#Khol news | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

rookthorne · 11 months

Text

𝑻𝒉𝒆 𝑻𝒉𝒓𝒊𝒍𝒍 𝒐𝒇 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝑯𝒖𝒏𝒕 — 𝑵𝑰𝑮𝑯𝑻 𝑶𝑵𝑬

》 𝐁𝐞𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐞, 𝐁𝐞𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐞𝐝

Rumours and tales had been spread of a character at the local Halloween Park that painted them in such a haunting light — they were a predator that even the bravest spook and adrenaline seekers feared, always alluding that he was far too ‘hardcore’ to trifle with. Luckily for you, a target had been painted on your back, and you were about to experience one of the hardest escapes of your life.

჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻ 𝒑𝒂𝒊𝒓𝒊𝒏𝒈 》 Scare Actor!Bucky Barnes x F!Reader

჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻ 𝒘𝒐𝒓𝒅 𝒄𝒐𝒖𝒏𝒕 》 3.6k

჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻ 𝒘𝒂𝒓𝒏𝒊𝒏𝒈𝒔 》 Fluff, consensual stalking, primal, knife play

჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻ 𝒂𝒖𝒕𝒉𝒐𝒓 𝒏𝒐𝒕𝒆 》 I had way too much fun writing this, and I can't believe that I just typed that warning.

჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻ 𝒃𝒆𝒕𝒂 》 @smutconnoisseur

჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻ 𝒆𝒗𝒆𝒏𝒕 》 @rookthorne's Fright Night — Masterlist

》 𝑻𝒉𝒆 𝑻𝒉𝒓𝒊𝒍𝒍 𝒐𝒇 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝑯𝒖𝒏𝒕 𝑴𝒂𝒔𝒕𝒆𝒓𝒍𝒊𝒔𝒕

》 𝐍𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓 𝐓𝐖𝐎

After weeks of research and scouring through social media for the best spooks of the season, you were led here. At the gates of the new Halloween park and attraction. The park was lively, loud with screams and cheers and the bass of music. It thrummed through your body like a current of electricity.

A building decked out in stereo-typical Halloween decorations was situated to the left of the entrance. The sign above the larger window read ‘Administration’, and with a shuddered gasp of anticipation, you gripped the bag strap over your shoulder and walked towards it to wait in line.

It was a shock at just how small the line was, however. No more than a handful of people, all adults, stood and trembled in place – whether from anxiety or excitement, you couldn’t tell.

The lack of people standing in line wasn’t so much of a surprise when you took into account that during your research you found out you had to sign a multitude of waivers to even set foot in the park bounds.

The waiver, you learned from the park’s website, had every possible scenario covered – by signing the documents, you understood and consented to having the metaphorical life scared out of you, whether that be by props, actors, or environments. There were even medical forms to fill out, they were that thorough.

During your research, you had also seen all of the actors on the park’s Instagram — each as intimidating at the last, but there was one that intrigued you the most. It was a given that each character had a backstory, a plot behind the madness, but this one seemed the most exhilarating.

Known only as the Soldat, his costume consisted entirely of black; leather and kevlar-esque clothes paired with holsters for weaponry everywhere. A mask covered the lower half of his face, leaving only piercing grey eyes streaked with khol visible.

If you were honest with yourself, you were most excited for an encounter with him. He stalked the shadows and only revealed himself to very few — a walking and breathing myth that carried the same sense of lethality and mystery that his character afforded.

What interested you within the fine print for one of the waivers you eagerly signed was that the Soldat had his own warnings: stalking, use of Russian, and, unsurprisingly, use of knives. They were props, the document assured you as such, but if the thought didn’t make your heart race a little…

“Next,” a voice called, breaking you out of your reverie. You blinked and shook your head before stepping forward. The sign in process was like any other, and you passed through the entry gates only a few moments later.

Screams echoed through the night while the clashes and bangs of metal on metal sounded – the rides were in full swing. The entryway of the park was full of groups of young adults and couples, travelling in packs of two to even ten. It was only then you slightly regretted coming to the park alone, but there was less of a chance to make a fool of yourself, this way.

There were no children running amok, either, and for that, you were grateful, not only would there be no hysterical children, but that was the first sign that rules were enforced: no one under the age of twenty-one could step foot within the park.

A thick blanket of fog carpeted the ground as you stepped into a makeshift tunnel, the barely lit space had a lone flickering light bulb that gave very little visibility. You could still hear people walking around behind you, deep in the shadows.

Loud, deep music played as you considered what to do next while you walked towards the main area of the park. The bass rattled your chest and echoed in your bones, disorientating you in a way that made the adrenaline burn through your veins.

It was a general consensus that there would be no scaring until you reached the rides, or within the food court, but it didn’t soothe that prickle of apprehension that someone was there, just waiting for the opportunity.

“Alright,” you muttered to yourself, looking left to right. To the left was a giant archway that led to a food court, and to the right, a looming tunnel in the shape of a mouth that led to rides. Hunger wasn’t an issue at that point, so you shrugged and turned towards the tunnel. “Here we go.”

The shadows seemed to warp and move as you walked, giving the illusion of figures stalking behind you. Blood curdling screams and shrieks bounced off the walls and through the night’s air, and you couldn’t tell whether they were the ambient recordings or if the actor’s were already working their craft.

It added a sense of urgency to your step; a sharp, keen sense of awareness for every flicker in your peripheral vision.

Lights beamed from the carnival-esque rides as you walked through the crowds – oranges, purples, and greens glowed over your skin and flickered over the pavement, painting an eerie picture in the darkness. People were flocking back and forth in groups while lone stragglers were singled out by the roaming actors.

You watched, amused, as one of the actors in a clown costume ran full pelt at a huddled group of young women. They screamed with fright and scattered before they converged again, huddling next to one another like that would be their saving grace.

You knew better.

The harrowing sense of being watched cascaded over you, the silent rise of the hair on your nape and your mind screamed danger, danger, danger. You looked around, subtly as you could, until you found the source: a straggler, dressed in a suit splattered with fake blood, was watching you with his head tilted to the side.

You narrowed your eyes suspiciously, staring straight back, when he winked. Inwardly, you grumbled over the fact that a simple wink should not have been that attractive; outwardly, you stuck your tongue out at the actor in retaliation.

He advanced and in the blink of an eye, he had skidded across the pavement on his knees, sending sparks from his knee pads as he stood up right in front of you. His height was an advantage, you guessed, because you couldn’t suppress the shiver of a personified murderer looming over you.

“Careful, darling,” he said, voice gravelly. You could see a set of prop vampire fangs fitted over his canines when he bared his teeth. “Don’t wanna lose that now, do you?”

“Nope,” you said nervously, taking a step back and shaking your head. “I need it to eat pizza.”

The actor, whether in or out of character, snorted derisively and wiggled his fingers, and you took the dismissal.

Fog still covered the ground as you walked through the rides, content to feel the spirit of Halloween in the air and watch everyone else have the life scared out of them. There was a chime of different music to your right, and you glanced over to find a claw machine – full to the brim with stuffies in different states of zombie decay, to skeletons with goofy faces.

You walked over, humming to the music playing over the loudspeakers. “I have to have one.”

The line to get to the front was just as short as the line to the administrative building, and you waited patiently, watching as men dressed in top hats or rags stalk past; looking for their next victim.

Laughter sounded from right behind you and you started, spinning around to find a woman wearing a mask and holding some sort of blade integrated with an aluminium bat. Dark red hair cascaded down her shoulders, contrasting against the black leather of her jacket.

She stared into your face, searching it with her green eyes, when she smirked – a wicked thing that sent a shiver down your spine; some people were just too good at their jobs, you thought privately.

“Aren’t you just a sweet little thing? Cute–innocent, even,” she drawled, tapping the end of her bat with a clawed nail. Her voice sounded smooth and velvety – not unlike that of a siren’s.

“You got me good,” you confessed, hand held over your pounding heart. She giggled and smiled at you. A flash of orange light passed over her and you pointed at her hair. “I love your hair–sets off your menacing vibe perfectly.”

“Why, thank you, lamb.” She stepped closer, narrowing her eyes. The proximity made your heart race – even if you were well versed in the etiquette, having a stranger in costume so close made you nervous. “I think you’re one the Soldat would love…”

The hammering beat of your heart froze for a second with her words. Never had you imagined that you would hear a threat so enticing. You blinked and shook your head before you looked at her through narrowed eyes. “What?”

“Oh, you heard me,” she teased, winking slyly. It didn’t ease your nerves. “Don’t worry that sweet head of yours.” The weapon she brandished swayed in her grip as she stepped back and out of your space. “He’ll find you, and there won’t be anything left when he’s done with you.”

The encounter left you rattled; scared beyond wits. “What did she mean–?”

Bright lights filled your peripheral vision and you realised you were at the front of the line for the claw machine. The worker, who leaned heavily onto the glass and flipped a small knife in his hand, looked up at you as you stepped up to the controls.

“Huh,” he huffed, tilting his head. “Widow wasn’t wrong. You better watch your back, lamb.”

You blinked at him. “Excuse me?” His sandy blond hair was matted and streaked with congealed blood, stemming from a fake arrow through the side of his head and you had to fight the urge to wretch at the hyper-realistic, brutal costume.

The worker shrugged a shoulder and tapped his temple with the point of the knife. “The Soldat is on the hunt tonight, prowling the shadows–wouldn’t wanna cross him. Keep your wits about you.”

“You guys really know how to make a gal feel welcome,” you said slowly, looking around you. “It works–building Soldat up.”

The wink he sent you made your skin break out in goosebumps – there was something in his eyes, a glint of knowing that put you off and unsettled your senses. Loud screams and echoed maniacal laughter did not help the nerves that had begun to fray the longer you stood out in the open.

Shaking your head once, you deposited the money in the machine and grabbed the joystick, determined to win a stuffie for your trouble.

And if you gripped the soft toy tightly when you left, it was no one’s business.

Your venture through the park led you to a dark zone within the rides – people were interspersed in their little groups, but not a single person lingered. The shadows seemed to extend and grow as you walked, and that same feeling of being watched from someone unseen settled heavily in your stomach, a lead weight that made your leisurely pace increase.

The alleyway to your left gaped in size. With no other sounds except for the occasional yell or scream of fear from the other park patrons, you couldn’t hear footsteps nor the breathing of someone lurking there. But the inescapable instinct of fight or flight screamed at you to get out of there – to run, and to not look back.

You shuffled your feet and looked around as you muttered a quiet curse, thinking of where to go next, and the alleyway passed you by with little incident. “Well, that’s a relief,” you mumbled, adjusting your bag on your shoulder.

As you walked, just a few feet from the unnerving alleyway, people walking towards you stopped and stared – mouths and eyes wide, and when you opened your mouth to ask what was wrong, a presence behind you, dark and shadowed from your peripheral vision, made your jaw click shut.

You tried to whirl around to see who it was, but a cold hand covered your mouth and chin. Whoever it was forced you to stumble backwards and you landed with a muffled huff against their chest – a solid mass of a person, and you could scent the leather of their costume.

A tutting sound emanated from where the person's mouth was, and cold plastic pressed against your ear – their hand still covered your mouth and every sound you made came out muffled. The ability to make noise or call for help being torn from you so easily made white static fill your mind in a panicked haze, while the sound of your pounding heart filled your ears.

“There you are,” a deep voice rasped – it was accented with the lilt of Russian. You froze in place and your eyes widened with terror; Soldat had found you. “A little bird told me that I would find the perfect prey tonight. They were not wrong.”

His voice was muffled and quiet behind the mask, but it filled you with an unparalleled need to flee, though you didn’t dare mov – not even when you felt something sharp dig into the side of your neck. “Such a pretty prize, little kotenok. And all for me.”

For a split second, you forgot you were in a park full of people. Not even the pounding bass of the music that never ceased or the screams of fear pulled you out of the reverie – it was just you, back to chest with a stranger who had a hand over your mouth, and what felt like a knife at your neck. You whimpered and shuddered in his hold.

“Do not fear, little one.” There was a deep chuckle, and the same smooth, cold plastic brushed against the shell of your ear, as though he was turning his head to look at your profile. “I could never hurt my trophies. Especially ones that are so pretty.”

The cold bite of metal left your mouth and the sharp tip of the knife vanished from your throat. “Oh-”

The hands that had held you captive then shoved you forward, and you yelped in shock before you spun around to face the Soldat, only, no one was there. “What the hell!”

“I told you, little lamb,” a familiar voice sang. You looked to the right and you were faced with the same red hair of Widow, not to mention the Cheshire's smile on blood red lips. “Soldat is on the hunt, and he’s prowling after you now.” She turned away and waved at you from over her shoulder. “Good luck, little one!”

You gulped and straightened up, watching the mouth of the alleyway with mounting fear. There was no glint of metal nor any sign of a person in waiting.

“I would run, if I were you,” a new voice cautioned. It was one of the stragglers that had spooked that group of women earlier, and he looked smug – a wide smirk pulled his lips up and contorted his makeup. “You’re in his sights now. Good fucking luck.” And he ran off, sparks flying from the pads on his knees as he skidded across the floor again.

“Shit,” you hissed. That waiver was not kidding – and with all the actors warning you to hightail it, you were inclined to believe them. You got your wish, you thought nervously as you looked around. The Soldat was paying attention to you, and you alone, it seemed. “Fuck it.”

Your shoes slapped over the pavement as you briskly walked towards the archway on the other side of the ride section of the park. People kept glancing at you and staring wide-eyed behind you, but every time you looked over your shoulder, you saw no one tailing behind you.

It was starting to mess with your bravado, and you couldn’t help but pant for air as you moved faster and faster, desperate to at least get to somewhere where there was light.

“Oh my god!” a woman cried, pointing behind you with wide eyes. You yelped on instinct and jumped, spinning on your heel.

This time there was someone there.

Clad in all black, his eyes intently stared at your face. Kohl covered the skin above his black mask and long, dark hair swayed as he walked, strutted towards you; flipping a knife with a shining, metal hand as though putting on a show for all to see.

Fear froze you in place for a split second, but adrenaline roared and pulsed like a wildfire through every fibre of your being. With little intervention, you turned back around and bolted from the scene, pushing past people to put distance between you and the Soldat.

Boots thumped behind you and you screamed as you felt a hand brush your shoulder. You turned sharply to the left and the hand disappeared, but you heard a rough voice yell, “Run, little kotenok, I will catch you–one way or another,” at your back.

Heavy metal music matched the pace of your frantic running as you dashed between crowds of people and other actors. You took a chance and glanced over your shoulder, searching for your tail, but he was gone once again. “Oh my god,” you gasped, heaving for air. “That was scary–holy shit.”

A plainly dressed worker walked up to you then, their expression taut and worried. “Are you alright, ma’am?”

“Yeah, yeah,” you rushed, waving a hand. “I’m good. Had the shit scared out of me, but I’m good.”

They grinned and nodded. “Good luck then.”

You were left alone once again.

Music and the occasional scream filled the long silence and lack of terror-driven fleeing. There was another alleyway to your side, and there wasn’t much room for a person to appear behind you without you knowing, so you took a chance and leaned against the rough brick of the building as you took deep pulls of air to fill your constricting lungs. A stitch had formed in your side and you winced on every inhale. “Fuck–that was-”

A hand, cold and strong, covered your mouth and pulled you back against a chest. The shriek of fear was cut off by the pressure of his grip.

Soldat clicked his tongue and growled as a flash of metal danced across your vision. The same knife that had been against your throat before dug into your neck and dragged down to your collarbones, then back up to your jugular. “Should have never run from me,” he said lowly. “I am a ghost, kotenok. I see and hear it all. You’re in my world now, little one.”

“Please,” you whimpered, and it came out muffled behind his hand. “I- Oh my god, don’t-”

A deep, demonic laugh shook his chest and you felt him breathe in, the brush of leather on your back just as frightening as before. “You beg so pretty, kotenok.” He clicked his tongue again and pulled away the knife, but he held you fast to his chest. “Those same little birds told me you signed a waiver. The very same one that will allow me to do as I please with you.”

You recognised the consent check immediately; the pressure on your mouth didn’t tighten nor did he pull you back. He was giving you the chance to back out. “Yeah,” you rasped, lips brushing against the cold palm of his hand. “I did.”

“Mm,” he hummed. The knife returned to your throat, and you gasped as you were suddenly moved over to and pinned to the wall by your neck with his hand. His face was mere inches from yours, and you could see the dark kohl that framed his clear, calculating eyes as they darted between yours. “Umnaya devushka. You will be my trophy, then. And by the fall of the final night, you will know your place.”

“Oh,” you gasped, and you squirmed to gain some room, but he did not relent. Soldat narrowed his eyes and he tilted his head, considering you.

“You also will be a guest until the end of Halloween, da?”

Unable to speak, you just nodded.

The corner of his eyes crinkled slightly, as though he was smiling behind the mask. He leaned in close again, his breath hot over your lips as his hand tightened on the sides of your throat. You let out an undignified squeak that didn’t even seem to phase him, nor make him break character – if anything, he delved deeper. “Very good. I will find you, kotenok. You will not escape so easily next time.”

He pulled back and you stumbled forward – it felt like whiplash, losing his proximity so fast and without warning.

“Wait!” Slowly, he narrowed his eyes and took a knife from his holster, absentmindedly flipping it as he walked backwards towards the mouth of the alleyway. “Why me?”

His movements halted. The air from the alleyway was sucked from the space and you struggled to rein in the thought of him staring so thoughtfully at you – the need to know what he was thinking was almost overwhelming.

“You intrigue me,” he said simply.

Then, he turned and stalked out of the alleyway, leaving you in the shadows and considering just how insane this all was. You were alone, in a park full of the Halloween spirit, and here you were, wondering just how it would feel if you were chased by the Soldat again.

The thought alone convinced you to indeed come back the next night, and this time, you would wear trainers. You would outrun him, one way or another.

kotenok = kitten umnaya devushka = clever girl da = yes

⠈⠂⠄ 𝐢𝐧𝐛𝐨𝐱 | 𝐥𝐢𝐛𝐫𝐚𝐫𝐲 | 𝐚𝐨𝟑 ⠄⠂⠁

⠈⠂⠄𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 | 𝐜𝐨𝐥𝐥𝐞𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬 ⠄⠂⠁

#bucky barnes x female reader #bucky barnes x f!reader #bucky barnes x reader #bucky x female reader #bucky x f!reader #bucky x reader #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes series #bucky barnes au #bucky barnes fluff #rookthorne's works

293 notes · View notes

suppose-i-was-worm · 1 year

Text

Iceberg Siren pt 2

**I know, I know, it's fast, but I finished writing it and I'm super happy with how it turned out soooooo y'all have to deal with it.There is a mention of nightmares near the end, and a small bit of harassment at the beginning, but nothing happens and it's not graphic, so. Let me know if I need to tag those things, though! again, I'm not going to start a tag list, but the link for the AO3 version will be in a reblog, and you're welcome to follow that.**

Jason cursed himself for not getting Danny Nightingale’s number, days later when the bats were having a conference about why the Joker had been so quiet lately. B was chastising Steph for being flippant, and Jason was tired and ready to go home. He was also considering trying to find Danny and asking him out.

Something about the young man had seemed familiar- something in the way he moved, the way Jason’s heart thundered loudly in his ears when looking at his wide blue eyes.

“-son. Jason!”

He looked up- the entire batclan was looking at him. It was Dick who had spoken, who had stepped forward with his hand held out towards Jason.

“What?”

“How are you- uh- doing, with the Joker so quiet?”

Jason waited for the familiar green rising in his vision, but instead, he only saw Danny’s eyes, looking at him with understanding as he reeled from the death of the man who killed him.

“Fine. Can I go now? I’ve got some leads to follow up on.”

B grunted from his place at the batcomputer, and Jason took that as an affirmative, slamming his hood down onto his head and mounting his bike.

Roaring out of the cave, Jason headed toward Crime Alley. His recent partnership with Penguin had curtailed some more of the drug trade in his territory, but he still needed to keep an eye out.

As he rode, he felt a stirring in his gut, leading him to take a sharp turn and drive the wrong direction. He slid to a stop in an alley behind The Iceberg, and what he saw there made green boil up in his vision.

The new singer, Siren, was being crowded up against the dingy back wall of the club.

“I said no, sir.”

“C’mon, Siren, I know you were looking at me tonight.”

“Sir, do not put your hands on me.”

“If you weren’t such a whore, you-“

Jason cocked his gun.

“You’d better leave the Siren alone, asshole.”

The asshole turned, and Jason recognized him as a frequenter of one of the brothels in his territory.

“This isn’t your turf, Hood.”

Siren slipped out from under asshole’s arm, silky smooth and seemingly unencumbered by the tight dress he wore.

“He and boss have an arrangement.”

The asshole scowled, but as Jason dismounted his bike and stood straight, he ran away, shooting one last poisonous look at Siren before the darkness of Gotham swallowed him.

“Thank you. I didn’t want him to know I’m a meta.”

Jason turned to Siren, who was looking up at him with khol-lined eyes. Blue eyes.

“Danny?”

Danny winked.

“Hi, Mr. Hood.”

The door to the Iceberg backstage opened with a slam, and a man in a black uniform stormed out.

“Siren! You- Is this man bothering you?”

“Hey Matt.” Danny stuck out a hip, placing a hand on it. “You think anyone could truly mess with me around here?”

Matt glared suspiciously at Jason.

“If you wanted them to, maybe.”

Danny laughed and then headed towards the door.

“Thanks for your help, Hood! I’ll catch you later.”

He threw a wink over his shoulder, patting Matt’s arm as he passed.

“Let’s go in, Mattie, I’ve got to ask Boss about getting better security set up back here.”

The door to the club closed behind them, and Jason meandered back to his bike, a little dazed from the interaction. If he hadn’t already come to grips with his bisexuality, he was sure he’d be having trouble coming to terms with how good Danny looked all dressed up.

It wasn’t like he hadn’t noticed Siren the first time- it’s just he had better things to think about, and pretty boys with even prettier voices were not one of those things.

But now- now that he’d met Danny, had seen vengeance for his own death paid in full, well.

Getting a date with the singer was number one on his list.

Penguin had Matt give Danny ‘the talk’. No, not about sex. About fraternizing with bats and birds.

“Red Hood’s the best of them,’ Matt said. ‘But he’s still got a bat splayed on his chest.”

Danny- well. Danny wasn’t really bothered. He had enough money saved up from his gig as the Siren, he could probably bounce from the Iceberg and find a place to live in comfort. Red Hood was hot, Danny was not blind, and he deserved a personal life.

There was also the matter of Red Hood’s half-formed core.

“Consider this though, Matt- I don’t care.”

Matt sighed and crossed his arms over his chest.

Danny leaned back on the couch in his dressing room, glitter still clinging to his neck and arms even after a shower.

“I just want you to stay safe, Danny. The boss and I both. You’re the best attraction we’ve got, and you’re a good kid too.”

Danny sat up, schooling his face into the picture of innocence.

“Thank you, Mattie, I really appreciate it.”

“You’re not going to stop seeing Hood, are you.”

With a shrug, Danny stood to pull his hoodie on and head out for the night.

“I’ll see who I want to see, Matt. Penguin doesn’t pay me to be lonely.”

Matt sighed, and Danny slipped out the door, pulling his hood over his head.

It was raining out in Gotham, so Danny took the long route back to his little apartment, deliberately jumping in puddles when there was no one looking. He was slowly coming to love the city, even though it might never truly become his haunt, his home.

The gargoyles and grotesques throughout the city made him ache for Sam, and the technology available in this world reminded him that Tucker was probably still using his old, souped up PDA.

He wondered what Tucker would do with a top-of-the-line WayneTech device. Probably marry it.

It was fine, though. He was safe, and they were safe without him. Jazz was happy in college, and Dani was content to roam the infinite realms while she stabilized.

Everything would be fine.

Ibrahim Yinsen didn’t particularly like living so near Crime Alley, but this complex was fairly nice for where it was, and his upstairs and only neighbor was nice enough. The young man worked for some club, probably as a busboy, but he worked hard from what Yinsen could tell, and he always had a smile and an inquiry about Yinsen’s cat.

Even this evening, when he ran into him at the mailboxes, his neighbor soaking wet, the boy didn’t hesitate to ask after Misha. They exchanged pleasantries, and the sopping young man handed Yinsen a cat treat before he headed up the stairs.

Ibrahim didn’t ask about the screaming during the night, even if he wanted to. He had his own nightmares, and he wouldn’t begrudge a traumatized kid. The first few nights, it had startled him awake, but after he realized what it was that his neighbor was screaming?

He got up and made cookies to leave at the young man’s door.

No one should cry out for their parents to stop- no one should try so desperately to convince their parents that they were alive, that they were really their child.

The Meta protection laws were supposed to help kids in that situation.

Unfortunately, Yinsen was with the rest of them knowing that not every case could be caught, not every child could be saved.

Danny Nightingale was one of the luckier ones.

#dp x batman #dp x dc #dp x dc fanfic #dead on main #Arctic Siren AU #OC #Jason Todd #danny phantom

748 notes · View notes

mahi-wayy · 4 months

Text

𝐌𝐘𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐘 𝐎𝐅 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐁𝐄𝐀𝐔𝐓𝐘 | ʙᴀʜᴜʙᴀʟɪ

ᴘᴀɪʀɪɴɢ : A. Bahubali x Fem!OCs x B. Deva

ғᴀɴᴅᴏᴍ & ʀᴇǫᴜᴇsᴛᴇᴅ ʙʏ : Bahubali. @mayakimayahai @warnermeadowsgirl

ᴄᴏɴᴛᴀɪɴs : Bahubali and Bhallaladeva being bros, chaos, alcohol consumption, seduction, implied smut and an open ending.

sᴜᴍᴍᴀʀʏ : 𝐈𝐍 𝐖𝐇𝐈𝐂𝐇 the prince duo of mahishmati encounter some beautiful mysterious women (Or) 𝐈𝐍 𝐖𝐇𝐈𝐂𝐇 catching saketa wasn't the first time Bhalladeva and Bahubali stepped in Singhpuram.

ᴍᴀsᴛᴇʀʟɪsᴛ

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

“Can you explain why you are both a whole day late?”

Bahubali and Bhallaladeva were two of bravest and strongest men anyone can encounter but right now they both were just two sons obediently taking their mothers scolding like the good boys they were supposed to be.

Key word being supposed to, they have been both on assignment since past week. It was very simple: get in a disguise, tour the neighbouring areas and report back to their mother.

Simple right? yeah well you see they were supposed to arrive early mornings of yesterday but here they are arriving at dusk of today.

Bhalla can even feel his hair still wet from the hurried bath he has taken before joining his mother; his brother was a minute late.

“Answer me. Where were you?”

“Ma…”

Bahubali starts, his signature innocent look setting in his feature while Bhalla also lets the younger one take the lead.

“I swear we were planning on arriving yesterday but Bhalla was tired from the day.”

The said male clears his throat behind him and Bahu takes the hint immediately.

“I mean both of us were, so we took an overnight stay. It's not like we were running around with girls or something. We really were tired ma.”

Sivagami gives him an ‘I don't believe it’ look and Bahubali just makes an even more of a kicked puppy face, if possible.

“I know it was a lot more than just a simple overnight stay, something happened for sure otherwise there is no way you two would go straight to a bath instead of coming to me with your versions of an analysis.”

“Ma we were out for a week and-”

Bahubali shuts up immediately at the look he receives, he wasn't gonna fool her with this one.

“It's nothing ma, the place we stayed at had a bar and we both drank a bit and slept at the place close to the bar so we weren't exactly very fresh when we arrived. Not enough to present yourselves as princes of this empire.”

Bhalla swears he can feel the stars shooting from Bahu's eyes hitting him in the face but he doesn't let the mask crack as Sivagami remains ever so suspicious of them.

But before the next accusation came a guard interrupted them.

“Some women have came looking for the princes your majesty.”

The guard informs and it makes all three of them frown, women have come looking for them? Like it would have not been surprising if it was for Bahubali, the females following him had the same courage levels but Bhalladeva too? His type of girls weren't exactly good news but hey no judging, he just liked to play with danger.

Them mixing together won't end well. For anyone.

Sivagami gave them another nasty look before walking out, her gaze a clear order for them to follow her. It takes them less than five minutes to arrive where the females were.

The doors are pushed open in sync with the announcement of the three entering, Bhalla looks up to see the women only for his feet to freeze in place making his brother collide in his back before he peeked around him and spoke out before he even realised.

“Aarna?”

The first female turns, wearing a black blouse and wrapped in a red saree, hair open, eyes adorned with khol and jewellery decorating her figure as she waved at them.

“Kamini?”

Bhalla said making the second one stop fixing her hair and turn her head she was dressed in a much darker blue saree with a matching blouse, her khol and hair style matching with Aarna but wearing a lot of jewellery then the female.

“Greetings to the Mahishmati royalty.”

“Kaalika.”

Both the males said turning around simultaneously, to come face to face with a familiar blank eyes and perfect smile. Dressed in an all black look with dark leaning aura and minimal jewellery, her hair tied back.

“You know them?”

Sivagami's question doesn't receive answers as her son visibly experiences what she thinks to be flashbacks.

—----------------

“This will be a disaster.”

Bhalla was against the idea, staying the night in Singhpuram was literally an invitation for their mom to never let them hear the end of it and NOT in a good way.

“Can you please just calm down Bhalla, it's fine, we will make it till tomorrow morning chil.”

The older one just raised a brow.

“Okay fine afternoon, happy? I am not dropping the drinks for this, it's not like I feel like drinking very frequently anyways.”

With that he walks off to the drinks while Bhalla decides to just sit down and throw back his head and relax till his brother eventually passes out.

“Got a drink?”

He asked at the counter, the man turned around, gave him a once over and offered him a small glass. Interesting.

He knocks it off.

“A bigger one.”

The man looks him up and down again before another glass is offered bigger than the last one but that irritates him a little, so he knocks it off again.

“A little more? I'm a bit thirsty.”

The man offered him the whole jar this time and immediately pulled it back when he went to strike down too.

“You got the money?”

He pulls out the bag of coins, purposely moving it so the sound catches people's eyes before slamming it down.

The shop manager immediately went to take up the coins but stopped seeing the look on his face and stood back up, pulling at the rope revealing pots and pots of liquor.

“The drinks are on me.”

He shouts before picking up a bunch of marbles and throwing them towards the urban pots, breaking them easily and a shower of liquor was started.

All the men around him praise and thank him, he enjoys it, just a little. He does turn his head in his brother's direction only to receive a typical Bhalla being annoyed by Bahu look before the man covers his face with a cloth and goes back to trying to sleep.

“Sir…”

Bahubali turns his head when the man calling him taps his shoulder.

“...there is more than just liquor.”

And intrigues him even more, pushes the man out of his field on sight when a rope wrapped figure comes into view.

He drowns one of the glasses as the rope starts to unwrap and the first thing he sees are hand, soft gentle, jewellery clad three pairs of hands.

Next thing that comes into view are eyes, kohl lined, sharp and hypnotising, molten honey like three pairs of eyes.

The three girls all step put immediately and he gets only seconds to give them a once over. One was wearing a black blouse and deep maroon salwar with designs being in lighter shade of the same colour, one wore a blue blouse and yellowish and red salwar and the last one went with a grey blouse and black salwar with maroon design.

All wore silver jewellery with their hair tied up.

Hai Rat Mai Yeh Nasha Tera Tera

Dil Ko Tere Pyar Ne Ghera Ghera

It's starts of as dance between those three, a choreography that their bodies remembered well enough for it to be visible like this.

Hontho Se Hontho Pe Koi Nishani

Tu De Jaa De Jaa..

Mujh Se Hi Mujh Ko OOO Yaara Chura Ke

Tu Le jaa Le jaa..

He understands those gaze well enough, the raw desire and charm shining in them as the females trapped everyone around him into the beautiful illusion their dance was.

Manohari

The first one to approach him when he slides down from the shoulders of the men holding him up was the one in blue, climbing up like a tree while the one with grey gets a hold of his hand and he twirls her in order to get her closer.

Maan Le Ye Man Le Teri Ki Baaton Ne Kiya

Bin Piye Mujhey Sharabi Re

He lets himself nose at the length of her neck while also feelinv another nose nuzzle in his own neck and a pair of hand around his abdomen and that just makes him smile.

Tu Hi Kholey Saarein

Taalein Sun Le Jaaney Jaana

Tu Hi Mere Dil Ki Chaabi Re

Bahubali chuckles under his breathe when he's first pulled by the blue one, getting tugged by the grey one and ends up landing in black one's arms before all three back him up and crowding his personal space.

Pyaalein Ye Tan Ke Aa

Peelu Mai Jam ke

Tu Mera Mera

The girls pull him again and his time he lets himself flow, first trailing his cheek up the grey's arm, then being pushed gently for his face to come in contact with the blue one's back, only then to be pushed towards the black one. His frame sliding from her shoulder and stopping at her waist.

Hai Rat Mai Yeh Nasha Tera Tera

Dil Ko Tere Pyar Ne Ghera Ghera

They continue to fool around before the black one breaks away from the small group, her feet taking her towards a familiar figure which only makes Bahu smirk and turn back to the rest two girls.

Kya Baaju Hai Tere

Mujhko Inme Jeena

Bhalla's eyes snap open for two reasons, the song being sung too close to him and the person climbing him up.It's a woman, very beautiful one at that and was all over him.

Jo Jaadu Hai Tujh Mai

Hoga Wo Kahi Na

He gets up to move away, pushing that lady away gently but he immediately gets tugged back to fall in his previous seat. He is barely catches her expression before she's turning and free falling on him, her arms reaching behind her to touch whatever part of him he reached.

Tu Hai Sehera Jaisa Mujhey

Tujh Mai Hi Kho Jaana

Maira Tu Ho Na Ho

Mujhey Tera Hi Ho Jana

She turns again, her face inches away from him, their breathe mixing together as she slides her thump on his lip, her hands tugging his face forward.

Mazey Le Le aaaaa

Only to press a liquor glass against his lips and let him go, joining back her girls dancing in th centre of the place.

Manohari

Bahubali, while all this was happening, seems to have got a little more drunk and got the hold of the rope these three where originally wrapped in.

He swings it easily, taking off his hat, before throwing it aiming directly for the three waists he saw infront of him and succeeded while Bhalla drank on drink after another.

Pyar Ke Ye Teekhein Meethein

Teer Na Chala Re

Jaan Meri Jaan Maan jaa

The younger prince and the three dancers are wrapped in ropes, tightening them as close as humaly possible.

Pyaalein Ye Tan Ke Aa

Peelu Mai Jam ke

Tu Mera Mera

One pair of lips was tracing the base of his neck, another pair of lips is pressed against his pulse point and one pair of lips was trailing against his jaw before all of them are untangled with just one tug.

Hai Rat Mai Yeh Nasha Tera Tera

Dil Ko Tere Pyar Ne Ghera Ghera

Bhalladeva manages to catch two of them, the one with blue blouse and one with grey blouse, the one wil black one was wrapped around his brother.

It ends with the girls leanding them away from the crowd to a personal room, the one in black laying down on a bed first, followed up both the princes, the older one's lips coming to her neck and the younger ones teeth biting her kamarband and pulling in aside to pepper kisses.

The other joining them by pulling first the younger one away and having him shrug off his top while the other one takes it upon herself to get the older male free of his vest.

—----------------

“Bhalla!! Bahu!!”

Both the males come back to the present at their mother's booming voice.

“Where are you two lost? I asked how do you know them? Don't tell me you did some stupidity last night.”

They knew them yes, by face and lot of other things but seeing them here was beyond shocking.

They woke up in bed alone the following morning, cursing each other and the hangover headache with no signs of them. They would have forgotten them if not for that liquor shop owner to hand them a small note with their names scribbled on it and six rings.

That currently rested on three of each prince's fingers, feeling heavier than a bison.

While Bahu was having this monologue his brother decided to speak up.

“Ma, what are you saying!? Why would we ever?”

Bhalla was never more thankful for his gift of white lying like he was today.

“They are right your highness, we are just some dancers, they stayed at our place last night. Nothing more.”

Aarna answers and Bahu sees his end right infront of his eyes, with hands of his own mother. Wow.

“And by our place she means the place we practise, a old abandoned house in the small village not very far from the Mahishmati border. We usually don't let people stay like this because they mainly come from the bar nearby but they seemed tired and I recognized your elder son.”

Kaalika adds and Bahu almost falls from the relief, the lie was totally believable.

“Thank you for letting my sons a shelter but why have you come here?”

“They said you needed dancers for the court and some people to manage festivals.” Kamini speaks this time.

“We haven't been doing very well for some time now, all that you see on us now is the last of what we own, the nearby village kicked us out too. So we would be very greatful if Mahishmati can have some mercy on us.”

The way Aarna sounded almost had Bahu reach out for comfort if not for Bhalla knocking his hand off before it could rise properly.

Their mother seems to think for a while before answering.

“You three gave my sons shelter when they needed it so I will consider you however being a part of Mahishmati court in any form requires more than what meets the eye so you three have to prove your worth. For now you can stay in the extra quarters for the servants.”

The three females thank the older woman with joined hands and bowed hands before they walk out. The boys breathe a sigh of relief only for a shiver to run up their spines when Aarna and Kamini pass by them.

Aarna's hand trailing down Bhalla's back and Kamini's trailing up Bahu's as they walked past them. As for Kaalika she chooses to wink at them before turning and leaving with her girls.

Yeah they were totally screwed.

_____________

taglist : @warnermeadowsgirl @mayakimayahai @vijayasena

#bahubali fanfic #bahubali the beginning #bahubali #amrendra bahubali x oc #amrendra bahubali #bhalladeva #bhalladeva x oc #bahubali fic #requests #prabhas fanfic #rana daggubati fanfic #prabhas #rana daggubati

66 notes · View notes

shy-urban-hobbit · 1 month

Text

Modern au

Lambert takes his niece to get her ears pierced for her birthday and oh no, the new guy at the studio is ridiculously hot!!

"You still sure about this, kid?" Lambert asked as the two of them rounded the corner onto the next street, Ciri took a break from demolishing her purple frosted doughnut to give him an excited nod. It was the answer he'd been expecting but it still didn't hurt to check. Ciri had expressed interest in getting her ears pierced a few months prior and the agreement she'd reached with her father was that if it was something she still wanted by the time her birthday came around and it wasn't just a passing whim then she had his permission. That day had finally arrived and Lambert had volunteered to make the arrangements and take her to his usual guy, fully convinced that Geralt would just end up wandering into the nearest Claire's otherwise - having no personal experience, the man had proven himself to be clueless when it came to researching reputable places.

He felt Ciri press a little closer to him and he wrapped an arm around her shoulder. He didn't blame her, they weren't exactly in the most respectable part of town anymore - he was pretty sure the rats would try to mug you if they were capable - and if any of Ciri's three parental figures were with them (Jaskier was definitely in the realms of honorary parent at this point, whatever the situation was with him, Geralt and Yenn) they'd probably be making them turn around and head back. They weren't though; and Lambert had been using this place for the last seven years, since he was eighteen and making questionable choices just to push Vesemir's buttons.

There'd been some new graffiti added to the red brick of the outside of the studio since the last time Lambert had visited - not that it'd stay there very long before one of the inhabitants covered it with work of their own. Years of this has led to a good portion of 'Dyn Marv tattoos and piercings' being covered in a mish-mash of traditional tattoo designs, psychedelic swirls, detailed wolves and tigers and a relatively fresh looking comic style UFO by one of the top windows.

Lambert's brow furrowed a little in confusion at the noise that greeted them as they entered. There was music playing - nothing unusual in that, there was always music playing on a low volume but this wasn't Cedric's usual heavy metal or Schrödinger's classic rock or even Axel's K-Pop. It sounded almost like folk rock if Lambert had to guess, unfamiliar but not unpleasant.

The figure behind the counter was also unfamiliar as they stood with their back to them, fairly tall and dark skinned with black curls tied back with a strip of blue cloth, a sleeveless white tank showing off muscular arms. Lambert cleared his throat awkwardly to catch their attention, then felt his throat dry up instantly when they turned at the noise. Oh no.

He was fucking gorgeous. A few loose curls framed a high cheek-boned face, full lips framed by labret and septum piercings pulled up into a wide smile which in turn caused khol rimmed, emerald eyes to crinkle at the corners. A silver chain disappeared into the low neck of his tank top which also offered a glimpse of toned chest, the edges of black ink barely visible.

"Hi there, can I help you?" He asked and oh god, even his voice was hot.

"You're not Cedric." Lambert immediately wanted to go drown himself in the customer bathroom.

"He left me in charge while he had to run out. Something about moving apartments and Schro getting stuck in a box again..." He finished with a shrug, "I'm Aiden."

Lambert felt something click in his brain, "Cedric's brother right? He's mentioned you a couple of times."

"Whatever he's told you, it's all lies." Aiden said with a wink, leaning on the counter and resting his chin on his hand - the back of said hand Lambert noted, sported a tattoo of a realistic snarling, green eyed black cat.

"So anything I can help with today or would you rather hang out and wait for Cedric, although I couldn't tell you how long he'll be."

"Depends. How are you with kids and piercings?" He knew Dragonfly only dealt with tattoos whilst Joel specialised in the more 'adult' piercings and didn't tend to take clients under twenty one. Lambert gestured to Ciri who had wandered away from him to browse over the display of various spiked cuffs and brightly coloured necklaces for sale.

"I've experience with both. I did my apprenticeship and got my qualifications under Cedric and Axel and have many niblings and foster siblings, as you probably already know if you know Cedric."

Lambert nodded. Cedric and the others ran a tight ship, they wouldn't allow Aiden to work here if he didn't meet their standards, "Ciri." He called, dragging the girls attention from a plastic unicorn necklace she'd been eyeing up "This is Aiden, he's going to do your piercings, ok?"

Ciri scrutinized him for a couple of seconds before giving a nod. Aiden grinned back.

"And what are we going for today. Nose, belly button? No don't tell me... eyebrow!"

Ciri giggled, "My daddy said I can get my ears pierced for my birthday."

"Oh really?" He threw a quick look at Lambert and something in his expression closed off, "Well let's get some studs picked out and then we'll get you all comfy and set up."

"Can I use the bathroom first, please?"

"Just through there, sweetie." Aiden said, gesturing to the lime green door behind her before placing one of the standard forms in front of Lambert, "We'll do the boring paperwork in the meantime."

"I'm not daddy by the way." Lambert blurted out after a couple of minutes spent in awkward silence.

"Huh?"

"I'm her uncle." He held the form out for the other whilst trying his damned hardest not to stare at those lips.

"Well," Aiden deliberately brushed his fingers against Lambert's as he went to take it, voice pitched lower as his eyes slowly looked Lambert up and down, "If you ever want to be someone's Daddy, I wouldn't be opposed."

Before Lambert could even think of a response to that Ciri returned and Aiden was back to being professional, yelling for Dragonfly to come watch the front before showing his newest client all of the different earrings she could choose from and having a serious discussion about red Vs. blue as if he hadn't just made Lambert's brain short circuit. Dragonfly chimed in with her opinion every now and then too whilst throwing a smirk at Lambert which left him wondering how much of that exchange the petite, heavily tattooed blonde might have heard.

Lambert was ready to leave at a moments notice as Ciri glanced around Aiden's workspace, sitting stiffly and looking far too small in the leather chair.

"Ok Ciri, we're all ready to go." Aiden settled on a stool next to her, angling himself so the tray bearing the bright pink studs (and more importantly, the needle) was out of Ciri's eyeline, "Now, you look a teeny bit nervous there so would you like me to explain everything to you or just shut up and get on with it?"

"Could you tell me please? I don't like not knowing what's happening."

Ten minutes later, after having Aiden show her everything he was going to be using and answering all her questions, a much calmer Ciri was staring at the far wall trying to count all of the band stickers which had been put there and added to over the years, with Lambert sat on the now vacated stool by her feet "Feel free to swear kid. We won't say anything if you don't."

"Absolutely." Aiden agreed, "Ok. And 3...2...1"

"BUTTS!"

Lambert rolled his eyes heavenwards whilst Aiden looked like he was trying to hold in a laugh.

"Well, I can honestly say I've never had anyone scream 'butts' in my face before now. You got a poop to go with it? 3...2...1"

"POOP!"

"I need to be having a word with her dad if she thinks butts is a swear." Lambert muttered as he paid, Ciri back to hanging around the jewellery display and proudly showing off her new piercings to Dragonfly.

"Oh come on. It was pretty hilarious." Aiden chuckled somewhat awkwardly, "Hey, I'm sorry if I came on a little too strong earlier by the way. Sometimes my mouth shoots off before my brain kicks in."

Lambert made sure Ciri was suitably distracted before leaning in closer, "It's not your mouth I want to make shoot off."

The hitched breath he got in response was incredibly satisfying.

"Uncle Lambert, look what Dragonfly gave me!" Ciri yelled, breaking the moment and holding up the unicorn necklace from earlier.

"For the birthday girl." Dragonfly looked a little too smug and Lambert was going to figure out a way to get revenge.

"Well then...if there's nothing else I can help with today...?"

"Actually-"

Vesemir sighed, shaking his head in defeat as he caught sight of Lambert, "Please tell me taking Ciri wasn't just a cover for that. What on earth were you thinking?"

Lambert merely waggled his eyebrows in response, the new gold bar in the left catching the light as he did. Right now he was thinking getting an impulsive piercing to give the pretty guy a reason to touch him wasn't the dumbest thing he'd ever done by a longshot. Especially when said pretty guy gave him his private number afterwards "Incase you have any problems with aftercare."

He smirked as he fished out his phone, firing off a message to Aiden inviting him to find out sometime exactly how seriously he took aftercare.

#the witcher #the witcher fanfiction #lambert x aiden #lambert/aiden #lambden #aiden x lambert #aiden/lambert #witcher aiden #lambert #witcher lambert

52 notes · View notes

archangeldyke-all · 9 months

Note

sevika w gf who uses makeup but all the routine (contour, eyeliner...) but not cause insecure cause she likes

sevika would like? she let reader do her makeup??🥹

cuteeeee!!!

men and minors dni

sevika wears some makeup-- she's got a little bottle of khol she applies to her eyes every morning, and a tube of dark coffee brown lipstick she keeps in her side satchel-- but that's about as far as her interest in the stuff goes.

so when she meets you, she's fascinated.

she'll watch you do your entire makeup routine, whether you're just doing a quick coat of mascara and chapstick to run to the cornerstore, or a full beat for a night out, whether you take ten minutes or two hours, sevika's watching you work with heart eyes the whole time.

sometimes you have to shoo her away, because you can't focus while sevika's watching you like that, but most of the time you let her stay.

she loves it when you let her help. she loves carefully swiping your lipstick on for you, cleaning up the bleeding edges with a gentle swipe of her thumb. she also loves when you let her pick out your eyeshadow colors for the day. she'll listen to you blab on and on about new contouring techniques, or the difference between a smoky eye vs. a halo eye. she doesn't give a shit, but she likes the little smile she gets from you when she compliments your makeup with the proper terminology.

"love that cut crease, baby" or "wait hold on, you forgot to brush off this little bit of baking powder."

the first time you take false lashes off in front of sevika, she screams in horror. you laugh.

"what, you thought my eyelashes were 22milimeters long naturally?" you ask. sevika's still gawking at you.

"i thought the mascara made 'em longer or something!" she says.

you giggle then place the still sticky lash bands over your top lip, making a little mustache. sevika snorts.

if you ever ask to do sevika's makeup, she'd let you. she wouldn't want anything different from what she usually does-- dark eyes and lips-- but she'll let you add some more products and techniques to make it a bit more cohesive and polished. some contour to bring out her lovely cheekbones, brow gel for her eyebrows, lipliner so her lipstick doesn't smudge as much throughout the day, and setting spray that smells like flowers and adds a little shimmer to her skin. she loves it.

she loves it so much that she makes you do her makeup for her every time she can. she's going into work but you've got the day off? you're doing her makeup. date night somewhere fancy? you're doing her makeup.

sevika's favorite thing about your makeup though, is the colorful kiss marks that decorate her cheeks and neck every day, matching the color painting your lips.

when you buy new lipstick, she always offers to help you 'test the longevity.'

this just means having a handsy makeout session.

taglist!

@lesbeaniegreenie @fyeahnix @sapphicsgirl @half-of-a-gay @ellabslut @thesevi0lentdelights @sexysapphicshopowner @shimtarofstupidity @love-sugarr @chuucanchuucan @222danielaa @badbye666 @femme-historian

#sevika #sevika imagine #sevika arcane #sevika x reader #sevika x you #soft sevika

94 notes · View notes

f0xglove488 · 3 days

Text

Billy's Sick

billy hargrove x fem word count: 4,021 warnings: swearing synopsis: Big bad Billy Hargrove was sick and had no one to give a damn about him. Until he heard a knock on the door... a/n: It's been a minute since I wrote anything and I've never posted a fanfic on tumblr before so bare with me lol depending on how this goes maybe expect more!? And possibly opening up to requests? Okayokay maybe I'm getting ahead of myself. Enjoy!!!

Billy was sick.

Which was bullshit.

He didn’t get sick often. In fact, rarely ever. Sure, he was human but he took care of himself. His body was constantly fueled, nourished, exercised and one of his main points of focus - almost as a distraction from all the other crap in his life he had to deal with.

But none of that changed the fact that he was, in fact, sick.

He’d stayed home from school and bummed around lazily, free reign of the place since his parents were at work and his stepsister was at school.

He tried to work out but got winded and exhausted, and in a huff ended up on the couch with his feet up and an old ratty blue robe on.

When Max came home from school, she barely looked in his direction, kicking off her sneakers and going into her room. Not even so much as a ‘how you feeling?’ – not that he cared, but he had loaded up a sarcastic comment if she had asked, and now he didn’t get to use it.

When a knock on the door came, he let out a soft grunt as he got up in his socks and shuffled to the door. He was about to open it before he saw who was standing there from the top of the little glass panes on the door.

In an instant he had ducked under the door, to the side, out of sight. “Crap.” He mumbled.

It was her.

Of course it was her. Here he was looking disheveled and like shit, in a crappy ratty old robe that he’d had for years. His hair was flat, ratty and messy. He didn’t have cologne on. He was not Billy Hargrove.

Maybe if he stayed down she’d just go away…

But, nope.

She knocked again.

After a moment Max came out of her room in annoyance, going over to the door but halting at seeing Billy crouched down alongside it. “Um. Are you going to get that?” She asked, confused.

“No, I’m not going to get that.” He said angrily, keeping his voice low. Was it not obvious by the way he was literally on the floor ignoring it? “You answer. See what she wants.”

“See what who wants?”

“Just answer, Maxine!” He said, voice almost too loud as he realized he had to lower it again. He gave his stepsister a sharp look and Max rolled her eyes as she stepped closer and threw the door open.

Max took in the girl in front of her. She knew her from school, one of the girls in Billys grade but not one of the ones she’d noticed him bring over before. Maybe this was a new one? Maybe it was a girl Billy used up and wanted nothing to do with and that’s why he wouldn’t go to the door? That wouldn’t exactly be the first time.

The girl smiles softly. Her lips are lightly pink dusted, dark brown hair curled but in a way that looked natural (but Max could tell wasn’t.) Khol rimed eyes. She was pretty. Soft. Softer looking than some of the other girls Billy usually went for – nothing against them, they just usually had their hair teased in hairspray or shiny gel and they talked while chewing gum and just – he had type.

“Hey.” She says, and her voice is soft and light and not overly bubbly or overly low and sultry either. Okay. So this also wasn’t one of the girls that would call to speak with Billy because she didn’t recognize her voice either. Must be a new one. Had to be. “Is Billy home?”

Max looked out of the corner of her eye to Billy on the ground, waving his arms frantically to signal no, he was not. Cool, okay, she could cover for him, why not? “No, he’s out.” She lied, crossing her arms a little.

The girl looked to his car in the driveway, then back to Max. “Isn’t that his Camaro?”

Billy rolled his eyes. God, what was she, a detective?

Max sways on her feet a little. “Um, yes. But. He. Walked somewhere.” She says and if she looked at Billy she knows he’d be annoyed at her failed lie. “Oh, a friend picked him up!” She said instead like this was a much better lie and Billy smacked his palm to his head.

“Right…” The girl said, not buying it but not looking bothered either. She had a small smile on her lips like she found this amusing. “Well, he wasn’t in school so I grabbed his work for him.” She says casually as she looks down at the books and papers she held against her chest. “Can I come in? I’ll just leave it in his room with a note explaining what to do.”

Max looked to Billy again as he went back to waving his hands and blazing his eyes at her. No, no, hell no. “Um…” She was trying to figure out what Billy was miming. He was trying to mouth the words contagious and charading sickness but Max stared at him blankly.

The girl clears her throat. “He’s right there, isn’t he?” She asks, nudging to the side of the door as Billy freezes and Max quickly looks back to her. Max’s slight delay just makes her feel more confirmed in this. “What are you looking at if it’s not him?” Her lips turn up into a small sly smile.

“A bug.” Max says fast and Billy groans lightly again.

The girl nods, a knowing look on her face. “Hi, Billy.” She says a bit louder for him to hear. Billy curses under his breath. He could pretend he really wasn’t there or he could admit defeat now.

“Hi, Vee.” He says back loud enough for her to hear but not coming out. “Look, I’m contagious so you can just leave that crap on the doorstep. Next time maybe don’t do things people didn’t ask you to do.” He says, annoyed at her for even getting his stuff for him.

Max steps to the side a little, not sure what to do.

“You’re welcome.” The girl says back happily, clearly ignoring Billys detest here. “You sound like shit, by the way.”

“Well I’m sick.” He snaps.

“Right.” She says back. “What do you have?”

“Excuse me?”

“What are you sick with?”

“How the hell should I know?” He damn near yells now, but it just pains his throat and he has to cough instead.

The girl looks unphased. “If you don’t know what you have how do you know you’re contagious?” She asks. Billy lets out another annoyed groan. “Have you eaten anything?”

“What??” He says, irritation mounting that she’s still even here. He stands up a bit but still doesn’t come to the door, hovering behind it. “No, I didn’t eat anything. Why the hell does that matter?”

The girl huffs, annoyed. “Can I just come in?”

“No.” He says quickly. “Leave the shit and go. Or hell, take it with you, I don’t care.”

Max shifts on her feet as she backs up a little. “Uhh, I’m gunna go.”

“Max don’t you dare you little shit.” Billy says, glaring at her, but it’s too late – she’s scampered off, not wanting to be involved or have to listen to this whole conversation that didn’t concern her. Billy ran his hand through his messy hair, holding in a deep pained noise. “Can you just leave?” He asks to the open doorway as he still lingers beside it, against the wall out of sight.

The girl stepped in as if an open invitation was offered, which it wasn’t, and she looks to the side to see Billy standing there. “Jesus! You can’t just walk into someone’s damn house!” He snapped, pulling his robe closed more. He didn’t want her to see him like this. He never looked bad, even a black eye or busted lip worked for him. Sick with a congested nose and flushed cheeks was not how he wanted to be seen.

“You’re sick.” She says plainly, giving him a quick glance before putting his stuff down on the living room table. “And you haven’t eaten anything. I’m making you food.”

Billys stunned silent for a moment. He feels a mixture of anger and shock and he doesn’t know which is stronger. “The hell you are.” He snaps but she’s already walked off to the kitchen like she knows the damn place, which she doesn’t, she’s never even been here before. He watches as she opens cabinets, looking for something to make and his irritation grows. “You seriously can’t just walk into someone’s house and start cooking!” He snaps, but his anger irritates his throat and he rubs his neck, holding in another cough.

She shoots him a look but goes back to her pursuit as she seems to hit the jackpot, finding canned soup and pulling it out. “Stop being so annoying.” She says, not even looking at him. “I get it. You’re an asshole and you don’t need anyone. Super fascinating stuff, Billy.” She quips as she pries the lid off and sets about looking for a pan. “But face it. You’re sick. You haven’t eaten and god knows you probably haven’t been drinking fluids. Let me just do this and I’ll be out of your hair and you can pretend it never happened, cool?”

His tongue feels swollen in his mouth as he gets read to object, to continue being harsh and rude to her – but she’s already put the soup in the pan and she’s already making it. She looks to him again as if waiting for him to say something but he doesn’t, just clenches his jaw a little and trying to be defiant to this. “You should sit, you’re sick.” She tells him, her eyes shooting to the chair at the small rounded circle table behind her.

“Oh so now you’re going to boss me around, too?” He quips, but he sits down, because honestly his body felt heavy and sluggish. He’d usually put up way more of a fight. He’s not sure why he isn’t. Maybe because he’s sick. He’s just too tired to bother. That was probably what it was.

Or maybe it was because this girl just blustered into his home and started cooking for him.

Sure, it was just canned soup, but still. He can’t remember the last time anyone gave a shit enough to go out of their way for him.

He quietly observes her. She’s in a knee high wool skirt, navy blue turtle neck sweater. Honestly the outfit itself could come across as nerdy but the way it hugged her body gave more of sexy liberaian than anything else. He’d be lying if he said he hadn’t thought of her in that way before – a sexual nature. She wasn’t special though, he thought of most women that way.

“So, what’s wrong?” She asks softly as she stirs the pot and looks at him over her shoulder.

“I’m sick.” He says gruffly, as though it were obvious.

“I know that.” She says, voice annoyed. “But what’s wrong? Cold? Flu? What are you feeling?”

“I don’t know it’s not like I ran out to the doctor like some little pussy.” He says back, glaring at her even though she couldn’t see it. He waits to see if his words affect her, if she flinches or gets disgusted by them but she doesn’t react at all and for some reason that makes him more annoyed. He wanted a reaction out of her.

“But what are you feeling?” She repeats.

“Sore throat. Runny nose or stuffy nose, it switches.” He tells her, looking away. “And I don’t know I just feel…kind of drained.” His brain said he felt weak but the word alone sent a cold shiver down his spine. He wasn’t weak. He’d never describe himself as weak. That was something his father told him, something he heard too many times before.

“Do you have a fever?” She asks as she pokes around for a bowl and pulls two out casually.

“How the hell should I know?” He asks, getting annoyed by her constant asking.

He watches as she pours the soup into the bowl and then sets it down in front of him. Without a second thought her hand goes to his forehead, pushing his hair back.

What the fuck?

He flinches, pushes back but her hand stays firmly in place. “You’re a little warm.” She says, voice soft like velvet. Her hand drops away as if nothing happened but he’s sitting there whirling.

It takes him a second to respond, still shook up by the whole ordeal. He regains his composure, the anger coming back quickly. “I’m always warm, I run hot.” He says quickly. He almost doesn’t even want to touch the soup just to spite her but his stomach lets out a low growl and he can’t help but pick up the spoon slightly dejectedly.

He hated this. He hated being taken care of like he was some pathetic incapable loser. It made him feel small. It made him feel…

It was chicken noodle soup. Memories of his mother flashed in his eyes. It was too familiar and it’d been too long.

She doesn’t notice his inner turmoil brewing. She’s too busy pouring another bowl of soup. Was she going to eat with him? The thought made him nervous. He didn’t want to sit here and eat with her like she was his goddamn mother or wife or something.

Instead, she calls out Maxs name and Billy looks at her, confused.

Max pokes her head out of her room, looking at them from down the hall.

“I made you soup.” She says, lifting up the bowl.

Jesus she was pretty.

She was pretty and soft and warm.

And she was standing in his goddamn kitchen making him soup.

Max comes over, taking her headphones off her ears. “Oh, uh, no thanks. I’m not really hungry.”

Her eyes narrow though as Max says this. “Come on. I know if Billy didn’t eat you probably didn’t eat either.”

It’s like there’s a standoff as Max looks at her, then at the soup, then back at her. Quickly, like a little mouse, she grabs the bowl, looking down at it as though she was still skeptical. “Thanks.” She mumbles softly as she scampers back off to her room.

“You don’t have to do that shit.” Billy says, looking back at her. What was her deal? Did she like him or something? He knew with some of the girls that tried to get his attention they’d try to go through Max, trying to make it seem like they cared about him so much that they cared about her too. It was always weird and made Billy feel disgusted. He hated desperation and he could usually smell it on girls.

He didn’t smell it on her, though.

He didn’t know what the fuck she was.

She puts the pan in the sink and starts filling it with water and she was…oh for the love of god she was cleaning it. Billy continues eating but feels like he wants to strangle her. Seriously, what the hell was this? What was she doing? Why the hell was she doing this?

She had to like him, right? This had to be her attempt to get into his good graces.

When she’s finished she eyes his empty bowl and goes over to take it but Billy stops her, his hands gripping it. “Stop.”

“What?” She says, her almond eyes widening a little.

“Stop doing this shit. What are you doing?” He just about snarls.

She blinks a couple times, clearly taken aback but also not looking entirely surprised. “I’m taking care of you.” She says, voice annoyed still. She didn’t know why she had to explain this. He was sick. She was just doing him a solid. He was being difficult for no reason, as always.

“Well, fucking stop. I didn’t ask for you to take care of me and I don’t need some random girl coming in here and-“

“I’m done.” She says with a shrug, cutting him off before he can get more riled up and defensive. “I finished. No need to lecture. Wash your own bowl then, geez.”

He stares at her, still trying to figure her out. So that was it? Just come in, unwanted, cook him food and bail?

“So now you’re just going to leave?” He asks gruffly, sitting back in the chair.

She looks around the kitchen and he’s not sure what she’s looking for or at. Something else to do? “I mean, yeah. Unless you want me to stay?”

Please stay.

His lips turn down into a scowl. He’s mad at himself for even thinking that. “Leave. And don’t try this shit again. And if I don’t come to school tomorrow don’t fucking get my things for me, I didn’t ask you to do that and I don’t give a crap about what I missed.”

He wants her to react. He wants her to look hurt or upset but she doesn’t. She’s unphased and it pisses him off more. Why the hell wasn’t she scared of him? Why the hell wasn’t she upset? He was being an asshole. He knew he was being an asshole. This beautiful, stubborn girl just walked into his house and took it upon herself to take care of him and he was treating her like she was nothing but a burden – a pain.

Fuck. Why was he like this?

“Okay.” She says with a little smile. “Drink fluids. Rest! Remember to eat.”

He scoffs a little, standing as he walks with her to the door. “Why? If I don’t is the pretty little soup angel going to come back?” He asks. He knows he’s flirting while also being a jerk. Maybe the food did help. That was more like his usual self.

She’s just still smiling and he wishes he could fucking smell her. It was a weird thought, he knew, but his nose was clogged and he couldn’t smell her or the soup or anything. In History class, when she sat in front of him he could smell her perfume – warm, musky, spiced. She smelt like fall. Like seasons changing. Everything about her from her sweaters to her hair screamed ember and honey. She goes back to his textbook and rips out a little piece of paper, pulling a pen from her bag. “Seriously, though. If you need anything or want to go to the doctor or something feel free to call me. You know I live like, two blocks away, right?”

He did not know that. Why would he know that?

Why was this girl barely even on his radar?

Obviously he’d noticed her. Obviously they’d shared small chatter before. Obviously he watched the back of her head like a hawk instead of actually listening to his teachers words, but he never considered her. Not like he considered other girls.

He never considered her as one of his conquests.

Not because he hadn’t wanted to…

“Yeah, I’ll call you.” He says with a fake smile, as if letting her know that he won’t in fact be calling. He holds the door open for her and watches as she hesitates to leave. Was she waiting for a thank you? Or was she just worried about him?

Could she be worried about him?

Jesus, being sick was making him mental. Why the hell should he care if some girl actually gave a shit? It’s not like she knew him, knew who he really was or what he was like. If she did she’d be running for the hills.

“Feel better.” She says, soft smile still on her perfect pink lips. He watched as she walked through it and down the stairs and past his car and –

He shut the door.

She was gone.

Jesus, thank fuck.

His breathing is fast and he takes a second, presses his forehead to the closed door to compose himself.

He goes back to school on Monday.

Maybe he takes a little bit more time on his appearance, and maybe it has something to do with the fact that the last time she saw him he looked like shit and he wants to remind her that he is, in fact, hot.

But he doesn’t want to look like he’s trying too hard so he throws on his deniem jeans and jacket over a basic white tee.

He knows his ass looks good in these pants and he imagines her staring as he walks past her to his seat.

But when the bell rings and he goes to class, her desk is empty.

And this royally fucks up his whole day.

He hadn’t really wanted to see her. In fact, he was partially dreading seeing her. He fully intended to flat out ignore her. He didn’t want her to think what she did mattered or that she was important in any way shape or form. He didn’t want to think they had some connection or bond just because she took care of him – without his asking.

Maybe she was just late?

But no, she was always here first. So what gives?

He leans forward in his seat and looks to the girl she was always chattering with. “Hey.” He says, trying to get her attention which is easy because, let’s face it, it’s him. “Where is she?” He asks, nodding his head toward the desk.

“She’s out sick.” The girl says back, looking confused as to why he’s even asking. “Must be something going around.” She turns back around in her seat, and Billy can tell she’s probably going to tell her that he’d been asking about her. Damnit.

He sits back in his seat.

Aw, hell. He got her sick.

Fuck.

The rest of the school day was long and he was in a sour mood now. He’d literally gotten up this morning with the motivation of seeing her.

Not that he cared but still.

Tommy kept getting on his nerves and he wasn’t really in the right head space for basketball. The whole day just dragged.

By the end of last period he couldn’t take it and bailed. Max could get a ride with one of her loser friends, besides, she’d notice his car gone immediately anyway.

It’s about thirty minutes later when he’s driving around, looking for her house. Two blocks away she said. Two blocks away from him.

He finally saw her car out front of a small, yellow cozy looking house. He stopped, parking the car and walking up to her front door, feeling like a jackass.

He knocked.

Then waited.

Then knocked again.

And then there she was.

Her eyes widen as she sees him. She was in plaid pajama pants, a white tee shirt with some cartoon on it that he didn’t know. He felt better now, seeing her like this after she had seen him in his damn bathrobe. Her hair was messy, cheeks red, but she still looked cute. She looked younger, more vulnerable like this.

She goes to open her mouth but Billy just thrusts a brown paper bag in her arms so fast she nearly drops it. “What’s this?” She asks, looking down.

“Soup.” He says, and suddenly he feels stupid. Really stupid. “It’s not a big deal or anything I just heard you were sick and on the way home I was driving past this diner and-“

“Thank you.” She says quickly, hugging the bag to her chest. God, she had a habit of cutting him off didn’t she? He stands back gruffly, putting his hands in his pockets. “I haven’t eaten. This is actually awesome.” Despite how sick she looked, her smile beamed at him.

“Not a big deal.” He repeats. “I gotta go.”

Before she can say anything else he turns and leaves.

At least now she could see how good his ass looked in these jeans.

#billy hargrove #dacre montgomery #stranger things #billy hargrove fluff #billy hargrove oneshot #billy hargrove one shot #billy hargrove fanfic #billy hargrove fanfiction

20 notes · View notes

sutjak · 1 year

Text

Fight Club headcanons ↴

Narrator

Autism food kinda guy, chicken nuggies (unseasoned) and apple sauce

Puts random shit in his mouth and accidentally eats a lot of it

Prefers weed tbh (NO edibles)

Wears women's undergarments

Outwardly masc

New Jersey :(

Really likes muted colors, Tyler's clothes sometimes give him headaches

Has been institutionalized before for sure

Very gay (he doesn't know)

Definitely threatens suicide and will go through with it just to win arguments

Subby for Tyler but also emotionally manipulates him (they are equals and as bad as each other)

Pervert in an Edwardian type of way, very shameful

Has a special blankie at the house that he hides from his roommate

Libertarian(?)

Tries to pet every animal he sees

Bitemark scars inside his mouth

Extreme cattiness

HATES kids

Marla is his manic pixie dream girl (platonically)

Tyler

Psychological warfare turns him on

Anarcho-communism all the way

Wears femme men's clothes or women's shirts and sometimes will wear dresses for Narrator

Disaster Bi slut

Cheats on Narrator all the time (no he doesn't get away with it, there have been many broken bones)

Over spices his food to the point of inedibility for everyone else

Hotboxes cars with cig smoke because he's an asshole

Actually decent at chess

Will do anything for $20

Versatile power bottom/bossy top

Emotional toxic masculinity

Probably is a baby daddy

The one who meticulously catalogues and restocks the first aid

Only reason Tyler has a driver's license is because he fucked the girl at the DMV

Crust punk in highschool (ew)

From North Carolina

LOVES cars, very much a car guy

Violent snuggler

Adores children

Is also misanthropic

Dad rock listener

Marla

Bestfriends with Narrator (even if he denies it)

Likes to make friendship bracelets

Nymphomaniac

Beautiful Princess Disorder :)

Shopaholic

Doesn't use labels

Very physically affectionate

Likes Narrator more than Tyler

Smells like rotting flowers

Not much of a drinker, only benzos and nic

Pretty goth gf why wont anyone date her :(

Wears briefs no bra or very complicated lingerie (no in-between)

Femme Fatale

Has killed a man

Crochets stuffed animals and granny square blankets

Listens to shitty Pop music unironically

Spearmint kind of girl, FUCK peppermint

Loves those stuffed gnomes you find in a Khol's and has a collection in her closet

Bitter foods are her favorite

Award for most STDs at one time

Breeding kink

Chicago girlie

Passenger princess all the way, never learned to drive

#fight club #fight club 1999 #narrator fight club #tyler durden #marla singer #fight club headcanons #shoutout to the person who made the BPD joke your comment makes me giggle everyday #yes I did project some of my issues on the Narrator why do you ask #soapshipping #tyler x narrator #I am infatuated by Marla's fashion style #Narrator has a bitchless personality like always #fuck Tyler Durden #Jack's thousand yard stare as I write this

109 notes · View notes

gabessquishytum · 2 years

Note

I now realize Dreamling has been all over the sugar daddy/baby spectrum

1389 & 1489: oh that fancy Lord is trying to get himself a bit of rough

1589: look at how hard Sir Gadlen is trying to impress that sweet boy. If Mr High-and-Mighty doesn't want him he's free to send Sir Gadlen my way. What's that? Mr All-black was Sir Gadlen's patron back in the day? My word. Sir Gadlen must have been very pretty back in the day. Oh look, he's swanning off with Skinny Shaxbeard. Think Sir Gadlen's in the market for a replacement?

1689: seriously? That smelly pauper? Methinks that toff has gone round the twist.

1789: is all-black the new fad for mollies now? Look at the khol and rouged lips on that one!

1889 & 2022: I'm pretty sure they'll be perceived as equals. Unless someone decides to play sugar baby :3

This is so true!! The power dynamics are super interesting through the centuries. Particularly if you think about how other people perceive Hob and Dream. Up until the more recent meetings there was a clear discrepancy between them in status (usually Dream comes across far more high status except in 1589). It's not until 1789/1889 when they appear more on an equal footing, which is also when Hob seems to grow more comfortable around Dream/take more risks.

The power really lies in Dream’s ability to choose his appearance, what kind of status he presents, while Hob has to show up as he is. Whatever attitude he projects, Dream shows that he's very much invested in the game of meeting Hob. An effort is being consciously made.

The historical concept of patronage is basically a form of sugar daddying, imo. In the white horse in 1389/1489 the people at the adjacent tables are definitely like "Ah yes, there goes our good friend Robert hoping to advance his fortunes by getting into that fancy lord's pants. Good luck to him!"

#panickingstudent #the sandman #dreamling #nsft #sugar daddy au

153 notes · View notes

orgasming-caterpillar · 10 months

Text

DOYH Chapter 20

Ranveer's POV

Ranveer was going to be sick. What the fuck had this day been? Not only had he surprised himself with his lack of restraint, it hadn't even earned the satisfaction from Raghav that he had expected.

He couldn't believe he wanted to confess today.

He couldn't bring himself to do it the entire day, thumb frozen just centimeters away from the dial button. He couldn't do it in the car, when Raghav himself was mere inches away from him. He couldn't do it after beating someone up for Raghav. And now they were backstage in the auditorium and a dozen hands were on him adjusting his hair, his makeup, his clothes, and he thought— might as well go through with the competition first.

It had all happened too fast. One moment, Raghav's hand was on his thigh, he was nipping at his bottom lip as he tried to concentrate on the road. He thought Raghav might want to talk, sort some shit out but the exact moment he opened his mouth to speak a person threw themselves in front of the car.

The moment Ayush slammed his fist on the car window Ranveer's vision went red. He didn't remember getting out of the car, didn't remember beating Ayush up, but he did remember that when he told Raghav how long he had wished to do that, Raghav didn't smile.

Nor was Raghav smiling now, as he stood behind Ranveer waiting for him to get his hair done.

Ranveer tried not to look at him. Lord knows what would happen if he let his gaze linger a bit too long. Raghav was wearing a silk maroon top of the same design as Ranveer's kurta, with a neckline stooping too low on his chest to leave any coherent thoughts in Ranveer's head.

Raghav walked out of the room to peek at the stage, and Ranveer followed soon after.

Lights were off. Tension was high. And only one man in the spotlight was speaking over the audience's polite claps.

Ranveer's heart shuddered in his chest as he realized who the man was.

He still looked the same as ever, though better groomed. There was a gray streak in his black hair that Ranveer didn't remember being there. His posture was the same, and so was his voice.

Laxman Bhargav. One of the judges for the competition, and Ranveer's father.

There was a distant hum building inside him, growing louder with each clap from the audience, with each syllable coming out of his estranged father's mouth. It came to a point Ranveer couldn't hear anything besides the hum. And in the silence, in his chest, a pressure made its presence known like some vengeful ghost. It filled his chest, filled his eyes and filled his world, making it difficult to breathe or see.

How could he have not expected this? Of course the college was going to invite a world known dancer for the competition, they did so every year.

He wanted to march over and make his fists sing. He wanted to run away and be done with this awful day. He wanted to scream at his father. He wanted to cry to his mother. He wanted to hide his sister. He wanted to do all of this at once, and restraining those urges was making him shake, concerning everybody in the backstage.

He could feel people eyeing him strangely. Fuck that. He couldn't give less of a shit. The thought of dancing in front of that monster made him queasy.

So he won't.

•••

“You have to!”

Raghav was banging on the door. Relentlessly.

For fuck’s sake. Let him breathe. Breathe. Breathe.

In. Out. In. Out. In. IN. IN. IN.

He couldn't.

“DARWAZA KHOL RANVEER!”

As he did, a very rattled Raghav took him in and started a new chant of curses. He wanted to say he’s not helping, but he was too busy trying to get air in his lungs.

“Okay, shit fuck what do i do what do i do you’re clearly having a panic attack.” He looked around the cramped changing room. “Okay shit listen,” he took Ranveer by his shoulders and got into his face, “you know that grounding technique where you use your senses? We’re going to do that. Tell me the five things you can see right now.” He wanted to snap at him that he can barely discern one leg from another but he focused on Raghav’s face, then his own reflection in the full length mirror, warm coloured and textured tiles on the floor, door of the stalls and the toilets insides. “Okay good, now four things you can feel.” Raghav’s hands on his shoulders, cold floor, wall on his back, Raghav’s breath on his face. “Done? Three sounds you can hear.” Raghav’s voice, his own heart beating out of his chest, and the sickly sweet voice of his own father.

His father was here.

Raghav's voice was getting distant. He could no longer hear it over the beating of his own heart.

"RANVEER!"

His vision swam. He let Raghav pull him into a chair. His temples throbbed with pain every time he thought of his father's sickly sweet voice.

Raghav cupped his face, making him look up into his pleading brown eyes. "What happened!?"

Ranveer swatted his hands away. His words were a sneer, "That's my fucking father, Raghav. Laxman Bhargav is my father."

Even saying the name had shame crawling in his gut. This was why his father had wanted to speak to him. He must have seen Ranveer's name in the contestants' profile. He-

His thoughts were interrupted by Raghav's hands on the back of his head, pulling him in. Before he knew it, the side of his face was pressed against the bare skin of Raghav's chest. The comforting weight of Raghav's hand was on his back and on the back of his head.

When he inhaled, he could smell the soft floral scent of Raghav's perfume, the freshly washed fabric of his top and beneath it, a warmth that was simply Raghav. Ranveer closed his eyes.

His panic seemed muted as he placed his hands on Raghav's sides, like the memory of hunger after you're full. Then why was his heart still racing? Or rather, was it the rampant beating of his own heart that was howling in his ears or was it Raghav's?

Dimly, he registered that this was very possibly the closest he would ever get to having Raghav in his arms.

"I'm sorry, Raghav."

A knock on the door snapped them both out of their daze.

Ranveer quickly stood up and began fixing his hair in the mirror. He couldn't bring himself to meet Raghav's gaze, even in the mirror. It didn't help that Raghav was staring at Ranveer's reflection so intently.

"Sorry for what?"

"Nothing," Ranveer replied a moment too soon.

"Ranveer." The chill in his voice sent a tremor through Ranveer's limbs. "What were you going to say?"

"Nothing, you should probably get the door-"

"You know who's at the door. They're calling us outside. What were you going to say?"

Ranveer turned around, a dark indifference in his eyes that marked the absence of whatever affection Raghav thought might have been in the air. "Open the door, Raghav. It's our performance."

Raghav was rooted in his place. His chest heaved with shallow breaths, his expression was a hundred different emotions. "Will you dance?" was all he asked. Though Ranveer wondered there were many other questions he wanted the answers to.

"Yes," he answered, to all of them.

#SORRY FOR THE LATE UPDATE YALL I ACTUALLY GOT FOOD POISONING AND THEN BLOOD INFECTION AND THEN TYPHOID CONSECUTIVELY #I hope y'all cry with love xoxo with love 😘#dancing on your heartstrings #madhav ke lekh

39 notes · View notes