#He would not care if I was sleeping when he got back but I care.

[girl-lostconnection]

Concept of a concept time:

Reader who goes through the whole relationship with Ghoap or the whole 141 believing that they would always come second place, because of course Simon would burn the world down if Soap was taken out of it. Of course, Price would do everything and anything to save Simon. Of course, Simon would turn into monster if it meant keeping his family safe, keeping his TaskForce safe.

Of course, Kyle would go mad with grief if he was to lose Johnny. Of course, Kyle would become a shell of himself if he lost Price.

Of course they would all shatter without each other alive and well. It was obvious. It was a fact.

Reader who sees it and places themselves on the outside of it, because these men were already something before they came along. These men were already tight knit and close to each other.

These men were already family when Reader got dropped into their laps. It’s only natural they don’t really slot fully. There’s just no more space.

Reader who takes every bit and crumb of an affection they are given. Reader who gives away everything. All of them. Every kiss and confession, every hug, every bit of love and care they have. They give it all, because yeah, maybe they will never be a part of these 4. But they can be near and maybe…maybe that’s enough?

Reader, who dies. Not instead of Soap, not instead of anyone. They just don’t come back from the job one day, their foot locker was supposed to be shipped out to the family. But there is no family.

So 141 takes it. Who, if not them, right?

Reader, who dies and haunts the narrative from that point on. Reader who leaves a hole the size of a person and no one can fill it. It’s impossible.

Reader, whose warmth was seeping through them all for so long, the absence of it feels like a whiplash. The absence of it feels in their bones and it’s cold-cold-cold now. Their hearth dies and there is nothing to do about it but keep going.

Soldiers die every day, this one shouldn’t have been special. But they were.

Kyle who takes their personal things before someone else can come and toss them out, sleeping with their T-shirts and hoodies. Part of him dies with Reader. Part of him is getting buried with them. He’s sitting at their funeral until Price leads him away.

Simon who takes their photos and books, hiding them, keeping them safe. He needs to have it, because memory is traitorous and one day he might not be able to put a face to the name and he’s terrified of it to the point of feeling sick.

Soap who takes mementoes — keychains and magnets from all of the deployments, he takes every knick knack they found in the foot locker and Reader’s room, he stores them next to his. There are new keychains on every set of his keys. He’s fumbling with them every time he feels like there’s knot in his throat and he can’t speak.

Price gets the notebooks. Just a few of those were in a footlocker, filled with scribbles and meal plans and random quotes and games Reader played with Kyle during boring briefings. But it feels like them. It smells like them. Reader never wrote a consistent diary, too little time and too much going on, but they notated the places and times and that Soap coughs like a sick Victorian child and that Kyle has the most perfect beauty marks on his thighs and that Price sneezes like dad and that Simon sleeps with lamp on.

It is everything there was of them. Everything there’s left of their love and John isn’t sure he’d be able to part with it. It isn’t fair that it happened like that. It isn’t fair that he feels like destroying his whole office when he reads the “im not sure i fit in. on the bright side I reckon if something was to happen to me, no one would mourn too long. they have each other, I should be happy it is like that. I should be grateful” because it’s not fair-not fair-not fair-not fair.

John doesn’t show these diaries to anyone. John guards them like his most prized possession, reading it over and over because you, silly perfect thing, why haven’t you said anything. Why haven’t they noticed anything.

John doesn’t show it to anyone because he’s not sure if they won’t crumble under the notion. He’s not sure they won’t shatter when the rest find out that Reader died thinking they weren’t part of the family.

John sobs so hard, bile rises to his throat, world swimming in his eyes and it hurts, and he’s so fucking angry and it’s so unfair. Because it’s not true, because of course you were part of them, of course you matter, of course they mourn.

Because you die never finding out how much you were loved. Because there’s nothing he can do.

And it’s not fair.

[jinwoosbabyboo]

Sick & Tired

How I imagine the LADS Men take care of you when you're sick [requested by: depressed but well dressed anon]

𝚉𝚊𝚢𝚗𝚎

ready and willing to take care of you, but also is in his ‘I told you so’ era because he knew you’d end up getting sick

will do everything and anything you tell him

would let you lay on his shoulder or in his lap while you nap

even though he’s with you constantly to take care of you he somehow manages to not get sick

brings you medicine and a glass of water

cooks you homemade soup and will feed you if you let him

depending on how sick you are he would take time off from work to look after you

for my girlies who cry a little when they dont feel good he would wipe your tears for you “Don’t cry this sickness is only temporary”

if hes still working he’ll always try to be there until you fall asleep and rushes home to you

leaves soup in the fridge for you when he’s not there

𝚁𝚊𝚏𝚊𝚢𝚎𝚕

teases you for getting sick until he realizes youre sad “Aw cutie are you not feeling well?” “I hate it here” “Tell me what you need”

Doesn’t want to get sick so yes he’d bring you whatever you ask for but he’s wearing a mask and gloves ; avoids kisses “once you’re no longer contagious I'll give you a kiss”

doesn’t mind telling you stories or humming you songs to get you to sleep

would feed you, but be prepared to never hear the end of it “You’re just a sick girl who needs my help in your time of need I know I know my services are impeccable” “Can I have my tea now?”

mocks and teases you when you get fussy about anything “I can’t stand you” “Good thing you’re laying down then huh?”

gets sick anyway because his dumbass would eat off your spoon/fork or drink something of yours

you two end up sick in bed together and he’s even more whiny now

lots of cuddles and kisses now since he got himself sick

doom scrolls with you while laying in your lap

Thomas has to come and take care of the two of you

𝚇𝚊𝚟𝚒𝚎𝚛

I wouldn't be me if I didn’t say it ; PAGING NURSE XAVIER

he’s at your side in a split second

so excited to have free reign in your kitchen ; immediately tries to make you soup and burns the pot

blows the kitchen up in your house/apartment ends up having to take care of you at his place

finally orders you soup and medicine after you cried because you didn’t want his cooking

he sleeps when you sleep

constantly checking your temperature

doesn’t mind carrying you around the house he knows you can walk, but he likes having you draped over him

blows your nose for you ; puts the tissue to your nose “Blow.” “Thats what she said” “…..your snot is dripping please blow”

sore throat? he’s right there daily with a spoonful of honey “Here its good for you”

can easily handle you when you get fussy about taking medicine “That was quite the tantrum” as he shoves the medicine in your mouth

𝚂𝚢𝚕𝚞𝚜

already knew you were coming down with something he already has everything ready to go

picks you up and takes you to his place ;has his chef prepare home remedies tailored just for you

brings you everything himself ; you also have the twins at your disposal

sits bedside and encourages you to eat as much as you can “take two more bites and then you can go back to sleep”

still tries to kiss you even though you’re sick because he doesn’t give a damn “Sylus I'll get you sick stop” steals a kiss here and there anyway ; gets sick like two weeks later

wipes and blows your nose for you “You look like a sick kitten” “Shut it”

doesn’t care when you get fussy about taking medicine “Are you done? Good. Here.”

if you want to stay in bed all day thats fine ; if you want to cling to him like a Koala around the house thats fine too he’ll carry you

lets you sleep on him and steal his warmth

checks your breathing when you sleep longer than usual

leaves the twins to keep an eye on you if he needs to step out ; leaves Mephisto to watch you if he needs to take the twins with him

the type to give you a massage even if you’re not having body aches

𝙲𝚊𝚕𝚎𝚋

is already at your doorstep with groceries and medicine

keeps you close to him and in sight at all times

your personal chef truly ; he’s wrapping you in a blanket and laying you on the couch while he makes you something to eat

checks your temperature regularly ; gives you medicine like clockwork

spoon feeds you so you don’t have to lift a finger

reminds you that you don’t need to thank him ; he’ll always take care of you no matter what

cuddles you while you sleep after cleaning your place ; puts a humidifier in your room if you’re congested

tries to make you laugh so you’re not sad ; reminds you that he’ll always be there for you so no need to be sad

wipes and blows your nose for you “Your scrunched up face is adorable”

teases you if you ask for a massage if you’re having body aches ; of course he’s overjoyed to do it though “You know I'll give you a massage whenever you want”

says he won’t kiss you while your sick ; ends up kissing you out of habit and gets a little sick “Now it’s your turn to take care of me”

[hellfire--cult]

+18 thoughts of husband!steve x pregnant!reader because--

You thought that becoming pregnant, your belly swelling and becoming bigger would not be appealing to Steve anymore. You understood it, even if you wanted to, you would respect it.

You couldn't be more wrong.

It happened one day. One random day.

It was a saturday, you asked for an early maternity leave from work, knowing that the temperature was not going to be your best friend in this pregnancy. You were not even doubting it anymore, not caring for the stretch marks that could be seen. You were getting into the fucking pool. So you threw on your new bikini, because your breasts are almost double the size now, and then you had to sit down in order to pull the bottom part on you. And Steve--

He was out in the garden, under the summer heat and the sun kissing his skin just right. He was shirtless, helping you tend your flowers, knowing you cannot bend down as easily as before, and your back screams at you if you do so. You smiled as you looked at him through the kitchen window, preparing some lemonade for him. He had already cleaned the pool, and you knew that Steve loves summer and doesn’t mind it, but it was still hot out there.

You walked out, tray in hand, the sun hitting your skin as you stepped down the little stairs and your feet hit the grass below your feet. You hummed in relief, feeling the fresh cut grass, and the freshness from also being watered. You walked towards Steve, his back still turned to you, and you could already see the color of a tan on his skin. You made sure your husband was covered in sunscreen before heading out, and you were glad you did.

“Hey, I have some lemonade.” Your voice snapped him out from his intense work, smiling as he got up, wiping the sweat off his forehead with the back of his hand. He turned around, and you didn’t see how his eyes were scanning you all over, the sunglasses covering any evidence of it. His chest hairs were all damp in his sweat, and your hormones were screaming at you to have him, but you didn’t want to overstep with him that way.

It’s been two months since the last time you two had sex. You assumed it was because of your belly suddenly blowing up out of nowhere. You were bigger, and your baby moved inside your belly a lot. Right now, he was asleep, so you could happily get into the cold water for some relief. 

Steve reached one glass of lemonade, full of ice and little leaves of mint. You saw how he gulped the glass in one single gulp, surprising you. You moved towards the small garden table, putting the tray down. Your hands found the bottle of sunscreen that he left there, and you wanted to make sure your belly was fully covered, so you squirted a bit at the top of it and passed your hands all over.

You didn’t notice how Steve was looking at you. How your movements were making him lose his self control bit by bit. He held back the past two months, knowing the stretching of skin was not that comfortable, and the baby was being very active on you. He heard your complaints, your little whines of pain at night when the baby didn’t let you sleep. 

But fuck, you didn’t know what you did to Steve.

He knew he had a breeding kink. That is the exact reason you two were in this situation right now. When you gave him the go to start trying, he went feral. Every day or every two days, he was on you. He wanted a baby with you, yes or yes. He wanted to see you round with his baby, making you a proud mama with his own child. 

And you looked marvelous. Right now, with that bikini on you, your breasts, your belly, your entire body was just making him strain in his own swim shorts. He watched you slowly get inside the pool by the steps, your body contorting a little at the feel of the cold water on your skin, and the moment he heard you moan from relief was the point of no return from him.

He dropped the garden gloves to the floor, threw the sunglasses on the table, long strides heading your way to the pool. You smiled up at him as your hands held your belly from underneath, feeling relief that the water was helping you not feel the weight of your belly. He professionally dove in, his arms up and jumping in with a forward position. You giggled as you stood a little closer to the less shallow part of the pool, your shoulders just coming out of the surface.

You saw him finally coming up, shaking his head and wiping his face as he immediately started swimming your way. He stood in front of you, a smile on his face as he looked down at you.

“You came in to freshen up?” He asked and you nodded, his hands coming to rest on your waist, rubbing your skin softly. 

“Yeah, it’s pretty hot today and well, I feel it ten times more than normal.” His eyes found purchase on your breasts for a second and then back up to your eyes.

“Mhm, it is pretty hot… you know what else is hot?” You tilted your head slightly, his face coming to your neck, his lips kissing your skin softly, tasting a bit of chlorine from the water. “You look so good in this bikini…” 

You were surprised to hear that, your eyes widening slightly at the change of events. You didn’t think Steve would even try to make a move on you, at least not until you got your baby out of you. Your body lit up in flames once more, and the cold water was not taming them down at all. His lips kept kissing your skin, going down to your shoulder. 

In just two seconds, your arms were straightened over the edge of the pool, the lower part of your bikini pushed aside, as your husband railed into you, the water splashing behind your back and your sides. You were trying to hold your moans in, lips into your mouth as your head was thrown back. Pregnancy has made you more sensitive. Nipples, clit, your insides, just everywhere. Even your skin felt more sensitive.

He was groaning as he looked all over your body, and fuck it was doing it for him. It was doing so many things to him. You looked so beautiful as he moved in and out of you, the water not being his best friend right now. He wanted to go faster but obviously, it was not possible. He cursed at himself for not being able to hold himself back for a few more minutes and get out of the pool to have you on the grass at least.

You were whining, feeling the drag of his cock inside of you, the incoming climax warning you it was going to be a strong one. It’s been a while since you last had an orgasm, and this was going to kill you. 

“I can feel you baby, cum on me. Come on…” His lips found your neck again, kissing your pulse point, biting on it, sucking on it. The intense attention you were receiving also helped to have your senses heightened. Your walls fluttered around him, and your belly was tightening, which you didn’t think you would feel. Your body trembled underneath the water, and he wanted to rip that top off of you, but it was enough he was risking the neighbors seeing the two of you fucking in the pool.

Your eyes clenched tightly as you started seeing stars behind your eyelids, your legs gripping him tightly around his waist, your walls clenching completely around him, making him choke out a moan. He had also been pent up. Unlike you, Steve could jerk off, being able to reach, but if you couldn’t touch yourself, he wasn’t going to do it to himself either. 

Moans escaped you, trying to keep your mouth shut but failing as a little whimper came out, riding your orgasm out on him. His breaths grew frantic as he felt as if he was going to explode and then, he finally came inside of you. His hips jerked into you at each spurt he delivered in you. 

You two ended up breathing heavily and his lips found yours, desperately as he sat inside of you. Your arms wrapped around his shoulders, kissing him back as you felt him twitch once again. 

After that, Steve fucked you whenever he could and whenever you felt comfortable to do so.

Which was whenever as well.

He fucked you into the bed, in the couch, in the shower, in the kitchen. Just everywhere. You were in cloud nine, your libido and his matching perfectly despite the predicament of your belly. It was a little tricky sometimes to get comfortable, but Steve made sure you did. He made sure you were the one enjoying this the most. Not that he didn’t, but he cared for you more than he did for himself. 

There were times that he was spent, but you were still horny. He would go down on you there, fuck you with his fingers, with his tongue, even with his thigh so you would cum for a second time, even a third. He was there to please you, and he got off of it.

“You look so fucking good like this.” His voice was in your ear as you two laid on your sides, one hand pulling your left leg up as he railed into you from behind, spooning you. “Such a good mom already…”

His dirty talk got heavier, surprising you, but you didn’t mind it. You actually felt pleasure from his words, which were encouraging even if dirty. You would whisper soft ‘thank yous’ and you would call his name if he said something that really got you going.

You learnt that when wearing a dress, you should not be wearing any underwear. The moment Steve walks through the door and sees you in the kitchen, either washing dishes or cooking, he was on you. Pulling that summer dress up your hips as he got on his knees. All fours was a position that hurt you, but it didn’t if he ate you out. 

Another position you found yourself comfortable in, which surprised you, was being on top. Just for a little while. Your feet planted on the bed, crouching on him as you bounced up and down, your thighs helping your belly to not bounce on you. He was in awe each time you were on top, moaning your name like crazy, his eyes scanning your entire body as if you were the embodiment of Venus herself. 

“Steve, baby–” You felt so good, today you were clenching more than usual, fluttering all over him, and you were so wet that it dripped down onto his pubes. 

“So fucking good. You were destined to become a mom… fuck, and with my children–” He moaned at a particular drag you did, his hands grabbing yours, fingers intertwined as you used him for leverage. He felt you clench around him at his words, making him smirk, “Oh, you like that?”

“Uh huh–” You moaned out, feeling your orgasm approaching more than ever and he started moving his hips, thrusting up into you, making you gasp in pleasure.

“Such a good wife… You’re gonna be such a good mommy, aren’t you honey?” His words always are the little flame that made the fireworks in you explode, clenching around him like a vice, a loud moan escaping you as you trembled on top of him. He groaned loudly, his own orgasm crashing on him, your name tumbling out of his lips. “Fuck yes–”

Needless to say, your baby arrived much earlier than it was due.

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

[zepskies]

HEADCANON: Man Flu

Pairings: Dean Winchester x Reader || Beau Arlen x Reader || Soldier Boy/Ben x Reader || Boaz Priestly x Reader

HC: When Dean Winchester, Beau Arlen, Soldier Boy (Ben), and Boaz Priestly get sick, how would they act when you (try to) take care of them?

AN: After reading I Got You by @bettystonewell (Dean x Reader) and The Best Kind of Medicine by @lamentationsofalonelypotato (Soldier Boy x Reader), I realized that I've never actually written a sick-fic before. Here it is in headcanon form, since you guys seem to like these! lol 💜

Also adding Priestly to this lineup for the first time because some of you have been requesting more of him recently. 😉

Tags/Warnings: Established relationship, hurt/comfort, sick-fic, some needy affection-starved men who don't want to admit they're needy, lots of fluff.~

Dean Winchester

He's not sick. Because he doesn't get sick.

Dean claims he has the constitution of a horse, but you still take the beer out of his hand before he can take a sip at 10:00 a.m.

He's too busy interrupting himself, namely by coughing half a lung, wheezing, blinking teary eyes -- the whole phlegmy nine yards.

Sam shakes his head, casting you a look that frankly says, Good luck.

He knows his brother is stubborn as hell, and one of the things Dean dislikes most is being fussed over for "no reason." Being seen as weak. Not being able to just shrug his shoulders and shake it off.

To be fair, Dean tries. Except this time it's accompanied by a body shiver and a reluctant sniffle. His pallid face is drawn, and his usually strong and solid frame looks unsteady as he leans a hand on the War Room table.

"Okay, come on, Rambo. Let's get you back into bed," you say, guiding your boyfriend back to the room you share with him.

"I'm find," he insists, even as he begrudgingly accepts the gentle pressure of your hand on his back and shoulder, pushing him down to the bed.

"Sure you are, baby," you say with a smirk. "You're in the primb of libe."

Dean shoots you a narrowed look. Damn you for forcing him to binge-watch all those episodes of Friends late at night when you both can't sleep.

Right now he's Monica, trying to convince you he's in tip-top shape, while you're Chandler, just trying to get him to use tissues instead of his flannel sleeve to wipe his runny nose.

After taking his boots off, you get him to change out of his jeans and back into his sweatpants. Then you manage to get him to lay down under the covers with the promise of coming back with medicine and soup.

"I don't want soup, damn it," he grumbles. You just roll your eyes and rub his arm.

"Just rest. I'll be back with the Vicks."

As you might expect, Dean is not an easy patient.

He refuses to drink tea, but he does down the pills you bring for him, with a measured toss of his head that still makes his head swim. He groans.

He swallows a couple of cautious spoonfuls of the soup, pausing when he realizes that its warmth actually feels good down his sore and scratchy throat. It tastes pretty good too, especially with the warm, buttered slices of bread on the side.

"You made this?" he asks.

"Mhmm," you nod, smiling. If nothing else, good food will pacify this man. "Chicken and wild rice, made especially for you."

"Hmm. S' good," he nods in reply. He manages to finish the bowl.

He has to admit, if just to himself, that he does feel like shit.

He won't admit that the way you're rubbing his back, the gentle pressure of your nails between his shoulders and down his spine relaxes him, makes him feel better.

He knows that you care about him. That you love him. But this is one of those moments where it hits him, just how much.

It's a little overwhelming. A heavy swell of pressure fills his chest, so he tries not to let himself think about it for very long.

(He fails.)

After he's done eating, you take the plates away and help him back into bed. You linger there, slipping your fingers through his soft brown hair and pressing a kiss to his clammy forehead.

"I really need you to rest, okay," you say quietly. "If you need anything, just text me or Sam. Don't get out of bed."

Dean grasps your hand before you can move away from him. Since you're probably going to wash your hands anyway, he lays a kiss on the back of your hand.

"Thanks, sweetheart."

Beau Arlen

Sheriff Beau Arlen is the type to run himself into the ground because he's so damn into his work.

He wants to do well in his station of responsibility, and he feels like he has to make up for his performance during the summer madness of Buck Barnes and Avery...and everything in between.

You just have to make Beau realize that he needs to slow down, before he well and truly burns himself out.

You put your foot down one morning.

He tries to get out of bed but has to pause, his head swimming. He takes a couple of steadying breaths while sitting on the edge of the bed.

You notice with a frown. "Hey, you okay?"

"Fine. Just fine," he answers a little too breathlessly. He raises a hand to his head. His throat is sticky and coarse. He wrinkles his nose when he also feels a sneeze coming on.

"Just need a...a...mugh-ah-ha-hugh."

His coughing sneeze makes you grimace. You didn't even know someone could sneeze and cough at the same time.

"Aw, babe. You're sick," you say as you move over to him, resting a hand on his back. He shakes his head and groans.

"Nah, can't be sick. Gotta lot of work to do today," he says. His voice is like gravel blended with broken glass. It would actually be sexy, if for the distinctly un-sexy way he tries to clear the great wad of phlegm from his throat.

He tries to rock himself onto his feet, but there he sways on the landing. You hurry out of bed to grab his arm and steady him.

"Oh no, you don't. Back into bed," you say.

"Aw, sweetheart. I'll be fine--"

"No. Lay down. You're not going in today," you say more firmly, all while you tuck the man back into bed with the blankets covering him.

"All right, all right. No need to be so pushy," he can't help but tease.

It earns a small smirk on your face. It seems like his man flu hasn't yet deprived him of his sense of humor.

"I thought you liked that though," you reply. You sit on the edge of the bed and rub his chest. He groans in defeat.

"Can't believe this," he grumbles. "Today of all days--"

"There's always going to be another case. This is your body telling you that you need to slow down," you tell him. "So how about this. I'm gonna call in one of my sick days, and we'll bunker in together."

You stroke his bearded cheek. He quirks a smile, grabbing your hand and squeezing warmly.

"How long until I'm allowed out, warden?" he asks.

"Until you can stand without keeling over," you dryly reply. A smile tugs at your lips. "Remind me to stop by CVS to grab you a Life Alert."

"All right, har har haugh--" His sarcasm ends on a very real, wheezing cough. Your amused smile drops. You relent from your teasing and stroke his chest once more.

"Okay, just rest. Let me get you some actual medicine and I'll be right back."

He stops you by grabbing your wrist. "Hey, uh...can I have some chicken noodle soup later?"

"Of course, baby. I'll swing by the store now and get some stuff for you."

"And some saltines?"

"Saltine crackers on the side. Got it."

You're about to head to the bathroom to brush your teeth before you start getting ready to go to the store, but once again, Beau's needy hand stops you.

"Before you go, some tea with honey and lemon would be good. Just something for my throat," he croaks.

You smile and nod. "Yeah, for sure. That'll be better for you than coffee."

"Oh, and can you gimme that quilt over there?" he asks, pointing to your favorite knitted blanket at the edge of the bed. You graciously lay it over his form and drop a kiss onto his forehead.

"And some cough drops. Thank you, darlin'," Beau adds.

Your lips begin to press together, but you nod and continue getting dressed.

You can already tell this man is going to settle into you taking care of him just fine.

Soldier Boy (Ben)

Neither of you thought it was possible, considering his super genes that allowed him to eat and booze and drug harder than Andre the Giant and Keith Richards put together.

But one day, your over six-foot super soldier goes down hard. The warning signs came the night before, when you could hardly sleep with the way he was snoring like a grizzly bear.

In the morning, he wakes bleary-eyed with a runny nose and a coughing fit hard enough to shake the bed.

"Fuck," he groans, dragging a hand over his face before he turns onto his back. "This's gotta be some kind of bullshit hangover."

You move over to him in bed and feel the intense warmth of his clammy forehead. Your brows draw together in concern.

"No, I think you're sick."

"Not possible," he grumbles. "I haven't been sick since..."

Well, since he was a kid, probably. He won't admit it, but he's surprised he still has that memory lodged in the back of his mind.

It comes to the forefront now: your hand on his cheek unknowingly mimics his mother's gentle touch, her soft, kind voice.

"Aw, my sweet boy. Let's get you feeling better."

He can almost recall the floral scent of her perfume, echoes of it in the shampoo you use.

Ben claims he's fine, that he doesn't need your help or want the medicine and tea you bring for him. (He tries the tea, grimaces, and spits it out when you're not looking.)

He's a sourpatch grumbly patient who only begrudgingly stays put in bed when you ask him to. He doesn't mind lying around and watching movies all day, not to mention episode after episode of Below Deck. It reminds him that he wants to get back into boating.

"Hey, sweetheart," he calls to you from the bedroom, his voice croaking all the while. "I'm getting you a yacht for Valentine's Day. You want it all white, or throw in a bit of gold? Actually, check out this one with the navy trim."

You roll your eyes to yourself when you step back into the room. You're carrying a tray with a large bowl of soup and a fifth of whiskey. He claims the latter will help soothe his throat, and you don't have the heart to argue with him when he's clearly feeling so shitty.

"You mean you're getting you a yacht," you reply wryly. "We live in the city. Where the hell would we put a boat?"

"In a yacht club, where it belongs," Ben retorts. He hooks an arm around your waist and peruses what you've brought him on the tray. He doesn't look all that interested.

"Look, I know you're not exactly a soupy kinda guy, but this'll make you feel better," you say.

"Why can't you put some fucking steak in it or something?" he grouses. He tries and fails to hide another wet cough.

"Why can't you just eat what I lovingly made, just for you," you snipped back.

He rolls his eyes at your attitude, but he pipes down. In that silence, he's conceding that you have a point. There was a time were all he had to do was glance in someone's direction, and there'd be some fucking moron to fulfill his every whim.

Now, you're probably the only one in the world that would actually do what you're doing...

Cooking for him, putting your heart into it, for the simple reason that you do care.

Ben takes the bowl of soup from your hands. Raising a brow, you offer him the spoon as well.

He eats without further complaint.

You smile and reward him with a sweet kiss on his forehead, brushing his hair back as you do so.

"See? That's not so hard, huh?" you can't help but needle him. "It's okay, baby. I'll take care of you."

He eyes you dryly, but he won't admit that there's a different kind of warmth coiling in his chest.

Boaz Priestly

"Uuuughhh, babe," he groans. "I feel like death on toast."

You're standing beside the bed with a smile playing on your lips. You brush back his for once un-gelled hair back from his face. It's weird to see it all limp and lifeless, slightly damp with sweat.

"Unironically, I should make you some toast," you reply. "What kind of medicine do we have?"

Priestly unearths his head from under his pillow to look up at you with miserable red-rimmed eyes and a sniffling, stuffy nose. "Can we count the tequila in the mini bar?"

"Maybe later," you laugh. "How are we on groceries?"

Priestly struggles to think. He takes your hand and rubs it back and forth across his chest. Maybe your sweet, loving touch has the power to clear away his congestion without him needing Vicks. Too minty.

"We have that pastrami I brought back from the shop," he says.

"That's six days old already," you shake your head.

"Aw, that's still good," he argues. "But uh, other than that, I think I have half a cheeseburger left from last night."

Last night's date at TGI Friday's, he means.

You heave a sigh. "Okay, clearly I'm going to the store. You just stay in bed and rest. Drink your tea."

He grimaces like a child. "I don't like tea."

"I know you don't like tea, but you need to drink it. It's good for your throat and your immune system."

He groans and flops back over onto his stomach. You bite your lip against a smile. He's such a whiny baby when he's sick.

Talk about Man Flu.

"Come on, be a good boy for me," you say, smacking him lightly on the ass. "Soon enough you'll feel better."

A smile creeps across his face where it's pressed against his pillow.

"Know what would really make me feel better?" he hedges. He tries to guide you down to him by tugging on your hand, but you resist him.

"Oh, no. You're not gonna get your germs all over me," you say.

"Hey, what happened to in sickness and in health?" he croaks. Even while under the weather, he's still plenty strong enough to grapple with you. He manages to yank you down. Laughing, you stumble into a seat on the edge of the bed.

"Huh, I don't remember exchanging any vows. You see a ring on this finger?" you tease, flashing your bare hand in his face to try and distract him and weasle out of his grip. "I can jump this ship anytime I want."

Priestly pouts. His arm hooks tighter around your waist. "Huh, guess you got me there..."

He turns his head and coughs roughly into his arm. Your amusement fades into concern and sympathy. You lay a hand over his chest while he struggles.

Once again, he clasps his free hand over yours. He glances up a bit hesitantly into your eyes.

"Well, maybe it's time there should be something on this finger," he murmurs.

You blink your eyes wider. Your head tilts, wondering if you just heard him right. Is this delirium fever talking, or is he serious?

"O-Oh yeah?" you ask.

Priestly tries to gauge your reaction. Seeing your face break out into a cute, shy smile raises the corners of his lips. Hope blooms in his chest, right beneath your hand.

"Yeah," he says, trying to clear his cracking throat. "I mean, if you're okay with that. If it's not too soon--"

You slip your fingers over his plush, chapped lips, and your smile brightens.

"When you're feeling better, you can ask me that question properly."

AN: 😆 I hope you liked the first ever addition of Priestly!! It was so fun to try and write him again (it's been a while lol). Feel free to imagine this vignette in the same storyverse as The Miracle Man and Code Red.

But I also hope you enjoyed the "Big 3," as I call them, even though Russell is starting to give Beau a run for his money on one of those slots. 😂 Let me know which guy you had the most fun reading on this one! 💜

And if you want even more fluff before Valentine's Day, check out my friend @waynes-multiverse who just posted her set of V-Day headcanons with Dean, Soldier Boy, Beau, and Russell: Headcanon: Valentine's Day 💕

Join My Patreon 🌟 Get early access to new stories, bonus content, and first looks at upcoming stories, send me requests, and more!

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[beardedjoel]

i cannot stress enough that prompt #15 on the first list is SOOOO smother coded, imagine on a hot summer night joel and blossom are up late and just yapping and looking up at the stars (blossom would def make a joke about how one of the constellations reminds her of joel) and then one thing after another he's fucking her raw and deep into the ground, when they're done blossom has grass stains on her dress or something (ALSO JULIE CONGRATS ON 5K YOU FUCKING DESERVE ILY)

thank you so much for sending this in and the kind words bby! beyond appreciate your patience from sending this in months ago 🤧 sorry for the delay! i had so so much fun writing this one though hehe because it really was very smother coded and it felt so natural for them. stargazing really does feel like something they'd do together often, especially after the way it goes for them here!

sea of stars — joel x f!reader

request: "stargazing that turns into sex". sent in as part of my 5k celebration! could be read as a standalone daddy joel if you really wanted to but it is rather smother-y and written with them in mind 😋

wc: 2.9k

warnings: dry (wet?) humping, piv, dirty talk, ddlg / daddy dom!joel + sub!reader

Sticky, thick air clings close to your skin, your hopes of beating the late night heat of summer by opening all the windows dashed as the house remains a stuffy, sweltering prison. You wished for air flow more than anything, a fan, and Joel promised he would do his best to find a working one for the two of you someday. You knew it was unlikely to ever materialize, but Joel would do his damndest to never give up on something that you’d so sweetly asked for.

“Can’t sleep, daddy,” you murmur, rubbing your burning, tired eyes and rolling over to face him. Despite the heat, your naked body gravitates towards him, your longing for him unable to be quelled by it and the layer of sweat that seems to permanently live on your skin. His arms find you, bringing you close, clammy limbs tangling together but neither of you caring, lethargic in your movements.

“I know, sweetheart. ‘M sorry,” he replies, stroking your hair soothingly. “It’s jus’ a heatwave, darlin’, these usually only last a few days. Should be out of it soon.”

You nod, still feeling pitiful, sighing and rolling onto your back as Joel’s arms retract, the both of you trying to cool off again. After a few silent beats, Joel sits up in bed, watching you blink listlessly at the ceiling.

“Alright, up. I’ve got an idea,” he says.

You clamber off the mattress half in a daze and he hands you a ball of thin fabric - your nightgown that had been discarded before you got in bed. Sheer and lovely and see through, you pull it over your head, the material thankfully feather light on your skin. Joel feels better knowing you’re covered up for what he has planned. It’s odd, how deep the possession runs, knowing that nobody else is within miles of this place, but still feeling that pull to keep you as only his to see. It didn’t hurt that you always looked almost too alluring in the clothing he picked out for you.

After tugging on a pair of briefs, Joel leads you outside, snatching a throw from the back of the couch as you pass. A sigh of relief leaves your lips as you step past the threshold, the cooler air sweeter than anything as it caresses your skin. 

“Few degrees makes all the difference, don’t it?” Joel says, and you quickly agree with a happy little hum. His hand on the small of your back, he guides you away from the cabin, stopping where a clearing of trees reveals the night sky to you, the moon only a tiny sliver shimmering in the distance, hardly providing any light. You strain your eyes slightly, comforted by the warmth radiating off of Joel reminding you he’s right there.

“Lay down,” he tells you, and you pause, wondering if he can see your face scrunched up in confusion as both of your eyes still adjust to the darkness. “Jus’ trust me,” he adds on at your hesitation, kissing the side of your head.

You lay down on your back, the cool grass beneath you making you smile as goosebumps briefly prickle your skin. You’d started to lose hope that it was possible to find relief in heat like this. Folding your hands over your stomach, you see Joel kneeling down next to you, hear him groan quietly as his knees crack on the way.

“Now tell me what you see, honey,” Joel says, settling next to you.

The obvious answer is right above you, twinkling dots littering the black sky. Their serene beauty transfixes you as you simply mutter, “Stars.”

“Mhm,” Joel confirms, propped up on his elbow to face you. “Pretty, ain’t they?” His fingers tease along your scalp, brushing backwards in rhythmic, soothing strokes. Lulled by his touch, you simply nod, letting the sea of stars swim in front of your eyes.

“You know any constellations?” he asks, laying onto his back to gaze at the sky with you.

“Mm, not really. Can you teach me?”

“Don’t know very many myself.” He pauses, scanning the sky for a few quiet moments. “Well I know that one there. ‘S the big dipper, but everyone knows it. Y’see the handle? An’ the big spoon part too?”

Joel’s hand envelops yours, guiding it to point towards the constellation. You squint, focusing your eyes to try and see it, but shake your head, making a contemplative little noise. “Kind of,” you say, twisting your lips to the side. “Wait… yeah, I see it, daddy! Right there…” You move your hand with his in a line, showing that you see the handle.

“You got it, princess.”

Both of your hands fall to the side, staying interlinked as you quietly observe the beauty floating above you, suspended in the clear sky. You’ve completely forgotten about the heat, the restlessness that had plagued you these last few hours. The air stays cool enough to take the edge off, your skin finally free from that grimy layer of sweat it seemed to carry at all hours during this heat wave.

“What’s that one?” you ask, finger pointing high into the night sky.

“I- I don’t know if that is one, darlin’,” Joel replies amusedly, trying to follow your eyeline. “We’ll get you a book on it, maybe, you’ll be a pro in no time.”

You give a bright smile at his offer while trying to make out more shapes in the twinkling expanse above. “What about that one?” you ask impatiently, pointing again. “It kind of looks like a face, maybe. Maybe it’s you,” you turn your head, giving him a cheeky grin as you laugh.

“Silly girl,” Joel chides you with a chuckle, reaching over to pinch your cheek for the teasing. “You know that daddy doesn’t know everything, right? Despite what it may seem.”

You giggle quietly, shaking your head. “You do know everything, daddy. Isn’t that one of the rules?”

“Knowin’ best f’you and knowin’ everything are very different, blossom,” he says playfully. “An’ especially when it comes to this… constellation stuff, I ain’t ever thought to learn them before, really. Sometimes it’s nice to just… look at ‘em. Thas’ been my philosophy, at least.”

“It is nice…” you mutter dazedly, feeling lulled by the serenity of the sky, the quiet noises of the forest surrounding you, the rustle of a soft but gladly received breeze blowing by. 

“Feelin’ better?” Joel asks, rubbing his thumb over your hand.

“Mhm. Much better,” you reply, sounding more subdued. The heat had made it harder to keep your composure throughout the last few days, leaving you on edge and worried you would inadvertently snap at Joel, resulting in a punishment. It had been a while since he’d had to dole one out, but the memories of them alone makes your body feel flush with need.

You did hate getting them, yet craved the heated attention from him that came with it. You curl a little closer to him at the thought, rubbing your thighs together.

“I can cuddle you again, daddy,” you tell him, making Joel’s chest vibrate with a tiny chuckle.

“You didn’t want to cuddle your old man before?” You can practically hear the daring raise of his brows in his voice.

“Too hot,” you insist innocently, tucking your face near Joel’s armpit and poking him in the side. He makes a noise of agreement as he playfully swats you away. You’d noticed the same from him during this heatwave - the way his body wanted to gravitate towards yours as usual, but even your insatiable Joel had found it too stiflingly hot to give you what you both desired as often as normal.

Now, however…

His energy shifts, hand slithering down your back, making goosebumps crop up as you shiver. Even less than a few days without his touch has your nerves frazzled the second his hands are on you again, greedily making their way down to your ass, squeezing hard at the plush skin there.

A needy growl pulls up from Joel’s throat, leaning forward to press his lips to your ear, wrapping them around your ear lobe and suckling. Another wave of goosebumps trails over your entire body, a helpless cry whimpered out. 

“Ain’t had enough of you these last few days…” he murmurs into the shell of your ear, raspy and heated. Your breath catches and you clench between your legs, your core moving towards his without thought, throwing a leg over his. His hand tightens on your ass, yanking you closer until you can feel the hard shape of his cock press into you. The thin fabric of both of your clothing does little to hinder either of you, and you start rolling your hips against him, whining.

“Poor baby is needy without her daddy filling her up constantly, isn’t she?” Joel taunts, his other arm slipping underneath you to grab your other ass cheek, now starting a steady, faster rhythm against him.

“Daddy…” you manage to whine breathlessly, your mind only focused on the feeling between the two of you, brain going fuzzy with need. He seems to grow harder, his cock desperate to break the confines of his clothing, to wear down the fabric of your dress with the way he’s moving you in earnest now. You gush between your legs, built up tension from the last few days that hadn’t been sated well enough coming back in full force. 

The fabric of your dress pressed further between your legs starts to grow damp, catching on your poor clit and sending little waves of pleasure buzzing through you. You moan quietly, only forlorn little breaths that Joel eats up, fueling him to keep forcing you to rut into him.

“I w-want -” you try to speak, but the bulge in Joel’s briefs reaches deeper between your thighs, your entire body twitching. 

His lips find your earlobe again, biting gently before turning to your neck and nibbling there. “What does my blossom need, hm? Use your words…”

You whine in response, thrusting inward at the same time Joel urges your hips forward, moaning louder. You pant, angling yourself to get off even easier on him, feeling an obscene amount of moisture seeping onto your dress, soft squelches filling the air as it leaks onto Joel’s briefs, too.

“Christ, baby, my little girl is a needy fuckin’ thing isn’t she,” Joel punches out in disbelief, losing control, his hips twitching harder into yours, chasing his pleasure.

“I-Inside…” you manage to choke out.

Joel tsks. “Not ‘till you give me one,” he demands. You immediately double down on the rocking of your hips, letting yourself get lost in it until your body is burning, so close to reaching that bliss. His cock leaks for you, adding to the wetness sticking to the clothing between you, sweat forming on your brow and neck and everywhere else now, too.

The climax hits you in a hurried burst, leaving just as quickly, not the release you’d been hoping for. You groan in frustration as you come down, clinging to Joel’s sweaty chest.

“Pl-please, daddy. I’ll do anything…” You beg him, your skin prickling and hot with frustration, the heat slowly making you irritable again.

“Anythin’? Ain’t no different from any other day, princess.” He teases, mocking you with that drip of condescension he does so well. It only riles you up further, and you move to untangle yourself from him to move into the position you know will give you the relief you need from him. Before you can get on your hands and knees, Joel grabs you by the waist, pulling you into where he still lays, your body fumbling into his solid chest as it clunks back to the ground. His lips press to your ear, your body tight to his as one arm holds you by the torso, the other near your neck. “Nuh-uh. You know you don’t get to decide how I take you. That ain’t how this works,” he grits out, ruthless.

Whimpering, that odd mixture of excitement and fear coursing through your veins, you smirk, struggling slightly in his hold to egg him on, your ass wriggling into his crotch. Joel clocks it immediately, moving to reach between you and tug down his briefs and tear your dress off where it already barely covers your ass.

“Gonna make me crazy, bein’ a little brat like that, baby. We both know that ain’t you. She’s a good girl. Right?” He presses his cock between your thighs, forcing it through to your entrance, teasing you when you remain silent. “Right?! Say it, sweetheart. Tell daddy you aren’t a brat.”

“I-I’m not…” Just the tip of his cock presses inward and you grit your teeth, holding back the pathetic, desperate begging you really want to spit out. “I’m not a brat, daddy, I promise. I just -”

“You need daddy’s cock, I know.” He interrupts you with a press inward of his hips at his words, sinking the thick length of himself inside of you. You squeal, the noise turning to a moan of relief as he slides in easily, your slickness already coating everything, including the way it’s dripping down the inside of your thighs.

“What are you then, if you ain’t a brat?” Joel sits perfectly still, his well practiced restraint palpable between the two of you. You want him to move, you need him to move, to fill that void you’d been missing for the last few days.

“I’m a g-good girl. I am… I am… I-I’m good, see?” You keep perfectly still with Joel for a long beat, letting him make the final call on whether or not you’ve been good enough. One of your hands grasps tightly into the grass to pour out your pent up frustration, nails digging into the earth.

Joel cranes his neck to kiss the side of your head. “That’s right. Thank you, blossom. Good girls get a reward from their daddy, too.”

You nod eagerly, and in a flash Joel’s body is on top of yours, forcing his cock to plunge deeper inside of you as you lay belly down. He yanks on your hips, bringing them upwards and begins to thrust steadily and surely into you. Your g-spot immediately feels the change in angle as he starts to press on it, your pussy pulsing around him, still sensitive from the last climax.

“Y-yes, yes…” you groan out, the top half of your torso still pressed into the ground going deeper into the grass with each bounce of your body on Joel’s thrusts. He smacks your ass and you yelp happily, heat radiating from there into pleasure at your core when he does it again.

“S-shit… baby, come for me. Want to hear you, want to feel you. Daddy a-ain’t gonna last…”

Something about his desperation pulls your insides taut, makes you clench harder around him. His hand reaches to your clit, rubbing urgently as he pounds into you. “Come, f-fuck, come, blossom. Now.”

His command, always your bidding, follows that same pattern now, sending you toppling over the edge. You come hard, your legs trembling, sinking lower to the ground so that you’re almost flat, your knees unable to hold you up. The pure abyss of pleasure rocks through you for those few, perfect moments as Joel pants above you as he pistons his hips faster. He suddenly yanks himself out of you, leaving you empty and trembling. You hear the squelch of your slickness in his hand, pumping his cock a few times before the hot splattering of his cum hits your back, soaking through your dress.

Joel sighs, collapsing next to you on his back, tucking himself back inside his briefs. “S-sorry, baby. I needed that too, I guess,” he says, sounding more sheepish than usual.

“I liked it,” you tease him, genuine in your words. You roll to your side, sitting up slightly and glancing down at your dress with a frown. Through the dark, your eyes more well adjusted now, you can see the stain smeared across the front of it. It isn’t the first time that grass stains have invaded your wardrobe from a passionate moment like this, but you like your dresses pristine for Joel, always worried about him getting it out for you. “My dress…” you lament.

Joel’s lips pull up into a smirk. “Afraid the back ain’t any better.”

You giggle, flustered and still shy after all this time at the thought of what you and Joel do together after the moment passes. “You made a mess this time, daddy.”

His lips find yours, pressing a deep kiss to them. “Can’t help that it looks good on you. You want to go change?”

“Too tired now. Want to sleep.” You shake your head, blinking at the night sky again, studying the stars with heavier lids now. The cooler outside air, despite your recent activities making you sweat all over again, starts to dry it quickly, leaving you pleasantly comfortable and sated. Joel’s plan seemed to work wonders, this setup much better than it had been trying to fight for sleep inside the stuffy house. Your limbs feel lazy and heavy, body still humming from your climax, every part of you comforted when Joel moves to hold you.

He smiles softly, placated to see you so at ease now. Joel reaches for the throw blanket, unraveling it and setting it at the ready for when you inevitably start to get chilly in your sleep. 

“You sleep then, sweetheart. Daddy’s got you.”

[redeemingvillains]

ps i love you - mattheo riddle ft. the slytherin boys

summary: mattheo plans an unexpected valentine's day surprise for you

word count: 3.3k

a/n: honestly, this healed me a little bit. this is for anyone that just needs a heaping dose of love from our favorite boys, all of whom are absolutely head over heels for you. ♡

Your eyes fluttered open slowly and you smiled as you curled into your soft sheets, yawning and stretching your sleep-heavy limbs, enjoying the sacrosanct moment of a new morning, before the noise and thoughts from the day invaded you.

But the feeling faded almost as soon as it came and within moments your brain switched on and you felt a pang in your chest as you remembered...today was Valentine's Day and despite the devilishly handsome curly haired boy that had stolen your heart and claimed you as his own, you would be spending it alone; his father had whisked him away to something urgent, and he wasn't the type of man to argue with.

Mattheo had all but disappeared last night with quick but searing kiss and a promise to make it up to you. And how could you possibly be angry with him when you melted at his touch, at the look in his amber eyes, at the feeling of his lips against your own which you sensed even now as you ran your fingers over them?

You sighed, slowly dragging yourself out of bed despite the weighted sadness you felt and began readying yourself for the day.

You were in no rush to see the rest of the castle gushing over the holiday; the Great Hall would inevitably be awash in red and pink, filled with flowers and owls delivering love letters. There would be the predictable wave of students dosed by love potions, and an obscene amount of PDA that you would have loved to participate in that now made you sick to think about. Ugh. That alone made you want to stay in your room, but you took your time getting ready, grounding yourself as you did a full self-care routine.

Once dressed, you wandered down the corridor by your dormitory into the common room and found a tall, lanky figure leaning against the stone wall, eyes focused on his feet which he shuffled back and forth as he twirled a toothpick in his mouth.

"Enz?" you asked, as you got closer.

His eyes shot to you as they widened, brightening.

"There she is!" he said excitedly as he straightened up and righted his suit jacked. "You look divine today. Simply beautiful" he winked.

You blushed as you shoved his shoulder in reprimand and laughed at him.

"You're sweet" you conceded.

"You're sweeter" he cooed. "And I could keep this up for hours, babe, but it's my honor to escort you to our breakfast date."

"What?" you asked through another laugh as your face scrunched in confusion. Surely he has to be joking, you thought. Mattheo would strangle him with his bare—

"Oh! Shit! Yeah, uh here" he said, reaching into the inner pocket of his jacket and handing you a sealed envelope.

You narrowed your eyes skeptically at him as you reached for it until you recognized your name scrawled in Mattheo's small script on the front and eagerly tore it open.

Good morning. You look gorgeous. I don't have to be there to know that you do. I love starting my days with you, and it kills me not to be there this morning especially. Enz will have to do. Tell him to stop laying it on so thick, this isn't a hallpass to eyefuck you all morning—

You peered over the top of the letter to see Lorenzo smirking appreciatively at you and smiled.

—And tell him if he steps a single toe out of line with you, I will take sincere pleasure in rearranging his face.

You laughed quickly and covered your mouth with your hand. Lorenzo's eyebrow quirked inquisitively but you shook your head, dismissing it.

Tell. Him. It's for his own safety. Enjoy breakfast. PS, I love you

You folded the letter slowly, unable to contain the smile on your face, absolutely giddy at the penned words you held and the notion that Mattheo had planned something like this.

"Gorgeous?" Enzo said as he offered you his arm.

You linked arms with him cheerfully, a new pep in your step as he led you through the common room and into the castle.

You received a fair share of confused glances which Lorenzo reveled in, beaming at everyone who did a double take at the two of you together, knowing full well who you really belonged to.

"Wonder what's for breakfast?" you mused as a pair of Hufflepuffs shuffled to get out of your way.

"Oh, we're not going to the Great Hall" Enzo clarified as he took a last-minute turn down an unfamiliar corridor.

You looked up at him, surprised, and he caught your eye.

"And have you eat with these peasants? Please" he scoffed, stopping in front of a door you'd never seen before. "No, Matty boy flew you breakfast, from Paris" he said with a flourish as he pushed the door open wide and you gasped at the scene in front of you.

The doorway opened to a small balcony with an astonishing view of the grounds, the myriad pine trees frosted with snow and the Black Lake that was shimmering like a sheet of obsidian in the cold.

Despite the wintry scene, there was a small table laden with steaming cups of hot chocolate, a mountain of pastries, macaroons, croissants and treats all the way from France. Gods I love magic you thought to yourself as Enzo pulled out your seat and handed you a blanket from a large pile which you took eagerly as you wrapped your hands around the warm mug in front of you.

The hot chocolate was rich with a large helping of whipped cream that warmed you all the way through to your toes and brought you right back to the time Mattheo took you to Paris himself and you sipped on the decadent drink by his side. Your heart ached briefly at the memory, but Enzo was quick to pick up on it, and eagerly began chatting away with you about classes, quidditch, and even the Ravenclaw he had his eye on and you realized how nice it was to have this time together to sit and really talk to one of your closest friends, to hear how he was doing.

"You didn't want to take your crush to breakfast?" you teased, kicking him gently under the table.

"And miss this? Babe. This is the highlight of my month, maybe my entire fucking year" he said as he smirked at you and popped another macaroon in his mouth.

You knew he was laying it on thick, but there was a hint of truth to it too, and the knowledge that he valued your friendship that way made you awash with emotion.

His eyebrow quirked as he looked over your shoulder and smiled sadly.

"Well, my lady, this is where I leave you. Our love shined bright though brief."

You turned to see Blaise and Draco behind you, each carrying an extraordinarily large bouquet of flowers that they were peeking out behind with equally large smiles.

"Guys! This is so sweet!" you exclaimed as they set the bundles down and embraced you, your feelings starting to bubble to the surface again at the amount of love and affection you felt.

"Of course, darling, Happy Valentine's Day" Draco said as he kissed your cheek.

"Here you are, love" Blaise said, flourishing a letter that sent your heartbeat soaring.

Another? You reached for it eagerly, tearing into it haphazardly, craving Mattheo's words.

Did you like the hot chocolate? I hope it reminded you of our trip to Paris. I'll never forget how happy you were, the way you shined brighter than that whole fucking city... And what we got up to in the hotel that first night, when you wore that red lace set... Needless to say, don't let any of these idiots read these letters—

"Soooo, what's he writtennnn?" Blaise asked, peering over page.

"Nothing!" you replied, bending the top of the note protectively as you kept reading.

You deserve breakfast from Paris and everything your heart desires. The boys have my credit card, go get whatever you want in Hogsmeade. No smutty books, though, you have a real boyfriend that's better than any book boyfriend. And no clothing that's too revealing, unless it's for me... in which case, you should know, I'm partial to red lace... PS, I love you

Your eyes twinkled as you looked up at Draco and Blaise with excitement.

"It's fucking on" you said, as they cheered.

You went into every. single. store. Lollipops, chocolate frogs, candy hearts and pumpkin pasties from Honeydukes, the most divine stationary and a new set of quills from Scrivenshaft's, and then cue the full montage of you trying on outfits for hours while the two boys sat amidst a pile of shopping bags, enjoying their candy and eagerly goading you on.

"Yes, babe."

"Smashing it!"

"Absolutely."

"You have to get it, get both actually."

"Love, you're wearing it better than the fucking model."

Until Draco turned, finally, yelling over his shoulder to a passing attendant.

"We'll take the lot!"

And gods help the people in the bookstore. Draco could barely see over the bags and boxes he was carrying and now Blaise's arms were laden with every single book you've had on your TBR list, chatting excitedly with you about them.

"Nooo, isn't that the latest one in the series? Didn't that come out like, yesterday?!" he exclaimed as you held the hardcover book in your hands like a holy relic and nodded.

"Can I borrow it when you're done?" he asked quietly.

"We'll just get you one too!" you said excitedly, grabbing a second.

Both of them followed you without complaint, cheery and upbeat, treating you like the princess Mattheo saw you as, they all saw you as, as you made your way back to the castle in the pending twilight, high on candy and your shopping spree.

Mattheo had undoubtedly pulled out all of the stops today, so surely there had to be a something big for the evening?

You tried every way you knew how to coax it out of Draco and Blaise but they held strong, insistent that you be patient as they led you through the castle, down a first floor corridor you hadn't been down before as you continued to question them incessantly.

Was it a five-course meal from your favorite restaurant in London? A private concert from Taylor Swift? I mean, what could possibly top the day you'd had already? They stopped in front of a plain door and pushed it open to reveal... the kitchens, large, industrial-looking, and decidedly...not what you had expected.

But then your eyes swept the space and landed on Theo, in an apron, working diligently at the counter on something as Enzo moved quickly around him, in an apron of his own, a dash of flour on his cheek.

And then you saw the small wooden table just big enough for the five of you, replete with mismatched chairs and a few floating candlesticks.

And then the smell hit you.

"Bella!" Theo shouted, waving you over in flurry of Italian you couldn't follow.

You approached slowly, taking in the scene of him rolling homemade pasta with practiced ease and the steaming pot of sauce on the stove that smelled divine, like fresh tomatoes and roasted garlic, and your stomach growled in response.

"You're cooking for me? you asked, your voice a hoarse whisper at the overwhelming gentleness and kindness, the domesticity of it all.

You'd seen Theo break someone's nose, you'd seen him put puking pastilles in someone's goblet and trip a first year just for the fun of it, but you'd never seen him do anything so... tender.

"Yeah" he said quickly, acknowledging you. "And if you don't start rolling, we're not eating, tesoro" he said, tossing an apron at you, which you caught with a laugh, tying it on eagerly as you moved next to him, bumping his shoulder as you copied his movements and the gentle rolling of his hands.

Draco and Blaise poured wine and helped set the table and the three of you shared stories about your afternoon, all of you chatting about your day, about everything and nothing in the way a family would, natural, easy, unforced and relaxed.

Theo wiped his hands with a towel and then reached into his back pocket, brandishing your letter, which you unfolded and read as you leaned back against the counter, shifting into a world where it was just you and Mattheo's words.

Gorgeous - Theo promised he'd make you something good for dinner, and if I trust him with anything, it's food. Fuck. This one's hard. Because it should be me with you tonight. Please know there's nowhere else on earth I'd rather be than right there with you, right now. The boys will do the best they can, I know they will. Try not to laugh too hard when Theo tells you about the time his Nonna ran from the cops in Sicily. He thinks it's hilarious, and it's his way of trying to impress you. He knows how much you mean to me. Enjoy, my 'bella donna' PS, I love you

You smiled at the familiar last sentence, tracing your fingers over the ink, like you could feel him through it and you realized you were biting your lip to keep from crying. You had kept the feelings at bay all day, but this, being here tonight without him, was hard on you too. You missed him so fervently it was like your whole body ached.

"Ok, ok" Theo said, gently putting his arm around you as he guided you towards the table. "Sedere, sit down, now we spoil you."

You sniffed and swiped quickly at your eye as you settled into your chair and the boys followed suit, surrounding you. And then Theo placed the most perfect bowl of pasta you'd ever seen in front of you, more beautiful and better plated than any restaurant you'd ever been to.

"Theo, this is..." you said, looking up at him, at a loss for words.

He nodded his appreciation. "It's my Nonna's recipe. Best fucking sauce in Sicily" he said as he scooted his own chair in across from you and winked as he raised his glass in a toast.

"To the most beautiful girl in Hogwarts" he said as you all raised your glasses alongside him.

"Here's to cheating, stealing and drinking. May you cheat death, steal hearts and always drink with me!"

The boys cheered and you laughed as you clinked glasses and settled into your meal.

You twirled the pasta and delved into your first bite, the most incredible taste taking over your tastebuds as your eyes fluttered closed.

"Mmmmm Theeeeooo" you said.

"Fuck. That was hot" Enzo whispered as you opened your eyes to glare at him.

"I'm telling him you said that to her" Draco muttered as Enzo kicked him under the table.

"It's soooo good!" you exclaimed, ignoring them all as you dug in for your next bite.

"Did I ever tell you about the time Nonna dodged the cops?"

Your eyes watered with tears at his story, just as much from laughing as from the overwhelming joy you felt at Theo telling it to make you happy, to impress you, consistently eyeing your reaction to his every word.

After awhile you gestured around the room with your fork, savoring the last bites of your meal.

"It's hard to imagine that the heartthrob of Hogwarts himself isn't doing this for one of his girls tonight" you said, teasing Theo.

Theo put down his wine glass and looked at you like you'd asked him if he wanted to be a muggle.

"This?! Bella. Please" he said, shaking his head. "This is marriage shit right here. I don't just do this for anyone. Matty boy loves you, that's for fucking sure."

You smiled and nodded as you looked back down at your plate.

"Yeah he does" you agreed, thinking to yourself just how much he'd proven that today.

You sat around the table for hours, listening to the boys talk and laugh and joke, the night washing away in a haze of a perfect meal, a full belly and a couple of glasses of wine. You eventually dropped your head onto Blaise's shoulder comfortably.

"We wore her out boys" Enzo said affectionately, tilting his head to mirror your own and smile at you.

"Let's get you back" Blaise said, standing with you.

The two of you walked with your arm wound around his in amiable silence all the way back to your dorm, and it wasn't until you were nearly there that Blaise whispered, "Did we do alright?" with a sense of vulnerability you'd never heard from any of them before that stopped you in your tracks.

"Blaise" you reassured him, grasping his arms as you looked up at him. "I was dreading being alone today, I think you could all tell I was teetering on the edge of a breakdown the entire day..."

He nodded his head sadly.

"But each of you completely swept me off my feet, and made me feel so loved, so cherished, and so special. I couldn't have asked for four better stand-in-Mattheo's" you said, smiling widely. "Thank you" you whispered, pulling him into a warm hug.

"You deserve it, and more" he murmured against you, squeezing you tightly. "Sweet dreams, YN" he said, as you unwound from each other and you made your way towards your room.

The warmth you'd felt throughout the day carried you up to bed, lingering with you as you crawled into your pajamas and under your covers as you reached for Mattheo's letters, reading and re-reading his words as you traced your fingers over his script.

I love you, I love you, I love you he'd written and you marveled at how someone could be so far away yet still make you feel so deeply cared for. Your heart squeezed, the sadness you'd felt throughout the day numbing to a dull ache as your eyes fluttered closed.

You slipped into a deep sleep, lost to all sense of time when your mattress dipped, rocking you awake. You turned slowly, groggily to see Mattheo crawling under your covers, his eyes bright, cheeks flush with exertion.

"Matty?" you whispered hoarsely, your heartbeat quickening as you tried to wake your brain, your body up fast enough to respond.

"Gorgeous" he whispered, with a sigh of relief as he reached for you, pulling you quickly into his arms and nuzzling into you as your limbs intertwined with his, your heart resting against his own.

"How are you here right now?" you asked.

"Told 'em to fuck off, he didn't need me anyway" he replied quietly.

You pulled back to look at him, the confusion clear on your face.

"Alright, not exactly like that — it doesn't matter, I'm here and I'm so fucking sorry about today, I had this whole thing planned for us and —"

"—Matty—"

"—You deserve everything, gods everything you do for me—"

"—Matty—"

"—I just love you so fucking much, please don't be mad at me—"

And finally you leaned forward, pressing a kiss to his lips and winding your hands up to grasp his face, to center him, to force him to hear you, to feel you, and within a moment you could feel the stress leaving his body as his shoulders fell, and his body molded against yours, his hands wrapping around you as he slid you beneath him and kissed you back earnestly, passionately.

You pulled back for just a moment, meeting his twinkling brown eyes, taking in his lips, swollen from your kiss.

"I missed you every moment of the entire day" you whispered. "But there wasn't a second I didn't feel completely loved. Thank you."

"I love you so much" he said, his head shaking slightly as his eyes met yours and he brushed the back of his fingers over your cheek. "You really have... no idea."

You blushed, nibbling at your bottom lip.

"Actually, I think I do" you said, pressing your lips to his again.

@kenjikishimotoswifey @mattiesgf @sleepiibunniiii @darlingshecried @girllblogging777 @foivetimesacharm @clar2aa @broadwaybaby123 @slytherinscreamqueen @chelawrites @loverliner @smut-anarchy @locknco

[mssorceressupreme]

Take Care of You | F.W

———

Pairing: Fred Weasley x reader

Summary: you wake up realising you’ve stained your boyfriend’s bed with period blood, and you feel terrible. later, while playing a friendly quidditch game, you get deadly cramps again and fred takes care of you for the rest of the day.

Warnings/content: reader gets her period, mentions of blood, pimples (lmao), insecure!reader, period cramps, fluff, fred weasley is THE standard :,), molly and arthur being the sweetest gems

———

The Burrow was quiet in the early morning, the golden glow of the sun barely peeking through the curtains of Fred's bedroom. The soft rise and fall of his breathing filled the room, his arms wrapped securely around you as you lay nestled against him. His warmth, his scent—fresh, like cinnamon and a hint of something mischievously sweet—made you want to stay here forever.

However, during this particular morning, something felt...off.

You shifted slightly, your brows knitting as you became aware of a slight discomfort in your lower abdomen. Your face scrunched up in confusion, and as you moved your hand to touch your face, you felt a few bumps along your skin—pimples, no doubt. Great. Just what you needed.

Then, you felt it. The damp warmth between your legs. A sinking feeling settled in your stomach. Panic shot through you as you carefully lifted the covers, heart pounding as you caught sight of the undeniable red stain on Fred’s bedsheets.

Oh no.

Your breath hitched, eyes widening in sheer mortification. Not only had you woken up to pimples, but you had gotten your period in your boyfriend’s bed.

Your boyfriend’s bed. Sure, if it was your own bed, you didn't mind, as it would be your problem to deal with. This, however, was an entirely different case. Godric, you wanted to hide, to run away, to retreat into your shell.

The urge to disappear entirely took over as your face burned with embarrassment. What were you supposed to do? Wake him up and tell him you’d basically bled all over his sheets? You felt a lump in your throat and your vision became teary. Especially with pimples all over your face now, what would Fred think? Would he get grossed out, horrified, disgusted?

Maybe if you were really quiet, you could sneak out and fix it before he even noticed—

Time seemed to slip from your hands when all the shifting you did stirred Fred from his sleep. Shit, it was too late to move.

He groaned softly before his arms instinctively tightened around your waist, pulling you back against him with a lazy smile.

“Morning, gorgeous,” he mumbled, voice thick with sleep. He pressed a sleepy kiss to your cheek before pausing, sensing the tension in your body. His brows furrowed, and he blinked, still groggy. “You alright, darling? You seem a little tense.”

You buried your face in your hands, groaning. “Fred, I—” Your voice was small, laced with hesitation. You inhaled deeply before revealing your dilemma, “I got my period.”

Fred blinked, confused for a second, before his lips curled into a small, lopsided smile. “Alright, love, no need to sound so distressed about it.”

You groaned again, this time with frustration. “No, you don’t understand,” you mumbled. “I stained your bed.”

With a deep breath, you lifted up the duvet and hesitantly pointed at the small red patch on the sheets. You felt your heart hammering in your chest as you dared to glance at his face, bracing yourself for—well, you didn’t know what exactly. Disgust? Annoyance? Irritation? But instead, all you found was Fred sitting up, stretching before looking at the stain with mild curiosity, then back at you with a soft chuckle.

“Is that all?” he said, completely unfazed. “Thought you were gonna tell me you’d hexed my eyebrows off in my sleep or something.”

You stared at him, dumbfounded. “Fred, I just bled on your bed,” you repeated, incredulous. “How are you this calm?”

"I just got my period...and I'm breaking out all over my face, I feel like a mess right now, I—" You continued rambling, all your worries spilling out at once.

He rolled his eyes fondly and pulled you into a warm hug, his chin resting on the top of your head. “Shh, shh, shh, it’s okay, love,” he murmured, rubbing soothing circles on your back. “It’s normal, yeah? Not like you did it on purpose.” He pulled back slightly, his hands gently cupping your face. “My poor baby, let me take care of you.”

Your heart melted at his words, but you still couldn’t shake off the embarrassment. “But your sheets—”

“Easily cleaned,” he interrupted, waving a hand like it was nothing. “Mum’s got stain removers, no big deal. What is a big deal, though, is that you’re clearly not feeling great.” His hands dropped to your waist, tugging you close again. “And my girl needs to be taken care of.”

You opened your mouth to protest, but before you could, Fred was already hopping out of bed. “I’ll be right back,” he said, tossing on a shirt. “You go to the bathroom, get cleaned up. I’ll sort everything else out.”

Still in a daze from his reaction, you hesitated before nodding. You slipped into the bathroom, heart still pounding as you peeled off your clothes, carefully cleaning yourself up. A few moments later, there was a soft knock at the door.

“Here, I’ve got some pads for you,” Fred called from the other side.

You cracked open the door, peeking out to see him holding a small stack of pads in his hands, a sheepish yet triumphant grin on his face.

“Ginny might have thrown something at me when I woke her up to ask, but worth it,” he teased, handing them to you.

You laughed, shaking your head. “Thank you, handsome.”

“For a pretty girl like you, anytime.” He kissed your forehead gently before stepping back. “Take all the time you need, I’ll be waiting for you.”

Once you were done, you returned to Fred’s room to find the bed already spotless, the stain completely gone. He grinned when he saw you. “Told you I’d sort it.”

You launched yourself at him, hugging him tightly. “Ugh Fred, you’re too good at this.”

“I know,” he said smugly, earning a light smack on the arm. He chuckled before pressing another soft kiss to your forehead. “Now, let’s get some breakfast in you, yeah?” There was something comforting about his kisses, every time he planted one on you, it felt as though everything was going to be alright.

Downstairs, the Burrow was already lively with chatter. Molly beamed as she hugged you good morning before returning to cooking, and Arthur greeted you warmly.

"Ah come join us, you lovebirds." Arthur teased, Fred's ears turning a light shade of red in response.

"What took you guys so long today? Busy eh?" Ron teased, wiggling his brows before taking a bite of his toast.

"Shove off, what's the point in rushing downstairs? Not like we've got somewhere to be." Fred retorted, a bit more harshly than he had intended.

Ginny shot you two a knowing look, giving you a sympathetic smile, "You won't understand the pressures of being a woman Ron, takes a lot to look this good every day." She joked, though laced with a comforting undertone, indirectly defending you. You tilted your head and smiled warmly at her, a way of showing gratitude.

"Come Y/N dear, you must be starving." Molly placed two eggs on your plate next to your toast, "Percy, pass her the butter will you."

"This looks delicious, thank you Molly!" You beamed, her food was always made with love; a mother's love, and that's what made it extra tasty.

Though you smiled, and occasionally shared quips with the others, only Fred was able to see right through you. He kept sneaking glances, his hand resting on your thigh under the table, stroking it gently.

You turned to give him a reassuring smile, but he still worried for you, wanting to ensure you felt better.

___

Later that afternoon, you and the Weasleys were playing a toned-down version of Quidditch outside the Burrow.

The sky was clear as day, the air crisp with a cool breeze occasionally blowing your hair, and laughter filled the open field as Ron, Fred, and Ginny zoomed around on their brooms, chucking the Quaffle back and forth.

Meanwhile, you, Percy, and George remained on the ground, running, dodging, and attempting to intercept the ball whenever it came your way.

At first, you kept up, laughing as George nudged you playfully and you pretended to dramatically fall or trip, making him burst into laughter.

"Woah, when did you get so strong?" Sarcasm lingered in your tone.

"Puh-lease, this is like twenty-percent of my strength. You're lucky I'm going on easy on ya." George ruffled your hair messily, it was safe to say the two of you definitely had a sibling-like relationship.

Though as the game went on, you started to slow down. The cramps you’d been trying to ignore all day crept in with full force, sharp and unbearable.

It felt like your insides were twisting, a deep ache radiating through your stomach and back, growing stronger by the minute. You bit your lip, pressing a hand to your abdomen, willing the pain away. But it was no use.

After a few more steps, you stopped completely, crouching down with a sharp inhale.

Fred, who had been mid-air, immediately noticed. He veered off from the game and swooped down toward you, concern flickering across his face. "Love? What's wrong?" he asked, his voice softer now as he handed his broom off to George, who had also stopped running and looked at you with concern.

“You alright, Y/N?” George asked, his usual teasing tone replaced with genuine worry.

You tried to wave them off, not wanting to make a fuss, but Fred wasn’t having it. He crouched beside you, his large hands gently resting on your arms as he searched your face.

"Cramps," you admitted in a whisper, wincing slightly.

Fred was up in an instant. "Alright, that’s it. You're going inside." He stood, helping you up carefully, his arm wrapping around your waist protectively. George gave you an encouraging nod before returning to the game, and as you and Fred walked toward the Burrow, you leaned into him, grateful for his warmth and steady presence.

As soon as you stepped inside, Molly turned from the stove, immediately noticing your pale face and Fred’s worried expression. "What’s wrong, dear?" she asked, wiping her hands on her apron as she approached.

“Cramps,” Fred answered before you could, his voice carrying that soft, caring edge that made your heart ache in the best way.

“Oh, sweetheart," Molly cooed. "You sit down and rest. I’ll whip up some soup and a cramp relief potion right away.”

"Thank you, Molly," you said softly, feeling a rush of gratitude for the warmth and kindness of the Weasley family.

You always secretly hoped you'd marry into the family one day, but you didn't want to admit that aloud, or pressure Fred into such things yet.

Fred led you upstairs to his room, insisting you lay down. "Rest up, yeah? I’ll be back in a bit," he murmured, pressing a kiss to your forehead before slipping out of the room.

A little while later, the door creaked open again, and Fred returned, carrying a small basket filled with chocolates, a heating pad, some of your favourite snacks, and—to your surprise—a teddy bear.

You blinked at it, smiling despite your discomfort. “A teddy?”

Fred set the basket down, and held the bear up, making its little arm wave at you. "To cuddle with."

You giggled, looking at him with awe. “Come here. I’d rather cuddle with you, baby."

He grinned before climbing into bed next to you, immediately wrapping you in his buff arms. His embrace, his scent—everything about him was comforting, you could only melt right into him.

He pressed a soft kiss to your forehead before pulling back slightly to face you. But after a moment, you grew shy, burying your face in his chest.

“Don’t look at me,” you mumbled, insecurity creeping in. “I don’t feel pretty right now.”

Fred’s brows furrowed, and he cupped your cheek, tilting your face back up to him. "Don’t you ever say that," he murmured, his gaze filled with so much love it made your heartache.

"You’re perfect. You’re gorgeous. These little things, flaws you might call them—they don’t matter. If anything, they make you even more beautiful. To me, you always look good, angel."

Tears welled in your eyes at his words, and you let out a shaky breath. “I love you, Freddie.”

His expression softened even more, his thumb brushing against your cheek. “I love you too.”

With that, he pulled you closer, your eyelids feeling heavier by the second, drifting off into a peaceful nap in his arms.

___

An hour later, Molly walked in, a tray in her hands carrying a bowl of warm soup and a small vial of cramp relief potion. But as soon as she saw the two of you curled up together, fast asleep, a tender smile spread across her face. She stood there for a moment, simply watching, before turning to call Arthur over.

Arthur peeked inside, his eyes crinkling with affection as he took in the sight. “Reminds me of us back in the day,” he murmured with a fond chuckle.

Molly playfully swatted his arm before she placed the tray on the bedside table, snapping a quick photo of you and Fred with a knowing grin. Then, hand in hand, she and Arthur quietly slipped out of the room, leaving you both to your peaceful afternoon nap.

____

A/N: currently on my period and thought a fluffy fic would be healing rn <3 lowkey feeling a smut one soon? not sure though hehehe (help I'm so indecisive 😭😩)

[willowsnook]

an experiment pt. 4

lando norris x reporter!reader

a/n: this is the final part friends. hope you enjoyed reading as much as I enjoyed writing this. thank you for all the kind words

tags: @sarx164 @wildflowerrsszz, @jaematthews15, @opastries81 @armystay89 @hadesnumber1daughter @dying-inside-but-its-classy@chlmtfilms@freyathehuntress @ashley-k@charlesgirl16@widow-cevans@cmleitora@rawr-123s-stuff@majapapaya4@fullmugwolffish @330bpm-whiplash @prudyhoo

pt. 1, pt. 2, pt. 3

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

You sat in complete silence for five minutes. 

That fucking asshole. 

A wave of rage fueled you as you bolted up and to your bedroom, ripping out your suitcase from underneath the bed. Muttering under your breath about that man having the audacity to hang up, you started pulling clothes out of your drawers and shoving them into the bag. 

Once that was done you got on your laptop to find the next flight to Monaco. The prices made you want to throw up but in your pissed off state, you didn’t care. This is why credit cards exist, right?

13 hour redeye. Godspeed. 

—-----------------------

It was 4:30 in the morning when Lando woke up to someone pounding on his door. What the fuck? He thought before getting out of the bed, rubbing his eyes as he made it to the door. 

To say he was shocked when he saw you standing there was an understatement. 

“I can’t believe you hung up the phone on me,” you yelled at him angrily in greeting, moving past him to set your bag down. 

“What are you doing here?” He asked sleepily, trying to figure out if this was a dream or reality. 

“I’m here to fight you,” you told him, crossing your arms. 

“You want to fight me?” He asked, confusion on his face. “Can we do that later? It’s five in the morning.” 

You wanted to argue back with him but a yawn escaped your mouth and he gave you a knowing look. 

“Fine, I didn’t really sleep on the plane anyways,” you admitted. “Too busy figuring out what to yell at you.” 

He chuckled before beckoning you to follow him down the hall, you stopped outside of his room. 

“Do you not have a guest room?” You asked and he smirked at you. 

“I do but right now it’s a storage unit for a bunch of racing stuff, so this will have to do,” he said. 

“Can’t you sleep on the couch or something?” You complained and he rolled his eyes. 

“Oh so you confess your love to me on the phone but are getting cold feet now?” He mocked. 

“I didn’t confess my love, I just said that I maybe missed you,” you grumbled, slipping off your shoes. Lando watched as you walked over to his dresser, digging around until you found one of his bigger t-shirts to change into. 

“No cuddling,” you warned as you got into the bed, pulling the covers all around you. Lando respected your statement, sticking to his side of the bed as you drifted off. 

You startled awake to the sound of someone else pounding on the door. Lando had shifted over during your nap, his arms wrapped tightly around you. 

“You’re joking,” he mumbled into your neck. You squirmed to get out of his hold. 

“I told you no cuddling,” you grumbled back at him. You started to throw another insult at him but he jerked your chin towards him, pressing his lips harshly against yours before getting up. 

“I don’t care,” he said. Catching your breath, you heard him greet whoever was at the door, the spanish accent you would recognize from anywhere. 

Carlos was in the kitchen talking to Lando as you entered, his eyes widened at the sight of you, especially in the very minimal clothing. 

“Y/n!” He exclaimed, pulling you into a hug. “I see Lando finally came to his senses.” 

“No, she just showed up at my door this morning,” Lando said, annoyed. Carlos smirked at his friend before turning to you. 

“Seems like it was a nice reunion,” he teased, eyeing you up and down. 

“Get your mind out of the gutter,” you chastised. “We just took a nap, we have a big fight between us on the schedule today.” 

“Well it’ll have to wait because Lando and I are doing a Quadrant shoot in an hour,” Carlos said. 

“Okay,” you said. “I’ll just catch up on work here.”

Lando shook his head, “if you think I’m letting you out of my sight again, you’re very mistaken. You are coming with us.”

You started to argue but the glare he sent your direction shut you up. Carlos waited as you both got ready and then you were off. Lando drove to the sight, his hand gripping your thigh tightly while Carlos smiled to himself in the back. Just happy his friends were together and hadn’t killed one another yet. 

Everyone was already there when you arrived and you let Lando drag you along to where Max was with the cameras. 

“Y/n,” he greeted, surprised. “Good to see you.” 

“You too,” you said, catching the smirk he sent Lando’s way. Lando and Carlos were whisked away to shoot and you hung out with Max in the meantime. 

“Lando didn’t tell me you were coming to Monaco,” Max said. 

“I didn’t tell him I was coming,” you told him and he nodded. 

“That would explain why he was still all pissy yesterday. Been that way honestly since you kicked him out of Austin.” 

“I didn’t kick him out of Austin,” you grumbled but Max’s face made you sigh. “Okay fine maybe I did, but I made a mistake.”

“Does he know that’s how you feel?” Max asked. 

“Oh yeah he does, I told him and then he hung up on me immediately,” you said and Max let out a sharp laugh. 

Max laughed, shaking his head. "Classic Lando. He's been moping for months, and when you finally reach out, he panics and hangs up. No wonder you flew all the way here."

You sighed, watching Lando pose for photos with Carlos. "I don't know what I was thinking, honestly. We still have so much to figure out."

Max nudged your shoulder. "Hey, the fact that you're both here, willing to try, that's a good start. Just... talk to each other, yeah? No more running away or hanging up phones."

You nodded, offering him a small smile. "Thanks, Max. When did you get so wise?"

He grinned. "I've always been wise. You lot just never listen to me."

As the shoot wrapped up, Lando made his way back over to you, his eyes darting between you and Max, a feeling of jealousy creep up his spine at the way you were laughing with his best friend. 

Max was explaining a new project they were working on when you felt two arms wrap around your waist and a chin settle on your shoulder. 

“All done?” You asked him softly. 

“Yeah,” he replied. “Ready to go?” 

—------------------------

You waited for Lando as he showered, twiddling your thumbs anxiously knowing that the conversation you’d been avoiding was looming. 

When he finally emerged, damp curls falling messily over his forehead, gray sweatpants hanging low on his hips, you had to force yourself to focus. He leaned against the doorway, arms crossed, watching you with an unreadable expression.

“So,” he said, leaning against the doorframe, “are we actually going to talk, or did you just fly all the way here to yell at me some more?”

Your jaw clenched. “Oh, don’t worry. We’re talking. But I make no promises about the yelling.”

Lando scoffed, dropping the towel onto a chair. “Right. Because it’s all my fault, isn’t it?”

You shot up from your seat. “You hung up on me, Lando! After everything—after months of silence—you didn’t even have the decency to listen to me!”

His nostrils flared. “And what was I supposed to do, huh? Just pretend like it didn’t rip me apart when you pushed me away? That I was just waiting for you to decide I was worth calling?”

“I never said you weren’t worth it!” you snapped. “I was scared, okay? I panicked! But at least I’m here, trying! You—” You jabbed a finger into his chest. “You just ran away like a coward!”

Lando grabbed your wrist, his grip firm but not rough. “Coward? Are you serious? You were the one who shut me out, Y/n! I gave you everything, and you threw it away like it didn’t mean anything!”

“Oh, fuck off with that,” you snapped, yanking your hand free. “You don’t get to act like the victim here. I was scared, yes, but you didn’t fight for me either! You just let me go and then acted like I never existed!”

His jaw clenched. “Because I didn’t know what the hell you wanted! One second, we were good, and the next, you were pushing me out like I was nothing.”

“That’s bullshit,” you seethed. “You knew how I felt about you, and instead of trying to talk to me, you let your ego get in the way.”

Lando let out a sharp laugh, running a hand through his hair. “My ego? Jesus Christ, Y/n, you really think this was about my ego?”

“What else would it be about?” you shot back.

His hands balled into fists at his sides. “It was about the fact that I was falling in love with you, and you just—” He exhaled harshly. “You shut down when things got hard. You didn’t trust me enough to stay.”

Your breath hitched, the words slicing through your anger like a knife.

Lando’s chest rose and fell heavily, the weight of what he’d just said hanging between you. You swallowed, hands trembling as you clenched them at your sides.

“And what about you?” you whispered. “You say I didn’t trust you, but you didn’t fight for me either. You let me walk away.”

Lando’s eyes darkened. “Because I thought that’s what you wanted.”

“Well, it wasn’t.”

Silence.

You both stood there, breathing hard, staring at each other like two opposing forces in an inevitable collision.

Lando was the first to move. One step forward. Then another. Until he was close enough that you could feel the heat radiating off him.

“They told me I could have the F1 assignment if I wanted it,” you whispered. 

His hands hovered near your arms, uncertain. “And do you?” he asked, voice low, rough.

You swallowed the lump in your throat. “If you still want me to.”

A beat of hesitation.

And then he reached for you.

You didn’t stop him. Didn’t push him away. His lips crashed onto yours, desperate, angry, needing. You matched his intensity, fingers curling into his damp curls, pulling him closer as if you could make up for all the lost time in one kiss.

When you finally pulled away, foreheads pressed together, you exhaled shakily.

“No more running,” you murmured.

Lando nodded. “No more hanging up.”

You cracked a small smile. “And no more being a dick?”

He chuckled, pressing another quick kiss to your lips. “No promises.”

[wendichester]

Okay so "happier" both parts just yk

Tore out my heart

Thanks.

But now I feel extremely guilty SO! REQUEST! Cuz how else would we deal with feelings

So, on that note, I'd like to request a Sam x Reader (established relationship), and like Sam has been away from the bunker with Dean for a hunt, but it took longer than expected bc they got another hunt right after and thus stayed away for like a week, and when he comes back it's just like tired, fluffy cuddles but refusing to sleep bc "we gotta make up for lost time"

(And maybe, if you think it's a cute idea, sleepy proposal where it's just in the moment, a quiet mutter of those four words)

Tysm and seriously I love your works, even when they make me cry <3

𓂃˖ ࣪⊹ lost time,

summary. sam’s been gone too long, and now that he’s home, he refuses to let sleep steal a second more from you.

pairing. sam winchester x reader

wordcount. 810

The bunker door creaks open, and you’re already rushing down the hall before Sam can even set his bag down.

He barely has time to brace himself before you crash into his chest, arms wrapping tight around his waist. His laugh is soft and tired, rumbling through him as he buries his face in your hair, inhaling deep.

“Missed you,” you mumble, voice muffled against his flannel.

His arms tighten around you, pulling you impossibly closer. “Missed you more.”

Dean claps him on the shoulder as he passes by, mumbling something about a shower and beer before disappearing down the hall, leaving you and Sam alone in the dim light of the war room.

You lean back just enough to look at him, your fingers tracing over his jaw, the dark circles under his eyes. “You look exhausted.”

He hums, tilting his head into your touch. “I am.”

“Then let’s get you to bed.”

But he shakes his head, a sleepy little smirk playing on his lips. “Not yet.”

“Sam—”

His hands slide down your back, anchoring you to him. “We gotta make up for lost time.”

Your heart stumbles over itself. “You’re literally falling over,” you point out, brushing his hair back, reveling in the warmth of him, the way he’s pressing every inch of himself into you like he’s afraid you’ll disappear if he lets go.

His nose nudges against yours, lips barely grazing, just enough to send a shiver down your spine. “Don’t care,” he murmurs, voice heavy with exhaustion and something sweeter. “Just wanna be with you.”

You let out a breathy laugh. “You are with me.”

“Not enough,” he mutters, catching your lips in a kiss—soft, slow, lingering. He tastes like road coffee and something distinctly Sam, something that makes warmth pool in your chest, something that feels like home.

You let him steal a few more kisses before tugging him toward the bedroom, despite his sluggish protests. The second the door closes behind you, his arms wind around your waist again, his face burying in your neck.

“God, I missed this,” he exhales, lips brushing over your skin.

Your fingers slide into his hair, scratching lightly at his scalp, and he shivers, exhaling through his nose. “Missed what?”

“You,” he murmurs. “The way you smell. The way you feel.” His lips ghost over your jaw, up to the corner of your mouth. “The way you kiss me.”

You smile against him, pressing one more kiss to his lips before coaxing him toward the bed. He groans when he finally collapses onto the mattress, arms still wrapped around you, pulling you down with him.

You settle against his chest, his heartbeat slow and steady beneath your ear. His fingers trace absentminded circles on your back, his lips pressing lazy kisses to your hairline.

For a while, it’s just soft breathing, the warmth of him surrounding you, the quiet comfort of being back where you belong.

And then, barely above a whisper—so soft you almost think you imagined it—Sam murmurs, “Marry me.”

Your breath catches.

You tilt your head up, heart hammering against your ribs. “What?”

His eyes are half-lidded, heavy with exhaustion, but there’s something sure, something steady in the way he looks at you. His fingers brush against your cheek, his lips quirking into a lopsided smile.

“Marry me,” he repeats, voice low and warm, like it’s the easiest thing in the world.

Your chest tightens. “Sam, are you—?”

“Serious?” His thumb traces the curve of your cheek. “Yeah.”

You stare at him, searching for any hesitation, any sign that this is just sleepy delirium talking. But all you find is Sam—soft and certain and yours.

Your lips tremble. “You don’t even have a ring.”

He huffs a quiet laugh. “I’ll get one.”

“You haven’t even planned a speech.”

He grins. “Do you really want a speech?”

You bite your lip, shaking your head.

“Good.” He presses a kiss to your forehead, voice dropping to a whisper. “Just want you to say yes.”

And really, how could you ever say anything else?

You curl your fingers into his shirt, pressing your face into his chest, your smile aching against his skin.

“Yes.”

Sam lets out a long breath, one of his arms tightening around you, his other hand burying in your hair. His lips find your temple, your cheek, your jaw, each kiss slow and lingering, sealing his promise.

Sleep tugs at him then, his body melting into the mattress, his grip on you loosening only slightly. “Gotta get a ring tomorrow,” he mutters, already halfway gone.

You smile, fingers tracing over his heart. “Plenty of time for that.”

He hums in agreement, his breathing evening out, warmth radiating from him as he finally lets sleep take him.

And as you lie there, wrapped in his arms, heart still racing, you know—this is everything.

want be part of the taglist.ᐣ ⋆.˚ ★— @iloveeveryoneyoureamazing ⋆ @deans-daydream ⋆ @taurus0queenie33 ⋆ @ambiguous-avery ⋆ @itsdearapril ⋆ @whereiwakewarm ⋆ @nymphet-quenn ⋆ @bluemerakis ⋆ @titsout4jackles ⋆ @hauntedrose555 ⋆ @chevroletdean ⋆ @dulcescorderitas ⋆ @blackmarketfruitrollups ⋆ @impala67rollingthroughtown ⋆ @rulesareshadesofgrey ⋆ @nervoussystems ⋆ @daryls-luvrr ⋆ @sunnyteume ⋆ @drakelover78 ⋆ @angelblqde ⋆ @mostlymarvelgirl ⋆ @whisperingdaze ⋆ @bossyblondie ⋆ @iluvnewtie ⋆ @dyhsversion ⋆ @s0urw00lf ⋆ @mrs-pondwater19 ⋆ @myceliumsunshine ⋆ @idk6505 ⋆ @giggles1026 ⋆ @idontwannabehere7

[mistymisfit]

How they met

summary: When Poison Ivy takes Gotham's central park hostage reader gets stuck with Red Hood and accidentally saves him.

warnings: mentions of reader being shorter than Jason, reader uses glasses, mentions of reader wearing a skirt, smoking, and this.

wc: 3,8k

It was just a matter of time of living in Gotham until you got stuck on a situation like this. You have to have the worst luck in the city because, on the day you finally give in and agree to dog-sit for a friend, Poison Ivy decides to show up when you take her on a walk. Of course, the dog was no idiot and ran away a while ago at the first sight of danger, so now you were stuck here in Gotham's central park. You have to admit you're not as scared as you should be, however you were getting mildly annoyed at hanging upside down with a vine holding you by your ankles. At least you could be glad it wasn't the joker.

It was a common topic of conversations late at night with your friends when you seem to run out of things to discuss, debating which Gotham rouge attack you could survive as a hostage. This topic was only second to "Which vigilante would you rather have to save you?", that one allowed for more rambling over who you thought was hottest. Still, no pointless drunk debate could prepare you for when it actually happened.

"Hey, excuse me, miss" You said when you watched her walk past and she stopped almost amused that you'd dare to speak to her "I understand that you're part plant, right?"

"That'd be correct" She paid close attention to you, she was intrigued by the fact that the effects of her "sleeping pollen" worn off fast unlike the other hostages next to you. You were supposed to be passed out for around 5 hours more, after all her pheromones never failed.

"Yeah, so, the rest of us are human" You tried to be as polite as you could so she wouldn't crush you to death "So could you please put us down, I'm getting a headache from having my head upside down"

She didn't say anything but agreed, the vines gently leaving you and the others on the grass before quickly wrapping you again. As you felt less and less dizzy, you could pay more attention to your surroundings. The concrete trail was shattered, plants breaking it from growing over it, the closest bench was split in half, and a water fountain was removed from the ground, water leaking from where it used to be. Though your vision is blurry since you lost your glasses from hanging upside down, you can still tell that next to you were the mother and daughter you saw seconds before it all went down. The mother chased after her daughter, demanding her to not go that far away from her. Then your friend's dog, the king Charles spaniel you only agreed to take care of because she was cute, ran away and you went after her. Next thing you know, a vine wraps around you and you're hanging from your ankles, no dog in sight. When did all of this happen? And how in broad daylight?

You heard a cracking noise and thought, "oh, no, were those my glasses?". Your head turned to see ruthless vigilante Red Hood picking up your glasses from the floor, or at least you think that is what he's picking up. It sounded much like broken glass. He could tell by the disappointment on your face that they were yours, so he quickly moved in silence getting closer to you.

"Sorry" He whispered, cleaning them up a little bit with against his red vest. He gently put them back on your face, and you nearly blushed at his hands brushing against your face.

"It's okay," You lied. You couldn't be mad at him for it, but you could dwell on how expensive it would be to fix them.

"I'll get you out of here." He promised, his voice was still low, not knowing if she was close enough to hear him. He started cutting through the vines to set you free.

"Sure" If you could've shrugged, you would have.

"Sure?" He repeated, offended. He wasn't expecting you to be overcome by joy by seeing him there, he's realistic, but you could show more gratitude. Even if he crushed your glasses.

"Or you could leave me here to die," You deadpanned, you must've been in this city for too long if this wasn't fazing you "so I don't have to turn in that essay on Monday"

"I won't," He quips back, finally breaking through and helping you throw the plants from you.

"Well, at least you're not a cop"

"Good to know I'm a step above them" He was beginning to wonder when was the last time he met a hostage so talkative as he worked cutting the vines that held the little girl captive. She lumped forward, still unconscious as you caught her, holding her until he could free her mom.

"Several steps, really" You corrected "You won't remember them, but you rescued my neighbors' daughter after she went missing for four months"

"Who? Zoey?" You were both surprised, you over the fact that he could recall her name, and him that you knew that. Those kinds of stories never made the news, or if they did, they never mentioned him if it was going to paint him in a good light. "How's she doing?"

"Yeah, she's better now"

Once he managed to cut through the last vine, he picked her up like it was nothing. You looked away trying to push down how attractive you found that. He guided you, signaling to stay quiet on what you hoped would be a way out of the dome she had created. And just when you thought you're out of trouble, a plant wrapped once more around your leg, dragging you and Red Hood back in. As twigs and being dragged through the floor scratched your arms and your face, you couldn't help but think, Why me? and that at least in that rough motion you dropped the girl, and the paramedics running your way would take her and the other woman.

This time, she was not as merciful, a thicker and stronger vine entrapped you both together with your back pressed against his chest. He tried putting his arms in front of you to stop the vine from getting tighter around you, but you're quicker than him in realizing what could happen.

"Stop, stop," you swatted his forearm lightly to get his attention; "it'll break your arms"

You were surprised to see him listen, and he put his arms back to his sides. You could tell he was trying to be as respectful as he could in this situation, trying to avoid touching you even if your butt was pressed impossibly close to him.

"Hood?" You asked nervously, feeling something pressed against you. "That is a gun, right?"

"I'm flattered, sweetheart." He chuckled, "It's a 9 millimeter, but don't worry safety's on"

"Uh-huh" You acknowledged his response, more worried about not panicking at the thought of being squeezed to death. It didn't occur to you earlier that you might die today. Well, it did, you just didn't have to accept it until then. In your desperation you tried wriggling your arms out, at least to get some room to breathe. The binding plant was right above your waist, constricting your lungs.

"Stop squirming like that."

"Sorry, I-"You gasped, on the verge of tears "god, what if I die? My friends won't have anything to say at my funeral"

"Hey, take a deep breath." You felt his hands on your hips, his thumb gently tracing circles on your back as the rest of his hand kept you in place, grounding you. It was comforting; he was trying to make you feel better, and you appreciated the thought. He leaned down his head until his forehead rested on top of your head "You are not dying, okay?"

"Okay," you repeated, your voice weak but less panicked.

"Besides, if we're having a bad funeral competition, I'd beat you for sure" He joked, trying to distract you "What were you doing here?"

"I uhm, I was walking my friend's dog, she's out of town for her sister's wedding"

"What's it called?"

"Anne Boneyn" Your response was met with a full belly laugh from him, it's almost contagious as you had to push your lips together and hold back a smile to avoid joining him.

"I'm sorry, whose idea was it?"

"Mine," you blushed, "only because she named my cat Joan D'cat"

He laughed again, and if you weren't scared for your life, you wouldn't have known how to feel about him so close to you.

"Wait until you hear about my other friend's turtle, Mary Shelley" You added inciting his laugh once more. It was a bit of a contradiction to see a man you know for a fact has killed many people before laughing this much over bad puns, but you felt flustered and a little proud that you were able to do that.

"I'll tell you something; when we get out of this, I'll help you find Anne, hopefully with her head still attached," He offered.

"Hey" You laughed "that's not helping "

As your laughs died down and you were reminded of his hands still on you, you started to wonder if Red Hood was single, you'd kill him if he was your boyfriend and found out he had a moment like this with another girl. You have to stop yourself from getting even more delusional, this was probably a random Thursday for him, and you had no reason to feel bad or even jealous of an hypothetical girlfriend. You brushed off how he made you feel, attributing it to either the adrenaline of the moment or the fact that he's quite attractive and you haven't had any contact with a guy in a while. You really couldn't help but grow a little crush on him when he's so reassuring, telling you that you'll be okay

Then you hear steps, both of you suddenly going quiet. You could see some plants moving, but not her or any other vigilante, though the latter would surprise you more since you heard Red Hood usually works on his own, and you've seen a few news articles of him and Batman beating the shit out of each other.

"We're far from Crime Alley, Red Hood" You could finally make out where she was through a cracked lens, was she always that green? or was her skin changing?

"I just happened to be in the neighborhood" He replied before whispering:"Try to distract her"

She made a face of what you could only describe as disdain, and she was about to leave when he nudged you to get her attention. If you could turn back, you would've shoot him an exasperated "what the fuck do you want me to do?" look. You grunted from the vine getting tighter and decided to do as he said.

"Can I ask you something?" You rolled your eyes at what you said, anyone with a quick wit would've told you that you already had. "Why the whole display of power in the middle of the city?"

"Why?"

"Yeah, don't get me wrong, I agree with the whole men are killing the planet thing" You took a deep breath and she noticed, loosening a bit the vines so you could talk "But why the park? It's the only place people in this city get to see some green... besides the botanical gardens, but we are right next to them."

"Are you saying I'm wrong?"

"No I-uhm, I'm just saying you got the target wrong" You quickly added before you made it worse "You know it's not the average person that's killing nature?"

"It's men's greed that is killing the planet"

"Still, in a shorter run, you'll get better results if you aim higher," You reasoned "You should go after the factory outside the city that's been polluting the water, or the biggest oil company you can find, or-"

"Hm," You were both surprised to see her actually think about it "I suppose I could try"

What? You were just rambling, trying to buy time for whatever plan Red Hood's got. You were not expecting her to take your suggestions seriously, and neither was him when he whispered a "what the fuck?" under his breath. Once she starts walking away and turns your back to you two you quickly move your head, shooting him a look that asks the very same question he had.

"And don't even try following me," she warned, you knew that was for the vigilante behind you. You were not going anywhere that isn't your own bedroom after this "my plants will let you go in half an hour"

You were at a loss for what to do for all that time stuck there, hopefully you could free yourselves faster. Though you wouldn't mind spending the time with him. You mentally scolded yourself for thinking like that, you needed to stop being so delusional. Lucky for you, he did have a plan, so as soon as the grip lessened up, he was able to get his arms out and cut off the vines.

"Are you going after her?"

"Nah, sounds more like the bat's problem to me" He shrugged, " 'sides I promised to help you find Anne"

He kept up that promise, he helped you call out and look for your friend's dog until you found her—alive and with her head still on her neck. You figured it took you around the same time you would've been trapped had he not cut you off earlier. Saying goodbye to him was surprisingly awkward, as if he didn't want to leave either. At least until he noticed a few police officers, then he really made a run for it, but not without waving as he left.

He nagged himself for that, letting his guard down that fast when a pretty girl was nice to him. Then reprimanded himself even more when the urge to find you got too intense and ended up investigating you. And felt equal parts, bad for watching you and relieved to find out you didn't have a boyfriend. Told himself it was for your safety when he made sure you got home safe late at night, and convinced himself he was doing you a favor when he fed your cat on the balcony when you were out or sleeping.

"Fuck," Is all that left your lips when he fell on the floor. Where did he even come from? You were looking at the city lights, distracted, when you heard someone stumbling and grunting.

When you turned to see the very same vigilante who you met a few weeks ago, saying you were shocked fell short. It's rare that you ran into him once, but twice? That's got to be luck-- or its opposite. His muzzle was shattered, God knows where the rest of the pieces fell, he was also covered in blood and holding his side as he tried to sit up. You managed to move amidst the initial surprise, and leave your cigarette on the ashtray to help him up.

"Hey, are you okay?" You asked, guiding his back to rest against the wall.

"Yeah, I'm fine, I'm fine," He repeated, as if he was not only trying to convince you but also himself, "It isn't my blood"

"You sure?" The way your hands lingered on his form did not go unnoticed, not that he minded at all.

"I'm just bruised," He explained before looking up. Of course, he'd end up at your building, and just by chance, you happened to hang out on your rooftop. "It's you again"

"Yeah, It's me" You held back a smile, he remembers you? You'd thought by now your face would've phased out of his memories, mixed along with the other people he must have helped.

"What are you doing here?"

"I live here-"You rolled your eyes, avoiding the real reason to be at a rooftop at 4 am. You could tell his eyes lingered on yours even under the mask before he looked up and saw the ashtray on the ledge. With renewed energy he got up, still using the wall to help himself. "Wait!"

He raised an eyebrow, and before he could make any witty comment, you beat him to it.

"I only do it when I'm stressed, okay? Not that I owe you any explanation"

"I get it," He sighed, reaching out for the pack and getting one out of the little box "You mind?"

You shook your head no, handing him your lighter. You watched him drop the broken muzzle and take the first drag with so much attention you had to tell yourself to stop being so awkward. You flicked the ashes off your own before your eyes went back to him. Jesus, what a fucking jawline, and now you couldn't stop looking at his lips. He was going to think you were weird if he caught you staring like this, or at least you thought that. Not that you would know he had been looking out for you since you met. From a distance, of course.

"I didn't get your name last time" He knew your name, you knew a guy with his resources probably already knew the answer. But you indulged him, saying your name out loud for him, "that's pretty"

"Thanks"

"So what's got you stressed out enough to be smoking this late," He said your name. You liked the way it sounds coming from his voice; he liked the way it rolls off his tongue so easily.

"Had the worst night out, ever" Now it was your turn to sigh, leaning in to rest your arms on the ledge. He was eyeing your outfit now, an oversized hoodie clearly thrown over a going out outfit, black tights and heavy boots visible under it. And if you leaned forward just a little bit, he could see a bit of the miniskirt your hoodie was hiding. "You?"

"I've had worse, had better" He shrugged, intentionally giving you a vague answer. He wasn't going to tell you about his activities, no normal person wants to hear about that much violence.

"Really?" You raised an eyebrow, your tone was playful, and he knew you were about to tease him "You seem pretty fucked to me, or should I have seen the other guy?"

"Hey, I've got no open wounds tonight" He smirked and you wanted to scream, why was that so fucking attractive? "I'm counting that as a win"

You let out a chuckle, and you just missed the way his lips curved up in a smile when you left the cigarette butt on the tray. His eyes followed your movement, looking at the lipstick-stained cigarette for a few seconds before returning his focus to you.

"Were you born here?" He asked

"Nope, I moved a couple of years ago for college"

"How's that going?"

"I'm getting my masters now" You shook your head, looking up at him before continuing "What about you? Are you a full fledged Gothamite?"

"Loud and proud" He joked, getting you to laugh loudly.

"Of course you are, I can't imagine getting a costume and going out to fight criminals every night" You teased.

"Hey!" He tried to sound offended at your remark, but he couldn't hide the smile he was fighting against, so he opted for changing the subject "I'm sorry, what did you say you were studying?"

With that, he got you to tell him about your masters, how you got into that field, and what you liked the most.  You also got him to talk a bit about himself, even if he was not willing to give you that much information. Both to protect his identity and not to scare off the first girl he's had a crush on in a while. You both steered closer and closer to the other as you talked, close enough you could smell the intoxicating mix of gunpowder, sweat, and whatever cologne he used.

"Can I be nosy for a second?" You bit your lip at the risky question you were about to ask. He just nodded, his hands itching to touch you again, to wrap around your hips like they did last time he saw you. "What's the deal with you and Batman?"

"What deal? There's no deal" He brushed it off, he was about to take a step back when you stopped him. Pulling him in by grabbing his clothes, an eyebrow raised and a "do you think I'm stupid?" expression. "We don't get along, 's all"

"Really?" You knew you were pushing your luck.

"He hates me, I hate him" He explained, hoping to put your growing curiosity to rest.

"In my opinion," Your voice was soothing, and so was your hand on his chest. He didn't know how long it had been since he was touched like that; "hate like that can only be born out of someone you loved"

"He thinks I'm bad, they all do" You noticed how weak and sad his tone turned.

"I don't think you're bad, if it's worth anything"

He moved one hand up to cup your cheek, and he stared at you tenderly for a moment. It happened fast, his lips crashed onto yours in a second. You hummed, tasting the left over taste of the smoke, stood on your tip toes, hands fisting at his clothes to maintain some balance as he leans down too. His other hand rested on your back, but not too low trying not to push his luck with you.  And he kissed you like he had something to prove, whether it was to you or himself you were not so sure of. What you were sure of was how warm he felt, your body pushed up against his in the cold, windy night. It felt like a consolation prize after such a terrible night.

And he wanted to tell you that he wished he was a normal person, that he had a normal life, and he could date you without it meaning a death sentence to you. But all it comes out is; "I wish I never met you"

"Excuse me?" You gasped, pushing him off "What a weird fucking thing to say after kissing someone"

"No—I mean" He sighed, hands cupping your face once again. You just couldn't resist that. "You're pretty, and funny, you should be kissing someone normal"

"I think I can make that decision for myself"

"I should go" He let go of you, and you grew colder by the second, already missing him before he left.

"Wait," You tugged on the hood hanging on his back. He turned back to see you, anything to make the moment last more. "I usually come up here on Fridays, in case you need to talk to someone"

He just gave you a court nod before jumping off, and you could only stand there and think about what just happened. Despite his better reasoning, he found himself swinging by your rooftop that Friday, and the one after, and all the next ones for the foreseeable future.

a/n: I mentioned in my birthday drabble that poison ivy called reader "her favorite hostage" and this is why, so technically part of the birthday-verse?

[captain-huggy-bear]

"I've got you..."

Pairing: x Fem!Reader

Warnings: Blood, nudity (in a helping someone get cleaned up way/non-sexual)

Summary: You wake up at 2am to find you've started your period. Clayton takes care of you.

Notes: Periods suck so this is designed to make everyone feel better about a shitty situation.

Totally happy to take requests/ideas/prompts at the moment in my ask box :)

Writing Masterlist

Maybe it's the stomach cramps that wake you, the feeling like you’re being stabbed in the stomach repeatedly, or maybe it’s the uncomfortable feeling of wetness beneath you, like you’d spilled a glass of water to cover yourself. You can’t be certain, what you can be certain of is that it’s 2am and you’re suddenly awake, groggy and confused, and that you know that something’s gone terribly wrong with your nightly plan.

Clayton is fast asleep besides you, curled up with his pillow, nose twitching in his sleep, so you’re careful, trying to be quiet when you peel the covers back to check the damage, already knowing from the wet sensation between your legs and beneath you what you’re going to find. 

It’s like a crime scene on his white mattress cover, a pool of red blood beneath you where you’ve started your period unexpectedly early. It’s everywhere, across the mattress cover, the underside of the duvet, across your thighs and the crotch of your sleep shorts. To add to it you feel like you’re being kicked repeatedly in the stomach and the lower back. It’s…it’s embarrassing, you’re staying over Clayton’s for the first time in weeks because of his schedule. This wasn’t supposed to happen…

“Mmm…” You glance over at Clay as he shifts, his blue eyes blinking open as he wakes up from your movements. You start to panic when he nearly rolls over into the mess you’ve made, relaxing when instead he pushes himself up to a seated position, chain swinging gently as he rolls his neck and shoulders to shake out the aches and pains of sleeping awkwardly. 

 “You okay, baby?” Clay’s voice is rough with sleep, deep and gravelly in a way that would scratch a part of your brain if you weren’t so emotional and fixated on the shitty situation you’ve found yourself in. Fuck, this is the worst, you’ve never done this before…never bled all over your boyfriend’s mattress and you’re sure he’ll be upset, who wouldn’t be?

“No…” You try to hold it in, really you do, but waking up at your boyfriend’s house with stomach cramps, covered in blood, having ruined his sheets is just too much for you. You can’t help that you start crying even as you’re sniffling trying to hold it in because this is embarrassing enough as it is without sobbing over it as well.

“Baby, what’s wrong?” It’s dark and Clay can’t really see what’s got you so worked up, but he can tell you’re upset and there’s nothing he hates more than that. You both should be sleeping, curled up together, happy. You should be nuzzling into him while he spoons you, not crying in his bed at 2am when you have work in the morning. 

“I…I bled all over your sheets, ‘m sorry!” It’s the early hour wake up that has him confused because what do you mean you’ve bled over his sheets? Are you hurt? Did you cut yourself somehow?  The confusion mixed with the dark has him patting the bedside table in an attempt to find the lamp there. 

Clayton manages to find the switch, flicking it on, the warm light from the lamp filling the space and illuminating the scene which has you apologising and crying in his bed at such a ridiculously early hour when you should be sleeping. You’ve created a big red patch on the bed that he knows is going to stain, blood pooling underneath you where the mattress dips, not that he really cares. You’re covered in blood as you practically curl in on yourself in discomfort, thighs ruddy, sleep shorts stained, smears of crimson over your legs where you must have moved in your sleep.

The sight of you like that, covered in blood, embarrassed and crying, has him hushing you, soothing little shushing sounds leaving him as he goes to pull you into his arms even as you try to protest, to keep him at a distance, worried you’ll cover him in blood. Like he wouldn’t happily bathe in the stuff if it meant he could comfort you, he’s spent so much time playing hockey that the idea of a little blood really doesn’t phase him.

“It’s okay, hey…I don’t care, baby, it happens.” You’re not stronger than Clay’s desire to have you in his lap, no matter how hard you try he’s got you up from the wet patch and sat on his lap. The blood doesn’t bother him, the fact his sweats are probably ruined doesn’t matter because now he can wrap his arms around you fully, a hand cupping the back of your head as he tries to reassure you, to comfort you.

“B-but…your sheets, your sweatpants...” You’re blubbering into him as he gently guides your face to his shoulder, your tears are wet against his skin, droplets trailing down his chest, as he tries to soothe you. His free hand runs over your back in circles, rubbing circles more firmly when he reaches your lower back at the feeling of all the tense muscle there 

“I can get new ones, okay?” You nod into his shoulder, tears starting to slow at his reassurance but he knows you have to feel horrible, that there’s no way you’re comfortable right now covered in sticky blood and probably dealing with cramps and pains. 

“Let’s get you into the shower, okay? Then I'll change the sheets and get you some tylenol, baby.”

“Okay…” 

Clay helps you out of the bed, hands on your hips as you waddle in front of him towards the bathroom, an awkward sort of walk as you try to stop blood dripping onto his floor as if he doesn’t have the money to pay for someone to clean it if you do stain it. You wait awkwardly, feet curling on the cold tile of the bathroom floor, holding yourself like you don’t want to exist in your own body, like you’re trying to shrink yourself as he starts the shower, waiting for it to warm up for you. 

“Arms up, sweet girl.” He’s gentle as he pulls your shirt (well, one of his you’ve stolen) over your head, before kneeling down to help you peel off your shorts and underwear. You shiver from the cold, but it’s not long before he’s gently guiding you into the shower to clean up, the warm water soothing some of your pains and chasing away the chill.Clayton leaves you there as he takes your clothes to be washed, bundling the pile of stained, bloody clothes in his arms. 

It doesn’t bother him, stripping the bedding off, each layer being pulled free. It doesn’t bother him, putting all the blood stained laundry into the wash, coated in stain remover. It doesn’t take him long to do and even making the bed, one of his least favourite chores, means very little when he knows he’s helping you. He works off auto pilot, a desire to make everything as easy for you as possible when aunt flo decided to make her chaotic and unruly appearance. 

You’re just standing under the spray, eyes closed, barely moving except for the rise and fall of your chest, when he comes back into the bathroom with clean clothes for you. Clayton places them on the sink countertop before reaching under the sink for a pad from the stock he’d put there the moment he’d started dating you. He places it atop your clothes before slipping out of his underwear and stepping under the spray of the shower with you to wash off the smudges of blood that had gotten onto him from where he’d pulled you into his lap earlier.

He’s careful as he reaches for the shower gel, the one you bought because it was better for your skin and smelled like vanilla, lathering it in his hands before rubbing it across your shoulders and down your arms. You hum under his attention, head leaning back to rest against his shoulder. There is nothing sexual about it, the way he touches you is intimate but solely focused on making you feel clean, better. Any trace of blood on your thighs is gently washed away, every smudge of red on your legs cleaned off by his hands as he kneels on the floor of the shower beside you. Extra care is taken where you’re most sensitive and uncomfortable, fingers rubbing circles into your tummy and back each time you groan out in pain. 

Clayton’s chain glints in the bright lights of the bathroom when he reaches for the shampoo, lathering it in your hair, fingers massaging your scalp and neck as he works it into your strands. He takes a sort of pride in the way your muscles turn to jello under his attention, how all that tension, that stress disappears a little even if he catches you wincing every now and again, hands rubbing at your stomach where he knows you’re likely cramping. He likes taking care of you. It’s nice to be able to do simple things, like rinse shampoo from your hair and massage conditioner into the ends. He takes pride in being useful to you, even when he knows you don’t expect him to do this for you. 

“Thank you…” Your voice is almost too quiet compared to the sound of the shower, water hitting the ground in sheets, but he hears it anyway. Always hyper aware of you in any situation. Clay pulls you back against him, until your back is flush with his chest, his hands coming to rest on your tummy, working circles into the soft skin there in an attempt to relieve some of your cramps. He presses a kiss to your shoulder, then another, and another. 

You really don’t have to thank him for taking care of you, if anything he should be thanking you for letting him. He likes doing it, likes fussing over you and seeing to all your needs, it makes him feel useful especially when he has to spend days at a time away on roadies and gets home late from games often. Hell, his schedule had been so shit lately that this had been the first opportunity in two weeks for you to sleep over. 

“You don’t need to thank me, baby” He mumbles it into your shoulder because the idea of pulling away from you right now is unthinkable, not when you’re leaning so heavily into him, sighing happily at the way his warm hands soothe the ache in your belly. 

When the two of you eventually get out of the shower, Clayton doesn’t let you lift a finger. He’s drying you down with a towel, helping you step into your new clothes, pad in place so you don’t have another ‘incident’ and helping dry your hair enough that it won’t upset you while you sleep. He takes more care drying and dressing you than he does himself, just throwing a pair of boxers on, skin still a little damp so the fabric sticks.

“Get in bed, baby, I'll go get you some tylenol, okay?” He’s pulling back the freshly made bed covers for you, letting you crawl into your spot before tucking you in. The covers are pulled up to your chin, making sure you’re not going to get cold.

“Can you make me a hot water bottle please?” You ask shyly, not wanting to be a bother as you look up at him, at the chain resting around his neck, the damp strands of hair curling around his ears, the soft smile he offers you as he looks after you. 

“‘Course, you want anything else, baby?” 

You shake your head in the negative as you burrow down into the fresh sheets. Clayton leans forward slowly, careful not to swing forward too quickly lest you take his cross to the face, to press a kiss to your forehead, lingering slightly before leaving for the kitchen. Hating the fact he has to leave you, but knowing you need some pain relief.

He tries to do it all as quickly as possible. Water boiled in the kettle, cooled slightly before being poured into your ghost shaped hot water bottle that you got last Halloween, tylenol grabbed, glass of water in hand. There’s no delaying, no distractions. It’s near 3am and all he wants is to make sure you take some painkillers, get a hot water bottle where you need it and wrap you up in his arms. All he wants is to cuddle up with you and fall back asleep, for you to fall back asleep.

Maybe he’s a sap. Maybe he’s whipped. Or maybe Clayton Keller just really likes being needed, being quietly helpful to you in the worst moments, the moments when he wants you to seek him out rather than shying away. He knows there are guys who’d freak out at waking up at 2am to blood over their bedsheets, he’s played against a few, the sort of guys that don’t want to even hear the word ‘period’. He doesn’t get it. He’ll never get it. His only thought is to make you comfortable, to ease some of your embarrassment and discomfort. 

“Here, baby, take these.” He helps you sit up briefly to gulp down the tylenol before handing you your hot water bottle, watching you melt when it rests against your stomach, cramps easing under the warmth. 

“Can you hold me?” You bite your lip after asking, like you’re worried he might say no. An impossibility really. Clayton’s never really been able to deny you anything. Especially not cuddles and affection. 

“You want cuddles, baby?”

“Yes, please.” You blink up at him from where he’s standing, tired and soft, slow, like even blinking is an effort right now.

“Okay, just let me turn all the lights off first.” He tries to make it quick, rushing around the house until all the lights are off again, the only one remaining being the lamp in the bedroom.

Clayton eases himself into his side of the bed, turning the bedside lamp off, before curling in behind you. He tugs you until you’re flush with his chest, butt fitting against his hips, legs tangled together. Clay’s arms wrap around you, one replacing your own to hold the hot water bottle to the spot where you’d been cradling it against your stomach. You sigh out happily when he presses his face into the crook of your neck, careful, soft little kisses pressed there like he can’t help himself. 

“Go to sleep, baby…I've got you.” and you don’t doubt it, Clay might be the first man in your life that you believe when he says that.

[kirbmey]

psycho killer zayne !

💌: this won’t suit everyone, veeeery graphic descriptions of torture, gore, etc. it was inspired by american psycho, so you get an idea. don’t like it? leave, block me, whatever.

the relationship you had with zayne was soft, quiet and intimate. he was such a sweetheart to you, truly.

for example, calling you when he had a break between surgery and surgery, checking on you and asking you the most caring questions with a lovely tender voice.

“honey, how are you? I just got out of the operating room. couldn’t stop thinking about you since I left this morning.” he confessed in a tender manner, holding the phone between his head and shoulder while he took off his surgical gloves, sitting on a random chair in an empty hallway.

you expected his calls, always. pacing around his house impatiently, dressed in his big shirts as you sat by the window, looking at the city lights from above as you two held the conversation in almost whispers.

“you shouldn’t think of me when someone’s life is at risk, silly.” you giggled softly, placing your head in the hand you rested on the window seal, viewing the streets you always walked next to your lover while holding hands. “I miss you, want you here with me.” you added with a pout taken over your lips.

the line went silent for a second as zayne started to come up with ways to excuse the reason why he wouldn’t make it home for tonight. “my dear, I miss you too, more than you can imagine. but I have to cover my colleague for the night, I won’t make it home today.” you were the silent one now, feeling the sadness you were too familiar with creep to your heart.

“I’m sorry, honey, I’ll make it up to you.” he stated after waiting for a response that never came, fidgeting with the discarded glove as he expected your sweet voice to reassure him from the other side of the line.

you shut your eyes in an attempt to make the tears roaming around your eyes disappear. “it’s fine, don’t worry. don’t forget to rest a bit and eat, please?” he hummed as a response to your request, keeping up the conversation until he has to leave, saying goodbye with a warm ‘I love you’ to which you replied the classic ‘I love you too’.

you would never know, but he was doing this for you, to protect you.

protect you from the zayne you had no relationship with at all, the one you never met. and will never meet.

you see, zayne’s always been a calm guy, so put together and collected. he always knew how to handle any complex situation, any angry patient, any of your tantrums complaining about not spending enough time together.

you thought you’ve already met the unleashed zayne when he fucked you for the first time, distancing from the caring one you loved. how he pounded into your cervix so fast, how he slapped across your face after spitting on your mouth, how he spoke those mean words in such a condescending manner, as if he was making you a favor. you loved this zayne as well.

that was all the mean he could get to you, when he felt like fucking you instead of making love to you. and you never worried too much about it either, he didn’t mean those words, he wasn’t like that.

your zayne wasn’t like that.

the zayne stalking behind a woman your exact age to push a cloth over her mouth and put her to sleep so he could lock her in a filthy basement was like that.

he doesn’t know why or when those thoughts started to mess up with his mind, but he got off to them. the image of women crying in fear, begging for their lives as blood covered their oh so beautiful breasts was better than any porn video online.

and hey, he’s been doing this for a while now, even before you two met. but his little sweet angel only made it worse, because now you were the one he imagined crying and begging, covered in blood. and he was scared as he didn’t want to hurt you like that, in a permanent way. not in a kinky way, in a deathly way.

he wished he could kill you again, again and again, and then make you come back to life to kill you once more. he wanted to take care of you in the tenderest way possible and wanted to kill you in the filthiest way possible too.

so he started to murder more often, and he got crueler each time. the latest victim in front of him, oh poor soul, was going to be a witness to the zayne you’ll never know.

the girl in front of his broad figure stood naked with both her wrists tied to the ceiling with the roughest rope ever made, making the soft skin brake into small droplets of blood.

zayne fucking loved blood.

she stir awake, her eyes adjusting to the white light as her heartbeat raced faster each passing second, screaming for help and squirming around to try and break free form the restraints.

“my fucking god, why you whores always react the same way?” he spoke calmly as he approached her shaky form, grabbing a fistful of her hair to then slap her, not even close as the kind of slaps he gave you, making the girl shut up instantly as she started crying and apologizing.

zayne couldn’t care less about what she had to say, towering over her and fixated on the red liquid decorating her soft skin.

he had to touch it. smell it. taste it.

so he did, he leaned into her smaller frame, making her take a few steps back as he grabbed her arm to lick down on it, grunting when the metallic flavor covered his tongue. he got hard immediately.

he tasted it. now he needed to fuck into it.

“see? you can be silent for a while.” he chuckled lowly as he wiped the remains from his lips, turning around to grab a small cart hiding in the shadows and pull it in front of her, standing behind it. “but I’m afraid it won’t last—”

when she saw the contents of the silver platter on top of it she started crying and screaming once more. come on, it wasn’t so bad, was it?

his favorite scalpel with his name craved into the side, a sharp knife, a few nails next to a rusty hammer, a gun (boring) and a wrench.

lord, she didn’t even see the bat and machete in the lower shelf of the cart. how unconsiderate.

“I always let everyone choose, is the least I can do.” he clarified as he cleaned each of the tools before him with a cloth, pink with flowers. a gift you gave him; he carried a piece of you everywhere. “but don’t worry, dead or alive, you’ll test them all.”

after a little bit of pushing, yelling and cursing she chose the gun (he had to get rid of it, everyone chose the goddamn gun). he laughed wholeheartedly at her choice as he grabbed it and loaded it with a singular bullet.

he pushed the cart away to stand closer to her, filling her mouth with said cloth when her yelling got to his nerves. he always washed it after each job as he did with all of his tools, don’t worry. through and through a real and hygienic professional.

zayne traces the curve of her body with the head of the gun, palming himself through his briefs as he leaned down to whisper to her ear. “you think I’m gonna shoot you in the head and call it a day? after all the effort it took me to bring you here? no, no.” the gun stoped its travel, pointing at her tummy, caressing her bellybutton with it as he rubbed himself against his palm.

he held her head down to make her watch how he pressed the trigger, the bullet going trough her stomach. blood everywhere. now the fun part.

his white shirt was splashed with it, as his face, his hands, don’t even bother to think of how the wall behind her looked. everywhere he looked at, there was blood, red, warm blood.

zayne dropped the gun to the floor, grabbing her hips to bring her decaying body closer to him. he pulled the now bloody cloth out of her mouth before dropping it to the puddle next to the weapon, licking and kissing her crimson lips like a starving dog.

grunts and moans filled the four concrete walls as he rubbed his leaking tip against the hole in her tummy, tugging at the base as the foreskin feared to push a bit too much inside of said hole.

he didn’t even care about the now dead body in front of him, too busy breeding the wound after mere seconds. it was always like that, hard to get and fast to finish.

the other tools were used too, don’t worry. he had the time of his life that night.

and when he came back home to you, late at night when you were already fast asleep, after he burnt her and all of the possible evidence as he always did, he took a steamy shower, whistling full of joy, smiling at the dry blood converting the transparent water into that shade of pink you loved to then disappear down the drain.

you’d wake up shortly after with his dark and soft locks tickling your naked thighs as he nibbled at your clit and humped the mattress, offering you the best head he’d ever given to you. ever.

squirt all over his expensive sheets, over and over. so fucking wet, squelchy. warm, he needed more.

the sunlight met your lord knows what number orgasm, his jaw numb from all the effort and his mind cloudy because of the lack of sleep. “I love you, I love you.” he mumbled as he traced kisses from your thighs to your mouth, letting you taste the sweet nectar he got from you.

you’d ask him what’s gotten into him, he’d tell you he loves you once again.

your soft, quiet and intimate zayne loved you and wanted to take care of you.

the other zayne wanted to fucking kill you, stab you and beat you to death <3

let’s hope you never never ever meet him !

💌: yes i love patrick bateman and gore, I’m just a girl >_<

[lethalchiralium]

Happiness [27]

Indigo. 4.8k. You're just trying to get a grip on reality, drowning in your mind with only yourself to save you. That is until a friend throws a life jacket, all while ignoring Simon as he flails too.

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The sheet and blanket were almost too hot for you as you rolled around in Mellie’s nursery, but you couldn’t find it in yourself to care. An old quilt from your aunt covered you, the pillow from your bed soft against your pounding head. 

You had yelled at Simon. You’ve never yelled at Simon. Never wanted to, never thought you had to - but it had been done. The worst part of it was thinking that it could have helped, but looking at his hurt expression only made you feel worse. 

You haven’t seen him since. Soap brought your dinner up to the temporary bed you fashioned, next to Mellie’s crib. Mellie’s little hand still poked out in your direction between the slats, even though she had fallen asleep hours ago. You’d spent a while just holding it between your fingers as a way to ground yourself. You were home, standing guard at the window they got into the house initially, just like you had the first few nights you had come home a month earlier. You almost rebroke your fingers when you slammed it closed, and kept hitting it until Price pulled you away. He was the only person who could. You would hit anyone who got close and crumble when your daughters were in sight. A wounded and rabid woman.

You were somewhat thankful the nightmares didn’t start until right before Mellie’s birthday. The small blessing left enough time to get her readjusted as best you could, enough time for your hands to lose the casts and stitches. It wasn’t long enough for you to push the swarm of howling monsters in your head. You were drowning with no lighthouse in sight. Sleep evaded you, a fickle friend that lured you in with promises of safety and comfort, only to wake up shrieking and having to be restrained before you redecorate the room with your blood. 

Forced separation was said to be good, give both of you some time to cool off and recuperate. Simon asleep in your bed, you laid on the nursery floor, unable to doze or relax. 

You kissed Mellie’s baby fingers. She snored in response as you raised to your feet and wrapped your blanket tightly around yourself. Finding sleep was not as feasible as you wanted it to be, so escaping to the snow outside felt like a new freedom. A new view through your broken lens. You took a deep breath as you entered the hallway, your gaze ended up on your bedroom door - it was shut, no outline of light underneath. Simon was asleep. A sigh escaped you and you sucked in another breath, attempting to follow your therapist’s advice. You descended the staircase while thinking of things that calm you.

The fish in your therapist’s office was a gentle thought, the blue light and shimmering scales as bubbles floated to the top. A distraction, one you used often to ignore topics you couldn’t speak on. You tried to envision the moonlight on your living room floor as the water, the shadows that danced as the fish, and you were the bubbles that led to the surface - outside.

The garden door creaked as you pushed it open, he only glanced at you before he tapped his cigar on the side of the ash tray and looked back at his phone.

“What’re you doin’ awake?”

The suffocating presence that was John Price made you shrink for just a moment, just as you slid by him to sit in the empty porch chair on the other side of the table. “I didn’t…I just wanna go outside for a second.”

Price glanced at you before he sighed and tucked his phone back into his coat. You were sure he was about to take you back upstairs but he moved the cigar back to his lips, his muscles as taut as stone.

“Heard your spat earlier.”

Constellations hung like garland above your heads. You only looked up at them for a moment. Grey clouds dotted the atmosphere, almost as dense as the fog in your head. The therapist - Marli, you think - says it’s normal. Post traumatic stress disorder comes in all sorts of ways. You can go through Monday with a smile and be completely normal; Tuesday, you’re locked in your closet and going through panic attacks, one right after the other. You had remarked that it was more like going from the slow to the fast lane in free for all traffic, everything passing by in colorful blurs. 

“Sorry.”

A tap to the ashtray and a chuckle that sounded more like a soft roar. Price murmured, “Don’t be. The boy needed a smack on the head and you needed to let some of that anger go.”

“I know.”

It’s all you know, truly. Empty images outlined with hazy feelings rot your brain until they develop into high resolution replays of every moment you spent in the basement. Routine was key - you washed your face to keep yourself awake, held Mellie every time they entered the basement, and quietly pulled at the loose bookshelf until it popped out, your only salvation. Routine kept you sane then, Simon’s voice guided you with knowledge he’d taught you long ago, and fear ran rampant like a rat in a cage. At least it felt more free than you do in your own house, your birdcage made of brick and mortar. Three operators worked in your basement to uncover the rest of Lloyd’s operation and God knows what else, meanwhile they assisted Simon in taking care of you. In the shadows loomed four guard dogs, jaws snapping and hackles raised but their bellies still shown to you.

“John?”

“Yes?”

Your thumb rolled your wedding ring around your ring finger, the (gold/silver) diamond ring spun several rotations as your eyes settled on the English Oak tree. Gaz had been practicing his throwing knives earlier before he got scolded by Simon. You didn’t care much, just rolled over on the couch and pretended you couldn’t hear him. You thanked your lucky stars he didn’t sound like Lloyd, but out of the corner of your eye, he might as well be his father’s spitting image.

Fuck him. Fuck him, fuck them, fuck everything.

“Lloyd’s dead, right?”

There was a moment of silence, but you could see the man beside you nod.  “Yes, he is. He’s long gone.”

“And none of his shitheads are alive?”

“We’re working on it.”

“Okay.” 

“I’ve got ya, Missus, we’ve got ya.” John turned his head, shouting, “I’ve got her!”

There was rushed Spanish from above, your eyes focused on the gray clouds above you once more. An inkling inside you wondered what they would feel like; nothing? Or little pin pricks against your skin? Maybe like the snow you’ve laid in for who knows how long. 

“Melody, Melody…”

Something warm was wrapped around your front, reeking of pungent cigar smoke, and you just wanted to fall away from it. The warmth felt like fire, a thousand needles into your freezing body, even as you try to embrace it. The crystalline tears that map your cheeks fall into the snow below, your eyes focusing on your husband’s friend, your children’s godfather. His face contorted into panic, something you felt was rare for the captain. He spoke into a radio - you couldn’t make it out over the sound of your pounding head. 

Only your daughter’s name came from you, Price’s face escaped your vision as your eyes rolled back to the sky again, watching something float above you. 

You don’t pretend you could keep your consciousness, even as Price kept yelling at you to stay awake. Even as you felt clawing hands at your chest, your head, your hands - you blinked again and it wasn’t Price above you, but Lloyd. His bludgeoned face fading in and out, going from the lifeless look to the enraged one he had the night before you escaped.

You shook the memory away, your neck creaked in defiance. “I think I’m going crazy.”

“And I’d say that’s okay, given the circumstances.”

“I yelled at Simon.” 

The ashtray clinked against the table as Price settled his cigar on it. “And he deserved it. Simon can handle a lot more than you may think.”

“That may be true, but that still doesn’t mean I enjoy hurting him.” The few ornaments that hung from the fence glimmered from the moonlight, little dots pranced around on the snow like ballet dancers - delicate and slow-moving like you. The wind whistled, your eyes followed the dance as your stomach tensed, then your chest cracked open, your feelings and heart spilling,  “It makes me sick to look at him, his…his face, it’s…”

“You gave him a few good shiners.”

“He looks so much like Lloyd and I can’t- I can’t get myself under control and understand that he’s dead. He’s dead and I- and Simon would never do that to me. He would never. I know he wouldn’t, I know he couldn’t, but I still look at his face and I…” The words almost turned to ash on your lips, and only a whisper followed, “I think I’m scared of him.”

“I could lie to you and say that it’ll go away, but it won’t. It’ll morph into somethin’ else, sure, but what happened to you…it stays forever. You’ll be afraid, for now, but you’ll persevere. We’ve seen you do it before. And it’ll be rough this time. There’s nothing like your abuser’s face being so close to you all the time.”

“Yeah.”

“Imagine how Simon must feel to wear both his and your abuser’s face.” John hummed for just a moment, a slow drag of his cigar as the chair clicked when he pushed back. “Give him some grace, Missus, but do not give him more than an inch. Your bleeding wounds matter more now than his healed ones.”

A friend, lending a hand or extending a branch with growing olives. His resolve to save your family and protect it almost felt like your own was fierce, like gnashing teeth and growls heard from miles away. Yet, he was the other side of the coin. While you laid your neck bare to protect your family, he fought with every tooth and nail he had, just like Simon. A friend. A confidant. Family. His right hand man, and now yours.

“Would it…” The tears on your face felt bitter, now that you tuned back into your body. The tingling in your nose, the pounding in your head, the weakness in your voice, “Would it be bad if I asked him to wear the mask?”

“Couldn’t hurt you.”

“Mellie’s…Mellie’s scared of it, but I…”

“Need it?”

A tremor in your bleeding heart and a sigh as you now found yourself staring at your hands. Rough, leather-like, raw with dark pink lines that covered your knuckles like a drawing. A sick, beautiful sketch. “Yeah.”

“Just tell him.”

“I can’t.”

John rustled in his chair, the smell of sweet tobacco hit your nose. “So you shouted. So what? You hurt his feelings, you lashed out, and you’re upset about it. He’s not going to ignore you for having feelings for once.”

Excuse me? Your head whipped up, cracking from the sudden movement as you met John’s eyes, “What do you mean by that?”

He huffed a chuckle through his nose, the smoke from the cigar reaching for the stars. “I mean that you are docile, at best. You coddle yourself and your husband because you don’t like to be angry. It’s an ugly monster and I’m sure you’ve experienced someone’s anger towards you before, right? Your mum? Dad?”

Your face heated with embarrassment as you realized you sometimes forgot his rank. A captain, a man who can dissect humans down to their very soul with one glance, and use it against them if need be. The dagger pointed straight into your pupil, ready to slice the delicate membrane to dissect everything in your brain.

“And you didn’t want that for your kids, so all you do is put your husband on a pedestal and be a docile little plaything because you don’t want your children to be exposed to those ugly emotions like you were. Am I close?”

You didn’t answer, your tear-filled stare was the only response. 

“Thought so.” He leaned forwards onto his knees,  “Missus, there’s great benefits in communication. You and Simon have your marriage worked out well, but the situation has changed. You have changed, Simon has not. Whatever happened in that cabin has killed a part of you.”

“John-“

“I can see it. You’re like a caged animal in that head of yours, and you have no emotional outlet. A couple mom friends, you haven’t spoken to your parents since before Mellie was even a thought-” How the fuck- “Hell, you barely even speak to your brothers.” 

A flame of rage ignited in your ribcage, your own teeth gnashed as you snarled, “That's an invasion of privacy!”

John’s look was firm, unwavering and harsh. Almost as if he was reducing you with his gaze, the blaze began to shrink. “No, I’m profiling and protecting you. You’ve isolated yourself and refuse to show any negative emotion because you don’t believe you have them. Don’t you?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“I’m not about to coddle you like they do. Answer the question.”

Knife pressed, slicing layers into your brain. Methodical. Deliberate. He’s a friend with an iron grip that broke the olive branch, he’s a mad man in a war hero’s body.

“Yes.”

“As much as you hate it, take it out on Simon. He can handle it.” Another drag, the smoke dissipated quickly. Your eyes met the garden door to see if there was any unwanted attention, but there was no shadow, no Winnie coming to ask for a glass of water. Alone with your friend, the man dissecting your life with a single train of thought. “I’m not sure he would ever think less of you. We sure as hell don’t.”

“You might after my session on Thursday.”

Out of the corner of your eye, John’s face steeled. “And what does that mean?”

Healing knuckles tightened. “I’m telling my therapist what happened. Again.”

“And you think I’m going to give it to Simon to read.”

“No, I…” The tears on your waterline spilled again - quick, almost as if they were never there. “Yes.” Don’t lie and pretend everything’s okay to the man who saved your life. He saw what you had done. “I don’t want anyone to read it and think less of me.”

“Missus, do you know what we do for a living?”

“No.”

“We- Are you serious?”

“Simon doesn’t tell me anything about it. I know better than to ask.”

He paused, your eyes moved to your hands again. Keep going back to things that ground you like the fish tank in Marli’s office. The pink lines on your hands, the pain in them, the disgust you feel when you remember beating Lloyd and smiling. You killed a man and smiled, and you are trying everything to stop it from eating you alive. John continued, “Do you think I’m a good man?”

“Yes, I do.” You have never been given a reason not to.

“Do you think Simon’s a good man? Gaz? Soap? Alejandro? Rudy?”

“Yes.”

“We kill people for a living.”

“Isn’t that just the military anyway?”

“No. We are Special Forces. We kill multiple people every mission. Folks who had families, lives outside of their work, but we still killed them. We kill mothers, fathers, daughters, sons, all in the name of world peace. But we also kill purple that the government just has a plain ol’ distaste for.” Fish tank, pink scars, pain, fear, terror, nausea - fuck, your eyes screwed shut as you squeezed your hands. “You killed your father-in-law. So what? You protected your child from being bloody trafficked, and you thought we’d think less of you? Come off it. The man deserved what came to him,  and you deserved to kill that man-”

Defend yourself. Fear, terror, nausea. Fish tank. Ornaments. Scars. Anger, hatred, terrified, even as you cried now, you still mourn the loss of life that was dealt by your broken hands. “He was still a human being, even if he-”

“The man who took you and your daughter away from your husband was a virus, a disease, and he needed to be put down.”

Your attacker needed to be put down, but you still killed someone.

“I’m not…I’m not you. I can’t…He was still alive. He hurt me and-and was a bad man but he was still alive.” A rough gasp came from you, the tears felt like the shield and cross you couldn’t help but bear. “But he deserved it. Deserved everything I gave him for-for trying to take my babies away from me. And I’m a bad person for liking being the person who killed him.” Roughly, you clawed at your eyes and ripped the feelings away before you placed your hands in your lap again. 

His chair creaked, but you couldn’t look away from your hands and the imaginary blood that covered them. “You’re the strongest person I know. You’re not bad. You’re traumatized, injured, and paranoid because of what you experienced at his hand.” You’re not like him, your friend. You’re not like Simon, even though you had thought you understood so many parts of him. You don’t understand the praise, the fear, the truth. “I’m proud of you for killing him. You protected your family. You took away your family’s abuser.”

“Attacker.”

“Sorry, attacker.” Silence fell like bird wings, the wind whispered against your cheek and shivering was your only option now. John cleared his throat, the ashtray clinked again. “I know you’re upset at my decision with keeping Simon away until you were safe, but it was to protect you. Simon’s… Simon isn’t your husband behind the mask.”

“Yes, he is.”

John’s lips pressed into a thin line, your gaze turned down to your hands that ached like no tomorrow. Pink scars, jagged fingernails. “It couldn’t hurt to ask him to wear the mask, and he might for your comfort, but don’t expect him to be normal.” Silvery scars covered yours as John patted your hand with his own, and it wasn’t lost on you the way his voice softened and cracked, “He was once Lloyd’s prey too.”

•••

“Hey, you need anythin’?”

Simon’s voice scared you, your head darted up from the book in your lap. His head was poked into the room, a hand on the door, and he looked tired. “Yeah. Can you…come in here?” 

You closed your book and placed it on the little table next to the rocking chair as he shuffled in and sat in front of you. Your eyes glanced towards the slightly open nursery door and your shoulders slowly declined. Escape was directly in front of you, the baby in her crib and it’s a quick grab if you need to-

No. No, stop it, it’s Simon, he’s Simon. 

Pressure began to build on your throat, dryness raked its claws too and you suddenly found it hard to meet your husband’s eyes. The hot splash of shame in your body made your eyes dart down to your hands that sat limply in your lap. Shame because you couldn’t understand your feelings, because everything you have told Simon caused him pain. Shame because this was the one thing you thought you could never ask.

“Can you wear the mask for me?”

His breathing faltered for just a moment, and if you didn’t know him so well, you wouldn’t have noticed. In your peripheral vision, his hands were settled at his sides, but had curled into fists. It was then that shame reared its ugly head and fear roared loudly. What was he going to do? He wouldn’t hit you, but how do you know? How do you know that you can trust yourself with Simon anymore? That he won’t hurt you like Lloyd did?

Your eyes flickered to his fist, the balaclava bulked the side of his sweatpants. The one with the print, you hoped. Skull plates tend to be awkward when shoved into pockets, don’t they? Does it get hot when he wears it? Is it itchy? Has to be when he has his beard. He shaved it before he left, before you were taken, before you were-

“Why?”

The way his voice strained made your stomach instantly squeeze. Red alert, alarms screamed in your head, you had overstepped. You’ve done it before, but…he could do so many things to you if he wanted. 

“I’m- I’m scared.”

He could be just like Lloyd, he could grab you by the throat here and take every ounce of trust you have in him and destroy it. He could be a monster too. He was a monster, and you knew it this whole time. You just refused to believe that Simon could hurt anyone.

The fist that squeezed against his side grew whiter every second. It wasn’t purposeful, the way you moved back, away from your husband and the possibility of what pain could be created by his hand. Gone were the nights you let him touch every inch of you without fear, gone were the days you could be jumpscared by your husband without fearing that he’d hurt you. He’s killed so many people, but his list of enemies was still longer than the whole length of Manchester. He was other people’s nightmares and once your favorite daydream, and now you sit here in front of him, praying he wouldn’t lay a hand on you too.

“I can’t.”

Even if his hand did not move, your heart was still ripped out of your chest. Your teary eyes darted up to his face, his piercing eyes drilling holes into yours. Tears escaped quickly, your own hands baffled at your sides. “Why not?”

“I can’t do it.”

“Why?”

Monster. He was a monster and he stood in front of you like a well trained dog - Simon and Ghost bled into one being instead of their strict divide. Panic began to bubble in your chest, shame screamed as fear cried. 

Your husband growled through gritted teeth, “Because I will not let you hide from me too. Do you understand?”

The sob that left your throat was like a prisoner escaping, unwanted and quiet. You could do nothing more than hang your head, your hand pressed against your mouth as you tried your best to stay afloat next to your screaming emotions. Even if Simon Riley, a man you truly believed was good, wasn’t a monster before, the way he just broke your heart made you afraid of the dark. 

•••

No one had seen him all day, but he knew you could hear him. He was cleaning the bedroom, folding laundry he hadn’t had the chance to. You’re upset and it’s his own fault, but shame was a powerful feeling. The mask sat heavy in his pocket as he zipped up Mellie’s onesies, folded them, and placed them into her laundry basket. He’d have to go back in soon but he wasn’t sure he could face your sobs again. His heart squeezed in agony with every beat, his own tears silent as they fell onto every piece of clothing. 

He wanted to put his hand through the wall. He wanted to scream, bring his father back to life and kill him again; he wanted everything to go back to normal where the monster was still in the shadows and all he was to you was a husband. Your Simon. He didn’t miss the fear in your eye, in your body, when he came close to you. It was like a neon sign flashing above you. But he didn’t do anything about it. He didn’t know how to show you that he would never lay a hand on you, or the kids.  That he would never raise his voice to control you. The only thing that kept you calm was your baby, and Price, the ever-calming figure and leader. In some way, Simon was jealous, and angry that John could easily talk you down, but he also understood. You knew he was the one who rescued you, it created some strong bond, just like the one he has with his captain. A savior with a bad smoking habit, one who had an affinity to talking down scared Rileys. 

He nearly folded another sweatshirt of yours from the basket. You’d only been wearing comfortable clothes, stuff easy to get in and out of because of your back. The doctor said you’d bruised your ribs and pulled a few muscles during your tumble down the cliffside. It was hard enough trying to get you to stop carrying Mellie around, so he wasn’t going to fight you on wearing warmer things like sweatpants or a thicker sweater. There were so many cogs turning in his head, panic and anger buzzing in his fingertips. There was too much to do. Laundry, bathe you, pick Winnie up, grab groceries, ask John when he’s able to beat the shit out of the lackeys they captured in the cabin where they held you. They had good hits to their heads, he’d seen the pictures - they were still knocked out cold by the time Rudy had apprehended them. He had praised you endlessly for it, fighting just how he told you to. Dirty and as fast as you could. But he still couldn’t get the look of your face out of his head, the way you cowered in fear every time he was even in the room. Simon was well aware of how much he looked like his father from a distance, but he looked so much like his mother up close. The softness of his face in the places it counted - cheeks, smile, eyes, even the myriad of scars on his face changed the way he looked.

It didn’t matter. He can’t change the darkness that has you trapped.

In a way, he has you trapped. The thought almost made him throw up on your jumper. 

Yet, there’s an insatiable need to understand what happened. To pry open your head and watch your memories like a movie, understand why you decided to fight Lloyd instead of running, why you didn’t take a gun from the table near the door in the cabin, why you refuse to be left alone without Mellie. As much as it would destroy him, it would still help you. It would tailor his drive to help you and the baby. 

Simon also wanted to know exactly what his father did to you in the cabin. The nitty gritty details. The withering bruises and the mental wounds you refuse to speak on. He just wanted to understand, but he also didn’t. He didn’t want to know if…if the worst happened. Destroying the house would be too hard to resist. A rampage wouldn’t be enough, he needed everyone responsible to be killed by his own two hands. Pressure beneath Ghost’s fingertips, the feeling of hard bone and pulsating arteries as he ripped jaws out of socket or twisted a neck so violently that the whole base could hear. And if something had happened to Mellie, the entirety of the Russian Mafia would be up in flames by the end of the week. 

Can you wear the mask for me?

He rested your jumper on your stack of clothes, his thumb brushed against your university’s logo. You were still working on your degree, you were watching every sports game and cheering like you were in the arena, the last time Simon was home before you were taken from him, ripped from the sanctuary he so carefully built. Sanctity of his home was sacred to him, a little corner of Manchester he made his own, somewhere he could hide and protect his family. Ruins lay tainted in his hands by the one person he hated the most. 

The report was long, as to be expected with a spouse and child of his rank being kidnapped. They got a barely intelligible recollection of the events from you, but all he could hear was you repeating, “Nothing happened. Nothing like that.” in a shaky voice. Your husband hasn’t heard you lie before, but you were lying then. He knew you and it tore him apart to hear you cry in that recording, and to hear you cry now. 

You would never ask me to do that for you if nothing happened in that cabin.

Simon wiped the tears from his face with a rough hand and stood, pocketed his phone and left the laundry on the bed. Winnie would be done with school soon, he needed to get groceries, but all he wanted to do was curl around his girls and keep them safe in his arms. 

As he passed the nursery, he paused as he heard you softly talking to Mellie. He couldn’t bring himself to look at the door, let alone knock. He kept walking. 

[notdotspot]

Dp x Dc Phys 3001

Masterpost

This has been one of the longest nights in Tim’s whole life. Yes, he did recently stay awake for approximately seventy-two hours, but his brain was led by routine. He could function at the lowest amount to stay awake while still completing tasks. Tonight is different. He is constantly processing and analyzing Phantom’s every move. Jason may be an asshole, but he is still his brother. Aside from the intent watching, Tim did not realize how emotionally charged curing Jason would be. He should have known. He remembers how Bruce and Dick acted following Jason’s death. 

Casual physical contact is not out of the ordinary for their family. Fighting excluded, his siblings never minded squishing onto one coach, but the hug Dick pulled Jason into was different. Jason seemed totally relaxed and at home in his big brother’s arms. Tim used to see them close like this at galas and high-class events when they were younger. Jason picks his head up to Bruce, inviting him in. It did not take much for the rest of the family to descend upon Jason in a dog-pile of a group hug, Tim included. 

Released from their grip, Jason yawns loudly, “I see what you mean by exhaustion. I could sleep standing up.” 

Danny gave him a small smile, responding, “Yeah. You need some rest and there may still be more side effects. Be careful.” 

“I think all of you need some rest,” Bruce says. He is ushering Jason toward the elevator. Before they reach the door, Bruce turns around again. Tim can see the look in his eyes before he utters a word.

“Phantom. Uh, Danny. Do you have somewhere to sleep? Alfred could set up a guest room.”

“No need. I have an apartment.” 

“But it is two in the morning. Crime Alley is across the city.”

“Thank you. I do appreciate the offer but I am more comfortable there.”

“Well, let Alfred drive you. You must be tired.” Tim held himself back from shaking his head in disapproval. Bruce was trying to adopt another kid right in front of their faces. 

“I travel just below the speed of light.” Danny seemed to know what Bruce was doing. Tim almost laughed at the startled look on his dad’s face. Take that old man. 

“I will be back tomorrow to discuss blueprints for the purifier. Bye!” Then Danny disappeared into thin air. Bruce seemed to realize he was not gaining another child tonight and entered the elevator. Tim was so tired a second ago, but now he is awake with thoughts thrumming through his brain. 

He had almost been too caught up to notice some of the odd things Danny had said. Who is Frostbite? Who are the other colleagues he mentioned at the Bat Burger? Are those the people watching his back? What did Danny mean when he said Jason’s hair was something he had seen before? Why did he need the special blade? Who is Danny? Is he more than just a ghost? How powerful is he? Tim had so many questions. He could not lay in his bed. He had to get answers, so he crept down to the Batcomputer and began his research. 

He should not have been surprised how easy it was to find Danny. One online search of apartment leases under the name Danny and he got three hits in Crime Alley. Danny Fenton was the name. Tim could have laughed. Phantom and Fenton. He would have to be blind not to connect the dots. With a first and last name, finding the rest was child’s play. Danny Fenton is a student at Gotham University majoring in astrophysics and a minor in engineering. Tim even found his class schedule.

Wait. A college student? Danny did not look a day over thirteen. Double wait. How does Danny Fenton exist? Is he not dead? After a little more digging, Tim found Danny’s high school transcript and birth certificate. They almost looked real. Almost. Danny Fenton is a fake persona. Unfortunately for Tim, that means no social media or background to look into. The only place he can guarantee finding Danny Fenton is at his physics lecture in Garrett Hall at eight in the morning. Shit. That is in three hours. 

“Better get some sleep. Wow. Never thought I would say that.” Tim yawned, logging off of the Batcomputer and shuffling all the way back to his room.

✩✩✩

Finding the lecture hall was easy, but Tim could not recall the room number for the life of him. He spent the first fifteen minutes of investigation time looking for the class. 

“Do you need some help? All these rooms look the same,” a girl giggles. 

“Yes. I am looking for Physics three thousand one.”

“Second floor, first hallway. Room two-ten.”

“Thanks.” He rushed up the stairs two at a time. Turned left in the first hallway and walked to the end. He silently opened the door and sat in the back row, pulling out a notebook and taking notes to blend in. He should have gotten more sleep because the dark room, lit only by the soft glow of a projector, and the monotonous tone of the professor lulled him right to sleep.

“Tim.” He jolted awake. The lights that had been turned on burned his eyes and he could feel the imprint of his spiral notebook in his face. 

“Of course, you had to track me down. Come on. I need to grab food before my next lecture. You are paying.” Tim blinked the tiredness out of his eyes. He got up to follow Danny with haste. This Danny was different. Taller with brown hair and blue eyes. Tim realizes they look around the same age.

“I have seen you before. At the Bat Burger.” 

“Yeah. You were in my favorite seat, so I left.” Danny’s voice displays his clear annoyance.

“If I were not so pissed at you, I would probably be impressed, but I guess all of you Bats are little detectives.”

“Sh!”

“Oh, so secret identities only matter when it is you and your family?” Tim panics. Danny is right. He violated the unspoken code of heroes.

“But, I am an unknown, right? Dangerous? Even after I helped Jason and cooperated with the Lazarus Pit plans?”

“Okay! I am sorry. What I did was wrong. I got caught up in theories and research. I am sorry.” Danny grabbed a sandwich and drink from the cooler and went to the register. The worker scanned the items, and he stepped to the side motioning to the card reader. Tim took out his wallet, handing a ten-dollar bill off. He grabbed Danny’s food and walked to a table, not stopping to grab his change. Danny sat across from him to start eating.

“So, why do you look so old or should I say so young as Phantom?”

“Right to the questions, huh?”

“Sorry. You do not have to answer if you do not want to.” Danny appraised him while chewing on his sandwich. 

“It is fine. Phantom is only the ghost half of me. Well, more like three-quarters of me. The rest is human.” 

“How are you a human and a ghost?”

“Poor parenting and a lab accident,” he says, sipping his drink. Tim is shocked by his casual nature. 

“How old are you really?”

“Depends. My human side only ages in human realms, making me about nineteen, but I have been alive far longer than that. A millennia? Give or take a few decades.”

“A thousand years? How come Phantom looks thirteen?”

“Fourteen, actually. Ghosts look the way they did when they died, minus an odd circumstance here and there.”

“That is why you talked to Jason about death like you knew it personally.”

“I do.” He whips his hands of crumbs, slings his backpack over his shoulder, and grabs his drink.

“I also have another class. Throw my trash for me. See you tonight and get more sleep. You are useless to me if you are too tired to read a blueprint.”

✩✩✩

Danny landed on the doorstep of Wayne Manor, letting the white rings of his transformation reveal his civilian clothes. He rang the doorbell and waited for an answer. Alfred answered the door politely.

“Hello, may I help you with anything?” Danny thought Alfred would recognize him as a human but it seems he was wrong.

“Um. I am here to see Tim.” Tim would be the only one to recognize him. Does he look that different? Just then, Steph was passing through the foyer.

“Who is here, Alfred?” Her head peaked past the butler. Her eyes lit up seeing him.

“Oh my god! The cute guy from the Bat Burger! Come in! We can go find Tim together.” She interlocks their arms to lead him into the mansion. This mansion has much more style than Vlad’s. Less dingy too. 

“How do you know I am here to see Tim?” She gives him a sidelong look, her smile widening further. Danny blushes at the implication and she giggles. She pushes open the door leading him into a room. 

“Tim,” she sing-songs.

“Steph, I am busy with WE reports. Can you wait a moment?”

“Someone is here to see you,” she responds, dragging out the end of her sentence in a teasing manner. Tim’s head turns slowly, his eyes still tracking his laptop screen as he types. When his eyes finally snap to Danny, they widen and he flips back around to his screen. Steph holds in a laugh as he vigorously types. Quickly finishing his report, he shuts down and closes the computer. Popping up from his chair, Tim puts on his best smile and strides over to him.

“Danny. I will show you to the cave.” He can see Steph’s demeanor change in an instant. She turns Danny to face her, examining his face.

“Danny? You look human. How did you age overnight?”

“Uh.”

“Steph, leave him alone. He can explain later. Right now, we can bring him to the cave. Bruce is probably already down there waiting for Phantom to show up. Why did you use the front door?” 

“I figured you had already told them about my identity. Either way, I know all of yours, so it is only fair.” They seem to take his answer, and Tim opens the door for him to exit the room. The journey down to the cave was longer than he expected. Getting to the elevator shaft and riding down probably took close to ten minutes.

“Is there not a more efficient way to get to the Batcave?”

“We have thought of other options but this one is good enough for the time being. Secure too.”

“Plus, B rejected Dick’s idea to add a firepole,” Steph tacks on. She leads the group into the main area Danny was in last night. He never did get the time to admire the Batcomputer for the glorious machinery it is. He would love to see its capabilities. 

Jason is parking his bike and removing his red helmet when they walk in. 

“Is Danny here, yet?”

“Yep,” Danny speaks up. Bruce finally turns to see the group walking toward him.

“Oh, I thought it was just Steph and Tim.” He can tell Bruce is taking in the change in appearance.

“Danny,” Jason calls, “You look significantly less ghost-like.”

“Uh, thank you?”

“Danny is your real name, then?”

“Yeah, so is Phantom. Are we going to get to work?”

“Yes,” Bruce speaks up. “Tell us the plan.”

Danny slipped the backpack off of his shoulder and pulled out a binder. Laying it on the table in the middle of the room, he takes out each blueprint to unfold them. 

“There are multiple components to my plan. This,” he points to a paper, “is the design for the ectoplasm purifier.” He bends down to his bag again. He produces a gadget that looks like the sketch.

“I made a prototype and tested it on a few samples I had in the fridge.” Bruce gives him a look.

“In the fridge?”

“Yeah, it is like an energy drink. I stock up once a month. Caffeine is insufficient and I have homework to get done.”

“Homework?”

“Tim, really did not tell you?”

“Danny, here, is a student at Gotham University,” Tim states.

“Yes, where Tim so gratuitously tracked me down this morning,” Danny quips. Tim looks embarrassed with his family's eyes on him.

“I said sorry.”

“And bought me lunch. Oh, before you ask, yes. I am older than fourteen. My ghost form just looks that way.”

“You are a human and a ghost? Like Jason?” Steph’s genuine curiosity stops Danny from yelling angrily at getting off track. He forgot these people do not know the ghost world or him. He has never had to answer this many questions about himself since Jazz found out he was Phantom. It is a solemn thought that makes him miss her even more. He has had centuries to mourn, likely more with the Ghost Zone to human realm time difference, but he just misses his big sister. Steph’s enthusiasm reminds him of her. He signs, resigning to the fact that he will have to explain himself. 

“I am a Halfa. Half human and half ghost. I would not say it is half, more like a quarter human. Jason and I are not the same. I died under entirely different circumstances.” He could feel the looks of pity burning into him. One part of him hates it, but the other part of him is grateful for the understanding. Sam, Tucker, and Jazz took a long time to realize he was only Phantom because he had died in the accident. Truthfully, he was so caught up in fighting ghosts that he almost did not realize it himself. 

“I am okay. I have had many years to come to terms with it. Let us get back to this.” He pointed at the table. Their attention was back on the project, but he would still sense their sad eyes. Jason especially looked heartbroken. Maybe he was realizing why Danny knew how to comfort him. 

“The prototype was effective, but we will need to scale it up. The next problem to solve is getting the processed ectoplasm into the Ghost Zone. There are only three ways to access the Ghost Zone: occasionally successful summoning rituals, naturally occurring rips, or a homemade ghost portal. It would take too long to find a ritual that actually works, so that is out. Finding natural portals is next to impossible without the Infi-Map. I will not endanger it by bringing it here, nor would the rip last long enough to complete the mission. A mechanical ghost portal is the best option, but once you open it, it is a two-way street. We could make an off-switch, but even a few seconds is enough for ghosts to slip through. I have not figured out a way to get around that. My only idea would be magic.”

“We can Zeta in some magic users. They may have the knowledge to assist you on the more ghostly aspects.”

“Thank you, Bruce.” 

“Well, later nerds. All this shit goes right over my head. Call me if you need to change a tire.” Jason turns to the elevator.

“I will go to. I am useless when it comes to this.” Steph jogs off the catch Jason, waving as the elevator door closes.

“Where is the blueprint for the ghost portal?” Tim inquires as he flips through the pages on the table.

“Up here.” Danny points to his head. “That knowledge is far more powerful than you think it is. I trust you, but not that much. It is my responsibility to keep the Ghost Zone safe.”

“But-”

“Tim,” Bruce cuts him off, “you can work on the purifier instead. Danny, can you build the portal from memory?”

“Yes.”

“I will go make some calls. When do you think it will be done?”

“A few days if I have all of the materials and work long hours.”

“And, I can finish the purifier quickly too. The blueprint is well drawn, and with the prototype, I should have no problem recreating the effectiveness.”

“I will leave you two to work.” Bruce turned, pulling his phone from his pocket, walking off to make his calls. 

Tim gives Danny a quick tour of the equipment and tools.

“How much space will you need?”

“I should be able to build the portal here. I will make it as small as I can while preserving functionality.”

“What is so dangerous about it anyway? Aside from opening a gateway for enemies. You seem a lot more scared of this thing than you are telling us.”

“It is unstable. I have tried to fix other versions of it, but I can never guarantee the safety of the operator. You guys are mortal and this portal has consequences I would never wish upon anyone. My parents were reckless. I can not be responsible for an accident.”

“That is what you meant when you said poor parenting and a lab accident. A ghost portal is what made you Phantom.”

“I have to hand it to you. You are sharp. Get to work. It will take you at least a few hours to construct the filter.”

For once, Tim got the hint to stop pushing into Danny’s past. They both descend into their work silently. Working well into the night before Tim yawns.

“Go get some sleep. You have made good progress.”

“Do you not need sleep?”

“Not really no. Do you want to head upstairs, or should I just put you to sleep? I have to warn you. Your neck will be sore if I knock you out in the chair like that.” Tim’s eyes widen.

“Is that something you are capable of?”

“Do you want to find out?” Danny raised a hand, making it glow green. Tim shoots up and walks to the elevator. Danny watches as the doors begin to close.

“Goodnight, Tim.” Tim smiles and opens his mouth to respond, but the closing doors cut him off. 

As his alarm rings, Danny is proud of himself. He got the whole frame built. All he has left is the wiring and the ectoplasm circulation system. The elevator door opens behind him. He turns to see Dick strolling in. He is dressed in workout gear with a protein shake, humming a tune. He stops in his tracks when he notices Danny. 

“Who are you? Better yet, how did you get in here?”

“Dick. I am Danny. I am also going to be late for class, so bye.” He transforms into Phantom right in front of Dick. If it were not for his enhanced senses, he would not have heard Dick’s shocked whisper.

“Woah.” 

Then, he is shooting off to his Astronomy class. 

-----

more romance coming eventually

aside from that, this is the first chapter I actually proofread

Thanks for reading!

[shocked-collar]

Got any advice for writing Ren?

OOOOOOO yeah i got a lil bit!

Ren is one of those more difficult characters to keep a grasp on due to his spontaneous yet grounded personality. Ren is also special because he has MULTIPLE different interpretations. BTD1, BTD2, TPOF, and YKMET, though we don't know much about that one yet. I find by remembering my little 'character rules' he's easy to play in any of the aforementioned settings.

Also, ALL OF THIS should be taken with a grain of salt as I'm only a fanfic writer/roleplayer online and don't know how Gato herself would write the character.

First rule I follow is to remember that Ren is desperate. The moment he's determined to do something, he becomes desperate to finish it. The moment he's decided he wants something, he becomes desperate to get it. The moment he falls in love with something, he becomes desperate to keep it. This really only applies to things he REALLY cares about. He has to REALLY care about it.

Second rule is to remember that Ren never got to manage his emotions. He's emotional. He's quick to anger, to sadness, to happiness. He works like a sword made of markers; One movement too hard and he'll fall apart.

Third rule is to remember that Ren is starving for things to go his way. He's manipulative. This isn't always intentional, he just hates hearing the word 'no' and despises any kind of pushback. It's been coded into his nature to snake under peoples better judgement to get what he wants after being denied for so long. Even before Strade he was pushed down and silenced, so now it's almost triggering to be on the sidelines.

Forth rule to remember is that Ren is obsessive. His friends are HIS friends. His shows are HIS shows. His food is HIS food. You are not allowed to challenge these ideas without him getting irked. If you talk about another friend you have, he'd be delighted to meet them! But if you talk about them too much, he'd begin to resent them. How good can they really be, right? Not better than him. He's a GOOD friend...

Fifth rule for Ren. He is very proud. He's proud of himself on a subconscious level! He's proud of his cooking, his abilities, his media knowledge, his hair/fur, and especially of his species. Which rolls into the final rule!!!

Rule six, arguably the most important one (in terms of playing post-Strade Ren)... Ren is a fox beast-kin. He is not human. He works differently on a fundamental level than humans do, the largest concern being his diet. He fits in, he makes friends, he engages in society, but in the sort of way that farmers engage with their cattle. He can eat and consume any part of you he needs to. He reads you as delicious. His language and tendencies will be different than a normal persons, like his habit of nesting instead of sleeping in a bed, or even marking territory. He WILL be argumentative, and quite frankly hurt, if any of his animalistic-behaviors are mocked or frowned upon. He is not human, and he wants you to know that.

There are differences in personality when it comes to WHICH Ren you're playing. BTD1 is very reserved because he has to be. He's quiet, obedient, and bites his temper a lot, but do remember he still has one. Despite the daily-terror, Ren finds it hard to hate or love Strade, as he's constantly dished with praise, pets, love, cuts, bruises, and violation, in some sick healthy diet of intimacy.

BTD2 Ren is overly-confident and proud of himself. He feels like a hidden super-villain! He feels like... Strade. A normal guy doing normal things in the normal world, but look out, he's ACTUALLY a big scary-spooky man you should be afraid of! But not so much you don't love him! When in reality he's... ahead of himself and in his own head. He struggles to come to terms with what's happened to him. He's both so happy Strade is gone and also feels not helping him was the worst decision of his life.

TPOF Ren, or Fox, is back to being reserved- but in the way that you should be scared. He's under no ones thumb in this timeframe and still keeps the same temper he's always had. He carries himself with a menacing poise because he knows his emotions are expensive, like the rest of him. The slightest furrow of his brow can indicate a world of consequences for whoever it was aimed at. Despite his appearance, his obsessive nature fails him, keeping him stuck in a mental cycle of correcting and forgetting the past, two contradicting items that slowly tear him apart. He is disgusted by his past and pleased that he has gotten so far away from it, yet can't shake his quiet adoration of German accents.

I hope this??? Helped???? Somehow??? I'm sorry for the yapping novel and also if it's messy, I hardly read it back cause I have a lil bit of a headache

[thisonehere]

HIM!?!

Cheating! Bi-Han x F!reader

Part 5 Of a Match made in Hell

First part

Last part

A/n: So...this came out a lot later than I had hoped, but a lot of personal stuff came up so it was delayed. I really think I'm getting closer to the end of this series though, maybe 3 more chapters? Idk.

Tags: @maulsgf @sweetpanda18 @thickemadame @posterbunny @strawbisane @fandom-garbage @sleepyfxce @livingdeadgirly

C/w: Mentions of blood and violence

'Was Hell truly that bad?'

Sareena thought as she gazed into the night sky.

Bi-han didn't come back yet. She didn't expect to see him yet anyhow, he was supposed to be gone for at least 2 weeks.

The demoness stood at the balcony in your old bedroom. Below outside the main Temple of the Artika many Lin Kuei were busy getting the last bit of work done before curfew. Some were trying to get to the cafeteria to get one last snack, some were coming back from light training before going to bed, others were busy transporting boxes, inventory from distant allies Bi-Han acquired. She even saw Kuai Liang and Tomas in the distance.

They were going somewhere, marching down the stairs with a suspicious look on their faces. They were up to something, Sareena knew that look well, Ashrah had the same look on her face, they were planning something. They didn't notice her looking down at them. They were too far away too, or they knew but ignored her. It wasn't a secret that they did like her, Kuai especially.

He blamed her. Bi-han defecting from Liu Kang; her fault. The deals he had made with me like Quan Chi and Shang strung and other dark forces; her fault. Bi-han cheating on you with her; her fault. He blamed her for everything. They all do. She's not blind to all the looks she's given as she walks by or the whispering that happens behind her back.

Sareena gripped the rose in her hand tighter. It was from your garden, she saw that Bi-Han as he attempted to take care of it. He failed miserably, so she took over and began to take care of it. It was so beautiful, she could tell that you worked hard on it, it would be a shame to let it die, you obviously worked so hard on it.

The beauty of your garden was a bit of warmth to brighten up the dull her lonely existence. Sareena wasn't close to anyone, she had no one. Usually she would be with her sisters, playing and laughing with them, which would make being in hell less harsh. But she can't, Khia and Jataka were dead, murdered by her own sister, Ashrah. She truly had nothing, only her thoughts. So she stood at the balcony and she thought.

"Was hell as bad as she remembered?"

Maybe she was just so overcome with grief at her sister's death that she couldn't stay in that place anymore. In her grief she found Bi-Han or he found her, right at the moment when she really needed someone. And it all felt okay afterwards, Sareena showed Bi-Han the many wonders of hell, and in return Bi-Han brought her up to Earthrealm, the place Ashrah abandoned everything for.

Sareena had found someone to love, and apparently she hurt someone in process, she hurt you. She didn't mean to, but she had fallen in love. And now the man she loves is somewhere in Earthrealm, trying to barge a deal with the likes of Kano. But she knew it was something a lot deeper, he was trying to win you back, she could just sense it. Bi-han had tried to never talk about you ever since you left, but he accidentally said your name here and there. Even in his sleep he whispers your name.

Sareena gripped the rose even tighter, feeling its thorn sink into her skin. 'Was it all worth it?' She wondered as she turned around to go back inside. Was this...this mess that she got herself into worth it for love?

---

Today was a wonderful day for Bi-Han. He enjoyed a sweet morning Sareena, had a trip journey to Fangjian where he had a lovely dinner at the Tea House, and then saw his wife with another man. What a wonderful day, the most wondrous day indeed. Bi-han thought it was so wonderful in fact that the moment he got to his hotel he began throwing whatever he could get his hands on and punching holes in the walls. He even began to lash out with his powers, throwing ice balls here and there freezing and destroying everything they hit. Wonderful.

The moment he saw you two, you and...him, it took everything in him not to break into your house and kill that damned actor. The image of his hands around Johnny's throat flashed before his eyes. He wanted to kill him, kill him and make you watch as he did it. Maybe even stab him open for extra effect.

Bi-han shook his head as he slammed down onto the bed. He still couldn't wrap his own around it. Him? Of all people, HIM?!?!

He would've anticipated Raiden, he saw the way the farmer looked at you. He knew the man had a crush on you, perhaps if you had gotten with Raiden he wouldn't be so furious. But out of all men you could've chose to do this-this betrayal with, you chose JOHNNY CAGE!?!?

The rage in Bi-Han was horrid, he rocked back and forth. All he was seeing right now was red as he began huffing in and out with harsh breathes, snarling like a rabid dog.

You didn't love him, you couldn't have, he tried to convince himself. No, knew that he'd follow didn't you, didn't you? You knew he'd see you with him. You did all this just to make him jealous, there's no possible way you'd ever love him.

You knew how much Bi-Han loathed the actor. In many ways, Johnny was the straw that broke the camels back. He humiliated him, he humiliated his brother. He's an imbecile! An imbecile that was chosen Liu Kang himself to represent Earthrealm alongside a two farmers and an ex gangster. Over him, or any other Lin Kuei. In putting into perspective just how Liu Kang saw his clan, he refused to suffer under him ever again. He'd make his decision for his clan, he'd lead them to glory, where they are respected and not seen as just lapdogs to be used.

You were supposed to be by his side, share this glorious destiny he was carving out for you. But you left him, and now...now you were-were...by the Elder Gods, it was too hard to bare.

He fell back onto his bed and he tried to catch his breath, tried to calm down. But every time he closes his eyes he sees it. You did nothing lewd, you were not kissing him, embracing him hungrily, you were merely holding his hand. But that's not what upset him what upset him was the way you looked at him. In your eyes there was so much love, and that killed him.

I have to pull myself together, Bi-Han thought as he sat up right in the bed. He will be meeting with Kano in just an hour. Bi-han closes his eyes and takes a deep breath in. The image of you and Johnny appears in his head the moment his eyes closed. "ELDER GODS DAMN IT ALL!!!"

*Knock* *Knock* *Knock*

"Who dares!"

The door slowly cracked open and a young face poked it's way out. The Young Black Dragons eyes explored the room, taking in the destruction with a confused horror.

"Speak, what do you want?" Bi-han snapped as he narrows his eyes. The young man cleared his throat and anxiously pushed open the door to fully reveal himself. His stance was awkward, his build thin, almost frail. Bi-han studied him up and down, he looked about 18, possibly event 16, a child.

"Um, Kano's ready. He sent me up here to tell you that he'll see you now." Bi-han could see how terrified the boy was of him, normally he woud feel some form of sympathy. But he could muster an inch of kindness inside of him. "Then what are you waiting for? Take me to him."

---

"Thank you for showing me that, Johnny. Ninja Mime was...an experience."

You say with a forced smile as you followed Johnny to the door. You always had enjoyed all the movie Johnny had shown, they were all fun and enjoyable. But Ninja Mime was...definitely a movie. The best part was Johnny, he provided great company and the snacks he made were amazing, his dumb smile as he happily told you behind the scene facts. It made the movie almost bearable.

"Don't thank me, babe. Thank yourself for allowing yourself to enjoy the experience." Johnny wears an ignorantly blissful smile as checks his reflection in the shade of his glasses. "Hey, when I come back we can start watching the sequels." Your smile is waned for just a second before you immediately bring it back up. "That would simply be splendid, Johnny. I can't wait." You say, hoping the faux enthusiasm you coated your words with would hide the dread in your eyes.

Thankfully, Johnny was in such a good mood that he didn't even notice. You hug him, his cologne was rich, almost intoxicating. It's like he showered himself in it before he came. "You know, in a few months, after so come back, I have an award show to attend, you should come with me as my plus one."

You tilt your head in surprise. "The monks are letting you go?" You didn't know much about Liu Kang or the training at the Wu Shi of their practices. But from what Raiden and Kung Lao described it as, they could barely leave thanks to this mess with Shang Tsung, Liu Kang seems to be pushing them harder and harder, keeping them at the Academy as long as possible. It's as if he's training them for war. You feel a shiver go down your back at just the thought of it.

Johnny shrugged "Liu Kang wanted me to stay, but I worked the 'ol cage charm on 'em and he had a choice but to let me go." A cocky grin flashed across his face as he bragged. "But seriously, though, you should come with me. We could get a dress, do your hair and makeup, everything. Millions of big people will be there, you could rub shoulders with them, make your big break into the industry."

You bit your lip as you thought about it. The idea of it all, the glitz, the glamour, thousands of cameras in your face, right next to one of the biggest actors, all for the world to see. For Bi-Han to see, oh that would kill the man. "I'll...think about it." You say, struggling to hide the excitement you felt thinking of it.

"Alright," Johnny with an equally excited look in his eyes. "I'll leave you with that, I'll kick a sorcerer's ass." His cocky smile returned as he swaggered out the door and into the cold night outside. He didn't see your smile drop and your body gets tense. "Liu Kang sent you to capture Shang Tsung?" You forgot about all the joy you had been feeling as you are brought back to reality. Johnny, Kung Lao will be fighting Shang Tsung. Raiden will have to stay behind so he'll be safe. And Bi-Han will be getting involved sooner or later, and they still think he's on their side.

"Hey..." Johnny turned and noticed the wary look you wore on your face. He smile softens, becoming a much more sincere look. "There's nothing to worry about, Whatever Tsung got I'm sure I can handle it. Besides, I won't be alone either. Lao'll be there, even Kenhsi'll be there. What could possibly go wrong?"

"I know, but it's about Bi-Han. He's been-"

But before you can finish, before you can reveal what your husband is doing, Johnny talks over you. "Oh, don't you worry about him, or maybe you should. Because the moment I see him I'm gonna knock him through a loop. For you...and also because he still owes for that damn Hichuli." You take a deep breath and rub your eyes. You pause for a moment to think, you couldn't sit on this anymore. You have to tell someone about your husband, what he's doing and who's he's doing it to. And you know who exactly to tell it too.

"Will...Will Liu Kang be there as well?" Your eyes fall down to your hands as you began to fidget with them. "Yeah, he sorta has to, being the' Protector of Earthrealm' you know. Kind of comes with the turf." Air fills your lungs as you take a deep breath. "Alright, could...could you speak to him for me please? I-I seek counsel with him...about me and Bi-Han."

"Y/n, You don't have to do that." By now Johnny had stopped with the smile, now he was truly worried about you. "I know...I know you loved him, probably still love him, whatever your planning on doing. You shouldn't put yourself through this. Things weren't easy dealing from Christie, it was hell." His eyes softened as he remembered it all, he took a slightly shaky breath in and out. "I don't want you to go through that pain. You deserve so much better than that asshole. You deserve-"

"I love you." You say abruptly cutting him off, Johnny quickly shuts up. "I love Raiden, I love Kung Lao, I love this new life I have. But I can't be happy, I can't be free unless I finish this chapter of my life. This is something I have to do." It's obvious that Johnny wants to protest, but he doesn't. He lets a deep breath escape his lips, and a clear defeated look is painted on his face. "Alright, I'll talk to Liu Kang. Get him to meet with you so you can sort out whatever it is you want to sort out with Bi-Han."

You sigh in relief, you feel like your body has finally calmed down. You get close to Johnny, finally smiling again and you lay a kiss on his cheek, much to his surprise. "Now go, Tsung's ass won't kick itself."

Nothing else is said gives you one last smile as he turns and walks over to the back where he parked his car. You stay on the steps for a second. Your eyes close as you take a deep breath. You feel cool night air as it rushes through your lungs, it was colder than usual, but you didn't care to think much more of it. You felt...good, amazing even. You were finally going to put an end to this, and then Bi-Han would out of your life forever.

---

"Well, don't be shy, dig in mate "

Kano lay slouched in his chair, around his lips were covered in a slobbered mix of food and alcohol. Bi-han tried not to scrunch his face in disgust at the sight of such a disgusting being. He hardly even touched the food Kano kindly set out before him nor interacted with the women Kano sent to sit next to him in the hopes of charming Bi-Han.

In his efforts to expand the Lin Kuei, Bi-Han has caused his clan to develop quite name for themselves in the underground scene. And ever the opportunist, Kano wanted a slice of this pie.

So now there he was, in a dark and dingy room, the basement to the nice hotel he was staying at. The place wrecked of beer and blood. The Lin Kuei who Bi-Han brought with him were gagging in disgust under their masks. They stood behind Bi-Han like Kano's black dragon stood behind him. None of them seemed to have noticed the smell or disgusting nature of their setting, they were no doubt used to it.

"Kano, your black dragon clan is most.... impressive," Bi-han had hoped his lie was convincing enough. "I believe there is much we can teach each other. And especially many things we can give each other." Kano seemed to hardly listen, as if he didn't truly care about a single thing Bi-Han said. So Bi-Han decided to get right to the point. "It has come to our attention that your clan seems to be in a moment of trouble. A certain blonde has been adamant about bringing your clan in, and might I add that she's been very successful so far."

Kano gave Bi-Han a glare from the side of his eyes. He stops his pigging out and sits up right in his chair. "Yeah, and what of it?" Bi-han sat upright in his chair as well, he smiled at how he caused Kano's to react. "My Lin are excellent warriors, yes. But they assassins as well, anonymity has always been our strength. I can have my people wipe away any trail you have left, no doubt making it harder for Blade to find you. I can have her "taken care of" even. I imagine that would be quite the relief for you and your men."

Kano narrowed his eyes, it was obvious that he was now intrigued. "Sounds too good to be true." Bi-han silent agreed. His attention went to the plate before him, blood sausage. "It is. Because we don't see the point, you've yet to give us a reason to want to help you." Bi-han slowly began to cut into the sausage.

"So what is it, mate? What'll it take to get you on our team?" Kano leaned forward in his chair, his robotic eyes basically glowing. Bi-Han set the knife down and ate a piece of the sausage, a mad smile on his face.

---

You awake from your sleep with a stir. The sound of knocking at your door was enough to do that to anyone. You try to ignore it, maybe whoever it was would go away. They kept knocking, and knocking, and knocking.

You can't take it anymore, you rub your eyes as you pull yourself into a sitting position. Your vision was too blurry to think straight, your brain was in no better condition. Who could that possibly be? Maybe Johnny left something. You groan as your tired bodies slowly stand up. It's like your still in a sleep state as you make your way down the stairs, one slow step at a time.

Whoever's knocking at your door seems to really want you to know their outside, they keep knocking and knocking. It sounds almost desperate, you would've noted that if it wasn't for the fact that your brain was basically still asleep.

"Who is it?" You say, your words barely more than a muffle. No response, just more knocking. You look through the key hole, nothing. Yet you still hear knocking.

This gets you to wake up just a little bit as your hands hesitently go to open the door. You fumble a few times as you try to undo the locks. Normally you wouldn't open the door this time of night, but something felt wrong, something that compelled you to the open the door.

So you did.

And there at your feet is Bi-Han, his lip busted, his nose broken, his eyes black, cuts all over his body, he clutches at his side. "Bi-han." You gasp as you fall to your knees to look at him. "What happened? Who did this to you?" You reached out to touch his swollen face. "The meeting...it went wrong...so...wrong..." he sputtered out, desperately trying to force out words. His eyes are puffy, you have seen the Grandmaster in a beaten state before. But nothing ever like this. "Y/n...I need you to help me..."

"Please," his voice is weak. His whole body seems weak as his head falls into your lap. "Help me."