#and he would probably like to look at the blood going down

[seeliemansi]

You Made Him Worried (Mr. Crawling x Reader)

Synopsis: The last thing you want is to make him worried

a/n: Wrote this while high on antihistamine, will probably rewrite after I got better *hic*

Part of this universe

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

Mr. Crawling despises it when you get hurt. He tends to be extra clingy, extra needy, and very shaky when it happens.

You have to be careful as you dance around the topic of you getting hurt because he is not playing with your safety.

That's why when you slipped, and the cause was just you being careless as you decided that running towards your apartment to go home is a good decision during a sudden rain, it hit you so bad, you didn't even have time to say ouch out loud. Enough with protecting yourself from getting wet. You were more worried that he will panic and will start a power surge that can cause an electricity loss in your apartment building. You need the heater and can't sleep with how cold it is tonight.

Your white dress is wet and ruined. Your hair is a mess. You are bruised and in pain. And you walk upstairs with a limp. A good way to end the day you supposed.

You remind yourself to be cool. Not to make Mr. Crawling worried. You just want it to not be awkward when you meet him back home, waiting for you at his usual spot.

At least that's the plan.

The moment you stepped inside, all smiles, acting silly, downplaying what happened, you tried your best. You really do.

But when you opened your eyes, and looked at him.

His smile was turned into a frown. And with a shaky voice he asked.

“You, what happened?”

“You. Blood? Wound?”

“Hurt? Hurt?” He continued asking as he grabbed your arm. A wince came out of your mouth not from his hold, but from a cut you never saw due to the dimly lit streets and the mud that clung on your skin.

“No! Mr. Crawling, I am okay. See, not hurt and painful at all.” You grabbed his hand and wrapped it around yours, trying to divert his attention. You bite the inside of your cheeks, pretending that your whole body is not sore from the fall.

“Let's go, Mr. Crawling. I need to change or I will get a cold.” You insisted as you stepped inside and tried to chuckle, trying to dissipate the tension that is slowly building up in the air. When suddenly, he stopped, pulled his hands out of your hold, slowly stood up, and towered over you.

“No!” He screamed, voice deeper than usual. He walked closer, an inch away from you. His breathing is heavy. His hair seems to have a brain of its own as it stood, like Medusa’s snakes. The electricity flickers as he moves.

You gulped, planning to take a step back but you’ve been cornered by a wall. You can only helplessly look up at him. Watching the dark look clouding over his face.

—-----

“You done?” He asked, too chirpy to your liking.

“I will be done soon. Can you let go of my hand for a moment?” You draw circles on his hand that was holding yours as you bathe in the tub. The curtains were drawn, to give you a little privacy. A little uncomfortable but if you fully close it, he will surely sit in the tub and watch you bath instead.

This is the only compromise he agreed to so he will stop standing up and darkening your hallway.

Although you know he wasn't capable of hurting you, you got so scared when he suddenly stood up and towered over you. All you can think about is to make a compromise that he will like, or at least to lessen his worry. It breaks your heart to see him worried.

“Yes. Yes. Towel?” He offered. But when you tried to grab it from his hold, he pulled it so you would let it go.

“No! Me help you.” He insisted.

“But I can do it by myself.” You countered.

“I said no. I will help you.” A shiver ran down your spine when he suddenly was able to form a whole sentence in your language.

“Alright.” You sighed and stepped out of the tub. He is standing up, hands holding the towel wide open. He is grinning and looking thrilled. Who would have blamed him? It is the first time you two are inside the bathroom together. “Come! Come!” He giggles as he wraps it around you.

The way he switches from terrifying to sweet is always a surprise to you. He can be the sweetest but when push comes to shove, the most frightening ghost you have ever seen.

“Here, kiss. Kiss. Kiss.” He spoke as he raised your arm and kissed all the visible cuts and bruises you have on your skin.

You can't help but giggle from the gesture, feeling your heart swell with happiness. You may be sore but you're glad that you took him home.

[sleepy-steve]

pt 2 of steve "dies but doesn't stay dead" harrington and eddie "ferryman of the river styx" munson // 1.9k // pt 1 ♡

—

november 1984

Eddie checks. Of course he checks. Asks around, eventually to his superiors to make sure he wasn’t going to get in trouble for not collecting Steve. It’s uncommon, they tell him, rare, even. But not unheard of. People die briefly and come back to life. Usually only the one time. The answer should be good enough. Should be. Isn’t though. It frustrates Eddie to no end. Months of wondering and ruminating with the firm belief that he won’t get to see Harrington again anytime soon to ask.

He doesn’t have to wait long.

This time Eddie is on the boat. Leaning over the edge, a hand dangling low to the black water, staring at the same patch of grass he first saw Steve sitting. In fairness, all souls appeared in that general area. But Eddie is fixated on the exact spot Steve had shown off his deep chest wounds. It’s for this reason that Eddie jumps three feet into the air when Steve materialises in the same spot again less than a year later.

Sitting up with a rattling gasp and a look of fury on his bashed-in face—again?! Eddie briefly thinks—Steve yells, “Fucking Hargrove!”

“Christ, Harrington!” Eddie shouts, hand over his chest despite the distinct lack of heartbeat. “Could give a guy a bit of warning.”

Steve looks around, eyes surrounded by more dark bruising taking a second to focus on Eddie, chest heaving as he calms down. “Shit, sorry, man.”

They just look at each other for a few long moments, Eddie standing like a frightened cat on his still wobbling boat. He clears his throat to break the silence. “Who, uh. Who’s Hargrove?”

Scoffing, Steve drags a hand down the side of his face, then winces as it passes over bruising. “Douchebag new guy.” He sighs, settling his forearms on his knees. “His sister is friends with some kids I know. Was coming after them, so I…” Trailing off, Steve gestures to his face.

“What? Offered yourself up as a human punching bag and got yourself killed? Again?” Eddie says, trying not to sound too judgemental.

“Yeah, well,” Steve sighs. “I wasn’t just gonna let him beat up a kid. They’ve been through enough without some dickhead coming in and kicking the shit out of them.”

Eddie feels his brows pull together slightly as he sits back down on the bench of the boat, arms crossed over the edge. It’s not like Harrington was the big bully of Hawkins High, but defender of local kids is… new. “Sounds like a grade-A asshole.”

Steve snorts. “He is.”

“Kids were lucky to have you around as their… babysitter?” Eddie offers, cracking a grin.

Steve rolls his eyes, a small smile playing at the corners of his mouth. “Something like that. Probably didn’t need me at all. Stuck around long enough to see her drug him, so they should be fine.”

Humming appreciatively, a thought moves across Eddie’s mind, and he can’t help himself. “…No monsters this time?”

“Ha, ha,” Steve rolls his eyes. “Yeah, I know you don’t believe me, but the monsters did actually come back, which is why I was with those little shits in the first place.” He sounds annoyed, but there’s a fond look behind those bruised eyes. One that gives Eddie a little spark in his chest. “But no, this death was just a regular guy.”

It’s Eddie’s turn to snort. “This death. So casual.”

A full grin breaks out on Steve’s face, contrasting heavily with the bruises and the blood under his nose. “Well, when it’s happened this many times, kinda hard not to view it as like. Just this thing that happens, y’know?”

Eddie doesn’t really know. Of everything he’s learnt about death—through his own and through everyone he’s met since—this thing Steve goes through is beyond him. Incomprehensible. He nods anyway.

“How many times have you died, Harrington?”

“Hmm…” Steve looks up as he thinks for a moment. “This would be… five? Or six?” He shrugs. “I’m not sure if it happened when I was a baby.”

He says it so casually, so matter-of-fact, Eddie almost wants to double-take. It sounds so truthful, he struggles to not believe him. Even though Eddie knows he’s not losing much by believing him, a small part of him still has doubts. And worries for his job. “You gonna get in the boat this time?”

Steve snorts. “Not this time, buddy.” Something jolts in Eddie’s chest at the familiarity. “Maybe next time though.”

“Next time,” Eddie mutters under his breath, shaking his head. “You anticipate dying again?”

“Well, no,” Steve chuckles. “But based on how things have been… and apparently I’m not too careful.” He gestures at his bruised up face, eyes bright with humour between the blues and purples and reds.

“The monsters?” Eddie supplies, just teetering on the edge of sarcasm.

“Monsters, douchebag guys, car wrecks… you just never know.”

The casual tone in which Steve talks about his deaths still has Eddie reeling. It’s been well over a year and Eddie is surrounded by death constantly, and he still struggles to think about his own. Tells himself he’d rather not dwell, which is true, but it also hurts. He shakes it off, shifting his focus to the bruised and beaten boy in front of him.

“Or… you could save yourself the trouble, and get in the boat now?” Eddie gestures down at his boat with a little hand flair. He’s joking. Mostly. If Steve did have the chance to go back to the land of the living, Eddie didn’t want to take that away from him. Not that he thought Steve was getting that chance. Not completely, anyway.

“Wish I could, but I don’t make the rules.” Steve grins at him, like they’re sharing a secret. And they kind of were. Eddie wasn’t sure how many people knew about Steve’s semi-regular dances with death.

“And since when have you ever been one to stick to the rules?” Eddie asks, propping his arm up and resting his chin on his palm. Looking at the boy on the grass. His hair is longer this time.

Steve laughs, head tilted back. “Fair point. But if you want me on that boat, you’re gonna have to come over here and drag me onto it.” He raises a brow at Eddie in challenge.

Eddie rolls his eyes. “Wish I could, but I don’t make the rules.” He repeats Steve’s words back at him, mocking him.

“Well, well, well,” Steve says, tone playful. “Look who’s being a stickler for rules now.”

“I know,” Eddie drags it out, struggling to hold back his smile. “Crazy, huh? Divine punishment for being born the son of a criminal, I guess.” Eddie’s gaze drops down to the black water beneath him.

Steve scoffs at him. “Like you never smoked pot or broke speeding laws in that van of yours.” 

Eyes widening before he can stop them, Eddie’s shocked Steve even knows about the van. Shocked that Steve knows anything about him at all. What world is he in where the king of Hawkins High knows about Eddie and his beat up old van? Even being in the grade below him, Steve had a popularity pull that was noticed by those in Eddie’s grade. Confusion and surprise subsiding, Eddie finds himself leaning forward even further.

“Coming from you?” Eddie challenges back. “We all know about the famous Harrington ragers, Mister Keg King.”

The title makes Steve roll his eyes. “Never saw you at one.”

It was true. Eddie hadn’t attended any of the parties, for fear of his reputation making him a target. He drops his gaze again. “Didn’t think I’d be welcome there.”

Steve doesn’t respond, and the silence grows between them. They haven’t moved, but Eddie feels further away from him. Like the weird little familiarity they’d developed was being forcefully shoved apart. Eddie doesn’t look up to see Steve’s reaction. Doesn’t want the pity.

“So, you really can’t get out of the boat?” Steve breaks the silence with a complete topic change.

“Nope,” Eddie responds, popping the P. “She’s my new baby, now that I don’t have my van.” He pats the side of the boat with his free hand.

Steve shifts forward until he’s sitting as close as he can to the water’s edge without getting wet. Close enough for Eddie to see the broken capillaries under his skin and the little green flecks in his eyes. He takes in the cuts on Steve’s jaw and forehead, the two black eyes, the blood under his nose. The way his knuckles are bruised and bloodied to match. Something in Eddie feels oddly… protective. Like he wants to jump in front of anything that might hurt this guy he doesn’t even really know that well.

“Change your mind about getting in the boat?” Eddie asks, voice low, now that Steve is so close.

“No,” Steve huffs a laugh. “But you can’t move, so I figured I should.”

“Just that desperate to be close to me, are you?” It slips out of Eddie’s mouth before he can think about it. And Eddie wants to punch himself in the face over it.

But to his surprise, Steve doesn’t recoil away or yell at him. Instead, he laughs softly, cheeks faintly pink beneath the bruising. “What can I say? The allure of your… baby…” He says it with a smirk. “Very tempting.”

Taken aback by Steve’s… flirting is the only word to describe it, but that can’t be right, Eddie immediately switches to joke mode. He won’t entertain the idea that Steve Harrington was honest-to-god flirting with him. He won’t.

“I’ll get you into this boat one day, Harrington. Mark my words.” 

He knocks on the edge of the boat twice before smoothing his hand over the wood. Watches as Steve’s eyes follow his hand, seemingly fixated on it. Eddie briefly wonders what would happen if he touched Steve. Would that commit Steve to being stuck here? Commit him to moving on? Would Eddie even be able to feel him?

Gaze shifting back to Eddie’s face, a smile grows on Steve’s face. “Maybe. One day.” He shrugs, like his eventual death is a fun, whimsical topic.

Eddie is about to comment on Steve’s tone, but before he can, Steve’s head whips to the side, hearing something Eddie can’t. Just like last time.

Unlike last time, Steve doesn’t get up right away. “Looks like my time’s up.”

“How do you know?” Eddie is so curious, he can’t help but ask.

“I can hear—” Steve waves vaguely around his ear. “—stuff. From where I am. The kids are yelling. Hope they’re not too freaked out.”

“Guess you better get back then,” Eddie says, trying to hide his disappointment.

“Yep.” Steve pulls himself up into a standing position, now suddenly looking down at Eddie, who leans back on instinct, shifting back on the boat bench. “But I’ll see you next time.”

“I’ll be here.” Eddie gestures at the boat, palm up. Like he has anywhere else to go. “See ya, Harrington. Stay away from monsters.”

“I’ll try,” Steve laughs, walking backwards on the grass. Keeping his eyes on Eddie as he retreats.

“Try not to get that pretty face bashed in again,” Eddie calls after Steve’s already fading form, grinning wide.

Steve just laughs, the sound of it echoing even after his body disappears from Eddie’s sight.

[persevereforahappyending]

No Man's Land |11|

Pairing: Sam Carpenter x Reader

Summary: Sam can’t help but be drawn to the cute stranger from her gym, even if everything about them makes them the perfect suspect, just when Ghostface has returned.

Warnings: Talks of injuries, talks of killing, talks of attack

Word Count: 2.7k+

Main Masterlist | Series Masterlist

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8 | Part 9 | Part 10 | Part 11

You sat on a bed in the ambulance as you got stitched up, again. For the second time, in one day, you had to have your wound from the previous day restitched, then on top of that you needed the wound on your leg stitched. For once you got lucky and the cut on your arm didn’t go deep enough for stitches, the medic just cleaned it and wrapped it.

Much to Sam’s displeasure you refused to go to the hospital, again. You were fine though, you had a slight limp at the moment but once you got used to the pain, you’d be fine, you just needed to walk it off. Besides, you couldn’t waste time going to the hospital, it would take too long and two attacks in a day meant Ghostface could do it again. You weren’t about to leave Sam and her friends alone just to get properly patched up.

You hopped out of the ambulance with a groan, clenching your jaw as you tried not to focus on the pain that radiated throughout your leg. You walked off, trying not to flinch with each step. You looked down, pulling at your shirt as you took in the new blood stain from your torn stitches, which wasn’t nearly as bad as the blood on your pants from that stab wound. If people didn’t know you had literally just been attacked, they’d probably assumed you committed a murder.

“Survived to tell the tale again,” Kirby said, approaching you just like last time. “Seems Ghostface got some hits in,” she tilted her head, gesturing at the bandage on your arm.

You held up your arm, giving the bandage a look, then scoffed. “Cheap shots,” you said with an eye roll.

Kirby gave a knowing hum. “That’s how he does things.”

“I’m learning that,” you mumbled.

You would be prepared next time. The first time, you didn’t have anything, but you caught him off guard, until the second one appeared. The second time you were caught off guard, forced to run into a territory filled with civilians, you won that one, but you didn’t finish the job. And now the third time, you were once again caught off guard, without weapons, your only priority had been to make sure the others got away, taking Ghostface out was your second priority. The fourth time would be different, you would make sure of it. The next time you went up against Ghostface would be the last, for every single one of them.

“You got everyone out,” Kirby said, bringing you out of your thoughts.

“Not everyone,” you whispered. You looked across the way where you saw the coroner wheeling Quinn’s body out on the stretcher. A sheet was covering her face, but you knew she was under there. Bailey looked distraught as they stopped next to him, allowing him to say goodbye one last time.

You narrowed your eyes, Bailey was crying over his dead daughter, there was nothing out of the ordinary, it was the reaction anyone would expect from a father. Bailey had been the first on the scene this time, by several minutes before anyone else, as if he was already on his way there. There was a chance that was the case, he could have been coming by to see his daughter or update everyone on the case. There was something tugging at the back of your mind though, telling you not to take it at face value, Bailey was the last to arrive after the bodega attack, but the first on the scene to the apartment, which happened to be when his daughter was murdered.

You furrowed your brow; you and the girls had gone back to the apartment right after the attack. The only person who had left the apartment was Ethan, you knew the twins wouldn’t let some random stranger into the apartment, besides Quinn’s hookup, who was found dead in the bathtub. That meant Ghostface had to either have been in the apartment the whole time, which was improbable, there was no way he could have stayed hidden for so long. The other option was that he got in another way, possibly through one of the windows, which meant he had to climb up the fire escape. Your eyes tracked the fire escape from the ground up to where you knew Sam’s apartment was. The ladder wasn’t pushed down but the dumpster was close enough that if Ghostface jumped up on it he could have pulled himself up onto the ladder. It still should have made enough noise for someone to notice, but no one did, not until the phone call came in.

“I should get to work,” Kirby said. You nodded and watched her walk off towards the crime scene.

You looked around the area, seeing Chad with Mindy as she got patched up in the back of another ambulance. A medic checked out Anika right outside the ambulance, but you knew the worst Anika probably had was a concussion from being slammed into the wall. Sam and Tara weren’t too far from the ambulance as they talked to an officer. You noticed Danny standing off to the side by the gate and decided to walk over to him.

“Hey,” you said, giving him a nod.

“Hey, are you okay?” he asked, nodding at your arm.

“It’s nothing,” you waved it off.

“Almost bleeding out it my apartment doesn’t seem like nothing.”

You chuckled, you couldn’t help but nod. The cut on your arm and the tearing of your stitches really was nothing. The real issue was the stab wound on your leg, the knife had gone deep and was bleeding quite a bit before the medics got to you. Honestly, if you didn’t get help when you did you would have most definitely bled out, not that you were going to mention that to Sam or anyone else, but it was definitely something you should have gone to the hospital for.

“I just wanted to thank you,” you said. “That ladder stunt was crazy,” you smiled, shaking your head. “But it was fucking brilliant man.”

Danny chuckled and scratched the back of his neck like he was embarrassed. “Me? What about you?” he gestured at you. “Jumping from the middle of the ladder? Now, that,” he pointed at you. “That is fucking insane.”

You couldn’t argue with him there. That was one of the craziest stunts you had ever done, and you had jumped out of planes and helicopters before, though you always had a parachute. You were bleeding out, the ladder was unstable, if you had missed, if you didn’t fall to your death, you probably would have broken most of the bones in your body.

“Do you need a change of clothes?” Danny’s question caught you off guard. “I got some you could borrow since you look…” he gestured at all of you. You looked down at your bloody self, you wouldn’t be able to go back to your house and change again.

“Thanks,” you said. “But I got some in my car,” you pointed to your vehicle down the street. “But can I change in your apartment?” Danny nodded.

You made your way over to your car, fighting through the pain that shot through your leg at every step. You opened the back door and unzipped the duffle bag you kept back there; you made sure to always have a change of clothes and anything else you would need in your car. You grabbed your spare plain black t-shirt and black cargo pants. You were sure you’d look rather intimidating walking around in all black, but you needed to be ready for a fight.

You followed Danny up to his apartment, grimacing at the pool of blood on his hard wood floor. You would have to make sure to pay to get that cleaned up, you knew how hard blood was to get out of things. The cops had walked the apartment when they first arrived but because the attack didn’t happen there, they finished up after a few minutes and made their way over to the actual crime scene.

You made your way into Danny’s bathroom to quickly changed. You pulled off your bloodied shirt and had to do a double take when you caught site of yourself in the mirror. You were in great shape, spending most of your time training, when you weren’t deployed, but your body had been through a lot. The stab wound on your side and the cut down your arm was nothing compared to the rest of you. Even the wound on your leg didn’t seem like much. Your body was litter with scars from knife and gun shot wounds, all the times you almost died. You subconsciously brought a hand to the tattoo over your heart, it was the insignia of army special forces, with the initials of your teammates throughout. As your finger brushed over the tattoo you could feel the scar underneath, the bullet that should have killed you.

You shook your head, pushing the memories down as far as they would go. You couldn’t be thinking about that, Sam needed you at your best, you couldn’t let your own trauma get in the way of that. You gripped the sink until your knuckles turned white and kept your eyes pinched shut until you had completely pushed everything away. When you looked up again, you recognized the soldier in the mirror, the one that would do whatever it took to make sure the mission succeeded and right now the mission was saving Sam and her friends. You quickly threw on the clean clothes and made your way back down to the others.

“You fuck with my family, you die,” Bailey said just as you walked out of the apartment.

You furrowed your brow as he talked to Sam. You knew he was upset; it was natural for a father to want revenge on his daughter. However, it hadn’t even been an hour since Quinn was killed, it didn’t make sense for him to be so cold and logically already.

You made your way over to Sam and Tara’s side just as Gale Weathers walked up. “I’m glad you’re okay,” Gale said.

“Don’t even start,” Sam snapped.

“I’m not here for that.” Her gaze flicked to you; you could tell she still wanted to ask you questions but she didn’t.

“Bullshit.”

“Truly,” Gale tried again. “Off the record,” she rolled her eyes. “I found something you’ll all want to see.”

Gale didn’t say what she wanted to show everyone, she just said it was connected to Ghostface. Sam and Tara began gathering the others, you couldn’t help but furrow your brow when Ethan appeared. Chad kept flicking a glare at him, you weren’t sure what happened while you were changing but if Chad was suspicious of Ethan, then whatever happened certainly couldn’t have been bad. Once everyone was gathered you all made your way to the location Gale sent.

You stood close to Sam as everyone gathered at the front of an alleyway, as Gale explained the two kids from Tara’s class who were killed rented the building. It was broad daylight, making an attack unlikely but not impossible. Attacking someone during the day was a risk, higher probability of being seen, but it was unexpected, it was a way to catch the target off guard.

Gale and Kirby argued over how Gale found the place. You knew Gale was a good reporter and reporters had the habit of finding things they shouldn’t, but the fact that Kirby didn’t know the place existed was concerning, considering she was in the FBI and specialized in Ghostface cases. You glanced over everyone else, Chad stood next to Ethan, who had his hands shoved in his pockets, looking uncomfortable and out of place as usual. Mindy had her arm wrapped around Anika, whispering something in her ear. Anika hadn’t said a word since the attack, she just had a distant look in her eyes as her entire body shook. You had seen that look plenty of times, in soldiers after their first fight, in survivors after an attack, it wasn’t easy to get past, but everyone did eventually, with time.

You followed the group down the alley, with Gale leading the way. Gale swiped a card, unlocking a large metal door at the end of the alley. The door led down a dimly lit hallway, the dated red wallpaper was peeling, revealing the stained drywall underneath. You looked down, there was a thin dark red carpet to match the wall, though you could feel how sticky it was every time you lifted your foot. You came to a stop, furrowing your brow as Gale swung open a door and stepped into a metal cage of some sort, before swiping the card again and opening another metal door.

“What is this place?” Mindy asked.

“Just wait,” Gale said, before disappearing. She walked off to the side, a second later there was a loud click that echoed throughout the room, and then all the lights came on.

You couldn’t help the way your mouth fell open, it was some sort of old movie theater. “It’s a shrine,” Gale said as she rejoined the group. You looked around, seeing she had flipped the breaker.

“Holy shit,” Mindy whispered.

The theater was filled with display cases, all of them full of stuff you assumed was from previous Ghostface attacks. It even seemed that whoever created the shrine dressed up mannequins in the actual clothes from the killers and victims, at least that’s what you gathered from the bloodstains on the clothes in question. All the displays led straight to the stage, and in center stage was a set of nine Ghostface costumes, each of them in their own special display case.

You walked through the displays, your eyes scanning over all the information. You had heard bits and pieces from the news over the years, but you never knew it was anything like this. Whoever these new people were, they clearly had done their research, they seemed to have planned everything quite thoroughly. Everything from all previous Ghostface attacks was in one room, that definitely wasn’t a coincidence, you knew something bigger was at play, everything was too easy.

Kirby said she had been investigating the two college kids, they were stupid enough to get on Kirby’s radar before they ever even killed someone. Yet, this place was apparently theirs and hidden so well even Kirby couldn’t find it. On top of that, even if they were rich kids, there seemed to be too much evidence, there was no way they got everything by simply bribing cops.

You stopped at one of the displays, there were sketches of Sam and Tara. You figured it must have been from the attack last year. In the display was also crime scene photos, and photos of Tara. You flicked your eyes to Tara as she made her way up the stage towards her sister, just based on the photos she had endured one hell of an attack. Your eyes then fell on a picture of some guy, smiling at the camera, the nameplate at the bottom read ‘Richie Kirsch’ Sam’s ex-boyfriend. You wrinkled your nose at the picture, you didn’t know the full story, didn’t know anything about the guy, but you didn’t like him from a simple photo.

“So, what,” Chad said. “Someone killed these guys and took over?” you made your way up to the center of the stage where everyone else had already gathered.

“If this were a normal Stab movie,” Mindy said. “This would be the killers lair.”

“But this isn’t a normal Stab movie,” Kirby said.

This wasn’t a movie at all. You might not have been used to this whole thing, but you didn’t get all the movie references. This wasn’t a movie, even if some psycho was inspired by a movie, this was real life, real people died, and Ghostface was just a normal guy behind a mask. You wouldn’t deny that the place certainly looked like a lair, they were definitely right about that part. The idea that two kids created the whole space, only to end up dead and have someone else take up the Ghostface mantle and know about this room just didn’t seem plausible. All your senses were telling you to take nothing at face value, that there was something deeper going on.

Taglist: @thatshyboy1998 @artrizzler19 @btay3115 @acutenobody @godamnityess

@luvwanda @rqizzu @riyaexee @bella423 @rayisaknight

@assgradiangod @canyonyodeler

[diy-dynamite]

Can you write for mc for homocipher ? I know it's us ༎ຶ⁠‿⁠༎ຶ but make the reader and the mc a separate person

Omg. This is so amazing

Tysm for requesting this, I'm gonna go free reign with how I perceive our MC!!

YOU&ME

Adami x GN Reader

Contents: spoilers for Homicipher :3, canon typical violence, & this is based purely off my personal view of her!

******

YOU don't know how you got here. You don't even know where you are. Then suddenly, it hit you.

Not realisation.

A crowbar.

...

A deafening pain hit you upside the head. Your heartbeat throbbed at your skull. You clasped a hand over it, trying to cower from the harsh ringing. "Agh... what...?"

You glanced down—you were on a pale mattress. A hospital bed, perhaps, and a dirty one, at that.

"_ _. _ _ _?" (You awake. You're okay?)

You whipped your head around to see a silhouette of white and dark splatters—a person in a raincoat. At first glance, she looked human.

"_ _ _," she said again. (You are safe.)

The language she spoke didn't feel human. And now that you looked closer, you spotted the red rashes and dried blood on her arms and the splatters on her raincoat... was blood.

You flinched back when she tried to reach out to you, but the abrupt movement only did your headache worse. "Who are you?" You hissed, trying to get the necessary questions out of the way. "Why did you...?"

"_ _ _ _," another voice chirped. (They not understand language.)

That one scared you more. On all fours, hair covering his eyes, blood dripping where his eyes should be.... You nearly fainted if it weren't for the whiplash you experienced due to the one in the raincoat suddenly speaking in your language.

"Sorry," she said, dropping her crowbar, a loud and painstaking clang echoing throughout the room. "Can't... er," she huffed. "Can't remember how... speak. Your language."

.

.

.

You blinked. "Sorry?"

"Can't—!" she sighed. "Okay, okay. I teach... uh... our language." She gestured between herself and her crawling friend.

You were hesitant. She had a crowbar. He... was probably a human eater. She's probably a human eater, too!

You have to get away.

"I... I don't think you have to," you stammered, scooting further up on the bed.

She stepped closer, and you quickly got off the bed to the right, using the mattress as something to keep distance between you and the two horrors standing before you.

She stepped around the bed, blocking your path, and the one on the ground still stayed by the bed.

"We help," she said. You didn't believe a single word she said. "We help."

The raincoat girl reached out, and you couldn't stop your instincts from jumping over the bed and swinging the door open, running like death itself was in full chase for you.

The urge to look back was too strong, so you did—only briefly—and your heart dropped to see the girl in the raincoat running after you.

You cried out for them to stop, running even faster. As you drifted into a corner, you bumped into another, probably terrifying creature. You didn't stop to see. All you knew was he was tall and wore white, too, and was holding something orange with a tail.

He ended up nearly dropping the tailed orange thing, and you heard distant complaining in the same language the girl was speaking.

A hand yanked your collar back. You choked, a strained yelp skidding out of your throat. The panic only sunk further in your gut when you couldn't feel the ground at your feet anymore.

"Ghk—! Put me down! Help—!"

You were quickly silenced once you were face to face with a horrifying, red-eyed, and narrow-browed glare. "Shhhhhhhh."

If you could melt into whoever was manhandling you, you would. Wait.

Her hands were at her sides.

Only now did you fully realise that someone else was holding you up.

You tested your luck and peeked behind you, and it was the silver silhouette, but up close. His eyes were wrapped with a blood-stained bandage. He smiled, muttering something, but you quickly tried to squiggle out of his hand.

"Stop," the girl sighed. So you did.

She put her hand on her hip and gave you a look. "We friendly. Stop."

"You don't look like it!"

"Then I prove it!" she cried, clearly frustrated. You chose to hold your tongue, not wanting to push her buttons further upon seeing her grip tighten on her crowbar.

Nodding, you mimed, zipping your mouth shut and locking it.

The girl nodded in return. "Good. Now come." Her fingers curled under your shirt's neckline, and she pulled—you had no choice but to follow.

...

So... they are friendly.

You sat on your bed on the far back, listening to the raincoat girl talk.

You'd asked her name before, but she claimed not to remember. That's fine—you didn't seem to remember yours, either.

It's almost sad. Almost. Because you lost yourself. So did she. So did the others, if you assumed correctly. You still had a couple of cups of humanity in you, but she? She had less.

If you had a cup, she had a drop, and it was drying out too fast.

They're their own creatures. They're not human, but they're not completely lost—they have an ounce of what feels like human nature. You're all lost. Not just you, not just her, but everyone else, too. At least, you think so. Everyone here felt human before. You don't know for sure, though, your ability to think is losing its complexity.

You figured out four things during your stay (which you also don't remember; it feels like you've always been here):

The only thing on your minds' are to survive. Some have additional things, like having fun or learning, but for you and the raincoat girl, and the crawling one, too, all you want is to get through the next few hours.

You don't know when a day starts or ends, either, so you've got only your hunger to tell you whether a day has passed. Even then, your hunger spikes only grow more often than not.

Still, you smiled.

At least here, you're home.

That's what the raincoat girl tells you.

"You home," she whispered in your ear as you laid down to rest, curling up next to you with gentle hands playing with the loose strings of your shirt's neckline, her head closer to your chest, as if she was relishing in hearing the last breaths of your life drum on your ribcage.

"You and I," she said. "Home."

Her red eyes flickered to you, urging you to reply.

You nodded.

"Home."

She's all everybody needs.

She's all you need.

And that's okay.

********

I have no idea where I was going with this LMAO UH

Anyway! I'm so sorry for taking so long on this, I got stressed over my SATs test in a few weeks, erm. If I don't update anymore then yk what happened to me (I failed)

ANYWAY!! I hope you liked this one </3 requests still open, just slow updates :3

[damiansgoodgirll]

don’t break my heart 8 i can’t wait 💕💕

I’M SO SORRY IT TOOK ME SO LONG…part 9 is already in the making!

part 1, part 2, part 3, part 4, part 5, part 6, part 7.

rhea ripley x reader (platonic) / damian priest x reader (platonic) / drew mcintyre x reader

likes, comments and reblogs are always appreciated!

‼️this chapter contains topics like fear of abandonment, negative thoughts, loneliness, panic attacks, fear of rejection, paranoid reader, anxiety, angst in general‼️

DON’T BREAK MY HEART - PART 8

it was bad blood weekend and you were a nervous wreck. you didn’t know why but you had a sixth sense, feeling that it was going to be bad. in your mind you saw rhea and damian losing. you saw drew and punk destroying each other and you were terrified because you couldn’t do anything to prevent all of that. it was just your imagination - you told yourself - but as the days passed, your feelings got worse and in less than two hours from the start of the show, you were completely terrified.

adam forbid you to go and help rhea, meaning that she was alone out there. you knew she didn’t need your help to win a match, especially against liv morgan, but you never knew what the judgment day was up to.

you saw how drew trained himself this week, you knew he was ready for the match, but having him, alone, in a cell with punk, was scaring you. he told you multiple times that no matter the outcome, he would make punk see hell, and by now, you knew that drew was serious. he didn’t care about winning or losing, he wanted this to be a revenge on punk, for costing him the world title.

as you were all backstage, you could feel the tension. drew tried to stay calm, especially seeing how agitated you were, but truth was, he wasn’t calm either. he was ready for that match.

the hell in a cell match was going to be the first one, probably the most anticipated match of the night.

“be careful out there okay?” you whispered as he finished getting ready.

“i will, i promise” he tried to reassure you but you didn’t really believe him.

chuckling, you looked up at him “you won’t, i know you…i already see blood and tears so please, don’t be the one i see bleeding in my imagination” you tried to be sarcastic but deep down you know that there was a huge possibility of drew coming back with blood and deep cuts.

“well, then you have a large imagination” he joked “i can’t promise you that but i promise you that i’ll be careful okay?” he smiled down, trying to reassure you as best as he could.

rhea and damian were both getting ready for their matches so they weren’t watching punk and drew completely destroying each other, meaning you were left alone in your little changing room watching the show on the tv screen in front of you.

drew wasn’t careful. you saw blood during the first fifteen minutes of the match. both men were heavily bleeding. you wished they stopped at the tables and chairs but they both went too far. you could hear the crowd cheering but there was an heavy tension backstage, as if this wasn’t supposed to happen.

of course you knew there was going to be blood and a lot of brutality but for a minute you thought that it was too much. thirty minutes into the match and both men had no intention of stopping. more blood, more violence, more gore. you quickly left your changing room and walked around backstage, you had no intention of finishing that match.

you tried, but seeing drew like that was too much for you.

“girl where are you going?” you heard jey’s voice calling you when he saw you wandering around with nowhere to go “come here!” he gently smiled and pulled you into a bigger locker room. him and few people of the crew were watching the match.

“oh god…” you whispered seeing how badly injured was drew. you saw the big jump he took on the metal stairs and how hard he hit his back. you closed your eyes for a moment, trying to get that image out of your head - he broke his back - you thought - it’s over for him. you didn’t care who was going to win, you just wanted the match to be over. luckily a few minutes later, punk finished his moves on drew, making him the winner of the match.

you could see that neither of the men were able to stand properly. punk fell on his knees and drew was still trying to catch his breath inside of the ring. it was an hell of a match but it was too much for you. you just wanted to get to drew and hug him, comfort him.

you excused yourself from jey and the rest of the crew and sprinted out towards the entrance but security stopped you, telling you that drew needed to be medicated first.

your mind was racing. rhea was getting ready for her match. damian was getting ready for his match. drew was being medicated somewhere in the backstage and you were standing there alone with your thoughts as people kept working around you. you felt small, too small.

you didn’t care - you needed to know how drew was doing so you walked towards the medical area and when you saw him getting his wounds cleaned, your stomach turned on you.

drew saw you and he weakly smiled at you, aiming for you to come in.

you didn’t know what to say. he didn’t know what to say. but the sight of blood made you sick so you tried to look anywhere in the room expect him.

“y/n…” his rough voice called you.

“hey…” you walked a little closer till you sat down next to him “you promised me that you would have been careful” you joked, making him slightly chuckle.

“i’m here, alive…that’s a promise” he smiled, looking at you.

“you got everyone worried…you got me so fucking worried, drew i thought i lost you” you didn’t mean to sound so weak, you didn’t mean to let everyone in the room know about your relationship but you couldn’t help your emotions.

“hey…i’m okay, i’m here…just some cuts but i’m okay, i promise you” drew reassured you to keep you calm but deep down he knew he failed. he wanted to show you he was capable of doing it but he failed and he was ashamed of himself. he knew that you would have never judged him but that wasn’t what his mind was telling him “hey y/n…do you mind if i rest a little bit? i feel like i just need to close my eyes” he wanted - needed - your comfort but he felt like he didn’t deserve it.

you were taken aback from his demand but you knew that you couldn’t say no to him. after what he just been through, he needed to rest, he needed time for himself “absolutely…let me know if you need anything okay?” he smiled softly kissing your cheek before letting you go.

feeling a little down you hoped to meet either damian or rhea backstage but none of them was anywhere to be found.

damian was next and he was about to enter the ring so you sat backstage and watched the match with a little anxiety as he was going to face finn. after everything he put you through you knew that all you wanted to see was damian destroying finn but the judgment day was going to interfere and he was there all alone. anxiously you watched the match and couldn’t help your happiness the moment he won. even if the judgment day tried to help finn, they all failed miserably and you couldn’t help but laugh.

as time passed you waited for rhea’s match. she trained so hard for this moment and you knew that she was more than ready to fight back. she had this match, she had this moment and no one was going to take it away from her, especially liv. she didn’t have dom’s help and she was there all alone. you knew rhea was going to win. she had to win. it was such an easy match for her, plus seeing dom in that cage made you laugh - he had what was coming for him.

so what did go wrong?

no one expected to see raquel back. she wasn’t in the script, she wasn’t in the plan.

rhea won by disqualification but liv still held the title, she still held the crown and no matter how good rhea was, she knew it would have been hard to get her title back.

you stayed there, watching as liv and raquel along with dom celebrated over rhea’s lost and your heart broke for her even more. she didn’t deserve all of that.

wondering what to do, you let rhea have some time for herself before you could join her in her changing room.

around fifteen minutes passed and you couldn’t wait any longer, you needed to see her, to comfort her and to let her know that she did amazing no matter the outcome. seeing the two most important people of your life losing on the same day made your heart sank.

slowly approaching her changing room, you softly knocked on her door and stepped in when she said so.

but she probably wasn’t expecting to see you because her nose scrunched a little too much for your liking.

“rhea…you were so great out there, you had the match in your hands…” she didn’t even let you finish.

“yeah but i lost. again, once again i don’t have my title, so who cares if i was the best one out there? listen, i need time alone” she was clearly upset and you couldn’t blame her.

“rhea…” you whispered. it pained you seeing her talking so low of herself.

“i don’t wanna talk” she spat back.

“rhea…”

“no! i don’t wanna talk! i don’t wanna talk or see you!” - oh, she was mad but with you?

“rhea what?” you weren’t used of her screaming at you, you weren’t used of fighting with her.

“i lost! i fucking lost against that liv morgan and where were you? i needed you, but you weren’t there?” she waited a few seconds before start screaming at you again “where the fuck were you!” this version of rhea scared you.

“rhea you knew i couldn’t! the management said…”

“i don’t give a shit about what they said! i needed you and you weren’t there! i’m always here for you and for one time where i needed your support, you weren’t there! fuck!” she knew better than to scream at you, knowing she would have triggered some memories of your past but anger was taking the best of her and she didn’t care about you or anyone at the moment.

“rhea i’m sorry…” tears in your eyes.

“i don’t care! now go, i need to stay alone!” she said turning her back on you.

you slowly walked away, letting all of your tears fall down.

you needed to talk with someone, anyone yet drew was probably sleeping and damian wasn’t answering his phone, too busy celebrating his victory.

you were alone - again.

liv was right. finn was right. you would ended up being alone. rhea was going to leave and it was just a matter of time.

you needed to leave the arena as soon as possible.

you felt like the space around you was suffocating you. the air was thick and you struggled breathing. what was going on?

walking fast through the corridors, you took a deep breath when you saw one of the emergency exit and the big orange door right in front of you. quickly pushing the door open, you took a deep breath when you felt the cold air hitting your face, you were free - you thought.

but your chest was still heavy and the tears wouldn’t stop falling.

you took your phone out of your pocket and quickly called damian, hoping he was going to answer this time. “come on damian…please, please…” but you were met again with his voice recording saying to leave a message if needed. where was he?

you needed to go back to the hotel as soon as possible but with no rental of your own was pretty hard. wiping your tears away and calling an uber, you tried to act as everything was normal even if you were slowly dying inside. everything was so wrong and the worst part is that you couldn’t do anything about it.

as if the night wasn’t already ruined, the uber driver was a fan. you didnt mind talking with fans - you could talk about wrestling all day long - but your mind wasn’t in the right place at the moment and all you could focus on was the fact that once again you were alone. you tried to be polite but all you wanted was to get away from that small space and breathe fresh air again. as you got out, you couldn’t help the tears falling down your cheeks. you felt pathetic, crying over nothing. the words liv and finn said to you echoing in your head - how you would ending up being alone - and the things was you started to believe them.

why were you being so paranoid? drew was sleeping, the match took a big tool on him but that didn’t mean he hated you or he didn’t want to see you. damian was celebrating his victory somewhere with his family, friends and probably some models too. but if you were family too, why didn’t he invite you? and rhea was mad. you still couldn’t point out if she was mad because she lost the match and needed someone to blame or if she genuinely was mad at you for not interacting with her during the game. she knew you couldn’t. she knew that if you intervened, both of you would have gotten in big trouble with the management, risking up to month fine without wrestling. did she really wanted that?

your mind was spinning and you tried to reach your bedroom as fast as you could.

in the meantime, damian was at the arena, he didn’t leave, he stayed there the whole time finishing up some interviews and even if he wanted to go out and drink something with his family, he was tore down and all of his body ached - he couldn’t wait to go back to bed.

“…thank you so much damian” jackie thanked him once he finished his interview, leaving him there in his changing room.

taking a deep breath, he took his phone out of his pocket and grew immediately worried when he saw all of your missed calls.

he tried to call back but your phone went immediately on silent mode, as if it was turned off.

weird - he thought - you never turned your phone off.

walking to find rhea, she was nowhere to be found. he knew she was a hothead and he knew that she probably wanted to stay alone.

his only option was drew and he prayed the man was still in the arena. someone from the staff told him that drew was still in the medical bay so he walked over there, asking from time to time if anyone had seen you.

knocking on drew’s door, the scottish man let him in.

“damian…” drew definitely wasn’t expecting him. he was hoping it was you.

“how are you man?” damian genuinely concerned about drew’s condition after the rough match he had in the cage with punk.

drew chuckled a little before letting his real thoughts out “i’m glad to be alive you know? i wasn’t expecting this much violence but it was one hell of a match, i felt better to be honest” he joked “i’ll be okay, thanks…”

“listen man, have you seen y/n? she called me a few times earlier and i couldn’t answer but when i tried to call her back it goes straight to her voicemail…” damian directly asked drew.

drew knew you never turned your phone off so he was taken aback from damian’s words “i saw her once the match was over, she came here and we talked a little bit…then i asked her if…well, i asked her if she could leave, i wanted to sleep a little…”

“and…?”

“and she left. she probably wasn’t expecting my request” drew took a deep breath “i just needed some time alone you know? i haven’t seen her since then, but i checked my phone a few minutes ago and she hasn’t called me. have you tried rhea?”

damian shook his head “rhea is nowhere to be found. she needs time to cool off after her match, i don’t think she saw y/n…i just feel like it’s weird, she has called me five times and now her phone is like dead…” worried look painted his face.

drew stood up immediately from the couch he was sitting and checked damian’s phone as he tried to call you once again.

“dead line…” damian whispered.

where were you?

back at the hotel, you quickly paced around the room, trying to focus on something, anything that could have helped you relax and yet nothing was working.

your hands began shaking and while you reached for your phone, you saw that it died while you were walking to the hotel. looking for a charger, you threw your suitcase upside down and when you found it, you plugged it into the wall and rapidly waiting for your phone to turn on.

“come on…” you whispered. you didn’t know what you were actually waiting for. damian wasn’t going to answer anyway and drew said he needed time for himself, leaving you with no options at all.

as your phone turned on, you saw the missed calls from both damian and drew and a shaky breath left your lips.

you didn’t even have time to call one of the boys back that an incoming call from drew appeared on your home screen.

taking a deep breath you answered his call.

“y/n?” drew asked the moment you answered.

“drew…” your voice shaking. what were you crying for? he answered and yet you couldn’t find peace.

“y/n, what’s going on? baby, why are you crying?” drew’s heart broke when he heard your soft sobs from the phone.

“i…i don’t know, i don’t know what’s going on…drew i, i can’t breathe…i don’t know what to do…” clearly panicking again, drew needed to know exactly where you were.

“y/n where are you? i’m coming to get you” he was worried and his heart was racing.

“what? no, no drew you need to rest, i…you stay there and-…”

“cut the bullshit y/n, where are you?” he hated being so severe with you but he needed to know what was going on and if you were in any type of danger.

“at the hotel…my room” was all that you were able to say before drew spoke again.

“we are coming to get you…” he said before cutting the call off.

was he really coming for you? were you really so pathetic that you needed him? did you wake him up just because you were acting stupid again?

your mind couldn’t stop those horrible thoughts and all you wanted to do was disappear, pretend like you never existed - maybe everyone life would be better without you.

what if rhea had a better teammate? what if that teammate would have broken the rules for her? what if you are the reason the judgment day broke up? were they really so tired of you? what if drew had a girlfriend who was normal and not acting crazy like you did?

you tried to breath as drew taught you but you couldn’t. and the idea of drew seeing you like this again was killing you. you made so much progress and now you felt like you fucked everything up.

you were sat on the floor, your back on the edge of the bed as you tried to calm yourself down when you heard the hotel room door opening.

a very bruised drew sat on the floor with you, right in front of you while damian stood behind, clearly worried about you.

“y/n…baby, what’s wrong?” drew’s voice was soft. the moment he met your eyes, he knew something wrong had happened.

“i’m sorry…i’m so sorry i shouldn’t have called, damian you don’t have to be here…you should be out celebrating your victory and-…”

but damian wasn’t agreeing with you “the hell? hermosa, what’s going on? i’m sorry i didn’t answer before but i’m here now, we are both here…”

“yes that’s the problem! you shouldn’t be dealing with me! you have a life and worse problems than to stay here with me!” you couldn’t stop the tears from falling “i told you drew, my head is a fucking mess, i don’t deserve you, i don’t deserve any of you…all i do is complain and fucking up, i’m just a burden to everyone and”

“what the heck are you talking about darling…look at me” his big calloused hands gently lifted your face “look at me love” while his thumb was wiping your tears away “i don’t know what’s going on in that pretty head of yours, i wish i knew but i don’t…” he spoke softly to you “you’re not a burden, listen to me, you’re not a burden. don’t listen to what those voices in your head are saying, listen to me…you’re everything to me, i love you so much and it’s okay to cry, to feel lost, but i’m here, your family is here and we aren’t leaving you…” he really hoped that you could listen to him.

opening his arms for you, he gently let you lay your head on his shoulder. his hands stroking your back as if he wanted to calm you down, knowing how much you craved for physical touch.

drew and damian knew that you needed help and they were both right there for you. they knew you were strong and yet so fragile. they knew the toxic environment you came from, they knew that you feared of being left behind, alone. they knew that somehow, no matter how much love they showed to you, you still felt alone. and they knew that you get easily overwhelmed by the smallest things. people screaming, making too much noise or breaking things - that would wake terrible memories.

“yet she did…” you whispered, closing your eyes because the idea of your mind playing flashbacks of what happened with rhea earlier was enough to send you on the edge.

“who?” damian asked.

“rhea…she left, and it’s all on me” tears couldn’t stop falling from your eyes.

damian and drew exchanged a worried look. you two were practically inseparable.

what did rhea do?

[hypernova-writes]

MEDIC SMUTTTTTTT. Medic x Reader smut where Medic is just absolutely enamoured by Reader and wants to fuck her into an oblivion. :)

a/n: Of course you can!!

Obsessed. [Medic x Reader]

To be honest. If someone were to ask Medic when he started feeling the way that he felt about you. He would simply say it was since day one.

Never had he seen someone so beautiful, so amazing, so fiesty until his gaze landed on you.

He witnessed you just blitz through the enemy team one match because they insulted your teammates. The blood that stained your clothes, the way it splattered on your face had his heart going 90 mph.

After he healed you that match, he went into his office and tried to calm himself down. But he couldn't he kept seeing those images of you flash in his eyes.

"Fuck..Fuck..Why can't I get zhem out of my mind! Zhis is not professional!" He tried yelling to himsefl, but his mind was running laps already.

"Oh Luddy..Darling~" He could imagine you, sitting on his examination table, half dressed, ready for him to...examine you. You would beckon him forward...blood on your body, probably from your enemies.

"Come here...I need a doctors touch~" And he would come, all you would have to do is say his name in that little tone you would always do.

Oh the things he would do to you if you'd let him.

He'd want to feel your body up, caress and woship at it like it was an altar he was praying to, and you were the goddess that was going to brighten his world.

He wants to feel your thighs wrap around his head, bury his face in your cunt and have a taste of that pretty pussy of yours. He wanted- no needed to hear you moan for him, because of him. He craved it like a person needs air to breathe.

And oh god when he would think about your pussy, wrapped around his cock, he could feel a shiver go through his body. He could imagine how you would look under him as he fucked into you, taking you against every solid surface in the med bay. From his desk, to the examination table, the floor, his bed, against the wall, hell he'll fuck you standing up. He has the strength.

He just wanted to pump you full of his cum, he just wanted to see his cum dripping from your just so he could fuck it back in-

"Oh Doctor~! I need you for a second!"

Medic snapped back to reality when he realizes that you were standing in his lab. Covered in blood from the previous match, and wearing that damned smirk.

"Hmm? And vhat can I do for you taube?" He asked as he tried to gather himself, he turned his back to you, before he froze upon hearing your next words.

"I need a doctor's touch~"

-> Hi everyone! I'm just starting to put my Kofi and my throne at the end of fics now because of my home situation. [See this post for context] You do not have to donate! It's just something i wanted to start posting this on my fics.

-> Kofi - Throne.

[sugarmuseum]

DOUBLE KILL | L.MK, L.DH | TEASER!

PAIRING: Mark Lee & Lee Donghyuck x female!reader

GENRE: smut, horror, thriller, college!au, frat!au

SUMMARY: As the campus gets filled with a bunch of frat members dressed as Ghosface for a Halloween joke, you suddenly get dragged into your own scary movie when someone decides you’ll be the protagonist.

WORD COUNT (teaser): 873 words.

AUTOR'S NOTE: edit this fic it's taking me a little more than i expected *deep sigh* i'll do my best to post it this week but in the meantime here's a teaser!

You put down your phone and walked away to finally get on your pajamas to sleep, when it lit up with another incoming call. These guys didn’t sleep or what? This time you looked at the ID, a private number. Knowing that NCT's day of nonsense is clearly not over, you answered but put it on speaker this time. 

"Hello?" You responded for the third or fourth time today, starting to undress and choosing a large, worn-out t-shirt, pulling it over your head. As no one said anything on the other line, you frowned. "Junie, you were supposed to call Yangyang, not me," you reminded him.

"This is not Renjun," a distorted voice said. You turned to look at your phone for a second, hesitating, and then continued taking off your clothes, now tossing your jeans into the laundry basket.

"Oh? So who is it then?" You asked as you rolled your eyes, feeling tired of playing this game so late. You took your phone and turned off the speaker, and turned off the lights as well. You laid down in your bed in the dark, stretching with a small sigh, happy to be in the comfort of your sheets after a long day. 

"Someone else. Going to bed already?" The caller asked, sounding interested, the low and seductive voice catching you a bit off guard. It's not the playful tone that others had used.

‘’Yeah, I was just about to,’’ you replied, turning on the small flat-screen TV in your room, looking for something on Netflix while holding the phone to your ear. ‘’Although I might put on a movie for some white noise, it helps me sleep.’’

"What movie?" The voice inquired you, tone deep and low.

‘’I don't know, maybe a horror movie,’’ you murmured, putting a random one and lowering the tv volume a little. "It's Halloween season, after all.’’ 

"A horror movie it’s gonna relax you? People stabbed and blood does that to you?’’ The caller chuckled darkly, mocking you. ‘’What's your favorite scary movie?" He asked, the altered voice resonating against your ear.

You took a pause, thinking for a few seconds. To everyone who had asked before, you had given different answers and lies to keep up the joke and ruin the original script, but this time you decided to respond with the truth, laughing quietly at how ridiculous it would sound.

"Scream," you admitted, tossing the remote aside and curling up under the blankets, keeping your eyes on the movie. "You guys, don't you get tired of making the same calls during the day? You're all going to drain the battery of that damn thing before Halloween.’’

‘’What do you like about that movie?’’ The voice ignored your last comment. 

"I find it original, I like how it mocks and pays homage to the clichés and rules of slashers," you replied, unable to prevent another big yawn from escaping. "Drew Barrymore has the most iconic scene," your attention was diverted to your door, listening to noises from downstairs. They were probably sisters returning to the building.

"Are you tired, sweetheart? I bet you were finishing your homework like the good girl you are, I am right?" The caller said, making you frown with a strange feeling forming inside you upon hearing the nickname. But you couldn't tell if it was fear or something else.

"How do you know that?" You asked, curious but a bit hesitant. 

"I saw you in the library today, looking so distracted and a bit... skittish," the voice commented with a small laugh that had you swallowing hard. "Is something making you nervous?"

‘’You know what? Yes, some group of idiots are bothering students everywhere," you mocked with your eyes closed, ready to sleep. "Including me. It's annoying."

‘’Well, in that case I hope the distractions don't make you forgetful. You remembered to lock the door, right? Did you set the alarm?’’ The caller asked, taunting you.

You could only blink as you slowly sat up in bed. The atmosphere had changed, and you felt a sense of discomfort and a bit of fear from his words, especially when the voice laughed hoarsely against your ear, as if he knew something you didn't. No one knows that today it's my turn to set the security system, you thought. 

‘’You should check that, baby. If the door’s not locked… maybe there’s someone’s already inside,’’ the voice said.

You remembered the noises you heard from downstairs. Did you set the alarm before, right? Wasn't the door closed? No sister could enter after curfew, you assured yourself, glancing a bit frantically at the time on your phone. Past midnight. You were so tired after a day that had started so early, then the classes and the quiz you had been answering for hours— no. 

You locked the door and put the security code on. Stop, you’re getting paranoid, you chastised yourself, it's just the boys being annoying. Right?

"Are you scared?" The electronic, smooth voice asked in a mocking tone, as if it knew exactly that you were going a little crazy. "Do you want me to come and help you calm down? Just open your door for me. Maybe I’m standing behind it..."

[ophelia-ophelian]

Research you

Mr. Silvair x reader

AN: okay listen— i have no clue if there is fanfiction out there about Homicipher at all so, I’m still trying to figure out how to do their language within our text. I am actually brainstorming a way to fix it😼 but I digress, I love this dude he’s so cute. Also I saw the poll of keeping in game language, but since this is longer I’m doing what @/dav-ulysses suggested and mixed it. maybe shorter blurbs will be in game talking

Warning: blood/syringe, suggestive but not much, experimental writing

As you wake up, you take a look around to try and remember where you are and what you were doing. You see the tattered walls that enclose every room in this magic world and swing your legs over the bed you were resting at. You hear a giggle in front of you and see Mr. Crawling sitting near the door staring at you through his hair. 

“Leave?” He squeaked out, tilting his head.

“No, I’m just going to go explore,” you respond as you open the door and leave. As you turn around, you realize he’s going to follow you as normal. Despite him being so scary and monstrous looking, he’s been more friendly and helpful than most people you’ve met since coming here. People? You give a thought, I can’t tell if I would say people or creatures? You brush off the thought and look around to see Mr. Chopped’s head laying on the counter in the main area with Hand resting next to him. 

You hear a hum as you turn to see Mr. Silvair, “Hello. You okay?” You smile back as an affirmation as he continues, “Want research you.”

You try to reply using their sounds, “Erm…Why research me?”

“Me interested human body. Me want research you,” a pause, “Your likeness previously human. You human here, yes?”

Ah, he wants to research humans. You knew Mr. Silvair was interested in them, given the amount of tools such as syringes, scalpels, and the like whenever he mentioned his research. You also recall his small musings about helping Mr. Chopped get a body of his own, but being warned about how dangerous it would be since it might completely change him and destroy his sentience. Mr. Silvair pulls you out of this rabbit hole of thoughts by clearing his throat and ushering you back into his research room. You smile as confirmation of letting him study you and you follow him into the back of his room. He beckons you to lay, and as you do, he begins talk to you about what he’s been learning. Given the time passed you tried to keep track of, you were starting to understand the language of this world, give or take a few words that you could fill in with context.

Once he is finished his mini rant to himself, he waves his hand to get your attention, “I want to test the difference between human blood and our blood, and what could possibly be leading to the rot of your body, the longer to stay in this ‘realm’ you talk about. Can you let me take your blood?” With an affirmative, he rolls up your sleeve and wipes down your skin with some type of wet cloth and gripping your bicep to make your veins protrude more. “If you do not like watching, do not look,” and with that, you feel the prick of his syringe and the coldness of your blood draining creep in. Before you know it, however, he pulls back and gives you a bandage to cover your bleeding. Looking up at you, he mentions “Humans do not heal like us, but given your time here, you seem to be adapting. It is irregular and I want to know why.”

He pulls back and puts his syringe behind him on a desk with a number of other liquids that you could probably guess would be other creatures’ blood. Some were colored like yours, and some were darker, but most seemed as similar to yours in color than you expected. Mr. Silvair notices this and talks about the difference, but since his back is turned to you, its harder to decipher what exactly he is explaining since you can’t use the crutch of reading his lips to try and match the sounds to the vocabulary words in your dictionary – which Mr. Crawling so kindly gave an empty journal one morning when you offhandly mentioned there are so many words to learn that you are losing track of and need to write down to remember them all.

Seemingly done with his lesson, Mr. Silvair turns back to you and places his hand over your chest. You flinch backwards, questioning what he’s doing and he tilts his head, explaining that he wanted to measure heartbeats since he knows all humans have them, but they are different for some reason. You reply with your knowledge from high school biology about hearts the best that you can and he nods.

“Thank you. Can I check yours to make sure that you are healthy?”

Taken aback, you figure its from a good intention as you remember that certain creatures here have different understands of emotions. Such as Mr. Hooded doesn’t understand liking people and fun and Mr. Crawling thinks being cute is wearing human eats like a cat. You give Mr. Silvair consent to a body check and he thanks you in return. He then places a hand on your chest, the other on your back, and instructs you to breathe deeply. As you do, he seems to be humming in approval and his hands change position across your chest, applying slight pressure each time. 

He does this a few more times before furrowing his brows, “Your heartbeat is getting faster. You okay?” He hums inquisitively before tilting your head up to meet what would be his eyes if not for the fabric covering it. “Its speeding up now that I’m looking at you. Could it be that I make you nervous?” He questions. Your eyes, face suddenly feeling hot, breaks eye contact and you stare at anything other than him. You admit, he is one of the best people here given he taught you so much when you barely understood “yes” or “no,” and continuously took care of and protected you. Not only that, he cares for Mr. Chopped, who is unable to do anything unless you or Mr. Silvair carry and help him. You also admit how charming he is with his long, silver hair, and his handsome face, and–

“I see,” he continues, leaning in and moving his head to look into your eyes again. You lean back, attempting once again to look anywhere other than him. He follows and soon, he is towering over you, slyly smiling as his hand that isn’t holding your face grasps one of your own hands, bringing it up to his chest. Though faint, he does have something resembling a heartbeat, maybe because he’s more human-like than the other creatures here, he might actually have a heart. He moves your hand over his chest till it lands opposite of where a human’s heart would have been. It makes sense, their world is very different and opposite than ours. “I also happen to relate to your heart, human. I enjoy your presence more than I initially expected. Most humans succumb to the festering of their bodies here, or are killed by the hostile others. But you,” he drops your hand on his chest and holds your other hand, bringing them together, and then closer to him, so that you are now mere inches apart, “are exceptional. You are strong, you are smart, you have resisted most of the effects of the festering. You, are special. Very special. I am interested in you. Moreover, I am interested on your body. How strong is it and what would cause it to break, I wonder?”

Feeling the heat in your face spreading through your body, embarrassment evident now, you gasp as he pushes you further with your back on the table. “How are your reflexes, I wonder,” he softly says as he slams a hand near your head, causing you to flinch. “Interesting,” he notes, “How would you react to different types of touching? You react differently based on the individual, I’ve noticed. But I’ve never tested myself. Let’s see…” He then traces ever so light lines up and down your thigh, noting your shivers. “Fascinating,” he continues, then he uses that same hand to caress your face, using his thumb to reassure you. As you lean into it, he hums inquisitively with hints of satisfaction before completely removing himself from you and turns to his vials of blood again, jotting down notes. Stunned, you continue to stare at his back mouth agape before he waves you off saying that he has concluded most of his research and will call upon you again once he needs you. You shift your position and get off the table, quickly readjusting your clothes and heading back out into the main area, Mr. Chopped still asleep with Mr. Crawling sitting outside the room.

“You okay?” he chirps.

“Yes, I’m okay,” you respond, giving him two peace signs which he reciprocates with a giggle.

Well, that was certainly something. 

Tag list: @kiatheinsomniac

[existential-crisis-of-the-mind]

Small Talk (Jason Todd x Reader, Pt 1 of 2)

Jason frowns as he looked down at his drink. A cup of steaming hot cocoa you had prepared for him, insisting it will warm him up.

His frown deepens as he glances at his fingers wrapped around the mug. Knuckles which were bloody and bruised an hour ago now carefully bandaged in ointment and gauze.

If it were up to him, he wouldn’t bother wrapping his wounds. They were surface level, didn't need stitches. The dried blood would serve a reminder of another target taken down. He wouldn’t bother taking any painkillers either and certainly not bother fending off the cold with a warm drink. None of that matters in the grand scheme of things.

His eyes then flit to you, sitting on the couch beside him, blanket wrapped around your curled up form as you distractedly flit through TV channels. 

Jason knows you’re not paying attention to the screen, it’s all just static and white noise. He can tell by light frown lining your brow, the way you bite your lip and the tautness in your shoulders that you’re worried. Worried about him, but unwilling to voice it. Probably cause you’d been bluntly dismissed the last couple times you raised your concerns.

Because Jason doesn't have the privilege to acknowledge his pain, doesn’t have the time to sit in his feelings nor reflect on his past. He's had to forego all that if he wants to move forward, to seek justice. At least his brand of justice anyway, drenched red in revenge as it may be.

But you, you stubbornly insist on being soft, on treating his wounds as if he’s delicate, making space for his feelings as if they matter, tolerating his outbursts without judgement or ire, staying in spite of how much the sight of his battered and bruised body coming home scares you.

It’s not like you know all that much about him to justify his antics. He’s not exactly disclosed his past beyond the fact he’s cut ties with his family, hasn’t really told you all that he gets up to as Red Hood. And his standoffish personality? A supposed byproduct of being resurrected only to realise you were abandoned by daddy dearest, though he’d rather not go down that rabbit hole.

So he can’t help but wonder why you choose to stick around. Why you put up with a caustic man like him, surely his sarcasm and occasional witty remarks don’t balance out his other self destructive tendencies.

“(Name)” He calls out, waiting until your eyes are on him before he continuing

“Do you feel sorry for me?”

The question hangs in the air for a moment, almost as if you need a moment to register that’s what he really asked.

“What?… What do you mean Jason?” your expression conveying genuine confusion at his out-of-the-blue question.

“You heard me” He mumbled gruffly, internally warring with the uncomfortable atmosphere he's created but also unable to sit with his doubts any longer.

“Do you pity me? Is that why you stick around and play house?”

He knew that last bit was uncalled for, but it was hard not to feel that way when his mind whispered those cruel words. That you felt sorry for him. Saw him as a broken man, damaged goods.

He knew that’s how the few people still in his life viewed him. A young boy subjected to trauma at the hands of Gotham’s most nefarious villain, turning to a life of revenge and vengeance... too far gone to see the light. An 'anti-hero' who needs to be stopped. Captured and contained.

Except how others perceived him didn’t quite bother him, not like he held any of them in high regards, especially not Bruce. Yeah okay, he was still bitter at how quickly everyone seemed to resume their day to day routine in his absence. Not like he had any evidence of them trying to avenge him and he sure as hell wasn’t going to give them the benefit of doubt.

But you, well you were different. You weren’t a part of his previous life, you only had the (dis)pleasure of meeting reborn Jason Todd. The jaded, sardonic Jason Todd, who was done with the world and all it had to offer. 

And yet you smiled at him. Cared about him. Worried for him. As if he’s deserving of any of those sentiments, as if even though you don’t fully understand him or the things he does, he still matters.

You seem to accept him in a way he’s yet to accept himself, and that thoroughly confuses him. To the point where the only conclusion his mind can offer is that you pity him. 

So here he is. He’d like to think this is him laying his cards on the table, but really he’s just an archer looking down the tall castle walls he’s built around himself, waiting to pierce an arrow through the one good thing he’s got going. Cause it’s just too good to be true. 

He’s not going to put a label on what he feels towards you, not just yet. Not when he doesn’t know where he stands with you.

He raises an eyebrow as he crosses his arms, curious but defensive in his stance as he braces himself for what you have to say.

He sucks in a quiet breath as your lips part. As much as he’d like to think he’s prepared for the worst, the possible reality where you do view him as damaged goods would definitely sting. 

His eyes flit back to yours regardless, he’s no coward after all.

—————————————————————————

Gotta love the random burst of 1am inspiration disrupting my sleep schedule. Let me know what you think of this! Part 2 is likely going to be dual POVs for maximum angst  

[myokk]

WIP Tag Game

Thank you for the tag @okeydokeylackey !!!! I LOVED YOUR SNIPPET & everyone should DEFINITELY check out your art/writing (I know I always love seeing it on my dash🥹🫶)

Rules: Share a snippet from whatever you’re currently working on, and then tag 5 people.

***DISCLAIMER THESE ARE ALL TYPED UP STREAM OF CONSCIOUSNESS AND UNEDITED BAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHHAH***

Oneshot:

A beetle slowly makes its way across Sebastian Sallow’s desk.

The classroom is silent - save for the scratching of quills furiously calculating the Arithmatic probability of who will be the next Minister and the quiet murmur of his professor as she helps Hobhouse (how did he even get into the N.E.W.T. level?) - and Sebastian is going absolutely mad.

He counts how many seconds it takes for the beetle to reach his abandoned quill (fifteen). But, when it takes its seventh step after making it over the quill (an auspicious sign), Sebastian slams his hand down on top of it.

The loud noise echoes through the silent classroom and Sebastian hears her snickering coming from behind him as the whole class turns to see what has happened. His ears turn red, he wishes he could jinx her somehow, and yet he is terribly curious to see what she has sent him this time. Sebastian hopes that everyone has gone back to their equations and stops staring at him, because now that it’s in his hands, his fingers are itching to open it. His hands eagerly - shamefully eager, if you ask him - unravel the note he’s crumpled up in his hands - almost a shame that he destroyed the beetle, it was one of her better creations - and Sebastian soon curses his haste.

His ears would be an even deeper shade of red were his blood not currently draining to a different part of his body. Sebastian shifts uncomfortably in his seat as he continues reading the note, his eyes flying across the tiny note once, twice, three times before he crumples it up and adds it to the graveyard of the other notes she has been sending him all day. The words fuck my soaking cunt flash up at him and he adjusts his schoolbag so that if anyone walks past and looks into it, they won’t suspect a thing.

You see, this has been going on all day. Sebastian knew that when his seventh year started, it was going to the culmination of their academic rivalry, but he never expected this. That witch has made taunting him her personal vendetta, and it’s working.

Sebastian can’t get her out of his mind.

FIC - CHAPTER 25: (honestly I might delete this scene or save it for later)

She wanted him to hate her.

Hatred wasn’t what she saw in his eyes now, though.

Almost as if she were watching herself from afar, not in control of her body, Eloise came to a stop in front of Sebastian and looked down at him. The green light was highlighting his face and he looked ethereal, otherworldly. She watched her hand reach out and touch his cheek - hesitant, unsure - and when he didn’t jerk his head away as she expected - as she deserved - she moved to sit down next to him in the tiny space. Her knees bumped into his just like their noses bumped against each other as she moved her face towards his. Still, he didn’t move away.

She felt his warm breath fan across her lips. Maybe they stayed like that, lips not-quite-touching, for an eternity; maybe it was only a second. Eloise was only aware of Sebastian’s intoxicating presence, of the way his breath hitched when she finally bridged the gap between them, of the way her heart surrendered itself to him. This kiss was nothing like what they had shared before. It was hesitant, soft, sweet. His hands came up to her face, holding her in place as he deepened the kiss.

Eloise didn’t know what had gotten into her - she was supposed to be avoiding Sebastian, hating him, and yet she couldn’t pull herself out of his embrace. She was melting into his touch, his thumbs brushing themselves down her cheeks, her neck, fingers going through her hair, over and over as if to reassure himself of her presence, his lips moving languidly against hers. Eloise sighed into his mouth, almost-smiling but not-quite: she was nervous, as complicit as he was in this kiss, maybe even more, considering she had been the one to reach out first. But then -

Sebastian pulled away from her, puzzled, his hands moving back to cup Eloise’s face. He was saying something, rough thumbs gently brushing away the thick tears rolling down her cheeks. When had she started crying?

NO PRESSURE TAGS: @holdmymallowsweet @writing-intheundercroft @morelikeravenbore @sav-less @gothic-lottie @kay9leo @celestial--sapphic @libellule-ao3 @anomalyaly AND ANYONE ELSE WHO WANTS TO DO IT IM SERIOUS !!!!!!!!! I CAN NEVER THINK OF WHO TO TAG & I WOULD LOVE TO SEE LITTLE EXCERPTS OF YOUR WRITING🫶🫶🫶🫶🫶🫶🫶🫶🫶🫶🫶🫶🫶

[icarusredwings]

"I said

Silence.

I warned you, If you won't stop, I would do it myself."

Francis wasn't done with him. Not yet anyway. But he would make him obedient. Wordlessly taking orders like a machine. No more back talk. He would make him perfect. At least… that is....Until Logan shows up.

Chapter 3.

Brand New City

Cw: Dead Dove, Mentions of Rape, Kidnapping, Straight up torture, Various cruel and unusual punishments, Blood, Murder, Feral behavior, Descriptions of pain and wounds, Voices, Hallucinations, Extreme hurt/comfort, Angst, Loss of healing factor, loss of voice- Permanently(!), Character death.

You may experiance lots of crying.

He would hum if he could. Hum along to the electricity he could hear from the light above him. Make a song out of it. Harmonize with the screams.

But he couldn't even do that.

Opening the door was none other then the man who prevented him from ever doing that again. His head lowers on instinct, trying to get a better look through the sweat running down his forehead. He would have loved to explain to the reader how this place stunk. It SHOULD have smelled like rotting flesh, agony, and B.o. But it smelled of nothing.

Nothing at all.

He couldn't even taste the blood in his mouth.

The man in front of him smirked, too smugly for his liking. Clapping his hands together he stood about 2 feet from his chair, rubbing them together as he smiled bigger than the Joker at his batman themed birthday party.

“So. How's your recovery coming? Hopefully the boys weren't too rough with you.” He states, looking down on him like Johnathan Groff as King George did on John Adams. “You know how they can be. You know the saying, Boys will be boys.”

The comment was direct. It hurt. It hurt because he knew that his goons were in fact too rough with him. He knew he wouldn't give a rat's ass if they didn't feed him, punched him, kicked him. He didn't care if they held him down, beat him until he couldn't move any longer, coughed blood in their face or if they had their way with him until they became bored.. and it hurt.

Oh, did it hurt...

Still did..

Look, Wade could take a lot, he was already mentally snapped. So for them to take away that last bit of sanity he held? It was simply cruel. Like hanging a bone to a starving dog JUST out of reach no matter how far it jumps and snaps, always failing, eventually giving up, laying down, and accepting its fate of permanent malnutrition to the point of death. Accepting that by fighting it was only moving up their appointment with her.

With Death.

Wade felt like dying after what they've done to him. He knew he thought about it a lot but… He's never wanted to see her more than now. She would kiss him better.. she would take away his pain.

He was sure that his brain was rotting in places it wasn't before, the flesh of his mind decomposing, hot with dehydration and.. what was he talking about? Oh my god was he STILL talking? For fuck sakes.

Glancing up, Francis was still going on about something. Probably something stupid. Why did mad scientists always gloat to their victims?

He wondered how long he was going to let him rot like this. His limbs were already so numb, so heavy and felt like gravity was close to ripping them off with no help at all. It hurt.

That's all he could keep thinking.

It hurts.

What exactly? Well… Everything. Mainly his throat. God did his throat hurt. It throbbed, was sticky, bloody, and raw. His spine hurt, his toes hurt, his jaw hurt, his fingers felt so numb that he wasn't even sure if they were still attached. The soreness alone was killing him. Whatever he did to him? Wade felt like he enhanced his pain receptors. Taking them from a 15 to a 150.

It hurt so badly to breathe, each breath making his chest shake, rise and fall, trembling. This only enhanced, the sharp pain running through his heavy cheek, flinching as he was slapped.

“What's my name?”

Glancing up at him, Wade was more then confused. His body was falling into pieces and THAT'S what he cared about!? What's worse is he knew that he couldn't answer him. He was physically incapable of it.

“I said ‘What's my name?!” He screams at him, leaning in close, staring as Wade glared daggers at him, his mind already thinking of millions of ways to kill him.

If only he had the strength to fight..

Leaning in, Francis smirked that sick bastard of a smile, putting his hand to his ear. “Sorry, What was that? I don't think I heard you correctly, could you repeat that?”

About 5 full seconds pass before his grin gets widder, breathing out as he stands again, sighing in relief.

“Finally… Silence. What did I tell you? I warned you that If you won't stop, I would have to do it myself.”

He flicks Wade in the nose almost playfully. Wade, who, if it wasn't for the tape wrapped around his head to the point breathing through his mouth wasn’t an option- would have bitten his finger clean off.

Francis punches him. Hard. He breathed heavily through his nose, heaving and trying to groan out but nothing came out. Nothing ever came out anymore..

He laughs, smiling. Wade could count all of his teeth if his eye wasn't starting to swell up. Grabbing his face, tears forced themselves out of his eyes and down his cheek. Pulling him close, Francis put their heads together. “Oh, Look at you. So pretty when you cry.. are those for me? Hm? Ooh yes, Show me those big scared eyes. You aren't so full of quips now, are you?”

His hand reaches down, cranking up the collar around his neck, watching Wade's body shake. Not from fear but because his body was physically struggling to stay upright. He would have already flopped over if his arms and legs weren't chained, making him only slouch instead of fall to the floor.

“Let's be honest, you look better with your mouth shut anyway.”

Looking at him, he was confused. So confused. What was wrong with this guy? What kind of game is this? If Wade's voices didn't agree with him he would have claimed that Francis lost it far more than he did.

He pulls away, trailing a finger from the collar, going up his throat and across his jaw. “So let's make you gorgeous, huh? So… What's my name?”

Wade's eyes widen, his pupils, for once, shrinking. He squeezes his legs further together, trying to turn away only to flick him off with his untied finger, his wrists tied to the chair arms.

Francis slams a fist down on the finger, snapping it back as Wade jolts, silently screaming, huffing, beginning to hyperventilate and struggle against the chair best he could.

FffffUCK that hurt! He didn't remember such little fingers ever hurting that badly. Did it always burt that bad? Jesus christ! He needed out. He needed to escape. But he's already tried all his tricks. It only got him hurt more.

Again he hits him, slapping him with the back of his hand hard enough to bust his lip through the tape. The crimson that flooded his mouth made him flinch, gritting his teeth as he swallowed. It was agonizing. Each movement of his throat muscles was worse and worse, seeming almost paralyzed.

“Where do you think you'll go? Huh? You ain't going anywhere! And now look at what you've made me do!” He shouts, as Wade's head leans back, looking at him through his blonde eyelashes, exhausted, the vein they had in his arm pumping out what blood he was replenishing itself at snail speeds.

“You've made me ruin one of my best works yet… but that's okay. All good bitches break eventually. And then you'll be finally useful. The perfect soldier.”

What was it with people and the perfect soldier thing? Didn't the Winter Soldier already have this arc?? And didn't he already try to make him perfect in the first movie? God the writers are really getting lazy aren't they.. His eyes roll, and again he's hit, the sting running up his jaw and across his cheek, feeling the burn in his nose as it begins bleeding heavier.

“But no, you couldn't behave! So now you're going to die, alone, sitting in your own piss. What? Like anyone would actually come to save you?” he laughs. “You actually believe that? That anyone would actually care about you? You're disgusting. Fake skin and all, I know who you are underneath it all.”

Francis grabs his wrists, leaning forward. “Even your own mother couldn't love a face like that. Could she?”

‘He was probably right’, Wade thinks, feeling himself slipping away. His blood felt as if it were pouring out of him like a barrel of whiskey with holes shot through it.. Why didn't Francis just kill him already? He could easily shoot him. Get rid of him like the nasty scum he was.. but he didn't. He nee-

His mind switches to something else mid sentence in his head. A different voice taking over.

Whiskey… the smell of it stained on Logan's sweatshirts used to be the only thing that kept him sane, But now? It hurt too much to think about. It hurts too much to think about his loss. To think he would never smell that again...

If he thought about it anymore? Well, his heart was already about to die.. might as well go out thinking about that muscley hunk of Canadian. How gently he held him. How hot it was when he protected puppins from big dogs at the dog park or braided Laura's hair… how he loved him.

Truely.. loved him..

‘Never again, I fear’, Wade thinks and believes it brokenheartedly.

“Are you even listening to m-”

wwwwWWWOOOO

His head snapped towards the door, picking up a com as he clicked the button, walking away from Wade. Thank god. He was starting to worry that he'd kiss him. Ewww. He would never kiss someone named ‘francis’ or ‘ajax’ for that matter. Wade didn't like soap in his mouth.

“Turn that off! Now! What did I tell you morons abo-” There was shouting on the other end of the line before a scream. Something along the lines of ‘He's here’

“Who!? Who's here?- Doesn't matter. Shut the whole place down! Hello? God damn it-” he switched a line, the loud blaring of the alarm drowning him out. “Angel! What's going on up there? Hello!?? Why the fuck do I even pay you guys? For what?”

On the other line, there was shuffling, boots, shouting, “Find him!-”

The look on Francis’ face was golden. His little slave trade was getting busted. And Wade was physically chained to his seat to watch, death glaring daggers at him with the smallest, smuggest smirk under his tape, breathing through his nose heavily.

“This isn't over yet. Don't you even dare think I'm finished here! You Will obey me!”

The moment he ran out of the room to go save his research (or possibly abandon it), A rumble came from the wall.

Claws.

What? No. He was hallucinating again. His mind was so cruel to him now. Starved, dehydrated and exhausted, mentally physically and emotionally, you name it.

Leaning his head back against the chair, he sighs, watching as an imaginary Wolverine came through the wall, panting, snarling, feral. Like an animal hunting its prey.

The amount of dust and mold that came from the wall was enough to make him cough, and in an instant, Logan was at his side, tearing through the chains.

Damn.. He'd have to give the imagination team some props upstairs. This seemed way too real. The way the red lights flashed over his eyes made him look so pissed, his frantic worry in those blue eyes, the struggle in his voice to keep from crying as his nose twitched. He was sniffing him...he didn't recognize him…

His mouth opened to mutter something.

What was he saying? ‘Oh- hey! Stop shaking me!’ Is what he wanted to say, only to realize that.. Hallucinations couldn't touch you.

His eyes widened, He had given up on being pretty but if that was the truth he wouldn't know how to survive. But he was anything but pretty right now, snot, tears, blood and piss covering him.

It was now that Logan yelled something, Directing some agents or.. police? It was hard to tell when He felt like the ground was trying to drag him down, gravity taking hold of him as he slouched over in the chair, still in too much pain to support himself.

“I need a code, Get me a collar code, NOW!” he read his lips, though, he could have Said “I saw an old get me a dollar cod now” but that didn't make much sense, Wade thought. Then again he wasn't thinking much at all right now.

When Logan finally ripped off both collars and all of the wiring/tubing, he looked like he would puke at the sight of him. Pushing his shoulders up against the back of the chair, his hands shaking, covered in blood and sweat, tears flooding his eyes.

Aw.. he didn't like seeing Logan cry. He was saying so many things, shouting at him angrily, hurt. Those big Atlantic eyes becoming a true ocean. A soft smile came to his bruised and busted lips, staring at him so fondly, sympathetic. He missed Logan.. he missed him so much that his eyes stung just from seeing him. His love was so heavy, weights he could never escape in a room full of quicksand.

Wade opens his mouth but nothing comes out.

“Wade! Answer me! What did you take? What did he give you!? Honey, look at me! Please! Tell me, tell me anything! Wade!-” he shakes him again.

“Tell me what you took, Wade look at me, Tell me what'd you take? Wilson!.. please.. talk to me. Answer me, Wade!” He shouts.

He flinches. Hard.

“Oh… sweetheart....What did he do to you..?” His voice cracks, bringing a hand up to caress his cheek but Wade's hand comes up to hit it away, trying to instinctively turn away into the chair, hiding. He looked so.. terrified. Like he didn't know who he was.

Something about this sends Logan into a rage, growling loudly and snarling towards the door where he ran off. He stands, hairs on his body raised, eyes glazed over with blind hatred.

Just before he runs to shred the man who did this to his husband, He grabs him.

Shaking from weakness and fear, in that chair sat a man he barely knew, eyes as blue as his own, blonde hair growing to look like a buzz cut. So thin. So weak. His neck was burned, his nose was bleeding down his chin, his lip joining in, his black eye almost swollen shut, deep yellow and purple bruising on his rib cage, hand prints on his throat, internal bleeding in his gut. He could tell by the smell of him. That and the massive pooling that shown on his stomach.

His fingers were gripping on Logan's shirt, and tight from the looks of it.

As tight as his remaining strength would let him.

The pleading look in his eye's begged him not to go. Begged him never to leave his side ever again. Such big eyes.. such desperation.. so much pain.

Grunting, Logan points to the door. “DON'T let him get away or I'm coming after YOU!” he growls, watching as all of the remaining soldiers run out the room, leaving Logan with Wade. And Wade with Logan.

No one else mattered now.

Sitting in front of him, Logan held his hands, suddenly panicking. “Wade!” He shouted, squeezing his hand. It was cold.

Where were they? Alaska? Canada? No.. not Canada. If this was Canada he would have to move to a new city and teach himself how to die, how to bury a memory as his life was burying his own with each passing moment.

“Wade? Stay with me. Come on, Just be strong a little longer! Please- You can't leave me again!!” He shouts at the top of his water filled lungs, but Wade can't see anything. He couldn't feel anything either except the cold concrete against his naked stomach as everything disappears.

Heh… funny.. the one time God answered his prayers… When he said he wished he could see Logan again before he died, he didn't mean this.

As did everyone eventually.. as Logan was destined to.

This wasn't how he wanted to go out but.. he was pretty sure that Fate had lost her patience with him.

And so.. that's it... that's the final bell. Close the curtains.. roll the credits.. This movie's over. No post credit scene.

Just…

The End

[secriden]

So I made a post theorising about Style before episode 1 dropped and I'm both pleased by how much I got right and enamoured by all the extra details we have about Style in this episode.

Style is so obnoxiously overconfident and full of undeserved swagger that it somehow flips around to being winsome. He's the very definition of "empty-headed" but in a way that makes him innocent and guileless.

Narratively he functions as a bit of a foil to Bison because they are both impulsive and naive and blunt, but where Bison's past is steeped in blood and deception and it feels like he's got tricks up his sleeve, Style is an almost painfully open book. This also stands in contrast to Kant who seems very capable of manipulation.

And while he's nearly annoyingly self-assured, who can blame him; I mean look at him. Pretty boy is so fucking pretty. I bet he rocks up to the club, leans with his back against the bar so his shirt rides up, and immediately has 3 drinks being offered to him.

I'm so glad the show makes it clear that Style was flirting with Fadel well before the deal with Kant. It both establishes how genuine his interest in Fadel is, whilst also telling us that the unhinged behaviour was all Style - he didn't need any incentive to pull the "my nipples are sensitive" line.

I also love how he's demonstratively SO BAD at flirting! At the diner, its clear he's just trying things out to see if anything will stick. He's dressed to make himself alluring: arms and side bared in that loose tank top, and he keeps making these big gestures that show his arms off. (I wonder if he drinks as much as he does partly because he starts to get nervous when nothing seems to be working. xD)

All this is good, though, specifically because Fadel would probably see more sophisticated moves as deception. Instead, I think Style's unpolished and unpredictable flirting winds up being accidentally effective because it leaves Fadel feeling unmoored.

Fadel, who is so in control of his life; who (thinks he) knows exactly what he wants and how to get it. Style makes him feel things he probably hasn't in a while. Attraction, embarrassment; but also, anger and violence. His little dramatic knife-clench moment is such a contrast to the calm, clinical way he assassinates the mob boss and I think it shows that Fadel feels his lack of control around Style - and that frightens him a little.

I like how the show signposts the ways both characters are going to have to grow as people for them to be in a relationship: Style needs to learn how to take things more seriously, to mature and temper that arrogance, and slow down and read the room/people better; Fadel needs to allow himself to let go sometimes, to have some fun for once, to face and accept the reality of his own emotions.

They both have to learn how to love and be loved, and its fascinating how ideally suited they are to teach each other these things.

And in the mean time, well, the chemistry is undeniably electric.

[diacripticcomplex]

How the DL boys would react to Gold Digger Yui:

Shu: “you want me to give you money…prostitute..” he’d super insult her and not give a fuck in the process. But he would also respect her honesty lmao. He would gladly buy her whatever she wants as long as she gives him everything he wants, he’s got the pockets for it.

Reiji: “money should not be an issue, whatever it is you may need, I can provide it” he’s a natural provider he got this lmaooo buttt he wouldn’t really be down to get her new bags and perfumes , but essential items he would get without question.

Ayato: he would burst out laughing and be like “are you serious right now???” He would not take her seriously at all, but once he sees her giving blood to other brothers after they give her money or buy her some designer, pay for her nails/hair etc he’d start to go above and beyond with gifts and money.

Kanato: “human women do enjoy nice things, I understand that I like nice things too, okay I’ll agree to this” he wouldn’t completely understand what she wanted but he would get her nice treats and toys.

Laito: “how about I give you some loving instead?” He would try to convince her that sexual favors would be better than money, but he would get her designer lingerie and pay for her makeup as long as she gets dolled up for him.

Subaru: He would be completely turned off by this and kind of avoid her, he wouldn’t even try to reach out to her again, he’s not fond of that mindset. “Giving it up for money, that’s shallow..”

Ruki: the insults he would give her but would still comply so that he gets what he wants. He wouldn’t mind buying her whatever she wants especially cause half of it would be cute things and books.

Kou: Give and take world, he’s all for it.

Yuma: much like Subaru would be very turned off by her words and actions, would try to see if he can change her to a more humble mentality but it would be futile.

Azusa: HE WOULD PAY FOR HER TO SLAP THE SHIT OUT OF HIM, he got money for those expensive knives , he’s into some freaky shit that’s a pricey kink.

Carla: he’s gonna torture her so it’s looking like a no.

Shin: he doesn’t fuck with that so he’s probably going to just let his brother handle her.

Kino: he would have a smartphone ready for her.

[owlespresso]

dogged pursuit. dr veritas ratio. part 6 of ? / other parts summary: you’ve been appointed as the bodyguard of one doctor veritas ratio after a failed attempt on his life. he’s easy to get along with, so long as you learn when to plug your ears and focus on his washboard abs. tags. violence. filth below the tag. not beta'd.

When they assigned you the post of Veritas Ratio’s bodyguard, you expected a light workload. But it’s still been kind of boring. You can’t outright say you want your charge to be attacked by the enemy, but you feel like you’re missing out on chances to impress him. He lets you into his bed but the truth is, you are at your core a slavering beast. There’s no higher privilege than to commit violence in his name. In his honor.

So, when the chance does come, can anyone fault you for being a little too enthusiastic?

It’s a bustling night on Orchestron-IIV. The pleasure district is the last place he wanted to go, but you badgered him into it. The luxury villas and safe streets of the expat district are stagnant. They don’t hold a candle to the chaotic thrumming of the Magnolia–the part of the island where locals and tourists alike come to get in touch with their inner animal. 

It’s also a valuable opening for the opportunistic little weasel that’s been eyeing your villa for the past few weeks. You’re not sure who sent him. You don’t care. But you’d be lying if you said you didn’t hope he’d show himself tonight. 

He does, of course. You’ve got good instincts. The blood in the water can be miles away, but you’ll still hone in on it. 

It happens in a dark, cramped alleyway. You taste the metal of the knife on the air before you see him, hear the slight twitch of his boot against the gravel. The fight lasts for less than thirty seconds. Ratio watches you kick his blade far into the dark with an air of practiced neutrality, languid in the way he inspects the cretin you’ve pinned to the wet pavement. 

You wallop him twice on each side of the head for good measure, watch his eyes roll like water spirals down the train, feel the softness of his temple against your eager fists. Then you get him turned over with a few good kicks to his ribs. He shouts, but it’s cut off as you force his face into the cold concrete. Once you’ve had your fill, you stand with one of your boots on his wrist. You’re kneeled over him, his other arm caged by your knee. The fine silver of your hidden blade kisses the unblemished skin of his throat. Maybe you should have choked him for good measure. Given him a good shake. 

“I assume you’ve learnt your lesson?” Veritas’s voice breaks you from your careful contemplation. “...So, who sent you?”

“Call off your dog,” the man chokes. 

“Mm, no, I don’t think I will,” Veritas answers, the coldest you’ve ever heard him. You grind your heel into the man’s wrist, feel the bone creak in protest under your boot. He hisses out in pain, fingers curling, legs twitching as he debates whether a continued struggle would be worthwhile. “I’ll ask again—who sent you? Think very carefully before you answer.”

“Fuck you,”

“Incorrect. Zero points,” Veritas sighs, “If this is the best they could send, I doubt we have much to worry about,” He looks at you meaningfully. You give him a smile full of teeth, wind your leg back, and sail the metal tip of your boot into the bastard’s skull. Not enough to break his neck. Just enough to render him an unconscious, bloodied heap. You like it when you communicate without words. It makes you feel closer to him.

You absentmindedly kick some pebbles around while Veritas dials a number and has a quick discussion–probably contacting his IPC goonies. They’ll come collect this poor scrap of a man and work the information out of him real quick. Nothing you couldn’t have done, but you like to think he’s sparing you the effort. 

The encounter is over but your blood still rushes in your ears, and your hands twitch. Veritas is wearing a darker number, today. 

As soon as he hangs up, you’re on him. You cage him up against the wall, lips attached to the pale column of his throat and he sighs, like he’s annoyed. His big hands find your hips, but he doesn’t push you away. He only squeezes in warning.

“Control yourself,” he says, and you know he’s grimacing even though you can’t see his face. You lovingly retread old ground with your teeth, gnaw a new bruise into his skin. He makes a shaky sound at that, hands gripping you tighter. “You are not some rutting animal and we are not doing this here!” 

“Doc, c’mon,” you whine, desperate fingers tugging his shirt free from where it’s tucked into his belt. You don’t like him in suits. You like him in the flowy, free things from his homeland. “Didn’t I do good for you?” You shove your hands beneath his shirt and feel the strong wall of his abdomen twitch under your greedy ministrations. He exhales. You nose the spot where his jaw meets his ear, draw the smell of him deep into your lungs. “Tell me I did good, Veritas. I don’t ever ask for anything.”

His cock springs free from his trousers, flushed and pink and perfect. He’s already erect, the slight curve of him standing tall against his clothed tummy. The broad head already weeps with precum and you coo, hopelessly endeared. You cup him in your hand and he hisses, but doesn’t try to stop you. 

“You insatiable beast. If you’ve done any good, you are ruining it with this behavior.” He glares, but it’s a watery kind of look that’s just for show. A token show of resistance because his pride won’t let him admit that this is what he wants. That’s fine, because you know how to read him by now. As close as a bodyguard can be. 

“Wow. Did you get hard watching me beat that guy up?” you ask, and don’t wait for an answer before putting your mouth on him. Maybe, if you were more patient and less single minded, you could have teased him a little. Pressed kitten-soft kisses to his tip. But you aren’t possessed of a delicate touch.

You pull half of his length into your waiting mouth and hollow your cheeks. He gasps, hips making an aborted little thrust. His fingers curl into your hair, desperate for any form of purchase. Your eyes flutter shut as you taste the salt and sweat of his skin, humming low in your throat as you work him deeper. He’s weighty on your tongue–you have to really open up to fit him. 

If you were in a better place, you’d hold him there for a few minutes, maybe. Just to see how whiny and desperate he’d get. But the evening crowds are still milling around only a few yards away. 

“Hurry up!” he hisses, and you reward his brattiness by hollowing your cheeks. He makes a helpless, punched out sort of noise as you work him, wet mouth milking his thick, throbbing cock for all it has. His inner thigh is warm against the flat of your palm. You want to feel his skin. You want to shove his trousers down and feel the soft backs of his thighs over your shoulders. 

He’s getting impatient, though. He’s kind enough to keep a steady, mild pace as he fucks your mouth in earnest. You slick your tongue along the underside of him, coo and hum around his erection like you’re praising him. Like you’re proud of him. His back arches, nice tailored suit grinding into the wall behind him. 

You look up, and admire the forming, shapeless blues and pinks that mottle his skin. You just barely hear his nails scratching at the exposed brick behind him. He starts to lose all that good sense he’s so proud of, hips jerking helplessly into your waiting mouth. The muscles of your forearms flex as you pin his hips in place. You take him in deep, take him in relentlessly and press the flat of your tongue hard against his cock. The friction has him bucking, smothering soft sounds into his sleeve.

You can’t see it, but you imagine his stomach tensing and feel his knees begin to shake. It’s so cute, cute, cute–you can’t stand it. You want him cumming, you want him ruined. White hot adrenaline seizes you as you grab his hips and drag him forward. He nearly toppled, his shout ringing down the length of the alleyway. He catches himself with a hand on your head, gritting his teeth as he starts to fuck your mouth in earnest. 

His pace loses sync as he gets hot on the heels of his orgasm. That scholarly composure shatters. He cums with a pathetic, watery keen. Rivulets of warm release fill your mouth and stream down your throat. You swallow around him, let him fuck your mouth through the thick of his peak despite the way your throat aches and protests. 

You only let him go once he has nothing left to give. You pop off of his flagging cock with a lewd, wet sound and rise to look at him close. There’s a visible sweat along his brow, his pupils blown wide. He’s dazed. It takes him a full second to realize you’re here, and you’re lookin’ real close at him. He presses his back against the wall and schools his face into that irritated glower. The typical dignity associated with that expression is lost, considering the obvious flush painted across his pale cheeks. 

“T-there. Are you satisfied now?” he harrumphs, but his voice shakes. like you didn’t just give him the best blowjob of his life.

You’re not annoyed. You feel feverish, kind of, looking at the handsome planes of his face with a newfound, and perhaps manic kind of concentration. And oh– “Are you cryin’?” you ask, incredulous. ‘Cause there are tears on those pretty lashes of his. Pretty as morning dew. He opens his mouth, likely to deliver some sort of fuming retort, but you shove even closer, pinning him bodily to the wall. He could toss you off if he wanted, easy as cake. But he doesn’t. He just looks at you with rabbit wide eyes. “Seriously,” you whine, hands coming up to cup his cheeks. “When did you get so cute, Doc? It’s not fair, it just ain’t!”

“If I am crying, it is because I’m mourning all the time we’ve wasted here!” he fumes, finally finding the gumption to give you a hearty shove. You stumble backwards as he redoes his belt and fixes his slacks, unable to suppress a slight shiver. It takes a saintly amount of patience and restraint to not surge forward and put your hands on him again. “The pickup will be here for him in a few minutes. Wait for them. I’ll meet you back at the villa once you’ve finished.” He kicks off the wall, stomping down the alley. To the unaccustomed passerby, he might look undeniably upset, peeved even. But you’re not too worried. 

You can tell he’s not mad, ‘cause the tops of his ears are totally flushed. 

[futuremrscameron]

ready set go!!! (rafe x biker!pogue reader)

content warnings: threats of violence (not between reader and rafe), mentions of grief, classism, blood, use of c word (c*nt), unresolved sexual tension, past relationships, emotional cheating, reader is not a good person, slut shaming, arguing as flirting, horniness is a disease and rafe is terminally ill

a/n: not beta read (just me and my google doc pointing out grammatical errors against the world)

he should’ve known you'd be there; racing was always your first love; there was no way you'd pass up the opportunity even if to. you two were not on speaking terms, but that’s no excuse.

the announcer’s grating voice stops him from spiraling further: “ladies and gentlemen, we’ve got a special guest racing with us today!”

“that’s right, a local who made it big on the mainland!"

"everyone put your hands together for lady death!”

the familiar revving sends chills down his spine, but everyone else cheers the crowd as you drift into view. he watches you slowly remove your helmet, brushing back stray hairs. your back-lengthed box braids tied up in a ponytail safe for two strands tucked behind your ears. you’re rocking a white leather jacket with pink stripes. you unzip your jacket, revealing a white bikini top that hugs your breasts. his hand tightens into a fist as he looks down and sees pink cowboy boots with red hearts on the side—it’s the pair he got for your birthday.

“fuck.” rafe whips his head to the right at the sound of his best friend’s awestruck voice. topper remains entranced by the beauty of his friend’s ex, leering, blissfully ignorant of the glare his friend levels at him. 

rafe looks around, finally noticing that you've caught the attention of most of the men there. their salacious stares make him sick; he wants nothing more than to gouge their eyes out and drag you back to his place. before he can spiral further, he’s brought back to reality by a familiar, bright, infectious laugh.

he doesn’t even have to look to know it’s you, but the clawing in his chest urges him to find you and the thing that made you laugh.

it’s a guy. he should’ve known; of course, it’s a guy. you’re twirling your hair and smiling at him the way you used to smile at him. he tells himself that the guy’s probably not even that funny, and you’re just giving him a pity laugh ‘cause he’s a total fucking loser or a pervert. there’s no way you actually like him; you would never entertain a guy like him, not even to make him jealous. 

“hey!” his voice breaks you out of your pre-race zone. 

"fucking hell," you mumble under your breath as he shoves his way through the crowd of spectators, not paying their shouts of anger and annoyance any mind. he looks like a man on a mission. it’s kind of hot. you disembark from your bike and begin your stretches, hoping to any god that is listening that you're mistaken and that his attention is pointed elsewhere. 

he stops in front of you, gripping the straps of his vest so hard he can feel them through his gloves. he looks down at you with furrowed eyebrows and his mouth downturned in a frown. "we need to talk."

you continue stretching your leg before switching to the other one. “if it's not about strategy, no, we don’t.”

he scoffs, "strategy? you mean slutting yourself out?” his cold tone would hurt if not for the heat in his gaze as he looks you up and down, letting you know how he really feels.

you look at the racers and spectators leering and shrug. "i'd say it's working, wouldn't you?” you smirk as you rise from your stretch.

the vein in his neck looks just about ready to pop; he swallows down a retort. “i’m trying to look out for you. you wanna be taken seriously; don’t dress like a flag girl.”

you chuckle at his heated state, veins bulging from his neck and everything. you don’t try to hide your smirk and raise an eyebrow at his boldness. “wow, you talk to sofia like that?”

he glares at the mention of his new girlfriend; his face burns with frustration and embarrassment. “don’t.”

“line up racers!” the announcer's voice pops the former lovers out of their bubble. topper runs up next to rafe obviously not reading the tension between the two. “hey!”

“hey top.” you mimic his surfer bro voice and smirk, “how’s ruthie?” 

he frowns and opens his mouth to answer, but your focus is already turned back on rafe. “see you at the finish line, cameron.” you wink before steering past him and taking your spot near the back on the sand.

topper is taken aback by your not so subtle hostility. he turns to rafe; a questioning look adorning his face. “what was that about?”

rafe watches her walk over to jj, ignoring his friend’s question to avoid lashing out at him. “do me a favor, man, shut the fuck up.”

you walk over to jj, your interaction with rafe still fresh on your mind. the hold he has on you seems to have never left. your met with a knowing look from jj, you groan. “what?”

he scoffs,“what? what was that? you’re fraternizing with the enemy now?” jj’s mischievous smirk betrays the cold glint in his eye; he’s upset about something, and your interaction with rafe made it worse.

you don’t have time for his judgment; you roll your eyes as you bend down to inspect his bike. “spell ‘fraternizing’ jj.” he flicks you off, and you return the gesture.

he chuckles and scratches the back of his head, a telltale sign that something else is weighing on his consciousness. you frown as you inspect the chain on his bike; it’s rusty and barely moves when you tug it. “god, you and last minute shit. why didn’t you bring this to me sooner? i would’ve fixed this up, you know? but now? jj, you know you can’t fucking race on this.”

jj throws his head back and groans dramatically, "oh, come on, i’ve raced on worse.”

“yeah, and how did all those times go?” you tighten one final screw on his bike before standing up and meeting his eye, hands on your hips, head tilted, waiting for his answer. he opens his mouth to reply, but nothing comes out; he frowns.

you chuckle, "exactly." you turn and make your way back to your bike. he grabs his bike’s handles and follows closely behind. “i didn't say shit!”

you shake your head, “‘cause you know i’m right!”

“are not!”

you stop suddenly and turn around to face him, one eyebrow arched. “jj, you got a tricycle because you wanted to be like me.”

he blushes, embarrassed at the memory, and mutters something under his breath about liking tricycles before you came along. he nods and looks around the beach; he’s avoiding eye contact. “yeah, but this time is different.”

something’s up. you cross your arms, “okay, jj, what’s up?” a serious expression, “is it luke? did he bet on you?”

he frowns at the word ‘bet’ but as quick as it’s there, it’s gone, replaced by a smirk. “no! god no, it's nothing really. i don’t know why you would think something’s up; nothing’s wrong; just wanna win, you know." he chuckles, but there’s no heart in it. “shove it in those kooks' faces.” 

he’s trying to change the subject; you tilt your head in disappointment. "jj."

he pats your shoulder, “hey, i’m fine. really.” he gives you a smile, but it lacks it’s usual warmth. you want to stay and get to the bottom of whatever’s going on with him.

“racers, get in position!” 

of course.

jj nods to himself; he’s noticeably anxious but swallows it down with another smile. “we’ll talk later, okay?” he’s skipping away before you can reply.

“jj-”

“i’ll see you at the finish line!” and with that, he’s on his bike, getting into position. 

you sigh defeatedly but make your way back to your bike. you’ve already mapped out your strategy, having raced long enough to predict how this race will go. the positioning is always as follows: the cocky bastards, rookies, and amateurs always position themselves in the front, which leads to stumbling, falling, and knocking into each other as soon as they hear the word 'go,’ which gives you a chance to speed past them. those in the back are either like you, professionals, or knowledgeable enough about racing to know not to start at the front or lack confidence.

“bikers, start your engines!” you rev your engine, staring ahead at the wide open space in front of you.

“on your mark!” in your mind, a highlighted track that lays out every twist, turn, speed bump, and shortcut appears on the sand.

“get set!” you lower your helmet’s visor and drown out the sound of the cries and focus on the head of your bike.

“goooooooo!”

you zoom past ruthie and some other kook girl you recognize from rafe’s parties. you take sharp turns and land jump over hills and trees like it’s nothing; you ease past topper and jj, glancing back at the duo engaged in some conversation before focusing on your real opponent.

rafe is somehow still in the lead; you know you won’t beat him this way, so you take a shortcut to get ahead of him. 

“cheating now, huh?” you can hear the smile in his voice without looking at him.

“nothing in the rules says we can’t take shortcuts as long as they’re on the track rafey.” you wink at him as you speed up. the finish line is within view as you race across the sandy beach. everything seems to come to a halt when a shadow appears above you. you look up; it’s jj.

“and the runt of the litter, jj maybank takes the lead with that amazing leap of faith!” the announcers, now back in hearing range, seem just as stunned as the racers and crowd at jj’s bold feat.

“i can’t believe my eyes, can you?”

“no!”

you can’t help but laugh at his death-defying stunt. “woohoo! let’s go jj!" you speed up, feeling a burst of energy at his literal leap of faith.

“fuck that.” that voice sends chills down your spine. you turn to find rafe behind you, but you don’t even have to turn completely. he’s next to you. he speeds past you and bumps jj’s hind wheels.

he’s gonna get them both killed him if he keeps this up. “hey!” 

“ladies and gentlemen, it looks like this just got personal.”

jj kicks out at rafe, causing the older blonde to tilt every so often. your breath catches in your throat every time his bike leans over. “jj!”

“that’s right, jj and rafe are neck and neck.”

rafe and jj bump into each other like they’re in go-karts.

“pogue vs. kook.”

in your head, you curse the announcers for feeding into this, “stop it, rafe!”

all it takes is one more bump for the duo to go flying in the air, and you feel your heart drop.

“jj!” you slam on the breaks and jump off your bike when it comes to a complete halt. you run over to jj, not caring as the other racers speed past you for the finish line. you rip off your helmet and throw it aside before turning to him and frantically checking him for injuries. “hey, hey, you’re okay, you’re okay.”

jj angrily brushes you off, “i’m fine.” he’s not fine; he winces when he rolls his shoulder and cracks his neck. you're taken aback and hurt, but you’ve known him long enough to know that it’s nothing personal. he doesn’t want to lash out at you, so he’s trying his best to keep his distance.

he gives you a once-over, "you okay?” his mouth is downturned in a frown; it takes you back to the days when he’d knock on your door asking to stay the night because luke was passed out on the couch and moved the second key.

you give him a soft, reassuring smile and rub his arm, “i’m okay.” 

he opens his mouth to say something else; he wants to tell you the truth, you know it. but nothing comes out; instead, he slowly backs away before turning around completely. you watch as he ignores his friends’ concerning gazes and desperate questions and stops at the far end of the beach, kicking at sand and throwing his helmet down. yeah, something’s definitely up.

“hey!”

great. rafe shrugs off sofia’s arm, helping him up, and wobbles over to you. you feel bad for her truly, but you can’t deny that it feels good that he seems to only have eyes for you, even when next to his girlfriend. you finally see him up close, and goddamn, he looks like shit. he has a scartch on his cheek, a noticable limp, and rolls his shoulder every other step. he stops in front of you and looks you up and down. “you okay?”

the audacity of this man, “are you trying to ask if i’m injured, you piece of shit?”

he throws his hand up in surrender and offense, “the fuck did i do?”

you’ve never wanted to strangle someone so bad. how could he be so selfish? so reckless? so stupid? “are you fucking kidding me? the fuck did you do?” you shove him, “you could’ve killed each other; do you even fucking care!? i don’t care how much you hate each other; you don’t fucking do that!” your voice cracks from the strain yelling has put on you; tears form in your eyes from anger and the fear of almost losing them both.

he reaches down and wipes your tear. you push his hand away. “i’m sorry.”

“are you?”

“i-”

“aww, rafe, your puppy pogue came back for seconds.” the memorable grating voice comes from one kook only, topper’s new girlfriend, ruthie; she mockingly pouts, not even trying to conceal her smirk. she looks proud to have topper’s arm around her waist, like she’s not playing second fiddle to his ex.

your anger is now fully redirected at her. you take some steps towards her. “the fuck did you just call me!?”

she chuckless. “you heard me, pogue.”

the way she spits out the word ‘pogue’ does not sit right in your spirit. you take a step towards her, but rafe holds you back. 

you look up and meet his eyes; you hate the way he looks at you. he shakes his head, “don’t let her get to you.”

you scoff, “oh, that’s rich coming from you.”

“it is; trust me, i know, but she is not worth your time.”

you frown at his newfound maturity, not knowing if it’s genuine or not or if it’s just to keep you out of trouble. “fine.”

he looks back at the couple with a cold stare that you’ve thankfully never been on the receiving end of. “yo top, get your bitch under control.”

she removes herself from topper’s side and steps up to you two. “excuse me?” topper tries to pull her back, but she shrugs him off. "you know, rafe, you used to be cool before you started slumming it.”

you stomp over to her and get in her face. the height difference has her literally looking down at you, which makes your blood boil; the shit eating smirk doesn’t help. “up yours, cunt! you’re just a sarah reject.” topper chokes on his water and rafe smirks, barely able to stifle a laugh.

her smirk is gone now, replaced by a nasty glare, and her face is beat red with embarrassment and rage. “excuse me!? what the fuck did you just say!?”

“you heard me.” you smirk at her reaction. she pushes you; you punch her square in the jaw, causing a ripple of commotion. you lunge at her, but rafe holds you back. you spit at her before she’s out of reach, but it falls short. the act still enrages her. 

rafe mean mugs ruthie as he drags the smaller girl away from the couple.  you kick and scream as rafe drags you away, gaining the attention of pogues and kooks alike. jj shouts at him and runs toward them when you push rafe away. “get the fuck off of me!”

rafe finally lets you go, and you take a few steps away before turning and getting in his face. “what the hell is your problem!?”

his eyes widen, unable to comprehend your lack of thanks. “my problem!? i just stopped you from spending the rest of your twentys in an orange jumpsuit!”

you shove him, “i don’t need your help!” your anger takes him by surprise. you roughly wipe the blood from your nose on your jacket. “i’m not your problem anymore, rafe.”

jj catches up to them and puts himself between you two before checking your for injuries. he puffs his chest out and stares down rafe. “you didn’t hear her telling you to fuck off? all that coke’s fucked with your hearing?”

you touch his back, trying to reassure him that all is well. “i’m fine, jj. i can handle this.”

jj looks back at you; you nod; he nods and slowly retreats.

“yeah, fuck off." you curse rafe and his annoying need to get the last word in as jj stomps back over.

“hey!” you put your arms out, stopping their chests from touching. “jj!” he looks at you, tears building from anger and sorrow over losing the race. “just go. it’s okay, i’m fine.”

rafe notes your voice softening and frowns. jj gives him one last glare and once over, warning the kook king not to mess with you. you turn back to him once jj is out of earshot, “what the fuck is wrong with you? do you get off on pissing me off or something?”

“that’s rich coming from you. all that talk about being there for me in my time of need, and where were you?”

“i was giving you space like you wanted!” 

“you abandoned me!” he roars, making you recoil. “you abandoned me when i needed you the most. you knew what that would do to me. you knew!"  

you can hear the heartbreak in his voice; it shines through the way his finger shakes when he points at you. or the tears falling freely and his face red from the fury he must have been pushing down. “i just lost my dad, and i needed you, and you weren’t there. too busy doing fuck knows what with goldilocks and his friends.” 

“he just came back from south america, where he was hunted down by trained killers, and watched someone die—he needed me!” 

“i needed you!”

“i’m sorry, okay! how many times do i have to say it until you believe me?”

“i don’t believe you, rafe!” you sigh and rub the bridge of your nose. you look at rafe, and he finally sees the exhaustion in every movement. “i'm done playing games.”

“i’m not playing games; i love you. i know i was wrong and i was sad and angry, and i know i took it out on you, but i’m-” 

“sorry?” 

he frowns.

you shake your head in defeat, “i know.”

you get on your bike and put your helmet on. you peel off, leaving him in the dust watching your fading figure.

______________________________________________________________

as always let me know your thoughts, criticism is always welcome (just keep it classy) <3

[tobythewise]

My not-so-secret favorite ship is Dorian x Anders and I adore hurt/comfort (Anders is just so good for it)! So, with that in mind, I’ll suggest “It would have been a lot easier to treat if you’d mentioned it sooner.” For Dorian x Anders, if you’re up for it!

Thank you so much for this prompt!! Dorian/Anders is ALSO one of my secret favorite ships (although tbh I just love anyone with Anders don't at me... LOL)

Written for @dadrunkwriting featuring Inquisitor Anders, hurt/comfort, getting together

“Gods damn it, Dorian,” Anders grits through clenched teeth. He winces as Dorian slides out of his pants fully. Normally, the sight of an attractive man getting naked would bring Anders to his knees. 

Dorian makes a broken noise, sitting down on the bench, carefully pulling the front of his shirt down to cover his dick while giving Anders the full view of his upper thigh. They’d just gotten back from that cursed swampy marsh. He’s not sure his boots will ever be dry again. 

Apparently, Dorian took a knife to the upper thigh and instead of telling Anders about it straight away, the handsome mage decided it was fine and would heal on it’s own. What’s the point of being the Inquisitor if the people who follow you won’t use your spirit healing for their benefit?

Anders sighs, poking and prodding at the wound. It’s clearly infected. Probably a mix of undead grossness, swampy muck, and sweat being pressed into the wound inside Dorian’s tight pants. He’s not sure he can use his magic to pull the infection out. He’ll need to use herbs and once the infection is gone, he’ll be able to close it up with his magic. 

“See,” Dorian says, his voice clearly strained as he puts on an easy smile. “It doesn’t look all that bad.”

“Not that bad? Are you trying to convince yourself?”

Dorian lets out an awkward chuckle. What is it with Anders falling for men who can’t seem to take care of themselves? Something like this could be deadly if they’re not careful. Blood poisoning is no laughing matter. 

“This would have been a lot easier to treat if you’d mentioned it sooner.”

Dorian’s eyes dart away. “I didn’t want to be a bother, darling. You were so busy with,” Dorian flicks his wrist in a circle, gesturing around them. “You’re saving the world. Every day you’re on a new mission, saving lives, healing every soldier you can get your hands on. You deplete your mana until you’re glowing with Justice’s juices. I didn’t want to add anything more to your plate.”

Oh. 

Anders’ heart skips a beat at the idea of Dorian caring for him. He wanted to protect Anders, even if the idea of hiding an injury is stupid in Anders’ book. It’s the thought that counts. 

Anders hums softly, reaching into his bag and bringing out a jar of poultice. “This is going to hurt,” he says softly before putting a large amount directly into the wound. Dorian whimpers but Anders is careful and uses a tiny bit of magic to soothe the inflammation. Then he wraps up the wound with clean bandages. 

Sweat drips down the side of Dorian’s brow, his eyes glued to Anders’ face. 

“I’ll need to change these every morning and as soon as the infection has run its course, I’ll be able to properly seal and heal.”

Dorian’s hand touches Anders’ wrist, stopping him from pulling away. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you sooner. I didn’t want to be just another burden.”

“Dorian,” Anders breathes out. He’s still on his knees, between Dorian’s legs. They’re so close, achingly close, yet at the same time Anders wishes they were closer. “I’m not upset. I was worried. If anything happened to you--” Anders has lost too many people that he loves. He doesn’t think he’ll survive going through that yet again. 

It would be better to put distance between them. He can’t get hurt if he doesn’t love again. 

Unfortunately, it’s too late for that. 

“Nothing is going to happen to me. Do you really think a little flesh wound could stop the evil magister from Tevinter who surely does blood magic while he’s reading those evil books all night?”

Anders’ eyebrows shoot up to his hairline, unable to stop the surprised chuckle that leaves him. “Is that the current rumor?”

“Yes,” Dorian says, raising his nose in the air. “There’s also a rumor about how I’m corrupting the Inquisitor.”

“Really? If anything, the abomination is corrupting the mages.”

“Nonsense. I’ve seen my fair share of abominations and none of them hold a candle to you. A handsome renegade if I’ve ever seen one.”

“Don’t let Varric hear you say that,” Anders says with a smile.

The hand on his wrist moves up to his face, gently cupping his face. “You have everything on your shoulders, Anders. You do so much for everyone. Who takes care of you?” Anders can’t meet Dorian’s eyes. “Ah, as I suspected.”

Dorian cups his chin, forcing him to raise his face. “I’m going to kiss you now. Is that agreeable?”

“Is that? By the Maker, Dorian. Yes.” 

They lean into each other, their lips meeting. Anders doesn’t remember the last time he did something just for him, but this kiss? This is just for him. The world fades away. There’s no anchor running up his arm, there’s no Corypheus, there’s no demon army. There’s just Dorian and Anders. 

“Every time I love, it ends in disaster,” Anders whispers against Dorian’s lips. Despite how perfect this moment is, he feels like he has to warn Dorian. 

Dorian huffs against his lips. “We’ve only just started and you’re already planning on it ending?”

“I don’t want to hurt you.”

“It’s okay if you do. You’re the best healer I know. Let yourself have this. Let me have this. You’re not the only one who hasn’t let himself imagine love.”

Anders wants to fight against this but he can’t. Dorian is right. There’s no guarantee of tomorrow, so why not embrace the here and now. This might not last but that’s no reason to cut it off before it even has time to bloom. 

Instead of fighting, Anders embraces these feelings welling up inside his chest. He grabs the back of Dorian’s neck and kisses him again.