#it fell in the (plugged) sink and i used water to rinse off some soap suds before using the correct contact solution on it to clean it

[fooligandan]

worried that i already fucked up and ruined my new contact lens forever god damn it ahhh the nightmare

[egcdeath]

unwinding

summary: On Valentine’s Day, you receive a bit of a surprise.

pairing: steve rogers x reader

word count: 2.2k

author’s note: valentine’s day came early this year. like... over a month early i’m actually pretty proud of this! i hope you all enjoy :) 

p.s. this is part of @syntheticavenger​‘s lyric challenge, my prompt was: So let me take away your pain, give me all of your emotions (Victoria Monet ‘Moment’)

warnings: so much fluff. before you read this, ask yourself (and your dentist) if you’re okay with getting a few cavities.

Being engaged to a fugitive from the law meant a few things.

For starters, your fiancé was almost never home, and when he was home, he wasn’t there for long. Whether it be a 3 AM knock on the door from Natasha, or soft and apologetic eyes bidding you farewell after a 4 day tryst, everything always seemed to end too soon.

The second being that you often had little to no warning when he was coming home, leaving you to go on a mad dash to put on something nice before your partner arrived at your front door. Between random messages from burner phones, and random deliveries of local goods to your door, you were often given short notice of when you’d be able to see Steve again.

Finally, despite his best efforts, Steve was frequently absent from holidays that you used to gleefully celebrate together.

As the soft clicks of the clock increased, and night drew nearer, you feared that your Valentine’s Day would end the same as the aforementioned days, yet, after hearing the chime of your doorbell reverberate through your home, you were filled with a semblance of hope.

You all but skipped down to your door to see what (or who) had arrived, and lit up with glee when you were handed a bouquet of yellow roses with a printed note attached to it.

You didn’t think I forgot about my best girl, did you? Happy Valentine’s Day, Dear. I’ll see you in an hour.

p.s. I just learned that yellow roses represent welcoming someone back, isn’t that nifty?

-S

You couldn’t help but to grin at the note, quickly thanking the delivery person, then bolting upstairs to prepare for Steve’s homecoming.

——

After debating with yourself about which candle scent Steve would enjoy smelling most, and filling up your oversized bathtub with a cocktail of soap, essential oils, and an overpriced bath bomb, you heard the door ring once again. This time, you had a good idea of who you’d be seeing. Upon opening the door, you were far from disappointed.

In the doorway stood your greek god of a fiancé, a lopsided grin on his face despite the scratches, bruises, and dried blood that seemed to litter his body. You immediately reached up to wrap him in a tight embrace and he gladly accepted it.

“Steve!” You cheered, burying your face into his chest, “I missed you so much.” Your words were muffled, and you felt tear stains begin to latch onto his suit. He leaned down and kissed the top of your head, before lightly pushing you further into the house.

“You have no idea of how much I missed you too,” said Steve in response. “I never wanna leave you again.”

At this, you somehow managed to squeeze him tighter, and he let out a soft grunt, screwing his face up. “Are you okay?” You asked before letting him go completely. “Take off the suit, let me take care of you.”

----

That’s how you ended up soaking in a bathtub with Steve, running your hands up and down his chest while he leaned his head back and rested his eyes. It became more and more apparent with every second that he was completely exhausted, no matter how hard he tried to hide it.

Now usually, you liked to spoil your man when he came back home, but after seeing his pure exhaustion, you decided to go all out. If anyone deserved a few hours of pure relaxation, it was certainly Steve.

You stirred and sat up, sloshing around the purple water that had been dyed by the aforementioned bath bomb, and attempted to readjust yourself so that you could at least make eye contact with Steve, who had now opened his eyes from your sudden movement.

“What’s up?” He asked, breaking the prior comfortable silence, and running a large hand through your hair.

“How about we unwind. Like, really, really unwind. The whole nine yards. I completely meant it when I said I wanted to take care of you, and as much as I’m enjoying this, I don’t think that just a bath is gonna cut it,” you hummed while wrapping an arm around the back of his neck, attempting to bring your faces closer together.

“Hmm,” Steve attempted to look pensive, “Only if you insist.” At that, he gave you a toothy smile, then leaned in to close the gap between the two of you, and peck your lips.

Boy, was Steve in for it.

----

Sometime after the bath water eventually became unbearably cold, and your skin was so pruny that you swore it’d slip off, the two of you exited the bath.

The next task you set out to complete was a deep clean of your faces, which could only be accomplished with the help of a peel off face mask. You stood at your bathroom countertop and plugged in a facial steamer after filling the bottom opening.

“What’s that for?” Steve asked with a slight lisp, as he was currently flossing his pearly teeth.

“It’s a facial steaming thing. It’ll be good for your pores before the face mask, or some shit like that,” you stood back and allowed the small machine to make some strange noises as it started up.

Steve tossed the string into a trashcan before leaning over the counter and examining it, giving you the opportunity to press a button and turn the device on.

“What the hell was that?” He immediately recoiled at the sudden puff of steam, and you couldn’t help but giggle.

“I can’t believe thee Captain America, who fights aliens and takes down governments on the regular is afraid of a little steam machine.”

“Hey, everyone gets startled sometimes,” he turned his head to give you a little pout. “How ‘bout you do it first, and show me how it’s done,” Steve stepped aside at this.

You shrugged a bit and nodded, then took his place at the sink to demonstrate how exactly to steam your face. After observing you for a few minutes, Steve motioned for you to move, and as you did, he made sure to give you a little ass squeeze, gaining him a side eye from you as a response.

“Just put your head right…. there,” you gently pushed his head down, then once his head was in the proper position, you pressed the button that turned the machine on.

“This feels kinda weird. It’s like, tickling me,” he mumbled into the machine while you reached into your medicine cabinet to grab a peel off face mask. Steve began to move his face back, but you shook your head and tutted.

“I mean, that’s kind of the point. Your pores need this. So keep that head down, big boy,” you giggled, beginning to apply the charcoal goop to your face while examining yourself in the mirror.

“Do they, though?”

“Yes! Those poor cells have probably been through hell and back with all of that fighting and… avenging you do.”

“You’re lucky that I love you. But know that I expect something in return for this hard work.”

You lovingly scoffed at this, but were pleased that Steve had found a reason to finally stop complaining.

Once a decent amount of time passed, Steve lifted his face and used the back of his hand to attempt to wipe away some of the dampness.

“Here,” you said softly, grabbing a towel, and softly patting his face with it. “Now the fun part,” you began to apply the facemask to Steve’s face, and he seemed to have no complaints.

“Hey, this feels pretty nice!” He exclaimed.

“Unless you want me to get this all over your beard, I suggest you move your face a little less,” you commented while putting the last of the mask on his left cheek.

He opened his mouth to respond, but decided it wasn’t exactly worth the risk of getting a strange substance in his sensitive facial hair. You finished up putting on the mask, then rinsed your hands in the sink while Steve checked his face out. “Ooo, I can feel it exfoliating already. Are you tingling too?”

You smiled fondly at him, then shook your head and grabbed his hand. “Let’s go to the bedroom. Since you were such a good sport, I think you deserve a little treat.” You all but dragged him out of the ensuite, grabbing a fresh towel on your way out, and setting it down on the bed.

“Take your clothes off,” you demanded. “Then lay on the bed face down. Ass up. I’ll be back in a minute.” You winked suggestively at him, then went back into your bathroom to search for the lavender scented body oil hiding in a cabinet.

When you arrived back in the bedroom, you were not disappointed by the sight of Steve with his sculpted back and perky ass out. You allowed yourself a moment to check him out before you spoke. “Hey honey…” you drawled out in a faux sultry tone. “A little birdy told me that you’ve got some sore muscles from all that crime fighting you’re doing…” You ran your hand up and down Steve’s back, and you felt his back heave as he attempted to hold back his laughter.

“Y/N, what are you doing?” He asked, not even trying to hide his chortling.

“Shhh, don’t think. Just let me take away your pain, give me all of your emotions,” you poured a bit of the oil in your hands, warmed it up, then placed your hands on his back. Steve involuntarily let out a full body shudder, and you couldn’t help but to smile at yourself with satisfaction. “Seriously though, try to relax,” you began to knead his upper back.

Steve let out a shaky sigh, and relaxed into your soft mattress. Although the tone of the massage started as a joke, he was feeling more relaxed by the second. Then those seconds seemed to turn into minutes, then… hours? Maybe even days. The point is, Steve fell asleep. Then woke up to the familiar tone of a phone alarm, and a gentle shaking on his shoulder.

“Hey, you can sleep later. It’s time to take off our masks.” You reminded him. “Meet me in the bathroom, but get somewhat decent first.” You gave a little squeeze to his shoulder before walking off.

Once Steve met you in the bathroom, he made a beeline to the toilet and sat down on top of the lid. “Will you take it off for me? I’m too tired to do it myself.”

“Fine, but only ‘cause I love you,” you teased, referencing his words from earlier before you leaned down to his level. You picked at a piece of the mask on his forehead, and began to peel it back, watching Steve screw his face and squeeze his eyes shut.

“Ow, what the fuck, Y/N,” he whined, giving you a little pout.

“I’m sorry. Just think of how fresh your skin will be after this, though. You’ll look so dewy, people will think you just came out of the ice.” You moved to remove the piece on his nose, and gained a similar response.

“Ouch! Double ouch. That was way too soon. Why can’t you be nice to me while you’re peeling off my face?” Steve looked deep into your soul while you peeled around the rest of his face, and you couldn’t help but internally melt a little.

“I only tease because I care. And I’m pulling your skin off because I care even more,” you finished up pulling the last of the mask off, then pressed the back of your hand up to some red parts of his face. “All done. You look like a whole new man, Stevie.”

You stepped back so he could stand up and look at himself in the mirror, and he rotated his face back and forth so he could examine himself.

“You’re so right, Y/N. Stark and the government will never catch me when I look like this,” he teased.

“I’m just a miracle worker, I guess.”

“Well is this miracle worker ready to head to bed? All this self care has been fun and all, but…”

“Say less,” you grabbed Steve’s hand once again, and paraded him out to your bedroom, before flopping on the bed theatrically, and grinning when Steve followed suit.

You rolled on top of your starfished fiancé, and kissed him passionately, threading your fingers through his long, sandy hair and sighing contentedly. He turned his head slightly for breath, then began to speak again.

“What I was saying was,” he said breathlessly, “All of this self care has been fun and all, but now I think it’s time that I show you how I unwind.”

[boykingsw]

fell through the floor

buck/eddie, angst, 2.1k

Some nights are worse than others. 

Tonight, it seems, is no exception. 

Buck wakes up gasping, the cold air of the room rushing into his lungs only to be forced back out in a cough. He tries a few times, lying on his back, taking carefully measured breaths until he feels like he’s regained control. Only then does he sit up and take in the darkness that surrounds him. Glancing at his alarm clock, he blinks a few times to focus on the glowing numbers that read 3:04am.

He throws the covers away from his body and sets his feet down on the cold hardwood floor, letting the chill seep into his heels and toes and remind him where he is; at home, on dry land. No fiery explosions or huge waves. Just a dark, empty apartment in the middle of the night.

He sighs and rubs a hand over his face, stands, and drags himself to the bathroom. He leans on the sink for a moment, drumming his fingers against the porcelain, before switching on the tap and splashing water into his face. The small light plugged in beneath the mirror illuminates his body, and he stares as each droplet slowly trails down his cheeks, meeting at the base of his chin before falling onto his bare chest. He tries to keep his focus on that. Drive away any lingering thoughts that had come to him in his sleep. 

It doesn’t take long for them to rear their head again, and the cold water is quickly replaced with hot tears. He blinks them away, turns on the tap, and rinses them off. Does it again. And again. And again.

Eventually, it seems the tears forfeit the battle, and he’s left staring into his own blank, red rimmed eyes.

I’m fine, he tells himself, and pretends that it’s true.

He pushes himself off the basin, turning and stopping in the doorway to stare at his bed. He doesn’t see himself getting much more sleep tonight, so he heads for the stairs instead. Walks to the kitchen, crossing the room in his bare feet to grab a glass from the cupboard. 

He fills it. Raises it to his mouth in a trembling grip, but before he can take a sip, a car backfires in the street below his apartment, a loud bang coming in through the open window. The sound is harsh, and far too familiar. It bounces off each empty corner of the apartment; pierces through every wall of distraction that he’d put up between himself and the events of the evening.

The glass slips from his hand and shatters on the ground. He stares at it as the pieces fly across the floor, tries to watch as each tiny sliver spreads itself out across the room to keep his mind from reeling him back to the last call of his shift. It doesn’t work this time. The sounds dig into him, unburying every image he'd been trying to ignore.

His vision goes blurry. He blinks, a tear falls and bounces against the black tile of the floor.

He tries to stop it -looks around the room with blurry eyes and tries to grasp the ghosts of the people who often make it feel so warm- but the tears come anyway. He stumbles backwards, his back hitting the edge of the counter before he sinks down onto the floor, pulling his knees to his chest as the tears flow freely from his eyes. 

Out with them pours every image in his mind he'd been trying to ignore since he woke up, until all those memories are sitting right in front of him. Filling the happy, useful room with nothing but dread. 

He doesn't try to blink the tears away. Every time he closes his eyes, the pictures are more vivid. The darkness isn’t darkness -it’s bright flashing explosions; blood burning the inside of his throat; a huge blue wave washing over him -consuming him. 

It’s the barrel of a gun pointed right between his eyes.

It’s a ridiculous thing to set him off, he knows it. Of all the things that have happened to him in the last year and a half, this is the most mundane. He hadn't gotten hurt. A call went wrong. A man pulled out a gun. He didn’t shoot anything except the doorframe above Buck’s head. 

But there was a moment -the moment between the gunshot going off and the realisation that the bullet hadn’t hit him- where he couldn’t help but think, after everything, this is how I die? 

It was a paralyzing thought, and it pulled him back into every moment of his life that he’d been working tirelessly to move past. Placed him right back in the middle of them. Right back under that truck, right back on that pier. Every horrible thing that had ever happened to him replayed in the back of his mind like a slideshow, flashing before his eyes like some cliché movie trope. 

It’s happening again, and he desperately needs to get away from it. Buck grabs his phone off the floor from where it had fallen from his pocket. Takes a shuddery breath and stares up at the ceiling as the dial tone sounds in his ear, willing the tears to stop falling. He counts; Eddie picks up after only three rings. 

“Buck?” He sounds tired. Buck feels a tiny twinge of guilt, but it’s swallowed by everything else swimming around in his head. “It’s late. Shouldn’t you be asleep?”

He tries to speak, but the only sound that leaves his mouth is a quiet sob. 

“Buck?” He sounds fully awake now. "Talk to me. What’s going on?” 

“Eddie, I-” He chokes out. It doesn’t go any farther than that.

“Stay right where you are, okay? I’m coming to you.”

Buck tries to speak again; beg him not to hang up and leave him alone with his thoughts, but Eddie is gone before he gets the chance. And with nothing left to ground him in the present, the memories crawl right back under his skin.

He shuts his eyes and feels the searing pain in his leg; the weight of the truck on top of him; the heat of the orange flames licking at his feet.

He feels the blood fill his lungs and come sputtering out. Sees the wide-eyed looks of every party guest as they watch him collapse onto the grass. Hears a faint shout of somebody call 911! before he’s consumed by darkness. 

He feels the pressure of a huge wave slamming him back into the wall of the game stand. Feels the burn of salt water -cold, cold water, a contrast to the warm blood- filling his lungs. Feels a tiny hand slipping from his grasp, and the bone deep dread that comes with the realisation that the boy who had been in his arms just a few seconds earlier was nowhere to be seen. 

He’s finally pulled back to earlier this very evening, to the moment everything went sideways. 

It all plays on a loop, over and over and over again.

Hot explosion, blood in his lungs, a huge wave, a gun. Hot explosion, blood in his lungs, a huge wave -a presence by his side- hot explosion, blood in his lungs, a huge wave -a hand on his face- explosion, blood, wave -”Buck.”- explosion, blood, wave -”Buck!”

-Eddie. 

His face seems out of place. A very kind thing in a sea of ugliness.

But Eddie’s not supposed to be here. No, Eddie is supposed to be far, far away from all of this mess. Buck shakes his head. Tries to push Eddie away, but his arms feel very weak, and he can’t seem to find enough air in the room to breathe.

“Buck.” Eddie says, not moving an inch. He places both hands on Buck’s face. “Look at me.”

Buck shakes his head. Doesn’t want to look -to associate something so good with all the terrible things in his head. He tries to wrench himself from Eddie’s grasp, but Eddie doesn’t budge.

“Look around, Buck. You’re here. You’re right here in the kitchen. I don't know if your brain has convinced you that you're somewhere else, but you’re not. You're here, at home, with me. Can you focus on that?"

Buck blinks. Looks around the room, and tries to follow Eddie's advice. Catalogues everything he sees -the coffee mug he left on the counter this morning, no time to wash it before work. The bottle of wine from his dinner with Maddie a few nights ago, sitting on the table. The slow drip of water from the tap he hasn't had time to fix. 

He looks at Eddie, finally, and is met with wide, concerned eyes. He stares, blinks away each tear that obscures his view, and keeps his gaze there. 

“Just breathe. In and out." 

Buck swallows. Takes a deep breath in through his nose. It’s shaky, but it reaches his lungs this time.

Eddie nods. He tries again. And again. And again.

He keeps his eyes focused on Eddie’s. Takes note of the warm hands against his cheeks and the cool tile floor beneath him. He can smell the brand of soap that he used to mop the floor last week -It was lemon scented, he remembers that. It’s a funny thing to think about, right here as he falls to pieces in front of his best friend, but his brain focuses on it, along with every other sensation he can name, and it brings him back to the present.

“Eddie.”

“I’m here. Are you with me?”

He looks at Eddie for a moment, then nods. 

“Good.” Eddie’s eyes sweep over him, stopping at Buck’s hand, lying palm up beside him on the floor. “You’re hurt.”

He sniffles. “What? No, I-” He looks down at his hand. There’s a gash in his palm, blood smeared all over it. He doesn't know where it came from. “Oh." He stares. "I don’t- I don’t remember doing that.”

Eddie glances at the broken glass on the floor. “Must’ve cut yourself when you sat down. One second.” He stands, and Buck misses his warmth immediately. Eddie arrives back a moment later with a wet cloth, gauze, and a rolled up bandage in his hand. Crouching back down in front of Buck, he comments; “Good thing I know where you keep your first aid kit, huh?”

Buck tries to smile. He figures it comes out as more of a wince.

Eddie takes his hand, cleans and dresses the wound, and wraps the bandage around it gently. Buck watches. The small point of contact keeps him grounded in the moment. Eddie finishes and lays Buck’s hand down onto his knee, taking the uninjured one and squeezing. “Better,” he says. Buck’s not sure he feels it.

“I’m sorry,” Buck says, meeting Eddie’s eye after the silence stretches for too long. “I was doing better, I am doing better, I just-”

“Hey, these things take time. One setback doesn’t throw away all the progress you’ve made.”

Buck looks away, towards the window where the sound of the city is still coming in. “It kinda feels like it does.” He wipes the tears from his cheeks. Another small one escapes. He lets it fall. “It’s not even about what happened tonight, it’s just… everything it reminded me of.”

Eddie nods. “Lots of things can set us off.” 

“I just want to be over it. All of it.”

Eddie hums. “I get it. But there are some things, I’ve found, that you just have to learn to live with.”

Buck swallows, nods. 

Eddie stands, holding out a hand for Buck to take. 

“It’s late,” He says. “Let’s try and get some more sleep.”

Buck is struck with a realisation. “Chris-”

“Is at my aunt’s. Always is when I work a late shift.” Eddie reminds him.

“You don’t have to stay,” Buck says.

“I know.”

He does anyway. 

When Buck wakes up a few hours later, the sun is just starting to creep over the horizon. It comes in through the windows, painting the apartment in a much different light than it had appeared in the night before. He feels calmer, in the light of day. Lying in a warm bed, with a strong arm around him, keeping him in place. 

He takes it all in, and is reminded that some days are better than others too.

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Horrors, Waking and Otherwise

A short drabble based on an anon request for obsessive Peter Parker and this comic. Just a random little thing I did as a break from everything else. Possible continuations in future but no promises. Hope you enjoy.

Warnings: abduction, imprisonment, possessiveness.

Summary: You are a kept woman, but not a happy one.

Your boots splashed through puddles as rain spat down from the dark sky. You clung to your purse as it bounced on your hip. The street lights reflected off the wet road as the shadows of the building swallowed you up. You glanced back. He was gone.

The man appeared several streets back. At first, you thought you were paranoid but you couldn’t lose him. You’d even tried taking a shortcut through a Korean grocer. He followed, his pace steady and only six feet back. Then you broke into a run and he did too. He tailed you easily as you gasped for air. But he just disappeared. 

You slowed and turned around to make sure he was gone. You didn’t know who he was or where he’d come from but you were almost home. You just needed to get home. You spun back and kept a brisk pace as you took the last corner to your building.

You climbed the stairs in two steps and barreled inside. You fumbled for your keys as your heart continued to race. Before you could stick the right one in the slot, the door opened again. It was the man, it had to be. Same build, same hoodie pulled low over his face, the same stance. He was on you in a moment and that’s when it went black.

You awoke with a start. The nightmare came often but was nothing compared to your living one. The purgatory you’d lived in since that day. And it played over in your head. Again and again. As if your mind was telling you all that you had done wrong. You let out a long breath and touched your forehead.

The light flicked on. It was motion-activated. You’d figured that out your first day there. The room was small and windowless. More aptly described as a closet. A bed, a toilet much like those found in a prison cell, a sink, a single night table with three books beneath it, a small portable DVD player atop it with as many movies. They changed every now and then.

You were halfway through Beowulf. You’d read it in high school and just like then, you depended heavily on the translations. Your old English had never been great. You would likely finish it within a day or two. You might take a break and watch something. The movies were outdated; some from as far back as the 30s. You would sit against the wall and watched the small screen as the room dissolved around you. The only escape you had.

Except for him. The knock filled the room and you sat up. You pushed the blanket away and slid to the edge of the bed. You wore a plain, shapeless grey dress. The door opened and you stood. He held a folded towel as he held the door open.

“Time to get washed up.” He said evenly, his voice distorted by the mask. Black and featureless, his eyes covered by a dark mesh which both concealed and allowed him to see. “Come on.’

You knew the routine. Once you bathed, he’d feed you and try to talk. When that didn’t work, he’d take you back to the room and lock you in. Two more meals a day, two more silent meetings, and two more turns of the lock. You stood and he handed you the towel.

He stood beside the door and waited for you to exit ahead of him. The place was small, barren, sterile in a way. You walked past the table of two to the narrow door just before the counter that divided kitchen and dining area. You stepped inside and he was close behind. The door shut with a click.

All modesty was lost. The camera wasn’t hard to notice in the corner of your cage. He’d seen everything already. You undressed in the small bathroom as he bent over the tub and cranked the faucet. He tested the water with his hand and put the plug in place. He pushed himself away and stood against the wall. You didn’t look at him as you stepped into the basin.

You lowered yourself into the warm water and a sigh slipped from your lips. There was little that soothed you these days. The heat embraced you as the water rose around you. As the tub filled up, the man neared again and turned it off. 

He pulled up the short stool from beneath the sink and sat on it. He took the loufa from the ledge and wetted it before he added soap. You lowered your head and stretched out your arm for him to scrub. You hated this part. He was gentle but firm; the soap was vanilla scented. You hated that too.

When he finished your arms, you stood and he did too. You bent your leg and placed your foot on the edge of the tub. He scrubbed both legs, his hands lingering around you thighs. You tried not to shiver as he tickled you unintentionally. 

Then he washed your neck, chest, and stomach. He got lower and his hand paused just along your vee. He sharply pulled his hand away and motioned for you to turn. You did and he scrubbed your back. When he was finished, you lowered yourself back into the water. You splashed the water up your shoulders and rinsed away the suds.

He took the plastic cup that sat on the lip of the tub and dipped it under the surface. He poured it over your head as you leaned back. It was hair day. He soaked your locks entirely and added the herbal shampoo. He rinsed it and brushed his nails along your scalp. When he was done you wiped your face clean with your hands.

He retreated and you stayed as you were. He’d let you relax until the water was lukewarm. Then you’d eat. He held up the towel when you unplugged the tub and you let him wrap it around you. You stood on the mat and dried you until you were no longer sopping. He handed you the robe hung on the back of the door.

He opened the door and let you lead again. You sat at the table as he went to the kitchenette. He returned with a bowl of Cheerios. He sat close and turned your chair to face him. He took the spoon and scooped up a mouthful. You gritted your teeth before you forced your mouth open. He fed you a bite at a time, careful to wipe away any dribble with his thumb.

When you finished, he got up and took your bowl to the sink and rinsed it. You waited for him to return. He sat and you shook your head as you glared at the wall behind him. He shifted in his chair and clutched his knees.

“What’s wrong?” He asked.

You shrugged and pushed yourself to your feet. “Should go back, shouldn’t I?”

“No,” He touched your wrist. “Sit. Tell me what’s wrong.”

You sighed and sat heavily. The chair scraped on the floor. You blinked at him, unsure what to say. The words to express all the resent and anger that boiled inside of you wouldn’t come.

“Tell me.” He repeated.

You chewed your lip as your thought and then your cheeks burned, and the back of your neck. The bile seared the back of your throat.

“Why--” You paused and cleared your throat. “I don’t want to be here anymore. I never wanted to be here.”

It was his turn to shake his head. He sat back. “No, no, no,” He raised his hands defensively. “No. I brought you here because it’s what’s best for you. For us. You… have to want this, you understand? Because it’s what you need.”

“I don’t,” You insisted and crossed your arms.

“You… need more time,” He argued as he leaned forward. “You don’t belong out there alone. You belong in here, with me. I’m the only one who can--”

He stopped suddenly and stood. He held a finger up and inhaled deeply, as if restraining himself.

“Come on,” He grabbed your arm and pulled you to your feet. “You should get dressed. Catch up on your reading.”

“I don’t want to read!” You tried to tear your arm away from him. He was strong despite his lithe stature. “I’ve been reading for-for-for-- God knows how long! You can’t keep me here.”

“I have to,” He snarled as he opened the door. “I have to.” He shoved you inside. “And one day,” He said as he gripped the door. “You’ll thank me.”

He closed the door and you watched the handle jiggle as he locked it. You dropped your arms and hung your head. You felt the tears and sniffed them back. You hadn’t cried since the first night. You slowly crossed to the bed and sat. You bent and reached for your copy of Beowulf. 

The cover fell open and revealed the title page. Scribbled in the corner were two initials; P.P. You stared at them for a time. The book was worn and on its back cover, it still bore the library slip which marked it as stolen property from Midtown High School. You found your spot and laid back on the thin mattress.

‘like ice when the world's/ Eternal Lord loosens invisible/ Fetters and unwinds icicles and frost/ As only He can, He who rules/ Time and seasons, He who is truly/ God.’

Your eyes swept over the prose without understanding. Your mind was in the dining room, across the table from him. Morning after morning staring at a featureless face. Molested by this monster. Trapped in this dungeon he called home. But it was not yours. And you were not his.

You closed the book and rolled over. You’d rather the nightmare.

[seemslegitflapjacks]

Chapter 2, The Neighbors

When I woke up, It was already the next day. The obnoxious sun glaring at me through the curtainless window. I groaned, sitting up, my back aching from sleeping on the floor. I looked, seeing Rambo pawing at the door, asking to be let out. I sat up, kicking my way out of the sleeping bag, opening the door for the massive dog, who shoved his way out the door.

“Jeff! Wake up darlin and help us with the boxes please!” I heard my mom holler from downstairs.

I smiled, hearing my mom’s voice first thing in the morning was the best. Even if it was her telling me to grab scratchy cardboard boxes and carry them back and forth.

“Coming mama!” I hollered back, running down the stairs so fast I nearly fell.

“Hey raggamuffin.” My mom chuckled, ruffling up my messy head of hair.

“Hey mama.” I smiled back, hugging her, my mom returning my embrace.

“Ok, now go help your daddy and your brother with the boxes. Your boxes have your name on it baby.” My mom told me, giving me a kiss on the head as she shooed me away.

I walked outside, taking a few good seconds to adjust to the bright sun. I couldn’t remember the last time I’ve ever been outside when it was so bright. It was probably a California thing, hell if I know.

I kept walking to the moving truck, walking up the ramp, seeing my dad pass by with boxes in his hands.

“Mornin’ champ.” He greeted as he passed.

I gave my dad a wave back, searching for the boxes with my name written on them. After digging a bit, I found one of them. I carried it into my room, doing the same with the rest of my boxes. Back and forth, up and down the stairs. I honestly couldn’t tell whether I was running suicides or moving. It kept me busy though.

I had scratches from the cardboard all over my forearms. My arms and back felt so strained from constantly crouching down to pick up stuff. The constant back and forth up the stairs also took a bit of my energy. But it wasn’t as bad as soccer and lacrosse. Those were honestly way worse with the constant running.

After I had set the last box down in my room, I heard my mom call me from downstairs.

“Jeff! Come down please we have some neighbors!” My mom yelled, to which I rushed down the stairs.

Once I was outside, we were met by a young woman and her son. She had a slim deer like face with freckles and big doe eyes. Her son was about five or six, he has scruffy brown hair with big hazel green doe eyes and freckles.

“Hey, I’m Barbara, and this is my son, Billy.” The tall slim lady smiled, her hand patting her young son’s shoulder.

“Hi Barbara, my name’s Margaret, this is my husband Peter, and these two boys right here are my sons, Jeff and Liu.” My mom spoke, a smile on her face, our father matching her smile as the three of them shook hands.

“Hi I’m Billy!” The little kid blurted out, shoving out his hand towards my twin and I.

“Hey Billy, I’m Jeff, this is my twin Liu.” I smiled, shaking his tiny hand, the kid’s jaw dropping.

‘Mommy! They’re twins!” He told his mom, pulling on the edge of her shirt.

‘Oh! Your boys really are so alike Margaret!” Barbara replied, my mom laughing.

“You should’ve seen Jeff when he had short hair, couldn’t tell one from the other.” Our mother chuckled.

The three adults talked for a while, discussing random stuff. The conversation drew on for so long I knew my mom had already made a new best friend. I remember when I had to literally sit in the candle aisle at Wal-mart for a whole hour because my mom couldn’t stop talking to a coworker of hers. I love my mom but she’s gonna be the death of me someday I swear.

“Nice meetin’ y’all, see y’all later!” Our mom waved, finally, alas, I didn’t have to listen to my mom ramble about my brother and I.

Once we were back inside, I saw our cat Chanel laying on the couch. I smiled, quickly scooping up the little kitty in my arms, he let out a surprised meow, but instantly started purring when he realized it was me. I scratched his ears as I held him on the couch. My parents were talking in the kitchen, while my brother was attempting to figure out how to get the TV plugged up and connected to cable.

“You know It’d be nice if you helped me instead of petting the cat dude.” Liu told me, shooting me a dirty look.

“Sorry but I’m not willing to get electrocuted.” I clapped back.

Liu rolled his eyes, “You’re not gonna get electrocuted you wuss-” just then, almost on clue, the outlet shocked. Liu making a weird yelp noise, holding his finger.

“See? I’m not finna play ding-dong-ditch with God’s door dumbass.” I told him, sticking out my tongue.

“Shut up Rapunzel-” He snapped, embarrassed.

I rolled my eyes, continuing to pet Chanel, who was almost half asleep. My mom returned, turning to help my brother configure cable wires. The TV eventually flicked on, Liu grabbing the remote, changing the channel to some random show. Probably some white trash rich people show, House wives of nobody fucking cares. I hated the shows, but they were also entertaining.

At some point, my mom had turned it to the news. The reporter talking about a grizzly murder that had happened the night before. The body of a convicted child abuser was found strung up and gutted in the woods. The body was mutilated in all sorts of ways. Apparently the murderers had also smacked him around like a pinata. That was gruesome. Like, being a human pinata sounded painful. It wouldn’t even be that exciting, I mean, you don't even get candy you just get teeth n’ stuff.

We had dinner, which was just door dash Steak Escape. I grabbed Chanel, taking the little siamese cat upstairs to my room, plopping the cat down on my bed. Quickly walking into my bathroom, taking a shower.

I sat, letting the skin boiling water rain down on me. I closed my eyes, leaning my head up, the shower water making my forehead numb. I heard static fuzz up in my ears, slowly getting louder and louder. Before I opened my eyes, it had completely stopped. I quickly washed my hair, making sure I got it all before I lathered myself up in body wash, watching the soap rinse down into the drain.

I noticed the water turning pinkish red, quickly putting the back of my hand up to my face. Only to see blood. Shit, I was having another nosebleed. I’d been having a lot lately, they’d bleed until I started to hear static again. I didn’t wanna tell my parents, they’d think I was lying. Who would believe something like that anyways? Like, ‘Oh hey mom I hear static and everytime I do my nose starts gushing blood.’ Like my mom would totally believe that. I stepped out, quickly pinching my nose as I leaned over the sink. The static became louder and louder. It hurt so bad, it was ringing in my ears like a siren. I moved my ears back, trying to drown it out by making the blood in my ears rumble. But it didn’t stop. That’s when I gagged, hacking and choking, before a slug of blood splattered into the sink. Yuck.

I let go of my no longer bleeding nose, My hands stained bright red from the blood as it began to dry up. I turned on the sink, running my hands up under the water. Quickly grabbing a towel to dry myself off. I looked at myself in the mirror. My skin pale and yellowish, I felt cold and clammy. The skin on my arms splotchy with red. I looked sick as a dog. The bags under my eyes a dark purple brown. I looked disgusting, like actually nasty. I thought showers were supposed to make you feel and look better. Clearly today’s shower decided to nerf me.

I walked out, Chanel meowing loudly as he waited outside the door. The needy bastard wanting to be given attention. I nudged him away, grabbing some basketball shorts and a random t-shirt, bouncing up onto my bed. Chanel jumping up. The small cat meowing as he walked on my stomach, shoving his forehead onto my hand as I pet him. Chanel cured up on my lap purring until I got tired of petting him and fell asleep. Tomorrow was gonna be one hell of a day.

[sweetcatmintea]

Fluff Prompt

@ragethegemini, thanks for the request! I hope you like it ^u^ (I’m very rusty <.<;;)  Too be honest I only skim read the prompts, not realising how romantically inclined they were. It made an interesting challenge XD 

It’s longish, there’s more after the cut. 

Feedback welcome!

Prompt Request: Don’t get up, I’ll do it.

Character: Echo

Words: 1352

Water lingered, tracing the raven ringlets of Echo’s long hair, dripping to the floor as she hung the monochrome tight-walker’s costume to air before the next show. Tammy had berated her time and time again for poor hair care but spending any longer coaxing the moisture out was out of the question. Sure, she could have heated it until the droplets evaporated but pyro stuff took energy, a current scarcity. (Plus, she didn’t want to steam it straight. She liked it with a mind of its own.) She shuffled towards her shared room, grateful for the soft plush of her pyjamas after the stiff corset-styled toto. The costumes were remarkably comfortable thanks to careful design on Tammy’s part, but nothing compared PJs at the end of a long day.

Reaching the room and peeking through the doorway, there was her pink-haired roomie, dead asleep. Good. Tammy deserved a rest. Although the girl remarked constantly about her preference for laziness, she always seemed to be so busy. Not to mention how she bounced about on stage, tumbling dramatically for laughter.  Echo changed her trajectory, heading instead to the kitchen. A sudden desire to wander about, checking on things one last time, overcame her. Although the weariness of her bones pleaded she take refuge in her bed, her mind proclaimed movement was necessary. Besides, the time she decided to rest didn’t do any harm. Tammy’s ability to disregard the world after the sun had set was impressive. Hopefully a trip for water would sate the loud ‘I’ll just-’.

The house murmured quietly with its inhabitants prolonging the peace before dawn, just as she was. If it wasn’t for her velvet cat ears, sensitive and precise, she would likely be no wiser to her housemates’ activity. One note was absent from the familiar harmony. Several minutes passed before she realised she couldn’t hear Marcos humming faintly to himself to pass his nightly vigils. His quiet wasn’t unusual, and yet it was.

Padding as quietly as the floorboards would allow, Echo approached the living room. The man had claimed it as enough for him. He probably hadn’t intended to stay so long. It was quiet, save for soft breath falls. Holy Stars. Nearly tripping over herself, she realised he was asleep. Somehow the urge to poke him and ask if he was awake niggled traitorously at the back of her mind. His feet, furred and hare-like, were propped over the mushroom-brown fabric arm of the too small couch. One hand danged over the side, the other braced his neck as an impromptu pillow, auburn curls spilling over his arm in all directions. Unintentionally, she leaned closer, fascinated by the rare sight of her slumbering companion. The bags permanently framing his eyes were as dark as ever, but barely visible in the night spilled ink. The scar splitting the bridge of his nose was just a faint impression of uneven skin. His face held a remarkable calmness, the like of which Echo had never seen on it.

She could almost feel his breath on her face. Suddenly, his long ear twitched. Abruptly acutely aware of their proximity, Echo threw herself back a good two feet, nearly toppling over in the process. Tired amber peered out from a crack in his eye lids. Oh no. A statue now, she willed him back to sleep. The endeavours futility cemented when his eyes rested on her figure instead of closing. His face scrunched up momentarily, before relaxing once again (sadly, not like before).

“Oh, it’s you.” The usual gravel of his voice was softened with sleepy huskiness. “Ev’ry thin’ ok?” Frantically swiping her in-turned palm in front of her jaw, it would have been easy to mistake her apologies for a peculiar wave. [I didn’t mean to wake you! Everything’s fine!] Her hands flew about, oblivious to the already limited visibility. Marcos squinted, but finally received the message on the third iteration.

“You didn’t. Don’t worry, go back t’ bed.” His whisper broke the fourth apology halfway through. When her ears remained lowered and eyebrows pushed up, he clarified. “I remembered somethin’ I forgot t’ do.” [That woke you up?] “Brain’s funny like that.” He rubbed his palm under his eye, couch creaking under him as he adjusted his weight. Echo tilted her head at him. [What do you need to do?] He sighed. “I’m on kitch’n duty. Just forgot about it.” He made to get up, but Echo pressed her fingertips to his shoulder, shaking her head, a pretty little smile on her lips. [Don’t get up. I’ll do it.] He stared at her, the offer was not surprising. How did it catch him off guard? A yawn bubbled out of his chest, suffocating his refusal. Instead, he returned her smile. “Thanks. I owe you one.” Marcos settled back down, fists bumped together, and Echo headed for her original, er, amended, destination.

Oh boy. In order for so many people to live and work together, nearly everything was scheduled. Turns were taken to prepare meals (except Echo who, despite her best efforts, remains a danger to herself and everyone else in the kitchen and is thus perma-banned from cooking), clean dishes, do the washing, sweeping, mopping, all of the chores required in a household. The benefit of such an arrangement was that no one was stuck to the same job day after day. The drawback was that some tasks were bigger than others. Dishwashing, for a relevant example, was done every day to reduce the work required, but even after that, feeding eight people always leaves copious dishes requiring attention. The mess that greeted Echo could attest to that. Usually, everyone would make an effort to wash what they use as they go. Sometimes, like today, the day is just too busy for that. Gravity increased tenfold as Echo’s weariness protested her generosity. She sighed to herself but steeled her resolve, rolled up her sleeves, then got to work.

Someone had courteously left the ceramic dish from breakfast’s hodgepodge casserole to soak, making it much easier to scrub.  Unfortunately, the sweltering heat had done no favours to the water, creating a lingering stink throughout the room. Emptying the drain meant putting her hand in the gross water to undo the plug. The greasy residue sent shudders crawling over her skin. Lots of soap and a little time later, she had the crockery and cutlery sorted into piles, the sinks cleaned and the drying racks empty. Hot water gushed, mixing with soap. Echo leaned her forearms against the cold metal of the sink as she waited. Her tail swayed lazily. A few morning birds, ever confused, chatted outside of the window. Moonlight filtered through, creating enough illumination to leave the light off.  Marcos shifted around in the living room. The couch moaning with every movement. Did he really wake up because of the mess? It wasn’t impossible, but still… Echo resolved to be more careful in the future, just in case.

One by one, dishes were scrubbed, rinsed, and set to dry. Although the rack was steadily becoming more and more full, barely a dent was made in the dirty pile. At some point, Marcos appeared beside her, a tea towel in hand. She attempted to shoo him back to bed, of course, but he remained stubbornly helpful. Soon, they fell into a silent ritual. She washed, he dried and returned each item to its home.

Eventually, eventually, they finished. Marcos thanked her again for her help. She assured him she was happy to do so. He needed his rest too.

Lips upturned cheekily and eyes still half-lidded, Marcos ruffled her hair. “Now go t’ sleep or you won’t grow up.” She huffed in mock offence. So what if she didn’t even reach his shoulder! He was the one who was freakishly tall. And for his information he may be 8 years her senior but 16 was technically (almost) an adult! Blah old people. Turning tail, she waved goodnight and crawled under the covers, asleep before the blankets had settled. At least she wasn’t going to bed with wet hair anymore.

[lusilly]

a moment, when damian is 14 and struggling.

           “I don’t want him to sleep in my room,” insisted Damian, sleeves rolled up, sudsing up Titus’s coat with dog shampoo. “He sheds everywhere.”

           “I didn’t say he had to,” replied Bruce calmly. “He can stay downstairs. I’m sure it’s better for his back not to be going up and down them every day, in any case.”

           Unhappily, Damian scrubbed a little harder. “You think I’m not taking care of him.”

           “You’re taking care of him perfectly well, Damian.”

           “I just don’t want him in my room!”

           “That’s fine,” repeated Bruce patiently. They’d been going in circles about this for ten minutes now: they’d been going in circles about everything for the past week, which Bruce had categorically decided was a result of Damian’s OCD acting up.

           It probably had something to do with the tumultuous time he seemed to be having with the Titans, where he struggled to fit in and relate to his peers. Bruce couldn’t blame him – he knew how difficult it could be from firsthand experience, and was well aware that Damian had more reasons than most to feel alienated from a bunch of normal kids with normal parents.

           “He’ll sleep downstairs by the fireplace where he always has,” Bruce said, seated by the elaborate bathtub with his son, giving the Great Dane a bath. “He knows not to go upstairs, so you don’t have to worry about him getting into your room.”

           Miserably, Damian scrubbed for a moment longer, then dropped his hands into the soap bathwater. When he took them out, he pressed the heels of his palms into his eyes, wetting his face. Bruce let out a silent sigh and said, “Damian.”

           He knew better than to reach out and try to pry Damian’s hands away from his face. When he was upset Damian became immensely sensitive to touch, and Bruce knew from experience that trying to handle him would only make it worse. So he didn’t move to take hold of Damian, only picked up one of the plastic cups they’d brought in with them and poured water over Titus’s side, washing away the soap.

           After a moment, Damian lowered his hands. Without saying anything, Bruce set down the cup and reached for a towel, holding it out.

           Damian took it, drying his hands and his face. While Bruce continued to wash Titus, Damian clutched the towel in his left hand, shaking out his right as if trying to rid himself of a cramp. He kept shaking it. Out of the corner of his eye Bruce could see the look on his face, not stormy so much as merely unhappy, upset at himself.

           Titus leaned over the edge of the bathtub, giving a gentle whine. A few drops of water dripped from his snout onto Damian’s lap. Finally, Damian stopped shaking his hand and reached out, scratching Titus behind the ears.

           Quietly, Bruce asked, “Are you all right?”

           “Yes,” said Damian, as if by rote.

           “Do you want me to finish this up?”

           Damian didn’t answer right away. Then: “He’s my dog.”

           “I know.”

           “I can take care of him.”

           “I know you can. You do an excellent job. You take him for runs in the morning, you make sure he’s fed.”

           His hands still on Titus’s face, Damian dropped his head towards the side of the bathtub, pressing his forehead against the cool porcelain.

           Bruce pulled the plug on the drain; one more rinse and Titus was done. “Do you need to take a break?”

           “No,” said Damian, without lifting his head.

           “Do you want me to call Doctor Thompkins?”

           Still resting his face on the side of the bathtub, he turned his head to look up at his father. “Why?” he asked.

           “Because,” answered Bruce pointedly, “you sound like you might like to talk to someone.”

           With a sudden burst of anger, Damian asked venomously, “I’m talking to you, aren’t I?”

           That wasn’t what Bruce meant, and Damian knew it. So he did not deign it with a response. Instead he merely turned the tap on and filled the plastic cup with water, running it over Titus’s back one more time. Damian just watched.

           When it was done, Titus barked happily as Bruce and Damian both helped him out of the bathtub, and they both got wet when he shook off the excess water. Towel in hand, Damian said, “Stay. Sit.” Titus did so, and Damian went to work, drying his coat. “Up,” said Damian, and Titus obeyed as Damian finished drying him off.

           While Damian was busy with this, Bruce cleaned the bathtub. Behind him he heard Damian finish, and he heard Damian ask the dog quietly, “That feels better, doesn’t it? Shake. Good boy.”

           Once he was cleaned and dried, Titus bounded around the house, panting excitedly when he found Alfred in the drawing room and whining at the French doors which led from the kitchen to the garden. “Tt,” snapped Damian when Titus whined, and he flicked at his snout with his finger. “Don’t whine at me.”

           “It seems to me,” said Alfred wisely, having followed Damian into the kitchen to begin dinner, “that he would like to go for a jaunt in the garden, Master Damian.”

           “I just washed him,” said Damian, looking up with genuine distress. “He’s going to get dirty again.”

           “Well: it is what comes most naturally to dogs.”

           No longer whining, Titus licked happily at Damian’s hand. He pulled away sharply, massaging his palm with his thumb. Then he knelt down abruptly, taking Titus’s face in his hands, pressing their noses together. Alfred busied himself with taking ingredients out of the fridge.

           Then, just as abruptly, Damian let go of Titus. Crossing paths with Alfred, he went to the kitchen sink, washing his hands. Alfred carefully did not watch him as he did this, merely turned the oven on and found a cutting board. Once he was done, Damian dried his hands on a dishtowel and took a seat at the counter across from Alfred. “What are you making?”

           “Roast lamb with rosemary potatoes,” answered Alfred. “I think I shall stuff the zucchini blossoms from the garden for you, they’re quite perfect.”

           “I liked the sauce you made last week,” said Damian, absently wringing his hands on the counter before him. “The one with cinnamon.”

           “Ah, the tagine.”

           Damian nodded anxiously. Titus settled down before the French doors, his head resting on his paws. “You put too much lemon in it, though.”

           “I shall try to make it more to your liking next time,” said Alfred dryly. “Or perhaps you could try your hand at making it for yourself?”

           On the counter, Damian’s hands kept moving, repetitive and steady. “Maybe,” he said. That meant no.

           Accustomed by now to Damian’s presence during meal-making, Alfred paid him no mind as he worked. By now, Damian had his issues with food mostly under control, reassured by the ability to watch it being made and making an effort to listen to the rational part of his mind which told him he needed to eat to sustain himself. Of course, there was also the ultimatum set by his father, stay healthy or no patrol, which maybe motivated him more than anything.

           Slicing potatoes, Alfred asked, “How do things go with the Titans?”

           Damian kept his eyes focused on the knife in Alfred’s hands. “They’re fine.”

           “Are you all getting along?”

           “Of course we’re getting along,” said Damian derisively. “If we weren’t getting along we wouldn’t be a team to begin with.”

           Alfred kept slicing. Damian kept wringing his hands. “My mistake.”

           There was a short silence. Then Damian said: “Lian’s angry with me.”

           “Oh? And is this out of the ordinary for young Miss Harper? I had thought the two of you frequently found yourselves at loggerheads.”

           “I’m Robin,” he said. “I’m meant to be the leader.”

           “A case of injured pride, hm? Well, I suggest you let the lady take the lead, if she so desires.”

           “She doesn’t,” said Damian bluntly. “She doesn’t want to be the leader, she said I’m Robin so it’s meant to be me.”

           Ah. With a shrug, Alfred offered wisely, “There is no need to cling to tradition for tradition’s sake. Perhaps Christopher would like to take the lead.”

           “I doubt it.”

           “Well,” said Alfred mildly, “shared leadership is an excellent opportunity for every one of your members to find their voice and pursue their growth. A very mature approach.”

           Finally, Damian quit the handwringing, leaning over the counter to grimace at the potatoes. “Did you put white pepper in that?” he asked.

           “No,” said Alfred.

           “I don’t like white pepper,” said Damian.

           “I’m well aware,” Alfred replied. “Hence, why I did not use it.”

           Damian pointed to a pepper grinder on the edge of the counter. “Why is it out?”

           “Because,” said Alfred smoothly, “I took several herbs and spices out of the cabinet, even though I did not use them all. I shall replace them now.”

           He did so. Damian leaned on his elbows, watching him put them away.

           For a while longer, neither of them said anything. By the doors, Titus fell asleep. In his slumber he let out small whining noises, evidence of some unhappy dream.

           Abruptly, Damian said, “I’m sorry.”

           Alfred glanced back at him. He made a face.

           “Sorry,” he said again, shaking his head. “I’m being a pest.”

           “You have nothing to apologize for,” said Alfred mildly, eyeing him. “A very responsible thing, to check that I had not soiled your dinner with white pepper. Heaven forbid.”

           Miserably, he said, “I’m not supposed to check.”

           “And next time I shall be more careful about where I place the pepper when I am not using it, so that you feel less compelled to do so.”

           Not that it would help. He’d just find something else.

           The fog had not lifted by the next day. Damian sat tucked in one of the window nooks, sketchbook on his lap and open to a blank page, his forehead leaned against the glass. He hadn’t moved for some time. Titus dozed on the floor beside him.

           Damian looked up before Bruce had even properly entered the room, always hyperaware, anticipating, a second ahead. In his hands Bruce held a paperback book. “Are you reading?” he asked.

           “No,” said Damian. He held up his sketchbook, even though he had nothing to show for it.

           Gesturing at an armchair, Bruce asked, “May I sit?”

           “It’s your house,” said Damian.

           At this, Titus seemed to notice Bruce’s presence: he got up and trotted over to the armchair. Bruce scratched his face appreciatively. “If you’d prefer your privacy-”

           Damian let out a loud, frustrated sigh. “I’d prefer it if you quit treating me with kid gloves.”

           “Well,” said Bruce patiently. “You’re fourteen, Damian. By any rational measure, you are a kid.”

           Lifting his hand to run his thumb aggressively across his eyebrow, Damian looked like he wanted to reply but he didn’t. Bruce waited a moment longer for a response, then took a seat in the armchair.

           Damian let out a whistle through his teeth. “Titus, come.”

           Titus padded back over to Damian, who reached down to stroke his thumb delicately down the middle of Titus’s face, from brow to nose.

           There was a long silence. Bruce opened his book, but he did not read, merely staring vacantly at the words, hanging on to his son’s every small movement, waiting.

           It came, eventually. Damian’s voice sounded uncommonly small.

           “I don’t know what’s happening,” he said.

           Bruce glanced up at him, but said nothing.

           There was a screwed-up look on Damian’s face, as if struggling under the weight of some great invisible burden. He kept stroking Titus’s face, brow to nose.

           “I don’t feel right,” he said.

           “I know,” said Bruce. “It’s all right.”

           “It’s not all right.”

           “It is.”

           His face tightened even more, if that was possible. “I have things under control.”

           “Yes. You did very well on patrol last night.”

           Damian said nothing. He slid off his spot before the window, leaning his back against the wall, hanging his arms around Titus’s neck. The dog bowed under the weight, then laid down, resting his head on Damian’s leg.

           “So,” continued Damian, his voice low, his eyes on Titus, “I don’t know why I don’t feel right.”

           Bruce had the bizarre, fatherly urge to get up and cross the room and sit down next to his son, run his fingers through his hair, tell him it’d be alright.

           But that was not the kind of relationship they had. Instead, he asked, “Would you like me to read something to you?”

           “No,” said Damian, his hands cupping Titus’s ears.

           For a moment, Bruce watched him.

           “You just need to catch your breath,” he said, finally. “No need to push yourself.”

           They sat there together, Bruce in the armchair pretending to read his book, and Damian on the floor, carefully dragging a finger down Titus’s face, over and over and over again.

[plussizeappreciationfics]

Series: Never be the same again

Pairing: Steve rogers x plus sized reader named Emmanuelle

Warnings: none

Summary: When Emmanuelle and her husband Steve Rogers try to have a baby, she finds out that she’s unable to get pregnant. She feels so disappointed and insecure that she’s incapable to naturally bare her husband a child. Her world comes crashing down when his ex girlfriend Sharon Carter is suddenly standing at their doorstep, appearing to be six months pregnant with Steve’s child.

Chapter: ¼

Word count: 2447 words

CHAPTER ONE: Insecurity

“That was fantastic”, Steve spoke breathlessly as he lied next to me on the bed, drops of sweat on his forehead. “Yes it was”, I answered, trying to catch my breath from the amazing sex we just had. We lied next to each other, the only sound in the room were our heavy breaths.

“I hope that it will work this time”, I exclaimed as I wiped the sweat off my forehead. Steve turned to the side and wrapped on arm around my waist, pulling me closer to him. “Hey it will work, don’t stress yourself honey”, he cooed and pressed a sweet kiss on my forehead. I sighed, wanting to believe my husband so badly.

“Okay”, I whispered, my voice clear with hesitation. Steve caressed my cheek with his large hand as he stared at me lovingly. “It will”, he spoke certain of his words. I nodded my head and rested it against the pillow.

“Or maybe there’s something wrong with me”, I said after a few minutes of silence. Steve scoffed loudly, “No baby don’t go down that road, we’re perfectly fine, and we’ll have a beautiful baby when the time is right okay?, he reassured.

I nodded my head after a few seconds, not knowing what to say. I let out a huge yawn, feeling exhausted of our previous activity. Steve sat up and pulled the covers over our naked bodies. I rested my head against his toned chest and wrapped my arm around his slim waist. Steve wrapped one arm around my shoulder and rested the other behind his head. He sighed and gave me a kiss on the forehead.

We were lying in silence our soft breathing being the only sound heard in the room. Besides the moonlight shining through the curtains, the room was dark.

I sighed, “Let’s get checked together, see if we’re able to naturally get pregnant”, I suggested and bit my lip afterwards, not knowing if Steve would like the idea. His chest rose and fell as he sighed heavily, “Okay darling, I’ll make an appointment tomorrow”, he promised.

“Let’s sleep now”, he whispered and pressed a sweet kiss on the top of my head. “Goodnight”, I whispered, already hearing soft snores leave his mouth.

I sighed and closed my eyes, a dozen thoughts running through my head.

Steve and I have been married for almost five years and were currently trying to conceive a child. We have been trying it for six months, but without any luck so far. We have been tracking my cycles and calculated the days I was the most fertile. I even changed my unhealthy diet and stopped drinking alcohol, replacing it with water an juicing.

We had sex almost on a daily basis, we were never able to keep our hands to ourselves but the thought of combining our love to create a new life made us crave one another even more.

Steve always wanted to be a father but didn’t think that it would be possible due to the fact that he was an Avenger and his life consisted of danger 24/7. But I always knew that I wanted to share my life with him, I knew that I wanted to have his children, so I did my best at juggling his dangerous lifestyle which made us grow closer as a couple.

Shaking my head to dismiss the swirling thoughts, I sighed heavily and closed my eyes. I focused on Steve’s steady heartbeat and slow breathing and fell asleep a few minutes after him.

*Beep Beep Beep*

I groaned as I rolled over and reached my arm out to stop my alarm. I sighed and let out a huge yawn before slowly opening my eyes. I blinked a couples of times before my vision became clear and I could read the time on the clock.

6:30 am

I let out another groan, feeling tired and sore from last nights activities. I removed the sheets off my body and sat at the end of the bed, stretching my body. I stood up and hissed at the soreness from in between my thighs. Sighing deeply, I made my way to the bathroom already hearing the water run.

Once I stepped into the bathroom, I saw that the room was foggy due to the fact that Steve was taking a shower. Once he heard the door close, he turned around and wiped his hand across the glass shower door and smiled, once his vision became clear and saw me standing at the door.

“Good morning darling, how have you slept?”, he asked sweetly. I smiled tiredly at my husband, “Good but I’m still tired and sore from yesterday”, I exclaimed while walking over to the sink. I took my toothbrush and paste before I started brushing my teeth.

“Oh sorry darling, I hope the pain isn’t too much”, Steve’s worried expression reflected through the mirror. I shook my head and spit the paste out, “No don’t worry it’s okay”, I reassured before I rinsed my mouth with mouthwash and turned around, leaning against the sink.

Steve turned the water off and hopped out of the shower, and drying his body off with a white towel, his back facing me. I couldn’t help but smile at my gorgeous husband. It’s like Steve sensed my eyes on his back because he turned his head around with a smirk, “Enjoying the private show?”, he asked seductively.

I chuckled, “Always have and always will my love”. We both chuckled before he walked over to me, and greeting me with a sweet kiss on the lips, “I love you”, Steve whispered after pulling away. I smiled up at him, “I love you too Steve and I can’t wait until we’ll have a baby”.

I giggled as a few water drops from his hair fell onto my nose. Steve gave me a gorgeous smile, “Me too, I can’t wait either”. We leaned in for another passionate kiss before I pulled away and walked over to the shower.

“I’ll make an appointment by our doctor when I’ll finish my training with Sam and Bucky”, he informed me before walking out of the bathroom. I sighed and hopped into the shower, once I turned the water on I closed my eyes as the warmth relaxed my muscles.

I started washing my body with soap, shampooed and conditioned my hair before I shaved my body. During all that time I had so many thoughts running through my mind about how Steve and mine’s baby would look.

“He or she will have his eyes that’s for sure”, I chuckled to myself before I turned the water off and hopped out of the shower and drying my body off with a towel. After putting body lotion and perfume on my body, I walked over to the sink and started putting make up on my face. I always kept it simple, eyeliner with mascara and some powder with lipstick.

I blew myself a kiss before leaving the bathroom and making my way into the closet. Steve was just finishing pulling his shirt over his head when I walked in, “I’ll be home at four, I love you”, he informed me before giving me one last kiss, “Okay, love you too”, I answered before he walked out of our shared bedroom.

I chose a black crop top with a dark printed peplum jacket and some black pants as my outfit while humming a random tune and after putting my close on, I completed my outfit with black heels.

After that I took my phone and purse from my nightstand and walked out of the bedroom and down the stairs.

One I arrived in the kitchen, I made some toast with butter and jam when my phone suddenly buzzed. I finished chewing the last bite before I pulled it out of my purse.

Hey girl! Are we still in for the binge watching session tonight?

My best friend Shayla asked me. I groaned loudly and threw my head back.

Rain check for tomorrow? Steve and I are trying to get an appointment asap to check our impotence

I texted her back.

Oh….No problem, just let me know the results okay? Good luck babe!

 I sighed and thanked her before finishing my coffee and taking my car keys at the counter top. I walked past the living room to the front door and opened it. Once I got into my car I pulled out of the drive way and made my way to work.

I got us an appointment at 5:30 pm

 Steve’s message said.

Okay see you at 4:30

I quickly typed back and hid my phone once my boss walked past my office, “Hello Emmanuelle”, he kindly greeted me, I smiled back at him and nodded my head before he walked away and out of my sight.

I sighed relieved and was happy that we still got an appointment today so we could close this chapter as soon as possible and concentrate on the positive. I cleared my throat and refocused my attention on the computer screen and to continue my work.

The hours passed quickly and before I knew it, it was four pm. I finished writing and sending the last report of the day to my boss, before I shut the computer down. I stood up stretched before I lifted my purse off the ground and made my way out of my office.

I walked past the reception, “Goodbye Nancy”, I said to the receptionist before walking into the elevator. Once I turned around, Nancy waved goodbye while talking on the phone and shot me a quick smile before the elevator doors closed.

Once I arrived at underground parking lot, I walked to my car and hopped in. I just had put my seat belt on when my phone buzzed on passenger seat. I reached over and grabbed it and smiled once Steve’s picture appeared on the screen.

“Hey babe”, I greeted happily while plugging the phone to the AUX cord and putting him on speaker while driving out of the parking lot. “Hey doll, how was your day?”, Steve asked gently. I smiled while driving through the streets, “Oh just a regular day, nothing special, and how was yours? How is the team?”, I asked.

Steve chuckled, “I kicked Sam’s ass during training and now he’s so butt hurt it’s so funny”, he informed while laughing at the end. I giggled and imagined Sam’s bitter face as Steve kicked his ass during training.

Steve cleared his throat after being silent for a few minutes, “So are you nervous?”, he asked me. I shifted in my seat and pulled into our drive way, “Hold on, I’m here”, I hang up and took my phone along with my purse and got out of the car.

I quickly walked up the front porch before arriving at the front door and opening it. Once I stepped inside the house, I was immediately greeted with a bone crushing hug from my husband. “Hey doll”, he chuckled while sighing and caressing my back gently.

“Hey babe”, I chuckled into his toned chest and closed my eyes for a mere second, loving the feeling of having him so close to me. “So are you nervous?”, he repeated his question.

I unwrapped my arms from his waist and looked hesitantly up to him, “Yeah a little”, I admitted. Steve sighed and ran a removed a strand of hair from my face, “Don’t worry darling”, he reassured me before pressing his lips against mine.

I sighed happily and closed my eyes while sparks ran through my whole body. Steve pulled me closer and rested his hands on my thick waist. “How long will it take before we get the results?”, I asked after pulling away from the sweet kiss.

“Right after the exams we’re going to know them”, he answered me and held my hand as we both walked to the couch and sat on it. “Okay”, I sighed as Steve squeezed my hand gently.

“And no matter what the results are, I love you okay? And we’re going to have a baby, I don’t care how”, Steve spoke while he held my head in his large hands and stared deeply into my eyes.

His words made my heart flutter and my insecurities disappear as his eyes showed nothing but love and support. I smiled and nodded my head before leaning in, capturing his lips in another kiss.

We relaxed on the couch for forty five minutes before we made our way to the car and drove to our doctor.

Once we arrived there, we checked in and waited until our doctor appeared, “Mr and Ms Rogers?”, he spoke up as he approached us in the waiting room. Steve and I immediately stood up and shook our hands with him.

“So I’ll check your fertility today, so please follow me”, he spoke gently and guided us through the hall way. “Okay Mr. Rogers, you will be examined in this room, please remove your clothes and put the gown on we provided for you. My colleague will examine you”, the doctor spoke and pointed at door in front of us.

Steve took a deep breath and turned to me, “Okay I love you and see you later okay? Don’t forget my words darling”, he quickly spoke before kissing me passionately and entering the room, closing the door behind him.

The doctor turned to me, “Your examination room is over there”, he walked until he reached the end of the hall and pointed at the door. I nodded my head and followed his lead. “Same goes for you, please put on the gown and I will examine you, the results will be up a few minutes after the examination”, he smiled at me and opened the door for me.

I entered the room and looked around. There was this huge machine, along with an examination chair and a small changing cabin in the corner. I took a deep breath and walked over to the changing cabin, removing my clothes and putting the provided gown on.

I let out a shakily breath as I tried to calm down my frantic heartbeat, as the doctor knocked on the door before entering it. He smiled gently at me, “No need to be nervous Emmanuelle, this will go by quickly”, he reassured me before asking me to lie down on the examination chair.

I did as I was told and nervously looked over to the doctor, who was putting on his latex gloves. I closed my eyes for a mere second before I reopened them and the exam started…

 A/N: So here’s the first chapter of the “test series”, I put my own name in it because I was too lazy to pick out a random name. Don’t be afraid to let me know your opinion, and if this goes well, I’ll continue making more series in the future :D

Taglist: @buckybarnesappreciationsociety    @pleasantdreamqueen @disneymarina   @harleycativy

-Emma

[nowthenlove-blog]

| No. 14: The Bath Thing |

requested: nah

summary: helping Van out, simple short fic, sounds dirty for some reason, isn’t. 

word count: 1100

a/n: This is from my old tumblr I made in September last year, I didn’t steal it! I promise @absomardyarse was my old tumblr I made when I first decided I wanted to write Van fics, I never went back to it. So yeah, sorry if you’ve already read it. But no, I didn’t steal it

warnings: none

My Masterlist is here!

…..

It was shit, he felt shit, the situation was shit. Utterly shit. He looked tired, although multiple cups of coffee meant he didn’t feel it anymore. He looked heartbroken, but the way he spoke showed you he didn’t feel it, not really. He felt as though he should be heartbroken, but he wasn’t and that certainly wasn’t helping the guilt. A knock at your door had revealed him to you, 3:36 in the morning, who else could it have been? The rain has soaked his clothes, his hair, his skin, he was ice cold. You knew what had happened, immediately.

“She did it, its over”. You had a feeling that this would be the only mention of the ending of a very intense and unstable four month relationship, he didn’t want to talk about it, not out of heartbreak no, he had moved on long before it finished. It begged the question had he ever loved her in the first place? You were his best friend your bias should lay with him however, you couldn’t not feel a little sorry for her, she really did love him, but you were unsure about how requited that love was. None of this was her fault either way.

“Can we do the bath thing?” His words took a few seconds to understand, you had only done this once, and it was years ago. You were sixteen and deep in heartbreak, and he used this to take you out of the moment and give you some time to relax. Years later, maybe it was time to return the favour. After all, it worked for you. 

Locking the bathroom door seemed pointless, you lived alone, but still you clicked it into place, maybe it gave you both a sense of security, safety. As if for as long as you stayed in the bathroom everything will be okay. You peeled off his rain-soaked sweater, just then realising now how truly cold he was, his skin was wet, the hairs on his chest completely stuck down, goosebumps had risen over his tummy, tickling the pads of your fingers as you stroked them. Pausing the undressing, you began to fill the bath with hot water, adding a load of bubbles as well as some of the softest bath cream that always made your skin feel baby smooth; you knew he’d appreciate that.

He attempted to remove his belt himself, but the numbness in his fingers meant that the buckle was far too challenging for him. Your nimble hands found it much easier and within no time the familiar clinking sound was heard as his belt, along with his jeans, hit the floor. Visibly shivering in front of you, you took this time to adjust the thermostat a little, making the room ever so slightly warmer, too much would mean the room would become sickly hot, and neither of you wanted that. 

After adding a little cold into the water to top it off, you turned just enough to give him privacy, looking out the window as he slipped the last of his clothing off and stepped into the bath, sighing softly as the water instantly warmed him throughout. It wasn’t awkward, him naked and you fully clothed, although you couldn’t help but wonder if it should’ve been. Your thoughts put it down to a mix of Van’s feelings, his clear tiredness and his desire to be warm. Presumably also the comfort he found in being around you. 

‘Now, I have strawberry or apple scented shampoo, its up to you’. He glanced to the side, looking at the bottles for a few seconds before mumbling a very quiet ‘strawberry’. Using the same jug you’d used for the bath cream you dipped it into the tub, collecting just a little water before tipping it over the ends of his hair, the warm water trickling down his back, you watched as the muscles under his skin relaxed at the feeling. There was something comforting about knowing he was relaxed. It made you relax. Again, refilling the jug, you poured it over his hair, this time starting at the very front, cupping his forehead with your other hand to stop water from dropping down his face. After repeating this a few more times you squeezed a small amount of the pink shampoo into your hands before lathering it into his hair. He leaned back immediately into your hands, clearly enjoying the feeling. This went on longer than it needed too, simply because you knew he liked it and didn’t want you to stop. Eventually though, you rinsed the suds out and moved onto the body wash.

“The only one I have smells like coconut, I hope that’s okay.” you whispered kissing his cheek as you leaned over to pick it up from the side of the bath. You chose to use an unused loofah that had come in a body shop set you’d been given for Christmas last year. You started with his back rubbing small circles in before moving to his shoulder and down his arm. You did it gently, copying your actions down his other side too. Dropping the loofah you returned to his skin using your hands rubbing in the lather that has been left across his body. As you rubbed down his back your actions turns into more of a slight massage, resulting in soft sighs and groans falling from his lips. Even though he was your best friend, hearing him make those noises made your mind wander just a little. You knew it shouldn’t, but it did.

Taking a hold of the loofah once again you encouraged him to lean back just a little whilst you washed his chest. The bubbles covered everything well enough for it too not feel too awkward although you hesitated washing any further down that the top of his chest. Just as your hand went to pull away he gripped your wrist gently pushing your hand down onto his stomach. His hand moved yours in small circles and as you glanced up at his face you saw his eyes were closed and his brows were knitted a little closer. His hand let go and you dropped the loofah into the bath, using your hands to wash away the remains of the soap. You placed both the shampoo and body wash back onto the side of the bath before wiping your hand using the towel on the rack near the sink. The were splashes of water running up both the tiles of one wall and the cream paint that covered the other three but you didn’t mind, knowing they would dry eventually.It was temporary, like his feelings. Like this moment. It was as if it was a reminder to you to cherish right now.

You pressed a kiss to his cheek before standing up, reaching for a towel for him. He followed suit, stepping out of the bath, dripping water all across the floor. He let you wrap the towel around his waist, seemingly not bothered that you had seen him naked. He leaned over the bath and squeezed the last of the water out of his hair before unplugging the plug, letting the now dirty water drain away. He took a couple steps closer to you, his wet chest almost touching yours.

‘Y/n, was this weird for you?’ His sentence caught you off guard a little, you thought it was unspoken between the two of you that this was okay. Shit. Maybe it wasn’t. Had you pushed the boundaries too far? Oh god. 

‘Not really Van, we’ve been friends a long time. You just needed this to feel better that’s all.’ 

‘Oh,’

‘Why did you ask?’

‘I was worried you thought you had to do this or something, i was just worried I made you uncomfortable I guess.’

‘Don’t worry, it’s okay. Like I said, we’ve been friends a long time.’ Silence fell after you spoke. Van watched you clean up the room a little, opening the window, drying the floor, but soon he spoke again. 

‘Hey y/n?’

‘Yeah?’

‘Can I sleep in your bed tonight?’

‘Only if you’re the big spoon.’

‘Deal.’

…..

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