#this one is more mild but the next one is gonna fuckin HURT

[seresinsbabe]

Dream of Me: Prologue

Pairing: Jake "Hangman" Seresin x fem!reader

Synopsis: Jake made the dumb mistake cheating on the only girl he every really loved. Fast forward a few years, he's a Navy pilot and you're now a famous singer.

Warnings: 18+ MINORS DNI, Angst, cheating, heartbreak, mild smut not graphic at all, cursing.

THIS BLOG IS 18+ MINORS DNI

Masterlist | Next Chapter

“So you’re really gonna go for it?” Your sister’s voice came through the receiver with an excited tone.

You bit down on your lip, smiling as you stared at paper with the recording studio’s information on it. “I have to. What's a bigger sign than being approached like that after a show?” To you it only made sense. How could you give this opportunity up?

“What if he’s a scammer?” Despite your sister's excitement, she was still skeptical. Everyone knew how much you wanted this. That you spent every weekend you could traveling around Texas to sing at any bar or saloon that would have you. And they all knew the only reason you had gone to nursing school was for a back up plan. In the chance you never made it big, even though everyone knew you would. At least they told you that you would. 

“I don’t think he is Sara, but I promise if I smell a scam I’ll get out.” You promised, but your sister knew she wasn’t going to talk you out of this. “You gonna help me write some more songs? I’ll need some new material before I go in a couple weeks.” Just as you knew she would, your sister agreed. After plans were made and a few ideas were spitballed you hung up.

The closer you got to home the more excited you got, the realization settling in. This was happening, you were getting your chance to live out your dreams. How many times had you almost given up because you felt you weren’t good enough? That if it was going to happen it would have already happened, that you wouldn’t have even had to go to school for a degree. You’d have already been selling out arenas and topping the charts. Not caring that you were still young, you still had time and a massive support system. 

By the time you pulled into your driveway you could feel the tingling excitement in your bones. You were bouncing as you jumped out of the car, not even taking notice of the strange car in your driveway. All you could focus on was telling your long time boyfriend and high school sweetheart about everything that had happened over the weekend.

That excitement all came shattering down around you when you found him, boxers around his ankles with some girl bouncing on his lap. Even the air in the house smelled like infidelity and made you want to vomit more than you already did. You wanted to go back to thirty seconds ago. Before you walked in on the one person you thought would never hurt you doing just that – hurting you.

But it was like you were already numb and on autopilot as you walked past them and into your shared room. Her clothes on the floor and the sheets mussed up, like they’d already defiled your bed before moving to the living room. 

You could hear Jake’s frantic footsteps behind you. “Babe it’s no-”

“Get out.” Your voice was calm and your eyes were dead. So much so that it scared Jake.

“Wha-baby no! I-I’m sorry it was just once and it won’t happen again.” He was scrambling and unpacking the items of his you’d been stuffing into his suitcase. 

He knew he’d fucked up, but you were sure he was only sorry he’d gotten caught. Because you knew Jake, better than you knew anyone. He didn’t do things without thinking, this wasn’t a lapse in judgment. This was a choice he’d made for whatever reason. One that you didn’t really want to know, because you didn’t want to hear his voice. 

“You’ve just been gone and I missed you and-”

“So you decided to search for me in some other girl’s pussy? Did ya fuckin’ find me?” You screamed, your voice full of anger and pain. “There were hundreds of other choices you could have made if you missed me so much. So why the fuck did you make this one?”

You watched as Jake’s mouth opened and closed, no words ever coming out because he had no excuse.

“Get your shit and get the fuck out. I don’t ever want to see you again.” You moved to leave, needing to get out of here, but as you passed him he reached out, trying to pull you into his arms. The feeling of his fingertips on your skin burned now. If you tried to speak again you knew you’d cry and you didn’t want him to see you that weak because of him.

The walk from the hallway to the front door felt like it took forever. The girl was still sitting on the couch as if she was dutifully waiting on Jake. You tried your best to ignore her and you were doing a damn good job of it until she opened her mouth.

“Maybe if you weren’t so focused on your stupid little music career he wouldn’t have had to come to me.” 

You closed your eyes to collect yourself for a moment. When you turned you opened them ready to fire something back at her until you noticed the way her fingers incessantly scratched at her cunt. As a nurse you knew exactly what that meant. So instead of firing something back at her you just laughed, collected your things and walked out the door.

@cherrycola27 @clancycucumber230

[just-sonic-things]

Something Going on in Green Hill (Part 3)

T//W: Verbal & Physical Abuse, Homophobia

A/N: I will put a text cut where that begins, in case you don't wish to read that.

Shadow's POV:

I don't know how we managed to pull this big of a crowd for a lame ass "Romeo and Juliet" production, but I'm sure there was some weird elements at play. I was able to get through the majority of it okay, until... I saw a familiar figure in the front row. Of course, I was more than happy to see Knuckles. However, it was my father's silhouette that greeted me instead of my mother's. "What the fuck... HE'S here?" I thought to myself, looking to the other actors in mild panic. Amy seemed to sense my distress, asking me what was wrong, before our next scene together. She saw him. There was my dad. Amy's face went pale, just saying that she would be there if I needed her after the show.

Amy and I just performed the best we could, earning wild applause in the end of the show. I saw Knuckles stand up and applaud me, throwing a single red rose in my direction. I blushed, picking it up and quickly reading the note on it. "Good job, Romeo. You stole my heart too". Adorable. However... I felt my heart pounding in my chest as soon as I saw my dad creeping in the audience.

He was standing there, faking a smile until he saw me. Then, he lunged at me. Amy, true to her word, stood in front of me with her large hammer to protect me and Knuckles held him back. My father demanded that Knuckles unhand him right this instant. Knuckles shook his head angrily.

"What the fuck is going on here?" Knuckles angrily screamed.

"So. Shadow. You did it. You somehow even further disgraced our family. You and your gay shit here tonight. I did football and basketball when I was your age. Imagine how pissed off your grandparents would be if they could see you up on that stage, fuckin' speaking stupid Old English and prancing around like a damn faggot!" Shadow's dad yelled, escaping Knuckles' grip.

Everyone was already staring at us, I could feel their confusion and fear in their bones. Then, a familiar feeling. Punches to the face. I screamed after each one, crying once my father was pulled off of me by Security. My father was yelling more and more homophobic slurs in my direction as he was being dragged out. "After the shameful display I saw tonight, you're no longer my son. Only some fruity fairy boy" he screamed. I stopped Security and him for a moment, asking very angrily why he came to see the show then, if he knew he'd be like this.

"I had to see just how much of a disgrace this was. I thought that if I tried hard enough, I could still mold you into a decent man. One that doesn't like taking it up the ass-"

"That's ENOUGH, CELIO. You're gonna disown me at this point, so fuck you" I exclaim, walking off.

I try to find Knuckles in all this mess and I see him sitting alone with Amy, really worried. I show up, black eye and all. Knuckles said he wanted to kill Celio, upon seeing him yell at me and hit me like that. I sigh heavily. "It's whatever at this point. He wants nothing to do with me" I reply coldly. Knuckles hugs me close to him, taking me to get some ice for the eye to soothe swelling.

After a while of waiting for my mom to show up, she rolled up looking incredibly concerned and scared. She apologized a bunch for allowing herself to submit to my father still & for him to be able to convince her to let him see my show. She held me in her arms and cried a little. She then looked to Knuckles, asking how badly hurt I was or was it just the black eye. He nodded. "Just the eye, Ma'am" he replied. She breathed a breath of relief and took me to the doctor to have it looked at. It was all fine, and nothing too big to worry about. Just some more rest and ice on it and the swelling should stop.

Knuckles' POV:

The next day at school, Shadow wore sunglasses to cover his eye. He would explain to the teachers that he felt it was necessary & that his father was already well on his way to Jail at this point. But he wanted to cover up his injury so that no one could point fingers. I supported him through this, pretty much never leaving his side today. I could tell he liked the extra attention he got from me though. Plenty of hugging, cuddles and kisses. I just wanted to show him just how much I cared for him after all. Shadow and I sat together at Lunch again that day and I was just praising him left & right for his performance as Romeo the other night. He blushed, insisting that he wasn't that good.

"Bullshit. I was super immersed in the world of Shakespeare. Shad, you blew me away. You're certainly MY Romeo" I said, pulling him close for a kiss.

Shadow kissed me back, smiling as he rested his head onto my chest. We continued on with Lunch and just talking about stuff with each other to distract from the glaringly obvious horrible thing that happened last night.

After Lunch though, we walked to History. Super boring class, but at least Shadow sat behind me. I would occasionally bug him while he was taking notes or drawing and try to write little notes in his notebook to him. We did this back and forth for a little while, until a whole page was full of our random sayings and scribblings. The teacher was clearly dumb, thinking I was helping him take notes or something. Shadow and I just ignored everyone's glares and focused in on ourselves. History class came and went, the last class of the day being... Art. Well, that was Shadow's last class. Although, he asked and his mom said it was okay for me to come over for a little while after school.

Shadow's mom was so genuinely sweet and caring. She prepared snacks for us and would check in on us every once in a while. Although, I think she got the hint that we were dating once she walked in on us kissing. She just smiled softly. "Young love" I heard her say dreamily, as she closed Shadow's door.

Shadow's POV:

My mom just saw us kissing, holy shit. It wasn't intended to be like that when I did eventually "Come out" to her, but I guess she didn't need the obvious pointed out to her. Unless she thought I was Bisexual instead of just being straight up Gay.

After a while, Knuckles and I walked out of my room and saw my mom sitting on the couch. I told her the obvious.

"Sweetie, I knew for a while. I was just waiting for you to know first. I'm proud of you regardless of who you love" my mom said with her signature, wholesome smile. I hugged her, and Knuckles did too.

"Thank you so much, Mom. I love you too" I reply.

Knuckles insisted on leaving after this, but my mom made dinner for all three of us, so she insisted that he at least stay for dinner. Knuckles agreed, as we all talked over dinner. She asked about Knuckles, stating that he didn't have to reveal anything he wasn't comfortable with talking about. Knuckles smiled at her, stating that it was fine, that she was simply curious about the men I'd probably date. "I'm Bisexual, but with a heavier preference for men" Knuckles responded with a warm smile. My mom nodded and patted him on the back.

"Again. Whatever makes you happy! Love who you love. Just know that I'm on your side. The both of you" she said.

"Thanks! I appreciate that more than you know" Knuckles replied with a sigh of genuine relief.

After Knuckles left, my mom and I spent the night watching YouTube videos together & chatting. She could be chilled out when she wanted to be, but she was mostly a working woman. She made time for me, and I appreciated the hell out of her for it.

Part 1: ( Here )

Part 2: ( Here )

[stargazersmut]

A Trade | Pt 8. Evergreen (18+)

Joel X Reader (First Person) 18+

Includes: Smut, threats of violence, dubious consent, teasing, verbal humiliation, manhandling, mild violence, weapons

Check out my Ao3 profile for more! StargazerSmut

As you try to reconcile your strange relationship with Joel, you find you have company at the hospital

I listen carefully, and it’s hard to hear anything over the sound of my loud, rising heartbeat. I recognize the familiar timbre of Joel's voice, but I can’t tell how many others. It sounds like arguing.

I quickly double back to where I left all the supplies I gathered, and pull out a couple of scalpels, stripping them out of their protective casing and shoving them in my back pocket. I swear to myself when this is over that I’m going to find myself a proper knife, and it is never leaving my side.

My heart is in my chest as I try to slip down the hall to the staircase as quietly as possible. I knew this place was too good to be true. Either people had already set up here themselves, or this was some kind of trap.

I peek outside one of the windows and try to see anything going on outside. My stomach sinks as I see what looks like a military vehicle, except it’s in bad condition. I don’t see anyone near it, though.

The sounds of voices get louder as I creep down the stairs. I grip one of the scalpels in my hand, like Joel taught me.

“I’m not here to hurt anyone, I was just passing through and thought the building was empty.” Joel. His voice is tinged with a strange put-upon inflection that I know isn’t genuine. “Just put the gun down and we can talk.”

A male voice responds. “I’m not gonna tell you again, get on your fuckin’ knees!” He sounds younger, nervous.

For a moment I don’t hear anything. I’m pretty sure it’s just the two of them.

I take a deep breath and steady myself, fully aware that this might be it, I’m about to die. For the briefest moment, I look at the door to the outside, directly down the hall. If I’m quiet and quick, I could almost certainly make it through the door and at least make a good run for it.

This would most probably leave Joel for dead. I don’t have long to think about it, but I decide that I can’t do that. I don’t think he would do that to me.

So, I steady myself, knife in hand, and edge to the corner of the door frame.

The young man again. “Who are you with!? Where are the rest of you!?” A shot rings through the air.

I step into the door frame and his back is turned to me. Joel is on his knees, a gaping hole in the wall next to his head, about a foot away.

He sees me. His eyes widen, and I know he’s trying to communicate something to me. Probably to run.

I motion to him to keep talking to the man as I inch closer.

“It’s just me. But I have supplies. I even have some extra weapons and ammunition stored outside. I’m sure we can work something out.”

I silently count down from three to Joel. As soon as the last of the words are out of his mouth, I lunge on the man. I use all my strength to wrap my arm around his shoulders and drive the scalpel directly into him.

It’s not entirely effective and he whips around, pointing his gun at me, hand clutching his neck with the other. He’s gushing blood, but takes a wild shot. I feel a sting in my shoulder but ignore it. I stab again, with less aim this time, but Joel shoves me out of the way and onto the floor.

There’s the sounds of struggling and the coughing of blood, and both men are wrestling on the ground. I scramble up and manage to stomp the gun out of the man’s hand, sending it skittering across the floor.

I go running for it and once I have it, I aim it at the man’s head, which Joel has in a headlock against the floor. “Joel do I?” I scream. “What should I do?’ I sound like a scared little girl. I feel like one.

“No!” He holds a hand up, panting heavily. The man has stopped struggling, and is now just kicking weakly on the floor. “Go outside.”

“But Joel…” I hold up the gun, terrified and on the verge of tears.

He reaches up and yanks it out of my hand. “Outside!”

I think about arguing, but I think better of it and sprint out the front doors. As soon as the cold air hits me, I feel dizzy, gulping in deep breaths and trying to think about what to do next.

A loud shot rings out and I jump.

I remember the vehicle. I run out into the parking lot and try to check each direction to see if anyone is around, but I see nothing. I search the vehicle for keys, but there are none.

I scream in frustration as I pace, waiting for Joel. A terrible thought crosses my mind, and I wonder if he was the one shot.

I turn on my heels to go back inside the building as he comes jogging out, his face smeared with blood, and limping, carrying our bags.

“What happened?” I ask, frantic.

He holds up a set of keys. “Get in the goddamn car.”

“But,”

“Now!.” He shouts.

I listen, and crawl inside the passenger seat, and before I can even fully shut the door, he’s tearing off through the parking lot and onto the street.

I say nothing for minutes, studying the anger and concentration on his face as he speeds down the road.

“We need to get out of the snow.”

He pulls into a dirt road, leading into a forested area. The vehicle lurches in response, shaking on the bumpy terrain.

“There will be more.”

He stops the vehicle abruptly near a patch of thickly covered evergreen trees and starts getting out. I quickly follow his lead, grabbing my pack and hauling down the trail behind him.

I can see the path he’s taking isn’t covered with snow because of the thick treeline. No tracks.

I pant and struggle to keep up with him for what seems like hours. He doesn’t say a word as we go, only grunting and letting out the occasional frustrated growl at any brush that gets in his way.

Eventually the sun starts to set, and we slow to a steady walk. Another hour after that we come across what looks to be like a camping site or trailer park. It’s littered with rusted old car pieces and furniture, but it’s obvious that it hasn’t been touched in a long time.

Joel motions back to me with a hand. “Stay.”

He doesn’t need to tell me twice. The adrenaline that coursed through me at the beginning of everything today has long left me, and I’m coming down hard. I crouch onto my knees and feel aching everywhere in my body. My lungs are raw from taking in the cold air all day and it hurts to breathe.

A few minutes later, he calls to me from one of the trailers. I step inside, and I’m disappointed when the air is just as chilly as the outside. “Should be safe for tonight.” he says cautiously. “No fires, no lights.”

I nod, already shivering. I don’t think I’ve ever felt as miserable during the entire outbreak as I do now. I feel completely stripped and worn down, aching down to my bones.

I turn away from him, sitting on a dilapidated kitchenette bench, and start quietly sobbing to myself. It comes over me suddenly, and with such force that I can’t stop it, the tears just begin flowing out of me.

“Hey..” He begins in a gruff voice

“Leave me the fuck alone.” I whimper. I feel absolutely pathetic, and I loathe him standing there to see it.

“I need to look at your shoulder,”

“My shoulder?” As soon as he reaches out to touch it, I feel a sharp sting. I had forgotten about it earlier. “Did I get shot?”

“Just calm down…” He rethinks his words. “Just relax a second, let me look.”

He pulls a small flashlight out of his pack and holds it in his teeth, and starts peeling off my coat and overshirt. I hiss in pain as the layers come off, but manage to stop my tears.

He pulls the neck of my sweater down over my shoulder, and I feel his warm fingers against my skin, prodding at the spot that stings.

“It looks nasty, but you’ll be fine. Just nicked.”

He fishes an alcohol pad and a bandage out of my pack and starts dressing my wound.

I mentally chastise myself for not grabbing more supplies before we had to run away.

Even though I’m only wearing my thin sweater now, I can feel Joel’s body heat up against me, and it starts to help my body relax a bit,

He finishes up, draping my coat over my shoulders and lets out a loud sigh. I hear the familiar metallic scrape of his flask unscrewing, and he takes a long swig before offering it to me. I do the same.

I curl up onto the bench and don’t protest as Joel sets to work in the dark putting both of our sleeping bags out and sets up a bed for the night.

As I crawl in, I hear some shuffling and then I feel Joel slide in and settle against me, pulling his open bag over us as another layer. I pull away for a moment, but then he says, “You need to stay warm tonight, I don’t want your temperature dropping,” that familiar command to his voice again.

I’m too tired to argue, and his warm body pressed up against me feels incredible.

A big arm wraps around my front, pulling me against him, and makes me wonder if he’s not doing this entirely for just my benefit. His hand dips up under my shirt and I feel his thumb gently stroking against my stomach. I feel his face bury into my hair as he breathes deeply.

I soften into him and let him hold me. My body and mind are hurting today and I don’t have the willpower to question his motives. I let myself indulge in his touch. I fall asleep in his arms.

[kawaiijohn]

Going Angst Week Day 2: Obsession

Ao3:  Here

WC:  1689

Nav: 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 

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The scenery behind the door was very... unique Quizz would say.  

“You know, if I wanted space I would just remove a wall.  A room suspended in the endless void is a little... extra, don’t you think?” They asked nobody.

There was a singular platform suspended in an endless inky void of space with a singular pathway to the door.  Nothing sat upon it but a desk- complete with a fancy looking double-monitor setup and roomy drawers underneath.  It looked sleek, modern, tempting.  

Quizz didn’t know why the single point of focus in an otherwise liminal room was so enticing, but hey!  The feeling in their chest hadn’t led them astray.  Yet.

With a shrug they began walking, their saunter turning into a slow but steady glide as they negated gravity.  “Well, only one way to go.  Down it is!!”

The monitors lit up with a strange logo- a devilishly smiling face with red shades and blue flames for hair.  Okay... that looked really cool, but... why was it lighting up?  They tapped the space key and a password entry blinked before them.

“I can’t even remember my name, what makes this place think I’ll remember a fuckin’ password right off the bat?  Sheesh!!”  He pulled the chair out and took a seat, realizing it didn’t need adjusting and was hella comfortable.  

Alright... he could work with this.

With a too-wide grin he began trying to unlock the machine.

-----

It turned out he could not, in fact, work with this.

Quizz had his cheek pressed against the desk, growling lowly at the password box as it flashed tauntingly at him.  It really didn’t help that the damn thing cackled at him with every wrong entry.

“Stupid computer.  Stupid amnesia.  Stupid Quizz... stupid stupid stupid.”  He pried his face off the desk in despair and slammed his forehead on it a few times.  “The fact that nothing seems to hurt me makes me think I’m just having an awful dream.”  Another slam.  “But with my terrible luck I’m in purgatory or something.” Slam.  

“Why is this so damn hard... Always gettin’ myself into so much trouble- way more than it’s worth!!  Gods mom was ri-...”  Quizz paused and thought. ��“.... she was... who?  Who was... right??  ACK!”  They grabbed their forehead, talons accidentally scratching the fuck out of their face in the rush.  “I-I... why do things keep.  Leaving me?”

They took a moment to calm, thinking about it- thinking about the trouble they were in; lost and alone with apparently only a locked computer for company.  “Please, I... don’t want to forget her.  I just want to... know...” The pain in their head subsided as the thing in their chest thrummed violently.  “Who was she to me again??”  They had to remember, feelings of both nostalgia and love rushed over them, followed by a single, near debilitating shudder of regret and the gut-wrenching feeling of failure.

‘I’m sorry I wasn’t enough... I couldn’t be there for you all...’

Quizz gasped loudly.  “I... someone said I get into trouble... it was familiar, but not angry.  Exasperated... and then I... I left them.  How did I leave?”  Their heard vibrated strangely again.  “I don’t think I left them willingly.  But who were... they?”

A happy, yet tired family sits at a table.  A single chair remains empty yet another day; a small plate covered in frogs sits on a placemat in front of it.  There’s three other people, smiling yet tired.  Pizza steams fresh in the center with two figures talking excitedly about something else.  They’re all smaller besides one more in focus than the others.  They look... older?  The image clears a bit more and reveals a stout woman with slightly greying hair and blank eyes...

Something clicks into place.

"Mom!!!  I remember mom- I think... but who are the others?  Kids, at least maybe?  Ah, what was her name- I can... Her favorite color was peach!!”  They readied themself for pain again, but none came.  “ Ah, so the initial memory sucks when I remember it!!  Noted!  Thanks brain, I hate it!!!”  They tapped their forehead and stood in front of the desk, arms crossed.  “Now, brain, my dear friend- can please you do me a favor and, oh... I don’t know... fuckin’ LET ME UNLOCK THIS FUCKIN’ DESKTOP?? Please???”

The monitor snickered softly at them again after a moment of absolute silence.

“ALRIGHT SMARTASS!!!”  Quizz slammed their fist hard on the keyboard, hearing something click softly underneath.  “There’s literally no need to get sassy with me!  So what do you say, help me out here, bud?  Please???”  They pleaded with the computer, but got a loud raspberry in return.  “Cool.  Just fuckin’ great.”  Another smack to the keyboard made something inside the desk click again, the sound of some sort of mechanism unwinding.  After a moment, a drawer (one he was SURE was locked) glided open gracefully.

Quizz perked up, ignoring the fact they were about ten seconds from slashing the monitor in half with their new claws.  “Alright!  Now that’s the shit I’m talkin’ about!  That’s the shit I’m fuckin’ about!!!”  They turned and saluted the blank space surrounding him.  “Thanks, weird void room.  Thanks weird asshole computer!!  I totally appreciate the help you gave me!!” 

‘Ah, sarcasm.  Never fails to lighten the mood.’

With nimble fingers the amnesiac started shuffling through the drawer.  It had several very... interesting items inside- weirdly shaped pens, a neat collapsable cane he was gonna inspect later, but the best of all was a pair of dope-ass red shades that they absolutely donned immediately- a feeling of pride and rightness filling them as they put them on.

They made it to the bottom of the drawer when their chest thrummed violently.  A lone binder, locked tightly, sat at the bottom.  They grasped their chest with one hand and the book with the other, admiring the intricate silver swirls and black glittering stars covering it.  Quizz placed it on the desk, noticing a small, strangely glittering key hanging off of a chain attached to it.

The room seemed to whisper directly into his mind.

‘Open it.  Inside.  Open... learn about... read... learn...’

With a shaking hand, they unlocked it and read.

They read.

And read.

Memories coming to the forefront and fading away just as soon.  Their eyes scanned words that would pixelate and blur as soon as they glanced at them.  Names and places, numbers and facts- blurred away from his sight.  

‘No.  This is not how it should be.’

A growl bubbled up in his chest as he kept reading.  Names were all universally destroyed, photos for the most part blurred out.  But categories- favorite places and things... birthdays and personality types- all of those were categorized neatly and nicely.  

Some pages had just a few, and those names were less obscured- some even with profile pictures fully visible.

Those pages made his chest rumble happily.  He couldn’t understand why.

But there were three specific pages that stood out.  Just looking at them... it made his blood itch, his chest scream in longing.

He needed to finish them.  If he didn’t... he didn’t know what he would do.  

He poured over the pages over and over and over again.

They all had information filled for the most part, more categories were finished than any other page had been, but things like the person’s name and appearance, as well as the photos were unhelpfully blurred out.

They snarled at the thought of not knowing what it meant.  

“Can’t make anything easy for me, huh?”

One was a page that was rather childish.  Observations were written but he could barely understand them- the letters scrambling before his eyes.  But he noticed something- it seemed the entry was cut short; the only clear thing besides crayon drawings of frogs said ‘entry cut short, just like their time with us.’

The second page was filled with pressed flowers- all different types of lilies and snapdragons.  Everything was written with a glittery peach gel pen.  They ran a claw over the script and felt a tear fall from their eyes.  The writing made them feel something deep and painful- the same pain they’d felt a short while ago.

Their eyes scanned the page, noticing a single clear data entry.

Favorite Color:  Peach

“This was... is this my mom?”

Upon saying that, the page become more readable- some smaller things filling out and the photo less ‘thumb over the camera’ and more ‘they moved while I took this’.

If this was information on people they knew then...

Quizz yelled as their chest spiked in pain, something overcoming their willpower.

If this book was filled with things about the people they loved, then they will... they are going to... uncover all of it- collect all the information and find them.  They’ll collect everyone interesting they meet- ask them... get answers, know things, know all things to... to - 

Protect.

Love.

Learn.

Know. Know them.

After feeling cold pins and needles consume their form, Quizz flipped back to the third and last page that had gathered their interest. 

The very first page in the book.

Their claw ran over the scrawling handwriting- admiring how the writer crossed their sevens with lines, how they looped their letters and underlined things for emphasis.  They felt nostalgic and hollow.

This page had every single category filled, but the descriptions were blackened out; like they’d spilled ink all over the page.  They looked it up and down but couldn’t find a single clue about who page one would have been.

With a sigh they grinned and noticed something peculiar on the inner cover- right next to the bio.  There was a single note, a single clue.

Password:  Page 5′s best friend.

Now that... that tickled Quizz’s fancy.  Page 5... that would be the childish froggie page?  Yes it was.  

Quizz felt the buzzing in their chest become steady, violent yet subdued.  It was telling them this was the right direction- that attaining that information would fill a hunger they didn’t know they had.

Interesting, this was going to just be... delightful.

[twinstarsies]

pro hero!bk/vigilante!dk, hurt/comfort, mild blood

Katsuki hears the apartment door open from his place at the stove, listening as footsteps shuffle in before it's shut again. He stirs the vegetables simmering in the pan and glances at the clock.

It's almost three in the morning.

"I'm home," comes Izuku's soft voice, and Katsuki's jaw clenches at the exhaustion in it, the pain making it waver ever so slightly.

Stupid, fucking idiot.

"Kacchan?"

Katsuki clicks his tongue, turning off the stove and removing the pan from the heat. He adds the vegetables to the waiting bowls of steaming rice, tosses the pan in the sink to wash later, and takes the bowls to the living room.

It takes four deep breaths and counting to twenty-four to not explode the food in his hands when he gets a look at his dumbass boyfriend.

One pretty green eye is nearly swollen shut, the skin around it already purpling, and there's a cut on his busted lip, bleeding sluggishly. Another cut at his temple is also bleeding, trailing down his freckled cheek, and the way he's holding his arm tells Katsuki it might be dislocated.

Stupid, fucking idiot.

He sets the bowls down and stands before Izuku, arms crossed. Izuku keeps eye contact, though he absently fidgets with his fingers—sorry for the state of himself, but not for it happening in the first place.

Finally, Katsuki breaks the silent stand-off between them. "Do I need to pop it back into place?" He gestures to Izuku's arm, and Izuku shakes his head.

"Just sore," he says, offering no details. He smiles, small and sweet, and changes the subject. "Food smells good."

"Tch. It fucking better," he grumbles, relenting and handing him a bowl. "Since I made it."

His boyfriend just laughs, a soft huff of breath. Katsuki watches him take two bites before walking off toward their bathroom for their first aid kit. When he comes back, the first bowl is empty and Izuku is already halfway through the second.

Fucker skipped lunch. Again.

Katsuki sits next to him on the couch, searching through the kit for what he needs a little more forcefully than necessary. He tosses the rest on the floor as he turns to Izuku and starts the process of stitching up the reckless, selfless love of his life.

"I hate you so much sometimes," he says into the quiet. "When the fuck are you gonna learn to put yourself first?"

"When there aren't people who need saving more than I do," Izuku answers, like Katsuki knew he would. He flinches when Katsuki presses a bit too hard on the cut on his temple. "Ow! Kacchan!"

"You fuckin' deserve it," Katsuki snaps. The blood smears under his touch as he grips Izuku's face so he can't look away. "What the fuck am I gonna do if I lose you, huh?"

Izuku quiets, the fire of argument in his eyes dying away when he realizes Katsuki isn't trying to fight. He reaches out and twists his fingers in Katsuki's shirt, holding on.

"I'm sorry."

Katsuki leans their heads together, breathing in the scent of sweat and musk on him. "Just—think about yourself every once in a while, okay?"

He tilts his head, slotting their mouths together. It's a little metallic with the blood on Izuku's lip, but it's nothing but a reassurance.

His boyfriend is still alive to bleed, and that's all that matters.

Izuku hums softly against him, letting Katsuki steal his fill until he pulls away with a slight wince, smiling sheepishly.

Stupid, fucking heroic idiot.

But he's Katsuki's heroic idiot, and Katsuki will do everything to keep it that way. With one more tug to his curls, Katsuki presses a kiss to his forehead.

"C'mon, Mr. Hero Complex. Let's get you cleaned up."

[russilton]

Okay. So I’ve devoured everything you’ve posted about RB George. I’ve probably read them each three times. But I’m a sucker for hurt/comfort types (so I loved that snippet). But it got me thinking. What does Lewis call George, pet name wise. Sure he’s got the degrading comments at the beginning, but what’s the name he uses for him in private? And the first time he uses it, how does George feel? So can’t wait for this to be posted!

God this really fuckin’ stumped me, this ask did, for two reasons

Mild Redbull George AU spoilers below the cut

One, because I have been so busy making Lewis call George princess or slut or similar, I hadn’t really considered the potential in pet names for when they do get together

And Two, because I have an entire list of potential George pet names at the bottom of most of my writing Docs, but none of them fit

The names, since I know someone will ask:

baby, babe, angel, honey, sunshine, star boy, pretty boy, sweetheart, sugar, darling, dear, bambi, sweet pea (sunshine is my favourite)

And the more I sit and think on it, while I don’t think it’s impossible that they WILL end up using pet names, I think it’s going to actually take a while. The thing about pet names is they’re somewhat like the next step above casual intimacy, normally when I start writing Lewis and George, that is the regular, normal path they follow.

But RB AU George and Lewis aren’t normal. They don’t start at the base line, they start a step below, two steps almost, because they don’t even start with first names when they begin fucking. It’s all last names, a shield of indifference to each other as they both try to pretend they aren’t having fun. It starts with last names, harsh “you like that, Russell” and “you wish, Hamilton”.

Then comes the degrading names. Now let me be clear while these two aren’t the model relationship for healthy communication and consent, Lewis never does anything he thinks George would truly hate. The slut shaming is an under negotiatiated kink, Lewis likes calling him whore, slut, bitch, Princess etc, because George moans when he does it and doesn’t tell him to stop. He doesn’t really think George is a princess, he’s just another driver with an ego that could crush a child, most drivers have pretty inflated egos, but when he first calls George, Princess the guy practically comes untouched, what is he gonna do, NOT keep doing it?

First names come after that, when sex turns from something rushed and slightly angry? To a taunting expectation. “ tire strategy not work out for you there, Lewis?”. The fact they’re using first names is almost a taunt in itself, both of them prodding the other to be the first to mention it. At some point it becomes something normal. It’s almost like they’re becoming friends or something.

When George’s abuse begins, last names fall away with concern “What the fuck was that Russell- Jesus George, are you okay?” and it kinda stays that way for a while, using each other’s names IS a form of intimacy and romance, admitting that they’re close and that they do in-fact care about each other.

I’m still not entirely sure if they’ll ever fall into the same kind of loving affection and sugar sweet pet names that most George and Lewis’ do, they’ve been through too much. But there are some, Lewis slipping and calling George babe without thinking in the morning, going red when George smirks at him and tells him he’s getting awful fond. Lewis calling him sunshine in mocking when George settles on his lap for a cuddle, and making note of how his ears turn red and he hides his face in the collar of Lewis’ shirt.

[thefoxholestuff]

Hey y’all, here’s an expansion of my Neil-is-dangerous-and-Aaron-knows-it post, available here. A long overdue suggestion from @sarcasm-is-my-only-langauge, hope you like it lovely!

·      So all the foxes + Katelyn are hanging out together somewhere on campus (bc I love Katelyn and I said so ok).

·      And they run into the football team, who, in the grand tradition of fictional football teams, are assholes.

·      (to be fair, so are the foxes, but in a different way.)

·      The football team is not co-ed, and not particular fans of the fact that the foxes are. Also, their games tend to be on the same days and they’re a little mad that the foxes keep stealing their crowds.

· ��    So, predictably, they start giving the team shit.

·      (this got really long so the rest is under the cut)

·      And Matt and Aaron can handle being called junkies, they don’t care (Andrew says it to Neil often enough that the usual connotation barely even registers any more).

·      Nicky grits his teeth through the homophobic slurs and flips them off.

·      Kevin doesn’t give a single flying fuck about being called a reject.

·      The girls can and do defend themselves from the harassment and sexism (Katelyn is used to it, the girl is a cheerleader – they get so much shit just by virtue of their sport).

·      Neil just yawns his way through the ridiculing of his facial scars.

·      Pretty much everyone on the team defends themselves from the onslaught of insults and nastiness. You don’t get to be a fox without learning to hold your own, after all. Everyone fights back, and they don’t do it quietly.

·      Except for Andrew.

·      Now, obviously, Andrew cares even less about what people say about him than the other foxes.

·      Andrew doesn’t fight back, because he doesn’t care enough.

·      But guess what, motherfuckers? Neil sure does.

·      One minute he’s sneering at a guy twice his size, verbally annihilating his entire existence.

·      And the next he’s got the guy’s even bigger friend on the ground, screaming in pain, with an arm twisted behind his back for calling Andrew a soulless psycho.

·      He would have broken the asshole’s arm if Andrew hadn’t made eye contact and shook his head (because when Neil said he might have to fight the next person who called Andrew soulless, he wasn’t fucking kidding).

·      And the foxes just stare.

·      Cause yeah, okay, they knew Neil was dangerous, like objectively knew it – for fuck’s sake he grew up in the mob – but they’ve never seen it in action before. And, hell, it’s so easy to forget. Every time he gives them puppy eyes over a gift, or melts when one of them says he’s their friend, it gets harder and harder to remember where he comes from.

·      But Neil hasn’t forgotten.

·      And neither has one of the other foxes.

·      Dan gapes. She’s… kind of proud? But also no, bad vice captain, you and I are supposed to be the level-headed ones.

·      So does Allison, for a minute, and then she shrugs, walks by, and ruffles Neil’s hair with an “attaboy”.

·      Renee raises an eyebrow and reminds herself not to be fooled by those big blue eyes again.

·      Matt is nearly in tears jfc he’s so fuckin proud of his little bro, defending his bf like that (but also Neil buddy we gotta talk about public violence, someone’s gonna report that eventually).

·      Katelyn’s a little concerned, but like... fuckin foxes man what are you gonna do?

·      Nicky stares and starts rambling, Andrew bops him on the back of the head to get him to shut up.

·      Kevin is… vaguely concerned, actually, because Neil looked a lot like his father for a second there. It takes him a couple of days to look Neil in the eye again, but Andrew sits him down and makes him talk until he can figure things out.

·      Andrew is Looking Respectfully, he promises, but also… goddamn. He’s always pleased to see his people defend themselves, it means less work for him, but seeing someone defend him isn’t something he’s used to (and it’s kinda turning him on not gonna lie).

·      But Aaron? Aaron is not pleased.

·      You may recall that Aaron is not a fan of his brother’s relationship. Aside from the mild-to-moderate homophobia (which I like to think he’s working on at this point), he canonically thinks Neil is taking advantage of his brother, or trying to. He, like the rest of the foxes, is aware that Neil is the son of a mob boss, but unlike the rest of the foxes he’s hyper-aware of it.

·      Because yeah, Neil acts nice (for a fox) most of the time. He’s cute, funny kind of by accident, and a little socially awkward in a way the upperclassmen clearly adore.

·      You know who else seemed nice most of the time?

·      Tilda.

·      The Spears.

·      The Hemmicks.

·      Anyone who’s ever hurt Aaron or Andrew or Nicky, because you see, you don’t typically get close enough to hurt someone without seeming nice at first. Aaron knows for a fucking fact that ‘nice, most of the time’ and ‘willing to resort to violence’ is a bad, bad, bad combination.

·      And he doesn’t get why no one else seems to understand that.

·      Aaron’s not quite sure how Neil Josten has managed to fool his entire team, but he’s going to find out. And he’s going to start by talking to his brother because therapy is awful but he’s learning, dammit.

·      …after Andrew is done dragging his boyfriend off to the dorms, because ew. There are some things Aaron doesn’t need to see, even in the name of protecting his brother.

[arctasy]

uncleinnit, what will he do?

summary: against their better judgement, tubbo and ranboo leave tommy to babysit michael for the day while they have a meeting with foolish about their new mansion. and as any reasonable person should know, tommy is not one to follow the rules.

(word count: 2,359)

read on ao3

—————————

“Come on Ranboo, we’re going to be late,” called Tubbo from the front door.

“One second,” he called back from the house’s attic. He turned back to the grouchy Tommy currently sulking in the corner of the room. “And remember to check his temperature periodically through the day. The house is usually warm but Michael gets cold very easily and I don’t want him coming down with a cold.”

“I still don’t understand why the fuck I have to be the one to babysit the kid,” grumbled Tommy.

“There are golden carrots in the downstairs cupboard for when he gets hungry,” continued Ranboo as though nothing had happened. “And be nice! Michael is friendly but can be very-”

“Jesus fuck, man, just get on to your meeting already,” interrupted Tommy. He pushed himself off the wall and pushed Ranboo to the trapdoor that led to the main room below. “It’s only a few hours, your stupid child is going to be fine.”

“Ranboooo,” called Tubbo once more, a sickeningly sweet lilt to his voice that said you better get down here right now before I kick your arse to L’manberg.

“Coming!” Ranboo lifted the trapdoor and stepped down onto the ladder. “Oh, and if I see a single scratch on Michael, I’m gonna kill you.”

“You fucking-” started Tommy, but the trapdoor swung shut and Ranboo descended down the ladder.

He groaned in frustration and slowly dragged a hand down his face. “These next few hours are gonna be literal dogshit. Who in their right mind would leave me with their child? And a fucking toddler at that.” He watched as the piglin in question clambered onto the windowsill and swung his legs, which dangled nearly a foot over the edge. “Guess it's just you and me, eh, Big Mike?”

Micheal looked up at him, blinked once, and looked back down, mesmerized by his swinging hooves. Tommy palmed himself in the face.

“You probably don’t even understand me, huh? Fucking wonderful.”

Tommy glanced around the room. It was fairly large for a toddler, furnished with a bed, coffee table, bookshelf, and various paintings. In the middle of the room lay a yellow rug, which Tommy thought was a questionable decor choice. Then again, he lived in a dirt hill, so he didn't really have a right to talk. His fingers brushed over the dusty books sitting on the bookshelf, whose pages looked like they’d never seen the light of day. He held his hand to his face, and wrinkled his nose at the gray dust that coated his fingertips.

“Not much to do here, big man, is there?” he asked Michael as he brushed off the dust on the front of his shirt, who continued to make no sign he heard the whiny teenager.

“I don’t even know why Tubbo chose me of all people. Last time I saw you, I threatened to kick you. I’m a fuckin’ safety hazard!”

Michael’s snout dipped the slightest bit.

“I wouldn’t actually kick you,” said Tommy hastily. “You’re just an annoying lil’ shit, you know?”

Michael’s head dipped even further.

“Come on, don’t give me that.” Tommy rubbed his eyes with the heels of his palms. “Okay, fine, you aren’t that annoying. I just hate how the two of them don’t shut up about you. It’s all Michael this and Michael that. You don’t even do anything, you’re just sat there!”

Michael jumped down from the windowsill, and Tommy continued his one-sided conversation. “I know I’m mean to them sometimes, especially Ranboo. I actually don’t mind Ranboo that much, he’s fuckin’ cool actually, but he talks about you so much and its infuriating!”

Michael turned to walk to the other side of his room. One of his hooves caught on the rug in the center and he tripped, tiny hands braced out to catch his fall. Tommy was there in an instant, catching the small boy in his arms before he could hit the ground.

“Fuckin’ careful man, you could’ve hurt yourself.” He let out another string of curses, putting the boy down and crouching down to examine him for any injuries. Michael watched him in mild curiosity.

“You seem fine, but wow, you almost gave me a heart attack, big man.” He let out a nervous laugh. Michael reached up with a tiny hand and ruffled his hair, or at least tried to. Tommy’s laughter died in his throat.

Micheal smiled at him, and brought his hand back down to his side. He walked back over to the window while Tommy sat there in shock trying to comprehend the last few moments because that was the single cutest thing he’s ever seen holy fucking shit. Then he caught up with his thoughts and swore at himself because he was not about to go all soft. He was Tommy-fucking-Innit, and he had a reputation to uphold, damn it.

He walked over to Michael, who was looking out the window, hooves and snout resting against the glass. Tommy hesitantly reached out a hand and rested it on the toddler’s head. Michael leaned into his hand, and Tommy started rubbing the thin bristles. He made a sound that Tommy could only describe as “happy piglin noises.”

“Do you wish you could go outside?” asked Tommy several minutes later, as Michael continued to gaze longingly out the small window of the attic. The view outside was beautiful. The ground was coated in a thick blanket of snow, and beyond it lay a small dock and an endless glittering sea.

Michael nodded.

“Holy shit, you can understand me!” Tommy bounced on his heels in excitement. “But man, it must suck being holed up in here all the time.”

Micheal let out a noise that Tommy assumed was agreement. Suddenly, he turned around and climbed down the windowsill, using Tommy as a brace.

“Woah, woah, woah, where’re you going?”

He grabbed Tommy’s hand and dragged him across the room until they were standing in front of the trapdoor.

Tommy let out a nervous bark of laughter. “You wanna go outside?” Michael looked at him expectantly. “I don’t know, big man, isn’t it dangerous out there? Mobs n’ shit, y’know?”

Michael continued to stare. “And don’t you get cold easily? If you get sick or hurt those two will fuckin’ kill me, man.”

Michael pouted, which Tommy didn’t even think was possible for someone with a snout. And man, how was he supposed to refuse those puppy dog eyes now? (Well, one eye, technically.)

“Fine,” he groaned. “But if anything goes wrong, I’m blaming you, okay?”

Michael nodded, jumping up and down in excitement.

Tommy dug through Michael’s closet and pulled out an armful of clothes. Carefully, he bundled the toddler in several layers. As an afterthought, he added a small red cape he’d found hanging in the back. Better to be safe than sorry. (He would never admit that he wanted the two of them to match, as Tommy was currently wearing the thick red cape he wore back when he stayed in Techno’s base.)

After a bit of clever maneuvering and several moments where Tommy thought he had fucked up and accidentally killed the kid for sure, he finally managed to carry Michael down the ladder and onto the landing below, injury-free. The second he put him down, Michael raced to the door and threw it open, which Tommy had to admit was rather impressive for a two-foot tall toddler with hooves for hands.

“Wait up, bitch!” he yelled in exasperation, running after the hyper piglin. He found Michael sitting in a pile of snow, patting it softly and giggling as his hooves sunk into the sea of white.

In spite of himself, Tommy felt his face split into a grin and he thought his heart was going to melt.

“You like the snow, Big Mike?” He gathered some of it into a ball and handed it to the child, whose face stared in wonder. “That’s a snowball. You can throw them, like this.” Tommy created another snowball and demonstrated by throwing it at the front of Tubbo’s house. Revenge for leaving him to babysit his fucking toddler (he didn’t mind too much anymore, though he would never admit it).

“Your turn, buddy,” he said, turning his head back to Michael only to be met with a snowball to the face.

“WHY YOU LITTLE SHIT-” he yelled. He tackled Michael to the ground and rolled himself over so that Michael was now laying across his chest, Tommy’s back in the snow. He sat up and began to tickle the piglin, who let out a squeal of laughter and tried to squirm away.

“I should’ve known you'd try something like that,” he said, fighting to keep the smile off his face. “It’s something Tubbo would do; like father like son, eh?”

Michael finally managed to twist out of Tommy’s hold and ran a few steps- only to trip and faceplant into the snow. However, before Tommy could let out more than a shout of concern, he sprung back up, looking perfectly unharmed and extremely amused at the concern written across Tommy’s face.

Tommy sighed. “Quit giving me heart attacks kid, you’re gonna kill me,” he groaned, unable to keep the endearment out of his voice. “C’mon, let me show you what else you can do with snow.”

For the next half hour, the two of them worked tirelessly on a giant snowman. Tommy held up Michael so he could add the small sticks and pebbles to the topmost snowball in the vague arrangement of a face. He thought it looked suspiciously similar to Ranboo, but made no complaints, happy that the toddler was having fun. After Michael added the last touch, a wreath of leaves that resembled a crown, Tommy set him down, and the two of them admired their handiwork.

“Not bad, Big Mike,” he said, nodding his approval. At that exact moment, the snowman’s head decided to slip off onto the ground, landing in a pile of ice, sticks, and leaves. Tommy and Michael looked at each other for several seconds, then simultaneously burst out laughing.

“I’ve always wanted to knock down Ranboo’s head like that,” he joked. Michael playfully slapped his leg.

“Wanna explore the rest of Snowchester?” asked Tommy. Micheal nodded eagerly. He scooped up the boy in his arms and started making his way across the ice. “We can’t go too far because your dads might see us, and we need to be back home soon,” Tommy informed him, “but I think we can go to the dock. Let’s fuckin’ go!”

Before long they were standing on the wooden planks, staring out at the sea. Tommy sat on the edge and held Michael in his lap, hands wrapped securely around his waist so he didn’t fall into the freezing water below.

“Pretty, isn’t it?” he asked the toddler. The sea stretched in an endless expanse before them, glittering as it reflected the rays of the afternoon sun. Chunks of ice floated in the water, dotting the scene like sparse freckles. The occasional breeze blew across the water, creating tiny ripples and waves in the sea’s texture. It was truly a sight to behold.

The two of them stayed like that for a long time, admiring the scene that Michael had up until then only viewed from his bedroom window. It was definitely much better in person, and Tommy vowed to himself that he would take Michael out here much more often, Tubbo and Ranboo’s rules be damned.

Tommy could never get tired of watching the sunset. His eyes refused to leave the horizon as the sun inched closer and closer to the sea. With a start, he realized that over an hour had passed, and his two friends were due to be home any moment.

“Shit, shit, fuck,” he mumbled to himself. He set Micheal down beside him and got up, stretching. Michael let out a whine of protest. “I know, I know, I don’t want to go back either, big man, but your parents are gonna fuckin’ kill me.” He lifted Micheal into his arms, who rested his head on Tommy’s shoulder. “See? You’re getting sleepy. Even more of a reason to go back.”

Michael yawned in reply, and Tommy's heart melted for the hundredth time that day. He slowly made his way back to Tubbo’s house, careful not to jostle the drowsy toddler too much.

Getting Michael through the door and back up the ladder was a challenge in it of itself, but finally they were back in Michael’s room. Tommy helped Michael out of his extra layers and dried him off with a towel. Before long, it looked like nothing had ever happened, and Tommy grinned in satisfaction at his superior babysitting skills.

“Here’s a golden carrot for being a fuckin’ excellent partner in crime,” he told Michael, handing him one from his personal stash. Michael giggled in delight.

Tommy crawled into Michel’s bed and lifted the toddler on top of him. “Time for bed, kid,” he whispered. Michael finished up the last of his carrot, then curled into Tommy’s sweater. His eye drifted shut, and soon he was fast asleep, light snores filling the quiet room.

That scene was how Tubbo and Ranboo were greeted upon returning home: Tommy holding Michael gently, the two of them curled up against each other and knocked out cold.

“I can’t believe that actually worked,” whispered Ranboo in amazement. “I thought for sure I’d come back to the house on fire or something.”

“Tommy can be very competent when he wants to be,” Tubbo informed him. The two of them cooed as Michael sneezed in his sleep, then curled deeper into Tommy’s chest. “Anyways, now I have blackmail material.” He took a picture of his sleeping son and best friend and smiled in glee. “Oh, Tommy is gonna be pissed.”

However, to Tubbo’s surprise, Tommy’s only reaction to the photo the next day was a request for Tubbo to send him a copy, and an assurance that he could count on him the next time he needed someone to babysit Michael.

Huh.

[writefightandflightclub]

Calm after the storm (dad!Nathan x fem!reader)

Summary: dad!Nathan / ex-husband!Nathan and angst. He comforts your son during a storm. You were always better at dishing out comfort, but Nathan is trying his best to learn how. He’s had to, since you left him. If only he could get you to come home, after he pushed you so far away.

Author’s note: my 1st go at writing something emotional / angsty with Nathan. Different to my other Nathan stuff, so won;t be offended if you don’t like it! No-one asked for this but this popped into my head and ended me and I figured I’d drag you down with me. Will add taglists tomorrow :o) (If you DO happen to like it, please let me know! Writing has been so slow for me lately and honestly I’m just pleased to have finished something.)

Warnings: language, themes of children, divorce / separation, angst, alcohol abuse / misuse, parent!reader.

Warning that there is zero smut in this. Nathan is literally a father when I say daddy here. Just to be clear. Some may feel this is ooc (I may have used a bit of license with his character to achieve angst, but actually, I don’t think it’s too far from a potential truth?)? Mistakes etc. maybe, but I can’t look at this a second longer so here it is.

Word count: 8.8k (sorry!)

Nathan’s head whips up from his computer screen as he sees a tiny, shadowed figure appear in the doorway to his lab. He pauses his frenzied typing, but retains the frown weighing on his brow.

“You shouldn’t be out of bed, buddy,” he says sternly, bathed in a pool of blue light and looking at the child from beneath his lenses. Hell, when did it get so dark?

“I’m scared,” a tearful little voice says, and Nathan sighs, pushing back his chair with a small, thin-lipped smile as he regards the boy. His soft, dinosaur-adorned pyjamas have been twisted by sleep, and he is rubbing his balled-up fists into his cheeks, a pet lip trembling beneath. Nathan never did understand the kid’s obsession with dinosaurs.

Unlike father, unlike son.

Things long dead and gone? Nathan didn’t like to look back, after all. He looked ahead. Moved forward. There’s nothing for me over my shoulder.

With his headspace out of his work, Nathan suddenly notices the rain drumming down against the skylight. The rumble of thunder and flash of lightning carving the sky open.

“The storm?” he asks, rising to meet the boy as his little feet pad with trepidation across the cold lab floor to his father. The boy nods. He looks slightly uncertain, since he’s not allowed in the lab, but enters and sticks his arms up into the air all the same. He does that tentatively too, since Nathan hasn’t historically been generous with affection; and yet, this time, Nathan wordlessly scoops him up on to his hip, his heart clenching as the boy’s wet, grabby little hands fist into his Henley. His severe gaze softens instantly; though not all the way. The gesture is still a little rusty.

“That’s illogical, bud - it’s not gonna hurt you. Let’s get you back to bed.”

Irrational. Emotional. Unlike father, unlike son.

You were always better at the comfort stuff. Of course you were. Still, Nathan thinks he’s learning, without you. He’s had to learn. 

Nathan quietly carries the little spider-monkeyed bundle back to his bed. He offers no words of comfort, but he does offer a firm and reassuring pat on his back as he walks. The boy smells of bath bubbles and baby oil, mixed-in with fresh detergent and that indescribable kid smell, and Nathan feels alarmingly soothed as he inhales the scent.

A flood of memories comes back, but he pushes them down. There is nothing for him over his shoulder, after all. Nothing in the past he would care to resurrect.

Carefully balancing the boy with one strong arm, Nathan peels back the covers and slots him back into his soft bed, the glow of the nightlight illuminating the boy in a blue halo.

Like father, like son.

The man securely tucks him in and smooths the covers, his eyes alarmingly gentle now, even amidst his stony face; however, the boy is still not entirely placated. His eyes are still wide. His bottom lip is still trembling.

Nathan sighs and lowers himself on to the edge of the bed, his genius brain struggling with this problem. Apparently, simply telling a 4-year-old they’re being illogical doesn’t cut it. Children; so inefficient. So tiny and fragile and…

The best thing I ever created.

Let’s hope he doesn’t grow up to stab me in the chest.

“Okay,” he begins, with a sweep of his hand over that buzzed head of his. “Do you know what static electricity is, buddy? One of the forces which attracts or repels things? Remember?”

“Repels. Pushes things away?” the small voice asks him.

I pushed her away. I’m a force. A force of nature. A storm.

Fear is often based on lack of knowledge. Nathan imagines if he explains the storm, he can demystify it. Take its power away. Still, the 4-year-old looks up at him in confusion, little fingers tightly gripping the edge of the bed covers. His mess of curls splaying over the pillow like a rolling black cloud.

Maybe you did get your mother’s average brain.

We can hope you got fuck all from me, kid.

“Come on, champ, we talked about this...” Nathan sighs, with mild impatience, and then he thinks some more – just like he’s always thinking, except algorithms make sense to him, and how could he hope to solve this?

Nathan shuffles up on to the bed until his back is against the wall, perpendicular to the boy. “Okay,” he says, slapping his palms gently against his thighs. “Remember when we were at Ankita’s party, and you rubbed that balloon on your head, huh? And then all of your hairs stood-up and it kinda tickled?”

The child giggles – a sound that punches Nathan in the gut. “Yeah, Daddy, and it didn’t work on your bald head.”

Nathan exhales through a small smile which doesn’t quite reach his eyes. 

“So, you remember,” he nods, waving his hand in the air as he tries to find simple language to continue his explanation. “Well. It’s like the sky is having a party, and the clouds are rubbin’ up against each other, making all this static. Understand?” Nathan continues, and the child is rapt, listening to his father’s deep, steady, sandy voice. “But clouds don’t have hair-“ there is another giggle, and this time Nathan’s eyes do crease with his smile, “-so instead they send their lightning forking out in all directions. You got it?”

“A party?” the boy enquires, still unsure. His hands gripping more tightly to the covers and his face inching further below them as a particularly loud rumble of thunder sounds overhead.  

“Right. A party.” Nathan runs with it, pleased that he’s getting somewhere. Moving forward. Making progress. “And parties can be noisy, right? All that dancing and singing and scraping chairs around?”

The kid briefly looks at his father as if he’s stupid -a trait you’d always had nailed- but in the next heartbeat he seems to accept the explanation given, the fear in his eyes beginning to ease, though not entirely gone.

He’s still afraid.

Like father, like son.

It’s evident that Nathan needs to devise something even more soothing. He vaguely considers trying to explain the unparalleled lightning and surge protection in-built into this facility, but he thinks better of it. He instead plumps for something he dearly hopes the kid will understand somewhat better than he comprehends static electricity. “You’re safe here and nothing can hurt you,” he says, raising his eyebrows up from beneath his frames and delivering an intent stare, smoothing a broad hand on the boy’s chest and shoulder. “I promise, kid. Would Daddy let anything hurt you?”

“No,” the boy answers, peeking up at Nathan with big eyes, shaking his little head and rustling his curls against the pillow. It breaks Nathan’s heart that his voice wavers, as if he’s a little unsure of his answer.

“Exactly. Not in a million fuckin’ years.” Nathan says adamantly, his deep, dark eyes intense with conviction to emphasise his point.

“Daddy!” The boy gasps when Nathan curses, little palms rising to clamp down over the shocked “o” of his mouth.

“Ah, shit. Don’t tell your Mama I said a naughty word, okay?” Nathan sucks air through his teeth and delivers a sheepish half-grin.

“I miss Mommy.”

The boy blinks. His eyes sad, his emotions constantly unmasked. Feeling. Always feeling.

Unlike father, unlike son.

Nathan’s chest tightens. He scoops up the plush dog, Crunchy, from on top of the duvet and settles her in the boy’s arms, buying him some time to arrange his busy thoughts.

Thinking. Always thinking.

The dog is so named since it spent the boy’s early years crusted with dried-in food and mud and whatever else. Nathan had dubbed it Crunchy Mutt, and the name had stuck. Memories nip at his heels, but he doesn’t let you creep back in. Doesn’t fill the gaps.

Nathan emits a shallow sigh. He misses you too.

Like father, like son.

His eyes are almost soft, almost apologetic as they meet the boy’s again. He is sorry, in that moment, for depriving the boy of you for half of his time. He shouldn’t have to miss out on you. You shouldn’t have to miss out on your son. Nathan knew all this was because of him.

Nathan had sworn never to let anything hurt you, either. To look after you, and yet...

I pushed her away.

I’m a force. A force of nature.

A storm.

“Mommy’ll be here to get you in the morning.” Nathan says in a taut, gruff voice, his beard bobbing as his throat wrestles around a hard swallow. “To take you… home.” At that, finally the boy finally looks content and sleepy, stretching his little face into a big yawn. Still, selfishly, Nathan no longer wants to be alone in this storm - alone with himself - and so, he keeps talking. “You know, your Mommy loves storms like this.”

“Really? Mommy doesn’t get scared?”

“No.” Nathan shakes his head, eyes becoming burdened with memories. “We would sit out on the deck, wrapped in blankets, and watch the lightning. Listen to the rain.”

“It’s science 101, genius. You can’t work in the lab during a storm. You might create Frankenstein.”

“Fuckin’… how many times? It’s Frankenstein’s monster, sweet cheeks. Frankenstein is the doctor.”

“I know, asshole. At this point I just say it to rile you. Never fails. You stay here then, and play at creating life. If you want to play at living one, I’ll be out on the decking.”

“How about I do both?”

“What are you saying, Nathan?”

“What about we make something together, while the sky is fucking rife with creation?”

The boy springs up in bed, capturing Crunchy in a choke-hold in excitement.

Nathan raises himself to standing - beginning to backtrack, and snapping back to the present day. Compartmentalising you. Putting long dead things to rest. He knows better than to look over his shoulder for too long.

“Can we go outside and watch it, Daddy?”

“Nuh uh. I don’t think so, buddy. It’s way past your bedtime. Go to sleep now, okay?” His voice is sterner again - his gaze back to being more severe.

Still, he guides the boy back down to the mattress and plants a soft kiss on to his forehead, brushing his dark curls back. He kisses Crunchy on the head too, as he is routinely instructed to do.

“Night, kid. Night, mutt. Come on, off to sleep.”

His hands move to his hips, elbows cutting a sharp shape in the near-dark. The boy, however, looks wide awake, a smile playing at the corners of his lips, and an excited glow on his face.  

“Please, Daddy?” the boy pleads, with big, puppy dog eyes. So closely resembling your eyes, which Nathan always was a sucker for. 

Yep. He’s definitely your son.

Nathan is about to use his stern voice, and his finger is moments away from wagging. And yet…

“Fine. Quickly then,” he concedes. “Get your coat and shoes on. And find your little red hat with the Pom-Pom that you look fuckin’ adorable in.”

“Daddy! No bad words!” the kid scolds, even as a smile of glee bursts on to his face and he wriggles out from beneath the covers. 

“Yep, sorry! Don’t tell Mommy,” Nathan repeats on autopilot.

The boy springs out of bed and zooms with enthusiasm to his little closet, while Nathan gathers up some blankets from a neighbouring chest.

Sure - it was past the boy’s bedtime. Yes, Nathan had a lot of coding to rehash. But Nathan had lost you. He had let work consume him until there was nothing left for you. He was always looking ahead to what could be, and he didn’t pay enough attention to what he had, when he had it. He wasn’t going to make the same mistakes again. Not with his son. This time, at least, work could wait.

Once the pair are both dressed in their outerwear, Nathan hoists the boy up on to his hip again, and carries him out to the decking, on the side of the house with the best view of the storm churning over the miserable valley. He clings on to his son tightly as the pulse of lightning illuminates his awed little face, a perfect mixture of your features and his, and yet someone entirely his own.  The boy gasps and shrinks back from the vast, roaring sky, nuzzling closer into Nathan’s chest, grabby hands fisting in his clothes again.

“It’s okay, buddy. It can’t hurt you, understand?” Nathan reassures.

The child visibly relaxes, absentmindedly tangling his fingers into the soft texture of Nathan’s beard.

He does that when he’s nervous. Seems to calm him down, Nathan notes, and files for later.

“Look, Daddy!” the kid points as forks of lightning raze through the blackened sky, sparkling eyes following the display.

“I saw it, champ,” Nathan confirms, as the storm lights up his child’s face in more ways than one. However, Nathan is more awed by his boy than the storm. By the boy you and he created, on a night not unlike this one.

He fixes his eyes on him as he grows in confidence, facing his fear of the braying wind and rumbling thunder. Being a parent is everything Nathan anticipated he would hate. Full of things you can’t control, and yet, he loves every way this boy surprises him.

Shit, he’s braver than me, Nathan thinks, as he cradles the boy in his arms, holding him just a little bit closer – a little bit tighter.  

Nathan isn’t afraid often. In fact, in his adult life, he’s only been truly afraid a handful of times. On those occasions, he didn’t face it like the boy did. He tended to bury his fear, in a landslide of work and drunkenness and insults and excuses. To cocoon himself in his own self-interest.

Nathan was afraid when he fell in love with you, even despite his best efforts not to. He was terrified he didn’t deserve you. 

He was afraid when you told him you were pregnant; he was terrified of creating another thing that hated him.

But Nathan has never been as afraid as when you left him, and took the boy with you. He was terrified that you would never come back.

You were brave. You were so brave that you never ran away from a storm, and yet you had fled from him.

What kind of storm am I, if even you ran from me?

Despite his fears though, Nathan was learning to be brave. He’s had to, since you’ve been gone. For his son, for you, he would fight off any foe or threat. Turns out, he would even do the hardest thing of all, and fight his own demons.

Yes, Nathan knew he was a stern man. Serious. Flawed. Unyielding. An asshole, a lot of the time.

He hadn’t been ready. To be humbled. By you. By the boy. Hadn’t been ready to face his shortcomings and his demons and look them in the eye.

He was afraid of creating something that hated him, but he hadn’t been prepared to create something better than himself. A child who was open, and kind, and brave, and loving. Who wasn’t afraid to feel, and to be kind.

Unlike father, unlike son.

The boy made him strong. The boy was just like you.

“Wow!” the boy gasps at another display of lightning, even though he jumps slightly as a loud rumble of thunder sounds. The shock makes him laugh - a sweet, musical, innocent noise that makes Nathan’s chest tear in half like the sky. The boy watches for a while longer as the storm tires itself out and the boy with it, the rain dying off to a pleasant lulling noise.

Nathan looks up at the sky too and he feels almost complete, until he looks to the other side of him; where you should be. Until he looks over his shoulder. To where long-dead things still haunt him.

“Mommy will be sad she’s missing the storm, won’t she Daddy? Can we send her a selfie?”

No tech after 5pm. Bed by 7pm. One of the co-parenting rules rings in his head.

It’s 2:30am, and he worries you will ride him for this, but surely this is an exception, right?

“Sure we can, bud,” Nathan responds, and he fishes his phone out of his pants pocket. The boy nuzzles into his chest in that adorable red hat, and gives a thumbs-up as Nathan extends his arm to grab a quick selfie. “Great photo. She’ll love it. What shall we tell her?”

“Hmm...” the boy thinks, and then he lands on the perfect words. “Say… I wish you were here,” he says with a toothy grin, unaware of the emotional sucker punch of his words.

Nathan’s chest tightens again, and he attempts to school the frown from his face.

I wish you were here.

Like father, like son.

Smoothing himself, he types out a message.

“Storm watching with Papa bear. Kid says: I wish you were here.”

“Ok,” he says softly, pinging the message away to you. “Done.”

The boy beams at his father.

“Will she type back?”

“Dunno, kid, she might be asleep.”

Tiredness hitting him, the boy nuzzles closer and Nathan gently rocks him on his hip, the boy’s eyes gradually closing.

When Nathan feels his phone vibrate, he lifts it back up, bathing the pair in a halo of blue once again. He is surprised to see a photo. There you are, wrapped up in a chunky cardigan and blanket on your new porch.

You’re watching the storm too, and god, you look so beautiful that it hurts him.

Beneath the picture, you have typed out: “Storm-watching, Mama bear edition. Wish I was there too, baby bear. I’ll see you in the morning. xxx”

He knows the smile and the wave and the words are solely for your son’s benefit, and not for him, but oh, how he wishes.

“Mommy’s watching the storm too!” the boy says sleepily, barely able to keep his eyes open in the comfort of Nathan’s warm, strong arms, as his soporific movements rock him back to sleep.

“Yeah, bud, she is.”

And Nathan tugs the boy into his chest, bouncing him on his hip and stroking his hair -as much for his own comfort as anything- until he is soothed too.

***

After the boy is safely back in bed, Nathan plods sullenly back down to his workshop, bathing himself once again in a blue halo. His fingers gravitate naturally towards the keys, and though he should work, his mind is very much elsewhere. His mind is wrapped up with long-dead things.

With a heavy sigh, he fishes his phone out of his pocket again, and spends a wistful moment staring at the picture you had sent him.

“Fuck it,” he says, and he lifts up the photo frame he’s had face down on his desk for some time now. For months.

Longer.

It’s a picture of you and him and the boy, out on a hike a few years ago. Nathan is carrying your son in a harness on his front, and you are side by side with them, clasping the baby’s hand in yours, and your head leaning on Nathan’s shoulders. You’re all smiling, though none of you had managed to look at the camera, only at each other.

The sight of it makes Nathan’s throat constrict. Lights a fire of yearning in the pit of him. A fire he’s tried to quell and resist for so long – hasn’t let himself feel, because he’s afraid of the power of it.

He stares at his phone again, so many things he wishes to say, but all he has the courage to type is:

“Just letting you know. Byron’s back to bed now, before you ride me for keeping him up. Woke up scared.”

Your reply pings back almost immediately, as if you were expecting him.

“Come on, Nathan. I’m not a monster. It’s a sweet picture. He looks happy.”

Nathan scratches the top of his buzzed head, and he sees the tell-tale dots disappear and reappear, signalling you are considering typing something further.

“Say it,” he types out to you, blunt and demanding as ever, and although the dots disappear for a moment, you come back - finding some courage yourself, perhaps?

“I wish I was there too.” He wonders if you held your breath while typing it, like he did when reading it.

This time, it is Nathan’s turn to convey nothing but dots to you, as he struggles to respond.  As his pulse thrums in his ears.

“Say it,” you echo, just as plainly. 

He takes a deep breath, knowing he’s going to curse himself for his stupidity even as he types the message. He has been earning your trust back. He has been rebuilding. He hasn’t pushed you too far yet, and yet he can’t help but plead with you now.

He says what he most needs to say.

“Come home.”

He stares at the phone, his heart hammering in his mouth.

But there’s nothing. No message. No dots. He throws the phone down on the desk.

Fucking idiot, he chides himself, launching himself out of his seat with a surge of nervous energy, and coming to rest his forehead and elbow against the cool window pane as he tries to steady his nerves. This is why he doesn’t let himself feel. Because when he does, it’s too much.

Nathan’s best quality is also his worst. He isn’t a man of moderation. He doesn’t know how to stop. When to stop. He never has. 

Doesn’t know when to stop working, drinking, striving, fighting.

Loving.

He loved you enough to split the sky open, and god damnit, he doesn’t know how to stop loving you. How can he solve this problem?

I pushed her away and she might never come back.

He feels a tightening in his chest - worse than before - and he has thoughts of reaching for a bottle until he’s blackout drunk, or hitting the punchbag until his knuckles bleed, but he bites those urges back down.

He has to. He has to, because his kid is in the house. For him. For you. For his own good too.

Gradually, Nathan -who once naively believed he had already attained perfection, superiority- has become a lot stronger, and a lot braver. A lot better at feeling his emotions instead of pushing them down. He has learned it from the boy, who learned it from you.

Still, despite this newfound courage -or, perhaps as a result of it- he has his moments of weakness, just like anybody else. He’s not untouchable. Not a god any longer.

Nathan is weak when it comes to you. He loves you. And he doesn’t know how to stop.

Overcome by the impulsive need to hear your voice, and ignoring all reason, he tracks back to the desk and calls you.

You answer almost instantly, as if you were expecting him.

“Nathan...” you say, in your eminently familiar voice, and he can he the agitation and accusation veiled as you say his name. What are you thinking? Always thinking. He’s always thinking. Yet, no- this time, he is only feeling. Finally feeling.

Still, Nathan doesn’t respond until a taut pattern of breaths has been laid like a tightrope for him to walk across.

Then, with a deep exhale, he asks you again. A plea. His face sharp and contorted in the blue light. He is terrified of falling.

“Come home.”

“Nathan...” you say, again. What are you thinking? And the sound of his name in your mouth causes a lump to rise in his throat. He hears your discombobulated breath on the other side of the line, and it is all too familiar. You were always charged, rubbing up against one another, causing static. He was always a storm; the one storm that could drive you away.

Come home.

“I wouldn’t even know how,” you insist, your voice paper thin, syllables soft and measured and sorry like raindrops drumming against a window pane.

You were always his release. If he was the energy and commotion and anger behind the storm -the severe, withholding clouds- you were its beauty and majesty and release. Together, you created life, and you destroyed each other.

Nathan hunkers over on the desk, leaning his head in his spare arm for some morsel of comfort, his guard up over his face.

“Just walk through the door tomorrow and stay,” he says tiredly, as if it’s simple.

He hears you sigh again, exasperatedly - the sound he induced all too often, when you were together.

“It didn’t work Nathan,” you say through your teeth, like lightning might spark through them at any moment. “How would this be any different?” Still, he can hear the tell-tale break in your voice. A gentle plea. God, could you really want to come back to him? If he could find the right answers to your questions?

“I’ll be different,” he promises, all the muscles in his face pulled taut. His face and his body aching with the tension of the sky splitting open, creation or destruction imminent.

Fuck it. Fuck everything else. Enough of this. The measured conversations, the co-parenting, the negotiations. You are what he wants - his family back together; home.

True- love hadn’t come easily to him at first. He was an asshole, a misanthrope, a closed book. Sex came easily to him. Desire. Infatuation. Thoughts of you, bordering on obsession as they took over his busy mind. But love? That too came, in the end. But love as a verb- the act of loving?

Nathan had sworn he didn’t want love at all, but then, there was you. He has sworn he had no desire for the legacy of a child, and yet, then there was the boy. For all his arrogance and grandiose dreams of the ways in which the whole world might remember him, he was finally ready to admit that all he wanted was to be remembered by you as a good husband, and by the boy as a good father.

He had never wanted to create another thing that hated him.

It didn’t come naturally to him at first. He was withholding, stubborn, rigid, and self-involved. Still, when he was motivated, there were other, finer qualities Nathan possessed too. Dedication, focus, discipline. When he was motivated, he possessed those in abundance. Turns out, love is one hell of a motivator.

Turns out, sometimes it is still not enough.

“I’m doing better,” he offers as he is met with silence, clenching his fist in discomfort as he hears you sniffing intermittently through the phone.

“I know,” you enthuse, your voice almost sickly with sincerity. “I know. I’m proud of you, Nathan.”

But Nathan doesn’t want your platitudes.

“Baby, please. I love you,” he pleads, and even in his plea his voice is stern. He refuses to let it crack. He states his truth as a cold, hard fact. He loves you. It’s undeniable. It’s logical, that you should be together.

“You know…. You know that I love you too.” you say, your voice small and full of holes. A sigh billowing out of you. “Shit, Nathan…” You sniff on the other end of the line with greater frequency – definitely crying. Nathan knits his brows together, his eyes brimming with tears that he fights back.

He thinks of all the times you cried and he didn’t reach out to you. He would give anything now to wipe your tears away.

“Come home, then,” he pleads, bluntly, swirling with hurt like silt stirred up by the rains. It hurts. It hurts to feel things. “Fuck, why are you so fucking stubborn?”

You huff out air as he snaps and instantly, he knows he’s fucked it. He wishes he could retract the words but it’s too late. They’ve already become breath. Already thunder, splitting his sky in two all over again.

He throws himself back in his chair in defeat, his hand rasping over his buzzed head in some unconscious attempt to comfort himself. “Shit, look, I just-”

When your voice interrupts him, it is perfectly smoothed out. Cold. Withholding.

So that’s how it feels.

“I’ll see you tomorrow, Nathan.”

There is a beat, and you soften. You always soften. “I’ll come get him later so you can have some extra time, okay?”

Nathan sighs loudly, catching a glance of his calendar on the illuminated screen.

“Fuck. I have a meeting at 11am- I thought you would collect him early so I booked a board thing-” he says tiredly.

“Fine,” you bite off.

“No. Wait, I’ll rearrange,” he backtracks. “Let me have more time,” he reasons, his voice softening. He tips up the photo frame – that blessed and cursed item- and brings it to rest on his thigh, torturing himself with your smiling face. “Please. I need more time.”

You are silent for a moment, and this time when your voice comes back, it is level, but infused with intentional warmth. He hates that tone. That tone where he knows you are placating him rather than speaking your mind, just so he doesn’t do anything stupid. He hates that it must feel like you have a guillotine hanging over your head at all times, because you feel like you can’t push him over the edge.  

“Fine. Get some sleep, Nathan, okay?”

He huffs out air, a sharp, self-pitying guffaw, and he rubs his eyes underneath his glasses, the frames lifting from the bridge of his nose. “Right. I can’t even fuckin’ sleep without you.”

There is another pattern of breaths, and whatever tightrope Nathan might have tried to walk across to reach you snaps. “Don’t do that, don’t guilt me, Nathan.”

The worst thing is, you don’t even sound angry. You just sound… tired.

“I’m sorry,” he pushes out, muffled through a hand over his beard, and though this time he means it, the words come out sounding entirely insincere.

“Sure. ‘Night. Try and get some rest, okay?”

Now that -that sounded genuine. Sincere. You never stopped looking out for him. Even if you couldn’t stand to be around him any longer.

“Yep,” he says tautly, with little feeling, and he hangs up, tightening his grip on the photo frame in his lap before slamming it back down on the desk along with his phone.

He leans back in his chair for a moment and buries his face in his hands. “Fuck.”

I pushed her away. I did that. I pushed her away.

With a knot building in his chest, partly out of need and partly out of habit, Nathan drags opens the desk drawer where an ever-replenishing stash of vodka used to reside. Where instead, he has taped a picture drawn by his son. For moments like this.  

It helps, but it’s not always enough.

Nathan knits his brows together, his face set with a stony resolve, and his dark, turbulent eyes awash with a storm of emotion.

The boy. He’s braver than me.

Somehow, because he has to, perhaps- because he’s had to learn how, Nathan smooths himself. He cannot solve the problem of how to bring you home, when this simply isn’t home to you anymore. So, instead, he bathes himself in blue light. He basks in the glow of algorithms he can solve, and works and works his mind until it shuts off. Feeling to thinking to nothing.

I’m a force. A force of nature. A storm.

He can do anything he sets his mind to.

And… fuck. I pushed her away.

Anything, perhaps, except bring you back.

***

The next day, you arrive to collect your son.

It is familiar by now. It is an encounter that Nathan both longs for and dreads, in equal measure. Today, especially so; especially both.   

Byron runs down the hallway and leaps into your arms, the sound of your laughter scooping Nathan out from the inside as you pepper the boy with kisses, a toothy smile on his angel face.

In these encounters, the moments are always too fleeting; always slipping away too quickly. It seems to happen so fast that it’s a blur to him, his mind zoning-out and working through a million things he wants to tell you, and simultaneously hyper-focussed on every single aspect of you he’s missed desperately. He wracks his brain for the right things to do and say, as if desperately searching for the one remnant of code- the one function or command that will simply make you stay.

With effort, he tunes back in to the scene as the boy wraps his arms around his leg.

“Did you pack Crunchy?” you ask Nathan, as he hands over the kid’s weekend bag to your waiting, outstretched arm.

His mouth opens to respond, but you are already unzipping it and rooting through the bag, checking in amongst the clothes and tiny boxing gloves and dolls for the dear mutt. You find him nestled in there safely, and you smile softly at Nathan for remembering.

You shouldn’t be surprised, he thinks. He remembers things – he remembers everything. It’s forgetting he typically needs a little more assistance with. Maybe he does look over his shoulder more than he’d care to admit.   

You ruffle the boy’s crow black curls as he clings to his father’s leg, snapping your hand back as if you’ve been burned when Nathan opts for the same gesture in the same moment.

You opt to fold your arms against your chest instead, casually clearing your throat. “What did you do with Daddy then, baby? Have you had a good time?”  

“We watched the storm,” the boy begins animatedly, swinging around Nathan’s sturdy leg, “and we did boxing and I learned a new combo,” the boy looks up at his father who nods and smiles gently in proud confirmation, hoisting the kid up on to his hip – a gesture that is becoming increasingly less rusty- “and we did a new trail to the glacier, and, um, what else Daddy?” Byron asks, waving his up-turned palms in the air and turning to his father for guidance. Nathan dips forward to whisper a prompt in his ear. “Oh yeah! And we watched Trolls and I put lots of my dolly’s bows in daddy’s beard,” the boys giggles, and scrunches his fingers through Nathan’s wiry hairs.

The kid’s smile is infectious, even fracturing Nathan’s stony resolve, and it has the three of you joined in a smile for a moment, until Nathan sees your eyes mist subtly over with tears as you observe the father and son together. You quickly quell them, but they don’t go unnoticed.

“Oh yeah?” you ask, voice expertly smoothed, and a masking smile on your face. The strength of you. “Did he look pretty?”

“Yeah, I guess he looked pretty,” the boy giggles. “And this morning Daddy taught me about static electric.... um-” the boys stumbles over his words for a second, and again looks to Nathan for guidance.

“You got it -go ahead,” Nathan encourages firmly.

The boy gains confidence, brushing his black curls out of his face with a little hand before continuing. “Static electricity, right?”

“Right, champ,” Nathan says, and as the boy barrels happily through his recital of events, Nathan barely realises that he’s holding him a little tighter, because with each moment that passes, so fleetingly, he feels it’s getting increasingly harder to think about letting him go.

“And Mommy, did you know this whole valley was made by a glacier that crawled all the way along and carved out all the shapes of the hills and then melted, like, a super long time ago?”

“You know, I did know that, but that’s smart of you to know too, baby,” you say fondly, a tremble at the corner of your lips that the kid doesn’t see, but Nathan is sharp enough to catch.

And then, suddenly, Nathan has no trouble contemplating passing the boy over into your arms, because you look like you need someone to hold too. However, as he motions to do so, Nathan can see tears threatening to spill out of the corner of your eyes. You shake your head subtly at Nathan in apology as you brush away a stray tear, in a moment you hope the boy won’t see, so, instead, Nathan sets your son down on the ground. He crouches and pulls the boy’s shoulders squarely to face him, providing you with a discreet moment to compose yourself.

“Hey, buddy,” he says softly. “I remembered I need to talk to your Mommy about boring grown-up stuff. Gas prices and 401ks and… major yawn. So, hot tip, you might wanna go and play in your room for 5. That okay, champ?”

“Okay,” the kid says, unphased, and skips off down the hall.  

That leaves Nathan and you in the hallway. He hover-hands his palm against your lower back and gestures, with his other arm, towards the living space, guiding you towards the seating area.

You sit on opposite sofas, positions stiff and formal, hands clasped on laps. Your gaze looking just past Nathan because you can’t seem to meet his eyes.

“Wanna talk about it?” he asks gently, feeling a lump grow in his throat. He hates this- how tense it is, when you used to be so intimate and relaxed around each other. “Why are you crying?”

Unlike Nathan, you were usually an open book, yet this time, you decline the invitation to share. You pinch your lips in between your teeth.

You’re so strong, and so brave that it breaks Nathan to see you succumb to tears like this. Plus, you’ve given so much already- so much love, and so much heart, and he hasn’t given you nearly enough back.

Still, he looks at you from beneath his lenses, gently encouraging, waiting until you are ready to share. Your gaze fixes on a spot in your lap. “I… It’s just. Seeing you and Byron together. Why in the hell couldn’t you have been this man while we were together, Nathan?”

Nathan’s heart aches at your words. Years ago, even months ago, he would have bristled. He would have snapped back at the insinuation that he was ever in the wrong. Ever less than godly.

This time though, he lets the sad truth settle over him like a dark cloud. And, as much as he wants to pull you towards him, he also- and he can’t believe he’s going to do this- he realises he needs to push you away from him one more time. There is only one way to solve this. To let you go. To realise it’s your choice. You are out of his control. Unsolvable.

He shifts his position, until he is perched on the coffee table in front of you, his palms resting on your knees and smoothing circles there. His dark, calculating eyes intent on yours, and for once unobscured by agendas. For once, he has things to say to you that aren’t intended to provoke a particular response, or establish a particular gain. He has things to say that he simply needs you to hear.

He needs to show you his fear. He needs to face the storm he was never too afraid to create, but was always quick to flee the wake of. Nathan imagines if he explains the storm, he can demystify it. Take its power away. Then, even if you don’t come home, at least there can be calm. Calm after the storm. Both of you able to move on, with all the cards laid out on the table.

With effort, he begins.

“I’m sorry,” Nathan says gently, and even with those two words a gentle sob wracks your chest, perhaps with the relief of a weight you didn’t know you were carrying. “Honestly, I don’t think I told you that and meant it yet. So, I’m sorry.  About last night, by the way. But, shit, about everything that I did, and didn’t do…” Your hands come to clasp his in your lap, fingers gripping fingers tightly as his face contorts with regret. His dark eyes wander over your face as tears stream freely down your cheeks. Where once he would have shied away from you, in a state like this, now he has courage enough to be present.

“I missed you,” he continues, his voice tattered by emotion. “I miss you. I didn’t want to tell you that. Didn’t want to admit that I’m scared either. But I am. Of losing you.  Scared that the best thing for us… the best thing for you, might be being without me. To get out of the black hole I suck everything in to.” Nathan tears his eyes away from yours as his vision becomes blurry with tears, his voice cracking. “I’m scared because I love you, and I love that fucking kid and I... I’m scared that I might get better, and be better… but that you, and him… that you still might deserve better. Better than me. So, I’m sorry. Actually fuckin’ sorry, for all the ways I’ve been a dick. Shut you out. Put you last. Made you hurt.”

“Nathan,” you breathe through tears, as if you can’t fathom this onslaught- this emotion tearing your chest in two, like the sky on that night.  

He reaches up to fumble some tears away from your cheek with the pad of his thumb. “I need you to know that I finally see it, even if it is too late,” Nathan nods to himself, eyes fixed down at your hands clasped in his. “I see that if had to lose you to realise what I had; I never did deserve you. You’re so… fuckin’ unreal. And he’s just like you. And,” Nathan presses on, despite the mortifying ordeal of baring his heart to you. Despite the tears which finally spike out of the corners of his eyes too. “I need you to know. Even if it didn’t last forever… This fuckin’ family? It will always be the best thing I ever created. And if there’s one thing I want to be remembered for- any fuckin’ legacy I wanna have, I just… I need it to be known that I love you, and I love that fuckin’ kid. I want you to be happy, and I’ll always regret that I didn’t make you happy while I had the chance to.” He huffs out another small, self-pitying laugh “Guess in the end, I’m an idiot; not a genius. Guess I should have realised that when I got stabbed by my own AI…”

He drags his big brown eyes back up to meet yours from beneath his lenses, and your eyes are shining softly at him, brimming with bittersweet pain, and you tug him into you for a hug, holding him close and your tears wetting each other’s shoulder.

After a moment he pulls away and settles himself back on the edge of the coffee table, already missing your embrace.

“You did. You made me happy, Nathan,” you promise. “So, so happy, and so, so miserable,” you let out a small, self-pitying laugh too, and then suddenly you are both laughing, as bizarre at that seems, as you palm the tears away from your puffed cheeks.

When the laughter fades, you reach out and place your palm fondly on the side of his face. Nathan knew that even in all his years of marriage, he had never been so vulnerable with you as he had been just now. He knew that had been precisely part of the problem. He had thought it would feel horrible to open up, but he finds that he feels fresh, like ground after nourishing rain.

Your gaze flicks back to him, and he swears he can read the look in your eyes.

Why couldn’t I have been this man when we were together?

Then, it is as if you remember you are touching him. You snap your hand back from him, and back from the brink as if you have been burned. It would be so easy, Nathan thinks. So easy to just fall back into you. As if wrestling with the exact same thought, you surge up from your seat, wiping the remainder of your tears away and immediately putting some distance between the two of you. You track to the nearby mirror, leaning forward to fix your appearance a little, before the boy returns.

Nathan watches you fondly. Longingly.

You turn back to him again, a little more composed, and retake your seat opposite him – in the same spot, but feeling much further away this time.

You bite your lips between your teeth, gazing at that same spot on your lap again.

He wishes he could reach out to you. Take in the textures and scents and feel of you in all your glory. But he does not want you to jump away as if you’ve been struck by lightning.

“I miss you too, you know? I miss our family. When it was good it was…” your voice is small and you trail off, perhaps not wanting to look too far over your shoulder. With a visible effort, you seem to drag yourself back to the present. “Byron adores you, you know that? I don’t think I’ve told you this since we… but you’re a good father, Nathan.”

A pride ignites in Nathan unlike anything he’s felt before.

He opens his mouth as if to speak, and instantly closes it again, his throat bobbing around a hard swallow before he can push his words out.  

“Just a terrible husband?”

You shake your head. “No,” you say, with a wistful expression on your face, and Nathan is surprised that you sound sincere. “No, not terrible at all.”

Nathan knew his flaws well enough, but you always reminded him of his attributes. You never poisoned the boy against him, even though the split was largely on him – a fact he had denied for a long time, because it was your decision. And, because of your strength and commitment to that, the three of you -oddly- had never made a better team than you do now.

He examines your face. Your beautiful face.

Come home. Please.

For your sake, he makes an effort to lift his thin smile up until it creases the corner of his eyes.

“I think you’re forgetting what an asshole I can be,” he smiles lopsidedly at you and succeeds in lightening the air. Lightening it a little too much. Enough that there is an alarming hint in your eyes of what used to be there for him. He hopes it is not the shining of false hope.

It would be so easy. So easy to kiss you.

You chew some words over in your mouth, and Nathan can see their failure to launch on a couple of breaths as you wring your hands in front of you.  

“You, um. Last night… you asked me to come home.”

Nathan’s breath stalls in his chest.

“Did you mean it?”

Nathan can’t speak suddenly. He can only nod, slowly, tears sparkling in his eyes as he looks at you.

“I could… I could never just move back in. It didn’t work, Nathan. But… maybe…”

Nathan holds his breath, like a latent storm, the hint of a new energy buzzing in the space between you.

“Maybe,” you continue tentatively. “We could start over again. See if we can build something new. Not the same old patterns. No looking over our shoulders or trying to resurrect what’s long-dead. Instead, maybe we – I don’t know- try to create something… new?”

While the sky is rife with creation.

“You’re good at that. Building things,” you finish, fondly, everything about you tentative yet somehow hopeful, and Nathan’s chest constricts, his blood thrumming nervously through his body in a blind panic.

Just shut up, Nathan, and don’t fuck this. Just refrain from being a dick for five fuckin’ minutes.

The muscles in his jaw twitch. The vein on his forehead pops, yet his whole body is still. Breath bated.

“Like, fresh code?” he asks, with shining, hopeful eyes.

You nod, and it is the tiniest gesture, but one that means the absolute world to him.

A new way of doing things. Moving forward. Looking ahead.

“Sure, I guess - fresh code.”

Don’t fuck it up, Bateman, you fucking shithead.

“Yeah,” he agrees weakly, yet with all the conviction in the world. “How?”

Anything.

You nibble on your lower lip, thinking things through as you go. “Take me out for dinner. A first date. Somewhere away from this goddamn house. From everything that happened. All the… mistakes.” As Nathan’s eyes swim with guilt and regret, you squeeze his hand, dipping your head towards his to catch his gaze. “Yours and mine.”

“Yeah. Yeah, ok,” Nathan responds, his eyes glowing as they meet yours.

He immediately feels you withdraw from his burning hope, and so he consciously tries to reel his natural intensity in.

“No promises, Nathan,” you caution, firmly.

He nods, slowly. Outwardly disciplined and measured.

Don’t fuck it. Do not fuck this, you mother fucker.

“And please, don’t get his hopes up?” you say as a quick aside before delivering a broad smile over Nathan’s shoulder, signalling that the kid had arrived back in the vicinity.  

The boy runs over and starts happily wheeling a toy news truck over Nathan’s thigh. The man unconsciously, automatically, winds his arm around his son and dips a kiss into his black curls, causing your eyes to shine softly in admiration. “I love you, champ,” Nathan says, the words heavy with the weight of his feeling even as he reaches to tickle the boy’s tummy, earning a chaotic giggle.  

“Love you too, Daddy,” the boy replies, but Nathan pats him gently on the back.

“Time to go though, bud.”

“Yeah, baby. We should… go,” you announce, and yet there is a tug of hesitation in your voice. A rope binding you to Nathan which he is desperate to reel in; however, he pushed you so far away, and he knows that if you do come back to him, it must be on your terms. In your own time. He understands now.

Nathan leads the two of you to the door and helps pile all of the bags into the trunk of your truck. You strap Byron into his car seat, and Nathan dips to bid him farewell. “Ok, get out of here, kid. Look after your Mommy, you hear me? She’s special.”

There is a moment, before you open the door to slot into the driver’s side that Nathan comes to face you, his hands stuffed into his pockets, a familiar furrow in his brow and tight-lipped expression on his stony, impassive face. “When was the last time you had your tyres checked?” he wonders idly, shifting forward to poke at the tread on the front wheel and finding them satisfactorily safe.

He is surprised to find you smiling softly at him when he looks back at you. You seem like you can’t help yourself, but you lean forward and press a kiss into Nathan’s cheek, your face lingering against his as he closes his eyes and leans in to it, just a little.

You pull back from him, your hand clasped around his upper arm. “We love you, Nathan. Will you be okay?”

His eyes grow overcast. “Uh, don’t like it when you go,” he states plainly, his brow pulled down and cloaking his big, brown eyes with shadow.

You nod in understanding.

“Text me later. About dinner,” you add casually before you slot yourself into the truck. Still, he can see you tearing up, just a little.

“You mean it?” he asks, his stare intense.

“Dinner and we’ll see, okay? No promises.”

He had made you so many promises that were broken.

Nathan nods his agreement and you clasp the door shut. Reluctantly, Nathan steps aside as you swing the truck around, and he doesn’t stick around to wave you off, aside from a quick hand in the air for the boy.

He doesn’t like it when you leave.

He knew he had pushed you away, and now, just maybe you would come back to him. He feels hopeful- ecstatic even- at the prospect, but he can’t help but feel a little guilty. A little selfish too. He feels as though he’s sucking you in to a black hole all over again. He thinks maybe it would be better for you if you could escape him.

But, as Nathan settles back in his chair down in the lab, and gazes at the framed picture of his family, he knows that as much as he has grown and changed - because he’s had to, with you gone- that he will never quite be selfless enough to let you go.

I’m a force. A force of nature. A storm.

You had always revelled in storms. You were always happiest when it rained. Maybe this time, he could make you so, so happy, without the miserable.

Oh, how he hopes.

Don’t fuck it up, Bateman, he thinks, glancing at the picture one more time. Don’t you ever fuckin’ push her away.

This time, he pledges to stop looking over his shoulder, and looks ahead to something new.

That’s what he’s best at.

Fresh code.

He types away, and his chest feels lighter than it has in a long time.

The calm after the storm, perhaps.

[babbushka]

I’ve never been able to give prompts because I’ve always been asleep while they’re open 🥺 So now I’m being greedy with 2 😂 “see what happens if you rub your ass on me like that again” and/or “what do you say?” Smutted it up with Flip Zimmerman 🔥🔥🔥

Can I please request the prompt that’s like ‘should I wear the panties or the black panties? I don’t care, I’m going to rip them off anyway.’ For Exhibitionist!Flip please? Thank you 💋

2k, CW: brief derogatory name-calling, brief violence; NSFW (roleplay, public sex (back hallway of a disco), exhibitionism, finger-sucking, hair pulling, possessive behavior, rough sex, teasing, messy PIV) 

Lights down low, music loud, Flip stalks through the crowd. Bodies gyrating and grinding on one another, he pushes through the dance floor, singularly focused. Women fawn over him, hands caressing his broad shoulders and tall frame, men eye him up and down appreciatively, give him looks he respectfully declines as he sucks down the nicotine from his cigarette.

He’s hunting you down, trying his best to find you among the happy screaming cheering singing discotheque. It’s a game you play sometimes, a game he loves to win: find you, seduce you, and bring you back home with him. It’s a game you’ve been playing for years, and as ABBA thuds inside his brain, he spots you moving and grooving almost in slow motion, covered in sweat and glitter.

Flip’s about to grin, glad to have found you – when suddenly he stops dead in his tracks as a pair of unwanted hands slip around your waist, and he sees red.

He can’t make a scene, not here, not around all these people, but he storms his way through the crowd to get to where you’re awkwardly shimmying away from this strange man, a man you’ve never seen before, someone who decided to take advantage of you being by yourself on the dance floor.

“Hey gorgeous.” Flip’s voice is deep and dangerous, cutting through the blasting bass, and your whole face lights up.

Flip slides an arm around your waist and immediately tuck you against his side, content to just steal you away and let that be that, but this stranger seems to not have a sense of self-preservation and clamps his hand down on your arm, not letting you go.

“You look like you’re lost buddy, lookin’ for someone?” He threatens, and you yank your arm out of his grip, pressing yourself against your husband’s side.

“Yeah I think I just found her.” Flip sneers, brows pinching in a menacing scowl, giving him one last chance to, “Back the fuck up.”

Evidently realizing that you had no interest in him, the stranger cuts his losses and scoffs. He gets half a step away before saying something that you wince at, not because you’re upset, but because you know Flip is going to lose his fucking mind about it.

“You cunts are all the same.” The man waves you off, and Flip practically lunges forward to grab him by the back of his exaggeratedly collared shirt, twisting him around and kneeing him in the stomach hard, until he’s falling to the floor.

“Apologize, now.” Flip nearly bites through his cigarette, kicking the guy in the gut when he doesn’t answer. “Now!”

“S-sorry! Fuck I’m sorry!” The man immediately grovels and apologizes, and Flip lets him get up and scramble away, muttering and wheezing under his breath, “Fucking Christ…”

No one around you cares enough to so much as spare you a glance, let alone stop dancing, and Flip’s grateful for it. Worse has happened in this club, and everyone’s high out of their minds anyway. In a couple minutes, everyone would forget about his outburst of aggression, and the night could continue smoothly.

Except…now Flip’s angry, real angry. Bright and hot, burning up through his body. He knows it was a possibility, pretending you didn’t know each other, pretending you weren’t married opened you up to a whole world of schmucks’ advances. He knows you can handle yourself, he knows, but he loves you too much to let you.

“My hero.” You dance and sway your hips to the joyous music, a stark contrast to how wound up he’s feeling. You press your glittery lipstick right up to his ear, kissing at his cheek and teasing, “Thanks mister, I owe you.”

“Yeah you fuckin’ do, that wasn’t part of the game.” Flip snaps, and you laugh with how quick he is to drop this little roleplay act.

“Aw come on honey, he didn’t do anything, I would’ve stopped him I promise.” You cup his cheeks in your hands, kissing him deeply before turning around and pulling his arms around you, grinding your ass against his crotch.

He’s painfully hard, the rush of adrenaline going straight to his cock. You grin, wide-eyed and excited, because you love when he’s like this, you want him to take it all out on you.

“Watch what happens if you rub your ass on me like that again ketsl, just watch.” Flip mutters, and in a typical act of stubborn defiance, you do.

It takes two seconds for him to lace his fingers through yours and pull you away from the dance floor, away from the immediate crowds. He leads you to one of the back hallways, where it’s dark and much cooler, not so many bodies packed together. In fact, there’s only a handful of other people in the hallway, and they’re all occupied with the pleasure they’re giving or receiving.

Flip pushes you against the wall, it’s seedy, slick with steam from someone else’s fucking, but neither of you care. Flip wants his hands on you, and wants it now – and you’re no better. You’re already unzipping the front zipper of your halter top, your mini-skirt pushed over your ass. It’s dark enough that no one can see even if they looked, and the thought thrills you both.

No one can see, but everyone can hear, can hear how badly you want him when you whimper and whine for his cock. Flip’s hands feel you up all over, remembering a brief moment from earlier in the day:

“Should I wear the red panties? Or the black ones?” You had asked over the phone during one of his breaks.

“I don’t care, I’m going to rip them off anyway.” He had replied, much to your amusement.

He’s glad though, glad to feel the familiar lace of the red panties peeking up at him. You thought he might’ve been kidding, because you gasp out in shock when he tears the seams of the panties right between your legs, kicks your feet open.

“Flip!” You laugh, swatting at his hand in a mild punishment. He’d be grinning at you if he weren’t still so wound up with anger about the way that man touched you.

“I told you honey-bunny, don’t act surprised.” Flip shakes his head, smokes his cigarette as he pushes your back against the wall, hikes your leg up. You go easily, so easy for him, “Good girl.”

He pulls his cock out and strokes it once or twice before nudging the head of his cock into your pussy, stretching you slowly as he pushes in, walks himself forward until he’s all the way buried to the base.  

“Fuck your cock’s big.” You sigh happily, your pretty nipples stiffening against the fabric of his flannel. It was too hot to be wearing it inside the disco, but Flip doesn’t give a shit, not when he’s two seconds from railing you hard like you deserve.

“Tell me all about it ketsl.” Flip flicks his ash and drops the cigarette, stepping it out underneath his boot and crushing your lips to his as he begins to thrust rough and fast.

“Oh, Flip! Ah—” You gasp into his mouth, clinging onto his shoulders for dear life as he braces one hand against the wall for leverage and fucks you hard.

“You like playin’ dirty? I’ll show you dirty.” Flip grumbles, plowing into you, your pussy stretching around him and clenching, slick and wet and throbbing around his cock. You make the sweetest sounds, little panting moans and whines that’ll get you both caught, so Flip sticks three fingers into your mouth, “Shh, shh baby you gotta be quiet.”

You lave your tongue over those fingers of him, sucking on them like they’re your favorite thing, like they’re his cock. Maybe you will blow him, now or later, you’re sure he deserves it. He makes you feel so good, fucks you so right, protects you. You suck on his fingers until you’re drooling around them, until your jaw hurts.

“A-are you gonna hurt him? Gonna beat the shit out of him for putting his hands on me?” You pull off his fingers for a moment or two, licking up the spit on his knuckles, biting and sucking at the palm of his hand.

“Depends.” Flip grunts, balls slapping loudly against you, the had of his cock pressing hard against your cervix.

“O-on what?” You lick your lips, back of your throat clicking, sweat and glitter smeared across your face, in your eyelashes.

“Where he put those hands.” Flip seethes, possession flaring up in him again and making you come, making you come just from that.

“Fuck me hard Philly, c’mon I – I can take it – yes!” You gasp, your body melting, short-circuiting, legs turning into jell-o.

Flip pulls out of you just long enough to turn you around and push you up against the wall. Your face presses against it, and he’s got one hand around your throat, holding you in place. You hum happily, pushing your ass back against him, meeting him thrust for thrust even as your knees turn in, even as you moan and whine and sigh as he milks your orgasm for all its worth.

He winds one of his hands around your hair and pulls tight, arching your back beautifully for him. He wishes he could see you, but it’s too dark, the low light only illuminating a few inches in front of him. Flip’s cock pulses and comes inside you by the time the next song ends, fucked you raw.

The both of you are breathing hard, and as Flip comes in you he feels some primal urge in him. Let everyone know who you belong to, he thinks. Not that you belong to anyone but yourself, but still. Let them all know who you want, who you keep, who you love.

You love him so much, and he loves you, loves you with everything he’s got, he should tell you as much, he knows you like hearing it when he says it.

“You’re gonna be the fuckin’ death of me one of these days honey.” He says instead, and you crack up.

He comes in you a little more, and then when he’s sure he won’t make too much of a mess, he pulls out. You turn around and sigh happily against the wall, arms reaching for him, pulling him close. Flip goes eagerly, wanting to be close to you always.

“Don’t be dramatic, kiss me instead.” You say, teasing him only a little.

“No.” Flip scowls, certain now that he’s come and has a clear head, that it was your plan all along to get him jealous. It worked, because of course it worked, but he doesn’t like admitting he’s so easy to get.

“You know you want to, you love kissing me, don’t you?” You bat your pretty lashes, and Flip doesn’t want to admit that either right now, but yeah, he really does.

So he kisses you, because it’s his favorite thing in the world, and you smile so wide against his lips that he has a hard time keeping a straight face. Beaming up at him, you card your fingers through his hair, so soft and sweet, bringing him back down to calm.

“I don’t like seeing you dancing with other men.” He mumbles, zipping up your halter top, putting your skirt back into place. Your panties are garbage, so he just shimmies them down your legs, stuffs them in his back pocket to sniff on a rainy day.

“I’m sorry honey, I won’t do it again.” You caress his cheek, light him up a new cigarette.

“It’s okay, I’ll just find you faster next time, promise.” He gratefully accepts the camel, blows a couple rings that make you roll your eyes.

“One more dance and then take me home?” You bump your hip against his, the two of you walking back out of the hallway, leaving the other couples and groups who are fucking one another to continue on their own fun.

“Make it two, and you got yourself a deal ketsl.” Flip breathes, and you grin and nod, pulling him back onto the dance floor, only having eyes for one another.

[theteddylupinexperience]

The Concert | Dio Morrissey x f!reader

AN: not a lot to say about this one, aside from the fact that I’m actually really happy with how it turned out. I always love the “best friend’s younger sister” trope, and who better to do it with than our goth king himself. Thanks as always to @pascalpanic for hyping me up and listening to me rant about mosh pits. Enjoy!

Warnings: swearing, kissing, super mild punk show related violence, brief anxiety mention, Dio is a little cringey but you like it

“Kiddo, you’re not even gonna have fun,” your brother swears, “this band is harsh no doubt, I don’t want you to get hurt.”

“As sweet as your over protection is, you’re not ditching me tonight,” you roll your eyes. Your brother is sitting on your bathroom counter watching you get ready for the concert he promised a month ago he’d take you to. You know his concern comes from a genuine place, you’d only gotten into the goth scene fairly recently, and long time fans can be really intense with “virgins.”

“Hey, uh, is Shane gonna be there?” you ask, casually as you can manage. You attempt to continue with your black eyeshadow to avoid eye contact with your brother, but he sees right through you anyways.

“First of all, you have to call him Dio while we’re in public. You are not killing the vibe on your induction night. Second of all, gross. I’m sitting right here. Drool over my best friend on your own time.” Your brother pokes your forehead with one of your makeup brushes in a scolding manor.

“Okay well first of all,” you start, “this is my time because this is my bathroom. And second of all… do YOU have any weird nickname I should be aware of before I, and I quote, kill the vibe?”

Your brother flushes slightly, looking at the ground before answering, “Uh, it’s Ghost, actually.”

You narrow your eyes at him, biting back a laugh at how ridiculous he looks, bright red ears contrasting the Doc Martens currently kicking against the floor.

“Dio and… Ghost?” He just nods, looking up at you finally.

“Well alright, my knights in dirty ass Tripp pants.” The comment earns you a laugh, and you feel a small swell of pride rise in your chest. For as insufferable as you found each other a lot of the time, your older brother really was like your best friend. His group of friends had stuck together since middle school, and had absolutely taken you under their wing when you’d let yourself really fall into your darker side. Tonight was your first real night out with everyone, and you couldn’t pretend to be more nervous. You had known your brother’s best friend Shane, Dio, since you were in third grade and had always found him fascinating. You can’t deny that he’s gorgeous, tall and lean, always wearing a leather trench coat that accentuates those features. Full, plush lips, and deep brown eyes that you want to get lost in. Just as you find yourself actually getting lost in the thought of Dio, you’re startled back to reality when your brother turns your hair dryer on and blows it in your face.

“Yo, kid, did I lose you? We gotta go,” in your trance he’s managed to get his hair done and a subtly cool amount of eyeliner. You can only hope not to look like a child, or god forbid a drone, next to him and his friends. “Don’t be nervous, just get your shoes on.”

When you get your boots laced up, you give yourself one last glance in the mirror, fluffing your hair to make it look less obviously styled, and run out the door.

When you arrive at the venue, if you could call it that, it looks more like a rundown warehouse, the music is already in full swing. “The openers always fuckin’ suck, kid,” your brother had told you, “we always show up at least an hour late.”

You’re rocking nervously on your heels, stuck to the ground where your brother had told you to wait while he found the group and brought them over to you. You smile widely when you see them approaching you, but are quick to cover it with what you hope is a cool smirk. Out of place doesn’t even begin to describe how you feel, it would be more accurate to say you’re on a different plane of existence. You’ve managed to transcend discomfort and now have settled into a calmer state.

“Well, well, if it isn’t Wednesday Addams herself,” a deep voice calls out from the head of the pack.

“Hey Sh- uh, Dio,” you stammer as the king himself puts his hands on your shoulders to inspect your outfit. Your stomach drops when he brushes some hair from your face. “You look good. Like you put some thought into how you look, unlike the rest of these drones.” Your face lights up at his praise, and flushes quickly when he winks at you.

Your group makes their way towards the front of the stage when you hear the headlining band announced. The first few songs go off without a hitch, the crowd moves in a seething, pulsing way to the music, and you find yourself moving along with them. You catch Dio’s eyes a couple times to find him already looking at you, his expression relaxed and amused, but his eyes dark as he takes in everything around him. You’re about to walk over and ask him to dance with you when you hear from the stage, “Alright everybody, let’s open this fucking pit!”

Your eyes widen briefly, but you try your best to stay cool in front of your brother and his friends. You can only imagine how lame Dio would find you if you lost your cool because of some moshing. Unfortunately, in your attempt to save face, you’ve distracted yourself to the people around you and find yourself getting shoved, almost to the ground. Your brother hurries over and helps you up, and you assure him you’re fine. It’s nothing you can’t handle. He keeps his grip on you a moment longer, and ruffles your hair before jumping into the circle pit himself. You do your best to keep dancing around, staying away from everyone jumping and shoving each other as much as you can, and for a few minutes you’re surprisingly successful.

The next song that plays is even more intense than the last, and you find yourself crowded against the stage trying to stay away from everything. Your heart rate quickens, and you can feel an anxiety attack trying to creep its way up your spine. You look around desperately, searching for your brother so you can beg him to take you home, when a hand on your shoulder startles you.

Warm brown eyes search your own, “Didn’t mean to scare you, darling, but do you want to get out of here?”

You nod up at Dio, and he takes your hand, guiding you in front of him towards a side door. One of his hands rests protectively against the small of your back, and you shudder at the warmth. You’re outside, the air is cool against the sweat on your skin, and yet Dio’s hand never leaves yours.

“D’you wanna sit?” He gestures to a bench resting against the side of the building.

“I-” your voice cracks, and you clear your throat to find some volume, “Sure, that sounds nice.”

The pair of you sit in silence for a moment while you catch your breath, you can feel Dio’s eyes boring into you, but can’t bear to look at him. “God, I’m so sorry, Shane,” you whisper, “Er, Dio, fuck, sorry again.”

“Don’t apologize, darling, it’s just you and me out here.” You finally dare to look up, and he’s smiling gently at you, holding both of your hands in one of his, and rubbing the other soothingly up your back. “I know the first time can be intense, to say the least. It’s a madhouse in there, and those fucking drones don’t know any better than to push everyone around. It should be a crime to scare or shove anyone as perfect as you.”

You huff out a strangled laugh at his words, and move your hands to fiddle with the rings on his fingers. “Why are you being so nice to me?”

“Because you’re my best friend’s little sister,” he starts, and his grip on your back tightens when disappointment crosses your features, “and because you are the most beautiful creature I have ever laid eyes on. If someone as ethereal as you will even allow me in your presence, I have done something right.”

You turn your body towards him completely, searching his face. The strong, confident, devil may care Dio from inside is nothing compared to the patient, sweet, borderline insecure Shane you’re talking to out here. You reach your hand up to caress his face, smoothing down his dyed black curls, tracing your thumb against his full bottom lip. Shane melts into your touch, a content sigh leaving his lips at the contact, the heat of your skin against his feels more powerful than the sun at this moment. When you run your thumb nail against the sensitive skin behind his ear, his eyes snap open.

“Can I- would you… would you be mad if I kissed you?” He asks, his voice shy, but his eyes full of want.

‘I’ll be mad if you don’t,” you laugh incredulously. Shane places one hand against your jaw, and the other one slides up your back to rest in your hair. The cool metal of his rings feels electric, but nothing could compare to the jolt you feel when his lips meet yours. He’s soft, so much gentler than you imagined he’d be, and he takes his time losing himself in the feeling of your lips moving against his. He pulls away too soon, and you grab the front of his jacket to pull him back to you.

This kiss is not as gentle, but it is equally as sweet and intoxicating. His hand tightens on your scalp, and his tongue presses against the seam of your lips. You gasp, and he takes the opportunity to slip his tongue against yours. He tastes like clove cigarettes and Jaeger, and it’s fucking incredible. He’s more perfect than your wildest dreams of him, and the low moan he lets out when you scratch your nails up his back makes you reconsider everything you’ve ever thought about heaven.

Eventually you have to breathe, so you pull back just a bit and rest your forehead against his. “Wow,” you manage to get out. Shane laughs, the sound is more musical than anything you’ve heard tonight.

“Wow is correct, my darling, you are truly more ethereal than I could have fathomed.” He kisses you again, softly on the lips, and then places another on your cheek. “Do you think I could take you out for real sometime soon?”

You bite your lip to prevent a giddy smile from breaking across your face, and nod quickly. “I actually found this record store with its own coffee shop a couple towns over, we could check that out, maybe? I mean, I’ve liked you since freshman year, so anything you want to do would be perfect. You’re perfect, Dio.”

His ears flush an adorable pink, and he smiles almost shyly up at you. “Shane,” he says, “Call me Shane.”

You beam up at him, “Shane.”

He stands up, takes your hand, and leads you back into the concert venue. Walking arm in arm with the king, you feel like you could jump right in the middle of that mosh pit and come out on top. Shane guides you back to your friends, and you try not to get overwhelmed by the stares and whispers when people see you together. Your brother catches a glimpse of you, his eyes drop down to where your hand is connected with Shane’s, and you brace yourself for an obnoxious or over protective comment.

“It’s about goddamn time.”

[lilbabycee]

brunch // steve rogers

↳ request:  oh requests are open? can I get a possesive stevie with a soft bratty spoiled reader? i'm sorry I'm such a hoe @donutloverxo​

↳ relationship: steve rogers x reader

↳ word count: 1.6k

↳ author’s note: i am a whore in a woman’s shoes and that is all

you’ve got plans this morning. it’s rare for you to be the one vying to get out of bed but you’d promised bucky last week that you’d meet him for brunch today, and since it’s his first time going, you want this experience to be a lot of fun for him. 

(tony offered, but you knew that it would be a dire mistake if you left the genius billionaire in charge of it because he would’ve scared the poor man off)

regardless, you’re proud of bucky - he’s finally growing into his hollow shell, making it a point to go out of his comfort zone and broaden his horizons. 

so you’ll be damned if the sleepy - but still so strong? - supersoldier curled against your body with his arms wound tightly around your waist will stop his girlfriend from showing his best friend a really good time. 

(now that you really take it into consideration, that doesn’t sound quite right)

but you don’t care because steve’s being selfish and while any other time it would make you undeniably aroused, this is bucky and you don’t want to disappoint him. you hate that kicked puppy look in his steel-blue eyes, one that you recognize all too well because it’s the same look that you use to guilt-trip your stevie.

“steve, i gotta go get ready,” you murmur, running the pad of your thumb over his cheekbone. he’s still hiding those baby blues from you, long eyelashes resting light against his skin. 

you watch in mild amusement as his eyebrows knit together and he pushes out his full lips into a tiny little pout. it almost makes you want to coo at him. 

faster than you can comprehend, he’s flipped you around so that his chin is resting on your shoulder. he presses his lips to the bare skin of your shoulder and then settles back down behind you, evidently with no intention of moving. 

“no, baby,” he grumbles, the sound reverberating in his chest and, by extension, the column of your spine. a shockwave of pleasure runs through you at the feeling, your cunt clenching completely shamelessly because his voice in the morning is by far the most sinful thing that you’ve ever heard TM. 

it sounds like sandpaper, warm and rich and grating against the sharp edges of your stubbornness and sanding it down bit by bit until there’s nothing but smooth corners and round sides. 

you don’t have to turn around to know that the ghost of a smug little smirk is etched onto his face when he feels you shiver against the hard planes of his body. 

“you like that, hmm, doll?” he speaks again, lips right against your ear and the register of his voice somehow even lower than before. “you like it when i talk to you like that?”

“stevie,” you whine petulantly, your core throbbing again because he knows exactly what he’s doing and it’s not fair.

“tell you what, honey,” one of his hands leaves your waist to trail up and down your leg, the featherlight touches making your sensitive skin burn under his fingers. “you stay with me and i’ll speak to you like this all,” he draws out the word as his teeth catch on your earlobe, “you want, hmm?”

there he goes with the sandpaper again, patiently working away and getting almost embarrassingly close to wearing you down completely. yet something about the sultry drawl of his brooklyn accent makes you snap out of it because you’re supposed to be meeting bucky- 

so you take advantage of his slack hands and wiggle out of his hold, jumping out of your shared bed and making a beeline toward the bathroom. 

(you don’t dare look over your shoulder in fear of the rage that you know will be written all over his handsome face, so you only throw a sorry, daddy! at him before locking the door)

and when you step out in the outfit that you’d left in there last night, steve’s hazy blue eyes clear of their tired fog and become as bright as the sun shining through the slit between your drawn curtains. he stretches his arms out - you can’t help but stare at the muscles rippling underneath his skin - before resting them behind his head. 

his feigned nonchalance is almost entirely transparent; his eyes staying glued to your body while you fiddle with the silk ties on your top and the way that he runs his tongue over his lower lip doesn’t go unnoticed despite the fact that you’re slightly preoccupied.

“where’re you goin’ anyway, sweetheart?” his gaze roams downwards, lingering on the light and breezy material of your pink skirt. 

“brunch,” you reply softly, not even sparing him a glance because why did you buy this shirt if you have no idea how to fucking put it on. 

“right - with nat?” he says, squinting when he sees the stretches of exposed skin on your legs. his hand snakes underneath the covers and you’re fighting the upwards quirk of your lips as he so obviously palms at his erection.

“no, with bucky,” you throw out carelessly, proud of yourself because you’ve finally managed to wrap the white blouse around your body, tying the back into a bow. as you look up, you lift an eyebrow at the amount of unexpected cleavage it shows 

(but you’re not complaining because it looks so pretty)

your reflection makes you notice that you’re missing earrings and a necklace still, and some rings or something wouldn’t hurt…

what you’ve failed to notice is how heavy the silence in the room has gotten, the tension almost visible between the two of you. it’s when you retrieve your silver hoops that you realize that steve has gone awfully quiet, and you’re in the middle of putting the second one on when you meet his stare in the mirror. 

he’s now sitting up more than before, still slouching lazily while he watches you in a way that you can only describe as predatory. where steve’s eyes are usually the purest baby blue in the mornings, they’re now far past blueberries and into the territory of being the color of the hudson at night. 

it makes your eyes double in size as you watch him, his hand continuing to rub at his cock through the thin material of his boxers.

(the sight alone is ruining your new thong and you don’t even have the heart to be mad about it)

“bucky, huh?” is all he says, pulling his lower lip between his teeth briefly.

“yeah,” your voice is quiet but you know that he can hear it perfectly well. you also know that he can probably smell your arousal from where he’s sitting, a fact that doesn’t make you as embarrassed as you maybe should be. “told you last week.”

“must’ve forgotten,” he brushes you off dismissively, blatantly staring at the curve of your ass. “you always get dressed up this pretty for buck, baby?”

“no,” your response is shaky and you still haven’t turned around yet, continuing your conversation entirely with the reflection of your boyfriend sprawled out on the bed behind you. 

you decide that he looks like something out of a playgirl magazine and you love it. 

“you tryna impress bucky, sweetheart?” he probes with a jerk of his head, one of the corners of his mouth threatening a smile. “wanna dress all pretty and go be bucky’s little slut, hmm, baby? what happened to daddy?”

this makes you audibly choke 

(you can’t help but think that you’d like to choke on only one thing right now)

but steve pushes on like he never heard you.

“i thought you were daddy’s good baby. now you wanna be a little whore for daddy’s best friend? is that it, honey? leavin’ daddy here alone to go be a dirty fuckin’ slut for bucky? daddy was gonna let you ride his cock, baby, but maybe you should go ride bucky’s instead.”

you can’t deny the way that his condescending voice makes you grip onto your dresser for dear life, your legs threatening to give out underneath you as your skin overheats with desire. 

but you can’t help the words that come out of your mouth next - he’s set it up too perfectly for you.

“maybe I will, daddy.”

you know that he likes it when you mess with him, wind him up so tight that the spring inside his chest is in danger of popping off at any second. it gives him an excuse to fuck you into his mattress with your hands tied behind your back as you beg him to let you cum

(not that he needs one)

so when you think about it, the punishment that you’ll get for this is really for the both of you. you’re doing him a favor.

it’s too bad that you can’t say the same about your ass.

what feels like instantaneously, he’s up right behind you, pushing his very obvious erection against your ass. 

your waist is trapped between his hands until a hard smack lands on your ass, one that makes you jolt forward so hard that everything neatly lined up on top of your chest of drawers shakes and falls. 

you don’t even have the time to gasp before his thick thumb is shoved between your lips, the pad resting on your tongue as he strokes it gently.

“oh, baby,” he tuts, rutting into you harder and faster, his other hand roughly flipping up your skirt at the front to grab your cunt possessively. “my dumb little baby. you need me to remind you who this pussy belongs to? need daddy to tell you who owns your cunt, babydoll?”

his words make you clench in anticipation and the warmth of his hand seeping through the lace of your soaked panties makes your next words come easy.

“yes, daddy.”

[delimeful]

as the fabric starts to fray

donation drive commission for @hazelriver74 with the prompt: dukexiety and glitching powers! thank you so much for your patience, and i hope you enjoy! :)

warnings: violence, fights, mild body horror, involuntary drug use, remus being himself and saying gross stuff, profanity, borderline panic attack

-

Virgil always knew when Remus made his way into a fight by the dramatics alone. 

No matter where the brawl was going down, no matter how many people were involved, there was always enough space for him to make a scene. If there was any doubt that he was related to Princey, that alone would have eliminated it. Not that Princey would be happy to hear that.

So when the bank windows exploded into glass grit and a flash grenade trailing disgusting-smelling smoke landed between Virgil and the seriously-outclassed robbers, he wasn’t as concerned as he probably should have been. 

Sure, Remus-- “The Duke” was a self-identified villain, and sure, Virgil had shifted to the more legal side of the super scene these days, but it was a recent thing. He was a vigilante, not a narc, and that meant that he didn’t particularly care what Remus called himself so long as the guy wasn’t seriously hurting anyone. 

Plus, it was hilarious to see how thoroughly he could frustrate Princey just by existing.

“Having a party and you didn’t invite me?” Remus called, strutting through the smoke in shoes that appeared to have literal knife-heels, ones that scraped unpleasantly against the stone with each step.

Virgil kept himself focused on the robbers, because he hadn’t gotten close enough to get all the guns from them and there were still civilians behind him. Remus better have made the smoke non-toxic this time; not everyone could make a gas mask from shadows like him. “Pretty pathetic party if you ask me. These guys didn’t even bring any fun toys.” 

Remus clicked his tongue, ignoring the weapons pointed his way. “Well, maybe I’ll show them how a real robbery looks, hm? Better cover those innocent civvie eyes, Shade!” 

Virgil immediately snapped an opaque dome into existence over the hostages, just in time for Remus to make his move. 

“Here’s my favorite party trick,” he hollered, ignoring the gunshots as he charged forwards with melting skin and too-many limbs. “It’s the one where I make your kneecaps disappear!” 

Virgil rolled his eyes as Remus employed his usual level of ‘creativity’ to the fight. Good thing he was already well accustomed to cheesy supervillain lines in his lines of work, both past and current.

Still, he kept a sharp eye as he worked to pry the weapons from the ones on the outskirts of the skirmish. While it was sort of hard to look at Remus right now, and he generally didn’t kill, the villain could get a little… sloppy. He ended up having to shadowpatch a few of the would-be robbers’ more grievous wounds, just in case. 

The fight was over quickly, and Virgil smacked Remus on the shoulder, grimacing at the wrongness of his shifting flesh. “Don’t think I didn’t catch what you said about robbing the bank. This place is a community fund, and it’s not insured. Go rob somewhere that deserves it, won’t you?” 

Remus snarled with too many teeth, and Virgil hissed back, smacking him again like he was a finicky car engine. It did the trick, and the villain started looking distinctly less Lovecraftian. 

“You never let me have any fun,” he complained, waving his hand about as it slowly stopped resembling a medieval mace. “You’re almost as bad as the goody-two shoes trio.” 

… He probably shouldn’t be so offended at the comparison, since he was technically working with the heroes now, but. “Am not.” 

Remus threw his head back as he cackled at Virgil’s expense, but before the vigilante could retaliate, a flash of movement caught his eye. 

One of the still-conscious opponents was glaring from the ground, something strange and glowing in his hands, pointed directly at Remus. Virgil’s sense of danger went haywire, and he forced his body to shift forward, rather than away. He shoved Remus, hard, and moved just slow enough to catch the projectile in his own thigh. 

He swore loudly on principle, but whatever it was actually didn’t hurt beyond a stinging impact. He pulled it out: a canister dart with colorful feathers.

“What the hell was in it?” he muttered to himself, and then got an answer in the form of the shield dome dissolving into thick, purple smoke. 

This time, he swore loudly with feeling. 

“Shadowman, what’s going on?” Remus asked, but Virgil didn’t have time to play games anymore. He reached out and drew the smoke towards himself before it could settle on the civilians, shuddering as it settled into his arms and dyed them the mottled color of a bruise. 

He swallowed down the rising terror with the ease of long practice, but Remus was still too close for comfort. Really, when he was like this, everyone in the lobby was too close for comfort. He was feeling a distinct lack of comfort at the moment.

“Don’t wait up,” he muttered, failing to keep the strain from his tone. He immediately ducked out one of the blown out windows, because now was not the time to worry about what was and was not a door. 

Now was a time to get as far away from human contact as possible. 

Because the world hated him, he only got three blocks away before Remus tried to tackle him at full speed. Emphasis on ‘tried’, because Virgil’s ‘spidey-sense’ nearly puppeteered him out of the way, even more high-strung than normal. “I told you to-- why?” 

“I must really be losing my touch if I seem like the kind of person who takes orders,” Remus said, hand on a hip as he recovered from his failed lunge. “Especially after you just took a bullet for me like some swooning damsel. Is my bro rubbing off on you or something?”

Virgil, who could feel his headache getting stronger by the minute, forewent words entirely in favor of a very rude gesture that had absolutely no effect. “Look, I’m not playing coy here. Whatever was in that dart was bad news, you need to leave, now--” 

He hurriedly smacked a hand over his mouth, but it was too late to take back the warped double-tone of his words. Remus, despite all his actions, was not an idiot, and his eyes flicked between Virgil’s face and his arms before widening with realization.

“No fuckin’ way,” he said, advancing a step closer. Virgil shifted a leg back. “You-- Paranoia? You’re alive?” 

“Paranoia’s dead,” Virgil snarled, even as his voice refused to cooperate, even as his shadows began to pull themselves away from his skin and materialize as a particular villain’s signature fog. He clutched at his head, gritting his teeth as he struggled to keep the fog from spreading. “Fuck, I thought I was done feeling out of control of my own goddamn powers.” 

Remus seemed to notice Virgil’s posture, the disbelieving half-smile dropping off his face in favor of something like concern. “Woah, easy, emo. I’m not gonna rat you out, but you do look a little pathetic and in need of help. Hey, you’re a boring normie now, can’t you just call the cavalry?” 

“No!” More fog dripped off of him at the mere thought of interacting with the heroes like this. He’d ‘killed’ his old identity for a reason; he didn’t ever want to subject them to that. 

“Fine, fine! Yeesh, and people call me dramatic,” Remus said, his hands held up in a gesture of non-aggression. “If you won’t call them, then you can hide out at my place until we figure out how to deal with your little leaking problem.” 

Virgil grimaced at the description, and then shook his head. “It’s too dangerous-- Hey!”

His voice cracked embarrassingly as Remus stepped forwards, caught his arm, and slung it over his shoulders in one fluid gesture. The fear fog swirled around him like thick and burning smoke, but he barely even blinked.

“Dangerous, schmangerous,” Remus said, and tugged him towards the next back alley turn. “This is weak shit; Vigilante-You is much scarier, what with all that control and precision.” He fanned himself with one hand, grinning mockingly. “It’s enough to give me goosebumps.” 

Virgil punched his shoulder, shaking his head, but Remus really didn’t seem affected, and he could already feel his shadows becoming more manageable as he calmed down. “Fine, but you asked for it. No complaining when I make your hideout feel like the twilight zone.” 

Remus cackled again as he led the way. “Shade, you underestimate my appreciation for freaky shit. If you spookify my place, I’m going to be ecstatic.” 

[brutal-nemesis]

E&T: Unfamiliar

Things are finally gonna get LABBY boys, I’m fuckin excited. Also this got so fuckin long so I Apologize

←Previous - Masterlist - Next→

Ingredients: noncon touching (like. a lot. but its unsexy), painful magical healing, unsexy nudity (bro just takes a shower it ain’t graphic), emeto mention, drugging, noncon surgery mention

PART II: Monster Without A Name

The things that hit him first were the brightness of the sun and the overwhelming heat. They had teleported into a sort of palace garden, similar to the one they had just left, but at the same time not similar at all. As Erebus was led away, he couldn’t help but look around in terrified fascination. Everything about this place was so different, from the color of the stones to the plants to the way people were dressed, making it clear just how far from home he was. He tried to focus on the allure of seeing so many new things instead of the feeling of isolation that was closing in on him. 

Erebus knew that every step he took would lead him closer to his fate, but honestly, all had been lost the moment he had arrived in Taiyorum, so he let Rhys pull him along. He tried to remember the way, but there were so many twists and turns and steps going down and unfamiliar sights that he quickly got lost. Eventually, they stopped in front of a door. “I think I’ve got him from here,” Neteri said, taking the leash from the guard, “thanks, Rhys.” He nodded and left them. Erebus steeled himself as Neteri opened the door and ushered him inside.

The cell was larger than the one in Nathar, and Neteri hadn’t lied when she’d said it would be nicer, but then again that wasn’t a very hard requirement to meet. It had a bed along the right-hand wall and a desk on the left, with a small chest of drawers against the back wall. There was a door at the foot of the bed, though Erebus couldn’t quite see what it led to. He was too caught up in looking around to notice what Neteri was doing until he felt something cold clamp around his ankle. Why had he been expecting not to be chained up again? At least it wasn’t his wrists, and he would’ve been mortified if she had just attached the leash to the wall. Thankfully, she removed both it and the rope around just wrists. He stretched, happy to have his arms free for the first time in days.

“Alright, let’s get you fixed up for good. Do you need help taking your shirt off?” Erebus shook his head and gently pulled it off before sitting down in one of the two chairs in the room. She sat across from him and held out her hand. “Let me do your arm first.” He offered it to her, and she held onto his wrist as she gently unwound the bandage. She inspected the wound and nodded before placing two fingers on one end of the gash. “I know this is gonna hurt, but please try to keep your arm as still as possible.” Erebus nodded, bracing himself as she muttered the spell’s activation word, her fingertips beginning to glow faintly. She traced them slowly down the wound, and he gritted his teeth as an intense, itching pain lit up his arm. Thankfully, it was over soon enough, but he knew there was still a lot more to come.

His back was next, and he couldn’t help but wince as she removed the bandages around his torso, partially because of the pain and partially because the brand hadn’t mysteriously disappeared overnight as he had hoped. She had him turn around, and he hugged the back of the chair tightly as she healed each lash, pressing his forehead against the wood and fighting to keep himself from crying out. It was like he was being whipped all over again, each wound burning with agony as it was closed up. Every time he thought she might be done, she placed her fingers on another wound and the pain came back anew. After what felt like hours, she finally stopped. “You did great, Erebus! I think that was the hardest part, so your chest shouldn’t be as bad. We’re almost there.” 

As far as the pain, she wasn’t exactly wrong. The healing of his chest was a little less intense, a little less itchy. But he had watched her start to trace the burns, daring to hope that the healing would erase them completely, and instead saw them morph into very prominent scars. He screwed his eyes shut, he couldn’t watch that symbol get put on him a second time. He gripped the sides of the chair tightly, reminding himself he wasn’t up on that podium, there weren’t hundreds of eyes trained on him, he wasn’t screaming in front of them all. When Neteri was finished, he pulled his shirt back on as quickly as he could, covering up the brand along with the memories.

“There we go! Now,” she stood and smoothed her skirt, “I have unpacking and whatnot to take care of, so I’ll be back in a few hours. In the meantime you can get yourself cleaned up.” She gestured to the closed door and then paused for a moment, narrowing her eyes. “You can, like, do that yourself, right?” Erebus nodded, giving her an odd look. He hadn’t been that pampered. She held her hands up defensively. “Okay, just making sure. Oh, and that chain is enchanted so clothes pass through it, which is great because that means you’re not stuck wearing the same pair of pants for forever! There should be clean clothes in there, by the way.” She pointed at the chest of drawers. “Alright I think that’s it. I’ll be back eventually.”

Once Neteri was gone, Erebus took a deep breath and let it out with a sigh. He was tempted to just bury his face in the pillow and cry and process everything, but he knew he needed to wash all the blood and dirt off himself first. The door Neteri had pointed to led to a small bathroom. His gaze went to the left first, where there was a sink with a mirror above it.

Upon seeing his reflection in the mirror, Erebus flinched. It was the first time he’d seen himself since his capture, not that there was much left that he recognized. Gone was his long, beautiful hair, his fine clothes, his prince’s circlet, and the smile that he’d always worn so effortlessly. The person looking back at him was defeated, collared like an animal, his eyes filled with grief and dried blood smeared around his mouth. And while his short hair didn’t necessarily look bad, it still wasn’t him in the slightest. Maybe Erebus really had died two days ago, and this was just...some other person looking back at him. Unable to bear the sight anymore, he tore his gaze away and looked around the rest of the bathroom.

He didn’t see a bathtub, so he wasn’t exactly sure how Neteri expected him to wash himself. There was a drain in the floor near the wall across from the sink with a couple bottles of soap nearby. And there, on the wall, there was some sort of lever. He hesitantly pulled it, unsure if it was a door handle or what, and suddenly found himself being sprayed with water. He cried out and jumped back to find that the water didn’t follow him. It appeared to be coming out of an oddly shaped piece of metal protruding from the wall that he hadn’t noticed before. It was like...an intense little rainstorm. While part of him found this new technology interesting, the other part was disappointed he wouldn’t even get the comfort of a bath.

Regardless, he still wanted to get clean. He removed his now wet clothes and stepped back into the water. It was freezing cold, but he soon figured out that pulling the lever further down made the water warmer. He felt a lump forming in his throat as he started washing his hair. He’d always loved taking time to care for it, and now it barely took a minute. It shouldn’t be worth getting upset over, and he knew it would grow back, but he couldn’t help missing it. He just didn’t feel like himself without it. And as he moved onto washing his body, the feeling lingered.

Before he knew it he was scrubbing furiously, not just trying to get off the blood and grime, but the feeling of hands, ropes, chains, that he could still feel trapping him, forcing him towards this destiny he didn’t want any part of. But he couldn’t get it to go away, even as the physical reminders of his captivity washed off. No, that wasn’t entirely true either. His wrists were still chafed, his ankle was still chained to the wall, his chest was still branded, his neck still had that horrible collar around it, and his mouth was still very much missing a tongue. He couldn’t forget where he was or what had happened to him for a single second. 

At some point he’d gotten off everything he could, so pulled the lever to stop the little rainstorm and dried off with the towel hanging on a nearby hook. He pulled a clean set of clothes out of the chest of drawers and got dressed. They weren’t anywhere near as nice as what he was used to, but they were an improvement compared to what he’d had on before. He collapsed on the bed, staring blankly at the ceiling. This was it, huh? Day after day he was going to wake up here and go through...experiments. He shuddered, pushing the thought out of his mind. Dwelling on it would only make him upset, and did not want Neteri coming back and seeing him sobbing. He’d already cried in front of her once today, and that was pathetic enough. 

Upon searching the desk, he found a blank notebook and a pencil, so he busied himself with drawing cats and plants and writing his name. He was never the best artist, and people always told him the way he wrote the “r” in his name was strange, but it was something else to focus on. After a while, Neteri came back with a notebook of her own and looked at his scribblings with mild interest.

 “Was that left in the desk? Huh. Well, whatever. I’m going to need you to stand up and take your shirt off again.” Erebus simply leaned back and raised an eyebrow. “What? It’s nothing painful, I just need to make some observations and take some measurements. And if you don’t cooperate I’ll just get Rhys again and we can take you down to the lab and strap you to the table.” She shrugged. “Either way.” Erebus sighed in defeat and did as she asked. He desperately wanted a break from being tied up and manhandled, and what Neteri wanted, even if it was a little humiliating, was harmless enough. At least it seemed that way, until she started.

Erebus had felt a bit objectified when Neteri had looked him over the first time that they met, but that was nothing compared to what he was feeling now. She was methodically scanning practically every part of him, making measurements and taking notes all the while. She grabbed and stroked and pulled and prodded with no regard whatsoever for his personal space. When she moved to study his chest, he leaned back, but she hooked a finger through the ring in his collar and pulled him close again. He shuddered as she ran her fingers over the brand, she had to be aware of how incredibly uncomfortable she was making him given the way she seemed to be writing down his every reaction. 

He thought that’d be the worst of it, but once again he thought that too soon. Neteri pushed him so he was seated on the bed and started studying his face. He tried to turn away, but she grabbed his chin and forced him to face her. There was nothing he could do but stare intently at the corner of the ceiling as she pried his mouth open, no doubt studying what remained of his tongue. She even ran a finger along his teeth, paying particular attention to his canines. He desperately hoped that whatever she had planned wouldn’t involve messing with them. She moved to his eyes next, pulling at his eyelids and turning his head to force him to look her in the eye. He gave up trying to avoid her gaze and stared back. The way she was looking at him...it was as if she didn’t see him, just his eyes and his face, but not Erebus. 

Suddenly, her eyes narrowed and she leaned back. “Why is your face so red? Wait...am I making you uncomfortable? I am, aren’t I?” Erebus instinctively smacked himself in the face with the palm of his hand, dragging it down a bit before nodding. She was looking at him that closely and just now noticed? What had she even been writing down, then? No, he didn’t want to know, he was certain it would just make him feel even more objectified. “Sorry, I just got sort of caught up in my note taking. I think I’ve got enough now. That was it for today so I’ll just...go.” Right then, as if on cue, Erebus’s stomach growled loudly.

“Oh wait, I haven’t fed you at all today, have I?” Erebus gave her an incredulous look and shook his head. “Shoot, sorry about that. I’ll run and get you something. Be right back!” She called over her shoulder as she dashed out of the room. Erebus sighed. Better late than never, but seriously? You’d think after how excited she was to...get ahold of him, she’d be a little more on top of things. His gaze fell on the notebook, and he belatedly realized he could’ve been using it to actually communicate with Neteri. The majority of the time he’d spent with her had been after... what she did to him...so being able to talk to her by any other means than making faces hadn’t even occurred to him. He spent a bit debating what he even wanted to say, but he eventually landed on a question he wasn’t even sure if he wanted the answer to.

When Neteri came back, profusely apologizing for her oversight, he handed her the notebook before he started eating. She squinted at it. “Is this supposed to be the letter ‘r’?” He sighed and nodded. “Your handwriting is weird. Anyway, to actually answer your question of what’s going to happen to you...I think a lot of things we’re just going to have to play it by ear. Nothing beyond that’s set in stone beyond the fact that you’ve got your first procedure tomorrow.” Erebus jumped out of his chair, backing up a few steps. His first what was when??! “I probably shouldn’t have told you that because now you’re just going to freak out. You know what, I’m gonna go grab you something, so finish your food.”

Erebus shakily tried to do as Neteri asked while she was gone, but fear and nervousness were starting to make him feel ill. He forced down as much as he could, knowing he really needed the nutrients. The word procedure kept echoing in his mind over and over. He’d known she was planning on doing that sort of thing to him, but it had seemed like some vague, horrific future that wouldn’t come to pass, and suddenly it was happening tomorrow, and any hope of rescue had been ripped away, and it was inevitable, the procedure was tomorrow, the procedure was tomorrow, the procedure was tomorrow-

“Hey, hey, you’re alright, you’re gonna be okay.” He jumped as Neteri started stroking his back; he hadn’t even heard her come in. “There, there, let’s get you to bed.” She helped him stand and walked him over the bed, forcing him to lie down. “This will help you sleep, so drink it, okay?” she pressed a small vial of dark blue liquid to his lips. He hesitated a bit, but ultimately drank it. As much as he didn’t want tomorrow to come, he’d rather get whatever hellish thing she had planned over with instead of agonizing all night. He closed his eyes as drowsiness overtook him, trying his best to pretend that the person stroking his hair wasn’t going to cut him open tomorrow.

Next→

Tags:  @dramaticcollapse @thehopelessopus @just-a-whumping-racoon-with-wifi @as-a-matter-of-whump @galaxywhump @mnmlover2002 @tears-and-lilies

[kindahoping4forever]

Yes, Sir // Ashton Irwin

This is definitely the fastest turnaround I’ve ever had for a piece of writing 🤡. Yesterday @spicycal​ sent me a TikTok of Ashton reacting to being called “sir” and as you can imagine, the inspo machine started turning for a lot of us. Pretty quickly, I jokingly pitched a premise to @pxrxmoore @cashtonasfuck and @feliznavidaddycal that served as a sequel to the fic I had just posted, You Were Digging Plants, I Dug You. The more I thought about it though, the more I liked the idea so I ran with it and here we are. Thank you to @cal-puddies for as always, reassuring me I was on the right track and to the anons who excitedly messaged me in anticipation for it. (And to @rebelwith0utacause for implying my writing was worth losing sleep over.)

Warnings: Boyfriend!Ash, Gardening!Ash, Home Repair!Ash, Dom!Ash (we love a multi-faceted man), references to bondage and cumplay, brief degrading language, sex in a public place, unprotected sex in an established relationship

Word Count: 3750

Masterlist // Taglist // Ko-Fi

Let  me  know  what  you  think!

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“If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you were proud of what you’ve done,” Ashton accuses you with a smirk.

You drop your jaw in mock offense. “What I’ve done?! Ohhhhh, that’s right, that was my other boyfriend’s dick I was bouncing on that day. I’m sorry, baby, you’re correct. This was entirely my fault,” you offer with pouted lips, opening your arms for a cuddle.

“You were a woman possessed and your frenzied demon sex destroyed my relaxation zone,” he teases, pulling you in to first bite and then kiss your pout.

It had been a week since your spontaneous romp had ended in the untimely demise of Ash’s beloved hammock. He hadn’t let you hear the end of it since it happened and now the two of you were finally back outside, assessing the damage.

“I think I have a fabric patch kit in the garage but the framing is definitely fucked,” he mutters, picking over the pieces. “Gonna need new hooks… new spreader bar…”

“Been talking about getting one of those anyways,” you joke with a twinkle in your eye.

He gives you a look and shakes his head. “Jesus, already with you?”

You giggle and raise your arms in surrender. “I’m sorry, Ash, I honestly hate that I’m that girl but the manly man ‘lemme get my tools out and work with my hands’ act just does things for me.”

“Are you sure you want to go with me to get the supplies or are you gonna spontaneously combust right when we walk in the hardware store?” He teases, standing behind you and snaking his arms around your waist. “And you’re not that girl, you’re my girl.”

“Nice save,” you comment dryly and wiggle away from him; he chuckles warmly and you both walk back to the house.

While you’re getting ready to go, Ashton gets caught up taking notes on the hammock repair videos he’s found on YouTube so you end up heading out later than either of you intended. The home improvement store isn’t far but it’s LA so there’s still traffic and the car ride has a slightly tense air because of it.

You can tell how irritated he is by the way he’s relentlessly drumming his fingers on the steering wheel as you sit in the standstill traffic. You reach out and take his hand, both to calm him and to stop the noise. He looks at you appreciatively and gestures at the line of cars in front of him with his other hand. “40 minutes to go five fuckin’ miles,” he grumbles. “There’s no way this is getting done today, the sun’s gonna be goin’ down before we even leave the goddamn store.”

You kiss the back of his hand that’s tightly squeezing yours. “I told you, I’ll help you with everything tomorrow,” you remind him reassuringly. “It’s not a big deal, just relax, baby.”

“You know what would help me relax?” He turns to you with a smirk. “If I could go home and lay in a fuckin’ hammock.”

You finally arrive at your destination and enter the store. After his YouTube deep dive, Ash decided he should install wooden posts to hang the hammock on since your sexcapade uprooted the metal stand’s legs straight out of the ground. He heads over to visit the lumber department and you decide to browse through the garden center, thinking that if you pick out some new seeds for him, it might put a smile on his face.

Ash returns to you less than 10 minutes later, looking more agitated than ever. You raise your eyebrows to him as a silent question and he huffs, “They just happened to have sold out of what I need. Gotta order it, won’t be here until next week.”

You give him a sympathetic frown and rub his back. “I’m sorry I broke your oasis center or whatever you called it earlier,” you say, trying to lighten the mood.

He cracks a smile and starts browsing the seed packs in front of you. “I called it my relaxation zone and I’m sure I’ll forgive you someday.”

You two linger in the garden section, pointing out vegetables that could be helpful to have on hand and having a mild disagreement over which flowers would look best growing next to his sunflowers. 

“My phone is dying and I need it for my shopping list, baby, can you Google and see if we can plant marigolds right now?” He asks, turning a packet of seeds over in his hands.

You pull your phone out of your back pocket, happy to see that he’s calmed down and is interested in making the most of this trip. You chirp emphatically, “Yes, sir.”

Ashton hears your response and lets out a sharp, raspy exhale that you’ve never quite heard before and he immediately tries to disguise it as a cough. You glance over at him curiously but he appears to be intensely examining the package he’s holding so you move on.

“Depends on what type but these ones you can plant through the summer, so we’re good,” you inform him, pointing to the seeds he’s holding.

“Cool,” he breezes and tosses them into your shopping cart. “What about... basil?”

“Yes, sir,” you say again, fingers adeptly typing. You hear a similar noise come from him, though he deals with it much better this second time. You’re sure this wasn’t coincidental this time and you peer at him over your phone to see his jaw clenching in a way you’re very familiar with. Interesting.

“I’m just seeing ‘warm weather’... maybe just get one pack to try?” You suggest, eyeing him, trying to figure out if what you suspect is going on is really going on.

He shrugs, “Couldn’t hurt.” He flings the packet into the cart and moves down the aisle.

Ashton tosses out a few more things for you to look up and while you’re happy to help, you’re also glad for the opportunity to test the theory you now have. You vary your affirmations to him and as you suspect, “Yes, sir” is the only one that seems to get a reaction out of him.

The garden center is located outside and the afternoon sun is just starting to hit the area you’re shopping in. You notice Ash has begun to sweat and if you weren’t in a mood before, you absolutely are now, so you decide to rile him a bit more.  

“That sun is brutal!” You start, dramatically fanning yourself. “You’re lookin’ a little warm too, handsome… unless there’s another reason why you’d be sweating.”

He looks at you incredulously and you stare back innocently, eyes wide and shining; he stares you down as he briskly takes off his black button down shirt, leaving him in a white tank. 

“Are you good or does the sight of any bare flesh in the presence of gardening paraphernalia have you needing to excuse yourself?” He fires back, whipping his shirt into the basket pointedly, glare challenging you to push your luck.

You smile sweetly and answer, “Oh, I’m feeling just fine. But thank you… sir.”

Mischievous grin on your face, you start to make your way to the end of the aisle, scooting your body between him and the shopping cart. Sure, you could’ve gone around the other side but that wouldn’t have given you the opportunity to graze your ass against his crotch to confirm - yep - he’s losing the battle he’s fighting with his cock and he is definitely harder than he wants to be right now.

As you pass by, his large hand grabs your wrist and wraps around it tightly. “Watch it,” is all he says but the low tone he uses mixed with the feeling of his hot breath on your neck has your head spinning.

You lay off your teasing for a while but if you’re being honest, you both seem to enjoy the charged air lingering between the two of you now. Ashton grabs your waist to move you out of his way so that he can look at a display and his fingers dig into your skin just a little too hard, causing you to gasp sharply. You stop to read a tag on the bottom shelf and just happen to catch his gaze as you lick your lips, on your knees in front of him; you hear him curse under his breath as he turns away, adjusting himself.

The cat and mouse game continues and judging by the hiss you get out of him the third time you “accidentally” bump his crotch, you’ve pushed it as far as you can; you know you’re probably in for a long night when you get home but maybe that’s what he needs to take his mind off of how frustrated he is with this project. Or at least that’s what you tell yourself. It’s also quite fun.

You leave the garden section, cart full of various treasures, and start to head for the checkout. “Wait, baby,” Ashton calls out and you stop. “I wanna get a couple of the things I need for the hammock so when I come back for the wood I can just pop in and out of here.” 

He directs you to an area towards the back of the store; you follow him and wheel the cart down an aisle that’s filled with boxes of metal hooks and chains. He sees your eyes taking in the aisle and he makes a face at you. “Whatever obnoxiously horny crack you’re about to make, just do it now so you can help me look for what I need,” he says in faux exasperation, making a “come on” gesture with his hand.

You laugh genuinely, “I don’t have anything to say!” You walk down the aisle and peer into a few of the boxes on the shelves. “I do wonder if we might get a better price on some of these things at one of the other types of stores we frequent,” you say under your breath.

He ignores your remark and starts consulting the notes on his phone. He scans the selection of items and finds the types of hooks he needs, throwing them into your basket. He furrows his brow, unable to find the next thing on his list. 

“What are you looking for, babe? Let me help,” you ask, eager to speed things up.

“We need this,” He states, standing next to you to show you a picture of chains on his phone. 

You examine the photo and quip suggestively, “Yeah we do.”

He lands a light swat on your ass and you squeak. “Your jokes are gonna seem a lot less funny if you keep it up,” he warns quietly in your ear.

You look around and see that this section of the store is more or less deserted. Feeling emboldened by this discovery, you reach to palm him over his jeans. “Yes, sir,” you nonchalantly reply.

The words have barely left your mouth and his hand is already back around your wrist and dragging you to follow him down the aisle. Your logical mind says you should protest that his shirt, your sweater and all your intended purchases are being left in the cart unattended but the decidedly less rational section of your brain, the part that just told you to grab your boyfriend’s dick in the middle of a home improvement store, kind of wants to see where this goes.

You get your answer seconds later when he pulls you into a bathroom tucked away next to the employee break room; it’s small, only a couple of sinks and stalls, and looks infrequently used. Which is probably for the best because Ash does not appear to have any interest in taking you into a stall, at least not just yet.

He presses you up against the door, kissing you deeply with a bruising intensity. He pulls away and you gasp. “You’ve been acting up all day, sweetheart, you can’t be surprised we’ve ended up here.” His hand, large enough to reach across your entire face, grips your chin and turns you to look at him. “Is this what you’ve been aiming for, is this what you hoped would happen?”

His tone is harsh and his words threatening but his eyes glimmer with mischief, desire and excitement. You’re sure the look in your eyes matches his when you unflinchingly answer with a confident, “Yes. Sir.”

He smiles widely and leans in, kissing, nipping and sucking harshly at your neck. You groan against him, involuntarily, and then quickly wonder how thin this bathroom’s walls are and you start trying to recall if you saw anybody in the break room next door.

Ashton pulls back to admire his work on your neck and sees your concerned expression. His face softens for a minute and he asks you, “You remember your word, baby?”

You flash him a brief tender smile, appreciating how attentive he is, that he would pick up on even your briefest moment of apprehension. You nod enthusiastically and then your smile turns devilish as you think to once again answer, “Yes, sir.”

He hooks his fingers in your waistband and yanks you from the door, spinning you around and then pressing your chest into it. You hold your breath and brace yourself for the spank you’re certain is coming but it never does. You’re not sure if you’re disappointed but the way your core is throbbing hints that you probably are.

Instead of smacking your ass, Ash is rutting up against it, breath heavy against your neck, giving you goosebumps. “Feel this, baby? You knew what you were doing out there, you just couldn’t help yourself, could you? Gave you my cock this morning and you’re still begging for it, aren’t you?”

You bite your lip and wiggle against him, enjoying the feeling of his hard bulge pressing into you. “Yes, sir.”

Before you even realize he’s pulled away, that hard smack you’d been waiting for comes down on your ass and you cry out in surprise.

"That’s for being smart.” He presses his body roughly up against yours again and shoves his hand down your shorts, dragging his fingers through your folds, humming at the wetness he discovers there. “We’re on a fuckin’ shopping trip and you’re this wet for me? Even more desperate than I thought… and believe me, you were already very desperate in my mind.”

Ashton yanks his hand out of your shorts and pulls you away from the door, unceremoniously pushing you towards the sink counter. “Off,” he commands, gesturing to your bottoms. There’s not a lock on the bathroom door so he drags the metal trash can in front of the door, wedging it somewhat under the handle. “We already know you clearly can’t keep quiet, can’t have anyone barging in here to see who’s demeaning themself in the bathroom,” he taunts. “That’s only for me to see.”

You and Ash used to play like this all the time when you first got together but lately you’d gotten so caught up in your bubble of domestic bliss, it had fallen by the wayside. Things weren’t boring or unadventurous by any means but it’d been a minute since your last risky public romp or use of any degradation. Combining the two, plus the thrill of jumping back in after so long? Heavenly.

You hop up on the counter in your panties, shedding your tank top and spreading your legs, inviting him closer. “Yes, sir,” you tease with a sultry smile. “I’m your slut, no one else’s.”

He walks over and settles between your legs, kissing you hungrily as he unzips his pants and takes his cock out. “That’s right,” he growls. “Love hearing you say that… In fact, think I want you to see that too.” 

He grabs you down off your perch and spins you to face the mirror lining the sink, your hands fly out to brace yourself as he presses you up against the counter, kicking your legs apart. He makes quick work of tugging your panties down your legs and then reaching over to jerk the cups of your bra down. You watch your reflection as he exposes more of your body to himself and now to you; you don’t even process your nakedness, your only thought is of how blown your pupils look.

Ashton lines himself up and pushes his cock inside you and begins thrusting roughly. You were undoubtedly turned on but the stretch is still a lot and you find yourself gasping and white-knuckling the counter at the sensation. 

He sees your eyes start to close and he yanks your hair to get your attention. “I said I want you to see what a slut you are,” he breathes, already struggling to control himself. “Want you to see what I see, want you to see what everyone is gonna see if that door stop doesn’t hold up and someone comes in here and finds me giving you what you’ve been needing so badly.”

You whimper quietly at his words, at the thought of being caught. “Yes, sir… I love seeing how I look with your cock inside me…” You pant, “I already look so fucked out and we’ve barely started… I just wanted it so much.”

He slaps your ass again and the already loud smack sounds even louder given your setting. “We’re only at this fucking store today because we had to solve a problem created by your greedy little pussy and now that we’re here? You can’t even act right for a couple hours, got me hard looking at fucking flowers, now I’m having to bend you over in a fucking bathroom? How embarrassing,” he rasps at you through gritted teeth.

You love when he’s like this, you feel like you could almost cum from his words alone; you know it’s risking setting him off but you reach down and start rubbing your clit, you can’t help it. Ash immediately notices and laughs darkly. “Aww, baby, that time already? Go ahead and make yourself cum, sugar, the faster that needy pussy gets satisfied, the faster I can get on with my fucking day… until you’re back to begging me for it when we get home, of course.”

You’re aggressively meeting his thrusts now, throwing yourself back on him with pleasure being your only concern. You’d love to respond to his teasing with some sass of your own, rile him up some more but he’s hitting inside you just right and the only thing you can think to do is moan.

Seconds after you let out a particularly long moan, you notice voices can faintly be heard on the other side of the door, a pair of employees walking through the hallway. You catch Ashton’s gaze in the mirror and you can see the question in his eyes, letting you decide if you want to stop; you surprise yourself with how little you care and you stare at his reflection as you bounce yourself against him and rub your clit faster.

An amused smile paints his face and he whispers, “Starting to think you might want everyone to know what a slut you are for me. Is that what you want, baby?” His fingers dig into your skin as he drives his hips relentlessly into yours.

To keep from crying out, you bite your lip hard enough you’re almost sure you’re breaking the skin. You manage to gasp out, “Yes, sir,” before your orgasm completely takes your breath away.

The combination of you cumming around him and your breathless use of that phrase finally does Ash in and he thrusts into you only a few more times before his cock starts pumping you full of cum. Those voices outside the door are still somewhat present and you watch his reflection as he tries not to make a sound, fascinated by the way his jaw almost seems to be clenching in time with the pulsing of your pussy.

You both stand at the sink, catching your breath for a good minute, reality slowly starting to fade back in. You close your eyes and open them again, giggling once your mind finally starts to process the sight of yourself tits out, bottomless and bent over a bathroom sink in a hardware store.

Ashton smiles at the sound of your laughter and pulls out of you, hurriedly reaching for a handful of paper towels to help you clean up before things get too messy.

You accept his help and wryly ask, “You’re not gonna do the whole ‘no, put your panties back on, want you to feel my cum dripping out of you until we get home’ thing?”

He looks at you with amusement in his eyes and replies, “Gross, babe, we still have to go through checkout and everything. Jesus.”

You snort and pull him into you, kissing him sweetly before you both start the process of making yourselves and the bathroom look like nothing happened. 

You manage to exit both the bathroom and the store without anyone catching on; you notice he’s in a much lighter mood and much more affectionate and touchy than he was earlier. You like it.

There’s traffic on the drive home but it doesn’t seem to bother either one of you; you’re excitedly chatting about the purchases you made and trying to decide what to order for dinner.

There’s a lull in the conversation and you can’t fight the urge to comment, “So… you definitely can’t tease me anymore for getting turned on by home improvement because I’m pretty sure you’re not gonna be able to visit that store without getting just a little bit hard now.”

The giggle Ash lets out fills the car and it’s the best sound you’ve heard all day. “I think whatever sex demon possessed you last week got to me,” he shakes his head in disbelief. “I literally had to stop myself from eating my cum out of you. That’s how far gone I was.”

You playfully jab his side. “I can’t even get you to do that at home and you’re trying to do it in a public bathroom? And we call me the slut in this relationship.”

He laughs again and squeezes your thigh affectionately. “Well… we have fun, don’t we?”

You place your hand on top of his, turn to him and grin. “Yes, sir.”

—-

My tag list is breaking my posts atm so apologies if you get tagged more than once/don’t get tagged at all while I figure out what the problem is!

—-

@mymindwide @suchalonelysunflower  @loveroflrh @ghostofmashton @sexgodashton @ashtonangst  @castaway-cashton @boomerash  @megz1985 @ashdork-irwin @angelicfluffs @findingliam-o @abadaftertaste  @myloverboyash @youngbloodchild @irwinsbetch @ashsun @everyscarisahealingplace @wiildflower-xxx  @metalandboybands @another-lonely-heart @realisticnotes @makeamovehemmings @ashtondaddy90 @golden166 @burstintocolor @mfartzzz @babyoria @saphseoul @petunias-pet @youngblood199456 @notinthesameway- @seanna313 @calumftduke @zhangyixingxing1 @stardust-galaxies @Redeserts @zackoid @queenalienscherrypie @xsongxbirdx @justhereforcalum @laura66sos @calumrose @karajaynetoday @valdanvers @Obey-Kaylin 

Click here if you’d like to be tagged for future fics and click here if your name is on my list but crossed out (Tumblr won’t let me @ you)

[bnhatrashsammy]

“Deal”

I haven’t posted any of my writing here yet so here’s my first one <3

Someone asked for a reader who constantly confesses even though she keeps getting rejected and this is what I managed to come up with.

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Pairing: Bakugou Katsuki x Reader

Warnings: Mild Angst (w/ a happy ending cause i'm a sap), l o t s of cursing.

  You literally tell him every day about how amazing you think he is and about how much you’d love to be with him, as more than friends. His stupid ass only interprets it as you wanting to fight him, even though that is far from the truth.

  “Bakugou! You totally rocked that training exercise!” You complimented as everyone begins packing up their things to return to the dorms.

  “Hah? You wanna fuckin’ fight, dumbass?” Bakugou simply retaliates, not even looking in your direction like the petty bitch he is.

  With a huff, you walk over to his desk, arms crossed and frustration clear on your face.

  “I don’t want to fight you! That’s the thing! Are you really so thick headed that you can’t see how much I just wanna be around you?” You ask him genuinely, a bit of hurt oozing out in your words but you mask it with a stoic look on your face.

  Bakugou glares at you, flopping his bag over his shoulder. 

  “Stop fuckin’ playing with me. It’s not gonna fuckin’ work. Your stupid flirty shit doesn’t work with me.” Bakugou tries to just push past you but you angrily grab his wrist to stop him from leaving.

  “I'm not playing!” You seeth out, softening your hold on his wrist to come down and hold his hand. A soft blush erupted over your face.

  “I jus’ wanna be with you. As more than friends.” You mumble, looking up at his confused face with faux confidence.

  A soft pink slowly took over Bakugou’s face before he jerks his hand from your hold, glaring as he turns back towards the doorway.

  “What the fuck ever, dumbass. Leave me the fuck alone.”

  With a loud frustrated groan, you return back to your desk and gather your things once again.

  Throughout the next few weeks, you continuously remind Bakugou of your feelings for him. You make sure he’s well aware of how much you genuinely appreciate him along with his kickass spirit.

  But after a while, it gets to be too much for you.

  Sure, you love the guy, but even you have your limits.

  So slowly, you stop leaving little treats on his desk because you know his dumbass doesn’t eat breakfast. You stop hanging out in the classroom just to compliment him after everyone left. You stop making sure the Bakusquad doesn’t press his buttons too much.

  You give up.

  He always responds the same. Though your feelings for him haven’t faded, you simply can't handle trying so hard for someone who hardly even spares a glance at you.

  An angry knocking causes you to jolt from your desk. What a way to zone back into the world.

  “Who is it?” You call lazily, looking intently at the stupid papers scattered on your desk.

  “Let me the fuck in.”

  A groan passes through your lips as you get up, going to open the door to see Bakugou standing there in his sleep clothes; a t-shirt and sweatpants.

  Bakugou wastes no time shoving past you with his arms crossed as he looks over your form.

  “Why the fuck have you been ignoring me?” 

  Wow, he doesn’t waste a second huh?

    “I haven’t been ignoring you-” You start before Bakugou Cuts you off.

  “You can’t lie to me, (Y/n).”

  It’s weird how the simple use of your given name causes you to freeze up and your face to feel warm.

  “Well, maybe I’m tired of you constantly being an oversized cunt to me just because I have feelings for you.” You grumble out, crossing your arms and glaring at him.

  “Despite being one of the smartest people I’ve ever met you never seem to believe me when I tell you. And believe it or not, I can’t just fucking ignore my feelings and that hurts.” You finish, your voice getting softer towards the end as you trail you eyes from his face to your shoes.

  “Damnit, I’m not good at this shit! It’s stupid anyway!” Bakugou says, sounding like he’s struggling with the words.

  You finally look up, glaring at him once again, “If it's so stupid get out of my dorm, asshole.”

  It’s silent for a moment, you and Bakugou glaring into each others’ eyes, trying to see who will break first. 

  Much to your surprise, it’s Bakugou.

  He makes an angry growl, running his hands through his hair aggressively before rushing forward to get right in front of you. Without even stopping to think his hands move to rest on your cheeks and his lips are against yours.

  Of course, you’re shocked as hell, but that’s not gonna stop you from enjoying this for a moment. You match Bakugou with his aggressive kiss, hands moving to wrap around his shoulders while his stay placed ever so gently on your face, lightly guiding you through the kiss.

  In all honesty, it was sloppy as hell. But it was Bakugou, and he was trying. There was so much emotion you could truly feel as he moved his lips against yours.

  Bakugou pulls away with very light glare and a flush of cheeks, looking over your face.

  “I just couldn’t understand why the fuck someone as amazing as you, would ever want to be with me.” His words are soft leaving his lips and causes your chest to tighten with hurt.

  You send his a soft, sad smile, leaning up tp so you can press your forehead against his. His hands drop to your waist as yours move to his face, warm under your touch.

  “Katsuki, there is no one else in the world I’d rather feel these things for. To me, you are the most amazing person I’ve ever met. “ You say slowly, as this is new territory for the both of you. Sure you never tried to hide your feelings, you were clearly very open about them, but openly discussing insecurities and shit between you two? That’s very fuckin’ new.

  He looks genuinely conflicted for a moment before he lets out a sigh, his face resting into a soft expression. Before you have time to enjoy the genuine look of happiness on his face he pulls you into his chest, arms tightly holding you to him. You wrap yours around him as well, nuzzling him slightly. He’s so warm and cozy.

  “Be my fuckin’ girlfriend.” He says, his voice finally sounding like the aggressive boy’s that you fell for.

  You snort in amusement before nodding into his chest, “Only if you be my fuckin’ boyfriend.”

  You can’t see the smile that lights up his face, but he’s quick to say his response.

  “Deal.”