#Let this post make up for no wip Wednesday | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 2 months

Text

The Quiet Ones 1

No tag lists. Do not send asks or DMs about updates. Review my pinned post for guidelines, masterlist, etc.

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as dubcon/noncon, and other possible triggers. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: You live a quiet life, but your peace is fractured by a chaotic man.

Characters: Lloyd Hansen, short!shy!reader

Note: don't ask me why I did this.

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me <3

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Asking for more or putting ‘part 2?’ is not feedback.

Love you all. You are appreciated and your are worthy. Treat yourself with care. 💖

You keep to yourself. That’s the safest, the easiest way to live. You keep your head down, your eyes to yourself, your voice bottled up.

You grip your phone as you approach the coffee shop. You stand on your toes to see through the painted windows and frown at the long queue. You won’t have to worry about that. Like everything else social, you’ve found a work around.

You look at your phone, the app showing your order as ‘preparing’. It should be done shortly as the progress bar fills close to complete. You can bear the claustrophobia for a minute or so until it’s ready.

You go to open the door but an arm reaches past you and does that first. You step back, patiently waiting for the other customer to precede you. They don’t move. You stare at their shoes. Dark blue velvet loafers with gold emblems on chains.

“Go on, baby face, I got it,” the man’s voice makes your skin crawl.

You shrink down and give a nod, throat clenching as you struggle to find your voice. You’re not much for conversation but you’re but impolite.

“Thanks,” you force out without raising your head.

You scurry through quickly, a bit to close to the stranger than you like, and you clasp your phone against your chest as you stand just away from the cluster of people awaiting their orders. You bounce on your feet as the noises join together to form a cacophony; the hissing steam, the clanging metal, the clinking porcelain, the calls of the workers behind the counter, and the buzz of the crowd seated or standing around the cafe. Sweat gathers on the nape of your neck as the chaos swirls a storm around you.

You pull your phone away from the front of your pullover and check the screen. Should be ready any moment and you’ll be free of the circus. You adjust your grip on the phone, almost jittery as another customer joins the wait at the pick up window.

You breathe out. It’s not usually this busy at this time. You have a routine. You can handle the expected. You order on your phone so you don’t need to talk to anyone. You wait outside until it’s almost done then come in too quickly claim your prize. But not today, something’s different and it’s throwing everything off.

It’s only on Wednesday’s that you venture down to the cafe. It’s the halfway point of your week so you mark it with a taste of motivation. The same order every week. A London fog latte. Simple and affordable. Nothing fancy, nothing complicated.

Your name cuts through the din, “...medium London fog.”

You drop your arm to your side and set your shoulders. You march forward through the parting bodies ahead of you and reach for the cup. Before you can grasp it, someone else scoops it up. You nearly cry out in horror. Someone’s stealing your order!

You turn to the tea thief but they make no move to flee. They hold the cup nonchalantly, turning it to read the sticker on the side, reciting the same name that just rose from the barista’s lips seconds ago. You face the stranger but again, your eyes are downward.

The blue loafers!

“Cute name,” he comments as he holds the cup out.

You once more try to take the cup but before you can, he has it out of reach again. Your lashes flick and your fingers twiddle helplessly. His large hand is firmly around the cup so even if you did try to wrestle it from him, you doubt you’d have any hope but to spill it all.

You look around but no one else seems to notice. They’re all staring at their phones or talking with the person next to them. The staff behind the counter are too busy appeasing the rush of orders.

“I’ve never tried one of these,” he taunts, “I’m more of a ristretto guy. Like my espresso.”

You shake your head and rescind your hand, balling it against your fist. What does he want? Why is he bothering you? You said thank you. Did he not hear you?

“Don’t get yourself in a tizzy,” he pushes the tea towards you, “there you are, sweat pea.”

You hesitate. You slowly unfurl your fingers and reach for the cup. As you wrap your fingers around it, you can’t help but brush his. Thick and strong and unmoving. He clings to it for just a moment before he lets you have it.

“Thanks,” you squeak again, this time louder so he certainly hears you.

“You got a sweet voice,” he puts his hand on his hip, a glimpse of a shiny gold watch face peeking out from beneath his sleeve, “I’d love to hear more of it.”

Your eyes round as you focus on the zipper of his thin jacket. You shake your head and meekly raise your cup awkwardly and dip your chin slightly. No thanks.

You turn and weave your way back through the crowd. Your heart is thumping in your chest. What an odd encounter.

More so, you’re dismayed that he saw you. That he noticed you. For years, you’ve done your best to be invisible. You prefer it that way. You don’t even think your neighbours know you exist. But that man, he seemed to see nothing but you.

You push outside and nearly drop your cup. You try to steady yourself. You’re all knotted up and tense. You tuck your phone into your back pocket and bring the cup before you nose, inhaling the sweet scent of the foam. Something about it isn’t as soothing as usual.

You turn down the pavement and wince as a sole scuffs close behind you. Suddenly, another set of steps walk next to yours, measured to keep in tandem with your own short legs. Blue velvet.

You walk faster. Is he following you? Why? What does he want? He’s much taller, you can’t outpace him.

“You know, when I said I’d like to hear more, I thought maybe over a coffee?” He suggests.

You don’t say a word as you keep your eyes forward, squeezing your cup tight as you try not to swish it around too much. You’ve never had to deal with this before. Men don’t see you. There was a time you hated that but since, you were grateful for that.

“I mean, I could do most of the talking, never had much of a trouble with that, jellybean,” he offers.

You shake your head. Your throat tightens. You can’t speak. You want to scream but you can’t make a noise.

As you get to the corner, you stop short. He steps past you but just as quickly catches himself and turns to face you. You gulp and look down at your cup. You can’t keep going. If you do, you’ll lead him right to your home.

“What’s going on, sweetheart? You forget something? How about we head back and I’ll buy you something sugary to go with that?”

You furrow your brow and step back on your heel. You bring your eyes up, a furtive glance at his face, brief and flickering. You just want to know what he looks like so you never see him again.

His blue eyes twinkle, his nose is long but proportioned to his chiseled face, his hair is combed back, the sides shaved, and a thick swatch of hair lines his upper lip. He’s older than you, you know that much, but you’ve never good at gauging age. You’ve never seen him before but you can’t be sure. You don’t look at many faces.

You pivot and cross the street without looking. You narrowly miss a bumper and get a honk in remonstrance. You can’t stop yourself. You’re panicking. You head down the next street as his footsteps follow. It’s all you can hear.

As you pass a bin, you dump the drink. You don’t pause as it plummets heavily into the trash and you fall into a brisk half-jog. You pump your arms, puffing wildly, dizzy as you search for a saviour.

You dash into the library. You don’t know what you’re looking for. Just for anyone to get this man to leave you alone.

You don’t look back as you enter and head straight for the front counter. You’re out of breath as you approach the rounded edge and tap the bell frantically. A woman emerges from behind the window wall and she greets you with a confused chime.

“Hello, can I help you?” She asks.

“Yes, I need...” you gulp and glance at the doors. You push away from the counter and spin, searching. You don’t see the man. He’s probably waiting outside. But you never looked back. You never really saw if he was following. “I...” you turn back to the woman, “never mind.”

You cross your arms and turn away. You cringe as you realise how ridiculous you must have seemed. Worse, you didn’t mean to bother someone just doing their job and over what? You’re own issues. You should go home, back to your reclusion, where you can’t be in anyone’s way.

👄

When you finally muster the courage to leave the library, your journey home is slowed by your paranoia. You have your phone out, held up so you can see over your shoulder with the front camera. You watch the screen more than the sidewalk ahead of you.

You get home without a second shadow. As you let yourself through the grated front door of the building, you can’t help but feel stupid. That man must’ve got the idea when you as good as ran in the other direction. You’re being dramatic.

You close the camera and put your phone away. You waist six dollars in your frantic flight. You mourn the tea latte as the heavy inner door clunks shut behind you. You drag your feet up the stairs as your keys jingle on your finger.

You apartment is at the very end of the hall. You enter and twist the latch. You slide the chain into place and hang the key ring on the little hook beside the door frame. You untangle your purse and leave it with your phone on the table in the corner.

You shuffle the few feet to the front room and look around. You find comfort in the familiarity of your little apartment. Your hideaway.

You go back to your desk and sign back in. You’re back later than usual but you can still make up the time. As long as there’s enough tasks left in the portal. You don’t have to let that man ruin your whole day. You’ll never see him again. In a few days, you won’t even remember him.

👄

Wednesday. Halfway through the week.

You scroll and click around your screen as you watch the clock in the corner tick on. Usually around this time, you’d be excited. You’d clock out for your break and go down to the cafe. As much as you looked forward to the treat, the walk alone was relaxing in its own way.

Not that day. Despite your efforts to shrug off the strange encounter, you haven’t shaken it. So instead, the kettle boils as a bag of earl gray sits in an empty mug. You’re not going. Maybe next week.

You’re a bit depressed but you’re too nervous to make the venture. Oh well, you’ll save a bit of money. You could find a different place next time. That might be easier.

You stay logged in and claim a new task. Hey, you can be done work earlier if you can power through. You might even make a few extra bucks.

The kettle clicks and you get up to pour the water. You leave it to steep, forgetting it for the screen before you. Your fingers tap endlessly across the keyboard, filling the silence as you zone in on the words, transcribing messy ink to Times New Roman.

Your trance is broken by a sudden buzz. You sit up, the kink in your neck pangs. You need to stop hunching. The buzz comes again. Is that... It must be a mistake. It happens now and then, someone buzzes the wrong apartment.

You get up as it sounds a third time and you shuffle down to the speaker box. You hit the button, “wrong number.”

“No--”

You let go of the number before you can hear the response. They buzz again. You sigh. You hit the button.

“I’m sorry but you have the wrong number,” you repeat.

“I don--”

You release the button again and take a step back. Buzz! You’re getting annoyed. You hit the button. “Wrong--”

“Got a delivery. 212.” The man’s voice drowns out your own, reciting your name after your apartment number. Your finger stays on the button as you frown. A delivery?

“I’m not expecting a delivery.”

“Are you...” he says your name again.

“... yes.”

Silence, filled with the low hum of the speaker, “so, can I come up or...?”

“Uh, I guess.”

You pull your finger away and hover it over the other. Maybe it’s from work? There was the one time they sent a cheap mass production travel mug with their logo on it as some incentive. A poor attempt at employee appreciation.

You press down and hold until you’re certain they have enough time to get in. You wait by the door, ringing your hands. You hear the door at the end of the hall open on its old hinges and you peek through the peephole.

You watch the fuzzy figure come into focus with each of his long steps. He doesn’t hold a box nor wear the uniform of a postal worker. No, he wears those blue leather loafers and holds a bright pink paper cup with a white lid. From the cafe.

As he comes close, you get a pigeon’s eye view of the hair on his upper lip and his bold blue eyes. It feels like he can see you too as he stands smirking on the other side of the door. This can’t be real.

He knocks and you wince as the door shifts in the frame.

“Special delivery,” he calls through, “open up, baby face.”

#lloyd hansen #dark lloyd hansen #dark!lloyd hansen #lloyd hansen x reader #fic #dark fic #the quiet ones #dark!fic #series #the gray man

554 notes · View notes

ladykailitha · 5 months

Text

Staking a Claim Part 2

Hello! We get a resolution to the last cliffhanger and add a second less dire cliffhanger.

I will be posting this on Sundays and Tuesdays until it's completed for a total of six parts. Thursdays will be reserved for whatever story I want to update that week. It might be the soulmate AU, the werewolf AU, or even omega AU. Wednesdays are still for WIP Wednesday.

Part 1

***

Steve woke up with a pressing need to throw up. He sat up in a hurry and looked around. He didn’t recognize his surroundings and didn’t know where to go to empty his guts.

Someone thrust a bucket into his hands and he gratefully puked into it. A warm hand rubbed his back and that person began muttering encouraging inanities.

Finally he was able to stop and he looked up to see who his rescuer was.

“Eddie?” he murmured. “What happened?”

“Hey, babe,” Eddie whispered back. “Don’t worry about that right now. I just need you to keep throwing up whatever’s in your stomach, okay?”

Steve blinked at him a moment before he was forced to vomit again. It came out through his nose as well as his mouth. His nose was raw and his throat wrecked. But he couldn’t stop.

Tears ran down his face as he body continued to reject whatever it was that was causing this.

“That’s right, let it all out.”

Again Steve stopped and he looked up at Eddie mournfully. “I hate this.”

Eddie pulled him into his arms and held him tightly. “You think you can make the short walk to the bathroom?”

Steve nodded and went to go set down the bucket but Eddie stopped him.

“You might want to hold on to that just in case.”

Steve looked at Eddie then back at the bucket. He nodded.

“You hold onto your new friend Mr. Bucket,” Eddie said lightly, “and I’ll hold onto you. Okay?”

Steve nodded again and let Eddie help him to the bathroom. Eddie took the bucket and set it in the bathtub. He opened the toilet seat so if Steve needed to throw up, nothing would impede that and went in search of a spare toothbrush. He didn’t think that any of the guys would want Steve touching theirs and he wasn’t about to let him touch his.

“Eureka!” he whisper shouted. “When you feel up to it, you can use this to brush your teeth.”

Steve stared at him blankly like putting anything in his mouth would be a nightmare right then.

Eddie took a deep breath and held it for a moment. “Right, that’s not important at this moment. Got it. Priorities, Munson. Get it together.”

Tears streamed down Steve’s face and he whispered, “I’m sorry. I tend to ruin everything.” And then promptly began throwing up again. He started to shake as the vomiting and the cold got to him.

Eddie walked out and Steve really began to sob.

Then there was a warm blanket placed around his shoulders. “You didn’t ruin anything, Stevie. I promise I’ll tell you all about it when your well enough to hear it, but it wasn’t your fault.”

Steve sobs became hiccups then the hiccups became sniffles and then Eddie looked down to see that he had fallen asleep.

Eddie rocked him back and forth on the cold bathroom floor, trying hard to not fall in love with this man.

When Steve woke up a second time, he was in a cramped bathroom, wrapped in a warm blanket and pressed to Eddie’s side.

Eddie must have felt him stir. “Hey, baby. How you feeling?”

Steve buried his face into Eddie’s neck. “Like I’ve been run over. I didn’t think I drank that much to get this hungover.”

Eddie carded his fingers through Steve’s hair. “Do you still feel like you need to throw up?”

Steve lifted his head as he thought about it. “No. I feel like shit, but not like my guts are going turn themselves inside out.”

“Good,” he said. “I’m glad. Why don’t you take a shower and brush your teeth and I’ll set some clothes for you to change into on the toilet seat, okay?”

Steve nodded.

Eddie helped him to his feet and got the water in the shower started for him.

Steve stripped out of his clothes and got into the shower. He closed the curtain and just let the warm water wash over him. He thought hard about what happened last night.

The only thing he remembered was that he had been having a great time and then nothing. He heard the door open and then close quickly. He peeked around the curtain and saw the clothes on the toilet seat as promised.

Steve relaxed with a sigh. He looked around the shower and was surprised to see how neatly organized it all was. But he didn’t want to take anyone’s shampoo or anything so he just rinsed his hair instead. The body wash on the other hand was something he had to use. He opened each one to smell them, not wanting to grab something that would give him a migraine later.

He settled on the third one. It was woody, like pine. But not super strong or fake smelling. He got to work scrubbing himself down.

Once he no longer felt as though he’d been dragged out of hell by his balls he stepped out of the shower and dried off with the big fluffy towel that was on the hamper.

He dressed in the clothes Eddie had set out for him, complete with underwear. They still had the fold lines and wrinkles fresh from the pack. They were black boxers but then Steve couldn’t really see Eddie wearing anything else.

He slid them on and they were warm and comfortable. Next went the warm sweats and then finally the band shirt. He looked at himself in the mirror. He looked and felt like shit. There was nothing for it. He had to go out and face the music.

Or at least Eddie Munson, which as far as Steve was concerned was the same thing.

When he walked out into the main part of the apartment, he could tell it was still early enough that everyone else was in bed, but not so early that it was obscene to be seen awake after a night at the bar.

Steve slid into one of the bar stools at the counter and watched as Eddie made breakfast. Eggs, link sausage, bacon, and hashbrowns.

“That’s a lot,” he murmured. “I’m not sure my stomach is going to appreciate your effort.”

Eddie grinned. “It seems really counter-intuitive, but greasy foods tend fair better on hangovers and upset stomachs. You’d think it’d be the opposite, but nope.”

Steve cocked his head to the side. “Huh, I never would have thought it either.”

“Why don’t you call someone to let them know you’re okay, while I go rouse the boys?” Eddie suggested as he turned all the heat on the stove to low. He nodded to the phone on the wall.

“Robin!” Steve cried. He looked around for a clock for the exact time. “Shit! I was supposed to be at work twenty minutes ago!”

***

Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6

@spectrum-spectre @estrellami-1 @zerokrox-blog @artiststarme @swimmingbirdrunningrock @gregre369 @pyrohonk @a-little-unsteddie @chaosgremlinmunson @chaoticlovingdreamer @maya-custodios-dionach @goodolefashionedloverboi @messrs-weasley @val-from-lawrence @i-must-potato @danili666 @carlyv @rozzieroos @wonderland-girl143-blog @justforthedead89 @emly03 @bookworm0690 @itsall-taken @vecnuthy @bookbinderbitch @redfreckledwolf @littlewildflowerkitten @yikes-a-bee @awkwardgravity1 @scheodingers-muppet @mira-jadeamethyst @cinnamon-mushroomabomination @genderless-spoon @anne-bennett-cosplayer @irregular-child @lololol-1234 @r0binscript @monsterloverforhire @mugloversonly @live-the-fangirl-life @f0xxyb0xxes @lublix

#my writing #stranger things #steddie #ladykailtiha writes #tw throwing up

495 notes · View notes

wolfjackle-creates · 4 months

Text

Bring Me Home Arc 3 Part 2

Happy WIP Wednesday. Bring Me Home won last week's poll. But it was a close one! If you want a say in what I post next week, be sure to vote in this week's poll. ^.^

Story Summary: Danny's parents find out his secret. It doesn't go well. But he's not alone. His friend Tim Drake, better known as Red Robin, and the Young Justice will not let him suffer.

We switch to Tim's POV for this part.

Warnings: Aftermath of torture

Arc 1: AO3

Arc 2: First, Last

Word Count: 1.7k

-----

The instant Kon got the door to the lab open, Tim sprinted down the stairs. The first thing he saw was Jack and Maddie standing over a table, green ectoplasm, blood covering everything.

Then his eyes fixed on Danny. Danny, cut open and bleeding with a muzzle on while his parents looked at his insides.

He rushed forward, tackling Maddie and tearing her away from Danny. She screamed and fought back, landing one punch before Tim kicked her back a step. Then he pulled out his staff and landed a hard blow across her chest, forcing her further back.

Next to him, Cassie was taking care of Jack. He exchanged a quick glance with her and the two began herding the pair towards the wall. Away from Danny.

Behind him, Tim could hear Sam call out for Kon then a cry of pain.

“He’s still alive!” called out Kon. “I can hear both his core and heart.”

Tim couldn’t relax. Alive didn’t mean much. He put more force on his next swing of his staff, aiming for Maddie’s shoulder. But she ducked and twisted just right to get under the swing and move closer.

She slashed back with a scalpel, one still covered in Danny’s blood. Tim growled as he blocked it with his arm, the armor of his suit preventing it from reaching skin. He swung his staff again, getting her in the side hard then jerking up to hit her in the armpit.

He smiled in satisfaction when he dislocated her shoulder, causing her to drop the scalpel.

“You’ve got this all wrong!” she protested as she held her shoulder. “Jack and I are the good guys here. The ghosts, they’re all evil!”

Tim snarled. “The only evil I see here are the two so-called scientists who were torturing their own son!”

Maddie tensed at his words. “Don’t you dare say that. I’m trying to save my son from the monster that took his body.”

Tim swung again, aiming for her feet. Already distracted by the pain in her shoulder, the hit landed and she fell. He hit again and he felt her ankle break. Good, she wouldn’t be getting away.

“Why don’t you just shut the fuck up,” growled Tim.

Jack landed on the ground next to his wife, taken out by a punch from Cassie. Tim took the time to swing at him, too.

Again and again and again, he brought his staff down on them. Not stopping as they cried out in pain or as he felt more bones break under his blows. Until the time when he tried to swing down, but his staff refused to move.

He spun around, scowling, to come face to face with Cassie who had his staff firmly in her own grip.

“That’s enough, Rob. They’re down and they won’t be moving. Impulse and I will make sure of it. You need to go with the others.”

Behind her, Tim could see Sam fussing over Danny, still on the table. Bart and Tucker were at the computers trying to download as much information as they could. And Kon was staring right at him.

“Transport?” asked Tim.

Kon pulled out his phone to check. “Just arrived. Let’s go, Rob.”

Tim nodded. “Fine.” To Cassie, he said, “I want them in custody.”

She nodded. “Obviously. We all do. Impulse, Tucker, and I will take care of things here.”

“Then let’s go.” Tim stalked away from Jack and Maddie, refusing to look back. He wasn’t sure he could stop a second time.

Someone must have found a blanket and gotten it under Danny. All Kon had to do was touch the blanket, and it lifted up. Danny was held completely straight in the make-shift stretcher as Kon single-handedly used his TTK to carry him, Sam leading the way out of the lab.

The doors opened for them on the way out, Kon’s TTK again. And sure enough there by the curb was a nondescript van, engine still running.

Jazz got out the driver’s seat the instant Kon appeared in the doorway to open the back of the van.

“Bring him in here! I’ve got a bed set up,” she said.

Kon, of course, went first. But Tim and Sam were only steps behind him. Inside the van, the bench on one side had been fitted with a futon mattress to form a makeshift bed. Overhead, lights had been fitted to make sure the area was bright enough to see. Kon carefully laid Danny down then backed up so Sam and Jazz could move in.

“Keys are in the ignition,” said Jazz. “Get us away from the house, then let Sam and I patch him up.”

“You’ve got it,” said Kon who took his spot behind the wheel.

Tim shut the doors to the van and stood against the opposite side of the van. This was his first good look at Danny.

His friend was still in his Phantom form, but his jumpsuit had been torn and peeled away from his body. His chest was covered in so much blood he could barely see the wound, but the tell-tale y-incision was unmistakable.

Jazz and Sam were carefully wiping away the blood as best they could, using towels that had been neatly stacked in a box next to the cot.

Tim looked around until he saw an empty bucket. He pushed it towards the two girls. “Put the dirty ones in here.”

Kon pulled away from the Fenton house, aiming for their local out-of-town-limits rendezvous spot. “I can keep Danny from being jostled by the road. Don’t know if I can do the same for the rest of you if you’re moving, though.”

“Let’s not test it right now,” said Tim. “But we will be practicing that later. Never know when we might need it again.”

Jazz dropped her first towel and grabbed another. Her hands were shaking.

Tim knelt by her side and placed a hand on her wrist. “Let me. Right now we’re just trying to hold him together and I can do that as well as you can. He’s going to be just fine, I’ll make sure of it.”

“But I’m the one who trained with Frostbite.” Her voice cracked on a sob.

Tim grabbed the towel from her hands and used it to put pressure on Danny’s wound. “And I don’t need specialized training for this part of it.”

Jazz hesitated a moment longer, but with a last look at her brother, she spun and ran to the other side of the van. Tim listened to her muffled cries as he held the towel to Danny’s chest.

Sam shifted until their shoulders were pressed together and he leaned slightly into the touch. Neither said anything.

Soon enough, Kon was pulling off the road and the van came to a stop. The instant it did, Jazz was pushing her way into his place, two boxes in her hand. She opened one to reveal a large first aid kit, as well stocked as anything he had in his most-used safe house.

Tim took up a position at the foot of the bench and pulled out a small camera he had in his belt. He took careful pictures of all the visible wounds. Kon came up besides him and put an arm around his shoulder.

Jazz opened the second case, letting out a hiss of cold air and frost. Without hesitating, she put on two heavy duty gloves and lifted out what looked to be an ice cube.

Sam, meanwhile, was measuring out enough glowing green thread to cover Danny’s wound. Tim took another picture.

Jazz placed four ice cubes into the injury—one at the end of each cut and one where the lines intersected. Then Sam laid the thread over the wound. She muttered something and it phased into Danny’s skin without the use of a needle and pulled the injury together.

The glow faded slightly and if he didn’t know better, Tim would’ve thought they were regular stitches.

From there, they focused on cleaning off the remaining blood. The van was mostly silent—Sam and Jazz only communicating the bare minimum necessary to care for Danny. Even Tim’s camera was entirely silent, designed as it was for stealth.

As Danny was wiped clean, more and more injuries were revealed. Only years of bat training kept Tim standing and taking pictures. But his grip on the camera was much tighter than it needed to be. Kon’s fingers were digging into his shoulder almost painfully, but Tim didn’t say anything. Sam and Jazz were forcibly holding themselves together, but the odd hitch in their breath or tremble in their fingers gave them away, too.

A nasty burn spanning Danny’s left side was revealed. Tim clicked the camera, and Sam applied an ectoplasm-based ointment to it. Then Jazz covered the injury with a bandage.

The process was repeated time and again for each injury they discovered. But eventually, all the wounds were tended to. Once Jazz did a final look, she nodded with grim satisfaction.

“Superboy, could you use your powers to wrap his chest?”

“Of course!” Kon left Tim’s side to grab a roll of gauze and took up his own place at Danny’s side. All he had to do, though, was place the roll on the bed and his powers took care of everything else.

Tim wished he could do something half so useful. Next time Danny managed to get to the Realms, he was so joining him and getting his own lessons directly from Frostbite.

“Just one more thing to do,” said Jazz. She reached into the first aid kit and pulled out a small box. Inside sat a syringe filled with ectoplasm. She jammed it into Danny’s thigh and pressed the plunger.

Danny’s eyes flew opened and he let out a yell as his back arched off the bed.

Sam was already hovering over him. “Danny? How are you feeling?”

Danny panted for breath, but looked at her with a wry smile. “Pretty much the worse I’ve ever felt.” He looked from Sam to Jazz to Kon before meeting Tim’s eyes. “You came.”

“I always will,” said Tim.

-----

Please check out the Subscription Post if you want notifications when I update.

I'm not an expert on emergency medicine, so I figured why not go the magical route?

Tim wishes he could help in a more hands-on way, but documenting injuries is important if you want to bring them up in court. No one knows yet if Danny will want that, but this way they have them in case they're necessary.

Tucker, Bart, and Cassie are remaining behind to bring the Fentons to JL holding cells. Tucker is the one who knows the Fenton computers best after Danny, after all.

All ready we can see some major changes from my original version. What else will change? And, more importantly, what will stay the same?

#dpxdc #danny fenton #tim drake #kon el #jazz fenton #sam manson #these poor kids #should not have to deal with situations like this #whatever adult heroes are on duty #when impulse and wonder girl come up #with some trussed up mad scientists #with a bunch of broken bones #crying about illegal experimentation on sapient creatures #are going to regret being on shift #they're not gonna be getting much sleep for the next #...#long while

206 notes · View notes

kedreeva · 1 month

Text

WIP Wednesday Game

It’s WIP Wednesday, time for a little accountability, sharing your work, and getting a kick in the pants.

Here’s how it works:

In a reblog of this post (so people can find you in the notes) or new thread (w/ rules attached) if you want to play on your own, post up to five (5) filenames of your WIPs; not titles, file names.

Post a snippet from one of them. Snippet must be words you wrote in the last 7 days. We’re posting progress here. If you haven’t made any, go make some and come back to play!

After you’ve posted, people can send you an ask with one of your file names. You must then write 3 sentences in that file. If the filename is one you can't share from (for example, an event or gift fic), write 3 sentences on it anyway, and then 3 more on another to share.

That’s it! You can invite others to join in, or just post. I’ll be searching the reblogs to find people to send asks to!

If you’re reading this, you’re invited!

If you see someone posting a WIP Wednesday Game snippet, send them an ask! Make them write.

Requested/Friend event mentions under the cut! If you'd like to be pinged next week, let me know!

@fiore-della-valle @redbirdblogs @greenbergsays @idkfandomwhatever @luckyspike

@obaewankenope @mad-madam-m @anonymousdandelion @geometricfractal @prettybirdy979

@eriquin @aparticularbandit @madnessfromthemountains @makeroftherunes @1attheedge

@whimsicalmeerkat @kidsomeday @lizhly-writes @skyderman @adhdavinci

@owlbearwrites @anachronismstellar @anyctibius @rilannon @lazinesswrites

@zyrafowe-sny @dreaminghour @blue-eyedbeta @candyskiez @dreamerking27

@kalira @virgulesmith @i-want-delfeur @selkies-world @exceedinglygayotter

@oitreewrites @post-and-out @writingattheedge @qqaba @ykthefancyclamwiththepearlinside

@princescar @tigerdragon1001 @@agent-p-writes

#putting this out while it's wednesday for the east #if you're somewhere it's not wednesday yet #just queue it or post it early #send some asks to folks in the east!#wip wednesday game #writing

128 notes · View notes

firein-thesky · 15 days

Text

fics for gaza

━━━━━━━━━༻❁༺━━━━━━━━

-> open on may 29th for @firein-thesky

━━━━━━━━━༻❁༺━━━━━━━━

as i said, i’ll be participating in @ficsforgaza and will specifically be doing the sponsor a wip option, which i will detail more below!

i will open up to donations and begin writing on wednesday, may 29th. please don’t send in any proof of donations with requests until this date or afterwards as i will not have the capacity to begin them and want to make sure i honor your donation! if i get overwhelmed, i may close requests until i catch up again so be sure to check back on this post before requesting!

this is how i’ll be participating:

→ sponsor a wip!

current status: OPEN

i’ll list several fics below that you can sponsor. here is how this will work:

you’ll send in a donation to a vetted fundraiser for gaza and then submit a screenshot of that to me for proof with the title of the wip you want me to continue working on, then i’ll work on it and provide proof of word count + a little snippet! if i finish a wip on the list below, i’ll swap it out for another!

it will be $1 for every 100 words, so a $5 donation is 500 words i’ll write towards the wip of your choosing, $10 is 1000, etc.

*make sure when you send in proof of donation that you do not include any personal information*

*do NOT send me any money. please only donate to a vetted fundraiser. i will not be donating for you.*

i’ll likely reach out to you then and let you know eta on when i’ll get that amount of words done!

check out the links of the in progress wips below for a further description, otherwise feel free to ask me for more information on any of them!

-> wips you can sponsor:

godmaker:

— in progress || jjk || gojo x reader || angst, canon compliant, nsfw

— 6/8 chapters completed. currently working on -> chapter 7

— chapter 7 word count: 960 out of ~7k

∘₊✧──────────────────✧₊∘

my heart, your song

— in progress || genshin impact || kaeya x reader || hurt/comfort, happy ending, nsfw

— 2/3 chapters completed. currently working on -> chapter 3

— chapter 3 word count: 14.5k out of ~18k

— current donated words: 1000

— written words: 1000

∘₊✧──────────────────✧₊∘

hear my soul

— new wip || genshin impact || vampire kaeya x reader || gothic, mystery, angst, nsfw

— word count: 13.3k out of ~20k

∘₊✧──────────────────✧₊∘

worldeater

— new wip || trigun stampede || millions knives x reader || angst, hurt/some comfort, nsfw

— word count: 2.6k out of ~14k

━━━━━━━━━༻❁༺━━━━━━━━

-> check out more vetted fundraisers on the pinned post of @ficsforgaza

-> let me know if you have any questions!!

#fics for gaza #cielo’s wips!

102 notes · View notes

suzukiblu · 5 months

Text

okay FINE I'll do "think pink" for tomorrow's WIP Wednesday, hah. But also now I gotta post the cONTEXT so I can continue it from there, so y'all are just gonna have to have all this content and this here read-more, oh nooooo~ 💖

Kon shifts back on the mattress and lays himself out on his stomach, propped up on his elbows with his head not quite in Tim's lap, but definitely down on eye-level with his cock. His mouth feels that eager, greedy way again and he bites his tongue just to keep himself from licking his lips. He wants to do this right. He wants Tim to like this.

He wants to be good for him.

Tim's hand is still resting on top of his head, and he threads his fingers through Kon's hair again. Picks up his camera again too and snaps a few shots. Kon resists a stupid urge to duck his head or squirm; smirks up at him instead, and then sticks his tongue out at him.

Tim takes a picture of that, too.

“I realize this is a stupid thing to say given the whole nature of your creation and the fact I know you’ve been cloned yourself, but Jesus, do you have any idea what you look like right now?” Bernard says, rubbing at his own jaw and watching Kon intently. Kon feels warm and heated under that look, but also has to stifle a laugh at the thought.

“Can’t say Match and I have ever gotten along this well, so no, not really,” he says with a wry grin, wrapping a hand around Tim’s cock again and giving it a few long, slow strokes from root to tip. Tim hisses very, very quietly and takes another picture. Kon is immediately overwhelmed with options and has, actually, no idea what to do here. Or at least no idea where to start, anyway. Tim’s cock is a warm, perfect fit in his hand and he is having a very hard time not obsessing over just where and how else it might so perfectly fit, and he just wants to make him feel good, wants to make him like it, wants to make him happy–

He really, really wants that.

“Well, there’s a mental image,” Bernard muses consideringly. Tim’s fingers curl and his nails dig into Kon’s scalp. Kon pushes into them without really thinking it through, and Tim hisses again.

“Pet,” he says, his voice just a little bit strangled. Kon wants to make it crack. Kon wants to make him crack. He wants to know exactly how carried away Tim can get.

Exactly how carried away Tim wants to get.

“Tim,” he says, and licks his lips after all. It seems like such a dumb, cliche thing to do, but Tim and Bernard’s hearts both skip a beat watching him do it, and their pupils dilate in unison.

It’s a bit of a confidence booster, to put it mildly.

“Tim,” Kon repeats, leaning in just enough to nuzzle Tim’s cock before pressing a kiss against the side of it. It’s a lot more than just making out with them or jacking himself off to put on a show for them, and it feels like it should feel weird, but it just makes his gut twist and flip and heat. Tim letting him touch him this intimately, Tim letting him touch him at all . . . Tim letting him do all this is . . .

Fuck, pink kryptonite really is Kon’s new favorite thing.

“Told you I haven’t done this before, right?” he says even though he knows he did, then flicks the flat of his tongue out against the head of Tim’s cock. It twitches against his tongue, and he feels a rush of eager heat coiling low in his gut. “You gotta tell me how to make it good for you. How to be good for you.”

“Fuck,” Tim mutters under his breath, his fingers nearly slipping off the button of his camera.

“C’mon, you’re the boss, Robin,” Kon coaxes, and Tim exhales.

“Holy shit,” Bernard says with a breathless laugh, shaking his head. “You are a menace, you know that?”

“Kiss me again, pet,” Tim says, his voice gratifyingly rough and his fingers tightening in Kon’s hair. There’s no possible way he could yank it hard enough to hurt him, but his grip is still so careful.

Kon feels several fucking ways about that fact.

He presses another kiss to Tim’s cock, obviously, just above his own loosely-circled fingers, and then mouths up the length of it as he tightens his fingers around him again. Tim grunts, flattening his hand against his hair and sliding it around to cup the back of his head.

“Good boy,” he says. “Use your tongue.”

Kon does; ducks his mouth again and then drags his tongue back up Tim’s cock, broad and flat. Tim grits his teeth and knocks his head back against the headboard–against Kon’s jacket–and Kon feels like there’s something buzzing under his skin, like there’s something he can’t quite contain inside himself. It’s . . . been a while, he thinks. Since he felt that so much, he means. Like, it’s been a while since he fucked anyone at all, much less anyone he liked this much, but it’s been a while since he felt it like this.

Probably since he was with Cassie, come to think, which kinda makes sense.

He slides his tongue up and around the head of Tim’s cock and Tim chokes on another grunt. His hips don’t push up, but they do just barely shift. Kon feels even more of that buzzing warmth and kisses Tim’s cock again, wet and messy this time, and Tim curses under his breath and snaps a few more pictures. Kon winks up at him, not even trying not to smirk against his dick. Bernard laughs in delight and bites his knuckles.

“Holy shit,” he repeats reverently. Kon kind of wants him to put a hand in his hair too, maybe, or at least touch him some way or another.

“Good boy,” Tim repeats himself too, though in his case he has to do it through still-gritted teeth. Kon thinks about the fact he’s making Tim react this much, controlled and collected and always-prepared Tim, and the thought is one he really fucking likes. If he can affect Tim this much, if Tim likes what he’s doing this much . . .

Yeah, he definitely likes that.

“You listen so well. And you’re so eager,” Tim murmurs, his tone low and approving and spine-melting as he strokes through Kon’s hair again even more spine-meltingly. “Show me how much of me you can take.”

Kon doesn’t hesitate; doesn’t even wait long enough to crack a dirty joke or make a flirty comment. He just opens his mouth and drops it down over Tim, around Tim, letting Tim inside him, and . . .

And fuck, Kon thinks fleetingly, and then wraps his mouth fully around Tim’s cock and presses his tongue up against the underside as he slides down, and Tim’s hand tightens in his hair again, and–

Kon doesn’t really have a gag reflex, either because of the half-Kryptonian thing or because of the whole “weaned on a feeding tube” thing when he was initially being developed–who knows which–and he doesn’t really need to breathe all that much anymore either, so if Tim’s telling him to show him how much of him he can take . . .

Well. The logical thing to do is to really commit, isn’t it?

It feels–weird, a little, and kind of awkward and strange, but . . .

“Tilt your head back a bit and relax your throat,” Bernard advises, reaching over to tap a couple of fingers gently against the corner of Kon’s jaw, and Kon just–does. Because again, not much of a gag reflex, and also he can sort of just use his TTK to ease the whole process, so–yeah. He tilts his head and relaxes his throat, and pulls Tim’s cock into his throat.

It really does feel like a perfect fit, he thinks a little bit hazily, and then he swallows around him. Tim curses. Loudly.

“Okay, so Kryptonians can deepthroat on the first try,” Bernard observes conversationally, his fingers curling against Kon’s jaw. “Good to know. Useful information. Also, oh my god.”

“Good boy,” Tim says roughly, stroking a heavy hand through Kon’s hair, and Kon feels warm and buzzed and a little bit dazed, and just . . . rolls his tongue up tighter against the weight of his cock and swallows around him again. He should bob his head, he knows, but he kind of doesn’t want to. Just having Tim in his mouth like this, in his throat like this . . . “Fuck, pet. Look at me.”

Kon flicks his eyes up to Tim’s face again, though they’re heavy and unfocused-feeling, and finds himself looking into his camera lens again. Tim takes a few pictures.

Maybe a lot of pictures, actually, Kon’s vaguely aware, but he’s a little bit distracted right now. Just–Tim’s cock is a warm, solid weight in his mouth and on his tongue, hard and throbbing for him, and Tim told him he was good and told him to look at him and that’s . . . really all he’s worried about right now, yeah.

He sucks, obviously. Swallows around him; rolls his tongue up and tries to swallow him down farther, even though his nose is already practically pressing into Tim’s stomach. It’s just a reflex, more than anything else. Bernard’s fingertips are still on his jaw. He likes them there.

It’s a lot different from going down on a girl, obviously, but it gives him that same heady rush and feeling of usefulness he always gets from pleasing someone, which–well yeah, of course it does. The pink K is changing what he’s attracted to, not what he likes to do. So like, of course he’d still like giving oral and getting told he was doing a good job and all that stuff. It’d be weird if he didn’t.

Kon can’t really focus on Tim’s face past the camera, but Tim’s free hand is still in his hair and he can feel him through his TTK–him and Bernard both–and hear both of their accelerated heartbeats and quickened breathing. Tim's are more-so than Bernard, but Bernard isn't currently getting his dick sucked, so Kon figures that’s understandable.

He wants to touch him too, and considers reaching into his lap or just using his TTK to feel him up a bit, but he also wants to concentrate on this and make it as good as he can, do it as right as he can. He wants Tim to really, really love this. To think he’s doing well. To be pleased with and proud of him.

If he can make this good for Tim, be good for Tim–

Kon really wants to do that.

He makes himself bob his head; sucks tightly and doesn’t even pretend not to be using his TTK too, mimicking the same licking he’s already doing with a phantom tongue working in counterpoint to his own, and he cups and rolls Tim’s balls in his hand and lets another little tendril of TTK press up behind them and rub in along his taint.

Tim curses.

“That into it already, babe?” Bernard teases, sounding amused. Kon glances towards him a little muzzily and feels even warmer at the sight of the heated look on his face, but for obvious reasons keeps most of his attention on what he’s doing to Tim.

What he’s doing for Tim, more like.

“TTK,” Tim grits out, his voice a little strangled and fingers twisting just a little bit tighter in Kon’s hair.

“Oh,” Bernard says, his eyes widening. “Ohhhhh. Well, okay, that’s incredibly distracting. Jesus.”

“You're doing so good for your first time, pet,” Tim says, tight and tender, and Kon feels that heady rush again and lets out a stifled moan around his cock. Tim hisses, his hips twitching against the mattress, but the fingers he has twisted tight in Kon's hair stay careful. Stay gentle.

Kon would be perfectly fine with Tim yanking his hair as hard as he wants right now, but honestly, the fact he's keeping the totally unnecessary promise of being gentle with him is really doing it for him.

Like. Really.

He moans again; swallows Tim back down as far as he can and flexes his tongue and his TTK around him, and Tim makes a choked noise in the back of his throat and drags his fingers through his hair very, very gently. Kon is pretty sure he'd let Tim hold a kryptonite razor to his throat at this point in their lives and just assume if he decided to slash it, it was for the best.

So that's . . . definitely a way to feel about the guy whose dick is currently down his throat.

Fuck.

Kon squirms, just a little, and presses his hips down into the sheets as his own dick decides it's getting a bit more interested in the current proceedings. His refractory period is quick enough that he's surprised it took it this long to, frankly, because the whole experience of having Tim like this is more than a little overwhelming.

“So good, pet,” Tim grunts, and Kon's dick is definitely interested in that. “Don't stop. You look so pretty like this.”

“I feel like you could go with a much stronger descriptor than ‘pretty’ here,” Bernard says, trailing his fingers down under Kon's jaw and pressing his thumb in against the stretched-open corner of his mouth. “I don't know, ‘mind-meltingly hot’ or ‘fucking gorgeous’. ‘Probably illegal in half the sector and should be if you're not’, maybe.”

“Perfect,” Tim says, which is stronger enough that Kon nearly chokes before the bastard starts elaborating. “Always just what I need. Always so good for me. Always my boy. I can trust you with anything.”

Kon doesn't moan around him this time; he whines. Tim strokes his hair back off his face and he's vaguely aware of the camera shutter going off, or maybe having been going off this whole time, but all he can actually think about or do is suck Tim off. He digs his fingers into Tim's thighs and swallows around his cock and makes more near-pleading whining noises, and doesn't even care if it makes him sound stupid. Tim said he was doing good. Tim said he was perfect.

Yeah, no, Kon really doesn't give a fuck about anything else right now.

He really does wish they could've skipped the condom, though. The idea of Tim very literally coming in his mouth is–is a lot. And Tim said he wanted him to taste him.

Kon would absolutely do that for him, if it weren't like, a health issue or whatever.

His jaw doesn't ache, because he's too Kryptonian for that, and his mouth isn't going to look like he's been sucking cock because again, he's too Kryptonian for that. But they both feel used and sensitive in a new and unfamiliar way, and the tight slide of Tim’s cock along his tongue is weirdly hypnotic, and the hands they both have in his hair and on his jaw make him feel restless and eager and needy, and everything Tim says just sounds so, so good right now.

Kon wants him to keep talking as bad as he thinks he’s ever wanted anything in bed, so he puts in the fucking effort and does his best imitation of all the best blowjobs of his life; doesn’t hesitate or hold back or shy away, goes in hard and puts in the work, doesn’t half-ass any of it.

Lets himself be as eager as he feels.

But also takes his time, just a little, and savors.

“Fuck,” Tim chokes, and his head hits the headboard hard. His cock twitches in Kon’s mouth and gets even harder, and Kon feels–feels–“Good boy.”

Like that, yeah. He feels like a good boy.

Like Tim’s good boy, specifically.

That is actually doing even more for him than it usually would be. Like–Cassie-levels of “doing it for him”, again. Which still makes sense, obviously, but is just a lot. Kon should’ve expected it, probably, just . . .

“Oh, pet,” Tim breathes out roughly, petting his hair so gently, and Kon stops caring about anything else. Tim’s petting his hair and letting him touch him and putting up with him crashing his weekend, and that’s all that Kon gives a fuck about right now.

That and the way Bernard keeps tracing his fingers up his jaw and down his throat, anyway.

“You are an unfairly quick learner,” Bernard says, all delighted admiration and approval, and Kon tries to figure out if he can swallow Tim down any farther. Obviously no, because he’s already got every inch of him it’s possible to in his mouth and throat, but he really tries. Tim curses a few more times. Kon . . .

Kon doesn’t quite do it on purpose, but his TTK starts to sort of . . . wander, a little. Or–reach out a little, more like, and wrap itself around Tim and Bernard both and just sort of . . . hold on, maybe.

“Oh,” Bernard says, sounding breathless, and digs his nails in against Kon’s impenetrable skin. Kon can feel every inch of him; every inch of him and Tim both. “You really are a flirt, huh. And a real multi-tasker, too.”

Kon would do something to live up to the “flirt” rep, maybe, but it is just so much more important to suck Tim’s cock right now.

Like much, much more important.

He wonders how long Tim’s going to let him do this. Wonders how long he’s going to last, wonders if he likes it as much as he wants him to, wonders if–

Tim strokes the hand in his hair down the side of his face to cup his jaw and snaps another picture or five. Kon feels warm and heavy and electric. Tim likes it. Tim likes him. Tim’s petting him and taking pictures and–and he’s–

“Such a good boy for me,” Tim says, his voice a low, heated rasp, and Kon feels the kind of buzzing bliss he usually only gets when he’s way deep into a scene with somebody who’s really, really put the work in. Cassie got him there this easy, the handful of times they’d tried this kind of play, but . . . “So sweet. So obedient. Just what I want you to be.”

Kon definitely whines around Tim’s cock again, and definitely does his best to live up to that compliment. He’s dizzy and warm and his mouth is too full to talk past and his throat is too full to talk past, and Tim’s cupping his jaw and taking pictures of him and Bernard is drawing his fingers along the other side of his face and pressing the pad of his thumb in against his lower lip. It’s wet and slick with spit and Kon wishes it were wet and slick with Tim. Wishes Bernard were touching him more. Wishes Tim would fuck his mouth as gently as he’s petting his face right now.

“Just perfect,” Tim murmurs, and Kon swallows around his dick and grinds his own down into the mattress without really meaning to, because how could he ever listen to Tim talking to him like this and not do that? He wants touched more. He wants back between the two of them. He wants–

He grinds his hips down again, swallows Tim down again with a lingering shudder, and Tim–pauses.

“Pet,” he asks very, very carefully, his voice still a low rasp. “Are you . . . getting off on doing this?”

It’s not really a question Kon understands, because of course he’s doing that. Obviously he is. But he’s being good for Tim, being good for Tim is all he wants to do, so he just purrs in reply and bobs his head and works his mouth around him until Tim’s hand tightens against his jaw and his heartbeat is doing things Kon’s never heard it do before.

“Babe, I love you, but you are asking questions with very obvious answers right now,” Bernard says wryly.

“Pet,” Tim says tightly, back to breathing like the doors are gonna blow in and smoothing a hand back through Kon’s hair again. It feels so, so good. “Can you come like this for me? For my cock in your mouth like this?”

Kon definitely can.

And it’s not going to be much longer ‘til he definitely does, the way he feels right now.

Kon sucks harder, swallows tighter, works his mouth more and uses his TTK to help it out, and Tim hisses under his breath and still doesn’t yank his hair. Kon likes that so much.

Likes him so much.

He can’t keep himself from grinding his hips down into the sheets, it feels like, but Tim asked him if he could get off like this, so it’s not like he’s trying to stop or be patient. Not like he’s trying to hold anything back or behave. Tim wants him to do it, right? Wants him to get off like this. For this. So he’s–behaving, by doing this.

Being good by doing this.

Kon makes a noise. A tight, strangled one that he doesn’t quite know how to define. Tim trails his fingers along his temple and then back down to his jaw, soft and gentle, and this time Kon whimpers. He digs his fingers into Tim’s thighs again; drags them down and swallows him down. Tim curses. His camera goes off, though the lens isn’t aimed as carefully as before. Kon whimpers again and wants Tim to yank his hair, fuck his mouth, come in his mouth; use him like a thing and treat him however he wants and tell him how good he is for it.

If he’s a pet or an animal or just some stupid idiot humping the sheets while Tim and Bernard pet him and Tim’s cock fills up his mouth and throat–if he’s good, a good boy, Tim’s good boy–if he’s doing what Tim wants him to be doing–

If Tim is still, still, still being so gentle, just like he promised . . .

Well–then Kon is going to absolutely lose his fucking mind and melt into this fucking mattress, is what’s going to happen here.

But not before he makes Tim come.

He wants to make Tim come. He wants to see what he looks like after he does; wants to hear how he sounds, find out what he’ll do and say and–

“I need you to know, I am going to go actually insane before we’re done here,” Bernard informs Tim, shifting into his side and pressing a kiss in behind his ear as he curls his fingers in behind Kon’s ear. Kon feels weirdly, weirdly obsessed with that particular little parallel. “Like I’m feeling about a hop, skip, and a jump away from getting a gimmick and going full rogue here, that’s what’s happening in my head right now.”

“The only reason I haven’t lost my mind yet is because we had to use condoms,” Tim says very, very evenly.

“Really?” Bernard asks, cocking an eyebrow at him. “Because I’d have thought having to use condoms while thinking about how your boy didn’t want to would’ve shoved you right over the edge there, babe.”

“. . . ngh,” Tim mutters, tightening his grip in Kon’s hair as Kon shudders.

“Seriously,” Bernard says, biting his lip for a moment. “Like, the fact that if we were all less responsible people he’d be letting you come in him is really making me–”

“Ngh,” Tim says, screwing his eyes shut, and Kon thinks about how that might feel, about the idea of Tim coming in his mouth or maybe–

He muffles a heated groan around Tim’s cock, and Tim hisses through his teeth and knocks his head back against the headboard again. Back against Kon’s jacket again.

Kon really wants to ask him to wear it for a little while, and not because of any practical reasons like keeping the pink kryptonite in its pocket in close and doing its radioactive magic or anything like that.

“Just saying,” Bernard says, and Kon wants to feel him up and kinda wishes he could get both their cocks in his mouth right now or maybe–maybe–

If he'd waited, maybe they would've been up for trying out a spitroast kind of setup. Maybe they'll be up for trying that out later. Maybe–

Fuck, he wants more. Wants everything they've both got.

If he does this good enough, maybe they’ll give it to him.

“You look so good like this. I wish I could see my come on your face,” Tim murmurs lowly, trailing his fingers along the arc of Kon's cheekbone. “Wish I could make you drip with it.”

Kon and his total lack of gag reflex somehow actually choke. Tim's eyes flare.

“Don’t hurt yourself, pet,” Tim says as he strokes Kon’s face again, all tender and gentle like that’s actually something Kon could ever do this easily. It makes him feel–weird. Several kinds of weird.

It makes him feel like something that maybe could get hurt that easily, or maybe just something Tim doesn’t want to risk getting hurt no matter what, which is . . . a weird way to feel, honestly.

But he doesn’t–mind it, or anything. Doesn’t mind feeling like something that Tim wants to be careful with, something he wants to make sure not to break; not to hurt.

Yeah. No, he definitely doesn’t mind that at all.

“Fuck, you look good like this,” Bernard mutters. “I am definitely going to lose my mind and die over this, I need a rogue gimmick, like, yesterday. What’s one nobody’s done yet, I don’t wanna be derivative or whatever.”

“Good luck finding that,” Tim snorts breathlessly, shaking his head. His thumb slides back along the arch of Kon’s cheekbone and it’s such a little touch, but it feels so–so sweet, for lack of a better word. Feels like Tim’s still being so careful.

Makes Kon feel like . . .

He grabs Tim’s hips and tugs hopefully at them, not sure if he wants the other to fuck his mouth or just wants to make sure he isn’t going to pull back or pull away. He bobs his head faster and swallows around his cock again and again, and Tim hisses sharp little curses under his breath, and Kon can’t help grinding his own cock down harder into the mattress.

“Fuck,” Bernard muses, pressing the pad of his thumb in against the corner of Kon’s stretched-open mouth again. “You’re really into this, huh.”

“That was a question?” Tim huffs, and Kon feels warm and good and warm.

“I was talking to Kon, babe,” Bernard says, and Tim hisses through his teeth and covers his face with a hand. “At this rate I think he’s gonna come before you do.”

He might be right, the way Kon feels right now. He doesn’t know if he even needs to worry about his cock to get himself off, if Tim’s gonna keep acting like this about everything.

“Pet,” Tim rasps, sliding a hand over the back of Kon’s neck and splaying his fingers across it. “Do you want to come like this? Do you like it?”

Kon would actually have to pull back to say anything in answer to that question, obviously, but he really doesn’t want to. He makes the most eager, encouraging noise he can figure out how to with his mouth full and swallows Tim down to the root and swallows around him, and Tim chokes roughly and knocks his head back against the headboard again.

Kon still can’t get over the fact that Tim doing that means he’s leaning back against his jacket.

Tim’s hips roll up into his mouth, stuttering and barely-controlled, but still gentle. Still careful. Still–

Tim’s fingers curl in Kon’s hair, and Kon’s whole fucking brain shorts out and he comes into the sheets with a choked, gasping moan, and has no idea why having Tim’s cock filling up his mouth for it feels so good. It all feels so good, though, and he doesn’t really . . . he’s not . . .

“Shit, Kon, did you just–” Bernard starts while Kon’s still shuddering his way through it and kind of forgetting how to think, sounding delighted, and–

“Fuck!” Tim groans, and comes too.

Comes in Kon’s mouth. Because of him. Because of how he’s touching him and how he’s using his mouth and how he’s being good for him.

Kon whines around his mouthful of cock and lets Tim ride out his orgasm completely before he lets his cock slip out of his throat and wipes the spit off his face. Tim is panting.

Kon . . . nuzzles him.

His dick, he means. He nuzzles that.

“Jesus fucking fuck, Kon, I . . .” Tim trails off with a groan, putting a hand over his eyes. Bernard was very right about how good he looks after coming. Like, if anything, he undersold it. Kon presses a careful little kiss against the root of Tim’s softening cock before nuzzling it again, feeling blurry and buzzed and so, so good. He doesn’t want to stop. He wants to make Tim come until the other kicks him off, and then he wants to see if making Bernard come will feel even half this good.

He bets he could make sure it would, he thinks, and licks his lips.

Tim groans.

“Maybe I should’ve told Supergirl to expect you next Monday,” Bernard says, openly staring. Kon still feels too buzzed to properly preen under the attention, but it makes him feel warm anyway.

“Mmmkay,” he hums, feeling just a little . . . floaty, maybe. Like, in a good way, just . . . floaty, yeah. “Whenever y'want. Just keep me 'til y'get bored or whatever.”

“I dunno, dude, you already said you weren't the marrying kind,” Bernard says wryly, reaching out to pet his hair again.

Kon feels warm.

“Mmmmm, alright, then just tell me when you need that party favor for your bachelor party, 'kay?” he murmurs, nuzzling into Bernard’s hand with a little shiver before returning his attention to Tim’s cock. “Bet Superman'll gimme pink K for that.”

“Ngh,” Tim says.

Kon’s kinda starting to like that sound, he thinks.

He kisses the base of Tim’s cock again, then lifts his head to drag his tongue over the tip, where his come is trapped inside the condom. Wonders what Tim’s refractory period is like. Wonders if–

“Stop,” Tim rasps, and Kon would feel disappointed, but being good for Tim is just as good as getting him off. “Just–c’mere, pet. Head in my lap, and roll over on your back.”

Kon doesn’t know why Tim wants him to do that, but he’s not really worried about it. Tim always has the best ideas, after all. So he shifts up a bit as Tim strips off the condom and tosses it before tucking his cock away again, which seems like a shame, and then Kon rolls over and ends up stretched out across the bed with his head in Tim’s lap, just like he asked. Tim wraps his arms around him, which is nice, and smoothes his hands down his chest.

“Color?” Tim asks. Kon doesn’t understand what he’s–oh, right.

“Green,” he hums contentedly, pressing up into Tim’s hands and tipping his head back against Tim’s stomach. Tim sighs. He sounds a little relieved, for some reason. Kon’s not sure why. There’s no way he’d be anything but green right now.

“Good,” Tim says. “Bernard, can you grab the–oh, thanks. Pet, Bernard’s going to clean you up a little, alright?”

Kon wonders what Tim wanted, but then Bernard’s leaning over him and it doesn’t seem important anymore, so he just hums again and lets his eyes half-close as he hears a little ripping sound and then Bernard is running a wet wipe over the mess of come he got all over himself.

He’d be embarrassed that he wasn’t handling his own mess, maybe, but it feels nice. He was kind of sticky, he guesses, especially after coming in the sheets while grinding in them. So . . . the bed’s also kind of sticky, he guesses. And he’s pretty sure he’s still at least halfway lying in his own come, considering.

He doesn’t really care. Tim’s hands are on his chest and Bernard’s being nice enough to clean him up and he just feels warm and good and like he’s being good and . . . and it’s nice. Really nice.

So yeah, he doesn’t care.

Actually, he doesn’t care about much of anything right now, except for how nice this is.

“Good boy,” Tim says, smoothing one of his hands up Kon’s chest and throat and then stroking his hair again. Kon feels even nicer, and hums softly in response. He assumes Tim wants a response, anyway. Probably. Maybe. “How do you feel, pet?”

“M’good,” Kon sighs contentedly, though he only bothers with saying anything at all because he wants to be good for him. It feels really good and really nice and Tim is just . . . he really likes this. So much.

He never gets treated this nice. Or at least, hasn’t in a really long time.

Well . . . he hasn’t been dating much, he guesses, so . . . like really, he’s pretty sure the last time he went out with anybody was before Tim and Bernard even started dating, so . . .

. . . actually, huh. It was, wasn’t it.

Kon frowns, very briefly, and thinks . . . did he actually . . . stop dating people right when Tim got a boyfriend? Like . . . what, as an actual triggering event? Why would he . . . ?

“I cannot believe how good you are at being good for me,” Tim mutters, stroking his hair again, and Kon forgets what he was thinking about and tips his head back again to peer up at him as Bernard tosses out the used wet wipe with a snigger. “Shut up, Bernard, you don’t know how many goddamn problems this could’ve solved for Young Justice back in the day. You have no idea.”

“Oh, could it have, babe?” Bernard asks, and cackles. Tim scowls at him. Kon . . . Kon has some slightly inappropriate thoughts about the idea of Tim ordering him around in the Robin suit in possibly inappropriate ways and places and times back in the day and . . . and, uh . . .

“Yeah, guess that would’ve been a good way to shut me up when I got too mouthy, huh?” he tries to joke, feeling a little–weird, maybe, and Tim’s fingers curl gently behind his ears.

“I was more thinking the team would've had a mutually enjoyable way to reward you for good behavior,” he replies matter-of-factly.

“. . . oh,” Kon manages, and feels his face burn. And then he has a lot more thoughts that are a lot more inappropriate about . . . about maybe just . . . about what that might’ve been like, maybe, if he’d been good and earned a reward for “good behavior” and then Tim had–Robin, because they hadn’t even known his name then, actually–and then Robin had just . . . let him be good for everybody else too, maybe. Like, they’d had enough of those team sleepovers, they could’ve just . . .

He’d have been so good, he thinks. He’d have taken care of all the girls just how they wanted and done anything Robin told him to and–well, maybe it would’ve been a little weird with Bart, he’s not sure how that would’ve worked, but Robin could’ve just told him what to do, again, and . . .

Like–he could’ve, that’s all.

Kon’s pretty sure he could’ve done that without the pink kryptonite, if he was just, like–doing what Robin told him to do for Cissie or Cassie or “Suzie”. Like . . . even if it might’ve been a little weird and he couldn’t have gotten to touch him, that would’ve been . . .

That’s just–a thought, kind of.

Well, he guesses his next sex dream’s gonna involve getting to play the starring role in a team gangbang. Good to know, he guesses.

Or mortifying, maybe. But . . .

“Real missed opportunity, there,” Tim says, and Kon bites his lip to repress the urge to squirm. He thinks about the idea of Robin telling him how to kiss Suzie or go down on Cissie or fuck Cassie, and it’s . . .

Fuck, it’s a thought, isn’t it.

He wonders if Robin would’ve told him what to do for Bart, too. Like–if that would’ve been a thing, if it’d ever come up. He wonders how that would’ve felt. Just . . . doing whatever Robin told him to, pink kryptonite or not, and . . .

That is a very weird thought, Kon recognizes, and then Bernard leans forward a little and he remembers–shit, Bernard’s been waiting all this time, he needs to–

Tim strokes a hand through his hair, and Kon–hesitates. Settles, slowly. Bernard grins at Tim, and Tim smiles back at him. Kon watches them.

He likes how they look at each other. He’s never gotten to see it, except in the sense of seeing Tim smile at his phone sometimes when he’s texting Bernard. Finally seeing Bernard’s half of the equation is . . . affecting, kind of.

And really nice.

Tim deserves to get a grin like that directed at him, so–yeah. Definitely nice, Kon thinks, and settles a little more.

“Pet,” Tim murmurs, his voice all soft and gentle as he strokes Kon’s collarbones. “Do you want to stay in my lap like this while Bernard gets you ready for our cocks? Does that sound nice?”

Kon nearly bites his tongue.

“Yeah,” he manages to croak, reaching up to wrap his hands around Tim’s wrists and half-reflexively spreading his thighs as he does. “I–yeah. That sounds–yeah, I wanna do that.”

He really wants to do that, actually.

“Fuck,” Tim and Bernard mutter in unison. Kon would laugh, but the way they both say it is just really, really fucking flattering.

#wip: think pink #timberkon

155 notes · View notes

theotherbuckley · 3 months

Text

Tease Tidbit Tuesday/WIP Wednesday

As it is Wednesday here I've decided to combine the days and just do one post.

Tagged for TTT by: @loserdiaz @loveyouanyway @wikiangela @underwater-ninja-13 @actualalligator @daffi-990 @honestlydarkprincess @hippolotamus @dangerpronebuddie thanks for the tags everyone, tagging you all back for Wednesday 💜💜

Here's some more from chronic pain!Buck fic - I thought I'd finish it today but I have a test tomorrow and like 5 assignments to do so I'm gonna be a good girl and actually study. In the meantime, here's a snippet:

“I’ve got you,” Eddie murmurs softly. Buck feels so soft, so protected.

His emotions towards the man are fighting to be set free with every act of kindness he displays. Buck is in awe of him. In awe of just how incredibly perfect he is. How he always knows exactly what it is Buck needs, how he has this sixth sense to know when Buck’s struggling and is always there to help him. How he stays even when Buck is being too much.

Also, Buck loves how fucking strong this man is that he can lift Buck up and deposit him in the bathtub in one swift motion because holy shit. Buck has to fight his body to stay calm. Now is most certainly not the time for any funny business. Buck yelps as Eddie lowers him into the water, expecting to be met with something too hot or too cold but no, of course Eddie has some magical power of making sure the water is just right.

He must’ve made some noise to voice his thoughts because then Eddie is saying, “Chris always complains when the temperature’s not perfect, so I hope it’s to your liking.”

Buck sinks into the warm water, letting the water soothe his aches. He plays with the foamy bubbles that have gathered on the surface, feeling like a kid getting a bubble bath. He smiles dopily at Eddie as the pain slowly subsides to a more bearable level. “Thank you,” Buck murmurs, closing his eyes and leaning back in the tub.

Tagging for WIP Wednesday: @disasterbuckdiaz @fortheloveofbuddie @jeeyuns @wildlife4life @honestlydarkprincess @eddiebabygirldiaz @spagheddiediaz @jesuisici33 @your-catfish-friend @ladydorian05 @giddyupbuck @eowon @elvensorceress @watchyourbuck @steadfastsaturnsrings @housewifebuck @thewolvesof1998 @rainbow-nerdss @cal-daisies-and-briars @evanbegins @diazsdimples @fionaswhvre @aspecbuddie @lover-of-mine @nmcggg @tizniz @monsterrae1 @smilingbuckley @pirrusstuff @actuallyitsellie @bucksbackwardcap (let me know if you'd like to be added/removed <3)

#wip wednesday #chronic pain buck fic #911 abc #911 fandom #911 buddie #evan buck buckley #buddie #buck x eddie #911 fic #purple writes #usercam

115 notes · View notes

dangerpronebuddie · 16 days

Text

WIP Wednesday!!

Tagged by @theotherbuckley @tizniz @daffi-990 @alliaskisthepossibilityoflove who all shared absolutely BRILLIANT stuff y'all should definitely show some love!! 💚🩵

I am pushing through Severed Artery until I get it done! I'm really really hoping it'll be posted tomorrow, if things go right. While I fill in the last missing pieces, have Buck reminiscing™ about the shooting. Because if there's a chance to tie anything back to that moment, I'm gonna take it lol:

“Uh, could you… grab some clothes from my locker?” Buck asks as he wanders into the showers. He turns on the faucet at the sink he usually uses, not even daring to look in the mirror, afraid his bloodstained face would be staring back at him. Tommy enters only a moment later with Buck's jeans and a hoodie that Buck knows Eddie stole from him. He doesn't know how it got back in his locker, but he's not knocking it. “Do you want me to help?” Tommy asks. Buck wants to say yes, he wants the comfort Tommy usually brings, but… what he really wants- who he really wants- may not… “N- no. I got it,” Buck says with what he hopes is a reassuring smile. “Why don't you get out of those clothes and I'll throw em in the washer,” he suggests instead. Buck simply nods and quickly sheds his clothes, the tacky blood drying on his skin making the fabric stick to him a little. He hands them to Tommy without looking at them. He can't. Tommy disappears and Buck shoves his hands under the too hot water. His heart drops into his gut as the water turns a pale pink. He's suddenly staring at his bloodied hands in a hospital waiting room, horrified at the fact he didn't notice how much of Eddie's blood covered him. Each time he reached to wipe tears away, he'd flinch at the sight of his hands. Chim had showed up with a shirt for him, and Bobby had softly coaxed him into the bathroom. Chim stood silent by Buck's side as Bobby scrubbed his hands. Buck made the mistake of looking in the mirror then, at the specks of blood scattered across his face like the freckles he used to have as a kid. “He asked if I was hurt,” Buck had whispered as he stared at his reflection. He had huffed a humorless laugh and shook his head. “I don't think I would've noticed if I was.” He doesn't think he would now either. He whimpers as his hands shake. He remembers the tremors from the last time, that didn't really go away until Eddie was out of surgery. He hadn't noticed them until Taylor took his hands. Maybe he should've asked Tommy to stay with him. Maybe he could put Buck back into some semblance of order before he faced Chris. No. It didn't work with Taylor. It won't work now.

(tags under the cut. As always, please let me know if you want to be added/ removed):

Absolutely no pressure tagging:

@13shadesofanni @lover-of-mine @monsterrae1 @loveyouanyway

@ronordmann @steadfastsaturnsrings @wikiangela @kitteneddiediaz

@inell @exhuastedpigeon @spagheddiediaz @hippolotamus @diazsdimples @thekristen999

@actuallyitsellie @daniwib @fortheloveofbuddie @wildlife4life

@rainbow-nerdss @lunarspark-cos @idealuk @shipperqueen6

@misshiss727 @likeamollusconarock @lin27 @jshadow01 @orangeboxfox92

@smallandalmosthonest @thegeekcompanion @emilybahu @lemotmo @awolfnamed-nyx

@kaseysgirl86-blog @darkrose6578 @totallynotagoraphobic @dandelioncasey @bibuckbuckgoose @whatsgoodinthehood22 @lady-elaine and anyone else who wants to share!! 🥰🩷

#911 #buddie #evan buckley #eddie diaz #911 abc #fanfic #Maggie writes #9-1-1 #spec fic #the severed artery fic #the amount of times “blood” appears in this fic is... probably excessive #tommy kinard #(might regret tagging that)#wip wednesday

63 notes · View notes

fist-amidst-the-hands · 1 year

Text

happy wip wednesday! this one is the ed’s pov version of this post

—————————-

“Izzy.” Ed waits, knowing Izzy is playing out any responses that lead to him going back to bed. Fortunately there are none, or at least none that Izzy deems worth the effort to argue with him over.

With a sigh, he hears Izzy rustle around for a moment before there’s suddenly a blanket in his arms. “Fine.”

#ofmd wip #ofmd snippet #blackhands #izzy hands #edward teach #apparently wip wednesday is just me releasing this one specific work (in progress - hence wip weds) in small paragraphs #so yes this is more of the one that's being simultaneously written in two versions: one from each pov #listen ed just wants to have a calm reminiscent and secluded night with izzy up in the crow's nest like they used to #is that too much to ask? i vote no #except this time they're old and ed has his knee injury so izzy is putting some of that hard earned knowledge that only comes with #experience to use and maybe this time they won't both wake up with stuffy noses #the blanket is mostly for ed btw sorry but izzy is just like that i don't make the rules (<- said while literally making the rules)#am I a member of club let-izzy-sleep? yeah sure but also #i'm like three whole members in the let-ed-force-izzy-down-sentimental-memory-lane club #also this is a tiny snippet for wip weds so I'm hoping to have a bigger bit or maybe string together some of what i've posted before into #one actual continuous scene for next week but we shall see #also this one really needs a title soon so I can go back and tag all of these before i lose track of them #however my strength does not lie in title creation so i'm extremely open to suggestions #and/or if i find a song that fits this one well i might use a phrase from the song as the title #wip wednesday #oh also i just read this back with a fresh mind and this requires context: they are in the dark lol

3 notes · View notes

darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 2 months

Text

The Quiet Ones 2

No tag lists. Do not send asks or DMs about updates. Review my pinned post for guidelines, masterlist, etc.

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as dubcon/noncon, and other possible triggers. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: You live a quiet life, but your peace is fractured by a chaotic man.

Characters: Lloyd Hansen, short!shy!reader

Note: don’t ask me why I did this.

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Asking for more or putting ‘part 2?’ is not feedback.

Love you all. You are appreciated and your are worthy. Treat yourself with care. 💖

You watch as the man looks along the door frame; back and forth, up and down. He knocks again and you flinch. You back up as you push on the door, as if it can make the barrier thicker.

“Come on, baby cakes, I know you’re in there,” he says, “I just brought you a treat. It’s Wednesday... hump day, some call it.”

You step back and hit the table. You squeak and wince away from it, rubbing your forearm where it met the corner. This can’t be happening. He can’t be there. How did he find you?

“London fog, or whatever? It’s the one you like,” he calls, a taunting tinge in his voice.

“Go away,” you force out.

You hear a snort and a softer tap on the wood, “come on, jelly bean, I know you’re a sweet girl. Don’t be like that. It’s a nice gesture so don’t be rude.”

You shake your head and turn, rushing away to grab your phone from your desk. You fumble to unlock it and come back to hover, just a few feet from the door. You can see his shadow underneath, seeping in through the crack.

“I’m...” you gulp dryly, “I’ll call the police.”

“Go ahead,” he sneers as the door shifts. He must be leaning on it.

You don’t say anything else. There’s not point arguing with this man and no point calling the police. They don’t come when your neighbours scream all night long. You just go back to your desk and sit.

You look at the monitor and skim the document, trying to refocus. Where were you? You can’t remember.

“You’re really gonna hang me out to dry?” He raises his voice so you can hear.

You just shake your head and type. He’s not there. The door is locked and you’re all alone. This is your apartment. Your life. It’s Wednesday and you already have your tea. Your tea!

You get up and go to the kitchen to retrieve the lukewarm Earl Grey. Oh well. Just means you don’t need milk. You take it back to your desk.

“It’s the quiet ones you gotta look out for,” the man says as the floor creaks and betrays your movement, “not as nice as they look.”

You stop just at the end of the entryway and look over. His shadow shifts and retreats. You listen to his footsteps recede. You should go over and make sure he’s gone but you’re too afraid to go anywhere near the door. It’s like those recurring dreams where the door is always unlocked and you just can’t twist it back into place.

You stand there for a while before you can make yourself move again. You return to your desk again. You clasp your hands in your lap to keep them from shaking as the screen blurs in your vision.

Should you call the police anyway?

You grab the mouse and swirl it around. You open the notes app and type in last Wednesday’s date.

‘Man approached me at cafe. Grabbed my order. Followed me out and down the street.’

Your hands shake over the keys before you enter that day’s date.

‘Same man appeared at my apartment. Did not let him in. Left after several minutes.’

You check the autosave and click out. You watched too many shows with similar scenarios. There wasn’t much to do but to keep track. The police won’t listen if you have no record. Even then, it’s not likely. This is why you hide from the world. It’s too dangerous.

You bring your last task back up and squint at the handwritten notes scanned crookedly. It’s difficult to fall into your usual process. You’re typically a quick worker but you have to think of every word. You can’t focus past that man’s spectre.

Your nape itches as if he’s still looming right outside your door. As if you might look over and he’ll be standing right there. That thought has you sitting back, recoiling from the computer as you make yourself look at the doorway. Empty.

You get up and approach the entryway. You have to urge yourself forward, “it’s okay, it’s okay, it’s okay...” you whisper to yourself. You clutch the seams of your pants as you near the door. You turn and stand on your toe. You close one eye and press it to the hole. It's black. You can’t see a thing.

Oh no.

That’s not good.

You get down on your knees and hands and been to see beneath the door. You only see a narrow little shadow. It could be nothing at all.

You sit back on your heels and your heart pounds. You shouldn’t look but you have to. You can’t function no knowing for sure.

You stand and check that the chain is in place. You turn the lock back and slowly twist the handle. You inch it open, a hand flat on the wood, your shoulder braced, ready to push back against any force. You peer around and find the hallways empty.

All except the pink cup at the threshold. Just standing there. Taunting you.

You shut the door, nearly slamming it, and lock it once more. You turn and put your back to it. You exhale and shake out your fingers, the crescents of your nails imprinted in your palm.

He’s gone, but you’re not to certain he won’t be back.

👄

You submit your last task for the day, an hour later than usual. You shouldn’t be this far behind. You didn’t even go to the cafe. You should be sixty minutes in the other direction.

You shut off the computer and stand. The stiff wooden chair always leaves you numb but achy. The cushion you put on the seat doesn’t help very much either. What’s especially agitating is the tension locked between your vertebrae.

That man. You haven’t stopped thinking of him. Not just today, but really all week. Since that first time you saw him. He was easier to deny then, but now... he could just be waiting for you on the other side of those walls.

You shudder and carry your untouched tea into the kitchen and dump it. You hadn’t drank a single sip, you haven’t even eaten. You’re not hungry. Your sick to your stomach.

Restless, riled, and rigid. You don’t know what to do with yourself. Usually, you’d read for a while, or watch TV, those old forgotten 70s shows that other people call boring. Yet you know, you can’t find comfort in any of that.

Even behind closed doors and drawn curtains, you can’t feel safe. The thought of making the phone call flickers again but you know better than that. You’ve peeked through the windows as the sirens flash, watched as the police offered nothing more than dismissals and remonstrances not to waste their time to the woman with the bruised cheekbone. It’s just the same as it was when you were a kid. That makes you still feel like one.

Are you talking yourself out of it because you’re scared or stupid or because it’s the truth? It’s hard to know. You never go out of you way to talk to anyone if you can help it. It’s always of utmost necessity. This might be one of those moments but you’re embarrassed. You don’t want to let anyone into the life and if you call someone, you have to do just that. You have let them in. You can’t.

So you won’t.

You sit on the sofa and cross your arms. You won’t let anyone in and you won’t go out. You’ll stay here. Maybe he’ll think he got the wrong place. Maybe he’ll give up. You can outlast him, right?

👄

There’s a rattle in the window. It keeps you awake. You fixate on it. You blame the knot in your chest on it.

Not on the memory, the persistent chill rolling up and down your spine. It’s the window not him. Not that stranger. He’s gone so why are you still thinking of him.

You keep the lamp on. The darkness is too much. You lay staring at the the refraction circle interspliced with the metal frame on the ceiling. The curve is slightly skewed by the angle. The window rattles again.

You huff. You’ll put a book against it to hold it steady. You go to the shelf on the wall and take the heaviest hardcover you can find. You take it to the window and curl your fingers around the edge of the curtain. It feels like stone. You can’t make yourself move it.

You take a breath and pull it away from the frame but don’t look outside. You lean the book on the frame, pushing it snug until you’re sure. You pause, a glint gleaming off the pane. You let go of the book and stare at the brief spark of light, an odd glare.

You inch close to the frame and peek around. You search the sky, a few stars glimmering through the city haze, the moon in a crescent. You search the silhouette of the city and the flicker comes again, this time directly in your eye. You’re drawn to the movement.

You back up and look down at you rub your eyelid. What was that? The curtain fall back into place but the light pierces through. You follow the odd laserlike beam centered on your chest. You put your hand over the green dot there and it shines on your skin. What the hell?

You dodge out of the way in disbelief and stare at the laser at it hits the wall instead. It’s bold, even in the hue of the lamp. It moves up, then down, side to side, then stops. You hold your breath. This isn’t some strange phenomenon. There’s someone out there, doing this. You know who.

You watch the beam terrified. You’ve only ever seen something like that in movies. It’s more than those little red lights you buy for cats. It’s strong, thick. That’s a target and it had just been right on you.

You rub your chest subconsciously and suddenly, the lightly moves. You watch as it swerves around so fast to make a precise shape. A shape you can’t believe. A shape you must be imagining. It stops, centered again on the wall, then retraces the same figure.

A heart.

That can’t be. It’s not real. Your dreaming.

You close your eyes and cover your ears, bending your legs as your curl your shoulders over your knees. You fall onto your side, balled into a fetal position as you shake your head. It’s a dream! Wake up, wake up, wake up...

👄

The morning rises to a thumping in your temples. You don’t know if it’s the lack off food or sleep. You’re wrought and worn from a night spent hiding from reality.

Water. Your mouth is dry. You’re dehydrated. You haven’t been paying attention to the cues. You haven’t wanted to be in this body.

You unfold yourself and sit up. You stare at the wall. The dot is gone. Is he?

You hang one leg over the edge, then the other. You nearly retract them. Like a child, you could believe in a monster under the bed. You push yourself to your feet and stagger forward.

You nearly fall through the open door into the main room of your apartment. You shuffle forward, rubbing your forehead as a sandy fog clings to your lashes. You stumble into the kitchen and lean on the counter as you fill a glass with water. You gulp until you feel queasy.

You put the glass down and flinch at your own force. You back away and wipe the stray droplets from your fingertips. You turn and teeter back into the front room. You need to get your head on straight, you have a full day of work ahead of you still.

You look towards the front door. You cross your arms protectively. You inch forward and turn to face it. You bring yourself to your toes and lean in. You still can’t see through the peep hole. You stand flat again and frown.

You go back to the kitchen and turn the kettle on. You have instant coffee in the mornings. It’s fast and efficient. No clunky machine or ridiculous press. You just need the boost.

You open the cupboard and take down the box of single packets. You slip one out and count the rest. It’s a newer box. There’s ten left. You look up and consider the bag of minute-oats. If you parse back your typical serving, that can last a little longer. You don’t need sugar in it either, that you can spare. The pasta you can ration as well. The sauce has a shelf-life once open.

You put down the packet and set the box back on the shelf. You leave the cupboard door open and go to the fridge. The eggs won’t expire for two weeks but you only have half a dozen left. The milk will go quicker. The butter... that never runs out very quickly, it hardly matters.

Are you really meting out how to wait out this man? Are you really stooping to this? Your defense is no defense. You’re just going to hunk down and hope he goes away. What else can you do?

You can’t go anywhere. You can’t even see out to make sure he’s not waiting for you. You could order groceries but that means also opening the door. How would you know it wasn’t him knocking?

He’ll get bored. He has to. It’s your only hope.

#the quiet ones #lloyd hansen #dark lloyd hansen #dark!lloyd hansen #lloyd hansen x reader #fic #dark fic #dark!fic #series #the gray man

328 notes · View notes

ladykailitha · 2 months

Text

Across a Crowded Room Part 4

Just one more chapter after this and I've decided to release a chapter a week for a story and post a different story each day of the week except Wednesdays (it's too hard to post on that day because of WIP Wednesday, it's overwhelming).

In this one we have Wayne being wise, Eddie picking the perfect thing to cheer Steve up and just being cuties, and Robin figures out her housing problem.

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3

****

Eddie went back to his hotel and stewed about it for awhile. He knew Nancy was rough around the edges. That was what he loved most about her. She smart and funny and yeah, if Eddie had been straight and she hadn’t been with Jonathan he would have tried for a relationship with her.

But now, knowing what he did, all he could taste was bile. He knew he could call her up, bitch her out, never speak to her again. And even though Steve didn’t tell him he couldn’t flip out on her tonight, it was advice he was going to take anyway.

Plus, it may have only been 8pm here, it was nine where she was and he knew she went to bed early so she could be up at four to write.

He went out to a gas station to get a pack of cigarettes and some beer. It was going to be long night and he need to relax.

When he got back to the hotel, he stood out in front and lit a cigarette. He called the one person who could make sense of everything that happened tonight.

Wayne.

“Hey, kiddo,” Wayne greeted. “How goes things with your boy?”

Eddie let out a shuddering sigh. “Have you ever been so wrong about something that what you thought was a mole hill turned out to be the tip of an active volcano? Like you have this friend that had rough break up, but you got to be real good friends with the ex so you just kept telling the friend to get over it and move on. Only to find out she cheated on him and lied about it?”

“Oh Ed.”

Wayne had met Nancy and liked her well enough. She was smart and tenacious but she had this coldness to her that rubbed him the wrong way. But Eddie really liked her so he never said anything.

“Is Steve okay?” he asked.

He told Wayne everything that happened earlier.

“Steve is being a fucking saint about the whole thing,” Eddie barked bitterly. “And now I just want to call her and yell at her. Like how could she continue to hurt Steve that way? Because she had to know it was, right?”

Wayne hummed his agreement. “What are you going to do about it?”

“I’m going to wait a couple of days to calm down before calling her,” Eddie said after taking a drag from his cigarette. “Might even wait until I get back to LA, because I don’t want her cloud hanging over Steve and me.”

“Sounds about right,” Wayne said. “I didn’t know she cheated on him, but always thought that how quickly she moved on was a little suspicious.”

Eddie frowned. “What do you mean?”

“They break up and two days later she’s with Jonathan?” Wayne said. “Come on, son, you don’t stop to wonder about that?”

Eddie ducked his head in shame. “She always said that it was a mutual understanding between her and Steve that since she was in love with Jonathan, she should be with him.”

“Ah.”

The story had always been that Steve broke up with her and told her to be with Jonathan because she clearly loved him. But in light of her cheating on Steve, he doubted the conversation was as cut and dried as all that.

“I just feel like I’ve let Steve down after all these years because I never asked him what his side of the story was, you know?”

“I can understand that,” Wayne said. “But follow his lead on this. Don’t beat yourself up for something if he’s truly moved on, alright?”

“Yeah...” he breathed out and all the tension and worry just flowed out his body. “I think I’m just going to have a couple of beers and go to bed.”

“You take care now, ya hear?” Wayne said.

“You, too.”

Eddie hung up and finished his cigarette. He tossed the butt in the appropriate ashtray and went up to his room to crack a couple of beers. As he opened his door, he got a photo from Steve.

It was of him curled up on the sofa with a large blanket and a tub of ice cream. Eddie smiled down at the image. He pressed and held on the imaged and gave it a heart.

-Love you, baby. Take care yourself and we’ll meet up tomorrow.

-Love you too sunshine.

Eddie gulped down the hard lump that had formed in his throat. God did him love this man.

He got into his pjs and sat down on the bed, legs stretched out. He pulled out his phone to plug it in to charge, and looked at it a moment.

He wasn’t going to call Nancy. He had already made that decision. But there was one more person he could talk to.

Jonathan. Maybe he had some insights to all of this that the rest of them just didn’t.

After a good conversation with Jonathan, he hung up feeling a little better about the whole thing.

Then he settled down to read. He had this book that he had been trying to read for the last couple weeks, so he pulled it out to read it. There was a Netflix show about it that he moderately liked and wondered if the source material was any better.

He looked up at the clock on the wall with a frown. He hadn’t gotten too far into the book, but it was already after one.

Sighing, he put the book down and sent a message to Steve to tell him good night, like he had the night before.

Eddie wasn’t expecting a message back, but he got one anyway.

-:*

He shook his head and got under the covers, letting himself drift off.

****

Steve woke up early the next morning and stretched. He felt a billion times better from his quiet night in. He loved Robin and Eddie. They were his best friends for a reason. But they were loud and over the top. Hell, that was why Steve was so in love with Eddie. But he needed soft last night and he could get that better on his own.

Not that Eddie couldn’t be soft!

He didn’t want to suggest otherwise, but he needed the time to decide what he really wanted with Eddie. They had gone from friends that only talked on the phone and barely visited each other to a relationship and sex in zero to sixty.

And as crazy as it all was, Steve was even more invested in going all in with him.

Because he respected Steve’s wishes. Because he sincerely apologized. Because he felt like shit about it. They could have not believed him. Blown him off, telling him it was years ago. Him and Robin both.

But they didn’t.

He had barely turned on the coffee machine when his phone rang.

“Ello mellow,” he greeted absently.

“Steve!” Robin cried. “You’ll never guess what happened last night?”

Steve chuckled. “Yeah?”

“I was talking to Kendra and she has this cousin who’s moving out to New York next week to do ballet and while her parents bought the apartment outright want her to take a roommate to help with the utilities and shit. So we called her and talked. And now I have place to stay, stay and I don’t need to crash on Nancy’s couch. Hell, I don’t even have to tell her about what happened between you and her and I can just phase her out of my life. Isn’t that amazing?!”

She hadn’t even taken a breath throughout the whole speech.

Steve laughed. “That does sound amazing. What’s her name?”

“Chrissy Cunningham,” Robin said. “Steve, she’s like gorgeous and a ballerina and funny and I’m going to die but I’m going to die happy about it.”

“I’m happy for you, Robs,” he said. “You call Nancy yet?”

“No,” she replied grumpily. “I wanted to talk to my bestie first.”

Steve chuckled. “Bestie informed. Now go tell her of your changed plans.”

“Love you, dingus!” she said with a kissy noise. “Call you back soon!”

Steve stared at his phone for a moment or two in just sheer awe. Like if Eddie hadn’t gotten the record deal out here, none of this would have happened.

It probably would still turned out all right, but now things were going great.

He got his coffee and made him a bow of cereal. He was going to have to go grocery shopping. He was a little lower on things than he thought he was.

He had finished rinsing out his bowl when he got a call from Eddie.

“Morning, babe,” he said softly. Fondly.

“My glorious Stevie!” Eddie greeted back. “I have decided that because yesterday was shit, we are going to the zoo today.”

Steve blinked. He didn’t think he’d ever been to the zoo out here in Chicago. “Sounds like fun. Should we make a picnic out of it?”

“Yes!” Eddie cried. “That’s perfect. I get the drinks and sides and you bring the sandwiches?”

“Sounds good,” Steve said. “The best supermarket is on...” he listed the address and texted it to him. “Why don’t we meet there in an hour and do our shopping together.”

“Yay!”

“See you then, Eds.”

“Bye, honey!”

Steve did the sniff test and decided he’d shower when he got home. He was about to smear sunscreen all over himself and figured it would be easier to get just one shower today.

He went to the cupboard and pulled out their sunscreen. Robin being the cute freckled thing that she was burned in sixty two degree weather in severe overcast wearing a large hat and covering up the rest of her so he had the good stuff.

He checked his balance and satisfied he had enough for the zoo and groceries, he went and got dressed, applying the sunscreen under his clothes for maximum effectiveness.

Steve grabbed his keys and wallet and locked up.

****

Eddie found the place easy enough. The problem was that he arrived twenty minutes before he said he would meet Steve. So he left early to make sure he could find the place and not leave Steve waiting, so sue him.

He was finishing his second cigarette when Steve pulled up next to him and hopped out.

“I hope you haven’t been waiting long,” Steve said with a smile.

Eddie pulled him in close. “Just a few years, but that’s okay. I’d wait forever if it meant I would get you in the end.”

“Sap!” Steve teased, but he threw his arms around Eddie’s neck and kissed him deeply. “You don’t have to wait anymore, sunshine. I’m in it for as long you want me.”

Eddie’s smile was bright. “Mmk.”

They walked into grocery store and got a cart. Steve pulled out his phone and got the stuff on his list. Then they got the stuff for their picnic.

“I’d make my potato salad if I had the time,” Steve lamented when Eddie threw in a tub of the store bought.

“You have a potato salad recipe?” Eddie cackled. “Is it yours or Claudia’s?”

Steve clutched his chest and placed the back of his hand on his forehead. “I’m wounded to think that I would steal Claudia Henderson’s potato salad recipe! She uses Miracle Whip, the heathen!”

Eddie threw his head back and laughed. “There is nothing wrong with Miracle Whip, babe.”

“I like to add my own seasoning and that stuff throws off the whole balance!” Steve protested.

Eddie kissed his cheek. “If you say so, Stevie.”

Steve blushed and they finished their shopping.

They went back to Steve’s so that they could put away his groceries and make the sandwiches.

They stood side by side as they made their sandwiches. Then they packed the cooler.

Steve bullied Eddie into putting on sunscreen by telling him that he need to strip for it.

Eddie was naked in no time at all and moaned the injustice of it all when Steve told him he already had some on.

They loaded everything into Eddie’s rental and sent off for the Chicago zoo.

Eddie was most excited to see the primate enclosure, while Steve wanted to see the wild cats. He couldn’t call them ‘big’ cats because the African Blackfoot was the size of house kitten. And that wasn’t included the manuls. Or Pallas’ cat. Grumpy faces, short little legs, and fluffy as hell.

Eddie pointed to one of the manul kittens. “That one looks like Dustin!” he cackled.

Steve laughed. “It really does!” He pulled out his phone and snapped a picture.

He sent it to Dustin with tag, “I didn’t know you were at the Zoo today!”

The response he got back was a single eye roll emoji.

“You know,” Eddie said looking over Steve’s shoulder, “I swear that butthead has gotten less fun over the years.”

“I know, right?”

They got to the aquatic part of the zoo and there was this little boy who couldn’t have been older than two or three just glued to the otter exhibit. He had both hands on the glass as the otters swam and splashed as if they were showing off for just this little boy.

“I think they have to be that cute at that age to avoid you murdering them when they go on a tear in their underwear smearing poo on the entire hallway,” Eddie said with a grin.

Steve laughed. “Let me guess there are pictures of baby Eddie doing exactly that?”

Eddie pursed his lips and rocked back on his heels. “I plead the fifth.”

“I’m surprised you didn’t burn them when you turned eighteen.”

They moved on to the elephants.

“I tried!” Eddie cried. “Wayne won’t tell me where they are. He says he wants to show them to my future partner so he can see if they pass the litmus test.”

Steve kissed his knuckles. “And what test is that?”

“Whether or not they’d except the crazy with the sane,” Eddie murmured.

Steve pulled him in close. “I prefer the crazy to the sane, baby. The crazy keeps me from getting too far into my head.” He kissed the tip of his nose. “Okay?”

Eddie gave him a quick hug. “It’s no fair, because Wayne already loves you, so I don’t get to watch him get all protective and shit.”

Steve gave a half shrug. “I think I got enough of the protective father figure when we first started being friends, Eds. I think he actually growled at me once.”

Eddie threw his head back and laughed. “Oh, my god, I forgot he did that.”

Steve just smiled as they took their time through the whole zoo, just holding hands and being with each other.

Finally it was time for lunch and Steve went to go get their cooler while Eddie found them a picnic table.

****

Part 5

Tag List: @mira-jadeamethyst @rozzieroos @itsall-taken @redfreckledwolf @emly03

@spectrum-spectre @estrellami-1 @zerokrox-blog @gregre369 @a-little-unsteddie

@chaosgremlinmunson @messrs-weasley @chaoticlovingdreamer @maya-custodios-dionach @danili666

@goodolefashionedloverboi @val-from-lawrence @i-must-potato @carlyv @wonderland-girl143-blog

@justforthedead89 @vecnuthy @irregular-child @bookbinderbitch @bookworm0690

@anne-bennett-cosplayer @yikes-a-bee @awkwardgravity1 @littlewildflowerkitten @genderless-spoon

@cinnamon-mushroomabomination @dragonmama76 @scheodingers-muppet @ellietheasexylibrarian

@thedragonsaunt @useless-nb-bisexual @disrespectedgoatman @counting-dollars-counting-stars @tinyplanet95

#my writing #stranger things #steddie #ladykailtiha writes

141 notes · View notes