#patient with me as I picked and pulled over every pixel | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

unknownjpegs · 3 months

Text

business

Their first evening on the island, Benji tries for her on the phone three times before the call successfully connects. She’s sat in her living room, legs tucked up onto a massive, bulbous orange couch that she’d bought as a statement piece.

(“What’s it supposed to say?” Benji had asked her. “I’m the ugliest fuckin’ couch on the face of the planet?”)

When Benji opens his mouth to speak, Saha lifts a finger. Her newest model, incredibly expensive phone can’t fix their shit connection, so the whole scene is blurry. Every so often, Saha will move and speak before the picture can catch up. Glitches and pixels and syncing issues tear the image of her into colorful, strange portions. It makes Benji think of the girl, the case. Whatever displeasure he feels must show.

Saha drops her hand, authoritative finger curling into her palm. “Bad, then?”

Benji nods. He busies himself unpacking the humble suitcase, carefully pulling dress shirts and slacks to hang at the window of his tiny room at the inn.

“Is this a ‘can’t talk about it’ silence, or a ‘shut up I’m thinking, Saha’ silence?”

Benji, back to the camera, holds up two fingers.

“Okay. I’ll talk ’til then.”

“Wish you wouldn’t,” Benji mutters without meaning it. He, of course, listens intently as Saha updates him about goings-on back on the mainland. Despite not having the stomach for it, Saha had accepted an offer from Tino to work as their case archivist. They don’t work a job that Saha isn’t privy to, doesn’t organize travel for, won’t retain a meticulously organized file in their office for later reference. Every t crossed, i capped with her signature hollow dot.

Only thing she’s not yet experienced in is minding her chattiness.

“Have a chance to look at the photos yet?”

“You interrupted me,” Saha points out. She’s walking around her kitchen as she talks but now pauses to lean down level with the counter and peer at Benji through the camera. “That was rude.”

He shrugs, what can you do sort of gesture. “Finished thinking. Ready to talk business. Well?”

Saha picks up her phone and taps at the screen with a scrunched brow. “Don’t see any pictures — oh, wait. Email?”

“Yep.”

Benji waits patiently while she opens the message. Her face twists again in a brief flash of confusion before she laughs. “Fucking — this is what you get for letting Tino take them.”

A strange, icy chill settles over his shoulders. “What?”

“They’re awful, Benji. Not just,” she waves her free hand vaguely in the air.“Yeah, I mean, it’s a dead gutted girl on a slab, ew. But then these, of the scene where they found her?” Saha shakes her head. “Send them over again. Maybe they were corrupted with that shite connection.”

“I walked all the way to that stuffy fucking library to make sure the internet was as good as it could be on this piss-shit island. They should be fine.” Benji whines. He lifts his phone from where he’s propped it. “Which ones aren’t?” He asks, swiping quickly through the photos.

“The ones in the coroner’s place are fine. From the last couple of days, I assume? Everything before that — so, like, the one from above at the beach, looking down at the rocks? I can see the police tape and, ew ew ew, the victim’s leg p-poking out of the water. But the rest of it, waist-up, and the ones after that are totally ruined.”

“Ruined?” Benji taps back to their call, staring at her.

“It looks like Tino dropped his phone in the ocean or something. They’ve got water damage.”

“We didn’t take those,” Benji says, sitting upright on the room’s tiny twin bed. “Innsmouth’s PD did. ”

“Ew,” Saha mutters at the mention of cops. Her voice is tinny as the connection falters once more. When Benji turns in a thoughtful circle, she has more of a view of the room. “Ew! Didn’t you just get into the inn? How’ve you already made it that fuckin’ messy, Benj?”

“Shut up.” He snips under his breath. The twist of curiosity tightening his chest morphs into a brief clip of panic. “Shut up,” he says again, swiping furiously through the pictures. Sarah’s pallid, waxy face. Her autopsy photos from Ben. A close-up of her fingernails and a defensive rash across her knuckles. Her torn sternum and its interior.

And then the lot of them where she’d first been found the beach. Upper half in the water, legs doll-like and limp with battered bruises that would be nearly impossible to place pre- or post-death. Benji flicks through more and more, every photo that they’d been sent, that the police had taken. Every image becomes increasingly unrecognizable, like they were taken on an ancient roll of damaged film. Benji can almost make out what each composition ought to be with the hints of color and the horizon, landmarks of jutting rock and scraggly shoreline tree and brush.

He blinks several times, his brain encouraging him that an explanation for the fogginess of the images is his own vision. Except it’s not. He’s still got his glasses on, and while similar, the distorted pictures look…different than eyes without correction. Worse. More alien.

“You know those pictures of celebs that, like, wear shirts that say fuck you on them, or flick off the camera so the paparazzi can’t use them — too much work to blur and edit while you’re on a crunch.”

“Saha,” Benji sighs in exasperation. “I do not want to fuckin’ talk about Cate Blanchett right now —”

“No, oh, shove off. Fuck yourself,” Saha spits rapidly. Her face becomes noticeably darker with the blush. “I’m saying — okay, I’ve just spent the last few minutes looking at the corpse of a young woman, so forgive me if I’ve a mind to use a bit of humor to cope with that, yeah?” She huffs. “I’m just saying, it reminds me of those celebrity pictures, right?”

“Explain.”

She rolls her eyes. “It’s nothing, was just gonna make a joke about some celebrity standing out on the horizon in a shitty graphic tee with a non-publishable word. You know, because the photos are all shit. Can’t be used. Not a great punchline, now that I think about it.”

Can’t be used.

“Wait.”

“Oh, no.” Saha whispers. “That’s your ‘gone and figured it out’ voice. What’re you about to kick off with, here?”

Benji shakes his head in disbelief. The thoughts still churn, messy puzzle pieces bouncing around that he feels he needs to snatch from the air to see clearly. And the picture they slowly create in Benji’s mind is as distorted and wrong as the pictures they’re discussing.

“No, not by a fuckin’ slim chance. Saha it can’t —” he swipes back and forth through the photos again. He feels mental even considering… “This don’t make any sense.”

“Dickhead. Can you just spit it out, please? The anticipation is kind of killing me.”

Saha’s teasing smile falters and drops off entirely as Benji talks his conclusion through, because it is a nonsensical explanation. But with the evidence presented, it’s the only one he’s got. Every single photo that has distortion is a photo whose composition points towards the ocean. Towards the depths of churning gray waters that cradle Innsmouth.

“There’s gotta be another explanation.”

Saha retreats to the living room to fall back on her couch, hair splayed in a messy halo around her head. “Besides ‘haunted and/or sentient ocean doesn’t want its picture taken’?” She snorts meanly. “Yeah, I’d say.”

It has to be the police. Usually is a matter of incompetence on their end that fucks evidence, ruins cases. Benji knows it first hand. Also knows that if you need something done better, it’s useless to have somebody else make an attempt.

So Benji throws his coat back on and winds a scarf around his neck just in case there’s an extra chill. He darts down the inn stairs towards Wolffe’s bedroom, which had been pointed out to him ‘in case he needed anything’. Seemed like an emergency enough to need anything, and that’s what breaks his fist-raised hesitation at the door enough to knock.

Thirty seconds pass before it swings open. Benji wishes it hadn’t at all. Wishes he could turn on heel and march back to his room, scrub this from his brain, distort it like the almost-artful glitches in the crime scene images.

Xavier rubs at his face tiredly, apples of his cheeks pronounced with the force of that grin. His little ‘oh’ of greeting sounds more shocked than hospitable. But the posture, shoulder propped in an effortless lean against the frame and arms crossed over a bare chest, reads friendly — no. Eager.

“Hi.” The fisherman breathes. He shuffles in place a bit and then moves to the side, offering space to enter.

“Sorry, mate.” Benji says without thinking. “Business.”

He winces internally, kicking himself for even the slight hint of unprofessional flintiness. He really hadn’t intended to have it sound that way.

Xavier swallows and stands straight, rolls his shoulders. Less casual and open about it now. That massive, toothy grin has faltered slightly. His fist tucks up towards his chin rubbing along the edge of bone in a gesture obviously meant to soothe. Broke a man’s jaw last month, Benji thinks. With that hand? Or are you a southpaw, mate?

“Well, yeah.” Xavier interrupts his straying thoughts. “Figured. What else?”

They blink at each other in unison then. An odd tension fills the space, so Benji clears his throat to quickly dissipate it. Has to keep good rapport with the only local who’ll acknowledge his existence beside Ben, doesn’t he?

“What did he do?” Benji blurts.

Xavier raises his eyebrows. “Sorry?”

In for one, he supposes. “The man you assaulted.” Benji taps his jaw, and Xavier’s eyes flick to it. Then he flushes such a brilliant, embarrassed red that Benji feels a bit guilty for bringing it up.

“Uh —” Xavier coughs into his fist, eyes darting in nervous circles that spiral everywhere and anywhere but Benji. “Uh, hah, I mean. He’s from some rich mainland family. They bought up a bunch of the properties, don’t even fucking live here. Swear, they’re always talking about putting in some coffeeshop or artisan crafts or some other wacky shit. And this guy, he’s just —”

“A prick?” Benji offers when he pauses. Xavier’s grin comeback full force and he nods. “Right. Well, deserved it then.”

Another pause passes between them. Benji looks at the slight curve to the bridge of his nose instead of those intense eyes. In the low light spilling from his room, haloing him and dusting Benji and the hallway in gold, they almost seem to glow.

“So. Business.”

Xavier’s smile curls. “Business.”

Benji explains quickly, and hopefully with enough authority that the local doesn’t think him fucking mad for even toying with the possibility. Then again, there are a bunch of perfectly rational explanations: radioactivity distorting the images like right-after pictures of Chernobyl, electromagnetic fuckery that he doesn’t understand sourced from the array of fishing vessels in the surrounding waters, solar flares reflecting off the water and frying the camera’s delicate anatomy.

At the end, when he’s well and truly winded himself rambling on possibilities working them through verbally, Xavier only twists at the waist to glance towards the window in his room. Benji ignores that, and the ripple of muscle, and the pale skin, and the severe curve of his spine, and —

“Not now.” The local says firmly. “Sun’s down.” He peers at Benji with a furrowed brow. “I was serious about being out on the water at night. Go get some sleep, and we’ll be off first thing in the morning.”

“Yeah,” Benji says stupidly, taking a step back that he nearly trips over. “Yeah, a’right. See you bright and early.”

Xavier flashes his eyes suggestively wide, lip caught between his teeth. “Oooh. It’s a date.”

Benji ignores that, because otherwise he really, really won’t.

Benji doesn’t sleep, but instead drifts. It’s a lazy, bobbing sort of rest, although he hesitates to call it that. Each time he wakes, he feels worse.

He dreams of plucking through gritty, textured beach pebbles and scraping his knuckles raw. He wakes, falls back into the light sleep. He dreams of treading water. He wakes, and it takes longer for the comforting touch of unconscious to take him. He dreams again. It is the third and final dream Benji will have for the entirety of the time he spends in Innsmouth, but he doesn’t know that yet. When he wakes in a sweaty haze of panic, all he recalls is the cloudy, deep purple of water mixed with blood.

Benji doesn’t sleep after that. He sits up in bed and writes in his journal. He sits up in bed and scribbles notes, works through the case as they know it, and — draws. His sketches aren’t the usual wounds on bodies, or composites of suspects. Isn’t just the crime scene, or the view of the town’s lighthouse on the horizon as a boat approaches, or the cute bulging eyes of Geico, Maran’s boat mascot.

Tonight, they’re of a particular face.

When Xavier comes to collect him, the windows have fogged with early morning chill. Benji’s leaning his head against the glass tracing a frosted pattern with his finger when he knocks.

Wordless and unceremoniously, Xavier shoves a bundle of fabric into his chest. “Here. Scarf isn’t warm enough.”

Benji glances over at the chair he’d tossed his scarf. “Done me well so far.”

Xavier clicks his tongue. “Yeah, but this is Innsmouth.” His chin is obscured by a scarf of his own. There’s a tiny, carefully embroidered X on one tasseled end, which makes Benji smile. “Cold’s different.”

Different and worse, because all they really need to get to the spot that the Laun girl was found is a dinghy. Benji’s a bit perturbed by it. The shakiness of it on even the calm waves, how a gap between planks has been sealed by what he hopes is waterproof glue but sincerely doubts.

Xavier must notice the tight grip he has on either side of it, because he tosses his head back and laughs.

Once they’ve reached the little inlet and Benji has taken his own photos of the area that had almost proven to be Laun’s final resting place before she was discovered, they’re deep in conversation. Benji had been shocked to discover how easily it flowed on the dinghy ride over, and flattened to his ass by how Xavier kept up with his trailing thoughts, jumps between topics. They discuss the town, Xavier’s work, Benji’s case history, and a bit about Saha while he works. In his phone, the pictures appear normal. No distortions, no glitches. Benji flips back and forth through them, brow furrowed and eyes narrowed blade-thin. He’s waiting for the moment he swipes between two, and one has changed in the second it hadn’t been observed. Liked fucked up iSpy.

“You ever play iSpy as a kid?” Benji asks his screen, although the question is clearly intended for the fisherman. “Those pictures books with all the little bits n’shit, set up where you’ve got to find each thing.”

“Engine died.”

He whirls around. “Sorry?”

“Engine. Died.” Xavier swears under his breath, both hands pressed to his forehead. He straights slowly from his hunch over the dinghy. “Shit.”

Benji’s responding laugh is cruel and low. “Yeah, I’ll fuckin’ say. Give it another go?”

“If it’s not busted yet, that will do it,” Xavier snaps back. His hands lift into his hair, fingers wound into the messy auburn. “Oh, fuck.”

Benji follows his gaze off to the horizon, where a massive wall of bubbling, near-black clouds has suddenly appeared. Or… maybe not suddenly. They’d been engrossed in conversation on the ride over, too, but it seemed unlikely someone of Xavier’s experience and caliber wouldn’t notice a storm-darkened sky in the early hours.

“Oh, fuck.” Benji echoes. On cue, a peel of growling thunder shakes across the sky. The storm is rolling in fast. Its accompanying wind snatches at Benji’s face like claws, stinging. He keeps having to push his hair out of his face as it whips around. “We have to get to that fishing shack on the north side.”

Xavier doesn’t seem to hear him over the thunder and wind, which come quick and loud and unignorable even as they stand there. “I can’t tell which direction the wind’s coming from,” he says in nearly-silent awe. Terror, maybe.

“Xavier. The shack.”

Finally, his pretty face pinches in disgusted dismay. “Man, she could have been killed in there—”

“And we’ll get fucking killed out here if we stay, yeah? No brainer, if you ask me.” He swings his arm out, gesturing a go ahead towards the shack. “Bet it’s so nice on the inside. Fully updated, stainless steel appliances, central heating.”

Xavier’s angrily pouting mouth twitches. “Bay windows?”

“Oh, big ones mate. Kind you can sit in.” Benji gestures again, shifting from foot to foot. His boots are made to be sturdy, but not warm. “G’wed, get in there please, m’freezing my fucking arse off right now, in, please.”

Xavier allows himself to be nudged into motion, although his face is pinched. His cheeks are ruddy, whipped raw-looking from the wind that begins to pick up.

The shack isn’t updated. And it certainly isn’t, by any stretch of some shady rental company’s terms and conditions, habitable. Privately, Benji wonders if it was where Laun was killed. The furniture is dusty with disuse yet strewn about in a messy arrangement of upturned end tables, chairs with broken legs, and a dingy, stained mattress that looks as if it’s been bisected with a knife. Benji blows one of its feathers from his mouth.

“Stainless steel.” He deadpans, nudging Xavier and gesturing towards the kitchen where a strangely spotless kettle sits on the outdated stove.

“Shut up.” Xavier hisses. His arms are tucked around himself. He mirrors Benji’s chilled pose, knees tucked towards his chest. “When is this storm gonna fucking stop?”

“Let me check,” Benji says dryly, pulling his phone from his pocket. The screen flashes a black SOS symbol — no cellular connection for even an emergency call. Benji doubts the Innsmouth police would come if beckoned. Ben has made it clear they’ve got a special hatred for the investigators, and Benji doesn’t doubt it would clean up unwanted threads for them if he were to just…disappear in a storm.

He glances over at Xavier, who looks pale in the dim light, sun snuffed from the sky by thunder and heavy, brutal rain.

“You tell anybody where you were going?” He quirks a brow, smile twitchy with a hint of worry. “Your partner?”

Xavier looks back at him from his peripheral and scowls. Answer enough, but he goes on: “No, weather looked fine. Thought we would be quick.”

“Me either,” Benji says, although he isn’t asked. “Gonna be quick to fucking freeze solid, at least.” He huffs out a laugh, tucks the scarf around his face more. “They’ll cart me off to some posh restaurant. Make an ice sculpture out of me to put in the lobby, or some shit.”

“What the fuck are you talking about.” Xavier’s laughing as the words spill out, less a judgmentally confused question and more amused. He scoots closer to Benji, one long arm reaching around his shoulders. The movement and proximity has Benji truly freezing, going still as anything. But Xavier only grabs for the blanket tossed over the back of the filthy couch they sit on. He pulls it around his own body.

“This is just ideal for you, huh?” Benji snorts, hoping no acknowledgment of his own wriggling is made. Xavier simply lifts his arm, draping the blanket around them both. It’s thin; the thing that really takes the chill from him, seeps it out of his bones like a sponge, is the warmth radiating from the body beside him. A stranger, pressed shoulder to hip to thigh to ankle, right in his personal bubble. And Benji, for some reason privy only to the mysterious universe, wraps an arm around his waist.

“Kind of.” Xavier admits softly.

They fall asleep that way, despite the constant crash of thunder and pelting rain that Xavier will swear later turned into massive chunks of hail halfway through the storm. That part of it is lost to them. The lack of sleep from the previous night is what has Benji limp in heavy slumber. He briefly recalls slumping with a slack jaw against Xavier’s shoulder, but when he wakes their position is much different.

The blanket has been stretched over and tucked under his legs. There’s a telltale warmth against his back that, in his brief waking moment before sleep takes him again, he recognizes as another body. Arms around his waist, a nose pressed into his scalp. The scarf is too much around his neck, so he peels it away from sweaty skin and tosses it to the ground. He’ll forget it when they leave in the morning, but for now the plaid patterned fabric of gold and purple distorts in his vision as he falls unconscious once more.

No dreams.

Once the storm has passed, they wander outside to assess the damage. While the beach has been tossed and turned over, littered with fresh driftwood and brush torn from the dirt, the dinghy remains tied to the dock post and in one piece.

“No fuckin’ way,” Benji breaths when Xavier yanks the cord and the engine purrs to life. “No fucking way.”

Xavier taps a finger to Benji’s chest. “Bloop. Magic touch.” He wiggles his fingers in the air before helping Benji into the boat. “Some things are just so totally unexplainable.”

The entirety of Innsmouth will soon join that illustrious list of unexplainable things, but neither of them know that just quite yet.

#writing #bp #xw #bp x xw #innsmouth au

0 notes

dearstranger-24 · 6 months

Text

Eat from my palms

(written in tears, on notes app, at 3:48am months(?) ago)

It wasn’t until I had a friend that let me eat from the palm of her hands that I realized… if I kept it up… I would be a dim light in her world. Even though she tells me I’m bright, even though she gives me the plated mango and tells me to put it in her palm. I would be a drowning wick. I didn’t realize in three years my eyes would miss seeing her brown ones in person. They would be spread over 828 x 1792 pixels and my phone screen wouldn’t be able to pick up the soft of her skin, the ornate of her gold rings.

I hate reducing things to appearances alone because what does “pretty” mean? I would like to amend “pretty” to convey: that she holds my hair back with one hand and in the other my mango slice so that I can bite into it. And when the juice drips down and I try to clean up her hands, her rings, she pulls back and shakes her head because “this can always be cleaned when you’re done”.

This doesn’t even get to her curatorial successes. Every graphic t-shirt this girl owns or gifts is either her own making or an artful-witty-paladin. Her jewelry, rings, earrings, necklaces, engraved and timeless and “pretty” on her skin. Her art journal so precious and I always asked to skim through it, touch it so that I could hold the things she creates.

In the first year and a half of our friendship I’d been good about keeping things clean. By the second and third year I’d been disappearing sporadically but often enough to realize, for the first time someone was noticing my absences, and it was making her worry. I would make art with her. When we listened to Work Song she knew it was “pretty” to me the way it was “pretty” to her

“Cause my baby’s sweet as can be. She give me toothaches just from kissin’ me.”

And once the pause and notes changed we would continue on to the chorus together.

I think she put up with my stunted emotional capacity and reactivity until the summer I was 19 and she told me “you’ve overstayed your probationary period, I need you to be seen by me”. She knew just enough about me and my world to gather that she knew almost nothing at all. I will say she was patient because how can someone wait 5 years to say this?

For all my fears about having life outside my interactions with Meriam known by Meriam, I didn’t realize it would be the first time in my life where I would have someone love me. Knowing how I felt in the moments leading up to opening up to her—unintentionally by the way, cheers to being crushed under the weight of aloneness— being a mess of a person was ugly, and unsightly, and the weeds of the lot. So when she saw, and heard, and felt some of this mess and fed me the mango slice, and held my hair back, and met my eyes, I still felt tired, and ashamed, and lost but I was beginning to feel worthy of love.

In all the ways I thought my pain would stain her love for me, I found someone who let me leave my mark, in her eyes, smile, tears, and wear these remnants of me. And still she’s “pretty”. It’s taken me years to voice what I’ve always felt, I wanted someone-her, to see this mess and still find me lovable, and bright, and persistent and it feels really, really fucking good that it’s her.

It feels good to be bright in someone’s world.

0 notes

alldayangst · 3 years

Text

lovebug (Tom Holland)

GIF is from gaybuckybarnes here on Tumblr. You can access my masterlist here. This was written for @worldoftom’s lolbrosgetsicktoochallenge. The prompt I had was: ‘Tom self diagnoses himself as sick. He’s got all the symptoms. He’s speechless, over the edge and just breathless. He never thought he’d get hit by the ‘love-bug’ again’. Inspired by the song Lovebug by Jonas Brothers!

A/N: Y/N is an assistant director on Cherry in this fic. This has a lot of Cherry (the movie) references but most are explained if you haven’t seen the film. Such as, it was filmed in Cleveland and Morocco, directed by Joe and Anthony Russo. Some scenes in this fic borrow from the movie & I’ve linked clips from the film if you’d like to listen/watch along. WC: 4K.

“Yeah, Mum, I’ve just got like the sorest throat at the moment.” Nikki’s picture cuts in and out on a scrambled screen on the South side of London, her husband’s hand periodically reaching out for her, rubbing her shoulder, then leaving the frame almost as quickly as it came in. Even through the low quality, the pixels dashing about his screen, Tom can make out his mother’s brows knitting together and can’t remove the feeling of utter guilt when he sees her grow redder and redder out of anger, concern and confusion for her son. “But I’ve got Harry here with me.” Harry waves from behind his brother, his trusty mug swapped for a Phoenix Coffee Cup in his spare hand, just to get a taste of the States.

Tom reckons that's why he’s sick. He barely drinks coffee on the other side of the pond, and would bet good money that an at home PG Tips would beat America’s swankiest coffee joint any day. But now, he’s betrayed his usual routine and his body’s all out of whack and his throat is hoarse, he’s breathless even at times.

Harry shoots his mum a half smile to comfort her, but he doesn’t know what it's like to be a mother, and his and Tom’s mouth both form an ‘O’ when Nikki begins to type so hard her screen jolts and Tom swears she’s put a dent in it. “You know what? I’m going to give them a piece of my mind, Tom! They’re overworking you!” Nikki looks intensely to find her baby boy in drug-addled eyes and his jungle of curls on his newly shaven head. She guesses it becomes easier when Tom pushes his face halfway into the screen and pleads like the child he’ll always be to her, “Please, please Mum! I can’t have any days off. Under any circumstances, I need to finish this film!”

Tom turns to his younger brother for help. “Tell her, Harry!”

And as little brothers do best, Harry spills the beans as soon as Tom’s phone is in clutch. “Tom’s fallen in love with the first A.D., Y/N.”

Nikki immediately loses her frown, knowing how love can knock Tom off his feet and blow all the wind out of him. Tom’s father, Dom, re-enters the frame to match Nikki’s grin. He never misses an opportunity to tease. “Oo, caught a case of the love bug, have you?”

Harry has to whip the phone around to dodge Tom’s protesting arms reaching for it again. “Don’t listen to Harry. I’m not in love. I just like Y/N.”

“A lot.” Harry mutters. Tom’s family doesn’t budge any further, knowing how bad Tom was hurt after his last relationship. They weren't sure when the love bug would come back to bite him again. So after they all shared a knowing look, Harry handed Tom his phone back. “I’ll keep you updated. Bye, Mum.”

It all started five weeks ago. Tom, at 24, was beginning to feel like love was trudging up a high hill he couldn’t come down from, where every beat of heart was feeling like an ache on an open wound. Tom had yet to meet a lover to prove distance makes the heart grow fonder, finding himself in six month long entanglements and illusions of love before things inevitably went sour.

He’d say, perhaps, you were the closest thing to the real deal. The problem was, he didn’t know if you liked him back.

“When life was beginning, I saw -”

“When life was-”

“When life was be-fuck!”

“When life was beginning, I saw you.”

Tom could make a picture book out of the day he first met you. He remembers how your hair looked that day, the speckles of genuinity in your eyes, how your ear-to-ear smile seemed to be a mirror because every time he saw you from then on, he brandished the same beam. He recalls how his eyes went low as he dropped his script to his lap and stared at your lips, so soft and kissable, as you repeated his words back to him: “When life was beginning, I saw you.” Then you chuckled softly as Tom waited patiently for his head and his heart to return to him.

“I’m sorry. I’m dyslexic. I have a bit of trouble reading.”

“It’s cool, I'm the first A.D. That’s what I’m here for.”

You rubbed your hands on the back of your trousers, your mic jostling in your back pocket as you attempted to rid yourself of your nervous, sweaty palms.

“I’m Y/N.” You reached out for a shake only for Tom to cough loudly into his own hand.

“Fuck! I’m so sorry! That wasn’t me trying to get out of your handshake. I- I-.” Tom looked at his hand for it had failed him for the first time in his life. His hand that had helped him up during handstands, being his crutch through cartwheels and backflips, but had decidedly run out of luck to be on the receiving end of Tom’s monstrous cough impending a handshake with someone his eyes just couldn’t look away from.

You laugh again. Your laugh sounds like melody, Tom muses. Awestruck, he wishes he could play it again, repeat it like a radio hit and never wash himself of the feeling he got when he heard your laugh for the first time.

“It’s all good. I’ll see you around.” You disappear from his trailer, likely on a venture to your own, when Joe and Anthony block his view of you walking away.

Anthony and Joe take on the ghost of you in Tom’s room, “Tom! The man, the myth and the legend!” Joe comes behind him to rub his newly hairless head. “We’re so glad you agreed to do this movie!”

“Bummed that you’re not coming to the Browns game tonight, though.” Anthony remarks, throwing a football at Joe who sets it in his lap.

“Harry and I, we’re British, mate. We play football with our feet.”

Joe doesn’t know it then, but his next words are the beginning of the end for Tom. He rubs on his football and looks Tom in his eye when he poses, “It’s a shame ‘cause the whole crew’s going. First day of filming celebrations.”

“The whole crew?”

Anthony mumbles an ‘mhm’ as he picks up a framed photo of Tom and RDJ sitting pretty on Tom’s dresser, posing like father and son.

Tom’s usually self assured when he’s on set, but he’s hesitant to say this next improvised line. His voice trails off as he speaks. “Including Y/N?”

“Y/N?” Joe queries, with a smile that’s half scary and half comforting, and the butterflies in Tom’s stomach are begging him not to fuck this up and suddenly every second a word is not spoken feels like hours have passed and he might have ruined things before they’ve even started, gosh he just met you and-

Tom tries to play it cool. “I don’t- they’re cool.” Tom coughs again. “I mean, I don’t really know them but Y/N seems cool I guess.”

Anthony and Joe smile at each other, scrambling to exit. “Whole crew’s going, baby!” Joe beams.

“Please don’t tell Y/N I asked!” Tom shouts before they’re out of earshot.

“Yeah, yeah. Anthony, go long!”

A few hours later, Tom was sitting next to an unamused Harry, you on his left, foam fingers pointing every which way.

“Are you a big football fan?” Tom asked, imposter syndrome creeping up on him. He had the best seats in the house, but knew not a thing about this sport he’d come down to watch. Meanwhile, crew and crowd alike sat themselves around you guys, cheering leaving throats raw for days to come and a tussle for a foam finger between Joe and Anthony leading to hundreds of sugary popcorn shells scattered on the stadium floor.

“I mean, I wouldn’t ever turn down the option to look at Odell Beckham Jr. Are you?” you replied.

Tom looked over to his brother who sat with his chin in his hand, lips pulled into a thin straight line as his rusty curls were blown about from the wind of brown and orange flags flown from fans behind him. “We could learn to love it.” Tom flashed you a toothy grin, unsure of where to guide the conversation next. He knew for sure that he wanted to keep talking to you, but his ego began putting up a fight, eager to show himself off if you’d have him in any way. Tom sighed. “Truth is, we have no fucking clue what’s going on.” Tom could hear the commentary about a player reaching the end zone, but they were all just words that went into one ear then came straight out of the other.

You giggled. “I have no idea either. We could make up our own rules if you want.”

Tom likes the way you think. He also likes the way you speak. He loves the way you laugh.

“You have a beautiful laugh.”

You covered your mouth. “Oh, fuck, I hate my laugh!”

“I’d make you laugh a thousand times if I could.”

You pointed to the jumbo screen as Mayfield made a touchdown, unable to stop laughing from sheer nerves as you felt Tom’s hot, burning haze on you. An advert for Cleveland’s Own Phoenix Coffee flashed on the screen as you spoke. “We’ll make our own rules. Every time we see the quarterback pick up the ball, we’ll cheer.”

By the end of the night, Tom is speechless, breathless and over the edge of his chair in faux excitement and anticipation of the quarterback receiving the ball once again.

“Another coffee?” The service worker asked.

“Yes please!” You and Tom both say in unison, pumped as the quarterback began circling around to collect the ball in open arms.

The footage of the game is cut abruptly as the camera points to a confused, solo Harry; Anthony and Joe are seen at the edge of the frame whispering suggestively and pointing towards Tom, the camera eventually capturing the superstar who looks back up at his own reflection. Poorly green screened hearts flood the screen and the camera pans to include you in the frame too. Tom looks on in horror when he realises what’s going on and how it could be too late, and turns to you.

“I promise I didn’t know this was going on. We don’t have to.” Tom panics.

You hear him loud and clear, that you don’t have to, but your heart and eleven thousand people are telling you to kiss him otherwise. “Oh well. We should just do it.” you murmur, the bright pink ‘KISSCAM’ logo flashing in and out.

It doesn’t take more than a moment for the gap between you and Tom to close, for your face to get lost behind his, his lips pressing against yours, eyes closed, trusting each other to share your air. This was probably the first thing that night worth cheering for, howls and whistles erupting around you.

Tom doesn’t understand American football, but he thinks that the best seats in the house could be anywhere next to you.

Harry’s on the phone to his twin brother, Sam, when you and the rest of the crew make it back to the hotel later on. “-Yeah, and Tom spent half the night with the first A.D. cheering and screaming at fuck all.”

The Cleveland Browns lost that night, but Tom remains none the wiser. He stood in the doorway as Harry continued to relay his day to Sam. “Oh, and Tom, Mum said to give her a call, eavesdropper.” He flicks Tom’s reddening nose before closing the door.

A week and a half later, Tom reckons that's why he’s sick. He never has the time anymore to attend ‘real’ football games back home, and he actually understands the game back in Britain. But now, he’s cheered at almost every given opportunity to impress you stupidly, and his chest and voice is suffering as a consequence.

You and Tom walked onto set with your pinkies intertwined, growing closer and closer by the minute, but Tom doesn’t miss how Ciara’s boyfriend visits set every day for her, doesn’t miss how they rub their nose together in this lovey-dovey affection he wishes he could bestow upon you.

The scene wasn’t working.

The crew was beginning to grow restless and Tom silently became more frustrated as the minutes went by and he was unable to get his lines right. He remembers how a week ago, it felt so easy. You were there to correct him when he stumbled upon his lines and you picked him up so effortlessly, a twinkling smile on your face. But then? Then you were different. Your eyes were scrunched up behind the lens of the camera and you were mumbling something to Anthony about how the sun was due to go down in Ohio soon so you needed to hurry along.

“Alright.” you announced. “Take five!”

And Tom was thankful, Ciara perched upon a swing for the scene they were filming, Tom dwindling the rope of the swing under his finger as her boyfriend approached her once again. “Hey dude, are you okay?”

Ciara looked at Tom with the same concern, hands finding home in her boyfriend’s nest of hair. “Yeah, Tom, are you okay?”

Tom coughed into his hand. “Yeah, guys, I’m good.”

“I think you’re coming down with a nasty cough.” Ciara muttered.

“Yeah. It’s you guys. You’re too cute. You make me sick.” Tom laughed humourlessly for a short while, wanting to be that adorable with someone, maybe not anyone, maybe just with you someday. Then Tom shook his head, a bitter feeling in his throat as he yawned. “It’s the Browns game. I was yelling and screaming every time a quarterback got the ball. Of course I’m a little unwell. I’ll be good as new in a few days though.”

Ciara already knew Tom wasn’t playing a man with the healthiest of habits, but she worried that Tom was getting this bad this early. “Maybe you should talk to the first A.D. about reducing shoot days from five to three?”

Tom didn’t like the prospect of seeing you less. “Yeah.” Harry had a clapperboard between his hands, leading Tom’s eyebrows to furrow as his brother yelled something about it being take 13. “Maybe.”

Harry resumed to a new position in your chair, with you taking Harry’s place right across from Tom, a coffee waiting for him when the scene was over like Harry always did. Ciara’s boyfriend left the frame to watch supportively on the sidelines.

“Lights. Camera. Action!” Anthony called. “Time is money, you guys! Let’s try to get this one right this time.”

They’d been over this already twelve times today.

“Hey, I’m really happy you’re here.”

Ciara read her line back. “Why’s that?”

Tom could hear whispers of the crew, the sound guy glaring at them in case they were picked up in the scene, and he knew it had something to do with the fact that he couldn’t for some reason get the next line out all day. And that reason, unbeknownst to everyone, was because Tom couldn’t say something he didn’t mean - feeling like his heart was locked in a cage for which only you had the key. He looked past his co-star, Ciara, and up at you; feeling so close but you were far away, leaving him all day without anything to say. And overcoming his speechlessness and breathlessness, even in just that moment, he ran his hand over the rope to say, “Cause I like you. A lot.”

Ciara and the rest of the crew broke into a wide smile once Tom finally spoke his next line, but the only person Tom was focused on was you, who wasn’t smiling, but mouthing his words back to him.

Ciara breathed, “Shut up.”

And Tom’s sure to look you in the eye when he says, “I really do.”

When the filming for the day is said and done, Tom makes a beeline for you across the greenery. You hand over his coffee to him, “It’s a little cold now, but a warm hand is holding it.”

Tom quirks an eyebrow. “Are you inviting me to hold your hand?”

“Don’t push your luck.”

“You swapped jobs with Harry, I saw.”

“Yeah, well. It’s good he gets to grips with the job now. You know, in case anything changes.” You pulled your phone out of your pocket. “I should probably give you my number. In case anything changes.”

“Oh no, yeah. Your number is?”

“216-XXX-XXX. Speaking of changes, I heard you’re trying to get your days reduced.”

“You were eavesdropping?” Tom looks at your face that bears no trace of guilt. “You’re just like me!” He pulls you close.

“Tom, if what happened today is because you’re working too much, I’m happy to reduce your time.”

“Nah, nah.” Tom sniffles, rubbing his nose on a jacket probably worth more than your life. “I’m just a bit sick, s’all. I’ll be fine.”

Two weeks pass and Tom’s no better. With the Cleveland game nearly a month ago, Tom has nothing to blame and as first A.D., you’re obligated to reduce his hours. Tom’s on the phone with his mother when you approach his trailer.

“Don’t listen to Harry. I’m not in love. I just like Y/N.”

“A lot. I’ll keep you updated. Bye, Mum.”

You’re so quick to skip happily back to your trailer that you miss Harry calling out to his brother, he’s his protector now that his mother was countries apart. “Tom?” Harry starts.

Tom mumbles an ‘mhm’, hoping Harry would make it quick as he sees you FaceTiming him. If only his mother could see him like this. He’d get to call her tomorrow and tell her he’d called you for the first time yesterday, he could hardly wait to utter, 'I've finally found the missing part of me’. Harry sighs as the FaceTime ringing is relentless. Tom’s eyebrows threaten to meet in the middle of his face as he clutches onto his phone.

“Tom.” Harry begins. “Y/N is giving up assistant director.”

Tom’s really not sure where Harry gets the source of his information from, but he’s sure this isn’t true. He thinks you’d tell him before his brother if you were leaving the film behind, leaving him behind.

The film is due to move filming to Morocco soon, and Tom’s well aware that not all film crew joins them when production moves abroad, but to Tom, you’re an extension of this movie universe. And Tom refuses to leave the memories of you in this filming cycle. “How’d you know?”

“I’m taking over.” Tom’s screen lights up with the glow of your call, and as bright as it is, as bright as you are, as bright as your smile surely is on the other end of the phone call, Tom’s in his deepest darkest feelings wondering how he fooled himself into thinking romance could go right for him this time.

He’s going to Morocco. You’re not. You’re funny, smart, promising, beautiful. You’ll find someone good for you, a better pair by the time he’s back.

“That doesn’t mean it won’t work out, man.” Tom sulks in his bed, the light from your constant calls bleeding through his bed sheets. “I just wanted to warn you.” Tom nods, screaming into his pillow. Harry decides that’s his cue to leave, a glimmer of light from outside seeping through the crack of the door as Harry escorts himself. Tom musters all his might and courage to reluctantly answer your phone, the ear-to-ear grin he knows so well greeting him once again.

Suddenly, he forgot how to speak. Hopeless, breathless, couldn’t you see that?

“Tom?” You call out his name a few times before cutting straight to the point. “Do you like me?”

Tom shifts slightly but not enough to show that he’s alarmed. “Huh? Yeah, I like you.”

He sits up, but doesn’t reciprocate the outrageous smile you wear like a heart on your sleeve. Tom’s eyes are sunken, dark circles forming under his eyes where he and his disturbed character become one. You suddenly remember why you shouldn’t have run away so fast, perhaps Tom was overworking himself. He continues, “But I’m an emotionally unavailable hopeless romantic. So I wouldn’t waste your time on me.”

Tom can’t help the hurt in his heart when he sees your smile drop so suddenly, knowing it was earnest. “Tom, what are you saying?”

“I’m saying, life is unfair. And I’m gonna quit while I’m ahead. We wouldn’t work out. And I like our friendship now. We should stay that way.”

You’re not convincing when you nod rapidly, not letting Tom see your face as you play with your fingers to avoid his gaze. “Yeah, I agree.” You’re much less convincing when the last frame Tom caught of you was a shot of tears dripping down your face, as three rings followed you. Tom’s screen went black in your absence, and Tom falls asleep with eyes even redder from crying, and he wonders when he’s gonna shake this sickness.

It’d been a few days since Tom had got his shots to allow him to go to Morocco. He sat opposite the doctor on set, a coffee cup placed on the desk between him.

Tom reckons that's why he’s sick. Shots always have their side effects, and he’d taken multiple shots in one day. And now, he specifically asked for you to hold his hand during the process, Harry branded in a glinting jaw-drop, only for you to leave directly after.

“I’m speechless, constantly feeling over the edge, breathless.” Tom explains his symptoms to the doctor. “At first I thought it was because of that stupid football game, then all the coffee I’m drinking, now I don’t know if it’s the shots. I feel like shit, doc.”

“I know exactly what you’re dealing with.”

“What?”

“Lovebug.”

Tom stares at the doctor in utter bewilderment. “You figured that out based on my symptoms?”

“I figured that out based on the puppy dog eyes you gave for your first A.D. when they left without a word.” The doctor begins to laugh softly, but Tom is unamused. How is he supposed to shake this illness after completely ruining your relationship? How is he supposed to mend your bond after talking so recklessly, so emotionally? “Tom, I’m not here to be a fairy godmother, I’m being strictly medical. At a certain point, what you feel in your mind affects your body. So I prescribe that you talk to Y/N and say everything you need to say.”

And while that seemed easy enough, Tom’s ego was at work again, and Tom was feeling far too bruised and wounded to speak to you first. Surely if you cared enough, if you liked him back, if you were willing to be distanced, you would reach out first.

It seems Tom’s pride had forgotten that you already did.

“I heard that this is the exact shit that happened in Cleveland, and he couldn’t get the line out.” Tom hears the whisperings from behind the camera, the amount of familiar faces in the crew dwindling after the change in location. He doesn’t respond. He waits for someone to take five. And when no one throws him a bone, he asks Harry to.

“Alright, everyone take five.”

“Someone get this kid a fucking coffee, he’s always on edge.” Joe instructs.

“And you think giving a kid in twenties coffee is taking him off edge?” Anthony chuckles.

Tom doesn’t care whether or not he gets the coffee, rocking side to side. He’s got all the motion for this role, but he feels nothing. All he felt was for you.

“Here.” Harry sets a Moroccan mint tea down next to Tom, hoping it would calm him down. When Tom takes a few sips, the look in his eyes is less pleading, and everyone’s ready to rumble, this being the last scene of the day.

Harry feeds Tom the line. “Baby, are you seeing bad things?” Tom is seeing bad things. A life without love, a life without you. Unable to contain it all, Tom turns his frustration into laughter. “Why are you calling me baby for, man?” Tom has this ear-to-ear grin but even he feels it's not as innocent, as genuine as yours. He never knew a smile so wide could be so full of pain.

“I have an idea.” Harry saunters off to collect his phone. “Don’t stop rolling the cameras.”

When Harry comes back, there’s sounds of shifting erupting from his phone. “Hi, Tom.”

Tom didn’t know it would be so bittersweet to hear your voice again. He wasn’t sure if he should put walls up again or if twice was the charm. Even if you worked out in the short term, whose to say Tom wouldn’t get hurt again? And Tom wouldn’t want to hurt you.

“Are they taking good care of you out there? I don’t think I took good care of you.” Tom doesn’t say anything on the other side of the line, so you continue. “I’m not a good A.D. if you’re always sick and tired, and I didn’t want to see you any less, which was selfish of me, so I didn’t change your schedule.” You sigh as you admit why you left. “When you asked, though, I swear I was gonna do it, but then I heard you liked me, and I got carried away. I had to remove myself from the situation to do what’s best for you. Do you understand me? I did it for you.”

“I, uh, I got a diagnosis.” Tom stumbles.

“Oh my gosh, are you seriously sick?”

“I’m speechless. Over the edge, breathless.” Tom laughed dryly, finally feeling like he can choose an ending.

“What did they say it was?”

“Lovebug.” Harry smiles softly at his brother.

Your laugh is like nectar entering Tom’s ear.

“I might just love you way too much, Y/N.”

“Are you sure you’re doin’ okay?” Tom tries his best not to sound dejected that you didn’t say it back, knowing he’s already felt the brunt of this heartache already.

“I just miss you, that’s all.”

“I miss you too. I love you.” Joe stops recording, and Harry lowly whispers ‘take.fucking.five.’ as he and the crew creep away from Tom’s new found love scene.

“Anthony, can I borrow your phone?” Harry begins to type Nikki’s number as soon as Anthony gives over the phone. “Mum, Tom just told the first A.D. he’s in love with them so guess who’s out of a job?”

Tom knows why he’s sick. He used to feel like love was trudging up a high hill he couldn’t come down from, where every beat of heart was feeling like an ache on an open wound. Tom had yet to meet a lover to prove distance makes the heart grow fonder, finding himself in six month long entanglements and illusions of love before things inevitably went sour. But now, Tom has found you.

#tom holland imagines #tom holland fanfiction #peter parker #tom holland #tom holland fluff #tom holland smut #tom holland fanfic #tom holland imagine #tom holland blurb #tom holland x reader #tom holland x y/n #tom holland x you #tom holland angst #peter parker angst #peter parker imagine #lolbrosgetsicktoo

257 notes · View notes

vannahfanfics · 3 years

Text

Picture Perfect

Category: Romantic Fluff

Fandom: My Hero Academia

Characters: Sen Kaibara, Setsuna Tokage

Hello, everybody! I am super stoked to present my story for the @class-b-abuzz-bang! I had the pleasure of working again with my talented friend @danyartime, so be sure to check out their super beautiful and cute art for the story!

The smudge of ruby-red gradually came into focus as Sen twisted the dial on his camera, revealing a blooming rose nestled among the spiny branches of a rose bush. Its soft, silken petals glistened with dewdrops from the early morning rain. The little beads caught the sunlight to shine like crystal-clear gems on the red petals, their iridescent sheen glinting even through the lens.

Sen kept his hands steady as he fine-tuned the focus until he was satisfied; then, with a simple press, he clicked the shutter and captured the image.

He straightened up with a small sigh, letting the camera flop down against his chest while the thick leather strap around his neck kept it from falling. He tilted his head back to squint at the sun, which shone brightly in the azure sky amidst the white, cottony clouds. It was a lovely Saturday morning, still slightly cool with the lingering chill of the night. Sen was making his weekly rounds of the campus to practice his photography.

Sen had always liked cameras and had dabbled in photography in middle school. Once he arrived at U.A., he thought that homework and hero training would dominate much of his time. However, after Midnight had given them a lecture about the importance of maintaining a hobby to promote mental well-being, he’d picked up his camera again and taken to wandering the campus on the weekend. There were more things to capture than he’d anticipated, so he now had a large collection of candids taped to his dorm room wall and was adding more every week.

He picked up his camera to inspect the photograph of the rose, scrutinizing it for any imperfections. A smile slowly bloomed on his lips as he realized it was a quite pretty photograph indeed— definitely one he intended to print later. As he mulled about on the sidewalk, wondering where he should look next, he heard the glass doors of the dormitory open.

He glanced over his shoulder to see Setsuna trotting out onto the porch, and his heart thumped against his ribcage.

She didn’t notice him standing there at first, giving him an opportunity to unabashedly admire her. She walked out into the sunshine, closing her eyes and tipping back her head to let the warm rays fall upon her face and thread into her dark green-black hair. She wore a sleeveless white dress that hugged her figure and stopped a little above her knees. A golden belt looped around her waist, and shiny white boots enclosed her feet. A golden necklace with a lizard charm hung around her neck. Sen had always thought that Setsuna had impeccable fashion sense, in addition to being stunningly gorgeous. His fingers itched to hit the shutter and snap as many photographs of her as he could.

Of all the things he’d ever wished to immortalize in a picture, Setsuna Tokage was perhaps the greatest.

After soaking up the sun rays for several moments, Setsuna opened her eyes and finally noticed him standing in the garden in front of the dormitory. His body had grown slack with dreamly laxity while he’d gazed at her, but he tensed tight when a grin split her face. She cheerily called, “Morning, Sen!”

“Good morning, Setsuna,” he replied. She hopped down the steps and trotted toward him. He hoped the heat on his cheeks was from the intense spring sun and not a blush rising to the surface. She stopped in front of him and immediately looked down at his camera, and then her eyes widened in curiosity.

“Oh, are you out and about taking pictures? Do you have any good ones?”

Sen nodded and lifted the camera, turning it around so she could see the display screen on the back. She pressed up against his side to look over his shoulder, and he felt his face blaze with heat as her hair, still damp and smelling of her dewberry shampoo, brushed over his neck. He could hear her breathing in his ear; every inhale and exhale made him dizzier and dizzier. Somehow, he managed to retain enough control of his body to cycle through the photographs he’d taken that morning.

The first was of the sunrise. He’d climbed to the roof of the dormitory to catch the hemisphere of white emerging over the horizon, the blue curtain of night rising to reveal a flood of red-orange. It had been cloudy that morning, so the sunbeams had caught on the clouds to stretch in white lines across the sky. “Wow… That’s beautiful,” Setsuna praised.

“Yeah.” Except, he wasn’t looking at the photograph of the dawn.

The next photograph was of a squirrel sitting on the roots of the oak tree next to the dormitory. It rested on the gnarled chunk of root that rose from the loamy soil like a sea serpent. Its little paws clutched an acorn, holding it to its little snout while it scored its long front teeth across the surface to try to break through the hard shell. Its fluffy, long tail curled over its back like a plume of wispy brown-gray smoke. Setsuna giggled, “It’s so cute.”

“Yeah.” Except, he wasn’t looking at the photograph of the squirrel.

He showed her the photograph of the rose next. She inhaled sharply with awe, then leaned more over his shoulder to peer closer at the screen. His face darkened as more of her body pressed against him, but she was too enraptured by the beautiful bloom bursting in colorful pixels on the screen to notice. Her eyes sparkled as she murmured, “Amazing…”

“Yeah.” Except, he wasn’t looking at the photograph of the rose.

Sen lowered his camera back down when she pulled away, though he lamented the loss of her body heat along his side. She smiled radiantly at him. Sen felt his heart start playing his rib cage like a xylophone, and he lowered his face to fiddle with his camera so she couldn’t see the haze of red staining his cheeks.

“Wow, Sen! I never knew you were so talented!” she gushed. He mumbled some sort of gratuitous remark in response. “What are you going to take pictures of next?”

Sen felt a lump form instantly in his throat. He peered through his bangs at her, watching, measuring. He’d always wanted to photograph Setsuna, and here she was, so interested in his hobby. Would she agree to a small photoshoot? He didn’t want to bother her or creep her out, but… Holy cow, Sen had never seen someone that was more a work of art than her, and he was gripped with such an intense desire to see her through his photo lens that it was almost suffocating.

He swallowed several times, but that lump in his throat just bobbed in place. Somehow, he managed to force the words out around it: “I’d like to photograph you, Setsuna.”

Her eyes blew wide, two dark moons floating in a sea of white. She pointed at herself and squeaked out, “M-me?”

When he nodded, a bright flush of pink rushed into her cheeks, and a shy smile teased at her lips. She shifted her weight from one foot to the other while her eyes rolled up to the corners, unable to look Sen in the eye at the realization he wanted her to be his muse. He waited patiently for her to answer, despite his stomach twisting in his belly, until she uttered a meek, “O-Okay…”

Sen couldn’t help the giddy smile that tugged at his lips and the light that lit up his eyes.

“Okay,” he echoed, and the happiness that bled into his voice made Setsuna smile bashfully. He held out his hand for her, and when Setsuna coyly slipped her fingers into his, it felt like electric shocks rocketed up his nerves. He wanted to jump for joy, but he had to remain professional. He forced down his elation to focus on the task at hand— capturing Setsuna in all her goddess-like glory. Smiling softly, he tugged her down the sidewalk, walking backward while he led the bashful girl by the hand.

As he walked, he glanced around the garden to find some suitable settings. He couldn’t just photograph Setsuna in any old setting, no, no— it had to be something truly magnificent, fitting of his image of an angel fallen to earth. He thought of her standing on the porch, her head tipped back to soak up the warmth of the sun, and at the same time his eyes fell upon a patch of wild dandelions growing in a patch of empty green grass. Perfect.

“Here,” he said and pulled her off the sidewalk and into the grass. He treaded carefully, trying to disturb as few of the dandelions as he could. It wouldn’t be much of a backdrop if he kicked all their floaty little seeds to the wind before he could get started, now would it? Setsuna milled about next to him, her cheeks stained as pink as carnations, while Sen stared at the small patch of wildflowers and mumbled under his breath. A vision took shape in his mind, one that made him as floaty as the dandelion seeds.

He directed Setsuna to sit among the dandelions in the clearest patch they could find. She eased down into the dewy grass, tucking her legs against her side. Her right hand rested on her thigh, while the other pushed into the loamy dirt, supporting her weight. She tossed her tresses of dark green hair over her shoulder, and there was so much magic in that simple movement that Sen’s mind momentarily went black. He just gawked at her, wide-eyed, until Setsuna bashfully said, “Sen? Is this good?”

“O-oh,” he stammered, flushing. “Yeah, that’s good.” He crouched down a few feet away from her and picked up his camera, then peered through the lens. He tried to keep his hands from shaking— it would ruin his shot— but it was so hard with the way she smiled sweetly at him through the camera lens, her head tilted just so to give her a demure demeanor. Her eyes were lidded as she rested contentedly amongst the dandelions. Sen waited until the wind whistled across the grass, bobbing the dandelions and fluttering her hair, before clicking the shutter in quick succession.

While he lowered the camera to choose which of the set he believed to be the best, Setsuna turned to watch a few of the dandelion seeds float away on the breeze. As a serene smile graced her lips, Sen snuck a candid photo. Unfortunately, the click of the shutter betrayed him, and she rolled her head on her shoulders to smirk at him in amusement.

“I feel like a model,” she laughed. “I never thought I would be a part of a photoshoot.”

Sen blushed, using the bulk of his camera to hide his face.

“Well…” he mumbled, deleting the photos he didn’t intend to keep so he didn’t have to look directly at her. “Hopefully my photos live up to your expectations.”

“I know they will,” she hummed with so much conviction that it made Sen’s heart flutter. While waiting on him, she picked up one of the dandelions and gently blew on it. Sen scrambled to back out of his photos so he could snap a picture of her slightly parted lips blowing into the seeds, dislodging them into the breeze. They bobbed around her hair, some of them settling into the waves of dark green like little snowflakes. Suddenly, Setsuna laughed and flopped backward into the patch, slamming her arms down to send hundreds of the little seeds spiralling into the air.

Sen hopped to his feet, but he didn’t pick up his camera. He just stared in adoration at the beautiful sight before him. Setsuna’s hair spread around her head like a dark halo, threaded with grass blades and dandelion seeds. She gazed reverently at the seeds spinning above her body; with no wind to catch them, they slowly swirled down, down, down to settle on her form. Her eyes drifted to Sen, who was gaping at her like she was the most sublime creature on earth. A tinge of pink appeared on her cheeks as she asked, “What? No more photos?”

He played with the thick black strap of his camera as he stiffly said, “Some things a photo can’t even do justice.”

She tilted her head slightly at that, eyebrows creasing in just the barest hint of amusement. Sen took a deep breath, preparing himself for the crazy thing he was about to do; then, he pulled his camera off from around his neck and set it down amongst the grass. Setsuna just watched him as he walked to where she lay in the grass, her chest rising and falling with rapidly-quickening breaths and a knowing smile spreading over her lips.

“Is that so?” she breathed when he knelt down next to her, on her left side. Surrounded by the grasses, Sen could see the hidden rivers of emerald shining in her eyes and her hair. Even with the most expensive camera equipment, he could never capture those streams concealed within the dark of her hair and eyes; they were immortal only in Sen’s memory.

“Yeah,” he answered, his voice just as breathy. “A photo could never do you justice, Setsuna. Not in my eyes.”

A shy smile played over her mouth, and then she quickly swiped her tongue over her lips to wet them. This action did not go unnoticed by Sen; it made his heartbeat quicken and adrenaline surge through his veins. Setsuna’s hand snuck through the grass like a lithe snake, latching onto his. He didn’t resist as she guided him to crawl over her body, knees resting next to her hips, hands on either side of her head.

“Then why ask me to do a photoshoot for you?” she asked teasingly.

“It’s a good excuse to be able to look at you longer,” he answered matter-of-factly. Her face flushed red as her flirtatious taunt was turned so effortlessly back to her, and this made Sen’s mouth curl up into a smirk. “Besides, even if a picture can’t do you justice, I’d still like to have them. You’re beautiful, even through a camera lens.”

He brushed his fingers gently over the cascade of hair framing her face, teasing through the strands and dislodging the dandelion seeds. The way she was looking at him, the fire smoldering in the depths of her eyes, emboldened him. His fingers slowly shifted to skim over her cheek, feeling the heat that rose to the surface in response to his touch. He brushed down the curve of her jaw until he met her chin, and then he turned his hand to place his thumb just under her mouth, tugging down to part her lips ever-so-slightly.

“May I kiss you, Setsuna?”

“Please,” she whispered, literally agonized by the fact he wasn’t kissing her already. This made Sen chuckle, but he didn’t want to keep the lady waiting. He dropped down onto his elbows to bring his face centimeters away from hers. She craned her head slightly with a low, needy whine, bumping her nose softly against his with the motion. Sen chuckled again, then tilted his head so he could close the gap and slot his lips against hers.

Truth be told, Sen had thought about kissing Setsuna many times. Still, all his daydreams could never prepare him for how it really felt to have her lips melding with his. It felt like his heart exploded in his chest, filling him to the brim with a cloudy, floaty feeling from the crown of his head to the very tips of his toes. Sen pressed his body down against hers slightly, grounding himself because it really did feel like he was going to float away, just like those dandelion seeds.

Setsuna hummed against his lips as he moved his mouth over hers, kissing her with a growing hunger. She just felt so good, tasted so sweet, and that scent of her dewberry shampoo was flooding his nose again. He kissed her until his mind was growing fuzzy with oxygen deprivation instead, then pulled back with a deep intake of air. Setsuna’s eyes fluttered open to look at him reverently, like he’d just hung the moon in the sky for her. Damn it, Sen would if that’s what it took to see that look on her face every single day.

“You’re beautiful,” he whispered again. His voice cracked with the sheer amount of worship he put into the statement. Setsuna shyly bit down on her bottom lip, but the twinkle in her eyes intensified. Unable to help himself, he leaned down again to kiss her nose, each of her cheeks, and then her lips again. Setsuna giggled at the soft, feathery kisses brushing over her skin, and the sound was music to Sen’s ears.

“You’re not too bad yourself,” she joked cheekily. Sen rolled his eyes, but wasn’t exactly surprised at her impudence. Her overwhelming confidence was one of the many, many things he adored about her. He nosed along her jaw as he smiled softly down at her, making her squirm and giggle. She wound her arms around her neck, indicating that she had no care to go anywhere anytime soon. The wind rustled the grasses around them, dusting Sen in a few of the dandelion seeds.

No, a picture really couldn’t do her justice at all, Sen thought as he gazed down at Setsuna. She crossed her eyes as a dandelion seed drifted across her nose, then playfully blew it into Sen’s face. The little feathery fibers of the seed tickled his cheek as his lips teased up into a loving smile. A picture was worth a thousand words, many people said— but as they gazed into one another’s eyes, a million words passed between them that a picture couldn’t even hope to capture.

Enjoy this oneshot? Feel free to peruse my Table of Contents!

#sensetsu #setsusen #sen kaibara #kaibara sen #setsuna tokage #tokage setsuna #my hero academia #boku no hero academia #mha #bnha

23 notes · View notes

psychovigilantewrites · 4 years

Text

Chapter 13 - Alone Again

Word Count: 15,835

TW: mentions of child r*pe, mentions of p*dophilia, mentions of self-harm, mentions of trauma, unconsensual biting, unprotected sex, mentions of mental breakdown.

A/N: Hey guys! I felt very bad for updating so slowly, so here it is early! Happy Valentine’s! Special thanks to those who has sent me fanart and kofis!! I appreciate them all, honestly, it’s really amazing.

Masterlist

Kofi

The ding of his phone woke Jason up from sleep. Even during the grogginess of slowly regaining consciousness, Jason knew who it was.

He blinked his eyes a few times to get used to waking up, and cleared his dry throat. He laid there in bed for a few moments, staring at the tin roof of the safe house he was so proud of. He wondered whether the text would be business or pleasure.

He liked it when you were there with him at night.

But you were too fucking stubborn, and was still hesitating to continue seeing him. It had been a month since the first time you joined him, and since then you went out with him a couple more times, only to investigate the elite pedophile ring that plagued Jason’s mind ever since he found out that it existed, and that Bruce had kept it from him.

Your dilemma meant that you weren’t with him all the time and got upset every time he killed someone.

Jason wasn’t a patient person, but the two of you still texted and called. Discussions, or banter. It was as if you were his friend.

As if everything wasn’t as fucked up as it was.

And however hard he tried to separate his feelings from his goals, to keep you at a distance, to wall himself off, he had obviously failed.

Because now he was smiling to himself at the thought of waking up to your texts.

He had freaked out at first, confused as to why he had started to hate you less and less over time, but now he realised that it didn’t matter how he felt anymore.

As long as he could snatch you away from Bruce.

The fact that you made him feel like he wasn’t alone anymore was only a bonus.

***

To say that it was troublesome to have Dick around would be an understatement.

He had originally mentioned that he was only going to stay for a week, but one week became two, and a month later, he. Was. Still. Fucking. Here.

The fact that you were living under the same roof as Batman meant that you were almost constantly on your feet, but now Nightwing was added to the equation, it felt suffocating.

At least Bruce didn’t like to poke into your personal life as much. Dick Grayson on the other hand, loved to play the doting older brother. You weren’t fooled, though. You knew he was still suspicious of you, and was using his caring nature to his advantage, touching the line between concern and straight up paranoia.

You sighed out loud.

Michelle Myers turned her head to glare at you. You stuck up your middle finger to her, earning an audible gasp.

Shit, you hadn’t meant to do that. You forgot where you were for a second.

School was one of the ways to escape the prying and ever analytical eyes of your older brother, and a way to run from the feelings of growing distance you felt between you and your family.

It was all Jason’s fault.

You had let him get into your head ever since he told you that Bruce had kept a disgustingly huge and important piece of information regarding Gotham’s elite society- the society that you were a part of.

You felt as though there was an invisible line that separated you and Bruce now.

It wasn’t a nice feeling.

“What the hell was that?” Michelle came up to your desk as you were packing to leave.

“I’m sorry?” you feigned innocence.

“You bitch!” she hissed, “You know what you did!”

“Hey, hey, what’s going on?” Rob interjected.

“I have no idea?” you lied.

“Michelle?” Rob turned to her.

“She- she- she showed me the middle finger!” Michelle fumed.

“What?” Robert asked, “No way. That’s not something she would do. Would you?”

He turned to you.

You wondered if his parents were part of this human trafficking ring. You wondered if Michelle’s parents were.

“Of course not!” you defended yourself, “That would be unbecoming of me!”

“Michelle, it’s not nice to make up stories,” Rob rolled his eyes.

Rob’s father was the CEO of Gotham’s number one cybersecurity company, his mother inherited generations worth of wealth. Her lineage meant that she had an iron grip on Gotham and was often Bruce’s rival when it came to influence. If she were a man and didn’t take her husband’s surname, Bruce would probably have lost to her on countless occasions. The possibility of one or both of them secretly running an organized crime was high.

“I’m not!” Michelle snapped, “I’m telling the truth.”

Michelle’s mother was Gotham’s famous socialite in the 80s, her father a nobleman from England. Both very rich, but Mrs. Myers was new rich, and Mr. Myers wasn’t born and raised in Gotham. The chances were there, but probably not as high.

“Even if you were, and she did show you the middle finger, what’s the big deal? Stop being so uptight, Michelle,” Rob scolded her.

Michelle looked like she was about to pop a vein in her temple.

“Thanks Rob,” you said, “But really, it’s okay. I think Michelle might have made an honest mistake, that’s all. I’m sorry too, Michelle. Maybe I was brushing my hair aside and might have accidentally made a vulgar gesture.”

“There,” Rob smiled warmly at you, “Just a mistake. You going back now?”

“Yes, I think Alfred should be here already,” you nodded, “I’ll see you guys next week?”

“Good luck studying!” Rob wished you, “Though mocks would probably be a breeze for you.”

“I doubt it, but thank you Rob,” you made your way to leave. You turned your head to Michelle and gave her a knowing wink you knew would make her lose her mind, and walked away.

“Dick?” you called out to your older brother, who was attracting a lot of attention on the sidewalk. He had parallel parked his car on the side, and was leaning against it with his sunglasses on. He waved at you once he saw you approach him.

“What are you doing here?” you asked.

“Picking you up,” he shrugged.

“Where’s Alfred?”

“Home,” he simply said.

“And why did you come to pick me up?”

“Because why not?” he grinned, opening the passenger door for you to enter.

You narrowed your eyes at him and entered the car.

Dick had always made you feel comfortable, and you naturally felt at ease when you were with him, but lately, it was different.

You felt stiff, alert, and on guard when Dick was around because it felt like he was just waiting silently for you to fuck up, to let something slip. You hated it.

You hated how your family felt so far away from you because you had betrayed them.

“Hey, Dick?” you asked after five minutes of unusual silence.

“What’s up?”

“What does Bruce do when he’s on patrol alone?” you brought up.

Did Dick know about this elite pedophile ring? Was Dick keeping secrets from you as well?

“He patrols, I guess?” Dick answered.

“No, I meant during the nights when he tells me that he doesn’t need me around,” you explained, “What does he do then?”

You saw Dick frown.

“I don’t know,” he stated.

“Did he ever do that to you? Tell you he doesn’t need you and go off alone?” you probed.

“All the time,” he sighed.

“And you never found out what he was doing?”

“I- well- look, what’s this about?” Dick turned the question back at you, “Did something happen? Did you find something?”

“What am I supposed to find?” you interrogated.

“I don’t know!” he answered exasperatedly, “Sure, I wondered a lot back then, but that’s- that’s just how he is! He keeps secrets and leaves us out of a lot of things. Like Jason being alive for fuck’s sake. If he can keep something like that a secret for so long, God knows what he’s up to when he’s alone.”

“Didn’t you ever stop to question it?” you argued.

“Didn’t you?” Dick retaliated, “All these years as Robin, why are you only bringing this up now?”

You fell silent.

“Did something happen?” he repeated again.

“Nothing happened,” you insisted, looking at the cars zooming by outside the passenger window.

Silence again. And then-

“Jason used to question it all the time,” Dick sighed, calming down. “Even followed Bruce out. That was hilarious. Imaging trying to tail Batman.”

“He asked the right questions, then,” you grumbled.

“He did,” Dick admitted, “Didn’t get him anywhere, though.”

“Except six feet under,” you muttered bitterly.

Dick never replied to that.

***

“We still don’t know her identity, she pops in and out seemingly randomly, has mediocre tech, mediocre skills… I don’t know, Bruce. What kind of purpose does Jason have for her?” Dick stated.

You tried not to clench your jaw upon hearing that.

The three of you were in the Cave, discussing your next step for tracking Red Hood down. Bruce had suggested going after V instead and hoped that she would lead you to him. You were treading dangerous waters, and remained silent most of the time.

“The fact that she has still remained elusive shows some form of skill,” Bruce argued.

It was hard not to defend your alter-alter-ego. But, you were relieved. You had tried your best to ensure they wouldn’t suspect you, even changing your fighting style to something you weren’t too familiar with.

“Still doesn’t explain why she’s with him,” Dick shrugged, “Nothing on the traffic cams?”

Your heart skipped a beat.

You had also made sure to avoid all cameras, even parking and changing blocks away before meeting with Jason. Jason, on the other hand, drove the same fucking car, or the same fucking bike, though he frequently changed plate numbers.

Still, this was Batman and Nightwing you were talking about.

“Only one thing,” Batman replied, before pulling up a security camera footage.

Fuck.

“This was taken along Jackson Avenue in Old Gotham,” Bruce continued and played the footage.

It showed a very low quality pixelated video of you wearing a black hoodie and a black cap covering your head. You had a surgical mask on to blend in better with the crowd instead of a black mask that would automatically made you suspicious. Your face was unidentifiable.

You walked into an alleyway and never came back out.

“How are you sure this is her?” Dick asked, “She wasn’t seen in Old Gotham.”

“Height and body type are a match,” Bruce justified, “That backpack could be carrying her weapons and clothes.”

You hid that backpack in an unused dumbwaiter of a guestroom all the way on the other wing of the manor that Alfred did not bother to dust.

“Or it could be carrying textbooks,” Dick scoffed.

“There is also this-”

Bruce pulled up another traffic footage. It was of you in the same clothes, with Jason next to you on a nearly empty sidewalk with shops already closed. Jason was also wearing a hoodie that covered his head, and the camera was far away. The two of you were walking away from the camera.

“This was three hours later on Schnappe Avenue, three blocks away from Caprice, where they were last seen together a week ago.”

You had followed Jason to Caprice, a bar that hosted many criminals, and was owned by the Italian mob. Red Who was simply there to take his profits and ask a few questions regarding their connections to certain politicians in Gotham.

Rendezvous with Jason was complicated, as you both had to protect your identities. You would leave the manor two hours early, park somewhere very far away, then walk or take a taxi to a location maybe 3 kilometres away from where you would meet Jason, duck into a dark alley to change into your gear, and then grappled to where Jason parked. From there, the two of you would grapple to your location. Once you were done, you would go to his car where you stashed your bag. You would then reverse your steps and go home.

That night however, Jason, the fucking dickhead, got hungry and insisted that you followed him to a diner, which was why the both of you were in casual clothes walking together in the streets. Good thing that by fucking sheer luck, no security cameras picked you up at the restaurant.

“There were no cameras to follow them after that,” Bruce grit, “They must have strategically chosen the route.”

No, Jason was just hungry.

Dick remained silent, so you turned to look at him. You frowned at his expression. Dick’s eyes were glassy and soft.

“Is- is that really him?” he whispered.

“High possibility. It’s too coincidental to dismiss.”

“Wow,” Dick breathed, “He looks- he looks different.”

Ah, it was Dick’s first time seeing new Jason without his helmet on.

“Yes,” Bruce nodded stiffly.

“How different?” you spoke up for the first time.

You were curious.

“Well, he’s much bigger,” Dick chuckled, “And taller. Good for him. He always complained about his height. Used to bet with me that he’d grow taller. Can’t see his face, though. He used to whine about how I was stealing all the girls too. Pretty sure he had a crush on Barbara.”

Dick gave a sad smile, and you saw Bruce had turned to face away.

“Anyway,” Dick cleared his throat, “How do you suggest we go about this V girl?”

“Uh,” you started, “Why not interrogate the guy they were meeting?”

Fat chance Elio Bianchi would spill anything with what Red Hood threatened him with.

“Already did last week,” Bruce answered.

You didn’t patrol last week. Bruce suddenly extended your “grounding”, but you suspected that he wanted to keep you away from Jason.

“And?”

“Refuses to speak. Red Hood must have something on him.”

Yes, the age, location, and photos of all three of his daughters.

“So what next?” you wondered.

“We wait for his next move,” Bruce sighed, “He doesn’t seem to be doing anything too rash lately since making Elena Ciobanu shoot Victor Ibenescu. He is waiting for something.”

“Or maybe he’s finally got control?” you suggested, “Over everyone? I mean- the reason why he did all those violent things were all gang-related, wasn’t it? Maybe now he’s made his point, so everyone is following his rules?”

“Maybe,” Bruce hummed, “But this wasn’t about taking control. Now we know who he is and what his motives are.”

“He did kidnap you,” Dick added, “It’s more likely that he’s planning to do something like that again.”

“Which is why,” Bruce continued, “I don’t think you should be out with us for now.”

“Oh, come on, Bruce,” you complained, “You already grounded me for an extra week!”

“It’s not about punishment. It’s about keeping you safe.”

“I wasn’t even in uniform the last time he kidnapped me!” you debated, “I’m the safest with you.”

“In the event that we do find him, I would need to talk to him,” Bruce insisted, “Having you there might trigger something in him. It’s best if you stayed away.”

“Dick!” you turned to your older brother for help.

“Sorry kid, but I’m with him on this one,” he gave you an apologetic look.

“He could kidnap me in the middle of the day!” you ranted, “He could blow up the school, the train, hell, even the library again!”

Both Dick and Bruce frowned.

“Again?” Dick repeated.

Fuck.

“Yeah, I already lost one library, he could very well just find out where I am and blow it up or something,” you covered.

Bruce remained silent, just looking at you with intensity. You tried your absolute best not to recoil, not to give away that your heart was beating so violently against your chest that you could hear it in your ears.

“How important is your exam?” Bruce spoke.

“It’s my mocks, Bruce,” you grumbled, “Scholarships are waiting for mocks results. I’m not letting a delusional psycho with daddy issues get in the way of my future, no matter who he is.”

You intentionally aimed those words at the both of them. Jason was Bruce’s son, and Dick’s brother, and you wanted them to feel it.

“Then you’re only to go to and from school,” Bruce directed, “No staying back, either, and Alfred will wait outside the whole time.”

“Seriously?” you pinched the bridge of your nose, “Fine! Fine. I just- I just wanted to test myself. Whatever.”

“Test yourself?” Dick asked.

You looked at Dick straight in the eye and said, “I wanted to see if I could face him after he kidnapped and sexually assaulted me.”

With that, you stormed off after manipulating the people closest to you to make sure you throw them off of any suspicions of you.

You locked yourself in your room and collapsed on the bed with a frustrated huff. You took out your phone to send Jason a text.

You: What are you doing tonight?

Five minutes later, your phone dinged.

Sexy Hunk From Library: Usual. You coming? You: You have any leads? Sexy Hunk From Library: Possibly.

You stared at your phone, assessing the risks if you were to go out with him that night. Then, your phone dinged again.

Sexy Hunk From Library: Kill time with me?

The corners of your lips twitched upwards.

You: Miss me that much?

You saw that he was typing, then stopped, then typed again. Until finally-

Sexy Hunk From Library: Are you coming or not?

It was funny how you could still chuckle to yourself despite how fucked you were. You were fucked because you betrayed your family, you were fucked because your family was suspicious of you, and you were fucked because for the past couple weeks of occasionally seeing and texting him, you realised that you had begun to like him more and more.

The dangerous and violent parts of him still made you wary, but despite all that, you couldn’t help but want to be by his side. It confused the hell out of you, because sometimes he didn’t act like how you would expect him to act at all.

Sometimes he was actually nice.

For instance, he had treated you to that burger when he insisted that you went with him to the diner.

Or the time when he argued with you over pineapple on pizza, as if you were friends who didn’t hate each other.

And even when you almost got punched in the face by a massive brute who had been dealing to kids. The punch never landed because Red Hood stopped him, beat him half to death, and then shot him in the kneecaps, before turning to you and asking if you were okay.

You thought that was sort of nice of him.

Fuck, you wanted to see him.

You texted him back.

You: Time and location?

***

Jason waited impatiently for you to arrive.

He was tapping his fingers rapidly against the steering wheel. Somehow he felt like he was going to be sick.

Despite the gentle drizzle that fell against the glass windows and the cold wind blowing outside, Jason felt hot and stuffy.

He looked at his reflection in the rear view mirror, coming into contact with his tired, sunken, blue eyes. He tried to fix his hair, combing it to the side with his fingers then groaning before ruffling it up again.

Fuck, what was he doing?

He spent the next minute trying and failing to fix his hair, that he didn’t notice you approached the vehicle until your rapped your knuckles against the window. He jumped at the sudden sound, earning a raised eyebrow from you. He unlocked the door and you climbed inside.

“You’re late,” he grumbled, aware of his hoarse voice. It was the first time he had spoken to anyone in two days.

“Only by five minutes,” you pouted.

“Late is late,” he snapped.

“You’re okay with killing people, but will bitch if I’m slightly late?” you scoffed.

“Just be on time next time,” he grit.

“Fine, I’m sorry I’m late,” you rolled your eyes. “Now can we get to it?”

Jason gave you a glare, his jaw clenching in frustration. He took a few moments to calm down.

“You know Maria and Joseph Powers?”

“Of the Powers Group?” you frowned, “Powers Hotel? Sure, I know them.”

“I have reason to believe that they’re one of the people involved in this child trafficking business,” Jason revealed.

“W-what?” you gasped, “Do you have evidence?”

“Some,” Jason replied, “They’ve been investigated before. I guess Batman played a part in that, but everything seems to have been dropped. Document trails, eye witness statements, physical evidence- all disappeared.”

He saw that you were struggling to keep up, mouth gaping and eyes wide.

“What’s wrong?” he frowned, “Get a hold of yourself.”

“Bruce knew?” you whispered.

“What doesn’t he know?” Jason scoffed.

“I sat on the same fucking table as them last Christmas ball,” you growled, “I went to their kid’s fifth birthday party. Bruce shook hands and smiled at them and then invited them over for drinks.”

Jason resisted a smirk. He finally got you to understand. Your arms were crossed, and your face in a scowl, obviously pissed.

Bruce probably did all of that to keep them close so he could keep an eye on them, maybe even find some more details. But Jason wasn’t going to tell you that.

You still had a lot to learn, but Jason was willing to be the one to teach you.

“Where will he be tonight?” he asked.

“I… I’m not too sure,” you said quietly.

Jason raised an eyebrow at you.

“What’s this? He didn’t tell his beloved Robin his plans? Again?”

You remained silent, looking straight ahead.

“I was wondering about that,” he continued, “Friday night and you’re here with me instead. Something happened?”

This time, Jason waited patiently for you to respond, enjoying the way you were obviously uncomfortable with his interrogation.

“He…” you started slowly, “He won’t let me out with him.”

“You got into trouble again?” he smirked.

“No, it’s because of you,” you shot him a sharp glare.

If only looks could kill.

“He knows you have it out for me, so for my safety,” you spat, “He won’t let me out.”

Jason blinked at you once, twice, then let out a booming laugh.

“Oh, man. Oh, sweetheart,” he pretended to wipe away tears, “Look at you, all angry at me.”

He reached across towards you and booped you on the nose. You swatted his hand away violently.

Jason loved teasing you. It made his heart all warm.

You were looking away again, and had the mask covering half your face, but even in the dark alley, he could make out your long lashes, clumped together because of the rain, and the way your shiny hair framed your face, also damp.

Your smell was intoxicating, filling his car with a pleasant scent of vanilla and strawberries. The longer Jason spent time with you, the more he felt himself getting pulled deeper and deeper in-

“He’s investigating me,” you interrupted his trance. “Well, not me specifically, but V. He’s got footage of us walking to that stupid diner-”

You paused to shoot daggers at him.

“-good thing I kept the hoodie and mask on, and thank the fucking stars that there were no cameras after that leading to to the diner. We can’t be reckless like that again, Jason.”

Jason rolled his eyes at your lecture

“So now what? You gonna kill the Powers’? How did you find out about them anyway?” you asked.

“Through the Ibenescu problem,” he explained, “Whenever they trafficked girls, I’ve always found a few kids. Always not more than ten at a time. Didn’t add up. All this while I’ve made sure there were no kids involved, be it local or foreign. And after going to each and every single fucking brothel and threatening every single pimp in Gotham-”

Jaon let out a tired sigh at the memory of going all over Gotham to turn over every rock, paying and threatening people for information. He allowed sex work as long as they kept to his standards, and as long as they weren’t trafficked. He made sure all the girls were well taken care of, and he made it very clear as to what would happen to the pimps if they weren’t.

The girls all loved him.

“- no sign of kids. Which meant that Gotham was being used as a proxy and they were being transported outside of Gotham, or there were other powers at play. So I dug in deeper. Hacked into GCPD records, looked at the political scandals and allegations that got dropped and was never brought to court. The Powers and some others came up a few times, but not too heavy. Tax evasion and stuff like that. Until I hacked into the FBI.”

“The FBI?” you gasped.

He smirked to himself. You were paying careful attention. It made him feel like he was some sort of mentor.

“It’s really not that difficult when you know people,” he scoffed, “Anyway, the Powers’ were originally under investigation for money laundering because the Powers’ Group Executive Accountant, who mysteriously died of a suicide, reported large sums of money that didn’t belong there. Then they got an external auditor, who is also deceased, reported inconsistencies with signatures and accounts.”

Jason reached to the back seats of his car and passed you a thick file that contained the FBI investigation.

“After that, they checked emails. Nothing. Then they wiretapped them, and recorded conversations regarding child sex trafficking from all over the world, for other politicians and rich pigs in this goddamned country- whose names are redacted in the files. However, they didn’t keep the audio evidence. Everything’s been terminated.”

“Wait, this can’t be right,” you frowned, flipping through the pages. “This case is almost twenty years old and… dropped? In 2012!”

“Exactly,” Jason grit.

“How long have you been investigating this?”

“Over the last two months.”

“So you already knew the Powers’ were involved,” you looked at him in suspicion, “Why haven’t you killed them yet?”

Ah, you caught on quick. Not bad.

“Because of tonight, sweetheart,” he answered, “I wiretapped them myself. There’s a shipment tonight, and one of the Powers’ need to confirm it half an hour before docking, or else they won’t dock, and it’ll be a bitch to track down again.”

“Then this is great,” your eyes widen, “We catch them red handed at the docks, take photos, spread them online, make it go viral. They won’t be able to cover it up when there’s a public outcry.”

Jason started chuckling.

“What?” you demanded.

“Look through the files. Do you see any pictures? Videos?”

You frowned.

“Do you really think they would be stupid enough to physically be there, where the authorities can, and I quote, catch them red handed?”

You shook your head slowly.

“Even if they were there, pictures can be easily faked these days. Hell, even videos. Audios, easiest of the two. They would just claim that someone was slandering them, then move on. If the feds don’t want to charge them, do you really think the cops could? And what happens if they were brought to court anyway? They can easily pay off judges and jurors.”

Jason liked this. Educating you.

Just face it, baby girl,” he added, “The system is fucked. Batman’s been trying for over a decade, and the Powers’ are still having Christmas balls.”

You let out a sad sigh.

“Let’s just get to the docks, then.”

Jason put on his mask and helmet, and drove away.

***

You were sick and tired of Dixon Docks, but criminals just couldn’t stop choosing that location for smuggling. There was also Port Adams, but the port was located near Blackgate Isle, so the marine security was tighter.

Any normal city, a place like Dixon Docks would have much tighter security after countless cases of illegal smuggling, but this was Gotham.

The security that GCPD put out on patrol with what little resources they could spare were easily bribed. The dock security company themselves were probably owned and bought over by a crime lord, not unlike the one beside you right now.

“They’re here,” Jason pointed out. The both of you were on the rooftop of a warehouse on the docks.

You squinted in the distance and saw a ship coming nearer. You missed Batman’s tech whenever you went out with Jason. Your lack of state of the art domino mask made it harder to see faraway objects and in the dark.

The docks were quiet, except for the sound of the water currents and sea breeze, and the twenty or so hired guns grumbling about the weather. You theorized that this operation was usually similar in the past, where it went smoothly without much obstacles, judging from the lack of hired security. Jason also mentioned that the kids were usually brought in along with older trafficked victims from other operations to help cover up, but since his harsh crackdown on human trafficking, they were forced to operate alone.

You waited until the industrial ship dock amongst the other unoccupied ships, and then heard some voices yelling in the distance. From the ship came out 4 girls and 3 boys in tattered clothes, malnourished and with frightful eyes. Their ages ranged from about 12-15 years old.

Accompanying them were three armed men, shoving the children to walk faster. Your blood started boiling at the sight.

“This should be easy,”Jason stretched, getting ready to make a move.

“We shouldn’t underestimate them,” you advised, “We should think of a strategy to-”

Jason leapt from the age of the rooftop without warning.

“Wait! Red Hood! Fuck!” you whispered angrily, and followed suit.

Red Hood ran ahead of you with inhuman speed towards the children, guns out and firing at the men.

You heard the children scream, the men shouting, and more guns firing.

It all happened so fast, that by the time you reached there, Red Hood was standing tall and proud over more than a dozen dead bodies.

“What the fuck?!” you shoved Red Hood as hard as you could. He didn’t budge. “Are you fucking crazy?”

“What?”

“You opened fire when there are children right in the middle of everything!” you yelled.

“I’ve got an excellent aim and I caught them off guard,” he defended, “They couldn’t even respond on time.”

“The kids could have caught a stray bullet, you fucking dickhead!” you shoved him again.

This time, he growled at you and gripped your wrists tight, pulling you harshly to him.

“If you do that again, I’ll make sure you regret it,” he threatened you with a low voice that sounded even more hostile through the voice scrambler.

You wanted to say more, but then you heard a cry from one of the children. You wrenched your hand away from his grip and walked towards them.

They were kneeling on the ground, gripping each other tight by the clothes and arms. They were Asian. You guessed maybe South or South East.

“Hey,” you gently called out, slowly kneeling to their level. They recoiled at your approach.

“Don’t worry, I’m not going to hurt you,” you said, putting your arms up in surrender to convince them. “See? No guns.”

Their expressions didn’t change. You were just another threat to them.

“Don’t any of you speak English?” Red Hood grunted.

You glared at him.

“What? It’d help,” he shrugged.

“Even if they did, do you really think they’d speak to you?” you snapped.

You turned to them again, and despite the risk, pulled down your mask and hoped that there weren’t any cameras nearby.

“Hey, we’re here to help okay?” you maintained a slow, low voice.

Two girls then looked at each other, and one of them spoke up.

“I- I can speak English,” she said in a shaky voice.

“That’s great,” you smiled sweetly, “What’s your name, sweetheart?”

“Magdeline,” she whispered.

“Nice to meet you, Magdeline. I’m V,” you pointed at Jason, “And that grumpy tomato head there is Red Hood.”

You saw Magdeline and two others share a smile. They must have understood you.

“We’re not going to hurt you, okay? We just want to help.”

“Are you going to take us home?” another girl squeaked.

“No,” you winced, “But, we’re going to take you to the police, and they will help, okay?”

They nodded, wiping tears from their eyes.

“So what we’re going to do is that we’re going to call-”

You stopped mid sentence.

Suddenly, you felt a chill down your spine, as if someone dropped an ice cube down your shirt. The hairs on the back of your neck stood up, and you hurriedly put on your mask again.

“What’s wrong?” Red Hood sensed. You stood up straight, your heart beating fast.

“We need to go,” you told him, hearing the blood rush to your ears, your eyes darting quick to every shadow, to detect any movements from the darkness.

“What?”

“He’s here,” you whispered.

Red Hood looked at you for a moment, and then-

“Fuck. Come on.”

“Please don’t leave us,” Magdeline fisted your clothes, “Please.”

She looked like she was going to cry again.

“It’s okay,” you told her, “Someone’s here to help you.”

“No! Please! I want you!” she wailed.

“Shh,” you tried to calm her down.

“V, we don’t have time,” Red Hood growled.

“He’s a hero,” you ignored him, “He may look big and scary at first, but he’s a hero, okay? I promise.”

She continued to wail. You forced her off you and stepped back.

At the corner of your eye, you saw a shadow in the sky, and felt your heart drop to your stomach.

So this is what it felt like to be hunted by Batman.

“Come on,” you told Red Hood, and the two of you ran in the direction of Jason’s car, swerving between shipment containers for more cover.

Then, in the distance, you heard a loud familiar boom.

“JASON!”

The man in question who was running ahead of you started chuckling, then raided two middle fingers up in the air.

You looked behind you, but Batman was nowhere to be seen. Not in the sky, not on the roofs, not on the shipment containers, not even in the shadows.

Perhaps he saw the children and stopped-

You ran into Red Hood’s hard back. He had come to a sudden stop.

Fuck.

You peeked from behind him, and was relieved when you only saw Nightwing standing about ten feet away from you.

“Jason,” he called out, “Hey, buddy.”

“Quit your Golden Boy act, Grayson,” Red Hood snarled, “You’re almost as guilty as he is.”

He took out a handgun and aimed it at Nightwing.

“Come on, Jay,” Nightwing tried, “You’re not gonna shoot me.”

“You wanna bet?” he growled and cocked it.

You remained behind Jason for cover in fear of being recognized. Half your face was covered and you were wearing contact lenses that hid your true eye color, but you couldn’t be too careful.

“Who’s your friend, Jason?” you felt Dick’s eyes on you, “We can helo her too.”

Jason responded with a dark chuckle.

“Hey, sweetheart, what’s your name?” Nightwing stepped closer in your direction.

“Stay the fuck away from her,” Jason fumed.

Dick stopped in his tracks and raised his arms back up in surrender.

“Okay,” he nodded slowly, “It’s fine. Let’s just talk.”

***

Jason felt a punch in his gut when he saw his older brother appear in front of him.

Grayson had aged slightly, his hair longer, face more defined. It was guilt that Jason was feeling. Grayson had always been there for him. Training him, teaching him, giving him advise on girls and on being a teen.

Yet, even at that time, he had felt immense anger towards him, jealous that he was constantly in Grayson’s shadow no matter how hard he tried to be his own man.

And now? Grayson didn’t do jackshit to Joker either, the person who took the life of his supposed younger brother whom he said he always loved and cared for. No, Grayson was the same as everyone else.

Once Jason was out of the picture, they all gladly moved on and replaced him with you.

So fuck talking.

“No,” Jason tried as hard as he could to not let the tightness he felt in his chest affect him. “Move. I won’t repeat it again.”

“We miss you, Jason,” Dick pleaded, “You have no idea how happy I was when I found out you were alive.”

His throat was constricting, his breath shallow. No, Grayson was lying.

“Alfred spent the whole night crying,” Dick chuckled.

Stop it. Don’t talk about Alfred.

He felt his eyes stinging with tears.

“He was saying that he couldn’t wait to make your favourite-”

BANG!

“Fuck!” Dick screamed out in pain, collapsing to his knees and clutching his left thigh.

Jason heard you gasp behind him, and he grabbed you by the wrist and pulled you to run with him to his car.

“You shot him,” you quietly whispered.

Jason was speeding away, the docks long behind him.

“He’s had a lot worse,” he grunted at you.

“You didn’t have to shoot him.”

“Oh, I’m sorry,” he snapped, “Would you rather he caught the both of us? Unveil your identity? Show him how you were with me all along?”

“We could have taken him down together,” you muttered.

Jason let out a bark of laughter.

“You’re fucking stupid if you think the both of us can take down Grayson with just hand-to-hand,” he sneered, “Even if we could, let’s waste time and wait for Batman to catch up, right? Was that what you wanted?”

You remained silent.

“Didn’t think so.”

Jason gripped the steering wheel tight while he drove to the rendezvous point, selected carefully based on the absence of cameras in the area.

“I need to get back quick before they do,” you spoke up, “With Dick injured, they’re probably rushing back as well.”

“How do you plan on sneaking back in?” Jason asked out of curiosity.

“I deactivated the motion sensors.”

Jason frowned. Interesting.

“And I rented a motorbike a while back specifically for this. I park it outside the gate, hide it in some bushes so I don’t need to make noise opening and closing the gates every time I go in or out,” you explained, “I either play music in my room or play recorded noises of me doing things.”

“You’ve truly mastered the art of sneaking out now,” Jason teased, a small hint of pride swelling in his chest.

He made a turn into the same alleyway as before and switched off his engine.

“I need to go,” you moved to leave.

Without thinking, as if on reflex, Jason reached out and grabbed you by the wrists. You looked at him in question, an eyebrow raised, waiting for him to say something.

Jason looked back at you, the nauseous feeling returning again.

“Nothing,” he let go of you, “Sorry.”

You hesitated, as if you wanted to say something. In the end you nodded stiffly and left.

Jason took off his helmet and let out the breath he didn’t realise he was holding. He leaned forward to rest his forehead on the steering wheel, coming to terms with the realisation that the nausea he felt was actually butterflies.

***

You tripped over your chair as you were climbing into your room from the window, causing some things on your desk to fall to the floor with a loud thud.

“Fuck,” you whispered to yourself.

You hurriedly took off your shoes and changed into your pyjamas, kicking the backpack full of your gear under your bed to be hidden in your secret place later. You ruffled your hair and then looked into your mirror, realising that you hadn’t taken off your contact lenses yet.

You heard footsteps approaching.

“Fuck, fuck, ow!” you accidentally poked yourself in the eye.

The moment you put in the last contact lens in its case, you heard a knock on your door.

“It’s me.”

You took a deep breath to calm yourself down, then went to open the door.

“Yeah?”

Bruce looked at you with serious, tired eyes, still in his Batsuit sans the cowl.

“Dick got shot,” he stated.

“W-what?” you widened your eyes in shock, just as practiced. “Is he okay?”

You rushed out the room and hurried to the Manor’s infirmary where all of you went if there was a serious accident besides scrapes and cuts. Rushing out in panic would cover any body language that could reveal anything.

“He’s fine,” Bruce followed you from behind, “Lost a bit of blood, that’s all.”

You opened the doors to the infirmary to see Dick in a t-shirt and boxers on a bed, hooked to an IV bag. His left thigh was already bandaged. Alfred was adjusting the flow of the IV.

“Dick!” you rushed to his side, “What happened?”

“I’m fine,” he rolled his eyes, “I’ve had worse.”

“What happened?” you repeated, sitting on the side of the bed.

Dick exchanged a look with Bruce.

“We were patrolling near the docks, then we heard gunshots,” Dick explained, “Turns out it was… Red Hood.”

“He… shot you?” you whispered.

“Yeah,” he groaned, “I really didn’t think he would.”

“You have to stop thinking that this is the Jason you used to know,” you scolded, and then turned to Bruce with angry eyes, “Both of you. Don’t you think your judgement’s been clouded? That’s why it’s better if I’m with you. I never knew him, I’d be more objective and-”

“No,” Bruce said sternly, “End of discussion.”

You scowled. “What was he doing there anyway?”

Dick glanced at Bruce again.

“Weapons exchange,” Bruce answered, “He was hijacking a weapons exchange.”

If you weren’t there, you would have believed Bruce without a doubt. You clenched your jaw, making sure you don’t reveal anything.

“Why did he shoot at you?” you turned to Dick.

“He was probably being protective,” he said.

“Protective?”

“Yeah, the girl was there,” Dick recounted, “You should have seen him with her. It was like he was protecting her from me. His body language, stance and everything made it seem like she was precious cargo.”

You frowned.

“If I had to guess, she’s probably someone he cares about,” Dick smiled softly. “I’m sort of happy, you know?”

“What do you mean?”

“He’s… going through a lot,” Dick went on, “I’m glad there’s someone with him.”

Your mouth was dry. You turned and saw that Bruce was long gone.

“You don’t think she’s his prisoner or something?” you tried, “Maybe she’s being blackmailed or forced into staying with him.”

“No, I don’t think so,” he shook his head, “She looked like she was depending on him to protect her.”

Your left eye twitched in annoyance.

“Really,” you grit.

“Yeah, I mean,” Dick elaborated, “She looked scared. I guess I can’t blame her. It’s Batman.”

You remained silent to recollect your thoughts. Then-

“What are you going to do once you catch him?” you pursed your lips.

“Help him,” Dick replied like it was the most obvious thing.

“What if he doesn’t want help?” you pressed on, “Are you going to lock him away?”

“Only as a last resort,” Dick said, “But maybe being with family will make him see sense. Hopefully.”

“I guess you and Batman defy your own system too, huh?” you scoffed, standing up.

“What do you mean?”

“If Red Hood wasn’t Jason,” you argued, “If he was just some random guy who wanted to take matters in his own hands using violence and murder, you and Bruce would just lock him up either in Arkham or Blackgate depending on whether or not he pleads insanity. But because you know Jason personally…”

“You’re saying we should just lock him up instead of helping?” Dick asked perplexed.

“No, I’m just saying it’s kind of hypocritical that just because you know him, you’re giving him an out that you wouldn’t give anyone else,” you shrugged.

“We don’t just know him, he’s family,” Dick reminded you, “We don’t abandon family.”

You remained silent.

“Look,” Dick sighed and looked at you sympathetically, “I know what he did to you was wrong, and trust me, Bruce will make sure he atones for that. I’m not suggesting that he automatically come back and live here, especially because, well, you won’t be okay with it. Which is fine. You don’t have to put up with him. And we’re not making up excuses for him either. Like I said, Bruce was… very upset when he found out what happened to you. And that’s putting it lightly.”

You tried not to roll your eyes. You really didn’t care much about all of that. You had since then voluntarily asked him to do more to you than just suck hickies on your neck.

“But, this isn’t Jason,” Dick went on, “I mean, yes it is, but, he’s not rational. He’s angry and lashing out, and needs help. I’m not siding with him for what he did to you and we’re not dismissing it. I just wanted you to know that.”

“Yeah, I know,” you smiled, “Get some rest. Text me if you need anything.”

At least Jason’s sense of righteousness was simple and straightforward. You harmed innocents? You get his gun. There weren’t loopholes and justifications and complicated principles.

Plain and simple eye for an eye.

You turned to leave, unsatisfied with the lies and hypocrisy.

*** From the first crack of lightning you saw in the dark sky, you should have used it as a warning to stay home that Saturday night. But somehow you couldn’t help but go out to see Jason, knowing what he was planning to do.

You could have been in your bed, studying for your mocks with a mug of warm green tea in your hands and a plate of cookies on your desk, but instead, you were clutching the leather of Red Hood’s jacket, slippery and glistening from the downpour as he zoomed on his motorbike, you seated behind him.

Unlike the Robin uniform, though it wasn’t waterproof, the clothing you wore on nights with Jason was not state of the art. At least your Robin uniform didn’t get heavy when wet, and at least it wasn’t as absorbent. The rain made the zylon even heavier, making it difficult for you to move around.

The sound of rain pounding hard on your helmet was almost as loud as the wind. Jason didn’t care that the ground was slippery, he was still going recklessly as fast as he usually would.

He made a sharp turn into a lonely, dark road, with nothing but trees surrounding it. The road was going uphill, away from the city centre. You were approaching a mansion- modern style with glass walls.

Right before the trees cleared up, Red Hood swerved the bike into the bushes without warning, and then stopped once the both of you were deep enough within the cover of the trees. He cut off the engine, and you hurriedly climbed off.

Red Hood followed suit then, and you tried your best to not let your eyes linger on the way the water trickled down his chest, past the the red bat symbol, and down again, dipping into his-

“Fucking Gotham,” he grunted, voice crackling through the scrambler.

“At least you have a jacket,” you grit, teeth clenched as to not let them clatter.

He turned to look at you for a moment, and then started removing his leather jacket.

“N-no, it’s fine,” you refused, “It’s too big and it’ll be hard for me to move in. It’ll just be a hazard.”

Inside, your heart fluttered at the rare display of kindness.

“Whatever,” he shrugged it back on. “You remember the plan?”

“Plan?” you scoffed, “You mean sneak in, look for the master bedroom, then kill the Powers’?“

“You’re not going to stop me, are you?” he came closer to you, “If you’re going to mess it up, I’d rather tie you to the tree.”

“My, Red Hood,” you smirked, knowing that he couldn’t see it underneath your mask, “I didn’t know you were so kinky.”

“I’m serious,” he growled, “If you try to stop me, I will make you pay for it.”

“Whatever, let’s just get inside,” you turned away, “I’m fucking freezing.”

It would have been tough for anyone to sneak past all the security, cameras, bypassing alarm systems and into the mansion. But you and Red Hood weren’t just anyone. Both being trained by Batman, plus whatever it was that Jason gained over the years he wasn’t with Batman, it was only trickier than average.

Once you were in, you had to admit that you always thought the Powers’ had good taste. The interior was minimalistic, with furniture that were all neutral tones that went with the glass walls and with marble tops of exquisite design placement. You glanced at the exit to the backyard, which was a glass sliding door that spanned all the way from the ceiling to the floor.

It had only been one year since you were last there for their daughter’s birthday, ignorant of what was going on.

What the hell were you doing there?

“Split up,” Red Hood whispered from behind you, “Look for the master bedroom. Let me know when you find it.”

He gripped your hand and forced an earpiece in it.

Both you and Jason went up the marble staircase and stopped at the top. The hallway stretched from one end to the other, nothing in the way but a few potted plants.

He went right, and you took it as an instruction to go left.

Fuck, what were you doing? Were you going to stop him?

But the Powers’ deserved it. There was no other way, or else Bruce would have done something already.

Still, were you just going to stand by and watch while he murdered people?

You peeked into the first room, and saw that the bed with pink sheets was occupied by a small figure, wrapped in the covers like a cute little burrito.

Carrie Powers. Sleeping soundly while her parents were about to be killed.

Oh, God.

But how could they do this? Traffick other children when they had one of their own?

“Down the hall, first door on the left,” Jason’s hushed voice appeared in your ear.

Fuck, you had to stop him.

You closed the door quietly, and went to the room Jason had mentioned. It was opened by a crack, and you pushed it softly.

The view you saw made your heart skip a beat.

Red Hood had taken off his jacket and dumped it on the white setee in the middle of the very large master bedroom. He was standing by the super king sized bed, pointing an oddly shaped dagger at Maria Powers, who was fast asleep.

The power he so obviously exerted as he was standing over her, muscles taut with anticipation, contemplating which angle was best to slit her throat- it made your breath hitch.

“What do you think, V?” he said out loud, “How should I do it?”

His voice stirred the Powers awake, but before they could react, he grabbed Maria by the neck and lifted her so she sat upright, immediately pressing the knife against her cheek.

“Any of you scream, I’ll carve a smile into her face,” Red Hood threatened.

Joseph Powers, who finally snapped out of his groggy state, scrambled to his feet.

“W-what? Who are you?” he panicked, “What do you want?”

“No sudden movements,” Red Hood ordered, “I’m thinking whether or not I should make this quick and easy, or have some fun first.”

“We have money,” Joseph started, “Please. We’ll give you anything. Just don’t hurt us.”

“Oh, it’s not money I want,” Red Hood said cooly, “No. I want names.”

“What? What names?” Joseph asked, perplexed.

“Names of every politician, judge, CEO, or beat cop who is in on this little operation of yours.”

“I- I don’t understand,” the man stammered, “I think you’ve got it all wrong. We don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Oh?” Jason played along, “Maybe I’ll give you a little reminder.”

Red Hood snapped his head towards you, his red helmet glowing ominously in the dark.

“Bring the girl.” Despite being soaking wet in a weather that would usually make your bones clatter, hearing Red Hood say those words in a calm voice made a chill run down your spine for the first time that night

“No,” Maria whimpered, but silenced herself when her captor tightened his grip.

“What?” you gasped.

“The kid,” he growled, “Bring her here.”

“We’re not involving the kid,” you stood your ground.

“V,” he warned, “Don’t make me repeat myself. You better-”

“Mommy?” you heard a small squeak at the door and turned to see little Carrie, with her big chocolate eyes wearing her purple butterfly print pyjamas.

“Carrie, go back to your room,” Joseph ordered, “Please. She’s innocent.”

“And the kids you have kidnapped, shipped, and raped aren’t?” Red Hood fumed.

You saw the microsecond momentary realisation in both the Powers’ eyes, before they tried to cover it up again.

“Daddy? Mommy?” Carrie called in a shaky voice, “What’s going on?”

“Go back to your room, Carrie!”

“Carrie, do you want to help mommy?” Red Hood drawled.

“Yes,” she nodded.

“Come closer, Carrie,” Red Hood persuaded.

“Red Hood,” you protested.

“If you’re not going to help, then shut the fuck up,” he snarled.

Carrie entered the room but stood quietly behind you.

Her father looked at you with desperation in his eyes, “Please help us.”

“You’re filth to me,” you snapped at him, enjoying the way he cringed.

Joseph was usually a proud man, handsome for his age, with a fit body and perfect salt and pepper hair. The man you saw then was pathetic. DIsgusting,

Filth.

“But I won’t hurt your kid,” you added.

You expected to see relief printed on his face, and clenched your jaw when you didn’t.

“I can’t promise he wouldn’t, though,” you nodded at Red Hood, feeling like shit for using his daughter as leverage, “So you’d better give us names.”

Joseph looked like his brain was about to explode, his eyes quickly darting back and forth from his wife, to his kid, to you. He was running his hands through his hair in obvious distress.

“You don’t understand,” he admitted, “If we give you names, we’re as good as dead.”

“Joseph!” Maria yelled.

She was furious at him- and you thought at first it would be because he wouldn’t compromise to save her. After observing the way he took a small step back and the way she was holding him by the eyes, you realised that she was warning him not to confess.

She was obviously the one calling the shots.

“If you don’t give us names, you’re good as dead,” Red Hood told him, “Or would you rather me convince you in other ways?”

He nodded at Carrie. You felt a little protective of her, standing up straighter to defend her from Red Hood.

Joseph and Maria ignored the threat and was looking at each other intensely, trying their best to communicate without words.

Then, Joseph calmed down. He straightened up into the proud man you always saw him to be, a smirk playing on his arrogant features.

“I’m sorry, but this is business,” he sneered, “And we swore our clients’ secrecy.”

Red Hood paused.

Then-

“We’ll see about that.”

He grabbed a fistful of Maria’s cropped blond hair and pulled her to the dressing table. You heard that Carrie had started to sob behind you.

“Put your right hand flat on the table,” he demanded.

“Red Hood-” you tried.

“Now!” he barked.

She raised her shaking hand and rested it on the table hesitantly.

The first thing you heard was Maria’s cry- muffled by Red Hood’s large gloved hand- before you registered what had happened.

In an instant, Red Hood had cut off her pinky finger, and then raised the dagger, which you now saw had a blade that was wavy from the bottom to the tip, glistening a sticky, sickly dark red.

“Mommy!” Carrie screamed.

With all the commotion, you wondered why the security still hadn’t heard you yet. Then you realised that the glass walls were probably shatter and bullet proof, making it thick enough to be almost sound proof.

That shook Joseph slightly, his smirk had been wiped off clean and his forehead had beads of sweat.

“I can do this another nine times,” Red Hood snarled.

You had to stop this before it went too far. Slowly, you approached him.

“Red Hood,” you cautioned, “Let’s continue this another time, when the kid isn’t around.”

“Stay out of my way,” he turned to you.

“Let’s think rationally here,” you went closer, trying to speak over Maria’s wails, “There’s no way we have the time to torture for information when there’s a dozen armed men outside who might notice that something is off.”

“That’s why you’re here,” he scoffed, “So you can deal with them.”

“Do you really want to deal with them in front of the girl?” you tried again, “She’s five. She shouldn’t have to go through this.”

“They were going to wait a few years before selling her off anyway,” he seethed, “I’m doing her a favor.”

“No!” Joseph denied, “Not her. Never her.”

“How sweet.” Red Hood hissed sarcastically.

“Red Hood, come on,” you persuaded, “We can pick this up again another time.”

“And what?” he yelled, “Wait for them to run to the other side of the world? Where I have to hunt them down all over again? I do not have the time or the patience to- what the fuck did you just do?!”

Red Hood shouted at Joseph, who had moved quickly to the bedside table. His eyes widened in panic, and so did yours when you saw he had pressed a button on the underside of the table.

“Fuck!” Red Hood swore, “This is your fucking fault!”

He brandished the blade at you. “Fine,” he pulled Maria up again, “Looks like playtime’s over.”

Without warning, you saw him raise the dagger to Maria’s neck, and as if in slow motion, you just looked on by as he carved a big red smile across her throat.

The next thing you felt was a gush of warmth spray all over your face and torso. The blood that had gushed out of Maria was like a pulsating fountain of red.

“Maria!” Joseph screamed, “You fucking bastard!”

Red Hood leapt across the bed and pushed the man violently against the glass wall.

“Names!” he growled, taking Joseph’s head and thrusting it against the glass, leaving a smear of dark red.

Yet you were there, just frozen and blinking on the spot as you stared at Maria’s lifeless body on the grey carpeted floor, blood still splashing from her throat in the rhythm of her slowly dying heart.

Everything was red, and smelled like metal, and tasted like metal. Ew, did some get in your mouth? But you were wearing a mask. Why was there so much of it?

Did humans have this much blood in them? It seemed endless. Are we all just bags of blood in the end?

Carrie’s wails snapped you back to reality.

You rushed to her and kneeled down.

“Hey sweetheart, listen to me,” you tried to get through to her, “You have to go hide in that closet over there, okay?”

You picked her up. She was light, her body fragile and weak, and you opened the closet to reveal a walk-in.

You set her down on the floor and tried to comfort her again, “I want you to close your eyes, and close your ears, and then sing a song, okay? Don’t stop singing until the police comes. Can you do that?”

All she did was cry.

Fuck, she wasn’t going to listen to you.

So you just closed the closet door.

Red Hood was still smashing Joseph’s head against the wall. You noticed that he was now missing an ear.

Then you heard footsteps approaching you fast. Lots of them.

You took out your escrima sticks and got ready to fight a dozen armed men while Red Hood tortured Joseph Powers for information.

***

“Did you even get any names?” you monotoned.

The both of you were at the rendezvous, with Red Hood leaning against his beautiful black superbike and you standing awkwardly, holding your arms.

The smell and sight and taste of blood still consumed you. You hoped that the rain would have washed it away, but against all your luck, the moment you escaped the mansion, the rain had stopped.

Red Hood and you left behind a crying kid in the closet, a woman with a slashed throat in a pool of her own blood, a man beaten to death so bloody that he didn’t have any recognizable human features left, five unconscious and seventeen dead men in that house.

Red Hood simply looked away from you and took off his helmet and mask. He looked clean, because even in the midst of everything, he had managed to take his jacket from the settee.

“No?” you smirked, “So all of that for nothing?”

He gave you a glare, cold blue eyes piercing yours.

“Can I just ask you one thing?” you sighed, taking off your mask as well. It was soaked in blood.

“What?”

“Were you really going to hurt the kid?”

You saw his jaw clench.

“I don’t hurt innocents,” he looked away from you again.

You felt a wave of relief alongside your nausea, but however relieved you were, it still didn’t get the image of him slitting a woman’s throat out of your head.

If the circumstances were different, maybe you would have been turned on by that, as fucked up as it was. By the power he exhibited, the precision, the danger - you knew that you had a thing for that.

But he killed her in front of her own daughter, who shouldn’t have had to see that. Hell, who shouldn’t have had to be there in the first place.

It made you question him even more than before.

“Nope, you just traumatize them for the rest of their life,” you scoffed.

In a flash, his hands were around your throat.

“Don’t fucking talk to me that way,” he growled, “I haven’t forgotten how you fucked things up for me.”

“Fucked things up for you?” you repeated.

“You distracted me,” he told you, “And that prick went and sounded the alarm.”

“Oh, I’m sorry for trying to convince you not to murder a mother in front of her daughter!”

“Sweetheart,” he said in a low voice, “You’re playing with fire.”

Jason’s pupils had started to dilate, as if it was a black hole that was eating away at the blue. Your eyes fluttered towards his lips, which were slightly parted.

And then he smirked.

“I guess I have to punish you for disobeying me,” he drawled.

You gulped loudly, trying hard to not let the warmth in your stomach spark for the man in front of you.

“You know,” he whispered, his other hand snaking around your waist and pulling you flushed against his chest, “I’ve always imagined what you would look like covered in blood.”

Oh, fuck.

So did you. You had imagined what he looked like when he was beating a person half to death, how the muscles in his back would ripple with every blow.

You were so fucked up.

“And what do you think?” you bit your lip, squeezing your thighs together.

You were just upset at him a moment ago, and now you were turned on? You pieced together that you had a dangerous coping mechanism.

The fingers that were around your throat were caressing your cheek now, his thumb brushing against your lips.

“Better than I imagined,” he grinned, dipping down to kiss you.

He pushed his wet tongue into your mouth without hesitation, fucking it while he grabbed your ass and squeezed hard, almost painfully. He would bite and nip at your lips before licking them.

“Fuuuck,” he groaned, “You taste like blood.”

You felt him grind on you, though you knew the hardness was from the protective cup he was wearing. You still couldn’t feel much either, due to the soaked body armor.

“Bend over the bike,” he commanded.

“Wait, what?” you gasped.

“You heard me.”

You felt the blood rush to your cheeks as you slowly approached the vehicle. When you were at its side, you glanced behind you. Jason had the most arrogant smirk ever while his arms were crossed.

After taking a deep breath, you tiptoed and winced in embarrassment when you positioned yourself bent over the seat, your ass jutting out.

Warm hands started rubbing your waist, going down to your ass and thighs.

“How do I take this off,” you heard him complain.

Your bottom was only latex tights.

When Jason finally figured it out, he pulled down hard, exposing your ass to the cool air.

“Fuck,” he cursed, his hand roaming to massage it.

“Jason, we’re in public,” you reminded him.

“So?” he responded, “It’s 2am, and it’s Gotham, baby. Public indecency is the least of everyone’s worries.”

You felt him shift behind you, and gasped when you felt a long, wet strip from your clitoris to your hole.

“Taste so good,” he groaned.

His tongue felt good.

He continued to tease you by licking your wet opening but never dipping inside, just making you wet with your own juices and his saliva. But suddenly you felt a sharp, piercing pain on your pussy flesh.

“Fuck!” you screamed and turned to look back at him grinning at you, “Did you just fucking bite me?”

“What did you think I was going to do when I said you needed punishment?”

“I don’t know, spank me or some shit?” you breathed, “Not fucking bite me!”

“Oh, but you would like to be spanked,” he told you, “And that wouldn’t be much of a punishment would it?”

He bit you again, but this time soothed the pain by licking you after.

Still, it didn’t stop the jolts of electricity that stung you every time he did.

“Fuck!” you gasped again, “Stop it- oh, fuck.”

He had slid a finger inside you- you noticed it was ungloved.

And then he started a barrage of confusing sensations, biting and nipping at your pussy to cause you pain, and then licking it away while pumping his finger inside of you to spark pleasure.

It didn’t take you long until you were moaning and panting and fucking sweating in the post-rain weather.

The warmth was building and building as he kept licking and biting and finger fucking you, twisting inside of you and touching your most pleasurable spots. You felt yourself start to tighten around his finger as the now familiar sensation of approaching orgasm started.

And then it was all gone.

Jason removed his finger and stopped licking. You turned around furiously to see him smirking at you with dark hooded eyes.

Oh, now you understood. The punishment wasn’t the biting at all.

He wouldn’t let you come.

You spent the next minute glaring angrily at him, refusing to say a word while he just stared back with intense eyes, breathing almost as heavily as you were.

And then he dove back in.

“Fucking hell,” you moaned as the pleasure built and built and built again.

And then stopped.

You wanted to fucking yell at him, but you weren’t going to give him the satisfaction.

He continued again, this time even harder with the licks and bites, harder with the way he fucked your cunt, even inserting a second finger that drew the most vulgar sound from your lips. You felt yourself building again, but when you expected him to stop, he didn’t.

This time, he kept you going higher and higher, your knees growing weaker, until you reached and were just dangling on the edge of-

And it was all gone.

“Jason!” you yelled, “Come the fuck on!”

You heard him chuckle behind you. And then you felt him grind against your ass, rough and heavy and desperate.

Probably because he was still wearing a protective cup, which meant that he wouldn’t be able to feel much. You wanted him to take his cock out already, so he could start fucking you senseless as you were bent over his bike.

But then, he stopped. And he pulled up your pants to cover you up, even giving you a small smack on the butt.

“What?” you straightened and turned around.

“What?” he pretended to be clueless, even though you saw the obvious lust that was etched on his handsome yet tired face.

“You- I- why don’t- fuck!” you stuttered, squeezing your thighs together. You were so wet that you felt yourself soaking through the tights despite it already being wet from the earlier rain.

“Oh, did you want to come?” he asked innocently, “Sorry, but girls who disobey my orders don’t get what they want.”

“You’re torturing yourself as well,” you grit, and to prove a point grabbed his crotch, earning yourself a hiss from him.

He grabbed your wrists to pull you closer, “We’re in public. Remember?”

Then he took a step back and gave you a shit eating grin.

“Whatever,” you sighed frustratedly, “I’m fucking covered in blood anyway. Fuck, I need to get PEP tomorrow. You should, too.”

“What?” he frowned.

“Post-exposure prophylaxis,” you explained, “We’re covered in blood, Jason, ever heard of HIV?”

He blinked once at you, and then broke into a fit of laughter.

“It’s not funny!” you defended, “It’s just for a just in case!”

“I’m pretty sure Maria fucking Powers does not have HIV,” he teased.

The mention of Maria brought the image to your mind again. The Jason in front of you had a twinkle in his eye, his expression soft after laughing at your logic. It was hard to imagine that under an hour ago, he had slit a woman’s throat.

In front of her own daughter.

Jason must have noticed your expression change, because he became serious again.

“What’s wrong?” he asked softly, concern in his eyes as he held you by the waist.

Was he actually concerned? Or was he still playing mind games with you?

Why would anyone want a dirty whore like you?

And, there it was. Mother was back again.

“Nothing,” you looked away. “I just need to get all this blood off me.”

“We’re done here,” Jason informed you, “You can go back any time.”

“Well,” you started hesitantly, “I don’t think I can go back like this. All this blood- it’s too hard to cover up. My clothes, my shoes, everything is just covered in blood. Why is there so much fucking blood-”

“Hey, hey,” he stopped you, “Calm down. It’s fine. You can come back with me.”

“W-what?” you looked up at him. He seemed so genuine. Was it a trap?

He must have noticed as well, because his face immediately turned into a scowl, “I trust that you won’t tell Batman. After tonight, you’d be fucked along with me if it ever got to him. Take it or leave it, I’m not offering again.”

He let go of you and climbed on his bike, turning on the engine.

He looked back at you, who was still stunned on the spot.

“You coming or what?”

Oh, you were so fucked.

***

Your jaw dropped when you saw the interior of his safe house.

From the outside, it looked just like an abandoned shipment container amongst many other abandoned shipment containers in an abandoned shipping dock. You had expected it to be just a mattress, some pillows, with his weapons dumped messily on the floor.

No, his safe house looked like an actual safe house.

His bed was an actual Queen sized bed with matching bed sheets and pillowcases. His weapons were arranged in a glass cabinet display neatly against the freshly painted cream colored walls- the walls weren’t even the tin walls of the shipment container. He must have added another layer of plywood, with some sort of insulator in between which kept the room warm.

You noticed a beautiful katana resting on its stand. He had a wooden dining table with a fucking oriental tea set on it.

“The shower’s through there,” he pointed at the far corner of the room, which was separated by a wall. “Take off your clothes and just dump it in front of the washing machine.”

A fucking washing machine.

You nodded silently and followed his directions, turning into the corner. His bathroom was simple, yet still elegantly placed with tile flooring.

He had the time to put fucking tiles in his fucking toilet.

The white porcelain of his toilet and sink shined brightly in the warm lights of the bathroom. Next to the toilet was the shower, the segment separated by a curtain. The only thing that was out of placed in his entire makeshift home was the mirror over the sink.

It was cracked. You only saw glimpses of yourself in the pieces that were big enough to catch your reflection- a pair of tired eyes and skin that was covered in dried blood that had long ago oxidized and turned dark brown.

You stripped off your clothes, struggling to peel them off your skin, and then dumped them on the floor in front of the washing machine and stepped into the shower.

You turned it on.

The bastard even had hot running water.

You moaned at the relief and looked down on the floor, watching as the water turned brown, washing away the blood and sweat and filth on your skin. You reached for his shampoo and couldn’t help but giggle at his choice.

It was pomegranate scented with red packaging and labelled Long Term Relationship.

Well, it smelled divine. He had great taste in scents.

Look at you. So desperate to smell like him. Pathetic.

“Him and hundreds of other women, probably,” you muttered.

Once you were done, you stepped on the floor mat and saw a neatly folded towel and clothes on top of the toilet seat. You dried yourself off and put on his t-shirt.

It was too big on you, the sleeves went down to your elbows and the hem went down to your mid-thighs. You saw that he also set aside a pair of shorts, but there was no way you were going to be able to wear that without them sliding down.

You breathed in.

The combination of the shampoo, and the smell of his t-shirt made you smile. It was familiar, but you never really noticed it besides the fabric softener.

Yet, it was unmistakably him. Now all you needed to do was rub gun-powder all over yourself and voila.

You stepped outside to see he had shrugged off his jacket, and was sitting at the dining table, wiping his helmet down with hand sanitizer.

“Shower’s free,” you approached him, passing him your wet towel and his shorts, “Thanks for the shirt, but the shorts are too big.”

His jaw clenched when he looked up at you. You saw the way his eyes darted from your own and down to your body.

He snatched the items from your hand and got up. “Don’t touch anything.”

You heard the shower turn on.

And then you were alone, standing awkwardly in the middle of his safe house.

Everything seemed so normal.

There weren’t many personal things lying around aside from clothes and a few books that he had arranged on a bookshelf, but it didn’t scream ‘Go away’ or ‘Psychopath’. It was simple, homey, warm.

Until you noticed a pinboard that hung in front of his bed.

The nearer you got, you saw familiar faces. Mainly yours.

A blurred photo of you as Robin with Batman. A few articles regarding Batman handing Joker over to the authorities, a couple about Bruce Wayne adopting you following your parents’ deaths, and photocopied police statements about the investigation of your parents.

You frowned.

You knew he had done extensive research on you, you knew that he had shimmied his way into your life and manipulated you for his gain, you knew all that. But seeing everything out in the open made your heart ache.

A whole portion of the board had many of your pictures on it, as well. Stalker photos, as you liked to call it. Zoomed in from far away, candid shots of you in your uniform, swimming, smiling and waving at your classmates, walking in the mall, studying in the library.

“Like my photography skills?”

You jumped at his voice. He was so silent whenever he approached you. You should have noticed that much earlier on.

“You’re a fucking psychopath,” you shook your head, still looking at the photos, “But I have to say, I didn’t know I looked this good in my uniform.”

“Oh, baby girl, if only you knew,” he chuckled.

“Please, I-”

You finally turned and choked on whatever words you were going to say.

Jason was standing at the foot of his bed behind you with only a towel wrapped around his waist, his hair wet and dripping droplets of water down onto his bare chest, his arms crossed and accentuating even more the size of his biceps. He looked so clean.

So normal.

Well, his hotness was hardly normal, but he didn’t seem like some trigger happy crime lord.

He raised a knowing eyebrow at your expression. You didn’t realise your mouth was open.

“I should burn this fucking place down for what you did to my library,” you shot at him.

“It’s been months, get over it,” he rolled his eyes, and sat on the bed, back resting against propped pillows.

“Aren’t you going to get dressed?”

“Why would I? I’m in my own bed.”

You gulped.

“Bruce- Dick- Everyone-” you stammered, “They’ve probably figured out that I’m not in my room. It’s three thirty in the morning and the music is still playing loudly in my room, I mean, someone has probably knocked and didn’t get an answer so-”

“Your clothes will only be ready in two hours,” Jason interrupted you, “Or would you rather go back home in just my shirt with no bra and panties?”

“I can actually think of an excuse if I did,” you chuckled nervously, “Dick thinks I’ve been sleeping with a guy named Carter.”

“Who’s Carter?” Jason demanded, his expression changing into one that was furious.

“No one,” you quickly explained, “He saw your stupid texts, so I told him your name was Carter and that we were going out.”

He relaxed at your explanation.

Wait a minute.

Was he jealous?

You smiled to yourself, entertaining the possibility.

“And I do actually have a change of clothes in my backpack,” you said, “Which is in your bike.”

“You’re not leaving me with the laundry, princess,” he scoffed, “Stay. Once your clothes are done I’ll even fold them for you.”

“How hospitable,” you snickered.

You stood there awkwardly again, not knowing where you’d be welcomed.

“The bed won’t slit your throat, you know,” he teased, “You can lie down and sleep until you need to go.”

You pursed your lips and played with the edges of the shirt. You knew what was going to happen in that bed.

You went to the opposite side of bed and sat down nervously. You put your feet up and stretched it, just like Jason’s .

The bed was comfy, the pillows fluffy and warm. You could finally feel yourself relaxing into it-

Jason grabbed your waist and pulled you closer to him, your back flushed against his front. And finally, finally you could feel the hardness of his cock pressed against your ass.

“I’ve been hard ever since you came out of the shower,” he breathed into your ear, grinding against you.

You wanted to moan at the feeling of his heavy length on you, you wanted to grind back onto him and turn him on even more, but mother started screaming.

ARE YOU A LADY OR A WHORE?

“Shut up,” you muttered.

“What?” Jason asked.

“Nothing,” you turned to him. “Kiss me.”

He granted your request and gave you a searing kiss.

Rolling in bed with a dirty criminal.

“Shut up!” you screamed.

“What the fuck?” Jason yelled, “I didn’t say anything!” “No,” you shook your head, “Sorry. Not you. I wasn’t talking to you.”

He looked at you suspiciously.

“I- I hear my mother sometimes,” you admitted.

You waited for him to call you crazy, but he never did. Instead, he looked at you seriously.

“Tell me more.”

“Not physically,” you started, “But I imagine what she would have said to me if she were watching me- which is why I never kissed a boy before this. Or masturbated. She stops me from doing anything filthy.”

“Filthy?”

“By her standards,” you elaborated, “Filthy or vulgar or inappropriate, she controls my actions.”

“How long,” he asked.

“Ever since they died,” you sighed.

“But you were fine all those other times,” he inquired, “Why now?”

“It gradually became less and less frequent,” you explained, “Like, when we did those things through video call, I felt comfortable and it just- it felt right. And it stopped completely during my first time with you.”

“So you saying it doesn’t feel right, right now?” he clenched his jaw.

“It’s not you!” you added quickly, “It’s me. No matter how much I want to, I just can’t help it. She’s there.”

“Look, I get it,” he sighed, leaning onto the propped pillows, “Fuck, I get it.”

“You do?” you looked at him with hopeful eyes.

“What? You think getting beaten to a pulp with a crowbar, getting exploded, and having to crawl out of your own grave wouldn’t fuck you up?” he growled, “You’re not special. Get over it.”

Even though he said it in a way that was harsh and definitely not conventional, he basically told you what you needed to hear- that you weren’t the only one that was fucked up, and if there was any comfort at all, it’d be the fact that you were fucked up together.

You smiled when you saw him, his arms crossed, eyebrows stitched together in a frown, his lower lip jutting out in a pout.

“Well, I really wanted to,” you paused, “You know.” Jason looked over to you then. “You said she screams in your ear, right?”

“Yeah?”

He smirked, then came closer to you again, caressing your cheek and tucking a wet strand of hair behind your ear, where he leaned in to whisper.

“Then that just means we need to be louder.”

He gripped your thigh and forced your legs open, cupping your sex with his hands.

He’s defiling you.

“I hated you,” he slipped a finger between your folds and gently ran it up and down, gathering your slick, “But now I just can’t seem to keep on hating you anymore.”

Your heart fluttered at his confession.

He teased your clit, giving only light brushes on it, barely even touching you.

But everyone else will hate you.

“Talk to me, baby,” he instructed, “Tell me you don’t hate me anymore.”

“I-” you panted, “I don’t hate you anymore.”

A filthy man for a filthy girl.

“Mmm, good girl,” he purred, now adding pressure to your clit, making you squirm.

The praise did wonders to you. You felt your cheeks heating up, your heartbeat going faster and faster.

I raised you to act like a lady, not like a bitch in heat.

His other hand slipped underneath the shirt, trailing up from your waist to cup your breast and gave it a squeeze.

You moaned out loud when he started pinching them.

Vulgar sounds will only get you dirty men.

“You’re so fucking sexy, you know that,” he rasped against your skin, hot breath sending goosebumps all over. “I want you to moan for me, beg for me, scream for me.”

“Jason,” you sighed.

He started properly rubbing on your clit now, sending tingles right to your toes. “Fuck, baby. You’re so wet. It makes your pussy look so fucking pretty,” he praised.

At least prostitutes get money when they sleep with other men, and you’re doing this for free.

It was so confusing. On one hand, you had your mother’s voice ringing in your head. On the other, Jason’s dirty, sexy mouth made you think you could actually die from sheer horniness.

He finally slipped a finger inside of you, eliciting a long moan.

You’re going to be loose before you hit-

“Mmm, you like that, baby?” he husked, “You always like it when I put my finger in, don’t you?”

“Yes,” you gasped.

No one will want you after-

“Tell me what you want,” he demanded.

Ruined goods-

“Please,” you whined as you spread your legs further apart.

YOU BELONG IN THE-

“Please what, sweetheart?” he teased.

You could only mewl.

LISTEN HERE-

“Please stop?” he added a second finger, and started pumping in and out excruciatingly slow.

STOP IT-

“Please make me come?” he increased his pace.

HORRIBLE-

“Or just… please? .”

He suddenly switched into a brutally fast pace, causing you to scream.

“Jason! Fuck, Jason please just put your cock inside of me and make me come, fuck!” you begged.

He stopped finger fucking you and chuckled out loud. He was hovering over you, his towel long gone, aligning the tip of his dick at the entrance of your cunt.

“That’s my girl,” he grinned, and then pushed inside in a swift motion.

“Fuck!” you cried.

“So fucking wet for me,” he panted, pounding into you. “So tight.”

“Jason,” you could only say.

He dipped down to push his tongue into your mouth, fucking your mouth the same rhythm he was fucking your pussy. You were in a state of desperation and euphoria, hazy to reality.

The only thing you were hearing at that moment was the wet sound of flesh on flesh and Jason’s loud grunts into your mouth.

The combination of his cock repeatedly pressing onto the spot within you and his tongue in your mouth made your pussy tighten in no time, closer and closer to orgasm.

“You wanna come, baby girl?” he whispered against your lips.

You nodded hysterically.

“Come for me then, come all over my cock,” he commanded, fucking you faster.

The tight coil in your core exploded, and you felt yourself pulsating all over his length which was still moving.

Jason didn’t give you time to rest.

“Get up on your knees and face the wall,” he growled.

You immediately obeyed, afraid that he would start biting you again if you didn’t. Jason pushed aside his pillows and you placed your hands on the headboard.

He took off the oversized shirt and his hands started roaming your body from behind, squeezing your breasts, running them up and down your thighs, all the while he was kissing your back.

He pushed his cock inside you again without warning, and in the post-orgasm sensitivity, you accidentally gave out and collapsed backwards against him.

“Woah there, baby,” he laughed, gripping you tightly by the waist to stabilize you. “I want to make you come again.”

“Please,” you rasped.

“Yeah?” he started moving slowly behind you, “You want to come again, baby?”

You nodded weakly.

“Tell me, baby girl,” he nipped your earlobe, “Tell me.”

“I want you to make me come again.”

“What a fucking good girl,” he licked your ear.

You could only whimper in response.

He hammered his hips into you hard and fast, all the while gripping your tits with one hand and your waist with other, fucking himself up into you.

And because you were so sensitive from the first orgasm, the fact that he was fucking you again soon after meant that you were already fast approaching your second one.

“Hold out for me just a bit more, sweetheart,” he breathed in your neck, “Please?”

That ‘please’ sort of made your heart melt.

“Anything, Jason,” you replied, trying your best to maintain a level head while he fucked you.

“Ah. fuck, baby,” he stuttered, his hips stuttered, his pace stuttered. “Okay, come with me. Come with me, fuck, fuck.”

The heat you felt before started spreading again, and this time you allowed it and let go. You reached behind you to hold Jason’s head, running your hands in his hair and gripped on it tightly for leverage as you came loud and long.

He withdrew from you so fast that it almost hurt, but then you felt warm splashes on your lower back, dripping down to the globes of your ass and to your thighs.

Your whole body gave out, and you fell down on your front, crashing into the soft bed.

You heard Jason chuckle, and then felt him get up. He returned with his towel and wiped your back, and then joined you on the bed next to you.

“You okay?” he asked.

“Better than okay,” you smiled.

“Mother quiet?” he frowned.

“Surprisingly so,” you yawned.

“Good,” he nodded.

The two of you just stared at each other, and soon enough you got lost in his face. His tired eyes, his crooked nose, his scarred skin. He gave you an odd expression. It wasn’t anger, or hate- hell he was hardly frowning.

He just looked… content.

You guess killing someone would take the energy out of you.

***

When Jason stirred awake, the first thing he felt was the warm body next to him.

For the first time in his entire life, he didn’t wake up alone.

He blinked his eyes open, and nearly laughed out loud when he saw your face next to him. You weren’t a graceful sleeper. Your hair was messy, your mouth hanging open with a little drool on dribbling at the corner.

Yet, he couldn’t help thinking about how absolutely gorgeous you looked.

He felt his chest tighten.

He shifted to the side to look at the clock on his bedside table. It was already 6am. Your clothes were long dry already in the dryer.

“Mmm,” he heard your voice, probably waking up because of his movements.

He turned back to you and saw that you were indeed already awake, facing tummy down with his blanket covering you up to your waist so he had a view of your beautiful, smooth back.

“What time is it,” you asked, voice still heavy with sleep.

“Six,” he answered, “Your clothes are probably dry.”

“Fuck,” you swore. He loved it when you swore. “I’m going to get into so much trouble.”

“You’re a teenager with a so-called boyfriend,” he snorted, “Make something up.”

“That’s the plan,” you grinned.

You pulled the covers up to your chest and laid on your back.

“I should go,” you sighed sadly, and then sat up.

“Wait,” he grabbed your arm.

Fuck, what was he doing?

“Don’t go,” he whispered, “Stay.”

“I guess I’m already fucked anyways, right?” you smirked.

“No, I meant-” Jason paused, his words catching in his throat. “Stay with me forever. Leave them.”

He saw the many phases of your thoughts written clearly on your face. You blinked with realisation, stopped yourself from smiling, but finally settled with a deep troubled frown.

Fuck.

“I can’t,” you croaked, “I’m sorry, Jason. I can’t do that.”

He felt like taking the keris and ripping out his heart.

“Fine,” he clipped, “Whatever. You want me to send you back, or what?”

“No, it’s fine, I’ll find my way back,” you got up and walked to the dryer to change into your gear. Jason reached for the shorts that you didn’t wear.

He walked you to the door silently, awkwardly. He had given you your backpack from the compartment in his motorbike.

“Jason,” you suddenly turned to him, the frown still evidently clear, “I can’t do this anymore.”

“What?” he grit, his heart dropping to his stomach.

“This thing with you,” you explained, “I can’t see you again. The next time I see you, I’ll be on Batman’s side.”

He felt like someone was throttling him, squeezing every ounce of sanity he had left out. He felt his nails digging into his palms, fists closed, still refraining from doing something he knew he would regret.

“I’m sorry, Jason,” you said, “I won’t tell them about you. If they find you, it will be completely because of them, not me. Okay?”

He didn’t want to look at you. He didn’t want you to see through him.

“Just go,” he managed to choke.

You pursed your lips and then nodded, turning away from him.

He slammed the door shut, and then rushed to his room.

“FUCK!” he roared, grabbing the bed and flipping it over.

“FUCK, FUCK, FUCK!”

He went to the dining table and swiped the tea set off, hearing it crash into tiny pieces on his floor before proceeding to flip over the table as well.

“YOU FUCKING BITCH!” he cried, aware that his cheeks were wet with his tears.

He couldn’t breathe.

Fuck, fuck, fuck.

He crumpled to the floor and picked up a broken piece of china, closing his fists around it and feeling the stinging pain as it cut into his flesh.

He was losing his mind.

He didn’t know what was up, or down, or what was real or wasn’t.

He wanted it to be all just a long, shitty fucking dream.

He wanted to just wake up back in his room in the Manor, fifteen years old, with the sound of Alfred knocking on his door, asking if he was alright.

It was a different kind of pain that he felt as compared to the one Joker had inflicted on him. It was the same hurt, the same stabbing feeling in his chest when he found out that Bruce had replaced him with you.

The same feeling when he found his mother on the floor with foam in her mouth.

In the midst of pulling his hair, and contemplating on whether he should really use the keris to carve his heart out or slit his own throat, he eventually calmed down after an hour of broken sobs and choking on air.

He sat there on his floor, the blood on his hands now sticky and brown, listening to the deafening silence of his room.

He was alone again.

#jason todd x reader #jason todd #red who #jason todd reader imagine #under the red hood #red hood and the outlaws #batman #dc #dick grayson #alfred pennyworth #bruce wayne #nightwing

438 notes · View notes

poptod · 4 years

Note

hey it's me again :) can i request an ahk x reader where y/n is a programmer and is showing him all the things she can do with a computer and him just being super amazed at her skills and the progress of technology in general? please feel free to add stuff i'm not super imaginative. i love your writing and thanks again!

hello again! thank u for requesting and i’m glad you like what i write! this one’s a bit shorter, sorry about that, but i think it’s sweet. my dad’s actually a programmer, with epic, not valve, but still fun to write.

"You're really good at this," Ahk said, leaning over your shoulder to look at the computer screen. The brightness and the many pixels of the screen hurt your eyes, considering you were used to computers that weren't made in the 90's, but you could make do. Computers were the one thing that you knew your way around, no matter the type.

"Ahk, I'm just showing you how to google something," you said as you tried to hold back a laugh, turning to him only to almost kiss his cheek. You quickly turned right back to the screen.

"Is it something people do often?"

"Google stuff? Yeah. The internet has answers to almost any question, as long as someone on the earth knows the answer, it's usually on the internet," you said in hopes of him understanding. "The internet is... like a connection, sort of. Every computer can connect to one another, so I could talk to someone on the other side of the world, and I can go into a non-physical library of information. It's not just used for knowledge, though. Lots of other things too."

He pulled one of the rolling chairs from its' place at the reception desk, rolling it beside yours and sitting next to you, his thigh pressed against yours as he stared at the screen. You bit the inside of your cheek.

"So – you work with computers, right? What is it that you do with them?"

"I test certain programs, make sure they function correctly, I also make some myself. They aren't horribly complicated but I do have a website for them," you said, hoping your explanation wasn't too complicated. You never knew with Ahk – sometimes he got it immediately, sometimes you needed to explain fifty times. "Here," you said, "I'll show you one that I’m working on."

He scooted even closer to the desk, eyes wide with curiosity and intrigue. Every now and then he'd pick up this child-like love of things, namely balloons and coffee, and now the computer. Every now and then you wished he'd direct that child-like love to you.

Typing in your website, you opened up the home page, quickly navigating till you came to the various programs and ideas you kept. There you scanned through them, wondering which one Ahk would like more, as well as what would be impressive to a 4,000 year old Pharaoh.

"I think you'll like this one. It's a video game I'm working on with Valve, still a prototype and all that, that's why it's on my website," you said, clicking on it and loading up what you had so far.

"Why would being a prototype qualify for being on your webbings?" Ahk asked as he watched the loading screen with much interest.

"We need beta testers, just to play over the levels and such, make sure there aren't any bugs in the coding. Most programmers though, uh," you paused as the game loaded up, the glass walls of the prison surrounding the first person view of the game, "they, um, they don't work with games. A lot of programmers work with things like lags in the loading, stuff like that, y'know?"

"I... think so," he said as he nodded slowly. "How does this game work?"

You proceeded to explain how video games were a sort of 'playable story,' with dialogue and options as well as puzzles and battles much more engrossing than those in board games. He seemed to understand that well enough, so you moved onto how to control the character. Currently, there was only one room built into the game, with only one puzzle to solve, but that didn't stop Ahk's face from lighting up when you asked if he wanted to play. He nodded vigorously, moving into your place when you scooted to the side.

This game was one you were both proud and happy to be working on – the concept was one you'd never seen before, and while it was hell trying to get the mechanics to work without confusing the player too much, the reward was fantastic. Besides personal fulfillment the pay wasn't bad at all, and it'd be great to put on your resume should you need it.

It took a little while and several more demonstrations, but he eventually learned how to move around, how the camera worked and how to spot bugs in the coding. From there you taught him the mechanics of the portal gun, reminding him early on that this wasn't a mechanic ever used before. He seemed delighted to try it out. With some help from you he finished the short level, using the portal gun to get out of the glass prison.

"It's still in the very early stages," you reminded him when he finished, a wide grin plastered across his face. "I doubt this level will even be in the actual game, but we'll see."

"How does it work? Do you animate it, or film it?" He asked, running the character all over the white room. You giggled.

"Not exactly," you said, taking the controls from him.

As you opened up the dev tools, lines upon paragraphs of coding appeared, showing words he couldn't understand, rules he couldn't comprehend, but it didn't stop him from trying. You continued to patiently explain how the computer worked, how one line could mean the color for one of the panels, or how a paragraph could dictate what happens when he as the player interacted with something.

"You made this?" Ahk asked as his mouth hung open, watching you scroll through the many lines of text.

"Some of it, yes, but my main job is to look for inconsistencies and problems in the coding," you said, unable to help from smiling. Hardly anyone had shown as much interest as Ahk did in your job, and his intrigue was a welcome change.

"How... how did you learn all of this?" He asked as he finally looked away from the coding, turning to face you. He sat impossible close to you, eager to see the computer, but it left you in a stumbling fluster as red coated your face.

"I, um – I went to, uh, school. And I had it as a, um, hobby when I was - uh, younger," you said, digging your nails into your thigh.

"Fascinating," he whispered, looking only to you as he spoke the word.

Everything in your body froze as he said that, wondering if he found your work fascinating, or technology, or just you. It couldn't be just you, but for a second you knew the exhilarating feeling of being admired by one you admired so greatly.

"Ahk?!" Larry yelled from the top of the stairs, gaining both his and yours attention. "Need you up here – statues don't recognize me again."

"Ugh," Ahk groaned, turning back to the now black screen for just a second before he faced you. "Thank you for the demonstration and for your time," he said as he stood, leaning forward and pressing a kiss to your cheek before he ran off, his cape flying behind him as he raced up the stairs.

You caught your reflection in the screen.

You never looked more like a cherry than you did now.

#ahkmenrah x reader #Ahkmenrah #Night at the Museum #gender neutral reader

81 notes · View notes

evolsinner · 3 years

Text

⊱┊7

with the moment past {definitely not mentally}, i make my way to the lounge.

“hey, rosé?”

i see him seated on a 3 seat sofa.

a, i hope he didn’t see the way i shaved my hair down there into a love heart... b, he def saw my boobies!!

“y~yes, mr killian?”

“you hungry or something? i can order you some pizza.”

hell, i’m famished, can’t remember the last time i ate.

“no, aha…”

“you sure?”

“actually, yeah, i am, a little... sorry if that’s an inconvenience.”

“no, not at all! don’t be silly. i’m starving.”

i restrict a smile.

“here,” he shifts to the side, patting the middle seat, “make yourself comfortable. i’ll order some now.”

i place his hoody on the armrest and sit on the other end instead; don’t have it in me to sit right next to him. we would be like idk touching and whatnot. amongst the remote and his wallet, he grabs his phone from the middle seat, dialling a number.

“pineapple on pizza?” he faces me, holding the phone to his ear.

i fucking love pineapple on pizza.

“100%,” i reply confidently.

he grins.

i have just found my soulmate.

i admire how laid back he looks: his white untucked dress shirt, sleeves rolled up to reveal thick veins and a dark tan, tie tossed on the table. is this how every male teacher looks after work?

‘cause, yummy!

“takeaway. one large vegetarian and one large hawaiian...with extra pineapple, please,” sir glances at me adorably. “cheers, sweetheart,” he hangs up after giving his number and address for the order. “should be here in 40 mins,” he informs me, “catch,” and tosses the remote at me. “pick a movie. make it a good one. i’m gonna go freshen up quickly.”

can i come?

-ˋˏ ༻🍷༺ ˎˊ-

i struggle to find a goddamn movie!

sir’s phone vibrates and i look across at it. why does that thing be buzzing and ringing all the time? i mean... hmm… i lean all the way back, peeping down the hallway. i listen to see if the shower is still on.

🚿pshhshhshhshhshhshh

oh good, it’s still on. i sneakily pick up his orange google pixel 4 xl mobile phone. okay, let’s see, what’s his passcode? says his pin contains at least four digits. hmm...

1 2 3 4

incorrect pin entered

4 3 2 1

incorrect pin entered

6 9 6 9

incorrect pin entered

his birth year, maybe?

1 9 8 1

incorrect pin entered

it’s definitely mine, then.

2 0 0 0

try again in 30 seconds

fuck, what is it?!

now i’m adamant.

a while later, i listen for the shower again. no sound. fuck me! i also haven’t even picked a movie yet! i grasp the remote and quickly flip through the movies. in ‘newly added’ a film that goes by the name ‘barefoot’ {2014} appears. this’ll do. i haphazardly click on it, put his phone back in the middle seat and swiftly bring my knees up on the sofa.

bathroom door opens and mr killian returns, setting himself down.

and ohhhh boy, oh jesus h. christ, he is wearing grey sweatpants. grey. sweatpants. oh my goddddddd!!!!

🎵dun da daaaaa! dunda dunda da dun dadada oo oo oooooo dun da da

i cringe, really should have skipped the first 10 mins or something.

sir looks at me with an amused expression, “just started?”

i nod, embarrassed.

then he cracks up a little, “how long did it take for you to pick a film?”

“i paused it, was waiting for you.”

“yeah?”

“yeah.”

“alrighty then,” he slumps down, letting me get away with the white lie. “this better be good or else you’re held accountable.”

the professional teacher’s vibe is disappearing and transforming into a perky one.

he’s wearing a loose t~shirt with long sleeves and it’s even rolled up. his hair is damp and floppy, making him so much more attractive. he runs his hands through it, flipping it back as the stray droplets of water roll down his neck. i would gladly lick them off for him if he doesn’t mind...

“why’s my phone locked for 60 minutes?”

“huh?” i snap out of my daydream.

“my phone, why’s it locked?”

*ding dong.*

“maybe...you put the wrong password in?”

“pretty sure i didn’t, and you’re the only other person in this house, no?”

*ding dong!*

“aha..ha,” i giggle nervously.

“does it look like i’m laughing?” he asks me condescendingly.

my smile disappears.

*ding dong! ding dong! ding dong! ding dong!*

“ight, i’m coming!!” sir shouts, grabbing his wallet. “..jesus christ, break my damn doorbell, will you..” he mutters under his breath angrily.

bit hot...

-ˋˏ ༻🍷༺ ˎˊ-

i only ate 2 slices of pizza so i wouldn’t look like a fat bitch in front of sir. he, however, didn’t even eat any. so much for being ‘starving’. he was just casually watching me eat. i could feel his eyes on me each time i took a bite and the odd olive or pineapple went rolling down into my lap. it was so awkward!

we’re halfway through the movie and i felt the need to say something because jay, the character, was such a jerk.

“i mean, it’s actually rather heartbreaking. daisy was locked away for most of, if not, her whole life. and now she is finally free, finally able to experience the pleasures of the real world. she put all of her trust in him and he abandoned her. that’s so not cool.”

as i’m analysing the film, i feel his eyes analysing me.

“well, you can’t blame him,” sir counterattacks. “jay had his own life, his own problems to deal with. she was just another added problem to that.”

“then he should’ve led her back to the hospital again instead of taking her on this joyride purely for his own greed.”

“remember, she chose to take part.”

“he was being selfish.”

“he was lending her a hand.”

“which is what ultimately made her fall in love with him in the first place,” i state like a full stop.

sir’s whole face just speaks wow. “so why didn’t you do my analysis homework then, huh?”

“because it’s boring,” i look him boldly in the eyes, his slicked back hair has me feelin’ oozy and woozy.

“oh, it’s boring?” he emphasises, raising his eyebrows. “is that so?”

“yup,” i purse my lips.

“what was it again?” he grabs my arm, pulling me into his lap. “‘boring’, did you say?”

i’m trying to escape and he’s trying to hold me still. gradually, our laughter dies out and we become aware, so much more aware.

“got some on your mouth,” he says in the heat of the moment, running his thumb over my bottom lip.

there was definitely no pizza sauce or whatever on my mouth, but i play my part. somehow, his thumb finds its way inside my mouth and i instinctively wrap my tongue around it. his green eyes glimmer like shiny marbles as he watches me

suck

on his

thumb.

i feel pressure underneath me, something building up in stiffness. i shift his hand away, glancing down and then back up again. his marble eyes, they just look at me. look through me.

no way in hell did i imagine this moment to actually happen. i mean, most of us girls had these insane crushes on teachers, but never did i think it’d unravel like this.

he firmly places his hand on my lower backside and pushes me closer to himself. “what, you scared now?” he whispers, dominance combined with confidence, topped off with lust.

i gulp, trying to sound brave, “and why would i be scared?”

“you should be,” he replies.

i am lost for words. this kind of intimidation is seductive. all i wanna do is kiss him! though i won’t make the same mistake of glancing at his lips twice.

he speaks in a soft tone, “has anyone ever told you how captivating your~”

“my eyes are?” i finish his cliché line off for him.

“...your lips,” he corrects, casting his gaze down at them.

i bite my bottom lip, flustered for acting like a smartass.

“you know, on some occasions, i’ve noticed that you bite your lip when you’re nervous. it’s cute,” he grins, “i like it more than i should,” and waits patiently for me to fall into his devilish trap.

believe me when i say i’m trying goddamn hard to not sink my teeth into my flesh! which is why i replace it with a mere innocent gulp.

“but on most occasions, you gulp,” he says as i’m gulping.

he removes the hair from my neck.

i get hella anxious, hella aroused so i..

“nuh~uh,” he shakes his head and pulls my bottom lip down with the pad of his thumb. “‘nough biting from you, sweetheart. those are mine to bite now.”

am i dreaming right now?

i try to reposition myself by moving a little back so that i’m not directly on him. as i do this, his erection rubs further into me and i slightly moan kinda too evidently. my eyes open super wide and i instantly shut my mouth. it surprises me that it doesn’t faze him one bit.

“your t~t~thing is p~poking me..” i gesture with my eyes to his manhood.

his orbs shine like someone has stabbed an apocalyptic emerald sunset multiple times. it’s glorifying. magical. the stuff dreams are made from. and instead, he pushes me further down onto his sculpture. he leans his head in, his mouth millimetres away from mine.

“and do you like it?” he questions seriously.

our noses touch, our lips brush...

“answer the question.”

“yes,” i squeak. “i like it.”

i try to remain as calm as possible, but it’s impossible due to the nerves causing havoc inside me, particularly the nerves between my thighs. i don’t know what to focus on. that mouth? his eyes? or down below...

“may i let something be known, luv?” sir requests politely.

i nod.

“i can see your tits...through that shirt...” he whispers sexily.

my breath hitches up.

kiss me! why won’t he kiss me? just fucking kiss me! shit, it’s impossible not to look. i give in and look at his lips. the corners curve slightly into a wayward grin. i see... he wants me to initiate it.

welp, sorry, no can do, mister.

he literally places my bottom lip between his teeth and lightly tugs at it, his breaths hitting my mouth like rose petals. this act is enormously enticing, but i know he’s teasing me.

my turn.

i purposely grind in his lap and he suppresses a hoarse groan. then he scoffs. very conceited. he’s so gonna lose. i keep my lips impossibly close to his for when he forfeits which should be right about...now.

he shakes his head smugly.

i frown, pouting.

he half~smiles adorably.

fine, i have a better idea. one he doesn’t see cumming coming.

i lift away the waistband of my borrowed sweatpants and grip his hand. his body automatically tenses up. i can feel him getting harder from just the thoughts i’m giving him. i bring his hand closer to me. he’s losing and it’s hella entertaining to watch.

unexpectedly, a phone goes off and i jump in fright. i rapidly get off him and he returns to his usual, rigid ways. he aggressively clears his throat before answering that stupid device.

whilst pacing up and down and holding his forehead, he stares at me intently like i’m that fucking maths problem again!

#poetry #romance #love #student #teacher #teacher x student #funny #story #short story #mature

9 notes · View notes

sword-and-shield-writings · 4 years

Note

hey! Its time for some raunchy stuff :D for our favourite boy, Raihan. I'd love some NSFW sexting between him and a f/reader who's as proactive as him? in fanfiction format please :DDD

Aww hell yeahh not even into the double digits of my writing blog and I get an NSFW request of my husband 💕💕💕Hell yes queen!

Reward

Fandom: Pokemon Sword + Shield Rating: NSFW Style: Oneshot Details: Raihan and Fem!Reader on their Rotomphones ;)

Warning: This contains NSFW content! If you’re under the legal age or uncomfortable with content like this, please ignore this post!

Turning on the faucet of the changing room, the tall gym leader exhaled softly under the feeling of fresh water dripping down his dark skin. After a very heated battle where the second-best trainer in all of Galar narrowly won, he celebrated by giving himself a quick wash to rid him of the small grand of sand that managed to hide between his skin and his clothes along with the dirt that covered his legs from the weather conditions he was famous for. Stepping out of the shower clean as a whistle, he wrapped a white towel around his waist as he left the steaming shower, letting the water stop on its own. Exhaling, he sat down on the bench of the changeroom and ran a hand through his glimmering wet hair. “Hey, Rotom.” He hummed, the dark red device flying out of the shorts he had hung up on his personal locker as he spoke, “Open up my camera, will ya?”

A sharp-toothed smirk played on his lips as the device landed in his large hands, his thumb scrolling through his list of contacts before tapping on one called “ 💖Baby 💖” and began typing something up. The dragon tamer in question was so rolled up from his battle than he just had to do something about it, and he wanted immediate results - he was normally a very patient and lax guy but after a tough battle, he was something else, more predatory, hungry for a well-deserved reward for his victory. After typing for a couple of moments, he peeled off the white towel and sent a very tasteful selfie to his wonderful girlfriend. Chuckling as he admired the text, he started to get dressed, glancing over at the phone with his teal eyes to pick it up at the moment it buzzed with a reply.

Sighing on the large bed of the Hammerlock suite, she waited for her boyfriend’s return. “Must be a long one this time...” she closed her eyes and sighed softly - he was never home this late unless it involved some extra paperwork or he was wrapped up in a tough battle. The trainers of the gym challenge were getting stronger and stronger every year and while the young lady knew it was important for him to train every day for the gym challengers she did wish he would pour as much time into her as he did his pokemon and training his gym trainers. Right then, the rotomphone buzzed lightly against the soft sheets. Smooth fingers reached for the device as she opened it up to see a message from the dragon himself. A faint blush covered her cheeks as she took note of the image that came with his text: “Hey baby, you better be up and ready for me when I get back. My team may be exhausted after that battle but I sure as hell am not ;)”

Her eyes looked over the image, admiring his slightly wet muscles and the long, hard member that rest against the Dragon Tamer’s abs, his shark-like smirk at the top of the delectable selfie before he cut off the rest of his face. A small purr rumbled from the young lady as she took her time texting him back, fully aware that she’ll be keeping him at the edge of his seat waiting for a response. A small shiver ran up and down her spine, thinking about all of the fun she’ll be getting once he returned. getting up and stripping off her top and bottoms, she opened the dark oak closet and pulled out one of the many signature hoodies he had and put it on, admiring the way those dark blues and bright oranges complimented her skin - it was no wonder Raihan loved seeing her in his hoodie. She lay back down on the bed and made a gif of herself, sending it back with a giggle - the poor man doesn’t stand a chance.

Once Raihan’s phone buzzed, he was all dressed and he scrambled to pick it up from the bench, feeling his cock harden at just the thought of being able to see his precious baby’s body again. Once he opened the message he could feel his breath get caught in his throat, his cheeks warming up and his usual half-lidded lazy eyes widening at the image before him accompanied by the very seductive text: “Don’t tempt me, Rai Rai. You’ll be even more exhausted than your pokemon and you know it. Don’t keep me waiting~”

His jaw dropped as he saw his sweetheart rubbing herself in his hoodie. His eyes followed her fingers as they pressed up against her clit and even though gifs don’t have any sound he could practically hear the soft moan leaving her lips. It was almost too hot for him to bear. Almost. “Two can play at that game...” he growled softly before pulling down his pants and making a gif of his own - a shame he didn’t think of this sooner, he’ll have to remember doing this right from the get-go to one-up her next time but this battle was far from over. Sending the gif, he ticked himself behind the waistband of his shorts as he briskly walked out of the changeroom and made his way to the lift, rapidly pressing the button in an attempt to make his travel to his suite faster.

Her eyes lit up when she saw the text, one hand still over her slit as she opened the message with the other. A small gasp and a moan left her lips as she watched her boyfriend’s large hand stroke his well-endowed cock, a purr leaving her lips as her eyes managed to catch the pixels that caught his cock throbbing in his grasp. “Oh Raihan...” The young lady snuggled her head into the large, soft hood of the jacket she draped over her smooth skin, pressing her fingers against her clit harder than before. She loved it whenever he got rolled up like this, even more so when she knew she was the one doing it to him. No one could ever think anyone would have the amount of control she had over him. Her small gasps and moans echoed off the bedroom walls, the noises of her pleasure masking the jangling of keys and the quite opening of the bedroom door.

“Keep that on.” A demanding, deep voice sounded from the doorway as the young lady looked up with delight to see Raihan standing there, looking almost out of breath as he made his way toward her, stripping off his hoodie.

“Aww, can’t wait?” She teased with a raised brow, “Don’t you want to wait and earn your reward?” A small laugh bubbled up from her chest as Raihan prowled over toward her on the bed, looming over her body with an animalistic smirk.

“I think I more than deserve it.” he hummed, his hand moving to slowly unzip the hoodie that barely covered his lover’s body - He had earned this treat and he was going to take his time savouring it.

#pokemonswsh #pokemon #sword and shield gym leaders #pokemon imagines #pokémon sword #pokémon shield #pokémon sword and shield #pokémon sword and shiled x reader #raihan x reader #swsh raihan #raihan swsh #pokemon raihan #pokemon raihan x reader #shiny sauna

105 notes · View notes

theplumsoldier · 5 years

Text

KIND CAMARADERIE

Request: @quirkycurlsworld asked: Can you do a yon rogg smut fic whre the reader and him are in the middle of doing it but carol and the rest of the team walk in on them while reader and him are in a certain position and rogg get angry at the team

Pairing: yon-rogg x reader

Word count: 1940

Warnings: smut, language.

The excursion had shorter than many prior once, albeit just as draining. The mission was simple, straightforward and in all honesty no more than a hit-and-run with the goal to terminate the target. In the end, the objective was achieved, regardless the plan had been altered under imperative circumstances and it had left Yon-Rogg in some of a daze. With his title and sense of unjust, he knew he could not pull rank this early on the new Starforce recruit, and that was why he was left to moan and whine to you. Whine in a complaint about what he so was vexed by and moan as a result of your kind camaraderie. Sensing the bate seething off of him, you had followed him into the briefing quarters only to have him go off on you. So there he stood, tall with vigor, sprouting unresolved anger in your face as you stood small, austere in mien and taking the blast.

Finally, Yon-Rogg paused his unwarranted verbal abuse, heart beating faster in his chest than it ever did on a mission and he appeared to become aware of his own temper. A flash of gold blazed behind his piercing eyes, and his brows furrowed in a crease.

Swallowing the lump in his sore throat, you watched patiently as your commander gathered the backbone to pardon himself. You lifted your hand in protest, eyes pacific and leaving him beyond confused.

“Don’t,” spoke you at last and your voice did wonders to disarm his foul spirit.

He shook his head in dispute, “no, I—Y/N, please excuse me, that was highly improper.”

You scoffed and went around the table to diminish the space between the pair of you. Fat euphemism, you thought. “It’s quite alright, Yon-Rogg. I can only begin to imagine what discomfort you might be in.”

Taking the liberty to deprive him of his arms, you rid him of the weapons attached to his wrists and his head dropped, feeling an undue rigidness stiffen his posture. His troubled mind could only wonder what kept you from bashing his face in.

But to you, that was not the case. For while the commander undoubtedly treated you unfairly and often of that, you could not fathom serving in a world with another superior but him. He was spartan and at times fueled by more emotion than he cared to admit, but he was the furthest thing from arrogant. Yon-Rogg served the Empire, not himself. In every way, a perfect soldier, always getting the job done regardless of untoward altercation and perhaps that was why the Supremor was so cautious with him. To have Yon-Rogg become aware of their horrendous schemes was something certainly unwanted, and what better way to secure none of the sorts happened than make the warrior feel unsure of himself. He needed a place in the world, he needed a matter to attend to and the Supreme Intelligence saw it fit to give him that under the ruling of the militaristic lifestyle.

Under your touch, Yon-Rogg grew uneasy, uncertain with your intentions and to speak frankly, his vehement uproar had done something to stimulate the unethical sensation he had fallen prey to. “What are you doing?”

“You always are being so harsh on yourself, Commander. I know you view yourself in higher regard—and have no doubt, the rest of the team does the same, however, and with all due respect, Commander—when was the last time you let your guard down?”

Watching him intently, your eyes bore into his and he never had felt so belittled. Your mouth in carelessness but those words you said were showing sentiment and such affection he rarely felt. A flush of warm heat spread and the beads of sweat sprinkled across his temple trickled down his neck.

He cleared his throat and distanced himself, forcing his darkened eyes from yours. “Y/N, you should leave. I am sorry, I did not mean to reprimand you in such ways, I will convey the word of your improvement to the Supreme Intelligence.”

You could not help but chuckle, an alluring facade veiling your features as you took another step in his direction. “Forget the Supreme Intelligence for a moment, will you? Yon-Rogg, I hold no animosity towards you, I hope you know that. If only you would allow it, I would be more than glad to, say, tend to your needs. My pleasure, really.”

Yon-Rogg felt the rough material of his suit cling to him uncomfortably, suddenly feeling as if the temperature in the room had increased acutely.

His hand reached up to where your finger traced his chest, trying his best to restrain himself but you made it all too difficult. Candidly, it had been awfully long since he had been satisfied.

“Just let go,” coaxed you beside his ear, your breath prickling at his hot skin and you ghosted your lips over his flesh.

Drawing kisses up his neck, across his jaw and to his lips, he refused to lean in until you body was pressed tight against his and from there he held you in a firm position. His kiss was longing, yearned for and something you had over time come to accept you only ever would feel in your dreams. But now his tongue finally danced intact with yours, a dance of the devil and you melted into his touch as he guided you to the table. The three-dimensional panels it displayed crumbled in pixels and Yon-Rogg swallowed the moan he elicited. Your suits left little place for much experimenting and knowing it was one difficult piece to get off, you decided to go ahead and get out of your own.

The commander let his thoughts be voiced. “This should not be.”

While his hands roamed your baring skin, he could not help but let his morals remain and Yon-Rogg’s kiss only grew more hungry by the minute. Starved of all that he denied himself the pleasure of, he rid himself of his own attire.

His mind was a wreck. Perturbed with his juniors, head still caught in the cribbling network of the Supremor and he could no longer keep himself off of you. How could he? When you offered yourself to such kind service. By no means did he wish to offend you, still that was not the idea he wished you swayed under and so he showed you just how intensely he craved you.

With brute force, he took you roughly by the waist, pulled you to him and then had you lean forward on the table. Admiring your sprawled display, his hand ran down your naked back, fingers pressing on your skin, drawing close to the scars; some of which he asserted he himself might have burdened you with.

Tapping your ankles, he urged your legs to part further and obeying your commander, a grinning grimace found its way to your face. At long last.

“Let me feel you, Yon-Rogg,” cajoled you coyly, miserably attempting to turn and offer him a kind invitation, but his calloused hands got hold of your wrists, pinning them tight to the small of your back.

Once Yon-Rogg lined himself up against your slit, you moan as he spread your wetness across with just the use of his engorged head. Against you he felt hard like granite, smooth in the warmth of his flesh and as he slid past your opening you shuddered, melting completely in utter relief against the flat surface.

He tried to keep his composure, still overwhelmed with your submissiveness. Also, the sight of you was one he wished to relish, hoping with his all this would not be the last time he might be granted such a divine display.

Impatiently, you wiggled beneath his grasp, breaking him from the trance and he pushed in, thrusting the length of his girth through your tight walls. Unintelligible words escaped past your lips, moan of pleasure following.

Yon-Rogg picked up the pace, is teeth grit behind closed lips while he cursed himself, sinning and in such a place. He should be ashamed of himself, but again faced what he himself thought to be arrogance quizzing him: How could you be? With such a fine woman fulfilling your every desire. To turn her away, that would be the real disgrace of the hour.

Grunting, Yon-Rogg moaned your name in praise, caring for him in such a casual way. He should have known better, but at that moment you were all occupying his love-sick mind. His cock twitched inside you, you cunt clenched around him, squeezing him for all he had to offer and you pressed your head down hard on the table, biting on your lip to prevent yourself from screaming. Yon-Rogg he noticed this and reached down to pull you up to his chest, nuzzling kisses in your neck, you could not remember the last time you had felt in such a compromising position—loved in sweet applauds to the ear while being pounded mercilessly from behind. Your heart fluttered and your legs gave in, weakening you and his hands ceased the hold he had you in to allow you to restore your balance.

“Yon—” you begged, your plea like saccharine in his ears. “I—I need to come!”

How you spoke, you were not ready for the rush you felt approaching. It was more of a warning than anything for you knew you could not hold yourself back. His velocity seemed to only increase, indicating he in no near future saw it fit to leave you unsatisfied. He did not plan to make your first orgasm the last and he told, orderer you to come for him, around him.

Then just as you were on the verge, a sound appeared from the opposite side of the room and what you could only deduce to be the doors slid open, revealing the scene. Most certainly it was none for sore eyes and that might be just why the shocked eyes shied away in the matter of split-seconds.

With profanity and a scream, both Vers’ and Korath’s eyes were anywhere but at you, Yon-Rogg’s second in command turned with his back and ready to leave while the rookie settled with a hand before her eyes.

“My—fuck, I—I’m sorry, we didn’t mean to—”

“Vers!” reprimanded Korath, feeling the best would be to leave the two of you, spare himself the discomfiture, too.

Yon-Rogg’s frame shielded your own mostly, and while you scrambled to collect yourself, you were flushed with fever as you had been denied your orgasm, the tingle still in your sex, waiting for liberation.

“I just wanted to apologize—”

Vers tried but was cut off by her commander’s harsh voice, ordering her out. You thanked the Gods for their obeying of orders and once the doors closed behind them, Yon-Rogg finally forced his gaze to meet yours. His lips were parted, plump and pink but his cock standing tall in hiding behind his hand had your eyes elsewhere. The silence only persisted for a short moment, for then you broke a laugh and held yourself against the table again.

You knew this was nothing Yon-Rogg would ever have wanted to be brought to anyone’s attention, and although you would not have minded keeping a secret, you could only imagine what awkward tension this would leave between you the next time your paths would cross. Your commander was not eased in the least and so you snaked your hand up the back of his neck, licking your lips as your other hand went to his cock.

“You didn’t finish.”

#yon rogg #yon-rogg #yon rogg gifs #yon rogg smut #yon-rogg imagine #yon rogg imagine #yon-rogg smut #yon-rogg gifs #jude law #jude law smut #marvel smut #captain marvel smut #theplumsoldier

106 notes · View notes

purpleskullcandys · 5 years

Text

Dying From Exposure Chapter 3

Summary: After the revelations following Remus' introduction, Logan suggests a way for Virgil to acclimate to the "Dark Sides" showing up in Thomas' Life: Exposure Therapy.

or: where Virgil is a reluctant video game protagonist, Logan, Patton, and Roman are in danger and simultaneously dangerous, and Deceit and Remus are along from the ride.

...

Before Logan began to explain, Roman lead the group further into the meadow, past the tree line to some shade. Miraculously (or not because Virgil was sure this place was at the creative side’s beck and call) there were four stumps bunched together for them to sit on when they arrived.

Once they were situated, Logan stood, turning to look at each of them in turn before his eyes landed on the prince.

“Roman, if you would.”

Roman smiled, using one hand to gesture to the right of the logical side with a flourish.

“No problemo, teach.”

A faint rumbling shook the stumps briefly, causing Patton and Vigil to grip the edges of the wood, as the ground split open around a silvery object coming to the surface. A screen rose from the grass at Logan’s side, dirt sliding off its sides as it grew to be around shoulder height. As it flicked to life without any apparent power source, a laser pointer appeared in the logical side’s right hand, eliciting an appreciative hum.

“I will ignore your blatantly incorrect ending for that word, even though it has clearly been established that you can speak spanish, due to the quality of the presentation set up you have provided for me.”

Roman huffed, slumping into an exaggerated pout with his arms crossed over his chest as he mumbled out a, “gender and language are made up” with the grumbly voice of a teenager sassing an authority figure.

“What was that?” Logan questioned, face blank, but Virgil was sure he had heard what Roman had said if the sardonic look in his eyes was any indication.

“I said ‘Are you ready to start this up?” Roman defended hurriedly. Virgil rolled his eyes and glanced at Patton who giggled softly at the exchange. They shared a look.

The two of them never quit.

“Yes,” Logan said decisively as he adjusted his glasses and aimed the laser pointer at the screen. “Quite ready.”

The screen flicked from its blank, white screen to what looked like something made in PowerPoint. The background was a dark grey, almost black color and large, teal letters spelled out, “Exposure Therapy for Beginners :)”

“I helped with the title,” Patton stage whispered brightly.

Logan sighed and waved his hand in the air. Virgil watched as the screen pixelated and then returned with a new screen that was titled, “Treatment Types”. There were a few bullet points with information that Virgil skimmed over. In the corner there was a clipart picture of a doctor putting a bandaid on a boy’s knee. The boy was badly photoshopped to have purple in his hair and smudges under his eyes.

“And I added transitions and clip art,” Roman said, similarly leaning in closer to Virgil and whispering loudly. Logan hushed them, the picture of an exasperated teacher. Patton apologise sunnily with a “Sorry Logan!” while Roman groaned and slumped further into his stump.

“As I was saying,” Logan said pointedly, “Exposure Therapy is a technique that was practiced by Joseph Wolpe and James G. Taylor during the 1950s before it grew into one of the main procedures used in behavioral therapy to, primarily, treat anxiety disorders.”

“It entails exposing the patient to the source of the anxiety,” Virgil felt his shoulder creep up toward his head as he tensed up. Logan made a placating motion with his hands. “Without the intention to cause any danger.”

“For example. Virgil what is the name of your spider?”

“Uhhh, Jeff?”

“Let’s say that we put Jeff and Patton in a room together...”

Patton sucked in a massive, full lunged gasp before shrieking, “You would have to kill me first!”

“And we continued to do this every week for five months,” Logan continued, ignoring Patton’s reaction. “Eventually, Patton’s mind would note his continued safety despite what he had first thought to be an extreme danger to his continued health. Then, the next time he was confronted with a spider, whether it be in the room or in his everyday life, Patton may be able to realize that he was safe near a spider once before, and that this time he may be safe again.”

“That makes sense,” Virgil said. “For a spider at least. Spiders don't have ulterior motives. They don't even really mean any harm. But,” Virgil felt himself uncurl from his poor posture as anger and worry filled his lungs, making him bite out his next words. “Deceit and The Duke are not spiders.”

Logan opened his mouth but Virgil kept going, bulldozing over what the other was saying.

“I don’t need to learn that they’re safe because they aren't. If I let my guard down-!”

“We are not telling you not to be on guard, Virgil,” Logan cut in, his voice rising slightly. Vigil felt himself shrink again, the air leaving his lungs in a whoosh, deflating him.

I made him mad...

Logan took in a breath and glanced at Patton, whose eyebrows were furrowed as he nodded encouragingly at the logical side. Logan nodded back at him, and started again, with a lower voice

“We simply want you to be in charge of all of your emotional facilities should you be confronted with them.”

“What does that even mean?” Virgil asked, voice small.

Patton leaned over from his stump- closer Virgil’s side- close enough to offer comfort but not close enough to touch. He raised a hand, and let it hover over Virgil’s shoulder as he tried to meet eye-shadowed eyes for permission. Virgil relented and leaned into Morality’s hand, needing the comfort more than his personal space in the moment.

“What it means, kiddo, is that when we see… the others, you tend to get sort of locked into your emotions.”

Patton’s hand gripped Virgil’s hoodied shoulder, and Virgil had to remind himself that this was a reassurance and not something to hold him in place. Not something to trap him while someone poured poisoned words into his ears.

This hand was warm. Warm blooded. A friend.

“You get so trapped in your fear and anger,” Patton continued and Virgil could hear the notes of concern bleed into his words. More than concern though. Empathy.

Patton released his shoulder and stood from his stump. He kneeled down in front of Virgil, making himself eye level with the anxious side’s bowed head. He was flanked by Logan and Roman, whose faces were similarly twisted with variations of concern. A strained smile pulled at Patton’s lips but his brow remained furrowed.

“You feel it so much, kiddo, I know you do. I can feel it too.”

“You’re scared for Thomas. You’re scared for us. You’re scared for yourself and angry at what they might do. You care so much!” And here Patton laughed. Not a happy laugh, but the small laugh of someone who just cleaned a room and then looked up and saw the state the rest of the house was in.

“You care so much, Virgil. But you care so much that other emotions get pushed out by your waves of anxiety. They’re drowning in it. You’re drowning in it. We just… want to give you a floatie,” Patton finished, a more true smile lifting his brows and lighting up his eyes.

It was silent for a moment as Virgil took in what Patton said. And then he laughed a small but relieved laugh. A break in the tension.

Virgil peaked up at Patton through his fringe, a small smile pulling at this lips.

“You know, we don't say this enough, Padre, but you're really, really smart.”

Patton’s face lit up as he giggled. He stood from his kneeled position, a hand once again clasping Virgil's shoulder and giving it a squeeze of reassurance as the paternal side took a seat on his designated stump again. Logan and Roman visibly relaxed too as the tense atmosphere around them shattered.

“So, you guys want me to confront Remus and Deceit to be able to somewhat control my anxiety toward them whenever they talk to Thomas. So I stop messing him up,” Virgil clarified.

“This is as much for you as it is for Thomas, Virgil,” Logan added.” We want you to be able to operate comfortably in the mind palace, regardless of who you are with. We simply want to widen your arsenal of options should you encounter them on your own or with us.”

“Okay. So, what do I do? Just stroll over to Deceit’s room and ask to hang out for old times sake?”

“Not at all! This is where, yours truly comes in!” Roman announced with an air of grandeur.

The creative side twirled, leaves swirling around his as he did. The leaves picked up speed, and more foliage joined the mini tornado around Roman, until he was obscured completely by the oranges, greens, and browns of the forest.

Despite the flying leaves, the wind was silent. However, there was the sound of…

“I-is he singing?” Virgil sputtered.

“Ah, yes,” Logan started, adjusting his glasses as a bright orange leaf slapped itself over his nose before joining the maelstrom that was forming around the creative side. “I believe he is making a ‘Little Mermaid’ reference.”

Patton laughed as a train of flower petals ruffled through his hair. “Aren't you a little big to be a ‘Little Mermaid’?”

“Yessss,” a familiar, honied voice lisped out. The revolving leaves, dropped unceremoniously to the ground. Instead of the smug smile and shimmering auburn eyes of Roman, they were met with a sickeningly familiar face, a bowler hat skewed to the side and a singular, slitted, reptilian eye. Virgil felt himself tense up instinctively. “Yesss, I am.”

Not-Deceit lifted a green scaled brow ridge and grinned broadly, showing off his two, thin fangs.

“Will you walk into my parlor?”

It was silent for a moment. Not-Deceit’s smile faltered, falling from the sickenly suave smirk it had been to a more sheepish look that didn't fit the face it was on. Virgil felt himself uncurl.

Nothing like the real him.

“Didn't we just establish that he's not a spider?” Virgil settled on to break the silence.

“Yes, Roman. How would you even confuse an arthropod for a reptile? The startling difference in leg count should be at least a hint”

“I did not confuse them. I just thought it was thematically appropriate!”

“Tis the prettiest parlor you ever did spy!” Patton said, snapping his fingers in the cartoonish way one would when they remembered something.

Another beat of silence. Virgil thought he saw a tumble week bouncing in through the undergrowth behind Logan.

God why was Roman always like this?

“Right…” Logan started again. “As I was saying, before we went on this wildly uninformative tangent, there are two main kinds of exposure therapy methods: imaginative and in vivo, or, as one would say in english, in life.”

The screen next to Logan sputtered to life again from where it had fallen into its idle screen saver, which appeared to be the colorful balloon-y spike-y thing from the early 2000s.

The screen showed two cartoon versions of Virgil. The first was sitting in a chair with his eyes closed. Above his head, small circles lead to an illustrated dream bubble where a smaller version of Virgil was sitting at a tea table with cartoon versions of Deceit and The Duke.

In the second cartoon, Virgil was walking down a path that forked at the end. Down one pathway was Deceit and down the other was Remus.

Logan pointed to the first picture.

“The first entails simply thinking about an encounter with the source of the emotions.”

Then he pointed to the other. “The second is confronting the source in real life.”

“Which is where I come in, again!” Roman exclaimed.

Logan pushed his glasses up further on his nose. “Yes, that is correct.”

With another gesture of his hands, the image on the screen changed again. This time, the figure in the cartoon was clearly meant to be Thomas, as the figure was wearing a pink Steven Universe shirt used to identify him. He was laying in a bed, with a dream bubble above his head depicting all of the sides, Deceit and Remus included, holding hands.

“As Thomas has just fallen asleep, he will soon enter one of his REM cycles. During this time period, his imagination,” and here Logan gestured to Roman, “will begin to run rampant. Should we,” and now Logan gestured to himself, Patton, and Virgil, “ relinquish our hold on reality, Thomas will fully believe what is happening in his dream is reality.”

“In other words, we will allow Roman full creative control over Thomas’ dream. Using this control, Roman will be able to create realistic scenarios where you will confront Deceit and The Duke. Thus, you will reap the benefits of an ‘In Vivo’ exposure therapy session while being completely safe.”

“Hold on, back up,” Virgil said, shaking his head. “Wouldn't I know that we were in Thomas’ dream? I mean, you guys just walked me through what's going to happen. I would know that who I was talking to wasnt real, right?”

“Not necessarily. Think back to the last time Thomas had a vivid dream. Did you respond rationally to what was being depicted?”

The image of Thomas running up endless flights of stairs soared behind Virgil’s eyes. Thomas was running, and running, and becoming tired, but he couldn't stop- couldn't stop- or it would catch him. The water level rising and rising and rising as Thomas ran, the stairs in front of him already dripping wet as puddles began to form on them. Can’t stop or the water would get him. Can’ t stop or he would drown. Can’t stop can’t stop can’t stop cANT STOP CANT STOP YOU'RE GOING TO DROWN

Virgil shook himself from the memory.

“Point taken,” he conceded.

“Right. Patton and I will be in the dream as well to keep an eye on things. While we too will not realize it is a dream at the outset, due to my inability to truly accomplish any sort of suspension of disbelief, I will most likely be able to figure out what is going in in order to assist Roman.”

“And I’m going to put the moral in moral support, regardless of if it is a dream or not!” Patton added.

Logan sighed. “While I do not condone the use of word play here, I do appreciate the use of homophones in that one,” Logan said, begrudgingly.

Patton smiled at him brilliantly.

“Okay, so we’re really doing this now, huh?” Virgil asked. “No real preparation? We’re just jumping in?”

“Roman was supposed to tell you what was going to happen tonight. We thought you being here meant you agreed,” Logan replied.

The creative side at least had the decency to look guilty, even while still wearing Deceit’s face. It looked weird.

“You can have a night to sleep on it if you want kiddo,” Patton reassured.

“No, no. I already agreed. And you guys have obviously thought hard about this,” Virgil said, pointing to the PowerPoint. “I guess it just feels like we’re moving fast from my perspective.”

“But, I’m ready. I- I want to do this,” he finished, looking at them.

Patton nodded back, smiling. Roman stood and offered Virgil a hand up. Virgil took it and stood with them, now all standing in a little circle. Roman didn't let go of his hand and on Virgil’s right, he could see Patton holding out his hand. Virgil took it. Logan, somewhat reluctantly took hold of Roman’s other hand, while Patton swung the hand already connected to the logical side back and forth like a swing.

To put it simply, they were standing in a circle holding hands.

We probably look so dumb.

Virgil closed his eyes, waited for something to change and then opened them again when nothing did.

Patton’s eyes were squeezed shut, like he could will the world to change just using the force of his eyelids. Logan, meanwhile, was staring at Roman with an expectant look on his face.

“How are we supposed to do this?”

“Well, for starters, you and Logan have to stop thinking so hard. You have to want to let go of reality. You just have to… uhhhhhhh… Oh, how about this?”

Roman began humming a familiar song and in a second, Virgil’s mind began filling in the missing lyrics automatically. Damn Thomas and his love for Disney.

Think of a wonderful thought

Any merry little thought

As the words spilled into his head, Virgil swore he felt something.

It felt like a weight was lifted off his shoulders. He could breathe more easily and, for the first time since they arrived in the Roman’s room, Virgil could feel the warmth of the sun as it spilled from between the leaves of the trees.

Think of Christmas, think of snow

Think of sleigh bells off you go!

Taking another deep breath in, Virgil could smell the pine of the trees. He could feel the crispness of the air as it entered his lungs and he felt the invisible breeze that has been shaking the branches since they arrived.

It felt real for the first time. It felt good.

Everything was going to be okay.

Like a reindeer in the sky…

…

But instead of rising from the ground to soar above the trees, Virgil felt the ground under his feet disappear. Roman and Patton’s hands were ripped from his grasp as he fell. Down, Down, Down.

Brown, shadowed eyes flew open but the greens and oranges and greys of the forest were absent, replaced with growing darkness as the light flew farther and farther away from his grasp.

The warmth was gone, the smell along with it, and the breeze turned to a squall rushing past Virgil's face as he slipped faster and faster into the nothing below.

Virgil tried to scream, but found his stomach up in his lungs, punching all air from his chest as the light above him disappeared completely. Tears dripped upward from his eyes into his hair. He was suffocating in the dark, alone.

Yet, in his head still rang the words, You can fly! You can fly! You can fly!

#logan sanders #dee sanders #deceit sanders #roman sanders #virgil sanders #patton sanders #remus sanders #creativity sanders #anxiety sanders #sanders sides #sanders sides fic #sander sides fanfiction #dfe

5 notes · View notes

drakewalkerfantasy · 5 years

Text

Pray be safe (Mr. Sinclaire x MC): Part 2

Rating: PG-13

Pairing: Mr. Sincaire x MC (Elizabeth)

Words: about 2313

Summery: After the night Lady Elizabeth and Mr. Sinclaire spend together, Mr. Sinclaire forced to meet with the man whom he wants to see at the very least. How he can protect the woman he loves with all his being from the man he despise the most. What other secrets Duke Richards may have? And if Ernest may be able to hide and protect Elizabeth from the man who brings only misery to her.

Disclaimer: All characters belong to Choices by Pixel Berry

Note: This is my first attempt to write anything for this time frame. So please don’t judge if I’m a little bit or a lot out of time in there. Please let me know, if I can change something to make it better. This part is slightly shorter than previous part.

Part 1

Tag list: @boneandfur @sinclairesdesire @walkerismychoice @littleblossom-18 @indiacater pawandme @the-writerly-night-owl

Night’s breeze and hasty escape windswept Elizabeth’s raven hair, her cheeks were light shade of pink from running and she was almost out of breath, when finally, massive gates come in sight. Looking back for the last time she ran out of them hearing someone’s quick steps chasing after her and hustled voices coming from the Duke’s house. Her heart pounding in heaving chest, her obsidian eyes swollen from tears. She raised beautiful gown up, flashing her ankles to the night. Her feet hurting in her new lace ballet shoes making it difficult to run. Elizabeth’s pulse racing and her head spinning. She runs faster and faster stumbling on the pavement stones, hearing someone calling after her. She looks back noticing carriage with a familiar crest chasing after, reflection of horror displayed in her eyes. Her breath wheezing with every gulp of air, she feels lightheaded, her legs give way knocking air out of her lungs and Elizabeth crashing on the pavement stones, hearing horses neighing above her rearing up. She could feel someone’s hands gripping her and pulling up, dragging to carriage. Elizabeth’s big Bambi eyes filled with burning tears and she starts to fight desperately, begging to let her go, but no one took pity to her pleas. The laugh she hoped never to hear swept through the night making her heart stop in horror before starting to race again. And the last thing she can remember before coming to the light is her own screams cut through the air.

Ernest scoffed, rolling over in his slovenly sheets smile half touching his lips, as he could feel Elizabeth naked body near to his. It was still dusk outside, but he could hear servants already hustle around the house. Still not fully awake Ernest could sense Elizabeth tossing in her dreams whimpering, her raven thick hairs scattered across a pillow. He raised his upper body watching her with worry upon his face noticing her lips half open in a silent scream and eyes wet with tears. He could hear her pleas and sobs increase becoming louder from a nightmare she is having. Slowly but surely, he touches her forearm shaking gently pulling her out from a nightmare she has. Waking up, Elizabeth gasps for an air sharply lifting her tense body from the bed. She blinks looking around, her heart still pounding in heaving chest until realisation where she is washing over her slowly bringing peace to her features and a flush to her face. She could feel Ernest’s gentle hand on hers and hear his soothing voice barely above the whisper:

- I hold you… I hold you…, - he whispers taking her into embrace and breathing in her natural scent of lavenders and freshness, - Don’t be scared for whatever disturbed you in your dreams. I’ll never let any harm fall upon you. I’ll protect you, I’ll fight for your, I’ll do anything for you to the last breath, - his eyes are tender and loving, fingers softly trace patterns on her back making Elizabeth’s heart flutter. He can feel how her body relaxes under his touch leaning closer into him. His breath hitched when he felt her head lay on his shoulder and her hand snakes around his torso blushing from realization of their nakedness. She still sobs softly slowly calming down in his embrace.

- Ohhhh, Ernest…., - she lifted her gaze to meet his desperately looking for so much needed comfort, - I thought… I thought for a moment, that Duke Richards hunt me down… that he…

- Shhhh, - he shushed her softly, gently wiping away her tears. His lips brushing her forehead, holding her face in both his hands. Than he moves lower to peck her nose making it wrinkle. He looked at her with such affection that this took her breath away his lips grazed her cheeks until his eyes focused on her parted honeyed lips and his face got closer to hers looking intensely upon her, their lips almost meeting until they heard someone banging on the townhouse’s door and loud familiar voice echoed through halls startling them both. His hands tensed around her waist and he kisses her urgently before getting out of bed followed by her.

- My dear Elizabeth, pray go to the dressing chamber, I’ll call upon you when this ordeal with Duke will be over. Be safe my love, - he chastely kisses her on a lips pushing lightly to the small entrance in front of them, looking for her to pick up her clothing before disappearing behind the closing door.

He was dressed just in his breeches and unbuttoned shirt, when knock sounded at the door and loud demanding voice requested for it to be opened.

- Duke Richards, to what do I owe the pleasure for such an early visit? Did we have an arrangement, which I have been forgotten, - said Mr. Sinclaire coldly blocking Duke’s way to his bedchamber and closing the door behind.

- Sinclaire, where is she? - threateningly hissed Duke in a fury.

- Can you please enlighten me who you are talking about? - carefully asked Ernest trying not to give away his emotions. Looking at Duke in such a rage the knowledge creeps onto him that he would rather die than watch the woman he loves marry such a man.

- Don’t play with me, you know I speak of her…. of Lady Elizabeth of Edgewater, - he spits out fists clenched, eyes are black from suppressed anger. Mr. Sinclaire’s muscles strain, hands clasped tightly behind his back and he proudly looks back at him.

- Mr. Blake can you please escort Duke Richards to the study. Please, give me a moment to get dressed appropriately and I will join you in a minute, - with a slight nod of his head and not waiting for a reply Mr. Sinclaire disappeared in his bedchambers trying to catch his breath and slow his heartbeat. He prayed for Duke not to see how worried he became as this would ruin everything. He knew more than anyone what Duke Richards is capable of and for the first time this scared him… not for himself, but for the petite but fierce woman waiting for him in his dressing room, the one who made him weaker and stronger at the same time. He loved her… he loved her the way he never believed would be possible for him to love. Slowly Ernest moved to the small door, opening it quietly. His heart racing, like a runaway train, going faster and faster when he sees her just in her utterly transparent chemise. Elizabeth’s long cascading charcoal hairs fell off her shoulders and she brushed them carefully looking at him through the mirror in front of her. Their eyes met sending electric charge through his body making him shudder. He slowly made his way to her taking comb from her slender hands and starting gently brushing thick hairs. After a moment he lowers his hands on her shoulders, dropping the brush with a loud thud on the floor, they gaze are still on each other. He kneels behind her, painfully slow moving his lips along her swan long neck sucking on sensitive skin making her to moan in respond. His fingers slowly graze from her shoulders along her arms. Her body grew warmer from both the intimate moment they share and from the gaze that she felt on her. Swallowing, she turned to face him meeting his tender eyes, waiting patiently for what he about to say.

- I need to go, my love… my Elizabeth, - he kisses her putting in this kiss all his feelings toward her, all his emotions. She helps him to button up his shirt, to tide cravat and to put his waistcoat on. They eyes still on each other, they foreheads touch, they fingers intertwined. It took him all his courage to move away from her full of longing and desire. He looked at her tenderly brushing away single tear running down her cheek, - my dear Elizabeth, no matter what, we will find the way to be together. I love you, more ardently, - he murmured into her ear.

-Pray, be safe, - she whispered before he left the chambers with the last look at her.

For a moment he stayed outside of his chamber trying to catch his breath, his back pressed to the door, eyes closed and head thrown up. His thoughts rushing around, while he desperately tried to gather them. And finally he knew more clearly than ever before, what should be done to finally win this battle with Duke Richards, to finally win the only woman he desired. So before heading to the study, he called upon his most trusted servant Mrs. Winkler leaving her some instructions to be followed, as he knew not where this dialogue will lead them. And then proceeded towards his study room to see Duke. He entered room proudly with his head held high and determination in his eyes watching Duke pacing angrily.

- Where is she, - hissed Duke Richards watching Mr. Sinclaire.

- How would I know, where is Lady Elizabeth, - he asked defiantly, his eyes became dark daringly looking straight into Duke’s eyes siting behind the desk, - I left the ball at first convenience and why wouldn’t I? You once again showed what dishonourable man you are. You claimed the woman who didn’t want anything to do with you after you tried take liberties against her will.

- This little minx wanted this, - smirked Duke satisfied with a reaction his words caused.

- The same way Mary wanted this, - Ernest hissed, his fists clenched, his back tense and his eyes are dark with suppressed rage towards the man in front of him.

- She was sweet, wasn’t she? - Duke laughed darkly, - Sweet little Mary…, - added he mockingly.

Mr. Sinclaire’s heart sank recalling memory of a young girl he found on the streets of London, the one who was like a little sister to him.

This was late summer when he took his usual walk through the streets of London taking his usual route. It was enjoyable quite evening, when suddenly he heard someone calling for help. He ran to the cries watching a man in a dark frock coat run away scared by his footsteps echoing through the streets, leaving an unconscious young girl lying on the streets of London with her olive floral dress torn down, basket of flowers scattered around and her face covered in bruises. He could see carriage with familiar crest on it sweeping quickly past him, while he rushed to the girl crashing on his knees and helping to lift her up. Ernest gasped when recognition washed over him and he carefully swept the strand of sunkissed blond hairs from her face and looked into emerald eyes swallowed by tears.

-Mary… Mary wake up… I pray you, Mary, - he murmured, while his blue sky eyes filled with burning tears. His fingers gently stroked the girl’s cheek, desperately hopping to see her eyes fly open.

His hands clenched into tight fists angrily pressed into a table when he abruptly stands up. His heart racing, eyes angrily look at Duke Richards, mouth pressed into a thin line. All his hatred restrained during these years was ready to break free and make sure the satisfaction will be finally granted. He despised this man with all his might ready to wash away the disgrace of his friend’s family with blood. But before he could do anything the door fly open, revealing a young man on the threshold with dirty blond hairs and emerald eyes. His eyes shifted between Mr. Sinclaire and Duke Richards observing both men and darkening when he seen the latter. He swiftly approached Ernest firmly placing his hand on tensed shoulder squeezing it reassuringly feeling the muscles relax under his touch.

- My dearest friend, you know better than anyone else that I would love this rat’s blood to be spilled. He deserves this for every crime he committed known or unknown, - young man said calmly with his head held high and proud, - but I know for sure, that Mary wouldn’t want us to pay this price. I pray you, don’t do this, for her. Let him run as a coward he is.

They could see how Duke Richards’ face have been changed in a silent fury, his lips tensed into a thin line, eyes almost black, but says nothing.

- Duke Richards, I believe this is your turn to leave. Now, - spoke a young man not leaving his burning eyes from Duke’s face.

- Sinclaire, this is far from over, - hissed Duke Richards’ before taking his leave from the study.

Watching Duke to leave the young man turned to finally face Ernest smile upon his lips.

- So my friend, I don’t believe you would send me just to watch his Cowardness to fly away? On a more serious note, Mrs. Winkler informed me, that you needed some services of mine and my father. You know we are forever in your depts. So please, don’t hesitate and just name it.

- Dear Albert, you can’t even imagine how glad I’m to see you, - exclaimed Ernest wrapping young man into embrace, - but please, don’t be alarmed on my account. Make yourself at home my dear friend, while I will excuse myself to see someone dear to my heart, before I can explain you everything.

With this Ernest nods to his friend and quickly heads to the exit from his study. As soon as he is out he increases his pace and run up the staircase ignoring all rules of decorum and a carefree laugh following him through the hallways.

#ernest sinclaire #d&d #desire and decorum #mr sinclaire #mr. sinclaire #mr. sinclaire x mc #long post

40 notes · View notes

sanders-specs · 6 years

Text

I’ll Be Home chapter 1

Summary: All Roman and Logan want to do is get home for Christmas. They'd been away from their boyfriends for months on separate jobs, and are looking forward to getting home. Neither one of them will let some blizzard get in their way, even though Patton and Virgil insist they stay put. The lengths they'll go to get home is great, even if it means facing mother nature at her worst.

A/N: This is a bit...different for me, I guess. Maybe it’s just the writer in me or the type of writer I am. Anyway. This is my first time writing a poly relationship, so I hope it’s interpreted well. If not, call me out on it. I don’t mind.

Paring: LAMP/polysanders

Warnings: anxiety, sadness, homesickness (if i missed one, please let me know)

Read on Ao3

Tag list: @irish-newzealand-idian-dutch @dan-yuna

“Okay I think I got everything,” Patton says, shouldering the door open with his arms filled with grocery bags.

“Whoa, Patton, I didn’t think you were going to get this much stuff!” Virgil exclaims, hurrying over to help his boyfriend. “I don’t think the four of us can eat this much, Pat.”

“Roman and Logan are coming home today!” Patton says, heading towards the kitchen. “I want to make sure that I have everything they love. It has to be perfect.”

Virgil shakes his head, following Patton to the kitchen.

Today was the day their other two boyfriends, Roman and Logan, were supposed to come home after months of being away. Roman had been traveling with his theater company, and Logan had been away overseas for his job—teaching English in Italy, something they all agreed he shouldn’t pass up, even though Logan had been hesitant to go so far away. Patton and Virgil had missed both of them like crazy and couldn’t wait to have them home for Christmas.

You’d think that having two of them away for so long, their relationship would crumble. Somehow, though, it felt stronger. They’d all video chatted at least twice a day (or they’d tried). Once when Logan was going to bed, again with just Roman, Patton, and Virgil when they were going to bed. No matter how late it got for Roman on show nights, the other two would always wait up for him.

Logan, on his part, always made sure that there was some kind of good morning message waiting for all of them. Sometimes, when one or all of them couldn’t sleep, they’d talk with him as he went through his morning routine.

No matter what they all made time for each other. They knew that the distance between them couldn’t dwindle their love for each other. If anything, it made it stronger with the ache of missing them.

So Virgil couldn’t blame Patton for going overboard. He was just as excited for Roman and Logan to get back. He could finally—finally—have all of his boyfriends back in his arms again. The two of them had spent the past few days decorating the house for Christmas, making sure to put up all of Roman’s and Logan’s favorite decorations, hanging up their stockings in their preferred spot (Roman liked to have his in the middle while Logan liked his one the end). The only thing they hadn’t done was decorate the tree. That was an activity saved for the four of them to do together.

“When’s Logan’s plane supposed to land?” Virgil ask, hopping onto the island in their kitchen.

Patton checked his watch. “Any moment, now actually. He’s got a connecting flight in Boston, though, remember?”

Virgil groans. “Didn’t he just have one of those?”

“Yes, in Portugal,” Patton says, sending Virgil a small smile. “He said he’d call when he landed. Roman shouldn’t be too far away either.”

Virgil couldn’t stop the excitement from bubbling inside of him. Finally, they’d be together again, and just in time for Christmas!

“Hey, help me put everything away would you?” Patton asks sweetly, batting his eyelashes at Virgil.

Virgil rolls his eyes. “If I have to.”

Patton smiles and leans over to kiss Virgil’s cheek in thanks as they start putting the groceries away.

The sound of Skype had both Patton and Virgil running for the computer. They accepted the call and Roman’s smiling face appeared. He was in a car, his headphones in and his red sparkly beanie tugged down over his ears.

“There are my two beautiful darlings,” Roman says.

“Ro!” Patton exclaims. “Where are you?”

Roman chuckles. “Getting closer with every mile, my love. I just missed your lovely faces and voices.”

“You’re such a sap, you know that?” Virgil says.

“And who was the one who woke me up in the middle of the night at least once a week just to hear my voice?” Roman asks.

Virgil feels a blush spread on his cheeks. “Shut up.”

Roman grins. “You know I never minded, Virgil,” he says gently, knowing that he needed to reassure Virgil when it comes to teasing.

Virgil gives a small smile. “I know.”

Patton laces his fingers with Virgil’s. “When do you think you’ll be here, Ro?” He asks.

Roman looks up, as if trying to calculate the miles. “I don’t know, honestly. We’ve hit a bit of traffic which has slowed us down.”

Patton groans, making Roman chuckle.

“Do not worry, my loves, I will make it back to you before nightfall.”

“That’s toooo looonnng,” Virgil complains.

Roman makes a face at him and Patton nudges him a little, laughing. “Can’t you two just be nice to each other for once?” Patton asks, though with a fond smile on his lips that showed he wasn’t really that annoyed.

“What’s the fun in that?” Virgil asks.

“At least we keep things interesting,” Roman points out. “Speaking of keeping things interesting, what’s the word on Logan? He hasn’t texted me yet.”

Patton checked his watch and frowned. “His plane should’ve landed by now,” he mutters. “Hold on, I’ll pull up the tracker.”

“You know, out of context, that could sound very creepy,” Virgil says offhandedly.

Patton rolls his eyes, ignoring Virgil and pulling out his phone. It took a moment, but eventually he got up Logan’s plane.

“Oh, they just landed!” Patton announces. “Logan probably hasn’t had time to turn his phone back on yet.”

“Ugh, the nerd needs to hurry up! I haven’t heard his voice in two days!” Roman groans. The past two days, roman had been too busy to have a proper video chat/phone call with Logan. The last two shows had taken up nearly all of his time. He’d just barely managed to call Patton and Virgil to tell them goodnight, but of course by then, Logan would’ve already been fast asleep.

“Be patient Roman,” Patton says gently.

“Nooo,” Roman whines, “I already have to deal with being able to touch any of you. Being able to hear you and see you like this is all I have!”

Hearing him say that sent a thrill through Virgil. And an ache. He missed his boyfriends so much. He just wanted them home and in his arms again. That was all he wanted for Christmas this year (he’d never actually tell Roman that, because without a doubt his boyfriend would just break out into Mariah Carrie).

The three of them chatted while they waited for Logan—Patton had already sent a text to tell him to get on as soon as he was able, so all they had to do was wait. As they were talking, though, Virgil happened to look out the window.

“It’s snowing!” he exclaims.

Patton looks up too, and they both looked at the very sudden white flakes fluttering down. “Snow?” Roman asks, sounding a bit nervous.

“Yeah,” Patton says. “It’s…it’s really coming down too.”

Roman waves away Patton’s concerned tone. “I’m sure it’s just the kind that melts as soon as it hits the ground! It’s probably just a flutter. It’ll be fine.”

Patton nodded. “Yeah…yeah you’re probably right…”

Vigil wasn’t too sure, though. They’d been living here for so long that by now they knew what heavy snow looked like. The kind that you’d be shoveling off your driveway for a week and make the roads impossible to go on.

“Honey, stop it,” Patton’s gentle voice cuts through Virgil’s slowly growing concerns. He looked down and realized he’d been scratching his arm even though it hadn’t been itching. It was something he did whenever he was really nervous or scared. Patton takes Virgil’s hand in his own, scooting closer to him.

“Do not fret, my love,” Roman says. “I will make it to you, snow or not!”

Virgil tightens his hold on Patton’s hands, resisting the urge to pull away and start scratching again, or pick at his nails or clothes. Patton held on tightly as well, rubbing a reassuring thumb over Virgil’s knuckles. “Promise?” Virgil asks.

“I swear it!” Roman says, sounding more confident than he probably felt. Virgil appreciated it though, and managed a small smile.

Just then, another window popped up, and Logan’s pixelated face appeared.

“Logan!” they all chimed happily. Logan held the phone close to his body, the sounds of airport very loud and prominent. He was obviously walking somewhere, but he did give them all a smile.

“Hello, dears,” he says.

“Looogggannnn,” Roman whines, “I miss you.”

“I miss you too, Roman,” Logan says, “and Patton, and Virgil, before you two start complaining.”

“Hey it’s no fun if you don’t let us complain,” Virgil says, feeling himself relax a little when Logan rolled his eyes.

“But they got to talk to you the past two days. I didn’t,” Roman says with a pout.

“We did talk, Roman,” Logan points out. “You bombarded us with pictures, if I recall. In the middle of my class, too.”

“Yeeaahhh sorry about that,” Roman says sheepishly.

“Don’t be. My students were all very fascinated by the scenery and were even able to put some of their lessons to the test. However, the guitar one was a bit hard to explain.”

Roman giggled and Patton and Virgil just smiled fondly, remembering the incident. Roman had been in Tennessee and had been doing a bit of sight-seeing during his lunch break and had sent a bunch of pictures to their group chat. Logan had been in the middle of a class, and hadn’t hesitated to let him know that. A few minutes after Roman had sent multiple apologies and Patton and Virgil had laughed at him for it, Logan had told them that he was projecting the phone for the whole class to see the pictures, which, of course, caused the three of them to indirectly start talking with the class.

“You know what I mean, dork,” Roman says.

Logan smiles. “Yes, I know. I apologize.”

“There’s nothing you need to be sorry about,” Patton says. “None of us can control time zones.”

“I suppose you’re right, Patton,” Logan says with a sigh.

“Logan when do you think you’ll be home?” Virgil asks, not being able to help himself. He kept glancing at the window, watching the snowfall become more and more heavy.

“I do not know,” Logan says. “There is some pretty bad snowfall up here.”

“Ah, Logan—”

“So you don’t know if you’ll be home?” Virgil asks, panic slowly growing.

Logan’s eyes widened as he realized his mistake. “No no no, I wasn’t saying that, love. I will still make it home in time for Christmas. It just might not be as soon as we had anticipated.”

Patton gripped Virgil’s hands, and Virgil couldn’t take his eyes from the window. What if they didn’t make it? Christmas was in three days, it was entirely possible that the snow could keep them away that long.

“Virgil, love, look at us,” Logan’s voice, gentle yet demanding, said. Still, though, Virgil couldn’t look away. He heard Logan sigh. “Patton?”

Gentle hands were on his face, then, pulling his head away from the window. Patton cupped his opposite cheek, then pressed three quick kisses onto the one closest to him. One for each of them.

“Do not fret, darling,” Roman says. “Nothing will keep us from you! I will walk the entire way home if I have to!”

“Please don’t,” Virgil says. “I don’t want you to get hypothermia. I couldn’t kiss you then.”

“Hmmm yes you’re right,” Roman says. “That would be a problem.”

Virgil grinned, Roman smirking back at him. The moment was broken, though, by a very loud voice on Logan’s side. It was hard to distinguish what the voice said, but Logan frowned.

“What is it Lo?” Patton asks.

Logan glances over at them. “I’m sure it’s nothing. I do have to go for a moment to double check something. I will return in a moment.”

“Alright,” roman says. “hurry back!”

Logan gives them all a smile before leaving the call.

Logan sighs and tucks his phone into his jacket pocket, grabbing his suitcase, and joining the long line of people in front of the help desk. There were dozens of flights canceled because of the heavy snow storm that was hitting the northeast. Logan prayed that his flight wouldn’t be one of them. he was homesick and desperately missed his boyfriends. He was jetlagged and quite frankly ready to sleep in his own bed again, preferably while cuddled up with Patton, Virgil, and Roman.

Once it was his turn to talk to the worker, he politely told her his flight number and whether it would be taking off at the estimated time today. He then waited patiently for her to pull it up, only to tell him that no, unfortunately that flight has been canceled until the snow storm has passed.

“Is there an estimated date then?” Logan asks, trying very hard to keep his own panic and dread from setting in.

“I’m sorry sir, there’s no telling. We’ll keep an eye on the storm, but it looks like it’s going to stick around for a few days.”

Logan sighs, biting his lip. He looks up at all the flights on the board behind her, finding his own, and seeing the red canceled letters beside it.

“Do you, perchance, know of a different way to get to Virginia?” Logan asks. “I’m expected home soon, and I’d rather not disappoint my family.”

The worker gave a tight smile, but she pulled up a piece of paper and wrote down the directions to a train station. “I can’t guarantee they will have a ticket available at such short notice.”

“it will have to do. Thank you,” Logan says, taking the paper and studying it. He put the company into his phone and saw, thankfully, that they still had available seats. Albeit not ideal seats, but a seat nonetheless. He wasted no time buying one for himself and started to make his way out of the airport.

Only when he was in a taxi to the train station did he pull his phone back out to return to the call.

“Hey Lo,” they all chime.

“What happened? Where are you?” Roman asks.

“There has been a slight change of plans,” Logan says.

“What do you mean?” Patton asks.

“My flight was canceled due to the snow storm. However,” Logan says quickly, seeing Virgil’s eyes widen and Roman and Patton’s faces fall slightly, “I have found a different mode of transportation home.”

“What are you doing, Logan?” Patton asks.

Logan opened his mouth to answer, but just then the taxi went through a tunnel and the call dropped.

“Great,” Logan says, leaning head back with a sigh.

“Sorry bout that,” the taxi driver says.

“It’s not your fault,” Logan says, closing his eyes. He could picture the scene that awaited him at him. Patton and Virgil would have decorated everything already. Patton would have made all of Logan and Roman’s favorite treats. They’d have movies picked out, and have everything ready for a movie night. It’d be Christmas movies, of course. They’d all cuddle together and finally be together again. Roman would sing the Christmas songs too loudly and they’d tell him to hush, but they’d all love it no matter what.

Logan felt an ache in his chest. He wasn’t one to show his emotions so much, but being away from his loves for so long had tested a whole new level of control for him. When he’d been at work, he’d had something to distract himself with. Italy provided many different distractions in its art and architecture, but whenever Logan had gone sight-seeing, all he been able to think about was how much his boyfriends would love to be there. He saw Patton in every overly enthusiastic tourist taking pictures of literally everything they could, even if it was just a fountain or a restaurant. He saw Roman in every street performer and artist (he would join with them, Logan had no doubt). He saw Virgil in the people quietly walking the streets, silently taking in everything about the city. He could hear all the puns Patton would make about Roman being in Rome, and how he and Virgil would lovingly roll their eyes at him, even if Roman took a bit of offense to it.

Logan smiled at the image, but it just made the homesickness worse. He slumped down in his seat in the taxi, slightly surprised to find tears on his cheek. He quickly cleared his throat and brushed them away. He’d be with them soon. He couldn’t forget that.

The taxi exited the tunnel and Logan got signal again. He saw, though, that his battery was low. Perhaps reading on his phone before his flight in Portugal had not been the best idea. He sent a quick text saying that he was going to be home, that they shouldn’t worry, and that he loved them so, so much. He told them he had to save his battery and that he would talk with them later.

He turned his phone off and put it away, settling in for the rest of his ride to the train station.

Chapter 2

#christmas countdown #sanders sides #roman sanders #logan sanders #patton sanders #virgil sanders #fanfiction #my fic #i'll be home #lamp #anxiety #homesickness

86 notes · View notes

save-jacksepticeye · 6 years

Text

Turning Back Time

A/N: So I wrote this mainly because I was bored, and I figured I’d post it. I’m warning you now that it’s pretty gory, because I’ve wanted to get back to writing horror and gore, so if that’s not your thing, I suggest you move on.

“Come on, Jack! Let’s hear that mantra of yours again,” Anti taunted. Jack stood in front of him, suspended from wire-thin, iridescent strings. He slumped heavily against them, not even reacting as they dug into his skin, sending rivulets of blood running down his bare arms. “Positive! Mental! Attitude! Isn’t that what you tell your fans to do when they’re feeling down?” He chuckled. There was a sharp burst of static-noise and Anti’s head jerked from side to side, leaving pixelated copies hanging in the air.

Jack drew in a wheezing breath and tried to lift his head, only to drop it as he succumbed to a coughing fit, hacking up a glob of blood and mucus. Anti fiddled with his knife, waiting for Jack to finish before stepping closer. The blade flashed and Jack cried out in agony as it bit into the bare skin of his chest, every muscle in his body tensing against his bonds. He was weak, emaciated, his body stained with his own blood, some old, some new. Scars criss-crossed his skin like some macabre mosaic.

“That’s more like it. That’s the loud Irishman we all know and love!” Another flash of the now-reddened blade, another agonized scream. This time, the blade caught him in the ribs and dug deep. Anti relished the feeling of his knife scraping the bone. Hot blood coursed from the wound and Anti licked his lips, partly in satisfaction, partly in anticipation for what was still to come.

This time, when Anti stepped away, Jack was able to raise his head and look him in the eye. Jack was almost unrecognizable under the bruises and scars and fresh cuts. Nevertheless, the familiar blue eyes gazed out, boring into Anti before shifting to the camera set up to the demon’s left. It was trained on him, red dot blinking, reminding Jack eerily of an eye. And why shouldn’t it? After all, they were watching, no doubt. Time was different in the void than it was on the outside, and he was certain that this video was already up, and his community, his poor community, was watching with not the faintest clue in the world that what they were seeing wasn’t fake.

“Please,” he croaked. His voice was so quiet he wasn’t sure if it would even pick up on the recording. “Please help me. This is not a–” He cut off as Anti pressed the blade of his knife into the soft flesh of his stomach, his breath hitching in his throat. He braced himself for the pain, but he still cried out when Anti drew the blade across his skin, this time agonizingly slow.

“Help,” he said, louder this time, his voice cracking from the strain. “Please, you have to help me, help us!” While he spoke, Anti circled him, planning out his next move, no doubt, or maybe he was enjoying his feeble attempts to cry out. Jack let his head drop, too exhausted and light-headed from the blood loss to do much else. He groaned as the hilt of the knife cracked against the back of his skull, blasting stars across his vision and igniting a painful throbbing in his head.

“We’re not done yet, Jackaboy,” Anti whispered in his ear. “Oh, we are far from finished.” He snapped his fingers and his knife disappeared, replaced with a scalpel. Another snap of his fingers, and a figure came shambling out of the shadows, feet dragging as they lurched forward. Jack’s eyes widened in horror when he saw the iridescent light of the strings wrapped around their limbs. They pulled and tugged, turning the figure into a walking meat puppet.

“Jesus, no,” he breathed. “Not Schneep too. Oh God.” Tears pricked at the corners of his eyes, unbidden, as he gazed at what used to be his friend. Now, he stared ahead with sightless, cloudy eyes, his white doctor’s coat and his blue mask stained red with his own blood. There was a blank, slack-jawed expression on his face, and for a minute, Jack wasn’t sure if he was dead or alive.

Schneeplestein’s milky eyes shifted to him as he was brought to a stop directly in front of him. Jack thought he could see a glimmer of life behind the dead eyes, something desperate, calling out to anyone who would listen, and he realized Schneeplestein was still aware. Somewhere deep down, he knew what was happening, but he couldn’t stop it. He was trapped, forced to watch.

A tug of a string, and he held out his hand to Anti. Schneeplestein’s eyes shifted to his hand as Anti placed the scalpel in it. His fingers slowly curled around the scalpel.

“Doctor, your patient is waiting,” Anti crooned. Schneep swung his head around, once again fixing Jack with his dead eyes, and lurched forward, scalpel held out in front of him. Jack squirmed uncomfortably and tugged at his bonds. By then, his wrists were numb, and he felt nothing as fresh blood ran down his arms. Pain still flared in his torso, however, and he grimaced.

“I’m so sorry, Schneep,” Jack croaked, “I–” He broke off as another coughing fit wracked his body. He drew in a wheezing breath and continued. “Whatever you do, I know it’s not you. It’s not your fault.” His voice cracked and darkness pressed at the edges of his vision. He was running out of time. He would die again, and Anti would turn back the clock for another round of torment, continuing the never-ending cycle of pain he’d been enduring since Halloween.

Jack was dragged out of his thoughts as the scalpel sunk into his shoulder and he gave a weak cry. It dragged across his chest, making a thin line from armpit to armpit. Down the middle of his chest. Scraping bone. Barely avoiding evisceration. Anti frowned, his body flickering like a lightbulb, and took a step towards Schneeplestein.

Then, he started grinning again. “Lost your nerve, eh? We can fix that.” He snapped his fingers and the strings around Schneeplestein’s arms and neck tightened, digging into his skin. Blood oozed from the new wounds.

The scalpel sliced through Jack’s skin again, deeper this time. A deep, throbbing agony flared throughout his body as a torrent of his blood and guts fell to the floor with a wet slap. He didn’t have enough energy left to scream, so he groaned and clenched his fists, making one last, weak attempt to tear at his bonds.

Jack didn’t even register it when the scalpel in Schneeplestein’s hand disappeared, replaced with a bone saw. All he knew was that he was going to die, and then the other egos would be next. Whatever happened to them would be his fault. He wasn’t strong enough to keep Anti at bay, wasn’t strong enough to save them.

He felt his life slipping away, pouring out onto the ground with his insides. He was able to give one last, longing, desperate look at the camera before his vision faded completely and everything went black.

Jack woke with a start in his bed, his skin covered in a fine sheen of sweat. His heart was pounding, threatening to burst out of his chest as he gazed around the room with wide, frightened eyes. With a shaky hand, he felt his torso, and he let out a shaky breath when he found everything intact. Not for the first time, he wondered if it was all nothing more than a terrible nightmare.

“Sean?” He started at the sound of Signe’s voice. “Sean, what’s wrong?” She rolled over and gazed at him, concern in her eyes. He pulled himself up and ran a clammy hand through his hair.

“I…yeah,” he said, “Yeah, just another nightmare. It’s no big deal.” Signe’s brow creased with worry.

“That’s the third one this month. Are you sure you don’t want to go see a doctor or something?” He met her eyes as she propped herself up on one elbow, and instantly felt bad for making her worry.

“I’m fine.” He put as much sincerity into his voice as he could, even though he was far from okay. The nightmares were beginning to get to him, if they even were nightmares. Some part of him deep down knew that these were too vivid, too real to be dreams. But he didn’t want to worry Signe. “You don’t need to worry, I promise.” He took her hand and squeezed it reassuringly.

Signe didn’t look convinced, but she didn’t argue. “Okay,” she said, “But Sean?”

“Yeah?”

“Promise you’ll tell me if it gets any worse?” Leaning forward, Jack planted a light kiss on her forehead.

“I promise.” He gave her hand one last squeeze and rolled over. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t fall back asleep. Images haunted him, endless visions of torture, pain, and death, flashing through his mind and jolting him awake when he was almost asleep. He tried hard to convince himself it was just stress, but he found himself unable to believe it.

He tensed when he felt a cold breath on the back of his neck, and a static-laced voice whispered in his ear, “Until next time, my little puppet.”

A/N: One thing you should know is that I love author notes too much. And if you read this whole thing, thank you so much, and please tell me what you think! I’d love feedback.

#jacksepticeye #jacksepticeye egos #antisepticeye #dr schneeplestein #save dr schneep #antisepticeye imagines #tw: gore #gore #creek’s imagines

23 notes · View notes

stone-man-warrior · 3 years

Text

Duplicate because the account is hijacked again, cannot make necessary editing because of terror hijack of the account:

===================================================

February 5, 2021: 4:33 pm:

I have been placed into the Jesus Gauntlet, it's been underway for three days now, since Tuesday night when the initial assassin attacked me in my driveway. That one is believed to have been Sean Sparacino. The assassin was wearing Pixel Suit electronic invisible, wearable video screen costume that operates with an array of built in cameras that are arranged to display the area that is towards the back of the suit, onto the front of the suit, such that a skilled assassin is able to hide within brush, or anywhere in such a way the when the victim approaches the area, there is nothing to see other than the items or brush that is present in the area where the suit is worn. Usually, the assassin crawl on the ground to achieve maximum stealth camouflage, then the (they) stand up at the moment of the attack, or, simply extend a sword such that the victim will trip over it while the assassin is crouched low, near the ground, blending in, not casting a shadow. The sword or any other items the assassin has is visible, but are camouflaged differently. Head, hands, and feet remain visible, but are camouflaged differently for maximum stealth.

Sean Sparacino, or who ever it was that night lost his head when I saw the sword, still in the scabbard, grabbed it, turned it around and cut the assassins head off, then thrust the sword into the assassins neck, and placed his head onto the handle of the sword.

Sean became a Joe Biden Bobble Head Doll.

His nitrous oxide tank ignited, and launched to the other side of my yard, nearby 520 Jackpine in the woods, when I lit my lighter after defending. After that, I went to check my mailbox, and wrote about the conditions of the neighborhood, and some other stuff about Shane Welsh.

I needed to go to Pain Specialists of Southern Oregon on Wednesday, and they are the people who initiated and set the Jesus Gauntlet into motion.

The ride to Medford was filled with obstacles and many terror soldiers were positioned along the route to Medford. Once I arrived at the Pain Center of Southern Oregon, I had to knock on the door to be allowed to go into the clinic after I said who I was and that I was there for appointment with Paul Leppert. There was confusion as I entered the office to check in, as one by one the staff came into the waiting area to look at who I was, and one by one all of them said: “That's not Sean” and “But where is Sparacino?” and a small frenzy of activity took place behind the wall in the exam room area.

Once I was inside of the exam room, room #2, after the 450 pound male nurse took my blood pressure (151/93), that is when a sword came through the wall from exam room #3, down low, in the far right corner of the room, behind the chair I was seated in while waiting for the doctor to arrive. That is the fourth time I have encountered the sword that gets thrust through the wall at the chair where I was seated. It comes through and is moving around a little, to my right. So, I have a way of dealing with just exactly that kind of attack, I can't say how for my own safety in the future, but I was able to take the sword, make a slightly bigger hole in the wall, and pull the sword through the wall completely. I set it down on my coat and waited for the doctor while listening carefully to activity in the adjoining room and hallway, and I lit my Bic Lighter often while doing that. Paul Leppert thought he had stuck me with the sword, since it went all the way through the wall, so, he comes in saying: “So! How bad is it?” referring to the sword wound that he thought I had.

The sword was in my coat on the exam table, out of view. I showed Leppert that rash I have, and he refused to treat that, said I need to go to a different doctor, or hospital, or urgent care to have treatment remedy for that rash, which is worsening at rapid pace.

The appointment only consisted of Paul doing electronic prescription to Walgreen's for one medicine that I have been seeing him regularly for about six years at regular intervals, and that only serves as a means to alert other assassins to come to my home to do a “Kill & Replace” because I am a Medicare patient and have a fixed income that can be perpetuated after the kill, and when the kill is successful, my health records then would be used to furnish SAG members with “MAX Medicare Part D” into a terror system of a “drug pool” they call “Club Med” as I have documented about in great detail.

During the appointment, Paul Leppert began to play role of both doctor and patient, he asked some questions, and then answered the questions he had asked. He was in contact with others outside of the exam room with use of hidden communications device. Paul was in contact with that very large 450 pound male nurse, and was also in contact with others, I could hear some of the sounds of the voices whispering back to him.

I had forgotten about the sword that came through the wall by the time Leppert used the in room computer to do the proscription. After that, and begging for treatment of that very painful rash I have and being refused to have treatment provided for that, he was ready to leave the room, about fifteen minutes had passed, so, I went to put on my coat, saw the sword, remembered all of the other times the fucking sword has come through the wall, and Paul asked: “where is the sword?”, so, I picked it up, and ran him through with his own sword, vertically, from sternum downward, and that ruptured the nitrous oxide tank he carries rectally holstered, the gas was thick in the room and hallway after that.

Paul announced: “I am going left” as he exited the exam room with the sword lodged in him.

That is the seventh time I have defended against Paul Leppert with his own sword, I have run him through with his sword in defense on six previous occasions, some of that is documented in this account here on Tumblr. The son of bitch keeps healing to attack me again later on, he has his own private little hospital next door called Crater Lake Surgery Center, and he and other terror soldiers are able to get the very best medical treatment there is, while the US Citizens are exterminated at the Asante Hospitals. Asante has taken control of all of the medical clinics and hospitals. Asante is the leading murderous terror cell in Oregon currently.

In the hallway, Paul went to Exam Room #6 while saying that he had been run through, and some nurses went in their to treat his wound.

I waited to get my new appointment for next time there at the back office nurse station, and that very big male nurse came out of Exam Room #4 directly behind me as the nurse in front of me ducked under the service counter, and that big nurse shot me in the head with a .25 caliber gun, the ones I have written much about, have no barrel, the bullet brass is the barrel. So that bullet bounced off my head, and the other female nurse began to sign my name on some documents that I was supposed to sign.

She asked me why I did not fall over when that nurse shot me, and she explained that she had signed the documents for me because she thought my hand had been cut when I grabbed the sword that came through the wall in the exam room.

I was told I needed to provide a urine sample, so I did, and was shot again by a female who went into the opposite restroom after taking the shot. The bullet bounced off my coat, and I just went into the restroom to do the urine sample wishing that national security would show up to see what kinds of poisons show up in the urine sample.

There was much activity on the way out of the Pain Specialists of Southern Oregon, a whole bunch of Canadian terror soldiers and SDA fake patients showed up there by the time I left the building, and when I did leave, the exit was locked, no one could leave, so I had to wait for a receptionist to unlock the door so I could go to the pharmacy, and then go home. Two special assassins in a black late model pick up truck w/crew cab dark short hair and short beards each about 40 years old, had just arrived as I was leaving out of the office door.

The ride home was filled with obstacles, there was at least two state police in shoulder of the freeway on the way back to Grants Pass … they were not interested in me or what happened at the terror doctor. Every time I defend and kill terrorists at the terror doctor, I wind up passing by at least one State Police car on the return trip home.

I went to Grants Pass Walgreen's on William's Hwy. There, more terror happened, and at least one terror soldier ignited and burst into bits in the pharmacy behind the service counter, it was one of the Pharmacy Technicians, but was not, instead, it was a special assassin operative, I think I know who that was, a woman by the name of Chey Bickers, if so, she is white, about 58 years old, blond shoulder length “Bob” haircut, about 5'4' tall, about 150 lbs, has a very gravelly voice, used to drive a older white Toyota truck w/shell and bumper sticker that says: “If this truck is speeding, it's stolen”. Ms. Bickers is associated with the County Courts terror cell, and also is close with Sean Sparacino as a Li'l Pantry terror cell special operative. Chey used to own a clothing store called “Chey Boutique” next to Li'l Pantry in Merlin Oregon next to Mikey's Video Rental.

At Walgreen's, they sell some small 1/32 scale toy cars that I have been collecting, and I bought three of them along with my prescription, one of the toy cars is made by a different manufacturer than any of the others that I have seen, it's a 1960's Batmobile, made in Vietnam, rather than China like the others are, that one has a hidden camera inside of it, so, I put that one on my kitchen window long enough to see that BBC news on Twitter was making some Tweets that seemed to be in response to having put the car camera in the window, so I moved the Batmobile Camera car to a different window, and again, BBC news seemed to have made a comment about the car camera in the window, this time, after moving the car camera to a window by my front door, they seemed happy about that location, so, I put the Batmobile car camera into the refrigerator where it is looking at a jar of Olives.

Since the Walgreen's visit, a whole bunch of terror soldiers have come to my home, today they were on the roof of my house blowing poison gasses into my chimney. There were others on Jackpine using a tractor in my driveway, and the truck & trailer for that was parked at Chartrands 376 Jackpine, was a brand new unlicensed Ford F-350 (or F-250) with crew cab, dual wheel, black, and had a tilting tractor hauling trailer attached to it when I went to Walmart earlier today.

I don't want to talk any more about Walmart right now, conditions are the same, the place is filled with Canadian terror soldiers who fog the aisles with nitrous oxide so that the victims will be primed for take out at the checkstand, same as has been the case for two decades.

The Jesus Gauntlet is still underway, however the assassins are coming to my house, I don't need to go anywhere to run this part of the Gauntlet.

All in all, I estimate that twenty terror soldiers have been killed as a result of this weeks Jesus Gauntlet so far, I only wrote about the highlights.

No help has come, there are no signs of helpful people anywhere.

Please send help.

Please send US Military.

Bring your own Hospital.

Be prepared for poison gasses, study this account, be prepared for 50,000 armed terror soldiers in Josephine county, and additional 75,000 armed terror soldiers in Jackson county. Their weapons are concealed, and small, mostly is airborne gasses and .25 caliber guns, but they have an air force and rail road systems, and trucking services that can bring and deploy many soldiers, various airborne gasses, and larger weaponry on very short notice.

Millions of terror soldiers throughout the state of Oregon.

Millions more are in California.

(Millions = 1,000,000 plus more ... )

I am the last remaining US Citizen in the state of Oregon. All of the others are either dead, or are held captive as slaves.

Please bring medical services.

There is no US national Guard any more, all of the US Guard were killed in around 2002-2004, the bases are occupied by Canadian impostors, the officers there are Screen Actor Guild trained actors who are able to fool other military officials.

Please send help. Study this account first. You must remove Twitter from the internet before the help is deployed or else the help will be fooled by a vast army commanded from Twitter.

(this entry written in external text editor)

===============================

6:54 pm:

At least four of the terror soldiers killed I suspect were California State Police Highway Patrol fake officers that are called “pigs”. It’s not a derogatory statement, “pig” is a rank among the terror army, and has been since it’s first use in reference to police.

On Twitter, the news stories this week about a “Chipageddon“, or a shortage of computer chips, is coded stories that are in reference to those CHP that were here at my house last night and the day before. There may still be some CHP terror cell members at Chartand 376 Jackpine, Clyde Baum’s at 333 Jackpine, at 315 Jackpine, and at Strong’s at 3747 Russell Road. They have been attacking from 520 Jackpine, and from “Donkey George” terror cell one house south of 3701 Russell Road.

I suspect at least two of the terror soldiers who were killed, to have been people from Arizona, specifically from the Arizona Mohave County Tax Assessors Office.

I also suspect some were from Pain Specialists of Southern Oregon and Walgreen‘s Pharmacy terror cells.

Many have died, killed in defense since Tuesday.

=====================================

7:19 pm:

(see previous post)

This is the rash that the terror doctor refuses to treat. This is caused by repeated exposure to poisons I am subject to that are blown into my house by the neighboring terror cells. This rash started out about the size of a dime five years ago at the same time when the Monroe’s moved in next door, and they brought with them a Nissan Quest Van, a black one with the logo for “A-1 Exterminator’s and Pest Control” on it. A-1 Exterminator’s is located on 7th St. in Grants Pass, and to my knowledge, no one who lives at Monroe’s works at A-1 Exterminator’s, yet the A-1 Van has been parked there for five years in the evenings and on weekends.

If you get a rash like this one on my ankle shown below, it is very painful, and it is the kind of rash that itches such that you keep scratching at it right through to the bone. The desire to scratch at that, is overwhelming.

They will poison you with gasses that make you have uncontrollable coughing fits, and a rash like that one, then someone will say you have Corona Virus, they will tell you to go to a hospital after the (they) poison you, and at the hospital is where the exterminate you permanently so that a Canadian SDA Terror soldier Christian Crusade Pirate can take your place at your own house, to prey on all of your family. Then, the bastards vote while using your name and voting status, for the shills that Screen Actor Guild puts on the voting ballots for every elected office there is, from County Water Master, to Parks & Recreation Director, to City Mayor, to County Sheriff, to State Governor, to US President.

It’s all fake voting. The Corona Virus is a mass murder scenario played out against the citizens by SAG news media, and the government elected officials that SAG already arranged into the offices of government by killing and replacing tens of millions of US Citizens over the past fifty years.

US Voters are all Canadians now.

There are no more real US Citizens any more, and if one shows up somewhere, the terror bastards track them down, and kill them.

==================

7:55 pm:

The CHP assholes are nearby right now, they have a remote control that can operate the courtesy lights and other electronics of vehicles that are equipped with on board engine computers that are California Emissions Control Compatible. The car does not have to be a “California Car”, just one that the factory installed a computer this is compliant with the special California Emissions rules. Part of what the CHP terror bastards can operate is to remove two cylinders from the firing order of the ignition system, with a remote control, to make your car run bad, and you will take it to a COVID take out exterminator service provider.

The courtesy lights just came on in my car in the driveway, by a California State Police Murder Pig, with a remote control, who is within about 500 - 1000 feet away from where I am. I have to go disconnect the battery, while down range from a murderous terror soldier who’s day job is as a California Highway Patrol.

I am in Oregon, yet the CHP came all this way to kill me, by orders from Joe Biden terror cell at the White House.

===========================

8:12 pm:

I remember learning about the two cylinders that are removed from the firing order in the electronic ignition system of California Emissions Compatible Vehicles from a CHP officer back when my family was held captive in 1998 - 2002 or so.

There is a radio controlled application called “Two in the bank of the heads” because the feature is secret knowledge, and every time someone is targeted and they make the six cylinder car run on only four cylinders, or an eight cylinder car run on only six cylinders, with use of a remote control pointed at cars that are fitted with California Compliant Onboard Engine Computers, the bastards make a lot of money when the car is taken to service station, and the terror CHP treasonous mass murderous CHP Pig kills the victims at the service station, and, the children and females are kept as sex slaves to please the terrorist California Canadian CHP Pig. The CHP terror Pigs empty the victims bank account, take all of the victims valuables, while the victims real estate is handed over to SAG terror HQ so a terror family cell replacement can move into the victims house.

The (They) take the women and children as slaves.

My car is 2002 model, has a California Compliant onboard computer from the Ford Factory installed when it was new, for the purpose of mass murder of US Citizens that long ago. My guess is the CHP Pig remote that works the vehicles has been part of “California Emissions” ever since the time the California Emissions was mandated.

That’s a long time, and a lot of dead US Citizens, because the baby is on fire, and there is no one watching the baby.

Who was California Governor at the time when the CA Emissions was mandated? Find him, give the son of bitch the Spanish Inquisition, Pronto. Then, take all of the US State governors and US Congressional members to Easter Island, and drop them off permanently. That is too good for them, but, something has to be done, and that is a humane and appropriate remedy given the circumstances and the shear numbers of terror bastards that will be taken to Easter Island once the truth is fully known.

That is why the application on the remote control is called “Two in the banks of the heads“. It’s for “Kill & Replace”, for a profit.

====================================

9:40 pm:

Today at the Grants Pass Oregon Walmart, was the same as every other time I have been there over the past twenty years, the same exact people, saying and doing the same exact things as the last time or other time I was there. The same people in the same places, dressed in the same clothing as the last time I was there, or other time. Today, the lady that hangs out in the coffee aisle and stands in the way, while looking at me and pointing at the largest size of Folgiers Coffee, and she says: “This size costs exactly the same at Costco as it does here. it’s $10 here and at Costco too, I don‘t drink coffee, but I am gonna get some just because it costs the same here as it does at Costco ... and because I live in Glendale”

That, happens often. That same lady, that same story about $10 Folgiers at the Costco, and that she lives in Glendale.

Same... same... same... same... same... saaaaaammmmmeeeee...

That is only one of many. The are all Canadian terror soldiers.

There was the young fat guy who looks exactly like the driver of the “Bekin’s Cross Town Movers Truck” that I reported about not long ago. I saw the Bekins Cross Town Movers Truck while on my way to Walmart, then, that guy who looks like the driver of that truck, is young, is fat, has a short black beard, is always staring at his smart phone, he follows me into the store, follows me to the Deodorant aisle, while staring at his phone, then continues to follow me around the store. That happens often, same guy, arrives at the same time I do, walks through the parking beside me about 30 feet away.... same, same, same, same...

There was the lady who shows up in the place where the Gold Bond is supposed to be, but is not on the shelf, so, she comments about what I am looking for, and I always say “They saw me come in the store, so they took everything I want to get off of the shelves” then she says “That is the same thing that happens to me when I come in to the store”. So, I point out: “Look, you can get ‘Monkey Butt Foot Powder, but not the Gold Bond” then she laughs about the Monkey Butt Powder product.

Same, same, same as the last time or other time I went to the Walmart.

I went to buy a camera in the electronic department, the same one that has been on display for years, I keep going there to the camera aisle to buy the non-wireless Canon Sure Shot for $129, but when the associate opens the case, that one is never there, the associate usually says the other Canon Sure Shot is there, the one with the Wireless feature, and I can buy that one, but today I cut him short, I got angry and told the terror bastard exactly what is happening and that he knows everything there is to know about the built in wireless spy device in all of the wireless capable cameras, that is what the wireless feature is put there for, to listen to what you are doing, all of the terror soldiers have a smart phone app that accesses the wireless from the cameras that are wireless equipped. The bastard tried to play innocent, says “We have not had this camera on display for as long as you say.... blah, blah.,, Christian terror innocent blahabababalalalala...”

Asshole.

Same, same, same as last time I got angry about the camera that you cannot purchase, and it was the same Walmart vested terror bastard who lied to me about the camera as last time I got angry about it.

There was more examples of Same, Same, Same..... same, as last time terror soldiers in the store today as there always is.

So at the checkout, I asked the yellow vested Walmart terror bitch if she could explain to me why every time I come into the store since 2002, the same people are saying and doing exactly the same things in the same places as was the last time I went to the Walmart... and it was innocent Christian terror bitch “I don‘t know what you are talking about... blahbalallalballalblahhhh” all over again.

That is when three terror Walmart yellow vest terror bitches all rushed at me real fast, came out of nowhere, surrounded me, and a fourth one was not far away... all they could do is keep interupting my question about the terror army fake shoppers, insisting that I put my mask back on, and then one of them gave me a paper mask...”You have to wear a COVID Mask,,, put the mask on...”

Assholes.

I am convinced that part of the mask mandate is to make sure national security cannot access the radio control capable cameras at the checkout register, so, they force the mask on everyone so the terror army cannot be identified positively. So, I am going to keep taking off the mask when I get to the Walmart Checkout while wishing for some help to come, maybe the nsa will stop jacking off soon, and access the radio controlled wireless cameras that are installed in the checkout registers at the Walmart, then, they will at least what I look like, and that I am not going to hide like a candy ass terror pansy,

I suggest all of the slave soldiers to remove the mask at a Walmart Checkout camera, so that nsa will see who you are to help everyone.

=============================================

10:29 pm:

“Greek Alphabet White House Terror Cell” Identification Update:

Greek alphabet update 2-4-2021:

Alpha = Donald Trump

Beta = Melania Trump

Gamma = Mike Pence

Delta = Karen Pence

Epsilon = Mike Pompeo

Zeta = Susan Pompeo

Eta = Kamila Harris-Emhof

Theta = Doug Emhof-Harris (suspect associotion to Asante Health Three Rivers Medical Center Emergency Room Dr. Janet Eoff and address at 598 Jackpine Dr. Grants Pass OR 97526)

I was able to determine that Kamala Harris and her husband are Greek Alphabet terror cell members.

Study this account and my suspended Twitter accounts to learn more about the Greek Alphabet WH terror cell, I think they call it: “Grecian Formula 16″, where “Grecian” is reference to “Grease”, not “Greece”.

Formula is reference to Medazolam/nitrous mixture.

and 16 is 1600 Pennsylvania Avenue, Washington DC.

==========================================

11:40 pm:

(there still is a Centuryink terror bastard from the Google/Centurylink/Tumblr internet terror consortium terror cell fucking with my computer over the internet. The Norton Symantec 360 LifeLock is used to for continuously turning off my number pad on the keyboard, I have to push the “num/lck” button every time I need to use a numeral.

The letter M is somehow interesting to the candy ass pansy at the Centurylink/Google terror cell, they are making it such that the M won‘t make an M unless I hold down the M and keep pushing the fucking thing until it makes an M.

All of this bullshit makes it very difficult to stay focused on the small, complex details I need to help you to save your own lives, so, please send help.)

At the Walmart Electronics special check out counter area there are three cash registers there and a large L shaped counter for service. There are some home security products there within view behind a wrought iron gate of a shelving unit, you can see the home security products are right there in front of you at the Walmart and that they are in stock. I challenge a national security officer to go into the Walmart without saying who you are, and you have to show up to Grants Pass completely secret for you to learn anything, you would have to come by car from a thousand miles away, otherwise they know who you are and you won’t learn anything. I challenge you to try to purchase a home security camera system at the Walmart in Grants Pass.

Heck, I challenge you to make an attempt to contact FBI to report terrorism in Oregon, but again, you would need to be completely one hundred percent anonymous and use a phone that is not a smart phone, just a regular cellular phone. You need to answer all of their questions honestly, and be at a location where you say you are when the FBI On Call Duty Agent answers the call at the FBI Field Office. You can call any of the five Oregon FBI Field Offices to learn this way, but, if you and your team look or behave in any way as if you might be real police, the terror scout children they send to cruise around where you are at will know, and they will report back to the FBI field office about who you are, and bring all of your vehicle ID to the terror FBI field office. You would need to absolutely be a real citizen, and, one who just fell off the bus so to speak, because there are no US Citizens in Oregon, and the terror bastards at FBI know that I am the last one, so, good luck with the challenge if you choose to accept it, there really is no way that it can work in such a way the real police could learn anything, unless you could arrive stealth, and as a US Citizen in every way.

I double dog dare you to use movie style makeup, to look like me, and go anywhere in Oregon, I’ll wager you last two hours before they capture you and cut your arms off to make you have sex with a horse.

What I wanted to say about the Walmart electronics counter is that at that counter there is a big sign that says: “Wireless” vertically, is a display banner at the corner of the L shaped service counter attached to a post. Also attached to the post is a smaller sign that says: “We card everyone for alcohol... etc.”

The thing about that is that it’s the only place in the store that has such an “We card for alcohol” sign, and, the only sign is at the electronics department checkout cash register.

What kind of bullshit do you suppose could happen when there is advertised “Wireless” and “We card for alcohol” at the same corner post at Walmart electronics department?

I wonder how many US Citizens the national security has wrongly arrested and thrown into the fake county jail in Josephine county? That jail is not a jail, it’s a extermination center, and anyone that nsa sent there because some asshole at Walmart pretended to be at a liqueur store claiming the customer was drinking and drove away drunk. That is standard Josephine county terror, where the nsa is weaponized against the citizens they are supposed to protect.

I’ll wager that nsa are the ones who are responsible for killing my children, with some kind of lie told to them by the Walmart and Sheriff, and they were taken to the jail by the people who said they would help... nsa... US national security.

They may as well be on the terror army pay role.

Offensively useless.

0 notes