#it’s where i thrive. by thrive i mean normal faces. face in angels is a horror of a thing…

[evanescentsun]

how exciting…. i started a new project..,, i found this crazy (okay not really not crazy but to Me) jjk au i wrote a lil for smth? (i can’t believe i forgot….) and lmaooo the wheels in my head Went to work and ahaha it turned into this weird crossover thing… Anyways. i figured it would be perfect to draw for it because i have been cracking on art and what’s point of prac art if not to do art??!

[helloitstsyu]

you get to wear a mask | Tom Cruise [fluff]

my masterlist

Summary : As a celebrity, it's nearly impossible to go and to do normal life activities in public. So, as his girlfriend, you offer Tom a solution.

Pairing : Tom Cruise x female!businesswoman!reader

A/N : it's my first fluff y'all🥹, i hope you like it as much i love writing it. this makes me giggle so much as i imagine it. I wanna know what you think abt this one, talk to me, babes!

WC : 3157

"Babe! I'm gonna go run some errands, do you want something specifically?" You shout as you gather your things before you head out the door.

Tom walks downstairs. He just had finished making a phone call with none other than his creative partner, Christopher McQuarrie. Ever since he landed in Los Angeles this morning, he's been occupied with work phone calls.

"Where are you going?" He asks.

Lifting your head up you see your boyfriend walking towards you, he leans against the doorway of your kitchen and put his hands inside his trousers pocket.

"Grocery, we literally have nothing in here,"

You're a thriving businesswoman. A CEO of an e-commerce fashion startup. You constantly hopping between big cities for work, New York, Los Angeles, London, and Paris, that's why you decided you expand your assets and buying apartments in each city so that you don't waste your money for expensive hotel expenses. Hence, why you don't have anything in your LA home since you haven't lived here for the past few months.

Tom pouts, "I just finished my calls, and now you wanna leave me,"

You and Tom have somewhat of a long distance relationship. With him caught up and busy filming and you running your business. It took extra effort to spend time together with your man. Though, two of you are keeping one important rule, never spend apart for 2 weeks. And for so long you've been living to that.

You smile as Tom gives you puppy dog eyes. "Why? You wanna come with me?" You smirk.

Tom smiles, "If it means i get to spend more time with you, yes," Tom steps forward and pulling you closer by your hips, "But, you know... i don't think whole food is Tom Cruise friendly,"

You chuckle as Tom place a sweet kiss on your cheek, "i missed you so much, baby,"

Suddenly, the brightest ideas come to your mind.

"I have an idea..." You smile and wiggle your brows.

Tom crook his head as he sees that mischievous grin on your face. For as he thought, you might be plotting something that beyonds the world's expectations.

"This is not what i had in mind when you said you have an idea," Tom protests as you sit down in front of him. You turn your makeup bag upside down, and all of your makeup products rain to the floor.

"You get to wear a mask, Ethan, you love when you got to wear a mask, don't you,"

Tom sighs "Never i thought someone would use that line to turn against me,"

"Tommy, you love when i throws you movies references at you,"

Tom chuckles and shakes his head. You take your phone and turn on the camera. You start recording and put your phone on the coffee table, rest it to a coffee mug so it stands still perfectly.

"What are you doing? Why are you taping this?" Tom asks.

"So we can have memory to look back to," You said as you prop the camera.

"Nonono, NO! you're not recording this," Tom reaches to your phone.

"Thomas!" You slap his and before it can reach your phone.

Witnessing the look you have on your face and the shift in your tone, Tom feels like he just seen your inner mother gothel. He sighs and just gives in.

"You're not gonna post that, though,"

"Of course i won't! It'll be our sweet secret memory, yep?" You smile at him, and Tom only smiles back sarcastically.

"Oh, come on, Thomas! It's not like you haven't got your makeup done for carpets or films anyway,"

You take a few pumps of your foundation to the back of your hand. Dotting the product on several spots of his face, then you start spreading it evenly using your brush.

"Yeah? Well, my makeup artist doesn't have that devilish-mischievous grin on their faces,"

"Baby... i need you to trust me," you said seriously.

Tom grunts and stops protesting.

"This is definitely the wrong shade... you're much tanner than me,"

"Oh, great," He rolls his eyes.

You chuckle, "How do you usually have your makeup on?" You ask.

Taking your fenty cream contour, you swipe them on the back of your hand and mix it with the foundation to create darker shade. Et Voila, the perfect match to his skin.

"Just- what do you call it? concealer?... maybe a little foundation if needed, like if i haven't gotten enough sleep,"

"Yeah? You never have like a full face of makeup? Character makeup?" You ask again as you still apply foundation all over his skin.

"Um... not really, maybe for vanilla sky,"

"Oh yeah! i remember that... that was a scary face though, tell me bout it,"

Tom starts to tell the story about the David Aames makeup he had on Vanila Sky. Well, as you thought, work does stop him from protesting and whining like an annoyed little boy.

You giggle after finishing spreading the foundation and concealer evenly all over his face. His skin looks so good, better than yours even. He has such perfect, well taken care of skin.

You take your face pallette next.

"What's that?" Tom asks.

"My fenty contour and highlight stick, it's to redefine the shadows and highlights of your face, cause after i finish applying foundation, your face now is all in one flat tone." You said as you apply the bronzer and contour to his cheek and forehead.

Tom thinks for a moment, "Why are you teaching me this stuff as if I'm gonna need to do makeup to myself?"

You laugh. "Well, baby, you never know... maybe someday your makeup artist catches a cold before red carpet," Tom chuckles and shakes his head.

You continue to apply contour and highlighter on his face. After setting it all with a translucent powder and put some blush on his cheeks, Tom reopens his eyes with you grinning widely.

"You look different," you giggle.

Tom takes a peek on your phone screen to look at what his face looks like.

"Babe, you can't look yet!" You stop him from peeking, but he managed to get a glimpse of what he looks like.

"Oh god! You supposed to make me look unrecognizable, not girly!"

"Your skin looks beautiful tho, you have such nice skin,"

Tom rolls his eyes and grunts.

"Why do i agree to this," Tom mutters.

"Well, darling, you do this because you lo—" Your words stop at the tip of your tongue when you realize the L word hasn't come out yet. None of you have said the L word you've only been with him for a few months.

Tom realizes how your expression drops. He knows what you were about to say. The quick expression shifts on your face from cheerful to a saddened look, sends rushes of pain inside his veins.

"...I mean... You'd do this because you're an adrenaline junkie... right? You like challenging yourself. But i guess you don't have to... i-if you don't really want to," you look down at the scattering makeup products on the floor.

That makes his heart break.

These past few months, Tom has been feeling that bubbling-odd feeling inside him building. He knows he's hooked in deeply. He can't stop thinking of you. You're constantly on his mind, and he admires you deeply. He just hasn't got enough balls to say the word to your face. He's afraid that he's moving too fast.

Tom takes your hand, which is holding a blush brush.

"Come on, need more blush," he smiles.

Beat drops. Even that got your heart swims in wonders. Giggling again, you apply a little more blush to his face, and soon, the apples of his cheek look like a blushing porcelain doll.

Next step, eyebrows. You always love his thick eyebrows. You think it's a statement of him. You take your brow gel, and you brush his brow upwards, and diagonally, you try your best to make them look good.

"I always wanted to do your brows... but it's kinda hard though," you mutter. "Hmm... yeah they look good enough,"

And to make you happy, of course he gives in and lets you do everything to his face. Tom looks at you deeply. Those eyes that he's been giving you for the past 5 minutes starts to make your heart beats faster and your palm sweating. Those eyes are the reason you're here. Everytime Tom looks at you like this, you swear you feel like you've been sent to heaven.

"Stop that!" You chuckle and cover his eyes. He knows you get butterflies when he gives you those eyes and he adores that you try to pretend as if you're not flustered.

Tom chuckles, "I'm not doing anything, darling,"

"Shut up, help hold me this, Tom," you said, handing him an open eyeshadow palette.

"Close your eyes for me, sweet," you kindly ask.

Tom follows all that you said. You begin applying eyeshadow to his eyelids. Deciding to go for an angel eyes look to complement those beautiful emerald eyes.

"Ow! What is that?" Tom asks, look you back in the eyes.

"Just powder," you apply the other eye the same color of eyeshadow too.

"OW! It's like burning," Tom narrows his eyes.

"No, it's not!" You grin

"Right where you just put it, it's burning... seriously!"

You stop applying them and sit back straight. Looking at his eyelids, you try to find if something is wrong, if there's any redness or anything.

"Is it still?" You ask.

"Yes!" Tom grins

You chuckle nervously, "What if you're allergic?"

Just when you start to think he's being serious, you can see shift in his eyes. "What if?!"

"Don't lie to me! I can tell when you're acting!"

"I'm serious!" Tom exclaims, but the grin still stays on his face.

You apply more to his crease.

"Arrghhh," Tom yelps.

"Tommy, stop it! I can smell you lying!" You slap his shoulder, and Tom laughs.

You take your favorite maybelline mascara and your magical shu uemura eyelash curler.

"Wait, what's that? That looks dangerous!" Tom holds your hand down.

"Just an eyelash curler,"

"Nnonono,... don't bringing that thing near my eyes," Tom pushes away your hand.

"Tom,... tommy, relax, just trust me, Baby, come on," you try to stop him from pushing your hand away.

And again, he gives in.

"Look down," you told him to do, adorably, Tom misunderstood and buck his head down.

Pulling his head back straight, you chuckle, "No, baby, you look down with your eyes not with your head,"

"Don't poke my eyes,"

"I won't... i need you to relax, okay?" Tom nods,

"Aaahh..." Tom squeals as you clamp those beautiful long lashes.

You can't stop laughing to your sweet boyfriend's funny reaction. The fact that you have an older boyfriend, a grown man, more than that, your boyfriend is the freaking Tom Cruise. The guy who did daring stunts as his way to pay the check. Now you got him squealing like a big baby. Thank God you tape this moment.

"Okay, okay... I'm done," you said,

Tom sighs hard, "Jesus Christ! it was scarier than hanging on the side of a plane!"

You feel like your stomach starts to get hurt from all the non-stop laughter. This is the best thing that ever happened in your life. Tom Cruise, finally admitting to be scared of something.

"Okay, baby, Mascara, now this will be tricky, just trust me on this one, keep your eyes down and still, ready?" You ask.

"Wait, is that like waterproof? Can it come off?" Tom stops you.

"No, it'll come off,"

"How do i get it off?" He asks.

"You just rub it,"

Tom takes a long deep breath, "Okay, go" he said.

You start applying a good amount of mascara to his lashes. Rolling the wand on his lashes.

"I don't like it..." Tom whines like a big baby sissy.

You can't help but to laugh out loud.

"Aaaahh..., i don't like it," Tom cries again as you put mascara on to his other eye.

Feels like you have a full abs workout. Even you're tearing up from laughing too much.

Now, Tom looks gorgeous, jeez, he looks like a freaking poster model. His eyelashes are snatched and thick long. The sparkly pink and bronze eyeshadows makes his green eyes pop even brighter. Guess you were right, you always thought he'd be pretty too as a girl just as much as he is as a man. He has such a good genes.

You giggle, "you look so pretty, Tommy!" you smile.

"I'm gonna have to contour your nose though. You have such a manly nose, babe," you said as you picked up your go-to fenty contour stick again.

"Um... yeah?! because I'm a man??... I have a freaking annaconda under my pants,"

You gasp, eyes widen in shock, "TOMMY!" You slap his shoulder.

Tom laughs upon watching how your cheek burns in red cherry color. Tom loves to tease you and catch you off guard like that, making you flustered and burn in red.

"Can't believe you said that," you apply the contour again on his nose.

"Well, you like it, don't you?" Tom chuckles.

"I meant you have such a distinct nose! That's such a Tom Cruise nose,"

You blend the contour on his nose. Trying to make it look somewhat different than his famous nose. Tom can't stop grinning widely at you.

As you focus on making his nose look different, Tom looks at you deeply with that look again. The corner of his lips slightly curls up, his tender gaze glued still on you. His hands are on your thighs, softly caressing your smooth skin with his thumb. You feel butterflies fluttering inside of you again.

You giggle, "Can you stop looking at me with those eyes!" You cover his eyes with your hand again,

"What eyes?" Tom smiles wider, he holds your hand down and leans in to place a kiss on your cheek.

"Tom..." You giggle.

"Do i make you nervous or something, Miss Makeup Artist?"

You giggle as Tom sends attacks of sweet kisses on your cheek and neck.

"Tommy, come on, you're not done yet,"

Tom chuckles and sit back straight again. You steal a kiss before you put a nude pink colored lipstick on that lips. Then, you're all done with his makeup.

"There you go... oohhh look at you girl, you look so beautiful!!" You giggle.

Tom looks over at your phone screen. His jaw hangs wide open when he finds the result of your work on his face.

"Oh my lord!" Tom exclaims in a southern accent, which earning you to laugh even louder.

"Darling, what did you do to me?! I look like my sisters!"

You're rolling all over the floor. Bursting in loud laughter. Your stomach hurt and you can't stop some tears to spill out.

"Oh wait, i forgot one thing!" You take your setting spray and spray it to his face.

"What- does it make it not wash off?!" Tom asks.

You grin widely and nod, "Yeah,"

His jaw hangs and eyes widen, "Are you serious?!" Tom crooks his head to the side.

You chuckle, "Yeah... it won't wash off for 6 hours," You lie.

"DARLING!" Tom tickles your waist.

You laugh and hold down his hands. You hand Tom a mirror. He looks at his face closer with wide eyes. Scanning the details of artwork on his face. His eyes nearly bulges out off his head.

"SWEET JESUS! My eyes are scaring me!... Look at my lashes, they grew 2 inches more!"

You for sure can not feel your stomach. Your cheek burns from laughing too much. Feels like the muscles there have their own workouts.

Afterwards, you told Tom to change his clothes with your pink baggy hoodie. Your big hoodie still fits him like a normal-well-fitted hoodie, though this one is better  than his previous outfits that hug his body tightly, showing all of his muscles. You also insist Tom to put on your Jessica Rabbit's wig that you have, and you once use them for a Halloween party.

Later that day, You managed to take Tom Cruise grocery shopping in downtown Los Angeles without one person recognizing him. It was a mission accomplished. Well, some of the people there give him a weird look though.

Before you went to bed, you sent McQ the selfie of you and Tammy (you said to McQ Tammy was your new friend), and he too can not tell who's next to you at first! Took McQ a couple of minutes and a closer look before he texted back, "THAT'S TOM?! YO WHAT THE FUCK?!"

Tom comes out from the bathroom. "Honey! You send McQ the pictures?!"

"What pictures?" You act dumb as you eat your strawberries that you bought earlier.

"Oh you know what I'm talking about," He narrows his eyes and have his hand on his hips.

You giggle again, "yeah..."

"Y/N Y/LN!"

"Oh come on, Thomas, no need to be dramatic here, sweetie. McQ couldn't recognize you that means i did a great job... you too honey! You just went grocery shopping! I'm proud of you!" You come to him and kiss his cheek.

"That was your best acting too, baby," you tease him again. Gives him a playful wink as you click your tongue.

Tom looks at you still. His shoulders drop slowly as his gaze soften at you.

"Thank God, i love you," he said.

You feel your heart skipped a beat, and the clock stops ticking for a moment. You look back at his eyes with wide eyes. You stop chewing the frozen strawberry inside your mouth.

"What?" You ask with your mouth stuffed full.

"Of course i do, you're my dream come true, I was just afraid to say that too soon, but i can't help it any longer. And I don't expect you to say—"

Tom smiles and sits next to you, "You heard me... i love you, Y/N... i love you so much that i let you do shit to my face,"

Tears start to brimming in your eyes. You feel your heart warming up. Tom runs his fingers through your hair.

"... and I'd let you do it all over again if it means i get to be with you, i love you, darling," he smiles.

Swallowing the strawberry inside your mouth. Tears finally falls to your cheek, to which Tom quickly wipes away. "Y-you... love me?" You ask softly.

"I love you!" You cut him immediately.

Tom freezes for a moment before he smiles, "What?" He asks.

You smile, "I know i said to take this slow, but... but i love you,... Gosh, i love you so much, Tom,"

Tom smiles, wraps his hands around you, and brings you forward for a kiss.

ะ.⋆⸙͎۪۫⋆༶⋆⸙͎۪۫˙კ¸⊹

Tagging :

@malavera @call-sign-shark @tomsf18 @moondustfairies @katherineswritingsblog

[verdemoun]

omg i just had this thought and its so random ok, this can be any ship but i thought of it as john and abigail where abigail watches a massage tutorial without like fully watching and understanding what it is, gives john a massage and hits one of his pressure point that promptly has him bursting into tears so loud and they both have no idea why so it just keeps getting worse, but what do u think

yes exactly thank you this is the sort of domestic bliss i thrive on (shoves a dozen pages of angst under a couch)

abigail figured out modern era way before john despite him having for lack of a better term a 3 year headstart. she still has to wear the pants and frustratedly explain he has to charge his phone in order for it to work while he merrily chimes 'of course, my angel' without taking a single word in.

unfortunately this means abigail is also very prone to binge-watching facebook mom videos and attempting a variety of 5 minutes crafts including massages, essential oils (woman survived 1899 let her enjoy things smelling nice) and is very proud of her handmade knick-knacks.

initially when she hit the pressure point and john started crying she obviously stopped like did i hurt you? and he in full tears insisted well yeah obviously you're digging your elbow into me but it hurt good i have no idea what's happening? keep going i'll get over it

he did not get over it. upon hitting it again he discovered he could indeed cry harder and she had to stop because of course he still isn't fond of anyone seeing him cry he is ''big strong man'' (this is a lie crying is healthy everyone cries never feel shame for crying my guys, gals and nb pals)

returning to the video for answers she gladly shouted through the bathroom door that it was normal lots of people cry getting a massage and he shouted back oh okay you must have a talent for it. he cried for another 20 minutes

he still eagerly accepts any offer for a massage because she is damned good at it and between bullets, wolves, stabbings, ranch life and the unusual amount of sitting in modern era, his back is more a canvas of knots than functional muscle. just lays face down and gives thumbs up to keep going. she may be about to break his spine.

[coldflasher]

WELL I JUST READ THIS ONE and since it's not on AO3 yet. a reaction thread. because let me tell you there were REACTIONS. (i probably should not have read this in public and yet i regret nothing.)

“Len’s first thought was that being right all the time was exhausting. “ LMAOOOO HE’S SO DONE I CAN SEE HIS FACE. EYES CLOSED. Barely holding it together.

“barry settled uncomfortably—if prettily—onto his knees” 🥵🥵🥵🥵

NOT LEN USING MARDON’S POWERS TO CREATE SINISTER VIBES AT HIS SECRET LAIR. He’s like “let me set the stage… get some wind going… for the ambience.” My ���Len was a theatre kid in high school” headcanon is THRIVING

“When the meta-snatcher pulled the black hood off with a flourish, Barry didn’t even have the good grace to look chagrined.” HNGHHHHHHHH I can see him. hair all ruffled. All attitude. GOD. And the GAGGGGGG stop it (“a week of Barry Allen bitching his ear off, he sure as hell would’ve reached for the nearest gag, too”---same babe)

“Mick leaned against the side of Len’s chair and rumbled, too quiet to carry, “And it ain’t even your birthday.” MICKKKKKKK

“I muzzle anything with a meta gene. That’s from experience. I caught one once, she could literally talk someone’s ear off. And I mean literally. It would shrivel up and just…” He mimed a splat.” Okay that’s gross but also FASCINATING, the show could never. they should have gone more body horror sometimes i reckon, it would have been fun. i mean i would have had to hide my eyes but in PRINCIPLE i would have liked it

Omg barry fighting while they were gagging him…. I’m feeling incredibly normal about this. I need to observe this for science

“ He burnt through the first two pairs of cuffs we put on him. Whatever it is, he’s packing heat.” HOTHOTHOTHOTHOTHOT any mention of how fucking POWERFUL barry is has me. on the floor. clutching at my chest. having a fit of the vapours

“But Barry only tipped his head back to hold Len’s gaze as he sauntered toward him, and he didn’t stir from where he was kneeling.” THE EYE CONTACCCTTTTTT. IM BREATHING INTO A PAPER BAG

“The longer he watched, the slower Barry’s too-sharp shoulder blades rose and fell, breath evening out, chin sinking by degrees towards his chest, like he’d finally allowed a week’s worth of exhaustion to catch up to him at once. 

Like he finally thought he was safe. “

*BEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEP* (that’s the sound of me flatlining btw. Genuinely held my breath and just had to sit with that. like. Basking in it.)

“He’d forgotten Len didn’t play on the side of the angels. Lucky for him, Len was going to enjoy reminding him.” LEONARD SNART DON’T YOU DAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAARE

“a handprint. Someone else’s handprint.” STOP

“A few bruises were the least he deserved; the only reason he was alive was because that two-bit amateur had dumped him at Len’s feet and not someone else’s.” GOD. I know he’s just angry because he cares and he’s frustrated and emotionally constipated and doesn’t know how to deal with his feelings so he’s turning the anger back on barry but. :(

“The muzzle was inspired, Len would give Santini that. Barry had sure as hell never held his tongue for so long in Len’s presence of his own volition.” Yep I am also a fan of the muzzle I can’t lie

“He would’ve liked to see the fear in his eyes when he realized the enormity of the mistake he’d made. Delivering the Flash bound and gagged to the one man in the city who had something of a gentleman’s agreement with him…” I WOULD ALSO LIKE TO SEE THAT. I WOULD BE PULLING UP ONE OF THOSE RECLINING CINEMA CHAIRS.

The gloves…. Are coming off.. the. The glo-the gl *the paper bag is back out*

“Nervous was the first step toward suspicious, and suspicious might just keep Barry alive.” HELPPPP IM DECEASED. THE CRUEL TO BE KIND THING. IT’S TERRIBLE. I’M OBSESSED. IT’S SO HIM. I HATE HIM AND I LOVE HIM AND IM SCREAMING AND CRYING

“The hero of Central City helpless at his feet, stripped of that golden cloak of lightning he wore everywhere like armor… And still not fighting Len an inch.” Okay first and foremost that is a fucking BEAUTIFUL description and I’m so jealous I’ve never thought of it. secondly NOT LEN DRAGGING HIM AROUND AND BARRY STILL LOOKING AT HIM ALL DUMB AND TRUSTING LIKE 😊 he wouldn’t hurt me! this is all part of his plan im sure! I am GNAWING ON THE TABLE

“His face and throat were stained pink, exertion clearly catching up to him, and Len wondered if the mask was starting to cut off air after all. […] Barry’s breathing stayed ragged anyway, blush touching the top of his chest as Len frowned at the unreadable expression in his eyes, gone round and almost glassy.” *incoherent noises* and len just. Has no idea what effect he’s having. im done. Im lying down on the floor and not getting back up

NOT BARRY CALLING HIS BLUFF. AND THE SMIRK?!?!?!?!?! IM SCREAMING. There are quite literally toothmarks in my knuckle. BARRY FUCKING ALLEN.

“he finally stopped burning through those cuffs when he overheard me tell my crew I was considering Cold as a buyer.” Okay that’s INTERESTING I have so many questions. I assumed he was just so fucking powerful that he was burning through them completely by accident but was it on purpose?? Like he had just enough access to his speed to channel what power he still has into burning out the cuffs? Or is it that he was more stressed and so it kind of made his powers kick into overdrive through adrenaline and burned through the cuffs involuntarily and then when he knew he’d be taken to Len he calmed down and his powers weren’t going as haywire? Inquiring minds are DESPERATE to know because this is fascinating to me

AND HE’S MANAGED TO GET HARD AFTER ALL THIS. of course he is. Broken ribs and all… whore *affectionate but also derogatory*

LMAO Len just being like “Mick, go deal with this” and Mick doesn’t even question it lmaooo he’s like yep I got this, go do your thing

MY GOD. It’s a good job im already sitting down because this was EVERYTHING. E V E R Y T H I N G. I know you already talked about this but you did an IMPECCABLE job of managing to let barry be an absolute bitch and having all his attitude come through in body language alone which is NOT an easy thing to do and it was fantastic. It was dark and hot and just toeing that perfect line between “fucked up in a hot way” and “just plain fucked up” and as always your LEN is just… you GET HIM. it’s like you opened a little window into his fucked up little brain and you’re not afraid to let him be bad… and also all the sheer POWER AND THE tension and GAHHHHHHHHHHHH. I’m just. As always in awe of everything you do.

I was genuinely having a terrible day and now im riding an insane fic high so thank you times a million for your service!!! And now im gonna go work on MY fic, this was the push I needed to remind me how fucking obsessed i am with them, byeeee

Whump prompt requests?? :o Pretty please can I request Barry gets kidnapped and Len finds him tied up? (Do want: muzzle/gag, handcuffs. Don't want: pet p!ay, established relationship)

i think this is the only prompt i've ever gotten with a detailed list of wants and don't wants, and you know what? i love clear instructions

the devil you know (coldflash, 5.6k, rated M)*

(*note: this fic makes implied reference to threats of SA/noncon, but none occur)

When Iris West tracked Len down three days into the Flash’s latest disappearance, Len sent her on her way with a shrug. He didn’t know or particularly care where Barry was, and he privately doubted Iris’s insistence that Barry wouldn’t have gone off anywhere without telling his team first. 

Still, he made an idle mental note to follow up if another week passed without any sign of him. Making that promise out loud might’ve gone a long way in wiping away some of the bitter disappointment out of Iris’s eyes as she left, but Len had a reputation to protect. 

Besides, Barry had a bad habit of popping up in Len’s life at the most inconvenient time possible. Ten days without the Flash interfering in any heists or Len’s attempts to follow the hockey playoffs undisturbed? He wasn’t that lucky. 

Four days later, a meta-snatcher tossed someone down onto the ground in front of Len's chair in handcuffs, a black hood, and very little else, and Len's first thought was that being right all the time was exhausting.

Narrow hips and shoulders, a lean and powerful body (although, underfed as he looked at the moment, that balance tipped closer to just lean), long legs folding under him as he settled uncomfortably—if prettily—onto his knees before sitting back on his heels. 

The concrete floor couldn’t have been comfortable. Len had put together the de facto throne room they were in precisely for meetings like this. It sat at the heart of a creaking warehouse abandoned at the edge of the docks, largely off the CCPD’s radar given the overwhelming impression that it was going to slide into the river with the slightest gust of wind. (Len encouraged that impression at every opportunity; he liked to post Mardon up on the roof to howl a few well-timed gusts of wind through the corroded metal walls during particularly lucrative negotiations. It made people antsy, and antsy people made worse deals.) 

He’d emptied the place of everyone except for himself and Mick for the evening’s entertainment, though. Call it a hunch; meta-snatching had largely dried up in the past couple of years. Most of the meta-humans with both valuable powers and common sense had already aligned themselves with one big player in Central City or the other—never mind that the distinction felt increasingly like choosing sides for a scrimmage. What mattered was that neither the Rogues nor Team Flash took kindly to their allies getting grabbed off the street, and meta-snatchers had learned quickly and painfully that they were better off finding safer professions. 

Of course, it helped that most meta-humans had also developed a healthy fear of the few meta-snatchers still bold enough or desperate enough to stay in the game. Len had taken that night’s meeting for the same reason that trophy hunters set traps on the edge of their own camps; the bolder the animal, the bigger the teeth. 

When the meta-snatcher pulled the black hood off with a flourish, Barry didn’t even have the good grace to look chagrined. 

“My, my,” Len drawled, settling back into his chair with a slow smirk. “What big teeth you have.”

It was too perfect to resist; he’d had the line ready even before he’d seen the muzzle, and he hadn’t landed on the top of Central’s food chain by ignoring chances landing in his lap like that. 

It was stark black leather, something Len would’ve expected to find in a very particular kind of club and not a meta-snatchers toolkit. He wondered idly if they’d had to improvise; a week of Barry Allen bitching his ear off, he sure as hell would’ve reached for the nearest gag, too. 

And it did seem to be functioning as a gag. It was well made from a single piece of leather, the breathing vents cut into the sides clearly designed not to allow enough give for the wearer to actually open their jaw. It fit snugly over Barry’s mouth and nose, looped securely over his ears, and came together in a heavy buckle on the back of his head. With the way it just skimmed the line of Barry’s high cheekbones, it was nearly a perfect inverse of the Flash’s usual mask.  

It was a better look than the cowl. Shame Barry would probably drop him in Iron Heights for suggesting that he take inspiration from the meta-snatcher’s fashion choice. 

Based on the flatly unimpressed look Barry was leveling him over the mask, Len was going to have to put that one on the back burner for a while. 

A quiet snort from Len’s right pulled his attention momentarily to Mick. Barry was lucky Mick hadn’t boomed a laugh the second the hood had come off; the plausible deniability that he and Len didn’t know who the Flash was under the mask was wearing thin enough as it was. 

Mick leaned against the side of Len’s chair and rumbled, too quiet to carry, “And it ain’t even your birthday.” 

The meta-snatcher cleared his throat self-importantly and Len flicked him a glare as he pulled his smirk under control. He was some distant relative of the Santinis, which made it all the more idiotic that he’d been poaching metas on turf that Len had chased the rest of his family off of years ago. Len had disregarded his first name as soon as he’d heard it; he didn’t plan on needing it. 

“He bite?” Len asked, pushing himself lazily out of the chair. 

Santini tucked the hood into his back pocket, clearly sensing a sale, and backed up a few steps in the universal invitation to inspect the wares. 

“Nah,” he said, conversational now that Len was showing interest. "I muzzle anything with a meta gene. That’s from experience. I caught one once, she could literally talk someone's ear off. And I mean literally. It would shrivel up and just..." He mimed a splat. 

Barry’s dark shock of hair was sticking up wildly around the straps of the muzzle, and Len could see a purple bruise blooming just over the edge of the leather at one temple. However they’d gotten the thing on him, he’d put up a fight. 

A hell of a fight, Len corrected himself, as he got close enough to get a proper look at Barry in the dim light. There were more bruises mottling his skin further down, and they weren’t showing any signs of healing. Len couldn’t see what kind of cuffs were holding Barry’s arms behind his back, but he would’ve put money on power dampeners.

"Meta gene, hm?” Len reached out and trailed his fingers through the air a scant inch above Barry’s mussed hair, just to feel the novel lack of static humming around him. "What can it do?"

The glare Barry shot him at the word "it" looked awfully annoyed for someone who was supposed to be in fear for his life, and Len raised an imperious eyebrow back. 

“Tests can’t really tell you that,” Santini said, patronizing enough that Len cut him a warning look. He put his hands up, an easy surrender. “...as you know,” he tacked on, mollifying. “I’ll tell you, though. He burnt through the first two pairs of cuffs we put on him. Whatever it is, he’s packing heat.” 

Len snorted. There were understatements, and there were understatements. The man had hooked a great white shark and thought he was selling an unusually bitey tuna. 

It gave Len exactly the information he’d needed to know, though. He hadn’t really thought Barry’s identity had been compromised, not with the way Santini had shown up alone, unarmed, and without several other bidders in tow.

He expected some kind of cheek from Barry, a tilted head that said “I told you so,” muzzle or not. Maybe even Barry pushing to his feet once Len got close enough, overly confident that Len would uncuff him and the game would be up. 

But Barry only tipped his head back to hold Len’s gaze as he sauntered toward him, and he didn’t stir from where he was kneeling. 

Len ignored the clear attempt at eye contact and began pacing a wide circle around him, appraising. It left Barry with the option to either twist to follow him or give up, and Len had to tamp down a smirk at the churlish way Barry snorted under the muzzle as he swung his head around to face forward again.

Up close, though, Len’s amusement began to evaporate. Barry didn’t look like he could stand. 

Power dampener cuffs were clamped tight around his narrow wrists, as expected. Homemade, but not shoddily so—Santini was an ambitious amateur. Bruises spanned the range from purple-black to fading yellow-green, the Flash’s missing week accounted for. 

Even with their more recent, less murder-y history, he expected Barry to have enough of a survival instinct to tense when Len passed behind him, some kind of instinctual response to having his back to someone who had once made it his life’s mission to kill him. 

Instead, as soon as Len’s path put him between Barry and Santini, Barry relaxed.  

Len’s feet stilled without permission from his brain. He waited for the trick, but none came. The longer he watched, the slower Barry’s too-sharp shoulder blades rose and fell, breath evening out, chin sinking by degrees towards his chest, like he’d finally allowed a week’s worth of exhaustion to catch up to him at once. 

Like he finally thought he was safe. 

Something dangerously close to alarm spiked through Len’s chest at the thought, and it took everything in him to repress the instinct to rear back a step. 

He shoved the panic down instead, held it under until it drowned, and got ahold of himself. The annoyance that bloomed in the aftermath, on the other hand, was welcome. 

Barry and his stupid, endless, goddamn faith that Len was a good man. He’d always trusted him too much. But up until now, Len had had the plausible deniability that it was only because Barry was counting on his powers in the event that Len did betray him.

Now, he was faced with the unfortunate reality that things were far worse than he’d let himself believe. It was his fault, really. Barry trusted too easily; it was an immutable part of who he was. Len had watched people wriggle close enough to Barry to sink their knives in his back too many times to count. None of it made a difference, not in the long term. 

But usually, Barry seemed to limit himself to second chances, even if he did give them out too freely. There were plenty of people in Iron Heights—hell, in the ground—who had used that second chance to take another stab at him, only to find that Barry’s patience had hard limits. 

Len, on the other hand, had let himself become something unacceptable. An exception. From the moment he’d failed to shoot Barry with his father’s thumb on the trigger that could’ve killed Lisa, he’d become a permanent lesser of two evils. Len didn’t even know what chance he was on, but he had passed second long ago.

Better the devil you know than the devil you don’t, people said. That was Len: Barry’s devil of choice, every time. Len had enjoyed it for a while, no sense in lying to himself about that. He liked the snarls of annoyance when he turned the cold gun on Barry’s other problems, let it stroke his ego that Barry had chosen him over them. 

But he’d let it go too far. Because Barry, it seemed, had forgotten a crucial part of what that saying meant. He’d forgotten Len didn’t play on the side of the angels. 

Lucky for him, Len was going to enjoy reminding him. 

Len forced himself to move again. His gaze lingered on the bruises as he finished circling Barry, despite his best efforts. The worst of it was centered on Barry’s left shoulder, where a hazy ring of deep purple suggested a dislocated—and subsequently relocated—shoulder. He also had a nasty bruise ricocheting over several ribs, and Len watched him breathe for a careful moment. A slow, measured inhale, then a slight hitch and quick, almost involuntary exhale; at least one of them was broken. 

Len’s carefully curated annoyance was already simmering rapidly and unacceptably toward anger when he caught sight of the marks wrapped around Barry’s upper arm. He’d missed them at first glance, easily lost next to the darker mottling from the dislocated shoulder. But the shape of it was unmistakable: four parallel lines around the strong curve of his bicep—a handprint. 

Someone else’s handprint. 

Len caught the thought by the throat before it made him round on Santini. He shoved the thought, snapping and hissing, back into the possessive corner of his mind it had escaped from, and barred the door after it. 

Barry’s surrender had knocked something off-kilter in Len’s brain, sent boxes he’d kept carefully bolted shut spilling open with the impact. Barry may have been his problem, but that was the only “his” that he was. 

And Barry was only his problem because he’d got himself caught by a two-bit amateur with some jerry-rigged tech. A few bruises were the least he deserved; the only reason he was alive was because that two-bit amateur had dumped him at Len’s feet and not someone else’s.

Still, a nasty thought was churning in the back of Len’s mind, and he had to put both hands in his pockets to keep from reaching for the cold gun. He wanted an honest answer out of Santini, not whatever he thought Len wanted to hear. The truth mattered; he needed to know how many pieces the man would be leaving the warehouse in.

“Looks a little worse for wear,” Len drawled, forcing his tone light and sardonic. “Got a discount for damaged goods?”

“Aw, fuck off,” Santini lobbed back, oblivious and good natured. “So he got a little banged up in transit. I told you, he didn’t like the cuffs. He dislocated his own shoulder trying to get out of ‘em. Not my fault. Hell, I put it back in for you.” 

“Not what I was talking about.” Len slid a pointed glance down Barry’s body—miles of freckled skin, very little else—then looked back at the man. He didn’t lift an eyebrow; he didn’t have to. 

“Oh, the underwear?” Santini scoffed. “I deal in weapons, Cold, not skin. Too messy. Kid’s got every stitch of clothing and virtue he had when I found him, swear on my mother. Besides, he’s not my type.”

The generous two-handed gesture the man made in front of his own chest didn’t impress Len, but it was crude enough that he took him at his word. He’d suspected as much, regarding the clothes. Barry may have been stupid enough to get himself caught by a meta-snatcher, but he wasn’t stupid enough to get caught and stay in the Flash suit. Whatever trap he’d stumbled into, he’d must’ve had time to throw the suit into some dark corner. No wonder his team hadn’t been able to track him down. 

That unpleasant matter behind them, Len rolled his shoulders back, settling in for another slow circle around Barry. The business portion of the evening was wrapping up, at least as far as he was concerned. He had the information he needed from Santini, and all that was left was to remind Barry that if the meta-snatcher was the frying pan, he was the fire.

If his first perusal had been business, the second was… well. Call it an advance on the clean-up fee he was going to charge Barry for handling Mr. Virtue over there. 

Barry lifted his head as Len started to circle again, tilted it slightly in unspoken question. The muzzle was inspired, Len would give Santini that. Barry had sure as hell never held his tongue for so long in Len’s presence of his own volition. 

Len could hear the list of complaints he’d be in for once he took it off: thanks for leaving the cuffs on for so long, those were comfortable—you know, they sell this new technology nowadays, it’s called an area rug—probably with a dig about his age, while he was at it. 

Len banished the thoughts and the grin that was threatening. Christ, maybe Barry was right. He was getting soft if he was laughing at just the idea of Barry crabbing at him. 

He reached for his earlier determination, instead. He tilted his head with a collector’s eye as he tightened the circle, close enough to touch. 

Barry really did have freckles everywhere, more than Leonard had imagined in the occasional privacy of his own thoughts. Constellations of them between the colorful galaxies of bruises painted over his leanly-muscled shoulders, his chest, stomach, carelessly parted thighs. There was even a pair of them right on the dimples of his lower back, where Len’s thumbs would’ve fit like the space had been made for them. 

It was a tempting thought. Pressing his own claim into Barry’s body, maybe covering up that hand-shaped bruise with one of his own. He was the one playing big bad wolf now, after all. And with both of them dressed for the part: Len, with the fur collar of the parka brushing his jaw, and Barry in those little red shorts. They left absolutely nothing to Len’s imagination, a delicious payoff to years of idle wonderings about what the Flash wore under that suit.

Something of the thought must’ve shown on Len’s face, because Barry looked decidedly less patient when Len caught his eye again. He glanced pointedly back behind himself, then back up again, as if Len weren’t perfectly aware that he wanted the power dampener off.  

Barry wasn’t the only impatient one. Santini clapped once, businesslike, and began walking closer. “You just window shopping today, or—?”

Len cut him off with a look, winning him back silence and space as Santini course-corrected with a gracious “after you” gesture and ceded ground again. 

A week in a cage clearly hadn’t been enough to break Barry’s pride, let alone his spirit. The muzzle was probably the only thing that had kept the meta-snatchers from realizing who he was. Barry would’ve snarked their ears off no matter what they did to him; he’d taken too many hits to be afraid of a little pain. And even with how stupid Santini was, the bared teeth and complete contempt would’ve added up to Central’s apex predator eventually.

The thought was a butane lighter to the sparks of arousal in Len’s veins. It was unfortunate that he wouldn’t be able to take the muzzle off while Santini was still breathing down their necks. He would’ve liked to see the fear in his eyes when he realized the enormity of the mistake he’d made. Delivering the Flash bound and gagged to the one man in the city who had something of a gentleman’s agreement with him…

Len hummed, a little wistful, as he reminded himself that said gentleman’s agreement precluded him from hauling Barry up to sit in his chair and slitting Santini’s throat at his feet. 

But he let the idea of it linger, knew that it would darken his eyes as he skimmed another lingering look down Barry’s body. 

And there, finally—a hint of wariness in Barry’s eyes when Len bothered dragging his gaze up from the dark hair that trailed temptingly down Barry’s lower stomach and disappeared under his waistband. Beginning to remember, maybe, that Len didn’t work for free. 

Len pushed his advantage while he had Barry off-balance. He drew his hands from his pockets, slowly, casually, and held them up at Barry’s eye level. He was wearing gloves, as he always did when conducting business. No point in keeping the cold gun strapped to his thigh if he wasn’t going to be ready to use it. The gloves were a helpful and very visible reminder of that.  

When he was sure he still had Barry’s attention—and he did, something unreadable passing across Barry’s eyes as they darted between Len’s hands—Len turned one hand toward himself, brought the other to its fingertips, and then slowly, one finger at a time, began teasing the glove off. 

Barry tracked the movement with his eyes without prompting, giving Len a quickly-dismissed impulse to reward him. A quizzical furrow formed between his brows, and he stole a single glance up and risked a quick, faint tilt of his head to one side. Confused, yes, but not combative. The difference between “What are you doing?” and “What the hell are you doing?”  

It was Len’s turn to feel an annoyed burn of impatience. Barry was on his knees in front of a convicted killer, bound and gagged and stripped to his skin, and Barry still thought this was all part of a plan. Len had killed three men in front of Barry—and counting. The only plan he had now was finding out how far that stupid, blind trust could bend until it broke.

Len finished drawing the glove off slowly, and in the quiet of the room, nothing but the distant sounds of the river rolling past outside, he was certain Barry heard the rasp of leather over skin. 

Barry’s attention fractured as Len watched. His gaze flicked up from the glove for a single, distracted glance at Len’s eyes. Just below the line where the muzzle dug into the underside of Barry’s jaw, his throat bobbed on a swallow. 

Good, Len thought. Nervous was the first step toward suspicious, and suspicious might just keep Barry alive. 

Len looked away with easy disinterest, settling his attention to Barry’s unbruised shoulder. Barry sat up straighter as Len reached out with the glove in his hand, a hitch in his breath visible in the stuttering rise of his bare chest. 

When Len laid the glove out on the bare, unmarked skin there, Barry twitched like Len had stuck him with a knife.

Almost getting it, Len mused. Ignoring the urgent, searching flicker of green eyes in his direction, Len reached out with his newly bare hand and rested the tip of one finger just under the corner of Barry’s jaw. 

The black leather there was butter soft and warm from Barry’s skin. Just as slowly as he’d pulled off the glove, Len stroked the finger up the line of Barry’s jaw, following the sharp edge of it through the muzzle. Only then did he slide his gaze back to Barry’s to watch the emotions dart through those pale eyes. Confusion, yes, then surprise, with another sharp inhale. And then, with the first flush of healthy color to Barry’s face since he’d been dragged in, understanding. 

Yahtzee, Len thought with a smirk. 

He didn’t give Barry a chance to pull away. He caught him with two fingers under the edge of the muzzle, hard, knuckles snug against his windpipe, and jerked his chin up.

Barry jolted with the movement, full-body, back arching to accommodate the sudden, demanding angle of his neck, the glove tumbling to the ground. Eyes wide, he made a sound behind the muzzle that might’ve been Len’s name if he’d been able to open his mouth enough to say it. 

Somewhere behind Barry, Santini started to object, but he shut himself up before Len had to look his way again. Likely Mick had warned him off, a pointed hand on the heat gun’s handle, or the man had just remembered who he was dealing with. 

Len held Barry there at attention, letting him hang off the hook of his fingers. Heady wasn’t a strong enough word for it. It was a level of control he hadn’t imagined even back before Barry became Barry, when the Flash was a problem to be solved and not a single facet of a more fascinating, infuriating whole. The hero of Central City helpless at his feet, stripped of that golden cloak of lightning he wore everywhere like armor… 

And still not fighting Len an inch. 

Barry’s chest heaved, breath coming quick and shallow, that broken rib apparently the furthest thing from his mind. When Len met Barry’s gaze, his own eyes narrowing in frustration, Barry’s were stunned and breathless. But still, no fear there. 

Agitated, Len crooked his fingers tighter, forcing Barry’s chin up another inch. Barry’s lashes fluttered—maybe feeling that rib now, after all—and Len watched the muscles in his thighs flex as he nearly forced him up onto his knees.

Fight back. 

Barry didn’t so much as twist in his grip, eyes half shut. With Len’s fingers hooked under the edge of the mask, he could feel the heat of Barry’s breaths, nearly panting now. His face and throat were stained pink, exertion clearly catching up to him, and Len wondered if the mask was starting to cut off air after all. 

He loosened his grip and allowed Barry to relax back onto his heels. Barry’s breathing stayed ragged anyway, blush touching the top of his chest as Len frowned at the unreadable expression in his eyes, gone round and almost glassy. 

When Len slipped his fingers free of the mask, Barry didn’t move an inch, head tipped back where Len had left it. 

Len’s patience snapped, curling his gloved hand into a fist at his side. He could’ve snapped Barry’s neck in less than a second, bared to him like that, all fragile skin and sharp tendons. It would’ve been easy as breathing, and there would’ve been nothing that Barry’s powers or his little team could’ve done about it. 

Len took a sharp step forward, closing the rest of the distance between them. It brought the front of his hips nearly flush with the muzzle, his boots between Barry’s knees, which were falling open a little further with every uneven breath. 

It was—too much, frustration at the completely unearned trust, frustration that Barry had been reckless enough to get himself caught, both tangling confused with frustration at Barry. That even stripped and submissive on his knees in front of Len, offering him his throat, he was still the one goddamn thing Len wanted and couldn’t have. 

Len should have conceded that his self-restraint was clinging on by a thread. He should have taken a step back, drawled something droll and amusing, and ended the night with his sanity intact. 

Instead, Len curved a hand around either side of Barry’s neck and stroked them upwards slowly, deliberately.

How many ways could someone kill you just like this, Barry? 

Barry’s throat worked under his hands and he shivered, hard, even as he tipped his head back further, giving Len more room to take advantage of. Barry made another, fainter noise behind the muzzle, half-swallowed as his throat bobbed. 

One point to Len. Even Barry couldn’t miss the threat of Len’s fingertips pressed against the fragile bones of his neck. 

Len lifted them to the edge of Barry’s jaw, followed the line of the straps around his ears, and then reached forward to trace the leather up until his fingers met at the buckle on the back of his head.

The movement brought the parka up on either side of Barry’s head, caging him in, hopefully adding to the claustrophobia of having Len so completely in his space. Len hooked a finger under the loop of leather where it passed through the buckle. He paused there, poised to pull it tighter, and was about to close his hand around the strap and tug when Barry did the one thing he wasn’t counting on. 

He gave in. 

All of the last remaining fight went out of those narrow shoulders at once, nearly unbalancing Len where he’d been bracing his wrists on the steady line of them. 

Instead of using the opportunity to duck away—point made, Snart, let me out of this thing—Barry only swayed deeper into the circle of Len’s arms. Before Len could jerk backwards, half-certain that Barry was finally passing out—Barry brushed closer and rested his forehead against Len’s lower stomach. 

For the space of two heartbeats, Len’s mind went perfectly blank. And then he realized, with a level of disbelief so incredulous that he could feel it bleeding against his will into respect, what Barry had just done. 

He’d called Len’s bluff. 

No suit, no speed, no backup, bound and gagged and as powerless as Len ever could have hoped to have him, and Barry had called his goddamn bluff. 

Chips down, cards on the table, there was nothing else to do—Len took a step back. 

Cold air rushed back between their bodies. Even with that dampener keeping his powers in check, Barry must’ve been a hundred degrees, and Len’s jaw ached against the loss of his heat instantly. 

Barry fell back onto his heels, and Len didn’t wait for him to get his bearings. He hooked a finger through one of the ear loops, forcing the last shreds of anger into the movement, and jerked his head back up.

For the first time all night, Barry didn’t jolt to meet his gaze. Instead, he let three full seconds tick past before he lifted his eyes, as if looking up had been his idea all along. Hair disheveled, pupils nearly swallowing the thin green ring of his irises—

Barry smirked at him. 

It was unmistakable, muzzle be damned, eyes narrowing in such viciously smug satisfaction that Len was torn between shoving him away or dragging him into a dark corner.

Len tightened his grip in the edge of the muzzle, on the brink of deciding, when a low whistle cut through the room. 

“Well, shit. You really have got a way with ‘em, huh?” 

Santini’s voice was an unwelcome reminder of the unfinished business Len had to attend to, and he dragged his gaze away from Barry only after a dark look, promising him that he’d deal with him next.  

“Or maybe just with this one in particular,” Santini continued, grinning like he and Len had agreed on something. “Funny thing—he finally stopped burning through those cuffs when he overheard me tell my crew I was considering Cold as a buyer.”

Len slid his gaze back to Barry. Barry, who was looking anywhere but Len, apparently deeply interested in hearing anything Santini had to say for the first time since he’d dragged him through Len’s doors. Barry, who was still breathing hard and blushing to his roots. Barry, who was trying to draw his knees together even with Len still standing in between them. 

“Did he, now?” Len asked. 

The question wasn’t aimed at Santini, but he answered anyway. 

“Mmm-hmm.” He rocked back on his heels, inclined his head to Len in a pantomime of tipping a hat. “You got a reputation for looking after yours, after all. He must’ve thought you’d have some use for him or another.” He flashed a salacious grin; his objections to the ‘skin game’ clearly ended where his sales instincts began. “I figured maybe the feeling was mutual, and you’d appreciate first dibs on the sale.”

Lips pulling into a sharp, predatory smirk, Len lifted the toe of one boot and planted it on the inside of Barry’s thigh. “I’m considering it.” 

Len pushed Barry’s legs apart with ease. Barry’s color deepened, and he jerked his head like he had any chance in hell of jarring Len’s hand loose from the strap of the muzzle now. Len clicked his tongue in a light, mocking reprimand, and Barry flashed him a glare for it, even as he stopped twisting under his grip. 

He didn’t fight it when Len drew his head to one side, far enough to give him an unimpeded view down the front of his body. The blush stretched halfway down his chest, past nipples that were hard and peaked like Len had just spent an hour teasing them with his tongue. He didn’t need to nudge Barry’s thighs wider to see the thick, heavy outline of his cock straining at the front of the red shorts, but he did it anyway, and was rewarded when it twitched at the demanding press of his boot.  

“I’ll take him,” Len drawled, and Barry’s hips hitched forward as Len guided his legs apart another inch, pulling the thin material taut over his groin.

Across the room, Santini laughed. “I haven’t even told you how much.”

“Not paying.” Len didn’t bother looking up; Barry had lifted his gaze to him again, and Len was going to need a more compelling reason than a low level Santini to look away from the impatient heat in his eyes. “Mick?” 

Mick strode past them without a glance. Santini took one stumbling step backwards, then did the first smart thing he’d done all day: turned heel and ran.

Something in Len’s smirk made Barry blink, brow furrowing. He said something behind the muzzle, chin lifting in a way he probably thought was authoritative, and came across entirely the opposite on his knees. 

Len had heard the words “No killing” come out of that mouth enough times to recognize it from cadence alone, but he tugged Barry up by the muzzle instead, until he got the message and stumbled to his feet. 

“Didn’t catch that,” Len drawled. 

Barry looked ready to argue, as if he weren’t half-wrecked already, skin flushed, hair wild. But he did a distracted double-take when Len shrugged out of his coat, and his gaze went dark and intent as it slid down the dark clothes he was wearing underneath, shouts behind him forgotten.

“You can fill me in later,” Len said, turning away. He shucked his belt as he sauntered toward his chair, let the buckle ring when he dropped it to the concrete. 

Barry was still standing indecisively in the middle of the room when Len settled into the chair with a comfortable sprawl, legs spread, boots wide. His gaze caught on the thick press of Len’s cock, hard against his jeans, and Len flashed his teeth at him in something too sharp to be a smile.

“Got somewhere to be, bolt cutters are in the workshop.” Len indicated a door to the side with a tip of his head, even as he moved his hand to the front of his jeans. “If not...” 

He rubbed his thumb over the button of his jeans, enjoying the pressure against his cock—one slow circle, another. The third time, he slid the button free. 

And Barry came willingly. 

[missmeinyourbones]

[ 9:43 AM ] - oikawa tooru

“Do I have to?”

Oikawa glares at the plum colored liquid sloshing around in the medicine cup you hold out to him. If looks could kill (and if the cough syrup in question had a heart), it’d be good as dead where it stands.

Your reply is stern, “Yes.” 

“But I don’t even like grape,” he pouts on command.

Your tone comes across as a light scold when you remind him, “Come on, it’s just for a second.” 

It’s going on ten minutes now that you’ve been trying to coax him into taking the medicine in hopes of ending his (and in return your own) suffering.

He makes no move to grab it, but you hold your breath when he nods and lets you raise the plastic cup to his pursed lips. Sticking his tongue out, he feels the syrupy liquid slide down his throat—followed by an overwhelmingly artificial grape flavor attempting to disguise the burn of the cold medicine slithering down into his chest. 

He clears his throat with a dramatic eughck! before generously slurping the cup of water you now hold to his lips. A celebratory good boy, thank you crawls up from your throat and his heart instantly swells at the praise.

While the taste in his mouth makes his toes curl, he can’t lie—he’s loving this special treatment from you. Holding his drinks for him, brushing the sweaty wisps of curls away from his eyes, pressing your lips to his forehead to check his temperature. He’s relishing in, thriving beneath your attention. Dare he say, he’s even been debating playing up his symptoms to keep your focus on him and nothing else.

He sighs deeply after chugging back the water. 

“This is kinda fun, right?” he sniffles behind a nasally tease, “You’re like, my own little sexy nurse.”

You place his cup back on the nightstand with a scoff. “Sorry I’m missing the uniform,” you dryly play along.

His teeth prod against his lower lip, “Don’t be, we can buy one later.” His eyebrows raise in pride at the sly comment, but the whine that falls from his lips when you smack his chest doesn't go unnoticed. 

He tries to take a sharp inhale through his nose, but he’s met with resistance and ends up harshly coughing into his elbow. It shakes his weak frame, involuntarily jolting his core upward as he curls into his arm wth every choke.

Eventually, he dramatically falls back onto the pillow with a pout, “Feels like I’m not even breathing.”

“You’re talking,” you point out, “talking requires breathing.” 

“Yeah,” he wistfully pouts, “but who knows for how much longer.”

You hum in agreement, “If only we were so lucky.”

His honey eyes grow twice in size at your quick retort, a mixture of disappointment and disbelief overwhelms his pretty features. An offended gasp leaves his moping lips.

“Rudeeeee,” he extends in a whine that sounds more like a yelp due to his stuffed-up nose. He continues on with his dramatics, “What if I died right now? What if I stopped breathing right here, in this bed, and those were the last words you ever said to your loving late boyfriend?”

You allow a hand to rub his clammy forehead and like a cat, he instantly nuzzles into the touch. 

You use your strictest tone to humbly remind him, “Tooru, you have the sniffles. You’re not dying.”

“I have a cold,” he corrects you, “had a fever and everything this morning.”

By a fever, he means that your thermometer read a degree above normal body temperature this morning. He’d woken you up with the device manically waving in front of your face and a frown etching across his own. 

You shake your head at this theatrics. “One degree hotter isn’t necessarily a fever,” you softly scold him, “that’s a normal fluctuation.”

His eyebrows raise in a victorious excitement, “So you do think I’m hot?”

His comment results in another smack to his chest, but regardless of his cold, his reflexes remain quick and instinctual. His hand catches yours and traps it on the heat of his bare chest.

“Sorry—ow, sorry! I think it’s the cold medicine kicking in, angel. It’s making me hallucinate, I don’t even know what I’m saying.”

Your lover grins from ear to ear when he hears your annoyed groan. 

“Oh please, you just swallowed it.”

[solomonish]

Dork Solomon Agenda

You say sexy shady sorcerer I say nerd and love of my life

Solomon is a sad lonely little man why just wants a genuine connection us that so much to ask???

No but seriously like. It's totally fine if you hc Solomon as this man-turned-lowkey-sex-god with a million succubi and more at his whim whenever he wants and would be a tough one to put the ol' ball and chain on like to each their own for sure! But that's not MY hc

(Thats not to say my hc means he doesn't ever engage in casual sex like that and wanting a genuine long term relationship at some point [or finding out thats what you want when you meet someone] are not mutually exclusive yknow)

So like Solomon isn't the type to be short with you or keep you at an arm's length (i mean...u get what I mean. Once you're close enough and all that jazz) or get annoyed by you wanting to be affectionate?? Hello??

He LOVES the little things you do (some on accident tbh). You feeling affectionate today and give him a kiss or three on his face before you leave to go to your separate classes? Adorable, he's fallen in love again. You do that thing where you like.. forget how to walk straight and just accidentally bump into him? No come back he likes being close to you :( He doesn't SAY these things but there's a light, airy laugh he has that gives him away.

If you're ever facetiming he will say "boo!" when you connect instead of just. Greeting you like a normal person.

His fuckin. His devilgram name is monSOLO. My mans is a star wars fan!!! I dont know any of The Discourse bc I'm not super into star wars myself but he has IN DEPTH opinions about the movies. Seriously rivals Levi in this aspect. Please make time for movie nights where you watch the movies together 🥺 especially if you haven't seen them before he'd love to convert you 🥺

Didn't Solomon also have a thing for TSL??? Or am I just imagining it??

I feel like his ideal date would be exploring something new, whether its this new spooky forest or "hey have we been down this alley before? Let's check it out!" but ideal date number TWO is movie night. Even if it isn't Star Wars. He likes to sit on opposite ends of the couch throwing popcorn into each other's mouths (and big candies like peanut m&ms where you both have almost choked before) and maybe a footsie war if he's feeling real devious. Then at some point you grab a blanket and snuggle up to him and you both fall asleep on the couch

Simeon yells at him when you leave because there's popcorn EVERYWHERE

LOVES when you laugh super loud. Idk man he just thinks its great when you have such unbridled joy and then he laughs too 😊 not as loud though he's more of a quiet chuckle kind of guy (most of the time).

Is friends with Asmo so is extremely great at slumber party gossip. Catch him in his pajamas, cross-legged on the floor while clutching a pillow to his chest and listening intently to you rant about the brothers.

"Come here I have a secret to tell you" (blows air in your ear) "okay okay I'm sorry but come here again" (blows air on your neck) "okay okay last time! I actually have something to tell you. Please? Its important...." (kisses ur cheek) "like u a lil bit xo"

Never the type to send "good morning beautiful" or "good night 💞" texts. Instead he'll send you something at 4 am like "the infinite cosmos will eventually swallow whole all familiarity and life as it is now presently known and despite the adaptations humans or demons or angels could make i will still have to adapt and face the world as an alien in the realm I love so dearly. Funny how the strongest of beings bow to the whim of space and time. But sometimes my eternal journey doesn't seem so daunting when I realize that with my everlasting life will be the memory of you no matter how distant and the survival of the vessel you loved...."

And then at lunch that day when the brothers pull you away he'll send you a picture of the lasagna they're serving with "this kinda looks like you? Don't worry I'd still hit it" and then two minutes later "you not the pasta"

Is the type to think randomly "oh damn I love you so much" but has an impressive filter about it. Or he thinks he does until Luke grumbles "ugh get a room thats the fifth time you've seen that since monday" ok, sometimes he has a good filter about it

He can't help it! Sometimes you just say something really smart (or something SPECTACULARLY dumb) or you do something cute like lean on him or smile a specific way or-

Sir.....you're head over heels sir :/

The type who would go to a playground at night with you and just swing on the swings talking about life

Wants to have a secret handshake with you!!

If you're ever on a road trip with just the two of you, you can get him to join in on the terrible singing but he'll be a lot quieter than you

Also will only join in if he isn't driving. If he is and you aren't talking, he's just humming underneath his breath. Will drum on the steering wheel though

Cooking

(Yes, it gets its own section because MAYBE I'm obsessed with the idea of MC teaching Solomon to cook and the food still turning out terrible but at least it isn't a void when MC is helping)

The type to flick water at you every time he washes his hands. Will chase you down just to do it.

"Hey, tilt your head back and open your mouth MC" (proceeds to dump too big a handful of shredded cheese in your mouth)

100% the type to lean over you just to hinder your cooking abilities. Who cares if the sauce splashes he's tiiiired.... you'd let belphie do it :(

Puts a hand on your lower back when he passes behind you. Hopes you'll lean into it/step back and offer him a kiss 🥺

Believes in always having a proper table setting. Prepare for whatever juice they have (or water) in wine glasses if you're having a nice-er meal

Under the assumption that a spell ruined his sense of taste (and not that he's just bad at cooking) he hates spicy food. He can feel the burn but he gets none of the flavor??? Wack. Don't hurt him like that MC. If you do because its hilarious to watch him try to be cool about it he will pout

Gets cheesy aprons. He just likes them.

Will hit you on the top of your head with a whisk to hear the noise it makes

Will buy every kitchen hack tool there is. A ketchup dispenser that looks like a gun? He's got it. A fish that helps you squeeze out the egg yolks? Yes! A dinosaur soup ladle? You bet! Pizza scissors? A tool that makes hard boiled eggs into cubes? Something that's gotta be like 200 years old and no discernable purpose? Absolutely! He wants a hot dog toaster. Do they even have hot dogs in the devildom?

Will sneak bites just because it bothers you

Overall

Look at him. He hasn't had friends in centuries. He's playful!

Look at his DEVILGRAM NAME

His funky little WAND

This is a man who is a huge nerd, thrives off of cliches and just wants to have a good time. So let him! Its mentally exhausting having those pretenses up all the time.

[quillify-tries-to-talk]

Defense and Love

(A rewrite of that scene in Chain of Gold where Cordelia does not defend her brother when James calls him unworthy of his sister's love. Because I was angry. Because CC knows zero things about sibling interaction.)

Lemme know if you like it!

“I know you hate me for how I treated you in school, and rightfully so,” Alastair said. It was a wonder his voice was not shaking. “But however much you hate me, do not take it out on my sister.”

Please, the word hung from the very tip of his tongue, unspoken and desperate. His heart was galloping inside his chest with an almost painful intensity, even more so under Cordelia's watchful gaze. He couldn't break now. Not in front of her. She would ask, and how was he going to explain why he'd distorted into something he didn't recognize himself?

“Alastair," said Herondale in that low, cruel voice that took him back to the Academy, his own past coming back to haunt him, "you made my life a living hell at the Academy. But I’d never take it out on Cordelia. That’s something you would do, not something I would do.”

So he thought Alastair would hit his own sister. Good God. You don't know anything, rich boy, he wanted to snap. You have no idea what you're talking about. 

Perhaps it was his own fault. He’d hurt so many people in his quest to guard his family. His life had turned into one horrific, monotonous nightmare. Protect them. Protect Layla. Let her be happy. Let my mother be happy. Let Father never come back.

The rational part of his brain had taken over the reins. He stood up straighter, schooled his expression into blank, icy indifference, the mask he’d perfected at school. Let Herondale think what he wanted. Alastair had a job to do and he wasn't about to let patronizing sermons get in his way.

“I see how it is. In school I had the power, and here you have the power to lord it over me. What’s your game? What do you want with my sister?”

“Your sister,” James said, speaking with a slow, deliberate coldness. “Your sister is the only thing keeping me from punching you in the face. Your sister loves you, Angel knows why, and you aren’t even the least bit grateful.”

The words were more powerful than any Shadowhunter weapon. They ravaged the remains of his heart over and over again.

He was ten and watching his father trip on the floor of his bedroom as he collected the brandy bottles littered around. Elias had been too drunk to tell who’d been into his room.

He was twelve again and practicing the iratze. It will help Baba, he'd thought then, childish hope still guiding him through the dark descending over the horizon of their lives.

“You have no idea what I’ve done for my sister." His voice came out rough and shaking. Horror of all horrors, Cordelia was still looking at him as though seeing him in a new light. Did she agree with James? She could. She was thriving here. "You have no idea about our family. You don’t know the first thing—”

He was fifteen again and refusing to train with Layla for the hundredth time because his body ached like one giant bruise. It was Pounceby. His jaw and neck tingled with the sting of the phantom bruise. He was watching the hope in his sister's eyes die. I am sorry, he'd wanted to say then. I truly am. But I can't let you see this. Live, Layla.

Something knocked against his shoulder. Hard. Only his training, both physical and mental, kept him from stumbling back in surprise.

It was Cordelia. She’d come to stand in front of him, the way Alastair had done when they were kids whenever their father had been home. Like a shield, he realized in disbelief. He wanted to push her out of the way, but her outstretched arm only resulted in him shifting to the side so he could catch her expression.

Anger.   

He'd seen his sister annoyed. He'd seen his sister frustrated. He'd seen her distressed. He'd seen her scheme and calculate, always finding a way out of anything with her brilliant mind and ambition.

But never before had he seen her like this: dark eyes aflame, hands curled into fists, shoulders bunching up as though she was preparing to land a blow.

Oh. Oh no, no, no, no. A number of curses flashed through his head in all the languages he knew. Farsi. French. English. Urdu. 

He looked down at her, and his expression visibly softened. Alastair tried not to narrow his eyes. 

"James," Cordelia was saying. Her voice sounded normal. "You'd better go."

“Are you sure?” he said in a low voice. “I won’t leave you alone, Cordelia, not unless you wish me to.”

She seemed to rise taller, and in that moment Alastair was reminded why Cortana had chosen her. His sister looked the way their mother was, fire and embers and a gaze so piercing that the other person was left stuttering, though they'd originally come to scrutinize every inch of her. The colour of her eyes, her skin, why she covered her hair with a roosari.

He wished he had their courage. He wished he hadn't withdrawn into the shadows.

Thorns in your way, Esfandiyār, whispered Baba's voice inside his head. Why look back when you can look ahead?

But that would've entailed far worse consequences than a sermon.

Ahead? His thirteen-year-old, iratze-fumbling himself had wanted to snap as he'd stared at the glass sticking out of his foot, blood dripping on the floor. Ahead at your next bottle, Father? 

Cordelia's voice rang out in the hall, sharper than the crack of a whip. "I will say this once and only once, James Herondale. So listen carefully." She took another step closer and Herondale's eyes actually widened. In surprise? Or in whatever the hell had happened between them before coming home? Alastair thought dryly. 

"Do not for one moment think that you are my saviour," Cordelia said through her teeth. The words sent a jolt of surprise through him. "I am thankful for all your help, believe me, but my love for my brother has absolutely nothing to do with this."

A faint smile curled on the edges of Herondale's lips. "You still don't know what he did?"

Cordelia raised her brows, and oh there it was. The sibling resemblance. Clear as day in the anger cloaked behind disdain and a smile. "Why does my love for my family have to come between your feud?" she demanded. "Do I require your blessing to love them? You have notions about my brother that I would have expected from the Pouncebys."

He looked like she’d slapped him awake. "Daisy,  I—"

She took a step back, and the anxiety on his face heightened. Cordelia herself was trembling.

And Alastair? He still couldn't believe his eyes. He couldn't move, save to draw breath. The scene unfolding before him seemed like a fever dream. Cordelia didn’t know how he’d tormented Herondale and Fairchild at the Academy. She had no idea of the bomb going off when he’d been mere inches from the building. She didn’t know why everyone hated him so much. He knew, and perhaps he was a greedy monster for making his sister choose between her love and her family.  

She raised a silencing hand when Herondale opened his mouth. "You assume that you know my brother better than I do. You assume that I am still Daisy—the girl with pretty ribbons in her hair, who needs your help to distinguish right from wrong. I will find out what happened at the Academy, but I will not stand idle while you say Alastair doesn’t deserve my love. You don’t get to choose who does or does not deserve me." She smiled, eyes glittering with the storms of the night. "You hurt my family, Mr. Herondale, and you will face my blade.”

Silence descended. Herondale’s eyes narrowed slightly as he glanced between Alastair and Cordelia. A flicker of longing passed across his face as he saw Layla, there and gone. Alastair was gifted with a long, hard, assessing look. 

“You may take your leave now," Cordelia said coldly.

James's expression shuttered. Was Alastair the only one who noticed his sister's wince? Guilt twisted in his gut.

"Very well, Miss Carstairs," Herondale said in a low monotone. "As you wish."

As soon as he was out of sight, Cordelia seemed to shrink, deflate. 

Alastair snapped back to his senses. There were a number of things demanding his attention but he crossed the room to catch his sister by the elbow, older brother once more. His head was still reeling with the impossible absurdity of what had transpired. 

"Layla?" He tested out the name hesitantly. "What? I mean, you shouldn't have—"

"He said you don't deserve my love." She turned to face him, and to his horror, her dark eyes gleamed with tears. Tears on my behalf, he thought dizzily. 

What was this day?

In all the eighteen years of his life, he’d been used to working from the sidelines, slow and quiet. People did not need to see his tears, his frustration at himself. Only the anger and the sneering indifference he put up to keep them away. It had always been that way, ever since he had held Cordelia in his arms as a confused two-year-old. 

She is so small, mâmân!

I know, joon. Will you promise to help her?

“Why, Layla?” he snapped, and she flinched. He wanted to hit himself all over again. “Why did you do that? Herondale is not wrong. I have hurt people. I have done horrible, despicable things. You’re going to lose out on potential allies because of me, do you realize that? How will you save Father then? I thought--” He broke off, not wanting to say the dreaded word.

She lifted her chin and glared. “You thought what, dâdâsh?”

It was jarring to have heard her defend him, even more jarring than hearing the language of his home, the language he’d spent years shoving down because it tended to attract the wrong sort of attention. It was jarring that she’d even noticed his trembling hands or the tears that were clawing at his throat, begging to be let out. It had been years since he’d truly cried but London seemed hell bent on breaking him. He'd never really thought how much he'd needed Cordelia by his side. How many years had passed with just pushing and pushing and pushing people away until time sped by and they simply grew out of their love for you.

His sister was no longer a baby. She was nearly as tall as him, looking him in the eye, silent and waiting. 

"I thought you-you... loved him."

She closed her eyes. "I do. I think so. It doesn't mean I stand by idly while he goes on insulting my brother. It certainly does not mean that I hold back on my own feelings." Her eyes opened. A wry smile played on her lips. “You keep forgetting that only I am allowed to insult you, Alastair.”

Hoarse laughter escaped him, and Cordelia looked delighted to have been the cause. 

Taglist: @youngreckless @eugeniaslongsword (look, your annoyance inspired me lol), @cant-think-of-anything @reesecarstairs @cherilyn-rose @carstairs-hopelessly

[codenamed-queenie]

#BatsInQuarantine

I am going insane. So I poured my restlessness into one long and very detailed post and got super into it. Please enjoy this hot mess.

The Justice League, being the well-meaning virus-proof Super Friends that they are, took one good look at the news, one good look at their non-powered friends Ollie, Bruce, and their families, and collectively decided that these normal humans must be Protected At All Costs.

Now, keep in mind, Bruce is never one to roll over when it comes to being benched. 

However, he understands the importance of social distancing. He knows he needs to set a good example for his kids, and keep up appearances as Gotham’s Most Responsible Multi-Billionaire. 

So. Quarantine it is. 

But how are his kids handling it?

Dick - 

100% on board in the beginning. Gotta do the Responsible Thing. Gotta set a Good Example. Besides, guys, this is gonna be Fun. Quality Family Time is always a Must.

He lasted 2 days. 

Then he started to get twitchy. 

And as everyone knows? A Trapped Dick Grayson is a Feral Dick Grayson.

He bounces off the walls.

Literally.

“I have to climb.” 

“Dick, no.”  

“I have to climb everything.”

Has scaled the manor 16 times already. Has climbed the chandelier. The banister. Bruce. The roof. The Cave. Anything in the house that’s been bolted down and especially anything that hasn’t. 

Duke found him clinging to the wall 10 ft off the ground like Spiderman and screamed so loud it shattered glass. 

Desperate for news of the outside. 

He thrives off of it like a starving man. 

Was the one to suggest he and Barbara take a break to Social Distance from each other (”Sorry, babe, kissing spreads germs”) and experienced Instant Regret(TM) approximately 5 minutes after. 

The Family has labelled him a Flight Risk Level 1 (Most likely to say f**k it and make a break for the outside world)

Jason - 

Accidentally got trapped inside the manor with the others when Bruce called Shutdown. If he had his way, he’d be chilling in his favorite safe-house right now, binging The Witcher with Roy and Artemis, and not worrying about finding a stray brother in his sock drawer.

But he’s nothing if not an opportunist. 

The way he sees it, Jason has 3 options:

Self Improvement

Self Isolation (See Duke, Cass, and Damian)

Descension Into Madness (See Dick and Steph)

And, well, he always wanted to try a few things. Now he’s got the free time to do it.

So he settles on baking. 

Alfred’s got enough food and raw ingredients stored up to feed an army. (Not because he’s a Panic-Buying-Hoarder in times like these. But because he’s a Panic-Buying-Hoarder all the time. Just try feeding 11+ teenagers sometime.)

Uses recipes he finds off Google.

His first few attempts are, in a word, ‘tragic’.

Alfred slips him a few of his recipe cards, and Jason suddenly starts seeing Results. 

Turns out he’s pretty good at this baking thing once he gets the hang of it. 

Hope everyone’s okay eating nothing but pie, macaroons, biscuits, and whatever else Jason whips up. 

Cause that’s gonna be the only food left by the time he’s done. 

Barbara - 

Self-quarantined with her dad. 

They’ve been binge-watching classic black and white movies together.

It’s a fun time, but she’s started to get a little antsy. Loving her dad and wanting to be around him 24/7 are, understandably, mutually exclusive. 

Calls the manor to video-chat every day.

For her sanity just as much as theirs. 

Gives everyone little challenges to film on their phones and send in. She makes compilations of everyone’s submissions so they can all watch and laugh together. 

Bonus points for Creativity

One comp shows the family trying to drop Mentos into coke bottles. 

Dick did a handstand, and dropped his Mento from the second story balcony. 

Tim did it wearing the Batman cowl. The soda exploded into his face, and the rest of the video is just Bruce’s Shrieking.

Stephanie tried it, but the bottle tipped. Everyone on camera screamed as the bottle rocketed through the front window. 

She spends most of her calls having one-on-one convos with Dick.

They’ve come up with little code phrases so they can be Cheesy even with family members lurking in the background. 

She thinks the way he clings to the monitor is cute. 

Almost like he’s giving her a hug through the screen. 

(It’s easier than letting herself worry about his mental state, at least)

Tim -

Oh this boy.

Freaked out for the first five minutes before he decided ‘hey wait, Bruce is letting me stay in my pajamas all day? Noice.’ 

Now he’s just vibing.

The rest of his family is Low-Key shielding him.

He Has No Spleen, you see.

Steph: “Someone could cough on him and he could die!”

He just goes about his day, playing Animal Crossing like there’s no tomorrow, tinkering on projects, taking naps, etc. Living his best life.

Meanwhile there’s always someone lurking behind him, keeping watch, keeping him safe. 

Dick sneezed within 5 feet of Tim once (the fact that he was on top of the dusty bookshelf Tim was perusing is irrelevant)

Jason still full-body tackled him the second Tim’s back was turned. 

No one with any symptoms--

Like, any symptoms. They don’t even have to be Corona-related.

--is allowed within 10 feet of Tim. 

Tim has been wandering the manor for weeks, now, without seeing another human being. 

(He sees Dick on the ceiling sometimes, but that doesn’t really count)

He’s been trying increasingly drastic pranks and shenanigans to draw someone, anyone, out. 

But it doesn’t matter how many times he steals Damian’s sword, or sets fire to Jason’s brownie bites.

Nobody wants to risk it. 

Cass - 

No one has seen her since quarantine started.

Everyone is approximately 87% sure she’s somewhere in the manor though

Because she does eat the meals Alfred leaves out for her.

Or at least someone does, at any rate. 

(Jason and Santa top the running suspects list)

Santa was Steph’s suggestion. For some reason it snowballed. 

It’s assumed that Cass misunderstood the meaning of ‘social distancing’ and took it too far. 

But no one knows for sure. 

She is Tim’s Guardian Angel. 

People who so much as clear their throats a little too loudly anywhere near him suddenly wake up on a different floor of the house four hours later. 

Duke came closest to spotting her while he was up in the attic. 

Either that, or there’s another Creepy Sister everyone forgot to tell him about living up there.

She is silent, and watchful, sticking to the shadows, but she does leave the occasional note out to brighten her siblings’ day. 

Things like ‘helo i love u’ and ‘hop u ar ok’  mostly. 

She is bound and determined to protect her family from this invisible threat, no matter the cost. 

Steph - 

Like Dick, she was Super Pumped at first. 

(Just kind of showed up at Wayne Manor before quarantine was enacted. The original purpose of her visit is unclear, but regardless, she’s Trapped.)

Also Like Dick, her descent into madness was swift.

She is impossible to pin down. 

Not like Cass or Damian, who’ve stayed off the grid, and are therefore Untraceable. 

No. She’s impossible to pin down, because she never stops moving. 

Switches seamlessly between Zumba on top of the Giant Dinosaur in the Batcave, and furiously knitting Alfred (the Cat) a sweater with a pair of Tim’s used chopsticks. 

Braided everyone’s hair while they were asleep.

Even Bruce’s. 

She tried to do Tim’s, but somehow blacked out and regained consciousness in the attic. 

When she woke up with a scream and a furiously twitching eye, she startled Duke out of his Makeshift Fort he built out of old cardboard boxes and antique furniture. He’s had to resort to finding a new hiding place. 

Sometimes, on the rare occasions she does sit still, staring off into the distance, she’ll suddenly start laughing hysterically. This may last between thirty seconds and thirty minutes, depending entirely on how long it’s been since she’s knitted a cat sweater or done cartwheels through every room in the house.

Blew up the greenhouse out back, somehow.

Everyone has agreed not to talk about it.

Some people were built to handle prolonged time inside their homes.

Stephanie Brown is not that way.

Damian - 

Damian Wayne Cannot Be Contained.

At least not inside the house. 

He took off thirty-six hours into quarantine. 

Thanks to the security equipment around the borders of the Wayne Estate, he can’t escape the grounds. 

(He’s tried and failed multiple times. Jason and Bruce have a running bet on how many times the perimeter alarms will go off per day.)

(Jason is winning.)

He wanders the grounds with Titus as his only companion. 

The two of them run laps, practice drills, and find ways to occupy their time. 

No one’s entirely sure what those ways are. 

In fact, nobody knows exactly where Damian is at any given time. 

Only that he is Out There. 

And he’s the best security system Wayne Manor’s ever had. 

So far, he’s stopped five groups of civilians scaling the perimeter walls before the lasers and electric nets even have a chance to deploy.

They were trying to break in and steal supplies. 

(Even ones they already had in surplus. Like Toilet Paper.)

He’s also stopped Dick from escaping twelve (12) times.

Drags him back by his shirt collar and deposits him on the welcome mat. 

Usually with a note for Alfred/Jason, requesting more fruit tarts. 

Duke - 

Did not leave the attic for two weeks. 

Then Steph discovered his hiding spot (read: was dumped there by Cassandra) which forced him to relocate to the basement. 

Yes, it turns out Wayne Manor does have a basement. 

This was a surprise to Duke, who always thought that the Batcave was Bruce Wayne’s basement. 

Alfred keeps him supplied with all the necessities:

i.e. food, magazines, assorted pastries from Jason’s latest batch, usually straight out of the oven.

Duke also snagged the Manor’s Alexa. 

She has become a sort of ‘Wilson’ to Duke’s ‘Chuck Noland’.

She is his only comfort. His only ally. 

He’s determined to wait out this quarantine, doing his best to avoid the others. 

Duke has seen these people under pressure. 

He knows exactly what he’s dealing with. 

Duke: “Alexa is the only motherf****r in this madhouse I ever respected.”

*offended butler noises from the other room*

Duke: “And also Alfred.”

[arrogantsonofabiscuit]

Coming home-II

Featuring:- Atsumu and Bokuto

A/n:- how bokuto and atsumu surprise their s/o by coming home early! First time writing Bokuto and Atsumu , I hope I do them justice :(

Genre:- Fluff mentions of pet names!

Atsumu Miya:-

Atsumu was out with his teammates for a match he had to play.

Being a setter was so difficult and Atsumu always thrived to give his best. Which he did.

You were on the couch with a book in your hand and some soft lofi music playing in the background. It soothes you somehow and you were lost in your book.

You were so lost that you forgot about the time itself as well as that someone has entered your house.

Normally that would be scary but since this is my piece it’s safe lol.

Ahem...

Atsumu enters your shared apartment with a lil pouty face.

He clears his throat to get your reaction, he waited for a while that’s when you turn your head towards the doorstep to see pouty ‘Tsumu.

“Omg Atsumu ya scared me!!!”

“I did? But ya weren’t even paying attention to yer hot boyfriend! I am supposed to be upset humph 😤.”

“Sorry baby I was just so engrossed that I did not know that you came also aren’t you early? You told me that you would come tomorrow?” You ask him as you make your way towards your pouty cute boyfriend.

“Yeah, I wanted to surprise ya Angel! Also I brought some onigiri’s .”

You hug Atsumu and tip toe to give him a kiss on his forehead, you pull him towards kitchen and make him sit on the chair .

Atsumu was looking at you with loved filled eyes , you brought some plates around with his favourite drink.

He thanks you and feeds you some onigiri and you follow suit.

After an hour or so you were drowsy and so was he . You cleaned the plates and pulled him by his hand towards your bedroom.

You hug him tightly around his waist and he nuzzles his face in your chest and sleeps like a baby.

Maybe that’s what you wanted , Atsumu miya and how cute & adorable he is. Along with his crazy setter skills which sweeps any one off their feet.

Bokuto Koutarou:-

Hey hey hey!!!! Ahem...

Outside hitter of MSBY jackals or called as a simpleton ace.

He was out with his teammates because of his match.

And so were you , you were on a business tour dealing with constant meetings, paperwork and what not. Oof

You were happy because you got to come home early meaning that you would get to cuddle with your big beefy boyfriend 🥺.

But to your dismay Bokuto was not supposed to be home and that made you a bit upset.

You enter your house, placing the key on the table and placing your shoes in the shoe rack.

You made up your mind and decided to have instant ramen as your meal.

“Hey hey hey y/n!!!!! SURPRISE!!”

“AH SHIT !!!!”

“ I am sorry did I scare you?🥺”

Please say no y/n pls 😤😠.

“No Kou it’s just that I did not know that you would be home this early. Weren’t you supposed to come home after 2 more days? I am just surprised love .”

“Oh yeah! Coach Foster told us that we did a great job and so we can go home early !! Aren’t you excited that we get to spend time together!?”

“More than excited! Let me take a shower and let’s watch some movies okay?”

“Yeah before that where are my welcome home kisses?🥺🥺☹️”

“Come here Kou” you kiss his cheeks and he hugs you tightly 🥺.

“Kou what’s that on our dining table? Did you bring us food?”

“Yeah I thought you were craving some Chinese food and I brought you ,your favourite item!”

“I love you Koutarou”

“I love you more baby! Let’s get going now! I am hungry 😅”

How can you say no to that .

Bdjsdbjfjcjf THATS how my mind went writing for him he is so precious I can’t 🥺😭..

I hope you enjoyed! Take care <3

Reblogs are highly appreciated <3

[anarchy-and-piglins]

Phil didn't particularly enjoy his job.

He supposed that was to be expected when one was tasked to dealing so closely with death and decay. An unending stream of souls passed his path – no similitude between their age or gender, their species, or even the manner with which they had perished. Phil found them and with the touch of a hand helped them to their feet, waving away all mortal burdens so they could pass on.

His task was merely to play the guide, he did not need to do anything beyond that. Who died was not up to him, neither was where they went after. Moral judgment was better left up to the deities, and Phil was not a god. But he could offer some kind of solace in their final moments, wipe the pain from their face and help them depart to whatever it was they were destined for next. Over time he had gathered expertise at comforting the dying.

Some wanted to be held as they died, both arms wrapped tightly around Phil's waist and rapid heartbeat slowing to a tilt. Others talked until they ran out of breath, recounting snippets of the stories they had lived or simply told Phil how scared they were to die with sobs shaking their chest. Then he would wipe away their tears and console them with the knowledge that soon all pain would fade. Others still were content in the silence, their only fear dying alone and forgotten. Phil sat with them in company, humming a song to himself that he hoped eased their way into death.

Then he would touch them carefully, their soul a bright burning like a flame held to his open palm. He would guide them where they needed to go, and not dwell on if their passing was just or not.

People had mistaken him to be the angel of death before, never mind the fact that this title was an oxymoron by nature. Phil knew it probably had to do with his wings, long feathers stretched out behind him in an arch of dark grays and black. It was a wrong assumption people made about him which he regarded with patient allowance, sometimes even aiding the moniker in its spread. He didn't mind if that was what people thought him to be.

But being an angel of death would imply he brought death with him where he went, a harboring of future loss yet to come. On the contrary, Phil felt as if he was always one step behind, chasing a shadow that fled before him and took lives where it settled. He arrived at the battlefield long after the banners had already been torn down, the ground reduced to a jutting landscape of limbs and discarded weapons. He crossed the sea of corpses – detached to the sense of dread such a scene would induce in normal people – and set about guiding the soul he had been tasked to find onward.

The sight of a man barely into his thirties, frightened expression frozen on his face when the javelin had been driven into his chest, made his heart clench.

Phil didn't particularly enjoy his job, no. But it was an obligation that needed to be filled, and he had been the one chosen to do so.

He only strayed from that path a handful of times.

The first time he did, the sunlight was bright. The air was filled with an sense of exhilaration, the rushing of people along cobblestone streets and children shrieking as they played between their parents' legs. Phil drew his robe closer around himself; even after all this time he was filled with unease.

His work didn't often call him to places so full of life – so full of happiness – unless something terrible was about to happen. And he braced himself for the consequences.

But instead, the pull on his soul was languid, small tugs towards the town's bustling square. A slow death then, somebody slipping away into old age? He traced his eyes along the houses, wondering if that was all it was. Natural causes rarely needed his services. Souls that passed on in a tranquil fashion wouldn't require guidance to find the afterlife. It was those that struggled with accepting death that concerned his labor.

Instead, his gaze fell on a shape standing hunched over on the edge of the square and Phil felt his heart drop.

The boy couldn't be too old, barely a teenager to most. His matted, curly dark hair was half-hidden under a beanie and his long legs were slightly shaking beneath his thin frame. Despite the tremble, he was playing an old guitar, deft fingers moving smoothly along the string. As Phil approached he could hear the music the boy was playing, a tune of his own devising no doubt. Phil liked it.

The crowd must not agree. The boy's basket, a small thing with cloth at the bottom to keep coins from falling through the cracks, was empty. People hurried past, barely giving the musician a second glance, and even if they stopped to watch him play for a moment, they didn't leave a contribution behind. Humans could be disgustingly selfish like that.

As Phil observed more closely he could tell why he was here.

How long had the boy been doing this? Traveling around from town to town and settling only long enough to play his music in the hopes some would take pity on him and offer money for his skill. Whatever luck he had found must have been few and far between. His bones were too visible beneath the skin, his cheeks hollowed out and sunken. Bright eyes that Phil somehow knew were supposed to spark with life had become dull in the face of malnutrition.

And still the boy was playing.

After a few minutes more – during which Phil simply watched – the boy grew too tired to continue much longer. He sunk down onto his knees with a sigh, the guitar cradled in his lap protectively. The only valuable possession he was most likely to have. His shoulders sagged as he pushed a hand against his empty stomach, scrunching his face up from what Phil assumed must be pretty horrible hunger pains. He didn't seem to have the strength to raise his head again.

Phil approached, tipping his hat in the belief that it would make him seem less threatening to the starved teen. "That was some lovely playing."

With strenuous effort, the boy looked up at him and despite the circumstances, offered him a lopsided grin. From up closer, Phil could tell how young he really was. "Thanks man, I wrote it myself."

Just as he had expected. It pulled at Phil, the physical thrumming of a soul about to leave its body as it succumbed to starvation. And it was cruel, as the humans behind them walked along the town square, buying food from stands and trading for gold. Meanwhile, a child sat here starving because there was nobody to look after him.

A sharp inhale from Phil to ground himself. Time slowed down around them as he unfurled his wings, all other movement slowing down by the molasses-like pull of his power. Only the boy would be able to see, but his eyes widened nonetheless.

"Oh," he said, a small sigh of resignation. He didn't seem surprised. "You're here to take me away right?"

"I am," Phil confirmed quietly. He wasn't too used to people staying this calm in the face of his true form.

The boy smiled again, more timid and broken through by exhaustion not of his age. He had already reconciled with what was about to happen. Phil knelt down in front of him.

"Are you scared?"

"I guess not," the boy answered. "There's just... just a lot more I wanted to do, you know?"

Phil couldn't. He couldn't know because he had been immortal since the first dawn. He had no grasp on the concept that was the painfully human fear of running out of time. But he nodded anyway. Holding out his hand, he hesitated only a moment before touching the tips of his fingers to the boy's forehead.

His soul glowed dimly in his ribcage, proof that he was running out of life. The color was a stunning yellow, woven through with odd traces of blue. Like a sunrise being steadily overtaken by the noon sky. Within lay the power of creation, the power to bring words and music to completion. Phil didn't know what came over him, but he felt pity for this boy's death.

Then he felt it. The push was subtle, a tingle down his spine and he leaned into it, wondering what would happen. How painful it would be for him. "What's your name?" he asked.

The boy opened his eyes, slipped close from fatigue. "Wilbur."

Phil pushed harder and the horrible feeling of draining that came over him was hard to bear. Dizzy as it made him, he kept at it. Emptiness washed over him, but then he noticed the way Wilbur's eyelashes fluttered, the way his chest heaved in for a deep breath.

Returning life to a mortal had been a first for him.

Wilbur blinked wearily, probably confused by his sudden surge of energy. The absent hunger that had plagued him for weeks. "Wha-"

"Wilbur," Phil said softly, as time resumed its restored flow around them. His wings had been retracted and Phil stood with a feeling like he had permanently lost something important. "How would you like to travel some more? With me."

The second time he did it, the world was struck through with red.

Phil huffed to himself and removed his hat to fan his face with it instead. He quite despised being sent into the nether – something that had only occurred on rare occasions.

It wasn't that his services weren't appropriate to this dimension. Death permeated this place more than any other he had visited during his travels, naturally dangerous terrain and many hostile creatures making it an unwelcoming venture. But the few sentient beings that lived and thrived in the nether did not have the same qualms with death as most did, not fearing it as the end of all things temporary.

Some even revered it as the final blaze of glory to be feverishly sought after.

Most passed on easily, with fervor. It rarely occurred to them to resist the pull of the beyond or make the transition harder than it needed to be.

Not this time apparently. Phil traveled the cracked ground, the unpleasant heat of the lava running beneath it keeping him light on his toes. The pull was strong this time, an urgent tugging like a fish hooked on a line, meaning that whoever was dying had to be in considerable pain. He felt their panic, something bordering on sharp-set denial. A warrior not prepared to lay down his sword?

The boy he found was not a warrior.

In fact, he was barely old enough to hold a sword without the weight of it crushing him. He did have a blade, tiny fist curled tightly around the iron hilt. When he spotted Phil he clutched it firmly and raised it in an ill-concealed threat. Or maybe a gesture of self-preservation.

The warning held little weight when the boy was clearly making an effort to keep standing on his feet. Long strands of pink hair stuck to his face and back – slick with sweat and blood. Fresh cuts and bruises were hardly distinguishable from older scars and the signs of battles wrought long ago. The deepest gash ran along the boy's side and over his chest, still seeping red and probably soon to be fatal. Phil frowned.

"Hey, calm down." He held up his arms placatingly. "I'm not going to hurt you." Not technically a lie, of course.

The boy grunted at him, a low visceral noise that could hardly be called human. Phil realized why a moment later, as he stepped closer and finally realized the person in front of him wasn't human either. Maybe he could be mistaken for one at a glance – aside from the peculiar color of his hair – but upon closer inspection, the illusion quickly fell through.

Sharp claws extended from the hands he used to hold his sword up with and what Phil had mistaken for clunky old shoes turned out to be hooves instead. piglin-like ears were barely visible through the boy's hair and when he made another angry sound, the beginnings of tusks yet to grow in completely revealed themselves. Well, that explained why a child would be all alone in this hellhole.

Another step forward and that was the moment Phil realized that if this child was not human his common tongue would probably not be understood. He was just starting to scour his brain for some distant knowledge of the piglin language he must surely possess when he was hit square in the forehead with a stone.

Phil yelped, blinking just in time to see the kid run off.

Well, that had certainly never happened before. Most of the people he was sent to collect didn't have the stamina left to try and outrun him. Not that it made a difference anyway, as the pull of his soul would inform him of their location no matter how far they went.

A few minutes later he already came upon the boy again, this time lying face-down on the ground, blood loss finally getting the better of him. His sword was still clutched at his side. Phil stalked over calmly, hoping to anticipate any other projectiles coming his way but the child was probably in no condition to try that stunt again. Kneeling at their head, Phil turned them around carefully.

The child's burning red eyes were half-lidded in pain and every inhale rattled inside his chest unsteadily, troubled by his slowing pulse. he was dying fast. Yet when Phil brought his hand forward the kid's own came up to snatch his wrist, pulling weakly at his arm.

It wasn't exactly fear that contorted the boy's face, Phil had seen enough people cower at the prospect of death to recognize the cowardice with which most people faced their demise. This was something else. This was resistance in its purest form, a survival instinct that ran deeper than blood could. The boy let out a subdued whine, lacking the energy for anything more, as he tried to push Phil's hand away or get free from his grip.

Once again Phil felt that familiar pity tug at him.

He pushed through the kid's feeble struggle to touch his forehead, feeling the pulsing of his soul. It became a visible swirl of misty blood, the colors presented in all shades of red - from lightest pink to a maroon so dark it seemed to steal the light away. Phil had to bite down on his own tongue when the first wave of hurting hit him.

He was familiar with pain, but mending another and bringing them from the brink of death was entirely new. It burned along Phil's veins, a liquid fire not unlike the scorching sulfur of the nether itself. The boy shifted a bit in his grasp before finally settling down and slipping into sleep, the worst of his wounds gone. Phil lifted him as he stood up, noticing he weighed next to nothing.

The stinging sensation lingered inside his nerves as he carried the child out of the nether.

The last time he did it was on a dark and stormy night.

The rain came down on Phil relentlessly, soaking his clothes and hair both. Thick droplets clung to his face and he had to wipe at his eyes continually to even be able to see three feet in front of him. He hated this, he'd much rather stay inside on an evening as miserable as this. But when the pull called Phil would answer. It wasn't like he had a choice.

And it was strange, weak in its force but forming almost a mirror image of echoes in his ribcage. Phil wasn't used to that happening often, cautious as to what it would mean. Souls rarely passed in such unison, a synchronized entwinement. The last time he had experienced this he found a mother in labor, alone and afraid as she tried to birth her child into this unforgiven world. Neither had survived the ordeal.

Phil had soothed himself with the knowledge that they would be united in the afterlife.

This pull was slightly different though, and he followed it strangely as it led him deeper into the forest. Any moment he expected a building to dawn in front of him, a secluded cabin or some other sign of civilization. The thicket never thinned out and no light filtered through a window appeared on the horizon. The pull intensified and Phil swallowed, aware of what this meant.

There were two of them, curled up close into each other to conserve their dwindling body heat. The smaller boy was unconscious, clinging to life with some stray strings of determination fast slipping away, brown hair wet and stuck in angles to his face. The other seemed to be of similar age and had blonde hair he rubbed out of his eyes. He perked his head up as he heard Phil's approach, and curled his arms tighter around the other one in a clear display of protectiveness.

Phil stood across the clearing and stared at them.

Part of him wanted to ask what they were doing out here – even if it didn't matter, even if they were already dying from the exposure to cold wearing their bones down. Stealing the heat of life from their very skin as they clung to each other in idle hope.

He didn't need to ask, however. The clothes they wore were telltale of the many orphanages Phil had needed to visit over his life, the way the fabric always seemed to come inches short and the shoes were loose on their feet, worn by a child they were not intended for. Nobody had bothered to give them proper care.

"Who's there?!" the boy who was still awake said, voice firm and puffed up with false bravado. Phil could sense the fright hiding beneath, but the boy was doing well subduing it.

He made his presence known, keeping his wings invisible for the moment as to not scare them any further. "Hey, it's okay kid-" Phil tried, volume as low and unthreatening as he could make it while still being loud enough to be perceivable over the storm. The rain made him blink fast, trying to force a smile despite the unpleasant wetness.

"Stay the fuck away!" The boy sprung up with surprising agility for somebody who must be suffering from serious hypothermia. He had a small pocket knife, the blade dull and glistening in the moonlight, which he held in front of him as if it could protect anybody. "Don't come any closer, you weirdo!"

The last word caught Phil off guard and he nearly burst out laughing. "Weirdo?"

The kid bit his lip, probably thrown by his strange reaction. "Y-yeah. Why else would some dude just be wandering the woods at night? You must be some kind of creep." He moved the knife again, but there was no urgency behind it.

He wasn't shivering either, which was a bad sign. Once you got cold enough, your body couldn't even muster the strength to shake. The unconscious boy sighed out a soft sound of discomfort and the other turned around, hastily scooting over to try and rub his friend's arms warm.

"T-tubbo, dude, don't-" he was muttering under his breath.

"What happened?" Phil asked despite himself. He knew it wouldn't help to know.

"It's none of your fucking business!" the boy answered heatedly, but his voice was already breaking down. A few more steps closer and Phil could see the tears streaking down his cheeks. He pressed both hands to his friend's face, shaking him lightly. "Tubbo, please get up we need to leave."

The smaller boy – Tubbo – murmured something but didn't wake up. Phil could tell he was already done for. The other one would be shortly behind.

He hated how the pity swelled up again, bitter and destructively human.

"I can help," he heard himself saying, and unfurled his wings to their full stature. The rain slowed, suspended in the air and the boy looked at him with weary eyes, equal measures of concern and hesitance. "Do you have a name?"

The boy started shaking his head as if he was reluctant to give it up. But then he thought better of it. "Tommy," came the clipped response.

"Tommy," Phil repeated. "May I help you? May I help your friend?"

That same uncertainty returned to his face, brow furrowed in thought and his eyes moved side to side, scrutinizing Phil's form and most likely weighing his options. He must have realized any other plans had been exhausted and gave a short nod.

Phil moved in gradually to show he meant no harm. Tommy still had most of his body put in front of Tubbo, still shielding him in case this turned out to be a bad decision. He flinched when Phil stretched out his hand, which he pretended not to notice.

His soul was almost effervescent, murky green like the shallow waters and mingles of orange and red. It seemed to move beneath Phil's touch, curious as to what was happening. Tommy's skin was clammy and cold as ice.

Feeling that same coldness in his gut, Phil pushed life into the soul. The warmth of divine light flooded out of him, tethered on the edge and he tried not to shiver under the assault, the hollow feeling that entrapped him. Tommy's paleness drew away with his efforts.

When he was done he took off his robe, soaked but at least another barrier against the wind as he threw it over Tommy's shoulders. The boy was wide-eyed, freckles dotted along his nose, and probably confused as to what was even happening. Phil eased him with a gentle smile.

"Now your friend too, yes? You can both come to my home, it will be much better there than out here in the rain."

Phil didn't particularly enjoy his job, but he enjoyed the gifts it had granted him.

His wings and the ability they gave him to travel. He had crossed wild lands and sullen deserts. He had passed by oceans and beneath skies of colors unimaginable to most. The world had lain beneath him sprawled out like a patchwork blanket as he soared the clouds, everything below so small he could hardly imagine it being real.

He had witnessed generations. He had seen the best that others could offer – and yes, the worst too but he had made the conscious decision not to dwell on that. He had known cultures and kingdoms, tasted foods and danced to music and admired flowers that had long since been forgotten to the history books.

And now he had a family too.

Phil had paid his dues. Immortality was a strange thing, a blanket that wrapped around you and made you forget you were different from others. Age never touched Phil and it still couldn't, but other things had been granted that ability.

Hunger and thirst, where it used to be that neither bothered him. When feasts were a mere indulgence instead of a necessity, they were now an aspect of survival. A blade could cut him down, where it could hardly slice his skin before. He was not invulnerable to the destroying of his body anymore. And cold and heat became a constant struggle, tiredness pulled at his mind and Phil found himself craving and needing sleep when he never had previously.

His family had made him more human than he expected, in every sense of the word.

But when he looked at them around his table, joking and laughing in jest, the radiation of souls alive and well, Phil knew it was a price he had gladly paid.

[tomboyneedshercoffee]

Lovedust pt.7 || Peter Parker x Stark Reader

Summary: It’s the night of the party and Y/N is having seconds thoughts about going but her friend Kim convinces her to go and have fun. While things get more complicated with Peter, Y/N and Josh get closer at the party. 

Word Count: MF 7.7K ( This is my longest piece I-)

Author’s note: YALL HERE WE ARE! THE BIG OOPSIE DOOPSIE OF LOVEDUST! This is probably my favorite part that I have written so far- it’s fairly long but boy did my heart HURT. I would say we have about maybe 2-3 chapters left give or take and I’m so bummed the story is almost over :(. Thank you all for being incredibly kind, your support means so much I can’t thank you guys enough. ALSO hehe there’s a lil easter egg from the first chapter and the chapter with Y/N having a nightmare. If yall pay attention to some of the wording at the end...

Warnings: Underage drinking, adult language, angst, mentions of death

part one || part two || part three || part four || part five || part six || part seven || part eight || epilogue

You wanted it to be a normal night, one that in hindsight, would’ve worked out in your favor if you were normal to begin with. You weren’t the partying type or maybe, you just convinced yourself that it wasn’t the case since you were hardly invited to them to begin with. 

As if it made any sense, you felt eerily similar to Cinderella at this moment; even though she was one of the worst princesses in your opinion, you still sympathized with her story. The idea of wanting nothing more than to leave the confines of her dusty attic to dress pretty for a ball was something you could sadly relate to. 

While the Avengers complex was by far well above the average means, it was Cinderella longing for just one night away from her complicated life that made you see the story in a different light. 

But after years of wondering what it would be like to go to a real party (now that you were offered the chance to go) it wasn’t the way you dreamed it would be. As you stood in front of your closet, recalling the times you had put on outfits that you thought would be the perfect party attire just seemed like pieces of cloth, nothing more and nothing less. 

Because you didn’t care about the stupid party. You cared about Peter. 

You had put so much blame on him for everything; his feelings that he couldn’t control and his past which he apologized for multiple times. When you had the chance to fix everything, you were too scared to be vulnerable with him and admit that maybe you were falling for him. 

You weren’t a coward, you wanted to convince yourself that you could still move on and have fun without thinking of him but you felt almost embarrassed that you were feeling the opposite. 

“ I don’t want to go anymore. This isn’t right,” You sighed as you turned to your phone that was propped up against your dresser,” I can’t just leave him here while I go off to some party.”

You watched Kim through the facetime call as she put down her mascara to take a second to look at you,” Y/N, you have been talking about this party all week. Hell, I gave you that blue top that makes your boobs look great and you even said you couldn’t wait to wear it to the party!”

You only hummed in response as you moved aside the hangers in your closet to find the top that Kim had let you borrow. 

“ We mentally prepared for this, we watched Superbad and Booksmart in one night to get the full spectrum of high school parties and we even practiced how to play beer pong!”

“ That was on our phones, I’m sure it’s different in real life,” You sighed as you took off your shirt and slipped on Kim’s blue blouse,” I just feel awful about going to a party knowing Peter is just gonna be here all night.” 

“ Y/N, you deserve this party. You’ve worked your ass off for four years and I know how badly you wanted to go ever since we got uninvited to that one theatre party where Timothy Chalamete supposedly showed up to. I know you feel guilty about Peter and yeah, you kinda fucked things up, for now, but you deserve a goddamn break,” Kim practically yelled through the screen, doing her best to hype you up,” if you don’t go, you’re gonna regret it, you and I both know that. So just get dressed, do your hair all cute and shit, put on makeup or whatever you do and go have fun at this party with Josh.”

“ Fuck, Josh! I completely forgot about him, he’s supposed to pick me up in an hour!” You said as you suddenly felt a wave of nerves come over you,” what do I do about Josh? What if he tries to make a move on me tonight?”

“ Do you want him to make a move?”

“ I don’t know...not really but then again, I wouldn’t mind. Don’t hate me cause I know this sounds shitty, but maybe I need a distraction from Peter...is that awful?” You asked as you slipped off your pajama pants and rummaged through your dresser for jeans,” don’t answer that, I know that’s awful to say. Am I turning into a fuckboy?”

“ If you feel empathy than no, you’re not turning into a fuckboy,” Kim laughed as you found a pair of jeans to slip into,” look, I know how you feel about Peter and if you see yourself wanting to be with him than this thing you have with Josh won’t happen. At the same time, even if you do like Peter and you want to have fun with Josh for a night, you’re not a shitty person for wanting that. You’ve been through the wringer with Peter and to be honest, Josh is literally a goddamn angel so I don’t blame you for seeing him as an option. Either way, you’re hot, smart as fuck, and you are a fucking Stark; you don’t owe Peter or Josh anything so do what you want to do because you deserve it.” 

Kim was every protagonist’s wet dream; the side character who had more to offer every time and yet, she practically thrived off of hyping you up. You knew that she had a point, she always did. 

A part of you could tell which way she was leaning in terms of who you would go out with and yet, she only cared that you were making the right choice for yourself and your own happiness. 

“ You really are a ride or die friend,” You said honestly as Kim smiled back,” I’m going to get ready but I’ll see you there okay?” 

“ Will do girlfriend!”

Once the facetime call ended, you leaned back in your chair and stared at yourself in the mirror. 

You didn’t know what your intentions would be for the night and even though Kim had said you wouldn’t be a bad person if you had fun with Josh, you knew you would still feel shitty doing so, especially when you knew that you had strong feelings for Peter. 

As you fixed up your hair, all you could do was replay the conversation with Peter in the rain and how close you were to confessing everything. Looking back, you knew you were stupid for running away, if you really liked him than what was the problem of letting him know how you felt?

Because you knew once he was cured, he wouldn’t share the same feelings for you. 

In every sense of the lovedust, the way Peter felt about you wasn’t natural and yet, it was the lovedust that really made you like Peter back. 

You were just saving yourself from future heartbreak and given your past relationships, you had a reason to be hesitant in being that vulnerable with another guy. 

And yet, you still feel like you owed Peter an explanation. 

You got up from your seat and walked out of your bedroom, making a beeline towards his room. You were sure he was done with testing at this point but after knocking on his door a few times, there still wasn’t a response. 

You opened the bedroom door to find his room completely empty with everything neatly tucked in place as if he was cleaning up for a guest. 

The complex was big but you knew you would run into sometime before Josh showed up so you walked straight out and went to the elevators to make your way up to the labs. As you pressed the elevator button, you felt some unease sitting at the pit of your stomach. 

Something felt off, whether it be your natural woman inclination or just the fact that you were nervous to confront Peter. 

The elevator doors slid open and you walked in before you pressed the button to the designated floor like it was second nature.

Just breath, you’re fine, why are you freaking out?

You felt your phone buzz in your pocket and once you pulled it out, you felt your heart skip a beat when you saw Josh’s contact name pop up. 

Josh: I just left my apartment! I’ll see you in 20 min!

Your stomach shifted once again as you replied back before stuffing your phone back into your front pocket. 

Twenty minutes. 

That was enough time to confess to Peter right? 

The elevator doors opened to the lab and you walked towards the main zone with a slow pace, as if the anticipation would suddenly make you feel less nervous. 

Once you rounded the corner to where your dad and Banner were usually working on Peter, you found the room to be completely empty besides for a few lab technicians who were working rather quickly. 

You took a moment to give one last look into the lab before going down the hallway to peek into the other glass rooms to try and find Peter. You had a feeling that maybe you should’ve checked the gym before coming all the way up to the labs but once you found yourself in front of the last room, you spotted your dad and Banner walking out with grim faces. 

“ Dad? Is everything okay?” You asked as their heads whipped around to turn to you,” have you two seen Peter anywhere?” 

You studied your dad’s face carefully but he gave no inclination of what the situation was, a talent he had grown accustomed to since he was your age. You gave up on your dad and watched Banner’s face, a face you always had a talent of reading easily. 

He kept his eye contact anywhere but towards your direction and the collar around his neck was wet, a sign that he was stressed out.

“ Banner, where’s Peter?” You asked again as you looked up at him before moving your eyes toward the room they had just walked out of,” is he in there?” 

“ He’s-”

“Resting. He’s had a day full of tests so we put him in one of the hospital beds just to keep an eye on him,” Your dad interrupted as you watched Banner gulp,” it’s not a big deal kiddo.”

Liar. 

“ Okay...well if it’s not a big deal than I’m gonna go check up on him to make sure he’s okay,” You said wearily as you tried to walk in between your dad and Banner but he took a step to block you. 

“ Y/N, he’s not feeling well-”

“ Why are you lying?” You asked as you looked back at Banner,” what are you two not telling me?”

Your dad kept up the charade and sighed as if he was annoyed,” Kiddo, he’s K.O’d for the night. You know, lots of tests and meds that’ll have him relaxed for a few hours. Maybe you should check up on him tomorrow.” 

You could tell he was trying so hard to keep up the lie and while your dad was a phenomenal liar, you were smart enough to see right through his act. 

All you could do was nod as you played coy,” Okay, that’s fine. Oh! I wanted to let you know I’m going to that party tonight so I won’t be home until later.”

As you were studying Tony, he was doing the same right back at you. It was like a game of chess; who would break first, who had the upper hand, and who was going to make the next move without disrupting their own game. 

“ Alright, just be safe than. Be back before eleven,” Tony said as he patted your shoulder and started walking with you back to the elevator, his hand almost leading you away from the door,” Remember; Beer before liquor, never been sicker.”

You couldn’t take it anymore, you needed to know what was wrong with Peter. 

You stopped in your tracks as you turned around to face your dad and Banner, who was still avoiding your gaze. You knew something was up, it was painfully obvious and you weren’t going to just turn over and accept defeat. 

“ Would you ever lie to me?” You asked as your dad inhaled sharply, immediately shaking his head without a second thought,” okay.” 

You peeked your eyes back to the door and before you knew it, you ducked under your dad’s arm and ran over to the room where you were sure they were hiding Peter away. 

“ Y/N, stop!” 

You ran even faster as you practically slid against the tiled floor before throwing open the door to find Peter in the hospital bed. A huge heart monitor was connected to the side that had immediately spiked when you entered the room. 

“ Y/N? What are you doing here?” Peter asked as he sat up in his bed as your eyes traveled to several IV’S that were attached to his forearm. 

The first thing you focused on was how pale he looked. Whatever the hospital gown couldn’t cover showed almost a ghostly touch to his usual lush color. Since the lovedust, he had always had a blushful expression, accessorized with flushed cheeks or red tinted ears but now, there was none of that. 

You could hear your dad and Banner behind you but before your dad could drag you back, you could hear Banner talking your dad out of it to ‘give the kids some time.’ 

You didn’t even bother saying thank you as the door shut behind you, leaving you and Peter alone in the room. You were almost scared to come closer to him, he didn’t look like himself at all. 

You looked towards the heart monitor again which caused Peter’s heart rate to spike up with the thought alone. 

“ Tell me what happened,” You finally said as you made your way over to sit on the edge of Peter’s bed,” it’s serious, isn’t it?” 

Peter swallowed nervously but shrugged like it was nothing,” Your dad was there before anything bad happened.”

You shook your head, you weren’t going to get any information out of him like this. You turned to the side of his hospital bed and picked up a clipboard with his medical information. Peter tried grabbing it out of your hands but you stared him down, as if to say ‘ don’t try me.’ 

Peter backed down as your eyes scanned the sheet carefully, trying to decipher all of the medical lingoes that were vaguely familiar from watching Grey’s Anatomy. 

You felt your breath hitch as you read over the same diagnosis. 

“ You had an acute heartattack because of me, didn’t you?” You finally said as you carefully placed the clipboard on the desk beside you,” because of our argument... and you weren’t going to tell me.” 

“ Y/N, there was no reason to worry you-”

“ You’re so stupid Peter, why wouldn’t I be worried for you? You think an acute heartattack is something as normal as a fucking cold?” You snapped as you watched his heart rate rise. You took a deep breath and ran your fingers through your hair to calm yourself down,” I’m killing you. Loving me is literally killing you Peter.”

Peter watched your gaze fall back to the IV’S while he kept his eyes on you the whole time. You looked absolutely defeated and he didn’t blame you. The way you stared at his arm made him feel like you were trying to somehow reverse the lovedust, as if you could take his pain away. 

And yet, what you didn’t know was that Tony had just come in minutes before you to announce that yes, you could actually take the pain away forever. 

“ What about you? Is it killing you?” Peter asked as you tore your eyes away from his IV’s and locked your gaze on him.

“ Seeing you like this? Of course it’s killing me, I’m not that cruel Parker.”

“ No,” Peter swallowed dryly,” is it killing you that you might love me?” 

Your first instinct was to laugh. What kind of sick joke was coming out his mouth? You tried to force any sound, anything that was a resemblance of something from English translation but your brain mentally stuttered. 

It was as if your mind and words went on pause to let your thoughts catch up to you. Were you really that easy to read or did Peter know you better than you know yourself? 

“ How do I answer that?” You asked quietly as Peter was quick with a reply. 

“ You answer it honestly.”

“ Oh, because you have been so honest with me?”

“ You haven’t been telling me the truth either. You’re a lot of things Y/N, but you’re not innocent.” 

“ Oh yeah? What am I then? Since you clearly know so much about me,” You replied to somehow detour the conversation. 

Peter gladly took the bait as he chuckled,” You’re stubborn. You’re the most stubborn girl I have ever met in my entire life and I love that about you. It makes things interesting knowing that you don’t roll over for anyone, even when you know you’re wrong.” 

You only hummed, he had a point. You had learned that from Tony and you weren’t ashamed about it one bit. 

“ Well, I love how foolishly selfless you are. You always put everyone else’s feelings before yours even when your health is at stake,” You said back as Peter’s smile faltered. 

Oh how spot on you were. 

Cause in this moment now, Peter was between a rock and a hard place. He had information that you didn’t have, information that would seemingly fix everything and yet, he didn’t want you to know. 

The cure for the lovedust. 

“ You’re keeping something from me, aren’t you?” You said after studying his expression for a moment as Peter released his bottom lip that he was holding in between his teeth nervously. 

Yes. 

“ I think you’re the one not being honest with your feelings,” Peter said as a matter of fact,” why won’t you admit it?”

You wanted to swallow your pride because damn it, you didn’t want a repeat of earlier. You didn’t want to chicken out but could you afford to be vulnerable again?

“ Peter...I don’t want to admit anything until you’re in the right state of mind,” You finally said, which was the most honest answer you could give,” after all, we both know what you’re feeling for me isn’t the same as how I feel for you...it’s a side effect of the dust.”

Peter only nodded, even though there was so much to say to you. Peter felt like he was in a slowburn novel, but damn, even at this point there had to be more to give right? If this was a story of two people who were meant to be together, then why the hell is it taking so long? 

If Peter could have it his way, he would rewrite it to where they could be happily ever after in the first chapter but sadly, this was real life and there wasn’t that kind of luxury. 

“You’re right, it’s not the same,” Peter said bitterly as his sympathetic smile faded,” just a side effect.” 

You both understood. As things stood now, it was more of a standstill than anything. A pause, a pitstop, anything to halt whatever momentum the two of you shared.  You felt absolutely broken that he admitted it, his “love” for you wouldn’t ever be the same as however, you felt about him in that moment. 

Just like that, you both knew you were doomed from the start.

You felt your phone vibrate in your pocket and you already knew it was Josh. You inhaled deeply as you gave Peter’s hand a squeeze before rising from his bed,” I’m gonna go but if anything happens, call me okay?” 

“ Same goes for you. Be safe,” Peter said in almost a whisper as you nodded before turning to the door. 

You walked out of the room and leaned against the door for a moment collecting your thoughts. You ignored the gaze of Banner and your dad and seemingly walked through the two without batting an eye. 

Tony felt guilty knowing that you had caught him in a lie but he really thought he was doing his daughter a favor. Once he knew you were gone, Tony walked through the door to find Peter deep in thought. 

Tony shut the door behind him and walked over, taking a seat in the chair beside Peter’s bed. No one said anything for a moment but Peter was the one to break the silence first. 

“ I didn’t tell her about the cure. I don’t think she would even want to...” Peter admitted as Tony nodded. 

Tony crossed his arms and leaned back in his chair, his mind wandering in every direction,” Good call. Thor said our time is fleeting so we need to make sure it works.” 

Peter shifted nervously in his spot,” You and Banner won’t stop finding a different cure though, right? Just in case?” 

“ Yeah, just in case.” 

                                                       -------

“ You look nervous,” Josh pointed out once the two of you pulled up into the driveway of Amber’s house,” did you want to wait a second before we walk in?” 

You shook your head as you tried to swallow any nerves that were building up in your throat. You couldn’t believe you were actually about to go to a party after everything that has been going on. 

“ No, I’m fine...It sounds stupid but I don’t really do parties so this is all kinda new,” You admitted as you took in another deep breath. 

“ It’s not stupid at all. If it makes you feel any better, I usually get pretty antsy before preforming but now that I know you’re going to watch me, I feel less nervous,” Josh smiled warmly as you started to feel your senses ease,” parties aren’t as scary as you think. Yeah, there are always a lot of people I don’t know but seeing a familiar face is always reassuring.” 

Josh had a way of calming you down that no other person could do so easily. You wondered if someone else had said the same thing to you like Kim or Peter and if it would have the same effect but maybe it was just exclusively Josh that had that sort of charm. 

“ Okay, I’m ready.”

The funny thing was, you really thought you were ready until you stepped into her house. The floor vibrated along to the beat of whatever song was blasting along the speakers and the smell of alcohol and weed felt almost suffocating. You were immediately overwhelmed with the amount of people already there and of course, you hardly recognized anyone from school. 

“ Here, hold on tight,” Josh intertwined his fingers with yours as he led you both through the crowd of teenagers almost too effortlessly. 

He led you outside and you thanked god the stage that was set up for his band was in the backyard. You walked along the poolside, following closely behind him before you felt someone splash you with water. 

“ Hey what- Kim!” You shouted excitedly as you let go of Josh’s hand to crouch down beside the pool to where Kim was swimming in just her bra and underwear,” you’re not even wearing a swimsuit? You dirty bitch.”

Kim laughed as she rested her hands against the edge of the pool,” Took you two long enough. Joshua, how are you this evening?” 

“ It’s going good Kimberly, I hope you’re enjoying yourself,” Josh teased back as Kim playfully rolled her eyes,” Y/N, I’m gonna check in with the guys real quick. Are you cool to stay here for a second?”

You nodded and shooed Josh with your hand,” Go, I’ll be fine.”

Josh gave you one last nod before jogging over to where his band was setting up. His bandmates had seen you walking over hand in hand with you and were now giving Josh hard pats on his back, as if to say ‘ nice job.’ 

“ He’s so respectful it physically hurts. Like I know the bar is so low for men but Josh checks every box. It’s annoying,” Kim sighed as you dragged a lawn chair from the grass and put it next to the edge of the pool to continue talking to your friend,” I would kill to be in your shoes right now. Oh to have two, brown-eyed guys fawn over me!” 

You couldn’t help but laugh as Kim dramatically placed her hand over her forehead and all you could do was shake your head,” Whatever, you didn’t even like Peter. You said so yourself he was a total douchebag.” 

“ Was a total douchebag and look, not that it’s any competition but I’m hashtag, team Peter. I’m a sucker for a good enemies to lovers trope,” Kim sighed as you felt your chest tighten up at her proclamation. 

You moved your eyes away from Kim as Josh came back over to you,” Did you want me to get you a drink?”

“ Thank goodness yes-”

“Y/N you should go with him,” Kim insisted as you turned to give her an odd look,” don’t get me wrong Joshua, I trust you but ya know, parties and alcohol and...men. Just to be extra safe.” 

You wanted to drown Kim on the spot for even insinuating that Josh would do something as terrible as spiking your drink but luckily, Josh gave a sincere nod. 

“ Of course, that’s not a problem. Men really are the worst,” Josh said casually as the two gave each other a little salute,” ready Y/N?”

Josh interlocked his hand with yours once again as he led you back into the house and through the kitchen as some people called out to greet him. 

“ Look at you Mr. Popular,” You teased as Josh squeezed your hand before opening up the fridge.

“ This is your first time drinking right?” Josh asked as you nodded, almost embarrassed,” Hey, that’s alright. You and I are gonna stick to the light stuff tonight, these taste better anyway.”

Josh pulled out three bottles of Mike’s Hard Lemonade and popped off the bottlecaps with a bottle opener before pouring it straight into two plastic cups. 

He tucked the third bottle underneath his arm as you watched him curiously. Josh caught you eyeing his actions as he handed you the cup carefully. 

“ Why not just drink it straight from the bottle?” You asked as you watched Josh take a sip,” I feel like we’re hurting the environment.” 

“ Looks cooler in a red solo cup,” Josh admitted bashfully as he clinked his cup with yours. 

You took a small sip, expecting it to burn like how it was always described in coming of age books but surprisingly, the fizzy taste of citrus wasn’t overpowering in any way. Josh raised his eyebrows and playfully nudged your shoulder,” See! It’s good, right? If you drink enough of these, I’m sure anyone could get tipsy but the goal of this party is to actually remember it the next day.”

There was just something about Josh that made you feel so much safer than anyone else. He didn’t tease you for never having gone to a party before or having alcohol; if anything he did his best to make sure you were as comfortable as possible. 

“ You’re being unreasonably cool, you know that right?” 

Josh smiled as he reached for your hand instinctively for the third time that night,” Only for you baby.” 

Smooth smooth Josh. Like putty in his hands, he led you back to the backyard but the whole time, you felt your heart practically melt at him calling you baby. 

Was it pathetic how easily you leaned into his touch? Maybe. 

But god, he really did make things harder for you. You had come into this party with your eyes on another guy and yet, Josh always managed to turn up the charm whenever necessary and you ate it up. 

Josh might be the charming, golden boy but you knew you couldn’t be too naive. Everyone had flaws, maybe Josh’s was that he was too nice and too friendly, or possibly him being a complete lightweight was the only thing holding him back in life. 

Lucky bastard. 

Once you made it to the backyard, you found Kim with a towel around her body, sitting on one of the lawn chairs. Josh walked over and whistled at Kim to look up from her phone, to which he handed her the bottle of Mike’s and she sounded a quick thanks in response. 

“ I’m gonna warm up with the guys. We’re only going to play a quick set but after, I’m all yours,” Josh promised as his cheeks started to get red at his own words but he turned back around at an attempt to hide his face. 

You took a seat next to Kim as you felt your heart practically skip a beat,” He’s really something isn’t he?”

“ Mm, he’s something alright,” Kim sighed as she struggled to open up the bottle,” dumb bitch, he didn’t bring a bottle opener or something?” 

“ It’s the thought that counts!” You said back as Kim popped the bottle cap using the metal part of the lawn chair.

As you listened to Josh’s band start their first song, you couldn’t help but feel guilty on how you were feeling. A part of you was holding on to the idea of you and Peter being a possibility but things were always so complicated with him. 

There was more to lose in being with Peter and it was painfully obvious that Josh made things so incredibly easy. You didn’t need to walk on eggshells when you were with him and sure, things were new and always changing but Josh could eventually be a person you could lean on. 

You reminded yourself that Peter “loved” you and that you did feel something for him that Josh couldn’t make you feel, but it wasn’t real love and that alone completely sobered you up from your moodiness,” Cheers Kim.” 

She watched as you drank whatever was left in your cup but Kim only ooo’d, knowing it wasn’t enough to get you drunk. 

You shook your head as you tried to think of anything but Peter. Tonight was your night to be free and you didn’t want to have to worry about who would be waiting for you once you got back home. 

And yet, deep down, you wondered why a part of you felt like it wasn’t right to hold Josh’s hand. Maybe because you knew you liked holding Peter’s more. Even as you looked up at Josh who stole a few glances your way, you silently prayed that it was Peter up on that stage instead. 

“ I can’t do this,” You said after a second of overthinking everything as you pulled your phone out of your pocket,” I need to text him.” 

“ Um fuck no! No drunk texts, that shit is so embarrassing Y/N!”

“ This is less than 5% alcohol, I am definitely not drunk Kim,” You mumbled as you slapped her hand away and pulled out your phone to text Peter,” I thought you were on team Peter?” 

Y/N: I need you

Y/N: *address*

Kim watched as you texted Peter but before you could send it, Kim leaped out of her seat and snatched the phone out of your hand,” I swear-! Yes, I am a new fan of team Peter, although Josh is getting major brownie points, but I have been a loyal member of team Y/N way before anyone else. I’m doing you a favor, what is texting him going to solve?” 

You pouted as Kim slipped your phone into her bag, unbeknownst to the both of you that the message had accidentally sent. 

“ Now get the hell up and lets dance bitch!”

                                                         ------

You and Kim had perfected your mental state to a tee; not drunk enough to trip over air and make complete fools of yourselves but tipsy enough to where even the slightest look at each other was enough to make you break out into a fit of laughter. 

You still ‘danced like people were watching’ but you managed to still let loose enough to where the music flowed so freely between your fingertips. 

“ Josh you guys were great!” You shouted as you pulled him into a surprise hug, which he happily accepted,” I think I’m officially your number one fan now.”

“ Wait in line,” Kim scoffed playfully as she grabbed her bag from the floor,” I’m gonna go get a cheese plate or something. Don’t do anything gross while I’m gone.” 

You shot her a prompt ‘ why would you say that’ with your eyes before turning back to face Josh. You weren’t sure where things would go next but he took your hand and led you to the other side of the backyard to a wooden bench, claiming that he just wanted to rest a bit after singing for so long. 

The bench was small enough to where your thigh was against his but you didn’t mind the contact. 

“ Thanks for coming out by the way. I know these type of things are pretty overwhelming but I’ve been having fun so far. How about you?” Josh asked as you exhaled deeply. 

“ I’m glad I came...thank you again for convincing me to come out here. I feel like there’s been a lot of stuff going on at home and it’s kind of nice being a normal teenager for once,” You said honestly as Josh rolled his shoulders back. 

You could feel how nervous he was next to you but for the most part, he didn’t really show it from his facial expression. 

“ Can I ask you something?” 

You nodded, trying your best to be as cool as possible but all you could think about was how dry your mouth felt. 

Oh fuck, the million-dollar question was finally here, wasn’t it? Was he going to reveal his feelings? What if he was going to make a move?

“ Is there something going on between you and Peter? The other day when I came over, it felt...intense. I didn’t want to overstep by coming over or anything,” Josh hesitated as he tested the waters. 

Oh. 

Well fuck, that question was just as nerve-wracking as the others. You wanted to be as honest with Josh as possible but at the same time, you didn’t want to ruin any chances you had of possibly having him around if Peter didn’t work out. 

You knew that was such a shitty mindset but Josh had a way of making you feel so comfortable and you weren’t willing to let that go. 

“ I thought I had something with him but it’s complicated,” You answered honestly,” you saw him, he’s...sick and I feel like the sickness is making him feel things that aren’t actually there. I don’t know, it’s so weird to explain.” 

Josh bit his bottom lip nervously as he hung onto your every word,” So his feelings for you aren’t there like he thinks it is?” 

God, it sounded so simple the way Josh said it when it was so much worst in reality. Of course, it would be way easier to tell Josh everything from the toxic relationship you and Peter had to how the lovedust was emotionally and physically a toll on both of you. 

For obvious reason, you could never reveal that much to him. 

“ Yeah, exactly that,” You sighed, sounding a bit too disappointed and Josh had caught the shift in your voice,” feelings are always so complicated.”

“ Not all the time,” Josh said quickly as he caught himself,” I mean, liking someone doesn’t have to be complicated. Sometimes it’s really easy because love shouldn’t hurt, you know?” 

You only nodded because you could tell Josh had more to say. He took this opportunity to shift his body to fully face you and you scooted your back against the armrest so you could show him that you were attentive. 

“ I mean, when I like someone, all I think about is how much I like being around them. Everything else kind of just falls away and it feels all warm like how the books describe it,” Josh could feel a blush creep onto his cheeks yet again but he knew there was no point in covering it up now,” it’s a cliche but I think when you have a crush on someone, everything just falls into place... And I feel that when I’m with...you.”

Your heart practically drew closer to him because what is going on, this was different. Even though Peter had generally been saying the same things to you for days on end, this was more. 

There wasn’t some magic space dust that was making Josh confess his feelings, it was just pure humanistic drive to step out of one’s comfort zone that had tugged on Josh harder than ever before. 

As if time had slowed down, you watched closely as Josh placed his hand onto your knee before leaning in, getting dangerously close to your lips. Josh stopped only a mere centimeter before your lips touched, as if to give you a chance to back away and yet, you stood still. 

You were trying to make sense of what your heart and your gut were telling you but you thought back to Peter admitting to you that the love he felt for you was a side effect of the lovedust, nothing more and nothing less. 

Peter would never like you back. 

That’s what pushed you over the edge and so, you closed the gap between you and Josh as you kissed him back. You could feel Josh smiling against your lips but the pure sensation of the kiss didn’t last. 

Kim had witnessed everything in slow motion. The text from Peter, indicating that he had entered and was heading to the backyard to watching Josh lean in to kiss you. It was like a sick hypothetical they always asked in ethics classes when presenting the Trolley Dilemma and yet, she barely had enough time to make a decision. 

All she could do was shout but it was a little too late. Peter saw everything. 

He saw you close the space between your lips and Josh’s. He saw Josh smile against your lips. He saw you pull away before leaning in for more. 

Peter knew what was coming next, he practically braced for the pain that he knew was coming because just earlier the same day, he had a miniature version of it. But he never expected the pain to be this unbearable. 

His ribs felt like someone had just swung a bat into the center of his chest and he could feel every bone splitting into various small fragments that were too small to ever glue back together. Each little fragment of whatever was left had seemingly pierced his heart in a thousand different places as more and more pressure starting to build in his chest. 

He couldn’t even let out a cry for help, not even a whimper because no air could come in through his mouth. 

The fear alone made his chest tighten up to the point where he felt his lungs almost give in from inside of him. His vision was the next to get blotched out with a violent array of reds and oranges, moving at a fast kaleidoscopic rhythm that sent Peter deeper into a panic.

The last to give was his legs; the dizziness from the complete distortion had made his knees buckle from the pain, sending him straight into the pool. 

You heard Kim cry out first as she pushed her way through a crowd that was blocking the door. You moved away from Josh to find the commotion and even though you couldn't see who fell into the water, you knew deep down who it was. 

You ran over to the edge of the pool and without a second thought, you dived into the water. Josh quickly followed behind you; it took him only a second to kick off his shoes before he jumped in after you. 

What scared you the most was how eerily quiet it was underwater. You could hear some muffled shouts but that’s not what was so quiet. His body was motionless in the water, there was no sign of struggling or thrashing or convulsing like how it was in the movies. 

Everything just felt slow as you desperately reached your arms out to swim faster to him. You only had one focus once you wrapped your arms across his chest and kicked up to the surface. In your mind, you were already going through how you would start compressions on him once you reached the top. 

You were panicked and scared but you knew you had to pull yourself together, pushing away any thoughts of how far gone Peter could be. 

You broke the surface with Peter in your arms as you called out to someone, anyone to take him from your arms. Kim and one of Josh’s bandmates helped lift Peter’s lifeless body onto the concrete as Kim quickly called 9-1-1. 

Her hands were shaking as she tried to press the three buttons and after an eternity, they picked up the phone. 

You scrambled up from the pool and hovered over Peter’s body and without a second thought, you started doing CPR. 

For a moment, that’s all you were thinking. Like a machine, over and over again on an endless cycle, chest compressions, open his airway, give rescue breaths. When you found yourself thinking about how panicked everyone else was and how pale Peter looked underneath you, you continued to give compressions until you felt like your arms would snap from the pressure. 

You don’t know how much time has passed but enough to where there would’ve been a sign by now. You sobbed for Peter and kept calling out to him, your voice shaking like a child, the same child who lost her parents all those years ago. The same child who held that heavy towel, pressing it against her fathers chest to stop the bleeding- no. 

You couldn’t think about that, this was different. You could save him. You kept reminding yourself over and over as you did a round of chest compressions, opened his airway, and gave more rescue breaths. Over and over. Non-stop. 

Again and again without hesitation. 

At this point, you couldn't stop your mind from thinking of Peter and the possibility of him actually dead. How long was he under? What had happened before? He must’ve seen the kiss- oh my god you killed him. 

You can feel it, building up inside of you like an unstoppable path set ablaze like pure lava. 

You thought about never hearing his laugh again, the one where he would grip his sides so hard, he would wheeze like an old dog toy. Chest compressions. Airway. Rescue breaths. 

You thought about him never calling out your name, whether it was followed by an insult or a loving comment about how you made him feel. Chest compressions. Airway. Rescue breaths. 

You thought about never touching him again, his strong arms holding your shaking body when you had that awful nightmare or how perfect his hand fit in yours when you two walked together in the rain. Chest compressions. Airway. Rescue breaths. 

You thought about never telling him how you actually felt, how stupid you were forever letting him get away because it was him all along. Chest compressions. Airway. Rescue breaths. 

It was always him. 

You were in love with Peter. 

And suddenly, almost finally, Peter jolted up and coughed up the water from his lungs. 

You stopped the compressions and held your own breath as Peter continued to cough up more water, his eyes squeezed shut. 

“ Peter? Can you hear me?” You called out between your choked cries as you snapped your fingers close to his ear.

After a moment, an agonizing moment, Peter nodded, as everyone else collectively let out the breath they didn’t know they were holding. Peter opened his eyes slowly, taking in everything like it was his first time seeing the world. 

“ Oh thank god, don’t worry, help is coming. Stay awake for me, okay?” You sighed in relief as you tucked a strand of wet hair behind your ear,” I’m so glad you’re okay.” 

When his eyes lock onto yours, he feels an odd sense of deja vu that he can’t explain. His chest isn’t tight anymore, his hands don’t feel as clammy as before, his mind feels almost cleared. 

He focused on your eyes while everything else drowned out around him. Your pupils, they’re big and they’re filled with a heavy deal of worry but there’s something else. Your eyes, he’s looked into them so many times before but why is it different? 

As shaken up as you are, you manage to cup his face carefully to console him, or more so yourself. Your hands are shaking but they’re warm against his cheek and he can’t help but reach his hand to lay across the hand that’s cupping his face. 

Peter feels his face flush, but this time it’s different, it’s...euphoric? Peter wasn’t even sure if he was saying the word correctly but that’s how he felt. 

Your eyes, he’s so enamored by the way you’re looking at him. You were worried of course, but no, there was something else. 

“ You’re safe Peter, you’re okay.” 

“ Don’t worry I got you.”

“ Just breath for me, okay?” 

There it was, the same deja vu. You had said that to him before, or maybe he had said it to you before through broken sobs when you had the nightmare. 

Peter’s breath hitched as it all finally hit him, he figured it out just by holding your deep gaze. 

Oh my god.

The lovedust had worn off, it was gone. All the anxiety and nerves from having it in his system had disappeared, evaporated off of him almost. The chest pains and the shortness of breath had gone away but Peter still felt something pulling, tugging at his heartstrings. 

The lovedust was gone, he knew that well enough.

 The only thing he could feel as he stared back at you was a pure, undivided, longing for you. 

That’s right, Peter Parker was still hopelessly in love with you, no lovedust required.

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[hetalia-has-a-secretary]

Axis and allies when their mortal step/adopted kid who is usually an edgy teen (saying things like “Eww dad, don’t hug me I’m too old”) comes up to hug their country dad while crying and just snuggles in to their side and says something like “I just realized that I’m always going to have you, but you won’t always have me.”

*flips table* This is a scenerio I wasn't prepared for! *Screeches* but thank you, it hurts so good lol (It's been a few weeks since I saw this Request (´д`) my heart. My little heart!)

TW: Mentions and conversations surrounding death.

Dad!Allies and Dad!Axis: Their kid realizes what it means to be mortal...

Allies:

He had to swallow hard at the though.

It never really occurred to him that it was something that could happen.

After all, it's not everyday a country manages to have kids with a human. Even France didn't know this was a thing.

He put on a brave face, kissing the top of their head and telling them it's alright.

He was their father first and foremost. Nothing was going to take them away from him completely, and he mentioned that nothing lasts forever.

His job was to raise them, and make sure they had a good life. So long he got to see his kid fulfill their dreams and just live their life, he's okay with it.

He doesn't want to see them go, obviously, but his love for his kid will never fade.

England:

Immediately gets choked up about it.

All he can really do is hold them, and remind them he still loves them, and just because they will go one day, does not change that fact.

He is sworn by his duty as a father to take care of them. To see them age and grow is just a fact they both have to accept.

He's already so proud of his kid, so he won't miss them too much so long they promise not to hold back in life just because they will pass on without him!

France:

He knew this talk was coming.

He knows the thought can be painful, but laughs a little none the less.

He let's them know their life span doesn't matter. What they do with it does.

He wants all the emotions, and the normal dad and child moments. Even the bratty ones.

He reminds his kid that their memory will live on way after they do.

They're his kid and he will always love them, even in death.

Makes them give him a pinky promise they'll be his little guardian angel, and smack him when he does anything stupid.

This at the very least, got them to smile a little.

And also tells them to say hello to Joan of Arc for him when they do go.

China:

He gives a heavy sigh.

He was hoping they wouldn't do this to him, even if that seemed selfish.

All he wanted for his kid was to see them grow old, be happy, and live their best life. He didn't want them wasting their tears on the thought.

But for now he held them close, soothing away as much of the pain as possible.

He loved his kid, and would gladly lay his life down for them.

He knows it's going to be rough, but seeing his kid laugh and smile gives him such pride, and makes him want to be better.

He tells his kid that no matter what, they will always be a source of strength for him. Even when they pass they will keep him going. Just so they can see him thrive from the afterlife.

Russia:

Was not ready, not at all.

Starts sobbing with his child over it.

It was a painful thought and he knew he'd never be ready to lose his kid, but that's all the more reason to try and better himself.

He did not want his kid living with an agressive alcoholic. Though the kid's mother had already taught him the love and kindness he needed to raise their kid.

He did not let go of them until they felt ready.

That night they spent most of their time talking about it, and as morbid as it sounds, they fantasized about the kids gravesight. The one they wanted in the backyard, surrounded by sunflowers and other beautiful flowers.

Russia talked about how he would visit them everyday, and how keeping their grave was going to be his way of taking care of them.

After that talk Ivan had a weird sensation in his chest. It wasn't sadness, but the thought he was given a chance to raise a kid made him feel, satisfied with life.

He knew he'd have days where the pain would be too much, but he was okay with that.

He wanted nothing more than a happy life for his child, and was prepared to do anything for them.

Axis:

Germany:

He had to prevent himself from crying.

It was important now to show strength. This wasn't about his feelings, this was about his kid's.

He held them, and did his best to comfort them.

That whole situation turned into him telling them all the amazing things they do, and are going to do as they live.

He just wants to be a witness to it all. He was so proud of them, and was going to bend over backwards to raise them.

The thought did get to him that night, and his child witnessed him cry anyway. Despite their age, and despite not having to do so for a long time, they shared the bed and slept a little more peacefully.

Both sides getting their feelings off their chest.

Germany had promised them he's always be there for them, no matter what they did, or who they became.

Italy:

He knew it wasn't forever, but the knot in his chest still developed. And he cried.

He wanted so badly for his kid to be happy, and live their life regardless.

He repeated over and over how much he loved them, and how proud he was of them.

He didn't mind them being bratty time to time because that was a normal kid thing?

They'd only have the ability to laugh about those phases later in life and he was okay with that.

His father instincts kicked in and he did everything he could to make them feel better. To sooth away their worries.

Just because they were gone, did not mean he was not going to stop loving them, and vice versa.

Nothing was more important to him then seeing his child grow, and grow old. Having known he did his job as their father.

Japan:

He kept quiet as he let his kid sob, and only talked about it when they seemed to calm down.

He loved his kid, they were the most important thing to him.

Even if it meant losing them, he was headstrong about raising them, making sure they had the best life they could.

He also told them straight out that he'd rather them be mortal, then immortal. All their friends, and potential lovers would be with them, and they would never have to suffer the way he did.

He'd rather them live their life and pass, while he takes care of their grave, keeping their Spirit alive in his thoughts.

There came a comfortable silence after this.

He wasn't going to fully lose his kid, no matter what. So even if it hurt, he'd always have them by his side. Right until the very end...

[wannabemobwife]

Guns, Glamour and Goodfellas - Chapter 13

Chapter 13: Revenge Never Felt So Good

Dad!Mob!Tom x Mom!Mob!Reader

-Pairings: Tom Holland x Reader, Rosie Holland x Henry Osterfield

-Warnings: Guns, bombing, language, murder, blood, hints to smut (none actual smut), typos, shitty writing, torture I guess

-Words: 4.9K

A/n: Can we get back to mob stuff? Please. I want to apologize for this chapter, it is absolute shit and I could tell by writing it. Kind of a filler chapter. Sorry it is long.

Chapter 13: Revenge Never Felt So Good

Words: 4.9K

It had been a week, since you got your memories back and you declared your love for Tom once more. Right after that, you and Tom were on the first train to Paris, refusing to fly for awhile.

You and Tom returned last night, just in time to see Parker and Rosie off to school the next morning. While you and Tom had been enjoying a second honeymoon in the city of love, Nikki and Dom so graciously offered to watch the kids. Everything was falling back into full swing. Parker and Rosie were going to school regularly. Rosie spending all her time with Henry and Parker still living his secret double life.

Things going back to normal. Somewhat.

It was a typical morning, but anytime everyone every thinks that, something gets massively screwed up. You woke up early to make pancakes and bacon.

“So what is plan for everyone today?” You asked, sipping at your steaming cup of coffee.

“Well, Rosie and I have school,” Parker explained.

“I have plans with Henry,” Rosie chimed in.

“I have meetings all day, love.” Tom said, pressing a gentle kiss to your cheek.

“Ok, so I’m all alone today,” you muttered, a little disappointed.

“I’m sorry darling, you could join me. You know much I love it when you sit in my lap during meetings. Really show them who’s boss,” Tom said, wrapping you in his embrace.

“No, it’s ok. I have some errands to run anyway.”

“Alright, angel. I love you. I’ll see you for dinner.”

“I love you too. Come on, kids. In the car we go.” You said, pushing everyone out the door.

“Why is Jared not driving?” Parker asked.

“Cause, I have errands to run and besides he’s driving your dad today.”

“Now let’s go.” You said as Parker and Rosie hopped into the car.

Tom was having a hard time returning to his mob personality. Some business was conducted in Paris, you tagged along and enjoyed every minute of it. Tom sometimes overcompensated for not being as dangerous and intimidating. He had grown soft taking care of you after the helicopter crash. Helping you get your memory took most of his time, he had to step away from the mob for awhile. But you were his top priority.

Tom couldn’t remember the last time he sat in his office doing business. He missed it. He missed the thrill of torturing someone, having them beg for their life in front of him. He missed the feeling of firing his gun.

“Tom, you’re late,” Haz said as Tom got out of the car.

“Sorry not sorry Haz, I enjoyed breakfast with Y/N and the kids this morning,” Tom responded.

“I have to tell you something.”

“What? It’s never good news if it’s right when I get here.”

“We’re down two more.” Harrison mumbled referring to then decreasing number of soldiers part of the Holland Empire.

“Are you fucking serious? Haz, I’m so fucking tired of this bullshit. My men are getting fucking killed. Everything has gone to shit,” Tom screamed, enraged.

“Tom, we’ll figure it out. Just need to keep your cool.” Haz said, trying to avoid Tom’s wrath.

“Easier said than done. Alright, who’s here,” Tom asked, trying to forget about everything else.

“William.” Haz said with a straight face.

“What? Why? He’s always been loyal,” Tom questioned. One of his most valuable men, working against him, the rat?

“I got word from the soldiers he has been taking bribes from Parker,” Harrison explained.

“What the fuck for? Well, I guess we’ll find out.” Tom said, walking into the main room of the warehouse.

“William, I’d never thought it would be you in this chair.” Tom said, walking up to one of his most trusted employees.

“Tom, you gotta believe me. I didn’t do anything. I’m not the rat,” William pleaded. He knew what had been happening to the mob.

“Did you or did you not take money from Parker?” Tom asked.

“Yes, he just wanted to get out of the manor at night. So, he paid me to turn a blind eye.”

“Where was he going?”

“I don’t know, I assumed to some girl’s house.” “William, I trust you. So I’m going to let you off with a warning, but you can’t let him sneak out anymore. I’m afraid we are being targeted. If he tries to leave, you have to tell me.”

“Yes, boss. I’m sorry.” William apologized.

“It’s ok, but you understand what needs to happen right? I can’t be looking like I’ve gone soft,” Tom asserted.

“Yeah, I can take it. It’s ok,” William said, gritting his teeth as he waited for the collision of Tom’s fist to his cheek. Tom winded up to deliver one swift punch to William’s left eye. Not breaking the skin but creating a dark purple blotch.

All of Tom’s frustrations have been channeled into his mob duties. Each punch riddled with anger and frustration. A release of catharsis combined with blood. Tom wears the smell of blood and death like a perfume.

The rest of the day was full of uneventful meetings. Meetings with business associates, actual business associates for the company.

When Tom came home, he planned to confront Parker about his whereabouts if he tried to sneak out again. Everyone retired, you went to sleep first and Rosie went to her room. Parker said, he was going to bed but Tom could see right through him.

Tom was sitting in the den, sipping a glass of watered down whiskey. Waiting for his son to disobey him. At 11:55 PM, Parker made his way downstairs ever so slightly. Only to be met with the dagger eyes of Tom.

“Where the fuck do you think you are going?” Tom asked as Parker tried to sneakily leave.

“I… I thought I heard noise outside and I’m going to go check on it,” Parker stammered. Getting caught by Tom was not part of the plan.

“Oh, ok. Parker the guards can do that. Go back to bed.” Tom said, turning back to the TV in the den, broadcasting Raiders of the Lost Ark.

“Ok. Night, dad,” Parker said, trudging himself back up the steps.

“Night…. I know, you’re lying,” Tom whispered loud enough for Parker to hear.

“What? I’m not lying.”

“Parker, I know you’ve sneaking out for weeks and bribing William.”

“Dad, I’m sorry,” Parker immediately started apologizing, no bother in trying to lie himself out of this one.

“Why have you been sneaking out?” Tom questioned, seething with anger but refusing to show it. Trying to have a mature adult conversation.

“I’ve been going to a girl’s house, her name is Jamie.”

“Oh, glad you find someone. You know after everything with Charlotte,” Tom replied.

“Well since I told you the truth, can I go? We made the plan a couple days ago and don’t want to cancel,” Parker lied.

“Alright, just be back before sunrise or your mother will have may head,” Tom informed him.

“Thanks dad, you should get some sleep,” Parker said, making his way out of the heavily guarded house.

Parker left as quickly as possible. He knew Wilson would be pissed for him being late. The talk with Tom was not how this was supposed to happen.

He couldn’t betray his family and himself anymore.

Parker hoped this was the last time he would have to talk to him. He planned to quit, after the conversation with Dom. Parker had become everything he hated, someone who kills for sport.

“Wilson, this is the last thing I’m doing then, I’m out,” Parker said, walking towards Wilson.

“We’ll talk about it later, my boy,” Wilson said, patting Parker’s shoulder.

“Alright who am I killing? You never gave me a target.” Parker shouted at Wilson walking.

“Oh, this isn’t a hit, it’s a robbery. Here’s your new firearm,” One of Wilson’s men explained, tossing a MP5K at him.

“You okay kid? You know if you’re too much of pussy the boss might understand,” jeered one of the men as Parker gulped at the size of the weapon.

“Fuck you, I’m fine. Let’s just get this over with,” Parker barked, trying to put his mind aside. He has never done anything like this. It wasn’t just one person he was killing, it was the possibility of having many causalities. Altering his persona from a hitman to a mass murderer.

A million thoughts flooded Parker’s mind. He wouldn’t be killing people who deserved it like before, contract killers or drug dealers, these were innocent people. Stupid people for gambling all their hard earned money away but nonetheless innocent.

Parker’s heart nearly stopped when he saw where the van pulled up to. A place he knew all too well, it was one of Tom’s casinos.

The company that Dom had built, but all the Holland boys sent thriving in the new century, was more than it seemed. Holland Exportation and Luxuries was much more than exporting goods.

It was casinos that ran all along the French Riviera, more specifically Monaco. It was hotels across the entire globe. It was a business but not the family one. More of a front for the mob but it paid the bills. Harry and Sam had been in charge of running and establishing the hotels and casinos across Europe.

“Y’know your way around, right? That’s why the boss put you on this.” One of men asked Parker as he fiddled with his new machine gun.

“I guess so.” Parker replied.

“Here’s a map. Where are the guards? Which posts?” Asked a soldier, pointing to the main entrance hallways, where security was sure to be.

“I don’t know.”

“So we’re going in there fucking blind? Fuck, thought you’d be good for something. Just stay out of our way,” yelled one of the capos.

“No. I’m taking point. If you have a problem, you can fucking talk to me about it along with my Glock,” Parker threatened.

“Alright. Don’t screw this up. The boss wants big bucks from this. Says “it’s step two in the fall of the empire.” Whatever the fuck that means.”

“On my count, 1, 2… 3,” Parker screamed.

They came storming in, barricading all the entrances and exits. Parker and Wilson’s men clad in all black and payday masks. All various colors and designs. They looked as they were trick or treating.

This was the last thing Parker wanted to be doing. He came today to quit and now he was robbing a casino.

Parker kept repeating a mantra in his head “Last one, then I’m done” as held his gun high. Pointing it directly at innocents, he could see them shaking in fear.

“EVERYONE ON THE GROUND NOW!” He shouted, aiming his machine gun high.

“Don’t you fucking touch that button. I know what it fucking does.” Parker barks at the person behind the token counter. “Open the vault.” Parker said, pointing the gun at him.

“Why should I?” remarked the worker.

“Cause I fucking said so and I’m threatening your life,” Parker explained

“Enough of this shit!” He screamed, firing a few rounds close to the worker but not hitting him.

“You don’t have to do this. You could walk out of here, all of you. And we could go on with our lives. No need for money or the cops.”

“I think we both know that’s not gonna happen. I’ll ask nicely, please open the vault,” Parker mocked. “Boss said “start killing hostages in 10 minutes.” One of the other men whispered in Parker’s ear.

“Did you fucking hear that? We’re gonna fucking kill you if you don’t cooperate. So I suggest you open… the fucking… vault.”

“Sir, we can’t.”

“See this gun. LOOK AT IT! It has the power to put a bullet through your skull. Open the fucking vault. I won’t ask a fifth time.”

“That’s it. Now, type in the code.” Parker directed towards them.

The vault door creaked open, revealing trappings of pure wealth. Money stacked on tables, almost reaching the ceiling. And gold bars, glistened as the light reflected off of them.

“Now was that so fucking hard. Take all of it. Everything, even the gold.” Parker said, directly towards his men.

“Thank you, you’ve served you purpose,” Parker said to the worker, shooting him dead not even 3 seconds later. The screams of the other hostages echoed through the vacated room.

“Now to everyone here, there’s already one dead. I don’t mind making it more,” Parker barked.

“What’s your name?” Parker asked the nice looking girl kneeling on the ground.

“It’s not nice to not answer when someone asks you question, especially someone with a 9 caliber MP5K in your face. I ask again. What’s your name?” Parker spoke.

“Jane,” she whispered, shaking with fear.

“Well Jane, I want to thank you for your cooperation. You are in charge of talking to the cops, ok? And let your boss know, that Wilson is always watching,” Parker said, as he turned to leave.

“I will but you won’t get as far as you hoped,” Jane asserted, trying not to irritate Parker.

“And why’s that?”

“I know you. I remember you. You’d come in here with your dad.”

“You don’t know fucking shit!” Parker screamed.

“I know your name and that puts me at a high position of power,” Jane expressed, growing less afraid by the second. Realizing he is just some scared boy. Maybe not afraid of his own shadow but broken down by the fear of the world.

“I’m the one pressing fucking gun to your head. I HAVE ALL THE POWER!” Parker vociferated loud enough to shake the chandelier hanging above.

“You wish. Men like you always wish.”

“Seems like you’re doing some wishing yourself sweetheart. Wishing to be escorted out of here in a body bag. Now shut your fucking trap.”

“Hey. Let’s go. Leave her.” One of the Wilson’s men said, pulling Parker towards the exit.

“He still loves you and he’ll forgive you for this,” Jane shouted as Parker left.

Refusing to turn back, he had taken enough lives from this ill attempt at revenge. Parker didn’t know who he was fighting against anymore. Who was the hero and who was the villain?

All the wrongdoings as vast as the sea. All his attempts to make someone pay were misconstrued. Who actually deserved it?

The words of the woman replayed in Parker’s head. She was like a broken record, forcing him to listen to a truth he hoped to forget. How could Tom forgive him? Parker knew what he done was unforgivable. It was a mistake, all of it.

Parker marched into Wilson’s office and said, “Ever since I started working for you, my family has been in danger. I thought my dad was the reason for my girlfriends death, but I was wrong. I guess I’ll never know. Here Wilson, my gun. I quit.”

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing? I own you. I could end you, boy. Just like I almost did your parents,” Wilson barked.

“What?” Parker questioned, a look of confusion are on his face.

“Oh, please. You really think it was just a malfunction,” Wilson scoffed.

“What are you talking about?” Parker asked.

“Their helicopter. Pretty brilliant work, if I do say so myself,” Wilson gloated.

“They almost died.”

“Yeah and so? Your dad is my enemy. That is the whole reason you came to me in the first place.”

“You promised you wouldn’t hurt them,” Parker screamed. “Promises are meant to be broken. They don’t call me the Merchant of Death for nothing.”

Wilson was ready for the fight and been the one pulling the strings the entire time. Tom warranted no quarrel. Never being the instigator in a fight with Wilson.

They had been divided for years to come, focusing on their separate mobs. Only acknowledging each other if they accidentally crossed paths. There was Wilson’s mob, then a few others scattered round London such as Graham’s which was almost non-existent and Shaw’s which was mostly the drug scene. But Wilson was Tom’s biggest competitor. Being a part of then game for years before didn’t matter, Tom eclipsed Wilson just like the sun does the moon.

Or the moon to the sun, that was exactly Wilson’s play from the start. Taking out the pillars of Tom’s life. First a reason to have his son turn on him, the death of a loved one. Next, removing you from Tom’s grasp. Eventually a play had to be made on Rosie. Leaving Tom utterly alone.

Only thoughts that would cross his mind be suicidal ones, having lost everything he ever cared about. It was a long play, one Wilson vowed to see through. Wilson saw all his work as justice and merciful. Almost biblical, they way everything was playing out.

“It was you. All along. The fucking puppet master,” Parker mumbled under his breath.

“If you are talking about your little girlfriend, that was strictly business, nothing personal. But yes, I have been the one behind the scenes driving your father mad. Remember the note?” Wilson exclaimed.

“She didn’t deserve to die,” Parker shouted.

“What? Are you really upset? That was ages ago. Plus, I had to get you on my side somehow,” Wilson teased.

“Wait, you knew I’d come here?”

“Parker, how stupid are you? When will you grow up and learn this rivalry is just the beginning of a war. What side are you going to be on? You have a choice. I’ve warmed to you and I want you on my side as I take your daddy down.”

“That’s your first fucking mistake don’t have any weaknesses,” Parker admitted, taking a lesson from Tom. He drew is gun, point blank at Wilson.

“Parker, what are you doing? Put the gun down,” Wilson pleaded for his life.

“No, you made me into a cold blooded killer. Not my dad. I quit.”

BANG

After a loud thud sounded, the room was silent. Only a faint smell of smoke from the gun was there as Parker fled as quickly as possible.

Parker made his way home that night a changed man. All his kills in the pass were strictly business. Never driven by emotion but this one was personal.

It wasn’t a job or a hit. He was no longer a contract killer. Killing for the sake of money or an obligation. He was cold blooded killer.

In some twisted way, Parker enjoyed Wilson and his company. Looking up to him. He was then one who saved him from the horrible life he thought he was leaving behind. The one full of deceit and betrayal. The one with Tom, you and Rosie.

The one that led him to be next leader of the Holland mob. The one that resulted in the death of his beloved girlfriend. The one that had almost taken you and Tom away from him. The one that almost took his life. The one that forced him to kill for sport.

But no, he was wrong Parker brought that on himself. Parker’s naivety was his greatest enemy. He was just a child not too long ago. Once afraid of his own shadow, then afraid of failing at life and school, especially the SATs. Now, he was an adult burdened by problems a 16 year old should ever face. He could sit there and blame Tom, but it would do him no good when all he had to do was look in the mirror.

Parker was his own worst enemy. Searching for justice, when none could be found in a world wear mobsters roamed. Causing shootouts, robbing banks, and killing innocent people. People deserved to be avenged and Parker sure as hell wasn’t doing anything to aide.

Parker drove home, took four showers and threw his clothes away. Anything to wash off this abhorrent day. The next morning, Parker went on like nothing had changed. As if he didn’t shoot his boss and Tom’s rival in cold blood. As if didn’t only see himself as a cold blooded killer. Everything that he is and everything he owns soiled with the scent of murder.

He played it as though it was any other morning. Eating his pancakes and bacon before starting the day. Telling you about his plans for the day. Trying to keep his cool. The lovely morning breakfast conversation was interrupted once Tom’s phone rang.

RING, RING, RING

“Haz, why are you calling me? I’m having breakfast with my family,” Tom asked, annoyed his precious breakfast was interrupted. “Charlie is here, you need to get here. I have to tell you something,” Haz informed Tom. “Ok, I’m on my way,” Tom said, brushing off the request. Why would the

company’s electrical engineer for aeronautical transportation be there?

“Love, I’m so sorry but I’m needed at the warehouse. Thank you for this wonderful breakfast, wish I could enjoy it. Bye, kids. Have a good day at school,” Tom said, making his way out the door. Bidding you all goodbye.

“Haz, what’s was so urgent that I couldn’t finish my breakfast.” Tom barked, annoyed he was pulled away from you and the kids even on a Saturday.

“We were robbed last night. The casino.” Haz explained, his head hanging low.

“How the fuck? Did they catch them?” Tom seethed with anger.

“No, we do have eye witnesses though.”

“How much is missing?”

“About 11 million dollars, from cash to gold bars.” Haz said, waiting for Tom to explode.

“FUCK. We need to make them pay. I’m done playing fucking games.” Tom shouted, calming himself down for his meeting with Charlie.

“Now, you said Charlie was here, right?”

“Yeah, in your office.”

“Charlie? What are you doing here?” Tom asked, a little annoyed he was taken away from his morning with his family.

“Tom, I ran my report and did diagnostics tests and it’s not good,” Charlie started.

“What the fuck does that mean, Charlie?” Tom yelled.

“I think the helicopter was sabotaged.”

“What? You mean is that someone tried to take out my wife and I while we were on a helicopter,” Tom repeated, making all the connections necessary .

“Yes, it wasn’t just a normal malfunction. Did they ever find the pilot?” Charlie asked.

“No… Jesus fucking christ, if it’s true then…Fuck, I’m sorry I have to go,” Tom yelled, running out to the car.

“Jared, home now.”

“Mr. Holland is everything alright?” Jared asked, concerned by Tom’s frantic manner.

“No. I just found out the helicopter was sabotaged. I think someone might being trying to take out Y/N and I.”

“Come on baby, pick up,” Tom whispered, frantically dialing your number over and over.

“Y/N answer the god damm phone!” Tom shouted, when heard the same voice message over and over again, “Hi, this Y/N Holland please leave your name and number and I’ll get back to you as soon as possible.”

“God fucking dammit. Fuck, voicemail. Jared do you know where my wife is?” Tom yelled, afraid what your silence meant.

“Last I heard she was at the store getting groceries,” Jared explained.

“Fuck, I have here location on my phone. Change course,” Tom barked, praying you were okay. With the information he just learned he didn’t want to leave you alone, not even for a second.

“Y/N! You’re okay.” Tom said, inhaling a breath of relief. You were coming out of the store pushing a cart of groceries.

“Tom! Of course, I’m okay. What are you doing here?” You asked.

“I’ll explain later. Get Parker and Rosie we need to go home now.”

“They’re already home. Henry’s there also. You’re scaring me.” You said, Tom never acts like this.

Being a part of a mob there is a constant fear of someone behind you. All throughout Tom’s life he only had to worry about himself until he met you.

Tom’s worst fear is him being the reason you no longer walk the earth. The last week he had glimpse of life without you and didn’t care for it one bit. You weren’t a weakness but at the same time, you were. For anyone with a dangerous job there’s always a target on your back.

“Come on, love. In the car,” Tom motioned towards the car.

“Tommy, my car is here. I’ll meet you there,” you said, kissing his cheek goodbye.

“Ok just be careful please.”

“I’ll be fine.”

“Ok, Jared. Home now plea—“ Tom directed but was cut off by a loud BOOM.

“Jared, what the fuck was that?” Tom asked.

“Sir, it was Mrs. Holland’s car.”

“Y/N! Y/N?” Tom jumped out of the car. Nothing else mattered in that moment, only finding you.

Time stood still as thick black smoke bled through the air. Coating everything in its path with a faint ash. Screams echoed from the bystanders as the car went up in flames.

“Tom, I’m okay. It wasn’t mine.” You exasperated, coughing from the smoke. It wasn’t your car but it was close in proximity.

“Thank god. I can’t keep almost losing you,” Tom whispered, kissing you hairline.

“I’m here now.” The second you were in his arms you knew you were safe.

“Yes you are. It sure does look hell a lot like yours, though. Come on, I’m taking you home,” Tom said, wrapping his right arm around your shoulder.

Pulling up to the manor, everything looked different. There were more guards posted at every corner with heavier weaponry. Tom had the gate barricaded with another car in case some where to ram into the gate.

“Jesus, what took you so long?” Haz said

“They tried to bomb Y/N’s car. Thankfully the dumb fucks who planted it, picked the wrong car.”

“Tom you need to tell me what’s going on.”

“I will. Family meeting in the living room. Now.”

“Some of us have some secrets to share. I want to know everything that happened here while your mother and I were in Paris. Someone start talking,” Tom said, pacing in front of Parker and Rosie sitting on the couch.

Rosie and Parker were both hiding something. Rosie’s however was a rather monumental milestone. Rosie reminisced of her wonderful night with Henry while you and Tom were away. She loved Henry so much and was overjoyed to share that experience with him.

Rosie had told Henry at the wedding that she was ready to take that next step with him. Seeing you and Tom re-commit yourselves to one another affirmed that for Rosie. That she loved him more than anything.

“I’m sorry, dad. You don’t have to worry, we were safe,” Rosie blurted out.

“What?” Tom barked growing more anger by the second.

“Henry and I used a condom,” Rosie responded.

“Rosie?” You questioned, knowing what she was talking about.

“WHAT?” Tom screamed.

“That’s not what you were hinting at?” Rosie stammered.

“No, this is about Parker,” Tom reckoned.

“Fuck,” she mumbled under her breath.

“Where the fuck is he?” Tom yelled, bolting out of the living room. Looking for the boy who had stolen Rosie’s innocence. You and Rosie soon followed hoping Tom wouldn’t do anything rash.

“Dad!”

“Tom!”

“Henry, you bastard! You fucked my daughter!” Tom shouted charging at Henry.

“Oh shit,” Henry muttered, he knew Tom could kill him in an instant.

“You went in my daughter! What’s stopping me from killing you right now.” Tom asked with gritted teeth, hoping this dumbass wouldn’t answer.

“Tom, put him down,” you said, as Tom was gripping his collar and dangling him in the air.

“Daaaadddd.”

“Tom, please,” you pleaded as Tom held a gun square to Henry’s head.

“The safety is on, I was never gonna shoot him. Just make him shit his pants a little. From now on, you two can’t be here alone. And if you are in your room the door needs to stay open,” Tom said, pointing fingers at Rosie and Henry.

“I believe we have more important business to get to. Now come on,” you said, pulling Tom away.

“Y/N, you know I was never going to actually hurt the boy right?”

“Yes, Tommy. Now please resume the family meeting.”

“Parker. Do you have something to tell us?” Tom asked, knowing his son will lie.

“I’ve been sneaking out at night and I’m sorry,” Parker started, you could hear the disappointment behind his voice.

“Why? I know it’s not because of a girl. I want to know everything,” Tom explained, fucking tired of all the lies.

“Everything?”

“Everything.”

Parker began by explaining how he felt by the loss of Charlotte and how he turned to Wilson. In Parker’s mind he was doing the right thing. Serving justice to those who wronged others. But in reality he was the one committing the wrongdoings.

Parker came clean that he was the one killing all of Tom’s men and that he killed Jazz. That he went Wilson before coming to Tom. Becoming Wilson’s secret hitman was never supposed to go this far. He only intended for it to be a big fuck you to Tom. Not destroy his livelihood and his family in the process.

Including all the details of Wilson’s secret agenda of taking you and Tom out. But Parker left out the fact that Wilson was no longer a threat. Having taken care of him the day before.

“I’m sorry. I should’ve never been this naive and stupid. I’m the one you’ve been searching for. I’m the rat,” Parker exclaimed. “Dad, say something,” he pleaded.

“Get out,” Tom said with an unchanging expression.

“What?”

“I said get the fuck out!”

“Tom,” you tried to reason.

“You are no longer my son. Betraying me, betraying your family. Get out.” Tom screamed.

A/n: I’m sorry. I like the content in this chapter but not the writing.

Guns, Glamour and Goodfellas Masterlist

taglist: @thenoddingbunny-blog @dummiesshort @adriannauni @bi-lmg @allthisfortommy

[iwalc]

Take me home

Hi people! I hope you are all well! Here is a something I've worked on for a while. Uhm, I realise now that I have never posted anything I've written on here before, so I am a little nervouse, ngl. I've been into a horrible writersblock for over a year now and this is the firt piece I've even been able to finish, which also makes me kind of nervouse. Either way, here it is. I hope you'll like it, and if you do, pls let me know.

Wordcount: around 2500.

I haven't really proofread anything, so if there are anything that's a bit off, then I apologise.

Damn it. I lost. Again. Here I am pissed drunk in a bar, far away from home. Or... what's supposed to be my home. Anger, love, confusion, roads that lead nowhere. As to lately, I don't know what has gotten into me. We all know life's a rollercoaster, ups and downs, downs and ups. This time I wasn't prepared. I've hit the ground. Hard. Everything happened so fast.

Almost a year ago I moved from home. It was sudden but necessary. I got into college in London and saw my opportunity to leave my abusive household. For years the mental abuse had just gradually gotten worse. Although I love my parents to bits, it was not a healthy surrounding and I needed a new perspective. I moved into a small apartment a few minutes from my college. The apartment wasn't really luxurious. But what could I expect with rent that cheap. It was alright. For me at least. Soon after the move classes started. The first few days were rough. A lot of new things, new people, new surroundings and I was all alone. You see, I am not a fan of new things. I'd rather be stuck with everything the same than have the winds of change knock everything I know to pieces. That's what I soon noticed. I didn't recognise anything anymore. Everything was to pieces. I've never felt so lost or scared.

After a while, these strange feelings of insecurity and fear decreased a bit. I started seeing people from my classes. We went to lunches, studied, went out on the weekends. For the first time in a long while it felt like my life was starting to get better. I felt alive, not only like I was just existing. I felt normal. I lived in a large city, in a tiny apartment, barely being able to pay rent, eating fish sticks and whatever else cheap food that Tesco happened to sell out, spending all money on weekends clubbing, listening to bands, laughing, getting shitfaced, having the time of my life.

On one of these nights, I met someone. Someone that would change my life drastically, and thank god it was for the better. It was an ordinary weekend. Me and the girls got ready for a night out, as usual. Only this time we were to meet Angela's boyfriend and his friends. Everyone was crazy excited. I tried to be, but as we have stated before, I'm not doing very well with breaking routines or new things, hence my increasing anxiety. To cut the chase, Angela's boyfriend had nice friends. Especially one of them. Brian. I don't really know what drew me to him. He just seemed so calm and safe. Somewhat on my level. The others, Angela, Jessica and Amanda, were all outgoing girls, finding it easy to talk and meet new people, having no trouble being in the centre of attention. I did not enjoy those types of things. I enjoyed letting others being in the centre of attention and them leading the way. I thrive in the shadows of other people and Brian seemed to be the same way. He was the quiet one, the one in the shadows. But he didn't seem shy. He sat comfortably in the booth, a beer in his hand, listening in to the conversations, taking part in them whenever it was needed. He seemed so calm, safe, secure. Something I craved. He was tall, green, welcoming eyes. Angela sat down beside her boyfriend, Roger, a blonde, seemingly handsome guy. Jessica was called over to Freddie, a dark-haired man, seemingly not afraid to stand in the centre of attention, he was very authentic and expressive. At first, I'd say he'd be a bitch, but he was so nice and welcoming. Such a sweetheart. Amanda sat down between Jessica and John and they got carried away with their conversation pretty quickly.

Me being me, trying to read the room, the new people, anxiously stood there, at the end of the table. My anxiety started to peak at this uncomfortable social situation. I had no idea what to do. I froze. The others seemed engulfed in their conversations and bonding and hadn't noticed my uncomfortable state. But Brian did. He seemed to understand and saw my anxiety. It was amazing how he just knew how to deal with it without scaring me off more. He redirected his attention towards where I stood. He calmly called my name. His voice. I've never ever felt more secure. After a few calls, and his hand gracing mine, I zoned in again and once again became aware of my surroundings. His touch. Warm. Soft. Peaceful. "Hey" he said softly, "would you like to sit down?" he asked as he carefully for a second took a hold of my hand, with me not showing any sign of uncomfort, he carefully guided me to sit down beside him, a soft smile gracing his lips. "I'm so sorry for zoning out like that, thank you" I quietly whispered. He once again took a soft hold of my hand, smiling, "Don't apologise, I understand". Something told me he did understand.

And ever since we met that night, at a pub in Kensington, he has made me feel at home. Safe. Comfortable. My pieces were glued together again. Brian was my everything. He still is. The last few months with him has been filled with such happiness and security I never ever thought I'd experience. I love him to bits. He understands me and my needs like no other. He knows how to take care of my anxiety attacks. He knows how to help me relax. He is my rock in a stormy ocean.

Until today. Earlier today, the pieces he glued together, fell apart, again. Today we moved in together. We figured it would help with our economic situation since we were both students. I mean, we love each other so why not. Well. This is why. I am once again falling apart. My pieces are flying away. I couldn't handle one more change. I've broken up with my family, moved away from home, started college, all in the period of 6 months. It was too much. And now this. I love him. But my world has been picked apart once more.

The whole day I've been feeling my anxiety increasing. Usually, Brian notices or I feel comfortable telling him, but this time I noticed how excited he was, I didn't want to hurt him with my bullshit. It's horrible feeling yourself falling apart but not be able to do anything about it. It was 7 pm and Brian was unpacking things in the living room while I sat on the sofa trying not to lose it. He kept talking about how happy he was and how this was a dream of his. How excited he was to share his life with me, to love me. All the while he was so happy babbling away, I was freaking out. To say the least.

My anxiety kept increasing and now I couldn't handle it anymore. I felt my breathing quickening, my hands and legs started to shake and tears started to stream down my eyes. I couldn't do this. What have I done? "Love? What do you think hanging this here?" Brian asked excitedly holding up a poster on the wall. I couldn't breathe. "Love?" Brian asked before he turned around. My knees were up to my chin, hands holding them in place, rocking back and forth, tears streaming down my eyes. Brian was shocked to see me in this state of mind but wasted no time. He hurried up to me on the sofa. He sat down on his knees in front of me, his hands on my cheeks. "Love, look at me" he pleaded with a calm voice. "Love" he said, more firmly this time. "Shh you're okay, love, I got you" he said as I lifted my head to look at him. I was frightened. His beautiful, angelic face that earlier always brought me peace and comfort were now triggering my anxiety. I ran. I ran out of the apartment, down the staircase and out of the building. Before leaving the building I heard Brian calling my name, running after me.

That's where I am right now. I ran to a pub, the pub we met at. I'm drunk. Anger, love, confusion, roads that lead nowhere. As to lately, I don't know what has gotten into me. We all know life's a rollercoaster, ups and downs, downs and ups. This time I wasn't prepared. I've hit the ground. Hard. Everything happened so fast. Wrapped up so consumed by all this confusion. With every thought I down a beer. "Could I get another one pls?" I slurred to the bartender. But no. No way I was going to drink more tonight. I don't know if it was intentional or not to go to the only pub in London where I'm recognisable since we go there all the time. Maybe I wanted to be found. The bartender declined and then went through a doorway to the kitchen. I heard him talking on the phone. He was talking about me. More than that I couldn't recognise and soon after my head hit the table and I was out.

I woke up in a bed. It took some time to locate where I was, but soon I noticed I was in our apartment. My head was killing me along with the anxiety and guilt. What the hell happened. I had no idea.

Soon enough Brian entered the room. I couldn't do anything. I barely dared to look at him. He looked exhausted. And there was something else, it shocked me that I couldn't decipher what it was.

"Hi" he calmly said as he strode to my side of the bed and set down a glass of water and aspirin.

"Hi" I vaguely answered.

The silence took over the room. I barely dared to move but did to take my aspirin and drink some well-needed water. Not letting my eyes of Brian, I watched as his tall body sat down on the side of the bed.

"How are you feeling?" he calmly asked as his hand strode closer to me but he didn't dare to touch me, probably confused by my signals yesterday.

I met him halfway and took a hold of his large and warm hand. As soon as he felt my hand on his he held mine tighter and let out a breath I didn't know he was holding.

"I don't know how to answer that" you answered honestly.

Brian hummed and stroked my hand with his thumb, looking at our locked hands.

"You scared me" he whispered. Tears threatening to leave his eyes.

That hurt.

"I'm so sorry" I panicked and sat up, only to regret it as my head almost pounded you dead. "Ow," I winced as my free hand went to hold my forehead.

"Careful" Brian voiced as calmly as ever. His eyes scanned around the room, trying to muster the courage for what he was to say next. He cleared his throat. "Can we talk about what happened?" he almost whispered, taking my hand in both of his, stroking it with his thumbs.

Of course, he wants to talk about it. There is nothing strange about that. However, I rather not. What am I supposed to say? That I panicked, that his face suddenly made me uneasy? That... I don't know. Suddenly I felt his hand upon my cheek. I must've zoned out.

"hey, it's alright"

I let out a loud sigh, catching Brians attention. "Brian, it is not alright. I'm a mess. What I did wasn't alright." Tears were now streaming down my cheeks. Burning like fire. Brians weight shifted as he crawled onto the bed, laying down behind me, embracing me like never before. His arms around my aching stomach and my arms. His leg over mine. His chin in the crook of my neck, whispering calming sentences while my tears shook my body. His body warming mine. It's always so calming.

How can I be so damn lucky? I ran away from home, from my love, I got piss drunk at a pub, and still, he took me home, taking care of me, holding me, loving me like no other. It's suffocating in the best way.

The tears calmed down. "Brian, I want to come home", I sniffed, crampingly grabbing onto his large, warm hand. "I'm hurting. I'm so lost. Confused. Angry." the tears were now rapidly streaming down my face again as I poured my aching heart out. "I really had to get away from home to live my life, to get better. When I first got here I felt cheated. It was so hard and I've never been worse my whole life. I've never felt more alone, left out, beaten up." I kept rambling on. "I know, love, I know." Brian cooed into my neck, stroking my arm. "But you don't Brian. I can't seem to find my way home. I'm so lost." I said as tears wrecked my body. Brian, holding me, securing me, hushing me, whispering sweet things. "I don't even know how you put up with me. I'm so broken. I came to you with a broken faith, and you gave me more than a hand to hold." The first time I voiced my fear and insecurity about how Brian feel about me. I'm so scared he'll leave me. He's all I've got. "Love, shh, It's ok. Hey, listen to me." he started as he turned me so I could look at him. "I understand that you feel like you're lost, I really do. Everything you've ever known has changed in less than a year. Space will eventually make it better, time will make it heal, and soon enough you won't feel like you're haunted. You won't be lost forever!" He praised as his hand stroked my cheek. Emphasizing the last sentence. I won't be lost forever.

"I'm so scared Brian"

"I know baby" he embraced me, "I know."

"I need you, Brian, don't leave me please, you're all I've got." I cried into his chest.

"Baby I won't. I never could. I love you! I will hold you. I will take you home. I'll be here every step of the way. I'll be your home." He said as my body once more broke down in tears.

I know there must be somewhere better because he always takes me there. Maybe I've found my home. I think he's my home.

[bokubaddie]

the taste on your tongue.

bakugou x f!reader

rating: mature

warnings: contains (hardcore smut???) & daddy issues/kink

notes: this was roughly inspired by the ‘daddy issues’ remix on tiktok! i fell in love with that audio and that’s how this baby was made :) && i might continue this with a part 2, because it was already so long!! hope you enjoy! <3

the rain pattered on your skin as you looked up into the evening sky. it happened again. you just wanted him to love you... to accept you. ever since your mother left, you’ve only had your father to rely on, but he was as shitty as shitty gets. but yet, you loved him.

“dad...”, the words leaked from your chapped lips. they tumbled into the dark sky, disappearing as soon as they appeared. “dad... i love you”, you mumble out. they were for only you to hear. why did you love him? he hated you. you knew he did. he despised you. you still love him? you laugh emptily, tears falling from your pale (e/c) eyes. of course you loved him. you thrived for his acceptance, even though you knew it would never happen.

after the rain had soaked into your skin to your hearts content, you pulled the raincoat hood over your (h/c) locks, and continued your path to the one and only katsuki bakugou’s house. he loves you, and he accepts you.

- : -

knock knock knock

your fist fell onto his apartment door, hoping for an answer. normally you’d call to make sure he’s home, but this time was just impulsive. you needed him. you needed him to love you. you needed him to accept you. you waited patiently, looking out towards the rain. it was coming down now. do you really have to walk home in this?

that’s when the door creaked open, a sleepy bakugou appeared in the wooden doorway. his vermillion eyes drooped with sleep. of course you fucked up his sleep. did you expect yourself to actually do something right for once? he looked you up and down, then pulled you inside his cozy apartment, a contrast to the chill outside. as soon as you were inside, he wrapped his built arms around your small frame, pulling you close. he knew.

“he hates me”, you mumbled into bakugou’s warm chest, “i know he does. i still love him”.

he pulls back and looks into your sad eyes. oh how he wished he could put you back together. that’s how it was. he wanted to build you back together, piece by piece. you were fragile and he wanted to keep you safe. you were his treasure.

“bakugou”, you look up into his dark eyes, taking notice of how attractive this man is. his tussled blonde hair spiked all sorts of different ways. his eyes dark and loving at the same time. his cute nose and small lips.

“bakugou”, you whisper again, “i need you”.

. . .

you undressed as you made your way down the dark hallway, leaving only your bright red panties on. bakugou did the same.

as you entered his room, he pushes you against the door, closing it. he lifts your legs up, making you completely submissive to him.

“bakugou, please”, you whimper into his ear.

“no, you know what to call me”, he faces you, grabbing your face to make you look him in the eyes. “what’s my name, little girl?”, his nostrils flared as he breathed heavily.

“d-daddy....please”, you whimper again, pushing your panty-clothed core against his hard member. you can feel the heat coming from him, it just agged you on more. “daddy...please take care of me”, you look up at him, capturing his lips in yours. his tongue made its way into your mouth, claiming the territory as his own.

as he pulled away, a single string of saliva connected the both of you. bakugou brings his hand us to swipe his finger through the string, then holds his index and middle finger in front of you, waiting. you knew exactly what he wanted. opening your mouth, you watch as he drags his fingers on the smooth palette of your tongue.

“suck”, he commands. you obey him and wrap your swollen lips around his two digits, sucking as if your life depended on it. his fingertips nearly touch the back of your throat as you swallow as much of him as you can.

that’s when he pulls away, leaving you standing at the door, mouth gaping open for him.

“take your underwear off...now”, his voice gruff with lust. you can make out his hard member barely being covered by his black boxers. he takes notices of you sizinf him up. “i said, take your underwear off now”, he slams a hand by your head on the poor door, waking you from your trance. “babygirls listen to their daddy. don’t you want me to take care of you?” as he’s talking, his hand makes its way to your panties, and quickly rips them off of you, and throwing them in his room. they were not gonna be missed.

“i-i’m sorry, daddy. i promise i’ll let you take care of me”, you moan. he swiftly picks you up and tosses you nearly carelessly on his bed. “say sorry like you mean it, angel”, he makes his way over to you, stalking up as if you were his prey. “daddy, i’m sorry. please let me make if up to you. i promise i’ll listen next time”, as he stands by the bed, you crawl over to him, taking his boxers band into your fragile hands. “please, daddy?” you look up at him for consent, batting your eyelashes and pouting your bottom lip out, insinuating your innocence. you wanted him so bad.

“do you want to suck on daddy’s dick?” he pulls the waistband down, revealing himself to you. the flushed,

puffy head smacks his stomach, almost hitting your face in the process. “yes, daddy”, you grab his member in your small hands, only for him to shoo them away. “you know the rules, princess”, he mumbles, as he gives his member within his rough hands. you do know the rules, but you just wanted him to stuff you full already. listening, you open your mouth and stick you tongue out, saliva dripping onto the bed. he takes his member and pats it against your tongue, allowing you to get swift tastes of his pre. you could just drink him up. he takes the tip and rubs it around your lips, making his transparent pre outline your lips perfectly.

“what do you want, baby?” he smacks his dick on your tongue, making you moan. “you want my cock in your throat. it’s okay baby. daddy wants to stuff his little girls throat full of my cum. do you want that baby? you gotta tell me”, he smacks it against your tongue a couple more times, before moving it so you could respond.

“please...i want your cum, daddy. please, help me”, tears well up in your wide (e/c) eyes, pleading for what you wanted...no...needed. you needed him in you. you needed him to love you, to punish you, and to break you. you need your daddy.

bakugou rocks himself forward, cutting off your air supply with his dick, thrusting as far in your throat as he could. “oh, babygirl”, he wiped the tears spilling from your eyes, “you know your daddy loves you, baby. daddy will help you. i promise”. he slowly thrusts in and out of your warm, open cavern. each thrust, he could see his dick imprint in your throat. god, you were so sexy. and you were his.

after a couple minutes of rutting into your precious mouth, he pulls out, slapping it on your tongue a couple of times, letting pre-cum mix into you bubbly saliva. he bends down to where you were sitting, grabbing your cheeks to open your mouth. you knew what was coming. he was marking you as his. you stuck your tongue out, awaiting what was coming. he lifted up a bit, where he could look you in your eyes.

“open up, baby”, he mumbles, smirking as he does so. he swishes in his own mouth, gathering whatever saliva he had collected during this time. your tongue sticks out and small pants come from you. after collecting his spit, he claimed you.

puh.

his sounds resonated in your ears, just as his spittle dripped into your gaping mouth.

“swallow”, he commands, his voice as dark as his eyes, “now”. you show him his spit in your mouth and swallow, and he watches his spit go down into your stomach, where he wanted it.

“good girl”, he pushes you back and you know whats coming. him. “lift up for daddy”, he positions himself behind you, and you were in front of him, up on your knees. he was directly behind you, your back against his sweaty chest. you look down in between your shaking thighs and see his member in between your squishy legs. he was waiting for you to react.

“d-daddy?” you look up behind you, only to see his grinning face. “you want it in you, little girl?” he smirks, wrapping his hand around your small throat, gripping it enough to wear it feels pleasurable.

“yes sir”, you squeak. you were ready. so so so ready.

“put it in”, he growls, grabbing your hand within his own and guiding it to his rock-hard dick. you wrap your hand around him, feeling him throb into your hand. you lift it gently and align yourself over his thick cock. you couldn’t contain your excitment as you smiled to yourself. you finally found your hole and slipped yourself onto him. you were so full. he groaned into your ear, feeling your warmth entrapping him.

“please, move”, you whisper, feeling him breathe down your neck. he places a hand on your soft stomach, pulling you closer to him, and uses his other hand to push you onto all all fours, positioning you into doggy style. “fuck, (y/n)....you’re so fucking tight baby”, he makes small thrusts into you, making you stretch to fit his length entirely. “i fucking love you pussy”, he spits downward, making it land on his dick, using it for lube.

“daddy, please- i- i need you”, you whine, pushing yourself against him, making him smack your ass. “no babygirl. you listen to daddy”, he smirks, simply letting his dick soak in your warm juices. “what do you want angel?” he smacks you again, watching your ass jiggle around his cock.

this was going to be a long night for the both of you.

[chilling-seavey]

Qui Totum Vult Totum Perdit (d.s.) - 11

A/N An absolution 

Warnings: This story is centered around a murder so there will be graphic descriptions of blood, death/manslaughter, dealing with corpses, possible domestic abuse (physical/verbal), crime/covering up a crime, shock/grief, and other possibly heavy or triggering topics. Please read at your own discretion.

The sun was setting over the hills as I drove Jonah and myself out of Los Angeles and towards the desert. It was already getting later in the day so we decided to take the route through Palm Springs to stay there for the night and then make the straight shot to our shared ski lodge in Utah early the next morning.

Our drive was reasonably quiet, Jonah had connected his phone and was playing music quiet through the Bluetooth speakers in the car but neither of us were really focussed on the songs. That was a first, honestly.

I was too busy in my own mind; two Advil deep and still sporting a persistent headache while trying to piece together the events of the day. It had been both the fastest and longest day of my life. Did everyone always have it out for Avalon or was I just disgustingly dense? The way my brother spoke about her made me sick and the way Zach left our conversation with that sly dig made my blood boil. Avalon and I may have argued a lot but she was still my wife and I was supposed to protect her.

Right?

I’d be a complete asshole if I didn’t follow through with the one thing I swore to do in front of a whole congregation of our family and friends ‘til death do us part.

Goddammit.

It was dark by the time we pulled up to the resort in Palm Springs and the desert mountains were smudged into the starry sky in hues of black and dark blues. The city seemed quiet as if nightlife was non-existent. Normally, Jonah and I would complain about that – always ones to thrive off good nightlife, especially on a vacation – but right now, the quiet was perfectly ideal.

The sign out front of the resort read Riviera in curling letters and was lit from two spotlights on the grass below if beckoning us towards it. The parking lot didn’t seem too crowded, so we figured it was a safe place to stay. I parked the car near the entrance and pulled out a bit of the cash from the glovebox before we stepped out into the humid air.

Palm Springs felt far stickier than Los Angeles despite only being a two-hour drive away and I tugged haphazardly at the front of my black t-shirt to try and cool myself down a little as we headed for the doors. The burst of air conditioning that tumbled out of the building when the sliding glass doors opened for us was such a relief, even if our walk from the car hadn’t been that far. The lady behind the desk welcomed us with a smile and chipper hello and Jonah and I shuffled over quietly.

“We’re looking for a room for tonight. Two double beds preferably.” I said, keeping my voice down.

Being quiet felt necessary, even in the near empty lobby at the mere hour of 7:30pm.

The young lady typed away into her computer, her calm smile making me feel only more on edge than I already was. What was there to smile about? I drummed my fingers impatiently on the front desk and glanced back through the large windows to the direction of my car.

Her voice brought me back around, “We have a room available for you! It will be $185 for one night. Two double beds. Is a view of the pool alright with you?”

“Yeah.” I answered quickly. Pool, mountain, who gave a fuck. Honestly, dear reader, I never knew how much people can annoy me until I didn’t want to be around them.

“What’s the name for the booking?” she asked, glancing between Jonah and me expectantly.

“Seavey.” I answered and she typed it into her computer.

I figured since I told Christian we were going on a road trip it would only make sense to use my honest name if anyone came after us. God, I hoped no one would come after us.

I paid in full in cash – much to her surprise but she didn’t argue – and she passed us each a swipe key to our room.

“248. Second floor right past the pool on the other side.”

“Is there a Tesla charging station around here?” I asked.

“You’ll see it across the lot. Closer to the middle entrance doors!”

The hotel was built in a circular shape with the pool in the open courtyard centre and the two storeys of rooms in a pinwheel around it. Our room was at the far end of the building from the lobby and I drove my car down to the Tesla charging stations by the centre entrance to plug it in while Jonah pulled our bags from the backseat.

“What are we going to do with…the case in the trunk?” he asked me softly.

The quiet desert night made for ease of eavesdropping. Who could one trust at a time like that?

“The ice should keep it.” I whispered.

We opened the trunk and Jonah stood close to me for privacy as I unclipped the case and opened the top. The southern California heat had melted most of the ice on the drive and Jonah and I sighed in unison.

“Can’t keep her out here in this humidity.” Jonah whispered.

“I know.” I closed the equipment case and locked the clips again, “Bring her in with us then. It’ll be safer anyway.”

Jonah and I each draped our own bags over our shoulders and then each took a side of the case to lift it out of the trunk and onto the pavement. It was much heavier with the bags of melted ice and we found ourselves staggering a little down the hotel hallway with the weight of it. Of course we had to be on the second floor meaning we had to wait for the elevator.

Have you ever waited for the slowest elevator in the country with a dead body in your suitcase in the wide open? Didn’t think so. It is probably the most torturous thing one could experience. Or…one of the most torturous things one could experience.

I wonder if Avalon suffered.

The room was, of course, the lightest colours possible; the walls painted a light blue and the furniture and sheets all a crisp white. Jonah and I set the equipment trunk on the light brown carpet between us once we stepped inside and we took a second to look around the perfectly clean room. Where was there a place to put a bloody body that wouldn’t raise suspicions from housekeeping the following day?

Jonah peeked into the washroom that was directly to our left and he flicked on the light. The white tile floor was lit by warm pot lights along the ceiling and framed with white walls and a wood toned accent wall behind the dual vanity. The stand-alone tub was against the far wall and sat empty and perfectly clean.

We exchanged silent glances before letting the hotel room door close behind us and we lifted the equipment case into the ensuite. With equal soft huffs, we set it down on the tile and I unclipped the lid to open it up. Each melted ice bag was drained down the tub and the plastic packaging was left on the tile while we situated ourselves on either side of the case. I slid my hands under Avalon’s arms and directed Jonah to take her ankles and we lifted her up together and carefully set her in the tub. She was getting stiff so we tried to keep her in the same position we needed to put her back in the case come morning.

Jonah stuffed the empty ice bags into the bottom of the equipment case with the stained towel from home and he pulled it out of the bathroom and into the corner of the main room to keep it out of the way. I sat on the side of the tub and silently eyed the body of my wife that was lain in front of me. She seemed paler than when we left home and I sat there, afraid to touch her like she was stranger again.

“I’m going to grab some ice from the machine down the hall, okay?” Jonah said.

I glanced over at him and simply nodded before turning back to Avalon.

“Are you alright here?” he questioned.

I nodded again.

He hesitated in the doorway but left the room anyway.  

I felt numb when I first found her and I felt numb staring at her now, only hours apart but at the same time it felt like months. My God; my heart hurt.

I got up from the side of the tub and went back into the main room to where my laptop case was left on one of the beds. My hoodie and jeans were still inside it and I pulled out my sweater to take back into the ensuite. I carefully slid Avalon’s arms in it and then tucked it over her head and down her torso before resting her back against the side of the porcelain tub. The light bloody handprint over the chest was easier to look at than the gash across her neck and the completely dark red colour of her clothes. She looked nicer in my clothes anyway.

I sat back on the side of the tub and let my eyes study her face again. She was staring at the wall with that eery blank expression and I carefully reached over to close her eyelids. She looked like she was sleeping. I liked to think that’s what she was doing anyway…seemed to feel a little easier that way.

I let out a soft breath and reached my hand down to brush my fingers over hers, feeling the coolness of her once warm skin. She was unfamiliar now but, at the same time, still nothing less than the supposed love of my life. I ran my thumb over her knuckles and across the diamond ring on her left hand.

The glass fell and shattered on the kitchen floor between us, silencing our screaming match except for our heavy breaths and Avalon’s sniffled tears.

I sighed at the realization that the whole confrontation went on too far and I tried to reach for her, but she pulled her hand back and moved away from me, “Aves.”

“Don’t.” she snapped.

“Avalon, I’m sorry, I-”

“Sorry doesn’t fix everything.” she retorted sharply, yet I could hear the exhaustion in her voice. “I’m sleeping in the studio tonight.”

I swallowed thickly and nodded, glancing to the ground with a heavy heart, the pieces of broken glass shimmering in the kitchen light between us. She went to step around me but I instinctively reached out a hand to her to keep her back from accidently stepping on any broken glass, “Careful.”

“God, Daniel.” she huffed, “Please don’t.”

I didn’t make a move to stop her as she walked around me to storm across the living room and to the back door. She didn’t look back as she opened the sliding glass door and slipped out into the darkness that the falling night brought. I watched her disappear out of the house and into the backyard, her form fading from view like she had been a figment of my imagination the whole time, the cruelest most perfect kind of dream.

Oh, how I loved her. And I was so, so stupid.

I swallowed back my tears of realization as the pieces of the night came clearer to me. How I let her leave to the studio so easily, our last words spat in hatred, and how I could never truly apologize for not being the husband she wanted and deserved. I was too much of a coward and she was too good for me.

My tears came suddenly, breaking my breath in my chest with a shutter and I clenched my jaw to try and keep myself somewhat composed as the grief washed over me in heavy unbearable waves. I clutched her hand in mine and brought it up to my lips to press a soft kiss to her cold skin through my tears.

“I’m so sorry.” I whispered shakily to her, only hoping somehow she could hear me. Wherever she was. “I’m so fucking sorry.”

Detective Team: @jonahlovescoffee​ @randomlimelightxxx​ @stuffofseaveyy​ @hopinglimelight​ @tempus-ut-luceant​ @br4nd1s​ @xkelsev​ @hiya-its-amber​ @sexyseavey15​ @the-girl-who-cried-wolf​