh my…faster” Caroline cried out as she was stretched to her limits by Klaus’s cock. She spread her legs wider and Klaus didn't need telling twice. He began to fuck her in earnest,

"Fuck yes! Fuck me!" Caroline cried out aloud, arching her back again as her wolf fucked her mercilessly, using her tight cunt for his pleasure. Klaus felt his knot swell and a tight feeling filled his stomach and lower back, he thrust forward and bumped the tight knot against her pussy lips, she moaned when she felt it. She would feel herself break in two if he put his knot inside of her, but she still wanted it. She reached down between her legs and began to rub her clit in little circles as Klaus fucked her, nipping her shoulders as he impaled her on his cock.

"I need to be knotted, Klaus, please," Caroline begged her hand grasping the bedcovers making her knuckles turn white.

“One more sweetheart. Just one more.” Klaus panted as he watched her rub her clit, rammed into her once, twice and one more time before she stilled in his arms, her mouth opening in a silent scream as her pussy gushed on his cock. Klaus smacked her hand away from her clit replacing it with his, he moved his fingers against it at vampire speed causing Caroline to try to escape his arms in reaction to the overstimulation. He placed he hand on her tightening stomach and stopped her movements, his fingers still blurring against her clit. He felt her inner walls flutter and then watched as her face scrunched up in pleasure fill pain. Klaus paused his thrusting when she screamed as she came again, her legs shaking against his hips and a gush of female cum soaked the sheets below. Klaus slowed his finger against her clit to a point where he was gently rubbing his nail against it. Caroline flinched with each past of his finger, she was panting and had an arm thrown over her eyes. Klaus leaned down to kiss her and smiled when he felt her roll her hips against him. She was making little gasping sounds as she fucked herself on his cock, Klaus looked down to watch his hard length sinking in and out of her. He pressed his palm against her clit and push down hard. Her hips jerked and a small gush of liquid covered his cock. He planted his hands against the bed pushing his hip against her, they locked eyes as he started to pick up his pace. Caroline’s eyes rolled back in her head as he slammed back into her.

“Fuck Caroline,” Klaus gasped as he felt his knot tighten and become harder. He started fucking into Caroline with renewed vigour and began to force his knot inside Caroline’s tight hot hole, his throbbing cock stretching her further and further open. He growled as he worked, pumping his hips over and over to get her pussy to give up, to accommodate his massive wolf knot.

Caroline screamed in pain and pleasure as Klaus's knot was forced inside her soft pussy, her cunt slipping open just enough to accommodate the hot knot. It was so big and hard and filled her obscenely. Klaus fell forward placing his hands either side of her head as he used shorter, more regular thrusts now to keep his fat knot inside of Caroline. His cock surged with heat and he began to fill Caroline's hole with his seed. He whined happily, fucking Caroline’s slit gently to ease the knot into her more securely, it was his turn to grab the bedcovers as he panted working his hips back and forward and he yelled out when his orgasm washed over him. He felt Caroline clamp down on his cock as she also came with a yell of his name, her body became still and all of the muscles tensed.

Klaus’s hunched over her again and again, fucking her softly, drawing out her orgasm. His knot was tightly sealed in her pussy and he could feel his cum still flowing into. He let out a breath and fell forward, all of his weight pushing her into the mattress. Caroline let out a small scream as his cock was pressed further into her fluttering pussy.

The pair laid connect for a few moments, Klaus hips still rolling into her his cock still leaking cum into her knotted pussy. Caroline was letting out small sighs as his cock brushed again her inside wall sending little sparks of arousal through her body. Klaus could feel his cock slowly beginning to stop spurting cum inside her, but his knot was still hard and tight stretching her pussy open. He slowly rolled onto his side bringing Caroline with him he spooned her, his arms wrapped around chest and his hands cupped her breast his fingers gently rolling her nipples. Caroline whined at the feeling of his fingers on her nipples, she turned her head to kiss Klaus’s lips.

“Mmm…” Caroline moaned as she felt herself start to tighten again on Klaus cock, with a hard twist of her nipples he had her flying over the edge again, he legs shook with the feel of her pussy clamping down on his knot and he felt his cock leak the last of his release into her.  The pair relaxed down into the mattress unintentionally matching each other breathing.

Caroline found herself string out the window at the moon again, it was low in the sky now, it silver light dimming in the arriving the sun’s rays. She gasped and clenched her internal walls when she felt Klaus push her hips away and slide his softening cock out of her.

“No,” She said shuffling back so that her ass was aligned with his hips again, she reached over to grasp his cock and moving it to her wet opening again. “Back inside please.” She felt Klaus smile against the neck and then felt his fangs sink into her neck as he entered her again. Caroline sigh contently as Klaus’s breath evened out and he feel asleep, smiling again at the moon she followed him into sleep.

[littlebitoffanfic]

His Wife

Fandom: Texas Chainsaw Massacre Characters: Thomas Hewitt Relationship: Thomas/reader Request: If you are doing Thomas Hewitt, if like to request a story? Where the reader is Thomas's wife and she's lost after her and Thomas chase down a victim. They split up in the darkness accidentally, the victim finds a few friends that were looking for him. They attack the reader and Thomas finds her after killing them.

 Knocking on the metal door, you stood back for a moment as you heard footsteps. As he pulled the door open, you couldn’t help but smile. His large frame was panting slightly from the heavy work. Even after years of marriage to Thomas, you still felt your heart race when he was like this. Panting, his muscles building under his shirt as his blood-covered frame towered over you. “Hoyt just called. Hes got a few more coming in about 10 minutes.” You told Thomas, taking a step closer and placing your hand on his chest, feeling  his heart. It wasn’t racing (like you could make it) but was certainly beating a little harder than normal. “Perhaps you should take a break till they come? Make sure you have your strength?” It was a thinly veiled question to spend time with you, but Thomas didn’t see though it. He didn’t want to see weak, or that he was unable to provide for you so shook his head and was about to turn when you took his tie in your hands, holding him in place. Going up on your tiptoes, pulling him down simultaneously so your meet in the middle as you kiss him. Now this he understood. A groan left his chest as his arms wrapped instinctively around your waist, his hands roaming your back and down to your rear. When you had first started dating, there was no chance Thomas would have done this, but years of trust and showing him what he could do had given him the confidence to (as long as you were alone). Gently stepping back, you pulled him with you. Without breaking the kiss, his hand reached behind him to grab the door and push it shut as he followed you. Oh how you loved how easily you could distract him. His family probably cursed you for it some times, but you didn’t care. Breaking the kiss, you pulled him into the living room. The TV was on, but Monty was sitting out on the porch in the sun so you were alone. Pushing him backwards so he fell down to sit on the couch, you straddled his lap. A soft growl left his chest, almost like a warning, but you just winked at him. You knew there wasn’t enough time to have sex. Thomas was passionate in that area, and you were guaranteed at least 30 minutes whether its rough or soft and sweet. But that didn’t mean you couldn’t have fun now. Besides, he was now holding you down with his hands on your thighs, so you weren’t the sole tormenter here. Carefully, you removed his mask, setting it beside him for safety. His eyes dropped when it was gone, and suddenly this hulking man seemed a lot smaller and more frightened. cupping his scared cheeks in your hand, you brought his eyes back to you and leaned forwards, pressing your forehead against his. A deep, content sigh left Thomas as his hands gently squeezed your thighs. His eyes closed, basking in the intimate gesture as he focused everything on you. You placed a chase kiss to the side of his lips, bringing him out of his thoughts to lean forward and capture your lips. You smirk against his lips as he kisses you, thinking about how moment ago he had been irritated by your kisses and how they distracted him and now he was kissing you. You couldn’t help but roll your hips against his, feeling the growing bulge as you did so. You moaned against his lips, your hands slipping around  to the back of his head so you could play with his hair. A shiver ran down his body at your touch, and for a moment, you totally forget about everything else in the world as you kissed the man you loved. Until you heard 4 loud thuds from outside. Simultaneously, you and Thomas both groaned as you parted, looking towards the window as the cop car pulled up out front. “We’ll need to continue this later.” You signed, feeling all wound up and bothered by the kiss. of course, so did Thomas. His hands clamped on your thighs, stopping you from getting up. You raised an eyebrow at him, and his grip loosened. Getting to your feet, you heard Hoyt yelling for Thomas just as he followed you. Walking to the door, you stepped out first, noticing the three in the back of the car. Three men in their late twenties. You saw them look at you then their eyes went wild as they saw the great mass the came out behind you. Chcukling, you stepped to stand beside Monty on the porch as Thomas went to grab the two men while Hoyt pulled the youngest man out who was crying hysterically. “Wish they wouldn’t yell so loud. Damn annoying.” Monty complained. “It wont be for much longer. Hopefully.” You giggle as you picked up his empty glass. “refill?” “yeah, cheers.” Monty smiled and nodded as he turned his attention to the sky again.

-------------time skip ---------------------

It had all went to shit at dinner time. As much as you hated blaming Thomas for anything at all, he didn’t bind down one of the guys. They got free and managed to free the others. You had been serving out dinner with Luda when you noticed something in the back garden, moving. “Fuck.” You cursed, the plate falling out your hand as Luda gasped. “Language!” She chastised, having not been paying attention. But you darted to the bathroom up stairs where Thomas was cleaning up. “We have a problem.” You tell him, your voice shaking with worry as you run to your bedroom and grabbing the scissors you had been using earlier in the day. Thomas had already raced down stairs, ignoring the rest of the family as he grabbed his chainsaw from the now empty basement. You met him in the hallway to the front door and he grabbed your arm. “Hoyts passed out from drink, Thomas. And theres 3 of them. Im coming.” You said with authority as you yanked your hand out of his grip and moved past him quickly and out the front door. Luda had heard, gasping and racing to get Hoyt up. But Thomas wasn’t going to wait around for him. Suddenly, something felt wrong to him. He hated having you in danger, let alone danger he had put you in or was a result of his actions. Racing after you, you both had the same thought. They would go to the old meat factor. the Hewitt’s still had access to it, despite it being closed down. And there was lights that were visible from the house. It’s the most logical place for someone to go, thinking there might be employees there. You kept ahead of Thomas, still aggravated that he had caused this issue. You knew he meant no harm, and he did try his best, but it still wasn’t something you were happy being apart of. as you entered the large factory, you could clearly hear footsteps upstairs. You followed them, climbing the stairs cautiously. But you didn’t notice that Thomas had heard something coming from down the hall. The two of you followed the sound without even noticing you were splitting up. You had got to the top of the stairs and around a corner before glancing back to Thomas, only to find he wasn’t there. “Thomas?” You hissed, your voice breaking. You didn’t like doing this. You hated being here at night. You hated chasing people. Why didn’t he come with you? But footsteps from the end of the hall drew your attention back. You couldn’t call out to him. Mainly because it would give your position away but also he cant answer you. Entering the room, you knew there was another door which let to another set of stairs on the other side of the building on the opposite wall. So you didn’t expect them to be camped in there because theres two entrances. It just didn’t seem right. Until you felt someone kick you in the back of the knee. Twisting, you just managed to stay balanced as one of the man charged at you. He had no weapons, but he was double your side. He pushed you against the desk, causing pain to rush through your body. You swipe the scissors at him, managing to catch his arm and slice him. When he was distracted, you raised the scissors and drove them right into his left eye socket. He collapsed to the floor as you yanked the scissors out.  But you forgot there was 3 in total. The blow to the back of your head is what took you down to the floor. You let out a scream that bounces off the walls around the empty factory. Another kick to the side followed by someone stomping down on your back. you still had a hold of your scissors so holding them like a knife, you raised them and stabbed them into one of the mens feet. A howl escaped him as the other two kicked you harder. They caught your face a few times, and you screamed with every kick because they were putting their full force behind. You tried to cover your face but one held your hands against the floor. Then suddenly, it stopped only to be replaced by someone slicing at your skin with the scissors. Three times you felt the pain on your right arm twice then left cheek and it stopped.  As you lay on the ground, you saw the glint above you as the black haired man raised the scissors above his head, ready to drive them down into you while the other pants. Tears ran down your cheeks as you realized this was your end. A figure emerged in the doorway. It froze, taking in the situation. You were so dizzy and on the verge of unconsciousness that you didn’t even realize it was Thomas. He had heard your screams and followed them. Everything happened so quickly. He charged at the guy who was holding the scissors, like an enraged bull. Grabbing him by the neck, he raised him up off the ground and then slammed him back to the concreate floor so hard that you heard the dull thud of his skull connecting with the ground. But Thomas didn’t linger. He was very aware of the other man, who now turned to run from the room, unwilling to face the masked man. But Thomas was quick. He grabbed the man by the hair and hauled him back off his feet. Thomas threw him like a ragdoll across the room. The first man started to move again, groaning as blood poured from somewhere on his head and out his mouth. But Thomas was quick to react. Raising his foot, he bought it down onto the mans head. A grotesque crack noise filled the air as his body went limp. Swooping down, Thomas grabbed the scissors out of the mans hand and turned back to the second who was trying to scramble off the floor. Thomas threw the scissors like they were throwing-knifes and they tore through the mans left temple straight into his brain, killing him. His body swayed before dropping back to the floor on his left side and you saw the scissors be pushed further in right up to the handle as the weight of his head pressed down. Thomas took a moment, making sure there was no more threats before his attention turned to you. In all honestly, you were a mess. Blood from both your own wounds and theirs cover you and you were struggling to stay awake. Thomas swooped down, lifting you into his arms as you winced and cried out in pain. “Why did you leave?” You sobbed, fear and pain raking through your body. He didn’t answer you. He couldn’t. he carried you out of the room, not paying a second thought to the bodies in the room. As he carried you, you felt yourself unable to fight to stay awake. But when you rested your head on his chest, he shook you. It caused a fresh wave of pain to course through your body as you yelped. You tried again and got the same reaction. “That hurts.” You growl at him through gritted teeth, unable to understand why he was causing your pain. you weren’t able to think straight, to rationalise that he was trying to keep you awake because he knew what happened when people passed out. Sometimes, they don’t wake up. He couldn’t talk to you, tell you to keep awake and that he’ll make sure you’re okay. And you weren’t able to take in all the little things that would normally be able to tell you this. You didn’t notice how he winced every time you cried out, or how his thumbs were gently rubbing the parts that he was holding. It didn’t matter how many times he shook you, because about half way home you lost your battle and your head lolled back as you fell unconscious.

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

When you awoke, your whole body felt stiff and sore. Not in terms of pain, but more like when you wake up from sleeping in a weird or uncomfortable position. Your head hurt a little, and you mouth was dry. Opening your eyes, you saw the sunlight being blocked from your window by the closed curtains. Sitting up, you felt a few pangs of pain, but your back also hurt and you needed to stretch it. You looked to the other side of your bed. Thomas normally slept with you until you were awake. Even if he woke at the crack of dawn, he would stay until you were awake so he could get ready with you. But he wasn’t there. That was when the memories came flooding back to you. The victims, their escape, the factory, the scissors, Thomas. As if hearing your thoughts, the door to the room opened. The something strange happened. Thomas stepped inside, looking directly at you then started to leave before freezing. He seemed to stop breathing as he blinked. It was clear he had been checking on you, but apparently he hadn’t expected you to be awake. Slowly, he opened the door so he could fully come into the room. He took 3 hesitant steps towards you, as if testing the waters and also making sure it wasn’t a dream. You couldn’t help but smile at him. No matter how angry you had been at him, you still loved him dearly and seeing him still made butterflies erupt in your chest. Your smiled seemed to break Thomas. He was beside you in a heartbeat, kneeling as he took your hands in his own and lowered his head onto them. His shoulder shook as he desperately clung to you. You were shocked at this response. But then again, the last time you had been awake, it hadn’t been pretty. Thomas was clearly raked with guilt as you manged to pull one of your hands free so you could run it through his hair to sooth him. It had the desired effect as he calmed down, relaxing under your touch. Leaning forward, you pressed a kiss to the top of his head as you ignored the pulsing pain from having to move. moving your hand to cup his chin and draw his face towards you, you noticed the dark circles under his eyes and he looked a little ill. He reached up, cupping your face and pushing some hair back out of your eyes. His hands were still shaking, so you raised your hand to cup over his right one as you leaned into his touch, closing your eyes. You could communicate with him properly when you were better, find out what happened. But for now, all that was important was that you were still here, and he relished in that fact. He held you, vowing to never let you go again just as he had when you first got married. you were still his wife, and he was so thankful for that.

[someonefantastic]

They Look So Pretty When They Bleed

I had fun interpreting this prompt :) This was gonna be my longest fic so far but tomorrows fic actually is longer so look forward to that. Anyways yay for making it to double digits! Also this is set ambiguously in s8 cause I love me some established shules. Summary: Shawn and Juliet are having a nice date night, what could go wrong? Warnings: stabbing, blood loss, passing out, some innuendos but nothing too outside of the show also on ao3 (this gets kinda long so it’d be better accessed on ao3 tbh) ___ “So Mr. Spencer,” Juliet started as they exited the restaurant and turned on to the boardwalk, “Where to now?”

Shawn grinned and grabbed her hand, a bounce in his step. “Well Detective O’Hara, I was thinking we’d go back home and pop in a movie. Maybe a little Netflix and chill action hmm?” He waggled his eyebrows.

She threw her head back, her laughter only causing his grin to widen. “You have a one-track mind sometimes.”

“Oh, I always have a one-track mind when it comes to you,” He smirked.

She rolled her eyes. “You know, that would be almost romantic if we weren’t just talking about sex.”

He gave a half shrug. “Tomato, cucumber.”

As her laughter subsided, he caught her looking at him out of the corner of his eye. “What?”

She gave him a soft smile, “Nothing. I just like looking.”

Even after almost three years of dating, his cheeks still flushed at the compliment. “Thanks. I like your face too.”

“Thanks, Shawn.”

“Anytime babe.”

It was a beautiful night. A warm, salty breeze came off of the ocean, turning the sticky humidity of the day into a gentle glow. Music faded in and out, as they passed restaurants and clubs, a chaotic symphony of noise. Waves crashed in the distance and the wooden slats creaked beneath their feet.

Shawn tugged on her hand, leading her towards the parking lot. Underneath a streetlight sat her green VW beetle, the interior illuminated. A tall man, clad in jeans and a hoodie stood by the front door, patting his pockets with fervor.

They exchanged looks.

“Is he trying to steal my car?” Juliet whispered, eyes darting from him to the guy.

He shook his head, “I doubt it. He doesn’t seem like the type. Look at him, he seems like he’s looking for his keys. Probably got your car mistaken for his own.”

She cocked an eyebrow. “You think he drives a green beetle?”

“Gus drives a blue echo.”

Pursing her lips, she bopped her head from side to side. “You’ve got a point.”

He turned his attention to the man who was still frantically searching his pockets. “Hey man, lost your keys?”

The guy jumped, whirling around, his eyes wide. Actually, he was more like a boy, had to be in his early twenties at least.

“Uh, yeah. I can’t seem to figure out where I put them.” His voice wobbled as he spoke.

He shifted his feet and Shawn noticed something glint in the corner of his sweatshirt pocket. Subtly, he took a small step forward, making sure he was closer to the guy than Juliet.

“Dang man, I hate when that happens. I lose everything. Last week I lost half a ham sandwich in my best friend’s desk. Boy was he not happy about that.” He chuckled.

The guy didn’t laugh, his eyes darting around the parking lot.

“Well anyway, I think I know one problem here.” The man’s eyes snapped to his face. “This isn’t your car.”

Shawn saw the muscles in his arms tense before he moved. His hand shifted inside his pocket, eyes wild and scared.

There was no time, he had to protect Jules.

The second he stepped in front of her, it seemed like the whole world slowed down. He saw the guy pull out a knife, the streetlights glinting off of the patches of metal that weren’t rusted. He watched as the knife was jabbed into his stomach, cutting through his grey button-up shirt and piercing his skin.

His vision blurred, a dull ringing beginning to creep into his ears. He was frozen, unable to move or speak in a mix of shock and something he couldn’t quite place. All he could do was watch as the guy moved towards Juliet. And as much as he wanted to tackle the guy or do something to protect her, he knew she could take care of herself.

His point was made as the assailant was met with a swift punch to the nose. That was his Jules.

Clutching his bruised, if not broken, appendage in his hand, she took advantage of the situation. Pulling up her dress’ skirt- if he was in his right mind he may have commented on that being incredibly sexy- and unholstering her gun.

“SBPD. Drop the knife.” Her voice was even and her eyes icy.

Blood was now running down the guy’s hand and his eyes were unfocused but he complied. The knife clattered to the ground. Not wasting any time she shoved him up against the side of the car, detaching handcuffs from her other thigh and clasping them around his wrists. At this point in their relationship, Shawn wasn’t even surprised that she had brought handcuffs on their date night, though he was a little disappointed that they weren’t going to be used on him.

Eventually- he couldn’t be sure when Juliet in cop mode was very distracting (also the knife wound but mostly Juliet)- he had wound up on the ground, leaning heavily against the rear tire. The area under his hand was wet and he could feel his heartbeat through his stomach. That wasn’t normal.

He heard the car door slam and Juliet knelt next to him, her eyes wide, breathing heavily.

“I called for backup, they should be here in ten.” She gingerly picked up his hand, gasping as she inspected the wound. “Shawn you’re losing a lot of blood.”

“Oh is that why I feel so lightheaded?”

“Might’ve hit an artery. Gosh, I hope not.” She muttered more to herself. Gripping the bottom of her light blue sundress, she tore the fabric.

His words were starting to slur together, but he couldn’t resist making a joke. “Wow Jules as much as I enjoy you undressing, I don’t think now is the time.”

Shaking her head, she wrapped one arm around his back and gently eased him away from her car and to the ground. “You’re losing too much blood, I gotta try to stop it somehow.”

As much as he’d usually love her touch, this time he wasn’t a fan. He bit back a scream, the pressure on the cut sending fire throughout his stomach. Her face twisted into a mix of sympathy and concern and she grabbed one of his hands.

Raising their joined hands, she pressed her lips against the back of his. “I’m sorry sweetheart.”

“So much for Netflix and chill.” He chuckled weakly.

He watched her apply pressure to the wound for some time. Even given their undesired circumstances, she was still beautiful. Her hair was down, it’s length and style reminding him of the time when she went undercover at a sorority house. He had been so enamored with her. Her quick wit, her sharp investigative skills, her empathy, the way she always kept him guessing, not to mention those great outfits. If someone had told him then, that he’d wind up in a committed relationship with her, even considering marriage, he would have simply laughed and told them to stop messing with him.

But even then he had been in love with her, though he didn’t realize it until much much later and admitted it later still. He loved her. Simple as that.

His vision blurred and his eyelids felt so heavy. It was getting harder to pay attention now. He was shaking, feeling so cold and yet sweating all the same. All he could feel was the pain. He didn’t want to close his eyes, to lose the vision before him, but he didn’t want to stay awake either. Maybe if he just slept for a bit, he’d have lovely dreams of Jules.

She felt his hand go limp. Whipping her head around, she watched helplessly as his eyes slid closed.

“No, no, no... Shawn!” Letting go of his hand, she gently patted the side of his face. His skin was cold. “Shawn, I need you to stay awake.”

When he didn’t respond she swore loudly. Of course, he passed out. He was losing blood- a lot of it.

Picking up her hand, she cursed again at the sight of crimson soaking through her torn dress fabric. Without hesitation, she tore again at her dress, replacing the bloody scrap with a fresh one. Applying even more pressure, she watched his face, looking for any response. She was met with none.

His skin was pale, an odd contrast to the dark stubble around his cheeks. Breathing too shallow for her liking but she could only focus on one thing at a time. Right now stopping- or at least slowing- the bleeding was the priority.

She ran a hand through her hair and then down her face. He couldn’t die. She wouldn’t let him. They still had their whole lives in front of them. Sure it had only been a few months since they got back together but marriage talks were already becoming more and more frequent. Late one night, he told her that their breakup had shown him that he didn’t want to live life without her. She had nearly proposed to him on the spot. But they were still getting back in their groove and engagement was a big step. She wanted him- both of them- to be absolutely sure about their decision before taking that step. Now she just hoped they’d make it that far.

“Shawn Spencer, if we get out of this, I’m gonna kiss you for all you’re worth. Or kill you. I haven’t decided yet.”

Hunched over him, her hair fell around her like a curtain. Brushing it behind her ear she slightly scolded herself for not wearing it up today. Curse Shawn and his love for her hair being down.

She tore again at her dress, scowling at the now mid-thigh length. If he kept bleeding like that, he’d get his wish about seeing her undressed.

As if sensing an opportunity to make a joke, he stirred. His eyes flickered open. Unfocused but still open.

“Shawn,” She gasped, feeling tears start to pool in her eyes. In the distance, sirens blared. There was hope for them yet.

The corner of his mouth turned upwards. Hand reaching out, he tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “You’re so beautiful.”

Later at the hospital, she would look in the mirror and laugh, much to the disturbed looks of the people around her. Leave it to Shawn to compliment her while her dress is half torn and her face is streaked with blood. Boy did she love him.

She'd tell him such as soon as he woke up.

[todo-ho-ki]

If It’s Convenient For You, Pt. 5

Here it is! The short-awaited part 5! It took me forever to even think of something I’m so sorry dolls. But this one is more of a mess around thing I guess? It’s kind of fillerific and not totally necessary. I really hope you guys enjoy 

Word Count: 2,069

Pairing: BakugoXReader

Warnings: Swearing, blood

@chims-kookies @velvet-kissesss you said you had post notifs on but I’ll tag you just in case!

Part 1  Part 2   Part 3   Part 4     Part 6

Holy shit.  All you could feel was relief. They were finally here.

He hopped off the roof and landed terrifyingly close to the man, wrapping a hand around his throat.

"If you don't, we're gonna have a problem," he growled. The man looked absolutely terrified, trembling under his grip. It was honestly a little terrifying to watch the ferocious, untamed smile consume Bakugo's face. You watched a hand reach out for Bakugo's arm

. "I wouldn't if I were you. I have some bad news," His tone took on a quality you'd never heard in a voice before. "There's no way you're winning." His free hand began to crackle with little explosions.

"Now!" He yelled and you watched excitedly as a path of ice began creeping toward them both. Bakugo jumped away at the last second as the ice encased the man's ankles and knees, then his waist and arms, leaving only his head exposed.

"What the-?"

"Only idiots concentrate on one enemy at a time. Idiots and bad villains." All his struggling was to no avail as Todoroki strolled casually around the corner, hands in his pockets.

"Get the others out of here. The police are on their way."

Bakugo scoffed. "I'm already on it." His arms crossed as he plodded toward the building, a scowl on his face.

"Are you all right?" Todoroki bent over you curiously.

"Uh, well, not really."

"Hmm. Let's get this wound taken care of." He knelt near your bad leg and you winced as he picked up the hem of your skirt.

There was no time for him to do anything; a sudden explosion erupted from the building, blowing out the windows and shaking the ground.

Todoroki was quick to shield you from the glass, a wall of ice covering the two of you. He let out a soft sigh as his eyebrows furrowed in frustration.

"I didn't say blow up the building." His exasperated tone made you chuckle.

Kirishima rushed out from around the corner, breathless. "Dude! Did he- that wasn't the plan!" He surveyed the damage. "Jeez." He ran in yelling for Bakugo, who met him at the door screeching.

"What did you do?"

"Those assholes tried to take me hostage!"

"So? You blew up the building! Overkill, man."

Their arguing voices carried in the wind. Your eyelids grew heavy as the other two dealt with the fallout of Bakugo's temper tantrum. You didn't even realize how tired you were, leg throbbing in an excruciating pain you couldn't deal with right now.

"Is he always this hard to handle?" Todoroki's expression told you everything you needed to know.

The vibrations of Bakugo's heavy steps fell across the asphalt and Todoroki's wall of ice melted.

"Whatever! I took care of it, didn't I? There were no other people in there!" Bakugo yelled back.

"No! You didn't! You wanted to run in blasting first and asking questions later! And we told you that was stupid because there were bystanders and a hostage, so you sulked in a corner! And then you did it anyway! Not manly! You could've hurt someone."

You surveyed Bakugo's face for any semblance of an answer. You'd seen him fight and rescue on TV many times. He was definitely smart and more than able to come up with a good plan. So why was he being so reckless now?

"Well, I didn't! Everyone is fine!"

Everyone? Even me, lying on the ground bleeding?

Maybe they'd decided your wound wasn't so lethal you needed immediate treatment. But even in the wake of that, it was almost like they were doing an exercise, not actually rescuing someone.

The ideas bounced off in your head while you acquired whiplash watching the two argue back and forth.

Are they not.. phased at all? I'm bleeding to death slowly!

"Excuse me!" Ther stopped to look at you, almost stunned you interrupted. "I. Have. Been. Stabbed! And I'm bleeding profusely! Can someone please do literally anything?" You scolded them with a pretty fiery passion.

Kirishima looked embarrassed as he sat you up against your car.

Not at all what I was going for, but this'll do. Your arms crossed with a huff.

"Sorry we're late," Kirishima smiled. "I'm glad we meet again though." You couldn't help but smile. Kirishima's attitude was infectious.

"Again?" Bakugo muttered, confusion clear on his face. Even in your stupor, it didn't make it past you.

"Oh my god." You were nearly dumbfounded. His stupid-looking face told you everything you needed to know. This idiot didn't recognize you outside of the store.

"You-I-" Your head turned to Kirishima for some assistance, but he was hopelessly embarrassed.

"Dude. She's the girl from the convenience store," he strained, eyebrows raising and scrunching together.

"Oh, this is that brat?" He gave you a lazy once-over.

"I swear to god if I could stand I'd fight you right now."

"Can you get her out of here Katsuki? She's bleeding pretty bad and you can get to the hospital faster than an ambulance. We'll handle the police and..the people. And probably the news." Kirishima helped you stand up finally, bracing you against his side.

Bakugo took a look around the parking lot for a moment.

"Trying to run away?" You joked. "I'm not that awful to be around." Your words didn't even register as he pulled the headband off Kirishima and ripped it in two in one smooth motion.

"Hey!"

"Hush."

He knelt down and wrapped half of the band around the top of your leg as a tourniquet and you had to do everything in your power not to buckle under the feel of his warm hands ghosting your thigh.

He's not even going to ASK!?

You were lucky you had Kirishima's waist to dig into or a hand probably would've ended up grabbing Bakugo's messy hair. You were certain your red face was a dead giveaway as his fingertips grazed your skin lightly to tie a knot in the fabric. And in your stomach.

He wrapped the other half around the wound itself twice as gently as before. You shrieked a little as he looked up, not bothering to stand quite yet.

"How's that?" His voice suddenly grew soft, which wasn't doing you any favors. "It's- fine," the words barely crossed your lips. You were in a daze, his questioning red eyes holding you hostage.

"Good. I don't need you bleeding all over my clothes." He took more liberties with Kirishima's clothing, ripping his sleeve off of his shirt and cleaning all the blood off your leg that wasn't dried.

You nearly lost your mind as he stood back up, towering over you, arms outstretched as he wrapped one around your shoulder and picked up your legs. 

You didn't even have time to react to his snide comment before a tingle shot up your back and you were forced to swallow whatever words you were about to say.

His hands were so insanely warm and soft. The heat mixed with the cold air and you felt goosebumps on your arms and neck, though you were certain it had almost nothing to do with the temperature. You buried your face in his shoulder, hoping maybe he just wouldn't notice your reddening cheeks and shivers.

"Try not blow her up too. Or steal her clothes,"Kirishima chided, motioning to his lack of sleeve.

"Yeah yeah. Wouldn't dream of either."

Did you like that he said that? Every passing moment made you more curious to find out.

He took off into the night, bounding effortlessly, the moon giving a slight illumination to his still face. You dared sneak a peek at his features and damn if he wasn't just as beautiful as he was the other day, no trace of anger in his face. A soft gasp crossed your lips and his eyes flicked to the side.

"Nervous?" He asked.

"No. Well, maybe a little." Your breath was catching in your throat but it wasn't because of any airtime.

"You're not gonna get sick or somethin' are you?"

"Wh-no! I wouldn't dream of it." Your eyes trailed down to his jawline. You were pressed so close to his face. It was driving you mad how little distance you had to close to press your lips against his neck.

Don't do anything stupid. Don't do anything embarrassing.

But you didn't feel your hands unclasp themselves. You didn't feel yourself reaching for the side of his face, hand connecting with soft skin. You didn't even realize you were staring at him with your mouth half open in awe of how gorgeous he really was. But he did.

"You better watch yourself, you fucking idiot. Don't touch me like that," he growled, eyes darting to you in warning before snapping back to the endless night in front of him.

You were sure you were a million degrees hotter than a second ago, letting out a squeak of shame.

What the actual fuck am I thinking? Fucking idiot is right! If you're gonna be the worst can't you at least wait until you can get away?

The wind kicked up as your embarrassment soared far beyond what you were sure was appropriate for one person to feel.

"Uh, yeah. If you wanna just literally drop me, just like, right on the ground so I can die, that'd be cool."

When in doubt, vocally wish for death!

It seemed a bit carried by the wind, but you could've sworn you heard some sort of noise resembling a laugh from his chest.

Did he just- did I make him laugh? Was that a fucking laugh?

There wasn't much time to ponder. "Don't tempt me, stupid woman. You're just lucky I'm used to people thinking I'm pretty."

You immediately opened your big stupid mouth to remark. " Too bad you're not used to people thinking you're bearable to be around."

With that you felt both his hands clench bruisingly on your skin.

"You talk a lot of shit for someone who couldn't fight off one dude with a knife."

"And you talk the perfect amount of shit for someone I'd consider an asshole. What's your point?" You sassed, rolling your eyes as he landed in front of the hospital.

Without warning he pulled his arm out from under you, forcing you to land on your good foot. Luckily you were paying attention. A stinging sensation buzzed at your ankle and the warmth from him was gone, leaving you frigid and angry.

"Ow! Asshole! What would you have done if I landed on my other leg and died right here?" His stare was almost incredulous as you kept yourself latched to his shoulders. 

You really were wishing for death, perhaps in the form of a meteor striking earth. You were glad he shook off the minute before this one, but you would be fine if you never saw him again.

"You're so fucking dramatic. Let go of me." He picked your lingering arm off his shoulders.

"Cool. Guess I'll just hobble into the hospital then."

He rolled his eyes and picked you up again, much more roughly than before. A feeling of warmth shot through you and your eyes fluttered closed. "Wow. Such a brat," He scoffed. He trudged up the walkway quickly, probably eager to get rid of you.

Maybe..you were a little bit of a brat.. you didn't finish the thought as you fell asleep within seconds. No longer flying through the air meant you were truly warm and the pain in your leg was finally returning to a dull throb.

"Oi! Wake up!" Bakugo's gruff voice startled you awake just before he tossed you into a wheelchair like you were a beanbag of sorts.

"Jesus! Are you this rough with everyone you have to save?"

"Most of them are smart enough to not give me so much damn sass. Or they aren’t awake. You're obviously not that seriously injured if you can't keep your mouth shut. So we'll wait for a room." 

We?

Your arms crossed as he wheeled you into the hospital.

How does this asshole stay in business? What agency looked at this dude and said 'yeah, no liabilities here!'

He checked in at the front desk and surprisingly sat down next to you, crossed arms matching your own. Was he really going to not only deny you emergency services, but annoy you the whole time you were waiting, too?

[tropicalfreckles]

Friends Again CH 2

MASTER LIST found here B**TLEB*BES DNI

Summary:   Lydia wasn’t sure what to expect, but prepared herself best she could as that familiar figure filled her bedroom with smoke and fire.

WARNINGS: They talk about trauma briefly and Lydia impaling Beej

Lydia raised her voiced the third time, feeling the air around her becoming heavy. Books and knickknacks flew off her bookshelf, clothes flew out of her dresser. A gust of wind flowed through the room out of thin air whipping her hair around. The lights in her room flickered as a fog crept from under her dresser and bed. It swirled with a vibrant green glow that crackled from the floorboards, becoming more intense as the force of the wind joined it. An eerie cackle bounced off the walls of her room. Lydia was glad she raised the volume on her music earlier. Just as a thunderous boom rattled the windowpane of her bedroom, the fog exploded in a light show and floating before her eyes was the demon.

   Just as she remembered him. Though right now he was floating above her floor looking a little bewildered, yet elated with a malevolent grin plastered across his face. He scoped the room out as his body vibrated a little. Jagged, yellow teeth. His dirty disheveled striped suit. That electric, messy green hair bleeding into the brown roots that met his forehead. The moss still growing on the side of his face. Those sunken in eyes, wild as ever. He hadn’t even noticed that she was in the room with him.

    “Hooollllyyyy shiit! Someone actually summoned me! I’m out of that piles of paperwork, bureaucratic hellhole! FREEDOM! FREEE-EEEEDDOOOMMM!” That raspy voice rang out as his fingers rung through that grimy, soft hair of his. He was so ecstatic that he jumped right into being destructive when his eyes darted to the curtains. With a swipe of his hand it lit ablaze and he turned to do more mischief next. Lydia panicked, jumping off her bed as she grabbed at her pillow and threw it at his head to get his attention.

        “Put that fire out, you dumbass!” She hissed pointing the water gun at him. The joy that was once displayed across the demon’s features now was replaced with a more complex one after he looked down. Shock hit him fast. The flames that began to engulf her curtains died out. He let gravity plant his ass right on the floor. Lydia followed his body with her gun never letting up her stance.

    “You? You.. You.” His voice cracked at first. Then became more gravelly and hoarse on the last ‘you’ he managed to croak out. Realization hit like a trucker ramming into fresh roadkill when he noticed which house he was in. Staring up at the girl he once called his friend, his hands balled up into fists as he furrowed his brow. Streaks of blue, purple, and red shot out from his hair a vibrant mix of colors betraying him with it’s display of his emotions. He inhaled deeply as he went to stand up. Lydia stomped her foot down, causing him to flinch for a moment. Beetlejuice stayed where he was instead.

        “No! St.. stay there.” She frowned. His gaze traveled down to stare at the water gun. A guttural laugh ripped from him as he gave her a snort, shaking his head.

    “What’re you gonna do? Get my suit wet? Please. A little bit of water ain’t gonna hurt me. Even if I rather stay dry.” He mumbled, crossing his arms as he eyed her up and down. Clicking her tongue, Lydia rolled her shoulders.

        “It’s holy water! Look, I..” A flash of guilt hit her causing her expression to soften for a moment. “…I just want to talk.” She awkwardly shuffled her feet around a little. Beetlejuice’s shoulders slumped  as he rolled his eyes, giving a heavy sigh.

    “…alright, I’ll give ya ten minutes, kid. Then I’m outta here; now that I’m summoned I rather be any place than here.” He mumbled. Lydia took a step closer to him. In response he shuffled away from her. She opted to sit down then where she was, so she could look at him at eye level. He was curious why she would even want him near her after everything that happened. He’d never admit it but he did feel the tiniest, smallest bit of guilt for what he did to her. Alright he did actually feel guilty. Even though he felt she was a little selfish which he usually valued in a person. I mean really who chooses a mother over their own friend? Most people, probably. However he still had a  smidgen of a grudge about it. She was still fun to hang out with though and treated him nice in her own way. Nicer than anyone ever had been to him, in fact, as pathetic as that was. She even gave him a hug. The colors in his hair slowly faded back to his usual green though small streaks of blue were still branched out from his roots. Lydia seemed to be struggling with starting with whatever she had to say to him. BJ knitted his brows feeling a little anxious himself, though opted to be patient once in his life and let her speak when ready. Still had the gun pointed at him; that was fair with their track record.

        “So.. I just.” She groaned, rubbing a hand over her face. This was hard. This was harder than she thought it would be.

        “..I. I wanted to start off by saying, that. I’m not sorry about doing what I did. I couldn’t let you hurt everyone. I was mad that you almost made me get rid of Barbara. I was hurt that you betrayed me, I told you I just wanted to get my mom back. We could’ve gone back to scaring people after I figured it out. I was hurting, I missed her. I know.. it’s a sore subject for you. I get why parents are something that make you upset after meeting Juno.  But, my mom was nice.. I love her.” Her arm begins to tremble a little.

         "I am sorry for being the reason you had to see Juno again. I’m sorry she tried getting rid of you for good. You’re not a screw up, or a fool.. I just.“ She teared up a little, feeling everything she has been holding back for months begin to creep up on her.

He could just use this opportunity to split. It was uncomfortable dealing with an emotional teen. Plus she was talking about his mother the person he hated the most in any existence. A nagging feeling was keeping him there however. Something about watching this girl. That enjoyed scaring almost as much as he did, crying. It hurt a little for some reason. He rubbed the bridge of his nose when he heard her crying pick up, becoming harder. She hiccuped a little and it was annoying.

    "Okay, okay; no water works kid, please. Also it’s kinda hard to hear you over that music.” He snapped his fingers and the music turned down just a little. He sighed, glad that her attention came back to him when he spoke.

    “Take your time if you gotta. I suck at reading people outside of scaring them. It looks like this had been bothering you for a while. Don’t rush through it.” He mumbled not really knowing how to comfort her. “This the reason you summoned me?” He asked while leaning back as his hands moved behind him to hold his weight. Lydia nodded, wiping some tears away.

    “It’s. It’s more complicated than that… ever since you left. I’ve been having nightmares..” Lydia’s voice gave out near the end of her sentence.

    Nightmares usually were fun so he didn’t understand what the problem was. Although he knew breathers some times had nightmares about things that were really shitty. Maybe it was that. He motioned for her to continue.

    “I don’t know if. If it’s guilt, or my trauma, but.. I never killed someone before. I don’t really want to do it again either. It was.. it was scarier than anything I’ve ever experienced before.” Her voice trailed off barely an audible whisper. She set the water gun down now that she was sure he wasn’t going to do anything.

Even though he wasn’t usually around ankle biters. He had some understanding that while murder was fun for him, that would take a toll on a kid. It was different than him killing for her. She actually killed for herself. He grimaced a little, unconsciously grabbing at his chest where she had impaled him. Lydia had noticed this however and balled her hands into fists while she gripped her dress.

        “If this is too hard for you, you can leave.” Lydia spoke up again staring up into his eyes.

Beetlejuice wrinkled his nose. He wasn’t scared of this kid. He didn’t need any pity. Although maybe she did just want him to feel comfortable. Why was she being so considerate? They never really were friends, right? Even if he thought so. He snorted, waving her off.

            “Kid, I’m fine. So, what’s this nightmare.” He fixed his composure, tightening his tie.

Lydia shrugged as she looked for anything else to focus her gaze on. This next part was going to be hard. She didn’t want to open up to him but she no longer wished to feel dread whenever she slept. The nightmares had to come to an end. She wanted to move on with her life.

     "The nightmares are all the same one, actually. It’s the day I killed you. It starts of as it actually did. You talking about how life was too much to handle. Getting ready to murder someone because you couldn’t process it. Then, me stabbing you. After that though, everyone starts to turn into weird blobs. You and I are the only ones that still have a shape. Everything fades into a dark abyss. Mouths appear out of no where, laughing in a creepy way at us. Blood pours from their mouths..“ She starts listing the things off on her fingers. She was having trouble keeping up with what she was saying unable to make eye contact with him. Beetlejuice tensed a little when she mentioned murdering him, thinking of course she has to talk more about it.

     "Then your mom is there. She’s holding you up, like you’re her captive or something. Then a sandworm eats us. That part got kind of weird. Even compared to the rest of the nightmare.” She mumbled. Finally she manages to look back up at him. Beetlejuice was leaning forward now, his elbows resting on his thighs, hands in his lap. He was staring right at her.

        “Well fuck, Lyds; that is a lot to unpack.” He moved a hand up to stroke his chin. Not really sure what to say in the moment. He needed to collect his thoughts. When he noticed her fidgeting in place, tears brimming her eyes again, he didn’t want her to cry. Beetlejuice crossed his arms as he sat up straight.

       "Alright.. so. Dreaming about killing me, which, I gotta admit; now that I’ve had time to mull it over the past couple of months I’m impressed. You successfully manipulated me by agreeing to help me be alive. Then killed me so you could send me back to the Netherworld. Haven’t been tricked by a breather like you before.“ He gave a small smirk almost proud that the first person that agreed to help him scare in a long, long time could have a conniving side.

       "We should probably get to the bare bones of the matter.” He clapped his hands together and a bunch of bones came into existence. Clattering onto the floor around them. Lydia jumped a little then stared at them, trying not to let out a small snicker. Good, laughs, that was something he could work with to try and cheer her up.

      “Fiiiirrssst, even though I am impressed you killed me and fair enough since I was being kind of an ass…” Before he could finish his sentence Lydia had chimed in with a quip.

    “I’d say more than kind of. You did threaten me and my family to get me to do a green card marriage.” She quirked a brow, her fingers tapping on the ground as she gave him an unamused look.

        “Alright. That was shitty of me.” He conjured a white flag waving it in peace as he heaved a dramatic sigh.

     "For real I’m sorry I did that. It wasn’t cool and came off pretty sketchy. If you hadn’t noticed I don’t like being alone. So I panicked because I thought you were going to ditch me.“ The purple in his hair began to creep back and Lydia just gave him an understanding look to let him know he could continue.

        "Unfortunately the only way to bring a ghost alive again is to marry them. I should’ve weighed my options better. I’m.. uh..” He gagged a little as he tried to form the words, having a hard time. Saying sorry was one thing, yet doing a heart-felt apology made it feel like he was going to combust.

      “Gimme a sec..” He slapped his face, his head spinning around on his neck comically in a 360 spin as he came to his senses. When he was done being a ham he looked back to her.

        “I’m deeply apologetic about what I did. Normally I take being creepy as a compliment, however out of context of what I was trying to do it’s super…” He wrinkled his nose. “Yeah. Fucking creepy and not in the good way. Even in context it’s still shitty.” He mumbled. “Having a talk with Miss Argentina made me realize that. When I heard it outloud for the first time after the fact. I swear I didn’t meant to come off that way, though.” Beetlejuice raised his hand as if doing a mock boy scouts honor salute.

        “Oh, that nice ghost lady I met in the Netherworld..” Lydia leaned back against her bed, feeling like she could relax a little finally.

     "Well. You actually sound sincere, which is weird since your voice always drips with sarcasm or something like that.“ She looked away for a moment as if contemplating something. ”..I know you said that you were impressed. However.. did killing you hurt you? Like, besides the obvious.“ Her gaze drifted back to him.

    "Hurt me? I mean, yeah, it would fuckin’ hurt getting bad art impaled through a meatsack body.” He thought more on what she said then it dawned on him. She meant if it hurt his feelings. He ran a hand through his ever-shifting array of colorful hair trying to figure out how he should respond. Sure it did kind of did hurt his feelings. Yet it’s like he said, the situation he forced her in was pretty shitty. She also mentioned she wasn’t sorry for what she did to him. She was still being nice at least. Maybe those dweeby Maitlands rubbed off on her a bit. Even though he only knew her a brief time the Lydia he knew before probably wouldn’t have given too much a shit about this. While she was fun and sort of nice to him when they scared people. She still easily jumped to kill him.

   "Eh. Maybe just a bit. However I already said I probably deserved it. It’s better that I’m dead anyways. Being human was hard. Even if it was just for like four minutes, or less.“ He counted off on his hand.

    "Okay..” She looked him over, unsure if she should continue. Wanting to get back to the topic on hand she cleared her throat. “So, about the dream..” Beeltejuice took his hand, pounding a fist into the other one.

        “Right, right. The thing you summoned me here for in the first place. Yeah.. so, blood, my shit mom, sandworm. I ain’t really a shrink, Lyds. So what I’m gonna say next is probably gonna be some bullshit. Like.. I don’t know, is it a guilt dream? Why’d you tell me about it?” He was still unsure about some things that were going on her. Though he tried to give his best bet. Lydia shook her head as she grabbed onto her feet, tilting forward.

    “I already kind of understand what the dream means now thanks to my therapist. What I called you here for is I wanted you to hear it. I wanted you to know how I feel. What we all went through together and I wanted to hear your thoughts on it. Also how you felt about how we ended things. I did the apology I felt like you needed and I told you what I wasn’t sorry for. I kind of feel a little better. Although I still feel like crying a lot, too.” She moved her hands away to wipe as her face again.

   "It’s… so overwhelming. I’m.. I’m scared, Beej.“ Lydia softly spoke, admitting finally what she was afraid to say. Beetlejuice was stumped. She actually admitted for the first time to him ever she was afraid. Not of him, he was sure of that at least. Of what he wasn’t sure. The nightmare itself? It’s meaning? He really did suck at this. He grumbled a little then began to drift off the ground, floating into the air to move closer to her. He plopped himself down next to her. Startling her a little as she jumped from him. He raised his hands up in defense quick to respond.

    "Hey, hey, wait; don’t be.. uh. Scared. Just…” He began to hesitantly wrap an arm around her before realizing he probably should ask.

    “Uh.. this okay?” He asked, staring at her as he kept his arm in mid air. Lydia stared at his arm then at him. She wrinkled her nose from the smell of his unwashed suit along with the earthly-dirt scent that lingered off his body. The sentiment he was offering had to have been tough for him to do and it showed he actually cared about how she felt. She gave just a small nod and he wrapped an arm around her shoulder. He moved his other around around her front and gave her a small hug then patted her back.

     "I don’t actually know what you’re scared of kid. Although I’ve gotta say I’m hurt I’m not scary enough for you.“ Beetlejuice gave a mock-hurt tone to the end of his sentence as to try and lighten the mood. Lydia surprisingly clung to him as she let out a soft whimper. His shoulders dropped as he started to let go of her, only to be stopped when he felt her tighten the hug. She began crying again. He lost count how many times this made now. She buried her face into his chest, sniffling as she curled up in his arms. He wanted to just phase out of the room yet opted to stay since it seemed like she needed this. He rested his chin on top of her head as he just let her continue to sob.

    "I hate this. I hate feeling… this scared. It’s-it’s so suffocating. Why does this hurt? Why do I feel horrible.” She managed to choke out. Beetlejuice tensed while she spoke.

        “Wish I knew, kid; my specialty is scaring, not helping people stop feeling scared. But ya got a good support system Lydia. Those sexy, nerdy Maitlands actually nutted up to try and protect you. Your dad chased after you into the Netherworld when you ran off. That Delilah chick probably cares about you too.” He tried thinking up everyone that she actually had in her life that cared. He wish he had that. Wish he had someone who loved and cared about him. It was a hard concept to wrap his head around, he always felt like he never deserved it. Lydia shook her head, looking up at him finally.

    “Her name is Delia, not Delilah. You know, it’s weird. She actually does.” She sniffled, smiling softly.

  “You weren’t there for that part. Since your mom kind of tossed you out. Delia threw herself in front of me, saying that she wanted to protect me when Juno was threatening to drag me back to the Netherworld. Ever since then she’s been trying her best to understand me. Even if I’m not the warmest to her sometimes. I appreciate the effort at least. I know she’s isn’t faking it.” Lydia patted his side, indicating he could let her go as she sat back again. Beetlejuice moved his hand to rub the back of his neck.

  “You know for someone who says he sucks at comforting, you didn’t do that bad of a job.” She gave him a tired smile, then picked up the water gun again. He eyed it bit warily. She tossed it away then gently nudged him. “Can you believe I was gonna blast your face with that?” That made him crack a grin then gave her a snicker.

    “Yeah that probably wouldn’t have done much, anyways. Other than make me slightly clean.” He stuck his tongue out.

    “Well, it might’ve stung a little. I don’t know. I haven’t had holy water thrown on me before, if you would believe that. It’s rare I scare priests. It’s a hoot when I do even if it’s never in a church. Those places are waaaay too stuffy.” He rolled his eyes. He snapped his head back to her. “So, I actually helped ya..?” His tone shifted to a more softer one. She nodded giving his shoulder a pat.

    “You did; I never thought I would actually hug you again. Oh.. that reminds me.” She got up, walking over to her nightstand. He floated off the ground once more so he could peer over the bed to see. She pulled out from the small cubby under the drawer of her nightstand, a cowboy hat. She held it up as she turned around to show him.

    “I still have this. I don’t know why I kept it, honestly. Guess deep down I couldn’t let a piece of you go. I did hate you for a while. I’m not sure if I can forgive you for everything. Although.. it means a lot that you apologized. Maybe one day.” She walked over, motioning for him to float up a little higher as she set the cowboy hat on his head.

  “Maybe we could be friends again, some day. I’m not sure. I thought this exchange was going to go a lot differently.” He gawked a little. A warm feeling hit him, as he moved his hand up and felt his hat.

        'Be friends again? Is she serious? Why doesn’t she hate me. It’s okay if she hates me, I’m used to people hating me. She kept my hat, though. I just gave it to her as a sign of peace. Even if I was still a little mad. Did she really care about me, then?’  What she told him seemed impossible. He felt like life was just fucking with him again. There’s no way she would ever forgive him he just didn’t deserve anything good. As if sensing sort of what he was thinking, she poked his nose.

    “Listen, I’m not a shrink either. However I think you have a problem with self esteem. I can’t fix that right now. I meant what I said to you. I do appreciate what you said to me, how you tried comforting me. I would’ve liked if you didn’t toss all my shit everywhere when you got here though.” She looked around the room, putting her hands on her hips as she sighed.

   "You’re lucky you didn’t break my camera. It’s a family heirloom from my mom.“ Beetlejuice looked around the room, then gave a small laugh.

    "Hey you know me, Lyds; I gotta make an entrance! It feels nice to be out of the Netherworld. I had to stretch my legs.” He turned his head back to grin at her. There was a worm she hadn’t noticed before wiggling in-between his teeth and she stuck her tongue out. There’s that weird, gross charm of his. She flicked his forehead causing him to scowl. He rubbed where she snapped her fingers against his clam-y flesh. She motioned to her room when his attention was drawn back to her.

   "I know you can bend reality or whatever it is your demon powers do. Please clean my room, I don’t feel like doing it because I’m tired.“ Lydia politely requested. Beetlejuice groaned yet didn’t complain as with a flick of his wrists. Everything began to move back into place. The curtains were no longer fire-damaged, her clothes went back neatly into her dresser and her books were slid neatly into the shelves. Even the random bones he conjured up were gone. She gave him a pleased smile along with a thumbs up. He flipped her off which just made her laugh. He couldn’t help but join her in her laugh. He tipped his hat to her then looked towards the window a moment later.

   ”..so, that all you needed, kid? Guess… we part ways again?“ He looked back to her a tinge of sadness edged at the end of his words. She rubbed her arm as she looked towards the window as well. She walked around him and the bed, then opened the curtains to see it was raining now.

       "I guess so. You did say you wanted to get away from here, right?” She looked over her shoulder at him. He pursed his lips then tapped his fingers against his chin.

   "Yeah that was the deal. I hear you out, then be on my way..“ He sighed then floated over towards her and the window. He placed a hand on the glass, staring off into the distance. She still wasn’t sure how to feel about him yet she knew she wasn’t really scared of him. Even though he was acting off for how he normally was. Maybe he wanted closure as much as she did? He  couldn’t come back on his own before so she hoped this was good for him. She playfully nudged him with her elbow.

   "I mean; even though you probably shouldn’t show yourself around the house. I wouldn’t mind if you came back to my room some times. If you wanna try to build up trust again or something. If you don’t hate me. It’s kind of nice having someone I can weirdly relate to that isn’t a parental figure. Someone I can talk to about this.” He looked over to her then scratched his head.

   "I don’t know. Pretty sure everyone would hate it if they saw-wait. Did you summon me without telling anyone about it?“ He slowly became aware of the very lack of parental supervision as he peered over to her bedroom door. There was no way the Maitlands nor her parents would’ve let him near her without them being around. She inhaled sharply, staring a little bug-eyed down at the ground while pressing her lips together. Shit.

       "Uh.. maybe.” She mumbled. He looked to her. Then let out a bellowing laughter, slapping her hard on the back.

   "Well! Look at you, you little rebel! Ahhhh shit. Part of me feels like messing with the Maitlands again. Unfortunately for me they probably would try to send me back to the Netherworld.“ He grimaced then looked back to the window. "I’m not so sure if it would be safe to keep coming back here. However, other breathers are usually boring as hell. You were pretty fun. As long as the others don’t find out I guess I wouldn’t mind stopping in every so often. Maybe we could even scare together again.” His eyes flashed a mischievous glow as he gave her an malevolent smirk. She gave him an wicked smile back.

   "I probably am gonna have to tell them about you eventually. It’s kind of hard to hide all this.“ She motioned to him knowing how much of a show off he could be. He nodded.

   "Eh it’s true; we’ll just cross that bridge when we get to it.” He stretched out a little. Taking the cowboy hat off he slapped it onto her head. She stumbled a little, giving him a small scowl.

  “Well how about you hold onto this, lil scarecrow. So I have a reason to come back. Now if you’ll excuse me. I wanna go stretch my legs and scare the shit out of some Karen in her forties while she’s kicking back, sipping on her wine box.” He grinned while ringing his dirty hands together.

 "I’ll be back later, Lyds!“ He cackled, then dashed off, phasing through her wall and disappearing into the stormy night. She placed her hand on the window, staring off at nothing now as she fixed the hat on her head.

   "See you soon, Dorothy.” She decided it was finally time for that nap.

[theeternalspace]

Title: (Honey you Should) See Me in a Crown 3/?

So it’s late here, I’m hot and sleepy but here! Have chapter three of this train wreck! This is... well, not a lighter chapter really, but it a bit of a breather from the heavy torture to see what else is going on in the world and get a bit of plot. And then more pain. 

Also there is no unsympathetic characters in this story, but the fake Anxiety is a mean boi who has a lot of mean thoughts about the characters so be aware of that. 

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Masterpost

Summary: A fake Virgil has been sent into the mindscape. How will he fare? 

Word Count: 4.8k

Characters: Fake!Anxiety, Patton Sanders, Virgil Sanders, Roman Sanders

Trigger Warnings: Possession/Corrupted Side, Evil!Roman, blood, illness, confusion, lots and lots of negative thinking. If I missed any let me know and I will edit.

~

So this was the area where the main sides lived. Anxiety wasn’t impressed by it, hunching deeper into his purple and black hoodie, suspicious eyes darting around as he stepped out from the Imagination and into a hallway that was at once familiar and completely new to him. He wasn’t really very fond of this hoodie either. What had been the problem with the old one? It was all black, it was comfortable and he didn’t have to stand out while wearing it. All and all, it had been a perfect hoodie. Perhaps he could wear it in the comfort of his own room - the memories he had taken told him that the other main sides didn’t come in unannounced and that the ‘others’ didn’t come in at all. Which was almost a shame, Anxiety had all sorts of ideas as to how to distract them from the Boss and what sort of fun he could get up to now he was off the leash. Ideas that would be so much better if he could somehow rope in Deceit and the others.

Perhaps once he was back in the safety of the room that was now his, along with the hoodie, he could plot how to approach them without giving the Boss’ game away. It wouldn’t do to upset the new Creativity, Anxiety giving a little shiver of fear at the thought of making this version of Roman angry. He had to toe the line, follow orders. 

Which wouldn’t be so hard when the main order was to distract the two idiots left running the place so that they didn’t notice until it was too late. Anxiety could do that, his gaze still shifting around, on alert for any threat as he headed down the stairs. 

It was all so... bright. There were no shadows, no place to hide, to watch events from a distance. He was supposed to protect by his fearsome reputation but how could he possibly do that when everything was so disgustingly... soft? These idiots had no idea what sort of monsters lurked in the darker corners of Thomas’ mind. They saw Anxiety, Deceit and thought they knew the worst of what there was on offer? The fools were going to get themselves overrun and corrupted, as surely as Creativity had been and Anxiety wouldn’t do a thing to stop it. He would rather enjoy seeing them be broken and changed for the worse. 

Just think what Thomas could get up to, when he wasn’t shackled by such petty ideas of good and evil. 

His name would be in lights, that was for sure. Just perhaps not the sort of lights that they had originally hoped for him. It was perhaps not the best thought for an Anxiety to have, but as much as Anxiety had claimed that title for himself, he knew he wasn’t an exact duplicate of the Anxiety that had come before and was now enjoying his Boss’ own brand of hospitality. There was some of Creativity in him too, some Intrusive Thoughts, some darkness that let him enjoy the thought of a dark Thomas in turn and being feared, respected. Having them cower in front of him. That promised to be more than entertaining. 

What could the memories of the old Anxiety do against the rush of power that was that? 

“Virgil, there you are, did you find Roman? Is he okay?” Morality came out of the kitchen, drying his hands on a towel as he spoke, a so painfully obvious fake expression of concern on his face. As if Morality cared about Anxiety or even Creativity. Anxiety tried not to let any of his discomfort show at the use of that name. It didn’t feel right, not when he was different to the Virgil they knew. But he had to play the part and that meant trying to embrace the name as best he could. At least until things changed and he could find a name of his own. Or the Boss killed him. Whichever way it went and he was loyal to Roman, he would follow him anywhere. Even to his death. It was one of the few things that the two of them agreed on, their loyalty towards the other side, even if it manifested itself in different ways. 

“Yeah, he needed a little help but we managed to solve the problem,” Anxiety replied, the not quite a lie rolling off his tongue with ease. He couldn’t do an outright lie on the off chance that it summoned Deceit but a different type would hopefully slip by without being noticed. He pulled his phone out of his hoodie pocket, doing his best to appear casual about the whole conversation. 

“I think he’s almost... embarrassed honestly. Princey needed some help. He said he was gonna go fight the Dragon Witch or something. Just a way to boost his ego I guess, give him a while and he will come swanning back with some grand tale we all have to listen to and pretend to be impressed by.” 

The trick would be not to press too hard, not to make it seem like he was trying to convince them not to go looking for Roman. Anxiety had other ways to stop them if it came to that, but he was, by nature, lazy and he didn’t really want to have to go to those lengths straight away. The aim was to distract them, not to go to war with them. 

Not to mention, they would be far more suspicious of his intentions if he was that obvious. Logic especially, despite his name, was the sort to want to do something because one of the others tried to stop him. Some Logic he was. The Boss would make him better. The Boss would make all of them better, just as soon as he was done playing with the original him and getting whatever he wanted from him. Anxiety had no idea what that was, but then it wasn’t his job to know that. 

“Oh come on Virgil, his tales are very entertaining,” Morality protested, Anxiety successfully managing to hide the smile he wanted to give and just as he had hoped, the moral side had latched onto his slight dig and so been distracted from the fact that Creativity was still within the Imagination. 

“Yeah, I guess,” Anxiety mumbled, and he didn’t want to push it too far. From what he knew of Virgil’s memories, he rarely disagreed with Morality and he had to play by those rules for as long as possible. The wimp, always agreeing with the other side, always going along with whatever plan he had because it was better than showing his own views. It was pathetic, how scared he was all the time. Convinced that if he dared to show any original thinking, then they wouldn’t be friends with him anymore. 

 “I just wish he could... be more open you know?” Anxiety finished, pushing aside those thoughts for now. 

“I get it kiddo... come on! Wanna help your old man make some dessert after dinner? If Roman’s busy it’ll just be the three of us but we can still cook up a storm, whatcha say?”

That... sounded like hell. He didn’t want to have to spend any more time with Morality than he had to but Virgil was apparently a masochistic moron who enjoyed the company of this blind but sunny idiot. Morality might be upset, or worse, suspect something if he said no and Anxiety couldn’t risk that.

“Sure,” Anxiety agreed with a tight smile, following Morality back into the kitchen. He could do this. It couldn’t last forever and as soon as possible he would make some excuse and get out. That, at least, was the sort of thing that Virgil would do. There was only so much socialising either of them could do. Anxiety was rather looking forward to getting his hands on his new bedroom. There was a lot of stuff he would no doubt have to throw away, but at least there he could express himself properly. 

The Boss could end this at any moment and while Anxiety was determined to do his job to the best of his ability, he was equally determined to have as much fun as he could. For as long as he could. Who knew what could happen tomorrow. All he had to do was think of an excuse to get out of this ridiculous ‘family bonding’ that Virgil willingly subjected himself to. 

He watched as Morality bounced around the kitchen, pulling out various pots and pans, collecting what seemed like a ridiculous amount of things in order to make what looked like some kind of pasta and garlic bread dish. Who knew you needed that many vegetables and green leaves in order to make a sauce? Why didn’t he just click a jar into existence like any normal side? 

Why did he have to make something complicated? What was wrong with a power bar or some takeaway if they wanted to be more elaborate. It was less work and Anxiety felt as though he had already done more than enough of that already today. Well. Convincing Morality had taken less work than he expected. One of the perks of looking like his precious ‘dark strange son’ he supposed, but it had been enough for him. 

Anxiety opened his mouth, his mind working away, a dozen possible excuses coming to the forefront as he tried to decide which one he was going to use to get away from this room. He never got as far as actually speaking. 

A sudden stabbing pain shot through his body. Anxiety gritted his teeth against the sudden agony, turning his head away from Patton and towards the wall as though that could mask his expression. Without conscious thought, his fingers twitched towards his thigh as he tried not to make his discomfort too obvious. 

What on earth was the Boss doing to the original? 

Not that he particularly cared one way or another. Not until it became so violent that it actually spread across the blood bond and affected him too which seemed to be exactly what was happening now. It had to be bad, really bad. Maybe there would only be one Anxiety sooner than he expected and that was almost enough to make him smile through the pain. Almost, but not quite. Anxiety certainly didn’t smile. It would ruin his whole look and unlike Virgil, he had no intention of softening his edges just to be accepted. He was here to spy on the others - and to keep Thomas safe - not play happy families with them. 

There was another stabbing pain in his thigh, Anxiety unable to stop his whole leg from twitching in pain, a soft little curse slipping out from under his breath. 

“Language!” Morality sang out from the other side of the kitchen and just how good was his hearing? Anxiety had been attempting to be quiet and yet he had heard it? That was just annoying. Yet another thing to add to his list of what annoyed him about the light sides and he was going to fill a whole mental notebook at this rate. Maybe he should actually conjure up a book once he was back in his new room. Something to keep himself sane with, he could write down all the disgusting, fake things they had done during the day.

Maybe, he could even show the Boss. It would be a good way to record down information he needed, as well as working out his issues with the idiots. Not to mention, it would be just pain, good, spiteful, fun. 

The bubbly side moved up to him, his head cocked to the side like a rather stupid dog. That was a pretty adept description now he thought about it - all wagging tail and soft dumb eyes with nothing going on behind them. Anxiety repressed another curse and he had wanted to get away from him, not have Morality come closer. 

“Virgil? You okay there kiddo?” Morality asked, his face still that mask of syrupy concern, acting the worried parent. It was a good act, he had to admit. Not good in that he was enjoying it in any way, but good in that he seemed able to keep it up permanently. 

It was sickening. How could the old him stomach all this? All the sticky sweetness, the fake honey that made him feel so dirty, and then worst of all the lies? Morality was just stringing them all along for the sake of his own superiority. He liked having the three of them dancing to his tune, following his outdated and boring ideas of what was right and wrong. 

There was no way he could be sincere in caring for Virgil. Who could have possibly cared for that screw up? 

No, it was all just to keep Virgil under control. All the better to make sure he didn’t get in the way of what Morality wanted. Just like the Boss was doing, but at least he was honest about it. He had said from the first second of Anxiety’s existence that his whole purpose was to make him ‘sing’, to break him and have him dance to his whims instead of Morality’s song. Anxiety much preferred the honestly of his Boss. 

“I’m fine,” Anxiety muttered, staring down at the floor and hoping that the lie would be believable enough. Or if not, then Morality would accept that he wanted to be left alone. Not everything had to be talked about and explored in any great detail. As though they really needed to talk about feelings, ugh. 

“You don’t look fine. It’s okay Virge, you’re allowed to be feeling rough. You’re allowed to admit if you’re under the weather,” Morality lectured, lifting a hand to press it against his forehead. It took everything in Anxiety not to slap the touch away, to growl and snarl as he wanted and how dare he think he could touch without permission. How dare he put himself into Anxiety’s personal space as though he has any right to be there. 

The nausea that rose in his stomach for a moment was only partly due to the pain still throbbing in his leg. It felt like a fire, radiating out from one single spot on his leg. 

Although. This could be just the chance he had been waiting for. The way out of having to help make a meal. He would have to be careful. Play the sick card too strongly and he ran the risk of Morality transforming into a mother hen and insisting on nursing him, which would be so much more worse than a meal with them. He sighed, making an attempt to look reluctant, almost embarrassed. 

“Okay, maybe not fine. I think I just pulled a muscle or something? Seriously... Pat, I’m good.” 

He shrugged his shoulders, adopting that casual slouch that was as much a part of Anxiety’s persona as his outfit. It felt comfortable, slipping into the role for real. He wasn’t the warm, nurturing type. It felt much better to be the edgy emo. Why would Virgil ever try and be something he wasn’t? 

Anxiety started to limp towards the fridge. It was only half acting, his leg still throbbing from the phantom pain that was spreading out from a spot in his thigh. It ran along his veins, something hot and unpleasant. Anxiety had to keep reminding himself that he wasn’t actually bleeding. If he touched his leg, his hand wouldn’t come away sticky and wet. 

It was infuriating that Virgil wasn’t even here and he was still ruining  his day. Anxiety was going to have to get Virgil back for that. It didn’t matter that Virgil had no idea they were connected in this way, or that he wouldn’t have done it on purpose. It didn’t even matter that the Boss had been the one to actually injure Virgil - as far as Anxiety was concerned it was still his fault. He reached the freezer, hand curling around the handle. Without looking back at Morality, he spoke, pulling it open as he did. 

“I’m going to get some ice and lie down for a bit okay? I’ll get myself some food later.”

By the time Anxiety turned around, ice pack clutched in his hands, it was to find Morality visibility deflated, a disappointed and resigned look in those brown eyes. No doubt disappointed that he would only have Logic for company that evening. It was hard for Morality to manipulate Logic - oh, he could still do it, of that Anxiety was sure, but he tended to need the others to sweep the logical side along in the direction that he wanted. So much the better. The two of them probably wouldn’t get any silly ideas like going to look for Creativity tonight.

Morality nodded slowly, taking a step to the side which finally opened up Anxiety’s escape route. He was so close to getting out of this. 

“You’re right of course Virgil. You go rest it. I’ll bring some food on a tray up for you kiddo, so you don’t have to walk too far. I’ll leave it outside your door, just make sure you do some easy stretches.” 

That was. Surprisingly nice of Morality. Not the niceness itself - he expected that. What was strange was that Anxiety couldn’t see the point to it. If he left the tray outside without trying to talk to him, then he couldn’t try and guilt him into joining them for some family bonding. 

Was it to make him feel guilty? Obligated? Ah. Yes, that had to be it. Do something nice and pretend you didn’t want something in return. And then, down the line, after Anxiety had made the mistake of accepting the gift, then the trap would be sprung. Easy, Anxiety just wouldn’t touch it. Except then he might knock and there would be more interactions. Okay. He would take it inside but not eat it and then with Morality tried to use it against him, he would be ready. 

He grunted instead of answering properly and limped out of the room and started to climb the stairs. It was time to do some redecorating in his new room. 

--

The world was a confusing mix of pain and the complete absence of sensation. Was he ill? Virgil had been ill once or twice before but it had never felt quite as bad as this before. He remembered having the flu, long after he had properly moved upstairs into the main side area but at the same time long before he had been accepted by them. He remembered lying in his bed, shaking and shivering. The world had shifted from hot to cold back to melting again in the blink of an eye. Just like now in fact. 

Did he have the flu again? 

Virgil felt so weak, so terribly weak. When he could focus enough to think at all, those were the thoughts that consumed him. How ill he felt, how he could feel the cold sweat across his body. Sometimes, he was aware of other things too. Such as the brush of a wet flannel across his forehead, a cooling relief to the fire that was raging under his skin, albeit only for a moment. As soon as the flannel had passed, that coolness shifted to new cold sweat, a shiver wracking his frame. Could you be both on fire and freezing at the same time? It certainly felt like it and that meant there was no real escape from the torment. 

Over the sound of his own laboured breathing, he could occasionally hear a soft voice promising that things would be alright. Virgil always wanted to answer that voice, but his throat was so dry. Even swallowing was painful, talking felt far beyond him.  Every now and then - but far too rare for his liking - something cold would be lifted to his lips and Virgil would be able to swallow a mouthful of blessed water. It was never enough to soothe the ache in his throat, instead it only seemed to make him that much more aware of how much it hurt. 

He wanted another mouthful. He always wanted another mouthful, Virgil able to make a pitiful sound or two that could have been a request for more. It was the same routine, with Virgil only ever remembering after he made the sound what would happen next. The glass would come close again, would hover against his lips and then pull away without another drop.

Despite knowing it was futile, Virgil couldn’t help but try and follow that glass as it was pulled away from him. Every time, his body refused to work as it should, his head falling back into the pillows with a pained little cry. Every time two sounds would come to his ears. One, the soft clink of a glass set down upon a table somewhere. And two.... And two. Well, it almost sounded like a laugh. But that had to be the flu talking surely. Why would someone help him, only to laugh at him? 

There were rare moments of clarity as well. Moments when he was alone and the fire and ice had shifted to mere hot and cold. Seconds that told him the problem was coming from his leg. The slightest movement would set off the pain, would leave him helpless and broken upon the bed. In those moments, more than ever, it felt as though he was on fire and the source of the flames was his leg. You didn’t get the flu in your leg. You didn’t get any sort of illness in your leg, not like this. But if it wasn't the flu, what was it? 

Virgil tried to snatch at those thoughts, to knit them together into some kind of cohesive thought process. All too soon, however, that moment would pass and he would slip back into semi-awareness, moaning softly from the pain. 

He had no idea how long he existed in the haze. It could have been an hour, an afternoon, an eternity. Time had long since lost all meaning but gradually, he could feel himself start to float upwards, towards a lighter shade of darkness. The murmur of a voice became somewhat more distinctive, so much so that Virgil could almost make out what was being said. He didn’t want to wake up properly. Virgil knew that much. The real world was dangerous. It was sharp where his current world was all soft edges and pain yes. But even the pain had an element of softness to it, a detachment to it because he could slip further back into the dream world at any time. 

He wasn’t ready to wake up.

Something pressed down on his leg. 

The world exploded, Virgil arching upwards in an agonised scream, the sound torn from his vocal cords as he thrashed in the bed. Where the energy was coming from, Virgil didn’t know. He didn’t know a lot of anything right now, except the pressure was still wrapped around his leg. That almost but surely not, laughter sounded again. 

“It’s okay little bird, its okay. Hush sweetheart.” 

Virgil know that voice. He could recognise the sweetness, the melody to it. Roman. Roman was here. Roman had to be the one who was looking after him. Roman had brought him drinks and wiped his brow and was now sitting with him so he wasn’t alone. It both comforted and scared him. Why would it scare him? It was Roman, and Roman was his friend. Was his family and now that Virgil was starting to under the meaning of that word, having Roman here meant so much more to him. 

So why did Roman sound so... so gleeful? 

“Your leg got infected but it's going to be fine. I’m going to take care of you, okay?” Roman again, and infected? His leg? What had happened to his leg? Why couldn’t he remember? At least he finally knew why he was sick, even if he didn’t know the ‘how’. 

The pressure vanished once more, Virgil feeling his whole body go limp as he left out a sharp exhale. The pain was still there of course, sharper than before, a throbbing, piercing agony that kept him from slipping back into the safety of the daze.

“Come on darling. Open your eyes for me. Let me see those beautiful browns,” Roman coaxed. Dimly, Virgil could feel his hand against his face, fingers dancing lightly against his cheek. He wanted him to open his eyes? But that sounded so hard, that sounded like effort. Roman had been looking after him, had taken care of him and the least he could do was try and look up at him like he wanted. 

With a great force of effort, Virgil forced his eyes open. It felt as though he was prising open a really strong set of magnets. Finally, light spilled in, the world blurry and made up of a mass of odd shapes and colours. He would say it didn’t look like his room but it was hard to make out anything in this state. It certainly was lighter than he remembered his room being, but perhaps Roman had simply managed to convince the curtains to remain open. If he had been unconscious, he wouldn’t have been able to keep them closed on purpose.

Virgil blinked but the world remained out of focus. A shadow fell over him, a blend of red and black colours swirling together and it took him longer than he would have liked to realise that he was staring up - probably - at Roman. 

It wasn’t his usual colours. Why was... why was Roman wearing something else? For that matter, why was he in his room at all? It wasn’t safe for them to be in his room and Virgil was sure he would have dragged himself to the one place he felt truly safe the moment he realised he was hurt. 

Like an animal crawling into some dark corner to die. 

Something was wrong. His anxiety was finally kicking in, his mind screaming at him, that something was very wrong. Beyond his leg injury. 

“-ear me? Songbird, come on darling, I need to focus, just for a moment, please?” 

Songbird? What kind of nickname was that? Roman was really slipping in the whole insulting nicknames based on his looks and interests if all he could come up with was a songbird. That was nothing like Virgil. Anyway, what was with all the darling and pet nicknames in general? That wasn’t like Roman at all, and Virgil knew he was missing something important. Something that was hovering just out of reach, an elusive memory that he couldn’t quite latch onto. If only he could remember how he hurt his leg. Somehow, Virgil just knew that was the answer to all his questions. Roman started to talk again. 

“Going to let me take care of you? I’ll make it all better I promise. Just say yes. That’s all I need to hear sweetness. Yes and I’ll get you some water, I will get you fixed even better than before...” Roman sounded so sincere, so persuasive as he made his offer. It sounded wonderful, Virgil was already so sick of being sick. Of being weak and helpless. He wanted to be better, no he needed to be better. Who was going to look after Thomas and the rest if he was ill?

Virgil didn’t understand why Roman was asking instead of just helping, but maybe he was making a real effort with consent and stuff. He was pretty sure that kind of thing didn’t count when you were ill and needed to be looked after. It was... nice, to think that Roman wanted to look after him. Even nicer to think that he cared enough about Virgil and his issues to get permission when it wasn’t really needed at the moment. Roman was the best type of friend. 

Not to mention, water would be amazing right now. 

“Yes...” Virgil mumbled, forcing out the word, his throat protesting painfully against even that. He couldn’t see the smile on Roman’s face but despite that, Virgil couldn’t help but give a little shiver, as though someone had just walked over his grave. He closed his eyes as he felt another cool flannel pass over his forehead, trying to still the nagging doubts that were pressing in on him. 

Letting Roman help him was the right thing to do. 

So why did he feel as though he had just made a terrible mistake? 

tag list;

@jittery-glittery @applecannibal @cookiethedevil @i-will-physically-fight-you @jemthebookworm @4amanxiety @plaid-purple-patches @hikarisakurariver

[quillsareswords]

I Love You

Damian Wayne (fluff/angst)

Unrequested

Prompt List // Masterlist

   As we all know, Damian Wayne has never been, and likely never will be, one to show his emotions.

   You knew this. It’s part of why you loved him so much, because neither were you. It was far easier to be with someone who knew to focus on the little things more than anything.

   You were the first one to say “I love you”. It was in the middle of patrol on a rare quiet night, perched at the edge of a roof along side him. Your quiet confession was carried to him partly by a somewhat warm summer breeze that ruffled his hair. You weren’t sure if it was the breeze or your words that made his eyes glitter the way they did.

   But that isn’t what this is about.

   This is about the first time he said those three special words, or rather, the fact that he never really did.

   The first time he said I love you, had been when you were sixteen, on a cold January afternoon in a coffee shop near Gotham Academy. You were standing beside him at the counter to order, barely a month in to your relationship. You were skimming the board above the kitchen, trying to find something that caught your attention while he ordered.

   “. . . And for her,” your eyes darted quizzically to him, “a hot chocolate with cinnamon extra whipped cream.”

   Now that sounded good. You didn’t take your eyes off of him until he met your questioning gaze.

    He looked away almost immediately.

   The second time he said I love you, had been in the same year. It was May, rain pouring down with only one intention: soak the entire city and everyone in it.

   You had been one unlucky victim, but you were dry now, more or less. Your hair was still damp, but you knew you wouldn’t be getting a hot shower or a towel anytime soon.

   Robin’s eyes were glued to his task, mask laying forgotten on the floor at your feet. You flinched as he tugged on the thread to tighten it, immediately drawing his attention. He said nothing. There was nothing left to say, after the biting comments made only moments before.

   You, on the other hand, hadn’t even known you reacted. You were too busy concentrating on the gash running the length of his calf, fresh blood still dripping down his leg. You had begged him to let you stitch him up first, but he wouldn’t have it, and instead decided you were going first.

   You knew damn well it hurt more than he let on, especially by the stone set expression his face, an obvious sign he was hiding emotion, and the way his leg shook just enough for you to see.

   It was days like these when you wished with everything you had that he didn’t love you as much as he did, even it you wouldn’t trade it for the world.

   The third time he said I love you, it was summer vacation of the same year. you were longingly scrolling through your friends’ messages, skimming pictures of their marvelous trips and events. You didn’t have time for any sort of trip, nor the money. You were slouching in Damian’s reading chair in the corner of his room, waiting for him to finish up his portion of his monthly report to Bruce.

   When the door opened, you switched tabs to something less depressing, uttering an absent, “How’d it go?” You’d mentioned it offhandedly to him once or twice, but you hadn’t expected anything of it.

   He didn’t answer until he was standing in front of you, and only then did you look up at him, confusion scribbled into every muscle of your face. You weren’t sure what puzzled you more, the proud yet mischievous gleam in his green-blue eyes, or the matching, loose smile he wore.

   Wordlessly, he removed one hand from behind his back. You immediately gasped at the two plane tickets carded between his fingers, leaning over to get a better look at the brochure that accompanied them.

   The fourth time he said I love you, it had been a rough week to say the least. You had been up throughout the previous night, cramming for a test that you thankfully aced, which hadn’t helped your mood when Bruce called you, reminding you that you and Damian had agreed to pick up an extra patrol night on account of the rise in drug deals.

   When you tiredly shuffled into Damian’s bedroom a few hours early, hoping he wouldn’t mind if you were to catch a nap while he did whatever it was he would be up to that afternoon, you hadn’t expected the sight before you.

   The bed you’d slept in a hundred times looked three times as comfortable as it usually did, the flat screen facing said bed was already on, a favorite cartoon on yours cued up. Damian laid beneath the covers, propped up by the headboard and a  few pillows you knew he had added.

   You didn’t let him speak. You dropped your bag where you stood, kicked the door closed with a foot, and all but threw yourself upon the mattress. You kicked off your shoes and wiggled up the bed in one fluent motion, flipping over to pull your legs up and shove them under the covers.

   You wriggled closer to a smiling Damian, the opening theme of your favorite cartoon filling the room. You were asleep within minutes.

   The fifth time he said I love you had been different from all the rest. You were seventeen, laying flat on your back, the cold sting of the concrete beneath you one of the only things you could feel through the mind-numbing pain emanating from you abdomen.

   You focused on breathing. If you could keep yourself awake and breathing, you’d be fine. At least, that’s what you told yourself. You’d been stabbed in the same place before, but you’d never felt a blade pierce straight through you.

   Your grip on reality was slipping, so you weren’t sure if the floor was really shaking the way you felt it. The sounds of a fight crept into your ears, over the sound of your own heart thumping and stuttering.

   You had to focus on breathing, you reminded yourself. So that’s what you did. In. One, two, three, four. Out. One, two, three, four. You repeated the cycle again and again, blocking out the noises as they grew louder. You didn’t even react when you heard something near the door.

   Bang! Pause. Bang!

   Your breaths were getting ragged ad desperate with the door finally gave way, the inches thick steel bouncing off the brick wall as Robin stumbled inside. You rolled your head to the side, the action causing your vision to blur around the edges. He was at your side before you could catch up, kneeled over you as someone else sped in through the door. He ripped his mask from his face, as if the lenses were lying to him.

   Your eyes met his, a low grunt leaving you as he started applying pressure. You searched for the calming green-blue you were so used to, silently begging for the comfort of turquoise ripples over a green ocean. What you found though, were two emerald stones, all store clouds and welling tears.

   Sheer terror rolled in waves of consuming emotions, but he choked back any other sign of concern, flattening his brow and pursing his lips. You knew, though. He was just as scared as you were.

   The sixth time he said I love you, it was 39 hours later, and you were blinking up at the light obstructing your vision. You grumbled something you weren’t even sure about, and suddenly the lights dimmed, leaving you in a dim, blurred setting with nothing but outlining blobs of dark colors. Was that a chair?

   You regained your hearing first, or rather, remembered it. You could hear a fan running, spinning, you could hear a light bulb buzzing, and you could hear rain pattering aggressively against a pane of glass.

   You blinked a few more times, your vision clearing a little more every time. Whatever you were lying on (you assumed it was a bed, i softness was anything to go on), dipped with an extra load of weight, a blurry shape of a person appearing at the edge of what you now knew to be a bed.

   With you vision finally cleared, Damian’s bedroom came into view, along with the man himself. He slowly reached further up the mattress, tacking your cold hand in his warm one. “Good morning,” he said softly.

   You didn’t reply right away, the memories of earlier events slamming into your conscious mind like rocks to a windshield. You stammered for a moment, before your eyes found his. You could clearly pick out the worry, the exhaustion, the pity, the specs of joy, the liveliness. They were bright ad attentive, focused on nothing but you.

   You didn’t have to ask to know, by the rumpled pajamas, the wild hair, and the tired eyes, that he hadn’t strayed far from your side the entirety of you slumber.

   The seventh time he said I love you, it was a still autumn morning. You were out on the balcony adjacent to only his room and then one next door (which you had claimed for yourself long ago), laying between his legs, your back pressed against his chest. You kept still, your eyes following the movements of the pencil in his hand, tracing the marks it left across the paper.

   You looked away for only a moment, eyes flitting up to examine his subject. A small cluster of red roses laid peacefully on the stone railing enclosing the balcony. As you saw it, it was an elegant sight, but when your eyes returned to the sketchbook in your lap, it appeared lonely an cold, despite the beauty tucked between and within every line.

   Quietly, you asked him about it.

   You felt the steady rise and fall of his chest, and watched the paused his pencil took over one of the roses, before his hand moved to rest on the edge of the page. You felt his chest rumble as he spoke. “It won’t look so dreary, once I color it,” he assured.

   You hummed, a small smile curling your lips. “I was worried you were in a mood,” you admitted, raising one hand. With you index finger, you traced shapeless lines along the side of his thigh, across the soft sweatpants he had slept in the night before.

   He made some soft of agreeing, amused noise. “How could I be?” You shifted to look up at him, his face hovering above yours. “It’s such a lovely morning, and I get to spend it with you.”

   Your smile became more apparent, your lips lazily meeting yours, proving he intended on spending the rest of the day the exact same way. When he pulled away, eyes drinking in the color of your own, he matched your careless smile. “How could I be in a bad mood when I love you this much?”