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crxshed-skxlls · 9 months

Text

— ❝ Dual Purpose

Masky x fem!reader x Hoodie

Word count: 3k+

Plot: During a surprise home invasion from two strangers (Masky/Hoodie), they can't stop arguing on who is better than the other. Soon, Hoodie hatches the bright idea as you to be the judge...

NSFW tags: Threesome, Exhibitionism, degradation, biting/choking, oral sex (M & F receiving), bondage, rough sex, knife play, dacryphilia, dubcon, tongue piercing, overstimulation

TW warning// physical violence is used once (never again after)

Note: Sequel coming very soon... 👀

You weren't expecting any of this. Well, you didn't expect the bickering persay. Your wrists were tied to uncomfortable zip-ties as you watch as these two strangers bicker like high school children. Though they were definitely contrasting in personality. The masked figure seemed more cautious, calculated, and irritable. The hooded man was the opposite, a slacker and pretty compulsive from the looks of it.

" You know I'm better with handling the possessions, you just deal with her. "

" Tch. Good my ass. Your shit at this. Last break in you tripped and fell on your ass. "

" Quit bickering and do your job, smartass. Just deal with her. "

The mask man growls, gesturing to you. You shiver with fear, not daring to utter a complaint. The other, a hooded man, had threatened to gut you if you made a sound. The creepy smiley face then looked down at you as the Masked man starts walking. It seemed the Masked stranger was more cautious with his work, while the hood slacked off. You noted this from their body language and the way they interacted this past 5 minutes. It wasn't long until the hooded figure looks as the other carefully examines your living room drawers, rustling like he was looking for treasure. Hoodie then looks back at you.

" Do you wanna bet, Timo--? "

" Don't utter that fucking name. You know better than to reveal that, Hoodie. "

The masked stranger whips around and barks with a husky tone. If you weren't so scared for your life, you would think that the man was a tiny bit attractive. Though, you at least earned a name. The name seemed simple enough, "Hoodie" for a hooded stranger. You keep attentive though, watching as the hooded figure cracks a sigh. You clear your throat though, wondering sarcastically if the others name was "Masky or something".

" Why does it matter? It's not like shes going to live another day, Masky. "

Wow. Color you shocked; you got the name right -- but that didn't stop you from shakily whimpering at the words. Not going to live another day rang in your ears as they continued. Masky narrows his eyes, letting out an exhausted sigh.

" What are you playing at? "

" How about we end this debate with a judge? "

At this point, you and Masky seem to tense in a confused glance at Hoodie. You attentively perks up at the word... What was Hoodie playing at? The yellow hooded man seems to chuckle under his mask, tentively fiddling with the knife as he steps forward once. Masky seems to examine the other.

" Now that I got your attention.. I have an idea. "

" Hoodie, I don't have time for your shit ideas. Spit it out. "

" Okay, okay -- jesus. I noticed you have been very tense recently, such as I... Sooo-- "

He interrupts his speech as he steps towards you. Your heart skips a beat as you try to scoot away, but hoodie crouches and catches your face with a gloved hand. Masky's eyes turn towards you and Hoodie with a look hidden under his mask. Hoodie makes you turn your head fully to Masky in a teasing manner.

" What if we let off some steam? "

" Wh-- why-- "

Masky's eyes widen as he catches on the idea. You are left in the dark as the two exchange looks. Masky shuts the drawer, not breaking his gaze. Hoodie snickers, soon turning your head to him. Your face was inches from his as he keeps his hand dug into your cheeks. You grunt at the pain, attempting to move but failing.

" You can't be serious. "

" C'mon.. She's quite a doll, dont you think? I think she would be the perfect Judge. "

You soon catch on to the idea with wide eyes. To start to squirm slightly, kicking Hoodie's leg. Hoodie hisses as he releases your face. He cursed out as he soon kicks back with much more force. The kick lands on your stomach, a pained cry comes from you. The stinging pain causes you to fall over. Masky looks at you, and you lock eye contact. You already had tears well up into your eyes, almost like a hurt puppy. You watch as Masky's throat bobbed as he gulps, breaking eye contact to look at Hoodie. The hooded man glares through his mask at you, making you flinch in fear.

" You don't get to answer yet, bitch. "

" Hoodie, this isn't a good idea. "

" What? Is the ugly duckling chicken? "

Hoodie taunts, making Masky groan at the comment. Masky looks at him, then at you again. The masked man sighs, ruffling his hair in what seemed to be frustration. You shake your head, tears spilling from your eyes as you curl up against the wall. You hopped that they weren't being serious, but at the same time you remained unsure from the two. You feel your stomach bubble weirdly, and not from the painful kick from earlier. Hoodie groans at your cries in a both annoyance and arousal. You peak up to see Hoodie's mask pulled up enough to show half of his face. You examine his tough jawline and his faint mustache. What made you flutter in a weird, sick way was the shit-eating grin on his face.

" So? What's it going to be? "

" ... What do I get in return? If I win. "

Masky cautiously mused, throwing up sarcastic quote hands at the "win" part. Hoodie's grin becomes a wicked smile.

" Now we're talking.. You get bragging rights and a chance to unwind. I mean -- who would let a good doll go to waste like this? She's so pathetic. "

You whine at the comment, causing the two to glance at you. Your trembling, looking up with pleading eyes as you watch the two.

" Please -- "

" What did I say, whore? "

Hoodie growls as he flicks his knife into your sight, his hand going for your face before --

" I'll do it!! "

You yell out as you quickly shut your eyes. You expect a stinging feeling, or a plunge of a foreign object.. However your met with a frozen silence. You peeked an eye open, noticing the two stranger's expressions. Hoodie stopped in place, the knife mere inches from your face as his mouth is slightly agape with surprise. Masky's eyes are wide with the same surprise.

" ... What - What did you say? "

" I - I'll be the judge. Just- Just please don't kill me. "

You stutter and plee with the hooded figure. Shock soon turned into cocky, unadulterated amusement on the man's face. Hoodie slowly turns to Masky with an astonished laugh. His knife lowers from your face as you open your other eye, watching.

" Even better. We got an attractive freakshow to toy with. C'mon Tim, let loose. "

" What did I tell you, Brian.. "

" Hey! Relax. What's she gonna do, kill us? "

Tim and Brian.. Those names echo before Masky-- or Tim steps and joins the other man as he stands. They both look over you, their oogling making you feel small. Hoodie's smirk fades to a smile, flicking his pocket knife shut. Your almost relieved -- until he started speaking.

" Get up. I'll give the honors of Tim going first. "

You quickly attempt to get up, only for you to stumble as your shaky legs betray you. Hoodie giggles like a little boy as he watches you struggle, but Masky's pants tell more than his mask with this situation. You noticed the thick part stick out of his tight pants, revealing just how aroused he was. Hoodie soon turns around, seeming to go shove everything off your living room table. You flinch at the sound, only for Hoodie to motion you over. You pass Masky was you wobble over, his eyes boring into you attentively as he turns. You stop for a minute, making Hoodie's mouth form into a disgruntled line. You open your lips, and with a careful voice --

" I have one- one request. "

You emphasize the one as you speak, hoping that the two wouldn't attempt to silence you. Hoodie takes a moment to think, before sighing with a groan.

" Hhh- what is it? "

" I- I want to see your faces. "

" ... What-- "

The two men incline harmoniously, but you quickly intercept anything after that. You utter a wait as you step closer, your lips quivering slightly in nervousness.

" You want me to judge, right? We- Well I want to be able- able to judge you both thoroughly... "

You explain with a harsh breath. Your brain screamed against your actions-- logic telling you that you were insane for the request. Though, your body and fluttering adrenaline said otherwise. The two men exchange looks, only before looking at you again. You stand there as you hear Masky's footsteps, shivering as he stands behind you. Hoodie grins slightly. Your face flushes a pale pink, your tied hands balling into fists as they continued to stare.

" You really are a freak, huh? "

" mm-- mhm.. "

" ... Fine. "

" Do I get a say in this?? "

Masky scoffs, obviously defensive of his mask. Though, Hoodie takes off his mask. Your eyes widen as you lock eyes with Hoodie. He cocks an eyebrow, smirking at the small reaction.

" Tim, C'mon. It's not that bad. "

" No. "

He sternly replies, shoving you towards the brunette. You struggle to catch yourself, stumbling as you attempt to stand straight. Hoodie sighs with a tsk, taking you by the shoulders and moving you to sit down on your wood table. You look up at him, his smug look making you red in the face. He laughs at you, not even Noticing Masky next to you both.

" God, your a whore. Getting all hot and bothered by two strangers? Though, I'm flattered. "

He degrades you as he takes steps back. He looks at Masky, a grin on his stubble face. Masky looks on as Hoodie maneuvers on the other side of the small table, sitting on your sofa.

" Go on, you can start the show. Show us what you got, big boy. "

" Don't ever call me that again. "

Masky cringes by the taunt, only to get in front of you. His tall stature makes you more wobbly, watching as he takes off his gloves. He throws them on the floor, soon snaking a hand under your shirt as he stares into your eyes. You tense at his rough, calloused hands as you watch. Hoodie carefully watches. Masky seems to hesitate about something, only before going to your ear.

" Close your eyes. "

Masky whispers in a hushed voice. Your eyes narrow a little bit in curiosity before you feel Masky's hand rubbed your love handles. You finally take a breath as you look at the stranger.

" What? "

" Close your eyes. If you want more, close your eyes. "

You couldn't tell if this was a hint for consent, or he was genuine about it. Either way, you cautiously close your eyes. He seems to reward you with your compliance, hearing the sound of plastic drop to the table and Masky giggles. You gasp as you feel a nibble on your earlobe, sending tingles of weird pleasure down your body.

" Good, Good... Keep them closed until my say, understand? "

" What are you whispering about? Get on with it. "

Hoodie whines, but Masky ignores him. You nod in understanding before you feel Masky take off your shirt. You keep your eyes closed as you shiver at the feeling of lips on your neck. You can hear the faint sound of a click noise, and it seems to irritate Masky as he mutters out something between kisses. You dont dare open your eyes, but you are wondering what Hoodie is planning.. Or at least doing. Your thoughts are interrupted though as Masky takes off your shirt, the cold air of the room hitting your hot skin. Masky pushes you on the table, causing you to let out small gasp. You were now in your black, laced bra you always wore around the house. You hear Hoodie let out a hushed moan, making you want desperately want to see what he is up to. Masky continues his work, and you open your legs for him as his tongue dragged along your neck and his hands guide to your bra. You hear Hoodie stifle a rough groan, before letting out a whitty snicker.

" What a great show, Tim. Smile for the camera~ "

" Fuck off. "

" Wooah, didn't mean t-hah- to piss you off."

His teased tone comes out with a coo, and Masky growls onto your skin. You get a sick feeling knowing that you're being recorded, but you cant help to think about how Hoodie looked sitting there. You moan as you think about the bead of sweat on Hoodie's face dribble down as he palms his pants, holding his camera steadily to the scene as he watches. Your snapped out of it as let out another gasp as Masky lifts your bra up, exposing your tendered breasts. Your nipples were already hardened, and Masky let's out a soft grunt. You hear the sound of Hoodie getting up, the sofa creaking as he does. You tense up, moaning as Masky licks one of your nipples. You feel Hoodie bend down in front of you, and you bite your lip as Masky bites your nipple softly. You can feel Hoodie's hot breath as he chuckled, which made your core throb with neglect.

" Your enjoying this huh? It takes a special type of sicko to like this type of thing."

" You – haah- you like it too though. "

You sputtered out defiantly, making Masky let out a snicker of his own. Hoodie seems to pause, his hand tightly gripping your hair with a huff. He keeps your head up as you spill moans, only before yelping out as Masky bites your breast, feeling the sting as Masky sucks a mark onto you. Hoodie grunts watching you spill your moans out for them. It came as a surprise though as Hoodie pulls you into a kiss. You gasp, giving him time to shove his tongue into the kiss. Your pleasantly surprised as you feel the silver trinket in Hoodie's mouth, processing a tongue piercing. You moan into his moan as he groans in yours, Masky's eyes boring into you both as he pops off your chest with a slick pop. You feel hot as your body flares with pleasure, bucking your hips with want as you moan into Hoodie's mouth. Hoodie smirks in the kiss before pulling away. You feel a string of saliva break as he wipes his mouth. Masky starts to softly kiss down your abdomen. You hear Hoodie mutter suckup– only before turning his attention back to you.

" Do you want more? "

" Mmn – yes ! Yes I do– "

" Really now? What's the magic word. "

You groan at the extent of Hoodie's teasing. He snickers at you, only before bringing a hand to one of your breasts. You let out a whimper, feeling him squeeze the tender piece of flesh. You let out a harsh moan as you feel Hoodie press on Masky's marks on your chest. You gasp as you feel your pants and undergarments tugged down, revealing your wet cunt below. Hoodie chuckles at the sight, clicking his tongue. You feel as Masky teases your body, making you let out a whimper as you buck in the air.

" Pl- please– "

" Oh? Please what? Speak up slut. "

" Mmn- more ! Ah, fuck– "

" Hmmn, good girl. "

Hoodie laughs at your pleas between moans as you hear the faint ziip of a zipper. Masky watches, observing your pretty cunt as it clenches to nothing. You can hear Masky panting, letting out small grunts as he ghosts his hands on your thighs before giving them a squeeze. You let out a groan, wiggling as you plead with the man in front of you. You feel your mouth salivate, drool dribbling down your chin.

" Heh – you hear that Tim? She so desperately wants it shes - hng- drooling. Won't you help the poor girl out? "

Hoodie pleas with a snicker, and Hoodie surprisingly obliges. You suck in a deep breath, gasping as you feel Masky's fingers slide between your folds. You moan out as he touches your swollen clit, finally opening your eyes. Hoodie gawks at how you look, sweat clinging to your red face as you tremble on the wooden surface. Though you can't help but eye his camera, aimed down at your cunt as Masky plays with your folds. The next thing you noticed made your heart stutter. Hoodie's manhood was present in front of you, thick and throbbing with neglect. His rendered veins pop out slightly, and he was definitely more average. Hoodie's face reddened as you drool over his dick. Masky doesn't comment as you peacefully open your eyes, but you gasp as he starts to lick at your folds, making you gasp.

" T– Tim!! FucK– "

You choke out loud, causing Masky's grip to tighten on you. Hoodie scoffs, continuing to eye you both as he aims the camera to your face. Hoodies statement earlier was definitely a lie. Ugly Duckling your ass, the way Masky's harsh eyes preyed upon your reactions made you already want to come. Hoodie watches with a groan as you then return your attention to him, your eyes dilated with want and need.

" Fuck.. You really are a cockslut, huh? C'mon, I got you help.. "

Hoodie breaths, aiming his dick to your lips. You moan out as Masky laps up at your wet folds, teasing your clit with wet circles. You look up at Hoodie with a heaving chest, watching as his smug face soon turns into a lustful need.

" .. Now help me, doll. "

Hoodie whimpers – whimpers out as you finally open your mouth with a hunger. Your tongue swirls around the tip of his penis, making him let out a sigh of relief as he pushes into your mouth. Your moans vibrate on Hoodie's cock as Masky inserts his tongue into your cunt, his nose pressed onto your labia as he slurps up your fluids. You feel your body grow hotter as you squirm and tense, arching your back in pleasure. Masky's moans dont help as they vibrate into you, making you loose some of your thoughts. Hoodie smirks as you squirm, groaning from the vibrations to his manhood. He soon bites his lip, shoving more of his cock into your mouth with a tight squeeze. You choke, but don't gag. Hoodie is pleasantly surprised that you dont have a gag reflex, causing his dick to twitch in satisfaction. He continues to throat fuck you through your high, you shaking and trembling as your suffocated. Soon, you come onto Masky's face, the brunette desperately lapping and drinking the sweet fluids you gave him.

" Good girl. "

You hear Hoodie breath, thrusting in your throat before pulling out. You gasp and choke for air, letting out a loud whine as Masky plays with your clit. The stings of overstimulation makes you arch more in broken moans and whimpers. You babble before Hoodie quickly shuts you up, shoving his slick cock back into your mouth. Masky grunts, his moans stuttered as he stands. He comes onto you with a growl, panting as slick white ropes on your thighs and cunt. You choke on Hoodie's length as he facefucks you, moans and grunts spilling out of him. He babbles, muttering praising remarks with subtle degrading terms. It was long until he let's out a drawn moan, burying himself all the way in the back of your throat. You spasm as you come with him, for the second time. He covers his sticky ropes down your throat, pulling out. He quickly keeps a hand covering your mouth, his eyes narrowing at you.

" Swallow it. "

He sternly muses, in which you shakily swallow his juices. He groans watching your throat Bob as you swallow, letting his hand release your mouth. The room is filled with panting, harsh breathes, and the stink of sex in the air as you three catch your senses. You feel your body hot and bothered, covered in different fluids as your head spins with a small headache. As you all start to get your sense, Masky is the first to speak up with his gruffed voice.

" So… Who is better? "

" Why is that even a question? I'm obviously the best. "

" Zip it. You're not the one that made her scream your name. "

The two banter on as you think for a moment. Your body is heavy as you watch the two argue. You groan, wiggling as you get up from the table. You feel yourself peel off the wood from the slick sweat. The two silence at once, anticipating your answer. It wasn't long until you giggle, which turned into a mused sigh.

" I don't know.. I might need a round two. "

" What!? You can't possibly– "

" I'll do it. "

Masky happily obliges, leaving Hoodie at a loss of words or taunts. He pauses, mouth agape before turning into a disbelieved chuckle. You watch as Hoodie silently clicks his camera off, plopping it on the table. Masky's eyes are full of delirious lust, and Hoodie swears he's never met such a freak like you. Something in you tells you that you are in for a loong day.

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sircarolyn · 5 months

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douglas in joburg proclaiming to be a 'happily married man' when he's literally getting a divorce.... all of cabin pressure is about Performance... being the person you think you should be (martin and theresa) or the person you want people to think you are (carolyn and douglas and herc) and it isolates them all until they let it go. meanwhile arthur, 'i'm very often just completely happy' arthur, 'i can't lie' arthur... his performance as Australian Son in zurich saves the day....

#lucy listens to cp #cabin pressure #literally could write essays on this ourggggg

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reiketsunomizunomegami · 1 year

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Creepypasta React to their s/o's First Kill

Warning: Implied Blood, gore scenes

Feat: Jeff, EJ, Slenderman, Offenderman, and Splendorman

Jeff The killer

-He'll be so Happy when you do it like Yeah! That's my Girl!

-After that Jeff will Scoop you into his Arms and Spin you around happily “I'm so Proud of you Doll! You did so great!”

Eyesless Jack

-Like Jeff, This Boy will be so proud and happy for you

-And after That EJ Will Even Share you his Favourite Food which is the Kidneys that he takes from his helpless Victims

Slenderman

-This Man will be so so Proud of you and even throw you a celebration party

-Slender will Pick you and Kiss your Temple “You did so Great Dear.. I'm so proud of you”

Offenderman

-The Smug one and tries to show you off to everyone

-after your First kill, expect tjis guy to take you home to give you your Reward;-) “You did so great Babe so let me Reward you something when we get home”

Splendorman

-Ohh sorry to tell this But Splendorman will be shocked if you do that

-He will even cry and Kinda Scared of you because We know that splendorman was a very kindhearted Pasta

#CP #Creepypasta #creepypasta imagines #Creepypasta Canon #Creepypasta x s/o #Creepypasta x Y/N #Jeff The killer #Eyesless Jack #Slenderman #Offenderman #Splendorman #Jeff the killer x reader #Eyesless Jack x reader #Slenderman x Reader #Offenderman x Reader #Splendorman x Reader #Reiketsunomizunomegami #Reiketsunomizunomegami blog #Reiketsunomizunomegami Writing

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civilization-illstayrighthere · 7 months

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while i do think Kerry can be emotionally distant and closed off at times, especially when he feels slighted or hurt, i don’t see the new ending as evidence of that. He tries to listen to V and keeps getting interrupted, but he’s also in the middle of a tour (notoriously crazy busy at his fame level) and had also been (albeit accidentally) ghosted by V for two entire fucking years. And yet, he laughs with excitement hearing V is back, asks if he needs any monetary support, says he’ll see him right after the tour in four months. Is he busy? Yes. V would have known this getting into a relationship with Kerry. Musical artists have crazy tour times and then slower times off-tour. V himself was booked and busy himself with his job. Kerry literally seems like the ONLY one of the love interests in that ending where a chance at reigniting the relationship is even possible! I actually really like that ending because it shows him as he is: a vain, successful rockerboy who is a touch vapid and short attention spanned but honestly really caring and giving to those who he holds dear. While, you know— being a grown adult invested in his career with responsibilities and obligations he has beyond what was, though life changing, a few week romantic fling that, again, ghosted him for two entire calendar years.

#cyberpunk 2077 #cp 2077 #phantom liberty #phantom liberty spoilers #cyberpunk 2077 spoilers #kerry eurodyne #stomping in a glass house #i think my ideal ending is still the one where v becomes the afterlife legend #but its interesting to know that v IS technically curable in a way. i think that opens up a lot of writing possibilities #i get annoyed in the same way when people dunk on Kerry for not following v in the aldecaldos ending #‘hi 89 year old man who relies on cyberware and medical intervention to live like a 40 yr old— you wanna travel #extremely dangerously in a fucking Winnebago w sand in your asscrack?’#of COURSE he says no! he has decades of life in night city! how full of yourself #do u have to be to expect him to sacrifice everything? that’s not love that’s domination.

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aconflagrationofmyown · 7 months

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Writing Captain Presley nudging his boat into a tributary from the main river has become shockingly…suggestive.

I was not prepared for this, they don’t teach you this in fanfic school, y’all.

#the writing life #elvis presley #elvis fanfiction #elvis imagine #elvis fanfic #CP Vibes

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beauregardlionett · 27 days

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you've walked a hundred times before

AO3 Link

“That’s pretty much the lay of the land,” Lydia said, boosting herself up onto one of the plinths. She leaned back on her hands and smiled cheerily as she knocked her heels against the plinth supports. “Any questions?”

Mar hummed, shoving their hands into the pockets of their scrub pants. “How busy is an average night here?”

“Depends on a few things,” Lydia said, crossing her ankles and tipping her head to one side. “Usually the main driving factor is how safe the city is on a day to day basis.”

“Why would that change so frequently?”

Lydia went still, gaze zeroing in uncomfortably on Mar’s face.

“You have worked in a city before, right?”

“Yeah?” Mar said, hesitant. “During school I had placements in two different major cities.”

“Which ones?”

“Trenton and Philadelphia?” Mar said, failing to see how this was relevant.

“Hm, condolences,” Lydia said, pushing herself off the plinth as Mar made a face at her. “You probably only worked during the day, didn’t you?”

“You know many physical therapy clinics that are open after seven at night?”

“Fair,” Lydia smirked. “Anyway, my point is, Gotham is a fucking nightmare when it comes to crime and weirdo villains - sometimes during the day, but mostly at night. So, the more active they are, the less patients we tend to have. It’s kind of like when the weather gets bad and all the elderly people cancel? Of course, there’s always people who just do not care and show up regardless, so we never have absolutely nothing to do.”

“Hey,” Fariha called, poking her head out of the tiny front office. “I finished organizing the schedule for tonight since Jiro had to take off. First patient should be here soon.”

“Thanks!” Lydia said with a wave. She turned to beam at Mar, brown ponytail swinging and teeth blindingly white under the fluorescents. “I almost forgot to mention, there’s an emergency clinic across the hall you might have spotted on your way in. So if you hear any commotion, it’s probably them and not a robbery. If it is a robbery, Fariha has it covered.”

Mar blinked, opened their mouth, then closed it. They decided to just take that statement at face value and hopefully never find out the details.

“Do we take walk-ins?” Mar asked instead, gaze shifting to the door as it opened. An elderly looking Hispanic woman toddled in, grinning brightly as Fariha called out a greeting.

“Oh yeah, if we have room in the schedule for them. Most of them come in without scripts so I hope you’re prepared to do some detective work.”

Mar hummed again in response as Lydia moved to grab her rolling desk and laptop.

“Hi, Mrs. Jimena!” Lydia said, gesturing to a plinth in the corner of the room. “Got your table all ready for you. How’s that knee doing?”

Mar ducked into the front office with Fariha, shifting through the small stack of patient charts left out for them. The pro bono clinic was only open for five hours, starting at four in the afternoon and closing somewhere in the vicinity of nine. Lydia had said it depended on what their schedules looked like that determined how early or late they could close up.

“Hey, Fariha?” Mar said, leaning against the filing cabinet to face the cheerful front desk woman. She had a heart shaped face, warm brown eyes, and she hadn’t stopped smiling since Mar met her half an hour ago. Fariha had a slight accent that dripped like honey through every syllable, making her friendly disposition increasingly effective. Her golden septum piercing seemed like the brightest thing in the world under the dingy lighting of the clinic.

Fariha turned her rolling chair to Mar and hummed to show she was listening.

“Lydia said if the schedule is light, we could close early some nights. How does that work with walk-ins?”

“Oh, well, it’s been a while since we’ve gotten to close early,” Fariha said, leaning back in her chair. “But I think the policy is, if we have no one on the schedule, and no walk-ins for half an hour, we can call it a night. Since walk-ins aren’t on the schedule, we don’t lose productivity for closing. Besides, it’s pro bono so it’s not like it affects paystubs.”

Mar nodded, glancing down at the folders in their hands again.

“I also had a question about this paperwork.”

After Fariha patiently explained some of their general paperwork, Mar’s first patient came hustling in, on the verge of tears and breathlessly apologizing for being five minutes late. Between Fariha’s sweet reassurances, and Mar fluidly ushering the patient back to the treatment area, there was mercifully little drama to handle. The next three hours passed without further issue between Mar and Lydia’s patient load, which Mar accepted for the blessing it was. They had only been living and working in Gotham for around three weeks thus far at a hospital based clinic four blocks from here. Mar had ended up agreeing to do pro bono work because they enjoyed it during their time at school and it wasn’t like they had anything better to do.

They occupied a mildly shitty apartment two blocks from the pro bono clinic with a roommate Mar trusted to at least pay their half of the rent. This felt like an about average experience for someone who had finished graduate school five months ago and passed their boards a month prior. Gotham was a less than ideal place to work, but Mar leapt at the job offer that promised an income to start paying back their loans.

“Here’s the paperwork from Mr. Boyle,” Mar said around a yawn, placing the sheets next to Fariha’s keyboard. “Have you heard anything from my next patient, by the way?”

“I just got off the phone with her, actually,” Fariha said, scooping up the papers and placing them in her scanner. “She said she wouldn’t be able to make it. She has to take her mother uptown for some last minute appointment, so I rescheduled her for next week.”

Before Mar could say anything, the door in the waiting room swung open to admit a tall, broad figure wearing…a bodysuit? The man strode up to the window at the desk, beaming with a smile that rivaled Fariha’s and eyes shrouded by a domino mask with white outs. As Mar had told Lydia earlier, they worked in a city during school - so Mar was used to seeing a lot of weird shit. But this was…new.

Mar looked down at Fariha for some reassurance that they were not hallucinating, but she was simply beaming back at their latest entry.

“How may I help you?”

“I saw you take walk-ins,” the man said, like that explained everything about this situation.

“We do indeed,” Fariha said, opening up a new appointment on her computer. “What’s your name so I can enter you in?”

“Nightwing.”

Mar watched in stunned bemusement as Fariha typed ‘Night’ into the slot for a first name and ‘Wing’ in as the last name.

“Age?”

“How old do you think I am?”

Fariha chuckled and entered in a random birthdate that dubbed Nightwing as twenty-five years old.

“Gender and preferred pronouns?”

“Male, he/him, please.”

Fariha entered the information and submitted the appointment. A window popped up claiming the chart needed more information and Mar waited for Fariha to fill in all of the required fields as expected. Instead, she flagged a box next to a line of text Mar was not fast enough to read, pressed ‘enter’, and smiled over the screen at Nightwing.

“You’re in luck, sweetie, we have an opening right now.”

“Great!”

Fariha spun in her chair and stared at Mar. They were still standing beside her, baffled.

“Oh, yeah,” Mar said, voice cracking slightly. “That…that would be me. Uhm…”

Mar looked down at Fariha and then back up at Nightwing.

“Follow me?” Mar said, feeling absolutely delirious. They turned and exited the front office, waiting for Nightwing to join them before leading him to one of the few private rooms they had for evaluations. Still uncertain if this was a fever dream or not, Mar gestured to the plinth in the room for Nightwing to sit on and then glanced out to the floor where Lydia was treating her patient.

“I need to grab my laptop, I’ll be right back,” Mar choked out before ducking from the room.

Their laptop was conveniently located near where Lydia was treating her patient, so Mar snagged her elbow and gestured frantically. Lydia left her patient doing a simple exercise and ducked her head close to Mar, an eyebrow raised with confusion.

“Could you explain to me why a man in a mask and skin tight suit just walked in and Fariha filled out an appointment with little to no information and acted like this was a normal occurrence?”

Lydia’s eyes went wide and Mar had all of two seconds to feel relief that someone here was still sane before that hope was obliterated.

“You got a Mask in your room?”

“What the fuck does that mean?” Mar whisper-screeched.

“This is pro bono,” Lydia said, as if that explained anything. When it became clear to her that Mar was not following, Lydia sighed. “Gotham has vigilantes, right? They can’t exactly use their insurance for medical visits without exposing their identities. So we have both the emergency clinic and pro bono for them and for citizens who don’t have insurance or have shitty insurance. Didn’t anyone tell you about the vigilante rules when you signed up for pro bono?”

“Lydia, do I look like anyone explained that to me before I got here?”

Lydia ran a hand down her face and made a noise of exasperation, like she was the one most stressed out by this situation. “Look, they’re just another patient. Do what you normally do!”

“And ignore the spandex and domino mask and the fact that everything about the conduct of this appointment is a severe breach of several APTA guidelines - sure.”

Lydia dropped a hand on Mar’s shoulder and chuckled. “It’s cute that you think the APTA has any jurisdiction here.”

Mar watched her walk away, resignation feeling like a rock in their gut. Rolling their table and laptop back to Nightwing’s room, Mar tried not to look affected by this development.

“Sorry for the wait, Mr. Wing. My name is Mar, and I’ll be your physical therapist this evening.”

“Please, Mr. Wing was my father,” he said with far too much seriousness. “You can just call me Nightwing.”

Mar’s face went hot with embarrassment, well aware they were being teased, as they locked the wheels of their table with more force than necessary.

“Alright, Nightwing,” Mar said, tone clipped. “What brings you in today?”

“My right shoulder has been bugging me for almost two weeks now and it’s not really getting any better. Someone I know used to get physical therapy and said it was great, so I figured I’d just pop in and see what it’s about.”

“You appear to be…working,” Mar said, hesitant as they looked Nightwing’s ensemble up and down. “Do I need to get you in and out quickly this evening?”

“Nah, it’s a slow night. Plus, I know some others are out and about who can cover for me.”

Mar decided not to think about that comment too much. “So, what happened two weeks ago that made your shoulder start bothering you? Anything significant or out of the ordinary for you?”

Nightwing tipped his face to the ceiling, seeming to contemplate the question before shrugging and smiling at Mar.

“Nothing I would consider out of the ordinary. Usual patrols through Blüdhaven and sometimes here in Gotham, swinging from buildings and lampposts, the occasional flip and somersault, and getting thrown around during fights.”

Mar had been typing as Nightwing spoke, putting everything in a blank note to try and parse through later, but paused at the last comment. They looked up slowly and really took Nightwing in, assessing his posture, where he was holding his weight, and what they could see of his expression. They had a process for evaluation visits, a systematic flow of questions that were considered important, that provided information for both prognosis and diagnosis. Mar had put a lot of time and effort into figuring out a flow that worked for them during their schooling, and was quite proud of the results.

But between Lydia’s comment about the APTA and Nightwing off-handedly mentioning getting “thrown around”, Mar was beginning to question how to proceed.

“What…what constitutes getting thrown around?”

Nightwing tipped his head sideways at Mar like they were the one saying something unusual.

“What do you mean?”

Mar unlocked the wheels on their desk and pushed it aside to stand directly in front of Nightwing.

“I mean people who practice martial arts get thrown around, flyers in cheerleading get thrown around, and they do it in a way that is trained and practical to their goals. How are you getting thrown around and is there anyone there to catch you?”

Even without being able to see his eyes, Mar caught the strange faltering of Nightwing’s easy-going expression. He only slipped up for a moment, plastering it back in place, but it looked shakier.

“I work solo most nights,” Nightwing said, clearly trying to seem unaffected and almost getting there.

“Okay,” Mar said, making a mental note for his social history and moving on quickly. “So what are you landing on?”

“Uh, pavement? Cinder block walls? Sometimes my feet.”

Mar was beginning to regret signing up for pro bono.

“Okay, so nothing great.”

“If it helps, I do have training and I land on my feet like…nine times out of ten.”

“It doesn’t.”

Nightwing snorted a laugh and grinned at Mar, their heights almost even where he sat on the lowered plinth. Mar had no idea if he actually was twenty-five, but if he was, that made Mar older than him by a few years. It hurt to think about him getting thrown around and having no one to help him up and no one to go home to. But that was a conversation for another day, when they had more of a rapport to go off.

Mar felt slightly ridiculous for thinking they would ever see this guy in the clinic again.

On that thought, Mar decided, fuck it, just do what needs to be done.

“On a scale of one to ten - don’t give me that look, Nightwing - on a scale of one to ten, ten being I’m calling an ambulance, how would you rate your shoulder pain right now?”

“Right now? Uh…three?”

Mar reached over to their laptop and typed his response out quickly. “What is it at worst and what are you doing when it feels like that?”

“Usually when I’m putting weight through my arm or swinging between buildings, and I guess…a six?”

“Does it ever feel sharp, stabbing, or burning? Or is it more of a dull ache?”

“Dull, like I worked out too much.”

Mar typed those pieces of information out, too. They stared at the lines of text, something like disbelief pinching their throat. It was always like this with athletes and performers. Their perception of pain was less about how painful it actually was and more about how much it affected their ability to do what they deemed necessary. Or how much they were able to muscle through and ignore the pain. Mar suspected Mr. Wing here was no different. These numbers were seemingly average pain ratings, but Mar already doubted them based on the comment about concrete.

“Alright, let me get a look at your shoulder.”

They took Nightwing through a quick exam, subtly making sure his nervous system wasn’t royally fucked before actually focusing on his shoulder. If he had any qualms about said exam, he didn’t make them obvious, instead going through every motion and test Mar requested. Then they had him follow along with arm motions, Mar watching his right side carefully for any differences or abnormalities, and kept asking him if different things changed his pain at all. After a few more tests for his shoulder, some of which were less than pleasant for Nightwing, Mar snagged a rolling stool from outside the door and sat down on it next to the plinth. They dragged their desk over and made a few notes on their laptop before pushing it away and looking at Nightwing again.

“Okay, so the good news is, you don’t seem to have any broken bones, and haven’t torn anything in your rotator cuff.”

“Awesome. Does this mean there’s bad news?”

“I wouldn’t call it bad news,” Mar said, twisting their fingers together in their lap. “But you’ve definitely strained your shoulder muscles. It’s not overly serious, but if you don’t give your muscles time to heal, your shoulder is only going to get worse.”

“I thought these things went away on their own,” Nightwing said, distinctly pouting.

Mar pressed their lips together and cursed - not for the first time - the quality of health education in public schools.

“Have you ever heard the acronym RICE?”

“Maybe?”

“It means rest, ice, compression, and elevation. There are other versions of that acronym that are more involved and updated, but there’s nothing wrong with RICE. Anyway, it compiles the basic ideas of how to best treat an injury to your musculoskeletal system. If you don’t do any of that, your injury will absolutely get worse.”

Mar gestured to Nightwing’s shoulder for emphasis and said, “that includes swinging from buildings, by the way, which I guess is the bad news. You should take a break or find a new means of travel that doesn’t involve stressing your shoulder. I’d also prefer if you were thrown into less concrete-like surfaces.”

“Define less.”

“Zero would be ideal.”

“I’ll see what I can do.”

“I appreciate that,” Mar said flatly. “I’m going to grab you an ice pack instead of having you do exercises for today. While you sit there with it, I have some papers for you to fill out.”

Mar ducked from the room and came back a few minutes later with two papers and an ice pack wrapped in a towel. They adjusted the ice pack on Nightwing’s shoulder and then wrapped it up to hold it in place so he didn’t have to hold it.

“These two papers are what we call outcome surveys. They’ll give me more information on how this injury is affecting you so I know what to focus on in your treatment.”

Nightwing took the offered papers and pen to fill out. Mar pulled their laptop over and started compiling a list of exercises for him, putting more than usual in case they never saw each other again or in case it took him a while to get back here. As they were filling out the note in Nightwing’s brand new electronic chart, Mar paused the cursor over family and social history. They could make a few guesses based on what he said earlier, but they figured it wouldn’t exactly be ethical to not ask. As much as they had wanted to wait until they knew each other better, there was a high likelihood Mar would never see Nightwing again. It felt wrong to let him leave without asking. Plus, despite how far off the reservation from normal this entire encounter had been thus far, Mar wanted to maintain some semblance of sanity this evening.

“Nightwing,” Mar said, peering over their laptop at him. He glanced up, the white outs of his mask level with Mar’s face. “Do you live alone?”

The white outs didn’t move, but Mar could feel the way he was blinking at them, baffled.

“What?”

“I need to make a note about if there is anyone at home with you in case of emergencies. I suppose…given your situation, I don’t need a name or contact information. But it would put my mind at rest to know if there was literally anyone at home or within a reasonable travel distance should you need them.”

Nightwing was silent for a moment longer and Mar was beginning to regret asking, about to shrug it off and tell Nightwing to forget it.

“No, I–I live alone.” Nightwing’s fingers tightened subtly around the pen in his hand. “But I have…people I can contact that live here. In Gotham.”

Good enough.

Mar added a few more exercises to his list in silence, letting Nightwing get back to the papers. They sent the list to the printer and stood, quietly informing Nightwing they would be right back and to finish the papers.

Ducking into the front office, Mar went straight for the printer and ignored Fariha’s insistent stare. Flipping through the papers to make sure they were all present and correct, Mar sighed and turned to Fariha, crossing their arms and raising their eyebrows as a prompt.

“Is he nice?”

“He’s a mess.”

Fariha waved her hand dismissively. “Aren’t they all?”

“I wouldn’t know,” Mar said, voice heavy with sass. “I’ve never worked in a clinic unregulated by the APTA with vigilantes before.”

“It’s fun, right?”

“It’s giving me a headache.”

“You get used to it.” Fariha twirled back to her computer as the phone on her desk started to ring. She pulled a bottle of NSAIDs from one of her drawers and put it pointedly on the desk beside her. “You haven’t seen anything until you’ve worked the front desk at the emergency department overnight.”

“Sounds great,” Mar muttered as Fariha answered the phone with her cheerful, scripted greeting. Mar took their chance to exit and went back to the treatment room, ignoring the NSAIDs. Nightwing was setting the completed papers on Mar’s rolling desk as they walked in, the ice pack still in place.

“Here’s a list of exercises for you,” Mar said, plopping back down on the rolling stool. “I highlighted the ones I want you to focus on most and wrote down how many times per day and per week I want you doing them. And for the record, I’m banning you from swinging until your shoulder is doing better. If I see you swinging in this city, HIPPA be damned, I’m calling you out.”

“I don’t think that’s legal.”

“I’ve been informed the APTA holds no power here, so I’ll take my chances.”

Nightwing glanced up from his papers in surprise, the white outs of his domino mask widening slightly. “Are you not from Gotham?”

“No, I just moved here a few weeks ago.”

“Oh. That’s surprising.”

Mar glanced up from where they had been typing, eyes narrowed. “Why’s that?”

“You just seemed so calm and unfazed by all this. Usually people who aren’t from Gotham are more…freaked?”

“I have an uncanny ability to tolerate the shit that could only happen in a city,” Mar said in monotone. “I went to graduate school in a city - it’s a survival tactic.”

“Understandable, I suppose,” Nightwing hummed, folding up the sheet and spiriting it away somewhere on his suit. “Still impressive.”

“Thanks, I guess.” Mar stood, closing their laptop before freeing the ice pack from Nightwing’s shoulder. Leaving it on the plinth next to him, they gestured to the door.

“Before I walk you out, do you have any other questions for me?”

Mar was used to patients brushing that off, or immediately firing back with questions about surgery, imaging, or other healthcare visits they might need. It usually provided good insight on how the patient thought the visit went, whether they trusted Mar or not at the end of the session. But Nightwing sat quietly for a long moment, actually contemplating something.

Eventually, he asked, “that comment you made about not swinging until you cleared me, were you serious?”

Mar’s first thought was that’s a stupid question, of course I was serious. Their second thought was why did he ask me that?

“I was. Why do you ask?”

“It’s just…usually B is the only one telling me not to do something for my health and safety.”

Mar pulled their stool back over and sat down again. “Who is B?”

“He’s…” Nightwing paused long enough that Mar began to wonder if he was giving them the silent treatment, hoping they would move on. “Someone I work with.”

“And how well do you follow B’s advice, if I might ask?”

Nightwing immediately turned sheepish, grinning and scratching the back of his head.

“Admittedly…not well.”

Mar exhaled a sharp breath that sounded halfway like a laugh. Leaning forward, they propped their elbows on their knees and folded their hands together, staring up at Nightwing.

“Listen, Nightwing,” Mar said, serious enough to catch his attention. “I can’t actually enforce anything upon you. At the end of the day, your recovery is in your hands and depends on the choices you make. All I can do is provide advice based on the medical knowledge and expertise I have, and support you. So, I am strongly advising you to give your shoulder a break before you actually tear something and end up being unable to do the things you need to do, or require less conservative interventions. You’ve got a lot of strong muscles supporting the joint, but you’re stressing something that’s trying to heal and those other muscles can only do so much. Does that make sense?”

Nightwing nodded, shrouded gaze locked in on Mar. They nodded back and asked again, “any other questions?”

“Nope.”

“Alright,” Mar stood, brushing their hands down their scrub pants and gesturing for the door again. “I’ll walk you out.”

They went to the front desk together, standing at the window to schedule a follow up with Fariha. She explained the cancellation policy to Nightwing and said that if he was unable to keep a scheduled appointment, he could walk in again and they would do their best to get him on the schedule. Mar was fairly certain that was strictly a vigilante policy but they didn’t say so. For all they knew, it probably applied to other patients here, too.

Once Nightwing was set up, Mar walked him out into the short hallway that joined the pro bono clinic with the emergency clinic.

“Thanks again, Mar,” Nightwing said with a grin. He turned to go and Mar couldn’t hold back their last niggling concern any longer.

“Nightwing? I have one more question for you, if you want to answer it that is.”

He turned back to them, seeming nervous but still grinning.

“Earlier, you said that B was the only one who gave you health advice. You seemed surprised about something I consider a routine part of my job.” Mar paused, chewing at the inside of their cheek.

“There really is no delicate way to frame this question. Have you been neglected by other healthcare professionals? Because if you have, we can report them. I could submit anonymous information to the HR department if they’re within the hospital system and I can’t guarantee anything drastic will come of it, but the complaint would still be in the system and–”

Nightwing stepped forward and held his hands up toward Mar. “Whoa, hey. No, I wouldn’t say neglected. It’s just that this system of anonymity for vigilantes wasn’t always a thing, y’know? It’s only come about in the last few years, so it takes some getting used to. The system failed a lot of the vigilantes I know, so even with things like HIPPA and PHI in place, it’s not easy to show up and trust healthcare will keep us anonymous and treat us unbiased. And some of the people I’ve seen think we’re a little…what’s the word? Invulnerable? Like we’re all Superman and can heal quickly.”

“Well that’s stupid.” Mar immediately put a hand over their mouth, flinching. “Sorry, that was unprofessional.”

Nightwing laughed, short and loud. He put his hands on his hips and shook his head, still grinning broadly.

“You’re not wrong. But my point is, I appreciate you treating me like I’m a normal human despite uh…” Nightwing gestured to his ensemble. “This.”

“Until you stop being human, you’re going to be treated like one,” Mar said solemnly, making Nightwing chuckle again.

“I appreciate it.” Something at his wrist beeped and Nightwing grimaced, starting for the door. “Sorry, I really have to go now.”

Mar waved him off and called out, “no swinging, and don’t forget to do your exercises!”

“Sure thing!” Nightwing called as the automatic doors slid shut behind him.

Mar walked back into the clinic, already wondering how the hell they were supposed to document this visit. Fariha and Lydia were inside the front office, Lydia’s patient having left during Nightwing’s visit. They both nearly leapt through the door as Mar entered, figuring they should just get the interrogation over with before they sat down to document.

“Was that Nightwing?” Lydia squealed, eyes sparkling. “Was he nice? Is he as hot as the blog posts claim? How did his butt look?”

Mar made a face at Lydia’s questions, holding their hands up to fend her off.

“Yes, yes, subjective, and I was treating his shoulder, not his ass.”

“He seemed like a very pleasant young man,” Fariha said with a sigh. “I wish my boyfriend was as charming as him.”

“Fariha, your boyfriend is a computer engineer, a massive geek, and plenty charming,” Lydia said without moving her imploring gaze from Mar.

Fariha put her hands over her chest and swooned in her chair. “And I love him dearly. But Nightwing has a different kind of charm - so boyish and sweet.”

“As entertaining as this conversation is,” Mar said flatly. “I need to write up his note so I can go home.”

“Wait!” Lydia whined, chasing after Mar as they left the front office. “I have more questions about Nightwing!”

“Morning, sunshine,” Raya chirped, almost immediately getting in Mar’s way as they walked into the clinic the next morning. The hospital was bustling already, despite it being barely seven in the morning, and Mar personally thought that was a direct insult to their exhaustion.

Mar grunted a greeting in response, ducking around Raya and making for the back office where the therapists kept all their stuff. Undeterred, Raya trailed after Mar, grinning brightly like the morning person she was.

“I heard you had a fun night.”

Mar, setting their bag down on their desk, paused and turned to furrow their brow at Raya.

“How the fuck did you hear about that? It has literally been twelve hours since then.”

“Fariha’s, like, my best friend. We talk shit together on Fridays during lunch.”

“Of course you do.” Mar shoved their bag to the back of the desk and swiped up their coffee mug, immediately making a beeline for the office coffee maker.

“So,” Raya said with emphasis. “You met Nightwing.”

“You did not phrase that as a question so I will not deign to answer it.”

“Oh, come on,” Raya groaned, slumping against the wall next to where Mar was persuading the coffee machine to provide them with something to live for. “You’ve got to have something to say about him. He’s, like, objectively one of the coolest heroes in this fucking city and he doesn’t even live here!”

“It seems like everyone who has asked me for details on Nightwing already knows more about him and his ass than I do. You’re just looking for me to confirm some preconceived parasocial ideals, and it is far too early for that.”

“That’s a lot of bold talk for someone who had a five year long ‘delulu’ K-pop phase.”

“One, it was a coping mechanism. Two, I never developed a parasocial relationship about it. And three, Mamamoo is superior and you will pay for insinuating otherwise.”

Raya rolled her eyes and pushed off the wall to head to her desk. “Tell that to the collage of photocards on your bedroom wall, darling.”

“Maybe I will,” Mar said as the coffee maker sputtered out the last dregs of liquid gold into their mug. “At least they won’t talk back.”

Raya snorted an admittedly adorable laugh behind her hand and ruffled Mar’s undone hair as she passed by on her way out of the office.

“Whatever you say, champ. We’ll talk more over lunch.”

“As long as you don’t make me talk about his ass.”

“You’re no fun.”

#batman #batfam #my writing #writing #dick grayson #based off a CPS fic on ao3 #PT but make it batfam in gotham so it's a logistical nightmare #dc

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nasthepotprincess · 2 years

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just here to remind you that Damen is in a chiton bc he wears his soul bare the same he wears his skin

and also Laurent has laces up to the neck because he's suffocating emotionally and keeps his feelings tightly tied up

oh p.s. damen attends to Laurent over and over again before even having sex like he's loosening his emotions little by little by untightening his laces and freeing him of his first layer of clothes

#captive prince #capri #damen x laurent #damen of akielos #laurent of vere #why am i up at 2 am thinking about this #c. s. pacat #damen #laurent #cp #kr #literature analysis #reading #this is such genius writing i can't fucjing help it

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cluelesspigeons · 6 months

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This is written for the prompt “flexible” from @drarrymicrofic

Word count: 213

Drarry microfic: cancelled

Draco closed his laptop again, huffing angrily. He stomped out of his makeshift office at home and waltzed into the kitchen. Harry looked up from the Prophet he was reading. “Are you alright, love?”

Draco sighed deeply. “No.” He took an angry sip of the tea Harry had put under a Stasis charm earlier.

“What’s happened?”

Another sigh and then… “When I told them I can be flexible, I didn’t mean that they could cancel meetings minutes before they start! I mean, I had planned everything perfectly! I made sure all the tasks I needed to do were done. And now, when I was sitting there, waiting for the meeting to start, my stupid boss send me an ‘apologetic email’, telling me he couldn’t make it because his stupid electric car wasn’t fully charged so he couldn’t make it to the office and he can’t work from home like everybody else and—”

“Hey,” Harry cut in, standing from his chair and wrapping his arms around Draco’s waist. “Don’t forget to breathe, okay?”

Draco took a deep breath. He hadn’t realised he was panting until now. “Sorry.”

Harry shook his head. “No, it’s totally okay. I understand your frustration.”

Completely deflated, Draco laid his head on Harry’s shoulder. “My therapist will hear about this.”

Prompt from June 20th

<< previous microfic

next microfic >>

#drarry #drarry microfic #drarrymicrofic #draco malfoy #harry potter #draco x harry #harry x draco #my writing #cp writes #cluelesspigeons #june 2023 #flexible #cancelling meetings #frustration #autistic draco #being flexible can be hard #but he’s learning

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summerbummin · 1 year

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Scene from Ch13 of my ghost au in meme format

Constantine: where are your parents

Tim: in Bolivia on a dig

Constantine: a dig?

Tim: yeah they’re archeologists

Constantine, internally:

#tim drake #john constantine #dcu #ghost au #memes #my fics #my writing #constantine knows this kid is cursed #and that there are probs cursed artifacts in his house #and Tim is like no ur not coming to my house #stranger danger #also u might call cps #snitches get stitches #Constantine is disturbed and intrigued by this messed up child #thus Tim gets a cool magic uncle

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essektheylyss · 3 months

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I am obsessed with how narratively convenient Lark's divinatory abilities are. She's the only one of the protagonists who is both pragmatic and has a working sense of self-preservation, so having some internal impulse that is actually the guiding hand of the cosmos pushing her into doing the REALLY stupid shit is both necessary and really useful.

Like, I am the type of writer who kind of scoffs at the idea that characters are beyond the writer's control and will completely screw over your outline, because on one hand, a sensible outline will follow the characters' personalities and tendencies anyway. Obviously in an ensemble cast you will need to do some wrangling, but in theory your characters are responding to varying degrees of stimuli in order to maneuver them into the places you need them to be for things to all come together in the end.

But more importantly, "curse from god" is the funniest and easiest way to push any character to do things beyond the realm of reason when necessary, and frankly, what the fuck is the point of playing god if you don't embrace that?

#midst podcast #midst spoilers #cr meta #anyway at all times I am advocating for taking full responsibility for your characters and overall story #this is also why I laugh at those posts like 'um if you're not going to treat your characters right then you shouldn't get custody of them'#sorry babe there is no CPS in my head. I am the cruel custodian and these are my poor darwinian orphans.#that's a joke but really like. look. yeah sometimes you gotta fabricate scenarios to make characters do what you want #but like... you do that by going 'who is this character and what would it take to push them to x'???#and especially in an ensemble cast sometimes that thing is 'curse from god' or 'divine insight'#fun fact: I LOATHE that post about 'my writing teacher made a joke that the characters are driving and the writer is locked in the trunk'#absolutely fucking hate it.#because THE WHOLE POINT OF FORMALLY LEARNING WRITING IS LEARNING HOW TO BE INTENTIONAL.#it is perfectly possible to write successfully without ever having a formal teacher but IF YOU HAVE A FORMAL TEACHER. UH.#like yeah yeah 'workshopping' but like. okay go build your own workshop group don't pay somebody jfc #(cuz it's not like most creative writing teachers know how to teach you to workshop. let's be fucking real.)#if you wanna learn how to workshop take a script class for the love of god.#ANYWAY rant over but I'm correct. the highest purpose of a writer is to be a control freak and to play god.

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thatwildnya · 1 year

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Chapter 1: pov you've been adopted by a strange bird man who put you in a barely functioning house during a typhoon and now you find yourself rooming with a giant bat and his fox son what a great start to this story

TW: none. i think.

chatters: Wild panicked on what to call this chapter please bear with him and be nice pls. also everything this is subject to change

Lilia: vampire bat (obviously)

Silver: arctic fox

The floorboards creaked as you walked through the door. Dust and cobwebs covering everything in sight as if trying to swallow the furniture. There was a lot of cleaning to be done, and you were not looking forward to it.

Covering your nose with your sleeve, you walk into the living room thinking about what your newly adopted uncle had said.

“I have so graciously cleaned the master bed, bath, and kitchen for you so you can rest as soon as you arrive. Everything is in working condition. However the water only works in your bathroom, and all other maintenance won’t be able to come until the storm is over. Don’t forget to light the fireplace to keep warm at night. Your neighbors have agreed to allow you to come over and charge any electronic devices as needed. Here’s a credit card, use it to only buy the essentials! There’s plenty of premade meals that you can just eat straight away or heat up real quick. Just call me if you need anything! I’ll be off then, see you!”

Then he’d driven off. At least he left you food and a lantern.

You followed footsteps on the dust covered floor, assuming they’d lead you to the bedroom. If not you might be looking for a while, this place was huge. You remember he’d mentioned it used to be some kind of dorm.

Finding your room, you went to one of the windows to peer out. You grimace seeing the state of the yard, you were not looking forward to cleaning it either.

A scuffling sound caught your attention. Head whipping around, you notice the blankets on the bed were messy. Did your uncle not bother to fold them? The answer came a second later as a snout poked out from under the bed.

A white fox kit peeked out at you, quickly popping back into hiding seeing you had spotted it.

Slowly you set down your bags and get on your knees to take a look at the little animal. It had backed into a corner, trying to make itself look small. It stared back with pretty blue purplish eyes, ears flat against its head.

The little guy must have found its way in here to hide from the storm that was forecasted to start tonight. The clouds had been forming all day, and the rain should start any minute now.

Sitting back up, you open a backpack to fish out one of those premade sandwich boxes found at grocery stores. Opening it up you tore the sandwich in two, placing the bigger half on the lid, and slid it towards the little fur baby. Its ears perked, raising its head. Its nose twitched, the smell of turkey making its tummy growl.

“It needs it more than I do.” you thought watching the fox kit creep closer, unable to resist the temptation of food. What happened next was unexpected.

The fox poofed into a young boy with cute fox ears, below his torso was replaced with a fox body instead of legs. He reached out, pulling his meal under the bed for him to enjoy.

“Huh. He’s a centaur.” you thought, watching the silver hair boy gobbling up his half with gusto. Was he abandoned? He knew how to use his hands well for his age. Or maybe he picked it up from watching humans.

Once finished he licked mustard off his fingers. Ew, good thing you waited for him to eat first. Mustard was gross. His eyes turned back to you, unabashedly staring at the other half. You almost laughed at the stare, he was adorable.

“You can have it,” his eyes lit up, yep definitely abandoned he could understand you, “but you have to come get it yourself.” he didn’t hesitate. Crawling out he got up and walked perfectly towards you without wobbling from the difference in upper and lower body, further setting in stone that he was abandoned and hadn’t just picked up things he knew about society by simply watching.

He sat in front of you, holding out his hands politely. You hand over the rest, smiling when he thanked you. Unable to resist, you give his hand a pat. His tail wags, ears drooping slightly as he munched happily.

~~~~~~

Why was this bed so big. There was a name for this kind of bed, alaskan emperor or something? Well, whatever the name was, it was massive. You take a seat on it. This was the most comfortable bed you had ever felt in your life. Flopping back, you feel your body sink into the cloudy mattress. The fox centaur you’d befriended hopped on next to you. He rolled around, suddenly energetic. You smile, watching him go about his zoomies.

He jumped on your belly. You grunted at the sudden weight on you.

He’s grinning down at you, tail a tornado of white behind him. He wants to play. And you want to play, but the energy just isn’t there. So you try to calm him down. Reaching up you massage his ears, hoping he’d calm down with some petting. However this doesn’t help in the slightest. Instead he turns his head and playfully bites your fingers.

Being a child he doesn’t always realize how easy it is to hurt others. He hasn’t lost all of his baby teeth yet and were still very sharp. You let out an “ah!” feeling the pointy teeth nick your finger, leaving you with a tiny cut.

“Silver, you need to be careful. Humans don’t have skin as tough as mine.” a voice chuckled overhead. You freeze. Gazing slowly turning upward, you see bright red eyes gazing down from the ceiling. You’re frozen in place until the huge creature drops down. You sat up so fast your new friend was nearly sent flying.

It stood up, the humanoid half resting it’s forearms on its big leathery black wings. It was so big it wasn’t able to stand at full height, and its hair so long it pooled to the ground. A grin showing off sharp fangs morphed across its face seeing your shocked pikachu face.

“Good evening,” the creature greeted, walking forward on its wings to stand in front of you “are you the new owner?”

~~~~~~

The fae’s name was Lilia, he was a vampire bat centaur. The little foxboy was his adopted son Silver, an arctic fox centaur. According to Lilia they’d settled down here to use this place as a temporary home until the stormy weather went away. Lilia didn’t want his son to get sick from the coming rain so he’d found this place for them to hide away. He had thought it was abandoned until your uncle had suddenly come to clean up. They were originally going to just stay hidden in a different room but he hadn’t expected you to arrive so soon.

The whole time Lilia was explaining their situation Silver was still hyper. He had popped back into his fox form, having reached his limit, and was currently playing footsies with your hand, occasionally hopping around on the huge ass bed behind you. You still weren’t over how big it was.

“If it isn’t too much trouble, I hope you’ll allow us to stay for the time being. We’ll be gone as soon as the weather clears up.” The fae smiled as Silver climbed into your lap a final time, curling up. It was time for bed, he was all tuckered out. “Silver seems to really like you too, he’ll keep you company if you’ll allow it.”

“Stay as long as you want.” you say, gently moving Silver off your lap, “this place is too big for me. I’m only here because I got lucky. I don’t care what you do so long you don’t cause trouble.” Lilia tilts his head at you, eyes gleaming as he watches you get up and walk to the large fireplace on the other side of the room.

Taking a match out of the box left by your uncle, you lit and tossed it onto the wood. To your surprise the fire was a dirty white instead of the usual red and orange. Your uncle had enchanted the wood to never burn away. That explained why there weren't any other logs nearby.

You hear the floorboards creak. Lilia had returned to hanging from the ceiling. Now that you knew he was up there, you had a feeling of uneasiness. Fae centaur were known to be very aggressive if not handled properly, and it was a huge risk to bring in any wild born ones into a household. You constantly glanced up at him. His eyes never left you, unblinking as he observed you undress and prepare for bed. He grinned whenever he noticed you looking at him, waving at you with a wing.

Crawling into your enormous bed, you realize you won’t be able to sleep. The fireplace was too far for the warmth to reach you. The rain had started by now so even if you bundled yourself up as much as possible you would still be cold. With a sigh you grab a pillow and the blankets, leaving the warmest for Silver. You did your best to make a nest next to the fire. The wooden floor would definitely make your body sore come morning. You curl up in your makeshift bed, trying to get comfy.

~~~~~~

From the ceiling the fae observed you, watching you leave his son the warmest blanket despite him not having any need for it. He watched you toss and turn for a couple hours before finally drifting off to sleep.

He shook his head, silly human. Centaurs are much more equipped to survive in the wild than humans. Quietly dropping down, he gathered you in his arms and used his magic to levitate the blankets back to the bed.

“Hm, this won’t do…” he thought, he was much too big for the bed. The frame would break under his weight. Setting you down, he uses his magic to become smaller.

“It’s been awhile since I’ve taken this form.” Lilia thinks, picking up Silver in his arms. Carefully he envelopes you in both his wings. Your head ends up on his furry belly, Silver snuggled under your chin.

Lilia strokes your head, smiling when you bury your face further into his second stomach. You poor child, thrown away for simply being magicless. There was no need to worry, he’ll make sure you’re watched over from now on.

#twisted wonderland #twst #wild's writing #twst silver #twst lilia #lilia vanrouge #twst centaur au #crowley is lucky mc didn't call cps on him #next chapter introduces two more friends

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shealwaysreads · 6 months

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Quarry

One that is sought or pursued.

Laurent ran.

A branch caught his cheek, a stinging slap, and he raised his hand to check for blood.

None. Just sweat.

Even in the shade of the forest the Akielon summer heat simmered.

He strained his ears to listen for pursuit, but all he could hear was his own thumping footfalls and breathless pants.

It was a game, but all of Laurent’s games played on the edge of a knife, adrenaline made his hands tremble and his heart wild. It was unfamiliar ground, he’d caught sight of maps, but when he’d first fled he had run wildly and veered from any paths that he encountered. Harder to find the prey that took the unlikely route.

Laurent ran.

It felt like he had been racing for hours, but it couldn’t have been longer than twenty minutes. He wished for a flask of water, but all of his supplies had been left with his horse, far behind.

A crack—a twig snapping underfoot—brought him to a standstill. It hadn’t been him. Someone was there. He looked around him, eyes darting between the trees, but he saw no-one.

He was still alone, he still had time.

He heaved a deep breath and pushed his aching muscles into a run again, trees flashed past him, and he tripped—just for a moment his balance was lost, his body tilted wildly—and then caught himself upright.

No sooner was he sure of his footing than a sudden, bruising, impact threw him into the air. Arms wrapped around him, hard, and he was borne to the ground.

“Brute.”

Above him, Damen was a heavy weight, his brows furrowed

“A Veretian, on Akielon crown land. Risky.”

Damen had learned by now the strange ways Laurent enjoyed to play; he sank into facets of himself instead of playing a character—like Laurent tended to—but it was enough for Laurent. Enough to let him ignore the careful hand Damen had put behind his head as he tackled him to the earth.

“I was just walking.” Shrugging was difficult while laid flat and restrained.

“You were running.”

Laurent grit his teeth, tested his ability to move—almost nil, he had fallen inelegantly and Damen had the mass to hold him down.

“You were chasing me.”

Damen smiled, cocked his head, and shifted his hand behind Laurent’s head to grip his hair in a tight first.

“A man only runs if he’s guilty.”

Laurent slowly yielded to the pressure Damen exerted, tilting his head back, raising his chin, exposing his throat.

“Then what were you doing out here?”

Damen leaned up on his elbow, and between one blink and the next, Laurent felt a blade in the soft hollow at the base of his throat, Damen’s free hand grasping the blade with casual familiarity.

“I was hunting.”

“You hunt with a dagger? What a strange people, you Akielons.”

The point of the knife pressed down, not with force from above, but because Damen had loosened his hold enough to let gravity press the honed point into Laurent’s skin. It was a dull pressure, not the sharp lance of wounding—not yet.

“We hunt boar in these woods, an arrow shot from horseback would do nothing but irritate them. So unlike Veretians, we must risk something to win our prize. We hunt with spears. One man stands firm, and the others drive the boar towards him. A wild boar would impale himself completely at full pace, or gore a man to death.”

“That sounds…imprecise.”

Damen shifted his weight, holding Laurent’s legs down with his own so that he had room to manoeuvre the knife from Laurent’s throat all the way down his body, cutting laces as he went. The dagger was no ceremonial trinket, its blade kissed each thin cord of leather and Larent’s clothes fell to each side of his body.

“I think I’ve managed accuracy today.”

“And yet, no spear. No boar. I’m sorry for your wasted efforts.”

The grip in his hair firmed further still, and Damen lowered himself again. This time Laurent felt the solid heat of him against his hip.

“I think, Veretian, I’ll be able to work with what I’ve got.”

Read it here on Ao3 🖤

Written as part of @captiveprincekinktober for the prompt ‘body hair’

Part of the Such-Like I Love Series

#captive prince #capri #cp #capri fic #lamen #damen x laurent #my writing #such-like i love #mine #things to read

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mail-me-a-snail · 7 months

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Valentine is done Here but now they're gone Romeo and Juliet Are together in eternity -- or, v learns the right ending is not always the happiest one; sometimes, it's not an ending at all.

happy phantom liberty launch day!! this is the last fic in the "your heart is on my sleeve" series :] ill keep writing for silverv as long as the inspiration flows, but this branch of their story is over <3

chapters 2-4 coming in the following days; keep an eye out for those :3

#cyberpunk 2077 #cbp 2077 #cp 2077 #silverv #johnny silverhand #male v #kerry eurodyne #silverdyne #silvervdyne #fanfic #fanfiction #mine #my writing #whooo NELSON!!!!!!!!!!!#this fic exploded me so fuckign bad. hi #silvervance #vance

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civilization-illstayrighthere · 6 months

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143, 10, 20 - whoever fits the bill c:

143. “You like messing with my head, don’t you?” “Only because it clearly turns you on.”, 10. “Wanna see how you look when you come undone under me.”, 20. “How much do you want this?” (Thanks for asking anon! Know you sent this awhile ago so not sure if you’ll see it, but…) ( smut prompts )

Samurai-era Silverdyne, 1713 words, ~M rating

The metal door of the club swings shut with a bang. That’s not what makes Kerry flinch; it’s the following sound of it being quickly thrown open after, hard enough that it hits the opposite wall.

“Kerry!”

He doesn’t turn around for Johnny as he storms across the parking lot.

“Kerry, would you stop being a little bitch—“

Kerry ducks into the nearest alleyway. He pulls out his cigarettes; his hands are shaking from how furious he is. The time it takes for him to light his menthols makes his irritation that much sharper.

Johnny curses as he turns the corner. Standing in the open alleyway, the halogen street lights of the parking lot cast his shadow across the ground, reaching all the way to the dead-end of the wall. That’s easier to stare at then Johnny himself, his pupils blown behind his aviators, just in a tank despite the nip in the air because he had followed right on Kerry’s heels as he stormed out.

“Fucking overreaction, as always.”

Glaring, Kerry takes a short drag, exhales out a furious plume from his nose. The nicotine’s doing nothing to calm his nerves. “Yeah, me, overreacting. Not the fucker who shot out into the crowd. You could’ve killed someone, Johnny.”

Johnny stops. His momentary confusion melts away with a disparaging scoff.

“I didn’t.”

“You want me to clap? Hoo-fuckin’-ray.”

Johnny frowns.

“Would it kill you to stop being so sensitive? Nothing happened.”

This time, Kerry wants to say, but he’s still so fucking angry and he just wants Johnny to leave, so he grinds his teeth together and nearly bites the filter in two. He’s not even half as concerned as Nance is about deposits and being able to play in some shithole club again, not with the way their record sales and popularity has been spiking, but even he can admit that it was an exceptionally dumb move of Johnny’s. The gun had been aimed high, but taking out a light and raining the back corner of the crowd with glass had probably been the best case scenario for a rockerboy’s errant trigger finger. The idea of accidentally killing a fan of theirs just for Johnny’s lace-fueled power trip made him sick—

“C’mon. That’s not what you’re really mad about. Right? Admit it, Ker.”

Because it’s not like Kerry ended the set after the shot. It’s not like he made a stand and stormed offstage. They finished the show. Went back to the green room. Cracked open what was left of the liquor in their room and a few more sent by adoring fans too stupid to be scared away by any of Johnny’s petty antics.

“We should play spin the bottle,” one of the groupies giggled. She was blonde, big tits, and dumb enough to think Johnny could care about her past how good she rode cock. Just his type.

Kerry never felt any jealousy towards them; fuck, he liked having a guaranteed warm body, too. Had a handsome woman lying across his lap, high as a kite and purring against his lower stomach as he pet over her buzz cut. Johnny always liked to think the world revolved around him; that Kerry, at any moment, was pining after him the same way he did those first few months in the band.

And yeah, maybe Kerry still would’ve slept with Johnny. He was his best friend. In some dream world where Silverhand wasn’t so aggressively straight, and didn’t only get off on his humiliation when it came to Kerry. But he didn’t have notions of maybe-possibly luring Johnny by wearing his pants two sizes too big real low on his hips, playing in that perfect way under the spotlight that’d make Johnny want to fuck Kerry in the green room after, batting his lashes and playing with his hair.

He wasn’t seventeen anymore. He didn’t have some little kid crush. Johnny was the juvenile one. Johnny laughed when he spun the bottle and it landed on Kerry. Crawled across the circle him and Denny and Henry and all the random clinger-ons of their fame and talent had made. His knee hit the bottle and it spun out across the floor somewhere; Kerry didn’t see it because he could only watch Johnny on his hands and knees moving towards him, the top two buttons of his pants undone because the big-titted girl by his side kept playing with them all faux-coy. And he knew what he was doing, his hair still mussed from the show hanging in his face, practically slithering up to Kerry. He smelled like sweat, distinctly Johnny and achingly familiar from their years sharing squats and tour buses and beds. His breath, that smelled like whisky, and he only knew that because he got close enough that Kerry could smell it, could breathe it in. Johnny smirked, devastatingly mean and knowingly attractive, achingly good looking in only the way a rockerboy with dark circles under his eyes and his lips quirked in a sneer could. The only way Johnny could.

And then Johnny kissed him.

Johnny kissed him. He got Kerry breathless. He got him so turned on, a fucking puddle in his hands. And when he pulled away, he shoved Kerry’s shoulder and he turned around, and he looked at everyone in the room— he looked at that groupie, that girl that was everything he wasn’t, the one he actually wanted to have under his hands— and he laughed.

Yeah. Yeah, Kerry was mad. He takes one last drag of his cigarette, throws the butt on the ground and stomps it out under his heel.

“You like messing with my head, don’t you?” He spits.

Johnny doesn’t answer right away. Humorlessly, he chuckles. Shakes his head. His shoulders lift, somewhere between hopelessly conceding and a silent laugh.

Finally, he says, “only because it clearly turns you on.”

Kerry’s hands clench by his sides, lip curling. “Fuck off, Johnny. I’m not playing your stupid games.”

Stalking forward, Johnny closes the distance between them. Kerry shakes his head. He doesn’t want to look him in the eye. He’s going to hit him.

“Go back inside.” He says.

“You don’t want that,” says Johnny.

What Kerry wants is to go back in time and push Johnny away. Laughed at him and told him to fuck off then when he was kneeling there in front of him. Instead he stared, dumbfounded, arrested in place. When Johnny grabbed him with his metal hand buried in the roots of his hair, yanked a little, tugged a lot, Kerry went easy. He bared his neck. Moaned easy, too. It wasn’t his fault. He was kind of drunk, too. Not as much as Johnny must’ve been, to be doing shit like that in front of so many people and the band.

Johnny steps forward. Kerry steps back. He juts out his chin. Tilts his head up so he’s glaring right into his bloodshot eyes, noticeable even behind the cover of his aviators.

“Fuck. You.”

Johnny takes another step forward.

Kerry’s so fucking angry, he’s so fucking done, and Johnny takes another step forward and so does Kerry this time, throwing his weight into the punch that hits Johnny square in the face. It sends him stumbling back. Kerry’s knuckles throb.

Doubled over, Johnny laughs. When he rights himself, there’s blood in his smile; split lip, to match Kerry’s split knuckles.

Johnny doesn’t have to lunge, doesn’t have to move with any urgency. Kerry stands there and Johnny just grabs him. His chrome hand cinches like a pair of handcuffs around his wrist, a sharp point against the bone.

When Kerry doesn’t move, he just pushes into him; even digging his heels into the concrete doesn’t give enough purchase not to stumble backward, not with Johnny wrenching his arm out and upward. It throws him off balance— the wall catches his back, brick rough where his shirt rides up a little and Johnny pins him there.

Johnny’s thigh cages him in from the front, wedged right between his legs, pressed firm against his cunt.

This is new. This is the furthest he’s ever pushed it. It’s all body warmed leather against body warmed leather, no boxers in-between. Kerry exhales shakily, managing to still glower up at Johnny.

He’s got blood smeared over his bottom lip. Kerry hates that he wants to taste Johnny’s lips again. Before, back in the green room, he tasted mostly like alcohol. When he sucked on Kerry’s tongue, dug his fingers into his hair, he tasted exactly like he thought Johnny always would.

“How much do you want this?”

Johnny’s voice is all low, gravel under the tires of that hotshot Porsche he just bought and the way he growls in the mic after twelve straight hours awake on blow and whisky. Kerry wants it. Johnny knows it. He doesn’t have to ask, and he sure as fuck doesn’t have to answer; but he does, because he’s Johnny Silverhand, and he’s always been an unrepentant dick.

“Answer me.”

“Yeah?” Kerry tries, “how much do you want it, Johnny? ‘Cause you’re the one who came outside and followed me.”

The corner of Johnny’s mouth twitches. Like he hadn’t expected Kerry to still fight back— like maybe he liked it, or couldn’t decide either way. He pulls his arm a little further up, until Kerry’s shoulder twinges, pinning it to the brick above his head as he leans in; he stops when their foreheads butt together, lips an inch apart. When Johnny opens his mouth, Kerry’s close enough to hear the sound of his lips parting, of his tongue wetting his lips before he speaks. Slow, measured, so that every single word sinks under Kerry’s skin:

“Wanna see how you look when you come undone under me.”

Kerry sucks in a breath like a gunshot. His cunt throbs.

“You’re drunk, Johnny.”

Johnny smirks. His ‘ganic hand settles against his hip, right under where his tank rode up and his pants were riding real low, and makes him flinch in surprise.

“You’re—“ Kerry croaks, and his voice traiterously thins when Johnny’s thumb rubs over his hipbone, then dips down to trace the waistband of his pants, “fuck you—“

Johnny kisses him; without an audience, without a spotlight.

#silverdyne #johnny silverhand #Kerry eurodyne #cp 2077 #cyberpunk 2077 #just something a little quick as a break while writing something else… thank u for asking (forever ago) anon!#wat do you guys think… should i continue this >:)a

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