#jesus the urge to just punch a costumer

[1337wtfomgbbq]

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[tamakissimp]

B.K/I.M- save the bunny

𝕤𝕦𝕞𝕞𝕒𝕣𝕪: What are you supposed to do when you’re dead friend is suddenly standing before you?  𝕨𝕒𝕣𝕟𝕚𝕟𝕘𝕤: cursing, someone getting hit, mention of murder? 𝕨𝕠𝕣𝕕𝕔𝕠𝕦𝕟𝕥: 2008 𝕒/𝕟: not my best work but o well....yeah also there’ll probably be part 2 to this

This wasn't how Bakugou wanted his Friday night to turn out. He was supposed to come how to a quiet place. Silence and tranquillity enveloping him as he let himself fall onto the plush cushions of his couch. Maybe there would be a warm meal waiting for him if he was lucky. He could finally let his worn-out muscles take a break from the constant stress they're under.

Something must have gone wrong somewhere. Or else he wouldn't be here, standing before a mocking bunny mask. Floppy fabric ears and blood-stained cheeks staring back at him. The sewn-on grin seems to scream 'punch me'.

"What the fuck are you doing here?" he snarls. He grits his teeth while trying to keep his explosions at bay.

The bunny simply tilts their head as they stay silent. Their long limbs seem to move spiderlike as their body turns. Bakugou's eyes following their movement.

No. Shit. Fuck. The bunny tilts his head towards the other side as they snag a photo frame from the coffee table. Pointy fingers glide over the glass, lingering on a specific person in the picture.

Bile starts to rise in Bakugou's throat. Its acidic bitterness only seems to light the fire to his aggression even more.

"Who the fuck are you?". It's useless, he knows. Like hell, a villain like 'The Bunny' will just give up their identity. The silence is killing Bakugou. His nerves on edge and his muscles rippling as he struggles to constrain himself.

He lifts his hands, an explosion already blooming out of his palm. He is ready to blast whoever this might be into bits.

"That's no way to treat your friends," a distorted voice says. Great, so this bastard can speak. Bakugou opens his mouth, about to yell their ears of but a simple word shuts him up.

"Kacchan.". His hand drops to his side his mouth hangs agape. He had dreamed of this moment. Fantasised about the moment he could apologize and hug his friend. He had planned out exactly what he would say. What he'd do, how he'd act. But this wasn't in the plan.

The bunny's pointy fingers come up to its face before ripping the mask off. A mop of green hair springs out from underneath. "Cat caught your tongue?" he asks mockingly before running those same fingers through his hair.

"How..". Bakugou's throat fails on him. His voice stops working. Is he crying? He wants to tell himself he's not but he's honestly not sure anymore. Knees buckling underneath him yet he still manages to keep himself standing up.

"How am I still alive?" Izuku finishes for him. He casts the mask aside, throwing it on the floor before letting his body fall onto the couch, the same couch Bakugou planned to rest on. He lazily drapes his arms over the top of it.

The casualness of his movements mocks Bakugou. As if he isn't Japan's most wanted criminal sitting on Japan's number one hero's couch.

"Everyone always asks that, you know?" he says he glances down at the picture frames he's still holding. "It's getting old.". He lazily runs his finger over the glass.

"You died. I buried you. Inko fucking mourned you, she still does," Bakugou says. His voice wavers and he hates himself for it. He's showing weakness.

"You'd be surprised how easy it is to fake a death," Izuku says.

Bakugou's red eyes bore into his green ones. A silence hangs between them. It feels almost surreal to Bakugou. His mind hasn't caught up to the fact that his friend, or rather ex-friend, is sitting before him and isn't six feet underground.

While Bakugou's movements are ragged and forced, Izuku almost seems comical. His body has seemed to adapt to his villainous life. A theatrical elegance laced into his movements.

"I don't see you as a friend anymore," he breaks out. Izuku's eyes grow for a second and so does his smile. He straightens his back as he silently urges Bakugou on to speak.

"I buried my friend," he says. "You're not him. You might think you're him but you're not. He isn't this pathetic." He grits his teeth before lifting his hands again, getting ready to swing at him. Izuku quickly jumps up from the couch.

His eyes glint in mischief as he takes in the sight before him. "Oh, looks like you still haven't dealt with your anger, Kacchan.".

The nickname sets him off. He storms towards the green-haired man, fists raised and palms crackling from explosions. That is until he hears a familiar sound.

Both of them look towards the front door. Bakugou's face slacks with shock while Izuku's lights up with excitement. This isn't supposed to happen. Why is this happening?

Izuku quickly moves the kick his mask underneath the couch before he places the picture frame back. Bakugou eyes linger on the picture for a second. It's one of the three of you. Bakugou squished in between you and Izuku, his fingers raised behind both of your head to give you bunny ears. Oh, if he could just turn back time.

"'Suki?" you call out. Bakugou fears for his life, or rather, yours. Who knows what the crazed psychopath standing before him will do. "I thought I'd swing by and-".

Your words stop as you walk into the living room. The bags in your hands drop. Soup spills out of the containers you so meticulous packed. Bright orange curry stains the spotless carpet beneath it. The hot liquid splashes up against your leg, most likely burning your skin though you don't care.

You try to speak, mouthing opening and closing like a fish. This must be a dream, one of those horrible nightmares Kirishima often gets. That is until a familiar wobbly voice reaches your ears.

"Hi, bunny," Izuku says. Within a second, he has closed the space between you. Your arms wrap around him instinctively. It's an awkward hold. You used to be able to rest your chin on his head. Now, his muscled body towers over yours.

"Y-You're...You're dead," you whisper against his chest while nuzzling your cheek into him. His body heat seems to bring you a type of peace you haven't known of in years.

"I know, I know," he says while running his hands over your back. Sobs break out of your chest as your emotions seem to flow over. Salty rivers running past your burning cheeks and dripping into Izuku's musky hoodie.

Your body shakes as you grab onto Izuku, painfully so. You're sure you're going to leave bruises on his sickly pale skin yet you can't bring yourself to care. The aching in your chest that you've suppressed for years finally seems to boil over.

Hot and heavy emotions spill into your mind. You aren't sure if the salty taste in your mouth is from biting your lip until blood gushes out of it or the tears streaming down uncontrollably. You're sure that you look like a mess. Tears and snot dripping down your chin.

Instead of trying to see through your tear-blurred vision, you burry your face further into your friend's chest.

He's dead or at least supposed to be. You buried him, cried at his funeral and went through grief for him.

Yet here he is, in the flesh. His voice still sounds the same. He still smells the same. But he is not the same boy you knew years ago. His smile isn't the same. And his scarred hands sure aren't the same. Everything about him is the same, yet slightly different, giving you a mental whiplash.

"You have some fucking explaining to do," Bakugou says. His voice breaks you out of your trance. You pull away from Izuku, your body immediately screaming in protest. You look up at him. It feels strange, you used to be at least a head taller than him

"How the fuck are you still alive?". Bakugou doesn't have time for nicknames or formality. Not when he knows that the man standing before him has the blood of at least a hundred on his hands.

Izuku steps away from you, unwinding his arms from your body. Bakugou quickly strides over and pulls you away from the offending man. He pushes you behind him while one hand still grips onto your arm. You want to ask him what the fuck he's doing but Izuku starts talking before you can.

"It's a long story," he says. "Can't tell you everything but, long story short, I had to fake my death. Some guys were after me but it's all fixed now!". The vagueness mixed with his eerie smile only makes him look more like a psychopath.

"All fixed? All-fucking-fixed?". Boiling anger rising to Bakugou's head, clouding his thinking. He taking quick steps up to his ex-friend. Izuku doesn't even flinch when Bakugou grabs onto his neck tightly. "You left. Fucking made us think you're dead and you think you can just come in and say that everything is fixed?".

Spit flies out of his mouth and lands on Izuku's cheek, a shiver of disgust running over his spine at the feeling. Yet the green-haired man can't stop the excitement from bubbling up at seeing his friend so rilled up.

"Bakugou, Jesus fuck, calm down," you say. This situation should probably feel more serious than it is. Yet the shock still evident in your body and the adrenaline clouding your mind makes you unable to properly process it all.

"Like hell, I'll calm down!". Bakugou finally lets go of Izuku's throat. A set of cough falls out of the green-haired man's throat. He smirks as he glances down at the aggressive blond.

"Come on, Kacchan, we shouldn't do this in front of our little bunny," Izuku says with a smirk. The gears finally seem to click in his mind. Suddenly, the bunny mask, the name, the costume, it all makes sense.

"You sick fuck!" Bakugou yells before landing a hit square on Izuku's jaw. He stumbles back a bit, taken aback at Bakugou's sudden outburst. The blond takes the opportunity to land another punch right on his nose.

A wet crunch sounds through the room. You cringe as you feel bile rise in your throat from the sound. "Izuku!" you yell out as you try to get to your friend or ex-friend, you're not sure.

Bakugou stops you thought, his arms wrapping around your body and spinning you away from the green-haired freak. You pound your hand on his arms pleading with him to let you go but your ministrations do nothing to the number one hero.

Izuku laughs as he wipes away the blood dripping from his nose, tainting the grimy grey of his hoodie with it. "You're gonna regret that, Kacchan," he says. Bakugou doesn't even give him the light of day as he makes his way out of his apartment with light speed

Your throat grows dry and painful as you plead Bakugou to let you. To let you go to him. "It's okay, he's gone," Bakugou says.

You shake your head violently as you claw at his back, trying to get his arms to loosen their hold. "I need to see him. I gotta-I gotta see him. Suki, please!". The hoarseness of your voice shoots painful stabs into Bakugou's heart.

But he doesn't let his mind linger too long, running down the stairs two steps at a time. All he can focus on is getting you away from that creep before he can touch you again.

"Please, I can't leave him again," you sob out. Bakugou simply lays on hand on the back of your head, pulling you even closer to him. Thankfully he doesn't see Izuku following behind him.

"Please, not again," you say before your voice bursts out in sobs again. Fuck, how much Bakugou wants to blast that fuckers skull in. He's sure his friends at the police force wouldn't mind turning a blind eye for him. But that'll have to wait until later. Now he needs to focus on keeping you safe, safe from him.

[thebonerpit]

cheerleader [FIC]

cheerleader

Rom Howney, 3896 words, [E], read on Ao3 here

A very seasonally appropriate fic in which Robert throws a Halloween party. Tom hates Halloween but decides to wear a costume he's wanted to try for years.

“I just don’t understand it.”

Tom frowns as he stares at the racks upon racks of zombies, clowns, vampires, and sexy nurses in front of him.

“I mean, to be fair, you don’t understand much of anything, do you mate?”

“Fuck off,” Tom says, whacking Harrison on the arm. “But seriously! Why do Americans go so absolutely mental for this stupid holiday?”

“Again, having trouble with the fact that you, an actor, who plays dress-up FOR A LIVING, doesn’t understand this. It’s not like this is any weirder than a fancy dress party. Plus, you get candy!”

Ok, he does have a point there.

Tom lets out a deep sigh. He wouldn’t even be bothering with all this if it weren’t for Robert. An invitation appeared in his inbox last week for a Halloween party, and when you’re invited to a Halloween party at Robert Downey Jr.’s house, you don’t turn it down. Even if Halloween is incredibly stupid. He shuffles along through the rows of costumes, rolling his eyes at werewolf masks and inflatable dinosaurs.

“This is ridiculous,” he mutters. Harrison groans, his hands already full of the various parts of a Mad Hatter costume.

“Just pick something, who cares?!”

“There’s too many options!”

“Ok, look. Halloween is the chance to dress any way you want to and have no one judge you for it. Just think about that. What have you always wanted to be?”

Tom immediately knows what the answer is, but instead of replying he just huffs and turns down another aisle that’s covered in fairy wings and glitter. He can’t possibly do it. Especially not for this party. For Robert’s party. It would be… inappropriate. He rounds the corner again and is faced with a shockingly huge assortment of superhero costumes. A foam version of Thor’s hammer sits on the shelf to his right, and he smirks as he picks it up and gives it a good twirl.

“In your face, Hemsworth,” he mutters quietly.

There’s a whole row of different Spider-Man costumes which makes him smile, especially when he sees a flimsy synthetic fabric version of the Iron Spider suit. And right next to that – a placement that thrills him even more than the suit alone - are the Iron Man costumes. Plastic faceplates, arc reactor gloves with LED lights, fabric onesies with fake, puffy muscles sewn in… it’s all there. Tom runs a finger along the edge of the faceplate before snatching his hand away like he’s been burned.

It’s all he can think about, even as they leave the store after Harrison buys his costume and Tom walks out empty-handed. He thinks about it on the ride home and through dinner until he finally makes excuses and runs off to hide in his room, laptop in hand, and puts on Iron Man 2. It doesn’t take long to get to the scene he wants. Tony Stark, diving through fireworks, landing on a flashy stage, surrounded by his Ironettes. Tom bites his lip as he stares intently at the bright red booty shorts, the long gloves, the crop tops… maybe, if he altered it just a bit, if he wore the mask… He can already feel his face heating up at the prospect of walking into Robert’s house dressed like that. Would he laugh? Would he be weirded out? Or… would he like it? Tom pushes the laptop off to the side and lets the movie play as he touches himself, coming to the sound of Robert’s voice in his headphones.

* * * * *

Tom is going to throw up. It’s inevitable, at this point. He’s in the back of a car squished between Harry and Harrison and he’s going to throw up. His stomach is in knots and he can’t remember ever being this nervous in his life. He’s used to the fluttering before a big stage performance or audition, but those nerves are more like excitement. This is sheer terror and he is going to THROW UP.

“Can you calm down? Jesus, you’re going to ruin my costume if you don’t stop squirming!” Harrison jabs a sharp elbow into his side and Tom jerks away into Harry who pushes him back.

“I just… I need some air.”

“The windows are all open! Take the mask off!”

That is the absolute last thing he wants to do. He was only able to leave the house in this costume with the mask securely over his face and he doesn’t know if he’ll ever be able to take it off. He must be red as a tomato.

“Look, we’re here!” Harry crows. The car finally comes to a stop and they all pile out. Tom wants to collapse on the soft grass but he’s pulled along by four strong hands.

“Maybe I should… Look, I’ll just wait out here for a bit, ok? I just need—”

“Nope, absolutely not. Look mate, we already told you, he’s going to love it. Maybe not in the way you want him to-“ Tom punches Harry in the arm for that “-BUT, regardless, he’ll love it. You look great. And this is coming from someone who never turns down an opportunity to tell you you’re an ugly twat.”

“That was… almost sweet,” Tom says, and then yelps as they both drag him inside.

The party is in full swing and is absolutely packed with people. Small groups are standing around chatting, all in costume, and a live band is playing in the huge backyard to a crowded dancefloor. Tom recognizes only a few people – it’s hard to miss Scarlett even when she’s dressed like Morticia Addams – but that doesn’t bother him. Normally he loves mingling and meeting new people, and even dressed as he is it’s still exciting. It’s even easier after he quickly downs a few strong drinks, careful to only pull up the mask as far as it needs to go. The urge to vomit has pretty much dissipated and he’s actually beginning to enjoy himself, twirling around the dancefloor like a maniac until he’s slightly sweaty and out of breath.

“Water break!” he yells to Harry and squeezes through the crowd of people to get some air and hydrate. He finds a relatively quiet corner where he can chug half a water bottle in peace and is enjoying the cool air on his skin when someone taps him on the shoulder. He startles and nearly drops the bottle but manages to save it before turning around.

“Nice catch.”

Oh fuck. It’s him. It’s Robert. He hasn’t seen him the whole evening and assumed he was off being a good host so the whole thing almost slipped his mind, but now it’s all rushing back and he has to grip on to the fence post beside him to steady himself.

“Love the costume. Not exactly how I remember the Ironettes looking but I gotta say, this might be an improvement.”

Tom nearly chokes. He decided he couldn’t pull off the real Ironette costume as the distinct lack of breasts made it look a little awkward. So, he improvised. The shiny red and gold booty shorts stayed, of course. They made his ass look incredible. He bought the long red and gold arc reactor gloves and the plastic faceplate from the Halloween store, and instead of heeled boots he found a pair of gold high-tops and knee-high red socks. The shirt was the most difficult part, though. He went through a few variations before settling on something cute and comfortable: a red, cropped tank top. It was a bit loose and thin, so it flowed around his chest nicely and was short enough to show off his abs and his tiny waist. He also managed to find an LED necklace to serve as his arc reactor. It glowed a soft blue through the thin fabric of the shirt. Overall, he’s incredibly proud of what he came up with. Especially for someone who hates Halloween.

And now, with the way Robert is staring at him, he’s VERY happy he was brave enough to wear it.

“Is there someone under that gorgeous mask? Or are you too shy to say hello?”

Tom steels himself, takes a deep breath, and pulls the mask off.

Robert’s face goes through a myriad of emotions almost all at once. Shock, delight, amusement, and what is unmistakably arousal.

“Well. Tom Holland. As I live and breathe.” His voice is lower than before, more intimate, and when he takes a step forward Tom swears he feels the temperature go up by at least two degrees. He also notices that Robert is wearing eyeliner. The black kohl makes his eyes look even more gorgeous, and then there’s the red glitter dusted across his cheeks and around his hairline that is giving him an almost eerie glow.

“What are you supposed to be, then?” Tom asks. Robert smirks and points to the two small horns sticking out from his hair.

“The Devil, of course.”

“Of course,” Tom repeats weakly. It was barely a costume, the deep maroon suit looking more like red carpet attire than anything else, but fuck it looked incredible on him.

“I am the purveyor of sin on this fine evening,” he says, gesturing to the party, “so I thought I’d play the part. But you… you look far more sinful than me.”

Tom squeaks as Robert steps even closer and taps at the arc reactor on his chest.

“Cute,” he murmurs.

“Just… just wanted to show you how much of a fan I am… Mr. Stark.”

Robert’s eyes snap up to Tom’s and he doesn’t think he’s ever been looked at so intensely in his entire life.

“Is that so… Mr. Parker?”

Tom whines, loud enough for Robert to hear it. His hand travels down Tom’s body to squeeze at the bare skin of his waist.

“I think—”

“Robert!!”

They both jerk back as if they’re waking up from a trance. Someone is yelling for Robert and waving him inside, and he acknowledges them with a quick gesture. Turning back to Tom, he licks his lips and leans in to whisper in his ear.

“I think we’ll have to continue this later. Don’t leave without saying goodnight. Alright?”

“Yeah. Yes. O-ok. See you later,” Tom stutters, and when Robert disappears inside he chugs the rest of the water bottle and collapses back against the fence to catch his breath.

* * * * *

All the telltale signs of a party winding down are there. Most people have left, the band has stopped playing leaving only some low background music emanating from the speakers around the house, and the guests that remain are splayed out on various couches and chairs, half their costumes missing and happily drunk. The kitchen is a disaster and Tom feels bad adding more bottles to the mess, but he’s on a mission and can’t stop to tidy. After his run-in with Robert he only saw him briefly a few more times, mostly through a massive crowd, but he didn’t forget his words from earlier.

Don’t leave without saying goodnight.

Harrison and Harry have already gone home. They tried to get him to come with but Tom pretended to be enthralled in a conversation and told them he’d catch up in a bit. Now he’s wandering the massive house, peeking into various rooms as he looks for Robert. He gave up on wearing the mask after they met in the yard so it’s pushed up on his head like some sort of strange visor, his curls a sweaty mess beneath it. The second floor is quiet and empty; no one really came up here during the party anyway so it’s also much cleaner. A set of closed double doors is in front of him, and it’s the only place he hasn’t looked, so…

Tom slowly opens one door and pokes his head inside. Robert is lounging on a massive bed, scrolling on an iPad, glasses perched on his nose. He’s still got the horns on his head, and when he glances up over the rim of his glasses to smirk at Tom, he really does look positively devilish.

“Found you,” Tom says, trying to appear completely casual when his heart feels like it’s about to explode from under his ribcage.

“So you did. Come in. Close the door.”

Robert makes no effort to move so Tom slowly walks over to the bed, suddenly very conscious of how tight his shorts are as Robert unabashedly roams over his body with hungry eyes. He stops at the edge and toes at the plush carpet with one foot.

“Have you been drinking?”

Tom nods.

“How much?”

“Not that much,” Tom replies, understanding what Robert is trying to ask. “But maybe just enough to give me some liquid courage.”

Robert raises an eyebrow but waits patiently for Tom to make the first move, only shifting slightly to drop the iPad and his glasses on the nightstand. Guess it’s now or never.

He kneels on the edge of the bed with one leg first, testing the waters. Robert stays perfectly still. A deep inhale to steady himself and then Tom goes for it, pushing up on the bed and straddling Robert’s lap. He hesitates for only a moment before settling right on the seam of those expensive maroon trousers.

A pleased hum rumbles out of Robert’s chest as he runs two smooth, warm hands up Tom’s spread thighs to his waist.

“My own personal cheerleader, hm? I always knew you looked up to me but I never expected this… Pete.”

He catches Tom’s eye and gives him a brief wink. Tom’s heart speeds up even more as excitement bubbles in his stomach. Playing. Robert is playing with him. He was desperately hoping he wouldn’t drop this, leave it as the brief tease it was back in the yard. Acting with Robert is one of his favourite things in the entire world, and being able to do it like this? God, for the first time he’s actually happy that Tony Stark is dead because he’s never going to be able to act across from him again without thinking of this moment.

Robert nuzzles into his neck and starts leaving wet, sucking kisses all along the line of his throat. Tom shivers at the sensation and then starts to giggle when the tickle of Robert’s beard is too much against his sensitive skin. Robert laughs into his neck and nips playfully.

“You’re so darn cute,” he whispers. Robert has always been free with his compliments, telling Tom he’s handsome or pretty or talented, but somehow it just hits different when his hands are also squeezing Tom’s ass.

“Want to touch you, Mr. Stark,” Tom murmurs into his ear, easily switching his accent to sound even more like Peter. He feels Robert shudder underneath him and can’t help the pleased smirk that crosses his face.

“Yeah?” Robert says, grasping his chin gently so he can look into his eyes. “Do you even know what you’re doing, sweetheart?”

Tom absolutely knows what he’s doing, but Peter…

“I… uh… I was hoping you could teach me. I’m a really quick learner, sir,” he says softly.

“Jesus fucking christ,” Robert mutters, breaking character for a moment. He collects himself quickly though, shifting Tom in his lap just enough so he can undo his trousers and pull himself out. Tom’s mouth literally waters at the sight of Robert’s dick and he uses every ounce of willpower not to just pounce on him immediately.

“Want to feel your mouth, Pete,” Robert says, rubbing a thumb along Tom’s lower lip. “You can go slow. Use your tongue.”

“Yes, Mr. Stark,” Tom replies, trying not to sound too eager. He shuffles down a little and purposely sticks his ass up in the air. The red and gold shimmer on the shorts catches the dim light and he gives his hips a quick wiggle when he sees Robert staring.

“Maybe I should’ve reworked the design on your suit, hm? You like wearing little shorts like this?”

Tom nods and presses his face into the curls at the base of Robert’s dick, inhaling the scent of him. He feels the thick cock jerk against his cheek and angles his head to lick up the whole length of it, swirling his tongue at the tip. The bitter taste of precome blooms in his mouth and he moans, forgetting himself for a moment as he starts to give a much more experienced blowjob than what Peter would be capable of. Robert knocks the mask off Tom’s head so he can tighten his hand in his messy curls.

“Jesus,” Robert groans, “you’re good at this, kid.”

“Mmm, just want to make you feel good, sir,” Tom hums. He manages to remove one of the arc reactor gloves so he can grip Robert’s cock while he uses his mouth everywhere he can reach.

“Well, you’re doing a—fuck, god—a damn fine job.”

Tom thinks he could stay here forever, on his knees, mouth stretched almost painfully around Robert’s cock. He explores up his chest with his other hand, rubbing at one nipple with his thumb which makes Robert jerk underneath him.

“Keep doing that,” Robert spits out as he pushes Tom’s head down even further. He gags a bit but the incredible sensation of being stuffed and used overrides everything else and he takes every inch Robert gives him while tugging and pinching at his apparently very sensitive nipples. He drifts for a bit, so content and fuzzy, and only comes back when Robert pulls him off and throws him down on the bed.

“Pull up that shirt for me, sweetheart. Gonna paint your pretty chest with my come.”

“Oh my god, fuck, yes, please, please, want it,” Tom moans, shoving the fabric out of the way as Robert jerks himself off quickly above him. He can’t decide whether to watch his dick or his face when he finally comes, thick and white all over his chest and the arc reactor necklace. Robert’s slightly red in the face and gasping for breath as he steadies himself with a hand beside Tom’s head. Tom leans to the side to kiss at his knuckles and then dares to run his fingers through the come on the necklace and bring it to his mouth to taste.

“You’re going to give an old man a heart attack,” Robert says. His pupils are all blown out as he watches Tom hollow his cheeks as he sucks. Tom understands the feeling. He’s so hard in his shorts that it’s painful.

“Please,” he whispers, biting his lip, “will you touch me, Mr. Stark?”

“It would be a pleasure, Mr. Parker,” he replies. He palms him over the shorts which makes Tom buck into his hand. “As much as I love these… they have to go.”

The shorts are so tight that they both struggle to pull them down but finally they’re tossed off to a distant corner of the bedroom and Tom hisses as Robert immediately get his mouth on his cock. It feels absolutely heavenly, especially after being trapped in the confines of that uncomfortable fabric for so long. Robert takes his time, licks and sucks everywhere he can, all the way down to that sensitive spot right behind his balls. Tom whimpers as his tongue gets so fucking close to his hole but then pulls away.

“Want to use my fingers… s’that ok?”

“Y-yeah, please, yes!”

Robert grabs some lube from the nightstand and even warms it first before sliding one thick finger over Tom’s hole, pressing just the tip inside. Aside from the thrill of having Robert’s finger inside of him, the most incredible part is that he doesn’t stop sucking him off. The level of coordination is astounding and Tom would have complimented him on it if he was able to speak beyond moans and pleas for more. A second finger quickly joins the first and Tom’s body accepts it without hesitation.

“Good boy,” Robert murmurs in between gentle licks, “look at you, hm? So pretty and pink.”

Robert shifts him down a bit more which makes his legs fall open even wider. He feels so exposed and whines a little, trying to draw his knees close without squeezing Robert too much.

“Aw, don’t be shy sweetheart, you’re gorgeous,” Robert says. “You can put your legs up on me if that helps, ok?”

He hears the rubber of his high-tops squeak against Robert’s skin and somehow the sound is more obscene than anything else. He tries not to thump his heels too hard but fuck, Robert is doing something with his tongue that should be illegal and Tom can’t stop squirming. A low chuckle reverberates against his stomach as Robert pulls off briefly, his fingers still working in slow, gentle pushes.

“Aren’t you sensitive, hm?”

“P-please, Ro—Mr. Stark, please, need to come,” Tom begs, accent slipping slightly as he tries to shove himself down even deeper on Robert’s thick fingers. He’s held in place by the firm grip of Robert’s other hand on his waist and he whines petulantly.

“Anything for my favourite little spider,” Robert coos. He crooks his fingers and Tom arches up off the bed like he’s been shocked. He feels like he’s been on the edge since they first met in the yard and now Robert’s fingers are pressing right on his prostate and his hot mouth is back on his dick and he doesn’t think he could possibly hold off any longer if he tried.

“Gonna… gonna…” Tom’s whole body is taut, like a wire ready to snap, and when Robert takes him all the way down his throat he comes with a ragged gasp. Distantly he thinks he should be considerate and pull out but it’s like his body isn’t under his control anymore, and even though he hears wet choking noises it seems like Robert is just fine with him coming in his mouth. His fingers have stopped moving and he lets Tom clench around them for a few moments before gently sliding them out. Tom whines at the loss even though he’s so oversensitive right now he couldn’t possibly take anymore.

After taking a minute to catch his breath and regain any semblance of normal brain function, he finally looks down. Robert’s eyeliner is smudged and Tom feels a bizarre sense of pride about it. He can’t stop running his fingers through his salt and pepper hair which is also a complete mess.

“Just FYI,” Robert finally says, his voice a little raspy, “you’re going to be finding red glitter in every nook and cranny for about three years after this.” He punctuates that sentence by rubbing his cheek against Tom’s thigh, grinning as he does it.

“You’re a dick,” Tom says fondly, giggling even more as Robert continues to just rub his face all over his body. “But can’t say I’m gonna care that much if I’m being reminded about this.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“Well,” Robert says, that absolutely devilish grin returning, “I can give you more than just glitter for that.” Tom squeals as he starts sucking a deep bruise into the inside of one thigh, teeth marks and all, that Tom presses on every time he sees it for the next week.

[awhitehead17]

Whumptober 2020: Day 17 - I did not see that coming

Prompt: Wrongfully accused 

Summary: When all evidence points to Jason killing those people, Bruce doesn’t question it. The accusation hurts Jason in ways he couldn’t describe but thankfully he has other family members there to back him up.

Enjoy! :D

“It wasn’t me! I didn’t do it!” Jason screams at the man. No matter how many times he says it, his so called father wasn’t listening.

“All the evidence the GCPD has collected points to you Jason.” Bruce growls back. “If it wasn’t you then who was it?”

“I don’t know, but I sure as hell knows it wasn’t me!”

“They found your bullets inside the bodies. They have witness reports stating that they saw you leave just after the gun shots stopped. The evidence is pretty clear.”  

“Fuck the evidence, isn’t my word enough? I promised you over a year ago I would stop killing and I have kept that promise from day one. As much as they deserve it, I didn’t kill those thugs in the warehouse last night. It wasn’t me.”

Jason clenches his teeth when he sees Bruce sigh and shake his head. He can’t believe that he’s having this argument with the man. Last night the police reported to Batman that the Red Hood had started ‘killing’ again and how they even had evidence that it was him.

Jason knows for a fact it wasn’t him. He had been on the other side of town doing some research when the whole thing happened. Of course Bruce being Bruce immediately went to the accusing stage instead of speaking about it to him civilly.

He had cornered Jason in the cave around an hour ago and started having a go at him. Getting defensive, Jason shouted back and they’ve been backwards and forwards with the arguments since then. During that time even the rest of the family had gathered around to see what was going on.

“How can I trust your word Jason when dead bodies start piling up again with your signature all over them.” Bruce was glaring at him, the man had his arms crossed over his shoulders and was stood up straight to heighten his authority.

Normally the size of the man would be intimidating however Jason has long gotten become immune to it. He even stands up straight himself, challenging Bruce with his own height and build. He wasn’t backing down, not from this fight.

“I don’t even use those bullets anymore. I haven’t done in over a year, why won’t you believe me?” Jason had honestly thought they had gotten past this. He’s been getting along with everyone too, finally finding his place back in the family, but after this how much of it will be left?

“You’re the fucking detective! Figure it out! I didn’t do it.” He screams again. Why wouldn’t the man listen to him?

Bruce’s glare somehow hardens even more, his face becoming dark and furious. “I don’t need to figure it out because it’s already been figured out. You killed them Jason even after when you said you wouldn’t. How long have you been going behind our backs and have been doing this?”

Jason’s stumped. How could Bruce accuse him of such a thing? “To be fair, if I was going behind your backs I would actually cover my tracks so I wouldn’t get caught.”

Maybe using sarcasm right now wasn’t such a good idea.  

Bruce raises an eyebrow. “Are you implying you have been killing behind out backs and have covered your tracks so we wouldn’t notice.”

Jason has the sudden urge to punch Bruce. Maybe knocking his head against the wall or ground would bash some sense into him. “Jesus Christ Bruce, no!”

“In all fairness,” a new voice speaks up, “the evidence doesn’t look good in your favour Jason.”

It was Dick. His older brother was leaning against the computer desk with his arms crossed loosely over his chest, watching the two of them argue.

Jason narrows his eyes at him. “So what’s your opinion Dickhead?”

Dick sighs and shakes his head, biting his lower lip. “As I just said, it doesn’t look good for you.”

“So you’re siding with Bruce? Accusing me of killing people when I didn’t.” Jason glares at him, feeling hurt by such a thing.

Dick rubs a hand across his face. “No, Jason, I’m not siding with anyone. I’m just saying the evidence is solid and is clearly against you. It doesn’t look good.”

Despite his words Jason knew that Dick would ultimately side with Bruce. His older brother had always worshipped the ground the man walked on, even in the days they themselves where fighting. If Bruce said ‘jump’ Dick would always ask ‘how high’ without question.

Jason turns his attention to Tim, who’s been watching the entire thing from the computer chair. “What’s your opinion on the matter Timothy?”

The teenager jumps at the sudden attention and sits up straight in the chair looking at them with wide eyes. Jason feels kinda bad for abruptly pulling him into the argument but he needs someone on his side. Tim, out of all of them, will look at things logically and think it through. He wonders what his little brother is thinking.

“As it’s been said, the evidence does strictly point to Jason.” Tim says evenly, not looking at any of them. Jason feels like he’s been stabbed in the back from hearing that. “However, I personally think he didn’t do it.”

He takes it back. Tim is his favourite brother.

“Why’s that?” Bruce demands now staring at the youngest in the room.

Tim fidgets in the chair for a moment before answering. “There has to be explanations somewhere. If Jason says he didn’t do it, then he deserves the benefit of the doubt. As for the bullets, the same distributor could have provided them, they could have been found back along when he had been using them.

As for sights, there could be a copycat going around. His costume’s not exactly hard to duplicate. Just grab a red motorbike helmet, a leather jacket and some cargo pants then hey presto there’s Red Hood.”

There’s a long pause after Tim finishes speaking. The atmosphere was full of tension and it felt suffocating. Jason wanted to leave but if he left now then it wouldn’t help his case at all.

In the end Tim is the one to break the silence, his logical brain coming to the rescue once again. “Until we’ve covered the scene ourselves and have primary evidence of our own, we should believe Jason and what he’s saying. Arguing about it isn’t getting anyone anywhere.”

Bruce makes a grunting sound before turning to Jason, once again glaring at him. “You do not go on patrol until this is sorted. I do not want to see Red Hood on the streets until I say so.”

Then without giving Jason the chance to protest the man was walking away, disappearing into the depths of the cave. Just because he’s no longer in front of him, doesn’t mean Jason can’t voice his opinions.

“You don’t control me Bruce! I’ll do whatever the hell I want!”

“Jay…” Tim scolds.

Jason shakes his head and moves so he was stood beside Tim at the chair. He glances at Dick and then at Tim. “It wasn’t me. Please believe me. I didn’t do it.”

Dick says nothing as he walks over to Jason, places a hand on his shoulder to squeeze it and then silently walks away. Jason watches him go until a hand grabbing his own gets his attention. Tim’s looking up at him earnestly.

“We’ll sort it out Jay, we always do.”

Jason reaches over and ruffles Tim’s hair, emitting a squawk form the teenager. “Thanks Timbo.”

He hopes to god that it gets sorted out. If this happened last year he wouldn’t have given a shit, but now he’s found a place within the family and he doesn’t want to lose that.

[thiswasinevitableid]

Gift (Indruck)

A second fill for @crepuscularlives

16. we didn’t read the invitation that said this party was formal so we’re in our ugly christmas sweaters. SFW

Duck’s fully prepared for Aubrey, and maybe even Mama, to tease him for his Newton family christmas sweater. When he gets to the Lodge to find everyone dressed swanky, he thinks it’s some sort of elaborate prank. He decides to ask Barclay, since he tends to be less invested in pranks than the others. 

“Uhhh” Barclay points to a stray invite, “it said formal, see? We thought a change of pace would be fun.”

“Fuck. I just came straight from a family thing, didn’t think it’d matter.”

Barclay pats his shoulder with a warm smile, “Don’t worry about it, man, it’s not like anyone’s gonna toss you out for it.”

Duck grumbles something about not wanting to stick out as he turns, and spies an even uglier sweater across the room. It’s bright green and fire-engine red with, covered in old-school colored bulb christmas lights, blinking like fireflies. 

Somehow, it suits Indrid perfectly.

The Sylph waves when we spots Duck, coming over to join him by the drinks table. 

“Hello Duck, I’m glad this is the future where you’re here.” He ladles himself a mug from one of the two crockpots of eggnog. 

“Howdy, ‘Drid. Glad I ain’t the only one who went for the ugly sweater vibe.”

Indrid cocks his head, “This is the nicest thing I own.”

Duck groans, reaches up to hide behind a hat that isn’t there.

Indrids smile widens, “I’m joking. It was a, ah, what do always call it...ah yes, a goof.”

He laughs, relieved, “Jesus, you got me good.”

“It’s payback for the time you convinced me that squirrels were carnivorous.” 

Duck snickers at the memory of Indrid, in his moth form in the woods, eyeing the squirrels warily. 

He joins Aubrey, Thacker, and Dani by the fire, and Indrid wanders over to oin them, taking a seat next to Duck when the human scoots over to offer him it. Thacker talks about the library and the regrowing cities, and Indrid’s face turns wistful. Duck suspects only he can see it, Indrid’s glasses showing enough of his eyes from the side to make emotions clearer. 

(Indrid always sits across from people. The last few times they’ve met up, he sits next to Duck).

In spite of only some gentle ribbing about his clothes, he keeps picking at the sleeve of the sweater. It’s a little itchy, and he could have worn that nice green shirt with the pine tree tie that he likes. And every time he catches a glimpse of himself in a window, he’s back in space, watching an evil hivemind recreate it’s pattern on a mimic of his sister. 

“Is it bothering you a lot?” Indrid murmurs.

“N-no, uh, I, uh, just, fuck, it’s nothin,” He stops talking, flees Indrid’s red stare to refill his cider. He pauses to talk with Kirby and Ned, is looking around the room for a new spot to sit (and for Indrid), only for a tan hand to wave him into a hallway. 

“Here, try this.” Indrid ties a discarded gift ribbon around his wrist, and he’s no longer looking down at the wool sweater and jeans. He’s in a deep gray suit, with a green shirt and a silver tie. 

“Holy shit. Wait, do I look-”

“-different? No, I left your physical form intact. I can make disguises of different magnitudes. A simple clothing swap is easily done. And I, ah, I did not want you to spend a night with friends lost in frightening memories.”

Duck’s about to thank him when the words sink in. 

“There was a future where you told me. I, ah, you’ve mentioned what you saw at Reconciliation before, but not that detail.”

“Wasn’t scared so much as pissed.” Duck glances at his shoes, now well-shined loafers. 

“Understandable. And useful; the odds were not in your favor, believe me. But well-timed anger can change the course of fate. Just as choosing mercy--even when others urge for violence--can. Punching me also reset fate rather dramatically.”

“Yeah, sorry about that.”

Indrid’s smile is small, and stunningly fake, “It was for the best. I’m going to get some more nog. Would you like some?”

“Nah, still gotta finish this. But I do wanna try some of that salmon dip.”

“In true bear fashion.” Indrid’s smile turns genuine when Duck snorts and elbows him. 

They talk and mingle with their friends, Indrid making frequent returns to the nog bowl. Duck steps outside for air, comes back and spends a moment watching Indrid by the fire. Stern notices him, steps away from an animated conversation with a ghostly Boyd about art forgery to join him. 

“Quite the dapper costume change.”

“Thanks. ‘Drid did it for me.”

Stern follows Duck’s gaze, then casually sip his wine, “Have you told him yet?”

“Told, uh, told him what?”

“Duck, you spend more time with him than almost anyone else.”

“Half my friends live on another planet now.”

“And every time you look at him, your smile changes. His does too. According to Barclay, he talks about you like you’re the most fascinating thing on earth. Right, love?” He kisses Barclay’s cheek as the cook joins them.

“Yep.”

There’s a crash as Indrid loses his balance and knocks over a lamp, which Aubrey freezes mid-air.

“Shit, he’s hammered.” Barclay sounds surprised. 

“How much rum did you put in the nog?” Duck doesn’t remember the sip he had from Indrid’s cup tasting that strong. 

“I made two batches, one with booze and one without. Indrid was drinking the non-spiked one earlier. Wonder when he switched.”

“About the time Duck changed clothes.”

“...How did you not catch us durin the Pine Guard days again?”

Stern smiles, “Barclay can be very distracting when he wants to be. And none of you have ever asked exactly how much I worked out.”

He has a point. As does Barclay when he points out that Indrid should have someone take him home after the party.

When Duck offers him a ride, Indrid chirps excitedly, bonks his forehead on the roof of the car, and climbs in. By the time they get back to the ‘Bago, Duck knows he can’t just leave Indrid here.

“You’re staying?” Indrid bounces on the bed as Duck turns on the space heaters. 

“Just ‘til you sober up. I’ll stay out in the main cab so you can sleep.”

Indrid lets out a chirr that intensifies when Duck slips the ribbon from his wrist. It almost sounds perturbed. 

“I mean, uh, I can go if you really need me to.”

Indrid shakes his head, barely managing to get his shoes off before burrowing under to covers, “Please stay as long as you want.” 

Duck nods, excuses himself to use the bathroom, and comes back to Indrid chirp-snoring into the pillows. He’s such a cute, weird man. Duck will just sit down a second to make sure he doesn’t wake up and need something. 

The one small seat is taken up by a binder, which opens when Duck lifts it. Instead of the expected paper avalanche, he finds drawings, each in their own plastic slip. He flips through it as he settles in the chair. Interspersed with the drawings are papers labeled in one or two two words of Sylph, and Duck reverse engineers their likely meanings from the images that follow them. The section with all the plants and animals must be “nature,” the one with parties and state fairs “events.” There’s even a section that’s all elements of winter holidays; the Rockefeller tree with decorations that suggest the 1930s, a menorah in a window, candles on the table of a house that’s seen better days.  Towards the back is a section that has to be “friends.” There are one or two people who appear in images with Indrid. Including the kind that make Duck quickly turn the page. The further he gets in that section, the more familiar faces he sees; Barclay, Aubrey, Jake, Ned. 

He sees himself, returning from saving the world, battered but alive. 

“The odds were not good”

Tucked at the very back of the section, between the final empty pages and the binder, is a folded paper. Curious, Duck opens it. 

It’s him. With Indrid. They’re on Indrid’s tiny bed, kissing.

God that looks nice. 

Startled by his own thoughts, he tucks the picture back into the binder and sets the whole thing on the floor. Decides one of the paperbacks strewn on the floor is a better way to occupy himself then accidentally finding more personal images. 

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

The world is ending, everything is ripping away into the sky, everything he’s fought for is gone. He failed. He didn’t want a destiny, and he’s failed the fucking thing anyway and it’s all gone and there’s no future for him now but to be torn into ash-

“Duck, Duck wake up” 

He jolts, whams his head into the wall of the very intact Winnebago at the edge of the still standing Monongahela while a very alive, now-sober Indrid leans over him. 

“Owfuck.”

“Oh, oh no, I’m sorry, you were very clearly having a nightmare and I figured you’d like it to stop.”

“Yeah” He rubs his head, “yeah I did. Thanks. Sorry if I woke you up.”

“Given that in many futures our positions were reversed, I don’t have a lot of room to complain about someone shouting in their sleep.” Indrid sits down on the floor next to the chair, stays silent as Duck coaxes his breathing to even out. A hand hesitates in the air, then touches his arm, rubbing it reassuringly. 

No one else saw it. Not even Minerva or Leo, the only people who could understand the horror of seeing a thing unfold with scant chances of stopping it. 

Indrid’s hand brush lightly over his own before returning to his arm. 

No, not the only people. 

“Indrid, can I ask you somethin?”

“Of course.”

“The day we let The Quell through and saved the worlds did you, uh, did you see what woulda happened if Aubrey hadn’t blown the gate apart?”

“Yes.” The reply is quiet.

“Do you, uh, still see it sometimes?”

“Now and then, but I have far more bad timelines in my mind, and more failures in my past, for my nightmares to draw upon than you do. That is half the reason I drank so much tonight. Around the time of the winter solstice, my nightmares increase in frequency and intensity, Sylvain only knows why. Sometimes substances dull that.”

“Oh, ‘Drid.” Duck turns in the chair. Indrid’s gaze stays straight ahead, but his fingers shred a nearby scrap of paper. 

“The irony is, I love this time of year on Earth, in spite of the chill. I love the winter holidays, the gathering of warmth and light to hold one over until the spring returns. But my enjoyment of it is dampened by the workings of my powers and mind.”

“Fuck, guess I oughta count myself lucky I only got a few bad visions to remember.” The joke falls flat, and Indrid glances at him. 

“That vision is nothing to laugh at. I’m glad you had it all the same, glad you triumphed and survived.”

“Woulda really sucked to accept my destiny only to fail at the last fuckin second.”

He shuts his mouth to stop the next thought from escaping; Indrid doesn’t need to know that he sometimes fears that everything he’s done and wants to do now that fate is no longer hanging a talking sword over his head will somehow be hollow.

“You were so much more than your destiny, Duck Newton. You still are.” 

The sincerity, half-obscured in shadow and red lens, is too much. He doesn’t know what to say, or if he should say anything at all. 

“Guess, uh, guess you likin the holidays explains that section in the binder.”

“Yes. Wait. Did, ah, did you look through the whole thing?” Fear slips into his voice. 

“Uhhuh.”

“Even the, ah, the last page?”

“Yep. Some real beautiful drawin’s in there. Some mighty interestin ones too.”

Indrid nervously taps his fingers together, “Since you are about to ask, that future took place shortly after the cottonwood. You, you came by to apologize for punching me and to tell me you were glad I was alright and, and ask me to stay in Kepler and when I asked why, you did that. Just one little kiss. That’s as far as I got before the timelines changed. It’s, it’s alright, of course, that’s how timelines work, and you did eventually apologize.”

He did, two or three separate times, and each time Indrid brushed it off, insisting it was what needed to be done.

Duck sinks to the floor, turns on his knees to bring them face to face. 

“What are you-” Indrid stiffens as Duck gingerly pushes up his glasses. He’s never seen Indrid’s face like this, uncovered but still human, and it takes all the air from his lungs.

“Which eye did I hit?”

Indrid touches the right side of his face. Duck tips forward, balancing his fingers on Indrids thighs, and kisses the corner of his right eye.

“There. Now it’s a real apology.” He whispers in Indrid’s ear, close enough that faint, hopeful chirps reach him. He moves a few inches down and over, lips the barest strip of air away from Indrid’s own. 

“You, you don’t have to. Just because something appears in a future doesn’t mean it’s fated to happen.”

“What if I want it to happen?”

Indrid surges forward, cupping Duck’s face. His kisses re feather-light and sweeter than nectar, and Duck wants to drink them down, knows that after this taste he’ll never be full. 

“Duck I, h, I want” Indrid clings to him, his words turning to chirps nd clicks, as he’s so overwhelmed by a little kissing.

“Want me to keep, uh, ‘apologizin?”

“So very much.”

“Then take me to bed, darlin.”

The instant they hit the bed Indrid pulls Duck atop him, fingers fawning over his body as he kisses him over and over. When they stop to catch their breath, Duck remembers something,

“‘Drid, what was the other half of the reason you got drunk?”

“A problem of my own making. I did not foresee just how you would look in your suit, and I was trying to avoid an, ah, embarrassing bodily response. Alcohol helps my kind of Sylph in that regard.”

Duck chuckles, nips Indrid’s lower lip, “want me to put it back on?”

“Not just yet.”

“Want me to kiss you ‘til we fall asleep?”

“More than I’ve wanted anything for Christmas in a long time.”

Duck kisses him, keeps teasing their lips together as he murmurs, “then consider me your resent, darlin.”

[iamkatehardy]

A Keeper (Tommy Conlon x Reader)

Requests : @bsotstory “Hii!!! I lOVE your Tommy Colon fics!!!!!! Could you use the kiss prompts 44 and 9 for a first kiss between Tommy and the reader, maybe they have to share a bed in a hotel before one of tommy's fights? ❤❤ Thank you!” AND Anon: “Hello can i request a Tommy Conlon and virgin reader with 11 14 and 15 prompts. Like they were dating maybe 5 or 6 months and she want to have sex with him cause she loved him and trusts him soo much.”

Warnings: Mentions of alcohol/pills consumption, smut (cute smut, ok?)

A/N: Sorry for ending all of a sudden, but it was getting too long 😂❤  (Smut prompts are in bold) Sorry for possible typos too, it’s 3 am 😂 

Your feedback is really important ❤

 New city, new life; definitely better, but not always easier.

The lack of job vacancies for your profession was certainly an issue; looking for a job had been a tough mission, even with a college degree and a vast resume. Bills were accumulating and they didn’t pay themselves, so you had no other choice but to take a job as a barmaid in a little local bar. The working schedule bordered exploitation, but it was quite well paid and the owner was a kind old man whose helpfulness was only limited by his arthrosis.

The toughest tasks were invariably assigned to the rookie, meaning you, but changing the beer barrels was nothing compared to putting up with drunken folks.

“(Y/N)?”

“Yes, Mr. Barnes?” – Running back and forth, you huffed exhaustedly while pouring drinks. Despite all the weariness, you kept distributing smiles and thanks to all the costumers.

“Come here a second, will you, please?”

“Sure, sure, sure!” – After serving all the tables around, you spun around one last time to check if everything was in order before walking to your boss. - “Is everything ok? Is there anything I can do for you?”

“Do you see that guy over there?” – Mr. Barnes discretely jerked his head in direction of a man sitting on the farthest table.

“I thought Benjamin had taken care of that row of tables, that’s why I didn’t go there. I’m sorry, it won’t happen again.” – Just as you were about to turn and leave, your boss softly grabbed your arm to get your attention.

“That’s not why I called you, (Y/N). That’s Paddy’s youngest son.”

“Oh.” – You smiled and nodded in acknowledgement.

Paddy Conlon was a regular costumer, although he never touched alcohol. He seemed a decent man, but also very lonely; it was nice that he actually had someone to give him a helping hand now, or so you thought.

“And the most troublesome too. Some nights ago he beat the hell out of some guys after the bar closed. Ben was just leaving, so he tried to stop him, he ended up taking a punch too, that’s why he’s not going there.”

In that moment you didn’t know exactly what to say to that.

“If it wasn’t for his father, I wouldn’t allow him to set foot in here again. I just wanted to warn you that he can snap, just like that.”

“Ok…” – Some nervousness appeared on your face and you swallowed hard. - “I’ve got this.” – You thought to yourself

His size was intimidating enough, let alone his cold stare, but you could find easily some charming features too.

“Good evening, what can I get for you?” – You smiled from ear to ear, ready to take his order.

He drummed his fingers on the table for a second, before he turned to face you.

“Are you new around here or something?”

“Do you think it’s that obvious?” – You wrinkled your nose and giggled. – “What gave me away?”

“ You’re still witty and friendly, that’s not common in people who have been here for a while. That’s what’s giving you away.” – Pausing for a moment, he casually shrugged, shaking his head as his gaze swept over you, intense yet somehow tender. - “ And I’ll have a Jack Daniels, neat.”

Ok, he wasn’t as bad as Mr. Barnes made it seem; if your boss hadn’t told you so, you wouldn’t say he was the aggressive type at all. Although he didn’t seem to be the most extrovert person on Earth, his eyes showed way more pain than wrath.

“Why don’t you try an Irish? I mean, I’m sorry for meddling…” – You rested your hands on the table and leaned slightly toward him, talking quieter.- “ Don’t let Mr. Barnes know I’m telling you this, he’s a hardcore American whiskey fan…  But Irish tastes way better, to be honest. Especially if you’re a fan of neat whiskey; it has a smoother, velvety texture.”

“I think I’ll take your word for that. Amaze me.” – Nodding in agreement, he gave you a cordial smile.

And so you did, for the next couple of weeks you managed to amaze him.

Tommy left his usual spot on the farthest table by the window and started sitting by the counter, where he could occasionally chat with you on the less crowded nights.

“You beat people up for a living?” – You slowly lowered your head and raised your eyebrows in surprise.

“Well, it sounds bad when you say it like that. But we all know what we’re getting into in advance.” – He snickered at the surprised look on your face. – “Think of is as a cathartic release, it’s a great stress reliever.”  

“Jesus, have you tried popping bubble wrap? That’s the definition of soothing stress reliever, at least for me.”

You won a rare broad smile from him; it was always a delightful treat after a long day of work.

“At least that way you don’t get hurt and I’m sure glad for it.” – He looked down, fingers playing with his glass.

“You know, despite being misunderstood, you’re an amazing being, Tommy. The person who catches your heart will doubtlessly be very fortunate.” – You couldn’t help a gentle smile as you smoothly laid your hand on his arm, fondling it, before going to serve the costumers that had arrived.

When it was time for him to leave, he searched for his wallet in his pockets, emptying them during the complicated process and laying his things on the counter.

“Here it is. Keep the change, sweet thing.” – He smile made your stomach flip-flop. He absentmindedly picked his things of the counter, giving you a lingering look before he left.

When you went to clean the counter, you noticed he forgot something and came outside, hoping he wouldn’t be far and you could give it back.

“Fuck. I’ll give it to him tomorrow.” –Curiosity beat you and you found yourself looking more closely at the vial, furrowing your forehead.

Painkillers. An ordinary thing when you do full-contact sports, but not so ordinary when you noticed he had taken half of the bottle within a week, according to the prescription date. Especially not if he had been drinking while taking them.

The next day, Tommy came at the usual time. You put the empty pill bottle right in front of him, leaning the closest you could.  

“Before you ask, they’re in the fucking dumpster, Tommy.” – You spoke quietly, your voice seeming to fade before you even finished the sentence. – “You can get it together, without that stuff. I know you can, you just have to want to.”

He didn’t say a word, just watched you pour him his usual drink and set it before him. You words and the slight hint of disappointment in your eyes weighted on his shoulders, more than he thought they could. Before he even finished the drink, he placed the money on the counter and left the bar, sitting on a staircase nearby. His mind churned out a stream of thoughts for a while; resting his face on his palm, seemingly unaware of the flow of time until much later.

At that time you almost never had costumers, it was nearly closing time. His steps toward the bar were quick and quiet.

“I’m sorry, but I’m going to have to ask to leave, Sir.” – You asked the last costumer, who was clearly reluctant to leave.

“Or what?” – The man with a cadaverous look got up, walking up to you.

All of a sudden you stepped back, feeling a threatening tone in his voice when he addressed you.

“This is fate, little doll. I won’t hurt you, unless you try to run away from me, of course.” – He pulled out a knife and leaned against the counter. – “The choice is yours.”

The wind chime on the door tinkled aloud when Tommy opened the door and came in. Clearly seeing the panic on your face, he came closer.

“We’re closed. I strongly suggest you leave, now.” – Tommy stated assertively.

The man turned around and faced Tommy with a knife in hand.

“Look. You really, really don’t want to do any stupid move. I’m a former…”

Before Tommy could finish, the man advanced upon him, attacking him savagely, managing to make a small cut on his face.

Stupid move, indeed. Tommy managed to kick the knife of his hand the second after, before launching at him, kicking him in the ribs and guts, hitting him even after he was down.

“This is a friendly reminder to not mess with women ever again. Fucking coward. ” – He kneeled down and rear naked choked the man until he was out, before dumping him on the sidewalk.

You were shaking quite noticeably, dead pale.

“It’s alright now, (Y/N).” – His strong arms locked around you, holding you against his chest. Leaning down, he buried his face on your hair, kissing your temple. It felt more right than anything in his life had ever felt.

“You’re hurt.” – You looked up at him, gently cleaning the blood on his face with your fingers.

“Never mind. It’s not important. Are you hurt?” – He put your hair behind your ear, before cupping your face gently in his hands. He moved closer, staring into your eyes and slowly brushing his thumb on your cheek.

“Yes.” – Taking a deep breath, you closed your eyes for a second. You put your hand over his, bringing it to your mouth and giving it a kiss, as a silent thankful gesture.

“Come on, I’ll take you home.” – As he bent forwards, his face was only inches away from yours.

When you opened your eyes, he rested his forehead on yours; you could almost feel his lips on yours and you immediately felt a lump on your throat. With a fluttering heart, you just nodded almost imperceptibly. Your lips slowly parted in invitation, reacting to his proximity, his warmth, his care.

Intensely staring at your eyes, he fought himself to resist his urge to kiss you; at least until he had proven you that his intentions about you were absolutely serious and pure. The last thing he wanted was you to think that he would be the kind of man to take advantage of your fragility, by any means.

“Let’s go, babe.” – Squeezing your shoulders gently, he kissed the top of your head.

Over the next few weeks, he spent all of his free time on the bar, until there wasn’t any costumer left and walked you home after the closing. Altruist motive: he wanted you to be safe. Selfish motive: he wanted to be the one to make you safe, to have the chance to be around you as much time as possible.

“Hey, (Y/N)?” – He chewed his toothpick thoughtfully. – “Do you like to dance?”

“Doesn’t everybody?” – Across the counter, you gave him a dazzling smile.

Tommy didn’t. But if you did, he was willing to give it a try.

“Why don’t we go dance tonight?”

You looked him up and down, furrowing your eyebrows. He certainly didn’t strike you as a dancer, but you were curious to see the outcome, plus, it would be good to spend some time with him outside your working place.

“It’s a date, then.” – You giggled nervously again.

At those words, he sucked in a breath and felt a tingle inside.

Later that night, after hours and hours of overthinking and planning his speeches, he picked you up at home.

“God, you look perfect.” – He smiled to himself when he saw you and the heat of a blush rushed to your face.

“Thanks, you’re not so bad yourself.” – Smirking, you adjusted his collar. Ever so lightly, your fingers softly grazed his neck, sending shivers through his body and causing his muscles to tense up.

Playfully, you linked your arm on his, but instead of escaping from it, he drew you closer until you were nestling against him.

The second you arrived on the dance club, his face told everything; after some attempts of dancing you could noticeably see he hated that place, it made him uncomfortable. Without further explanations, you grabbed his hand and walked out the door.

“What’s wrong? I thought you’d enjoy this place.” – He looked at the building behind him and then stared at your connected hands.

“Yes, I do, but you clearly don’t. I don’t want it to be the worst night of your life.” – You nudged him, laughing innocently. – “I’d rather if it could be good for both of us, you know.” – You ran the fingers through his hair and then his face. – “ I appreciate the effort though, it was  really cute.”

“It was a disaster, wasn’t it?” – He scratched the back of his head with both hands. – “Yeah… Sounds just like me.”

“Tommy?”

“That’s the only thing I, Tommy Riordan Conlon, can do.”

“Tommy?”

“Typical.”

This triggered an involuntary eye roll; before you knew it, you were placing your hands around his face and leaning over to kiss him with a passion he happily returned. It was as if he forgot the whole world; everything disappeared for a moment. In that moment it was only you and him. Time seemed to stand still as long as your lips touched. He placed a hand on the small of your back, slowly bringing you closer. Your breaths, lips and tongues tangled together, perfectly. Both of you were nearly out of breath, but none of you broke the kiss you had been longing for so long.

“It was about damn time.” – You murmured between kisses.

“My bad.”  - You felt him smiling against your lips, just before he kissed you again, claiming you. The warmth of his body surrounded you, making you feel safe and sound. - “For a million reasons, the main one being the fact I am utterly, irrevocably, maybe madly in love with you… I really, really want you to be my girl.” – His eyes glistened and beamed with love as he met your gaze.

“I would really, really love to, baby.” – You trailed your finger over his lips, before you pulled him into another kiss.

The following months felt just like heaven; you quit the job as bartender and found a job on your professional area, Tommy never touched painkillers again and felt much more relaxed, plus your relationship was booming and neither of you had ever been so sure it was what you wanted.

“Babe?” – Snuggling comfortably on the couch, he pulled you closer and rubbed his nose on your hair.

“Yes?” – Smiling, you looked up at him, simultaneously taking his hand and intertwining your fingers with his.

“There’s this tournament coming up…”

You just sighed and took a moment to answer. Multiple times you had seen him fighting and you knew he was good at it, but you couldn’t help feeling tightness on your heart and your stomach every time it happened, wondering what could go wrong.

“As long as you make it in one piece and I can come with you.” – Holding his hand tighter, you gave him a worried smile.

“Now I’ve got a princess to take care of.  I’ll be a lion on that cage, to come back safe for you, I promise.”

“You better, Tommy. I swear, if anything happened to you, I don’t know what I’d do. I love you.”  - You hid into his chest, feeling safe, yet scared for him.

“I love you too, little one.” – He whispered, petting your hair. His eyes never shifted off you, watching your every feature, instead of whatever you were supposed to be watching.

The date of the tournament came quickly and you both flew across the country, settling on a cozy hotel nearby the tournament’s location.

Although you and Tommy had been dating for quite a while, you had never slept together; this would be the first time. You never brought the subject up and he would never be the one to pressure you to do anything. When you found yourselves alone on the first night, you didn’t quite know what to do and you couldn’t help nervousness at the thought of what could happen.

Tommy smiled when you laid by his side, but he could tense from a mile away.

“What’s the matter?” – He asked with a hint of worry in his voice, looking into your eyes. – “Is it because of the fight? I’ll be ok.”

“No…I…”

He looked puzzled at you and sat upright on the bed.

“Fights have nothing to do with this.”

“Is it something that I did, love? Or said.” – He let out a low sigh.

“No. No. It’s me. I’ve just…” – You looked down, blushing deeply, while chewing your lower lip. -  “I’ve never been with a man before… And by being with a man, I mean…”

“Babe…”

“I know it’s stupid and I don’t want you to think I’m some kind of…”

“Babe.” – Smiling reassuringly, he cupped your face on his hands. – “It’s not stupid; it’s your body, your life, your decision. And it’s not because we’re here alone that it has to happen, ok?” – He placed a lingering peck on your lips. - “I don’t want you to be this terrified; I love you and I won’t ever force things, not on your first time or the hundredth or the billionth. Things will happen if you want them to happen, when you want them to happen.

After a little while, he felt you relaxing again.

“I’m sorry, Tommy.” – Laying your head on his chest, you closed your eyes, just listening to his heartbeat. – “And thank you, I didn’t know you were so sensitive.”

“There is absolutely nothing to apologize for, princess. Get some rest and don’t worry about a thing, ok? I don’t want this to be a torment for you, or you to feel some kind of obligation. I just want you enjoy our time together, day by day. It will happen when it happens.” – Whispering, he rubbed the tip on his nose on yours.

“Have I told you I love you?”

“No, not yet.” – He sneakily looked up.

“I’m pretty sure I did... In fact, I shall never tire of repeating: I love you.”  - Your mouth found his and you bit his lower lip gently.

That night you made a decision, you’d have your first time with Tommy. The following day, before he got to the hotel from the training, you prepared everything.

When Tommy got inside the room, it was dimly lit, with the moonlight shining through the window; it had pleasant scent of candles, mixed with your own scent that filled his head like a strong drink.  He put his things aside and sat on the edge of the bed.

You emerged from the bathroom, wearing black lace lingerie along with a silky robe that clung to your curves.

Tommy was slack-jacked, fascinated, perhaps stunned, for a minute.

As you came closer, he inhaled deeply and your scent flooded him. You laid him down and straddled him, placing several tentative kisses up his neck, each one longer and wetter than the last.

“(Y/N)…”

“Yes?” – You brushed your lips on his as you spoke, before you bit his lower lip and your hands roamed inside his shirt, wreaking havoc on his senses.

“Is this what you want?” – Breathing quicker, he slid his hand down your side, stopping at your thigh and grabbing it firmly, trying to keep it together.

“Yes.” – You pressed closer, whispering breathily in his ear.

“Are you sure? Once I start I might not be able to stop.” – It was hard, if not impossible, for him to control his body in that moment. He loved you and consequently desired you just as much, although he was willing to wait as long as needed.

“I have never felt so certain about anything in my life.” – Your lips reached his ear and you bit his earlobe gently.

He tightened the grip on your thigh and kissed you fervently, conveying his every feeling through his kiss and his warm touch.

Careful not to put too much weight on you, he rolled until he was on top and began shrugging out of his clothing, with your help. Once he was done with his clothes, he started undressing you, slowly, almost with reverence; he left a trail of kisses down your throat and stomach, until he met your sweet spot. His hand cupped your breast gently and you ached for more of his touch. He placed his lips on your sex and began giving it small wet kisses, before sucking your clit gently and teasing it with his tongue.

You gasped and grabbed his hair, moaning it pleasure as he flickered his tongue on your clit. The heat inside you begged for relief.

“Oh, Tommy…” – You ran your fingers through his hair, pushing your hips against him. – “Yes!”

He had heard you saying the word “yes” at least a hundred times in the last minutes, yet he wouldn’t get tired of hearing it. He could literally taste your arousal and it turned him on.

You quivered as he slid a finger inside you, keeping his mouth where it was. It must’ve been the last moment your brain actually functioned, before pleasure took over your body. As his finger slowly made small circles inside you and his tongue made the same motion on your clit, your breathing slowly became panting. Wetter and wetter, you started to ache for him, in ways you didn’t think you could.

His cock was throbbing and he needed relief, but not only he wanted to please you first, he also wanted you to be relaxed enough so he wouldn’t hurt you. Pursing his lips around your clit, he hummed slowly, sucking it into his mouth before teasing it with his tongue once again.

“Fuck.” – A heat started build up inside you, consuming you. Grabbing the sheet tightly, you let out a loud moan, wrapping your legs around him as you came on his mouth. – “Time to return the favor, I want you to feel as I feel…” – You pulled him up on you.

“No. I’m supposed to be making you feel good.” – He slid his tongue across your lower lip, his eyes blazing with desire.

“I want to feel you, Tommy. I need to feel you.” – You whispered against his lips and wrapped your arms around his neck.

He gently slid the tip of his cock inside you and you groaned lowly.

“Am I hurting you?”  - He laid his forehead on yours.

“Well, truth be told, it’s not that bad. I don’t care about pain right now; I just want to make love to you.” – You pecked his lips, moaning lowly when he slid it deeper, stretching you more.

“If you want me to stop, I will.” – He nuzzled his nose between your neck and jaw.

“I don’t…” – Your hands slid down his back, urging him to thrust deeper inside your moist core.

“I love you, baby.” – He kissed you passionately, his tongue dancing with yours, between moans.

“Me too.” – Suddenly your mouth fell agape as you gasped loudly and your nails dug on his back.

His thrusts were controlled and slow, yet incredibly tentative, making you plead for more as you grabbed a fistful of his hair. Slowly, his pace grew faster and his cock swelled inside you, making you tighten reflexively around it. He greedily placed his lips on your necks, trying to stop himself from moaning loudly.

Throwing back your head, you wrapped your legs around him.  

“Harder, baby.” – Your eyes fell shut and your body jerked against him.

“Why don’t you set the pace you like? I don’t want to be too rough.” – Biting you lower lip, he grabbed your buttock.

You rolled until you were on top, taking him deep inside you and sliding your hips, keeping your movements for long minutes, until your juices began to pour across his manhood. Hearing you moaning his name, sped up the process of making him reach the climax as well.

You finally collapsed by his side and held his hand, giggling, happy and exhausted.

“Did you like it?” – Panting heavily, he turned to you and tucked your hair behind your ear.

“It was perfect.” – You snuggled to his chest. – “I don’t think there’s someone as careful and thoughtful as you.”

Feeling your hot breath against his chest, he felt a chill down his spine. Wrapping his muscular arm around you, he pulled you even tighter against his body.

“You know what? If you win the fight tomorrow…” – You held his hand, playing with it. – “I might empty half of my closet, to make room for your things. I want you to come to live with me.”

“And if I lose?”

“Well, if you lose you’re emptying the closet and you only get a third of it. But I obviously still want you to come. If not permanently, at least much more often. You’re a keeper.” – You rubbed your nose gently on his neck, taking in his scent.

“Wait, are you serious?” – His eyes shone with excitement.

“I don’t make jokes out of such serious matters, love.”

Tags: @carmen-kray , @titty-teetee , @iv-nyc , @but--dear-this-is-not-wonderland , @eap1935 , @ellar21 , @tiredoffeelinglost , @original-krays , @marvelgirl7 , @captstefanbrandt , @evilispretty-dead , @mollybegger-blog , @bignastyfan-nz , @scarrasco1325-deactivated201905 , @miidailyinspiration , @harleyquinns , @haroldpain , @marvelslut16 , @willowick13 , @outofbluecomesgreen , @elemeph , @my-little-lucky-scissors

[dontcallmecookie]

for your Dick Grayson must Die series could I prompt something with the OG Titans maybe? Maybe he gets into a fight with Hank and passes out during it?? Or something along those lines!!

Change of Plans

Part 4 of the Dick Grayson Must Die series

Summary: In which Hank picks a fight with Dick after a bungled mission.

Warnings: Whump, canon-typical violence, lots of swearing

~~

The tension in the room clung to the walls like sticky dew, stinking up the room with hormones and emotions. Donna swallowed, glancing worriedly at Dick. Dove and Hawk would be back any second now. And Hank was going to be livid. The frown on her brow said it all as she looked pointedly to his cradled side.

Are you ready for this?

He considered it for a moment, working his jaw as his thumb beat out a nervous tempo on the countertop. Suddenly, he pivoted and stood, working out his nerves as he wandered aimlessly around the great room, cape swishing behind him.

Nope. Not even a little bit.

Donna sighed, watching carefully at the hitch in his step, the way he favored his right side. “You need to get that looked at.”

Robin made it as far as the dining room table before having to lean against it heavily, palms pressed to the tabletop. He was panting, dizzy as the lights swam in front of his eyes. “I’m fine.”

Wonder Girl rolled her eyes loudly, spinning to making her way to the fridge. She snatched a yogurt, not bothering to check the flavor; she wouldn’t be tasting it anyway. “You say to the woman who literally had to catch you midair after some psycho took a barbed wire bat to your-”

The elevator dinged. Robin straightened, squaring his shoulders. It was a brave face for someone who was moments away from passing the fuck out. He would need it, though. The only way to calm Hank down after something like this would be to either fuck him or bark louder. Dick knew which one he was in for.

The doors slipped open and Dove and Hawk marched into the great room. Donna moved around the island defensively, her instincts yelling at her to protect her Boy Wonder. Hank meant well, but he often forgot his own strength. The larger Titan saw Dick and froze like a predator spotting its prey and huffed angrily. Dawn slipped her mask off and moved to Donna, taking her yogurt and swallowing a mouthful.

Hank stared under the red lenses of his helmet, sizing up his opponent as he decided if he wanted to have this fight or not. Well, no, he definitely wanted to have a fight, he just wasn’t sure if it should be with Dick or a punching bag.

He scoffed sourly and stomped off. Punching bag it was.

“Hank.”

He kept walking.

Dick sighed. “Hank. We need to talk.”

Fuck the punching bag. If Grayson wanted a face full of fist, he would damn well get it. Hawk circled to Dick and gestured impatiently. “I’m all ears, oh great and wise leader.”

Robin swallowed, falling against the dining table for support. Suddenly, he was at a loss for words. Hank was expecting something from him and he didn’t have the first thing to say. Where would he even begin? It wasn’t his fault Hank’s plan was going to backfire. And Hank disobeyed his direct order to stop - was he just supposed to stand by and watch him and Dawn get slaughtered? “I won’t apologize for what happened back there,” he finally said.

It took a moment for the words to sink in, a wry smile splitting across Hank’s face. He looked back at Donna and Dawn, wondering if he had heard that right. “The fuck did you just say to me, Bird Boy?”

Well, too late to take it back now. Dick raised his chin in defiance. “Your plan was going to get you, Dawn, and tens of innocents killed. It was flawed from the start. I had to step in and set things right.”

“Did you now?” the larger man sneered, stalking forward one heavy step at a time.

“I did.”

“I don’t fucking believe this.” He waved at the women. “Do you fucking believe this?”

Donna bit her lip, fighting the urge to back up her childhood best friend. It was a hard call, but Dick had made it. And if he was going to be respected as the leader of this team, he would need to learn to defend his actions against the harshest scrutinies.

Dawn didn’t share her Amazonian convictions, though. “You saw what happened, Hank. You saw what they did - what they were going to do-”

“Dawn,” Wonder Girl warned quietly, touching her arm.

Hank turned his venomous glare to her. She titled her head and let it bounce off like a mosquito bite. “You’re taking his side on this?”

So much for the quiet bystander role. “I am.”

“Of course you fucking are. Anything for your boyfriend, right? Your little Boy Wonder?”

Robin grabbed his arm. “That’s enough, Hank,” he said and Donna would have to remember to compliment his Batman voice. It was pretty on brand.

Hawk yanked his arm back, shoving Dick roughly in the chest. “Get your hands off me! You want to divide this team, fine. But I’m not going to stand here and take your brainwashing.”

“I’m trying to keep this team alive,” Dick retorted angrily. A flush rose to his cheeks and Donna gulped worriedly. “There’s no brainwashing going on, no coercion. Because, unlike you, I’m capable of solving problems with my brain and not just my fists.”

“You think your brains are better than me? What, just because you grew up going to galas and fancy-ass parties with Bruce-fucking-Wayne?”

“I grew up out on the streets, five nights a week, kicking asses and thinking up strategies on the fly to keep them from kicking mine in return.” He sidled forward, using every inch of his height to intimidate his hundred pounds heavier teammate. “I was doing this while you were still playing Pee Wee, linebacker. Which is how I knew your plan was shit and had to step in and save everyone’s lives. Lives that you put in danger!”

Hank growled and shoved him again, Dick latching onto the front of his costume to hold himself in place even as the larger Titan tried to shake him off. “Back off!” Suddenly a meaty fist was slamming into Dick’s right side.

“Dick!” Donna gasped, rushing forward.

He was immediately on the ground, a lump of pads and rubber under his bi-colored cape.

“The fuck’s wrong with him?” Hank wondered, stepping back in confusion as Donna knelt by their downed leader.

“The bad guy you were so insistent wouldn’t show up? Well, guess who showed up? And while you’re at it, take a stab at who found him and had to take him down. By himself,” she responded pointedly, cradling Dick’s face and prying his eyelids open to check his pupils. He groaned into her hands, eyes rolling lazily behind the mask.

Dawn approached worriedly, Hank gravitating to her for stability. “I… No, he was out of town. I checked. His plane wasn’t supposed to land for another-”

“Four hours? Yeah, say that to the barbed wire bat he took to Dick’s side.”

Dick coughed lightly, face scrunching in pain as his chest convulsed. He turned, droplets that matched the red of Donna’s suit decorating her shoulder.

“Jesus,” Dawn gasped, quickly joining Wonder Girl on the floor. “He needs to go to medical. Can he stand?”

Robin nodded, a gurgling noise coming from his throat.

“Turn him,” Donna said and they rolled him to the side just as bile and blood erupted from his mouth, staining the cold floor. He vomited weakly and Donna checked his temperature. “Go get a cold bath ready.” Dawn nodded and was out the door in a few hurried strides.

Hank looked like he was having a full-blown crisis under his ridiculous bird costume. “I didn’t know.”

“Clearly,” Wonder Girl snapped protectively. Recognizing her temper, she sighed, taking a precious moment to center herself. “You can grovel for forgiveness later. For now, help me get to him to medical.” She could lift the Titan on her own without breaking a sweat and they all knew it. But bridal style wasn’t easy on the ribs and Hank desperately needed to feel helpful.

“Uh, yeah, right.” He sprung forward, looping his arm around Dick’s waist. “Jesus, he’s burning up.”

“Thus the cold bath Dawn is getting ready.” Donna heaved him upright, nodding to the door. “Let’s go.”

.,.,.,.,.,.,.,

The bat had broken several ribs, one of which was inches away from puncturing a lung. He wouldn’t need surgery, but he would be bedridden for a number of weeks as all the internal scrapes and tears healed. A couple of days after he was conscious for good - it was definitely the most he had slept since, well, the last time he was immobile - Hank broke his streak of avoidance and poked his head into the leader’s darkened room.

Dick paused the video on his League tablet, taking out his headphones. “What’s up?” he asked not unkindly, but with about as much warmth as if he was talking to a table leg that had just violated his toe.

Hank cleared his throat, motioning to the device. “Interrupting your Netflix?”

“Something like that,” Dick replied, shuffling uncomfortably as he locked the screen.

Hank sat uninvited on the corner of the bed, making a face at the secrecy. “Guess you gotta get the blood flowing somehow,” he quipped crudely.

“What do you want, Hank.”

“Well, I was going to apologize but if you’re going to be a prick about it I won’t.”

Dick turned to the window. “Then you weren’t really sorry, were you,” he corrected quietly.

The larger Titan considered it, nodding loudly. “Guess not then. Well,” he stood, slapping Dick’s knee under the thick blankets. “Don’t be out too much longer. Getting kind of tired of kicking the ladies’ asses all the time.”

“I’ll tell Donna to take it easy next time.”

“Uh. Yeah. You do that.” He turned and left, fleeing as fast as he could.

Dick swallowed as he watched his back retreat and mulled over why he couldn’t have one single goddamn conversation with the man without ruffling his feathers and reopening wounds all over again. How was he supposed to lead a team when he couldn’t have a civil one on one with one-fifth of it?

He sighed, eventually accepting that that answer would just have to stay unsolved until another day. And he would have plenty of time to torture himself with it until he was allowed back to normal life.

Wedging the headphone back into his ear, he unlocked the screen of his tablet and resumed the video. Grainy footage showed a man swing a barbed wire baseball bat into his side. He went to the ground, exposed and vulnerable as the man continued to beat him with the weapon, hitting and hitting him without pause. Dick rewound and played the segment again. Then again. On the fourth time, he paused it and switched to his suit’s body cam, his own cries of pain deafening in his ears.

He turned the volume up.

He was well on his way to being recovered physically, but mentally he was on loop in the ICU of his own bleeding mind.

[snarkwrites]

FFT: candy apple kisses; sam winchester

Notes:

So way back in halloween, I wrote this after getting an ask on the main. It got buried but.. after finding it? I definitely enjoyed writing for Sam Winchester and cannot wait to attempt doing it more. I can’t say this is the universe I’d go with though as i’m much more drawn to the whole /angel/ and Sam one I had in mind. Idk..

Summary:

All Sam was supposed to do was protect her from the being they were hunting. But then they wind up talking. Sam saves her life, she patches him up.

Warnings:

drinking - alcohol tw, mentions of violence, blood mention. kissing.

Pairing: 

Sam Winchester x OFC, Raine

“Oh come on. It’s a Halloween party. At least pretend you want to be here, damn.”

“If only I did. Hey, where did you get that?” Raine eyed the candied apple in her best friend’s hand, her mouth watering. She reached for it and Enid stepped back, laughing and shaking her head as she took another bite. “Over there. And you can go get your own, food thief.”

“Hey! I don’t always steal your food.”

“Only on days that end in Y?” her friend teased gently and Raine flipped her off, eyeing the table at the end of the room hesitantly. She pouted. “But it’s all the way over there.”

“So? You have working legs.”

Raine mimicked her, but she started to head in the direction of the table where the candied apples were. She made it about halfway across when someone shoved her from behind and sent her lurching forward, right into the back of the giant of a guy standing in the middle of the room.

His suit stood out like a sore thumb, despite the nature of the party and Raine couldn’t help but think that costumes had to be a big thing with the guy.

Sam Winchester turned around, glaring, thinking that it was probably Dean, fucking around when they previously both agreed that  they had to get in, get what they came for and get out, and his mouth opened and closed as his eyes settled on hers.

“Hi.” Sam finally muttered, staring down at her. The black cat costume she was wearing had him resisting the urge to stifle a laugh, because it was quite literally a lazy attempt at a black cat, with ripped black skinny jeans, a black tee shirt that seemed to cling to her body just enough and she had the nose and whiskers painted on and the ears attached to a headband. He got this sense that she may have been dragged out to this party tonight by friends. … Or maybe it’s just the fact that you want to find some way to connect you two, to make you alike… the idle thought came and went and he chuckled to himself again about it quietly before pushing it out of his mind in it’s entire. He was here to make sure the shapeshifter didn’t get it’s hands on her, that was it.

She was simply a part of the case he and Dean were working and the sooner he started looking at things like this, the better off he’d be.

“Hey.” Raine tilted her head slightly, frowning when the stupid ear on her headband dipped down again. Sam saw her gazing at the candied apples and he remembered what he and Dean seemed to think about the methods of the shapeshifter they were trying to track down currently. The use of candy or booze to lure out it’s victims before preying upon them.

“That’s probably not a good idea.” Sam blurted out, his eyes fixing on the table filled with treats. Raine eyed him, scoffing at what he said. “Oh?”

“Yeah.” Sam answered, his gaze following her gaze to the tray of candied apples. He allowed his eyes to dart around the room just to make sure that the shapeshifter who followed her in earlier wasn’t still lurking, because when he’d noticed them, it hadn’t given him a good feeling.

A crowd pushed past them, forcing them closer. Raine rolled her eyes as her friend stopped and told her excitedly, “Oh my god, Ethan is about to go to war with Nick. You gotta see it. Remember the last time they played Civil War? The entire room looked like it got visited by Linda…. Blair” and she happened to catch sight of Sam, going quiet, giving her friend a wink. “Oh… Oh..If you two go back to our place, hang a bra on the door?”

“Jesus, Enid, I literally just bumped into the guy!” Raine groaned as she bit her lip, fidgety as her gaze met Sam’s. She didn’t even know his name, they hadn’t quite gotten to properly introducing themselves.

She hadn’t seen him around before. Her mind went back to the rumors going around campus, all the missing girls and how they were last seen with some guy who nobody ever remembered seeing around before.

“And? See? I told you.. Halloween is magic.” Enid gave a smirk as if she were now justified in dragging Raine to the party, because Raine had found someone to talk to. She’d told her that moping in the dorms, or worse, studying, well that wasn’t gonna be any fun. She was obviously right because Raine was smiling right now and she actually seemed relaxed.

Raine laughed and gave a sheepish shrug as her friend staggered off, to a back corner of the room. Sam chuckled and then asked, “Civil War?”

“Basically, it’s two drunken idiots standing in front of each other. The object is to keep yourself from puking the longest.. Or completely covering the other guy in your vomit. Winner is the one still standing when their bottle is empty.”

Sam cringed. That was… definitely one thing he did not miss about college. The mindless drinking games.

This one, he found himself thinking, sounded particularly gross. He remembered that she hadn’t told him her name and he hadn’t told her his own, so he backtracked, flashing a grin.

Maybe she could tell him something.

… Oh come off it. You just want to talk to her, you’ve been sort of casually watching her all night…

… For good reason… you saw the shapeshifter  watching her come in… if you could’ve gotten to it in time, this would all be over and you could be back at the hotel, watching shitty horror movie and tossing back a few with Dean…

“My name is Sam. What’s yours?”

It felt so good, breaking Dean’s big rule and telling her his actual name. He honestly meant to give her the name on his fake badge, but when his mouth opened, his real one came out.

Raine repeated his name, -so you won’t forget it if you get lucky enough to scream it later, she quickly shoved that thought out of her head because she was not that kind of girl, and Sam asked her again what her name was.

“It’s Raine.”

“Raine.. I like that.” Sam happened to spot the shapeshifter again, in the crowd and suddenly, this urge just took over. The need to get her out of the party, take her out of the shapeshifter’s radar took over and Sam nodded to the door. “Want to take a walk with me, Raine?”

Raine mulled it over. With all the girls going missing on campus, she wasn’t entirely sure that was the best idea, then again to be fair, coming out tonight probably hadn’t been either. … But the guy looks harmless and he’s so tall… Big.. Strong… If something did happen, I have no doubt in my mind he’d protect me…. While the more rational parts of her mind argued, …. What if he is the something bad that will happen?��..

Raine went with her gut and nodded, but glanced at the table of candied apples. “Okay, but first, I’m getting myself one of those. I don’t want this party to be a total booze filled bust.” she started to walk towards the refreshment table, stopping to look back at him, beckoning for him.

Sam bit his lip and started to walk towards her, easily catching up to her in the crowd, his hand resting against the small of her back as he came to a stop behind her at the table filled with treats and candy and booze.

“Okay, alright.” he chuckled, leaning down and in slightly so he could whisper against her ear. He saw the shapeshifter lurking, obviously lying in wait.

That shapeshifter was going to have to wait a while. And it wouldn’t be getting Raine, Sam had already gotten this in his head.

Raine grabbed for a candied apple and as soon as she had it in her hands, she took a big bite, groaning in satisfaction as the sugary sweet rush hit her tongue. “I haven’t had one of these since I was twelve.”

Sam eyed the apple and then her mouth. Juice ran down the corners of her mouth, and he bit his lip, leaning in to wipe it off as he laughed. “Do I need to leave you alone with that?”

“Nah, I’m good. Just a girl who loves her junk food. So, about that walk. I’m ready to get outta here when you are, big guy.”

Sam linked arms with her, leading her towards the door right as he saw the shapeshifter making it’s way out the door on the side of the building, like it was intent on lying in wait in the alley. Sam smirked to himself. If that shapeshifter even thought he was about to get his hands on her, it was dead wrong.

Just as they rounded the corner, the shapeshifter stepped out, stopping in front of Sam, a smirk on his face.

“Sam Winchester. I believe I owe you for Oregon. But I’ll get to you shortly. Right now,” he nodded to Raine, who Sam had moved behind him, out of the shapeshifter’s immediate reach, “I’m here for her.”

“You know my ex?” Raine groaned as she looked from Tommy -or the thing currently wearing Tommy’s body, to Sam. “Tommy, don’t you have some bimbo to be on top of right now?”

“Aw, c’mon hon.”

“Tommy, get fucked. It’s over.”

“It’s not over til I say.” the shapeshifter stepped forward and when it did, Sam didn’t think, he just brandished the silver blade, smirking when the shapeshifter eyed it and then him. “The only way you’re getting to her, Albert, is through me.”

“His name isn’t Albert, it’s Tommy. And if he doesn’t get the entire fuck away from us I’m gonna punch him right in the cock, I swear to fuck.” Raine tried to step out from behind Sam, intent on settling this mess for herself like usual, but Sam’s arm shot out, stopping her. “You don’t understand, Raine. This thing is not your ex. This thing is a shapeshifter. And he’s about to join his brother.”

“Hey, whoa.. No need to go all stabby.” Raine was starting to panic a little, looking from man to man. When ‘Tommy’ opened his mouth and she saw the razors that served as teeth, Raine screamed and did the only thing that came to mind, bolting.

She couldn’t just leave Sam behind. She found herself stopping just around the corner, out of sight, watching in fear as the Sam fought what she believed to be her ex. When it changed to a snarling and angry gray wolf, she screamed and she didn’t think, she just grabbed the silver blade she’d seen Sam waving around that he’d lost during the scuffle. Running over, she lodged it between the shoulderblades of the animal and as it turned to dust, she screamed until Sam sprang up from the ground, pulling her against him so she didn’t have to look at the thing anymore.

She was shaking so hard Sam thought she’d shake apart.

He tilted up her chin. “It’s okay, you’re okay. That was good aim.”

“That was me, afraid a nice guy was about to get fuckin eaten right in front of me.” Raine’s eyes darted to the pile of dust that remained and she swallowed hard. “You’re not just some student…. Are you?”

Sam shook his head and swallowed hard. “Nope.. My brother and I, we… Hunt this stuff.”

He grimaced as the adrenaline from the fight wore off and he felt a dull throbbing in his arm. If she hadn’t stabbed the shapeshifter when she had, it could have turned into him.

And it would’ve gone straight to Dean because Dean killed it’s pack leader back in Oregon.

Raine’s eyes widened as she saw his arm. She grabbed hold of his hand, starting to drag him towards campus housing. “Where are we going?”

“We can’t take you to the ER or campus security without a whole lot of questions, okay? Lucky for you, stud, I’m a nursing student and I keep a fully stocked first aid kit up in my dorm.”

“Lucky for me, indeed.” Sam muttered as he let her sneak him up the back stairs and onto her floor. They stopped at her door and she dug out a key with shaky hands. Sam pressed against her a little from behind and she looked up at him over her shoulder as the door swung open. He stepped into the room and Raine grabbed the first aid kit, gently pushing him to sit on the bed.

She sat on the edge of his knees, and Sam took off the suit’s jacket. He tore the sleeve away from his shirt and Raine giggled, despite the serious nature of everything she’d just seen.

“What’s so funny, huh?”

“You did that like one of those guys on Magic Mike. Ignore me, I’m… still in shock I guess.” Raine opened the first aid kit and the scent of candied apple on her lips, the situation they just came through, all of it combined and made Sam lean in a little, cupping her cheek, making her stop what she was doing to look at him.

“Are you going to kiss me or not, Sam?”

“Do you want me to kiss you, Raine?”

“Well, I mean you did just save my ass out there…” she leaned in boldly, closing the distance between their lips. Sam groaned as the taste of candied apple filled his mouth and Raine shifted closer to his body, her legs wrapping around his waist as her fingers tangled in his hair.

“I’m not gonna see you again, am I?” she asked him as the kiss broke, a pout forming as all he could do was shrug because honestly, he didn’t know…

[ohheyits]

Commission #1 Superhero Fight

Here’s the prompt I got from a super generous Anon: Tegan has superpower abilities, so does Sara but they both don't know about each others. They get in a fight.

If for some reason you aren’t happy with what I wrote send me a message with what you put in place of the first and last name so I know it’s you and then your grievance. I’ll do my best to fix it if it isn’t up to your expectations. Either way I hope this does your prompt and donation justice so I don’t have to!

I went for more of a fluff angle here so this is based in a more more pre-quincest era. Hope you still enjoy quindom!

Sara’s been patient, more than patient really. She’s asked Tegan three times now to turn down the stupid music she’s been blasting through the shitty computer speakers she’d bought at the thrift store to no avail. Sara’s tired of asking nicely, tired of taking Tegan’s moody shit. Some people want to get somewhere in life, like studying so they can get into a decent college instead of smoking weed all day even though their sister has asthma and is in the room right next door trying to do her homework.

Sara clenches her fists, trying to push down the urge to just punch Tegan right in the gut. Man would that feel good though, she muses, wrenching open her door and stomping back across the hall for the fourth time that afternoon.

“Tegan!” She barks. “For the last time, turn the fucking music down before I kick you in your stupid face!

The music is cranked up louder in response and Sara snaps, twisting the doorknob angrily and busting inside, glad for the first time that their mother had had Bruce remove the locks off of their doors a few months back.

Tegan sits up in bed more than a little shocked, eyes widening then narrowing within a split second, anger contorting her face.

“What the fuck Sara get out!” She yells, face turning a deep shade of red, the blunt that had been resting between her fingers falling to the floor boards smoking, now nothing more than a glorified roach.

Sara crosses her arms, foot tapping as she tries to calm herself slightly and control her breathing to prevent most of the smoke from entering her slightly weaker lungs.

“Tegan.” She says in a slow, measured monotone. “Turn down your music and at the very least open a window if you’re going to smoke alright? You know Mom is going to know as soon as she gets home from the smell.”

“Sara.” Tegan mocks her sister’s tone. “How about shut up and get out.”

“Alright fine. Maybe I’ll just tell Mom about you and Jeremy’s ridiculous act then. Anyone with a brain and two eyes could see how gay you both are. I mean jesus could you make it any more obvious?”

Tegan stands up slowly, shaking a little. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Really Tegan? Because I definitely think I do.”

“Sara. Stop.” Tegan’s teeth are clenched and the outline of her body starts to waver slightly, almost like the pavement of a parking lot on a particularly hot day.

“Then turn off your music and learn a little respect for other people. The whole world doesn’t revolve around you ya know.”

Sara feels like something's off here, like maybe she should just stop and walk away the bigger person like her mom always tells her to, but she’s too invested at this point. She steels her resolve.

“Promise me you won’t tell Mom.” Tegan says, taking a step towards her sister.

“Not until you promise to be more respectful. I mean this is just getting ridiculous!” Sara exclaims, throwing her hands frustratedly into the air.

It seems random and entirely like she’s taking things way too far, at least in Sara’s opinion, when Tegan throws the first punch. She only notices after things slow down way too much to be normal that Tegan’s fist is plumed in flame.

She dodges it way easier than she should have been able to. In fact, in the time it took for Tegan to complete her awkward lunge forward, Sara’s managed to sidestep and notice intimate details about the situation she definitely shouldn't have been able to notice at all. Sure, she’s heard explanations made by doctors in the videos her teacher shows in science class about how adrenaline causes us to think that time has slowed down and blah blah moving on to further explanations she doesn’t care about, but this isn’t some freak part of human nature. This is real.

She is literally able to walk circles around Tegan as her twin slow-mo tumbles to the ground, her now extinguished fingers splayed and smoking as she tries to catch herself. Honestly, with what is happening right now, the whole Tegan suddenly catching on fire thing seems plausible. Unreasonably so.

And then suddenly just like that everything rights itself and Tegan is confusedly scrambling to her feet in time that seems way more normal, as if what just happened was a bad dream and since then everything has clicked back into place. Did all of that really just happen?

Her answer is yes, that definitely did, because Tegan is staring at her fingers like they just caught on fire and suddenly the tips literally do again, Sara watching as her twin nearly jumps out of her shoes in surprise and panic before realizing that it doesn’t hurt, shoulders visibly relaxing. What the actual fuck?

Tegan looks up and they make eye contact, anger with one another suddenly evaporating at this newfound ability.

“Sare tell me you see this too.” Tegan mutters. “That fuckin blunt must’ve been laced with something this is the last time I don’t roll’em myself.”

“No Tee that is definitely happening. Just like uh, like how I dodged you like it was nothing. That definitely happened too.” Sara says, trying to wrap her head around the conundrum before them.

“Ah you got lucky you fucker.” Tegan says, momentarily too distracted by the opportunity to gloat to notice that flame has now sprouted on her shoulder, strangely not burning up the tattered flannel she’d stolen from Bruce’s laundry last month. It looks like a pauldron, shooting high enough to tickle Tegan’s wide jaw.

“Um Tegan I definitely didn’t and also your shoulder’s on fire.” Sara deadpans.

“Ah! What the fuck is this!” Tegan yelps, jumping for a second time as she looks down and notices, the flames seeming to grow larger and more fierce as her emotions peak. Sara is glad that she at least is able to remain calm in this situation, because if they both caught on fire every time they got upset, the world would be in big trouble.

“Just try and calm down and it’ll go away Tee!” She yells, wishing she could somehow trigger that weird slow time again so she could get any and everything flammable away from her sister before she destroys their house or something. THAT would be hard to explain to Mom and Bruce when they got home, that’s for sure.

“Sara I am literally on fire how the hell do you expect me to calm down!” Tegan counter’s, panic from earlier starting to resurface in her eyes and actions.

“It’s not hurting you TeeTee, just relax.” Sara changes tactics, her voice taking on a more soothing lilt, and slowly, the flames subside once more. Tegan sags, awkwardly shuffling to her bed and sitting down as Sara crosses the room and turns off that damn music.

“What the hell is going on Sare?” Tegan says. “What happened to you?”

“I-I don’t know.” Suddenly faced with dealing with her own new found “ability” is hard. Now she knows how Tegan felt just now. “It was like… It was like time slowed down; like I turned one of those slow motion cameras on and my eyes were the lense’s. And then everything went back to normal after you fell. I have no idea why it happened.”

“Man I wish I was more into comics right now.” Tegan moans. “I bet all the answers are in there.”

“Those are fiction Tee.” Sara replies absentmindedly.

“Are they?” Tegan replies.

They both look up at this revelation, this bizarre and yet now normalized question, eyes locking.

“Shit, that is trippy as fuck.” Sara says, giggling a little.

“I know right?” Tegan says, flopping backwards on her bed. “Hey, at least now I can light my own cigarettes though!”

“Ok good for you I guess, but I kinda want to know how my whole thing is triggered. Like for you, it seems like when you get emotional or angry you end up with little fires sprouting up all over. Also how does it not catch your clothes on fire, I definitely don’t understand that one. But anyways, like what is the trigger for me?”

“Um... anger, frustration?” Tegan offers.

“Yeah but then wouldn’t it have triggered the first couple of times I came and knocked on your door? Cuz trust me, I definitely was feeling an abundance of both of those then too.” Sara ponders.

“Yeah sorry about that Sare.” Tegan says, voice low with regret.

“Honestly not even worried about that anymore. This is much more fascinating.” Sara waves her hand as if physically brushing away the apology. “Just don’t be such an asshole next time.”

“Riiiiight.” Tegan says, stretching. “Oh we should totally have our own comic book now! We’d need some cool superhero costumes and stuff first though…” Tegan trails off before her eyes light up suddenly again. “What about flight-or-fight, like the adrenaline fueled survival instinct. We talked about it in bio class remember? You swung at me and as soon as you did the time-thing happened for the first time.”

“Could be… how do we test it?”

“Um… well I-arghhh Tegan stop!” Tegan leaps onto Sara in the middle of their conversation, putting her in a headlock and squeezing.

Just like that things slow down again; Sara can feel every flex of Tegan’s arm muscles, every noisy exhale of her sister’s breath. It’s too easy to get out of her grasp when Tegan can’t react any where close to quickly enough counteract her moves. She escapes and can’t help the laugh that sneaks out when she’s met with the sight of Tegan so still, and yet with that face of such triumphant surprise.

And then everything is back to normal, Tegan sitting on her bed and staring at her sister. “No fucking way man. This shit is wack.”

“Tell me about it.” Sara murmurs, trudging over and plopping herself down beside her sister.

Tentatively, Tegan reaches over and puts her arm over Sara’s shoulders, stiffening but slowly relaxing into the return of affection as Sara rests her head Tegan’s shoulder.

“What the heck do we do now Sare?”

“Excellent question.”

“Great answer.”

“I know.”

“...Can we at least get some capes?”

“No!”

[that-dc-tho]

Nightmares (Jason Todd x Reader)

Word Count: 1,617

A/N: No one asked for this, but here it is!

Jason had been on patrol late and only returned to the apartment when the first rays of dawn were peaking over the horizon. He entered through the window and stopped to peek in on you as always. The door whispered open silently and he stuck his head inside. Jason’s heart kicked up in pace as soon as he realized you weren’t there. He left to door wide open and went to check the rest of the apartment, trying to calm himself down. The bathroom was open and obviously vacant, and you weren’t in his room. The living room and kitchen were also glaringly empty. He struggled to calm his breathing as he turned in circles, waiting for you to miraculously appear. He even investigated the front door for signs of a break in. It was by chance that he desperately checked your room again, hoping he had missed something the first time. Only then did he notice the small tuft of hair peeking out from under the covers at the top of the bed. You only woke up when he gently pulled the comforter down, heaving a sigh of relief. Somehow you had managed to sleep through his frantic search. “Jason?” You sat up groggily. It couldn’t have been more than an hour since you had gone to bed, having also been on patrol that night. “Is everything alright?” You glanced up at him, suppressing the urge to rub your eyes. “I couldn’t find you.” He sagged heavily onto the bed beside you. “I got home and you weren’t here and my mind kept spinning. We always leave that goddamn window open, like a fucking invitation for anyone to waltz in here and-” “Hey, it’s alright.” You pulled his hands away from his face. “I’m here, I’m fine. Everything is alright.” “I know, I just-” He shook his head slightly. “It’s just really hard for me you know? Sometimes I just can’t get my brain to stop and maybe it would be easier if I didn’t care but I do. I care about you and Dick, and Tim, and even Damian for fucks sake.” He shook his head again. You only smiled slightly and leaned in to kiss him on the cheek. “It’s the caring that makes you human, Jason,” You whispered. He pulled you into a silent hug, and you sat together like that for a while. Jason taking slow, steadying breaths, reigning himself in. He got up shakily after a couple of minutes. “Thanks…for listening. And not getting mad at me for freaking out and waking you up.” He turned to leave the room. “Where are you going?” He turned back to you, confused. You just patted the bed next to you, “I don’t want you to be alone.” He looked at you, stricken. “My god Todd, close the door and come back.” He gulped, clearly uncomfortable. “Are you sure?” “Yes, I’m sure. I’ll end up in your room anyway after one of your nightmares.” He ducked his head down, ashamed. “Which I don’t mind, by the way. You know I’m here for you, always.” That got you a small smile and he shut the door quietly before heading over to the other side of the bed. You got comfortable under the covers again as he slowly stripped out of the Red Hood costume, leaving it in a pile on the floor before climbing into bed with only his boxers on. He lay flat, as far from you as he could get without falling off. You quirked a smile and reached across the space between you and took his hand under the blankets. He stiffened. You only curled towards him on your side, quickly drifting off into an exhausted sleep, hand still in his. 

You came to first, blinking through the late afternoon sunlight streaming into the room. You quickly realized that Jason had shifted in his sleep. His head lay on your stomach, face turned upward towards yours. One hand was wrapped around your middle, his fingers splayed over the small of your back. The other still clutched yours. He didn’t so much as stir while you took this all in. Which was probably for the best because you were sure you were grinning just a little too widely and were furiously blushing. After basking in it for a few minutes you figured it was probably time to get on with the day, and you went to gently slide out from under the still-sleeping Jay. He foiled your plan by choosing that exact moment to wake up, eyes fluttering open as you shifted. “Where do you think you’re going?” He tightened his grip around your waist and tugged you closer. Your eyes widened and you pointed towards the door with your free hand. “I was going to go make breakfast?” It came out like a question. “This early?” “It’s 6:30 at night, Jay.” You huffed, trying to sound disapproving. He raised his head and quirked his brows as if to say ‘And?’ You only sighed heavily and sank back down in bed. He made a contented sound which had you blushing, again. You could feel your heart racing and wondered if he could too. He mumbled something against your nightshirt, completely incomprehensible. “What?” You lifted your head slightly to look down at him. He raised his as well and met your gaze. He turned beet-red as he gulped and said- “You know I love you, right?” You stared at him blankly for a moment before sitting upright, startling him so much he nearly fell out of bed but not before you grabbed of your pillows and smacked him solidly on the side of the head. “Fucking finally, Todd! Jesus Christ!” He sputtered indignantly at your outburst. God, he was adorable when he was confused. You only shook your head and stalked out of the room, heading towards the kitchen. You could hear him behind you, struggling to get free of the blankets before pounding footsteps followed you through the apartment. “What do you mean finally?” He was breathing heavily, standing in the doorway. You just stared for a long second before answering. “I’ve been in love with you for months. I didn’t want to say anything because you’re you, you know?” You shrugged heavily, looking down at your feet. “Jason Todd, vigilante extraordinaire, so far out of my league it isn’t even funny. And you’re still figuring yourself out, who would I be to fuck it all up for you by adding a whole new layer of complication?” He was standing in front of you, hands resting on your shoulders before you could get out another word. He moved a hand to underneath your chin, tugging your gaze up to meet his. There were tears in his eyes as he looked down at you, seeing the girl he was hopelessly, madly in love with. “I didn’t say anything because I didn’t think I deserved you. You can’t see inside my head, but I’m such a mess. Even before I died, I was a wreck. And when they put humpty-dumpty back together, they forgot a few parts and it only made matters worse. I tried to push away what I was feeling, because you deserve someone who will always be there for you, not someone who can hardly sleep through the night. But I-” He choked, tears now streaming freely down his face. “I couldn’t stay away because you make me want to be better. You make me want to live.” You were crying now too, viciously shaking your head. “Oh, Jason.” You reached up and wrapped your arms around his neck, tugging him down closer to you and softly kissing away his tears. He shuddered in your arms as your lips ghosted across his cheeks, before wrapping his arms around your waist and burying his face in the crook of your neck. He tugged you as close as he could, hugging you like you might just float away if he let go. You stood like that, wrapped together and the rest of world fell away. At least until Dick stumbled into the kitchen, still rubbing the sleep from his eyes. He noticed you before you saw him, a gleeful smile tugging at his lips. “Look who finally found his balls!” You muffled a laugh as Jason released you and turned towards his brother. “Oh, you are so dead, Grayson.” “Only if you can catch me, Todd.” Dick giggled and sprinted out of the kitchen, Jason only moments behind.

It wasn’t until later that night, while out on patrol that Jason caught up to Dick. Robin 1.0 barely managed to duck under the Hood’s knockout punch. “Jesus, Red. The fuck?” “You know that shit is hard for me, and you just call me out like that?” The Hood huffed moodily. Nightwing cautiously lay his hand on the other man’s shoulder. “You know I was joking, right? I’m really happy for you.” Dick couldn’t see it through the mask, but he knew Jason was smiling. For someone so full of rage, he could never stay mad at the bats for long. Except for Bruce…but that was a whole other story. “Yeah?” Jay asked hopefully. “Yeah.” Dick smiled back at him. “She made me sleep in her bed last night.” Dick wrinkled his nose. “I know we tell each other everything man, but I don’t need to hear about that.” Jason shook his head fervently. “It wasn’t like that. She genuinely just wanted me to sleep there, so I wouldn’t be alone when…” Dick’s expression softened. He knew about his brother’s nightly terrors. “And you know what?” Dick quirked an eyebrow.

“I didn’t have a single nightmare.”

[pilawforhire-archived]

(magic!Portgas) Just like that, Law would find Ace had been turned into a baby, or rather reverted to his baby self. His cheeks were puffy, so was his diapered butt, and his freckles were even more noticeable. Oh and he knew how to crawl. Not everything was bad news for Law, though: there was no clue to a loaded diaper and Ace had been robbed of his DF abilities together with his physique. He was just a baby... But, for some reason, whatever magic had turned Ace thus had also left him with a +

fair degree of pyromania. He should know what those were but, the moment he saw a box of matches half outside the counter, Ace knew he had to have them. He needed them. Baby Ace quickly crawled to the counter and tried in vain to grab the little box which was skyscraper high. Huffing, he tried to get up but fell with his butt to the floor. Still he did not cry. With his tiny fists, baby Ace punched the counter frame, hoping the box would fall. @pxrtgasdace

Law adjusted his spotted bow tie and gave his reflection a once-over in the mirror before he stepped out the bathroom. “---You’d better be dressed by the time I walk into the room, Ac---???” Law halted in the doorway and did a double take.

What a curious sight. Instead of a fully-grown, smartly suited-up adult, there sat a naked roly-poly infant in his diapers on the ground. Strawberry? Law closed his hands into fists. Hadn’t the babysitter picked Strawberry up for the evening so that Ace and Law could have some alone time together and a lovely dinner? However, on second glance, the baby had freckles on his cheeks and looked nothing like their illegally-adopted daughter. As a matter of fact, the baby looked very much like Ace instead. There was something about the goofy look on the baby’s face… Was this a coincidence? Or was this a prank? Had some sick fuck left him a baby as a joke? While Law stood frozen in disbelief and bewilderment, the baby crawled across the room, its baby butt wiggling left and right. For some reason, an urge to kick the diaper butt flitted through Law’s mind. Why was there another baby? What about dinner reservations?

“---Ace?!” Law dashed out of the room, leaving the baby behind. “Ace?!” He hurried around the house, calling out Ace’s name to no avail. Law checked all the two bathrooms (in the tub, under the sink, in the toilet bowl), Law checked the storeroom, Law checked the basement, the attic, the kitchen, the fridge, the washing machine, the garage, and finally, he checked under the bed. Still, there were negative signs of Ace! His face twisted into a scowl, Law rushed back to the baby with a broom and a pair of gloves clutched in his hands.

The baby tried to stand to reach for something on the countertop, only to stumble and fall amusingly onto its bottom. Law snorted at its silly attempt. Couldn’t even walk and the baby wanted to fly? Jesus Christ. Law leaned against the doorframe, holding onto the broom and gloves with arms crossed over his chest, and stared with a quizzical expression while the baby rained fruitless punches with his little pudgy fists into the counter.

Law chuckled. His gaze followed the baby’s to what was out of reach that had caught the baby’s attention. Let’s see… A box of matches, a packet of batteries… A necklace… A book, and an --- Law raised his brows --- unused vibrator. Hmm… Now, which item could the baby possibly want? An idea struck him and Law hastily fished out his phone. He tapped the screen repeatedly to capture a burst of photos of the baby ramming his fists like Rocky Jr.

A good moment passed before Law sauntered toward the baby. He paused beside the counter and set down the gloves and broom. Law glanced at the baby as if to ask it to communicate with telepathy which objects it wanted from the countertop. After some deliberation, Law decided he would take a wild guess and simply pick something out for the baby, since the baby could not speak nor could he read minds.

Law grabbed the vibrator. He crouched down and placed the naughty sex toy in the baby’s innocent hands. Law flopped down onto the ground beside the baby and waited to observe the baby’s reaction. Of course, the baby had no clue what the vibrator was. In order to find out, the baby inserted the tip of the vibrator past its lips and gnawed on the toy eagerly, drool leaking out all over its hands and chin.

By that point, Law could be certain the baby was Ace. Firstly, the resemblance was uncanny. Secondly, Ace was nowhere to be seen, and Law knew Ace would not miss an opportunity to dine at a buffet after nagging him about it for days. Either way, it didn’t matter. The vibrator had been ordered for Ace anyway, just for Law’s pleasure to watch Ace squirm at the mere sight of it. Indeed, the vibrator was a glow-in-the-dark neon orange colour, shaped like a squid, with a rather impressive girth to boast of. Was baby Ace attracted to the toy because it was orange? As for the reasons of why Ace was a baby, Law didn’t bother questioning it too hard. Someone like Bonney could probably be responsible for this. Did he care? Well, since Ace was unharmed… Nah, maybe later…? A soft smile spreading over his face, Law tugged the vibrator away and picked baby!Ace up by his armpits.

“Hello, chuckles.” Law raised baby!Ace to the ceiling. He jiggled and swung baby!Ace slightly while baby!Ace was suspended in the air. “Oh! There you go!” Law cooed. “Little fatty. Look at those cheeks and… nipples… Hmm…” Law brought baby!Ace to his face and touched the tips of their noses together. Then he planted an affectionate peck on baby!Ace’s cheek before he carried baby!Ace to his chest and stood up. “I wonder… what we should do now,” Law mused aloud. “Evening’s ruined… but maybe not…?” Law smiled to himself. Oh, he was definitely going to take hundreds of pictures, but first…

Law dumped baby!Ace on the queen-sized bed. He scrambled into the next room. Law rummaged excitedly through Strawberry’s drawers, snatched up some wonderful outfits, and nearly tripped over the broom while he sprinted back to their bed.

“Come, princess.” Law tossed Strawberry’s clothes onto the mattress. He selected a ghastly yellow dress that Strawberry had never worn because it repulsed Ace so much. With a zestful spirit, Law stuffed Ace into the ugly yellow dress with yards and yards of frills. Law took a picture of Ace before he jogged back to dress Ace in a tacky Christmas sweater with hundreds of bells sewn into the fabric and glittery hearts emblazoned all over. Law took many pictures of Ace in the sweater. Finally, he put Ace in the most ridiculous hotdog costume ever and snapped dozens of photos until his phone alerted him that he was almost out of storage space.

Law huffed in annoyance. Nevertheless, he kept his phone and picked up hotdog!Ace and sat hotdog!Ace on his lap. If Ace cried throughout the photoshoot, Law ignored it. If Ace hit him with his fists, Law ignored it. If Ace whined and sulked, Law ignored it. If Ace made any attempts to climb off the bed to reach for the box of matches, Law chucked the matches out of the window and shut it tight.

“…Mmm lookatcha, fatty.” Law bounced hotdog!baby!Ace on his lap. Then, since no one was looking and no one would be any the wiser, Law hugged baby!Ace and cuddled him in his arms protectively. “…What will I do now…?” Law drawled. He laid down on the bed with baby!Ace lying over his chest trying to pluck at the stubble on his chin. “Should I leave you like this? As a hotdog? Hmmmm???”

Law pinched Ace’s cheeks. “…Let’s just sleep---” Law suggested, his eyes half-closing when he wrinkled his nose. Law scrunched up his face and glared at baby!Ace. Unmistakably, Law detected a stink of poop. “Jesus Christ. What’ve you been eating…?”

Reluctantly, Law dragged himself to sit up. With Ace fussing in his arms, Law carried Ace to the bathroom and stripped him of the hotdog costume and his diapers. Law placed Ace safely inside the sink while he dug out Strawberry’s round pool float and inflated it with a pump. Law chucked the float into the bathtub and filled it up.

Once everything was ready, Law picked baby!Ace up in his arms. Perhaps it was his imagination, but baby!Ace did not look too keen to be lowered into the tub, float or no float. As soon as Law placed baby!Ace’s legs into the water, he kicked and struggled and cried.

“…Hey, it’s fine,” Law said.

But baby!Ace remained unconvinced. Despite the float around his chest keeping his head above the water, baby!Ace wailed and smacked his small fists into the water.

Law spent a moment staring at the little helpless Ace before he started to undress to his boxers. Gingerly, Law eased himself to sit in the tub and pulled baby!Ace toward him. “Hey, quiet…” Law splashed a handful of water over Ace’s chest and arms.

“…Don’t worry. I’m here…” Law cupped his hand and dumped some water over Ace’s hair, combing it back. He wiped a tear that rolled down Ace’s cheek gently with a finger. “I’ll take care of you, okay…?” Words Law could never speak to adult!Ace somehow flowed easily to baby!Ace. “…For as long as I can… Long as I live…”

Law grabbed the vibrator that he had taken into the bathroom earlier. He dropped it into the water between Ace and him. “Look, it’s a fish.” Law pulled the vibrator under the water. It bobbed back to the surface as soon as he let go. “…Huh, will you look at that.” Pushing the toy away, Law reached out and drew a heart on Ace’s chest with his finger. Ace only responded by blowing raspberries in Law’s face. Still, with Ace’s saliva all over his mouth, Law lit up with a smile.

[wellimhavinga3outof10day]

Lost Lullabies - Chapter Thirteen

Description: Mickey Milkovich, former child star turned action movie star, runs into his old co-star, Ian Gallagher, out on the street in the middle of a winter night. When Mickey takes him in, he doesn’t realize that Ian has the power to completely turn his new life upside down.

Chapters: 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13

Read on AO3

Mickey had his phone out and his agent dialed before he was two steps off the set. He waited impatiently through the ringing, very aware of the fact that Ian was following him. Voicemail.

           “Pick the fuck up,” Mickey snapped. He waited a grand total of two seconds before he added, “Get the director fired or get me the fuck off this set.” He hung up.

           A few steps later, Ian’s hand came down on his shoulder. Mickey whirled on him quick enough the Ian’s hand fell, that his touch didn’t have the chance to calm him down. “What are you fucking following me for?” Mickey said.

           Ian held up his hands. “Just wanted to see if you were okay.”

           “Okay? You wanna know if I’m okay?” Mickey almost laughed, but settled for shaking his head instead. “That director just fucking outed me to the entire cast of extras without blinking a goddamn eye.”

           “He didn’t say—”

           “It doesn’t matter what he said. What he said was enough. Extras can’t keep their fucking mouths shut and the rumours will be flying by morning and it’s worse now because you followed me.”

           “What?”

           “What do you think they think we’re doing, Ian? The director just gave us two options.”

           Ian licked his lips and lowered his eyes to the ground. “Sorry. I didn’t think.”

           “You never do.” Mickey stormed off before he had a chance to feel bad about that. He tried to call his agent again and still got voicemail. Then he called his publicist and, giving as little information as possible, told her to get ready for a scandal to hit soon.

           He barged into his dressing room and slammed the door behind himself. He stopped in front of the mirror. He didn’t think he had fucking puppy dog eyes. Several times in his career he’d been told he was incapable of looking at someone like he loved them. More than once, someone had joked about getting him a facial expression double for the romantic scenes in his movies. Who knew the secret to fixing that problem was putting Ian Gallagher in front of him?

           Mickey sighed. He screwed up his face in the mirror and then did his best to put on a completely neutral expression. He ran though his old exercises from acting class – happiness, anger, sadness – and then shook his head fast. Looking himself in the eyes, he thought, think of Ian. He didn’t notice his expression change one bit.

           It had been longer than five minutes, but the asshole deserved to wait after what he’d said to him. Mickey checked his phone to find a text from his publicist – what kind of scandal – and he replied, a gay one. Then he shoved his phone into his pocket and walked back to the set slow, ignoring everyone who shot him furtive glances on the way.

           Ian was already back on set, hands in his pockets, walking in circles as he whispered his lines under his breath. Mickey stopped a few feet away to look at him. He arranged his face in a calm manner, breathed until he was sure he had everything back in control, and then walked up to his mark. Ian stopped pacing to look up at him, his green eyes soft, questioning. Mickey almost broke his resolve on the spot. Almost.

           “We shooting or what?” Mickey said.

           The director gave a shrug that seemed to imply ready when you are and Mickey looked to Ian with his best expression of disdain. Ian jumped on his mark. The director called action. They got through three lines of dialogue, then five, then seven, and Mickey had to resist the urge to shoot the director a snotty glare. Instead he focused on Ian’s nose, gave the impression of looking into his eyes without actually doing it.

           Three minutes in, the director called cut. Mickey guessed he couldn’t have asked for a fucking miracle.

           “Now you look like you hate each other,” the director said.

           “We’re having an argument,” Mickey said.

           “But you’re still friends. Can you do friends for me, Milkovich?”

           Mickey wanted to punch the guy’s smug face in. He glanced over his shoulder at Ian, who shrugged, and then gave the director his nastiest smile. “Sure. We can do friends. After all, we’re friends, right, Ian?”

           Ian said nothing, just looked down at his shoes.

           Mickey rolled his eyes and stepped back onto his mark. He was going to have to give Ian a lesson in growing a fucking backbone, but that could wait until the scene was finished. They had to get through the thing three times perfectly for all the camera angles before they could move onto the next section and, at this rate, they’d be there until two in the morning. Maybe having a co-star who wasn’t as bratty as him would actually prove to be an advantage.

           They went through half the scene again and then again and again. Every time the director let them go just a little bit further and Mickey wondered if that meant they were improving or if the director was just a dick. He preferred to think it was the former.

           He messed up his first line somewhere around the ninety minute mark. When he did, he asked for another five minute break and the director gave it to him, begrudgingly. He didn’t storm off set. Instead, he sat down in one of the empty chairs and pulled out his phone. Three texts from his publicist asking him to explain and a long paragraph from his agent about how this was the original director from their series, a man Mickey had worked with for many years, and he was important to the shoot. The company had gone through a lot of trouble to get him back. Mickey replied, it’s him or me.

           Two minutes later he got a text from his publicist again that said, more likely we’ll have a scandal about you being a diva. Mickey didn’t deign that worthy of a reply. He shoved his phone back into his pocket, took a breath, and went back to his mark. Looking at the ceiling, he ran through his lines in his head to make sure he had them down. Ian came back to set a minute later, sipping a coffee. He handed it off to the first PA who asked for it.

           “You okay?” Ian asked.

           “Peachy.”

           “I just meant...” Ian shrugged. “Are we okay?”

           “Were we ever okay, Ian?”

           Ian opened his mouth to reply, but the director called them to attention. Mickey felt his heart drop a little further in his stomach, weighed down by his own nastiness. He couldn’t help it. Seeing Ian again was hard. Harder than he had expected it to be. And, yeah, he’d done his best to forgive the guy and move on – after all, he could’ve gotten out of it if he had really wanted to – but having those green eyes in front of him again just made him feel like a teenager with a bad crush.

           They got through the whole scene on that run and the director praised them for finally, finally hitting the right note between friendship, anger, and platonic love. Mickey flipped him off. Then they had to do it again without messing up. And again.

           It was noon by the time they finished and broke for lunch. Mickey almost let Ian walk away from him. He should have let Ian walk away from him. Instead, he clapped him on the shoulder and headed the same way. “Good job,” he said.

           Ian met his eyes with a small smile. “That took forever.”

           “Yeah, well. It’s not our fault the director’s a jackass.” Mickey meant to leave it at that, but Ian was still looking at him, and he rambled on. “Plus, you’ve got your lines down, which is more than I can say for most people I’ve worked with. And you can still fucking act after all these years, so kudos.” Ian still stared. Mickey cursed. “Whaddya want me to say?”

           Ian shook his head. “Nothing. You’ve just been so hot and cold on me all day.”

           Mickey didn’t have anything to say to that, so he occupied himself playing with the hem of his t-shirt. He knew if he pulled the threads out the costume department would throw a shit fit, so he only let his nail catch against the threads for a moment before pulling back.

           “I get that I kind of forced you into this and that you’re pissed you’re here and the director’s a dick and it’s kind of my fault, but...” Ian trailed off. Mickey risked a look at him. Ian smiled. “Think we can do it? Be friends like he asked?”

           Mickey thought about it. On one hand, all he really wanted was a good excuse to hang out with Ian as much as possible. On the other, friends was the last thing he wanted to be with Ian. He pulled on a thread too hard and broke it, cursed under his breath. He could feel Ian’s eyes on him, the question in the air, and knew he wasn’t doing a great job at hiding what he was thinking. Some benefit to being an actor.

           He met Ian’s eyes finally and said, “You left my life at fifteen, came back at twenty-four just to fuck it up, disappeared some more, and somehow wound up putting me on the set of a movie I hate? Does that sound like a recipe for friendship to you?”

           Ian’s eyes fell.

           Mickey wrapped an arm around his shoulders and squeezed him tight. “Fucking kidding with you, Gallagher.” He pushed him away, but not before getting in a good noogie. “Jesus, you’re easy.”

           “You haven’t managed to get in my pants yet.”

           Mickey laughed, tried to hit him but Ian dodged. Real happiness bubbled over him to see Ian smile, laugh. They walked to lunch together making bad jokes and ripping the script to shreds. At one point, Ian said, “If they really can’t stop us from eye-fucking, they could just make our characters gay.” Mickey laughed so hard he almost fell over in his chair.

           They went on to the next scene and the next and the next. The director had found a spray bottle somewhere and now spritzed them whenever they looked like they wanted to fuck. The only thing that held Mickey back from murdering the guy on the spot was the goofy smile on Ian’s face whenever he was dripping with water.

           Mickey was careful with his expression, careful to keep his eyes off of Ian’s. If they were going to be friends, like Ian wanted, then he had to get control of himself. It wasn’t like Ian was God’s gift to gay men or anything. He was just a guy with a serious drug problem, a hint of alcoholism, a screwed up family, and a smile that could light up the fucking sun.

           Mickey found himself laughing more often than not when Ian tripped over a line or forgot what he was going to say. He’d be lying if he didn’t throw in an eyebrow raise here or there to crack him up, if he said he didn’t like seeing Ian flustered in front of the cameras. The director grumbled something about the blooper reel being “gay as fuck” but Mickey ignored him as he got water sprayed in his face.

           They got back in rhythm. By the end of the day, their last scene took them an hour to film. It was only seven by the time Mickey had packed up his stuff and was heading out the front door. Ian caught up to him on the way, a smile and a yawn on his lips at the same time.

           “You headed back to Fiona’s?” Mickey asked.

           “Nah, they’ve got me in a hotel closer to here.”

           “A hotel?” Mickey wrinkled his nose. He nudged Ian with his elbow. “Fuck that. Come back to my place.”

            “A comfy five-star hotel bed or your couch?” Ian clicked his tongue. “Hard choice, but I’m going to go with the hotel.”

           “Wow. Respect the couch, Ian. It’s older than you are.”

           Ian laughed. “It feels like it.”

           Mickey shoved him and stepped towards the car waiting for him. “You got a ride to this hotel?”

           “Bus.”

           “Come with me.” Mickey didn’t wait for a response, just started walking. But like earlier, he knew Ian was following him. They slid into the car together and Ian gave the driver the name of his hotel before resting back on the seat. Mickey liked the silence between them, but he decided to ruin it anyways. “You like being an actor again?”

           Ian shrugged. “It pays the bills.”

           “So still not your life’s calling?”

           “Never thought it was your calling either.”

           “Like you said, it pays the bills.”

           Ian was silent for a moment, staring out the window at the streetlights as they flashed by. “To tell you the truth, I never really had much fun on set unless I was filming with you. Don’t know if I would have kept up with it even if I hadn’t gone off the rails.”

           Mickey made a noise somewhere between a ‘hmm’ and a ‘yeah.’ Then he said, “Don’t know if I would have kept up with it without Mandy. I don’t know that I’ve ever had much fun on set.”

           Ian elbowed him. “Not even with me?”

           Mickey smiled. “I have fun with you. But that’s not really about being on set, is it?”

           “No. Guess not.”

           The driver pulled up in front of Ian’s hotel and the two sat there for a moment, warm in the silence. Mickey shot Ian a look, a small grin, as he felt the awkwardness of the moment closing in. “I’ll pick you up tomorrow?” Mickey said.

           Ian nodded, forced a smile. “Goodnight.”

           Mickey waved him off and watched as he exited the car. He didn’t tell the driver to go until Ian was safely inside.

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