#apart from opening it up but I do not have screwdrivers small enough for those fuckers

[sevikasleftpussyflap]

Paint

Summary: Interior decorating with Sevika. Another half-assed drabble I don't know what to do with :')

Warnings: MDNI 18+, JIC, No smut but suggestive tones, useless lesbians

The gallons of paint hit the floor with a clunk. Your glare at Sevika’s brutish carelessness is ignored as she lights a cigar. Her face is the picture of pure boredom and you start to feel slightly guilty for making her decorate. It is her apartment, but she moved you in herself so you assume that grants you some embellishing liberties.

“You sure that’s enough?” It seems that she noticed your pensive frown. The cigar is put out on a nearby ashtray before weathered hands start rolling up her sleeves.

“Are you sure you’re okay with this?” Your bottom lip is worried between your teeth. It almost makes you laugh at the effort she makes to wipe the uninterested look off of her face.

“If you’re happy, I’m happy. Just tell me what to do.” 

The paint cans aren’t even open yet but you’ll blame your swooning on the fumes. Your big soldier.

Under your instruction, Sevika cracks open the cans with her metal fingers. You were in the middle of handing her a screwdriver when you see she had already opened it. “Or that works, too.”

Her first smirk since starting this activity appears and she waggles those fingers at you. And Gods, do you want to keep it there.

An idea pops into your head, already moving you towards the wall. Sevika raises an eyebrow at your sudden giddiness but situates herself beside you. The first strokes are made against the wall, and Sevika’s no professional but she knows that’s not how it’s done.

“What are you doing?”

“Painting you!” It’s an insult, really. She has half a mind to swipe her paintbrush across your face.

“That is not me.”

She lets herself be dragged into a contest of some sorts. It’s all for her entertainment, she knows this, but damn if it doesn’t work. Sevika doesn’t know how you can have something so small rattling around in that head of yours and yet put a smile on her face like no one else. The menial task of interior design didn’t make her want to blow her other hand off, not when it was done with her favorite person. Both of you try to make the other laugh as much as possible through shitty art.

“They’re not that big, Sevika.” You snort as she glances over you appreciatively. It’s amusing how her smug demeanor switches back on after she’s been giggling like a school girl. The noises she made did not sound like they would come from that mountain of a woman, but you know better than to comment lest she brood the rest of the day.

“Well I think they are. And what about my muscles? They’re bigger than my head.” The overdrawn muscles in question are a bit exaggerated, but you would argue that your drawn assets were as well.

A series of alterations to each other’s paintings led to noisy squabbling.

…

“Sev, you’re leaving streaks!” Sevika ignores your whine, innocently continuing her shitty job of painting.

“What do you mean, babe?” Her neck cranes down to your form anxiously flocking towards her and boy, is it an effort to control her grin at your worried lip biting. How adorable you were, fretting over her decor. Yours now, too.

“The streaks! Right there. I said that you didn’t have to help me if you’re not going to take this seriously-” 

She doesn’t know how you expect her to listen when you grab the step ladder, climb well above her height and plant that ass in her face. 

“Sorry, hun.” 

These have got to be her favorite shorts on you. Practically underwear, with the way they bunch up around your hips. As much as she loves them, she wished you’d have listened to her plea to just paint naked. The image of a print of your nude body on the wall really got her going, but she still enjoyed the sight of the tight tank against your chest-

“-see?” 

“Huh?” Her eyes were drawn to your stern face, obviously caught with her oogling.

“This is serious, Sevika.” Your eyes narrowed at her chuckle.

“Baby, it’s a wall.”

“It’s our home-”

Large hands wrap around your waist, lifting you onto her shoulders. Her hair tickles your thighs as she turns to give one a kiss, kneading the flesh firmly.

“Guess you’ll have to fix it then.”

“If this was your way to get between my thighs, I’d prefer you leave my wall out of it-Sevika.” Teeth retracted from your thigh. You cursed yourself for letting her get you into this predicament when she gave a low, sultry chuckle. Thighs loosened their hold around her head and there was nothing for you to do but sit there and suffer. 

“I much prefer your walls in it.”

“Hush. And stay still.” It didn’t take long to smooth the paint out. Sevika had seemingly put the whole damn gallon on her side and you had to spread it out to yours. She dutifully shifted to wherever you needed her from a tug on her ponytail. In fact, you kept your other hand busy by just twirling her hair. It had always been comforting for you to feel the strands inbetween your fingers and she didn’t put up too much of a protest. Not even when you woke her up with it, unknowingly coiling it around your fingers in your sleep. The most she’s said to you is that if she goes bald it’ll be your fault and she’ll pull yours out to match. You figured she must like it and it’s incredibly like Sevika to not voice her love for anything cuddly, instead taking your hand and putting it on her head whenever she wants pets. (You’ve learned not to call it that around her. She’s not a fan of that phrasing.)

A quick glance down at her confirms your theory. Sevika’s eyes have glazed over, in her own head as her thumbs rub circles into your thighs. She’s quiet as you gently (or as gently as you can with gravity) climb down her back to return to your side of the wall. That should have been enough to raise your suspicions. 

As soon as your on the ground, you’re twirled around until your back hits the wall with a thud, knocking a gasp out of you. Sevika adjusts her hold on your thighs, briefly peeling you off the wall with a squelch.

“Sevika!”

“Oh. Shit.” Her voice is decidedly unapologetic and her mouth is on yours before you can berate her. Dark lips move against your own, swallowing any protest and unfairly intoxicating you.

When your pants are being wrestled down your hips you finally snap out of it.

“Hey, hey, Sevika! We spent two fucking hours on this wall-“ 

She stands to her full height, the fucking giant. It’s a tactic she’s noticed will fry your brain, her body towering over you in every way. She’s smug about it too, leaning towards you a bit more and watching you reboot. 

“Stop that. And let me-“

“I want an imprint of your ass on the wall.” Spoken so confidently, like she was making an order at Jerichos.

“Absolutely not-“

“C’mon, hun.” 

You steel your nerve and tell yourself pet names will not make you fold. (Like they have in the past). Sevika knows her rare sweetness gets her what she wants and she’ll never fail to use it to her advantage.

“I will get a painting of my ass made if you want, Sev. But we are not having it displayed in our living room. What if our friends-“ 

Your offer was met with a frown.

“First of all, no one sees your ass but me, and second, we don’t have friends.”

“We do-“

“We can put a plant in front of it, or some shit.”

“No.”

#sevika x reader #arcane sevika x reader #sevika imagine #There probably is a plant in front of it #Sevika refused to paint over it #stopped you if you tried #posted solely bc of the fact that someone might enjoy this #just one

[chokemewanda]

Truth And Good

Steve Rogers x f!reader

Masterlist

Five times Tony is shocked by how little he knows Steve and one time he accepts it.

Warnings: swearing, smut, blink and you’ll miss it Stucky, blink and you’ll miss it SamBucky, violence

“I don’t get it.” You looked between the group feeling nothing but confused when Tony made a joke about Steve and his Golden Boy ways.

You looked to your boyfriend, your eyebrows pulled down in confusion and he rolled his eyes, pulling you close with the arm he had wrapped around your shoulders.

“Because I’m a paragon of truth and good. Captain America doesn’t swear, you know?” He explained. You looked between Steve and Tony as Tony waited for you to catch up.

“You’re new around here and something tells me you’re going to be around for a while so here’s the crash course.” Tony pointed a small screwdriver at you. “Cap here doesn’t like any vulgarity. No swearing, no jokes about sex, no talking about sex and unfortunately for you, probably no having sex either.”

“Steve? My Steve?” You asked, looking back to the man in question who preened when you called him yours.

“It’s a long running joke, I can’t escape the old man persona they’ve attached to me.” Steve explained with a shrug and you let it go, sensing how uncomfortable he was with the whole conversation.

///

“So, how did you phrase it? Paragon of virtue?” You asked, taking your seat beside Steve on the sofa and burrowing under his arm.

“Paragon of truth and good.” He corrected, tipping you on the nose with his index finger.

“Hmm, so you don’t have sex?” You asked and Steve laughed.

“Baby, you’ve still got bruises for my hands on your hips last night.” He reminded you and you nodded, stuck in your head with the thought that no one actually knew Steve. “It’s just a running joke. They see me as an old man and I just let them.”

“So none of them really know you.” You sighed and he shrugged, content to leave things how they were so he wouldn’t stir the pot. This man told Nazi’s to eat shit for a living but couldn’t ask his friends to cut it out.

“They know enough.” Steve sighed. “The rest is for you.”

///

1. Sports

You pushed open the apartment window as far as it would go and stuck your head out, hoping to find a breeze but the air was still and the heat was sweltering.

You were sweating through your tank top and shorts and even Steve who usually ran warm anyway was down to just a pair of shorts.

He was leaned back in the sofa, a beer in hand and eyes transfixed on the television. The Dodgers were losing bad and he was in a foul mood, the heat was not helping his temper.

You fanned yourself with a take out pamphlet as he leaped off the couch, free hand clenched in a fist and yelled. “You traitorous bastards. How hard is it to hit the damn ball?”

You watched for little longer as he slumped back down on the couch and swallowed the last of his beer, you made your way to the fridge and tossed a beer to his open, waiting hand.

“You - what the fuck was that? Thank god those piece of shit players moved outta New York, I’d be ashamed to say they were from my city.” Steve sighed, opening the bottle and chugging half in the first swallow.

“Not everyone has got the reflexes you’ve got, Baby.” You reminded him, standing in front of the open refrigerator. He looked over his shoulder and rolled his eyes with a smile.

“Is it too much to ask they do the job they get paid to do?” He asked and you laughed, shutting the fridge and padding forward to wrap your arms around his neck, your clasped hands resting over his heart.

“Do you gotta be so vulgar, Mr. Paragon of Truth and Good?” You asked and he shrugged, jostling you. His hand came up to clasp over yours.

“Can’t a man yell at the tv in his own apartment? You gonna tell me it’s a sin to drink beer next?” He asked drily, a smirk on his lips.

“Mhmm, what’s the point if it don’t get you drunk?” You asked with a shrug, releasing him when your phone began to buzz on the kitchen counter.

“We got a security breach and you’re it for covering over time.” Tony sighed down the phone and you groaned.

“I don’t wanna.” You whined and Steve jumped up from the sofa again.

“Are you fucking kidding me?” Steve yelled and you sighed, pressing a hand over your other ear. “Christ just shove the bat up your-“

“Steve!” You snapped. “I’m on the phone.”

“Like hell that was Cap talking.” Tony scoffed and you rolled your eyes, heading for your trainers and keys where you had left them by the door.

“I’ll be back soon baby!”

“Fucking Dodgers.” Steve sighed before looking up. “Hang on Sweets, I’m gonna come with you. There’s better AC at the tower.”

2. Lonely

Steve had been gone for a month. A whole month of calls from burner cells and mission reports from Natasha to assure you he was, in fact, still alive.

You were new to all this. New to the whole long distance relationship and the not knowing if he was okay.

Certain things weren’t new to you but being with Steve had spoiled you. Steve had an insatiable libido, one that made sure you were well looked after and now after months of more orgasms than you could count you had gone over a month with only yourself for company.

You weren’t sure how it happened that you had come to depend on him so much but his absence had shown you that he had made good on his promises to ruin you for anyone else.

You were sitting in your office, legs crossed and laptop on your lap. You should’ve gone home hours ago but it was lonely and you preferred to keep working through it rather than deal with it.

You looked up when your phone began to vibrate, buzzing against the leather of the chair you were sitting in. You lifted it without looking, still typing with your free hand and you answered.

“Hey Sweets.” You sighed in relief, tension falling from your shoulders at the sound of his voice. He was tired, you could tell as much. You weren’t sure where he was but his time zone seemed to be similar to yours which made it so much worse, knowing he hadn’t gone far.

“Hey baby, how are you doing?” You asked, closing down the lid of your laptop and placing it back up on your desk. “You coming home soon?”

“Probably gonna be another week.” He sighed and you frowned, your bottom lip jutting out. “Don’t pout.”

“I miss you.” You sighed down the phone. “The bed feels too big without you. I didn’t even go home today because I don’t want to be there alone.”

“I know Sweets, feeling a little lonely without you.” Your pout disappeared, your lips turning up in a smile at the groan in Steve’s voice. “Miss your sweet little mouth.”

“Been all riled up without you, haven’t been this deprived since I went through a dry spell after graduating.” You told him, stretching languidly in your chair.

“I know Sweets, I miss taking care of you. I miss hearing that little whimper when I first get my mouth on you.” You whimpered as he spoke, a hand traveling under your waist band. “How have you been taking care of yourself?”

“Used those toys you got me.” You whispered, your fingers sliding between your folds. “They aren’t as good as you.”

“I’m so fucking hard all day.” He tells you honestly. A shout and then Steve’s resigned voice came through the speaker. “Tony don’t even dare. Get out, shut the door and mind your business.”

3. Virtue

“You want another?” You asked Steve and he nodded, his hand lingering on the small of your back as he looked away from Clint and Natasha. “Same again?”

“Yeah Sweets.” He grinned and pressed a kiss to the top of your head and you smiled before heading to the bar, ordering two drinks.

As you were waiting you chat to some of your colleagues, lamenting on a project you’ve all been working on and how it’s kicking your asses.

“If we don’t meet that deadline we are so fucked.” Joan, a fellow analyst, sighed, taking a drink and slamming her glass down on the bar top.

“If you don’t get fucked you’re gonna get fired just from your temper alone.” Ben laughed from behind his beer bottle.

“If she breaks my bar she’s fired.” Tony popped up at your side and you rolled your eyes.

“It’s the sexual frustration.” You told him with a shrug and he laughed. “She’s been on edge for weeks.”

“You and her must have that in common. I bet Cap is still a virgin.” Tony teased and you raised one eyebrow, a smirk on your lips.

“Oh yeah, our Captain is a paragon of, how did he phrase it?” You asked, pretending to think.

“Truth and Good.” You and Tony echoed each other and you laughed again, accepting two drinks from the bar man.

“I don’t know about Cap but Steve Rogers fucks me into the mattress every night and he’s not satisfied until I’ve cum twice as many times as he does.” You sip from your drink as you feel the comforting presence of your boyfriend behind you.

Without looking you raise the hand holding his drink and he accepts it, pressing a kiss to the shell of your ear.

“Cap, did you give this woman your virtue?” Tony asks, aghast.

Everyone looks up when Bucky clears his throat as he walks by, an arm around Sam’s shoulder and a devilish gleam in his eyes. “Nah, I had that privilege. Thought him everything he knows.”

“Captain America is Bisexual?” Ben asks, jaw dropped.

“Bisexual is when-“ Tony rushes to explain and Steve laughs.

“I know what it is.” He assured the worried billionaire. “And I’m not bisexual.”

“He’s pansexual.” You filled in, leaning back against your super soldier’s chest.

4. Missing

“We’ve gone over eight hours without view.” Steve pushed through the groups of agents crowded in the briefing room and approached the two he left responsible for you.

“Eight hours? Eight fucking hours it took you to miss her?” He asks, eyes flashing dangerously. “How did you lose sight of her for eight hours?”

“It was during the night! We have a shift change and it must have happened then. We didn’t realize until she didn’t wake for work.” The agent crumpled under the weight of Steve’s glare and flinched when he raised his hand.

“Get out. Don’t come back. Don’t ever let me see you again. If I so much as hear your voice then you are dead.” Steve warned and the agent scurried away, head ducked with shame as everyone began to work, tracking your whereabouts.

“Find her.” He told the room, his voice low and dangerous. “Now.”

“Cap.” Tony sighed, grabbing Steve by the arm. “Breath.”

“Not until she’s found.” He growled and looked up when an analyst called his attention.

“We got a location.” Ben worked with you and so Steve knew he could trust him. “She entered this building less than twenty minutes ago with two known Hydra associates.”

“Let’s go.” Steve swung his shield out of the holster on his back and settled it on his arm.

“We need a plan. We need to think this through-“ Tony argued but was silenced when Steve turned his cold glare on him.

“I need to put a bullet in the head of anyone that dares stand between her and I.” Steve told the room, his voice leaving no room for argument.

“Cap-“ Tony sighed.

“Cap nothing. My name is Steve and that’s my fucking girl.”

5. Quick?

“Steve.” You hissed, prying his hands away from your waist with a laugh. He let you push him away only for him to pull you after him, his back thumping into the wall.

You stumbled against his chest and rolled your eyes, trying to push away from him. “I’ll be so quick.”

“No, you don’t know how to be quick. You get all caught up in being a tease.” You scowl but even as you speak you know he’s already won, manhandling you until your back is to his chest and he has your skirt hitched up.

“Can’t be helped, Sweets. You’ve got a pussy that begs to be appreciated.” Steve sighs, mouthing kisses against your neck.

“Appreciate it quickly.” You groan, arching your hips into his touch. “We’ve got less than fifteen minutes before someone notices we’re gone.”

“Twenty by my estimate. Tony and Pepper have gone with Morgan to take pictures just the three of them.” Steve sighs when you grind your ass back against him. “Natasha went with them to hold Pepper’s dress or something.”

“It’s a wedding, we’re expected to be out there.” The fight has completely left your body when he slips a finger inside you.

“Cap, family photos time and you’re the closest I’ve got so-“ You flush bright red as Tony bursts in the door and Steve freezes in place.

“Your hand is up her skirt.” Tony stutters and Steve clears his throat.

“Yes. So will I be in a minute. Shut the damn door.”

+1

“You defiled him.” You had danced with all the Avengers and had ended up in Tony’s arms, letting him spin you manically as you both laughed.

Steve and Pepper with dancing slowly, with manners. Unlike you and Tony, a tornado of clumsy limbs and too much energy.

“You’d think that but actually, I had nothing to do with that.” You told Tony with a laugh as he dipped You dangerously low. “He was that bad when I met him.”

“It had to shock you.” Tony argues. “You couldn’t have expected that from him.”

“Some of it shocked me.” You admitted. “But he was in the army, he’s clearly learned somewhere how to fuck. He’s a man at the end of the day and they all come down to three things. Sports, sex and beer.”

“Never was much for sport myself.” Tony sniffed before spinning you rapidly. “Don’t think baseball should count, either.”

“Don’t tell him that unless you want a fist fight at your wedding.” You laughed, crashing against Tony breathlessly.

“A month ago I’d have called your bluff.” Tony tells you. “But now I just don’t know.”

#captain america #mcu #marvel #marvel cinematic universe #steve rogers #steve rogers x female reader #steve rogers x f!reader #steve rogers x you #steve rogers x y/n #steve rogers x bucky barnes #stucky #Tony Stark #steve rogers smut #steve rogers imagine #steve rogers blurb #steve rogers drabble #sambucky

[ibis-gt]

I honestly would love to read about the first time Cam finds out Luther is shrinking because he has feelings for him. In that hanahaki disease au.

ask and ye shall receive.... cam figures it out. just shy of 2000 words.

~~~

“Aaaand… there,” Cam said, and gave the screwdriver one final twist. He pulled on the little contraption in front of him a few times to test its stability and sat back on his haunches, finally satisfied. “You’re all set.”

It is one of four little rope and pulley elevator systems that he’d set up around Luther’s apartment. It consisted of a small wooden plank that Luther could stand on and use the rope system to raise or lower himself. Each one was operable at height ranges between about a foot and a half to four inches. They let him get up onto his sofa, his bed, the kitchen counter, and the bathroom sink.

“You really didn’t have to do all that,” Luther protested from his position just behind Cam. “I mean, I don’t get that small that often, I probably won’t use them that much.”

Cam laughed and pushed a stray wisp of hair out of his face, looking up at Luther. “What are you talking about? You’re always shrinking around me. It’s okay, I’m happy to help. That’s what friends are for.” He watched the usual blush spread across Luther’s face, the telltale shiver run down his spine, and smiled as Luther shrank another inch. He’d lost some height here and there during the installation process as they chatted, and had gone down to about five foot even, if Cam had to guess. “Anyway, you let me know if you have any trouble with these, and I’ll be over to fix ‘em as soon as I can. And there’s the bells if you’re in any real trouble - those strings there, see? They’re hooked up to a bell in my apartment, ring that and I’ll come right over.”

“My cat’ll have a field day with them,” Luther murmured, brow furrowing. “Maybe we should do something other than string.”

Cam chewed on the end of his screwdriver in contemplation. “Hm. Good point. I’ll figure something out later.” He slipped the screwdriver in his toolbelt and slapped his hands on thighs as he stood up. “Well! I’d better get back to my place and start dinner. You’re coming over, right?”

“Oh! As long as it’s not an imposition? I mean, I don’t want to be any trouble…”

“Nah, s’alright, you’re always welcome. Spaghetti and meatballs tonight. See you in an hour?”

Luther’s blush deepened and he lost another two inches. “S-see you then,” he managed.

Cam chuckled fondly to himself as he left. He tried not to think of Luther’s condition as cute or funny, because when the shrinking was really bad it put the poor guy in danger. But he couldn’t help but find it amusing when Luther lost just a little height, ending up just a slightly shorter version of himself. And when he went on one of his long rambles and shrank a little bit at a time all throughout, it put Cam in mind of a deflating balloon, which was just too silly not to laugh at. And when he ended up really tiny, and he was just like a little doll, and fit so perfectly in the palm of Cam’s hand…

Cam shook his head to clear his thoughts. No, that was too far. He shouldn’t think like that, no doubt it was terrifying for Luther to be so small and vulnerable. He sighed as he shouldered his door open, hands full of leftover wood and string. He set them on the little table where he kept his keys by the door, then unbuckled his toolbelt and hung it on the coat rack, lost in thought.

He’d been puzzling over what caused Luther to shrink for a while now. Was it just at random? Was it like an allergic reaction, and some kind of food or environmental thing kicked it off? He had a brief vision of Luther sneezing and instantly shrinking down to bug size. No, knock it off, he chastised himself, not funny. A little funny. But don’t laugh at it.

Anyway, he hadn’t seen Luther ever sneeze when he shrank, so that probably wasn’t it. What were the symptoms? He’d make a list, that would help him narrow it down.

Cam slipped an apron over his head - one of the novelty ones his sister kept getting him, he didn’t bother to read the witty joke about buns printed on the front - and started on the dough for his spaghetti. Whenever possible, he liked to make things from scratch. Besides, having something to do with his hands let his mind work better. He worked the problem around in his mind just like he worked the dough in front of him, kneading it, pushing it around, looking at it from different angles.

So. What were the warning signs? Luther tended to get awkward and shy just before he shrank. He’d blush, stammer or trip over his words, either avoid eye contact or stare like he couldn’t look away, and of course the final sign was that signature shiver right before a loss of height. A lot of those symptoms could be attributed to anxiety as well - was that what triggered the shrinking, just whenever he was anxious? But that couldn’t be it, Luther had been anxious plenty of times without shrinking. Not to mention he worked a high-stress job, waiting tables at a local diner, and wouldn’t be able to make it through the day if anxiety made him shrink. So that wasn’t it.

Cam rolled the dough out flat and cut it into strips. He hung the fresh noodles up to dry and put water on to boil, then opened the fridge and pulled out the meatballs he’d shaped that morning.

His brain kept chugging along on the issue as he worked, hands going on automatic. He came back to the present long enough to taste the sauce he’d made, hem and haw, and add a little more garlic, then went right back to it. There was something tugging at the back of his mind, trying to get his attention, but he couldn’t quite grasp it.

A sound startled him out of his thoughts - the ringing of a bell.

“Shoot,” Cam hissed, dropping the sauce spoon. It clattered onto the stove and left little pools of sauce cooling on the glass surface. He’d deal with that later though, Luther needed him now. He switched the burners to low and headed for the door.

Luther’s door was locked, so he had to duck back inside his apartment to grab the spare key. He opened the door slowly and called out.

“Luther? Was that just the cat, or do you need me?” Cam scanned the room, looking for that distinctive neon green jumpsuit. It clashed horribly with everything, but it was useful for spotting him when he ended up tiny. Sure enough, there he was by the strings for the bell, waving an arm to get Cam’s attention. He was easy to spot, as far as things went, standing about a foot tall. Cam hurried over.

“What’s wrong? Are you hurt? Do you need help?” Cam took a knee in front of Luther and leaned in close, inspecting him for injuries. Luther took a step back, startled by the sudden rush of worry, and Cam made himself pull back as well. It had to be scary to have someone looming over you like that, he told himself, give him a little space.

“I-I’m fine,” Luther said. “I just… well, this happened, and now I can’t really open my door, so I was hoping you could give me a lift over for dinner? Sorry, I shouldn’t’ve used the bell. I could’ve texted you.”

The tension flooded out of Cam and he laughed in relief. “No, that’s fine, I just jumped to conclusions. I can give you a lift, sure.” He cupped his hands and held them out to Luther, who climbed on and settled in, sitting down with his legs crossed. Cam rose slowly, being careful not to jostle Luther, and began to amble back towards the door. A thought occurred to him.

“What did it?” Cam asked.

Luther looked up, startled. “What did what?”

‘“What made you shrink this time? I’ve been trying to work it out on my own and I’m just not getting it. There’s gotta be a common thread, right, you’re not just shrinking at random?”

Luther stared at him in open-mouthed shock, face growing steadily redder.

“I mean,” Cam continued, “if you were just shrinking at random, it’d be hard to hold down a job, y’know? Do you ever shrink at work? And anyway, didn’t you say - ” His eyes widened as that thing that had been nagging at him finally became clear. “You said you don’t shrink all the time! But you shrink pretty often whenever I’m around. Am I doing it, somehow?”

“No, no, no,” Luther said hurriedly, but Cam could feel him getting smaller.

“Oh, liar!” Cam chortled. “Nice try, Pinnochio, but I’m literally holding you right now. Is it actually me?”

“It’s - it’s not - not always?” Luther was practically cowering away from him now, and Cam realized he’d been a little harsh.

“Oh shoot, I’m sorry. Look, we don’t have to talk about it, okay? It’s your business, I shouldn’t’ve pried.”

“No, I… I’ve been meaning to tell you for a while, it’s just… hard to say out loud, um…” Luther fidgeted with the collar of his jumpsuit, avoiding Cam’s eyes. He was red as a tomato, mouth drawn up in an adorable little pout, and so small and cute that Cam’s heart ached. Then it clicked.

“Oh. Is it me, like… because you like me?” Cam asked. “Like, you have a crush on me, is that it?”

Luther let out a sound like a tea kettle whistling, shrinking down at an alarming rate to only five inches tall. Cam couldn’t help himself. He laughed so hard he snorted. When he finally got a hold on himself again, the wounded look on Luther’s face sobered him instantly.

“Oh, I’m so sorry, but you don’t know how long I’ve been trying to work this out, and the answer’s been right in front of my face the whole time! I swear I’m laughing at myself, not at you. Anyway, you wanna go out sometime?”

Luther gaped up at him for a long moment. His mouth opened and closed a few times, but nothing came out. Finally he shut his mouth and nodded furiously. Cam grinned.

“Or this could be like our first date, right? I’ll get some candles and dim the lights. We could even 'Lady and the Tramp' it with the spaghetti! Or - okay, okay, sorry, I’ll stop.” Luther had started to shrink again, and Cam didn’t want his cooking to go to waste just because his guest was too small to eat it. “Hey, I joke a lot, but I want you to know I’m being serious here,” he said gently. “I’d like to go out with you, if you’re alright with it. Is it going to cause problems, though? Like are you going to shrink every time we’re together?”

Luther shifted and looked away, finally finding his voice. “I - I don’t know. The doctor said if I told you about how I felt, it would get easier. But he didn’t say it would go away entirely… if that’s not something you want to put up with, we don’t have to - ”

“No, no, that’s fine, I don’t mind it. Just if it was a problem for you, is all. I like you a lot, Luther. I’d love to be your partner, if you’ll have me.”

Luther looked back up at Cam with a huge, genuine, relieved smile on his teeny tiny face. Cam’s heart melted.

“I’d like that.”

#asks #writing #gulliver's hanahaki #not me best but i am at peace w/ it

[babybluebex]

of pubs and profs [tom holland smut]

➽ pairing: prof!tom holland x fem!reader (y/n) ➽ word count: 4.7k ➽ summary: you have what you consider the best night of your life, but discover that it was with the worst person possible. ➽ warnings: NSFW/MDNI. smut, explicit language, fingering/oral (f recieving), unprotected sex (i am begging yall to wear a condom irl) ➽ a/n: alright so... don’t fool around with your teacher pls. live vicariously thru y/n :) 

He seemed so out of place here. For one thing, a bar like this was hardly known for much good happening, and this man exuded good. He seemed fit, even as he sat at the bar, his face sharp, full of angles that would have been glorious to sketch, and he had caramel-amber hair that curled around his ears and the nape of his neck. He wore a dark blue turtleneck and slacks, a watch with a leather band around his left wrist. 

“You’re staring.” 

I jumped. I had forgotten that I was mid-conversation. “Huh?”

Zendaya scoffed. “You’re staring at that guy,” she said. “Like, staring super hard. Do you know him?” 

“No,” I mumbled. “He’s just…” I trailed off for a moment, then attempted to save face by taking a sip of my drink. “I like the look of him. Ya know?” 

Zendaya scoffed at me. “I like the look of him too, but you’re on something else here.” There was a pause between the two of us, and Zen’s mouth split into a smile. “Five bucks.” 

“For what?” I asked. 

“You can’t get his number,” Zen said. “I’ll give you five whole dollars if you get his phone number.”

“You don’t have five dollars,” I said playfully, with narrowed eyes. “You don’t even have two coins to rub together.”

“Right, and who bought your drink?” Zen asked. “C’mon, you need to put yourself out there. Ever since you and Jacob broke up, it’s been nothing but… Sad. Your room’s a cave, Y/N. Will you do this for me?” 

I cast a glance at the guy once more, and I sighed. “Why not?” I mumbled under my breath. “But I had better get that fucking money, or I’ll take away your apartment privileges.” 

“I pay half of the rent, fuck you,” Zen laughed. “Go. Go!” 

“I am!” I giggled, and I slid myself out of the booth. The pub was bustling with nightly business, and I edged my way past a group of girls to find a place at the bar. My plan of attack was to order a drink and strike up a conversation with this guy, and grab his phone number before I left. Lucky for me, there was an empty space next to him, and I leaned against the bar with my forearms. 

“Oh, hey, good lookin’!” the bartender, Jake, exclaimed. He was a close friend of mine, hence why I always chose to drink at this particular bar. Our freshman year, he lived in the room across the hall from me, and we frequented each other for screwdrivers (of both varieties) all year. Since then, we continued to grow close. “What’s cooking?”

“Not a lot, Gyllenhaal,” I replied, and our hands met in a quick dap. “Lemme get a rum and Coke.”

“Sure thing,” Jake said. “Gimme two minutes. We’ve got a bachelorette party in the back.” 

“No problem,” I replied, and I watched Jake slide to the other side of the bar. 

The game was now on. I looked over my shoulder to Zendaya briefly, just for long enough to gauge that she was laughing at me, and I cast her a look before turning back. Then, I looked back over my other shoulder, the one closest to the guy, and I caught sight of a book he had. “What’re you reading there?” 

He looked up at me with big brown eyes, and my breath caught in my chest. From far away, he was hot but, up close, he was totally something else. He had strands of ginger in his dark hair, and his fingers closed the book in order to look at the cover, like he himself wasn’t sure of what he was reading. “Chaos Walking,” he answered, and my eyes widened. His voice was gorgeous, pitched low, accented with a London attitude. “My mate told me I’d like it.”

“Don’t think I’ve read that,” I said, narrowing my eyes. “What’s it about?” 

“Well,” he began and laughed lightly. “A lot. Basically, though, it follows a boy who lives in a world with no girls, where you can hear others thoughts, and he meets a girl. It’s sci-fi and… I dunno.” 

“Is it a good read?” I asked. “You seem like you enjoy it.” The book was battered, the paper cover torn and creased, with the spine broken. It was a book that was well-loved, and I liked how his entire being seemed to reflect the book. 

“Oh, I love it,” he said with a smile. “It’s so fun, ya know? The entirety of the story is incredible.” Then, a beat passed, and he added, “I’m Tom.” 

“Well, hi,” I said and gave him a warm smile. “I’m Y/N. No offense, but this sorta place doesn’t seem like your vibe.” 

Tom gave the front of the book a firm pat. “It’s not,” he said. “I was waiting on a friend but he doesn’t seem like he’ll be joining me tonight.”

“I didn’t think so,” I said, wrinkling my nose. “You seem like a coffee shop kinda guy.”

“You don’t quite seem like the sort to be here either,” Tom told me. 

“How do you mean?”

“You don’t belong in a pub like this, I just know it,” Tom told me. “You’d be better suited somewhere else.” 

I shrugged. “I usually don’t leave my apartment to drink,” I said. “But I’m friends with the bartender and I visit every so often just to say hi.” A moment passed. “Wait, back up. Where would I be better suited?” 

Tom smiled, but it seemed more hesitant than before. “At the risk of being bold,” he started. “My flat.” 

“Jesus!” I breathed, and my face went hot. 

“I’m sorry,” he said quickly. “That was-- I’m so sorry--”

“No, no!” I said quickly. “No, it’s not a problem, I promise. That was bold, Tom, but I don’t mind it. As a matter of fact, I think you might be right.” 

“Glad we agree,” Tom said. “D’you wanna get out of here now?” 

“Sure thing,” I said. My skin prickled at the thought of him against me, and I laid a gentle hand on his arm. “Let me get my bag.” 

When I approached the booth, Zendaya stuck her tongue at me. “You lost,” she said. 

“Did I?” I asked, pulling my bag onto my shoulder. “Or am I going home with him?” 

“Shut up,” Zen laughed. “That was quick as hell.” 

“That tends to happen,” I shrugged. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have a meeting with Tom.” 

“I hate you,” I heard Zen mutter as I turned away from her. 

Tom’s apartment--his flat, as he called it--was just a short cab ride from the bar, and I had hardly passed through the front door before his hands were pressing into my waist and his mouth was on mine. In an instant, I had melted into him, and my hands tangled in the bottom of his shirt. His mouth tasted like whiskey, which felt totally in-character for him, and he carefully nipped at my bottom lip. 

“Fuck, you’re gorgeous,” Tom whispered, and he pushed my hair from my neck in order to brush his lips against my throat. No guys in my past had ever told me that in such clear terms, and my entire body ran hot at his words. A shiver ran down my spine, and he huffed a laugh into my neck. “Do you like when I say that?”

“I just like the way you talk,” I admitted. “Could listen forever.” 

“That’s an awfully long time,” Tom told me warmly. His slender fingers inched under my shirt to touch my bare skin, and he slid his hands to lay flat against the small of my back. His kisses lingered on my neck, and the feeling of his soft skin was so lovely. “Let’s start with tonight.” 

“I can manage that,” I laughed. “Bed?” 

As soon as I was down in his bed, Tom was working my shirt off. His hands were so strong and sure against me, and I had no hesitations in letting him do whatever he pleased. His kisses trailed down to my stomach and chest once they were bare to him, and the feel of his mouth on my hip made me take a fistful of those pretty brown waves of his. He just laughed and continued his pursuit downwards, and he rid me of my jeans and panties before pausing and looking up at me. “Is this alright?” He asked. 

“Yeah,” I said. “Just… Yeah.”

“Good girl,” Tom whispered, and I swore I died right there. He took my leg in his strong grip and kissed my inner thigh, and he placed the softest kiss to my quivering cunt. I immediately knew that I was in good hands, and I let my body relax and submit to Tom. His shoulders nudged my legs open further as he pressed his warm tongue to my wetness, and I bit back a moan as I tried to keep my legs from closing. I was already shaking, which was honestly embarrassing, but Tom didn’t seem to mind. In fact, it seemed to encourage him, because he placed a series of sloppy kisses to my throbbing clit that made me squeal. Then, his mouth went straight to where I was leaking, and an obscene slurping filled the air. Fuck, he was good. 

“Oh my God,” I whispered, and his fingers quickly joined his tongue. First one, then two, then his thumb met my clit, and I whimpered. “Oh, fuck, oh my God.” 

“No need to call me that,” Tom whispered. His breath was hot against my wet cunt, his voice raspy, and I couldn’t help the fluttering that enveloped his fingers. “Just my name will do for now.”

The combination of his fingers and mouth made my stomach quiver, and I knew that it wouldn’t be long before I came. I had never come just from being eaten out, and my heart raged against my ribcage when I dared to imagine what came next. His thumb moved slowly around my clit, and his mouth replaced it as his fingers moved in me deliciously. His tongue, so skilled and quick, took up his thumb’s previous job, and he took the throbbing bud into his mouth and quickly nipped it with his teeth at the same moment that his fingertips found home inside me. 

There was no hope of obscuring my moan. “Fuck!” I yelped, writhing in his grip. “T-Tom, fuck.”

“Do you wanna come?” Tom whispered, looking at me through his eyelashes. “Use your words, my darling, please.” 

“Please, please,” I gasped. My head fell back to expose my neck, and I squeezed my eyes shut. My breathing was ragged, and a shock of electricity raced through my whole body when he laughed into my cunt. 

“Such a needy girl,” Tom chuckled. “You don’t have to ask. Whenever you’re ready, just let me know.” 

He lapped at my wet cunt, tasting me like he had dreamt of this, and my hand went from his hair to his shoulder. His waves and curls fell into his eyes, but he kept at his work, even when I pushed at his shoulder. “Tommy,” I whimpered out helplessly. “I-I’m gonna-- You--”

“My darling,” Tom said. “I want you to come on my tongue. Let me taste you, babygirl. Come for me.” 

My bottom lip was bitten nearly raw, and it only became worse when he said that. I nearly tasted blood as he gave my cunt one last kiss, so much more gentle than what he had been doing before, and my hips stuttered as hot pleasure pulsed through every part of me. I grabbed handfuls of his shirt and tugged him close, and he came to lay with his hips between my legs. My vision was blurry with tears as I studied him, oh so close to me now, and I felt a tiny pride at his pink cheeks and glistening lips. That was all me. “Oh, thank you,” I whispered, and he sweetly kissed each of my cheeks. “That was so good.” 

“I’m glad,” Tom said. “Secretly, I pride myself in being able to do that.” 

“You should be proud of that,” I huffed. “Also… ‘my god’?” 

“That was in jest,” Tom began with a light laugh. 

“I know,” I said. My hands trailed up his back, hiking his shirt up to his shoulders, and he helped me in tugging it off. He shook his hair out once it passed his head, and I added, “It’s a fitting name, though.” 

“Really?” He asked, bracing himself above me. “Am I a god, Y/N?”

“Close to it,” I told him. I noticed the way that my hands were trembling as I went to his belt, and he must have noticed as well, because his hands went to my wrists. His hands fit all the way around my wrists easily. It wasn’t rough or dominating by any means; his hands slid up from my wrists to grasp my hands, fingers interlocking with mine as he pressed my hands down beside my head. 

“Take a deep breath, my darling,” Tom told me gently. His thumb made comforting circles on my hand, and my stomach went all fluttery at how serene it was. “You’re shaking so hard. Do we need to stop?” 

“No,” I told him. “I’m alright. I promise.” 

“Alright,” Tom said. “Let me know if we need to stop.” 

I nodded quickly, reaching for a handful of his hair, and I tugged him down to kiss me. I could taste myself on his mouth and, normally, that would have irked me, but with Tom, it only made my thighs tense and warmth spread through my body. My skin rippled at each touch of his fingers, and I let out little mumblings of his name as he kissed my neck and shoulders. 

A surge of boldness ran up my spine, and I moved my hands from where he had placed them back down to his belt. As it seemed was the norm, he was two steps ahead of me, because he was already in the process of leaning back and pulling off his pants. The bedroom was cast only in the soft light of the lamp beside the bed, but I still captured every freckle, hair, and ridge on Tom’s firm chest and stomach. He was the definition of the skinny white guy that had good dick. Or, at least, he gave good head. But someone that good at giving head had to be as skilled elsewhere, right? 

He was back on me in an instant, kissing my neck and making little marks on my skin as I shoved his pants down his thighs. Tom’s hands captured my legs and drew them around his naked waist, and I gasped aloud when I felt his hard cock brush against my cunt, already throbbing once more. In fear of seeming dumb, I didn’t intentionally look, but I could feel the weight of his cock against my body, and I stuttered, “God, Tommy..” 

“That impressive, huh?” Tom laughed.  

“Of course,” I remarked. “What, have you never been told you have a big cock before?”

Tom lifted his head from my neck, and I let out a giggle at his blown-wide pupils and red cheeks. “Where the hell have you been all my life?” He asked with a smile. He laughed, and I noticed the way that wrinkles formed right by his eyes with the extremity of his smile. That was adorable as hell. “You’re gorgeous and so funny, and you’re complimenting me like this? You’re perfect.” 

“I’ve just been waiting for you, I guess,” I shrugged and ran my hands over his built arms, rock solid like a statue. 

“Sorry it took me so long to find you,” Tom smiled. “Traffic was a bitch.” 

I laughed, my head falling back onto the pillows, and Tom situated the head of his cock at my folds. At the feel of it, I gasped, and he swallowed my gasp with a kiss. “Let me know if we need to stop,” he reminded me, kissing my chin gently. 

“I’m fine,” I told him, even though I was shaking so fiercely. Tom sank himself into me, and the deep rumble of his moan made my back arch up against him. “Fuck, darling,” he mumbled. “Cunt’s so tight… Squeezing the hell outta me.” His fingers dug into my hip, surely leaving bruises to later admire, and he snapped his hips forward so that he was fully in me. 

“More,” I whispered. I wasn’t sure what I wanted more of; I just knew that I wanted more of whatever he ended up giving me. 

My whole body thrummed with blood and life as he fucked me, pausing to pant into my neck and kiss my mouth. His back was taut with hard muscles and I raked my fingers down to his waist and back up to his hair. A curl had escaped the rest of his hair and bounced against my forehead with each thrust, and Tom and I each huffed out a laugh at it. Silently, I reached up and twisted the perfect curl around my finger, and Tom gave me another eye-wrinkling smile.

“F-Fuck, darling,” Tom muttered, and I could tell by his stuttering that he was close. The rhythm of his hips had slowed, but his grip on my waist and legs was as tight as ever. “So fuckin good for me, God.” 

“I’m getting close again, Tommy,” I told him, my voice shaking. I’m sure he already knew, what with the way my chest was hot and my breathing was erratic, but I still wanted to see the look on his face when I said it.

“Oh, me too, my darling,” Tom whispered. His hand fell from its place at my hip and came to rest on my stomach, just above the point where he had himself buried inside me, and his thumb-- that damned thumb of his-- slid down until he was playing with my clit once more. There was an urgency this time, though, his movements quicker and messier. With each thrust, his own belly quivered, and I desperately pulled at his hair. I needed him to come first. I needed to feel him spill himself inside of me. I needed to feel his cum leak out of me, to hear him laugh at the mess we made like I knew he would. I needed so much. I just needed him.

“Tommy,” I whimpered, keening into his touch. “Fuck, Tom--”

His lips crashed into mine, and that was all it took. My legs shook around his waist, and my vision went white-hot for a moment. His thrusts were messy, his waves and curls completely undone and hanging in his eyes, and he watched with a greedy gaze as I writhed under him. I pulled his head down into my neck and he resumed his work of nipping my skin and soothing the sting with his tongue, and I kissed the shell of his ear. “Oh, Tom,” I whispered, just loud enough for him to hear over the sounds of our shared gasps. “Please, for me?” 

He pulled himself from me and was spilling in an instant, covering my waist and stomach in his warm cum. He settled himself on his elbows above me once again, and I took care to brush those waves off of his forehead. His hair had gone super curly with the little bit of sweat on his forehead, and I bit the tip of my tongue. “Yeah?” I whispered. 

“Yeah,” Tom agreed. “Let me get you a towel. Stay right there.”

“Wasn’t really planning on going anywhere, honestly,” I laughed. 

When he returned, he was wearing a pair of boxers and a t-shirt that hugged his muscled frame. He sat beside me and carefully wiped me clean with the wet corner of a towel, and he placed a sweet kiss on my forehead. “Are you feeling alright?” Tom asked. “Can I get you anything?” 

“I’m fine,” I told him. “Thanks, though.”

“No worries,” Tom told me. “You’re welcome to stay the night, if you’d like. I must warn you, though, that I like to cuddle.” 

“I would have expected nothing less,” I told him. I sat up, testing my legs for a moment, and my cheeks went hot. “Umm… I don’t think I can walk.” 

Tom’s eyes went big for a moment, and he reached for me with a hesitant hand. “Are you kidding?” He asked. 

“My legs are shaking too hard,” I whispered and bit my lip. 

“Oh, my darling, I’m so sorry,” Tom told me, his eyebrows pitching up. “I truly didn’t mean to hurt you--”

“You didn’t,” I said quickly. “It’s… This is a good thing. I promise.” 

There was a brief exchange that ended with Tom giving me a shirt to sleep in and me promising him that I won’t try to walk until my legs quit shaking. We found each other again once in bed, my head fitting snugly under his chin, and his fingernails lightly scratched up and down my back. The feel of his strong arms around me, holding me in such a protective way, lulled me to sleep. 

The night passed under a thin veil of dreams. All too soon, an alarm began to blare, scaring me fully awake in a second. From the darkness, there was a groan of displeasure, and a grunt as the bed squeaked and shifted, and the alarm was turned off with a solid stab of a finger. “Sorry, darling,” Tom whispered. “I forgot I have an early morning today.” 

“You’re fine,” I whispered. The lamp turned on, and I was met with Tom, his hair messy and frizzy, his face flushed with good sleep. I stretched my arms above my head, allowing a quick squeal, and I said, “I should probably be heading out soon too. I have an eight AM.”

“Ugh,” Tom groaned. “I hate those.” 

“Right,” I agreed. “Who wants to learn at eight in the morning?”

“The poor instructor,” Tom laughed. His voice was lower than before, scratchy as well, and my chest warmed at the sound. He fixed his hair out of his face, and he turned to see me, still wrapped up in his shirt and blankets. “You look cozy.” 

“I am,” I said softly. “Wish I could stay for just a little longer.” 

“Pursuit of knowledge is an honorable one, though, darling,” Tom told me. “Would you like to shower first?” 

“No,” I said. “I have to go by my apartment to get my stuff and change clothes anyway, I’ll just shower there.” 

“Alright,” Tom nodded. He reached for me and I met him halfway, brushing my lips to his in a soft kiss, and he gave me a light laugh. “I need to get your phone number. I’d love to do this again.” 

“I’d like that too,” I said. I gave him a parting kiss, then worked myself from the bed. I stretched once more, feeling my back pop, and I found my bag by the door to the bedroom. I gave Tom my phone, open to a new contact listing, and he gave a mischievous smile before plugging in his information. “What’s that smile all about?” 

At the top of my screen, it read Big Dick Tom. 

“Oh, God,” I laughed. “That’s really gone to your head, hasn’t it?” 

“You’re the one who told me that,” Tom argued. “And, if someone tells you that you have a big dick, you take that shit to heart.” 

“Sure, sure,” I said quickly. “I’ll text you; maybe we can get dinner this weekend?”

Tom gave me a smile that was fit for a king. “Of course, my darling girl.” 

Tom ended up sending me home with the shirt I had slept in. It was for some carpentry school in Wales, but it was soft and smelled like Tom, so I didn’t really mind the odd reference. Just before I left, he had swept me up in his arms and kissed me, and he pressed his forehead to mine. “This might be premature,” he whispered. “But do you wanna be my girlfriend?” 

Zendaya slapped a five dollar bill in my hand when I entered the apartment. “Did you have a good time?” she asked.

“The best,” I told her. “He’s super sweet and a great time, and he asked me to be his girlfriend.”

“You said yes, right?” Zen asked.

“Duh,” I scoffed. “A hot Brit who likes me? I’m not letting that go.”

“Right,” Zen said, and the smile dropped from her face. “Well, while you were off getting dick from your new man, our literature professor dipped.” 

“What?” I asked. 

“Yeah,” Zen said, spinning her laptop to face me. She had an email pulled up from the head of the department, declaring that our professor, our beloved Dr. Osterfield, would not be teaching the course any longer. Buried in the text of the email, it said the name of the replacement professor: Dr. Holland. “I tried to look this guy up, but he’s not on Rate My Professor or anything.” 

“It’s halfway through the fuckin’ semester,” I groaned. “This blows.” 

“I just hope this new guy’s easy,” Zen groaned. “I can’t deal with a hard class right now.” 

The class was still held in the same room as before, and the general air was worse than a normal eight AM. At least, with Dr. O, he had an infectious energy that woke us all up. Nobody knew what to expect with this new guy. I hoped that, for my sake, he was cool. 

The door to the classroom opened, and a man said, “I apologize for the wait. It’s just my luck that I’d be late today…” 

My whole body went cold and my heart stopped. Tom. My boyfriend, my fucking Tom stood at the front of the small lecture hall, wearing the jeans and white buttoned shirt that I had helped pick out. “Well, this is a strange thing, isn’t it?” Tom chuckled, clasping his hands together. “I’ll explain, don’t worry. But first, I think maybe an introduction is in order.” 

He unwound his bag from his shoulder and opened it for a moment, and a whole new wave of dread washed over me. While he was in the shower, I had written him a quick note and stuck it in his bag. It was nothing more than “thanks, love. hope to see you soon xx”, but a smile split his face wide. “Sorry,” he mumbled. “Apparently, my girlfriend left me a little note. Hmm! Anyway, I’m Dr. Holland. Call me that, or Tom, or any variation of the above. I promise you, I’ve heard it all.” 

Tom settled himself on the edge of his desk and he fluffed up his hair a bit. It was then that a quiet wave of titters passed through every girl in the hall; a hickey. It was small, but it was there, right under his ear. “I went to school in London, where I’m from, before I got a degree in English literature from Cambridge. Then, I came to the States and managed to get my doctorate in it, and, who’d have guessed it, this is my first teaching job. Go easy on me, huh?.” My little note, written on a sticky note, was clasped in his hand, and I seriously wanted to die right then and there. My professor. I was stupid. Of course the stars had aligned (or misaligned?) to allow this to happen. And just when I thought I found the right guy, too. 

“Right,” Tom said. “Let’s look at the attendance, see what we’re working with, and I’ll let you guys fill me in on what Dr. Osterfield was covering.” 

The closer he got to my name, the colder my face went. I hated every single moment of it. “And… Y/L/N? Y/N?” 

I quietly raised my hand, then managed a meek, “Here.” 

His eyes trained on me, and I watched the same recognition flood his eyes. Quickly, though, Dr. Tom Holland averted his gaze back down to his computer, and he said, “There you are, Y/N… Can I see you after class?” 

#tom holland #tom holland fanfiction #tom holland x reader #tom holland x y/n #tom holland smut #smut fanfiction #prof!tom #i'm so excited for this yall #u don't get it

[startanewdream]

Hyacinth

Summary: Sirius takes some time to fill his godfather duties — teaching Harry how to ride a motorbike.

Part of Eyes Glistening (Jily Lives AU). It ties with Hope, but you don't need to read it first to enjoy this moment between Harry and Sirius.

Read on AO3 or below the cut:

~*~*~*~*~*~*

The street is quiet, a summer afternoon in which everyone must have decided it’s too hot to stay outside, but Sirius doesn’t breathe easily until he opens the small gate and then he is finally inside the Potter’s estate, safe under their love protection, though its days are almost over. He tries not to let this thought dismay him.

He walks towards the house, but he pauses, his attention diverted. Despite the heat, Harry is standing still near the broom shed, watching the sky thoughtfully, his hands inside the pocket of his jeans.

Alone and brooding, never a good sign.

He sighs, moving direction towards his godson. He has seen that quiet stubborn resolution on Harry’s face ever since he met him after Dumbledore’s funeral; it was a soldier’s face, a soldier with a duty that was hinted by Harry’s secret meetings with Dumbledore—the most secretive man Sirius had ever known—, and from all Sirius knows about Harry and James, that didn’t bid well.

He had a feeling Harry would leave. He was sure that James would hate it.

Sirius walks quietly, stopping a few steps behind Harry.

‘So, how it went?’

Harry jumps under the sound of his voice, turning around. Sirius holds back a frown; Harry shouldn’t be caught so off guard—he may be safe at the moment, but soon, in the real world, he will need better reactions and not trust anyone. This thought doesn’t comfort him.

‘What?’

‘You finally told James, didn’t you?’

Harry squints, uncomfortable. ‘Dad said anything you?’

‘No, I just needed to come by—I still have a few repairs to do in my motorbike.’

‘Oh.’ Harry’s gaze strays to the broom shed. ‘Don’t mind me.’

Sirius watches him for a few seconds before nodding. It’s still hot and he had planned to do this later, but he has a feeling that now it might be the best time—and he knows that pushing Harry to talk before he is ready never works. So he goes to take his motorbike, opting to work in the open instead of the broom shed. Harry hasn’t moved when he comes back, as Sirius imagined he wouldn’t, so Sirius just kneels to check the engine, careful to let the toolbox closer to Harry.

‘Pass me a screwdriver, will you?’ he asks Harry, not taking his gaze off the engine.

It’s been a while since he rode his motorbike, Sirius notes shamefully, so he needs to check if all the electrical parts of the motor are okay. It’s a tiresome job that he could ask a real mechanic to do, but he enjoys the manual work anyway, and Harry seems to relax some of his tension as he watches Sirius working, helping him whenever Sirius asks him—things that Sirius could do alone, but he understands that Harry likes to feel helpful.

‘I am leaving,’ Harry says quietly at some point, and Sirius takes care to not let any emotion show in his face.

‘I thought so,’ he says. All those meetings with Dumbledore seemed too much as some sort of passing the torch, though Sirius doubts that Dumbledore had planned for things to go sour so quickly. ‘When?’

‘As soon as I am of age.’

‘Oh. Okay.’

Harry is watching him, and Sirius knows he is just looking for some sort of disapproval—though he doesn’t know what Harry would do if he found it. That boy is Lily’s son too much not to be stubborn and he would go anyway. Well, Harry does like to suffer.

‘Dad is mad at me. I think… I think I’m letting him down somehow.’

And there is it, the reason why Harry was staring sadly at the sky, brooding under the sun as if it could atone for his sins somehow. He sees the apprehension in his godson’s green eyes, and Sirius is suddenly aware—though he shouldn’t be surprised—how apart from his eyes, Harry looks a lot like James.

‘You never disappoint James,’ Sirius tells him reasonably. ‘He is just too worried. You know him.’

‘I feel like… like if I leave him, he won’t ever understand. He’ll hate me for doing it.’

‘Hating you for doing the right thing? That can’t be.’

‘You didn’t see him. He said… he said if I cared, I wouldn’t leave anyone.’

‘Do you?’ Sirius asks softly. ‘Do you care?’

Harry looks at his house with a heavy sigh. ‘Too much.’

‘Then he will understand. You’ll be of age, Harry, and you’ve been making decisions—good even if questionable some times—for some time now.’

‘I just want… I want it over.’

‘That’s all we want.’ Sirius pauses for a moment. ‘Are you sure you’re the only one who can do this?’

Harry doesn’t hesitate this time. ‘It has to be me. But I won’t be alone.’

‘Ron and Hermione?’ Sirius guesses, smiling a little when Harry nods. He is a firm believer that with friends by his side, Harry can do anything. ‘Ginny?’

Harry sighs. ‘No, we—I broke up with her.’

‘What?’ Sirius asks, confused, but the desolation in Harry’s face is enough to show him all he needs to do about this news. ‘For her own good?’

Harry kicks a stone in the ground, his head lowered. ‘I couldn’t put her in danger and… being near me is a hazard. It’s enough I’m already putting you and Mum and Dad in so much trouble—’

‘You know we would still be even if you didn’t exist, right? In fact, we joined the Order about two years before you were even born, kid.’

Harry shrugs, clearly not agreeing with him. Sirius rolls his eyes; Harry enjoys saving people too much not to feel guilty for anything that happens, even when is only remotely connected to it.

‘If you wanna blame someone, blame Voldemort, not you,’ Sirius says, and he stands up to finish a few protective spells on the motorbike.

As he casts them, blue light shining from his wand, it occurs to Sirius that Harry will need a quick course on Defensive Spells. He already knows quite a few, always having a knack for them, and Sirius is familiar with how much Harry loves his Expelliarmus—he supposes that a wandless enemy doesn’t provide much danger—, but Harry will need to improve his list if he is to be safe during whatever he will be doing.

He thinks of a few books he has at home that helped him in his early years of the Auror training, and he is sure that he can ask Moony to come and help them with training.

Away from James’ eyes, that’s it. Sirius enjoys not being hexed by his best friend.

But Harry’s birthday is still a few weeks away and, right now, Sirius doesn’t want to give Harry homework.

‘Why are you fixing your motorbike?’ Harry asks.

‘I got the feeling it might be useful. The Order has been discussing how to get you safely away from here, you know.’ Harry frowns heavily, so Sirius rushes to add in a teasing voice: ‘I thought of suggesting to hide you inside the trunk and be done with it. Death Eaters would never guess.’

Harry laughs. ‘I don’t think I’d fit.’

‘No, we’d need to transform you into something. Too bad you never felt an attraction to turn into an animagus, if you were a hedgehog it would be easier.’

‘Why a hedgehog?’

‘They are cute. And your hair does make you look like one.’

‘Hey!’ Harry’s indignation is cut by the grin on his lips. He runs his hand through his hair in a gesture that reminds Sirius of James more than ever. ‘It’s my charm.’

‘Oh, I’d have my doubts, but then Lily did marry and procreate with your father, so what do I know?’ Sirius tosses a helmet to Harry. ‘Here, put it on.’

‘To hide my hair?’

‘No, silly, because you need a helmet to ride.’

‘Ride?’

There is a bewildered expression on Harry’s face. Sirius smiles, more certain than ever of his idea. ‘Yeah, I've never taught you how to ride a motorbike, have I? Lousy godfather I am.’

‘You’re not,’ Harry says at once, distracted. He puts on the helmet. ‘Why didn’t you ever teach me before?’

‘Lily deemed too unsafe—a little hypocrite if you ask me, brooms are much more dangerous’

Harry doesn’t look as if he agrees on that one—that boy was way too influenced by James about brooms—but he seems excited enough.

‘Now what?’

‘Now pay attention. If you fall, your mother is gonna kill me.’

Harry looks amused with Sirius' concern.

Sirius shows him how to operate the motorbike, telling him to be careful with the brake and the acceleration and to not mix the gear shifter with them. Then he helps Harry get on the bike.

‘By the left side,’ he guides, and Harry looks somehow younger as he sits on the motorbike. Sirius had a sudden vision of himself holding a Harry who wasn’t even two yet as they flew through the night.

Merlin, the time has flown. Near seventeen already and ready to kick Voldemort's arse.

‘Keep your feet on the ground to get used to. Good?’ Harry nods. ‘Okay, now try to feel the clutch.’ After several minutes, in which Sirius makes Harry repeat over and over how every part works, he picks his key. ‘I’ll start the engine now, okay?’

Harry acquiesces; his eyes are shining, overjoyed. Sirius makes sure the bike is into neutral, then indicates the “start” button for Harry.

‘Slowly let the clutch out—keep your feet on the ground, it will give you more support.’

Harry nods once more, concentrated, his attention focused on releasing the clutch—and then his grip slips and the motorbike yanks forward too quickly. Sirius jumps to hold them.

‘Hey, hey, it happens!’ he says. Harry looks only sheepishly, not very much concerned for his health. Of course not, Sirius thinks. The boy is ready to face Voldemort, what’s a bike? ‘You stalled the engine because you let it go too fast. Try again.’

He does; this time his hand leaves the clutch in the right timing, and the motorbike wrenches him forward. Harry lets out a laugh—one of those carefree sounds that Sirius has been hearing less and less lately—at the same time as Sirius turns into a dog to chase him.

The Potter estate is vast, an enormous field that goes into the woods, and it takes several minutes until Harry finally steps on the brake, having made a huge round back to the broom shed. Sirius is glad and relieved to realize Harry remembered to use the brake over the throttle.

Sirius is out of breath—age comes with problems, though he wouldn’t admit it out loud—when he helps Harry down the kickstand so he can get off the bike. Harry immediately crashes into the ground, laying over the grass with a relaxed expression as he takes out his helmet.

‘This was so much fun!’ he admits. ‘Can I fly next time?’

‘One step at a time, kid. When you are good on the ground, we’ll try for the skies.’

‘Spoilsport,’ Harry complains without any real malice in his voice. ‘Thanks, Sirius.’

‘No problem, kid.’ Sirius sits next to him. ‘Just wanted to share Hyacinth with you.’

He lifts his eyebrows. ‘Hyacinth? Your bike has a name?’

‘All the good rides should have one. Don’t mock Hyacinth.’

Harry shakes his head, amusement all over his face as he closes his eyes. He puts his arms around his head for support, so Sirius does his godfather duty once more. He turns into Padfoot, laying next to Harry to offer him a good fluffy pillow.

#Sirius and Harry #Sirius Lives #Jily Lives AU #godfather/godson moment #I have no knowledge of bikes #so please assume that Sirius taught him off-screen #I wrote this as a comfort to me and I hope it gives you some too

[rumblelibrary]

The Diary of Doctor Laszlo Kreizler

Chapter 1  -  Chapter 2

Synopsis: Alienist’s notes are private, sometimes gruesome, secrets of others and of himself.Those pages belongs to secrecy and decadence, have a glimpse to this world made of drafts, notes, accidents and reflections. Or maybe it is you the only person that should ever reach for it.

While you read this imagine Laszlo mostly at the end of his day, scraping the ideas and the thoughts, adjusting previous notes with additions, closing the day behind himself with a couple of sentences while sitting in his evening robe, a good glass of whiskey and his glasses bridged almost at the tip of his nose. Or maybe imagine yourself, you sneaky thing, reach for it from a far shelf.

Word count: 3.5k

Warnings: listen, this is the set of ideas and confessions of a man living in the 1890’s. Most of them will be outdated, rough, even deprecating in some analysis of the roles of men, women and social status, religion, etc.So be prepared, my point is to make Laszlo reflect upon those topics, but to be as faithful as I can to his time. Mention of death, mutilation, self harm and sex. Psychologically troubled young children ahead! Author’s note: The story is placed between season 1 and season 2. Thank you for everyone that encouraged me to keep going. I have to wait for my local drop of serotonin to get fully Laszloed to go through this.

Lyra’s Contellation, Illustration taken from Uranographia by Johann Bode

Routine. Routine is comfort. Habit stabilises the character.

If you follow a routine, you won’t ever be victim of imprudence, of evil jokes of fate. The stability earned through calculated and repeated actions brings a sense of fulfilment that forbids other thoughts to come bashing in, breaking rules, breaking hopes that a solid scheduled routine forbids to have. I take my time to begin this week, I planned the things to do, the next steps for the case, the people to meet, the resources I am allowed to contemplate. I feel good, I feel back to myself and the events of the weekend seem far from me and my own perception. I probably got ahead of myself, carried by some instinctual though and random rush of emotion, to be always in contact with the same people and mostly kids probably doesn’t help my stance in the presence of other adults. I feel silly now reading back the last page, I felt tempted to tear it off, but to keep it there should be a small memento of not losing my temper so easily. I read it over and over and I know I am not as charmed as I thought I was. I am just lonely. I have always been and it is normal to face ups and downs even for a man of my age who is more accustomed to it.  To desire a partner is a natural instinct, to find somebody attractive is meant by nature, it is the body calling for the natural fulfilment of the reason we are put on this very Earth.  But even in a state of nature my own condition would be forbidding me to be part of the natural process of growing my own kind. I am the type of male that would be excluded because of his impossibility to give the protection to the pack, therefore it is just more reasonable to me to adapt to my condition. No matter what my Potentia generandi might be (the ability to procreate).

With all the smugness that characterises him, Niki showed off that he passed my challenge. But to be really of an help to his antics I didn’t show any kind of surprise. I treated him like he did the bare minimum, like he didn’t prove me any kind of superiority. He has a natural attitude toward challenging the figure of power, he is trying to overpower me, but I won’t satisfy his need. I have noticed he has a very technical brain, he finds ways to solve problems in ingenious way and not by throwing himself into the task. I proceeded giving him to work on a clock, an old broken one we had in the institute, one of the kids hit it with a ball years ago and nobody ever worked on repairing it. I gave him the clock, a couple of screwdrivers and a book. He called me a number of German names I won’t transcribe, but it gave me a certain amount of satisfaction. If my intuitions are right, I am sure the clock will be repaired by next week.

Analysis of the victim’s body through John’s eyes. The drawings and sketches are as detailed as I requested, all of this thanks to you joining him. I deal with art critic section, I am used to notice these things. You assure me, you play yourself low and I wonder why, nevertheless you did notice things neither John or I did, which pleased me. It fooled me, distracted me from my purpose to not give in to your witchery, as I leaned closer watching your pale hand move across the pages tracing this or that line, showing how this must be done with the killer on this side and not that side, with words so deliciously elaborate, your way of composing your speech is compelling, you could sell the drawing of a kid like it was a Botticelli. I noticed the shape of your hands, the way you move them, I wonder if you play an instrument, or played, some habits just stick with you through life. I focused on taking notes, your ideas and instructions giving me a new point of view, a new stimulus. What if that is the only way the killer can communicate? Or what if this is the communication that works for him? Could our killer be mute or deaf? Or that’s how society made him feel? This man, or woman, needs a listener and I am afraid that now, since he got our attention and the public’s, he won’t stop. Another killing could be just as close.

Scheduled: meeting with the parents of Alex Garel for new admission, Monday next week at 11 am. Love at first is a fetish and like all fetishes it is based onto an object that hides a deeper meaning, like gloves mean hands, to love at first sight means to see somebody that you think, and think only, to have the chance to share not only a sensual kind of bond, but an intellectual. Love at first sight is based onto not knowing someone well enough, but having the time to idealise most of that someone. I can see why I feel this attraction, using a particular phrase that Sara often mutters when investigating: you tick all the boxes. I know you do, your beauty is everything but conventional, you’re the kind of face that painters would paint and musicians would write hymns about, but any animal on the street would never be allowed to see. You have the grace of the body and the fire in the eyes, and then you speak. When you speak, I realise, you could bring the world to its knees. Also, you never speak out of context, and if you do it is to ease somebody’s position. You do it often with John or with Stevie, you say something really silly in order to put them back to a place of comfort. Some women would call it self deprecating, but I see that you only pick wisely your fights and your wins. You don’t need to earn your peace and quiet by neglecting, but by lifting up the others. I wonder if you do it with me too, if your silences are just you allowing me to be in a better place while instead your judgment is tearing me apart. I shouldn’t care, but I keep wondering, sometimes I take my time to answer you, I analyse every shade, every peculiarity of your question, I am looking for sarcasm, for a condescending voice, for something to hang on and bare you open. To prove myself you’re not perfect. But deep down I know that you do, you judge me and you do well.

Mother never said so. That’s what one of the girls in my care said today. Ursula. She is tough. Skin as thick as an alligator and the tendency to pull her own hair at night or when under a massive amount of stress, enuresis alongside erratic episodes of mutism. I tried the soft approach, it didn’t work. She is too accustomed to be indulged. Therefore today I pushed her a bit overboard, I teased her over opinions on the female body, the female role, she is only 12, but she is soon to bleed, she knows, I can tell from the way she clenches to her skirts, from the way she looks at me as a threatening figure. I am the incarnation of danger to her. Under her steady silence, I pushed a bit more, asking how her mother taught her to be nice and submissive. Does her mother tells her she is going to be a good wife? The phrase, which I reported at the top of the page, surprised me.  What is her mother teaching to her then? What closed her so much, locked her soul away, making a small bird like this choose the silence and the retirement of self inflicted pain over, what? Mankind? Or just Men? Is that even a curse? Should I cure her from a truth that her own mother whispered to her ear one night before bed and made a child decide that the world wasn’t a place to share her time with? Am I the man supposed to teach her that men are worth of trust? In the eyes of modern society, who measures its own value over the modesty of the women, she would be a champion, but at what price? I can’t in any way let her parents bring her back home after our recent meetings. Nevertheless, I have to make up my own mind on how to give her troubled soul ease without making her believe in fables. I, as a man, regard myself not worth of any of the trust they expect me to teach her.

In all of my years practicing with people’s feelings and traumas, I challenged myself to find those same traumas within my own mind. It is a tricky game, terrible, anguishing at times. But it straightens me, the pain of others, the pain of kids mostly, so unadulterated and pure, breaks the curtain between me and the lies that I often surround myself with. Pain is made of method, you can open it up, you can scrutinise it, part it piece by piece dividing it in sectors and, partitions, centre part, side part, heart of the problem. Pain is reliable. Happiness is not. It is random, cruelly sudden, unexpected, it washes over you in such deflecting way only to leave you alone a moment after ashamed and alone. I saw you again today. You were in a table full of what I could only guess as your former university colleagues, I saw pain in you, not heavy but constant. Annoyance, a bit of sadness. Your head titling on side and your eyes drifting on the left, you’re imagining something away from them.  A place? An object? Or maybe someone? Your hands play circles at the bottom of the flute of your drink like kids do, your smile only one sided. I don’t see you speak at all, only listen.  What could keep your voice down? I almost gulped down my own breath as you looked up and I realised how I must have looked. I was having lunch on my own, in a very private table and even entertaining myself with a newspaper on the side. I wish you didn’t, but you came over, your eyes shining.  Did I save you? Or maybe I was just a good excuse to leave that painful meeting behind. Don’t be so nice to me, it is not healthy. Don’t look at me like you expect anything more from me than me listening. I won’t smile back at you, I won’t give you care, attentions or thought. I won’t lean for your perfume, I won’t obsess over that dress you wore, that pin that adorned your neckline keeping your undershirt in place, a silver robin, I remember. I won’t remember the number of the buttons on the side of your glove, three. I won’t observe the little moles just under your ear. A small constellation, I later realised, hidden between your ear and the beginning of your neck. I don’t need to check in my books. It is a constellation. It is Lyra. Why? Why you must be like this? Are you the Lyra? Are you the instrument of Orpheus come to me to drag me out of Hell? The Tartarus holds my soul and you should know already, I am not worth the quarter part of Eurydice to be saved and she never came back anyway. I won’t be now recollecting the way your teeth sunk in the inner side of your cheek when you apologised for the annoyance.  You apologised twice, I ignored you both times with a raised hand to request peace and silence. I am not letting you in.

Reserved: Tickets for Wednesday’s evening Traviata by Giuseppe Verdi. The guest female lead promises a beautiful show.

Leonardo, as I am learning through Paul Valery essay, is who I would define as a figure of projective identification of the Subject or, to better explain it, of the knowledge of the Subject that formed and grew through the use of sketches in the experience of the Artist. I have always thought that the finest form of art was the representation of knowledge duly undressed by any personal identification. Leonardo, instead, proceeded to represent the figure through the essence of the artist, a representation technically unlimited on objects and symbols and that keep expressing the transformation and development of Leonardo’s own being.Some artists are testimony of the destruction of the world, of the loss of eternal beauty over decadence. And then you have Leonardo, who creates an art that is the gravity of the world’s system, of the nature, of thoughts and abstractions. I wonder if our killer does the same, if the way they presents the victim through their own personal view, if what we can read there it is their stories, their pains, their needs. Their happiness and troubles. What are they trying to tell me?  I need to know, I need to know to save a life, of course, but I also need to know to be able to sleep at night. Hair, hair are the epitome of femininity in any era. I keep studying Ursula and her habit to pull the. I took notes on it: she picks them by the bottom, slowly separates them until she gains an amount her mind defines satisfactory and then she rolls her finger and pulls, she does it until her finger is empty and there are no hair left. I find her process incredibly interesting. In men’s case the display of physical attributes is not as vital, a beard can be appreciated but does not modify the power of seduction of a grown man. On the contrary, for women hair are a vital part of their attractiveness toward the opposite sex, society sees the hair of a woman as part of their vital characteristics, also in ancient times for a woman to cut her hair or have her hair cut was a sign of deep separation from the society. Only heroines or whores wore that mark and the association of the two is so rooted into the way society always parted the role of a woman in two that it is nauseating to think of. I am still fearing to let Ursula go away, the repulsion that she is showing toward her own body makes it difficult even for me to crack her shell open as a man, but my deepest worry is when that hate will take a scarier and deeper tool on her. How a girl with such  a fear of what her body can do, like sex or pregnancy, can endure in the future to have an husband? Or even to be courted by anyone?

John is helpless and I admire him for that. He doesn’t hide it, he just is. He is vulnerable and exposed, he is an open well bursting with doubts and feelings and troubled waters. He is genuine in a way I could never be. Maybe that’s why I despise even more him talking about you, how he sees you every morning, how you greet everybody, how you behave even with interns, how you like your coffee.  Your talents, your wits, how you said this and acted like that and reasoned through him. How you forbid him to drink even when he felt tempted. How you stayed late over to help him collect all the informations I requested him to get. To him. Not to you. The evil demon of envy scratching in the back of my head screaming like a siren out in the sea, he demands to be heard, he demands to be allowed a part in this game. I won’t allow him that. I won’t allow myself any of that. This is a pure game of chess, if I give in a pawn now, I will lose my knight, and I know it. I advice him to not be so closed minded when he praises you, only to get surprised by the charms of a natural logical mind. I find a way to hurt him, he is an easy target, I look at him as his eyebrows twitch and he summons his patience on me. He lost the plot about you already, his bruised pride taking over. You won’t come into my life.

“Un dì, felice, eterea, mi balenaste innante, e da quel dì tremante vissi d'ignoto amor.”  (“On a day, happy and ethereal, you appeared in front of me and from that day, trembling, I lived on an unknown love”)

The words of Alfredo in the first act of the Traviata keep running through me, a chant that won’t let me go, almost painful. The Opera House, that was my hiding place, a place where in plain sight I could let out myself, unleash. The catharsis of the characters involved running through me, I didn’t need anything but their voices and those musical instruments to let out my fears, doubts and anger. When Alfredo came to the scene tonight, the lights were strong and slightly pinkish, the performer bursting out of the seams with passion. My eyes diverted only to see you there. Alone. Those blinding lights gave you the the radiance of a vision singing the notes of greek myths and heroes, that dark blue evening clothing rang through my eyes like it was a bright yellow, the little shiny details that adorned you so clear against the heavy lighting to look like transparent pieces of water collected to adorn your beauty. I wasn’t me, but Alfredo, and I was helpless against you sitting so far and yet too close from me. I was naked in front of thousands. I am aware of the effect you have on me and our last conversation was barely regarded as one. This is infatuation, this is the pure work of a lonely mind and not something worth of any of all the words that I am dissipating here. Yet. I saw you cry at the climax of the opera, Violetta, the protagonist, heartbroken falling on stage consumed by pain and regret for her lost love and ultimate sacrifice. Your eyes shone as you tried to hide the tears and collect yourself. Through my binoculars, I saw your throat tremble and gulp down something more than just a sigh of pain. Your jaw clenched, your gloved hand moves to hide your shaking lips. I reckon, I have never seen such sad lips look more inviting. You look at the wall on your side breathing through your nose and not even that can save you by the strength of the voice of the soprano. You’re defeated and so you brought a fine silk handkerchief to your eyes, your shoulders bent inward in self defence.  The Opera won. It won you like it always wins me. I wonder if you felt like this because of a past lover, somebody that broke your heart and made you feel wrong in any way.  And because of that little wonder it is even more clear to me why I am a man worth of no trust. Because for a moment, I know, I wished to be the one that broke your heart. That gave you just the pain you’re inflicting on me so mercilessly by offering intoxicating kindness and beauty.  To own your thoughts, tears and shame. To be the one man you have to look away from. I want to own all of that and, maybe, I will be freed of you the day you’ll be just another human being that hates Dr Laszlo Kreizler.

Tagged @cazzyimagines​ @lieutenantn​ @handmaiden-of-mischief​ @thesunflowersutra​ @zemomybeloved​​ @fictionlandslanddreams​ @charistory​ @greeneyedblondie44​ @apparrio​ @hb8301​ @whatawildone​

Let me know if you want to get tagged too <3

#the diary of doctor laszlo kreizler #dr laszlo kreizler #laszlo kreizler #dr laszlo kreizler x reader #dr laszlo kreizler imagine #dr laszlo kreizler x you #laszlo kreizler x reader #laszlo kreizler headcanons #thealienist #the alienist fanfic #the alienist fanfiction

[theunquenchable]

Do you do poison?

Follow up to the murderer - reader best friend scenario

Summary: You just moved and had to go buy stuff for your new apartment at the hardware store. There you surprisingly meet your buddy and they seem to struggle quite a bit.

Warnings: casual talk of murder and violence

Inspired by a sketch called "Do you do poison?" (if you don't know it already, you can find it on Youtube)

Words: 1120

It had been a nice enough day for you, you just moved into your new one room apartment the week before and needed actual curtains. Hanging a bed sheet in front of your window was efficient but still made a huge dent in the aesthetic you were going for.

Now, with the sun shining and the curtains bought, you realized that you had no tools to actually fasten those bastards to your wall. So you went to the hardware store to get said tools.

The store itself was unsurprisingly empty for the most part and so you aimlessly wandered through the aisles, not really knowing what you were looking for, battling your inner demons whether you should ask one of the bored employees for help.

That is when you heard a very familiar voice from one aisle over.

"Do you do poison?" they sounded monotonous and cold, almost intimidating.

"E-excuse me?" the employee, a man in his forties, replied with confusion.

"Do you sell any rat poison?" the first voice, now registered in your mind as your long time friend, elaborated almost annoyedly. You knew better, they were not annoyed, just incredibly awkward.

"Well, yes-"

"What sort." your friend interrupted impatiently, their social battery must be running low.

"It is called "Rat Killer", it is a powder-"

"What's it made of, what does it do, how do they die?" At this point you had abandoned your mission of finding a screwdriver for your curtain hangers and instead stood next to the entrance of the aisle where your weirdo of a friend tried to 'human'.

"Well, um-" the employee muttered, probably confused out of his mind, but your friend left no opening for any pleasantries.

"I mean, could it kill a pet. A quite large pet. Almost... person sized pet." straight to the point but at this point you got slightly worried that the guy might call the police on your dear friend.

So you decided to intervene. You sidestepped into the aisle and quickly speed walked over. Your friend instantly took notice of you and you realized, they could not have looked shadier.

Large hoodie with the hood drawn over half their face, muddled washed out jeans, and suspiciously tainted, gray converse. They were hopeless. The way their fist was undoubtedly clenched in their jeans pocket, where they had stuffed it, was indication enough that your help was needed.

"I-it's for safety!" You quickly explained and the befuddled employee flinched at your sudden entrance.

"We have pets at home." your friend further explained bluntly, NOT helping at all.

"RATS at home! Wouldn't want anything to happen to people accidentally inhaling the stuff." You quickly added. The employee slowly nodded in a "what the fuck is happening, better just go along" kind of way.

"What would it do to a fifty year old man." They suddenly asked from beside you.

"Well, in a small dose-"

"Would it dissolve a stomach and make his lungs bleed until he drowns."

"In large enough quantities, yes-!"

"Could it be detected in Guinness?"

The exchange made your head almost spin and you were left staring at not just your friend but also at the clueless employee who went along with how ridiculous it was.

"I don't know about that-"

"What would it do to the face, would it be hideously contorted?"

"All hypotheses, nothing-" You tried to intervene.

"What would it do to this face?" They suddenly pulled out a wrinkled photo of a middle aged white guy in a polo shirt "Would it come out impostious or a rash?"

"They wouldn't affect the face!" The employee at this point had enough and now held a look of "I don't get paid enough for this" as he suddenly walked off.

Your friend tried to walk after him, but you quickly grabbed their arm. "What the hell are you trying to do?"

"I need something that affects faces." they stated simply, tone much lighter with you. Almost in a pondering manner they walked towards the tools section you were looking for anyways,

"Something that will make the skin melt. Painfully." they pondered and you only sighed in exasperation "What did that poor fool do to you?"

They stopped in front of the gardening supplies "What would that rake do to the human head?"

"You did not answer my question-"

"I mean, would it go through the head or just imbed itself in it?"

They looked at the rake and then at you, who stood next to them with as much enthusiasm as you had for almost all your school life. With a roll of your eyes you stepped closer, arms crossed in front of your chest,

"I mean with enough force it would probably imbed itself."

"I do work out." They pondered as they lightly flexed their upper arm in a small display, before looking down the aisle again.

"Do you think they have battering spades?"

"Battering spades?"

"For battering a person."

"I don't know if that's a thing."

They suddenly turned back to you and you caught their eye underneath the drawn down hood, to no surprise their eyes were bloodshot, "What are you doing here anyways?"

"What, can't I be in a hardware store?" you asked rhetorically and were about to go on, but your friend morphed their lips into a pout "No, of course you can, was just wondering..."

"I- Yes, I know, it's alright. I was here to look for stuff to hang up my new curtains." you explained after stumbling over your words a bit. They nodded in understanding and began leading you through the store,

"You sure know your way around here." You muttered as you looked around and they nodded "For obvious reasons." you added quietly, intended for yourself only, but they heard and nodded again.

"I can help you hang them up if you want." they mumbled after you both came to a halt in the right section. Why did everything they say sound like an offer for an assassination?

"I'll think about it. Hey, do you see any curtain wire?" you asked while looking around the shelves. Expecting an answer, yet not receiving one, you turn around only to find your friend staring at you.

"What-?"

"Curtain wire, thin, strong, well to grip..." they muttered to themselves and you had to roll your eyes yet again.

"You are hopeless."

Extra:

"Can... Can I give you the money and you pay?"

"*sigh* What do you do when I am not with you?"

"I do it alone... and then I sit in the backseat of my car and think about how disgusted the cashier looked."

"... You are exaggerating."

"...."

"Okay, I'll do it for you, but it's the last time!"

":)"

>This was really fun to write, like mentioned I took heavy inspiration from the sketch. The conversation between the employee and killer friend are mostly copied<

#killer x reader #slasher x reader #reader insert #fanfic #gender neutral reader #nonbinary #socially awkward #killer

[wowcool808]

Obey Me-A Midnight Encounter Pt. 1-Older Brothers

This is a scenario I made about the brothers stumbling across the MC while they are getting water. I really figured it would be easier to divide the brothers’ experience, so I’ll post the last part with the younger brothers as soon as I finish it. I hope you enjoy!

To set the scene, MC is laying in their bed, staring up at the ceiling. They have been awake longer than they would like, and they don’t know what to do to lull themselves back asleep. After thinking for a while, they finally decide to just get some melatonin. Seems like a smart thing to do first, but it was all the way in the bathroom, which seemed like a mile away in the mellow darkness. MC grabs the suggested amount, and starts to move downstairs to get a drink of water to wash it down. Creeping around in an oversized, cat onesie, MC enters the kitchen and quietly reaches for the cup, when... 

Luci-

Luci came into the kitchen to check to make sure Beel hadn’t eaten all the food in the fridge, when he saw a figure standing in front of the sink. The soft moonlight and the digital clock light on the oven illuminated their body, showing that the figure was in a large, black onesie. Originally, he thought that it was Belphie, since he was the only one that had ever worn a onesie in the house. But, that’s just because MC was always shy in theirs, and prefered to keep their warm and fluffy habits in their own room. He realized that Belphie wouldn’t be up from out of his bed at all at this time, or at all, for that matter, so he was kind of confused. He approached slowly, arms crossed. 

His suspicions were answered as MC quickly turned around to look behind them after hearing movement. He saw their shadowy face lit by the window next to them, and saw that it was in fact MC who was wearing the onesie. He cracked a smile and shook his head as he walked over to them. “I didn’t know kittens were able to stand up and use the sink.” he said. “Haha, very funny” MC said, trying to hide the fact they're overly embarrassed from being caught in less-than-favorable attire.

Luci walked over to the fridge and opened it up. “Looks like Beel hasn’t gotten to the fridge yet, that’s good.” MC nods and quietly pours themselves a glass of water. They put the pill in their mouth, and gulped the water down, satisfying their throat.

“Why’re you up so late, you have classes tomorrow.” Luci said, closing the fridge. His large figure towers over MC.

“Well, I couldn’t fall asleep, so I decided to take some melatonin and water.”

“Ah, I see. Well, hopefully it works, then.” 

He looked out the window, the big, silver lined moon lighting up his face. His tired yet stubborn disposition almost looked beautiful from this angle. MC can’t help but stand there in awe, looking at him. Luci shifted his body and noticed MC looking at him. Of course, MC looked away, but it was too late. He laughed and cocked his head “What?” he asked teasingly. MC shook their head and turned away. ‘Great now what?’ they think, regretting their actions.

Luci chuckled and leaned against a counter. He raised an eyebrow and said to MC “Well, if you’re not answering me, I presume you should at least head to bed now?” MC nodded and headed to their room. They took a last look at Luci and said 

“Goodnight Luci.”

“Goodnight, kitty” He says, with a slightly mocking tone.

MC rolled their eyes and headed upstairs. Luci watched them leave to their room, and looked at the cup MC drank out of on the counter. He takes it, looks at it, and lets out a small laugh. After putting the cup in the sink, he slowly starts to slink back to his room.

Mammon-

Mammon had crept downstairs to see if there were any new Akuzon (Amazon) packages. Not because he ordered anything, but because he wanted to check to see if there were any packages with anything valuable in them. And since Levi spends all of his money on merchandise and games, it was almost guaranteed.

He  was searching through a rather large box, when he heard something in

the kitchen, so he hesitantly crept into it. Poking his head around the corner, he saw a large, black figure next to the sink, rummaging through the cupboards. He freaked out as he assumed this random figure in no shoes somehow got through the high-security of the house to search the cup and bowl cabinets. Sorry Mammon, you sweet, tsundere dumbass, you’re the only thief in this house!

Mammon prepared himself for the encounter by creeping up behind them,

momentum building in his drawn fist. But, he made one fatal mistake. The poor boy was unlucky and stepped on a creaking floor board. MC turns around abruptly after hearing the sound, and saw Mammon there, standing like a dork with his fist drawn

Engulfed in his own swirl of emotions, and Mammon is not able to even realize who’s in front of him. ‘It’s now or never’ he thinks as he lunges forward, putting his weight in the punch.

Of course, MC saw this coming (since he was standing there for a half a second looking like a deer in the headlights) and ducked their head immediately, causing Mammon to fall forward with his weight. 

Because of the hand he used, he fell forward to the right, colliding with MC’s ducked form. He accidentally pushes them into the counter, and then to the floor. They had ended up on the floor, facing each other about a foot apart.

Groaning on the ground, Mammon turns to see MC facial features illuminated in the moonlight, and he jumps up.

“W-what are you doing up this late, MC?” He asks quickly

“I just needed to get some water” they say, rubbing their head.

“Why are you dressed like that!? In pitch black clothing? I thought you were some guy breaking in!”

“They’re my pajamas, Mammon, stop over thinking everything.” MC says, smiling.

“I’m not the one that dodged my attack and made me fall over.” He says in a whiny voice.

“Well, you didn’t dodge yourself, but you fell on your own.”

Mammon sighed and put his hands on his hips. “Ugh, some humans” (I know he’s a human in this world, but I still like the idea of him calling MC “one of those humans”) “Well, do you need help up?” He said, offering a hand.

MC nodded and grabbed his hand. “Thanks, Mammon”

Mammon pulls MC up and brushes his hands on his pants. “Yeah, well I only did it to be nice, I’m not making it a habit.”

“Whatever you say, Mammon.” MC says as they grab their drink and walk away. 

Levi-

Levi crept down the stairs silently, avoiding making any sound whatsoever. He wanted to catch Mammon in the act, and he couldn’t alarm him whatsoever. Well, he wasn’t sure Mammon was there, but Levi had ordered a surplus of packages that day, so he was determined to make sure they were okay. As he looked over at the front doors, he counted eleven packages, which was the exact amount he ordered. Figuring he needed a pair of scissors to open them, he walked into the kitchen to check the supply drawer. 

He turned the light on and looked through the drawers. He pulled out wrenches, screwdrivers, pens, and an assortment of related tools, but no scissors. He had pulled out a suspicious, hand made tool with multiple knives attached to it, when he saw something in the corner of his eye. He whipped around and jumped in shock. MC was standing near him in a large cat onesie, staring at him with a curious expression.

“What are you doing, Levi?” they asked, staring at the odd tool.

“I- uh- Er-” Levi stuttered. He wanted to answer, but he couldn’t. They just looked so… Moe that he couldn’t stand it. Why did he just find out MC had a giant, black kitten onesie? Well, obviously, MC was shy enough to keep it hidden, so it makes sense as to why he hasn’t seen it before. He would’ve probably done the same thing if he bought one.

MC had been staring at Levi’s stuttering, flushed self for a good thirty seconds. “What?” They say, raising their eyebrow in a taunting manner. 

“Um, Y-you just...You’re wearing...” He said trailing off.

“O-Oh! Right…” MC said, looking down at themselves embarrassed. “I got this a while ago, back home, but I always wore it in my room here, since it seems too childish to wear it around anyone else. Though, I much rather you see me in a onesie than anyone else. Uh- wait, that came out wrong, sorry”

Levi blinked and slowly started regaining his senses, ignoring the accidental insult. MC looked at the tool in his hand and asked what it was for.

“O-oh, right. I was just looking at this one, whatever it is. But, I originally came here to grab scissors for my Amazon packages. Though, I guess this weird contraption will work as well.” He says, pocketing the various knives. MC helped Levi put all the supplies back, and MC moved to grab a glass of water.

“Is that what you came for?” Levi asks, probably just to make up for the silence.

“Yeah, well, I wanted to take melatonin to help fall asleep, so I needed water.”

“Oh wait, you need help falling asleep?”

“Yeah, I’ve had pretty bad insomnia since I was young, and I guess it just kind of gotten worse over the years.”

“Oh, well, I just got this new serum I found on Amazon. It’s called Hazydew Softsyrup, and you just need to add it to tea to get the full effect. I got it for myself, since the blue light from my PC keeps me awake for a while, but you can use it for the night. I can order another bottle tomorrow too if you want.”

MC’s face lifted and they smiled. “Really? You would actually give me a bottle of that syrup?”

“I mean, sure, if you want it.” Levi says, looking down.

“Yes please, that would be awesome. Thanks.” MC said, releasing a sigh of relief.

“Y-yeah, no problem.” He said, moving towards the front room. MC followed him, and took the bottle eagerly when Levi offered. But, when MC took the bottle, instead of leaving, they linger there hesitantly. After a moment, they lean in towards Levi and kisses him gently on the cheek. Levi blinked, and stared blankly. He opened his mouth, but nothing came out.

MC smirked “What’s the matter, cat got your tongue?”

#obey me #obey me leviathan #obey me levi #obey me mammon #obey me brothers #obey me headcanons #headcannon #headcannons

[oldguardhc]

Old Guard hc #100

AN: Holy cow, 100!!! This is based off this post.

It’s a thing. A recent thing. A twenty-year-old thing. Which makes it a super recent thing.

The thing is, sometimes, Joe will sneak up on Nicky and yell, "Affection attack!" before proceeding to shower his heart with as many kisses as he can get away with. Afterward, Nicky always tells him that he knows when Joe’s going to do one, mouth quirking up into that half-smile he only makes when he’s lying to Joe. It’s a cute smile. This is probably why Joe always hums in agreement, soaking in as many details of that rare smile to immortalize on a page later.

It’s been a good four months since he’s last done one, Joe realizes. That’s not the longest gap, but it has been long enough that Nicky will be genuinely surprised if he does one. Plus, an AA sounds much better than continuing to sweep the garage.

Mind made up, Joe props the broom up against the garage wall and tiptoes out to the garden, wiping his hands on his pants as he goes. He feels giddy as he creeps around the house and peeks his head around the corner. Nicky is crouching by the flowerbed that Booker had optimistically decided to install earlier this month, setting up a sprinkler system. From his vantage point, the only progress that Nicky seems to have made is taking everything out of the box and strategically laying them around himself.

Even if Nicky miraculously manages to hook up the sprinklers, Joe doesn’t think there’s enough water in the world to bring back the brittle brown plants currently calling the flowerbed their final resting place. Not unless he hooks it up to whatever Jesus was drinking.

The universe is in his favor today. The wind is blowing downhill and the neighbors next door are having an outdoor party, blasting an awful mix of alternative rock and dubstep. Joe suspects the only reason Nicky hasn’t given up and thrown the sprinkler at the neighbor’s speakers is that it'll make Booker happy that they’re showing interest in his side project. Never mind that Booker has lost interest in his little hobby two days after planting the damn flowers. He’s worse than a toddler sometimes.

Joe’s willing to forgive the neighbors for their awful music taste though, it makes sneaking up on Nicky almost child’s play. Almost, because Joe still has to wait for the perfect moment lest his shadow ruins the surprise.

His perfect moment comes a minute later when Nicky picks up the manual again after throwing a part to the ground in frustration.

Joe leaps out of his hiding spot and shouts, "Affection attack!" loud enough to cut through the dubstep currently blaring from the neighbor’s.

Nicky whirls around, screwdriver tightly fisted in one hand, a wrench in the other. He looks stupidly hot as he shifts into a defensive stance, wielding both tools as if they were traditional weapons. To be fair, in Nicky’s hands, those tools had the potential to cause an equal amount of damage, more if Nicky's in a bad mood. He drops both when he sees that it’s Joe and not some lunatic.

Any other day, Joe would be offended that Nicky didn’t recognize his voice. He’s only giving Nicky a break because 900 years is not enough time to prepare oneself for the atrocity that is dubstep.

Nicky stands back up from his crouch and opens his arms for the inevitable attack. Joe has a second to appreciate the fondness coloring Nicky’s face before he’s barreling into the love of his life, knocking them both to the ground.

"I thought this was an affection attack," Nicky groans, grabbing Joe by the shoulders and pushing him off.

Joe rolls back onto Nicky with a smile. "It is!" To prove his point, he bends down to peck Nicky on the lips and then beams. "See?"

Nicky does not look convinced with his cocked brow and pursed lips. It’s a very judgy face for someone who is being attacked with affection. "This was more of an attack," Nicky grumbles and then adds, "You’re skimping out on me."

Joe gasps in mock-outrage. "Take that back!" Nicky shakes his head and Joe digs his fingers in Nicky’s side, right where he’s the most ticklish. "Take it back!" Nicky jerks upwards and almost head-butt’s Joe in the face if it were not for Joe already leaning back, expecting the violent reaction.

"Yusuf!" Nicky hisses, and Joe grins down at him, batting his eyelashes.

"Yes, dear?"

Nicky narrows his eyes at him. Joe can already see the way his mouth is softening. "Cute," Joe’s grin widens and Nicky slumps back down onto the dirt in defeat, pulling Joe with him until he’s snuggling into Nicky’s chest. Joe accepts the defeat, but only because he’s in a cuddling mood today. There’s a voice that sounds suspiciously like Andy that says he always in a cuddling mood.

"I knew you were going to do one," Nicky says after several minutes of cuddling. Joe props his head up on Nicky’s chest and spots the small quirk of lips.

"Uh-huh," Joe agrees, his fingers itching for a pencil. From this angle, it’s almost impossible to notice the tiny smile. He knows it’s going to take several tries to get this one right.

It breaks his heart a little when it disappears.

Joe crawls forward and tries to coax a different smile with his lips. When they break apart, both gasping for air, Joe nuzzles their noses together. "I love you," he says and is rewarded with a dazzling smile. If his heart stutters in his chest, it’s only a natural reaction to such a wonderful sight.

"I love you too."

#the old guard #joe x nicky #yusuf al kaysani #nicolo di genova #kaysanova #hc

[skylarmoon71]

Harry Wells x Witch Reader - (Flash): Chapter 4

Walking into the cortex that afternoon, you were a bit surprised no one was around. “Hello? Anybody home.” Harry lifted his head from behind the table, and a grin immediately spread on your lips. 

“How do you manage to keep such a grumpy look all the time.”

“This is my neutral expression.”

“Right...so where’s everyone else grumpy wells?”

“Stop calling me that.”

“Grumpy wells.”

Harry glared, you really enjoyed agitating him, almost as much as Cisco did.

“There haven't been any recent attacks, so they're enjoying some R&R.” his eyes moved back to whatever project he’d been working on before you came in. The metal gadget on the desk looks foreign to you, but he obviously knew what he was building.

“So why are you still working?”

He didn’t answer.

“Grumpy wells, grumpy wells, grumpy wells!” he dropped the screwdriver in irritation.

“Don’t you have someone else to annoy, I’m busy.”

“I vote that we both go out. “ He just stared at you for a few moments.

“No thank you. I’m working. “ That and he really didn’t think it was a good idea for him to be alone with you. Harry realized a few weeks in that your need to be around him was unnerving. He didn’t like the sparks that rose whenever you cracked a joke or sent him those glistening smiles. Not to mention the age gap. His eyes lowered. He was at least twenty-five years older than you, to make matters worse you barely acknowledge the interactions. He was pining after you one sidedly, what was more pathetic than that.

“I can always zap you with a spell you know.”

“Didn’t you say witches aren’t supposed to harm regular people, I think that falls under harm.” you smile, cheeks tinting red. So he didn’t completely brush off information when you spoke, that was nice to know. He never looked like he ever paid much attention when you were talking, and you were positive you’d never said that to him directly, that must have meant that he was listening whenever Cisco made small inquiries about magic and witches. Still didn’t mean he liked you, but it was start.

“Come on Harrison, I know you can’t be happy cooped up in here all the time. Let’s go out, on me. Please, it’s boring if I’m alone. “

Couldn’t you ask Cisco to hang out with you?

“She’s always around him anyway.” Not that he cared. He wasn’t jealous, nope. Not one bit.

“Ask someone else, I’m busy.”

“I don’t want to ask someone else, I want you.”

You’d never say that to his face.

“Obstructionum.”

He reached out for the device on the desk, but a barrier blocked his hand, he paused, fixing his stare on you.

“I remove the block after you come with me.”

“This is blackmail.”

“Really, I’d like to think of it as insistent persuasion Grumpy wells, now let's go!”

He didn’t have much of a choice. With a grumble, he grabbed his jacket following you out.

~Two Hours Later~

“Chug Chug Chug!!!” you gulped the drink hurriedly and Harry sat at the side, wondering why he’d let you talk him into this. When the bottle was empty you slammed it on the counter, raising your hands as the people around cheered. The guy you were competing against fell off the chair, unto the ground, probably passed out.

“YEAH!!!” you cheered, still smiling at Harry.

He knew for a fact that he’d never go out with you again, that was for sure.

Just when he thought it couldn’t get any worse, you started to navigate towards the stage. Harry ran hand over his face, watching as you instructed the DJ to play you a song. The music filled the club, and apparently it was one most of the audience knew, or at least the women. He figured this is why he avoided clubs.

Queen B, want no smoke with me (okay)

Then turn this motherf---er up eight hundred degree (yeah)

My whole team eat, chef's kiss, she's a treat (mwah)

Ooh, she so bougie, bougie, bon appetit

I'm a savage, attitude nasty (yeah, yeah)

Talk big sh-- but my bank account matchin'

Hood, but I'm classy, rich but I'm ratchet

Haters kept my name in they mouth, now they gaggin', ah, ah

Bougie, he say they way that thang move it's a movie

I told lil' bro we gotta keep it low, leave me the room key

I done bled the block and now it's hot bi---, I'm Tunechi

A mood and I'm moody (ah)

I'm a savage (okay)

Classy, bougie, ratchet (okay)

Sassy, moody, nasty (hey, hey, yeah, nasty)

Acting stupid, what's happening? (Woah, woah)

Bi---, what's happening? (Woah, woah)

Acting stupid, what's happening? (Woah, woah)

Bi---, what's happening? (Woah, woah)

Bi---, I'm a savage, yeah (okay)

The entire crowd was singing with you. At this moment, he couldn’t bring himself to be mad.

“She looks like she’s having fun.”

The headache you would wake up with tomorrow would be anything but fun, but he didn’t mind, as long as you were smiling.

The music started to die down, and you stumbled off the stage as another clearly intoxicated person took the mic from your hands. A few people gave you high fives as you passed, making your way back to Harry. Your face got even brighter and you jumped right into his arms. He staggered back, not ready for the action or contact. You were hugging him as you rambled on.

“Did you see me grumpy! I was *hic* a-awesome!!” He sighed, you were obviously past your limit.

“Alright, I think you’ve had enough, let’s get going.” you whined, shaking your head. “I’m tired, carry me~” you wore a pout, and he would have denied, but the look you sent him made it hard not to say yes to whatever crazy request you made. Leaning down, he scooped you up easily. You giggled, and he looked over to see what you found so amusing.

“I wasn’t r-really shhh! I just wanted grumpy to pick me up.” Your index finger was pressed to your lip in a shushing motion, and he wondered if you fully realized that you were talking to grumpy.

“You owe me.” he mumbled out. You just nodded, wrapping your arms around his neck, leaning your head on his shoulder.

“I’ll do anything you want Harrison.”

Your soft breath blowing on his neck wasn’t really helping matters. Nor was the seductive way in which you whispered that statement. The one good thing about this night was the fact that the club was fairly close to your apartment.

He wasn’t sure he’d be able to get a car with you in his arms. He’d only ever been to your apartment once before, and that was with the team when you first moved in. Walking through the door and into the elevator, he tried to focus on anything but you. On the walk over he was hoping you would pass out, maybe to help deter the racing of his heart. Your scent was everywhere, he couldn’t escape it. Or the feel of how warm and soft your skin felt. The elevator dinged, and he stepped out, searching for your room number. He stopped when he got to the desired door.

“Key..”

He needed your keys.

He lowered his arms, placing you unto your feet, in which you reluctantly followed. Harry held out his hand.

“I need your keys.”

“They're in my pocket.” The cheshire smile you wore made him squint. You took a step forward.

“My back pocket.”

Ah, so you were not only a happy drunk, but also a flirty one.

“Please give me the keys (Y/N).” You bit your lip at the soft way he asked. It was so unlike him. Intoxicated or not, that was pretty hot.

You took one last step forward, and Harry willed himself to be strong. Your eyes marked him.

“Say my name again..please..” He rarely ever said your name, somehow hearing it from his lips was far different.

“She’s drunk.” He kept reminding himself that. If you were sober you’d never act like this, or request something so silly.

"(Y/N)...”

Your eyelashes fluttered, and your gaze shifted to his lips. Harry swallowed. This was moving into the danger zone. He held his breath when he saw a yellow glow overtake your orbs. Behind your back he could hear the jiggling of your keys as they rose from your pocket. It went all the way around, landing right into his open palm.

“Thank you.” He muttered.

You were still looking at him with a compelling stare, and even though the light had faded, he still felt drawn in. You smiled, closing your eyes as you collapsed on him. Harry supported your weight, looking down at you longingly.

Why was the universe being so cruel to him?

#harrison wells #harrison wells x reader #love #fear #trust #metahumans #CaitlinSnow #cisco ramon #Barry Allen #flash #charmed #AU #cute #meetings #care #family #iris west #BarryxIris #protectiveharry #friendship #crime #Central City

[babbushka]

If you can manage it, can I get 30) “Such a needy little thing, aren’t you?” 9) “I don’t care how good it feels you’d better not cum until I tell you to.” 26) “Suck on my fingers and get them nice and wet for me.” 15) “You take my fingers so well don’t you?” If you can't fit all four that's fine, its just that this combo made me think of so many filthy things. Maybe with biker!Kylo, we haven't seen him in a while. 🥰🥰

(1.5k NSFW [big mean dom!kylo, fingering & dirty talk])

Kylo’s just about finished with one of the bikes he’s working on, when the little bell chimes at the front door. Perfect timing, he hums as he washes his hands, mistakenly thinking that it’s the client here to pick up the hog. He’s pleasantly surprised then, when instead, leaning up against the counter with your tits practically falling out of your tight tight shirt, he sees you.

“Hey baby girl, what are you doing here?” He eyes you up and down, and you preen under the attention.

“I missed you.” You shrug easily, giving Kylo the same treatment.

He’s exactly how you like him – filthy. Covered in sweat and motor oil, grease smeared against his vibrant tattoos, Kylo reeks and is in desperate need of a shower. Your thighs rub together, loving how in his element he is, how capable he is. Kylo loves how he can practically smell the wetness between your legs. Checking to make sure no one is around to bother you, licks his lips and smirks,

“Oh yeah? Why don’t you step into my office, and let me see how much.”

You’re eager to follow, rushing ahead of him where he can pinch and smack at your ass in your short skirt, as he chases you through the garage. The office is a small room just off the large floor, away from the heavy machinery and all the noise. It’s got a window, but Kylo quickly pulls the shade, a safety precaution.

“Come sit on my lap sweets, I’ll give you what you need.” Kylo makes his way to the little couch that he only really reserved for taking naps and fucking you on, pats at his thigh.

Grinning, you straddle his wide hips and immediately shiver as his broad palms smooth up the back of your thighs. His hands are the only part of him that’s clean, and you’re glad, because when he rubs at the wet fabric of your panties, you don’t want him to stop for anything – especially when he ever so gently pulls the scrap of cotton to the side, and teases right at your slit.

“Oh please, please Kylo?” You push yourself against him, your hands cupping his cheeks, kissing him hot and sloppy on the mouth, whining against his tongue.

“Such a needy little thing, aren’t you?” Tsking the roof of his mouth, Kylo pulls his fingers away and instead grabs a handful of your jaw with it.

“Like I said, I missed you.” You pout, your cheeks squishing under his hold.

“Alright alright, no sad eyes.” He relents, making you drop the sad act and preen once again, the most spoiled brat in the entire world. He can’t blame you though, not when you’re so pretty, not when he loves you so much, “Suck on my fingers and get them nice and wet for me.”

Your eyes close as your mouth drops open, accepting two of his fingers to suck and lick, giving attention to each and every one of them, knowing that this is for show, this is just for him – you’re wet enough to not need it. But he likes it when you suck on him, whether that’s his cock his tongue or his fingers, and you want to give him what he likes.

He rewards you by tugging aside your panties again, and this time instead of teasing right at your folds, he pushes up into you, all the way up up up, your pussy swallowing his fingers down. He doesn’t like this position though, so he manhandles you onto the couch a little better, a different angle so he can keep his thumb on your clit and rub it steadily as his fingers pump in and out of your cunt.

You’re reclined back against the couch cushions, one of your legs thrown over Kylo’s thighs, the other planted on the floor. You’re spread open beautifully, and you moan with how slow and careful he is about this, how he is about you.

“Ah, fuck you’re so big.” Your back arches a little, hips rocking down onto his fingers, breathing heavy and moaning, “Don’t you want to fuck me?”

“Yeah but I’m gonna take you apart just like this for now.” Kylo leans over to kiss you, presses little chaste smooches against the corner of your mouth, “And then I’ll bring you back home and blow your back out, okay?”

He crooks his fingers and brushes against your gspot with them, and your thighs tremble, your toes curling inside your shoes. He wishes he could have you naked, but there’s something extra perverted about having you just like this – skirt shucked up enough that he can gets your legs spread, panties sopping wet as his fingers squelch in and out of you.  

“Uhhhuh.” Grinding down against him, your hands wrap around his strong forearm, his wrist, keeping him from going anywhere, feeling the muscles flex and moaning about it.

“Damn you’re really worked up aren’t you sweets? Be good and relax for me.” Kylo chuckles when your hips raise up off the sofa just a little, chasing the feeling of him.

“It – oh fuck – it feels so good, Kylo,” You whine, music to his ears. You’re biting and licking at your lips making them go all swollen, and Kylo just rubs little zigzags against your clit for all your effort, the stimulation and light friction not nearly enough for you, he’s being mean, being a tease.

“I don’t care how good it feels, you’d better not come until I tell you to.” Voice low and deep in your ear, your cunt clenches around him, squeezes his fingers so tight as you start to pant, breath coming out in little shallow bursts as you swallow down your groans.

“I won’t -- can I have another one? Please let me have another one.” You’re too pretty for him to deny you, so he doesn’t, nudges a third finger up into your pussy and lets you moan around it as you relax and suck him up.

“You take my fingers so well, don’t you?” He begins to move a little faster, his arm flexing a little harder, as he harshly yanks your hips back onto his lap, your legs falling over the arm rest of the couch, moaning loud like a whore. His other hand has a strong grip on your thigh, keeping your legs spread enough for him to really move, “Love being stuffed full, is that it? I bet you’d let me shove anything up in there to keep you stretched, wouldn’t you?”

“Kylo!” The image of him maybe fucking you with one of his wrenches, or the handle to his screwdrivers or anything like that makes your body shake, makes you writhe under the slow and careful attention he gives you.

“Shh, shh princess you’re okay, I’ve got you.” Kylo’s hot in his clothes, sweating, he feels dirty – but you’re dirty too, you’re filthy in an altogether different way, a way that makes his cock throb and ache as he thrusts his fingers in and out of you a little faster, a little rougher.

You’re so pliant and wet for him that those three fingers don’t feel like enough, so he captures your mouth in a heated kiss as he shoves his pinky up into you too, all his fingers aside from his thumb that’s still rubbing rubbing rubbing at your clit now buried inside you, making you sloppy, making you hiccup and cry from the overstimulation.

“Go ahead and come, you’ve earned it.” He grunts against your mouth, wanting you to feel so good, wanting you to finish so he can get you in his bed and fill you up with his come.

Your whole body moves and convulses for him, and he can feel the way you clamp down on his hand when you come, your calves tense, your back arching, head lolling to one side as pleasure wracks through your body. Kylo fingers you through it, those big thick fingers of his plugging you up, massaging and stroking your gspot as you shake shake shake, nothing but a litany of yespleasekylopleasesogooddontstop drips from your tongue.

He eventually slows his thrusts to a halt, lets you catch your breath, lets you get reacclimated to the real world, as the buzz of pleasure bounces around in your skull. He doesn’t pull out yet, not yet, because his thumb still can’t stop stimulating your clit, little circles this time, and he swallows down your moans and tears with a hot open mouthed kiss.

“Need me to carry you to the car?” Kylo whispers against your cheek as he kisses you there, kisses the corner of your eyes.

You nod, a great big smug grin forming across your face that makes him roll his eyes, knowing that even if you could walk, there’s no way in hell your legs would work by the time he’s done with you, as you leave the shop behind.

#kylo ren/reader #kylo ren x reader #kylo ren smut #kylo ren imagine #kylo ren/you #kylo ren x you #adam driver fanfiction #adcu #biker au #biker!kylo ren

[pro-fangirls-unsocial-life]

Sweet Nothings (2/2) Rex x Reader

A/N: Thank you guys so much for all of the support so far. I really cannot express how happy I am with how well received this has been. You guys are so nice and I am so glad that you like it. Enjoy!

Tags: @captainrexisboo @bad-batch-of-fics @mackstrut @jyvorakal @danger-xylophones @dissapointingpancake​

Length: ~1500 words

Warnings: none :) just pure fluff again

Part One

You had just gotten back from picking up the food from Rex’s favorite place when your communicator beeped.

 Just landed. Have to give a mission report but should be there in about two hours. ~ Rex

 You smiled and set everything down on the table. You cleaned up the rest of your apartment that you had not been able to the night before and set out everything that you had prepared for Rex. A pile of holofilms on the table by the couch and a sea of blankets strewn across the couch itself. When you were done with that, you made sure that everything in the refresher was clean so that Rex could take a nice shower when he got home. You set out towels that you had just washed and the soft, blue pajamas that you had bought him when he first started staying the night at your apartment. Once you had done all of that, you looked at the crono on the wall and saw that Rex should be there in about twenty minutes.

You brought the food from the table into the kitchen and began to reheat it. After you had done that, you started making a pot of caf, knowing that he would probably be tired. You were humming to the background music that you had on while you were working when you heard your front door woosh open. You looked over and saw Rex standing there with his helmet in his right hand and his bag in the left, a small smile on his face as he looked at you.

 “Rex!” You ran at him and he dropped both of his things as you jumped into his arms. Wrapping your arms around his neck and legs around his midsection, you buried your face in his neck. You both held onto each other as tightly as you could, both not wanting to ever let the other go.

 “I missed you,” he said gently as he pressed a kiss to the side of your head. You both stayed like that for a while. Not saying anything. Just holding on to each other like it was the last thing you would ever do.

 You finally stepped down onto the floor and brought your hands to either side of his face, placing your foreheads together. “I missed you too,” you whispered as your thumb rubbed his cheek. You pulled back and held his face while you looked at him.

 He looked tired and worn, dirt still covering his face and armor. You could tell that he was exhausted, but he was relieved to finally be home. As you looked over him, you could see that he didn’t have any kind of signs of injury and you breathed a sigh of relief. He gave you a small, loving smile and brought his hands up to yours. He pulled them to his lips and kissed both of them before letting them rest between the two of you.

 “Everything in the refresher is ready if you want to shower before eating,” you said tenderly looking up at his beautiful brown eyes.

 He looked down at you and sighed. “That would be amazing.”

 You let go of his hands and started helping him take off his armor and set it in its place by the door. Once all of it was off, you told him to go relax and take all of the time that he needed while you put everything away.

 After he had showered and you both had eaten, you sat cuddled together on the couch drinking caf under a blanket, a holofilm playing quietly as you listened to each other’s soft breathing.

 “Oh! I almost forgot!” You excitedly got up from the couch, letting go of his hand as you made your way toward the kitchen. “I have a surprise for you!”

 “A surprise?” He watched you leave and brought his hand up to the back of his neck. “Cyare, you’ve already done so much for me tonight. You didn’t have to you know.” He looked at you as you returned with your hands behind you back. A gentle, loving smile on his face as he looked at you with adoration.

 “I know, I know. I just wanted to do something special for my amazing Captain. Besides, I thought you could use a pick-me-up when you got back.” You smiled and brought the bag of Idelle wafers out from behind your back as you sat back down next to him.

 He looked down and his eyes widened. “Are those?”

 “Yes,” you beamed as your smile widened. “I remember you saying how much you liked them on our first date. I’ve been looking for them since then but wasn’t able to find them. It was a stroke of pure luck that someone from Sesid just moved to Coruscant and just happened to set up a booth in my path home from work.”

 Rex kept silently looking down at the small bag in your hands. His face staying in the same shocked state as before. He slowly reached out and picked up the bag and looked at it. He blinked a few times as he looked it over, his face unreadable.

 “Rex? Are you ok?” You were starting to get worried. “Are they not the right kind? I tried describing the ones you told me about to the man who owned the shop but—”

 Rex lurched forward and pulled you into a deep kiss. You gasped in surprise but quickly smiled into it. Rex brought his hand up to hold your face and pulled away. He brought your forehead to his and deeply breathed in as he smiled. “I love you so much Y/N.”

 You smiled and gave him a quick peck on the lips before returning to the keldabe kiss. “I love you too Rex.” You pulled back and pressed your face into his chest and hugged him tightly. “Welcome home.”

 *******************************************************************************************

 As you were snuggled together, Rex was lightly tracing shapes onto your arm as he slowly snacked on the sweet cookies that you had given him. You took a deep breath and scooted deeper into his arms. You had both been absent mindedly watching the old holofilms that played while you just enjoyed being back in each other’s arms. After a while, Rex’s breathing had evened out and you thought that he had fallen asleep. You gently started pulling the blanket overtop both of you, and just as you were about to turn off the holofilm, you heard him lightly say your name.

 “Do you remember the day we met?”

 You turned slightly so that you could see his face. He was looking down at you with heavy and tired eyes and a face with nothing on it but admiration. His small grin making your chest bloom with affection.

 You smiled back at him. “How could I forget?”

 “I walked into the hangar to see you yelling at General Skywalker with a screwdriver in your hand pointed at his face. You were saying something about not fixing his Starfighter anymore if he was just going to keep ‘modifying’ it and undoing all of your work.” Rex softly chuckled as he looked back on the memory.

 “Ha. Yeah… When you walked up and asked if there was a problem, I turned the screwdriver on you and snapped at you to control your Jedi.” You smiled. “Then you took your helmet off and I could barely form a sentence.”

 Rex chuckled again and pulled you closer. “You weren’t the only one you know. I was half tempted to not say anything because of how much I could feel my face heating up when I first saw you. Hell, if I had known that the mechanics who worked on the 501st’s ships would be so gorgeous, I would have had Skywalker intentionally crash his so that I could come see you.”

 You scoffed. “Oh, come on, doesn’t he already do that?” You stretched up to place a small kiss on his cheek as you shifted to lying on his stomach with your head on his chest. “But,” you said with a mischievous smile, “I can’t say that I would have minded all that much if you did. How else would I have met you?”

 Rex placed a kiss on the top of your head. “What did I do to deserve you?” He moved his hand to your back and started slowly tracing shapes on it through your shirt. He chuckled, “Guess we owe a thanks to General Skywalker for being reckless enough for you to call him to the hangar in person to yell at him.” As Rex spoke his voice got deeper and his eyes began to drift shut, a slight smile still present on his face.

 “Yeah,” you breathed out. “I guess we do.” You sat there for a while just watching as Rex’s body began to relax and his breathing began to even out. You carefully placed a kiss to his chin and settled into his chest as you pulled the blanket completely over the two of you. “Goodnight Rex.” You smiled as you closed your eyes. “I love you.”

#captain rex x reader #captain rex #my writing #AAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH #this is still terrifying #even though you guys were so sweet and nice with the last one #im not as proud of this chapter but i hope you guys still like it

[hebescus]

14 “Can I have this dance?”

send me a prompt <3

posted on ao3

anon i am deeply sorry that you came here for a good fluffy time 🥲 i listen to the wrong song for inspiration so here's a break up angst. BUT i have a wip that have a fluffy happy dance that's coming so keep your heads up. anyway enjoy...whatever this is...

------

Perhaps there are things Light shouldn't do in the first place, clearly there are too many things he has done so wrong. Perhaps there are more logical reasons for the sting that marked all over his body as he slumped on the kitchen floor, feeling nothing yet feeling it all. Perhaps it already made sense and was clear in front of his eyes.

And for the first time he hated those square patterned lights spilling through the window. 

Tears had dried on his face but his breath hitched still. His voice strained even though he hadn't said anything. Perhaps he was screaming earlier, he couldn't even remember anymore. Scenes replayed in his head over and over and over his head, he wasn't sure if he wanted it to stop. 

How could someone lose something he had for the first time so easily? How cruel it is to cage his own heart again as if it was never being carefully held?

For what feels like a thousand times, those brown locks got roughly pulled once again out of numbness. Rage was the easiest to feel, but at this point it had drained him enough. And if he closed his eyes enough there would be barefoot steps, cold against the tiled floor as a static noise started to fill the room. It eared a pair of furrowed eyebrows that relaxed when a strange tune got played. It sounded old, but comforting.

"What is it? I never knew you had a boombox," Light asked, halting his movements on the screwdriver.

"I forgot I had them either," the other said, thumb toying on his lips as he listened to the soft melody. "It's pretty old though, I'm not sure if it still sounds good."

"I mean it's fine," Light shrugged. "Now you better grab that small nail for me, I can't reach it."

The nail was handed to him, as well as a lingering kiss on his cheeks.

"L, no. Can't you see what I'm doing?"

"Yes I am not blind, Light. That's why you should put that down." And with a confused expression, he put down the plank of the shelf and only a second before he could process anything, a delicate kiss was planted on his lips and thin fingers placed carefully on his waist, pulling him closer. The annoyance in him swept away immediately at the contact and Light wanted to hate him for that.

"Can I have this dance?" L said, barely parting their lips before offering his hand, lips turned upwards.

"Oh, come on." Light rolled his eyes, but he could feel his heartbeat thrummed in his ears.

"Well?" With a sigh, Light took his hand and he straightened his back. The music flowed around them, coaxing their bodies into warm sways and easy movements. Despite being the one who started it, L's feet were a little stiff but perhaps Light couldn't care less, as he looked across the room. The open floor plan exposed the mess that it was their shared apartment. Boxes and random placement of things they should figure out instead of dancing under the kitchen light.

Their eyes dived into each other, the window patterned light from outside washed L's face, maybe that was the reason why his dark eyes shined brightly tonight. They step on each other, laughing with gentle complaints. 

"I love you," L whispered with such contentment in his face. Light smiled widely, and pulled him into a kiss, letting out a reciprocating response in between their lips.

Their touch melted into each other, like the candle they lit up on the countertop. It was a new beginning, of mild kisses and slow dances, of hushed words and a song that soon got familiar. Of the one moment that lives in his head and thus the reason why he loved their kitchen so much.

Of why he spent almost four hours sitting on the cold tile wondering what happened to them. To the fire that once burned brightly now he burned alone with the candle on the countertop. 

And so he stood up, dragging himself to the boombox sitting on the window sill. He tried to ignore the withered plant next to it, the one that they grew together now fell apart, too. The tune came to life, a song from the very first day now drowned in the blurred cruel honesty through the cold voice of a voicemail, saying goodbye just as he went home to patch things up.

So he let the music play as he stood, basking in the ghost of their life roaming from every surface, suffocating him. He welcomed back loneliness that he used to mistaken for contentment. 

He wished he never had known.

#death note #lawlight #light yagami #l lawliet #my writing #oof yeah #i don't want peace. i want problem! always!!

[voidstilesplease]

in another life

part two

Stiles assures Theo answers for all of their questions -god knows they have so many- tomorrow. Theo's reluctant at first, doesn't intend to let go of Stiles's words hanging in between them: "You think she's alive?" Eventually, Theo nods, finding something in Stiles's eyes and placing his trust in him. An odd feeling of protectiveness settles in Stiles's stomach at the vulnerability that Theo freely displays - in the past, he used to act guarded like everyone was out to get him. Granted, Theo had conned most of them before with charm and fake tears, and it's not above him to try it again if Theo could gain something worthy from it. But Stiles doesn't feel the usual tingle in his bones when he meets some shady criminal mastermind. His instincts have gotten him this far, so he gives it credit.

Stiles sighs. Innocent until proven guilty. He hopes Deaton has answers that expose the truth.

In the meantime, they have saddled him with more responsibility: bringing Theo home with him. Theo refuses to be stuck with either Liam or Mason any longer, it is unwise to put Theo alone with Melissa, and stupid to leave him unattended. So Stiles is the only viable choice. Plus, Theo thinks they're together. It only makes sense. Maybe.

It probably won't to his dad initially, but hey, after a while of normalcy, even he will acknowledge the need for something to go down - even dressed as Theo Raeken.

•••

They're in Stiles's Jeep, driving home to the Stilinski's, and it is a little disconcerting how Theo seems to be accustomed to his car. Theo had seen and been in the Jeep before, but this is different. He's too comfortable in the cramped space, even knows how to operate Stiles's defective radio. And the way he leans against the seat on the passenger's side and knows where to keep the screwdriver Stiles uses to manipulate the ignition is boggling his head worse than the snow outside.

Stiles draws in a breath, glancing sideways to his quiet company. "So, um, Deaton," he says, "we're going to Dr. Deaton tomorrow."

Theo turns to him, frowning. "What kind of doctor? Are you taking me to a shrink? Babe, I'm not crazy. What happened is freaky, but you have to believe me."

Okay, the babe thing, they're going to have to iron that wrinkle as soon as possible. Not even Lydia called him babe when they dated, and certainly not Malia. It's a cosmic joke that the once bane of his existence gets to call him that first. "No, he's not a shrink," Stiles promises him. "He's a veterinarian. But he knows about these things."

Theo arches a brow, "He knows about teleportation?"

"Telepor-" Stiles creases his forehead, jerking his head to Theo. The latter is expectant when he looks back. Stiles blinks, disbelieving and a little horrified. There's also a small bubble of hysteria beginning to form in his stomach. Somehow, this takes the cake in the weirdness of the situation. Because, of course, Theo also doesn't remember he's a chimera, does he? Blowing a heavy breath, he turns back to the road. He rubs the side of his temple, where it's starting to hurt, and purses his lips. "Yeah, sure. Teleportation."

Silence hangs in between them for a moment, Stiles sighing when he takes the last turn to his street. He can feel the burn of Theo's stare at the side of his face.

"You really don't remember we're together?" Theo sounds genuinely small when he speaks. "Then why are you here, if not to take me home? The two -Liam and Mason- are accusing me of having amnesia. But it's you who can't remember."

Stiles opens his mouth, but he doesn't know what to say. He knows that if he tells Theo that he remembers an illusory life, it's only going to invite more questions Stiles has no answers yet. In honesty, he's still reeling until now, and he's too tired to consider diving into research mode immediately, much less form a cohesive plan other than to bring Theo to Deaton first. And the best thing for them both to do before then is rest. They can't do that if Stiles stays up all night convincing Theo that they're not even friends, that he was a lying, conniving chimera asshole that tried to break his pack once, before turning a new leaf and helping them, and then disappearing on them like a bubble one day. Oh, and yeah, that it's so twisted for him to think his sister was alive when he had allowed her to die when he was nine.

No. Rest, Deaton, and then fuck up some shit - Stiles is doing this in that order.

"Hm," is what he ends up saying. Stiles pulls in the driveway, noting the blue truck already parked there. He's relieved to find a change of topic. He clears his throat, pointing at the vehicle. "That's your truck. Corey, Mason's boyfriend, drove it here."

Theo doesn't look away from him for the entire minute it takes Stiles to turn the engine off and gather his belongings. When he looks at Theo, that's only when the other man lowers his head and breathes. Theo nods and gets out of the car, moving towards the truck. Stiles silently prays for more strength if this is how awkward it is going to be for the whole evening until the morning.

Theo is studying his blue truck, eyeing it with trepidation. Stiles slings his messenger bag and stands beside him. Theo turns to him, shaking his head. "This isn't my car."

Stiles moves to the bed of Theo's pickup. "It is," he tells Theo. 

Stiles is, unfortunately, familiar enough with this car, and not with pleasant memories. Stiles lifts the haphazardly strewn cloth covering most of the space of the truck bed and makes a noise of disgust with what he finds underneath. It was definitely tidier before.

Theo also peeks under the cloth and pulls his face in a similar reaction. An alarming amount of empty plastic noodle cups and take-out boxes litter the covered area. "It can't be mine because I'm not crazy for instant ramen."

Stiles drops the cloth and walks to the driver's seat. He cups his hands on either side of his eyes and looks inside through the window. He finds a folded blanket at the backseat and a pink sweater on top of the pile of clothes. The chimera wore the hell out of those, Stiles remembers grudgingly. Transferring his scrutiny on the passenger side, he sees empty water bottles and coke cans, and old receipts. What the hell has Theo been up to that he can't even throw his trash out or attempt to be less sloppy?

One thing is sure, though. The car is where Theo lives; the pizza in the backseat looks stale but not molded. He faces Theo and gives him a grim nod, "Let's discuss the condition of your car and your unhealthy lifestyle tomorrow, yeah?"

Theo huffs, wanting to protest and eyeing his car in disgust, but shrugs in agreement.

•••

His father is working the night shift, so explaining Theo is a problem for future Stiles, which makes him sag in relief under the hot spray of his shower. When he's finished, he changes into clean sweatpants and an old Christmas ugly sweater and goes back to his room.

Theo is already sitting on his temporary bed on the floor. Stiles refuses to make him sleep on the couch where the kitchen and knives are near. At least, inside his room, he can fight him should Theo attempt anything at all. Stiles has gotten better at hand-to-hand combat since the FBI, and also a very light sleeper and sometimes prone to insomnia, especially on stressful occasions like this. Any minor shuffling from Theo will alert him. Not that he thinks Theo will do anything. His impulses tell him that Theo's memory dilemma is not made-up, and he's truthful this time, but it's always better to be safe than sorry.

Theo looks up when he enters, offering a small smile. Stiles's eyes catch sight of the outline of a necklace hidden underneath the collar of Theo's borrowed shirt. Stiles's clothes look a bit tight on him but otherwise, more comfortable than the dirty jeans he was wearing earlier. 

"It's so weird to see your old bed," Theo says, looking at the said bed. "Noah brought you a bigger one so that we can share when we visit. I wonder what happened to it?"

Stiles drops onto his bed with a small bounce. He didn't expect that. "Oh, um,"

Theo meets his eyes, "And Roscoe," a shadow crosses his face. "You took down all of the polaroid pictures we put of us. You even replaced the screwdriver that I gave you with an old one."

He sounds so betrayed that Stiles is stunned by what he's hearing. What startles him most, though, is: "You know my Jeep's name?"

At this question, Theo looks downright affronted. But Stiles has every reason to be surprised. His mom, his dad, and Scott are the only people apart from him who knows his Jeep's name -not another soul. Not even Lydia.

"Of course, I know your Jeep's name," Theo responds with a deepening scowl. "We've been together for four years, Stiles."

Stiles raises a hand to halt Theo as his cogs turn in his head. A swell of panic takes root in him. This memory thing is more serious than he initially thought. Theo's not only hallucinating a different life but he also somehow knows things he shouldn't. The screwdriver compartment, his broken radio, his Jeep's name -what else does he know that he isn't supposed to?

"Okay," Stiles finally says, lowering his hand and barrier from Theo, who's still glowering. It seems he has lost his patience with Stiles, as well. If this continues, Stiles might snap, too. So he says as appeasing as he could. "Let's say that whatever happened to you affected our memories of each other. But we'll go to Dr. Deaton for answers tomorrow, and then we can go back to our normal lives. Yes? Do you trust me?"

As soon as he says it, Stiles wants to take it back. It seems like a strange concept to ask Theo, of all people, to trust Stiles after everything. As crazy as Stiles actually trusting Theo. But here they are.

Theo doesn't reply for a long time, but he looks pensive and considering as he glares. In the end, he huffs in surrender, shoulders drooping in defeat. For the first time, the bags under his eyes become more prominent in his features. He looks so weary, hurt, and confused. Stiles is well acquainted with that look. It's the look of someone who hasn't been sleeping well. With the state of Theo's truck, Stiles has no problem picturing the man twist-and-turning to find a good position and not finding any.

Theo dips his head, replying with a rough voice, "Yeah. I trust you."

Before Stiles can say any more, Theo gives him his back and reclines on his mattress. He pulls the covers on himself, like a shield, and mumbles good night to Stiles.

Sighing, Stiles turns the desk lamp off and lays on his bed, staring at the ceiling for who knows how long. After a while, he exhales and rubs the bridge of his nose. His body is exhausted, and so is his mind, but they're not shutting off like they're supposed to. He almost wishes he is back in his dorm room in Virginia, staying up to piece the puzzles of a case. He has dealt with mundane human crises for so long that coaxing the supernatural mojo back appears to be an impossibly draining affair.

When he glances back at Theo on the floor, he pauses as he notices it. There's a blank inked mark on Theo's nape: a tattoo that Stiles knows for sure he didn't have the last time they saw each other. He turns to his side to look closely at it.

The tattoo is of a circle interlaced with three interconnected ovals. It reminds him closely of Derek's triskelion tattoo. But unlike Derek's, Theo's mark gives him an ominous feeling.

Because Stiles is sure, it isn't an optical illusion when it glowed in the darkness of his room for a second.

~•~

#steo #steo fic #steo ficlet #teen wolf #stiles stilinski #theo raeken #stiles x theo #parallel universe au #in another life #part 2 #fics tag #well the christmas prompts may have been lost #lmao #but well I guess I'll just continue with this #omg this is going to be a disaster fic #i can just feel it lmao

[sohotthateveryonedied]

Hold Your Child as Tight as You Can (And Push Away the Unimaginable)

Read here on AO3!

Summary:

Bruce tries not to think about the day. Not this one. Not any other, for that matter, but especially not this one.

With every second that passes, he drifts farther and farther away from his center. He’s thrown off balance, like gravity has made him an exception. No one tries to console him, and that’s just fine because Bruce doesn’t want to be consoled. Alfred tries on occasion, but Bruce isn’t the only one hurting too deeply to reach. The manor exists in a fog, silent and riddled with cracked pieces. It’s too empty now.

Bruce tries not to think about the day. Not this one. Not any other, for that matter, but especially not this one. With every second that passes, he drifts farther and farther away from his center. He’s thrown off balance, like gravity has made him an exception. No one tries to console him, and that’s just fine because Bruce doesn’t want to be consoled. Alfred tries on occasion, but Bruce isn’t the only one hurting too deeply to reach. The manor exists in a fog, silent and riddled with cracked pieces. It’s too empty now. Nearly everyone has called. When Bruce wouldn’t pick up, they started texting. Eventually Bruce turned his phone off. Just seeing the words spelled out ached like a screwdriver to the gut. If this were any normal day, Alfred would be bringing Bruce his lunch right about now. But he knows better than to disturb Bruce when he’s in Damian’s room. Bruce is aware of the poor taste he exhibits now, drinking a bottle of whiskey in a ten-year-old’s room. He’s setting a bad example. God, how he wishes he could still set a bad example. “Honestly, Father,” Damian said when Bruce took his glass of champagne away. “I’ve been allowed to drink wine before. My mother even encouraged it at formal events. Maturity garners respect.” “Well, I don’t encourage it. You’re still a child, no matter how sophisticated you think you are.” Not to mention the fact that a ten-year-old drinking champagne at a Wayne gala would certainly turn heads. Bruce downed the champagne himself, laughing at Damian’s scowl. “Come on, son. Let’s get you a juice box.”

That was only four months ago. Four months ago, back when the beast that is tragedy was locked tight in its cage, things were good. Things were perfect. Bruce had everything. Now he has nothing left. He takes a swig, closing his eyes as the alcohol burns his throat. “It’s a little early, don’t you think?” Bruce opens his eyes and finds Tim standing in the doorway, his fingertips clutching the frame. It brings Bruce back to the early days when he would creep to Bruce’s room in the middle of the night after a nightmare, uncertain if he was welcome to enter. He’s just as wary now, watching Bruce. “The whiskey, I mean. You’ve never been much of a day drinker.” “It’s a special occasion.” “That it is.” Tim steps closer, cautious. Bruce wonders, is his fear kindled from stepping into his dead brother’s room, or from Bruce? “How are you doing?” “How do you think I’m doing?” Tim scratches the back of his neck. “Okay, yeah, bad question. I’m...not very good at this.” “Did you need something?” He can’t do this. Not with Tim here. Not ever. That was the whole point of coming to this part of the house in the first place. “I wanted to wish you a happy Father’s Day. And...to give you this.” Tim holds out his hand, uncurling his fingers to reveal a small piece of metal with a chain on it. Bruce takes it, turns it over in his fingers. The flat piece shows a chibi-like depiction of Batman and Robin. “Damian picked it out.” Bruce’s insides crumble, folding in on themselves like botched origami. “When?” “A couple weeks before. He saw it when we were at the mall and thought it was stupid, so I bought it for him to give to you as a gag gift. Thought he might want you to have it.” It takes every ounce of Bruce’s strength to keep his voice from shaking, to keep from falling apart altogether. “Thank you.” He closes his hand around the keychain. “I thought you were with the Titans today.” “I wanted to make sure you weren’t alone.” “That’s not your job. You don’t have to—” Bruce swallows. Takes a breath. “It’s not all on you.” “Isn’t it? I’m the only one left.” Bruce is about to disagree, to tell him that there are others, but he keeps his mouth shut. Because Tim is right. Damian is dead. Jason hasn’t checked in with anyone in weeks. And Dick… “I’m here for whatever you need, Bruce. That’s why I joined up in the first place, right?” It’s supposed to be a joke, but it falls flat. Tim’s arm twitches like he wants to do something, provide some sort of comfort, but he keeps his distance. “I’m here for you. No father should have to lose two sons.” Bruce should tell him the truth. He should come clean, tell Tim that he need only mourn one brother, that Dick is out there somewhere alive and well. But he can’t do that. Besides, it makes sense, doesn’t it? Bruce brought on his own suffering, and it’s spread to the entire family like a virus. They’re all hurting, every one of them. All because of Bruce. “Thank you, Tim. I’ll keep that in mind.” Tim’s expression doesn’t change but for a dimming of his eyes, a sag in his shoulders. He sees the dismissal for what it is. “I’ll...leave you alone.” He goes without another word, closing the door behind himself. Bruce turns the keychain over in his palm. It’s small, cheap. Worth next to nothing. Worth everything. He needs more whiskey. Half a bottle later and the pain hasn’t numbed any, which he should have expected. This isn’t the kind of pain that any sedative can treat. Not even sleep takes the hurt away—if anything, it amplifies it. Bruce’s dreams now consist of a little boy with a sword shoved through his chest, crying for his dad to come save him. Food has lost its taste, the stars have lost their glow. It’s as if the whole world dimmed once Damian was taken out of it. “I miss you,” Bruce whispers to the empty room. “God, I miss you so much. It hurts more every day.” When Bruce’s parents died all those decades ago, it tore something inside of him seemingly beyond repair. Then, by some miracle, it healed. Dick healed it. So did Jason, Tim, Cass, Damian—they all healed him, each in their own way. Jason’s death tore open the scar and taught it how to bleed again. And now Damian has razed the land, made it unsalvageable. Barren. A wound can only be opened so many times before the flesh can no longer be stitched. “It’s a scratch, Father. I am perfectly capable of taking care of it myself.” Damian’s face was twisted in a scowl, more indignant than hurt despite the bloody rivulets coursing down his forearm. “I’m not disputing that. But just because you can do something yourself doesn’t mean you have to. Turn your arm for me?” Bruce swabbed the cut in disinfectant. Damian bit down on his bottom lip until the skin turned white. “Sorry. The anesthetic should kick in soon.” “I’m fine.” Bruce sighed. “How long before you accept that you’re allowed to express pain?” “Four million years.” Bruce chuckled. “Okay. Then I’ll just have to stick around with you for four million and one.” What Bruce wouldn’t give for those four million and one years. He would take an eternity of pain, anguish, agonizing sacrifice up to his knees if it meant he got to hold his child one more time. If he could tell him how much he loves him. Loved him. Orphans lose parents. Widows lose spouses. But there is no word for when a parent loses a child. It’s such an unimaginable tragedy that no one has dared to name it. There are not enough words in the English language to describe the depth of this feeling, of losing one’s entire world. Bruce wouldn’t wish it on his greatest enemy. “I loved you so much, Damian. More than I deserved to love anyone. And I should have told you that when I had the chance.” His eyes burn. His lip trembles. “There shouldn’t have been a day that went by when you didn’t feel loved without conditions, without a single exception. You were perfect.” He doesn’t stop the tears as they slide down his cheeks, warm and salty. The chasm in his chest widens, expands to the edges of his body until there is more emptiness in him than flesh. He is a black hole. “I had so many plans for today. It was supposed to be our first Father’s Day together.” Bruce was dead for the last one. And now death has stolen his child from him without warning, without mercy. Without reason. Bruce’s next breath gets stuck in his throat, makes him shudder. Damian didn’t deserve this. He should be home, safe, alive. He was just a boy. Just a baby, guilty of so many horrors but still so innocent. God, he was just a baby. “I should have been there for you. You needed your father to save you, and I was too late. I couldn’t keep you safe. But I’m going to get you back, Damian.” The whiskey bottle lies on its side on the bedspread, empty. “I’m going to do whatever it takes to bring you back, even if it kills me. I won’t fail you again.” He would say more, but his vocal cords refuse to work. Bruce buries his face in his hands, sobs wracking his large frame. What a sight he must make—the Batman, sitting on his son’s bed, crying like a child himself. For god’s sake, Father, Damian would say if he were here now. If I’d known that my death would turn you into a sniffling mess, I would have tried harder to stay alive. You’ll never intimidate criminals like this. But Damian isn’t here to say that. He isn’t here at all, and that’s on Bruce. So he cries, sobs, hoping it will do something to alleviate the ache that has set into his body. But if anything, it just makes the ache worse. Makes it grow and grow, forcing it to the forefront of his mind, demanding to be acknowledged. Your fault. This is all your fault. You don’t get to take it back. Bruce’s son is dead. His baby is dead. He won’t stop until he finds a way to take it back.

#whumptober 2020 #batfamily #batfam #batman #bruce wayne #damian wayne #robin #tim drake #red robin #idiot duckboy #fanfiction #fanfic #batman incorporated #dc comics #no.11 #crying

[imjusthereforbatfam]

Never-Ending Encore, ch.6

Chapters: 1 2 3 4 5 6 7

Chapter Summary: Best way to make a new friend in the most dangerous city in the world? Simple! Offer them baked goods as a thanks after they patch you up from almost dying in a knife fight!! So easy!!! :D

Warning: minor blood, minor swearing

---

“There you go,” Red Hood said opening the window to Eden’s fire escape from inside the apartment. She’d cautiously – and, in this instance, annoyingly – locked it earlier. “Back at Casa de Eden, safe and—”

“Don’t do that again!” she whisper-shrilled in his face.

Red Hood jerked back, surprised. The nerve! He knew full well he’d given Eden a heart attack vaulting off the fire escape like that. And he barely held on to the building while he checked her other window!

“You scared the livin' crap out of me! We’re on the ninth floor, for Pete’s sake!"

He scoffed. “Guess it’s a good thing you left the other window unlocked then, huh? Can you imagine? One little slip then, splat! No more Red Hood." He sniffed obnoxiously and wiped an imaginary tear from the eye of his helmet. "So sad."

“Oh please.” Eden rolled her eyes as she passed her groceries to him. “Like you wouldn’t have pulled out your grappling hook or something and saved yourself.”

“Oh?” He offered her his free hand, dropping the act. “So you mean I had everything under control? And you had nothing to freak out about? Imagine that.”

“Listen you,” Eden said taking his hand, allowing him to help her through the window. “You know well and good by now that I am a panicky person. The very least you could do is give me a heads up before you do something crazy like that!”

“Alright, fine. Don’t freak out, but I’m about to walk over to your table. So scary!”

She rolled her eyes again. "Yeah, I’m absolutely petrified, Mr. Hood.”

He let out a small amused sound. 

Cautiously holding her, he led her toward her kitchen table. Eden felt a little ridiculous, but he probably thought she’d keel over if he let her walk on her own. That's what would probably happen to a normal person who’d lost as much blood as her. So, despite being perfectly fine, she played along — totally not enjoying how close he was to her. Nope. Not even the littlest bit. 

But as he led her across the room, Eden couldn’t help but see her place with a fresh set of eyes. The kind a person only ever saw through when an unexpected visitor walked through their door — or, in this case, window.

Her apartment was so tiny and barren there honestly wasn’t much to see to begin with. But that didn’t stop Eden from noticing every flaw that was there. Every crumb and speck of dust. Every scuff and scratch that marked the fake wooden floor. The huge pile of “clean” clothes sitting on a chair next to her – thankfully closed – closet door. The walls void of anything but cracks, holes, and an old pair of coat hooks by the front door. 

Being in such a small space, and hoping to be able to afford something a little nicer in the not-too-distant future, Eden had decided early on not to fill it with any big or unnecessary furniture. It wasn’t like she needed much to begin with, and she didn’t want to deal with nine flights of stairs when she moved, so it had made sense.

Plus, it wasn’t like she planned on ever having guests. Even if she had people to invite over, inviting anybody to her neck of the woods would just be asking for trouble. Her neighborhood was far too… unneighborly. She’d feel tremendously guilty if anything bad happened to someone who shouldn’t be there to begin with.

But now that she had a guest, Eden severely regretted not trying to turn the rundown studio into something a little homier.

Her “living area” was a piss poor sight with only a lazily made-up mattress and a scratched-up coffee table to fill it. The mattress, which sat on the floor, acted as both Eden’s bed and couch; its sheets half sprawled, half bunched up in a way that Mama never would’ve allowed. The square coffee table – small enough for her to have carried onto the subway with only a little trouble – was absolutely covered in scattered piles of books, notebooks, and pens. Her laptop and headphones – the only things she’d splurged on with Frank’s money – sat on her bed, glaringly shiny and new compared to everything around them.

At least the tight galley kitchen was clean and tidy. She still swept and wiped everything down each night, just like she would back home. Even if the linoleum was unsalvageable in places and the counters worn down, it looked better to Eden than the living space. The colorful dishrags, oven mitts, and canisters of utensils gave it more character than any other space in the apartment. Made it more… presentable.

“By the way, please tell me that’s not your cellphone,” Red Hood groaned.

Eden glanced down at her phone, still on the kitchen table where she’d left it, right next to the tiny notebook of phone numbers. Then she looked up at him, confused.

“Of course it is… Whose else would it be?”

He made a gruff sound, stopping in front of the chair Eden had fled from... gosh, was it only an hour ago? She sat down as he set her bags in front of her with a loud thud. 

“Seriously? You went out this late and you didn’t even bring your phone? Do you still think you’re in Kansas, Dorothy?”

Eden frowned. “I know exactly where I am, Glinda.”

“I am not Glinda,” he argued.

“Then are you Elphaba? Or the Great and Powerful Oz himself?” She twirled her hand and dipped her head, giving him a quick, theatrical bow. “Your Oziness.”

He snorted. “I’m just saying it was stupid.”

“I know it was stupid, I just…”

Her eyes flickered down to the little notebook with all her friends and family’s numbers inside. Guilt pulled at her heartstrings. Then she looked to her phone.

Like her laptop and headphones, it was new and bought with Frank’s money. The same money she used to get here. The money he'd given her for trusting him with her “donation”. For agreeing to that stupid meeting in the first place. For thinking he was still her father after all these years.

What a joke.

“It doesn’t matter,” she huffed, snatching them up as she stood. “I’m just an idiot.”

She moved to the smallest of her kitchen drawers, her designated “junk drawer”. So far it only contained a few pens, a pad of post-it notes, a screwdriver, some scissors, and a hair tie. She tossed the phone and notebook in too and shut it roughly.

“Anyway.” She turned back to Red Hood. “What would you like for your thank you?”

Red Hood, who’d been watching at her intently, lifted his head slightly. “Huh?”

“What would you like?” she asked again, thinking it obvious. “I know you liked the cookies I made last week. I think it was snickerdoodles, right? Did you want some more of those or something else?”

“Or… Wait, what?”

“Or something else,” she repeated. “I know you’re keen on calling me that dumb cookie name, but I bake more than cookies, you know. Brownies, fudge, pie, cake — you name it! It doesn’t even have to be sweet either. The only thing I can’t do is make something with filling. I mean, I could but I haven’t bought a piping bag so I’d have to make do with a makeshift one; which, again, I could do, but it’d be a lot messier and I'm actually not that great at filling pastries either way, so I’d really rather not, but—”

“Wait, wait,” he said raising a hand and moving forward. “What are you talking about? Piping bags? Filling?”

“Uh, a thank you?” she said, again, like it was obvious. “You helped me a lot tonight and I want to make it up to you."

“You’ve already thanked me a few times,” he said turning his head a moment. “You really don’t have to—”

“Ohhhh no you don’t, Mr. Hood!” she said stepping forward and wagging her finger at him. “Don't you pretend you didn't go out of your way for me tonight. I know you did, and I know y’all aren’t that big on manners here, but it’s only right I go a little out of my way too to repay you for it.”

"But I can’t stay with you all night, Cookie Girl,” he teased, crossing his arms and leaning against the counter opposite her. “There might be some other dumbass buying eggs and flour in the middle of the night who gets in a knife fight. Can't leave them to bleed out on the streets, now can I?"

"I suppose not," she agreed. "Though I have to admit I'm a little disappointed." She pouted and fluttered her eyelashes. "You really don't think I'm a one-of-a-kind kind of dumbass, Mr. Hood?"

Red Hood barked out a laugh, making Eden grin.

“Oh hey, how about this!" she said jumping black to their original conversation. "I can make a batch of fudge and keep it until you have time in your very busy rescuing-total-idiots schedule to stop by again. Would that work?”

He rubbed the jaw of his helmet as he considered it, then turned to her again. “How good’s your fudge?”

She choked on a laugh at how serious he sounded and cleared her throat. “Pretty good, I’d say. Never heard any complaints and I’ve been making it about as long as I’ve been making cookies.”

He hummed comically loud, the distortion making it unharmonious. “Tempting. Very tempting."

“Annnnnd,” she said leaning forward, “it’d be another one of my Mama’s recipes. It doesn't get much better than that, Mr. Hood, I promise you.”

He hummed again. “I guess one batch of fudge couldn’t hurt.”

“Perfect!” Eden beamed, clapping her hands together. “Any allergies I should know about? Nuts? Dairy? Special calorie diet? Please say no to that one; I hate dealing with low-fat nonsense. I'll do it, of course, for you, but I won't like it.”

“Nah,” he said, sounding amused. “I'm good with whatever. Go crazy, Cookie Girl.”

“Alrighty then. Oh!” She steepled her fingertips and drummed them together, grinning. “Oh, I know exactly what I'll make you... hehehe...”

“Uh, should I be scared?” 

“Not at all, Mr. Hood!" she said far too sweetly. "You said go crazy, so crazy I'll go.”

He shook his head at her, then tilted it slightly. “You might wanna take a shower before you go too crazy."

"Hm?"

He nodded to her shirt and Eden glanced down.

“Oh. Right.” She still looked like a crime scene. She looked up at him again, sheepishly. "Sorry."

He shrugged, unbothered. "Don't be sorry. I’m just not huge a fan of blood in my fudge.”

"That's fair," Eden giggled, grateful for the ease that came from talking to him. She looked at her shirt again, grimaced, and pulled at the bloodied fabric. “I should probably go do that now actually...”

“I'll get out of your hair then," Red Hood said pushing himself away from the counter. "Try not to get your stitches wet if you can help it.” Then he stopped and turned as if remembering something. Eden waited until he finally decided to speak. “You seem to be able to hold yourself up now.”

Suddenly, remembering the role she was meant to be playing, her body self-corrected and started to droop to one side. Eden corrected that self-correction by dramatically shifting her weight to the other side then back again — like she was testing her balance in a very, very bizarre way.

“Yeah," she said standing upright again. "I’m not as dizzy as I was before.” Which was not untrue. She’d been extremely dizzy when he'd first found her and wasn’t at all now, so, technically, not a lie. “But I’ll sit down if it gets bad again. That’s what you’re supposed to do, right?”

Red Hood nodded slowly, not saying anything. He slung the black medical bag off his shoulder and put it on the table next to her groceries.

“I’ll leave this in case you need it," he muttered.

Eden nodded, knowing she wouldn’t, then walked him to the window. “Thanks, Mr. Hood. I’ll try to replace whatever I use." She smiled. "I don’t suppose you could give me a rough ballpark on when you might come back?” 

“What,” he teased climbing back onto her fire escape, “miss me already?”

“No,” she said too quickly. “Of course not. Don’t be dumb. I’m asking for the, uh, timeline. For… fudge. Purposes. Obviously.”

“Obviously,” he repeated, kneeling in front of her window.

Eden’s cheeks grew warmer and she looked away. “Anyway," she mumbled. "I’m home by 7 most nights. But Sunday or Monday night would work best for me.”

“Alright, I’ll try to shoot for one of those.” Red Hood glanced over his shoulder and down the street. “I really should go now, Cookie Girl.” He stood from the window and pulled out his grappling hook. “Try not to do anything too stupid while I’m gone.”

“Yeah, I’ll do my best,” she scoffed. “Try not to do anything too crazy before you come back." 

He snorted. “I’ll do my best.”

Eden smiled, becoming more sincere. "I'll see you later then, Mr. Hood."

"Yeah. See you later, Cookie Girl." 

He jumped off the fire escape and Eden leaned out her window to watch him soar across the street. He passed several buildings before landing on a rooftop, where he paused for a moment.

He looked back at her and Eden jerked in surprise, nearly smacking her head against the glass. She sent him a small, shy wave, embarrassed at having been caught watching him go, and Red Hood returned it with a raise of his hand. It looked like he might be shaking his head, too.

Eden quickly ducked back inside and shut and locked her window. She spun around and leaned against it, trying to calm her beating heart and fiery face.

She was already being stupid, it seemed. She really had no reason to be so embarrassed! People watch other people leave their houses all the time! Eden had stood out on the front porch plenty of times back home to watch folks go — sometimes with a smile and a wave, sometimes with a scowl and a rifle in her arms. So how was watching Red Hood go any different? She shook her head and sighed.

That sigh acted as a signal and started a chain reaction.

With nobody else around, her body freely began to set off all kinds of alarms. It had saved her from another encore, yes; and now it demanded its due. She was tired, starved, and just flat out weak from her body's efforts to keep her alive. 

The sudden wave of exhaustion nearly brought her to the floor. “Okay,” she mumbled, forcing herself to stand up straight. “Food, then shower, then sleep. Then everything ’ll be better,” she promised.

She stagged back to the table to take care of her groceries. Aside from a few cracked eggs, everything was still intact and, considering the adventurous night she’d had, Eden counted that as a victory.

She could have turned on the stove and heated up some leftovers. She wasn’t so hungry that she was just grabbing anything and shoving it into her mouth. But sleep's siren call was loud and clear, and Eden was eager for bed, so she ate her food cold standing over the sink. The casserole dish was empty before her stomach was full, but it would suffice until morning. 

When she turned on the bathroom light and saw her reflection, she froze. Is this what she'd looked like all night? No wonder Red Hood had been so concerned! She looked like she’d caught the red death and was bleeding from every pore! Her shirt was completely soaked through, which she’d already known, but some of the blood had also seeped into her coat and even her pants.

She took a step closer to the mirror. “Holy heck…” Red Hood agreeing to see her again was nothing short of a miracle.

The blood had completely stained the skin around her neck and chest. Only the space around her stitches was clean. The top of her hair was wild and windswept while the bottom half was damp and matted with blood. Her cheeks grew warm as some silly part of her lamented over Red Hood seeing her so gross and uncouth. She tried to fix her hair – as if doing so now would somehow change how she’d looked before – but gave up shortly after beginning. 

She turned on the shower and peeled the wet, sticky clothing from her body. Stepping into the hot water, the leftover strain in her muscles eased further, making it harder to keep herself upright. Using her nails, she picked at the adhesive part of the band-aid Red Hood had, half-jokingly, stuck to her palm before bringing her home. The cut, little more than a paper cut now, stung as soap suds and shampoo found their way into the tiny cracks of her skin.

At first, she tried to keep her stitches dry like Red Hood had told her, but gave up quickly. She was too tired for all that. And whatever consequences there were for a normal person wetting their stitches, it likely wouldn’t affect Eden much. Besides, the constant stream of warm water on her neck felt amazing. At least until washed-out conditioner seeped into her stitches. Then Eden regretted everything.

When she got out, she rubbed the mirror clean of fog to inspect her neck. It was just as she’d predicted.

Though red with irritation, the cut no longer reached down to her collarbone and the once deep gash in the crook of her neck was now but a shallow slice. By the time she woke up tomorrow, she doubted there would be anything left of the wound at all. The stitches had been, as she'd known, completely unnecessary. And now she was stuck with them. And would soon have no slice, no cut, nor wound to justify their existence. Great.

Turning out the light, she took a long breath. Hopefully, her body would make short work of the stitches and they would dissolve quickly. But until then, she would just have to keep her neck covered.

---

When she finally crawled into bed, Eden snuggled into her covers and replayed the night in her mind. For as much agony as his stitches had – and would – put her through, Red Hood had transformed her awful, lonely night into something warm and wonderful. And now, she even had something to look forward to. As she drifted off to sleep, Eden found herself smiling. Maybe, somewhere in this big, dangerous city, Red Hood was smiling, too.

She giggled softly at the thought, hoping that maybe – just maybe – he was eager to see her again, too.

Chapter 7

Kinda short this time but I hope it was still a nice read!

As always, even the tiniest feedback is loved and appreciated 🥰💕

#jason todd #red hood #jason todd x oc #jason todd x reader #red hood x oc #red hood x reader #Never-Ending Encore #jason todd fanfiction #oc: Eden Smith #red hood fanfiction #fluff #cross posted on ao3 #chapter 6