#raise some hackles per say

[written-mishaps]

I don’t want to yell I’m just asking if you’re okay bc I reread your story like every month just in case you’ve updated lmao

Dude, I'm really glad to hear you enjoy my story that much !

And yeah, I'm going to be very honest with you, I have had legit 0 time to even THINK about writing. As I've mentioned before I have been doing my 'Big Exams(tm)' so honestly my priorities have very firmly been there. It's prolly gonna be another month or two before I can start working on this again, so in the interest of being truthful, it WILL be a while before you'll be getting any updates.

But! At least I'm 13/17 Exams through! Bro I cannot even begin to describe how much these things suck like I literally had two 2 hour papers on the same day a couple days ago ya boy is EXHAUSTED💀

[moistvonlipwig]

some thoughts on angel's pov on the buffy/angel relationship in the later seasons of the buffyverse, under the cut because b/a shippers may not want to see it. this is an angel-positive post though, i'm interested in looking at his mindset, not tearing him down:

it's interesting and imo telling that post-early s3 of ats, angel only seems to bring up buffy & get caught up in the idea of a relationship with her when he feels like a failure of a hero. when he's happy with baby connor he never says aw gee i wish buffy could be here to meet him. when he's sad and needs comfort (e.g. when connor gets kidnapped) he never says god i wish i could talk to buffy about this. it's only when jasmine takes cordelia and connor away from him and he lets it happen and he signs his soul over to wolfram & hart to try to save the last bit of connor that's left that he goes crawling back to buffy all like, if buffy still wants me then maybe i'm not the worst most pathetic biggest failure in the universe. maybe i can pretend i'm still the cool hero guy she always thought i was. and in s5 it's only when spike comes back from the dead full of swagger and seemingly the champion angel feels like he no longer is that angel suddenly starts obsessing about which one of them buffy likes more, and again nearly always explicitly in the context of feeling like a failure of a hero.

(even in tgiq there's the context of angel literally planning to go on a suicide mission in a couple weeks. he certainly was not under the impression that he and buffy had any kind of actual future together. it seems more likely to me that he saw an opportunity to say goodbye and when spike interfered it raised his hackles and made him defensive again.)

post-buffy's resurrection, as much as the writers liked to throw bones to buffy/angel shippers (imo to the detriment of both shows' narratives), it still doesn't actually read as angel still wanting to be with buffy so much as angel idealizing his time with buffy as a simpler time when he felt like a good person just by dint of being around her. she isn't someone he super wants to hang out with (unlike, say, cordelia), she just represents 'goodness' to him and when he feels like he is running out of his own goodness he grasps at her image to try to make himself feel better. it's no coincidence that he seems to regress in maturity every time the shows try to bring back his feelings for buffy in btvs s7/ats s5, because at that point in his arc, when he retreats into his old feelings for buffy, he is essentially taking comfort in a childish ideal to avoid facing reality.

it does frustrate me that the shows never let him realize this and let go of this coping mechanism (because, again, i think they wanted to keep shippers on the hook), but at the same time i think it's pretty textually obvious that that's what's going on in his head. it's not that he hasn't actually moved on from her or is incapable of doing so, it's that when things get too hard and he loses his actual support system, angel (unlike poor billy pilgrim) becomes stuck in time, longing for the days when he only cared about one person and his life was easier for it. easier -- but not better. and he knows that, which is why, per "awakening," he doesn't actually wish he could go back to those days. not truly. he just wishes his life didn't suck quite so bad.

[hollyhomburg]

Before I Leave You (Pt.44)

(Sneak Peak) (Omegaverse au, Mafia au, Bts x Reader)

Summary: You should have come to jungkook about your predicament with the pack alpha sooner. He’s got solutions and a box full of sex toys. “There you go- oh my god you're soaking the pillow- guess you really like this one a lot huh?”

Tags: Sub! M/c, implied switch! jk, jk has a small dick, Pillow princess m/c, Dildos, Use of Sex toys, Penetrative sex, Pussy dilation, Size Kink, cuteness kink,  Humiliation kink, voyeurism, Biting, Rule Breaking, Pain kink, dumbification, dacryphilia, Referenced blood, referenced passed eating disorders, a dusting of Mafia shit as per usual, this is a little closer to crack than usual. 

W/c: 10.5k 

A/n: i really really tried to give you guys this chapter all in one go, but unfortunately i had to split it into one very big part and one smallish part, but you know me my brain melts after about 12k~ words. 

Chapter 44: Slow Love (sneak peak)

“I shouldn’t even be upset, it’s so fucking stupid- I'm so-” Hobi can’t help the urge to get a hand on your back, stroking down your nobly spine. You tip your body towards him- looking for some soothing. 

“Hey, you’re not stupid, I’m sure it wasn’t so bad.” Namjoon you've got some fucking explaining to do he thinks as your sniffling continues, his hackles raised.

Jungkook’s voice is as gentle as you’ve ever heard it. And he ticks his chin to the side, trying to pull your hands away from your face, “ah pup- did he-“

“Namjoon didn’t do anything” you cry. “he couldn't-” Your cheeks are on fire as you pull back, you and Jungkook might have had this sort of contact before but you and Hobi- you don't talk about this.

Ever.

"Pup," Jungkook seems to understand, his words come out hushed, but he still needs to confirm it, "Did Namjoon, did he not- fit?"

You bury your head in his shoulder and nod wetly.

Heat creeps up the back of Hobi’s neck and he covers it with a sweaty palm. Both of them are well of how Namjoon’s a literal pain in the ass at the best of times. Unfortunately (or fortunately depending on if you've got a size kink or not) not being able to take the pack alpha at a moments notice is something they've all had experience with in the past. 

The alphas deal with it more so than the omegas. Quickies just aren’t a thing when you’ve got a dick that most porn stars would swoon at. 

But neither Jin nor Jungkook have ever needed to take more than an hour or two of prep to open up. Omegas are usually more limber than alphas or betas. They’re made for taking knots and keeping them safe and snug inside of them. 

But not you apparently. Apparently- your body is as stubborn as an alphas. 

You turn your tear-tracked face on Jungkook like a weapon, the most heartbreaking pout on your face. Jungkook really really shouldn't be thinking of his habit of crying while taking the pack alphas knot either- how pretty Namjoon says he looks when he's so full he can't do much more than sob and take it.  

While looking at you, Jungkook gets why crying might be a kink. 

He blinks away his own arousal as you sniffle in his lap. So Ernest and eager, Hopefull as you look up at him completely unaware of the effects you have on him.  “How do you take his knot kookie? Please, can you show me?”

Jungkook's scent bursts sweet and Hobi flushes darker than his hair, “okay! I think it’s time for me to leave!” But Hobi doesn’t, chest tight and watching the two of you as Jungkook hums, considering it. Understanding and sad but also hiding his grin. His scent breaks into something happier betraying him, and he cups your ribcage, pulling you to sit more properly in his lap.

His smile is just a bit past mean, “That’s what’s got you so upset? That’s-“ the slight laugh to the edge of his voice conjures heat to your cheeks, both flustered and ashamed. 

“I know it’s dumb. You don’t have to be mean-”

“No- I’m not judging you that’s just-“ his laugh is a little bit jumpy, like it’s unexpected for both of you. “It’s just so fixable.”

You blink. That certainly wasn’t what you were expecting. But of course Jungkook thinks it’s easy. You’ve seen the way that Jungkook takes Namjoon’s cock and almost took his knot, the same way he looked when he took the spanking- like he was born to take it. Like his body knew that it had to part for his alpha. Of course, it seems easy to him.

You swat at his chest lightly, "Don't make fun of me Koo- it's not nice" you try to squirm out of his lap but he holds you down.

“I’m serious- I’ve got a bucket of dildos and enough lube to fit a small swimming pool. I’ve got dildos as large as Namjoon if you want them. i’ve even got one molded from his dick to be fair. A long time ago Jin had one made from all the alphas knots so we could-”

Hobi shoots to his feet, cheeks as pink as the skirt that Tae wore to work this morning. “Okay! I think I’m gonna go find a shoe rack to clean or something- you guys uhm“ his gaze flickers down to your pressed fronts, then back up at your faces. Jungkook’s wicked, yours sweet. 

“Have fun!” he squeaks. 

Coming Saturday Dec 3rd at 5pm EST (Time Zone Adjustments below) 

[tewwor-moving]

🎰

Send 🎰 for me to put our muses into a random list generator then post the first five as potential ships! ( accepting )

amaro— oh lets go, vampire verse with either him all hackled raised / friend or foe (he Really doesn’t like other vampires until it’s known if they’re terrible or not), or…… would he interesting if there’s maybe ties with his maker? not by creation per se, but maybe knowing / even worked with her — which would have him be less….. guarded / cutthroat. Sort of.

bushel — could be/seem like an every day joe in his main verse. Could lend a hand in tight situations. Could lend two ears to listen on a random whim. Could be a neighbor that happens to grow way too many crops and brings harvest baskets over. I do have a verse where he’s also a singer, scorned by his ex which he separated from either custody of their child — honestly, he’s just trying to figure things out here.

eun — if she needs some kindness in her life… look no further. Though, i do have a crime verse for him where he’s less so (family comes first always and he’s less hung up about taking extra steps to make sure his brother’s safe). But in his main verse he’s all soft and wants what’s best for others even if they step on him in the process. Also cooks real good and can definitely handle his own in bad situations (just reluctant to do so/will apologize the entire time).

dhrish — let me just…. Open to door to haneul’s inn. Could’ve been led to said inn by dhrish himself, or happen to stumble across this fantastical place and be greeted by this bundle of energy. Super talkative, chock full with useless knowledge, just wants to do the right thing while also being way too anxious at the same time. This can also be adapted to a crime setting — think of the continental from joh n wick!

simon — well, what can i say besides demons will be demons. Or at least he will be, at least. Always out to strike a deal and slurp up a soul regardless of how nice (not kind) he seems. Also a verse where he’s a famous singer that gathers his pacts by exposure, but he’s always found in places at the wrong time by choice

[bitch-i-migth-be]

Chapter 11: Someone Called The Baby Brother Protection Squad?

Fandoms: Danny Phantom, Batman,

Summary: He swore his sister was trying to make him go into cardiac arrest - considering his halfa status that was quite the accomplishment-

But there was no other explanation to his sister’s stubbornness, and if he knew her at all there was just no talking her down from interning at goddam Arkham.

A/N: Im getting dizzy and its all the characters fault. Most of it. Some of it.

THIS IS ON AO3, IF ANYONE WOULD PREFER TO READ THERE. LOVE COMmENTs  so if u have anything to say IwillBeReallyHappyYesThankU

@silvergold-swirl

Notes:

Hi grandma, it’s ME, Anastasia! 💋

Hello guys~ I had to rearrange some things and move some scenes because i hated the timing. We are gonna go with this short one and hopefully danny will cooperate now that I finally gave up and let him scape the torture. I swear to god this boy doesn’t care for anything that isn’t working in his damned survival Notebook ughh

I mean i did give it to him, i guess. So i am the one to blame. Should have seen that one coming. 🤡

CHAPTERS: 1 , 2 , 3 , 4 , 5 , 6 , 7 , 8, 9, 10, 11, 12,

Danny was.. unsure.

Which wasn't exactly a new occurrence, per se, but C’mon !

He had read the damn pamphlets, — the pamphlets ! Who does that? not counting Jazz, of course, because she didn't count on grounds of her being Jazz — and listened raptly — even if there had been plenty of eye rolling and sighs from his part — while Jazz coached him through the ‘Do’s’ and ‘Don’ts’ and the ‘What ifs’ and whatever else she had thought to throw in there ‘just in case’.

It seemed like it would be for nay because apparently the examiners hadn’t been informed of Jazz’s carefully planned out schedule. He was pretty sure the examiners taking him to a secondary location after the test was already done hadn’t been stated anywhere.

He would like his freedom back. Yes and thank you.

But maybe this was important? Even if jazz or the damn pamphlet hadn’t mentioned  anything about it?

Mulaney would be pretty disappointed but at least Jazz would not try and make him a full ghost if he made a full blown scandal — in the middle of the school he was just about finished making the entrance exams for — as god almighty intended it whenever things started to get shaddy around him.

You can’t make everyone happy these days, but you can choose who you are going to disappoint or potentially piss off. And that was something.

At least the new place was still inside the same building and no one had taken out the scalpels. Yet . On the way here they had walked by something that looked suspiciously like a dissection lab and Danny's hackles had raised and stayed up even after they had walked past and left the damned place behind.

The current company didn’t help much in calming him down, either.

The look one of the ladies kept giving him reminded him — uncomfortably so — of the manic stare Spectra got whenever she got some new poor soul on her clutches. The same sort of look some ghosts shared. The sort of look that had resulted in Danny quickly and effectively developing a pavlovian response. One that resulted in exorbitant amounts of well-placed aggression and some collateral damage to fix later if he was particularly unlucky.

He couldn’t exactly afford the collateral damage right now, though. Which was a shame. But, eh.

Danny had to repeat Jazz words like a mantra, over and over again to calm his nerves down before he managed to convince himself in his paranoia that everyone in this room had somehow gotten possessed, that this was nothing more than an elaborate hoax and he needed to ‘suit up’ and dispatch them before they got the chance to dispatch him first.

Then the examiners-slash-teenappers seemed to finish their impromptu rendezvous and the spectra-wannabe lady turned towards him with yet another smile.

His core trilled, a fake smile took over his face and Danny started to feel his fingers twitch in anticipation. Of what? he didn’t exactly know. But it would get pretty ugly , really fast if the lady came any closer.

When someone knocked on the door- Well, no. The knock itself had not been enough to derail any of them —except for Danny, who had snapped to attention and contemplated the expansion of possibles getaways now that the door was once again open, if slightly obstructed by someone — but one of them finally caught the stare of the redheaded woman on the door and that sure seemed to be enough.

There was no better word to what followed, the woman started to rip them a new one, right in front of their salad and everything, as they say.

So he did the smart thing — because of course he did —, he took the distraction for what it was and hightailed it out of the room.

Jazz would understand, right? right.

And that was the moment when Jazz appeared out of thin air and looped an arm around his shoulders, halting his momentum.

He side eyed her. She side eyed him back.

“Umh, I- I was just-” her eyebrow rose and Danny felt the nervous laughter fall from his lips without authorization. Which, rude. But also understandable. Maybe.

Jazz didn’t stop to acknowledge it. She just brought their foreheads togethers a moment to nuzzle him — long enough for him to get a grip while the both of them took a pair of deep breaths — and Danny finally recognized the look on her face from multiple parent-teachers conferences back in amity when not even one of their parents managed to make it into the school without getting sidetracked or offending someone on the way there.

She was taking over from here.

“Don’t get lost.” Was all she offered in a whisper, and then she let go.

He smiled back at her.

And then made a run for it.

-.-.-.-

Jazz was feeling-

Incredibly validated if slightly murderous.

The validating feeling was new but expected. The murderous one was an old friend, and she had thought it wouldn’t make an appearance today. That had been her mistake. She would learn from the experience and be better prepared in the future.

watching her brother run circles around these people without even noticing had been fun until it wasn’t. The sight of her little brother so strung up had made her want to take some pointers from Vlad but alas.

There was someone better to take pointers from right now.

Two redheads are always better than one, after all.

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.--.-

NOTES

Me, flipping a coin to decide between feral siblings and soft siblings each chapter.

-.-.-.-

Lydia martin is one of my goddesses. I can understand stile because holy fuck that woman is awe inspiring.

-.-.-.-

Also barbara of course. And Gwen tennyson. And giesell. And Anastasia. And the little mermaid. And ranko. And roberta. And-

Have i mentioned I have a thing for redheads?? That seems important. Because oh booooiii

-.-.-.- I'm going to get another coin to flip. It’s either both feral and soft or double the amount of one of those and that sounds real nice~

-.-.-.- as a throw back to the chapter with the ghost council: the ghost kryptonians?? I imagined them keeping taps on clark and rooting for him, like, there are support groups sometimes and everything, like ´-and last but not least: next Tuesday is Lex Luthor Hate Night, guys, so don't you dare forget the popcorn daggers again Ken Al-‘

and i just ahskfsahkgakl I can’t- !!

-.-.-.-

I had a talk with the characters and we all decided Danny and Jazz will be in charge of bulldozing the way for everyone else.

If any of the others want to pop in with a pov then it will happen, if they don’t then they won’t, and we will have to make do with the feral siblings view of this mess. Maybe. Depends on if these fuckers change their mind. Like they do. Ugh. It’s gonna be lovely, I. can. tell.

CHAPTERS: 1 , 2 , 3 , 4 , 5 , 6 , 7 , 8, 9, 10, 11, 12,

[peralta-guaranteed]

Hey! I have a fic/HC request - it's a bit specific - jake and Amy are on a date and they see a guy who went to the academy with Jake and worked with Amy at the 64 and when amy goes to the washroom he tries to make fun of her/says creepy stuff about het in front of Jake and he gets all angry and protective

“Gotta say I’m surprised.”

“About what?”

“That you got Santiago.”

Jake stares at Daniels over the rim of his beer glass. There’s a million instincts shouting in his brain, mixing into a little symphony. To tell him to fuck off, basically. Tell him he worked hard to ‘get the girl’, and continues to work hard to keep her. Tell him that whatever he’s got in his head about their relationship is probably far stranger than whatever he’s-

“Whyyyy~?” Is unfortunately all he manages to squeeze out inbetween anger, confusion and a bit of shock. It seems to be enough for Daniels, who guffaws.

“Well, no offense, Jakey, but you’ve been a detective for what, eight years now?”

“Eight and a half.”

“Amy Santiago needs more than a detective to keep her career floating.”

It had started out as a frankly lovely evening. It wasn’t date night, per se - just a random evening where they’d both found themselves out of the precinct earlier than expected, and Jake had spun Amy round on her heels once while holding her hand, grinning and asking if he could ‘take a lady for a drink’. (He was well aware that he did corny-romantic the best, and it usually worked with Amy. Like it did that night, making her giggle and roll her eyes and lead him down the streets to Shaw’s anyway.)

“I mean, that’s all she was about back at the 64. Going up the ladder. Nice girl, but jesus, her constant work chatter really pushed down her ratings.”

“Ratings.”

“Yeah.” Daniels grins and Jake tries not to think about punching those teeth out. “You remember from the academy, yeah? We set them all up during darts night. Much better than the 0-10 scale.”

“I never went to darts night.”

“Oh right.” Daniels sips on his beer. “You were always hanging out with that Rose biker chick.”

“Detective Diaz.”

And since it wasn’t established date night, and they were only having a beer each before they’d probably head home, it didn’t feel all that wrong to invite an old academy pal to their table when he bumped into him ordering at the bar. If it had been anyone from the 99, Amy would’ve probably done the same, and Jake was a bit too busy introducing him and laughing about the fact that they actually knew each other from Amy’s old precinct to notice her raised hackles.

“Diaz, sure, sure. Gotta tell you, if she wasn’t such a hardass bitch, she’d be a straight A.”

“Oh good, a letter rating system.” Jake groans through gritted teeth.

“Your Santiago, though...” Daniels leans onto the table with a wink, and Jake imagines his face crashing into it if he slapped the elbow he’s leaning on away. “She was a whole A+ at the 64th. Until she opened her mouth, and got into that whole career shit with the captain.”

He was not too busy, however, to notice her complete silence ever since Daniels had sat down - nor his clear disinterest in changing that, talking to Jake only, slapping his shoulder and recounting those ‘good old days’ Jake didn’t really remember the same way. Not too busy, either, to notice her jumping up ‘for the bathroom’ when Daniels started on their time in the 64th, and rushing through the rest of the bar patrons like something had stung her.

Jake sees red, and tries to blink it away. Unsuccessfully.

“Amy’s ambitious, and rightly so. She’s one of the smartest detectives we’ve ever had, and she’s gonna be a sergeant, lieutenant and captain before any of us even manage to get the first test topics into our brains.”

“Yeah, yeah, sure, right.” Daniels grins and winks again, and the red turns into pure fire in Jake’s eyes. “With a bit of shmoozing, those tests are a doozy, I know.”

Jake’s hand slams onto the table so hard the guys next to them look over for a second, and Daniels’ beer topples over right into his lap.

“Hey, dude, what the fuck-”

Amy’s been in the bathroom for a good 10 minutes. Daniels chatter has turned from good academy pal to annoying classmate to ‘jesus fuck, I remember this douche, Rosa used his picture as her personal darts board’. He’s been talking about ‘Santiago’ as if she hadn’t been in the same room as them only minutes ago, and his face as Jake calls her his girlfriend says more than enough.

“You know jack-shit, you stupid piece of crap.” Jake snarls, and the guys next to them quickly shuffle away. “You’ve bumbled your way into your job by being a mediocre white guy with just enough racism and sexism in his brain to appeal to the same brand of assholes in higher positions, and now you think it’s okay to spew that kind of trash to anyone with a badge. Amy and Rosa are gonna wipe the floor with douchebags like you. Without the need for shmoozing, or rating systems, or whatever else fucked up shit you’ve been using to get where you are.”

“Listen, you gotta take a joke, man-”

“It’s not a joke, and I’m not going to listen to any of your shit for a second longer. You’re gonna take your beer-stained pisspants out of this bar, and if I find out you’ve been talking like that about any of my colleagues again, or talking shit to them, I’m pretty sure either Diaz or I still have some of those ‘fun’ graduation party pictures you probably don’t remember taking.” Jake’s fist is shaking, but his face is steadfast enough to convey the message (and it’s not a lie - he does know Rosa keeps a blackmailing backlog, and he’s well aware of the academy photos in there, right next to the folder of his own fuck-up proofs that she keeps throwing at his head if he ever tries to refuse one of her demands).

Daniels mouth opens and closes a few times, like a fish trying to breathe out of water, before he sputters something that might be an insult, but gets up, so it doesn’t matter. He runs into a few other patrons as he leaves, two of which give him as clear of a stink eye as they give Jake a nod as he passes them, but he’s barely noticing them.

-*-

“....Ames?” Jake steps into the, luckily, uni-sex bathroom Shaw’s had decided on years ago, and finds only one of the stalls locked. “You okay in there?”

“S-sorry.” comes as an answer, and he knows her slightly stuffy voice after crying far too well not to recognise it even when reverberating through an empty bathroom. “I’ll be out in a minute.”

“I made Daniels leave.”

“...You did what?”

The stall door finally opens, and Amy’s red-rimmed eyes are looking at him almost confused as she clings to the handle.

“I told him to fuck off, basically.” Jake shrugs, but then takes a step forward, lays his hand as softly as he can on hers still gripping the doorhandle like it was a lifeline. “I’m sorry I let him barge in like that at all, and didn’t remember what a colossal jerk he actually is.”

“It’s okay.” Amy sniffs, and his hand on hers tightens. “You couldn’t have known.”

“I could have. Should have remembered how much he pissed me off in the academy already. And even if not, I shoulda noticed how uneasy you were with him straight away.”

“Yeah.” Amy only nods, and sniffs again before he can wipe another stray tear off her cheek. “Thanks, anyway. For getting rid of him.”

“Don’t thank me for doing the bare minimum.”

“It’s good to encourage proper behaviour.” Amy tries a little grin even with a wobbly lip, and Jake answers it with a snort as she leans against him, finally letting go of the doorhandle to wrap him in a hug he gladly reciprocates.

“He wasn’t the worst of them, anyway.” She mumbles into his flannel shirt, and his arms around her shoulders grow tense.

“Alright, I’ll need a kill-list then. To hand over to Rosa.”

Amy snickers into his shoulder, but shakes her head.

“It’s okay. I don’t have to deal with them anymore. I’m at the 99 now.” She mumbles, and it sounds a little bit like she’s trying to remind herself of it, too.

“You’re with the 99 now.” Jake nods. “We take care of each other.”

Amy sniffs once more before looking up at him.

“Did we need to have this heartfelt moment in a bar bathroom?”

“Let’s go home, Ames. Before they make me pay for the beer I spilled all over the seats.”

“Wait, what?”

-*-

She’s deep asleep next to him, her hair all splayed out over the pillow since he played with it until she dozed off, her lips slightly open for that little, high, whiney noise she makes that he knows means she’s completely gone into dreamland.

He turns his phone screen’s brightness all the way down to keep her there before starting to type.

- Roger Daniels u remember him?

- what did the douche want. Do I need a new dartboard

- can we break him somehow

- why

- made Amy cry. probs for years

- gimme 2 days

Jake sends only a thumbs up before he slides down under the covers, Amy’s cold hands immediately finding their way around his waist as he shuffles closer to spread his warmth over to her side of the bed as well.

[rocorambles]

A King and His Knight

Pairing: Oikawa x Female Reader, Oikawa x Reader x Iwaizumi

Genre: Yandere, Slight NSFW

Warnings: Yandere, Rape/Non-con, Violence, Mindbreak

Summary:  You weren’t wrong per se about Iwaizumi being a knight in shining armor, but you forgot to factor in that a knight always serves a king and Iwaizumi’s king will always be Oikawa.

You look like an absolute mess. Bruises are beginning to form around your throat and left cheekbone, buttons are missing from your blouse, and mascara is running down your face as you sob. But that doesn’t stop you from running as fast as you can on trembling legs, desperate to get away from the monster hidden behind a charming smile and chocolate brown eyes. 

You had been so flattered and ecstatic when the star setter of your volleyball team had started talking to you. Which girl at Aoba Johsai wouldn’t be? Oikawa was handsome, charming, and athletic and you didn’t think to question anything when he randomly began chatting with you between classes. You didn’t question him asking to eat lunch with you. You didn’t question him walking you to school. No doubt ever crossed your mind as he slowly began weaving himself more and more into your life until it seemed like the two of you were never apart. 

But that changed today when Oikawa asked you to stay and wait for him after his volleyball practice. Like always, you said yes without any hesitation and patiently waited for the tall brunette outside of the gym. You bid farewell to the rest of the team as they filed out before you went inside to find your new friend who patted the seat on the bleachers next to him. Seated side by side, you look at him questioningly and are met with a gaze full of hopeful anticipation as Oikawa asks you to be his girlfriend. You can hear the clocks on the gym walls tick as your heart sinks. Yes, Oikawa was the dream boyfriend for a majority of the females at Seijoh, but not for you. 

Nervously biting your lip, you gently let the boy down, trying to soften the blow as much as you could, saying you’d still love to be friends and that he’d find a girlfriend in no time with how popular he is. But Oikawa is motionless and with his face turned down, you can’t see his expression so you aimlessly ramble on until you’re shell shocked into silence when Oikawa finally lifts his head to look at you. There’s no smile, there’s no flirty wink, there’s only pure malice that makes your heart leap into your throat in fear. Your flight or fight instincts triggered, you make to stand up when Oikawa lunges at you and you both go crashing onto the bleacher floors. His hands are around your throat and you are terrified as you frantically fight to breathe. “You, bitch! I did everything right. I did everything a good boyfriend should do. I wasted so much time and effort on you and you have the fucking nerve to reject me?” You barely register the seething words falling from his lips as black spots begin to blur your vision and you feel like you’re about to faint from the lack of oxygen when suddenly his grip loosens and you gasp, spluttering for breath as you try to scoot away from him. A bone crushing grip on your ankle stops you from moving too far as he stares at you. “I’m going to give you one more chance. Will you be my girlfriend?”

Now that you can finally breathe and begin to register everything that’s happening, fury rages inside you. How dare he try and bully you into a relationship with him? You glare at him as you spitefully tell him you'd rather die than go out with a psychopath like him. But your hackles raise as Oikawa breaks into a belly bursting maniacal laughter at your fighting words and you’re so distracted by the absurdity of the situation that you don’t have time to react before a hand is powerfully striking you across your face. Literally knocked to the ground, you sob from the pain and shock of being hit and your mind is reeling to come to terms with what’s happening as strong hands drag you closer to a warm body. His hands are savagely ripping the top of your blouse open as he pins you to the ground, kissing and biting any inch of skin he can reach with reckless abandon. It’s pure luck that in your frantic flailing motions you’re able to kick his injured knee hard enough that he rears back from you in pain and you take that opportunity to bolt out the gym doors, through the school gates, and down the streets of your neighborhood. 

You’re running out of breath and your muscles and lungs begin to ache with the need to rest when you see a familiar head of spiky hair walking in front of you and you cry out his name. Startled, Iwaizumi turns around to see who’s calling for him and a look of horror flashes across his face as he takes in what state you’re in. He lets you crash into his arms as you sob into his chest and tell him everything that happened. Iwaizumi has always been kind. He’s always been the voice of reason, a pseudo-parent to the rambunctious boys on his team, a natural leader others look up to. Surely you can trust him to help you, you think to yourself, as you bury your face in his chest and continue to cling onto his strong muscular build. Unknown to you, as you find comfort in the vice captain, he is opening his phone and shooting a text message behind your back before quietly slipping the device into his pocket and wrapping his arms around your trembling frame.

He treats you to a cup of tea at a local cafe and the two of you talk about lighter topics as a way to distract you. Soon enough you’re both laughing and you feel more at ease. It’s growing late, but you don’t want to go home just yet, afraid of bursting into tears again at the sight of your parents. Seeming to sense your hesitation, Iwaizumi asks if you want to hang out at his place for a bit. It is a Friday night after all and there’s no school tomorrow. His parents are also out of town, so there’s no one to worry about bothering. Convinced, you shoot your own parents a text letting them know you’d be home late before walking side by side with the ace.

When you arrive at his house, he tells you to make yourself at home and you both deposit your school bags before getting some snacks and drinks from his kitchen. You make your way to his bedroom where all his game consoles are, but you freeze when you swing open his door. There laying on Iwaizumi’s bed is Oikawa and he’s staring at you with a feral grin on his face, eyes twisted with rage. You try to turn and run back out the room, but instead you collide with a hard chest and your face pales as you look up into emotionless green eyes. Iwaizumi easily picks you up with one arm and slings you across his shoulder as he closes and locks the bedroom door behind him and tears begin to fall from your eyes when you hear the resounding click of the lock. 

Maybe afterwards, when every single one of your holes is stretched out, when it feels like there’s no more tears left for you to cry, and when you agree to be Oikawa’s girlfriend just to make it all stop, you’ll realize how foolish you were to run to Iwaizumi. You weren’t wrong per se about Iwaizumi being a knight in shining armor, but you forgot to factor in that a knight always serves a king and Iwaizumi’s king will always be Oikawa. 

But for now, you lie there on Iwaizumi’s bed, your upper torso held up by the ace as he encircles your waist with toned arms and hooks his chin over your shoulder while Oikawa brutally thrusts into your aching pussy. You lie there as Oikawa persuades Iwaizumi to participate and together they stuff you fuller than you’ve ever felt before. And you lie there, reluctantly losing yourself to pleasure as your body is thoroughly used over and over again.             

[troublesometrollhunters]

Zouxie (Zoe X Douxie)

Merry Christmas and Happy Secret Santa to a fellow T.O.A fan! For you @dreamsarelikedragonflies!!! You asked for any Wizards content particularly Zouxie or Jlaire so I wrote a little Zouxie Snow fluff thing and made a fun asesthtic for our favourite punk wizards! :D

~~~

 Douxies breathing was heavy as he rushed through the woods cutting through them to get to the park. Leaves brushed past him smacking his face as roots snagged at his shoes tripping him as he ran forward. His breathing came out in deep huffs as he raced to where he was heading.

  Archie who'd been on his shoulder had hoped off after the ravenette hadn't been careful and he'd gotten a faceful of leaves. The familiar was now flying next to his charge, avoiding difficult obstacles the forest provided as he weaved around the trees and low hanging branches. Douxie cursed at his own impulsiveness speeding up. She was gonna lose her cool one of these days and it was going to cost him his relationship. Archie seemed to always be warning him about how if he kept diving headfirst into danger especially on date night it was gonna bite him. Sadly the dragon was right as always.

   After closing down the café something had caught his eye and he had to investigate. Well together, Archie and him had found a growing nest of shadow mephits. They'd blasted the poor creatures apart, sending the whole nest back to the netherworld but it took way longer than expected. And now, now Douxie feared something far scarier. 

 He was late. He was late. He was late. He was late again and Zoe was going to kill him. Bursting out of the woods stumbling through a bush he catches himself. Dirt and leaves covered his hoodie making him hiss. Archie landed on his shoulder licking his hair grooming him and Douxie had no doubt that twigs were stuck in his ponytail. Sighing as Archie tried to clean him up he didn't care about appearances. It's not like Zoe did either, at the moment he was way more concerned with the time than his disheveled looks. Still heaving out air trying to catch his breath he paused to look around the clearing. Unable to speak full sentences yet he snaps his fingers pointing up.

 "Archie..." Douxie begs his friend and the dragon nods launching himself off the wizards shoulder. Looking around frantically for his pink haired girlfriend Archie soars above the trees searching for her as well. Distracted with finding her he didn't hear the footsteps sneaking up behind him. Stiffening as he feels a hard smack and muttering an owww, he turns quickly and sees her. It was Zoe.

  Relief crosses his features as he does his best to catch his breath so he can muster an apology. Opening his mouth she holds out a hand as she frowns at him. Her fingers are warm and looking at Zoe a spark of electricity zapped over his lips making him blush. He smiles but she's not in the mood. 

 "You're late." She states putting a hand on her hip and glaring up at him. Douxie chuckles nervously before swallowing at the intense look. He was happy Zoe hadn't gone home even if she was mad at him. If she'd left before he got to explain she'd be pissed for days. If he could get a word in hopefully she'd rage but then probably forgive him by tomorrow. The second option was more appealing but from the look on her face explaining could make the situation so much worse. Trying to think of what to say Douxie scratches the back of his head fishing out a stick from his ponytail. He tosses it aside and meeting Zoes burning blue eyes he blushes. 

 "I'm here now?" He asks with a playful laugh trying to lighten the mood but Zoe looks unamused. She flicks a leaf out of his hair and raises a brow scanning his messy form. "I can explain." He states defensively as he holds up his hands smiling at her.

 She rolls her eyes uninterested and begins walking away arms crossed.

 "Wait! Wait!" Douxie begs following closely behind as Zoe starts stalking away. 

 "Your burger was getting cold and I got hungry so I ate it." Zoe says pausing to vent her frustration. He notices a crumpled up bag sticking out of the nearby bin and sighs. He had a feeling she had waited way longer than usual if she dug into his food. Or maybe him being late made her spiteful so she tore into the burger trying to calm down. They weren't always the best at talking things out but they were working on it and honestly anything from her was a relief at the moment. As she huffed at him facing away from him arms crossed he signs. 

 "Zoe... Snow?" Douxies about to explain himself. Plead his case that a hoard of shadow mephits had jumped out at him after his shift and distracted him from coming but he noticed white flakes falling from the sky. As they landed the stark white against Zoes pink hair couldn't be ignored. What was snow doing in California? It was chilly sure but it wasn't even cold enough for his breath to show. How was there snow? 

 "What are you blubbering on about?" Zoe demands turning to yell at him some more. Her blue eyes flash pink as she glares at him about to give Douxie an earful but his own green brown eyes are soft as he steps closer. Zoes breath catches in her throat as Douxie stops in front of her. She looks up at him flustered before he reaches out. He brushes something out of Zoe's hair, his brows furrowed. Her flustered expression changes to shock, her eyes widening as she sees white flakes on his fingers before they melt away. 

 "... Snow?" She mumbles. Looking up the wizards noticed the night sky had become much darker as gray clouds rolled in. They'd been so distracted talking to each other they hadn't even noticed. It seemed someone had been messing around with weather spells, this couldn't be a natural snow storm. Not in the climate or this time of year.  

 "Well love we can argue later I think we have more pressing issues to deal with." Douxie states seeing that the flakes were getting thicker as the snowfall became heavier. The storm was fast approaching and there was a dark presence in the air. Hands glowing Douxie nudges Zoe behind him worried as Archie flies down. 

 per the dragon had perched on a nearby tree to give them some privacy but the snow brought him back. 

 "Yeah that's a no brainer fuzzbuckets. Now why the heck is there about to be a freak blizzard in California?" Zoe questions nose crinkling as she turns towards the storm clouds. She never really liked cold weather.

   The snow becomes heavier and soon the wind follows blowing endless white their way. Zoe shivers not dressed for this but Douxies attention shifts from her as Archie hisses lowly. His familiar had never liked snow either but seeing it was magically summoned and probably deadly put the dragon more on edge. 

 "What is it Arch?" Douxie asks softly. Archies claws dig into Douxies jacket as he tenses. He takes a deep sniff of the air before beginning to morph into a much bigger form, clinging tightly to Douxie. His hackles raise as he begins to hiss lowly tail swinging back and forth in aggression as his eyes narrow.

 "Ice giants." He growls.

 "Ice giants? Here?" Zoe questions unsure. Maybe it was just a freak snow spell?

 Suddenly a blue foot comes crashing down from behind a building rattling shop windows and making cars shake before their alarms go off. A creature of ice and snow it stood thirteen feet tall with a tattered kilt to cover it's blue tinted legs and a long icicle club.

 "Here." Archie responds hissing low in his throat. Everyone pauses watching as the ice giants begin to multiple as they walk towards them. At least the creatures were mostly away from people and in an open clearing, if they made a plan together they could take them down without causing too much damage.

 "Okay Zoe we need-" Douxie starts but she's not listening. 

 "Well let's do this!" Charging excited for a fight, electricity explodes from Zoe's hands as she shoots an ice giant in its chest. The pink lightning that explodes from her fingertips gives the park a bright glow before it zaps the giant making it crumble harmlessly into snow. Douxie shakes his head forcing himself to stop watching his girlfriend as another monster attacks and he follows Zoes lead.

 "Be careful love!" He calls worried but Zoe was doing just fine melting and exploding the giants. Snow rained down around her bouncing pink light off her face as she shot her magic. The beasts crumpled before her and Douxie was starstruck by her power and brute determination.  

 As he stares at Zoe enamoured Archie swipes at his face.

 "Pay attention to the battle Hisirdoux!" He scolds and Douxie nods. As Archie spits a fireball Douxie amplifies the spells power, melting several of the giants. Standing back to back with Zoe her hands glow pink as his burn blue. He looks at the frost creatures that were slowly surrounding them. 

 "Who could've sent them?" Archie asks as Douxie blasts one of them back. Zoe shrugs, zapping another giant that got too close. Icy wind blew back her hair and she hissed sniffling at the cold. 

 "Maybe they're lost?" Zoe asks before she gives Douxie a sharp shove and dodges a giant club. Douxie smiles at her happy for the save but Zoe ignores him. She shoots electricity at the ice monster that had tried to squish her and it becomes a flurry of snow as she breathes in. Taking that as a hint to find out what's happening and keep fighting rather than apologizing Douxoe noticed the creatures looked similar to golems which might explain why they collapsed into snow once struck. They didn't seem like snow spirits but rather controlled creatures. 

 "Maybe but it's more likely they were summoned!" Douxie responds. He taps his bracelet searching for another powerful fire rune hoping to burn them all down and be done with it. "Besides Ice giants don't like leaving their territory! Someone must of brought them here!" Well that's what he assumed at least. Last time he fought Ice Giants he was in Sweden a couple hundred years ago looking for some ancient texts. As far as he knew Ice giants never came out this far and they didn't just dissolve away like this.

 "DUCK!" Snapping back to attention Douxie huffs as he sees the crater that was almost him. Looking at Zoe wanting to apologize first for missing their date and now this mess she's already on the other side of the battle field trying to lead the ice creatures into the forest away from all the easily damaged park and innocent street shops. 

 "Zoe I-" He calls but she's only focused in the fight. 

 "Hisirdoux!" Archie calls and Douxie turns eyes wide. Bringing up his arms to defend himself unable to cast a shield in time, the hairs on his arms stand up. 

 "HEY! ONLY I GET TO HURT HIM!" 

A pink blast of 1000 volts of electricity were shot over Douxies head directly at the ice giants heart. The magic made contact and it exploded into a million pieces sending ice and snow everywhere. 

 "Thanks Zoe-" Douxie says smiling but Zoe isn't having it as she cuts him off. 

 "DON'T BE A DUMMY FOCUS ON THE FIGHT!" She orders before turning and facing the Giants that were slowly cornering her. Douxie nods. He turns towards his own foes and the fight goes on. 

~~~

About an hour later and they had won. The last few flakes of snow fluttered around them as the ice giants began to melt away. They didn't know who sent these creatures but they were taking care of themselves and nothing seemed to be amiss. Panting heavily Douxie smiled at Zoe who'd saved his ass during that fight more than once. 

 "I'd just like-" He starts wanting to apologize for all of this but Zoe wasn't having it. He guess he deserved the cold shoulder all things considered.

 "Hey dork?" Turning to face Zoe she grabbed his hoodie before pulling him into a kiss. Melting into it, like the snow was doing around them he leaned in cupping Zoes face. She smiles eyes tinged pink like her cheeks from the overuse of magic. Closing his eyes humming happily as he continues Zoe pulls away breathless. Laughing softly she leans into his chest hugging him tight and Douxie tucks her head under his chin as they take a moment to breathe.

  Pulling away far too quickly for Douxie's taste she smiles walking back towards the town. He blinks as he realizes the kiss was a distraction and she'd snagged his hoodie. "You're buying the burgers this time! I'm starving thanks to that little squable." She states taking out his wallet from his jacket pocket. Douxie shakes his head following after his mischievous girlfriend who'd seemed to forgiven him.

   Archie purrs looking up at Zoe and Zoe smiles scooping the familiar into her arms and cooing. "And your getting a treat for Archie too." She adds nuzzling the cat. Archie makes pleased sounds and curls up in her arms adoringly. Douxie chuckles smiling at Zoe as he follows her.

 "Deal. Oh and Zoe?" Zoe hums in response and Douxie steals a quick kiss on her cheek. "Love ya." He states before running off to where the burger shack was. 

 "WHY YOU LITTLE!" Chuckling as he keeps running he smiles, frostbitten but happy. He loved her more than she'd ever know. 

[internalsealpanic]

Radio Silence

Summary: You take Tim with you to a family reunion hoping to monopolize his time. You may have forgotten to tell him a few things. For example, the haunted radio.

masterlist

a/n: I’m sorry for the wait. I forgot that I am no longer used to describing atmosphere. This isn’t my best work but I hope you like it. This was based on my family’s tradition of sitting in the dark on Halloween listening to scary stories on the radio. This is mainly Tim Drake x Filipino!Reader because I realley wanted to try my hand at a bilingual character. You will see misspelling of words in the dialogue. That’s intentional on my part. There will be translations.

“Yes, Nay, he’s the one in the picture,”

“No! It’s the guy with-” You blow out an exasperated breath. You hear Tim snicker behind you and you dedicate half your brain cells to coming up with the best way to kick his ass.  “Yung mukhang Koreano. Yeah. Yeah. Dat one.”

“Yes, he looks more like a white boy. Mistiso.” You explain curtly.

“Yes, he’s smart. I hab standards,” Tim raises a disbelieving brow at you. You stick your tongue out at him but nearly bite it off when your grandmother speaks again.

“What do you mean doubtful?!” Tim looks absolutely delighted. A cheshire smile curling on his lips as he leans back into your couch. You glare at him then at your phone then at the ceiling then past that to glare at whatever god was up there.

“THAT WAS ONE TIME! Justine was an-” You mutter trying to remember the word.  “- an anomaly and you know it!”

“…..”

“Ok der were 2 anomalies!”

“3”

“Ok maybe Tim is the anomaly, but seriously, Nay, he’s fine,” You snarl, the jaggedness of your Gotham accent rearing its head. You wince but do not apologize. This will bite you in the ass later but you didn’t say it. You don’t like the taste of the word.

“No. I mean if you don’t want us to embarrass you at the church social then- Yes, I have been going to church,” You can see Tim rolling his eyes and mouthing liar with a twitch of his lip in the corner of your vision. “No, he’s not the showy type. Nay, I gotta go. The food’s burning,”

“Yes, Nay, I lab you bery mach,” You sigh into the phone letting your grandmother’s lather your tongue cutting into the briskness of your consonants. It held the same euphoria as taking off your shoes after a particularly long day.

“Unless you’re Dick, you can’t burn cereal,” Tim cut in carting you away from your reverie.

“Watch me, Drake,” You huff throwing a pillow at Tim almost making him drop his cereal bowl.

“So, can Gotham survive without Red Robin for a weekend?”

“Shouldn’t you have asked me this before telling your grandma that you’re taking me?”

“I’m just double-checking,”

“How considerate,”

“To be fair, your schedule is already volatile as is,"  You huff snuggling up to him on the couch. It was too cold in Tim’s apartment. You think a rich kid like him could afford to turn up the heat. Though, you aren’t exactly going to complain about an excuse to cuddle him.

Tim doesn’t make a move to push you away. Instead, he wraps his arm around you pulling you closer. This was the type of easy affection you two had become accustomed to. This was also the thing that will make your Schrade even more convincing. "True, but I asked Cass and the others to cover for me. Plus, your grandma sounds like she likes me,”

“Considering you don’t have a criminal record and aren’t currently being investigated, you immediately rocketed to the top of her list,” You answer absentmindedly stirring your cereal and taking a bite.

Tim whips his head to you and gives you a concerned look which you return with a smile full of cereal. He blanches at you, shaking his head and grabbing the remote to unpause the Star Trek episode you two were watching. You both prop your feet up and chew your cereal slowly, not feeling any reason to hurry.

How long has it been since you started? You’re pretty sure it was 1 AM when you started.

As if reading your mind, Tim looks at his phone, winces then turns back to the screen without another word.  You quirk your brow at him but decide that there is some truth to the saying ignorance is bliss.

You were gonna hate yourselves come noon.

 It’s noon, the sun has the audacity to show itself,  and you hate yourself.

You definitely, unequivocally hate yourself.

You groan in the passenger seat, head pressed against the cool window. The faint warmth of the sun glancing off your skin makes the tinges of nausea circling the periphery of your senses come to life. Your stomach does a cartwheel and you think- you’re sure you’re going to throw up but you aren’t gonna do that.

No way in hell are you gonna do that. Not when you’ve finally conned your way into monopolizing Tim’s attention for the weekend.

Ok, yeah, sure it was the result of some miscommunication between you and your cousin who then passed on the miscommunication to the whole goddamn family but that’s just what you call a happy accident.

You blow out a breath, greedily taking in all the coolness of the glass pressed against your skin calling your mind back to your body. You weren’t really good with handling the not sleeping thing.

“You ok?” Tim asked his eyes flickering between you and the alarmingly empty road. There was worry in his eyes whether it was the fact that you looked like shit or the fact that the road you were on looked like the opening to a terrible 80s slasher flick. It was Halloween after all. It would be pretty perfect. Dread licks at your stomach at the thought.

You let the silence lapse. In the corner of your eye, you see Tim’s hand tighten on the steering wheel. You stare at the expanse of farmland stretching to the horizon debating whether to humor his question or to let him stew.

“I’m fine,” You picked the third option.

“You don’t look fine,” Tim deadpans, turning to you.

“Stop looking then-” Tim scowls at you his pouty lips pulling into an angle. You sneer. “-You don’t look too good yourself, Kirk,”

Tim makes an offended noise. You look at Tim, really look at him, for the first time in hours. Tim, as per usual, looked obnoxiously handsome even though he was running on at most 30 minutes of sleep and had eye bags running down his face. Somewhere lost in his contemplative expression was the blindingly obvious hint of self doubt. You’ve seen it tons of times.

You peel yourself away from the cool glass to look Tim in the eyes. Dread swims in the pools of teal looking straight back at you. Tim’s mouth edges between a pout and a frown. You soften, shifting in your seat angling until your body is facing his.

“Whatever it is you’re overthinking it,”

“You don’t even know what I’m thinking!”

“Ay,” You chuckle and shake your head. “Tim, it’s you. You overthink everything. I don’t need to be a mind reader to see that,”

 Tim huffs. Maybe he was overthinking things.

“ ‘sides, I don’t see why you would be nervous 'bout meeting my family,”

Has it occurred to you I want to date you for real at some point? Tim thought a little frustrated.

You laugh when he frowns but instead of teasing him any further. You flick the radio on. Your hackles rise as it crackles to life. A smile flickers on your face when ‘All-star’ comes on. You cry out, a noise of shrill joy filling the air.

“Oh my god” Tim breathes, running his long fingers through his dark hair. “You absolute dork,”

“Kettle. Pot.” You grin.

Tim snorts as you loudly sing along with the radio. Unfortunately for him, your enthusiasm for the song was infectious. Somehow you both managed to miss every beat of the song.

You somehow felt like you were definitely forgetting something.

6 cans of monster and 5 things of 5-hour-energy drink later, you arrived. Tim’s nice-looking car pulls into the dusty gravel driveway of a rather large and old colonial looking house. Seeing the robust form of the large house looming in the distance injected your veins with a stifling source of dread. 

You love your family to bits but sometimes their presence weighed so much. You can feel their words already pecking at you, drawing pit and pieces of your self into frayed fibers. All you can think about were the comments hushed behind palms and the dissecting gaze of dark eyes. Your mouth feels dry and you can already feel your feet pivoting back towards the car.

Tim reaches for your hand, lacing his slender fingers between yours.  He smiles at you squeezing your hand. You can feel him rattling from his own anxiety but his effort steadies you. You grin at him and squeeze back.  

Your teeth click the entire walk up to the large oak doors. Tim squeezes your hand again, his teal eyes sweeping over you with a concerned glint. You furrow your brow and somehow he understands and raises his hand to knock on the door.

The door bursts open. Music and laughter wash over you as hands hurry you into the front hall.

“Nay! Dito na sya! May dalang gwapo!” (Mom, y/n’s here and they brought someone handsome.)

About 20 heads turn to look at you. Tim feels some embarrassment from the attention but that doesn’t last too long as in the space of about 5 seconds, those 20 heads were swarming you both, pulling you into hugs, shaking your hands, and ruffling your hair in varying degrees of force and order.

“Beh, you’ve grown so big” Your aunt coos squishing your face.

“Nena, look at this guy,”

“Tita, he doesn’t have any tattoos,” Your little cousin marveled looking bug-eyed as she lifted Tim’s shirt. You swat her away but take a quick second to subtly admire Tim’s sculpted abs. Your aunt scolds him and your uncle drags you to the main room where more guests were sitting chattering or screaming at a foreign horror movie.   

All the apprehension bundled into your stiff shoulders dissolves like seafoam against the overwhelming warmth of the festivities. The raucous laughter drags the roughness of Gotham away from your tongue. In place of your slow, careful syllables are quick clattering consonants and concise vowels. Your vowels were still elongated and angled to a sharp point unlike the nearly musical words of your cousins but as you said before ‘Gotham has its way of burying itself in your bones’. Tim just never thought about how saliently it showed itself in words. He wonders how his accent (folded, neat, and sterilized) sounds to you. He wonders how dull he sounds to you.

You have teased him about it. You’ve teased him endlessly about the way upper-class Manhattan just rolls off his tongue, how Alfred’s British affectations worm their way into his syllables. What you don’t tell him is how the smooth velvet of his words lull you into a hypnotic state that steals every bit of oxygen from your lungs.  What you can’t make yourself tell him is that you would gladly spend your whole life listening to him read a fucking phone book. 

The festivities were lively and informal. Jokes flying every which way. All alternating between your native tongue. You laugh into your drink, hiding the hesitant curve blunting your infectious smile. Tim nudges you to ask what’s wrong but you simply nudge him back and shake your head as if he had said something funny. Your relatives didn’t seem to notice your demeanor or if they did they left it alone.

Tim decides to leave it alone for now. Instead, he leaned into the flow of conversation. His years of speaking at galas working their magic on your aunts. They bombarded him with questions. Most of which sounded like screening questions at the embassy. You snarled at them more than once to knock it off but Tim shook it off. He knows they’re just worried about you the same way he worried for you. Well, not the same way but it was their way of showing they cared. He lets himself be immersed in the conversation.  It’s more like he tuned into the sweet sound of your laughter but made sure to dedicate enough restraint to not look like a love-sick puppy.

“Tanga!” (MORON!)

“Baliw!” (Crazy!)

“E gago ka pala, di ba halata yun?” (No shit sherlock, isn’t it obvious?)

Tim is at best confused as he watches the volley of words between you and your cousin. Your voices rising above the blaring karaoke. Anthony (?) clamps a hand on his shoulder and laughs as he watches you and Martin (?) hurl insults at each other. In the corner of your eye, you watch his reactions checking if he understood a word. He isn’t fluent but he understood bits and pieces. He’s heard you mutter angrily about customers enough times to distinguish an insult. 

“Dun worry about 'em. They won’t fight. They’re stupid but they’re not that stupid. ‘Sides, they’re too afraid of Nay for that,”

Tim gives Anthony a doubtful look. Anthony chuckles at him, clapping him on the back urging him to keep watching. He does if only to make sure you’ll be alright. When he does, he tunes into your words. Tim marvels at how musical you sound as you trade another round of rapid-fire jabs with Martin, how at ease you seem. Tim makes a mental note to get you to teach him. Though, he wasn’t entirely sure how he would justify it.  Admittedly, part of it was just wanting to spend more time with you.

He can probably swing it.

A surge of protectiveness crowds his veins when Martin grabs at you but his hand is swatted by a cane. The air crackles with a sharp snap. The room plunges into silence.  A small woman with silver hair stands tall and imperious at the other end of the cane. You and your cousins stiffen.

“Hi Nay,” You trail off with a distinct lack of grace. You swallow the lump forming your throat, robbed of any coherent thought by the stinging look in her eyes. You felt bare under her gaze. Layers and layers of skin peeling beneath the weight of her attention. Fury flickers like firelight across her dark eyes. Your skin suddenly felt like lint and you were sure you would catch fire.

A pause.

A bated breath held for what felt like an eternity.

“Iha(Iho), It’s been so long,” She says, softening. Her wrinkled face stretches into a kind smile that made you think of freshly cooked vegetables.  Her cane folding to her side as she loops her arm over your shoulders. “It’s nays to see you,”

A choked sound comes out of you and you feel something shake loose. “Missed you too, Nay,” You breathed. Tim feels awkward, fidgeting in his place.  

The soft smile on your grandmother fades a little. Her sharp eyes appraising Tim. The look wasn’t particularly venomous, but it left Tim feeling like he’d been cut open and analyzed. He wasn’t entirely sure of why you were all so scared of her before but now he fully understood.

She relinquishes her grip on you and urges you to go back to Tim. You frown a little, giving her a suspicious look which she returns innocently.  You let out a little breath before walking back to Tim’s side. She gives him another long once over before silently strolling away. His stomach churned but eased at your touch. You still look uneasy but you don’t fuss over it. Not when Martin decides that he wasn’t quite done with bickering.

 The festivities went on as normal. Maybe with a little less cussing going around. But Tim barely noticed when your laugh, free of any hesitance, echoed sonorously in his ear as he held you close. 

Roz presses a drink into his hand. “Congrats, you’ve survived round one of Nay’s hazing,”

“Round one?” Tim hiccups into his drink. He coughed. The beer was strong. A strangely potent amount of alcohol that made his throat burn.

“Yeah, Roz, that was more like round 2.” You mutter sullenly, distinctly taking no sips of the drink Roz had also handed you. The paranoid Bat-part of his brain screams that he’s been poisoned. He’s struggling not to let it win over but your conversation wasn’t helping.

“Nay will eat him alive,”

“I mean. She’ll do it nicely,”

“Pfffft, right! Ok, Tony, name one time she’s been nice.”

“How about-”

“The thing with Y/n earlier doesn’t count,”

“Why not?”

“There was a hidden agenda,”

“Oh shit! The bitch is right- Ow! You are!”

You look at Tim apologetically and squeeze his hand. Somehow this does not calm his nerves, but he tries his best to ease into his touch.

 On the trip here, you warned him that it was going to be exhausting. He assumed, incorrectly, that you were exaggerating. After all, he’s survived snobby rich people and his family. Your family seemed nice. He can survive a nice family dinner.

But what you neglected to tell him was that it would be sheer chaos.  He definitely wasn’t prepared for the sensory overload.  The house was almost unbearably loud compared to the manor. Every corner was filled with people chattering, playing games,  eating, and doing anything to entertain themselves. Sure, Tim was used to chaos but he was more accustomed to short bursts. He wasn’t quite as prepared for the seemingly endless stream of conversations and liquor.

You had definitely not prepared his poor unassuming introverted ass well enough. Not even halfway through the night, Tim was ready to crash. The 20 minutes of sleep he got beforehand had not helped. 

You, the angel that you are, guide him away from the party. You drag yourselves down the wide yawning corridor to the grand staircase.

Lit only by the thin veil of moonlight, the house showed its age. Walking up the stairs and walking through its hallways was like falling through time. The halls were lined with paintings, all landscapes and still-lifes. He’s thankful for that small mercy. His head swimming in liquor, he is reminded of the portraits at Wayne Manor and how their eyes burned at you as you passed.

The lack of portraits doesn’t make the house any less creepy mind you. Religious fixtures line the halls, crucifixes affixed to every arch-like mistletoes. There were doll-like statues of hollow-eyed saints at every corner table. It might have been the dancing moonlight but Tim swore he saw one of them move. Tim suddenly wishes he hadn’t ingested so much liquor.

Before long, you make your way to a bedroom. How the hell you knew which one to put him in was anyone’s guess. You lead him into the room. Touch gentle and careful as you coaxed him in. Soft jazzy music echoing hauntingly. The dancing moonlight and the solid shadows of the room highlighting your gorgeous features, drawing his attention to your plush lips. You lean over him to make sure he was indeed still part of the living. Liquid courage surging in his face, he presses his lips to yours. It’s cautious. He gently runs his hand through your hair, pulling you towards him with a push. The press of his lips is restrained, more of a question than a demand. Slightly chapped lips press against your sweet and searching.

Tim remembers the warm press of your lips, the way the pads of fingers trail against the soft fabric of his shirt, your warm breath fanning against his cool skin, then nothing.

Knock

Knock

KNOCK

Tim grouses into his pillow. Tim was having an absolutely wonderful dream. He could still feel your warm lips against his.  Tim squeezes his eyes trying to go back to sleep.

Knock

KNOCK

KNOCK

‘1 AM’ the antique analog clock at the nightstand reads.

“I’m up!” He lies burying himself further into the thick sheets.

His brothers really needed to stop breaking into his apartment at 1-

KNOCK

KNOCK

KNOCK

Tim nearly falls out of bed when he remembers where he is. He jams a shirt over his head and some sweatpants before stumbling to the door.

“Hey Tim, you coming?” Anthony asks through the crack of the door.

Tim opens the door a little wider. “Where?”

“Outside,” Roz shrugs vaguely.

 “Whe-”

You step out of your room, extremely hesitant. Your knuckles were turning white from apprehension. You look at Tim, surprise plain in your eyes. You flinch heat rising to your cheeks. Tim remembers the texture of your soft lips. He wishes that wasn’t a dream. You glare at your cousins who give you a confused look. 

“Roz, he-”

“Awwww, ‘insan, you’re actually coming?” Martin mocks clapping you on the shoulder drawing, what Tim considers, an adorable squeak from you. His heart almost leaps from his chest when your warm body presses further into Tim’s side. You can’t hear it but Tim’s breath stutters in his chest.  He loops his arm around you protectively. Martin gives both of you a sly conspiratorial look.

You scowl at Martin. Glaring with as much intensity and intimidation your burning cheeks would allow. Roz swats him over the head making him almost topple down the steps before Anthony even gets a chance to rebuke him. Instead, Anthony turns to you, brows furrowed. “You sure you want to come? Nay said-”

“La a!” Martin protested. Roz rolls her eyes and swats him again. “Dipshit’s right. Nay didn’t say jack,”

“Then why did you swat me?”

“E, I felt like it e,”

“Bish, whose side are you on?!” He snarls but before he can lunge at Roz, Anthony is already dragging him by the scruff of his neck.

“Shhhhhhhhhhh! Not so loud. The kids will hear us,”

“I for one will not help you wrangle tita’s crotch gremlins,”

“We’re going to be late and Nay is going to unleash hell upon us,”

Anxiously, you tug at Tim urging him to follow your cousins as they filed out through the back door.

 “Where are we going?” Tim hisses.

All four of you share a look.

“We’ll explain,” You promise.

 The journey was eerie. Punctuated by the fact that none of you explain jack. The walk was entirely silent, devoid of bickering or any sort of conversation. He can see the silence driving both Roz and Anthony mad. You honestly look like you’re going to keel over. The odd thing was that even the birds were silent. Not a single sound penetrated the thick canopy of juniper trees.

You wonder the woods guided only by the thin ribbons of silver light peaking through the thick clouds of leaves. Tim can feel your pulse as it thundered in your chest. No matter what was going on he would keep you safe.

You arrive in front of a rusted gate half a foot shorter than Tim. It was small, easily climbable with plenty of spiraling pieces to stick your foot into for purchase if needed. Your eyes cut to Roz who fished out a key he’d seen perched on one of the coat racks.  Hesitantly, you held your hand out for the key. Roz, on the other hand, all but slammed it into your hand, grinning in a mix of absolute glee and relief. Your teeth click as you worked the lock. He wants to suggest just going over it but you seem quite adamant and he wasn’t about to push your nerves.

Finally, the lock gives in.

You all file in one at a time in a sort of practiced motion. Beyond the gates was a path with its stones polished from a shine from use. The scarce light coming from the canopy of trees rippling against them. It lit the rest of the way still keeping the surroundings in deep shadow.

The path ended in front of a small dilapidated stone structure that seemed too small to house anything.

“Age before beauty,” Martin jeers, bending down dramatically urging Roz to go in. She, in turn, shoves him in with a swift kick. The dark interior of the structure swallows him whole. Her dark eyes cut to you. You swallow but ultimately you shrug off Tim’s hold and relinquish your death grip on Tim’s arm. You let out a shaky breath as you step over the threshold. Just like Martin before you, the shadows leave no trace of you.

Tim reaches for the last bit of your swaying blanket. Roz taking the chance shoves Tim over the threshold, his vision goes pitch black.

“See you there, lover boy~”

The darkness is all-encompassing making his eyes completely useless as much as he tries to adjust them. Instead, he strains all of his other senses. He feels the press of moss-covered walls closing in on him. The staircase only seemed wide enough to let one person pass at a time. The stairs wind in shallow predictable patterns. The scent of moss and burning firewood grew heavy as he made his descent. Distantly, he could hear the soft padding of your shoes against the stone but he also heard the crackle of jazzy music. It was the kind he only heard from the old black and white movies Bruce and Alfred watched. It was oddly familiar but he couldn’t place it. The smooth baritone of the singer rattles in his head. A shiver of mild discomfort travels up his spine.

After what feels like an eternity, Tim emerges. His eyes slamming shut from the sudden brightness of his surroundings. He blinks, eyes adjusting to the light. His eyes take in his surroundings.

He was in a clearing. It was man-made, constructed using the same stones that lined the path you’d taken. The stone walls were covered in moss and ivy, but the stone that did peak out reflected the moonlight freely raining drown from the clear autumn sky. In the center of the space, sit 9 people including yourself. All cast in the warm glow of the crackling bonfire. It is a living thing, raging and casting shadows sharpening and obscuring features.

“I’m so glad you could join us, Timothy,” Your grandmother calls out as she fiddles with the nobs of the old radio perched in her lap. It crackles uncooperatively despite her efforts. He can’t pry his eyes away from it even as he takes his seat next to your shivering form.

Without much thought, Tim pulls you close. You tremble, teeth still clicking eyes wild and fixed on the radio. The radio is a curious thing. It’s an old model. It’s sleek but dotted with various nobs and switches. If he had to guess, it was something out of the 1960s. In the periphery of his senses, he hears Roz and Anthony step out of the staircase and take their places in the circle with Roz sitting right next to your grandmother.

Your grandmother stops fiddling with the radio then turns to Roz who is now comfortably seated. Your teeth chatter and your shoulder hitch as they silently converse. Roz inhales then exhales. Her dark eyes sweep over all of you making sure she had your attention. Based on the silence and the still forms, she did. She sits a little straighter, her shoulders rolling back.

She throws herself into a tale. It was a story she’d heard long ago about a man, a house, and a secret. Her calm voice carries over the soft roaring of the bonfire. It wasn’t the scariest tale Tim had heard but Roz told it well. Well enough to draw squeaks from several people including yourself.

Tim relaxes catching on to the turn of events. He lets you press into his side as you make your feeble attempt to get away from the story. Tim chuckles at the amount of theatrics you’ve all put into building up to this little gathering. However, all his smug skepticism vanishes when Roz finishes her story.

The static from the radio vanishes. Its various nobs move without assistance and its switches click into place.  The same baritone voice carries from the radio. Tim doesn’t hear what it says as his mind reels. He turns to you and opens his mouth to ask but Anthony begins his tale before Tim can even formulate his question. Beside him, you fidget with his sleeve shaking hands clenching and unclenching on the fabric.

Tim remembers how much you hate ghost stories. You’d once gotten sick with a fever just from watching horror movies. At this point, you were on the verge of tears. Your breathing slowed abnormally as Martin finished his story. The radio predictably did not whirr to life after his story. Through your chattering teeth, you give your cousin a vicious smile which he volleys by sticking his tongue out petulantly.

It’s your turn.

You squeeze Tim’s hand twice before worming out of his grasp. You flutter your long lashes, lightcatching in them looking golden as the fire flickered urging you to delve into your story. You roll your shoulders and let your blanket and apprehension slide away in one smooth action.

You tell your story.

 Your countenance still and grave as you tell a story of crossroads and terrible choices.

The radio huffs, seemingly amused by your effort.

“Well, y/n,” The radio coos. Your name drips like molasses from its speakers. It’s unsettling how crisp it sounds. Its voice absent of static as it addresses you. “You sure do know about bad choices. I believe so does that young thing- Pardon me. Young things swimming in the harbor. They’re just a tinsy bit cut up about it.” The radio teases almost sounding gleeful. You nod gravely, stomach reaching the floor.

Harbor?

You settle back down into your seat. Tim nudges you, cocking his head to the side to question you. Your fist clenches and unclenches in your lap before you look him in the eyes again.

“Case,” You mouth silently.

It clicks.

The harbor.

 The bodies.

That’s what the radio meant.

Someone clears their throat urging Tim to tell a story. He stumbles through a half-remembered urban legend he heard from Steph awhile ago. His mind far too preoccupied with the new information to really devote to any theatrics.

 His turn passes.

And the stories continue as he mulls over the information.

It’s your grandmother’s turn. Your hand grips Tim’s arms white-knuckled. You attempt to swallow down the fear but it catches in your throat constricting your airway. The flames dance casting her face in sinister shadows that bring out all the sharp angles in her features. Her smile curls cruel. Her bony fingers trace the seems and delicate patterns embossed on the old radio. Static erupts loud then dies down just as quickly. Her smokey voice fills the air. Heavy and commanding. The story spills from her lips smooth and velvety slick with gore and unspoken horrors. None of you dare to speak. Some don’t even breathe. Your hands scrabble for purchase on Tim’s shirt as you bury your face in his chest. You feel him wrap himself around you shielding you the best he can. Ear pressed to his chest, you can hear Tim’s pulse hammering. The terror soaking through to his bones. He remains steady. Unflinching even as the story reaches its climax.

The flames flash, fade, then flicker.  

The radio crackles.

The smooth baritone of its voice distorting into something undeniably inhuman.

Shadows dance.

Their hands reaching out as the flames did. A hard yank from one of them nearly topples you out of Tim’s arms.  He shifts you both away from their grasp. He glares fiercely at them making sure you’re safe.

Sorrowful moans fill the air but your grandmother is undeterred.

With a shrill cry from the radio, everything dies down.

The shadows retreat.

The fire simmers down now small and tame.

Everyone lets out a breath. Both of you could feel everyone unfurl. Tense muscles, locked jaws, tight chests all loosen with the end of the story.

For a long moment, the entire circle is still. Then your grandmother stands up. The rest follow her in a mostly quiet procession up the steps.

“Roddy was harsh this year,” Martin whines.

“Nope, you’re just terrible at it. I mean hell even y/n got an answer. It was creepy as all shit but they got an answer,”

“Uh- Is it a good time to ask what just happened?”

Your cousins turn to you.

“You really didn’t tell him anything, did you?”

“How do you propose I bring up the demonic radio?”

“Pffft,”

“Pirst, it isn’t demonic. Do you really think Nay would have kept it if it was?”

“She lets Martin hang around,”

“…….”

“Dis is a good point,”

“HEY”

Tim clears his throat.

“Raaayt, Ok so… once a year we tell the spooky radio stories so we can get answers or our future told,”

“Was the whole creepy walk necessary?”

“Nope,” You answer in chorus.

“It’s just our way of psyching up for it,”

“It’s your guy’s way. Tita at least let’s me hum songs,”

“Well excuse me for not wanting to listen to you sing,”

“Is there anything else you guys want to tell me?”

“Aside from y/n really not wanting to tell-”

You snarl at your cousins, red-faced and bearing your teeth. Martin and Roz cackle as they run. Anthony has the decency to at least look slightly apologetic as he runs.

“Y/n… What aren’t you telling me?”

“Tim, I- I’m- Damn it- I-” You put your hands on your face. You try to calm your breaths. “Look Tim, I-”You take another breath. “I’m sorry. I kissed you but you were drunk-”

“Wait that wasn’t a dream?” There’s a flicker in Tim’s chest.

You look at him mortified. You want the ground to swallow you whole. “Yeah, I- Tim, I know it’s- I’m sorry.”

He remains silent.

Your stomach feels like it’s going to burn up.

“I-”

“I want a redo,”

“A what?”

“A redo,” 

a/n: I will rework the ending at some point but thank you for reading! 

 taglist:   @batarella, @anothertimdrakestan, @lucy-roo, @multifandomgirl-us, @idkmanicantenglish,@birdy-bat-writes,  @boosyboo9206, @americasmarauders (I wanna drag you into Terry hell), @l-horizon11

[hello-im-not-a-possum]

If it bites, curses, claws, and hisses, It’s very unwise to ask it for wishes.

Hey @r-rowancore remember that uwu fic I threw out but said I would rewrite? It may be a lot different than how I originally had it, but here it is:

There was only so much that Inkwell could do to help. Likewise, there was only so much that he wanted to do to help.

When Thomas went to him asking for his humanity back, the demon declined, stating that it was impossible for him to turn a being of ink into a being of flesh again. When he went to him asking if he could look human again, the demon again declined, stating that he didn’t have access to any pictures of how the mechanic had looked before his death, nor could he find his body, thus, he had no proper reference and could end up making him something that he was not.

And he gave a similar excuse when Tom asked for his voice back.

It smelled of bullshit if you asked him, with the demon’s exaggerated body language, annoying amount buffer words, refusal to look the wolf man in the eye while he spoke, he knew that he was lying through those daggers that he called his teeth.

He could make them human again, or at least make them look human enough again, Henry Stein was living proof of that. The Ink Demon just insisted on redrawing them as cartoons because misery loves company.

Instead of doing something like making him feel comfortable in his ink skin, the demon simply ‘updated’ his character sheet. He looked more like a wolf than a dog now, he was bigger in both size and stature, and his fur was starting to gray, especially around the muzzle.

Don’t get him wrong, he liked not having to look at Boris every time he looked in a mirror, but he hated everything about this and honestly, it was only a matter of time before he’d grow desperate enough to try to do something that even he thought was completely stupid:

Summoning a demon, a different demon from the ones he knew, one who would hopefully, help him out.

Thomas gathered the correct items for the ritual; four candles, one mask, some thick ink, and a place to call ...it. He didn’t know what would come from out of this, but if Buddy and Boris of all people could summon this thing enough times to dedicate a bathroom to doing it, then whoever or whatever he was going to call must’ve been safe enough for him to summon.

He had everything set up just the way he saw the alter in Buddy’s safe house bathroom; lit the candles, placed down the mask, and waited.

...

...This couldn’t be it, could it?

It couldn’t just be some weird decoration in a closed-off bathroom, like it or not, magic was real and so were demons! Something was supposed to happen! Did he screw it up? Lit the candles in the wrong order? Did he not do it at the right time? What was it?!

Oh right, he wasn’t in the studio anymore.

He wasn’t in a “whimsical” cartoon world made entirely by the machine and its ink, the ritual dedicated to whatever Buddy summoned might’ve worked back in the studio, but just like how a normal human being couldn’t take down a living park ride with soup cans, the alter where it was had been just as effective as spraying silly string in the shape of a star on the ground.

The cursed wolf let out an annoyed huff and started to slunk out of the basement, he would be cussing up a storm if he could, but he didn’t have a voice.

CRASH!

As he was halfway up the stairs, he heard a loud noise coming from the failed ritual. He turned around and saw something large flailing on the floor.

He cautiously descended back down and realized that he had indeed fucked up; the entity he had summoned had a humanoid upper half, the lower half of a fish, and more importantly was struggling to breathe.

Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck!

The cursed mechanic tried to carry the deep sea demon bridal style as the slippery creature flailed harder and started to claw at him and bite him. No wonder the alter was set up in the bathroom, this thing needed water!

“Gad fi fynd!” Between futile gasps for breath, the creature shouted at him in a voice that he could swear was like someone taking a bunch of instruments and trying to use them to mimic human speech. “Dydw i ddim yn mynd i fod yn rhan o'ch cynlluniau, llaw dde Joey Drew!”

Tom didn’t understand a word out of the creature’s mouth aside from the name he said, nor did he think of that at this time. Desperate to keep the angry sea demon alive, when it has struggled free from his grasp, Tom seized the being by his tail and started dragging him up the stairs that way. He considered pulling him up by the hair at first but that only made his mouth closer to his hands.

The merman continued to thrash against his captor, now hissing at him like a snake and barring a mouth full of long, sharp teeth that the creature had too many of for comfort, especially now that they were stained with Tom’s ink.

But the wolf wasn’t impressed by the demon’s attempt at intimidation, he could hiss and claw all he wanted but he was not dealing with Inkwell’s refusal to help him, or having to explain to Henry why there was a dead demonic fish on the floor!

After the longest one and a half minutes of both of their lives, the fish demon was unceremoniously dumped into the bathtub, and the water was turned on. In spite of the awkward positioning, the demon squeezed himself into the end of the tub with the facet, it was an uncomfortable position, but the running water over his gills relaxed him a bit.

Both parties let out a sigh of relief as the demon waited for the tub to fill up and Tom went back into the basement to fetch a notepad, a pencil, and an english-to-welsh dictionary.

---

The latter of the three items became the hardest one to find, and by the time he did and got back to his ‘guest’ the sea demon looked like he was both anxious and bored out of his mind, his long hair pooling in the tub like a cloud and his claws still tapping away on the side of the bathtub. He was not happy to see him again per se, but at least he didn’t look like he was going to bite him again.

Helo. Tom flipped through the dictionary, found the words he was looking for, wrote them down and showed the creature. Allwch chi ddeall hyn?

The demon rolled his eyes and spoke in that voice made of instruments again, not sounding like a human being in the slightest, but it was easy for him to make out the creature’s words, almost like he listening to a song with the lyrics replaced by another instrument. Tom could already see Wally making a joke about ‘how he heard of people with musical accents before, but this one takes the cake!’.

“I can understand and speak English fluently, Thomas Conner.” He stated coldly. “There’s no need to patronize me or waste both of our time with that book.”

How do you know my name? He wrote down, And how did you know Joey?

The sea demon paused for a bit, seeming as if he was trying to predict the wolf’s reaction to his answer before saying it out loud.

“The two of you are very... infamous down there...” He folded his arms behind his back and tried to keep his expression as neutral as possible. “For more reasons than you think.”

Why did Buddy summon you?

The demon frowned at the question. “Who’s ‘Buddy’?” He then shook his head. “It doesn’t matter, the reasons why my former summoners have called me are not to be freely discussed with other people. And before you ask how he knew to summon me, he learned from his own story.”

Tom tore out the question he had and wrote a new one:

What is your name?

“Forgive me, but I am not interested in any more small talk, and I doubt you summoned me just for the sake of friendly conversation. You called me here to help you with something, haven’t you?”

Tom huffed and reluctantly nodded. Yes; Can you make me human again?

“Can I remake you from ink and magic into a being of flesh and bone?” He tapped on his fangs and smiled in a way that made the mechanic wolf’s hackles rise. “Eventually, but yes.”

His ears perked up instantly, hastily, he started scribbling down his (hopefully) final question.

Well, what are you waiting for?!

“Materials, tools, and payment.” The demon shifted in the tub to make himself more comfortable, folding his arms behind his head as if he was reclining in a hammock, his hair fanning out behind him. “As you can see, I’m not exactly in the position to fetch the former two, and you should know that nothing comes without the latter.”

What do you need?

“Just your standard sculpting tools, some time to work on the thing, your cooperation as working with living canvases other than myself can be difficult, and...” The sea demon’s chilling toothy smile resurfaced. “...Meat.”

Tom hesitated, it took him a while to get the single word onto paper.

Meat?

“Not just any meat. Raw meat, meat that’s so freshly killed that the blood’s still warm. The amount can be debated if you were unsatisfied with your human body’s height and or its weight.” He waved off before smiling again. “And unless you want to become a sentient beast, it had better be human meat. You know the old saying, right? ‘You are what you eat’? Well, it can be rather literal.”

He looked like he was biting back laughter at Tom’s horrified expression.

“Don’t give me that look, fy pup blaidd, your hands are already stained with the blood of others, it makes no difference to the eyes of heaven and hell if you start staining your teeth as well.”

NO!

“No?” The mechanic was almost infuriated by how genuinely confused the demon sounded, as if he was surprised that he’d be disgusted by suggesting cannibalism, but luckily for him, he merely shrugged off Tom’s refusal. “Suit yourself then.”

He was just about to leave the bathroom before the siren spoke again.

“But it would be such a shame if there wasn’t anything at all I could help you out with, I hate it when my time is wasted. Tell me, would you like to speak again?”

He froze there, and looked back with an eyebrow raised.

“I see that got your attention.” The merman smugly remarked. “And as it’s a much smaller job than say, completely rebuilding you as a different being altogether, it will not only be a faster job but also cost you a lot less. Why, I won’t even need any materials or tools other than your cooperation!”

I’m interested...

“Good! Now, all you need to do is come closer.”

He approached the bathtub.

“Closer... Yes, just kneel down so we’re directly face to face...” The siren crooned while looking as welcoming as an empty grave. “...This will only hurt like Hell for a little bit.”

Tom instantly regretted his action, the siren lunged at him, his arms wrapping around him and holding his own down. With his teeth and tongue, the sea demon pried the wolf’s mouth open and purged a fluid that felt like boiling oil down his throat.

With newfound vigor forged from the sheer disgust of the situation, he pried the creature off of him and flung him at the bathroom wall, coughing and sputtering out the vile fluid before confronting the sea beast who crawled back into the bathtub.

“WHAWT THE FUCK IWS YOUW PWOBWEM?”

He slapped his hands over his snout in sheer shock and embarrassment.

“...Pardon?” The sea monster was very obviously trying very hard not to laugh, and failing. “I didn’t quite get that, Tommy~.”

Tom’s cheeks were flushed gray, his fists were clenched and steam was coming out of his ears, he didn’t want to speak ever again! His new voice sounded nothing like his old one! It sounded more like a kid’s voice if the kid inhaled helium! And don’t get him started on the new speech pattern he was cursed with. He’d use the notebook, but sadly, it looked like it was destroyed by water in the struggle.

“Why did uwu duwu thiws tuwu me uwu bastawd?”

“This was unintentional, truly. But this is so much better than what I had planned!” The demon ignored the wolf’s growling as he pinched his cheek. “Awen't uwu juwst the cutest wittwe whewp!”

“Knock iwt off, uwu sea whowe!” He swatted the hand off of his face. “I wawnt my voice tuwu be nowmaw!”

“Well, we don’t always get what we want now, do we?”

“But, but uwu pwomised uwu'd get me my voice bawck!”

“Now that’s just a bold-faced lie. I said I’d help you speak again, I never once said that I’d give you your old voice.”

“Okay, wisten hewe.” He reached into the bathtub and grabbed a hold of the tub stopper. “If uwu change my voice bawck, i... I'ww give uwu whatevew uwu wawnt. But if uwu down't, i'ww puww the pwug wight hewe awnd now!”

“Do it, coward.” The demon looked the wolf dead in the eyes. “I dare you.”

He didn’t even react when Tom yanked the stopper out and put it in the sink, well out of the siren’s reach.

“At least now you’re a man of your word.” The merman sighed as the water slowly drained from the tub. “Better late than never I suppose.”

He laid down in the still draining tub. At first, Tom thought this was an attempt to keep his gills wet for just a little bit longer, but then he saw the water turn black as it went down the drain and the musician said his last words to the wolf, not in a voice made out of instruments, but his own, human voice.

“See you again soon, Conner.”

“SAMMY WAWWENCE?!”

He called out in shock as he frantically reached into the now quickly draining tub. But no matter how desperately he dug his claws in there, he found nothing but water.

The remaining liquid went down the drain, leaving nothing but a few clear puddles on the tub’s floor and the now-verbal wolf alone with his thoughts.

“Oh my fucking god... Whawt am i going tuwu teww Awwison awnd Henwy?!”

[thecleverdame]

Gods of Twilight - 7

Alpha!Werewolf!Sam x Human!Reader

Master List (posting schedule is there as well)

Summary: You marry Sam, The King of Lebanon, as part of an alliance between two lands. You soon discover that nothing is as it appears and that your husband is hiding a secret that may end your relationship before it can begin.

Warnings: smut, dub-con, canon-level violence, domestic discipline, spanking

Beta:  ilikaicalie

*Chapters 8-26 are available on Patreon. To get access to this and many other stories, subscribe for a pledge of 2.50 per month. CLICK HERE

-

You scramble over stone down the narrow winding hall of the castle with Philip at your heels. As you approach your bedchamber he moves past you, blocking your path.

He’s near twice your size but you’re not the least bit intimidated as you wave your hand at him.

“Move,” you command, perplexed when he holds his footing. “Where is my husband?”

“He was injured but he’s-” You don’t allow him to finish, simply to side-step him but he’s too quick and cuts you off.

“What are you doing?” You stare daggers at the knight before you. “You forget your place, Philip. Get out of the way.”

“I am trying to keep you safe, my Queen.” His voice suddenly lowers to a whisper, which piques your interest.

“Safe from what? I was told my husband was injured.”

“Safe from the King.” The last word is so soft that you’re sure you've heard him incorrectly.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” you scoff.

“Please.” He puts both hands up. “You do not understand what I’ve heard, what I’ve seen. He’s upset, volatile, you shouldn’t see him like this. Before you were wed there were women who went into his bedchamber never left in the same condition. Some never left all.”

While his warning sends chills up your spine, it also raises your hackles. Who does this knight think he is talking to you about the other women your husband has bedded.

“You will move right this moment,” You snarl, thrusting a finger toward him. “And I will do my best to forget what you’ve just said to me. Move.”

Philip blinks at you, clearly in distress, but in the end, he steps aside.

--

Sam is in fact injured, there’s blood pouring from a deep gash at his shoulder, dripping into a fast-growing pool on the floor.

“My God!” you gasp, eyes widening in horror. “What happened?”

“It’s nothing.” He winces, pressing his hand over the gash. “I took a stray arrow.”

“There’s so much blood. We should call for someone.” You take a cloth from the wash table and move toward him.

“Do not come any closer.” He puts his hand up, a wide palm out in your direction as his eyes flutter closed. “You should leave.”

“You’re hurt!” Despite his warning, you inch nearer. “You need a healer. Please, let me see to it before you lose more blood.”

“I said stay away!” Sam growls, his head snapping up as he glares you. Anger flashes over his face and his eyes light up. If you hadn’t seen it yourself you’d never believe the sight before your eyes.

His eyes glow orange and his lips pull back to reveal sharp, fang-like teeth.

You scream a high pitched squeal as all-consuming fear tightens in your chest.  The stories were real, he is a monster. Unable to move, you stand frozen in place as a hand covers your mouth in a feeble attempt to cover up your reaction.

Stumbling backward you nearly fall to the ground, but catch your footing at the last moment. Scrambling, you try to escape but Sam lunges toward you, moving at an inhuman speed to put himself between you and the door. You’re trapped and for a moment you’re sure he’s going to rip your heart right out of your chest.

“Please!” You call out with a sob, closing your eyes tight. “Please don’t hurt me!”

Philip can surely hear your screams but you know full well he would never intervene on your behalf. Sam can tear you limb from limb and he would stand stoically awaiting his next command. He’s there to protect his King you’re only a secondary concern.

“Stop yelling,” Sam commands, breathing deep and slow. There’s a sensation of him moving close and you prepare yourself for the worst. But instead, his voice is slow and even at the shell of your ear. “I am not going to hurt you.”

Hot breath meets your face as he speaks and you flinch, every muscle of your body stiffening in terror.

“Calm down and open your eyes.” His voice is gentler now, and a hand wraps around your wrist, pulling your hand from your face.

Mustering every ounce of courage you blink, finding Sam stand in front of you with his normal face. Gone are his monstrous eyes and razor teeth, he looks like the husband you’ve known all along.

Staring in silence you examine him, wide-eyed and shaking.

“Am I losing my mind?” You whisper, trembling in fear.

His face softens, offering a worried expression you’ve never seen before.

“No.” He nods, placing both hands on the balls of your shoulders and squeezing gently. It’s a simple touch but it’s arguably the most gentle contact you’ve had up until this point. “I suppose you were bound to discover my secret at some point, but I had hoped to protect you from this truth for as long as I could.”

“I-I” You stumble over the words, unsure of what to say. “I don’t understand what just happened.”

“I know.” A defeated, lopsided grin forms on his lips. “You are married to a monster. At least now you know.”

His jaw ticks as his hands drop from your shoulders and he walks toward the open window, looking out into the night. Your naturally inquisitive nature remains a curse as you struggle to categorize the plethora of questions forming at this new turn of events.

“I won’t hurt you.” He repeats the words with less vigor as he stares out at the city below.

“Well, I am grateful for that.” Clearing your throat you think back to the stories you heard as a child of the wild beasts living feral in the woods and the highlands. The Gods of Twilight your brothers called them. Even as a young girl the tales seemed far-fetched.  Never in your wildest dream would you have imagined they were real. Interest replaces fear as you watch him looking out over his kingdom. “May I ask a question?”

You’ve done more talking in the last five minutes that in the year since your marriage, you’re not about to waste this opportunity.  

“If you must.” His shoulders twitch as his all too familiar prickly disposition settling in.

“Are you…” Taking a step closer you chose your words carefully, “a man?”

“Yes.” He chuckles, turning to get a look at you. “Most of the time.”

“And the rest of the time?”

His eyes narrow, observing your reaction. “A wolf.”

“You’re a shapeshifter?” you persist, the words coming out before established thought. “I’ve heard of that. Of men that turn into wolves under the full moon.”

“Have you?” There’s a smile pulling at the corners of his mouth.

“Is that what you are? A werewolf?”

“You just ask questions freely don’t you?”

“I do.” You set your jaw. “And you don’t always answer.”

“I am.” He confirms, slinking forward as you try to mask the fear. “A werewolf.”

“You promised you would not hurt me.” Your voice cracks as your words betray you.

“I have not forgotten.” His confirmation is accompanied by a wince as he grabs at his shoulder.

“We need to call someone, the wound needs to be cleaned.”

“I’ll be fine. I heal faster than a normal man.” He grits, the pain clearly growing worse. “The commotion was all about finding you.”

“How did you know that I was-” The realization settles in. “It was you? You were the wolf in the woods.”

You’re dumbfounded but embarrassment is creeping in. The things you confessed were not meant for him to hear, not in a thousand years.

“Yes,” he confirms, eyes narrowing. “And you were wandering in the woods, alone at night. If you hadn’t already been attacked I would take a strap to your backside right here and now. I told you not to stray outside on your own and you disobeyed me. This is what happens when you don’t listen.”

“I am so sorry. I never intended for you to put yourself in harm’s way to keep me safe. Please, at least let me tend to you. The cut is deep and if left unattended you might fall into a fever.” You insist, moving to the side table and pouring water into a bowl.

When you turn back he’s pulling his shirt over his head, exposing his thick chest and strong arms. You take in the sight of him before the wound sours the view. It’s nasty and deep, enough to kill a lesser man no doubt. It’s bleeding, and his face looks gray, the color draining from him.

“You’re lucky this wasn’t lower. It could have hit your heart.” You move closer and he takes a seat on the end of the bed. “Who would be reckless enough to fire in the direction of the king?”

“I wasn’t a man when the arrow was fired, I was a wolf.” He reminds you calmly and you fight the urge to snort at the insanity of the whole thing. “And I doubt the men who attacked you would have cared either way.”

“Right.” You digest this new information, soaking a rag in the water and bringing it up to shoulder. He jerks, hissing as you dab at the wound. You jump back, heart thumping in your chest.

“Don’t be afraid of me.” He looks forlorn as the words leave his mouth. “I will never hurt you. That’s a promise I cannot make to many people, but you can hold me to do it. I don’t want you to fear me.”

“I am surprised you care what I think of you at all.” The words tumble out before you can stop yourself and you look at him, waiting to see how he’ll respond.

“You said in the woods that you think I dislike you…” he watches as you gently clean his wound.

“Perhaps dislike is too wrong a word.” You pause, dabbing at his blood-stained skin. “Indifferent. Invisible.”

“I make you feel this way?” he inquires, his finger wrapping around your wrist to stop you, force you to look at him.

“How else am I to interrupt your actions?” You shrug, looking up at him. “We’ve never even had a proper conversation.”

“It’s best for me to keep my distance,” he offers, the fingers around your wrist flexing. “I am far from indifferent when it comes to you. You see what I am, you know my secret now, you must understand.”

“What does that have to do with me?” You’re emboldened, unsure of where this surge of brazen forthrightness has come from.

“I don’t want to hurt you, there are aspects about what I am that you don’t understand.” He looks down at where he’s holding your hand, a grimace across his face.

“Were you always so cranky? Or is that a side-effect of your condition?” you spout, stiffening as you sense you’ve gone too far.

“You are bold, wife.” He expression remains grim. “I suppose I am generally unsatisfied in most regards, it doesn't help my mood.”

Thinking on his words it dawns on you what he’s referring to as he eyes you up and down.

“You are talking about our marriage bed?” You balk, unable to hide your offense. “I have never once denied you.”

“It’s not about denial. If I took you the way I want to, the way I need to, you wouldn't be able to handle me. I would hurt you.”

“You’ve had your way with me before.” There’s a blush in your cheeks as you think of that night together, that night you haven’t stopped thinking about since.

“Just because I had my head between your legs does not mean I fucked you the way I’d like to.” His lips curl, as he pulls you close, his hand sliding up your forearm.

You should be offended by such crude language, but will yourself not to be too prudish. He is your husband, after all, wolf or not. There’s something about it that’s sparking a strange excitement, a fluttering in your belly.

“Perhaps I am not as delicate as you assume?” you counter, raising an eyebrow.

“It’s not about your stature. You are a human woman, and I am an animal. We don’t fit together the way nature intends. I suspect it’s the same reason you’ve yet to carry my child in your belly. We’re not a match.”

“What does that mean?” You stare at him in horror. Is he telling you that you’re not capable of giving him a child? “Stop speaking in riddles and just tell me what you’re trying to say.”

He laughs, an honest, full belly laugh as his lips pull back over pearly white teeth.

“You are not ready for that, wife.” His amusements wanes at the look on your face. “I’ve upset you?”

“Am I to understand that I won’t be able to give you a child?” You fight back the swell of emotion tightening in your chest. “Were you planning to tell me or just allow me to believe that something was wrong with me? That I was inadequate?”

“I’m sorry.” His brow furrows but he hasn’t released his grip on your arm. “I hadn’t stopped to think what you would be going through.”

“And what of your lineage?” you ask quietly. “Surely you want an heir?”

“I thought it would be some time before we had this conversation.” He sighs, dropping his hold on you. “I planned to try and hoped that perchance it would work. A pairing such as you and I is unheard of.”

“So we would try and what then?”

His expression stiffens, you watch as he forces himself to look you in the eye. “There are several women in our pack that are willing to bear a child for me. They would, of course, give the baby over for you to raise. No one would know.”

You just stare at him, a mix of rage and humiliation springing to life as tears pool in the corners of your eyes.

“I would know.” you grit, hands balling into fists at your sides. “I am your wife. Does that mean anything to you?”

“It means more than you know-”

“And yet you have been hiding your true identity from me. You’ve been prowling in the shadows, picking out women to carry your children, all the while leaving me to believe that I was broken? And the way you allowed me to babble on and on in the woods. The things I said were not meant for you. Those were my private thoughts. I have never felt so violated in all my life.”

“Everything I have done up until this point has been to try to protect you.” he mutters, holding back the urge to put you in your place, his jaw ticks as he watches you.

“Well stop,” you huff, fighting back the urge to slap him. “Just be honest with me. I am not a child, I can handle it.”

“As you wish,” he nods. “So, tell me, wife, what else would you like to know?”

[yetanotherramblingfangirl]

11, 62 and Hackle, please?

After a particularly difficult school year due in large part to the actions of her next door neighbor, Ada takes a month-long vacation.

Ada returns from her vacation to find out the house next door has been sold.  She hopes the new neighbors will be much more pleasant than the Hallows.  She’s just relieved that she’s no longer living next door to her biggest PITA parent.  Cue a very long celebratory phone call to Gwen Bat celebrating this fact.

“They moved.”  Ada said by way of greeting when Gwen 

“What?”

“The Hallows.  I just saw the ‘Sold’ sign in front of their house.  They’ve moved!”

“Do you think they’ve moved out of district?” Gwen asked, her voice hesitant but very clearly hopeful.

“I definitely hope so.  I’ll miss the girls, even Ethel despite all the shenanigans she got into, but if I never have to deal with Ursula again it will be too soon.”

“Is it wrong that ‘Ding Dong! the Witch Is Dead!’ is all I can hear right now?”

“No.  I had the same thought.”

“At the very least there’s an escape from her now, even if the girls are still attending.”

“Thank god for that.”

Ada goes about the remainder of her summer holiday wondering about who is moving into the house next door.  Will it be another family with children?  A newly married couple thinking about having children?  An older couple moving to be closer to their grandchildren?  Despite the fact that she is a single middle-aged woman living alone in a house with much the same floor plan, it doesn’t occur to her to think that her new neighbor might be a single woman.

Ada meets her new neighbor when the second of two moving trucks blocks her driveway and she cannot get out to go to work.  She goes to find someone to ask about moving the truck for just a moment and meets her new neighbor.

“Excuse me.  I’m so sorry to bother you, but that truck is blocking my driveway and I need to leave for work.”

“I’ll speak to the driver.”

“Thank you.”

It’s not a meet-cute, but Ada would be lying to herself if she didn’t at least admit to having noticed how attractive the other woman was.  She dismisses the thought and goes on to a wonderful first day of the new term.

Ada and her new neighbor wave and say hello to one another if they happen to run into one another on the way to put out the bins or if they both happen to be in their back gardens at the same time, but neither makes a concerted effort to get to know the other in any sort of meaningful way.

Things change when Hecate comes to Ada for help finding her lost cat.  Hecate is apologetic, but she is also quite clearly upset over the thought that something negative might befall the Russian Blue in the pictures Hecate flicks through.

“Morgana doesn’t usually wander out of the garden.  But she’s getting older and her eyesight isn’t what it used to be.”

“It’s alright.  We’ll find her and everything will be alright.”

Ada spends several hours helping Hecate go around the neighborhood in search of her cat.  They eventually find her hiding underneath a car two streets over.  Hecate is incredibly relieved.  She invites Ada over for a glass of wine to celebrate their success.  The invitation is stilted and slightly awkward, but Ada can tell that Hecate is sincere.  She just isn’t well-practiced in issuing invitations.  She accepts and thus begins a tentative friendship.

Over time, Ada and Hecate get to know one another better through a series of quiet nights in the garden with a glass of wine.  They may be very different in temperament and approach, but the pair value the same things and enjoy each other’s company.  [I see Hecate as an author of nonfiction science texts for some reason - there could be a plot point where Ada figures out that Hecate has written a book she uses with her students and it could be super cute.]  Ada finds herself looking forward to these evenings more and more.  They’re a highlight, something purely for herself and her new friend.  It’s not until Gwen confronts her about it that Ada really stops to examine why exactly it is that she looks forward to these evenings so much.

“So what’s this Hecate like?”

“What do you mean?”

Gwen raised an eyebrow as she took a bite of her sandwich, staring pointedly at Ada as she chewed.  She paused after swallowing, mouth opening and closing again once before she huffed in annoyance.  “Ada, how long have we known each other?”

“Longer than either of us would like to admit,” Ada said cautiously, uncomfortable with the direction she could feel

“Exactly, so I know when you’re interested in someone.  So what is this Hecate like?”

“What makes you think I’m interested in her?”

“Well, judging by the fact that you’re blushing red as beetroot right now, I’d say the fact that you’ve made plans with her multiple times per week for the past six weeks might be a good indicator.”

Unable to deny to herself [or to Gwen, who has always been more observant than anyone gives her credit for] that she has a burgeoning crush on her newest friend, Ada tries to think of what she should do.  She doesn’t know Hecate’s feelings and she doesn’t want to do anything to rock the boat.  Is it better to be honest but potentially alienate her new friend or should she keep her feelings to herself and wait?  Waiting never hurt anything.  When she expresses this opinion to Gwen several weeks later in response to further questioning about her intentions Gwen has some definite thoughts.

“Nothing ventured, nothing gained.  Algernon would have never made a move if I hadn’t sped things along,” Gwen said over the rim of her mug before taking a quick sip of scalding tea.

“It took you 25 years!” Ada spluttered.

“You’re clearly catching my drift then.”

Ada is awkward and uncomfortable when she next sees Hecate, something that Hecate immediately picks up on but clearly tries very hard to push to the side.  After a series of lengthy pauses and stilted attempts at conversation, Hecate can’t take the tension anymore and broaches the subject of Ada’s uncharacteristic behavior.

“Have I done something to upset you?” Hecate said, fiddling with the stem of her wine glass.  She refused to look Ada in the face, body language guarded.  She seemed poised to quickly make her way over the short hedge and back into her own sunroom.

“No, why would you think that?”

Hecate ventured a quick glance at Ada’s face, searching for something Ada couldn’t name.  “You haven’t been yourself this evening.”

Ada sighed and looked down into her wine glass.  “I’m sorry.  I’ve just been thinking.”

“About?”

“Just something my friend Gwen said earlier today.”

“Would it help to talk about it?” Hecate said, shifting uncomfortably.

Ada offered a weak smile.  “I honestly don’t know.”

Hecate laid her hand gently on Ada’s forearm, startling Ada.  “You don’t have to talk about anything that’s making you uncomfortable if you don’t want to, but I will listen.”

Ada patted Hecate’s hand, resisting the urge to hold it in place.  She felt the loss of warmth acutely when Hecate removed her hand.  “Did you know that it took 25 years for Gwen and her husband to get together?”

“You never mentioned that.”

“I don’t suppose I would have.  It’s not something I think much about most of the time if I’m honest.  Gwen doesn’t like to talk about it.  But she did today.”

“Why?”

“Because she said she wanted to save me from making the same mistakes she did.”

Hecate blinked hard in response.  “Oh?”

“She had quite a bit to say about it all, really.  ‘How can you know what someone else feels unless you put yourself out there?’  But putting yourself out there is difficult.”  Ada took a deep swig from her wine glass, using her wine as an excuse to staunch the flow of words before she said too much.

“Vulnerability is always difficult.  But it’s better than missing out on something you want, isn’t it?”

“Do you believe that?”

“I believe it, even if I struggle with it.”

“But you’re so expressive.”

Hecate shifted uncomfortably.  “Expressing negative emotions easily doesn’t mean I’m being vulnerable.  Most people would argue it’s a shield.”

“Is it?”

A raised eyebrow was her only response.

Ada doesn’t confess anything that evening, much to Gwen’s irritation and Ada’s disappointment with herself.  Their most common topic of conversation becomes ‘how you confess you have a crush on your new best friend’.  Ada tries to push this topic aside, but Gwen is convinced that honesty is the only way forward and she is not going to let Ada miss out on something that would clearly make her happy.  An entire school year is spent trying to convince Ada to take the next step.

In the end it’s Hecate who broaches the subject of romantic feelings.  On Bonfire Night, Ada holds a party for her friends from school and the neighborhood.  Hecate, uncomfortable with the attentions of one of Ada’s friend’s boyfriend [a seriously creepy dude in the serial womanizer vein], takes Ada’s arm and makes it very clear that her interests lay elsewhere before excusing herself and disappearing into Ada’s house.  After talking to her friend about this new dude being a total creep and making sure that he’s left the premises, Ada goes to find Hecate.  Hecate has hidden herself in Ada’s study.

“Are you alright?” Ada asked as she quietly closed the door behind her.

“I’m fine,” Hecate said, curling into herself slightly.  “I hope you don’t mind my being in here.  I just needed a moment.”

Ada sat in the chair beside Hecate’s, reaching her hand out in offering.  “That’s perfectly understandable.”

“I hope I didn’t embarrass you,” Hecate said as she took Ada’s hand and gently squeezed it in recognition of the kind gesture.

“No, I wasn’t embarrassed.”

“Good.  I would never want to make you uncomfortable or embarrass you.”

They sat in silence for a few moments, sounds from the party drifting into the room.  The silence was tense, slightly uncomfortable and heavy with words unsaid but not once did either of them move to free their hand.

“Did you mean the things you insinuated?” Ada said, voice small and scared but hopeful.

Hecate froze for a moment before sitting up straight and turning to face Ada.  “Would it be alright with you if I did?”

“Yes.”

“If I were interested in you, you would be alright with that?”

“Yes, I would.”

“Good.”

Send me a ship and 2 tropes to see how I’d combine them into a story.

[ghoste-catte]

Fanfic ask game: S & T please :)

S: Any fandom tropes you can’t resist?

Oh, definitely! I don’t know if this counts as a ‘trope’ per se, but I love anything that explores specifically the linguistic aspect of world building. I studied linguistics in college and it’s one of my favorite topics that I don’t get to do much with in my daily life, so any chance to explore that in fiction is so fun. Naruto especially has this ... whole entire world built out that’s different from our ‘earth’ and yet they expect us to believe that all the Shinobi villages (and all the little villages in between, and the daimyo etc.) all speak one language? My suspension of disbelief simply doesn’t stretch that far. So I love any time a story grapples with the intricacies of different cultures/regions/etc. speaking different languages. 

I love AUs where a character is Deaf or hard-of-hearing (disclaimer: I’m HoH, it’s not like a ... weird thing). I also love mutual pining, first kisses, fake dating/relationships, and secret relationships. Anything where there’s that heart-wrenching build up and the will-they-won’t-they and the ‘he would never feel that way about me’ and the UST. I also love canon-divergent AUs; although, for Naruto I don’t think I have the plot-handling chops to write them well myself--there are too many threads and too many characters. (Spoiler: I never finished the War Arc and I think it shows.) And I looooooove love love soulmate inversions (where the character ends up with someone who isn’t their fate-assigned soulmate).

T: Any fandom tropes you can’t stand?

Haha, um. This will be controversial, probably. Before I launch into this let me just say that just because I don’t like a trope generally doesn’t mean I didn’t like a specific iteration of the trope or a specific story/AU/etc. 

I don’t like the specific trope of Gaara’s demon possession/jinchuuriki status being handled in a modern AU as psychosis. I’ve just never seen it done well, ever. It ends up being an excuse to write him as violent and ‘hearing voices’ and it just makes my hackles raise.  Plus I’ve never seen it portrayed accurately to actual psychosis with the associated negative symptoms that accompany auditory hallucinations. If you write a character with psychosis, at least try to understand psychosis and what comes with it, for example the mood symptoms, the flat affect/alogia/anhedonia, the difficulties with hygiene and daily tasks, etc. 

I also am just ... not a huge fan of school AUs? I didn’t enjoy school, and I feel like a lot of them are either written from someone who’s so close up on that particular era of their life (as in, is actually currently in school or just recently graduated) that there isn’t enough perspective to make it meaningful. There’s a sort of obsession with the minutia of classes and tests and which-sensei-teaches-which-subject that makes them same-y and boring to me. I read fanfiction for the characters, so getting caught up in the “Naruto has first period with Sasuke and second period with Team 8...” type stuff is just ... yawn. Or else they’re so idealized that they don’t remotely resemble anything like school to me, and they feel like a (bad, cheap) movie. 

And finally, ABO? I’ve read some interesting queerings of the trope, and there’s certainly the potential within the trappings of the trope to make it interesting and compelling, but it’s just ... so rare to come across it written well or interestingly. It ends up usually reading as wish fulfillment for the author and an excuse to put one male character in a feminine/submissive role. Plus an excuse not to write prep for anal. It’s like seme/uke but with more werewolves and mpreg. And also the consent aspect is generally handled horribly and I have a very low tolerance for dubious consent of any kind. 

Fanfic Ask Game!

[fight-surrender]

The One Where Simon Gets Bitten By That Werewolf

Word Count: 1047

Rating: Teen and up

Read on AO3

Summary: "A-ha!" He shouts, springing up and pointing. It scares the hell out of me. I've seen him kill a dog with less effort. (He said the dog was were; I think it was just excited.) - From "Carry On" By Rainbow Rowell

What if the dog actually was were? And it bit Simon? 

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

@sharkmartini : Thanks for the 6 sentence Sunday tag. My goal for the weekend was to finally post this fic and get all my Whumptobers on AO3, so no actual writing progress per se. I messaged you a really long time ago when I came up with the idea for this fic, so it seems kind of poetic to tag you on it. Here are more than six sentences ;). I’m planning on updating this on Sundays, but then again maybe I should do Saturday? Hm. Guess I’ll figure it out as I go.

Chapter 1

Say, say, my playmate

Won't you lay hands on me

Mirror my melody

Transfer my tragedy?

-”Wolf Like Me” by TV on the Radio

 Baz

I’m walking across the great lawn when it hits me from behind, sending me crashing to the ground and my violin case flying. “That’s a 200-year-old Stradivarius you resplendent fuck, I snarl as I roll over to see what’s attacking me.” I look up at a huge set of dull yellow, razor sharp fangs. “You’re drooling on my lapels, you monster,” I gasp as I feel for my wand, which conveniently has landed just out of my reach.

An otherworldly growl accompanies jaws snapping at my throat. I’m tapping into my vampire strength, pushing its face away as my stupid wand skids further away. Fuck. Fine, this is just a dog, clearly, I can fight this thing off, but Merlin, it smells like a carcass, I think, as I attempt to wrestle if off of me.

The dog yelps as something slams into it like a steam train, and it tumbles off of me into the grass. I scramble to my feet and find Simon Snow grappling with an impossibly large, impossibly shaggy and malodorous dog.

“Where the fuck did you come from, Snow?” I gasp, trying to regain composure.  “Did your science experiment get loose?”

“Fuck off, Baz.” Simon grunts, putting the dog into some sort of headlock. “This thing is were.”

“Don’t be an idiot, Snow.” I reply. “That’s probably someone’s emotional support dog, it’s just excited. You’re trying to kill someone’s pet.”

“Fuck. Off.” The dog’s teeth snap within a hairsbreadth of Simon’s perfect face. He’s forced to let go and sends the dog skidding with a carefully placed kick.

The dog tumbles but gets up and advances slowly on Simon. Hackles raised, huge amber eyes staring him down. He’s emitting a perfectly sinister low grumble. Panting, Simon points his finger at the dog and gasps, “play dead.”

Immediately, the dog ceases snarling, shakes its head like it’s confused, then slumps to the ground.

Simon nudges it with his toe.

“Crowley, Snow. Did you kill it?” How did he even do that? That’s not even a spell. He didn’t use his wand.

“Thought it might stun him.” Simon seems dejected.

“Way to go for the nuclear option.” I quip. “I suppose you should look for the ID tag so you can notify the owner that you killed Fluffy.”

“It. Was. Were.” Simon is staring down at the body. He’s sounding a little less cocky, thoughtfully rubbing a small patch of bronze stubble on his chin.

“It was excited,” I correct.

We are disturbed by a sound, like sand gently pouring from a bag, followed by a mournful howl so faint that I’m not sure I actually heard it. We both stare at the body of the dog as it dematerializes into a pile of fine ash that blows away in the breeze that comes up from nowhere.

“Did you do that?” I ask Simon.

“No. I thought it was you,” He responds.

It’s only then, that I notice the smell. Like homemade cinnamon buns, and bacon. Like copper and smoke and heaven and hell and Simon.

My fangs pop as I step away from the thin line of crimson that is threading down Snow’s forearm. My heart is a kickdrum in my chest.

“Simon.” I choke out. Looking at the ground. Trying to keep the panic out of my voice. I want to run to him. I need to run away. Hug him or eat him. His smell is choking out everything I’m trying to think. I can feel his cross, even from here. Fuck. “Your arm.”

“Wha--?” Simon looks down as a dark red drop rolls off his wrist and lands on a brilliant green blade of grass. The color drains from his face. He’s almost as pale as I am. His blue eyes meet my grey ones, holding for just a moment.

Then he turns around and immediately starts to run.

 ***

 It’s dusk when I get back from the catacombs. There are spiderwebs in my hair and blood on my collar. Smelling Simon’s blood awoke more than just hunger. It was a yearning, an ache. A longing far beyond what had previously been just an adolescent crush. This is something altogether different. This is a want that’s bottomless and fathomless. I want Simon Snow, inside and out. All of him.

Merlin and Morganna. How am I supposed to live like this? The person I want most in the whole world is not only my mortal enemy, but he may or may not be turning into a werewolf. Fan-fucking-tastic. Further proof that God hates me.

I pause outside our room at Mummer’s house to breathe and calm my racing thoughts. I take a deep breath and open the door. Simon is sitting on his bed, head in his hands, a bandage around his right bicep.

“How’s the body hair situation?” I quip.

“Can you please, please, please just fuck off?” Simon rakes his hands through his hair and looks up at the ceiling. His eyes are rimmed with red and his pallor is more grey than tawny.

I sit next to him. I can’t believe I’m doing this.

“So,” I say, cocking my head his direction. “You’ve been bitten by what may or may not have been a werewolf.”

“Way to state the obvious, Baz.” Simon is positively growling. It’s delicious. He has the audacity to roll his eyes at me. I ignore it.

“Do you feel any different?” I press. “Any…stirrings? Increased interest in cats? Irresistible desire to catch a ball with your mouth?”

“How about an irresistible desire to punch you in the face?”

I choose to ignore this too. I deserve an award for my kindness.

“Well, I imagine the lycanthropy won’t kick in until the next full moon, right?” I remind him, helpfully.

Simon growls again, gets up and begins pacing the room. “That’s just great. What am I supposed to do until then?”

I cross my legs and cock an eyebrow at him as I  Lean back onto my elbows. I’m still on his bed. I lower my eyebrows. What exactly am I doing here?

“I suppose,” I respond, “we wait.”

[s-horne]

8. National Receptionists’ Day

Steve was happy for Pepper. He really was. She deserved to have six months off – hell, she deserved the rest of her life off, though they all knew that was never going to happen. Steve couldn’t wait to go and visit her, to spoil her little baby until his heart was content.

The only problem with Pepper having those such well-deserved six months off was that Tony needed to hire new staff. Obviously, one person couldn’t be expected to do everything that Pepper had done, so he had employed a few different people to cover different aspects of the role.

One of those new hires was Christine Everhart.

Christine was lovely. Really, she was. Steve could admit that; couldn’t deny it, actually. She was also beautiful, clever, witty, unafraid to snap back and stand up to Tony, and obscenely good at her job. All in all, she was pretty perfect and Steve hated her. He hated that he hated her, but he did nonetheless.

Whilst he had no proof that she wanted to fuck his husband, most people did and Steve felt his hackles rise whenever he was around her. Steve wouldn’t have been surprised if she tried something with Tony, though he also didn’t want to find out if she had. He also had no proof that Christine was purposefully not putting him through when Steve rang Tony’s office, but it just seemed a bit suspect. It wasn’t often that Steve rang there and not Tony’s direct cell, —it wasn’t often that Tony was even in his office for Steve to ring that number — but all of a sudden Steve seemed to be leaving more and more messages with Miss. Everhart.

And he didn’t like that.

“Good afternoon, Tony Stark’s office. Please hold.”

Steve tapped his foot against the perfectly tiled floor and tried to school his glare into something a little less murderous. Even without a mirror, he knew what his expression would look like. It wasn’t really his fault, though. Christine’s voice was rather grating after listening to it for thirty fucking minutes and she only seemed to be saying one sentence as she expertly juggled the ridiculously busy phone-lines.

Had she even buzzed Tony through the intercom and told him that Steve was there? Steve hadn’t seen her do it and he’d been staring at her quite intently as she answered emails one handedly, manicured nails tapping away at her keyboard. Sure, Tony was busy and pretty scatter-brained, especially on his office days, but he never kept Steve waiting if he could help it. The chances that Miss. Everhart was keeping him waiting on purpose seemed to be growing larger.

“Good afternoon, Tony Stark’s office. Please hold.”

And yes, Steve was aware that he sounded like a spoiled child, but that’s just the way he felt about this threatening woman. He finally had Tony all to himself, had the shining ring to prove it as well, and he was damned if some college-grad with a bright smile and sharp wit was going to take him away.

//

Steve stacked the plates from the dining table and placed them down next to Tony at the sink. They’d had a lovely meal cooked by Steve — not as a way to prove that he was the best choice, thank you very much. He wasn’t that insecure. Well...

“Thanks, babe,” Tony said distractedly. “Oh, I forgot to tell you! So this afternoon, Chrissie said–”

Steve nearly choked at Tony’s words, completely ignoring whatever came next. Chrissie? His brain seemed stuck on that. Of course, Tony and Christine shared the same workspace and were together for huge portions of the day, but Chrissie? Really?

It had taken Tony months to move to nicknaming Steve after they’d met – something that Steve wasn’t bitter about, per say. (It was just something that kept him up at night.) What was so special about Chrissie that she got a nickname so suddenly? They hadn’t known each other that long, after all. Why did she suddenly get such a personal nickname?

Steve shook off the negative thoughts and tried to stop himself from being so jealous. He had Tony, after all. He turned his attention back to Tony, focusing on what his husband was saying and how whatever it was made his face light up and his eyes dance.

“Why do you even need a secretary?” Whoops, Steve guessed those thoughts weren’t as shaken off as he wanted as he talked over Tony.

Steve laughed when Tony’s hand slipped off the mug he was washing and it fell into the sink, sending a splash of soapy water up and over Tony’s shirt.

“She’s a receptionist,” Tony said, scowling down at his wet chest. “Not a secretary. Too many connotations with that word. Chrissie says it sounds far too much like we’re having an affair, for some reason. She’d rather be called a receptionist.”

“Ugh, whatever. I still don’t get it. You’re not even in the office that much,” Steve continued, leaning against the counter. “Could you not just have an automated diverter? Surely you can invent one of those?”

Tony squinted, reaching up to wipe water off his cheek with his forearm. “Personal touch, Steven. How could you even suggest that I got rid of the that last human touch?”

“Ah,” Steve murmured, sliding closer and kissing a droplet of water that Tony missed. “Of course. How stupid of me.”

//

“Seriously, though,” Steve said, blinking up at Tony with a soft pout. He wasn’t in the mood to let this go, not with Christine’s perfectly curled hair and kohl-rimmed eyes fresh in his mind. “You really don’t need her, surely?”

“Pepper spoilt you,” Tony laughed, carding his fingers through Steve’s hair. “She has a soft spot for you and always let your calls through. Chrissie was told to make me do my work – she’s only doing her job.”

Steve huffed, but he guessed he couldn’t really argue with that. He was struck with a sudden wave of genius and he reached up to grab at Tony’s wrist, shifting his head in Tony’s lap.

“Why don’t I become your secretary?”

Tony’s eyebrows raised. “My secretary? You want to be my hot secretary?”

“Receptionist,” Steve corrected with a hot blush. He remembered Tony’s definitions and comments about connotations and willed his mind not to let himself conjure up an image of him being Tony’s secretary.

Well, just thinking about Christine in his stead made that picture fly right away. With a dark glare, he continued. “I could be your receptionist.”

“I would never get anything done,” Tony said, a fond smile on his lips and his fingers curling to cup Steve’s neck. “I’d never leave the office to get to the lab and even then, in my office, I would be too busy staring at you to do my work.”

“I’d be such a good receptionist,” Steve said to himself, releasing Tony’s wrist and letting the feeling of Tony’s fingers in his hair sending him off to sleep. “Better than Miss. Fucking. Everhart.”

//

Steve straightened the pad on the desk, reaching out to line up the pen pot with the new, neater edge. It wasn’t that Christine hadn’t kept the place neat, but it wasn’t quite to Steve’s liking. He’d tidied as much as he knew he could get away with, trying hard to ignore what he wasn’t allowed to touch. There were quite a lot of papers stacked in the letter trays on the edge of the desk, though Steve knew better than to go through those. He fiddled with organising the post-it notes by colour instead.

When Christine had called in sick early that morning, Tony had been gutted. It was a day that Tony was meant to have be in the labs anyway, but then he’d gotten a sudden call about paperwork that had sent him to the office. He’d already been worried about being late, so Steve had quickly volunteered to sort out a temporary worker with an agency, if only to clear away the worry lines from Tony’s brow. Tony had rushed out of the door shouting something about calling Pepper as she’ll know what to so, Steve, she always knows!

Well, Steve hadn’t needed Pepper and he wasn’t about to let some other girl in a short skirt or a man in a far-too tight shirt fall over themselves to lean over Tony’s desk and wiggle their arses.

Not when Steve could do it just as easily.

“Steve! What–”

Steve looked up from his computer to see Tony standing in the doorway to his office, frozen on the spot with his mouth hanging open.

“Good morning, Mr. Stark,” Steve said in a clear, crisp voice. “I’m afraid that Miss. Everhart needed to take a personal day today, but I have been sent as her placement. Please let me know if you have any special requests for me to adhere to.”

Steve didn’t miss the way that Tony’s pupils dilated as he focused on the tight shirt that Steve had chosen, or the flick of Tony’s tongue over his bottom lip at the sight of Steve’s neatly-fastened tie.

“You, you’re my receptionist?” Tony stuttered out.

“Told you I – oh. Please excuse me, Mr. Stark.” Steve held up one finger when the desk phone started to ring. “Good morning, Mr. Stark’s office.”

Feeling Tony’s eyes on him, Steve tried to keep the smirk off his face as he focused on the phone call. Though he had only been joking about taking over from Christine full-time, Steve had worked a summer as a receptionist for a large company when a teenager. He knew his way around a reception desk and his phone voice was spot on.

“Of course, Sir. Mr. Stark is indisposed at the moment, but I – oh, no, of course. Absolutely not, Sir.”

Steve found it harder to keep the grin away when he noticed Tony’s eyes darkening even more with every word that he spoke. Deciding to test his theory, Steve licked his lips and met Tony’s gaze.

“Of course, Sir,” he said into the phone, his heart thudding when Tony’s cheeks flushed. Well, that proved that theory. Time to use that to his advantage. “I will pass the message on as soon as – yes. Thank you, Sir, you too.”

Steve placed the receiver down without breaking his eye contact with Tony.

“That was Mr. Phillips from the board.”

“I couldn’t give less of a shit,” Tony said, voice deliciously low. “I told you I’d never be able to concentrate if you were here.”

“And I told you I’d make an excellent receptionist,” Steve countered, leaning back in his chair and folding his hands over his stomach.

“Please go home.”

Steve let his mouth fall open in faux-offence. “Mr. Stark, I couldn’t possibly. I was sent here to help you. To be completely at your disposal.”

Tony swallowed thickly and Steve felt no guilt in letting his eyes sweep up and down the man’s body, grateful that the desk was letting him hide just how turned on he was already.

“I’m here to help you, Sir.”

//

The desk pad definitely wasn’t straight now, some part of Steve’s mind pointed out. In fact, the whole desk had been pushed out of its usual alignment with the carpet and everything on its surface had been knocked over. Pens were steadily rolling off onto the floor and the letter tray had long since fallen.

That was what tended to happen when someone was sprawled out on top of it.

“Fuck, Steve,” Tony said, words hoarse and sounding almost punched out of him as he was knocked back and forth. “There, oh, fuck.”

Tony threw his head back as his spine arched and Steve couldn’t resist the urge to trace Tony’s neck with his tongue.

“Like that, Mr. Stark?” Steve murmured as he kissed his way to Tony’s jaw. He poked his tongue out again and used the very tip to follow the curve of Tony’s ear.

“Yes.” Tony’s hands grabbled for purchase unsuccessfully as Steve snapped his hips forward again. “Right there, Steve. Right – oh, God.”

“Told you I could meet your needs,” Steve said lowly. One hand slid round to splay over Tony’s chest where his shirt was hanging open, fingers catching the edge of his nipples. “I’ve got you, Sir.”

As soon as that title left Steve’s lips, Tony let out a loud moan and his hole tightened around Steve’s cock. Steve’s eyes fell closed as he desperately tried to hold onto the last ounce of self-control that he had. He was doing this to prove a point, after all, and what point would be making if he came before Tony? No self-respecting receptionist put their own needs before that of their employer, after all.

“Fuck, yes. Oh, Sir. You feel so good. Am I helping you? Am I being the best receptionist you could need?”

Tony groaned again as he reached an arm back blindly, his fingers grabbing the air until he hit Steve.

“Yes, baby,” he moaned, nails digging into Steve’s side. His feet slid further apart when Steve pushed forward again and his head fell onto the desk.

At the new angle, Steve let out a groan of his own. His hand danced across Tony’s chest to feel the welts left by the desk, deep and already warm. They would be so red by the morning, he thought to himself, such a perfect reminder of what they had done. Steve snapped his hips forward again at an almost relentless pace, his rhythm starting to slip.

“God, I’m so deep, Sir. Can you feel me? Can you feel how deep I am now?”

Sweat was starting to drip down Steve’s neck, but if anything it just made him push harder. With every thrust, his suit trousers caught Tony’s and rubbed dirtily against his thighs. They hadn’t bothered to undress, with Steve only ripping open Tony’s shirt and pushing his trousers down just enough for access. It was deliciously taboo and the drag of the thick material was adding a layer of lust that Steve hadn’t experienced before. Tony seemed to agree as he made no effort to remove his clothing, eagerly pushing back to Steve’s thrusts and moaning wantonly.

The way that the desk was creaking would have been alarming to Steve had he not been so focused on Tony’s breathy pants.

“See, my darling?” he said, draping himself over Tony’s back so that he could whisper in his husband’s ear, “this is why you should have me sitting behind this desk every day.”

“Never,” Tony managed to croak out, resting his forehead against the dark grain as his fingers flexed and his legs shook. “I’d never get anything done.”

“Just think about it,” Steve continued, punctuating his words with a roll of his hips. “Every time you come out to greet a visitor or come over to talk to Chrissie, you’ll be reminded of the time I bent you over this desk and fucked you so hard you couldn’t give a shit who was to walk in and see you like this.”

It wasn’t true. Steve had already arranged with the doorman not to let anyone up as Steve wasn’t technically allowed to be working in such an office and greeting associates, and Tony wasn’t meant to be there anyway. It didn’t matter how true it was as the words had the desired effect: Tony let out an almost inhumane noise and jerked his hips back as Steve carried on dripping filth into his ears.

“Yes, Sir. You want them to see, don’t you? You want them all to see what a fucking–,” Steve cut himself off when the phone suddenly rang. He jumped almost a foot in the air — causing a delicious yelp to leave Tony’s mouth — as his thrusts paused.

When Steve didn’t start moving again, Tony turned to look over his shoulder, his mouth open.

“You’re not,” he said, disbelief bleeding into his desperate tone. “You can’t be thinking about answering that.”

“Of course I am,” Steve said, lifting a hand to trace the swell of Tony’s bright red lips with his thumb. He took a moment to admire his husband’s beautiful face, the flush of his cheeks and the tears in his eyes, before he stretched his hand to hover over the receiver. “What kind of secretary would I be to let your calls go to voicemail?”

“Receptionist,” Tony panted out. “But you can’t! You’re–”

Steve rolled his eyes, the fingers of his other hand trailing up to press ever so lightly against Tony’s throat. “Personal touch, Sir. Where would we be without it?” Just before he picked up the phone, he craned his neck and pressed a kiss to the hollow of Tony’s throat. “And I think we’re way past receptionist now, sweetheart.”

“Steve, you can’t. You can’t expect me to—”

“Yes,” Steve said, tapping his fingers against Tony’s pulse point. “I do. I do expect you to stay quiet.”

With that, he curled his fingers around the handset and lifted the phone to his ear. “Good afternoon, Mr. Stark’s office.”

Tony whimpered and dropped his head forward, cheek hitting the cold wood.

“Stay quiet,” Steve hissed, pressing another kiss to Tony’s cheek before he straightened up and brought forward his professional facade. “Good afternoon, Mr. Wilkes. Long time, no speak… oh, of course, Sir. Oh no, I’m only stepping in for the day.”

Steve laughed at the response, but his real focus was much more on the way that Tony was whining into the surface of the desk, his teeth biting down on his fingers in a desperate attempt to stay quiet. Though Steve was impressed at the effort Tony was putting into staying silent, he wasn’t sure he liked it. Time to up the ante, he thought silently.

“Absolutely. No, I’ll be sure to tell him.” Steve curled his fingers around Tony’s throat as he spoke into the phone and squeezed ever so lightly. He quirked a grin at the sound that left Tony’s mouth and pushed his hips forward. “Oh, of course. No, no, I’ll be sure to — really?”

In an almost unconscious move, Steve stopped his movements to focus on the conversation coming through the phone. Tony let out a loud whimper at the pause and Steve’s smile fell. He threw his body forward again, pressing Tony’s chest into the desk as he blanketed him.

“I thought I told you to be quiet,” Steve hissed into the shell of Tony’s ear, making sure that his mouth was far away from the phone as the caller prattled on. “Here I am trying to help you out and what are you giving me in return?”

“I’m sorry,” Tony said, words a huff of air into the desk-top and muffled around the digits in his mouth. “Fuck, Steve. Please. Please, I’m sorry.”

All of a sudden, Steve’s attention was snapped back to the phonecall and he straightened up again, a wide grin gracing his face at Tony’s muffled sob. “That’s right — no, abso- oh? Of course. Will do, Mr. Wilkes, thank you. And to you, Sir.”

Steve grinned at the red flush on Tony’s cheek and the way that his finger was almost white with the strength of his bite. No harm in playing it up just that little bit more, he thought as he circled his hips, knowing his cock would be pressed right against Tony’s sweet spot.

“Thank you, Sir. Yes, no doubt, Sir. Of — pardon? Oh, without a doubt. Thanks again. Goodbye,” Steve leant down and caught Tony’s ear lobe between his teeth for the shortest second before he finished his phone call with a final, “Sir.”

Tony’s orgasm took Steve by surprise and the sudden tightness of his hole threw Steve over the edge without warning. Praying to God that Mr. Wilkes had disconnected the line, Steve let out a long and drawn out groan. It was vaguely recognisable as a garbled version of Tony’s name and Steve grabbed at Tony’s hips to draw them even closer together as he rode his high, hips jerking as he shot ropes of come deep inside of his husband’s body.

It was a long time before either of them were able to gather enough brain strength to speak again. Though not quite up to moving, Steve mouthed at Tony’s neck, darkening an already-beautiful bruise there.

“Fuck me,” Tony finally croaked out, his voice wonderfully hoarse from his cries.

“Hm, think I just did, doll.” Steve held Tony carefully as he pulled his softened cock out, wincing in sympathy at Tony’s hiss. He pressed a kiss to Tony’s cheek in compensation, falling back into the desk chair and ever so carefully pulling Tony down into his lap.

“That was amazing,” Tony said, lolling bonelessly against Steve’s chest. “Best receptionist ever.”

Steve wrapped his arms around Tony’s waist, his hands automatically finding Tony’s. “Glad you think so,” he murmured into sweaty hair. “Because Christine is off for a week and I never did ring a temp agency.”

[essieeeeeeeee]

Shobbs romcom au part 3, comin’ at ya.

---------

Deckard slips down the hall with an expression that he can only assume projects every ounce of his rage, as the few people lingering in his path quickly side-step out of the way. He doesn’t pay much attention to it, though. His thoughts are otherwise occupied, a whirlwind of emotions that he can’t quite seem to shove down far enough to escape from.

He ends up ducking into the first bathroom he comes across, and slams the door behind him.

A cursory glance at the stalls tells him that it’s mercifully empty. Shaw makes a beeline for the sink, leans both hands up against the porcelain counter until his knuckles whiten from the tightness of his grip, and slowly releases a long, shuddering breath.

Brixton.

How could this have happened? Five years of vigilant avoidance - declining invitations to any functions his ex could show at (all of them, really), ignoring texts and phone calls, changing the channel when Lore was even so much as mentioned - and somehow, fate finds a way to get him stuck with the man all over again. And not just stuck, but having to work with him? To have to acknowledge his presence, to make conversation, to pretend Lore hadn’t ripped his still-beating heart from his chest and stomped on it, in front of millions?

Fate was a fucking cunt.

With a strap-on, apparently, considering how much she enjoyed fucking him over.

A shudder works its way down his spine, and Deckard grinds his teeth together. He grabs the tap and wrenches it on with more force than necessary, cups the cold water in his hands, and splashes it onto his face. The shock of cold doesn’t help as much as he’d hoped; he still feels tense, trembling with anger and other emotions he doesn’t bother to name (because anger is fine - anger is all he needs, and all he’ll let himself feel).

And oh, is he angry. So, so angry, to the point that he’s not quite sure what’ll happen, if they stick him in a room with Brixton in this state. He can’t afford it - not after Toretto.

Hattie would kick his arse, if he had a repeat performance of that shitshow again.

A brief pang of guilt strikes him. He shouldn’t have yelled at Hattie. None of this is his sister’s fault, and logically he knows this, but he can’t help the bit of blame he wants to lay at her feet for strong-arming him into this situation in the first place. Deckard squeezes the sink ledge even tighter.

He really needs to hit something.

He raises his head, and stares at his face in the mirror. Watches the rivulets of water drip down the curves of his cheeks for a few silent, contemplative moments.

“You’re a fucking idiot,” Shaw snarls - and then, abruptly, rears his fist back, and sends it slamming into his own reflection.

The glass shatters instantly. Deckard revels in the sharp jolt of pain radiating up his arm, and watches the broken pieces of mirror rain to the ground with a crash. It’s oddly soothing, he thinks, eyes caught on a drop of bright red on the sharp edge of one sliver, to watch the destruction he could cause from a single strike.

The following silence, after the chime of splintering glass, is almost deafening. Shaw stares listlessly at his fractured reflection in the few fragmented pieces of mirror left behind.

He thinks, briefly, about how appropriate the sight feels.

The sound of a throat clearing over his shoulder jolts him out of his musings.

"I know the sight of your face can be traumatic, but maybe don't take it out on the mirror."

Deckard closes his eyes. Takes a deep breath in.

As if his day couldn’t get any worse.

"Piss off, Hobbs," he hisses, pulling his fist back from the mirror and resting it on the sink ledge. He can feel the wet slide of blood dripping down his wrist, but the numbness that swept in after his initial outburst makes caring about that a difficult task.

Hobbs chuckles behind him, and Shaw can’t quite muster up the amount of irritation he knows he’d usually feel about that.

“Seven years bad luck, you know,” the big man says, closer this time. Deckard raises his eyes to the busted mirror again to see Hobbs stroll into view behind him.

Ten minutes alone, Deckard thinks. Couldn’t even get that, in this miserable shitstain of a day.

“Put it on my fucking tab,” he mutters absently. He raises his hand to take a look at the damage, and Shaw frowns at the sight of his split knuckles. Several small shards of glass are still embedded in the skin.

Those were going to be a bitch to get out.

Movement in the mirror catches his eye again, and he glances back up to see Hobbs coming closer, a frown on his face. The furrow in his brow almost looks concerned.

The expression makes Shaw’s hackles rise. He doesn’t need the man’s pity.

“Why don’t you make yourself useful and go pick up something heavy?” he snaps, and Deckard knows the insult’s weak, but he doesn’t have enough energy to deal with Hobbs’ shit on top of everything else right now.

Hobbs outright ignores it, though. And instead of stopping, he moves closer, and in the next moment he smoothly snatches up Shaw’s wrist before Shaw can even register the movement.

Deckard stiffens; the sudden warmth of a big hand against his cold skin is startling, and freezes him in his tracks. He stares at it in some surprise.

“You should see medical,” Hobbs says, and Deckard half-registers it as he watches the other man’s thumb brush an absent-minded circle over the skin of the Brit’s inner wrist. Shaw can feel a flush start to make itself known around his neck from the action. “Some of these are deep, might need stitches.”

Deckard stares for another moment, caught up in that small, continuous brush of the other man’s thumb - before abruptly gathering his wits about him and snatching his hand back from Hobbs' grasp.

“Deaf as well as dumb?” he barks, taking a step back from the bigger man to recenter himself. “I said leave me the fuck alone."

Hobbs' lips tighten and he rolls his eyes. “No,” he corrects mockingly, crossing his arms, “you said ‘piss off’ like a whiny prepubescent child. And since I am actually a grown ass man, I made the executive decision to ignore it.”

“Pretty sure you’re just a grown arse,” Deckard sneers.

“Pretty sure you’re just a pain in the ass.”

“Tch,” Shaw scoffs, but instead of leaning into the argument as per their usual, he turns his back on the other actor and moves his attention back to his damaged hand instead. He didn’t have the time or energy for this conversation right now; all it was doing was reigniting his earlier fury, and Shaw needed some semblance of calm if he was going to survive the upcoming meeting.

With great effort, he ignores Hobbs' presence completely, and focuses on gently wiggling a small shard of glass from his knuckle. Another dribble of blood wells up as it slides out without much fuss. He dips his hand under the still-running tap to wash it away.

"So, what's got princess Deckard in a snit now?" Hobbs asks calmly beside him, leaning his hip against the adjacent sink.

Deckard fishes out another sliver of glass and sneers.

"Tell me, Hobbs - when exactly did you get the notion that my life was any of your business?"

Hobbs laughs, soft and low. "Wow, someone really did just piss right in your wheaties, didn't they?" He leans closer, and the wide, charming grin the actor's sporting is hard to miss as he moves further into Shaw's personal space. "Come on, now: tell papa Luke all about what's got little Deckard wound up this time."

Deckard bristles. "Here's a thought," he snaps, brusquely grabbing at the last splinter still wedged into his skin, "how about you go and fu-"

Shaw cuts himself off with a hiss of pain; the glass is bigger, and deeper than expected, and sends a sharp bite of agony through his hand as it slides out. Another fount of blood slides sluggishly down his arm.

Hobbs' brows furrow, expression warping from playful to concerned again, and he immediately reaches out a hand towards Shaw's wrist. "Here, let me - "

But suddenly Shaw thinks of Brixton - his hand reaching out, on his shoulder, squeezing, an unwanted, spine-shuddering presence, and he smacks Hobbs' fingers away, stepping back with a withering snarl.

"Get your mitts off'a me!"

Hobbs jerks back, and holds his hands up in surrender. "Sure thing, cupcake," he snaps back, his annoyance obvious.

Deckard doesn’t care, though. He aggressively turns to the sink and washes off the remaining blood before grabbing a paper towel to wrap around the wounds. Hobbs lowers his arms again, then crosses them, and snorts.

“Just saying, though - you might want to start getting used to my mitts on you, if you really want to be a part of this movie.”

Deckard stills. He glances back to Hobbs, and his eyes narrow.

“I'm a goddamn professional, Hobbs,” he says, each word sharp and pointed. “I'll do what needs done in front of the cameras, but outside that? Stay away from me."

With that, Deckard decides it’s time to leave. He turns, and strides to the door, posture tense and bristling.

"Professional, huh?" Hobbs replies, pointedly eyeing the broken mirror as Shaw sweeps by him. "Then maybe you should try dialing it down a few thousand notches. Don't need you punching anything else on set."

Deckard's gait falters, and he stiffens. Toretto. The reference was obvious. And, strangely enough, the dig actually hurts.

He didn’t expect that. Didn’t expect that he’d give enough of a damn about Hobbs’ opinion of him, at this point, considering their history, but -

He guesses his skin isn’t quite as thick as he’d thought.

Something to work on, then.

"Stay out of my fucking way,” Shaw says slowly, not bothering to turn back around to face the other man, “and we won't need to worry about that, will we?"

Deckard slams the bathroom door open, and storms back out into the hall beyond.

Day one, and this was already turning into a fucking nightmare.