#the chest piece gives me trouble cause i keep going back and forth on whether it makes more sense to like

[soledadcatalina]

[id: a digital drawing of one of my ocs, angel, set against a light blue background. angel is an older, light skinned filipino butch who stands shirtless in jeans, one arm crossed against his torso while she looks off to the side. he has numerous tattoos, mostly characterized with thick, organic blue line work, with red floral motifs on her right hand, her left forearm, carnations on the shoulders, and lilies with large green winglike leaves on his chest. he also has three hearts on his right forearm.]

i havent drawn angel in a while but i keep trying to tweak his tattoos as i keep finding styles that i think would look good on her lol.

[danddymaro]

Conflicted | Vincent Sinclair x Reader

Fandom: House Of Wax

The reader wants to run away, but there's just one thing that stops her. (She's conflicted, hence, the title )

A/N:

Thoughts are in italics and quotations // ‘ Example,’

Flashback are all in just Italics

Word Count :1407

Conflicted

He'd underestimated her, unaware that beneath the softness that lay beneath the (s/c ) flesh was well-hidden strength that was both raged and brute.

She was quick in movement, and if it weren't for the annoying pain that pushed him back every time she delivered a strike, he might have watched in more wonder and surprise.

The massive man was then put down, somehow landing on his back as he was given a slingshotted fist to his right cheek.

It had been her last blow before she decided to flee, but during then, his hand caught her wrist, which ended with him pulling her, forcing her to stay while restrained by an iron grip that shook.

It was an angered force, one she shuttered at, because she was certain that it was brought forth by his intent to kill.

The thickened air of the room became suffocating as the bursting adrenaline that had fueled her to take action no longer ran through her threads of scarlet. It all left her at the unfortunate moment, and she was left like a devastated rabbit, knowing of its demise and terribly afraid, but left motionless in wait.

However, in spite of the devastating hold, there was no violence that fueled him, but rather, fear.

She was strong, he'd give her that, but nothing hurt more than the panging in his chest as he realized that no matter what he did, she would never want to stay.

- Not with him.

Not with a hideous monster who hid behind a crafted mask that now crumbled like brittle, decayed leaves of the autumn season within a closing palm.

' Don't go.

Don't go

Please...don't go. '

He lamented, all while lingering in the same silence he had all his life.

He held onto her tightly and as he expected, she thrashed. 

She continued to resist against him, but rather than hold the same certainty that had surged her before, there was now a clear as day panic and fear that drove her, forcing her to move like an animal dragged into imprisonment.

And throughout the entire struggle, he could see the fear that swirled within her pretty (e/c) colored eyes before the sentiment manifested into heavy globs that rained upon him.

He suddenly felt the tiny specs touch his flesh, and it was only then that he realized that the blank mask was no longer, becoming just a mess of pieces that decorated his knotted, crow-colored hair as it lay sprawled beneath him.

- And his heart stilled, his body shivering as he watched her face register his disfigurement.

He watched her wide, panicked eyes somehow open up more, all to a point he was certain it must have hurt.

" You…" she breathed as her body suddenly melted, soon becoming subdued and weak, and he wasn't sure what she felt most, whether fear or disgust as she processed the sight, because the wide-eyed gaze held a range of emotions that all merged together into a muddled blend.

' This...This is what you've been hiding,' she thought to herself, staring down at the scarred flesh, wondering what had been the cause of it, and much more, if he felt any pain at all from it.

She continued to cry as she watched him, and although he had only one eye visible to return the look, it was a large enough window to his soul that showed her all of the instabilities that lay within the man.

She had not seen sunlight in what felt like an eternity, knowing nothing but silence and the man who accompanied it throughout the entire time. All she had come to know was the quiet man who brought her meals, the very same one who petted her and gazed at her for long hours without end. 

She wanted to escape, to run far and never return, and yet, all the same, she began to feel warmth by his caresses.

She'd quickly become expectant of his gaze, and was more than happy to sit in silence with another individual that seemed just as content as she was by the simplicity of another human's presence.

And she wondered if it was strange to feel so... comfortable and serene during the nightmarish imprisonment.

'Is it really a nightmare?' she then wondered, her sentiments similar to that of a caged bird. 

She was stared at with awe, tended to with a care that was soft and genuine, and yet, she lacked the ability to spread her wings. 

She missed the outside world. 

She missed her freedom, but she relished within his worship. 

' No...No' she thought herself. ' I have to get out of here,' she reasoned, sickened by the warped nature of her mind, all for romanticizing such a sickening truth.

Her delicate smile twitched with uncertainty, all while his fingers threaded through her (h/c) hair, gently weaving through knotted bits that formed in her sleep.

' What's wrong with me?' She went on, her stomach clenching at the shutter that was performed as his hand then found her flesh and the surprisingly soft palm caressed her face.

Her eyes fluttered close, and she inhaled a low breath that picked up her thudding chest, all in hopes to calm the unsteadied and wild beat.

She soon opened her (e/c) colored eyes and stared right at wax lips, her own true ones trembling as his thumb lightly grazed the pouty flesh of her mouth.

' This is sick,'  she went on, feeling her legs tremble as the towering man dared to come closer, gravitating closer with a tilted head that was cocked out of interest that had been peeked by her breathy, trembling state.

 ' He's a monster!' She inwardly cried as she looked on at the blank mask, trying hard not to think of how somehow, his single eye managed to glow and express so much more than any other man could with an entire face exposed out to the world.

Sadness and sorrow, loneliness and longing were all silent messages that were sent to her through the dim, yet sky-colored beauty and with a longing glance to them, the woman regained the consciousness needed to return to the present time.

She recalled just why she'd become so feral, and just how she ended up in the position she was now,

straddling him, crying and trembling, and locked eyes with the single blue orb.

- Fear and abandonment, she could read it them both, and she hated how hard it was for her to draw back.

She could see it all clearly, and it was then that her body completely gave in, falling onto him suddenly. 

" What's happening to me?" she breathed brokenly, her aching chest becoming unbearable. 

Her shaky breaths fanned over the flesh of his neck, each warm exhale heating his flesh in a way that made his body shudder.

" Why do I want to stay here?"  She said in a small, waved tone, "Why…? She asked again, wanting an answer. 

"Why do I keep thinking of you?" she breathed, "Why is it that when I think about running far away, my heart practically bleeds at the thought of leaving you behind?" She said through grit teeth, already well aware, but not wanting to accept it just yet.

Warm droplets rained on his flesh, and silently, he looked up at the ceiling, not quite ignoring her, but rather, taking in all of her troubles. 

As she continued to cry, holding him dearly with a shaken conflict, he continued to stare up at the ceiling, processing it all.

His chest then vibrated, and little huffs left him as he slowly understood it the only way he could, and it was that somehow, she'd become just as connected to him as he had with her.

"...I don't want to go," she finally admitted, and when she said that,  his soft breaths became more hearty, and for once in his life, true laughter fell past him.

Through his disbelief that was invaded by merriment, he then looked up at her, gazing at her as she watched him with the same distress.

"Stay..."  he finally rasped out, begging in his unused voice. 

The salted shower continued to fall, uninterrupted even as she fisted his clothing, holding onto him tightly as she moved to press her lips to his. 

The last of her resistance was washed away with the single touch, and soon after, she only presented him with give.

[legends-live-in-memories]

Talk So Pretty, But Your Heart Got Teeth

AYO another day another oneshot as a part of the MGI Trope Tussle! BUT WAIT THERES MORE thanks to @nightlychaotic for letting me continue her oneshot that can be found HERE! 

Fics Masterlist

Dickinette Oneshot 2.8K words 

Summary:

“Nightwing was desperate to figure out Kit Noire. For reasons beyond professional.” 

without further ado:

Some days, you're the only thing I know

Only thing that's burning when the nights grow cold

Can't look away, can't look away

Beg you to stay, beg you to stay, yeah

It had been two weeks since Nightwing had last seen Kit Noire. While the lack of thefts and reported break-ins was doing wonders for his day job, he found his nightlife severely lacking its usual luster. He had done some research into her powers, cross-referencing with some of his more magically inclined coworkers. Aquaman had an interesting story about some god of destruction but it was Atlantean lore that led nowhere. He was drawing blanks on what his next move was going to be. Conflicted on whether to bring her to justice or to help her get justice. 

His team was of no help either. Batman was adamant on chasing her out of Gotham, her destructive powers too dangerous in the city, while his siblings were more engrossed in teasing him about his affections for the cat thief. Jabs about ‘learned behaviour’ and ‘truly being the next Batman’ went ignored for his own piece of mind. He loathed to admit it but his intrigue in her, his adamance to be involved with her case, stemmed from less professional intentions. He was compromised in this investigation but he was unwilling to relent to anyone else.

Kit Noire was his to solve. 

Sometimes, you're a stranger in my bed

Don't know if you love me or you want me dead

Push me away, push me away

Then beg me to stay, beg me to stay, yeah

He finally found her one night by the Gotham Harbour. She was in the middle of an altercation with the same guy who had stolen some grimoire from her. ‘Guardian’ he had called her. 

Rather than intervene immediately, Nightwing hung back in the shadows, observing the two of them. The man was obviously much older than her and was particularly equipped to combat her style of fighting. He used what appeared to be a wooden staff and was dressed in Buddhist-inspired robes. Another piece to add into his investigation. 

Their fight was approaching a stalemate, neither willing to yield to the other. Nightwing decided to make his presence known. A couple smoke bombs were tossed into the fray, halting the fight. Taking the opening, he jumped in between and threw two bolas at the old man. He was wrapped securely in the wires and collapsed gracelessly on the planks. Not giving him anymore attention, he moved to intercept Kit Noire; choosing the evil he knew over the one he didn’t.

“Sorry, songbird.” She spoke with more bite than usual, her frustration with the older man still clinging to her. “But I already have plans tonight. None that involves you sadly.”

“What?” His casual drawl, partnered with his carefully crafted smirk did nothing to placate the hissing cat in his arms. “I can’t let the kitty have all the fun.”

“Please,” she scoffs; she slackens in his hold only fractionally. “As if I need a little birdy like you to give me permission to do anything.”

She slipped under his grasp and shot a leg up directly into his chin. He was taken completely by surprise and before he could react, one of his own smoke bombs was thrown at his feet. He was disoriented and by the time he switched his mask to infrared, she was already gone with the older man. His discarded bolas were the only thing that remained between the clearing haze of smoke.

Call me in the morning to apologize

Every little lie gives me butterflies

Something in the way you're looking through my eyes

Don't know if I'm gonna make it out alive

He was pulling into the precinct parking lot for his morning shift with a poorly concealed bruise on his jaw and excuses already on his tongue for how it got there. His ego wasn’t fairing much better but that was concerns for his punching bag back at his home gym. Now, he was Dick Grayson, rookie cop at the GCPD. Now, his nighttime problems can’t reach him.

Or so he thought.  

He didn’t make it ten feet into the building before detective Montoya was slamming a file into his chest. He quickly glanced into the file, partially listening to her debriefing of the case, then immediately wished he hadn’t. In the file there were pictures taken from the most recent crime scene and sitting on top of the pile was a picture of a wall from the local aviary. The words ‘Sorry about last night, Songbird -KN’ were spray painted in steel blue. 

He felt his irritation flare as heat crept up his neck while a weight settled in the base of his spine. His warring feelings drowned out everything around him as he fixated on her very obvious declaration. Kitty Noire had been gaining infamy for never being caught by both the cops and the bats. Some in the precinct hadn’t believed she was actually real, just some urban legend the streets were stirring up to cause trouble. To let herself be caught like this, and to admit to contact with one of the bats— it didn’t take a genius to guess which side of the law she was calling out with ‘songbird’— was damning to say the least. 

Fight so dirty, but your love's so sweet

Talk so pretty, but your heart got teeth

Late night devil, put your hands on me

And never, never, never ever let go

Fight so dirty, but your love's so sweet

Talk so pretty, but your heart got teeth

Late night devil, put your hands on me

And never, never, never ever let go

It was another week before he was crashing into her midleap, throwing both of them down onto the nearest roof. They rolled a couple of times before he stopped them by pinning her down. Both of her arms were held above her head; his grips were tight around her wrists, avoiding her palms in fear of what her destructive powers could do. They were on top of the platform that had the doorway to the building’s stairs. Her distracting smirk curled up further as she was about to speak. Probably a suggestive comment but he wasn’t in the mood for their usual back and forth.

“Enough games, Noire.” He shifted his knees to brace on her shins, in case she had any ideas. “You need to tell me what’s going on. You’re bringing suspicious people into the city, dangerous people, and it’s my job to drive them out.”

“I’m not bringing anyone into the city,” she all but spat at him, the fury in her eyes burned bright at the accusation. “He tracked me here.”

“And he is…?” He was getting tired of being out of the loop, meta-abilities and magic are safety hazards if left unchecked in Gotham. He needs to put a lid on this before it spirals any further.

“He is my business and soon to be not a problem for the both of us.”

“Why should I believe you?”

“You have no other choice, songbird. Above your paygrade, remember?” She mumbles something he doesn’t hear but from the shape of her lips it looked like Cataclysm. He didn’t have time to react before the roof was caving in under them. 

The freefall was disorienting but he could see from his periphery that Kit Noire was prepared. She had extended her staff out to fit between two walls and was hanging on, dangling over what was probably twenty flights of steps. Nightwing wasn’t so lucky and he had to angle his fall to crash into steps a couple flights below her.  

“It was nice crashing into you, songbird, but I have things to steal and people to rob.” Retracting her staff, she let herself freefall to the bottom floor of the building. Nightwing dove after her, shooting out his grappling line to one of the higher railings. She had reextended her staff, this time aiming for the height of the building, and was sliding down it like a pole. Banishing the improper thoughts of ‘Noire’ and ‘pole,’ he questioned how the staff was even able to extend that far. 

Right, magic.

Once they were more comfortable feet above the bottom floor, she paused in her descent and let him over take her. He wasn’t given a chance to question her actions as she immediately swiped at his grappling line, snapping it with her rather sharp claws. This time he was prepared enough to brace himself for the fall. He landed on his feet and crouched to roll out of the harsh impact.

“I thought it was cats that landed on their feet, not birds,” her jeer echoed against the walls. He looked back up to see her rapidly climbing her staff. She was gaining distance fast and he was running out of options just as quickly. He didn’t trust climbing her staff so he took to climbing the steps from the railings, jumping and swinging himself around to gain altitude.

“Maybe you’re rubbing off on me.” She had made it to the door that led back to the roof and her staff retracted in an instant. He was still a couple flights away but he knew he wasn’t going to catch her. He resigned himself to knowing that tonight was another failed night. He had let her go again.

Some days, you're the best thing in my life

Sometimes when I look at you, I see my wife

Then you turn into somebody I don't know

And you push me away, push me away, yeah

Something Kit Noire had said was bothering him. She said she was a hero once. That she had given it up because of accusations that ruined her reputation. He had half a mind to not believe her. Write it off as one of her tricks to try and get under his skin. But the other half, the louder, more desperate half, implored him to keep searching. To uncover the cat themed enigma he had grown frustratingly fond of. 

He expanded his search, looking for anything or anyone cat themed with destructive powers. A deep web search had him discovering an old video. It was labeled ‘Reflectdoll’ and nothing else. It was a part of some long forgotten blog that had an entire catalogue of videos labeled in similarly vague ways. Desperate for answers, he rationalised that if anything else, he would cross this source and narrow the search further.

The video was quite the fanfare, looking something out of a movie with impressive CGI. He was about to label this video as another bust but something paused him in his tracks. Her. Kit Noire, or at least a younger version of her, lept into the action. Her and some ladybug patterned partner dealt with the fiasco and Nightwing watched, enthralled and hopeful, as the two worked to take down the foe. He was both impressed and even more confused because he recognised that infamous tower but had no memories of there ever being attacks of that caliber in the city of love. He had done several missions there over the years, and there was never any call for help or an attack to get his or the League’s attention.   

Just what was going on? 

Call me in the morning to apologize

Every little lie gives me butterflies

Something in the way you're looking through my eyes

Don't know if I'm gonna make it out alive

Fight so dirty, but your love's so sweet

Talk so pretty, but your heart got teeth

Late night devil, put your hands on me

And never, never, never ever let go

He had her pinned again, one of his hands holding both of hers above her head, the other was fisting her braid in a tight pin. They were staring at each other, neither wanting to tip the scales in their own favor. The air was charged and each breath felt like one step closer to a dangerous precipice. Nightwing was struggling with what to do. He had a responsibility to this city. This was his home. And he was letting some magical ex-hero trample all over it because he let his infatuation get to his head. He was too involved but he didn’t care. She was his case to solve. 

“Something you would like to share, songbird?” Her smirk was enticing and infuriating. He couldn’t look away. 

“I have a lot on my mind.”

“What? Is keeping me here not entertaining enough for you?”

“I’m not keeping you here for entertainment.”

“That could be rearranged.” She had surged up to kiss him, her lips soft and inviting. He would be a fool to pass up the opportunity.

Blood on my shirt, rose in my hand

You're looking at me like you don't know who I am

Blood on my shirt, heart in my hand

Still beating

She was hurt. The old man found her again and left her with a painful reminder of who she was up against. Nightwing wished he could track him down and beat him to bloody pulp but right now he was more concerned with patching her up. She was lucky he found her when he did. The gash on her side would be easy to stitch but he first needed to get her to somewhere safe. His options were limited. No clinic would take them in, she was still a notorious criminal after all. Batman would have his head if he brought her to any of their safe houses. The cave was completely out of the question. 

But she was still losing blood. 

“Why the long face, songbird?” Her voice which was usually jovial was tinted with strain. 

“Oh, you know, just getting blood on my suit while a cat bleeds out in my lap.” He tried to lighten the mood and her chuckles were relieving. 

“Sorry.”

“Don’t apologize. Just need to find somewhere to put you.”

“Oh, is the birdy worried about his kitty cat?” She was teasing him, he knew, so he decided playing along would do more for his own peace of mind than trying to refute.

“And if he is?” He mirrored her own joking tone but he couldn’t help the taxes of sincerity that slipped in. She caught on if the slight widening of her eyes were an indicator.

“Oh.” The stunned look she had on her face would be adorable if it weren’t for their situation. “I have a place, not far from here you can drop me off there.”

“Lead the way,” he said, picking her up bridal style. If he pulled her closer as she wrapped her arms around his neck then no one had to know.  

Fight so dirty, but your love's so sweet

Talk so pretty, but your heart got teeth

Late night devil, put your hands on me

And never, never, never ever let go

Fight so dirty, but your love's so sweet

Talk so pretty, but your heart got teeth

Late night devil, put your hands on me

And never, never, never ever let go

Nightwing never noticed this before but Kit Noire was small. Her waist fit in the palms of his hands so well and her legs were slender and lean as they tied themselves around his hips. He looked like he could overwhelm her but he knew better. He knew how strong and dangerous she was but the mental image of just holding her down as she submits beneath him spurred him on further. Her lips were cherry sweet and intoxicating. And her weight on his thighs left him reeling, silently begging for more.

“Someone’s eager,” she had pulled away from his mouth to speak but rather than entertain any conversation he just moved to suck bruises into her jaw. The hand she had in his hair tightened and pulled at the short strands. Her breathing became laboured as she pants into the night sky. He wanted to coax out more reactions from her, wanted to see if she can really mewl like a cat. 

A wayward hand had her grinding down harder in his lap. They were in their own bubble on this abandoned rooftop; it sat between two skyscrapers, both casting the roof in an almost impenetrable shadow, one would really have to be looking to see them. The sound of traffic below was nothing more than white noise, a background soundtrack for their current encounter. Using her grip in his hair, Noire dragged him up from her jaw and crashed their lips together again. Her kittenish licks asked for entrance and he eagerly granted it, savouring the taste of her as she mapped out his mouth with her tongue. 

He gripped her tighter, not wanting to let go, blind in the pleasure of her lips and tongue and teeth.

Teeth

Teeth

Teeth

Never, never, never ever let go

[leftonraed]

The Night We Met - Prologue

pairing : Taehyung x OC   genre : bodyguard!au, singleparent!au, idol!au   word count : 1.7k Prologue | ep.1 | ep.2 | ep.3 | ep.4 | ep.5 | ep.6 | ep.7 

The show was a great success. A chant of his name resonates in the huge stadium, crowded out as he’s bowing a second time to the thousands of lightsticks shaking in the darkness like fireflies dancing and set to burn down the starry night they composed.

Moved, he raises his arm to wave to those luminous spots so precious to him, making sure not to miss any while his heart is swelling with pure bliss and his throat grows tight. He reluctantly ends up walking towards the back of the stage and positions himself on a squared shape platform which slowly takes him down at the same time the lights dimmed one last time tonight.

Members of the crew who’ve been waiting for him begin surrounding him as soon as he steps off the small platform and heads to the dressing room. Signs of fatigue are showing but he doesn’t forget to give smiles and thank yous when they congratulate him while removing his microphone set, handing him a water bottle and wiping his sweat.

He blindly reaches the hall leading to his backstage room secured by a couple of bodyguards present, it isn’t his first time in this concert venue but he’s obliged to halt when he notices his manager staring back, displaying not the slightest sign of pride or gladness.

He picks up his march towards her with a hint of confusion. Her frowning is looking less threatening now that he’s a few inches from her but her body seems to tense when he reaches for the handle.

“What’s wrong?” He drops first, eying her back while she uncrosses her arms.

“There’s a woman inside with a child who’s been begging the whole staff to get to talk to you.”

“What?” Not quite the reception he was expecting from her to say the least.

Her brow twitches at his lighthearted tone. He instantly grasps she’s not messing with him and doing her best to keep her voice low. “If you have something to tell me, I suggest you do it now, Taehyung.”

“Hwiin, I-” He chuckles not believing what he’s hearing. His frowning deepens when she still doesn’t flinch. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. And I really don’t have the energy to argue right now. Did you talk to her?” He suggests, trying to reason.

“No, I don’t want to have anything to do with her.” She spits, offended. “How can you not- recall her when she clearly claims to know you?” She snaps gesturing towards the door. “Now’s not the time for a scandal of any type. Far too many people know about the issue she caused already.”

People are busy around them, coming and going to get everything cleaned up while they both seem stuck in this silent staring game. He remains awfully quiet, not having quite a clue as to what to say back to have her not doubting him or assuaging her and it makes her this close to losing it.

“Maybe we should go inside?” He offers in a soft voice, clueless about the reason she’s so adamant to stew over it. She rolls up her eyes while brushing past him to get inside the room first.

He barely has had the time to catch sight of the said woman that Hwiin reminds him of her presence and even more so of her annoyance.

His puzzlement is all the more unmistakable, especially after he’s noted the toddler’s likeness to someone close to him. His gaze returns to the female stranger. She surely isn’t past her mid-twenties. She looks lost and her eyes are filled with so much hopelessness, it becomes disturbing.

“Hi,” he smiles invitingly, not allowing any tension to build. “I’m Taehyung. I heard you were looking for me?”

She nods carefully, not moving an inch on the couch where she’s sitting as if not to hinder the child in her arms while looking back and forth between him and his manager’s dark look.

“How can I help you?”

“I-I’m sorry I disturbed you and caused so much trouble,” she eventually says. “But-,” she fetches for something in her bag at her feet and the little girl stirs in her slumber, revealing her face.

“Hina?” Taehyung feels his heartbeat picking up and any previous sign of fatigue that has seemed to gain him are now long forgotten at her sight. He walks closer to her.

Hwiin furrows her brows at his back. The woman displays relief upon hearing the girl’s name, satisfied to finally see one thing go right.

“Whe- where’re her parents?” His eyes can’t look away from her tiny face nestled against her chest.

The stranger opens her hand to show a piece of paper. “They went out earlier in the evening. They should have been home an hour ago. I was asked to call this number in case they wouldn’t answer their phone, and or go to these addresses.”

He takes it from her and Hwiin shortens the space between her and them to peek past his shoulder. There are his personal phone number, the concert venue and his penthouse addresses.

Her gaze moves to study the child’s face and her expression shifts to a worried one. After a few seconds, she looks up at him. “Who is she, Taehyung?”

The last bits of euphoria have vanished in the blink of an eye and left behind, instead, heavy presumptions.

“My niece,” he answers gravely.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

The pleasant purring of the black range rover running is the sole disruption in the quietness of the empty streets. Inside, the drive back home is uncomfortably silent for Hwiin. She feels terrible about her outburst. She knows he’d never be angry with her for that. She still wants to apologize but everytime she glances in the rear-view mirror, Taehyung still looks lost in thought.

As much as Hwiin values family bonds, she’d rather do without. Everything has been going perfectly great for her artist and now it all seems uncertain. How could he combine a demanding career and a very young child? How is she supposed to support him? She’d never ask him directly to somehow resolve this issue because she knows what he’d do. If he were to choose between the two, he’d opt for his niece in a heartbeat as painful as that reality comes off. The past seven years they spent together wouldn’t stand a chance when it comes to Taehyung.

His stare is glued on the night scenery. He doesn’t know what to think. His life’s just been shaken up by the tiny being cradled in his arms. That woman, who claimed to be Hina’s babysitter, had resorted to him as her solution like her employer, his brother, had instructed her to. His heart which has just been full of sheer happiness and gratefulness is now weighed down by so many questions and an unsettling foreboding.

He feels his shirt bunching and being pulled on; he looks down, weary.

“Dad-dy...”

Prickly tears blur his vision at the innocent call Hina makes in her sleep, unaware. He tightens his hold around her as a way to comfort himself.

“We’re here,” his manager softly announces while turning the wheel in the building parking lot. She pulls over near the elevator. Taehyung does his best to open the door, grab his back while safely carrying his niece before getting out. Hwiin hurries to give him a hand only to be politely refused.

She observes him quietly with mixed feelings as he simply stands there, gently brushing the little girl’s strands out of her face. She’s never taken the time before imagining what he’d look like as a father. It hasn’t been part of her plan. His greasy hair falls in his eyes, hiding his face. The man facing her seems somewhat unfamiliar.

She feels guilt creeping within her chest. “Taehyung I-”

“Don’t bother coming here unless I say so,” he cuts off looking at her with a weak smile. “I think I need some time to sort it all out.”

“Of course,” she pauses, fleeing his gaze. He’s always trying to lighten up the mood, she thinks. “I was wondering if you’d need me up there.”

“Go home. You should rest.”

She pouts a little, she’s already got her hooks into him and she hasn’t even awakened yet. Taehyung rarely rejected her for anything in the past. She innately feels the need to argue but relinquishes. It’s different now, she accepts.

He’s appreciative of her comprehension. He doesn’t like telling her he prefers to be alone for now. He’ll need every bit of his energy.

“You know you just have to call.”

They quietly pull apart. He gets in the elevator and she starts the engine once the doors come together.

His mind is empty the whole time it takes for the elevator to bring him to his apartment. He drops his bag on the floor, biting his lip when a curse wants to slip out because of the noise it makes. He suddenly realizes he doesn’t have somewhere appropriate for her to sleep in. Taehyung naturally settles for his bedroom and wonders how he should arrange the beddings to make it as safe and comfortable as possible for a two year-old.

He manages to undo the sheets and grab a pillow with one hand before he gently lays her in. it’s a miracle she hasn’t woken up already. Standing still beside the bed, Taehyung stares at her in the darkness; he wants to do more when he’s done what is needed. He wonders whether he should get her nearer the middle of the mattress, he can’t think of anything to keep her from falling off.

After long minutes, he eventually thinks there’s nothing more left to do and leaves to shower. He lets the door open and makes it as quick as possible. He comes back to find her curled up on herself. It’s only once he’s under the sheets, right next to her side that he remembers his phone. The thought of joining the outside world again seems unappealing and he thinks it would only make him anxious.

He brings his focus back on Hina, blinking slowly until he gets pulled in a dreamless sleep as well.

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Feedback greatly appreciated :B  Reblog if you wish to read more

[yellowsuitcase]

The Unwanted Pet // Draco Malfoy

A/N: Hello! This was a request from one of my friends, I thought it was such a cute idea and I knew it wouldn’t take more than a couple hours so I wrote it! I find it adorable and I hope you do too!

Summary: Y/N wants a crup (a jack russell like creature) but Draco most certainly does not. What happens when Y/N gets one anyway?

Warning(s): None

Word Count: 2.7k

“But Draco, it’d be so cute!” Y/N pleaded with her husband. She was leaning on his back while he tied a letter to his owl to send to his coworker at St. Mungos.

A soft wind blew through their open window, bringing the sweet smell of daisies with it. One of Y/N’s favorite things about living in the countryside was the variety of flowers surrounding their home, which was by no means a modest one. Draco would’ve felt too out of place if they had purchased a small abode, so Y/N caved and allowed him to buy a big Irish style house surrounded by thick greenery and rolling oak tree forests. However, Y/N had grown to love the rather big dwelling. But she’d felt a bit lonely whenever Draco would go to work in the early morning, leaving her alone until he returned at nearly midnight.

She had her own job working on the Hogwarts Express, but that only required her to leave the house a few days out of the year. Even though there wasn’t a need for her to work since Draco had inherited all the Malfoy fortune when his father passed a year ago, Y/N found comfort in driving the train full of young and eager students to and from Hogwarts. It reminded her of her days at the school; it was where she had met Draco, the man she’s been married to for seven years.

“Love, they’re high maintenance and a big responsibility. I don’t know if it’s a good idea,” Draco replied as he sent off his owl, Biko, and turned around to embrace his pouting wife. He kissed her on the head and gently swayed her back and forth before removing himself from her embrace. He then sauntered to the kitchen to nibble on some jelly slugs; he had quite a sweet tooth.

“But Draco, they’re so cute,” Y/N whined. Draco shrugged. “So what? If you want a pet so badly, go find a toad in one of the ponds...On second thought, don’t. Slimy little creatures they are.” Y/N rolled her eyes as she pushed back a long green curtain to allow more sunlight to stream into the cozy living room. “I don’t want a toad, I want a crup, and I don’t see why we can’t have one.”

Draco shook his head and wiped the corner of his mouth with a napkin. “I’ve already told you, they’re messy, you’d have to get a license from the ministry, and they’re high maintenance.” He began gathering his coat and satchel. He had to be at St. Mungos in nearly half an hour. Y/N sighed as she watched him slip on his shoes. She sunk further into their brown leather couch, which once belonged to Y/N’s mother. Draco gave her a pitiful glance. “I’m sorry, my beautiful wife, but I do not wish to have a mangy mutt running around our home. Perhaps something a bit more manageable? How about an owl? I’m sure Biko would love a friend,” Draco said while gesturing to the window his owl had flown out of just minutes ago. Y/N sighed and nodded, “Yeah, perhaps I’ll take a trip to Diagon Alley and see what kinds of owls they’ve got. Would you fancy a barn owl? They’ve got quite a striking face.”

Draco walked over to her and pressed a sweet kiss to her lips. “Any owl you want, I’m fine with. I’ll see you tonight; maybe we can have dinner outside, it’ll be perfect picnic weather.”

Y/N smiled softly and watched him stumble into their brick fireplace and throw floo powder down, disappearing in the green flames it created. Once Y/N was sure he had gone, she sprang to her feet and ran for the closet where her shoes were located. She grabbed the first pair she saw and promptly shoved them onto her feet. Little did Draco know, Y/N had already obtained a license from the ministry and was fully certified to own a crup.

She stepped into the fireplace and dropped her floo powder while saying, “The Ministry of Magic Headquarters!” and in a flash, she appeared in the massive dome-shaped lobby of The Ministry building. The hustle and bustle of employees finding their way to elevators and offices intimidated her initially. Nevertheless, after a few moments, she gathered her composure and began walking towards the Department of Magical Creatures. She’d already sent an owl to the Beast Division and made arrangements to pick up her new pet, so all she had to do was get there. And she did; after many twists and turns and pauses to stare at the fancy plaques on the walls, Y/N found herself outside the door. She wasn’t sure whether or not she was supposed to knock, so she put her tentative hand on the knob and turned it slowly.

It opened to reveal a nice looking woman sitting at the chestnut-colored desk. A fairy was fluttering around her head and putting flowers into her hair. She looked up upon hearing Y/N enter. “Hello! Would you happen to be the person who requested a crup?” she asked. Y/N shifted from her left foot to her right foot, trying to expel the excitement jitters from her body. “Yes, that’s me.”

“Wonderful! Y/N Malfoy, yes?” the woman asked. Y/N nodded, and the woman wrote something down on a piece of parchment. “They brought him in an hour ago, so he should be fed and ready to go! And his tail has already been removed as he is seven weeks old. I’ll check in the back and see if he’s all set. You just wait here, alright?” the lady asked.

Y/N grinned and nodded eagerly. She was a bit sad that her crup’s tail had already been removed, it had to be so that muggles wouldn’t notice it was a magical creature, but it still saddened her. Soon enough, however, she heard scampering behind the door. Her heart leaped in her chest, and she fiddled with her fingers anticipatedly. She held her breath as the golden door swung open. Behind it was the woman and a little crup in her arms as well as a carrier by her feet. Y/N’s hands flew to her mouth as she gasped. “He’s so cute,” she whispered. The crup seemed to notice her and suddenly jumped from the lady’s arms and onto the floor where he raced towards Y/N. She looked down at the dog-looking creature. He was staring straight up at her, and when they made eye contact, he barked.

The lady laughed. “Look at that. He already likes you!” Y/N smiled and hesitantly knelt down to greet the fluffy beast in front of her. “Hello there, would you like to come home with me?” she asked. The crup barked happily, his little butt wiggling as he did so. Y/N giggled and opened her arms for the crup. He ran into them and nestled himself against her chest. Y/N stood back up and gently stroked her new pet. “Do you have a name for him yet?” the woman asked. Y/N nodded her head and glanced up to look at the lady. “I’ve decided on calling him Styx,” she said.

“How cute! Well, I don’t want to waste any of your precious time with Styx, so let’s have you pay so you can be on your way.” Y/N reached into her pocket, pulled out two hundred galleons, and placed them on the woman’s desk. After doing so, she put Styx in his new carrier and zipped him up so he’d be safe and secure. Waving goodbye to the nice lady, she reopened the door and took a deep breath. The easy part was over, now she had to face Draco.

---------

Y/N and Styx had spent the entire day playing with all the new toys she’d bought for him at Diagon Alley. He particularly liked the bright purple rubber ball, as well as his squeaky spider plush. It was nearly ten pm now, and Y/N and her pet were sitting on the couch. Styx was chewing on his bone as Y/N read the Daily Prophet. She was scanning an article about Hogwarts’ new Herbology professor, Neville Longbottom, when green flames erupted from the fireplace. Styx immediately jumped to his paws and began growling at the fire. And suddenly, there was Draco. He was smiling until he heard the low rumble coming from the crup. He glanced down at it and then up at Y/N.

“Tell me that this mutt doesn’t belong to you,” he said sternly. Y/N smiled; it looked more like a grimace. Draco ran his hand down his face in disappointment. “I thought we discussed this. I don’t want a Crup,” he whined, the exhaustion from his workday coming to the forefront. Y/N stood up and walked towards her distraught husband.

“I know you said you didn’t want one, but I’m just so lonely when you’re not here all day. I’ve got no one to talk to and nobody to snuggle with. I just thought having this little guy would give me something to do as well as provide company,” she said quietly, now feeling a bit foolish.

Draco examined her expression intently. She looked remorseful and ashamed; she couldn’t meet his eyes. He sighed and shifted his gaze to the little creature by his feet. Not even Draco could deny the mutt’s inherent cuteness. He looked back up at his wife. “Fine,” he caved, “We can keep him. But I swear if he causes any trouble, he’s going back. I will not tolerate any misbehaving.” Y/N gasped and wrapped her arms around Draco’s neck.

“Thank you, thank you, thank you! You won’t regret it, he’ll be the sweetest boy ever. I bet you’ll even grow to like him,” she argued, arms still around him. Draco huffed. “Yeah, right, I don’t think so,” he retorted. He was convinced he’d never learn to genuinely like the crup. Sure he’d probably be able to tolerate him but never enjoy having him around.

“Are you sure? You’re already acting like a dad with all your ‘I will not tolerate misbehaving’ nonsense,” Y/N remarked. Draco rolled his eyes. “I’m serious. If he chews my shoes, he’s out.” Y/N withdrew her arms and crossed them on her puffed up chest. “You’re on, Malfoy.”

--------

Over the next few months, Styx had become a constant within the Malfoy home. It took Draco a little over two weeks to allow him to sleep with him and his wife on their bed, but when he finally caved, he instantly regretted it. More often than not, Y/N slept with her arms around the Cruppy instead of around Draco. The blonde man would always get angry and shoot death glares at the creature while his lover slept. How dare the mutt take his place in her arms?

However, what Draco was unaware of was the fact that sometimes during the night, Styx would wiggle out of Y/N’s arms and settle himself in the crook of Draco’s neck where he’d give him a few soft licks before falling back asleep. And since Y/N would often rouse in the middle of the night, needing to use the restroom, she’d be greeted with the endearing sight of her husband cuddling with Styx. She’d never tell him, but she had quite a few photographs of the scene.

Styx was generally a well-behaved pet. He didn’t chew Draco’s shoes like the man had feared, but he did, however, eat their food when they weren’t looking. This infuriated Draco to no end. Y/N, on the other hand, found it rather funny. She knew that underneath all his fury, Draco found it amusing as well. She was sure of this because one afternoon, when Draco had the day off from work, she’d gone to fetch a book to read to her husband and pet. When she returned, she found Draco smiling down at the crup. She stopped in her tracks and hid behind a wall to listen in on the conversation.

“Look at you, you little scoundrel, stealing my roast beef. You think you’re clever, don’t you?” Draco asked the dog-like creature. Styx barked in reply, making him chuckle. “No, no. I’m afraid you’re nothing compared to me, Styx. You see, I was in Slytherin.” Styx barked again. “Mhm, I was, and you were not so truly who’s the more cunning of the two of us? I think it’s quite obvious.” Styx barked again and pawed Draco’s calf. “Exactly right, my boy, it’s me. Although you’re definitely the cuter one, I’ll give you that.” Y/N watched this exchange from her hiding place. She knew Draco was rather fond of talking to himself, but it seemed as though he enjoyed talking to Styx as well.

Now, Y/N was writing a letter to her sister in the study when she heard a knock at the door. She put down her quill and turned in her chair. “Come in,” she spoke softly. The door opened, and there stood Draco. “You got off of work this early?” she asked. Draco grinned sheepishly. “I may have asked to leave early,” he said while leaning on the doorframe. Y/N was immediately suspicious of her husband. She kicked her leg up and over her thigh and crossed her arms. “May I ask why?” she inquired. Draco shrugged and reached into his back pocket.

“Oh well, it’s only because there’s a quidditch match tonight, and I got us two front row tickets,” he said as he pulled out the two slips of silver-lined paper. Y/N gasped and clapped her hands excitedly. “Draco! That’s brilliant. It’s been so long since we’ve gone to see a game. What teams are playing?” she asked as she rose to her feet. “I have to go find an outfit that matches the colors!” she shouted happily.

Draco laughed at his wife’s eagerness. “Wimbourne Wasps and Chudley Cannons are the teams. And you can go plan your outfit in a moment; I just wanted to let you know that I’m going to take Styx for a walk before I take you Hogsmeade for lunch.”

His words stopped her in her tracks. She looked up at Draco skeptically. “You’re taking Styx for a walk?” He nodded. “Willingly?” she asked. Draco nodded again. Y/N’s mouth fell open in shock. Her husband’s face turned red. “You’ve taken a liking to him, haven’t you?” Y/N asked incredulously. Draco rubbed his hand on the back of his neck and looked at the window. He noticed the parchment on the desk. “Who are you writing to?” he questioned, trying to change the subject. Y/N moved into his line of vision, forcing him to look at her. “Nuh-uh Mr. Malfoy. You’re not getting out of this one. Answer my question, and perhaps I’ll answer yours.”

Draco muttered something under his breath. “Didn’t catch that; speak up.” Draco sighed and covered his face. “Yes,” he mumbled. “I like the mutt.” Y/N squealed and threw her arms around Draco’s torso and squeezed him tightly. He was surprised by this and looked down at his wife quizzically.

“I knew you’d come around! I told you getting a crup would be a wonderful idea, and now look at you. You’re taking him for a walk willingly,” she declared. Just then, Styx himself came strutting down the hallway, his butt wiggling. He sat by Draco’s foot and barked up at him, almost as if he was asking what was taking so long. Draco smiled down at him. “Yes, I know it’s just that your mother and I were having a discussion,” he said to the fluffy creature. Styx barked once more. “I know, right? How rude of her to delay your walk,” he replied in an exasperated tone. Y/N couldn’t fight the smile that crept onto her face.

“Oh, so now you’re talking poorly about me to my son?” she asked. Draco looked up and smirked at her. “I am,” he said firmly. “Come along now, Mr. Wiggles, let’s find your leash.” Y/N was in disbelief as she watched her lover walk down the hallway with Styx in tow. She shook her head and chuckled lightly. “Unbelievable, those two,” she mumbled to herself before retreating into the study.

[shadowturtlesstuff]

you belong with me- thomas

this is thomas’s pov. i like doing both pov (i dont know if you can tell) but there are a few things im working on but enjoy!

“How could-? Are you even hearing yourself speak you fool? No- no. God, you know what I'm done.” I throw my phone on the bed, scaring Sir Issac in the process. I cringe even as I begin pacing back and forth. It was truly absurd, utterly crazy, that William lived in such a world where he would ever consider me being with anyone but Audrey Rose. Whilst we weren’t together per say, it was clear there would be no one else for me. The fact that he had already caused trouble for us once makes this even more irritating. I turn and find Audrey Rose already watching me. Her hair disheveled in a messy bun which tells me she is studying or researching something. I give her what I hope classifies as a smile and watches as she pulls out a familiar notebook, searches for her pen and then writes: Are you okay?

Of course she would ask if I'm okay and not what happened; using our absurd way of talking to each other instead of using the window or even messaging me. I shake my head but smile and make my way towards my window. The wind hits me, sending my hair flying but I embrace the fresh air as I watch her move herself off her bed, cursing at her stiff legs. She has been there most of the day, not moving and lost in her work and music. She curses once more as she hits her elbow on the window sill and she looks truly adorable. “You have a wicked mouth Wadsworth. Did you not learn cursing is unlady-like?” I try to ignore the other thoughts I have of her mouth.

“Fuck you,” she scowls at me. It always makes me smile hearing her curse, she always sounds confident in them somehow, making them seem so real. The first time she swore was the time she failed a science test. Well, not exactly a fail, but she was marked wrong by a substitute teacher who didn't like her so she decided to berate him in front of the whole class, starting with her shouting ‘bullshit!’ as soon as she saw her results.

“I assume dear wadsworth, you want to ask what has made me so irate?” As much as I would rather climb across the gap and make her watch another one of my romance films again instead of talk about it, I know that I should. Otherwise it'll eat at my mind when I go to sleep. As well as it being used against wadsworth in some way too.

“Perhaps,” she says, eyes sparkling with mischief as she rests her head on the wall and brings her knees to her chest, “perhaps I merely wanted to ask if Sir Issac was okay.” I nearly burst out laughing at her. She has a love hate relationship with my cat. She pretends to hate the ‘beast’ but will often let him sit on her lap or pet him whenever she is over here. When I first got him, she stayed round mine for the night and we settled him. Even then she had tried to pretend not to like him but she doesn’t remember that she fell asleep with him curled up next to her. I had to sleep on my chair because they were sprawled out, surrounded by her work.

“Really? You always refer to him as a little pest, whereas as with me, I am your dearest person, of course you want to know how I am feeling. My son is good though, very energetic today.” Said cat brushes against me and I look at him, the memory still clear in my mind. Yet I know I need to stop avoiding the problem, Audrey Rose is too kind to push me into telling her, and will let me avoid it for as long as I need. It is not the worst thing we’ve faced yet I still hate it.  

“I assume you saw the call, well that was William,” she nods, her face already falling at the mention of his name, “Yes, awful. Apparently though, there is a rumor that I'm with Miss whitehall. I don't even remember her first name, but he was convinced of our relation despite my protests. Madness.” I scoff at the sheer audacity of him and his friends. Sir Issac nuzzles into me, knowing that I'm upset and wanting to change that. As well get attention.

“Is this the same William that had convinced everyone I was dating him?”

“Yes.” Anger rolls through me at the memory of that disaster. What hurt Audrey Rose the most is that she truly thought he was a friend. She’d explained that with me she didn't try, but everyone else she had too, so when they'd fallen into easy conversations during lessons she really enjoyed having someone other than me and lize and her uncle to talk to.

“Bitch. Why on earth is he such a problem? Where on earth does he even make this assumptions about us?'' She begins pacing, her mind working faster than her steps as she no doubt recalls everything that happened. I am inclined to do the same. I can still remember her walking into her room, looking at me and falling apart. I climbed into her room and held her letting her calm before she spoke to me. I cried as well, slightly, knowing how much that friendship had meant to her. I'd made us watch a really cheesy film and she'd fallen asleep in my arms.

“I have never once,”I say to drag her back to the present “shown interest in her, nor will I ever.” I drag a hand through my hair. “She's just- a lot.” the first time id met her she was just very loud and demanding, I couldn't stand her. I'd watched her insult so many people for being themselves, for liking childish things, or in Audrey Rose's case, morbid things.

“That is the understatement of the year Cresswell. Besides, you wouldn’t work, she's too- your,” she falls silent, either lost in thought or not wanting to tell me those thoughts. Her cheeks turn a light shade of pink and I smile. She doesn't meet my eye as she sits herself down and I raise my brows as she asks what? As though she didn’t just show me that she has many inappropriate thoughts about me. She curls herself into a ball, hiding in her oversized hoodie, which is mine that I'm not sure she realizes is.

“I’m what? I'd be delighted to know your innermost thoughts of me, Wadsworth.”

“You're absurd but fine I'll elaborate,” she rolls her eyes though, even as the pink deepens slightly. Her eyes focused on my own. So I face her fully, like an astute student in class dying to seek knowledge, “you're too kind, too witty and clever and Whitehall wouldn’t appreciate you enough. You-” she stops talking immediately, as though whatever is in her mind she cant voice. Her face twists into something unreadable and I get the sense that she would rather not ever speak about me being with someone other than her.

“You forgot to mention how handsome I look, or how charming I am, but I'll take it,” she suppresses an eye roll and her smile and ignores the way my voice deepens ever so slightly. I pat Sir Issac off me and earn a whine but he jumps off me. I reach out to her and she leans, her hair ripping free of her bun with little effort from the wind. Her dark curls cling to her face, framing her perfectly too. It makes me want to hold her face in her hands and kiss her deeply.

“I don’t need to inflate your ego further Thomas.”

She inflates my ego every time she smiles at me, whether that be because of my joke or simply smiling at me because I am her friend. “I know but it would've been nice. I did say the inner most thoughts but we’ll get there. Audrey rose-I don’t belong with her, you’re right, my heart would never belong to her especially since it already belongs to someone else.”

She blinks at me, her face falling flat. Silence falls over us and I realize she thinks I'm talking about someone else. And idea forms, one that she may hate me for but one I'm going to do anyway.

“I-” she begins, no doubt going to tell me she wants me to be happy without whomever I'm with. I stand before she can say anything and she stares at me for a second so I motion for her to move. I want to be able to hold her and be next to her. I climb over and set myself on her window sill, leaving enough space for her on the other side. “I hope you are happy with whomever has your heart Cresswell.” I try to hide my smirk at her. Preparing myself for the worst. Preparing myself for her calling me an idiot and that she doesn't like me that way. I wouldn’t blame her.

“Of course I'll be happy. She's amazing. Let me tell you all about her. I met her many years back and was instantly smitten with her emerald eyes and her quick witted mind. How she sings to herself every morning and how her dark curls fall across her face whenever she sits on her bed and reads. I adore her curiosity for the dead and how wicked her mouth is and how delightful it is to watch your mind at work. I love when she shows me a note through the window to see if I'm doing okay and-”

“Wait,” she blurts out, her cheeks red now and eyes bright with shock, “Thomas, are you talking about me?”

I can’t help but laugh. She is one of the smartest people I have ever met yet she, just like I do, struggles with social cues sometimes. Albeit it she is better than I will ever be. “Yes, finally! I thought I'd have to keep speaking forever till you realized it was you.” Not that that would be a problem. As of right now I'd happily list the way her eyes are filled with both relief and shock and happiness and it's a look I want to capture whenever I need a reminder of something good in life.

She scowls at me, ignoring her blush. I take a risk and reach out my hand, moving closer so that her back is straightened on the wall, her attention fixed on me completely. No fake scowl or bright smile, just an intent gaze I can't quite pick apart. I rest my hand on her leg, now free of her (my) hoodie. “Wadsworth, darling, I have been in love with you for some time now.”

I stare at my best friend, my love, as she tries to convince herself this is real. It's truly adorable. Then her eyes widen slightly as she whispers: “I have something to show you.”

She jumps from my grip, running the short distance to her bed and then shuffling through the mountain of books and papers sprawled there until she pulls out a notebook and shakes it, letting a piece of paper drop. It's folded and creased a lot, as though it has been opened often. I watch as she faces me and slowly, her face fixed on the sheet as she opens and holds it out to me.

I read the words: I love you.

I love you.

I read them over and over and over, trying to imprint it on my brain. Her delicate handwriting and her confession reaches out to me and I desperately want to reach out to her, hold her against me and press kisses and make her laugh.

Audrey rose takes her seat across from me and I instantly reach out, holding her leg again. Anything to reassure me this is real. “I wrote that the night after you came here the second time.” her voice is soft, her curls once again framing her face as she looks at me, “Something in me clicked that no matter what you'd find a way to comfort me. Not save me, but work alongside me. I wanted to tell you I just couldn't face it. But I needed to acknowledge it. So I wrote it down, and I look at it every time we use the note system; I try to convince myself to show you.” Audrey Rose would never need saving, never want it, yet her words save my own dark heart that she has felt this way for so long, and we have somehow lived alongside each other and been so blinded by our love entwined with fears that it has taken so long to finally acknowledge them.

I debate pinching myself. Only minutes ago was I miserable and upset, yet Audrey Rose has taken her time to cheer me up. Yet even if I had left it as I am fine, even though she knows me better than that, she wouldn't have pressed for answers; would have waited for me to open up. So i lean in and the world stops as we both wait until our lips are pressed together It's a light kiss, one full of promise and wonder. When I lean back we are both smiling so freely my heart feels as though it too is reaching out to hold Audrey rose. We trade kisses, never wanting to leave this loop but I do lean back away from her. I’m already too drunk on her kisses, I need to breathe, to process this so I can remember it. Once my back is against the wall I pull her, twisting so her back is against mine, leaning into my warmth and I rest my head atop hers. Trying to contain my smiles but to no avail. My hand covers hers and as i look down at her i notice she doesn't bother controlling her smile. It is a magnificent sight.  

“Now would be a perfect time to tell me how handsome I am, my love.”

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[astarryon]

Promise Me

I Want to Take It With Me

Warnings: Mention of blood, angst, light swearing

Chapter Summary: He’s run out of time, but saying goodbye is the last thing he wants to do.

Masterlist

Chapter Three: In the Name of Dry Shoes

“Spencer—“

“Don’t talk,” Spencer insists with a resolute shake of his head. He’s not sure how he’s still going, not when he’d been met with the sight of his biggest fear no less than thirty seconds ago, but somehow he manages. He’s always been good at pushing emotions down, smothering them until they ran away to be dealt with another time. It’s not healthy — he knows that. Unfortunately, given the circumstances, he doesn’t have a lot of time for self improvement. “You’re losing too much blood, we need to get your heart rate down.”

A chuckle tumbles out of your mouth, stilted and shuddering, along with a smattering of blood, and Spencer’s mind shifts into overdrive trying to deduce what at all could possibly be funny about this situation. “‘S only beating so fast ‘cause you’re getting handsy.”

“Don’t— don’t do that right now,” Spencer snaps, pressing his hands more firmly to the wound in your chest. His hands are so slick with blood that he doesn’t even notice when his own teardrops land on them. “You can— you can be flirtatious and aloof and obnoxiously clueless when you’re not bleeding out on a dirty floor, but until we get you to a hospital where there are— surgeons, and, and anesthesia, and people who can make sure you don’t fucking die, just please concentrate on your breathing.”

Spencer’s mind races a mile a minute, rapidly cycling through the pieces of knowledge he possesses that apply to this situation. He knows that the average adult has ten units of blood in their body, but that won’t help him keep it from slowly leaking out of you. He knows the team can’t be more than five minutes away, but with a gunshot wound to the chest the probability of you surviving until then looks grim. He knows each breath you take becomes more ragged than the last, which makes him wonder if your lung’s been punctured, but he doesn’t want to give that possibility any significant thought. He knows you need a doctor, one with a more practical skillset than his own, and he’s left to come to terms with his own chronic uselessness as he continues applying pressure to your wound. He knows that if he has to listen to you try to make him feel better for what could be your last precious few moments together, he’ll never be able to forgive himself. He knows he won’t survive you dying, here, now, with so much — too fucking much — left unspoken. He knows he’ll never like the color red again.

Spencer knows lots of things. Unfortunately, none of those things are particularly useful in digging the bullet out of your clavicle.

“It’s so cold,” you breathe, head lolling to the side. Your lashes are fluttering at a rapid pace and your breaths are shallow now, more raspy. You’re in much too great a danger of losing consciousness. “It’s… will you hold me?”

He shakes his head, vision blurring as his tears sway along with it. “I’m sorry, I can’t, we have to keep pressure on your wound.”

“Please?”

“No.” He says it so sharply that he almost tricks himself into thinking he’s shouting, but then, anything louder than a whisper would sound like an atomic bomb to him right now. “Just hang on, please. Just a little longer. The rest of the team will be here soon, and then the medics, and—“

“Spencer,” you whisper, voice strained. His name on your tongue splits his heart clean in two. It’s the kind of thing where he can feel every individual rip of the two halves separating right down the middle, and he knows that, whether or not he loses you tonight, that sensation will always be awaiting him in his most dreadful nightmares. “I… If I’m going to die, I want to feel your arms around me one last time before I do. I want to take it with me.”

He shouldn’t. He knows your odds are slim, and he knows they become even slimmer if he takes his hands off your wound — and that’s without mentioning how they’re effected if he moves you even the slightest bit. But you’re scared, and you’re crying, and he’s crying, and he’s always had a particular hatred of denying you what you ask for. And if he’s going to lose you — he hates to give that thought any relevance, but it’s been too long and he’s so good at imagining the worst case — shouldn’t he grant your last wish? Shouldn’t he bend over backwards to soothe your soul as you part?

Shouldn’t he tell you…?

Slowly, carefully, Spencer withdraws his hands from your chest and gingerly scoops you into his arms, keeping you as still as possible as he repositions you so that your head rests against his shoulder, your back against his chest, and does his best to ignore that your skin is much too icy. He listens closely for any gasps or hisses of pain, apologizing softly each and every time your body betrays your discomfort, and he tries to put any and all calculations of how quickly you’ll bleed out now that he’s relieved the pressure on your wound out of his mind. It’s too late to wonder now whether he’s made a mistake in giving in to you, and, anyway… if it’s in pursuit of your happiness, can it really be a mistake?

“There we go,” he whispers, kissing the crown of your head before tucking it beneath his chin. “It’s alright, I’ve got you, you’re gonna be okay. Just hold on a little longer, alright? Just keep holding on.”

“Do you think we would’ve been happy together?” The question is soft off your lips, brittle as sun damaged crystal, and it catches Spencer so suddenly off guard that, for a few short seconds that don’t feel short in the slightest, his mind forgets how to comprehend language. “You and me? Would we have been alright?”

“You’re not happy now?” he questions, threading his fingers through your blood stained hair. The words don’t tumble out in a defensive tone, and for that Spencer is glad. Whatever he feels about this situation, about what you’re saying, about experiencing you drain away, right out of his arms, he can feel later, when he’s not gently rocking you back and forth in the hopes that the sensation will bring you even the slightest ounce of comfort. None of it matters, not right now. All he wants is to make sure you’re taken care of.

“I don’t mean now,” you wheeze, your palm coming to rest at his knee. “I’m asking, like… would we have been okay? Later? A y-year from now? Five years from now? Would you have still wanted me?”

“Stop talking like you’re already dead,” he pleads, tears dripping down his chin and into your hair. Where are the others? Where the fuck are the medics? Why isn’t anyone coming? “I haven’t lost you yet, and I’m not planning to, so we don’t need to speak in hypotheticals. Just keep… I am begging you, just keep holding on.”

“I’m tryin’, honey, but it’s… my hands are slipping, and I’m not sure how much longer I’m gonna last.” And he can hear it, too, in the way that your words are slurring and your voice thickens. You’re fading — he can tell. The smart thing now would be to come to terms with the odds and say goodbye, just in case… but, for the first time in his life, Spencer doesn’t want to be smart. Not if it means accepting that you’re leaving him. “Will you promise me something?”

He closes his eyes, bracing against the awful truth, and he can actually feel the resolve slipping out from underneath him. “Anything,” he tells you, fighting off the urge to sob. He needs to stay strong for you right now. “Anything, I swear to god, whatever you want.”

“You don’t believe in god, Spence.”

“Then I swear to you,” he tries again, and he hopes you can hear the fervor, the genuine sincerity in his voice. Because he does believe in you, and he would do anything that you asked of him. “Whatever you want, I swear to you, I’ll do it. Just tell me what it is.”

“If I die—“

“You’re not going to—“

“Spencer,” you insist, and the tone of your voice takes the fight right out of him, renders him immediately silent. You’ve never spoken to him like that before — he’s sure of it. “If I die… promise me you won’t forget to smile, okay?” Your words slur further, your speech slowing, and Spencer has to strain to properly make out what you’re saying. “You have a really nice smile. The world can’t lose that.”

No, what the world can’t lose is you, but he knows trying to argue with you right now is pointless.

“I promise,” he tells you, because it’s all he can say. “I’ll think of you, and I’ll smile every day.”

“Promise me you won’t shut the others out,” you go on, blood now leaking from your mouth in a constant trickle. It’s funny, in an awful way. So many years in the BAU, confronted every day with grisly crime scenes and bloody aftermath, yet he’s never been so effected. Spencer wonders if that’s self absorbed of him. “Talk to Penelope when you need someone to cheer you up, talk to Derek when you need someone to listen, talk to JJ when you have trouble sleeping. Let them in, Spence.”

“I will,” Spencer whispers. “I promise.” His hands are shaking so bad that he can’t actually tell whether that’s his body or yours beneath his touch.

“And… p-promise me…” Your lungs shudder a gasping breath, and Spencer knows you’re only hanging on in effort to get the rest out. He knows he should tell you to rest, tell you it’s okay, let you know that if you need to let go, if you’re too tired to hold on, then he won’t hold it against you. But Spencer’s become a selfish creature in all those matters concerning you, and he’d sworn a long time ago never to lie to you, no matter the circumstances. As much as he wants to be able to be the man willing to sit there and rock you peacefully into oblivion…. he’s just not ready to let go of you. “Promise you’ll remember how much I love you.”

He’d have done that anyway, even without you asking him to. It’s already the first thing that crosses his mind when he wakes up each morning and rolls over to find you at his side, all mussed hair and light snores with the sheets balled up near your feet. He’s reminded every time you kiss him, so soft and sweet, and every time your lips press against his Spencer feels like he’s experiencing it for the very first time all over again. Of course he knows you love him. How could he not, when you find new ways to tell him so each and every day?

“Promise,” you breathe, just as your head lolls to the side and your hand goes slack against his leg. “Promise.”

“I promise,” Spencer whispers, but by the time the words leave his lips, you’re already gone.

—

Chapter Five: Ten Minutes and Two Centimeters

[heresathreebee]

A Real Date

[Ava Starr x Female!Reader] 

Summary: You and Ava trying a dinner date that goes very wrong (just kidding it's actually fine). 

Previous Masterlist Next

Word count: 1.8k words

Warning(s): 13+ | no-snap au, post-Ant Man and the Wasp, swearing, internalized homophobia(?), I think I’m working through something here this might be a little personal (sorry in advance), past relationship angst, presumed past of dating multiple genders but there is no definitive sexuality established for reader in the present, this was going to be something else but the story took over and I had to roll with it. 

Author's note: no-snap au, post-Ant Man and the Wasp. I’m sorry I do not edit anymore, it only serves to stand in my way. This is part 3 of Ava Starr series beginning with Strawberry Soda. Art by Artmilla on DeviantArt (correct me if I’m wrong please)

It's important to note that not everything you see in media is the hegemonic truth. Take sapphic dating rituals for example: in media it’s a constant joke about how fast people move in together and own pets and plants like they were soulmates and always meant to be together. Which is nice to see– it’s not meant to be a cruel joke– but it does paint a picture of perfection. It doesn’t explicitly state whether your future wife is your first or fiftieth girlfriend but it sure as shit might lead you to believe every girl might be your last. 

Real people don’t work that way. Real people have different interests, different lives, different traumas, different styles and needs. Every relationship is new and it has to be done deliberately and with care for what you and your partner want. So when you think about your relationship with Ava you can’t help but feel a little guilty. 

Ava seems to like to take things slow. Your relationship prioritizes quality time over physical touch which you're fine with, but you can’t help it if you compare the details to other people you’ve dated. You’ve known each other for three months and in every other relationship by this time, you and your previous partners had hit a ton of milestones that you and Ava had just… not. So when you bring up the prospect of a ‘real date’ to Ava one night while cooking pasta in your kitchen, Ava chuckles. 

“And what exactly constitutes as a ‘real date?’” 

The television is playing some daytime television game show and the volume’s on low. You pass her the salt and take a swig from your beer with a shrug. Already you feel silly for bringing it up. 

“Dinner. A movie. Sometimes both, I guess,” you say, flustered. 

Ava raises an eyebrow at the softening bowtie noodles in the pot. “We’re having dinner right now…? Name one time we haven’t come back to your place to watch a movie.” 

“The time the power went out and we played jenga by candlelight. But I– I mean like a date outside of the house.”

“We go to out to parks, the antique mall, lunch, the arcade–” 

“Well, yeah I guess you’re right I just don’t know I still feel like–”  

“Again, how is any of it different from a ‘real date?’” 

“I don’t know! Just… just forget it.” you’re trying not to be bitter about it but you don’t even know what you mean so how could you explain it? 

Ava calls your name softly and you already feel hot shame lick up your neck when you see her face. “I didn’t mean it like that, I– I just don’t think I understand what you mean and I want to! Honestly…” 

You sigh and lean closer to her, careful not to touch but you want her to know you’re not mad. “No, I’m sorry. I just… I’ve been stuck on it for a week but I can’t seem to figure out why. Everything you’re saying I agree with but there’s still this nagging voice in my head telling me it’s not fair or I’m doing it wrong but I don’t know what it even is and I–” 

You collapse onto the kitchen floor breathless. What the fuck were you even saying? Why was this bothering you so much? What ‘s different about this relationship than any other relationship you’ve already had? Your eyes are darting back and forth and your head is a million miles away. You keep talking as if saying it out loud will make your impulsive and intrusive thoughts and motivations clearer to you. 

“It’s out of order. No, it’s not but it’s… with Jordan and Becky and Hal, I went on three dates before it felt normal. We did the traditional getting to know you stuff. Damien and Palavi were straight physical– not traditional at all but that still felt good enough somehow. And– and it’s not that I don’t believe what we have isn’t real, I just–

“Fuck, I don’t know! It feels a little like my relationship with Kat.” You can’t believe it but then the words were out there. You had never told anybody about Kat– Ava was still learning about the rest of them– but the instant those words left your mouth you regretted them. Ava was not Kat. 

For instance, Ava slipped down to sit beside you on the floor– Kat would never lower herself to meet your eye. Ava looked at you and she saw you– Kat chose to ignore your feelings whenever it became more convenient to do so. Kat made you feel special and yet not special enough– OK maybe they shared a little bit of that. A tiny, micro piece of that. 

“What was Kat like?” She said the words softly and without an ounce of jealousy. 

You gather your mind with a deep breath. “Dating Kat was like being strapped to a rocket. It was like being a part of something bigger and stronger than me. Being with her made me feel inconsequential and sometimes I liked that, but then… then I realized I was just a dirty little secret. Kat liked me because I was convenient to her, not because she actually cared about me. 

“When we talked or hung out, it had to be on her terms. No public, no friends or family, no social media. No one was allowed to know. She passed it off as just wanting me for herself but after she dumped me for something better I realized she never saw me as her equal. And it just… I was already in a dark place and that place just kind of got a whole lot darker after that. I felt especially not special.” 

You lean back and rest your head on the cabinet under the sink. “I know that’s not you. Maybe I’m just tired of feeling like I have to hide a part of myself. I did a lot of stupid things in the public eye with Palavi, maybe part of that was because I was proud of who I am and I wanted everyone to know it?” 

“I think I care too much about what other people think of me,” you said closing your eyes. 

You didn’t expect to feel Ava lean her head against your shoulder but you don’t pull away. God, you could never pull away even as you worry she may be causing herself harm just to comfort you and your rambling. Her hair tickles a bit and smells like strawberries and lavender. 

Ava lifted her head after a moment. “Let’s go on a real date then.” 

~

Why the fuck were you so nervous? This was your idea! You had trouble picking a restaurant and picking a day and picking your clothes out and picking where to sit. So many choices with so much meaning or none at all. You just need this to be perfect because you hoped maybe this is what you need to stop that nagging in your head. 

You made the call to meet each other there. You made the suggestion that it had to be somewhere nice– as in get dressed up nice. And darling, sweet, patient Ava let you have the control you so desperately needed. She offered suggestions here and there, and it helped you narrow everything down to a science. You feel a little self conscious sitting by yourself in your get up but you knew she'd be there on time. 

It's just a matter of whether or not you could sit still for five more minutes. 

You hold the cloth napkin in your palms to try and soak up the sweat. Forcing yourself to sit unnaturally still and you haven't touched your wine because you just know you'll get it everywhere somehow. Your eyes trace over the table to stop yourself from meeting the eyes of other patrons. Do nothing, wait it out. 

Ava is stunning and you don't know she's there until the wait staff places the dinner menus in front of you. So much for pulling out her chair like you wanted to– but she's here and you break out into a big smile. 

"You look amazing," you tell her. 

Ava smiles and takes a sip of the rosé you ordered. The dim lighting in the room seems to soften the contours of her face but never the sharpness of her bright eyes. Something blossoms inside you and you feel it– that thing that's been bothering you like a knot in your stomach turns into a seed and its flowering now. This is your girlfriend. Not your friend who is a girl– your significant other. She's important to you and she has decided that she feels the same way about you. 

You feel your body unwind, reaching across the table like you might touch her hand then stop an inch from her empty plate. She watches you curiously but without fear. After a beat, it's Ava who finishes the contact. She slips her hand into yours and you are delighted to discover she's not a corporeal being you've convinced yourself is real. Her skin is a little dry around the palm and she has calluses you never knew were there and she's real and this is happening. 

You resist the urge to squeeze her fingers. Let her lead. Trust her to move away if she experiences any pain. She looks away from you with a flustered face you've never seen her wear and takes another draft of her wine. 

"This is nice," she says softly. 

You eat off each others' plates and you laugh together, and if anyone's watching you wouldn't know because for once you couldn't give a rat's ass what anyone thinks. You're with your person, for now or forever doesn't matter because she's letting you hold her hand and talk about a play you want to take her to on Saturday. Your heart flutters in your chest the whole way home and it’s not until you’re standing at your front door does her hand finally slip from yours. The feeling lingers though and your face hurts from smiling. 

“This everything you wanted,” she asked. 

“Yes,” you reply, “yes it was. Thank you for indulging me, it’s exactly what I needed.” 

“I enjoyed it too.” She steps closer, seemingly reluctant to leave just yet. “We’re still going to see Rocky Horror Picture Show, right?” 

“Absolutely,” you beam, “trust me, you’re gonna love it, it’s wild.” You blow her a kiss to send her on her way and spend the next hour giggling to yourself until you finally pass out from exhaustion.

[thoughtfullyyoungduck]

sleepwalking

summary: could you do a reddie x daughter where all the losers watch a horror movie and she convinces them she won’t get scared but she’s obv scared so they tease her abt it the whole night but then when they go to bed she starts sleep walking and richie get terrified and screams running upstairs and he has to literally pay eddie not to tell the other losers

The kernels crunch under footsteps, left over from their night in with the losers and his family, and Richie just about dies. Richie is not often spooked, can’t afforded to be after what Pennywise did to them as kids and how fast they had to react to survive the encounters, scared shitless or not, although he got plenty of practices getting over initial frights when their daughter was just three months old and awoke them out of a deep sleep every night with her piercing cries.

Tonight though, he finished watching three horror films, and he’s downstairs in the pitch-black with his daughter and Eddie both already retreated upstairs. He’s alone on the bottom floor, having decided He was going to write down a few jokes that occurred to him during the evening, like Bill trying to drink his sofa without taking the lid of, and his Rose pretending not to be scared by the movie, even if she had to cover her face with her hands every time the music picked up.

It’s not the first, nor will it be the last, time that he’s stayed behind while Eddie and Rose turn in. The night time seems to spark his creativity better than the day ever does, but it is the first time someone else comes creeping. He knows it’s not Eddie. When Eddie has to get up to get a drink during the night, he’ll do his best to stay quiet, but always falters on the second to last step that creeks loudly throughout the otherwise solemn house. He curses himself over it every time.

The second to last step didn’t produce any sound tonight, but still Richie can pick up on heavy breathing, just outside the kitchen he’s positioned in. Suddenly, the films he bravely -and foolishly- selected are having him imagine all sorts of creepy and ominous things.

His phone, perched to the side of him, lights up. So far, Richie has been listening, trying to distinguish what the sounds are without having to face the possible danger, but now he sees Eddie is calling him from upstairs, his heart sink and he switches into protection modus. He doesn’t stop to answer the phone, but walks towards their cabinet where they stash all the sharp objects - Rose may be 14 already, the habit sticks - and grips the largest one they have.

His hands are shaking, flashbacks of Pennywise are infiltrating his thoughts, but he bans them to the same dark corner they’re always supposed to reside in. He can’t think of that now, not while he needs to protect the ones he loves.

He gears up, preparing to lunch at whoever is waiting for him, but a sudden hand on his shoulder scares him.

He yelps, louder than he ever had, and rips away from the dark figure. The dark figure turns out to be Eddie, who looks about two seconds away from slaughtering Richie to death, despite the latter having no idea why. Richie’s chest heaves, and with his entire body shaking as the aftershocks of the fright leave him, he has momentarily forgotten the threat in the other room.

‘Eddie?’ He asks confused, blinking up at him.

‘No, the fucking demon that lives in this house asshole. Of course it’s me.’ A chuckle escapes Richie’s lips without his intent, but it dies down quickly and withers away after it’s met Eddie’s scornful gaze. ‘I told you to keep it down, rose is sleepwalking again. You know not to wake her.’ Suddenly, the noises in the other room make sense.

‘Fuck’, Richie curses, slapping a flat palm to his forehead in discontent. ‘I thought it was fucking burglar or something Eds.’

One of Eddie’s eyebrows twitch up, unimpressed. ‘So you dismiss the obvious that it’s either me or our daughter, but you jump straight to a burglary?’

‘Well... in that movie-‘

‘Oh for fuck sake Richie’, Eddie laughs. ‘the movie you insisted didn’t scare you and wouldn’t scare Rose?’

‘It didn’t scare me’, Richie defends, even though the trembles in his voice and his earlier rapid doom scenario thinking suggests otherwise. ‘It just had a lot of scenes that could happen in real life.’

Eddie clearly has more to say, more disgustingly covered up affectionate nicknames to throw around, but another voice, confused and hazy with sleep speak up from the other room.

‘Dad? Pops?’

Instantly, the petty argument between Richie and Eddie is forgotten, and they run in to check up on Rose. It isn’t the first time that she’s sleepwalked in the middle of the night, and it unfortunately won’t be the last, but there’s usually a reason as to why it happens. An overload of stress for example, or the overthinking of a mundane task that was, in hindsight, easily done. Richie’s a little unsure about what set this episode off, he doesn’t recall Rose mentioning anything out of the ordinary.

He’s face blazes and Ashley white when he begins to wonder whether or not a scary movie can set it off, and that he was the one who allowed her to watch it.

He stores the question as to why somewhere far in the back of his mind to revisit later, which he will do, extensively. Right now the most important thing is making sure Rose is alright.

In her daze she stumbled on over into the living room, sitting on the edge of the table glass with her eyes closed gently swaying back and forth. If Richie didn’t know any better, he’d think she was intentionally mimicking the film earlier in the evening. She’s still asleep, but her lips mumble words not loud enough to be tangible.

Eddie puts a single digit before his mouth, silencing Richie before the other has time to mutter something. People who sleepwalk need to be awoken gently, not by brute force or a simple wake up, because the changes environment might spook them. Richie is all about pranking his daughter, but he will never wake her up out of her daze for a quick laugh.

‘Rose’, Eddie whispers, starting to shake her slightly harsher than she’s already doing herself. Richie positions himself behind her, ready to catch in the case that she jumps and falls to the ground. Luckily for all of them, Rose isn’t deep in trance, she startles awake from the bare minimum Eddie was doing.

‘Dad, pops?’ She asks disorientated, rubbing away the sleep in her eyes. ‘Did I do it again?’

‘Yeah sweets,’ Richie says,’how are you feeling?’

‘Tired, the usual.’

‘You’re sure? You have to tell us if something else is wrong okay?’ The first time Rose sleepwalked, she ran into a cabinet and injured her ankle, and she kept it a secret from Richie and Eddie. When Eddie found out, he had been rightfully worried.

‘I promise dad’, Rose reassured him. Squeezing his hand. ‘I just want to go to bed. Wait, why are you two down here? Did I cause another ruckus?’

‘No honey, your pops-‘

‘Was just telling your dad about that fancy new car he was going to buy him.’ He tries to signal to Eddie as discrete as possible, but his frantic eyes are probably giving everything away. Still, he hopes Eddie has mercy on him, at least this once, because Rose will never let him live it down that he got scared by his own hand. God, Richie shudders, he can already picture the blackmail material she would have when she gets older and asks him something Eddie forbade her to do.

Eddie smirks, but he says nothing for now, most likely plotting how he can drag this out the longest to torture Richie.

‘Off to bed now, come on. I’m too old to skip my naps like this.’ Richie inches Rose forward by her shoulders, both to spur her on and to make sure she’s stable enough not to fall over. Richie doesn’t understand that much about sleepwalking, he’s not as smart or intuitive as Eddie is, but he is pretty sure it means she’s still half asleep while moving, and that always uphold a risk.

They make it up the stairs in one piece, low lighting and all, and Eddie parts from the father-daughter duo to go back to their bedroom and doze off for the night. Richie lingers, as he always does whenever he tucks Rose in. Every day, he praises himself lucky for the all opportunities he’s gotten after Derry, from Eddie and the losers to his job and Rose. He can’t believe it all happened to him, so he likes to take a moment to soak it all up.

‘Richie,’ Eddie beckons him over, because though he knows how much his husband cherishes his life, he also knows Rose is a child who is tired and needs her 8 hours of sleep at night.

‘Coming,’ Richie mumbles, pressing down one last kiss to Rose’s and making silly faces to ridicule Eddie in good fun. ‘You’re dad is so bossy’, he complains to Rose, who giggles but shakes her head loyally.

‘Careful, he might hear you and then you’ll be in big trouble pops.’

‘Do not mimic me in front of our daughter Richard. I’m warning you.’

‘I’m telling you he has a wire placed on me at all times’, Richie jokes, patting himself down to sell the joke home. ‘Anyway, Goodnight bug’

‘Goodnight. Oh, and Pops?’

‘Yeah?’

‘You don’t have to pretend not to be scared for my sake, I could see you cover you eyes during the scary parts.’ She turns on her side, facing away from her door and where Richie is standing, though the smirk on her face suggest she’s all too aware of she put Richie in his place. He can’t bring himself to be upset about it, she’s too much like Eddie for it to do anything but endear him.

[honeytea8]

Virtue & Vice • Dio Brando/Reader

A/N: Discord prompt for the week was Masquerade AU, so I decided to write for Dio Brando, using @sammystep’s beautiful bedroom and mask renders as inspiration 😏 (seriously, they are amazing, so check them out at the end of the fic!!); Also written to be gender neutral, so please let me know if I messed up anywhere!

Word Count: 2.9K

Summary: With your estranged cousin in a town full of rumors and ghost stories, it’s rather obvious you’re in for an interesting weekend. Somehow, you catch the eye of an insatiable beast, and whether you manage to survive him is left completely up to you.

Warnings/Disclaimers: Subtle references to Stone Ocean, heavily implied sexual content, Dio monologuing lol

In every city you’ve visited, there was always talk, and by talk, you meant gossip. Grapevines grew from thin air, spreading until the town was entangled in a sickness you liked to call Hearsay. You had witnessed this far too many times in the past, the novelty having worn off a long time ago. But on occasion, you liked to lend an ear to the particularly interesting ones—stories that left you searching for that innocuous sliver of truth amidst fairy tale.

Most times, however, it was merely a drunk spewing his usual nonsense to any person willing to listen. You were rarely ever an audience to such. Still, nothing quite chilled your bones like the tale recounted by one of the strangest men you’ve ever met.

It had been late in the evening, but not too late that the barmaid was not still serving homemade pies and cold drinks to her patrons.

A man only a few years older than yourself was perched on a rickety wooden chair nearby; it gave a high-pitched squeak every time he shifted. He had been there upon your arrival and would likely be there after you were gone. His clothes were drenched in sweat, boots caked in mud. You noticed him observing you from under the brim of his ten-gallon hat, though the rest of his face remained hidden. The nearest available seat just so happened to be right by his own, you hesitated, but ultimately took it.

Your fingers were frozen like cubes of ice and you breathed on them in a fruitless attempt to help them thaw. The barmaid made her rounds and eventually came to you. Only then were you able to order something to warm you up, a simple cup of coffee would suffice. You sat silent and unassuming, content with minding your own business until a gruff voice reached out to you, almost as if his words grew an arm and gripped your shoulder.

“Yer face,” he muttered in your direction. “S’like someone I can trust.”

You blinked at him. The implications behind his words were not lost on you. In fact, it was something you heard quite often. For your own mother had delivered you into a cruel world, and was quick to brand you with a trademark that has followed you for as long as you could recall: an angel.

In return, people seemed to gravitate towards you—were always intrigued by you, listening and speaking to you, soothed by your very nature and presence. It was a gift, you supposed. And like any gift, you preferred to use it for good. Whether it be to share in another’s burdens, or to relieve them of it entirely.

“Is there something you would like to share?” you replied back.

He hummed, then took a long swig of his whiskey in preparation. “Yeah, somethin's kept me up fer days actually.”

“What has?”

“I used ‘ta butle for a lord here in this town—hmm, well ta be frank it was only for a lil’ while... was dismissed soon after.”

The man continued without giving any clear answer to your question, but you assumed a bit of patience would grant you the full story.

“I'm sorry about your job.” you said out of courtesy, but he waved you off.

“Don’t be. S’better this way.” he took another sip, draining the glass in one go and waved for another round. “You believe in heaven?”

“Heaven? Like… the place where good people go when they pass on...? I—I’m not too sure.”

“S’alright.” he smiled for the first time, wide lips stretching across his face handsomely. He looked rather boyish with his half dimple and cleft chin. His expression was almost endearing. You figured he might’ve been quite the charmer when sober. “Name’s Hol Horse, by the way.”

“Hol Horse, it's a pleasure to meet you.”

You introduced yourself as well, to which he tipped his hat in greeting. The whole exchange was rather odd, but you went along with it for the sake of your own budding curiosity.

Hol Horse cast a wary glance around the room. You too chanced a brief look, but not as thoroughly as your companion. Obviously, no one was listening. You smiled and silently encouraged him to surrender the burden laying heavy on his conscience.

Hol Horse gave you his story. Some parts he gave in detail—others he offered in threadbare comments, giving only the minimum for you to catch the gist. From what you could piece together, he had worked as a servant under a young lord in the countryside. It was a large estate left behind by a ‘Sir Joestar’ who had passed away many years ago due to illness. His only adopted son was left to inherit the fortune, along with several of the businesses in town. That was as far as Hol Horse knew, more surprisingly, he had never even laid eyes on his employer during his tenure. Any and every form of correspondence was made through the lord's right hand.

At one point, you were beginning to wonder what picture Hol Horse was trying to paint here. Why did any of this matter? Regardless, it was the earnest pull of his voice that kept you rooted to your seat. That, and the fact that he had seemed to grow even more...disturbed the longer he spoke. His brows were pinched while he thought, showing his great displeasure. You truly hoped, for his sake, that confessing whatever was killing him inside would finally put his heart at ease.

In a lowered tone, he revealed the true cause of his troubles. He had spotted a number of bloodied sheets being carted away from his lord’s sleeping quarters, men and women’s clothing torn to shreds and disposed of in an incinerator. Certain staff members with superhuman strengths and abilities. Phantoms, ghosts, demonic spirits. All culminated by the devastating amount of missing persons. These were some serious, and if you were honest, strange allegations.

“My apologies,” you interrupted, “but I’m not sure I follow.”

“I’m sayin’ that some crazy shit’s goin’ on in this town, and I wouldn’t feel too inclined ta stay if I were you.”

You pursed your lips, far too stunned for words.

“Heaven.” he uttered like a curse. There was a sudden quiver in his lips, that sent a chill racing down your spine. It wasn’t just about ‘heaven’. More specifically, Hol Horse was convinced there existed a way to call it forth.

The sheer ridiculousness of this statement seized your attention. The man was so obviously intoxicated, but spoke like these were irrefutable facts that he too struggled to come to terms with.

A heaven within the reach of mere mortals? Powers no man had any business wielding? It was absolutely ludicrous! But your gut, which had saved you countless times in the past, urged you to not cast this tale aside.

You wondered if this made you a fool.

.

.

.

You had only come to this town per invitation from a distant, older cousin. And while distant by blood, she was also distant to you in nearly every other aspect as well. You and your cousin, Gwess, scarcely saw one another due to a series of familial barriers. By all accounts, you should be wary of her, but she was also newly married now, and you supposed her only desire was to rekindle your long-neglected relationship.

Marriage, children, a home—it had a way of changing people. You were unsure if you could genuinely relate to her feelings, but you would not stop her from trying to rebuild something, even if that something had never truly existed in the first place.

For whatever reasons, your cousin had you set up in a hotel instead of her guest house. You didn’t take it personally, after all, it was her home to do with as she pleased. The hotel suite was lavish; far be it from you to complain.

Clean, white walls, with an intricate gold motif wallpaper, Persian carpeting, high thread-count sheets made from the whitest Egyptian cotton. At your bedside were red roses that added a bit of color and warmth to the room, and near the window was a mini-bar stocked with various alcoholic beverages should you choose to indulge.

Courtesy of Gwess, your outfit for the night’s festivities hung on the bathroom door, zipped up in a garment bag to keep it from either soiling or wrinkling. She had gifted it to you along with a mask for the masquerade ball, though, you felt a sudden trepidation bubbling in your stomach at what awaited you; like a premonition of something to come, it weighed on your chest, and you tried desperately to swallow it down.

Hol Horse’s words from the previous night continued to haunt you in broken fragments. He had warned you not to stick around but it wasn’t like you were staying much longer. Just one more night.

Still, you worried. With the sound of your heart thumping in your ears, you drew out the lace and chiffon clothing from the bag that had kept it hidden from you until now.

A feeling you could not explain washed over you at the sight of what Gwess brought for you to wear. It was white with wing-like patterns sewn down into the material just below the blades of your shoulders. You considered the meaning of this as you donned the outfit and fixed the mask over your face. Mockery perhaps? Who could say?

Gwess greeted you in the hotel lobby with open arms and a warm smile.

“Cousin!”

“Gwess.” You murmured with a nod and a small tilt of your lips. “You look well.”

She grinned, eyes crinkling, “Don’t I?” Gwess gave a twirl, showing off one of her newest purchases. A thinly strapped designer gown with silver embroideries and little birds stitched at the hem and sleeve. In her hands was an extravagant mask covered in jewels and... real life bird feathers. You assumed so, given the traces of blood still on them. Ever the beauty, your cousin was. Her husband, being a lawyer working under a prominent firm in town, made sure that his dearest Gwess wanted for nothing; inherently enabling her rather eccentric hobbies, like mutilating tiny animals and using their remains as accessories.

.

.

.

The venue was a large ballroom not too far from the hotel. It was beautifully decorated with crimson and gold ornaments and glittering chandeliers hanging from the ceiling. The festivities were already in full swing. Peals of laughters, thundering music, flashing lights. It was increasingly overwhelming. The event was more of a bacchanal for the rich and wealthy, a hedonistic gathering for the town’s upper echelon. It was almost ceremonial.

To make matters worse, you lost sight of Gwess, or rather, she had ditched you for a group of familiar faces. So, you wandered about on your own. There were a startling amount of guests, it felt almost like eyes were on you at every moment. Bodies pushed on all sides of you as you struggled to make your way through to a less crowded area. The sick feeling in the pit of your stomach bred more fear and anxiety, until you felt the urge to vomit right then and there.

Escaping into the open balcony was your only form of solace, and perhaps you’d remain there for the rest of the evening. Though, how could you have known that in doing so, you would inevitably find yourself within the crosshairs of an apex predator.

By his third victim, Dio was beginning to think that none of his ‘esteemed’ guests had brought a worthy sacrifice. A sneer curled at his lips as he watched them from his seat above. They were like monkeys, dancing for his entertainment, but unfortunately, he was far from entertained. He lounged back in his seat with a deep sigh.

Dio Brando did not believe in chance or coincidence. He did not believe in a being beyond the proverbial curtain, pulling on strings and orchestrating the whims of humanity. But lately, he’d been feeling a bit of a premonition. Nothing alarming, just an inkling of something he couldn’t quite place. And even after speaking to Enrico at length—

Dio paused in his musing, having caught sight of something in his peripheral.

With purposed steps, he followed the instincts deep within him, a visceral tugging in his gut, until he was greeted with the sight of your back. Poised like a sharpened blade, clothed in white; you stood underneath the lantern’s glow, like an angel hand-delivered to his doorstep. Utterly enticing.

You turned, gazing over at him with a peculiar look in your eyes, like that of a cautious doe in the presence of a hunter. The mask you wore shielded the majority of your face, but you were not someone he recognized. The clothing you were wearing made him all the more interested in finding what lay beneath.

Even from this distance, he could see the light sheen of sweat on the back on your neck. The subtle quake in your shoulders was not hidden from him either, even the bob of your throat as you swallowed.

“Do you mind if I join you?” he finally asked.

You were not expecting the man to speak since he looked so dead set on staring at you. “I don’t mind at all.”

You shifted over a little, an unnecessary action, seeing as there was plenty of room for the both of you. The fresh air did well in calming you down. But the sudden appearance of this man and his wolfish gaze was putting you back on edge. In any other instance, his very aura would have sent you running for the hills, but for some reason, you couldn't even bring yourself to move.

“You aren't enjoying yourself,” he noted with a teasing smile. “Does that make me a terrible host?”

You fumbled for a minute, stuttering over your words while trying to find an appropriate answer that wouldn’t offend him too much.

“C-Certainly not. It’s, um, no fault of your own. These kinds of things never interested me in the first place.”

You tried to avoid looking him in the eye when you responded but that proved to be impossible. His eyes were such a beautiful shade of scarlet. You half-wondered if they even came in that color naturally. He licked his lips, and for a second you caught sight of a sharpened canine.

“One could say that I am looking for something. Why else would I throw such an affair?”

Curious, you angled yourself a bit closer to him.

“Do you believe in gravity, dear?” he brushed his knuckles against your cheek. “That might be the reason why I’ve found you. You feel it too, that innate pull that can’t be explained.” he drew you closer until you were chest to chest. “It’s why you can’t walk away even though you’re frightened. I think we were fated to meet each other here.”

A wind blew as he said those words, tussling his gold spun hair, as if nature itself were confirming his words.

“Don’t you believe in destiny? That our lives are fate’s ultimate composition; a song that plays from the moment we take our first breath until we breathe our last.”

He was standing so close, close enough that you could smell the hint of cinnamon in his cologne and... blood...on his breath. It was making you dizzy, but you were also surprised to find that you wanted him to kiss you. And once that thought was acknowledged, it blossomed into a heady desire that was slowly taking over your entire body. You wanted him, the monster behind the mask.

“What say you, dear? Are you still frightened by me?” he laughed. “Don’t be. You and I are the same.”

“I’m...not afraid.” you said and placed a hand on his chest. It pleased him to hear you say it, even if your body betrayed your words. He leaned forward with one arm wrapped around your waist and gave a long, languid lick to a stripe of your skin, your perspiration was no deterrent at all, in fact he rather enjoyed it. Being this close to you gave him a vision of depthless oceans behind his eyelids with the taste of saltwater on his tongue and algae under his feet.

It was cathartic.

Indeed there were cleaner ways to do this, but he liked the pulse of your jugular beneath his tongue. He let his fangs sink into the flesh of your neck, puncturing your skin all the way through. Your fingers gripped his clothes, but not out of pain. The immense pleasure washing over you felt unlike anything you could ever imagine. Puffs of your warm breath coasted against the shell of his ear. You were far past the point of return.

.

.

.

In the final act, you laid naked in your hotel bed underneath blood speckled sheets. Your neck was throbbing, but it was nothing compared to the pleasant soreness between your thighs.

Dio, the name of your new god, hovered over you bare as the day he was born with an arrogant smile on his lips. Your wrists were bound with the strips of cloth torn from your body. You couldn’t reach him but your gaze still roamed the hills and valleys of his muscled chest in an act of worship and devotion.

An angel, they had called you. But what was angel without a fall from grace? It seemed in order to know virtue, one must first acquaint themselves with vice.

[noladyme]

Chess. Chapter 9

Y/N never hurt anyone who didn’t deserve it. She only took what she needed, or what she felt others needed. She’d stayed out of sight for a long time, avoiding anything that could get her in to too much trouble. But for some reason Rick Flag shows up in her life, and in an instant, everything changes.

TW: Language, sexual themes, violence. Rated M

(This story is obviously non-canon, i.e. Diablo and GQ, but I hope you’ll enjoy it either way. Let me know if you want to be added to the tag list.)

I reappeared, storming towards the door.

“I’m gonna kill her”, I said, every inch of my body tense and in attack mode. Rick rushed towards me, grabbing a hold of my arm, holding me in place.

“Stop, Y/N”, he hushed me. “Just stop!”.

Katana was drawing her blade, and stepping towards me. Rick held up his hand, stopping her. “Step back, Katana. I’ve got this”. The woman stayed back, still on high alert.

I was shaking from rage. “How long, Rick?”, I growled. “How long have you known about me? How long have you been watching me?”.

He wouldn’t meet my eyes. “The night we caught you, was the first time I saw you in person. I’ve known about you for about a month before that”. “Wayne Tower?”, I asked. “Yes”, he answered. “She had me searching leads, given to her by someone… I don’t know who”.

I had a strange feeling I did.

“She’s just been waiting for a reason to flush me out, and use me”, I raged. “I don’t think it’s like that”. “Then, what is it like?”, I asked. I relaxed my body; apparently making him feel it was safe enough to release his hold on me. I sat on the edge of the conference table. He crossed his arms, and began speaking.

“She’s been up to something for a while. Sending the Force on bullshit missions, taking care of small-time crime lords the police could have easily handled”. He looked at me, and I gestured at him to continue. “This last one you joined us on… I think it was your test run. And I think you played into her game. She hoped you’d do whatever you needed to, to prove yourself to the team. Or me. I don’t know”.

“I wasn’t trying to prove myself to anyone”, I said. Maybe myself, I thought. And maybe – just a little bit – to you, I added.

“Either way, she needed to know whether you’d be rash enough to act against your own interest, to get results”. He met my eyes. “And you did”. I shook my head, cursing under my breath. He continued.

“This mission she’s sending you on”, he said, “she’s been planning for a long time. I haven’t been able to get anything out of her; but whoever the target is, I don’t think it’s a terrorist group; not in the way you might think. I think it’s one of the big players in the Gotham underground. Someone who she desperately needs gone”.

He walked up to the old-fashioned slideshow projector Waller had left behind. “Whoever it is, they’re more than just a little dangerous”. “Hatter?”, I muttered, a little worried. “Worse”, he answered.

Katana said something in Japanese; I guessed it was. “I already told her”, he answered her. “After this; I’m done”. His words made me uneasy.

He grabbed the case of slides, picking up one, looking at it; then throwing the whole thing into the wall. “Shit!”, he yelled.

“What did she mean; we’ve been here before?”, I half whispered.

He froze. Katana said a few words, then sent me a sympathetic look, and left the room.

“Rick?”, I demanded.

His face was expressionless. “Waller and I met when she needed me to track down another meta-human. This was before the X Force was officially approved by the higher ups”, he said, sitting down in the chair Waller had formerly occupied. I moved to stand closer to him, but changed my mind when I saw his eyes. They were pained; remembering.

He sighed. “Her name was June Moone. She was possessed by the spirit of an ancient witch she called Enchantress”. He ran his hand down his face, scratching the stubbles on his cheek. “I was put in charge of her protection. But it became more than that”.

“You loved her”, I said quietly.

“I did. I fell for her the moment I saw her, and it wasn’t long before we became more than what we were supposed to be”. He looked at me, face hardening. “Waller had planned it all along. She wanted me locked down; unable to say no to her demands”. I held my breath.

“June was struggling with the spirit. It kept taking control of her, against her will; and one day, she lost her ability to fight it”, he said. “It gave Waller the leverage she needed to get her way on having the Force approved”. He was fidgeting in his seat. “Enchantress built an army of creatures that caused havoc in Midway City; and the squad took her out”, he said. “I crushed her heart myself”.

“You killed her?”, I asked.

“June survived”, he answered. “We were able to move on with our lives, together”.

I looked down. His words were a punch to the guts.

“It was good. For a while”, he continued. “June made tenure at Gotham U, teaching ancient Mayan… something. I never really could figure it out”, he chuckled. “We got an apartment. A dog. Everything was headed in one direction”.

I could see it. Rick and some beautiful, intelligent career-driven woman on his arm, wearing a tasteful diamond ring on her left hand, walking their perfect little mut; or cooking in their stupid kitchen, while drinking expensive wine from expensive glasses. I felt like throwing up.

“She wanted to move on; and forget what happened in Midway City. She wanted to make it so it never happened; and she wanted me to leave the Force. Become a civilian”, he said. “But I couldn’t do that. This team; the job… it was to important to just quit. And I knew no one else would be willing to take on those weirdos out there”.

“So, you left her for the squad”, I said, smiling ironically. “That’s so sweet. And sad for June”, I added.

“She… left me”, he admitted. “I didn’t fit in to her idea of how her life was supposed to be. She wanted a life away from all this, and I couldn’t give her that”.

He walked to stand in front of me. We stood there for a long time, not saying anything.

“It’s over”, he finally said, meeting my eyes. “June is… was… very important to me. But it wasn’t meant to be. I want her to be happy and safe, and get everything that she wants. But I don’t need to be a part of that picture. Not anymore”, he finished, and put his hand on my check.

I pushed it away.

“Don’t”, I said. “I know a rebound when I see it”.

“Y/N”, Rick pleaded. “You’re not a rebound. Everything I said last night was true”. He placed his hands on either side of my face. “This is real!”.

“Is it?”, I asked. “Or is it a way for you to deal with the fact that you lost the perfect woman over a job that you don’t even want?”.

He leant in and kissed my lips softly. I put my hands on his chest; part of me wanting to push him away – the other part wanting to melt into his arms. The angry side of me won.

“Please stop”, I said, and turned away from him, leaving his grasp. “They’re waiting for us”.

He moved towards me again, but I put my hands up in front of me, staring him down.

“This”, I said, pointing back and forth between us, “Whatever it is… was… it can wait. At least until we’ve finished this bullshit mission”.

He looked at me incredulously.

“We’re going back out there, and you’re gonna tell them, Flag!”. He winced at me using his last name. “Tell them everything!”.

I stormed towards the door, but he stopped me in my tracks, grabbing a hold of my waist, pushing me up against the wall.

“I’m not losing you, Y/N”, he said, putting his forehead to mine. “I want us. This. And I know you do too”.

I grabbed his wrist, and with an angry look at him, I pressed the button on it. My disc turned red.

I pushed him away.

“Let’s go”, I said.

---

He did as I asked. The squad reacted as expected.

“I thought you was done lying to us, man”, Diablo said hoarsely, clenching his fists; flames rising from each of them.

“I never lied”, Rick answered. Floyd scoffed.

“Not since June”, Rick reiterated. I looked at the ground in front of me, trying to seem unmoved by his mention of her.

Croc roared at him, grabbed my wheelchair, and threw it at the wall; making it break into a thousand pieces. He looked at me apologetically. “Sorry”. “Don’t worry about it”, I half smiled. “People seem to be throwing all kinds of things around these days”. Rick looked at me from the corner of his eye.

“Look, this is a shit situation, but it’s no different than what we’ve been through before”, he said. “You finish this, and you all get another 10 years of your sentences”.

“Yeah, but we’re also going up against someone we know nothing about”, Digger said from his seat on his favorite napping bench. “And that cunt, Waller, obviously doesn’t give a shit about any of us”. He stood up, kicking the bench, flipping it over. “I’ll show her disposable, when I dispose of her fucking body in a river!”, he yelled.

Floyd walked up to Rick, and looked at him pointedly. “Flag, you need to tell us right now; whose side of the fence you on?”.

“You know I’m with you, Deadshot”, Rick answered.

Floyd looked at him for a second, searching his eyes for deceit. “Zoe’s got a dance recital coming up next month”, he said. “I’ll get you there”, Rick said. Floyd stepped back and nodded.

“Why you want us to do this so bad?”, Diablo asked, voice calmer.

The only part of the conversation with Waller Rick hadn’t mentioned to the team, was the part about him leaving. I would let him keep his secret. For now.

“It’s an order, Santana. I can’t fight it. That’s… beyond my paygrade”, Rick answered, and sighed.

“Quinn”, Digger called. “You hearing this?”.

Harley was in her ropes; effortlessly contorting her body into sensual positions – her eyes in a faraway place.

“Yo, Harlz!”, Floyd yelled. Harley looked at him, ripped out of her daydream. “You paying attention?”.

She slid down the ropes, and looked at him calmly.

“Yeah. We’re supposed to go to Gotham; and take down some bigshot, who’s been stepping on Wallers toes. What are we waiting for?”. She tightened her pigtails, and smiled brightly at us.

Rick shook his head at her, eyes worried. “You with us, Quinn?”, he asked.

She tilted her head, and smiled sweetly. “Always, boss!”.

The door began opening, and we all got into line, legs spread, hands on our heads. Waller came in flanked by a newly showered Griggs.

“I trust the colonel has filled you in with the information you need to finish this mission satisfactorily”, she said. She apparently also expected Rick to have taken care of making up a continued cover story for her. “You will be transported to Gotham first thing tomorrow”.

“What are we, cattle?”, Diablo mumbled next to me.

“Take them back to their cells”, she said to Rick, and stepped aside.

---

Once back at my cell, Rick went inside with me, and shed me of my harness. His closeness to my body stirred me in ways I didn’t want it to. Sending the guards away, he closed the door behind us, and put a hand on my shoulder, turning me around to face him.

“Are you ok?”, he asked. “What do you think?”, I answered.

He exhaled and put his arms around me. I wanted to push him away; but my body was aching for his touch. He leant in and kissed me; and I couldn’t help but respond. Stroking my back, his touch reminded me of the night before.

Laying on my stomach, his hand moved from my lower back, up between my shoulder blades; as he pushed in to me from behind, slowly and deliberately. He kissed my neck; groaning as I tightened around him, drawing him closer to the edge. He moved a hand under me, searching for, and finding, my sweet spot; stroking it. He pulled my hair, making my head turn, and caught my mouth in a passionate kiss; continuously moving in and out of me; stroking me, getting us both closer to our joint climax…

“Y/N”, he breathed; deepening his kiss. My body responded, and I struggled to keep my senses.

“N-no”, I stammered. He stepped back immediately.

“I’m sorry”, he said. “It’s too soon”.

“That’s not it”, I said, and looked into his confused eyes. “I know you think this is real. And maybe I do too. But…”, I paused, and took a step back. “I’m not gonna be your prisoner/guard fantasy. I’m worth more than that!”.

“You’re angry about June”, he said.

“I’m not angry because you have an ex. I’m angry because I’m just another one in the line of your workplace romances gone wrong. You fall for your… wards, left and right”.

“That’s not it”. He leant against the wall, crossing his arms. “This about you being afraid to get close to me, because you don’t trust anyone”, he growled. “I never lied to you, or kept anything secret. I went out of my way to make sure you’d find out what kind of person Waller really is”.

“I don’t want you to buy my affections with little favors”, I yelled. “Am I supposed to spend the rest of my life in this place, waiting for you to show up in my cell with flowers and candy, whenever you need to get your dick wet?”.

He frowned at me. “I don’t want that either. I want you to get out of here. I want us together, without having to hide what I feel for you!”, he answered, frustrated.

I walked up to him, caressed his check, and kissed him softly. “I need time”, I said quietly. “To think”.

He sighed, and his expression softened. “I understand. And I’m not going to pressure you. Take whatever time you need”. He kissed the top of my head. “I’ll wait”.

He went out the door, and I heard it lock.

I was alone again.

---

I had a restless night. My head was spinning from the events of the day. I felt strangely empty.

From somewhere down the hall, Harleys voice was broke the silence, singing an old showtune I remembered from a movie I’d once seen.

“Oh, whats the use of wondrin’, if hes good or if hes bad? He’s your fella and you love him. Thats all there is to that”.

“Shut up Quinn. Some of us are trying to sleep!”, Diggers voice boomed.

It went quiet again. Sleep started to take me over, when Harleys thin voice began again.

“Common sense may tell you, that the ending will be sad, and now’s the time to break and run away. But whats the use of wondrin’, if the ending will be sad? He’s your fella and you love him. There’s nothing more to say”.

A loud crash, from what I guess was a small table hitting Diggers cell door; and Harley went quiet again.

There wasn’t another sound the rest of the night.

Tag list:

@gloriousgam3r​​

@hyp-oh-critical​​

[crimes-inc]

Whumptober Day 1

CW: blood, injury, death threats

2130 words (I really don’t know how it ended up this long, it’s 1:45 am on day 2 oh god)

Let me know if you want to be tagged in upcoming prompts or need certain things tw tagged!

All Trussed Up and Still Nowhere to Go

Barbed Wire | Bound            

The sign on the self-storage entrance stated they closed at 10. Yet here he was at the exit at 9:47 rattling the padlock uselessly against the surrounding metal of the gate.      

Chase stubbornly, and perhaps desperately, gave it one last shake before turning away with a grimace. There’s no way they closed-up shop early with him still inside, right? He only had a few boxes to store away between moves and hadn’t been here that long, maybe half an hour. Hell, he signed a check-in sheet, wouldn’t they be responsible for making sure everyone had signed to check out as well?

The smart thing to do would be to give the owners a call, but Chase had decided to just leave his phone in his car to avoid losing track of it while he moved a few boxes back and forth between the unit and the parking lot. The “smart thing” wasn’t an option.

“Not exactly well-known for ‘smart things’ anyway.” he muttered to himself.

God, he could kick himself. If he ended up stuck here all night, then the morning wasn’t going to be too bright once his phone is blown up with missed messages. Stacy would be as pissed off as ever and just use the incident as another nail in his parental rights coffin, regardless of whether the kids were involved or not. Explaining his humiliating plight to Jackie or Schneep would just lead to two different well-meaning lectures on shit he already knew but can’t seem to get right. Maybe Marvin would laugh the whole thing off but the magician’s attitude towards danger and plain dumbass-ery seemed to change with the tide so there was no telling what he’d say.

Damn it, Chase, think! That’s later, focus on NOW. he chided himself.

He straightened his snapback hat and strode away from the padlock. Someone had to still be floating around, or maybe there was another exit he could use that would automatically lock behind him. After all, he figured the gate, fence, and locks were mostly there to keep people from getting in, not out.

He stole a glance at the high fence surrounding the lot, razor wire lining the bottom and three strings of wire leaning outwards towards the top. Yeah, definitely meant to keep people out. Still, that looked like a wickedly dangerous climb. He’d rather risk the sleepless night inside than getting torn to shreds to get out if he didn’t have to.

He straightened up and walked around the main office, also locked of course, but there was a security camera attached to the awning. Maybe if he…?

Chase jumped up and down waving up at the little white device. It was a long shot but maybe somebody was watching or could send someone his way at the very least. If not, well… if someone ever looked back at the tape, they’d get a little entertainment from the idiot hopping around on-screen. Not so different than his youtube channel if he was honest.

Chase checked his watch again: a crappy digital thing his daughter dug out of a box of Cheerios after he accidentally drowned his Apple Watch in the kitchen sink. “It’s glow-in-the-dark!” She’d declared to him with a proud grin. Chase gave a sad smile back at the face of Shrek strapped on his wrist. He hadn’t seen her face in weeks now.

He swiped at his eyes, recomposing himself. Hell of a time to get swept up in his broken family situation. It was nearly ten now, if there were any remaining workers around, he needed to find them quick.

“Hello?” he shouted, “Anyone still here? Kinda locked in…”

Chase made his way further into the maze of units, keeping his eyes peeled for an employee, caught between hope and hopelessness with each step he took.

Eventually, as he started closing in on the opposite end of the lot, he heard footsteps. He perked up and walked toward the sound.

“Hey, is someone there?” he called out. “Gate’s locked up front and I—”

The sound of the footsteps quickened its pace, and, wait, that sounds like a second pair but it was coming from…

Chase pivoted around in place just in time to see a man bring a pipe down on his head.

He came to in a daze, eyes fluttering open and closed, only vaguely aware of someone dragging his limp body along the pavement. He didn’t even remember falling, and his head was pounding heavily against his skull.

“—thought you said the place was cleared out!”

“Look,” the man gripping Chase said, “I saw closing shift take off, how was I supposed to know some idiot would still be wandering around?”

“Maybe the fucking remaining car in the parking lot would have tipped you off, Shane!”

“What the fuck do you want me to say? I only saw what the cameras were showing before shutting them off completely.”

A third voice joined in, “Shut up, that asshole was making too much noise as it is—let’s just hope he’s the only one around, we’ve pulled too many strings to turn back now.”

Chase felt himself get propped none-too-gently against the outer wall of a unit. He didn’t dare open his eyes. Whatever situation he’d stumbled into, he wasn’t in safe hands and any struggle he put up in his disoriented state would be a losing battle from the get-go. By the sound of things, these people had managed to break into a unit and were rummaging for goods.

The man knelt next to him again and held Chase’s arms together. The loud, sticky sound of duct tape rang out before Chase felt it be looped around his wrists a couple times. Once secure, he stood and turned away.

“Okay then,” the man—Shane—said in a more hushed tone, “the job’s not blown. But what do we do with him, Joseph? I don’t think he got a good look at me before I took him down. We might be able to set him loose once we clear out.”

“That’s a mighty big assumption.”

Chase tensed as the man named Joseph stepped closer to him. A hand was placed on his shoulder as he was shifted forward. He felt his wallet and car keys be slipped out of the back pocket of his jeans.

“Hm. No phone. Eh, we’ll check his car later. See if anyone knows he’s here.” The man mumbled to himself. No one spoke as the contents were searched through.

Chase’s mind was becoming frantic. This seemed beyond just petty theft. While he was glad he hadn’t let on that he was conscious for fear of immediate and violent action, he didn’t know how he’d get out of this without a clear look at his surroundings and his arms taped up.

“Chase Brody. Ugh. Family type, good god, there’s more fucking kid photos in here than cash.”

Joseph paused another moment, most likely pocketing whatever cash Chase had had on him before. Chase was doing his best not to so much as swallow.

“No cops, no witnesses.” He announced, “I’m not blowing this job because some motherfucking dumbass was in the wrong place at the wrong time. We’ll drive him out a few miles and get rid of him. Edith, drive his car over and we can just dump him there. See if the client will throw in a bonus for the trouble.”

As his car keys were tossed to the woman named Edith, Chase snapped his eyes open and kicked Joseph’s legs out from beneath him, causing him to stumble to the ground. Chase shot up as quickly as he could and sprinted away from the thieves. Blood was pounding in his ears. Shit, he didn’t know where to even go. The main gate was still locked, those assholes had probably managed to cut their way through the fence. That probably wasn’t an option for him since he didn’t know where it was or if there were more of them…

He heard cursing somewhere behind him, prompting him to go faster and take a turn down another row. He wasn’t getting out of here, he wasn’t getting out of here. It would only be a matter of time before they caught up to him and they might just kill him on the spot now that he’s proven himself a runner.

At least I managed to get a decent shin-kick in before I die. Chase thought.

He shook the grim thought away, no, he wasn’t dying here tonight and he wasn’t going to uselessly beg to be let go. He was getting out.

Chase began chewing at the frayed edge of the duct tape on his wrists, shimmying his hands the best he could. It was only a little bit of give, but he pumped his wrists sharply against his chest. It took a few tries but finally on the third try, the twisted duct tape broke free.

He peeled the grey adhesive away from his skin and made a sharp turn directly for the tall, barbed fence. He leapt up as high as he could, his right hand just barely missing a barb, and started maneuvering his way up.

“THERE!” a shout came from behind him. Too frightened to look back, he started climbing faster. While trying to be careful about his hands, the soles of his shoes seemed to keep getting snagged on the jagged metal forcing him to stop and kick himself free every few inches higher he seemed to get.

“I’m gonna cut him off on the other side—”

“Don’t bother, Shane, the fence will tear him to shreds before he reaches the top. He’s got nowhere to go.” Joseph said, “Grab his leg. Once he falls, hold onto him, and I’ll tear him into finer pieces.”

Chase kicked his foot free and started grabbing blindly higher. It was just blood, just a few punctures and cuts, he was going back home alive tonight. Scars, be damned. He could feel someone’s hand flail at the cuff of his jeans below him, urging him to climb faster, not daring to look down.

He reached the top. His hand reached the top of the bar to keep his balance, and he hoisted his legs up to stand on it precariously. The way the fence curved the three lines of razor wire outward was going to be tricky but he could—

The fence shuddered beneath him, as the man Joseph threw his weight against the chainlink below, Chase’s foot fell forward and he fell against the three wires bodily, barbs, piercing his shoulder and chest through his shirt. He let out a short scream, trying to free himself from it. The fence shook again as Chase picked himself slowly off the wires, flinging his left leg over to the other side, not quite reaching a foothold below him. His other leg grazed against the wire again, blood slowly cascading down his calf.

His left foot finally managed to find a resting point and he gripped the wire with his hand as he started to work his whole body over and down—the fence shook a third time. Both feet slid out from underneath Chase as his shoulder and hands caught all his weight against the wire, making a slick, sharp red line from the crook of his elbow to his shoulder, and his hands spilling blood through his grip. He released the wire and reached for a lower hold when his other hand let off too soon sending Chase to the ground below.

He landed hard on the ground, just outside the self-storage, one leg partially caught in the coil of barbed wire waiting at the bottom. His body screamed in agony, though Chase himself was breathless, the wind knocked out of him from the fall. He scrambled to his feet, adrenaline and desperation taking over and ran. Whatever profanities and threats were being shouted behind him being drown out in the wind and the turmoil of fear echoing in Chase’s mind as he bled and ran away, away from his captors, his would-be murderers.

Eventually, the injuries began catching up to him, though it seemed the thieves had not. Shit, he was going to need a fuck-ton of stitches. What had started as minor abrasions had become horrible, open and freely-bleeding gashes. Hopefully the hit he’d taken to the head earlier would become nothing more than a goose egg.

The humiliating phone call to his friends about being locked in a self-storage was seeming like a great idea about now. Fortunately for Chase, an upcoming 24-hour convenience store was waiting for him just ahead, and inside, a man with a red hoodie and a slurpee was working the counter tonight.

[interstellarflare]

Welcome Home Soldier || Alex

~PART ONE~

(Call of Duty: Modern Warfare)

Warnings: Swearing, violence, gore.

Summary: After destroying Barkov’s chemical factory in Georgia, and in the aftermath of Alex’s death, you return home for some much needed R&R. But after a surprise visit from Price, you are called back to the line of duty with the delivery of some shocking news.

Author’s Note: There might possibly be a part two? I’m unsure as of yet. I know where I want this series to go, and I have multiple parts planned, but I’m not sure if I should write them. Let me know what you guys think, and a tag list is open. If you want to be added just comment. Enjoy!

The afternoon sky in Washington D.C. was a vibrant violet, fading into pastel shades of blue, pink, yellow and orange over the horizon.

“You’re gonna be home for an entire month!” My nephew, Max exclaimed, jumping up and down excitedly as we made our way home from the park. I laughed softly, nodding my head as a kind smile graced my lips. “You bet! That means you get to come over whenever you want” I mused happily, chuckling as Max wrapped his small arms around my middle, cheering ecstatically as we turned onto my street.

“We are going to have so much fun...” Max began, taking my much larger hand in his smaller one “we can stay up every single night, and make hot chocolate with the little marshmallows and...Oh! We could go to the museum, and...” my mind began to wander, as Max continued to list all of the various things he wished to do. A week. Had it really been a week, since Alex was killed in Georgia? Laswell, after hearing my plea for some R&R, allowed me to return home. There was no doubt that Alex’s sacrifice weighed heavily on everyone. I could still feel Price’s arms wrapped around my torso, holding me back as Barkov’s factory burned.

The memory caused me to feel sick to my stomach, my heart breaking as I realised I would never see that bastard again. A faint hollow smile formed on my lips as I remembered our first meeting. Alex and I had despised each other.

I had been in Urzikstan a few days prior to Alex’s arrival. Having been with Price upon rescuing Farah and Hadir from a Russian chemical lab, Farah welcomed me with open arms. She explained to me that she considered me as one of her own, a very close friend. Even going as far as to call me her sister in front of her brother, which he wasn’t too pleased about.

Farah, Hadir and I stood around a small table as several of Farah’s troops hauled Alex into the room. Forced to sit down opposite both Farah and myself, an annoyed expression forming on his face. ‘What is your message from Captain Price?’ Farah asked blankly, stepping forward out of the shadows towards him with her arms folded over her chest. For a brief moment, Alex’s eyes met mine. They skimmed over my military uniform, my vest, clearly displaying the American flag front and centre. ‘Commander Karim...’ he spoke somewhat awkwardly, trying to keep a level head ‘call me Alex’. ‘I’m listening Alex’.

His eyes met mine again, before motioning to the other soldiers in the room. ‘This is classified...’ he spoke lowly, whilst Farah motioned for her team to leave the room. I remained, much to his annoyance and confusion, but he didn’t say a word. The two of them began to talk, about the stolen Russian gas, which was now likely in Al-Qatala’s hands. Price had briefed me on most this, so I didn’t bother listening to much of what was said. ‘We would never use these poisons...’ Farah retorted sharply, whilst Alex breathed heavily ‘Then help us track it before-’

‘Before they what? Take it to Europe? Or America?’ she continued, releasing a breathless laugh. Alex remained silent for a moment, listening to Farah as she spoke, but before she could go on, the door behind us opened. I turned to watch as Hadir walked past, standing beside his sister. ‘Commander, it’s time to go...’ he informed, his presence only adding more pressure to the situation. I remained silent as they conversed, introductions and so-forth, while they filled Alex in on our plan to attack the airfield. ‘What do you think, Y/n?’ Karim asked, casually turning her head to meet my shadowed form. All eyes were on me now, including Hadir and Alex. I shrugged, pushing off from the wall and joining them at the table, ‘I think Price chose well...’ I drawled, meeting Alex’s gaze ‘I’ll let him know we received our newest recruit in one piece-’

‘Hang on a second, you know Captain Price?’ Alex spoke bewilderedly, his eyes widening in shock. I nodded as Farah and Hadir laughed to themselves, ‘We’re more like family, actually...’ I spoke quickly ‘but yes. I do’. ‘Then why the hell did he send me here and not just tell you?’ He snapped, his surprised tone suddenly changing to malice. My eyes narrowed as I stood tall, folding my arms over my chest, ‘Because we needed you here...’ I responded lowly, watching cautiously as Alex held his ground ‘we need all the help we can get around here’.

I felt myself smiling in amusement. Alex and I hadn’t really started to get along until we became trapped together in the tunnels below the Wolf’s compound. He had pulled me aside afterward, awkwardly expressing how worried he was when we had become separated.

I was brought out of my memory when Max suddenly tugged on the sleeve of my jacket. “Aunty Y/n, who is that man standing outside your house?” he asked quietly, leaning into my side shyly. With a confused expression, I turned my gaze towards my front door. Sure enough, parked in front of my house was a black sedan, with a very familiar figure leaning against its side. I mumbled a few curses under my breath, sighing heavily as I held Max’s hand tightly. “You couldn’t give me one goddamn week to myself?” I called out sarcastically, approaching the front of my house with an annoyed expression.

Price laughed lowly, folding his arms over his chest as he pushed off the sedan. “I know, and I want you to know that I am sorry for turning up out of the blue...” he began, stopping before me with a solemn expression “but this couldn’t wait. I thought it would be best if I told you in person rather than over the phone”. I nodded my head slowly, biting my lip awkwardly as my mind raced with possible outcomes. If Price was here now, then it had to be serious.

Another tug at my jacket sleeve, and I realised my nephew was still present. I cleared my throat awkwardly, wrapping my arm around Max’s frame with an uneasy smile. “Price, this is my nephew, Max...” I introduced, looking between the two with a small cough “max, this is John Price, a work friend of mine”. Immediately, Max’s expression brightened, his attitude completely changing and becoming more vibrant. His eyes sparkled, though he remained silent. I looked back towards Price, motioning with my head for him to follow. “Come on, we’re having spaghetti with little hit dogs for dinner, Max’s favourite” I teased, unable to help the amused laugh that escaped my lips as Price shook his head, smirking at my mocking tone.

“Spaghetti and little hot dogs!” Max shouted excitedly, “Why didn’t you tell me!?”. “Because it was a surprise!” I responded, turning back to face Price with a small roll of my eyes. As we all stepped inside the house, I couldn’t help but focus on the uneasy feeling in the pit of my stomach.

After a late dinner, because Max kept pestering Price to tell him about how we came to work together, my nephew eventually went to bed. Surprisingly, Price was exceptionally good with kids. Then again, he had dealt with more difficult things than a child. As I descended the staircase, I could hear Price chuckling from the kitchen. He remained at the island bench, drinking a bottle of beer as I entered the room. “Your nephew is quite adorable” he laughed, taking a small swig from his drink before him as I stood opposite him.

“I don’t think I’ve ever heard the word ‘adorable’ come from you in the long time since I’ve known you” I spoke mockingly, to which Price snorted in amusement. “Fuck off...” he grumbled with a mocking pout, “Max is going to be a great man when he grows up”. I nodded with a low hum, leaning on my elbows with a small sigh. “So...what did you want to talk to me about?” I asked hesitantly, my tired eyes meeting his own as I waited for his response. This time, Price downed what remained of his beer, clearing his throat before releasing a long sigh. “We received intel from some operatives in Georgia, something I’m not sure I even quite believe” he spoke lowly, clasping his hands together on the bench before him. I sighed in mild annoyance, rolling my eyes. “Price...” I spoke sharply “please, just tell me what is going on”.

His silence caused the uneasiness in my stomach to increase. Then again, it had been steadily growing since Price arrived. With a huff, Price’s eyes met my own. “Alex is alive”.

I choked, gasping slightly as my eyes widened in shock. Alex was alive? I felt my heart stop, my chest suddenly filling with a mixture of emotions; bewilderment, happiness, shock, sadness...

“How?” I breathed, my voice barely above a whisper. “The factory it...it exploded. He-he died-” “That’s what we all thought...” Price mused quietly, shaking his head slowly “but as far as we know, he’s gone AWOL. He’s been charged with desertion-”

“Desertion!? Why?” I exclaimed, feeling the familiar sting of tears welling within my eyes. Sensing my distress. Price stood from his seat on the opposite side of the bench, making his way over to my form. With a simple gesture, Price wrapped his arms around my frame, pulling me into his side as he held me close. I didn’t know whether to scream or cry, whether to be happy or sad. “I know this isn’t what you want to hear...” Price spoke calmly, comfortingly running his hands up and down my arms “but I need you to come back. We have a situation unfolding in Verdansk . Al-Qatala is under new leadership, and causing a hell of a lot of trouble”. Pulling away from Price’s embrace, I sighed heavily and ran a stressed hand through my hair. I turned my gaze toward the clock on the wall, checking the time with a small sigh.

9:30pm.

“Okay, well...I’ll have to call Max’s dad and, get him home before we leave”. Price nodded his head as I continued “You make yourself at home while I talk to Max, and get everything organised. Wordlessly, Price made his way over to the living room and sat down, while I began to make my way upstairs to prepare for the oncoming onslaught of the massive guilt-trip awaiting in my nephew’s room.

[gagmebucky]

[biker!bucky. clothes ripping kink. dollface.]

A gasp falls from your lips, sputtering a high pitched, “B - Bucky!” But he only regards you with a glinting smirk and resumes splitting it up your skin; your hands grab his wrists but his strength is absolute, and all you can do is dig your nails into his skin as you shriek, “What the hell are you doing?” But you already know he loves the marks, when your impression is left on him for others to see. 

in which you look too good in that damn dress, and biker!bucky can’t help himself. (includes biker!bucky x chief-of-police’s daughter!reader, clothes ripping kink, reader receiving oral.) 

—

A big hand clamps over your mouth, texturized with the calluses of a hardworking man, while a strong forearm anchors across your waist. Before you can react, you’re swept backwards into an unisex bathroom as leather and spice wafts your senses, and a familiarly gruff voice settles your fight-or-flight instincts: “It’s me.”

Immediately, you relax which has him releasing you so you whirl around, your back to the automatically locked door. Your heart like a hummingbird’s, you blink in disbelief at the mountain of a man standing before you in all his louche glory. 

“What are you doing here?!” you exclaim in a hushed gasp. Despite yourself, excitement skitters across your skin as you take in your bearded, blue-eyed blackguard: a broad six-foot, towering in dark leather and denim, chestnut brown hair disheveled sexily. All in all,  he’s something that draws attention at a suit-and-tie police ball. “What if someone sees you?!” 

It’s not that you’re ashamed of the ex-con you’ve been shacking up with. It’s more that your father is being celebrated for his dutiful law enforcement work, and finding out his daughter has been getting on her knees for the same type of person he’s dedicated his life to putting away isn’t the place for that. You plan to divulge your relationship to him soon, just not yet. 

Bucky’s tongue darts across his bottom lip, his teeth following as his gaze drags over every curve and contour of your low cut dress clad frame. You’d think he’d gotten enough of an eyeful with the images you texted him. His eyes snap to your face, and he surges forth with an animalistic groan at the base of his throat.

In one second, he grasps you by your hips—a crushing grip glides beneath your satin dress and hauls you high on his waist, palms searing and fingers kneading through a layer of fishnets and panties—and braces you on the bathroom’s sink. A gasp expels from your lips as your back collides against a cold mirror, another sound escaping when he yanks your thighs wide and slots himself between them.

In one hand, his rough pads upturn your jaw, almost squishing your cheeks with his force, maintaining eye contact. Feral, his eyes practically glow, and your skin prickles with a likewise manic passion. “You really sent those pictures and thought I wouldn’t come and see you for myself, dollface?” His wicked orbs flicker down, to the crease of your cleavage, to the slit in your dress, the fishnets covering your legs; his broad chest lifts and falls with a ragged breath. 

A simmering furnace kindles in your core, crackling under your skin at the primal reaction to little ‘ole you. Admittedly, it shouldn’t be surprising given his carnal demeanor toward you has persisted since the first time you saw him—being towed away in handcuffs at the station. Nevertheless, it never falls to ignites something unhinged inside you, a wild side that shudders in anticipation for whatever he’s going to do to you. 

This wasn’t the plan, but God, you love this deviation. 

Upon messaging him that album of scandalous poses, all pristine in your classy—but borderlining skimpy—outfit, you just wanted to work him up while you attended this event. You wouldn’t have thought he would show up here, risking being seen by the flurry of officers who’ve either arrested him, or heard about the suspicious activities in his supposedly innocuous biker gang. Then again, that spontaneousness is one of the reasons why you seem to be addicted to him. 

“Did you think I could resist getting my hands on this pretty ‘lil dress and your sexy body underneath?” he asks breathlessly, baritone pitch raking over your nerves like gravel. “And I couldn’t care less about whether your daddy sees us.” His white incisors scrape across his bottom lip. “What did he expect when he let you go out in something like this?“

Thin straps swoop low and reveal your décolletage as the black satin clings like a second skin; from the V of your chest to the reverse V on one thigh, it highlights all your assets tantalizingly, and fishnets do the same to your legs in stretched diamond-shaped string. 

“Oh? Does that mean you don’t like it?” you goad innocently, lashes fluttering. 

His lips twist up at one corner, entertained by your fauxness. “I’m just pointing out if he didn’t want you to be roughed up by someone like me, he would have told you to put on something that doesn’t make your tits look that good. A blind man can see you’re just asking for trouble.” 

“What if that’s what I want?” you reply then tilt your head and part your lips to accept his thumb into your mouth. Your tongue curls around the appendage while your cheeks hollow with a tight suction; your stare remains on his the whole time, watching the flames blaze in his eyes as he pops free from your Cupid’s bow. 

“Then you’re on the fuckin’ right track, dollface,” he just about growls and leans forward, intention set on kissing you until you’re breathless and dizzy, and your lips are swollen and glossy with his spit. 

Although the prospect tightens in your belly, you stop him with a shake of your head. “My lipstick, biker-boy,” you say to the disgruntled confusion on his face, amused by the expression. “Consider these lips off limits until the end of the night.” You pause. “Then they’re yours to take however you want.” 

Impatience lurks in his gaze, and restraint locks his jaw. Air flares his nostrils as his head tips forward. Distance nose-to-nose, he says a quiet, “Okay.” But there’s something about the quality there that has your hackles rising despite the calmness. “I won’t ruin your lipstick.” 

The second the last syllable is drawn, without any time to consider the mystery of his purposeful diction, a shrill riiiiiiiiiip cuts bounces against tiled wall’s echo. Somewhere below your eyeline, his hands have hooked underneath the mesh and jerked it apart at the bend of your knee. Once carefully stepped in-to brand new fishnets are reverted into a tattered piece of sheer with a hole ovaling up your thigh. 

A gasp falls from your lips, sputtering a high pitched, “B - Bucky!” But he only regards you with a glinting smirk and resumes splitting it up your skin; your hands grab his wrists but his strength is absolute, and all you can do is dig your nails into his skin as you shriek, “What the hell are you doing?” But you already know he loves the marks, when your impression is left on him for others to see. 

“What’s wrong?” he teases, brows knitted in feigned confusion, continuing to litter the floor with your clothing. “Your lipstick is fine, dollface. That’s what you wanted. And since I can’t have those lips, then I’ll just have to settle for these.” 

With an effortless twitch of his hands, your underwear is shredded into two separate pieces. Next thing you know, he’s on his knees, and he’s pulled you forward until your ass is on the edge of the porcelain sink and your legs are prised apart, leaving his face level with your most intimate part.

No time wasted, he delves in. He wastes no time delving in. Tongue first, he delivers a flat stripe up your sticky folds, ending at your slick bud which he immediately suckles into his warm, wet mouth like you’re a lollipop he’s hellbent on getting to the center of. 

Pleasure strikes you like lightning, stimulation zapping you in your deepest depths. Before you can think to suppress it, you give a startled cry, a guttural choke resounding off the walls as you buck into the heaven that is him. 

One of his hands shoots up and stuffs two fingers in your mouth, rasping over your taste buds, and muffling any attention-bringing sounds. All the while, he’s feasting on you in that same passionate and skilled manner he kisses you with. He suctions all the honey he can out of you, batting at your clit with his tongue. 

Shocks attack your nerves, and shakes rack your body, inadvertently causing you to grind against his face. One of your legs curl over his shoulders, heels pressing into leather-bound muscles. Your fingers plunge into his impossibly soft locks and hold on for dear life while you’re upended by blind bliss building in your center. 

Blue eyes pierce your soul, watching the delirium pump through you. Wickedness shines at the forefront of those storming oceanic pools; his pupils are dilated in raw desire at the flush of your cheeks, the look and feel of you desperately sucking on his index and middle digits to smother your pretty moans, the rhythmic undulation of your body.

The pit in your stomach deepens and spirals outward. Your toes furl in your heels, and your spine curves into an arc as an orgasm hurtles through every cell inside of you. A stifled noise vibrates against his fingers which has him jabbing them deeper until he can feel your throat constricting around them. 

As you ride out your wave, he’s wringing every iota of pleasure out of you. He keeps your engorged button swathed between his teeth while you tremble with aftershocks. Once he’s satisfied, he retreats after an audible pop and rises to his six-foot and wide shoulder stature. 

You’re still buzzing with the residual effects, panting heavily when he comes to loom over you. He grasps you by the jaw in his spit-soaked hand, and his lips glistening with your liquid lust, he kisses you. He takes possession of you, snaking his tongue in and claiming every inch for himself; he smears your lipstick and has you suck the taste of yourself off his taste buds. 

Finally, he lets you go to gulp in much needed air. The look on your face already tells him you don’t give fuck all about the ruined cosmetics, or the torn fashion. No, he can see you’re basking in the sensations he invokes in you, grateful you’re allowed to be so undone. 

Your eyes are hooded, Cupid’s bow red and swollen from him, bare thighs dripping with a dull ache between them. The formality of the event means nothing to you now when he’s here, having done that to you. You have half a mind to sneak out with him. 

Like he knows what you’re thinking, he shakes his head. “I want you to go out there. I want them to see the chief’s pretty little princess looking like she just got fucked with no panties and no lipstick. You got that, dollface?” When you nod, all dazed and starry eyed, he smiles. “Good. I’ll pick you up later and ruin your soft, wet little pussy until she’s as swollen as your lips are now.”

 [masterlist / feedback]

[og-danny-dorito]

Don't Fear The Reaper : FRANK CASTLE X READER

{ A/N :

This was done as my take on the prompt provided by @sparkingstoryinspiration (https://sparkingstoryinspiration.tumblr.com/post/189917527227/write-a-story-including-a-set-of-three-things#_=_). This is sort of short considering I'm mainly just trying to test out my writing again, although I may do a part two if someone seems interested enough. I asked people to choose and they chose #1) an old classic, a headache, blushing cheeks. Basically I'm reusing my favorite scenario, “Buff Sad Bad Mercenary Man Gets Medical Care From Sweet Person Who Likes Them For Some Reason”. Anyway, please enjoy this little Frank Castle x Reader thing I put together that is in no way shape or form a piece of quality.

   - Danny ✌🏼👽 }

<---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------->

  A pain throbs on the side of his head, sending shock waves down his neck at every slight bump in the music that the speaker produces. He can feel his spine relaxing into the padding of the couch, head falling back as he feels his muscles tense at the feeling of much warmer skin against his own.

   You've known each other since you were kids, and ever since you found out you lived fairly close by, you visited one another considerably more often than the years where he was in the military and you were off doing your own thing after he left. To find that his new occupation was a justice-handie-outie-guy (a name which he hated, but you could see the dumb grin when you said it to him in a mocking or joking way) was more than a surprise, and yet you hadn't expected much less after he told you how it came to be.

  You decided to act as a shoulder for him to lean on from that day forth, a crutch, if you will, for when he needed it. For old times’ sake partially, but for other reasons as well. Often times, he didn't take the crutch when he had to, which earned him very long lectures about how he should take care of himself because other people cared about him. Apparently your most recent lecture, which was two weeks ago, didn't get through his thick skull well enough.

  The stitches on his arm are more neatly done than when you had done them the first time, considering he only needs five and he seems to be much less nervous with you near an open wound. You'd give yourself the victory of having gotten them to be laid down neatly enough to seem almost like they were done by a real doctor. Well, you just hope they'll function like a doctors' stitches, anyway. You wouldn't want him bleeding all over the place like he had before; even though this old apartment was beyond saving, you at least wanted to keep it clean.

  "So let me get this straight-” Frank rolls his eyes, seeming to raise a brow at you. You're glancing up at him now, vaguely interested in what he has to say. “-you walked in without a plan, and walked out with 10 dead bodies to add to the count and more potential scars too?", you ask, almost disapprovingly. The beginning of 'Don't Fear The Reaper' by Blue Ouster Cult seemed to soon fade into the air, causing you to bop your head and mouth the lyrics as you reached for a patch to place on his arm. A bit ironic, but you don't have much to fear around Frank. Under all the muscle he's really thoughtful. At least thoughtful enough to take his shoes off at the door.

   While you appreciated the gesture, you sure it's excusable when he's bleeding out. 

   He grunts in response, his arm draped over his eyes as he extends his right arm to you and uses the left one to prop himself up on the couch as soon as you're done with the patch. Rolling your eyes at the stubborn grunt he gives, you place a few light fingers on the wound below his ribs, causing him to flinch a little. Your eye flickers up in a wave of concern, although he seems to avoid eye contact, embarrassed a bit.

  I mean, this isn't the first time he ended up on your couch in need of medical attention, nor is it the first time you had seen him half naked and/or basically fully naked. But you understand why he feels embarrassed when he flinches or seemes uncomfortable with something. "...I didn't have much time to make a plan."

  You raise your head at the statement, seeming to look at him with a small smile. He looks you in the eyes for a split second, both of his arms moving to rest on the seat of your couch to pull himself up a bit more. You have to admit that he's toned as fuck, and considering the happy trail that you notice he hadn't gotten rid of had grown a bit more made you feel a little like you shouldn't be watching so intently. Is that weird? I mean, if you see someone naked enough times you start to notice shit, and you can't help but feel grateful that his tshirt was technically ripped to bits by now from knife wounds. Not...that you wanted him to have knife wounds. What are you even thinking about?

  With a grin, you raise a brow and turn the music down a little. Your hands are sort of small compared to his chest, he notices, and your skin feels soft against his, although they may be scarred in some places. It's soothing- more soothing that patching himself up. But he wouldn't say that out loud. "They spotted you, or did they know you were coming?", you ask, placing a bandage on the laceration (you looked up what that meant the other day, and just thinking about the word made you feel pretty fucking smart). Frank sighs, his head rolling back. His neck extends to show where he hasn't shaved in a while. Something must be catching up to him lately, usually he'd at least groom himself.

  "I was sloppy and didn't cover my tracks." The response is half-sigh, and his voice rumbles in his throat. He feels the soreness building up from the intense conditions he had undergone earlier. Turns out it doesn't matter how fit you are; if you fight 10 guys on your own you still end up getting sore after it's over. Humans are designed pretty stupidly, at least that's what's he's thinking now. "How so? I'm assuming you mean you didn't get all dressed in spy gear or they saw you on their fancy cameras-" "You remember that one time when you got into the makeup drawer in my mom's bathroom and then forgot to sweep up the footprints in the powder all over the floor?" 

  You suddenly feel your face heat up, your eyes narrowing as you give a pointed glare at him. You can feel the embarrassment going through your body as you roll your eyes, glancing at him. He's grinning like a smug bastard, although that isn't far from what he is. "It's not like you to get all sentimental on me, big guy; you getting soft?" The weak rebuttal gains a snort from him, and in turn you laugh a little and shake your head.

  There are a few moments of silence that pass between you as he lay there, and for a good few moments you aren't sure whether he's asleep or not. But his occasional movement to check your progress leads you to believe that he’s only half asleep. Frank focuses on the touch of your skin against his. The gentleness of your hands is surprising regardless of your often harsh words. Your breathing stops when you were focused; something he noticed a while ago. That and you looked really cute when you were very focused on something. The music starts to have that's segment where it has the guitar solo, and you seem a little caught up in it before opening your mouth to speak.

  "Look, Frank...", you start, avoiding eye contact by focusing on his abdomen. He can feel himself sighing a little. "Another lecture, doc? I'll wait a good few days before I get myself into trouble again." Frank looks down to see you smile and snort a little. "Well that too, but I wanted to let you know...that you can come here for whatever." You sit up, looking him in the eyes. It seems to only just now restrict him that you are not in fact his hip size, and now that you're eye level he feels much more tense. But not enough to run. "It doesn't just need to be when you're hurt or like...- yeah. Anything you need I got it for you, man.", you say, placing a hand on his uninjured shoulder.

  The song had long since died out to another one that he isn't sure of, causing him to feel a slight unease in not being able to predict which beats and notes will come next. He'd never liked unpredictability, but he's almost certain that he can't avoid it. You soon look down from staring at his unchanging facial expression with a grin, but this one seems more...sad. If that's the word for it. More dismal. "Is it cool if I uh-"

  He clears his throat after the failed statement, causing you to raise your head with a slight look of surprise. "Is it cool if I spend the night? Might not wanna- yknow -walk with stitches in my leg..." The excuse seems to be satisfying enough to you, and you grin. Nodding, you slowly stand up. Aw shit- you're kinda cute when you smile- "Yessir it is, but be careful if you wanna take a shower because the cat likes to sit in there whenever someone's in the room.", you respond, running a hand over your head. You leave the room in pursuit of leftovers, causing him to feel a moment of clenching tightness in his chest.

Shit, he might be getting soft.

<----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------> 

[delosdollxarchivemovetomain]

These Violent Delights

Type: Westworld Fanfic Wordcount: 3863 Pair: AngelaXLogan Warnings: Slight Smut Summary: Chapter Two -  Angela shows Logan to WestWorld for the first time and further connects with him after a couple of his visits though she becomes concerned when he brings a friend and only said friend returns. 

A multi-chapter fanfic that reveals more story to Angela and her draw to the first guest she encounters, Logan Delos. Creative liberties have been taken but theme and characters are owned by the creators of WestWorld.

Chapter Two: Welcome to Westworld

[[Your art could go here! Msg for details]]

((Hi everyone! I finally got chapter two up which focuses more on emotion so it took a while but I really hope that you like it. Small smut warning.))

Chapter One Here

Logan had experienced the product first hand, had been convinced to invest into the Project he knew little about aside from the outstanding technology that had been showcased in front of him. Now, he had the opportunity to delve into the full experience. To step inside what they called Westworld. It was little to his surprise that when he had stepped off that train she was there to greet him. 

“Good to see you again, Mr. Delos.” She holds her palm face up in gesture. “Welcome to Westworld.” Angela’s smile was far too genuine. She hadn’t forgotten this special Guest. The one she was assigned to now that she had secured him, now all she had to do was to always keep him wanting more. That same hand extends towards him now. “Right this way Mr. Delos. I’ll be getting you ready today.” 

“Logan.” He was quick to correct. Mr. Delos reminded him far too much of his Father and that was one man he didn’t care to be associated with. “Oh?” He didn’t know what to expect but his curiosity was already piqued. He nods to her and begins to follow to the dressing rooms. “Now what are the odds they would dance you in front of me again?” He asks with a smirk. He knew their game, now they had better be able to deliver the full experience of this park. 

“Maybe I requested to greet you myself.” She plays back while activating the door before them and waiting for him to step inside. “Here you can choose any outfit of your desire.” She tilts her head while pacing into the room behind him, watching carefully to see what his eye was drawn towards. “You’ll have to look the part after all and…” Her hand rests upon his shoulder. “I’m here to help with whatever you need.”

That whisper in his ear made him approve with a soft growl as his curious gaze shifted about the room, lingering longer on the darker outfits before turning to face her. “And what do you think would look best on me?” He asks while looking down at her with a lift of his brow. A coy smile crosses her lips as her hand slides down his arm as she steps away towards the area he had put most focus on.

“Let me see.” She muses while tapping a finger to her cheek. “You strike me as one to like something bold, yet fitted. Dark, yet edgy.” She used everything she had learned from him so far. From the suits he’s appeared in both times down to his attitude. It was all about perception. “Why don’t we try this?” She pauses before an outfit that consists of a sleek black coat and undershirt with matching pants. “It’s similar to your suit, no? But more for the West.” She paces forward to meet him as he moves in closer and raises delicate fingers to undo the buttons on his current coat. 

“There’s only one way to find out darlin’.” He draws while shrugging his coat off with a wink then works on the rest while she turns and unlocks the glass that holds the outfit behind it. Angela stands aside, watching as he pulls on the new attire. She steps in only to help him adjust here and there then tips her head as she glances over him. “Now I would say that is near perfection.” She says with a smirk then catches his arm to lure him to the next room before he can truly get a look just yet. “But there’s one more detail.” 

The walls before him are lined with hats, one side white and one side black. “Which side do you dare to take? The lawful? Or the lawless…” She watches him carefully as he steps further into the room, already eyeing the black side...looking for that perfect one. “Now where’s the fun in obeying the law when I came here to escape it?” He says with that charming smile then reaches for that perfect black hat to pull it all together. He angles it upon his head then turns to check himself in the nearby mirror, a brow lifting in approval. 

“Well now. You really do know what fits me best.” He muses with mild wonder. Just how they do it he’ll never know. Angela steps forth to make a minor adjustment to his hat then with a smile takes a step back. Always getting close, yet never giving too much. “Now something so devilishly charming is sure to cause some trouble in there. You best be careful.” She says with a  wink of her own. “But I have just the thing for you. Your final piece..” She leads him aside to the weapon area with various guns displayed. 

“They can shoot, but it won’t harm you. Not to say that it may not sting.” She carefully lifts a decorated gun from one of the cases and studies it for a moment. “You’re shots on the other hand? They count.” She turns to hand it over to him. “I would recommend a revolver to start. Light, simple to use, and never jams.” He didn’t think twice after trusting her this far and took but a moment to admire the detail of the weapon before holstering it at his belt.

“Am I ready then?” He inquiries while stepping in closer. “How about a kiss for good luck?” He tries. She glances away with an amused smile, a shake of her head before looking back to him. “Of course, Logan. Whatever you need.” She lifts to her toes to place her warm lips to his, already he had met her own with that heated force. A hand grasped in her hair as he made this one count before he departed reality for the next week. 

“Though..” She whispers as he finally parts to breathe, a hand pressed to his chest. “Not too much. What is there to look forward to if you have it all now?” She asks with a small tilt of her head as her fingers lift subconsciously to trial against her lips at the lingering tingle of his kiss. She laughs softly then deeply inhales, eyes focusing towards the door behind him. “Yes. You’re all ready now. The train will depart shortly to take you there.”

“You know, no matter what’s in there. I always think you’ll be my favorite.” He taps the tip of her nose while backing towards the door. She seemed so human, so aware. If the rest were like her? Well, that would truly be something. This experience was one he had been looking forward to for a while now. As much as he didn’t want to leave this perfection behind he was dying to know what it was like to leave the reality that hurt him so much completely. “It’s a shame I have to go so soon. Are you sure I can’t take you in there with me?” He teases. Though part of him meant it. Angela chuckles to herself then steps forward to ease him towards the door. “I’m sure. Logan.” She states with finality. “But, I’ll be waiting for you in the Mesa Gold after your journey to help you adjust back into reality.” 

Logan laughs to himself. “As if that will ever happen.” He mutters while stepping into Angela again, attempting to steal one more kiss before she pushes him back, voice stern this time. “Logan.” She nods towards the door. “Go.” She had lured him this far, now her goal was to get him into the actual park even if he needed a hard push out the door. He smirks as he takes a few steps back, tipping his hat at her. “Alright. See you on the other side then.” He winks then vanishes through the door that led into the train.

~                                                              ~                                                                                  ~

Adjust back into reality.  When had he ever been adjusted to it to begin with? When did he ever want to be? All his life Logan sought ways to escape it and this may be the best one yet. WestWorld. A place where you could do whatever you wanted, no rules or consequences. In the end no one was truly hurt, and nothing mattered. No feelings to worry about, nothing to feel guilty of because it was all just a game. To say that he was impressed was an understatement. One week, and he already wanted more.

Logan sat stretched across one of the chairs in the Mesa Gold, a half empty drink curled within long fingers as he mulled it all over. Thinking about what he had to return to. He’d have to sell this place to his father, a man he never cared to speak with only to be brushed away at the next convenience. Not only did he worry about that, but the fact that his sister had chosen to soon marry the biggest weasel of a man he had ever seen and his father seemed to adore that weasel. That weasel that would be nowhere without him. 

His fingertips start to squeeze hard against the glass in his hand but then she appears in his view. That perfect Host, the pretty girl. “I do hope your stay was to your liking, Logan.” Her voice infiltrates his sour thoughts, lulling him back into a world he felt more comfortable being in. That charming smile glides back across his features while he lifts his glass for a slow sip of his drink all while eyeing her approach. 

“Was it to my liking?” He leans forward. “It was the best damn thing I’ve ever experienced. I’ll be sure to convince my Father for the full investment for this project. That’s what you want to know. Right?” His teeth graze over his lower lip as he glances over her. “They were all something else in there, really, but as I said before none of them are as perfect as you.” 

Angela laughs lightly with a glance away. “It’s excellent to hear, Logan. But I did come to see how you are doing as well. I’m happy to know you enjoy our services, but are you feeling alright?” Her head tilts back to him. She wasn’t a mindless machine, she could read emotions well enough to know that something had been bothering him moments ago, whether he would choose to admit it or not.

“Never better.” He says with that same grin plastered across his face. With one quick motion he finishes his drink and sets the empty glass down on the small table beside him. “In fact, I want to book the next trip soon. Make it two weeks this time. After I talk to the ol’ man that is.” His fingertips glide back through his hair and he stands. “You’ll be here to greet me again I presume?” He leans down to whisper in her ear, a hand pressed to her back. “Because if I’m funding this then I always want the best.” 

His voice ends in a hiss, his hand gliding downwards when Ford’s strong voice boomed into existence behind them. “Logan.” He stands with hands in his pockets, a wry smile upon his face. “A moment to speak with you before you depart? I’d love your feedback on the experience of WestWorld.” He lifts one hand, fingers curling in gesture. “Come.” He beckons with a slow turn to lead him inside where most Guests were never allowed to step foot.

He glances away from Angela with a click of his jaw then tips a nod to her. “I’ll see you soon.” He purrs then drifts off into the depths of the Mesa. 

                                ~                ~                     ~

The next time he showed up he wanted to play longer. Playing half dressed games with her, pinning her with wanting kisses against the wall, nearly begging for more but that was one thing that she could not give. She always had to leave him wanting. For where would be the drive to return? In reality, it was all foreplay for the park and once again she found herself shoving him through the door when he almost missed the train again and in two weeks time she found herself curiously wandering the Mesa Gold in search of him.

This time he was leaning upon the railing, overlooking the view of the canyon of the park in some sort of silent musing. What he could possibly be thinking about had her intrigued. “Something on your mind, Logan?” She softly asks while bringing him a drink. Her voice pulled him from his distant reveries. She was the point between fantasy and reality that seemed to make it all tolerable and the sight of her always brought a smile to his face. 

Could he tell her his thoughts that he always kept hidden from the rest of the world? The thoughts that would only get him pushed away. Why the hell not? She wasn’t real, right? “Ah. Pretty one.” He slips the drink from her hand and raises it to her then takes a sip as he makes up his mind. He needed someone to listen, even if it was just the illusion of doing so. 

“Did you want to hear them?” He wanders over to a corner of the Mesa where they can sit down, Angela slowly trailing behind and posing herself in the seat across from him. “I’m willing to listen, Logan. I find you quite intriguing.” He laughs to himself, at least someone thought so. “This place.” He begins. “It's amazing.” He gestures with his glass to the canyon below but soon leans forward to speak lower. “But it’s the one thing I have in this world to get away from all the shit that exists outside of it.” He takes another drink and shakes his head, eyes looking upwards. 

“You’re lucky to not know what it’s like out there. Lucky to always have someone wanting you, to be the one that leads people to their dreams. What you are, You’ll never know suffering unless they program it into you.” If they weren’t supposed to recognize such things it wouldn’t matter what he said. Her false empathy would be enough, better than he could ever get. “And would you believe that my father is still unsure of this place?” He asks with a laugh. “I feel like he’s throwing the money anyway just to get me out of his way. But what else is new.” He sets his glass down and looks back to her.

“Not to mention my sister wants to marry some nobody that comes wandering into my company. Williams a sneaky one though and I don’t trust him. Funny that ol’ mister Delos seems to favor him though!” He says with sarcastic joy. “He’s a quiet one and too polite. Means he’s hiding something, and you know what? I’m going to find out just what that something is. By bringing him here.” He taps his finger at the surface of this table.

“This place? It draws out who you really are. You find that out really damn fast and I realized that all those machines down there have far more direction in their life than I do. More purpose. At least here they have a meaning and for that short time? I can too.” He rubs at his temple, lines creased at his brow. “And here I am talking to a -- “

“Logan.” She eases his hand away from his face and into her own. She may not understand quite yet exactly what he was talking about but she knew enough to know that he was distressed. “I hope...that you figure out what you need to figure out.” She states while gazing into his eyes and in that moment she seemed real, far too real. Maybe he’d just been in there too long this time. 

Regardless, a solemn smile is what he has to offer her. “You’re that one constant that always knows how to make me feel better. But I suppose that is your purpose in the end.” He stands up, smoothing down his coat. “I’ll have you meet him next time, William. Because after the trip I want to hear everything that you think about him and I want you to know how right I was because I’m going to be.” He claims definitely. “But I shouldn’t keep you, I have to go.” His palm softly grazes her cheek as he gazes at her one last time before he departs once again.

How could something so unreal make him feel that he mattered? He leans in for a final kiss, slow and lingering. He sighs against soft lips as he draws away and looks into her eyes. “Thank you.” He says quietly then forces himself to turn away and head towards the exit.

                         ~                       ~                            ~

For all that time Angela found herself remembering his words over and over again. He was different from all the other Guests that she showed in. None of them spilled their feelings to her, they just wanted the next best thing and always came out booming. They spoke of trivial matters that barely stuck but something Logan had said just wasn’t sitting right with her. Things he had told her drew blanks that she kept finding herself revisiting as if he was speaking of some other world. A place beyond this. Wasn’t this the real world? She couldn’t make sense of it but still she mulled over the fragments time and time again. 

She knew more than the other Hosts, she was self aware that she was one but she also knew what her duties were. Not to question it and to focus only on the guests. She knew she was different than the Guests but he made it sound there was far more out there that she didn’t even know.  What was so terrible that upset him so much. His father and this...William. 

The next time he showed up she saw him right away, Logan did say that he wanted her to meet him. To get her thoughts on him. So nonchalantly Logan slipped himself off towards the other Hosts he had gotten to know, leaving her to lead William into his first journey. She remembered that he wanted her thoughts so she played right along, paying all the attention to get a good read.

Right away she picked up on his quietness, how timid he was. He seemed unsure. “Welcome to Westworld.” She smiles in greeting, sweeping him along to get dressed. Not a man tempted by temptation, she found him quite boring. “Ease up William, you’re going to have fun in there.” He seemed far too tense and it was still her job to make the Guests comfortable whether he denied or advances or not. 

“Wait… are you?” He wasn’t even sure if she was a Host or a real person and that only made her smile. “If you can’t tell. Does it matter?” She lifts a brow. Maybe it didn’t matter at all. Maybe the differences between them were fewer than she thought. She noted everything he did, how he settled on all white, the pure route. Or, maybe he didn’t know himself. He was hesitant upon receiving the gun but tucked it away nonetheless and once he seemed satisfied she saw him to the train, watching as he stumbled his way in. 

He too seemed lost yet he seemed to be holding too much of himself back. She could read the fear that he had, was it fear of this new adventure or fear of himself? She was shaken out of her analysis by warm hands on her and that pressing, familiar body backing her to the wall. “You didn’t think I’d go in without coming to visit my favorite Host, did you?” It was Logan’s voice rasping in her ear, breath already stained with whiskey.

“Logan, you’re going to be late.” He was on a whole new high with bringing his friend along, more than eager to get into that park and seemingly at her. “Don’t worry about that. You met him right?” He laughs. “I cannot wait to tell you what happens, maybe it’ll shake him up a bit. Just maybe he’ll learn to have some fun and maybe I’ll learn a bit too. But you…” He bites his lower lip. “You always leave me wanting, pretty one. When are you going to let me have just one more taste?” He licks across her lower lip and pulls her into him. Always leave them wanting more, make them happy. There was a fine line,a finer one with him. He was willing to return, he needed this. Needed her.

She closes her eyes tight and caves herself to his desires, and maybe her own. It was the heat of his body that she missed above all. There wasn’t time like the first night they ever had, but there was time enough. Her hands slipped under his shirt, pressed against his warm chest as she kissed from him all the breath that he had until he was left panting for more. While his hands sought her skirts she sought his zipper, guiding it open and pushing down the fabric that she could. 

He used the wall behind to get the leverage that he needed and with a hard kiss found his way back inside of her. Her moans music to his ears. “I’m going to miss you this time.” He growls into her ear. With each thrust the wall grazed against her back and her nails sank into his shoulders while she was left between cries of pleasure, gasping for air. Touching others was so robotic but Logan, he felt familiar. The Guest that taught her more than others cared to offer. “Logan!” She cries his name, sending him over the edge as he carefully eases her from the wall back to the floor. 

His breath heated her ear as he caught his own and it was one last passionate kiss that he stole before the warning for departure echoed through the room. “You have to get going.” Still winded she pushes him towards the door with barely enough time to get his pants back up. “I’ll see you after.” She catches his arm, guiding him to look back. “Find what you need to find.” She says with a look of seriousness within her eyes.

She remembered. That brought a smirk to his face, a smile. “I can’t wait. Later doll.” He tips his hat at her then hurries through to the train where he’d worry about zipping back up. 

~               ~                 ~

Angela waited for them to return, idly chatting with other Guests as the Mesa while seeing others in in the meantime. Finally a spark had lit in her chest when she saw William, who had opted for a black hat in the end, that meant he was here too. The Mesa Gold wasn’t big and as she continued to look around she realized that William was the only one who was here and an unfamiliar sinking feeling took over somewhere inside her. 

@fific7  @the-blind-assassin-12  @animus-inspire(forgot xD)

((To be continued in Chapter 3))

[[Characters belong to Westworld and not to me]]