#I was just think about damien the other day

[phoenixcatch7]

Everyone keeps pairing Danny up with the bat kids and I'm not even a shipper, but.

Pair him up with Steph,

Cowards.

[waywardsalt]

anyways. holding linebeck gently

[charlietheepicwriter7]

Despite Danny's best efforts, no matter how much time past, Amity Park refused to see Phantom as a hero.

Sure, there were pockets of support, particularly among teens, but most of the town blames Phantom for the property damage, saying if he didn't fight the ghosts then it wouldn't be so bad, to that time he got mind controlled by Freakshow and "attacked" the mayor. It wears him down. It wears Tucker and Sam down. Jazz can only try to support them all.

Then one day, a member of the Justice League visits. Someone minor, and kinda a jerk... maybe a Wonder Twin? Zan? Whatever. They don't investigate; they don't look deeper. They listen to the town folks and declare the ghost hunters, Red Huntress and the Fentons, to be the official heroes of the town.

Worse? Danny Phantom is officially considered a villain to the Justice League. Tuck hacks into the Watchtower and confirms that they have a file (a heavily inaccurate file) about how to defeat Phantom.

Danny doesn't think he can do this anymore.

A few weeks later, a young villain escapes into Amity and demands (begs) that Danny help them escape from the hero after them. No idea who, I can't find a lot of info on teen villains in DC, so let's fudge some ages and make it Kyd Wyckyd from the Teen Titans cartoon. Danny agrees, because to hell with the Justice Losers, and they defeat the hero, becoming friends in the process. Kyd confesses that they became a villain after being ostracized bc of how they look, and they've been trying to avoid villain organizations because HIVE was abusive, but it's really hard to be a villain alone bc of all the heroes.

Sam gets an idea. Tucker agrees with the idea. Jazz is just happy they'll end up making friends.

The next day, the Teen Villain Alliance is formed, ready to assist with any teenage illegal shenanigans their allies might get into.

Some notes:

It's created to be a healthier option for teen "villains" to connect with others and support each other.

It's more important that this is for Teens rather than Villains. They're tired of adult villains taking advantage of them. The TVA would rather ally with a teen vigilante than with an adult villain.

Again, no idea who the teen villains are, but Klarion is definitely here. He leaves the Light for the chaos of the TVA. Maybe Ember is there too?

Timeline wise, this is around when Tim is still Robin, but Damien has arrived at Wayne Manor.

This is because, when it comes time to try to infiltrate the TVA, they'll have a convenient child-assassin who has none of the monitors of a teen hero that Phantom immediately picks up on.

Damien, who at this point has been abandoned by his mother, dismissed and scolded by his father, and has had no success at carving his own place in the family, jumps at the chance. He is then surrounded by peers who don't insult him or try to change his behavior (too much; jazz is trying to help him find healthier methods of expressing himself). He... might not want to continue being a spy.

Danny, Sam, Tuck, and Jazz are the founding members.

Danny reinvents himself as the High Prince of the Infinite, Prince Phantom Dark. He got kingship from fighting Pariah Dark, but since he's still alive, he's only a prince. He steals the last name Dark as an intimidation tatic against those in the know; only Danny would have the balls to claim family with Pariah.

Sam works as a powerless villain, but she might no be powerless? Either way, Danny gives her a bunch of repurposed Fenton tech, and she buys the rest with her parents credit card. She does NOT care if that's traced back to the Mansons. She would choose something goth, maybe something spider related or even bat?

I love Pharaoh Tucker, so I think he should get magic powers? Since pharaohs of old were considered the balance between the real and the divine. He's still a tech guy, now he's a tech and magic guy.

Jazz isn't really a villain, more of a team mom who's planning on using everyone's psyche's as her thesis paper. You know what, that's her callsign, she's Psyche. Sometimes she flirts with Nightwing.

[solelifauna]

With Bared Teeth & Prayers (Yandere Batfam X Neglected Reader) (Dark!!! Werewolf AU) (PT. 1)

TW: Mentions/allusions to cannibalism, death, and violence.

Three years had passed since that fateful day and your life had only gotten more miserable. Whatever hopes you had for being a part of a family were thwarted as soon as you stepped foot in the household. Bruce doesn't care about you, Dick was straight up mean, Jason (as the pack protector) was aggressive, Tim found you annoying, and Damien simply loathed your existence and would join Dick with his cruelty.

Both Stephanie and Barbara were civil with you, but neither really cared about what you did. Cassandra was nice, sometimes signing to you and giving you scented clothing, but she still didn't really go out of her way to engage with you. The only person who you felt truly cared about you was Alfred.

The first two years you tried your hardest to fit in and get the others to like you. You did whatever they wanted, made sure to learn their interests so you could talk to them, never complained, and made sure to respect the pack's boundaries.

You hoped that eventually, you’d all move past this hurdle and soon you would get along and be allowed in the pack den and other pack activities. Unfortunately, you realized that you would never be considered part of the family or the pack. Which as heartbreaking as it was, was the least of your worries.

You see, there was an ancient custom in werewolf culture concerning new pack members and pack initiation. When a new werewolf is introduced to a pack and their territory, the new werewolf has a certain amount of time to be accepted into the pack; if they’re not, well, they're killed and eaten. 

Yeah… quite terrifying and barbaric if you think about it, but mostly only the old lineages still continue this practice. Which is why you’re absolutely fucked. See, typically when children come to a pack they get accepted immediately, pups were (usually) considered precious.

In your case, being a half-blood severely reduced your chances and well, you guessed the Wayne family just didn't like you. Which sucks because you only have until your 18th birthday to get them to accept you, and considering your 16th birthday was coming up, your time was coming to a close. 

Or, you could always just run away. Hey! It was an option, one that you weren't sure the Bats would even let happen. Still it was worth a try. Which leads to your current situation in Bruce's office; you were trying to cut your losses a little early.

~~~~~~

“Look, I just feel as though this is the best course of action for your pack’s and my own safety.” Came your exasperated and desperate voice.

“Safety?” Bruce questions, causally flipping through some Wayne Industries documents, as if he doesn't know exactly what you're talking about.

“Considering Damian’s tried to kill me five times, two of his attempts almost being successful, and Jason's pit aggression that has him ready to rip my throat out, you can see why someone would feel unsafe.” You state, voice raising slightly in pitch.

He hummed noncommittally, his eyes still focusing on whatever paperwork he was going over.

“I'll think about it.” He replies, still disinterested.

“There’s nothing to think about! I should be allowed to leave if I want to, and if anything I'll finally be out of your pack's way.” You say, finally letting your frustration show through.

Why couldn't he just let you leave? Did he seriously want to keep you here just to kill– sorry, eat you in another two years?

“Excuse me?” He finally looks up from his work, his blue eyes meeting yours. He was unimpressed, you could tell that much at least, coupled with a dark look of simmering anger.

Okay, so maybe you should tone it down a notch.

“Come on, I'm not an idiot. I know me being here is simply a public formality, good fluff bits for the press y'know. But I'm not part of your family, and I'm certainly not part of your pack. You and the others have made that very clear. So please, allow me to do us both a favor and get out of your way.” You add.

“Where would you go?”

“Huh?” You blink in surprise.

“Where would you go?” Bruce repeats again.

“That–that is honestly none of your concern.”

“None of my concern? Aren't I entitled to know where my kid is?”

“No, you’re not. Sure you're biologically considered my father, but we all know I'm not really considered your kid.”

“Is that what you think?” He questions.

“Am I supposed to think any differently?”

“You carry the Wayne surname do you not?”

“I do.”

“Then you belong to the Waynes. To me. Which means that I decide what happens to you.”

There was the familiar darkness that you saw pooling in Bruce’s eyes, the type that left the Joker a tortured mess, the type that disemboweled Ra’s Al Ghul, the type of darkness that reminded you that Batman doesn’t kill. Oh no, he maims and tortures instead.

You unconsciously take a careful step back. 

Bruce’s stare felt like ice, and his words hung in the air, thick and heavy with an authority that was absolute. You wanted to argue, to say something, but every instinct in your body screamed for caution. There was a darkness in his gaze that you had seen glimpses of before, but never directed at you, and now it was there, unblinking, cutting through any hope you’d harbored for mercy or understanding.

Your heart hammered, yet you forced yourself to stand straighter, swallowing down the instinctive fear. 

“With all due respect,” you began, your voice smaller than you intended but steady, “staying here for another two years just for you all to—to follow through with that—custom, doesn’t seem fair.”

Bruce’s expression didn’t soften, but his posture shifted slightly, his gaze piercing through you like he could see every thought you tried to hide. 

“Belonging is earned. It isn’t granted because of blood,” he stated coldly. “If you truly wish to belong somewhere, you work for it.”

“I’ve tried,” you said, voice thick with frustration. “I’ve tried everything. I’ve followed your rules, I tried with everyone, and stayed out of everyone’s way. But nothing I do is good enough.”

“You assume that acceptance is given on your terms,” he replied, voice as controlled as ever. “Pack structure doesn’t bend to anyone’s whims. Least of all a half-blood who hasn’t proven their loyalty.”

The words stung, tearing open a wound that you thought had scarred over. You clenched your fists, feeling the sharp ache of your own nails digging into your palms. “And what exactly does proving myself look like here? Surviving Damian’s attacks? Letting Jason rip me apart every chance he gets?”

“Watch your tone,” he warned, his voice low, cutting through any retort you’d planned.

You took a shaky breath, forcing yourself to take another step back from his desk. Challenging him wouldn’t help. He’d already decided where you stood, and nothing you said would change that. Maybe it was better to save your energy, conserve your strength for the day you’d finally slip away.

“Understood,” you said, swallowing the bitterness in your throat. “If that’s how it is, then I’ll stay out of everyone’s way.”

 But you’d still leave when the time comes.

Bruce’s gaze hardened, like he knew what you were thinking. “Your place is here until I decide otherwise,” he said, a finality in his tone that told you any further argument would only worsen things.

He dismissed you with a look, returning to his papers as if the conversation were over, as if you were no longer there. Every step you took out of the office felt heavier, like the manor itself was holding you down, binding you to this place that was never truly a home.

As you closed the door behind you, the cold emptiness of the hallway wrapped around you, and you knew then—you were on your own. If you were to survive this, it would be on your own terms.

It's like clockwork when Alfred calls you down for dinner. The same time, the same routine.

You show  up to dinner, hands still shaking and mind still reeling from your disturbingly cryptic conversation with Bruce. But, never mind that you’d just eat quietly and leave like you always do. You moved to your normal seat only to find that all the chairs near the end of the table had disappeared. What the actual fuck. Was this some type of powerplay? Something to imply that you didn’t even have a seat at their table anymore? 

You mean, you wouldn't mind eating in the safety and comfort of your own room. With an exasperated sigh, which had a couple of heads turn their attention to you, you grabbed an empty plate and started loading it up with food. You were about to head back to your room when you heard an outraged growl from behind you.

The kind of growl that had you tensing, ready to submit and roll onto your back.

“Where the hell do you think you’re going?” Jason growled out from behind you.

You freeze.

“To my room?” You responded meekly, curling in on yourself as much as you could.

“And pray tell, why do you think that’d be acceptable?”

“Uh–um, ‘cause my seats’ gone?”

Jason only smirked, the feral kind that almost always promised pain to his enemies.

“Oh, but your chair isn't gone, it's right here.” Jason says pointing to a chair right near the head of the table.

You blanked. That's not right. Only pack was allowed that close to the head of the table, where Bruce sat, where the pack leader sat.

“B-But, I can’t–”

“Did that sound like a suggestion?”

You shook your head no, swallowing down a whimper that almost escaped your lungs.

“Then sit your ass down,” Jason growled.

He didn't have to tell you twice.

Immediately you shakily sat down in your new seat, on the left side of Bruce’s seat at the head of the table with Jason sitting at your left shoulder and Dick across from you. Not good, not good at all. You could feel the acidic, green gaze of Jason burning into the side of your face whilst Dick languidly sipped his wine, a sickeningly sweet smile (with way too many teeth to be considered anything but malicious), plastered on his face as he stared at the new seating chart. You let out a shaky breath, trying to get your heart rate back to normal; you were so gonna die tonight.

Thankfully, Bruce arrived and sat himself in his seat at the head of the table; right next to you. You closed your eyes, trying to focus on getting air in your lungs and slowing your racing heart. Unbeknownst to you, Bruce shot a knowing stare at the rest of the table. As much as you tried to conceal it, they could all hear your rapidly fluttering heartbeat and your poorly hidden breathing. Tim and Jason both watched you amused; you looked so darn pathetic, sitting there trembling like a leaf. 

You glanced down at your plate, picking at the food without really tasting it, hoping that staying silent would help you melt into the background.

Bruce, however, remained still and silent, his presence looming over you, radiating the authority that seemed to keep everyone else in check. But even that felt like a facade; the way his gaze lingered on you for a split second too long told you he was watching closely, assessing.

You forced yourself to take a bite, trying to steady your hands enough to appear somewhat composed. But the sound of your own heartbeat seemed to echo in your ears, loud and unrelenting, as if amplifying the anxiety that twisted in your gut. They could hear it too; you knew that much from the way Jason’s smirk deepened, from the way Tim’s lips twitched with barely-contained laughter.

As the dinner dragged on, every clink of a fork, every quiet murmur, felt like it was directed at you. The food turned to ash in your mouth, each bite only reminding you of the eyes trained on you, dissecting you with every chew and every breath.

The rest of the dinner passed in strained silence, every second an endurance test as you forced yourself to stay seated, to keep your head down. When Bruce finally pushed his chair back and dismissed everyone, the wave of relief was almost enough to make you lightheaded. Quick as a whip, you practically ran up the stairs towards the safety and solace of your room.

When you make it, the locks on your door are immediately fastened (not that it would do much if anyone wanted to actually force their way in). You exhale in relief as you try to collect your thoughts. Fuck, everything was going to shit; the worst part being you had school tomorrow (which thankfully you did not go to Gotham Prep; you'd kill yourself if you did). You groaned at the thought, digging the heels of your palms into your eyes to relieve the ache shooting through them.

Looks like another night of shitty sleep.

Taglist!!: @lostsomewhereinthegarden, @the-rouge-robin, @confused-they

[i-yap]

Can I get your thoughts on a gn reader who’s dating Grayson and is like a parent figure or older sibling to Damien, so they have a soft spot for him ( so does Damien ) ?

Dick grayson x gn!y/n x platonic!Damian

this is my first time writing a gn reader so like I'm sorry if I write something stupid or offensive, just comment it and ill fix it.

if you are dating dick then damian will stalk you extensively at first. Dick is his favorite sibling ( in most comics) and if dick is serious about you, stalking is just how the batfam shows love.

He will be rude , he will be mean and sarcastic but dick warned you and you understand where dami's coming from. So you kindly and patiently deal with him and dick obviously doesn't let Dami cross the line when it comes to you.

One night dick had to rush out for a really scary mission and told you to stay at the manor because its the safest place to be.

Damian was the only other person that was left behind since the mission required everyone else on the team and bruce did not think damian was ready for such a high risk mission just yet.

so damian was really frustrated and also worried for the rest of the family. you walk past Dami's room to see him staring off in the distance while fidgeting or biting his nails. You ask alfred for a chess set ( or any other board/card game) and bring it to dami's room. While playing , he opens up about his frustrations and you patiently listen . Not a lot of people in his family are as warm and caring as you are ( maybe dick but even he is really busy)

After that night the roles are reversed. Now damian thinks dick is undeserving of you and his snarky comments are directed to him. You just find it funny while dick is left confused. "I thought he liked me more man, why the sudden switch?" " he got enlightened dickie boy muhahah" " you are mind controlling him arent you"

One-on-one time in the manor- haha dick wishes. So he tries only calling you when dami is at school or training or patrol. ofc you and dami catch on soon which means you and dami chasing him with katanas.

talking about katanas, dami loves showing you his art and his pets and if you share an interest in either of them he gets even more excited.

you and dick become dami's honorary parents. might as well adopt him since bruce and talia are obviously not doing a very good job ( in most comics) .

whenever dami is mad at bruce or simply upset or bored he comes to you and dick's apartment. You and dick are the fun warm loving couple that spend the night playing board games and watching stupid movies . you introduce him to all the major pop culture shows and movies and dick teaches him how to just dance randomly. your apartment is so different from the gloomy , filled with blood stains, fights and training manor. its filled with music and love and warm lights cooking together in funny pjs and dancing badly to pop songs.

it is watching you and dick that dami realizes what love is supposed to look like. and what a normal household looks like( sort of normal) and it affects the way he grows up. I wont be surprised if he comes to you for parents teacher meeting days or to sign his field trips or for advice on normal things

and the canon where dami is being bullied in school, while you go full on protective mode ,dick tries teaching him how to be better in social situations.

overall dami is just counting down days dick marries you and you'all unofficially adopt him.

[pedropascallme]

After The After Party

Pairing: Damien Haas x f!Reader

Summary: “‘Have you ever noticed,’ Courtney popped her lips together, spreading the gloss, ‘That Damien only ever offers to host when he knows you’re going to come?’ She turned to you again, leaning back, elbows on the sink. ‘Almost like he just wants an excuse to have you over.’”

Warnings: SMUT (18+ MINORS DNI) p in v sex, oral (f & m receiving), fingering, dom/sub dynamics, praise, creampie, soft!dom Damien who is also incredibly needy, mentions of drinking/alcohol, brief mention of gambling. If I missed anything please let me know!

AN: This is so dialogue heavy and I won't even apologize for it. Dedicated to the idiots to lovers mfs out there <3 part 2 here!!

Long shoot blocks, you’d learned, usually devolved into long nights out. The cast and crew—or, at least, those of whom had the time and the desire to let loose—often found themselves in bars with high ceilings, with music playing too loud, and drinks that were just strong enough. There were nights when you lost Arasha and Amanda to the grimy dancefloor as soon as you passed the threshold, and nights when you watched from afar as Chanse cozied up to a beautiful stranger.

You liked listening to your friends talk and laugh as if you weren’t all exhausted after the grueling work week.

You liked feeling like part of something.

Some nights, though, when Shayne and Spencer got tired of hugging the wall, and when you’d all realized how expensive it was to go out as often as you did, someone would offer their house as a respite from the outside world. It was a chance to avoid prying eyes and the same top 40 hits that seemed to play at every bar.

Now, you found yourself at Damien’s house; someone had dimmed the lights, and from your spot on the couch you could hear glasses clinking in the kitchen as Tommy poured various liquids into a makeshift mixer. Your friends held mugs of alcohol, pretending to be above the culture of red solo cups.

You watched Amanda and Angela play a card game you didn’t know on the coffee table in front of you.

“Your pile is huge—your pile is huge, oh my god!” Amanda’s voice carried over the other noises around you. You leaned against Angela’s shoulder.

“Because you’re playing wrong! You’re cheating! You’re literally cheating and it’s so uncool.” Angela tried to grab Amanda’s cards, and you smiled at their back and forth. You were admittedly distracted, but trying to play it cool, pretending your mind wasn’t elsewhere as Angela jostled your head.

You watched Damien out of the corner of your eye. He stood across the room, toying with one of his rings, nodding along to something Alex was saying.

You tried not to stare, but there was something so attractive about the way he looked in a space all his own; he didn’t command attention—Damien hated being the center of attention, especially when it was easily avoidable—but he had a way about him tonight that just seemed so relaxed, and it was hard to ignore. Especially when he was already taking up most of your thoughts as it was.

For as long as you’d worked with Damien, he was someone you looked forward to seeing. He wasn’t the only reason you got out of bed, but he was certainly up there on the list. Thoughtful, considerate; he was a generally good-natured person. He made the days go faster, making jokes and ensuring you felt included as a newer member of the cast.

And you liked his laugh, and the way he listened, and the soft color of his hazel eyes that looked somewhere close to green in the light.

It was no secret that you found him alluring, but you felt that it was better to keep those thoughts out of his orbit. If not for your sake, for his. It just seemed unfair to come onto him after you’d spent so much time together as friends, especially when he had given you no reason to think that he felt anything for you beyond camraderie.

You sat up from your position on Angela's shoulder, moving your head to get a better look at Damien. He noticed, shooting you a smile. You reciprocated it, offering a small wave, keeping your elbow low and fingers folded near your palm. He waved back, and you both quickly returned to your respective conversations.

Amanda and Angela had gone back to playing their game, light-hearted fighting words replaced by laughs as they smacked cards down.

There was a tap on your shoulder, and Courtney pulled you up from the couch.

“Come to the bathroom with me.” She set a cup of something that smelled strong on the table.

The rules of the bar still applied to house parties, and you had no problem tagging along on trips to the bathroom, sitting pretty while your friends fixed whatever makeup was still left of that morning’s full beat. You followed Courtney down the hallway and into the bathroom.

“You’re bright red, you know,” They wasted no time in grilling you, running the water and dabbing it under their eyes to wipe away streaks of mascara that had rubbed off.

“I had a Tommy special.” You sat on the edge of the bathtub.

“That’s not—you can handle your liquor.” Courtney turned, combing through their hair with her fingers, “You’re not blushing just because Tommy gave you one vodka cran.”

“It wasn’t a vodka cran. It was a vodka soda.” You could tell where the conversation was headed, and you tried to veer it off track.

“You’re not as slick as you think you are.” Courtney raised a brow.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about. He hasn’t even spoken to me tonight.” You contradicted yourself, markedly aware of what she was referring to and feeding into the topic, but disputing what you could.

“You’re oblivious.” Courtney laughed, fishing lip gloss from her pocket and turning back to the mirror.

“What do you mean?” You stood behind them, watching her reapply the color to their lips.

“Have you ever noticed,” Courtney popped her lips together, spreading the gloss, “That Damien only ever offers to host when he knows you’re going to come?” She turned to you again, leaning back, elbows on the sink. “Almost like he just wants an excuse to have you over.”

“He doesn’t do that. Damien is always offering to host. Doesn’t matter if I’m here or not.” You retorted.

“Not true,” they shook their head, “On days that you're not around and we don’t feel like going to the bar, Tommy always hosts. Or Amanda. Or Ian.”

“Tommy has more alcohol at his place.” You ignored the rest of the list, still trying to change the subject.

“Dude,” Courtney was laughing now, “It’s like you don’t want to see it.”

“See what?” Your ears began to feel hot.

“That he likes you as much as you like him.” The words had a tone of finality. “Why are you so nervous?”

“Bec—are you serious? Why wouldn’t I be nervous? Why would I run the risk of ruining a perfectly good friendship? Or, you know, whatever it is—however you might describe what it is!” You started to ramble, digging yourself into a hole, “What happens if something happens and then—it could ruin work, Court. It could ruin everything!” You suddenly became aware that you were whisper-yelling. You cleared your throat, returning to a normal tone of voice. “It could ruin everything. That’s why people don’t fuck their coworkers.”

Courtney said nothing, just held up their hand and made a point of showing you the wedding band around their ring finger. She cleared her throat.

“That’s different.” You tried to backpedal.

“How?” Courtney looked amused, eager to hear your half-baked reasoning.

“Cause of course that worked out. Look at how Shayne looks at you. Look at how obvious of a pairing you two are.”

“Same way Damien looks at you.” Courtney smirked.

“You’re reading into this more than I am.” You shook your head at them. “He would’ve made a point to do something by now.”

“Are we…talking about the same Damien?” Courtney laughed, and you responded with a tight-lipped scowl. “In what world would he ever make a first move?”

“The ideal one. Where everything goes my way.” You scoffed, folding your arms.

“Right,” Courtney put a hand on your waist, and you looked at each other. “Approach this with more confidence, is all I’m saying. Give yourself—give him—the opportunity to make something happen.”

“Yeah,” you sighed, unfolding your arms and rubbing the bridge of your nose. “Yeah, no, you’re right.” She gave you a cocky look, and you slapped their arm gently, “Don’t rub it in.”

“You’re hot,” Courtney rubbed her thumb over the exposed skin of your waist, “And sweet. You deserve the world. And I love the both of you more than words, but you act like you’ve never had a crush before.”

“Not like this.” You admitted, and they smiled.

“I know. But you have nothing to lose.” They looked around as if they were afraid someone might be listening from behind the shower curtain, “I have it on good authority that he feels just as strongly about this thing—” she gesticulated vaguely, “as you do.” She smiled, turning to open the door. You grabbed her by the arm.

“What did Shayne tell you—what did Damien tell Shayne?” You tried to pull them back as they turned the door handle, but she wiggled from your grasp.

“You didn’t hear it from me!” She called back to you, leaving you alone in the bathroom to ruminate on the conversation. 

~~~

It was still early when people started to trickle out. You knew when Shayne and Courtney left that the party was over.

“Do you guys need a ride?” You sidled up to Courtney where she stood in the foyer with Shayne, “I don’t mind driving you home. I’m sober. Stone cold.”

“Oh my god—Steve Austin, I love your work!” Spencer called over to you while he herded a cheerfully inebriated Tommy through the door. Shayne let out a quick, barking laugh.

“No, don’t worry about it. We’re ubering.” Courtney moved hair from your face, and you saw something dubious hidden in her smile. She leaned further into your space, lowering their voice, “And you’re not going anywhere.”

“What?” You made a face.

“Give yourself,” they pressed a finger to your chest, “an opportunity.”

You grasped her hand, squeezing her fingers. Shayne looked on, and if he knew what you were talking about, he kept it to himself.

“I’m leaving. I’ll be gone—out the door right after you.” You argued, and Courtney raised her eyebrows, waving you off before exiting. Shayne followed close behind her.

You didn’t leave right after them. As it turned out, you didn’t really want to leave at all.

You liked Damien’s house. It was spooky year-round, warm in both temperature and color palette, and his couch was cozy.

It wasn’t just the furniture; Damien’s presence was equally as, if not more, comforting. He walked around picking up whatever had been misplaced during the night, trying to find the right spot for it all. He hummed quietly to himself, shooing the cats away with his feet.

“I’m sorry for not helping,” you shifted on the couch, lying on your side.

“Don’t be sorry,” he smiled, “It’s fun to organize.”

“That is such a you thing to say, you know that?”

“What is?”

“That organizing is fun.”

“It is. Especially when I have company while I do it.” He looked pointedly at you. You held eye contact.

“You can tell me to leave. If you’re done for the night.”

“Why would I want you to leave?” He looked genuinely curious as to why you would think he’d want you gone.

“If you’re tired, or something. I get it.”

“No,” he shook his head, grabbing a cup that had been left half-full on a bookshelf, “I like having you around.”

“Can I get that as a written statement? Signed, dated…” You sat up a bit, positioning your head on the armrest of the sofa.

“Absolutely not. Nobody can ever know.” He laughed, and you couldn’t help but laugh along with him.

“Come sit with me.” You leaned over to pat a cushion before returning to your reclined position.

It could’ve just been the liquid courage you’d ingested, but you’d only had one drink. It was hardly enough to make you feel a buzz, let alone get you drunk. Maybe you were just thinking too much about what Courtney had said, about giving yourself a chance, finding an opening to let him in. Or maybe you were just really, really comfortable where you were spread out on the couch. For once, though, the confidence seemed to be your own doing.

Damien put down the cup in his hand and settled on the couch. You rested your feet on his thigh, and he placed a hand on your shin.

You’d always felt that any one-on-one time you got with him had a deadline, like you were on a time crunch based off of when the next video needed to be filmed or when your friends would join the conversation. It made the moments alone with him all the more enjoyable.

You liked being here, alone with him.

You liked it a lot.

“You wanna do something?” Damien leaned his head back on the couch, stretching his arms out beside him. You tried not to pay too much attention to the way the fabric of his t-shirt hugged his arms and the broad expanse of his chest.

“Like what?” You quirked a brow.

"Something low energy that makes us feel like we’re doing something…” He mulled over the possibilities, “Smash Bros?”

You nodded. “Wanna make it interesting?”

“I’m not putting money down.”

“Because you’re scared?”

“Yeah,” he smiled, “Scared you’ll lose. Wouldn’t wanna take a chunk out of your day rate.”

“You fucking wish,” you kicked at him gently. “I wasn’t thinking the gambling route.”

“So what were you thinking?”

“You ever played strip poker?”

Damien looked taken aback, and you regretted your proposal almost instantly. “Are you suggesting we play strip Smash?” He broke into a fit of laughter.

“We don’t—it was just a thought.” You tried to retract your suggestion.

“I didn’t say no.” He held your gaze, and you felt a tug in your stomach. “But if you get cold, tell me.”

“You say that like I’m going to lose.”

“Oh, is that what that sounded like?” He tossed you a controller, “Good. Cause that’s what I meant.”

You kicked at him again.

You lost your socks first. Then your shirt. You didn’t know whether or not to thank or chastise yourself for remembering to wear a bra. Your pants quickly followed, and though it was far from a matching set, you were relieved that your undergarments were at least presentable.

You were acutely aware of your own body now; the rise and fall of your chest and the way you moved your legs when you got caught up in the game. You didn’t notice Damien: how he bit the inside of his cheek so hard when you took off your shirt that he flinched; how he nearly lost his grip on the controller when your jeans came off; how he kept shifting in his seat.

You especially didn’t notice the way he looked at you. His eyes flicked over your face with a combination of pride and adoration, and they darkened significantly when his gaze dropped below your collar and took in your half-naked form.

“How far are you gonna take this?” Damien was grinning, his voice the only other sound against the backdrop of in-game blasts and the click of thumbs on controllers.

“Down to my skin.” You shot him a glance and he cleared his throat.

“Won’t be long, then.”

“Yeah?” You bumped your shoulder against his lightly.

“You’re oh-for-three.” He pointed out, and you pushed against him again, harder this time, in an attempt to throw him off his rhythm.

“Let me choose a different character.” You tried to reach for his hands to grab at the controller. He held it up and away from his body.

“I don’t think the character is the problem,” he laughed, face lighting up at the way you sneered in frustration. “I’m not pausing just so you can be Kirby.”

“Who said I wanted to be Kirby?” You chastised him.

“Did you want to be Kirby?” He looked smug when he turned to face you, his hands still out of reach. You realized how close you’d gotten to him over the course of your teasing exchange, and suddenly recognized that the opportunity Courtney had been alluding to was right in front of you.

You moved to straddle his waist, legs framing his body and tits inches from his face as you stretched out to grab his hands, removing the controller from his grasp. You tossed it to the side and Damien was frozen as you shifted to look behind you at the screen, your victory now swift thanks to the lack of any opponent.

You turned back to him with a smile. “Did you want to be Kirby,” you imitated him, echoing his taunt. “Lose the shirt, Dames.”

Damien looked up at you, frozen. The tension was almost visible, like fogged glass, and you had no idea how to clear the air. You were nearly certain that you had made a terrible mistake, that everything about tonight was about to go wrong.

You were unable to make eye contact with him—afraid that by looking at him you would completely fall apart and lose the edge you’d only just found. Throughout your mental battle with yourself, Damien still hadn't moved, his gaze fixed on your face.

You tried to make your fear dissipate by breaking the silence.

“What?” You laughed, a little awkwardly.

Damien swallowed. “I...sorry,” His eyes were wide as he spoke, “I just got…very nervous and—and really turned on.”

Oh.

He let out a small, huffed laugh, smiling up at you in a moment of awe. He blinked hard a few times before moving his arm to rest behind his head.

“That…that makes two of us, then,” you stayed where you were, placing your hands on your thighs. You licked your lips, exhaling, before finding the nerve to continue. “You still have to take your shirt off, though. You lost. Rules are rules.”

“Didn't you get to take your socks off first?” He narrowed his eyes playfully.

“You can take them off," your words were coy. "You want me to move?”

“I never said that.” He shook his head, leaning forward just enough to grant him the space to remove his t-shirt. He tossed it to the side, and you felt your whole body flood with nerves and anticipation when he leaned back against the couch on full display for you.

“Are you cold?” Damien brought his hand up to cup your elbow, and it was only then that you became aware of the goosebumps that had broken out over your flesh.

“No…No. Just…” You swallowed, moving slightly on his lap. “Just nervous.”

He let out a small laugh. “Do you—I mean…” He was entranced, unable to remove his eyes from your face for the fear that if he looked at any more of you, you’d be able to feel his reaction. You reached out to trace a hand over his chest, admiring him and letting the heat of his skin warm your palm. “Would you mind if…” He bit his lip, closing his eyes while your fingers grazed his flesh. He took a deep breath. “Can I kiss you?”

You stopped your hand, letting it linger on the center of his chest, just above his stomach. Damien gingerly placed a hand on your waist, and for just a moment you wondered if he could feel the desperation seeping through your skin.

“Yeah. Yeah, you can kiss me.” you nodded, maybe a little overzealous, “Please.”

You leaned forward into him. You could feel the weight of his hand on your body and the thrum of your own heartbeat in your chest as it threatened to break through your ribcage. You watched him suck in a sharp, deep breath before his other hand cupped your face. You closed your eyes, letting him guide you into the kiss.

It was tender. You moved slowly, in tandem with him. You wrapped your arms around his neck, letting yourself settle into him as you got lost in the way his mouth felt on yours. You let your lips part, making space for his tongue to dip between them and explore you further. You let out a quiet moan when he licked into you, and you let your own tongue delve beyond his lips to take a taste of what you’d been craving so urgently. His grip on your waist tightened in response to your sounds, and you took it upon yourself to test the waters, rolling your hips against him. You were rewarded with the feeling of his stiffening cock between your legs, and a gruff sound that caught in his throat. His hand moved from your face to the back of your head, applying light pressure to keep you steady as the kiss became hungrier, and he bit at your bottom lip.

When you parted, both of you pausing to catch your breath, he looked up at you, quietly chuckling to himself.

“What?” You let your hands wander over his shoulders, “Was it that bad?”

“What? No—god, no. No, I’ve just…I’ve always wanted to do that.” Damien smiled, moving his thumb in a soothing pattern over your hip, “I’ve always wanted to do that…” He trailed off, raking his eyes over you and letting both hands move up and down your sides.

“Really?” You posed the question with your eyes closed, lost in his touch. You let yourself fall forward on his chest.

“Really.” He sighed dreamily, “I can’t begin to explain to you how much space you take up in my head. The real thing is a lot better than the imaginary version.” 

“But you can do whatever you want in your imagination.” You pointed out, pressed against him and tracing lines over his collar with one finger.

“Yeah. Sure. But nothing I think up could ever beat this.” His fingers grazed the clasp of your bra, “And, full transparency, I’ve thought up a lot.”

You laughed, pushing yourself up with both hands on his chest to really look at him; his hair was messy, and his cheeks were flushed pink.

He looked flawless. You felt flawless.

“Damien,” your tone was saccharine, still tinged with a shy edge but steadily coming into your own with help from Damien’s clear reciprocation of your feelings, “Do you wanna show me all the thoughts you’ve had?” You watched his face go stern at your words, still hinting his amusement with a small, nearly hidden smile. “Do you wanna act on them?”

He wrapped his arms around you, pulling you flush against him; somehow the feeling of your tits pressed against his bare chest was almost more intimate than the kiss you’d just shared. You squealed, tossing your head back, which he took as an opportunity to leave dainty kisses on your throat, muttering against your skin.

“I don’t think you’ve ever seen my room.” His voice was gravelly, parched from the kisses he left on your skin as he picked you up. You gasped, suddenly off the ground and in his arms as he carried you down the hall; one of his hands trailed down your body, and you felt his fingers dig into the flesh of your upper thigh to keep his hold on you. You hid your face in the crook of his neck, letting him overwhelm your senses.

You got lost momentarily, like time had paused or sped up or stopped completely, but then you were in his room. The lights were dim, just as they were in the rest of the house, and the shelves stacked with various tchotchkes and books that you were too distracted to care about in the moment.

You realized that a person could look like their home, in a way, and you recalled the moment earlier in the evening when you had found yourself so attracted to how Damien carried himself in his own space. It’s because the space was just as welcoming, just as comforting and soothing as he was.

He let his grip on you loosen, and you landed on his bed, hands still wrapped around him and tentative of letting go. But you didn’t have to; he lay next to you, rolling onto his side and pulling you against him in a swift maneuver that placed you comfortably on his chest.

He didn’t kiss you, maybe out of anxiety that he was moving too fast for your taste, or just because he felt the moment didn’t call for it, but he brushed his nose against yours and let his hands linger on your waist.

“Is this what you thought about?” You whispered, letting him continue his quiet ministrations, “Taking me to bed and touching me like this?”

“And so much more,” he breathed, hands moving up your back, trying to commit your entire body to memory. “I hope you—I didn’t mean for it to come off like I’ve only ever thought about fucking you.”

You moved to rub your thumb over his cheek. “What did you mean?”

“That I don’t want you to be my friend,” he smiled, and your heart dropped for a second before he continued, “That I think about you all the time in ways that friends don’t think about each other. And I…” He searched for the right words, “Even after a night like this, even after, you know, seeing everybody and having everybody over—even when a place is full of people, and noise…You’re still the only person I can pay attention to. Or think about.”

You couldn’t help but let out a laugh, and he pulled away from you to meet your gaze.

“Does that sound really stupid?”

“No,” you reassured him, pulling him back towards you, “No, it’s…you put it into words, Damien.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean I get it. I’ve been trying to figure out how to describe what you mean to me, and you just,” you laughed again, trying to collect yourself, “You did the work for me.” You smiled, tilting your head back with your chest still pressed against him, making sure he paid attention to what you were saying. “I love you.”

You watched his face change, something in his eyes and the curl of his lips looked different in a way you couldn’t pinpoint. You couldn’t look for long, because he was on you again in a flash, arms wrapping around you, engulfing you with his body and tugging you into him. His lips crashed against yours, and it was hungry, and messy, and passionate, so much so that you couldn’t be bothered to care about the clack of teeth or the small bead of spit that fell from the corner of your lip.

“I love you,” Damien’s voice sounded tight, higher than it had been all night, “I love you.” He freely explored your body now, big hands reaching over your ass and offering soft squeezes before grazing your sides and the swell of your breasts.

“You know how,” you managed to get a few words in between heated kisses, “you said you didn’t want it to come off as if you only wanted to fuck me?” You let out a small moan when he licked a stripe up your neck and to your earlobe, mumbling quiet curses to yourself at the feel of his tongue on your body.

“Mhm,” Damien acknowledged your words without breaking away from you, still nipping at your neck while you let your breathing mellow so that you could continue speaking.

“Want you to fuck me,” you put a hand in his hair, forming a fist in the silver strands and pulling him up to make eye contact. “Damien, I want you to fuck me.”

He looked almost surprised, like he had forgotten physical intimacy beyond kissing you was even an option. The look of mild shock was replaced with clear enthusiasm as he moved to get off of the bed. “I’d hate to make you ask twice.”

He shed his jeans, and you realized this was more of him than you had ever seen before; standing next to you was the man that took up all your thoughts, ready and willing to give you what you wanted, his eyes like pools of reverence as they trailed over your form.

You couldn’t help but feel excited, uncaring if you came off as desperate. You sat up and moved to the edge of the bed, situating yourself on your knees. Your hands found purchase on his chest and slowly moved down his stomach until you reached the waistband of his boxers.

“Eager,” he let your hands wander, watching on as you explored. You paused, looking up at him to wordlessly ask if you were allowed to go further. “Don’t be shy, baby,” something about his tone had changed, and the cheerful voice you’d come to know and love was replaced with a deeper, rasping sound that you thought you might like even more. “You can touch. Take what you need.”

The words reached your core before they fully hit your ears, and you shifted on your knees, pressing your thighs together to give yourself some relief. Sliding your hand under his waistband, you were met with the solid, smooth skin of his cock. He helped you pull his boxers down and over his length, letting it spring free, and you felt your mouth water.

He was big, thick, and while not surprising in the slightest, you couldn’t help but whine at the sight before you. You looked up at him, your hand wrapped around his cock, thumb brushing the reddened tip; you expected him to look smug, proud of himself, maybe, but he looked dumbstruck, in awe of the way your hand looked wrapped around him—in awe of the fact that it was you.

“Damien,” you prompted, and it broke him out of his haze. He nodded. “Can I…”

“Please,” he took a deep breath, “God, yes, please.”

You smiled. “Well, I’d hate to make you ask twice.” He laughed at your mimicry before quickly silencing himself with a shaky moan when you licked an experimental stripe up the bottom of his cock. He tilted his head to the side, unable to decide whether to get lost in the pleasure or to enjoy the view he had of you, bent over yourself on your knees and using your mouth in a way he’d only ever dreamed of.

You spit in your hand, gliding it over him and appreciating the way he felt in your hands; the warmth, the pliant weight. You made sure he was looking when you finally took his tip in your mouth, circling your tongue over him. You moved your hand in sync with the way you bobbed your head. He groaned, hand flying to rake his fingers through your hair, and the way he sighed out your name spurred you on more.

His other hand caressed your back, tugging cautiously at the straps of your bra.

“Take it off,” you pumped him in your hand, letting your tongue flick out to deliver barely-there licks to the tip of his cock. “Take it off for me.”

“Fuck.” He huffed, hypnotized by the way you used your mouth on him. He undid the clasp with one hand, and you let the straps hang off your body. You didn’t want to pause your movements, didn’t even want to slow down at the risk of having to go for even a second without hearing him moan your name; you shook the constricting material from yourself, taking him deeper in your mouth until tears pricked your eyes so that you could slip your bra off your arms. Damien let out a low groan, tightening the grip he still had on your hair. 

You took him deeper still, hand working what you couldn’t fit down your throat. When you gagged on him, he let out an absolutely filthy sound.

“You like that?” He was smiling with his mouth open, chest heaving with every breath, “You like choking on me?” You answered with a garbled “yes,” his cock still pressed against the back of your throat, one hand on his hip to keep yourself stable as your other hand stroked the base of him. He moaned. “You look so pretty. Always knew you’d look so good with my cock down your throat, baby.”

You couldn’t help the noise that you let out, something between a gasp and a moan that sent vibrations up Damien’s spine. You continued to move up and down over his cock before removing your mouth from him, spit dripping down your chin and a dopey smile on your lips.

Damien grabbed your face in one hand, fingers pressing hard against your cheeks as he pulled you up to his level. “You really are just so fucking perfect.” He kissed you, letting the drool that coated your chin drip onto his face. “Can I taste you? Can I taste how sweet you are?”

You nodded, the hand he still had on your face moving with you.

“Yeah? Say it.” He demanded, and you whimpered, enjoying the look of dominance on him.

“Want you to taste me, Damien.” When you spoke, his fingers pressed the inside of your cheeks against your teeth. “Want you to taste how sweet I am.”

He growled, moving his jaw in a circle as if to stretch the muscles in preparation for what he planned on doing to you. “How do you ask nicely?”

You felt an adrenaline rush deep in your stomach. It was one thing to be here with your pleasure in his hands, but to hear Damien say the things you’d fantasized about for so long made your head swim.

“Please…” One of your hands grabbed impatiently at his arm, “Please, Damien…want…want you to fuck me with your tongue. Please.”

He kissed you again, smiling against your mouth and removing his hand from your face to push softly against your chest so that you fell back onto the bed. He knelt on the mattress, holding your calves and pulling your legs open. You sank into the pillows at the head of the bed, letting them cradle and support you at an angle that allowed you to look down at Damien, whose face hovered over your core. His fingers danced over the waistband of your panties, and you wondered if he had felt the same tingly sensation when you toyed with his boxers as you did right now with his hands running over your hips and stomach.

He pressed his face against your clothed cunt, impatient and greedy for you. You moaned, one hand fisting the sheets under you while the other came to rest on your thigh, holding your legs open for him when your muscles threatened to snap them closed following the sudden contact.

“Fuck, Damien, that feels—that’s so good.” You squirmed under him as he licked over your panties, tongue brushing your clit through the fabric. You tried to push the material down, wiggling your hips to ease your panties off your body, but Damien caught your hands in his.

“Let me play, baby.” His doe eyes stared up at you from between your legs with a devious glint. You didn't listen, and instead continued to move your hips in an attempt to wriggle out of the fabric that kept his mouth from making direct contact with you. He pressed down on your hips, forcing you to cease your fidgeting. “Be patient.”

He licked a stripe from where your panties threatened to reveal your hole and up to your clit, and you arched your back in an attempt to encourage him further.

“God, Damien, please!” You pleaded, begging for him to touch you without the obstacle of the fabric that remained on your body. “Want it—said you wanted to taste me, you can taste me—you can taste me, I need it. Please, let me feel your tongue, please—”

Damien snapped your waistband and you yelped, effectively ending your rambling.

“You’re pretty when you beg," he kissed your stomach, and you let out a whimper. "But if you don’t shut your mouth, I’ll fuck it.” Damien’s words weren’t harsh, you could hear the joviality buried under the severity in his voice, and somehow that made it even sexier.

Your arousal was heightened when, as you moaned at his words, you felt two thick fingers plunge into your cunt. Your breath caught in your throat, and you choked out his name.

“Oh my god!” You cried out, looking down to see that he had moved your panties to the side to give himself access to your entrance. His fingers pumped in and out of you, curling to hit your more delicate spots, and the sound was utterly indecent.

“You’re soaked,” Damien was smiling with his top teeth, watching his fingers as they disappeared inside of you. “What got you so wet, baby?”

“Because…s’cause…” You didn’t have the energy to talk, too focused on the way his fingers pushed against the walls of your cunt, forcing your body to make space for him.

“Because why?” He goaded, thumb rubbing circles on your clit as he pushed his fingers deeper, “Because you like the way I touch you? Hm? Because you’ve been thinking about this as much as I have? For as long as I have?”

You nodded, mouth agape and eyes threatening to roll back; maybe you looked pathetic, but you couldn’t bring yourself to care, completely content with his fingers thrusting into you.

“Aw, come on. If you still want my mouth, you’re gonna have to do better than that.” He removed his fingers from inside of you, using the slick that coated them as lubricant to massage your clit.

“Wanted this for so long—so fucking long, Damien.” Your words came out rushed and breathy, “Thought about you like this all the time. Thought about—about you when I came, every time I came.” You couldn’t stop yourself from telling him the truth, the words tumbled from your lips as easily as taking a breath.

Your admission made him pause his movements, and for a moment the dominance in his face faded into something more tender. But he gathered himself, finally pulling off your panties in one fell swoop, then taking one of your legs and hooking your knee over his shoulder while you continued to babble to him.

“Keep talking, princess,” the nickname made you dizzy with desire, and you whined out for him, your eyes wide and watery when his breath fanned over your now bare, slick coated center. “Keep talking. Tell me all about it while I taste you.”

The first swipe of his tongue against your clit sent shockwaves through you, and you whimpered before recollecting your train of thought.

“Th—oh!” You quickly lost your words again when Damien began to ease his tongue into your entrance, toying with your hole before plunging into you with a purpose. He squeezed your thigh, and you took it as encouragement to continue. “Thought about this all the time—about your mouth against me. Using your mouth on me until my legs got sore from the way you’d hold me open.” He groaned against your cunt, and you extended a hand to comb your fingers through his hair. “Thought about all the ways you could use me. All the ways I would let you use me—fuck, like that, please!”

He had his face buried in you, your slick dripping down his chin and his nose pressed against your clit. You could feel the movement of his tongue inside of you, and you tugged on his hair as the sensation spread over your body.

“Thought about getting on my knees for you. I would let you have me whenever you wanted—wherever you wanted.”

Damien growled. “Yeah?” His brow quirked and he looked up at you momentarily before diving back into your heat, “Have to take you up on that.”

You whimpered, the muscles in your thighs and abdomen tensing from the onslaught of pleasure, and the feeling let you know that you were approaching your peak.

“Knew you would make me feel so amazing, Damien, knew you’d make me cum like nobody else ever could.” You were stringing words together faster than your brain could think them up. But even if they came out jumbled, every last word was true.

“Want you to cum on my mouth,” Damien was grinding his hips against the mattress, the relief he got from the fabric of the sheets dulled his intense arousal only momentarily, but he chased the feeling. “Please, baby, give it to me.”

You pulled his hair, admittedly harder than you had intended, but with the moan he let out, it seemed he didn’t mind. His tongue worked wonders as he extended it over and into you. Right when you thought you were already done for, limbs going slack and the pleasant tingle in your core reaching a fever pitch, Damien wrapped his lips around your clit and sucked hard, letting his tongue flick against the sensitive bud.

It felt good to scream out for him, to let his name fall repeatedly from your lips as you yanked on his hair, but it felt better to hear his voice and the words that rang out from between your legs.

“Beautiful,” he was mumbling, still licking into you, trying to savor the tangy flavor of your cum. “So fucking beautiful, baby. Look at the pretty fucking mess you made. Did such a good job.”

You tugged again on his hair and he let you guide him up to face level. When he leaned in to kiss you, you opened your mouth instantly, and he slid his tongue between your lips. You sucked on it happily, eager to taste yourself on him, eager to experience everything you'd always imagined being able to do with him.

In turn, he held you close, so you wouldn’t slip away like you did when he woke up from his dreams.

You let the kiss linger, leisurely grasping at each other and appreciating the newfound lack of constraint. You curled yourself into him, lying on your side and tangling your legs with his in an effort to get as close to him as you could.

“You look so pretty when you cum,” Damien mumbled, lips grazing your pulse point, dipping down and sucking faint bruises onto your collar. “I want to see it again.”

“You can see it whenever you want,” you closed your eyes, relishing the gentle pressure he was putting on your skin so that the marks would form in small spots across your chest. You cupped his cheek in your hand, and he reluctantly stopped licking the bruises that had begun to pop up. Your thumb stroked the skin under his eye. “I want you to see it again now.”

Damien leaned into you, trailing kisses over your jaw. “You want me to fuck you?” He licked a stripe up your neck and over your chin. When his tongue reached your mouth, you opened for him, letting him lick between your lips, kissing him fervidly and moaning softly. “Yeah? You want me to fuck you? Want me to fuck you even though I just made you cum?" He growled into your mouth. "You need more already?"

“Yeah,” you smiled shyly, rubbing your face against the stubble on his cheek.

“Needy thing.” He removed his hands from you, then snaked his arms through the gap in your bodies and put his hands on your shoulders, pushing you against the mattress and onto your back.

He straddled your legs, keeping you immobile on the bed and kissing down your chest. He nipped at the plush flesh of your breasts, unable to contain himself, unable to hide the obvious pleasure he took in seeing you this way.

“Damien—” You sighed when he circled his tongue around one of your nipples, your fingers wrapping around his bicep.

“I know. I know. Sorry, I just—God, you’re beautiful.” He smiled, more to himself than to you, but the joy on his face was palpable, and you were sure he could detect the pride you felt at being the one to make him feel this way.

He used his knee to spread your legs, opening you up for him, moving his own legs to situate himself between your thighs. One of his hands ran up and down your leg as he stroked himself, lining his cock up with your entrance. When the tip of him rubbed between your folds, you whimpered, moving your hands down his arm and squeezing his forearm.

“Is this what you want?” Damien was looking down, examining how perfectly his body meshed with yours. “You want me to fuck you?”

“Yeah,” your words were barely above a whisper, “Want you to fuck me.”

He moved his hand further up your body and squeezed your hip. “Where are your manners, princess?” He smirked, “Say please.”

“Please, Damien,” you stared up at him wide-eyed, captivated. “Please.”

“There you go.” He squeezed your hip again in recognition of your obedience. Slowly, as if he was worried he’d break you, he pushed into you, watching your eager, waiting cunt swallow every inch he offered you. You moaned, squeezing his arm and leaving small, curved marks where your nails dug into his skin. You watched his eyelids flutter, head tilting back with his mouth ajar, letting out a deep groan as he squeezed his eyes shut before opening them again to meet your heavy-lidded gaze.

“Big.” It was all you said, stretched and full of him in a way nobody had ever filled you up before.

Damien swallowed a laugh, flashing a domineering smile. “Big?”

“Too big.” You clarified, not entirely meaning it; you were thrilled to be this packed with him, but it had been so long since you’d felt a satisfying sting like this that it would take you a moment to get accustomed to it.

“You can take it, baby. I know you can.” He pressed his palm over your stomach, brushing his thumb across your skin soothingly. “You tell me if it’s too much, ok? Use your words, say it’s too much, and I’ll stop.”

“Don’t want you to stop.” Your voice came out strong momentarily, so eager for him that the possibility of him leaving you empty made you tense. “Waited so long…” You said, mellowing slightly, “Want you. Want you to…to use me.”

Damien made a throaty noise, something between a laugh and a moan that both relaxed and lit a fire inside you. Unhurried, he pulled out of you, his hands on your hips to give himself proper leverage. You exhaled slowly, mind set adrift by the feeling of his cock dragging against your walls; his rounded tip, every vein that ran up his length—you were certain you could feel it all.

You whimpered when he had pulled out enough so that nothing but the head of his cock penetrated you. You swayed your hips, trying to spur him on, but even with just the tip you felt you had ample stimulation.

He didn’t stop you, just watched on as you tried to fuck yourself with the tip of his cock just barely inside of you.

“You need some help?” He raised an eyebrow at.

“Please—fuck me, please.” You nodded excitedly, aching for him.

He smiled, eyes fixed on your face as he rammed back into you, watching your mouth contort and your tits bounce as your body absorbed the force. You screamed out for him, arching your back, which gave him the ability to push the remainder of his cock as far into you as he could.

“Fuck Damien! So—feel…so full!” You felt a tear fall over your cheek, overwhelmed by the bliss of having his cock buried inside of you and the rough way in which he made it happen. He leaned over you, supporting himself on his forearms as he caged you between them, and met you at face level. He thrust in and out of you shallowly, bringing his lips to your cheek and kissing the path of the delighted tears you had shed.

“Yeah? Feel full?” He whispered, still moving his hips, his cheek pressed against yours so he could speak directly into your ear.

“Yes, Damien—God, yes!” You wrapped your arms around his neck, trying to immerse yourself in all of him. You searched for any part of him that you could reach with your mouth, planting sloppy kisses on his collar, his shoulder, the crook of his neck.

“Good.” He kissed your cheek again, before licking the wet, salty trail that your tears had left behind. “Want you to feel me for days after this.” He found your lips and kissed you, the pace and intensity of his thrusts increasing. “And when you can finally walk straight, I’m gonna do it to you all over again.”

You scraped your nails up his back, moaning for him and desperate to have him follow through on his threat. He buried his face in your neck, and you could feel the tug of his stubble on your skin as he panted against you, fucking into you aggressively in a way you’d always dreamed he would.

Each thrust felt deeper, and there came a point where you felt a pleasant pain in your side as his cock brushed your cervix.

“Damien—Christ, you’re so fucking deep,” Your nails jabbed harder into the skin of his back and he let out a hiss. “Please, like that. Just like that, don’t stop. B-bruise me, please, please!”

“I won’t stop, princess,” Damien’s words were snarled, gruff in your ear as his lips grazed just below your earlobe. “I promise. Wanna leave this pretty pussy so nice and sore.” He sucked a mark under your jawline, "Wanna ruin you."

You moved one hand, fingers lacing through his silver hair and yanking at the brown roots to pull him from his spot in the crook of your neck. He took the hint, rising up to meet you, his mouth finding yours and biting at your bottom lip.

“I love you,” you couldn’t bite back the words, not even if you tried; not when his cock was hitting spots you didn’t even know were there, not when he was using all his upper body strength to stay above you just so he could gaze down upon your tear-streaked, fucked out face, not when it was something you’d been dying to tell him in this capacity for as long as you could remember. “I love you, Damien—I love you.”

“I love you,” he echoed your words, voice softening and face relaxing. “I love you so much. I do, I love you so much.”

You raised your hips to meet his thrusts, and Damien moaned out your name, muscle in his jaw tensing before he let his mouth fall slack. He paused momentarily, sitting up while still buried inside you, to take your legs in his hands and press your knees back to your chest. You were bent in half, completely at his mercy and loving it. You yelped, the new angle giving him the ability to drive harder and deeper into you; the control he had over your body made your head swim and your cunt squeeze around him. He leaned over you, smiling through the pleasure that clouded his mind to jeer at you affectionately as he continued to escalate the manner in which he fucked you.

“What’s wrong, baby?” He watched you, your head lolling to the side and practically drooling as you looked back up at him, pitiful moans and gibberish the only way you could communicate. “Lose your voice?”

You swallowed hard, gasping for air and overcome with the feeling of him. You searched for the right words.

“Make me—oh!—feel so good,” you panted, “so fucking good.”

“Who makes you feel so good?” Damien pressed, plunging his cock as deep as he could, his hips firm against the back of your thighs.

“You do!” You felt all of him, and still, somehow, you craved more. “You do—you, you!”

“Yeah? Say it princess. Say Damien you make me feel so good.” He grabbed your chin, forcing you to stare up at him with your lust-blown eyes. “Say it.”

“Da—Damien,” you whimpered as he fucked you in quick bursts while waiting for you to speak. “Damien, you—you make m-me feel so good.”

He pressed his lips to yours, further enhancing the way your body was already contorted, and you moaned into his mouth at the feeling of being used like a toy by him.

“That’s right,” Damien licked into your mouth, “You make me feel so good, princess.”

He pulled back from your face, straightening once more; he grabbed your legs and threw them over his shoulders, gripping your thighs close to his body and using them to pull you onto his cock. The sounds you made were high pitched and pathetic, eyes rolling back while he placed kisses on your calves where they were slung over his shoulders; he nipped at you, teeth just barely grazing the flesh of your legs as his lips did a bulk of the work. The tickle of his five o’clock shadow was a welcome match to the gentle pressure you felt in your abdomen brought on by the way his cock stretched you.

He wrapped one arm around your legs, leaving you powerless to his movements as your head pushed back into the pillows from the sheer delight of feeling him inside of you, heightened by the depth and momentum with which he fucked you. He let his other hand drop to hold your hips, thumb caressing your skin with unidentifiable shapes.

You couldn’t remember getting fucked like this before—if you ever even had been fucked like this before. Somehow Damien knew you inside and out better than anybody else did, maybe even better than you knew yourself. This was proven by the way he drove his hips into you, hauling you over his cock and making you feel the delicious drag of his length in a way that made you feel full to the point of near discomfort. The electrified jolts of satisfaction when the tip of his cock pressed up against your more delicate, hidden spots, were eased by the soft way he touched you. The feeling wasn’t confined to your walls; his fingers brushed your clit, the ghost of a touch sending shockwaves through your system. You wriggled your body, unable to contain yourself and responding physically to the way his digits teased you while he ruined you with his cock.

He was rough, wild, and everything you needed. When you looked up at him, you could still see the kindness in his features, hear the compassion with which he moaned your name, feel the romantic way he squeezed at your body even while he was fucking you stupid. His groaned words of praise, of affirmation, when he managed to gasp your name between panting thrusts brought you to the edge just as much as his physical prowess did, and you let it be known how you were feeling.

“Damien—” You reached out, grasping at his arm where it wrapped around your legs, his other hand kneading your clit in slow circles. You felt your cunt tighten around him, walls fluttering in preparation for your oncoming orgasm, hips bucking on their own accord as you chased the ecstasy he brought you.

“Give me another, princess,” he grunted, pounding into you, his fingers deftly tracing over your clit. “Doing so good, give me one more.”

You turned your face to the side and buried it into the pillow under you, biting into the cloth to silence your increasingly loud screams. He reached down to grab your face, once again pushing your knees to your chest and earning a loud gasp of his name as you wiggled your hips against him, relishing the feel of his cock throbbing deep inside of you.

“Show me that pretty face,” he cooed, sweat lining his temples from exertion, “Let me hear those pretty sounds.” He pressed hard against your clit, and your body responded explosively; you screamed for him, reaching for his shoulders to pull him to your chest and kiss him as a warm feeling spread from your center and out to your limbs. You could feel it in your chest, the fulfillment traveling over every inch of your body, muscles responding in kind with small twitches as your cunt squeezed him tight.

Your legs squirmed free from underneath him, and you wrapped them around his waist, keeping him close to you while you rode out your high, circling your hips over his cock. He moaned into your mouth, the kiss devolving into a messy exchange of spit and sweat and teeth, lips chapped and swollen with passion. You bit his lip and he growled, leisurely swaying his hips and punctuating his thrusts with eager whines.

“Where,” he was breathing heavily, once again finding solace in the crook of your neck. “Where do you want it, baby. Tell me. Please.” He was practically whimpering, begging you for permission to finish by communicating where it was you wanted his cum.

“Inside,” you moaned, the aftershocks of your orgasm lulling you into a sleepy heap of oversensitivity and devotion.

Damien growled as he took in your request. “You’re—fucking christ, you’re sure?”

“Please,” it was all you could say, desperate to feel the culmination of his pleasure inside of you. “Pill. Need it, Damien. Cum inside me. Let me feel it, please.”

Damien groaned at your words, brow knit and mouth open. He sped up his pace, pushing himself up from you and supporting himself on his hands. You whined, content and aching for him.

“Fuck, I'm gonna fill this pussy up so deep.” Damien squeezed his eyes shut momentarily before opening them and looking down at you, “Fuck—gonna cum, baby, I'm—fuck!” His hips stuttered, and you wrapped your legs around him tighter, keeping him secure against you. He dropped down onto you, still providing shallow thrusts, though much gentler than before. “I love you,” he whispered, lips pressing against your neck as he engulfed you with his own body, cock spent and twitching inside of you, “I love you.”

“I love you,” you repeated quietly, and when he kissed you, you could feel that he meant it; the words echoed in your mind as he eased his lips against yours, taking time now to really savor the way you moved against him and enjoy how perfectly you fit together.

You focused on catching your breath, and he removed himself from atop you as he collected himself. When he slipped his cock from you, you whimpered at the new emptiness, and he kissed your temple.

You both stayed there, lying in bed together while you came down from the high-energy tryst. You still couldn't remove yourselves from each other completely, limbs tangling together and hands gliding over sweaty skin as you appreciated the tranquility together.

“Do you want water?” He asked, nose rubbing against your cheek.

“Yeah,” you gulped a breath, “Yeah. Thanks.”

He got up on shaky legs and found a pair of sweatpants, walking to the kitchen only to return seconds later with a glass of water. His face was radiant and his cheeks dusted pink as he beamed at you.

“Thank you, baby,” you guzzled the cool liquid, mouth dry from the way he'd made you scream.

“Say—” Damien looked down at you, giddy, “Will you say it again?”

You smiled, tired eyes taking in his form. “Thank you, baby.”

He sat down next to you. The mattress shifted with his weight, and you inched yourself towards him.

“I like hearing you say it.” He seemed timid, like after all that had happened, he was still worried you’d reject him.

“I like saying it,” you nuzzled your face into his stomach, resting on his thigh. His hand came down to pet your hair, thumb occasionally brushing over your temple.

“Will you stay here tonight?” He asked, “Only if you want to, I mean—but, I’d like it if you did.” He laughed to himself, “And then, you know…if you wanted to stay every night—I’d like that, too.”

“Well, good, cause the U-Haul is on its way over.” You turned your head to look up at him from your spot on his leg.

“Wow, those guys work fast,” he smirked down at you. “And then, when you, uh—when you finish moving in…could I take you out on a real date?” His face looked so gentle, “You know, away from everybody we know. Just…just us?”

“I would like that.” You smiled, turning to place a kiss on his stomach. He examined your face, still stroking your hair.

“I’m sorry if anything I said was…if you think I was moving too fast—or if I said something you want to pretend I didn’t say yet. Or at all.” He winced, nervous.

“Damien,” you sat up, shuffling to kneel in front of him and cupping his cheek, “I love you. I don’t want to pretend you never said it.” You placed a kiss on his nose, and he tackled you back onto the mattress, kissing your face.

“Thank god,” he breathed a sigh of relief, “Because I don’t think I could ever take it back.”  

“You’ve said it before,” you laughed when his head dipped under your chin to suck new marks onto your neck to match the ones that he had made prior.

“I know,” he mumbled against your skin, “But it’s—this is different. I mean it…different…” He smiled, sharp teeth on display, and you laughed again, enamored.

“Good,” you played with the hair that curled against the back of his neck, “I mean it different, too.”

Damien pulled you against his chest and rolled over, leaving you to straddle his waist and rest your head on his shoulder.

“I love you,” he sighed happily.

“I love you, too.” You left kisses on his collar bone before pressing your face against his neck.

~~~

You didn’t remember falling asleep, but when you awoke the next morning you momentarily feared that it had all been a dream; that you were back in your own bed, alone, hungover and suffering from the memories of some distant fantasy.

But you were still with Damien. His arm draped over your waist and his face pressed between your shoulder blades as he snored quietly.

You could get used to this.

You leaned back against him, eager to tell him that you loved him when he woke up.

The sun was just barely up, and the minuscule amount of light that made its way through the window illuminated tiny bits of dust that passed through the rays. Zelda had made her way into the room at some point in the night, and her soft purring sent tiny vibrations over the blanket, her body nestled into the curve of Damien’s knee behind you.

You stretched, aimlessly reaching out and inevitably grabbing hold of your phone. You dimmed the brightness, scrolling through notifications you had missed the night before; tagged pictures, drunken Instagram stories, a few Venmo requests and a few more Venmo payments.

Courtney had texted you only about 20 minutes before you had woken up.

Court: How was the rest of your night 👀

Court: Does Shayne owe me $10

Court: Or did you end up going home

You let out a silent laugh, rolling your eyes a little at the betting pool that seemed to have erupted over your love life. You twisted in bed, opening your camera and zooming in on Zelda where she sat comfortably against Damien’s knee, the backdrop of his bedroom on full display. You took a picture and sent it to Courtney with no explanation, amused by your own vague confirmation that you had spent the night with Damien—and planned to do it again. Often.

You put your phone down and it started to buzz on the nightstand, lighting up with Courtney's contact picture. You considered picking it up, but then Damien’s arm tightened around you, pulling you to him while his hand spread out over your ribcage just under your breast. He kissed your back, still half-asleep, before he resumed snoring.

You decided that you would talk to Courtney later, turning over to bury your face in Damien’s chest, letting his breathing lull you back to sleep.

[solbaby7]

Still Your Best

pairing: azriel x reader

inspo: Still Your Best - Giveon

warnings: jealous azriel, some teasing, sexual tension, misogyny, this some toxic relationship shit so don’t expect the right decisions to be made here

summary: You’re trying to move on after years of pining over a certain Shadowsinger but he’s not ready to let go

—

Damien was—nice.

A little predictable but he tried to be a gentlemen; held open your doors and pulled out your chairs at every dinner. He remembered the little things, was a decent cook, clean enough and worked hard.

But, you didn’t feel the spark.

Even after weeks of planned lunches and candlelit dinners accompanied with fine wines and good conversation but you couldn’t see yourself falling in love—at least not yet; not without effort. It’s partially why you’d never brought him around the Inner Circle; slightly worried about making your private life public in fears that it was moving things along too soon.

Was it normal to invite someone you didn’t love to meet your family?

There’s not enough time to really figure it out, to work out the kinds and tie lose ends before Damien is asking to meet them. “You’ve met mine.”

It was true; his family was—nice. A kind enough mother and a father who wasn’t exactly present but he was a good provider and Damien insisted that even without his dad around much, he still had a good life. You don’t think much of it until you start noticing little things; condescending responses when you tell him you’re leaving to go train with Cassian. “Enjoy it—a wife of mine will be too busy with our children to be running about playing with swords.”

You bite your tongue, deeming it too soon in the relationship to give him a piece of your mind and falling into a placating role is anything but love inducing. “You’re entitled to your opinion. It’s awfully early to be talking about that sort of thing anyway.”

Damien shrugs it off, already bored with the conversation and moving onto another. “Either way, I’d still like to meet them—your family,” Your eye twitches at the way he says it; like just because it wasn’t by blood that it wasn’t something real. “Get to know the people who’ve been stealing you away from me all week.”

You comply with a strained smile, dread beginning to settle in when you bring it up to Rhysand a few days later. You downplay it, reiterating multiple times that it wasn’t obligatory in hopes that he and the other would be busy for now and the foreseeable future.

Of course, that’s not the case.

“Don’t be silly, we’d love to meet your new boyfriend.”

He doesn’t miss the way you cringe at the title. “Oh, that’s just—that’s just wonderful. Great.”

Your mood is no less sour three days later when you’re getting ready for said gathering, form stuffed in a little black dress you’d been saving for a special occasion and you figured now was a better time than ever. Plus, the confidence boost would help sooth the nerves that wouldn’t stop swarming beneath your skin.

“That’s a little short, Angel.”

You try not to roll your eyes at the pet name—soft and sweet and completely non-threatening. As if you hadn’t spent the entirety of your life beating your knuckles into the bones of men five times your size in a ring meant for close combat.

Still, your hands slide over the fabric, staring at your figure in the mirror when you murmur, “Not too bad though right? I thought it was really pretty.”

“Very pretty, just not for other eyes.” Damien gives you a small smile, warm palms cupping at your arms when he continues as if he’s doing you a favor. “I’ll let it slide though, just this once.”

“How generous.”

It takes everything in you not to scream when he makes a point to throw a long cardigan over his arm before you leave; trying to distract you by asking for a full run down of everyone and you’re quick to skip over the fact that maybe, once upon a time, you and Azriel were more than just friends. But the steaming, boiling anger subsides when you winnow him to the Night Court, his cheeks green as he struggled to keep his breakfast down.

Damien hated winnowing and for some reason that made you love it.

Even as you soothing rub his back, acutely aware of the eyes staring into your back from the entrance doors. Damien composes himself fairly quickly, sparing you a look when you’d promised he’d get used to it after a while. “It happens,” The High Lord of the Night Court greets, a friendly hand patting at Damien’s shoulder and you don’t miss the way Azriel’s eyes roll at the gesture. “Welcome, I’m Rhysand and this is my wife Feyre.”

Damien’s eyes go wide, making a move to bow to his knees but you stop him with a gentle smile. “I apologize, I’ve never really met a High Lord before.”

“He’s just Rhys right now,” You soothe, tugging him along to introduce him to the others and they can tell it’s a little overwhelming so you’re both quickly ushered to the sitting room. “The same Rhys who always splurges on the good shit—“ You cringe at the way Damien clears his throat, a brow raised at the profanity and you have to hide the burn of embarrassment for being checked in front of your friends. “Stuff. He always gets the good stuff.”

Nesta and Mor share a glance, watching you pour up a glass just for it to be swiftly snagged by your date who offers you one too but it’s significantly smaller. “Should take it slow, Angel. It’s not ladylike to get drunk when you’re being hosted.”

Your friends watch you nod with a tight smile, quietly thanking him for looking out before taking a slow sip.

Azriel scoffs in the corner, eyes rolling as he fills a glass of his own and your jaw clenched in response, an arm looping through Damien’s to show him around. You point at art you’ve seen a million times and nod every now and then when he runs off into a winded explanation of a vase he was sure was a prized possession but you were certain Rhys had gotten it from Mor as a gift three Winter Solstice’s ago.

Cassian wanders over, striking up casual conversation that you use as a chance to slip away, re-filling your glass much higher than respectable and took it back in one go with a glance over your shoulder. “Where’d you find this guy?”

“Do you actually care or are you being a prick?”

Rhysand lets out a laugh, hands tucked in his pockets as violet eyes scan the room. “Are you even allowed to say that word?”

You scoff, a hand swatting at his arm but you can’t smack away the embarrassment that appears. “This is exactly why I didn’t want you guys to meet him.” You lower your voice, fingers toying with the stitching on your dress. “We’ve only been seeing each other a few months. I didnt have enough time to—“

“To dump him before we found out about him?”

A pause, your lips purse and your fingers twitch for something stronger than whatever had been filling the decanter. “Fuck off, Rhys. Not everyone gets to have a fairytale ending like you do.”

His voice is softer, more careful and it takes effort to even hear what he’s saying. “Why don’t you just talk to him? I know you’ve seen him brooding in the corners.”

“Azriel made himself perfectly clear,” You hiss, no longer caring who saw when you reached out to grab a whole bottle of wine and all out ripped the cork free. “He can brood in the corners for the rest of our lives for all I care.”

Your form radiates agitation, positivity seething over a nearly overflowing glass before taking hefty gulps to quench the rage but it only seems to fuel it. Taking you back to that night, the cool breeze sifting through a dragging duvet while standing on the balcony with Az. You could still feel the afterglow, body radiating perfect health and contentment when he finally faces you, a grimace on strong features. “I think I have feelings for Elain.”

It hadn’t even amounted to much, grazing fingers and hushed conversations; strolls in the garden and hours hunched over a table putting together puzzles.

But Elain didn’t want more, barely grasping at the strings of her life as she knew it and more anger burns when you’re robbed of the ability to enjoy it. Enjoy him being hurt a fraction of the amount you’d been but the feeling never comes, just breathtakingly aching love—the need to hold and cradle him close and make promises you weren’t positive you’d be able to keep. “I’m sorry,” Rhys rests a hand on your shoulder but you’re quick to shift away from it.

“Forget it, can we just hurry this night along?”

He nods stiffly, lips pursed at your agitation but it doesn’t stop him from swiftly blocking you from sight when Damien begins walking over, offering enough time for you to finish your glass and ditch the bottle. “Anyone hungry?”

Nesta grins beside her mate, a knowing look in her eye when she sits down, tugging Cassian along with her and it takes a moment too long to realize that she’d directed every seat be filled—except the one before you. Teeth grind against each other when the shadowsinger sits down, chair creaking against the hardwood as he scoots in until you felt the tips of his shoes against your own. “Absolutely ravenous.”

Azriel doesn’t play nice, smirking to himself over his mashed potatoes when those familiar shadows creep under the table, licking up your ankles and leaving goosebumps in their wake. You tense, grip slipping on your fork and Damien raises a questioning brow. “You okay?”

You refrain from looking at the dark haired man across from you and force a smile. “Perfect,” You lean in for a kiss, lips millimeters away when Damien’s head turns to the side, choking on nothing but air. It passes rather quickly but your hands curl into fists under the table, swatting away the shadows curling around your knees, teasing at your thighs.

“Damien, do tell us how you two met?”

Mor doesn’t acknowledge your grateful stare but you’re certain she’d noticed it, biding you just enough time to swiftly throw Azriel a look that could kill—but it only seems to spur him on further. “I ran into her in the city, asked her out to apologize.”

“Clumsy, are you?”

Az doesn’t even acknowledge your heels stomping at his foot, smirk growing over the rim of his wine glass and you straighten in your seat. “I try not to be but when in the presence of such beauty,” Damien grazes his knuckles against the curve of your cheek, watching as you pile food on your plate. “She didn’t have such an appetite back then though—slow down it’s not going anywhere.”

A brow raises, hands freezing in their place, serving spoon hovering in midair as his words settle but you’re quick to recover. Offering a smile, you put the spoon back, returning the dish to its place.

A beat of time passes in complete silence.

“Excuse me?”

“Az, don’t.” Maybe it’s the nickname that slips—one Azriel hadn’t heard you use in months—that forces him to clamp his mouth shut but the way golden eyes go dark is unmistakable. The others are staring; more so at your date than you but ever so gracefully you take control of the situation, resting a hand lovingly on Damien’s shoulder, sparing a quick kiss there over the cotton of his shirt. “It’s fine, he’s right, I had a big lunch.”

Rhys takes over, directing small talk and grilling Damien with subtle questions. Where he was from. His parents and their lineage and you wince slightly at the way he describes the relationship between his parents. “I suppose my family is like any other. My father always raised me to be a strong male who provides and instills order within his home and my mother handles the other duties—certainly none of this fighting mess my angel seems intent on participating in.”

Nesta perks up in her seat, fork scraping against her plate. “She’s actually really good—taught me when I first got here.”

“Be that as it may,” Damien doesn’t even seem to notice the displeased looks directed at him, the shared glances and mental conversations about just how fucking awful they thought he was. But, none of them say a thing, intrigued by your lack of irritation. In fact, you looked quite pleased with yourself, sparing the spymaster quick glances after each degrading comment—like you were getting off on his growing anger. “It’s just not how I was raised. Playing with swords isn’t where she belongs.”

“And where exactly do you feel she belongs?” It’s a loaded question and judging by the low growl that laces Azriel’s words you know Damien’s answer will dictate how the rest of the night goes. If he’d be able to leave the house in one piece.

Damien shrugs as if the response is as easy as breathing, not aware in the slightest of the cobalt glow beginning to push through the thickness of Azriel’s leathers. “In the—“

“Dessert?” You sharply interject, standing abruptly and smoothing the wrinkles in your dress. “Come help me carry it out.” You don’t even look back, ears catching on the linen cloth smacking against the table before the gentle scratch of the chair. You don’t make a sound until you’re behind the kitchens double doors, fingers raking through your hair when you spin around.

Damien is not behind you.

Azriel is, and he’s entirely too close, stalking forward with a growing snarl on god-like features. All sharp cheekbones and a dark brow, even darker hair that falls over his forehead and tickles at the nape of his neck but your eyes are caught on the shape of his mouth. The ripple of his nose and the tightly strung cord of his jaw as he cages you to the counter. “Dump him.”

The smell of his cologne nearly knocks you clean off your feet and your body’s reaction to the proximity was steadily becoming the ultimate betrayal. “What?” He watches you shake yourself from the momentary stupor, a hand smacking at his chest but Azriel doesn’t so much as flinch. “Are you crazy?”

“I will go fucking batshit if you keep throwing yourself all over that sorry excuse of a male.”

It’s the promise coating each syllable that has your thighs clenching but it’s the large hand that ghosts over your silhouette that has arousal pooling in your underwear. Azriel tracks the slow swallow you take, the roll of your throat and it’s like you’re catapulted back in time. Back when it would’ve been your right to lean forward and press your mouth to his, to let those hands roam wherever they pleased as long as he was planning on reciprocating the pleasure. Your fingers clench at your sides at the very thought and there’s no hiding your scent in the air. “You don’t get to do this. You wanted her—you chose her.” Your heart slams against your chest so hard you feared an imprint would begin to form. There’s nowhere to run; nowhere to go that wasn’t completely engulfed in everything Azriel and you have to close your eyes as to not get lost in the familiar touch of his shadows on your skin. “We are over.”

“No, we aren’t.” He noses at your cheek, free hand curling at the side of your neck to make room and you swear at yourself for allowing it. For falling victim to his fucked up game and the way he seemed to know exactly where to touch; plush lips pressing the softest of kisses along your racing pulse and he fucking groans. “It isn’t over—we’ll never be over.” So low and deep, hand tightening ever so slightly at your neck in such a claiming gesture that you have to rip yourself from the delusions beginning to set root. “You will always be mine.”

“You’re insane if you really think that’s true.” Hopefully it sounds more sure than it felt coming out and it takes every ounce of strength you have to pull away, to push through the thick cloud of darkness surrounding you until the glow of the lights were visible again. Fluffy cakes and neatly iced cookies rest on elegant trays and you can’t seem to stop yourself from grabbing one and retreating as far away as possible. “Absolutely insane.” A choked yelp escapes when you bump into the wall, mouth stuffed full of sweet dough and light icing to occupy from the grating thought of dropping to your knees and letting him shove his cock as far back as your throat could allow.

“I can be,” He nods, a smile pulling on his handsome features and your gut clenches. “I’ll be nice and ask you one time to break up with him.”

“And if I don’t?”

Shadows slink up the back of your legs, over your ass—higher and higher until they wrap ever so delicately around your neck. “Then, I’ll kill him.”

[2tcs]

day 1: camping and candle

“Ugh. Why are we doing this again?” Danny complained as he watched his dad pull supplies out of the GAV.

“Well, your dad and I agreed that everyone has been a little too stressed. What with the ghosts destroying part of the school and your father and I's recent slump.” Maddie absently replied as she began clearing a spot for the fire pit.

“Besides Danno. This gives us the perfect opportunity to try out the new and improved Fenton Anti-ghost Tent.” Jack shouted as he put a glowing box on the ground and pressed a button on the side that caused it to fold out into what could only be described as a family-size carnival tent.

“Hay Jazz?”

“Ya Danny?”

“Please tell me you packed the actual tent.”

“Yes. I even managed to buy a box of MREs in case Mom and Dad brought contaminated food again.”

“A week of MREs. Yay. Well, we might as well get our side of camp set up 'cause I am not sleeping in that.”

👻🦇👻🦇

“Come hi everyone this is going to be fun. Think about it! Tents, roasted marshmallows, campfire stories. This will be awesome.” Dick said as he jumped out of the van and started unloading camping supplies.

“This is a survival training exercise, Richard. Not a family bonding trip.” Damian said as he looked at the single-family size tent that Dick had packed.

“For once I agree with Damien. This is not what I would consider “fun” or “awesome”.” Tim said as he set up his laptop to finish his report for the next WE project that is due next week.

“I just want to know how the hell I got roped into this.” Jason grumbled as he started picking up stones for a campfire ring.

“Come on guys. This is as close to family vacation as we have been able to get in, like, ever. Let's make the most of it and have some fun.” Dick pleaded with them. “You agree with me, right Duke?”

“I mean. Except for you and Damien, we're all city kids. But I guess it could be fun.” Duke hurriedly added on as he saw Dick start to pout. “Yeah, yeah. Well, I ain't setting this up myself. Duke help me with these rocks. Tim helped Dick set up the stupid tent. And Damien you got the most experience in survival training. I need you to go through and scout the area and pick up wood for this fire.” Jason said while ignoring Dick's happy dance at his family getting along and helping each other.

🦇👻🦇👻

“Come on Danno! How can you protect yourself from ghosts if you don't put on the Anti-ecto Spray?” Jack asked as he followed Danny as he gathered wood for the fire.

“We're in the middle of the forest, Dad. All we have to worry about out here is bugs and bears. And we have a spray for both already.” Danny argued.

“He's right Dad. Besides you have that Ecto Shield that will be covering the camp once everything is set up for the night.” Jazz said, watching as her dad pouted and walked over to their mom.

“Madds? You'll put on the Anti-ecto Spray won't you?”

“I'm sorry dear. But you know that stuff causes my skin to rash. I think I might be allergic to something we used in it.” Maddie said as she pulled out a dutch oven and some baking supplies. “Here honey, why don't you go and make some fudge? I know how much you like your campfire fudge.”

“Campfire fudge is pretty good. But we're going to need more firewood if we're going to bake.”

“I got it Dad.” Danny said, taking off into the woods in a desperate attempt to get away from all the anti-ghost stuff.

“That's my Danny Boy! Always eager to help out. Make sure you get some good size logs too!”

“I’ll go with him. For the buddy system.” Jazz said as she began to walk in the direction Danny had run off in.

👻🦇👻🦇

“Tt.”

“Don't Tt me. A dutch oven is an essential if you are going camping.” Jason said as he checked to see if the water was boiling before moving the pot back over the fire so that the water in it could stay hot.

“It is cumbersome and will weigh us down if we must move quickly through the woods.” Damian huffed.

“Well, it's a good thing we aren't going to need to move quickly through the woods. Now here's a knife and some potatoes. They've already been washed so now they just need cut up.”

“And what makes you think I will help you cook?”

“For the same reason that Tim is cutting up veggies and Duke is cutting the vegan turkey sausage. If you want to eat. You need to help.”

“Richard is not helping.”

“Richard would burn the forest down if we let him do anything more than roast marshmallows.”

“Hay! I'm not that bad.” Dick whined from where he was still struggling with the tent.

“August 26th, 2010.” Tim deadpanned as he put the veggies into the oven.

“Okay. That's not fair Tim.”

“Um. What happened in 2010?” Duke asked before they were interrupted my a loud explosion to the east of them.

“Put a pin in that Glowstick. I think we should check that out.” Jason said as he put the lid on the pot and moved it away from the fire before Tim quickly grabbed the bucket of dirt they had and smothered the fire with it before taking off towards the sound.

🦇👻🦇👻

“What the hell was that!” Danny yelled as he dropped the sticks he was carrying and ran back towards camp.

“I don’t know! Just run!” Jazz shouted back as she pulled out her collapsible creep stick and tossed Danny the laser lipstick.

By the time they broke through the brush, they saw the camp in chaos. The new tent was trying/failing to eat Jack and Maddie was fighting the ecto lights.

“I kinda want to let them suffer.” Danny said as he deactivated the lipstick. Only to sigh as a group of four men ran into the clearing and began to try and help.

“I don’t think that’s an option anymore.” Jazz commented as she watched the human tank shoulder-check their dad to get him out of the way while a tall slender man expertly climbed the poles of the tent to get to the power switch that was at the top of the tent for some reason.

“I don’t know Jazz. They seem like they're doing a good job.” Danny replied as the shortest and skinnyest of the group tried to help Maddy with the lights.

“I’ll get the lights. You get the tent.” Jazz sighed before taking off and using the creep stick to tangle the lights and yank them out of the portable ecto-battery that their parents brought with them. Danny in the meantime ran to the GAV and climbed on top to give him a clear shot at the off button seeing as the tent was moving too much to climb. One clean shot and the tent folded in on itself, back into the box it was that morning.

“Danno! Jazzypants! Good job!” Jack shouted as he scooped both kids into a hug.

“And thank you to you four as well. It’s clear you have had training but you should really leave the ecto fighting to the professionals.” Maddy addressed the young men who had come over to make sure everyone was okay.

“Ecto fighting? Lady I don’t know” The tank asked as he crossed his arms.

“What my brother means to say!” The one who tried to climb the tent interrupted. “Is that we’re from Gotham so are kinda used to having to fight. I’m Dick by the way. This is my brother Jason. Tim is the one who is currently investigating the tent box? And Duke is standing next to him. And last but not least this is Damian!”

“Well, it’s nice to meet you all! I’m Jack! That’s my lovely wife Maddie, and these are our kids! Jazz and Danny!”

“You were quite adept with your baseball bat. Have you ever thought about training with a bo staff?” Damian asked Jazz.

“It’s actually what I was originally trained in when Mom was training me how to fight.” Jazz said while straightening her hair once Jack put her and Danny down.

“If you want honeybun I can make you a new bo staff when we get home. It would offer more maneuverability during a ghost fight.”

“Ghost fight?” Tim asked as he and Duke walked over to the little family.

“Ya! Me and Madds here are ectobiologists!” Jack excitedly said before Jazz took the wind out of his sail.

“It doesn’t really matter what we are right now. The FAT completely wrecked the camp. The GAV and the MREs are okay but we’ll probably have to move camp or go home.”

“I saw an old cabin to the west of us with some candles and stuff not far from here when I got the first batch of firewood. We could stay there and leave some of our supplies in exchange for anything we use.” Danny chipped in.

“Hay! I think we passed that on the way here! Maybe we can all camp together! Safety in numbers you know?” Dick suggested as he bounced on his toes.

“That’s a great idea! How about you boys gather your camp and meet us there!” Jack cheered before he ran off to pack the GAV back up.

“Danny dear. Can you go with them and mark a trail to the cabin for us? Here’s some orange ribbon to tie to the trees.” Maddy said before ushering Jazz off so that Danny could “hang out with boys his age.”

“So,” Danny said as he started down the trail. “Gotham huh?”

“Yup. Where are you from?” Dick asked.

“Amity Park.”

“The most haunted place in the world?” Tim asked as he pulled out his phone and began typing.

“Sounds interesting.” Duke said only for Danny to through his head back and groan loudly causing the siblings to look at each other.

“Yes, it's haunted. No, I would not recommend going. The government already has it’s nose in it. And even though my parents didn’t recognize a group of Wayens doesn’t mean I didn’t. We do not need that kind of publicity.”

“Fair enough.” Jason shrugged while leaning over to look at Tim’s phone.

“Let’s just get this done.” Danny grumbled trying to walk ahead of the group.

“We’re totally going to investigate this aren’t we.” Duke whispered when Danny was far enough ahead.

“Tt. Obviously Thomas.”

~~~~~

An hour late but I think I did it. Hope everyone enjoyed it!

[fictionalsownme]

...can we get more of our sweet boy Damien cause he deserves the world but the world doesn't deserve him? :D

JUST ONE CHANCE DAMIEN I SWEARR

I am actually incapable of just sketching him it's ridiculous, he's just too pretty 😩 where's the rabid dog emoji!!! that's how he makes me feel!!! I went with cold boy version this time and it's like collecting the shiny version of your favorite pokemon. Like... I know the classic like the back of my hand... but I hadn't even considered the possibilities of the special edition, yk what I'm sayin?? lmao ANYWAYY,, drawing this got me to thinking about how much of a good loyal boy Damien is yk? Like Celine constructed the cabin to keep Damien's soul appeased so she could try to maintain control right? and she knew her brother well enough that she knew he needed a sense of responsibility and caretaking and even if it's not glamorous work or he doesn't totally understand what's happening, he'll do it for her day after day. LIKE HE'S LITERALLY A MAYOR HE'S LIVES HIS LIFE IN SERVICE OF OTHERS AND HE'S SO GENTLE IM CRYING IDK OKAY T^T

anyway thank you v much for the request I hope youlikeitokiebye--💞💞 (flat ver under the cut)

[alisonwritesimagines]

Unexpected ~Batfam Imagine~

Summary: You find out something unexpected which makes you worry. Luckily, your family is there on your side to protect you.

Author’s Note: Batmom deserves the world.

y/m/n = your mother's name

BatFamily Masterlist

Reader’s Pronouns: She/Her

Warnings: unexpected pregnancy, mentions of baby loss

Do not repost this anywhere!

You stared at the positive pregnancy test in front of you with a frown. You should be happy that you’re having a baby. You should be over the moon since this is what you have always wanted with Bruce. But after the last time, you felt scared now.

“Ummi? Are you okay? You’ve been in there for a while,” you heard Damien call out. You wiped the tears away before opening the door.

“Hey sweetie. I’m alright. What’s wrong?” You asked him.

“You were crying,” Damien pointed out.

“It’s nothing Damien. You hungry?” You asked as you rushed the two of you out of your bedroom.

Damien knew something was wrong but didn’t want to push it with you. He could always push his siblings and his father’s limits but he knew not to push yours. So he summoned a sibling meeting when you were gone with Alfred one time.

“What is it this time?” Jason asked annoyed.

“Ummi is upset and I’m not sure what it is,” Damien told them.

“Did something happen with her and Bruce?” Dick asked him.

“No. She was in the bathroom for a long time though. She came out with some tears on her face,” Damien explained.

“Why was she in the bathroom for a while?” Tim asked.

“Do you think she’s pregnant again?” Cassandra asked.

“Wouldn’t she be happy about it?” Jason pointed out confused.

“Dude. Remember what happened last time she was pregnant?” Duke reminded him.

“Oh. Right,” Jason said sadly.

“What should we do?” Stephanie asked.

“We should let her and Bruce talk first before they come to us. We don’t want to jinx anything and mom probably feels scared and worried about being pregnant again,” Cassandra told them. The rest of the kids nodded in agreement.

When Bruce came back home, he found you curled up in bed wide awake.

“You okay honey?” Bruce asked as he walked over to you.

“I don’t know,” you tell him.

“What’s wrong?” Bruce asked as he sat next to you. You sat up before wrapping your arms around him.

“I’m pregnant,” you said softly. Bruce hugged you back quickly as he pulled you onto your lap.

“Why aren’t you happy?” Bruce asked you.

“Because of what happened last time. What if we lose this one too?” You asked him as you began to tear up.

“Hey now. It’s going to be okay. If it makes you feel better, we’ll set up extra security and do better to keep the villains in Arkham,” Bruce told you.

“I don’t know Bruce. I’m so scared. I don’t want to lose this one too,” you tell him.

“Me neither. But we have each other. And I promise I’ll do anything to keep you and our baby safe.”

Bruce kissed your head before holding you tighter in his arms. He kissed your head once more before lifting your chin up so you could see him. Bruce kissed you gently on the lips before lying down on the bed, pulling you down with him.

“We’re going to be okay,” Bruce assured to you.

You stayed in bed the next day, not wanting to get out. Alfred brought you your breakfast while Bruce and the kids talked downstairs at the table.

“Why isn’t mom with us?” Tim asked.

“Your mom is having some issues right now and needs some time to herself,” Bruce explained.

“What did you do?” Jason asked him.

“I didn’t do anything bad. She just needs a moment to herself without any more worry.”

By dinner time, you were with your family at the dinner table. You sat on your seat as you took in a deep breath.

“I’m pregnant,” you announced out of the blue. Everyone looked at you in shock other than Bruce and Alfred.

“You are?!” Stephanie asked.

“Yes.”

“Which means we need to keep the villains away as long as possible,” Bruce told the kids. The kids agreed.

“Don’t worry mom. We’ll protect you even more this time,” Tim tells you.

“Thank you. But I think I want to be away from Gotham until I have the baby. I want to be somewhere safe and I can’t be safe here,” you explain.

“Bruce, are you okay with this?” Jason asked his adoptive father.

“I support whatever your mother thinks is best for her. Even if it means being away from Gotham.”

“Where would you stay mom?”

“Maybe back to my hometown. It’s much safer than here and it would be nice to be back with some friends and family I had back there,” you explain to them.

“And we can always visit your mother when we can or when she misses us,” Bruce tells the kids.

“So are you going to miss her giving birth?”

“No. I will be with your mother two months before the due date.”

“Is this what you want mom?”

“Yes.”

“Can we stay with you once in a while? For protection?”

“Of course. I’d love the company while I’m away.”

——

It had been nine months since you found out about your pregnancy. Bruce had been by your side for the last two months as he promised. And now, the kids and Alfred were walking up to your room where you had just given birth.

“You ready to lose the bet?” Dick asked Jason as they walked into the hospital.

“I’m not gonna lose,” Jason insisted.

“Uh huh. Sure.”

The moment the Wayne Family walked in, they found you holding your newborn baby in your arms while Bruce was sitting right next to you.

“Hey guys! Come in,” you say softly. Everyone walked into the room more to see the baby.

“How are you feeling Ummi?” Damien asked as he stood next to you.

“Feeling okay now. Everyone, meet the newest Wayne member of the family. Martha Y/m/n Wayne,” you introduced.

“We named her after our mothers,” Bruce tells everyone.

“Pay up,” Jason told Dick who frowned as he gave Jason twenty dollars.

“I have a sister?” Damien asked in shock.

“Yup.”

“I was hoping for a brother but she can still be a good fighter,” Damien said as he stared at his younger sister.

“Alfred, would you like to be the first to hold her?” Bruce asked him.

“I’d be honored to,” Alfred smiled. You handed Martha to Alfred as he held her in his arms.

While everyone took turns holding Martha, you took a quick nap, still feeling exhausted from giving birth. When you woke up, you saw Bruce holding Martha in his arms. He was having skin to skin contact with her as she slept.

“Where is everyone?” You asked.

“Went to grab some food for now.”

“Oh okay.”

“I’m proud of you honey,” Bruce tells you.

“We finally have a baby in the family,” you say with a sigh.

“We finally have a baby. Thank you.”

“For what?”

“For giving me a second chance and for a family.”

“I love you.”

“I love you too.”

[rustedhearts]

happy xmas (70s!steve harrington x fem!reader)

⊹₊ ˚‧︵‿₊୨୧₊‿︵‧ ˚ ₊⊹⊹₊ ˚‧︵‿₊୨୧₊‿︵‧ ˚ ₊⊹⊹₊ ˚‧⊹₊ ˚‧︵‿₊୨୧₊‿˚

summary: steve can't find a present for his girlfriend, so he asks the only other girl he knows: you. but searching for the perfect present for nancy turns into steve's chance to find the perfect present for you.

uses she/her pronouns and female anatomy.

⊹₊ ˚‧︵‿₊୨୧₊‿︵‧ ˚ ₊⊹⊹₊ ˚‧︵‿₊୨୧₊‿︵‧ ˚ ₊⊹⊹₊ ˚‧⊹₊ ˚‧︵‿₊୨୧₊‿ ˚

❅ the most wonderful time of the year ❅ the only living boy in indiana

tags: ignore that I think I messed up my own timeline, I literally do not care, fluff, mutual pining.

⊹₊ ˚‧︵‿₊୨୧₊‿︵‧ ˚ ₊⊹⊹₊ ˚‧︵‿₊୨୧₊‿︵‧ ˚ ₊⊹⊹₊ ˚‧⊹₊ ˚‧︵‿₊୨୧₊‿ ˚

recommended listening: silver joy, damien jurado

⊹₊ ˚ ₊⊹hawkins, indiana. december 23rd, 1975 ⊹₊ ˚ ₊⊹

Christmas break was a godsend this year. After your first semester in community college spent lugging textbooks from the library, and spending countless long evenings studying for exams, you needed the four blissful weeks at home. In silence. In bed.

Which is where you were, snuggled under a heavy pile of your warmest blankets pulled from the linen closet when the first snow fell—when the silence of your warm little home was interrupted by an incessant clanging. You shot up in bed, immediately craning to peer through your fogged-up bedroom window.

Your parents weren't due home until this evening. They still had to work, the poor bastards—but you had the whole place to yourself until then. And you planned on spending it alternating between your bed and the couch, where you'd spend an hour browsing through the TV guide for Christmas specials before deciding on one. Simply because you had absolutely nowhere to be and absolutely nothing to do.

Steve, on the other hand, did.

You huffed at the sight of him bounding down the front steps, kicking up tufts of snow as he went. He found the top of your head in the window and waved a gloved hand, beckoning you down. You groaned, fitfully kicking the covers to the end of your bed to march toward the window.

"Steve, I swear to God. I told you I'm having a day at home," you called down to him once the window was open.

The afternoon sun blared down on his wind-bitten cheeks, turned a rosy shade of pink. The wind billowed through his chestnut hair and pushed it off his forehead. God, he needed a new coat. New gloves, too. You spotted holes in both items, but knew well enough how much Steve cared about that wool-lined suede coat. Maybe your gift would be mending it for him. But lord knew how material Steve could be.

He cinched his brows together and cupped his hands over his eyes as he called up to you. "But I'm havin' a crisis! You have to help me."

Your fingers were catching cold curled over the windowsill, sitting in piles of icicles and last night's snow. In only the pajamas you went to bed in, you were in no place to stand in the open window and argue.

"Jesus," you huffed. "Just...come up, I gotta get changed."

You pulled back into your bedroom and shimmied the window shut with a rusty shriek. Steve grinned and jogged up the front steps toward the door. You scowled as you threw the covers over your rumpled bed, knowing you would not be enjoying the comfort and warmth of those clean sheets today like you'd hoped.

Instead, you discarded your pajamas and tugged on a pair of jeans and a sweater as Steve slammed the front door and headed upstairs.

"Okay, so—" Steve flung the door open and flopped on the end of your bed, boots discarded downstairs. "—I've been to like every store in town and I cannot find a present for Nancy."

You dropped the balled up socks in your hand and turned around, eyes narrowed at the boy hunched on your bed. "I am not going Christmas shopping for your girlfriend."

The pink returned to Steve's cheeks, eyes rounded like dough balls. "What? Come on, you're the only other girl I know!"

You scoffed, sitting on the carpet to roll your socks on. "That is not true."

He huffed, playing with the loose strings on his gloved fingers. "Well, no, but...you're the only one who can, like, help me. You and Nancy are really similar, you'll know what she likes!"

You adjusted the seam over your toes and glanced at Steve in your periphery. He truly did sound desperate. But that didn't change the fact that you'd have to spend the day you set aside to sleep and relax shopping for another girl. Steve's girlfriend, no less. The girl you weren't sure was right for your best friend anyway. Never mind the fact that she was a total priss, you were pretty sure she had feelings for another guy.

And Steve, with all his jealousy and possession issues, didn't seem to see it.

"We are not alike," you mumbled, plucking at the cotton of your socks.

"Whatever," Steve huffed. "Just...can you help me? It's gotta be something nice."

A deep breath ballooned in your chest. When you released it, it flung the hair out of your eyes. Steve watched you intently, socked foot bouncing on the floor. The wood beneath it squeaked in that spot, and the carpet muffled the sound to morph it into a groan.

You pushed off the floor and crossed your arms. "Fine. But you're buying me a pretzel at the mall. And a Pepsi."

Steve leapt to his feet, gloved hands outstretched to grab you by the shoulders. The grin on his face nuzzled into your cheek where he pressed a loud kiss.

"Yes, thank you. I'll buy you two! Okay, come on, come on."

He rushed the open door and hurried back downstairs for his boots. You sighed, pulling your discarded gloves and earmuffs from their place on your dresser.

"Come onnn!" Steve called from the bottom of the steps.

"Oh my god, I'm coming!"

⊹₊ ˚‧︵‿₊୨୧₊‿︵‧ ˚ ₊⊹⊹₊ ˚‧︵‿₊୨୧₊‿︵‧ ˚ ₊⊹⊹₊ ˚‧ ︵‿₊୨୧₊‿˚

"You know, why did you wait until two days before Christmas to ask me to help you, Steve?"

The pretzel you made Steve buy you before you even stepped foot into a store was perfectly soft and buttery. The salt tingled on your tongue beautifully, and it was almost enough to help smooth the irritation this whole dilemma caused.

Except it was two days before Christmas and the mall was packed. You had to shuffle through hordes of people and you were already sweating through your layers. Someone nearly pushed you near the candy store and a little girl sneezed on your shoes.

The pretzel was simply not enough to save you from all that.

"I thought I could find somethin' by myself." Steve shrugged, taking a sip of the Pepsi.

He got a large so you could share, but he was hogging most of it.

"What, nothing said Nancy to you?"

The pair of you rounded the corner near Orange Julius, where blenders whirred over the jingle of Christmas music emitting from Sears. The fluorescent lights were warmed with giant globes of soft white light and the trees of multi-colored bulbs. They had tinsel and garland and ornaments everywhere, and if you weren't so upset with Steve, you might've found it wonderful. Sears was your happy place, after all.

So if Nancy really was like you, she'd find something worthy of Christmas there, too.

"Not really. She's very....particular."

"Mm," you hummed, ripping off another bite of your pretzel. "Do you think I'm particular then?"

Steve shot you a look, brow quirked. "No, you're picky. There's a big difference."

"I am not!" you gasped, shoving at his padded arm. "I just...like what I like."

"Yeah. You're high maintenance."

You scowled into your pretzel, reaching over to snatch the Pepsi cup from his hand. "Hey."

"No, it's okay. It's what makes you, you," he assured, looping his arm around your shoulders to give you a shake, tucked into his side.

You huffed, attaching your mouth to the chewed-up straw. Steve's anxious affliction came in the form of an oral fixation, usually attached to a cigarette between his lips.

"I don't know how you put up with me," you droned dryly.

Steve chuckled, giving you a squeeze with his arm. "Ah, you're alright."

In Sears, you let Steve hold the Pepsi again as you roamed the aisles. You steered clear of appliances entirely, knowing Nancy likely didn't use hot rollers and certainly didn't need a blender for Christmas. You headed to the clothing department first, knowing from the catalog that came a few weeks ago that they had a pretty good selection this year.

"So, what's your budget, Harrington?"

Steve leaned against a stand and shrugged. "Dunno, whatever."

You raised a brow, peering at him over the neck of an argyle cable knit. "Oh, fancy man with his big boy job, huh?"

Steve rolled his eyes, gnawing on the straw again. "Whatever."

You folded the sweater and placed it back on the table, pulling the gloves off your fingers with your teeth. You tucked them in your coat pocket and moved onto the next table, peering through the selection of fabrics and options. Steve followed quietly, glancing casually but absently. You pulled the Pepsi from his hands when the straw chewing became loud.

"What about this?" he asked, pulling a fuzzy pink sweater up like roadkill, plucked between two fingers. "You think she'd like this?"

You hid your smile behind a sip of Pepsi. "Um...I guess, yeah."

"Well...would you wear it?" Steve held it out by the shoulders, letting the sweater hang loose.

You looked it over, tipping your head. "Probably not. But I don't really wear pink, I think Nancy does."

"Oh, right."

Steve placed it back on the table in a rumpled ball. You huffed, shoving the cup against his chest.

"What are you, a heathen? Fold it, Harrington, Jesus."

He was quiet a moment, watching you fluff and fold an item you didn’t plan to buy.

"Are you sure you don't wear pink?"

"Have you seen me wear pink?"

Hearing his sharp intake of know-it-all breath, you whirled around and added an addendum. "After the age of seven?"

Steve closed his mouth. You plucked the cup from his hand and flashed a tight-lipped smile.

"Exactly. Come on, let's go over here."

He followed you across the snow-slicked tile, boots squeaking as he went. He watched you pause and tip your head at a brown coat in the men's section, only to turn back toward the women's. He eyed it as he followed you blindly.

"What about you?"

You felt the sleeve of a plum-colored cardigan. "What about me?"

"What do you like getting for Christmas?"

You tossed him a bewildered glance. "You know I love my Mrs. Harrington popcorn tin every year."

Steve chuckled, twisting the plastic straw of the Pepsi cup between two fingers. "Yeah, but...I don't know, what's one thing you've always really wanted, but never got?"

You watched him twist the straw, and hung the sweater back on the rack. "Um...I don't know."

"Oh, come on. Like...you know I've always wanted that one super rare press of The Stones'—"

"Yes, Steve, I know."

Steve ignored your eye roll, taking one large step forward toward the jewelry case you were peering into. “Well, so, what’s your rare press? The one thing you really want?”

You glanced at him through your lashes, head still angled toward the array of rings and bracelets. Your cheeks illuminated by the fluorescents, fingers collecting the glimmer of a strand of lit garland wrapped around the glass of the jewelry case—it all suddenly made Steve begin gnawing at the Pepsi straw again.

"Why are you asking me this?"

Steve huffed, leaning back against the warm case until you pushed him off. "Jesus, is it so hard for you to answer one question?"

You straightened up again and stepped away from the jewelry. Nancy seemed like a jewelry girl, but you were becoming increasingly more frustrated in your search—though at this point, your eyes were simply grazing items. Everything that piqued your interest didn't seem like something Nancy was worthy of. And the mere thought of your spite for the girl gave you pause.

So, how could Steve be so sweet in this moment when you were standing there plotting revenge on Nancy Wheeler through means of shitty Christmas gifts?

"Fine," you mumbled. "Um...you know that I always think it's the thought that counts—"

"God," Steve groaned, tipping his head back dramatically as he followed you into the next department. "Okay, Mother Teresa."

Your elbow jammed into his side and caused Steve to yelp. "I mean it! Sure, I might be particular—"

"Picky—"

"—but just the thought of someone thinking of me, or having me in mind when they find something...that's what makes a gift special. You know? Like when you went to that bookstore in Indianapolis and got me that journal. You didn't get it because you knew I wanted it, you got it because it made you think of me."

Steve swallowed, grinding his teeth over the flimsy plastic of the straw. You twirled a coat around on its hanger and inspected the back. As your hand swept over the tweed, Steve felt the bite of pretzel he took crawling its way back up.

"So..." He tapped his tongue against the roof of his mouth, tasting the sweetness lining his cheeks. God, was he gonna be sick because of this?

And what was this? He knew it wasn't the normal, platonic ache all best friends of any gender felt. He knew it was abnormal, actually, to listen to you speak and suddenly feel so overcome with something that it made him want to flee. But what was that something?

It certainly couldn't be what he was thinking.

"Your rare press is...something thoughtful?"

You giggled, hanging the coat back up. The metal hanger shrieked over the rack. "No, I guess if I had to have a rare press, it'd be one of my grandma's handmade blankets. She made one for my mom and all her siblings when they went off to college or moved out, and...I don't know, I guess I'm still sad I'll never get my own now that she's gone."

When Steve only hummed, you turned to find him leaning against a tinsel-wrapped column near the aisle.

"I guess that's something thoughtful, too," you added.

Steve had the straw back in his mouth again, and he bobbed his head affirmatively. You turned away and scanned the store before you. You suddenly couldn't be here any longer, and when a bit of yellow caught your eye, you rushed for it.

It was a soft sweater, with embroidered flowers on the sleeves and tortoise shell buttons. You pulled one from the table and held it out to Steve, who had just caught up to you from across the store.

"What—"

"—here. Nancy looks nice in yellow. Something thoughtful, too."

Steve took the bundle of yellow in his grasp. You took the Pepsi cup, now mangled by his teeth and crushed by his hand, and took a sip through the gnawed opening.

"Come on, let's go pay. The lines are wrapped around already."

⊹₊ ˚‧︵‿₊୨୧₊‿︵‧ ˚ ₊⊹⊹₊ ˚‧︵‿₊୨୧₊‿︵‧ ˚ ₊⊹⊹₊ ˚‧⊹₊ ˚‧︵‿₊୨୧₊‿ ˚

⊹₊ ˚ ₊⊹ christmas eve. ⊹₊ ˚ ₊⊹

You watched through the fog of your living room window as Steve's BMW pulled into his driveway. He wore his nicer coat that day, buttoned snugly against his throat. At the passenger side, he offered his hand to an equally-bundled Nancy, dark curls billowing in the afternoon breeze. Their breaths echoed whitely against the grey sky, noses and cheeks already wind-whipped pink.

You let the curtains fall back into place when they disappeared through his front door.

"Honey, want to help me hang the popcorn?" your mother asked, holding a strand of popcorn and cranberry garland between two hands.

You pressed your socked feet into the carpet and met her near the tree. "Sure, mom."

And every walk around the tree to fix an ornament or fluff a branch, or tread to the dining room for a cube of cheese from the platter your parents set out for their friends later, came with a glance through the window toward Steve's house.

So, when the cheese began to curdle in your stomach, and the sound of Christmas carols crackling through your father's record player was not enough to distract you from what was going on next door, you went into the living room and peeked around the corner.

"Hey, mom? I think I'm gonna go lie down. Wake me when everyone's here?"

Your mother looked up from the tin of ornaments she was rifling through, placed on the floor at her knees. She had on her nicest tweed dress and white blouse, hair twisted and pinned neatly at the back of her head. The Christmas party was your parents' favorite event of the year. You wouldn't miss it out of heartache—but your body was calling you to bed.

"Oh, okay, sweetheart. Are you feeling alright?"

You nodded, flashing your most convincing smile. "Yeah, just tired from all that shopping yesterday. I'll see you guys in a bit."

And you crawled into bed, even in your dress. Tight-clad feet wiggled near the edge of the bed, nestled beneath the pile of blankets you abandoned yesterday. Their warmth weighed down on you blissfully. The crackle of your father's record player and the choir of the Christmas carols faded in the distance. The howl of the wind grew quiet as the afternoon lulled. It only whispered, softly, through the bareness of the trees and the cracks in your window.

Before you shut your eyes, you looked off toward the glass. The center fogged with the kiss between radiator heat and the frozen world outside. Snow gathered around the edges like lace border. From this angle, you could see only the spindly edges of the tree branch tops. How snow sat like dollops of whipped cream on their ends.

The world was quiet, cold, and empty. And it was exactly what you needed.

⊹₊ ˚ ₊⊹

Steve came when you were fast asleep. He knocked on the front door with a gloved fist, keeping his sloppily-wrapped gift behind his back. The grin on his face slipped when the door opened to your mother, who winced with a finger to her lips.

"Hi, Steven."

"Hi, Sandra. Is she around?"

"She's sleeping," she whispered, giving another wince.

Steve nodded, smile absent now. "Oh, okay. Um...do you mind if I just put this outside her door?"

Your mother looked at the lumpy shape in Steve's hands, wrapped in shiny red paper and a golden bow. Her wincing ceased instantly and she perked up with a grin.

"Oh, how lovely, Steven. You're such a sweet boy, you know?"

Steve chuckled, cheeks burning.

"You sure you don't want to just wait, give it to her tomorrow?" she asked.

Steve placed both hands around the present, gnawing on the inside of his cheek as he gazed down. "Um...no, that's okay. Kind of wanted her to have it tonight, and we're going to my grandparents' in a bit."

"Well, alright. Come on in, you can head up."

Steve thanked your mother and stepped inside. He shook his boots off on the mat and unlaced them quickly. He shook your father's hand, complimented the festivities of your home's first floor, and tiptoed toward the staircase.

The hallway darkened near your bedroom. He paused outside of the door, listening to the sounds of your home for a moment. Your parents conversing downstairs over the jazzy toot of a Christmas song. The heater rattling a little at the end of the hall. You gave no sign of life on the other side of the door.

So, Steve found himself opening it. Quietly, knowing it tended to whine on the hinges at a certain distance. He opened it just enough to slip through, and then found himself standing there. In the center of your bedroom, socked feet weighing down the carpet. You used to draw shapes in the fibers when you were younger, lying on your stomachs with your feet kicking behind you. You'd write each other messages in the pink, giggling when you guessed them exactly.

In your bed— cheek squished against a plaid pillow, hair fussed about, mouth open to breathe softly—you looked just like that little girl again. The one who called him Stevie. The one he spent afternoons that felt like years with.

It's strange how different time felt when you were children. How much more if it you had. How simple and unperverted it was, not yet burdened with the difficulties of life and that odd, aching feeling.

As Steve placed the lumpy present wrapped messily in red at the foot of your bed, he imagined that little girl opening it when she woke, and the smile on her face that he would never see.

It left him with an even bigger ache in his chest as he slipped back into the hallway and headed down for his boots.

But it would have pleased him to know that when you woke at four o'clock, and your bedroom was nearly dark with evening, you shuffled to sit and stared at that red present in wonder. You brought it to your lap and ran your finger over the scratchy glitter of the bright, gold bow.

There was a sticky note taped to the top, complete with what you instantly recognized as Steve's scraggly handwriting.

Your rare press.

— Steve

You chuckled softly, and tore the paper as carefully as you could. Before all of it had even been removed, goosebumps traveled beneath the sleeves of your dress. A gasp left your mouth, and you discarded the paper toward the other side of your bed to leave only your rare press in your hands.

Stripes of purple—an array of dark to light, boysenberry, violet, mauve, lavender—wove through gaps the size of tiny, feminine fingers. It was soft and heavy in your palms, exactly the weight of the one strewn over the couch in the living room. With the wavy edges of a Harrington afghan, seen in the many rooms touched by his grandmother.

Though yours was gone, Steve had one that loved to offer her magic hand.

You brought the blanket to your chest and hugged it close. Wonderfully, it smelled like Steve.

Leftover Winston, a warm amber musk, and the woodsy pine of a Christmas tree.

It was enough to make you get out of bed and lay the layers of blankets neatly. And folded just-so over the end of your mattress, you placed your purple present for all to see.

And it smelled wonderfully of Steve.

[waywardsalt]

in post-ph specifically a really old idea ive had is that linebeck is extremely, extremely possessive of his coat, but if in a situation where he fears he might actually die, he gives it to the person he trusts to save him, or he gives it to someone he cares about that seems to be on the brink of death

[charlietheepicwriter7]

Danny and Damien are twins au, but a slightly redeemed vlad makes Danny the CEO of Vlad Co and DALV and all his other shell companies. Danny is danny, he got pushed into this against his will and is very overwhelmed by CEO duties, so he reaches out to one of his father's sons, Timothy Drake-Wayne, for advice

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

So, danny definitely knows his heritage in this au. He was the spare to Damien's heir, and while their relationship was strained by the constant competition, they still love each other, even when Danny started to show more proficiency in infiltration and subterfuge than assassination. Damien and Danny have a huge fight before Danny leaves, with Damien swearing to never forgive Danny for his betrayal, while Danny is like "what betrayal??? I just cant bring myself to kill someone outside of self-defense??"

(One of the things I hate about Danny and Damien Twin AUs is this depiction that, just because (usually) Danny is unwilling to kill, that makes him weak and a traitor. You think the medical staff in the LoA are assassinating people? Or the lawyers? He's not useless, he's just not good as an assassin)

He was sent to the Fentons at like... seven? eight? to study how the Fentons are purifying lazurus waters from Jack and Maddie, both of whom are partly sponsored by the League of Assassins. He's also learning more about spying from Jack, surprisingly, because no one would expect him of being a top tier spy. He has the occasional mission as a child, but it's mostly shadowing Jack to learn how to spy.

Danny sends letters to both Talia and Damien regarding updates on his training and the Fenton's research, but after a year of no reply from Damien, it's only to Talia. He's feels super hurt by this, and abandoned by the LoA, but the Fentons are kind and familial, and Talia visits once a year. She's unwilling to risk visiting more often, lest she risk getting the JL or the Spiders attention, but sometimes she even manages to visit on his birthday!

(Meanwhile, Talia starts sending birthday assassins to kill Damien so she can spend their birthday with Danyal. She's a really hot and cold mom.

Talia: You can choose me, and have a birthday dinner. Or you can choose your father and have a birthday assassin. You're choice. )

When Slade blows up the LoA, Danyal is given permanent orders to remain as Daniel Fenton until Talia, and only Talia, brings him back to the League. No missions and only one letter every six months. But when Ra's comes back to life and the League is back in power, Talia... never tells Danyal. Because she's seen how happy Damien is being a normal child with their father and wants that for Danyal too. Plus, she wants to continue to have a good relationship one of her children, sue her bruce.

So Danny is completely convinced that the League is mostly gone other than his mother, her zealots, and knows that his brother is living with their father. and he's... relieved. His brother is safe, and his mom told him their grandfather was avenged, so Danny can just enjoy his life. Which he does.

He sends out his six month report days before the portal accident.

Canon stuff happens until Danny is sixteen and Vlad, the fruitloop, steps down as CEO and strong-arms Danny into becoming CEO in his place. Jack and Maddie (who at this point know [or have always known in Jack's case, adn Danny didn't appreciate his dad using his his poker face against him like that] about Phantom) are thrilled.

Vlad is using his "foster son" (Dark Danny, but in this idea, he's Dante Masters) as an excuse as to why he's stepping down, since Dante needs all the attention he can give as a "troubled youth". Danny secretly hopes Dante kills Vlad in his sleep, but signs the papers away.

And there's so much work.

Danny has some idea of what he's doing (Vlad co is a tech company and DALV is weapons manufacturing, plus vlad gave him a crash course on CEOing). Sam and Tuck even help! But he wishes there was someone who could understand the pain of being a CEO while still a teen. But... his father's son, his brother, is one such person. And even though the other would never know, he really wanted to get to know his other siblings. So Danny reaches out for advice to Timothy Drake-Wayne.

Tim is immediately on guard when this Damien clone walks into his office claiming to be the new Vlad Co CEO. The clone acts nothing like Damien, but he still thinks this Danny Fenton is a league plant.

His paranoia doubles when Damien freaks out and confesses that A) Danny is apparently his twin brother and B) that he's been with the League of Assassins this whole time. Damien, who really doesn't want to admit that the reason he forced himself to forget his brother was because said brother didn't want to kill people, says "Tch. I didn't want to associate with the likes of him, so I put him out of my mind." Tim now believes that he's dealing with a master assassin with a huge grudge against Damien and Danyal showing no signs of malicious or aggression in their meetings only convinces him that Danyal is a master actor too.

Which, Danyal is a master actor. But all that other stuff is just Tim reaching.

[chaengluva]

Dare

Regina George x Fem!Reader. 1.1k words (sorry its short)

This story will have a part 2

Regina gets dared to date the loser, no one thinks that she could make Y/n fall in love with her, (Resulting in a bet with Shane) Regina ends up doing the unexpected

Warnings: Nothing too extreme, just light bullying and mocking, slight mentions of death

"Let's play truth of dare!" Shane's voice echoed through Regina's house, she rolled her eyes, not wanting to play the stupid child game, but all of her friends agreed so she felt like she had too.

Everyone was seated in her living room and there was a bottle of the middle, making Regina roll her eyes again.

She sat down next to Aaron and Gretchen and the game began, and she groaned when shane spun the bottle and he landed on her, she didn't want to confess anything because the look on Shane's face was disturbing her just enough.

"Dare."  Regina said and Shane rolled his eyes in response, sitting back and thinking about a dare. "I got it!" He said. Everyone was excited as they waited for Shane to say his dare.

"I dare you. To make some pathetic loser to fall in love with you, and date them for 6 months." Shane said and Regina rolled her eyes in response, "Who?" Regina asks, knowing that the school is filled with pathetic losers, he thought for a few seconds.

"Y/n L/n." Shane smirked and Regina's heart dropped and her facial expression said it all, "Her? seriously! I'd rather Janis than her!" Regina exclaimed, making all of her other friends smirk.

"Oh so, you can't do it?" Aaron challenged and Regina quickly shook her head, "I never said that. I can make anyone fall in love with me." Regina smirked, taking a sip of her drink. "I bet she won't" Aaron said. "She may be a loser but she's not stupid."

Regina gasped, surprised that someone was betting against her. "Oh really? you want to bet on it?" Regina questioned, she was truly confused but she didn't sound it.

He nodded his head and they agreed on $200.

-

The next day Regina started with her plan to get you to fall in love with her, she of course couldn't just ask you out, she had to play it all smoothly.

You were a loser, you sat with Janis and Damien but you never really felt close with them, they knew each other a lot longer so you didn't blame them.

You walked to school, with your headphones resting around your neck as you got closer to the building. "Y/n." You heard someone say, you turned to where the voice was coming from and your eyes when wide when you saw Regina

"Oh- Hi Regina." You say nervously, mentally preparing yourself for what ever mean thing she will say. Regina smiles, looking down at you and smirking, "I want to sit with you at lunch." Regina said, and your eyes went wide, that's not what you were expecting.

"What?" You ask in disbelief, you thought it was some joke that she would mock about later but there was a look of seriousness on her face, so you agreed. She smiled, walking away and as soon as she was gone you mentally screamed to yourself.

When it was lunch time, you were sitting on your usual table, which was outside and you were worried that Regina would never come because you sit away from everyone else.

"Y/n." You heard someone loudly say, making you jump and turn back quickly, you relaxed when you saw Regina. "Sorry for scaring you." She laughs, you giggle back at her. "It's okay." You say, and she sits down next to you.

"What do you have for lunch?" Regina asks, looking over at the food in your hands. "Oh it's fried rice! Me and my dad made it together." You smile happily, but she just looks at you blankly, "You're close with your dad?" Regina asks and you nod your head quickly, smiling happily.

"Yes! He is my best friend.. well, my only friend." You say it a bittersweet tone, she just nods, eating her lunch. "Do you want to do out tonight?" Regina asks, you give her a questioned look, so she sighs, making herself more clear, "Like a date." She says, you nod quickly, making her giggle.

Then the bell rings and you quickly head off to class, as soon as you were out of her sight Regina gets up and walks to Shane. "You will be giving me that $200, we are going on a date."

Shane scoffs, "Nope, you have to date her for 6 months, remember." Regina groans, "She's so weird! She's best friends with her father." Shane smirks, walking closer to Regina, "So you give up?" Regina rolls her eyes, stepping closer to Shane. "I never said that."

With that she walks away, tossing her hair, making shane gang and the strands of hair that got in his mouth.

When school ended, you usually would walk with your back slouched, but you were to happy.

You got home, excited to tell your dad the happy news.

"Dad! I have a date!" You said happily, he cheered back, matching your energy and happiness.

"I have to get ready!" You say, running upstairs into your room.

You look inside your closet and smile when you see the perfect dress. It was blue and silver, it was your mom's dress, you loved it.

You walked downstairs, changed, make up and hair done, your dad shed a few tears when he saw you in the dress, memories of your mom flowing through his head. "Aw, please don't cry." You say, walking up to give him a hug.

"I remember when your mom wore this dress, it was on our first date too." your dad smiles, taking out his phone and pulling out some pictures of the two of them. "I miss her." Your dad frowns and you sigh, hugging him again, "I do too."

A knock on the door interrupted the special moment between you and your dad, you nervously pulled away and walked to answer the door, you gasped when you opened it, Regina looked amazing.

"Ready?" She asked, putting out her hand, you nodded it and she grabbed it, walking you to her car.

She took you to this restaurant, one in the extremely rich part of town.

"Why did you ask me out?" You say, genuinely curious. Regina had a lot of experience with lying, so a made up story rolled off her tongue naturally. "I've always liked you, but i was afraid to come out so i tried to ignore my feelings."

You nod, smiling slightly to yourself as you look down at the menu, "The pasta looks good." You say, Regina looks up and smiles, "I was just thinking that!" She says, eyes looking straight into yours.

The two of you spend hours talking, Regina felt happy she didn't have to talk about social media and boys. She could talk about things that truly interest her, and have someone that would listen to her, and you were a very good listener.

Oh no, This wasn't supposed to happen.

Regina George was falling for you.

[not-neverland06]

Bad Day

part two

Bo Sinclair x fem!reader, Vincent Sinclair x fem!reader (not together, I don’t do that twincest shite) A/N: I don’t usually think about slashers until Halloween, but I’ve just had House of Wax brainrot for the past two weeks, so I wanted to get this out Warnings: graphic descriptions of violence (barely) Summary: Stranded on the side of the road with shitty friends, you’re forced to visit Ambrose, home of the infamous House Of Wax. Unfortunately for you, you manage to catch the attention of not one, but two of the Sinclair brothers.

“Hey, what’s that noise?”

Sarah looks over her shoulder at you and shrugs. “What’re you talking about?”

You roll your eyes and tap Dean on the shoulder, he grunts, the best answer you’ll get from him. “Pull over, I think something’s wrong with the car.” He gives you a questioning glance over his shoulder but shrugs and pulls onto the side of the desolate road. 

You could hear the rest of your friends pulling up behind you in their truck as you hopped out. You walk to the front of the car, popping open the hood and immediately regretting it as a cloud of smoke blasts you in the face. “Shit,” you hiss, backing up and fanning the air in front of your face. 

“Oh, fuck,” the angriest you’d ever heard your stoic friend Dean, and his voice was still barely above a whisper. Alison, Owen, Gwen, and Damien hopped out of their truck and came rushing over to the three of you. 

“What’s going on?”

“Something’s wrong with Y/N’s piece of shit car.” You rolled your eyes at Sarah’s bitchy attitude, you don’t know why you agreed to this trip. You barely like any of them, they were horrible people and worse friends. You’re pretty sure the only reason they invited you was because Owen’s truck couldn’t fit all of them and you were the only one they knew with a big enough car for the rest. 

“I saw a sign, some place called Ambrose, we could try there. Might have someone who could help.”

You all glanced at each other, each of you trying to come up with a solution, but nothing was better than Owen’s suggestion. What's the worst that could happen?

Your car had managed to make it long enough to get to some campground, you really hadn’t been willing to just abandon it on the side of the road to be stolen. Now, you all sat in the grass, debating who should head into town. 

“Y/N should go. It’s her car.”

“Thank you, Allison,” you glared at her, “but I’m not willing to go into some strange town all on my own.”

Owen let out a loud sigh before he reluctantly said, “I’ll go with you.” You were overwhelmed by his kindness. Not. 

There was a high pitched scoff and you glanced over to see Allison glaring at her boyfriend. “You volunteered real quick.”

“Ally-”

She held up a hand and walked off, struggling slightly over the damp ground with her heels. Owen trailed after her, offering you a barely there apology as he left you with everyone else. You were acutely aware of how none of them would meet your eye. 

Up ahead, Ally was laying into Owen, probably another fight because she always thought he was trying to sleep with someone else. It didn’t take you long to realize you were on your own. You really hated these people. 

You stood up, shooting dirty looks over your shoulder as you started towards the woods Owen had determined would take you to Ambrose. “Thanks babe!”

You flipped Gwen off and kept walking. You grumbled to yourself as you tripped down the steep hill and cussed each of them out every time your foot sank into mud. The further down the hill you got the worse it was starting to smell. 

At first it was just musky and you assumed the stifling atmosphere was from the humidity. Then it started to really stink, putrid, rotting flesh stink. You gagged slightly the closer you got to the source of the smell. Your stomach was twisting and turning and you thought the skin inside your nose was burning as you tried to breath through your mouth. That only seemed to make it worse. Now you could taste the rot, feel it spilling down your throat.

“Y/N, wait!”

You jumped, looking over your shoulder at Owen approaching you, the rest of your friends behind him. The distraction cost you, though, your foot got twisted in a root and you let out a loud yelp as you went flying headfirst down the hill.  

“Oh, shit!” You could hear them laughing behind you as you rolled down the hill, your ribs and elbows busting against random rocks and roots. You hissed in pain when you finally came to a stop, already feeling a dozen different scrapes all along your body. 

You went to sit up but your hand sank into something soft and gooey, and oh god you were going to lose your lunch. 

You actually did throw up in your mouth, swallowing it with a burn as you scrambled desperately to get out of whatever putrid pit you were stuck in. You glanced around, finally coming across the source of the smell, dozens of carcasses surrounded you. Some of them so rotted you couldn’t even tell what animal it was anymore. 

You screamed as your hand finally found purchase on something. You glanced down at the hand wrapped around your own and shot up, your feet slipping and sliding against the gore. Two hands wrapped around your biceps and helped you, finally. 

You grasped onto the arms of whoever had you and practically leapt onto them in your attempt to escape. They pulled you away from the pit and you let out a shuddering sigh. “Thank you.”

You glanced up, finally getting to see the face of your savior. He had yellowed teeth, a sweat stained tank top on, and a very adorable smile as he patted your shoulder and backed off. “You alright?”

You let out a strained, “mhm,” as you attempted to catch your breath and not vomit on his feet. “There-“ you covered your mouth as bile rose up. You pointed towards the pit, taking in a deep breath, “Hand. Human hand.”

The man titled his head in confusion before walking over to the pit and digging around where you just were. You winced at the sound of squelching before he managed to reveal the hand once more. You jumped as he grabbed onto it, he laughed as he tugged at it until there was a loud pop and the hand came loose. 

“Anyone need a hand?”

Your friends, who had been standing at the top of the pit watching you struggle, stared at him with varying expressions of disgust. You let out an awkward laugh, relieved it had only been a mannequin and nothing worse. 

He turned around at the sound of your laughter and gave you another goofy smile. “Thank god,” you breathed. 

He came back towards you, completely unbothered by the death around him. “Sorry ‘bout your clothes.”

You glanced down at your shirt and grimaced, it was completely covered in brown blood and old bits of roadkill. “Not your fault.” You glanced towards the back of his truck, seeing old blood in the bed of it and realizing this is where he dumped the animals people hit on the highway. 

“Hey!” You both jumped at the booming voice and looked over to see Owen hopping awkwardly down the hill, skirting the dead bodies, and coming to stand next to you. The others hovered further behind. “You know where Ambrose is?”

The man ignored him, glancing at you. “That where you were heading?” You nodded and he scoffed, “Woulda been walking a long way. ‘Bout fifteen miles up the road.”

You elbowed Owen in the side and glared at him, “You said it was close!”

He rubbed his side and shrugged, “I don’t know, guess the walk was longer than I thought.” He evaded making any eye contact and stared at his shoes. You rolled your eyes, what an asshole. 

“I could give you a ride.”

You blanched at the man's suggestion, he seemed nice enough, but you really weren’t eager to get into a stranger’s truck. “No need, we’ll just take Owen’s truck.”

He shrugged, “Alright. But good luck getting in, there’s only one way to town and it’s not on any map.”

You let out a deep sigh, this day is just getting better and better. “We won’t be bothering you?” He shook his head and walked towards his truck, opening up the passenger door for you. 

You gave him a tense smile before digging your fingers into Owen’s arm and dragging him behind you. “You’re coming with me, don’t bother arguing.”

“Owen?” Allison shouted after him. 

The man answered before Owen could, “I’ll come back for y’all. Don’t you worry!” Something about the smile he shot at them, it was different than the one he’d directed towards you, there was something swimming between his yellowed teeth and honeyed smile. His eyes glittered with malicious intent and you shivered when he looked back at you. 

You didn’t really have another choice, you’d have to follow him. He, apparently, was the only one who could get you into town. You forced a kind smile on your face and thanked him as he helped you up in the truck. “I hope I don’t stink up your seats too bad,” you added as he rounded the front. 

You’d realized you’d spoken too soon when you actually got a chance to smell the interior of his truck. You clutched the seat as your eyes bulged out. Somehow, the inside was worse than the pit outside. 

“Don’t worry about it,” he said as he hopped in the truck. You heard Owen groan under his breath beside you as he slammed the truck door close. 

“Shit,” he hissed, clutching his stomach and trying not to make a big deal about how fucking awful the truck smelled and felt. 

“I’m Lester,” the man told you, offering a hand for you to shake. You paused on holding your breath to tell him your and Owen’s names. “You’ll want to find Bo when we get into town. He’s the mechanic, he’ll be able to fix you up.”

You clutched the edge of the seat for the rest of the ride, trying to remain polite as you made small talk with Lester, but you could only hold your breath for so long. He seemed to pick up on your discomfort and rolled the windows down, “AC don’t work no more.”

“Maybe Bo could fix it.”

He glanced up at you, eyes lighting up like he’d never thought of that before. “Yeah! Maybe he could!” He let out a goofy laugh, slapping his thigh and smiling at you. “I ain’t never thought of that before.”

You let out a weak chuckle, the reaction was pretty extreme for something as simple as suggesting you got to a mechanic for car problems. Owen shifted uncomfortably in his seat, “Fuckin’ Christ.” He muttered, glancing at Lester out of the corner of his eye and shaking his head. 

You elbowed him again, ignoring his noise of pain and silently threatening him to shut up. You understood that Lester might stink and have strange reactions, but Christ, he was giving you both a ride fifteen miles out of his way. He could be a little more appreciative. 

“Alright,” the truck slowly rumbled to a stop. “We’re here.”

You glanced at Lester and then the clear lack of town through the windshield. “Um, what?”

He chuckled slightly, “It’s around the bend. Truck can’t go over that, though.” You followed the direction of his gaze and lifted yourself from the seat to see a little creek and a broken bridge. “Go ahead and I’ll go back for your friends.”

Owen opened the door, practically flying out of the truck. He took in deep and dramatic inhales as the stifling Louisiana air hit him in the face. You rolled your eyes at him and turned back towards Lester, “Thank you so much for the help.”

He gave you a strange look, not quite mean but not very friendly, “Don’t thank me yet.” You had barely closed the door before he was peeling off. 

You turned towards Owen but he just shrugged, “I don’t know man, I just want to get the fuck out of here.”

You nodded, turning towards the creek, “Agreed.”

You were thankful you’d chosen a black tank top, the sun was beating directly down on you and you were pretty sure you had already sweat through every layer you had on. You were desperate for a hair clip or rubber band or literally anything to get your hair off your neck. Another minute sweating like this and you were just going to chop it all off. 

“Hey, up there.”

“Finally!” You and Owen both sped up, rushing towards the auto shop, eager to get somewhere with air conditioning. But when Owen tried the door it wouldn’t budge, he pulled and pushed, wiggled it way too many times and you snapped. “It’s locked, dipshit!”

“Think I don’t know that?” He snapped back. 

You crossed your arms and glared at him, “Then let it go and give up.” He let out a pissy sigh and whirled around, canvassing the rest of town. His eyes landed on the small chapel and he nudged you, pointing at it.

“Maybe there’s someone in there.”

You followed hesitantly after him as he walked towards it. The closer you got the louder the voices inside were. “Wait, Owen, I think there’s a service going on. We shouldn’t just barge in.”

He rolled his eyes and ignored you, throwing the door open without care and glaring inside. You shriveled up in embarrassment when you saw a man kneeling at the front of the chapel. You dared a step closer and winced, he was kneeling in front of a coffin. 

God, you guys looked like such assholes. “I’m sorry,” you muttered, grabbing Owen by the collar of his shirt and yanking him back outside. You shoved him down the steps and he stumbled, glaring at you. 

“Y/N, what the hell?”

“It was a funeral service you jackass!” You hissed back at him, unwilling to raise your voice and further disrupt those poor people’s mourning. You were halfway across the street when you heard the door behind you open. 

You tensed up, mentally preparing yourself to face whoever had decided to scold you both. “Can I help you folks?” You turned at the sound of a smooth southern accent and felt heat rise to your cheeks. Well, more heat, you were about as hot as you could get right now. 

But the man in front of you seemed perfectly comfortable in his all black suit, glaring down at you both from the top of the stairs. You were a little ashamed how attracted to him you were. He was mourning, attending the funeral of someone who was probably close to him and you were drooling over how good he looked in a suit. 

To be fair, he did look very nice in a suit. 

“I am so sorry, sir, I tried to stop him.”

Owen nudged you slightly, “Shut up, Y/N.” You glared at him but he just crossed his arms and looked down his nose at the man in front of you. “We’re looking for Bo. You seen him?”

The man’s voice was full of anger as he sneered at Owen, “You’re talkin’ to him.”

Owen glanced back at you, a mean look on his face. “Her car broke down, can you fix it?”

Bo scoffed, staring down at Owen with a disgusted expression. You knew what he was thinking, how demanding and dickish Owen was. Especially when he knew what Bo had been doing only moments before. You intervened before Owen could dig a deeper hole. 

“Don’t worry about it, sir. I’m really sorry we interrupted you.”

“Y/N-”

“Shut up before I make you,” you leveled Owen with a glare. You let the group get away with a lot, talking shit to you and about you constantly. You didn’t really care enough to stop them, but you weren’t about to let him continue to disrespect the only person who could actually help you out of this hellhole. 

Owen seemed to get the message and scoffed, walking off with an attitude. Though, he didn’t have anywhere to go considering pretty much every business was closed. So he stood in the street, kicking at gravel like a toddler. You rolled your eyes and turned back to Bo, a little surprised to find him already staring down at you. 

You couldn’t decipher the look he was giving you, but it didn’t make you feel very comfortable. Though, that could just be the anxiety from your rude companion. “Sorry, again.”

You turned around, ready to walk back to the others, when he stopped you. “I’ll help you!” 

You glanced back at him, eyebrows raised in surprise. “Really?”

He nodded, “Give me a little while to finish up here and I’ll meet you at the shop.”

You nodded, a smile slowly rising on your lips. Maybe this day wasn’t completely lost. “Of course, take your time, thank you so much, seriously.”

He nodded, still looking unimpressed. “Uh-huh. Uh, you could check out the House of Wax, might make the time pass quicker.”

You nodded again but he didn’t bother waiting for a response, already heading back inside the church. He left just in time for the rest of the group to come walking up the street. Owen ran towards them, leaving you behind. You noticed a clear lack of Gwen or Damien and figured they’d stayed behind with the cars or something. 

You caught up with them just as Owen finished filling them in on what was going on. “So we have to wait?” Sarah whined, practically stomping her feet. 

“Yes, because he’s currently burying someone,” you deadpanned. You glanced towards the building towering over the town on top of a hill. “But we can always check out the House of Wax.”

”Yippee,” Allison mumbled sarcastically. 

You broke off quickly from the rest of the group, immediately embarrassed by how they behaved in the museum. Owen had started off strong, catcalling one of the wax women and groping her. You wandered towards the back of the building, a figure of a dog catching your attention. You hadn’t seen any other animals in here. 

Wow, its fur looked so realistic. 

You knelt down, getting closer, and shot back in fear as it barked at you. You let out a loud yelp as you landed on your ass, watching the very real dog growl at you. 

“Holy shit, did not think you were real.” You held up your hands in surrender, “Good girl, it’s okay.” After a minute she stopped growling and slowly moved towards you. You smiled as you pet her, running your fingers through her fur and laughing when she licked your hands. ”Aren’t you sweet?”

You heard a creak in the doorway behind her and your head shot up. A man loomed over you, a wax mask over his face and long black locks hanging over his shoulders. “Hi,” you whispered, completely thrown off by his appearance. 

“Do you work here?”

Nothing. 

He had to, if the mask was anything to go by, maybe it was like some outfit they made the employees wear. You glanced down at his hands, you could see wax covering them and sculpting tools in the belt slung around his hip. “Oh, are you an artist?” You asked, tone a little more excited. 

He tilted his head, and you felt your heart speed up when he stepped closer. The dog left you, walking over to him with her tail wagging and tongue lolling out the side of her mouth. He reached down, not breaking his stare with you, and pet her lightly. 

You got to your feet, trying not to show how uncomfortable he was making you. Finally, he nodded. 

“Well,” you stuttered slightly over your words, tongue tied with anxiety. “They’re all amazing. I accidentally bumped into one and apologized because I thought it was real,” your words trailed off with an awkward chuckle. “I even thought your dog was real, she scared me half to death when she moved.”

God, kill me now, this had to be the most awkward one sided interaction you’ve ever had with someone. “D-,” you cleared your throat, trying to get your voice to stop cracking. “Did you do this?” You pointed to the scene behind you, a family eating dinner at a dusty wooden table.

He shook his head, slowly lumbering past you and lifting the woman’s hair. You took a hesitant step forward and peered at the back of her neck where he was pointing. 

TS was carved into the wax. “TS?” Your eyes narrowed before it finally clicked in your head. “Trudy Sinclair?” He nodded and you smiled. “Oh, yeah, I saw an article about her up front. She’s the woman that runs the museum, right?” Another nod. Maybe he was mute. Maybe he wasn’t some freaky serial killer that was about to use that scalpel in his belt to slit your throat. 

Please just be extremely socially awkward. 

“Whole place is wax,” you dumbly pointed out, because clearly he knew that. “Pretty impressive.” He straightened up, moving the woman’s hair back in place and carefully brushing it out with his fingers. The care in which he treated the mannequin was a little off putting, he was acting like she was living and breathing, something to be coddled. “Um,” you stopped staring at his hands, focusing once again on his waxed face. “What’s your name?”

He took a step forward, then another and another until he was standing right in front of you, sharing the air you breathed. You couldn’t help but gulp, feet glued to the floor as the dark holes in his mask burned into you. In your peripheral you watched as his arm stretched out and winced slightly, prepared for a hit or stab or something. 

But it just hovered in the air, after a moment you realized he was pointing at something. You turned around and found a signature scrawled into another wax figure. 

Vincent

“Vincent,” you let out a sigh of relief and held out a hand, giving him your own name. After a moment he took your hand, grip tight to the point that it hurt. But he didn’t shake it like you’d expected, instead he moved his hand up your arm, digging his fingers into your forearm and dragging you back to the front door. You whimpered when he opened the door and threw you outside. 

You clutched your forearm to your chest, rubbing the forming bruises as the door slammed in your face. “Well, fuck you too then,” you muttered under your breath. You turned around glancing down the street and seeing Allison and Owen already walking towards the auto shop. You bound down the steps and run after them, panting when you finally catch up. 

“Where’s Sarah and Dean?”

Allison snorted, “Said they found a bed upstairs.” She glanced at you, “I think you can put two and two together.”

Your nose wrinkled and you groaned, “That’s disgusting. The guy that runs the place is literally in there.”

“Don’t be a prude,” Owen admonished. “They’re just screwing around.”

You glanced back at the House of Wax, seeing a figure moving in the window of the upper floor and shook your head. Jackasses. 

Bo was waiting for you all at the door of the auto shop. He was still in his black suit, except this time he had an easygoing grin on his face. A complete 180 from the man who looked ready to rip Owen’s dick off for interrupting a funeral. 

He gave you a particularly large smile as you approached, holding the door open for you as you entered the shop. You didn’t get the relief you were hoping for, the air in here almost as stifling as it was outside. It was maybe two degrees cooler. Whatever, you’d take what you could get on such a shitty day. 

“You know what the problem is with your car, sweetheart?” 

It took an awkward moment of silence to realize he was talking to you. When you looked up from the floor you saw his gaze drilling into yours, not missing the way his eyes flitted down to your low cut top and then back up. You couldn’t really blame him, you’d been eyeing him since he introduced himself. 

“Um,” you glanced towards Owen. “What did Dean say it was?”

He rubbed the back of his neck, an unsure look on his face. “Something about a hose.”

Bo nodded, sucking on his teeth before he went to the back of his shop. You rocked back and forth on your heels, ignoring the other two who were wandering around his shop and whispering to themselves. “Hey, honey, you mind comin’ back here a minute?”

You peered around the doorway and saw Bo bent over rummaging around in some boxes. “Me?”

He looked over his shoulder and chuckled, “Who else?”

You were about to step forward when you heard Allison hiss your name. You turned around and she pulled her top down mouthing ‘maybe he’ll give you a discount,’ pointing to your own shirt and laughing. You crossed your arms reflexively, covering your breasts from her view and tugging your shirt higher up to be petty. She rolled her eyes, clearly called you a prude, and turned back around. 

You really needed new friends. 

You walked into the back of Bo’s shop, taking in the different tools and boxes along the walls. “What’s up?”

“Any of these look right?”

You glanced down at the hoses he had laid out, the blood draining from your face when you realized you did not know anything about your car. You really hadn’t even known a hose was a thing until today. “Um, I’m not sure.”

“Well,” he started, losing some patience as his tone took a curt edge. Your stomach toiled with anxiety, not liking the idea of him getting pissed at you. “You know what size ya need?” 

You cleared your throat, “Owen!” You called out the door, you heard a grumbled what in response. “You know what size I need?”

“Two and a half!”

You missed Bo sliding a hose under his work table as you turned back around, scanning the tags and frowning when you saw he didn’t have the right size. “There’s a two, would that work?” You asked, picking the hose up and holding it out to him. 

His tongue poked into his cheek and he shook his head, “‘Fraid not, sweetheart.”

“Shit,” you placed the hose back down and rubbed your face, wincing as you remembered you were still covered in innards. “Ugh, gross,” you pulled your hands away from your face and could already feel streaks of blood on your cheeks. 

Bo chuckled and reached for a clean rag off his work table. He gave you a charming smile and wiped the blood off your face. You tried not to let yourself be too affected by how close he was, but it was hard, really, really, hard. So, as you always do in situations you don’t know how to handle, you blabber. 

“House of Wax was really cool,” you mumble.

“Hm,” he hums, not interested at all as his gaze darts down to your lips. 

“Yeah, the guy, Vincent, I don’t think he liked me very much,” you let out a barely audible laugh, remembering his harsh treatment as he tossed you out. 

Bo froze, his eyelids dropping slightly as the tender look on his face melted away, replaced by something you didn’t understand. Or didn’t want to understand. The hair on the back of your neck was standing up as goosebumps traveled along your arms. You weren’t cold, not in the slightest, this felt like something else. Like an instinctual response to a predator. 

You backed away a step, no longer feeling comfortable being so close to him. “What’d you say?” His voice was low, so low you could almost mistake it for a growl. 

“Um,” you swallowed harshly, throat parched and lips completely dried by the humidity. “Vincent,” you didn’t like how small your voice was. Didn’t like how quickly the atmosphere had shifted from something charged to something dangerous. “He- he showed me some wax sculptures and then he tossed me out.”

“You saw Vincent?” You nodded, backing a step further when he approached you. He noticed and let out a low laugh, the grin returning, but there were entirely too many teeth. “You say anything? ‘Bout his mask? How quiet he was?” He probed, his tone almost teasing like he wanted you to say Yeah, called him a freak and laughed at him. Like he wanted to use your response as an excuse for something. 

You shook your head quickly, “No. No, of course not,” you were quick to defend yourself, trying to sound as sincere as possible. You didn’t want him to think you were as rude as your traveling companions. “I thought maybe all the museum workers had to wear those. Like a theme or something. And,” you stumbled slightly over your words as he moved towards you again. You stepped back towards the doorway, trying to get back in the view of the others. “And I can be pretty quiet myself, I didn’t think it would be kind to pry.”

He finally stopped, but it wasn’t enough to calm you down. You still could feel your heart pounding against your chest, going so fast you felt a little dizzy. You weren’t an idiot, you knew how risky it was approaching so many strange men in one day. But you had been trapped, like a mouse dropped in a maze, constantly searching for a way out. 

You’d had no choice but to accept help from all the people you’d interacted with in this town, but you didn’t forget how much danger they could pose to you and your friends. You were all too aware of how stupid it was to be in a room with this stranger. 

This stranger who switched between masks so fast you got whiplash. Just as quickly as it had disappeared, his smile was back, still just as handsome, but no longer disarming. He shrugged, “Vincent doesn’t show himself to anyone, really. Just a little curious, that’s all. And that mask is all him, sweetheart.”

“Right,” you forced a smile, moving out of the way so he could walk back into the main part of the shop. 

He clapped his hands together, getting the attention of the others. “Sorry folks but I don’t got the parts you need here.”

Allison and Owen both let out loud groans, their voices blending together in anger as they harassed Bo for not having the one car part they needed. You winced as they yelled at him, demanding to know how he even called himself a mechanic if he didn’t have one simple part. You could see Bo’s patience leaving him again, jaw clenching and teeth grinding together. 

“Shut up!” You shouted, glaring at them from behind Bo. “Jesus, act your fucking ages,” you muttered, storming past Bo and going to stand near them. You didn’t bother looking at any of them, despite the stares you could feel boring into you. 

“Thank you,” Bo mumbled before his voice rose again. “As I was sayin’ I got some parts up at my house. Only about a ten minute walk, you could use the bathroom, clean up, I’ll see if I have what you need.”

Allison and Owen shared a look before turning towards you, the both of them huddling around you. “I don’t want to go anywhere near that freak’s house. He’s probably got some redneck sex dungeon.”

“Allison,” you admonished, looking over her shoulder to make sure Bo hadn’t heard. He seemed preoccupied with something under his desk. “Shut up, he’s being nice and putting up with our shit. I mean, he just buried someone guys, and he’s still trying to help. Least you could do is be respectful.”

Allison huffed and sighed and rolled her eyes before finally nodding, “Fine. But I’m using you as a human shield if shit goes south.”

“Fine by me,” you muttered, pushing away from them both and smiling at Bo. “If you don’t mind, we’d love to go.”

He nodded, smiling at you before walking to the door. He opened it but he didn’t leave until he threw over his shoulder, “Don’t worry, if I was taking anyone to my dungeon it’d be this one.” You squeaked as he pinched your waist and walked out. 

Allison scoffed, like she was offended, and followed after him. 

“So,” Bo started, slowing down so you could catch up to him. You sped up slightly, matching his stride and giving him a small smile as he stared at you. “What’re you doin’ with these jackasses?”

You couldn’t stop a snort from slipping out at his blunt language. You glanced behind you, watching Allison and Owen bicker about something and turned back towards him, shrugging. “I don’t know, they needed my car and I wanted to get out of the house, I guess.”

“Well, how long you been friends?”

“Not long, I met Allison a year ago and I guess I just started hanging around them.”

“You don’t seem to get along real well.” It wasn’t a question, it was a statement, a fact in his eyes that you didn’t belong with them. And he was probably right, you hated them, they hated you. 

“Only reason I’ve stuck around this long is ‘cause I don’t have anyone else.”

You didn’t notice how he perked up, how quickly he tuned into the loneliness in your words and pounced. You should have, for someone so perceptive and paranoid, but you were too busy grimacing at a chunk of dead something in your shorts pocket. 

“No one? No family? No other friends? No one to notice-” He cut himself off, once again sending you a smile, though this one seemed more sympathetic than anything. Like he knew your pain and could relate to it. 

“Yeah, no one.”

“Hm,” he offered nothing else. Just another hum and a nod as you approached the house at the top of the incline. He walked up to the front door, unlocking it, and turning around to survey you all. “Anyone need the can?”

Owen stepped forward, Allison clinging to his arm with a paranoid look on her face, eyes darting all around the perimeter of the house. Bo glanced behind them at you, “Sweetheart?”

“No, I’m good, thanks.” He might be charming but there was no way in hell you were just gonna wander in blind to his house. 

“You sure? I could give you a change of clothes.”

Before you could figure out a polite way to decline again, Allison had grabbed onto the strap of your tank top and was dragging you up the porch. “Please, fuck, I can’t stand the smell anymore.”

You ripped your arm out of her grasp, jumping as the door slammed closed behind you. For a moment the house stayed dark, no light and no noise other than the sound of your breathing. Then you heard a click and light shone down on a cluttered living room and outdated kitchen. 

“Sorry, haven’t had time for the maid,” Bo muttered sarcastically. He turned towards you, motioning you forward and, reluctantly, you followed. “Bathroom’s down the hall to the left.” Owen nodded, heading down the hallway while Allison stayed planted by the door. 

“I’ll show you my room and you can get changed.”

”Thanks,” you followed him wearily up the stairs, jumping every time the old wood creaked. “I really appreciate this, I know we’ve bugged you a lot today.”

”Yeah, you have.” You frowned, taken aback by how honest he sounded. In your defense, he had offered up his house to you guys. He turned around and must’ve seen the disgruntled look on your face because another grin broke out and he laughed, “I’m messin’ with ya. Relax, it’s no trouble at all for such a pretty lady.”

He opened up the door at the top of the stairs and stepped inside. You heard him moving around, drawers opening and slamming shut before he emerged again a pile of unfolded clothes in his hand. “Here, you can use the room to change.”

You nodded and stepped inside, quick to lock the door behind you. You waited until you heard his footsteps going back down the stairs to strip out of your clothes and change. You moved as quickly as you possibly could, a little paranoid that he had cameras in his room or something, watching you. 

You weren’t sure what had changed. Maybe it was Allison’s insistence that he actually had a sex dungeon, or that you were in a stranger’s room, but you felt scared. You felt watched and uncomfortable and like you wanted to get the hell out of here as quickly as possible, put Ambrose in your rear view and never look back. 

You held up the shirt Bo had left you and frowned. It was big, much bigger than he was. This didn’t seem like something he would own, the fitting all wrong, this seemed like something that belonged somewhere else. To someone else. 

You stared at it a moment longer before shaking the thought away and pulling the button up over your arms. As you worked on the last button you realized he hadn’t left you with any pants. Hopefully just a simple oversight on his part. It went down to your thighs, so it’s not like you were completely exposed. You’d just pretend you were wearing a dress. 

Your eyes scanned the room, you would go through his drawers and look for some pants but it didn’t feel right to dig around in his stuff. The room itself was a clusterfuck of boxes of clothes and sprawled sheets. You jumped around a box full of men’s clothing and frowned at the labels on the box. Each box had different sizes and different dates. 

Your heart beat just a little bit faster when you spotted women’s clothes shoved under his bed.

There could be plenty of explanations. 

He swung every which way and this was all clothing from his conquests. 

He liked to dabble in drag. 

He was collecting clothes for the homeless. 

You went with the last one, despite the fact that it didn’t make you feel any better. You walked into his bathroom, smiling when you saw a hair clip on the sink. You picked it up, hoping it wasn’t someone’s favorite and that they wouldn’t mind you borrowing it for a bit. 

Just as you were about to clip up your hair you noticed a smudge of red on the corner. The claw itself was completely white, the red was pretty hard to miss. You frowned, bringing it closer to your face and running your fingers over the color. 

It flaked off under your thumb, the copper falling into the sink. 

There were only so many things you could ignore. 

A blood covered claw was not one of them. 

You rinsed it off in the sink, shoving your hair up and running towards the bedroom door. You didn’t bother collecting your clothes, there was no saving them and you had bigger things to fuss about. Mainly the fact that Allison was right. 

This dude definitely had a fucking sex dungeon. 

You forced yourself to slow down when you reached the top of the stairs. You peered over the railing, listening for any noises or creeping shadows. It was almost worse when you didn’t hear anything. Allison should be at the door, bitching about how long it takes Owen to pee. Bo should be walking around somewhere. 

Instead, the house was still, you barely even heard your own breath over your racing heart. You were careful as you made your way down the stairs, avoiding the boards you know creaked and lightly making your way towards the front door. 

“Allison?” You whispered, looking around the den or kitchen for her. 

Nothing.

You hesitated, wondering if you should look for her or make a run for it. You heard footsteps getting closer to the door and made your choice, grabbing the keys off the tray nearby and racing through the doorway. 

“Y/N?”

You turned around as you reached Bo’s red truck, looking just in time to see a knife split through Allison’s jaw. You couldn’t even scream, the noise locked away in the deepest part of yourself as you struggled to process what was happening. 

The blade stuck out grotesquely between her teeth, her eyes remained blinking, that was the worst part. They blinked, tears pouring down her cheek before the man behind her was shoving her forward and her body was toppling to the ground limply. You jumped at the thud, eyes wide and burning with your own tears as you looked into the dark holes of Vincent’s mask. 

“Vincent?” You whispered, the only thing you could actually manage to get out. His head tilted and he stepped over Allison’s body like she wasn’t even there. Your hands shook, the keys slipping out and landing in the dirt under your shoes. He was about ten feet away before your flight instincts finally kicked in 

“Fuck,” you whispered, abandoning the truck and taking off just as the knife he’d thrown landed in the dirt where you’d been standing only a second earlier. 

You used to run, it had been an easy form of therapy. A way to get out unresolved and pent up emotions that left you feeling stunted. You’d loved it, reveled in the burn in your thighs, the buzz that thrummed through your blood as you pushed yourself to your limits and then further. 

But you’d stopped, got caught up in a group of shitty friends and stopped taking care of yourself. Now, the once thrilling buzz was slowing you down. The muscles in your thighs unprepared and unused as you forced them to go faster. You felt like you were trying to run in a dream, your muscles working as hard as possible but you were stuck in a limbo, never moving fast enough. 

You could hear heavy boots pounding behind you and you tried to push through that limit that you felt locked around your legs. But you couldn’t, you couldn’t move faster and you already felt yourself slowing down. Your lungs heaving as your throat burned, struggling to take in any air. 

“AH!” You let out a strange sounding scream as something heavy and hard rammed into your back. It sent you flying, knees scraping against pavement as you were pancaked to the road. 

“There ya are, darlin’! You don’t know how bad my feelings were hurt when I saw you’d run off.” You whimpered as Bo pinned your arms behind your back, his knees digging into your spine until you both heard it crack and you cried out in pain. 

“Bo, please,” you begged. “Please.”

He chuckled, leaning down until his mouth was next to your ear. “Please, what, darlin?”

”Please fuck off,” you growled throwing your head back and listening to Bo’s nose snap. You used the distraction to wrestle your way out from under him, rolling onto him, legs straddling his waist as you grabbed a nearby rock and brought it down.

His hand shot up and gripped your wrist, squeezing until you couldn’t feel your fingers and were forced to let go of the rock. “Fuckin’ bitch.”

You slapped at him as he tried to sit up and pin you down. You didn’t care how rabid or unorganized you were. You clawed, screamed and kicked until you’d gained the upper hand and were jumping away from him. “Fuck you,” you hissed, glaring at him as you clutched at your hurt wrist. 

His nose was no longer pouring blood, instead it was a slow steady drip as he glared at you with what could only be described as an animalistic snarl. “Bitch,” he spat back. 

“That the best you got?” You taunted, “You’re the backwoods freak who's killing off college kids. Lemme guess, Vincent’s your brother, he wears that mask because mommy and daddy were actually Uncle-Dad and Aunt-mom? Your weird little incest freak didn’t want to let mommy’s dream die? I bet one of you fuckin’ killed her, too.”

”Shut the fuck up!” He shouted, lunging for you. You darted off to the side, leaping over a wooden picket fence and through the yards of the silent neighborhood. The sky was turning pink, your favorite time of day, right before night finally fell. 

But you didn’t have time to enjoy it, crying as you ran away from the feral man behind you. You could hear him breathing, stomping his way behind you, it was like being chased by a wild animal, not a man. Maybe that’s what was terrifying you so bad, humans were predictable. You knew what type of torture to expect from them, the cruelties they were capable of. But a man like this, a beast like this, you had no idea what he would do to you. 

Tear you apart right here in the street?

Take you back to his home and keep you until better prey came along?

You didn’t want to find out. And you didn’t want him to have the satisfaction of your death. 

You had been screaming as he attacked you, shouting as you ran from him. Not once did a light click on or off as you ran through the neighborhood. No curtains drew back or faces pressed against the window pane in curiosity. 

You knew you were alone, the rest of your friends were most likely dead. 

You gasped, losing your breath, as you slammed into something hard. “Y/N? What the fuck?” You whined in pain, looking up to see Owen standing over you. He kneeled down, like he was going to help you up, until you heard the sound of laughter behind you. 

“Got you,” Bo taunted. And you knew he was talking about you, he didn’t give a shit about Owen, he just wanted you. 

“Owen, please,” you whispered, begging him to, just this once, help you. Be a decent guy, make the right choice. You should have known better. Just as you’d gotten to your feet, two strong hands had gripped your shoulders and sent you flying. 

A different set of hands found their way around your waist, coiling around you like a python until their grip was so tight your face was turning purple from loss of air. “Told you, jackasses,” Bo whispered, the last thing you heard before you were blacking out. 

Nine Inch Nails. 

That’s what you could process when you woke up.

The next thing you felt as your eyelids slowly peeled open, a near painful process, was the jostling around your legs. You whined, your throat completely raw and glanced down. Bo was standing at the end of some sort of chair, similar to a gurney, and duct taping your legs down. He glanced up, hair plastered with sweat and grinned at you. He had changed, you hadn’t noticed before but he’d ditched the suit for his coveralls. 

You let out a sigh, rolling your eyes and glancing towards the ceiling as you blinked back tears. 

You were going to die and the last thing you were going to hear was the blasting of Closer by Nine Inch Nails. 

Fuck my life

Bo moved up, holding your wrists down on the metal armrests and duct taping those too. You looked to the side, and saw strange circular markings on his wrist. You assumed, whenever they disposed of your body and took the tape off, you would have matching scars. 

You heard footsteps clomping above you and the sound of Damien and Gwen’s voices. “Where did they all go?”

“I don’t know, maybe they’re in the auto shop.”

Gwen sounded unsure, “Maybe, it is the only place that’s open.”

Bo ran behind you, his warm hand clamping over your mouth and keeping it shut as they passed the grate above you. You hadn’t even tried to open your mouth to scream for help, you knew you couldn’t, your throat was destroyed already. 

“I’m gonna take my hand off and you’re gonna be quiet. Yeah?” You nodded your head, feeling the salty warmth of your tears trailing down his hand and building up on your cheeks. “Yeah,” he whispered, the tone too intimate as he slowly released you. 

He remained beside you, poised and ready to strike but you didn’t make a move to call out. “Good girl,” he chuckled and placed a hand over yours. “I’m gonna go up, deal with those assholes, and you’re gonna behave. Right?”

You nodded again and he dug blunt fingernails into tender skin. You whimpered out, “Yes, Bo.”

He laughed again and walked towards the door, keys clinking as he locked it behind himself. “Fucking sicko,” you spat the second the door was closed. You moved your legs, wincing as the tape picked at your bare skin. 

“Oh, fuck it,” you were sweaty enough, the moisture on your skin providing enough glide for you to wiggle one leg out of the tape. Arrogant bastard had given you too much freedom, he probably didn’t even think you were going to run. 

Now, your wrists. 

Your arms were sweaty, sure, but these were tight. You tried to use a jerking motion you’d once seen in a stupid action movie, bringing your wrists to your chest. But your muscles were fatigued and you didn’t have enough strength to rip the tape off. 

You flopped against the flattened cushion of the chair, trying not to sob incoherently as Bo’s rock music blared in the garage above. You could hear voices speaking. You didn't know how much time you had left until Bo just got rid of them and came back down for you. 

You’d been pointedly ignoring the wall of Polaroids since you’d woken up, not wanting to see what they were. Afraid you already knew. 

You ignored the unnatural bend of your shoulder, how much it screamed out in pain as you contorted your body over your right wrist, teeth picking at the duct tape until you felt like they were coming loose. But you didn’t stop, you kept going until you felt the slightest tear under your lips. 

You had to stop yourself from crying out in victory as you used whatever remained of your strength to jerk at the tape again and again, your muscles crying as you finally ripped yourself free. You stuffed down your cries, using your free hand to unwrap the other. 

You allowed yourself a moment to roll out your wrists and shake off your legs before you were shooting off the gurney and stumbling towards a corner of the room. Your legs felt like jelly, and you knew that wasn’t good, but you pushed past the fear as footsteps stomped down the stairs. 

Your heart rate picked up and your throat clenched as you pushed sweat-matted hair out of your face. You took in a deep breath and then held it as the door slammed open. You winced, grateful you hadn’t chosen to hide behind that. Bo stepped into the room, there was a blind spot of about five seconds before he would see you were out of your chair. 

You needed to use that to slip behind him and out the door. 

You heard one boot enter. Then the next. 

You could hear your blood rushing in your ears, adrenaline making your muscles tingle back to life. 

Another step, you inched forward, another, you slid against the wall. Bo finally made it all the way in. “What the fuck!”

You shot behind him, racing up the steps and bursting through the door of the garage. You didn’t give yourself time to celebrate or look to see if he was following you. You darted down the street, suddenly grateful Bo had only given you a shirt to wear. 

You were sure it was for his own pleasure, but right now all it meant was that your legs weren’t constricted by tight denim and you could run as fast as your body would allow. You turned to the right, bursting through the doors of the chapel. 

You froze at the entrance, taking in a deep heaving breath as you tried to find a hiding spot. The pews were too noticeable, the casket probably wouldn’t fit you. You nearly cried as you tried to figure it out. 

Outside you heard Bo stomping, his voice calling out your name. Fuck it, you dove for the priest, using his large robes and throwing yourself under them. You had just managed to clamp a sweaty palm over your mouth as the doors of the church opened, deceptively quiet. 

Bo’s footsteps were soft as he walked through. You feel dizzy sitting under this preserved priest, the air stifling and you felt like you were running out of oxygen. Sweat beaded at your hairline, dripping down into your eyes as you tried to blink it away. 

You jumped, nails digging into your palm, at the sound of wood crashing against the wall. “Get out here!” He roared, and you knew he was slowly making his way through the pews. He tossed each of them around, checking under and around them for you. 

You ducked down, lifting the robe a centimeter off the floor. If you closed your eyes, put your hand over your ears, you were a little girl again, hiding under the table as your mother counted down. She’d find you soon, you’d giggle and she’d pretend she didn’t hear it before popping under the table cloth and catching you. 

Her fingers digging into your sides, searching for that ticklish spot. No, she’s poking too hard, that hurts. 

Shit, that hurts. 

You kick out, your shoe catching Bo’s jaw as you make a run for it, darting out from the priest and back through the chapel doors. The only thing you can focus on are the bright lights, blinding against the night sky- when did it get dark?

You stumbled over your feet, legs not moving the way you wanted them to. Shit, you don’t feel good. Did he drug you? Is it the heat? You haven’t eaten all day, or drank anything. Maybe it was finally catching up to you. 

Through blurry eyes you ran towards the movie theater, the brightest beacon you can actually make out. You trip through the doors, slamming them closed behind you. You spot one of those metal poles, the old one with red cloth they used to keep people in line. With limp arms and struggling steps you lift it up and slam it through the handles, just as Bo starts to shake them on the other side. 

You back away from them slowly, eyes scanning the lobby for anything you could use. Behind the concession desk you manage to spot something. 

BREAK IN CASE OF EMERGENCY

You’d say this constituted an emergency. You kicked through the glass, ignoring how it dragged along your legs, and pulled the ax out of its case. There had to be a back door out of here. 

Your eyes widened and you cursed, there had to be a back way out of here, and Bo would know it. You threw the ax on the ground, ripping the pole out of the handles before scooping the ax back up and running back into the dark.

Apparently you’d made the right choice because Bo was no longer where you left him. He was probably sneaking through some secret exit waiting to grab you. You looked towards the end of the street, up the hill, and back at Bo’s front door.

There was still light shining through, but you were sure Allison’s body was long gone. You glanced behind you before taking in a deep centering breath and shooting off again. 

You held your breath, hiding underneath the table as Bo came stumbling into his home. You could see him clutching a wound on his arm and Vincent materialized behind him. He reached for his brother but Bo jerked back, “Get, get, back!” He spoke like he was talking to some dog, “Fuckin’ freak.”

You winced as you watched them interact, Bo tossing shit at his brother and his brother ducking like he was used to it. Vincent walked over to a candle, heating a spoon over the flame and picking up a toaster. He used the metallic reflection to smooth over a dent in his mask and Bo came up, appearing on his shoulder like the worst kind of devil. 

“Momma would be proud of you.” Vincent’s movements paused at his suddenly tender brother’s voice. “I told you this would look better. The last two are gonna look great,” he assured, kindly, and you grimace in disgust. Should’ve known this was his idea. Your knuckles creaked around the handle of the ax and you debated just ending this now. 

Vincent turns towards his brother, spoon discarded, and signs something. You know enough about the language to recognize the hand movements when you see it, but you can’t understand it from your angle. 

“What girl?” Bo snarled, Vincent winced and signed something else. Bo snorted, “Her? What you gotta crush or somethin’?” Vincent shook his head quickly and Bo rolled his eyes, voice cruel. “What, one girl’s nice to you and you wanna break our rules? She’s dead when I’m done with her. That’s it.” Bo buried his finger in Vincent’s shoulder, shoving harshly. “Understood?” Vincent didn’t respond immediately and Bo shoved again. “Understood!” He shouted and Vincent finally nodded. 

You watched them move out of sight, followed their shoes out of the house and finally slinked out of your hiding spot. You’d seen where Vincent had emerged from earlier and retraced the steps, finding a hidden basement in their father’s office. You glanced behind you once before jumping down into the hole.

“Damien? Gwen? Fucking anybody?” You kept glancing behind you, ax ready as you creeped your way through Vincent’s tunnels. Finally, you started to see the warm glow of candles at the very end of the section you were in. 

Caution thrown to the wind, you made a run for it and burst into what looked like Vincent’s workshop. You looked around, not seeing anything of interest besides one torture chair. You’d slit your throat before they got you in that. 

You found his desk, sketches scattered around the edges. You took a peek and were surprised to find a partially done profile of your face. You glanced around, making sure you were safe, before picking the sketch up. 

You looked pretty, even half done, he might have been a little to generous with you. Made you too elegant, noble, untouchable. Flattering if he wasn’t going to try and kill you. You saw something scrawled at the very bottom and your heart clenched, She was nice.

Perhaps you were too tender-hearted, to feel any pity for these monsters. But you’d seen the news articles in their father’s office, what had happened to their family, the chair Bo was once strapped in. What they were was their mother’s final project, the legacy she left behind, one of pain and hatred. Each of them hating themselves for different reasons because of her. 

But you weren’t an idiot, you saw the was in the title of your drawing. You might have been kind, but he wasn’t planning on letting you live. Something rattled in the room to your right and you threw the drawing down, turning towards the door and carefully opening it. 

“Y/N!” Owen cried out, relief making itself clear on his face as he saw you. “Get me out of here.” You rushed forward, kneeling down and trying to undo the straps around his ankles. But your fingers weren’t working properly, they felt like they were swelling and burning and useless. You whined in frustration as you tried to get the metal through the hole. 

“Fuck!” Owen kicked out as much as he could and you jumped back. “Can you do anything right? Just get me out of here!” He screeched. 

You went momentarily blind with rage, anger boiling in your gut so quickly you nearly keeled over. “I’m trying to help you, you fucking dick! You left me behind to that psycho earlier and I’m still trying to help you!” You screamed at him, not paying attention to the raw feeling of your throat or the footsteps behind you. “Why don’t you ever just shut up!”

You weren’t aware the ax was still in your hands, or maybe you were, as you brought your arms down in frustration. It landed in his thigh, barely missing the femoral artery, and he screamed. That type of scream you only hear from squealing pigs right before their butchered. 

You didn’t think you enjoyed it.

Didn't want to enjoy it. 

But you dug the blade in. 

He’d made your life a living hell, he’d tried to get you killed earlier, and even when you’d ignored it and tried to save him he still yelled at you. Granted, it wasn’t the worst thing he’s ever said to you, but it was the worst thing he could say at that moment. You pressed on the handle, not realizing you were smiling as he squealed some more. 

You got a headache after a second, struggling to rip the blade back out before you were lifting it once more and bringing it down over his neck, the blood splattering your face, bleeding into your open eyes as you watch his head topple to the ground. 

“Holy shit,” you turned around and looked at Bo, the fight draining from your body. “Didn’t think you had it in you.” He glanced at the ax in your hands and smiled, this one looked real, the realest he could manage. “Gonna kill me too?”

You shrugged, tossing the ax at his feet. “You gonna kill me?”

He looked at you, really looked at you, standing there covered in your ‘friend’s’ blood and unknowingly smiling at the carnage. “I don’t know,” he finally muttered. 

Part two

end. — I do not own the characters or the movie House of Wax (2005), but this writing is my own all rights reserved © not-neverland06 2024. do not copy, repost, translate & recommend elsewhere.

[reneesghostinthelivingroom]

Hi I’ve been thinking about this request for poly!plastics for a while now. So basically everyone knows that Regina gets angry and when she does people just don’t part ways with her. However, y/n is worse especially when she doesn’t get her full sleep which she didn’t get bc Gretchen and Karen were up and loud. (Y/n would never fault them bc she just loves them so much and their quirks). So throughout the school day, everyone has been getting on Y/n nerves like making comments about her girls etc. at lunch time, cady decided to make a “joke” about Karen being dumb, Regina being a bitch, etc and Y/n just explodes. Maybe heavy make out sess or smut after to calm Y/n down.

Slow Boil

|| Poly!plastics x fem!reader

(I myself am poly)

|| Warnings: swearing, reader almost punches Cady, reader has an attitude, little make out session at the end but nothing overly detailed or anything

|| Summary: reader doesn't get enough sleep, the next day people get on her nerves and it pushes her to a boiling point where she snaps at Cady for insulting her girls.

Requests open!

~~~

To say you were exhausted would be an understatement. You barely got any sleep the night before with Gretchen and Karen being up all night giggling and gossiping. How Regina slept through them... you didn't know, but God you were envious of her sleeping abilities. Though you would never blame or get mad at Gretchen and Karen. You would however be frustrated at yourself for not falling asleep sooner.

The day seemed to drag on. As if seconds were really minutes and minutes were hours. Classes taking too long to complete. In Health & Fitness you just gave up and fell asleep, head rested on your desk with one arm folded around it and other stretched out in front of you. Cady glanced at you and raised an eyebrow.

The bell woke you from your sleep and you groaned, grabbing your bag and slinging it over your shoulder. At least it was lunch. You'd get to see your girlfriends.

"Sleeping beauty rises." Mr. Carr comments, getting a few laughs from some kids in the back. You roll your eyes at him.

"I bet you thought that was clever. Do everyone a favour and keep your damn puns to yourself." Mr. Carr seemed taken aback by your attitude, usually you didn't have one. You were known for being kind and laid back. Not snappy and agitated. For that reason, he decides to let it go. Not without giving you a small warning lecture first. It certainly didn't make your mood any better.

You left the class, a sharp (sleep filled) glare glossing over your eyes as you walk through the halls. Some conversations catching your attention, people seemed to be talking about your girlfriends a lot lately. The things they were saying weren't always positive and that just did nothing to improve your mood. One voice in particular catches your attention. Cady.

You snapped your head in her direction, seeing her chatting with those art freaks Janis and Damien.

"Honestly, Karen's gotta be the dumbest person I've ever met. When I went to Regina's house Regina told Karen she would help her with her eyebrows and Karen asked if she could still have two." Cady talked, Damien and Janis laughed. You could feel your blood boiling," Speaking of Regina, don't even get me started on her. She is such a bi-"

"The next word out of your mouth better fucking be "bi icon" or I swear to every God that's listening..!" You yelled, taking a step towards Cady who froze in place. Damien and Janis exchanged a look.

"Y-Y/N, I didn't think-" You cut Cady off.

"Clearly! What the hell, Cady?! They've been nothing but nice- well, to your face- and this how you repay them?" You were livid. The news about you fighting with Cady quickly spread throughout the school, eventually reaching your girlfriends who sprang into action. Hoping to stop things before it escalated.

Regina got there first and put herself between you and Cady right as you had been about to strike. You pause the moment you see Regina and your arm falls to your side. Gretchen and Karen link their arms around yours and keep you back while Regina sighs.

"Baby, take a breath for me." Regina says, you ignore her and look at Cady. She snaps her fingers in your face," Don't look at her. Look at me."

You listen. Reluctantly.

"Breathe." Regina urges, hand resting on your shoulder. When that doesn't work she grabs you by your wrist and pulls you to the bathroom, Gretchen and Karen quickly following behind.

Once there, they all turn and face you.

"What was all that about?" Gretchen asks.

"Cady was being a total bitch." You mutter, arms folded across your chest.

"You mean like Cady Heron?" Karen looks confused.

"No, KD Mac and Cheese." You snap, then realize who you just snapped at. Regina narrows her eyes at you. Karen frowned and you relaxed your shoulders.

"I'm sorry... I just- didn't get any sleep last night and my patience has been pushed to the edge today because of it..." You admit in a mumble, hand covering your face as you tilted your head down. You felt bad.

Gretchen took a step towards you and wrapped her arms around your shoulders, pulling you into her side as she moves her hand away from your face. Giving you a deep, soft kiss that you immediately melt into. Hands resting gently around Gretchen to pull her closer. You could feel as your body finally relaxed. Whatever anger you had being washed away.

She broke the kiss and rested her hand to your cheek," Better?"

"I could maybe use a couple more kisses..." You smile sheepishly, looking over at Regina and Karen. Your girlfriends laugh softly and the tension in the room seems to fade.