#/ AND my finger still fractured? what the heck and fuck.

[moonspower]

hello... i underestimated the slickness of the ground vs the fact the soil is quicksand at this point vs my boots while walking up a hill and busted my hip. :) shoulda known what was gonna happen after 4 days of thunderstorms... which i love. i love the rain but ow.

[third-rail-vip]

Complicated

Summary:

It’d be killing two birds with one stone, she’d said. MacCready glared at the crinkled, blackened leaves of the fern sticking out of his duster pocket. His duster, which like the rest of him, was currently chest deep in stinking marsh water, facing a cluster of ferals.

--

Ivy and MacCready's trip to take on the Gunners is stopped in its tracks by a poor judged detour. Mac gets hurt, but he's never been very good at being cared for.

Rating:  Mature

Word Count: 5625  [AO3 link]   [Then I Met You - Series Link]

Mud-clouded, irradiated marsh water burned into his nose, filled his throat, and tried to force its way into his lungs.  

And as if drowning wasn’t bad enough, a close second in the ranking of bad-to-worse was the gouging pain of claw-like nails burying themselves deep into his back, forcing him under water as they tried to tear chunks out of him.  

A dull thought overtook him as the last of the breath left his lungs; he was going to die here.

--x--

The chill of cold water was replaced by a brief but biting gust of wind as a door clicked shut.  MacCready stirred, floorboards shifted as he flexed his back and shoulders, which turned out to be the worst idea he could have possibly had - pain radiated from his left shoulder like fracturing glass.

He hissed through his teeth, taking a sharp breath in and sending a fresh wave across his body, briefly reigniting the burning sensation in his lungs.  Waking up from a nightmare was supposed to be a relief, not just another chapter of discomfort.  

MacCready kept his eyes scrunched closed.  There was light beyond the barrier of his eyelids, low but warm.  If it hadn’t been for the dull headache starting to tap away between his eyes like water torture, it might even have been welcoming.  

“Shhh, shh, shh,” a voice murmured close by.  “You’re okay.”

First things first, when you woke up somewhere strange, it was always best to keep your eyes shut.  There was a lot you could learn when people didn’t know you were awake.  Things that could keep you alive if you weren’t somewhere safe.  

He took a breath in through his nose; the cold December breeze cut through the old damp scent of the room, it carried with it the smell of vegetables (tatos probably) and manure – he grimaced, trying to hide the expression of regret at his deep inhale.  So, it was a farm.  He listened carefully, the lows of brahmin and the quiet chatter of voices confirmed enough for him – the only danger he faced here was boredom.  

As his apprehension dwindled further, he realised it was Ivy’s voice offering the soft reassurances – of course it was – and he could only assume it was her who’d just gently brushed his hair back from his sweat-damp forehead.  The tender motion would be enough to lull him back to sleep if he let it, but he wasn’t ready to be drowning in his mind again, or to watch Lucy pulled to pieces, or to be yelling for his missing partner.  No, it was time to wake up.  

His vision was blurry when he eventually peeked his eyes open, the dull glow of an oil lantern was the only thing beating back the shadows of early evening.  It’s illumination barely reached the wooden slatted ceiling he found himself staring up at.  

He was laid on a mouldy old sleeping bag in a small room with broken windows, but that didn’t exactly narrow down locations when it came to the Commonwealth.  Glancing out the window, the faint remnants of orange warming the darkness on the horizon told him the sun hadn’t long set.  

Sat next to him, lantern light shafting through her hair and casting her face in shadow, was his partner.  He smiled to himself at the halo effect doing its best to make her look like an angel – if angels sat there drinking Nuka-Cherry with a cute little crinkle on their nose from their patented ‘worry frown’.  

Quick check for his other essentials; his sniper rifle was propped up in the corner by the lamp, which sat on the same small table as his hat.  He reached up and patted his top pocket and felt the reassuring bulk of the toy soldier.  Everything was where it should be.  

“So, did I die or is this just my guardian angel coming to pay me a visit?” he croaked, with a throat drier than wasteland dirt.  

“Hey you.”  Ivy swiped the heel of her palm across her eye, before pushing a smile onto her lips and turning to look at him.  “You had me worried there.”

Crap.  He really did.  That light tone didn’t hold any weight with him, he could hear the waver in her voice, see the tension in her smile.  She’d hired him to make sure this kind of thing didn’t happen, but all it took was ferals and he was failing people all over again.  

Now the light shone on her properly, the scratches on her face (earned in a fight he was nowhere near to help her with) put his heart into a vice-like grip.  

They didn’t look as bad as before, there wasn’t blood all over her face anymore, for one thing.  In fact, her hair was damp but back to it’s usual creamy white – no more essence of marsh water – and her rolled down vault suit showed she’d swapped into a clean tank top.  

Come to think of it, when they’d arrived at Oberland Station it had only just been getting dark.  Yes, he remembered where they were now - a cluster of shacks and a signal box huddled by the railroad tracks and surrounded by tato plants.  He also remembered the welcoming committee, armed with pipe pistols and a whole heap of mistrust.  

The pair of them had been caught off guard on the tracks, Ivy still in his arms – the vice tightened another twist.  They were soaked, bleeding and, unless the settlers expected him to hurl his injured partner at them, they were unarmed.

He’d been about to give them the biggest f-ing piece of his mind, when the world that had started to spin around him, decided to turn out the lights.  

“How long—”

“You’ve been out for a couple of hours.”  Ivy hugged her knees to her chest and nodded to the IV he hadn’t even noticed in his arm.  “You’re on your second bag.”

A bag of Radaway was hung up using the bedstead as a makeshift drip-stand.  It had almost run through.  On the ground nearby was another spent bag and an empty blood pack.  

Shit.  Well that would explain the headache, the dizziness and the nausea, not the mention the fever.  There were only two things in the wasteland that’d do that to you;  a whole heck of a lot of rads, or a couple of sips of Vadim’s moonshine.  

“They let us stay, huh?”  He hoped his smile could pass for something warmer than a grimace.  “I wouldn’t have guessed from that reception.”

Ivy sighed and raised an eyebrow at his salty remark.

“Well, you passing out and dropping me like a sack of potatoes… tatos?  Is there an equivalent?”  She frowned for a second, adjusting the grip on her knees and shifting her weight to the other hip.  “Anyway, I think it helped our case.”

Mac smiled.  He liked her tangents, when her old world and his new one got jumbled up in her head and knocked her train of thought off the tracks.  Her mental meanders had tested his patience back when they first met, but now he found it soothing to watch her puzzle things out.

Ivy leant forward and pressed the back of her hand against his forehead.  Her fingers were cool – a welcome relief he hadn’t realised he needed until they soothed some of the heat in his skin.    

“Your temperature’s coming back down, at least.”  The last of the Radaway had run its course, so she slipped the drip from his arm.  “How are you feeling?”

MacCready sat up – big mistake.  The room spun violently around him, dragging a sickening groan from his lips.  If Ivy hadn’t been there to grab his arms and steady him, he’d have slumped back down onto the sleeping bag.  

Fat lot of good he was doing anyone in this state!  Those goddamn ferals.  He wanted to scream.  Or shoot something.  Or have a cigarette.  Where were his damn cigarettes?  

But he needed to keep his shit together.

“I feel like a herd of brahmin stomped on my head,” he griped, hoping he could at least manage to make her laugh.  “What do you think, doc?  Am I going to make it?”

She wasn’t even looking at him - wide-eyed, she was staring at his shoulder.  Ever so slowly, she reached out and peeled the sleeping bag away from where blood had soaked it to his shoulder.  He couldn’t hold in the pained cry when she did it.  

--x--

It’d be killing two birds with one stone, she’d said.  MacCready glared at the crinkled, blackened leaves of the fern sticking out of his duster pocket.  His duster, which like the rest of him, was currently chest deep in stinking marsh water, facing a cluster of ferals.

He lined up another shot, taking two down with one bullet – a very nicely placed double headshot.  Ordinarily he’d be singing his own praises, but this whole mess had the potential to go bad real fast.  One tackle from a feral and he’d lost the upper ground, got separated from his partner and cut off from any hope of an easy retreat.  

Once-upon-a-time, taking out ferals had been child’s play.  Literally.  He’d been at it since he was 10.  He’d perfected the art of anticipating their shambling, diving movements.  Could line up a shot with barely a glance, the same way he took down raiders and greenskins these days – it came as naturally to him as a heartbeat.  

It was no boast when he claimed to be the ‘best shot in the Commonwealth’.  If you asked MacCready, he was a modern-day Robin-fucking-Hood – except the beggared of the commonwealth could keep their mitts off his caps.

That had all changed four years ago, at least with the ferals it had.  Now he had to focus – there was no winging this shit.  He had to tell his hands to stop shaking, to count his breaths so he even remembered to take them.  Every time those things showed up he had to ride the line between fear and rage - which might have been useful if he was wielding a baseball bat, but it was no damn good for a sniper.  

His finger was slick on the trigger, and as much as he wished he could just blame it on the water, his palms were sweating.  He bungled his second shot, it only winged the racing creature.  

This was goddamn nightmare fuel.

The third shot came from the walkway above him.

“I could have got it,” he snapped, more harshly than he meant to, but this shit had got him on edge.  

“I know.”  Ivy didn’t even bicker back at him.  

She was scared.  And alone.

But he’d thank anything that’d listen that she had a good eye - he admired the clean shot between the eyes of the feral before it sank beneath the water - and that her aim was getting better every day.  The trouble would come if she got overwhelmed and he couldn’t get to her.

Hell of a lot of good he was doing down here.  

The pair had taken on ferals before, but not in this number and he’d not left her side the whole time.  This was different.  There were so many - more rising up out of the water or scuttling across the rooftops at every turn.  They were closer to the Glowing Sea here, but this was ridiculous.  It was like someone had set up a feral summer camp and the damn things had waited for them to get right into the centre of town before attacking.

With barely a thought, he took down another feral as it rounded the corner ahead.  It was easier if he just went on instinct, less time for thoughts of consequences - and the memories of old ones - to creep in.  

MacCready patted his top pocket.  Good, it was still there.  

“I hate getting wet,” he moaned.

“I know.”  Came the reply (after a few more gunshots), this time from a few roofs down, further back into the heart of the sunken village.

MacCready made to move forward in an attempt to keep pace with her, his feet dragging through deep silt.  He’d barely made it a few yards before something heavy fell with a loud splash right behind him.  He definitely didn’t have time to turn around before it was on him – teeth, nails, sheer weight dragging him down under the water.  

--x--

“I’m so sorry.”  Ivy’s voice was so small, her eyes were swimming when she looked at him.  “I really fucked up.”

MacCready frowned, confused.  It wasn’t her fault he’d bled all over the damn sleeping bag.  The settlers would just have to get over it.

“I took us to that awful place and you got hurt,” her voice was growing more and more frantic until it finally cracked and tears spilled down her face.  “When they dragged you under—”

Oh, Ives.  Did she really think this was all her fault?

He leaned forward and caught the back of her neck, gently tugging her forwards until their foreheads touched.  A startled gasp mingled with a sob when he did, her red-rimmed brown eyes looking straight into his brilliant blue gaze.  

“Don’t you dare blame yourself for this,” he murmured.  “Yeah, sh—stuff went wrong, but we made a heck of a team out there.”  

“Mac, I thought I got you killed…”

This close together, with their gazes locked, even in that dark little room, he could see the scratch the knife had made down her eye.  She must have come damn close to losing it.  What kind of animal could do that to a sweetheart like her.  He felt his temper bubbling up, but given it was 200 years too damn late, it was about as redundant as he’d been today.  

“I’m a Capital Wasteland radroach,” he smiled, bumping the tip of his nose against hers.  “It’ll take more than a few ferals to kill me.”

The words tasted like bile in the back of his throat, knowing they might well be true, but the same didn’t extend to the people he loved.  But then, they weren’t for his benefit, and the intended recipient had almost laughed, which was definitely something.

“I am sorry tho—”

“Ah, ah.  You saved my ass, angel.  I’d be feral food if it wasn’t for you.”  

It was true.  It had been terrifyingly close.  

Ivy bumped her nose against his before pulling away, shifting back into her spot against the wall, leaving him with an odd sensation in the pit of his stomach.  Her tears had dried up, and she wiped away the remaining trickles from her cheeks with the heel of her palm.  

MacCready dug in his pants’ pocket for his cigarettes, pulling one out only to watch it flop and snap.  He hated water.  

His partner giggled when he looked across at her, a pathetic sight with his packet of ruined cigarettes.  Then she laughed, really laughed.  The tension from moments before finding its way out in nervous energy.

Ivy laughing - really laughing - was a joy.  

First, she’d fight to hold it in, but you’d see it building in her eyes.  Then the corners of her mouth would twitch, her lips desperately wanting to break open into a grin, so she’d catch it behind a hand - both if it was especially bad - like, if he couldn’t see the smile, he hadn’t won the game of making her laugh.  Tears like diamonds flecked with mascara would form in the corners of her eyes and trickle down her cheeks.

He'd happily sit there with half a cigarette hanging off his bottom lip if he got to watch that sight.

Once her giggles had faded, she filled a cup with purified water for him.  It’d be more soothing for his throat than a cigarette anyway, just not for his nerves.  Regardless, he downed the water in one and held his cup back out for a refill, big blue eyes pleading the same way dogmeat did anytime they were cooking something tasty.  Ivy obliged.

“How about I take a look at that shoulder now?”

Whether he’d like her to or not, she was already digging in her pack for antiseptic and filling a small basin with more purified water.    

--x--

Removing MacCready’s coat and shirt turned out to be more of a challenge than they’d anticipated.  The fabric of both were either caught in the wound or dried to his skin, and the attempted removal of them left him chewing on the back of his hand.

The pair of them sat hip-to-hip, the small of Ivy’s back resting against his knee as she focussed on her work.  Outside he could Diamond City Radio playing quietly from somewhere in the settlement.  It showed how hard his partner was concentrating that she wasn’t even humming along.  He let the strains of Billie Holliday wash over him and tried to think about anything other than the pain in his shoulder.

“Mac?”

Ivy cast a quick glance MacCready’s way between strokes of the damp cloth she was using to stop the dried blood clinging to the fabric.  

“Hmm?” He tried to sound casual, like he hadn’t just been counting the freckles on the bridge of her nose.  23.

“What does RJ stand for?”  She treated him to the little hopeful smile she usually reserved for shopkeepers and potential employers.  

“Where did that come from?”

“I just wondered.”  And you thought it’d distract me from thinking about my shoulder trying to pull itself apart.  “I can’t believe I’ve never gotten around to asking before.”

“Oh, you have.”  

He grinned at the confusion dawning into a half-memory on her face.  He’d been just sober enough to remember the second agreement they made on Halloween night, when they first met in Goodneighbor – one shot per question.  

It’s no wonder she couldn’t remember though.  Most of his memories, other than a few of her more outlandish questions, revolved around those big, bright, buzzed eyes.  

They’d been sprawled on opposite sofas in The Third Rail, half a bottle of whiskey – which she obviously couldn’t handle – down and she’d just asked him (as one of the 20 questions he’d limited her to) what the meaning of life was.  He’d told her to shut up and drink.  Then she’d tried for his name with so much mischief in those eyes and a smirk on her lips that he’d never quite been able to take his eyes off since.

“And I’ll tell you now, what I told you then.  No way.  I’m not telling you.  You’ll only use it to tell me off.”

He hissed indignantly at the cold hand she purposefully rested on his chest when she paused to give him an appraising look.  

“That’s fair,” she eventually conceded - most likely when her hand had reached the temperature a human body should be - setting back to work, only to pause again a second later.

“Of course...” she smirked at the new idea that had presented itself to her, leaning across conspiratorially to whisper in his ear. “You might have to make a choice between that, and me making up names for you.”

“I’ll take my chances,” he replied without hesitation.

“That’s your prerogative, Rodney.”

He glared at her.

--x--

It took a couple more minutes to work the material free of the wound – and a couple more minutes of enduring every name beginning with ‘R’ that Ivy could think of – but now the damage was plain to see.  

Or at least he could guess it was from the sudden lack of teasing and the expression of horror on Ivy’s face. The colour that he’d tried so hard to get back into those cheeks had drained again, and the guilt he could see in her eyes, when she flicked them to his face then back to his shoulder, was like a mirror to his own.  

If the deep red stains that had soaked into his once white tank and across his shoulder were anything to go by, those ferals had made a goddamn mess of him.  

“I—this might take a little while.  I’m going to need to clear out the…debris…and clean the scratches before I can even think about getting a Stimpak in there.”  She chewed on her bottom lip.  “These deeper ones… RJ, they’re going to hurt.”

“I’m a big boy, angel.  I can take it.”  

Debris.  He knew exactly what that meant.  And damn right it was going to hurt.  This wasn’t the first time he’d had to dig broken off feral nails and teeth from his flesh.  At least this time he wasn’t trying to comfort a bawling infant as he did it.  

When she dragged the lamp closer, MacCready knew exactly what else she’d see.  The back of his shoulder and upper arm were littered with old scars.  How long would it take her to spot the similarities between the old marks and the ones she was cleaning?  He wondered whether she’d guess that’s what wrecked his duster in the first place.

He braced himself, waiting for the inevitable pain, trying to ignore the glint of lamplight on the already red-tinted basin of water next to him.  Picking a patch of peeling paint on the skirting board, he stared at it, trying to make himself focus on what colour it might have been two centuries ago.  Would it have been something fun?  Midnight blue, maybe?  Not likely.

A shiver ran up his spine as Ivy smoothed a hand over his shoulder-blade, her thumb tracing the lines of the old wounds with a touch as delicate as a kiss.  She didn’t ask.  She didn’t need to.  One glance between them and she could recognise scars with a history.  If anyone understood the vulnerability that came with them, it was her.  

MacCready had never been much of one for looking after himself when he was hurt.  He was more of a ‘rip the bandaid off’ kind of guy.  Stick a stimpak in it and hope for the best.

Oh, but Ivy, she was as gentle as she could be with him, soft hands working to soothe, stopping with every groan and halted curse – if she could – whispering apologies and reassurances that she wouldn’t take much longer.  

The water beside him grew deeper red with every time she had to wash the blood from her fingertips.  He thought he’d bite clean through his lip when she dug out the last of the debris, it was buried deep and he could hear from trying to keep from retching as she pulled it from deep in the muscle.  

The smell of the antiseptic burned his nostrils.  He was such a mess, he barely even felt the sting of the carefully applied stimpak getting to work on knitting his muscle back together.  Woozily he pressed his fingers to his bleeding lip, rocking forward to put his head between his raised knees until the room stopped spinning.    

“Hey, that was the last one,” Ivy gently rubbed her hand up his spine and across his uninjured shoulder, quietly reassuring him.  “Just got to get you bandaged up and you’ll be good as new.”

“And what about you?” he asked as she began to bandage his shoulder, glancing pointedly at her swollen ankle which was covered in an ever-increasing nebula of purple and black bruises.

“It’s just a sprain, Mac” she shrugged.  “It’ll go down in time.  Let me worry about you.”

--x--

He heard the gunshots, that wasn’t what frightened him.  It was the scream that came after.  The last he’d seen of Ivy she’d been standing up on a pitched roof – stupidly out in the open, but if she hadn’t thrown caution to the wind to get that vantage point, he’d be a dead man.    

Now she was gone.  

There were feral corpses bobbing in the water all around him, even more hanging off the roofs and walkways.  He hadn’t realised how many were on him until he pulled himself back up, fighting for air.  

In seconds his vicious memories were replaced by a new fear.  

Bleeding and dizzy, he began wading through the deserted streets.  He couldn’t see any more movement, not around him and not on the rooftops.  And he couldn’t see her.  The village was as silent as when they arrived.  

“Hey partner, you okay?” he hazarded a shout.  

No answer, just the echo of his voice bouncing back off deserted buildings.  

MacCready started to move faster towards where he’d last seen her, forcing his body through the deep water, causing eddies and ripples to trail out behind him.  He tried to keep calm but his breaths were getting shaky.  

“Hey angel, you good?”  he shouted louder this time.  

Nothing.  

“Ivy?”  

It was more of a croak than a shout.  There was no way anyone could hear it.  He could barely hear it.  But that didn’t stop the nausea rising in the pit of his stomach, or his pulse starting to pound in his ears.  

No, no, no, no, no… not this time.

“Ives!” he yelled at the top of his lungs.  Over and over again, he shouted, his voice mixing with the echoes as he dragged himself up the rusted fire escape onto the rooftop.

“Mac?”  He almost missed it.  Her voice was stifled by coughing, but it was her.  

Scrambling up onto the pitched roof he’d last seen her on, he spotted a hole edged with rotten beams and snapped tiles.  Peering over the edge into the gloom of a dusty attic space, he could see Ivy.  She lay crumpled half on/half under a pile of broken beams with blood smeared across her face.  Her ankle was caught at a weird angle.  The body of a feral lay impaled where it landed just feet away.  

He wasn’t sure he’d ever been so relieved to see a person in his life.  The way she was smiling at him, she looked pretty damn glad to see him too.  

“Did we win?”

Shaky laughter spilled from his lips, “Something like that, angel.”

“You called me Ives.”

She gave him the soft look of a woman who’d probably hit her head on the way down.

--x--

But Mac was the one doing the worrying.  

It had been a long time since he’d been that worried about losing a partner.  What rattled him the most was that when she’d disappeared out of his sight, his panic had nothing to do with suddenly being alone in a feral-infested swamp.  He didn’t even spare a thought for the Gunner base less than a half a mile away.  He’d been too wrapped up in the fear of losing her.

Ivy was giving him that soft look again now, even without the concussion.  Would it be so much to hope that she actually gave a damn about him?  He’d made mistakes in the past, given his trust to people who didn’t deserve, and he’d been burned.  

But maybe she was different, just like he’d told her when he convinced her to help him with this dumbass plan.  

“You really don’t have to do all this for me, angel, but thank you.”  

Without thinking he reached out, brushed that one stubborn curl back behind her ear and cupped her cheek.  It took his thumb brushing her scar for him to realise that he was the biggest dumbass in the commonwealth.  Of all the things he could have done…

He was on the verge of panicking and pulling his hand away, when she pressed her hand over the top of and smiled at him.  He couldn’t have imagined such a different reaction to when she’d been falling apart in front of him in Malden.  

“You should let somebody else take care of you every once in a while.”  

If he thought she’d been looking at him softly before, well this look coaxed all the air from his lungs, and if he remembered to breathe at any point in the future, he’d struggle.  

This wasn’t how it was supposed to go.  Usually MacCready was the one who knew how to tease blushes and smiles out of her.  To catch her eye and leave her speechless.  How did one simple gesture have his stomach in knots?  

Holy crap, he did not see this coming.

There was a creak on the wooden stairs outside their room and he wasn’t sure he’d ever resented a noise so much in his life.  Their little bubble had been burst and now he could hear the chatter of settlers outside again, and the damn brahmin still hadn’t shut up – even though he’d been deaf to them just moments before.  He could hear one of those damn crows squawking away in the woods nearby.  Dinner was cooking, and people were laughing, and didn’t they have anything better to do than interrupt them.

Ivy gave his hand a quick squeeze and took it away from her face just as the door creaked open and one of the settlers arrived with a basin of scalding hot water - now he thought about it, after the day they just had, he probably smelled like antiseptic and stagnant marsh water.  Nice.

“I’ll leave you to get washed up.”  There was a flush to Ivy’s cheeks that couldn’t just be put down to warm lighting.  He just smiled at her like an idiot.  

“You need a hand down the stairs?”  their host enquired, giving them both the kind of look that gossip was built on.  

MacCready glared at the woman.  Ivy might be quick to forgive, but he remembered that pipe pistol, and if he started getting shit from caravan guards, he’d know exactly where it had come from.    

“No, thank you, Lynn.  I can manage.”   The woman bustled back out into the night air, but MacCready could hear her taking her time going down the stairs.  Nosy...

Before he could help her, Ivy had dragged herself to her feet, using the doorframe to keep as much weight off her ankle as possible.

“I’ll be outside.”

“What, no bed bath?”  MacCready forced a laugh.  This was the crap they usually joked about, right?  He was sure it wouldn’t have sounded so awkward that morning.  

Ivy shook her head in exasperation, or at least that was probably what she was going for, but the grin and the blush undermined the impression.  

“I was an artist, sweetheart, not a nurse,” she teased.  “So, unless you’re planning on posing for a life drawing, I’m going to go and help with supper.”

A sudden panic hit him as the room emptied.  What if something happened?  What if something happened while she was out there and he couldn’t get to her in time.

The door had barely clicked shut before he called after her, “Angel?”

“Yeah?” she poked her head back in, curious smile in place.   The wave of relief he felt after just a second, well, it was ridiculous.

“Stay close.  Yeah?”

--x--

The previous night had ended up much like that morning had begun - with bickering and a meal.  A big bowl of vegetable stew and a quarrel about how to get back to Diamond City, to be more precise.  Not that they’d gone to sleep on bad terms, if intertwined fingers and shy smiles in the darkness were anything to go by.

MacCready watched the weather suspiciously, the morning was dull and windy, and knowing his luck, they’d probably end up hiking in the rain.  He stood on the tracks with Ivy, all packed up and ready to go, but they were still undecided on the route they should take.  Her ankle was no better than the day before, despite her hobbling on it and trying to convince him that she’d be able to make it the long way on foot.

“I’m telling you, if we go via Cambridge it’s actual roads and I’ll be able to walk.  I might just need a little support,” she challenged him.  Again.

“And I’m telling you, you’re in no fit state to try and get past raiders and muties if they’ve infested that apartment block again,” he snapped back, frustrated.  “If we take the shorter route we can be back in under two hours.”

“And if there are yao guai, Mac?  What then?  I’m definitely going to get eaten, is what.”  She folded her arms across her chest, the very picture of defiance – if it wasn’t for her standing on one leg like a lawn flamingo.  “Where’s the salt?  Because you might as well season me now.”

“Stop being so damn dramatic.”  He rolled his eyes at her indignant look.  “I’d get us there in less time if you’d just let me carry you.”

“And what about your shoulder?”

He chose to ignore that one.  The shoulder in question still ached like a son-of-a…gun.

“I’ll tell you what RJ stands for.”  Looking at her like he’d just upped the ante on a bet she could never refuse.  “But only if we can go the shorter way.”

…got her.

“Really?”

He shook his head and stalked over, picking her up in one fluid movement and–hopefully–managed to hide the sharp pain in his shoulder.  She quickly wrapped an arm around his neck to steady herself and swallowed hard – he couldn’t miss it – composing herself after being caught off guard.  

“Robert.  Joseph.”

She smiled, glancing away at nothing in particular, like she was trying out the feel of his name in her mind.  Then she smiled at him, and it was his turn to steady himself.  There was none of the teasing he’d anticipated, just that gentle warmth that always caught him off guard.  

“Ok, you win.  We can go your way.”

Oh, this was going to get complicated.

[woahhajimewrites]

as someone who is extremely clumsy and was always twisting their ankle back in middle school, i kinda felt this one. @bitweird1, i hope these are to your liking and i hope your foot gets better soon! 💙

Todoroki and Midoriya assisting their S/O with a foot injury

You were always a little clumsy... constantly running into people and knocking things over. You also had a really bad sense of direction.

Shouto tries his best to walk behind you and make sure that you don’t get seriously hurt - he’s like your personal GPS!

Unfortunately, he’s not always around to guide you. One day, when you were coming from the locker rooms after training, you stepped in a puddle. Your shoes didn’t have a lot of friction, and you slipped. You were prepared to brace yourself on your forearms... until your foot twisted inwards. A groan of anguish escaped your lips as you collided with the tile.

You had barely managed to hobble your way to Recovery Girl, who lightly chastised you for not watching where you stepped. She bandaged your swelling ankle and told you not to put too much pressure on it, and to try and put it on ice.

Later, after class ended, you slowly staggered your way to Shouto’s dorm, and smiled when he opened the door. 

He looked a little tired, but he seemed to perk up a little when he saw you. “Ah, Y/N. It’s good to see you,” he said with a small smile.

“It’s good to see you too, Sho!” you chimed, using the nickname you gave him when you first started dating. “So, look. I have a teeny, tiny favor to ask of you,” you spoke as he invited you into his room.

You hear a quiet huff escape his lips. “Alright? And what is this favor, hmm?” You turn to him, a grin on your face. “So, I was changing after training, and... wouldn't you know it, I stepped in a puddle! And I slipped... and twisted my ankle.” He sighs heavily, but you can see the hint of a smirk still on his face. “Goodness, will you always be this clumsy? Hmm... is there anything I can do to help?”

A smirk quickly grows on your face as you began to carefully kick off your shoes. “Well... Recovery Girl did say I needed to keep my ankle on ice.” He raised an eyebrow and chuckled, mumbling, “Well, if Recovery Girl said so...”

He sits you down on his bed and kneels down in front of you, carefully removing the bandages from your ankle. Taking your foot in his right hand, he gently wraps his fingers around your ankle and activates his quirk. You sigh in relief as the pain shooting through your foot begins to dissipate.

“I’m assuming that this is helping?” The smirk in his voice is evident even without looking at him. You hum softly. “Yes, thank you so much, Sho...”

One of his rare, bright smiles spreads across his face. “Anything for you, love.”

Izuku was never the most elegant person either, but with age comes grace... more or less. Sometimes he trips over his own feet, but never anything too bad.

That aforementioned lack of elegance tended to rub off on you, however. When you started dating, you always joked about how accident prone Izuku was... until you started tripping over things that weren’t there and bumping into bookshelves.

He jokes about you also being clumsy, but often worries that you’ll get seriously injured. You always tell him not to be so worrisome. “I’ll be fine, ‘Zuku! You don’t have to worry so much!” 

afternoon in particular, you were lounging in your dorm with Izuku. He was laid horizontally across your bed while you sat at your desk. Becoming bored with your attempts to study, you began spinning around in your swivel chair. You giggled in delight as everything in your room began to mesh into an amalgamation of colorful objects, including your frizzy haired boyfriend.

“Y/N, aren’t you gonna get dizzy doing that?” he laughed softly. You scoffed as you stuck your legs straight out and calling to him, “No way! I got this, babe, no worries-”

You were very abruptly cut off as your left ankle slammed into the side of your desk, sending a sharp, stinging pain through your entire leg. The sound of your foot colliding with the wooden desk startled Izuku, causing him to dart up into a sitting position. A loud yelp escaped your throat as you cradled your injured foot. “Ouch! God damn it, that fucking hurt!”

Izuku, now officially in panic mode, rolled off the bed and scrambled to your side. He’s on the floor, examining your ankle as carefully as he can with a frightened expression on his face. “Oh my God, are you okay?!” He’s just about ready to cry when he takes note of the grimace that covered your face. 

You attempt to stand up, but an even worse pain shoots through your ankle as you try to shift your weight off of your left side. “I-I... we need to get you to Recovery Girl. She’ll know what to do!” Izuku stammers as he scoops you into his arms and begins heading towards Recovery Girl’s office.

Once you arrived at Recovery Girl’s office, she conducted a quick examination of your entire foot, coming to the conclusion that you might have fractured your fibula. You look at her in bewilderment, wondering how you could’ve fractured a bone just by hitting it against a wooden desk. “It’s not even like... hardwood or anything, it’s just wood! What the heck...”

After she advises you to keep any and all pressure off of your left foot, Izuku helps you back to your dorm. He immediately sits you down on your bed and uses one of your many throw pillows to prop up your foot, keeping it in a position where you won’t feel too much pain. “Thanks, ‘Zuku. Maybe you were right... I’m too clumsy for my own good,” you giggled. With a small smile, he replied with a laugh. “I told you so, Y/N.”

[queenofbaws]

Prompt list 3 - is that my hoodie - Chrashley again!

((Okay, this...got wildly out of hand. But here’s some ghost hunting AU fluff, Chrashley style! I’m gonna be throwing this bad boy onto AO3 tomorrow so the texting will actually look like, uh...texting. ;P))

Now, in her defense, it hadn’t been an intentional theft. And honestly, ‘theft’ was way too strong a word for it…it wasn’t even what had happened! This had been a mix-up! A mistake! A real whoopsie-doodle of a switcheroo! …or at least she hoped it was, because if this hadn’t been something she’d accidentally done, then there was a very real, very significant chance that it had been one of Josh’s dead sisters who’d stuffed the hoodie into her bag, and like…

No. No, she wasn’t ready to deal with that possibility. Not when her stupid stitches had just started to dissolve.

Either way it left Ashley with a problem she wasn’t totally sure how to tackle; namely, she had to figure out what to do with the hoodie.

Chris’s hoodie.

Their retreat from Blackwood Pines had been a lot of things—quick, panicked, uncomfortable, steeped in an endlessly awkward silence—but ‘organized’ wasn’t on that list. Hell, ‘organized’ wasn’t even in the same zipcode! They’d all stumbled back down the mountain with their gear in tow, her and Josh both bleeding comically as they did so, and that had been that. No one had checked what they’d packed, they’d just freaking packed so they could get the heck out of there.

Y’know.

Away from the literal fucking ghosts.

True to form, she hadn’t been able to even look at her bags, much less think about unpacking them, for a solid week after that. Every time she so much as glanced at her backpack, that awful creeping sensation of fingers poking around her brain returned, the strange chill of a voice she only half-heard prickling the skin behind her ears, and like…Hannah and Beth might’ve been sweeties when they were alive, but Ashley wasn’t exactly champing at the bit for another round of letting them pull her around by the strings like some sort of demonic marionette. So long story short, she’d thrown her bag into her closet and shut the door tight.

Until about fifteen minutes ago.

That’s when she’d found the hoodie crammed in with all her other stuff. And to be fair—to be so fair!—she’d really, honestly, truly thought it was hers at first. It hadn’t been until she’d started sorting everything that needed to be washed into piles. That was a story in and of itself, because she was still a little nervous she was going to stumble upon some splortch of ectoplasm, truth be told…not that there had been any ectoplasm at the lodge…and not that ectoplasm stained things…to her knowledge…but she was getting off track again! She’d realized something was up when she was sorting her clothes, because as she held the wadded-up hoodie in her hands, it occurred to her that it was way too big to be hers.

‘Probably Josh’s,’ she’d thought to herself at first, because leave it to Josh to make her do his laundry. Had she fractured his tailbone? Sort of. But that hadn’t really been her fault, it had been Hannah’s, so it wasn’t entirely fair that he’d expect her to do his laundry to make up for that, and…and that was right about the moment she saw the name written in big, white block letters on the back of the pullover.

The name was not, in fact, ‘JOSH.’ It was, in fact, ‘CHRIS.’

She’d been staring at it ever since.

See, under normal circumstances, the answer was obvious: Return the freaking thing. Simple! Easy as pie! Problem was, um…hmm, how to phrase it…she had kinda…been avoiding Chris since they’d gotten back. Not like, intentionally! …well, okay, intentionally. Super intentionally. Not in a mean ‘I-don’t-want-to-see-you’ way, though, but in more of a mortified ‘I’m-afraid-I-will-literally-keel-over-and-die-if-I-make-eye-contact-with-you,’ way.

So. Okay, so…they hadn’t exactly bailed from the lodge immediately after the whole possession thing. They’d left the next morning, which meant she’d had plenty of time to make absolute, utter, goddamn, hopeless fool of herself.

Again.

Cuz the whole being an unwitting conduit for the dead shtick had been incredibly cringeworthy, now that she had time to think about it in retrospect. Like, who did that? Who let themselves get possessed? She hadn’t even read out of a creepy old book written in Latin and made out of human skin or anything! She’d just been there! Ugh, it made her shudder to think about. Even still, that was nothing—absolutely nothing—compared to what had happened…after.

Her idea of making hot chocolate was solid, and she’d stand by that. It had been a damn good idea. Few things cured as many ills as a steaming mug of hot chocolate, marshmallows melting into foam on top, and she’d thought that it was precisely what the four of them had needed.

Had she intended on bawling her eyes out while making said cocoa? Yes, obviously. It wasn’t like they’d brought any K-Cups for the Keurig, so it was gonna take some time to heat up that soy milk (Sam’s doing), and in her book, heating up milk took up almost exactly the same amount of time as getting in one good existential weep. Fake psychic medium, real flesh puppet for the dead, professional crier—every little girl’s dream bona fides.

But she must not have been too slick about using cocoa time as crying time because Chris had joined her in the kitchen as she struggled to find which of the million or so cupboards the Washingtons kept their pots and pans in. That hadn’t even been enough time for her to get a single solitary tear worked up!

“So that was, uh…a thing. That happened. Out there.” Ah, always so eloquent, Chris. But he’d reached up into one of the higher cabinets to pull out exactly the kind of pot she’d been looking for, so she’d let it slide without comment. “You okay?” he’d asked, lowering his voice only slightly, something about the words suggesting he’d cut himself off, or maybe had meant to say something else entirely.

“Yeah,” she’d said, trying to push past the discomfort of having to accept (1) that ghosts were real, (2) that ghosts could very easily possess whosoever the fuck they wanted, and (3) that she’d been forced to learn both of those things the hard way only a few minutes ago. She’d wanted (still did, really) to move right into denial. Then repression. Then forgetting about the whole damn thing until she found herself in a therapist’s office at the age of fifty. But when she’d taken the pot from him she’d realized she wasn’t okay, because all at once her hand had felt like it had been crushed by a cartoon character’s ridiculously oversized mallet.

She couldn’t really remember, but she must’ve yelled or made some kind of noise, because hardly a second later the two of them were wrapping her hand in a makeshift ice pack made of a dishtowel and a few ice cubes from the freezer, neither having noticed the awful purple-black bruises that had been spreading from her fingers towards her wrist until then.

“Spoke too soon, huh?” he’d asked, sounding like he was only half-joking.

“Yeah,” she’d said, absently echoing herself, only acutely aware of the ache in her fingers, the sting in the very corner of her mouth where the spirit board’s planchette had caught and split her lip. And she could remember that much—she could remember feeling like a moron—because there she’d been, fingers sprained or maybe even broken, her mouth raw and a little bloody, her throat feeling as though it had been rubbed down with hot sandpaper from Hannah using her as a megaphone, every inch of her jostled and jangled and beat to high hell, and the only thing she’d been able to think about was how nice it felt to have him hold her hand in both of his like that.

The next part was fuzzy, in that she only partially remembered it. …which was to say, uh, she couldn’t really…put her finger on which one of them had moved first. She suspected it had been her. And really, even that was another gentle way of saying she was about ninety percent sure she’d been the one to do it, but her brain was doing its best to shield her from the added trauma of knowing she’d been the one to do it with any certainty.

So the jury was (mostly) out on that one, but the result had been the same either way. She and Chris had kissed.

In the kitchen.

A lot.

Like…a lot.

And it probably would’ve been a lot more, but one of them had moved just a little too suddenly, and then the cut on her lip had started to bleed worse, and okay, again, who was to say, but they had probably managed just fine for another few seconds anyway because she’d angled her face so he was only getting the side of her mouth that wasn’t gashed open, but then the pain had kicked in and…that had been the end of it.

Eventually they’d made the hot chocolate. Then everyone had slept in Josh’s bedroom, squeezed together like sardines or scared little kids at a sleepover (she’d wedged herself between Sam and the wall, removing all chance of having to talk to Chris about what had happened). Then they’d left.

So while returning the stupid hoodie was the obvious thing to do, it was also…uh, a lot to consider. If she returned it, she’d probably end up having to talk to Chris, and if she talked to him, there was going to be that big, weird thing hanging in the air between them, and…and…and…

Ashley shoved it into the laundry basket and carried it towards the laundry room with a grunt.

***

She stared at her phone. Picked it up. Unlocked it. Let her finger hover over her text messenger. Waited. Put her phone down again. Dropping her head into her hands, Ash did her very best to disappear into the air.

This was stupid. This was stupid and dumb and babyish and she was being such a moron. She and Chris were friends—best friends! They hardly ever went this long without talking, and like…they’d always had that playful, flirting-but-not-really thing going on…hadn’t they? And, and he’d kissed her back in the kitchen! …hadn’t he?

Her fingers (the ones not in splints) knotted in her hair. From behind her, the horrendous screech of the dryer told her that the last of her laundry was done. The only solace she could find in the situation was that she was home, meaning she could have this existential crisis in the privacy of her own personal space instead of the dorm’s communal laundry room. The last thing she needed was for someone to barge in on her frantically bouncing back and forth between pep talks and panic attacks, muttering under her breath about ghosts and kissing Chris. As long as she could get a handle on herself before her mom got home, no one would ever have to know how badly she was freaking out.

Again, the freaking out thing was stupid. So, so stupid. So stupid! They’d been friends forever! Even if…that…had been a mistake, even if he didn’t feel the same way about her that she felt about him, even if she was just deluding herself by thinking his awful jokes and stuff were attempts at flirting when really they were just affronts to the art of comedy in general, well…sometimes friends made mistakes! She couldn’t just avoid him for the rest of her life, that would be…ugh.

Embarrassed or not, the only thing on Earth worse than the thought of having to awkwardly find out her ridiculous crush on Chris was a one-sided deal was the thought of not having him in her life anymore. So…so one way or another, she was going to do…something.

A: Hey

Normally she didn’t text without punctuation, but like, what was she gonna do, send an exclamation point and look desperate? A question mark would’ve made her seem passive aggressive, an ellipsis would’ve been fucking ominous, and a period?! A period?! Absolutely not. No punctuation it was. She hit send and quickly dropped her phone onto the couch again, getting up to fold her laundry.

Chicken move? Definitely. But she knew she wouldn’t have been able to keep herself from sweating as she watched him type his response. Or…not type a response.

Ashley tried desperately to put it out of her head, folding her clothes and sliding hangers into her shirts for later. It didn’t take nearly as long as she would’ve hoped, and it was only about five minutes later that she found herself left with the final piece of laundry.

The hoodie.

Taking a deep breath to steady herself, she left the laundry room and picked up her phone, moving carefully all the while, as though afraid of setting off a motion alarm. She swallowed hard when she saw she had a new notification.

C: hey yourself C: how’s uh C: everything

Ashley didn’t let herself sit. Nope, she squared her shoulders, made up her mind, and just went for it.

A: Okay! My hand’s still a little rough but what can you do.

C: oh good

A: Yeah. A: You?

C: uh you mean besides the soul crushing knowledge that josh was right about paranormal shit and no one will ever believe a word we say about life after death and the fact that apparently mountain curses can be REAL??????

A: Yeah besides that.

C: oh C: p good thx

A: Glad to hear you’re taking it in stride. A: But hey um I was unpacking today finally and I don’t know how it got into my bag, but I think I have something of yours.

C: ???

Instead of spelling it out, she popped back into the laundry room for a second, grabbing his hoodie. She laid it out on the arm of the couch and snapped a quick picture, sending it his way. The little ghost logo on the front came out slightly blurry in the low light, only adding to its general air of spookiness.

C: aw snap is that my hoodie? C: i was wondering where i put that shit C: could you imagine how pissed josh’d be if we lost our company uniforms

A: I’m actually pretty sure he’d be relieved. A: Might finally give him an excuse to order ones with the RIGHT name on them.

C: hey call me crazy but i feel like maybe the creeps are done with creeps C: at least for the like C: the foreseeable future

A: Yeah I’m with you on that one.

C: so who knows??? C: maybe we CAN be the crepes now

A: Oh my God.

C: dibs on strawberry

A: Ha ha.

She bit her lip, then remembered her doctor’s warnings and quickly released it. Here they were…and here she was, about to do…something.

A: Anyway…do you want me to come drop it off or something? A: I can’t move back into my dorm for another week, but I could have Mom drive me to campus tomorrow if you want/need it back ASAP, it’s no problem!

That time his response wasn’t so immediate. Ashley stared down at her phone’s screen, watching the little ‘…’ bubble appear and disappear over and over again before she finally let herself sit, warily eying the hoodie as she waited.

The temptation to put it on had been, in a word, strong. And that was dumb too! It was so, so, so, so, so dumb! It was just a crappy pullover with a stupid little ghost on it, literally nothing more than an identical—if not slightly larger—version of her own hoodie! The only difference was the name written on the back. The only difference was, well…it was Chris’s.

The thought of wearing it heated her face up until it almost hurt. That was a dating thing, a boyfriend thing…the sort of thing she regularly caught herself daydreaming about if she wasn’t careful.

Her phone buzzed in her hand.

C: oh uh don’t worry about it i don’t need it back right away

Well he’d sure taken his sweet time writing that sentence, hadn’t he?

A: Oh okay, if you’re sure.

C: yeah it’s no big C: but if you like C: WANTED to come to campus we could def hang out C: or whatev

Ashley frowned, rereading those last few messages a couple times.

A: So you DO want the hoodie?

C: no i don’t like C: need it

A: But I should come bring it to you…?

C: that’s not C: okay uh C: hmm

A: ?

C: the invite and the hoodie aren’t necessarily related

A: Oookay…?

C: i'm just saying C: if you wanted to hang it’d be cool C: with me C: and like josh too but

A: Who cares.

C: right C: but i'm not saying you should come with the express mission of dropping that off or anything

That was when it began to dawn on her. Slowly at first, then it crushed her with all the weight of, well, a giant metal sculpture dropping from the ceiling. She couldn’t—wouldn’t—let herself get her hopes up, but there was a spike in her adrenaline that was impossible to ignore, forcing her to type a little slower to keep from misspelling everything.

A: So I should come visit…but hang on to the hoodie

C: if you y’know C: want to

A: What if I showed up at the apartment with it though? Would you refuse to take it?

C: wh C: that is a batshit insane thing you just asked me

A: You’re the one being weird and vague!

C: weird sure C: but vague? i'd never

A: Oh my God. A: This is… A: Are you trying to like…say something about like…me hanging onto this?

C: i thought I was being v clear in my desires and intentions ash

A: Yeah super clear. Do y

She’d hit send before she’d meant to. Something else had just occurred to her. Chris’s odd, nervously veiled statements were one thing, but this? This?! Ash furrowed her brow in quiet disbelief before asking a question she was coming to suspect she knew the answer to.

A: Are you the one who put it in my bag??

C: … C: in my defense C: i thought maybe you’d find it a LOT faster

She put her phone down just long enough to grab one of the couch’s pillows and scream into it like the star of some sappy teen movie, her feet kicking a little against the couch as the glee burst out of her.

A: You are UNBELIEVABLE!

C: okay rude

A: Why didn’t you say that in the beginning?!

C: i C: okay look C: i was kind of…concerned that uhhh C: the radio silence was like C: because of what happened at the lodge C: not the ghost shit the uh C: kitchen C: stuff C: and i was MAYBE worried you were trying to C: idk C: let me down gently or

She didn’t let him finish whatever else he’d been planning on saying. Before she could talk herself out of it, she sent two more quick messages:

A: See you tomorrow. A: <3

His response dinged her phone just as she pulled the hoodie on over her head, and while she didn’t immediately turn to check what he’d said, she had a pretty good idea she already knew.

[trashyswitch]

The Wonders of Magic (And Science!)

Part 1: The Guinea Pig Stage

Dr. Schneeplestein and Marvin come up with something spectacular! But, they need a test subject, and they know just the man to help them!

WARNING: A couple swears. 

"Blue button?" *beep* "Check." "Green button?" *Beep* "...Check." "Great. Orange button?" *Beep* "Check!" Splendid. Dial opzion 1." "...It's working! I can see the skeleton!" "Excellent! Opzion 2." "Brain and nerves are visible!" Okay. Opzion 3." "WHOOOAA! I can see the organs!" "Perfect. Opzion 4." "Arteries and veins are visible!" "Vonderful. And lastly, Opzion 5." "Muscle is visible." "Excellent. Now all ve need, is a test subject." "OH! I know who would be PERFECT for this!" "........Okay. I'll trust you viz zhe test subject, zhen." "Sweet! Be right back!"

Marvin eagerly ran through the house. He had JUST finished double checking the invention, and was SUPER EXCITED to test it! He had been working on a way for Dr. Schneeplestein to be able to confirm bone fractures, internal bleeding locations, problems with any organ, brain damage, and even more! While Schneeplestein had the science and DNA available to use, he still needed magic for it to do its job. That was where Marvin came in! Now, they have a useful invention!

"CHAAAAAASSE!" Marvin yelled, bursting into the guy's room. Chase was throwing tea bags from his chair into some cups, like usual.

"What is it?" Chase asked, spinning his chair to stare at the giddy magician.

"Me and Henrik made something REALLY COOL, and we need YOU to be our test subject!" Marvin explained quickly. Chase's eyebrow lifted.

"Wwhaaaat iiss it?" Chase asked, stretching his words out of hesitation and caution.

"It's a skely-man...thing...I'll show you when we get to Schneeple's room!" Marvin said excitedly, grabbing Chase's hand, and pulling him out of his room.

"HOLY FUCK! S-SLOW DOWN, MARVIN!" Chase yelled, trying not to lose his footing and fall over.

"HENRIK! I GOT THE TEST SUBJECT!!!" Marvin shouted towards Schneeplestein's door frame. Just as he was about to sprint through the door, Chase lost his footing. Chase ended up belly flopping against the ground, and only half his body made it through the door frame of the doctor's office. As he stared at the ground for a split second, he could hear Marvin laughing his head off at the fall that just took place. Still slightly stunned from the sudden fall, Chase turned his body around, to lay on his back. The first thing he saw above him, was Dr. Schneeplestein and his curious and worried look.

"You okay, Chase?" Henrik asked.

Chase felt an uncontrollable smile grow onto his face. Before he could stop it, he started laughing at himself! "Hahahaha! Ihihi'm fihihine." Chase replied as best he could, through his laughter. As his laughter died down, Chase pulled himself back onto his feet.

"I apologize for Marvin's...eagerness to pull vou into zhe room like zhat. He vas really excited about zee invenzion ve put togezer." Schneeplestein said, glaring at Marvin.

"Can we show him the invention yet??? I'M GETTING ANTSY!" Marvin squealed, jumping around and clapping his hands like a child. Chase was surprised. He's never seen Marvin so excited like this before. It was kinda cute, and contagious.

"Ya! I'm actually eager to find out what this is." Chase replied, rubbing his hands together.

"Vha-" Henrik turned his head towards Marvin. "Vou haven't told Chase about zhe invenzion yet?" Henrik asked, frustrated.

"I didn't know how to explain it!" Marvin argued.

"All he said was 'It's a skely-man thing.'. That's it." Chase explained, shrugging his shoulders. Henrik sighed, rubbed his nose, and walked over to the closet.

Here's the invenzion." Henrik said, pointing at the skeleton on the stand, in front of the closet.

Chase narrowed his eyes. "It's...a skeleton." Chase stated, not fully grasping the idea.

"Oh! It's not just ANY skeleton, it's a MAGICAL skeleton!" Marvin corrected excitedly.

Chase's chuckled. "A MAGICAL skeleton? WOW! That's in-CREDIBLE! What's it gonna do? Dance for me?" Chase joked, sarcastically. Schneeplestein rolled his eyes, while Marvin slowly pulled his wand out of his sleeve.

"I meeeeaaaann...If you want me to-"

"MARVIN!" Henrik yelled, pushing the wand down. "ANYVAY! Zhis is a magical skeleton, that helps me see ze patients body in front of me, viz zhe help of DNA and Marvin's magic to make it happen." Schneeplestein explained. Chase's jaw dropped.

"Are you serious?!" Chase asked, dumbfounded that this type of thing existed.

"Yes, ve are serious. All I need is a piece of your hair, and I vill be able to see vour body on zhis skeleton." Dr. Schneeplestein replied, pulling out a pair of tweezers. Henrik removed his hat, sanitized the tweezers, air dried them quickly and reached for a hair on Chase's head.

"Oh...kay-OW! Jesus, that hurt!" Chase yelled, as a piece of hair was pulled off of his head. Henrik held the hair in between his tweezers, and carried it over to the skeleton. He placed the hair into the open skull, where the brain was supposed to go. Suddenly, a glow of gold highlighted the skeleton, and Chase felt a tingly feeling go from his head, to his toes.

"oooooooh my gooodd! Thisfeelssoweird!" Chase said super quickly, clenching his fists in front of his chest, and chattered his teeth.

"Interesting." Henrik said, writing down the reaction. Suddenly, the skeleton stopped glowing, and Chase calmed down within a couple seconds.

"uuuhhh...Is something supposed to happe- OOOOOH MY GOD! THE MOUTH IS MOVING!" Chase shouted, covering his mouth and pointing at the skeleton's moving teeth.

"It's your teeth. Your teeth are moving because you're speaking to us." Henrik explained. Chase slowly lowered his hand from his mouth.

"Hello? Hi? Can you- Oh my god that's weird." Chase reacted with a slight smile.

"It is a little bit vierd. But now, ve can see zhe different parts of your body, viz my dial. Observe." Schneeplestein said, switching to option 2. Suddenly, the skull became semi-transparent, and a brain, and a bundle of nerves appeared on the skeleton. Chase's eyes went wide, and his jaw dropped as far as it could possibly go.

"Is.........is this for real? Am I dreaming?" Chase asked, terrified and curious at the same time.

"Perhaps zhis vill help." Henrik said, before poking the skeleton’s left shoulder joint.

Chase's focus immediately changed from the skeleton, to his own shoulder. "Something touched me." Chase said, touching his own shoulder.

"It vas me." Henrik explained, as he poked the skeleton’s shoulder bone again. Chase looked right back to the skeleton, observed Henrik's poking, and the feeling of a poke against his own shoulder.

WHAT THE FUCK?!?! Chase did NOT LIKE THIS!

"AAAAHH! I HATE THIS!" Chase yelled, before receiving another poke. "STOP THAT! THIS IS FUCKING TERRIFYING!" Chase shouted, hugging himself with his arms.

"Chase, it's gonna be alright, it's just magic-" "STOP FUCKIN' TOUCHING ME! THIS IS VOODOO SHIT!" Chase yelled, attempting to swat away the invisible hands.

"I'm surprised. I never expected zhis type of reaction from vou." Dr. Schneeplestein said, backing away from the skeleton.

"Do...Do you wanna stop? We can stop if you want." Marvin offered, a worried expression on his face. Chase took a second to try and calm down. The truth was, he could probably handle it better, if he was introduced to it slower. The constant touching while trying to process that they WEREN'T touching his actual shoulder, was overwhelming.

"I...I-No. I don't wanna stop. I...I just need to get used to it slowly." Chase explained, taking deep breaths to keep himself calm.

Schneeplestein grew even more shocked. Chase, who was clearly terrified of a power that shouldn't exist, still wants to give it another go? This man is brave, braver than most of the people he knew.

"Okay. I vant vou to close your eyes." Henrik suggested. Chase did as he was told, and closed both eyes.

"Alright. I'm behind the skeleton. Vhen I touch vou, I vant vou to tell me vhat body part I'm touching." Henrik said, calmly. Chase took another deep breath, and nodded his head.

Henrik placed his finger on the first spot.

"Head." Chase said.

Henrik moved his finger to a new spot.

"Elbow." Chase said.

Henrik moved his finger again.

"Thigh." Chase said.

Henrik moved his finger.

Chase smiled. "Nose." He said.

Henrik moved his finger.

"Upper back." Chase said.

Henrik moved his finger.

"Calf." Chase said.

Henrik moved his finger to one more place.

"Knee." Chase said.

"Alright. you can open your eyes now." Dr. Schneeplestein ordered. Chase opened his eyes, and felt a little more comfortable with it.

"Alright. Vant to see more of your body parts?" Dr. Schneeplestein asked.

Chase bit his lower lip. "Okay." Chase replied. Henrik turned the dial to option 3, and organs started appearing. His heart, his lungs, his stomach, his pancreas, you name it! They showed up.

"Wooooooow. This is unbelievable." Chase said, mesmerized by his own body.

"Heck ya, it is! Look! there's your digestive system!" Marvin pointed out, drawing out the esophagus, the stomach, and the small and large intestine. Hearing those words, sparked an idea in the doctor.

"Marvin, I have a fascinating idea! Vhat if Chase ate somezhing, and ve vatched it go down?" Dr. Schneeplestein suggested. Marvin gasped and clapped his hands.

"YES! That's an amazing idea! Do you have anything in the fridge over there?" Marvin asked. Henrik looked in the mini fridge, and grabbed some yogurt.

"Ve'll go viz somezing soft, since soft foods don't change, and vou don't feel ze need to vomit." Henrik suggested, pulling the tab off the yogurt cup and grabbing a spoon fron the drawer. Dr. Schneeplestein gave Chase the yogurt, and watched as he put it into his mouth.

"Mmm! Cherry!" Chase stated, before glancing at his moving teeth and tongue filled with yogurt. Upon viewing the yogurt that's in his mouth, across from him, he giggled and covered his mouth again.

"And...svallow." Henrik said. Chase did as ordered, and watched as the esophagus started contracting.

"It's pushing ze food down." Henrik explained. He watched the contracting reach the stomach, and slowly watched as the stomach made slight contractions as well.

"That's so cool!" Marvin said, marveling at the fact that he could watch such a thing in his lifetime. A few moments later, Marvin started to question something.

"Hey Henrik, can I try something?" Marvin asked. Henrik looked at Marvin, smiled, and gave him the remote. Marvin took it, moved the dial back to option 2, and gave the remote back to Henrik.

"What are vou doing?" Henrik asked.

"I wanna try something." Marvin explained, as he walked over to the skeleton. Eyeing up the nerve-invested skeleton, he was able to get a general idea of the different spots on Chase's body. Out of curiousity, Marvin lifted his finger, targeted a specific nerve, and touched it.

"WAAAA! What was that?! That felt so weird!" Chase reacted, rubbing his collar bone.

"That was my finger. I can touch your nerves now!" Marvin rejoiced, poking an arm nerve. Chase jolted, and tried to rub off the feeling. Next, Marvin touched Chase's funny bone.

"OOOHOHOHO! NOT THAT! Come on, dude! That feels so...I don't even know how to explain it! GAH!" Chase yelled out of frustration.

Meanwhile, Marvin was admiring a bundle of nerve endings that were on Chase's left side. "What are these, I wonder?" Marvin asked. Out of genuine curiosity, Marvin poked the bundle of nerves.

"Bahahahaha! Dohohohon't tohohohohouch thahahahat!" Chase bursted out laughing, instinctively moving his hands to try and stop it.

Marvin's eyes widened. "Tickling?! Wait...THAT'S WHAT BEING TICKLISH LOOKS LIKE?!" Marvin yelled, upon realization.

"Indeed, it is. Ticklishness is caused by a bundle of nerve endings on a certain spot. Let's see if zhere's any more bundles of nerves, shall ve?" Henrik suggested. Marvin nodded and started looking around the skeleton. Noticing a smaller bundle of nerves in between Chase's shoulder blades, Marvin tried there.

"EeeEEEE! Heheheheheheyyy! hehehehehe! Ihihihihihit tihihihihihihickles!" Chase giggled loudly, curving his back and shutting his eyes.

"Oooooh...interesting discovery." Henrik said, writing down the new, useful data.

Marvin looked around Marvin once again, letting Chase take in a few breaths. Marvin decided to move on from the upper body, and start investigating the lower body. One of the first things he noticed, was a few small bundles of nerves on the inside of the skeleton's thighs. Curious, Marvin touched them.

"Pfffffff...Gahahahaha! NAHA! Hahahahaha! Nonono- AAAHAHA! STAHAHAHAP THAT!" Chase yelled, kicking his legs on the hospital bed. Marvin was poking each and every bundle of nerves on the thighs, causing Chase to interrupt his own laughter, in every spot. He would've tickled him there for longer, but he could tell that this spot was a little too much for the guy. So, he stopped.

"Alright. Where else?" Marvin asked aloud.

"I...I had no idea I was ticklish there! I also had no idea I was ticklish on my back!" Chase confessed. As he was talking to Chase, Marvin started to eye up a pair of bundled nerves on the back of both knees.

"Really? Well in that case, let's take advantage of this invention, shall we?" Marvin said, before touching each and every nerve on the back of the skeleton's knees.

"AAAAAAAHAHAHAHAHAHA!" Chase's kicking start up again, as the father screamed with laughter. Marvin touched the other knee and it's nerves. "MAHAHAHAHARVIHIHIN! STAHAHAHAHAP!" Chase begged, kicking his legs harder.

"Wow...Who knew you'd be so ticklish here?" Marvin teased.

"I did." Henrik replied. Marvin stopped tickling for a second.

"Wait, you did?" Marvin asked.

"Vhy, yes, I did. Zhat is a bad spot for Chase. But his vorst spot-"

"HEHEHEHENRIK! DOHOHON'T YOU DAHAHARE!" Chase interrupted, not at ALL ready for what was to come.

"Oh, I definitely dare. Anyvay, his VORST spot of all, is..." Dr. Schneeplestein said, before poking one of the ribs. Chase jolted and curled in on himself. But, Marvin was confused. The significant bundle of nerves he always looked for, was not there. Where were they?

"Fun fact, his ribs are VERY ticklish. Observe!" Henrik said, before poking at each and every rib and space.

Chase completely lost it. "AAAAAAAAHAHAHAHAHA! NAHAHAHAHAHA! HEHEHEHEHENRI-WAAAAHAHAHAHA!" Chase shouted, squirming and kicking his legs frantically. Chase had NEVER, in his LIFE, felt so out of control before! He felt exhilarated at the amount of touch and signals his brain was receiving, but was also terrified that no matter what he did, he couldn't stop the tickly fingers! It didn't help that they were touching the literal nerve endings in his body (Thanks to the skeleton magic, or course), that just increased the sensitivity! Had his nerves not been directly touched, his back wouldn't have caused him to giggle earlier.

"NOHOHOHO MOHOHOHOHOHOHORE!" Chase begged, pounding his fist into the bed. Marvin started to take pity on his friend, and pushed the doctor's fingers off the skeleton. Chase completely gave up, and took in as much air as possible.

"Interesting. Viz zhe normal touch, you laughed hard, but not to zhe point of screaming. Hovever, direct touch against zhe nerve, causes sensitivity to increase. Perhaps ve should be careful how much pressure ve put on zhe nerves in zhe future." Dr. Schneeplestein said, writing the information down. Marvin walked up to Chase, and rubbed his back.

"You okay?" Marvin asked calmly.

Chase's head lifted up a bit. "I...Never *pant* ex...pected *pant* to...be *pant* Ti-*swallow and grunt* tickled." Chase said, through pants.

"Are vou aszmatic?" Schneeplestein asked, worried for his friend. All he could do, was shake his head no.

"Okay. Good." Henrik said, finishing the last of his information. Chase sat back up, and watched the doctor put the lid on his pen.

"Hey Dr. Schneeplestein..." Chase started. Henrik looked up from his clipboard. "Doesn't proper research involve experiencing it for yourself, as well as observing someone else?" Chase asked, a smile growing onto his face. Chase watched as Dr. Schneeplestein's face went pale, before dropping his pen.

"OOOH! Good point! That's a great idea! I'm actually kind of curious, as well!" Marvin said eagerly, looking at the nervous doctor.

"V-Vell..." Was the only thing that came out of Henrik's mind, as he watched a revenge hungry guinea pig, and his partner start to gang up on him...

[alliswell21]

Curling a Shot at Gold

I owed @katnissdoesnotfollowback an Olympic drabble... it’s not as detailed and riveting as I would’ve love to deliver, but I hope it’s still a good offering. I still have 5 minutes to post this on Feb. 25th, so, hope you enjoy it.

Rated G.

>>——————> >>——————->

Katniss plops on her stomach way harder than she meant to. She’s in first place and according to her calculations she’s got around 20 seconds on her closest contender. She got bullseyes on all of her targets in her previous two shooting rounds, so theoretically, she can relax and take breather, but her competitiveness won’t allow it.

To make matters worse (or maybe make matters better, she’s still on the fence on that) she saw Peeta at the edge of the track with the rest of the spectators cheering her on when she passed by. It’s irritating how easily she can pick him out in a crowd even in full winter gear covering his mop of ashy blonde curls and his sweet blue eyes hidden behind sunglasses. She could recognize the perfectly blinding smile even if he was masquerading as a riverbed rock like he once joked about. She shouldn’t be able to pick him out so fast, but after sneaking around the Olympic Village to be with him where no prying eyes could find them, she doubts she’ll ever erase his familiar presence from her sensory receptors. To her body and mind, he sticks out like a sore thumb.

She blushes, and is grateful for the protective mesh mask shielding her face from the achingly cold air, because her body feels his pull anywhere and responds to him with the least amount of provocation.

Katniss smiles to herself. She can’t deny she’s pleased he came to see her competing- not come across as full of herself, but who else is he here to see? She’s the only one from their selection left in this run- she likes to think, hopes really, their time together has made as deep, marked impression on him as it did on her. She was there for a couple of his events, including the night he made Silver on Curling Mixed Doubles, where he was paired with his sister-in-law, Delly Cartwright-Mellark, in his brother’s place, since the older Mellark sibling had fracture his leg in two places falling from the frozen staircase leading to their parents apartment atop their bakery back home.

The night he made his first medal was the night they celebrated without any discretion. They made out in public, drunk on his accomplishment alone, and the fireworks that exploded in his room after, where thing of legends. Of course, by the next day, everybody in their delegation had heard about them, if they didn’t witness it first hand.

Concentrating on her task at hand, she brings her rifle up to line the sight to her eye. Her finger rests comfortably on the trigger while aiming at the closest target. She inhales a calming breath and just as she shoots, the next competitor drops onto a lane two spaces away from hers, by the time Katniss is taking aim at her third target, two more athletes have arrived and chosen lanes for themselves.

She gets 4 bullseyes and one just an inch below. she’s glad all the prone shootings are behind her now, the position it’s not as accurate as standing, and it takes more time to reset for skiing. Barely registering the last target has flipped from red and white to black and white, Katniss hops to her feet, checks her skis and ambles into position to continue on to her next lap.

She’s freestyling. As she gets in her groove, she takes as deep a breath as she can. She’s calmer now somehow, but the race is not over; she still has two laps to go and one more shooting round in between before she can secure her victory.

She’s pleasantly surprised she didn’t picture Gale Hawthorne’s face as her target on this round, though. It's a good thing! It means she’s not as angry at him anymore. She’s relieved, but still scowls at the events that transpired the day after the Curling medal ceremonies.

“Are you serious, Catnip? You hooked up with that curler?” Katniss hears Gale’s angry voice in her head as she gains ground up the hill. Her heart races just as it did then, as if it was happening all over again.

“You say it like it’s a bad thing.” She had snap irritably. “As if it’s shameful or something.”

“He’s just some guy!” He practically yelled pulling his scarf off his neck and shoulders and balling it up in his fist. “You’re a serious athlete!”

“He’s as much an athlete as I am, in case you didn’t know this, I am just a girl too!” She rolled her eyes.

“You, are not, just some girl! You’re a skier. An Olympian. A Victor for fucks sakes! What are you doing with that guy?”

Her heckles rose. “For your information, Peeta is a hell of an Olympian himself. A silver medalists! A Victor, as you so obnoxiously put it.”

Gale threw his arms up in the air, scowling. He finally retorted angrily, “If you gotta fuck around, at least do it with a real winner! A gold medalist or something… but a curler?”

Katniss was furious. “Wait until the Men’s Curling events take the court. Peeta’s team will mop the ice with the rest of the other teams. They’ll wish they were the little brushes so they could experience the touch of greatness!” It was really bad form and poor sportsmanship to gloat and taunt, but she was beyond angry, defending their national Curling team to part of her own Biathlon team mate. “And even if they don’t win, I’d still be proud of Peeta and his accomplishments, and since the cat is very much out of the bag, I’d still go public with him when we return home.”

Relieving the satisfaction of walking away from a equally dumbfounded, stricken and angry Gale, would have to wait until later, the first bend of the lap was upon her.

With a shake of her head, Katniss looks up and brings herself back from her aggravating memories. Gale was way out of line, but he’s an amazing practice partner and she’d hate to lose him- training with a male biathlete has worked wonders for her times- he pushes her limits until she overcomes them. She’s faster, more aggressive and enduring thanks to her partnership with Gale, but there’s no way she can stay with him if he doesn’t get a clue soon, no matter how hard it is to find good practice partners.

She leans into position for the fast descent. Her form is graceful and perfect and soon she’s zooming across the familiar track. She mentally curses Gale again, she was so distracted relieving their argument, she didn’t take a glance at the board with the current standings or the other women in the Biathlon. Heck! She doesn’t even remember swinging her rifle back in place on her back when she left the shooting lane, nor she remembers taking her ski poles from her side. She thanks her memory muscle for acting on autopilot, because sure enough, all her equipment is exactly where they should be, and to prove it, she sinks her poles into the powdery snow to push herself forward, gaining speed.

The next shooting station is just behind the next bend, past the roped area where family, friends and other expectators are congregated. She is going too fast. She was hoping to take another peek at Peeta before her last shooting round, but the crowd was just a loud, colorful blur. For now, She has to content herself just knowing he’s out there, cheering her on.

She has to turn sideways to stop herself in front of the shooting lanes. Just like with the previous 3 rounds, she takes her position, brings her rifle up, loads the cartridge and aims, this is a standing round. She smirks, because although the target distance is larger on the final round, she’s racked up the points and has added at least two minutes to her run, and this is her favorite position and best event. The fact that she’s a much better shot than Gale Hawthorne any day of the week, has nothing to do with it… that’ll be petty. Although, she wants to see him try to match her speed. Just saying.

She tips her head from side to side, plants her feet in her shooting stance, squares her shoulders quickly relaxing them down and her eye aligns with the rifle sight. Her finger curls like a caress over the trigger. She inhales deeply.

“For the gold!” She exhales to herself.

One last thought crosses her mind: ‘I don’t need my man to make gold, I’m my own gold!’

Then she shoots.

Resets.

Shoots.

Resets.

It goes on like this until it’s over, in under 40 seconds.

She places her rifle behind her back for her last lap, all the while taking time to look at the board. Her name is in first place, by her count, she’s 33 seconds ahead of the next closest biathlete, which is enough for her, so she turns without comparing the times listed besides her name on the screen. She lowers her goggles over her eyes and pulls on her mask over her mouth and nose, and as soon as she closes her fists on her poles, she’s gone.

She crosses the finish line in a blur.

She comes to a halt hard, once she’s in front of the board and almost loses her balance. She can’t hear anything over the roar of her own blood rushing to her ears, but she can see her smirking picture on the screen, bigger than life, the number 1 next to her name, and a time of 43:34.8.

Then a couple of other women fly by and stop next to her, names and pictures pop up under hers, taking the second and third slots. Another group of skiers arrives. Then all the points from the shootings are awarded and the names on the board start scrambling and switching places, some drop a few positions, while others climb up, her name doesn’t change, but her times do. She gets 2 minutes subtracted off her skiing time, bringing her down to 41:34.8.

The next closest time is 43:05.6 including deductions, and she has no idea she’s jumping and screaming and crying all at once while pumping her fist into the air, until her pole that’s been flailing helplessly around with every shake of her arm, smacks her rifle on her back. Somebody drapes a flag around her shoulders, she has enough presence of mind to grip the edges tightly as she keeps her exuberant celebration going, until is time to take her place in the podium with her fellow medalists.

Her eyes find the face she’s looking for: Frostbitten nose and cheeks under sparkling, intense blue eyes and a smile so wide it has to be painful to its owner. He’s holding up a sign she didn’t see at first: “Katniss Shoot Straight! Your #1 Fan.”

Just then, she realizes, she has no clue about the intricacies of Curling, she knows there’s a good deal of strategizing involved, but she vows to learned all she can about the curler beaming up at her from the crowd. She’s his number one fan after all. It doesn’t matter what anyone else thinks, Curling is cool!

[heckstetter]

The Bowers Gang reacts to their S/O calling them Daddy for the firt time

Anonymous said to heckstetter:

Can I request the gang's reaction to their s/o calling them daddy for the first time?

            YESSSSSSSSSSS, ohhh my god I hate that I have a Daddy kink but one of my exes made it so good for me qvq I’m sorry it took all day! I was gonna sit down and start writing it as soon as the request came in but my sister asked if I would help with grocery shopping today and that took so much longer than expected and then I tried to finish it but fell the fuck asleep.

            Also! I wrote this in a more headcanon style rather than the drabble style of my last post, if you were the one who requested it and wanted it in more of a story style, let me know and I’ll rewrite it! Heck, even if you weren’t the one to request this and still want it in more of a drabble style let me know!!! I may or may not have already started writing it out lmao

Everything is under the read more because it gets very NSFW!

 Henry:

Ø  You’ve been playing around with the idea of having a sort of “kink discussion” with your boyfriend for a while now.

 Ø  You didn’t want to have a Daddy kink, but oh lord did it turn you the fuck on. It’s fine, you’ve accepted who you are and what you like.

 Ø  And your boyfriend, Henry, also turned you the fuck on.

 Ø  He was rough in all of the right ways. He knew how to push you to your limits, he fucked you ‘til you turned black and blue; leaving his mark on you in the form of bruises, cuts, and love bites.

 Ø  He was hot shit and you were living for it.

 Ø  And one of the best things about dating Henry, was that in the quiet of the night after the brutal fucking and punishments, he’d hold you tight to him and whisper sweet, loving nothings in your ear.

 Ø  Words he’d never, ever say in front of his group of friends, mind you, but that didn’t take away the significance of those soft moments between the two of you and how safe he made you feel.

 Ø  Henry made you feel small, protected, loved, and wanted.

 Ø  So basically, Henry was Daddy AF and you kind of, sort of, really wanted to tell him!

 Ø  Well, maybe not tell him up front. In all honesty, you wanted to be under him, whimpering out “Daddy, please!” and “Daddy, you make me feel so good” as he fucks his thick cock into you over and over again.

 Ø  You had one problem, however. His reaction.

 Ø  If there was anyone in your group of peers with #daddyissues, it was Henry Bowers. You knew of his dad, Henry doing everything in his power to prevent you from formally meeting him, but you knew exactly what his father was capable of and the quality of life Henry had at home.

 Ø  You were pretty sure that Henry would never be interested in you calling him daddy, due to bad associations with the word. But you were resolved to bring it up to him!

 Ø  These kinds of conversations were important in relationships! Communication of wants, interests, and expectations was a healthy thing to do!

 Ø  Yea… Except y’all never got that far. The second the words “Kind of a sex talk?” left your lips, Henry was all over you.

 Ø  He shoved you down onto your bed, pulling you close to him to kiss you roughly. You tried to move away from his hungry kisses, but damn.

 Ø  Your boy was addicting, and you gave up the second he started nipping and licking and sucking along your jawline.

 Ø  Next thing you knew, both of you were naked and fucking like you’d never see each other again. You were on your back, pretty much bent in half because Henry was holding the back of your thighs, your calves thrown over his shoulders, as he jackhammered into you.

 Ø  “Unh, fuck! Daddy, please!” You cried out, scratching your nails down his back. You didn’t even realize what you had said, at first until his response.

 Ø  He didn’t falter in his brutal pace, instead fucking you even harder, panting his pleasure in your ear

 Ø  “Fuck, baby girl, you like that?” He asked, and all you could do was nod and whimper as one of the hands holding your thigh moved down to where the two of you were joined, rubbing your clit hard as he continued to fuck you, “Mm, fuck yea, baby! Cum all over Daddy’s cock.”

 Ø  Who were you to disobey an order like that? It was by far, the absolute hardest you had ever orgasmed in your life.

 Ø  Even after that amazing experience, you still didn’t really talk to Henry about the kink or how to delve into it in a deeper manner, but you also never had sex without saying it anymore.

 Ø  Henry was insufferably smug about it for weeks until you had the guts to whisper “Daddy” in his ear while the two of you were hanging out with his gang in Belch’s Trans Am.

 Ø  Needless to say, he made Belch take the two of you home immediately.

   Patrick:

o   In order to maintain any real kind of relationship with a guy like Patrick Hockstetter, you had to be either a) pretty kinky or b) have the patience of a god damned saint to be willing to go through all of his kinks.

 o   You just so happened to be the former option, having known about your “unusual” sexual interests long before you had ever known the lanky teen who was now your boyfriend.

 o   You were also more than happy to play the role of his masochistic plaything, enjoying all the creative ways he could hurt you and mark you as his own.

 o   Throughout the course of your relationship, you’ve sustained plenty of injuries ranging from burns to lacerations, broken blood vessels and blackening bruises, sprained joints and even a fractured wrist on one evening.

 o   (The two of you were regulars at the local pharmacy, always buying heaps of medical supplies and a large box of condoms that never seemed to last you through the week. This unfortunately gave Greta ample evidence to fuel her cruel rumors around school, but neither of you could bring yourselves to care. It was all consensual fun to the two of you, no matter how insane it sounded to everyone else.)

 o   All your kinks seemed to neatly align with his own… except for one.

 o   Patrick wasn’t interested in titles. He didn’t care for being called Master, and Sir felt too informal to both of you. He didn’t bring up any other suggestions after that and you were too chickenshit to mention the one thing you really wanted to call him.

 o   “Daddy…” You imagine yourself hissing out in a hazy mix of pleasure and pain as you’re laid out naked over his lap, his hand— No, his belt striking your ass and your lower back at a tempo you can’t quite keep track of but are too fucked out to care.

 o   Your fantasy never goes beyond that moment. Patrick is well known for his unpredictability and while you knew him well enough, you couldn’t conjure up what you’d think his real reaction would be.

 o   Despite not being able to think of an outcome, that was one of your favorite things to imagine. You loved being bent over his lap, the feeling of his erection poking into your belly as he switched between caressing you with his long, talented fingers and hitting you with pretty much any item in the room that he knew would fucking hurt.

 o   You liked to indulge yourself in this fantasy on the rare occasion you’d be spending the night by yourself. More often than not, Patrick would make his way through your window after everyone else in your household has gone to sleep and stay with you.

 o   He didn’t do it every night, though, and as the time he usually showed up by came and went, you couldn’t help but let your own hands wander down the front of your jeans, stroking yourself lightly as you thought of all the nasty things your boyfriend did to you.

 o   God, you were already so fucking wet. Even the thought of Patrick was enough to make you insane with want.

 o   “Ffffuck,” You whine, your head thrown back against your pillow and your eyes squeezed shut as you pushed your underwear to the side and really started to work yourself, “Uhh… Patrick— Daddy! Please!”

 o   “Getting started without me, baby girl? I think that’s grounds for a punishment.”

 o   You rip your hand out of your pants as your eyes fly open as you turn to face your boyfriend. He’s sitting in your windowsill, looking at you with a wild glint in his eyes as his tongue darts out to lick his lips in his usual predatory manner.

 o   “Were you feeling lonely, Y/N?” He asks, an edge of mockery to his voice, “Does Daddy not take care of you well enough that you had to bring matters into your own hands?”

 o   God damn it.

 o   God fucking damn it.

 o   He had heard you. He had fucking heard you fucking yourself on your fucking fingers while thinking about his stupid sexy fucking self and he had fucking heard you call him Daddy.

 o   With the way he was looking at you, you were pretty sure you were about to die. Or get fucked until you die.

 o   “I’m waiting.” He snaps at you, “Are you going to answer me? Does Daddy not treat you right? Does he not fuck you hard enough? Long enough? Does Daddy not let you cum on his dick?”

 o   You try to explain yourself to him, but it’s no use. He’s in one of his moods at this point, somewhere between horny as hell at the sight of seeing you touch yourself to the thought of him (it’s not the first time he’s watched, he’s seen you pleasure yourself time and time again with and without your knowledge) and pissed the fuck off that you thought you could keep one of your kinks from him.

 o   He ties you to your bed and fucks you mercilessly until you’re screaming for Daddy.

 o   The next day, he makes you promise to never keep any secrets from him. Even if it’s something you think is stupid or that he won’t like. Patrick insists he doesn’t care what it is, he’s your boyfriend and he has a right to knowing.

 o   A few days later, your sitting around Belch’s Trans Am with the gang and as usual the topic gets incredibly sexual. The two of you were the only ones getting anything on a consistent basis because you were seeing each other so more often than not these conversations were about your sex life.

 o   “I bet Y/N never cums when she fucks you.” Henry teases, albeit quite rudely.

 o   “Oh, bullshit,” Patrick laughs and grabs at his dick through his jeans, “Y/N cums on Daddy’s cock all night.”

 o   You punch him. You punch him right in the throat.

 o   Belch, Vic, and Henry are all somewhere between horrified and disgusted and Patrick can’t stop laughing.

 o   God damn it.

    Vic (I uh. I changed the request up on this one a bit.):

ü  So, you’re in your bedroom, just spending the afternoon lazing about with your boyfriend, Vic.

 ü  He’s laying down in your bed, starfished the fuck out so you have no choice but to be laying pretty much directly on top of him. (He does it on purpose. He thinks you don’t know.)

 ü  The two of you were sort of drifting in and out of sleep, making out a little bit every now and then, or having silly little conversations about nothing in particular.

 ü  Basically, y’all are just being a disgustingly adorable couple. (He’d never do this around his friends, but they know how cuddly he gets.)

 ü  You’re kissing at his jaw line, lightly dragging your teeth over old lovebites because it makes him shiver and inhale sharply. His hands are on your ass, gripping you tightly as you slowly sink your teeth into the most sensitive part of his neck to suck at and darken the bruise that was already there. (Since the two of you started dating, he has always had a hickey in that spot. In other spots too, but none as ever-present as that spot.)

 ü  You can feel his erection poking your stomach and you couldn’t help but giggle. You loved knowing what you could do to him, and all of the things he felt for you and because of you.

 ü  “Got a problem, baby?” You ask, your tone teasing yet still deep with want. Vic huffs and uses his grip on your ass to pull you up closer, grinding his erection into your own developing problem.

 ü  “You really gonna tease me like that, Y/N?” He asks, biting his lip seductively while continuing the slow roll of his hips, “You better start behaving before Daddy bends you over his knee, babygirl.”

 ü  What.

 ü  The two of you stop all of your motions immediately, processing what the fuck just came out of Victor’s mouth. You thought he had been blushing from all the attention before, but his skin went from soft pink to bright fucking red.

 ü  “Oh my god, I’m so sorry.” “…you have a daddy kink?” You both blurt out at the same time.

 ü  “No! Okay, maybe… yes. Yes, I do.” Vic admits, pointedly looking around the room instead of your face.

 ü  “It’s not a bad thing, Vic.” You say after a moment of silence, “Unexpected, but not bad. I’ll call you that if you’re really into it.”

 ü  To be honest, Vic didn’t seem like the Daddy type at all, but hey! You loved your boyfriend and everything about him and if he got his rocks off to you calling him Daddy then you’d call him that god damn it!

 ü  “Really?” He asks, finally daring to make eye contact with you, he shifts slightly so you can’t feel his erection twitch with renewed interest. (You felt it, though. He wasn’t great at hiding these things from you.)

 ü  “Yes, Daddy.” You purr, balancing on your knees for a second so you can undo his jeans and pull his hard cock out. You move your panties to the side, already so wet, and sink down on him inch by inch.

 ü  Both of you threw your heads back at the feeling of him being fully inside of you. He moved his hands from your ass to your hips, gripping you tight enough so that he could pick you up and drop you back down on his dick.

 ü  Oh.

 ü  “Daddy!” You cry out sharply as he does it again and again and again.

 ü  You’re in for a long night and come out of it just as into the whole Daddy thing as he is.

 ü  You both tease each other about it in front of your friends. They hate you :’^)

  Belch (also changed up the request a bit here):

§  You’re pretty sure that the most surprising thing about your relationship with Belch (at least to outsiders) was just how great the two of you were about communicating pretty much everything with each other.

 §  Neither of you were sparkling conversationalists, and people often referred to you as the quiet ones in your respective groups of friends but with each other?

 §  Everything just flowed so easily, you never were frightened to tell Belch about anything and he could spend hours holding you in the back seat of your car just talking the night away (among other things.)

 §  So, naturally, when you discovered a particular kink that you had the literal first thing that you did was consider if it meant enough to you to bring it up to your boyfriend and when the best time to talk to him about it would be.

 §  Healthy! Communication!

 §  Unfortunately, there was no easy way to really bring up wanting to call your boyfriend Daddy, but you couldn’t help but think about (and thoroughly enjoy) all the things about him that helped you develop this kink.

 §  He was physically bigger than you, and while his size tended to be a bit of a sensitive issue for him, you thought he was downright the fucking sexiest man alive. He could pick you up and manhandle you in any which way he wanted, whenever he wanted, and that does a lot for someone let me fuckin tell you.

 §  Not only that, but he was willing to do absolutely whatever to see you smile and make you feel like the most special person alive.

 §  His friends would often give him shit for times he went out of his way to make you happy, but he just shrugged and gave him his usual spiel of “A real man would do whatever t’ make his S/O happy” and “A good boyfriend always makes sure his S/O is his fuckin’ priority.”

 §  He took care of you in all the best ways and then held you down and fucked you ‘til you cried.

 §  Belch Huggins was Daddy as fuck, and you were gonna tell him so.

 §  The conversation happened during lunch, as most of your private conversations at school do. You snuck out of the cafeteria holding hands as you made your way over to Amy, his well-kept Trans Am.

 §  “What’d you wanna talk about, baby?” He asks as you two pile into the backseat. Y’all usually sat up front but you wanted him to be holding you during this conversation.

 §  “So, I know we’re not really a kinky couple…” You began, and Belch nodded understandingly. Compared to pretty much all of your friends (COUGHPATRICKCOUGHHENRYCOUGHVICTORCOUGH), the two of you were the most vanilla of the group. Not that you were completely vanilla or that y’all didn’t have good sex. “Well, what if I wanted to… um.”

 §  Belch holds you closer to him, one of his big hands resting on your lower back and the other lovingly cupping your face, “You can tell me, Y/N.”

 §  “Can I call you Daddy?” You ask, “Like… in bed, I mean!”

 §  He doesn’t respond at first, just staring in your eyes and smiling. The hand that was cupping your face slooowly moves down to the front of your jeans. He swiftly unbuttons them but waits until you nod to push his hand inside, letting his fingers gently tease you.

 §  “You wanna call me Daddy, babygirl?” Belch asks as he slips two fingers inside of you, “Yer gonna be naughty and drag me out to my car durin’ lunch and whisper about how much Daddy turns you on?”

 §  His fingers are moving faster inside you now and you’re already soaked and it’s making this incredibly lewd noise but you can’t bring yourself to do anything but move your hips against his hand and scratch at his back as he fingerfucks you.

 §  “Oh fuck, Daddy!” You whimper, “Daddy, please let me cum!”

 §  “I wasn’t sure if I was gonna let ya cum, babygirl.” Belch admits, but doesn’t slow down or stop, “But all Daddy wants right now is to watch you cum all over his fingers.”

 §  So you do, and then the Lunch bell rings. Belch makes his friends walk home because the only thing he wants to do as soon as school is out is drive you out to somewhere private and really get to explore this new kink of yours.