#WHY DID THEY PROP HIM UP CONCUSSION AND ALL ITS SO FUNNY

[knoxville-coroner]

Thinking about how fucked up bam looks in the hockey fight intro

#WHY DID THEY PROP HIM UP CONCUSSION AND ALL ITS SO FUNNY #bam magera #jackass #jackass season 1 episode 1

[doctorstethoscope]

The Right Chapter 2 || Aaron Hotchner x Fem!Reader

Hello besties, laptop is going haywire but for the moment we are back!! 

Read chapter 1 of this fic here!

TW: This chapter contains swearing and descriptions of domestic violence. Please read at your own discretion! 

wordcount: 2.6k

tagging: @the-modernmary @greeneyedblondie44 DM to be added to the tag list :) 

Josh fell asleep on your ride home. You roused him gently as you pulled into your designated parking spot outside of your apartment.

“Josh,” You whispered, pushing at his shoulder gently. “Come on, we’re home. It’s late. Let’s go to bed.” 

He jerked awake. “Fuck. I was sleeping. Jesus.” He barked. 

“Sorry, baby. We’re home.” You repeated.

“Don’t know why you even bother calling it home. You’re never fucking here.” Josh grumbled, clumsily unbuckling his seatbelt and sliding out the passenger seat of the car. He went on ahead as you went into your backseat to gather your go-bag and purse. When you got to the front door, he was still fumbling with his house key. 

“Here, let me.” You took the key from his hands gently, unlocking the deadbolt and opening the door. 

Before you could even turn around, you were on the floor in the doorway, your nose slamming into the carpet. You were bleeding onto the floor, your blood soaking the tan fibers. It takes you a moment to realize that he’d pushed you. 

“Josh, what the--” a well placed kick to your hip cut off your protest before you could finish it. You rolled over, looking up to see him panting, with angry eyes. 

“You think you’re real slick huh? Staying late at work with the boss? Jesus, sweetheart. I thought you were better than getting a promotion on your back.”

“We were working, Josh. There’s nothing else going on there.” You argued, scrambling backwards away from him and propping yourself up on your elbows. You know that there should be some sort of instinct kicking in, one that allows you to disarm him as if he were an unsub, but you feel helpless as you struggle to put distance between the two of you. He followed you across the room, kneeling over you and pinning you against the floor before delivering another harsh slap to your already-swollen cheek. 

“Listen to me when I’m talking to you.” He growled, and you gulped. He smirked, before grabbing you by the hair and throwing you against the closest wall. You see stars, but you will yourself to stay awake. You’re scared of what he might do if you can’t fight back. 

“Oh yeah? Just working, at 2AM when everyone else is gone? And what was that he called you? Invaluable.” He spits out, pulling you up roughly by your forearms. He leaned in close, presumably to intimidate you. You don’t give him the satisfaction, looking him in the eye and doing your best not to let your glare betray your fear. “Well, we’ll see about that.” He smirked, reaching an arm around to take your gun out of its holster, placing it against  your chin. Your face dropped. 

“Josh… Joshua, you’re drunk. Let’s just go to bed, okay? I’m sorry I was out late. I’ll make it up to you in the morning. I swear.” You’re frantic, your training leaving you once again. De-escalate, de-escalate, de-escalate. “I’m sorry, baby. It won’t happen again, I promise. I’ll request a transfer so I don’t have to travel anymore.” 

He chuckled. “Okay, dear. We can talk in the morning. I’m going up to bed. Get that blood out of the carpet, will you?” He placed your gun on a nearby end table.

He kissed you on the forehead before he went to the bedroom, but the gesture had never been less comforting. He left you there, standing against the wall, blood streaming down your face. You slid down the wall, knees curled up into your chest on the floor, regulating your breath for a few minutes before you rose again. You holster your gun before tending to the blood on the carpet, realizing belatedly that you can’t get it clean because you’re still dripping all over the stain. You chuckled a little, although none of this is really all that funny, sitting back on your heels and looking up at the ceiling, wondering how the fuck you ended up here. Realizing you had no clue what time it was, you reached out your work phone, seeing a missed text from Aaron. 

Please let me know that you’re safe.

You looked around, at your blood on the carpet, at the dent your head had made in the drywall when Josh threw you against it. You brought a gentle hand to your face, feeling how your nose was definitely not in the same place it was when the day had started, and you sighed. Things with Josh were never perfect-- but this was too far. You texted Hotch back. 

I need help. 

Hotch could have easily blamed his inability to fall asleep on the cups of coffee you both had been drinking well into the evening, but he knew that wasn’t the case. If that were so, there was no reason for him to be flicking his eyes over to his phone every three minutes. But here he was, in his study, file open in front of him, and not a word of it absorbed.     

Finally, finally, his phone buzzed. He unlocked it fervently, anxious for the assurance that you were fine. Your text provided no such assurance. 

“Are you safe right now? Do you need medical?” He texted back, trying to keep his head for your sake. 

“Not urgently. Can’t stay here.” 

“You alone?”

“He’s asleep.” 

“On my way. Pack a go bag.” 

“Don’t come in. Light sleeper. Just text.”

You were suddenly grateful for the load of laundry you’d left in the dryer that morning, tossing it all in your go bag without folding it. When you realized that you didn’t know when or if you’d be back here, you took the lockbox off the top of the fridge and pulled out all of your important documents-- your passport, birth certificate, social security card--you tuck them all into a file folder as you feel your phone buzz. 

“Outside.” Hotchner texts you plainly. You gingerly pick up your bags and slip out the door, careful not to make any noise. 

Hotch is out of the car in an instant once he sees you-- he doesn’t know what he expected, exactly, but somehow you look worse, even from a distance. 

“Hey, hey, give me that.” He said, taking your bags from you. “You said you didn’t need medical.” He said, accusatory, but not mean. 

“I said not urgently. I didn’t want you to send an ambulance.” You told him. “I feel fine. I just need advil.” You said as the two of you climbed into his SUV. 

He looked you over, incredulous. Your nose was definitely broken, and he couldn’t tell in the dark of the night, but he was pretty sure you were still bleeding. Your cheek was swollen from where he slapped you, and you were sporting a black eye, likely a complication of the nose. And that was just what he could see. He shuddered, although he tried to hide it from you. 

“We’re going to the hospital.” He said, turning his key in the ignition and taking off.

“Hotch, I just want to sleep. Please. I’ll take myself to the hospital in the morning, I promise.” You practically begged. 

He turned his head towards you. The only thing he wanted more than to give in, in that moment, was to make sure that you were safe. “Did you hit your head?” He asked, 

“What?” You asked. 

“Did you bump your head at all, when everything happened?”

“Yeah,” you told him, running a hand over your head and feeling the tender bump that was forming there. You cringed, and Aaron caught it. 

“I’m sorry, but we need to take you to the hospital. You probably have a concussion.” He apologized. 

“I really don’t want to go through the whole ‘you were clearly involved in a domestic dispute’ thing that they’re going to do,” you complained.

“You don’t have to answer any questions you don’t want to answer. I just need to make sure you’re okay. Everything else goes at your pace.” He promises you, sneaking a glance away from the road and over to your face. You’re already looking back at him. 

“Thank you,” you whispered. 

Already looking back at the road, Hotch took one hand away from the wheel and gave your forearm a quick squeeze in response. You drove in silence for a few moments before Aaron pulled into the hospital.

“Alright, let’s get this over with so we can get you to bed.” He told you, climbing out of the car before coming over to your side to help you walk. Truth be told, you didn’t really need assistance, but your hip hurt so badly that you were limping, and it seemed better to have Aaron slowed down by helping you, rather than just by watching you. 

The emergency room was, thankfully, deserted, and you were seen relatively quickly. Aaron offered to stay in the waiting room but you asked him to come with you. 

“I, uh. I don’t really want to be left alone right now, if you don’t mind.”

“No, no, of course not.” He said, standing and following you and the nurse. 

“What brings you in, dear?” The nurse asked, moving slowly to accommodate your pace. 

“My boyfriend beat the shit out of me.” You said, figuring she might make it easier if you  just bite the bullet, and Aaron shot you a glance. You shrugged in response, and then noticed the nurse’s eyes shifting between the two of you. 

“Oh, no. Not him.” You assured her with as big of a smile as you could muster, given the amount of pain that you were in. “He’s a friend. He picked me up.” You explained as she led the two of you into an exam room, shutting the door behind you. Aaron helped you up onto the exam bed gently, choosing to stand nearby rather than sit in the chair provided.

“Okay, ma’am. Our policy for domestic disputes is not to involve police unless requested by the victim.” You cringed at her word choice. “We don’t want this to be more stressful than it already is. What we do instead, is we take a detailed account of everything that happened to cause you bodily harm, and if you decide to pursue any legal action, we can send those records along on your behalf. So can you tell me what happened tonight?” 

You glanced over at Aaron before you started, taking a deep breath. He wasn’t going to like this. You told the nurse, clinically, what had happened, leaving out the things he had said to you for Aaron’s sake. You did your best to keep your emotions in check, although regurgitating everything that had happened was making you feel sick. You glanced over at Aaron-- his jaw was set, his mouth in a straight line, nostrils flaring, even as he stared at the linoleum tile on the floor. You closed your eyes and attempted to zone out as you continued, as if you could distance yourself from the emotions by imagining that it was just a story you were telling. 

“And then he pulled my gun out of my holster---”

“Ma’am, do you have a gunshot wound?” The nurse interrupts you, voice slightly panicked.

Oh, shit. You probably didn’t need to include that part. Your eyes are open in an instant, and you look over at Hotch. He’s pissed, and not looking at the floor anymore.

“No, no. Sorry, that is um--- that’s clinically insignificant. He didn’t fire the gun or strike me with it. That’s how it ended.”

“Okay, hon. Why don’t you get changed,” she said, handing you a hospital gown, “and I’ll send the doctor in in just a second.” 

“Thank you,” you said, and Aaron echoed his thanks. 

“Clinically insignificant?” Aaron asked incredulously as the nurse shut the door. 

“Can you turn around? I need to change.” You deflected.

He turned to face the wall as he pinched the bridge of his nose. “He pulled a gun on you, (y/n).” He shook his head as you quickly changed. 

“I know. I’m sorry. You can turn back around now.” You told him.

“No, I’m sorry. How long has this been going on for? How did I not notice?” He asked as he turned to see you, practically swimming in the oversized gown.

“I think we all work really, really hard not to be profiled, Aaron.” You tried to comfort him.

He was interrupted before he could respond by the doctor knocking and then swinging the door open.

“Good evening, folks.” The smiling blonde woman said. “Let’s get you home so you can sleep some of this off, yeah?” 

It takes a couple of hours, but you’re sent home with a nose that’s set back in place, as well as a prescription for enough pain killers to put a large dog in a coma, in addition to the confirmation that you did, in fact, have a concussion. Your hip, thankfully, was just bruised. 

“She needs to be woken up every couple of hours for the rest of the night and the day tomorrow. Just to be safe.” The doctor told Hotch. 

“Not a problem.” He said resolutely. 

“Do you have any questions?” She asked, turning to you. 

“When can I go back to work?”

“Well, if you work at a computer--”

“I work for the justice department. So, I guess I’m really asking about field work.” You clarify.

“At least ten days, and that’s if you’re feeling better.” She said, giving you a stern look. You visibly deflated, knowing that if the doctor said ten days, Hotch wasn’t letting you in the field for at least twenty. 

“Thank you, doctor.” Hotchner said, placing a hand on the small of you back as she opened the door and allowed you both out. 

“Of course. Call us if anything changes.”

You trudged out to the car in an exhausted silence, sure that you’ll fall asleep as soon as the car starts moving. Once you’re buckled in, Hotch speaks. 

“I’ll tell Strauss that we aren’t coming in today,” he says offhandedly as he cranes his body back to pull out of the parking spot, his arm strewn across the back of your seat for leverage.

“We?” You questioned. 

“You need to be woken up every two hours. I can’t exactly do that from the office.” He reminds you. 

“I can just set an alarm on my phone, it’s not a big deal.” 

“Uh huh, and when the alarm doesn’t wake you up because you have a brain bleed?” He’s teasing you, but you also know him well enough to know that there is a very real twinge of anxiety behind it. 

“Hotch,” you scoffed at his joke, breaking into a smile despite yourself. “I don’t need you to take care of me.” You added more seriously. 

“I know you don’t.” He placates you. “But will you let me do it anyways? Plus, you’re not the only one who didn’t sleep last night.”   

“I guess that’s my fault.” You admitted. 

“Hey, I’m glad you called me. And I’m also glad the bureau has a generous sick leave policy. We both need it right now.” 

You can sense that this is an argument that you’re not going to win, and even if you could, you don’t have the energy to try. You close your eyes and lean back against the headrest in the car, giving him a resigned nod before you fall asleep.

#aaron hotchner #aaron hotchner fic #criminal minds #criminal minds fic #aaron hotchner x reader #hotch x reader #aaron hotchner x you #hotch x you #aaron hotchner x y/n #hotch x y/n

[cowboy-anon]

Weston’s Wild West Whump - 2

I DID IT! I FINISHED IT. Holy cow. XD Anyway, it’s a bit of a longer piece. Today, we learn a bit more about Weston, we’re introduced to Graham’s men Dee and Sunders, and we discover Graham is not someone you want to mess with. Enjoy! :D

CW : Animal corpse used as a metaphor, bribery mention, broken bones (and the symptoms that accompany them), concussion, cowboy shenanigans, gun mention and threat (not real), hogtie threat (not yet realized), knife mention, mild cursing, somewhat degrading language, thieving mention, touch of low self esteem, vaguely implied unsafe home life.

(I’m new to content warnings, so if I’ve missed something, please don’t hesitate to let me know! :D )

Tagging: @milk-carton-whump, @unicornscotty, @abitefullofwhump, @alliecat5594, @ihaveacrushonjester (Let me know if you want to be added or removed from this list!

2 - Good Ol’ Righteous Cowboy

Weston has only met Graham twice before this. Once, last week when he came to investigate the ranch’s missing cattle. “Sheriff Graham Miller,” he’d introduced himself. The way he’d carried himself, charming and self-assured, Weston was sure the culprit would get theirs, and if Johnson was lucky, he’d get his cattle back before Weston moved on.

And then Weston found that handkerchief caught on the barbed wire fence, “G.M.” embroidered on it in a stunning shade of blue. As far as leads went, it was pretty thin, but that blue thread and those initials—there was no way it could be a coincidence.  

Which is what led him to his second encounter, dressed in Johnson’s clothes, pretending to be a wealthy man in search of some cattle for his father’s failing ranch. Of course, Weston was nowhere near wealthy, and his father’s ranch, he’d remembered with a shudder, was doing just fine, but wearing Johnson’s Sunday best, he sure as hell looked the part. 

But with Graham being the one to show him around, he could only see so much. Weston was walked past rolling pastures and prize-winning cattle, sure, but no proof. 

Which is what led him to his final attempt at getting it, not exactly a third encounter but one that led to it—this one—kneeling in front of two of Graham’s men, a lasso tight around his middle and with his right ankle throbbing painfully with every heartbeat. 

Despite their lack of history, when one of Graham’s men pistol whips him across the face, it feels strangely personal. Weston can feel the malice, sees the satisfaction on the left’s face when his own snaps sharply to the right. The shock of it almost overwhelms the burn. Almost.

Weston stays there for a second, hunched over with his eyes squeezed shut, reminding himself to breathe, letting out a pained groan instead. Another breath, this time bracing. He shakes off the stinging pain and rights himself with a tight lipped smile. 

His tongue darts out over his bottom lip, tastes blood. Yeah, he’s sporting a split lip now. He winces at the pain, more an ache than a burn now, and blinks back involuntary tears. 

When Weston raises his eyes again, the man has his revolver in hand, arm pulled back to strike him again. God, he hates to admit it, but he flinches, tucking his face into his shoulder, waiting for the blow.

He hears the grunt of effort, expects his view to whip right again in a burst of pain when he hears, “Stop playing with him, Dee. Get his legs.” When Weston doesn’t feel the strike, he allows himself a glance in the direction of the voice. 

It’s the man on the right, face stony with purpose. 

The man on the left, “Dee” Weston assumes, shoots the man a venomous glare, then turns to look at Graham, who’s digging into the saddle bag of one of the horses. 

Graham’s not paying attention when the butt of the gun slams into Weston’s temple. 

Weston hits the ground hard, landing heavily on his shoulder, cheek pressed into hot rocky dirt. His head, oh God. He gasps against the blinding pain, eyes skewed shut as he gapes like a fish out of water. 

“Dee.” Between the ringing in his ears and his ragged breaths, he hears it, a low reprimand but not a surprised one. 

Weston forces his eyes open to look at the two men now looming over him, but he ends up shutting them again. When did the sun get so damn bright? 

“You wanted me to get his feet, Sunders.” Sunders. That’s got to be the other man’s name. And—wait, they’re still talking. Focus, Weston, focus! “ —think he was gonna let us tie him up that easy? Graham likes Randy clueless. The sooner he’s tied up, the less questions we gotta answer. Get me?” 

Randy? Who the hell’s Randy? 

Weston lies there for what feels like ages before the more important thoughts make their way back to him. Graham’s here. Dee and Sunders, they’re going to tie him up. His ankle’s shot, he’s got that lasso around him that’s not going to let him go anywhere. 

And all three of them are armed. Great. 

Weston worms his arm out from under him and eases himself up until he’s propped on an elbow. For a moment, the world spins. Forget cotton. His head’s full of sloshing water, distorting and disorienting and all too heavy for what it is. 

He wants to lie back down, let whatever’s going to happen happen. He’ll feel those ropes dig into the tender skin of his wrists and bite into his swelling ankle. Will they make him walk? No, not with a hogtie. He’ll more likely be draped over the back of a horse and taken back to the ranch, where— 

Where what? Who knows what’ll happen back at that ranch? And what the hell is he thinking, lying back down and giving in? He shakes his head with a sneer. If he’s going to that no good sheriff’s ranch, he’s going angry, not complacent. 

So he pushes himself up until he’s sitting again, lightheadedness be damned, and squinting at Graham’s back, legs stretched out in front of him, he calls, “You needed three guys to get a hold of me, Graham?” It comes out a groan, nowhere near as snarky as he wants it to be, but it’s dripping with sarcasm nonetheless—and based on the smile that sneaks over the sheriff’s face, it catches his attention. “Why, I’m flattered. ‘Course, I probably should’ve expected as much.”

Dee’s at eye level in an instant. He grabs a fistful of Weston’s shirt and jerks him forward, lips curled up in a snarl. “Why, you—” 

But Graham just laughs from his spot by the horses. 

Dee’s eyes, still shining with murder, flicker with confusion, and Weston’s gaze snaps over to Graham, doubled over with warm, genuine laughter. What the hell?

The grip on Weston’s shirt wavers as the seconds tick by. Finally, Weston clears his throat and says, “Sure, I find your stupidity funny, too, but—” 

Graham’s gun is trained on him before he can finish. 

“Dee,” Graham says, motioning with his revolver. It’s a command. Dee barely spares Weston a smug grin before pulling his hands from Weston’s clothes and stepping into place between Graham and Sunders.

Graham squares his shoulders and, accent thicker than Weston’s ever heard it, he says, “What’s funny is you talking about stupidity.” 

Weston knows he should be scared, and he is. He feels it, unadulterated fear, making its way to his shaking fingers, twisting knots deep in his stomach, watching him stare down the blackened barrel of this gun, telling him, Give up, give in. Maybe he’ll let you walk away. 

It’s so damn tempting.

But Weston has already given in to too many people like Graham with the promise of walking away too many times, so despite everything, he balls his trembling hands into fists, meets Graham’s eyes with a pained smirk, and says, “Please, do tell.” 

Graham grins. 

“Good ol’ righteous Weston Casey.” He shrugs past Dee and Sunders and makes his way towards Weston, digits lazily fingering his gun’s trigger, blue eyes scanning him and the barely concealed shock on his face. “Yeah, I’ve heard about you. Hardworking, dependable, new in town. You rolled on in here just last month, didn’t you?”

Weston doesn’t answer. Instead, he changes the subject. “What do you mean, ‘righteous’?” 

Graham stops by Weston’s feet and sits back on his haunches, eyes trailing idly over his body. “I mean your absurd morals,” he says. “I’d heard about it before, but I saw it clear as day when I came to Johnson’s ranch yesterday. You were angry for him.” He laughs to himself, toying with the trigger thoughtlessly. 

But the hammer’s still standing tall by the frame, not pulled back. So the gun’s not cocked yet. It never was. That’s good news. 

“It’s a damn shame,” Graham continues. He’s looking at Weston’s face again, a tiny knowing smile on his lips. Did Weston’s realization show? “The bribe I would’ve paid you—beyond generous. Not that you would’ve taken it.”

“What’s this got to do with stupidity?” Weston cuts in. He’s stalling at this point, he knows it, but he needs something—anything—to distract him from the fear bubbling just beneath his surface. 

“Well, we’re talking about you, aren’t we?” Another flick over the trigger as Graham’s tone shifts, almost amused. “A good, quiet stranger rolls into town, surely minding his own business when something not quite right goes down. A few cows go missing. Nothing special, nothing new. Cattle go missing all the time around these parts. But being him, he decides he wants to investigate.” 

Graham’s voice darkens then. Weston forces himself to be still under Graham’s scrutiny as his eyes travel over his left leg, then to his right. Then to his right ankle, swelling like a cow’s carcass in the summer sun under his jeans. “And he finds out a little too much,” Graham continues. “And he gets in a little too deep. And he decides he wants to do the right thing. Which, in itself, is not a stupid thought.” Graham glances back up at Weston. “But his—your—morals, they get in the way of some really great opportunities. A guy like you would fit into this cattle rustling operation real well.” 

At that, Dee’s expression visibly sours behind Graham, but he stays quiet. Smart or scared?

“I know you won’t take the bribe,” Graham says lowly, “but how about a fair trade? Your work for my money, plain and simple.”  

Weston scoffs to himself. His heart is in his throat pounding so loud he can hear it, but it’s not even a question. He meets Graham’s eyes through his mop of hair and says, “Over my dead body.” 

He means it. 

Graham stares at him, and for a second Weston thinks he might burst out laughing again. But he just smiles, more to himself than Weston, seemingly thinking something over. 

He tucks his gun back into his holster, shoots Weston a big grin. And then his gloved hands shoot out and twist his right foot hard.

Weston’s broken bones in the past. He’s felt that wet snap of the initial break. He’s felt the numb shock before his brain catches up with his body. He’s felt that nauseating pain that accompanies every jostle and movement of the site.

But he’s never felt anything like this.

Weston shrieks, white hot blinding, agonizing pain that he feels all the way to his fingertips in sharp, involuntary spasms. Overwhelming, all encompassing. In this moment, Weston is pain. 

Too much, too much, too much! It’s blaring in his head like a siren, that fear. His face goes hot, then cold. Tears run down his cheeks, but he’s too focused on gritting his teeth against another wail to care.

“See, I gave you a chance just then,” Graham says over his cries. “I offered you a job, nice and respectable like, and you turned it down—and for what?” He leans in close to Weston, a hand still twisted in the fabric of his pant leg. “A few meaningless morals? If you ask me, that’s awful stupid of you.”

Graham wrenches his ankle again, and even though Weston knows what to expect, it’s just as awful as the first time—worse even. Bone grinding on bone, leather on swollen, hypersensitive, hot-to-the-touch flesh. 

He throws his head back with a broken sob. “G-Graham—!” Weston doesn’t know why he says that. He doesn’t even realize it’s him saying it, not in his current state, concussed and half delirious with pain. 

But he definitely hears “Yes, Weston?” through the haze, barely registers Graham’s hand leaving his leg. 

The twisting’s stopped, Weston knows it, but the pain hasn’t. He still feels it, twisting, twisting, the rough seams of Graham’s leather gloves on swollen skin. And he feels dread, prominent, telling him this isn’t the worst to come, not by a long shot, that only makes it hurt worse.

He hasn’t felt a dread like this since his last month at the family ranch.

As the worst of the pain melts from his limbs, just enough for it to be bearable,  his wits start to come back to him, and it occurs to him that he cried out Graham’s name in an agony-induced panic. Then Graham had asked him a question: “Yes, Weston?” His stomach drops at the thought. 

What had he been looking to say? Would he have begged? “G-Graham, please stop! Please!” Or would he have bargained? “G-Graham, I won’t tell a soul, I swear!” Maybe, Weston realizes with a thick swallow, he would’ve accepted Graham’s terrible offer, helping steal cattle for the man he’s grown to hate in the last twenty-four hours to save himself. “G-Graham, I… I’ll do it.”

Graham had called him righteous.

Weston is a coward. 

“Weston, you wanted to say something to me?” Graham is grinning, blue eyes glimmering with mirth. He wants to know what he was going to say just as much as Weston does.

Weston stares at his feet. His ankle is back to that constant throb, but the muscles in his foot and calf are still twitching and seizing from Graham’s rough hands. “Yeah, I did,” he says quietly. “I wanted to tell you, ‘Graham…’”  

He shakes his head, sets his jaw, meets Graham’s eyes with a steely gaze. And then he spits at him, fueled by what little fight he has left, “‘Graham, get your damn hands off of me.’”

Righteous. Coward. 

Liar.

Graham stares at him for a long moment before rising to his feet, that stupid smug grin still on his face when he looks back down at him. 

“I like you, Weston. I really do,” he says, vaguely apologetic, “and you’ve made a lot of stupid decisions today that I could forgive you for. But that decision you made just now, making an enemy out of me? Real stupid.” 

Graham turns on his heel and shoulders his way past Dee and Sunders again, only this time he stops between them and, in a voice just loud enough for Weston to hear, he says to them, “Now, I know I told you two to get him trussed up.” The look Graham gives Weston is chilling. “So tell me, what’s he still doing with his hands free?” Graham casts a final glance at Weston before Dee and Sunders make their way towards him for the second time.

This time, they don’t hesitate. Sunders pockets his knife, walks behind Weston, and tugs his arms behind his back, holding them together by the wrists. “Grab the rope from my horse, Dee,” he calls.

But Dee is standing by Weston’s feet, smiling a malicious smile. “His legs first,” Dee says. 

Weston can’t see Sunders’s face, but he can hear the exasperation in his voice from behind him when he replies, “There’s no way he’s going anywhere on that ankle now.”

“I know that.” Dee crouches down by Weston’s feet, eyes running down the length of his right leg. “But I want to start with his legs.”

Sunders sighs and drops Weston’s arms back to his sides, already aching at the joints from the position. 

“I’ll hold him down.” 

Sunders takes his spot next to Dee and puts pressure on Weston’s thighs, holding him still while Dee goes for Sunders’s rope. If Weston didn’t know better, he’d think they were trying to help him. 

But he does know better, and he knows their intentions are anything but pure. 

He could shove them off, Weston realizes from his spot on the ground. He could, and if he tried, he could get a good solid kick on Dee when he gets back if he uses his left leg. He’d sure as hell deserve it.

But watching Dee take his place by his feet again, Weston doesn’t. Smart or scared, righteous or cowardly—Weston doesn’t know anymore.  He just glares at Dee. 

Dee smiles back at him. “You got him, Sunders?”

“I’ve got him.”

“Good.”

Dee feels the rope in his hands, tests its strength with a few sharp pulls. Then he turns to look at Graham. 

Graham nods at him from by the horses. 

When Dee turns back to Weston, he’s grinning from ear to ear, eyes twinkling with mischief. 

“I’m gonna enjoy this.”

#weston's wild west whump #weston's wild west whump part 2 #cowboy whump #my whump writing #whump #whump writing #whump ocs #pistol whipping #why did i choose to use so many italics #i swear that made the transfer from google docs to tumblr like 6000% harder XD #thank you for reading! #the mystery that is weston is slowly being unraveled #so stay tuned for that!

[sinkix]

~ Haikyuu!! Boys baking with reader - Ft. Ushijima, Tendou, Oikawa, Hinata & Nishinoya ~

YO! SO UHHHH... I’M BACK??? I GUESS?? MAYBE??? After a little break I had this in my drafts for a while and realllyyy wanted to complete it since it’s such a cute concept. Honestly at this point my posting frequencies are so sporadic and random pls forgive me lmao.

@deathcab4daddy​ gave me the inspo to include Ushi and it was so funny coming up with ideas for him, he is no.1 country boi chef 

Dude I’m listening to the Mario Kart soundtrack ‘Coconut Mall’ while I continue writing this someone save me. Like u think I’m joking. UR WRONG.

Ushijima:

The most straightforward yet idiotic baker you will ever come across.

Before you even THINK about performing step 1, he will read the entire fucking leaflet like it’s a Shakesperean monologue.

INGREDIENTS INCLUDED.

LIKE SIS I DIDN’T NEED TO KNOW IT CONTAINS  MONOCALCIUM PHOSPHATE THANK YOU.

I’m surprised he doesn’t count every single particle in the brownie mix.

You bought him a frilly cupcake-printed apron stating ‘best wife’ not expecting him to actually wear it

But since he’s secretly a big softie and treasures anything you buy he wears it proudly.

His stoic and dignified disposition is a comical contrast to the words printed on the front lmao.

Ushi best wifey bro.

The tight fit of the apron is pretty hot since it outlines every ridge of his pecs and tightly toned torso.

Gotta resist groping your mans while stirring the brownie batter.

tbh he’s more likely to grope you, he can’t resist that a$$.

And let’s face it he’s def an ass/thigh kinda guy.

Can and will try to casually initiate some form of unholy activities by lifting you up onto the kitchen counter, goading you to slowly lick the spoon and locking gazes before pulling you in for a deep, open-mouthed kiss to get a taste of the incomplete creation himself.

Ushi’s lips and brownie batter are a knock-out combo js.

Literally has the most serious face when he’s cracking the eggs into the bowl

The amount of concentration is equivalent to that of when he’s performing a serve at match-point.

HAS to set the temperature to the EXACT degree stated on the box

Everything is done by the book if you do one thing out of place he will pull you up on it lol.

“(Y/N) you were supposed to stir it for 5 minutes, not 7.”

When its done you feed him some and he can’t help but smile its so ADORBALE AHHH.

You end up eating most of it since Ushi doesn’t strike me as much of a chocolate/junk food lover.

STILL A VERY FUN BUT F R U S T R A T I N G EXPERIENCE.

Tendou:

The complete opposite of Ushi

Does everything wrong and the unconventional way.

Absolute disaster but doesn’t even sweat it since Tendou basically thrives in chaos and the disorderly.

To him instructions are purely equivocal, will read them for five seconds then toss them away.

Step aside Gordon Ramsey, Chef Tendou is here.

Despite doing everything the unorthodox way it still comes out amazing.

Like??? how???

Will cheekily place a dollop batter on your nose then lick it off fh3jkeffefds

Or if he’s feelin’ a lil freaky, he’ll swipe it off with his long ass finger and make you suck it clean, smirking at your submission as you coat his finger with your saliva.

oop-

Constantly cracking jokes and shitty food puns, pretending to drop the bowl to make you go into preemptive cardiac arrest before you can swat him with the spatula.

While you’re waiting for the timer to ping, Satori being the schemer he is will use this as an opportunity to pull some fuckery and tease you in any way he can.

u better be praying like bodhisattva TanaNoya rn because he is MERCILESS.

Suggestive comments, the brush of his fingers against your thigh, it’ll leave you A C H I N G in frustration by the end of it.

Unholy activities aside, once your baking session is completed you finish it off by feeding PHAT forkfuls of brownie to each other and giggling like dorks when it gets all over your mouth.

The jackass actually got a fingerful and SMEARED it over your cheek and forehead, drawing a little cross and snickering when the crumbs fall onto your nose.

Tendou was smart to draw a cross bc he gonna need jesus with the ATTACK you launch on him after that, which promptly leads to an all out food war in your kitchen that neither of you want to clean up after ward.

Don’t worry though it’s Tendou, he’ll somehow find a way to make such a mundane activity fun.

Nishinoya:

stirs WAY TOO VIOLENTLY

IT’S LIKE AN ELECTRIC WHISK ON OVERDRIVE.

IT WILL SPLATTER OVER THE COUNTER, CUPBOARDS AND EVERYTHING YOU HOLD DEAR WITHIN A 1 MILE RADIUS.

You best believe he will try and eat some of the batter and you have to swat the spoon away from his mouth since he has NO REGARD FOR THE FACT HE COULD GET SALMONELLA.

Plus you know what Noya’s like once he starts eating something the whole thing will be gone in a matter of milliseconds.

He somehow managed to get Baking powder EVERYWHERE and even gave him self a little moustache with it.

The white substance kinda looked like something else but you didn’t really wanna say lmaooo.

could explain why he has so much energy all the time oK ILL STOP-

While you’re putting the mix on the tray he is SO extra and will do fancy lil swirls and over extend his arm like a swan to gracefully spread the batter

until he nearly fucking knocks it over.

During processing time since he is so excitable and impatient you best believe he’s gonna suggest a game of ping pong or something because my guy can well and truly never sit still.

ping pong match with the spatulas, kitchen island and a hard boiled egg.

Pls be careful he will rolling thunder that egg and pimp slap it so hard with the spatula it’ll damn near give you a concussion, not intentionally, but like protect your noggin. Wear a helmet.

For the remaining 5 minutes of baking time y’all just sit like kids in front of the oven and watching it rise like starved hyena’s observing it’s pray before demolishing it into sad particles of cocoa.

And lemme tell u, once the timer pings, that baking tray is free real estate for Noya. Half of your creation will be devoured before you can even put it on a plate and marvel at your handiwork. 

He kicked your ass at spatula ping pong btw I’m sorry sweaty but short kings stay winning.

Oikawa:

Such a dramatic bitch like he got the whole she-bang going on.

Strapped with a pink apron, a whisk at his side and standing proudly with both hands on his hips.He is prepared like a greek gladiator going into battle.

You better believe he gonna make some snarky remarks and tease your method of doing things. 

“Ah-ah-ahhh (Y/N)-chan you’re doing it all wrong, let me show you how a PRO does it.”

Proceeds to drop entire bowl on his foot and yelp like a little girl in pain.

Well and truly embarrassed with himself, you put a band-aid on his toe and he piped down after that.

Shattered big toe and mixing bowl aside, actually a really good baker??

He is a PRO at decorating, y’all decided on cupcakes since its literally his forte to make them look aesthetic and pretty.

You almost don’t wanna eat them from how good they look.

jk almost

You take it in turns breaking bits off and placing pieces into each others mouth with a loud “aaaaaahhh!”

Places a piece in your mouth, leans forward and locks lips with you in a soft, passionate kiss before pulling away and uttering the words “It tastes even better coming from your mouth ;)”

hnnnNNGGGGGGggGg.

You both whine and bicker over who cleans up after.

“You cleaaannnnn!”

“no Toru YOU clean!”

“but I made the cupcakes look pretty :(”

“not as pretty as you <3″

He did the cleaning after that.

Like just stroke his ego with some compliments and he’s whipped with a smug grin on his face for the next 30 minutes.

You decide to save the rest and bring them to his next practise.

Literally on the verge of tears when he sees you beaming and holding the platter of treats, Kiyotani mauls half of them in a matter of seconds to which Oiks gets salty over LMAO.

Hinata:

So excited oh my god he’s so precious please protect him I will CRY-

Has a little sunflower apron on and JBJKNDDDKDW IM SMILING JUST IMAGINING HIM FIDGETING IN EXCITEMENT OVER THE THOUGHT OF BAKING COOKIES.

Yes you decided on cookies bc he goes rabid for some choc chip biccies.

You have to guide him v carefully because of how easily confused and clumsy he is.

Cannot for the life of him crack the eggs without getting a quarter of the shell in the bowl so you have to do it instead.

Has a surprising amount of strength and forearm power bc holy shit boy can stir FAST.

Hums a little tune while he does it and bobs up and down with a wide grin on his face it’s so adorable, he has such a gentle singing voice I can’t-

Attempts different shapes with the batter when pouring it onto the tray but fails pretty miserably lol.

he tried ok???

Once they’re done he takes the tray out of the oven and since it was heavy, subconsciously propped it with his knee and nearly dropped the entire tray from the pain. (I’ve actually done this before when making chicken nuggets I do not advise being that brain dead)

Had to put some burn cream on the bbies knee :’((

When you decided to dig in, he handed you a cookie that looked like a crooked circle and said he tried to make that one a heart and insisted he feed it to you.

Blushed VERY hard at the moment of silence and intense eye contact while he fed it to you.

Nearly short circuited when his fingers brushed against your lips.

Moe moe x100000000000000000000000000000

You offer to do the cleaning after because he hurt himself and you didn’t wanna make him do any work, but he still offered to wipe the surfaces for you bc he’s an angel <333

literally just wanna marry him.

#hq #haikyuu #hinata shoyo #ushijima wakatoshi #tendou satori #nishinoya yū #oikawa toru #nishinoya yuu #hq headcanons #haikyuu headcanons #hinata shoyo headcanons #haikyuu x reader #hq x reader #tendou headcanon #nishinoya headcanons #ushijima headcanons #oikawa headcanons #karasuno #shiratorizawa #aoba johsai #seijoh

[riotwritesthings]

Ode to Yoga Pants

OR the continued terrible mating dance of Bucky and Tony

AKA when betting on your friends stops being fun

Title: Ode to Yoga Pants Collaborator Name: Riot Bucky Barnes Bingo Square Filled: K5, Team Dynamics StarkBucks Bingo Square Filled: O5, “I’d like it if you stayed.” Ship/Main Pairing: WinterIron Rating: M Major Tags & Triggers: Mutually pining morons, humor Summary: OR the continued terrible mating dance of Bucky and Tony, AKA when betting on your friends stops being fun Word Count: 2,282

Here on AO3!

-

Tony is heading to the gym for Steve’s newly mandated team training time and yeah, he’s late, but he does have coffee. So at least he’s on brand.

It looks like everyone else has beat him here, which isn’t really surprising, and Tony tosses out a grin and wave in response to the unimpressed look Steve shoots him.

Then his eyes land on Bucky. Who is doing one armed pushups. Completely vertically, pointed toes up in the air and strands of hair falling loose around his face where it’s come loose from the hair tie. And he is in yoga pants.

They hug his calves, his ass, his thighs, tight black spandex with gray piping up sides and Tony is weak.

Forget team bonding, Tony needs to get out of here right now, before he makes a fool of himself. Except he spins too quickly, hot coffee sloshing over the rim of his mug and onto his fingers, and he’s so busy hissing over the sharp burst of pain that he walks straight into the door as it swings shut.

“Ack, fuck,” Tony gasps, more hot coffee splashing out across his hand, rubbing at his forehead and apparently he’s a little dizzy because he goes to take a step back and tilts to the side instead, bouncing off the wall.

He’s almost caught his balance, and then he trips over Sam’s stupid jump rope, and then his thighs hit the weight bench and he tumbles backwards over it, the last dregs of his coffee somehow ending up entirely on his chest.

“Damnit Wilson,” Tony grumbles, “I knew you were out to get me!”

There’s a soft chuckle from somewhere above him, and Tony pries his eyes open. He’s half expecting to see Sam, ready to defend himself and deny that he’s trying to kill Tony with workout equipment even though he very clearly is.

Instead it’s Bucky, leaning over him all shirtless and sweaty and concerned.

“You okay, doll?”

When Tony tries to speak all that comes out is a strangled gurgling sound, and Bucky’s concerned look gets deeper.

-

“Gross, they’re doing it again,” Sam complains, pausing mid situp to shoot a glare across the gym.

When Steve glances away from sparring with Natasha she takes the opportunity to pop him in the throat.

“This isn’t even funny anymore,” Natasha says while Steve coughs and hacks and gives her a dirty look.

“It stopped being funny weeks ago,” Rhodey says as he leans against the ropes of the boxing ring and shakes his head in disappointment.

“You’re just saying that because that’s when you were officially out of the betting pool,” Clint says with a snort.

“I really didn’t think it would take them this long,” he says with a morose sigh, “I’m ashamed.”

Steve makes a sound that might be agreement.

“New bet, how much worse can it possibly get?” Sam tries to joke, but he has a terrible feeling that it’s not a joke at all.

“I think we’re all the losers in that bet,” Natasha says as they all watch Bucky help a still clearly-swooning Tony out of the gym.

The poor pining morons don’t even notice they have an audience. Just like Bucky somehow doesn’t notice that Tony is literal putty in his hands, and Tony mysteriously doesn’t notice Bucky giving him the sappiest heart eyes ever.

It’s shameful, is what it is.

-

Tony lets Bucky drag him into the kitchen, sinks onto one of the stools when gently pushed in that direction, and he’s becoming uncomfortably aware that his shirt is still splattered with cooling coffee and probably clinging to his chest.

He should probably go change, and then maybe go hide out somewhere until he figures out how to deal with Bucky in yoga pants.

But before Tony can figure out how to convince his legs to actually move, Bucky is done digging around in the freezer and by his side again.

“Ow,” Tony says with an exaggerated wince as Bucky presses a bag of ice to the back of his head, and then nearly melts out of his seat when Bucky shushes him with a wide palm running down the back of his neck.

He’s not actually as rattled as Bucky seems to think he is, but Tony certainly isn’t going to correct him. It’s a much safer excuse than admitting his brain went to mush the second he saw Bucky’s thighs, all wrapped up and accentuated in tight black spandex, and it still hasn’t quite come back online.

From here, with Bucky standing beside him and gently holding his head still while Tony stares studiously at the floor, all Tony can see of Bucky is his foot. The tight black fabric ends just above the delicate bones of his ankle, his bare toes wiggling against the tile floor as he pulls the ice away and inspects Tony’s head.

Forget getting his brain working again, Tony is just trying to keep his stupid heart from crawling its way up his throat over ankles. Like some kind of repressed Puritan, Jesus.

Which means he can’t at all stop himself from nervously stuttering out “Those-those are uh, nice... you like yoga pants huh?”

There’s a vague sense of motion beside him, like Bucky is shrugging, as he says “They’re comfortable.”

“Uh huh, they-“ Tony starts to say, and then nearly swallows his tongue when Bucky steps around in front of him again.

His eyes automatically drag upwards, and it takes everything Tony has not to let himself linger, not to get caught staring at the frankly mouthwatering bulge of Bucky’s cock that his skin tight leggings are not doing a very good job of hiding.

He jerks his gaze up higher and it doesn’t help because oh god there’s Bucky’s chest, still bare and so close and by the time he finally manages to make himself look up at Bucky’s face he can’t breathe.

“They- uh, s-sure look it,” Tony stutters out, and furious blushing is totally a symptom of a concussion, right?!

Bucky’s smile stays warm and friendly, so he’s probably alright.

And all Bucky says is “You should try them! I can send you the site I got ‘em from, Nat recommended it to me.”

“Okay,” Tony squeaks and damnit he’s actually going to have to buy some yoga pants now. There’s no other way to play off his sudden fascination with them.

-

A week later, everyone has lost the bet.

They find the two morons asleep together on the couch, legs tangled and blankets wrapped around them both.

The entire team agrees it’s the most disgusting thing they’ve ever seen.

-

Steve is taking his frustrations out on a punching bag when Bucky suddenly ducks behind the bag, grabbing it and holding it still so he can hide behind it.

“What is this, why are you doing this?” Steve demands, rhythm thrown and half-debating just punching the bag anyways in the hopes that it’ll shake Bucky loose.

“Steve,” Bucky hisses, like he somehow hasn’t noticed that he already has Steve’s full attention, “Steve, I’ve made a terrible mistake.”

“What are you talking about?”

Bucky’s head pops out from around the punching bag, eyes fixed on something across the gym as he hisses “Tony bought yoga pants.”

Steve turns and sure enough, Tony and Natasha are standing near the sparring mats in matching black and gray patterned spandex.

“Does Nat get money every time she talks someone into buying those?” Steve has to wonder, because she has been relentlessly texting him the link too.

“Steve,” Bucky hisses again, “Steven. I can’t- how do I even- Steve-“

“What?!” Steve demands impatiently, because he really wants to go back to punching things, and not thinking about the awkward mating dance of his best friends.

“Look at his ass!”

Steve huffs and resists the urge to gag at the open reverence in Bucky’s tone. He does turn though, just in time to watch Tony bend over in a low stretch.

“Perfect little bubble, I just wanna bury my face in it and live there,” Bucky sighs.

“Huh,” Steve says, tilting his head a little to get a better view because damn, Bucky is not exactly wrong- “Ow!” He squawks when Bucky swings the punching bag into him, “you’re the one who told me to look!”

“Not like that!” Bucky snaps back. It looks like he’s considering hitting Steve with the punching bag again, and Steve holds up a single finger in warning.

“Do not,” he says sternly.

Bucky settles for just hugging the bag instead, gaze already drifting across the gym again. Steve has a terrible feeling he’s not going to get back to his workout.

“Please just ask him out,” Steve says plaintively, “pretend to act like a functional person.”

“How am I supposed to function when faced with The Most Amazing Ass Ever™️?!” Bucky demands, and then makes a weird whimpering sound as Tony no doubt does something. Like existing.

Steve refuses to look over, instead just sighing out “Get off my punching bag, you’re making this so weird.”

“I’m filin’ a complaint,” Bucky says, clearly not listening to him anymore and still staring with rapt attention at where Tony is apparently doing something fascinating. “These pants are supposed to be ‘super stretchy’ but they clearly did not count on boners cuz my dick is strangled.”

“Excuse me,” Steve says, already walking away, “I need to go vomit.”

Hell, next week he might skip mandatory team training.

-

Tony is laying on his stomach on the common room floor, propped up on his elbows as he pokes at his phone and kicks his feet lazily in the air.

He’s wearing bright red yoga pants today, and even Clint is not immune.

He catches himself after a couple seconds of staring at the swell and bounce of Tony’s ass, and gives himself a vigorous shake. That’s a good way to earn the Winter Soldier Death Glare.

Even if said Winter Soldier is too much of a disaster to actually do anything about his super obvious crush.

“So are yoga pants just the new thing?” Clint asks, climbing over the back of the couch and keeping his eyes safely on Tony’s face, because he does not want to be assassined to death today. “You’re just gonna wear them all the time?”

“They’re comfortable,” Tony says with an absent shrug, then grins up at Clint and wiggles his eyebrows as he adds “Plus, they make my ass look great.”

And Clint can’t exactly argue that, so instead he just flatly says “You’re going to give Barnes a heart attack.”

Tony looks confused for a split second, and then smiles widely.

“Because I pull them off so much better than he does?” he asks, striking a pose, and Clint seriously considers running away to join the circus. Again.

He’s not even sure if things will actually be better if they eventually get together at this point.

He should make that the new bet.

-

“I’m just saying,” Tony insists, and then raises his voice when Steve put his head down on the table and starts humming under his breath, “If I thought Bucky was actually interested, I would 100% be here for him. With open arms-“

“Well that’s actually kind of-“

“And open legs-“

“Tony-“

“And an open mouth,” Tony finishes, grinning and winking when Steve looks up at him with a glare.

“Tony, please, I don’t want to hear this,” Steve says, hands over his ears and he does actually look a little green.

“This is nothing,” Tony says with a scoff, giving Steve an unimpressed look, because he is weak. “You should hear the shit I say to Rhodey.”

“I would like to hear those things,” says a voice directly behind him.

Tony freezes, his entire body going cold, because he knows that low, warm, rumbling voice. He hears it in his dreams, and oh no oh no oh no, now Bucky knows.

So much for his plausible deniability.

His brain kind of goes staticy with panic for a second, and he’s only dimly aware of Steve rolling his eyes.

“Yeah my part in this conversation is done,” Steve says, and promptly bails.

When Tony’s brain finally reboots he finds that Bucky has taken Steve’s seat across the kitchen table.

Bucky is also just grinning at him, like he doesn’t find Tony’s borderline-obsessive crush at all creepy.

All Tony can think to say is “What.”

And then he realizes he doesn’t actually want an answer, doesn’t want to find out if Bucky is going to make fun of him, or if he thinks it’s all a joke. He can’t decide if that would actually be better or worse than being turned down gently, and he doesn’t intend to stay and find out.

“I’m just...” Tony sputters, face burning as he flails his way out of his chair, “Gonna- gonna go. Run away. Yep.”

“Wait,” Bucky says, eyes wide and halfway out of his own chair.

Tony freezes, because Bucky looks a lot like he feels. Thrown, surprised, confused and so hopeful that it’s terrifying.

“I-I’d like it if you stayed,” Bucky says slowly, then smiles crooked and nervous as he adds “Not that I don’t like watchin’ you walk away.”

It startles a laugh out of Tony, face flushing as he sinks back into his chair. “Okay,” he says, heart racing and smile almost painfully wide, “um, what?”

Bucky laughs, soft and low and warm, and finally finishes reaching across the table to take Tony’s hand in his own.

-

Clint wins the bet on how much worse their lives get once the love-struck morons start making out all over the place.

#my fic #winteriron #starkbucks #bucky/tony #starkbucksbingo2020 #buckybarnesbingo2020 #im not sorry for this either

[captainneverever]

Snow Day

written for @lightsonparkave's Prompt Challenge Round 6 -- Love

The Avengers think that Steve and Tony got engaged at the annual holiday party. It’s news to Steve and Tony. (light 616, 1900 words)

Tony rubbed the sleep out of his eyes, vaguely aware of the Avengers alarm going off. Usually he’d be off like a shot heading for the armor, Steve’s voice in his ear relaying mission information. Instead, he saw Steve standing shirtless in his workout pants, coffee mug in one hand, watching the snow dance outside the Tower windows.

“Um, Steve, there’s a mission --”

Steve sipped his coffee and watched the snow. “We’ve been benched.”

Tony narrowed his eyes. “Isn’t that your call?”

“Not today. Carol called it.”

Tony couldn’t recall a single thing that occurred during the annual Avengers holiday party that would have resulted in them being benched. Food was excellent. He drank seltzer and lemon all night and Steve his craft beers. The Cards Against Humanity game hadn’t resulted in blood-letting. No one had stupidly challenged Thor or Carol to arm-wrestling. No one had complained about the silly, the serious or the thoughtless presents. 

He glanced over at the small black box with the arty cufflinks Steve had given for him on the nightstand. Steve had commissioned the artist sometime last year to craft “space geode” cufflinks. The gift stemmed from a long-standing private joke that would be impossible to explain to anyone else. He grinned, thinking of how Steve said “space geode.” 

It all went off the rails when Steve had given him the box in the kitchen when it was just them alone instead of during the group present opening. Jan had walked in on Tony enthusiastically kissing Steve and then jumped right out with profuse apologies.

Now that he wasn’t on call, Tony snuggled deeper into the sheets and blankets and blatantly ogled the lovely ass sight in front of him.

He asked, “Why? As far as I can tell, you and I still have all our limbs attached, no concussions, no body swapping …. Unless there’s a surprise you’re about to spring on me. Like a visit from our clones or something.”

“Team thinks we got engaged last night so we’ve got the day off.”

Tony could hear the touch of amusement in Steve’s voice and wondered if Steve had put up much of a fight about being benched. Probably he did; he didn’t take benching well, even for a good cause.

Then it sank in what Steve had said. “What?! Wait -- did Jan think --”

“It wasn’t just Jan. Clint overheard us talking about big news before the party.”

“The new quinjet redesign?”

Steve set down his coffee mug and joined Tony on the bed. He swung his legs up, and rolled onto his stomach, and smiled at Tony. He kissed Tony’s bicep. “Only you and T’Challa would consider that big news.”

“The team will love the more comfortable seats are bigger galley,” Tony grumbled. “So, the whole team thinks that you and I are getting married.”

“Jess asked if we’d set a date yet.”

“July, of course. Best weather in the Hamptons,” Tony replied automatically. “Hard to get hotel rooms, and we’d have to book the venue a couple of years ahead of time. It’d be worth it.”

Steve booped Tony’s nose and chuckled. “That’s the official date -- we’ll have already gotten married in private a few months earlier. City Clerk’s office.”

“That’s just complicated and unnecessary.”

“So are supervillain attacks and alien invasions. Have we gone to a single superhero wedding that didn’t get interrupted?”

Tony had no answer. He couldn’t think of one, and he’d gone to his share of the events. Sue and Reed couldn’t even have a baby shower without a supervillain attack.

Steve concluded, “If we’re already married, then all Zemo or Kang or Ultron would be breaking up would be a party.”

“Or the Controller or whoever is in charge of AIM these days or -- let’s be real, there’s at least fifty guys and gals that would go a long long way to bust up our big day.” Tony drummed his fingers on the bed. “Wait -- why did they jump straight to us getting engaged? Why not moving in together? I could have given you a box with a key to my suitet.”

Steve collapsed on the bed, his body shaking from laughing. Tony swatted at him as Steve shifted away from him and wiped tears from his eyes. 

“What’s so funny, big guy?”

“The team and reserve Avengers thought we’ve been living together for the past year. I was informed of this fact this morning.”

“Oh, wow. How could we have missed that?” 

Steve looked thoughtful. “I do spend most nights here already.” He poked Tony in a ticklish spot. “If I moved in officially, I’ll need some closet space, more than the two drawers I’m using --”

“I’ll build you your own closet. I can draw the plans up right after breakfast. I’m going to design you a closet that’s going to be on the cover of Architectural Digest.”

Steve wriggled back under the covers and the sheets, and propped his arm up on the pillows. “Are you asking me to move in?”

“Do you want to move in?” Tony replied. His breath hitched and pulse beat faster as that old fear that Steve would bail on him reared its ugly head. A lifetime full of disappointments and Steve’s workaholic tendencies had taught him to be wary.

But he’d give his eyeteeth to have more of Steve.

Steve fiddled with the blanket and looked at a spot at the end of the large bed. “I always imagined you’d ask in a more romantic way. Involving a dinner.”

Tony’s heart flipped. “You’re one of the most unromantic people I have ever met. We can order takeout and eat while we make space for you and your toothbrush in the bathroom.”

Steve slid an arm around Tony’s waist to draw him close. “Home is where I hang my shield. A nail in the wall, a nightstand, and one side of the closet, and we’re all set.”

“Ha,” Tony snorted. “Do you think we could get all that done before the team returns?”

He grinned as he watched Steve analyze and calculate the team’s chances. He adored Steve’s brilliant tactical mind, the little half-smile he always had on his face as he considered and weighed strategies. Just part of Steve’s charms. 

“The main factor is whether or not the Wrecking Crew are having a magically juiced-up week. Weather forecast has more snow. Team is worse for wear because of the party. Odds are that they’ll be out for a couple of hours minimum.  

“Well, now that we know it’s the Wrecking Crew --”

“I didn’t want to leave the Tower to fight the Wrecking Crew,” Steve confessed.

“Instead you settled for moving in with me? Don’t worry, your secret is safe with me.” 

Stevet tugged him closer, letting Tony tuck his head into his shoulder. The idea of waking up to this every single morning warmed Tony from head to toe. Something they could build a life around.

“Now that we’re living together, when are you going to make me an honest man?” Steve teased.

“Wow, we haven’t even hung up your medals and had a fight over your hideous chair --”

“Team thinks we’re engaged already. We can’t undermine their trust in us.”

“You just don’t want them to know that you didn’t tell them the truth that you didn’t want to fight the Wrecking Crew in a blizzard.”

Smiling, Steve ran his fingers through Tony’s hair. “They saved me from planning the proposal.”

Tony pulled away to stare at Steve. “Wait. Slow down. You just talked me in letting you move in --”

“A formality -- I have clothes and uniforms here, my pile of books are next to my side of the bed, I was just asking for more closet space.”

“Right. Back to that proposal thing. What?”

Steve sat up a little straighter so Tony could curl into his side. They could see the snow coming down in thick white flakes, the sort of snow that promised many inches, school closures and miserable fighting conditions. The Avengers had been more than generous to let the newly engaged couple sleep in. 

“I bought more than the cufflinks at the jeweler’s. Just waiting for the right occasion. I made reservations at L’Artusi for Valentine’s -- was working on other ideas, like flowers, that sort of thing.”

“Steve,” Tony exhaled with all the love he felt for Steve. A Valentine’s Day restaurant date was a big, fussy ordeal -- with a planned proposal thrown into the mix -- and Unromantic Steve was planning to do it all for him. A big risk, given all the space wars they’d been in recently.

“We’ve talked about it, getting married.” Tony nodded in agreement, and Steve continued. “I picked up the ring and all I could think about was when I could ask you. I almost asked last week at breakfast when you were fixing the coffee machine.”

The thought of wearing Steve’s ring took Tony’s breath away. Steve had always wanted to be married, though Tony had a healthy fear of marriage, considering his parents and the strong likelihood he’d wake up and find that he’d married sentient armor or a Skrull. It could happen -- he’d lay good money that it would. Tony’s luck ran on the rotten side.

But here was Steve, right next to him on a snowy morning in New York, and he was going to Officially Move In today. He’d loved Steve forever, since Steve opened his eyes in that sub a few years ago. He couldn’t possibly name anyone he’d want to marry more than his Avengers co-leader -- they had saved each other’s lives too many times to count, they finished each other’s sentences, he could practically read Steve’s mind by now. 

No wonder the team thought that Steve had proposed last night. They should have been married years ago. They should have gotten married the afternoon Tony found him. It was ridiculous the amount of time they hadn’t been married. 

“Since you’re asking, yeah, I’ll marry you.”

Steve kissed the top of his head. “How about next week?”

“Next week?”

“City Clerk’s Office.”

“I take back what I said about you being unromantic. You’re such a true romantic, through and through.”

“We could get married Tuesday at the City Clerk’s office -- we get a license on Monday and there’s a 24-hour waiting period.”

“Tuesday? Hmmm -- I probably have something scheduled that day.”

“You’re free, I already checked your schedule.”

“You planned this,” Tony accused Steve. 

Steve put his arm around Tony and hugged him. “No, that’s giving me too much credit. I researched possibilities, in case they came up. Be prepared.”

“I couldn’t possibly love you more than I love you now.”

“You will when the Masters of Evil crash that fancy wedding the wedding planner put together and we have to drop everything to arrest them. And we’ll be married during the whole fight.”

“Our secret.”

“Just us.”

The wind picked up outside and the snow fell harder. “I should feel bad about the team out there in the snow,” Tony admitted.

“It’s their gift to us,” Steve replied. “An early wedding present --”

“For the men who have everything,” Tony finished. 

“Yeah.”

Tony tapped the bed thoughtfully. “I have some favors to cash in for the honeymoon, in that case.”

“I’d like to go to Europe,” Steve offered. “It’d be nice to visit on our own, not as Avengers.”

“I have ideas already -- you won’t regret it. We’re still going to L’Artusi for Valentine’s, right?”

“You bet.”

#lightsonparkave #stevetony #stony #superhusbands

[angelic-writer]

“Come on, _________, please stay with me, please. I’ve already lost so much today, I can’t lost you too.”

For the whump prompts

((Ohohohoho! You fool. You activated my trap card! >:) ))

“Come on, Victor, please stay with me, please. I’ve already lost so much tonight, I can’t lose you too.” Philip’s voice started to crack as he watched the wounded pyrokinetic try to take deep breaths. His lover’s blood leaked out from the cracks of his fingers as he tried desperately to stop the bleeding. His own breathing was hitching, his vision was blurry with tears...

He was not losing him too.

All the people he had lost tonight flashed through his mind. Simone, Casey, Matthew, John...

Simone Taylor. Someone he considered a very close friend. He always annoyed her by being brash, but he always appreciated her logical side.

Casey Joint. Their very own hacker for the Ministry. Even though he spent all his time on his computer, he was always the jokester, mostly joking about how his name was almost a pun for “Casing the Joint”.

Matthew and John Defoe... They were like his two sons. He found the family he never had. He planned on adopting them when he married Victor, but now...

Trilby’s breath hitched in his throat as he tried to get up. He had to get to Victor. He had to!

“Trilby, you have to stay still!” Chris hissed at him, trying to bandage his arm.

“Quinn, I have to get to Victor. I... I need to-”

“I-I know... But-” Trilby didn’t give Chris enough time to finish as he was already up and limping over to them. He glanced over to Siobhan who was already laying in a pool of her own blood. The others told him it was just a concussion, but he knew they were lying. With how severe her head trauma was, it’s unlikely she is ever getting up again.

“Hey, Vic. I’m here. Phil’s here. Just- Take a deep breath, okay? Help is on the way.” He tried to whisper comforting words to him, but Victor could only chuckle as air rattled in and out of his lungs like a buzz-saw.

“Trilbs, you know I’m not gonna make it. This... This is too serious for me...”

“God, just- Don’t talk like that! We’ll get everyone here to the hospital and everything will go back to normal!!” Trilby commanded. Really, he was trying to put on a facade so he would not break down entirely.

“Easier said than done, Trilby. But mostly everyone’s dead. We’re just not good enough for them. We’ll just get replaced anyway. That’s how it usually works.” He paused to cough. Blood trickled down his mouth as he did so.

“Vic, please... Don’t be such a cynical bastard!! You’re always like this! You’re always too serious and when I try to joke around, you always ruin the mood with your pissy attitude!!! It’s not even funny!” Philip started to sob. Victor gave him a wry smile.

“But... I did like some of your jokes... Even though some of them were pretty distasteful like the kabob one, I liked the ones that weren’t about stabbing!”

Philip grabbed his hand, squeezing it tightly while Trilby started to apply pressure. “Listen to me, Victor. You’re going to make it out of there alive. We’re gonna go on all the dates you want, go to all the places you want to go - Hell, you could even pick a suit you want to wear when we-” His words got caught in his throat. He can’t say it. Not now.

“A suit? What?” Victor was confused for a second. Then, his eyes lit up as he realized. “Wait... Are you asking me to...?”

Philip slowly nodded. He leaned down, allowing Victor to give him a kiss on the cheek.

“Of course I will. I’m sure we’ll be a wonderful couple. We’ll be pretty badass, won’t we?”

“Uh... Uh huh...”

“Hehe. Hey... After this, we can go to the pub. My treat.”

“Y-Yeah...”

“After that, we can go ring shopping. We can buy the most lovely rings. The kinds that’ll make any married couple jealous.”

Philip nodded, sniffling.

“And... We can like, go to Australia for our honeymoon...”

“Yeah... I-I’d like that...”

“Good.”

Trilby tried to contain himself. He tried to swallow a sob that was coming up. God, why are they taking so long? Where the fuck is the ambulance?!

“Hey, Philip...”

“Yeah?”

“Even though... our relationship had its ups and downs, I-I’m glad... I met you...” His eyes started to flutter. “I’m glad I fell in love with you...”

“No! No, no, no. You will not close your eyes on us, Cassen! You keep those damn eyes open, you understand me?!” Trilby shouted.

“But... I-I feel so tired... M-Maybe I should take a nap... Wake me up when all of this is over, okay...?”

“No! No NO NO NO!!” Trilby’s words did not reach him at all. Victor’s eyes slowly closed and his hand fell limp. “Fuck! FUCK!” Trilby put his hand on Victor’s neck, trying to feel a pulse. He didn’t care if his voice had risen, he had to feel something!!!

...

...

...

“No...” Trilby started to shake. “No, no, no...”

“What?!” Philip’s voice was shrill and panicked.

“He... He has no pulse...”

Those words felt like a sword being plunged through his heart. He... He can’t be...

“No. No, he’s not dead. He can’t be!” He started to do chest compressions, the same way Victor had been doing for him when he was dying. “Hold the wound, Trilbs. We need to keep him alive until the ambulance arrives, alright?!”

Trilby reluctantly did so. He knew it was no use. Victor’s skin was cool to the touch and his pupils were dilated. Classic signs of shock. He couldn’t stop himself from shaking. Tears were already pouring from his eyes. He didn’t acknowledge Adam running into the room. In fact, he and Phil didn’t acknowledge anything. It was like everything just faded away.

They were focusing on their co-worker who is likely dead like the rest of the agents. Trilby could hear Victor’s ribs crack at one point due to the pressure of Philip’s compressions, but he either didn’t notice or didn’t care. At one point, Chris came over to help and Trilby took over compressions while Phil did the breathing.

They were working very hard to try and save him. But, it didn’t matter how long they were doing it for. It didn’t matter that Adam brought the defibrillator to try and shock him. It didn’t matter how many times they shocked him.

Victor was never coming back. This “nap” of his is one that he will never wake up from. He will never get to joke about how this mission of theirs almost got them killed. He will never be able to be a jerk to everyone. He will never get to impress Phil with his pyrotechnics. He will never get to kiss his lover goodbye. He will never get to do the things he promised Phil he would do. He will never get to walk this earth again.

He will never come back.

He will never...

“One, two, three! Clear!”

WHAP!

Victor’s body flinched. Adam checked. Nothing. Trilby restarted compressions. He was already getting exhausted. He was about to give up when Philip yelled at him not to. He’s not gone, he said. I won’t let him die!

His arms were already getting sore. It was clear he can’t keep doing this. “D-Do you want me to take over?” Chris asked. Trilby nodded and fell back, winded. The adrenaline rush had long since faded and now, he’s trying to catch his breath. All he could do was stare at the ceiling and listen to them try to revive Victor. His eyes started to close when suddenly...

“Wait!”

His head snapped up. Propping himself up on his elbows, he looked to see Philip checking Victor’s airway. “I-I think I got something...”

Trilby was already up and running. He immediately checked Victor’s pulse. Please... Please let there be something...

...

It’s faint... He has a pulse, but it’s faint...

That set off something inside of him. Suddenly, it didn’t matter. He is not giving up on him. They had come this far, they are not gonna leave him. He put his ear to his chest to see if he had a discernible heartbeat. He couldn’t hear it. He started compressions again. This time, he is determined. He is determined to make sure he’s alive. He will not let this man die!

Once he got to thirty, Adam placed the paddles on Victor’s chest. “Alright, count of three, we shock him!” Trilby instructed everyone. They all nodded.

“Okay, one, two, three! CLEAR!”

WHAP!

Victor’s body flinched once again. Philip once again checked his pulse.

...

“Okay, it’s getting stronger!”

Trilby put his ear to his chest. Finally, he could hear his heart beating steadily. He breathed a sigh of relief. “Thank you, god.”

The tension in the room eased. Phil let out a chuckle and stroked Victor’s hair. “Well, looks like you’ll be waking up from this nap after all.”

Trilby was shaking as the second adrenaline rush faded. He hugged Chris tightly as he started to sob. “Chris... W-We did it... We did it!” He said as he began to laugh. Chris rubbed his back as he rocked him gently.

After Trilby had calmed down, he went over to Siobhan to see if she was okay. To his surprise, she was still breathing. Despite that blow to the head, she was still alive. He immediately started to treat her head wound. “I’m so sorry... I’m sorry you got dragged into this... I’m so sorry...”

Soon, the ambulance arrived. They loaded Victor onto the stretcher and wheeled him out, Philip following close behind. They soon got everyone loaded into the ambulances and drove them to the hospital.

Finally... After 7 months, it was over. The New Order was no more and Trilby will make sure it stays that way.

#chzo mythos #grave fire

[babbushka]

Feast

Cameron Bissel x Reader 

Part 2 to My Lady 

2.9k; NSFW 

He had done what you said, with eager anticipation. The next evening, the evening after your tryst in the supply closet, he had found himself waiting outside the damned restaurant in the rain, the pouring rain. He wondered if you would recognize him, standing there without his costume, without his wig, without the props he had built at home and brought in only to go overboard and get fired.

Because of course he had been fired, after that shitshow. Of course.

It didn’t matter, it wasn’t like he had this job for the money or anything like that – quite the opposite.

But either way, he wasn’t allowed on the premises anymore, not after the stunt he pulled, so he waits outside in the rain. He’s dressed nicely – which he now fucking regrets, with the way the sky opens up and beats down on the umbrella he’s holding – hoping to impress you.

“(Y/N)!” He calls, his voice for you loud and booming, echoing across the little courtyard where he has to stand. He wishes he could hold the door for you like a proper gentleman, like a right and courageous Knight, but he really doesn’t want security to tackle him again.

You’re out of costume when you emerge through the front doors, and his mouth runs dry. You’re so beautiful, even moreso than he thought before, if that was possible. Maybe it was because you were on your way to him, were smiling and waving at him from the steps of the establishment, were going down the steps two at a time to get closer to him. Maybe that was why.

He’s blinded by the sight of you when you huddle close underneath his umbrella, shielding yourself against his body from the rain.

“Cameron you came!” You grin up at him, eyes bright from excitement, and he finds his heart is beating far too fast.

He gives you a confused smile as you loop your arms around his shoulder and hug him, his hand that’s not holding the umbrella splaying out over your back, pressing you in close. You smell amazing, like some kind of perfume or fancy shampoo that Cameron can’t place, but it makes his mouth water.

“Of course I did, you told me to.” He says, like it was the simplest thing, following your instructions, your orders.

He’d do anything for you, anything you told him to. But maybe now wasn’t the best time to say that, he didn’t want you thinking he was some creep, some obsessive stalker or anything. He wasn’t, he just. Well. He’d just admired you for a long time, and didn’t want to blow this chance to get to know you better, especially when you seemed so receptive to wanting to get to know him.

“I wasn’t sure if you actually had any interest.” You duck your head in mild embarrassment, in a shyness that has his eyes widening.

“I meant what I said last night, (Y/N).” He pinches your chin between his thumb and forefinger, tilts your face up to his. You’re so close, just within kissing distance, but he won’t do anything that you don’t want, don’t expressly tell him to do. So, instead of kissing you over and over and over again like he so desperately wants, he drops his hand and tangles the fingers with yours asking, “How about that date, if I recall, you demanded a dinner?”

You bite at your lip, give him a look with those doe eyes of yours, through those lashes of yours that have his knees weak, as you adjust the strap of your bag over your shoulder.

“I have a better idea,” You start, smiling as he takes your bag from you – a lady never should carry her own things, after all – and hoists it over his own shoulder instead, completely nonplussed by the fact that it’s a purse, as you continue, “With the weather as shit as it is, why don’t we just go to your place?”

He isn’t expecting that, for some reason. He hadn’t expected any of this, not really. Had he gotten hit on the head very hard? Had he somehow slipped and fallen and concussed himself into a daydream where you were on his arm and asking to be brought to his house?

“Whatever my girl wants, she gets.” He finds himself saying, making you stop in your tracks.

“Am I?” You ask breathlessly, hope written all across your face, “Your girl, I mean.”

Time seems to stand still, then, as he walks you to his car. Like the whole world has formed and evolved and spun round and round the sun to build up right to this moment. Maybe he’s being dramatic, maybe he’s being too much, but he thanks the moon and the stars and the heavens above for whatever it was that led you to him, or him to you.

“If you want to be.” He whispers, afraid, so afraid this might all be some cruel trick of the universe, so afraid you might just be a vision of loveliness that exists only inside his head.

But then you’re blushing so pretty and squeezing his hand affectionately and reaching for the handle to the passenger side of his car, and then you’re laughing when he swats your hand away to open it for you, and then you’re beckoning him down as if to ask a question – only to place a chaste kiss to his lips instead.

“To your place then.” You whisper back, and Cameron feels his whole heart fly over the moon.

 The drive is spent with smiles, with hand-holding and kisses at red lights. It’s spent talking and singing loudly to the music on the radio, singing off-key, singing wrong lyrics to try and make the other laugh. It’s spent with secret glances that the other catches, both of you feeling giddy, like you’re high on life.

He rushes you to the front door so you don’t get drenched, when he parks in front of the apartment complex.

He kisses you in the elevator on the way to the sixth floor where his key always gets jammed in the lock.

He holds you up against the wall when he shuts the world away behind you.

His hands on your face leave for only a moment, only long enough to flick on the light-switch and illuminate the space of his living room, so that he knows where he’s throwing the wet clothes of your jacket, where he kicks off his shoes.

But you open your eyes when the lights turn on, and he worries he’s done something wrong when you gasp out, “Cameron holy shit.”

“What?” He pulls away, makes sure he didn’t accidentally step on your toes or anything like that, but you’re looking past him into the living room beyond in shock.

“This is a much nicer apartment than I thought you’d have.” You admit bluntly, making Cameron huff out a laugh.

“Hey!” He teases playfully, and you laugh too because no, that’s not how you meant it, you just meant,

“How can you afford something like this on the Medieval Times salary?” You ask, and he shrugs, scrubs the back of his neck.

“I don’t,” He says honestly, “I afford it with my production design salary.”

The news comes as even more of a shock to you, and you blink as you process everything.

The apartment is so contemporary, so modern. Upscale, with its light wood flooring and muted grey furniture. There’s a stone façade fireplace, and nervously, Cameron goes and turns it on, clicks the little timer so that if he gets lucky enough that you decide to stay, he won’t have to leave your side to shut it off. The ceiling is an interesting exposed wood structure, you’re chewing the inside of your lip with something like nervousness.

“You mean to tell me you were just dicking around at work?” You ask, and he feels like he’s been caught, feels like he’s being scolded, even though he isn’t, not really. You’re just trying to understand.

“Yeah, I thought it’d be fun to flex my acting muscles, since I’m taking that method acting class.” He explains, holding a hand out to you, wanting to take you to the bedroom.

You accept it easily, and he leads you through the apartment. It’s not very big, although it feels that way with the windows all over the place.

You’re laughing to yourself when you get to the bedroom. Not because it’s funny, exactly, but because it’s so completely outside the scope of what you thought it would be. The walls are soft browns and warm shades of grey, that invite you in and make you want to wrap yourself up in the blankets that look freshly washed. It’s so big, so spacious, so luxurious. There’s even a tray of champagne and two glasses resting on the plush bench at the end of the bed.

“You really meant it when you said the biggest, softest bed, huh?” You ask, because you have nothing more you can really even say, speechless in the best way.

“Damn straight I did.” Cameron says, nervous, fuck he’s so nervous, he hopes he didn’t ruin this somehow, hopes he didn’t scare you off with this somehow, “Do you still want to – ”

You cut him off with a hot kiss, your mouth searing on his.

It’s all the permission he needs to walk you to the bed, to strip away your clothes as you go. He’s kissing kissing kissing you, and before the both of you know it, the wet clothes are in a heap on the floor, and he’s gently guiding you up the bed, your whole body on display for him.

“Fuck, Cameron.” You groan, covering your face, “Oh this isn’t fair.”

“What? Are you okay -- ?” He asks, terrified for a moment, terrified until you’re reaching for him, demanding him to cover your body with his own.

“You’re so fucking handsome – dammit,” You bemoan, like you’re angry about it. It fills him with pride, so much pride, when you ask him to, “Come here.”

“You really think so?” He asks, desperate for you, for praise, as he rolls on a condom and lines himself up.

He knows you need more foreplay, he knows. But you’re so wet already, he can feel it when he dips his hands between your legs to test the waters, when he guides his hard cock to your pussy as you beg for him.

“Yes, I do, please, please fuck me – oh!” Your mouth drops open so beautifully for him when he nudges the head of his cock in, when he lifts and shifts your hips, shoves a pillow underneath it to keep your body at an angle that he knows will make you feel good as he sinks his cock into you. You’re moaning, hands already grabbing at his shoulders with breathy pants, “Yes, Cameron,”

“I like when you say my name.” He licks his lips, presses his face into your neck as he grinds his hips against yours, presses his dick deep into you and has to breathe evenly, has to bite down hard on your collarbone as he grunts and groans, “Say my name?”

“Cam!” You whine loud as he pulls out and thrusts back in, thrusting into your hot cunt for the first time, the very first time. Fuck, how long had you both thought of this? How long had you craved this? How many nights spent alone in your bed with your hands down your underwear, dreaming of this?

“Cam – er – on – oh shit.” He drags out each syllable of his name on his cock as he punches it out of you, and he feels like he’s going crazy, feels like he’s dying, because it’s so good, you’re so tight and perfect, you take him so well, you’re made for him.

“Tell me, tell me what you like.” He begs, wanting to make this good for you, wanting to satisfy you. He’s big, he knows he’s big, but he wants to show you that the pain of his stretch is worth it. Your pussy is so good that he has to keep his eyes shut, he doesn’t have the strength to open them as he thrusts into you, “Fuck, (Y/N), fuck!”

“Harder, you can go harder, I promise.” Your throat clicks with how wet it is, how you’re literally drooling for him, and that goes straight to his cock.

“Yeah?” He asks, shifting up onto his arms better, wanting to get a better grip, better leverage to pound into you.

And he does, and the smack of his skin against yours, the slap of it, echoes through the bedroom, bounces off the walls and makes him dizzy.

“Yeahyeahyeah, oh my god!” Your eyes fly open and he has no idea what’s just happened, not really, but he hits you in the same spot as he just did and you’re keening for him, absolutely fucking keening.

Your body is luminous under the dim lights of his bedroom, skin slick with sweat, your hair fanned out on his pillow like some wet dream – how was this not a dream? You clench around his cock and his arms almost give out, but he tries his best to ram that spot in you again and again, and soon your knees are coming up to dig into his sides as you babble.

“Oh fuck oh please, yes, yes Cameron!” You’re coming, just like that, right on his cock. You’re coming on his cock and he’s going to blackout, he’s sure of it, he’s going to pass out because nothing has ever felt so good as your cunt tight tight tight around him like this.

“I’m going to, can I?” He chokes out, but you’re still riding through the shocks of your own orgasm.

“Huh?” You ask, and he licks the sweat off his mustache, wants to lick all your come up right out of your pussy, he can feel it, he knows it’s there.

“Can I come?” He asks, begs, pleads, as his hips speed up and he starts to lose the rhythm of it, as he starts to unravel, that heat spreading through from his stomach, lighting all his veins on fire, “Please, please can I come?”

“Oh! Yes, yes Cameron, come.” You nod, encouraging him to pull out, encouraging him to snap the condom off and jerk himself all the way to his own orgasm when you smack your chest and demand, “Come on me, you can come on me.”

He kneels over you, and he doesn’t miss the way you ogle him, doesn’t miss the way you’re staring, as he jerks off paints your breasts with his come in a way that feels so primal, feels so raw, so real.

“Damn your tits look good like this.” He grunts, milking himself for the last bits of all he’s worth, wanting to impress you even with this, even with the size of his load.

“Rub it in.” You’re dizzy, you’re floating, but still you’re demanding, and with shaky hands he cups your tits and smears his thumbs through the sticky pearly fluid, rubs it into your skin just the way you’ve asked.

You hum, pleased, your hands reaching for him, bringing him down for a kiss. He pants against you, tries to catch his breath, tries to get his heartbeat under control because he’s afraid he’ll have a heart attack from how good that felt.

“Hey, (Y/N)?” He asks, when he can finally feel himself starting to settle down.

“Yeah?” You ask right back, shifting more comfortably in his bed big.

He thinks, that he could imagine you here forever, laying there, in his bed with him. He thinks he could imagine you falling asleep and waking up every morning, laughing and smiling and coming with him. He thinks he could, he knows he could. He’s been imagining it for so long, it’s thrilling in the best of ways to have you here, to have you actually reaching for him and holding him, not caring one bit about the mess you’re covered in.

Maybe one day he’ll ask you, when things aren’t so new. Maybe one day you’ll ask him, when you’re ready, when you think it’d be a good thing to do. But for now, he’s got a date to finish, and when you crack an eye open to look at him, he who still hasn’t said what it is he called your attention for, you’re smiling.

“What do you say to ordering dinner delivered?” He suggests, at the same time that your stomach growls loud loud loud, the two of you doubling over into chuckles, dissolving in a fit of laughter.

You hide your face in your hands in embarrassment, the relationship – which thrilled him to think about – still so new for all these silly things to still feel embarrassing, but you’re smiling, and when you peek through the gaps between your fingers, Cameron knows he’s really died and gone to heaven because you kiss him with an,

“I say, bring on the feast.”

-----------

Tagging some friends lol sorry u had to see this with ur own 2 eyes but also i dont care :^)  @adamsnackdriver​ @dreamboatdriver​ @kyloxfem​ @heldcaptivebychaos​  @solotriplets​ @formerly-anonhamster​ @lookinsidemyhead​ @candycanes19​ @adamsnacc-kler​ @the-wayward-rose​ @taylovren-types @whiskey-bumblebee​ @riseofkylo​ @magikevalynn​ @tinyplanet-explorers​ @chelsjnov​ @romancedeldiablo​ @helloimindelaware​ @elfieboxcat​ @laurenshit​ @autumnlovesadam​​ @peterisparker​​ @mp938368 @hidingp​ @goodboybensolo​ @intrestellarsarah​ @the-marvelatic​ @miasera​ @emily-strange​

#kylo ren x reader #cameron bissel x reader #adam driver #adam driver snl #i have no idea how to tag this #holly this ones 4 u #lol

[imhereforbvcky]

Vivid - Part 4

Masterlist  -  Series Masterpage

Summary: Have you ever met someone who completely embodies a color? Not an aura, not synesthesia. Just… They walk into the room and when you spot them, you think to yourself, “Wow. That is a walking hurricane.” When Clint Barton serendipitously meets a free-spirited stranger, he sees red. Chapter: After dropping in on Clint unexpectedly, you are the one left surprised. 

Word Count: 2641

A/N: I’m not even going to pretend I didn’t go for the low-hanging fruit of plot points here. Sorry, not that sorry. I grew tired of belaboring series for the sake of ingenuity. It’s fanfiction, not a pulitzer novel. I want to enjoy writing it sometimes.

1:30am was early. Or was it late, technically if you hadn’t slept yet? Too late for most people, at any rate. But not for you, and not for Clint.

It had been that kind of week and you’d celebrated its conclusion with that kind of night. Which had led you giggling and bumbling into the bodega. And that excursion, of course, then led to thinking of Clint so fondly that you decided to drop by his place.

At 1:30 in the morning.

Totally normal.

“Clint!” Your voice clanged through the open windows of his apartment where he had slung himself over the couch with a two year old bag of frozen peas against his cheek.

He bolted upright, waiting as if he’d dreamt it, as if it had been some phantom of the concussion he was now sporting. Natasha stood in the kitchen, stuffing spinach into the blender but perked an eyebrow at him. He ignored her with great effort.

“Clint, buzz me in!” you called again and this time he crawled to the window and peeked just over the sill, fingertips clinging to the peeling wood. “My hands are full!”

He could see now that it was true. You balanced an enormous pizza box on one forearm and squished a tub of ice cream and a 2-litre of coke in the other.

“Shut the fuck up!” a neighbor hollered and Clint cringed, ducking back below the window.

“You shut the fuck up!” You snapped back.

Clint chuckled from his spot with his back to the wall, knees curled to his chest with the streetlight’s orange glow shooting just over him like a failed search-light.

This was one of the things he liked about you, though it scared him: you were trouble, red hot emotion constantly bubbling just below the surface. Sure, you laughed quickly, but you also cried at Finding Nemo, and angered to boiling at the very first offense. His neighbor experienced the full force of it tonight.

“It’s 1:30 in the morning! Go home!”

“Yeah, I’m aware, Greg. Thanks for the time check!” you shouted back. “Clint! Pizza – burning! Ice cream – freezing!”

“This is bullshit,” the neighbor grumbled. “I’m callin’ the cops!”

“You do that! You fuckin’ do that!”

Natasha snorted from the kitchen. “Are you gonna get that or?”

“When they get here, I’ll make sure to mention those neat little five-leaf plants you’ve got in your bathroom window! They’re so green!” You continued your tirade until you heard the sharp buzz of the door unlocking. “And the smell, boy I think a skunk might’ve walked by…!”

“Fuck you!”

“Nice chat, Greg!” you hollered as you tugged the door open with your elbow.

Inside Natasha stood at the intercom with a wicked grin on her lips. Clint buried his face in his hands, elbows on his knees.

“Why did you do that? Ow!” he complained at the pressure of his own hands on his bruised cheekbone.

“Because you didn’t,” she shrugged, propping the door open by the deadbolt. “Were you just going to let your girl get arrested? That is her right? Your secret person?”

“She’s not a secret. She’s also not… my girl.”

“If it’s not a secret why were you hiding?”

“Because it’s almost 2am and you’re here! What do you think she’ll make of that?” he snapped.

Natasha scowled at him. “That I’m your friend. Who’s keeping an eye on you after you got pistol-whipped by a Hulk-sized alien on an assignment.”

Before Clint could complain further you were pushing through the door.

“Okay, I got pepperoni because I’m cheap and let’s be honest; it’s the best.”

He’d jumped to his feet to help you, taking the pizza as you shifted the ice cream and coke out of your arms.

“Pepperoni’s my favorite.” He smiled something soft and warm.

Spending time with Clint always felt like no time at all. Like you were exactly where you needed to be and time didn’t matter. Every last thing felt comfortable and content and you didn’t worry about a damn thing. The buzzing fire in your veins settled to a cool shiver. Your favorite place in the city was standing right there under the relaxed  calm of his smile.

“Yeah, I know,” you grinned, finally turning your eyes up to him. The smile dropped as quickly as it came. “Holy shit! Your face!”

“I mean, I know I’m no Steve Rogers, but that’s a little harsh,” he joked.

“It’s a very good face, except for the grapefruit sized bruise,” you cooed, holding his chin and turning his head side with exaggerated scrutiny. “What the hell happened?!”

Finally, your fingers slid over the sides of his neck until they rested on his shoulder. It was just a light touch, just a flutter, just enough to excite a shiver up his neck and over his scalp. Goosebumps prickled across his skin as the only evidence.

“Jerk snuck up on me,” he hedged. This wasn’t a conversation he wanted to have, so he shrugged and tipped his head, leaning slightly into your lingering touch. “I’ve had worse.”

“You need some ice.”

Despite all his wishing, you released him. Your fingertips still tingled with the scratch of his stubble as you’d moved over his skin.

The second you turned for the kitchen, your racing heart stopped completely.

“I… h-hi,” you managed, eyes wide and frozen on Natasha.

She waved her fingers in a fluid sweep and pulsed the blender on the smoothie she’d been graciously waiting to finish making.

“Did uh…” you murmured, turning to Clint while he lifted to his cheek the pack of frozen peas Natasha had tossed at him not ten minutes earlier. “Did you know there’s an Avenger in your kitchen?”

He chuckled, glancing to Natasha whose brow pinched together slightly for the briefest moment.

“Uh, yeah. Yeah, she’s keeping an eye on the…” he pointed to his cheek, to the violent purple bruise blossoming across his skin like the purple-black petals of a superstition iris.

“Uh-huh. Uh-huh,” you answered, eyes back on Natasha, in total awe. You’d seen her on CNN for fuck’s sake. She exposed HYDRA. And told Capitol Hill to fuck off. And not even the deepest halls of the US government knew what else.

Yet here she stood in your friend’s kitchen. At two in the morning.

“She and I… we go way back…” Clint started and stopped. How the hell was he supposed to explain his relationship with Nat? It was well beyond friendship, closer than family. There was so much love, but not the same kind of stomach flipping, tongue glued to your teeth, tripping over your feet sort of love that clawed up from somewhere long forgotten whenever you breezed into the room, all red and alive and gleaming. Either relationship was well beyond words to Clint. Certainly beyond his word bank.

“Oh,” you nodded. Then a moment later, “Oh!”

Natasha caught your assumption immediately and turned to Clint with a sharp look. He was too busy trying to find words that would never suffice to stop the freight train that had just jumped the tracks in your mind.

“I… you guys are…” you stammered, walking backward toward the door and pointing between them. “I just didn’t think you had a um… Well not that you couldn’t,” you laughed anxiously. “I mean, you’re funny and so kind and you’ve got those arms there, and shit,” you slammed an open palm on your forehead. “I’m just uh… I’m gonna go.”

By the time you’d finished rambling you had backed your way to the door with a thumb pointing over your shoulder. Without another fumbled word, you spun on the spot and slipped out.

“Damn it. Damn it. Damn it.” Clint complained. With each curse, his forehead thunked against the counter top

“Probably not good for the concussion, Barton,” Natasha chuckled

“That’s alright. A coma would be better right about now anyway.”

There was a light knock before you peeked back inside. Clint perked up and breathed your name, relieved beyond words to see your face again, when he’d thought he’d blown it, lost it already and entirely.

“I’m just gonna…” you took three long strides to the kitchen and swiped the tub of ice cream off the counter before scampering back out with even more haste.

Natasha burst into laughter. Chest full, and dimples deeply carved with mirth. Clint slid to the floor with a groan.

“So are you gonna stop her or do I have to do everything?”

“Stop her how? Say what?”

“Well for starters tell her you’re an Avenger. We’re teammates and frie—“

“She knows who I am,” he grumbled, reaching overhead for the pizza box.

“She knows Clint Barton, the idiot who drinks coffee all night long and eats way too much pizza. The guy who’s always there at two a.m., who makes her laugh, and who apparently has nice arms,” she chuckled.

“Shut up,” he argued with a grin slowly dragging over his face.

“She absolutely does not know what you do for a living.” She handed him the smoothie and he scowled at it.

“I saw her at a promotional fundraiser,” he argued. “She had to know. It’s the only reason I was there.”

“Clint. You were SHIELD first: a spy. Your identity was protected. Then the battle of New York, you mostly kept to rooftops; the media didn’t exactly get any close-ups. You don’t do the press meetings. Unless someone’s looking for Hawkeye especially… you can get away with being a little bit anonymous.”

“Shit,” he mumbled through a bite of pizza. “She said something about there being Avengers at the fundraiser, I thought she was joking! And she totally froze when she recognized you… She has no idea, does she?”

Natasha offered a sympathetic look and a shrug.

“This is embarrassing. How have I never talked about work?”

“I think it’s nice,” she curled up on the floor next to him, stealing a sip of the smoothie. “She just likes you. And you have something outside of the job. It’s good. You need that. We all do.”

He nodded, scooping up another slice of pizza. “I need to tell her though.”

“Obviously.”

“How does she not see it?”

“That you’re Hawkeye or that you’re head over heels?”

He scowled at her and pushed his glass back into her hands. “This smoothie’s gross.”

A week and a half later and Clint had not told you a thing. Instead, he crouched on the edge of the rooftop, peering down at the row of warehouses. Some of them were abandoned. The rest had simply gone still for the night.

Steady fingers spread like a claw over the concrete. Lightly booted feet curled into sharp demi-pointe. If he weren’t in dark leather and neoprene, strapped over and over with sleek pointed weapons and exactly one SHIELD issue handgun, he might’ve looked like a dancer. Clint was always light on his feet, tall and strong in a way that made him agile and lithe.

“Something’s not right,” he worried aloud, clear blue eyes flashing on the small group of giggling twenty-somethings that teetered into the building he was meant to be watching. Abandoned warehouse, one door east and two south of his position.

“Ya think?” Bucky grumbled, watching through the scope of his rifle as the last of them disappeared behind the heavy steel door. The distant ker-thunk of its closing echoed up to his ears a moment later and his finger twitched over the safety. He knew it was in place. Bucky knew his guns like they were permanently attached to his body, but he checked it just in case.

These did not look like the villains they were after.

“That’s the sixth group of idiots in band tees to go in since we got up here.” Clint relaxed by a hair now that there was nothing and no one to see down below. His heels met concrete once more, and he squared his body over his knees. He still looked ready to leap, but less like he was mid-lunge, less like a swooping predator. “It’s supposed to be empty.”

Empty except for the group dealers the Avengers had tracked down. The ones who serviced illegally salvaged alien weaponry out of the abandoned warehouse one building east and two south of Clint’s current perch. The club they intended to lasso tonight in the building that was now teeming with bystanders.

“Only question now…” Bucky dragged the cross-hairs of his scope onto a new group headed toward the building. “Is whether it’s just bad intel, or a set up.”

Clint sighed and turned his attention to the small group as well. A couple of women. They seemed happy. One of them passed something small to another and hopped forward, a small dance in every step. Clint hadn’t noticed he was smiling. It was small and involuntary, the tiniest curve of his lips. The woman threw her head back and held a bottle to her lips, no doubt singing into it. Clint caught a glimmer of color when they passed under a street light and froze.

Red.

“No, no, no, no, no,” he murmured, rapid-fire. This time, crouching further even than before, his fingers curled around the thick ledge of the wall and his feet remained beneath him, arched up on pads, ready to leap.

“What?” Bucky pulled away from his scope, scanning the area for danger, for whatever had Clint so literally on edge. “What do you see?” Eye back on the scope, he saw nothing unusual about the group. So he swept the door, the windows, the roof of the building. Empty. “Clint!”

“Not here,” his voice was a breathless plea. “She shouldn’t be here.”

“Who?!”

Clint looked frantic, fingers gripping and regripping the rough ledge like every fresh hold bolstered him in place, reminded him that he was part of a team and he needed to hold his position.

“Barton!” Bucky barked again. “Who?”

“The one with the coke bottle!”

“Yeah?” Bucky settled on her through the scope, red bottle, red cap inches from equally red lips. Same band tee as everyone else. To Bucky, a harmless, unremarkable civilian. “I’m not seeing it, man. This is a live mission, Clint! If you see something off, you’ve gotta tell me. Who the hell is she?”

“She’s—she’s… I don’t know… We--I…”

Agitated by his partner’s distress, Bucky followed the woman, kept her tightly within his cross-hairs and with a gentle practiced finger snapped the safety off.

“She’s a friend. A… She’s my person.”

“Are you fucking kidding me, Barton?!” Bucky clicked the safety back in place and glared at his partner, his friend. He was ready to fire on a civilian because Clint couldn’t form a sentence when he laid eyes on a goddamn crush.

“I’ve got action on the southwest corner,” Sam’s voice crackled over the comlink. “Definitely packing.”

Bucky, still glaring at Clint, saw his eyes go wide and the decision flash firm in his jaw. Bucky only managed two words after that.

“Clint, don’t—!“

But Clint had already launched himself over the edge of the building.

It wasn’t a long drop. The buildings weren’t skyscrapers, just a couple of stories high, just enough for a few forklifts to create monuments to forgotten consumerism out of crates and pallets.

His landing was loud anyway. Clint rolled onto the empty roof of a delivery truck with the deep bellow of reverberating aluminum. The noise was thunderous, almost matching Bucky’s anger, but Clint kept rolling, right down the windshield until he found his feet on the hood and leapt forward onto crumbling pavement. Then he ran.

“The hell was that?” Natasha worried in Bucky’s earpiece.

“Barton’s lost his goddamn mind over a girl,” he grumbled in answer. “He’s on the ground now. I’ll cover.”

Chapter 5 >>

#clint x reader #clint x barton reader #clint x reader angst #clint barton x reader angst #clint fanfic #clint barton fanfic #avengers fanfic #vivid 4 #vivid part 4

[aspiratinganxiety]

i totally agree with another anon who thinks jason is v inexperienced at romance stuff - so can i request nervous cutie 19/20 year old jason confessing his feelings to his first ever girlfriend? i think that would be adorable and you'd do it justice

I love baby Jason. I’m not even shy about it. Sweet little heart all in his hands with Much Confusion about pursuing relationships because he’s been spending all his time pursuing vengeance. Ugh. Thank you for this request, Anon. Thank you. 

Tag List: @nxttime, @possiblyelven , @thepuckishrogue , @jinkies-its-a-writer , @queeniepearls (If you want to be tagged, let me know! For more fics, check out my masterlist.) 

Today is the day. He’s going to do it. It’s simple. It’s going to be simple. Even if you don’t want him, your friendship can still be salvaged. People don’t hate hearing that they’re attractive and funny, and smart, and… kind. 

So kind.

That’s maybe the only thing that’s kept him from just outright asking you any of the times you’ve been together in the last week. The chance that you’d agree to be with him only because you don’t want to hurt him. Like, what if you just fake it along, hoping that he’ll move on or you’ll find somebody new yourself? What were the odds that you’d say okay because you enjoy hanging out and there’s nobody better around? 

Is it worth it? Would he want you to just say yes, even if it’s because you’re only being nice or passing the time?

Jason doesn’t want to think about it. Being the friend you agree to take on a pity date isn’t the top worry here. There are mountains of real complications to consider if you do share an interest in being together. Namely, that he’s just skated off charges of multiple homicides and continues to commit acts of extreme violence against people on a near nightly basis. 

He thinks you kind of already know, though. Maybe not everything, but more than you’ve let on. Jason stops his train of thought and pulls in a deep breath. His mind is running away from him.

This is supposed to be simple. This is supposed to be normal. 

You are the one normal thing he has in life. 

A polite series of knocks sound at the door to his civilian apartment. You have a key, and so he knows that you’re not knocking for entry. You just like to give him a heads up before letting yourself in. 

Know better than to startle him, that’s for sure.

“I brought the stuff for puppy chow, Jay!” you titter excitedly as you breeze through his front door. You’re having a movie night, and you’ve made it all the way uptown to his apartment wearing nothing more than a sweatshirt and some pajamas. Honestly. How could anybody not love you? You rode the subway in Gotham City wearing fluffy bunny pajamas! 

God, he really just doesn’t even have a chance, does he? 

“Fantastic!” he calls in response, bolstering his false sense of cheer with the genuine happiness he feels seeing you. His nerves are still dancing, but he won’t ruin his shot before he takes it. “First though, what the hell is puppy chow? I assume it’s not actual dog food.”

You chuckle, hustling into his kitchen. The canvas bag over your shoulder reveals chocolate chips, peanut butter, powdered sugar, and some Chex. “Of course not. I told you all about it over the phone on Tuesday when I was asking you what I should bring. Do you remember the phone call on Tuesday? I mean,” you pause, momentarily halting your efforts to reach up on tiptoe and snag a large mixing bowl from the cupboard. “To be fair, you’ve been pretty out of it this week.”

“Oh?” Jason feels a trickle of nervous sweat creep from his armpit down his ribs when he lifts an arm to scratch at the back of his head. He’s wandered into the kitchen after you, taking up a post with one hip propped against the sink as he watches you work. “Whaddya mean?”

You turn to face him with an incredulous expression. The spoon just used to scoop a generous dollop of peanut butter into the bowl hangs from your mouth so that the remaining product doesn’t go to waste. Your next action is done without thought, and he knows this. That’s why it feels so wrong to watch with avid fascination as you pull the spoon from your mouth, dragging your lips over it and sucking the utensil clean. 

He watches anyway, and he sweats with more intensity. 

“Jason, are you okay? Did you get hit in the head again like you were on Christmas? I feel like maybe you’re concussed and pretending not to be… again.” 

You seem nervous too now, big sweet eyes all crinkled up in a concerned wince. He shrugs, shaking his head and desperately racking his brain for the words he’d practiced. He shifts his weight awkwardly on his feet. Patiently, you continue to stare at him with that same damn look on your sweet pretty face.

A dam breaks somewhere in his mind. All of the agonizing anxiety escapes from his mouth with the torrent of clumsy sentiments he’s been misarticulating all week: “I want to be your boyfriend.”

Understandably, you balk. “What?” 

“To be with you, I mean. Or- uh, what I meant to say was that you’re so great, and I was just wondering if maybe you thought, or felt like… or something like that?”

The spoon clatters on the counter. You scramble to keep from letting it fall to the floor, looking shocked more than concerned now. Certainly, though, you don’t look happy.

God. He’s such an idiot. He ruins everything. 

How did he butcher this so badly? 

“What are you asking me?” you say softly, as though you’re afraid of his answer. 

“Nothing, forget it.” Jason knocks his fist into his forehead a few times. “Please forget I said any of that.��� 

“You’re not being fair, Jason.” You sound like you’re crying, and a whole new wave of confusion hits him.

“Excuse me?” he asks. “What does that mean?” 

Your hand presses into your belly, a tell for just how upset you’ve suddenly become. You huff a few times, rubbing back the tears pricking your eyes. “You’re gonna’ ask to be with me, but you’re not even gonna’ try to tell me first? I thought that’s what you were waiting for…”

“Hold on, what? Wait a minute-”

“Oh, come on!” You stomp your foot, a juvenile and unexpected expression of discontent. “That you’re the Red Hood. You haven’t made a real move on me because you were waiting until you told me that you were the Red Hood, right?”

His voice sounds very small: “…uh?” 

“Oh, my God.” It’s your turn to shake your head. “Seriously? If it wasn’t that then what was it?”

Honesty is the only thing Jason has left at the moment, and so he’s honest. “I’ve never dated anyone before, and I had no idea how to ask? Also,” he squints at you. “Vigilantism. Yeah. But mostly I just had no clue what I was doing. Clearly.” He motions between the two of you as though displaying a piece of evidence. 

Your face burns so hot you’re sure it’s pinker than your PJs. “Oh,” you coo, brushing some hair behind your ears and looking at your feet. “That’s my bad then. I probably should have just asked you.” 

“Yeah!” Jason points, playful accusation bold in his tone. “Yes, you should have asked me to be your boyfriend. Do you know how many weeks I’ve spent trying to think of the right things to say to you? The things I’d say if you said ‘yes,’ and I’d have to tell you about Red Hood?”

“Oh!” You’re back to being loud, sheepish demeanor entirely vanished. “Oh, so you weren’t going to tell me at all unless we were already dating?” 

“Those are the rules!”

“Whose rules?”

Jason scoffs. “Don’t ask.”  

The two of you migrate closer together throughout the discussion. Before you know it, you’re close enough to prod his side as you fire off another response.  “I already asked!” 

A chuckle escapes him in a giddy puff. You know where he’s ticklish, and you are not sorry. You jab a few more times, and he lets you. Only when an actual trill of dumb laughter threatens to leap up his throat does Jason put a stop to your paltry revenge. He snatches you up in his arms and stares down at your loosely restrained person. 

“So, we’re dating now?” He sounds hoarse and unsure. Not smooth. Not sexy. Not any of the things he was supposed to be. 

You purse your lips. “I mean, yeah. But really though, you weren’t going to tell me?” 

He shrugs, ornery and so happy he could burst.

“Jerk!” you giggle, wriggling to wrap your arms around him too.

#Jason Todd #Red Hood #Jason Todd fanfiction #Red Hood fanfiction #Jason Todd x Reader #Red Hood x Reader #Batfam #Batboys #Batcanon by Beth #DC #DC fanficiton #aspiratinganxiety writes #Anonymous

[thatgoddamnwizard]

✘ Why did you deliberately meet my gaze the day we met?

My muse has to tell nothing but the truth for 10 asks.

Ask them funny questions, get personal, query about the people around them or pester them for their deepest darkest secrets - go wild! Include ✘ with the asks!

My subconscious and I had a long, unpleasant chat about that once. He’s kind of an asshole, my subconscious, real good at telling it like it is whether I like it or not. Also he’s a better dresser than me, all kind of suave and put together. The jerk.

Anyway, it went a bit like this.

_______________________________________________________

I often say I had a grueling week because, well, I often do, but this week set a new standard definition for the word. It started out normally enough– whatever the hell that means in my case– but then quickly escalated when someone that I had been investigating decided he didn’t like being investigated. 

Things happened. There were a bunch of goons with tire irons, fists, boots, and a ready-to-fire paralysis spell, some angry vampires hellbent on vengeance, a lot of blood and bruises, a concussion, and a few episodes of not-so-blissful unconsciousness.

Oh, and Marcone. There was a lot of Marcone in this mess, which of course cranked my surly wizard factor up to eleven.

We’d escaped the vampires by hook or by crook, got trapped in a snowstorm in the middle of the wilderness, took shelter in a cave. All of that gets told elsewhere. My point here is that I fell asleep in that cave, utterly spent, battered and scarred, and my magic was still suppressed by the remains of the thorn manacles that we hadn’t been able to completely remove from my wrists.

I came to awareness standing in darkness, not the moonlight-dappled darkness of the cave we were in, with its coarse, uneven floor and looming walls and damp, musty scent, but someplace smooth and flat and endless, featureless, but for the pale luminance spilling on the floor in a circle ahead of me. A simple folding chair stood in the circle of light, and a man sat in the chair, his arms folded across his chest, eyebrow raised as he studied me with his dark, glittering eyes. He was something akin to a mirror image of me, except he was dressed all in dark, custom-fitted clothes, sported a well-trimmed beard, and didn’t look like he’d just gone ten rounds with the Hulk. He wore the same black leather duster that I wore, though he wore it better. The jerk.

“It’s about damn time,” said my doppelganger. “We need to talk.”

“We really don’t.” I wasn’t in the mood. “We really, really don’t.”

One corner of his mouth turned up in a smirk. “The fact that you really, really don’t want to talk about something is usually an indicator that you really, really need to, Harry.” 

“Don’t care,” I said. “Tired. Good night.” I turned to start walking into the darkened space around us, hoping that it would lead to peaceful oblivion and then maybe something resembling a normal dream (at least as far as these things go for me), but in the blink of an eye, he was standing in front of me.

“Can’t let you walk away from this, man,” he said. “It’s too important. You need to work some things out here. There’s too much at stake, and you need to understand why you’re doing what you’re doing or you’re going to end up somebody’s dinner. Or somebody’s pet. Or both.”

That rankled. I wasn’t particularly one to psychoanalyze myself, to dig up all sorts of hidden reasons why I do the things that I do. Yeah, I’ll question my motivations, if I’m doing things for the right reasons, if what I’m doing is right or wrong. But psychobabble isn’t really my thing. 

“Yeah,” I said. “Because deep, quality introspection is so important when you’re trying to stop a supernatural gang war from breaking out in Chicago.”

“Hell’s bells,” my subconscious grumbled, passing his hand over his face in a gesture of sublime irritation. “Look. You’re dreaming. I’m your friggin’ subconscious. That means you’re a captive audience here until you wake up, and that’s probably not going to be for a while, considering the state of your physical body. You can go running off into any dream you like, but I’ll be hounding you the whole way. So make it easy on us both and sit down, shut up, and listen.” He pointed to the circle of light, where a second chair had appeared, situated across from the first one, as if by magic. Abracadabra.

And just like that, I was sitting across from him in the chair, mirroring his body language, arms folded across our chests, legs crossed at our knees, scowls on our faces. “Fine,” I said. “Talk.”

My double regarded me for a few seconds, and then pointed to his left. I looked and saw Marcone, leaning against my desk and looking at a battered, bloodied figure that sat on the floor, propped against the wall. I did a double-take. The bloodied figure was me. Wow, those guys had really done a number on me. Marcone was cool and collected as ever, regarding me with a level of composure that belied the pain he must have been in after weathering his own attack.

“Yeah?” I said. “So?”

My double sighed. “Marcone is attacked, and the first person he goes to see about it is you. Despite the fact that you have, on multiple occasions, told him where he could stuff his job offer.”

“He’s relentless like that. But so am I.”

“So why did you decide to work with him this time?”

I glared at my doppelganger. “Because,” I said, then paused. “Because I’m trying to prevent a goddamned supernatural gang war, for Christ’s sake.”

He arched an eyebrow at me. “So you decided to team up with one of the players in that up-and-coming blockbuster.”

“I didn’t– I’m not– I’m not teaming up with him,” I protested. “We’re not bosom buddies. We just–”

“Why did you let yourself get drawn into a soulgaze with him?” 

I blinked at the sudden shift in topic. “What? I didn’t let myself–”

“You let yourself. You’ve been habitually avoiding eye contact with people since you were old enough to know what it could do. You tempted fate. You did it because you wanted to see him for who and what he was. Why’d you do it? Of all the people, all the enemies you’ve encountered, why’d you do that with him?”

I didn’t really like where this was going. “He was a threat. I wanted to take his measure. See what I was dealing with.”

“And?”

“There’s no ‘and.’ Just that.”

“Bullshit.”

I sighed. “Okay, oh wise and stylish guru. What else is there?”

He smiled. “You saw something in him, before you ever locked eyes. Something that looked an awful lot like you. Drive, determination, the ability to be an ice-cold bastard when the situation called for it. You weren’t just taking the measure of an enemy. You were taking the measure of a potential ally and friend.” Then the bastard winked at me, actually winked. “You also thought he was kind of hot.”

The sounds that came out of my mouth sounded more like a choking Ringraith than anything human. “I what?!”

“You heard me.”

“I did not!”

“Did so.”

“Did not!”

“You really did.”

“Okay.” I stood up and kicked the chair away hard enough to knock it over. “This conversation is over. I’m not gonna sit here and talk about my latent sexual tendencies with my freaking subconscious. Especially in regards to Marcone.”

He held his hands up in a placating gesture. “Okay, okay. There are more important things to talk about here. But you really ought to look into that. It’s not healthy to repress. It’s the twenty-first century, man. It’s okay.”

I glared at him and repressed.

“Look,” he said. “I’m not suggesting you should trust the guy. But I’m saying that you’ve seen him like few other have. You’ve seen sides to his story that he doesn’t let anyone get a peek at, and he let you see them. Deliberately. He has a vested interest in keeping the city free of unchecked bloodshed and violence. War’s bad for his kind of business. You can be sure he’s on your side as far as all that.”

“Marcone’s on the side of Marcone,” I mumbled.

“Yeah. You’re right. You two just happen to have the same goals at the moment– minimizing the death and destruction that you’re both going to be ears-deep in if you don’t work together to prevent it from happening in the first place.”

I didn’t say anything. My double glanced to one side, then back to me. “We don’t have much time left. I’ve just got one more thing to say.”

“What’s that?”

“Do you really think Ariana and her vampire mod squad are the only allies this new player has?”

“What do you mean?”

The world was fading around me, and I could feel myself getting dragged reluctantly towards the waking world, but I heard him say, as if from a great distance: “Where’d he get the hellhound?”

#pragmaticvillainy #lmao this turned into a book #hope you like it! #tell the truth meme #guess i'll tag as #fic #too #since it turned into one #long post #dresden files

[jimlingss]

Hello dear!! Do you still write drabbles for DOL? I think the girls parents reaction whn meeting jimin for the first time in his human form would be fun n cute, knowing jimin knws them pretty well. N jimin's reaction himself! He'd be so overwhelmed n touched tht they can finally see him right? Btw i love this fic so much idc how long it is im gna keep rereading it until i die lol

oh my god, I thought people would forget about the DOL drabbles ahahahaha. I learnt I’m not a huge, huge fan of writing drabbles, just cause I always have so much to say that the word count gets ridiculous and it’s no longer a drabble and I like leaving my finished stories as is without messing with them further. But I guess since I opened Pandora’s box....why not...

Devil’s Own Luck Drabble #6

Read the originalRead the other drabbles

Words: 1.2k

Summary: Jimin finally meets the parents he’s known his entire life....technically they’re not ‘the’ parents, but also ‘his’ parents....they just don’t know that.

{Age: 24}

“Shouldn’t you be a little more nervous?”

Jimin strolls up to the house with his hands in his pockets, whistling like he owns the place or he’s the son of some rich mogul, eyeing the land like he’s going to buy it all. “Why should I be? I know them probably better than you do.”

He throws his arm around your shoulder, laughing at your little pout. “Yeah, but they don’t know you.”

“Don’t worry about it. Didn’t you know? I’m charming.”

“You’re a demon,” you correct and with a sigh, your finger presses on the doorbell. It’s not like you’re feeling particularly anxious either —you just hope he doesn’t burn down the place.

On the other side, the tinkling bell sound echoes throughout the home and then there’s a stampede of footsteps, loud murmurs leaking through the open window. In the next breath, the front door is swinging open and your mom’s standing with a smile, eyes flickering to your face before the male beside you.

“This must be...”

“Jimin!” He grins. The breeze cards through his fluffy brown hair, eyes crinkled into half moons like an angel and he extends his arm, shaking her hand. Aside from when it concerns you, if the demon be emotional, he would feel pretty touched right now. After all, your parents have long been his parents too. This is the mother-figure he’s been around while growing up with you, the closest thing he’s had to a maternal figure, and now she could finally see him.

“It’s nice to meet you,” he says with a soft smile.

“It’s nice to meet you too.” Her eyes are wide and she clears her throat, shifting the door so it’s open wider. “Come in, come in! You both must be starving. The trip must’ve been tiring.”

“It wasn’t too bad.” You take off your coat, throwing in on the hanger. “Where’s dad?”

“Here.” A man stands at the living room doorway, arms crossed and brows furrowed, expression stern. Yet, Jimin doesn’t feel the slightest bit threatened. If anything, his grin expands and without thinking, the idiot devil runs over, engulfing the man in a hug, making him stagger back with an ‘oof’.

“Jimin!” You gasp, jaw dropping and eyeballs nearly falling out of its sockets.

They’re going to think he’s insane.

But your mother just laughs at your dad’s shock, finding it all too amusing. And all at once, your dad’s strict facade crumbles, and he peels your boyfriend off from his body. “Sorry…” Jimin finally register what he just did, but he’s still too excited to repress his grin. “I just heard a lot about you, that’s all. It’s great to finally meet you.”

“Uh..um...no...I-....that’s completely fine.” He clears his throat. “I’m….uh...looking forward to getting to know you better.”

“Y/N, why don’t you show him to the kitchen?” Your mother tells you as she joins your dad’s side with a fond smile.

Okay. You take it back.

You’re getting really nervous.

And it’s not because you’re afraid of your parent’s reactions or of Jimin becoming jittery and accidentally setting fire to the walls of your childhood home. Rather, you’re afraid because he’s too goddamn comfortable!

The man skips happily into the kitchen himself without you having to show him the way and he peers into the pot on the stove. He takes the ladle and swirls the stew. “Oh! I love this!”

Your mother trails behind with a surprised expression. “You do?”

“Yes! I like how soft the potatoes get.” He smiles and then stumbles, nearly slamming into the wall when you harshly nudge him. “I mean…..it looks soft. And I like it because it smells so good!”

He awkwardly laughs and you might get a concussion with how hard you want to facepalm yourself.

The demon skedaddles away into the dining room before your mom can get in another word and he brushes past your dad who’s still setting up the table. Jimin’s nose presses on the window and his palms press against the clean surface as he looks outside into the backyard. “Oh, you repainted the porch? I like the light birch colour.”

Your dad freezes. His neck cranes. “What.”

Jimin’s face pales and he turns his head too, stiff smile pulling on his lips. Fuck. He realizes his mistakes and he wonders if he could just temporarily possess your parents and put them into bed and make it seem like this was all a dream. He could start over again. But you probably would not appreciate that. At all.

“Y/N was telling me about it.”

“She didn’t know I repainted the porch.”

“She told me it was a dark brown before,” the demon counters with a mischievous glint to his eyes, though sweat begins to drip from his forehead.

Your dad lifts a brow in suspicion. “She told you the colour of her old porch?”

“The things we talk about…” Jimin nods and pinches the bridge of his nose. “....it gets very detailed sometimes.”

You barge into the conversation with a piercing scream. Both males turn their heads towards you, flinching from the sound. And you fist pump the air. “I...I am just so, so excited to tell you about what’s been going on lately! We should eat. Right now. So I have time to tell you my stories!”

All your hair is falling out.

All your hair is turning gray.

This was a terrible idea. No matter how much your parents asked about meeting your ‘new’ boyfriend, you should’ve known better. You should’ve known three decades would be shaved off of your life from pure stress.

“You know, you feel very familiar,” your mom interjects in the conversation in the moment you’re caught off guard, taking a rest from chatting and accidentally daydreaming.

Jimin quirks his head to the side, amused smile on his plump lips. “Am I?”

“Like the son I never had.” She laughs and you breathe a sigh of relief. It still surprises you how she’s taken a liking to him already and it’s almost offensive how your parents ignore you.

“You know, now that you mention it, it’s kind of funny,” your dad starts. He swallows his mouthful and looks at the devil beside you who’s innocently batting his lashes, the apples of his reddened cheeks making him ironically look like a cherub and every parent’s dream child. “Didn’t Y/N have an imaginary friend named Jimin?”

“Really?” He props his elbows onto the dinner table, hands threaded together and underneath his chin. He slightly turns towards you. “You did?”

“Y-yeah…” You swallow hard, wondering how the hell he could make you suffer like this in your own home. You were the only one suffering under the burden of his secret and he was having a good old time being chaotic as usual.

“That’s right.” Your mom snaps her fingers and sips her wine. “She loved that imaginary friend so much, couldn’t stop talking about him for years. She ate with him, talked to him, took baths with him, even said she slept next to him. I thought there was something wrong, but thankfully she grew out of it.”

No one notices.

But you’ve been with Jimin for twenty years and you catch the ghost of a smirk on his lips.

“What a coincidence.”

#DOL drabbles #Jimlings #LOL I hope you enjoy this and I haven't lost my touch for DOL #rather than being overwhelmed - Jimin would be touched slightly #and then he'd be over it and pretty casual about the whole ordeal #maybe a tad too comfortable? #I wouldn't be surprised if he cuddled up to OC's dad after and mumbled an apology about the ladder ordeal back a few years ago hahahahhahah #and rather than finding it cute OC would be stressed #ENJOY! #Anonymous

[whumpmakesmesquiggly]

Hi!! I'm not v active in the community I LOVE your ocs and I saw you were looking for prompts? Okay so: A knows B can't be doing too hot--not according to that excruciating voicemail B left. A heard C's voice, knows what C is capable of. A finds B, fearing the worst, when B makes some sort of tiny noise or movement to let A know they're alive. It's open ended from there! And if you ever want a writing partner please hmu, I have SO many ocs that I love to use and I def want to learn about yours!!

Ah, I love writing with people and I’m so glad you like my ocs! I was a little hesitant to add them, I mostly share fanfics online so it’s fun to think about doing original works too. 

As for your prompt, your wish is my command. (Feat. an oc belonging to my friend elphaba-fang, because our ocs are all interconnected)

Character A: Ammy (elphaba-fang’s creation)

Character B: Connor

Character C: Unspecified baddie

Ammy slammed a file onto the front desk and glared at the sergeant on the other side. “Paperwork done, sir.”

The old man grinned crookedly at the beat cop. “Thank you, officer. Now get your scrawny ass out of here.”

Finally. The people around her gave her a wide berth as she stormed out of the station, eye twitching and teeth set in a grimace. Ammy was tired, she could still feel the mud and slush in her hair and all she wanted was to go home. Never mind that they’d accidentally stumbled into a drug bust, that her partner had pissed off the narcotics detectives and gotten sent home, the highlight of the day was definitely when that purse snatcher had tackled her into a snow drift while trying to escape. She felt like there was snow in her damn underwear.

Pulling on glasses to negate the way that the sun made the white ground nearly blinding, Ammy began to head down the street and turned on her phone. It was nice to see it working again after the beating it’d taken in her spill. There were two messages, the first from her bank wanting to talk to her about something or other, and then the second one…

///Hey, Ammy, pick up please…/// She stilled to a stop, the foot traffic around her continuing on its way as she listened to her partner’s voice. Connor was whispering and there was an edge to it… ///So, I did something stupid. I went to confront Mathews,/// The lead detective, her mind supplied. ///and obviously that didn’t go well and I think I’m suspended now, but on my way home I thought I saw the guy with the beanie from the warehouse and I’m not totally sure but I think he’s following me.///

The man with… Oh, shit, the man who’d run from the bust. She could hear the sound of a door being unlocked over the tinny voice message. ///I dunno if I’m actually as paranoid as Johnny says I am but I’d really feel better if you’d pick up–/// Then there was another voice on the phone and Ammy began to run. That was him, that was definitely the man from the warehouse. She’d approached him about a busted tail light, how was she supposed to know that there was a deal going on and one of the other men was an undercover. She heard Connor react in surprise, then a sound of movement, sounds of flesh impacting on flesh, an unfamiliar grunt of pain, crashes and then a thud before the message cut.

Connor only lived a few blocks away. He wasn’t far. He wasn’t far but the message was from forty minutes ago. One block to go. He fought back, Connor’s self defense skills were a lot better than when they met. Ammy barreled into the apartment complex, almost running over an older woman in her haste. Dammit, why’d he live so far up and why was the elevator never working?

As she pounded up the stairs to the third floor, it didn’t occur to her to call for backup, she just wanted to get to her partner as soon as possible. Door 305…door 305…

The door was open and she stumbled into the room, pulling her personal piece as an afterthought even as her eyes were desperate for signs of the younger man. The couch was moved out of place and a chair had been upended while the coffee table was shattered into kindling. The porcelain vase that Anne had gotten him for his birthday was also in pieces, the aloe plant lying limp on the carpeted floor. Ammy gritted her teeth as she stepped over the tipped over lamp and around a pile of books that had fallen from the bookcase by his TV. Miraculously, the electronic devices were all intact. It had been one hell of a struggle. She scanned the room to make sure it was clear and stalled at the sight of Connor.

The younger man was curled up behind his couch, his back to the door and completely still. There was another lamp on the floor next to him, incriminating crimson stains on the heavy base. For a second Ammy couldn’t breath; it was as though her body was trying to mimic the stillness in front of her, to prove it didn’t have to mean he wasn’t breathing himself. Connor wasn’t dead, he couldn’t be dead, she couldn’t have to tell his brother, she couldn’t go to their co-workers and–

Then his foot twitched.

Scrambling to his side, she hesitated before trying to pull him onto his back. Connor let out a muffled sob and curled further in on himself and she jerked her hand back as though burned. She couldn’t tell what kind of injuries he had and the likelihood of some of them being internal was too high to move him. So she scrambled for her phone and punched in 911, rattling off their address and that there was an officer down while trying to think over the pounding white noise in her ears. The blood matted in his hair was scaring her the most, she knew head wounds bled a lot but… He twitched again with another little moan and she shuffled over again.

Ammy grabbed his arm as he began to shiver, he flinched away and whimpered again so Ammy made a soothing noise as she rubbed his shoulder. “Easy, easy. It’s okay, help is coming…” She tried to help prop him on his side, worrying about his unsteady breathing. He groaned and she braced herself against the guilt that swirled through her. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry Con. I’m just trying to help.”

Most likely recognizing her voice, Connor’s head moved slightly as he tried to look up at her and she smiled at him. “Hey, it’s okey. Help’s on the way.” There was movement at the door and two EMTs entered, quickly taking control of the situation but Ammy continued to hold on to his shoulder as long as she could. “It’s going to be okay, Con. I promise.”

The ride to the hospital was a blur, Ammy unable to look away from Connor’s pale face. The mask that was helping his thin chest move up and down covered much of it but couldn’t cover the blood and bruising. The noises of the car and the bright colors marring her partner’s face all started to blend together, creating a static that covered her eyes and filled her ears until–

“Ma’am?”

For a second Ammy couldn’t think of where she was, the dull walls and gentle noises throwing her off. Then she realized she was seated in the waiting room, had been there for a while based on the clock, and a doctor was watching her carefully. He smiled once he knew she was aware of her surroundings again. “Your partner’s been brought out of surgery and his brother has been contacted. He’s listed you as one of his next of kin so would you like to go over his condition?”

“Yes. Please. I-Roy’ll be a while. He was away on-Yes, please tell me.”

“Alright. He’s got quite the concussion but the bleeding is under control and we’ll keep him under observation. He’s broken several ribs and fractured one of his wrists.  Lots of bruising, little worried about his kidney but overall this could have been a lot worse.”

Ammy slumped forward, head on her knees. He smiled kindly and patted her on the shoulder. “He’ll be in a lot of pain for a while and need help and care. We’d like to keep him here at least for one more day to make sure everything’s where it should be. Would you like to see him? He won’t wake up for a while but it might be good for you to be there when he does.”

She agreed quickly and soon found herself seated next to the hospital bed with one hand grasping the limp one resting on the white sheet. Trying to ignore the various tubes and wires attached to her partner she let out a long breath. Connor was cleaned up but the bruising on his face still stood out against his pale skin, the white of bandages peeking out from under his gown. Impulsively Ammy reached out and ran a knuckle over his brow, noticing the lack of tension that normally characterized her partner. “They must have you on some damn good drugs.” Unsurprisingly Connor didn’t react but she continued anyway. “I shouldn’t have let you leave like that. I mean, I know you had to go home but I should have driven you there and made you stay there because of course you would have this happen. You just…attract crazy, you know that?”

“…would…explain why you…’re still here…”

She grinned, squeezing back as he held her hand. “Hey.”

“Hey, did they get the make and number of the semi that ran me over?”

“Funny. He’s a damn comedian. No!” He had slipped his hand out of hers to try to take off his mask and she quickly stopped him. “Keep that on, idiot. You broke some ribs, you need the help.”

“Knew I felt like crap.” Connor looked up at her blearily. “What happened?”

“What happened was that I got a very disturbing voicemail and found you half beaten to death in your apartment.”

“Oh.” Connor nodded slowly. “Yeah, no, I think I’m starting to remember. They catch the guy?”

“I dunno, I’ve been a little busy!” Ammy huffed and rubbed a hand over her face. “Con, new rule, if you think you’re being stalked you go to the police office, not a secluded spot where they can corner you. Got it?”

“How often do you see this happening? Don’t answer that…” Connor shifted slightly and his eyes widened. “Please don’t tell me…”

“They’re worried about your kidney.” Ammy grinned.

Connor groaned, flopping back. “Shut up.” He tested his other hand, wincing at the pull on his fractured wrist. “I bet this is going to start feeling a lot worse before it gets better, huh?”

“Just imagine how it’ll feel when the bosses find out what happened.”

“Oh man…” Connor sighed. “I forgot about Mathews. Dammit.”

“Brought that one on yourself, partner.” She stood up. “I’m going to get the nurse okay?”

Before she could step away, Connor put his free hand on her arm. “Hey, thanks. For finding me.”

She moved her fingers through his hair for a moment, indulging in his rare openness to being touched. He leaned into the contact slightly, letting out a little sigh as she grinned. “Every time Connor, every time.”

#original work #connor (oc) #ambulance #beaten up #comfort #concern #hospital #in pain #passed out #platonic touching #playing with hair #prompts #rescue #shivering #touch face #vulnerable #wounded #whump #whump prompt #prompt fill #whump community

[divergentfic]

The Soldier - Chapter 12

They were not a fairy tale.

They were the collision of a thousand stars destined for a calamitous fate.

Pairing: Eric/OC

Fandom: Divergent

Rating: M

Tag list: @jojuarez26 @beltz2016 @tigpooh67 @lostinthebeans @bloodymagicalfoxes @tumbleswithdamon @beautifulramblingbrains @pabegay1 @noor-xo @itsspecial-itsnotforeveryone @seriskye @kenzieam @a-l-l-t-i-m-e-l-o-s-t

A/N: It’s 4 a.m. sorry if I forgot to tag anyone, but let me know if you want to be tagged in future updates!!

"They're late." He reminded me for the third time in the last fifteen minutes.

"I know."

"Do they know where we are?"

"Yes."

"Then why aren't they here?"

"I don't know."

I watched him pace back and forth in front of me, his questions and anxiety were starting to make me nervous. I patted the ground beside me.

"Come sit," I offered.

"No, thanks."

I sighed. Partially in annoyance and partially in exhaustion. It was the middle of the night and it would be morning in a few hours. I doubted that I would sleep tonight. I rubbed my eyes, I was getting used to living on little sleep. Having real assignments from The Bureau was exciting but it was starting to take its toll.  

The constant thud, thud, thud of Skylar's shoes was beginning to lull me to sleep. Other than his footfalls, it was dead quiet and I could see myself easily napping against the tunnel wall I sat against.

I yawned and, as Skylar passed by, I grabbed the fabric on his pants.

"Sit. They'll be here soon. Relax." I made it sound like an command and he took it as one.

Since our lengthy conversation a couple days ago where Skylar admitted his aptitude test was inconclusive and where I explained who I was and who I worked for, he had become compliant. Extremely compliant and extremely uneasy. Even Jenna and Calvin began to take note of his behavior change and made comments on how I was being nicer and allowing him to follow me around like a lost dog. It was a good thing The Bureau were able to extract him so quickly, I don't think I'd be able to take anymore of Jenna's teasing.

On the other hand, it worked for our benefit that people were noticing Skylar's erratic personality changes. It would make his faked suicide more believable.

He sat next to me, closer than I would have liked, and cleared his throat. I groaned and opened my eyes, ready to hear whatever he was going to ask. Lately, he was full of questions and I answered them with as much patience as I could.

"Are you...?" He raised his eyebrows at me, hesitant to finish the sentence. "You know..."

"Am I pregnant?" I said, rolling my eyes. "Yes, and you're the father. Congratulations."

He did not think that was funny.

"No. Are we the same...?"

"Are you asking if I'm Divergent?"

He was visibly uncomfortable with the word. "Yeah."

"Of course. They wouldn't trust someone genetically impure to be a spy."

"Oh," was all he said in response and I closed my eyes and was on the brink of unconsciousness when he shook me awake.

"Someone is coming!" He hissed.

Two pairs of heavy footsteps echoed down the hallway to us and I shot up. That better be them.

They came into view, lugging a long, heavy metal container between the two of them. They shuffled down the tunnel to us and I welcomed them one of them a genuine smile. "Hey!" Braden greeted me and dropped his end so he could take a quick break. "We have to be fast, everyone is waiting outside for us."

I told Skylar to help carry and the four of us lifted the container down several more hallways and out into a secluded spot overlooking The Chasm. The Pit was dark and empty. We got close to the fence and the dark water below was violent. I gagged when they unlocked the trunk. Covering my shirt over my mouth and nose, I inspected the corpse in its semi-fetal position. It was freshly dead, the blonde curls twisted on its skull and the mouth was agape.

"He doesn't look like me," Skylar said.

"It will once it's been in the water for several hours." Braden rolled up his shirt sleeves before he started dragging the body out of the box by the arms. "Take off your shoes and watch."

Skylar was reluctant but he helped decorate the corpse in his personal belongings. "My father gave me that watch," he muttered, mostly to himself.

I watched as they lifted the body up and over the barricade. I stood back, still covering up my nose, while they held it propped against the railing. Braden gave the final push and the body tumbled over the edge. We watched it hit the water of the chasm in silence and I flinched at the sound it made upon impact. A cold shiver formed at the base of my neck. It didn't sink right away. It floated and bobbed, face-down, until the current carried it from view.

Braden broke the silence with a laugh. "You're officially dead. How do you feel?"

Skylar, who had been steadily turning greener during the whole ordeal, responded by leaning over the railing and vomiting into The Chasm.

"He does that." I told them, fastening the lock on the now-empty container. It stank of rot.

Braden laughed again, pounded him on the back, and told him to get it all out. Skylar shuddered. I was sure this was traumatic for him, I don't think he'd ever seen a dead body before.

The container was now a lot lighter and I offered to carry it. Braden led the way back through the tunnels, his voice was loud and I would have warned him that he was making too much noise, but I was glad he was here. We exited out one of the side doors of the compound. I wondered where the Dauntless guards were. The night air was still with no wind, voices near the train tracks carried easily over to us and increased in volume when they spotted us.

They greeted us with shouts and smiles, their mismatched clothing a bewildering sight. I scanned their faces, there were seven of them. My first encounter with the factionless. Braden exchanged words with them and they circled around him, focusing on the words he spoke and acknowledging Skylar when he was introduced. Their faces dirty, their eyes hungry as they devoured Braden's words and he talked to them like a leader but with an occasional smile and a familiar twinkle in his eye.

"I can take that." The trunk left my hands by the factionless closest to me, the girl whispered so as to not interrupt the conversation next to us.

"Oh. Thank you."

"No problem, Olivia."

Startled, I stared blankly at her, wondering how she knew my name. She held the container at her side and smiled up at me with cold eyes. Leaning in close, her grin widened, revealing missing teeth. "I couldn't believe the stories Braden told after he recruited me. Had to come and see for myself. You look the same, can't say the same for myself though."

Addie. Her name rose up through my throat and lodged there as I recognized her. What the hell was she doing here? I cautiously stepped back, preparing to run if I needed to. She stopped smiling, which only emphasized how lopsided her face had become. Her nose veered drastically to the left, her right cheek puffy, and her right eyebrow split down the middle as if stitches had just been removed. She had once been pretty, I think. I don't remember. Rubbing my hands on the side of my pants, I tried to wipe off the feeling that was growing, a sticky feeling that made my hands itch.

"What happened to you."

I didn't frame it as a question because we both knew the answer.

She wheezed a laugh. "You mean besides our fight?"

"I thought you went back to Erudite."

"For a little while. At least that's what they tell me, I don't remember anything. I had a concussion." Her uneven smile appeared again and I felt like crying.

"Addie," I didn't know where to begin. "I'm so sorr--"

"Save it. The past is the past... Are you crying?"

"No." I blubbered.

She sneered and took a step forward. I took half a step back, uncomfortable at how close she was. "I knew there was something different about you from the day we met, Skylar must have realized it too. I thought you were so strong and kind and I'll admit I admired you. But I now know who you are, someone who preys on the weak to make themselves feel better and doesn't know when to stop. You're the worst kind of pathetic and I hope you get what's coming to you."

She jumped out at me and I shrieked, but her fingers merely poked my sides.

"Ad. Leave her alone, we need to go." Braden came to my rescue, I'm not sure how much he heard, and I quickly wiped my eyes.

"Whatever," she shrugged. "See you around."

Her promise made me shiver. She left with the factionless, walking to the tracks to wait for the next train. Braden and Skylar lagged behind. Braden gave me a pat on the shoulder and I'm sure Skylar was only hanging around because he didn't want to be left alone with the factionless.

"Good work, we've got it from here. Get back to the dorms before someone notices you're missing."

"The security footage. Will it be erased?" I continued wiping my eyes. They were dry but the pressure was oddly comforting.

"Yes, they've probably taken care of it already." Braden shook his head at me, opening his arms. "You worry too much."

"Stay safe." I responded, hugging him tightly.

"You too." He gave me a small smile before he turned to join the rest of the group but Skylar didn't move, looking at me like he wanted something.

"Don't touch me." I warned him. I didn't give out hugs to just anyone. Skylar cleared his throat and looked at his feet.

"Thanks." Was all he said before he hurried after Braden. Such small appreciation for all I've done for him. What an asshole. But as I watched them walk away there was a strong desire to follow, to be with others who understood. Or maybe to spend more time with Braden. We used to spend all of our time together, and now our brief encounters were not enough. Now everything was so complicated. I'd give anything to go back to when all we did was train and throw massive parties that always caused trouble. Or maybe I wanted to explain myself to Addie. It tore me apart to see what I had done to her and her words stung more than I'd like to admit.

I got back to the dormitories before anybody got up for the day. I laid on my cot, buried under a pile of blankets and listened to the snores that filled the room. My muscles were tense and my throat was sore. I could feel a headache forming at the center of my forehead. My heartbeat was pulsing through my body, I could feel it in my fingers and toes. Trying to focus on its rhythm, I squeezed my eyes shut but could only picture how Addie looked that day, crumpled and bloody beneath me. I repeatedly and silently wiped my cheeks with my hands and then wiped my hands on the sheets. I could feel something on my face but as hard as I tried, it wouldn't scrub off. I needed something else to keep my hands occupied, like a cigarette.

I laid there, shivering and sweating until I heard the sounds of people getting ready for the day. Realizing I was beginning to scratch my face, I turned over on my stomach and laid face-down on my pillow, keeping my hands beneath me. When I heard Jenna's cot squeak and heard her rummaging around for her shoes, I moved. Flipping over, rotating my wrists, and stretching my muscles to let her know that I was waking up as well.

With the dormitory mostly empty, I changed into fresh clothes, redid my ponytail, and untied and tied my shoes until the loops and knots were perfectly symmetrical. I stared numbly at my reflection in the mirror while I brushed my teeth. Blood vessels had popped in one of my eyes and there were faint vertical red lines on my cheeks from my nails. I looked like hell. I spit out the toothpaste and chewed on them, cutting them down to the nail beds. Before I left, I stashed the small vial of Memory Serum I kept under my bed in an inner pocket of my jacket. I was on edge and the serum offered some comfort. I was half-tempted to drink it myself. There were things I wanted to forget and the concept of starting over was more than appealing.

I could only stomach eating half a bowl of oatmeal and a banana for breakfast. Today was the last simulation of the second stage. I only had to get through the next twelve hours or so. My initiation was almost complete and it couldn't end soon enough.

"Where's your little friend?" Jenna asked, pulling at her hair, a bad habit I'd seen her pick up recently.

I groaned, waving my hand to dismiss the question. "Don't know. Don't care."

Calvin threw his spoon into his empty bowl in mock disgust. "How am I supposed to enjoy my meal without the interactive theater art piece that is Lovesick Skylar." But he took the rest of my breakfast and lifted up a mountain of oatmeal on his spoon, eating it in one bite. "You look like you've been crying," Calvin said with his mouth full, "did you and Skylar have a lovers quarrel?"

"No. I haven't seen him since yesterday," I kept my voice flat but couldn't help add on, "and we're not lovers."

"Somebody better tell Skylar, it'll be news to him." He loudly whispered to Jenna and she barked out a laugh.

I was too tired to object and rested my head against my hand as I gave them both a disapproving look. These two always caused trouble when they were together. As Calvin finished up my food, I stood up and swung my legs over the bench. "We're going to be late for simulations if we don't hurry."

They agreed and continued to tease me about Skylar while we walked to the simulation room and while we waited in the hallway for Four to call us back. But as more and more time passed with no sign of Skylar, the quieter Calvin and Jenna became on the subject. It was highly unusual for a initiate to be late or skip a simulation, especially the final one of stage two.

An hour later and halfway through the initiates, Four emerged from behind the door to call Skylar's name and the hallway was quiet in response. "Skylar." Four repeated dully, scanning the hallway. Not finding him, Four made a note on his tablet before moving on to the next name.

"Olivia." My knees popped as I stood up, my legs were stiff from sitting on the ground.

There was a ringing in my ears and the taste of cotton in my mouth as Four wished me good luck and pushed the needle into my neck. I closed my eyes when I began to feel the serum take affect. The heaviness behind my eyes was thankful for a moment of peace even though it didn't last longer than a couple seconds.

I stood at the end of the chasm, my body hanging halfway over the railing as I held onto the hands of a struggling figure dangling over the water that crashed and foamed. They were heavy, my feet constantly slipped on the wet floor and I had to use my legs as leverage against the fence to keep myself from toppling over as well.

"Hold on!" I called to the person below and she looked up at me and screamed. A wide-mouthed scream that was piercingly loud and inhuman. Blood ran from a cut in her eyebrow and her hands were clammy. Her fingernails scratched my skin and I winced as she tried to crawl up the sleeves of my jacket. She was making this difficult, our hands kept slipping and my shoes couldn't find purchase on the ground.

I tried to lift her up to where she could grasp the railing but I could only raise her a few inches before dropping her back down, my arms and shoulders burning from the exertion. She only screamed louder, her screeching rattled my ear drums and I winced. I tried to lift her again and this time I could only move her about an inch. I knew I had to let go, I couldn't pull her up. The simulation would end once I let her fall into the chasm. But the more I stared into her scared eyes, the harder we clung to each other. The muscles in my shoulders strained and I grunted through my teeth at the pain. I couldn't let Addie fall.

After trying to lift her up one more time, the fight left me. I gasped for air and blood dripped down across our clasped hands from fingernail puncture wounds in my wrists. "I'm sorry," I said and released my grip. She stopped screaming and only let out a small gasp as she free fell the rest of the way down to the waters that violently welcomed her.

The simulation disappeared, fizzling from my consciousness until Four and the room came back into focus. I was too numb to move just yet. Four worked on the screen off to the side and commented that I had been in for sixteen minutes, my longest time yet. My cheeks were wet with tears. I fucking hated that I was crying again.

Four didn't hold open the door, like he normally did, and I barged through it myself. Opening it with a clang, I stormed off down one end of the tunnel, drying my eyes on the collar of my shirt. Frustrated to have performed so poorly on the final test of stage two and with phantom soreness in my shoulders, I continued to wipe my eyes on my shirt, cursing to myself under my breath.

I should have jumped on that goddamn train when I had the chance.

I eventually made my way into The Pit. Calvin was hanging out on the other side, chatting with what was left of the Erudite transfers. Christ, that boy will talk to anyone. He tried to draw me into their conversation as I walked up but I had no interest in making pleasantries. Holding onto the fabric of his jacket sleeve, I pulled him away from the group and Davis whispered something to Lillian. I heard them mention Skylar.

Calvin was perfectly content in being dragged away. "Where are we going?"

"I don't know."

"Oh, okay."

I didn't have a destination in mind but we ended up in one of the training rooms. He immediately sprawled onto one of the fighting mats, singing a song until I told him to stop and stand up. Groaning, he got to his feet and moved into fighting position, mirroring my actions.

"Initiation is almost over," he reminded me, "you don't need to train me anymore." I didn't respond and took small steps toward him, figuring out what I would teach him today. He took similar steps backward, keeping distance between us. "We could go back to The Pit? Or get our belly buttons pierced?" He suggested.

"You have good defense, but I think it's time to learn some attack strategies." With a beckon of a hand, I motioned for us to change positions and soon I was the one walking backwards as we moved around the mat. "Watch where your opponent keeps their hands. Are they too high? Too low? Where is their weakness, where is the best place to first strike?"

He aimed for my face but I blocked his fist with a forearm. His hand bounced off my arm and I barely registered the contact.

"Again. Faster. Put more force behind it." I ordered and then blocked the next punch he threw at me. I pushed against his shoulder and sent him reeling back. Next, he aimed for my ribs and made a noise of frustration when I jumped out of reach. I shoved him in the shoulder again and he struggled to stay on his feet. I wanted him snap, to really attack me. He wouldn't learn unless he able to tap into his anger and use it constructively.

I allowed him to make contact, he was beginning to put more strength behind his punches. My arm stung where he had struck and I swept his legs out from under him. He landed harshly and his face flushed red. Springing up on his feet, Calvin lunged forward, putting all of his body weight behind his next attack.

The fist came at me in what seemed like slow motion and I stood still as it made contact with my cheek. I wasn't sure why. Curiosity, maybe. My head lurched backwards and Calvin exclaimed in horror.

"Fuck! Are you okay?"

"I'm fine." I swept my hair out of my face and raised my fists again. Adrenaline pumped through my body. It didn't hurt enough, my head was still clouded with thoughts of my simulation, he needed to hit me harder. "Let's keep going."

"Hell no."

"Come on," I said, talking a step forward while he took two back.

"Shit, Olivia. Stop. What's wrong with you?"

"Don't be a bitch. Hit me!"

Calvin's mouth was agape and there was shock on his face. The door to the training room opened and Jenna burst in, breathing heavily as if she had been running.

"I've been looking for you guys everywhere. You need to come see this, everyone is in the pit. They've pulled a body out of the chasm."

"Is it--" Calvin didn't finish his sentence but he didn't have to. I touched my cheek, it was getting puffy. I could feel a lump forming on my cheekbone. When I pressed down, pain shot up my face and across my skull.

I trailed after Calvin and Jenna down into The Pit. She was right, it was full of people and they gathered around The Chasm. I lost my friends halfway through the crowd. They pushed their way to the front and I slowed down, already knowing what waited at the front of the rows of Dauntless. Calvin was the first to come back, his face white as a sheet which made his freckles stand out even more.

"Olivia..." Calvin reached and grasped my arm in a comforting manner, but I shrugged him off. I didn't want to hear him say it. I had to see it for myself. My head and cheek began to painfully throb in sync. I left him and stumbled forward, receiving grumbled complaints from the shoulders I bumped into. The corpse was crumpled on the ground and surrounded by a puddle of water. Waterlogged. Its face was turned away and its blonde hair still dripped water. I hadn't realize before now that Skylar and Addie had the same color hair.

I gagged. My breakfast turned in my stomach. It was as if Addie was the one lying there, and I wasn't completely sure that it wasn't. After all, I had let her fall into the chasm less than an hour ago in my simulation. I did this to her. I killed her. I wasn't sure whether I should scream or cry and after a couple breaths of hyperventilation, my body eventually chose the former. I couldn't keep the tears back and was surprised there were even some to produce. My breaths were still heavy and uneven and black dots spotted my vision. Calvin and Jenna were there, rubbing my back, shushing me, and telling me it was okay. This only made me cry harder and I could hear myself echo off the walls of The Pit. I also heard some conversations around me begin to hiss of disapproval at my public display of emotion.

"Seriously, Olivia. Stop." Jenna suddenly became more frantic in her pleas. I smelled the scent of cigarette smoke.

"Are you crying, initiate?"

His voice was loud enough that I saw those in my peripheral turn to see who spoke. I clamped my hand over my mouth and tried to stiffen the sobs. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

"Pathetic." He snubbed out his cigarette under the heel of his shoe.

The grip on my arm was tight and it was hard to cover my face with my hands while he dragged me away from the crowd. We had not traveled far down one of the tunnels when he pushed me against the wall, blocking me from leaving by placing both hands on either side of my head. Light from The Pit threw dark shadows across his face and I couldn't bear to look at him. I wished I could disappear into the sharp rock wall I felt against my back. I took deep breaths, trying to control my hyperventilating. His voice was not loud and it didn't need to be.

"You embarrassed yourself out there. You should be thanking me for pulling you out before anyone else, especially Max, saw. That is not an impression you want to have on your future employer. Are you okay?"

I could tell he was trying to comfort me, in his own way, but it had the opposite affect. My breath continued to hitch in my chest and tears still leaked out at a steady pace. Eric was quiet while he waited for me to respond but then his voice drastically changed to become dangerously low and menacing.

"Shame. You had so much potential."

Shocked, my eyes snapped to his. Although I could feel the heat radiating off his body, his face was stone-cold and his eyes hard. He had never looked at me like this before and a new emotion of shame burned and paralyzed me. I was stunned into silence. My breath was uneven while I hiccuped, but the tears stopped.

He continued. "I trusted you with Dauntless secrets. I thought you could handle it, but this is how you act? Disappointing." My face flushed and my hands clutched his jacket, unable to handle the way he was speaking. His last word hung heavy in the air and the disapproval hurt more than the forming bruise on my cheek. I could feel it in my rib cage, a burning feeling that made me sick to my stomach.

We stood in silence, the rising and falling of our chests the only movement. Eric sighed and I felt his breath on the top of my head. He leaned in and his tone was softer when he spoke in my ear.

"Better?"

I nodded, staring blankly into his chest. My knuckles were turning white. I wanted to pull him closer, to eliminate the space that remained between us, but I didn't know how to communicate that. Instead, I released him before I did anything stupid and started to wipe off the tears that covered my face. Eric helped. He ran his thumb under my eye, wiping away a tear I missed. I winced at the contact, my cheekbone still throbbing in pain. "Your cheek is swollen. Did somebody hit you?"

My voice was hoarse. "Calvin."

"Why?"

"We were sparring."

He held back a laugh. His fingers were cold as he gently touched the bruise and it felt nice.  "You should put ice on it."

I hummed in agreement and he laced our fingers together, pulling me further down the dark tunnel. He let go of my hand when we reached an elevator. My palm was sweaty and I discretely wiped it on my pants. We traveled up to one of the top floors and my ears popped along the way, I had never been up here before. Eric entered a code on the lock on one of the doors, it opened into an apartment with high ceilings and a wall of windows.

"This isn't the infirmary," I said.

"I think the infirmary is going to be busy today."

He was in the kitchen, rummaging through the freezer while I stood in the entryway. The furnishings were new and tasteful. My eyes locked onto the couch. Sweet Jesus. By the time Eric was done in the kitchen I had taken a seat and melted into a cushion. I was exhausted, my sleepless night caught up to me and my puffy eyes were heavy. It been a long time since I experienced something so comfortable.

"Do you live here?" I asked him as he walked over with an ice pack.

"No," he replied sarcastically, handing me the ice. I laid down, letting gravity hold the ice pack against my cheek, and closed my eyes. I'm so fucking tired.

"Don't fall asleep, you can't stay here."

I told him that I wouldn't but everything was growing distant, I was already too far gone, and I peacefully slipped away. My dreams were colorful and fast-faced and before I knew it, I was awake and confused at where I was. My feet pushed against the edge of the couch, stretching my limbs. The couch moved, and when it cleared its throat I quickly withdrew my feet. Eric was sitting on the end, working on his tablet, and I hurried to sit up, embarrassed that I had been pushing against his leg.

"What time is it?" My voice was raspy and dry.

He didn't look up. "A little after seven in the morning." He tapped away at the screen, his clothes had changed and his hair looked freshly styled.

Shit I had been here all night, Jenna and Calvin must be wondering where I am.

"Why didn't you wake me up?"

"I tried to," a hint of annoyance in his voice as he looked up to make eye contact.

"Oh." I said, diverting my eyes to the floor. My shoes were underneath the coffee table; I don't remember taking them off. I ran my fingers through my hair, I had to piss. "Where's the bathroom?"

Eric jerked his head in the direction of a hallway and I threw back the blanket on top of me to stand up. I also don't remember falling asleep with a blanket. I closed the bathroom door behind me and turned on the faucet. I stuck my mouth under the running water and took long gulps, quenching my thirst. I then rubbed at the sleep lines on my face as I stared at myself in the mirror. I'm really in the shit now.

After I finished up in the bathroom, I returned to the living room. He was in the kitchen and the blanket had disappeared, no doubt folded up and stored somewhere. I eyed the door of his apartment, it was time to leave, I'm sure I had more than outstayed my welcome. I crept towards the door and said with my hand on the handle, "Thanks for letting me crash here but I should--"

"Do you want coffee?" He interrupted, not turning around from where he was filling a coffee pot with water and stopping me in my tracks. I chewed on my bottom lip while I contemplated, it did seem rude to sleep and dash.

"Uh. Sure." He took out another mug and I came back, tentatively leaning against the kitchen counter. His tablet was next to me and showed what looked like paused surveillance footage. A lump formed in my throat as I recognized the location and noticed the numbers in the corner of the screen dated back to a week and a half ago. Why was he looking at this?

"What are you working on?" I asked.

"It's classified."

I almost started to apologize but then realized he was joking and let out nervous laughter.

He continued. "Just something I've been trying to figure out. Maybe you could help?" He tapped on the screen a couple times and handed it to me. Black and white video of a familiar Dauntless garage was playing and my hands shook as I watched the video. The video was less than a minute and it could have been a picture because the scene didn't change from that of an empty and silent garage.

"Nothing happened." I said, stopping myself from also letting out a sigh of relief. I tried to hand the tablet back.

"Are you sure?" He didn't take it and instead started the video over from the beginning, walking behind me to watch it over my shoulder. "About two weeks ago, Dauntless vehicles were vandalized while parked in the compound. Watch this truck here," he pointed to the vehicle on the left but it was hard to concentrate on anything at all when I felt sweat beginning to form on my brow and the pressure of his hand on the small of my back. Around the 40 second mark, the position of the truck shifted slightly, as if air had been released from its back tires. Or something.

He took the tablet from my hands. "What happened?"

"There's a glitch, like footage has been erased."

He nodded. "Good. The rest of the Dauntless leaders also noticed that the tapes had been tampered with. And without any video evidence of the perpetrators, everyone thought they got away with it."

I didn't like the way he phrased the last sentence. "But?"

"But earlier this morning I thought about accessing another camera in the room, one that was mounted inside one of the vehicles." He spoke   nonchalantly as he crossed the kitchen to fill both mugs with steaming hot coffee. "Sugar?"

"Huh?"

"Do you want sugar in your coffee?"

"Oh, no thanks."

He knows. He knows. He knows. This thought pounded over and over in my head.  He gave me one of the mugs and I took a sip, quite a big one, scalding my mouth although I barely registered the pain.

"Careful, it's hot." He warned me, blowing into his own cup, the corner of his mouth lifted in a smirk. Oh God he knows and now he's playing with me! What a stupid idea it was to stay here. I was cornered. I thought over my escape options. Throwing the coffee in his face and running to the door seemed like the best option. I may be able to surprise him enough to get some distance but I knew it wouldn't be easy to get out of the compound. Eric could warn the Dauntless guards or he could come after me himself and I doubt I would be able to fight him off in real combat.

I took another large sip and grimaced back at him. I needed to stall as long as possible until I could form a better plan. "Who else knows?" I asked. "About the vehicle surveillance camera?"

He tilted his head at my questions, as if he was confused. The bastard. "Just us, for now. I'm going to forward the video to Max."

Eric's phone rang in his pocket and I jumped at the sound. He looked at the screen, huffed in annoyance, and set his coffee down on the counter. "Excuse me." His arm brushed against mine as he left the kitchen and walked down the hallway, closing a door behind him before his muffled voice filled the apartment.

I lifted the mug to my mouth again but stopped myself and set it down beside Eric's cup. I shouldn't drink anymore, my tongue was pulsating inside of my mouth from the heat and I sure as hell didn't need the caffeine to wake up and energize me. Now was the time to run, but how far could I get? I wasn't sure what floor of Dauntless I was on and I didn't know how to get back to the main level.

While I quickly walked to the door, an idea struck me like a lightning bolt. My hands scrambled around the inside of my jacket until my fingers wrapped around a small glass vial. The Memory Serum. Almost tripping over my feet, I stumbled back into the kitchen and poured several drops into his coffee mug. He would forget the past couple of days which would give me enough time to contact The Bureau and have them change the vehicle's surveillance footage. Relief flooded through me and I wiped my forehead with the back of my hand, removing the sweat. I tapped my fingers impatiently against the counter, waiting for Eric to come back. I needed to see him drink it.

He took his sweet time and I was seconds away from exploding when he finally emerged from one of the back rooms.

"Sorry about that, where were we?"

He smiled at me, a second, somewhat suggestive, meaning behind his words. I beamed at him and gave him his coffee. "You were telling me about the new footage you found."

"That's right."

He raised the coffee to his lips but then lowered it without taking a drink. I gave a massive, internal groan. "So get this, it's exactly the same as the other camera."

I paused and questioned if I had heard him correctly.

"What do you mean the same?"

"It's obvious that someone tampered with the footage. It should have shown who broke into the garage, but there's nothing. Who ever slashed the tires was smart enough to account for all the cameras in the room. I think they had help from somebody high in command and Max needs to know. You look like you've seen a ghost. What's wrong?"

The question was still in his eyes as he raised his coffee to take a sip.

I didn't even think. I   smacked the mug out of his hand and we both watched as it shattered   against the tile. He jumped away as the hot liquid sprayed around the   kitchen.

"What the hell--"

The exclamation had   barely left his mouth when I rushed forward and threw an arm around   his neck, pulling his face down to mine until our lips crashed together. I couldn't think of anything else to distract him from the fact that we were standing in broken glass of what was once his coffee mug.   His hands remained still for only a second before they wrapped around   my waist and he dragged us closer together, pressing both hands into my back to deepen the kiss.

I tightened my grip   around his neck and opened my eyes to see his reaction. I was surprised   to see that his eyes were closed. I closed mine again and relaxed   against him, trying to concentrate on what I had just gotten myself   into. He was warm and his lips were soft. He tasted like smoke and toothpaste.

He walked forward until my   back hit against the counter. His arm moved down to the back of my   thigh. A small gasp escaped my mouth as he effortlessly picked me up and   set me down on the counter, standing between my legs. I felt him smile   against my lips at the sound I made and then he moved down pass my jaw, my fingers curled   into his hair as he nibbled at the side of my neck.

When he switched sides,   one of my hands moved higher up his scalp, the other pressed against  his  shoulder blade, and my legs crossed around his waist, pulling him   closer. His hand was firm inside my knee as he held me in place while   his mouth moved up and down my neck and then across my jaw until I grew   impatient. Not able to take his teasing anymore, I forced his mouth to   come back up to mine, sighing as he complied, and he took my mouth again  with  an equal amount of hunger.

The sound of the   doorbell rang through the apartment. "Ignore it," he murmured, bringing   his hand up from my knee to cup my face.

The doorbell rang again and there was a hard knock on the door. This time he groaned, pulled back, and   rested our foreheads against each other while I caught my breath. I   opened my eyes and his sharp blue eyes filled my vision. They were   filled with annoyance at the interruption. He leaned in once more and   pressed a kiss against my lips, one that was surprising softer   than the others had been, before he stepped back and pulled his   shirt down. I was unaware that I had been tugging on it and had managed to pull it up.

When Eric walked away I slid off the counter, landing uneasily on my feet, my socks soaked from the spilled coffee. I carefully picked up the pieces of glass and set them on the counter. God forbid somebody step on them.  He opened the door and exchanged brief, unintelligible words with the visitor before slamming the door shut. As he returned to the kitchen, I met him in the living room and his arms found their way around my waist again.

"Who was at the door?"

"Four." He led us to the couch.

"What did he say?"

His lips, which had found their way back to my neck, parted and sighed at my question. "Another initiate has gone missing."

I pulled back. "Who?"

"You."

I searched his face in confusion until he explained further. "Four was here to warn me. Your friends have reported you missing and soon he'll be obligated to tell everyone that he's seen security footage of us entering my apartment yesterday."

"I should go."

"I know," he said but didn't move, and it wasn't until I stepped back that he let go. His sudden absence left me cold as I hurried to the front door. I had forgotten about them, but I bet Jenna and Calvin were worried sick. When I turned to shut the door behind me I saw Eric sit down, leaning forward to rest his head in his hands and pull on his hair. For half a second I was tempted to stay.

"Oh thank GOD!" Jenna exclaimed when I finally found my way back to the dormitory. "We thought you were dead too, they were about to start searching the chasm for your body. Where the fuck were you?"

"I fell asleep. I'm sorry." I patted Calvin's head. He threw his arms around me as soon as he saw me.

"Olivia, where are your shoes?" Calvin observed.

#divergent #divergent series #eric divergent #Divergent Eric #the divergent series #Eric #Eric Coulter #divergent eric fanfiction #fanfiction #eric divergent fanfiction #Eric/OC #eric x reader

[thebachelordiaries]

‘Straddling For A Rose’: The Bachelor Ep. 3 Recap

Hey, it’s me back with another last-minute Bachelor recap. This episode was about doing it doggy style in a trailer park....oh no wait, that was just the themes for the two group dates.

Here’s small anecdote for you: When I’m in the car with my dad and it’s too hot, I like to tell him to turn on the air conditioner just a tad. However, he is a man of extremes so he just blasts the A.C. until I turn into a fucking icicle. The same goes for when I tell him he’s driving too slow; he immediately starts speeding and I fear for my life.

What I’m trying to say here is that my dad is in charge of picking out dates for this season of The Bachelor. For several seasons now, we (or maybe just me) have been complaining that the show recycles the same old, boring dates.

Well guys, my dad (the show’s writers) are finally listening.

“Oh you want new group dates? We’ll give you fucking new group dates,” a producer yells manically, spit flying everywhere.

Anyway, I’m rambling more than Lauren S. on her 1-on-1 with Arie (spoiler?), so let’s get this recap started.

GLOB Group Date

The psychopath show writers (my dad) decided upon demolition derby (sorry not sorry about your concussion, Brittany) and now, they chose WWE wrestling, or the lesser known GLOW (Gorgeous Ladies of Wrestling), However, in this case, it’s GLOB (Gorgeous Ladies of the Bachelor). GOT PARENTHESIS?

The women on the date learned how to wrestle, or at least pretend to wrestle, like the pros, while these washed up women wrestlers with faces that look like melted candle wax talked shit to them, making my girls Bibiana and Tia cry.

This old hag asked Bibiana if her mom knew how to spell when she gave her that name. I would’ve snatched her wig SO QUICK.

“Bitch, you don’t even know my mom.” -Bibiana

Then another old lady pulled Tia’s hair, who probably had in her extensions, and homegirl was not having it. I would’ve been done too.

Bibiana and Tia get it together after a good cry and end up battling each other as Bridezilla and a Southern Belle. Bibiana’s costume was actually hysterical.

“I’m the Bridezilla and I’m about to eat these bitches for lunch.”

Lauren B. had a hard time getting the acting part down and kept laughing. Lauren, how are you going to convince me to buy overpriced skincare or a cheap curling wand on your Instagram story if you can’t even get your fake acting down? Do better.

I just want to talk about Maquel as a lunch lady. Poor Maquel deserved a rose just for having to wear this outfit. That mole was actually disgusting.

The fights went like this: Bekah the Sex Kitten vs Maquel the Lunch lady. Jacqueline the Beauty Queen vs Krystal the Cougar. Maquel the Gold Digger vs Lauren B. the Princess [this match was slightly pornographic but producers definitely put in some added audio in there.] Bibiana the Bridezilla vs Tia the Southern Belle.

Also, we can’t forget the cameo from a Bachelor favorite, Kenny King, an actual pro wrestler. He clearly let Arie win, but damn, I love Kenny. He’s so entertaining. I’m glad he was brought back.

I mean, someone needed to show off their abs on The Bachelor, and we all knew it wasn’t going to be Arie.

The cocktail portion of the group date took place in an RV park; just another redneck place to make Tia feel at home.

Arie told Krystal that it’s hard to have her in a room with a lot of other women and he has to “check himself.” Kind of like how I have to check the sound settings on my television to make sure Krystal’s voice isn’t actually that annoying. But alas, it is.

Krystal sucks so much. She thinks her time is more valuable than everyone else’s and that its okay if she takes that time away from other girls trying to get to know Arie to “decrease her competition.” Tia may feel at home in a trailer park, but Krystal, you’re actually white trash.

In other news, Bekah straddled Arie. I’ve also decided that his hand grabbing of the face move is weird.

I’m really happy I procrastinated this recap because Saturday Night Live did a Bachelor skit called “Car Hunk,” which referenced Bekah’s short hair.

Fake Bekah: I have short hair. Isn’t it the weirdest thing you’ve seen in your life?

Fake Arie: Yeah, but somehow I still like you.

Fake Bekah: That’s because I’m barely 21.

Fake Arie: Oh yeah, that’s what makes me horny.

Gross, but true.

TFW you think you have the strongest relationship with The Bachelor but the girl on your left (our right) just dry humped your man in a trailer, unbeknownst to you.

Arie gave the rose to Bekah because...”you were outstanding today and tonight you were amazing.” I swear to god those were his words. Juan Pablo was more articulate.

1-On-1 With Lauren S.

When Lauren S. is chosen for the 1-on-1, I’m convinced she is Arie’s favorite. I’m basing this on the fact that both Lauren Bushnell and Vanessa Grimaldi got 1-on-1s on the third episode.

Lauren S. is pretty, funny and I feel like she’s a bit too normal for the show. I really like her, even if her face permanently looks like this:

Lauren and Arie take a private Jet to Napa where they go wine tasting. They show a lot of their casual conversations, which I take as a good sign, even if they are about basic things like going to bed early and drinking wine; Arie isn’t the best conversationalist anyway.

But Lauren just keeps on talking, and talking and talking...and talking. Arie is so done with her that he starts eating the prop food.

Why nobody eats on dates: the contestants eat separately before the date so when they are televised, nobody is making gross chewing noises for the cameras and mics. The food is supposed to be untouched and probably has been sitting there for hours. However, Arie’s clearly bored AF with Lauren S., leading to this low-key hilarious segment.

Arie initially said Lauren is what he’s looking for in a future wife: beautiful, mature and with a great job.

At the end of the day, Arie ~thinks~ that’s what he wants, but in reality he wants 22-year-old manic pixie dream girl who straddles him in a trailer park instead.

Arie sends Lauren home and nobody knows where she is going; Will she just fly back home and meet her luggage at the airport? Nobody knows.

When the producer picks up Lauren’s suitcase from the mansion, everyone is shocked. Caroline starts crying and then Krystal starting giving this annoying speech.

“Get off your high horse and stop being so condescending to everybody because you met his dog,” says Caroline, regarding Krystal.

Caroline just seems incredibly likable so if she doesn’t like you, you’re probably on America’s shit list. 

Dog Training Group Date

I’m not going to call this date “Doggy Style” like the perverted show writers. Instead, I’m going to say the girls had to train already trained show dogs and put on a performance. Everybody failed miserably, except Brittany, who deserves not one, but two Emmys for her amazing performances as a tree and lamp.

I swear Chelsea can see dog shit on the ground and somehow relate it to being a mom and how “serious” she is about being here. And that’s just what she did during her alone time with Arie. By the way, I still don’t like her face.

Annaliese is the only form of entertainment for the second half of this episode. Once again, she had another “traumatic” childhood experience that directly related to this group date. I’m not going to mock her for that, because almost losing your eye from a dog bite is a totally valid trauma. However, her neurotic personality is fun to watch. 

Annaliese started felling a lot of pressure to kiss Arie since all of the other women did it already. Unfortunately for her, she’s 32 and too old for this 36-year-old grey-haired man. 

His body language says, “I’m just not that into you.”

I literally don’t remember who got the group date rose. I think it was Chelsea. Because she’s a mom and deserves it more than anyone else, or some shit like that.

Rose Ceremony

Annaliese’s freakout over not kissing Arie carries over into the rose ceremony.

She asked Arie if he wants to kiss her and he says, “I don’t think we’re there yet.”

At this point, we all know Annaliese is probably going to go home, and she does too. She basically tells Arie to send her home and was pretty mature about it. I hope she has a good talk with her therapist and turns this new “traumatic” experience into a positive.

Bekah wasn’t the only woman to straddle Arie this episode, Jenna did too. Jenna reminds me of my roommate from college. They’re both unpredictable and insane but like, in an endearing way.

Since two women already went home before the rose ceremony, only one woman didn’t get a rose. That was unfortunately my girl Bibiana. 

Were Arie and Bibiana a match? No. Could Arie ever handle a woman like Bibiana? No. Did I think she should’ve stayed around longer because she’s the most entertaining thing about this show? Yes.

The positive is she is going to appear on The Bachelor’s Winter Games. At least ABC knows a good thing when they see it.

I’m going to end this recap with....Arie sucks. And so does Krystal. Wait a second, maybe they are perfect for each other.

#The Bachelor #bibiana #arie the bachelor #arie luyendyk #thebachelordiaries #thebachdiaries #photo credit: ABC

[b-o-s-t-o-n]

Infatuated- Part XV

"If someday the moon calls you by your name, don't be surprised, because every night I tell her about you" -Shahrazad al-Khalij

Belle's fingers absent-mindedly tapped on the TV remote as she laid her back against an uncomfortable hospital pillow. 

There was nothing to watch this early in the morning besides shows meant for little kids. Although she secretly liked watching the Disney Channel when she was home alone and couldn't sleep because of a rough case, Belle didn't want to have to explain herself if someone were to walk into her room, so she clicked the power button and turned the TV off.

She grabbed her phone from the bedside table and slid the unlock button. It had been on airplane mode since she had gotten to the hospital because she didn't want to be bothered by calls or texts from the team. She wasn't in the mood to talk to anyone.

Belle went to the music app and pressed shuffle, unsure of what she wanted to listen to. Secret Love Song, Pt. II by Little Mix started playing. She scowled at her phone.

"Why can't I hold you in the street? Why can't I kiss you on the dance floor-"

Belle pulled the headphones out of her ears and shut her phone off. That was the last song she needed to be listening to right now.

Everything seemed to be annoying her lately, so she decided that she needed to get some fresh air. Belle carefully propped herself up in her bed and swung her legs over the side. She managed to stand up after a few tries and began to walk towards the empty visitor chair when she felt a tug at her arm followed by a sharp pain. She spun around and noticed the IV needle still sticking inside her inner arm.

"Oh god," she breathed as she squeezed her eyes shut and pinched the IV out of its place. 

Belle took a tissue from the bedside table and blotted the small amount of blood up.

Her regular work clothes from her go-bag were in a small pile on the chair next to her bed, along with the snow boots she had asked Emily to grab from her apartment earlier that day. Belle shimmied out of her hospital gown and dressed herself in normal clothing. She looked at herself in the reflection of the metal on the door.

She looked like she had been drugged.

That's right, she had been drugged. But if she was going to make it out of here without getting in trouble, she had to make it look like she hadn't been drugged.

Belle made her way over to the small sink near the bed and splashed some cold water on her face. She pressed her thumb against the skin under her eyes, trying to make the dark purple circles disappear.

It didn't work.

She scanned the room, trying to think of something else to try. Belle opened the purse Emily had brought her. It had a phone charger and sunglasses in it. She slid the glasses over her eyes and headed for the door. It might be strange to wear sunglasses in the middle of winter, but at least doctors wouldn't question it.

..

"What do you mean by missing?" An angry Hotch barked at the nurse sitting behind the check in center at the hospital Belle was staying at. 

Spencer surveyed the scene in front of him. Standing to the right of Hotch was JJ, Rossi, and Morgan, looking panic stricken. To the left of them was Emily, frantically dialing different numbers into her phone and frowning when no one picked up.

"What's going on?" Reid asked as he made his presence known. 

Rossi shot him a flustered look before turning to Hotch and nodding for him to speak.

"Belle's gone," Hotch finally spoke.

"Gone?" Spencer asked, confused by his lack of detail.

"Gone," Hotch reiterated.

"What do you mean by gone?" Reid raised his voice. He turned to the others for some type of explanation. "What does he mean by gone?"

"Security footage shows her getting up and walking out of the hospital. And none of these morons decided to stop her," Morgan huffed. 

The nurse behind the desk looked mortified.

"Sir, we weren't aware that Miss Hopkins had left until aft-"

"You've done enough already," JJ said, silencing her. 

Reid liked it when JJ got mean.

He put his hands over his face and rubbed his temples. Belle hated hospitals, especially when she was the one being treated, but that doesn't mean she could just get up and leave before she was discharged. Spencer couldn't help but think this was partly his fault.

He wracked his brain trying to think of where she could have gone. He had an idea, so he took his phone out of his pocket and dialed for Garcia. It was a long shot, but it was better than nothing.

"Hello boy wonder," Penelope's cheerful voice sang through the phone. 

Clearly nobody had told her yet about Belle's whereabouts.

"Garcia, I need you to search for any pet shops within walking distance of the Quantico hospital," Spencer ordered into the phone.

"Sure thing, gimme one sec," she chimed as he heard her vigorously typing at her keyboard. "Let's see, how about a Pet Smart two blocks down the street? Sending you the directions now."

"Perfect," Reid hung the phone up and started for the elevator. 

The rest of the team noticed his movements and followed behind.

..

"I knew she'd be here," Spencer said as he saw the long, brunette locks of hair that he knew belonged to Belle.

She was standing with a Pet Smart worker in the section of the store where they keep cats that are up for adoption. She held two orange kittens against her chest.

"You scared us, lil mama," Morgan laughed as they all shuffled into the room. 

Belle turned around, nearly dropping the kittens. A pink hew took over her cheeks.

"I just wanted to snuggle with them. I was gonna come back," she defended, embarrassed by the attention she had accidentally caused.

"At least you're safe," Emily said as she walked over to Belle and engulfed her in a warm embrace. 

Reid couldn't help but smile at the fact that she had gone through all this trouble just to see some cats.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw JJ smirking at him. He wiped the stupid grin off his face and mouthed 'what?' to her.

He knew what, though.

..

"Not now, Reid," Belle snapped as they made their way to the BAU jet. 

This was the tenth time he'd asked her to talk in the past few days.

"I miss you," his words stung. 

Belle knew she'd give in if she made eye contact with him, so she turned to climb the stairs onto the aircraft.

"I'm busy," she replied before boarding the plane. 

She knew he'd drop it once they were in front of everyone else.

Belle plopped down on one of the couches in the back of the plane. The rest of the team sat around a table and began briefing for the current case they were working on. Belle was allowed to go with the team to the location, but she couldn't go out in the field. Her concussion wasn't fully healed yet, plus, she was still on probation for sneaking out of the hospital the week beforehand.

She tried her best not to scream out when Hotch announced that they were going to Boston. Finally, a case in her home city, and of course she had to sit it out.

"And before you ask, the answer is no, Belle. I can't risk you getting more hurt than you already are," Hotch said before she could even get her complaint in.

"But I'm fine!" Belle whined, knowing she was going to lose this fight. 

She hated sitting around while everyone else got to catch the bad guys.

"Next time, kid," Rossi tried to ease her disappointment.

She sighed, defeated.

Belle took her laptop out and connected to the fancy FBI airplane wifi. The least she could do is get a head start on the case and compare notes with Penelope, since they'd both be the ones sitting back while everyone else was out risking their lives.

The jet took off shortly after she had taken her computer out. She sat back and reread the files she was given about the case. It seemed like a good one, which made her even more upset.

Before long, the familiar sound of the wheels hitting the runway rattled throughout the cabin. Belle packed her things up and got ready to exit the jet when she dropped her phone. JJ bent down to retrieve it before she could.

"What's this?" JJ asked as she looked down at the phone in her palm. 

Belle froze as she noticed what she was talking about. She had a picture of Reid kissing her cheek with a funny snapchat filter on as her lock screen background.

"Uh... I-" Belle scrambled for something to say, feeling the heat rise to her face.

"Wanna explain this?" JJ turned to Reid, showing him what they had been looking at.

"Oh, that's, uh... that's, well..." Reid trailed off as his cheeks turned bright red.

Belle felt like she was gonna throw up.

"It's just a stupid picture. I was about to change it anyway," she interjected. 

The look of hurt on Reid's face as Belle spoke sent a wave of anger throughout her. What did he expect her to say when she wasn't allowed to tell anyone about their relationship?

"Thanks," Belle murmured as she quickly grabbed the phone from JJ's hand and turned to leave the jet. 

She needed to get out of this place.

She pushed her way past Hotch and Morgan, keeping her head down. She reached up to the overhead cupboards to get her winter coat. Belle wrapped the the light blue fabric around her body and braced herself for the cold. The lights around the plane turned on, indicating that they had stopped moving and it was safe to get off.

"Belle," she heard Reid call after her.

She shrugged it off and kept walking towards the exit.

"Belle!" He raised his voice.

She ignored it again, reaching for the door handle.

"I love you!"

#spencer reid #spencer reid fanfiction #matthewgraygubler #matthew gray gubler fanfiction #criminalminds #Criminal Minds Fanfiction