#when 2 years before that i was on death's door because of what that bitch (my uterus) did to me

[wounddread]

why did your former local ER team know you by name? o_ô

LMAO hi there is a lot wrong with me 🖤 i'm constantly in and out of hospitals bc of medical emergencies in a 2 week period between april and may alone i was in the er like 8 times

[spngi]

My tears ricochet | mafia!carlos sainz jr x reader

Prologue | part 1 | part 2 | Part 3| Part 4

part 5

summary: Mr. and Mrs. Sainz lived in a dream for many years, now everything is falling apart and they need to deal with their feelings

warnings: Grammar mistakes, mentions of violence, Carlos is an idiot, mentions of cheating, sexual content, angst.

---

It’s the first morning I truly wake up happy after a long time. I feel ready for a new beginning when I wake up embraced by Carlos’s body. It’s perfect to share the little things with him, his presence filling me with joy.

I watch him through the door; he’s on the phone now, and Paco is jumping on his legs, begging for attention.

We were having coffee outside, enjoying each other’s company, when his phone rang. Things are not like they used to be; we still have a long way to go to regain each other’s trust, but we are happy with the small steps we are taking.

The conversation my husband is having doesn’t seem good. He looks tense, defensive, and even without hearing his conversation, I can tell it’s a serious matter. He is standing in the middle of the room, phone in hand, head down, his abdomen bare, and wearing sweatpants. Every domestic scene warms my heart more, like him making pancakes for breakfast earlier or the large bouquet of peonies that miraculously appeared this morning.

I knew that just these gestures wouldn’t erase the pain Carlos and I had caused each other, but they were a good way to start this new journey.

I see him hang up the phone in a single, explosive gesture. He takes a breath while putting the device in his pocket.

“What’s your problem?” His voice echoes coldly in the room. I don’t understand who he is referring to or why he’s looking at me that way.

“What are you talking about?” I ask him, still confused as I approach his tense figure. The contrast with the relaxed figure he had before the phone call is clear. “What happened?”

“I tell you I love Martina, and you try to kill her? Is this how you want to move forward?” He explodes, his tone loud and desperate.

“What are you talking about? You think I tried to kill that girl? Are you out of your mind?” I ask him, my words stinging. Carlos looks at me as if I were a monster, and it hurts to be his first suspect. It hurts to know he thinks so poorly of me.

“What a great coincidence, isn’t it? I tell you how I feel about her, and today someone hits her car and flees.” He points at me as if he’s about to warn me. “You’re lucky she’s still alive.”

“Does it not occur to you that it could have been just a drunk idiot? Do you think so poorly of me that you believe I’d do something like that?” I exclaim, anger exploding from my body. That bitch had to ruin my life without me even doing anything to her.

“You lost the benefit of the doubt when you decided to killed those men.”

A car accident? I wouldn’t even have thought of that, and I had thought of many ways to get rid of the girl, but none involving her death—only involving putting a package with absurd amounts of drugs in her car and house, along with a call to the police.

Carlos’s words drive me crazy. I feel insane for hearing them because it can’t be true. His eyes look at me with disgust, as if I were a murderer.

“I don’t know how serious the accident was, but if I were you, I’d pray for her to be okay. It would prevent you from finally becoming a monster,” he says, and Paco runs away scared by the shouting.

I don’t think much after what I hear; my body is overtaken by rage, and I can only remember all the times Charles taught me to aim and shoot. That’s what I think about when I grab the closest object to me, a crystal vase, and throw it at Carlos.

The crystal shatters upon hitting the top of his head in small pieces. The noise is loud, and the whole house goes on alert before returning to its routine upon seeing the scene.

“Are you crazy?” He yells in shock, with glass shards all over the place, including in his hair, and small drops of blood running down his forehead.

“Maybe, but I’m not a murderer,” I say through clenched teeth. “Believe me, if I wanted her dead, there wouldn’t be any pieces of the car left to tell the tale, but I would never dirty my hands with someone as insignificant as her.”

The room turns into a chaos of shouting and arguing. Even though I love Carlos, I’m almost ready to throw another vase at him. I decide to stop arguing with him; it wouldn’t help when he’s so blinded by believing I would do such a thing. I turn around, leaving him to argue alone, and head back outside.

“You should leave, Carlos… I can’t stand looking at your face right now,” I say finally before leaving. “And don’t you dare ask anyone to clean up the mess you made,” I point to the floor and walk out.

I sit in a chair, not allowing myself to cry this time. In fact, I can’t even remember the last time I spent a day without crying, so I forbid myself from doing it today! The scene that just occurred felt like it nailed the final stake into our marriage. There was no more unity, no more fidelity, respect, or love.

I couldn’t love for both of us alone, not when it was destroying me. When it was already destroying me.

“Your foot is bleeding,” I hear a voice pull me out of my thoughts, and when I look up, I see Charles.

“Oh,” I have no reaction. I look down and see the small pool of blood forming underneath the injured foot I hadn’t noticed before. “I must have stepped on one of the glass shards. I’ll take care of it…”

I try to reassure him and spare him from my melancholic company.

“Let me take care of it for you; just wait here, please,” he smiles, looking tense, possibly having witnessed the situation.

Just as I didn’t notice him leave, I didn’t notice him come back, this time with a first aid kit in hand. He kneels in front of me and gently takes my left foot.

“I can do this, Charles. Thank you,” I thank him and try to get rid of his presence.

“No, no, I insist,” he smiles worriedly, his eyes on me. There’s something there I can’t decipher; it’s not pity, but definitely something shining.

He opens the significantly large first aid kit that is necessary when someone with a gunshot or knife wound shows up at the house from time to time.

“Do you need anesthetic?” he asks, laughing.

“Although I would love to be high right now, it won’t be necessary,” I say, and he laughs lightly.

He pulls the glass shard out in one precise, smooth movement, and I watch as he cleans the wound with cotton and alcohol.

“To save you the trouble of investigating the accident… I didn’t do it,” I say to Charles.

“I know,” he replies, not bothering to look up at me, appearing certain of his opinion. “And I think if Carlos had a bit more reason and faith in you, he’d know that.”

It’s funny to watch him work with such calm and gentleness on a simple injury, contrasting sharply with all the memories of when he taught me to shoot and defend myself months ago.

“I didn’t teach you to do a job halfway and to leave traces. I have faith that you were a good student.” He looks up and smiles. Charles is the same age as me, but the difference between us is apparent. He’s lived and witnessed many things to be where he is now and still tries to be as gentle as possible in my company.

“Thank you,” I say, watching him as he wraps my foot with a bandage. It’s large and silly for the size of the cut, but the gesture enchants me.

I let my eyes wander away, to the garden or beyond it, my thoughts drifting. I don’t want to cry, not for Carlos. Just thinking about his name makes me sick, and I wonder why I did all this. Why did I sacrifice so much of my life for him? Why did I fight so hard for this marriage when it was destroying me?

It’s ironic how life presents things to us. Throughout my life, I’ve always loved art, preferring romantic ideals and works that depicted routine and brought peace. Now my life would be painted in a dark and melancholic canvas.

“If you could choose to be anything, what would you be?” I ask Charles, who is still kneeling in front of me, his hand gently touching my injured foot.

“What do you mean?” His green eyes look confused.

“I would have my own art gallery, or rather, I think I would like to work in a museum…” I let my mind wander, to what I could be if I weren’t here.

“In which museum?” he asks.

“In Washington,” I reply without thinking. “I think there cuz my favorite art is there, a beautiful Monet. I would be the happiest person to see it every day,” I smile at the scene in my mind, a genuine smile. “And you?”

“I think I would be a Formula 1 driver,” he laughs. “My childhood dream was to drive the red car around the world.”

“In another universe, I’m sure we’re doing that,” I smile at him, laughing. It’s silly to think about it, but it helps me calm down. “Please sit down.”

He closes the first aid kit and sets it aside, then sits in the chair next to me. He seems awkward or even embarrassed to do so.

“I don’t want to get divorced, Charles,” I murmur, scratching my forehead. I thought I would have more strength for this, that I wouldn’t give up so easily.

“He will find out it wasn’t you eventually” he murmurs.

“The problem isn’t the accident, or even Carlos. He isn’t that desperate about the divorce, and if he were, he would file for litigation” I sigh. “She wants the divorce; I just took a while to realize it… Carlos getting divorced is just a red flag for all his business, and it will make his life much more difficult… I just don’t know if I can handle it anymore.”

“Y/n…” the man calls me, then says, “You are the strongest woman I have ever known. You’ve been through so much and endured it as if it were just another normal day at work. You handle all the problems better than anyone here among us. You could be Carlos, but he could never be you.”

It’s the first time in a long while that a man makes me cry with joy.

One more part! I hope you guys are enjoying it!

Leave your comments and opinions ❤️

[icarusredwings]

Does anyone else think about how chill Lucy Saxon is? They were together for about a year before the Doctor showed up.

Imagine you move in with your boyfriend and he does some kinda weird stuff like watches kids cartoons, eats you out of house and home, probably doesn't sleep much, is obsessed with hurting people and some dude named the Doctor and when you ask "Oh in what?"

"Hes not even a real doctor!!"

"...then why dont you call him something else?"

"You wouldn't get it." And he just starts pouting?

Or one of his favorite things to do is sit in a big fancy desk in a full suit and watch shows for 2 year olds with you on his lap but Oh it makes him so happy, and everone has their quirks right? So he cant be THAT bad?

But then you come home the next day and hes trashed the apartment and is rocking in the corner about the voices in his head?? Most people would leave there. But not my girl Lucy, she fr said "Sickness and in health. And you sir. Are very sick. But thats okay. Lets go get snacks and you can yell at the maid to clean it up"

"Yay! And were gonna get ice cream."

"Ooh ice cream :)"

Maybe this is a hot take, but I can see him just grabbing her and kissing her like all the time. Whether someone is around or not, just because he can. Obviously as a power move but eh. Poor thing was always so confused and SUNK into his affection like MAN if you don't start treating your wife right marthas sister is going to STEAL her from you. You big meanie.

I think about how loyal she is to him despite being told about him and shes like "Bitch do i look stupid? I've watched him eat his chicken nuggets with spicy peach jam and have a billion melt downs because he hears stuff other people cant."

I really like the scene where theyre watching that one woman get killed by the toclafane. The one where they keep opening the door and even the master is like "oof that's messy" then hugs her? I dont know. Him genuinely being like 😬 was kinda funny.

I have a headcanon that at some point Lucy admits she's infertile and can't have kids, and being the way he is, the Master is like, "Okay! We'll adopt!" And then the man brings home some murder cyber spheres like "Tada!! Kids!" She just sits and blinks like "What the actual?"

"I got us 6 billion kids!"

"...when I said 6.. I meant the age.. not the number.."

"Oh. Well too late now. Kids go say hi to mommy!"

She just swallows and gets tense like "Oh... hello.."

Not at all saying he didn't mistreat/abuse her (and literally everyone else) a shit ton, and he deserved getting shot so don't think im trying to do that but thinking about how WEIRD this dude must be and she really stuck it out seeing how looney he must have been.

Lucy " Till death do us part mother fucker" Saxon.

We support loyalty in this house. Lucy Darling you did nothing wrong *gentle head kiss* 😌

Master go sit in the fucking corner and think about what you've done. *agressive head kiss* Go on! Get! You very bad boy ☝️🤨

[writersblog20]

Comfort person

Pedro Pascal x reader

Summary: Today was not a good day, completely the opposite actually but yet in all your horrible days, Pedro seemed to stick by your side, not helping the case with your on going crush on the daddy of the internet but when nightmares took over your night, you saw no other option than to knock on Pedro’s door for comfort.

Warnings: mention of death of a loved one (godfather in this case), mention of sleeping pills, mention of anxiety, mention of a panic attack, nightmares, You being the rock of the family, heated kiss and a lot of fluff

Words: 3,4K

A/N: repost because Tumblr decided to be a little bitch and test my last goddamn nerve💀

Comfort person

You and Pedro became close friends when you met at a friends party. You both hit it off great and well you had a crush at the older man before you even met him but now…. God you were completely in love and there was no stopping it. Never ever, did you think Pedro liked you back in that same way. I mean, he was a bit older, had more experience in well, everything in live and you didn’t. Yeah you had an old soul and been through a whole lot of shit which made you mentally, a bit older and you’ve never really acted your age but still.

Pedro was shooting the last of us and stayed over at your place since it was closer to work and he didn’t have to stay in a hotel. You didn’t have to think twice when you offered up a room in your cozy, little home but you did not thought this through. You were seeing Pedro a lot, obviously but that didn’t help your case called: Being utterly in love with the daddy of the internet. For the love of god why did you think this was going to be a good idea?

Today was a tough day. Well make it a though 3 weeks at this point because what the fuck?! You had trouble with your teacher, exams, and a whole lot of last minute changes because your teachers couldn’t communicate and a whole lot more but you get the deal. You were stressed, frustrated and exhausted and to top it all off, today marked the 2 year anniversary of your godfathers dead. You never had a father but when he became your godfather, he tried to fix everything your father had ruined and broken. He was the closest thing you had to a father and now he was gone. He had spent 2 years being your godfather and you whished you had more time with him.

So you came home from your studies, Pedro in the kitchen getting dinner ready when you walked in. He looked at you and the moment he saw you, a big smile appeared on his face. “Hey sweetheart” Pedro greeted you with a lot of joy but could see that you were going through a rough day. He opened his arms up for you and pulled you in a hug, which you gladly accepted, wrapping your arms around his waist, holding his pink sweater tightly while your rested your head against his chest. Pedro placed his hand on your head for comfort and pulled you closer to his body as he placed a kiss on your head.

“Tough day huh?” he murmured in your hair, making you nod. “You’re here now sweetheart. This day is almost over and in two days, you have a break and we’ll only do fun things and rest. I promise you.” you felt comforted by Pedro’s words as usual. Pedro always was able to comfort you like no one else could. Like everything would be okay as long as he was around. Pedro let you hold him as long as you needed to. You could feel him move while you clanged to him. You heard some glasses clink together and you assumed he was opening up a wine bottle.

One arm was still around you, holding you against his body and the other was trying to pour the wine in the glasses. You chuckled a little at the struggle Pedro was having with the wine while he didn’t want to let go off you. You got out of the hug making Pedro frown a bit but smiled while he saw you chuckle.

He handed you the wine glass with a generous amount of wine in it. “I have to go to my family tonight.” You mentioned and Pedro leaned against the kitchen counter with a sad look in his eyes. “I’ll go with you, sweetheart.” You felt your heart fill up with love and comfort but shook your head. “You don’t have to do that P.” this time it was Pedro’s turn to shake his head. “No, I want to. I want to be there for you. You don’t have to do this alone anymore.” He told you and pushed his body off the counter and walked to you as he wrapped his arms around you again. “Thank you, P.” Pedro kissed your head in response.

~Time skip~

After dinner you quickly changed and went with Pedro to your family. You knew that it was going to be tough because your godmother had a very tough time and you promised your godfather that if the time would come that you would take care of them. You just didn’t know the time would come so soon but you kept your promise to him. So you straightened your back, took a deep breath, pushed your emotions aside for a moment and walked in. It wasn’t the first time that your godmother broke down in front of you and her daughter. It was tough because you felt torn apart by the pain but you promised to be strong for them. To be that shoulder and rock but it was tough. So today was no difference. Pedro watched you bubble up all the emotions while your godmother clang to you.

Pedro could feel the weight on your shoulders and the pain in your heart as it chocked him up. He could see the tears gathering in your eyes but being pushed away so you could be the strong one of the family.

Once you were in the car, it was silent. Pedro didn’t know what to say so he just held your hand while he drove off. You were always quite after something like this. IT just drained all your energy and you felt shitty as fuck to say the least. You couldn’t wait to get home, take a sleeping pill, relax and go to bed early so you wouldn’t have to deal with this day anymore.

You and Pedro walked through the front door and you made your way in the kitchen to make some tea and take your meds. Pedro followed behind you softly. “Thank you for coming with me P.” Pedro smiled softly but sadness lingered over his features. “Always sweetheart.” Pedro slowly walked up to you and pulled you in a hug. “Let me take care of you how you took care of them now. You did great but it’s okay now. You don’t have to be strong anymore princess.” You were too exhausted to even cry while the weight on your heart grew stronger. “it’s not healthy bubbling it up like this, mi amada”

“I know. I’m just exhausted right now.” You told him tiredly. Pedro cupped your cheeks lovingly and looked at you. Softness glazed over his eyes and features. “I can imagine sweetheart.” He told you before placing a long, lingering kiss on your forehead. You let out a sigh. “Can we watch a movie?” you asked Pedro who smiled lovingly at you. “We can do whatever you want to, mi corazon.”

Pedro made the tea while you took your meds. You quickly run upstairs to get in the most comfortable outfit ever. You had a very, like very big fluffy sweater type thing and it was great to hide in it, so it was perfect for now. You walked downstairs, seeing Pedro already on the couch. Pedro smiled as he saw you in the fluffy sweater. A look like his heart was going to burst from cuteness.

You plopped on the couch next to Pedro, who had his arm resting on the leaning of the couch so you leaned as close against Pedro’s side. He handed you the remote and you chose a movie. Pedro went with his fingertips over your sculp, comforting you. As time went by, you leaned more and more against Pedro before deciding to rest your head on his lap. Pedro’s attention went to you as you got away from his side. He looked at what you were planning to do and the moment he saw you laying down on his lap, his heart filled itself with so much love that he thought he was going to lose it. He grabbed a blanket that was behind him and placed it over your body. His hand resting on your arm and softly rubbed your arm while the other was still in your hair, massaging your scalp.

You didn’t remember when your eyes closed but you woke up by the slight shift from Pedro. You opened your eyes and saw that Pedro was looking at you. “I’m sorry I woke you up princess. I wasn’t sure if you were sleeping or not.” Pedro told you softly as he went over your hair. You let out a groan as you sat up, your neck and back hurting.

Pedro’s hand was on your back softly rubbing it. “It’s okay, I should go to bed anyways.” You told him with a tired smile. Pedro kissed the top of your head. “Goodnight sweetheart. And you know it! if there’s something, anything at all, you come to me and wake me up alright mama?” he told you a bit stern but still with love. You smiled at his caring side that you loved so much and not to forget about the nickname. “I promise. Goodnight P.” you told him as you stood up. “Goodnight princessa.”

You got upstairs and freshened up. You wore some shorts, a shirt from Pedro that you might’ve stolen or not and laid down in bed You scrolled a bit through your phone, watching some Youtube videos and just like before, you didn’t know when your eyes closed as you fell into a deep sleep.

Pedro tried to walk silently upstairs until he saw some light from underneath your door. He frowned a bit, worried that you couldn’t sleep or that you felt bad after today so he softly knocked on your door but didn’t hear a response from you. So he tried again “Sweetheart? You up?” he asked you but not too hard for if you were in fact asleep, that you wouldn’t wake up. Pedro carefully opened your door slightly and peeked inside, seeing you completely knocked out with your headphones in, Youtube still playing in the background and your lamp besides your bed table still on. He smiled lovingly and walked inside of your room, very carefully taking your headphones out of your ears and placed them on the bedtable. He took your phone and put it in the charger besides your earphones. He got the covers, pulling them up a bit and softly tucked you in. He kissed your head and put your light out and silently walked out of your room, closing the door carefully behind him.

~time skip~

You woke up, half in a panic as you looked around you confused. You had a terrible, really horrible nightmare. You didn’t remember putting your nightlight out or putting your phone away etc. It clicked in your head that it must’ve been Pedro, making you smile in yourself. You really wanted to go to him and let him hold you, protect you from anymore nightmares if they’d come back. You felt your heart thumping against your chest as you fell back down with a sigh as you rubbed your face. You stared at your ceiling until you had enough and got out of bed. Your muscles ached, probably from tensing them so much in your sleep.

You groaned, getting up. All of a sudden, fear and anxiety started engulfing you and before there could be a panic attack, you quickly exited your room. Your feet softly shuffling at your wooden floor as you got closer to Pedro’s door. You know what he said but still something inside of you, really did not want to wake him up but you knew that if you didn’t, you would have a full blown panic attack. Besides, Pedro would whoop your ass if he found out and that you didn’t wake him. You softly knocked on his door and unknowingly held your breath. You didn’t hear anything and you didn’t really know what to do so you carefully opened the door.

Pedro laid on his side with his back to the door. “P?” you whispered as not to startle him but loud enough to wake you. He stirred a bit in his sleep and turned on his other side, now facing you but didn’t fully wake up so you tried again. “P?” but still no reaction. You shifted on your feet, getting nervous and not knowing what to do next. You looked at the empty side of the bed. Fuck it, you cursed out in your head and softly walked to the empty side of the bed.

You held out the covers slightly and got in next to him. Pedro opened his eyes from the sudden movement on his bed. He saw that you were wearing his shirt and he got a grin on his face. “I was looking for that shirt.” Pedro said, his voice raspy from sleep. You quickly looked at Pedro. “I’m sorry.” You said sheepishly, seeing the smirk on Pedro’s face, made you feel flustered yet relieved that he found it amusing. You laid down on your side, facing Pedro. You both stared at each other for a moment.

“You okay?” he asked you in a whisper. The love that coated those two words and his big brown cow eyes made your heart skip a couple of beats. “Had a bad nightmare.” Pedro nodded and gave you a sad smile. “I’m glad you came to me.” you felt flustered and shy but proudness also washed over you while you couldn’t do anything to hide the shy smile that covered your face. “Come here sweetheart.” He told you and opened the covers more so you could move towards him, which you gladly did. Your body was tightly against his, your arm tucked underneath your chin, like those dinosaur hands while Pedro’s arms were tightly wrapped around you. Your head was tucked underneath his chin and for the first time, in like forever you felt genuinely safe and secure.

You held the shirt that he was wearing, tightly in your hands, making a fist. The way Pedro’s hands softly rubbed your back and held your head, made the butterflies multiple in your stomach. “Try to get some more sleep, mi corazol. I’ll be right here.” He whispered in your ear. You already had your eyes closed, completely relaxing underneath his touch. You moved a bit, trying to get even closer to Pedro. You listened to his heartbeat and heard it thumping violently against his chest. You slowly opened your eyes and looked up at Pedro, making him look at you as well.

“What’s wrong sweetheart?” he finally asked when he saw your awaiting look, making him confused. His eyebrows knitted a bit together, trying to read your mind. You shook your head softly and wanted to rest your head again but Pedro put his finger underneath your chin, making you look up at him. “You know you can tell me right?” he asked you softly again. You nodded and played with his shirt that he wore. “It’s just, your heart is beating very fast.” You tried to say as softly as you could, hoping that he didn’t hear you but he did.

Pedro chuckled nervously. “Eh yeah… You kind off have that effect on me…” this time his voice was in a whisper. You looked up real quick and you felt his heart absolutely going insane underneath your touch. You were so starstruck, your body moving on its own right now. You got his hand and placed it on your shirt, exactly where your heart was. It was beating just as fast as his, if not faster. His hand was flat on your chest with your hand above his and now you saw how big his hand was. “You kinda have that effect on me as well.” you whispered, scared that if you spoke too loud that you would break the intimate moment.

Pedro’s hand that rested on your chest slowly went up to your neck, towards your cheek, letting it rest there. His thumb softly rubbing on your soft skin. “Are you sure?” he asked you, not sure if you were on the same page. “Very much so.” Pedro softly nodded and lowered his head so he could rest his forehead against yours. Both of your breaths shaky right now from the close proximity. You placed your hand on his again and held it, bringing it to your lips, softly kissing his hand. Pedro was in a complete trance, completely focused on you and his hand.

You let go of his hand and went through his bed hair and let your hand rest on his cheek, your palm tickling from his stubbles. Pedro’s eyes big, intently looking at you before he rested his forehead against yours again. He carefully wrapped his hand around your wrist that still cupped his cheek. You heard Pedro let out a shaky breath “Fuck” he cursed out and placed his lips against yours. You knew it was going to happen sooner or later but it still took you by surprise. Your heart almost beating out of your chest when you felt his tongue against your lips.

Both of your breath still shaky as you let him take control. He rolled you on your back and carefully laid his weight down on you as he continued kissing you. Your hands went though his hair, tucking it a bit. Pedro rested his hand on your hip and the other on your cheek again. You took his shirt in your hand again and pulled him more down on you. The kiss started to slow down and Pedro pecked your lips before pulling back, his thumb softly rubbing on your cheek. “I really do like you, mi amor.” He told you as you looked into each other’s eyes. This time you wrapped your small hand around his wrist. You turned your head towards his hand and softly placed a kiss on his wrist. “I really, really like you too P. I’m… I’m actually in love with you.” you admitted, feeling completely flustered, shy and nervous.

Pedro got a wide smile. “Good, cause I am too.” He told you and kissed you again passionately. You felt Pedro sigh in the kiss and so did you. He broke away again before it could get too heated. Not that he didn’t want to, but everything on its own time and god did he wanted to take his time with you.

Pedro kissed your nose, cheek and forehead before he laid down on his back. You scooped closer to him when he held out his arm for you to lay in. Nothing else was said, it wasn’t necessary either as you just cuddled with each other. Pedro kept cuddling you until you finally fell into a peaceful sleep. He made sure that you fell asleep first before he would even think about closing his own. But he didn’t want to sleep, he just wanted to stay in this exact moment and watch over you but he was bound to lose that fight eventually and he fell asleep, just like you in a peaceful sleep.

There was only one reason why you finally fell asleep peacefully and that was because of Pedro. No one, ever had made you feel this safe and secure in your entire life. Not even your mom was able to do so but Pedro…? He just did it, he had that effect on you and that’s how you knew he was the one.

[hanayumi]

𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐜𝐤-𝐫𝐢𝐛𝐛𝐞𝐝

— bonten!sano manjirou x fem!reader x sanzu haruchiyo 🔞

part 2 of brittle to the bone || prev.

if mikey is harsh, imposing, unyielding, then haruchiyo is just that with playful charisma superimposed over cruelty.

wc. ~9k

tags/warnings noncon, predator/prey dynamics, yandere undertones, knifeplay, mild bloodplay, forced infidelity, self-harm, degradation, overstim, mind break, mentions of gunplay, minor character death(s)

notes he’s very mean

snapshot;

Soft. Soft.

Haruchiyo parrots the word in his mind. Almost as if within it holds the secrets to the universe — and that if he keeps saying it, keeps feeling the weight of this single featherlight syllable on his tongue, that it’ll give him a revelation of sorts.

Your skin looked soft and your hand was soft and he can’t help but wonder if every inch of you down to your bones is soft.

∗

Be good.

‘Be good’ — by which Mikey meant, you suppose, no speaking to others in the compound, no leaving the house, no stepping inside anywhere but the bedroom, bathroom, living room, and kitchen… all the places that you’ve been wandering in-between for years without ever going outside. Is there anything else?

Well, you can’t bother yourself to remember. It’s not like you can do anything in here that’ll piss him off anyway. The time you’ve had to spend alone has started to blur into an impalpable being — an amalgamation, of sorts — warping and slowing your perception of reality to a tenth of a millisecond whenever Mikey isn’t around to monopolise your attention.

…I’ll reward you like a good little bitch when I get back. Can you do that for me?

Don’t leave the penthouse. Don’t enter rooms you don’t know. Don’t speak to anyone other than Haruchiyo. It should be pretty simple. Yeah, you can definitely do that for him. You can be good. You can. You’ll show him.

(As long as Haruchiyo doesn’t kill you before you get a chance to.)

You close your eyes, an image of the man with roseate hair floating into your memory. His lilting voice, the rattling of his pills, the way he kissed your hand after introducing himself and the way he smirked when Mikey made his announcement. A prickling chill runs down your spine like cold water. 

You clench a bundle of the sheets into your face, burrowing into the lingering scent of Mikey, and decide that you hate the way Haruchiyo speaks. In a slow, condescending drawl, smirk bared, revealing the carious fangs of a seasoned predator, the narrowed slits of his eyes scrutinising (for what, you have no idea) as if he thinks of your life as even more insignificant and disposable as the dirt between his shoes. 

There’s another thing, too. Something that fills your little heart with enormous anxiety and forces you on simmering coals within his presence, even now when you’re all safe and sound in this room with its four white walls and thick, locked door.

You can read that grin like an open book.

He thinks that your relationship with his boss has an expiry date. That it’s only a matter of time before you’re disposed of, too. That, without question, you were only there as a form of stress relief, your sole purpose being to tend to his boss’ every need. An emotional outlet, of sorts.

(You hate it because you know he’s right.)

But you don’t tell him that, don’t want to offer him the satisfaction — instead you scamper from his gaze, always slipping out of a room just as he enters it, going as far as to strategically plan out your daily activities to ensure that you wouldn’t be catching any glint nor shadow of that vibrant pink.

And for the most part, it’s working. And even if it didn’t, he has a funny way of looking at everything and anything as if it were leagues beneath him, so much so that you find it easy to simply duck your head and deem yourself unworthy of staying in his presence any longer than you already have. It’s weird, how simple it is to evade him — how predictable, easy, like child’s play. When he has just about given you as much attention as one would to a stray twig obstructing a sidewalk.

So, just like every other nagging worry, you stuff Bonten’s-Number-Two-Sanzu-Haruchiyo away in a cabinet for safe-keeping.

Time without Mikey also means that you’ll at least get a bit more time to yourself (albeit a large portion of it would be spent calculating how to avoid the man he left in his place). 

You’re using it wisely, you think — alternating between counting the grooves in the ceiling to toying with the strands of velvet rug in the middle of the too-spacious bedroom, to daydreaming until sprawling scenery of the outside-world blooms behind your eyelids… okay. So you haven’t been able to get anything truly productive done. So what? The word ‘productive’ feels alien in your mind — almost as if there’s something fundamentally cursed about its three syllables, as if it belonged in a realm unattainable to someone like you. You haven’t had to worry about being pro-duc-tive in years. It was always Mikey, Mikey, Mikey.

At some point, you think dismally, I’ll have to get up. But now is not the time. So you count, and count, until you feel your consciousness slipping away, and your eyelids droop, and you sink into a deep, dreamless sleep. Sleep that blunts the ache of isolation and the burning of your bruises, tip-toeing featherlight over your skin like a reminder of the person who left them. 

(Mikey doesn’t leave sticky notes on the fridge telling you to remember to brush your teeth and comb your hair. Everything he gives you comes from himself: his flesh and bone, his pain, his heart, his bruises.)

When time meanders forward, and inevitably touches upon evening, and you stir from sleep feeling an unbearable feeling of emptiness in your stomach (almost as if a large cavity was drilled into your abdomen), you shake the drowsiness away starting to feel an oncoming panic that Haruchiyo somewhere somehow found a way to sneak something into your breakfa— oh. That’s right.

You didn’t even have breakfast.

Your gut howls in agony. Reluctantly, you unwrap the self-made cocoon of blankets, preparing the mental artillery required to slip out the bedroom. 

Haruchiyo seems to be missing from the kitchen, which is a good thing, a pleasant thing — though you aren’t stupid to assume that he is shirking his duties as your ‘guardian’. Living in a sprawling penthouse with just two people, minus the seclusion, leaves you enjoying an overwhelming sense of privacy most of the time. But now? Now it feels like there’s bear traps under every tile in the floor, shuriken blades concealing themselves behind every groove in the ceiling (there were about 200 that you counted before dozing off).

It takes a few furtive glances down the corridor and you (fruitlessly) keep a knife within arm’s reach (‘I don’t know why I’m doing this it’s not like I’m even capable of wielding a knife��), but you get to work quickly, preparing a decent meal the only way you know how. The purple blemishes lining the expanse of your neck and thighs still throb in protest when you move, although now it’s become a dull, persistent, guileless ache. You’re all alone, since it appears that your housekeeper is nowhere to be found — got scared away, maybe?

Come to think of it, staff don’t stay for very long around the Bonten building (either that or the numbers are endless; every day you see a new face), and you were always too busy to pay attention to anything but the hulking man demanding your attention.

Even so, something about that particular woman made the word ‘bold’ pop up in your mind in thick, underlined letters.

She’s been around for a few weeks now, looking to be about the same age as you (maybe a little older?), and always wore her black hair pinned back neatly, revealing youthful and bright eyes. She isn’t permitted to stay long — no longer than when she finishes up cleaning and cooking food that’ll last the next few days — and neither of you know each other’s names. Though she did offer you the most sympathetic of smiles when the smell of good food left you poking your head into the kitchen. You think of it sometimes, when you’re lying in bed sleepless.

It’s been a long time since I’ve done this on my own, you frown, wiping sweat from your brow. Not that you haven’t cooked before, you have — you just can’t remember when. Your fingers curl feebly around the vegetable peeler, strips of potato skin falling onto the cutting board like ribbons. How long has it been, since you’ve put so much care into something other than Mikey? Again, you’re reminded of how much of your time that he eats up on the regular, like a blackhole both in his presence and absence; like a mechanical heart that your empty cavity of a ribcage can’t pump blood without. The thought alone should petrify you.

Don’t think about that.

There you go again, fretting over things that can’t be fretted about. You stubbornly follow the woman’s phantom movements from what little you gleaned from watching her from afar, guiding your hands over a boiling stove. The sizzles generating at the bottom of the metal pot reminds you of firecrackers. If your memory serves you well, there should be extra seasoning in the top cabinet. And you have to remember to work fast, too, just in case Haruchiyo decides to stick his head out in curiosity.

One by one, along with those forbidden thoughts, the various base ingredients are banished into the pot. Minutes later, you taste the thick broth with a spoon and damn, you realise, this actually tastes kind of good. This actually feels kind of good.

Yeah… yeah no, maybe you’re starting to get the hang of it. Maybe it’ll actually turn out okay after all — the next two days, your isolation, this makeshift stew. Not as good as the woman’s, but you reckon she’d give you a pass for trying. It’s only been a few days tops, but you cave and sigh; you kinda miss her presence. It gave you something to mull over amidst constant chao—

“What the hell are you doing?”

Your blood freezes.

At the doorway, Haruchiyo looks dishevelled, pissed, a single olive eye twitching. Your legs caramelise into a thick hardness, rooting you to the ground. The pot continues to sizzle above the flame. Since when did he…

“C-cooking?” you begin warily, glancing for the nearest exit, trying to keep an impervious look on your face even though every second that slips by a silent fear creeps up on you like a chokehold. You flinch as he stalks closer with the air of a forensic inspector, looking over the mess that is the kitchen, the wildly strewn pots and pans and utensils — all because you panicked and couldn’t find the ones you were looking for.

(Around the counter? No—that will take too much time. What if you shoved your way past him? No, god no—are you stupid? He’d catch you immediately—)

“You’re dumber than I thought,” he snarls, his mouth donning that prized scowl, leaning forward before you can react and jabbing a finger at the cutting board. “You don’t even know how to handle a fucking knife?”

“Wha—huh?”

You blink; the pellets of onion, potato and carrot lie limply on the scuffed wood. Misshapen little pieces, some thick and some way too thin. Your hands lie frozen in time, one grasping at a chunk of orange and the other gradually growing slick around the knife.

He clicks his tongue in disdain.

“At this rate, you’re going to kill yourself before I do.” Haruchiyo and the long tendons of his fingers pry the weighted blade out of the comfort of your hands. Insistently, in a way that tells you he’s mad—oh god he’s mad— but strikingly, without a touch of malice. Is he mad? Is he sober? He won’t turn it—the knife—on you—right? Your breath hitches.

“Mikey would maim me to a pulp if you succeeded in that little stunt,” he arches a brow, as if using Mikey’s name in such a manner left a bitter taste in his mouth. For some reason, blood rushes to your ears as you watch the man in an unbuttoned suit hunch over the cutting board. You give him space to examine the ingredients, biting your tongue in shame. “If you wanted food you could’ve just said so.”

You could’ve just said so.

Something doesn’t feel quite right about his words, but you’re too relieved to dwell on it. You are graced with a sliver of respite, a moment’s peace; at least you know Haruchiyo has no intentions of killing you. He can’t. Probably.

The silky-smooth incisions he makes on the vegetables and meat send a tremor down your spine, each chop bouncing around in your eardrums. He’s helping you and yet, you almost feel bad for wanting to run. You don’t want to know where he learnt to wield a blade like a razorlike extension of his fingers.

“You know a lot,” you whisper, biting your lip afterwards, minutes in when the aimless hovering becomes too much to bear. What the hell are you doing, trying to make small talk? 

“I know enough,” he shoots back, long lashes fluttering like large silver fans as he turns around to squint at you. He likes to look at you as if you were some ancient vase excavated from the earth, you realise. Or like a fossil. As if you originated from a completely different time from him.

Nothing much of a conversation passes between the two of you after that; you awkwardly go through the motions, trying your best to stay away. He mutters some weird cantation under his breath as he sections off the potatoes from the carrots, moves them over to a plate as he readies the meat.

It’s almost faelike, how systematic of a man he is. How quick he is to catch on, requiring minimal instructions from you, despite seeming like a person of inferior culinary calibre.

When he’s done, Haruchiyo pats his hands on his thighs, breathing a sigh. His gaze mulls over the piping stew still bubbling with the newly-added ingredients, before plucking itself away and landing on the door to the study just a distance from the kitchen (his hiding place; his deep cavernous den). Just before he saunters to the room, twisting a hand on the door knob, he says, “I don’t cook, so don’t expect me to.” 

(You didn’t.)

It was a brief encounter.

In the early dusk, long after your meal, you hear him crawl out of the study like an emerging creature of the night, and when you’re halfway through turning over a page in a novel (a dusty old one that you found hiding inside the drawers of the bedside table) you hear the sound of cutlery scraping against ceramic, echoing from where the kitchen must be.

It’s strange, the gladness that washes over you — you hadn’t really expected him to react, let alone try your cooking. Come to think of it, you weren’t even sure that he ate in the first place. (He said he doesn’t cook, but he knows the ‘correct’ way to use a knife? Odd.) You frown, none of the words on the page construing a decipherable meaning to you.

Maybe, just maybe, sharing the same space with Haruchiyo won’t be so bad after all (now that you know he eats and sleeps like a human being, is normal-functioning in most aspects of his physical body).

With this thought in mind, you carry on business as usual in your small corner of the house, lightly pondering which part of Japan Mikey has found himself embroiled in.

At nightfall, your ears unwillingly pick up loud thuds down the hallway, and you triple-check that the door is locked before climbing into the soft covers, stifling a shiver. Regardless of whether he’s been oddly tame or not, it’ll take a while to get used to this — the strange, unexplainable things that go bump in the night. 

The bed… feels emptier. Desolate. Something feels odd, like the calm before the storm. It’s just your imagination. You close your eyes, falling asleep imagining Mikey’s arm around your hip. Ironically, you can’t seem to sleep well without him.

∗

What is this?

He’s felt like this before, of that he’s certain. A longass time ago. Judging from the huge blip in his memory when Haruchiyo tries to recall, it must’ve been eons since then. Eons and eons and then some, back when inactive volcanoes still spat real, smouldering lava — he’s sure it’s been that long.

It’s curious, and it amazes him more than it disgusts him. He should be disgusted, the logical part of his brain adds; he should have just minded his business and carried on as usual. He should have let you cut yourself in that dangerous manner (what’s a tiny cut going to do, add another notch to the scar-ridden pole?) — let you experience what it’s like to live life with an impish brain. 

He wasn’t intending to interrupt. Ten, fifteen minutes must’ve ticked by, with him standing there in silence (you are quite the careless one). He couldn’t push down the onslaught of annoyance at the way you bent over backwards to reach the top shelf — are you trying to make his job difficult on purpose? Haruchiyo is a lawless beast, sure, but even beasts have their master’s orders to abide by, along with a special place in hell for those who don’t obey orders. Maybe that was your goal — maybe you wanted him gone. Maybe deep down you’re a spy sent to eliminate Bonten from the inside.

That is how he almost relished in pure excitement, at the promise of bloodshed regardless of how minor.

And yet, and yet, when he saw the flat silver falling just millimeters short of slicing into your soft digits, something compelled him to step in. (To help? Or to finish the job? No, he knows why. It was to chase this surreal, abstract feeling.)

Soft. Soft.

Haruchiyo parrots the word in his mind. Almost as if within it holds the secrets to the universe — and that if he keeps saying it, keeps feeling the weight of this single featherlight syllable on his tongue, that it’ll give him a revelation of sorts.

Your skin looked soft and your hand was soft and he can’t help but wonder if every inch of you down to your bones is soft.

He wonders how you had the time to teach yourself how to cook. Or if you’d already known before you were brought here (in any case you didn’t look very experienced). If the flavourful explosion in his mouth attests to his boss’ favourite dish. Comfort food, his brain supplies. What is that? He never understood the little nuances that people sprinkled in their vocabulary, though the terms lingered in his head like pesky flies. (If it’s shit, it’s just shit, right?)

He’d been so used to the staleness served at dilapidated bars that he’d forgotten almost completely what it means to have a proper meal. If it wasn’t stale or nasty it was too fancy for him to stuff down his throat — he has always been a picky eater, wanted things to be just right, but somehow the smell alone was enough to entice him out of the study.

And when he took the first bite, something strange happened. A feeling akin to warmth flooded his veins. (It’s amazing, isn’t it? It was like poison. His head started spinning and his mind morphed into a jumbled maze of thoughts; so deeply entrenched in its twists and turns he was, left palm slowly running across hedged walls, groping for an exit. Or trying to find whatever treasure, salvation, lied in the middle.) It never ever struck Haruchiyo that you might’ve snuck something extra into the food to incite this wild reaction in him. No— you’re too innocent for that. Kind. Warm. Trusting. Soft…

Not once did you knock on the door. Not that he expected you to. Not that he wanted you to. (You’re stupid but not that stupid.)

He must’ve been in there for hours, oscillating between the fabric of time and space, consciousness and unconsciousness blurring into one. 

Flashes — funny things, like trusting someone, like cutting his fingers by accident as a kid, sitting outside the doctor’s office (“What are they going to do to me?” a young boy with flaxen hair whispered. “They will put you in stitches. It will not hurt. Just a few pricks, nothing more,” someone whispered back… who?) — materialise before his consciousness often. Uninvited. Unwarranted.

When he is awake they come to him like blessings, like offerings to a long-forgotten deity. When he is asleep they take on the sparkle and sheen of a fairytale — so blurry and blinding that he could never hope to brush his fingertips across such an ethereal feeling in his mortal life.

Because a common thread was that these recollections (or fairytales, or glimpses into the ether, or as he personally likes to call them, fever dreams) never lasted long.

The feeling always, always chose to leave last — that silent poking and prodding going on without his consent, shady dealings happening at the edges of his conscience that scream at him to mourn for a past innocence, something that he has no chance of ever recovering. Memory, in this way, comes like slippery eels in the palm of his hand: if he’s lucky, he’ll catch one. If he isn’t, oh well.

“Fucking hell,” he grunts, plastering his spine to the back of chair in hopes of relieving the pain throbbing behind his eyelids. Defeat tastes acrid, bitter, on Haruchiyo’s tongue; it’s no use fighting the waves of agony strobing like a heat wave.

His arm adeptly loses feeling and the metal spoon crashes down onto the plate. It’s empty now, and his stomach is somewhat filled. Yet this shitty-ass migraine chooses to latch onto his brain like a leech. God. Can’t you just—I don’t know—let me off? This one, goddamn time, Haruchiyo curses. He’s pissed. He’s sure he left an extra stockpile of that good stuff somewhere…

Old habits die hard, but it’s difficult to dwell on it when all he can feel is gratefulness for his own foresight. Mikey finds ways to avoid him a lot when he doesn’t feel like entertaining his highs, kinda like throwing a bone to stave off a dog’s abundant energy. But for the most part, he lets Haruchiyo do his own thing — lets him chew on the proverbial bone to his heart’s desire. Thus, once again, Haruchiyo finds himself with a fistful of pills. (It’s the only way he knows to curb the pain.)

He’d really meant to pounce on you by now, he thinks, as he swallows another. Gulp. He meant to already sink his claws into your neck, the same way Mikey does. Gulp.

But he can’t. Right now he can’t even stand straight his head hurts so bad. As if something from within him wanted to turn his body inside out, displaying his innards.

And, fuck, when the itch resurfaces again like an old friend, there’s little he can do to stop it. (When has he ever been the type to argue with instinct, after all? If anything… he is a slave to it. It’s understandable. Mikey’ll forgive him. He’s too used to running free, veins pulsing at the first whiff of prey. It doesn’t do anyone good to cage a wild animal.)

Haruchiyo and his dimmed gemstone eyes, clouded over with a drug-filled haze — a comfortable, fitted collar around his neck and the leash held firmly within his grasp. A slave. A weapon to his own instinct. Nature proclaims that it’s law for predators to hunt prey. How many girls has he killed? How many that look like you and how many just to satisfy this instinct of purging prey.

Haruchiyo has lost count at this point. Everything blurs and twists into one: pill-shaped candy, the boy with pale hair, the warmth of the food that felt like a paperweight on his tongue… you clutching the tip of your finger, thick blood gushing out. (The ‘what-if’ that would’ve happened if he hadn’t interfered.)

Deeper and deeper, he starts to feel dizzy, as if he were plummeting down a rabbit hole. He stumbles from the kitchen and into the living room, heads towards the noise that made his ears prick up like a predator groping for blood. Thirst. He’s unbearably thirsty.

It’s not you— is that you? He goes rigid; blinks away hysteria. It’s you.

All he can think of is you— all he can think is, Mikey will forgive him.

∗

At an abandoned dock two cities away a figure sits patiently, embroiled in a decrepit darkness. Moonlight creeps across his hunched back like vines over a wall. Dark bangs fall messily across his face with some strands still matted in a sticky substance. Sweat, or blood. Mikey scrunches up his nose. If you were here, he wouldn’t have to worry about cleaning himself up.

But you aren’t. And the thought is enough to wind a bunch of thorns around his chest.

The cylindrical shape feels strange as heck against the insides of his mouth. He’s poked his tongue through the barrel a few times before, out of pure curiosity, like a cat toying with a ball of yarn trapped in its mitts. But the taste? Well, it’s just as he expected it to be — bland. Flavourless. Unappealing. Just as unappealing as life without you.

(The fuck? Takeomi called me all the way here just to deal with this?)

Then again, he did take a longer time than usual to exterminate the local pest populace. Mikey doesn’t know if this particular thorn in his side is exceptionally formidable, or if he is exceptionally off his game today. (Huh — no, that can’t be it. It’s not as if he saw hostile figures blurring into two then three then four like a cheap ninja trick, even as he struck them down unfazed; not as if, after the tenth one the blood got too heavy for him to focus, and everywhere he turned, intrusive images of your skin plagued his psyche like a disease… no, that can’t be it.)

(…Right? Right. No way.)

He’s miserable. He wants to go home. He wants to hold you and he wants to make you taste the barrel of the gun as he is now — make you run your tongue along its concave shape and ask if you can taste the gunmetal on your teeth and call you pathetic when you start trembling like you always do. Would you let him? (Of course you would. There’s nothing you wouldn’t do for him.) You are obedient, Mikey likes that about you, and you’re always willing to go along with his whims — though, he frowns, it’s mostly because you’re scared. Probably.

Somewhere in the dark a rat squeaks, scuttles into a crack, leaving the timid cry resonating within jagged walls. It reminds him of yo— he throws his head back and gives a long, hard groan, one that spirals in the stillness. 

Okay that’s it. He clutches his head. I’m getting out of here.

“Oi. Come, Senju,” he calls monotonously, not waiting up before hopping down, setting his course deeper towards the direction of darkness. A barely audible pair of footsteps follow close behind. But Mikey’s thoughts are occupied; he thinks about the flat surface of the gun and what colour it’d make your skin turn, and he thinks about Haruchiyo sitting faithfully in the penthouse, doing his job. (He’s a little worried, and that’s an understatement.)

Mikey sighs, nose breathing in the musty, oppressive smell of the sea.

One more day and he’ll be back where he was with you; one more day and he’ll be home. But at the very least, he thinks, this little business venture has turned out to be the tiniest bit amusing. His first time exploring Japan in months and he’s already got himself a souvenir to take home.

∗

It’s… raining.

A fine, feathery, bountiful rain that’s only noticeable from ripples of water cascading soundlessly on the full-length window, and floating umbrellas shielding commuters from the downpour hundreds and hundreds of floors below.

From your bird’s-eye view, they all but resemble dewdrops of microscopic colour, so far away that you can barely tell they’re alive. You press your palm flat against the glass, feeling the heat of your own skin absorb the cool surface, feeling the tiny vibration brought forth by the morning raindrops on the other side.

How long has it been? Since you’ve been on that other side?

A backdrop of grey paints the city. A familiar view, but one that you’ve never quite gotten used to. It’s quiet. Way too quiet, at that.

Where is Haruchiyo?

The chill spreads to the tip of your toes when they meet the marbled flooring. You slip off the couch, contemplating the merit in searching for a man you would otherwise do triple somersaults to avoid. Is this a good idea? You chew on your lip. It’s not. But where is he?

You’ve been feeling uneasy for the whole morning. Earlier there’d been a crash (multiple) coming from the hallway, and besides making you drop your book it also brought with it a nauseating wave of anxiety. Not that you expected Haruchiyo to be quiet at all times, goodness no (last night was a test of your patience), but there was a certain instinct imbued into you that made the hairs on your forearms stand on end whenever things were a hint out of the ordinary.

A certain intuition that came part and parcel with living with dangerous, scheming people.

Why is he grunting like that?

(That was a grunt, right? No… no, it definitely was.)

There was the sound of something sharp, like metal, grating against the floor — what was that? You scurry over to press your ear to the door, listening hard for anomalies, trying to conjure up hypotheses in your brain that don’t equal to Haruchiyo throwing a messy fit or getting ready to jump you or — well, kill you.

A clunk. Several thumps. A knife, maybe? Or he could be moving furniture, or, or—he could be practicing with his rumoured katana (you’ve never seen it but heard people talk about it in hushed whispers) — there’s no way to know for sure. All these unidentified sounds send seismic fear rippling through you.

With Mikey there was no need to question anything, because it was only a matter of time until you found out. But now that you’re alone — alone and defenceless and the most vulnerable you’ve ever been since you were fresh out the womb — it strikes a waning courage in your steps as you venture into the unknown, sweaty palms encircling the cool metal door knob, trying your hardest to stifle the click it makes when it unlocks.

Slowly, you tiptoe over to the source of the sound. Because it couldn’t hurt to just take a peek. Right? Just to check in. Just to be safe. Just to make sure he isn’t putting funny stuff inside your cupboards.

And. Well. If you were being honest, being Mikey’s little pet must’ve changed you a lot.

Complacency that thickened your skin, artificial layers of cosmetics over baby-smooth doll fabric. The false sense of protection under Mikey’s invisible iron fist comes with its own, hefty price. It must have gotten to you somehow. It must have done something to build up that liquid courage in your veins, in its own twisted way, surely, because—because no sooner than when you poke your head through the doorway into the living room do you see it.

See them.

You stare at the pile of grisly red organs splattering the cold hard floor; stare at death itself.

And, on top of it, as if crowned the victor, no one but Haruchiyo hunches leisurely over the grisly mound of flesh. Cleaning the mess behind his fingertips with his tongue. Eyeing his handiwork. The glinting edge of the tiny scalpel in his hand still dripping with scarlet, sharp edge pointed towards god knows what’s left of that person ohgod—

Your gut drops to the floor in horror. That uniform. That’s her. That’s the woman. Shit—fuck. What was once a sweet young woman is now a mangled corpse by the hands of Haruchiyo. Something… something is terribly wrong. She doesn’t look like she’s been dead for minutes. No, her eyes are far too cold. Like gaping holes. There is blood from her mouth, no, there is blood everywhere —

Haruchiyo hums, his rosier-than-cotton-candy hair dip-dyed in scarlet. Drip, drip. “Looks like… ah, I’ve roused the attention of our reclusive little rabbit.”

It’s the same man who’d grasped your hand in a courteous gesture just the day before, who’d saved you from slicing your fingers, the same goddamn murderer who’s just got his hands on the only person in years to address you like a regular human being. Idiot. You’ve done it this time. You’re a fucking dumbass. He’s a murderer, murderer — he’s going to kill you.

You’re next.

“What’s wrong, little bunny?” His grin only widens at your stupor, your slow, petrified jaw hanging agape. “You look scared. Do I make you feel scared?”

Your legs won’t budge; you whimper.

Run. Runrunrun — your body is screaming at you, imploring you to hurry the fuck up and run for your goddamn life, but you don’t. Pleas fall on deaf ears. Your body is caught in a bear trap, forcing you to take in the gruesome scene before you. There is so, so much blood. More than you’ve ever seen in your life. And all of it, all of it, is hers. 

Just the other day she greeted you with her usual warm smile. Just the other day she was a living, breathing human, who ate and slept and radiated heat.

“Your face tells me you want to run,” he trills, eyes narrowing into slits. “Gonna run away?”

His tone is shrill as a sharpened blade, deranged, with every word mounting into maniacal glee. “Run with your little tail tucked between your cute thighs, back to your big, strong Mikey?”

Bloodshot and unfocused eyes zero in on your face and his body convulses like a zombie erecting from the dead, joints creaking like bars of scaffold. Slowly, assuredly, he rises to one knee, he points the scalpel at his own collarbone, and wait, wait, why is he— 

“Look here, little bunny,” he coos, a big wide smile twisting the scars on his mouth; his wrist twitches, yanks, the blade following suit, dipping obediently into his own flesh. His own skin. His own blood that leaks pure sparkling scarlet from a thin crevice. 

A scream tears through the room, one you can only feel is yours from the vibrations ringing in your hollow throat — he doesn’t wince. Sheer horror sends your body flying back, hands clasped tight in front of your face to shield you from the deep dark red. This is a nightmare. This can’t be real. Red is matted to pink strands of hair, red is glittering across his mouth like the snout of a beast, red is slowly advancing across the carpet. Wake up. You tremble, whimper. This is bad this is bad this is bad.

A cackle rips into the air, one with a chilling, blood-curdling echo bouncing off the walls, and no sooner than when he takes a step forward does the impenetrable cement in your veins crack. 

Fight or flight.

You turn and bolt, feeling the weight of your numb appendages carrying you as far as possible, away from that—that sickening blood, that red crawling ever so closely towards you like hot, molten lava—

You race, stumble, dive into Mikey’s room (Idiot! Mikey isn’t even here! The exit — you have to get to the exit!), managing to grab a spare key off the counter before fleeing like a bat out of hell towards the front door, salvation, the only way out.

“Where do you think you’re going? I’m not done with you yet.”

But then your back’s hitting the wall as you scramble to flee, jolts of the impact swelling up your spine as you hurtle into a dodge when Haruchiyo lunges, bloodied fingertips snatching your wrist and pulling pulling yanking, until the keys crash to the ground with a deafening clatter, until you’ve been sucked into the floor with a scream clawing at your throat, until you’re submerged limb by limb into that deep deep red that you hate.

“NO no no no no, letmego, letmeg—”

“Shh, shh!”

The cool tip of the blade drags along your cheek, thinly scraping against the surface, slicing into half the wet tracks that tears have left on your face so that slivered carmine wells up through the broken skin. His body has no right being this warm, pressed up against you, your knees and arms already going slick with blood. It’s over. He’s caught you.

Your eyes stay screwed shut amidst the barrage of hot tears bursting behind your eyelids. He has you pinned down for good, you realise, a strained whimper fighting its way in the back of your throat. There is no escape. The pain is real. You can feel the slim thread of blood rolling down your cheek, mixing with the tears — only for him to lean closer, lapping up the traces of it with a satisfied chuckle.

His saliva leaves a slimy, wet sensation on your skin. It’s the worst feeling you’ve ever felt in your life.

“Please… I won’t tell anyone… I won’t tell Mikey— please, just let me go…”

“Ah ah ah.” The man — Sanzu Haruchiyo — hushes you again, a finger on your lip, his shuddering breath fanning erratically on your face, his voice fading into yet another hysterical chuckle. But it’s deep, breathy, and taunting, thrumming loudly in his chest, and sending a tremor through your very soul. “I think you’re forgetting a teensy, tiny fact, little bunny— Mikey’s not here.”

Your nose fills with iron when he is this close. Haruchiyo’s eyes — those bulging, green masses of insanity — shift and convulse as if you were faced with the mouth of an abyss. His grip on your wrists tightens to an agonising degree the more you plead and squirm, leaving you with no choice but to hold your breath, hoping desperately that someone will come to your rescue.

Where is Mikey? 

You’re going to die here. You’re going to die here… and there’s nothing you can do about it. Pushed up against this psycho killer, who’s just murdered a person innocent of all crime, an outsider who shouldn’t even have been here. Is this how you find closure? From someone other than Mikey? 

Manjiro… the thought is enough to shoot a terrible pain in your heart, something unwarranted like denial, like indescribable terror, like—like regret. 

I never told him I love him.

Twin dilated pupils absorb the sight of your writhing, suffering form, shuddering in their sockets from unmatched euphoria.

“Why don’t we play a little?”

∗

Truth be told, Haruchiyo doesn’t know what time of day it is, what day it is, and all he remembers is feeling fatigued with an indescribable, insatiable hunger. He thinks he’s never felt so dissatisfied in his entire life.

But this… this is nothing short of a feast, isn’t it?

“You…” he begins, seething through his ultra-wide grin. “You’re a huge slut!”

His hands, not knowing where to touch, land greedily on every inch of your traitorous skin. Groping, taking, as if the gates to heaven inexplicably opened; a creature of hell, he is — a pitch-black entity descending upon a fine-feathered angel. He can’t stop himself, not when you’re so helpless to fend him off.

“If I had known… that you would be going around getting wet at every man touching your little pussy like this…” He bites back a laugh, the scarred edges of his mouth contorting. 

You look confused — terrified, but mainly confused. And scared as to why he hasn’t ripped apart your insides yet and god you’re fucking delicious. Your nightdress has long been torn to shreds. Blood — not yours — is splattered everywhere on the marble flooring. Haruchiyo’s obscene groans come like second nature at this point. It’s good, it’s too good — your cries, your shivering, your scent, the way that he can taste how salty your tears are and hear the wetness gathering at his fingers. 

“You’re a damned whore, aren’t you?”

You look stunned, stupefied, as if your little brain can’t comprehend what Haruchiyo wants to do to you, as if the squelching noises coming from between your thighs are a mechanism separate to your conscious body — as if they don’t tell him all he needs to know. 

“S-stop,” you snivel, wrists straining in his grip, though he thinks it couldn’t possibly hurt from the way you can’t help your half-moans, so delicate and frantic, flitting about in his ears like a pair of small butterfly wings. “Stop, please, a-ah, don’t touch me there—”

“Here? Oh, but what if I want to?”

Frankly, this is the most fun that he’s had in ages — your kitten-like mewls and crystalline tears, soft hips twisting fruitlessly and the friction only serving to make his blood rush south, adrenaline sizzling in his veins even more so than when he was in the midst of mutilating that dumb placeholder, that fake…

“You feel so nice and soft inside, little bunny.”

Haruchiyo shoves his fingers past the lips of your cute slit, prodding and poking like it’s his first time touching a virgin. Warm, tender, and suckling on him like a fawn to its mother’s breast… the gentle clasp of your pussy against his fingers feels like nothing short of heaven. God almighty, no wonder Mikey couldn’t keep his hands off of you. His cock becomes erect, the tip becoming sensitive as it strains against precum-soaked fabric.

He watches you squirm, watches as your tits heave with every breath you take. For the first time Haruchiyo is close to you, closer than ever before, to the point where if he brandished the scalpel now there’s no telling whether he’ll lose control and gouge your pretty eyeballs out in a fit of blind lust. Just like he did to so many others before you — just like those other porcelain, fragile, counterfeit dolls. (Except there’s really nothing that comes so close to perfection as the real thing.)

“What do you think is stopping me from killing you, hm?” 

He poses this question in the midst of circling your shining pearl, bringing you closer and closer to climax, coaxing panicked moans out of you as if the realisation just hit you that maybe he will rip apart your insides after all. 

Then, when you whine out instead of replying, Haruchiyo pauses, pressing his weight against your soft body for good measure, keening at your smell. He sighs—

“It’s because torturing you fucking turns me on.”

You used to smell like roses — like Mikey. But the you in this moment smells like sex, sweat, and potent iron, blood from his fresh killing and blood from his own flesh and bone; he has never felt such uncontrollable desire in his life. This is it, he thinks, this is the treasure waiting for him at the end of the maze. 

His lips latch on and suckle on your exposed nipple, tongue circling and biting and lapping hard until it draws cries of pain. His face returns to your neck, a slimy tongue sticking out and coating you with saliva, feeling himself quiver with desire when your entire body convulses. His hard length grinds against your inner thigh like a mad dog, eager to insert itself into your warm and inviting hole. 

But not yet. Just a little more.

He releases your wrists. Sharp nails latch themselves onto your scalp, straining against the roots of your hair to tug you eye-to-eye with his gaze. People like to say that Haruchiyo gets a spine-chilling, deranged gleam in his eyes when he’s in the middle of torturing someone — what do you see this time?

A monster? The devil himself? Or something more divine? Otherworldly? Something like a god?

His teeth sink into his bottom lip; not bad, he credits his brain, eyeing the tremble of your lip and the way tears cascade down your cheeks and jaw and drip onto your breasts, he might just crave to make you worship him. More than anyone else. More than his King; make you become his own private devotee.

“Does Mikey also do this?” Haruchiyo’s gravelly voice whispers filthy vice in your ear. “Does he? Tell me.”

Your back hits the floor. He sticks another finger, two, then three, inside your cunt, wriggling and feeling for the one spot that makes your toes curl and your back arch. Your non-stop whining, your incoherency, your lack of capacity for full sentences, all of it is starting to unravel his control — spilling out like a spool of thread underwater, dispersing never to be reeled in again.

“Tell. Me.” 

“N-no!” you rasp, hips quaking. 

“Liar,” he smiles. You’re a liar. You’re a filthy liar. He saw you. “What does he do to your little clit, huh? Rub, rub. Oh, you feel so soft and slippery here.”

“Stop, please, a-ah! It’s too much, it’s too much…”

“It’s okay it’s okay it’s okay,” he is quick to comfort, fingers speeding up, abusing your tiny nub, as if his ears were blotting out your frantic cries and tearful struggle. So, so sensitive. He almost feels like you’ll break. “Cum all you want. Again and again. We’ve got all day.”

He attaches his lips like a parasite to your cheek, licking at the small cut, sucking every drop of blood that leaks out, all while his fingertips never cease their momentum. You resist and jerk away from his face, only for him to wrench your jaw tightly in place.

“No, I don’t want to cum, I don’t—” You struggle like a rabbit with its hind legs bound, teeth sinking into your bottom lip in a feeble effort to mute your cries of pleasure. “I-I’m gonna—”

You cum without warning; a spray of liquid pools at your entrance, your thighs spasming under him as if charged with electricity. He coos as if to cheer you on. Fuuuck. He’s not done. There’s no way. Droplets of your juices taste like dews on his tongue; so much he wants to do, but he only has two hands. 

As you reel, incapacitated with the afterglow of your orgasm, his palm lets go of your face to wrap around the flushed tip of his cock, giving a few sharp pumps, imagining what it feels like to be buried in your warmth. Well, he won’t have to imagine much longer.

“So pretty, you’d put every other girl to shame,” he mutters, pressing a kiss to your forehead, and another to your lips, silencing your whimpers. “I hated you, god, but turns out you’re good for at least one thing.”

“Let me… let me go…”

“Nah. But did it feel good?” He wants to break you. He wants to see you drowning in so much pleasure that you collapse and black out and crave nothing but his cock.

Your face scrunches up. You’re looking at him, he thinks. Though your expression looks weird, and you’ve stopped struggling.

“Mikey… Mikey’s gonna… he’s gonna be so mad,” you start to hiccup, tears dripping silently onto the marble, bottom lip trembling. Haruchiyo goes still, watching you cry at a loss for words.

He’s confused.

Mikey? Really? At a time like this? And he sees it again. That blatant softness that filters over your eyes — that ickiness. You’re so in love with his King that it’s pathetic.

It hadn’t been obvious before, but it is now. It’s thickening the skin between your heart and the outside world: it’s still there, the veins permeating the layer of visibility just barely, but the pulsing is faint.

And he sneers. Who do you think you are?

“You came because you’re a disloyal whore and you know it. Looks like you didn’t really love him after all, huh?”

At his words, you let out a hurt-filled gasp, as if they made their way into your heart and deposited lashes of agony there. Your mouth hangs open with tears still streaking down your face. The sight makes him want to coo at you.

“Look — you’re all messy and slick down here.”

Before you can tell him to stop, his fingernail scratches your abused clit, hard and fast as if trying to coax another orgasm out of you. Just one more. You can endure it, right? He’s watched Mikey do worse to you. He’s watched Mikey splay your legs open at his mercy and threaten to let every man in the room have their way with you.

Your body thrashes in retaliation but it’s no match for Haruchiyo’s strength, helpless to fight back as he pushes you further and further until you splutter and give a keening cry.

“What would Mikey think if he saw you like this?” he laughs, tuning out your pleas to slow down. “He’d fucking kill you.”

Another spray of your juices — another sharp scream of pleasure. By the third, fourth, your body starts trembling in overstimulation.

“I’m going to make you cum, again and again. Until you regret ever coming here. Make you regret trying to tempt my King.”

Haruchiyo mindlessly nibbles at your ear, before brutish hands reach down to force your legs wider. It’s about time, isn’t it? His cock throbs painfully at the wait.

“No, no, no… you can’t—”

He ignores you, rearranging his hips so they align with yours, gripping your abdomen like a vice as if trying to bruise. More, more, more. All his filthy fantasies start to spill out of the crevices in his brain. All he can do is watch the lavish black rush out in an endless downpour, and he, wrought with an incurable thirst, helps himself to your body, spellbound by the adrenaline you incite in him and the softness and warmth that you—

Ouch. He feels a prick.

From his shoulder, a tiny cut. A warm drop of blood beads at the broken skin. Ah. you’ve got your puny, trembling fingers on the handle of the scalpel.

How clever. A laugh bubbles from his throat.

“Oh, little bunny. Are you sure you want to do that?”

His hand removes itself from your body, snatching the blade out of your grip. You panic and try to retrieve it, but in your moment of desperation he chuckles and slides his cock in, stuffing you with inches of his length at one go, stretching you out like a cushy sleeve. 

You yelp, foal legs kicking at air. Haruchiyo takes the time to tuck the blade away. 

“Stupid, stupid,” he clicks his tongue as you wail in defeat, tiny paws padding at his chest like you want him to pin you down harder — like you crave for him to abuse your little hole until you can’t walk for the rest of the year. “You’re just a little stupid, aren’t you? Gone all mush-brained from me teasing you?”

He wastes no time in bottoming out, leaving the tip brushing against your womb, beating on the squishy walls again and again. His pace is manic, uncaring, straight from the get-go. Nothing can compare to you. Your tight, slick walls accommodate him so lasciviously, so perfectly, that he swears you know what you’re doing. 

“You know what? I’m not even mad. Not when you’re the best fuck I’ve ever had.” His King has an eye for quality, he thinks, adjusting his grip so he can thrust deeper in you.

A mess of blood, cum, tears — a mess that he has made you, forced onto you like ink on a canvas, and he bled a bottomless black. You’re coming around slowly, letting the ink sink into your putty flesh and submitting yourself to the sensation, hips unknowingly rising to meet the timing of his thrusts. That’s more like it, he licks his lips. You’re cute. Obedient. He wouldn’t mind taking you home.

“Hey, hey. Here's—uh—an idea. Why don’t you become my own cocksleeve? I’ll tell Mikey that you—hah—fought real hard, but you just couldn’t resist putting a thick, hard cock inside you. I’ll tell him you couldn’t help it.” 

Haruchiyo chuckles mid-pant, having grown rather fond of you and your insides. He’s heaving like a beast, sweat gathering at his forehead, eyes squeezing shut to ride out this pure bliss. It’s a first for him. Has he been doing sex wrong his whole life?

“After my King disowns you… after he throws you out on the streets… I'll pick you up and give you a home. this little pussy… I’m going to make it my own.”

“Ah, ah— sto— ah…”

You’ve gone stupid for good, now. Your eyes are rolling to the back of your head, mindless babbling spilling from your lips (he can barely make out Mikey’s name in poor, broken syllables), your breasts bouncing and pussy twitching as it overflows with juices. All words are lost to you in this state. 

And yet you’re still hugging his thickness diligently, just like a custom-made cocksleeve. He really ought to reward you. Haruchiyo reaches down to stimulate your clit and shudders at the feeling of you clenching tighter.

That far-off look in your eyes, your thighs periodically convulsing with spurts of cum spraying out pathetically between your folds — it’s almost too good to be true. You’re spent, brainless, mouth agape and tongue lolling out with drool overflowing from the sides when Haruchiyo finishes in you. He can make out broken parts of your speech: feeble efforts of voicing his name.

Not Mikey’s. His.

“You’re mine to play with now,” he says, throwing his head back in laughter at your pitiful mewls. “What do you think? You don’t have any objections, do you?”

Without thinking, with a heightened lust that betrays all logical thought, he sheathes himself again, all the way to the brim with a heady groan. The cum still potent and thick inside your hole spills out and paints his cock in a hot mess of liquid.

Your mouth opens in a silent scream, eyes glazed over with so much pleasure that you look as if you were far, far above the clouds.

“I'll take that as a yes.”

[lifea16]

Mastermind live thoughts [Spoilers below cut]

The animation is amazing like oh my god! 💕

Ah, gonna be the Stolas trial I see

Andre stop flirting with your sister

✨Unpaid interns✨

Fuck.. double trial I see

RUN

Be fucking faster

Why do they sound like the cherubs

What is this….?

“Face the music” is honestly a bit too funny

Trailer scene time!

FUCK

Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck

Blitz you don’t deserve to be deadnamed :/

???

Andre what did I just say, stop flirting with her, at some point comphet is cursed

Oh thank Satan (?) that Blitz actually defended himself against the possibility he forced himself onto Stolas

Candle head in Wrath?

Vassago bilingual? And he here!

Don’t you wanna take Stolas down first??

Yep.. they are claiming Blitz S/A’d Stolas in the trial. Fuck. At least hopefully the Blitz antis will realise they’re wrong in the episode

Bestie (/s) I think you got Blitz and your sister’s names confused. Put Stella on trial coward

Grimour, Stricker

You tell them Blitz!

Poor Mox :(

Go off Bea!! /pos

Yep you too Ozz! Tell ‘em

Mammon aren’t you Ace?? Don’t you want not to be fucked??

Satan looks a lot more like a Candlehead than I would’ve thought

How is this not the finale?? AAAA

Well shit….

Yay! Classism!

Poor Fizz, seeing your best friend (?) almost get executed live on TV! TF

Blitz sacrifices himself (tries to) <//3

(My hc) “Bitches (Blitz) say “I wanna die” like a broken record, but when you almost get executed on live tv, you shit yourself

Stolas save your future boyfriend now!!!

Go off Blitz! Tell ‘em off on their classism

As much as I understand not liking racial coding, .. Blitz and imps in general especially in this episode are very POC coded, with a lot of he’ll just being racist

</3

No Blitz don’t accept your fate 😭😭😭😭😭😭

Stolas ex machena please please please please

😭😭😭😭😭😭

Why Blitz must you care so fucking much about your family and if I could cry I’m pretty sure I would be by now

The screencap I paused on is so pretty.. To bad it’s Blitz getting executed (And almost made me wanna cry) or I’d make it my banner

Aaaaa

Fuck yes Stolas!!

Blitz is saved !! ✨⭐️💕

Boyfriends protecting eachother 💕

Yay! Songs! <3

XD “half a brain”

“Some kind of Mastermind-“ roll credits

Stolas I know you’re dealing with rascists but please don’t act like that with Blitz rn ur doing a regression and I hope it’s an act

Nevermind lol kinda

Yep. This is a clear racial allegory. No hiding it now

Fancy ahh reveal Stolas

Also we just shifted the “I’ll sacrifice for my loved ones” horse to Stolas instead of Blitz

Stolas ur an idiot too

Fuck yes! Romantic ish Stolitz duet part!

No Blitz you fucking deserve to live <333

And I’m back too “if only tears could fall” again.. Please Blitz take his sacrifice and save him after that till the system breaks and you two will be free

Either death or.. whatever happened last two episodes

Shit

Where is Lucifer? Just because Luci’s in his depression era doesn’t mean you are the ruler of hell Satan

Oh nevermind

The sins have existed before Luci fell. Interesting

Blitz is so defensive over Stolas and his life ahh 💕😭

Step 1: *Panic* , Step 2: “Wow this is a sturdy door”

Blitz is being silly but not swearing so he must be concealing his emotions again

<33 Group hug <33

Are we starting some weird chain now (Octavia was now alerted and running for Stolas)

Or not..

Poor Via </3

Loophole! Also more racism allegory!

Banishing him is actually a decent idea (for once)

Ohhh Andrealphus just wants power. Honestly I should have figured sooner lol

If this is Mastermind then what the actual fuck will Sinmas be (unless it’s another Queen Bee situation)

100 years.. So have a relationship with Blitz and once that’s done go back to royalty! Sounds great!

..wait are we getting imp Stolas

Nevermind lol. Just hatless

He will enjoy very much

Ooh!~ Our theories were right! (Stolas must also learn classism the hard way for a bit)

So the white pupils are permanent now

<3

OMG Blitz hero! Yay!!! <3

<3333

Blitz is at an all time high and Stolas is at an all time low.. interesting

<33333

So.. are they immediately dating now?

THIS WAS ALL SO AMAZING!! Favourite episode now!

[pinkamour1588]

Red, White, and Royal Blue Masterlist

**=NSFW

Fics

All links to AO3 unless noted otherwise.

Jealous of a goddamn...Wait. What?**

Rating: E Word count: 1,704 Summary: The second the door closed behind them, Alex was shoving Henry back against it. “Hello to you too, dear,” Henry laughed. “Fuck you and your polo playing.”

Blue

Rating: T Word count: 2,567 Summary: Sometimes the bad days come when they're least expected.

Bloom**

Rating: E Word count: 5,288 Summary: It wasn’t that Alex hadn’t considered it in the year and half they’d been dating. It was more that he didn’t consciously consider it until the thought crossed his mind too many times to ignore. Or Alex wants to try bottoming.

Darling

Rating: T Word count: 1,038 Summary: Sometimes Alex needs a little help taking care of himself because ADHD is a bitch.

Comfortitties (link to fic on AO3)

Rating: T Word count: 283 Summary: Alex has a unique way of relieving stress after work one day.

Pressure Points**

Rating: E Word count: 1,020 Summary: Alex discovers he enjoys a little deep pressure therapy in times of stress.

Spreading Book Cheeks**

Rating: E Word count: 3,002 Summary: “I won’t say it again…If I get to spread a different set of cheeks.” Aka Alex makes a bad joke and they end up in the bedroom

Invincible

Rating: T Word count: 7,807 Summary: Reasons Henry will be fine: 1. He’s been playing polo for years. 2. He’s definitely fallen off a horse before. 3. Even though he’s fallen off a horse before, he was fine afterwards. 4. He wears the best protective gear money can buy. 5. He’s Henry. 6. He has to be fine.  Or Henry gets injured while playing polo.

Forever

Rating: T Word count: 1,734 Summary: As soon as Henry laid eyes on Alex, he felt his eyes well up with tears. He rushed down the staircase, meeting Alex halfway and immediately grabbing hold of him. His knees gave out and he pulled Alex down with him onto the steps. OR An extended version of the staircase scene. *Additional note: exclusively movie universe, not the book universe

In the middle of the night...

Rating: T Word count: 1,587 Summary: “Hey, Henry. Are you awake?” Alex asked, staring up at the ceiling in the dark. “Unfortunately,” Henry sighed into his pillow. OR Alex asks ridiculous questions when he can't sleep.

Never Forget You

Rating: T Word count: 3,637 Summary: Henry always visits Arthur's grave on the anniversary of his death, but what happens when he can't?

Doesn't have to be Louis V

Rating: T Word count: 1,028 Summary: “They’re just a little…much sometimes.” Henry frowned. “What do you mean?” “You buy me a lot of stuff, babe.” “No, I don’t.” Or Henry's love of buying Alex random gifts becomes a bit much.

Princess**

Rating: E Word count: 4,469 Summary: “Fuck no. You’re an arse,” Henry answered. “And you’re a brat.” “You say it like it’s a bad thing.” Or Henry is a bratty submissive and Alex puts him in his place.

Headcanons

Henry & the Spanish language

Alex & the shelter

Firstprince Sticky Notes

Henry and Philip's friend from uni

[exeggcute]

the internet and Tumblr in general was already full of shut ins with anxiety and COVID has obviously transformed many of them into hypochondriac agoraphobes who are well trained on moralizing lol. there are people who still think we should never have ended lockdown and that it somehow had no negative social or economic impacts, or at least that the economy is fake enough that those impacts weren't really real

lol yeah. answering this in daylight hours I feel like I should preface it with a note about how I've been masking consistently for four years straight (and have only recently started easing up in certain situations), have lost respect for and/or ended friendships with people who were doing reckless shit during the height of the pandemic, all that. god knows I have an anxious hypochondriac shut-in streak lol. but if the bitch with contamination OCD who's been doing the "disinfect your phone when you get home" thing for years and years before covid and who has literal nightmares about people wearing shoes in my house is like hey guys I think you might be exaggerating some of this just a bit. well. imagine how literally anyone else is gonna feel...

also for reference the thing that got me on this soapbox was an article I saw shared on bluesky about how san francisco is currently experiencing "the highest covid wastewater rates ever measured," which immediately sounded off to me, so I read the damn article, and what it actually seemed to be saying was that there's a summer spike in CA right now same as there's been for the last several summers, and SF currently has a higher rate than any other region in CA at the moment. (the article was legit poorly written to the point where it was hard to tell, but a different wastewater graph someone pulled up seemed to corroborate my reading of this. the current spike is still a fraction of pre-vaccine spikes.)

which, like, is useful information even without the embellishment! I would appreciate knowing that so I could adjust my behavior accordingly. and I'd like to believe that your average person who's receptive to stuff would also take the truth in good stride. so why do we have to fucking lie about it lol.

and to some extent I really do get the impulse to catastrophize because there's no way around it: we super duper fucked up the initial covid response. many individuals were callous and most institutions failed to protect us. but at the same time (1) barn door situation and (2) I don't think exaggerating risks now does anything to compensate for the downplayed risks being peddled to us for the last several years. it's more than fair to celebrate wins when they come (all the new tools in our anti-covid toolbelt, improved case/death rates) without erasing the many many losses up to this point.

still gonna wear a mask on airplanes and shit for the rest of my life though. I'm glad that's an iota more socially acceptable now (and jealous of places where it's already been the norm this whole time) because people are fucking nasty!!!

[fanofstuff01]

THIRD CHAPTER BABY!

So recall for people who didn’t read the first part: Adam fell and accidentally sold his soul to Valentino, he became one of his favorite whores. And became coworkers with Angel. Also this has 2 more chapters. (first part second part)

Does this include a liitle Adamsapple? Maybe one-sided? I have no idea

This has little to no in real life Valentinos, just whatever trigger warning you think that one Angel voicemail scene has applies here. Also you can punch me, I’m an ignorant on alcohol and I might’ve wrote Angel’s exact same voicemail scene on Adam…

Tags: @woah-why-i-am-here @rius-cave @candyhoiic @puparella @fightinsoda @foreverpeachy2010 @dlf24866

I hope you all have a fantastic day/night <3

“You are NOT pretty by any way!” A pink figure screamed.

Angel was running away from an exorcist. He was out of the Hotel and to his luck, he stumbled to her. Normally he’d shoot her, but he knew she wouldn’t hesitate to bring him with herself to the double death. He saw someone trying to stab her, but she just killed him. He guessed she wanted to see Angel try escaping, get tired and then kill Angel sadistically, because she wasn’t flying.

“Oh shit.” He stared at the wall. It was a dead end. This was it. End of his 138 years. He leaned to the wall and closed his eyes but the pain he expected didn’t came. Instead, he felt something on his legs. It was the exorcist. She was unconscious. Maybe even dead.

“I’m sorry Daisy.” Someone familiar spoke. “Come here bitch.”

“Adam?” He asked. He couldn’t believe it.

“I told you to come here. You are fucking bleeding.” He held his hand out to him and Angel took it.

“Did you just..?”

“Don’t think you mean anything to me. Valentino would fucking end me if he finds out I let something happen to you.” He helped him getting up and led him to a place nearby, it seemed like a hotel.

“How did you even know I was there?”

“L- Some other of them chased me down. You were near my hotel. I saw you.” He simply said, looking away. “Are you gonna get inside? You need treatment.” He stood at a door.

“I-I guess.” He was still shocked. What?

“Good. Follow me.”

He kept following the first man and inspected him. Most of the feathers on his right wing were torn off, his clothes were ripped and he had lots of tiny scars all over his body, one on his forehead looked a bit serious, still sort of bleeding. Why is he is more caring about me when he himself is bleeding? He definitely went through something. Maybe something with the angel he said that was following him?

“How did you even managed to take her down so fastly!?”

“I was their fucking leader. I trained them before. Of fucking course I know their weak spots.” He opened a door for Angel. “Get inside.”

“Ooh.” He sat down to a messed up bed as the sinner went to get medical supplies.

“Give me your arm.”

Firstly, he cleaned and disinfected his arm, causing a low hiss. He then took a bandage and started bandaging his left arm as he just stared at him.

They weren’t exactly on the term of friends at that moment. Angel still didn’t forgot who he was, and the other sinner was still hating the whole hell, so they just tolerated eachother. However, he was on the gray area for now to Angel. He knew it could be hard to drop your pride and accept this was your place now.

But no matter which area he was in, he would NOT expect him to be the one to protect him.

“What happened to your wing?”

“None of your fucking business.”

“Are you going to fix that?” He pointed to his head.

“Maybe.”

“Why did they even show up? Today’s not the extermination day!” Angel was starting to get annoyed.

“I have no fucking idea. And done. You have to be more careful, slut.”

“Ii… Will.” He looked around the room as the former exorcist went to put the supplies back. It was a cool room at all, but it was messed up as hell. Maybe even worse than the one they were in.

“Soo… Do you think there are more of them?” He carefully asked. His colleague didn’t seem to be in the right mindspace. Not that he cared though.

“As I said, I fucking have no idea.” He lied down to his bed and pulled his blankets, completely ignoring the other demon.

“Do you want me to go?”

“Do whatever you want. I don’t care.” He closed his eyes, supposedly trying to go to sleep.

“Hey. Get up.” Angel realized the torned part of his wings were bigger when he lied down, and so was the bleedig point.

“What the fuck.”

“I dunno much about wings, but DO know you can’t ignore the blood lake on your forehead. Sit down. I’ll take care of it.”

“Why would you do that.”

“What do you think Val would do to me if he found out I let YOU die? Was that because of angelic steel?”

“Oh. Yes.” All of his words were blank and emotionless. Even when he asked questions, he wasn’t curious or surprised or any other kinds of things a question could carry. He just wanted the information, and when he got it, it was over. No reaction.

“Okie.” He brought back the supplies he used to the bed. Like he did, he cleaned the blood first. But the other porn demon didn’t flich like he did when he pressed the disinfection cotton to his face. Just one of his eyes twitch. Lastly, he bandaged it. “Is there somethin you can do for your wings?”

“No there isn’t.” He lied down again. Well he could use something to ease the pain but he deserved it.

“Okay… I guess I’ll go then.” He collected the medic kit and put it back.

See you tomorrow?”

“I guess. Goodbye.”

“Bye” What the fuck happened to this fucker?

— Continuing —

“Seriously, you need to stop drinking THAT much at nights. One day you’ll get a hungover on a work day and Josh says Valentino becomes an even bigger piece of shit if he realizes.”

“C’moon, I AM being careful! I’m almost as old as the fuckin Earth is!”

“Just a warning.” They sat down at the bar and Adam put his mask on the table. “Where’s Husker?”

“Him and Bambi left for some important shit I gue-“

“Hey gays!” Someone behind them cheerfully said and alarm bells started to scream in Adam’s head as he recognized the voice. “Why are you so dirty? Do your clothes need washing?”

“Hi Niff! And no, we’re fine. Did you saw that GIANT cockroach on the third floor second bathroom?” Angel calmly said while Adam was frozen.

“No, I haven’t. I should end it!”

“I will never get used to that gremlin.” Adam watched her spinting away, subconsciously putting a hand on his stomach. There were like 9 x’es as a reminder of what got him there. He shook his head and got up from his seat, wanting to get him and Angel a thing or two.

“Can’t expect you to I guess.” He took out his phone and checked his noftications. “Hellify says Verosika released a new single… 10 messages from Husk… I can check them later…”

“You have to right?” He teased. He couldn’t help himself. They weren’t dating at the moment, but he knew how the cat and the spider had a special bond.

“Can you not.”

“Okay, okay. Do you want some? I’m filling for our missing bartender today.”

“I can have one glass. Wine.” Adam took a bottle for himself and one to prepare Angel’s.

“Here it is.”

“Thanks.”

He took a mouthful and opened his own phone. He didn’t have a lot of messages. Just Valentino’s. Luckily there were only five. He sighed, he’ll listen them later. He put the phone away and watched Angel who looked like he was waiting someone. Well he did.

“When do you think they’ll be back?” The spider drank down his glass and kept looking at the door.

“I dunno. Sad because your bartender is not here to listen you and tell you sweet shit no friend says?” He smirked.

“I am. Sad because you don’t have someone to do that for you?” He said mockingly.

“Meh. Who needs a partner. They always end the same anyway.” He looked away from his friend, drinking endlessly.

“I saw Steve looking at you like that last week.” He scoffed.

“Steve can lick his ass. I’m not gonna get together with anyone. I’m fine like this.” He pretty much muttered the last part to himself. Well he DID wanted someone in his life… But it wasn’t gonna happen. There was no way he’d ever view him in that light anymore. And Adam was not the type to chase impossible dreams.

“Your subconscious hugging your pillow says otherwise though.”

“WHA- Do you fucking watch me when I sleep?!”

“Relaax, I went to wake you up once. You were snuggling to it too much that I was surprised you weren’t tryna fuck it.”

“Oh please.”

They chatted together for a while when they saw someone unfamiliar. A short blue angler fish demon with big red glasses. He looked at the pornstars suspiciously. They returned the favor.

“Who the fuck are you?” The first man asked. Though he seemed familiar to him.

“Who the fuck are YOU? I came here today. I’m a guest.” He coldly asked.

“So are we, smartass.” Angel rolled his eyes. “He asked your name. Mine’s Angel and that’s Adam.”

“Adam? As the-

“First man, yes.”

“Oh. Baxter. Can you give me a whiskey?” He sat down to a seat of the bar. He still didn’t looked like he was comfortable.

“Suure.” He still tried to recall where he remembered the guy. And it hit him.

“Here Val. My best inventor did what he could do in three days. Right, Bax?” The screen-face said, handing out Adam’s new torture to his owner.

“I did, sir.” He said. He looked as bored as Adam was.

“Awesome! You know Voxy, you should let me borrow your employees more~” He purred.

“Nuh-uh. This guy is useful. Come Baxter. We have our own job. See you Val.” They walked away, leaving Adam with the worst boss in the world.

“Waait… You work for Voxtech don’tcha? You are the fucker who designed this torture!” He pointed at his mask.

“Yes, and? My boss just gave me what I needed to do, I didn’t even knew it was for you.” He looked bored. “Now can you please give me that whiskey?”

“How about-“ He was gonna tell Mr Serious Shithead to go grab it on his own, but Angel gave him a “Just fuckin do it, Charlie would be happy” look. He groaned, he was right. Princess Rainbows wasn’t that bad when you get used to her, not to mention she was the only fucking person in the hotel -besides Angel- who understood he was in depression when he showed up for the first time and didn’t bother him until he was in the right headspace again. He could at least try being nice to her guests.

“Here.” He forced himself to smile “What are you doing here so late anyway?”

“Last time I checked 10 wasn’t late.” He sipped from his glass.

“Whatever.” He shrugged and finished his own bottle. “I’m heading off to bed now. And,” He took his belongings from the table. “Don’t come into my room ever again.”

“What? Worried because I can saw you doing unspeakable?”

“Please.” He chuckled and went to his room. Locking it in case the cyclops might try some shit again when he swas asleep. He lied down to his bed and took his phone out, smile fading. Do it. It’ll be over. He said to himself. It’ll only be worse if you don’t.

He sighed and opened the first one. 

“I’m sorry I wasn’t around that much for the last few hours, I missed you so much… But they told me you went to your stupid little hotel early when I finally managed to go there… And that makes me sad…”

“YOU FUCKING PRICK! WHAT THE FUCK DID YOU THINK YOU WERE DOING!? YOU ARE FUCKING SUPPOSED TO STAY FOR ANOTHER HOUR AFTER OUR JOB IS OVER! DO YOU THINK THIS IS SOMETHING YOU CAN DO?!”

“Of course I get it, you were tired… But you could stay for another hour right… Do you want to play my nerves on purpose..?”

“Oh don’t you worry your head about this baby, I WILL FUCKING MAKE YOU PAY FOR THAT!”

“See you tomorrow, Addie~ And don’t forget: People like you CAN’T have healthy relationships. Partners of people like you are ALWAYS pretending. They are always lying to your face, always knowing you are not ‘special’ for them, always just wanting a piece of a good cake, always using how naive you are, always-“

He got up harshly and threw his phone to the wall. When the fuck did he start crying?

Lilith, Eve, Lute… They all left him. For something better. Something more worthy than him. They saw nothing in him but a toy to play with. And then there was him… Of course he would chase something better, SOMEONE better, he was just dumb enough to think it meant-

Alcohol. That’s what he needed. It might not be a solution, but it was an escape. Escape from reality. Things hurt less when he wasn’t in control of his body. He went to his closet and took out five bottles, completely ignoring the Angel-voiced part of his brain.

Did ya like it? :>

I gotta say this might be my favorite AU of Adam.

[seenoversundown]

Sparrow Of the Dawn : Chapter 1

Sam x Willa (Fem OC) Warnings: Alcohol / Mentions of drinking, brotherly banter, dark humor/mentions of death (if you squint), otherwise silly boys being boys.

Word Count: 3.9K

Summary : Sam unfortunately finds himself in not so meet cute with Willa. Hopeful that he doesn't cross her path again; the world works in mysterious ways and not always in your favor.

Authors Note: AHHHHH I can’t wait for everybody to read and I hope you all love it as much as I do!! I’m so excited and nervous, feels like I’m waiting for the midnight premiere of Deathly Hallows (part 2) all over again 🥹😭💜

Flower Power - Greta Van Fleet “She’s a sparrow of the dawn, our love is born”

“Oh, HEY,” Jake says sarcastically the second he opens the front door, “Nice of you to show up, Jackass,” huffing out a laugh as he shuts the door behind me. The scuffed-up cherry wood floor creaks under the weight of our feet as I follow him over to where he had been organizing new stock behind the bar. 

“Right.. aaand where’s my paycheck again?” I retort, sliding onto my regular spot and dropping my camera bag next to me. The spot in the dead center of the bar has been claimed as mine since before Jake even opened, the stool now complete with my etched initials SFK under the cushion. 

“Time is money, brother, and I lend you mine for free, so you get me when I’m free. Which apparently to you means 9 a.m.?” I say, clasping my hands on the bartop, “So please, tell me what is so important that I needed to be here so early.” He sourly smirks back at me.

“Yeah, yeah. I have a few new ones in for you to shoot, and I’d like to get it done before we get busy today.” He picks up his clipboard, eyeing his stock list.

��“We finally got the pomegranate Downeast released last month that was on backorder, as well as the pear and the guava passion fruit. Then we have ‘Reciprocal’ from Bissell Bros here in Portland, and ‘Interchangeable #7’ from Blaze Brewing in Biddo. I’d really like to get the blaze shot for our ads because it has the most interesting can art. But, ya know, I trust you.” He reads off.

A year ago, Jake, my older brother, bought this bar located right here in the heart of the Old Port. Back in his senior year of high school he got really into “Black Sails”, this pirate TV show; he practically made it his personality. Naturally, he decided he wanted to run a bar for the rest of his life, so when old man Chuck decided to retire, Jake jumped at the opportunity to purchase it. “Caravel Tavern” has only been open for 6 months and It's been his baby ever since. 

“Wow, Jake Kiszka putting trust in ME? Are you feeling okay?” I feign shock grabbing at my heart.

“Just get it done, you idiot,” he says with a roll of his eyes.

“Alright, alright,” I say, glancing over the options. “Give me like an hour. I have an idea that might work. I need to head to the farmer’s market in town, but I can have the best shots edited and emailed to you tomorrow, and then we can pick the best ones for print.” I grab my bag, digging around for my car keys. “Hey, when is Josh in today? I’d like to get some shots of you guys pouring drinks for the website and Instagram for Josh’s intro post.”

“He should be here by the time you’re done with everything. That is if he’s on time. But let's be realistic, when is a Kiszka ever on time?” He replies as he breaks down boxes with a box cutter. 

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I take a right onto the gravel that’s set behind the farmers market, my rusty 92’ Ford F-150 rattling as I park. I hope to god it’s just a heat shield making that noise. I cannot afford another repair on Edith. She may be an old crotchety bitch, but she has my whole heart. Well, right behind Penelope, my Bernese mountain dog, Penny girl will always be my number one.

Ding 

I put her in park and shove my hand into my backpack blindly searching for the source of the text tone. Finally finding my phone Tweedle Dum🦞 appears on the screen.. I let out a giggle. 

We’re running a special on whiskey sours tonight pick up some eggs, princess.

I switch Jake and Josh’s contact name back and forth between tweedle dee and tweedle dum mainly to keep them on their toes, but I’d be lying if I said tweedle dum isn’t just whoever has pissed me off or been dubbed the biggest dumbass that week. The emojis always stay the same so I can keep them actually straight though. 

You got it, boss, I send back to Jake, winning the title this week for making me wake up at the ass crack of 9am. Which absolutely is early for me. 

Gathering my things, I step out of my truck, immediately being hit with a cold gust of wind, the air causing my eyes to water slightly. I brush away a tear forming in my eye before it threatens to fall down my cheek. For it being the end of March the air is crispier than normal. I pause a moment too long, and a shiver runs through my body. I zip my jacket up a little higher, trying to preserve my body heat. Making sure I have my mesh bag with me, I shut my door and head over to the booths. 

I make a beeline for Linda, a sweet older woman who is here every week selling chicken eggs, various fruits from her garden, and some knick-knack crafts she makes. I have about seven bowl koozies, though I’m not sure I even own as many bowls considering it’s just me, but they are really good for ramen and ice cream. Which I do not eat together. Jake and Josh live in the apartment above the bar, so when I moved back after college, I got an apartment a couple roads away to stay close. 

Our parents moved out of our small hometown, which sits just on the other side of Portland. Padded off to Apple Valley, Georgia trying to settle into a warmer climate or something. They bought a house big enough for just the two of them and a guest room on an acre of land, “just in case any of you boys come to visit” Mom said. In all honesty, Apple Valley is just the same town, different state. They always said they didn’t like the city because it was too big, which is funny to me after spending the last four years in Boston. Everything here seems much smaller now.

“Morning Linda!” I smile and wave at her.

“Oh, Samuel. You’re up early this week. How are you doing, Sweetheart? How’s my Daniel?” She flashes me a warm smile. She’s also Daniel’s biggest fan. Pretty sure she only comes into the bar to see him, even though I met her first. But what can I say? I’m apparently an excellent matchmaker; we just won't mention the fact that she's 72.

I chuckle, “I’m just out running some errands for Jake. I’m on call today, apparently. Daniel’s good though! He misses you, ya know.” I finish flashing her a wink.

She lets out a high-pitched laugh, “I’ll be down to visit with Miss Eleanor. You tell him not to worry.” She raises an eyebrow and smirks at me, “Anyway, what can I get ya my dear?”

“Think two dozen will do it for today.” I hand her a crumpled ten-dollar bill in exchange, “Keep the change, Lin. I’ll see you at the bar or next Saturday, whichever comes first.” I set the eggs carefully in my tote and head toward my next stop, the flower truck.

The beer I’m photographing for the bar has a brightly colored logo in a style reminiscent of comic book art. A bold red can with yellow, blue, and purple adorning the signature name. My idea is to use a bouquet of different flowers to accent the colors and make the can pop. 

I scan through the metal buckets, trying to mentally piece together an arrangement without disturbing the flowers too much. They are far too delicate to be pulling and yanking on them just to try them out for size. Some of the people here, like Linda, make their living posting up every Saturday. 

I reach for a bundle of forget-me-nots, settling on those along with the last of the remaining Irises, a few red Dahlias, Daffodils, and Butterfly Milkweed. Taking a step back slightly away from the displays, I start to rearrange the bouquet to my liking. Extending my arms out in front of me, and changing my angle to make sure I like how the flowers look together. Just as I decide that, yes, these will do for what their intended purpose is, I feel someone aggressively poking my bicep. 

I turn toward the person attached to the finger. Not going to lie; I’m a bit impressed by the force of it, considering I’m wearing a sweater under my quilted jacket, and the woman who’s doing the poking is standing at about 5 foot nothing and looks like a swift breeze might carry her away. I blink slowly at her a few times and raise my eyebrows waiting expectedly.

“Did someone die, or did you just fuck up like, wicked bad?” the snark heavily laden on her tone. 

I close my eyes and let out a long breath, “Uhm, it’s uhh –” I stutter a bit, really trying to play it up, “My grandma died last week, actually. Did you know her? Her name was Althea.” I gaze down at my shoes and drop my head a bit, taking a moment before I attempt to look for her reaction through my eyelashes. If I held my breath long enough, I might just be able to work up a tear. Would that be too dramatic? .. maybe.

“Oh.. uh. No, I didn’t. I’m sor–” Regret immediately paints her face.

“I’m fucking with you.” I let out a small laugh

“What?” her eyes narrow at me, trying to figure out if I’m lying or telling the truth.

“I’m joking, my grandma is fine. Are you okay? Or is it a normal occurrence for you to ask a complete stranger if they’re mourning a dead relative?" Amusement settles on my face.

She lets out an audible groan. Why is she so angry? She tugs down at the sides of her short floral dress and waves a hand out toward my arrangement. 

“Why on earth do you need every single purple flower!?” She exclaims, “And who jokes about their grandma dying?” stamping her beaten-up Doc Marten into the patchy grass. She actually stomped her foot at me. What are we twelve?

I roll my eyes and attempt to alleviate the situation, “Bachelor Buttons.” 

I have work to do and absolutely do not need an attitude from a complete stranger, even if she is cute. I have brothers for that purpose, and they do their jobs well enough.

 “They’re mostly purple but with a bit of blue. They symbolize love if you’re trying to give them to someone important.” I scratch the back of my head and briefly hope she says she’s not. I immediately throw the thought away with a shake of my head. Nope, not opening that door.

“I don’t need Bachelor Buttons.” 

“.. ookaay. You could always d –” 

“I need Irises.” She says, cutting me off, “Specifically. Okay? And I’m fine, but if I can't find irises today because of you count *poke* your *poke* days!” she ends her sentiment with a final sharp poke to my chest and storms away. God damn, her finger is like a tiny dagger.

Listen, growing up without any sisters means I don’t know much about women, but what I do know .. is definitely never believe one when they say they’re fine. 

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As I walk through the door of Caravel Tavern for the second time today, I call out, “Okay, Jake, I’m back with your eggs, Asshole. Where are you?”

I set my camera bag and the eggs down and lean over the counter, checking to see if he’s kneeling behind the bar top.

 “.. Jake?” I look side to side. Where the hell is he? It’s the middle of the day, not nearly early enough for lunch.. Not like the guy takes a break anyway. 

“JAKE WHERE THE FUCK ARE YOU?!” I yell through my cupped hands. The sound echoes through the empty space.

He comes running from the back room, a panic written on his face. “Jesus Christ, Sam, what?”

“Got your eggs.” grinning wildly at him. I swear I'm actually his favorite brother. 

“Well, thanks, Samuel, for being useful for one thing today.” He says, before changing his tone, “You okay? You look a bit tense?”

“Yeah,” absentmindedly, my hand drifts to my shoulder, rubbing at the area where angry-flower-girl poked me earlier. “Actually, you’ll never believe what happened to me at the farmers market.”

He’s not looking at me when he hums his response, just putting the eggs in the mini fridge next to the ice well. I slide the second carton over to him.

“I ran into this girl, actually, she ran into me rather. I was picking out the bouquet arrangement for the photos I want to take and she sorta.. Came at me poking?”

He slowly stands and looks at me, his brow furrowed a bit. “She.. came at you?” He pauses. “Poking?”

“Poking,” I point to my shoulder in disbelief.

“Okay, and what did this poking girl want?”

“To yell at me for taking all the irises. I tried to do the gentlemanly thing and suggest an alternative, but she poked me some more and stomped off. She was hot as hell even if she was a bit psychotic.” 

“Well, why did you take all the irises? You also could have taken the other- wait, “ Jake pauses, turning to face me head-on. He sets the empty carton on the counter, “No, whatever you’re thinking about, cut it out,” He points at me, “Did you forget about the last ‘cute but insane’ girl?” 

“Hey, she wasn’t that bad! AND she was really hot?!” both hands raised.

“Sam, she cracked your windshield” he pinches the bridge of his nose.

Just as I’m about to further protest, “Cracked windshield? We’re not talking about ‘the Bride of Chucky’ are we?” Josh says

“Oh, come on guys, you can say her name. And again.. She wasn't that bad.”

“No, every time you say her name she comes back like Voldemort, and none of us need that shit.”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah, whatever. Get your ass clocked in so I get your headshots done, and you can get to work lest Jake have a stroke.” I lean toward Josh and whisper, “You’re already late.”

“When isn’t he late?” Jake sighs and rolls his eyes.

“Well,” Josh claps his hands together, “it is clearly time for my close-up. Sammy, let’s get this shit fest over with.”  

Oh, Josh, ever the dramatic brother.

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I don’t spend a ton of time taking Josh’s photos, grateful that he isn’t afraid of the camera. I barely have to direct him, which makes my life that much easier. If he could work on just not being a pain in the ass the rest of the time, that’d be great. 

A few goodbyes later, and I’m finally off to edit. Putting all my things into the passenger seat and giving my truck some words of encouragement, the engine turns over. Thank fucking god. I live fairly close to the bar, so I decide to not bother with the radio and just listen to whatever comes my way. 

Still thinking about the poking girl, mostly because my chest was sore. I didn’t expect to be stabbed today. I do hope she found her Irises…  

‘Now I don’t hardly know her, but I think I could love her,’

I turn the volume up on the radio, hoping it’ll help me focus on driving and not thinking about her.  

I make it back home, throwing the truck in park and hustling up to my apartment. I’m quickly greeted by my bundle of joy. I set all my things out to edit on the counter and take care of Miss P before I start working.

Taking a walk is probably what I needed to do anyway. 

I got Penelope right after I graduated and moved back up here. Being used to a house full of people to just living alone was.. well, lonely. I think I lasted only a few months living alone before I gave in and went to find a pet. The twins suggested a cat because they’re fairly low maintenance, and their plan was to get a couple cats once their lives settled a bit. Settled ended up being right around when Jake bought the bar, I would hardly call that settled, but it worked out for them. Me on the other hand, I’m more of a dog person. As soon as I saw Penny, I knew she’d be my adventure buddy, coming with me on my walks and hikes and photography trips. It’s definitely easier with a dog, despite what Josh says about how easy it is to train a cat with a harness to adventure with you.

Once she is settled in after our walk, I sit down to edit for a while. Pulling up the photos of Josh, something seems off. Why are half of these out of focus? I think to myself, scrolling through the options. If he could have just stopped talking for two seconds, this one would have looked good.  The longer I scroll through the options, the more annoyed I get. Why did she poke me so fucking hard? Finding myself rubbing the spot on my chest, I force myself to get up for a minute. Maybe I just need to walk around. Wandering into my bathroom, I pull the collar of my shirt down to see the spot, if it doesn’t actually bruise, I’ll be SHOCKED.  

Sitting back down, I take one look at the photo I've been trying to salvage, letting out a sigh. This is awful. 

Me: hey I’m not super happy with how Josh’s pics came out.. Do you care if I just borrow him in the morning to get some new ones? 

Me: Not at 6am tho-  it’ll be Sunday, The Lord’s day, and he would want me to get my beauty rest. 

Tweedle Dum🦞: lol that’s fine bud 

Me: I may come back for a drink tho. Shit has me STRESSED.

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“God, Sam, don’t you ever leave?” Josh calls from behind the bar. 

“You’d think I was tired of looking at your ugly mug all day, but guess not.” My lips wind into a tight smile. “Can I actually get a drink? I’m annoyed as fuck that I hate all the pictures I took today, and a drink sounds like the perfect remedy.” 

“Turning to alcohol to solve your problems, hmm?”

“Shhhhh,” I wave my hands in front of me. “Can I get a Clover Club, maybe? In a whiskey glass.. No garnish. I don’t wanna look like a little bitch.” I groan 

“Let your freak flag fly, brother,” spinning away to go make my drink and tend to the other patrons seated down the bar top. 

This drink really better do the trick so I can relax for five minutes. Honestly, the pressure I put on myself to make sure I do well for Jake’s pride and joy, along with trying to find my own way with a full-time job is a little exhausting. It’s hard knowing that Caravel is his baby; he really doesn’t have much else going on. I swear if he got laid, he’d be a hell of a lot less uptight about it, but I digress. I don’t totally feel like I’m the most reliable person, but I try to make sure he can count on me and I don’t contribute to his stress. Ya know, he’s my brother, and I want him to be as proud of me as I am of him for doing what he loves so much. I don’t think I tell him enough how proud I really am of him. He’s someone I look to for inspiration for trying to pave my own way. I’d never tell him that though, because he’d probably think I was yanking his chain or something. I have a job trial-type thing down in Boston later this week, and I’m really hoping it turns out to be something good. I could use something good right now.

Josh interrupts my thoughts, setting my drink down, “Just how you asked for it in a cocktail glass with extra garnish.”

I sigh audibly, “Ya know, I don’t even care. Gimme it.” I gulp it down in nearly one go. Josh looks surprised at me. Whether it’s because of my eagerness or because he knows I’m terrible at holding my alcohol, I’m not sure. I don’t care. 

“One more.” I close my eyes, waiting for the gin to work its magic on me. Feeling my muscles relax bit by bit, my brow finally straightens out, and I sink down against the wall closest to my seat. I sigh audibly again, though this time it’s one of relief.

The longer I sit here, the more people are trickling in. Sipping on my drink this time, I notice people in all sorts of outfits looking vaguely like anime characters. Gathering in little cliques of friend groups, a few interesting folk bouncing from table to table. I can't tell if time is moving incredibly fast or if the alcohol has made me move slower, but suddenly, I have the realization that it’s packed in here. Since opening, they’ve been able to handle everything behind the bar, just the two of them, with Daniel manning the door, but I don’t think they’re equipped to handle whatever event these people are overflowing from. 

I swig back the last sip of my drink, grab my glass, and make my way to the back room. I toss the raspberry garnish before setting the glass in the sink to be washed. Grabbing the ice bucket, I start to fill it to make sure the front is stocked for them; ice is usually always the first thing to go. I lug the full bucket back behind the bar, and refill the ice well. 

“Thanks, Sammy. Hey,  would you mind bussing some of the tables and asking the people with tabs if they need any refills, please? I’ll make sure I put you on the payroll for the night,” Jake asks, eyes pleading and desperate for help. And really, who am I to say no to him?

“Of course I can. I’ve got nothing else better to do anyway.” I start to reach for a tray. 

“Thanks. I mean it.” he says, squeezing my shoulder, “I forgot PortCon was happening, and we’re close to one of the hotels.” He explains before returning to the drink he's making. 

That explains the costumes. I do my rounds checking to make sure everyone seated in the booths are okay, grabbing the empty drinks out of their way, making light conversation when I can. I bring a tray of glasses, napkins, and various random trash items back behind the bar and set them in the bin next to Jake. Just as I go to take another trip, my eyes catch the door. Of course. Of course, this would happen to me. I can’t have a single day go smoothly if my life depended on it. Good God, someone is out to get me, I swear. 

“Fuck me,” I say out loud. 

“Who is that?” Jake says to me as he’s working on his current drink order. 

“The angry-flower-girl with the dagger fingers,” I pause, looking at the dude standing next to her, “annnd her date.”

“Oh shit.”

Crimson and Clover - Tommy James and the Shondells

“Now I don't hardly know her But I think I could love her Crimson and clover”

&lt;- Prologue Chapter Two ->

Masterpost | Taglist | Jukebox Playlist

Taglist:

@gvfsstardust, @myleftsock, @mindastreamofcolours, @dont-go-home-without-me, @literal-dead-leaf, @lizzys-sunflower, @threadofstars, @mackalah, @klarxtr, @edgingthedarkness, @writingcold, @i-love-gvf, @takenbythemadness, @ladywhimsymoon, @earthgrlsreasy, @ourlovesdesire, @peaceloveunitygvf, @anythingforjtk

[deleteddewewted]

What It’s Like To Love Phillip Graves Part 2

MDNI

W: NSFW, Slow burn, Angst, Fluff, Getting Together, Friends With Benefits to Lovers, Gn! Reader, Unhealthy Relationship, Soldier Reader

P1 , P3

He loved you.

He found out that he loved you the moment he saw you defend on of your fellow soldiers in the field.

You were brutal and precise.

You never left anyone behind and you always did what you could do to help.

You were a force that he wanted to keep around him.

Your hands were skilled with whatever they could grab at and it drove him up the wall seeing you use those hands on him.

You're hands were rough with him, they left marks on his body, they mapped him all over.

You didn't tear into him like you would with an enemies soldiers throat.

You were caressing him like he would break.

You mouth into his mouth that you wanted him.

"Come back to me, Phillip. Always make sure to come back to me." You might have said that in the heat of the moment.

He was inside you and actively biting at your skin.

He was thrusting into you with rigger and his hands gripped onto your hips like a life line.

He wanted to believe you.

And he did.

He fell hard and he never let those words go.

Every mission was a test to just how far he could push his luck just to come back to you.

When he started his PMC, he made sure to keep in mind just how much you loved the sensation of being part of a unit.

A family.

Now that he had you so close.

Now that he found himself in you bed again after years of absence, he knew he had to talk with you.

He spent weeks drafting letters, trying to find the correct words for what he wanted to tell you.

He settled with one that made the most sense to him. It detailed all of his feelings and thoughts.

He wanted you to know just how much he wanted you to be part of his life since his initial attempt to persuade you with higher pay didn't work.

His bribing, his letter alluding to offering up sex, anything that might have once interested you wasn't working and it was frustrating him.

You were a person of morals but goddamn was it frustrating to see just how moral you were while being the type to cut someones throat open.

You never responded to any of them so when he had the chance to see you again after his squad had been ambushed, he took it as his sign to pursue you.

You were sitting by most of his mens bedsides, taking care of them.

When you made it to his bed, you did the something.

You helped him redress is wounds, cleaned his hair, you even fed him when his hands started shaking from the adrenaline after waking up from a nightmare.

You held him while he cried about the deaths that slowly accrued.

Finally, he found himself in your bed again.

You were warm an enveloped him in it.

You made his bed inviting and welcoming, almost like he had never left it in the first place back when you guys had fucked for the first time.

You were as accommodating to him just like the first time.

You kissed him, fucked him, suffocated him with your care.

And when he woke up you were gone.

By the time he had managed to get out of bed, you were already sparring with his men.

After an extra week on base, they were in the clear to leave and regroup at HQ. Which meant that hitmen began to bitch about how they were going to miss their favorite Lieutenant.

"Hey, can I have a talk with you real quick Lt? Just need to clear some things with you, no biggie." You rolled your eyes at him as he made his way into your office and closed the door behind him.

He was tense, it was noticeable in the way his jaw clenched shut as he made his way up to you.

You were sitting on at your desk chair and watched him make his way towards you.

You spread your legs apart, awaiting to see what he would do.

Maybe one last fuck for the road before your paths would never cross again.

Maybe he wanted to try something new wit you because he knew he wouldn't have to face any shame or embarrassment since this was the last time you'd meet.

You ere going to be transferring to another base soon, this would be your parting gift from he ma you thought you knew.

"Just wanted to set the record straight with you before I left." He kneeled down on the floor in front of you and placed his head on your lap.

His arms wrapped around your waist as he relaxed into your body.

"This might be it. I don't know what the world has planned for me but I want to at least get some closure when it comes to you."

"And what could you possibly want or need from me, Graves." You werent upset or even disappointed with him. You were just as curious as he was to find out what he needed.

"Do you remember the first time we made love? You know how you told me how I should make sure to come back to you?"

"Very southern of you to call fucking "making love"." You teased back but he ignored you instead.

"I took what you said to heart. I wanted to come back to you. I needed too. And now that im here, again, and can see you. I want to have you."

"How cute of you. Wanting to own me." You said. He shook his head at you and tightened his hold.

"I want you, but not to own you, hun." It was a silent after he confessed.

There wasn't much to truly say, it was all in the open.

He wanted you and didn't want to let you go.

You loved him but you know that the lives you both led weren't destined for peace.

"Im leaving this base soon Phillip."

"I know."

You stayed there, defeated, until one of the shadows came knocking on your door asking if you knew where their boss had gone.

"I'll never forget you, hun." He kissed you on the cheek, his hand refusing to let of of your own.

"Make sure to come back to me Phillip. Maybe next time around, we can try something out." You kissed his knuckles and let him go.

Him and his company left and were out of sight by the time you left your office.

[creamybinne]

⛓️ 𝐌𝐈𝐍𝐒𝐔𝐍𝐆

a deadly heart 2/2

TW!WARNING: this has a mention of gore and dead bodies. this relationship shown here is abusive and a halfway onesided love.

remember everything written is fake and used for entertainment, purpose only !

jisung didn't know how much time was there left. surviving for only 2 hours was stuck in his head. He wasn't sure if that was enough time to survive or even get out of here. who knows how big this damn.. basement or whatever is? he tried to forget but it remind in his thoughts. It was tattooed to the back of his brain. he was running for what felt like forever, running and opening every door and hidden hole he found. he ran down the hallway.

it felt like loops of torture as his bare feet meet the cold wet floor over and over again. he made lefts and rights in hopes he won't know where he has gone too. his pace quickened as took another right. Soon he saw a door creak open. maybe he could rest a little for now.

as soon as jisung opened the door he stood in place. a boy's body was on the floor. the blood wasn't dry yet as it was still spilling and began to pool all around the pale body. freshly cut wounds were painted all over his body, his clothing torn apart, almost naked at the eye. the boy looked almost jisung age... he remembers that face as well. It was one of his bestfriends' boyfriend. felix?.

was he also going after other men's boyfriends? And not just his? jisung's body was pale as he tried to make sense of it all. he and felix were super close friends. they knew each for 4 years. jisung couldn't make sense of it all. IF he even escaped, what will he tell her own best friend that his boyfriend is rotting to death here.

"hannie?~ are you here?"

the boy's eyes widened as he heard minho's voice not too far. he couldn't just walk out the door. Even if he did, he doesn't know how fast he can run after him. he knows this place better than him, himself. jisung slid his way past the rotting body to hide behind the box. he placed his hand over his mouth and tried to slow down his breathing. but it was already too late. minho was here in an instant.

"hannie?~ please don't be here~ i don't want you to see this son of bitch in here.." minho purred though there was a lack of venom toward it. he was holding a knife. a freshly stained knife. blood felt warm and sticky between his fingers as he clutched the knife's bloody handle, the sweet liquid dripping to the floor below.

"you know how dirty this boy was towards you? little miss had a boyfriend yet craved you.. putting his nasty hands on you. touching you so inappropriately... only I can do that.. right dear?~" the boy kicked the body before scanning the room. jisung's heart pounded right out of his chest.

"ugh only 1 hour left.. guess i was talking to myself," minho moaned in disbelief as he scraped the wall with his knife before leaving the room. jisung heard her heels echo away before getting up quickly from behind the boxes.

this was a life or death situation. he has to survive this hide and seek game for just about 1 more hour. jisung's chest pounded as he stood in front of the body and held his breath to look at the rotting crop. beside the body was a flashlight and a key. jisung gasped as quickly grabbed the key and put it in his bloody jean jacket pockets.

please battery, please let there be battery.

he mumbled over and over as he grabbed the flashlight and hit it once or twice. the light flickered and jisung squealed quietly. but there was no time to be happy, not when he was about to die to someone insane! he took a deep breath and hurried out the room, if he would have stayed any longer than she would have found him sooner or later. though he wished he would have looked around more, his brain couldn't handle that disgusting smell and he had to keep moving.

move to survive.

it's a fight or flight situation. though he couldn't just bare to hit a girl, because yet again, it'll bring so many memories.. jisung looked down the airy hallway. it was like a void digging deep down. a void of hell itself. he looked both ways before walking down. small thuds of his feet could be echoed around the hall. his bare feet were placed gently within each step. he shook the flashlight once or twice, not wanting the risk of it powering off. the brunette chewed his lips, fidgeting with the flashlight. as the boy kept walking he saw a small light flicking at the end. jisung squinted his eyes, enough to see metal bars.

It was a gate! jisung eyes lit with joy as he ran to the gate. To his surprise it wasn't locked at all! The metal bars made a creaking sound as he pushed open the gate. just then, jisung heard an unpleasant sound far off. at first, he confused it with the pattering of rain; the sound of heavy and thick drops.

the sounds he heard from the basement but there was no blood dripping on him. the full moon stained the courtyard surface in a bloody violet hue. But it wasn't raining. it wasn't raining. that phase was stuck in jisung's head.

jisung feet brush against the dry dead grass as he looks at every possible spot. the wishing well. The garden. he then checked the small greenhouse. He twisted the handle only to be disappointed that the door was locked. but as soon as he remembered, his hand reached into his pocket and grabbed the fainted key he found earlier. he shoved the key into the keyhole and twisted once again.

the door creaked open. As jisung walked inside. The plants inside were almost dead as the place was starting to smell like rust. though jisung walked farther inside, he heard a faint beeping sound. jisung brows raised as he turned around to where the door was. his jaw almost dropped.

"that sneaky little..." jisung mumbled under his breath eyeing the damn camera, beeping red besides the empty greenhouse. he was cheating. no wonder why she paused when she was going to explain what she wanted if she won.

because he knew he would win.

jisung chest burned with pain as he stood out of the camera light. but did he really? was there more camera hidden in this place? in the walls? ceilings ? on himself!? he couldn't trust anything. as he knew he couldn't stay in this place any longer. minho is probably coming for him right now before he knows it. he has to search the garden a little longer before moving. he began to work. lifting the dirty dirt bags off the shelfs.

he'd searched every crack of the place.

part 2 completed

𓈒 ୭ৎ 𝙘𝙧𝙚𝙖𝙢𝙮𝙗𝙞𝙣𝙣𝙚. ۪ ݁ 𓈒

[harleybeaumont]

Never Have I Ever

Chapter 11 - Demons From the Past - Part 2

Book- TRR

Series- Never Have I Ever

Pairings- Bertrand x MC 

Chapter Synopsis- Bertrand relives his past through nightmares.

Chapter Warnings- language, physical and emotional abuse, child abuse, violence, death

Rating - Mature

Word Count- 3,000

A/N- This chapter is pretty heavy as we get a glimpse into Bertrand and Maxwell's past family trauma. Please see warnings above.

————————————————————

..He turned on the TV in an attempt to drown out his intrusive thoughts regarding a certain woman who was sleeping a mere two doors away, and eventually drifted off into a restless sleep…

Chapter 11 - Demons From the Past - Part 2

Bertrand cowered on the floor of his playroom, looking up into the disdainful eyes of his father. The crystal squid statue in the foyer was in hundreds of pieces, and his father would ensure he’d never see the light of day again. The older man shook his head at his son, “What did I tell you boys about playing your infantile games in the house?! You’re nine years old now, Bertrand! Grow up!”

Bertrand apologized but his father yelled over him. “Enough! Where is Maxwell? I know he had a hand in this as well!” Bertrand didn’t dare to reveal his younger brother’s hiding place. As soon as Max had accidentally knocked down the statue, Bertrand sent him into the greenhouse to hide. 

“He didn’t have anything to do with this.. it was all me. I’m sorry father, it was an accident.” 

Barthelemy grabbed Bertrand’s arm and jerked him up roughly. “You are going to learn, son. All accidents come with a price.”

Bertrand was transported three years into the future, to the night after his mother died. With his arms wrapped around a sobbing Maxwell, he tried to keep a stiff upper lip. He needed to be strong despite the gaping hole in his heart. He had to be there for his brother, because now they had no one else.

Berthelemy staggered into the boy's bedroom, holding a nearly empty tumbler of scotch. “Quit your blubbering, it won’t bring her back,” he slurred as he glared at Maxwell. 

Bertrand immediately stood and walked past his father and out of the bedroom. There was only one way to stop Barthelemy when he started his drunken rants.

“You need to suck it up, Maxwell.. You’re a Beaumont for God's sake! I swear, I don’t know how I ended up with the world's biggest pussies for sons. Although I suppose your mother is to blame for that. It's a good thing she's-” 

Crash!

Barthelemy whirled around and saw a shattered bottle of scotch at his feet, amber liquid and glass covering the surrounding tile. Bertrand’s heart hammered in his chest as his father’s ire turned to him. Rage filled the older man’s eyes and Bertrand ran, knowing he would be close behind. 

“You son of a bitch, get back here!” Barthelemy yelled, running as fast as he could in his inebriated state. Once Bertrand had gotten far enough away from Maxwell’s bedroom, he stopped and faced his father. There was no use running, and there was nowhere he could hide. Barthelemy cocked his fist and all Bertrand could do was close his eyes tightly, thankful that it was him instead of Maxwell.

Four years later, sixteen year old Bertrand sat behind the wheel of his father’s Aston Martin, massaging his sore neck. The driver behind him swore she had put on her brakes, but the enormous dent in his bumper suggested otherwise. Bertrand only hoped that his father would be more forgiving if he found out about the accident in front of the police. Barthelemy pulled up to the scene in his black Rolls-Royce ten minutes later. “Oh, my son.. Are you alright?” he asked with what sounded like genuine concern. 

“Yes, sir.” Bertrand nodded and Barthelemy spoke politely to the police officers before returning to his son’s side. 

“Get your ass in the car,” he muttered under his breath and Bertrand obeyed immediately. Once the scene had been cleared and his father’s wrecked car was towed away, Barthelemy slid into the driver's seat. “I let you take my car, and you decided to go joyriding.” 

Bertrand shook his head, “No sir, I just wanted to get some extra practice! The driver behind me ran into me, it wasn’t my fault!” 

Berthelemy slammed his palm against the dash and Bertrand jumped, “A real man takes responsibility for his actions!” 

Bertrand looked down, not daring to say another word. The engine roared to life and Barthelemy took off like a shot. “Were you racing some other punk when you crashed my two hundred and fifty thousand pound car?”

“No sir! I wouldn’t-” 

His father cut him off with a forced laugh, “You think you’re an adult, is that it? You can do whatever you want? Well, go ahead and take the wheel, son.”

“What?!” 

Bertrand watched in horror as his father let go of the steering wheel while the car continued down the road at an alarming speed. “Go on then.. Take the wheel, Bertrand. Show me how it’s done.” 

Bertrand looked between his father and the road as the car began to drift toward the shoulder. “What are you doing?! I swear I didn’t mean to wreck the car!” 

Barthelemy casually put his arms behind his head and pushed the gas pedal down harder. “Come on, Bertrand. I said, show me how it’s done.” 

The car shook as it drifted onto the shoulder, gravel spraying wildly behind it. They were running out of straight road, and fast. Bertrand’s heart was hammering in his chest. Was his father really about to let them crash and die to teach him a lesson? A turn was fast approaching and Bertrand grabbed the steering wheel, preparing to save their lives. 

Barthelemy slammed on the brakes and the car skidded to a stop, fishtailing slightly as it did so. “You arrogant motherfucker!” Barthelemy yelled at his teenage son. “Thought you’d just take over my car, didn't you?!” He threw the car in park and rushed around to the passenger door, yanking it open and pulling Bertrand out. He tossed his son to the ground and landed a sharp kick against his ribs. “You can walk home since you're such a big man now!” 

Bertrand coughed and held his aching side, calling out after his father who was making his way back to the driver side. “Please.. It’s almost dark out. I don’t even know where we are!” 

Once Barthelemy was back inside, he locked the car doors and cracked the window slightly. “Guess we’ll see how long it takes you to figure it out.” 

Bertrand lunged for the passenger door, but as soon as his fingers grasped the handle, his father sped away, leaving his son laying on the ground in a cloud of dust.

The image melted away, revealing one of Bertrand’s worst memories ever.. years later at his college graduation. His father and Maxwell sat three rows back, smiling at him while he received his diploma on stage and gave a speech. He had graduated at the top of his class and been named valedictorian. Initially Bertrand wasn't even sure if he would be able to attend college, since there was no way he could leave Maxwell alone with his father while he wasn’t there to protect him. Thankfully it hadn't been too difficult to convince Barthelemy to send Maxwell away to year round boarding school. And Bertrand’s college graduation coincided with Maxwell’s high school graduation, so everything worked out. After the ceremony, Bertrand went searching for his brother, who had slipped away with a friend. 

A minute later, he noticed Maxwell’s friend running full steam out of a hallway. Bertrand headed in that direction and heard the unmistakable sound of his father ranting. 

“Smoking pot at your brother’s graduation?! Are you fucking insane?! Do you know how many important people are here?!” Barthelemy berated Maxwell from a room at the end of the hall. “God, it’s no wonder your grades were so piss poor! You know you wouldn’t even have made it through high school if I hadn’t paid them off!” 

Bertrand hurried toward the scene before his father could do any more harm to his younger brother. 

He was too late. Bertrand heard the telltale smack of his father’s hand connecting with Maxwell’s cheek.  

“Dad, I’m sorry! It was just one time!” Max cried, before another slap rang out. 

“Don’t lie to me, boy!” Another slap. 

Bertrand broke out in a run and found them in a janitor's supply closet. His father was dragging Maxwell toward the door by his shirt collar. 

“Father, please,” Bertrand tried to reason with him. “He made a mistake. He’s just a kid!”

“This is none of your business, Bertrand. Get the hell out of here!” Barthelemy shoved Bertrand backwards and he landed on the linoleum floor in the hallway. Barthelemy slammed the supply room door shut with himself and Maxwell inside, locking it with a click.

Bertrand banged on the heavy wooden door, pleading with his father to stop the assault. He threw his shoulder into it several times in an attempt to break it down to no avail.

“You are going to learn not to disgrace our name again!” His father yelled at Maxwell, and a loud crash immediately followed. 

“Stop!” Bertrand cried out, watching through the narrow window with tear filled eyes. “Stop, god dammit!” The door wouldn’t budge no matter how many times he threw his body into it. He pounded on the door in frustration, helpless tears streaming down his cheeks. “I'm sorry, Maxwell.. I’m so sorry.”

No matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t protect him. 

The image before him swirled and transformed and suddenly, instead of Maxwell cowering on the floor, it was Riley. His father struck her across the cheek and she screamed. 

“No!” Bertrand called out, his heart pounding as he threw his entire body into the wooden door, desperately trying to get to her. Yet his father continued, no matter how much he screamed and begged him to stop. With no other options, Bertrand decided to run for help, but found his feet were suddenly impossibly heavy, and his legs frozen in place. There was nothing he could do.

No matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t protect her. 

He swiped away his tears and suddenly it wasn’t his father in the room with Riley- it was Tariq. Bertrand watched in horror as Tariq pulled Riley to him, kissing her forcefully while she squirmed, trying to get away. Bertrand yelled and pounded on the door until his knuckles bled. “Let go of her!” 

Tariq turned back toward Bertrand with a smirk before returning his attention to Riley’s now naked body. 

“I'm so sorry Riley!” Bertrand yelled through his sobs, watching her struggle. She needed help. She needed him.

And he couldn’t protect her.

Bertrand gasped as he was thrust back into wakefulness. He was drenched in sweat, his heart was pounding, his chest hurt, his stomach was in knots, and tears dampened his cheeks.. Yet his body was surrounded by the most amazing warmth and feeling of security. Once he got his barings, he realized that he was in Riley’s room, laying in her bed with his head in her lap. She was rubbing her hand across his back soothingly, whispering something comforting that he couldn’t make out. 

He sat up quickly and saw Maxwell was asleep in a chair across from the bed. The faint orange glow of sunrise shone through a crack in the curtain, slightly illuminating the dark room. Panic began to set in when he realized what must have happened. “How did I get in here?” he asked hesitantly.

“Hey, hey..” Riley whispered, taking hold of his arm and pulling him back down beside her on the bed. “It’s ok, Bert, don’t worry about it.” She wrapped her arms tightly around him and pulled him close to her body again. “I’ve got you. You’re ok.”

Despite the embarrassment at what Riley had possibly witnessed, he was so relieved that she was safe. The fresh memory of his horrible nightmares came rushing back to him and he returned her embrace, letting himself be held and comforted. 

She whispered, “I’ve got you.” The feeling of her fingernails gliding across his back and the steady sound of her heartbeat as he lay his head against her chest, instantly set him at peace. She kissed the top of his head, and used the sleeve of her hoodie to dry his face. 

“Riley?” He asked, breathing in her comforting scent while she continued to caress his back soothingly.

“Yes?” Her hand stilled briefly and she leaned forward to look down at him.

“Did.. Did Maxwell tell you about.. this?”

She sighed and hugged him tightly against her body. “Ya.. a little.”

Three hours prior..

An insistent knocking at her bedroom door woke Riley with a start. 3:00 am. Throwing open the door in panic, she found Bertrand standing in the darkened hallway outside of her bedroom, swaying slightly. “Bertrand!? Are you ok?”

He just stood there trembling with his arms wrapped around himself.

“Bert?”

Suddenly he choked out a sob and reached out to hold her tightly. “Oh!” Riley gasped in surprise. 

His body shook as he sobbed against her. “I’m so sorry, Riley.. I’m so sorry,” he mumbled over and over, and although she was baffled, she immediately returned his embrace.

Riley was speechless as she helped him make his way over to her bed. She turned on a lamp and his eyes fluttered shut but when he opened them again, it was as if he was looking straight through her. Realization washed over her and she helped him sit beside her. 

“Oh, Bert.” 

He rested his head against her shoulder and she wrapped one arm around him, using her other hand to dial Max.

“Damn it.” Max frowned as he entered her room, taking in the sight before him. “I should have known this would happen.”

“He’s sleepwalking, right?” Riley whispered, her arm still protectively wrapped around Bertrand.

“Ya.” 

“I’ve never seen him do this in all the months I’ve been here.. Why did you say you should have known it would happen?”

Maxwell sighed sadly, “It’s kind of a long story.”

“Tell me.. please?” Riley asked. 

Bertrand had settled into what appeared to be a restful sleep, and Max helped him lay down on Riley’s bed. He put a comforting hand on his older brother's shoulder while he spoke quietly. “So.. growing up, our dad was always a real dick. Like a really, really shitty person. Bertrand spent his life trying to protect me from him.. Which means he got the brunt of dads wrath most of the time.”

“Oh God.” Riley’s eyes widened and her hand flew to her mouth, “Did he.. I mean.. hit you both?”

“Emotional and physical abuse were his forte but he was also a textbook narcissist. He never shied away from telling and showing us how disappointed he was in us. Seems fucked up to say, but I’m thankful dad’s in a coma. The only thing better would have been if he actually died. Me and Bert have seen some of the best therapists around and it’s helped a lot, but.. he fucked Bertrand up really bad. It’s taken him years to stop having nightmares every night. Now it just happens when he gets really stressed out, which is almost always right before the court comes for the Bash.”

Riley’s heart ached for both of them, but especially for the grown man who always prided himself on being the stoic leader of House Beaumont, whose body was once again starting to shake from quiet sobs. 

“I don’t know what to say.. I’m so sorry.”

She placed her hand over Maxwell’s, which was still resting on Bertrand’s back. “Thanks,” Max replied with a sad smile.

“Does he remember this when he wakes up in the morning?”

“He does, mostly.” Maxwell nodded. “Although he never wants to talk about it. He usually sleepwalks to my room in tears, and apologizes over and over because he feels like he didn’t protect me enough. It’s also the only time he ever says he loves me. I blame dad for that too.” Max rolled his eyes, “Affection is a sign of weakness according to dear old dad.” He shook his head sadly, “So anyway, when this happens I just put Bertrand in the bed with me and hug him so he knows he’s ok and I’m ok, and he's not alone.”

Riley’s eyes welled up with tears, and she tried to discreetly wipe them away. “Max.. why do you think he came to my room tonight instead of yours?”

“Why do you think?” Max patted her hand sadly, and Riley swallowed down the lump in her throat as more tears fell from her eyes. "You can go sleep in my room tonight, Ri. I’ll take care of him.”

“No,” she swallowed hard while she looked at Bertrand curled up in her bed. “I want to stay with him.”

“Are you sure?”

Riley nodded, “Absolutely.”

“Ok,” Max dropped into a chair across the room, “but I’ll stay too, in case he gets really upset again.”

Riley lay on the pillows next to Bertrand and wrapped her arms around him. “I’ve got you, baby,” she whispered and rubbed his back soothingly until his breathing became rhythmic and calm. After about thirty minutes Maxwell drifted off to sleep but Riley remained awake, occasionally murmuring words of comfort.

Present..

Bertrand cringed in humiliation, knowing that Riley had to witness him in such a pathetic state. It was bad enough when he woke up in Maxwell's room after he had these nightmares, curled up against him like a helpless child. Riley would probably never talk to him again after this. 

“I am so sorry. I’ve inconvenienced you terribly,” Bertrand apologized, and sat up. “I.. I need to go.”

“Wait,” She took his arm to keep him from leaving. “You didn’t inconvenience me. Do you wanna talk about it?”

“No.” That was the last thing he wanted to do. What he really wanted to do was fall into a hole forever.

“Are you sure? Talking can help sometimes, and I’m worried about you.”

“No, I’m fine,” his reply was more harsh than he intended. “Sorry, but I’d really rather just forget this ever happened.”

“You know you don’t always have to shoulder everything alone.”

Bertrand closed his eyes for a moment. “Yes. I do.”

[this-is-all-unreal]

My Dear Friend

Part 5

Part 4

Part 3

Part 2

Part 1

Warning: mention of death, and injury.

        —Bruce, Tim and Dick had split up in the night. Bruce decided to see what he could find out about Margaret's first adopted family. He changed out of his batsuit and changed into his business suit. He walked up to the house of Loyd and Kelly Jefferson. It was the perfect example of the middle class dream. Nice white picket fence and all. It was one house of many similar looking ones in a suburb a few miles outside of Gotham city limits. Bruce walked up and knocked. A woman in her 50s answered. She was the picture perfect house maker, white apron and all. 

             "Hello ma'am I'm sorry to disturb you so late but I was looking into adopting a girl named Margaret Arthur and I  found your name on an old adoption form. I was wondering if I could ask you a few questions?" As soon as the woman heard Margaret's name her eyes hardened. She told him she didn't care who he was; she didn't want to hear anything he had to say about her and slammed the door. Bruce was walking off the steps when a man opened the door. He was bald and looked like any man you'd see working a 9 to 5 in an office building. He asked if he heard him right. If he was asking about little Margie. The man let Bruce in and told him how happy he was to hear someone was wanting to take Margaret in, especially by the Wayne family. The name had meaning even outside Gotham. 

          The two men laugh and enjoy a talk about their children. Mrs. Jefferson returned with drinks and listened to the two chat. It was killing Bruce. He finally asked why they gave her up after 10 years. They both stiffened when they were forced to remember. 

            "If you are really interested in adopting her don't let us ruin that." Mrs. Jefferson said wanting to wash her hands of it all. 

           "Kelly honey" Mr. Jefferson said in a sigh. Bruce pressed the matter and it was Mrs.  Jefferson who broke first.

           "Do you like the Omen Mr. Wayne? Because that's what she is." She snapped. A small argument broke out between the married couple. they bickered about how serious some event Bruce wasn't aware of was. 

         "Please tell me all you can." Bruce asked, sounding almost desperate. 

          "Well you know about the poor thing's mother. She was a few screws short of a set God rest her soul. I'll never understand how she was legally able to keep a child. Or how she got to husband but according to the case worker she was in and out of state run facilities her whole life. Schizophrenia maybe?" The man asked, looking at his wife who shrugged her shoulders. 

           "I think she set the fire that burned the house down but no one really knows what started it." She interjected. Bruce nodded 

        "I understand what got her to you two but what made you give her up?" The couple looked at each other. Then the wife spoke. 

         The neighbor next door had some kind of accident and Margaret found him right after it happened. The cops think he was cleaning his gun when it misfired. Margaret was home alone. She heard the shot and went over there to check on him. She saw him lifeless in his chair." she stopped speaking as she looked up at him. Her expression was unreadable, maybe it was pity or possibly guilt. 

         "After that she didn't  act like our little girl. She lashed out. We had a little dachshund at the time and Margaret tried, well she tried-" the man was interrupted by his wife.

         "The little bitch put him in the oven! We are lucky I work from home. I got him out before it got too hot. She kept screaming that her stupid imaginary friend who did it. That he wanted to make a hot dog. Seeing that body messed her up. She just wasn't right. She never slept. Her grades were plummeting and forget about her helping around the house. I didn't feel safe! She would stare at me with this blank look."

           "Excuse me, I need to get a stiffer drink." Mr. Jefferson said as he got up and walked to the kitchen. It was obvious he was crying. Mrs Jefferson looked at Bruce and leaned forward. She asked if she could tell him something that sounded crazy. And she asked that he not judge her. Bruce agreed and she continued 

           "After we gave Margaret back I gave birth to a healthy baby boy. I didn't know I was even pregnant till Margaret told me. She also knew the baby wasn't my husband's. I don't know how she knew." She paused to study his face. Bruce encouraged her to keep going. "The man I had an affair with was the neighbor. My husband had no idea. Margaret had no way of knowing we were very careful but somehow she knew. I asked her how and she lied like she always did and said Felix told her. She threatened to tell Loyd about the affair if I didn't tell him. I lost my temper and hit her. That's when her voice changed. I don't know what it was but it wasn't Margaret. I woke up in a hospital bed Mr. Wayne. She's a danger. I know I wasn't in the right but did I deserve this?" She took off her glasses and pulled out a glass eye. "She bashed my head in. I don't remember her doing it but It had to be her. It took 7 surgeries to save my other eye and put my skull back together. I have more metal in me than some cars nowadays." She quickly popped her eye back in as her husband returned. Bruce thanked them for their time and returned to his patrol. Telling no one about what he learned. He knew that would be a conversation for him and Margaret. 

             When Bruce met back up with Dick and Tim he learned there was a riot at Arkham earlier in the night and that some of the patients broke into the director's office and he didn't survive the encounter. The patients don't remember what happened or what they did to the director. Bruce was allowed to look at the CCTV. All the patients were calm, some were even under sedation until 9pm when they all left their rooms. At the same time the fire alarm was set off opening up all the rooms. No fire was ever found. In the confusion the patients slipped into the offices. It was an odd situation to say the least. Bruce decided to call it a night.—

           

       I felt arms under me. Carrying me somewhere I was scared to open my eyes. What if it was that hag from the TV again. I smelt the familiar smell of Bruce's cologne and I opened my eyes to see the underside of his chin. I relaxed a little and moved, letting him know I was awake.

         "Sorry I didn't mean to wake you up. I was trying to move you back to your room." He said as he looked down at me. I realized we were almost to the room I had the nightmare (or whatever that was) in. I tried to sit up in his arms and he adjusted his arms to make it harder. 

           "No, I don't want to go back there. There was something under the bed." 

           "I know Jason already told me about the nightmare. It's alright they happen to all of us."

            "No you don't understand Bruce it was real. She was in the TV. She had this horrible smile!" I say wiggling more as I try to get loose from his hold.

           "Margaret just calm down you don't have to if you're that scared." He said effortlessly keeping his grip no matter how much I tried to get free. I stop moving as he stops in the hall. 

          "What if I sit in there?" He says looking down at me. I think for a second. If anyone would be able to stop that thing it would be Batman I guess and if I am dreaming then he will be able to see there is nothing and tell me definitively. I nod to him.

          "I guess that's okay. Didn't bring a Batarang, did you?" 

           "No but I think I'll be able to manage." He says with a chuckle. He walks into my room and sets me down on the bed. I crawl to the center of the bed. 

         "Can you look under there?" I ask as I pull the blanket over me. He smiles and crouches down. He looks for a second then stands up and flips on the bathroom light and looks inside there. He turns back to me and shakes his head. 

          "Not a thing." He says as he sits down in the big plush chair next to the TV. I nod and get settled in. He pulled out his phone and looked down at it and scrolled slowly as he read something. It took a while but soon I fell asleep. 

          "Why is he here?" I almost leaped from the bed when I heard him. I had never been so excited to hear his voice. It was light out now and Bruce was fast asleep in the chair. "No I'm serious, why is he sleeping in a chair?" He asked again 

          "I'm so happy to hear you, Felix. I was so scared." I whisper as I hear him laugh. 

        "Yeah well I was a little busy."

         "Doing what?"

        "Don't worry about it but you're welcome." I wasn't sure what he meant but I wasn't going to question him right now. "So you really missed me so much?"

        "Of course I did. There was this lady on the TV. She was taunting me and then she attacked me. Well I think she did." 

         "Who are you talking to?" A very sleepy sounding Bruce asked. As he sat up in the chair. 

         "Felix he's back!" I say with a smile. 

         "Oh good." He says as he stands up and stretches. "I'm going to go shower. I'll see you at breakfast. Are you okay to be alone?" He asked as he stopped at the foot of the bed. 

         "I am now that Felix is back." 

          "Well good welcome back Felix." He says as he scratches his side and yarns. He walks out with a wave. I jump out of bed to show Felix the room. 

        "Look, we have our own bathroom and TV. I'm only a little scared of it." I say with a laugh. 

         "I thought we weren't staying?" He asked. I settled down and nodded. 

        "You're right. Let's have breakfast and say goodbye then we can go." 

       "No trust me Margaret we should go now. He talked to the Jeffersons. He's going to have questions."

         "But all that was you!" I shout back at him. I was so upset to have all this brought up again. I shook my head trying to get the image of the body out of my head. And Mrs. Jefferson. Whatever she had to say wasn't going to be nice. 

         "They will think it was you just like the Jeffersons did. They raised you for 10 years and didn't believe you. You have a snowball's chance in hell of this family believing you. We got to go." I hated it but he was right. I started my way downstairs. It was much easier with Felix directing me. I got to the front door and pulled on the handle. It didn't open and the keypad beeped at me. 

         "Felix help. What's the code?" I ask as I pull hard on the door. I see the numbers lighting up like he was pressing them. 

          "Hold on I'm trying." He said. He had tried to guess. Soon it makes an angry beeping sound and a lid closes over the keypad and a little circle opened up. I think it was a retina scanner like from a spy movie. I heard heavier footsteps coming from down the stairs. I turn around and see Jason walking over. My mind raced with excuses but also questions. I was terrified of what he could possibly want. 

           "Do you really want to go outside? No shoes or coat?" He asked. He wasn't smiling or even looking at me like I was crazy, he was just staring. I look down at my bare feet then back to him before nodding yes. He leaned forward and scanned his eye. The keypad opened back up and he typed in the code. The door unlatched and I opened it. I started to step outside. The sidewalk had been shoveled and the driveway was plowed. The bitter cold snapped at my skin as I started to run across the driveway. I came to a large hill covered in fluffy white snow. I got down on my butt and slid down. I had never been so cold in my life. I gained speed as I slid. I hit a bump and fell on my side making me start to roll down the hill on my side. I thought I was going to be sick. Eventually it stopped but I was covered in a thick coat of snow. I could feel Felix brushing it off me as I got up. 

         "Maybe we should go back. Your skin is getting really red." My jaw was chattering too much for me to answer but I wasn't going to stop. I felt like this was my only chance. I wasn't sure how far I ran but I started to see big buildings. I couldn't feel my feet or face. The fleece pajamas didn't keep me very warm once they were wet from snow. I found my way into the city. I got strange looks from everyone I passed. I felt someone tug on my arm. It was a lady not much younger than Bruce.

          "Oh sweetheart you shouldn't be out in the cold like this." She said as she gently pulled me inside a coffee shop with her. I was shaking and shivering. "Gino get me a tarp or something from the back to warm her up?" She said looking at the old man behind the counter. He quickly went to the back and came back with some kind of packing blanket. They wrapped it around me. 

          "I'll make her some hot coco or something." Gino said as he started heating up some milk. 

          "Can you talk? What happened to you?" The lady asked as she tried to dry me off. I warmed up pretty quickly and nod. "Where are your parents? Can I call someone?"

         "Tell her you're from Metropolis. Ask her for bus money."

          "I got lost. I need to get back to Metropolis. My mom's gonna be worried." I say through shivers. 

         "Let me call the cops they can-"

          "No please! No cops, my dad's in trouble with the law and if they drop me off at home they might try and take him away again." I say pulling it out of thin air. 

        "Nice touch."

        "Okay okay ummm" She looked around for a second trying to figure out what to do. 

          "Deb, get her on a bus." Gino said as he pointed to the bus stop outside the shop. She looked down at me unsure then nodded. 

         "You know your address?" She asked. I nodded quickly. I couldn't believe this was working. Gino hurries and hands her some money from the tip jar than the hot coco. I felt bad but I had to get out of Gotham at any cost. The bus was pulling up so she quickly helped me up and we walked out to the bus. She asked if Metropolis was one of the stops and to her surprise the bus driver said it was so she handed the bus driver the money and helped me on the bus and made sure the packing blanket was around me. She let me take a few sips of the coco before she had to take it. The bus had a strict no drinks rule. She got off the bus and stood at the curb. I sat next to a window and waved at the woman and man as we pulled away. I relaxed into the seat. I wasn't sure how long the ride would be but the bus was heated and I had a horrible thick blanket now.

          "Good job. So from Metropolis will go to Central City or even Star city maybe."

           "Then what?" I ask, looking at my own reflection in the window. 

          "Then we lay low, make some money somehow and from there we can do whatever we want No case workers, no shity foster homes, no Arkham, no Wayne family. We will be free." He says as I feel the seat press down next to me. Then I feel his head lay on my shoulder. I almost felt bad. Bruce seemed so nice but if Jason said was true it wasn't going to end well for me. He wasn't going to let me leave and that scared me most of all.

          People came and went, the bus made alot of stops but no one said anything or seemed to notice me. Eventually it was the last stop and we were at Metropolis. I got up and hugged the packing blanket around me tighter as I left the bus and felt the cold air again. I coughed and hid my face in the blanket. I walked for a little bit. It was much more windy here but at least the snow wasn't so high. I cut through an alley to get out of the wind. My cough was getting worse. 

           "Don't tell me you are getting sick."

           "Shut up, it's just the air drying my throat." There were two men at the end of the alley. I didn't pay them no mind. I just wanted to find a clean place to sit. Felix moved some cans to the side and pulled over a milk crate for me to sit on. I plopped down and leaned against the wall, closing my eyes for a second. I hear feet approaching so I open them and see the men much closer now. 

           "What's a kid in such nice PJ's doing out here?" One man asked. I didn't answer. 

            "Hey, my friend asked you a question." The other said. 

              "I guess you don't need this then." One said as he pulled at the blanket. I just let it go but Felix didn't. Unfortunately for the man Felix pulled so hard back the man fell forward and almost hit his face against the wall. I wasn't sure if they were on something or just missed the fact it wasn't me who pulled the blanket. The other started to laugh at his friend. I stood up and pulled the blanket with me so Felix wouldn't get aggressive and try to pull the blanket from them again.

        "No one would miss them"

         "No" I say flatly. 

        "No, what?" One of them asked. I backed away as one took a few steps closer. 

          "I think my buddy deserves that after what you did." The guy was completely fine. He just stumbled. I looked up at him hoping Felix wouldn't have to do something. My back hit something hard. I figured it was the wall so I stopped moving. The men looked above me. They looked horrified. I thought it was Felix so I didn't say anything.

            "Is there a problem here?" A deep voice asked from above me. I turned around and almost screamed in surprise. It was Superman himself.

[tenpintsof-sundrop]

Can we please have a more detailed story about how you got your cat?? I'm intrigued now!! (Also what's their name and could we please have a picture 🥺)

Aah I love that you're intrigued now 🥰

His name is Leo - and I actually just remembered that it's the one year anniversary of when I got him omg!!!!!!

Cause we got him on July 1st last year and my parents were freaking out because it's Canada Day long weekend and all the stores were closed and they were like "where the fuck are we gonna get cat food and a litter box" - and they ended up taking a random storage bin that we had and cutting a notch out of the side so that Leo could step into it because he was so small 😭

So here is a picture of him now vs a picture when we first got him:

He is so big and FAT now 🥰

So the full story is:

We had another cat - we actually had 2 cats at the same time and unfortunately one of them passed away in 2020 and one of them passed in April 2023. And everyone in our house was really mourning because in 3 year span we went from a 2 cat household to an empty mourning 0 cat household and all of us were really upset. So at the time, my sister was dating someone and it was a very unserious relationship. They had been on like 2 or 3 dates, and my sister randomly called me "you have to come outside, you have to come see this"

And my first instinct was that someone was in danger - and so I put on my slippers and ran outside and my sister was holding this little grey kitten. Because her girlfriend had heard that our cat passed away and that we were all sad bitches about it and she just - acquired a cat? I still know incredibly minimal about where Leo came from.

(And don't worry - we have taken great care of him. He has gotten all of his vet visits and shots and he has gotten fixed before turning a year old.)

The only thing I really know about his backstory is that his birthday is May the Fourth - Star Wars day, and his name was Luke Skywalker before we got him. And we named him Leo because at the time we got him I was obsessively watching the Ninja Turtles and I told my sister a good name would be after one of the Turtles. So technically he's named after Leonardo from the Ninja Turtles.

And like I said - he was SOOO tiny and because our other cat passing away really gutted us, we got rid of a lot of his cat items really soon after his passing, so we didn't have any cat bowls, we didn't have a litter box, we didn't have any extra litter - all we had was a few of the old cat toys. And I fully thought that my mom was gonna be like "we have to take him to a shelter because I can't emotionally handle having another cat right now"

But my mom held him in her arms and she was like "oh, he's so small... WE NEED A LITTER BOX" and then she shoved him back in my arms and ran out the door and found one of the only open stores. And she got him litter and kitten food and we had to makeshift a litter box

And the first weeks with him was literally like having an infant baby - because he couldn't be left alone AT ALL. Because he kept trying to eat paper and chew on cords and if someone babysitting him fell asleep he would get mad and lick your face until you woke up - because he thought if you fell asleep you died.

But yeah - he's my boy. He's my baby. I love him to death and I spoil him and I wouldn't have it any other way

[majac08]

Last Man Standing Great Balls of Fire

Bradley Bradshaw x OC!Mitchell (Commander Hailey Mitchell)

"I tell my kids about him, about my great love story, and I'll be damned if one of us dies before I do what I promised Ice I would"

TW Deals with themes of war, death, grief, alcoholism, suicide, depression 18+

Top Gun was always made out to be a once in a lifetime opportunity, like there was nothing that could possibly beat it, or that it would never come around again. But life is a bitch and will throw everything it has at you, be prepared for the unexpected because it will happen and you will find a way through it.

Yet here Haillie Mitchell stood, returning to Top Gun 10 years after graduating, she had never expected to be back. She never expected to be back here obviously, but also she ever expected to be back in a position to fly. Iceman had ordered her out of the sky just under 2 and a half years before after he came out to visit her in the aftermath of the final missions destroying the enemy fleet that had destroyed the naval base at Pearl Harbor, killing 2207, and he saw a traumatised, grieving, practically suicidal girl. Not woman, not pilot. Girl. He had ordered her to be grounded until he deemed her fit to fly, so for two and a half years she had been in radio control. Until now.

"Everyone here is the best of the best, so who the hell are they going to have teach us?" Natasha questioned, looking around at the group of aviators currently sat beside her.

"I think the better question is which one of us here is the best pilot, Phoenix." Jake chuckled lowly, presuming that most would agree it was him.

"Hails?" Bob practically yelled across the Hard Deck. They turned to look where Bob was gesturing, seeing a woman with a bag slung over her shoulder. Seconds after they all had started staring, she turned to notice them.

"Oh thank fucking god you two are here." Bob smiled at the comment, but Phoenix was still confused and slightly unimpressed.

"Why the hell are you here?" She asked, arms folded over her chest.

"I'm just finally paying off my debt to Penny, the 10 year deadline has finally rolled around." The other woman replied, coming closer to the group, but Phoenix still kept her arms crossed over her chest, refusing to move further forwards. Bob, however did, he took a few steps towards her before giving her a hug. Phoenix just scoffed.

"Now you're looking at the owner of the best bar in the Pacific region." Bob proudly told Hangman, Hailey ducked her head. She hated it when Bob insisted on praising the bar in other bars, it didn't feel right.

"So you know Commander Mitchell then?" Jake questioned, she nodded. "Well I heard she was a dick." Bob nearly spat out his drink.

"Yeah, something like that." She mumbled, not particularly wanting any of them to know the truth. Luckily, their attention was soon brought to the final aviator arriving.

"Bradshaw! As I live and breathe," Hangman smirked as the Lieutenant with the Hawaiian shirt made his way to the group. Hailey immediately turned away from him, not wanting a scene and not wanting any of these complete strangers to know anything else about her.

"Hangman, you look good." He replied, removing his aviators.

"I am good Rooster, in fact I am too good to be true." Jake told him, not even looking at the pool table as he pocketed one of the balls. Natasha walked around the table and as she was about to hit Rooster in the stomach with the cue, he moved. To get a better look. A better look at her.

"Hailey?" He asked, convinced his eyes were deceiving him. She turned to look at him properly.

"Hey Brad." She replied calmly. He raised an eyebrow, she hardly ever called him Brad.

"How do you-"

"Our old men flew together, we grew up right next door to each other." He interrupted Fanboy, she was surprised to say the least. Hailey was almost certain he'd yell at her, it's all they seem to do when they were together anyways.

There was a short silence, before the game continued and so did conversation. "Tell me that wasn't the guy who broke you in the academy." Bob pleaded, he'd heard the story from Mac and Derek and quite frankly did not want to have to try and like someone he'd have to trust with his life.

"Okay... I won't tell you that." She smirked back, taking some of the nuts he'd been chewing and crunching them in her mouth. "I'm going to head to the ladies room, I'll be right back." She told him as she weaved her way through the crowd, passing Penny Benjamin.

"If it isn't my best customer, from what 10 years ago now Mitch?" The older woman smiled.

"Nice one, I've come to repay my debts." She told her, pulling out three shot glasses, "There, my final repayment all done."

"Try four sweetheart." She laughed, moving to give the younger woman a hug, which was reciprocated. "I'm so sorry to hear about Derek." Penny told her, concern lacing her voice.

"Yeah me too." Hailey replied, "I've got to go Pen, but I'll see you around."

"You know it sweetheart."

Hailey existed the rest room, the faint sound of piano keys filled her ears as she stood paralysed at the sight in front of her. Bradley. Playing the piano. Again. As the familiar notes began, she felt her stomach churn.

"You shake my nerves and you rattle my brain Too much love drives a man insane You broke my will, but what a thrill Goodness gracious great balls of fire I laughed at love when I thought it was funny But you came along and you moved me honey I've changed my mind, this love is fine Goodness gracious great balls of fire Kiss me baby, woo, it feels good Hold me baby, ooh, yeah, you gonna love me like a lover should You're fine, so kind, I'm gonna tell this world that you're mine! Mine! Mine! Mine! I chew my nails, I twiddle my thumbs I'm really nervous but it sure is fun Come on baby, you drive me crazy Goodness gracious great balls of fire Ohhh, kiss me baby, woo-oooooo, feels good, yeah Let me love you like a lover should. You're fine. So kind. I gonna tell this world that you're mine! Mine! Mine! Mine! I chew my nails and I twiddle my thumbs I'm real nervous but it sure is fun Come on baby, you drive me crazy Goodness gracious great balls of fire"

The whole bar had sung with him and was now chanting "ROOSTER ROOSTER" repetitively. There was a time when Hailey Mitchell would have gone and gotten so drunk she couldn't walk, but that was 10 years ago, now she was a grown woman who didn't need to get wasted to feel better about her ex boyfriend who totally wasn't most definitely the love you her life. Quickly hurrying past everyone she ran into Bob. "Are you okay?"

"Great balls of fire." She mumbled very distracted, "I can't do this. I'm going back to base, I'll see you tomorrow." She told him and he brought her in for a hug goodbye, kissing the side of her temple affectionately.

"Love you Hailey Mitchell." He smiled.

"Love you too Robert Floyd." She smiled back, before swinging her bag up and over her shoulder and leaving the bar. Something that wasn't missed by one Bradley Bradshaw and he'd be lying if he said his blood didn't boil at the sight of the only person he knew for absolute certain he loved being so cosy with somebody else.