#actually had to stalk a dead guy today at work. pretty proud of managing to find him. wasnt that hard tho just had to he creative lol

[fivefeetfangirl]

oh email answering gods please let editor of 15x18 donald l koch answer me soon 😭🙏

[deluluass]

What bliss, domesticity.

for: @tink2kagome. i’m sorry it took me so long to work on ur pretty setter squad request T^T i’ll probably do like another one in the future! 

  & @lady-tokugawa-of-mikawa @belpomme @chaichai-the-weeb for being such lovely mutuals <3 <3 

Content warnings: rape/noncon; nsfw; yakuza/organized crime; gun mention; a lot of (non-sexual) food references in this one

  Jun’ichi Saikawa was obviously the kind of man who liked to laugh. Not unlike most people in their world. The kind who use their entire body when they do, announcing to the entire world with a bellowing “Ha Ha Ha!” how pleased they are with whatever’s going on in front of them.

  Which, in all honesty, was pretty admirable, that the old man could still do it considering how bored to tears Wataru was. 

  That it’s a humid afternoon didn’t help either. He could feel the sweat on his back even when the doors were already slid open, exhibiting a verdant garden filled with blossoms and shrub peonies. From his place he could see the school of koi swirling in the shallow pond, their scales iridescent under the warm rays of the sun. 

  “Didn’t know you were the funny sort, 'Kaashi!” Saikawa blurted out, the sake in his hand spilling to his fingers.

  This wasn’t Wataru’s first day on the job, but this is the first that he gets to do something this important. And with someone he highly respects, too. 

  So he gave his collar a light tug, steeling himself to endure as he tucked his legs further beneath him, and resorted to thinking about the many things he would absolutely surrender just to lie down on the warm mat. 

  His car, maybe.

  The brand new noise-cancelling headphones he bought, if pushed. 

  Wataru saw Akaashi nod.

  “I appreciate a joke every now and then,” he said.

  The larger man laughed again.

  “Here, here!” Saikawa thundered, snatching a tiny, yellow box from the maid who appeared as swiftly as she’d left. 

  “I heard you like sweets. Here,” he said, grinning as he handed it to Akaashi. “My youngest son just opened a cake shop. I know what you’re thinking, but who am I to say no, eh?”

  Akaashi passed the box to Wataru. 

  “Mind it for me, please,” he whispered.

  How unexpected. Akaashi-san has a sweet tooth.

  Huh. 

  That’s pretty neat. Wataru himself wasn’t partial to cakes, but he does love pudding. 

  “You are a good father, Jun’ichi-san,” Akaashi told him. 

  This time, Wataru didn’t bother suppressing a yawn as Saikawa fumbled for his phone, hiding it behind his hand as he stared at the birds chirping and hopping about outside.

  “Wanna see him? He’s much like you! Good head on his shoulders, that one.” 

  “I am honored, Jun’ichi-san,” Akaashi echoed back, peering down at the photos Saikawa showed him. 

  “He sends me a lot of these- uh,” Saikawa snorted, his nose reddened by the alcohol. “What do young people call it, the- pictures-”

  “Selfies?” Akaashi politely supplied. 

  “That’s the one! Look. Precious, ain’t he?”

  His earpiece crackled to life. 

  Konoha’s voice emerged from the static. 

  “We’re ready when you are,” his senior murmured. “Man, this is taking too long. Let’s get some burgers when we’re done.”

  “Akaashi-san,” Wataru croaked, feeling his cheeks heat up as he continued, “K-Komi-san and the others are waiting for you.”

  Saikawa perked up. “Ah, of course! Of course!” 

  He stumbled when he attempted to stand up. Akaashi was quick on his feet to assist him.

  “I knew I could count on you, son,” he muttered, patting Akaashi’s back. “Now, you tell Bokuto that what happened between us- it’s all in the past! All in the past! And if those bastards mess with him again, you tell him to run to old Jun’ichi!”

  Akaashi clasped Saikawa’s hand.

  “Thank you,” Akaashi said. “I’ll be sure to relay your sentiments to Bokuto-san.”

  “You do that, my boy.” Saikawa’s belly shook as he laughed. “Your generation’s a smart one, indeed. The in-fighting and wars, bah! All that trouble for nothing; that’s not your style. Your lot’s the future now!”

  Then, Akaashi stepped a few meters back and bowed. 

  Wataru followed behind him. 

  “We will be taking our leave,” Akaashi said. “It has been an illuminating talk, Jun’ichi-san.”

  The sound of the bamboo drip trickling water into another stalk permeated through the silence.

  It collapsed and clunked against a stone. 

  He heard the birds flutter away.

  When Wataru raised his head, Saikawa had already been lying face down on the floor. 

  And, of course, Wataru’s used to it: the crack of a gun muffled by a silencer. 

  He’s been practicing his entire life, after all. He actually doesn’t flinch anymore and Wataru thinks he should be proud of himself.

  It’s just that... how could someone who used to be there, suddenly...disappear? Saikawa was right in front of him a few minutes ago. Laughing and showing off photographs of his son. And now he’s...not.

  But, Saikawa didn’t disappear. Not really. 

  The blood seeping through the tatami is proof of it, but Wataru chooses not to look. In theory, he knows what a bullet through the skull looks like. He’d just rather not see today if what he’s taught reflects true in the real world. 

  Maybe some other time.

  “Wataru.” 

  Wataru flinched. “Y-yes?”

  Akaashi looked back at him. “The cake?”

  His body was still trembling and it took a lot of strength to not let it show in his hands when he gave it back to Akaashi, the box pleasantly yellow with doodles of doe-eyed eggs dancing along the handle. Unblemished, unlike Akaashi, who was sporting a splatter of blood along his cheek. 

  It’s surprisingly still cool to touch, too.

  “No, thank you,” he said, rejecting the handkerchief that Wataru offered. 

  From afar, Wataru could hear the faint melodies of an old love song being played by a car radio. No doubt Konoha’s doing. It followed them, growing louder the closer they walked back into the parking lot. The others bowed and sent gruff salutations along Akaashi’s way as they dragged bodies out of the Saikawa mansion. 

  (It was nauseating and Wataru wanted to pass out.)

  He pressed his nails harshly into the meat of his palm. 

  “A-Akaashi-san,” Wataru began. “I didn’t know that- that um, you liked... sweets.”

  Akaashi halted. 

  “No, I don’t,” he said, blinking. “But my wife does.”

  Wataru stared at him. 

  Akaashi went ahead. 

  He stayed that way— staring and wondering, until they stopped by the fast food restaurant that Konoha loved so much. Wataru couldn’t even finish his burger and fries. 

  By the time that they hit the freeway, Akaashi had already cleaned himself up and Wataru was still grappling with the word “wife.” 

  Of course he knows the man is married. 

  But, how, exactly, do you reconcile his reputation with the sight of him, every passing headlight sharpening his features, quietly humming along to Aki Yashiro? Who was longing for Shinjuku at night, the beauty of it, and oh, how wonderful it’d be, she said: a rendezvous with her lover, waiting for her under raining cherry blossoms. 

  Wataru figured that he was tired and starting to see things. 

  That small smile that graced Akaashi’s lips couldn't be real, either, especially those hands of his that held the box of cake like it’s worth more than gold.

He wasn't really particular when it comes to music. A song's a song, in Akaashi's opinion. Another form of noise that helps when the silence gets too overbearing. 

  But you, on the other hand, liked music. Listened to it the same way one eats their favorite food: memorizes the lyrics; goes out of your way to collect unearthed photographs and newspaper clippings that made the singer seem more human.

  You loved music— was probably the right way of putting it.

  Especially the old variety. He didn't get it at first. The sounds are dated; no one speaks in that language with that cadence anymore; the singer's probably dead.

  Well, Akaashi still doesn't get it, if he were to be honest. 

  Yet here he is. 

  His hands were wrapped around your waist, coaxing you into a slow— albeit clumsy, waltz.

  "Kei-kun!" you squeaked. "The dishes!"

  You dragged your slippers beneath you, struggling to wipe the suds off your hands. 

  "S-seriously, Kei-kun..!"

  Sure, he doesn’t fully understand what’s great about it, music. 

  Yet here he is. 

  Perhaps it’s because he immediately recognized the first few notes this time, that’s why he’s doing this. He didn’t even wait for the DJ to finish saying, “You’re still listening to Vintage F.M. Here’s a classic for you couples out there. Have a romantic night with Nat King Cole’s L-O-V-”

  Perhaps it’s because your cream stew tasted extra special that it made him shrug the fatigue off, giving in to the urge of pulling you close and taking your damp hand in his to sway and bob along the skipping bassline. Your bashful objections went in one ear and out the other.

  Sure, he’s not the type to do this, either, dancing. 

  Yet here he is. 

  Perhaps it’s because he knew that it’s your favorite song.

  Perhaps it’s just what marriage does to you.

  "Did you like the cake?" he whispered against your neck, inhaling the scent of cinnamon and the way your skin jumped as he did.

  Your breaths were shallow against his chest, but you managed a soft, “Yes, sweetheart. Thank you.”

  Akaashi caressed your back, kneading the tensed muscles as he huffed. 

  “Good,” he murmured, trembling. “Good girl. What a relief." 

  It was endearing, how offbeat the both of you were. A shame, though, considering that Nat King Cole’s fervently insisting on love; that it’s all that I can give to you; that it’s more than just a game for two. 

  So Akaashi makes up for his two left feet by joining in. He pressed his lips to your forehead. How strange, your presence in his life. What did he do to deserve you by his side, for this contentment that thaws away the chill?

  (He put a ring on your finger, is what he did. He deserves this.)

  “Two,” he droned, made giddy by the sparks in his belly, “in love can make it.”

  You looked at him, wide-eyed. 

  “Take my heart and please don’t break it.”

  He spun you around.

  “Oh my god, Kei-kun,” you gasped. “You can’t sing.”

  Akaashi’s aware of it all too well. He can’t carry a note; not him: the guy who’s had monotony ingrained in his very being. But that’s why he has you.

  A startled giggle left you as he guided you into a box step, the trumpet rising and falling over the strings. You stepped on him a few times, so he lifted you up, just so, and kicked off your slippers. Then, he set your feet atop his own. 

  He took you with him as he moved, waddling and careful not to hit his back against the countertop. It came as no revelation that both of you weren’t any better dancers even after this maneuver.

  Akaashi continued. Starting with L—

  “Is for the way you look at me.”

  “Stop, stop-” Your eyes crinkled at the sides. “You’re flat.”

  Akaashi persisted, anyway, taking your cheek to pepper kisses all over your face.

  “O is for the only one I see.”

  Your laugh was airy— light and buoyant all over the kitchen, like a fairy leaving stardust in its wake. Not gratingly booming nor demanding. After all, you weren’t the kind who felt the need for it: an audience to witness how pleased you are; how strong and powerful you are over everyone else. 

  Besides, your laugh was just for him. A private and intimate thing. And he was so lost in it that he almost forgot what’s been gnawing at him for the entire morning.

  Akaashi rested his chin on your shoulder, nuzzling the downy fabric of your dress as he gripped you by the hips. 

  “Where did you go earlier?” 

  The orchestra was in a joyous uproar, joining the rapid beating of your heart; the trumpet bright and clear, singing in harmony with the bass and saxophones and trombones, as Nat King Cole repeatedly guaranteed, as if an oath, that love was made for me and you. 

  Love was made for me and you.

  “I had to buy some groceries!” you piped up. “We ran out of ingredients. Sorry, I forgot to bring my phone with me. Oh, I have to run you a bath. I’ll tell you when it’s done, alright?”

  You broke away from him with a beaming grin, but Akaashi wanted to ask, despite the evidence of it before him. 

  “Are you happy?”

  It has already ended, the song. The DJ was signing off for the night.

  You nodded, playfully jabbing his arm with a fist. 

  “Of course,” you told him. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

  Perhaps it’s because you were never really good at pretense, no matter how much you hid behind needless noise. 

  Music. Laughter. Running water. 

  Akaashi sighed as he slumped down the nearest stool.

  Of course you’re happy. Why wouldn’t you be?

  After rubbing his eyes with clammy fingers, Akaashi fiddled them together beneath his temples. He released a heavy breath and fished for his phone in his pocket.

  He spoke after the first two rings. 

  “Wataru-san, I’m sorry for bothering you,” he said. “Can you do something for me?”

  His subordinate didn't ask him why, neither did he react when he'd stated his request. Akaashi knew, however, that the question was sitting in Wataru's clipped replies. The boy’s “yes, sir” and “understood, sir” were far too enthusiastic than normal.

  Akaashi didn’t mind, though, if he did ask. And despite that familiar pang of dread, Akaashi would answer him like the common— just like the average, everyday husband— with that characteristic, bordering on irksome pride that they have when they talk about their wives. 

  Why?

  “Well, Wataru-san,” Akaashi would answer. “Perhaps this is just what marriage does to you.”

The house was a house like any other.

  There was an old pickup truck parked outside the freshly painted gate, carrying crates of fruits and vegetables in its trunk. Along the bricked walls was an overgrowth of vines and ferns. It extended around the windows and crept up the balcony.

  A large Shiba ran outside and jumped to your lap as soon as it saw you by the driveway.

  Wataru heard Chiaki stir at the back of the car.

  “Pay up, asshole,” he grunted, waking a disheveled Ryota who’s still holding a half-bitten melon bread.

  His lackey cracked his neck and gave the scenery a cursory glance. “Could be a front.”

  Ryota grumbled and went back to sleep.

  “Idiot,” Chiaki clicked his tongue. “She traveled all the way to Miyagi just to give intel? And here? Of all places?”

  Three days. 

  They’ve tailed you for three days. Akaashi-san never said anything else, besides that within the week, while he’s gone and sealing deals in another country, there was a high likelihood of you folding and getting out of Tokyo. 

  To run right here. In Miyagi.

  He didn’t say why, really, but Wataru supposes it’s better that he didn’t. Because during the days of absolute, mind-crushing boredom, of watching some suburban wife go out for a morning walk, chat with her neighbors, and shop around the market, rinse and repeat, coming up with the Why had been their only salvation.

  The betting pool has two answers: cheater or snitch.

  Chiaki was insistent on the former, while Ryota stood by the latter. 

  And Wataru...Wataru could only watch, waiting with a bated breath as the door finally opened.

  “I bet it’s someone younger,” Chiaki said. “Usually is.”

  Seems that none of them were winning anything today.

  The man who emerged from the house was far older— who, oddly enough, resembled you. An  old woman soon followed behind him. Both of them looked at you as if they were witnessing a specter, or someone who's crawled back from the dead. An appropriate comparison, especially since they’re both wearing somber black clothes.

  It wasn’t his place to assume. Though he’s been promoted to a slightly higher position, it will never come close to the place that Keiji Akaashi occupies. Wataru knows all of these, but nothing was stopping him from putting the pieces together, no matter what little he has.

  They could only stare when all of you broke down into tears, locked in each other’s embrace as you knelt on the pavement. 

  Don’t let her stay too long.

  That had been one of Akaashi-san’s orders.

  So the three of them didn’t wait it out. By the time that the sun had set, Wataru had already stepped out of the car, taking Ryota with him. He made sure to remind the boy, just in case he’d forgotten.

  “Be gentle, alright?” Wataru reiterated.

  There hadn’t been any need for that, it turned out. 

  He’s sure you’ve never met before, but Wataru saw bitter understanding flash in your eyes when you caught them loitering in front of your house. Fear was there, too, of course. 

  Wataru was convinced that surely it’s a good thing. It saved everyone a lot of time, that way.

  You didn’t even say a word, only giving Wataru a stiff nod when he’d introduced himself, and remained like so on the ride back to Tokyo, with the strap of your handbag trapped by a clenched fist. Wataru didn’t try to initiate small talk; it felt unnecessary.

  It took a while for Wataru to realize that you also hadn’t bothered to change out of your pajamas, though he gave you a couple of minutes to say your farewells. 

  Pajamas, obscured now by a thick, gray coat. 

  Akaashi-san was right.

  You had no plans of coming home. Not tonight. Maybe not for a while.

  Wataru decided not to linger on it anymore. 

  He ignored the blank stare that pierced right through the rear-view mirror. And then, Wataru wondered, hand sweating in his pocket, what the three of them should have for dinner.

Thick chunks of pumpkin melted in your mouth with just the first spoonful of broth. 

  It'd been a while since the last time Akaashi cooked. So, more than anything, it was the sight of him setting plates and utensils that took you aback, greeting you with a, "Welcome home. You're just in time. Food's ready," his sleeves rolled to his elbows while donning your baby owl-printed apron. 

  The taste didn't. Surprise you, that is. He's a good cook. Unlike you, who only became marginally better one hundred burn scars later. 

  It also didn't surprise you that he flew back home at the drop of a hat. Even when he said he'd be gone for a week.

  "How is it?" Akaashi asked after chewing. "Took me a while to make it."

  It obviously did, you thought. When you arrived, Irma Thomas was already begging through the record player.

  "Do you need me, like I need you?" she implored, straight from the heart. "Look at me, I'm crying from holding you." 

  The last song on your favorite record. It was cheap and had the best from the artists you loved. 

  Etta James. Ella Fitzgerald. Aretha Franklin. The Mills Brothers. Bessie Smith. All in one vinyl.

  "Yeah," you replied, clearing your throat when you realized how hard it is to speak. "It's delicious."

  You looked back down to your bowl. The  tofu had gone untouched. Your food was still close to spilling to the brim, while Akaashi was almost finished with his, scrolling on his phone laid on the table.

  "So no one coaxed you into it," you heard him say, and that had ripped your eyes away from the broth like a bandage on an infected wound.

  Akaashi was holding your phone, reading the messages- his number was the only one there, as pealing bells resonated in the dining room. 

  "I'd think of all the things that I wanted of you," cried Irma Thomas. "To make me forget the pain that you caused."

  "I would've known if anyone else talked to you, anyway," he huffed, locking the screen before blowing steam off the morsel. 

  "You would," you conceded. The tofu was soft when you bit into it, sinking into your teeth.

  "I found that in our cabinet. Last time it was in the kitchen drawer, wasn't it?" Akaashi helped himself to a bowl of rice. "Don't leave it in stuffy places. What if you forget where you hid it and you won't know when I call?"

  "And I can no longer keep track of where you are for every moment of the day?" you could hear him say. Though he didn't; though all that could heard, besides the scraping of utensils, was Irma Thomas declaring:

  A fragile thing, like life. It just don't last so long.

  It could be for a minute or an hour. Or then again, from now.

  Your lips tightened with a grin. "I won't do it again, sweetheart," you said, spoon hanging limply in your hold.    

  He didn't need to say it. 

  That your phone has a tracker. That this house is still the same cage that it'd been before. That the only difference between then and now is that silver band on your finger.

  Akaashi’s blinked back at you as he sipped  what remained of the soup. You tried to do the same.

  The savory taste was cloying and it burned in your throat, so you didn't attempt to finish the bowl. It cut down to your heart, sinking heavily on your stomach, bile rising as the song came to a close.

  You gulped it down, though. You had to. And in the final moments, Irma Thompson told you what she really wanted. 

  "Make me forget," she said, "the pain that you'd caused."

  The chorus joined her. "Understanding is a great thing," she concluded. "If it comes from the heart."

  Akaashi was on his own phone this time. Most likely checking on the business that he left, judging by those furrowed brows and that long-suffering look in his eyes.   

  Fizzling noise came at the heels of the fading music. Then, it stopped. And there was nothing left anymore but silence.

  It's over now. Akaashi’s making a move to clean up. You were supposed to say, "That was a lovely dinner, honey." Or, you could tell him to sit down and watch a movie with you when he's done. 

  "I'll help you with the dishes," you wanted to say. 

  I'll help you with the dishes. It was so easy to say. 

  Instead, what came out of your mouth was a hushed call for his name.

  "Kei-kun," you repeated, brittle and weak and dry.  

  "I'm so sorry," you might've mouthed. 

  You could barely hear your own voice as you looked at him. Akaashi paused from tidying the table. 

  You're parched and a lot has happened today. Gathering the courage to take that first step out of the city had taken what little strength you had. The fear never left you. Seeing your old house almost ended you. 

  It should be physically impossible for you to still be able to cry. And yet there doesn't seem to be an end to your tears now, the same way your apologies unfurled in an embarrassingly infinite string.

  "Don't lock me inside here again," you whispered, clinging to him as he shushed you, wiping your cheeks with his thumbs as he helped you drink a glass of water.

  He carried you to your room and sat you down on the bed, right between his thighs. You sobbed into your hands, tears and snot on the sleeves of your pajama top.

  "I- I just wanted to see them. That's all. Just one day, Kei-kun. One day. I was gonna come back, I swear." 

  You're rambling. You're a madwoman pleading and bargaining with a stone-cold judge because playing house is the only thing keeping her alive. 

  And you messed that up you foolish, foolish girl.

  "Please don't hurt my family," you heaved. "They're all I have left."

  Akaashi doesn't speak, not for a while, but when he did, you bawled harder.

  "I can kill them all," he said, matter of factly. 

  It is true. Hearing him say it does not make it easier to take, though. 

  "I can hurt you the same way that you hurt me."

  Your neck strained as he tipped your chin towards him with a slender finger. 

  "I can break you," he muttered, not batting an eye.

  That, too, is true. You know it all too well. He said it with such serenity, still and undisturbed by the shaking of your head, because it goes without saying. 

  Except, you, too, know it. 

  When he is breaking. When he is falling apart.

  He smothered you, taking your entire body to curl against you, making himself small as he pressed his face on your back.

  "Yet- and yet I-" Akaashi sniffled. You felt your shirt dampen. "I've given you everything."

  When he finally brought his face close to yours, he looked so lost. Almost like a little boy who's on the verge of drowning,  clinging desperately onto a lifesaver and too shocked to shout for help. 

  You hated him all the more for it.

  "Each other," he said, snarling, almost, through tears as he grabbed your face with both hands. "That's all we have left, you hear? You and I. Husband and wife."

  He seized your jaw and turned it towards the vanity mirror.

  The room was dark save for the light in the hallway, peeking into the crack through the doorway. 

  But you could see yourself. And you could see your hand intertwined in his, your rings gleaming like muted starlights. 

  "We made a vow," he whispered, kissing your ring finger. 

  A detached part of you is astonished with how inescapable it is. Whether it be a reward or a punishment; a good day or a bad one.

  No matter what happens, you always end up like this, don't you? 

  Begging to him with your legs spread wide.

  You did as you'd always done when he began unbuttoning your top. 

  You go back to that autumn morning, when you first laid your eyes on him, a cup of coffee in his hand, and you thought that he had the prettiest face you'd ever seen.

  You go back to when he was just this really romantic guy who sent you flowers every day. There was a letter, every time. 

  Nothing too grandiose. Just short messages hoping that you'd have a great day ahead.

  He kissed your neck, wet smooches and long, flat-tongued licks dipping down your shoulder.

  He watched you through the mirror, his eyes a pair of darkened blues daring you to look away.

  Akaashi Keiji was your boyfriend, you told yourself. You dated him for quite some time before you married.

  Akaashi Keiji got along well with your father and doted on your mother. On Sundays, you visit them and they send you back to Tokyo with ripe watermelons. 

  Akaashi Keiji has never hurt you.

  The man tracing the hem of your bra, cupping your clothed tits and drawing lazy circles over nipples, however, did.

  (And he still will in future. He still is, right now.)

  This man is the real one. 

  And you have angered him, so he will not make this easy for you.

  "What did you promise me?" Akaashi whispered as he lightly bit the shell of your ear. "Or have you forgotten?"

  Of course, you haven't forgotten. You were chained to this very room when you made them, after all.

  "N-no, I remember," you said, catching your breath. "I remember, Kei-kun."

  "Then say it," he said. "Look at me."

  You shivered as his palms swept over your  stomach; as he unfastened your bra, letting it fall down your arms.

  "Look at me when you say it."

  You felt your nipples harden, gooseprickles spread all over you, as the air hit your bare skin, cooling the sweat that made it glisten.

  "Please," he rasped.

  The eyes of the woman in the mirror was hooded, threatening to close as she puffed with each squeeze and caress to her tits, swiveling her hips against her husband’s crotch as he grinded into her. 

  "I will be happy," she said.

  Akaashi nuzzled your temple, using his rough fingers to tease your nipples just as he did, brushing them to and fro, then grazing the bumpy skin around until you're squeaking out his name. 

  And when he began pressing down on the stiff peaks with his thumbs, before rolling and pulling at them, the heels of his palm digging into your tits, you saw the woman claw at her husband's hair, a graceless affair that almost scratched his eye out, making him reach for both her arms to wrap them around his neck. 

  "I- I will..!" Her lips parted in a breathless scream and it was disgusting how lewd she appeared. "I will not run away!"

  The streak of tears on his cheeks touched yours when he kissed you. His lips were soft and warm, his wet tongue gliding in so slowly as he deepened the kiss with a throaty groan.

  His other hand crawled down to your soaked panties. You couldn't contain the mewl that left you.

  Both of you gasped and struggled to breathe again after you parted from each other.  

  "You understand, don't you?" he rasped.   

  Two of his fingers slid down your folds, only to slither back up, then down again, smearing your cunt with its own slick.

  But he never touched your swollen clit, even though it's throbbing and aching to be rubbed and the hard bulge sitting between your ass grew harder the more you squirmed in his hold, whimpering like a bitch in heat.  

  You heard your husband sigh, his hot breath tickling you when he said, "This isn't about you now."

Belly pushed into the edge of the dressing table, rattling and battering against the wall with each forceful thrust, and your leg perched atop it, made numb by Akaashi's grip on your thigh.

  That was the first thing that you could recall when you opened your eyes.

  But your entire body was screaming in pain, so you knew that everything else that happened last night would come back to you soon enough.

  The flesh had a memory of its own. 

  You sat up with a groan and you didn't have to see the marks to know.

  His teeth were still nipping at you, biting you until they drew blood, only to follow with an apologetic lapping of his tongue. 

  You could feel him beneath you, his hands clawing you down to him, palms kneading your ass cheeks as you bounced up and down on his cock.

  You could feel him above you, gripping your wrists not unlike the cuffs that once kept you shackled. He had your legs wrapped around his waist, pulling you close to him, filling you up with loads and loads of cum, squelching every time he sank down your weeping hole.

  And when your vision began to blur at the edges, he carried your body, mere seconds into fainting, to the dressing table. 

  The evidence of that stared back at you in shameful streaks and smudges, traces of your fingers on the mirror when he rammed your cunt from behind.

  "Are you happy?" Akaashi whispered.

  You don't know. 

  When he's just your husband who comes home to your arms and brings you sweets because he knows how much you love them; who dances with you in the kitchen and listens intently to you when you talk about that cute dog you saw at the park, were you happy, then?

  You don't know, but the woman in the mirror, in that moment, surely was.

  She even said, "Yes, yes, Kei-kun, right there, fuck me right there!"

  Her pupils were blown wide, eyes rolling almost over to the back of her head. And despite the cries that escaped her, there was a wide, dissipated smile on her lips,  spit trailing down her chin.

  "Look at you," Akaashi said, grunting when your walls tightened around his shaft. "You're clearly happy with me."

  "So why? Why'd you even think of leaving?" He rocked his hips, grinding his thick cock against that spot that had you holding onto the mirror. "Don't ever do that to me again." 

  You told him no, no, you won't run away again, but it didn't seem to placate his unease, nor his tears.

  "I'm so scared, everyday, that you'll leave me and- and- it feels like hell. I would rather die." 

  He kissed your nape as he huffed and said, "Because I don't know what I'll do without you."

  You never really understood why; what about you had caused him to single you out in the sea of people that had vied for his attention. Especially now as you looked at yourself in the mirror.

  There were dark circles under your eyes and Akaashi’s t-shirt was rumpled on your body, engulfing you whole with its size— a far cry from that lovely, dazzling bride that his best friend, Bokuto, had described you as on your wedding day. 

  But you’re aware, more than anyone, that Akaashi Keiji is the last person to care about appearances. 

  When he entered the room, carrying a tray in his hands, he gazed at that disheveled girl with eyebags big enough to be dragged around the same way he looked at her when he waited for her at the end of the aisle.

  “I made you pancakes,” he muttered, clearing his throat as he sat down beside you.

  You were tired so it didn’t dawn on you as quickly as it should that he made them the way you preferred. Four fluffy pieces stacked atop one another, sprinkled with powdered sugar, whipped cream and a smattering of berries on the side.

  He fiddled with his fingers when you only stared at it, so you immediately took the fork in your hand and sliced the pancake in half.

  “I’ll be taking some time off work,” Akaashi said as you took the food in your mouth. You only nodded, having noticed that he wasn’t wearing the usual bespoke suit as soon as he entered the room.

  You felt him near you; felt his hand, warm to touch, cup your face.

  “I didn’t mean to hurt you.” His eyes were misty and, this close, it seemed that he, too, wasn’t in a good shape. “So please-” Akaashi licked his chapped lips, “Please don’t go.”

  “I won’t,” you replied, giving him the smile that you knew he needed. “I promise.”

  Then, as you moved to kiss him on the cheek, the chains that tethered you to the bedpost clinked softly beneath the blanket, and you didn’t bother to keep the tears at the bay.

  Akaashi wiped them for you when you said that you loved him. And when he asked why, you only shrugged and told him that the pancakes were so sweet that they could make anyone cry. 

[recurring-polynya]

@trulytaka​ asked: um i’ve always dreamt about a tattoo artist!renji falling for a client AU. it’s okay if you can’t come up with anything, just a suggestion!

How is it even possible that I have never read a Tattoo Artist! Renji AU?? (If there is one, please, send it to me immediately). Anyway, I got way too enamored of this idea, this is not even remotely a drabble, it is 4400 words and it is incredibly self-indulgent, I am absolutely not sorry.

It takes place in America and everyone is Japanese-American, because I am way more comfortable writing about American tattoo culture. I have never actually read a Tattoo Artist AU, I don’t know how they are supposed to go, this is just based on my own experiences getting inked. It’s mostly a story about Rukia and Renji being incredible nerfballs, there are not nearly enough stories about Rukia being a nerfball around Renji.

Read on ao3 or ff.net

💀     🛹     💕

Izuru Kira found Renji Abarai in the break room, simultaneously trying to cram a burrito into his face and read a Hellboy comic. He was holding the comic open with his elbow in an attempt to avoid spilling guacamole on Abe Sapien.

“Your two o’clock is here,” Izuru informed his distinguished colleague.

“Oh, great!” Renji replied, creasing the foil wrapper into a spout so that he could pour the last of the salsa drippings into his mouth.

“She’s waiting in the consult room,” Izuru went on, watching Renji toss the crumpled foil ball across the room, completely missing the trash can. “Look, have you met her before? A Miss Kuchiki?”

“Just exchanged a few emails,” Renji replied, as he scrubbed his hands at the sink. “Why? Is she scary?”

“Not in the usual way of Abarai clients,” Izuru replied. “I was just… wondering if she was... in the right place.”

“Her request was very specific,” Renji replied, scooping up his comic and the manila folder underneath it. “In fact, I am quite proud of what I came up with for her.” He whipped the folder open.

Izuru stared at it for a moment. “That is so specific.”

“I honestly think this is one of the best tatts I have ever designed. I hope she’s a real weirdo, because not just anyone deserves a masterpiece of this caliber.”

“Mmm,” Izuru agreed. “Yeah. Anyway, if there’s been a, uh, miscommunication, see if you can just… redirect her. Both Momo and I are in today, okay?”

Renji scoffed and stuffed his comic in Izuru’s hand as he marched down the hall toward the consult room. A miscommunication. Renji wondered what was wrong with her. She was probably mousy and wore glasses. Izuru always assumed girls like that would rather have a sad poem about the sea or a sprig of herbs inked on her wrist (conveniently, his specialties). Plenty of mousy girls with glasses would rather rock some fangs or dripping daggers, in Renji’s professional experience.

“Knock knock!” he announced, as he slid the door open. He took one step into the room and stopped dead.

Rukia Kuchiki was not mousy. She did not wear glasses.

Renji didn’t know much about suits. He did not happen to own one himself. But he guessed that Rukia Kuchiki’s suit was expensive, in part because it fit her perfectly, despite her tiny frame. It was jet black, and didn’t have a single speck of lint or cat hair on it. Her perfectly manicured hands were folded neatly on top of her crossed legs. She was wearing very tall, very pointy heels. Their soles were bright red, which Renji had learned from television meant that they were super expensive. He realized that he probably shouldn’t be looking at her legs, even though they were very nice to look at. His eyes snapped up to her face, but that honestly wasn’t any better.

Renji wasn’t often attracted to women, but she had probably the most interesting face he had ever seen-- heart-shaped, with big, dark eyes, a sharp chin, the cutest little nose. Her make-up was subtle and professional, and her hair was swept up with a clip, although it must be fairly short, because a few pieces hung down in front of her ears, and a thick lock dangled between her eyes.

She looked like a mean lawyer from a movie, one that would drive a fancy sportscar like an act of violence. Scary, for sure. But not in the usual way of Abarai clients, who tended toward the large and beefy, not that sharp and sharklike.

That nose, though.

Suddenly, her face split into a big grin. “Hi,” she announced brightly. “I’m Rukia Kuchiki.” She had a deep voice, a very beautiful voice. “You must be Renji Abarai.” Her eyes flicked to his arms. “I mean, of course you are, who else would have those arms? They’re so cool.”

“My arms?” Renji said stupidly. “Are they… famous?”

Rukia’s cheeks flushed. “Oh, well, I follow you on Instagram, and you don’t have any pictures of your face, but your arms are in a lot of the shots and they’re, well, they’re kinda distinctive. Do you think, um, would you mind if I looked at them?”

Renji’s eyebrows shot up. It’s not like he wasn’t used to having his arms checked out, but most people were more… subtle about it. Oh, well, it was her dime. “I didn’t do them myself, obviously,” he pointed out, rolling up the sleeves of his t-shirt so she could see the baboon skull on his left shoulder. A skeletal arm traced down the rest of that arm, complete with an outline of his own hand bones. On the right side, a snake spine coiled around his bicep, ending with a hissing skull. “I mean, it was my design, but my friends-- the other three tattoo artists here-- all helped ink me up.” He plopped down in the chair that sat catty corner to the couch where Rukia was sitting, and held his arms out. “We’re sort of a full-service studio. I’m the skeletons and monsters guy. Izuru, the guy you met on desk duty today-- is good at calligraphy and watercolors and little, itty bitty tattoos. Momo is our nature girl, she specializes in flowers and animals, and she’s great with bright colors. The snake skull was all her. Shuuhei is really into classic tattoo art-- you need a hula girl or a heart with an arrow through it, he’s your man. He’s also incredibly talented at revamping old regret tattoos, there’s good money in that.”

“Mm,” Rukia agreed, finally tearing her eyes away from his forearms to look up at his face, and abruptly turned even pinker. A lot of people fantasized about getting a tattoo and then got a bad case of nerves when it was time to make the leap. Maybe all this was way out of her comfort zone. Renji was trying his best to be friendly and chatty, which usually helped, but he was not used to dealing with this class of lady. He hoped he wasn’t coming off as too familiar.

“Actually,” Rukia went on, pulling on her fingers nervously. “I picked this place specifically because of you. For your work, I mean. I’m kind of a big fan. I saw some of your paintings at an exhibition over at the Fine Arts College, and I just, you know, fell in love. I’d always thought I’d like to get a tattoo someday, and when I found out that you were a tattoo artist, I knew it had to be you. I’ve been looking forward to this for a long time, and I’m babbling and I’m really sorry, I’m just very excited.”

Renji blinked. “You’re not babbling,” he replied slowly. He was sort of hoping she might say some more things about how much she liked his art in her beautiful voice. “Wait, an exhibition at the art school? That must have been at least three years ago, when I was doing my MFA.”

“Er, right,” Rukia looked a little sheepish. “A friend of mine had some work in the same exhibit, you probably don’t know her. My favorite one of your paintings was the one with the Black Lagoon creatures eating hamburgers at a diner, but I also really liked the one that was like a huge monster with a big bone mask stalking through a city, the way you did the shadows was just incredible.”

That particular painting was currently wrapped in brown paper and stuffed behind Renji’s couch. His last boyfriend had told him it was “creepy.”

“Uh, glad you liked it,” Renji managed. “Who was your friend?”

“Her name is Inoue. Orihime Inoue.”

“Oh, the robot girl!” Renji exclaimed. “Er, I mean she drew robots. Constantly. For every assignment. I didn’t mean to imply she was… robotic. In any way.” Jeez, Abarai, pull it together, he chided himself. “Yeah, I remember her. I didn’t know her well, but she sure could draw some tight robots. Is, she, uh, doing well?”

“She’s doing storyboards for a stop-motion animation studio,” Rukia replied.

Renji smiled. “That sounds perfect for her.”

Rukia bit her bottom lip and Renji’s throat went dry.

“So, um, you said in your email that you would have a design for me to look at?”

Renji realized that he was gripping the folder like a doofus. “Right! I did a couple of variations,” he explained, passing it from one hand to the other. “But you explained the concept pretty clearly, and I’m really happy with how the first one came out. I mean, obviously, it’s your tattoo! Please give me any feedback you have, you won’t offend me, even if you hate it! Tattoo designs often take a few iterations, it’s very normal, don’t hold back.”

She was staring at him, those big eyes wide and sparkling. “Can I… see it?”

“Oh! Right!” He shoved the folder at her.

Rukia opened it up and gasped.

“I especially love the way you draw skeletons,” Rukia’s email had read. “Do you think you could tattoo a grim reaper doing a sick kickflip on a skateboard onto my outer bicep? I do lift, so I am pretty jacked, if that makes a difference.”

“It’s perfect,” Rukia sighed in a tiny voice.

“Um, in the first variation (that’s page 2) I added some sunglasses, and in the second one, the grim reaper is flipping the bird and also its head is on fire. I guess I thought that grim reapers should be gender neutral but now I’m wondering if you would have preferred more of a… lady grim reaper?” Renji yammered absently.

“Oh, no,” Rukia murmured softly, flipping through the pages. Renji wasn’t even sure she had listened to a word he had said. “These are amazing. I love the sunglasses, but I also like the way you put little flames in the eye sockets in the first one…” She waved a hand absently. “Oh, and don’t worry, I like a non-binary skeleton.”

A small problem had just occurred to Renji. “Hey, um, please don’t take this the wrong way, but I… may have overestimated the size of your arms.”

“Oh?” Rukia asked, and abruptly shucked off her expensive suit jacket. She was wearing a pale purple sleeveless silk blouse underneath. She held one arm out experimentally, and then flexed. The muscle definition on her bicep made Renji take an involuntary swallow, but the fact that she was wicked cut did not buy him much in the way of real estate.

“I’ll just shrink it down maybe 25%,” he reassured her. “I’ll have to simplify some of the detail on--”

“No,” Rukia frowned, her eyebrows drawing together. “Don’t do that.” She thought for a moment. “I’m not committed to having it on my arm.” She uncrossed her legs and hefted one high-heeled foot onto the coffee table in front of her. “What do you think? Is my thigh big enough?”

Renji tried to make words come out, but it just wasn’t happening.

“Er… sorry,” Rukia said slowly, tugging at her hem. “I forgot I was wearing a skirt today.”

“Huh?” Renji scrambled to recover. He needed to say something. She looked really embarrassed. Say something! Say something professional about her leg! “Sorry, I was, uh, thinking!” Good, good, now keep going. “Don’t be self-conscious, I see people’s bodies all the time. Bodies are no big deal, we all got ‘em, right?” This was true in the abstract sense, but he knew these were blatant lies as they exited his mouth. Most people’s bodies were no big deal. He had only known her for five minutes, but was certain that Rukia Kuchiki’s thighs were a very big deal. He studied her leg, stroking his chin, like he was some kind of anthropologist of thigh tattoos. Mostly he was trying to figure out what would seem like an appropriate amount of time to look at a person’s thigh, a person who was your professional client that you most definitely did not have the hots for. “There’s certainly plenty of room,” he declared. “But, you know, people are going to see it less. Which is a selling point for some people! It’s just a personal decision that you’ll have to make. It sounds like you had a big vision.”

Rukia gingerly placed her foot back on the floor. “I had actually been wondering if maybe the upper arm was too public, anyway,” she admitted. “The fact is, I just got full access to my trust fund, and this is sort of a celebration, but I may have been a little overeager to piss off my big brother. He’s very stodgy.” She contemplated the area of her leg that was covered by her pencil skirt. “But so are a lot of people in my field. I can wait until I’m running my own company before I get started on the full sleeve of my dreams, right?”

“Worked for me,” Renji replied, utterly lost by whatever she was talking about. “What… field are you in?”

“Oh, finance,” she dismissed.

Finance. Of course. Renji tried to shoo away the weight of disappointment that was settling in his stomach. He was talking to a friendly client who was clearly loaded, loved his work, and was contemplating thousands of dollars worth of future business. He should be thrilled. He should probably be trying to sell her one of his old paintings-- they were only gathering dust, anyway. Renji would never break the studio policy about hitting on clients. The fact that she would surely laugh at him if he asked her to his favorite burger joint ought to make things easier, right?

“This is so hard!” Rukia declared, and Renji was shaken from his reverie. She was just contemplating his draft designs again, though, flipping back and forth between them.

“You don’t have to decide right now,” he reassured her. “You can think about it and email me. If you’re happy enough, we can schedule your session, and we’ll work out the details between now and then. Chat it over with your pal MechaHime, she’s got good opinions.” He paused. Momo always said he was too nice during consults, they were running a business, but he couldn’t help it. “Or you can just call back when you’re ready. No pressure.”

Rukia slammed her fist down on her knee. “No! Let’s schedule it! Do I pay now?”

“20% deposit. Let’s go out front, Izuru will ring it up.”

“Perfect.” She looked longingly at the drawings again. “Can I take these with me? You’re absolutely right, Orihime will know what to do.”

Renji wrinkled his nose. “It’s actually against studio policy but…”

Rukia’s face suddenly became very serious. “Then it’s against policy.” She winked at him and smiled. “You should take care of your intellectual property, Mr. Abarai.”

“I never get over to this part of town, to be honest,” Rukia admitted as they walked back up to the front. “Is the taco place across the street any good?”

“Oh, yeah, it’s great,” Renji agreed. “Momo and I painted a huge mural on their wall, so they give us free churros.”

“Are tacos a good post-tattoo celebratory meal?” Rukia asked curiously.

“Well, you actually want to eat beforehand,” Renji pointed out. “It’s important to keep your energy up. I don’t estimate yours should take very long, I’m gonna book you a two-hour slot.”

“Ah, okay,” Rukia agreed, and Renji realized belatedly that...maybe… she had been asking him out? No. Surely not. His brain scrabbled for a response, but then he stepped into the reception area and his brain shut down entirely.

“It’s DONE!” Shuuhei bellowed. “Behold my work, ye mighty, and despair!”

Tetsuzaemon Iba, serial client, yakuza enthusiast, and assistant manager at a doggie day care, was flexing. He was not wearing a shirt.

From behind the reception desk, Kira was wearing a dour frown and shaking his head.

“It’s a masterpiece,” Renji declared. “I admit I was skeptical, but it looks fantastic, man. You happy with it?”

“It” was a massive tattoo, covering the wide landscape of Iba’s broad back. It featured a lucky cat, grinning maniacally, its paw held high. It was on fire. The kanji for “lucky charm” was incorporated somehow. It was a disaster. It was perfect.

“How could I not be?” Iba boomed.

“Whoa,” a tiny voice behind Renji said.

Iba’s face went pale when he realized that he was being Peak Iba in front of an elegant, professional woman whose shoes probably cost more than his entire net worth. “Gimme me my shirt!” he demanded of Shuuhei.

“That’s… amazing!” Rukia exclaimed, her face lighting up. “Wow, how long did that take?”

Shuuhei blinked slowly as he passed Iba his shirt. “Five sessions.”

“Well, it’s so cute!” Rukia announced. “You must love cats.”

Iba lifted at the same gym as Renji and watched Momo’s Pomeranian on Tuesdays and Thursdays. He was a regular fixture at the tattoo studio, and all four of them liked to drag him, but no one, none of them, had ever roasted him this hard. Renji cursed that no-asking-out-clients rule, because he wanted to buy Rukia Kuchiki her own body weight in tacos and then ask her to be his wife.

“He’s more of a dog person,” Shuuhei supplied.

“Great with dogs,” Izuru added.

“Shut up, you jerks, I am a lover of all animals,” Iba grumbled as he pulled his Hawaiian shirt over his shoulders. “Is this your lawyer, Abarai? Did you finally get arrested for that hairstyle?”

“I have an MBA, actually, not a JD,” Rukia replied matter-of-factly. “And I am his client. Can you show that large man my tattoo design? Is that allowed?”

Renji chuckled, and pulled out his drawing.

“That,” Iba declared, “is a wicked tatt.”

“Oh, you showed me that email!” Shuuhei recalled. “It came out great.” He regarded Rukia. “He was really excited about that one, you made his day.”

Rukia just beamed proudly.

“Are we booking a session, then?” Izuru asked hopefully.

“Yeah, two hours,” Renji nodded.

“Let me just finish ringing up Iba, and I’ll see when you’ve got an opening,” Izuru replied.

“This your first one?” Shuuhei asked Rukia conversationally.

“Mm-hmm,” Rukia nodded.

“Well, you made a good choice. Clean design, mostly black with just a few color pops, should go on quick and easy, and it’ll hold up really well, too.”

“This is Shuuhei, the one I was telling you about, who fixes a lot of bad tattoos.”

“I have never had to fix an Abarai tattoo,” Shuuhei declared. “He’s great with first timers. Very gentle. I’ve fallen asleep while he was inking me.” Shuuhei pointed to the pair of crossed scythes gracing his upper arm. “This is one of his.”

“Oooh, neat!” Rukia agreed.

“You’re being embarrassing,” Renji informed his friend.

“Always,” Shuuhei agreed. “Nice to meet you! I hope I get to see the finished product.” He waved to Iba as he headed off toward the back. “Don’t forget to moisturize!”

“Everyone’s so friendly here,” Rukia said softly to Renji. “This isn’t at all like I pictured it.”

Renji stretched his arms behind his head. “Nah, we’re just a bunch of goofballs who like drawin’ on people. Very lowkey.”

“I guess I’ve thought a lot about the getting tattooed part of getting tattooed, but I never thought of it as… a job. That people have.”

“It’s a great job,” Renji replied. “I love it. I’m just lucky that Izuru over there has enough business sense to keep the other three of us from running it into the ground.”

“That’s certainly the truth,” Izuru agreed, as Iba headed out the door. “Two hours, you said? Renji’s got a 4-6pm block open on a Wednesday, three weeks from now. The 24th, how does that work for you, Ms. Kuchiki?”

“Do you think that’s enough time to settle on a design?” Renji asked. “If you come up with changes, it should only take me a day or two to incorporate them.”

“Oh! Yes, three weeks should be fine. I thought… it might be a little sooner,” Rukia replied, sounding a tad disappointed.

“Abarai’s a busy man, three weeks is actually pretty quick,” Izuru explained.

“Right, of course!” Rukia nodded. “Yes, I’ll take the 24th!”

She then paid her deposit, a process which involved her taking approximately ten thousand items out of her purse, including a full-sized drawing pad, a single fingerless glove, and a Pez dispenser with a duck head. She was the most contradictory person Renji had ever met, and he just wanted to know everything about her. But instead, they were going to exchange a couple of emails about a grim reaper on a skateboard, he was going to spend an hour and a half two inches from her naked thigh in a state of intense, non-sexual concentration, and then he would likely never see her again.

“Okay, I guess that’s it!” Rukia said, stuffing the last of her worldly belongings back into the purse. “Three weeks, then!”

“Three weeks it is,” Renji agreed. “Unless we happen to run into each other at the taco place.”

Rukia blinked. “Oh!” she exclaimed. “Right. Ha, ha, of course!” She’d been walking backwards toward the door, an impressive feat in those heels, and she spun suddenly to pull it open.

“It’s a push,” Renji and Izuru chorused together.

“Ha, ha, of course it is!” Rukia laughed nervously, and ducked out.

Izuru stared pointedly at Renji. “Wow,” he said.

“I don’t know what you have against her,” Renji scowled. “So she’s professional. She was really nice. She’s a big fan of my work.”

Izuru cocked his head. “She’s clearly also a big fan of you.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Renji said.

“Look, I’m sorry I implied that a person who drives a Lotus Exige would not be interested in having your weird skeleton doodles permanently placed on her body,” Izuru held up his hands, “but did you really not notice the little hearts and singing birds floating around her head every time she gazed longingly at you?”

“Since when do you know anything about cars?” Renji snapped.

“It looked fancy and I asked Shuuhei what it was, okay!”

On cue, Shuuhei burst back into the reception area, Momo close on his tail. “Are we talking about the hot client who has a crush on Abarai?”

“Did you ask her out?” Momo asked breathlessly.

“She’s not really his type,” Izuru mused. “Very corporate.”

Renji frowned. Did he have a type? If his type excluded people like Rukia Kuchiki, he might need to get a new type.

“Who cares, she was adorable!” Momo insisted. “I woulda asked her out.”

“Renji, if you go out with her, can you get me a ride in the Exige?” Shuuhei added.

“I’m not gonna ask her out!” Renji protested. “What happened to the no-hitting-on-clients rule?”

“The rule is no creeping on clients,” Shuuhei correctly. “This is different. She’s clearly into you, big time.”

“Also, she seems non-terrible, unlike the questionable human beings you usually take up with,” Izuru pointed out. “We could relax the rule if it netted you an actually decent partner for a change.”

Renji scowled judgmentally at Izuru, as if his own dating history had been remotely better before he and Shuuhei finally hooked up.

“Oh!” Momo waved her phone. “Speaking of which, I googled her, like you told me to, Izuru--”

“Izuru!” Renji protested.

“--and you were right! She’s not just one of the Kuchikis, she’s the granddaughter!” Momo thrust her phone in Renji’s face. It was some article about some fancy charity event, complete with a picture that was clearly Rukia, dressed in a dramatic black and gold evening gown.

Renji wanted to push Momo’s hand away, but he also didn’t want to stop looking at Rukia in that dress. “The who?” he asked.

Izuru and Momo sighed dramatically in synchronized exasperation.

“Embarrassingly rich old money family? I don’t know what they actually do, but they’re always in the newspapers, donating money for something or other--”

“Billionaire philanthropists,” Shuuhei intoned in a fake deep voice.

“--I heard they’re descended from some famous clan of samurai back in Japan,” Momo ignored him. She jerked her phone back and started tapping at it frantically. “I’m sure you’ve seen pictures of the grandson-- Rukia’s brother, I guess. He always makes those lists of top ten hottest bachelors.”

“He’s dreamy,” Shuuhei seconded.

“Impossibly dreamy,” Izuru thirded.

Momo flipped her phone around again, to reveal a picture of a very serious, and very handsome man in a classic three-piece wool suit. Renji supposed “impossibly dreamy” was not an inaccurate description.

“Yeah, I think I’ve seen pictures of that guy before,” Renji shrugged. “He’s okay. Rukia has a more interesting face, I think.”

Momo and Shuuhei exchanged raised eyebrows.

“You do like her, then?” Izuru asked, his face brightening. “You’re wrong, by the way, Byakuya Kuchiki has the face of an angel.”

“Rukia says he’s stuffy,” Renji shrugged. “And fine. I like her. She’s cute and nice and had good taste in tattoos. What’s not to like?”

“Are you gonna ask her out, then?” Momo pressed.

“Absolutely not,” Renji replied. “She’s my client. Besides, as you just pointed out, she’s loaded. What’s she want with a scumbag like me?”

All three of his friends groaned.

“You have good delts and sexy hair,” Izuru pointed out.

“You give amazing hugs!” Momo declared.

“You draw fantastic skeletons,” Shuuhei added. “Which, apparently, is relevant to her interests, and not a thing you usually find on Tindr.”

“Also, we’ve already established that she does like you, regardless of whether she has a valid reason for doing so,” Izuru concluded. “So, if you’re at all interested, you really shouldn’t let that stop you.”

“I think you should go for it,” Momo encouraged.

“Me, too,” Shuuhei agreed.

Renji grimaced. She was an amazing girl, too good to be true probably. If she had any sense at all, she would certainly turn him down. But maybe… just maybe… she didn’t have any sense. “Okay,” he grudgingly agreed. “I’ll do it. But not until I’m finished the damn tattoo!”

[jaehyunhour]

dream lover | lee donghyuck

mafia au, enemies to lovers!haechan (if you squint). 

summary: in which donghyuck’s father has forbidden him from ever speaking to you, because your father is his enemy, but donghyuck manages to fall in love with you anyway. and he saves your life.

warnings: none!

requested by @cloudyangers​! back in like october, and i just remembered it the other night when i couldn’t sleep and so i decided to write it. it’s not entirely what the request asked for, but it’s what i came up with. i’m actually quite proud of this one! i hope you all enjoy. 

word count: 2,395 words.

“so, y/n, what are you doing this weekend?” donghyuck says, quickly taking a seat next to you and putting his arm around you.

“what’s it to you?” you ask, pushing him off of you.

“i’m just curious,” he teases.

“you know that i don’t know anything about what my dad’s up to, donghyuck, so just stop. learn to mind your own business or else.” you threaten. it’s more of an empty threat, though, because you could never live with yourself if anyone got physically hurt because of you. which is why you stayed out of all of your father’s business endeavors.

your father and donghyuck’s fathers have always been rivals, and while your father told you that his business with donghyuck’s father had nothing to do with you and you were free to socialize with donghyuck if you wanted to, donghyuck’s father was not so forgiving. if donghyuck’s father knew that he was sucking up to you right now, even if it was to get information to give to his dad, he would lose it. donghyuck has everything to lose — his family, his inheritance, his home — but he would risk it all if it meant getting to see the way your cheeks involuntarily turned pink when he spoke to you, and the way your thighs pressed together when he played with the ends of your hair. you are his vice.

“hyuckie,” you say, leaning in close to whisper to him. “you know your daddy’s going to kill you if he finds out you’re talking to me, so why do you try it?”

“you’re just too pretty to not talk to,” he says simply.

“and you’re willing to risk a billion dollar inheritance for a pretty face? beauty fades, donghyuck.”

“i don’t think yours ever will, angel.”

you lean in closer to him, your lips so close to his he can feel your hot breath on them. he has to physically restrain himself from leaning in the rest of the way, grasping tightly onto the desk. “flattery will get you nowhere. mind your own business.” you pull back quickly, wiping at your lips as if you really had kissed and picking up your things and leaving. “see you monday!” you say as you leave the classroom. donghyuck slumps into the back of his chair and runs his fingers through his hair.

***

as you walk into your house, you’re greeted by your overly energetic puppy barking up a storm.  you pick him up into your arms and start talking to him in a baby voice, “oh, aren’t you just the cutest? yes you are, so much cuter than donghyuck could ever be,” you say pressing a kiss to the top of his head. your mother quickly walks down the stairs of the house and meets you in the living room as you sit on the couch to watch tv.

“honey, don’t forget that your aunt’s wedding is tomorrow. i already had the housekeeper pick up your dress from the dry cleaning and it’s hanging up in your wardrobe. you have to be up bright and early for the bridesmaid breakfast.” she says in passing, heading towards the kitchen.

you groan and in that moment, your father comes down from his office upstairs to join you in the living room. “i don’t want to hear any complaining, y/n. your aunt has been looking forward to getting married for the last year and we don’t need your attitude ruining it for her.”

“i don’t have an attitude,” you say through gritted teeth. “isn’t her husband some huge drug ki—“ you start but are quickly interrupted.

“uh-uh-uh, the less you know, the better. how was school?”

“it was alright. donghyuck talked to me, today.”

“what, again? is he stupid or something?”

“hey! he thinks i’m pretty, he can’t be stupid.”

“what’d he want?”

“he was just asking me what i was doing this weekend. i told him to mind my own business.”

“good… watch what you say around him, i don’t want you getting all buddy-buddy with him all of a sudden. you never know what him and his dad are up to. i remember one time—“

“no no no,” your mother says from the kitchen. “no mafia talk in my house.”

“last time i checked, i paid the bills,” your father says with a roll of his eyes.

“i’m going to my room,” you say sheepishly, getting up and walking up the stairs with your puppy following closely behind. you can hear your parents bickering downstairs as you close the door to your open, shutting the sound out.

the next day, you wake up at approximately 8 a.m. to attend the bridesmaid breakfast your aunt was forcing out of all the bridesmaids. everyone there was twice your age, just a handful of aging mafia housewives who had nothing better to do than entertain the romanticization of being in love with a mobster. the wedding reception happens quickly after the breakfast, and before you know it you’re standing in the back of the room downing champagne as you watch everyone on the dance floor. this wedding is like no other; there are hundreds of people, multiple glass chandeliers hanging from the ceiling, a cake as tall as the 5’2 bride, and the majority of korea’s most dangerous men under one roof. mafia money at its finest.

as you scan the room, you lock eyes with the person who’s seemingly just walked in and your smile drops. you run quickly over to him and pull him towards the back exit.

“donghyuck, what the fuck are you doing here?” you say loudly, trying to make sure your voice is heard over the loud music. “you can’t just fucking show up here like this, do you know who is here? if anyone had seen you, you would’ve been dead by now! you’re lucky it was just me.”

“y/n, we need to leave. now.” he says urgently.

“what? are you insane?” you ask. “i can’t just leave, i’m one of the bridesmaids,” you point towards the dress you’re wearing.

“that’s cute and all but seriously, y/n we need to get out of here right now. the police will be here any minute.” he grabs one of your arms to pull you out the back exit, but you tear your arm from his grasp.

“the police? did you call them? oh my god, you’re stalking me, aren’t you. this is why you wanted to know what i was doing this weekend? so you could call the police and get my entire family busted? some fucking guy you are.” you’re about to walk away but he grabs your arm again.

“y/n, please, i’m begging you just listen to me. i didn’t call them. my dad planted someone to work for your dad and he’s been working with him for the last 6 months, he was the one who told him what was going to happen. my father submitted an anonymous tip to the police about the wedding and now they are on their way. you need to leave with me, now. i don’t want you to get killed.”

“and why not? i don’t think your daddy would be too happy finding out that you’re trying to make a quick getaway with his enemy’s daughter.”

“i’ll be damned if i’m not the person to take you out, y/n. i refuse to let anyone else be the one to kill you.” he says, but you can tell he’s still unsure if he means it or not. but before you can say anything snarky in response, you hear screaming in the other room and gunshots. donghyuck quickly pulls you close to him and pushes you both out of the back exit. you want to run back and check if your parents are okay, but you know that they aren’t. the gunshots are constant and you don’t know if they’re police-induced or not. all you know is that it’s getting harder to breathe as you run down the street, donghyuck pulling at your arm and dragging you to his car. your heel breaks in a crack in the sidewalk and you reach down, quickly taking both of your heels off and abandoning them in the street as you keep running. when you reach his car, donghyuck pushes you into the passenger seat. once in the driver’s seat, he quickly turns the car on and starts driving away from the chaos. you stare out the window and let the tears flow freely down your face.

twenty or so minutes later, donghyuck pulls over in the middle of the freeway. you turn over to face him, mascara-stained cheeks and he looks at you with pain visible in his eyes. you want to ask him why he saved you, what his plan was, where he’s taking you, but before you can find the right words to say his hands are cupping your face and his lips are pressed against yours. it takes you a moment to respond, but you relax into his lips and kiss him until you can’t breathe. your kiss is messy, full of tongue and teeth, but his hands never once move from your face. you are the first to pull back, needing to catch your breath. you stare into his eyes as your lips are ghosting his, the feeling of his breath fanning your lips.

“why did you save me?” you whisper, feeling tears brim in your eyes.

“i told you,” his hands fall from your face and into his lap. he pulls back and rests his head on the steering wheel. “i told you, i’ll be damned if i’m not the person to take you out.”

“donghyuck,” you say sincerely, causing him to look back up at you.

“because i don’t think i could’ve lived with myself if you ever got hurt,” he confesses.

“donghyuck, but your dad—“ you say, unable to find the right words to say. “he hates me and my dad, he would be so upset.”

he faces forward and grabs onto the steering wheel tightly, his knuckles turning white. he lets out a sigh and continues: “i turned my dad in.” now he is the one letting tears fall down his face. your eyes widen and instinctively one of your hands reaches out for his. he intertwines his fingers with yours as he cries in his car.

“y/n, my dad has been doing bad things for as long as i can remember. i vowed to myself that i would never become like him. and i always admired you for staying out of your dad’s business as much as you could, it was the smart thing to do. but my dad wouldn’t let me, he was always telling me everything that he was doing. part of me believes that he was doing it so he knew he wouldn’t go down alone… and then yesterday he told me that someone submitted an anonymous tip to the police about the wedding, and i recognized the last name from the family tree presentation you gave in class… and once i knew you were involved is when i drew the line.” he takes a deep breath, wiping the tears away from his face. “and so i stayed up all night and gathered whatever information i had on my dad and i called the police in the morning and i left to go get you just before they arrived at my house.”

“oh, hyuckie,” you say softly, tears falling down your face now too.

he turns to face you and squeezes your hand. “i love you, y/n. and i know you probably don’t feel the same way about me, but i mean it. i never want to love anyone else.”

you let out a giggle and wipe some of your tears away with your other hand. you raise it to cup donghyuck’s cheek and smile at him. you’re overwhelmed with feelings after hearing his confession, and your heart starts beating faster as you make eye contact with him. he looks at you with so much love and adoration that it hurts to breathe. “i love you,” you say back. “no one has ever cared for me like you do, hyuckie. the fact that you would put everything on the line just for me… wow. i don’t know what to say. you leave me speechless yet again, lee donghyuck.”

donghyuck captures your lips in another kiss and this time, he’s the one to pull away to catch his breath. “run away with me, y/n.”

“you’re crazy, donghyuck.”

“i’m serious. there’s nothing left for us in this city, we can pack everything up and move to another city and start our lives over. free of all this mafia bullshit.”

you fall silent for a second, thinking about his proposal. your silence worries him, he can’t help but be afraid that you’re going to say no.

“what about money? what are we going to do?”

“i’ll take care of it, don’t worry. i have enough money to move us a few cities over and for us to restart. just say you’ll go with me,” he says.

“okay.”

“okay?”

“let’s do it,” you say. donghyuck cracks a smile. “but first…”

“first?”

***

you step into your house, peeking into the living room and your puppy jumps up from the couch to come greet you. donghyuck follows shortly behind you, watching you contently as you crouch down to pet your puppy.

“donghyuck, meet tobio,” you say. donghyuck crouches down and tries to pet him, but he growls at him. “noooo, tobio, we don’t do that, we love hyuckie.” you turn to face donghyuck and press a quick kiss to his lips. “he’ll get used to you, i promise.”

you stand up and run your fingers through your hair, tobio pawing at your legs wanting you to continue petting him. donghyuck straightens up, and quickly pulls you into a hug. your head rests on his chest, as he presses a kiss to the top of your head before resting his cheek on it. your arms are wrapped tightly around his waist and his scent manages to calm the erratic butterflies in your stomach.

“i love you,” he says, closing his eyes.

you press a kiss to his chest. “i love you.”

[princessozera]

Not OM, I just wanted to post here the first ever fic I actually wrote and published

I WOULD LIKE TO SAY AS A DISCLAIMER EVEN THOUGH I PUBLISHED IT LAST YEAR (2 years ago?) I WAS ACTUALLY YOUNGER WHEN I WROTE THIS. I DO NOT SIMP FOR DAMIAN LIKE THAT ANYMORE, HE IS MY SON.

The Only Exception

 (Aged up/Older Damian Wayne x OC)

The seats are filled, the air is comforting, music and perfume floating in the air. Today Rosella Anderson is to be wed to Damian Wayne. But, weddings never quite go according to plan. Talia and Ra's Al Ghul have made it clear they don't like her, on multiple occasions. But with no less than 50 trained fighters and investigators on both sides of the aisle, nothing can interrupt or ruin her special day...... Right?

Chapter 1: Getting Married Today

"Come on, suck it in!"

       "I HAVEN'T EVEN EATEN TODAY!" I whined as Alice yanked the ribbons on my corset tighter.

       "WATCH IT!" Crystal swats away Alice's hands and undoes the ribbons a bit. "Suffocate her and she doesn't make it down the aisle, pack her like a sausage and my hours of makeup will have gone to waste!" She huffed and finish tying the ribbons, satisfied that they weren't too tight.

       "I don't think I ever really appreciated the amount of work it takes to make curly hair not be frizzy," Barbra Gordon says between sips of champagne, lounging on the hotel bed.

       "That's why I don't do my hair that often," I laugh, sitting on an ottoman so Alice can put my veil on and Crystal can help me put on my garter. My maid of honor, Cassandra Cain, came over and tried to feed me some fruit slices. I tried to argue, but I couldn't hold my own as she stared me down. I let her feed me some cantaloupe slices until she was satisfied and went off to finish getting ready.

       "You really are a queen today!" Stephanie laughed as she walked around the room again, holding a video recorder. I tried to hide my face, but she grabbed my hand and swung it around. "A beautiful princess for Gotham's own prince! Tell us, your majesty, how are you feeling, about to be married off to Gotham's richest stone statue?" The girls laughed but I just shook my head at her. "Me, Tim, and Dick are making a documentary for you two. Any words for the lucky man? Anything you want to say to your future self, your family, your future kids? " Whistles and laughs went around the room and I couldn't help but blush.

       "Well, let's take this one step at a time," I laughed to hide my own embarrassment. "Damian," I started, looking directly into the camera, "I don't believe in love at first sight, but damn did we square up on first sight. Not many people can say they had a full on MMA fight with their future spouse within minutes of meeting them. Yet, after that whole fiasco was solved, you've never been anything but gentle with me. People always said we wouldn't last; lava and ice. Water and a drought. Incompatible. But you were the first to look past who I had to be, to see who I was trying to be. You brought me a family, and I like to think I've brought you some serenity. I don't believe in destiny, and I'm not too sure about fate, but I believe in us. I believe that I'll fight for you until the end of time because you'd do the same for me. Because you are my home, and there's no place I'd rather be." I get choked up, wanting nothing more than to have him in my arms right now. I missed him like hell, even though it's only been 2 days since I've seen him.

       "This isn't the time to start reciting your wedding vows silly," Cass said and I couldn't help but giggle. She wipes away the tears that I hadn't felt form, making sure to not mess with my mascara. Stephanie sighs happily and puts the camcorder down, reaching over to hug me.

       "I'm so glad I get to be your sister," she whispered to me, and I hugged back tighter. We both jerked in surprise at the knock at the door. I immediately reached for my bag, looking for my well-worn notebook, but Cass's hand steadied me. Barbra got up, fixed her dress and went over to the door.

       "Who is-" She stiffens up immediately, hand pulling back from the handle. "It's Talia." Stephanie immediately got in front of me, and I grabbed Cass's hand as she reached for her own bag, searching for her gun. I'd never told my friends about Talia, but they took the hint found their way to their respective bags, throwing knives and whips at the ready. Truthfully, I was finding it a little hard to breathe and I doubt it was the dress. The knock came again, more insistent, but no one moved.

       "It's your call Rose," Barbra said, her eyes never leaving the door.

       "Let her in," I tug on Cass's arm and she helps me stand up. "If she wanted me offed, she would have gotten someone else to do it. Or at least she wouldn't have knocked." Crystal and Alice look between all of us in alarm and decide to take the window as Stephanie goes to back up Babs by the door. The door opens, and there stands Talia, as beautiful and regal as ever. She glances over everyone before finally meeting my eyes.

       "Lady Al Ghul, please come in. To what do I owe the pleasure?" I said, fidgeting with my dress. She steps in, nodding to Babs and Stephanie.

         "I'd like to have a word with you before the ceremony," She says, running her hand along the wet counter cluttered with makeup. "Alone," She said with a pointed look when no one moved. That harsh edge was enough to get everyone to cover or flank me again. She didn't respond to this, simply staring at me. I put my hand on each girl's back, one by one.

       "Go, I'll be fine. We'll be right here," Babs stares me down, but I nod back. She caves and starts to leave; Alice, Crystal and eventually Stephanie following behind, after she grabs something off the bed. Cass refused to move.

       "Do I need to remind you that you can barely move your waist in that monstrous dress? She'd get to you before any of us were the wiser," She whispered in my ear, holding my arm pretty tightly. I wormed my way out of her grasp and grabbed the worn notebook from my bag.

       "I promise, it'll be fine. Anyways, I forgot there were 2 more things I needed to do," I flipped through the pages quickly, finding what I needed and handing it to her. "If you could please take care of it? You should be done by the time we're done talking and we can head to the venue." Cass read through it quickly, then looked at me again. She gave a curt nod and walked out as well.

       "We'll be right outside," Babs says pointedly before closing the door. Talia and I stood in silence for a moment, before she slowly stalked towards me until she was less than 6 feet away.

       "Lady Al-"

       "Your still not worthy of my son." oop. Right to the point, as always. Can't say it didn't hurt.

       "You're a commoner, a nobody. No title, no land, not even superior health to your name. You failed classes in high school, went to college on scholarships, and couldn't land a proper role in your field until a year in. Failure, after pitfall, after failure." JESUS CHRIST THIS LADY DID HER RESEARCH. My face burned in humiliation, but nothing I could say now would justify everything she just listed out. "And yet... Damian loves you."

             "I may not like you, but I know how I raised him, and Bruce has done a good job of bringing up a boy worth more than the names he was born into. Wayne. Al Ghul. Damian. I will have faith in his choice, he is not a stupid boy. Foolish and stubborn yes, but not stupid. If he thinks you are worthy, there may be hope for you yet." holy shit, no way, is this actually happening? I'm too stunned to say anything, just grateful that my mouth isn't hanging open.

       "When you return from your honeymoon I expect you to face me in a formal duel and undergo training as necessary," she puts her hands on her hips, challenging me to argue with her, but I was so happy I had to restrain myself from hugging her.

       "It would be an honor to battle you Lady Al Ghul," I say, finding my tongue, stifling my giddiness with a bow, and a hand over my chest.

       "Talia is also acceptable." She says with a nod, taking another step forward and adjusting the skirt of my dress and finally my veil before turning starting to walk back to the door. "My father and I will also be in attendance to this event, but if you ever wish to gain even an ounce of his approval, you'll need to do another more traditional ceremony at a later date." My heart swelled, and for a second, I legitimately thought I was going to break down crying. This was better than anything I could have prepared for. I couldn't just let her walk out like that.

       "Damian'll be elated!" I yelled out to keep my voice from cracking. Talia stops, and I gush on. "I know you haven't had the easiest of relationships, with conflicting ideology and all, but he really does love you, and Ra's, even if he doesn't say it. He looks up to you guys and wants to make you proud. You being here will mean the world to him." I force myself to stop talking before I say something weird or bad. Talia turns back to me, walks up swiftly, and hugs me. I'm stiff in surprise, but manage to hug her back before she gives me one last nod and walks out. Everyone runs back in the second Talia is out.

       "Are you ok? Are you hurt anywhere?" Babs immediately grabs my arms and starts inspecting me up and down for any sign of injury.

       "Don't cry don't cry!" Alice pleads with me, fanning my face to prevent the tears from falling.

       "Talia hugged her, check her back and skirt for anything weird," I look over to Stephanie, who was staring down at her camcorder. Had she left that hidden on the bed? I didn't even notice. But it was so sweet. I could show Damian later all the sweet words his mother said about him.

       "Jesus, you're so teary today," Cass mumbles as she does her own inspection of my dress. When she's done, she sees my tears are of joy, so she hugs me. "Your journal's impressive," she says handing back my heart covered notebook. I'm still choked up and trying not to bawl in relief so once everyone was satisfied that I wasn't going to drop dead in the middle of the aisle, they sat me down so I could calm down while they finished up. I collected myself, the extremity of these emotions leaving me exhausted. I drifted off with the warm glow of my friend's laughter and love filling the air.

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

       "No way, you did not fall asleep!"

       "Get up get up get up!"

       "Cass, I'm fully warning you right now. If she falls asleep at the ceremony like this, I'm throwing my bouquet at her head"

       "You might have to beat Stephanie to it," Cass giggles, as she gently shakes me awake. I take a second to reorient myself, blinking the drowsiness out of my eyes, and stretching.

       "Ooh, we could coordinate it though!" Stephanie perks up, "if she falls asleep; Alice and Crystal, take your flowers and make it rain, and then Babs, Cass and I hit her in the head. Guaranteed it'll wake her up!" We all laugh and I get up, taking a minute to appreciate my beautiful friends. It was a debated choice, but the deep purple fit everyone perfectly. We did have to make a few adjustments to Stephanie's overall look though, to keep her from looking too similar to her alter ego, Spoiler. Bouquet in every pair of hands, key cards in garter wallets and phones on silent, we made our way down to the venue.

         "We're only running 10 minutes behind, it couldn't be helped," Babs tries to calm my nerves as I all but start jumping in the elevator. Cass also had to put a hand on my waist to pull me back when I almost ran to my place. She escorted me around to the side doors; the girls and I were coming in from the right, Damian and his groomsmen were coming in from the left. He had wanted to avoid any issue of who should walk him down the aisle; I thought it was cute how he couldn't choose between Dick and Bruce. Cass and I were slow dancing to calm my nerves when the rest of the girls came back.

       "Pianist and minister are ready" -Babs

       "Decorations are gorgeous and on point, everyone is in their seat and there are no fussy children" -Alice

       "Lights, audio and AC are perfect and photographers are also ready" - Crystal.

       I nodded, yes, everything was going smoothly. Of course, I had used everything I had when planning this. I was floating on cloud nine, simply nodding along when Babs spoke up.

       "Has anyone seen Stephanie?" she asks, grip tightening on her bouquet. No one knew so we all just waited around for 5 minutes, everyone starting to get fidgety. Stephanie came back, 10 minutes later, looking a little out of breath and a bit pale, even under her makeup.

       "Ok so there's a situation,- the guys are running late but it's okay they're o their way, they'll be here in 20 minutes!" Stephanie sped through the second half of her sentence when she saw that I was going to panic. I breathed out in relief and nodded, satisfied.

       "I'll make the announcement, Dick probably went overboard trying to do his hair again," Babs snickered and headed into the ceremony hall. We played a light game of ninja as we waited to hear from the guys, but I soon became hyper-aware of time passing. I don't have the best perception of time, I don't even have a good memory, but I caught the looks my bridesmaids were giving each other. 

The questioning looks. 

The worry. 

         I let myself get kicked out of the next round and walked a little ways off, pulling my phone out and calling the number I knew by heart, ignoring the time that read that I was now almost 40 minutes late to my own wedding. The phone rang 3 times, and I turned away from my girls who were really getting into this game, rooting for Cass or Alice to win.

       "Damian!" I sighed in relief when the line clicked. "hey, how much longer do you think you guys will be in traffic? If it's going to be another while, I can have it arranged so snacks and drinks are handed out so no one gets restless. I could also give the pianist a break, he's been playing the same chorus on repeat for the last half hour-" I let my voice trail off as I was met by a stone wall of silence. Not even a joke from Dick or Tim or Duke. I waited him out, after a minute of silence, Damian spoke up.

       "I'm sorry beloved, I can't do this."

         "What?" I asked, but my voice was so thin and breathy I doubt he heard me.

       "I can't go through with this. This marriage, this wedding. It's all a joke. Who even cares about this mess? It's all so... stupid. Pointless."   not a hint of hesitation, voice more ruthless than I had ever heard it.   No. No way. was he serious!? I struggled to find my words, I shook with the pure effort of breathing normally even though I felt like I was having an actual heart attack; tight chest, palpitations, the whole 9 yards. Tremors ran through my body and I finally managed to choke out "Damian-"

       "Goodbye Rosella" the line clicked off and I take a shuddering breath.

       "Rose?" Cass says, gently putting a hand on my shoulder.

       "He's not coming."

          "What?"

          "He's not coming!" I shriek, clutching my waist to stop my stomach from churning but to no avail; at least I didn't have much of lunch to throw up.

           "What do you mean he's not coming!" Babs demands, yelling from where she was

           "shit" 

          We all turn and there stands Jason, looking uncomfortable as hell and very much like he didn't want to be here. That confirmed it for everyone. Alice, Crystal, and Babs started yelling questions at Jason. Stephanie pulled out her own phone and started dialing a bunch of numbers but it seemed like no one was answering. Cass tried to speak with me, but my ears were ringing, it all sounded like white noise. And I felt cold. but hot. but freezing. I raise my hand and draw everyone's attention, all becoming deadly silent.

             "Alice, Crystal. please go tell the pianist, the minister, and the photographer. Give them my email so I can settle up the charges later. Stephanie and Cass, please go see if we can keep the party reservations for tonight. Everyone else should enjoy them, even if there is no.... Barbra, could you please break the news that I... we..." everything got really blurry for a second and the floor rushed up to meet me, but I caught myself on the table before I could pass out completely.

Not here, not in front of them. Don't put them through a breakdown.

               Everyone was fussing, but I couldn't stand here for another second. "Go. I just want to be alone. Please. go. GO!" I yelled and they all dispersed, shooting me worried looks. Cass gave me a long hug before she decided I needed a moment alone.

           "Don't move from here." She instructed me. "Go get the guys," she demanded to Jason before going off. Jason looked at me sadly, trying to find the right words to say.

           "Rose-"

          "Please leave." he walked away without another word. Once I was sure he was out of earshot, I ran with everything I had out of the hallway.

Pardon me is everybody there

 because if everybody's there id like to thank you all for coming to the wedding

 I appreciate you going even more

 I mean you must have had better things to do.

 Thank you all for the gifts and the flowers, 

Thank you all, now it's back to the showers 

but I guess I'm not getting married today

       The perfume is suffocating, overly sweet, fake as plastic, thick as sugar. I can't breathe, but I don't need air to run. Don't stop, move. Move. Move. The ribbons are strangling me. The garter is cutting off my circulation. Gloves are hurting me.  High heels, weak ankles. My rolls of fat spilling out of the dress. rolls and rolls and rolls and rolls and rolls.  can't stand. can't wait, I throw open the door to the stairs and take them in 3s.

Listen, everybody, 

look, I don't know what you're waiting for.

 A wedding. What's a wedding? 

It's a prehistoric ritual 

Where everybody promises fidelity forever,

 Which is maybe the most horrifying word I ever heard of, 

Which is followed by a honeymoon, where suddenly he'll realize

 He's saddled with a nut, and want to kill me, which he should. 

Thanks a bunch, but I'm not getting married

               I scream as my veil gets caught in the handrail, yanking my head back, falling down a couple of stairs. No question, I rip it off. It stings, it hurts, bobby pins forcefully ripped out. The shoes go too, heels are stupid, why are they so tall. Tall and tall and make my knees wobbly. The taller they are the harder they fall. Up the stairs, 3 at a time, legs on fire. Don't stop, don't stop, hike the dress up and keep running all the way to the 50th floor.

Go have lunch, 'cause I'm not getting married

You've been grand, but I'm not getting married

Don't just stand there, I'm not getting married

But I'm not getting married today.

       I slam open the hotel room door, to hell with neighbors. Suffocating, burning, melting heat. I rip off the gloves, scream as I can't get the ribbons out of my dress. I scream, jump, squirm and throw myself around until it finally comes off.

He didn't come. shut up.

He didn't want to. SHUT THE HELL UP

       I felt everything to an extreme degree. Too much. Why am I breathing so heavily? Why am I sweating bullets!? I throw my hair up in a ponytail, yank the garter off, tripping over my own two feet. My phone falls next to my head and the only thing I can think to do is to throw it into the toilet. I grab my honeymoon bag- no, my emergency bag that happened to have cute clothes instead of food, and switch into my leggings and a t-shirt. It's all I had. It's all I could ask for.

Go! Can't you go?

Why is nobody listening?

Goodbye! Go and cry

At another person's wake.

If you're quick, for a kick

You could pick up a christening

But please, on my knees,

There's a human life at stake!

        I'm parkouring down the stairs, jumping entire sections, falling on knees, but ignoring the pain to jump again. Emergency phone in one hand, I order the uber, start the bank transaction, even though I have to read everything 10 times for it to make sense. What do? where go? don't know. not here. One bad jump and I collapsed entirely, but as I scrambled to throw everything back in my bag, I see the plane tickets. yes. away. out. not here. leave.

Go! Can't you go?

Look, you know I adore you all

But why watch me die

Like Eliza on the ice?

Look, perhaps I'll collapse

In the apse right before you all

So take back the cake

Burn the shoes, and boil the rice

       Out of the stairway, but slammed into a wall. Around the corner, Alice and Babs and Crystal and Jason and Stephanie and Cass and Bruce and Selina and Duke and Tim and Dick and Alfred.

Remember when you first met them? He swore he'd protect you but that they'd love you. please stop! I begged myself, think of anything, anything but him. anything but this. Get out, then we can cry, but not here, not now.  I watched them split up, so I hid behind a corner farther back. Steph and Cass took up the stairs. Everyone else was gone so I ran out the back door. Out of the hotel, away from the perfume, away from the flowers, the candles, the dresses. From them.  And by some small miracle, the car was already here. I jump in, only taking a second to notice that it was, in fact, an uber.

       "Hello, ma'am! How are-"

       "Please! Just go!" my voice breaks and the tears start up again. I brush them aside furiously/ doing everything in my power not to start sobbing, but he listens to me and speeds off.

BECAUSE I'M NOT GETTING MARRIED TODAY

(A twist on this song that actually inspired this whole fic)

Chapter 2: On The Run

I'm going to kill him

Why didn't he show up?

How fucking dare he

Was it something I did?

I was nervous too bitch; I drank a shot of tequila and sucked it up!

Was it something HE did? Was Talia lying? Did Ra's kidnap Damian? Why did the boys wait to tell us? Did Stephanie know that something was up? Do any of them even-

       "Ughhhh," I groaned audibly as my thoughts and emotions started to run together. It had been a while since anything left me this.... discombobulated. Exhausted. A mess. I'd almost forgotten how awfully I reacted to being overwhelmed and out of control. The uber driver shot me a curious look but didn't say anything. Keep it together Rosella. Just, go home and.. I flinched, chagrined at my own stupidity. "Get somewhere safe" I amended under my breath, "and then you can have as big of a breakdown as you want. Just, be a stone again. Close it all out. Suppress the fire, drown the noise." I rubbed my eyes, the dry burn giving me the weirdest throbbing headache.

        The ride to the airport was stiff, to say the least. My driver kept trying to talk to me, but my responses were so dry he gave up. He didn't question the extra stop at the bank, even while he waited outside for half an hour while I verified with tellers inside that I was, in fact, the owner of the account and that I was draining it. 

Erase your tracks. You were never here. Are you even alive? 

         Still, we got to the airport as quickly as I could have hoped for and made sure to give him a large tip for his troubles.  I walked through the airport, undoubtedly looking like some pompous bitch with only a stone face and backpack, my actual suitcase left behind in my whirlwind out. I only had some snacks, a Nintendo ds, some stationary things, deodorant, and a toothbrush. I hadn't even remembered to grab my disposable water bottle, toothpaste, or hair brush before leaving. Whatever.

        It was almost flawless. I bypassed the checked bag lines, slid right through TSA (bless you TSA Pre-check), although I did get some looks when they checked my bag. I guess overall I looked like I should be getting on a school bus instead. I sat down at a cafe and pulled out the tickets, 2 first class tickets to Malaga, Spain.

        I'd set up our honeymoon as a complete surprise to Damian. Bruce and the boys had worked so hard to help me clear out a whole month from his schedule. I'd gone through hell and back to make sure all of my project managers could handle any situation that could happen either in making or transporting our different projects out... We were supposed to be jumping cities for a month in Europe. Cities with small populations, so we could avoid drawing attention, but full of gorgeous architecture and delicious food for me; significant art history and cultural relevance for Damian.

       It's going to be a technical nightmare to cancel all of those reservations and getting the tickets switched and sold. Do people even actually do that? But I have to, I don't know where I'm going but I don't want any of them to tra- SHIT. My head snaps up and one quick look around tells me I'm already too late. I spot 5 cameras easily.

       I grab my things and head over to a gift shop. I grab bunches of clothes and accessories off of the shelves, hurrying off to pay and doing my best to avoid cameras now as I sneak off into the restroom. I throw on some atrocious sundress, flats, and a baseball cap, flipping my hair twice in an attempt to make it look like a pixie cut. For a second I consider actually finding something sharp to hack my hair off. 

         I need you to not be a social breakdown cliche for a minute, it took you years to properly grow those curls out. Please don't waste my efforts. Yeah, it's for the better, I look like Dora the Explorer with short hair anyway. Tim wouldn't sell me out to Damian, right? LMAOO he bailed at the wedding you really think he wants to hunt you down?? Or what if Tim wants to find me? Or anyone else? Damian's pretty good at following people. Even then, Babs, Cass, Roy are competent hackers, any of them could find my data and track me down... Are any of them even on my side?... I couldn't help but let out a whimper. I pursed my lips, placing my hands on the cold sink to calm myself. What's my plan anyways? I can't go to any of the cities in Europe where I already have reservations. Too easy. I could go to the Netherlands...

        "But Damian knows where I lived there, because of the time we visited my friends," I sigh out loud, facepalming. "But not entirely a bad idea..."  I say as I start flipping through the different cities I've lived through. Netherlands, Italy, Spain, Germany, France, Croatia, Portugal, Malta,  Romania, Hungary, Austria, are all out. We'd either been there or they were part of the honeymoon plan. I didn't want any reminder of him.

         Actually, all of Europe is out. I've raved about it too much. We've been too many places, we both had too many ties scattered throughout Europe. I can't speak Russian, Talia and Ra's have connections all across the middle east, and the north half of Africa. Jason and Cass had some unexplainable ties across north and south america. With every city I named, I hated myself more for talking so much. For trusting him with these memories.

      Honeysuckle kisses on cotton candy memories.

       shut up. 

      Isn't there ANYWHERE I've lived and worked that my big mouth hadn't mentioned? As I was starting to get desperate and the headache started acting up again, I found actually ecstatic relief. That would be actually literally perfect. God bless my forgetful memory. The apartment I'd never sold. The country I actively avoided talking about because Damian would get jealous.

      I snuck out of the bathrooms and headed over to customer service. I had to work my way past a large group of people. Overhearing snippets of conversation, apparently, their flight is somewhere between delayed or canceled. Inspiration hit me. Give the ticket to someone here. Send them to Spain, let them stay at the hotel. He could follow a cold lead. This would give me enough time to go to one country and get a ticket to where I actually wanted to go. 

     I look around the group. Too many were in pair or more. Some looked very buisness-y type. There! A girl who looked like a backpacker was chilling, glancing through her phone. You're going to sound absolutely mental. I approach her nevertheless. I pitched her my idea, but she was rightfully skeptical. I swallowed my pride and told her a cold version of the truth. 

     "My fiancee left me at the altar. I'm going to Mongolia. I don't want his ticket, I don't want the hotel. Either take it or I'll give it to someone else. Or let it go to waste. I don't care. I don't want it. I'll even pay the name change charge." The anger in my voice came out clear, and by another miracle, she accepted it. We walked over to the help desk and I spoke with the dude behind the counter. He seemed hesitant at first, but he gave me a double take when he checked my reservations. With a brighter smile, he got me on the first flight he could to Mongolia.

       "Will that be for both tickets Mrs.Wayne?" He asked cheerfully before reeling back, caught off guard by my watering eyes.

       "Anderson. And no," I managed to spit out. I signaled for the girl from earlier to come closer. "I'm transferring the other ticket to her, we need to get the name changed." He looked uncertain but went ahead. If he was accommodating before, I could tell he was bending over backwards now to get everything situated. I could see his concentration as he tried to bypass things without having to question me again.

       "Umm, your profile says you've actually been to Belgium before, how was it?" he asked, trying to lighten the mood.

       "Beautiful and quaint. Great place to relax and enjoy nature if that's your thing. I'd recommend Lithuania too, or Leinchestein." I say, trying to keep a light tone. He nodded happily, seeming to take my recommendations seriously before handing the girl the new plane tickets. We thanked him and headed off on our respective paths, the girl taking a minute to hug me.

       " I hope you can heal soon, and wish you a bright future" she whispered to me. I hugged back, trying not to cry again. She bought me a bag of peach gummy rings and left me at my terminal. I dropped some calls out to friends, blessed that they all decided to take one or more of the reservations around Europe I'd had. I kept the details to a minimum but they figured out pretty quickly not to mention me to Damian if they happened to see him. Some small part of me, thankfully more aware than the rest had the foresight to call some utility companies and get everything at my apartment working again. 

       The help desk attendant worked miracles, my nonstop flight boarded less than an hour later and I had managed to keep a first class seat. I sat down and started doodling nonsense in my journal, blasting music in my headphones. But around 6 hours into this 19-hour flight, exhaustion overcame me and I drifted off to sleep.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

       "Beloved," Damian sighed as he wrapped his arms around my waist. "It's almost 11, we need to get out of bed," he murmured into my hair.

       "Nooooooo" I whined, stretching further into the sunlight. The doors were ajar, a nice breeze keeping us cool. I snuggled into him. "We're on a vacation, orders from Bruce. And on vacation, you can stay in bed all day."

       "But there might be monsters nearby-" He said mysteriously, catching my attention.

       "I didn't get reports of any- AH!" I scream as Damian proceeds to tickle me. "No! Sto-" I try to gasp out between laughing. I manage to fight him, tumbling out of bed. He laughed at me as I tried to untangle myself from the blankets.

       "That's a dirty trick Wayne!" I gasp, trying to catch my breath. I grab a pillow and chuck it at him, but he just catches it and throws it back. We have a small impromptu pillow war before he taps out after a good hit knocks him onto the balcony. "BOW TO MY PROWESS!" I jokingly declare, jumping up and down on the ottoman. Damian runs over and sweeps me down.

       "Please. Don't. Fall. And. Break. Your. Head" He accentuates every word with a kiss, making me giggle. He lets me go and takes the bathroom to shower first. I head out into the kitchen, humming to myself. I grab some of the fruit we bought yesterday and start making a fruit bowl. I'm halfway through cutting the Jicama when Damian's arms are around my waist again.

       "What are you doing?" He asks, resting his chin on my shoulder. Before I could answer, his grip around me tightened. "Be careful!" He whispered harshly, putting his hands over mine. "Your knife skills could use some work, you could have cut your finger off like that!" He scolded me but I scoffed.

       "Haven't lost a finger yet"

       "No, but you did set your oven on fire. THREE TIMES" He elbowed my side and I pouted.

       "Excuse you, that 2nd time wasn't my fault, remember? Dick broke into my place and fell asleep making fish sticks," I retaliated, squirming out of his grip and started making some sandwiches for lunch.

       "I really should improve the security at your apartment," Damian says as he finished cutting up the Jicama and strawberries, plating them and dropping them off at the table.

       "As if that would stop every vigilante from the northern hemisphere from breaking in," I snorted, bringing over the sandwiches. We ate in peace, letting the soft instrumental music from the radio fill the silence.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

       I sigh happily, turning in my chair, reaching out for Damian's hand. The second I touched the cold seat next to me, my body freezes too. "Damian?"  I muttered drowsily, sitting up straight. His bag isn't under his chair. Why am I wearing a dress? Why are my leggings rolled up? I start to panic, breathing rapidly and trying to blink away the tears in my eyes. It's enough to pull me awake and I remember what happened.

       "Oh... oh" I hiccup and bite my lip, looking back out the window into the starry night. The tears start falling, but I'm being quiet so I let them. My skin itches. My neck, my wrists, under my eyes. I start scratching, trying to ignore my memories. The trip to Italy, our joint project to improve the villain resistance of the infrastructure of Gotham, the charity events we attended.

       "Ma'am?" I look up, a stewardess in the aisle leaning over. I wipe my eyes, catching the furious red color my wrists had become, before turning to her. "Uh, you missed your meal earlier and I was wondering if there was anything I could get you?" She looked uncomfortable now, glancing between my red eyes, red nose, and now red wrists and presumably red neck. I glanced over the menu she handed me, ordering a full meal. She dropped the food off and scurried away, not meeting my eyes.

        The meal was laid out beautifully; tomato soup, grilled cheese and grilled chicken with a slice of cheesecake. Yet, I couldn't seem to muster the strength to eat. It didn't really seem appetizing, and I wasn't hungry. 

        The last time you ate was over 10 HOURS ago, and that wasn't even a full meal. C'mon, one bite. I picked up the fork, but simply twirled it in my hand, watching the metal catch the light. You'll get a raging headache if you don't eat soon. Might get that deep vein thrombosis. I take a bite of the chicken, tasting nothing despite its obvious layer of seasoning. I swallowed it with half a glass of water. It felt thick, heavy, almost like swallowing a rock. But I had to eat. When I didn't immediately throw up, I set up my phone to play a cache of 65 action movies to distract myself and started eating bit by bit. I could tell I was drinking a ridiculous amount of water, but the stewardess replaced my glass without it ever going entirely empty so I didn't really notice how much I had downed. She cleared my tray when I was done, and I just kept watching movies. Whenever I thought I was going to fall asleep, I'd crank the volume up, scroll forward to fight scenes and take a drink of sprite. I was about 4 movies in when I threw off my headphones, whimpering with how severe my headache had gotten despite eating and drinking water.

       "Good morning passengers, it is 10 pm and we're about to start our final descent so if you could all please put up your trays and turn off the wifi in your electronics, we'll be landing shortly." Not gonna lie, the time zone jump threw me for a minute, I had taken a second to figure out how we made the flight in 8 hours instead of 19. I shoved everything into my bag, forcing the zipper closed. I wanted to put on some rock or pop punk songs, “Battle On!” seeming weirdly appealing, even though I hadn't heard it in a while. I felt a vein in my neck twitch, so I settled on music from the swan lake instead.

       The second we touched down I was up.  I only had my backpack so I was able to squeeze by people, ignoring protests and complaints to get off the plane. Off the plane, past the luggage claim, I was going down the escalator when I spotted them. Advika was talking to Zay, looking mad as hell, but she noticed me first. She ran over and almost tackled me to hug me, Zay taking my bag. "Princessa, baby girl, I'm so sorry." She cries into my hair, "I didn't think he was an asshole, oh god, how could he do that to you!"

       "We have the plane ready to go," Zay says, joining in on the hug. I let Advika cling to me as we make our way to the opposite side of the airport. Once we're in a more private area, Advika speaks up again.

       "I'm going to kill him. How fucking dare he!" She squeezed my hand, and now started pulling me towards the airplane.

       "Isn't that Rosella's line?" Zay prods before looking back at me. "But in all seriousness, we will absolutely end him, just say the word. Don't even say it, blink morse code, ASL, anything." I keep my mouth shut and let Advika continue to rave about the different ways she'll end Damian; financially, socially, whatever I wanted. We went out onto the runway and I couldn't help but chuckle.

       "The company jet? Isn't that a bit much?" I say as Zay escorts us in, before heading to the back.

       "The boss said it's okay. Nearly bit my head off when I called to ask but said it was ok. You did help establish our company in the foreign market," Advika takes a seat but gestures for me to lay down on the couch. "No offense mi princessa, but you look like a fucking mess. Please take a nap."

       "I don't know if I can do that," I say, letting out a long sigh. Zay comes back, handing Advika a small purse and laying a platter of cheese and crackers on the table across from us. He sets up instrumental music, from “Carmen” if I'm not mistaken, as Advika takes my hat off and starts combing my hair. I lay back into her, letting her brush out my hair, counting her impeccable pattern. 2 squirts from a spray bottle to moisten my hair, 10 brush strokes. 2 then 10 then 2 then 10. My eyes started feeling heavy so I forced myself to take a deep breath and sit up. The motion made her accidentally yank my hair and woke me a bit. As she apologized I alternated my breathing patterns to try to stay awake, noticing for the first time that we were already in the air. 

      "Please, just go to sleep," Advika begged, grabbing my hands and forcing me to look at her. I stared at her for a moment before answering.

       "I did... on the plane. I dreamed of him. The disorientation of waking up made me think I was on my way to my honeymoon," I let out a bitter laugh and she flinches, looking over to Zay, unsure what to say.

       "You look pale," Zay interjects. He comes over to me, placing a hand on my head and then my neck. He doesn't comment on the marks, but he and Advika share a look. "Change your clothes, drink some water, then these, we don't want you getting sick." He puts 2 pills in my hands before going off to find me some water.

       "Yeah, getting sick is the absolute worst thing that can happen to me right now. How silly of me," I roll my eyes and Advika snorts, trying to mask her laughter. I leave the Nyquil pills on the couch and get changed. I come back and take the pills, leaning into Advika again so she can continue to play with my hair. She spoke about anything and everything, filling the silence with her happy chatter. Undoubtedly, she was trying to distract my conscious so if I did dream again, it wouldn't be about him. It worked, her happy banter following me into my dreamless slumber.

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

       I awoke to Zay gently shaking me, thankfully a lot less disoriented than last time. I gather up my things, helping myself to the bottles of water they had around. I ignore the bandages wrapped around my wrist, but the one on my throat was quickly starting to freak me out. Advika seemed to sense my discomfort, immediately coming over and cutting the bandages off.

       "Sorry, your skin seemed a bit raw so we wrapped it up," she explains calmly, alternating to rubbing her hand up and down my arm to soothe me.

       "S'ok," I mumble, taking my bag from Zay.

       "We called you a cab -it got here a couple of minutes ago-, but you're more than welcome to stay with either of us back in Mongolia. Neha and Juniper also moved here ya know, I'm sure she'd-" I cut Zay off with a shake of my head, and follow him out of the plane.

       "I just really want to be alone for a while, ya know?" As alone as I can be with my differing opinions yelling at me and my endless train of thought that does NOT SHUT UP. Zay nodded but Advika grabbed my arm before I could hail the cab closer to the plane.

       "I know you want to be alone- and you absolutely do need some time alone, this is going to be a lot to process- but...." She hesitated, biting her lip. "I know how you can get Ro. don't even try to argue with me on this. Please, take some time, but do not hesitate to call me or anyone else." Would this be a bad time to throw up? That's one way to diverge the conversation. Advika held me but I wouldn't meet her eyes. "You know what? If you don't check in with me in a week I will track you down and drag you to live with me. I'm not joking. Do you understand" I want to protest, but then I remember she didn't even have my phone number. Game on. I agree and they both give me a hug before I board the cab.

       "Good morning"

       "Good morning, where should I take you?" ah. another thing that I hadn't thought of. Without even bothering to check my bag, I knew I didn't have my keys. But I knew someone who might. I give the cab driver an address and I pull out my phone. But I can't even ask because I don't remember her number. I sigh, hoping things hadn't changed as much as I thought.

       We're in downtown Seoul before I can start properly stressing myself with the "what ifs". Had she moved? What if she didn't have the key? Would she yell at me for arriving at... Almost 3 am? I decided to do the math to distract myself, reworking the math on how a 4-hour flight turned into a 5-hour flight for a solid 10 minutes before I realized that I had not taken another time zone into play. Small miracles were on my side today. Yesterday? Tomorrow? Whatever the fuck day it is. Since it was so early, there wasn't much in the way of traffic, and the doorman was the same one that had been here when I lived her for however long it was. I explained to him that I was here to see Hong and after some reluctance, he let me in.

       Up the elevator to the fifth door, doors opening to crisp air, reminiscent of fall. Exactly 30 steps forward to a door with 4 pastel sierra sunset decorations on the door. I knock, timidly at first as to not wake the neighbors. In 5 minutes, again, a little louder. I did this for an hour before I gave up and simply stood there with my head on the door.

       "Hong. Hooooonnnngggggg" I whined quietly. Wow, thank goodness it's so early, everyone would think you're a creeper. lmaooo just imagine getting arrested your first day back. I whined into the door, contemplating just sleeping out here.

       "Rosella?" a soft voice came from behind me. I turn to see Hong with Geo's arm around her. There were 2 more people behind her but I barely had the awareness to nod as a greeting. "What are you doing here? Wasn't yesterday your-" She stops, noticing that my lip had begun to tremble. 

      "Rosella-" she comes over and wraps her arms around me, hiding my face from view of the others. Someone unlocks the door and she drags me inside. The sequins on her dress start to itch, but I continue to hug her. Once I'm ready to let go, she sits me down and goes to change her outfit while Geo sits with me. in awkward silence for a while.

       "Rose, what happened?" He eventually asks, sliding over a glass of ice water. "I thought your wedding was yesterday. Wasn't your honeymoon suppose to be in Europe?" I couldn't seem to muster the strength to answer, simply staring at him and sighing.

       "You have no tact," Hong comments, combing back in her usual floral pjs. She flops down next to me, placing her hand on mine. "You don't have to tell us now, but I would like for you to tell us eventually." I can't help but smile, she always has a soothing air to her. It's impossible to be mad or upset near her. " I have some clothes you can borrow; I have friends over today so you'll have to take the couch, but you can have the guest room tomorrow." I shake my head, forcing myself to pull away from her motherly touch.

       "I could never impose on you, I was just wondering if you have my spare key? I really want to go home." I let my voice crack at the end, hoping she wouldn't push for me to stay here. Geo looked at me like I was crazy, staring particularly long at my single backpack.

       "Okay. Geo, could you get her key? It's in the top dresser with a purple tip," Hong nods to him and he leaves. " I do feel the need to remind you that you pretty much purged the place when you left. I don't remember the last time I visited either, so its probably super dusty too."

       "I'll make do for tonight. I'll go to the store tomorrow for food and cleaning supplies, ok?"

       "You'd better, you forgetful dip stick," Geo grunts as he hands me the key. "Actually, we could probably find somewhere open rn. We could swing by and-"

       "I was actually going to walk home it's a nice night and-"

       "Absolutely not." Hong interrupted me, sounding her top tier forceful. "I know you've been through some shit in the last 48 hours but I'm not going to let you commit suicide by stupidity!" I took a minute to process this, for a second I thought I was back in Gotham.

       "It's not far... I only have my backpack and the crime rates here aren't even that high Hong. You know I took mi-"

       "Yes yes, I know about your MMA history, but I draw the line. I don't know how much the others have let you get away with but you are not walking alone at night!" I don't fight her, letting her drag me to her car, Geo driving. We're at my complex within minutes.

       "Take care of yourself Rosie." Hong says, giving me a half hug through the car window, Geo simply putting a hand on my head. "I'll come to check up on you- and if you don't answer the door I'll call the cops" she threatened before letting go.

       "Thank you, seriously, this is so great that you had my key, and for dropping me off." I hesitate before heading up. "If you don't mind me asking, how long have you two been dating?" Geo's blush was extremely visible against his skin, even in the shadows.

       "It's that obvious huh? We've been together for about 5 months," Hong replied, blushing as well.

          "I always thought you two would look cute together," I said, this time with a genuine smile. I wave them off and opt to take the stairs up. I opened the door to my apartment. 

        It's freezing, dust dancing in the waning moonlight. I set my bag down, pulling out another change of clothing from what I had bought at the airport. I threw it into the bathroom before heading over to my emergency closet. Never though the emergency stash would be used like this. Maybe we shouldn't use it? Earth shattering heartbreak is too an emergency, fuck off. I'll restock it anyways. I pull out some towels and bath supplies. I get in the shower, letting the steaming hot water run over me.

         Since when have I not been able to feel my fingers? I ask myself, flexing them one by one. It's like the stakeout in Boston that one winter, Dick brought us hot chocolate-

         No. Don't even. Dust! This place is messy and I want to properly disinfect it- unconsciously increasing the pressure with my loofah- I'll need Lysol, tide pods, scrubs, dish rags. Probably should buy more plates too. Damian always had a peculiar adoration for matching cutlery sets, when he bought me some ramen bowls-

OW OW OW OW OW OW OW! I jerk up, my hand immediately going to my upper spine. I breathe in too quickly, taking in some water. I pull open the curtain and lean over the tub, cough and sputtering, trying to catch my breath.

       "What- the- fuck-" I manage to gasp out. I was sitting down in the tub, I guess I had fallen asleep???? I shake the drowsiness off, turning off the water and getting out. Despite, or maybe because of, my broken sleep this last day I was still exhausted once I had gotten changed and my heartbeat had slowed down. I looked to my room door, but collapsed on the sofa, letting the musty leather suffocate me to sleep as my bones sunk into the couch.

Chapter 3: Safehouse

 I awoke the same way I fell asleep.

Suffocating.

        I wanted to get up, find a tissue to blow my nose, but every muscle in me ached a million ways. Did I fall off the empire state building while I was asleep? Did some cannibal beat me with a meat tenderizer for hours and just leave me on this couch? Holy FUCK.

        Even twisting my face away from the couch so I could get some fresh air strained my neck. Every joint felt dislocated, limbs lifeless like a broken marionette. The dust. Allergies. I can't breathe...

Can't breathe

Can't breathe

      Suffocating! DIEDIEDIEDIEDIEDIEDIE- I panic, throwing myself off the couch. Landing on the ground actually didn't cause any more pain. I laid there for a minute, mentally trying to put my joints back in their sockets. It isn't a large enough distraction, and I'm soon hyper-aware of everything. My skin was burning where the sunlight touched, the dust in the air was so heavy I could have sworn I lost my vision again. I could hear the meaningless hustle of cars and people outside on the sidewalk, but worst of all was my pounding heartbeat in my ears.

       THUMP-THUMP THUMP-THUMP THUMP-THUMP

I forced myself to get up, groaning as all my muscles pinched as they got back into place. I made a lot of unnecessary noise as I cleaned up my mess from last night. Throwing the shower caddy under the sink, flipping my backpack and letting everything fall out, slamming my dirty clothes into a pile in a corner. And I couldn't help but look around every couple of minutes, not entirely understanding where I was. Trying and failing to compensate for the noises that usually find me when I wake up. When I threw open the balcony windows, I realized I was still waiting to hear another window slide open and a soft "I'm home", even though it was well past noon.

        How wild would it be if he actually went on parole after all that? Would a fight have broken out? Would it have been like the whole Owls mishap again?

       Get your head out of your ass, they're his family; blood is thicker than water.

Blood of the covenant is thicker than the water of the womb.

He's been helping and fighting alongside them much longer than you have you dip. I storm into the kitchen, only grunting as I smash my hip against the counter. I set out 4 pages of stationary in front of me and made lists; food, clothes, furniture, extra. I took my papers and started walking around, jotting notes of what I needed. Talking to fill the void.

"More toilet paper, hand soap, towels," I hum under my breath, not really checking the cabinets. "As for clothes I should-" my voice caught when I walked into the bedroom. It was freezing. I reflexively bit my lip,  eyes watering. Instead of goosebumps, this cold sat in my stomach. The same cold in my hands, from the airplane seat, returned- lacing up my arms, down my stomach and legs. Stabbing my heart and restricting my lungs.

I'm alone.

"I should buy like 4 interchangeable outfits," the whimper barely sounded through the silent tears. I shut the door tight, almost running back to the living room. I sat just outside the ring of light, hunching over my paper. "Jeans, underwear, toothpasTE-" I sniffled but my vision only got blurrier.

"BoOKcASes, a bEd, mayBE a BeAr," my heart squeezed every time my voice broke, and in seconds I couldn't write on the soaked paper. The hiccups were my only air, snot streaking my trembling chin.

  "What did I do? What. diD. I DOOO?" I sobbed, wailing into my hands. I curled around a leg of the coffee table, letting its corners cut into my stomach. Wailing until I was dry heaving, scratching my eyes to get rid of these acidic tears, blowing my nose with my shirt- moist blotches sticking to my skin. "Day- Damian" I cried to myself until I passed out again.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Afternoons spent silently reading with each other

Matching outfits for galas, some he designed himself, just for me

Our home downtown- bought to have some peace and quiet from his family. Although half the time they broke in, the other half we ended up back in the manor.

Traveling for work, for fun, for missions he didn't think were dangerous.

Sparring with Jason and Cass.

Jason showing me a hundred new bands when I got him into new music genres, trying to help each other find less aggressive ways to vent. Giving him the cream to completely erase the J from his cheek was different, the first time I saw him cry. He understood that blood family wasn't always loyal, and that I didn't mean it when I'd punch or insult someone to hide softer feelings.

Cass just vibing, understanding me and letting me get close. She was always the first to come help me when I was hurt, I became the person she could cry to. The way her face lit up when we were just able to chill a whole night, singing, watching movies and simply understanding each other on a fundamental level.

Barbra growing aggravated as she tried to teach me how to do more with technology than just googling things. Her forgiving my stupidity after I built her a new computer.

The long talks I had with Dick. Anything and everything. The first time hurt, when I called him out. He was giddy and chipper, dramatic as ever but when he caught me staring and stopped for long enough to look back, the pain in his eyes was clear as day. He had just broken up with Kory after all. He didn't need to lie, he didn't need to lighten the mood, he just needed to be honest. But once he could smile honestly again, I couldn't help but remember that he was the one who found out about me and Damian first. He'd been there to spy on our first date, hiding it from Bruce. He was the first to take me out for ice cream then subtly threaten my life if I harmed Damian, the first to swing by for spontaneous days out. To get to know me, to see if I was right for Damian.

Stephanie, Tim and I bonding over teasing and pranking Damian.

Tim and I being forced into caffeine and sleep interventions. Coffee and Coke. And then the beautiful irony of us falling asleep halfway through, especially after I taught him how to sleep with his eyes open.

Cooking with Alfred, learning his famous cookie recipes. Showing him more authentic Hispanic recipes, and him comforting me and being the first to compliment me after I was duped into cooking for the ENTIRE family.

Philosophical and political discussions with Bruce. Talks about war and power, cultural similarities and their origins. Talks about Damian as a child to mess with him. Opening up about paranoia, fear of losing loved ones, the controversies of being "too much" for some people. He understood, sometimes the ultimate sacrifices had to be made in a second. He understood because he was the same. We'd give up our lives before anyone else.

It's all gone.

So much of my past, and now, my whole future.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

it's cold. i stripped off my shirt and blew my nose.

blood. eww, it's hot. i hold my shirt to my nose, crawling under the table, balling up until i could feel all 4 legs pressing into me.

tuneless humming, watching the room light up until my eyes burn.

I have to pee.

I wash my hands, the water making me aware of my bone dry mouth. My tongue sticking to the roof of my mouth. I let the water pour through my fingers for another minute before walking away, laying back under the coffee table.

long grains. shades of brown. like dead grass. my fingers run over the million tiny bumps watching the wood fade from a blurry brown to a million tiny wooden grains.

My hair is on fire. The sun reaches it from under the table.

There are people in the hallway. They're as loud as the cars outside.

the ac is running. i start humming to drown it out.

i'm melting. i force my eyes to blink but they continue to burn. 

I can't breathe. I stagger to the bathroom and after a few minutes of moving my jaw up and down, my mouth manages to open. I swig some water before throwing some on my face. fever? headache at least. I grab a towel to wipe my face, fumbling back into the hall. fuck was i looking directly at the sun? there is only one place colder than the sun. i walk to my bedroom, the cold imperceptible to me now.

but the second i put my eyes directly onto the empty bed frame, i could almost hear them sizzle. it exhausted me. I hadn't realized how hot my face was until i laid it on the floor. like a refreshing bath, calming. i just focused on my heat being transferred to the floor, unaware that I was falling asleep again.

((The writing for the last chapter is intentionally like that, I was attempting to write Rose being in a type of  disassociated kind of state; where you aren't aware of time passing, noting seems real, even things in your immediate vicinity. Knowing that you should be doing something, drinking water, changing clothes, listening to music, ANYTHING-but still not doing it. The capitalization/simple sentences and repetition on the latter part was intentional. ))

[browneyedhimbo]

Not to You

Pairing: Sherlock Holmes x Reader

Summary: A case leaving you uneasy, you turn to your boyfriend for comfort and are smacked with the reality you knew would eventually happen.

Warnings: slight swearing, kind of gruesome but not really, tiny bit of fluff, denial

Word Count: 996

A/N: So I'm not really sure where this came from but I tried my best. I also wanna thank @thewriterandpoet for encouraging me to post this!

You and Sherlock were summoned by Greg. There was a murder that took place at the Lisson Gallery and Scotland Yard was stumped, yet again. You and Sherlock got there with Greg running up to you guys.

"Thank God you made it! Follow me, the bodies are over here." Greg seemed really panicky. Usually, he's more composed than that. This one must have shaken him up real good. Wonder what it could have been?

He led you two in a room, the normally white walls painted crimson with blood. You started looking around until your eyes landed on the bodies on the ground. Immediately your heart started to swell and you had to swallow the lump that formed in the back of your throat. Eyes burning while fighting the urge to cry.

You watched as Sherlock looked around the room and start to examine the bodies. "So, what are your theor- (Y/N) are you okay?" Sherlock started towards you, concern filled his voice. You nodded your head, not trusting yours. 

You and Sherlock have always been very close ever since you met a few years ago. And you definitely couldn't deny the crush you had towards the detective. But with him always saying he's a sociopath, it seems pretty clear he doesn't reciprocate those feelings. Oh, but how wrong you were.

"You sure?" You nodded again. He looked you over again. "Go home. Make a tea and try to forget what happened here. Okay?" Your eyes started to sting even more. "Okay," you managed to croak out before turning on your heels and dashing away from the crime scene. 

****

You started walking around, trying to get rid of the image already burnt into your head. Two dead bodies. One of a woman, about mid 30s, and the other of a little boy who had to have been maybe 5 or 6. They were split open down the middle, all their organs on display and their blood all over the walls. Who would do such a thing to a child? You thought.

After walking a fair distance you realized that you were near your boyfriend Jackson's flat. You thought after seeing that you could use the comfort of your boyfriend. After a few more minutes of walking, you got to the front door and used the key he gave you.

"Jackson!" No response.

"Jackson?" You started walking around the flat until you heard muffled voices coming from his bedroom.

"Oh my gosh, you are too cute for your own good." A woman's voice could be heard.

"No my sweet pea. You are. Now come over here and give me a kiss." A male voice said, one all too familiar to you. You slowly turned the knob to the bedroom door and quietly opened the door to reveal your boyfriend, now ex, snogging some other girl.

"JACKSON!" You boomed. Immediately he pushed the girl off him. "I swear it's not what it looks like." You felt your heart sting and your blood boil. 

"Then please tell me, what exactly were you doing if it's not what it looks like." You crossed your arms over your chest and tapped your foot impatiently. Anger coursing through your veins.

"She-she got me first, I was going to push her off and-and then you came and um um," You rolled your eyes and started walking towards him. Stalking him, like a tiger with its prey.

"Shut it. I heard everything. EVERY GODDAMN WORD! It's over and there is no way in bloody hell you will ever change my mind. You asshole. Have a happy life with that." You said pointing to the woman still on the bed. You turned on your heel to leave.

"Not like you were any fun anyway. Always with that detective freak." That was the last straw. "Nobody, and I mean NOBODY calls my detective a freak." And with that you walked up to the bed and punched him in the face, hearing a satisfying crack.

****

You trudged up the stairs to 221B. You opened and slammed the door with so much force that Sherlock actually snapped out of his mind palace. You went and plopped down on the sofa burying your face in your hands, silently crying.

You felt the couch sink next to you and an arm awkwardly wrapped around your shoulder. You looked up to see a very concerned Sherlock. "I hope you punched hard enough." You chuckled half-heartedly while Sherlock smirked to himself. Proud he made you feel a little better.

"What exactly happened (Y/N)?"

****

"And then I walked up to him and punched him breaking his nose." After telling Sherlock everything that happened he sat there. A grand silence taking over the flat. Not liking it you decided to break the ice. "So needless to say, today was not a really good day."

Still silence. Then Sherlock stood up, pacing. "Why would someone do that?" You furrowed your eyebrows in confusion. "What do you mean?"

"What I mean (Y/N), is why would someone cheat on you. You're so intelligent, witty, and cunning. Not to mention extremely beautiful, kind, and very caring." Sherlock's words melted your heart. You walked up to him and engulfed him in a hug. He awkwardly returned the gesture, soon being comfortable with it.

"Thank you, Sherlock." You mumbled into his chest. "No problem (N/N). Nobody should do that to you. You deserve the best. Obviously, he wasn't cut out for the job." You couldn't help but let out a small laugh. "Goodnight Sherlock." You let go of the embrace and started walking to your flat, 221C when you heard Sherlock mumble something.

"Sorry, did you say something?" You turned around facing Sherlock. "N-no, i-it was nothing."

"Um, okay. Night," you swiftly exited and headed down to your flat. Sherlock couldn't help it. He was so helplessly in love with you but he was too scared to actually admit it. Especially with his fear of sentiment. 

------

Tagging: @thewriterandpoet

Message me if you want to get tagged for any of my works

[cherry3point14]

Mine: Ch1 - YOU

Series Masterlist

Pairing: Dean x Reader Warnings: Stalking, beginnings of jealous!Dean Word Count: 4,000 ish. Chapter Summary: Dean meets you. He wants to know more. A/N: At this point my feelings are UGH. I have looked at this too long!

Ao3 if you prefer

This should be my happy place. I’ve been thinking about this for like, a week. But Sam’s bitch face was never part of my plan. He’s overreacting. The line isn’t even that long, there are two tables in front of us when we park up and the line has doubled behind us. That’s not good enough for my brother though. I’m not even sure why he came, before we left he kept saying how we had food in the kitchen. Not that I’m mad about his company. It was a good two-hour drive and I got to spend it with him. It’s been a lifetime since we drove anywhere without finding someone dead at the other end. Vegas week got skipped a few years back and remains a memory. Our lives, in general, get more and more caked in blood and shit. I’m not counting or anything but we deserved a couple of normal hours on the road. Except we’re at a diner so it’s me that deserves this. Sam deserves a trip to a farmers market or something. That’s a problem for tomorrow. Although this place isn’t just a diner; that makes it sound like any other pancake house on any other highway. This is the diner. It’s a gutted gas station turned restaurant that’s the best everything in the state. A well-kept secret. Or at least it had been until the food blogs, that I definitely don’t read, got a hold of it. Now it’s full of beanie wearing douchebags taking pictures of their food, and wannabe cowboys who want to do the same. “Hey, guys. You’re looking at about a thirty-minute wait for a table. Unless you want to sit at the counter?” Her eyes dart about as she talks, between the line behind them to the people already sitting, and back again. There are two seats at the counter and the sight of them sends a shudder rolling over my shoulders. They’re in the middle of everything, of other people already sitting there and I don’t know if I want to eat that badly. Not in the next thirty minutes anyway. For how long I’ve been dreaming about this burger I don’t want to spend the entire time trying not to nudge the guy next to me. Besides those college kids with the corner table are no way going to last half an hour now that their food’s gone. Before I can say any of this Sam opens his giant mouth, “counter’s fine, thanks.” The counter is fine? The counter is anything but fine. The space is too small and I didn’t drive all this way to sit at the goddamn counter during the lunchtime rush. But he’s already taking big moon size steps over there before I get a chance to hiss my opinion at him. Son of a bitch. “You’re a traitor, you know that?” The space I’m supposed to sit in is even smaller now I’m in it. He actually looks shocked by my accusation, “what? You wanted to eat, this is the quickest way to eat.” “I wanted to enjoy my food. This isn’t just lunch, it’s a, um-” I slap my hand on the counter when the word hits me, “it’s an experience Sammy. The sort of experience I’d have liked my feet touching the floor for.” His lips curl up like I’m some sort of amusement for him, “an experience?” Crap. He’s on to me. He’s seen my browsing history. He knows that SouthernFoodGal recommended the place. “Just don’t order rabbit food, ok? Respect the process.” My hand waves in the space between us in the hopes that I can wave away his focus. It actually works. The waitress at the counter is, and this is not an exaggeration, about ninety-eight years old. She’s every road weathered, curly-haired truck stop waitress from the movies. I’m wondering if it’s a legal thing that every diner has to have one. It’s gotta be, right? It can’t be a coincidence. She smiles though, not a plastered on fake one, and she doesn’t comment on my life expectancy as I order their star burger; the heart attack. Sam doesn’t need to comment because I can see his judgment out the corner of my eye, and that’s before I order fries. At the very least he orders a chicken burger instead of salad. Hopefully, he’ll cheer up with some bread in his stomach. The place is buzzing so I’m not sure if we have total privacy or if every word we say will be broadcast. The conversation stays light then. Free of monsters and angels and demons. I get a chance to hear about a book Sam read that wasn’t lore. It’s good to let him talk like this. It reminds me that he’s ok, he’s doing ok. He’s still got this slither of a normal guy left in him as he gushes over the story; that’s enough for me to smile at. The food arrives fast, hot and before Sam has finished talking. It takes two hands to lift my burger since it’s more a stack of food rather than a meal. And yet the beast in my hands isn’t leaking grease all over me. The smell of meat and cheese hits my nose before the food reaches my tongue. All my senses band together for that first bite. “Are you kidding me?” With food swirling around my mouth I still manage a moan. Sam frowns at my plate, then me, “what?” “Look at this!” it’s all about the cross-section so waving it in his direction will surely be enough to explain. Yet Sam’s face stays blank unless you count the sneer he tries to hide, so I swallow all slow and regretfully. The food had to leave my mouth at some point I guess. “This is a work of art. Bacon’s crispy, three different type of cheese, onion rings Sammy. Don’t even get me started on the sauce. This is- shit the pickles have gotta be homemade. This was worth the drive.” That’s probably not as big a compliment as it could be considering how far we drive everywhere for everything. I know what I mean to say though. It’s been a while since I ate food that was more than just fast. This is damn good. “This is pretty good too,” Sam chimes in with much less enthusiasm. Offensively less. I’d be annoyed on behalf of the place except I take another bite and the anger in my gut fades to nothing. Eating the rest of the meal becomes a blur. I'm caught between wanting to swallow it whole and not wanting to finish it at all. Doesn't even matter that I elbowed the guy next to me twice. Too soon our elderly waitress Carol is taking my plate away before she checks her watch. “Y/N,” she shouts through the pass into the kitchen. “Can you watch the counter while I take my ten?” Apparently, it didn’t matter about the lunch rush or the line out the door, Carol was taking her ten. She’s a seasoned waitress who got our order right first time. I appreciate her enough that panic bubbles in my gut for a second. What if this Y/N person brings the wrong pie? The worry is fleeting because then the door swings open with a crash of wood on wood. The sound of your entrance is what catches my attention, you are what keeps it. You step out in your chef whites, rolled at the sleeves and an apron pinning it all at your waist. The apron giving you a figure even in your uniform. I can tell you still want to be proud of your body underneath your pulled back hair and shiny face from the heat of the kitchen. You're sporting an oversized pout, aimed in the direction of the waitress whose name I’ve forgotten by now. “Only if you tell me I’m pretty.” You are pretty. I’d tell you that. You have the kind of soft features that are pretty even if you’re not dolled up and I’m not half drunk. You’re pretty, and then you laugh at your own joke, and like that you’re beautiful. Anybody would have a hard time convincing me I’m not staring straight into the sun. Carol’s voice is scolding if not playful as she shakes her head, “yeah, pretty annoying.” You shoo her away with a waved hand before your face turns hard and serious. Even if you’re only covering for ten minutes you hold yourself like this is most important job you’ve ever had. You survey your kingdom with concern etched on that sweet little face of yours until you lock eyes with me. Quickly softening into an easy smile. Acknowledging my stare as a call for attention. You wanted to come over anyway. I only gave you an excuse. “How was the food guys?” You don’t even glance in Sam’s direction. I like this move. Sam hasn’t looked up from his phone but you don’t want to make a big deal out of coming over here for me. I get it, you don’t want to seem too eager. Which would be easier to pull off if you’d looked away from me yet. “Best burger I’ve had in months.” The smile I flash you is the charming one I reserve for women in bars. You’re not sucking down vodka though so you raise both eyebrows at my review instead. Your hands move to your hips, again bringing my focus to your waist, begging me to steal a glance at your curves. “Only the last few months?” You scoff, “not good enough. I’m taking the gold for best burger of your life or I’m taking nothing.” I would think you’re joking except you have this hard set to your face that’s deadly serious. I’m half sure you’re going to storm off and make me something else right now. It’s only when you don’t move from the spot and your lip finally twitches that a chuckle escapes me, along with a wink. “You’ll have to keep trying then, sweetheart.” Is that a blush on your cheeks, or were they that pink since you left the kitchen? “I didn’t know I had someone with such discerning taste in today or I’d have made you something special.” You have this pucker in your top lip and a flash of something in your eyes, like a fucking promise. I can see you like a challenge and maybe you also want my approval? Maybe you crave it. So, you keep trying, keep working for it, “do you trust me enough to get you something sweet?” Is it sweeter than you, I wonder? “Depends on if you have pie.” You jump back as if a jolt of electricity surged through you. You press a hand to your chest with this grand gesture of mock offense. There’s a sickly over the top southern accent too, “sir I’m offended that you think I didn’t make pie fresh this morning.” Another laugh at your own joke although I’ll be honest, I kind of like that about you already. “Apple and blueberry or cherry bourbon?” Shit. Is this the moment that I’ll remember for the rest of my life? It’s a stupid question. If I could only take one mental picture it would be you coming back from the kitchen. A sway to your hips, two plates, and one fork.

We’d talked while I ate. You'd pretended you were waiting for my critique and I wait until both slices are gone before I give you an inch. The whole time some dick at the other end of the counter is staring at you. Desperately trying to will you into noticing him because what? The asshole wants a refill or something? Being rude to wait staff is shitty enough on a normal day but he shouldn't be staring at you like that. Not that you need to worry about him. He gets a hefty and totally accidental shove on my way out that almost puts him on his ass. I’m not even sure you noticed when Carol came back because you’d stuck around. The din of the diner quietens enough that I catch the nervous hitch in your voice when you’d told me your name. “I’m Y/N by the way,” tumbles out too fast and too quiet, then you’d asked for mine in the same breath. I’d given it to you, my first name anyway. Why are you so relieved? Did you really think I wouldn’t tell you my name? It’s like you haven’t seen you. But see, here’s the thing. I’ve looked out for people before, tried to look out for people, and it’s not been enough. I’ve not been enough. Now I know what I need to do and the lengths I need to go to if I’m going to do protect people. So, checking you out is common sense. It’s a necessary evil to look after myself. You’re beautiful but I need to know if there’s more to you. There’s beautiful in every town. I need to make sure you’re worth all the effort I’m willing to go to. It’s a two-way street too. I get that. You didn’t have to trust me. It’s probably not uncommon for guys to hit on you at work and for you to give out a fake name. That makes it all the sweeter when I type your name into google and boom, there you are. Smiling so wide in your profile pictures that it makes my cheeks ache. You trusted me which begs the question, are you a little bit naive or was that really a blush? I’m nursing a glass, my third, while I moon over my laptop. I’m not normally like this. My interest in looking people up online usually limited to finding a connection between victims. I’m not a big social media guy. For you? Well, it’s a means to an end. This is how I get to see more of your story is all. Lawrence. I almost choke when I see that under ‘hometown’. You were born and raised in Lawrence. In another life, I could have already met you. We’d already be together and today was kismet fixing things on the messed up timeline we’re on. Not that I believe in that shit. Except you make me believe. The deeper I go down the Y/N rabbit hole the more it seems like you’re kind of, sort of, perfect for me. It’s such a mindless action to pour myself another drink while I scroll that it doesn’t even count as glass number four. You were living in New York until about a year ago. Then you moved to Manhattan, Kansas. There’s this picture of you in a car packed tight with boxes, sunglasses, and a big grin. The caption reads, if you can’t live in NYC, try Manhattan! You giggled to yourself while writing that no doubt, I’d stake money on it. There’s no explanation for your move but all your friends liked the post and a bunch of them chime in to say they’ll miss you. I’m interested in what brought you closer, thankful for it. I’ll have to ask you about that one day. Although it’s better that you’re out of the city anyway. “Found anything?” Sam leaves the kitchen with a glass of water in his hand. Upping his water intake is his new thing and he’s so desperately trying to get me on board. Unfortunately, I hold a deeply rooted belief that pissing that much just ain’t natural.

“What?” I snap, still distracted with images of you.

Sam must read it as suspicious because he reels his neck in as quickly as he stuck it out to start the conversation. “Dude, didn’t we talk about keeping the porn to your room?”

My shoulders relax instantly because that’s the simple answer. He thinks it’s hardcore cartoon sex scenes on my screen rather than your Facebook and Instagram. Not that I’m ashamed of you, it’s just better if I keep things under wraps for now. You’ll have to meet Sam eventually. Well, meet him more than the cursory few words you’d offered each other at the diner today. Out of his sight, one hand clicks to open a new tab in case he decides to peer over my shoulder. The fingers of my other hand drag down my face, all the better to appear dazed and confused. “No, I was looking for a case. Nothing out there.” There is something out there. You’re out there. Sam must recognize the tired eyes of someone who’s read too many news articles, though it’s actually too many comments, because he buys what I’m selling. “Guess we’ve got another snow day tomorrow. Any plans?” “Maybe.” The answer is muttered more to myself than him. He must think I’ve gone back to looking for cases. You know, instead of looking for your address.

The first time I drive out and park across the street it’s an accident. I’d been going for a drive to nowhere in particular, only looking to chase the horizon for a while. Long roads and smooth tarmac. Good music and definitely not driving to you. Not even in your direction. I hadn’t been paying attention anyway which is why the drive is so lazy and takes nearly two hours. With a little effort, I’ll get that down to an hour and a half. But again, this wasn’t planned when I first started my engine. If I had planned it I’d have definitely brought more beer. Your quiet little suburb is cute but not nice enough that it’ll break your heart to leave it behind. You live in this one story townhouse and it’s fine. It’s ok. It’s big enough for one person but it’s not a family home or anything. I can practically see your loneliness behind the blue paint on your front door. Your car is, well, I’ll take care of that at some point. It’s a Prius for one thing, and it’s too old to be a good car and too modern to be a classic. Thinking about it you might not even need a car. I can drive you wherever. These are all things I didn’t plan to see or notice, the first time anyway. Because the first time I’m looking at your house I can’t stop asking myself why the bay window doesn’t have blinds. What are you thinking Y/N? This area might seem nice and safe but really, anybody could pull up and watch you. You don’t need to worry about it while I’m outside but I’m not always here; I haven’t always been here. Don’t think I’ll forget about this either, the question is filed away for when I can ask it properly. A conversation for another day. It’s careless is what it is. How can I look after you if you won’t look after yourself? The clear glass does mean I can see you, luckily. You make a mug of something warm to drink while you watch a video on your laptop. Whatever it is makes you throw your head back with laughter until your back hits the sofa behind you. It's a carefree moment that I get to share with you. It's the sort of thing I need to see. These little private moments that show me who you are in a way your Instagram won’t. But it’s the second time I’m outside your house, that’s far more eventful. You haven’t been home from work for long. All you’ve managed is to turn on some music and start singing along while you run a vacuum around the place. My grin is about to damn near break my face watching you. Unfortunately, all good things must come to an end. Everything stops suddenly and then you pick up your phone. That should be explanation enough, a phone call. Except you don’t answer it immediately. You frown at the thing in your hand and my fingers clench the steering wheel a little tighter. Whoever is on the phone burst the bubble we were both living in and I don't appreciate it. You’re all stiff movements and tight lips as you answer. The caller has turned you into a bitter version of yourself. Sweeping anger replaces any happiness you held onto as you storm out of the house. You’re so distracted that you get halfway to your car before you have to backtrack and lock your door. Really, Y/N? No, I don’t blame you. I blame whoever was on the end of that call, they did this to you. They made you careless. The only answers I’ll get are by following you, which at this point is easy enough. It’s early evening and there are enough other cars on the road to hide behind once we make it out of suburbia. It’s a bar you finally pull into. A dive by the looks of it. I can tell that much before I’ve caught up with you. Call it a special skill of mine to recognize bars like this. I’m caught across the street, waiting to cross traffic on a surprisingly busy road. Even from this distance, I see you screech to a halt at the front of the shitty parking lot. Apparently, you haven’t calmed down yet and looking over at the entrance to the bar it’s easy to see why. The sun has barely gone down. It’s not even 6pm. And there’s this guy wandering towards your car with the gait of someone who’s drunk as sin. Each step he takes is another rev of my foot on the gas where I’m trying to get to you. The guy isn’t huge or anything but he’s still bigger than you. He’s bigger and drunk and why isn’t there a fucking gap in this traffic? Finally, I swerve through a gap that isn’t really a gap to the outrage of some dick honking his horn. Not that the noise distracts you or the deadbeat. You stomp towards him with a slam of your drivers' side door and he calls out at the sight of you, “baby, I knew you’d come get me!” He falls in your direction and lands with his mouth on yours, his hands pawing at you. And you might push at his chest but it’s not urgent or defenseless. It’s exasperated. It’s so that you can swipe at his chest and berate him, “get in the car before I change my mind.” What the fuck Y/N? Who is this asshole?

Continue to Chapter 2

5eva tags: @divadinag @darthdeziewok @fluentinfiction @witch-of-letters @supernatural-teamfreewillpage Dean babes: @thewinchesterchronicles @akshi8278

[writteninsunshine]

I Would Drown The Rings In Blood To Keep You Safe - Fizzarolli/Asmodeus, One-Sided OFC/Fizzarolli - NSFWish

Title: I Would Drown The Rings In Blood To Keep You Safe

Author: Keith

Fandom: Helluva Boss

Setting: Ozzie’s

Pairing: Fizzarolli/Asmodeus | Ozzie, One-Sided Original Female Character(s)/Fizzarolli

Characters: Fizzarolli, Asmodeus | Ozzie, Original Female Character(s), Original Male Character(s)

Genre: Angst/Hurt/Comfort/Romance

Rating: M

Chapters: 1/1

Word Count: 2351

Type Of Work: One-Shot, Day 7 Of 30 Days Of Fizzarozzie

Status: Complete

Warnings: Gay, Slash, Yaoi, MLM, Non-Con Touching, Stalking, Abuse, Assault, Character Death, Minor Violence, Blood, Magic, Unsanitary, Sort Of, Hurt/Comfort

Disclaimer: I don’t own anything except Aja, Nikiva, and Brick! 

Summary: Ozzie usually was proud of his self-imposed title of "a fucker, not a fighter," but he was still a general in an army.

AN: Hey guys, it’s me again! Just thought I ought to say, if you want vague updates and to talk to me more, I have a Helluva Boss Tumblr, too! Twitter is Sunshinecackle, and Tumblr is Gimme-A-Thrust! I also have a writing Discord that is currently pretty dead. xD If you want it, please contact me on Tumblr/Twitter!

I don’t know if anyone will know this, but Aja is also the same OC from ‘No’ Means ‘No,’ she seems to be good for these kinds of fics. I really do need to actually like, write her out properly. One of these days I might end up doing a character study of her. At the moment she’s kind of flat and her whole personality is Fizzarolli Obsessed. I’ll figure it out someday. Today isn’t that day.

I was trying to get day 15 done on time but due to IRL junk that was out of my control, it’s gonna be up late. Managed to get days 16 and 7 done, though, as well as another fic that’s just a little short thing. If I get day 15 edited or not today, we will see. 

30 Days Of Fizzarozzie Fic Masterlist

I Would Drown The Rings In Blood To Keep You Safe

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She’d taken it too far.

Asmodeus was the kind of demon that didn’t particularly go looking for a fight. He hadn’t really been a fighter for several sets of centuries, at this point in his life, and for the most part, he didn’t care to return to being a warlord. That time for him had come and gone, and he had more or less taken to a life of peace.

“I’m a fucker, not a fighter.”

He’d said it several times throughout the years, enough to be noticeable, and whenever someone tried to correct him, he’d deny ‘lover’ being more appropriate.

Occasionally, and the instances were few and far between, there were times that he struggled with remembering the pain of falling, of being cast from the Creator’s side, and his shoulders, clavicles, and back ached. Perhaps he was so good with Fizzarolli’s phantom pains because he’d lived with his own for so long most didn’t think he’d ever even had wings. It wasn’t like he really talked about it, not even with the other Kings, and he had no intention of starting now.

It was rare that these nights came crawling in, rearing their ugly heads and souring his mood. He was distracted, his pleasure distant, and he seemed to dim in color. Not only did his face glow less, but he seemed to pale entirely. Nothing interested him, either, and he sighed a lot, withdrew more, and Fizzarolli had been worried about him. He hadn’t even wanted to fuck before work, claimed that he didn’t feel like it, and that was so not like him.

The nights that Ozzie watched the show from the one-way window in his office were so few that Olli often forgot that he had one. Sure, he saw Ozzie going in, dealing with club-related paperwork, sending Brick out with things, or even handling paychecks from it, but that was all it was to him. A place for work stuff, or a quick fuck away from prying eyes when Olli had been too much of a tease during his set, not somewhere that Ozzie could go to hide.

When he bounced up to the balcony and found his lover missing from it, he found himself feeling small and sheepish. Had he done something? Did Ozzie not want to be around him? There were too many questions, too many inferences to be made, and he found himself staying glued to the balcony instead of going to look for his lover. It was more important to force himself to smile for the club than it was to go find out why Ozzie sounded like he was sobbing in the room across the hallway.

Maybe Fizzarolli shouldn’t have been drinking on the job, but he always at least pretended to, so he didn’t see the harm in it. Olli wasn’t exactly a social drinker unless he was with Barbie, and then they tended to find less than negative self-control between them. For the most part, he didn’t get a drop of alcohol in his system if he wasn’t with Barbie or upset, and if he did, he always had a friend or someone around with him. 

Tonight, he didn’t want to bother anyone. He just needed a few sips of Beelzejuice between acts, just get a little looser, a little happier, it wasn’t going to be a problem. So what if he was a little sloppier, a little less coordinated, a little gigglier? Everyone loved a silly little guy, Hell, most of the time he knew Ozzie did, too. Even Barbie always said he was funnier when he was drunk, but a lot of that probably had to do with both of them sitting sideways and talking shit.

So, maybe he did a little more than take a few sips. Maybe he waved off Nikiva’s concern when she’d caught him pounding a couple of shots of Mad Cap Vodka behind the bar. Maybe he stored the bottle of Beelzejuice he’d swiped in his pocket instead of putting it somewhere safe, and maybe when he stumbled back to the stage, he tried to hide another drink when he’d had his back to the audience.

Ozzie’s distractions hit a fevered pitch when the searing pain in his back made him crow in misery. His eyes were screwed shut, his body a tense line on the couch as he rolled over to stuff his face into the soft white leather. It would have to be fixed or replaced later because he felt more than he heard his claws digging into the couch and shredding it. There weren’t many demons that he thought would understand, he was one of the very few fallen angels that had been fully removed from their wings. They hadn’t grown back, they hadn’t transformed, they had been severed in a way that he could still feel like it was a fresh wound. If someone told him he was bleeding from the long-scarred injuries, he would have believed them.

Hours could have passed before he managed to finally get some kind of lid on it. He hadn’t thought he’d need the meds that Belphegor had so lovingly afforded him at no cost, but he’d had enough. Once the six purple pills had fallen past his lips, he swallowed them dry, both hands clenched around his thick, heavy wood desk until he thought, maybe, he didn’t feel the blood dripping down his back. 

Three powder pink pills followed because he was desperate to start feeling like himself again, and these were a fast track to it. The ecstasy was the best in all of Hell, his personal recipe and Belphegor’s pharmaceutical prowess rolled into a sweet little cherry-flavored pill that literally melted under your tongue. Most demons didn’t need more than one, but most demons also weren’t fourteen feet tall.

When the pills swimming in his system finally began to hit, he could hear the show was wrapping up. Fizzarolli had already closed up the festivities, but the band was playing a few songs as people cleared out of the club. Ozzie had every intention of going out to find him and apologizing for how he’d been acting (preferably on the balcony on his knees), but when he crossed the hallway separating the office from his usual viewing space, there was no Fizzarolli. Peering over it showed no sign of him, either, and he narrowed his glowing eyes. 

Once he hit the club floor, his sweeping eyes were getting more and more frantic with every step, though he did his best not to show his panic outwardly. Maybe Fizzarolli’s dressing room would be more promising. He probably would have to pull him out of it, and avoid some pouting, but that was fine. Making it up to Fizzarolli was always the best part of their few and far between disagreements, and he would stand by that. Hopefully, he wouldn’t have to explain himself, though. Talking about his emotions would never be easy for him.

Being as tall as he was, Ozzie knew he couldn’t necessarily go down the hallway to the dressing room like this, but he had a pretty good way of dealing with that. Returning to his office was his best bet at doing this, though, and so he turned tail halfway through the club to put on his little glamour. His usual dramatics in regards to doing this spell was forgone for the agony he was still in, but that didn’t mean that he wasn’t still going to do it.

The handsome little imp that left his office after a couple of minutes didn’t seem to call any attention, and he tipped his head at the appropriate people and skirted past a few others like he knew what he was doing. His delicate face topped with short, outwardly bent horns and a shock of dark fluff offered shy smiles as he passed by other demons handling their closing routines. His dainty hooves didn’t even seem to affect the green carpet beneath them, and he was almost amazed by it. Being so large, typically, he didn’t have much experience with being short and light in comparison to his usual form.

A playful wink, a stuck-out tongue, and gentle waves took him to Fizzarolli’s dressing room, where he had to take pause when he heard a loud crash inside it. Muffled yelling, and a metallic twang got his attention, and the imp threw the door open with a loud bang as it slammed into the wall. A slim succubus kneeled over Fizzarolli, a freshly emptied vase clamped tightly in one hand. The other hand was fisted in his cap, and a snarl died on her lips as her suddenly green, pupilless eyes shot over to look at the broad-shouldered imp standing there. One of her knees held Olli’s extended leg down, and he winced when her grip tightened on his cap; He was desperate to keep it on his head, holding onto it when he turned tearful eyes on the newcomer.

“What do you want?” The succubus snapped, assuming that he was probably one of the employees running around doing menial things. At first, he wanted to play her game, run her around until he could get her out, preferably into Brick’s arms, but there was no way he could think long enough to be that charming. 

Fizzarolli looked dazed, at best, and definitely kept his eyes on the new imp in the room. His head tilted a little bit, and his well-marinated brain kept trying to turn that face over in his head until he finally gave up with a little sigh. He’d opened his mouth, but her knee dug into the fold of his prosthetic and his hip, and he hissed in pain. The pink-haired demon growled at the new addition to close the door with him on the other side of it, and the tone had his eyelids fluttering before his golden eyes sharpened into slits.

His eyes narrowed into slits that quickly began to glow a vibrant green as the red skin split and fractured, and the succubus staggered back as the imp let out an angered cry. Lilac fur sprouted from beneath the flesh somehow devoid of blood, and the woman’s clenched jaw and wide eyes belied her desire to flee. In no time at all, the imp-sized creature had filled the entire room, and the succubus tried on a nervous smile when she realized just who she was looking at. 

Oh boy.

“Close your eyes, Olli Baby,” Ozzie purred, his voice lighthearted and sweet as he encouraged Olli with a circular motion of his index finger. When Fizzarolli followed suit, hiding his face in the tails of his cap and behind his hands, Ozzie turned his glare back on the woman now trying to figure out how to edge out of the room. The demon king’s eyes widened, and then even a little more as they emitted an awful yellow-green light that petrified her on the spot. It wouldn’t do to mess up Fizzarolli’s space with blood and broken concrete, so he backed out of the room carefully and grabbed the stone demon once he was clear, “Go ahead and get ready, Baby. We’ll go home soon.”

The dichotomy between his calm voice and tender expression and the brute force with which he banged the succubus’ rigid body against the wall as he left the room chilled even Olli to the bone.

With that, he took the stony succubus out back behind the club, taking a deep breath. He could have done worse for sure, but he had decided to go this route for his lover’s sake. After all, Fizzarolli was intensely squeamish, and if he saw even a drop of blood he could (and would) pass out, potentially in his own vomit. 

That didn’t mean that she wasn’t going to suffer, however. Ozzie knew that she was still capable of feeling what was happening to her, and when he set her down and lifted the dumpster closest to the back door in the alley, he knew she was terrified. Maybe she couldn’t show it, but he knew that she’d be quaking if she had the ability to move. This was honestly a better option than anything else he culd do, cleaner and simpler, which meant he could go back to Olli much quicker. Plus, Brick and Nikiva wouldn’t have too much trouble cleaning up, since the mess would be more or less contained. It had been a long time since Ozzie remembered the bloodthirst that had controlled him eons ago, but he felt it in this moment like it was the only blood in his veins. Hefting the dumpster over her head, he narrowed his glowing eyes and growled as he spoke.

“Now, this is why people don’t mess with my baby,” Ozzie told her, his voice dark and face aglow with his impassioned rage. The bull and goat cheered silently at his shoulders, and he raised it a little higher, “But you won’t be able to anymore, will you?”

Of course, she didn’t answer, and he dropped the dumpster suddenly, thoroughly crushing her with a loud, sickening crunch. Blood sprayed out from beneath it, and Ozzie stepped back quickly in order to avoid getting it on himself. Olli didn’t need to see this. Ozzie was sure that he knew violence was involved, but if he had visible proof, he knew Olli would flip out.

When he finally returned to the club, Fizzarolli was waiting near the door with Brick, chatting nervously as he kept his eyes on his surroundings.

“Ready to go, Baby?” Ozzie asked upon his arrival, smiling at him gently.

“Y-yeah.” Olli replied quickly, lifting his arms, “Uppies?”

“Uppies.” Holding his hand out, he let the jester climb into it, nuzzling his face with all three heads after a moment, “Let’s go home.”

“Yeah.” Burying his face in the other’s vibrant mane, Fizzarolli didn’t lift his head and open his eyes until they were home and he could smell the sandalwood air fresheners that Ozzie liked to keep.

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AN: Well, there we are! I really didn’t know how to end this one and then it sort of just happened, so I hope that someone at least found this fun! I think Aja is literally just here to suffer, oops.

Prompt: 30 Days Of Fizzarozzie Day 7 - Protective

[askthestabbystabbysquad]

M-may I please have how the slasher's met their s/o's? Please & thank you...!!

(The cute anons are making their stay here permanent!! I’m not complaining in the least. Better than anon hate!)

Michael: He stared at the male/female in front of him in shock. Were they blind? The knife was CLEARLY visible in his hands, and yet, here they were, asking him to help them with a crazed and panicked look on their faces. Perhaps they thought the knife was a fake? “Please!! I really need your help!! I’m being chased and I need help!” They sobbed, hugging their exposed arms and shivering in the cold. Then he saw a group of men approaching them, guns in their hands. He tilted his head in a confused manner, looking down at the trembling figure before him, then looking back at the approaching men. “Oy! y/n! Get back here! We ain’t done yet!!” The trembling stopped as they wailed and stood, their bleeding legs now oblivious to him.

He didn’t know what came over him, or what prompted him to put a hand on the trembling male/females shoulder and reassuringly pull them closer, but he did without any more hesitation. These men disgusted him for some reason. And the second one of them came into his reach, they founds their throats slashed. The others stood, staring in shock, the alcohol now clearly present on their breaths. They started backing away, despite having a weapon that could kill more easily than a knife. He let go of the trembling person at his side and stalked forward, glaring under his mask, ready to take them out, when he heard a gunshot and felt a sting in his chest. One of the men had shot at him, and lowered their gun, a smirk on their face. “Ha! Take THAT you freak!” He slurred, obliviously not noticing that he hadn’t fallen over dead or in pain. He killed them off, then turned to kill the shivering person on the ground, but stopped when they looked up at him. “Thank you for saving me. Don’t worry. I won’t tell…” They stated, tears falling down their faces. “And if you need help with that bullet wounds, then I’d be happy to help you.”

Jason: He’d heard the shouting and screaming, not to mention whoops from his cabin. He could tell that they were at the lake. He could hear them jumping into it. He stood, yanking the machete out of the floor, then he stormed out the door, ready to hack them apart. He walked with ease through the woods, determined to eliminate the trespassers in his territory. He wasn’t prepared to see what was before him. There was, of course, a party, but there was a male/female shouting at the others, scolding them and pointing at the speakers and telling them to turn them off. “This was supposed to be party-free and that we weren’t supposed to be making dumb decisions!!” “Whatever lame ass!” A girl snarled back, pushing them to the ground. “You weren’t even invited!” They protested, getting up slowly. “I invited myself, bitch.” The girl snapped.

They were shoved again and then had a drink spilled on them, the gang of drunks quickly turning on them, and pouring their drinks on them too. They got up and wiped the alcohol off of their faces, then glared intensely at the girl that had pushed them over. “You know what, (Insert hated bitches name here)? I’m DONE with your APPALLING behaviour! I’m sick and tired of you inviting yourself to weekend get away’s to ruin my life! I’m not taking anymore of your bullshit!” they roared, before slapping her across the face and storming off. The girl lay on the ground, holding her cheek in shock with wide eyes. Jason murdered everyone at that camp that night, then hunted down that girl, who had packed up her things and left moments after they had been pushed down and had alcohol dumped on them. He’d spent months stalking them. Their name was apparently (y/n), and they’d been under great amounts of suspicion after the slaughter. But meeting them was an accident. He’d been careless, and forgotten that they were going to garden that day. He now stood, towering over them, his machete in hand, ready to strike, when they smiled up at him. “You’re the one I need to thank for getting rid of those ass holes huh? Well, thank you Mr…. Uh… What’s your name?” He looked around in panic, before shakily holding up his hand and signing his name. They watched intently, and then smiled. “Thank you very much Mr.Jason Voorhees. I appreciate you dealing with those jerks.”

Freddy: This guy/girl was a tough one to catch. The second they’d woken up in the boiler room they’d taken off, immediately slapping a hand over their mouth. But he knew where they were He kept popping up in the corners of their eyes, and he sometimes even called their name and chuckled. “Shit shit shit! Why, of all the times I manage to fall asleep, do I have to have a creepy ass lucid dream?!?” They muttered under their breath before they turned a corner. Tired with this game of cat and mouse, Freddy popped up in front of them as they did so. “Found you bitch!” He roared before finding himself in incredible agony. They’d kicked him square in the balls and run off screaming “Not today motherfucker!!” He recovered quickly and gave chase. They were pretty fast, and seemed to be an experienced lucid dreamer by the way they bent their environment, which was frustrating the dream demon and making things difficult for him. “That’s enough! I’m done letting you play with MY turf!!” He shouted and flattened out the dream, putting them in an endless black.

They stopped running and simply dropped to the floor, crying. “Uh, the fuck?” “Why NOW of all times?!? I’m to stressed for this! I have to study for finals not fall asleep!! I only have a week left! Please, just pare me and let me pass my finals! I NEED to make my parents proud! I NEED to do this before my dad dies!!” They sobbed, their palms on their eyes and their fingers knotting in their hair. He blinked in confusion before walking closer, slowly. “Do you know who I am?” “You’re Freddy Krueger. The Springwood Slasher. I had to study your case. I didn’t think I’d fall asleep studying though and then actually meet some dead guy who killed kids!” They shouted, before sitting up, their eyes wild. “I need to pass this final. I need to graduate law school to make my dad proud. Please, please PLEASE! I’m BEGGING you! He’s only got a month left! I can’t afford to fail!” They stood and got into his face, tears streaming down their cheeks. “Uh, yeah. Fine. Sure. But might I suggest actually sleeping or at least drinking some fucking coffee? You look like shit!” He stated, and they laughed. “Yeah. As everyone’s been telling me for the past month.”

Pinhead: The male/female before him quivered in fear, tears rolling slowly down their cheeks as they pressed themselves closer to the wall as they held a badly damaged arm, bruises adorning their bodies. Their soul shone with a purity Pinhead hadn’t seen in humans for a long while. “W-who are you?” They timidly asked, fear in their voice. He responded simply by blinking and kneeling down, and taking their arm in his hand. “I was sent to collect your soul in exchange for (Insert hated persons name here)’s. But yours is far too pure to be tormented.” He stated, the male/female cowering away from him, and wincing at his touch. He studied the wounded limb, feeling the broken bone encased in the soft flesh and muscle. He sighed. “As your soul is far too pure, I will spare you, and take theirs instead. You must get this fixed, for your time will come, and I will be there to drag you to hell.” He stated, picking them up under their arms and putting them back on their feet.

The clung to his arm with their good arm. “Wait. Take me with you. Anywhere is better than here with (Hated persons name)! I can take torture! I can take abuse! I just…” They trailed off, starting to sniffle. He gave them a confused look and studied their bruised, yet angelic face closely. They looked to be ready to give up. He let his hard expression soften and took their face gently in his hands. “Your soul isn’t permitted to be in such a place as hell, and you must understand that your soul is uncorrupted, unlike so many who have gone through torment. This is why those whose souls are already corrupted are going to attempt to corrupt yours. If you do not wish to be dragged to hell and tortured until your soul is torn apart, then I suggest you stay strong.” They looked down at their feet. “But what’s it worth when I’m all alone?” They quietly asked, which made the Cenobite feel a twinge of something reminiscent of pity, or guilt. He shook his head. “If anything, do it for yourself, regardless of weather or not you are alone.” He stated, before leaving them standing in the small apartment to go and collect the unfortunate soul that had made an unsuccessful bargain to save their soul.

Hannibal: He stared at the rather attractive librarian that had strolled over to see if he’d needed any help. “Oh! That’s a wonderful book sir! You have very good taste!” They stated, their eyes lighting up as they looked at the selection of books he had in his hands. He chuckled. “I’ve never read it before, but surely if someone as charming as yourself has read it and confirmed it’s quality then I’ll have to read it.” The male/female blushed and looked away shyly and coughed. “O-oh! I didn’t mean anything by it. But I’m not a fan of fantasy and this has changed my mind.” They rushed over their words before disappearing to go help another visitor to the library. He looked at the book they’d been referencing and chuckled. It was supposed to be a rather unknown book, but he’d been waiting for it to appear again. The cover of the book was deceiving to most, and he knew that it held multiple recipes for cannibals, hidden in the text all under the guise of a supposedly fascinating story. He walked to the counter to check out the books he’d selected and gave the librarian from earlier a polite smile as they rushed to help him.

“Are you in a rush?” “Oh, no, I just like to work fast, simply because I never know who’s in a rush or not!” They stated with a smile, before a flash of headlights from a passing car shone in their eyes from the window behind him and momentarily blinded them, the screeching of tires loud outside. Their face flushed red in anger as they slammed a book down. “That’s it! I’m so sorry sir, but I need to make a call. Please, wait a moment.” “Do take your time. Does that happen often?” They sighed as they walked towards the phone on the far side of the desk. “Unfortunately, the teenagers have found it funny to do burnouts on the front yard of the library as soon as it starts to recover. Of course, some of them find it funny to do when they’ve found something to drink and are drunk or high, and someone was almost hit the last time this happened. Please, do be carefu-” A car crashed through the window and toppled a bookshelf as it sped and screeched out of control towards the desk. The librarian shoved him out of the way moments before the car struck the spot he’d been standing moments ago. They lay, their legs pinched in between the car and the desk, unconscious and bleeding. He stared in shock at the people piling out of the car, who were screaming and crying. One of them threw up and another passed out. Someone had called an ambulance as he tried to push the car off of the polite and charming librarian, checking for a pulse every few seconds. He intended to visit them as a thank you for saving his life.

Norman: He’d seen the car barely pull into the motel driveway when it died, and someone stepped out and began pushing it, their body quickly becoming drenched in the downpour of rain. He grabbed a raincoat and ran outside to help them. “H-hey! Do you n-need help?” He asked as loudly as he could. They turned to him, squinting on the rain. “Yes please!” A male/females voice rang out as they shoved their car once again, trying to get it to move. He ran to their side, almost slipping on the muddy ground as he did so. He shoved the car, and with their combined efforts, got it to start rolling towards the nearly empty parking lot. He helped them get some luggage out of their car and carry it inside, just as a tree snapped in half due to the force of the wind. He pulled his hood off and hurried to get them a blanket so they could warm up. “Bad storm huh?” They asked. “Y-yeah. Apparently there’s a t-tornado somewhere nearby and we’re g-getting some w-wind from it o-over here.” “Really?” “Y-yeah, somewhere in the woods.” They took a towel he’d offered them and dried off before accepting the blanket and wrapping it around themselves. “Sorry about the mud. But I saw that there was a motel and thought I’d stop in and get some gas, but it really looks like I’m staying for the night.” He smiled shyly.

“I’m n-not complaining. W-we have a lot of va-vacancies, so you shouldn’t have to worry a-about any n-noise.” “Oh? That’s a wonder why. It’s such a homely little motel. Do you do taxidermy?” “O-oh, yes.” He smiled before leading them to a room that they could stay in until the storm passed. “D-did you eat?” He asked before he unlocked the room. “Oh, no I haven’t. Are there any restaurants in walking distance?” “No, th-this is the only building for a while…” He stated, twiddling his thumbs. “I-I can make you dinner i-if you w-want.” “Oh, no I don’t want to bother you…” “I-it’s not a bother.” He smiled, getting one back. “Thank you so much. I’ll give you a hand, uh… What’s your name again?” “Norman. Norman Bates. You?” “Y/n.”

Billy: He rubbed his head, the glass shards falling off the top of it. He glared up from in his mask at the male/female that had smashed a vase off the top of his head. They grabbed a baseball bat and raised it. “WAIT! WHOA! SHIT!! HOLD UP!!” He yelled, scooting back against the carpet, his hand above his face. “Why should I?” They hissed. “Because, uh… I have a wife and kids?” “You know, usually in a horror movie, the killer is the one being bartered.” “Yeah, I- Wait! You watch horror movies?” “Uh, yes. Why?” “Then who was talking to me on the phone?” He asked, confused as all hell. “Uh, that would probably be (Insert sibling/family members name here)…” He shot up to his feet. “ARE YOU FUCKING SERIOUS?!?” He hollered before turning to the stairs. “There’s someone else here?” He growled.”Uh, yeah. You didn’t realise that?” He growled before turning to them.

“You got lucky. Remember that.” “Uh, bro, I was the one kicking YOUR ass.” “Sh-shut up!” He whined. They laughed and patted his shoulder. “Tell you what, you stay here and watch the end of this movie with me and I won’t call the police.” “What movie?” “The Shining.” “DEAL!!” He hollered, seeing that the movie was paused only five minutes in. He also noticed a lack of popcorn. “Uh, were you going to make popcorn?” He sniffed the air, smelling something burning. Their eyes widened. “SHIT THE POPCORN!!” They rushed into another room, which he assumed was the kitchen and yelled to the holy heavens above. “NO!! IT’S GONE!! ALL GONE!!” They wailed before running back out and dramatically falling down onto the couch and covering their faces with their hands. “I’ve failed to make popcorn once again.” He laughed and shook his head. “You know what? I think that I’ll leave and come back later for that movie. That’s a promise.”

Stu: He had fallen through the sunlight and was now laying on his back with a gun pointed at his face. He put his hands up, wincing when the glass under his back dug in just a bit. He looked up at the male/female who seemed to be close enough to an actual officer, but he could tell otherwise. “You…” They said, their eyes widening. “I thought you were someone else…” They stated, backing away, eyes wide and fear evident in their behaviour. “Oh? Who would that be?” “None of your business. All you need to know is that I have something I need to do before I die, and I don’t think you’ll be the one to stop me.” They snarled, glaring at him. “Do tell. Perhaps we could help each-other out a bit.” “How so?” They snarled, tightening their grip on the gun. “You want someone dead, don’t you?” They almost dropped the gun in shock. “I can see the look in your eyes, and your reaction proves it. I can kill them for you. All I need is a name and a phone number, maybe even an address. BUT!” He stood up and got closer, taking off his mask and pulling a few shards of glass out of his back. “You have to promise to help me out here.” He pushed the gun aside and got in their face.

They swallowed loudly. “I want out of here, and I want a place to stay for the next little while so the police will lose my trail.” “And you’ll kill him? You’ll really kill him?” “Do you like scary movies?” “They’re my favourite movies…” HE smiled wickedly. “If you can give me accurate information about him, I’ll help you. But if you don’t and I get arrested, that question can save your life there love. And then the others can too.” He shoved them to the floor, putting the voice changer up to his face and then he spoke. “So, what you’re saying is, you’ll let me come and go when I please in exchange for my services?” “Y-yes.” “Fine then. Who is it you want dead?” Their eyes shone with hatred and anger. “I want (Insert most hated persons name here) dead. I want revenge…” They snarled, a bloodthirsty look in their e/c eyes, their face scrunched up in anger and hatred. “Oh? Why them of all people?” “They killed my family and got away with it because they had money. Kill them and you can come and go whenever you want, and I’ll cover for you.” They stated, holding out their hand. He took it in his gloved and bloody hand, then shook it. “We have a deal.”

David: He’d heard the screaming and yelling from a while away, over the roar of his motorcycle, which drowned out most of the other noises. He signalled for the others to continue to the hangout while he went to investigate and then veered off onto the side road. He felt his teeth grind together at the familiarity of the place that he’d once called a home. He could even see where his old home had stood and it truly angered him. He could sense that someone had intruded into his old territory, which was still technically his. He sped up, urging to bike to go to it’s top speed, which still wasn’t enough, but he stayed on it, simply to keep the illusion of being human up for a little bit longer. He could already feel his fangs poking at the inside of his lower lip. He parked in front of a section of woods that the yelling was coming from the got off, strolling it at a pace compared to that of an Olympic sprinter, running full speed to reach the finish line. He really was furious as he tore into a small clearing, where a gang of people was having a very vocal argument.

“Ladies, gentlemen. What do you fucks think you’re doing here?” “Who invited you pasty?” A male asked, before spitting in his direction. He could tell these people weren’t the upstanding citizens, as was oblivious by the bound and gagged male/female in the middle of the circle, who was covered in scratches and bruises, and was probably royally pissed off judging by the way they were violently shaking to try and get out of the rope. He laughed and easily strolled forward, before flashing his fangs and letting out an angered hiss at the supposed hot-shot, who screamed and jumped back. “Freak!!” He hollered before pulling a knife and charging at the angered vampire, who then tossed him over his shoulder and walked with confidence towards the bound man/woman that had looked up at him with wide and terrified eyes. He didn’t understand why he helped them but he did so while scaring the gang that had intruded shitless, even mortally wounding a few of them. He picked them up and led them back to his motorcycle, turning back to the gang to glare. “I’m giving you all one hour to leave or I come back and finish you off myself.” He threatened before leaving the old forgotten town behind and taking the shivering human that clutched onto his back during the ride back to the city. “Thank you… What’s your name?” “David. You?” “Y/n.” They stated, before pointing at an apartment building. “I live in there…” “Then that’s where I’ll drop you off.” He smiled and did just that, giving them a tiny threat to ensure that they wouldn’t go talking about him before leaving them in their doorway.

Carrie: She saw the male/female doctors face, kindly smiling down at them the second her eyes opened. “Hello miss! Please, stay calm. We’re here to help. You were found in the woods a few days ago, but you appear to be fine, so you should be able to go home soon!” They cheerfully said. “I’m doctor y/n, what’s your name honey?” “… My name is Carrie…” “Your last name?” “I don’t remember…” She lied, watching her abilities, making sure that she wouldn’t be discovered. She’d been so tired, hungry and cold in those woods, that was all she remembered before she lost conscience. “Oh. I see. Do you remember where you’re from?” “I don’t have any family.” She firmly stated, trying to get them to take the hint that she didn’t want to talk about herself, to which they responded by shyly looking away. “Right… I’m sorry to hear that ma’am. Do you need a glass of water? Something to eat?” “No. I just want to be left alone.” She hissed moments before a light bulb exploded over the nurses head, causing them to jump and shield their head, before glaring up at the bulb. “I thought I told maintenance to fix that bulb… Sorry about that Carrie, we’ll get that fixed up right away. I’ll leave you alone for now, but please, I want you to realise that I only want to help you feel more comfortable.” They stated, smiling, before walking out.

She stared at their back before looking up at the light bulb. “I though I did that…” She shook her head, reassuring herself that she had, in fact, made the bulb explode. Her powers wouldn’t disappear, now wold they. She tried, and succeeded in lifting a vase in the corner of the room and brought it over to herself before looking at the brightly coloured flowers, just as the nurse walked back in with a maintenance man, who fixed the light bulb without saying a word as the male/female nurse huffed in the corner, smiling at Carrie whenever they caught her eyes. Once the bulb was fixed, the maintenance left and the nurse walked over. “Do you like the vase? I thought your room looked a little bland, so I brought them in. I can get more if you’d like.” “Stop being so fake.” She hissed, putting the vase on her bedside and glaring. “You’re being fake.” Their eyebrows rose and their eyes widened then they laughed. “I understand you know that it’s my job to be polite to patients, but I do want to be nice to you Carrie. I mean it. I like you. You seem different, and that’s good. You’re a calm person. Usually someone would be panicking when they woke up in the hospital.” She glared even more. “No, you’re being fake. Nobody thinks different is good.” “Well, I do. That’s different, isn’t it?” They smile, before looking at the flowers. “You know, I think I’ll bring more for you. Unless you’re allergic to pollen, that is. Then I’ll bring you some fake flowers.” Carrie groaned and slapped a pillow over her face. “…I’m not allergic to pollen.” “Good! Next time I think I’ll bring… Pink flowers.” They stated, smiling. “A shade that’ll compliment your eyes. I really like them. They’re pretty.”

Samara: Samara crawled out of the screen, hearing someone screaming at other people. “I TOLD YOU DIPSHITS NOT TO WATCH THE TAPE!! I TOLD YOU!” They shouted, knocking something over. She stood now, ready to take the lives of the people in the room, until a board came flying at her, smacking her in the face. She froze in shock. Never had someone actually fought back by hitting her with a board of wood. She raised her head a little, catching sight of the male/female who’d thrown the board, who ran out of the room, a rock in hand as their only weapon. She followed, feeling a little intrigued, but not enough to spare their lives. She followed them outside, where the two other people who had been on the room before had started screaming as soon as they saw her. Samara moved pretty slowly, but sped up just a little bit. The third, the male/female who’d been the one to hit her with a plank attacked mere seconds before turning and running alongside the road instead of crossing it. She followed them to get rid of the threat of any more injury, putting the other two to the side of her mind. She’d get them later. 

Her target moved much more quickly than her, but she was always one step ahead of them. She was always on their heals. She now moved at an average jogging pace, anger clouding her thoughts as they ran faster over some train tracks, a train farther along down. They stopped and looked back at her, a large pipe in their hands. “Leave me alone. I didn’t watch your tape!” They snarled, pointing the pipe at her. She tilted her head, only a few inches from the tip of the pipe. “I didn’t! I swear! I left the room when the tape was put into the VCR!” They stated, trying to move to the side so they could run away, fear clearly written on every inch of their face. She watched them make a dash for the tracks, but their foot touched the metal bar, and a jolt of electricity sparked as they were thrown backwards. The train then passed, the wind blowing violently as they lay, unconscious by her feet. They had a burn mark on their now empty hand from the hot metal of the pipe, which had been thrown out of their hand when they got thrown. She starred at them for a bit, before crawling into their phone and giving the emergency dispatch their location. She didn’t know why, but she left them be, choosing to go after the other two. She planned to pay the male/female a visit later on to see weather or not they truly watched the tape or not.