#JESUS CHRIST WHAT'S UP WITH YOU ALL SUDDENLY DRAWING THEM???

[bread-is-my-life]

Stainmight from SmolBean- Stainmight from SmolBea💥💥💥💥💥

I genuinely have NO idea how I haven’t drawn these two together… First ever StainMight sketch and definitely not the last!

[rodolfoparras]

The art of tardiness

Pairing: Unspecified Male Character x Male reader

cw: 18+, possessiveness, anal fingering, anal sex, top male reader, bottom male character, age gap, morning sex, writing on skin, feminization (hole referred to as cunt)

Synopsis: sometimes calling him yours just isn’t enough

There were times you were sure that your boyfriend was dating two different people.

One was the young man who’d swiftly tuck his tail between his legs at the smallest comment made about his relationship. That man could admit that he lacked experience compared to his much older partner, could admit he probably wasn’t his partner’s ideal type with his scrawny frame and short height, and he knew that even if his boyfriend were to look past those things, the people around them would never do it.

Then there was the rabid dog in the shape of a young man, that barks and bites at any potential threat, such as hostile comments made about his relationship. He’d look you straight in the eye and tell you not to make comments about a relationship you know nothing off, hell he’d get in a physical altercation if you provoked him enough.

And then of course there was the desire to bite the hand that feeds him, devour his person down to the bone so he wouldn’t have to share him with the world. He or rather you were pretty good at keeping this desire at bay but sometimes you just couldn’t contain it especially early in the mornings, when he looks like a sight to behold with his lazy smile bleary eyes, thin white sheet doing nothing to cover up his naked body.

You want to keep him in bed, mark him up, make him cum over and over again til all he can remember is the feeling of your cock

Unfortunately things aren’t that easy, especially when he has to get ready for work in half an hour, but stubborn as you are, you don’t let him go, dead set on marking him up as much as possible.

At first he’s too lost in bliss to notice what you’re doing, letting you suck and nip on the sensetive skin while desperately clinging onto your body, that is til you bite down hard enough to draw blood and the man jerks in place, wide eyed and suddenly too aware of what you’re doing.

“No marks” he says, even goes as far as to scruff your neck, as if you’re nothing but a disobedient dog to him “I have work, remember?”

“Please?” and you know that you must sound rather pathetic but honestly you couldn’t care less, especially not when you notice that a couple of marks have already started to bloom on his skin.

“So goddamn possessive what am I gonna do with you huh?” He says, while keeping a vice like grip on your neck “Should I let you write your damn name on my forehead? Would that make you happy hm?” He says gaze much softer as his thumb strokes your neck.

Even though he hadn’t intend to do so, his words gave you an idea and you immediately find yourself reaching for the night stand, hand blindly rummaging through the drawer.

“And what do you think you’re doing?” He says, brow raised but it doesn’t take long before realization strikes him “Absolutely not,”

You turn to the other man , practically giving puppy eyes. This time you do feel a tad bit of embarrassment but not enough to give up on this battle.

“I can’t go out like that,”

“You won’t,” you immediately say “I’ll do it somewhere you can cover it,”

“Jesus Christ kid,” he sighs out and pinches his brows but despite his words you know that his resolve has crumbled.

You’re quick to grab the first best pen before straddling his waist, the late night escapade having left him in nothing but a thin white sheet covering the most sensitive part of him but you can still feel you cock head rubbing upon the cleft of his ass as you settle down.

“Cheeky bastard” he breathes out, fully aware of where your mind’s gone to.

You only hush him response, muttering how you have to be focused before you attempt to put the marker to his arm.

But before you can do that he grabs ahold of your egg wrist, a firm look painted on his face “promise me it’ll wash off,”

“Promise,” you say with a shit eating grin on your face.

And as you proceed to put the marker to his skin, you realize that you’re at loss of ideas on what you could write on him. It’s like you wanted to do so much when the idea first struck your head but sitting here you almost feel overwhelmed by all the options that you have.

You play it safe at first, writing out your name just below his pec, a move that has the man squirming beneath you.

“Tickles,”

“Sorry,” you say, not an ounce of sincerity in your tone as you draw another scribble on his forearm. It’s you and him- well it’s supposed to be but your artistic skills only allow you to draw two stick figures holding hands.

For a moment there are no words exchanged as you continue draw on his skin. You do a couple of doodles here and there, some ridiculous other more scandalous. You even write some words on his skin- some being your name others being lewd quotes, everything done within range where he’d be able to hide it beneath his clothes.

“This enough for you kid?” He says, when the majority of his chest is covered in little scribbles.

He probably didn’t mean anything by those words. But the ugly monster residing inside couldn’t help but take this as a challenge especially when he says that as he lays naked in your shared bed, soft smile on his face, the scribbles of your name clearly showing under the rays of sunlight protruding through the bedroom window.

Instead of responding to him you grab ahold of his wrist, black marker writing out the letter M on his skin, bold and big, just within the range of where he can pull on a shirt if he wishes to hide the word. The letters I N E are soon added in place, big bold and curling around his underarm.

The word mine now lays written on his forearm.

But you don’t stop there, eyes flicking over to his furry stomach that looks awfully bare before you take a marker to it and start writing your initials all over it. This time around the skin isn’t as forgiving, straight lines turning jagged from coarse hair and faded scar. Not that you mind and neither does the little monster residing inside.

You continue writing on him, covering as much skin as he allows but truth be told you don’t know how his clothes will be able to cover up some scribbles, not that you plan on telling him that right now.

And he doesn’t seem to care that much as his gaze carefully follows your movements, breathing growing heavier and heavier with each second that passes.

At some point you feel the need to get closer to him even though you’re practically sitting ontop of him, swiftly shuffling around til you’re slotted between his thighs, carefully drawing a line from the crevice of his knee down to the groove of his left thigh.

He continues to watch you with attentive eyes, as you add a triangle to the end of line, the marker reaching dangerously to where his balls lay hanging between his thighs and from where you sit you can smell his musk hitting your nostrils, can feel his thighs clench beneath your fingertips , can now see the way the black arrow is humorously pointing straight to the furley ring of muscles.

It’s impossible not to reach out to the spot between his legs, a curious finger swiping over his sensitive skin and pulling a gasp out of him“Hah!”

Your eyes flicker up, cock twitching at the sight of the man who already looks so wrecked before looking back to the marker in your hand, moving it back and forth til the line on his thigh grows in size, doing anything just to busy your mind because you’re supposed to draw on him not fuck him, remember that?

But it’s not long before your attention is back onto his burning heat, a glob of spit landing onto the sensitive skin before your finger circles his now wet rim.

“What are you-“

He doesn’t get to finish his sentence before you slip the tip of your finger inside, watching the way he jerks in surprise, the sudden movement jacking up the straight marker line, but you couldn’t find it in yourself to care.

“Jesus Christ kid,” he breathes, voice dripping with both arousal and amusement as you continue to sink your finger inside of him.

“This alright?” You ask, and push til you’re knuckles deep before giving an experimental curl of your finger.

Another gasp escapes his mouth, hips bucking up into your touch “ hah -now you ask?” He says, but despite his words the man nods at your question.

That’s all it takes for you to work a second finger inside, this time coaxing a hiss out of him,“easy there kid going to break me,”

You can’t help but chuckle at that”Think you’re giving me too much credit pretty,” you say but decide to move your fingers at a much slower pace, watching the way his body once again relax onto the sheets as contented hums escape his lips.

You continue curling your fingers inside while drawing onto the man; circling birth marks and scars you find pretty, drawing arrows across every inch of skin while watching the way he twists and turns in the sheets with every brush of your fingertips “so fucking pretty like this drives me crazy “

At some point you stop drawing on his skin, turning all your focus to the fingers buried inside him.

You don’t even notice the way tears have started to gather at his eyes, nor the begs and please continuously escaping his mouth, too entranced with the sight of his hungry hole practically swallowing up your hand.

It’s only when he grabs ahold of your wrist that you snap back into the present moment, now noticing how you’ve left the pen to bled out on the white sheets, and how the ink on his skin has already started to smear.

The gruesome monster inside tells you that you need to find another way to mark the man.

Within moments you’re grabbing ahold of his legs, pushing his knees up to his chest til his cunt is on full display, not wasting another second to line your cockhead up with his entrance before pushing inside him.

“Ah fuck! Insatiable dog,” he barks out, not having expected you to do that but that doesn’t stop him from practically clamping onto you as you bottom out: heels digging into your ass and nails digging into your back as you start driving up into his hungry cunt.”mpf fuck just like that keep going kid“

Who’s insatiable now? You think to yourself, a strangled chuckle escaping your lips as you continue to thrust into his tight wet heat.

It doesn’t take long before you’re setting a steady pace, thrusting so erratically he’s practically choking up on the moans that are trying to escape his lips, bed frame frantically rocking against the wall every thrust of your hips.

“Ah! Fuck! Going to - hah going to kill me,” he says through choked sobs, hands madly clawing at your back as if he’s losing his footing on this world.

And as you look down at the beautiful mess he makes, you can’t help but notice the shadow of a bulge showing on his stomach, right below the spot where your initials lay.

Once again you feel the zealous monster within you take the steering wheel, hand pushing his legs past his ears, before drilling into him.

“Say it “ you grunt out, hands keeping a vice like grip on his thighs, pushing his legs so far back you’re sure you’ll split him in half if you keep it up “Come on come on say you’re mine”

At first he’s at a loss for words, barely even able to catch his breath with the way you’re erratically thrusting into him but eventually he manages to respond to you.

“Yours yours all yours fucking fuck I’m cum-“ he splutters out, hole erratically clenching down onto your cock before he cums in hot thick white streaks, across both his and yours abondmen “‘m sorry ‘m sorry” he slurs out, while he continues to shamelessly fuck himself back onto your cock.

Something about that sight is enough to triggering your own orgasm

“Fuck!” You cry out, eyes squeezing shut before youre hit with hot blinding pleasure.

The world around you blurs out, ears ringing loud as you continue to ride out your high before you eventually slump down beside the man.

“Jesus Christ,” you say, ears still ringing loud, world barely coming into focus. “That was-“ you begin but trail off once you can’t seem to find the right word for it.

A laugh rumbles through the older man’s chest, his big hand cradling the back of your neck before he says “got that right kid,”

You look up at him only to be left speechless at the sight.

See people always said that a relationship with someone so much younger than him would ruin him. You’d hear it over and over again while eavesdropping on whatever conversation he was having about this “sudden” relationship.

You never really understood what they meant until you saw him sprawled out on your bed, gaping hole stuffed full with your cum, and every inch of his skin covered in your initials.

At least they knew he was yours to ruin.

Yours

Yours.

Yours.

That little insatiable monster that can't seem to find rest rises to life again, coaxes you to slot your lips against the older man’s, tongue slipping into his mouth and licking along every nook and crevice, leaving the taste of you behind for anyone that would dare kiss him.

It takes one more kiss before he prys himself away from you, and walks over to the bathroom on shaky steps, the sight of his inked ass is the last thing you see before the door closes behind him.

You slump back into bed with a smile on your face, the taste of him still lingers on your lips, the previous string of events practically burned into your iris and for a second it all feels like a dream that is before you hear your name being shouted behind the bathroom door followed by a string of angry words “why won’t this shit wash off,”

Oh well…

[loveinhawkins]

The problem is that a part of Steve knows the spider isn’t real.

But it’s the suggestion of it, right? Cobwebs in his hair, movement just out the corner of his eye; it’s all enough to convince him that there’s something crawling on his skin, to let out a panicked whisper to Nancy, there was a spider. It’s a black widow.

He tries to disregard it as a one-off. It’s an old creepy house. Just got him spooked for a bit, that’s all.

But then… diving into Lover’s Lake. Bats biting into his flesh. Overwhelming dizziness.

Nancy wrapping torn strips of clothing tight around—there’s something crawling, crawling underneath his skin, no, there isn’t, no, there—a bike ride through The Upside Down; one hacking cough, pushing through it, pushing through it—

Swallows it all down. Ignores the sweat, the tackiness around his bandage. Shh. Calm, calm.

Drives the RV. Doesn’t know how he’s even moving, is just grateful—grateful that his mind on autopilot seems to still function.

The War Zone. In and out. Parked. Sun in his eyes. Kids outside.

The feeling comes back. Something. Something under his skin. (In his blood, in all of him—)

“S’there something in my hair?” he asks Eddie, who’s mid-step out of the RV.

Eddie turns back with an air of amusement. “Nope,” he says. “Looks perfectly coiffed to me, man.”

“Can you—can you just check?”

Look closer, something’s wrong, something’s wrong.

“Uh, sure,” Eddie says, bemused. He sits next to Steve and tilts his head before lifting a hand uncertainly. “You want me to, uh?”

“Yeah, thanks. Just… there was a spider on me.”

It’s not what Steve wants to say at all, but there’s a sudden, terrifying disconnect between the thoughts in his head and what actually comes out of his mouth.

“Oh, you don’t like them, huh?”

Eddie’s not even teasing, just sounds understanding; he lifts up a few sections of hair carefully, taking his time. He’s so kind. Steve abruptly wants to cry.

“Yeah, I don’t blame you,” Eddie continues. “I have the same thing with mice. The way they move. Creepy little feet.” He shudders dramatically.

Steve wants to laugh at that. Can’t.

Eddie runs his fingers through Steve’s hair a couple more times, gentle.

You don’t have to, Steve thinks. Make it hurt. Get it out. Did you find it? Please say you found it.

“Good news, you’re officially spider-free, Harrington.”

Eddie claps him on the shoulder, stands up.

Steve doesn’t move.

Eddie pauses again, halfway out the door. “Hey, you okay?”

“Yeah,” Steve says. “Just need some air.”

He goes through the motions of prepping for the fight. Chats with Robin. She talks about a terrible, gnawing feeling, and he wants to scream yes, I know, I know, but he can’t tell her, why can’t he tell her?

Shh. Calm, calm.

Drives the RV. Forest Hills.

He brakes with no warning, sends bottles of alcohol rolling across the floor. He’s mad suddenly that they didn’t smash. He’s so—

Slip away.

Eddie’s trailer. Lets himself in.

Bathroom.

The wound on his stomach pulses. He doubles over the toilet. Throws up.

His skin is crawling.

There, in the back of his mind, a creeping coldness. A thought that is not his own.

I will kill them all. And I will make you watch.

Oh, God. Oh, God, he’s been so stupid.

-

Eddie finds him first.

He picks up one fallen bottle of alcohol before a gut feeling pulls him out of the RV—because Steve Harrington is a good driver, and he’d only brake like that if he had no choice.

“Steve?”

But Steve’s not waiting for them on the porch, he’s not even by the Gate.

Clattering; a strangled cry.

Eddie’s stomach lurches.

He runs towards the noise, opens the bathroom door and is instantly hit by the acrid smell of vomit.

“Steve! Jesus Christ.”

Steve’s pushed up against the cistern. There’s a damp patch all across his stomach, and his chest is heaving.

“Oh my God, Steve, what’s—”

Eddie reaches for him instinctively, and Steve flinches as if he’s been struck.

“No, don’t!”

“Jesus, you’re burning up,” Eddie whispers, drawing his hand back; Steve’s skin is feverishly hot, slick with sweat. He looks around frantically for a cloth, turns on the cold water. “Gotta get you cooled—”

Something slams into him; he’s pinned against the sink, Steve’s hand clamped around his throat.

“No,” Steve repeats. “Don’t.”

“Okay,” Eddie manages. He chokes on a swallow. “S-Steve, you’re—you’re—”

His hand flails, trying to pry Steve’s fingers off.

Steve’s grip loosens ever so slightly. His eyes are wide, bloodshot. Pleading.

“Eddie,” he says through gritted teeth. “You need to hurt me.”

With the last of his strength, Eddie gets his knee up and jabs—it’s barely anything, but it works enough to break Steve’s hold.

Eddie staggers; his back slams against the door. He’s shaking.

Steve stares at him. He’s gripping onto the sink so tightly that Eddie thinks it’s a miracle that it doesn’t crack.

And then there’s a horrible, guttural noise like Steve’s started to choke too, like he’s at war with himself.

Barely audible, he says, “Get… get Nancy.”

Eddie runs.

He nearly falls into Nancy as he opens the front door. He’s breathless, can’t think of what to say, save from—

“Wheeler, he needs you.”

It happens in an instant: Nancy’s brow pinches, and then she goes very pale, and she’s shouting for Robin and Dustin to stay in the RV, like she can turn on a dime, launched into an unknown crisis.

She pushes past Eddie, and he follows her, back into the bathroom.

The cold water is still running.

Steve’s got his hands in the sink. He looks at Nancy desperately.

“S-stop me.”

Another choking sound is ripped from Steve’s throat; Eddie realises that it’s actually a dry sob.

“Nance,” Steve says. It’s half her name, half a pained whine. “Fuck. I’m sorry. I—I know everything.”

And then he’s suddenly launching towards them—it’s only the fact that he’s so completely freaked out that makes Eddie move in time, saves him from getting strangled again.

He grabs Steve’s wet hands, pins them behind his back and tries to hold him still.

“Jesus! Wheeler, what the fuck is going—”

“Do you have anything that can knock him out?” Nancy says.

“What?”

“Drugs, Eddie!”

“Are you crazy? There’s no way—oh my God, what are you—”

Crack.

Nancy’s grabbed the cistern lid, brought it down upon Steve’s head. Eddie looks at Steve lying eerily still on the floor in abject horror.

There’s blood in his hair.

Eddie feels sick.

But Nancy just watches, as if to confirm that Steve’s not moving. She looks Eddie in the eye.

“Come on. That’s only gonna work for so long.”

Eddie just follows her out, too shocked to even attempt speaking.

It’s chaotic at the RV; Dustin sees them coming, leaps out of the door as Robin yells at him.

“Where’s Steve?”

“Get back inside.”

“Nancy, where the hell is he?”

“We can talk inside.”

“Bullshit, I’m—”

“Dustin, he’s Flayed,” Nancy says, her voice breaking, and all the fight goes out of Dustin at once.

“No, that’s—he can’t—”

Eddie finally finds his voice. “Can someone tell me what the fuck you’re talking about?”

Nancy doesn’t speak, not until they’re in the RV, the door locked behind her.

“I think it’s the—the bites—”

Robin swears, a hand over her mouth.

“Flayed?” Eddie persists.

“The Mind Flayer,” Dustin says numbly. “It’s what we—it’s a part of The Upside Down. It—it used Will to… to spy on…”

“And what, it’s—” Eddie swallows. “It’s inside him?”

“Like a virus. He’s part of the Hive Mind,” Nancy says.

Eddie’s knees feel weak.

“Fuck,” Dustin says. “He knows where we are, he’ll know—”

“It’s too late to change that,” Nancy says. “We just have to—at least someone needs to stay with him.”

“I will,” Robin says instantly, eyes blazing.

“Me too,” Dustin says.

Nancy glances at him, shakes her head—firm but apologetic. “You can join Erica.” And as Dustin opens his mouth, no doubt to argue, she adds, “I’m sorry, Dustin. It’s just—we might need to… to fight him.”

Dustin doesn’t reply, but looks so utterly devastated that Eddie wishes he’d insisted on diving first, that the bats had torn into him instead.

“Keep him warm,” Nancy tells Robin urgently. “And I don’t mean just—it’s got to be unbearable.”

Robin nods, ashen-faced.

Nancy catches Eddie’s eye. “The one thing that fucker can’t stand is heat.”

She paces up and down the RV, checking for stray bottles. Then she comes to a stop right in front of Robin.

“He—he might beg,” she whispers. “And it won’t—it’ll sound like him. Like he just wants the pain to stop.”

Robin’s eyes look glassy. “Nance, I don’t—don’t know if I can—”

“I’ll do it,” Eddie says.

He feels everyone’s eyes on him, but he just looks at Nancy, at the determined set to her jaw.

He doesn’t know when he made the decision, if he can even pinpoint a conscious moment of thought—but now that the words are out, he feels the vow he’s made, deep in his chest.

Nancy hands him a bottle and cloth.

A lighter.

She fixes Eddie with a piercing look. “It’s going to look like you’re killing him,” she says.

Eddie nods.

He turns, offers Robin his hand.

“C’mon, Buckley. Let’s get that bastard out of him.”

[stevesjockstrap]

@stcreators event 01: favorite

Ahoy Captain

“Jesus H. Christ.” Eddie stopped walking so sharply that Gareth ran into his back. He did a double take and his jaw was on the floor.

“What the fu-“ But Gareth followed his gaze and his jaw also dropped. “Is that?”

Jeff came to stand next to them, eyebrows raised. “…Steve Harrington in a sailor outfit?”

“That’s the Steve Harrington you won’t shut up about?” Drew said, especially loud in the crowded mall.

“Shut up!” He turned to hiss at him before rounding back to stare across the hall. “Did I die and go to heaven? Pinch me.” He pulled the sleeve of his leather jacket up and offered his arm to Gareth. He pinched his forearm roughly, without looking down. All of their eyes were locked on the figure in the brightly colored ice cream shop, now coming around the counter to crouch down to hand a cone to a small child. Doing so making the tiny shorts ride up his thighs, but Eddie’s eyes were suddenly drawn to where his v-neck hung open, getting a glimpse of chest hair.

“Buh,” he turned to Gareth to announce.

“Yo, we have to go in there. This is like once in a lifetime shit.”

Eddie adamantly shook his head and started backing away but Gareth and the guys shared a look before suddenly grabbing him under the arms to escort him awkwardly through the mall thoroughfare.

“Oh no. Oh no.” He chanted under his breath.

Back behind the counter now, Steve greeted them as they bodily pushed him into the store. “Welcome, fellas! Would you like to set sail on this ocean of flavor with me? I’ll be your captain!”

“Holy shit,” Eddie breathed. It’s so much worse, being this close. Steve’s eyes shine under the terrible fluorescent lighting and he can see the muscles in his arms flex as he leans onto the counter.

“If you need any help let me know. The flavor of the week is triple decker extravaganza!”

Eddie’s brain had stopped working. His arms were dropped as his friends went further up to the counter to look at the ice cream options. He continued staring stupidly at Steve as he leaned a hip against the back counter.

“You guys check out the new record store yet?” Steve Harrington was actually making decent conversation with them. What universe did he teleport to this morning?

“No, not yet,” Gareth answered. “That’s where we were heading actually, when uh-“ he awkwardly turned around to make eye contact with Eddie, still a few feet behind them and drawing Steve’s attention over to him.

“You don’t want anything?” Steve asked him. Oh he wanted something. Wanted to drop to his knees in front of him. Or the other way around. He wouldn’t mind either way. He would’ve done anything to have Steve’s undivided attention on him and now that he had it he was blanking on English. He opened and closed his mouth a few times. He finally forced his body forward, tearing his eyes away from Steve to send a panicked look at Gareth. He just smirked, the absolute asshole.

Steve frowned at him and he wanted to melt into the floor. “If you’re not a fan of ice cream we have cookies, too.”

Steve being so sweet to him finally rattled some brain cells loose. “Oh, um, no, that’s-“

Jeff chuckled from the other side of Gareth. “Eddie here loves ice cream. That’s why we had to stop in. Isn’t that right, guys?” The rest of his band laughed obnoxiously and nodded. Steve looked at all of them confused, but still with an easy smile when he turned back to Eddie.

“What’s your favorite?”

“Um, huh?” Eddie blinked at him. He watched as Steve pulled his bottom lip in to bite it, probably trying to figure out what was happening with him and the guys. Eddie’s gut clenched. He hoped he didn’t think he was doing anything wrong or they were making fun of him.

“Your favorite ice cream? We can talk about any of your other favorites after we get that out of the way,” he grinned at him and Eddie had to grab the counter in front of him when his knees threatened to give out.

“Rocky road?”

“Perfect. Coming right up! Cup or cone? Or waffle bowl? It’s like a big cone in a cup?”

“Cone please?”

Once he wasn’t under the heavy gaze of gorgeous brown eyes, he turned to his friends for help. But Drew just snickered at him and Jeff sent him a thumbs up. Dicks.

Steve handed him his cone and their fingers brushed. He dumped all the change he had into the tip jar and Steve fucking winked at him. The guys ordered their ice creams suspiciously easily, but Steve kept coming back to Eddie’s side of the counter. He tried hard not to hold eye contact with him as he licked across his ice cream.

“So was it worth it?”

“Wh-what?” He stammered.

“Coming in, for the ice cream?”

“Definitely. The ice cream is… great.” He looked around and realized his friends had gone to sit in the furthest booth by the door. Steve had only been sweet and amazing to him and he couldn’t leave without at least having a somewhat competent conversation. “But I- I really came in to see you.”

“Me?” Steve leaned further across the counter towards him. He turned those big brown eyes up at him and Eddie wasn’t sure if he could get any other words out.

“Couldn’t walk away from you in this getup.” His hand moved on his own accord to reach out and tug on the red tie in the middle of his chest.

“Oh,” he huffed. “Yeah. I wish I would’ve known before I agreed to work here. Not that I had any better offers.”

Eddie’s fingers itched to run along the blush that appeared across his cheeks.

“No, no, it’s- I mean, I like it.” He winced as it came out, but his eyes shot open when Steve chuckled. “Really. I really like it.” He cleared his throat because that couldn’t have been his voice. It was deep and gravely and sounded way too fucking hot to have come out of his mouth.

Steve’s wide eyes tracked his tongue as it came out to wet his lips. Fuck.

“Oh.”

Eddie leaned a bit closer, drawing on this unknown confidence that came from Steve Harrington hanging on his every word. “So what time do you get off, Captain?”

xx

This was a benedryl-fueled thought but Scoops!uniform Steve was the only thing my brain wanted to give me for “favorite.”

@lighthousebeams

[noodlewritez]

Dirty thief

Pairings: Carl Grimes x Savior!Fem!Reader

Warnings: Negan's kid!reader, hate sex (But they actually hate each other so no kissy kissy stuff), really gross, sloppy oral (M!recieving), cussing

It was 3:39 AM. You throw your rope over the side fence of Alexandria. Sneaking your way around to the armory, unaware of the blue eye watching you from across the street.

Earlier that day, you had gone with your dad's right hand man, Dwight as he was picking up supplies. You saw the armory, looking through the door window, seeing the guns, the gorgeous detail on the guns. Knowing your dad, Negan, wouldn't let you have a gun, you planned to take one, in the middle of the night when no one was awake. You knew they had guard watchers for the main gate and the main gate only so you had to go through the woods to get to the side. You land in a cul-de-sac, running lowly so no one could suspect anything.

You make it to the armory, slamming your body harshly but quietly against the door, popping it open. You're suddenly on the ground, tackled by a tall teenager, someone around your age. You could barely make out any features, the only recognizable trait being the hat you saw on the leader's son that day. This should be easy.

You get up and punch him in the jaw then he pushes you to the ground. "You fucking thief!” He whispers harshly at you, pinning your wrists to the wood floor. You kick him in the hip, getting up and attempting to run before he grabs your leg and slides you under him, straddling you now.

You notice the bulge in his jeans and you smirk and stop fighting back, letting him keep your wrists pinned. "Are you fucking enjoying this?" You spit harshly. His eyes widen but he quickly tries to hide his surprise that you noticed the state he's in.

"Shut the fuck up." He growls. "Tell me that all you want, but I'm not the one who's harder than a fucking rock, now am I? You fucking like that you pinned me down and you sure like the idea of us fucking so cut to the chase and do it already." You spit. He contemplates, still pinning you down, straddling you then rolls his eyes. "You better make this fucking quick."

He releases your wrists, standing up and unbuckling his belt while leaning against the nearest wall. You follow, waiting for him to fish himself out of his own jeans. You roll your eyes as you get fed up. "Jesus fucking Christ, do I have to do everything for you?" You dig his hard, angry cock out of his jeans, sliding them down to his ankles. He takes control, his fingers, digging into your hair as you take him in your mouth. "Fuck, do I have to do this everytime to shut you up?" He pants.

Your spit drips down onto the wood floor and down the throat he was using, soaking your shirt. You fingers hook around the back of his legs, pushing him further down your throat, now feeling him deep in your throat, your nose now buried in his loins. Now, you can fucking taste his sweet precum as he whines, moaning. His hands fasten his movement on your head, up and down his hard length, throwing his head back. "God...dammit..." He gasps, he was getting close.

You pull off of him, standing up to remove your shorts and your soaked panties and shirt when he picks your right thigh up, his other hand pumping his cock and rubbing it against your clit, teasing you. "You said you wanted this to be quick." You try not to whine at the sensation, scratching his back harshly, possibly drawing blood. He inhales sharply and slams into you, feeling all eight inches inside your spongy insides. He lifts up by your other thigh, pressing your whole body against the wall, biting our shoulder, making you hiss.

He starts pumping into you relentlessly, utterly using you to get himself off. You pant and squeeze your eyes closed as you try not to make a pleasurable sound, not giving him what he wants but god, the way he was pounding right on your spot. You moan, scratching his back, digging into his back. "Fuck, fuck, fuck..." You chant, getting dizzy as you feel your orgasm building itself up.

You dig your nails into his back and squeeze your eyes shut once more, waiting for the orgasm to hit you as there was no sign of him stopping. He feels you clenching and slows his place, smirking. Your eyes open. "What... the fuck?!" You pull back, looking him in the eyes with an angry look. "Oh...I'm sorry, did i stop something?" He smirks. "Want me to keep going?" He coos mockingly.

"Keep fuckin' going, Grimes." You growl and with that, his hips start snapping against yours once again. You throw your head back against the wood walls and bite. "If only you looked as good as you fucked, Grimes, Christ...." You whine as his pace picks up. "This is all your fucking good for. Just a hole for me to fuck." He pants, looking down at you sucking him in, the sight getting him off more than it fucking should. You feel your orgasm crawl back closer to you, your hands finding his scalp and pulling his hair.

"God...."

He smirks, finding pleasure in you trying to hide your sounds. "Fuck, anyone else know what a little slut you are, or do you save it just for me?" He growls in your ear and fuck, that's what breaks you. You cum all over him, coating him, you throw your head back, pulling his hair tighter in between your fingers as you moan loudly.

"God, you are just a fucking slut, liking it when I insult you." he smirks, pounding non-stop until he groans and leans his weight on you, spilling into you. "Fuck...Fuck." He moans.

He pulls out, both of you standing on wobbly legs now. You pull your shorts on, strutting out of the door as confident as you can muster as you pull your shirt on.

You don't see him again until Dwight takes you for the ride to another supply pick-up. You get out of the truck to see him except this time clothed. You flush as you see him, walking towards him when Dwight wasn't looking. "You're limping." He bites back a smile. You roll your eyes, that's all you need.

"Until next time?" He looks you up and down then winks at you.

Next time?

[stackslip]

OK OK CHAINSAW MAN THOUGHTS FOR THIS CHAPTER UHHH i haven't done this in a while.

love, love the continuation of the previous chapter's yoru pointing up into these regular americans pointing up (possibly giving the gun devil more strength inadvertently?). this series of chapters is gonna be such a treat to read once it's put into a volume

lots of talk about how "freedom" and "gun" sound almost the same in japanese and this is clearly a dark pun, but the thing i also really love here is.... the arm symbolizing the "light"/flame of america/american styled "freedom" falling and replaced by a gun. the bit of the gun devil clearly having emerged FROM the statue, crawling out of it and revealing its ghastly interior, the sham it's always been. fujimoto's works starting with fire punch have always been obsessed with the idea of the image/representation and the many truths it disguises, how ugly realities are turned into stories, or propaganda, or even into merchandise to be bought, sold, covered up, used as justification for idleness or atrocities. belief is what makes devils powerful. the statue of liberty symbolizes deep held beliefs that America is all about pursuing dreams and protecting freedom, no matter what america's actual past and present actions reflect upon it. this is just the nature of that symbol and what it represents laid bare for all to see!

one of part 2's greatest strengths and worst weaknesses has been asa's passivity--which fits thematically, and makes her character that much more realistic and interesting when fujimoto bothers to draw her and put her emotions center stage (and makes it that much more depressing when she barely has a role outside of gawking at new information). but see this--this! this is what i want! this is what makes asa's passivity so devastating as a character! the exchange here is SO perfect, from yoru having committed the crime to asa suddenly being in her place, witness to the atrocity she's let herself be an accomplice to--and by extension, having committed it herself! we've seen that most of her power is fueled by guilt and regret--something that comes to her so, so naturally. and now she's confronted with it. with the results of her actions, of her dreams and attempts to save chainsaw man (to have a friend/someone who could love and understand her). the results of her passivity vis-à-vis yoru. she's committed this atrocity, essentially. she can't hide behind yoru for it. this is her body too.

just an unbelievable panel. the hole looks like it's *bleeding*, like a bullet wound on a corpse. sick sick sick!

see what i mean re asa's passivity being so compelling when used right. how could i forget? how could i get so comfortable? gd. also yoru's laugh is so good she looks so awkward. and most importantly she looks like nayuta did when making fun of asa after making her bark like a dog. sisters!

sick ass design. absolutely TWISTED parallel to when denji last faced the gun devil, with humans helping denji and begging him to save them. TWISTED parallel to makima's "save me, chainsaw man" and asa's own "i'll save you, chainsaw man!". fujimoto king of making narrative parallels so evil you'll feel sick ever rereading the first panels.

yeah uh i'm just gonna drop the parallel here and fucking run and die. isn't it romantic? you understand, don't you chainsaw man? you of all people would get the love involved in this?

the juxtaposition of the ruined city by asa/yoru and the children being led to the slaughter by the japanese government to resurrect denji is just. jesus christ man

[drgrlfriend]

@brilcrist created this lovely art depicting a scene from my fic! My Heart Will Be Your Home by dr_girlfriend

Excerpt:

That is … definitely a guy fighting with a bow and arrow.  He’s tall and blond — could probably pass for Steve at a distance, but maybe even a touch taller and built a bit leaner — wearing jeans and a t-shirt, a fancy-looking recurve bow in his hand and a quiver strapped slantways across his back.  He’s got his back to a giant maple tree, and is firing arrows in a blur of motion while ducking lasers from the bots.  These ones look a little like the Daleks from that show Tony and Bruce love — vaguely conical and stumpy, with what seems to be a single laser on each.  

“Why ain’t he gettin’ up in that tree?” Bucky wonders aloud, revving through the preserve.  “It’s a better tactical position.”  He’s starting to see scattered bots now, and he slaloms a course through them, swinging his metal arm and sending them flying as he zooms by.

“Not everyone has sniper training,” Sam suggests.  “He’s probably just some archery hobbyist, or something.  Probably doesn’t know the first damn thing about fighting.”

A bot has gotten close up on the guy’s flank, and he seems to realize just in time.  He somersaults sideways, coming up with an arrow in his hand and jamming it directly into the bot’s side just as a shot from Redwing finishes it off.  

“I don’t know about that,” Steve says dryly.  “Seems to be doing pretty good to me.  Either way, we’re almost on him; Bucky, I’ll take the right side, you take the left.”

“Copy.”  There’s a line of bots advancing on the guy and Bucky pulls up with a sharp twist, planting his left foot and letting the rear of the bike skid sideways so that the back wheel takes out the bots like a row of dominoes.

Out of the corner of his eye Bucky sees Steve hurtle over the handlebars of his own motorcycle and yeet the whole damn thing at a cluster of bots.  No finesse, that guy.

Bucky jumps off his bike, swinging at the bots closest to him.  He’s just about dealt with that cluster and is only a few paces away from the archer when the guy’s eyes widen.  He lunges toward Bucky, pushing him aside just as one of the bots on the ground fires.

The man yelps and staggers, pressing a hand to his side.

“What kind of idiot are you?” Bucky growls, pulling the man back and putting his own body between him and the bot.  “Let me take the hits!” 

A furrow appears between the man’s brows, his mouth gaping for a moment, and then he seems to shake it off, nocking another arrow and loosing it.  It skims so close to Bucky’s face that it stirs his hair, and Bucky whirls to see another bot was sneaking up on him.

“Jesus, these things are everywhere,” Bucky complains, drawing his Glock and firing, taking out the laser of the one on the ground.  

“There’s a weak spot in the armor plating on the left side,” the man yells.  

Time seems to stop for a moment, Bucky’s heart stuttering and then kicking into overdrive.  The air around him suddenly seems crystal clear — Bucky can see every individual leaf on every tree, can hear the sighing of the wind and the rustle of the leaves, the whirring of the bots and the heartbeat and panting breaths of the guy as he ducks another laser.

“Bucky, did he —” Steve starts over the comm.

“Not now, Stevie,” Bucky manages.  He shakes off his shock and forcibly shoves the revelation to the back of his mind in order to focus on the task at hand.  Time seems to lurch back into a normal speed and Bucky concentrates on blocking the man from the line of fire of the largest cluster of approaching bots.

“I’ll make an opening, you run for it,” he shouts.

“I’m not leaving,” the man shouts back.  Jesus christ, another vigilante-wannabe.  They’re coming out of the woodwork these days.  Was this guy even in the park when all this started, or did he come looking for a fight?

“Watch your back,” Bucky instructs with a mental shrug, and then there’s no more time for words, the two of them fighting fiercely against the oncoming wave of bots.  

[gemharvest]

RGB idea GF wiping the floor with BF and Pico in Uno even if they team up against her (she's eating the cards)

"Uno!"

"Jesus Christ, Gee, this is the third game in a row. There's no way you're that lucky." Pico gestured to the girl, holding nine cards in his hand.

"You're just a sore loser." Girlfriend said with a small laugh. "Besides, it's not my fault Biff keeps hitting you with draw fours."

Upon being called out, Boyfriend just gave a toothy smile and shrugged. Pico stared daggers at him; at the both of them.

"It's just starting to feel suspicious, that's all." The ginger grumbled, shaking his head.

"Ska be d'bop."

"Don't you start too-"

A few more moves, and Girlfriend placed down her last card. The game officially over, Boyfriend took the cards to reshuffle for a new one. He hesitated for a moment, then looked at the stack more carefully.

"Ba bo..?" Pico looked over at the cards as well, then furrowed his brows.

"Yeah, I swear the stack keeps getting smaller each game. We're not losing cards, are we?"

Girlfriend felt a bit anxious at the boys' observation, though was able to hold a perfect poker face.

Truth be told, she wasn't that good, or even lucky, at Uno.

What gave her that winning streak? Well, her boys would get distracted easily; staring into their cards with a bit too much focus or giving their phones a quick check when it wasn't their turn. In these brief moments, she would slip a card into her mouth and eat it.

Probably not the smartest idea; though much like Boyfriend, she wasn't really known for them. It was only a couple cards a game, and neither boy paid enough attention to the others' card counts to even notice. As long as she could get away with it, she'd do it.

"It doesn't look that small? Maybe we misplaced a few cards last time we played."

Pico raised an eyebrow at her, but didn't seem to have any desire to argue.

"Maybe, I guess I'll have to keep an eye out the next time I clean."

Nice, they're still none the wiser.

Boyfriend nodded at the pair, before splitting the deck to shuffle. After a few passes, he set the deck face-down, smiling at his work; the boy probably enjoyed shuffling the deck more than actually playing the game.

Cards were dealt, and a new game began. Pico seemed to be putting an effort into paying more attention, so Girlfriend had to go quite a few turns without pulling her trick.

Eventually, his eyes turned to his own cards. Girlfriend waited a moment, making sure he was truly focused while Boyfriend agonized over what card to play himself, before carefully slipping one of her cards out and into her mouth.

"What the fuck are you doing?"

Girlfriend froze, card stuck halfway in her mouth. Beside her, Pico's head was still in his cards, though his eyes were raised and staring at her.

Slowly, he lowered his cards and his stare turned into an incredulous look.

"Have you been eating your cards? Oh my god?"

Girlfriend took the card out of her mouth, now crumpled and slightly damp, and held it with the rest of her deck casually; as if she hadn't just been caught.

"Whaaaat, no... Why would I do that?" She spoke, voice feigning innocence. Pico huffed at the lie.

"Bullshit. I can't believe you're trying to pretend you didn't just get caught." Pico scolded, voice more amused than angry. "How in the hell did you even come to the conclusion that that was how you should win."

"Well... It's not like you guys had noticed cards going missing until now."

Boyfriend, Who had been staring silently up until then, suddenly burst out into a fit of musical laughter. Pico and Girlfriend followed suit, not being able to suppress chuckles at how ridiculous the situation was.

While the laughing fit was probably only a few seconds, it felt several minutes long to the trio. Pico was the first to speak after, voice still cracking slightly from the laughter.

"Oh, you are definitely banned from Uno for a while. You also owe me a new deck." He wiped a tear from his eye, still grinning as he spoke.

"Awww come on, I promise I'll stop doing it." Girlfriend pouted, giving puppy dog eyes to Pico. "The deck thing is fair though, I'll bring it the next time I'm over."

"Beebop ska doh??"

"Yeah, I'm not budging on the ban. You'll have to deal with the consequences of your actions, sweetheart." He shook his head gently while he spoke.

Girlfriend stuck her tongue out at him, playful yet clearly not happy with the decision.

"Wow, you're so mean to me over just a few cards."

[wololo-01]

HAPPY BIRTHDAY MRS. WATER!!!!

Yayyyy!!!! It finally here!! It my girl birthday!!! I'm so happy to finally celebrate Mrs. Water birthday <3

But actually that's not all I really want to celebrate and say.....

Oh boi ok long LOOOONG texts above ( there is Also some swearing so be warned too :'b) ↓

(also sorry for interrupting any of you guys!! For the people I tag, you all can just read the part I mentioned you and then skip all the rest!! <3)

*sigh* ok, I'm not going to lie here, since the last 3 years here in this community, it never crossed my mind that I would meet people as incredible, funny, creative and majestic as everyone here,And I'll tell you the truth, this fandom changed me a lot, I didn't imagine this would happen but look, this actually happened hahaha!! XD

To be honest, I had a lot of problems last year and this year too, a lot of shit happened to me and that really discouraged me in a lot of things,I had problems with my self-esteem again and wanted to give up trying anything and life as well I felt useless on several days but you guys, you all cheered me up so much!! I never had the courage to tell you this but if it weren't because of you all I really don't know what I would do :') everything was like: "No one will ever like my style" - BANG! Them find my style cool. "I made this drawing but I don't really think someone will-” BANG! People actually like it a lot “i made this fanart for them but what if then-” BANG! them like it a lot! I'm so happy! :'D

sorry, sorry kakskaak buuut also, There is actually some special people who I want to thank a lot, they are people who of all inspired me to continue and made me so happy:

@bluetorchsky & @androidcharles

YOU TWO.

Since the first time when I moved in to tumblr again to post my thsc art in a old account, I was scared to death that maybe there was no person who knew this game here and my style back then...jesus Christ"; _;, I was really about to gave up until BOOM!! suddenly you both show up in my notifications and I saw the reblog and read the nice tags you guys leave it AND- *slam table* AHHHHHHHHH/p YOU TWO LITERALLY ARE SOOO FREAKING NICE AND AMAZING!!!! Not only that but your both have such extraordinary creative and talent!! You two deserve so much happiness and love!! I was too shy to say this but now damn you both deserve to hear this!!! >:}

Blue your artwork is pretty!! Pretty like the moon and stars shining high in the sky!, your writing is extremely beautiful, like music on a violin or a piano at night or the ones pretty poems Written with so much passion, your writing is extraordinary! You dedicate yourself so much and manage to make a story seem like a book that you are lucky enough to know and read!! And not only that but your ocs, violin and accordion DANG I love how well written they are so much!! They designs are so great yet sooo fabulous and they storys is very veeeery good and greats!!!. I really hope that you continue with those Masterpieces that you write and draw!!, But not only that, but you are such a kind, spectacular and divine person, I really appreciate soooooo muuuch all the things you do here, your writing is done with so much passion and your art is so unique, Don't feel sad or anything just because you can't write or draw at some point, it's totally fine and you deserve all the time but also ALLL THE LOVE AND APPRECIATION in the world! ^^)

Katiee!!! First of all WHERE DID GET SO FREAKING AMAZING IDEAS AND CREATIVE?!?!!???? I SWEAR YOU ARE AMAZING AND FUNNY!!, sometimes I envy you a little, but I also consider you one of my inspirations!!!! Your art is beautiful, beautiful like a painting of flowers or like a clean and calm river, your style is so cuteeeee Those stick people really look like marshmallows!! I so eat your art!! >:3 (kakak sorry), but seriously you are a talented person too, many people here also like you and blue!! You are neat and I glad to be able meet you and your artwork!! (Also I saw that you also writing and it one about your au, I still need to Taste this new delicious write of you 🍽️) when you did the Toppat clan week YIPPEE I GOT SO EXCITED!!! I was scary to not be able to participate but I managed!! I have so much fun drawing all those stuff!!! The prompt You put it was really good also extremely interesting!!!, and talking about something I love so much your ocs!!! Especially Amelia! She such a cuteee cinnamon roll and a adorable blueberry cake!! I love her personality and the design Ohh ESPECIALLY the hair!! Its like a fluffy blue cotton candy!! You super cool, I really appreciate all the work you do, I hope I can see more, you are a talented, funny and absolutely magnificent person!!! Don't forget this!!! >:]

@capturecharlesau & @crown-of-roses-thsc

YOU BOTH ARE MY TWO FAVORITE AU BLOG HAHSHSHAK SUCH CREATIVE, SWEET AND AMAZING PERSON YOU GUY ARE AAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!!!

Minnie!!, you super cool! Like really you such a cool and amazing person!! You also so sweet and kind!!! You like one of those cool kid in the school who I look like at and said "I wanna be like she!! She so awesome!! Yep, she deserves this popularity, she deserves nothing but the best for all things" In the last year, I was really down by some things that happened, but then I saw some one of the chapter you post it and BOOOM!!! Your au is what brings me back the joy!!! AAAAAA I was so hyped about your au!!! Jesus it just so DAMN WELL writing, I love the ideas you have and the characters?? NAHAHAHA THEM ALSO ARE SOOO FREAKING GREAT you manage to combine the words anguish, violence and comfort in such an incredible way! (And snicker you too do!!) Some of your chapters were thrown out at times when I really needed something to distract me, seriously you are a divinely talented person!! And other things I love about your au is Terrence, I'm still a hater of this piece of crap but I want to praise you so much about how you wrote it!! He really was such a good and badass villain/antagonist!!! God, I've even had some nightmares involving him, he really gave me the chills, The way you wrote it from start to finish was AMAZING, I swear I still love rereading it all again, to me it's like a frollo like the hunchback of Notre Dame with a bit of the personality of Clayton from Tarzan or Ursula from the little mermaid!! (Sorry they all are one of my favorite villains), Another thing I love so much are your ocs! Not only Danny but I can also say allwork and Benz!! AHHH THEM ALL ARE SUCH COOL OCS!!! I also need to say you are amazing when it comes to writing about Characters!! I really wanna know so much more about them all!!, Danny is still my favorite (he so lovely and sweet, he and you deserve the world) but either way, I thankful for you get in this fandom :') you deserve so much loveee and appreciation!! You made wanna go back in training more cartoon styles and expression because of your artstyle who is perfect!!!! I and everyone here will love to see your next works and arts!!! DON'T FORGET WHO FREAKING NICE AND AMAZING YOU ARE!!!!

Snicker!!!! (Hope it okay to call you that)) *sigh*.....

I WOULD LIKE TO GIVE A MEDAL FOR THE BEST AU THAT IS BEING WRITTEN.

Wow, God, how can I put into words in English how good she is??? I won't even be able to describe it in Portuguese CUZ GODDAMN YOU HAVE SUCH A POWER TO WRITE SOMETHING SO GOOOOOD😭😭 think I can say you and have the absolutely talens of god and the creative of a Talented artist who deserves much more appreciation and great recognition!!! When you showed up I was having a few bad days but YOUR AU SUDDENLY FELL FROM THE SKY AND WAS IMMEDIATELY BLESSED TO READ SUCH THE MAGNIFICENT MASTERPIECE!!! I love sooo much the idea of ​​Ellie being Terrence daughter It such a cool and think I can say, a really original ideas (I mean about ellie being Terence daughter, not Terrence having a child "^^) I also adore so much all the personalities of each, RHM is one of my favorites, I'm also curious about his story and the others, I can't forget to talk about the villain!, AAAAAA YOUR TERRENCE IT'S SO NEAT!!! I also still his hater but you done such a good job with him gave the big vibe of two-face villain or the cocky anger issues one (idk what it the name for this one XD) but seriously? Meeen I wish I could could puch him just like rogue from jewel au from @smoresthehalloweenqueen ((Smore you also another of my inspiration and favorite artist!! >:3)) and CC!terrence, for me rogue, CC!Terrence and CoRTerrence are pretty good villains but make Blood boils so much just by seeing them but hey hey! This why I love villains you like them very much but wish them all just die soon (cc!Terrence was one Only these two are missing and I can't wait to see them all in hell ahahaha >:D) you really are spectacular, take the time you need to do the chapters, but I wanna to said that you are also my new Big inspiration!!

@00lari00

LARIIIII FINALMENTE EU TENHO UMA AMIGA BR NESSE FANDOM!!! DEUS É BOM DE DEMAAAAAAAAIS PORRA 🙌🙌

Akaskska sorry XDD but I serious!! I so happy to be the only brazillian person here in the fandom on tumblr!! It sucks sometimes not having someone who speaks the same language as you to talk :'''b but suddenly A SMOKE ARISED AND SUDDENLY FROM BEHIND, WIZARD LARI FINALLY ARRIVED!!! HOORAY!!!! Lari we can not talk to much since you busy with your school and I am a shy idiot but I need to said, HOLY SHIT YOU ARE THE MOST FUCKING COOL PERSON I HAVE HAD THE PLEASURE OF KNOWING, YOUR ART AND CREATIVITY ARE LIKE MAGIC COMING TRUTH!!! And this au you are creating??? É MUITO FODAAAAAA 😩😭🤌🤌🤌 CARALHO VEI TU TA FAZENDO UMA OBRA PRIMA ESPERO QUE VC NÃO PARE!!! É MUITO INCRÍVEL TUDO QUE VC TA FAZENDO!!! (Sorry back to English KAJSKS) I can't lie to you, I sometimes envy you, you are such a special, kind and incredible person. It's like I'm talking like the coolest maid ever and I think 'god they're so cool why they are even talking to me?, but I also see you as one of my big inspirations!! I know I will reach the same level as you in talent and art but I at least want to have some of your courage to talk to people and be good at drawing just like YOUU!!I also want you to remember that you are so wonderful and a very magnificent and awesome person!! Anyone who talk shit about you and one it's a hater because them never gonna be in the same way as you are!!! Also take all the time you need it for draw, study is also important I am here to let you know that I'm rooting for you every day!! I can see you Gonna have a bright and wonderful future, thank you for being my friend and also so being my inspiration

And now a really special one...a person who I am very very grateful...

@doodlethings

Bunnu?, omg I think I will cry (I already am since I'm writing all this) YOU. HOLY SHIT BUNNU I SWEAR HOW DARE YOU BE THE COOLEST, AMAZING, SENSATIONAL, WONDERFUL, KIND, AMAZING PERSON??? WHAT THE FUCK, I WISH I COULD GIVE YOU THE FUCKING WORLD, GIVE YOU EVERYTHING YOU DESEVE IT AND MORE THAN THE WORLD CAN OFFER TO YOU, In fact, how long have we been glued to each other? Type 4?? 5?? Or 6 years?? Oof time passed so quickly I lost count ;_; but well fuck it! The most important thing I want want to said is, YOU ARE SUCH DIVINE ARTIST AND WRITER!!! YOUR ART IS AS WONDERFUL AS A LIVING PAINTING A MUSE PAINTING, And this art deserves to be featured, every detail of it is so impeccable and incredible, and your writing? They are like a special, treasured book that deserves to be read, even if no one does, I will, I will appreciate your art and I will read your stories for the rest of my life, again and again and again, You are like a sunshine or flowers in the snow, you are my bestie, my favorite person in the world!! And you are my biggest inspiration to continue drawing, you have cheered me up all these years and continue to this day, you have the best sense of humor and music of all, your gave so wanna tips and help me a lot to deal with live and learn to love and appreciate more the things!! If wasn't because of you? Geez I really don't know but this doesn't matter, you are the best, intelligence and great yet sweetly and maravilinda person in this WHOOOOOLE WORLD!!! I LOVE YOU!! THANK YOU FOR BEING MY BEST FRIEND AND BE AND TALK WITH ME TO THIS DAY, I'm sorry about my horrible sense of humor, my delulu theories, lack of brain cells and Also because they heard the stupidest story I tell it ksskskajk you got a bored dumb friend :'b but I happy to be on your side until now and I can't wait to see you shine more <'3

Oh and for the people I didn't tag and said here

I'm sorry I can't tag all of you 😭😭 if tag more people here this post will be post only a few weeks later akajsj BUT DON'T THINK JUST BECAUSE I DIDN'T TAG YOU GUYS IT MEAN I FINDA ANY OF YOU SO NEAT AND AMAZING!!! YOU GUYS SUPPORT AND LOVE THAT YOU ALL GAVE ME HAVE A SPECIAL PLACE IN MY HEART!!! A LOT (almost everyone) OF YOU ARE ALSO MY INSPIRATIONS!!! YOU LOVE EVER BLOG, DRAW, THEORY, WRITINGS AND AUS THAT YOU ALL DO!!! KEEP SHINING AND GOING EVERYONE CUZ YOU GUYS ARE FABULOUS 💞💞💞 💅 I WANNA SUPPORT AND LOVE EVERY SINGLE ONE OF YOU!!! YOU GUYS DESERVE A LOOOOOOOOOOOT OF MORE THAN I CAN OFFER AND SAID DO NEVER FORGET WHO COOL AND BEAUTIFUUUUUUL YOU ALL ARE!!!! 🗣️📢

You knows? Today also is my birthday and there is It's a tradition in Brazil where, when someone has a birthday, after congratulations and lighting the candles, the person gives the first piece of cake to someone important, but all of you are important to me soooo...Since this is the internet not real life, I wanna pass several first pieces to each of you all!!!! SO GRAB ONE GUYS!!! NYEHEHEHEHEHE 🍰🍰🍰🍰🍰🍰🍰🍰🍰🍰🍰🍰🍰🍰🍰🍰🍰🍰🍰🍰🍰🍰🍰🍰🍰🍰🍰🍰🍰🍰🍰🍰🍰🍰🍰🍰🍰🍰🍰🍰🍰🍰🍰🍰🍰🍰🍰🍰🍰🍰🍰🍰🍰🍰🍰🍰🍰🍰🍰🍰🍰🍰🍰 >:DDD

Well this all I can actually said, happy birthday again Mrs. Water and Happy birthday to me!!

Also have I got this stupid idea her ajakskdkk xb

[dutiful-wildcraft]

Been having some trouble with ye old autistic burnout, so I wrote a fluffy little piece about it.

Ghost x M!OC Darren "Thumper" Martin

Unedited, just straight fluff and comfort, enjoy <3

Ghost finds Darren in their base's kitchen, he's perched in the uncomfortable metal chair that's really too small for any of the 5 men that live there.

He's been sparse all day, slinking around in the background. A shadow, not unlike Ghost himself on some days. It's not uncommon for Darren to slip off on his own. He knows his limits, and Ghost often leans into his room to find him napping, tucked into a bear sized burrito with the fancy little sleep mask Gaz gifted him. It fits him perfect, even has little bluetooth speakers so he can play white noise to block out all the rest. 

Usually he reappears after an hour or so, the buzzing rain cloud of too much noise and fluorescent lighting temporarily shooed from around his head. 

There appeared to be no such reprieve today. Darren was far away from himself, faded into the background from his usual interactions. Ghost knows the signs well, has an easiedr time spotting it in others than himself. He usually gave Darren the opportunity to regulate himself before butting in. 

And Darren had given it a try really. Ghost had watched him fuss incessantly with his shirt, the familiar soft cotton suddenly too tight and itchy on his sensitive skin, cuffs hugging his biceps too much, clinging to his stomach. Hands rubbing over and over along his thighs in an attempt to smooth away stress. He'd changed his shirt at least 3 times if Ghost had noted correctly.

He'd even braved lunch with them, wincing slightly at the whir and inevitably blaring beep of Soaps microwaved macaroni. Pushed around his food for a bit before giving up, throwing it in a container to hopefully attempt later.

He'd avoided the gym all together, and then dinner, shooting a quick text to Price to let him know he was feeling ill. Wanted to rest. Ghost doubted Price bought the lie either, but decided against pressing the issue. 

Ghost had resolved to check on him that evening only to find it empty in the late hours of the night.

And so he finds him here, bundled in a big sweatshirt with the hood pulled over his head, leg bouncing rapidly as he stares at the container of leftovers he'd put away that afternoon. He holds his head in his hands, looking equal parts disgusted and distressed.

“Why you thumpin’ Thumper?”

Darren jumps, big body jolting hard enough to make the chair squeak as whips up to look at him.

“Jesus christ, I didn't even hear ya come in.” He gives him a superficial nervous laugh, hiding his face again. Ghost hates it, when he hides his face. But he can’t say much, he hides too, keeps the mask on, hides earplugs or headphones underneath so the buzz of electricity doesn’t drive him mad. Rotates the same 4 lunches over and over in such a way as to not draw too much attention. He understands. 

He knows the pain, the frustration. Feeling like a silly cartoon thermometer, smoke fuming from his ears when Soap asks him one to many questions, the rising pressure of discomfort that never seems to shatter the glass, just mounting pressure that makes him feel like he’s suffocating in his own skin. And even with all the therapy and little tricks sometimes self soothing can only carry him so far. And while he thinks he understands why Darren suffers now, this was not the time for blunt solutions. This would take some tact, gentle prodding to keep Darren from buckling down and writhing himself deeper into the tangle of troubles that has him staring at stale mashed potatoes at midnight.

“Gonna tell me what's got you worked up?”

Darrens shoulders sag, and the other leg fires up in its bouncing, moving in an opposite rhythm to the other. Darren tries to wait him out, but Ghost is having none of it. Let’s him sit and writhe in the uncomfortable silence until Darren finally spits it out. 

“Lieutenant, it’s fine-”

“We ain’t workin’” Ghost cuts him off sternly, moves to sit down in the chair beside him. 

“I’m hungry.” he throws at the table, tired, antsy. He crosses his arms over his chest, squeezing tightly, another barrier he attempts to put between him and Ghost. 

Ghost’s eyes flick between Darren and the plastic container, prompting him to keep talking. Darren squirms.

“Its..It’s not that serious, I’m just being a toddler about…just,  I know I need to eat, It’s why I’m pissy. Everything just sounds bad, and I’d rather starve than eat any of this shit. But I need to eat.” he snaps, more at himself than Ghost. 

Ghost knows the feeling all too well. 

“Alright, if you could have anything right now, hot or cold?”

“What?”

That get’s his attention, tired gray eyes flicker up to meet his. He squints for a moment, thinking before piping up, slow and careful. 

“Hot”

“Soft or crunchy?”

His next reply comes a little quicker.

“Soft, I think”

“Spicy? Sweet?”

Darren wrinkles his nose, not unlike a bunny, and Ghost can’t help the amused smile tugging at his scarred lips. 

“Think I just want somethin’...kinda gentle?” he peeks up at Ghost, as if to ask permission. His sweet man. He looks a little more clear now, he’s stopped bouncing, hands now shoved in the front pocket of his hoodie as he looks toward him with a hopeful little glimmer. 

“Should be easy then.” Ghost nods, standing easily, mindful of the chair scraping against the tile floor. He takes the leftovers from Darren and pops them back in the fridge as he begins to dig around for other ingredients. 

Darren twists, following him across the room with curious eyes. Ghost digs out all he needs, a pack of noodles, butter, some of the cheap parmesan that Darren insisted they keep. Salt, pepper. 

“Whatcha makin?”

“Those noodles you like, should do well enough, yeah?

Ghost has barely gotten the water on the stovetop before a set of burly arms wrap around him, soft and slow as Darren molds himself to his back, face pressed between his shoulder blades. He’s content to let him stay there, clinging to him like a koala as Ghost takes half-steps back and forth to finish up their dinner. He makes them each a plate before guiding them both back to the table. 

The simple buttery noodles were just the ticket too. The tension from his shoulders easing as he digs in finally, scarfing down the food with an iron focus. The man must have been starving all day, the chips steadily stacking against him with each added stressor. He even goes for seconds, pushing his hood away from his face and returning to his seat with a happy little sway. A bouncy ritual that tells Simon he’s pleased. 

He grins up at Simon once they’ve both cleaned their dishes, sweet and sheepish. 

“There you are. “ Ghost murmurs with a smile, “C’mere love.” he gingerly guides Darren toward his front, tucking the bulky man close against his chest and hugging him tight. “You’ve been hidin’ from me today.” he chastises softly, pressing a soft kiss against his hairline as they sway gently in place. 

“Been real tired.” Darren whispers, letting some of the defeat bleed through. “M’sorry.”

“Let’s get you to bed then.” 

It’s short walk back to Simon’s room, Darren’s warm hand tucked in his as they go. He leaves the tired man perched on the edge of his bed as he prepares the room. Turns out the lights besides the soft glow from the night stand, sets up the small desk fan, digs out the extra pillows and tosses one at Darren’s head playfully. Earning him light giggle as he keeps the prize to himself and flops backwards, shimmying himself up nicely in Ghost’s bed. 

“Negative, take that off, you're going to be roasting us both in that.”

Darren huffs, shucking off the soft hoodie and t-shirt underneath, revealing a soft broad chest and even softer stomach, delicate inky lines run over his breast and shoulder and along his arm, soft flowers that contrast the hard lines on Ghost’s own arm. He folds them both up neatly, before shimmying under the blankets in just his sweatpants, tugging the covers up over his chin, and waiting for Ghost with sleepy sweet eyes. 

Ghost knows damn well the sweatpants will also get kicked off in the night, and he will wake up with a big southern octopus clinging to him in just his briefs. (If he’s lucky those might come off too.) He crawls over him in the bed, pausing briefly to straddle his hips and catch his lips in a soft slow kiss. Darren hums happily, hips wiggling under the blankets as he wraps his arms around his neck. 

“Careful now.” Ghost warns, nipping at his jaw playfully before flopping down beside him with the grace of a lazy cat. With some fussing he manages to get under the covers, tucking himself against the wall and dragging Darren across the bed. Simon tucks him against his chest, curling an arm around his waist and letting his fingers trail idly over the coarse hair of his belly. 

“Thanks for taking care of me Simon.”

Simon only hums, pressing another soft kiss to the back of his neck before squeezing him closer. Finally, with full bellies and the soft whir of the fan, they both fall into a peaceful sleep, curled into the warmth of one another.

[victimeyez]

Pity Party

Chapter 18 of Professional//Victim - Masterlist

Tommy celebrates his 30th birthday, five years after his capture. But it's his party, and he can cry if he wants to.

Content warnings in the tags.

_____________________________________________________________

At the top of the stairs Tommy stopped, frozen, the blood draining from his face. His chest had seized, and he only remembered to breathe again when Caius gave him a thump on the back. 

He was forcibly turned by his shoulders back to face Caius, starting to hyperventilate while anxiety paralyzed him. 

“Look at me. Hey, look at me.”

Tommy wheezed, barely able to drag his eyes from the scene. The best he could manage was a fuzzy, unfocused stare towards Caius’s mouth. No eyes, just the mouth, just the mouth that told him what to do. 

“You don’t have to think about it. Stop making things harder for yourself all of the time. I will guide you, focus on that lifeline. You’re going to sit at the table, and you will be courteous, and gracious, and you’ll get the fuck over yourself for once and enjoy it. Play along. Show me you can do that.”

Tommy was seized with a violent coughing fit, doubling over. His eyes watered and he struggled to breathe, gagging on the air he did manage to get in. 

“Jesus christ Tommy, this is not what is going to do you in. You have gone through the fire too many times to be getting this choked up over some cake. You’re too old for this shit.”

Even Caius winced a little at the last line, realizing a moment too late the poignancy of drawing attention to his age. 

Something about it struck Tommy as funny. He couldn’t say what, but it stopped his panic attack in its tracks suddenly, like flicking a switch. He felt slightly dazed, surprised by his own sudden drop. A long, silent moment passed between them before Caius’s hand returned to his shoulder. 

“Thatta’ boy. Come on, come.” He guided Tommy to the table, but he handled him with a light touch. Tommy was feeling quite delicate himself, like porcelain worn thin from years of use. Whatever stopcork was blocking his meltdown, he felt like it could slip at any moment.  

His total guests consisted of Caius, Rory, and Sam. Tommy sat at the head of the table, feeling distinctly small. He felt a little heady, suddenly exhausted from the rush of emotions. He idly felt the top of his head, half expecting a birthday hat to be perched on top. If anything, he had expected streamers, balloons, some mockery of a little kid’s birthday party – Courtesy of the nearest dollar store, for sure. 

Instead, it was…actually kind of nice. They usually left the table bare for use, but the wood was dressed in a clean, cream colored tablecloth. He rubbed the edge of it absently, feeling the material thick and silky in his dry hands. The table was set with paper plates and plastic cutlery, of course, but cloth napkins were rolled and tied with ocean blue ribbons, folding in a few sprigs each of dried lavender for decor. Plastic champagne flutes at each place were filled with a light golden bubbly. The cake in the center was of a smooth, light purple frosting, freckled with real vanilla bean. The top was decorated with a few more sprigs of lavender, sweet and simple.

“Michelle couldn’t make it, so he made your breakfast. We have a few things for you today, though.” Caius told him with a serene smile.

Sam smiled a mean smile, and slid him a card.

“Yeah, Tommy, just a chill day with the boys,” he agreed.

Tommy looked to Caius, who nodded meaningfully.

Play your part.

Tommy closed his eyes and took a deep breath, attempting to reset the scene in his head before opening the envelope. Inside was an oddly shaped card featuring Dora the Explorer.

YOU’RE 3o! She exclaimed in the speech bubble. Or rather, she said, YOU’RE 3! But Sam had sharpied in a quick 0 after the three.

It actually made Tommy chuckle, even though he felt like cracking a smile might crack him in half. It was so perfectly stupid, and honestly much closer to the party he had been expecting. Open humiliation and cruelty was far more familiar territory than when Caius pretended to be nice.

He opened it, and a five dollar bill fell out. Inside, the original message printed in the card was scribbled out, and a brief handwritten note was penned in.

Towards your retirement. 

He assumed the abstract swirl afterwards somehow spelled out Sam’s name. He chuckled in spite of himself.

“Wow Sam, uh, your terrible handwriting is the first proof I’ve seen that you’re a real doctor.”

Caius and Rory laughed, sharing a brief look of surprise. Sam made a sour face, but when Caius gave him a playful push to his shoulder, he broke into a tense grin.

Tommy took a sip of his champagne, hoping it wasn’t obvious his hand was shaking. It was shockingly sweet, reminding him of some off-brand Halloween candy from his youth. 

“Open Rory’s next,” Caius encouraged, reaching over to push the only other envelope slightly closer to him. 

Tommy tore it open, fumbling it slightly before he pulled the card free.

The front of the card featured a picture of an elderly woman standing in a cucumber patch. She was smiling proudly, holding aloft a massive cucumber that had grown into a conspicuously phallic shape. 

Underneath, a text box said, “Hoping your BIGGEST wish comes your way this year!”

“Oh my god, he’s blushing!” Rory laughed, and Tommy covered his mouth with his hand nervously. He flicked the card open with his thumb.

Don’t take shit so seriously

Never turn down a joint

Hit the gym

Work hard, play hard

Keto will give you the runs

The list was penned in by hand. Rory leaned over, stealing a peek inside, and groaned.

“Shit. I forgot I wrote that. Caius was saying something about - imparting wisdom for turning thirty. I guess most of that doesn’t really, uh…apply here, exactly. Seriously though, fuck keto. Never again.”

A friend has given you a funny card. He’s…a loveable scamp. Probably a fan favorite. Tommy’s Life is filmed before a live studio audience. Queue the tinned laughter. 

Oh, that ol’ Rory!

Tommy chuckled, smiled.

“It’s great, thank you.”

He set it aside and sipped his champagne. He felt warm. He didn’t think he was throwing it back that hard, but it was drained before he realized.

Tommy pulled it away and looked at it in surprise. He supposed it was a pretty small flute. He realized he’d never actually drank champagne out of a champagne glass, just out of the bottle, passed around the circle with the band after their EP release show.

God, he hadn’t thought about that in ages. It hit him with such a strong nostalgia,a longing for just sitting on the couch with the missing leg in Greg’s apartment. G’s cat had shredded the shit out of the whole side of it, and it was worn down to a soft fuzz. 

They had this great recording of Greg yelling at Mr. Meow Meow for clawing at it again, right at the end of the song, and Jazz totally losing it in a fit of giggles. They’d left it in, all of it, letting it finish out their five song EP. Fuck, which song was that? 

“I’ll get you a refill, bud.”

Sam interrupted his little flashback by snatching the plastic flute out of his hand. Tommy realized he had tears in his eyes, and wiped at them with his sleeve self consciously. 

Just allergies. The show goes on.

“Thanks,” he mumbled. Caius gave him an approving thumbs up. Tommy smiled weakly back and cleared the thickness from his throat.

Sam put on some music while he was up, and something emo started playing.

“What kind of music would you like to listen to, Tommy?” Caius interjected pointedly. Sam scowled at him.

He was tempted to say it doesn’t matter, but he had limited access to music. Caius gave him an odd assortment of tapes and records, even some CD’s, but he knew the most recent one was from 2010. 

It’s my birthday, and I’ve got the aux.

“I used to - I like Bad Guys Win. Have they put out anything since Strander?”

Sam groaned, but Caius promised they would check. He gave Sam a meaningful look, and he dutifully changed the track.

It was a little distracting, because Tommy really wanted to listen to it in silence, but he managed. They chatted idly and drank champagne. They stuck to safe topics - things that didn’t involve work talk. 

Tommy’s favorite was when they told him about horror movies he hadn’t seen. Sam described the entire movie The Human Centipede, much to Tommy’s grossed-out delight and Caius’s grossed-out chagrin.

Rory insisted on cutting the cake, cursing as he attempted to saw through it with a plastic butter knife. He rustled through some drawers in the kitchen before proudly holding a trowel-like utensil aloft. 

“We are using a cake server proper. These bitches work pretty good for pizza, too,” he announced to his audience, before using it to deliver an enormous slice of the cake onto Tommy’s plate. Tommy stared at it wide-eyed, the mountain of fine pastry set before him. He didn’t usually even get lunch, and breakfast had already been too good to be true. He knew the sugar might make him sick at this point, but he had zero qualms about the stomachache being worth it. 

He needed something in his stomach, anyway. He was nursing his third glass of champagne, and while he didn’t think the alcohol content could be very high, he was already feeling it. His face felt very warm and flushed, and he felt like his heart was pounding, even though he was about as safe as he could be here.

Current threat levels: low. 

The cake was sweet, but well balanced, the herbal taste of the lavender sweetened with a bright vanilla mascarpone that melted in his mouth. It’s not something he probably would have picked on his own, but it was delicious. The other guys appreciated it too, and Caius recommended the pastry shop he’d gotten it from. Tommy forgot it as soon as he heard it - it wasn’t like he’d be visiting. 

Sam moved to top off Tommy’s glass, but he raised a hand to pause him. 

“I think I’ll just have some water, please.”

“I’m not going to let you be a lightweight for your birthday,” Sam teased easily, and whisked away his cup in spite of his protests.

Tommy sucked the frosting from his spoon, lifting a hand absentmindedly to his forehead. He did feel warm. Just his luck to get sick on his birthday. No, it must be the alcohol and the sugar, it made him jittery. 

Caius noticed he hadn’t finished his piece of cake.

“You don’t like it?”

“No, no it’s very good. I think I might just, uh, be getting a little bit of a sugar rush here.” He gave Caius a sheepish smile.

His lips felt oddly numb, and he had a sudden feeling of dizziness.

“Honestly? Worth the diabetes, or whatever,” Rory piped in. 

Sam poured shots of whiskey for them all. Tommy stared at the russet potion, and nausea ate at his stomach just from the smell. He pushed it away from himself without thinking, turning his nose. 

God, has whiskey always smelled this bad? What the hell is this stuff?

“Oh come on Tommy, it’s good stuff. Try it,” Sam encouraged, tipping his own back in one oversized shot.

Actually, he was very nauseous, and the room suddenly seemed so bright, he had to squint. 

“I have the last couple of preparations to do. You boys behave!” Caius told them, givinf a wave as he left for the stairs. 

“Wait,” Tommy whispered, but Caius was gone. His stomach clenched with anxiety.

Don’t leave me alone with Sam.

Sam leaned over at the table, leering at him.

“What’s wrong? Not feeling well?”

“‘M drunk,” Tommy tried weakly. “I just need to lay down, I think, could you-”

“You’re not thinking very clearly. You just need a little hair from the dog who bit ya.”  Sam slid his whiskey closer to him. He positively oozed smugness, and Tommy had a strong sense that he was playing into a cruel joke he hadn’t picked up on yet. 

The room felt hot. He pulled his shirt out from his chest and realized he was sweating. The temperature had felt fine before, but somehow it now felt sweltering.

“Jee Tommy, you don’t look so good. Too much freedom for you, buddy?”

“Was the cake an edible or something?” Tommy managed. 

“Like I'd waste good weed on you. You’re just being a spazz.”

Tommy squinted against a particularly bright spot in his vision, off of the-

The cake server.

The cake server was metal. 

Blunt, and thin, but it was real metal. 

“Knock it off.”

They both turned when Rory spoke. His hand was clenched around his whiskey, glowering at Sam, who spat back. 

“Take a joke man. Have a seat until your number is called.”

“Let Tommy have his day, man. Caius put this together, you don’t want to piss him off.”

Sam laughed harshly, turning fully towards Rory. Tommy was grateful for the respite from his attention, but he didn’t want to be caught in the middle of them any more. Sam was not deterred.

“Hey Rory, we’re sharing stories. Tell me that one again, about how you got kicked out of Yale. How much did that one cost your daddy?”

“A lot less than medical school and a string of malpractice lawsuits, I’ll tell you that. You would know all about that though, Doctor – I’m sorry, Mister Snow.”

Uh oh. Honestly, it was amazing they’d gotten along for a few hours. Usually, they just skipped right to the dick measuring contest. 

Where the fuck was Caius?

“I’m gonna go see if Caius needs help,” Tommy mumbled, trying not to interrupt too much, but knowing an attempt at a silent exit would only stir them up. He started to stand, pushing himself up from his hands on the table to rise. 

He just wasn’t fast enough. 

He’d barely started to turn away before Sam’s hand grabbed his wrist and yanked, pulling him closer instead, and knocking over Tommy’s untouched whiskey in the process. 

“Tommy, you’re my patient, you know I’m a good doctor. If I wasn’t, you’d be one hell of a Freddy Krueger looking motherfucker, wouldn’t you?”

The spilled plastic cup rolled in a semicircle, a pool of pungent whiskey soaking into that soft cream tablecloth. There was something wrong, though, a streak of color clouding the liquid.

“-Tommy?”

His heart was pounding in his ears. His head throbbed along with it. He picked up the goblet with the hand that wasn’t being crushed in Sam’s fist, and held it up to the light. 

There. Just a little, in the bottom. A pink, chalky residue - all that was left undissolved of whatever Sam had slipped into his drink. 

Thud thud thud thud thud - his heart was beating so loud and so fast, his chest ached.

Rory seemed to put it together at the same time.

“What the fuck-”

Sam wrenched Tommy over, his body pressing against his, too close, too hot. 

“Look at the fucking mess you’re making!” he hissed, his voice dangerously close. 

“WHAT THE FUCK DID YOU GIVE ME?!” Tommy shouted into his face, helpless tears spilling over. 

“Your birthday gift.”

Fuck, he was cracking, all the grief and anger he’d held back erupting all at once. 

Tommy shoved at his chest, ripping free just to make it two steps before Sam dragged him back by the arm, and then by a hand in his hair, and the room tilted crazily around him. Tommy’s head exploded in pain as he was slammed against the table’s surface, the cloth runner little comfort as his face was ground into the whiskey soaked linen. 

“It’s okay Tommy, I’ll just fix it! Like I always fucking do. You know what would fix you, Tommy? A fucking lobotomy. I think I’ll schedule the operation with your owner today, yeah!” Sam’s voice was slightly slurred. One thing he had in common with Rory – he was a mean drunk. 

The impact had dazed Tommy a moment too long, and his resistance was weak when Sam flipped him, bending him backwards over the table and pinning him by his hands around his throat.

Rory was shouting something, but Tommy couldn’t make sense of it. The light above him was blinding, he couldn’t breathe – he thought his head would burst from the pressure of Sam’s hands digging in under his jaw. He clawed at his wrists uselessly while Rory backed away from the table.

“WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU DOING MAN? HE WASN’T EVEN DOING ANYTHING YOU PSYCHOPATHIC–”

Tommy could hear him, faintly, barking and barking, but he was only moving further away from them. 

HELP ME, HELP ME- 

With unbreakable will, Tommy released his grip on Sam’s wrist and raised a hand above his head, feeling blindly along the table. Nothing, nothing - and then his hand sank into the gooey remains of his cake, ruined now under his fingers.

“I’m gonna put a hole, right here–” Sam jabbed at the inner corner of his eye, forcing it closed as he twisted his finger hard against his sinus, miming screwing something into him.

Tommy’s fist closed around the handle of the cake server.

“-And I’m gonna carve the thirty-year-old loser right out of your body.”

Tommy drove it into the top of Sam’s hand curled around his throat. 

Sam shrieked, dropping him immediately, but Tommy stabbed it again into his chest. Sam stumbled back, but Tommy was a live wire now, righting himself before the rush of blood back to his brain could even catch up with him. He swung his weapon down at Sam’s chest again, another hit narrowly missing with a wild slash as the good doctor retreated. 

Rory finally lept into action, hooking his arm around Tommy’s at the end of his arcing strike, halting his attack. Sam was back on him in a second, pinning him back over the table with his arm barred across Tommy’s throat. Tommy gnashed his teeth, trying to struggle out from under Sam, as Rory tore at his frosting-covered grip on the cake server. 

“WHAT THE ABSOLUTE FUCK IS HAPPENING HERE?!”

At the sound of Caius’s voice, Tommy’s resistance abandoned him. He went limp under Sam, and Rory pried the cake server from his fingers. Sam let him up and he took an agonizing breath in, falling to the floor when the other man stepped back. He curled into a ball on the ground, screaming uncontrollable sobs into his hands. 

The other three shared a moment of stunned silence. Caius threw his hands up in bewilderment.

“Didn’t I tell you all to behave?!”

~

NEXT

Taglist: @suspicious-whumping-egg  @just-a-whumping-racoon-with-wifi @whumpyourdamnpears @generic-whumperz @lonesome--hunter

@whumplr-reader @theelvishcowgirl @sunshiline-writes @dont-be-gentle-please @galesgallery

@2in1whump @sparrowsage @apokolyps @whumpinggrounds

@morning-star-whump @leviiio @alexmundaythrufriday @defire @jumpywhumpywriter

@light-me-on-pyre @slighlydisturbedbeans @dislexiher @knivestothroats @paperprinxe

Thank you all so much for reading, I cannot tell you what it means to me.

[thelittleangel]

Stay with me

tags: Daryl Dixon x male reader, male reader, hurt/comfort, angst, immune reader

warnings: blood, graphic violence at one part, read at your own risk, zombies, heavy angst.

note: this was one of my more difficult ones to write, so I sincerely apologize if it is slow in some places.

PLEASE READ AT YOUR OWN RISK!!!!! THERE IS HEAVY ANGST IN THIS FIC!!!!

My heart pounded in my ears. I couldn’t really help it, scavenging in these gas stations and grocery stores. It always heightens my anxiety. I always over think of the ‘what ifs.’

What if there’s a group of walkers?

What if there’s other people and they’re hostile?

What if, what if, what if.

My eyes dart between the aisles, scanning for movement. I turn back to the shelf and resume stuffing my bag with whatever’s left of the canned goods. I listen out for myself, focusing on the cans.

I hear the scrape of the cans against the metal shelf. They clack as they join the other cans in the bag. I can hear the birds outside the store. I look out the window. The sun’s out, the light filtering through the trees.

A hand was suddenly on my shoulder. I jump, dropping the bag in my hands.

My hand goes to the knife in its hilt on my side. I draw, pointing it at whoever’s behind me.

A hand catches my wrist, blocking my attack. “Easy, tiger.”

It’s just Daryl.

His blue eyes meet mine. “Jus’ wanted to make sure you’re alrigh’.”

“I’m ok.” I bend down to pick up the bags of cans. Rummaging around to make sure none of them busted in their fall. All of them were good. He watches me as I bend down to pick them up. “Nice day, isn’t it?”

He looks out the glass doors. I watch as his face turns to that look he gets when he’s about to shoot something. I hear that all too familiar rasping growl behind us. I yank my backpack on, not even glancing behind me. My knife is out of its sheath once again.

We run toward the back hall, disappearing into an unlit corridor. I pull out a flashlight from the side pocket of my backpack. The light is weak, but it’s enough to see by.

From the front of the building, I hear glass breaking. The groans of nearby walkers get louder and louder. I hear Daryl swear under his breath.

We walk further down the hall, quickly locating the back exit. I reach for the doorknob, but he stops me.

“What?”

“We don’t know what’s out there.”

I pinch the bridge of my nose. “Jesus Christ, we do not have time for this.”

“You got a better plan?”

I don’t. He’s looking at me, waiting for an answer that I don't have. He presses his ear to the door. The growls are getting louder and louder.

“Anything?” I whisper to him.

He looks at me and then back at the door. It’s at this moment that my flashlight decided to die. I hear his feet shuffle as he stands up. I look up at him, but it’s no use. We can’t see each other.

I open the door, stepping out into the blinding sunlight. I can’t see anything for a moment, but my vision clears up seconds after that. But it was seconds too late. The next thing I knew I was on the ground, with a walker on top of me.

I squirmed and kicked. I landed one on its leg that got it to stumble back a little bit. I scrambled to get back on my feet, reaching for my knife. The worst pain I've ever felt in my entire life exploded in my shoulder.

Those snarls fill my ears, as it chews on my shoulder. I grab my knife, ready to stick it into this thing's brain, but an arrow beats me to it.

I shove the body off of me. Stumbling to my feet, I turn towards Daryl. He drops his crossbow. His eyes never leave my shoulder. Looking down, my shirt was stained red. I look back up at him, but he won’t stop looking at my shoulder.

“Daryl-”

“No.”

“You have to.”

He finally looks away from me.

“There’s no other way. I’ve only got a little bit of time, and i’d like to spend it causing the least amount of pain possible.”

“The least amount of pain?! You say you want ta cause the least amount of pain when you ask me to-”

He takes a step toward me and I take a step back.

“Just give me-”

“A few minutes? That we don’t have?”

“Please.”

I breathe out a heavy sigh. I walk over to a curb and sit down. He looks over at me with so much sadness. I pat the curb beside me. He sits with me, and I rest my head on his shoulder. He looks down at me, but he doesn’t shrug me away.

“I’m so sorry.”

I look up at him. “For what?”

He looks down at my shoulder.

“It was bound to happen.”

He shakes his head.

“Hey Dar?”

“Mmmm?”

“Tell me a story.”

We sat like that for a while. Swapping stories, laughing. I did my best to forget what was about to happen. I don’t know why, but this wasn’t like the other infections I've seen. They got nauseous, feverish, like a horrible case of the flu. This felt like I was just going to fall asleep.

I wrapped my hand around Daryl's arm and closed my eyes for what felt like the last time.

``````````````````````````````````````

Daryl looked down at your body. You looked sweet, like you were just sleeping, instead of turning into a cannibalistic monster.

He gently reached over, brushing his fingers over your cheek. Your skin was cool, but not cold.

He began to maneuver your body, so you were laying on the ground. He sat back on the curb, watching you. Waiting for you to wake up, or move, or do something.

Minutes turn into hours.

Daryl had a horrible idea.

Reaching his hand over, he placed two fingers on your neck. Quiet, and too far apart, but there’s still a pulse. Your breathing is shallow.

He takes his hand back, his calloused fingers accidentally brushing your eyelashes.

He sat back onto the curb. His face in his hands, trying to pretend like he doesn’t care, like he’s not crying.

Another hour passed.

If you were breathing, he couldn’t tell. He stood up walking over to the dead walker. He yanked his arrow out of the thing's head with an ugly squelch. He spotted your knife laying near him and picked it up.

A small hunting knife. Not used for much, but in your hands it was a deadly tool. You always found a way to make use of something. To keep everything included in the big picture. Like you always found a way to include him.

Turning the knife in his hand, the light of the sun caught on the blade.

He threw it down, the metal clattering against the pavement.

He rolled the walker over, kicking it in the teeth. Kicking and punching the corpse repeatedly until he’s had his fill. Walking over and sitting on the curb.

Watching you lay on the ground. He sits, not inches from you, and he doesn’t know how to help.

Picking up the knife, he moves to sit beside you. His knuckles flexing around the grip. Almost no signs of life from you. Using his other hand, he gently strokes your cheek, his rough hands scratching your cheek.

“I Hope yer listenin’, because I’ll say this only once. I’m sorry I let this happen to you. You shouldn’t have to go this soon. You meant so much to all of us. To the group, and to me especially. You made me so happy. I was glad to call you my friend. I just wish…”

At this he pauses, looking up at the sunset. “I just wish I had just a little more time. So I could have had the chance to call you more than that. So I could have called you mine. I loved- I love you.”

He raised the knife, looking down at you.

“C’mon, baby. Open those pretty eyes of yours.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The first thing I notice is the noise. The leaves rustling, and I hear someone talking.

“….wish I had a little more time. So I could have had the chance to call you more than that. So I could have called you mine. I loved- I love you.”

The voice is soft and sad. And I know that voice.

I can’t move. Why can’t I move?

My friend just told me he loves me and I can’t even move.

Move, dammit!

Why does my shoulder hurt?

Oh.

I got bit?

I got bit?!

Is this what they all feel like?

That can’t be right.

I feel the pavement underneath me.

Why am I laying down?

I clench my fingers. Well, at least I can do that.

I open my eyes, but I can barely see. The light is so bright. I hear him scramble back.

I turn my face toward him. My throat feels raspy, and I take a deep breath in.

He looks both horrified and bereaved.

“Daryl?”

I slowly reach out my hand toward him, pain shooting through my shoulder and arm. He looks from my hand, to my shoulder, to my face.

He raises the knife in his hands, his muscles tense to strike. I raise my arms above my head, trying to block a potential blow.

He stops, his arm still poised above my head.

“You’re alive?”

I nod slowly, not really understanding for myself.

He drops the knife, bringing me in for a tight hug. I wrap my arms around him, holding onto him as if he were the last person on earth.

He’s warm against me. Holding him in my arms feels like a dream. I was so close to dying, and yet here I am. Holding my friend, who just told me he loves me.

“I heard what you said.”

His grip tightens around me.

I pull away so that I can see his face. He looks at me with love and concern.

I kiss him quick, holding him as tightly as I can.

“My shoulder.”

I see him glance at my shoulder, and then back to my eyes.

“What if we told Rick what happened?”

“What if they kill you?”

“We should tell Rick. He’ll see that I don’t have any symptoms. The worst that could happen is he locks me up for a few days.”

“Or they will kill you. I can’t let that happen.”

I kiss him again. Holding in my arms, I’ve never been so unsure. But I know that whatever happens, I’ll have him.

[loveinhawkins]

Barely ten minutes into the hike from Skull Rock to Lover’s Lake, Dustin heaves a sigh like he’s the most long suffering person in the world to ever exist. Steve rolls his eyes.

“Jesus Christ, Henderson, what?”

“I’m bored.”

“God, you’re such a whiner. No, you—you’re like a little kid on a road trip, like, are we there yet?”

Behind them, Max and Lucas snort in almost perfect unison.

Out of the corner of his eye, Steve sees Eddie’s lips twitch into the faint semblance of a smile. It’s very quick, blink and you miss it, before he turns sombre again, looking down at the forest floor. Steve can’t blame the guy; he can’t imagine that he has all that much to smile about.

“I just meant,” Dustin says, “that we could use some entertainment.” He jerks his head meaningfully at Eddie—who thankfully still has his head down so he can’t witness this tremendous lack of subtlety—and mouths, You know, a distraction.

“And I’m the entertainment guy,” Steve says flatly.

“Well, we’ve gotta keep you around for some reason,” Lucas pipes up.

Steve turns around, walks backwards so he can point warningly at him. “Thin ice, Sinclair.”

But it’s all for show, and he keeps walking backwards, pretends to trip on a tree root and narrowly avoid a pratfall. Max actually giggles at that, which is a victory in and of itself, but Eddie’s looking down at his feet.

Hmm.

“If I wanted slapstick, I would’ve called Charlie Chaplin,” Dustin says.

“He’s dead,” Max points out.

Dustin quickly draws a hand over his neck, Cut it out. Which—yeah, that’s fair. Don’t want the conversation straying into stuff that’s too close to… everything.

“So you want education instead?” Steve says. “I think I can remember how to identify, like, some trees and shit from—”

“Forget Lover’s Lake,” Dustin says, “I’m walking you straight into a retirement home.”

Steve opens his mouth, ready to play up his outrage, and then he hears a very soft chuckle from the side. Eddie.

Steve catches Dustin’s eye, winks briefly in reassurance. Nice work.

“Oh, sorry, is that not entertaining enough for you?” Steve turns so he’s front facing again, kicking a few stray twigs as he thinks. “Uh… ooh, did I tell you about the affair? At work?”

“Someone’s having an affair at Family Video?” Lucas says, sounding disgusted.

Max cackles. “The scandal! At a family establishment, no less.”

Dustin points at her. “See, this is why you should play D&D!” he says, annoyingly sing-song. “You’ve got a flair for words.”

“How about I stick my flair right up your—”

“Uh, okay,” Eddie interrupts suddenly. “I need details.”

Aha, Steve thinks, smug. Got you.

“Fire away, Munson.”

“Did someone, like, confess to you while you were ringing them up?”

Steve scoffs. “No, it was—” He cups his mouth, calls, “Hey, Rob?”

Up ahead, Robin and Nancy turn.

“What?”

“The affair shift.”

“Oh!” Robin whacks Nancy on the arm in her enthusiasm. “This is such a good one. Okay, so am I gonna be her or—?”

“No!” Steve says. “You’ve gotta be me, you can’t do her voice right.”

“Ugh, fine, fine. Wait, I need to get into character.”

Robin makes a show of ruffling her hair, and Steve doesn’t even roll his eyes, can only grin as he hears Eddie cough a much stronger laugh into his elbow.

“Nance, count us in,” Robin says.

Nancy looks a mixture of surprised and amused. It only takes a moment of hesitance before she mimes holding a slate, mouths counting down. “Action!”

And they’re off.

It’s probably so stupid, Steve thinks, to be this loud right now, but he can’t bring himself to care—not when he can hear raucous laughter from all directions: Robin captures his flustered, wide-eyed look, while he dramatically re-enacts a woman storming into the store, demanding to see her husband’s account.

And he thinks Eddie actually laughs the loudest when he gets to the reveal: that said account was full of romantic movies the married couple had never seen together.

“Not one,” Steve echoes—and not to brag, but with this delivery? Juilliard, eat your heart out. “Not. One!”

The kids dissolve into more giggles; Robin fights to stay in character as Nancy jokingly calls, “And, scene!”

And Eddie throws back his head, and laughs and laughs.

Happiness is a good look on him, Steve thinks.

They all quieten eventually, but a lightness in mood still remains, as the kids huddle off together—“Hey, shitheads, not too far!” Steve says, far from the first time—and Eddie sidles up, fleetingly knocks their shoulders together.

“Steve Harrington. Who would’ve thought it, huh?”

“Thought what?”

Steve glances over at him, suddenly struck by the fact that the sun will go down soon; and he doesn’t really need to know what Mordor is to know that he’d rather not get there. That he’d rather freeze time, so they could all just walk in the woods forever.

Eddie shrugs. “You’re a good storyteller.” His eyes are soft, like that isn’t all that he’s saying. Like he’s saying Thank you.

Steve shrugs back. “I’m a man of many talents,” he says.

Eddie chuckles, and this time his smile doesn’t fade away.

Steve allows himself a moment or two to admire the scenery, and if that means looking less at the way the sun still shines through the gaps in the branches, and more the way that it illuminates Eddie’s lingering smile, well…

Well, so what?

Right now, we’re happy, Steve finds himself thinking.

They can stay in the Shire for a little while longer.

[orions-choker]

Warnings: Graphic Depictions of Violence, Serial Killers, Murder, Obsessions, Yandere tendencies, more to be added.

Chapter Two

Maybe it had been the sudden change of scenery, or the lingering thoughts of murder in the back of her mind but Y/N couldn’t sleep that night. The cool breeze that came through her open window crawled up her skin like creeping hands. She shivered attempting to tug the blankets up higher.

Her dog groaned at the sudden disturbance of the bed beneath her and hopped down, the sound of her padding down the hallway growing fainter. She frowned at the sudden loss of comfort, truly alone in her room now. Shadows seemed to flicker across her walls and she watched them with weary eyes.

It was a gentle tapping right outside her window that had Y/N bolting up right. Sweat dripped down her back as she quickly threw her legs over the side of the bed. Her window had only been left open by a crack but she threw it open wildly, hoping the sudden movement would scare off any potential intruder. She looked around wildly for the perpetrator, only coming face to face with a thin scraggly branch brushing against the outside of her house.

“Jesus Christ,” Y/N sighed, her shoulders slumped forward in a mixture of embarrassment and relief. She scanned the outside once more before pulling the window fully closed, cool night air be damned she couldn't sleep like this. She grunted as she pushed the sticky latch down into place, locking it.

Before she grasped the curtains to draw them closed, a glimmer of light caught her eye. Following the source she found herself staring into the window of the house next door to her. The Hammett house. It was the only light on, brightly illuminating the room's content and occupier. She could see him clearly, sitting on his bed guitar in hand. Kirk’s room? As far as she could remember living here that room hadn’t been his. She was sure she would have remembered him being directly across from her like this.

She watched with curious eyes, taking in what she could see. His room seemed darker, messy, covered in memorabilia and toys, posters lining the walls from floor to ceiling. The guitar in his hands a sleek black with sharp edges. She pressed closer to the glass, trying to get a better view.

It was unclear what kind of trance she had been put under, never one to consider herself the nosy type she was purely mesmerized by the sight. Her breath caught in her throat as his hands suddenly stilled their movements. His head turned and she was throwing herself back against the wall away from view.

Cursing herself for nearly getting caught staring for a second time Y/N crawled back into her bed. Neglecting to remember to close the curtains she rolled away from the window. Out of sight out of mind. She squeezed her eyes shut tightly until she willed herself to sleep.

The creaking and groaning of the house infiltrated her dreams. She was running, her legs slowed as if she was moving through thick jello. Out of breath and panicked she turned her head around to the creaking noises. Down a seemingly endless dark hallway she saw it, a looming shadowed figure. Something wet and sticky dripped from its fingertips on to the ground, the noise echoing throughout. She turned to run again, unable to move her legs any faster and she let out a blood curdling scream.

“My God Y/N!” Her mothers voice above her, had her eyes snapping open. Once again conscious in the world of the living she was greeted with warm rays of sunlight dancing across her bed. Her mother stood over top of her with a grimace, hands clasped over her ears. “What is wrong with you?”

Her chest heaved as Y/N desperately gasped for the air that had been knocked from her lungs. She was safe, everything was fine. She blinked rapidly, staring up at her mom with blown pupils. “Sorry, bad dream.” was all she could mumble out groggily. Slowly rising in bed, the blankets swimming around her lower body. “What time is it?”

There was a tight grip around her arm as her mother pulled her to her feet, Y/N tripping over herself slightly. “Time to get up, I'm not letting you lie about all summer, you should go find a summer job.” The lack of sympathy in her voice had Y/N frowning. Once upon a time her mother would have comforted her from the wakings of a nightmare.

She groaned and pulled her arm away. “God mom I just got back seriously?” She asked, lips curling into a snarl. “Whatever, get out of my room so I can get dressed.” Grabbing her moms shoulders she pushed her out gently. As the door clicked shut she shuffled across the room once more to her window. Kirk's curtains were still open, but the room was seemingly abandoned for the time being. She frowned a little and turned to her wardrobe. Picking through her clothes she pieced together an outfit appropriate enough for job hunting, knowing her mother would never get off her case if she didn’t listen.

There was breakfast waiting for her as she descended the stairs. She slid into the chair next to her father, picking at the toast and bacon infront of her. “Can I borrow the car, it’ll be faster that way.” She mumbled around a mouthful of food.

“No can do princess, I have to work today.” Her father ruffled her hair without looking up from his morning paper. Curiously she peaked over to read, immediately wishing she hadn’t. Her stomach bubbled and threatened to upheave her food as she saw the picture sprawled across the page.

It was from the most recent victim found, while the picture was taken far enough away Y/N could still see the gore of it. It was blurry but behind the police tape she could make out the bloated figure of a girl, fully clothed but shirt torn open by the wound in her stomach. She couldn't make out much but the dark stains and unidentifiable mound beside her led Y/N to believe those were her guts spilled across the side of the riverbank.

She swallowed hard, pulling back with a slight gag. “That's sick, have they no respect for the families?” She pushed her plate away from her. There were deep frowns present on both her parents' faces. “Can’t believe they can get away with that.” She stood up from the table shaking her head. “I’ll be back later then.” She grumbled, placing her plate in the sink.

“Wait, take this with you,” Her mother called out to her as she walked towards the front door. In her outstretched hand was a bottle of pepper spray. “Just in case, and be sure to be back before the streetlights come on.” She worried her hands together as Y/N took the bottle, shoving it in her purse.

Saying nothing else to her mom, Y/N slipped out the front door with a pout. “Warn me about how dangerous it is for me to be out, and then send me out by myself, real smart.” She grumbled kicking at a smooth pebble on the sidewalk. As she passed by Kirk’s house she peered curiously into his yard, eyes drifting as she searched for him.

From ahead of her she heard his voice. “Looking for someone?” She snapped her eyes forward, jumping at the sight of him. He was stepping out of his car, keys in hand and a cocky grin on his face displaying his crooked and pointed canines.

“Huh, what? Me? No” Y/N scoffed, rolling her eyes. The flush in her cheeks gave her away as she watched Kirk chuckle at her. He leaned against the car, arm resting on the top as he looked her up and down. She shivered under his gaze, like he could see each inch of her skin beneath the fabric of her clothes.

He raised his brows curiously. “Really? You seem distracted, what's going on?” As he tilted his head, hair falling away from his neck Y/N caught a glimpse of the thin chain around his neck as it glistened in the sun. It was impossible to retain composure around him when he looked so effortlessly good.

Y/N’s fingers came to wrap themselves in a strand of her hair, twirling it around in an attempt to ground herself. “Just heading out to fill out some job applications.” She explained, tripping over her words slightly as she held Kirk’s stare. Had she ever felt this nervous around a boy before?

“Want a ride?” He asked it so casually it sent Y/N’s head spinning. A ride, in his car, alone with him? Nothing sounded more frightening to her.

“Uh, Really? Sure!” She accepted a little too enthusiastically. Adrenaline rushed through her veins as she approached the passenger side door. For just a moment she caught the nervous smile he returned to her, reminiscent of the times they had run into each other outside in their teenage years.”I didn’t really have a plan on where to start.” She mumbled as she settled into the warm leather seats.

As the engine revved to life there was a mischievous glint in his eyes. His arm came to rest around the back of her seat as he swiveled in his seat, looking behind him to back up. The sudden proximity had her catching a whiff of his cologne, a mixture of something spicy like cinnamon and citrus. “Why don’t we ditch the job idea and do something fun instead?” his voice suddenly was ghosting the outside of her ear.

A cold shiver traveled up her spine as she stiffened in her seat. His voice rang sweet and kind but something lingered below the surface that had her palms sweating. Swallowing hard she glimpsed at him from the corner of her eye, coming to settle on watching his hand resting on the gear shift. His knuckles seemed reddened and irritated, a few scratches settled onto the skin. Pretty veins ran across the back of his hand as the grip on the gear shift tightened, a chipping black polish decorated his nails. Of course he had pretty hands too.

“What do you have in mind?” She asked softly. Her soft pink tongue darted out to dampen her dry chapped lips. Her hands shoved unceremoniously in between her thighs as she sat there feeling very much like a rabbit waiting in a trap.

The sudden speed of the car had Y/N pressed back against her seat like she was on an amusement park ride. Her hands scrambled to grip onto something, settling on the grab handle above the door and the center console. Kirk’s foot seemed to be made of led as he pressed forward, swerving them in and out of lanes effortlessly.

He laughed at her reaction, a noise unbefitting of the situation, sweet and twinkling as she begged herself not to be sick. “Don’t worry Y/N I got you.” For whatever reason she believed him, trying to relax into the seat once more despite the extreme motion sickness she felt. “Trust me.”

She hadn’t been downtown since before she left, nearly surprised to see the same stores standing. It didn’t feel the same, the usually busy streets were mostly desolate. Picturing a tumbleweed rolling by seemed befitting. Kirk was pulling into a parking spot along the street, in front of the record store. Her bottom lip jutted out, brows furrowing as she examined the store front closely.

There were hundreds of flyers lining the window, nearly covering up the view of the interior of the store. Concert posters, ads for band members, and a concerning number of missing persons posters. “What are we doing here?” She asked, stepping out of the car as Kirk held the door open for her. She jumped as the door slammed shut behind her.

“What do you think? We’re looking at records, maybe some guitars.” As he smiled casually his arm wrapped across her shoulder. He steered her towards the door, her legs the only functioning part of her body while her brain short circuited from the touch.

The bell chimed out as the two of them entered. Y/N watched with curious eyes as the young lady behind the counter jumped, an uneasy fear in her eyes as she spun towards the door. She seemed to relax as her gaze landed on Y/N. The store clerk gave them a noncommittal grunt of acknowledgment as they moved between the aisles.

Kirk’s arm around her dropped as they approached one of the labeled sections. His fingers flipped through the albums there. “What was that all about?” Y/N asked, voice barely above a whisper as she watched him pick through the selection. The art was nothing like she had quite seen before, band names printed in rough lettering and depictions of what she could only describe as monsters and demons on the covers.

There was a small “Aha!” from Kirk as he pulled a record free. The band name was Samhain, the cover art depicting three men dripping with blood. She grimaced down at the album. “Everyone's been jumpy here since…y’know.” Kirk explained, tucking the album under his arm.

Y/N trailed after him as he navigated through the store with ease. “Oh,” She mumbled, feeling dumb. “Does it not freak you out to listen to stuff like that?” She asked, gesturing to his choice in music. “Seems like music for a horror movie.”

He stopped in front of a hanging display of guitars, turning to her curiously. “You’ve never heard this?” He asked with a tilt of his head. Y/N’s only logical response was to gesture to herself. Her oversized patchwork sweater tucked into her short denim skirt, long hair pulled up into a high ponytail. She looked horribly out of place beside Kirk. His chest heaved with a chuckle. “Fair enough, why don't we change that?”

“Oh I don’t know, It’s not that I think I’ll hate it, it's just not what I usually listen to.” She frowned as she walked beside him towards the counter. “I don’t have a record player in my room anyways and my parents would kill me if I tried to play anything like that.” She let out a nervous breathy laugh.

Kirk rummaged in his pockets for his wallet as he slid the cash towards the young lady from earlier. Y/N noticed a blush rise to the girls cheeks as their fingers brushed. All she could think was ‘me and you both sister’. “Come listen to it at mine.” He offered with a shrug of his shoulders. They exited the store back into the fresh morning air.

Her eyes widened. “Like…right now?” Y/N wheezed as Kirk opened the door for her once more. She hesitated, looking between the waiting car and the open streets. She could do what her mother asked her to do and go ask for job applications, or she could get back in Kirk's car and go to his house with him. He raised his brows expectantly at her and she sighed in defeat. “Okay, let's go.”

[flyingwargle]

iwaizumi stands in front of his mirror, phone in one hand, the other running through his hair. he has his notes open, english words typed across the screen. he knows what each word means, how they're spelled, how they sound. when it comes to speaking, however...

he takes a breath and stares at his reflection with the same intensity as preparing for a jump serve. with a quick glance at his phone, he quirks his lips into a smile and speaks in english. "hi, my name is iwaizumi haji- wait." he frowns. given name first. he tries again. "hi, my name is hajime iwaizumi. it's nice to meet you."

the words feel awkward on his tongue. his vowels are too exaggerated, words slurred together. he clears his throat. "hi." his voice rises in pitch. "my name is hajime. it's nice to meet you." ugh. it's obvious that english isn't his mother tongue, but he sounds like he's barely spoken it, which isn't wrong, but that's not the impression that he wants to give, especially in america.

iwaizumi falls onto his bed with a groan. going to school overseas remained a dream until he decided to make it a reality during his second year of high school. aside from classroom learning, he attended a weekly english class, but stopped to focus on volleyball after losing the inter-high prelims. now that their last chance has come and passed, it's about time that he picked up where he left off.

and damn does it sound like he lost all his progress from before.

his other skills are solid. listening - he's been watching american shows with subtitles since middle school. writing - he's been translating his homework as practice since the start of high school, along with the comics that he started reading. speaking, however, is a different beast because of how few opportunities he has to practice.

he scrolls through his notes, where he's saved other phrases that he'll need for university life. is this the right classroom? do you know where the washroom is? can you please repeat that? he even has volleyball-related terminology, just in case he decides to try out for the team.

but something tells him that he'll be busy enough, especially with the language barrirer.

his phone buzzes with notifications, but he dismisses them and stands back up. facing the mirror, he takes in a breath. "good afternoon." draw out the vowels longer. pronounce the Rs clearer. "nice weather today." he has no idea when he'll use that, but it's good to have, anyway. he scrolls to practice other phrases. "excuse me, do you know where this classroom is?"

his arm falls to his side as he stares at himself. heat rushes to his cheeks, and he grits his teeth, tosses his phone aside. he practically yells at his reflection. "hello! my name is hajime! i'm from japan! it's nice to meet you!"

that's when his bedroom door opens and a sing-song reply in english responds to him. "it's nice to meet you too!"

"jesus christ!" iwaizumi jumps, glaring at oikawa, who shows himself in. "how did you get in here?"

oikawa gives him a look. "i've had a key to your house since kindergarten. did all that english make you forget?"

"no, i...why are you here?"

"mattsun asked if we wanted to join him and makki for ramen. you didn't reply, so i came over to ask."

iwaizumi deflates, falling onto his bed. "no, thanks. my mom is making dinner."

oikawa sits beside him. "okay, i'll let him know we'll come next time."

"...what do you mean 'we'?"

"you clearly need me to help you practice your english! your accent is awful, iwa-chan."

he grits his teeth. while he'd score higher on written and listening tests, oikawa passed the oral exams with flying colors. "aren't you going to argentina? don't you need spanish instead?"

"english is the language of the world. i'll need it eventually." oikawa waves a flippant hand. "besides, how much spanish do you know? exactly." he smirks at iwaizumi's silence. "so, let's stick with english."

"okay." iwaizumi fiddles with the edge of his blanket, suddenly shy. they'd spoken in english to each other before, but there would always be a topic and vocabulary to use. the real world has no such parameters, no limits as to what can be said or how. "what...what should we talk about?"

"anything." oikawa shrugs. "just like how we always talk, but in english." he switches gears, as seamless as his tosses. "what's your mom making for dinner?"

"she's...making curry," iwaizumi answers slowly. he can envision all the words in his mind, knows how to arrange them into sentences, but when he speaks, they become wobbly, hesitant. "her vegetable curry is pretty good."

"i know, right? i love how it's both sweet and spicy. my mom would never put apples in her curry." oikawa falls onto the bed, and iwaizumi joins him, both of them staring at the ceiling. "do you think you'll play volleyball in america?"

"i want to, but don't know if i can."

"why not?"

he gestures at himself. "i'm not tall enough. the other guys will probably be better than me. i'll be busy trying to understand my homework."

"you understand more english than me. i think you'll be fine. you can tell them you were the ace in high school!"

“that isn’t a term americans know, idiot.”

“wow, you know how to swear?”

“you’d be surprised, shittykawa.”

“mean! iwa-chan, that’s mean!”

he chuckles. “i picked it up from all those shows we watched.”

“oh, yeah. i forgot about them.” oikawa has a smile on his face. “you wanted this for a long time, huh?”

“yeah. i guess i did.”

they keep the conversation going, all the way until iwaizumi’s mom returns home and shouts for him to help. “coming!” he calls back, jaw snapping shut when he realizes he said it in english. oikawa gives him a look as he remains still, shocked. “oh.”

“see?” oikawa prods him, switching back to japanese. “you’ll be fine. your accent is still terrible, though.”

“shut up.” iwaizumi shoves him before he rises to his feet. he catches his eye in the mirror, watches his friend grumble and stand behind him. oikawa looks up at his voice. “let’s do it again tomorrow?”

“sure. we can even rope in mattsun and makki.”

“they’re so bad at english.” iwaizumi chuckles, remembering how they complained about the exams last term. he pushes the door open, gestures for oikawa to follow. “thanks. for helping, i mean.”

“any time, iwa-chan.”

[scaryscarecrows]

"I Can't Take This Anymore."

It hadn’t been planned. It hadn’t even crossed his mind; he’s too sick to plan anything, and Harley had tried to fix him by plying him full of…something. Pills, he’s not sure not what kind. It hadn’t worked, and Joker, after Jason had gone from shrieking to coughing hard enough to throw up, had begun to fear his pet bird might actually die. Jason considered that fine. Joker disagreed, and he’d brought Jason out of the room, to some other part of the asylum, to see a doctor. And Jason.

It hadn’t been planned. It had been the desperation of a trapped animal. He’d headbutted the doctor, sent her staggering, and before Joker could grab him, he’d summoned what strength he had and run.

Arkham’s grounds are a jungle. Crane had kept them manicured, practically barren, but Sharp doesn’t bother. He says it’s because ‘the patients need greenery’, but Barb says it’s because he’s a cheapass. Jason believes Barb.

He’s grateful now, though. Joker’s hard on his heels, screaming at him, but Jason manages to take a hard left and stumble into some bushes. That’s about the time that his ankle gives out and he only barely bites back a yelp. Joker’s purple legs appear and he freezes, tries not to breathe (hurts it hurts his lungs–).

“Where are you…” Joker’s muttering. “Typical of the medical profession, bill you and don’t even fix what ails you…”

The purple legs walk away. Jason waits one, two, three beats before struggling to his feet. Gotta be quiet. Can’t be caught, he won’t be allowed to die, oh, no, he’ll pay for this if Joker catches him.

He spots distant headlights. 

It’s a risk. 

He’s going to take it.

Head swimming, world pitching dangerously under his feet, he struggles towards the road. Behind him, there’s a burst of mad laughter and running feet, but just as quickly there’s a squawk of outrage and the sound of a body diving aside as the car slams on the brakes. Jason tries to backpedal and goes down hard and this is it, then. It’s over.

He can’t see well. He’s in agony from the fall and now he really can’t stop coughing and his ribs are on fire.

Slosh-slosh-slosh-slosh.

“Gotcha!”

“Jesus Christ–”

There’s suddenly hands on him, patting him down, and no-no-no, please, please, he’ll be good, he won’t run again–

“Come on–”

“Please–”

“I gotcha, c’mon…”

He’s being dragged, then, through the mud, and hauled up. He tries to push the hands off him and they do draw back, and then there’s the slamming of a door.

Then there’s nothing at all.

* * *

He wakes, a little, when a warm (warm? Must be the fever…) washcloth scrubs across his face. Fever or not, he hasn’t been clean in…a while, not really. Sure, Harley’s hosed him down a few times, given him a rough scrubbing, but not…not like this. Not careful and thorough. 

“There you are.” The voice sounds a little familiar, but he can’t…his head hurts and his vision won’t settle; the room just keeps spinning like a slot machine. “Okay, sweet boy, I’m gonna get this off…”

What?

He’s too weak to stop the hands from taking his cape off and no, no-no-no, he doesn’t want this, please–

“It’s okay, honey, it’s just gotta come off so we can get ya cleaned up.” Fingers brush hesitantly against his cheek. “Trust me, it’ll help.”

But…

There’s a glopping noise and he flinches, but it’s followed up by the fingers digging into his hair. Something slimy drips down the side of his face and he shudders, lets his head drop against his knees. There’s nothing he can do about any of this, and he knows it, and he just wants everything to be over.

(He wants Bruce, but Bruce hasn’t come yet and…and Jason’s starting to wonder if he’s ever going to.)

“There we go, that’s a little better already…you’re doin’ real good, baby, it’s gonna be okay.”

No it isn’t.

He blanks out again. Not on purpose, just…he’s just so sick. It doesn’t last, but his next realization is that he’s in a bed, a soft, warm bed that cradles his bones just right, and that he’s wearing clothes that aren’t his. Sweatpants and a big t-shirt, feels like. His right wrist, which cracked against the restraints when he was seizing from electricity, has been bound up and it feels like his ankle’s been braced with an ACE bandage or something. His hair’s still a little damp and the room’s still spinning, but he’s cleaner and more comfortable than he’s been in months.

First he panics. Then he forces himself to look around. Blue walls. White bed. A dresser with a jewelry box and a plush penguin on top–plush penguin? In Gotham?

“You with me this time, kiddo?”

The panic bleeds out of him. It’s just Dove, she won’t…he’s not…he’s not safe, not yet, but she won’t give him back, she won’t hurt him anymore.

“What happened?”

“You tell me.” She sets a water bottle down on the nightstand. “I about hit you, honestly, you came outta nowhere.”

Shit.

Shit.

He knows, he’ll be here any minute–

“I can’t–” He forces himself upright, white-hot pain shooting through his wrist, and tries to will his blurry vision to clear. “I can’t be here, I can’t take anymore, he won’t even let me die–”

“Baby, baby, be still.” His wrist gives way and he crumples back, coughing thickly. “You’re okay, honey, just…don’t move too much, okay?”

“But–”

“Shh. You’ve got a couple broken ribs and Mr. Cobblepot won’t be happy if I tell him I’ve got a dead kid in my house.” She gives him a rough smile. “Just stay down, okay? He’s not…he won’t hurt you anymore, sweetheart, I promise.”

Of course he will.

He forces himself to shake his head despite the terrible blur it causes and tries to explain, “I can’t be here. He. He’ll be looking for me, I-I-I–”

“Shh. It’ll be okay, honey. He can’t get up here.” Yes he can, and he’ll be furious, and– “How about you try to get some sleep, huh? Until I can get hold of Jim?”

Maybe this isn’t real at all. He’s never had this particular hallucination before, but there’s a first time for everything.

“But–”

“Robin,” Dove says softly, “he won’t lay another finger on you. Even if he knew where you are, he can’t get up here, and even if he managed that, he can’t get in.”

He wishes he could believe her. But he knows better, knows this will end horribly for both of them and just…

Maybe it’s better if it’s not real, if he wakes up back in that dark, cold little room. Or hell, maybe he’s dying from the flu and this is some weird, last-ditch thing his brain’s spat out to ease things along. Honestly, that’s the least painful option.

“Try to go back to sleep, huh? You’ve got a helluva fever and I don’t…I don’t think giving you anything’s a hot idea, y’know?”

No. No, he…he guesses not.

He lets her tuck the blankets back around him despite his deep misgivings, declines the offered water on the grounds that he thinks he’ll puke it up immediately, and tries to find a comfortable position.

He shouldn’t. He’s done enough, put her in enough danger already, but he just…

He can’t be alone in the dark again.

“Don’t go?” he whispers. “Please?”

“Sure, hon. Let me just try to call Jim first, okay?”

He loses himself looking at the little plush penguin on the dresser. It’s pink and gray, not very big. Somethin’ from Cobblepot, maybe?

God, he feels like shit. Achy and tired and just done. It’s a fight to keep his eyes open, a fight he finally gives up after the penguin multiplies.

He should stay awake. He knows that. And he tries, it’s just…

He can’t.

* * *

Jason’s tugged out of a deep, dreamless sleep by a hushed voice above him.

“--even walk. We’re up high, the door’s closed.”

“Hrm?”

“S’just Jim,” Dove says softly. “He wants us to meet him at GCPD, you’re too sick for that.”

“Hrm.” He thinks he could do it, maybe, but he doesn’t want to. Now that Joker’s cocktail of whatever and the adrenaline have largely worn off, he’s not sure how well he’ll be able to move. He’s in pain, and he’s tired, and…and he’s comfortable, here. Warm for the first time in months. And if he stays still, keeps his eyes closed, he can pretend that the hand carding through his hair is Mom’s. “‘Kay.”

“Go back to sleep, sweetheart.”

Sounds good.

He settles further under the blankets and is just mostly back asleep when there’s a sharp rap on the door.

“Huh?”

“Probably Jim.” Dove tucks the blankets in. “I’ll be back in a minute, okay?”

He doesn’t feel right. Jim shouldn’t be here that fast, right? Has it really been that long?

He struggles up, chest throbbing, and tries to clear his head. He’s just rubbing his eyes when he hears a high-pitched, overly friendly voice sing-songing, “Hellooooo!”

The world falls out from under him and his first instinct is to hide, but there’s nowhere to go.

“Have you seen him?” Joker’s asking now, and Jason knows he’s furious, he knows he’s here, he–

“I’ve been asleep,” Dove says, a little short. “No.”

There’s a sudden ruckus, the sound of a chain lock straining to hold, followed by a screech, swearing, and the door slamming. Dove comes back in and heads to her dresser, rifles through it until she comes up with a gun and no-no-no, this is his fault, he can’t–

“I’ll go,” he says frantically. “I will, just. Just please, I–c’n I have some pills o-or something, I can’t–”

“Batman’ll be here any minute,” she tells him. “Just be quiet, okay? We’re gonna be okay.”

The apartment is silent. No sounds of attempted entry, no laughter in the main hallway. And Jason’s just thinking maybe Bruce got him already when shave-and-a-haircut! sounds against the balcony door.

He can barely see the monster through the rain. Just that stark white face and those staring eyes, a floating head more than anything. And the doorknob’s just turning when there’s an odd pop-pop-pop-pop-pop-pop sound. 

The glass shatters first. Then the face is twisting into an expression of shock and rage but it’s going back, it’s–

It’s gone. The porch is empty now, save for a pair of chattering teeth.

Dove reloads the gun and helps him out of bed, wrapping him in the comforter and half-carries him out of the room and to the couch. And. And he knows she hit him, and he kinda remembers that they’re on the top floor of a very tall building, and…

“He’s dead?”

“I think so, kiddo.” She settles down next to him and doesn’t remove him when he curls into her arms, shaking. “I think it’s over.”

THE END