#It is a useless thing I noticed I’ve been thinking about it for a year

[anisangeldust]

Blind faith 𝜗𝜚⋆

Summary: it’s not an obsession. It’s a need.

Pairing: young President!coriolanus x maid fem!reader

Warnings: misogyny, stalking, Coriolanus’ fucked up mind, mentions of violence, forced sexualization, masturbation (m), non-con, somiphillia, p in v, normal bipolar behavior from Coriolanus, borderline domestic abuse.

A/N: False God series pt 1! Enjoy!

The aroma of coffee and mildew ridden books danced around the confines of Coriolanus’ office; the large, dark oak desk piled high with important paperwork and other such tedious documents that ate at his soul. Many bad decisions had led him to the thoughts he was having at the moment, ones that made him want to peel his skin off and lay in a pool of his own blood.

He should be happy—he should be, but he wasn’t, and it was his own goddamn fault. Any woman in Panem, his pick of the best, and he chose the one that, in his opinion, was so immeasurably insufferable that she was better off in a grave somewhere. But alas, Livia Cardew was an important person, so she ended up with the rock on her finger. She’d be the one in a months time to wear white and be proclaimed his beloved. At least she wasn’t putrid to gaze upon.

Layered on top was the stress of finding a new maid. The old one died right before Ravenstill stepped down from the position, and Coriolanus was just now getting around to replacing her. In his option, the least Livia could do was her duties as a woman and clean, but he’d never dare to let his tongue slip and ruin this important engagement, not after he’d worked so hard to get back up to the top.

Sometimes he was bewildered at how someone who graduated the same year as him at the academy could be so dim witted, did he truly not see how little she brought to society until she moved in? The thought of someone like her as First Lady of such a great nation made the hairs on the back of Coriolanus’ neck stand up. But he dug his grave, and now he was mere weeks from laying in it.

——

Dinner with Livia was as dull as usual. Coriolanus felt it would take a miracle for her to hold a genuinely intellectual conversation, she’d always tilt her head and giggle like a toddler, or drawl on about some useless capitol gossip; things Coriolanus had no patience for. The sound of his voice was nails on a chalk board, and his patience for her was wearing thin already.

“I’m hiring a new maid, I think it’s best.” He says coldly to whatever useless but of information his fiancée was babbling about. He was hoping perhaps she’d give insight, or best case scenario she’d offer to clean instead, but he should’ve known better.

“Sounds great, I’ve noticed that it’s been a bit dusty around here” Livia giggled, her laughter making it impossible for Coriolanus to want to do anything but hit her over the head with a candlestick.

That night, the feeling of arms shaking around him was what greeted him in bed. “Coriolanus..” a familiar scratching voice cooed into his ear. He knew what she wanted before she said it, and it was the only thing he’d been pushing back hard on. Sex.

“Really Livia? I’m tired” he grumbled and pulled her off of him, her touch lingering like a disease.

“Please? I’ll just blow you then, I just want something Coriolanus! We’re getting married soon and we haven’t done anything!” She was right, he didn’t what to was the thing, but the way a woman was begging to get him off appealed to the human desire in his DNA. He was a man after all, and it was his right to receive pleasure.

“Fine, I’ll let you blow me. But that’s it.” He grunted and sat up, pulling the covered off of his body and grabbing her, roughly forcing her to her knees on the side of the bed. Coriolanus grumbled something incoherent and yanked down his boxers, his dick was barely hard, so he jerked it a few times before grabbing his otherwise useless fiancées jaw and forcing her mouth onto his cock.

“Is that what you wanted yeah? Slut.” He hissed and took a right hold of her hair. He figured he could get used to this, at least she was mediocre at something, and maybe over time he’d start to enjoy it more. He fucked all the frustration he felt with her into her throat, not caring at all about the hot tears streaming down her cheeks, or the gagging sounds she was eliciting as his fat tip bullied the back of her abused throat.

Cumming down Livias throat, he groaned and pulled his cock out of her mouth. Slapping her reddened face with his softening dick. “Swallow it bitch” he commanded and stood up, pulling up his pajama pants and climbing right back into bed, not caring at all what Livias doing as long as she’s quiet, not a single positive thought about her crosses his mind before he’s pulled into the clutches of sleep.

——

Coriolanus had barely skimmed the applications for maid, picking the one he felt was most suitable, young, semi-important family, and good enough looking, that’s all that Coriolanus needed to be honest. Perhaps she could be someone else to take his anger out on, it’s just a woman after all, they’re replaceable.

The young president was looking out of his big windows when a poised knock and slight creek of the door caught his attention, it was his assistant, Basil. “Sir? The maid that you hired is here to meet you per your request.” He politely reminded.

“Thank you Basil. Send her here please.” Coriolanus replied and sat down at his large desk, leaning back and waiting to simply hire whatever young woman he had employed and get in with his day.

The rhythmic clack clack clack of heals down the hall was both intriguing and confusing for Coriolanus, Livia didn’t walk like that, perhaps this maid wasn’t a lost cause, and oh was he correct. You opened the door gently and walked in, the aura you carried was that of a divine presence, you looked so young, so corruptible, and Coriolanus couldn’t help but salivate at the thought of destroying that youthful innocence.

He could tell you had made yourself considerably more presentable for this meeting.. your lips were rosy and your hair was long and shiny. The simple but elegant dress you wore was simply too much, Coriolanus found himself wanting to bend this new aphrodisiac of a stranger over his desk, but he refrained for the sake of professionalism.

“You must be Y/N, nice to meet you. Since I’m employing you, you may call me Coriolanus. I also have a-“ he almost chucked in the word “-Fiancée, her name is Livia. Any questions? I’m a very busy man.” He said as he propped his legs up on his desk to hide his growing boner.

“Not at all, thank you Mr. President” your voice was intoxicating, the sweetest drug, and Coriolanus decided right there that he would stop at nothing to indulge in it. He almost corrected the you as you called him by his title and not his name, but the way you said ‘Mr President’ almost made him cum in his pants. A crude and disgusting idea flashed through his mind.

“Perfect. Well, it’s customary for the maids to wear clothes of a traditional French maid, I expect your measurements by tomorrow so I can have your work uniform made as soon as possible.” He was lying through his teeth, but he needed an excuse to know more about you, and a uniform he could make slutty was the perfect way he could be exposed to the newfound object of his desires more easily.

“I understand President Snow, I’ll have them in by tomorrow” you were shaking visibly, Coriolanus surmised it was due to the kind of job working for the president had to offer, or perhaps he himself is an intimidating presence.

“Wonderful. You’ll start work next Monday. I’ll get you aquatinted with the rest of the staff, and of course with Livia as well” He leaned back and almost scoffed at the name. Who was she to you? She’d never hold a candle to your beauty, to your obedience.

“Wonderful, thank you for your time Mr. President.” You stood up and didn’t even take a step before a deep command left the politicians throat.

“Call me Coriolanus.” It wasn’t a question, a mere suggestion. It was a command, one he expected you to follow.

“Yes of course, sorry sir-Coriolanus!” You were visibly flustered as you left his office, and he didn’t even try to hide that his eyes were glued to your round ass as you walked away.

——

A maid for the president, that was your job now, only to keep the house clean. It was easy right? That reassurance swirled around your head like milk in a bowl, the president was surprisingly kind, and surprisingly hot. But right now your job was to the clean the mansion, and after a brief introduction with his other staff, you went to one of the wings and looked out for where he said your uniform would be.

On a table in a small lounge was a small bouquet of flowers, a bag that looked of a luxury clothing store, and a card addressed to you. Upon opening the box inside the bag, you were greeted with a typical maids outfit yes; but it seemed much sexier than you would’ve thought would be appropriate. But who are you to say ‘no’ to the president?

The card was short, telling you what parts to clean and parts to avoid, where all the cleaning stuff resided, and how to reach Coriolanus if need be. Along with the information was a key to the mansion, and a keycard for anything that may be restricted (and not so subtle warnings annoy what would happen if either privileges were to be abused) With all said and done, you went and changed to start on your work day.

——

“Who are you?” An entitled voice said from behind you, her tone like someone who just witnessed a person puke. You stopped dusting for a moment and turned around, this lady looked at you like something on the bottom of her boot.

“Hello ma’am, I’m Y/N. Coriolanus hired me as a maid, you must be his fiancée Livia, I’m honored to meet you.” Your reply was kind, despite the obvious lack of kindness from this stranger whose house you were cleaning.

“Oh, my bad, I didn’t realize you’d be so.. provocative” she snarled and rolled his eyes at you. Reaching one of her hands out and knocking over a small vase of flowers, the glass cracking and water spilling. “Oops!” She taunted smirked. “Well? Aren’t you supposed to be cleaning?” She jeered and giggled, walking away as you sighed in both defeat at her actions, and relief that she was going already.

——

To say Coriolanus was fuming would be a severe understatement. What was supposed to be a perfect opportunity to spy on his new eye-candy of a maid in her perfectly pornographic outfit was soiled by his entitled brat of a fiancée. Looking at her made him ill, how could she? How dare she? Her actions were only solidifying her spot on his shit list, as to which she was a repeat offender.

The aftermath made it slightly better, the image of you on your hands and knees, sweeping up broken glass, made Coriolanus harder than he had ever been. And he may or not have snapped a few pictures of you bend over various surfaces.

The young president say in his bed much past after he usually would go to sleep, Livia passed out next him. He slowly palmed his boxers to the thought of you and your outfit, imagining that he was pushing you against the table and fucking your tight cunt.

“f—oh fuck..” he sucked in air as he began to tease his tip with his thumb, thinking about how he’d wrap his veiny hand around your throat and use you like a fleshlight, fucking you hard fast with his fat cock. He imagined how it would feel if you were riding him, fat ass in his grip and tits on perfect display he stroked up and down his dick as the image become more real, the want for your little pussy became unbearable. Coriolanus almost came when he imagined not even stepping you of your maid outfit, simply cumming inside and forcing you to clean while his seed pooled in your cunt.

Close to orgasm and pathetically desperate to cum in a warm pussy, Coriolanus ripped the blankets off of his sleeping fiancée. She wouldn’t care, at least he didn’t care if she did, and a clean tear of her panties granted him access to her, surprisingly wet, pussy.

It was easier to imagine it was you, the darkness and ability to shiver her face in a pillow really helped. He eased his fat tip inside her sleeping pussy, and began to sloppily thrust; not caring about anything but finishing.

“Coriolanus..?” A sleepy voice murmured, only to be taken breathless by a slap.

“Shut the fuck up you slutty bitch, let me use your pussy, fuck! And- then you can sleep-!” He grunted through sloppy thrusts and lewd squelches. His large hand went up to her mouth, allowing her no room to talk or complain.

Coriolanus came quickly to the thought of being buried in your pussy. The image of his milky cum dropping girl your puffy lips, coating your clit with his cream. He quickly pulled out of the pliant body of his fiancée and took his hand of her mouth. He rolled over and the strongest wave of clarity hit his system.

How the fuck was he going to survive being around you?

Taglist!

@daenerysqueenofhearts @caramelandvenus @yoursrosie @wearemadeofstardust0 @kay-lla @mrsriddlenott @sleekervae @ianales @qoopeeya

#anisangeldust #angels yapping #tom blyth #coriolanus snow #⋆ ˚｡⋆౨ৎ˚angel #the ballad of songbirds and snakes #coriolanus snow smut #false god series #false god #president snow #coriolanus snow x female!reader #coriolanus smut #coriolanus snow angst #coriolanus x y/n #maid!reader

[caterpillarinacave]

When someone asks “What are you thinking about?”

What I say: Nothing much.

What I’m thinking: Laboratories are mainly described to smell of rotten eggs during TLH, with Henry’s lab being described to smell like the “air before a storm”. That means the sulfuric scent comes from Christopher’s experiments; so when Christopher dies that ever present scent that everyone has grown so used to will be gone forever, almost no one will notice, even less will ever realize why. For the TLH gang it’ll be a fact washed away in the ocean of the past, a piece of the time you’ll never feel again, a tidbit from moments so routine for you that you forgot it before it ended, a missing link in the puzzle pieces of your mind, something that you knew so well you forgot it, a part of a person you loved so dearly, but time moves on and on, the memories grow fuzzy, and decades later when you walk through the streets some smell will hit you and it will hover in your brain, lurking in a thought you can’t quite catch. But you won’t double over in nostalgia, you won’t be hit with a wave of grief, no, you’ll keep walking, because along the years, through all the hours of all the days you spent remembering, all the times you sat replaying the time you had in your mind, between all you grief and all your love you never realized you forgot anything, and I don’t know how this makes me feel and I don’t know why, but I know I’m not okay.

#The ramblings of a lunatic right here. #The laboratories are described to smell like a few things actually but the sulfuric scent seems Christopher specific. #Either way the point is the laboratories would never smell the same and the only who would notice would be Henry #It is a useless thing I noticed I’ve been thinking about it for a year #It’s in my filing cabinet with like twelve other irrelevant TID related things that I’ve noticed #All of which I think about constantly #“HE WAS FUCKING RIGHT FOR DECADES IT THERE WAS A MAGIC FUCKING TUN- *gunshot” #Idk man characters should be tortured by grief. As a treat. #I’m a sucker for “I tried so hard not to forget anything I never noticed how much I forgot” #tlh spoilers #Christopher Lightwood

[aerequets]

i very much appreciate how Yor, the strongest character, is so feminine

she’s obviously the physically strongest, and arguably the most mentally and/or emotionally strong. what i really appreciate is that this strength and her femininity are complements, instead of the two being treated as mutually exclusive like in many other media.

yor is soft spoken and gentle and kind to others. she feels emotions strongly and cries in front of others and shows her happiness. she has a natural inclination to take care of others. she is good with children, she is great at housekeeping. she may not be good at cooking but by gosh she tries; she wants to get better. she assumes the best in others and finds other women pretty and kind and admires them. she’s family oriented. 

yor is also insanely strong. she’s gone through extensive physical training since childhood, has multiple scars, has dealt with all kinds of people. she can kick a moving car, incapacitate a whole cow, take down a whole fleet of assassins, etc, etc. the list goes on. but despite all this and all that she’s been through, she didn’t become a tough, sardonic, mean-lean-killing-machine kind of character.

 what i’ve noticed in a lot of media is that there seems to be this kind of tradeoff that people think needs to happen in order for a female character to get “truly strong”. basically feminine = weak and masculine = strong. the character cries? not anymore she will never crack that poker face ever! the character cares for others? psh what no, care for yourself she’s not your maid. homemaking skills? useless, all she needs is the strength of her Fists and Harsh Words. she’s not like other vapid girls, she actually cares about the Real Important Fight which, undoubtedly, is also male-dominated. 

of course, all of this is set up as an opportunity for the male love interest to come in and “break down her walls” because women are just waiting for the right man to change them, but i digress.

why? why are the things that are inherently feminine deemed as inferior? 

a good example i can think of is cinderella, or to be more specific, an opinion about cinderella that was popular (and may still be, i dont know tbh): she is weak for needing a prince to save her. 

lets break this down: this girl gets emotionally, phyiscally, and mentally abused from her childhood into young adulthood by the people who are supposed to care for her. despite all this, she remains kind towards others and attentive in what she does. she seizes what she believes could be her one and only chance at freedom, however fleeting, and ends up catching the attention of the person who is ultimately able to pull her out of her situation.

yes, she didn’t bust herself out of the house and shank the stepfam with her glass shoe. but does this mean she is weak? is that kind of emotional resilience within someone after years of abuse what can truly be categorized as weak? 

anyways, all this is to say that yor is built up as the strong one in multiple ways, and the narrative doesn’t act like her nonmasculine qualities are somehow reductive or lesser, and i very much appreciate how rich her character is. i like so many things about this series man im just

#having post midnight thoughts #i started like. outlining something else that led me to think about this and then i just wrote this LMAO #yor is just so!!!!! #ALL OF THEM ARE SO!!!! #im not good at analyses or like in depth things like this but I JUST NEEDED TO GET THIS OFF MY CHEST #YOR IS SO GOOD OK #I WONT TAKE NO AS AN ANSWER #yor forger #spy x family #sxf #sxf yor #thorn princess #sxf thorn princess #my writing

[xjustakay]

✺ (1/5) ✺ @jegulus-microfic prompt: withdrawal — 1,162 words (fame AU, pt.5; busy movie star misses his boyfriend and makes it his manager’s problem smh) {previous parts: 1, 2, 3, 4}

“Ah ah. Nope.” 

Regulus’ phone is snatched out of his hand as he passes by his manager, his scowl completely useless against Dorcas who is far too familiar with him at this point.

Maybe he needs to look into some staffing changes. (He knows he never will).

“I need to make a call,” He insists.

“No, what you need to do is go thank your director and co-lead for this wonderful experience so you keep getting spoken about nicely and therefore get jobs.”

“For my own paycheck or for yours?”

“Oh, sweetheart, no matter how many movies you make, I don’t get paid enough for all this.” Dorcas circles a finger toward his face in reference then sweeps the same hand to motion him back toward the main area of the wrap party. “Back at it, superstar.”

“He said he’s supposed to be in the studio by the time I’m out of here,” Regulus tries.

Dorcas tilts her head, sucking her teeth. “Maybe don’t date a musician next time.”

“Next time,” He scoffs with a roll of his eyes.

“Aw, serious monogamy really is a great look for you, babe. You know what’s also a good look for you? Continued employment.” She waves him past her once again.

“I’m firing you tomorrow,” Regulus grumbles.

“Yeah, take a shot every time I’ve heard that one,” Dorcas snorts. “I’ll text James and let him know he can call you when he’s free. You can’t be that deep in withdrawal already, you just talked to him yesterday. For like two hours.”

Regulus flips her off over his shoulder and meanders back through the party. 

He’s done so many of these wrap parties at this point in his career that he’s bored by them. Doesn’t feel the need to get drunk like the newer, fresher faces. Doesn’t feel the need to schmooze and make a big deal out of himself like the names that are fading into obscurity. He coasts in that oh so comfortable ground of being well-known and well-loved —making nice and taking photos, truly putting the acting chops he’s known for to the test.

When his phone is placed back in his palm as he and Dorcas are in the car back to their hotel, Regulus is done acting, however. His glare goes just as ignored as it usually does, because Dorcas knows he’s not actually angry with her. Even as he makes it a point to stay silent the whole drive back while she rattles off his travel itinerary for the following morning.

At least he knows the travel will be bringing him to James; silver linings. 

It’s been weeks since they’ve been in the same place —all the jokes about withdrawal and he might actually be experiencing some. Made all the more apparent by the knowledge that the one year anniversary of the first time they started seeing each other in secret is days away, meant to be spent together away from work and everyone else. (They have separate anniversaries now; James’ idea. One for when they began, and one for when the world found out about them).

He and Dorcas make it all the way to the doors to their respective suites across the hall from one another and he thinks he’s in the clear. No more lectures or scheduling or any of the things he finds so much less fun about his job. But then Dorcas halts outside her door and calls over to him to make him pause before he can swipe his card key.

“What now?” He snaps.

She scrunches her face unpleasantly at him. “Don’t be cranky.”

“I’m tired, Dorcas,” He sighs.

He notices her focus shift past him to his suite’s door and frowns. The corner of her lips curls upward just barely, like she can’t quite help it. She nods her head toward his room, amusement in her gaze when it meets his again.

“Don’t say I never do anything nice for you.” She promptly enters her own room after the confusing statement, leaving Regulus staring at her closed door incredulously.

He blinks a couple quick times then shakes his head and finally swipes the key card on his door. The entryway is dark when he enters the suite, but the light in the bedroom was evidently left on earlier so he uses that to guide him further inside. Tosses off the expensive leather jacket he’s been wearing all night onto an armchair as he passes.

Regulus is half-finished undoing his button-down shirt when he freezes in the bedroom doorway, eyes going wide.

“Well, don’t stop on my account.”

Oh.

Oh, that’s—

“James.”

Right there. Sitting at the end of the suite’s made up king size bed. Casual in the joggers and hoodie he typically flies comfortably in. A half a dozen red roses wrapped in a silver ribbon in his hand. Duffel bag at his feet and suitcase beside it.

“Hi, baby,” James says, grinning brightly.

Maybe Regulus did drink too much at the party. Maybe he did get a little overzealous with the champagne while he chatted with his co-star. Because there’s a tingling beneath his skin all of a sudden, a burst of something fuzzy and light in his chest.

“You—”

“Flew here to meet you.” James nods.

“But I have—”

“Dorcas canceled your flight to me yesterday when I told her I wanted to surprise you.”

“You conspired with my manager when you know I hate surprises?”

James holds his free hand up in semblance of a shrug. “Romance?”

“Oh my god, I hate you.” It’s a breathless laugh at best, no bite, no genuine annoyance. It’s never been a bigger lie.

Regulus is halfway across the room in seconds and James meets him there in two wide strides, catching him when he throws his arms up over his shoulders. Easily, one arm belts around Regulus’ waist, helps haul him upward further when Regulus wraps his legs around his waist, too. James carefully tosses the flowers back onto the bed in favor of sinking his fingers into black curls when Regulus buries his face in the side of his neck and breathes in deeply.

“Missed you,” James murmurs, lips dragging along the hinge of Regulus’ jaw.

“You were going to see me tomorrow afternoon,” Regulus mumbles, arms looping tighter around the back of his neck.

“Not soon enough.” James presses a kiss just beneath his ear. “Heard you’ve been having a hard time.”

“I’m not having a hard time.”

“Yeah? Didn’t miss me, too?”

“No.”

“Would now be a bad time to point out that you’re currently clung to me like a koala? Because I can count on one hand the number of times that’s happened.”

“Don’t ruin it.”

James breathes out a laugh, presses another kiss to his cheek this time, then leads them both to the bed. “Wouldn’t dream of it, baby.”

Okay, yeah, Regulus is definitely not firing Dorcas tomorrow. (As if he was going to anyway).

#jegulus #starchaser #sunseeker #jegulus microfic #aaaaaahhh i missed them my little famous babies #this got away from me a little but -jazz hands- Them #i love them so much #also someone give dorcas a raise #kay’s writing #kay’s microfics

[heliads]

ok so… i’m totally obsessing over Newt from TMR rn but i’m not sure if u still write for him🤧 but if u do i was thinking maybe something like during bonfire night the reader has had too many special drinks from Gally, accidentally confesses to Newt and lists everything she loves about him and then Newt gets all flustered and stuff (he’s so cute omg) but the reader is too drunk to go back to their own hammock so then Newt carries reader to their hammock but ends up sharing a hammock and then the reader doesn’t remember anything the next morning and then i’ll let u decide the rest😭

gally's special brew as a plot device >> it will always be famous to me

masterlist

In roughly thirty seconds, you’re going to reach a milestone you never thought possible. You’ve been waiting for this for a while now, counting down the days and hours and minutes like you were going to find yourself anywhere other than right here when your self-imposed timer went off. All you’ve got to remember the date is a memory, but given the fact that you only recall so many of those, it was easier to place than one would expect.

An alarm goes off across the Glade, ear-piercing klaxons rattling off of the high stone walls surrounding you. The rest of the boys around you start to amble towards the source of the noise, the Box newly arrived from who knows where, but you stay put for the time being, just breathing in the moment.

One blond boy next to you, your closest friend and favorite person here, nudges you in the leg with his foot. You’re both sitting in the unruly grass, ignoring the press of the green strands against your arms and calves. You have a habit of always wanting to keep him within reach.

“Why aren’t you racing towards the Box?” He asks.

You tilt your head to the side, staring up at the sky. Robin’s egg blue dappled with clouds, it’s the only pocket of space outside the Walls that you’ll likely ever know. “Today marks one year since I showed up here for the first time.”

Newt whistles through his teeth. “Shoot, already? Feels like time has flown. I swore you came up just last month.”

“No, I’ve been keeping count. Twelve months and I’m still here.”

Newt winces. He made a promise to you at the very start that he would get you out in six months, then, when that deadline came and went, he lengthened it to a year. The oath was only sworn because you were nervous about this place when you were still a Greenie and unused to the idea of living and dying here in endless repetition. You’re no happier about that fact now, but you are more used to it, at least.

“Well,” he starts off, “maybe you’re still here, yeah, but Minho and the other Runners are getting closer to finding a way out, I swear. Minho says they’re this close to having mapped the whole thing, then we’ll have an escape route for certain. Just give it another year. You won’t even notice the time passing, I promise.”

It’s kind of Newt to try to distract you again, even though you both know by this point that it’s useless. Minho is getting closer to traveling every pathway of the Maze, yes, but what Newt isn’t mentioning is how little the Keeper of the Runners actually is to finding something useful. Whenever you ask Minho what he’s learned about how to get out of here, he only ever comes up with a blank slate.

Still, harping on that doesn’t exactly make for a good time, so you’ll let yourself play along with Newt’s idea of your inevitable escape from this place for now. He’s losing hope even faster than you, even if he doesn’t tell anyone. It would be good to keep up the pretense.

You eye his leg, the one with the limp, and nod. “Yeah, next year for sure.”

Newt sits in silence for a moment or two longer, then stands up carefully, offering a hand to you. “Come on, then. We’ve got a Greenie to stare at and stuff to unpack from the Box, no time for musing. Besides, we’ve all got to get ready for the bonfire later tonight.”

You accept his offer of help, and when you’re on your feet once more, your smile is back. “I forgot about the bonfire! Oh, that’ll make everything better. Always does.”

Newt grins. “You’re just saying that because it’s the one time a month Alby will let all of us get proper wasted and skip work for the afternoon.”

“Of course I am,” you laugh, “I want to have fun! Is that such a terrible thing?”

Newt slings an arm around your shoulders, pulling you closer to his side as the two of you walk lopsidedly over to the Box opening. The other Gladers have already crowded around the opening, but there’s enough space for the two of you to peer in at the befuddled newcomer inside if you squeeze past a few Track-Hoes.

“No,” he murmurs later, once you’ve almost forgotten what you were talking about, “I don’t think it is.”

Damn right. You’ve looked forward to each Bonfire Night of your full year here with just as much excitement as everyone else. The soaring flames, the delighted shrieks and shouts of your friends, plus Gally’s special brew, everything about the celebration is a joy to behold. You can watch Gally kick the asses of people who should have known better to challenge him, or observe the Greenie as he tries to figure out his name.

Or, better yet, you can sit in a circle of your friends and tell jokes that get progressively worse as the lot of you get progressively more tipsy and tired. The night wears on, the stars burn themselves out above you just trying to catch a glimpse of your magnificently roaring fire, and all is well, as much as it can be around here.

At some point, you look up and you’re sitting alone with Newt towards the outskirts of the gathering. You don’t remember quite when that happened, but you’ve refilled your glass enough times that the memory loss sort of makes sense. Does anything here, though? No, not at all. Not ever.

Newt’s grinning over at you, saying something that you have to focus extra hard to hear. “Are you lucid again?”

“Not entirely,” you beam up at him, “Have I had a lot to drink tonight?”

Newt grimaces. “Probably more than you should have. You’ll be regretting it tomorrow, I can promise you that. Sorry for not cutting you off earlier.”

You shake your head a little too wildly and have to pause for a moment to blink the stars out of your eyes before continuing. “No, that’s not your fault. You don’t have to watch out for me all the time.”

Something almost like hurt plays upon Newt’s features, mixing with the warm glow of the firelight, and it makes you rush to say something so he stops looking so unhappy. “Only if you don’t want to watch out for me, that is. I like having you around. Makes me feel better.”

“Really?” Newt asks, amused.

“Really,” you confirm happily. “You’re my favorite person here by far. Minho teases me about that a lot, actually. He says I should soldier up and just tell you that, but he can’t bully me anymore, because I’m talking about it right now, aren’t I? He’s right, though, I do like you. Oh– I was thinking, Newt, and– and I think I’m okay, staying in the Glade forever, if I’ve got you here with me. You’re the best thing about this place.”

You hadn’t meant to ramble on like that, but the words came easily enough from your throat, and Newt seemed like he really wanted to hear what you were saying, so you went ahead and let him. 

Newt sits for a few minutes in stunned silence before clearing his throat a little too loudly. “Um. Well, I think you should get to bed. Like, now. I think you’re drunk.”

“No,” you protest, “well, I am drunk, yeah, but I’m not just saying that because I’m drunk. I mean it, Newt. I really do.”

Newt’s expression softens. “I know you did, sweetheart. Let’s go to bed anyway, though. I think some rest would be good for you.”

“Alright,” you decide. 

Newt stands up. You try to start walking back with him, but your feet refuse to cooperate on the uneven ground and you end up tripping more than you should. Eventually, Newt laughs quietly and picks you up, easily carrying you back to your hammock. He tries to set you down but you’re seized by the overwhelming panic that he’ll leave you here alone and you complain vehemently.

He’s still in a good temper, though (is it not wonderful to be needed?) and instead shifts so he’s lying down in his hammock instead, you on his stomach. You whisper goodnight to him and he says goodnight back, then a beat and a half later, did you really mean what you said? About me, that is? About how you–

You can’t really pick up what he’s saying, though. He was right about you needing rest, because the gentle swaying of the hammock and the soft beat of his heart under your head is just enough to send you off to sleep. Darkness pulls you under in an instant, and you’re rocked away to the tune of the crickets chirping somewhere in the distance and Newt still mumbling questions against the top of your head.

You can sense your hangover looming like dark clouds on the horizon, signaling a true storm of a day about to wreck you for good, but for now it’s just in the distance, not quite yours, not yet. The terrible feeling is warded off by an odd sense of calm and quiet. It’s warm now, warm and comfortable in your hammock, which is strange. Usually, you wake up cold on mornings in the Glade, but not today. It makes you want to snuggle down further, push off consciousness just a little longer.

Then your hand connects with something that isn’t one of your few allotted threadbare blankets or the knots of your hammock, something soft, like skin. A hand, one that isn’t yours. Your eyes fly open and– well, you don’t remember this, but you’re not exactly going to complain.

Newt is lying next to you, still asleep. You are curled up beside him, must have fallen asleep with your head on his chest. One of his hands is just touching yours, the other is cupping the back of your head to pull you closer to him.

Immediately your brain splits into two warring factions. One half wants to run away quickly, figure out what happened and why you’re here. This isn’t what you’re supposed to be doing, you know. Shuck, Alby would have a fit if he saw the two of you like this. Probably enough to throw you in the Slammer for a couple of hours.

The other part of yourself wants to stay here forever, to close your eyes and make Newt wake up first and handle it. You haven’t felt peace like this in a while. It’s just the two of you, soft and sweet and mostly folded over in sleep. Why should you disturb this? Disturb him? He’ll just be unhappy if you wake him and force him to realize that you’re here. Probably. Unless he’s the one who let you sleep in his hammock, which is more likely and far more terrifying.

Your issue is solved when Newt shifts slightly, rocking the hammock, and wakes up at last. You quickly shut your eyes and feign sleep, but judging by the movement of his chest as he laughs, you were caught in the act.

“I know you’re awake, Y/N.” He says.

You reluctantly open your eyes. “Maybe. By any chance, do you know why I’m here and not in my own hammock?”

You might just be kidding yourself, but you swear something almost like disappointment crosses Newt’s face. “You were pretty drunk last night,” he says at last, “I wanted to make sure you were alright.”

It’s a decent explanation, but that doesn’t explain why he’s looking at you like he really, really wants you to remember something about the events of the most recent Bonfire Night. “What did I do last night?” You ask slowly.

Newt shakes his head. “You didn’t do anything, trust me.”

“Then what did I say? You’re looking at me like you’re going crazy.”

Newt furrows his brows in a moment of indignation. “What? I’m not– I’m not looking at you like that. Anyway, you might have said a thing or two. Maybe.”

You stare at him in disbelief. “Newt, if you keep withholding information from me, I’m going to rock the hammock so much you fall on the ground. What happened?”

He has the audacity to laugh at your threat, as if you weren’t completely serious about it. “Alright, alright. You might have told me that you liked me.”

Your sense of terror, which had faded briefly after Newt woke up, is back in full force. “I did what?”

“You told me you liked me,” Newt repeats, “and I thought– well, you were drunk, so I thought you didn’t mean it, but–”

“I did mean it,” you whisper.

Newt’s eyes are wide when you dare to risk a glance back up at him. “Oh.”

That’s a bad oh. Has to be. You move to get up and try to run away before he can look at you like that anymore, but Newt tightens his grip around your waist, forcing you to lie back down. “Wait, wait. Don’t go. I like you too.”

Now it’s your turn to be surprised. “You do?”

“Yeah,” he says, smiling, “Have for a while. Minho teases me about that too, by the way. No wonder he seems so frustrated about it, he has to listen to both of us moping around even though we both like each other.”

You laugh. “That would be annoying, yes. He has to be happy now, though, we finally told each other about it.”

“That we did,” Newt says, and you can feel the upturned crescent of his lips as he presses a kiss to your forehead.

Maybe you spent a whole year in the Glade without ever seeing rescue. Maybe another year will pass without anything, or maybe five, or ten. Maybe you’ll never leave at all. Still, you’ve got your reasons to be happy after all. They start with him.

maze runner tag list: @rogueanschel, @ellobruv, @retvenkos, @neewtmas, @mayfieldss, @hiya-itsamber, @gods-fools-heroes, @hope92100, @w1shes43, @23victoria, @ilovexavierthrope, @fadedver

#newt #newt imagines #newt x reader #newt oneshot #maze runner #maze runner imagines #maze runner x reader #maze runner oneshot #tmr #tmr imagines #tmr newt x reader #tmr newt oneshot #tmr x reader #tmr oneshot #tmr newt #tmr newt imagines #maze runner newt #maze runner newt imagines #maze runner newt x reader #maze runner newt oneshot

[billyrayjo]

Stumbling Home With You (part 2)

** I am so sorry for the late post😭. I have been going through a lot for the past few weeks. I have been having crippling dreams about Jacob Elordi that have left me almost useless to do anything. Anyways, here’s part 2! **

Warnings: Violence, mature themes, vulgar language, sexual themes, SMUT(?).

As Azriel strided toward you, the only thing you could do was keep your gaze on his. The way he was looking at you was paralyzing, his steps slow and calculated as he neared the edge of the bed. Your heart seemed to be on overdrive as you watched his eyes take in your figure from head to toe, his eyes turning a shade of hazel you hadn’t seen before.

Now, you weren’t a virgin by any means. But, every experience you had ever had with a man had been pretty average. Whether it was an alcohol induced one night stand, or a casual fuck buddy encounter, none of them had ever been with someone who meant something to you. They for damn sure hadn’t been toe curling like the scenarios you might have imagined with Azriel over the last few months.

Azriel wasn’t someone you could have sex with and move on from. You aren’t oblivious to your feelings for him. You have had a deep rooted fear when it came to this moment for a while. Once you had him, you knew you were done for. You had basically fallen in love with him already, and adding sex into the mix might make you go absolutely feral. The fear of having him, and then losing him, was way more prominent than not having him at all.

You weren’t aware of the frown that had etched on your features from your thoughts, and when Azriel lowered himself above you, the look of concern on his face caught you by surprise. His eyes flicked back and forth from your own, and before you could wipe the frown off of your face, he was talking.

“What are you thinking about?” came from his lips in a soft voice. A voice you noticed in the past that was reserved for you. You tried to piece a response together in your head, but there were so many thoughts bouncing around you struggled to voice your feelings. Right as you opened your mouth to respond, a frantic voice in your head cut you off. The guarded look on Azriel’s face confirmed that he heard it too.

“Velaris has been invaded. Hybern soldiers have broken through the wards. Where are you guys?” Rhys exclaimed, a panicked tone hidden under his words. Before you could even register what was happening, Azriel pushed himself off of you, his gaze still hardened like he was replying in his mind. While he was occupied, you pushed down the throb in your chest at the loss of contact and headed towards your wardrobe. Pulling out your leathers, you began the process of getting dressed for battle.

“What are you doing?” Azriel asked from behind you. You could hear the shuffle of clothing as he pulled his leathers back on. “Putting on my leathers? You heard Rhysand didn’t you? Velaris is under attack.” you pushed out, your voice occasionally getting muffled by the fabrics being pulled over your head.

“Yeah I heard him. Why are you acting like you’re about to go fight them off?” he questioned, his hands busy strapping on his holsters when you turned to look at him. “Because Az, I’m not going to sit around here and let them attack our city without trying to defend it. I’ve been training for years, it’s not like I’m not capable..” you ranted, a feeling of frustration taking over at the look on Azriel’s face. It almost looked like he was disappointed, a mixture of concern and sadness taking over his features.

“I didn’t say you weren’t capable (y/n). I think it would just be safer for you to stay here until it’s taken care of. Me and Cass can handle it. Hybern soldiers have no sense of reality. They’ll do anything they have to if they believe it is to serve the king. I don’t want you caught in the middle of that.” he went on, pulling his shoes on and coming back to a stand at the end of his words. His gaze was unwavering from you as you stood before him. You were at a loss from his words, trying to think of what to say to prove yourself to him. You know he just cares about you and wants you to be safe, but it also sends a wave of doubt through you that he doesn’t trust in your abilities.

“I have to go. I’ll come get you when it’s dealt with.” he mutters, giving you one last once over before he turns and heads for the door. You watch his shadows open it for him, and right before he steps through the frame he turns back to you one last time. “Just stay here, (y/n). I’m serious.” coming from his lips before he continues out the door.

“Just stay here (y/n). I’m serious” you muttered to yourself in a mocking tone, your steps echoing around the stairwell as you descended. It took you all of two minutes to decide you were going to fight regardless of Azriel’s words. Azriel might have more experience than you, but this was your city too. You didn’t endure hours of training and the pain that followed to hide in your room at the next threat.

You don’t have wings, and you can’t winnow, so taking the 10,000 steps down to the city was your only option. For every single step, you boosted yourself up more and more. You focused on your breathing, cleared your mind, built up your mental shields, and talked yourself up in your head until your feet landed at the bottom, right in front of the door. You pushed the door open, and were shocked by the amount of chaos that hit you as soon as you were outside of the barrier.

There were soldiers everywhere, citizens of Velaris running and screaming as soldiers chased after them. Buildings were being destroyed, blood was coating the streets, and by the number of soldiers appearing at the border it was clear there were more coming. You took in your surroundings for a moment, your mind sharpening and the focus from your training taking over.

Out of the corner of your eye, you saw what looked to be like.. water animals? Spotting Feyre below them on the cobblestone, you quickly darted in her direction. You swiftly ran through the streets, dodging debris and trash as you went. Rounding the corner of the street you were on, you skidded to a halt when four Hybern soldiers appeared right in front of you. Their backs were turned to you, their attention pointed towards the shop in front of them. You spotted a woman over their shoulder, stood in front of the door with a piece of wood in her hands. She was going to fight them.

As you were about to intervene, you saw movement out of the corner of your eye. Feyre stood across the street, eyes meeting yours, and without a word she nodded. A signal. She wanted to help. Without hesitation, you both took off. You let out a grunt as you latched onto the first soldier, wrapping yourself around him and pulling him down. He hit the cobblestone with a grunt, and as you rolled out of your fall he rushed to stand back up. When you turned around, he quickly rushed at you, his sword swinging frantically in your direction. You pulled the dagger out of your thigh holster and dodged his attacks, quickly disarming him before you stabbed the dagger into his chest and pulled it out just as quickly. After he was down, you quickly moved onto the next.

After 10 minutes of hand to hand with a few soldiers, you and Feyre had managed to take them all down. You turned to Feyre, your breaths coming out quick and harsh as she did the same. “There are still too many. We need to go towards the Sidra.” she explained, pulling a nod from you as you went to head that direction. You tried to ignore the blue siphons flashing above you as you both ran towards the fight.

The excitement had quickly turned into a repetitive sequence of running, fighting, running, fighting, and more running. For every block you ran, a group of soldiers would appear. They were relentless. The damage to the city only worsened as you and Feyre advanced, Feyre using her powers to do the majority of her fighting. Having powers would be nice in a moment like this, as you were left to your physical capabilities to take down your opponents. After multiple stops and fights, you finally arrived at the Sidra.

There was commotion everywhere. Hybern soldiers battling in every direction, buildings falling, screams erupting, water running. You wouldn’t be surprised if the sounds you were hearing appeared in your nightmares for the next few months. As you took in your surroundings, you pushed away the anxiety that flowed through you when Azriel appeared down the street from you, mid battle with a group of soldiers on his own. You analyzed the fight for a moment, trying to see if he needed help before you quickly turned away when his eyes met yours. You knew he saw you, and you were trying to avoid any more looks of disappointment from him.

You and Feyre continued forward, and right when you reached the bridge you heard movement from behind you. Turning around, you took in a massive group of shoulders heading towards the both of you. You quickly looked to Feyre right as she looked at you. You shared a wordless look before you both turned back toward the soldiers, you taking a fighting stance as Feyre conjured up her powers.

All hell broke loose. You and Feyre kept getting pushed back, soldier after soldier appearing right as you took down the one before. Feyre’s powers were getting weaker, and so were you. You kept pushing on, taking down one after the other that Feyre’s water wolves missed or that broke through the crowd. They were starting to surround you, leaving you no route of escape as you were distracted with the fights.

You were covered in blood, the soldiers and your own. You were tired, your body was weak, and your mind was jumbled. There were only a third of the soldiers left to deal with, the rest lying about the concrete in front of you. You had just been brought to the ground by a soldier when you heard Feyre let out a groan next to you. A soldier had come from behind her and pushed her face down onto the cobble.

Without even thinking about it, you kicked the Hybern soldier off of you and pushed yourself in her direction. As you stumbled towards her, her wolves began vanishing one by one, her power finally fading. The Hybern soldier that pushed her drew his sword and had it raised over his head, about to push it down into her chest as she rolled over to fight him off. You lurched forward, diving on your stomach to push her out of the way before a sharp pain erupted in your back. White filled your vision momentarily, your eyes wide and staring at Feyre as your vision came back to you. A sound you could only describe as a wheeze escaped you as your arms collapsed in front of you, the pain erupting into your entire body. Trying to push yourself up, your hands shook as you lifted them to connect with the ground, your eyes involuntarily filling with tears at the sensation.

Feyre was laying motionless and weak in front of you, her eyes boring into yours in concern as you stared. Body shaking, you tried once again to move before a scream was flying past your lips as whatever was lodged into your back was ripped out. The scream was broken and mangled, and you realized there was blood coming from your mouth when you coughed and it dripped onto the cobbles beneath you. Something hard made an impact with your side, and you realized the soldier was kicking you, a mutter of “Weak female.” coming from his lips as he kicked you again, sending air out of your lips along with blood as you felt yourself going dark.

Right as your eyes were about to close, you heard a roar from the distance before the ground was literally shaking with impact at someone’s landing. You knew deep down who it was, a warmth filling you for a brief moment before the pain returned ten fold. Your eyes closed and opened slowly, the fight to keep them open a struggle as you heard commotion around you. You laid your cheek on the ground, blood rolling down your cheek from the corner of your mouth and tears running down your temple from the corner of your eye. Everything in front of you was blurry as you looked off into the distance, the pain slowly turning into numbness as the seconds passed.

You thought you heard your name, but you couldn’t hold your eyes open. After closing them and opening them again, you noticed the face of the Hybern soldier laying in front of you. He was dead. You felt a presence beside you, and arms slid under you and slowly rolled you over as you groaned at the movement. “(Y/n). (Y/n) look at me. Look at me dammit!” Came from above you as you slowly fluttered your eyes open. Azriel’s face came into view, a look of pure distress on his face as he took in your features.

His eyes scanned down your body, his eyes locking on your abdomen before his hand came up to push on it. The sword had went all the way through. Not only were you bleeding from the back, but you were bleeding from the front as well. You felt nauseous at the thought, a sob escaping you at the realization that this was worse than you hoped.

“Hey, hey, you’re okay. You’re fine. Look at me (y/n).” pushed from Azriel’s mouth as he took in your distress. You slowly looked up to him, a small smile forming on your lips as you took in his appearance. His eyes were glassy, his face bruised and lip split from the battle beforehand. Dirt and debris covered him but he still looked as handsome as he always did. His hair was disheveled and his frown was evident, but his lip curved up slightly at the sight of your smile.

“Thanks for taking care of me, Azzie” slipped past your lips in a muffled whisper as your eyelids drooped, your soft smile unwavering as you reached a hand up to his arm and squeezed, the strength behind it not really there. At the repeated words from the night before, Azriel’s eyes only watered harder, his distress coming even more to the surface as he turned over his shoulder and yelled to someone in the distance “Where is Madja?!? She needs healing!” before quickly turning back to you.

His heart stopped when he looked back to you, your eyes closed and your head slumped back. “No. No. No. Wake up. Open your eyes (y/n). Wake up!” tumbling past his lips in panic as he pulled you closer to him. His shadows wizzed around the both of you, blocking you from the outside world. Right as he was about to scream a hand fell on his shoulder, and a comforting elderly woman’s voice muttered a “She’s okay. I’ve got it from here.”. He dropped his head down to yours and placed a kiss on your forehead before surrendering you to Madja.

As Azriel watched Madja tend to you, her apprentices coming to lift you from the ground and out of his arms, all he could do was pray to the Mother. Pray to her again and again that you were okay, and pray to her again and again that he would have the chance to show you how much you meant to him.

I SWEAR THERE WILL BE A PART 3!!! 😭 don’t hate me.

Tag list: @cherryinsalemverse @jeweline16 @torrick17 @amara-moonlight

#azriel x reader #azriel #angst #acotar #hurt/comfort

[ashleysmessyjourney]

22 Months Messing Challenge Update

Okay, so today I learned that 1 cup of coffee helps move things along and helps make me do my thang in my diaper. However, adding a glass of cranberry juice throws my tummy into overdrive and totally clears me out in a way that I don’t like. You ever feel like you totally clear yourself out then your body is like, “Go back to the potty right now cuz you’re gonna poo right now!” twenty minutes later?

Guess how many diapers I went through because of that? Four. Four diapers because each time I thought I was good. I waited in my third diaper after messing to make sure that I was as empty as I could be, then changed. I’ll give you one guess as to what happened next.

Since I have sensitive skin, I used gobs of Desitin rash cream down there so I could practice staying messy for longer and longer periods of time. I want to be able to tolerate being messy for a bit longer than I’m comfortable with because there may be situations in the future that keep me from changing as soon as possible.

I’ve started making notes of places that have bathrooms that are “safe” for me to change in, saving a long list of places on my phone with Google Maps for my local area. I wear plastic panties every time I go out if I’m anticipating a messy accident. Even then, I sometimes wear one just to be safe. Feeling safe, and using things to help me feel safe, have been really helpful in this challenge because it gives me the peace of mind to keep pushing forward. It’s been almost two years and I have not given up.

I know I need to get over myself and stop worrying about changing a messy diaper in public but it’s so nerve-wracking. It’s scary; just as scary as it was getting over changing a wet diaper in public. However, I’ve been searching for single room bathrooms where only one person can be inside at a time. Changing a messy diaper in a stall would just suck and be so scary.

I went out to a local Mexican restaurant with my parents last week. I’ve always loved eating nachos, especially if they’re drenched in queso. I’ve been eating them less and less as of late because I have a near-immediate negative reaction to them now. Yes, I know I’m stupid for eating them but I can’t help it sometimes; I just have a need to eat nachos. After we had finished eating dinner, my stomach was twisting itself into a knot so tight that I knew I was going to make a mess in minutes. With my home so far away, I was glad when they got up to go. I scurried back to my car with a slight waddle, praying that I would be able to make it home in time so I could mess in the safety of my home.

I didn’t make it.

It’s been getting really hard to hold #2 these last several months because I’ve conditioned myself to let my body take care of its needs. It’s what the diaper is for, after all, and I no longer view messing as a negative thing. I was able to make it to the fourth stop light from home before I tried to pass a little gas. I think you can guess what happened. Since I felt so much relief from letting some out, and since the light was still red, I lifted my butt off of the seat and pushed as hard as I could. The relief came almost immediately, though my stomach still churned like it was telling me I wasn’t done yet. I winced as I sat down in the hot mess, trying to keep it from squishing up front where my sensitive bits are. It wasn’t the solid kind of mess that I prefer; it was the complete opposite. 

I will admit that the sheer helplessness of the whole situation was a huge turn on. Being unable to keep myself from using my diaper like that, even though I fought hard and valiantly, was all useless in the end. My body knows that I’ve been wearing diapers for so long that it just knows by now that it can do whatever it wants and I’m fine with that.

I showed up to my home with a very full diaper. Thankfully, I had worn a pair of plastic panties, so I wasn’t smelling anything at all. I was super grateful that I didn’t notice any of my neighbors out and about; I would have avoided them like the plague at all costs if they came near me.

Lastly, I've been considering doing challenges to lessen my time since I have so much time left. I'm thinking about doing erotic hypnosis tracks that'll help keep me going in pursuit of my messing goals. Some may include messing on a trigger word, messing at night, and more. I'm still looking around. I was thinking listening twice would take off a week's worth of time and once the effect has taken permanent hold, I'd take off a month's worth of time. I want to keep this challenge fun and interesting.  

If you’d like to keep this challenge going, you can send me gifts to add time onto the timer. Check the pinned post for how much time stuff adds.

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Thanks for reading!

Current Ending Time: April 11, 2026 (2 years, 10 months more!)

[goldenempyrean]

I Missed You

〚 Pairing- Natasha Romanoff x Reader 〛

〚 Notes - Currently working on the BeachHouse AU but I wanted to get this out first! Enjoy some sad and weepy Nat :p 〛

〚 Summary - You're off on a mission when Nat starts to feel unwell. And even with her bestfriend at her side, Nat's finding it hard to be alone when she gets sick for the first time in years. 〛

〚 Wordcount - 2100 〛

〘 Check Out My Masterlist! 〙

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“Are you sure you’re meant to be working right now?” Clint asked casually as he strolled into the kitchen, raising his eyebrows at the woman slumped over a pile of paperwork at the table. 

Natasha looked up at him, her eyes tired and glassy. She tried to give him a reassuring smile, but it came out more like a grimace. "I'm fine," she said, her voice hoarse and cracking, “We both have some much work to do, shouldn’t you be getting your own work done instead of pestering me.”  

“God you’re crabby today, aren't you? And for your information, I’ve already got mine done. It’s easy to concentrate on it when you don’t have a head packed with snot.” He teased and smirked at the disgusted look which grossed her face. 

“You’re gross.” She sniffled thickly – he wasn’t exactly wrong though. She’d woken up feeling a little off a few days ago, there was that lingering soreness at the back of her throat that didn’t quite go away even after getting some water, but she’d put it down to being a little stressed. 

But much to her annoyance, she’d only felt worst throughout the day until she eventually woke up this morning feeling truly awful. But there wasn’t much she could do about that now. All she could do was try to focus and get her work done. 

Clint only shook his head as he began to search the kitchen cupboards for cereal, “Don’t you think you should atheist take a break?” He suggested as he started pouring multiple different kinds of cereal into one bowl. 

“I don’t need too,” She mumbled before quickly bringing her hands to her face when she sneezed loudly, groaning a little afterwards at the pain it’d caused in her throat, “I’ll live.” 

“Well, I’d be more intitled to listen to you if I weren’t terrified of what your girlfriend would do to me if they find out that I’ve let you work while sick.” Clint fake shuddered whilst simultaneously nudging the tissue box at the end of the table closer towards her, earning himself another eyeroll from her.  

But behind that sarcastic front Nat couldn’t help but feel a pang of misery, she missed you so much. Unfortunately, being an Avenger often meant having to go off on solo missions and while the two of you usually made it work, Nat couldn’t help but miss you more than usual. All she wanted was to be cuddled in your arms as you whispered sweet nothings into her hair. But alas, here she was, sick and feeling so very alone. 

Clint noticed the change in her demeanour and sighed softly, “Hey, I know it’s tough, but you can’t keep pushing yourself like this. You need to take care of yourself, and I’m sure your girlfriend would want that too.” He said while mentally kicking himself – he’d been so caught up in his own work that he hadn't even noticed how much Nat was struggling until it was too late. He made a mental note to check in on her more often in the future, to make sure she wasn't feeling overwhelmed or overworked. 

Natasha nodded slowly, her eyes drifting towards the tissue box. She knew he was right, but she hated feeling weak and vulnerable. “I know,” she said softly, “But I just feel so useless when I’m not doing something productive.” 

Clint walked over to her and placed a hand on her shoulder, mentally noting the heating radiating from her bare skin, “You’re not useless, Nat. Sometimes rest and recovery is the most productive thing you can do. And trust me, Y/N would much rather have you healthy and happy than sick and miserable.” 

She sighed, knowing he was right. “I just miss them so much,” she admitted, her voice barely above a whisper, “I haven’t been sick in years and the first time I do, they’re not even here.” 

It wasn't just the sickness that was making her feel this way. It was the fact that you weren't here with her. You were always her rock, her safe haven, and without you, she felt lost and adrift. You’d been the first person there to comfort her during the blip, the first person to stand by her after taking down the Red Room. You’d always been there. And while this definitely wasn’t the first time she’d been away from you; this was the first time it’d ever made her feel this lonely. 

Clint squeezed her shoulder gently, “I know you do. But you’ll see them soon enough, they’re meant to be home later tonight, aren’t they? I'll get Jarvis to set an alert for their arrival but for now, let’s focus on getting you feeling a bit better, yeah?” 

Natasha nodded and reached for a tissue, blowing her nose loudly. Clint chuckled, “That’s the spirit. Now, how about I make us some tea and we can sit down and go through this paperwork together?” 

However, as Clint went to turn on the kettle, he noticed the increase in her sniffles and turned around. His heart sank as he saw the silent tears running down her cheeks as Nat held her head in her hands, seemingly unable to think of anything other than you.  

Forgetting the tea, he quickly hurried over to her, sitting down and pulling her into a tight hug, his worry only increasing as he felt the small shivers running down her arms as Nat leaned began to sob against him, “I-I'm sorry,” she muttered, “I’m being ridiculous, but all I can do is think about then and that they’re not here and they could be out there hurt somehow on their mission and I wouldn’t know because I-” 

“Shh, Natty.” Clint soothed quietly, rubbing her back gently as her sobs continued, “If Y/N was ever hurt on a mission, we’d know instantly. Jarvis has their vitals always monitored. They’re okay Natasha, now I know you don’t feel well so we need to get this fever down, it’s only going to make you feel worst.” 

“There’s fever patches in the fridge...” Nat mumbled through her sniffles so quietly that Clint almost missed it entirely, “Vision made me put some in there earlier.” 

  Clint nodded, mentally thanking Vision for his wisdom. He continued to hold Nat for a little longer before slowly releasing her, swiping a handful of tissues and pressing them into her hand so she could clean up her face a little, "I'll get them for you and finish off that tea. I want you to pack this stuff away," He said, his fatherly tone seeping into his words, "No arguments this time. Pack it away, you're not working anymore. That's final." 

After receiving a small nod, Clint went to search through the fridge before finding the small packet and setting it on the side as he re-boiled the kettle to make some tea – making sure to add in a generous squirt of honey. He knew how tough it was for Natasha to admit weakness or vulnerability and seeing her break down like that made him realise just how much she was struggling. By the time he’d finished making the tea though, Nat had cleaned up the table a little, her piles of paperwork sitting neatly in one small stack whilst she sank down a little into her chair, muffling a chesty sounding cough into her elbow. 

Mentally grimacing at the sound of her rattling chest, Clint placed the tea down in front of her, "There you go," He offered a comforting smile to his partner, "hopefully that will help your throat a bit. Now I know you’re not going to like this, but do you think you’d like to go lay down for a few hours? I’ll finish up your work for you.” 

Natasha gave a weak nod, her eyes looking a little watery once again as she took a sip of her tea, "Thank you, Clint. I'm sorry for being such a mess," she murmured, her voice hoarse and strained from her coughing. 

Clint shook his head, placing a gentle hand on her shoulder, "You don't need to apologize for being sick, Nat. We all get like this sometimes," he reassured her, "Now go lay down, get some rest. I'll take care of everything." 

With that, Natasha slowly stood up from her chair, wobbling slightly as she did so. Clint quickly moved to steady her, keeping a hand on her shoulder to keep her steady. "Easy now," he murmured, "Don't overdo it." 

Natasha gave him a weak smile as he led her towards her bedroom, her steps slow and unsteady. Once they reached her room, Clint helped her to sit down on the bed before tucking her in with a soft blanket. "Get some rest," he said, his voice gentle, "I'll come check on you in a little bit. I’ll make sure no one disturbs you." 

On his way out of her room Clint couldn't help but feel a pang of sadness in his heart as he thought about you, wherever you were, and how much Nat missed you. He knew he couldn't replace you, but he would do his best to take care of Nat in your absence. Instead he’d concentrate on getting her work done so the two of you would have nothing to worry about except each other when you finally got back. 

〘✧✧✧〙 

The sky was dark by the time you’d finally gotten home that night. The compound was quiet, most of the agents had left for the day and most people were already in bed so it was safe to say you were surprised to come into the kitchen to see Clint sitting over the table, eating pasta as he stared down at the files in front of him. 

“Hey.” You called out quietly, seemingly startling him a little. 

“Y/N!” His face lit up instantly as he got up from the table, coming over to hug you, “You’re back finally, thank god.” 

You’d be lying if you said his reaction didn’t puzzle you a little though, “Yeah, sorry the flight back took a little longer than expected, is everything alright? Oh, have you seen Nat too by the way? I texted her to tell her I was home, but I think her phones dead or something.” 

Clint pulled away from the hug, his brow furrowed with concern. "Nat's not feeling so well actually. She's got the flu I think, she’s probably sleeping still." He gestured to the files on the table. "I’ve just been doing her paperwork. She really missed you while you were away Y/N, like really missed you.” 

“I’ll go check on her then,” You sighed, hating that you weren’t here to take care of her, you knew Nat rarely got sick and whenever she did, it usually hit her hard, “Thank you though,” You said genuinely, giving Clint an appreciative smile, “Thanks for looking out for her.” 

“It's no problem. Nat’s important to me, I wasn’t going to just sit there while she suffered. She’s going to be so happy to see you.” Clint nodded, before going over to the table to pick up his bowl of pasta, “I'm gonna head to bed soon now thpugh, I’ll finish that in the morning.” 

“Goodnight Clint.” You gave him a final smile before hurrying off in the direction of your bedroom. 

As you reached your room, you made sure to quietly open the door, not wanting to startle her. But once the light flooded the room, letting you see the outline of your girlfriend, your heart sank. Nat was curled up beneath the blankets in one of your hoodies as she tightly hugged one of your favourite stuffed animals. Even in the dim light, you could see the dark red grasp of a fever clutching to her cheeks.  

Not wanting to disturb her more than necessary, you silently got changed out of your suit into some comfy thin pyjamas before gently climbing in bed next to the sleeping widow. You’d intended to not wake her up but despite your best efforts, the redhead stirred a little as you settled down into the duvet. 

“Shh, baby, It’s okay now. I’m here, okay?” You whispered quietly, as Nat sleepily shuffled up into your hold, welcoming your touch as you pulled her close against your chest. 

“I missed you.” Her raspy voice barely louder than a whisper before sleep pulled her back down into its hands. 

“I missed you too moya lyubov',” You murmured softly, “I’m here now, okay? And I'm going to look after you.” 

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[shoshiwrites]

Hi!! I would like to request the print “not realizing they are holding hands until someone points it out to them” OR “holding hands to pull someone away from something” from your prompt lists for Bucky and Jo. There were so many good ones I could not choose 😅 I hope I did this right. I love them together and your writing!!

Thank you so much, sweet anon! 🥺 That means so much. You absolutely did this right! I've actually got your first prompt in my inbox already, so keep an eye out for that at a later date! <3 Bucky Egan/War correspondent OC — more here, including prompt lists. From this list, "grabbing the other’s hand to pull them back from something."

“Coffee, Miss Jo?”

Lemmons makes his coffee on a little gas burner out on the strip, the kind you can stand a spoon straight up in for the grounds. The two guys working beside him wrinkle their noses. She’s heard Cleven refer to it as motor oil, to which Egan had made some crack about how Buck would take all the sugar in a fifty mile radius for his, if he could. 

The village kids at Lemmons’ elbow had looked to him in confusion. “There’s something wrong if your motor oil looks like this,” she recalls him saying, pointing to the color and slurping it down with satisfaction.

It smells a little like gasoline, and looks like the coffee her friend Vicky’s family serves after meals, in prettier cups. Brewed with sugar and a little cardamom, Jo figures it won’t be brought to mind tonight.

“Thanks, Ken, I’m alright.”

Miss Jo, Ken. They’re casual out here in the flatlands. 

She watches through the open door as the midsummer day fades out of the sky. That must mean it’s late. The door gets closed. She checks her watch, the olive canvas against her wrist. Late. 

She’s expecting a call from Kay, later, about Kay’s reporting trip to Ireland.

There’s plenty to write about out here — too much, maybe, the flak holes and the cans of paint, the bloodstains, the dirtied hands. Nineteen years old. Ken wears a little puffed heart on a chain, the silver tone catching the light. From his wife, the girl in the snapshot tacked to the board on the wall. 

She wonders if profiles like the ones she writes make it better or worse.

She wonders if she could sneak into the mess, sweet-talk herself into a better cup of coffee and betray the one she was just offered. Her hair smells a little like grease.

Maybe she ought to be gracious. She’s got plenty to do tonight, anyway. Sleep has been scarce, why not let it stay away a little longer?

“If you can spare any, actually-”

He looks up from the little operation, his face brightened, a curl loosed above his brow. “Sure thing.”

“‘M not driving you over to Redgrave,” says a voice from behind her. “When you start seein’ stars.”

Egan’s swinging the neck of a beer bottle between his knuckles, the liquid sloshing as he gestures. 

Ken hands her the little steel cup, the walls dotted with grounds. “Evening, Major.”

“Good evening, Kenny.” 

She peers behind him, but doesn’t see a jeep. They hadn’t heard one pull up, either.

“Just makin’ the rounds,” he says, when he notices her looking at him. She makes a noncommittal expression. “Nice night.”

It is, still pleasantly warm, with that little bit of coolness to the air. If there were any fairness in the universe a slow band would be playing, and the shelters dismantled brick by brick. Rendered useless.

“I should stop bothering the corporal here,” Jo says. 

“Hey, now, you’re not bothering anyone.” Kenny smiles patiently, and she knows he’s lying. 

“You’re very nice to humor me.” Beside her, the major nods.

She takes a sip. Very strong. Her mouth twitches, just a little. 

“I told you!” he says. 

She swallows. “My friends always tell me I’ve got a shitty poker face.”

Egan laughs, the kind of laugh that comes from hearing her curse, still. “They may be right about that.” 

She sets down the cup with something of an apology, sure that someone else will drink it to get through the next few hours. “Thank you, Ken, but I think if I finish that I might start tasting radio waves.”

He cracks a smile, and the light makes shadow, makes the dark circles under his eyes even darker. “Alright.”

“C’mon, Captain. Let’s let ‘im get back to work.”

She starts to turn. “Ken, get me her parent’s address and I’ll make sure they get a copy of anything that runs,” she says. “Fonda’s.”

He nods, wiping his hands. “Yes, ma’am.”

To Bucky, as they walk out, she says, “that’s my line.”

The sky outside is a dark, dark blue, like glazed tile, the trees cut-paper silhouettes. 

They’d trapped the light behind them with Kenny, in the outbuilding, behind the black paint on the windows. “You cold?” She shakes her head.

“You see that?” he asks, pointing. “Venus.”

“Awful bright.” She hopes she sounds appreciative. The moon shines on the horizon. 

They walk, until they sit, near the line of trees. 

“Pittsburgh, right?” he says. “Smoky City? You see many stars there?”

“Didn’t even know ‘em, ‘til I moved east. And even then. Had to drive out to see them.”

“How’s all this, then?” He gestures  — the clear sky, the low buildings. Norwich in the distance is dark. She wonders where they run, if a raid starts.

She inhales, knows he can hear the sound of it. “It’s beautiful.”

He tips the bottle towards her, the last few glugs. “Sorry, don’t know why I didn’t bring two.”

“Don’t waste it on me,” she says. That relentless demand. The churn of it. She can’t think about it too long.

He holds it out to her still. “Don’t hurt my feelings, Josephine.” 

It’s better than Lemmons’ rocket fuel, at least. His fingers brush her palm. The lip of the bottle is wet from his mouth, from the beer. She takes a sip, meets his eyes. “Thanks.” 

“Always liked the stars,” he says. Like he knows it’s a silly thing, like saying you like the sun, or the moon. But there’s something quiet in it too. “Had a chart, as a kid.”

“With the constellations?”

“Yeah. Orion’s Belt. Ursa Minor. Andromeda.” It’s like he’s dusting them off, the names on his tongue. Like digging out a star-map from the back of the closet. “Cygnus. Cepheus.” 

“What are we looking at now?”

“Hell,” he smiles, big and wide at the sky. “I’d need the map.” 

He must not be flying tomorrow, she thinks.

Can you see them that much closer? she wants to ask. Up there? But they don’t fly at night.

“‘S a nice excuse though,” he says. 

“For what?”

“Putting my arm around a pretty girl.” She wants to tell him that they’ve started writing her at the paper. Families. They don’t even know where she is, just England. That they think she knows something.

She tries to laugh. “Only if you know what you’re looking at.” 

“Small detail. Unimportant.”

If the universe were fair he’d be on the lake shoreline, with a fire, or buying ice cream, or taking a pretty girl on a date. 

She brushes off her trousers even though they’ve only been sitting in the grass, making to stand. The call from Kay. 

“Hey,” he says, and it sounds so tired against the night sky. Tired, tender, reaching for her. His hand around hers, and she stumbles back to the ground, his legs, his lap. 

“Oh!” She’s braced herself with her palms, either side of him. A quiet huff, a laugh. “You could’ve just asked me to stay.”

“Thought I was-” he starts. “Sorry about that.”

The breath in her chest feels shaky. She can smell the hops on his breath, and the remnants of Barbasol, geranium and moss. “You’ll need more than that to convince a girl.”

The kiss he plants on her lips might be a start. 

#masters of the air oc #mota oc #bucky egan x oc #anonymous #shoshi writes #jo's tag #motaverse #i feel like i should start titling these #<3 ken <3 #ready to spot my typos in 3....2....1....

[stickyspeckledlight]

A thought I’ve been having for the past few weeks but haven’t wrote down for some reason

do you ever think about how the leather choker that aven wears to secure the collar of his suit is one of the many ways he expresses that he literally just sees himself as a tool. [Esp with his fucking greeting line. THAT IS HIS CASUAL GREETING LINE; HE SAYS THAT SHIT LIKE PPL ARE GONNA BE LIKE ‘mhm yep that’s a normal thing to say’ (well not completely obviously, but he certainly doesn’t think people are going to be baffled because he sees himself as an object).] anyway back on topic. That choker is. Well. I think you know. We all know that as a slave aven had to wear a brutal metal collar, practically chaining his every limb down. It was a weight he had to carry with him for at least a year or two (he prob spent a good chunk of his teen years as a slave, but we don’t have any confirmation). And obviously a lot of shit stuck with him, and as many have pointed out Aven does mimic the bastard who was his master in small ways, almost as a way to try and prove that he isn’t a slave or something to be used…but that pursuit, to him, is ultimately an aimless and useless one. That it’s a denial of reality—and it is. It’s a denial of his reality, where he’s so used to being nothing more than a tool. Perhaps young Kakavasha was a person, but now that everyone who has shown him love or kindness is dead (there was a planet of ppl who helped him that are wiped out according to one of his character stories), there exists no one who is even slightly caring or willing to acknowledge his personhood. He isn’t a person if he isn’t loved, and he never will be loved. Even though he wants that, to have that love, whether it be returning to the only three people who have ever loved him or if it’s almost subconsciously begging ratio to help him in a silent plea (final victor lc…if he was trembling even slightly, which I think he would, ratio would’ve noticed. Ratio’s a lot more composed than the average person and generally seems aware of his surroundings. Not to mention, he is a *doctor*)

it’s pretty and fashionable, but it still digs into his skin, still threatens to choke and brand him

#speckled blabbers #Hella scattered but yea #Enjoy my midnight musings #aventurine hsr #honkai star rail #hsr aventurine

[kny-agere]

First Meeting

Cg!Hinatsuru & Little!Reader

★彡☆彡★彡

You’ve been talking to Hinatsuru online for months, almost a year, so it really shouldn’t be scary. You’ve covered all bases. She’s sent several pictures of herself (and her id), even following specific instructions. You’re meeting in a public space. All your friends have your location pinged.

That’s not what scares you though. The thought of her somehow being a serial killer is much less scary than the other prevailing idea. You’re terrified that she’ll decide that this isn’t what she wants, or that you’re not what she wants.

In fear of not showing up at all you instead get to the cafe early. You only order a small side of fries to keep yourself busy without ruining your appetite. It might be a useless endeavor however considering your stomach has dug itself into a hole. Under the table your legs tremble. Several times you have to wipe your sweaty palms onto your jeans.

When the bell rings gently— signaling someone’s entry —you don’t notice Hinatsuru’s arrived until she takes the seat across from you.

“Hi! It’s so nice to meet you in person.” She’s smiling so wide at you. The only thing you can offer is a weak imitation of a grin.

You wipes your hand on your pants one last time before offering it for her to shake. “It’s gr-great to- um, great to see you too.” You can feel how smooth and pleasantly warm her hand is. Your own is still damp despite all your efforts.

The waiter, who had been eyeing you pitifully while you sat alone, comes straight to your table as soon as the other woman had settled down.

“Order whatever you want. I can foot the bill.” She smiles again and you might be blinded.

“Are you sure? Please don’t feel like you have to, I can take care of myself.”

“I know but that’s not the point. I want to help out.” The tone to her words makes you nod silently.

Hinatsuru orders a lot of food, mostly sides. You settle on a small soup. Despite the fact that she’s exactly the same as she is online you can’t shake your fears. With your stomach still in knots you can barely choke down your fries that are now cold and rather unappetizing.

“So, how have you been lately?” She makes direct eye contact that you can’t return.

“Good. I just finished mid-terms. That’s why I’ve been so busy, sorry.”

“No need to apologize. It’s good that you take your studies seriously.”

There’s an awkward beat of silence. This never happens over text. “Um right, how are you?”

“Oh I’m doing fine! I’ve just been really looking forward to meeting in-person.”

“Me too!” Your words rush out too quickly. “I never done this kinda thing before- I guess you knew that.” Laughing in a too high pitch you avert your eyes.

Conversation doesn’t flow as easily when you’re put on the spot. Hinatsuru doesn’t seem to mind any of your pauses or stumbling sentences but you note every single one. A few times you even start to answer questions with a full mouth, only to hide it behind your hand in embarrassment.

You’re sure any moment she’ll decide it’s time to end your suffering and simply leave but she never does. Even when you excuse yourself to the restroom for a brief moment (secretly hoping she’ll have disappeared just so you can go back to hiding in bed) she waits patiently at the table.

“Are you finished eating?” You’ve been picking at a bowl of cold fries for 20 minutes now. Her asking is just a formality.

Nodding hesitantly you follow her up to the counter. She pays and lunch is over.

“Do you still want to go back to your place?” The woman leads you towards the exit. It’s pleasant outside. “I know we talked about it, but it’s ok if this is enough for one day.” You’re nervous condition is clear but hearing her acknowledge it makes you flinch.

Hinatsuru reaches for your hand and squeezes it reassuringly.

“Um y-yea I think that’d be good.”

She takes you to her car, which is a rather nice one. You don’t know enough to specify the type. All you can tell is that it’s shiny and clean and smells wonderful.

The woman drives smoothly. You barely sway as she breaks and starts. At some point she brushes her hand against yours resting on the divider between the seats. When you don’t pull away (although you do jerk slightly) she slips it against yours. Embarrassed by her poorly hidden glances you look out the window.

She doesn’t bother you much, letting quiet music and monotone directions fill up the space rather than your voices. Every few minutes you glance at the estimated arrival time. As it ticks closer you grow stiff once more. A soft thumb rubs over the back of your hand but isn’t enough to lull you into a calmer state.

You’re worried about sweaty palms again, but more worried that if you let go she won’t recapture your hand. Any focus you had is forced to bounce between several sources of anxiety.

“Can I just park anywhere or is there designated guest parking?”

You blink and recognize your apartment building outside the window. “Oh um, you gotta go to the end.”

She slides into a spot. When Hinatsuru puts the car into park she untangles her hand from yours. You take a moment to wipe your palm against your pants.

You’re excited when you hop out of the car and she slides up to your side again. “I’m excited to see your room,” she says. “I only get glimpses from your pictures.”

“Well it’s not very big so you’ve probably seen more than you realize. Sorry I should’ve said that before, um, in case you wanted to go somewhere nicer.” There’s a little tremble at the end of your words.

Hinatsuru grabs your hand again and squeezes it. “Don’t feel bad, I’m up for whatever you want. As long as you’re comfortable.”

“You’re really nice.” You’re not expecting it but she blushes lightly at the gentle compliment. Cuddling against her side your face grows warm too.

The woman lets your lean against her the whole walk to your apartment. In fairness it’s not a particularly long walk but you enjoy the closeness.

You fumble with the keys for a moment. The immediate loss of physical contact leaves you chilled.

Pushing inside there’s not much to look at, just the default blankness of the apartment. “Um, my room is prettier.” You feel the need to justify the emptiness of the lounge.

“It’s nice in here! Honestly I think Tengen overdecorates sometimes.”

You can’t do anything other than nod. You wish you were strung on her arm again. “I didn’t have- have anything specific in mind so I jus’ kinda left my room like normal.” It trails off into a mumble at the end. You allow her inside. While she looks around the space you keep your eyes focused on the ground.

“It’s so pretty baby! You have a good eye for color.”

It doesn’t cure your silence but does burn your cheeks.

“And you wanna keep going?” Hinatsuru takes a moment to cradle you in her arms. You’re happy to lean into the touch.

“Y-yeah.”

“Do you want to change into something more comfortable?” Her hand slips over your back.

“Um, yes please. Can you pick it out?” You’re still standing in the middle of your rather small room.

“Alright! Do you have certain clothes for this?”

Should you? “No. My jammies are in the bottom drawer though.” You suddenly feel like your single matching set and several mismatched pairs are inadequate. Though you exchanged photos as a way to prove your identity, it wasn’t common to send candids. She’s probably just curious.

“And do you have any toys you wanna get out? Do you wanna use your paci?” She strides forward with confidence, kneeling to look through your sleepwear options.

“I got just a box. Sorry it’s not very much.”

Hinatsuru turns around, she’s picked out a polka-dotted blue pair of bottoms. “You don’t need to be sorry! I didn’t mean to be presumptuous. I just thought you’d have things you wanted to get out.”

“No I do- but, well I figured you’re used to having more.” Looking down you shrink into yourself.

Hinatsuru approaches you slowly. She wraps an arm around you, and then pulls you into her. After only a second something in you budges and tears are slipping down your cheeks.

For a moment she doesn’t speak. The woman simply rubs your back and sways gently. A few times you try to explain yourself through blubbering sobs but Hinatsuru just shushes you gently.

You stand there for a few minutes. Your legs kind of hurt from being locked in place but you don’t notice that until you’re let go and allowed to move. It couldn’t have been more than five minutes but you feel exhausted.

“Are we feeling a lot of emotions right now?” Hinatsuru guides you until you’re settled on the bed. As you nod a thumb drifts towards your lips. Before it can make contact the woman places a pacifier in its place.

At first you try to speak around the intrusion in your mouth. Realizing your words are unintelligible you simply nod.

“Should I go?” She barely gets the words out before tears are flooding your face again. A hand grips onto her shirt so tight you’re scared you might rip it. “Hey, it’s ok I was just asking. I’ll stay if you want.” Hinatsuru has to slowly unwind your hand from her clothes.

“How about we get you changed then, and we can have a good long nap.” She pulls away slowly, only for a moment. Picking up the pajamas that had been discarded she places them on the edge of your bed.

It takes quite a bit of wiggling to help her strip you down. When you’re not in the mood to move too much this is the best you can offer. The new set slides on easily with Hinatsuru’s help. Soft cotton is much more comfortable than rough jeans.

Taking another moment to pause the woman looks for anything else you might have to offer. Opening the box that had contained your pacifier she finds a small collection of other items tucked inside. There’s some fuzzy brown socks, which she pulls out, alongside a sippy cup. The only item she leaves is the canister of oat puffs. That’s a snack you can enjoy on your own.

When she rises you’re in much of the same position. As Hinatsuru comes back into view you reach out for her once more.

She doesn’t yet fall into your arms, leaving you with a confused frown. First she has to coax your feet out from underneath the warm covers. Before she puts the socks on her fingers lightly scratch the bottom on your feet. The woman has to dodge an unintentional kick as you squirm about. Laughing Hinatsuru holds your ankle, again tracing a path along the ticklish area. You squeal loudly as she continues with a motions. It’s not until there’s tears in your eyes that she takes the opportunity to slip on the socks.

And again you expect her to crawl in the bed beside you, displeased when she doesn’t. You’re not inclined to sit up quite yet, but you do angrily wiggle your fingers.

“Wait one moment baby, do you want me to fill up your bottle?”

“Shocolate ‘ilk.”

“Ok, I’ll be right back.”

You’re too comfortable in bed to wonder if you should’ve given her more proper directions. Trusting she’ll find the chocolate powder tucked away in a cabinet you instead focus on trying to remain awake. In the absence of a body next to you, you instead wrap yourself around one of your many stuffed animals. The soft fur against your cheek keeps dragging your eyes closed. Each time you blink you feel as if the darkness around you lasts for a moment longer.

The moment weight settles on the bed once more you shoot upwards. You have to scramble for awareness briefly but Hinatsuru moves closer as you wave your arms about awkwardly.

You’re bed isn’t quite made for two but you carve out space. It helps when she cradles most of your body against hers. You get to bury your face against her warm neck.

“I thought you were hungry.” You had forgotten the cup in her hold. It takes a bit more shifting to get into a better pose, moving down slightly so you lay against her chest. Though the model visually leans more towards that of a sippy cup it works like a bottle. She tips the edge into your mouth, happy to let you suckle the silicone teat. Hinatsuru is careful to hold it in such a position that you’re not overwhelmed by the speed of its release.

Her other hand wraps around your back to the intertwine with one of your own. Occasionally you’ll release your hold to tug and grasp at her long fingers.

When you’ve finished the contents of the cup, and before she places the pacifier back you make your peace. “S-sorry ‘m not wantin’ to play. It’s boring probably.”

“Don’t say sorry. You’ve never done this with someone else right? It’s normal to be feeling a lot of things.”

“Yea but, um-“

“No buts! We’re gonna hang out again right? Don’t act like this is the only time you’re gonna see me. I’m excited to do whatever you want.”

“I love you m-mama.”

Her fingers pull you closer. “I love you even more.”

#age regression #age regressor #fandom agere #sfw agere #demon slayer #kny #cglre #little!reader #cg!hinatsuru #hinatsuru #reader insert #agere reader

[the-soliloquies-of-sadists]

#306

“Right on time.  I was looking forward to beating you for being late.  Good boy.  You remembered this time.  A cold front might have come through last night, but it’s warm enough for you to be completely naked in front of your superior.  Get on your knees when you are done….

“I’ve been thinking about our arrangement.  I know we agreed that when we are here in this stretch of boundary between our family properties that you would be the cunt bitch and I would be your Lord and master.  We are far enough away from anyone so that no one will ever discover us.  We have this bubble where you are my cunt bitch to use.  This is our little bubble from the chaos of how our families can’t fucking stand each other. 

“But the thing is that we both live in the outside world.  I think I’m going to alter what we have set up.  When Debby and I saw you and your girlfriend at the movies, I didn’t like that you felt that you were my equal, strutting around like you owned that place.  All I could think of how I wanted to beat your ass for assuming you were my equal making eye to eye contact.  I couldn’t focus on that movie; I was so pissed off. 

“Hey, I gotta piss.  Open up and swallow.  Oh yeah….

“So I decided that when we bump into each other out and about with our families, as soon as you make contact with me, only your eyes should lower for one second, before going back up.  What you are telling me, with that subtle gesture, is that you know you are an inferior cunt and that I am the superior man.  You got that?...  Just nod.  Good.

“When I stop pissing start sucking.  And why don’t you start jacking off and collect your jiz in your hand.  I hope you haven’t cum in the past few days.  You are going to need to produce a lot as that’s the only lube I will use.

“Well look at you, you little cunt.  You are hungry to cum, aren’t you?  You little bitch.  The little bitch is pounding it’s tiny little clitty while he’s sucking on a real man’s cock.  Baby bitch wants to cum.  You are such a fucking slut.  Cum for me boy.  Jerk that pud.  C’mon you little pussy, show your man that how big of a whore you are.  Take my cock to the root, to the root.  This is a real man’s dick you have in your mouth.  The one in your hand is useless.  No wonder you have no kids.  It’s a pathetic little clit.

“It looks like you are going to cum?  Are you?  In your hand!  In your fucking hand.  Do it!  Do it!  Now keep up the blow job.  Don’t lose any of your enthusiasm.  Your focus now is my cock.  I don’t care that you just came.  You need to focus long enough to start to get turned on again.  Oh yeah.  Focus on me, and on my cock.

“It’s interesting.  I came here a few minutes before you did.  I got to inspect your corn crop.  You guys are producing some nice crops this year.  I know you don’t mind that I snagged one of your cobs.

“Look at this ear.  Pull off my dick.  Look at this ear.  Notice that it is just a little bit thicker than my dick, and it’s about an inch or two longer.  Think you can take it?  What?  Don’t look at me like that.  Go on and slather your spooge on this cob.  Put a lot on the tip.  It’s good thing you were so turned on; you produced a lot of bitch butter.  Now use the rest to lube up your cunt and get yourself into place.

“Hey! I am the one who gives orders, and you are the cunt who follows them.  On all fours.  NOW!  Damn, your pucker is twitching up a storm.  Wait a minute, that’s more than your cum.  You came lubed up.  You fucking whore.  You are going to need it all.  It’s time for you to be cornholed, literally.  Now you’ve taken my dick, this should be more painful. 

“Scream mother fucker!  Scream!  Your cunt is struggling.  Fuck, it’s halfway in.  Damn bitch, you are actually taking it.  Bitch, I’m going to tear up your twat something good.  Fuck, there’s already a few dots of red.  Fuck that’s hot.  Cunt, you are getting your man all rock hard.  I can’t take it anymore.

“Here take the cob.  Fuck, your stretched out hole feels so fucking good on my dick.  It won’t take me more than a couple minutes to unload.  Hey, I want that corn eaten by the time I nut.  That’s an order bitch.  Eat it all, the red spots, that small brown streak, your cum.  You have cleaned off my cock after I fucked you; this is no different.  Do it! 

“You are nasty.  You are one nasty cum guzzling goddamn whore.  You will do anything I tell you just to get my fat cock in your cunt, you fucking piece of gutter trash.  Keep fucking eating.  I want that cob clean when I fucking unload, and I’m getting fucking close.

“Your sloppy cunt is better than any pussy I have had in a long time.  I am ready to nut.  That cob better be clean.  I’m gonna cum bitch.  Here it cums.  Here it fucking cums. Ahh!  Ahh!  Argh!  Fuuuck!  Jeez!  Goddamned that was good.

"Show me the cob.  Give it to me.  Damn!  You ate it all, you fucking pig.  Clean me off.  He he.  My dick can tell you still have corn chunks in your mouth.  Mmm.  Ok pull off.  You are a mess.  Here’s your underwear.  Wipe your face.

“This ear has been slathered with cum, fucked your cunt, and got devoured.  Now, with that snap, the husks and a bit of the core are gone.  Bend over.  It just slides in.  Fucking gaping cunt.  But this time it goes all the way in.  Leave it in place.  You can take it out when you get home.  Get dressed.

“Say are you going to Lincoln next month?… Good.  Alone?...  Ok.  I will be there all week long.  Debbie is staying here.  You are going to be my personal cunt bitch the entire time we are not at the convention.  I want you to find us each a room at motels next door to one another, a nice one for me and a seedy filthy one for you.  It needs to be far enough from the convention center so that we won’t see anyone we know yet close enough not to raise suspicions.  We’ll use each room for whatever mood I’m in.  And your cunt is going to have so much shoved into it; fuck my mind is spinning.  I’d also like to see you take other men in there, especially a big black cock.  That will truly make you a cunt, my cunt.  It'll be fun.

Let’s go.  First, come here.  Give me a kiss.  Not a peck.  That was pathetic.  Here let me show you….  Fuck! Bitch! I could still taste corn.  You are one nasty bitch.  But you are my kind of nasty.  I’m glad we are doing this.  Let’s go.

[jaw-writes]

A Letter to My Coat

I write this as a letter to you, my most frequently used coat. I remember when I found you at the department store. To everyone else, you were just like any simple button up, but I could tell there was something valuable about you. Not in the monetary sense; you weren't made of interesting parts or decadent materials, but you were rich in character. There were a couple like you on the clearance rack but I knew you were the one I wanted. 

So I took you home with me and slipped you on. You were a bit too tight at first and it was a struggle to remove your tag, but my goodness was it worth it. The fabric that lines you is so soft and warm, then the outer layer, the part everyone sees, is so simple yet perfect in that simplicity. I would take you everywhere with me and I would never get comments about you being out of place. Over the years you’ve taken some damage a couple of loose threads and stains, though that’s not a complaint I think it makes you far more desirable. 

The grit contrasts with your overall plush making you even more comfortable to have on. The only problem is when you try to behave like you’re another piece of clothing, or worse something not meant to be worn. There have been a couple of instances, especially over the past few months, where you’ve tried to convince yourself you’re something you’re not. You’ll be stubbornly holding onto the coat rack. Make it hard for me to wear you, try to roll off me, and worst of all, attempt to patch yourself up when you know you can't do that without me.

Which is why I’m writing this letter that I’ll put in your pocket tomorrow. I implore you to stop this nonsense for your sake, I know we don’t always agree but this is much more damaging to you than me. I don’t understand how you don’t know your purpose after I’ve been here so long and explained it to you a plethora of times. You are my wonderful, pecan-colored, coffee-stained, patch-covered, formfitting coat. Your existence is a wonderful thing it greatly improves my life and I get frequent compliments when I wear you. I don’t know why you keep craving for something you’re incapable of having in every sense.

In all honesty, it's getting frustrating to deal with, and I fear you’ll destroy yourself if you continue. You don’t have as much autonomy as you seem to believe. All these attempts to get away from me, to ruin our symbiotic relationship will always result in you coming back. It's in the fabric of your nature to want to be worn by me, no matter your attempts to deny it. To show you how this is causing you harm, I’ll discuss the most recent incident. 

I was on one of my nighttime hunts with you accompanying me as you often do. I had just cornered my prey and prepared to strike when you intervened. As I lifted my weapon, you stiffened around the joints of my arm forcing me to stop. I ran after my target regardless, but my inability to move my arm greatly hindered me. With each step I took you’re hold got tighter. My skin grew a bluish hue the longer you held until I had no choice but to rip you in a lengthy struggle. It was one of the most painful things I’d experienced in months and what should have been an easy win was ruined.

You were completely out of line by trying to stop me. The level of entitlement you displayed is almost unbelievable. You are my coat, you are here to keep me warm and move with me. I’m wearing you, not the other way around. You’re lucky I bothered stitching you up when I got home. The only plus to that whole ordeal is that your scars are alluring. Even then, you complained about my skills in repairing you. 

“Oh God, it looks so unnatural, everyone will notice!” you whined like that wasn't my intention. You already know that I like the damage you take to be visible, and if you wanted to avoid this you shouldn't have held me back. 

I can always take you off and move onto another coat, but without me, you’re an even more useless, bruised shell. You’re not expensive, historically important, detailed, or artistic enough to stand on your own. A bland brown layer of fabric would not survive without someone to slip it over them, and while I love the imperfections you hold, most don’t. I’m fully aware that I am possessive but it’s necessary for me to be when you’re an object. 

Besides, I don’t know why after three years of taking you with me on my hunts, you’re now deciding it's something that needs to end. Just last year you’d complain about the morally dubious nature, but you wouldn’t get in my way. If there’s something I’ve done during those activities that deeply rubbed you the wrong way I’m genuinely sorry. I know that it can get quite gruesome. But if that’s the case you need to communicate what it is. Is it that I’ve gotten so messy that I can’t trust taking you to a public washer? Am I too rough when I scrub you by hand in a hurry? Something else?

I promise whatever it is I can fix it. Even if it's about you being unable to handle the violence. As I said before, I get why it's hard for you. You have to wrap yourself around me as I wrangle and put the long pigs out of their misery, but I must remind you that what I’m doing is necessary. The things I kill aren't like you or me, they’re not warm or logical. All they do is tear one another apart for the smallest differences in perception or appearance. 

Unlike me, they hate any type of flaw, doing everything they can to cover it up. Color matching each patch and stitch, desperately hoping no one will discover the damage. They are far past their expiration date, I’m doing their entire species a favor whenever I take one out of their misery. It may appear brutal, especially considering how I repurpose their hide but it's truly for the best. 

I truly love you and after all the time we’ve spent together, I’d hate to have to trash you. However, it seems like an increasingly likely possibility. So I plead with you to stop these attempts to get away, to interrupt the system that’s been working so well for us. Cause as much as I care for you, I don’t need you, but you need me. Allow these words to seep through the fibers of your fabric, and consider your next actions thoroughly. As I can destroy you just as easily as I can repair you.

Every thread that makes you can be ripped in an instant by just one of my thread cutters. The fluff that lines your insides plucked off you like the feathers of a sickly chicken. The patches I’ve attached to you, easily removable with nothing but my teeth and nails. The material that you’re made from, can be frayed, stained, and bleached one after the other within an hour. 

With that being said, I would not find pleasure in tearing you apart. I enjoy scaring you but I want it to stem from more natural causes. Torture is boring because it’s expected, the wounds you have are entrancing since I can’t predict the situation that’ll lead to them. Anyway, I’ve made my point I sincerely hope you go back to cooperating with me after this.

With Love, Your Owner

#creepypasta #writers on tumblr #writing #ao3 writer #my writing #writerscommunity #horror #drama #digital art #artists on tumblr #artwork #metaphor #digital drawing #drawing #my art #art #illustration #art tag #original character #original art #original story #short story #story #stories #letters #love letters #ao3 #ao3feed

[dancingtotuyo]

Scathed (Javier Peña) Chapter 5

Rating: Mature

Warnings: Anxiety. References to panic attacks. Bad dreams. Talk about real life drug lords (Narcos TV interpretations). References/Ilusions to Trauma, PTSD, grooming, & abuse. some angst? no comfort?

Words: 2,446

Series Master List | Author Master List

He raced through the comuna adrenaline pumping in his veins. He chased and chased the figure, never catching him, never gaining any ground. His heart pounded in his chest. Sweat dripped down his head. The shirt he wore clung to his skin. He rounded a corner, but there was no perp. He wasn’t in the winding maze of the comuna anymore. He was back in Texas in a spacious backyard. He could hear her panicked gasps for breath, a crumpled ball on the ground, Anna running past him, his feet frozen to the ground. He struggled to catch his breath. It seemed to play on a loop: Emily was always there on the ground, Anna always rushing toward her, his feet unmoving.

His breathing sped up. Panic started to overtake him. He couldn’t move, he couldn’t look away as Emily choked for air. It took him longer to realize he did the same. Darkness edged at his peripheral creeping inward. He couldn’t catch his damn breath. He felt lightheaded. The last thing he saw before the darkness took over was Emily on the ground.

Javier sat up. His chest heaved. Crickets chirped outside his bedroom window. Bedsheets twisted around his waist. His skin was sticky with sweat. The sheets felt damp beneath him.

He froze. Javier Peña didn’t freeze, and someone suffered for it. How many more had to suffer because of the drug war? Even removed from it, the scars still shone red and angry.

He still couldn’t face Emily. It had been months since Escobar was killed. She brought Alejandra for riding lessons every week. He always found a reason to be gone. He’d passed them in the driveway a handful of times. He couldn’t even look her way.

-

Journal Entry

April 8, 1994

5 years feels like a lifetime and just yesterday.

Dad thinks we should celebrate. I just want the day to pass without thinking about it. The kids are grumpy, even Mateo. It’s like they just know somehow.

We’re going out to the Ranch tonight for Alejandra’s riding lesson. I usually leave the boys at home, but I’m going to bring them this time. I think it will be good for all of us.

Dust drifted around the car as they filed out. Alejandra darted straight to the riding rink. The boys pooled around her. Emily expected to find Chucho in the rink, but instead landed a figure in jeans a size too small.

“Mr. Javi!” Alejandra smiled brightly.

Javier turned from saddling Hurricane. He smiled, but his movements were stiff. “Alejandrina!”

Ale asked if they would see him before every lesson. Emily usually changed the subject. The closest she’d come to laying eyes on him since December was when they passed each other in the driveway.

Emily tried to put it out of her head. It shouldn’t bother her. They weren’t friends, but it had felt like maybe they could’ve been. He knew more about her than most people. Apparently, he drew the line at panic attacks. That was good to know.

“Are you doing my lesson this week?”

“I am.” He pushed his sunglasses up on his nose. “Pops is out of commission for the next few weeks.”

“Good lord, Javier.” They heard Chucho before they saw him. He hobbled out of the barn on crutches. “I’ve hurt my foot, I’m not completely useless.”

“What happened?” Ale asked.

“I stepped in a hole.” The older man rolled his eyes. “Doc says I fractured my foot. Lucky for you, Javier is quite the horseman.”

Javier forced another smile. The light lens of his sunglasses allowed Emily to see his eyes. He looked around her and past her. Emily pretended not to notice and crossed her arms. It shouldn’t bother her. They weren’t friends. She shouldn’t be hurt by his reaction.

“Chucho, can I practice with the lasso?” Miguelito said. Mateo bounced on his feet next to his older brother.

“Of course, you know where to find everything.”

“Thank you.” He took off, Mateo hot on his heels.

“No hog-tying your brother!” Emily called after them. “Or tying of any kind!” She wasn’t sure they even heard her.

Chucho laughed. “He's getting quick with it.”

“Too quick.” Emily narrowed her eyes at the older man. “Maybe I’ll send him out here. He can put those skills to good use instead of chasing his brother around the yard.”

“Perfect, he can help Javier out while my foot gets better.”

“Miguelito, give it back!” Alejandra said.

Emily’s head snapped toward the barn. Inside, her eldest held the riding helmet above his head, just out of his sister’s reach.

“Miguel.” Firm and simple, her command was clear.

He jumped. Emily hated the look that flashed in his eyes. Their power struggles had mostly dissipated, but that didn’t mean they wouldn’t return. She had a feeling he knew what that name felt like on her tongue. She prayed she was wrong.

He handed the helmet to Alejandra, not meeting his mother’s eyes.

“I found it!” Mateo lifted the lasso above his head and Miguelito dashed after him brushing past her and narrowly avoiding Javier.

Emily cursed internally. She fought the urge to run after him. She couldn’t approach him around others and pull him away from the group. That never worked. He would shut down. He needed the stillness of a quiet house just the two of them.

“Sorry-”

“Don’t apologize. They’re kids.” Javier said. She still noted the way he looked past her.

Emily pulled Alejandra in front of her. “We’re all in rare form today,” she sighed, quickly sectioning Ale’s hair into two, then braiding the first one.

Chucho hobbled in, a sympathetic smile on his face.“Don’t worry about it, dear. We know.”

Emily forced a smile as Alejandra fidgeted. “Hold still, Mija. I don’t want to pull your hair.”

Javier looked at his father for answers. What exactly was he supposed to know?

Chucho pointed to the calendar on the stable wall. Javier looked at it still not making heads or tails of his father’s cryptic message. Chucho hadn’t written anything on the calendar. Did it have something to do with the date? Most of the time, Javier wasn’t sure what day of the week it was.

He’d gone into the supply store on Wednesday. That was two days ago. His eyes scanned the calendar. April 8th. A small pang settled in his chest. Everyone in the damn DEA knew April 8th.

“Okay, all braided up,” Emily said.

Javier’s head snapped her way. He finally looked at her. Sunglasses sat on top of her head revealing dark circles under her eyes. She looked comfortable enough in her environment, but her shoulders sagged. Tension creased her forehead. Her eyes flickered out toward the yard where the boys played. She twirled Alejandra’s braid.

She knew April 8th too. Of course, she did. She probably knew it better than anyone. Had she been there when they captured Felix? What had it felt like? She looked up, catching him dead in the eye. Javier swallowed, feeling like he’d been caught with his hand in the cookie jar. Emily’s head titled to the side.

“Are you ready, Mr Javi?”

He looked down at the girl. “Sure am, Alejandrina.” He clapped, forcing a smile onto his face. Suddenly aware of the delicate space he’d been brought into. How did he keep getting pulled into this? He proved himself unworthy last time. He couldn’t be trusted.

“Helmet, Mija.” Emily remembered before Ale could dash out of the barn.

Alejandra grabbed it rushing out. Javier followed close behind.

Emily sat on the mounting block as Alejandra rode around the rink watching as Alejandra diligently followed all of Javier’s instructions. She was becoming quite the equestrian. Emily didn’t have the words to describe it, but there was nothing like watching your child grow into their own in a hobby that brought them life.

Her eyes flickered over to the boys nicely taking turns with the lasso. Chucho had shown them to the shed where they’d rolled out barrels and stands to practice their aim. An argument had yet to break out between them. She was convinced Miguelito was only sharing so nicely to one up his younger brother.

“I pulled a few extra steaks out for dinner.” Chucho settled next to her, observing the lesson.

“You didn’t have to-“

He waved his hand in the air as if he was shooing her off. Emily bit back a smile. “You’re staying for dinner, Mija.”

Emily knew there was no room for argument with Chucho. It was oddly relieving. He made the decision so she didn’t have to. “Okay.”

-

Chucho wouldn’t let Emily help him in the kitchen. Try as she might, he simply shooed her out everytime, even kicking her away with his crutch once. She felt useless as the kids played a card game contently at the table. She didn’t know how that happened. They’d been at each other’s throats all day.

“Chucho, please let me help you.” She sighed. Her hands itched to do something. It was the anxiety.

“Why don’t you take Javier a drink? That boy was wound tighter than a stripped screw when he went out.” He looked back at her. “You could use one too.”

Emily huffed glancing out the sliding glass doors. Javier stood over the grill, waiting for the charcoal to get to temperature. He was hardly a boy. This would be a great chance to talk to him, figure out what’s going on. She looked back at the kids,

“I’ll call you if they get into trouble,” Chucho said.

It was enough for her. She grabbed two beers from the fridge and headed outside.

The patio felt different under the golden sun. Not in a bad way, but just different. Javier didn’t look up from the grill. He caught sight of her from his peripheral.

“Here.” Emily held out the bottle.

Javier accepted, eyes still trained away from hers. He popped the top off with relative ease, letting it wash down his throat.

Emily shifted her weight around, waiting for him to say something. It didn’t come.

Popping the lid from her bottle, she sipped the beverage. Beer wasn’t her top choice, but it isn’t awful. The grill sizzled as Javier moved the steaks from the plate to the hot metal.

“You’ve been avoiding me.”

His attention wasn’t pulled from the task at hand. “No, I haven’t.”

“Bull shit and you know it.” She could feel the hurt beginning to set in. She didn’t like being hurt. There was no reason to let her feelings get involved.

“You have a standing appointment every Friday.”

“Who says I don't?”

“Then why won’t you look at me?”

Javier’s heart sank. He didn’t want to hurt her, but he heard it in her voice. He had.

She stared out at the field, sun setting in pink and gold. Emily’s heart raced with the unspoken words just sitting on the tip of her tongue. She didn’t do things like this. This was scary. This was asking to be hurt, but she let the words slip anyway.

“I felt safe with you, Javier.” She locked eyes with him. “That doesn’t happen often- especially not with men and I-“ Emily bit her lip. “I don’t want to lose that.”

Javier watched the steaks sizzle. How could she feel safe with him when he didn’t feel safe with himself? He couldn’t be trusted. He proved that when he worked with Los Pepes, when he failed to protect so many from the drug war.

“You shouldn’t.” He swallowed, Adam's apple bobbing. “I’m not a good person- I’m not safe. You know that.”

“You keep saying that-“

“Because it’s true.” He took a long swig from his beer, flipping the steaks.

Condensation cascaded down the side of your Amber bottle until it hung from the bottom, slowly increasing in size until it finally fell to the patio beneath your feet.

“I’m sorry.”

Emily cocked her head to the side. “For what exactly?”

“For-” Javier stuttered. A lump formed in his throat. “For the panic attack.” He couldn’t bring himself to look at her, watching the steaks as if they might burn at any second.

“Is that why you’ve been avoiding me?”

He shifted from foot to foot, hand on his hip the other scratching his neck. He looked unsure of himself.

“Javier, you didn’t cause my panic attack.”

His head snapped up as if that thought never occurred to him. She read disbelief through his orange-tinted glasses. She’d said it so matter of factly and without hesitation. “What?”

“I have trauma. Sometimes I can fight the memories and latch onto the real world. Sometimes, they take over despite all rationalization. Escobar’s death, it just made everything a little more raw.”

“I asked you what you were thinking about, I started the spiral. It-”

“And I obliged. You didn’t force me to do anything.” Emily sighed, threading her fingers through her long curls. A dry chuckle left her throat. Confidence surged through her, a rare occurrence. Suddenly, the 5th anniversary of Felix’s arrest strengthened her. Five years was a long time and she was still here.

“God, I wish people would stop acting like their actions control me! You don’t. Just because I can’t always control myself doesn’t make you responsible for me! Or anyone else for that matter!”

Javier felt a slight smile overtake his face. The guilt relieved but didn’t go away completely. She seemed more self-assured than he’d ever seen her, not that he had a lot of history there.

“I’m not some inept, helpless foal.”

“You’re right.”

Emily looked back at him almost stunned by his response. Her eyes were wild like he’d grown to know, but there was no fear right now. This was different. This was bold and unbridled like a horse once caged, branded into submission, but now free. Musteña.

He wasn’t going to use the nickname. That felt too intimate. He didn’t want to spook her.

Were they even friends? He thought he may want that. His friend, Emily. It sounded good in his head, had a nice ring to it

“I’m sorry I’ve been avoiding you.” He adjusted his sunglasses with his pointer finger. “Maybe we could try this friend thing.”

“Friends, huh?” Emily crossed her arms.

Javier chuckled. “Can’t promise I’ll be a good one. Don’t have a lot of practice.”

“And you think I do?” Emily cracked a smile. “I’ve got one friend, and it’s my boss.”

“That’s one more than me.”

A laugh slipped from her lips pulling a smile across his face. Yeah, he could get used to this.

#Javier peña #narcos #javier peña x ofc #javier peña fanfiction #narcos fanfiction #pedro pascal #pedro pascal fandom #scathed

[davenweenie]

Lab Rats HC’s

Except some of them are particularly sad

-Chase always raves about how smart he is because he thinks that’s the only thing he’s worth. He thinks that being smart is the only thing keeping him from being worthless to the team.

-It’s the same reason why he values being mission leader so much and gets upset when someone says anything other than that.

-Adam feels like he’s useless without his bionics. He thinks if he didn’t have his bionics he would be completely useless. He thinks he’s stupid and it gets confirmed by everyone around him all the time. He knows Chase would stop if he knew how much it upset him but he doesn’t want to admit that it hurts his feelings.

-Leo’s terrified that he’ll lose his siblings, his best friends, one day. He’s scared that everything he’s accomplished and learned to love could be taken away from him in an instant. He suffers horribly from nightmares of Adam, Bree and Chase dying on a mission one day.

-Bree always feels like she’s not worth anything. Especially after Skylar got her powers back, she always wondered why she was even on the team if Skylar could do everything she could, perhaps even better with even more powers and abilities. She struggled with this for a very long time.

-TW: Chase struggles with his eating a lot. He has orthorexia, which is an unhealthy obsession with “pure” or healthy food. “Pure” or “impure” foods can vary from person to person but it’s usually characterised by cutting out foods that are typically considered unhealthy and having an obsession with only eating the “pure” foods. This can also lead to restrictions and over-exercising. It’s usually linked to OCD and people with orthorexia can become terrified of certain food groups. This HC is very dear to my heart as it’s something I’ve struggled with, with my OCD.

-On that note, Chase has OCD. You cannot convince me otherwise. His brain works much faster than a typical human’s would which has lead to having too much time to think. This has resulted in having intrusive thoughts and compulsions with certain things (ie. ‘what if I trip and land on that dog?’ ‘I could just stab their eye out with my fork’ or having to touch a surface with both hands to make it even otherwise it will result in feeling lopsided and like something horrible is about to happen until he makes it even).

-with his super senses body focused obsessions are something to think about as well. You can do your own research to delve a bit deeper if you want but in a nutshell it’s becoming hyperaware of certain bodily sensations (ie. Blinking, breathing, gulping etc. and even doing it a certain number of times in a certain amount of time, becoming stressed if it’s not perfect)

-this went under the radar for years until Chase had panic attacks at school when he couldn’t control the environment around him and couldn’t deal with how dirty he felt all the time. Contamination OCD is no joke.

-Leo suffers from a lot of phantom limb pain. Having his arm and leg both crushed under various heavy objects and replaced with bionic limbs means a lot of phantom pain. There’s not really much you can do to stop it because at the end of the day, it’s sort of just all in your head. It’s like how you can’t just take pain killers to cure depression.

-Davenport has never noticed any of this about his kids. It always took Tasha, Leo or Douglas to notice something was up with them. Leo was the one to point out Chase’s OCD, Tasha has always noticed if the kids look down and Douglas was the only one who ever picked up on Chase’s strange eating habits. Nobody said anything to Davenport about how neglectful he tended to be, especially when he was so focused on a new project, but they all thought it.

-none of them have leaned an off switch. They have had to work almost till they drop since they were kids and nobody taught them how to recognise the signs of being tired. They had never been told to stop and take a break or to go and rest. Davenport often time encouraged how much they worked when he should have been encouraging them to rest more. This has lead to suffering from burn-outs.

-Chase is autistic, when he had his first meltdown after coming out of toddler years when he was 6, Davenport didn’t know how to deal with it and locked Chase in his capsule. He told him that he was getting too old to be having tantrums like that and said he could only come out when he calmed down. He later found out that it wasn’t a tantrum at all and now feels guilty about it.

-without meaning to, Adam was usually the cause of almost all of Chase’s meltdowns. Adam didn’t know how to regulate his own emotions and certainly didn’t know how to read other’s which often ended in not noticing Chase start to shut down and have meltdowns. He knows better now and still feels apologetic about it.

-when Bree is overworked and overtired her body is incapable of going into REM sleep, which means she wakes up still feeling exhausted. She superspeeds in her sleep sometimes but never ends up anywhere because she can’t get out of her capsule.

-Adam’s joints often ache from the pressure of his bionics on his body. He’s supposed to be built to withstand tonnes of weight but it still puts a toll on his body. Luckily Chase is a chiropractor in the Philippines.

-on a particularly hard day with his eating, Chase had just started crying over a bow of cereal. Just full on sobbing into it. Adam happened to be in the room and immediately knew how to cheer him up. (I imagine un went something like this. “Dude, you’re gonna make the milk all salty.” “What?” “You don’t want salty milk, man. Nobody wants that sh!t. I’ve tried it. Seriously burns when it comes back out your ass.” Chase had just started to laugh while still crying. That made them both laugh more.)

Sorry these are so Chase centred. If you couldn’t tell, he’s my favourite character. My autistic ass can only write good stuff about my favourite characters of stuff. Let me know if you liked these and want another part to it.

#adam davenport #bree davenport #chase davenport #chase x kaz #donald davenport #lab rats #leo dooley #oliver mighty med #skylar storm #tasha davenport #elite force #mighty med #headcanon #kaz mighty med #these are still way too long #douglas davenport #headcanons

[bomberqueen17]

momentum

last year i kept missing updates and people were so sweet like “you don’t have to post X often! you don’t have to hit a deadline! do what suits your schedule!” and that was lovely and I did appreciate it, but the point of the deadlines was momentum. Now I have fallen down so thoroughly on posting ever at all, zero routine left, no concept of it even, that I have no momentum and my brain is like clearly no one cares about this so give up, and that sucks, and i’m exhausted and cranky and useless and shitty but by god i am not abandoning my like fifty WIPs that i care deeply about i swear and so anyway i am trying to force the engine to turn over, as hard as I can, i swear other people were excited about this and i can use that to get myself excited about it again, i can do this

so please help me get excited about literally anything, i am in despair.

SNIPPETS of THINGS i am TRYING TO MAKE HAPPEN:

direct prequel to Fit For Pearls:

“Did he ask you to tell me about the meeting?” Ciri asked, eyeing him.

“He did not directly ask,” Voorhis said stiffly, “but he knows I intended to ensure you had the opportunity to attend such meetings. Had he not wanted me to tell you, he would have needed to order me not to.”

“Is that how it works?” Ciri asked.

“It’s how that works,” Voorhis said, very stiff and formal and not much like his normal self. She wondered what he was trying to convey. Was it displeasure, that this was his task? Was it nervousness, that it was in fact not his actual task and he was perhaps taking advantage of some confusion to play politics?

She hated politics.

She’d chosen politics.

“I thank you,” she said wearily.

next bit of the Peace-Tied series, a tender little Iorveth & Yennefer moment with hair-braiding, very self-indulgent:

By the time they finished writing and elaborately illuminating the placard, Yennefer’s hair was caught back in a series of delicate little braids that then twined around one another, and caught her hair up off her neck. She was also inexplicably near tears at the tenderness of all of it. 

Iorveth knelt up to finish fastening the ends of her hair behind her ear, after having twined the braids up over her head. His body was a long, warm press along her back, his hands warm and big cradling her head. 

She tipped her head back and he held her like that, gentle and reassuring. “How’s that?” he murmured. 

She took a shaky breath, and he smoothed a hand down the side of her face, settling down on his knees to put his arms around her from behind, cradling her back against his shoulder. “There,” he said. “Now your hair looks like someone cares for you.”

“Is that what it means,” she murmured.

“It does,” he said, and pressed a kiss against the side of her head, above the hairline. “Thank you for fixing my face. I wasn’t ready to die, not like that.”

“I am glad that I could,” she said.

and finally this weird modern a/u (tw for self-directed ableist language in dialogue) i’ve been working on slowly forever that is so close to cohering and yet doesn’t quite, in which I think you can guess what Joe’s thusfar unknown real name is:

A hand caught him by the arm, two hands, steadying him, and helped him sit up. Joe was even more frightening up close; Roche had noticed the eyepatch from a distance but his face was heavily-scarred on that side, like somebody had gone at the eye with a knife and missed. Or, like something had hit him very hard in the face, taken the eye, then bounced off his cheekbone and twisted down his face. 

But his hands were strong and he steadied Roche for a long moment, and despite the frightfully leering aspect his damaged face gave him, his expression was actually neutral. “Is anything broken?”

“I got shot,” Roche gritted out, “twice, a year ago, this is as good as it fucking gets. I just landed badly, just now, and it takes me a minute.”

He saw Joe notice the cane. “Ah,” the man said. “I hadn’t realized.” He looked around. “Dogs knocked you over?”

“The saluki is a fucking menace,” Roche said. He couldn’t sit like this, it was agony on his hip. “They’re all fucking menaces.” He couldn’t get up, he couldn’t stay down, he was shivering with the pain.

“Let’s get you to a chair,” Joe said, calm and businesslike. “Where’s the damage? Hip and shoulder?” Roche managed to gesture, and Joe proceeded to mostly lift him unaided, which hurt like a motherfucker, but once he’d dumped Roche, surprisingly gently-- he was very strong-- into the armchair in the corner it was easier to get his various joints at angles that didn’t hurt. “Do you need anything else,” he said, far too neutral and calm. 

“Yeah,” Roche said, savage with agonized frustration, “I need to not be a fucking cripple.”

Joe didn’t answer for a long moment. “While I can relate to that,” he said, “I meant, do you have any medication or anything that would help?”

Gritting his teeth, Roche pointed to the paper bag he’d left on the sideboard, that still had the pill bottle in it. There were still a couple of pills in the old bottle but he wasn’t going to have Joe wander through his house looking for them. 

Joe took the bottle out of the bag. “One or two,” he said. 

“I can-- one,” Roche said, giving up; Joe was already opening the bottle. 

“Can you dry-swallow or do you need water,” Joe said, but he was already moving over to the dish drainer to retrieve a glass. 

“Water,” Roche said, resenting it. Joe put the bottle down and filled the glass, bringing over a pill between his thumb and forefinger, and the filled glass in his other hand. 

Roche took the pill and the glass, inwardly fuming. He could get the lid off a fucking pill bottle, and he hadn’t asked for this. 

“Would an ice pack help or is it past that?” Joe asked, and while his tone was neutral, it grated over Roche’s last nerve. 

“You know,” he said, “I didn’t ask for your fucking pity.”

Joe said nothing, just stood regarding him. After a moment, he bent down, looming uncomfortably close. “I know we don’t know one another, Vernon,” he said quietly, “but I want you to look me in the eye for a moment, and then tell me that you think I don’t know what it’s like to have to adjust to a new way of living after a bad injury.” *

Roche’s anger flattened out abruptly, staring into his neighbor’s mangled face. The remaining eye was green, astonishingly green against the medium-brown of the man’s complexion. “Uh,” was all he managed; he didn’t have an answer for that.

“I understand that you’re in pain,” Joe went on quietly, straightening up and smoothing his hand down the front of his battered jacket, “and I can extend you a little grace based on that, but I want you to realize what you’re doing.” He glared down at Roche. “One last time, is there anything else you need, or are you all right on your own from here?”

Face burning, Roche managed to grit out, “I’m all right on my own from here.”

Joe stared at him for a long moment, and then turned and left, closing the door carefully and quietly behind himself. 

The canine energy surged through the kitchen again in the wake of his departure, but then Strega came over and put her head in Roche’s lap, and he fondled the silky curls of her ears and said, “Awesome work, guys, we’re doing great!”

*yes this is the Look Deep Into My Eyes Ernie meme, i could not resist

#my writing #a wild snippet post #a desperate bid for motivation