#yeah i... don't know where this came from either

[devswritingcornerorsmth]

Can you do a Post realize Scenario where Curt & Rod,Dorian are on a date with Reader until they run into the Reader Old High School Bully who made some cruel insults to Reader driving there to tears whole trying to walk away until there billy try to grab or follow them only to see a enrage Dateable looking at them

my first curt and rod request thank you mwah

the bully's name is just 'Bully' cause uh.. I'm uncreative,, also names are hard and someone reading might be named that,, sorry.

bully's gender is up to interpretation, dude is used as a gender neutral term.

tw: bullying, some swearing, and mentions of physical abuse

----

Curt & Rod

= Curt and Rod decided to take you out for a simple date, just a walk around town, to definitely not look at others and throw shade at those who deserved it. It was going great, laughing at stupid jokes, and playfully making fun of one another, never going too far with the shade.

= That was until you spotted them, halting in your tracks. Your old high school bully, the same one who threw you to the ground, locked you in the closet to force you to skip class, and got yelled at when you went home by your parents/guardian. The same one is currently walking toward you. You hide behind Curt and Rod, who look confused and worried as you hide behind them. They were used to it since you hid behind them whenever someone random came to the door, but they've never seen you this scared.

= You tried to tug the two away to find some place else, but were quickly stopped by the former bully, who hasn't changed a bit, well, personality-wise. Bully spoke up, stopping you with a harsh grab to the shoulder and asking where you were going. The words caused you to tense and freeze up, unable to move as the familiar, cruel voice rang through your skull once more. Curt and Rod were quick to put a stop to the bully touching or saying anything more to you.

= "Nah, who the hell are you and why are you touching OUR lover?" Curt questioned, with Rob standing close by while blocking you from Bully's view. The two were glaring, clearly not happy with how distressed you were towards this person. Curt's hands were on his hips while Rod's hands crossed over his chest.

= Bully explains in a sickening sweet tone that you two were old friends and they wanted to catch up with you. Curt and Rod stare at Bully, then at the other, and then at you. You shake your head no, telling the duo that this was the person who made your life a living hell during high school.

= "Oh, them?! Ooh..." Curt and Rod look over the bully with disgust before smirking at each other, already knowing what was about to happen. You had told them about the bully before during one of your more deeper conversations, needly to say, both were pissed off and ready.

= "You? With that haircut? And those split ends? Do you even shower, dude, 'cause I could smell you a mile away, damn. Oh, honey, is that a jersey from high school you're still wearing? *Someone* peaked in high school and fell down *hard* after. That shit dirtier than your shoes." Curt waves a hand in front of his face, glaring at the bully with a disgusted look.

= "And if we wanted to hear an asshole, I woulda farted. You ain't worth the fuck it took to make you. C'mon." Rod quickly turns and takes you, leaving the bully's self-worth in shambles and unable to find a comeback against the masters at throwing shade.

= Curt and Rod take you somewhere else, a quieter, calmer place. They ask if you're alright, sitting on either side of you as they sit you on a bench to calm down. They remain by your side until you're calm again and thank them for helping you deal with Bully.

= "Hey, it's rule five, babe, always defend your homies." Curt says with a smile, giving you a quick peck on the cheek. Rod gives your hand a soft squeeze, leaning against you.

= "Yeah, and you don't gotta worry 'bout that person anymore. Did you see his face when we left?" Rod cackled, making Curt laugh with him. The three of you spend the next few minutes talking while you give them more ammo on the bully to throw shade at. The next time on their talk show, they both go on for a full hour on your bully, having to take multiple breaks to catch their breath from laughing so much. Your bully is thankfully never seen or heard from again.

---

Dorian

= Dorain had treated you to a fancy dinner near the club where he worked, inviting you out after a long week of promises and apologies for being so overworked and unable to make time for you. He is able to make it up to you through your favorite foods and desserts. The night was lovely, talking about everything and anything, until you spot your past bully enter.

= Memories of abuse and haunting words flash through you again, as if you were getting punched and beaten all over again while everyone just watched or cheered. You were snapped back into reality when Dorian carefully placed his hand over yours, asking if you were alright. You hesitate before gesturing toward Bully, telling him that they were the person who tortured you through high school.

= Dorian's eyes went wide, and he straightened up, a look of both worry and protectiveness as he looked around. He quickly spotted Bully and frowned, looking back toward you. Dorian asked if you wanted to leave a little early and head back to your place to watch a movie or something instead, not caring about the rest of the night he had planned for you. You briefly glance over at Bully, but Dorian pulls you back.

= "Just keep your eyes on me, luv. I'll keep you safe from that bastard, I promise. Don't give them the satisfaction of a scared glance."

= He waved over the waiter, asking for the check as soon as possible. You keep your eyes on Dorian as he gives you a warm smile, his hand still over yours, and comfortingly brushing his thumb over your knuckles.

= "It'll be alright, luv." He says, trying to keep you calm despite your bully being barely a foot away. You feel a shiver go down your spine when you feel your bully's eyes on you, a feeling that made you sick to your stomach. The deep ache of those hits slowly came back, worming under your skin.

= Dorian knew about the bully and what they had done to you, knowing that they were in the same room made his blood boil. He wanted to go over and confront the bastard himself, to show them what it felt like to be the smaller person. But he needed to be there for you first and foremost.

= Once the check came, Dorian paid it in full, leaving a good tip as well, even if he didn't have to. He took your hand and left, keeping you close to his side as the two of you walked. You faulted briefly, but gave your bully just enough time to catch up to you and grab your wrist to try and pull you back.

= "Hey, where are you goin'?" Bully asked in a mocking tone, but before they could tighten their grip, Dorian grabbed the bully's arm and ripped it from you, glaring the bully down. His hold was rougher and harder than expected, but the audacity of your past bully had genuinely pissed Dorian off. It was almost scary to see him like this, even if it wasn't directed toward you. Also, just a tiny, little bit attractive.

= "What'dya want with my partner, *mate*? 'Cause if it's something stupid, we're gonna have a big problem here." Dorian said, not leaving out the underlying threat he would gladly carry out to get back at the bastard who tortured you for years. The bully was thankfully smart enough not to mess with a large man and took a step back, but Dorian's grip was firm and pulled them right back.

= "Don't you ever come near my partner or me again, do you understand, you tosser? You don't want to find out if you do, yeah? So, piss off." He shoved the bully away, glaring at them with hate and anger in his eyes. The bully quickly ran, not wanting to take the chance of going against the bouncer.

= Dorian smiled down at you, the anger melting as soon as your eyes met his.

= "Told you I'd protect you, luv." He leaned down and kissed your forehead, his beard scratching your browline.

----

writing insults for curt n rod were really fun lol also unhinged dorian will now be on my mind for the next few hours

get it unhinged?

i'll see myself out

[taodarlington]

ALL I NEED , radiohead .ೃ࿐ bakugou katsuki

SYNOPSIS : bakugou katsuki has it bad for you.

NOTES : let's ignore the fact that i disappeared for two weeks, no use of y/n, fluff, should i start writing stuff other than fluff?

it might not seem like it to bakugou katsuki, but everyone and his mother knows that he has it bad for you.

not that you'd ever hear him admitting it. he'd rather blow himself up before telling you anything about flowers and love and all that bullshit that has his heart tasting like tart and his cheeks flushing redder than an over-ripe tomato.

despite his stubborn streak, everyone still knows anyways. who even came up with actions speak louder than words? that loser must have been really, really desperate. what a pushover.

well, it's not his fault that he always knows what you need when you need it. you were always complaining or whining about one thing or another, according to him (you mentioned forgetting something once and, surprise surprise, he's tossing it at you two seconds later).

did you forget your hairtie for training? oh, don't worry, he's got one he carries around on his wrist and he's already behind you, pulling your hair up into a ponytail. shit, you forgot extra pads. he's pulling one out from his backpack and is discreetly handing it to you. and he somehow knows what day you're on, predicting your flow with pinpoint accuracy. he makes a complaint about how you're so forgetful and you're such a mess, but he never means it. no way. not to you. never to you.

and he never does this for anyone else. sure, he respects the girls in his class, and yeah, he supposes that his old hag isn't so bad either, but when round-face asks if anyone's got a hairtie, ain't nobody is gonna catch him handing one to her, even if they know he's got one. like, what? hairtie? the hell even is that?

he doesn't even realize that he's roping you into those cheesy little couple tiktok trends. he's not that much into posting, only ever uploading on his story about your birthday, his own birthday, or some big achievement he'd recently unlocked. however, when he discovered a popular tiktok trend as the first video he saw when opening the app, that boy had to resist the sudden urge to kick his feet and grin like a little middle school girl.

he does these trends without telling you, too. propping his phone up during training and teasing you, calling you names that make your stomach flutter with butterflies and placing his hands where he knows will make you flustered.

he posts the videos privately, where only he can see them and be satisfied with himself for being so bold (spoiler, this idiot just looks incredibly shy instead).

don't forget how red in the face he gets when he sees another guy striding towards you with a face full of confidence, phone in hand and a hint of arrogance in the air. who does this extra think he is?

he has to bite his tongue to stop himself from laughing his ass off in front of the guy's face when you refuse him your number outright with a flat expression and an even flatter tone. when the loser rolls his eyes and comments that you were ugly and not worth it anyways, bakugou is fuming in his shoes. his gaze darkens behind you as he seethes, and the guy immediately backs away. who wouldn't fear one of class 1a's absolute juggernauts? this boy was a tank.

he acts all innocent when you turn around again, pretending like he didn't just scare the guy off with his tail between his legs. it's only when you laugh and call him cute for being so protective of you that his rough demeanor fades and he's visibly happier for the rest of the day (he stopped frowning).

when he does get over himself and finally confesses to you in the privacy of his dorm room with a small bouquet of your favorite flowers and a bowl of your favorite meal he cooked himself, he was ecstatic when you said yes. it had taken so much trust and so many petty arguments to get to this point, and hell would have to freeze over if he were to ever mess this up for you.

he likes to show you off, too. there isn't ever a time your name doesn't crop up in any of the seldom civil conversations he has, with a very obvious compliment following. he's always got to be touching you, one arm draping around your waist and hand settling on your hip, or coming up behind you while you're talking to someone and burying his face into the crook of your neck as his hands wrap around your sides.

and of course he'll spend a good buck on you whenever you want. if you're out shopping for dorm necessities and you happen to look twice at a cute bag in display at a window, expect it to be handed to you the next day. and you bet he'll beat up anyone that comments about how they think you're using him for his money. how could anyone say that? you're the most perfect, gorgeous, breathtaking person he's ever had the audacity to meet, and there's no way in hell that he'll ever let anyone and anything bash your existence.

so no, bakugou didn't give two shits about telling you mushy words and pretending to be nonchalant. fine, whoever came up with actions speak louder then words maybe had a little point. just a tiny one. whatever. if bakugou katsuki was going to show you love, he'll show it to you better than anyone else ever can.

do not copy, translate, or repost my work.

masterlist ༊ requests

xoxo, tao

[orellazalonia]

I absolutely LOVED your 4th of Jult fic! It's deliciously hilarious. Just a thought for a short fic;

StuckyxReader, where they don't realize that reader struggles with the fireworks just as much as they do and reader doesn't realize they struggle? They end up cuddling and bonding. Just something cute and festive.

Cheers!

-🤍🐺

Hello, dear! Thank you so much for the kind words, I’m so happy you liked that fic. Such fun and silliness lol. I know it’s past 4th of July, but I hope you still enjoy this! Thank you for the request and Happy reading!!!

Fireworks and Comfort

Summary: On the Fourth of July, you quietly struggle with the noise of fireworks, unaware your boyfriends also feel the same. When the truth comes out, the three of you find comfort in each other’s presence, choosing quiet connection over forced celebration. (Steve Rogers x reader x Bucky Barnes)

Word Count: 1.3k+

Main Masterlist

It was your first Fourth of July with them.

Your loving boyfriends, Steve Rogers and Bucky Barnes.

The strange little trio you’d fallen into that started with cautious glances and slow affection, until it had quietly become something real. No one had labeled it, not out loud, but it was there. In the way Bucky’s hand brushed yours when he passed you the coffee. In the way Steve always angled his body to make space for you on the couch, no matter how little room there was.

It was easy, warm, and unspoken.

So when Steve mentioned the idea of a backyard cookout, you didn’t hesitate. “Sounds great,” You said, smiling. “Want me to bring anything?”

Bucky raised an eyebrow. “You cook?”

“I burn toast. I meant like… napkins.”

Steve laughed. “You can keep me company at the grill instead.”

The day unfolded slowly, like sun-warmed honey.

Steve wore his red-white-and-blue apron with comical pride, flipping burgers and laughing as he argued with Bucky over the “proper way” to make potato salad. You sat on the porch rail sipping lemonade, legs swinging, and soaking in the smell of grilled food and grass clippings, and trying not to think too hard about the night to come.

You always told yourself the fireworks weren’t that bad. And they weren’t, not compared to how they used to be. But the noise, the suddenness, the way your chest tightened like something was about to go wrong and you had no idea what; it always left you shaky, tense, and embarrassed afterward.

You’d never told anyone. It felt like such a small thing to struggle with. And besides, Steve and Bucky had been through so much. If anyone deserved to enjoy fireworks and flag-waving and whatever this day meant to them, it was those two.

So you smiled, laughed, played cornhole with Steve (lost miserably), and let Bucky steal bites from your plate while pretending to be offended. It felt good. It felt real.

And when the sun dipped low and the fireflies blinked to life, Steve lit a few sparklers for the neighbor kids and Bucky slid his arm around your waist, pulling you close. “You doing okay?” He asked softly, watching your face.

“Yeah,” You lied.

The first firework went off just after nine. It cracked through the night sky like a thunderclap.

You didn’t flinch, not visibly, but your whole body went still. The glass in your hand tightening just a little too much. Your jaw clenched as your eyes fixed forward.

“Wow!” Someone down the street yelled, but it sounded like it came from underwater. Distant and too loud.

Another firework burst overhead. This one sent a ripple of gold sparking above the treetops, and the sound rattled something inside you.

You swallowed hard, set your drink down too gently on the table, and forced a little smile as you stood up. “I’m just gonna… move over there for a minute. Wanna get a better view.”

You turned before either of them could answer, walking down the steps and across the yard, away from the light, toward the dimmer edges of the grass and shadows. Somewhere you could breathe. Somewhere the sky wasn’t exploding.

Back on the porch, Steve watched you go, his brows pulling together.

Bucky, next to him, had gone very still.

“You saw that too,” Steve murmured.

“Yeah,” Bucky nodded. “Too quiet. Too fast.”

Steve stood, lips pressed in a thoughtful line. “C’mon.”

They found you sitting alone on the edge of the yard, knees drawn up with your arms wrapped loosely around them. The lights from the house didn’t quite reach you here, but the burst of fireworks flashing red and green across your face gave them just enough to see the tightness around your mouth. The way your shoulders were too high and tense, like you were bracing for something.

You didn’t hear them at first. Not until Bucky spoke, low and steady.

“You okay?”

You turned your head a little too quickly, as if you’d been caught doing something wrong. “Yeah. Yeah, I’m fine…”

Steve crouched down beside you, not crowding, just close enough to be there. “Too much?”

You hesitated. “No, I mean… it’s just a lot of noise. Not a big deal.”

But Bucky was already sitting next to you, arms resting on his knees, watching the sky with something far away in his eyes.

“I hate them too,” He said simply.

Your eyes flicked to him.

He didn’t look at you when he spoke, just kept his eyes forward.

“Always have. Makes my chest go tight. Like something’s about to happen, even when I know it won’t.”

Steve sat on your other side, letting his shoulder brush yours. “Same. I keep expecting the sound to mean something.”

You blinked at them both. “Why didn’t you say anything?”

Steve gave a soft, rueful smile. “Didn’t want to ruin it for you.”

“I didn’t say anything because I thought you two liked it!”

Bucky snorted. “We’ve all been suffering in silence. That’s tragic.”

Another firework went off, not close, but not far enough for comfort. Steve gently reached over and took your hand, his thumb running a slow, grounding line across your knuckles.

“Let’s get out of the noise, yeah?”

You nodded, breath leaving you in a quiet rush. “Yeah. Please.”

As you all found your way inside, the fireworks still echoed outdoors, but now they were muted, muffled by distance, walls, and the hum of the fan Steve had clicked on as soon as you stepped inside. The house was warm with leftover smells of food, the glow of quiet lamps, and the soft scuff of socks on hardwood as Bucky returned with a pile of blankets.

You stood awkwardly in the living room, arms crossed loosely, unsure where to go or what to say now that it was all out in the open.

Steve pressed a glass of water into your hand without a word. You took it.

Bucky dropped the blankets in a corner of the room and started arranging them. Not like a soldier making a bed, but like someone building a fort. A safe one with piled pillows, overstuffed couch cushions, and heavy quilts. Something about the sight of it made your throat tighten.

You sat down quietly in the middle of the mess. You didn’t need to ask. You knew what it was for.

Bucky settled on your left, one leg stretched out, the other bent. He didn’t reach for you, didn’t say anything. Just waited. Steve came next, slower and more deliberate. He sat behind you, drawing you gently back until your spine was resting against his chest.

Only then did Bucky shift closer, letting your knees touch. He watched you carefully, eyes softer than you’d ever seen them.

“I always thought I was just supposed to deal with it,” You murmured, voice low. “It’s just noise. Nothing’s happening. But it feels like… something might.”

Steve’s hand curled gentle around your waist from behind, grounding. “That’s how trauma works. Your body remembers even when your mind knows better.”

You swallowed. “You two–“

“Same,” Bucky said before you could finish. “I get it. I used to leave the room when something popped too loud. Still feel my muscles lock up sometimes.”

“It’s not weakness,” Steve added, his breath warm near your temple. “You don’t have to power through it alone.”

You blinked hard, and Bucky leaned forward, brushing his fingers against the back of your hand.

“We’ve all spent a long time pretending we’re fine,” He said softly. “Maybe we stop doing that now.”

For a while, no one spoke. The fan spun overhead, rhythmic and steady. A firework fizzled faintly somewhere in the distance, but none of you paid any mind to it this time.

Steve’s arms tightened slightly around you, and you let yourself lean into it, resting your head against his shoulder. Bucky laid down beside you, stretching out with one arm draped across your middle, his hand holding Steve’s.

There were no grand declarations, no plans for the next holiday, no promises to fix the past. Just warmth, presence, and a simple shared moment of understanding.

And for the first time in a long while, you weren’t scared of the noise anymore. Not because it was gone, but because you weren’t facing it alone.

[cairos-wing]

Something that actually gets me a bit about the whole BoTW/AoC/ToTK universe is actually,,, Master Kohga. We get to learn a lot about Kohga's personality in AoC, and now with the Switch 2 memories we're able to track what he's been up to between games, but I actually think that really, Kohga seems like a really nice person.

One thing that stands out about the Yiga Clan in AoC is how fast they're willing to change sides once Astor starts turning on Sooga and Kohga. And in ToTK, the Yiga Clan when attacking you as "travellers" are often getting revenge for the fact that Link unknowingly banished Kohga to the Depths.

To me, the Yiga Clan perhaps aren't really in it for Ganon, they're in it for Kohga. They're on red alert in BoTW, because they stole the Thunder Helm and are expecting invasion, but in ToTK we get to really see and embrace the community that the Yiga have built for themselves. Petty squabbles over constructs, the endless stockpiling of bananas, their trials and training. They're less like an organization fighting for world destruction, and more just a community of rejects and outcasts who've found a home.

When they're wearing a Yiga mask, they're indiscernible from one another. Who knows where they came from? Maybe a Sheikah reject, maybe a rogue traveller, maybe even just someone who was lost and alone and saved by a rogue Yiga.

Their leader gets banished to the Depths, they don't know if he's coming home, but instead of electing a new leader and continuing Ganon's plans, they expand below ground. They build bases, they leave out bananas exactly how their leader likes them (5 days ripe) in the hopes he comes home.

And Sooga - god don't even get me started. Starving and alone, saved by Kohga from rogue Yiga agents, and deciding then and there to dedicate his life to the man? And over and over and over again, Sooga puts Kohga first, and Kohga refuses. Refuses to leave him, right up until Sooga's last moments facing off against the blights.

Ultimately, I know that AoC is only semi-trustworthy at best, but Kohga's concrete refusal through several moments to leave anyone behind, right up until that final moment where either one or the both of them die? I think the only reason Kohga didn't die there with Sooga was because he had an entire Yiga Clan depending on him. I would bet anything that honestly? Kohga isn't too concerned with Ganon anymore either.

Kohga debates even wanting Link's company when alone in the depths. Rather than looking to dismantle the Sheikah or going after Zelda, he spends time mucking about with constructs and sigils down in the Depths. Even in BoTW, he steals the Thunder Helm as revenge for Urbosa zapping him during the Calamity rather than bothering to try and figure out how to release Ganon from Zelda's seal. I bet he just uses Ganon as a reason to keep the Yiga Clan going, so all his rejects and misfits not only have somewhere to go, but so the Clan has a reason for being.

"Meeting with the Magnificent one is not something I would leave to any other Yiga" yeah I would bet that after watching an entire group of your agents be killed by Astor to revive Ganon huh? Probably safer to let them stay home.

Impa, Purah, Robbie and Kohga all survive from the 100 years between the Calamity and BoTW. He's a very, very old man now. If anything, he probably just misses Sooga. He's probably just trying to keep the Yiga Clan together.

Perhaps I'm reading too much into the old man, but I've ended up really liking Master Kohga.

[deceasedream69]

Swim

Jealousy jealousy

-

It wasa great day, we were on vacation as a team, the beach, great, cause I can't swim. And I know, I know there are plenty of things you can do when you're traveling, but I didn't want to be too far away from the team, and they surely like the beach.

- damn mama - Derek took another sip of his drink

- ooohh, right - Penelope got up, standing next to me - we got matching suits

- finally, took you long enough, let's go - Emily also stood up. Penelope took my hand and started to pull me

The rest of the team following behind.

- wait, wait - the water was already at my waist

- what? - Penelope stopped, the rest of the team ahead of us except for Hotch, he stayed a little behind us.

- how deep is it?

- not so bad, don't worry... oh honey, you can't swim?

I shook my head.

- don't worry, you'll be fine.

- yeah, until you let my hand go to be with Derek.

- I won't! Promise, but we'll be close to him, that's for sure, but together - she said lifting our holding hands

I laughed and continued to follow her.

We spent some time there, after a while she let go of my hand and went to hug Morgan from behind, so he was practically carrying her on his back.

I got a little nervous sometimes, when the waves were high, but I thought I was good at hiding my inexperience.

- hey, are you okay? Need some help - a guy I didn't know came close offering his help

- am I that obvious

- I'm afraid so - he laughed - nick

- y/n

- what a pretty name, for a pretty girl

I laughed - thanks

He offered me his hand, and I took it

What I didn't notice was hotch looking right at us, with his serious face.

- missed your shot for staying so far - Rossi got hotch out of his thoughts

- what? - he said with an annoyed face

- you had the perfect excuse, water, the whole team here, she can't swim

- how do you know she can't? - hotch knew, he heard when you told Penelope, but how did Rossi know? Well... it was a stupid question, we're profilers

- she gets scared everytime there's a wave, no matter how big or small it is, and she spent a good amount of time holding onto Penelope's hand, until she left with her "chocolate thunder"

Hotch laughed at this last part, but his smiled disappeared when he noticed the guy was know holding you from your waist. His jaw clenched

- you still have time - Rossi swam away

He just sticked to watch, from afar, even if his blood boiled everytime he touched you, or everytime he made you laugh.

- wait... I can't swim

- trust me, you'll be fine - he extended his hand

- I'm not sure, sorry

- oh my god, y/n, don't be a crybaby - he laughed

I laughed awkwardly

- I'm sorry, I can't...

But he didn't care, he started to pull me by my hand

- Nick, no! Let go of me! Just do it yourself, I don't want to!

- what a crybaby - he laughed - you're gonna like it, stop being dramatic

I tried to break free from his grip but I couldn't. He liked finding big waves and standing in front to receive the impact, but that sounded like hell to me. Either way he pulled me until he found one, holding me from the waist to ensure I wasn't going to leave

- hey! Hey! You! Stop! - Morgan shouted, he noticed what nick was doing but he was too far away to do something. I just closed my eyes and nose and waited for the worse.

The wave hit me and I was completely under the water, I just tried to stay still and float, but after a little I started to panic and just tried everything I could, but I didn't seem to be able to float. Until I felt a hand on my waist.

I was finally up, gasping for air, I opened my eyes, hurt by the amount of salt water, and turned trying to push him away.

- y/n, it's me, it's okay

I finally focused, it was hotch. I breathed deeply, letting myself rest on his shoulder.

Nick got out of the water laughing

- HAHAHAHA, wasn't that fucking fun?! - he turned to look around - y/n?

He panicked a little, trying to see where you ended. He got under the water but he couldn't find you there, then he turned to look around, and he found you, in another man's arms. He quickly swam your way.

I coughed a little, still hugging hotch while he got us into a less deep area.

He placed us there,standing and checking on me. I stood up.

- are you okay? - he got the hair away from my face

- yeah, yeah, thanks. God, that was scary... my eyes burn

I said looking up and then into his eyes, he smiled a little. His hand on my waist, like scared I'll float away, even if we were standing.

- I almost lost you... we ... almost lost you, a member of the team

I laughed - how could you survive without me afterwards

He laughed and looked at me

- I couldn't - his eyes were soft, almost too soft, I was feeling all sort of emotions.

The world stopped for a moment.

- excuse me? This is my lady!

Hotch automatically got in front of me, avoiding any contact he could try to do, putting his body but also extending his arm like a shield in front of me.

- you almost got her drowned by your stupidity, go away - I hold his arm

He huffed - who do you think you are?! Move away, she's mine

I laughed - yours?! No thank you, that's what I get for giving a funny looking guy a chance, go away!

- you bitch!

- she said go away! - hotch's stare got dark, I stayed behind him, chin on his arm, barely looking at nick from a far, protected place.

He just huffed and swam away, I sighed and swallowed, looking up at hotch as he turned to look at me.

- thanks - my hands on his arms

- stop going after assholes - he put his hand on my cheek

- the asshole I want is too serious, I'm scared to get close to him.

- you weren't scared when he was saving you - he moved his thumb over my cheek slowly

- maybe I should drown more often so he can rescue me

- God, no - he laughed and cupped my face - please don't, I'll tell him to get the strength to ask you out once and for all

- I'll be waiting gladly - I said turning around to finally get out of that scary place, I turned and winked at him before fully getting out.

[wrestlersownmyheart]

"Tweet Of Fate" Chapter 20 (Damian Priest X OC)

Title: Tweet Of Fate Pairing: Damian Priest X OC: Sharlotte Taylor Summary: Little did Sharlotte Taylor know that her first little tweet to WWE wrestler, Damian Priest, would change her life forever. Hearing about his nasty breakup with his girlfriend, and seeing so many hateful tweets to him regarding his failed relationship, she wants to send him something encouraging, so she sends him an inspirational quote. It sparks Damian's interest and leads to a flirty, but close online friendship between the two. A friendship that turns into a little something more than either of them had counted on.

Disclaimers: I own nothing or anyone associated or affiliated with WWE. I own only the original characters. This is just a fictional story that came from my imagination.

Content/Trigger Warnings: Violence against a woman and man.

Chapter 20

Finn stepped out of the gym's shower stall and grabbed his towel, drying off and dressing in a hurry so he could get back to the hotel and rest for a little while before heading to the arena for the live taping that evening. Shoving his gym clothing into his bag, he spotted his script for the night sticking out of the side panel. He picked it up and glanced at the first page when his eyes fell on the yellow post-it at the top of the paper.

"I had to make some alterations to the schedule tonight. Damian had to take a personal night off so I made you Penta's opponent tonight instead of having you tag with Damian. If you have any questions, feel free to give me a call on my cell.

~Steph"

"What the..." Finn said, pulling out his cell phone. "I have some questions all right," he thought out loud, "But they're not for you." He highlighted Damian's number and sent the call through. A couple rings later, the call was answered, and he heard Damian's laughter.

Growing irritated, he sighed into the phone with exasperation, "Damian?"

"Yeah, what's up, Finn?"

"Having fun," Finn asked, a definite challenge in his voice. "What are ya doin'?"

"I'm at Sharlotte's house. I had something important I needed to tell her."

"Doesn't sound too serious to me," Finn replied, "judging from the laughter I hear."

"Look, Finn, chill out," Damian shot back. "I never take a night off, and I needed to-"

"Yeah, you're right about d'at," Finn said. "You never take a night off, so why now?"

He heard Damian sigh, "Hang on a sec. Sharlotte, I'll be back in a minute. Finn and I need to talk work." Finn heard Sharlotte's voice then, "Of course! Go ahead. You can take it outside or use my room if you want." A few seconds later, Damian spoke again, "Okay, Finn...I needed to talk to Sharlotte about a report on TMZ—it was about us."

Finn remembered then. Earlier in the day he'd heard some buzz and chatter around the arena about a wrestler being caught up in a scandalous gossip report. He just hadn't caught the name of said wrestler.

"Oh, so you're the one," Finn said finally.

"You've heard about it too?"

"Not any full details," Finn clarified. "All I heard was d'at a wrestler had gotten involved in some scandalous affair and d'at some gossip site had gotten wind of it."

He heard Damian groan, "'Scandalous affair'... Some idiot took some photos of me and

Sharlotte the night I stayed over at her house. And of course TMZ had to use them out of context."

Finn began to understand, though he still didn't see where it warranted Damian missing a night of work.

"And you couldn't have told her about it over the phone instead of missing tonight?"

"There's more, Finn," Damian said. "I can't talk about it over the phone, and I don't want to talk about it to anyone but Sharlotte because frankly, it's not anyone's business but her's and mine. Plus, I don't want to risk the wrong ears hearing it and causing me more grief." Finn groaned, "Okay, fine. I need to get going, I'm running a little behind now. I'll catch ya later, brother."

"Yeah, later," Damian said, slight agitation in his voice.

Finn heard the line click, signifying that Damian had disconnected the call. "What is going on with him," he wondered, tossing his script into his bag. He then highlighted Penta's number and sent a call through, knowing they needed to discuss the details of their match for the night.

}i{}i{}i{}i{

"Finn thinks I'm bad news, doesn't he," Sharlotte asked Damian as they sat down on the porch swing together.

Leena had stayed in the kitchen cleaning up while the boys went upstairs to play video games until RAW came on. Sharlotte and Damian had tried to insist on helping, but she shooed them out of the room.

"You don't get to take time off like this often," she'd told Damian. "You two go hang out. There's not much to do in here anyway."

Grateful to Leena, they both took her advice and went out on the porch to talk for a little while.

Damian shook his head slightly, "Finn's just worried about me. We've been close friends for a couple years now."

"I understand where he's coming from," Sharlotte admitted. "I know if I was in his shoes, I wouldn't like some nobody fan coming along and taking up some of my friend's time and causing him to miss some work—especially right after such a rough breakup. I'd be suspicious too."

"You aren't a 'nobody' by far," Damian said, reaching over and draping his arm around her shoulders. "And you're more than a fan to me, Sharlotte—much more. You don't cause me to miss work, either. You had no idea I was coming to visit."

She smiled up at him. "I know you have fans fawning over you all the time. Some of them care about you, I'm sure, because it's difficult not to care about you," she told him. "But I also know you're bound to have fans that just care about the fact you're famous. I just hope you'll know someday soon...I'm not one of those. I'm real, and what you see is what you get."

Damian nodded, bashfully avoiding her gaze, "I know that already."

And he did. Seeing how protective and loving she was toward Noah—especially without the knowledge of Damian being the boy's father—proved that.

"I'm glad," Sharlotte replied, leaning back against his arm. She took hold of his chin and turned his face to hers, "You're a lot more to me than just a wrestler. You're so much more than your name or your occupation. Don't ever let anybody tell you differently."

He took her hand and kissed it, "I won't. And thank you, Sharlotte."

She pulled his hand over to her lips and returned the kiss, "Don't thank me for speaking the truth."

Smiling, he pulled her closer and she laid her head against his shoulder. "When do you have to leave," she asked with a touch of sadness.

"Tomorrow's a regular day off for me," Damian answered, a smile in his voice. "How about you?"

"Tuesdays are usually free for me as well," Sharlotte returned. Her tone sounded much brighter. "Hmmm, what to do, what to do..." she said teasingly.

He chuckled just as her cell phone sounded an alert. Groaning, she pulled the phone out of the pocket of her shorts. "Just as I thought," she said, frustration evident on her face as she stared at the screen. "More harassment."

"What does it say," Damian asked, peering to see the phone.

"'Damian's going to get back together with Jasmine! Leave him alone!'", she read aloud.

He laughed, "I sure hope that's a kid. It's not very imaginative."

"It is a kid," she chuckled as well and teased him. "You should feel terrible. I'm getting jerked around by your ruthless fan girls."

"They'll get bored sooner or later," Damian told her, squeezing her shoulder affectionately. "Jasmine went through the same crap when photos from the night I asked her out were leaked out to a dirt sheet."

Sharlotte nodded, "I imagine she got it really bad, since she is usually a heel."

"Eh, she egged it on. She knew a lot of my female fan base hated her, so she did everything she could to tick them off. I wouldn't be surprised if she was the one who leaked the photos."

Sharlotte shook her head, "Very mature."

"Yeah," Damian agreed, "That's what I like about you. You're nothing like her." He saw her flush and semi-changed the subject. "Are you sure it's okay with you for me to stay here? I mean, what with that stupid report and all?"

"I'm not going to let some gossip-hungry tabloid reporter ruin my time with you," she answered determinedly. "If you want to stay here, then I'd love for you to stay."

"You know I want to," Damian teased, tickling her ribs lightly. He laughed at her loud round of giggles. "You're hypersensitive around the ribs, huh," he asked, tickling her again.

"STOP," she squealed, helplessly scrunching herself up into a ball to protect herself.

"Okay, okay," Damian laughed. His face turned serious then. "So, uh, how are things with your sister? Any better?"

Sharlotte swallowed, and avoided his eyes, "No, not really. We pretty much avoid each other as much as possible."

"Mom! Luis! Time for RAW!"

Grateful for the excuse to abort the subject, Sharlotte smiled up at Damian as they stood to their feet. "I feel kind of bad for the audience tonight."

"Oh, yeah? Why's that," Damian asked her, playing with a lock of her hair.

"Because they won't get to see you tonight."

He kissed the tip of her nose, "They'll survive. I needed to see you today."

"I'm glad, because I needed to see you too."

"Mom!"

"We're coming," Sharlotte called back, chuckling. She turned back to Damian, "I guess we'd better get in there, huh?"

"Yep," Damian nodded and draped his arm around her shoulders again—partly because he wanted her close, and partly because he wanted Noah to get used to seeing them together.

Because I don't plan on going anywhere anytime soon, he thought, smiling happily.

He secretly was glad Noah thought of Sharlotte as his mother. Because, should we get serious,

it'll make things a lot easier when he finds out I'm his father.

For the next three hours, the three adults and two kids sat in the living room and watched Monday Night RAW, eager to see how it would go what with Sharlotte's and Noah's interviews, not to mention Damian's absence.

The interviews aired within the first hour and Sharlotte was happy with how they turned out. The staff did really well with the editing so it would tug at a person's heartstrings. The video package ended with footage of Stephanie McMahon standing in front of the Taylors' home and pleading with the WWE Universe to sign a petition that would force the superintendent and principal to implement a zero-tolerance policy on bullying. She also encouraged the fans to write the superintendent themselves addressing the issue.

"Wow," Leena declared, "They made that look incredible! That principal will have to do something now!"

"He'll look like a total louse, if he doesn't," Sharlotte added as her cell phone rang off an alert.

"And cue the fan girls," Leena laughed.

Sharlotte rolled her eyes and turned off the phone for the evening. "Good grief. This is worse than Christmas With the Kranks, when the kids rallied at the Kranks' house and chanted, "Free Frosty!" every chance they got," she joked.

Damian laughed and lightly squeezed Sharlotte's neck to relax her. All joking aside, he could see the harassment was beginning to unnerve her.

They all settled back into the program then and watched Finn's match with Penta. They couldn't help but notice the fact Finn was taking some obvious frustration out on his opponent. Damian could see, as Finn chopped Penta across the chest, that he was using unnecessary stiffness with the luchador.

At one point during the match, Sharlotte had to actually avert her eyes when she saw Finn preparing to Irish whip Penta into a steel ring post. Though it didn't stop her from hearing the thud of Penta's body hitting the post, or his groan of pain. She couldn't help but feel horrible because of the beating he was taking.

Finn is definitely angry, she thought. Feeling as though it was her fault, she took comfort in the feel of Damian's hand seeking hers. She glanced up at him beside her on the sofa and managed a small smile.

"Quit worrying," Damian whispered.

"I'm not worrying," she whispered back. "I just feel badly for Penta."

"He'll be fine. Trust me. We can all take a beating."

"I believe that," she said softly. "I've seen you take too many."

"Just makes me tougher, baby," he replied, lacing his fingers through hers.

She squeezed his hand in return, snuggling closer to his side and hugging his arm to her body.

Unbeknownst to them, Leena watched their actions from across the room and smiled.

I won't have to play matchmaker after all, she thought, smiling inwardly. They're falling in love all on their own! She'd often thought Damian came across very genuine and authentic when it came to his more female-friendly storylines in WWE, but all of the romantic angles he'd worked paled in comparison to the way he looked at Sharlotte. The man is so far gone, there's no hope for him, she chuckled to herself and glanced over at her friend then. And Sharly is just...hopelessly in love.

She turned her attention to RAW then, but her attention was once again captured when she noticed Damian stirring. He stood slowly to his feet, his full attention on Sharlotte. As he moved, Leena caught a glimpse of her and saw Sharlotte had fallen asleep. John stooped down and gently lifted her up from the sofa, trying not to wake her. Once he had her securely cradled in his arms, he turned and headed toward the stairs. He glanced over at Leena and smiled. "Putting her to bed," he whispered. "She's had a big day."

Leena nodded and returned his smile, "Yeah, I should get home," she whispered softly, and glanced over at Tyler and Noah. "You boys get to bed after RAW goes off."

They nodded, though their attention was on John and Sharlotte.

Leena quietly said goodnight to John and the boys, and then gathered her things to leave as Damian went up the stairs. He carried Sharlotte into her bedroom, and seconds later, he was gently depositing her limp frame onto the bed. She stirred slightly as he pulled the covers up over her, and sighed in her sleep.

"Shh," Damian whispered, sitting on the edge of the bed. "Get some sleep, Sharlotte. We'll have tomorrow together."

The corners of her mouth tugged upward in a dreamy, sleep-ridden smile then, and she whispered soft, incoherent words. Damian missed what she said and leaned down to her face,

"What was that, miel?"

She smiled again as her hand clumsily searched for his. He took it, curling his fingers around hers and kissed her palm.

"I love you," she whispered, and turned onto her side, hugging his hand to her heart.

Damian exhaled sharply, taken by surprise. A smile spread across his handsome face as he brushed some hair out of her face with his free hand. "You would have to say that when you're asleep," he chuckled softly. He bent down and brushed his lips over her cheek. "I love you, too, Sharlotte," he whispered in her ear. "I think I fell in love with you from the first time you tweeted me." She whimpered as though she was trying to wake herself. "I wish you were awake," Damian told her, tracing his finger lightly over her soft lips. "I'd kiss you senseless—I'm dying to."

Knowing he was going to leave with yet more frustrations, he tried to gently tug his hand free of her hold without waking her. She moaned softly in protest and gripped his hand a little tighter, "Stay with me," she whispered.

His heart melting, he smiled at her sleeping form, "Okay, sweetheart. Just let me go check on the boys and I'll come back. Deal?"

She smiled again in her sleep and allowed him to pull his hand free.

He chuckled as he stood to his feet, "Heaven help me if you ever find out how wrapped around your finger I am."

He left the room then to make sure the boys got to bed on time, and went into the bathroom to change into a pair of pajama pants. Then he hurried back to Sharlotte's room and settled into bed beside her.

She seemed to know it was Damian who had climbed into bed with her because she turned over then, facing him, and snuggled against his naked chest.

Damian kissed the top of her head and held her close against him as he drifted off to sleep.

}i{}i{}i{}i{

Sharlotte opened her eyes against the bright morning light, and smiled when she heard the boys' and Damian's voices laughing from downstairs.

Luis, she thought dreamily, flipping onto her stomach.

She buried her face into her pillow and sighed contentedly. Then it occurred to her to wonder how she'd gotten upstairs the night before. She had no memory of getting ready for bed at all. She rose up onto her elbows and looked at her clothing. She was still in her exercise shorts and tank top.

Luis must've carried me up here, she thought. Then she giggled happily at the thought of being in his arms once more. She flopped back down on her stomach and closed her eyes again, while a smile stretched across her face. I can't stop smiling. She sighed softly, and decided to get a little more rest before she started the day.

Minutes later, she was near dozing off when she felt her hair being pushed away from the back of her neck followed by lips brushing over the sensitive skin. Thinking she was about to start dreaming, she snuggled deeper into her pillow and groaned softly.

The feel of kisses being administered to the back of her neck moved lower, and traveled lightly over her upper spine. Her fingers curled into the pillow at her face and she moaned quietly. The kisses trailed back up to her shoulder, lightly nipping her skin and she felt the delicious sensation of chill bumps prickling her skin.

"If this is a dream, I don't want to wake up," she mumbled to herself. To her chagrin, she heard Damian chuckle above her.

"Well, you're not dreaming, but it's flattering that you find my kisses so enjoyable."

She flipped over onto her back, and tried to be angry. But one look at the adorable expression on his face and she couldn't follow through.

"Oh, you," she huffed. "I'm glad you get so much fun out of embarrassing me to death!"

Damian flashed a smile at her, "No, no, no," he teasingly chided, "I don't like to embarrass you. I just like to see you blush. It's a beautiful sight."

As if on cue, Sharlotte's cheeks flamed a deep pink.

"I rest my case," Damian grinned, then placed his hands on either side of her head, lightly pinning her against the mattress. "Good morning," he whispered in her ear as he leaned down. His lips were on her neck a second later. She gasped as he placed a soft kiss beneath her ear then at her pulse, and continued trailing barely-there kisses to the front of her neck.

"It certainly is," she sighed dreamily, wrapping her arms around his neck and pulling him closer. "What a way to wake up." His full weight collapsed against her as she pulled him nearer and she felt him smile against her neck.

"I agree," Damian growled playfully, nipping her earlobe. He nuzzled her neck then, and proceeded to tease her shoulder with his teeth. She squirmed beneath him when his mouth dusted a few feather-soft kisses to the hollow of her throat. He rose up and kissed her cheek then, "I actually came up here intending to wake you for breakfast in bed while I take Tyler home. Noah wants to go too—I hope that's okay."

He walked over to her desk and picked up a tray after Sharlotte nodded her consent.

Once she'd settled herself against the pillows and was sitting up, Damian set the tray in her lap. She saw he'd cooked an omelet with bacon and cheese, and some buttered toast. There was a cup of coffee and a glass of orange juice as well.

"Oh, my goodness," she smiled, "That was so sweet of you. Thank you."

"You're very welcome," he told her. "Eat up and we'll be back before you know it."

She nodded, giving him a small smile as he left the room, and then began to eat her breakfast.

"Oh, Lord, have mercy. The man so can cook," she exclaimed, after biting into the luscious omelet. She hurriedly ate the food, even though she wanted to savor the flavors, so she could primp a little before Damian got back.

Running the dishes down to the kitchen and quickly loading them into the dishwasher, she ran back upstairs to brush her teeth and wash her face.

With those feats taken care of, she dug through her drawers for a pair of short jean shorts and her pink spaghetti-strapped tank top. A couple minutes later, she was clothed and brushing out her long hair.

The doorbell rang then, and she groaned.

"Who in the world would be-" Her thoughts cut off when she thought of Damian possibly forgetting where the hidden house key was located. Deciding shoes could come later, she ran down the stairs barefooted and to the front door, instantly yanking it open as she chuckled.

"Forget where they key is-" She stopped when she saw the man she was facing was definitely not Damian Priest. "I'm sorry...Can I help you," she asked curiously.

The man looked a little less than friendly as he stared at her. His collar-length, blond hair was disheveled and he had a bad case of five o'clock shadow on his face. His blue eyes pierced into hers as he prepared to speak.

"I saw them anti-bully interviews last night," he said, leaning in toward her.

Though he didn't slur his words, Sharlotte could see he was obviously drunk. Trying to keep her cool, she raised her chin slightly and addressed him.

"Yes," she prodded. "I had to do what I could to defend my..." she hesitated at first, but then remembered how quickly Noah had taken to calling her 'mom'. "My son."

"That wasn't necessary," he said irritably. "You shouldn't have done that."

"Well, the principal refused to do anything about it. Are you the parent of the boy who's bullying my son? Why didn't you do something to stop this? I wouldn't have had to resort to such extreme measures."

"Don't tell me how to raise my boy," he yelled, instantly angry. "And don't try to make this my fault!"

"Then don't come on my private property and tell me not to protect my child," Sharlotte retorted, thankful for the fact Noah was out of the house. "You're drunk, sir," she said, letting her eyes fully take in his appearance then. Or he's high, she realized, as her gaze fell on his forearms. Sores and scabs covered them. "Leave my home, and don't come back." She moved away so she could close the door when the man stuck his foot in the entryway, preventing the door's shutting.

"Get out of here," Sharlotte repeated through clenched teeth.

In truth, she was growing frightened, but she didn't want to give the man the satisfaction of seeing her fear.

To her surprise, he shoved the door open, consequently hurling her back into the foyer. She crashed against the hall mirror and sent it shattering to the floor as a cry of fright forced its way past her lips. She managed to right herself when he stepped inside, shutting and locking the door behind him.

"Look, just leave," she cried, backing away from him while trying to think of a plan. "You've not done anything to me. Keep it that way, and I won't have to call the cops," she lied.

"I'm not worried about you calling the cops, little girl," the man growled. He pulled out a switchblade and flicked the blade out. "I warned you, about paying the consequences if you caused me any trouble."

Sharlotte tried to keep her senses as she inched her way to the staircase. "Please, don't," she said, holding her hands up in a defenseless gesture. "There's no reason for you to hurt me. I've not-"

"SHUT-UP!"

Seeing she wouldn't be able to reason with the man, she spun around and ran up the stairs as quickly as she could. Her foot had just stepped on the upper landing when she felt herself going down. She instantly kicked out with her foot and landed a blow to the man's face, then wasted no time in scrambling to her feet. She darted into her bedroom, and locked the door behind her.

By the time she got to her night table, he was pounding on her door. With shaking hands, she grabbed up her phone and dialed 9-1-1.

"9-1-1, what's your emergency?"

"A man broke into my house," she blurted and quickly rattled off her information. "Sharlotte Taylor, 2307 Hudson Road, please send the police! He's trying to kill me!"

Sharlotte wasn't sure she could be heard over the pounding at her door so she left the phone on and laid it on her night table in case the operator needed to trace the call.

"It's only gonna get more painful the longer you drag this out!"

Trembling in terror, Sharlotte looked around her room for a weapon. Her gaze fell on her shelf of skating trophies and she grabbed one to use as a club. Quickly, she hurried to the space next to her door so she could hide and hit him over the head when he came through.

She didn't act a moment too soon. The door splintered, then busted open as soon as she raised the trophy over her head. She immediately sent it sailing downward. The man seemed to be onto her however, because he turned and struck out with his knife at the same time.

Luckily for Sharlotte, the trophy protected her from a fatal blow with the knife, but it failed to keep her from receiving a cut on her forearm. And it also didn't strike the man's head as she'd intended. It instead sent the knife clattering to the floor. With a scream of fear, she tried a second time to hit the man on the head. He blocked the hit and yanked the trophy out of her hand.

"I should hit you over the head with this," he growled, hefting the trophy tauntingly in his hand.

They both heard the front door open then, followed by Damian's voice.

"Sharlotte! Baby, where are you?!"

She instantly felt a mixture of fear and relief. Luis won't let him hurt me, but what if he gets hurt? What if Noah is inside the house too?

The man was distracted by Damian's voice, and Sharlotte chose to act on it. Trying to catch him by surprise, she flew at him in an attempt to shove him out of her room. All the noise would alert Damian to be on the ready and she knew he could take it from there. The man turned back to face her a second before she reached him. Like lightning, he grabbed her by the neck and slapped her across the face. Sharlotte instantly fell to the floor in a small heap, dazed from the blow, while her attacker scrambled for the switchblade. Grabbing it, he dove on top of her and prepared to drive the knife into her neck.

Screaming in terror, Sharlotte latched onto his wrist and held on for dear life, keeping the blade as far from her neck as possible. She screamed again as she felt her grip slipping. "God, help me," she prayed in a whisper as the man pressed down harder on the knife. There were footsteps on the stairs in the next instant, and then the answer to Sharlotte's prayers came charging into the room and tackled her attacker away from her.

}i{}i{}i{}i{

Damian pulled in front of Sharlotte's house when he saw an unfamiliar pickup truck in her driveway. Figuring a friend had stopped by for a visit, he nonetheless took no chances.

"Noah, do you know that truck," he asked, nodding toward the slightly old Chevy Silverado.

Noah looked up from all the gadgets and knobs he'd been admiring on Damian's dashboard, and looked to where Damian pointed. He paled instantly.

"That's Jake's dad's truck."

"Who's Jake," Damian asked, dreading the answer.

"One of the kids who bullied me."

Damian fought the urge to curse in front of his son, and clenched his teeth instead. "Okay, Noah...I want you to stay in the car—no matter what, understand?"

Noah nodded reluctantly.

"I'm going to lock the doors with you inside, and if anyone comes up and tries to get to you, blast the horn and don't stop until you see me, got it," he asked, pointing to his steering wheel.

Again, Noah nodded.

With that, Damian jumped out of the car, slammed his door shut and then locked the doors with his key fob. He instantly heard Sharlotte's shrill scream from inside the home and then he was bolting for the large house. Within a couple seconds, he was at the door and turning the doorknob, but to no avail. Cursing under his breath, he stepped over to the garden rocks lining the flower bed, and grabbed up the fake rock which held the spare house key.

A short moment later, he was busting through the door and barreling down the foyer's hallway. He saw a shattered mirror on the floor, and panicked.

"Sharlotte," he yelled, heading through the living room. "Baby, where are you?!" Upon entering the kitchen, he saw nothing amiss, and turned to check the rest of the house.

"Sharlotte!"

Damian heard a struggle coming from upstairs followed by Sharlotte's shrill scream, and in the next instant he was running hurriedly up the steps, taking them three at a time. Within a couple seconds, he was standing in her bedroom doorway, and had trouble processing the horror in front of him.

A man was on top of Sharlotte. And he was gripping a knife dangerously close to her neck.

His vision went red.

Shouting in rage, he dove at the man in an offensive tackle and sent him flying backward into the wall. Sharlotte cringed away from them, and though Damian wanted to check on her well-being, he knew he couldn't leave her attacker unsupervised. So he forced himself to step past her and approached the lowlife instead.

"You're a dead man," he growled, grabbing the man by the collar and dragging him across the room and away from Sharlotte. He sent him soaring into the hallway and followed after him. He again grabbed the man by the collar and mercilessly dished out several hard punches to his face. "You come near her again, and I will not hesitate in killing you—very slowly," Damian said through clenched teeth. "Do you understand me? I'LL KILL YOU!"

The man spat out a mouthful of blood and scowled at Damian through his already swelling eyes. "The whore...d-deserved it..."

Damian yanked the man closer to his face and gave him a glare that would've frightened the devil. "Wrong answer." With that, he hurled the man headfirst into the wall, then punched him again.

The man made an attempt to punch Damian, but the blow was blocked and he received a tackle for his trouble—a tackle which sent both he and Damian tumbling down the stairs.

"LUIS! NO!"

Damian was vaguely aware of Sharlotte's cry as the two men rolled over one another. He still attempted a few punches on his way down. They rolled a couple more times out onto the landing and then came to a stop.

With caution, Damian tested his neck out and each of his limbs to make sure nothing wasbroken. Then he eyed the intruder beneath him.

His eyes were open in an unseeing stare, but he wasn't moving—at all.

"Luis... Oh, God. Please..."

Reaching over to the man, Damian felt for his pulse. As he suspected, there was nothing.

"Sorry, pal, but I can't bring myself to feel bad about it," he muttered, rising to his feet. He looked up at the staircase and found Sharlotte feebly making her way down the stairs. Her eyes were fixed on him, wide with fear.

"I'm okay, honey," he said, realizing his tumble down the stairs had scared her to death. "I'm fine."

He saw the relief wash over her as she leaned against the wall for support. Tears streamed down her face and she shakily held onto the banister to keep her balance.

Afraid she'd drop and fall down the remainder of the stairs, Damian was by her side in the next instant. He supported her weight and looked into her eyes. Her dazed gaze met his and she cried softly, relieved he was safe.

"Thank God," she whispered, wrapping her arms around him and holding on tight.

"Yes," Damian agreed, but not due to his safety—for Sharlotte's. "Thank God."

He hugged her closely for a moment but then realized she needed to be checked over. Stooping down and lifting her up into his arms, he carried her down the stairs and into the living room, turning her so she'd not get a full view of the man's dead body. Then he hurried over to the sofa and set her down on it, taking care to not hurt her. He sat down next to her to inspect her injuries.

"God, what did he do to you," he asked as he was finally able to wholly take in her appearance. Her cheek was a deep shade of pink with a large welt rising up on it. He turned her face to better inspect the mark and cursed when she flinched at his touch. "I'm so sorry, baby," he whispered.

He worried when she became unresponsive to him. "Sharlotte, honey, talk to me," he said softly. "Let me know you're okay."

"I'm okay," she replied softly. "I'm just glad you and Noah weren't hurt."

"Don't worry about me," Damian said, pulling out his cell phone to call the police. "And Noah is out in my car."

"I already called 9-1-1," she said, eyeing his cell phone. "They should be here soon." Her eyes grew wider then. "Is the man..." she started, "Is he...a-alive?"

"He's dead."

Her eyes fell on his, "Oh my- Did you mean to...What if you're arrested?"

"Death wasn't what I was going for, no," Damian answered. "I warned him I'd kill him if he came near you again—and I meant it, but I wasn't trying to kill him this time." He began looking at the cut on her arm. "I tackled him and when we fell down the stairs, I guess his neck broke."

He sucked in a breath when he fully saw the cut. If it had been deep, it would have done some definite damage. "And I can't say I'm sorry about it," he muttered. "Is this the only cut you have?"

Sharlotte nodded, "Y-yes. I don't think it's bad."

Damian nodded, after inspecting it further. "It isn't deep. Just a scratch—what a relief. I don't think you'll need stitches." He stood and walked over to the windows, looking out for signs of the police's arrival. "I hope the cops hurry up." He looked over at her and shook his head, disgusted with himself. "This is all my fault," he told her, walking back to the sofa.

"No," Sharlotte started, amazed that he'd place the blame on himself. He sat down beside her again and avoided her gaze as she continued, "It's not-" "I should have taken you along with me and the boys," he interrupted, self-loathing in his voice.

"No," Sharlotte cried again, shaking her head emphatically. She reached over and turned his face to hers. "Then that man may have come back at another time when you weren't here at all. He could've hurt Noah too. It's better it happened this way—with only me getting hurt."

Damian gazed at her, mesmerized by her protective instincts. "Don't say it like that," he scolded softly, brushing the back of his hand tenderly over her uninjured cheek. "You talk like you don't matter."

She took his hand in hers and squeezed it. "Could you hold me," she whispered.

He put his arm around her shoulders and kissed her forehead, "Better," he asked.

She gazed into his eyes, "Almost. Hold me tighter?"

"I don't want to hurt you," he protested, not knowing how much pain she was in.

"You won't," she said, managing a soft smile. "Please?"

He lifted her gently, and pulled her across his lap. She settled against him and his arms closed around her a little tighter, holding her close while they waited for the authorities. He felt her face against his neck and the tremors of her slender body against his.

"Are you okay," he asked worriedly, running his hand up and down her back in soothing circles.

She didn't answer right away.

"Y-yes. I am now," she said finally. He felt a sob rip through her body however, and she clutched at his t-shirt. "I thought he would kill me."

He could hear the tears in her voice and wished the man's death would have been slower.

They heard a siren growing nearer in the distance then and knew the cops would soon arrive. Dreading the load of questions they'd have to answer, they both stood and walked out the front door and onto the porch.

Noah saw them and cautiously opened his door, "Is it okay to come out now," he called.

Damian nodded and motioned him over as Sharlotte pulled the front door closed. The siren grew slightly louder as Noah stepped up on the porch and looked at her wearily.

"Mom? Are you okay?"

"I'm fine, baby," Sharlotte said softly, pulling him into a hug. "Luis took care of it. Thank God you weren't here."

"Where is he," Noah asked. "Jake's dad."

"He had an accident," Damian answered for Sharlotte. "We both fell down the stairs, and he didn't make it."

"He died?" Noah looked horrified.

"Yes, he did. And I feel badly for his kid... But he was trying to hurt Sharlotte," Damian explained. "I couldn't let him do that."

"Thank you for saving her, Luis," Noah said, hugging him around the waist. "She's..." his eyes welled up with tears. "She's all I have."

At the boy's proclamation, Sharlotte had tears streaming down her face all over again. Damian knelt down in front of the boy and patted his cheek, "Not anymore, bud. You have me, too." He wanted to let them know the truth right then, but he knew the timing was horrible as the police car sounded as if it was only a short distance away. Hopefully soon I can tell them, he thought.

Noah's tears multiplied, "I love you," he cried, hugging Damian around the neck.

"I love you, too, kiddo," Damian replied softly, hugging Noah in return. He fought the sting of tears in his eyes as well.

The police siren was deafening then, and Damian knew chaos was about to ensue. He kissed Noah on top of the head and stood to his feet.

A squad car pulled up in the driveway and two male police officers exited the car, then headed toward them.

"We had a 9-1-1 call from a Sharlotte Taylor at this address. What's the problem," one of the officers asked, once they reached the porch.

"She was attacked," Damian explained, pointing out Sharlotte's cheek. "I got here just in time to find a man holding her down and trying to stab her."

"Where is the perpetrator?"

"He's inside, dead," Damian answered truthfully. We fought, and as I tackled him, we both fell down the stairs. He wasn't moving, so I checked his pulse, and...he was gone."

The officers looked over at Sharlotte as if asking her to confirm or deny his story.

"That's exactly what happened," Sharlotte replied. "A man knocked on my door, forced his way in and attacked me." She looked toward Damian then, "I'm very grateful to this man for saving my life."

"Okay, we're going to need detailed statements on what happened here, so let's go inside so you can sit down and relax."

"Um, is it okay if my son goes into the kitchen?...The body... I don't want him to see it," Sharlotte explained.

"If that isn't one of the rooms the attack took place in, that's just fine," one of the officers answered.

They all went into the house, and Sharlotte covered Noah's eyes as she led him around the body and into the kitchen.

"Just stay in here and do not come out for any reason, okay," she instructed the boy.

He nodded, "Can I get a snack?"

"Sure," she replied, "We'll try to hurry this as much as possible." She turned to leave the kitchen when Damian entered the room.

"Let's clean that scratch first," he suggested, reaching into the cabinet above the microwave and pulling down the first-aid kit. Within a couple minutes, he had the scratch on her arm cleaned and a Band-Aid over it. "Is your tetanus shot current, or should you go get one?"

"I had one about a year ago, so it should be good to go," Sharlotte answered, smiling at him. "You're cute when you worry."

He flashed his smile, "Only when I worry?"

Sharlotte chuckled, "No, not only when you worry. All the time, actually," she replied with a flush to her cheeks.

He smiled at her, when an officer came to the doorway, "Everything okay in here? Is that cut deep?"

Sharlotte reluctantly turned toward the cop, "Yes, everything is fine. And no the cut isn't deep. We were just about to come in and give our information."

With that she and John followed the cop back into the living room and sat down on the sofa.

"So, how long should this take," Sharlotte asked, eager to be done with the whole thing so she could put it behind her. She felt badly that the man lost his life, but she knew he would've killed her and Damian if he'd had the chance. She was grateful to be alive.

"We'll need to collect any and all evidence from the scene, so you'll need to be out of the house for at least a few hours, maybe even the night."

"Not a problem," Damian replied instantly.

"Not a problem," Sharlotte repeated, "Yes, it is. I don't have another home to-"

Damian smiled, "It's okay, Sharlotte. We can go out and do some stuff together, and if worse comes to worst we can stay at a hotel."

Sharlotte smiled back at him. It was nice to have someone help her see the glass as half-full at times like that.

"Okay," she replied. "It's not a problem."

A few moments later, she and Damian were seated at the sofa, and the cops sat in chairs which Damian brought in from the kitchen.

Then the questions began.

If you want on my tag list, just ask! 😀

Tagging:

@oreillystolemyheart @lookalivesunshine-x @southerngirl41 @claymoresofinfamy23 @beccalynns-world 

@Heerah34 @dersha89 @shortyiceheart @wwechristina87 @expert-texpert

@sassymox @sammyfinn21-blog @alliecatsworldsblog @potatosackk @keisha-knell 

@peaceloveandcurves @terrortwinunicorn @mzv11 @jazzyboo123-blog1 @ibelievedinjh 

@fafomama @zigzoggy @raya-hunter01 @sharmelasworld @queenmotionlessxo @skyesthebomb @moxley99 @mandabrammer2021 @destinylewisbellblog @furrywombatpuppy

[etvdes]

there's a part of them that WANTS things to be different, and another part that is terrified. but if she's willing to put trust in them, then they're willing to try to be more honest. it's terrifying to be seen, to be KNOWN the way rowan knows them. but they can't keep themself from being terrified to finally turn towards the sun that she is, out of the darkness. simultaneously, it all feels like a relief. like they're going to finally get some kind of reprieve from the torrents of grief that soak them in their own guilt. for as afraid as they are, being honest as made their shoulders feel lighter, like some of the weight of the world has fallen off them. there was something so awful about lying about something this big to someone you love, and it felt so freeing to stop worrying about WHAT she would think, and just KNOW. and though she didn't say it, grey had a niggling feeling that she was afraid for them, and if they were honest, they would be afraid for anyone else who had spent the day carrying on the way they had. but they would take the slight discomfort that came with over the guilt wracked nausea they had experienced from all their lies, or the hopelessness they felt about ever being able to get over her. it felt like there was a tether that brought them together, and they had finally stopped fraying it intentionally. "if it's any consolation, i don't know that anyone's ever known me as well as you do in the way you do." they add, soft smile still steadily affixed to their face. after all, it was true. they had never had a girlfriend get them like she did, not even hayley, who was a part of the life. because even though she had been THERE it wasn't the same. no one had ever looked at grey and made them feel SEEN the way ro had. which was why it always felt so awful to mislead her, because they could tell in her gaze that she could see them, she just never pressed them too hard, she wanted them to take their time. when rowan agrees to come over, it feels like another small weight off their shoulders. because they know in the back of their mind that tomorrow morning, when they wake up in the guilt of everything that's happened, in the terror that is remembering what happened on mickey's last day, they'll have rowan to hold on to, to remind them of the reality they live in now, one where they're clean and they don't have to run from everyone they care about. "yeah, i'm sure." they reply softly, "i– get it if being around for that is too much too fast – but if you wanted to i'd like that." they don't need to qualify it so much, but they still feel so raw and exposed. and they don't see that stopping any time soon. even if all they want is to hold her up against them, to lounge about like they did before everything fell apart, and to take some kind of comfort in their routine, they don't want her to feel forced into it either. "you'll have your pick of 'em." they smile, and for as long as it's been since they had an unburdened smile, they've had a few just sitting here with rowan. "anything you want." and they meant it. anything she wanted. as long as she wanted them.

rowan’s comment isn’t supposed to be a slight on them. she only needs grey to know that if they’re trying again it has to be different. she can’t shut away all that they’ve told her and pretend like it’s never happened. she wouldn’t want to do that when it feels like such a fundamental part of them. maybe it’s not the part that they’ve ever wanted her to see but she’s caught a glimpse now and there’s no forgetting it. it's not something that can be ignored and she feels like if they're going to continue to heal and progress with their recovery then having a relationship where they can be whoever they are sounds like a good next step. not that she expects them to continually talk about it either but it would be nice to know if they feel like they can. her head tilts easily so that she can meet their gaze and the sincerity in their words fills her with warmth. a tension in her shoulders releases and she feels as though she's getting the first full lungful of breath that she's had in weeks. conveniently since they split and she was last able to spend any sort of meaningful time with them. a smile forms on her lips and the only thing that stops it becoming too wide is the fact that they kiss her. it's short but sweet. tender. reignites everything that she's been trying so hard to suppress. even if it's been a poor effort with the way she'd showed up today. "i thought i did too," she admits, purposefully ghosting over the parts of them that she didn't know about before. that wasn't important right not. what's important is that a future with grey feels tangible. easily within reach if the two of them work to make it so. she feels giddy with a floury of butterflies that are released into her stomach and has to laugh, gently, at the way they echo her words. "i'd really like to come over tonight. i'd love to, in fact." having some time with the two of them shut away from the rest of the world feels ideal to rowan. she knows they've managed to slip away from their friends for now but being out in the open air doesn't quite cut it either. she just wants to be able to lounge at their place. settle into the old, comfortable routine that she's deeply missed. "you're good with me coming over tonight?" she doesn't forget what tomorrow is for grey and just needs to confirm the once, trusts they know what they need. if that's a distraction then that's something that she's happy to be. "i could also probably give to this back," she admits, glancing down at the sweatshirt within her hands. "only if i get another one tonight though, obviously. i strike a hard barging, i know, but i know what i want..." what she wants being them in whatever form she can have them. in every form. flaws and all.

[lovesodeepandwideandwell]

Watching Severance does feel a bit like reading a fic with 15000 word chapters that are almost entirely world-building and setup and there are only 2/47 chapters published and those came out 3 years apart

[v0idsp3rson]

Do any of you guys know what choco tale is?

And for those of you that do know, do you remember it?

[mothofmyth]

DC x DP

The Justice League summons the ghost king.

Unfortunately, the safest way JLD can find requires a host body to contain the being.

Obviously Superman, Wonder Woman, and Flash are out - who knows what this being would do with a super-powered body. They have no idea how Captain Marvel or Green Lantern type magic would interact with the summoning, so not them either. They need Constantine and Zatanna to perform the ritual.

Basically it's down to the bats.

Batman tries to volunteer - better him than one of his kids if anything were to go wrong.

That gets vetoed. As do a lot of his offspring. The safest options (ie the least contaminated by magic, lazarus water, time shenanigans, and everything else) are Red Robin, Spoiler, and Nightwing.

Nightwing pulls rank.

After a lot of arguing, everyone at least agrees to tolerate the arrangement.

Nightwing removes every possible weapon from himself, allows himself to be tied to a chair in the middle of a summoning circle, and waits for JL Dark to complete the ritual.

It's not long before he feels a surge of cold burning through him.

He expected to be unconscious while the Ghost King took over. That's what Zatanna said had been reported the last time this ritual was performed many years ago.

They had all expected a lot of things.

Pariah Dark was supposed to be terrifying to behold - a massive, cruel, FURIOUS dictator who turned to violence at the smallest sleight.

This was... definitely not that.

Dick was present. He had no control over his body, but he could see and hear in an almost dream-like state. Foggy and indistinct, maybe a little warped, but definitely present.

He felt his heart rate and breathing pick up in panic even though he felt mostly calm (or at least no more anxious than he had been, waiting for an angry deity to possess his body and all). It was a strange sensation.

He felt the vibrations of his own voice as it left his throat, high and confused.

"Wha... Where..." It asked, warbling and afraid.

He felt his eyes blink and his limbs struggle against the bindings.

His head tilted down without his say so, and he looked at his own body as if through rippling water, warped lenses.

"I'm not..." His voice came out, still confused. Still afraid.

"Your Majesty?" Zatanna asked from beyond the limits of the circle.

His head whipped up, and he felt his neck click at the abrupt motion.

His breathing picked up again. Dick felt the ghost (pun not intended) of anxiety, like it was leaking from the other consciousness inhabiting his body.

"We mean you no harm. Our associate has agreed to lend you his body for the duration of this meeting." She continued.

Dick felt the king's anxiety again, stronger this time. Other emotions too, guilt, sorrow, anger, and a strange sort of pressing-tugging sensation.

Suddenly, Dick was back in control. He could still feel the king's consciousness, stronger now than before, but he could also move and speak freely.

"What just happened?" He mumbled, speaking to the ghost, not the audience of heroes.

"Nightwing?" Someone called from outside the circle, but he ignored them for the moment, feeling instead the consciousness inhabiting his body push back fear, guilt, and apology.

"Yeah, it's me. He's still in here, though." Dick frowned, trying to figure out how to interact with the being.

He heard a voice in the back of his mind. It sounded like him. It sounded different. It was younger than him. It was small and afraid. It was neutral and quiet and him. But it wasn't. It was speaking. It was silent. It was emotions and thoughts and nothing.

"Oooookay, this is really weird. I think we're communicating. I don't know how to talk back, but if he's in the same situation I was a minute ago he should be able to hear us just fine. Is that right?" Nightwing tried.

The 'voice' (he figured he'd call it a voice for now. He wasn't sure what else he could call it) responded in the affirmative. Like a hand outstretched, flipping up and down in a 'kinda' type of gesture. Like a nod and a hesitant smile. The feeling of victory by default.

Dick beamed.

"Okay yeah he can hear us." He announced for the benefit of their audience. "Why didn't you stay where you could speak? Wouldn't that have been easier?" He looked at his own chest, as if he could somehow find a way to see the presence inside of him.

Disgust. Guilt. Fear. An unexpected step at the bottom of a staircase. Falling off a pier into tempestuous water. A stranger pinning your hands above your head.

"Oh." Dick breathed. "Thank you, but I can handle it."

Guilt. Guilt. GUILT.

"Okay. It's alright. You can speak through me or we can manage like this." He soothed.

"Nightwing, report." Batman demanded.

"Uhh, right. I think he's trying to be courteous? To me, I mean. From what I can gather, he doesn't want to possess me or take over. He seems pretty repulsed by the idea, to be honest. I think he can see and hear and generally experience everything I'm experiencing, he's just more passenger than driver? I can feel him, and he's communicating, he just can't speak through me without taking my autonomy again, and he really doesn't want to do that." Dick explained, looking at the various states of thinly-veiled bewilderment across the faces of the heroes.

"Ask him if he's Pariah Dark, High King of the Infinite Realms, Ancient of Rage and Destructio-" Constantine begins, before Dick cuts him off

"I just said he can hear everything we're saying. Ask him yourself."

Constantine huffs. "You heard me, mate. Are you him?"

Denial. Contemplation. A battle. Single combat. A crown made of black thorns and green flames. A throne too big for he who sits in it. Victory. Desperation. Insufficiency. A question.

"I think..." Dick starts, trying to understand. "I think he's the King... but he's not Pariah Dark."

Agreement. Apology. Questioning.

"He wants to know if we're looking for Pariah Dark, or if we're looking for the High King of the Infinite Realms." He glances between Zatanna and Constantine, uncertain of the answer himself.

Constantine pales.

"Whatever is inside you defeated the ancient of Rage and Destruction in single combat, Nightwing. It's a powerful motherfucker, and a total unknown." He warns cautiously.

"Get him out of there, now. Send it back." Batman demands.

TERROR. Pleading. Unbearable suffering. Shiny metal dripping with green blood. The end of love. Unfathomable loss. Death without release. Unending torment. Begging.

"NO!" The voice tears its way out of Nightwing without his consent.

Cowering. Apology. Apology. Guilt. Apology.

Dick clears his throat. "I don't think he wants to leave."

"All the more reason to send it back." Batman growls.

"Don't." Dick protests. "I know it's a risk, and there's a chance it's manipulating me. But, something doesn't feel right about all of this."

"Ghosts are well known for their skills regarding manipulation, mind control, and emotion tampering." Zatanna cautions.

"According to those dehumanising rags maybe," Constantine scoffs.

"Every source we have-"

"Two sources, Love. Both of which have a bit of a vested interest, wouldn't you say?"

Fear. FEAR. Frustration. Heartbreak. An unheard voice in a crowded room. A layperson lecturing an expert. Mockery. A spectacle of suffering. Lies. Hurt. Fear.

"He agrees with Constantine." Dick pipes in.

Exasperation. Reluctance.

"I don't think he's too happy about it." He laughs.

"Of course he agrees with Constantine, he's giving him what he wants." Red Robin huffs.

"He's afraid." Dick's voice cuts through the argument and the heroes turn to look at him. "I don't know exactly what's happening, but he's terrified of being sent back."

Zatanna sighs. "Let's do what we came to do, and then maybe we'll talk about letting him out."

(Something goes wrong and Dick and Danny end up stuck like this for a while.

Dick moves back into Wayne Manor while they try to figure out how to remove Danny from Dick's body without hurting either of them.

Everybody starts referring to Phantom as Dick's little passenger.

Eventually they repeal the Anti-Ecto Acts and find out all of the trauma Danny's been through via talking and dream/memory bleeding between him and Dick.

When Danny does finally manage to tumble out of Dick he is promptly adopted into the Batfam (what did anyone expect, he's a traumatised young teenager with black hair and blue eyes and barely any sense of self preservation).

In the meantime, however, Dick is happily going about his daily life with his little passenger, and Danny is still very traumatised but he's also contentedly curled up in Dick's chest, thrumming with happiness whenever Dick takes care of him.

Once or twice when Dick gets into Big Danger while vigilante-ing, Phantom forcibly takes over Dick's body to save him, using his ghost powers to fight the bad guy and escape the scenario. He cries afterwards because even though he needed to save Dick's life, he knows how terrifying and violating it feels to have someone else controlling your body (thanks Circus Gothica) and never wants to put anyone else through that.)

[yan-randomfandom]

Wait! Can you do the Yanderes Saja boys x reader pls? Except the reader is aroace and isn’t a fan of Kpop

Saja Boys x GN!Reader

a/n; oh anon luckilyy i'm both of those things ☺️ BUT I'M SO SORRY since it's my first time writing them, i kinda lost the point n it turned to a character study MY BAD 😭😭 feel free to send a request again!

summary; the most common imagine for the Saja Boys right now—them finding a human manager. They find the human's company a little too enjoyable....

— 🥤 [not proofread]

During their debut, Soda Pop—the Saja Boys had a passive objective: find someone in the audience who wasn't even the slightest bit interested in them.

It was Mystery who noticed you first.

Among the crowd, you glanced at them like the rest. Paused and listened like the rest. However, unlike the rest, you pulled out your phone not to record—but to draw your attention, and eventually walk away.

Mystery memorized your face. After all, with how obsessed humans are with paperwork and management, they had to have someone deal with the annoyances just to make them seem like the real deal.

So, after their performance, your presence was mentioned. They ultimately deemed that you're the one who stayed the shortest.

Jinu approached you first.

But he was an absolute loser and couldn't keep his story straight (hundreds of years of human society blurred from his knowledge), leading the rest of the Saja boys impatient and embarrassed for him.

The next best thing they do?

Reveal themselves. Threaten you. It's either your soul goes, or your free will goes.

They're not exactly the smartest, for sure... that came from Jinu's thoughts.

Nevertheless, it worked. You work for them now.

When you first got into this mess, you thought you'd be scared for your life every single day.

"But now I'm stuck with attention-seeking, clingy, needy arrogant—"

A slim finger touches your lips in a silent gesture. You glare pointedly at the demon.

Romance's stupid face is smiling. "Sshh. You should smile more. Like this." He stretches his lips further. "See? You're so much prettier when smiling."

There's nothing to smile about. You only huff and roll your eyes before obliging—a forced, crooked smile that genuinely made him wince.

Ignoring that and turning around, you spot Baby rummaging through your fridge again. You notice how loud he was doing it too; he intentionally does that to get your attention when he couldn't find anything he liked.

"I have some popsicles in the freezer," you say, walking over and opening the top part. Baby perks up at the sight and chuckles. "Bunch of flavors."

"Always know what we need," he snickers as he casually grabs all of them.

You ignore that and sit on the counter with Abby who's fumbling with his shirt buttons. He stiffens at the sight at you and plays it cool with a smile.

"Jinu's out again, huh?" you hum, gently taking over his task a moment ago. He relaxes in your care.

"Yeah," he nods. "Only a matter of time until the big boss calls him again."

Hmm. You don't know how to reply that. So, you simply don't. They rarely tell you anything, and if they do, it's always something you'd never have any context of.

You slip the last button off and pat his chest. "Done."

Abby stands up, his shirt flying dramatically away at the same time. You squint your eyes at his exposed abs that he's clearly so proud of.

Despite yourself, a snicker escapes you. Abby smirks and traces his pec with his thumb. "Beautiful, is it not?"

Cornball.

"Hey, wait," you turn away, leaving Abby disappointed from your lack of response, "where's Mystery?"

Oh, no.

You rush to your room and almost slam the door open—

Great. He's laying on your bed. Again.

"Mystery!" you yelp, and he immediately sits up at your voice. "Out! Out!!"

He scrambles out of your bed and teleports away. You do a quick inspection on your bed—alright. Nothing damaged at the very least.

You swear—you had two rules for them to which they agreed to: one, keep their human form. Second, STAY OUT OF YOUR BEDROOM. You have a guest room for their resting needs.

You head back to your living room, seeing them all huddled up on your couch. Each one of them having a popsicle with unique flavors.

"Baby," you call, only to end up with all of them turning to you. Your face flushes. "Uh, Baby. Give me one too."

He throws you a surprisingly not melted popsicle with a sweet smile.

"Thanks," you smile back. Then an idea comes in. They all seem like they're in a fairly good mood, so maybe you can take a break—

You grab a jacket from the rack. "Anyway, I hope you guys don't mind, but I'll go for a walk in the park—"

"NO," all of them growl, you flinch, turning around to see their demon forms—an exception to rule 1 is that it will be broken when they're deadly serious.

"..OkayIwon't"

— 🥀

working with crumbs.... saja boys writers u guys r killing it... also huntrix too pelase

[theonewiththefanfics]

An Itch You Can't Scratch (one-shot)

Synopsis: After taking a bad fall, Y/N gets rushed to the ED of Pittsburg Trauma Medical Hospital only to come face to face with a man she had a one-night stand with, and who ghosted her that same morning without a word - Dr. Michael "Robby" Robinavitch. As if her bad day couldn't get any worse than it was...

Pairing: Dr. Michael "Robby" Robinavitch x fem!Reader (age-gap relationship (Reader is 26, Robby is implied 46-48))

Genre: angst, fluff, SMUT

Warnings: descriptions of wounds (open breaks), puke, swearing, etc., SMUT

Word count: 13,319 (yeah, this sort of started out like a cute little chaotic story and became... this. I might make more parts to these two, people like it enough, because I already have some ideas, and ideas for other stories too also, let's please pretend like Robby didn't have the worst shift of his life and everyone is happy and alive :) )

Please don't copy my work or repost it onto other platforms. all of the characters belong to HBO Max.

Catch Pt 2 here :)

In all honesty, Y/N thought Sara was overreacting. There was no need to be hauled to the ER on a Monday morning, at seven AM. So, what if she’d slipped in the shower? So, what if she’d hit her head against the towel rack? So, what if she’d sprained her ankle? Y/N could just pop a couple of Tylenol and be on her merry way, but no.

            When Sara had heard the thud and the subsequent crash of shampoo and conditioner bottles, she’d rushed inside the bathroom only to find Y/N sprawled out in all her naked glory. She cursed the stupid bathroom latch their landlord refused to change.

After Sara had had her fill of laughter, she helped Y/N stand, get somewhat dressed (a loose cotton shirt and some shorts), and helped her hobble down the stairs of their apartment, her leg in a make-shift splint of dishtowels and left-over wood paneling from an IKEA dresser.

            A groan of protest escaped her as Sara parked in the hospital parking lot and rushed to the passenger door, opening it for Y/N and helping her get out.

            “You are worse than my mother,” she huffed as she leaned her weight onto her good leg. “I am completely fine.”

            Sara sighed, and Y/N rolled her eyes, knowing what was coming. “My love,” she said. “My other half. The Yin to my Yang, the milk to my matcha. My partner in crime for whom I would kill and/or dispose of a body. I can quite literally see the fucking bone sticking out of your lower leg.”

            “It’s a sprain,” Y/N gritted through clenched teeth.

            “It’s an open fucking break and the fact that you refused to have an ambulance called, boggles my fucking mind, yet here we are.”

            To that, Y/N had nothing to say, but still, she thought Sara was being way too overdramatic. And honestly, if she kept mentioning the real situation of her sprain, making her remember the sound of the snap, how it had been the worst sound she’d ever heard, and Y/N had spent more than twenty years listening to her brother singing in the shower, before she moved to Pittsburg for her job, she would put Sara in a hospital bed herself. And then they could be the ED besties.

            But the worst was the pain that came when Sara reminded Y/N of why she had to go to the hospital.

            It had been a miracle no neighbor had called the cops or the EMTs themselves, though it didn’t necessarily comfort Y/N either. If she could scream bloody murder like that and nobody batted an eye, it didn’t say anything good about the complex they lived in.

            One look down had confirmed Y/N’s worst fears – she had, in fact, broken her leg. Not only that, it was an open break where part of her bone was sticking right out of the meat of her calf. For the first few moments, she’d been in such a shock, that the only thought running through her head was – I look like a poor man’s version of a Disney turkey leg. Then she’d started screaming. And that had made her puke.

            Right then and there, still lying half out of the shower, half on the floor, she’d emptied her stomach. There hadn’t been much in it, just the cup of water she’d drank when she’d awoken, but still. At least Y/N had been in the bathroom when it had happened. Tiles were easier to clean up than carpet, and she already felt bad enough Sara would have to wash the floor.

            But now, as some form of punishment, no doubt, Sara was helping Y/N hobble towards the emergency department of Pittsburg Trauma Medical Hospital, when a sad-looking man noticed them and rushed inside, grabbing a wheelchair, and getting by Y/N’s side in a matter of a second.

            “Here, sit down.” The man, Dennis Whitaker he introduced himself, took hold of her other bicep and moved the wheelchair behind her.

            “I’m fine,” she groaned. “I’m not an invalid. I can make it inside on my own. Besides, that wheelchair could be used for someone that actually needs it.”

            “You actually need it.” Sara levelled a gaze at her. “And I will make you a fucking invalid because I will clock you so hard in the head, you will have a concussion, if you don’t have one from the fall.”

             For a tense second, Y/N stood (or wobbled) her ground, Y/E/C eyes locked onto Sara’s hazel ones which were slowly narrowing with each passing moment until she cursed and said, “Alright fine.” Together Whitaker and Sara lowered the injured woman into the wheelchair. “God, I hate your mom-stares.”

            “It’s the only way to get you to do anything in terms of taking care of yourself.”

            “It’s not!” Y/N protested. “I’ll have you know, I made myself an omelet yesterday for breakfast. Veggies and all.”

            “Yeah, after I berated you that a stale Coke from three days ago, isn’t actual breakfast.” Sara walked side by side as Whitaker pushed the wheelchair into the madhouse that was the emergency department.

            It was fascinating to observe the situation as an outsider – nurses and doctors were like level-headed owls, their heads swiveling this way and that way, as they assessed the patients and their statuses, while the residents and patients themselves, not all, but quite a bunch, were like headless chickens, rushing around and trying to prioritize afflictions or become a priority to the doctors.

            Codes were called left and right, people moved from one side to the other, snapping on gloves and donning protective gear, and in the center of it all, was the command post – the nurse’s station which Whitaker had wheeled her to.

            “Dana, is there a room available?” he addressed a slim, blonde woman, probably the one in charge.

            “Room six is available, what’s the, oh,” she stopped mid-sentence as she noticed Y/N and the bone sticking out of her leg.

            “I don’t mind waiting,” she gave her a sheepish smile. “There’s probably loads of people before me. Besides, it’s just a sprain.”

            “Well, that’s probably one of the worst sprains I’ve ever seen,” Dana deadpanned as she motioned with her head towards someone behind them.

            Y/N shrugged. “Well, I am just special like that.”

            “Yeah, maybe in the head,” Sara grumbled as she gave the charge nurse all the necessary info for the moment. “Speaking of which – she also hit her head when she went down with her… sprain.”

            Dana’s lips quirked up as she hummed and tapped something on her iPad, weaving around the table, leaving Whitaker to follow her like a lost puppy as they moved to the room Y/N was now assigned to. “We’ll schedule you a CT ASAP.”

            Y/N turned her head to look at her best friend. “Given how this little trip was your idea, you’re paying off my medical debt.”

            “Just let these nice doctors and nurses take care of you.” Sara pinched the bridge of her nose. “Because quite honestly, I’m not too into the idea of searching for a new roommate. Do you know how many creeps I’d have to go through? And what if the one normal one I find has a fatal flaw?”

            “Such as?”

            “I dunno. What if they hate musicals?”

            “Oh, the tragedy.” Y/N pressed a hand against her chest as they wheeled her inside the room.

            There was another presence there, a young doctor, probably late twenties or early thirties. A cute little dimple on his chin, dark hair, and blue eyes. Reminded her a bit of the guy from Air Bud, if she squinted a bit.

            “My name’s Dr. Langdon,” he introduced himself, giving Y/N a reassuring smile. “And this is Dennis Whitaker, our fourth-year medical student. Would it be alright, if he and another one of our residents observed the situation today? This is a teaching hospital, but it is well within your rights to refuse.”

            She shook her head. “Observe away. Not much I can hide.”

            “Alright, thank you.” He ventured out for a quick second only to come back with a young woman who introduced herself as Dr. Mel King, a second-year resident. “Okay,” Dr. Langdon said. “Let’s get you onto the bed and see what we’re working with.”

            The three medical professionals surrounded her and helped Y/N move from the wheelchair on the paper-covered bed, without jostling her leg too much, but it was enough.

            So far, she’d been able to take her mind off the pain by distracting herself – she bickered with Sara, recited the script of The Hunger Games movie in her head while fantasising about a blond Josh Hutcherson, because Peeta was just elite like that. She’d even gone so far as to go over the division table, but now, as more attention was being placed on the broken leg, it started to hurt more and more. It was like Y/N mind-over-mattered an itching spot left by a mosquito by chanting “It’s not itchy” over and over in her head, but the second she stopped, the itching came back in full force.

            “So,” Dr. Dimple, she nicknamed him in her head, started. “What happened?”

            Y/N sighed, looking at the ceiling. “Can I just give you the not-humiliating version and say I’m a klutz?”

            He gave her a charming smile as a nurse prepped an IV line. “Unfortunately, we need to know beyond “clumsy”. The environment where this accident happened is important.”

"It could introduce pathogens into the wound," Mel, as Dr. King had requested to be called, said.

            Y/N chewed on her bottom lip before muttering, “I slipped in the shower and sprained my leg. And then got assaulted by some shampoo and conditioner bottles… and then I threw up.”

            “And don’t forget the head!” Sara said from the door where she still stood, observing the work happening.

            Y/N threw her a knowing smirk. “Never do. And I haven’t had any complaints yet.”

            “The throwing up could indicate a concussion,” Whitaker said. “Dana’s already scheduled a CT. And in terms of the leg, you actually have an open fra-,”

            Y/N took hold of Whitaker’s bicep like he’d done so for her when he’d helped wheel her inside the emergency department. “Please listen to me when I say this – unless you want me to hurl all over you, and trust me, I can aim, the only thing I have, is a sprain. Got it?”

            He gulped and nodded, stepping away from Y/N like a man who’d gotten sprayed by too many fluids in one day and didn’t want to be anywhere near the danger zone. “Loud and clear Miss Sprained-Ankle-Woman.”

            “Good.” The nausea that’d started creeping up her belly subsided. “Because I can deal with you people having to do things, but if I have to actually listen to any of it, or think about it, I will be sick.”

            “We can give you some anti-nausea medication for that,” Dr. Dimple soothed. “But first, we’ll get you a CT, and then we’ll have a surgery room prepped for you because you need to get this reset as quickly as possible. You will probably have some metal plates and screws to hold the uh… sprain together, and then a cast for about six to eight weeks.”

            “Great,” Y/N grumbled. “This is just fucking great. This is exactly how I wanted to spend my vacation, before, oh… oh, absolutely not.” Y/N’s eyes widened to a comically large size as she looked past her room and into the waiting area. “Sara, you need to get me out of here right the fuck now.”

            “Hey, woah, what is going on?” Dr. Langdon rushed to where Y/N was trying to get the IV line out. “Please don't do that, you'll only hurt yourself more.”

            “Y/N, what’s going on?” Sara’s brows were pulled tight in a frown, as she tried to help Dr. King get the oxygen monitor back onto her finger. “You need surgery, for fuck’s sake.”

            “It’s him,” she hissed, not taking her gaze away from where it’d locked on. “And I don’t want to spend a second anywhere near the dick.”

            “Who?” Sara swiveled her head to look beyond the glass separating them from the chaos beyond. “Who’s the dick?”

            “Him.”

            And then four pairs of eyes locked onto the man standing and talking with the charge nurse at The Hub, Y/N was glaring at.

            “Do – do you two know each other?” Dr. Dimple asked.  “Do you feel unsafe with him around?”

            “Yeah, you could say we know one another,” she scowled and crossed her arms as Mel managed to finally reattach the oxygen monitor, all of their attention onto her. “That’s the dude I hooked up with two weeks ago, and completely ghosted me that same morning.”

            Every single head snapped to look back at Dr. Michael “Robby” Robinavitch, who’d also finally noticed Y/N was at his workplace, as a patient no less. His eyebrows were right up to his hairline, brown eyes wide with disbelief and mouth agape as she glowered at the older man.

            It was quite a surreal moment – all of these capable doctors and residents and nurses, stunned by the information so bad, that they almost seemed to forget Y/N was there. She wondered what was going through their heads, as this seemed like it wasn’t a regular occurrence. Which stung even more – if Michael had been a fuckboy, she could take it, but it didn’t seem so. So, what was wrong with Y/N that had made him run away after the night they’d spent together?

            When they’d met at the bar, he had told her he was an emergency department attending. The big boss of his little duckling residents, dutifully running the hospital department with the help of the nurses.

Why, when Sara had finally managed to get Y/N inside the car, it hadn’t occurred to her, he would work in this particular hospital. Just why?

Y/N couldn’t say. Maybe she’d hoped he worked the night shifts. Maybe she’d hoped, he worked somewhere else, or even out of town, but, of course, for whatever sins she’d committed, karma couldn’t do her a solid one.

            Sara gasped, rushing by her side as Y/N watched Michael flounder and try and decide what to do – whether to interfere and face the music or run away from the hospital. He apparently chose the latter as he twisted on his heel and high-tailed it to the other end of the department, leaving a cackling Dana behind.

            “That’s him?” Sara strained her neck. “That’s the hot doctor?”

            Y/N scoffed. “The one and only. Couldn’t even leave a fucking note or something. Like I can take a hint a one-night-stand is a one-night-stand, alright? But don’t just fucking bolt out of the door like your ass is on fire before the other party wakes up. Fucking dickhead.”

            “Well, maybe it wasn’t as fun of a night for him, as you thought, and he didn’t want to hurt your feelings.” Sara raised a brow.

            “Oh, trust me,” Y/N smirked. “It was a very fun night for him. I would know. I was there, and you can’t fake the kind of shaking. Four hours will do that to a guy,” she winked and touched the tips of her pointer finger and thumb in an A-Okay sign.

            “Yeah,” it was Dr. Dimple smiling at her, the grin on his face almost wolfish in nature. “Yeah, you are absolutely my new favorite person in the world.”

            However, whatever he wanted to say or ask, was cut short when Dana returned to inform that her CT slot was coming up, and so Y/N was wheeled away, not daring to look at Michael as they passed one another in the hallway.

            As the results came back for a minor concussion, the anesthesiologist informed, that they recommended a spinal for the surgery, while the team prepper, but Y/N shot it down immediately.

            “Absolutely not. Look, I know it’s not safe to go to sleep after a concussion, but I will not be listening to the sounds of some bone-carpenter crunching on my leg. Put me under,” she gave him her most pathetic look. “Please.”

            The specialist still tried to argue, but he couldn’t do it much longer, as Y/N needed surgery as soon as possible, so after five minutes of strongly recommending the spinal, he relented and in half an hour, Y/N had managed to get hers – she was out like a light, without a sound in her ears.

            It was the best sleep she’d ever had in her life. Like floating on a cloud, surrounded by doves and angels singing her lullabies. She never wanted to wake up, but something was rousing her out of the blissful state.

            A large warm hand around her palm, thumb rubbing the top of it, was soothing her senses. It was like hot chocolate after being out in the sow. Or sitting by a fireplace with a blanket wrapped around your shoulders.

            “Good afternoon, Miss Sprained-Ankle,” a low, rumbly voice greeted Y/N as she floated back into consciousness. Her eyes locked onto two gentle, brown ones, and despite the medication, she knew she wasn’t hallucinating him.

            Michael’s face was beard-covered like it had been when they’d met. He still had the same worry lines on his forehead and the crow’s feet around his eyes. Y/N had said she liked those the best.

            “It shows you’ve smiled and laughed despite everything else,” she’d informed him over the rim of her Pornstar Martini.

            She couldn’t truly imagine just how draining his line of work was, both physically and mentally, but the laugh lines she could see hiding under the beard, harmonizing with those around his eyes, was a feature Y/N had noticed first.

            “So,” she slurred her tongue a swollen mass of sandpaper in her mouth, and Michael noticed that, holding a cup of water against her lips until she’d had her fill. “Do I have to keep breaking bones to wake up with you next to me?”

            “I hope not.” With gentleness Y/N knew he possessed, yet didn’t expect, he brushed away a droplet that’d slipped past her mouth, and onto her cheek. “I hope this is the only time I ever have to see you in such a state.”

            “Can’t promise that,” she shook her head. “I do have a reputation to uphold.”

            “Yeah?” amusement was evident on his weary face. “And what kind of reputation is that?”

            “When I was in first grade, on the first day of school, I broke my arm. And then like a few months later, I smashed my face against a radiator and split my lip open. Still have a scar,” she pointed right below her right nostril where a sliver of lighter skin was. “And then, but that was like third grade or something, I smashed my head against a metal railing and split my head open. I could even push my fingers inside and scrape my -,”

            “Okay, I understand,” Michael interrupted her and pulled the hand that was tapping against the hairline on her forehead. “You are an ED connoisseur, but please, don’t make this a habit.”

            “Damn, straight I am.” Y/N gave a confident nod, but before Michael could ask anything else, she said, “You know what I don’t get? Like why did my leg bone hurt while sticking out of my body, but my teeth that are sticking out right now, don’t?” She clacked them for emphasis. “They’re outside bones.”

            A soft smile bloomed on Michael’s face as he brushed a strand of hair away from her forehead. She could feel someone had put her hair in a protective style and had to wonder if it had been the man beside her. But that wouldn’t make any sense. Why would he care like that for her?

            “For one,” he muttered. “You broke your fibula – the smaller bone in your lower leg, and in doing so, hurt the surrounding things like muscles and skin. That is one reason why you felt such pain. And two – if you broke a tooth, it would hurt too. Your cavities hurt, don’t they?”

            “Mmm,” a self-satisfied smile bloomed on Y/N’s face. “I wouldn’t know. I’ve never had a cavity.”

            “That’s good. Dentists aren’t cheap.” As a response she just clacked her teeth again, making Michael laugh. “How are you feeling? Any pain? Nausea?”

            “Nope, I am A-Okay. Honestly, that was like the best sleep of my life. Well…” Y/N pouted, taking her gaze away from Michael’s. “That night when I fell asleep with you is also up in the Top 5, but then I woke up and… you know… you weren’t there.”

            She was obviously delirious from the medication being pumped through her veins, but much like when Y/N was drunk, she was a throw-up-remember-everything kind of a girl, instead of a black-out-drunk. Besides, it wasn’t like she could run anywhere. Quite literally.

            Michael sighed, dragging a hand down his face, visibly cringing at her words. “About that… I – yeah, I think the only thing I can say is I’m sorry. For, you know, ghosting, as you youngsters say.”

            “ ‘S alright.” Y/N shrugged, trying to act nonchalant, as if the second she’d seen him, she hadn’t been ready to bolt. “I’m over it.”

            “No, no it’s not okay. I shouldn’t have done that. Because that night was… great. It was amazing, actually. And everything leading up to the uh, you… you know, the...” he cleared his throat, and a smirk pulled up on Y/N’s lips.

            “The sex? Come on, you can say it in your big old man age. It’s just three letters.”

            “Jesus Christ.” Michael rubbed his neck as a slight pink shade crawled up his neck, which made Y/N let out a chuckle at how uncomfortable he looked talking about this. Maybe it was time to let this go, for his sake and her own sanity.

            “Look, if it makes you feel any better,” Y/N shifted to the edge of the mattress and patted the side of her bed, so he could sit down. After asking if she was sure, he did take the offered space. “I – I’ve been treating you a bit unfairly with this. I think my ego was a bit crushed after waking up and not having you there, but, umm… you’re off the hook. Besides, I think I’m in your debt with all of this. Your team is amazing.”

            “They’re pretty great, aren’t they?” he mumbled, one of his hands having moved to toy with the wristband the hospital had assigned to Y/N. “But still, how I reacted then, and even earlier in the morning… it wasn’t right. I mean, I’m pushing fifty for fuck’s sake. That’s not what someone my age does.”

            “So what?” she raised a brow. “The issue is you think you’re a cradle-robber? Because you’re no more that than I am a grave robber. I’m twenty-six, Michael,” she turned her palm up hoping he’d accept it and slide his hand in hers. After a moment of hesitancy, he did, and Y/N squeezed it in reassurance. “I mean, if you think you’re doing something bad, by having slept with someone two decades younger than you, I’ll have you know, according to regency times, as a woman who’ll be turning twenty-seven this year, I’m pretty much a decrepit old spinster.”

            Michael let out a soft laugh as his fingers trailed the lines on Y/N’s palm. “You have your whole life ahead of you. Me? I’m your probably dad’s age.”

            “And looking hotter than ever, if you ask me.”

            “Yeah? You think so?” He asked as Y/N hummed in affirmation. “Well then, for a decrepit old spinster, you are beautiful. And acting with much more grace than I deserved or deserve.”

            Something in the way he said those last few words made her heart squeeze. “Michael… of course you deserve grace.”

            “You’re being far too good to me… you’re far too good for me…”

            Y/N’s brows furrowed at that. Slowly, she attempted to rise in a sitting position, but she didn’t get far before Michael had his arms around her waist, like they’d been two weeks ago, pushing a pillow to stabilize the small of her back. Once he was sure she was comfortable, he opened an apple juice box and handed it to her.

            “To get your sugar up.”

            But she just stared at him, only reaching for the little carton after he’d resumed his previous sitting position. “Is that what this is about?” she asked. “Some insecurity you think I deserve better than you? Because I can decide those things for myself. I am an adult. With a fully-developed frontal lobe, mind you.”

            He took in a deep breath, held it for a second, then released it, and Y/N watched that whatever kind of decision he’d come to, had released a certain tension that’d been accumulating in his body. “Kind of, I guess. But mostly…” he swallowed, then nodded to himself, eyes trained on her wristband. “Mostly I got scared.”

            “Of what?” Y/N tilted her head. “I mean, I know my morning breath probably isn’t that attractive, and the smeared makeup made me look like a coked-out raccoon, but -,”

            “No,” Michael shook his head, chuckling. His cheeks were reddish at her words, but as he lifted his eyes to hers, there was a grateful look to them. Like he was thankful she wasn’t making fun of him even in his ripe old age. “You,” he stumbled over his words a bit, “when I saw you there, sleeping by my side like you belonged… I don’t think I’ve ever seen anything more beautiful than that. And that’s when I thought to myself – if I worked up the courage, could there be more mornings like that? Could I make you breakfast and coffee one day? Maybe I’d get the privilege of falling asleep next to you as we watch movies at night. And that scared me.”

            “The possible future?”

            “Wanting that possible future, because that feeling, the one that started to grow right here,” he tapped the center of his chest. “I couldn’t think straight. So, I had to go.”

            “I mean,” Y/N swallowed hard. “That is a lot to imagine after only a few hours together.”

            “Does that… creep you out? ‘Cause it’s totally understandable if it does. I mean Jesus, I’m old… and you’re so young.”

            “No, it doesn’t.” And she meant it when she said it. “I find it actually quite endearing, but you can stop being so hung-up on the age difference. If you think there might be some daddy issues on my side, I can assure you – there’s none. I quite like my dad, and I definitely don’t see you as such a figure. Not after the things you did to me. ‘Cause, quite honestly, sex with you was probably the best dicking-down I’ve had in a year.”

            If Michael had been drinking anything, Y/N was sure he would have choked with how he sputtered at her words. “Well, uh, yeah, I uh… I’m glad you… enjoyed it.”

            “I did. And I know you enjoyed it too,” her smile was nothing short of wicked.

            “Yeah, and apparently now the rest of the residents and nurses and doctors know it too?” Michael raised his brows at her.

            It took Y/N a while to realize he was talking about when she’d gotten admitted and spilt the beans on their night together, implying their copious amount of copulation. “Hey, don’t shoot the messenger, but I’d like to think your reputation has now gone sky-high between the female nurses and doctors. Maybe the guys and theys as well. But I do apologize for talking about your private life while at your work. In my defense, until that very moment, I didn’t know you worked here. And well, I was pissed.”

            “You and your mouth will get you in trouble one day,” Michael pointed at her.

            “Yeah? Would you like to put something in it, to shut me up? Last time, you really liked it when I -,”

            “Okay, trouble, that’s enough.” Even though his words had a finality to them, humor glowed on his features. He seemed relaxed. Content even, as he took the now empty apple juice box Y/N had been sipping on this whole time.

            “You on a break?” She started scooting down the bed once more, and Michael instantly helped her get situated.

            “Want to get rid of me so quickly?”

            “No. It’s just you’re spending an awfully long time with me. Don’t you have other patients to check in on? I don’t want you to waste your time if you need to get to someone else. Or maybe grab a bite to eat? I’m fairly sure doctors don’t know how to have a good work-life balance, despite continuously recommending it to us, mere mortals.”

            “Time with you isn’t a waste.”

            Oh.

            Oh, how badly did Y/N want to rip off the little wires connecting her to the heart monitor, because had Michael not turned the sound off, she was sure the whole hospital would be hearing it go nuts at his words, the squiggling beat of it a treat for only Michael this time, because when he noticed it, a smirk bloomed on his mouth. He didn’t say anything, but he didn’t need to, not when he murmured, twining their fingers together, “I want to kiss you so bad.”

            “I definitely won’t be opposed to that.” Y/N’s answer might have come way too quickly, but she was beyond feeling embarrassed about wanting him. “You have permission to kiss away. For as long as possible. All day, every day, whenever you want to.”

            “Well, thank you for that,” Michael chuckled, cupping her cheek, and she leaned into the touch. “But… not right now. Let me take you out on a proper date. Let me do this right.”

            “Oh my God, seriously?” Y/N whined throwing her head back. “You’re gonna make me wait? Especially after that whole speech and whatnot? You are a cruel, cruel man Dr. Michael Robinavitch.”

            Slowly, without breaking eye contact, he leaned to hover over Y/N, a golden necklace slipping from the inside of his shirt and dangling before her. She wanted to pull it between her teeth like she’d done so during their one night together. It took every dwindling ounce of willpower not to.

            “Maybe, I just want you aching. And yearning. You were the one who said men don’t yearn enough nowadays. But I have. For you, for two whole god-damned weeks. Now it’s your turn.”

            It was pathetic how Y/N wanted to cry and whimper. “But I didn’t even do anything! You were the one that ran out! Why am I being punished for your actions?”

            “Do you – do you not want to go on a date with me?”

            “I do, but I’d rather you rail me as soon as possible.”

            “Well, for one,” Michael tried to continue on as if Y/N’s words hadn’t made heat creep up his face, but he could only do so much. He was a human, after all. “You’re not allowed any strenuous activities until you’ve got a clean bill of health. And two, all teasing aside, I want to do this properly. I want to do right by you this time.”

            “Why would you?” she exasperated. “I wasn’t complaining when you didn’t do it right by me, and I’m certainly not going to if you suddenly decide to stop being chivalrous. Maybe even right here. We could recreate some scene from Grey’s Anatomy?” Y/N wiggled her brows at him, eliciting a deep rumble of a chuckle.

            “Grey’s is just a malpractice lawsuit after a malpractice lawsuit, and I, unlike the characters there, don’t want my medical license to be revoked. Until you get discharged, I’m one of your doctors.”

            “My hot doctor, you mean.”

            The sigh that left Michael was not weary or a worn-out kind of noise. Rather it was a resigned I-guess-this-is-my-life-now kind of a sigh, especially combined with the endearing look on his face, it made Y/N feel warm all over.

            Slowly, as they talked a bit more, her eyes began to droop, exhaustion from the morning, from the surgery and the subsequent consequences settling in once more. “Will you stay?” she asked as Michael brushed a knuckle along her jaw. “Just until I fall asleep?”

            “Of course,” Michael took her hand in his, sitting down by her side again, as he pressed a kiss to her wrist. “And I… I wish I could promise I’ll be here when you wake up, but I, -”

            “I know,” Y/N interrupted him with a soft and understating smile. “By that point, you’ll probably be off saving lives. It’s why I’m not asking you to.”

            “I’ll try though.” He promised.

            “Okay.”

            And with her hand still in Michael’s, Y/N drifted off once again without even realizing it was pitch-black outside, and Michael hadn’t been wearing his shift scrubs. He should have long been home resting, and yet, he hadn’t been able to leave her. Not like he did before.

            By the time she awoke early the next morning, Y/N was clearheaded, and yet all her thoughts mulled over the conversation she’d had with Michael the previous night. Would he go back on his word? Had he only talked with her like that because she was high on pain meds, and maybe thought she wouldn’t remember their discussions?

            She knew he hadn’t promised to be there when she awoke, so Y/N didn’t hold it against him, but she couldn’t deny the sting. But that was immediately soothed by the hoodie that’d been laid over the back of a chair.

            His hoodie.

            A promise he would at least have a reason to come back and check in on her. It was Dana, the charge nurse, peeking her head inside that pulled Y/N back into the present. “How are we feeling today? Ready to be discharged? Dr. Langdon will be with you shortly for a follow-up.”

            The woman in the hospital bed groaned. “Can’t I just stay here? Like you people – you are normal. Sara will be a mother hen on crack. I am willing to brave hospital food, as long as I don’t have to go home to all that fussing. She’s probably already bullied our landlord into installing a lift or something.”

            “She cares for you,” it was Dr. Langdon piping in, as he entered her room, pulling on a pair of gloves and nodding to Dana in thanks. “You’re pretty lucky to have a friend like her.”

            “Yeah, I know,” Y/N sighed as Dr. Langdon looked over her leg, asked some questions about pain levels and talked her through the post-op care. “But in my defense, she has a tendency to overreact.”

            “I’d say you have a tendency to underreact, but that’s just my professional opinion.”

            She rolled her eyes as Dr. Langdon finished his assessment and handed off her chart to Dana, so they could start the discharge process. “God forbid a girl has hobbies.”

            “In any case, I do think the whole ED is in debt to Sara.”

            To that she raised a brow.

            “Well, had she not made you come in, I don’t know if Dr. Robby would have had a chance of seeing you again. Because, if I have to be honest, we’ve all been scratching our heads the past couple of weeks trying to figure out why he’s been in such a mood. Now we know why.”

            “You two shit-talking me?” Michael’s soft tone interrupted the conversation, as he crossed his arms and leaned against the entryway. “How are you feeling?”

            She tried and failed to hide the heat creeping up her veins. Even if Y/N had succeeded, that damned monitor, the sound no doubt having been turned back on by Michael before he left, to make sure if anything went awry at night, someone was there for her, betrayed her anyway. God, she wanted to punch the smile off both the men's faces.

            “Fine.” She turned her head to look at the wall, as a nurse stepped in and removed the IV catheter and wrapped her hand in gauze. “Not looking forward to the itching that will appear, in what? Three days?”

            “No scratching,” Dr. Dimple pointed at her with a pen. “You could injure yourself and cause a serious infection. No rulers, no knitting needles, no crochet needles, no twigs or branches, no nothing.”

            “But what about -,”

            “No nothing,” he emphasized. “Or I will have to recommend Dr. Robby make a house call on you. Though that isn’t much of a threat for you two, is it?”

            “Okay, Frank? Scram. Now. There’re patients that need checking on. I can take care of Y/N.”

            “Yeah, I bet you can,” Dr. Langdon let out a laugh but was out of the room before either she or Michael could say anything.

            The only thing Y/N was happy about, was that the comment had made not only her flustered, but Michael as well, as he shifted on his feet and rubbed the back of his neck in a nervous tick. In the end, he gave her a smile that said “Sorry about him” and padded over to where he’d left his hoodie.

            And that only made her even more flustered, because seeing a man like him, so level-headed and sure, get visibly nervous over her, did things to Y/N. Which made her want to do things to Michael, but then Dana returned, two crutches in hand, Whitaker wheeling a wheelchair once more, and all passion slipped away.

            “Right, thanks.” She eyed the crutches like they were cow-eating pythons. “I fucking hate my life.”

            Low, warm laughter filtered through the room as Dana helped Y/N get redressed and situated her in the wheelchair, crutches placed over her knees as she was rolled to the nurse’s station.

            “I uh, took the liberty of calling Sara for you,” Michael said as he leaned against the table. When Y/N raised a brow in question, he elaborated, “She’s in your emergency contacts. Should be here in fifteen or so.”

            “Thank you. You didn’t have to do that, you know.”

            “I know,” he smiled. “But I wanted to.”

            And there it was again, that warmth that blossomed in her chest, only this time she let it spread, let it wrap around her heart and wash away that bitterness, that’d been there since the morning Y/N had woken up cold and alone.

            It hadn’t been just the sex, though that night Michael had given her some of the most earth-shattering orgasms she’d ever had (thankfully, Sara had been away with her girlfriend, so she didn’t have to suffer through the teasing).

            It was the conversations leading up to it, the sense of ease Y/N felt around Michael. He was witty and sarcastic, his humor dry, but not at the expense of others while being engaging and thought-provoking at the same time. What had sealed the deal for her though was when he actually engaged in the debate, she presented him – if he had to kiss a fish-spider hybrid, what would he choose – fish head, spider body or fish body, spider head?

            He’d made her laugh so hard she cried, and when Y/N had deemed it was time to call an Uber and go home, she’d taken the risk and asked if he wanted to come to her place. And after a few moments where she wanted the earth to open and swallow her whole, he’d nodded.

            Together they waited for the cab, standing side by side, yet not touching. He’d opened the car door for her, before slipping in himself.

            The tension could be cut with a knife, and afterwards, Y/N had given the driver five stars for enduring it, while the whole way, one of Michael’s palms had slowly moved to rest against her thigh, and she’d had to clench them together because if she didn’t, there would be a noticeable wet spot underneath.

            After an agonizing half an hour's drive, they finally got to her place. Michael held the door open for her, and insisted on paying for the Uber, no matter how much Y/N protested.

            Every step towards the apartment she was renting on the fourth floor of the complex, was agony. As she fumbled for her keys, Michael’s fingers were slowly skimming the side of her dress where the zipper rested.

            Y/N’s whole body was a live-wire, and she wondered how in the world had the lock not melted from the heat, as it slid in place and she unlocked the door, the motion now forever having a sexual connotation, for in that moment Michael was the key that would unlock her desires.

            Together, they stepped beyond the threshold, and yet still, he never once removed his touch from her body. From that damned little black number. She’d only worn it because she’d been set up on a blind date. They were supposed to meet up at the bar for a drink before going to a play, but as it turns out, even guys who like theatre can ghost.

            When Y/N realized the situation, she wanted to go home, as her date was the one who had the tickets, pull this thing off and drink the already opened bottle of wine that was in the fridge, but she could have at least one good cocktail before that.

            That’s when Dr. Robby, or as he’d asked her to call him by his first name, Michael, slid into the seat next to her. They didn’t talk for the first five minutes, not until she’d been scrolling through Instagram and some post had caught her eye. Something about green tea enemas and glowing skin, and the man beside had released a heavy-duty sigh, accompanied by “fucking Dr. Google.”

            It’s when slowly but surely, they’d struck up a conversation, which had now resulted in Y/N having Michael towering over her, his beard scratching against the crook of her neck where he’d placed his chin.

            When his hands wove and settled against her stomach, any sort of resolve she’d had, snapped. Instantly, she turned, weaving her arms around his neck and pulling his mouth to hers in a bruising kind of kiss. The kind that left you breathless and dizzy and wanting more.

            She felt an insatiable thrill rush down her spine as Michael responded with just as much vigor, the pads of his fingers digging deep into her hips and pulling her to be flush against his chest, so much so, that Y/N could feel his own desire growing in his groin.

            “I’ve never hated clothes more than I do right now,” she giggled as Michael grappled with the door handle and pushed it close without disconnecting from one another.

            “Then let’s get them off, shall we?”

            The way he dragged the side zipper open, was almost reverent, worshipping even. Like he wanted to prolong the build-up between them, and Y/N couldn’t lie – she was loving it, even if she was losing her mind. So many times, when she’d had hook-ups, guys tended to just get her naked as fast as possible, which was fine. She was down for it, but there was something indescribable about how Michael reveled in feeling her slowly start to tremble, in how he kissed up and down her neck, while his fingers took their sweet time. It drove her insane with want, in an amount she’d never felt before.

            His pointer finger dragged its way up Y/N’s bicep, making goosebumps erupt all over before he slowly slid a strap down. Then the other, until the dress was pooling around her waist, and still, where usually she’d be helping the guy shimmy herself out of the dress, Michael didn’t rush. He simply allowed his hands to explore her body, skimming along her ribs and up to the black lacy number she’d worn, then right back down.

            “You counting if I have all my ribs in place, Dr. Robby?” Y/N let out a shaky breath, trying to alleviate the gathered tension, for she was just about to combust, but all she got was a soft smile as he leaned down and pressed a kiss to her neck where her pulse was visibly thrumming.

            “I don’t have much time in my day to stop and admire art. So please, indulge me. And art, which I’m allowed to touch, should be revered even more so.”

            Her eyes may or may not have rolled to the back of her head at his words, and he hadn’t even gotten his head between her legs yet. Yeah, Dr. Michael “Robby” Robinavitch, the attending of a trauma centre, would be the death of her.

Name of the deceased - Y/N Y/L/N. Date of death - 4th of April, 2025. Cause of death – self-combustion. Reason for self-combustion – a sexy as fuck doctor.

            Quite honestly, if that was how she was going to go, so be it.

            Finally, though, after what felt like ages, her dress was shed, leaving her only in her underwear and strappy high-heels she’d worn.

            “If there is one thing I hate, it’s not having a photographic memory,” Michael grumbled as his hands skimmed along the waistband of her panties. “But trust me when I say this, I will be picturing this moment for decades to come.”

            “You are more than welcome to have a look at what’s hiding underneath,” Y/N said. Or that is what she would have said, had she not simply whimpered in response. Not very sexy of her, but the feeling of his chest rumbling with a laugh, totally made up for it.

            She gathered enough of her bearings to step out of the fabric around her feet and move them along to her room. Never did his eyes leave her, never did his gaze waver or wander as they faced one another, her queen-sized bed behind her.

            “You are awfully overdressed,” Y/N mumbled, allowing herself the luxury of running her palms along the still-covered planed of his chest. His breathing was steady, but to feel the erratic thumping of his heart excited her beyond measure. It meant all that composure was just an act, and she was thrilled she’d be the one to crack it.

            She was just about to move her fingers to the buttons of his shirt when Michael slid down to his knees. If his hands hadn’t been resting against her thighs, she was sure she would’ve buckled and crashed. And Michael, damn the man to hell and back, knew it, if only by the smirk that stretched his face as he unlaced the strappy heels she had on and helped her stand on her feet.

            Y/N covered her face and groaned, throwing her head back. “You’re enjoying this, aren’t you? Torturing me?”

            “Torturing you?” A kiss against her navel. “The only person being tortured tonight has been me. At the bar. In the car. Even now, you’re driving me crazy. So, if this is torture, simply consider it payback.”

            With the gentlest of touches, only a doctor could manage, Michael skimmed over Y/N’s stretchmarks, scars and blemishes – pieces of herself she didn’t particularly like, but the way he touched her… it was like he was mapping out the carve-marks of a Michelangelo statue. She was Venus and those – the history of her life.

            By the time he got back up to her mouth, she was a trembling mess, her nails digging into the muscles of his back, as finally, to her relief, he allowed her to rid him of the shirt.

            Much like he’d done to her, Y/N allowed herself the pleasure of exploring his body, mapping out the ridges and slopes of his chest and abdomen, before moving around to his back, and once they made their way to the small of it, she dug her nails against the skin there. The groan she was rewarded with, was sweeter than the cocktail he’d bought her.

            “Is it okay, if I touch you here?” Michael’s fingers slipped along the tops of her breasts before they moved to her back where they toyed with the clasp of the garment.

            “More than,” Y/N’s words were a breathless whisper by that point, and her inhale stuttered in her chest as she deftly snapped it open.

            It was clear he had experience, and not just because he was two decades her senior, but probably also because he’d done so in the trauma center, he worked at. For a brief, stupid second, she wondered how he could still find such acts pleasurable when he’d no doubt had to have done it during horrendous emergencies, yet all that was wiped away when Michael lowered his head and his teeth grazed a nipple.

            Her sharp gasp echoed around them, and Y/N weaved her fingers through his hair, pushing his face closer, as he lavished at her chest. The next day, she was sure, there would be bruises and love bites blooming like flowers across her chest and sternum, not to mention the delicious beard burn.

            Y/N moaned as he pulled the peak into his mouth, but when an uninhibited thought entered, it made her throw it back in a deep groan.

            “That feel good?”

            “So fucking good, but also, so yeah, I,” she stammered trying to get her brain to cooperate and create a coherent sentence. “Okay, so I just imagined you in glasses, and this got like ten times hotter.”

            “Glasses?” Michael chuckled, pulling slightly back and looking up at her. “That’s what does it for you?”

            “Correction – you in glasses. Though you right now are so doing it for me too. But that image just… yeah… kinda glad you don’t have any on. I’d probably be a pile of ash by this point.”

            “Now that would be a shame, wouldn’t it?” He said, slowly moving to her other breast, but not neglecting the one he’d already loved on, by cupping it in his large palm. “I mean, I’m just getting started.”

            Yeah, Y/N was dead and done for.

            As he continued licking at her chest, the hand that’d been fondling one of them, slid down her front and tentatively brushed against her clothed core. It was a single knuckle right against where her clit was, but it was enough for her to jolt in his grasp. Michael just steadied her and held tighter around her waist.  

            Once he deemed Y/N’s breasts worshipped enough, he trailed back up between them and covered her mouth with his, yet the knuckle, that damned fucking knuckle, still slid against her pussy. He could no doubt feel how wet she was, the material, though there wasn’t much of it anyway, soaked through so bad, her thighs were already sticky.

            “Michael please,” Y/N was now openly begging. She was way beyond feeling embarrassed for such a move when in the span of half an hour, he’d reduced her to liquid fire. No one had ever made her feel this wanted. This needed. And she desperately wanted and needed him too.

            “Tell me what you want,” he murmured, as he pushed his thumbs beyond the waistband of her panties and started to lower them down. The cool air hit her exposed core, and Y/N released a breathless moan. “You gotta tell me what you want and don’t want. I’m not gonna go any further until you do.”

            “I want you to touch me.”

            “I am touching you.”

            She could feel him smirk as his hands took hold of the globes of her ass and squeezed.

            “No, I want you to touch me there,” Y/N whined and tried to chase his mouth with hers, but Michael pulled back, shaking his head.

            “Gotta be more specific than that, sweetheart.”

            She debated on pulling away completely, on not giving him what he wanted either, but she was pathetic for this man. So, instead, she took one of his hands and guided it from where it rested against her ass, towards the front, sighing in relief as he let her do so. With her fingers guiding his, they slid to rest between her legs as Michael slowly, ever so exploratory, found her clit. She pressed her hand harder against his, so he could match the pressure on her core, and when he did so, overwhelming pleasure flooded her veins.

            “There,” Y/N breathed. “I want you to touch me there. And then,” she moved his hand deeper, by the wrist, until she could feel the pads of his fingers nudging against her entrance. “I want you to put three of your fingers inside me, while you suck on my clit, until I’m a crying mess.”

            As Y/N lifted her head back to look at him, there was absolutely no sign of the warm brown irises that’d looked at her so gently at the bar. Sure, it was dark in the apartment, yet even in bright daylight, she’d bet all her student loans, only two black abysses would be staring back at her, especially with how fast his chest was rising and falling.

            “And then?”

            God, had his voice dropped even lower? How did he manage to make it so gravelly, yet smooth as the darkest, most succulent chocolate?

            “And then…” Her fingers trembled as she moved her hands to the front of his pants, undoing the buckle and flipping open the button, lowering the zipper as she went. All the while, Michael applied steady pressure on her clit, circling the bundle of nerves just enough to drive her towards the edge, but not enough for release to come. “And uhm, then…” She pushed his pants down as far as they would go, letting them bunch around his knees.

            It took barely a moment for him to step out of them completely, kicking them to some forgotten corner of her room, leaving him in only his boxers. Somewhere along the way he’d lost the shoes and socks, but Y/N wasn’t about to go and hunt for them. Not with how he still circled her clit with those experienced appendages.

            “Yes?” He raised a brow and pressed harder against her clit, making her pull in a sharp breath.

            “And then,” Y/N trailed a teasing finger along the band of his boxers, for once delighting in how his abdomen muscles went taut, and his obviously hard dick twitched inside the confines. “And then I want you to fuck me. However, you want to. As long as by the end of it, neither of us know up from down and left from right.”

            When she cupped him over the clothes he still had left on, it seemed like it snapped something in Michael, some taut, already fragile wire, that’d begun fraying ever since she’d invited him back to her place. Because this time when he kissed Y/N, it was a hungry kiss. A man starved being served the most lavish meal of all.

            She was on the mattress in a matter of seconds, body covered by his towering frame. They molded perfectly together, Y/N thought. When she rolled her hips up to get at least some form of friction, he responded in kind, clearly searching to satiate his own desire.

            Michael’s hands slid from her shoulders down the length of her arms before intertwining their fingers and bringing them up and over Y/N’s head, not once disconnecting from the kiss.

            “You keep them there,” he instructed, breathing the words into her mouth. “And when I’m done with my appetizer, we’ll move on to the first of the main courses.”

            “Appetizer?” Y/N squeaked out. A good hook-up in her books was at least two orgasms, usually only having one. But calling eating her out an appetizer, and then having a numbered list of courses, was something else completely.

            Michael’s only response was that same damned smirk she’d learned could only mean torture, as he made his way between her legs, and without wasting another second, diving in between them.

            The first lick of his tongue was a broad, all-encompassing one. And Y/N could only hope her neighbors had some good noise-cancelling headphones at the ready.

            His forearms had settled against her hips and palms splayed themselves over her stomach to push her down against the bed, as she tried to chase his mouth.

            And what a mouth it was.

            Who knew the soft-spoken trauma doctor she’d met on a random Friday night at a bar while waiting for a date that never came, would be the creation of the Devil himself?

            But when he pushed two thick fingers inside, shortly followed by a third, just like Y/N had asked, all thoughts flew out of the window. The way he curled them in an attempt at finding that spot that made her gasp and choke on air, the way he scissored them, stretching her, preparing her for the first course he had in mind, was diabolical.

            Her first orgasm came unexpectedly. She could feel it like a wave – pushing and pulling – but she hadn’t expected the moment it crested and shattered against the rocks, swift and sharp, coming without a warning, all due to the teasing that’d happened before, no doubt.

            Michael rode it out with Y/N, until her hips stopped grinding against his mouth, and he could gently remove his fingers from her pussy.

            He placed a soft kiss against the inside of her thigh, the skin raw and tender from his beard, that now glistened with her juices.

            “ ‘M sorry,” Y/N mumbled, an arm thrown over her eyes as she came down from her high and tears streamed down to her temples, just like she’d requested.

            “Whatever for?”

            “Didn’t warn you I was coming.”

            As the aftershocks receded, and she removed her arm, she found Michael looking up at her completely puzzled. “And why would I need a warning? I could tell, you know.” He rose to hover over her. “The way you were clenching. Fucking proud of it too.”

            “No, I mean,” she huffed, trailing a hand down his chest. “Sometimes guys don’t want to… you know… have that in their mouth. They’d rather finish a girl off with their fingers and not have to… taste it.”

            Now that was one way to kill a mood, but Y/N had already opened her big mouth and the words were out.

            “And why wouldn’t I want to taste it, hmm?” Michael tilted his head at her, as his hands drifted up and down her sides, over her breasts and clavicles, to skim along her neck and finally settle on the pillow beside her head. “Why wouldn’t I want that, when it’s the end goal? You got your tears,” he kissed the corners of her eyes where the salt still lingered. “And I got my wine.”

            Her gaze drifted to the beard, the one she would be feeling for days to come, as she went about her life. The one that was glistening with the remnants of her orgasm even in the dark, and Y/N wondered, what it would be like to sit atop it. To have him pull her down by the waist as she claimed his mouth for her throne. They were such salacious thoughts, for a moment, embarrassment flushed through her, but come on! After such an eating out, Y/N was allowed to fantasize.

            “And by the end of this, if you let me,” Michael mumbled, a golden chain dangling in between them. Quickly she snatched it between her teeth and pulled, making him come closer. “I’d like to do so at least once more.”

            “You are absolutely welcome to it. Morning, noon and night.”

            But at that moment, Y/N had no intentions of allowing him to go for another round, as when he leaned down for a kiss, she lifted a leg over his hip and twisted, throwing Michael off his balance and onto his back, with her now on top.

            “But right now… you had your starter.” She gave him a wicked grin. “And I’ve yet to still have mine.”

            “Fuck me,” was all he managed to groan out as he threaded a hand through his hair, head pressed tight against her silk-covered pillows while Y/N rid him of his boxers.

            His length sprang free, thick and aching. It slapped against his abdomen and her hand curled around it immediately to give him some sort of relief, precum dripping from the tip. Or maybe, she intended to do quite the opposite.

            He’d taken his sweet fucking time riling her up. She could take hers. But it was the way he let out the smallest of “please”, the way his eyes locked onto hers, practically begging to put him out of his misery, that did her in. She’d tease him come morning. For now, she was way too aroused herself to deprive her body of his any longer.

            Y/N gathered a bit of saliva in her mouth and let it drip down onto his length, before dragging her tongue along the vein at the base of it, her lips wrapping around the tip as she made her way up and giving it a gentle, yet firm, suck.

            Michael’s hips jolted, and a hand grasped onto her head. He didn’t push it down or pull her hair in any way, more so it seemed he needed something solid to hold onto as she pulled his length into her mouth, until it hit the back of her throat, making both of them choke.

            “You don’t need to do that,” Michael started, ready to pull Y/N away if it became too much for her, but she stayed there, relaxing her muscles bit by bit, until he was so deep down her throat, her nose brushed against the hairs of his pelvis.

            “Fucking. Hell.” Those were the only two words he managed to express before Y/N trailed her mouth up and started to really suck him off. After that, it was just grunts and groans, his hand tightening and then unclenching in her hair, but never pressing, never pushing her to take more than she wanted to. Michael was completely immersed with her pace, and ready to take whatever she gave him.

            That sort of power could make anyone lightheaded, and when Y/N started to feel him twitch in her mouth, she pulled completely off.

            Instantly, his eyes snapped open, head rising to look at how she climbed his body and settled her knees around his hips, pressing her core down against his length. She was just about ready to let it slide inside when Michael’s hands closed around her waist and stopped her.

            “Condom,” he breathed out, chest rising and falling rapidly, probably the only word he could manage, which was great, because at least one of them still had some thinking skills left.

            “Shit. Fuck. Right, yeah.”

            Leaning over to her nightstand, Y/N half-fell over the bed to open the lowest drawer. In between her panties and vibrator, was a little foil packet which she fished out. She was glad of Michael’s unwavering hold, because the way she was precariously dangling over the edge, could end badly and with a stupidly gotten concussion.

            When she was back to straddling him, opening the packet and rolling the condom on his length, their eyes met.

            Michael rubbed his thumb in a circle on her hip. “We can always stop if you don’t want to go any further.”

            “I’m not a quitter,” Y/N scoffed, yet it didn’t elicit the smile she was aiming for, as he rose into a sitting position, wrapping his arms around her, hers resting onto his shoulders.

            “And this isn’t some race or competition. You can revoke consent anytime you want. And so can I.”

            “I know that,” Y/N nodded, her gaze softening at his words. He could easily create a power imbalance between them. With double the decades of age and experience on her, Michael could be pushing at her limits, trying to twist things into teaching her how to properly please a guy and so on, yet throughout all of it, his focus had been zeroed in on her wants and needs. She shifted a bit in her lap at the thought that she hadn’t checked in with him. “Do you want to stop?”

            “No.” His voice was soft but sure, and then, after a moment of him searching her eyes, the smile she’d hoped for, formed on his face. “But uh, and that is obviously if you are alright with it, I wouldn’t be opposed to adding your… friend… to our activities sometime later.”

            “My friend?” Y/N tilted her head in confusion. “Oh…” A furious heat exploded through her body, and not because of the fact Michael’s cock was slowly rubbing against her clit, the head nudging just right for pleasure to zing through her.

            He’d obviously noticed her vibrator, though the bright purple shade would be hard to miss. “You’re not turned off by it?”

            “Why would I be? You’re a woman who has needs. And if that’s how you take care of them, it’s completely fine. I mean, as long as you’re being hygienic and safe about it. Besides,” Michael breathed against her neck, as his hand slid between their bodies and he grasped himself, lining the tip up with Y/N’s entrance. “Real men see them as tools to use to their advantage, not competition. And well, not to stroke my own ego,” he smirked, “but I don’t think I have any competition here.”

            Y/N wanted to call him out for that statement, but he wasn’t lying. Not with the way his length stretched her out as he pushed inside. The fingering beforehand was incomparable to the feel of Michael sliding inside at a slow and agonizing pace, but one she desperately needed and welcomed.

            He was thick and veiny, all ridges and girth, and so, so perfect for her.

            It took a minute for him to be fully sheathed, and a minute more for Y/N to adjust, her forehead pressed against his, while he rubbed his hands up and down her back while she settled.

            This wasn’t fucking. This was sex. This was intimate, and it was something she hadn’t known she’d wanted from a partner. Usually, it was fast and hard, leaving both her and the guy she was with, panting against the sheets. Satisfied in the sense that both (hopefully) had had orgasms, but something was always missing. Now, Y/N knew it was this – time.

            Time spent exploring one another, time spent learning and teaching, and time spent simply enjoying each other’s bodies.

            “You good?” Michael muttered, shifting ever so slightly and making the tip catch a spot inside of her, Y/N had only reached with her purple “friend”.

            “Yeah,” she nodded. “You?”

            “Yeah.” Michael kissed her. Whether as an affirmation of his words or simply because he could, she didn’t know. But neither did she care. He was the best kisser she’d had the opportunity to enjoy, so she’d take it.

            While they kissed, Michael started moving. At first, it was slow rolls of hips, figuring out what movements made both of their breaths hitch and hearts pound, but it wasn’t long before Michael was on his back, knees bent as Y/N bounced up and down, his thumb pressed against her clit the whole time.

            Her second orgasm of the night was a more controlled approach. She could feel the coil tightening in her abdomen, and when Michael started lifting his hips up to meet hers, Y/N listed forward, balancing herself against his chest.

            “You gonna come?” he breathed against her ear as she pressed her chest against his, Michael’s hands wrapping along the small of her back and holding onto it, so he could fuck up into her pussy. “I can feel you clenching around me. Fuck, you feel good.”

            “Michael,” Y/N moaned his name. Not Dr. Robby or Robby how he’d explained the people in his life called him, but the name he’d asked her to call him. His real name.

            One snap, two, three. That was all it took for heat to explode. The only grounding thing in the world was his scent – some form of cheap cologne, antiseptic and sweat, but she knew she still had a long way before she came down, with how he was drilling up inside of her, chasing his own release.

            It elicited another, albeit smaller orgasm, but the most pleasure she got was when she realized he’d come with her as his palms grabbed onto her ass and pulled her sharply down, her name a sweet grunt on his lips against her ear.

            Yeah. Y/N needed to go out with more doctors. At least they knew where to find the clit and not neglect it once they had.

            He brought a hand up to her face and pulled her by the cheek to meet his mouth, a satisfied sigh leaving her as he did so.          

            “That was the best one yet,” Y/N mumbled against his lips.

            “And the night’s still young.”

            They went three more rounds after that (because she only had three more condoms, and she’d rather use them on one man who knew how to make her come three more times, than three men, who would have trouble getting one out of her).

            Michael was also a man of his word, as he had her vibrator join in on the fun. Y/N had her ass up in the air while he railed her from behind, an arm wrapped around her middle, pressing the toy to her clit, the vibrations sending pleasure unlike any other through her.

            His front was flush to her back, beard having left delicious burns down her spine, as he’d kissed her there, before eating her out once more in between the rounds and pushing his again-hard cock inside.

            That was the final orgasm she could manage, and it seemed Michael knew it. It was the kind that not only made her legs, but her whole body shake, leaving Y/N a trembling mess against the sheets, while he soothed her through the aftershocks.

            “You with me, sweetheart?” he mumbled against her temple as he gathered her in his arms and laid them side by side.

            “Jus’ give me a momen’,” Y/N slurred while Michael brushed a finger from her cheek to her jaw and back. “I think I’m a medical fucking miracle with how you just fucked my brains out, and yet, I can still function. Barely though.”

            Michael’s chuckle reverberated through her body, as after she’d recovered slightly, he gathered her up and moved them to where she instructed the bathroom was, to make sure she peed and didn’t get a UTI. If these had been normal circumstances, she would have never let a guy see her peeing, but quite honestly, Y/N wasn’t sure she’d be able to get back from the toilet seat on her own.

            “You’re more than welcome to have a shower if you want. Of course, only if you’re down with smelling like peaches or passion fruit.” Y/N nudged her chin towards the shower gels lining the floor, one hers, the other Sara’s.

            “I wouldn’t be opposed to, but only if you join me.”

            She hissed, biting her lip. “I don’t have any condoms left. Besides, from what I’ve heard and read, shower sex can be quite precarious. I’m surprised that you as a trauma doctor would risk such a thing.”

            “I’m not asking to have sex,” Michale laughed and helped her stand on her still wobbly legs after she flushed. “I’m asking for you to shower with me. Nothing more, nothing less.”

            And that’s what they actually did. They simply had a shower. Michael washed her back and she washed his, along with his hair. When she did so, the blissful look on his face, the way he allowed himself to melt against her touch, sent a new kind of thrill through her. But it also made her wonder – when was the last time he allowed someone to take care of him?

            By the time they got out from under the water, it was close to four in the morning, so they dried themselves down and went to bed. Y/N’s down duvet was a warm and fluffy cloud around them. Sure, she could have asked him to leave, but why would she, when he seemed so content to be there? Whether anything came from it once they awoke, didn’t matter. If he didn’t want to leave at that moment, Y/N would be the last person to push him to.

            She drifted off almost instantly, warm and safe in Michael’s hold, but when the real morning came and she rubbed the sleep from her eyes, body sore and satiated, she was met with a cold spot next to her.

            There was no fucking sign on Michael, and judging by how she’d been tucked in, he’d left a while back.

            Her dress and underwear had been neatly laid out on the chair in her room, heels tucked beneath it. As she ventured into the apartment, there were absolutely no signs of him, except for a cup of tea on the kitchenette. She knew it’d been made for her – it was filled to the brim, but much like the sheets, it was also already cold.

            Sourness settled in her mouth as she poured the liquid down the drain. Not even a single fucking note. It was like they’d never even met.

            Y/N hadn’t expected him to leave his phone number, God forbid, his address, what with how he’d laughed when she’d told him she was twenty-six, and he’d responded that he could be her father with that age gap. She knew she was some kind of spur-of-the-moment mistake he’d made. A weakness in his judgement, but fucking hell, she at least deserved an “it was great meeting you, wish you all the best,” note. Especially because he knew the only reason she’d gone to the bar was because she’d been ghosted by a date.

            And now – now Michael was also a ghost, an unscratchable, unreachable itch under her skin she couldn’t get to.

            That was the real reason Y/N’d felt so bitter for the past two weeks. If he’d been a bad lay, or maybe she’d been the bad party, she would understand the one-and-done-dump, but something about falling asleep while being wrapped up in one another, and then just leaving without so much as a goodbye, was crueler than if he’d left while she was still coming down from her release.

            Now though, as she watched him while they waited at the nurse’s station, she noted how his fingers twitched by his side. She wondered whether he wanted to touch her as badly as she wanted to touch him, but then horrible reality kicked in – there wouldn’t be any sort of touching for a while.

            She was stuck with her leg in a cast, and a scheduled check-up with Dr. Langdon in a week to take it off and remove the stitches, before it would get swaddled again for a month or more.

            Y/N cursed the day she’d met Dr. Michael Robinavitch, for he’d released a monster of carnal urges, she didn’t even really know resided in her. And he was the only one who knew how to properly tame it because even in his scrubs and hoodie, surrounded by the smell of antiseptic and all sorts of bodily fluids she didn’t want to think about, all she wanted to do was grab him by the neck and get him to some supply closet to have her way with him like they were actually in Grey’s Anatomy.

            “Michael, I,” Y/N started but got cut off by Sara waltzing into the emergency department.

            “How’s my pirate doing?” She threw her arms around her shoulders and squeezed. “They assign you a parrot yet?”

             “I don’t have a fucking peg-leg.” Y/N rolled her eyes as she signed a final form. With that, Sara took the wheelchair handles, gave Dana a salute and wheeled her out of the hospital, making Y/N crane her neck back and shout a final thank you to the nurse.

            She was just about to ask Sara to slow down as she needed to talk to Michael, when she felt his presence moving with them, silent, steady and strong, his hands taking hold of the crutches as the automatic doors opened.

            He followed them out and once they got to Sara’s car, helped Y/N settle in the front seat.

            “You good?” He tucked a strand behind her ear.

            “Yeah.” She gave him a genuine smile, and her heart pounded in her chest as his eyes trailed to trace her lips. “I am. Thank you. For taking care of me in there.”

            “Honestly, I can’t believe I’m saying this, but the only time I’d like to see you back here is for your check-ups.”

            Y/N nodded, suppressing a smile. “Duly noted. No shower karaoke for me.”

            “I’m serious. You have an appointment with Frank in a week, but other than that, please take care of yourself, alright?”

            “You don’t have to worry about that.” She nudged her head towards Sara who was wrangling the crutches inside the boot of the car. “Mother hen is on the job.”

            “Good.” Michael nodded and before Y/N could properly prepare herself, he’d leaned down, cupping her jaw in his hands and kissed her.

            Her brain short-circuited at that, but when his tongue probed against the seal of her lips, she had to start wondering if she’d actually died when she’d hit her head in the shower. It didn’t take more than that though for her to open up, for her arms to brush against his scrubs and weave into the salt-and-pepper hair.

            By the time Michael pulled back, both their lips were kiss-swollen.

            “Let me take you out on a date.”

            Y/N let out a breathless laugh, scratching the back of his neck. “What happened to the doctor-patient thing?”

            Michael only smirked. “You’ve been discharged. You’re no longer a patient of mine.”

            “Okay, but even so – what would we do? My leg’s in a cast, and I can barely hobble around with the crutches.”

            “I can carry you. I don’t mind.”

            “And throw out your back, old man?”

            “Hey, I’m not that old!” Michael protested, and when he noted the smile on her mouth, he pressed his against it once more.

            “How about this,” Y/N proposed, “when you’re done with your shift, you could come over to my place, and -,”

            “Our place,” Sara butted in, sliding into the driver’s seat. “So, whatever you have in mind – no hanky-panky with me next door.”

            If Y/N rolled her eyes any harder they would get stuck in the back of her head, but she returned her attention to the awaiting attendant. “And we order some take-out. We watch a movie and then just… go to sleep?”

            “It might be very late by the time I’m off.”

            When she raised her hand and cupped his rugged cheek, it took him no time at all to lean into her touch. “I can wait.” She pecked his lips. “I’m in no rush.” She could only hope he understood the double meaning behind what she meant with it.

            Later that night as Y/N sat by the TV, the glow of the screen illuminating her face, she fell asleep with her head against Michael’s chest.

            And when she awoke, her sheets were warm with the remnants of his body, even if he wasn't there anymore.

            She was alone, yes, but atop the pillow rested a note:

            Shift started at 8. Sorry, I can’t be there to wake up with you.             I’ll be home by 9.

            It was almost impossible to wipe the smile off her face for the rest of the day.

Even as the itching under the cast started.

-----

Tags: are open :) if you wish to be tagged in further fics, please drop a comment under the fic or message me or leave me an ask :)

A/N: I have arisen

if you wish to know how this man makes me feel, please listen to Slutty by The Scarlet Opera.

I am FERAL.

P.S. I hope you enjoyed it :) feedback/constructive criticism is always appreciated :)

[apatheticsunday]

Dead Serious Arranged Marriage

AKA "Damian al Ghul and the High King of Infinite Realms, Space, and the Dead are married because of some ritual Ra's al Ghul did when Damian was a baby. The Batfam only find out because Damian casually mentions his husband and they're like?? WHAT???" prompt idea!!

Loosely inspired by this post where Billy Batson & Danny Fenton accidentally get married and Billy spills the beans in front of the JL.

I love the idea of Ra's al Ghul knows Danny because of the Lazarus Pit; maybe Ghost King!Danny came to Ra's and was like, "You know unsanctioned resurrection is forbidden, right? You have to submit an Undead Appeal form in the afterlife. I'm gonna have to confiscate your Goop." But Ra's is a master manipulator and gets Danny to agree to a truce... a marriage with his grandson in exchange for continued use of the Lazarus Pit. Don't ask me how it happened; Ra's "wins" either way because his grandson gets married to a High King and he gets to keep his Goop.

(Because Danny's young, okay? Logistically speaking, he's not going to outsmart an immortal cult leader. Maybe sometime down the road Danny gets tired of Ra's talking circles around him and just, like, punches him in the face or something. Makes "Redemption Arc" Dan take care of it. Who knows?)

But for now, Danny is now married to a literal baby. He's confused as hell how this happened. He's like, omg, am I a groomer now?? Am I one of those creepy ancient kings that get married to 12 year old girls?? What the fuckkkk!!! So, he runs to the Ghost Zone. Goes off-world, maybe he gets swept up in Ghost King duties and totally forgets about it. The thing about the Ghost Zone is that the time dilation is different: a couple of days/weeks/months in the Ghost Zone is actual years on Earth. That's why Danny is still so young despite depictions of him going centuries back (time is even messier because he can actually time travel, too, so there may be paintings of him during the Aztec civilization but only because he was there for maybe a week or two.)

This leads to everybody on Earth thinking he's an Ancient Being. Ra's is elated that his grandson, the heir of the League of Assassins, is married to the equivalent of a God (he doesn't know that 99 percent of the time, Danny's lounging on Sam's couch in sweats and eating cheese puffs, watching melodramatic reality TV with Tucker).

And Damian grows up hearing about this legendary marriage, how this Great Ancient Being is his husband, and is... maybe scared? A little angry, resentful? He's had the choice taken from him from before he could even conceptualize it. He was a kid growing up thinking this All Powerful Being was watching his every move, judging him for not being the best like his Grandfather says, and waiting. He trains harder, learns more, maturing faster than anyone his age. And he's still waiting. Because the High King doesn't show up. Not when Damian's four, six, ten, twelve, fourteen. Damian thinks maybe he's not good enough yet despite vastly outdoing even the most seasoned senior assassins in the League.

Danny comes back to Earth and is like, oh, shit, I need to check on my baby!!! Except when he drops in on the League of Assassins, he's met with an angry, resentful, offended Damian al Ghul who's the same age as him. And Damian's met with.... some guy?? What the hell?? This can't be the High King of Infinite Realms, Space, and the Dead, Ancient Being, etc. He's heard so many stories of his husband, spanning centuries of different culture and in varying dead languages.

Needless to say, their introduction doesn't go great. But Danny wants to explain himself and make amends, and Damian's just baffled enough to listen. ("What do you mean, the Undead Siege of The Great Wall wasn't you???" "Yeah, that was the previous Ghost King. I've never risen an army of the dead before.") But as they talk, Damian begrudgingly accepts that his husband is... actually pretty cool (despite the god-awful sweatpants). Danny's recounting his various tales, usurping the previous Ghost King, and Damian even starts to respect Danny.

So, they keep talking. Keep meeting, learning about each other, becoming friends, and eventually becoming more. Damian originally thought Danny was too stupid for words, but quickly realizes that he's a great strategist, knowledgeable about a vast amount of stuff, and is incredibly loyal. Danny thinks Damian's deadpan bluntness is hilarious, understands Damian's pathological need to be the best (courtesy of the Demon Head's traumatic teaching during childhood), and is almost single-mindedly, unconditionally loyal. He's also incredibly petty, which is also hilarious.

Maybe years pass and they're now lovers, Danny sticking around Earth because he's scared if he goes into the Ghost Zone, he'll unintendedly come back when Damian's 90 or something. So, Danny's there when Talia takes Damian aside and says, "Bruce Wayne is your father. I'd like you to train under him before you become the new Demon Head."

Damian goes and Danny follows. When he worries about Tim usurping the title of Heir, Danny's there to say, "You don't make friends by attacking them, Dami! He's your family, not your enemy." The whole "Damian trying to kill Tim" thing doesn't happen. When he worries about disappointing his Father, Danny's saying, "He's your dad. He missed your childhood so he wants to get to know you - just be yourself." Damian doesn't act violently, aggressively, or is offensively provocative; he's still petty, painfully blunt, and exasperatingly self-confident, but he's also honest and thoughtful.

Damian transitions into the Batfam easier with Danny beside him (invisible, only showing himself while in Damian's room or when they're alone). Because Danny wants his husband to feel accepted, appreciated, and get the unconditional love that he never received while living with the LoA.

Let's imagine several months go by and the Batfam are totally comfortable with Damian. He's truly like their annoying younger brother. So, they're at family dinner, maybe Dick is discussing his relationship with Barbara and Steph makes a comment about when are you going to propose already?? Tim and Jason are ribbing him about commitment issues (Bruce is suspiciously silent, likely knowing that if he says something, his kids are going to verbally tear him apart for his Situationship with Selina).

And Damian says, "Many feel apprehensive to marry. I was not, of course, but my husband was very trepidatious."

The whole Batfam are like... what?? What do you mean the youngest kid of the Wayne household is the first to be married?? (Aside from Alfred, who's since divorced.) Is this even legal???

But Damian just continues on, "Perhaps discussing the progression of your relationship with Miss Gordon would be beneficial. Marriage should be consensual." (Damian learned that from Danny, who had offered to null their marriage in the early days. It was a heated conversation, Danny feeling guilty because he'd trapped Damian into this relationship and Damian feeling betrayed because what do you mean you're leaving me? This is unacceptable! They shared their first kiss after realizing neither one wants to end the marriage.)

And the Batfam, as comfortable as they are with Damian, knows he's a little like a feral animal. He doesn't share things about himself often. They don't want to scare him off by prying, even if Bruce is gripping the table cloth, sweating, and is looking pale. Because his child is literally married and God, please don't let it be to one of those old assassins in the League, please. So, Dick just says, "Uh, yeah. That's - thanks, kiddo, that's... a good idea."

Damian continues to make occasional comments about his husband, but nobody knows who it is. He doesn't use Danny's name. And Danny has to leave to do Ghost Stuff (despite being terrified of losing track of time, but Damian's now living with a loving family so he's kind of okay with being dragged off for his Kingly Duties). So, nobody's ever actually seen Danny.

Until the Joker decides to make his mark on the newest addition of the Batfam. He's already killed one Robin, traumatized the hell out of another, and paralyzed Batgirl. He's eager to add another of the Batfam to his roster.

Joker nor the Batfam anticipate the High King of Infinite Realms, Space, and the Dead to straight up portal Joker's ass into Frostbite's territory (aside from Damian because he absolutely knew what was going to go down the second he saw a glowing green aura illuminate the warehouse). One minute Joker is threatening a civilian Damian, whos' still dressed in his Gotham Academy uniform, and the next he's being violently yanked into a massive swirling void of green.

And who steps out? Ghost King Danny, in full kingly attire, including a wreathy crown of white-hot, broadsword hung on his hip, and a skull mask over his face. The Batfam are scrambling to get Damian's chains unlocked and haul him away from whatever-the-fuck that is. They get Damian unlocked, but he just snaps for them to desist your hysteria, Richard, 'that' is my husband.

(Cue the very tense family dinner afterward. Danny's in Damian's sweater and ripped jeans but the Batfam are just squinting at him like, how is this the same as that Thing from the warehouse?? Danny's totally oblivious, holding Damian's hand and saying, "Mr. Wayne, I love your home! The painted ceiling in that one from on the second floor is amazing, the constellations are actually super accurate!" He forgot that the Batfam had no idea he's visited Damian literally hundreds of times since he moved into Wayne Manor. Bruce looks like he's gained several greys in the last hour.)

(Bonus points if at some point Damian can be seen lovingly feeding Cheetos to Eldritch Monster Danny and the Batfam are just like that's... definitely not pants-shittingly terrifying... Bruce tells himself he's just glad his son isn't married to an LoA member.)

[yanderenightmare]

♡ TW: break-up, angst, hung-up yandere, anger issues, insecurity, threats to regrets

♡ GN reader

Thinking about pro-athlete ex-boyfriend… 

You know, the one you broke up with because he couldn't focus on anything but his career, the one you just couldn’t stand by and watch any longer as he nearly ran his health into the ground—not to mention your relationship—all to reach his goals.

He’d been so mean—meaner than you ever thought possible when you told him you couldn’t do this anymore—said it was a real class act of you to abandon him now when it mattered most. He’d made it about you not wanting a pipe-dreaming wannabe sportsman for a boyfriend, how you never believed in him anyway, how you never cheered for him, how he thinks you don’t even want to see him succeed. 

He’d been so loud and so ugly you’d been in shock for weeks afterward, unable to wrap your head around it. You didn’t even dare tell anyone—feeling it was a beast of burden you ought to keep for yourself. Oddly enough, you felt that if anyone knew or saw him like that, it would be not just detrimental to him and his image but embarrassing for you both.

And you hadn't spoken to him since. At least not face-to-face. He’d sent you a few drunk texts then and there, which you’d replied to in short, though mostly ignored. You’d thought about blocking him at one point, but you didn’t want to be dramatic, either. And suppose, in some way, you were still waiting for an apology.

But months passed, and nothing like it ever came, and so, instead of being bitter, you accepted that was just how the two of you ended. And that was that. 

Still, it's a little awkward. You wonder if you should congratulate him on his rise in popularity, how he’s finally getting all those long hours spent training back in full—but somehow, you feel it would just sound petty coming from you. And so, you don’t bother.

He’s got other people in his life cheering him on now—he doesn’t need a measly text from his ex. No, it's better to leave it be, is what you think.

Which is why it’s surprising when you get the dinner invitation. 

And following the initial surprise, you don’t really know what to expect of it either. But you end up accepting—some part out of curiosity, wondering what he might want after all this time, and another part hopeful it was to finally address the awful break up so that the both of you could move on without it hanging heavy over your heads and hearts.

This, however, was the last thing you had in mind when sitting down with him for the first time in a long time.

“Will you marry me?”

Your whole body flares up with something reminiscent of the feeling when you trip and fall—that type of split burn that rushes through you from head to toe and then leaves you feeling cold all over. Heart in your throat, you’re speechless.

Or no, you just don’t know where to begin.

“What are you doing?” you end up accusing—a little too harshly, maybe, but who could blame you? Looking around, you’re glad your table’s in a more private sector of the restaurant before you look back at him, eyes wide and brows knit. 

“I–we broke up a year ago and haven’t seen each other since—and you’re—” Your eyes fall back to the thing in his hands. It’s an outrageous ring. “Asking me to marry you?”

He makes no move to withdraw the offer—keeping his hands where they are, on your side of the table. “You said yes to the dinner. That must mean something. I thought—”

“Yeah. It means that I still worry about you,” you say. “It doesn't mean–”

“I fought my way up. I’m finally at the top,” he cuts you off in earnest. “I’m the best, and the world finally knows it now–”

“I don't care about any of that,” you state, feeling it should have been something you told him from the very beginning. “I'm sorry. But I never cared about you being the best. I just wanted…”

You just wanted the two of you to be like other couples—together and happy. You just wanted that to be enough, but it never was for him.

“Never mind…” you end up saying. “I think I should go.”

You’re about to get up when his hand, suddenly around your wrist, tightens in a harsh grip.

“I don't think you understand,” he utters, voice lowered with a hint of a growl. “It’s either this ring or I bury you in rumors that won’t leave you a moment’s worth of peace.” 

You go stiff while looking back at him.

Did he just… did he just threaten you?

You blink. He's got that same warped expression you remember from the last time you saw him, that very odd look as if the guy you know has been switched out with someone entirely different.

Only this time, it just as quickly disappears, and he lets go of your wrist, quickly pulling his hand to himself.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean that–I’m just—” he apologizes with a stutter, looking startled.

He puts his face in his hands. Then there's a sound—close to a sob.

“I’m just a mess without you.”

Goosebumps rise on the surface of your skin when hearing it. And swallowing thickly, you sit back down again, albeit a bit begrudgingly. But spotting how he trembles, you just can’t stop feeling sorry for him.

You sigh. “No, you’re not. You just…” Reaching across the table, you stroke his arm. “You just lose your head a little sometimes, that’s all.” 

He peaks up from his hands. A sheen under his eyes reflects the ceiling light, and your heart twists in your chest.

He really is a mess.

“But I know you…” you try smiling. “You were always destined for greatness.”

He takes your offered hand in his, stroking it, then sniffs, voice fluttering weakly, “Yeah, well…”

He keeps his head low, resting it in his other hand as if he just couldn't muster the strength to sit straight or even attempt to pull himself together.

“If I'm so great, why wouldn’t you stay?”

He sounds as if he’s been holding things back for the entirety of the year since you left. Broken now... it's all spilling out.

“Because," you start, even though your throat’s tight and you’re fighting back tears of your own, your mind hasn’t changed.

You didn’t come here to get back together. 

"You want to go places, I just can’t follow.”

♡ BNHA – Bakugou, Dabi, Hawks, Enji ♡ JJK – Sukuna, Geto, Gojo, Naoya ♡ HQ – Kageyama, Oikawa, Sakusa, Miya twins ♡ CSM – Aki ♡ BLLK – Reo, Isagi, Rin, Sae, Yukimiya, Karasu, Shido ♡ AOT – Eren ♡ DS – Akaza, Sanemi ♡ WB – Sakura, Suo, Kaji

♡ FEM x M INSERT masterlist ♡ GN x M INSERT masterlist

[shewki]

a/n ; Inspired by @/trintheweirdo 's MHA skits where katsuki mostly crashes out bc of mitsuki 😭

cw ; suggestive, but overall focused on some funny stuff!

Normally, Mitsuki Bakugou wouldn't mind having you over their home. Like you always have since you and Katsuki were little kids.

But when you two started dating around senior year? She had already expected it.. Yet her eyes were on you two like a damn crow. I mean, don't get her wrong, she loves you! why wouldn't she? you were such a polite girl, always keeping her Katsuki grounded.

She seems to have like a 6th sense every time you and Katsuki are together. Like She knows damn well that teenagers who are left alone are at risk of letting those hormonal urges take over.

You two were in his room, straddling his lap as he slowly kissed and nipped at your jaw. Sensual, slow, loving.. it felt like it was all you needed in life at the moment.

"KATSUKI" his mother called from downstairs. He pulled away from your neck with a groan before answering begrudgingly.

"WHAT? YOU'RE STILL HERE?!"

"TAKE THE TRASH OUT, IT'S MAKING THE KITCHEN STINK. I AIN'T GONNA GO WORK MY ASS OFF AND PAY FOR THIS HOUSE IF YOU'RE GONNA KEEP IT DIRTY IN HERE."

He gently moved you off his lap while grumbling about how 'she could've done it herself'. You couldn't help but pout to yourself either, but you chuckled softly 'cause you knew once Mitsuki asks him to do something, he WILL do it despite his reluctance.

When he came back, he immediately wanted to make up for lost time (5 minutes.. 💀) , sliding a hand up your waist and whispered a deep 'where were we?' as he kissed your jaw once again. You giggle and push his hand away, telling him to wait a few more minutes to make sure Mitsuki got out for work.

"KATSUKI"

"WHAAAATTT?!" he yelled back, almost as if he's crashing out.

"CLEAN THE SINK"

"IT'S ONE SPOON AND A MUG"

"DROP THE ATTITUDE AND GET YOUR ASS BACK HERE!"

You pat his shoulder comfortingly while holding back a laugh. It was always fun to see Katsuki on the verge of crashing out over something that isn't that deep. The poor boy was probably pent up by now. And when he came back, he didn't even bother anymore. He sat beside me with crossed arms and a frown like you were the one who caused him his misery.. you snort at his attitude and fix myself, seems like he's not in the mood anymore.

"'s not funny."

"it kinda is.." you kiss his cheek.

"Katsuki" Mitsuki called out once more, outside his bedroom door this time as she knocked before entering.

"[Name]'s mom called, said she needed the sweet thing to help with something. Why don't 'ya drop her home, yeah? I'm off to work. Don't do anything stupid! Bye [Name]!" She waved to you before slamming the door.

you simply waved back and smiled, hardly containing your laugh when his cheeks were about to blow. How adorable.

"Hm.. so we walking or we using your car?" you asked teasingly.

likes and reblogs are appreciated hihi 💗

[wrestlersownmyheart]

"Tweet Of Fate" Chapter 19 (Damian Priest X OC)

Title: Tweet Of Fate Pairing: Damian Priest X OC: Sharlotte Taylor Summary: Little did Sharlotte Taylor know that her first little tweet to WWE wrestler, Damian Priest, would change her life forever. Hearing about his nasty breakup with his girlfriend, and seeing so many hateful tweets to him regarding his failed relationship, she wants to send him something encouraging, so she sends him an inspirational quote. It sparks Damian's interest and leads to a flirty, but close online friendship between the two. A friendship that turns into a little something more than either of them had counted on.

Disclaimers: I own nothing or anyone associated or affiliated with WWE. I own only the original characters. This is just a fictional story that came from my imagination. Content/Trigger Warnings: None

Chapter 19

While the WWE and Be A Star staff gathered their equipment and prepared to leave, Sharotte took advantage of the fact that Noah had all of John's attention. While the two laughed and talked with each other in the living room, she hurried to the kitchen and quickly called Leena.

Thankfully, her friend answered on the first ring.

"Hello? Sharlotte?"

"Yeah, it's me," Sharlotte replied softly, trying not to be overheard by Damian. "Listen, I kind of have an emergency...Do you think you and Tyler could come stay over tonight?"

"Well, I can't," Leena replied, "I promised Emilia I'd be at work early tomorrow. But we could come hang out and watch RAW tonight. And then Tyler could stay over as long as you can bring him home for me tomorrow."

"Deal," Sharlotte sighed with relief.

"Why do you need us over there? What's the emergency? You haven't received more threats have you?"

"No, no more threats," she answered, hedging around the real answer. "I wouldn't be asking you to put yourselves in danger by coming over here."

"Well, then what's the emergency?"

"Luis is here and I'm afraid to be alone with him," Sharlotte blurted out, pinching the bridge of her nose.

"Huh?"

Sharlotte sighed, "It's a complicated mess. Could I tell you when you get over here?"

"Sure, okay. I'll be over soon. I'll have to leave there at three so I can go pick Tyler up from school though, but I shouldn't take very long."

"That's fine," Sharlotte said. "I'll think of something while you're gone."

"Sharlotte, what's going on?!"

"Just get over here," Sharlotte hissed. "Please!"

With that, she ended the call and sat the cell phone on the counter, hoping Leena would hurry and get to her house.

"I was wondering where you got off to."

Caught by surprise, Sharlotte squealed and spun around to find Damian watching her with a look of amusement on his face.

"Oh, you," she huffed. "You scared me!"

Damian chuckled, "I guess that's easy to do when you're trying to avoid me altogether."

"I-I'm not. I'm not trying to hide from you." She smacked her forehead, "I'm not trying to avoid you."

He stepped a little closer to her and smiled softly, "Then why do you keep disappearing?"

"I don't know what you're talking about," Sharlotte said, moving away from him again. She took some of the lunch dishes out of the sink and began rinsing them so she could place them in the dishwasher.

"You know exactly what I'm talking about," she heard Damian say a second before he took her arm and gently turned her around to face him. "Ever since our talk up in your room, you've avoided me like a plague."

Sharlotte shook her head, "It's not that."

"Then what is it?"

"I'm afraid to be alone with you."

"Excuse me," Damian said incredulously. "Why are you afraid of me? You can't think I'd hurt you."

Sharlotte shook her head in frustration, "I'm not afraid of you. I'm afraid of being alone with you. Be-because..."

"Spit it out," Damian said, smirking slightly.

"Because I want you. So badly," she said, exasperation in her voice. "And it scares me."

"Tell me why it scares you," Damian prodded, inching closer to her.

"Where's Noah," she asked suddenly. She didn't want him to hear their conversation.

"He's in the living room, watching TV," he answered. He had a look in his eyes that told Sharlotte he wasn't going to give up on their conversation. "I told him I needed to talk to you privately. He won't interrupt us."

"There's company on the way," Sharlotte continued to try and evade the topic of discussion. "My friend, Leena and her son Tyler. He's a big fan of yours too. Will you mind the company?"

"Not at all," Damian replied with a slight smile. "And you're not getting off the hook, Sharlotte Taylor. Why does wanting me scare you?"

"Because, you've grown very special to me over the past few weeks," she answered softly. "And I don't want to lose you. I guess I'm scared I'll do something wrong and mess everything up."

"You think I'm not scared of screwing this up," Damian asked, placing his hands on the counter behind her and caging her in with his arms. "I want you to know, Sharlotte, that I don't take a woman to bed without caring about her. When I was young, sure—I had some one-night- stands. But I've grown up. I look for more than sex in a relationship." He smiled slightly when Sharlotte started to speak. He covered her lips with his finger. "Not done," he teased. "I also want you to know—that I'm not giving up on you. You can keep running, hermosa. But I'm going to keep chasing, too. I don't give up on something I care about." He thought for a moment and added, "Do you notice, I never say I want to have sex with you?"

"But you do," Sharlotte said in astonishment. "You've said it several times!"

Damian shook his head and chuckled, "No. I've always said I want to make love to you. There's a huge difference, Sharlotte. A huge difference. And I can tell you that difference."

Sharlotte, at a loss for words, waited on his explanation.

"Sex is basic. It's one-night-stands. Sex is two random people meeting at a bar and going to bed together. Sex can even be two friends who are bored and have nothing better to do together. Sex," he said, "is boring." He moved his face closer to hers. "Making love, on the other hand, is exciting. Making love is when two people have a connection and true genuine feelings for each other, and they share an amazing emotional and physical experience together. And that's what I want with you," he finished.

Damian saw Sharlotte's chest raising and descending rapidly, her breaths coming and going in rapid succession.

"I-I... don't know what to say," she whispered finally. "You're words..."

"They're more than words, miel," Damian said.

She nodded, her hand lifting to her neck and rubbing lightly. "I know. But still... That was beautifully put." A tear spilled down her cheek and she quickly wiped it away in frustration. "Oh, I don't know what's wrong with me," Sharlotte cried softly, hugging Damian closely. "I feel so high-strung lately."

"It's everything going on," Damian reasoned with her. "Noah's bullying situation, your sister...Me."

She looked up at him, "You're right mostly. But not really about you. You're the good part in all of this." She smiled with a little more hope in her eyes. "Maybe things'll get easier now that I took Noah out of the book club and everything."

"I'm sure they will," Damian smiled and gave the back of her neck an affectionate squeeze. As tense as her muscles were, the soft caress had Sharlotte fighting the urge to let out a soft moan from the sensation.

Damian could feel the tightness in her neck and caught the look of relief on her face. "Come here," he said softly, leading her to a kitchen chair. "I think I could crush a pecan against those neck muscles of yours."

Sharlotte laughed and sat down at the table. She felt Damian's hands brush her hair aside and then his fingers gently kneaded into the tense muscles of her shoulders while his thumbs pressed into her neck, relieving the tightness.

This time, she couldn't stop the soft moan from escaping her lips. "That feels amazing," she sighed, dropping her head forward. His thumbs began working downward and pressing into her spine between her shoulder blades. "Oh, my word..." she gasped.

Damian chuckled, "So you don't get massages very often, huh?"

"Never," she said. "But I'm now considering hiring you on for my own personal benefit. Let me know if you ever consider leaving the wrestling industry. You have a bright new career ahead of you." Damian kneaded a particularly tight area of her neck then and she groaned in ecstasy, "Oh, sweet mother."

Damian laughed and continued to massage out the knots in her back and shoulders. The sheer pleasure of relief flooded through her and she felt giddy as a result.

The doorbell rang then and she heard Noah yell from the living room, "I'll get it!"

"Look through the peephole first," Sharlotte called back.

Damian smiled, happy that his son was being raised by a woman with a good head on her shoulders. At the thought of his son however, his mindset became slightly anxious. How in the world do I tell her, he thought. Especially now, when she's so stressed out. She has so much to deal with right now. And I'm the cause of some of it, he realized. He felt horrible that he'd added to her worries. He knew then, he needed to wait a while before he told her about Noah. But I can't wait very long, Damian thought. I want to be in his life, but I also want to help with his needs.

"Mom, Leena's here!"

Sharlotte heard Noah's shout and realized she'd almost forgotten about Leena's visit. She felt Damian's hands freeze on her neck.

"'Mom'," he repeated. "Why's he calling you 'Mom'?"

She flushed slightly, "He wanted to." She felt horrible for the lie she was about to tell, but she didn't want Damian to pity her. "My sister...she's...kind of cold-shouldering us. And if she doesn't want to be a mother to him, then I'm happy to be a mother-figure for him."

Damian bent down and kissed the top of her head, "I wasn't being critical. I'm just surprised that's all."

"I bet not as surprised as I was when he first asked about it," she chuckled.

"Hi," Leena called as she walked through the kitchen door. She froze for an instant seeing Damian Priest in Sharlotte's kitchen. Though she'd known about their growing friendship, seeing it in front of her was very surreal. Add in the fact that Damian seemed quite intimate with Sharlotte at the moment in massaging her neck, Leena was rendered momentarily speechless.

"Hi, Leena," Sharlotte greeted and stood to her feet. She turned to Damian and smiled appreciatively. "Thank you, Damian. I feel so much better now." When he smiled in return, she turned back to Leena and formally introduced her to Damian. "As you know this is Damian Priest—or Luis Martinez. Luis, this is my best friend Leena Stevens."

"It's a pleasure to meet you," Damian smiled politely at Leena and extended his hand to shake hers.

Leena flushed, and let out a small giggle, "Wow, this is amazing. It's wonderful to meet you. I'm a huge fan. So is my son, Tyler. He'll be here after a while—I know he'll be so thrilled to meet you."

"It'll be great to meet him," Damian responded, "I love to meet as many of my fans as is possible."

"Would anyone like some iced-tea," Sharlotte asked, heading for the refrigerator.

"Actually, Sharlotte," Damian said, catching her hand in his. He had a mischievous twinkle in his chocolate eyes. "I was hoping you'd like to go ice-skating for a little while. I'd love to see you skate," he said. His gaze shifted over to Leena, "If Leena wouldn't mind, that is," he added. "I wouldn't want to offend you. I've just seen a few clips of Sharlotte's skating, and I have to say I was captivated."

"I think that's a great idea," Leena piped up at the same moment Sharlotte said, "I've not skated in forever, Luis."

"You don't have to do any jumps, Sharly," Leena encouraged. "Although I still say you should have gotten a second opinion about all that. Anyway, I could stay here with Noah till time to get Tyler. Then I could take them for ice-cream or something."

Sharlotte started to protest when Damian spoke again.

"You don't have to do any jumps," he reiterated, in agreement with Leena. "I wouldn't want you to risk your well-being. But grace like yours doesn't leave. I'd love to see it in person." He saw her resolve weaken and added, "Please?"

She smiled softly and knew she would cave, "I have a really hard time saying 'no' to you," she replied, shaking her head.

"Good to know," he teased, flashing his smile and wriggling his eyebrows at her.

"Stop that," she laughed, smacking his arm.

Leena smiled at their interactions. She had a good feeling about the two. Inwardly, she dusted off her match-making skills and vowed to do everything she could to help Sharlotte snag the man of her dreams—permanently.

}i{}i{}i{}i{

"You have a key to this place," Damian asked in surprise as Sharlotte slipped a key into the lock of the currently closed ice rink.

"Yeah. This was nearly my second home at one time, and I became close friends with the owner. She finally handed me a key one day and told me to come as often as I wanted."

She pulled the door open then and they stepped inside. She waited till Damian moved ahead of

and then she re-locked the doors and flipped on some lights. Glancing at the skates Damian had slung over his broad shoulder, she smiled slightly. "I still can't believe you actually bought new ice-skates just on the chance I'd agree to come up here."

"I knew I'd get you here at one time or the other," Damian shrugged.

She detected a flash of self-assurance cross his face.

"Awfully cocky, aren't ya," she teased, playfully giving him a gentle elbow to the ribs as she led him toward the rink.

"Not cocky—just confident," he smiled back at her. "I don't quit until I get what I'm after."

She glanced up at him, and knew there was a hidden meaning in his words as he gazed intently at her. Flushing, she hurried ahead of him and headed for the room where the rink's sound system was. She glanced through the CDs and was astounded to find several discs with many of her performance pieces on them.

"Oh, my goodness," she whispered. "I can't believe these are still here." Then she smiled at seeing some of the old titles. Finding a CD with several songs she'd love to hear and skate to again, she popped it into the stereo system and programmed the CD to play. Within seconds, Beethoven's Moonlight Sonata filled the arena. Goosebumps covered her skin and she smiled dreamily, closing her eyes and inhaling the old, passionate feelings of her past.

Finally remembering she'd left Damian alone at the rink, she hurried down from the sound room and joined him at a bench. She saw he already had his skates on so she quickly pulled off her sneakers and began lacing up her skates while John watched her. He admired her toned, slender legs as she prepped her skates for the ice.

I definitely love yoga pants, he thought, smiling in appreciation at what the article of clothing did with Sharlotte's figure. Because of said pants, he could see she was a woman who took the utmost care of her body. And the work had certainly paid off. He shook his head in amazement. He was yet to find something about her he didn't like or respect. She had morals, she was beautiful on the inside and out, she believed in exercise and taking care of her body, and she was a complete sweetheart. Not to mention, she was being a wonderful parent— mother—to his son. Why couldn't I have met her before I met Jasmine, he wondered. But then he realized for that to have happened, he would've had to meet her before Julie as well, and if they'd fallen in love at that point, then Noah would've never been born. Plus, Sharlotte would've been too young for him at that time anyway. Everything happens for a reason, and with the right timing, he thought.

Sharlotte finished with her skates then just as Moonlight Sonata ended and suddenly "My Kryptonite" was blasting through the speakers.

"Did you perform to this," Damian asked, nodding toward the sound system.

She shook her head, "No. My coach had a guy she was coaching at the same time as me. I guess some of our music got lumped together." She looked at him and chuckled, "It's kind of fitting to skate with you to this song though."

At first Damian looked confused, but then she explained about the picture of he and Rhea Ripley for Halloween, where he was dressed as a dark Superman.

"I think you'd make a better Batman, however," she said. "There's just something about a big, unidentifiable man in black latex that steals my heart," she joked.

A very noticeable blush crept up his face as he took her hand and brushed his lips over the back of it, "I'll have to remember that. But I'd rather win your heart. There's a little more honor in that." He smiled when her mouth dropped open and her breathing quickened. Not giving her a chance to reply, he pulled her toward the ice. "Ready?"

"Y-yeah, I think so," she whispered, still reeling from his words.

"I'm right here with you," he said softly as they approached the rink's entry, stroking his thumb over her hand.

"And I'm glad," she returned, gazing up at him with a shy smile. "I can't think of another person I'd rather share this with." She stepped out onto the ice then. "Can we start with a lap or two first? I can try to skate to something after that. I just want to make sure my balance is okay. It's been so long."

Damian nodded and smiled before joining her on the ice. "Of course. You need to do what you're comfortable with."

He caught up with her and took her hand again, "Ya okay?"

Sharlotte nodded and looked up at him, "Yes, I really am. I feel...great." She glided over the ice with ease and then did a slight turn, skating backward so she could see how Damian was doing. "You are a pretty good skater," she said, with appreciation on her face.

"I'm decent," Damian admitted with a bashful smile. "Hopefully I don't trip over my feet watching you though."

"Oh, you don't have to worry about me," she reassured him. "I'm fine. I actually feel pretty comfortable, so I don't think I'll fall."

"I didn't mean I was worried about you," Damian replied, tugging on her hand and forcing her to skate over to him. "I meant that I just can't take my eyes off you."

At that moment, "My Kryptonite" ended and another song began playing—Jessica Simpson's "I Wanna Love You Forever".

"Did you perform to this one," Damian asked her, inching his face a little closer to hers.

She fought to keep her breathing even. "Yes," she smiled slightly. "Want me to try it now?"

"Yes," Damian answered instantly. Imagining Sharlotte skating to the mournful, but somehow sensual tune had him more than a little intrigued.

Sharlotte skated away from him and picked up the choreography just in time for the opening soulful lyrics.

"You set my soul at ease Chased darkness out of view Left your desperate spell on me Say you feel it too, I know you do I've got so much more to give This can't die, I yearn to live Pour yourself all over me And I'll cherish every drop here on my knees!"

Damian skated back to the rink's wall to stay out of Sharlotte's way. He watched in awe as she skimmed gracefully over the ice, inserting imaginative footwork and elegant movements with her arms. She performed a flawless butterfly jump, switching from one leg to the other and eased into a camel spin. She then quickly transformed the maneuver into a donut spin—holding her foot up behind her head with her hands.

"How in the world..." he wondered out loud, as the song continued and Sharlotte built up her speed for the chorus. Watching her skate was beautiful enough, but watching her face enchanted Damian even further. She looked so happy. The passion she felt for the ice radiated from her face, her eyes—her entire self. And the lyrics to the song were not lost on him either. They seemed to mirror exactly what was happening between them.

"I wanna love you forever And this is all I'm asking of you Ten thousand lifetimes together Is that so much for you to do? 'Cuz from the moment that I saw your face And felt the fire in your sweet embrace I swear I knew, I'm gonna love you forever!"

He felt his heart threaten to stop as he watched her do a half turn—the same half turn he'd watched her do right before her career-ending fall. "God, please...no..." he uttered. She surely isn't going to really do it. He hadn't meant for her to jeopardize herself. He wanted to shout for her to stop, but he was afraid yelling could cause even more danger for her if he distracted her at the wrong moment. To his horror, Sharlotte suddenly launched into the air and completed three revolutions, then came down gracefully onto one foot. Not even a second later, she launched with the other leg and completed another three revolutions before landing on one foot again.

When his chest started burning, Damian realized he'd been holding his breath. He exhaled sharply and watched in a mixture of amazement and pride as Sharlotte skated through the remainder of the mournful melody. As the song faded, she slowed her speed to match the fade and ended with an initially fast scratch spin that slowed drastically. She ended with her arms poised over her head.

She stood still for a moment, absorbing the reality of what she'd just done. Then her hands came down in a prayerful position.

"Oh, my God," she whispered, her voice trembling. "I...I.." She couldn't find the words as tears burned her eyes. "I still can," she managed to cry softly. Then a single sob hiccuped deep from within her chest and she lost control of the tears. She was vaguely aware of the sound of skate blades slicing through ice. Then arms were pulling her up against a strong body.

"My God, did you hurt yourself," she heard Damian ask urgently. She could only sob softly as she felt Damian's hands prodding around her calf. "We need to get this skate off," he said, and in the next instant, he scooped her up into his arms and skated for the benches as he cradled her. Quickly, he gently deposited her onto the nearest seat and crouched down hurriedly, but gently loosening her skate's laces.

Sharlotte finally managed to get enough breath to say, "I'm okay, Luis."

He looked up at her, worry creasing his forehead and she instantly felt horrible for worrying him.

"You're not hurt," he asked softly.

She shook her head, "I'm s-sorry I scared you."

He brushed some hair away from her face and wiped a tear away with his thumb, "You did scare me," he admitted with a slight smile. "But it's okay. I'm just glad you aren't hurt." He realized then she must've been overcome with emotion because of what she'd done. "You didn't know you could still do that, huh?"

She shook her head and fought off another round of sobs. "I had no idea."

Damian smiled, "I'm so proud of you."

Sharlotte smiled through her tears, "Thank you." She stood to her feet and tugged Damian up by his hand so she could reach him easier and wrapped her arms around his neck in a close hug. "Thank you for bringing me here, and believing in me."

"Hey, you did the hard part, always remember that," Damian smiled as he hugged her in return. He nuzzled the crook of her neck and then dared to brush his lips over the soft skin. He heard her gasp and felt her body tense in his arms. He pulled her closer, and moved her hair out of the way, then proceeded to kiss her neck again with a long, sweet caress of his lips.

"L-Luis..." Sharlotte whispered. Goosebumps broke out across her skin and made her shiver. Her breathing became heavy as he kissed her again.

Smiling at her reaction, Damian trailed his lips to the front of her neck and dusted her collarbone with a soft kiss before playfully nipping at it with his teeth. He heard Sharlotte whimper softly, and her arms seemed to tighten around him. One of her hands traveled up to his head and held him in place as he continued to bestow more soft passionate kisses to her slender neck.

Sharlotte sighed softly as Damian's mouth ravished her neck. Her fingers curled into his long black hair, and he pulled her small frame closer against his large one.

"Luis..." she whispered breathlessly. "Oh, Luis..." Instinctively, she turned her face and kissed his neck softly in return. Hearing his soft growl in response, she kissed him again and ever so slightly flicked her tongue against the hollow of his throat.

He groaned loudly from the sensations he felt, and had to pry himself away from Sharlotte.

"I'm sorry," Sharlotte said instantly. "I didn't mean to-"

Damian smiled and cut her off, "No, don't be sorry," he chuckled.

"Luis..." Sharlotte started. "I'm sorry that I freaked out on you earlier. I know you wouldn't use me for sex and then drop me. I don't know what I was thinking."

He hugged her close again. "It's okay. I know you're a cautious woman. I'm not going to fault you for that."

"Thank you for understanding," she whispered. "Kiss me now? We were a little interrupted when you kissed me earlier," she teased.

"That was hardly a kiss, sweetheart. You'll know when I kiss you." He reached up, and brushed his fingers across her cheekbone. "I'll kiss you when we're alone and when we're somewhere special—like one of our homes or on a date."

"I can live with that," Sharlotte smiled happily, feeling relaxed for the first time in a long time.

"Okay," he said, a full-fledged smile spreading across his face. "For now, why don't we go get some dinner to take back to your place—my treat."

"I am pretty hungry now," Sharlotte grinned mischievously. "Let me just change into my shoes, shut off everything in the sound room and turn out the lights, then we can go."

Minutes later, she was locking up the skating rink and following Damian back to his BMW.

If you want on my tag list, just ask! 😀

Tagging:

@oreillystolemyheart @lookalivesunshine-x @southerngirl41 @claymoresofinfamy23 @beccalynns-world 

@Heerah34 @dersha89 @shortyiceheart @wwechristina87 @expert-texpert

@sassymox @sammyfinn21-blog @alliecatsworldsblog @potatosackk @keisha-knell 

@peaceloveandcurves @terrortwinunicorn @mzv11 @jazzyboo123-blog1 @ibelievedinjh 

@fafomama @zigzoggy @raya-hunter01 @sharmelasworld @queenmotionlessxo @skyesthebomb @moxley99 @mandabrammer2021 @destinylewisbellblog @furrywombatpuppy