#but i think wade should quit his job too . or just not have been given such a major role all of a sudden

[sonknuxadow]

I always forget that Tom is a cop in Sonic Movie, he feels more like some kinda park/town ranger with how he cares for the town and the people in.

i don't really blame people for forgetting considering a lot of people only watched the second movie and toms job is only mentioned once or twice there and it's in a context where people who are watching the second movie with no knowledge of the first might not pick up on it

#he shouldve been a firefighter or a mailman or something . literally anything that actually positively contributes to society #and with jobs like that they still couldve kept the storyline of him feeling like hes not making much of a difference #and wanting to move to a big city to help more people #but if he HAD to be a cop they shouldve had him realize he doesnt have to be a cop to help people at all and then quit his job #asks #i was hoping that his job not being so relevant in the second movie would lead to him just quietly quitting offscreen before the third #but . i saw some set pictures going around a while back and there was a green hills police car in there so . there goes that #i guess it couldve been wades car though. who knows #but i think wade should quit his job too . or just not have been given such a major role all of a sudden

[fanficsiwillneverwrite]

Adult Kim Possible Movie Idea

(if i had the time or energy to make this into a fanfic (or better yet, a Disney approved made for tv movie), i would but sadly I don’t so take this detailed explanation instead)

The opening:

Kim is on a solo mission to defeat the generic baddie. She’s older, probably looks something like this, and much more confident and comfortable in her own abilities than she was as a teen.

Maybe the generic baddie is a little lame, probably just starting out in the evil business and doesn’t really know what to do. And there’s room for humor here where the villain is so bad at their job, even they’re embarrassed and Kim tries to comfort them. (See this scene of Spike and Willow from Buff as an example.)

Anyway, as she’s sitting there comforting the baddie, she gets a call on her kimmunicator (?? that’s what it’s called right). It’s Wade, dressed in a nice suit, wondering where she is, and that Ron can only stall for so long. She looks at the time; she’s late.

So, after one quick final showdown with the lame villain, she hurries on to where she needs to be.

She arrives, then changes from her spy clothes to a formal dress quickly to blend in easily with the unsuspecting crowd

She finds Ron. They kiss. And she explains why she’s late.

“Hope the new guy wasn’t too much trouble for you,” says Ron in a slightly worrisome tone.

“It was no big,” says Kim. “Really.”

He doesn’t go on missions with her anymore, as his new job or something (idk what???) keeps him pretty busy. She does it solo now, which he low key hates and wishes he could still be there to make sure she’s safe.

Their conversation is cut short by Kim’s dad, who begins a speech about how happy he is to have Ronald, officially, join the family.

Kim and Ron are about to be married and this is their engagement party.

Okay, so the beginning revolves around Kim doing solo missions and Ron freaking out about it, wanting her to be safe—which eventually pressures Kim into joining Global Justice. (They’ve been nagging for her to join the team anyway.)

She struggles to adapt to global justice’s rules. In fact, she doesn’t really agree with most of the things they have her do. But she can’t put her finger on why yet.

She’s just happy Ron is less stressed about her going on missions now.

The conflict comes when she encounters the new villain again, this time with global justice at her side.

She probably tells the team to go easy on the villain, and global justice just goes guns blazing on the guy (like, the villain is level 1 baddie at worst and global justice treats him like he’s a terrorist basically).

And maybe (since this is Adult Kim Possible, not Teenage Kim Possible) the villain is killed.

Kim is horrified. The villain is surrendering, but global justice is showing no mercy.

To put it simply, she discovers quickly that global justice is super corrupt.

She goes to a bar or somewhere to think.

She wants to quit, and almost does—but an encounter with a familiar face convinces her she should stay: Shego

Kim learns that team go worked under global justice, and that’s basically what corrupted her.

She tells Kim that good doesn’t really exist in the world—just “lawful” bad and “villain” bad. She chose to become a villain because she wanted control back in her life. If she was just gonna be bad anyway, she at least wanted to have fun doing it.

Kim, after talking with Shego, decides to investigate further before doing anything drastic and lets Ron, and Wade, know what’s going on in the meantime.

Kim’s sent on another mission with global justice. Here they meet a more dangerous and more competent villain who is trying to take over the world.

This villain proves to be a real threat, a much greater threat than the other guy. Maybe even some of Kim’s team get killed in action (characters who she’s bonded with are killed and it’s a huge wake up call for her).

They don’t win the fight. And eventually they’re given orders to retreat. But Kim gets separated from her team and a big explosion knocks her out.

She’s seen lying unconscious on the ground. The villain approaches her, but they’re blasted away with green plasma.

Kim gets dragged out of frame.

Commercial break.

She awakes, dizzy and light headed and turns to see Shego driving Drakken’s flying car away from all the chaos.

But she’s too hurt to say thank you, or even to stay conscious.

She awakes again in the hospital.

“KP! You’re awake,” Ron says, pulling her into an embrace. She shudders in pain. He lets go. “Sorry.”

Her parents and global justice are there too. But Shego, unsurprisingly, is nowhere in sight.

She explains what happened. And how Shego saved her.

She’s convinced they need Shego’s help to win the fight.

Global Justice dismisses her plan, and they leave to fight without her, ordering Kim not to interfere.

She’s bandaged up but still hurt. Global Justice is planning another corrupt attack or something. And they leave Kim to heal.

She convinces Ron that they need to find Shego to win the fight (for whatever reason. Maybe the villain is an old team go foe and Shego’s defeated him before, idk).

He reluctantly agrees, but only if he can go with her to make sure she doesn’t hurt herself.

They contact Wade and have him locate Shego.

And they venture out together on a mission, like old times. Even getting a ride from someone (maybe the person she gets a ride from is the first person she ever helped after the launch of her website).

Drakken and Shego consider themselves “retired” from the villainy business. I figure they got a hefty paycheck for saving the world in the finale, which was basically the government paying them to be quiet and stop being villains. Kim and Ron find them living “domesticated” lives somewhere seclusive.

(Now whether drakken and shego are together together here would probably be left ambiguous to let the audience decide whether they are or aren’t a thing—but also it’s a little weird Shego would still be at his side if they weren’t together. So in my headcanon they are a couple here.)

Shego does not want to help. She refuses to work with global justice again.

Drakken still has a big ego, so he sees it as the world needing his help again. And he’s happy to oblige with the assumption that he’ll be compensated for his genius.

Eventually Kim convinces Shego to help. And they make a plan to defeat the baddie before going off to fight.

The four of them are fighting the henchmen or whoever, mirroring how it was at the end of the series in graduation.

Eventually they split up. Drakken and Ron stay deal with the henchman outside while Kim and Shego go inside to face the baddie.

Here might be a fun place to confirm the shego and drakken coupling by having them openly kiss goodbye before they part and Kim and Ron finding it awkward:

Ron rubs the back of his neck. “Oh… so you’re still a thing, huh?”

Drakken’s brow furrows. “Yes, we’re still a thing! Why wouldn’t we be?!”

Global justice isn’t there yet, which Kim and Shego both find very odd.

The big baddie reveals himself and a fight breaks out.

Plot twist:

Eventually they overpower the baddie and nearly take him down, but then global justice comes in and stops them.

And basically they learn that global justice creates and controls villains to stay relevant in society. They format a narrative that makes them look good, and whatever Kim and Shego are doing is messing with that narrative.

And so global justice tries to eliminate them.

But, of course, ron and drakken make it to them on time before anything happens and the four of them defeat the baddie.

Conclusion

Global Justice shuts down and the leaders get arrested. They make the front page for being corrupt.

Kim probably asks Shego if she wants to team up and fight crime together. And Shego declines because, though she’s retired, she’s still a baddie at heart.

Side note: In Venture Bros (another tv show), there’s two factions: the OSI (who are basically the good guys) and the Guild (who are the villains). It’s all done with rules and regulations, so there are heroes and villains but it’s all done by the book. All that explained, I can totally see Kim and Shego setting something like that up in the Kim Possible universe. Kim’s in charge of the heroes and Shego’s in charge of the villains. Rules and regulations are set in place, and there are consequences if you break them, but it’s still very much a world of heroism and villainy.

Anyway,

It ends with Kim and Ron getting married.

Maybe there’s a wedding montage where characters from the show appear and they’re older: Monique, the twins, Bonnie, etc.

Drakken and Shego are also there. Maybe Drakken accidentally catches Kim’s bouquet and turns to Shego, embarrassed.

And… roll credits

#kim possible #kim possible fanfic #fanfic idea #ron stoppable #wade #shego #dr Drakken #drakken #global justice #fanfiction #story idea

[reina-royale]

Kim Possible: Episode Reviews

I don’t intend to comment on every episode, just the ones I haven’t talked about yet or the ones I feel need to be given more in-depth discussion. Let’s begin:

“Tick-Tick-Tick” - First episode, not much to complain about here, but I do have one thing that irks me; the detention gang are never seen or mentioned again, with the exception of maybe Mike, as a guy who looks just like him is seen on the football team in a later episode. He is not addressed by name, however, so I’m not going to assume it’s Mike. The point of the episode was that Kim learns the detention gang are not all that bad, but then they’re never seen or mentioned again. They’re not even in the background. It kind of defeats the purpose of the lesson.

I also feel like this episode would have been a good chance to play into Kim’s “driven to excel” traits and have her hate the idea of detention because she’s afraid of how it will affect her future, and she learns one detention won’t ruin her future. You know, a reason for thinking detention is for losers, instead of just her being a cheerleader.

“Bueno Nacho” - I did mention in a previous post that I hate that Kim forged an application for Ron before ever talking to him about it. Honestly, they could’ve just had Kim entice Ron to take the job by mentioning some kind of benefits i.e. employee discount, one free meal while on shift. There was no reason for Kim to unilaterally make the decision, and she seems majorly controlling for doing so. Your protagonist’s mistakes should come from a lack of knowledge, not a lack of consideration. You can teach people to communicate, you can’t teach them to care.

“Attack of the Killer Bebes” - I wish the creators had delved more into Kim’s feelings. She thinks Ron being a cheerleader would be mortifying, and she hates the idea of him as the mascot. But we never learn why. There’s a line at the beginning that would indicate Kim just wanted something for herself, but the creators don’t expand on that. Instead, we get Kim just insulting Ron for the rest of the episode. It would have been more interesting if it was about Kim struggling to keep something for herself without Ron, and learning that even with Ron as the mascot, cheerleading will still always be her thing. Your protagonist should have deep thoughts and feelings that get explored, not just hinted at.

“The New Ron” - One of my most hated episodes for the way Kim treated Ron, but my rewrite would probably fix it. Ron agrees to a new haircut to appease Kim, and tries to like it but he’s miserable and he stays miserable. Kim learns she can be too pushy sometimes and needs to lay off, and Ron learns his best friend cares more about his feelings than his appearance, so it’s okay to say no to her. Your hero shouldn’t be causing harm to others just because she wants to; that’s not a hero, that’s a villain.

“Number One” - A few options for rewrites; Kim actually tries to prove she’s the better captain instead of just expecting Bonnie to fail on her own, or Bonnie stays captain and we get to explore how Kim handles not being in charge. Your character isn’t skilled and talented if she has everything handed to her instead of working for it.

Also, it would be nice if Will was actually competent, instead of taking credit for the mission. Give Kim an actual rival. Seriously, a highly-trained government agent isn’t on par with an amateur? It’s ridiculous. Your female protagonist isn’t good if you have to dumb down the world to make her shine.

“Sink or Swim” - Minor change; with how big Barkin is, and his military experience, he should’ve made more noise while being abducted. We could’ve had a shadow drag him off while he tells Kim to warn the others. That would’ve played into the horror movie parody quite nicely.

“Crush” - I feel like instead of Kim ignoring a call from Wade that was definitely important because Wade doesn’t make social calls, she should’ve just not gotten a call. I mean, how would Wade even know Ron was trapped in the closet anyways? Ron doesn’t have a Kimmunicator. It wouldn’t change much to be honest, and it also wouldn’t have Kim ignoring an urgent attempt at communication.

“October 31st” - Kim should take more precautions with the bracelet. Maybe it gets stuck to her wrist because the tweebs grab it and it gets stuck to her wrist in the ensuing fight. There’s also the issue of lying, but we could just have her nervous about spending time with Josh and having that be enough to set off the armor. That way, it’s basically the same plot, but without Kim being thoughtless, reckless, and deliberately misleading everyone she cares about.

“The Twin Factor” - Honestly, I would take out the whole “gag” about Kim using mind control on her brothers. The whole point of the episode is that mind control is wrong and bad, but the point gets muted when our hero is doing it to children. I’m not sure what gag I would replace it with, but nothing that jokes about mind control. I like that Kim’s parents were upset, but they should’ve been more upset. Outraged, even. And Kim should’ve faced actual consequences.

“Job Unfair” - I’m not sure this episode had a lesson. If it was meant to be “all jobs are important” then the lesson is pointless by having the “janitor” revealed to actually be a Canadian spy. Instead, we could have Kim decide to focus on her work-study anyways, and learn how to disable the weather machine by sheer coincidence, because the janitor is an actual janitor and not secretly a spy. As for Ron’s mentor, it could be revealed that the spy had been trying to get to Kim, but she was already taken by the janitor so he went to Ron instead.

“Grudge Match” - This episode had a scene where Ron mentions people might think he and Kim were on a date. Instead of using this as a moment to hint at Kim and Ron ending up together, Kim mocks and insults Ron for that statement. We could have Kim and Ron nervously discussing whether people think of them as a couple, before Kim (or Wade) brings them back to focus, but Kim mocking and insulting Ron for insinuating people might think they date is not a good way to hint at the endgame ship.

Also, I feel like instead of Kim “fudging” by telling Ron he might stand a chance with Zita, we should have her actually believe it could happen. This is a guy she supposedly develops romantic feelings for later, but instead of hinting at that, she apparently thinks he’s so much of a loser that even a girl none of them know anything about could do better.

“The Ron Factor” - I understand they had to change the ending of the episode because it was too sexist, but this episode chronologically takes place after “A Sitch in Time”, where we learn Ron is essential to Kim’s success (though no one remembers that timeline so I’ll cut them some slack there) and Ron defeated the villain this time. Not Kim, Ron. If they didn’t want it to seem like Ron was the secret to Kim’s success, they shouldn’t have made that a plot point of the movie, nor should they have Ron defeating the villain. Kim did almost nothing in this episode aside from telling Ron he was getting a big head (which he was) and complaining about GJ thinking Ron was the secret to her success (again, he was).

“Adventures in Rufus-Sitting” - I’ve talked about this episode before, so my rewrite is simple; have Kim take actual precautions with the microchip. We could still have Rufus accidentally eat it; maybe while looking for a snack he finds it and eats it. But Kim took no precautions with the top-secret microchip she was meant to guard, and that is seriously disappointing. If your female protagonist won’t take basic precautions with things she’s supposed to guard, she’s not a good guardian.

“Exchange” - When Kim decides she likes Hirotaka, she has Wade track his movements to arrange an “accidental” run-in with him to ask him out. She’s known him for less than a week and is already stalking him. It’s creepy and obsessive and this needs to not happen. Honestly, that whole scene could go like this; Kim returns from a mission, notices Hirotaka, panics, plays cool, decides to ask him out, continues as canon. If your female character is stalking her crush, it’s not funny, it’s creepy.

Interesting to note: Hirotaka looks a lot like Will Du’s original concept Ken Du.

“Queen Bebe” - Honestly, I do have complaints about this episode, and I’ve mentioned it in a previous post, but I’m not actually sure how I’d go about rewriting it. Kim’s inability to fulfill her obligations (that she volunteered for) is not only disappointing but also letting down her school. I can kind of understand her refusal to ask for help, especially from Bonnie, but at the very least, clubs and committees should be hesitant to let her join in the future because of this.

“Hidden Talent” - Not cool of Ron to sign Kim up for the talent show without talking to her about it first, but it definitely wasn’t cool of Kim to threaten Ron with physical violence over it. He might not have seemed afraid, but that doesn’t make it okay.

Honestly, it would be very in character for Kim to sign herself up because of anger and pride, so there was no need for Ron to do it.

“Return to Wannaweep” - Kim sabotages Bonnie, her own teammate, just because she wants a plastic stick painted gold. A stick she admits to only wanting so Bonnie can’t have it. Sure, Kim’s competitive. But this kind of competitiveness, sabotaging her own teammate to make herself stand out more, would get her kicked off the squad. Obviously, if they want Kim and Bonnie sabotaging each other, they should have Bonnie start it. Your heroine doesn’t get to be called a role model when she’s starting conflicts for her own personal interests.

Also, despite Gil having tried something evil before, Kim refuses to take any of Ron’s concerns about him seriously because she’s too preoccupied with her rivalry with Bonnie. A heroine ignoring potential danger because she doesn’t care is not a good heroine.

“Blush” - I can understand Kim wanting to go on a date with Josh, but he would’ve understood Kim needing to stay home for her own safety. She was at risk of literally disappearing.

“Oh Boyz” - Sure, everyone stopped liking the Oh Boyz, but the timing implies Kim stopped liking them specifically because Ron started liking them. I just feel like there’s too much of that in this show; Ron’s interests being “uncool” or “embarrassing”.

“Rewriting History” - This episode introduced interesting new layers to the characters and their relationships, except it didn’t because it was all a dream. I hate that. Honestly, I feel like the episode should have just ended with Kim saving Drakken and Shego and clearing her great-aunt’s name. No “it was all a dream” shenanigans.

“Showdown at the Crooked D” - Kim tricked Ron into going. He told her he wanted to laze about for the summer, she invited him to a place called The Lazy C, and then deliberately didn’t tell him until after they arrived and he had no way to back out that it was a working ranch. A lie by omission is still a lie. Your female hero shouldn’t be doing this to her friends.

"Emotion Sickness” - Another episode that could’ve hinted at Kim and Ron getting together, but instead Ron seemed uncomfortable with the whole idea. Nervous. Terrified. It didn’t seem like he wanted to be in a relationship with her. Having one character be uncomfortable with the idea of dating another is not a good way to hint at a ship.

"Bonding” - Mostly I hate that both Bonnie and Barkin were given character development, and then it’s gone for the rest of the series.

“Bad Boy” - Another episode to hint at a ship, and it didn’t do a good job. Having both characters be uncomfortable with the idea of dating each other doesn’t imply a ship either.

“Team Impossible” - As I mentioned, most of my frustration with this episode comes from the reason they gave for wanting Kim out of the business; profit. There are so many valid reasons, and Team Impossible could’ve been mentors. If you need to make the professionals incompetent for your character to stand out, your character isn’t good enough.

“And the Mole Rat Will Be CGI” - Honestly, my big issue here is that Kim, once again, is ignoring Ron’s feelings on something that will affect him.

“So The Drama” - I made a whole post about this, so I’ll be brief. Getting Kim and Ron together by introducing a “perfect” guy for Kim and then removing him as an option completely is lazy writing. I understand it was supposed to be the end of the series, but while we see a lot of Ron pining over Kim, we don’t see any of Kim possibly having feelings for Ron. The implication is that, if Eric were still an option, Kim and Ron wouldn’t be together. That’s not true love, that’s Ron being Kim’s rebound guy.

“The Big Job” - Kim complains about Ron using coupons to fund their dates, to high end expensive restaurants, but she never offers to pay. She is asking for more from Ron than he is able to give. And she, once again, has things literally handed to her. In this case, Monique literally gives her a job just so she could inspire Ron to get one.

“Fashion Victim” - I find it hard to believe Kim didn’t know she was risking Monique’s and Wade’s futures by trying to get them help her break the NDA Monique signed. She has worked on top-secret projects before; she’s definitely signed a few of those. Your heroine shouldn’t be risking others for her own gain.

“Grande Size Me” - The movie this episode was based off of has been proven to have been faked. This whole episode would need to be rewritten.

TW: This episode contains scenes that would be triggering for people with body image issues, eating disorders, or fears of Kaiju.

I did have more thoughts, but they felt too nitpicky. I tried to stick to the ones I had major problems with, and bolded the advice I would give on how to avoid some of those problems.

#Kim Possible #ron stoppable #Rufus #monique #wade #Mr. Barkin #bonnie rockwaller #drakken #shego #will du #gill #hirotaka #yori #Eric #meta #episode review

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Portrait of a Dangerous Man🎨3

Warnings: (series) non-consent sex and rape; slow creep; cucking; (this chapter) sleep paralysis, stress.

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

Synopsis: Your dream of having your work hung in an art show comes true but your first buyer is not all he seems to be.

Note: I’m so happy people are liking this story. Thanks so much to everyone reading and sorry if I’m a bit inactive lately, I’ve been exhausted and yesterday didn’t end, I swear.

Thanks to everyone for reading and thanks in advance for all your feedback. :)

I really hope you enjoy. 💋

<3 As usual, I’d appreciate if you let me know what you think with a like or reblog or reply or an ask! Love ya!

On Monday, you yawned over your keyboard as your fingers moved on instinct alone. Your eyes ran along the text but the words were just letters to you. You had a lot to think about, a lot to do. 

You decided you would skip lunch and get through your work day an hour early so you could head to Clark’s right away. He was hard to deny when he asked if you could make it back so soon. You told him you worked everyday from home and you had hours beside that at the gallery three times a week at least. He accepted it with a nod but his silence was telling so you caved and said you could make it but not until the evening.

You texted Marcus as you waited for your Uber. He had a few hours to go still and you left him everything he needed to make supper with instructions; the veggies were cut, the meat thawed, and the pans already arranged on the stove. You had faith he could manage on his own.

The mansion was just as intimidating as the first time you visited. You walked up the drive and to the front steps. It was human nature to be envious of the sprawling yards and lavish estate and yet, it didn’t feel as if someone could truly live here. It would be like staying in a hotel as you were always overly aware of your every move, afraid to break something or make a mess.

You hammered the large knocker when your soft tapping brought no answer. You heard someone on the other side and wiggled your foot nervously. The door opened and square-faced woman greeted you in another language. You couldn’t tell if it was Swedish, German, or some other dialect. You were never a skilled linguist.

“Um, hi, I’m…”

“Ah, you are the lady painter,” she said, “I remember. I am Nina, Mr. Kent’s housekeeper.”

She turned and beckoned you to follow her. You closed the tall door and trailed her across the spacious foyer and behind the stairs into the kitchen. She turned through another room and led you out through the glass doors that opened onto the pool.

“Miss, would you like a drink? Tea? Coffee?” she asked.

“No, thank you,” you said as the water moved and your eyes were drawn to the figure moving beneath the surface.

“Miss,” Nina nodded and left you.

You stood, awkward and listless, and glanced around at the loungers and the umbrella over the round table. You weren’t entirely sure what to do. Had he forgotten about you?

“Hey,” your gaze was drawn back to the pool. Clark waded to the edge, his broad shoulders and chiseled chest visible as he made his way to the shallow end, “sorry. Lost track of time.”

He grabbed the metal railing and climbed up the stairs. The water slaked off his tight trunks and down his thick thighs. He appeared even larger with less clothes. You looked away before your thoughts lingered too long.

“It’s fine, I should have texted I was on my way,” you said, “I can go wait for you--”

“No worries,” he took his towel and rubbed dry his dark hair. The scruff along his chin was thicker than before, almost a full blown beard, “you’re not in a hurry, are you?”

“No, not really, can’t really rush… painting,” you shrugged, “I just… I didn’t mean to catch you off-guard.”

“Pfft, I’m ready for anything,” he grinned, “but I should also listen to the artist. I’ll go get changed and you can get settled in the studio.” He directed you ahead of him as he approached the sliding doors, “you just finished work? You should take a few minutes to unwind.”

“Uh, yeah, but it’s just, um, typing, not exactly hard labour,” you said as he followed you inside.

“Work is work,” he said, “I will never fault anyone who works hard, regardless of what they do.”

“Yeah, I suppose,” you stifled a yawn behind your hand.

He let out a breath as you came out into the foyer, “I’m sorry, you could’ve… you’re tired. We could have rescheduled. I’m sorry if I came across… pushy yesterday. I don’t mean to take advantage of you.”

“No, no, it’s fine,” you assured him, “I’m fine.”

“Alright,” he said doubtfully, “but you let me know if you need a break.”

“Will do,” you murmured as you neared the stairs.

🎨

You weren’t even close to done just the background of the portrait. Clark really didn’t even need to be there as you shadowed the folds of the curtains around his figure and the marble bust. Your arm hurt from reaching across and up the gigantic canvas and your eyes burned from squinting at your work.

You backed off the ladder carefully with your paintbrush and palette balanced in one hand. The paint was drying and you needed to mix more. You set down your armful and wiped your hands on the rag. He was watching you, he was always watching you. Well, no, he was just looking in your direction; it was all for the portrait.

You hit the button on the side of your phone and gasped. It was midnight. You had several messages from Marcus and you blanched as you unlocked the cell and quickly texted back. You rubbed your eye as you hit send and turned to Clark.

“I didn’t realise it was so late,” you said, “I gotta go.”

“What time is it?” he asked and looked at his watch, “oh.”

He pushed himself to his feet with a grunt and stretched out his arms as he neared. You took your brush and rinsed it in the tinted water in the jar.

“I’ll just clean up as I wait for an Uber,” you said as you let the brush rest in the jar and lifted your phone again.

“I’ll drive you,” he said as he grabbed a rag, “it’s a long way. I’ll hire a driver for you from here on out. It’ll be easier and cheaper.”

“You don’t have to--”

You flinched as he wiped your cheek with the rag. He smiled and showed you the paint on the white cloth.

“I wouldn’t offer it if it was too much trouble,” he tossed the rag down, “and I did have something to talk to you about. The drive will be more than enough to get it sorted.”

“Oh, okay,” you eked nervously. Had you done something wrong? Were you not painting fast enough?

“I’ll meet you downstairs,” he touched your arm gently.

He left you and you finished scraping off the palette and cleaning your brushes. You dumped the jar in the sink just inside the nearest bathroom and rinsed the porcelain back to white. You left everything arranged neatly on the table and descended to the first floor.

Clark stood by the door in a different jacket, his tie gone and the top button undone. He held the door for you and showed you to the garage. There were at least a half-dozen cars inside and he took you to the same silver one he drove the night of the show. You settled in and groaned as the tension left your shoulders.

He started the car as the doors rose behind him and he backed out smoothly. He turned down the long drive and onto the desolate roads of the wealthy countryside. He kept one hand on the wheel and dropped his other to his thigh casually.

“So, your job, you like it?”

“It’s work,” you said, “I get paid to sit at home and type. Half the time, I’m just waiting for an assignment.”

“I asked if you liked it,” he said more pointedly.

“Oh, well, not… really?” you answered, unsure. 

He could be so pleasant and then so blunt. He made you nervous and the more you thought of it, the more you realised you knew almost nothing about this man besides his name. You didn’t know how he made his money or what exactly he did outside of his extravagant mansion.

“If I doubled your fee, would you quit?” he asked without hesitation.

“Quit? This… the painting won’t take forever,” you said, “I can’t really just drop everything--”

“This is an opportunity,” he said, “you could spend your days doing what you love. And who’s to say it’s just one painting? I already have something in mind for the dining room and I have friends asking about you.”

“Friends? Who--”

“One thing at a time,” he said curtly, “I’ll introduce you to them in time. Is it a deal?”

“I… it’s all very sudden, can I think about it?”

He looked at you in the rearview and you caught his eye. For a moment, you were afraid. There was something in his expression that left you breathless. He lifted his hand and stretched his arm between the seats, his fingers gripped the leather just above your shoulder.

“Sure, I’ll give you a couple days,” he said at last.

“I--I’m sorry…” you didn’t know why you were apologizing but it felt appropriate, “I just, I’m tired.”

“It’s fine, sweetheart,” he assured and the epithet hung in the air.

“I have to go to the gallery tomorrow, I’ll get back to you on Wednesday,” you said as you rubbed your chin nervously. Your lips was quivering. He was smiling but you felt his impatience in the small space of the car, “if I… if I say yes, I have to talk to my boss and that might get messy.”

“No problem,” his voice softened, “you take some time and figure it out.” His thumb rubbed the leather seat and he pulled his arm away to grasp the steering wheel, “why don’t you close your eyes. We got some time left.”

You peeked over at him and nodded. 

“Okay,” you murmured and hugged your bag against you as you tried to relax against the leather. You turned your head and looked out the window up at the starry sky. You closed your eyes as the fatigue settled over you but you could only fake dozing as your nerves stormed inside of you.

He was right, it was a great opportunity, but you just couldn’t believe it would last. Was it your own doubt getting to you? Or should you be weary of this fairytale buyer? It was late and you couldn’t think. All those worries could wait until tomorrow.

🎨

You crept into the dark apartment. It was after one and you foresaw a long day ahead of you. You’d get maybe four hours in before it all started again. You put your purse down and went into the bedroom, undressing in the shadows and crawling into bed next to Marcus as the colours of the tv moved around him. The playlist he was casting kept on even as he slept.

He grunted as you laid on your back and he turned to graze your arm with his fingertips. 

“You’re home,” he grumbled and kissed your cheek, “I was worried.”

“I’m sorry,” you whispered, “I… it’s so far out there and it’s a lot of work. The canvas is like nine feet-- I’m sorry, I’ll let you sleep.”

“No, no, it’s okay,” his voice was gristly as he propped himself up on his elbow, “you’re gonna finish the job right?”

“I don’t know,” you said, “I don’t know if I can.”

“Of course you can,” Marcus insisted, “I mean, at that price, you can do anything.”

“It’s not about the money, Marcus,” you huffed, “I don’t know if it’s worth all this. Going back and forth…” you ran your hands over your face, “he wants me to quit my job and just paint for him.”

“You should,” Marcus said blithely, “why not? He’s paying you well enough.”

“And what about when I’m done,” you whined.

“You’ll find more work. Vanessa even offered to take on more of your work in her shows, so what’s the problem? Isn’t this what you want?”

“Y-yeah, it is but… I don’t know, it just seems too good to be true.”

“You do this and we might even have enough for a down payment,” he said, “something had to give after all these years. Why can’t it be this?”

You looked at him and tried to smile, “you’re only saying that because he has a pool.”

“Maybe,” he kidded, “but I also want it for you. You spend all your free time painting anyhow so why not get paid for it?”

“Mhmm,” you mumbled, “yeah, I just don’t know why I feel so… I don’t know. It just all seems off.”

“Sleep on it, you’ll feel better,” he leaned over and kissed your lips that time, “love you.”

“Love you,” you echoed as he grabbed the remote and shut off the tv.

You closed your eyes as the darkness shrouded you and despite your anxiety, you fell into a deep sleep. You didn’t even roll onto your side before you sank into your REM but found yourself caught in limbo. The abstract and intense sensation of paralysis overtook your body and your eyelids flicked open.

It was an awful feeling you knew too well. You knew you were dreaming, you knew it was all in your mind, but your body was filled with sand and your subconscious conjured visions of doom. The tall man stood by the door as he always did and just stared. He got closer, just a little at a time, and you fought to move just a finger and free yourself from the trance.

You felt like you were drowning as your body remained heavy and unmoving. He was getting closer and closer. As he did, his figure changed and his shoulders got wider as his features came clear in the slat of the streetlight that leaked between the curtains. It was Clark staring down at you, his blue eyes sinister and sparkling. 

He reached for you and you woke with a start as your name rose from his lips. You inhaled sharply and looked over at Marcus as he snored. It was only the two of you. You reached for your phone, it was just after three. You turned onto your side but your heart still raced. It always happened when you were stressed, the dreams felt so real that you never really came back down after.

You stared at the wall and curled up under the blanket. You didn’t expect to get much sleep anyway, not with the question on your mind. Should you quit and live your dream or should you kill all hope before life did it for you?

#clark kent #dark clark kent #dark!clark kent #clark kent x reader #superman #series #portrait of a dangerous man #fic #dark fic #dark!fic #au #mob au #mob!au #dc #dcu

[metalheddie]

Are You Lonesome Tonight?

summary: Reader and Spencer's relationship is on the rocks, but they manage to work it out.

tw: light swearing, arguments

word count: 2.3k

genre: angst/fluff

a/n: This is a songfic after "Are you Lonesome Tonight" by Elvis! This one is honestly one of my favorites to write :0 and don't worry, it's not super sad, just a little :)(Reader goes by she/they)

This has been going on for far too long now. Y/n couldn’t take it anymore. They felt alone in their own lovers’ arms, he was like a stranger, a ghost of the man they once knew. They loved him still, so much, but he was distant and he never talked to them about the things he was obviously stressed or drained from.

Y/n just wanted to help him but he never gave them a chance to, they’re actively being pushed away and it’s a pain that they never thought they would experience in this lifetime. So they decide to talk to Spencer about it.

“Spence…?” She calls from his bedroom doorway. He’s sitting on his bed cross-legged surrounded by piles of books, and his head in his hands.

The case he had just gotten back from was a difficult one, to put it mildly. Teens held hostage by another student, who was a lot like Spencer. Too smart for his own good and always overlooked by his peers. He couldn’t save them all and it was eating him up inside. He didn’t look up from the page he was dwelling on. Re-reading and trying to fit all the pieces together that he missed. You hated seeing him like this. Broken and isolating himself, throwing himself into his work where he would eventually drown.

You walk over to the bed and place your hand on his knee. He flinches back away from your touch. He’s never done that before and it breaks your heart. You retract your hand and sit on the ottoman next to the bed. You both sit in the uncomfortable silence for a little while before you say,

“Spence… I know you’re having a difficult time right now, but I really think we should go on a walk or something, just to clear your head-”

“No, y/n. I’m fine. I don’t need your help right now. Just leave me be.” He said with venom in his voice. He’s never talked to you like that before, and it hurts like hell.

“I- ok I will, but Spence at least let me get you some water or something, please just let me help-” you tried to reason with him.

“I said get out! I don’t need you here!” he shouted. That was the last straw for you.

“Fine! I’ll leave you here for the next week and a half dwelling on all the things that you could have done when you should be trying to recover from all this. All you do is push people away when you’re upset and you never think of the consequences or the people you hurt in the process.”

You lost your cool then. All the pain you’ve been feeling for the past couple of months spilling out like a dam bursting.

“The BAU’s Golden boy who could do no wrong, huh? Well, I think that’s bull. Don’t call me until you put your big boy pants on and want to talk about what’s going with you.”

Y/n could see his jaw clenching so hard his teeth might split, but at that moment they could care less. She was done being the subject of his emotional whiplash. With that, you left with tears streaming down your face and a heart so heavy you thought you would collapse from the weight of it.

~

It’s been a week and 4 days since y/n has talked to Spencer. There hasn’t been a call, text, email… nothing. She misses him of course, but she has to stand her ground. It’s so difficult not being able to pick his big beautiful brain for ideas for her songs. Y/n realized she depended on him more than she thought. She wants to pick up the phone and call him so badly, to tell him that she’s sorry and that she went too far, but pride is holding her in an iron grip and it’s almost suffocating.

All y/n has been doing is working on their covers and desperately trying to find inspiration for their next song. They haven’t had any luck so far, their mind is too preoccupied with how Spencer is holding up after what happened that night. To try and distract themselves from their own mind, they put on their favorite oldies playlist and lay on their floor.

The first few chords of their favorite song play and then,

Are you lonesome tonight

Do you miss me tonight?

y/n closes their eyes and lets a few tears slip past their lashes. Oh, how they miss their lover so…

~

Spencer hasn’t left his apartment all weekend. Wading in the guilt he felt over hurting the most important person in his life. He hadn’t meant to snap at them like that...or any of the other times it happened over the last few months. He’s pacing his apartment trying to distract himself from his own mind.

On Monday as he walks into the bullpen, he tries to keep his microexpressions in check so the team doesn’t try to profile what he’s going through. All he wants to do is get his paperwork done and go home. To do what? He’s not sure, especially because his partner won’t be there with him. Just thinking about it like that makes him tear up. He’s eventually able to pull himself together with a few deep breaths, but not without Derek catching on at the last minute.

Derek looks up from his paperwork right as Spencer hangs his head in an attempt to stop the tears from falling. Derek knows how private Spencer is when it comes to his love life, hell he’s only met his partner once the whole time they’ve been dating. He knows something’s wrong and he cares about the kid, so he walks up to him and says

“Hey, boy genius, what’s on your mind?”

Spencer turns to him, trying to keep it together. “Just thinking about this case….” He held up (what he thought to be) a random file.

“You sure about that, kid?” Derek said while reaching for said “file” which really turned out to be a loose page of his handheld calendar with a red heart around one of the days.

Derek only had to look at it for a moment to know exactly what was wrong. He was having relationship problems and suddenly he was floundering. Derek knew that feeling all too well, knowing that the job had put such a strain on his past relationships.

Spencer whips around and stares at the page, tears welling in his eyes that threaten to spill. He grabs at it and takes it back without a word. He’s embarrassed and upset and this day isn’t going as smoothly as he’d wished. Derek pulls up a chair and clears his throat to get his attention. Spencer turns to him with a look he can’t quite read. He says,

“Look, kid… I know relationships can be tough, especially in this line of work, but we have to push through the bad stuff to get to the good parts that we’ll remember forever.

Spencer sat in silence, contemplating his words.

“Do you love her?” he asks, even though he already knows the answer.

“Yes… A thousand times yes. When days and cases get really bad, she’s the only thing that keeps me going…” tears glistening in his hazel eyes.

Derek nods and leans forward. “Go to the place you think she might be… you mentioned she sings at that jazz club uptown right?”

Spencer nods, knowing where he’s going with this.

“Ok, so tonight you’ll go and see if she’s there.” Giving Spencer a small smile and pats him on the back.

He leaves for his desk and leaves Spencer alone with his thoughts once more. He would do anything to see his lover again...

---

That night Spencer found himself at the Black Rabbit Jazz Club, all by his lonesome. Sitting at the bar waiting for open mic night to start. He was replaying their fight over and over again in his mind when he heard the first chords of Y/n’s favorite Elvis song flow through the speakers. Then he heard it… The voice he’d come to know and love, filled with honey and gold.

Are you lonesome tonight?

Do you miss me tonight?

Are you sorry we drifted apart?

He turns in his chair to see Y/n, in a sleek black cocktail dress with fishnets and 40’s style heels. She’s always had an affinity to dress to the club’s feel. Her hair is situated to frame her face beautifully and the spotlight she’s given makes her look like an angel, his angel.

Does your memory stray to a brighter sunny day

When I kissed you and called you sweetheart?

They’re scanning the crowd to find a spot, or someone, to focus on to pour their heart into. Suddenly a familiar face appears to them in the crowd.

Spencer

It takes everything in them not to jump off the stage and run to him. Instead, she chooses to pour her heart out to him the only way that would seem to fit, through song.

Do the chairs in your parlor seem empty and bare?

Do you gaze at your doorstep and picture me there?

Is your heart filled with pain, shall I come back again?

Tell me dear, are you lonesome tonight?

At this point, Spencer is in awe of his partner. Holding eye contact with her as she sings, knowing how much emotion is behind those words. He’s shed a few tears at this point, but she’s not finished.

She steps off the stage with the mic and walks through the tables and chairs in the audience gracefully. She says,

“I wonder if you're lonesome tonight, Fate had me playing in love with you as my sweetheart. Act one was when we met. I loved you at first glance,”

She was looking right at him now, baring her soul to him while he stared in awe into hers.

“You rambled your facts so cleverly and never missed a clue. Then came act two. Honey, you lied when you said you loved me, and I had no cause to doubt you. I'd rather go on hearing your lies, Than go on living without you.”

At this moment Y/n had let go just enough to let a single tear fall past her lashes, creating a faint trail of mascara with it. Though it was getting tough to hold it together, the show must go on.

“Now the stage is bare and I'm standing there, with emptiness all around, and if you won't come back to me then make them bring the curtain down.”

Spencer dropped his head to hide the tears falling from his eyes then. Seeing them so emotionally exposed in front of him like this was rare. Especially after putting up with so much.

By then Y/n had made their way back onto the middle of the stage and sang the ending lines of the song while staring at their lover.

Is your heart filled with pain, shall I come back again?

Tell me dear, are you lonesome tonight…

She reached out to him as she sang, and as the ending chords played she placed her hand on her heart.

After the song ended there was roaring applause, for the performance and the show she put on as well. She thanked the audience and exited the stage. She made her way out the door and Spencer followed. He rushed after her so fast he barely missed her leaning on the brick exterior. She looked up at him, slightly startled. They gazed at each other, wondering who would make the first move. After about 2 minutes y/n reached for his hand, hoping he wouldn’t pull away.

He meets her halfway and they start on the walk home. It’s wordless, but there’s no negative energy, no tension to be felt. As they arrived at Spencer's apartment door he went to unlock it and y/n wrapped their hands around his waist and leaned their head on his spine. A subtle gesture to let him know that they loved him. After going inside and sitting on the couch together, Spencer finally speaks.

“I’m so sorry. For everything. I’m sorry for not being there when you need me, I’m sorry for putting my own insecurities and self-doubts before your feelings, and most of all I’m sorry for being selfish, y/n. You deserve so much more than being cast aside. I love you so much.”

y/n’s bottom lip quivered as she tried to hold herself together so she could speak too. She took a deep breath to calm herself and said

“I’m sorry too. I should have never said those things about you and your job. God, you're wonderful at what you do and I should have never used it against you like that. I was being stupid and I wasn’t thinking. Can you forgive me, even after all of that…?”

He took y/n’s hand and kissed the back of it, he pulled her in close for a tight hug and cuddled into her. She quietly cried into his shoulder as he whispered sweet affirmations in her ear to help her calm down. After a while, her breathing evened out and her sniffling stopped. She moved to be face to face with him and gently placed her hands on the side of his face and pulled him into the sweetest kiss he could have ever imagined. If she claimed her lips were made of honey, he wouldn't doubt her for a second. After a beat or 2, they pulled away and decided to order in and watch Doctor Who, and all was well.

Fin~

#spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid x fem!reader #spencer reid x you #spencer reid #songfic #maddies fics <3 #boldlyreblog

[lyraparadigm]

Never Have I Ever...One Shots S2 & Beyond

Fanfic on Ao3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/32770339/chapters/81307000

(More chapters in the link)

 Chapter 1: Never Have I Ever...Done Well In School

It felt good to do well in school. Paxton missed feeling accomplished. Ever since he broke his arm and couldn’t swim, he felt like there was a void in his chest..something he couldn’t quite pin point till this very day. Seeing his classmates clap for him at the end of his extra credit presentation felt good - like a few months ago when he was still on the swim team and breaking records. To top it off, Ojichan was there and now he couldn’t stop praising Paxton at dinner with Mom, Dad and Rebecca. Paxton couldn’t help the dopey grin that overtook his face when Ojichan asked what inspired him to step out of his comfort zone. Devi. He wasn’t gonna say that though.

“I just wanted to go above and beyond in school.” He shrugged nonchalantly, his face still split in a grin. 

Shaking his head, he chuckled to himself and mumbled under his breath, “I wanted to swim to San Diego.”

“Huh?” Rebecca asked, ever observant and Paxton, try as he might, couldn’t keep that damn grin off his face.

“Well, whatever it was, i’m proud of you Paxton. Thank you for convincing me to tell my story. It was the right thing to do.” Ojichan’s admission meant everything to Paxton and as he walked back to the garage after dinner, to play Call of Duty, it struck him that this wasn’t really what he wanted to be doing. 

Without much thought, he grabbed his keys and was on his way to Devi Vishwakumar’s house. The closer her got to her home, the louder he could hear his heart beat. Adrenaline was pumping through his veins and he felt like he was about to compete at a swim meet, or maybe sit in that Facing History test for the first time again.And then the insecurity set in… what if Devi was still into Ben? But that couldn’t be, right? Ben was with Aneesa and Devi was pretty chill with that. Her crying the other day has nothing to do with Ben. It was to do with her friends and he fixed that…he made her smile… so maybe…He shook himself free of those thoughts as he parked on her street by the fire hydrant so Dr. Vishwakumar wouldn’t be able to see him. He wasn’t gonna make that mistake again. Besides, it was just going to be a quick in and out. He just needed to say thank you to Devi. No need to knock on her door and meet her mom. He was just going to…what, throw rocks at her window? That was cheesy as hell and Paxton didn’t do cheese. 

He licked his lips, frowning as he realised it was raining. How had he not realised this before?!  Well, he was outside her house now…and the longer he dithered, the more soaked he was getting. Grunting, he started climbing the tree outside Devi’s house. He had never done this before. He usually just knocked on the front door or invited the girl around. Damn Paxton, just get a grip.He was on the roof now and her bedroom light was on and she was…she was sat there in these cute pjs that somehow did a great job at outlining her figure despite completely covering her. Her window was open, so he could just climb in… he blinked sheepishly…maybe he should text her before he did that. That’d be the polite thing to do. 

He watched like a total creep as she responded to his ‘what r u doing’ text.‘U want company?’ He had barely finished hitting send before he knocked. She was so goddamn cute - no. He was just here to thank her. Right. He climbed in as she got off her bed and approached him.

“Paxton…”

He breathed out a laugh at the ridiculousness of this situation.

“You’re in my house…” she appeared utterly confused, her brows furrowing adorably.

He laughed, a little shy, a little nervous, “Yeah…I guess so”His palms felt clammy all of a sudden and he could feel every drop of rain seeping into his skin through his shirt. His hair must have been a mess but he was just going to start talking anyway.

“Look I just wanted to say thank you for all your help.” His eyes could help but stray down her form quickly, “It felt so good to finally do something well in school” and he noticed her eyes drift too, though her gaze was far more obvious than his had ever been. And it struck him suddenly. There was never any hiding with Devi. She always just did what she wanted, when she wanted - like that time she propositioned him for sex despite having never spoken to him before, or when she manipulated Mr. Shapiro into giving Paxton a second chance at that Facing history test.So maybe it was time Paxton did what he wanted too.

“So…are you here to study…or….” The anticipation in her voice did things to him. Devi always had a way of looking or talking to him like she couldn’t quite believe he was talking back or looking at her or..well, now he was about to wipe that look off her face.

“No” he shook his head, closing the distance between them, barely giving her a chance to adjust, barely giving himself a chance to change his mind. His hand was in her hair, his gaze flickered down past her nose ring to her lips while he released a slow breath. This was happening. His eyes met hers for a moment before he closed them and leaned forwards, his lips pressing against hers in the softest of kisses that somehow felt different than any other kiss he had given her before. 

And then all bets were off; one hand wedged firmly in her hair, the other rose to grasp her waist as his lips moved sensually over hers and before he realised, he was backing her towards her bed. She didn’t seem opposed to any of it, her own hands gripping his forearms to start with, then grazing his arms before settling on his chest.He crawled on top of her bed, his lips never leaving hers for long as they adjusted so they were lying on their sides, kissing each other languidly. 

Soft kisses, open mouthed kisses, lingering ones, breathy ones…he could spend hours just learning her mouth and all the little hitches in her breath when he switched up the pace, or pressed his tongue against the seem of her lips. Then her leg forced its way between his and his brain short circuited a little. He didn’t think it was intentional, he didn’t really think she realised that her thigh was now pressed firmly against his… she seemed too absorbed in kissing him, her hands wading through his hair, nails scratching his scalp and making him shiver. ‘I don’t kiss guys often, Paxton!’ He remembered her admission weeks ago… for someone inexperienced, she sure was good at making him breathless. And to think he thought this would just be a quick visit. He was careful to not push. His hands stayed at her waist mostly, his thumb gently rubbing circles on her lower back. Occasionally his lips would drift to her jaw and kiss the spot below her ear. That drew a breathy sigh out of her that sent a heat wave up his spine. His lips returned to kissing hers, not wanting to get carried away, not wanting to push.

“Paxton?” she mumbled as they parted for breath, noses rubbing against each others. Her eyes were squeezed shut as she asked, “this isn’t a dream right? I’ve not just fallen asleep on my math homework? Am I drooling?”

He chuckled, cheeks blushing a little in embarrassment. There was a lot to unpack here - she dreamed of him apparently and God she was adorable.“This is real”, the words were barely out of his mouth before she lunged the already short distance between them and started kissing him once more. They must have been at it for at least an hour, he surmised, based on how uncomfortably tight his jeans were getting. He rolled onto his back to cool off, grinning dopily at the puppy dog frown on her face. She settled on her back too and they both stared at the ceiling, catching their breath.

“Did you talk to your Mom? You know.. after you saw her in the Maybach”Her brows furrowed again and her fists clenched. It always fascinated him how quickly her temper flared. The first time he took notice of her wasn’t when she asked him for sex, it was when she said something about Nazis killing Ben Gross. He had been surprised a nerd like her had the balls to say something like that in class and get sent to the Principal’s office.

“I just feel like she’s moving on so quick  - it’s not even been a year since my dad died” Devi huffed and Paxton turned to face her. 

He picked up an errant strand of hair and curled it around his finger, “Maybe you should talk to her?”

“I yelled at her already and now I don’t want to talk to her. I don’t want to talk about this.”

He nodded. He didn’t know what to say. Devi’s life was intense with a lot more drama than he was used to. He called her crazy once, with her ‘psycho’ drama. He cringed a little at that. It did nothing to ease his hurt when he said it then and it wasn’t doing much else but deepen his guilt now. So instead of saying anything at all, he let his fingers drift from her hair to brush against her nose ring and then against her lips. 

He felt a flutter in his stomach on seeing her anger melt off her face..like he was the only one that could do that… just like when he made her smile after her face was all puffy from crying about Eleanor. ‘Swim to San Diego’ seemed to be echoing in his mind a lot lately, especially whenever he gazed into her eyes. Her eyes. Had they always been this pretty? He grinned at his own thoughts now and it grew further when she matched his smile. He sighed against her lips, unable to keep away for long. His lips hovered against hers, never quite touching, just teasing…till she let out a grunt of frustration, much to his amusement, and reached forwards to mash their lips together. It was clumsy at first and he let out a groan as her teeth nicked his lips but his laughter died down when she snuck her leg between his again and then a different sort of groan left his mouth.

“Devi,” he breathed, pulling away from her and enjoying seeing that dazed look on her face he was so familiar with. His shirt was fully dry now and he figured it was time to stop pushing his luck. He shuddered to think what Dr. Vishwakumar would do if she caught him in her daughter’s bed.

“I’ve gotta go,” he pressed a quick kiss to Devi’s lips and she squeezed his hand in response. Walking to the window and ducking out, he found he was unable to leave without kissing her goodbye.

“I’ll call you tomorrow” he spoke gently against her lips and yep, there it was, that look on her face that made his stomach feel giddy. She looked at him like he had hung the moon and it was hella endearing.It had him grinning all the way back down to her front lawn and to the short walk to his jeep.Yeah this was definitely not a quick visit.Swim to San Diego indeed. 

#devi x paxton #devi vishwakumar #paxton hall yoshida #daxton #nhie

[writingwhimsey]

Lady of Azuchi Ch. 3

Chapter 3

It was just a couple of weeks later, I sat in a room of the castle with Hideyoshi and Ieyasu. We were interviewing midwives to find the perfect one for me. "What are your survival rates?" Ieyasu asked of the middle aged woman sitting in front of us.

"Very good. I have only had three mothers I have ever lost during the birthing process." She answered. "And I have helped to welcome countless babies into this world."

"And the survival of the children?" I asked, thinking of my baby.

"That number...has been a bit higher, but sometimes it cannot be helped." She answered.

"Thank you for your time." Hideyoshi said, dismissing the midwife.

The next one came in. She was the oldest of the candidates we had met with so far. "How long have you been a midwife?" Ieyasu began the questioning.

"Since I was a young girl, why many more years than the three of you have been alive combined." She answered.

Part of me liked her spunk, but then the other part of me wasn't a fan of that attitude. Just because someone had experience did not mean that it was all good.

"How many mothers and babies have you lost?" Hideyoshi asked.

It felt so weird to have to ask these questions. If I had been in the modern day, I would be seeing a doctor in a hospital with little worry about surviving or losing my child. While I knew things still went wrong in the modern day, they were far less likely.

"I try not to focus on my losses. Sometimes you can't save them." She answered. "It's usually only the weak ones who are not meant for this world anyways."

"I think we've heard enough." I said.

"Yes, thank you for your time." Hideyoshi said, sending her out and then the next one was in.

We went through a stream of midwives almost none of them getting past our first few questions. We finally encountered one who made it through the survival rate questions, having only lost one mother and baby.

"And what is your philosophy on a woman's activity during pregnancy?" I asked, knowing that in modern times we have learned that remaining active is actually good for mother and baby as long as it is within reason.

"Depends on the woman." She answered, eyeing me. "In your case, I would say that you need to rest more than most. You seem a bit weak."

"You do realize you are speaking to the wife of Nobunaga Oda?" Hideyoshi said to the woman. "She is quite strong to be our lord's partner."

"I call them as I see them." She replied.

"Next." I said not wanting to hear anymore of this.

Another string of interviews with women who had great survival rates, but terrible bedside manners. Our final interview of the day was a woman who appeared about my age. She had long dark hair she wore half up and half down. She also had striking green eyes and a warm smile.

"What are your survival rates?" Ieyasu asked.

"I have only ever lost one mother, but the child survived and is thriving when last I checked on her." She answered. "Which was about a week ago and she is three now. I've also only lost one child, but the mother survived and has even gone on to have more children who are healthy and thriving. She still grieves for her lost child from time to time, but with the proper support has been able to heal."

"You follow up with your patients after they are no longer in your care?" I asked, intrigued that post partum care was something this woman was thinking of.

"Yes. I believe it is important to follow up after the birth and help in any way I can." She answered. "Especially to check on the mothers. Many times a mother does not die during the birthing process but from infection and undetected injury afterwards...or in some cases she the emotional toll is too hard for her afterwards."

I was already impressed and finally feeling hopeful after all of our failed interviews so far today. Though when she spoke that last part, I thought I saw sadness in her eyes. "And how do you feel about a woman's activity during pregnancy?" I asked next.

"Pregnant women are able to carry on with most of their normal every day activities. Within reason of course. Not lifting anything too heavy and making sure to rest when tired and take frequent breaks." She answered. "I believe you should listen to your body and what it is telling you."

"And how do you feel about letting someone assist you? I mean with making sure Lady Ava were to be getting the right herbs and medicine during and after the pregnancy?" Ieyasu asked.

"I am open to whatever makes my patient most comfortable." She answered. "Most importantly, my priority would be to make sure Lady Ava and the baby are both safe and comfortable. I also believe there is always something new to learn."

"What is your name?" I asked her.

"Asuna."

"You've got the job." I said. I liked everything she said and felt most comfortable with her.

"Hold on a moment." Hideyoshi spoke up. "There are more questions we should be asking."

"Hideyoshi I am the one who is pregnant and I get the final say." I said. "Asuna clearly cares about her patients and has a very high success rate. Not to mention she believes in after care, something the other midwives have yet to mention."

"I do not mind answering more questions, my lady." Asuna said. "I am sure that there are things Lord Hideyoshi wishes to know about me in order to help protect you. I know how loyal he is to Lord Nobunaga and therefore he must be equally loyal to you as you are clearly important to Lord Nobunaga."

"Ava is important to all of the Oda forces." Hideyoshi spoke up. "Even before she was Lord Nobunaga's wife."

"She was our chatelaine." Ieyasu agreed. "And the soldiers all do find her endearing."

I smiled, happy that they cared for me. Even Ieyasu in his prickly tone was admitting it.

"Are you prepared Asuna to move into the castle to be sure you can care for Ava whenever necessary?" Hideyoshi asked. "You will be provided with a room and meals, but you must be dedicated solely to caring for our lady."

"While I normally wouldn't agree to that, I know the other midwives I work with can handle anyone who normally comes to us." Asuna answered. "It would be my honor to help deliver the next generation of the Oda and to assure your health and safety in the process, my lady."

"I am sorry to ask for so much of your time." I said.

"It is alright. The other midwives that I work with all have the same treatment style as I do." Asuna said. "I will not worry too much for our patients."

Though I could tell that this was a rather large sacrifice for her. She struck me as the type who really did care and got involved. "You are my midwife." I said. Then I looked at Hideyoshi, daring him to say otherwise.

Hideyoshi let out a sigh. "You know, if I didn't know any better I'd think it was Lord Nobunaga looking at me right now. You two are really starting to pick up things from each other."

I couldn't think at all what he could mean by that. Especially considering I don't think I gave any of my influences to Nobunaga...at least not where anyone else would notice. Many people still feared him as a great conqueror, which he still was. But I and only I got to see the soft gentle side of Nobunaga. Sure he showed me affection in front of the others, but he had never shied away from touching me in front of others before...even before we were actually a couple.

"It appears our lady has spoken and she is impressed with you." Hideyoshi relented.

"I am impressed as well." Ieyasu admitted.

"So, you have the job."

Asuna smiled. "Great!"

"We will give you the week to get everything in order so you can move into the castle." Hideyoshi explained. "When you return we will show you to your room."

"I appreciate the time to get things settled for my absence." She said. "And I appreciate the chance to work for the Oda." She then bowed before exiting.

I looked over at Hideyoshi who was watching Asuna leave, a look of unease in his eyes. He almost looked at her the same way he had looked at me when I first arrived. "Are you...suspicious of her Hideyoshi?" I asked.

"What? No why would you think that?" He asked.

"Because you were giving her the same look you gave me when I first arrived here nine months ago."

"There is nothing wrong. I am not worried." Hideyoshi replied and gave me a reassuring pat on the head.

I knew better with Hideyoshi. Worrying about everyone else was pretty much his entire life. However before I could say anything more, Kinu was coming to tell me that the head seamstress was looking for me, saying that they could really use my help. I went to join them and spent the rest of my day working on commissions which were requested of me.

At sunset I finished my work and was given a message to meet Nobunaga in his private bath. I walked into the room and looked around. "Nobunaga?" I called, though I didn't see him anywhere nor did he answer me.

I must have beat him. I decided to go ahead and remove my robes and climb in the tub, which was really a large shallow pool filled with warm water. I sighed in contentment as the warm water surrounded me and relaxed me. I was releasing tension I didn't even know I'd been holding.

I heard the door slide open and then footsteps walking in the room. "I see you beat me here." Nobunaga greeted me. I looked up as he removed his robes and waded into the water to join me.

"I didn't mean to get started without you, but the water was just too warm and inviting." I replied.

Nobunaga smiled at me as he pulled me up into his arms, pressing his body to mine. "I don't mind. I think coming into you in my bath already should happen more often. The sight of you is always welcome."

I smiled as I leaned into him. "I think we can arrange that."

Nobunaga kissed me then. His tongue easily slipping between my parted lips and teasing mine. He broke the kiss then only to trail kisses over my cheek and along my jaw. He kissed down my neck, playfully nipping along the way and then back up to my ear, where he knew I was too sensitive.

"Ah...mhn..." I moaned and I felt his lips curve into a smile as his teeth grazed across my ear.

"Always with such strong reactions." Nobunaga said, his voice teasing. His hands then found their way to my breasts. His calloused fingers pinched and tugged at my nipples.

Normally this would also bring out a strong reaction in me, however I found that this hurt. "Ouch."

Nobunaga paused and pulled back from my ear to look at me, his eyes concerned. "Have I hurt you?"

I shook my head. "No...it's just...my breasts are kind of sore." I answered sheepishly.

He frowned, but removed his hands from my breasts. Then he leaned down to place gentle kisses on them as if apologizing.

"I'm sorry."

He looked down at me, his eyes showing nothing but love to me. "You have nothing to apologize for...some changes are to be expected right now." He said, his eyes travelling down to my stomach, showing such tender affection. He then kissed my forehead.

I smiled up at him. Oh how I love this man. I thought. "You know...you can go back to the other stuff though." I said, not wanting our bath to end on that note.

Nobunaga chuckled and pulled my lips to his, kissing me deeply once more. He let his hands travel low over my body, careful as they slid down my breasts with only the lightest of touches. He slid one hand down the front and then between my thighs, his fingers stoking me in the most sensitive of places.

I moaned into his mouth as his fingers worked me, threatening to make me come undone already. While my breasts have grown painfully sensitive, it appears the rest of me is sensitive in the good way. I thought. Pregnancy giveth and pregnancy taketh.

Nobunaga broke the kiss, but still held me close with one arm and continued to ravish me with the other. His lips went back to my neck and ear.

A fire pooled low in my belly. "Ah...Nobu...naga." I cried out. "More...I...need...more."

I felt him smile into my neck. "You beg for me already?" He asked, his tone pleased. "Very well, I shall not keep you waiting." He lifted me ever so slightly in his arms and I eagerly wrapped my legs around him as he carried me over to the wall of the bath and held me against it before entering me.

I cried out with each thrust. My thoughts turned to mush and no words escaped me as I was lost to the pleasure of the an I loved moving inside of me. He leaned his head over my shoulder and I could hear each breath and each grunt in my ear, causing tingles to run over my body as he continued to make love to me.

"Ava..." He moaned my name as his own pleasure built.

"Ah...Nobunaga!" I cried out as that final wave of pleasure washed over me.

"Ava!" Nobunaga called out at the same time, riding that final wave with me.

After stopping he lingered inside me a moment, just holding me close. He leaned his forehead against me. "No matter how many times I have you...it is never enough." He said, breathless.

I smiled. "I feel the same way. I can't get enough of you."

We stayed like that for an immeasurable moment, lingering in our heat and our love for each other. We only broke apart once the bath water started to grow cold. Then we got out and into our night robes, heading back to our room in the tenshu.

We sat out on the balcony looking out at the city and holding onto each other. As I sat in Nobunaga's lap, I felt the tiredness that had become a part of me start to take over. I let out a yawn as I nestled into his embrace.

"Are you ready for bed?" He asked.

"We can...stay...up a bit longer." I replied sleepily, trying to hold back another yawn.

I felt his chest rumble as he let out a gentle laugh. He then kissed my forehead. "You should rest...from what I understand once our child gets here there won't be much chance for it."

I laughed. "I've heard that, too...but I'm not ready to move from this spot."

"You mean from the balcony or my lap?"

"Your lap, obviously." I answered.

"I will stay here a bit longer then...I can deny you nothing." He replied. "When you inevitably fall asleep, I will just carry you to bed."

"You won't have to do that. I'll stay awake...at least for a bit longer."

We sat there for a while longer, before I did fall asleep and true to his word, Nobunaga carried me to bed.

A few days later in Echigo...

"When will we be attacking Nobunaga again?" An impatient Kenshin asked Shingen. "Our forces have recovered from the last battle."

"But you have not fully recovered yet." Shingen countered.

"I am perfectly fine." Kenshin replied.

"Lord Kenshin I believe Lord Shingen is not referring to your physical state, though you have only just recovered from the injuries you sustained in your fight with Nobunaga." Sasuke interjected.

"It is true, you haven't been yourself since your battle." Shingen replied.

"If it hadn't been for that...that woman of his, that battle would have been better...I should have killed that woman!"

Sasuke had to hold his emotions in check. No matter what Kenshin said, he could never allow him to kill or harm Ava in any way. Though she was now married to his Lord's enemy she was still his friend, one he cared about and wouldn't allow harm to come to.

"Kenshin, there is no need to harm an innocent woman." Shingen spoke up, not wanting harm to come to a woman who just happened to marry the wrong man.

"Nobunaga asked for a bloodless surrender! I wanted a battle to the death!" Kenshin shouted. "If not for that woman's influence, he would have fought me to the death! It would have been a real battle!"

While Shingen wouldn't ever harm a woman, he did have to admit that his friend and ally was right. This Ava, had had an influence on Nobunaga. Their last battle at the garrison castle had ended differently than expected. And from the reports from his Mitsumono, he knew that that had only been the first of Nobunaga's battles to end this way. The Devil King was well on his to conquering the entire country.

Sasuke let out a sigh. "And then you nearly got yourself killed when you kidnapped Ava. You do realize your vassals would prefer you to live?"

"Battle me, Sasuke." Kenshin roared.

Shingen stepped in, putting a hand on Kenshin's shoulders. "I am working on a plan on when we should attack next." He said. "I recently had one of my Mitsumono infiltrate Azuchi and she is in a rather close position to Nobunaga."

"She? A woman?" Kenshin spat. "You have someone posing as his concubine trying to lure him away from his wife?"

Shingen shook his head. "No, this woman is different. She is not a seductress."

"Who is it?" Yukimura asked, not knowing what his Lord was talking about.

"I speak of Asuna." Shingen answered.

"The midwife?" Yukimura asked.

Shingen nodded.

"Midwife?" Sasuke asked.

"What use would Nobunaga have for a midwife?" Yukimura asked.

Shingen sighed. "Yuki, where have I failed in your education on women? Clearly the midwife is for Nobunaga's wife. Word was sent out that she has become with child and there were interviews held in Azuchi castle for the position. Asuna easily won it."

Sasuke's eyes widened. Ava is pregnant?! I was not expecting this news. Of course then a troubling thought came to Sasuke's mind. His friend was pregnant and one of her husband's enemies had his spy working as her midwife. He had some rather conflicting feelings about this.

Though Sasuke was usually not very expressive, Shingen took notice of the look on the young man's face at this news. He pondered the many possibilities of what it could mean, but did not say anything right this moment. He decided he needed to have a private chat with Kenshin's ninja later.

See what happens next below!

https://writingwhimsey.tumblr.com/post/659903401690333184/lady-of-azuchi-ch-4

#ikesen nobunaga #ikemen series #ikemen sengoku #fanfic #fanfiction #romance #chapter 3

[writesowhatnext]

and I’ve been thinking about it lately // george weasley

Summary: friends // it was easy to be friends with george weasley

Request: nee

A/N: once again!!! I used Y/L/N which is last name :) this is part 2 of the fic I just posted!!!! obviously?? anyways I loved this

Reader: female, Slytherin

Warnings: swearing

enemies // friends // lovers // epilogue

“Looks like we’re partners,” George said, sliding into the seat next to yours and grinning. He felt a little nervous given your turbulent history, but it seemed that you were about to surprise him, as you always managed to.

“Just my luck,” you retorted, your voice lacking its usual amount of bite despite your scowl.

He smirked at your tone, surprised at much he enjoyed your new-found acquaintanceship.

“Can’t believe you got paired up with that loser, Weasley,” Malfoy said to you from behind, leaning over his desk so his annoyingly pompous voice carried. “Which one are you again?”

Before George could open his mouth and put the little git in his place, he was beaten to the punch.

“And why are you talking to me, Malfoy?” you said slowly, not even looking at him as you opened your textbook. You smiled slightly at his angry muttering and the scrape of his chair on the floor.

When you looked at George, only to see him making smug faces at Malfoy before turning to you and smirking, you rolled your eyes, still finding his ability to rile your feathers disturbingly uncanny.

“You can do the uses-“

“Why?” he said loudly, returning your scowl as you glared at him.

“Because I told you to.”

“And so, what? I should just do it?”

“Yes.”

“Well, in that case, your highness.”

You shot him a dark look and he opened his mouth to continue your bickering when a dark figure loomed behind you.

“Mr Weasley, Ms Y/L/N.” Snape’s voice cut through the silence of the room. “Do you find squabbling like children in my class to be a good use of your time?”

Following Snape’s little scolding, you tried desperately to avoid his wrath for the rest of the lesson. This was a goal that proved harder than initially anticipated given the nature of the boy sitting next to you. Halfway through the lesson, you found yourself biting your nails, trying to figure out the purpose of adding Eye of Newt when George caught your eye. He winked and you glowered in return, but he could see the upward curve of your lips and considered himself once again pleasantly surprised. 

He could barely contain his laughter, though, when around ten minutes later you stuck your tongue out at him when you caught him looking around the room for a distraction. It was strange, you though, to be so light-hearted with him; not bad though, not at all.

He snickered until he felt Snape’s eyes on him and immediately ducked his head, not eager to receive another detention after the last Thursday night he spent polishing trophies. The idea of George getting in trouble made you smirk, though, and you looked over to tease him only to see Snape’s sour expression. 

Your eyes widened as you quickly looked down again and pursed your lips tightly. You both watched him walk in front of your desk slowly, gliding past you, the weight of his gaze heavy on your shoulders. George snorted and you kicked him under the table, finding it almost impossible to contain your own laughter with Snape watching you so closely.

The man himself, like a dark shadow, loomed over your bench and reluctantly, you both looked up. Snape’s eyes flickered from yours to George’s slowly, suspiciously. As you both waited silently for the inevitable punishment, you couldn’t help your amusement brewing and you cursed George and his stupidity for always somehow making you laugh.

“Class…” Snape drawled, his dark gaze never leaving your faces. “Dismissed.”

You concealed your laughter until you got outside the room where you immediately burst into giggles. You shoved George lamely with your hand, shaking your head.

“You are the worst!” you insisted, huffing as he grinned. You scoffed, biting your lip.

Both you and George stared at each other for a moment, your combined breathing the only sound in the hallway as your laughter died down. The air turned thick rather quickly and wading through the awkward silence, you remembered that you really ought to get to your next class. You made to leave, not wanting to extend the odd tension for any longer when George stopped you, his hand on your arm. You stiffened under his touch and he lifted his palm quicker than you’d thought possible. Your insides churned.

“Defence Against the Dark Arts, right?” he said, his eyebrows raised, an oddly guarded look in his eye.

You narrowed your eyes suspiciously.

“…Yes.”

“Oh, brilliant,” he said, throwing his arm over your shoulder and ushering you in the right direction. “We can walk there together.”

You grunted and pushed him off indelicately, shooting him a deadpan look when he grinned. You urged yourself to be normal - whatever that was.

“Joyous,” you said so dryly he barked a loud laugh, a laugh that made you forget how weird you’d felt only minutes before. You were glad to return to more familiar territory.

“Don’t pretend you don’t like me,” he said glibly, hoping that you couldn’t tell how unsure he was about the idea. Why did he even care if you liked him? He barely even liked you a week ago. You rolled your eyes again and he swallowed against the tightness of his throat.

“I assure you, there’s no pretence involved whatsoever.”

Either he didn’t have a witty response or just chose to ignore you, but he only hummed as you both wandered to the third floor.

Professor Lupin, you discovered quickly, was thankfully nothing like Professors Quirrell or Lockhart; that was in the sense that he actually seemed somewhat competent at his job. You were quite enjoying the lesson until he introduced the boggart, something that you definitely did not want to face, especially not in a room full of people that you didn’t know, didn’t like and George, who you were unsure about where he sat in that particular Venn diagram. With a poorly concealed rush, you joined the back of the queue that curled around the room as Fred and George, ever the showmen joined the front.

You expected George’s worst fear to be something stupid; something like clowns or people not laughing at his dumb jokes. What you did not expect was to see the boggart turn into George himself; how you could tell the difference between him and Fred was not something you dared to question. The boggart was holding a white rose and stood there in a suit, the type you’d never believe that George would ever wear, and as he faced it, he gulped. You frowned, something about the whole thing piquing your interest. Maybe George Weasley wasn’t everything you thought he was.

“Riddikulus!” he shouted, watching with wide eyes as the boggart’s white rose crumbled into dozens of pieces, each hitting the ground with a sharp thud. Its face morphed into Filch’s and suddenly the whole classroom was alive with laughter at the sight of Filch attempting to find footing on a floor of marbles. Finding you across the class, pleased to see a faint smirk on your lips, George winked. You scoffed, shaking your head. Maybe George Weasley was exactly what you thought he was.

“Pretty impressive, eh?” he said cockily as he walked over. The rest of the class shrieked in laughter as another fear turned into something hilarious, but you weren’t paying attention.

“You’re an imbecile.”

“Oh, is that right?”

“Most definitely.”

“I dare you to do something better,” he said, his competitive streak showing. He watched, though, with intrigue, as your face turned pale and your expression uncomfortable.

“I don’t have to prove anything to you,” you snapped, perhaps too harshly. He glowered, dozens of cruel retorts collecting on his tongue before he stopped, noticing the way your fingers pulled nervously at your sleeve and your eyes darted around the room.

For the first time since knowing you, George realised that you were actually scared of something and despite how much he loved to irritate you, your fearful expression didn’t sit well with him at all.

“Did you hear that Neville turned his into Snape wearing his grandma’s clothes?” he said, his stare far too obvious for his tone to be so casual. He tried, though, and you almost appreciated his attempt to be subtle as he avoided mentioning your conversational hand grenade. He watched confusion, and then recognition, flash over your features.

“I can’t believe Longbottom’s boggart was Snape,” you scoffed, crossing your arms tightly. George frowned, opening his mouth to defend him. Whilst he and Neville weren’t the best of friends, George wasn’t a fan of people teasing him, especially Slytherins. From all he knew about you, he could only expect mockery to tumble lazily from your lips.

“Neville’s-“

“How psychotic do you have to be for a kid to fear you like that?”

George’s mouth dried up a little and for the first time in a long time, he was rendered speechless. His eyes trailed over your scowling face.

“I’ll say,” he said softly, watching you closely to gauge your reaction. “I figured you’d like Snape; being a Slytherin and all.”

You made a face. “He’s a bully. Fantastic wizard, mind, but an awful person.”

George mused on your words for a moment. He didn’t really know what to say, but he was saved by the point of Fred’s wand and the sight of a younger, screaming Ron Weasley legging it away from a gigantic spider. You exhaled out of your nose as Fred came over, clapping his brother on the shoulder.

“That was brilliant, mate,” George said to his brother, grinning like a Cheshire cat.

“What did you think Y/N?” Fred asked, flicking his hair over his shoulder. “Am I a comedic genius or what?”

“I think I’ll have to go with ‘or what’ on that one,” you hummed, smiling at their stupidly dramatic reactions.

Much to your surprise, it wasn’t just the twins that you’d come to tolerate.  As you walked over to the Gryffindor table, your fingers drumming against your leg, you thought about how, against all odds, you’d developed a very unexpected friendship with Hermione Granger. Hours of polite co-existing at the library managed to do that to a person.

“Oi, Granger,” you said, stopping behind Ron, ignoring the way his face soured when he saw you. “Do you have that book I leant you on muggle war history?”

“Oh,” she exclaimed, throwing her hand to her chest before she rifled through her bag and handed over a thick hardback. “Yes, here, thank you.”

You nodded at her before turning to walk away, catching Harry’s eye in the process. You circled back, an amused smirk working its way onto your lips.

“Saw you flying that hippogriff earlier, Potter. Must say, I’m quite impressed. Especially after what it did to Malfoy’s arm.”

“Uh,” he said, not quite sure where to look. “Thanks, Y/N.”

“Ooh,” George said, sitting down next to Harry as Fred sat opposite him.

“Has someone got a crush?” Fred asked, goading you with his teasing tone.

“Someone’s about to get crushed,” you replied happily, your overly cheerful voice sending the twins into hysterics.

You pursed your lips, but the amused smile on your face didn’t escape Hermione’s keen eye.

“Excited for quidditch tomorrow then, Y/N?” George said with a cocky grin. “We’re gonna absolutely decimate the Hufflepuffs.”

“Like that’s hard,” Fred added, nodding his head.

“As much as I would love to see you two do absolutely nothing for a few hours,” you smirked as their expressions wilted. “I have no interest in torturing myself watching a game I can’t play.”

“Why can’t you play?” Harry asked, a confused frown knitting his brows together.

“Flint banned me for three matches; says it’ll ‘help remind me where my loyalties should lie’. Smug bastard.”

You rolled your eyes, remembering the dumb look on his face and the haughtiness of his tone.

“What? He’s not letting you play because of that enchanted bludger last year? But you were only helping Harry!” Hermione said, her voice indignant.

“I think that’s the issue, Hermione,” Harry said almost guiltily.

“Well, that’s hardly fair, is it?” Ron said, the words tumbling from his mouth before he could stop them. He winced as he prepared himself for your reaction, quite surprised really when you only shrugged and kissed your teeth.

“Not to worry, he’ll put me back in after the Ravenclaw match,” you insisted, the clock on the wall catching your eye. “I’m irreplaceable.”

You winked at Ron as you walked backwards, finding it best not to be late for Snape’s study session given your recent antics with George. Your laughter followed you out the hall as you left Ron blushing bright pink in your wake.

There was a large possibility that you might have lied. Or perhaps you just hadn’t made up your mind yet. It really didn’t matter though because Potter sure was lucky that you’d dragged yourself to see the match in the end. You obviously hadn’t anticipated him falling so hard so fast, but given that you’d been lurking by the players’ entrance to the pitch to get the best view of the game, you were by far the first to reach him when he hit the ground with a resounding thud.

You perched on the bed opposite him, sitting on the railing and hoping that Madam Pomfrey was too occupied with the injured Hufflepuffs to scold you.

“He looks a bit peaky,” Ron said, leaning over Harry who, admittedly, did look rather pale. “Doesn’t he?”

You cursed yourself for being so worried about Harry Potter, of all people, but despite your best intentions, you had a soft spot for the kid and you reasoned that anybody falling out of the sky would’ve earnt exactly the same response.

“Peaky?” George scoffed, looking at his little brother.

“I’d expect,” Fred snorted.

“He fell over a hundred feet.”

“Yeah, Ron. Let’s walk you off the Astronomy Tower.”

“See what you look like.”

You rolled your eyes. They really were idiots.

“Probably a darn sight better than he usually does,” Harry said, his voice croaky. You snorted, leaning forward to get a better look at Hogwarts’ resident skydiver. George glanced at you, grinning at the noise you’d made as he moved to sit by Harry.

“You gave us a right good scare there, mate,” he said, shaking his head. Despite your oath to never do so, you had to agree with him. Harry’s eyes flicked from George to the twigs that were left of his broomstick nestled in Ron’s arms, and then finally to you.

“What are you doing here?” he asked, frowning.

You chuckled as you stood up and made towards the bed, walking past Longbottom, who edged away away from you nervously.

“Just checking you’re still alive, Potter,” you said lazily, catching George’s eye as you turned to leave.

“She helped bring you in,” he said, looking at you for a moment before bringing his attention back to Harry.

“Seems like she’s your guardian angel on that quidditch pitch,” Fred joked, his laughter echoing down the corridor as you took a leisurely stroll back to the dungeon.

You didn’t see Fred or George for a while after that which was worrying, to say the least; if not only because that meant that they were planning something. You managed to muster a smile for Harry in the hallway one time, figuring he needed it with all the rumours going around about Sirius Black being his godfather. It probably came out like more of a grimace, you mused. 

It felt normal, though, to return to your life before your truce with George Weasley; back to your normal friends and normal problems that didn’t involve teenagers falling from the sky. Disappointingly, with your friends busy revising for the upcoming Transfiguration test, a test you knew that you’d ace, you almost convinced yourself to ditch Hogsmeade for the day. However, something about the fresh snow on the ground or the idea of Christmas just around the corner swayed you and you found yourself huddled in your coat, rushing through the halls of Hogwarts.

The last people you expected (or wanted) to see were Fred and George, walking through the quad with matching woolly hats and coats. You debated it for a moment. You could just ignore them, but no doubt they’d notice you shadowing them at some point. And you were friends now, right? 

The thought struck you with less distaste than you imagined it would and it seemed, at that point, that your mind was made up.

“Aren’t you two supposed to be at Hogsmeade?” you shouted, quirking an eyebrow at them as they turned around, waiting for you to catch up.

“Couldn’t we ask you the same thing?” George said, grinning cheekily.

“I was just leaving, actually.”

“Oh, splendid,” Fred said, his tone mocking. “We absolutely have to go together, then.”

“If we must,” you said, the perfect picture of resignation.

“You know you love us, Y/N,” George said, elbowing you in the ribs.

“I’ll pretend that’s true for your own sake.”

“You see that, George?” Fred asked, pointing at his brother as you walked between them. “And they say Slytherin’s aren’t kind.”

You couldn’t help the smile that lifted your cheeks.

It was unfortunate, really, because you couldn’t shake that smile for the rest of the day. Against your better judgement, you joined the twins in the Three Broomsticks, laughing and joking over pints of butterbeer. If anybody asked, the whole experience was deplorable, but in reality, you were actually enjoying yourself. So much so that you didn’t even notice the stares you were getting from across the pub.

“Can you believe that?” Seamus asked, jerking a thumb at you. “Did you ever think the bloody Weasley twins would be friends with a Slytherin?”

Dean shook his head, snickering into his glass. “No chance, mate.”

harry potter tag list:

@creator-appreciator

@decadentwastelandtrash

@loveisblindness

@xinyourdreamsx

@brainlesspasta

@hariosborn

@staringmoony

@rexorangecouny

@alittletoomanyobsessions

@peachesandpinks

@yuptha-tsme

@obsessedwithrandomthings

@dreamer821

@iprobablyshipit91

@in-slytherin-we-trust        

@haphazardhufflepuff

@princesof-theuniverse

@whovianayesha

@ickle-ronniekins

@harrysweasleys

@theweirdsideofstuff

@igotmindcontrol​

@fandomscombine​

@mytreec

@tallyovie

@strawberriesonsummer

@parkeroffline

#george weasley #george weasley imagine #george weasley x reader #harry potter #Harry Potter imagine #writing #imagine

[spicysoftsweet]

He Wasn’t Man Enough - Hisoka x Reader

A/N: This is me being dramatic after a convo with @hisokapegger. I just wrote it off the cuff so hopefully it’s fine ahahahaha. Tl;dr You run into your ex Hisoka at a grocery store, of all places.

TWs: pregnancy, abortion

---

Today was one of the rare days where you were truly happy.

You’d woken up this morning with an atypical surge of energy, much more so than you had in the past few months after your third serial failed relationship. You couldn’t even say you were truly sad about the relationship failing, it was starting to be par for the course at this point. You attributed the slump you’d be in to something else - the feeling of being stagnant, wading in place that seemed to persist throughout the past year, maybe two. 

You’d decided you would give dating a rest. After your bitter breakup after a long tumultuous relationship with the magician (and likely psychopath) Hisoka, it almost seemed like he had laid a curse on you to fail relationship after relationship thereafter. Maybe it was because you had grown so exhausted in trying to turn him into something he wasn’t - you couldn’t turn a whore into a husband, after all - but you’d given up hope, and now your patience had grown thin with anyone you decided to be with. You’d lost the ability to compromise having tried so hard to find a middle ground with Hisoka which really meant losing ground on everything you wanted. Now if anyone stepped out of line for a split second, you dropped them. You had to admit some of the reasons for which you’d dropped people were small, but you’d be damned if you let another person make a fool out of you for years on end.

There was something freeing about refusing to settle. Choosing not to give a single fuck gave you an insurmountable amount of power. And now with the surge of energy today, the fact that you’d done some of your best work at your job, and your creativity was at an all-time high, you felt unshakable. 

Armed with that sense of self-worth, you parked your car into the lot of your neighborhood grocery store, planning to make a quick trip to replenish on milk, bread and eggs before you got home for the day. Humming quietly to yourself, you navigated the store throwing things idly into your hand-held shopping basket, hoping you would limit yourself to just a few things. You had a tendency to over-shop, especially when you were in a good mood. 

You weaved past a young child crying about sugary breakfast cereal, making sure to smile politely at the distressed mother before heading over to the produce section. And that’s when you saw him.

Hisoka.

It had been years.

Isn’t it funny that after a breakup you spend weeks dreading meeting your ex in public places? That you then start to rehearse running into them, deciding either to ignore them or say something so curt and so peaceful that they regret ever leaving you? That you expect that the longer you’ve spent without seeing them, the less likely your heart was to stir when looking into a face that used to portray fondness towards you?

For a moment, you forgot why you had come here in the first place.

Ah yes, apples. Hisoka was holding a red apple in his hand, checking its ripeness, but then he looked up and his golden eyes connected with yours and you almost expected the mischievous glint ever present in his regard. But instead, he looked almost surprised to see you. Maybe even rattled. That was an uncommon emotion for him.

To be fair, it was a bit shocking to see Hisoka at a grocery store as well. He’d never be so responsible the years you had dated to buy a nourishing food item on his own. He even had a shopping cart with him, and it looked a bit too full for one.

Your mouth open and shut. You weren’t sure if you should speak or not. To ignore or to speak politely? After all, it had been so long. You couldn’t let him believe his existence still had any affect on you. What if he tried to get back into your pants?

You were still standing still, and Hisoka’s gaze was still focused on you, but the surprise and the softness in his eyes and the very small way in which his lips down-turned was starting to unsettle you. Even more unsettling was the way he was dressed, almost as though he aimed to blend in with the millions of other shoppers, his skin still pale but not the almost sickly white of his face makeup, no star or teardrop to be seen, and his red hair no longer flaming towards the sky but down and neat. He almost looked like a regular person.

Suddenly, you were starting to feel ridiculous, just standing there with a sheepish look on your face. You decided you would politely say your regards and then continue on your way. 

But as you took a single step forward, a young, petite and obviously pretty woman, seemingly materializing out of nowhere, came to join him by the stack of apples. Her arm linked to his, her face bright and her eyes full of affection, and with smiling lips, she whispered something to him that was unintelligible to you at this distance.

Hisoka’s eyes were still on you, and when his obvious partner turned to follow his gaze, there was an ever so slight curve on her belly, and maybe you could have lied to yourself and said it wasn’t a baby bump, but the way she protectively placed her hand on her abdomen and held his hand said otherwise.

Who is that staring? You imagined she asked, but you couldn’t read her lips; you were too busy shattering. 

You didn’t even feel your shopping basket drop to your feet, and didn’t hear the eggs breaking in the carton or the milk carton crashing and spurting a mess all over the floor, but instead turned on your heels and ran.

It was heaven’s mercy that you didn’t fall on the mess you made. You didn’t think you could tolerate looking more pitiful than you felt right now.

You ran to your car as thought it was a lifeline. There was a ticking time bomb inside of you, and you didn’t realize the tears were already falling.

It had been years.

Your fingers didn’t seem to work anymore, and you continued to fumble as you tried desperately to start your car and flee this cursed place.

It had been years.

This was an overreaction. People were allowed to move on. Now if only your hands would stop shaking enough so that you could stick your keys in the ignition and move on home yourself. 

Instead, a dry sob came out of your throat, and you gave up, tossing the keys onto the passenger seat of your car.

You’d spent years trying to turn Hisoka into someone who would settle down with you. Someone who could be reliable. Someone who wouldn’t disappear the moment you needed him.

He had told you, quite frankly, if you ever got pregnant to abort it.

But yet you could tell, from the way she trusted him fully by the way she moved around him, from the simple fact that he was in a fucking grocery store buying fucking fruit and pushing around a cart with supplies for two that he meant to stay with her.

Most damning of all was the apologetic look in his eye when he looked at you.

He’d lied.

He’d lied.

He’d lied.

He said he’d never change. The truth was, he’d never change for you.

#hisoka #hisoka x reader #angst #sometimes it's not you #smh

[howdyhowdyyalls]

Where One Story Should End, Another Begins

Okay y’all strap in, my first actual series (instead of just one shots lol) has only been on Wattpad so far but I’m bringing her to Tumblr. Anyone who knows me knows I’m a psych major with my own mental health struggles and Wade Wilson as a comfort character so what the hell, here’s a Wade x reader series with some emotional bits haha. 

Here’s the Wattpad description: You never knew how lost a person could be until you found yourself hanging from the edge of a high-rise building; you also never knew how much life could change from the introduction of a single man. From the day you met on the roof of that building, there has been a connection between you and Wade Wilson. A relationship consisting of a lot of confusion, some anger, and maybe even love. 

Sidenote, several chapters are already out on Wattpad but I think I’ll space out the posts on Tumblr lol, but here’s chapter one! Also, Wade’s personality and healing factor here is based more on the original comic character than the movie interpretation (Meaning he’s slightly less vulgar and feels the full pain of his injuries. They still heal, but he also still feels all the pain until they do. Also, I love Ryan Reynolds’s interpretation, I’m just sticking more to the comics for these purposes.)

 I really hope people will take the time to read this and let me know what you think

Warnings (These will be chapter by chapter, not for the whole series): suicide, depression, swearing, blood mention

Word Count: 2,076

Fuck this. You'd had enough.

As you walked down the street to the highest building in the blocks surrounding your apartment, there was no doubt in your mind that this was the right thing to do. You'd put up with too much pain for too long and you were ready to make it stop once and for all. You'd thought this through very well. You knew what you were about to do, and you were ready. So, you entered the building (a hotel, you believed) and took the elevator up as high as it would go. Your hands were shaking as the pads of your fingers clamored for the cold buttons, but now was not the time to get cold feet.

You had to do this.

The elevator opened on the roof of the building, which served as a nice patio for hotel residents to relax on. Ironic, you thought, that you'd be flinging yourself to your death from a resort that was designed to be a place of relaxation and calmness. Regardless, you pressed on to the railing of the building, looking down at the massive drop before you.

26 stories- enough to kill anyone. It was even more intimidating in person than you imagined, but as you looked down the treacherous drop to the alley below, you waited in vain for the sense of terror that you'd been expecting. This view was enough to scare the living hell out of anyone; perhaps more worrying than the drop itself was the fact that it didn't scare you. Instead, a bizarre sense of peace came over you. Soon, the pain would be gone. Just the thought of that was inviting enough for you to firmly grip the railing and carefully swing your legs over so that you were now on the opposite side, clinging on to the building by just  a few thin bars. You stood there for a moment, gathering your thoughts as you willed your breathing to steady. 

You were ready.

"You don't want to do that."

The voice from behind you startled you so much that you almost fell off on accident. You were careful to quickly replace the look of surprise on your face with one of annoyance. With your hands still tightly on the railing, you slightly turned to glance out of the corner of your eye to see who the hell would also happen to be on the roof of a 26 story building at 2:30 AM. Once you caught sight of the figure though, you turned more fully to take a second look. You could make out the silhouette of a person sitting in the dark corner of the roof patio; you hadn't noticed him earlier because he was sitting just behind the door you'd come from. The stranger was entirely disguised by a red suit with black accents, and judging by the voice and body shape, a man. His suit was designed such that you couldn't see a single bit of skin, including his face- the eyes on the mask were completely whited out, giving him an eerie appearance. Your eyes trailed down from the mask to the rest of him to notice... weapons? Fuck, now that you looked closely, there were at least two pistols on him, and you could see what appeared to be the hilt of a knife poking out of the top of his boots.

"I really need to find a better way of entering a conversation, don't I? Been trying to think of a catchphrase, haven't come up with anything yet," he babbled; you weren't even sure if he was talking to himself or to you.

"...What? Who... who do you think you are, telling me what I want? Just- Never mind. Leave me alone," You snapped. You hadn't planned to even talk to the man, but you also hadn't expected him to make such a silly comment, given the situation. It caught you off guard a bit, so you turned from him to focus on the task at hand. This weirdo was not going to ruin this for you.

"Ouch. Just tryin' to help." He sounded strangely calm and unbothered by the fact that you were literally hanging off the edge of a building, poised to jump- he spoke with the ease of someone making small talk at a bus stop.

"Just FYI, that thing they say about dying from falling being painless is total bullshit. You don't faint in the air, and even though you die on impact with the ground, you still feel all the pain in the world, just for a second. Trust me, it's the worst." He said this with a slightly more earnest tone than anything else thus far, but his nonchalant vibe didn't falter. Even though you couldn't see him, you could still hear him moving behind you, even over the chaotic orchestra of city sounds below you. From his footsteps, you could tell he was standing now and walking around, likely towards you.

"What... what the hell are you talking about?" You finally caved and inquired more of his seemingly deranged mumbling.

"Take it from me, it's not a good way to go," he stated matter of factly. This earned him another glance from you, which he noticed and he returned the stare to you, now standing several meters away. At least... you think he was looking at you. It was dark, and with the mask you couldn't see his eyes whatsoever.

"I don't know who the hell you are, but clearly you're insane. Just fuck off, okay? Leave me alone," you barked at him, desperately wishing this maniac to leave so you could just do what you came to do and die in peace. Though... the longer you stood there listening to him ramble, the more you were able to take in your surroundings. The tears had slowly stopped, likely because you simply had no more to cry. Now with a slightly more clear head, you were able to take in the true height at which you clung to the railing. The breeze threatening to pluck you from the structure was somehow both inviting and terrifying. You'd thought this through well, you had everything sorted out so that you can finally die and die in peace... but the stranger's words lingered in your head. What if it did hurt...

You were very abruptly ripped from your thoughts at the realization that the man was now standing a mere few feet from you, leaning against the railing you clung to, just on the opposite side.

"Jesus! Didn't you hear me? I said to fuck off!" you snapped even more sharply this time, willing anger to hide your fear from this whack job who had no right to be here in the first place. You'd thought through and planned for many things surrounding your suicide, but this certainly was not one of them. 

"Yeah, I heard you. Just 'cause I heard you doesn't mean I have to listen. Same for you. You can completely ignore me and jump if you want. But I'm kinda sensing there's a reason you haven't let go yet..." He mumbled. A wave of emotions came over you at his words. First confusion, then anger at him for barging into your affairs and presuming to know anything about anything.

"Because you're freaking me out. Don't make me say it again- fuck. off." You hissed. Weird... even though he still wore a mask and you couldn't make out even the slightest expression on his face, his silence carried a strange somberness to it, making you feel just the slightest twinge of guilt, so you very quietly added, "Please. I've had enough.. not just with you, with everything. I've thought this out well. I know what I'm doing. I know this is what needs to be done. Just, please, leave me be." The man seemed to be able to hear the cracks in your voice, much like the cracks in a dam, sealing away an ocean of emotion and pain that you fought so desperately to hold back. You were doing this so as to rid others of the burden you put on them. This man- whoever this bizarre stranger was- didn't need or deserve to be burdened by you either. When he still didn't respond, you looked up at him; after only several minutes of conversing, you could already infer that silence was uncommon with this one and that it must mean he is actually thinking. You also noticed that he'd shifted a bit closer to you now, close enough that you might be able to reach out and touch him.

"Yeah, but I'm here now. And I know it might've sounded like a joke, but I was serious when I said I knew what it felt like. Physically and emotionally. I've been through this whole shit show before but from your side, except there was no one there to try and stop me. Not that it would've worked anyways. I know what it's like to feel like there's no other option. I know I can't stop you, too. All I can do is tell you what I know, and that is that you're about to make a huge mistake. Come back over here with me and let's talk about this, preferably when you aren't quite literally clinging to life."

You hesitated for a moment, but soon frustration boiled within you again, angry with yourself this time for even considering his offer. When you didn't respond, he continued to speak.

"Well, if you won't join me-" he began, firmly holding the railing and swinging his legs over to your side, "then I guess I'll join you," he grinned, making you realize just how much of a madman he must be.

"What the hell are you doing?! Get back, leave me alone!" You screamed at him this time, your entire body trembling from adrenaline. Anywhere else, you'd probably have shoved the freak, but now definitely wasn't the time. He just looked out at the skyscrapers surrounding you, then his gaze landed on you once more.

"Beautiful out, isn't it?" He gestured broadly to the city skyline with one hand, but when his hand was towards you, he very suddenly snatched your wrist with an iron grip, tethering you to him and to the building and earning a gasp from you.

"What the fuck?! HELP! Someone-" You panicked now. Suicide seemed like an okay option when you were the one in control, but now that your life was in the hands of this stranger, fear flooded your body. You wanted to try and pry his hand off of you but if you let go with your other hand to do so, you really would fall.

"No one can hear us up here, sweetheart. I didn't want to have to do this but I'm not letting you die on my watch. Will you please come back over the railing with me? I'm asking ever so politely." You honestly couldn't tell if he was being sarcastic or not, but it was now or never. You turned your head to face him and tried to apologize, but your voice was too weak and no words came out. Instead, you mouthed the words 'I'm sorry' with tears in your eyes as you took a deep breath and let go with both hands.

What happened next was almost incomprehensible, and it happened so fast that you didn't even know what happened at first. When you should've been falling to your death, you felt an arm wrap around your waist and lift you hard, throwing you over the railing back onto the patio with a painful thud against the concrete. As you looked up, you realized with absolute horror that the man was no longer there- he must've lost his balance and fallen in an effort to save you. You scrambled to your feet as fast as you could and dashed over the the edge of the building, terrified to look down but you knew you had to. His death was on you now.

However, what you saw when you glanced down was somehow even more heart-stopping than the knowledge that he fell.

The man was a crippled mess, laying in a massive pool of blood. What made you dizzy though is what happened next.

He had plummeted twenty-six stories to the ground.

And he waved back up to you. 

#marvel #fanfic #fanfiction #wade wilson #smut #fluff #angst #depression #suicide #tw #writing #deadpool #dead pool #x reader #wade wilson x reader #deadpool x reader #romance #friendship

[dahniwitchoflight]

Homesquared Chapter 14 part b

Alright time for more reactions to Homesqaured- oh jeezus

the last one of these I did was from october last year, hoo boy alright brain time to get back on the time train things are happening fast

we last left off with me thinking they just fucking hilled Harry but I remembered the wrong house so Harrys fine, John not so much

Yeah, John sad but ooh Karkat shows up!

They seem to have a mutual conversation about lost youth and stuff, really makes these characters feel oold

“JOHN: jeez, i'm sorry karkat.

JOHN: i had no idea how much time had passed.

JOHN: i must have gotten a bit distracted by my house being blown up.“

Oh man, John thats a whole ass MOOD

lol at sburb allocated blow job

yeah Karkats right tho, John does kind of need a kick in the pants to see how he might have been useful here, but Johns still stuck in this rut of not seeing anything around him as Real real, so hes blind to all of the consequences of inaction

John its called derealization and depersonalization, you can get help for that yknow

But I mean, cant really blame him, hes being smothered by the fires of Doom all around him

Its interesting to see that Karkat, a Blood player, is more comfortable navigating through things that constrain them and tie them down, since constraint is something Blood and Doom have in common, Chains and Barriers and Laws and etc

Whereas John the Breath player, just gets bogged down, hes totally out of his element

so it ends up being like John: “Id like to cling to some funny moments of my youth pls and try to lighten the situation up a bit because I cant do anything when so heavy”

versus Karkat being like: “BUCKLE UP FUCK TITS THIS SHIT IS YOUR LIFE NOW GETS USED TO WADING KNEE DEEP IN THE SHIT LIKE THE REST OF US GROWN ASS ADULTS”

John: ):

Hmm, both Vriskas have been captured, but Annie basically rescued herself, knowing Vriska Prime she probably has a plan or an idea about that, see well see how that goes

“KARKAT: JANE'S PLAN FOR THIS CONFLICT HAS THUS FAR CONSISTED ALMOST ENTIRELY OF KIDNAPPING VARIOUS HIGH PROFILE CHILDREN.

KARKAT: IT'S BIZARRE.

KARKAT: AS THOUGH WE ARE FIGHTING A WAR OF ATTRITION, WHERE THE MAIN RESOURCE BEING UTILIZED IS THE OFFSPRING OF THE MOST POWERFUL PEOPLE ON THE PLANET.KARKAT: IF IT WASN'T ONE OF THE CORE TENETS OF HER FASCISTIC PHILOSOPHY, I'D BE TEMPTED TO SAY THAT CURBING REPRODUCTION MIGHT HAVE BEEN A GOOD IDEA, IF ONLY TO PREVENT THIS KIND OF FUCKSHIT NONSENSE FROM HAPPENING.

Oh. Well I guess that was Dirk’s “plans” for Jane all along. Obviously he was using Jane as a vehicle to gather “players” for his eventually next session, interesting

But who has Jane kidnapped in total thus far?

Does Tavros count? he was certainly trapped with her for some amount of his life, but I dont know if that counts as a kidnapping, John certainly tried to kidnap HIM though from the epilogues

Annie certainly counts as being kidnapped

Vrissy has JUST been captured so that counts, and Harry so far is still fine

Which bodes so well for Harry’s future Im sure

Yeah, Vriska should have been able to not outwit any capture attempts, but my guess is either Vrissy got capture and Vriska dove in, OR, Vriska’s doing an inside job so to speak and got caught on purpose, dragging Vrissy along as well

I guess we’ll see when we see their “prison”

Anyway John, don’t get so down on yourself, you’re just ignorant to everythiong around you! thats why nothing makes sense and you can’t connect to anything, easy fix! Just try to learn more and care more about stuff lol

Man does this feel like a strong metaphor between people who are into/care about politics and people who feel like they can’t get into it though

Crossing that hurdle from one side to the other is rough

“KARKAT: BUT NOTICING THE PROBLEM AND MAKING MEANINGFUL PROGRESS TOWARDS SOLVING IT ARE TWO COMPLETELY DIFFERENT THINGS.”

yup

man, this is all feeling startlingly relevant to the current times, I should have read this sooner

“ KARKAT: PLEASE DO NOT TELL ME YOU JUST HAD ANOTHER EMOTION THAT WE NEED TO DROP EVERYTHING IN ORDER TO DISSECT. “

hah, oh wow, Karkat when you phrase it like that, it’s almost as if you’ve become self aware of your tendencies to Moirail people out of their problems

Not really that out of character for a Blood player to end up being the Therapy Friend though lol

Just don’t burn yourself out on that though

JOHN: karkat, we still haven't spoken about *you*!

KARKAT: ABOUT ME?

JOHN: yes.

KARKAT: ABOUT *ME*?

JOHN: about you.

KARKAT: WHAT THE FUCK ABOUT ME.

JOHN: well...

JOHN: you know, how you feel!

KARKAT: HOW I FEEL.

I know Karkat has probably matured past misunderstandings like this now given he’s really come into a great understanding of his Blood aspect, but by golly do I wish Karkat would misunderstand this as John’s attempts to be Moirail-reciprocal sdkjfhwlijebr

What a perfect way to continue their relationship, on top of more misconstrued romance quadrants XD

Spades is old Hat, Diamonds are in now babey

Oh

this started out funny, but Karkat’s emotional rant just ended up being depressing not funny ):

I have to say though, it is REALLY interesting to see John’s depression manifesting in a very breathy sort of way

Karkat in these panels was more closer together, connected, but as John gets more and more depressed over the course of Karkat’s rant when he realizes Karkat doesn’t know dave died, the panels get seperated by lines of blue, and slowly drift off away from John and from eachother

but thats basically been hows its been manifesting all along

the more John feels Disconnected and Seperate from the reality he finds himself in, the more he finds his will untethered, the more depressed and unable to act he gets

and right now its so much so that even a fuller fledged Blood player is having trouble grounding him back down

I don’t know, I always viewed the depression metaphor as a dark watery void to sink into and feels heavy and encapsulating (but probably thats just my Light-y interpretation of it)

so its interesting to see the depression metaphor as this floating disconnection instead, so much that it leans towards derelaization/depersonalistion/dissociation as well

I wonder if John will start dealing with bouts of actual full blown dissociation as this gets worse?

I mean, Breath aspect has given the literal ability to ghost around wherever he pleases in all other ways, why not literally and physcologically as well?

So John seems to be fully overembracing his aspect here, to a very unhealthy degree here, which I see you asking “aha Dahni, but hes doesn’t have overblown self esteem here, quite the opposite, is this not an inverted state instead? or something else because hes acting like hes inverting to Breath?”

and I say not so! reader, for overembracing is the idea that through your aspect, your will is overwriting the wills of others, and in someone like Vriska, this manifests in a very selfish and over self esteemed way

but is not John’s will overwriting Karkat’s here? Through Breath? And isnt John also being a little selfish here? Considering how he feels about things, more important than how anyone else feels? How Karkat feels?

John is too dissociated to understand that this reality is Real and has Consequences he needs to care about, and Karkat is trying to fight against that, trying to instill his belief that no, this shit is real and it Matters Why Don’t You Care, trying to ground him, trying to give him that dose of Blood he needs

but John’s overembracing Breath is just, blowing that all away, its becoming too strong

Roxy in the epilogues dealt with this as well, when John was really in the shits with it and started to believe Roxy’s whole personality was somehow fake and his own construction, because he convinced himself Roxy would never choose to do the things she did, but Roxy was able to snap him out of it and make him understand and respect it was her own choices that led down his path, not the idea that John’s choices are somehow overriding everyones

But man, John sure is riding that Breath train way too hard, and he keeps snapping back into it as well

Further and Further

#Homesquared #Homestuck^2 #Homestuck #John Egbert #Karkat Vantas #dissociation

[thiswasinevitableid]

For the prompts: Sternay, Centaur, NSFW. Thank you!

Here you go!

Note: I use “races” here in the D&D sense.

Most nights, Barclay works undistracted until the end of dinner. Tonight, looks out the kitchen window so often Moira teases him that she’ll close it to save him from cutting off his own hand by mistake. 

He can’t help it. Every time a new party returns from an adventure or demands a table so they can sit and plan their next epic quest, he pokes his head into the dining room of Amnesty Lodge to see if a certain orc is among them. 

Technically, Joseph is half-orc, as his father was an elf, but his orcish traits dominate in all but his build and his ears. He’s so handsome, the first time he addressed Barclay by name he blushed for an hour afterwards. 

That was the second time they’d met, Joseph having returned from his job as the hired rogue of a party of treasure hunters. He’d been a spy during the last great skirmish, and now put his observation and information gathering skills to good use for a fair price. He, like other adventurers for hire, used Amnesty Lodge as his base, as it welcomed creatures of all kinds and had the best food in all of Kepler. 

When Joseph became a regular, it didn’t take long for him to post up in the place where it was easiest for him to talk to Barclay, and more than once he stayed to help the centaur put up chairs and wipe down tables. Four months ago, before he left to help some mages in search of rare artifacts, he knocked on Barclay’s door in the pre-dawn rain and kissed him goodbye, telling him to consider the kiss an offer he could refuse or accept on Josephs’ return. 

Barclay kissed him back immediately in reply.

Ever since that morning, Barclay’s orientation towards time changed. He no longer saw his life in weeks and months; instead it was divided into times when Joseph was in town and times when he was gone. It helps that Joseph prefers quests that are about knowledge and have a low chance of death, as he has little taste for violence (in fact, the only orc he knows with less taste for it is Duck, who seems annoyed at the fact the universe thinks it’s his destiny to fight).

When the last diner stumbles upstairs to their room, Moira pats his side, “I can get Jake to help me clean up. You go on home.”

A short walk brings him to his cottage on the edge of Amnestys’ grounds. He gathers his mail, starts a kettle for tea, and contemplates if he should take a bath now or wait for Joseph in the hopes he might join him. 

Knockknock

He hurries to the door, throws it open and finds a disheveled but pleased looking Joseph holding a bouquet of branches. 

“Hey” his brain offers no further thoughts, too busy drinking in the sight of the boyfriend he’s been missing these last ten days. 

“I’m sorry I’m late, we ran into some kind of conflict between two water golems and had to take a longer route. I, um, brought some apple blossoms as an apology.” 

“No need to apologize, blue eyes” Barclay takes the flowers, “I’m just glad you’re back in one piece. Uh, do you, uh, wanna come in? I’m making tea and, uh, I was gonna take a bath if you wanna join me.” In spite of the fact Joseph is already through the door and taking off his shoes, Barclay worries he’s moving too fast. 

“A bath sounds great, big guy” Joseph cups his face, takes his time kissing every inch of his lips before releasing him, “I’ll go get it started.” 

Barclay shuts the door and trots towards the kitchen. He munches two stems of blossoms and then sets the rest in some water on the table. 

He joins Joseph just as the orc closes off the sluice that directs the water from the hot springs outside into the massive, rocky tub. It’s designed with multiple wide, stone benches so Barclay can sit comfortably with his legs tucked beneath him. He sets the mugs of tea by the edge of the pool and wades in, settling on his preferred bench as Joseph floats over to him. A grey scar runs up one side of his green chest which, combined with the stylish piercings in his ears and the one stud in his nose, make him look a mixture of tough and debonair that never fails to make Barclay paw the ground with frustrated desire. 

The orc is so handsome, has kissed Barclay breathless and given him the honor of tasting his cock several times, but there are things Barclay wants from him that he will never ask for. And so, as the orc drapes his arms around his shoulders, he puts those lurid thoughts from his mind. 

“Do you want me to get your back?” Well-trimmed claws scritch the sensitive line where fur meets skin. 

“Fuck yeah.”

Joseph splashes to his side, retrieving one of the milky-white bottles lined along the rocky edge. The scent of oatmeal and chamomile fills twines into the steam as the orc guides a generous line of the shampoo down his spine. Barclay would never admit it in public, but he uses this blend in part because it brings a shine to his dark bay fur, the color of which he is immensely proud. 

“You have such a handsome coat” Joseph murmurs, fingers creating a path of suds as he rubs them in circles, “then again, the rest of you is handsome too, so it’s only remarkable in that it puts every other centaur I’ve seen to shame.”

Barclay squeezes the loofah he’s using on his shoulders, groans when Joseph digs his fingers into the spot on his back legs that is always sore after a day in the kitchen.

“Look at all that strength buried right here” Joseph pets up his leg and along his flank, “gods, Barclay, maybe I should count myself lucky that you work somewhere you aren’t seen so that I’m not constantly fighting off every centaur who passes through town and sees what a catch you are.”

“Babe please” he dumps water over his head, which does fuck-all to clear it, “please, when you talk like that it’s, I’m-”

The hands switch to soothing circles, “I’m sorry, if it’s making you uncomfortable I can stop.”

“No, no it’s more like, uh, fuck” he takes a deep breath, “talking to me like that while you touch me, while you’re right there all naked and perfect I, it turns me on and I don’t want to make you deal with that.”

Soft splashing as Joseph moves in front of him, “I think now is the time to tell you I’m, um, more than happy to deal with it. In fact, I was kind of hoping we could do that tonight. We can take our time, since neither of us has work tomorrow and I, um, well let’s just say I thought about you a lot while I was gone and wanted the chance to act on some of those thoughts.”

Barclay snorts, softly, “Trust me, babe, even if you think it’s a good idea now, you won’t when it happens. Lots of people love the idea of fucking a centaur right up until the moment and then they bail. And I mean, like, that’s cool, I don’t wanna fuck someone who’s freaked out and they can call it quits whenever but...yeah. I appreciate the thought, blue eyes.” He smiles, trying to show that he means it, because he does, he loves that Joseph thinks of him that way.

Joseph massages some of the shampoo into his hair, the two of them still face to face, “Do you remember that black trunk I left here last time?”

“Uhhuh” He closes his eyes, neck relaxing, “said it was stuff you needed to keep at my place.”

“It is, and now I know you didn’t peek at it. I did a bunch of research into the best way to prepare to get fucked by a centaur, and everything we need is in that box.”

“Aw babe, you did a research project for me.” Barclay hides his face in Joseph’s shoulder.

“It’s my love language.” Joseph kisses his cheek, “Barclay, if you don’t want to do this, we don’t have to. I just wanted you to know that this isn’t some idle fantasy for me, with you filling the role of hot centaur. This is something I want to do with you, my boyfriend who I adore and want to get fucked by.”

“Promise you’ll say something if I’m hurting you?” Barclay mumbles against soap-tinged skin.

A kiss on his head this time, “I promise.” 

------------------------------------------------------------------

Joseph is conscious of his reputation. He always has been, whether that was how his superiors saw him or how his potential clients see him now. This is why he’s well-aware of the joke that goes as follows:

Did you hear about the undiscovered creature?

No. What is it?

A race Joseph hasn’t fucked. 

That’s the translation from orcish, anyway. 

It’s not as if he has a checklist of beings he wants to bed. It’s that he’s never seen a creatures race as a deterrent. Not the very charming bugbear who bought him a drink his first time up in Vogel Pass. Not the shy dragonborn who asked him to dance at the Festival of the Two Moons. And certainly not the sweet, gentle centaur who owned his heart from the first time he smiled at him. 

Joseph considers himself practical, but Barclay forces him to confront the romantic streak running through his heart. He’d debated how best to show it, considering traditional gestures of orc courtship or a long, long letter, before an exasperated Duck pulled him aside and told him to just tell him, please Joe for fucks sake this is painful to watch. 

Over the last few months, he’s learned which flowers to bring his lover, what places to pet and scratch to melt that strong body beneath his hands. He’s also observed that Barclay is sexually pent up yet never asks for release, no matter how many times he swallows or strokes Josephs’ cock. So, while his research and subsequent offering of his ass are far from selfless, he hopes it will show his boyfriend that he will put in the work to bring him pleasure. 

He’s busy laying out the four glass cocks of increasing sizes next to the largest bottle of lube they had at fantasy Costco while Barclay arranges a set of cushions, bars, and ropes near the bed. When put together, the items form a rig that allow centaurs to fuck smaller partners. Barclay bought it the last time someone expressed a desire to fuck him; it’s never been used. 

Joseph sits on the bed, all his supplies in reach, and pats the large mattress to indicate Barclay can join him. 

“Should I help?” The centaur tucks his legs under him, tail twitching once. 

“Yes, by holding me while I warm up. You won’t be able to when you’re fucking me, so I need to get my fill.” He rests his back against Barclay’s bare chest, tips his head up so his boyfriend can kiss him, “if you’re good, maybe I’ll let you open me up some of the way.”

Barclay whines, nuzzling his hair as he preps the smallest toy. It slides in easily, Joseph working it back and forth with soft moans. It’s not long before he trades it for the next size, the one he uses most often. The centaur’s arms twine around his waist and his chin rests on his shoulder, jostling in time with Joseph’s thrusts. 

The third toy has a flared base and he grunts, spreading his legs wider as he pushes it in. He stops mid-way, needing a moment to relax. Barclay rubs his thighs, asking if there’s anything he needs. 

“A little distraction might help.”

“I can manage that.”

“GAHahnnnnm, shit, that works.” Joseph moves the toy incrementally deeper as Barclay nibbles his ears. The playful pain always makes him shiver and submit to whatever’s happening, and soon the toy bottoms out. He fucks himself with it until the idea of taking more feels not only possible, but wonderful. 

The fourth toy is, according to his research, to inches shorter and an inch and a half thinner than the average centaur cock. It’s an intense stretch and he groans, falling back in Barclays arms. The centaurs breath is coming in hot puffs on his neck and chest, and the bed is moving more than it was a minute ago.

“Enjoying the show, big guy?”

“Uhhuhnnn, I, fuck babe this is making me so fucking hard but I, I didn’t wanna say anything in case you needed to back out.”

“My sweet, considerate Barclay. Here, I have an idea.” He tips forward, splaying out on his stomach with the toy sticking part way out of his ass, “I want you to finish getting me ready.”

“Okay” He can feel Barclay’s hand shaking through the length of the toy, “fuck, your ass looks good like this.”

“It’ll look even better with yours in itAH gods, that’s a good speed for it, gods that feels so good.”

Barclay growls, pushes the toy all the way in as Joseph arches off the bed with a wall-shaking moan.

“That’s it, ohmylord, see big guy, I can take whatever you give me. You won’t break me, won’t hurt me, just fill me up and make me cum so hard I white out-”

“Who says you’re gonna get to cum, blue eyes? Maybe I’ll just fill that tight orc ass up and leave you there until I’m ready to breed again.”

There’s a smack just as the toy stops moving. Joseph turns to see Barclay with his hands clamped over his mouth. 

“‘M ‘orry.”

With some effort and another moan as the toy shifts, he rolls onto his side and holds up two fingers, “First off, I’ve heard way more explicit ‘breeding talk’ including from my own kind. Second of all, if it bothered me, I wouldn’t keep talking about how strong and capable you are when I want to wind you up. I was a spy, Barclay; I’m very good at telling what people want and what they’re hiding.”

“Joe….” it’s a whine. Rarer still is the use of his nickname, something Barclay only does when he’s far gone with desire. Joseph allows himself some internal smugness before smiling at his boyfriend. 

“I’m ready for the main event if you are.”

Lube drips down his thighs as Barclay helps him into place. There’s a large, square cushion with very little give shoved up against the wall. It’s waist-height for Joseph, so he bends over it and lets his boyfriend strap his wrists and ankles down against the faux-velvet. 

“Is that okay? You don’t need the extra pad under your feet?”

“Assuming we’re at a comfortable angle for you, I’m all set.”

“Right. Cool.” Barclay sounds almost impatient; what an evening of firsts this is turning out to be. “I’m gonna put the last piece on.”

A cool circle of stainless steel sits snugly against Joseph's ass. In his reading, he learned that a common issue was the cock slipping out during the precarious first pushes, leading to frustration for everyone. Since Barclay can’t guide it with his hand from the angle he’ll be at, the ring offers a tactile clue and keep him on course once he pushes in. 

The centaur moves so he’s behind him, then steps forward so his front legs are on either side of the block Joseph is strapped to. From here, the heat of his body surrounds the orc and he feels safe instead of smothered. After three mis-judged nudges, his cock threads though the ring, the flat, wide head of it parting Joseph’s ass as they both groan. 

“Shit” Joseph hisses. Barclay freezes above him, so he adds, “that was good cursing.”

It remains so as the thick head stretches him open, and he gasps with relief when it’s done breaching his body. The shaft is narrower, so that’s the hard part over with. Better still, his preparation pays off; the cock slides most of the way in with little resistance. 

“Can I start moving?” He can’t really see Barclay’s face from this angle, but the centaurs' shy, lustful hope is clear in his voice.

“Yes, big guyFUCK! Ohfuck, yes, holy hells that’s good.” The first thrusts make the purpose of the straps clear; if Joseph weren’t tied down, he’d be bounced this way and that, increasing his chances of injury. Trapped as he is, there’s less chance for accidental harm and no distraction from the massive cock relentlessly thudding into him. 

“Fuck, Joseph, you feel so good baby, fuck I never think of you as small but it’s like I can reach the back of your fucking throat like this.”

The comment draws his attention to what he assumes is a lump in the flat surface of the cushion that’s causing his stomach to rock at an angle. 

“Holy shit that’s, that’s your cock. Barclay, it’s, it’s literally bulging my stomach out.” He wishes the set up allowed him to see it, he wants to sear the image of Barclay’s cock molded against his flesh into the deepest corners of his memory. 

“I can feel it babe, believe me. Fuck, such a tight fit, you’re like a fucking toy, stretching to take me.” More force behind the thrusts, suggesting Barclay is using the bar enchanted into the wall for this exact purpose, “shouldn’t waste a breeding load on a toy, but fuck me if I care.”

“Gods almighty” that fact hadn’t appeared in his research, but makes perfect sense; if a centaur hasn’t fucked in awhile, their biology might generate a greater amount of cum the next time around in hopes of continuing their kind. 

“Yeah, you like that, like the idea of taking my cum so deep you’ll be able to taste it. Gonna fill you up babe, fuck, gonna leave you dripping for weeks.”

“That’s right, big guy, you can cum as much as you want.” His comment dies out into a prolonged whimper as his cock ruts against the cushion, pushing him towards orgasm. 

Barclay stops, huffing, and rumbles, “It’s cute how you think you get to make that call, instead of taking me for as long as I fucking say like the needy little piece of ass you are.”

“Sweet fucking hell” Is all Joseph gets out before his words give way to desperate, ecstatic sounds. Barclay fucks him so hard and fast it shakes dust from the ceiling and a picture from the wall. The entire lower half of his body is stretched and pounded so mercilessly and with absolutely no pauses, meaning his orgasm only registers when splatters across the floor. His sensitive cock gets no reprieve, bouncing in time with Barclays increasingly sharp thrusts and making Joseph gasp whenever it rubs against the cushion. 

His assumption that Barclay is going his fastest goes out the window when the centaur quickens his pace, Josephs wrists and ankles twisting in their bonds as his mind falls silent. All he hears is Barclay grunting as his cock tries to go deeper into his ass. 

“C’mon babe, c’mon, take it, take me deep, take the whole godsdamn fucking thingohfuck, Joe.” There’s a deep, broken cry as cum pumps into him, his body aching at the further intrusion. Barclay whimpers and moans above him, hips still jerking as he keeps cumming. By the time he gives a final thrust, cum is escaping back down his shaft, Joseph’s body unable to contain it. 

“Do, do you want me to pull out all at once?”

“Yes, best to get the mess over with instead of dragging oOWut.” His body gives up any pretense of supporting itself when the centaur slides out of him. Thank goodness for the cushions. Barclay isn’t faring any better, knees wobbling as he undoes Josephs’ restraints and helps him to the bed. The orc just manages to remember to toss a towel out for him to lay on so he doesn’t stain the bed sheets with the spend still running down his legs. 

Barclay nestles protectively around him, guiding his head to rest on the still-shiny fur of his back, “I can’t believe you did that for me.”

“For us. I don’t know if you noticed, but I thoroughly enjoyed myself.”

“Kinda got that sense, yeah.”  Barclay rests their heads together, “Even so just...thanks. Thanks for taking the time and effort it takes to fuck me.”

Joseph toys with Barclay’s hair, tucks it behind his ears, “Barclay, I love you. Part of that means figuring things like this out together. Even if being with you, in any sense of the word, was a hundred times more complicated, that wouldn’t be enough to stop me from trying.”

Barclay doesn’t ask if he means it. Instead, he draws him into a kiss, works his magic with his lips and tongue until Joseph is practically draped over him, content and exhausted. Before the centaur scoops him up for another bath, he kisses his cheek and rumbles, “Thanks, babe. And I love you too.”

#sternclay #reader requests #agent stern/barclay #monster march #centaur boyfriend #monster boyfriends

[let-it-raines]

your wonder under summer skies (6/?)

Summer in Storybrooke, Maine means one thing for its residents: tourist season. This year, for Emma Swan and Killian Jones, it means relationships ending and friendships changing all the while they attempt to figure out just what their relationship is. It’s somewhere straddling the line between friends and lovers, and there’s no guarantee of a soft landing if they fall into new territory.

rating: mature

a/n: I’m sorry for the delay. I’d hoped to have finished writing this story and then post pretty quickly, but personal life things have kept my mind other places. But hopefully you guys keep enjoying this story 💙

ao3: beginning | current

tumblr:  1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 |

-/-

Sand shifts beneath Killian’s feet as he runs along the shoreline. The tide hasn’t quite come in yet, the water just missing him as it wades onto the shore, but Skipper is getting soaked with salt water as he runs on his leash in front of Killian. He used to not have to put Skipper on a leash for their morning runs since no one else is on the beach at this time of the morning, but then the damn dog went and swam in the ocean only to get caught up in a rip tide.

So, leash it is even if it makes Killian run faster and harder than he ever intends to.

Bloody hell, his calves are absolutely on fire. He should have run along the boardwalk to save himself from this kind of pain.

“Skip,” Killian whistles. “Slow down, mate.”

The dog obviously doesn’t listen and keeps running, but Killian tugs on his leash until he pulls back, stopping and sitting down in the sand. He’s definitely going to have to be shaved later.

“Good boy,” Killian sighs as he finally catches up to him. “You want to head back home? Are you tired yet? I’m exhausted.”

Skipper barks and sticks out his tongue. Killian takes it as sign enough that it’s time to go home.

The sun begins to rise over the horizon on Killian’s walk home, and he slows his pace to watch the world be coated in shades of orange and pink that are like nothing he’s ever seen replicated. Milah used to try with her paintings. She was always so obsessed with the sun and the way it shaded things differently, and he’d catch her painting the same building over and over again with only the most minute differences. She was a bloody brilliant painter, too, and the more time that goes by, the more he wishes he’d been able to keep just one of her paintings.

He’d given them to her son.

Her son who deserved them much more that Killian ever did. His only hope is that they’re displayed instead of shoved in a supply closet or decaying in a landfill somewhere. Her family had been furious when they found out about him, and he doesn’t blame them.

He felt the same way.

Except Killian was the hidden boyfriend who was driving the car that killed Milah, and he wasn’t exactly welcomed by her family at the funeral. He’d always thought that she didn’t have family, that she had few people just like him, but she apparently had hordes of people in her life.

How can he still harbor love for her when she betrayed him?

When she’s the reason he hasn’t been able to commit himself to anyone since.

Well, there was Tink, but she was exactly the same as Milah in so many ways.

At least she didn’t help in giving him the scars that run up and down his arm and wrap around his hand so that there was a permanent physical reminder of her. She simply, well, sunrises don’t remind him of her in the way they remind him of Milah.

Skipper barks again, and Killian shakes himself out of it before continuing to walk up to the beach. Some of the cabana boys are already dragging out the lounge chair cushions to the beach, and Killian nods at them before turning at the boardwalk and making his way to the shop. He goes through the back door so that obnoxious bell won’t go off, and as soon as they get inside, Killian slips out of his shoes and takes Skipper’s leash off before quietly walking up the stairs.

The lights in the apartment are all still turned off, and Killian uses the dim light of the rising sun to find his way back to his bedroom. The only light in there is the brightness of Emma’s phone shining on her face.

“Why did you get up so early to run this morning?”

He pulls off his sweaty shirt and tosses it in his laundry bin. “I’ve got a full day. I’m down at the marina all day. Why? Did you want to come with?”

“I’m doing a spin class with Ruby tonight, but I do need to start running on the beach again. That is a hell of a workout.”

“You’re telling me. My calves are still on fire.”

Emma hums and keeps typing on her phone. What the hell is she writing this early in the morning? He didn’t even think she’d be awake, but he probably woke her up when he left. Damn. He thought he was being quiet.

“I’m going to take a shower. Do you need to take one?”

“I’m not showering with you, Jones.”

“I wasn’t asking.”

She drops her phone and raises her brow. “I’m sorry. You’re a man who doesn’t want to have shower sex? I think you may actually be a unicorn.”

“It’s a very small shower, love, and I don’t think my knees can take being on the tile. My legs are definitely too tired to have to hold you up.”

“I’m not complaining,” she laughs. “I’ve just never had this happen before. I feel like I need to document it. You can leave the shower on for me. I’ll hop in after.”

Killian raises his hand and salutes at Emma before stripping out of the rest of his clothes and walking into his bathroom. He closes the door behind him and turns on the shower, allowing it to heat up for a minute or two before stepping inside and letting the water pound against his back. It feels better than he imagined it could, and even with this, he knows he’s going to be beyond sore by this evening.

He easily could have stayed in bed with Emma this morning. He could have slept in, had some kind of drowsy, lazy morning sex, and then been on with his day without being sore.

Now that he thinks about it, that would have been the better option.

Then again, the two of them aren’t really wake up in the morning and have sex kind of people. It’s happened, but it almost feels outside of their deal. He’d like to stay inside the deal and within the guidelines of their rules as much as he possibly can.

It’s funny how easy it’s been to fall into this thing with her. It’s usually not like this when he starts sleeping with someone new. There’s a game to be played, no matter how much he’d sometimes rather not play it, but with Emma, it’s not like that. There’s no tip-toeing around each other or questioning motives, not anymore. It is what it is, and they’re both okay with that.

No games may be the most refreshing thing in the world.

Killian quickly scrubs himself down with soap and washes some shampoo in his hair before rinsing it all off. His bathroom door opens, and Emma walks through without a stitch of clothing on.

Bloody hell.

“You almost finished?” she asks, apparently without a care in the world that she’s nearly rendered him speechless.

And possibly changed his thoughts on shower sex, even if that would absolutely be the most uncomfortable thing in the world right now.

“It’s all yours, milady.” He slides open the glass door and grabs a towel while Emma slides by him and steps into the shower. “It may be a little hot.”

“It’s scorching. What is wrong with you?”

“Trying to relieve my sore muscles, love.”

“By burning your skin off?”

“It is not that hot.”

She rolls her eyes and grabs his shampoo bottle. He’s got to stop looking at her if he wants any hope of being able to get dressed comfortably.

“Do you have conditioner?”

Killian bends down and pulls out an old bottle that was left here. “This work?”

She reaches out and grabs it. “Do you have more of this?”

“Yeah, why?”

“Because whichever girl left this is my new favorite. This stuff is expensive, and I think I’ll be able to actually brush through my hair now.”

Killian scoffs and adjusts the towel around his waist. “What’s wrong with the stuff in the shower?”

“It’s awful. The fact that you have such good hair is amazing.”

Oh, well, if she’s going to compliment him, he can’t pass that opportunity up. He twists his head and gets in her eyeline, ignoring the way water is dripping off her breasts, and moves his brows up and down.

“Why, darling, who knew you had such a thing for my hair?”

Emma’s nose scrunches up. “Shut up.”

“No, no, I can’t let this go. Tell me, what else do you find attractive about me? I know there must be quite a list since you’ve decided to sleep with me on a regular basis.”

“Again, shut up.”

“Nope. I’m not letting this go now. You find me attractive, Swan, and believe it or not, I actually quite fancy you from time to time when you’re not yelling at me.”

“Don’t you have something to be doing?”

“I have nothing to do but stare at you.”

Emma’s laugh is louder than the spray of water, and he sees her shake her head before she goes back to washing her hair. Killian should shave this morning, but he can put that off until tomorrow when he’s not incredibly distracted by the naked woman showering next to him.

Killian brushes his teeth and dries his hair before walking out of the bathroom, leaving the door open for the steam to waft out, and he gets dressed for work. He’s still got hours until then, but if he puts joggers back on, he’ll not want to go. He knows the families who are coming in today for sailing lessons, and as much as he loves that part of the job, he does not want to deal with a group of twelve-year-old kids today.

The shower water keeps running, and Killian sees Emma out of the corner of his eyes before he opens his bedroom door and softly closes it behind him. The lights in the kitchen are on, and when he gets close enough, he sees Elsa standing over the stove with eggs in the pan. He didn’t even know she’d stayed over last night. He should be paying more attention to that. Then again, he doesn’t want Liam to know who he has staying over, so maybe it’s a good thing that they can quietly go about their business.

When Liam and Elsa get married, though, Killian hopes they either kick him out of here or move into Elsa’s place. He doesn’t know how much longer he can take living with Liam because of situations like this morning, but that’s not exactly an easy conversation to have.

“You making enough for everyone?” Killian asks.

Elsa twists around and smiles. “I’m making enough for me, but if you want some, that’s not a problem. Did you go running this morning?”

“Aye, and yes to the eggs, too.”

“That’s really early for you to go running. I didn’t even know you got up at that time.”

“Love, I almost never sleep in. The Navy will kill that habit before they do anything else.”

“Liam has managed to curb that, I think. That or he fakes sleeping in so I don’t feel lazy when I wake up later than him.”

“I think you may be onto his evil plans.”

She laughs again before plating the eggs in the pan and opening the carton next to her to crack open two more. “Oh, by the way, Emma is coming over this morning to help me with some wedding stuff. Anna is going to call in since that’s all really her cup of tea, but Emma is going to help get me a lower rate on one of the club venues. So, if you could go downstairs and unlock the door for her, that would be great.���

Killian swallows and grabs the plate of eggs from Elsa’s side, seasoning them and adding some cheese. “Isn’t that really more Mary Margaret’s department? The weddings, I mean.”

“Mary Margaret is more passionate about it, but they technically have the same job. Plus, Emma was free to meet me this early so we could talk to Anna at the same time.”

Killian accidentally shakes a little too much salt into his eggs. “When is Emma supposed to be here?”

“In about thirty minutes. Did I say you could have those eggs?”

Killian stuffs some overly salted eggs in his mouth. “I figured you’d want them while they were still hot, so I’d take the old ones.”

Elsa hums and nods. “You’re lucky I love you.”

“Don’t I know it?”

Killian stuffs the eggs into his mouth, eating far more quickly than any normal human should, and he’s going to regret it later. But he needs to finish and run back into his room because Emma cannot come out this way if Elsa is in the kitchen.

“Did the water just turn off?”

“Hmm?”

“I thought I heard the water turning off, but I must be hearing things.”

Shit.

“I didn’t hear anything.” Killian puts his half-empty plate down. “These are really good, Els. I’ll be right back, yeah? I need to check my phone.”

She doesn’t say anything, and Killian quickly leaves before she can. He doesn’t know what they’re going to do. Elsa is in the kitchen cooking, and she always likes to eat on the sofa. He can’t exactly tell Elsa to go back to Liam’s bedroom so he can sneak Emma out of the house only to sneak her back in.

What the hell, Emma? Why did she even come over last night? Did she not think this through? They’re going to have to start thinking things through if they don’t want to get everyone else involved. That would be a disaster that neither of them know how to get out of with how nosy their friends are.

When he gets back to his room, Emma is still in the bathroom with her hair wrapped up in a towel as she brushes her teeth. At least he thought to buy her a toothbrush to keep here after last week when she tried to use his.

“Do you want to tell me why you thought it was a good idea to meet Elsa here this early in the morning?”

“Huh?” Emma spits into the sink. “What? Why do you – oh you have egg on your shirt, KJ.”

He looks down and flicks it off. How did that happen? “Swan, why did you stay here last night if you knew you were meeting Elsa this morning?”

“Because then I wouldn’t have to drive from my place?”

“What was your plan? Get up and leave only to come back in two seconds later?”

“Pretty much, yeah.”

“And what do you plan on doing now since Elsa is awake and sitting in the living room eating her breakfast? She’s not going to leave, and I don’t really see how you plan on getting out.”

Emma’s toothbrush drops to the sink. “Fuck.”

“Yeah, exactly.”

“You have to get her out of there. Get her to take Skipper on a walk or something.”

“She has plans to meet you. she won’t have time. Plus, she knows I already went on a run with him.”

“Shit. What am I supposed to do climb out your window?” Killian’s brow arches. Now that’s an idea. “No,” Emma starts, “no, no, no. This is the second floor. I’m not jumping down. What if I break something?”

“You’ll land on the sand, and you only have to drop about ten feet.”

It’s ridiculous, this idea, but he’s starting to think it might be the best one. Killian walks over to the set of windows in his room, opens one up, and looks down at the small ledge. His room drops directly down onto some sand with Liam’s bedroom and the living area completely out of sight, and as long as she doesn’t land terribly, she should be fine.

Yeah, just fine.

Emma’s stare switches between him and the window, but eventually she goes to grab all of her things, either putting them on or holding them in her hands, and makes her way toward the window. She tosses her shoes down first and then her purse. Finally, she climbs over the ledge of the window and looks back at him.

“Next time, we’re staying at my place or we don’t spend the night or something. I am not climbing out of a window for you again.”

“If I stay at your place, what am I going to do about Skipper?”

“Have Liam take care of him.”

“I can’t very well tell Liam I’m spending the night at your place because I’m shagging you, now can I?”

Emma’s eyes roll. “Your British is coming out. And, literally, Jones, just tell him you went home with a woman. It’s not a lie. It’s not the full truth, but it’s not a lie. Most importantly, it means I don’t have to jump from a window so I can talk to Elsa about price packages for her wedding.”

He hates to admit it, but she makes a good point.

They obviously are still working out all of the kinks in this arrangement since neither of them thought them through.

Idiots. The both of them.

“If I break something, you have to clean my apartment for me.”

“I will be happy to, love.”

“And you owe me lunch this week.”

“You can eat all of my extra crisps for the foreseeable future.”

Emma nods and hooks her leg over the window ledge. He hears her swallow, and then she’s climbing down and holding on to the window as she dangles from side of the building.

“You’re lucky that the sex is good, Jones. And that you do manage to entertain me with more than mediocre conversation.”

“There you go complimenting me again.” Killian flashes her a smile and winks. She is definitely going to try to murder him when she gets back up to this apartment. “I’m not the one who scheduled a meeting. This is technically all your fault.”

Emma doesn’t respond. Instead she looks down at the ground and then drops with a subtle thud. When Killian looks down, he sees her standing on her feet brushing the sand off her ass. That’s definitely going to be a devil tomorrow.

Killian chuckles to himself and then closes his window before heading back out of his room. He’s still got to unlock the shop for Emma. Maybe he should get her a key.

Wait, no. That would definitely be taking it too far.

“Your eggs are definitely cold now,” Elsa says as he walks through the living room where she’s now sitting with her food in front of her. His remaining eggs remain untouched next to hers. “I thought you were avoiding that.”

“No, I was avoiding that for you. I don’t actually mind because Skipper will eat leftovers anyway.”

“Where is Skipper?”

“He’s probably still wandering around downstairs. I’ll send him up when I unlock everything.”

When Killian finally gets to the front door, Emma is standing outside with her arms crossed over her chest and her lips pressed into a firm line. God, all he wants to do is laugh, but he does still want to live to see tomorrow.

“Good morning, milady,” Killian sighs. “I’m loving the look. Very natural. The use of sand is just…stunning.”

Okay, maybe he doesn’t want to live to see tomorrow.

“I hate you.”

“I know.”

“I am not doing that again.” “As long as you plan things a little better, you won’t have to.”

Emma huffs and brushes past him, but he reaches out and tugs on her wrist until she’s pulling back to him and standing with her hands pressed against his chest. He can see her freckles and the blonde of her eyelashes when she looks like this, and it reminds him of all the times they’ve gone out on the ocean or spent the day at the beach.

It reminds him of how close her lips are to his.

“You have sand in your hair, love.” He reaches up and picks a few pieces out, letting them fall to the ground before he tucks her hair back into place. “How did that happen?”

Emma’s lips part. “I don’t – I – ”

There’s a bark behind the two of them, and they quickly part as Skipper sticks his nose between the two of them.

“I need to go meet Elsa,” Emma finally says as she scratches behind Skip’s ears. “You want to come and talk weddings with us?”

“You know, love, I think I just might.”

“You sure? Anna is very into it, I’ve heard.” “Anna is very into everything. It’s part of her charm. This is also her actual job.”

“True. I’m just kind of here to help with finding them a date. They want it to be this summer.”

Killian mock gasps and walks with Emma. “So soon? Do you think my brother has been improper and gotten that nice girl pregnant?”

“I don’t know, but that’s the gossip around these parts.”

“However will they regain a good reputation? Do you think it will affect the business?”

“It might. You best prepare to be making less money.” “What the hell are the two of you talking about?” Elsa laughs as they walk into the apartment.

“Oh, just how Liam knocked you up and ruined your reputation.”

Elsa’s eyes roll. “I’m not pregnant, and we don’t live in the 1800s.”

“Still. Such a short engagement. People might get ideas.”

“You’re far too cheeky for it to be this early in the morning,” Elsa sighs. “Do you have sand on your jeans, Emma?”

Killian bites his tongue, but he still can’t hold in his chuckle. Emma reaches over to slap him, but she stops herself right before and places her hand on his shoulder before looking down at her jeans.

They are not smooth.

“Huh,” Emma sighs, “I guess that I do. It was windy this morning. It must have blown over on me. Is Liam joining us?”

“Yeah, he’s getting dressed. I honestly think he might be trying to avoid Anna.”

“Or me,” Emma mumbles so quietly Killian thinks only he hears it.

“What?” Elsa asks.

“Nothing, nothing,” Emma quickly corrects. “I’m going to fix myself some coffee and then we’ll get started. Do you have all your numbers?”

“On my phone, yeah.”

Skipper comes walking up the stairs and sniffs along Killian’s shoes before moving over to Elsa and settling down at her feet. The back bedroom door opens, and Liam walks out. Part of Killian wants to stay for this meeting, to get to know what exactly his brother and Elsa are going to plan for their wedding, but he also doesn’t want to be a witness for the cold shoulder Liam will inevitably give Emma. Killian’s never understood Liam’s problem with Emma, but hopefully the man can keep it together enough to not make some asinine remark when Emma is doing him a favor.

“Well,” Liam smiles, “are we all ready to plan a wedding?”

-/-

-/-

@qualitycoffeethings​ @mrtinski​ @klynn-stormz​ @scarletslippers​ @jonirobinson64​ @snowbellewells​ @therealstartraveller776​ @thejollyroger-writer​ @sherifemma​ @shardminds​ @captainsjedi​ @galaxyzxstark​ @galadriel26​ @idristardis​ @karenfrommisthaven​ @teamhook​ @spartanguard​ @searchingwardrobes​ @itsfabianadocarmo​ @jamif​ @shireness-says​ @ultimiflos​ @nikkiemms​ @resident-of-storybrooke​ @onepunintendid​ @bluewildcatfanatic​ @superchocovian​ @killianswannn​ @carpedzem​ @captainkillianswanjones​ @mayquita​ @jennjenn615​ @onceuponaprincessworld​ @a-faekindagirl​ @scientificapricot​ @xellewoods​ @ultraluckycatnd​ @stahlop​ @kmomof4​ @tiganasummertree​ @singersdd​ @tornadoamy​ @cluttermind​ @lfh1226-linda​ @andiirivera​ @cluttermind​

#your wonder under summer skies #cs fic #cs ff #cs fanfic #captain swan fic #captain swan ff #captain swan fanfic #captain swan

[thetravelerwrites]

Vincente (Werebear)

Rating: Teen Relationship: Female Human/Male Werebear Additional Tags: Exophilia, Werebear, Salsa Dancing Content Warnings: Bad Breakups, Past Cheating, Jealousy Words: 2354

A fun commission for @isabert91! A woman returns to California for work and meets a charismatic Salsa dancer, but jealousy from past betrayals threatens to derail the budding relationship. Please reblog and leave feedback!

The Traveler's Masterlist

God, you had missed the beach.

You’d grown up in California, but had been living in the midwest for a long time for work. Recently, a new position in California opened up and you had decided to transfer back, and you couldn’t have been happier with the decision. The first day, before you’d even unpacked, you bought a pretty floral bikini with a sheer tie-up skirt and went to the beach for the first time in years.

It was a beautiful day; completely cloudless sky but it wasn’t too hot, there was a nice breeze, and the beach wasn’t too crowded. The first thing that caught your attention was a Salsa exhibition in progress on a stage close to the boardwalk. There were half a dozen couples dancing to a lively song and a crowd of people watching and cheering for them. A smile crossed your face and you went to join the audience.

After a few songs, a lone man and woman took the stage. The man definitely took your eye. He was tall and well-built, a grizzly of a man, with a well-trimmed beard and short dark hair. He appeared to be in his mid-thirties, wearing black pants and a sparkling shirt that looked like it was painted on him. You bit your lip in appreciation.

The song started, and he was like a tornado, moving with incredible speed, flipping and tossing the young woman he was dancing with as if she were nothing but a paper doll. You wished you were being manhandled like that by him, though you were a bit curvier than you’d have liked and you doubted you’d fly through the air like that woman was. Even still, the thought got stuck in your mind. You also couldn’t stop your hips from swaying and your feet from moving. You remembered this song from when you were a kid and it always got you dancing.

He and the young woman finished with a sexy flare, and bowed to raucous applause.

“Thank you for attending the Bailar es Vida Dance Studio’s spring exhibition!” He called over the crowd with a thick Colombian accent. “We are accepting new students! Please check out the fliers for how to apply for classes! ¡Muchas gracias! ¡No puedo esperar para verte allí!”

He jumped down off of the stage in one fluid movement and waded through the crowd, shaking hands and kissing the cheeks of women as he passed.

As he reached you, he held out a hand, and you instinctively took it.

“I couldn’t help but notice you dancing to the music in the audience, hermosa,” He said to you, his warm green eyes crinkling with his smile. “You have rhythm. Are you a dancer?”

“Not since I was younger,” You said. “My aunt used to have gatherings every few months, but I think it was just an excuse to dance.”

“Anything is an excuse to dance, if you try hard enough,” He said, laughing. “Have you had an excuse to dance lately?”

“Not really,” You admitted. “Bad breakup.”

“Ah, mi simpatía. Perhaps you could use a new reason to dance, maybe… a date?”

You smiled, but said, “I’m sure you say that to all the ladies. You’re just trying to get new clients.”

He laughed again. “I admit, the flirting helps. What kind of dance studio has no dancers, after all? I hold you to no commitments, señorita. It was merely an offer.” He kissed your hand. “I hope to see you again.”

He released you and moved on, and you cursed yourself for saying no. You looked down and saw a business card with a number and his name, Vincente Ortiz, on it. Ooh, he was smooth.

Before heading back out to enjoy the beach, you took a flier and tucked it into your purse.

It took you a week to get unpacked and settled in both your new home and new job, but once you felt comfortable, you spent your first day off hunting for the dance studio.

Not that it was hard to find. Salsa music could be heard three blocks away from the studio, and all you had to do was follow it. The front of the studio was all glass windows, wherein you could see several couples practicing in sync. Vincente was there, watching each of them closely and correcting forms occasionally. His dress wasn’t as flamboyant as it was in the exhibition, but it was still extremely form fitting. You could see some chest hair peeking out over the v-neck collar.

He looked up and saw you, and gave you a wink and a wave before returning to his class. You watched him for a few minutes, moving fluidly throughout the large room, and when the class ended, you went inside.

“Ah, hermosa, it is lovely to see you again,” He said, taking your hand and kissing the back of it. “I was hoping you would stop by. Are you considering taking a class?”

“Uh, no,” You said, holding up the card. “I was thinking of taking you up on your offer.”

His eyes got brighter. “How wonderful! Are you free tomorrow evening?”

“I am, actually,” You told him. “Is this your cell number?”

“It is,” He said with a smile, pulling it out. “May I have yours?”

You gave it to him along with your name.

“Tomorrow at seven, then?” He asked, and you nodded. “Lovely. I look forward to it, hermosa. I have another class in ten minutes, if you’d like to stay?”

“Thank you, but I actually have some errands to run,” You said. “But I’m excited for tomorrow.”

“As am I,” He said, nodding his head in a small bow.

The next evening, you’d dressed in a very close fitting red number that you hadn’t worn since two boyfriends ago. You were wearing your killer heels, your hair was done up, the works. For the first time since your ex, you felt gorgeous.

Vincente picked you up for the date looking just as gorgeous, if not more so. He was dressed in a sharp, deep blue suit, understated but still flattering. He definitely had taste.

“You look radiant, hermosa,” He said, taking your hand and helping you down the steps. You hadn’t worn heels this high in quite a while and you were grateful for the assistance.

“You look very handsome, as well,” You told him.

“You’re the one that shines tonight, mi estrella,” He said, hooking your arm around his. “We’re going dancing!”

“But you dance all day long!” You said with a laugh. “Aren’t you tired of dancing?”

“Who could grow tired of dancing?” He asked as he opened the passenger door for you. “That’s like growing tired of air or water. Besides, it won’t be salsa. There is a club I go to often with good music and a nice atmosphere, very low-key kind of place. Not too many people and the music isn’t too loud, so we can sit and talk when we get tired.”

“That sounds nice,” You said. “They have food?”

“Not at the club, but there is an excellent restaurant next door,” He replied. “Do you like sushi?”

“I love sushi,” You said. “There wasn’t much of it where I was living before, and I didn’t trust what was there.”

“Well, tonight will be a treat, then.”

Dancing was a lot of fun, and after several hours of being on your feet, the two of you decided to go for dinner. You were seated at the best table, and were given fresh, lightly salted edamame and water with lemon as soon as you sat down. Vincente was apparently friends with the owners, which reaped its own benefits.

As you were sitting and talking, happily munching on yellowtail nigiri, a group of people from the studio came in. Vincente didn’t stand, but he greeted them, kissing the hands of the women. You bristled but didn’t say anything.

Don’t get annoyed, You thought to yourself. It’s the first date and he’s a friendly guy. It’s way too soon to turn into the crazy jealous girlfriend and start scrutinizing his every move. He’ll think you’re nuts and dump you.

Though, you had to wonder if being dumped early would be better than the pain of being cheated on later.

The group moved on, and Vincente turned his attention back to you. You determined to put it out of your mind and have a good time. You’d earned it, even if it might not last.

It was nearing midnight by the time he dropped you back off at home. He walked you to the door of your apartment and went in for a kiss. You allowed it, thinking to only give him a peck and go in for the night, but something pulled you toward him, some kind of magnetism that wanted more. For a while, you gave into it, wrapping your body around him and holding his face in your hands. His large, warm body molded to yours and his arms were tight around you.

Eventually, you broke apart. “I think I should go in before I cross a line I may not be ready to cross.”

“I understand,” He said a little breathlessly. “A second date, then?”

“Sounds good to me,” You replied, biting his lower lip a little to make him groan. “Next weekend?”

“Perfect,” He growled, nuzzling at your neck. “Until then.”

A few weeks passed in a blur. Work was amazing, and you met up with Vincente two or three times a week, each date unique and fun. You did end up salsa dancing with him at least once, and though you were a bit rusty, he was a brilliant dance partner and got you back into the swing of it pretty quickly. Before you knew it, you were flying across the floor with complete confidence, mirroring Vincente’s own self-assurance, and you danced until you were both breathless.

It was amazing, but there were still things that bothered you. He was still a bit flirty and openly affectionate with people, not just other women. He seemed to know everyone, and vice versa. He doted on you when you were together, too, of course, but it still nagged you in the back of your mind and you thought it was still too early in the relationship to bring it up. The two of you hadn’t even discussed being exclusive yet. As far as you knew, Vincente still saw your relationship together as a casual one.

It wasn’t until a month after you started dating and he referred to you as his girlfriend while introducing you to someone that you decided to bring it up.

“I couldn’t help but notice you called me your girlfriend,” You told him as the two of you walked home.

“Does that bother you?” He asked, his hand tightening around yours. “I had assumed that we were growing close enough to use the word, but if I was mistaken, I understand.”

“No, it’s not that,” You said. “It’s just…” You let out a breath forcefully. “I don’t know how to phrase this without sounding crazy or jealous.”

“You can tell me, hermosa,” He said, looking down at you, his attention on you and you alone.

“Well… I’ve told you about my ex, right? Well, several exes. The ones that cheated on me?”

“Of course, and they were fools to have done it,” He replied.

“It’s just… after being treated like that… you start getting apprehensive about certain behaviors. Like, don’t get me wrong, I love how outgoing and friendly you are, and I’d never suggest you change yourself just because I wanted you to, or act like a crazy person and forbid you from seeing friends or coworkers, but… when you kiss other women’s hands or rub your fingers down someone’s back…”

“You feel suspicious?” He asked.

“Not suspicious, necessarily… but it does make me raise my guard,” You said. “I just don’t want to get hurt. If we’re moving into a new stage of our relationship, it’s something I thought we should talk about.”

“I see,” He said, and then was silent for a little while.

His silence made you nervous. After a few tense moments, you said, “I’m sorry. I get if that’s a lot to lay on you right now.”

“No, no, I’m glad you said something if you were unhappy,” He replied, pulling your hand through the crook of his arm and patting it. “I’ve been evaluating how I act around other people just now, and since you’ve mentioned it, you’re right: I am a little bit… inappropriately touchy, maybe. Usually, it’s not something I think about, since when I’m single I have no one to fuss about it, and most of my relationships have been completely casual. Honestly, I don’t think I’ve ever had a serious girlfriend before now.”

“Now?” You asked, looking up at him.

He stopped and turned to face you, his face soft with fondness. “Yes. I enjoy your company very much, hermosa. How you feel is very important to me. I will be more mindful from now on. I wouldn’t want to push you away.”

You laughed a little self-consciously. “That’s sweet of you, Vincente. It’s a lot to ask, I know--”

“No, it isn’t,” He said. “I wonder to myself how I would feel if another man were to kiss any part of your body, hand or otherwise, and I know it would make me feel uneasy, if not upset. I understand how you feel and I’m glad you talked to me. You can always talk to me about anything at all, no matter what it is. Secrets are not meant for keeping.”

There was a brief shadow across his face as he said this, but it passed in an instant and you wondered if it wasn’t just a shadow across the moon that hung half full in the sky.

“Now, come on. It’s getting chilly. We should get you home.”

He wrapped his own scarf around your neck and took your hand, walking you back to your apartment under the moonlight.

Since my work is no longer searchable, please do me a favor and reblog this story if you enjoyed it. Help me reach a wider audience! To help me continue creating, please consider buying me a Kofi, becoming a Patron, or donating directly to my PayPal!

Thanks for reading!

My Masterlist

The Exophilia Creator’s Masterlist

#Exophilia #Werebear #Salsa Dancing

[meowdymista]

Van der Driscoll Pt8

Part 7 - Masterlist

Part 9

This is somehow only 3800 words long, possibly because I killed three pages of flashback and squished it into a handful of paragraphs. BUT there’s no in game script this time (hooray!) so hopefully will be a bit more of a fun read.

Gentle reminder that the only reason I’m still writing this discarded one shot is because @memekingofwwiii and @artisticpoet replied to the original post three months ago. Any feedback always goes a long way, and if you wish this project had died back at the beginning, you have them to blame #sorrynotsorry

***

“Miss LN, if you do not quit your incessant pacing, I will tie you to the mill stone in Rhodes and rent you out as a donkey!”

Your apology is empty and Miss Grimshaw’s scowl tells you she knows it. Hosea folds down the paper, pressing precisely over the creases before setting it aside. “They won’t be long now, I’m sure of it.”

O’Driscoll’s had intercepted Mr Pearson on his way to Rhodes with the message that Colm was proposing a truce. They claimed it was better to rally together as a dying species than to let the Pinkertons pick off smaller groups fighting amongst themselves.

That wasn't your primary concern. The thought of the O’Driscoll’s so close to camp rattled you, and shook Kieran like an oversized jelly. There was a chance they wouldn’t see through your altered appearance and you could slip past them, but for Kieran who rode with them for two months... To be shot on sight would be a mercy, and both of you knew that that wasn’t the O’Driscoll way.

Dutch announced that as doubtful as the proposition was, he wasn’t going to waste the opportunity to put the past behind him. Assigning Micah as his number two and Arthur as back up, the trio rode out of camp despite the shaking heads and words of disapproval.

“We’ve been in worse situations before and got out of it,” continues Hosea, his bright eyes tired. “Arthur’s the best shot in camp. He’ll take care of any trouble before it starts.”

You hum in acknowledgement before dismissing yourself. You haven’t told anyone about the vibrantly vivid dreams you’ve been having. Abigail has told you in the past that she had them a lot whilst expecting Jack, something to do with the raging hormones, but you can’t shake the dread that’s become sediment in the bottom of your heart. There is something about the way Dream Micah is relentless in his beatings... the way he sneers at every missed punch from Dream Arthur… the shine of moonlight on the infamous double action revolver with its custom black and red grip, and the flicker of fire highlighting the etching Vengeance is hereby mine. To know Arthur is out there with Micah’s only cheerleader is unsettling to say the least. What if it’s not the chaos of change? What if these dreams are a premonition?

You shake the thought of Dutch’s polished boots crushing Arthur’s outstretched fingers from your mind. A dream, you tell yourself firmly. A dream and nothing more.

Stripping to your undergarments, you wade out into the lake in search of a distraction. There’s an island not too far from shore. You could be alone with your thoughts there if you took the boat out, or even if one of the horses wanted to take a swim, but the nagging in your stomach has tied a knot to the centre of the camp. You can’t wander far for fear of the Dream Arthur’s beaten corpse welcoming you back.

“Miss Thomas, I-” Kieran squawks loudly from the shoreline, staring up awkwardly into the evening sky. You sigh and retreat enough to stay underwater whilst remaining within earshot. “I-I’m sorry, M-Miss, I didn’t think you was- that you were-!”

“It’s fine, Kieran. Pass me the towel on that rock?” He obliges, eyes still scouring the heavens like a lost monk until you’ve tied it around your waist and shrugged on one of Arthur’s old shirts. “You heard something?”

“Should I have? Oh, about Arthur and Dutch. They ain’t back yet. I was- I was just wanting to, erm, to check how you was feelin’ with the whole… Colm... thing.”

You consider lying. It would be an appetising distraction to feed him a cool indifferent nature and watch him squirm in paranoia, however you’re not sure how much longer you can fight the burn of madness at the edge of your mind. 

“Scared shitless,” you admit eventually, the corners of your mouth tugging downwards despite your best efforts. “Not even for Arthur being gone, but… if they know. If they know the truth, or if they find out about…” Your fingers touch the soft curve of your stomach. “About Arthur and... I don’t know what I’ll do. What we can do.”

Kieran nods quietly, clearing his throat as his eyes dart over the shore, like a rabbit catching the scent of coyotes on the wind. “Colm burns through men like cigars, but Lord knows what them O’Driscoll boys’ll do if they get their hands on us.”

“We’ll be dead if we’re lucky,” you mumble, turning a smooth pebble in your hands before skimming it over the water. “The lucky ones… they go quick.”

You can feel his gaze burning into the side of your skull, but you try to keep your posture indifferent. You know what he’s going to ask before he even inhales.

“What happened with Peader? Was it quick or…?”

“Quick.” You skim another stone as your heart battles its way into your throat. You don’t have the energy to feign ignorance this time. “I made sure of that.”

“What- what he do?”

Shadows move around the camp, indifferent to your whereabouts. Taking a deep breath, you begin to tell the story honestly, hoping that perhaps if you acknowledge and repent your sin out loud, whatever God there is out there will return Arthur to you.

You tell him about meeting Peader in a quiet saloon on the outskirts of Blackwater - a place where even the cobwebs had moved on in anticipation for the new place opening on the main road. How Peader swooped in, landing on a chair opposite you, his grin brighter than a beacon from his day drinking.

“Yull never guess the shit I just got us. A boat with a shit tonne o’ gold is docking here end o’ this week. Minimum security, no guards, easy pickings. Can you believe it?”

“No,” you scoff, stifling a yawn. “Ain’t no such thing.”

“Tha’s what I said, but this feller I was talkin’ to was from the bank. He was sayin’ that it'd be the steal of the century if anyone pulled it off. They’d tried hiring security, but no one was taking ‘em up on it. Said it was travelling too far, was too high risk of being hit, so they decided to play it all poker like and just send the ferry anyways.”

“And you trust this feller?”

“Sure, as much as anyone else I meet on the street.”

“How’d you know he isn’t setting us up? Or that he really works for the bank?”

“Bastard was dressed up all fancy. Had the same chain on his waistcoat you see ‘em all wearing and the stupid twirly moustache. Ain’t many jobs that afford a man a belly like his. He reeked of paper and safe codes, trust me.”

You tell Kieran how the saloon was empty apart from the bartender and a man catching a nap in a booth across the room, neglecting to mention the way his white hat sat low over his eyes and the thick blond handlebar moustache twitching in sleep. You do tell him the details of the job - that Peader reckoned you’d need at least five men to carry the gold, plus a couple more for shooting. You even tell him when the ferry docked - a date black on your tongue - and how your panic was exacerbated with rising frustration when Peader began to bite back at your doubt, accusing you of doubting him, of stealing the credit for past jobs he’d arranged.

“Obviously some other outlaws got wind of the same tip you did. It’s not the first time we’ve crossed paths with folk like us - and with the law tightening up the way it is, of course we’re gonna start stepping on each other’s toes-”

“Look, I get you have your day trips or mini vacations and the like. I get you’re a good shot an’ all, but you’ve gotta stop lyin’ to me! Knocking me out and keeping the take for yourself-”

“There was no take, Peter, because I was hauling your heavy ass out of their way! Them Van der Linde’s are a better shot than either of us, an’ between a few dollars and a can of vegetables or an extra gun at my side, I’ll choose the latter every time.”

You take a deep breath to slow your quaking heart and keep your emotions from getting the better of you. Your voice cracks as you recall following your friend outside for him to tell you Colm had come by camp earlier that week asking for you. His black eyes fiery, the stubble on his face uneven from his last shave... The proper use of his given name was lost on the wind whistling over the plains, because Colm had personally promoted you. You, who had no prior experience with weaponry before Peader took the time to show you. 

Your vision fades to black. The panic, the total contrast to your good friend, everything accumulates to cast darkness over your sight. You know this can only end one way, and it’s too painful to consider. The pearl grip in your hand is cool at first touch, but quickly grows hot as your ears ring with bullets fired.

The stallion rears and bolts west of town.

Kieran must realise he’s openly gawping as he quickly clears his throat. “W-was that the same ferry these fellers hit?”

You nod, swallowing hard. “Guess the idiot that told Peter didn’t keep his trap shut.”

“I heard he was working with them Pinkertons?”

You shrug sadly. “I might have… twisted the truth a little when Colm asked about him. Made it sound like he was a snitch… with hindsight he would have got us all killed, but he knew too much about me. Suddenly, with Colm asking after me, he had motive to dig deeper and find out the truth. I couldn’t risk it.”

You catch Kieran’s hand hesitating in the corner of your eye, before he decides the comfort would be improper and instead puts it back into his own lap. “I’m sorry to hear that, Miss. Sometimes we gotta make choices an’... an’ we just have to live with what comes afterward.”

You hum in agreement. Kieran takes a deep breath, clearly about to say something else, when you hear a horse whinny in the distance. Apologising hastily, you jump to your feet, relief flooding you as you hurry back up onto the grass in time to see the Count and Baylock trotting in with their owner’s sat tall astride them.

“So?” calls Hosea from the front of the crowd gathered by the hitching posts.

Dutch shakes his head once, sighing. “We ain’t got shot at least.”

Your ears strain for further movement, your stomach dropping every passing second as the chill of your recurring nightmare creeps down your spine. “Where’s Arthur?” 

“Calm down, Guinevere, he’s probably off doin’ somethin’ or other.” Micah smiles all smarmy. “Probably watchin’ our backs, being the little hero that he is. He’ll be back before long.”

Hosea mirrors your frown of concern. “You ain’t seen him?”

“He’ll be fine, Hosea,” Dutch sighs, waving his hand dismissively as he strolls back to the large white tent on the shore. “He always is.”

You shiver violently. Arthur never lets the group disperse after a job until everyone is accounted for. One night after a few too many bottles of whisky, Karen had told you how Arthur had to be all but dragged from Blackwater during their hasty retreat into Ambarino. Eventually Dutch had ordered him to scout ahead for somewhere to camp so that they didn’t need to worry about losing their sharpest shooter to any law catching up to them.

You pull yourself away and head back to the waters, trying to hear any gunshots or further movement beneath Hosea’s continued dispute.

“I see Micah and Dutch are back?” You shrug at Kieran’s hesitant observation. “I’m sure he’s fine. You seen him with a gun?”

You drop the towel and sink your head under the water as soon as you’re able to, effectively ending the conversation. When your head next breaks the surface, Kieran is gone and your towel is folded neatly in his place.

You don’t sleep that night. You can’t sleep. Despite the luxury of space for your expanding body and the warm Lemoyne air acting as a blanket in its own right, you’re still unable to rest without his body heat, without the weight of his arm around you, pressing against your back, the itch of facial hair on your exposed skin.

Every little movement has you sat up expectantly. There is no need for privacy without Arthur’s preference for hidden intimacies, so you’ve rolled up every wall of your tent to keep lookout. The fires in camp are dying down to ash as Micah caresses his knife with sandpaper nearby.

“Yes, Miss LN?” Micah smirks. “Can I help you?”

“What have you done?” Your voice is barely a whisper. Micah’s breathy laugh matches your volume - the most manners he has shown you since you met.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about…”

“Where is Arthur?” You’re stood behind him, your fists shaking at your side as you try to contain the terror of the unknown. “You must know something.”

“Guinevere, I’m sure your white knight will make an appearance eventually.” Shaking his head, he chuckles and turns back to the wisps of burning ash. “I mean, unless another princess has taken his attention. What’s her name? Maggie? Molly?” He throws you another look over his shoulder. “Or was it the queen that took off with someone else? I ain’t ever really had the patience for fairy stories myself.”

“He wouldn’t just disappear!” you argue, setting aside your confusion at his jibes. “This is Arthur. What did he say after you left Colm?”

“He told me he needed a little less mollycoddling from his baby carrier.” He scoffs, his pale grey eyes meeting yours in the last of the light. “How do I know? It ain’t no secret we ain’t the closest of buddies. Maybe he’s done a John and got cold feet, hmm? Now leave me alone!”

When the sun eventually rises, you pull your blouse and skirts over your underclothes without bothering to wash. With a fist full of pins to fix your hair out of your face, you hurry over to where Miss Molly is applying a faceful of powders.

“Jesus wept!” she gasps, stepping back as though your dishevelment was contagious. “What happened to you?”

Looking up at the interruption, Dutch marks his page and sits up. “Something the matter, Miss?”

“Arthur’s still not back.”

He rolls his eyes, body relaxing and book already reopened with his finger finding where he left off. “When you’ve known Arthur as long as I have-”

“I’m not saying he doesn’t disappear for days, I just want to know what happened after you saw Colm.”

“Why? Has your escape plan backfired?” The thick moustache twitches in fake humour. “Maybe your O’Driscoll charm has paid off and Arthur’s switched sides, taking your place as Colm’s number two.”

“Arthur would never betray you like that,” you argue, but the flash in the leader’s eyes makes you question the degree of betrayal felt when you were brought into camp. “You all rode off together. You must have seen him leave to cover for you? What happened when you met back up?”

“He’d already left, Y/N. It was clearly far too underwhelming for him. Now if you don’t mind, I’d like a little quiet. Some of us still have to earn our keep, you know.”

Not wanting to waste energy on a force as strong as Dutch, you busy yourself with chores. You feed the chickens, you feed the horses, you darn socks, all whilst watching the treeline. Even Miss Grimshaw’s fury cannot stir you away from the outskirts, and so by midday, with confidence in your position as most detested in camp, your decision proves easy.

“Kieran, do you have a spare saddle?”

The jittery head snapped up, gaping at you. “Going out, Miss?”

“To look for Arthur. I’ll be back, I promise.”

“You can’t go alone, Miss, especially not- not in your condition.”

You resist the urge to roll your eyes, no small feat with your lack of sleep. “I looked after myself before, and I can look after myself again.”

“Mr Morgan will kill me if anything were to happen to you.” He licks his lips, his hands wringing the corner of his jacket. “Lemme grab somebody to go with you-”

“Kieran I said I’m fine!”

“I- I- I can come. Jus’ gimme a minute to saddle up Branwen.” He’s itching with anxiety. “Shit, I don’t wanna think what Mr Van der Linde will do if we go off together.”

“Something wrong?” Charles watches you both closely as he pauses his stroll back from guard duty.

"Arthur’s not back yet. I’m going to look for him.”

His gaze slides over to Kieran, then shakes his head. “I’ll come with you. It’s best you stay here, Kieran - one missing O’Driscoll is less concerning than two.”

“A-Are you sure, Mr Smith?” The relief is palpable. “Then Y/N take Branwen. She’ll do you right.”

You try to keep your tics of impatience internalized whilst the men fix the horses. Hosea seems to be watching you in the distance. You almost believe he gives you a nod before acting as a distraction to Dutch, allowing you to lead Branwen out of camp behind Charles and Taima.

“Do you know where they met with them?”

You shake your head clear, digging your heels in to ride up alongside your companion. “The Heartlands, I think, but I don’t know the exact location. Can’t be further than Valentine.”

“I think you’re right about Valentine - there’s no real vantage point past Emerald Ranch. Dutch talked like Arthur was a surprise, so he would probably need a good hiding spot with a clear view.”

“Must be further out than Dewberry Creek… they wouldn’t have taken so long to get back.”

Charles hums in agreement. “Let’s head that way anyway and get up on a ridge. There’s a whisky tree with quite the view, might help us narrow our search.”

A long silence stretches between you. It would have been comfortable if it weren’t for the intrusive thoughts, the ghost of imaginary gunpowder tainting your nostrils, the burning images of Dutch’s boot crushing his outstretched fingers…

Just a dream.

You arrive at the summit and draw your binoculars, scouting the horizon, desperately trying to pick between each grain of dirt.

“I reckon we should take each of these points.” Charles gestures to each summit on the horizon. “If we take them one by one, we’re sure to overlap their meeting point, and maybe find some clues.”

You mumble in agreement, chewing on your lip as he focuses his strong brown gaze on you.

“Did Arthur say something about this to you?” he asks finally.

“What do you mean?”

“You’ve been on edge pretty much since they mounted up… Is everything alright between you?”

You laugh, albeit shakily, at the prospect of something coming between you. “We’re fine. I just keep having some real bad dreams and... “ You exhale loudly. “I’d feel better if I knew where he was.”

Charles nods and doesn’t press for details. He’s like Arthur that way - unwilling to speak unless necessary. You let the silence coddle you again as you descend and re-ascend another peak.

“Y/N!”

You hurry to him at the first syllable of your name, cursing the ache of your muscles slowing you down. Charles is crouched by the rocky edge, examining the ground closely.

“Reckon this could be our man?” he asks, gesturing at the disturbed dirt. Yes, you realise, it very well could be. The length of the disturbance was almost Arthur’s height - especially if he had rested on his elbows to watch over. You try to picture his broad shoulders and envisage the same broad distance.

Could there have been a scuffle? There’s not enough disturbance for him to have leaned back onto his knees and stood up - one of the arms is smudged, like he had rolled over. The inconsistencies in the outline… had he stood up and walked all over where he had been lying, or was someone else here?

Charles seems to share your doubts as he points out the multiple horse tracks. “Either this spot is popular with the locals, or there’s been a group here in the past couple of days.”

“Dutch and Micah split off earlier down the track - Arthur came up here alone.”

Charles hums again, fanning the panic in your gut. “Did they meet up again afterwards?”

“Did they hell!” you scowl. “Neither of them would tell me what happened after they parted ways.”

Charles sighs, mounting Taima gracefully. “The tracks seem to double down this way.”

You follow, enveloped again in the silence bar your thudding heart. At the bottom, you find an old camp. Charles decides it’s about a day old. You don’t really say much before spotting the blood not much further away. Alarm bells are ringing and you’re feeling faint.

I guess I saw you an’ the mess I might leave you in one day.

“Y/N?” Charles’ round face surfaces before your eyes, his forehead furrowing. “Are you alright? Here, I have some water…”

“They got him, didn’t they?” You can feel your stomach turning, but you haven’t eaten since they left the day before. “The blood - it’s Arthur’s, isn’t it?”

“Could be animal’s blood,” counters Charles calmly. “They might have set up camp nearby to save carrying the carcass.”

You try to stand, determined to keep searching, but Charles holds you down by your shoulder. “Rest. Kieran was right - Arthur won’t be happy if he finds you in this state.”

“Provided he comes back!” you argue, but you can feel the world spinning around you. As if already aware about your lack of sustenance, Charles pushes a bread roll into your hand, and you begin to eat wordlessly.

“Are you strong enough to ride?” he asks eventually.

You nod, brushing crumbs from your clothes as you look out towards the setting sun. “How far do you reckon they’ve got?”

“We’re going back to camp.” You whisk around ready to protest, but Charles steadies you easily. “Falling off your horse is one thing, but it’s completely different when you're carrying a child. I’ll come back for him, but for now let’s get you safe and pick up some reinforcements.”

You reluctantly agree, even if it’s just for the way your mind rattles as he helps you mount up. Charles rides close beside you, ready to grab you when you sway too precariously. The ride back is much slower than the ride out.

Hold on, Arthur. They’re coming.

#van der driscoll #rdr2 fic #rdr2 fanfic #kieran o'driscoll #red dead fic #red dead fanfic #arthur morgan #kieran duffy #meowdymista

[ptrparkcrs]

no more || petermj & wade

who: peter parker ( @ptrparkcrs​ ), mary jane watson ( @mcryjanewatson​ ), wade wilson ( @deadjacuzzi​ ) when: a november night what: mj is set to leave for her journalism fellowship, but an accident sends things awry quickly word count: 4313 trigger warnings: violence, injury, blood, death (mention), suicidal ideation, the kids really Going Through It

MJ: It was her last full, regular day of work, and it was finally coming to an end. MJ felt so fortunate that she’d landed a spot in the fellowship program she’d been eyeing for the last two years. She fully believed in herself and her abilities, but sometimes she couldn’t help but worry that there would be someone else out there better suited than she. Tony’s letter probably helped, and for that she was incredibly grateful. She was so excited, it was taking everything in her to keep from bouncing off the walls. Everything had fallen into place just perfectly. Her job was holding her position for her, as she wouldn’t be able to fulfill all her regular duties, and she still had plans in place to talk to and see Peter between her travels. All she had to do was wrap up the stories she’d been editing and put them on the editor’s desk, and she could head home and start packing for her journey next week. There were a few days between her last day here, and her flight on Monday, and she fully intended on spending every minute of that time with Peter.

As she walked, heels clicking on the sidewalk, bag secure across her chest, she shot Peter a text that she should be home in about twenty minutes. While she knew she should go to her own place first, she really didn’t want to. Once she got to her place, she’d have to pack and do work and if she went to Peter’s she could just bring food and sit on the couch with him. Plus, MJ was always eager to see Peter, no matter what the situation or how long it’d been since she last saw him. As it was, they’d both been so busy, she felt like she hadn’t seen him in ages. Chances were good he was out patrolling right now. If she looked around enough, she felt like she could find him on a building ledge, but she didn’t feel like she needed to. Before long, she’d be in his apartment, and he’d come in all sweaty from his night keeping watch.

Some would call it unsafe, Peter likely being one of them, but MJ had certain shortcuts and routes she always took through the city. It was much faster, and having lived here most of her life, she really felt she knew the best and safest ways to get around. She’d turned towards one of those very shortcuts, immediately taking notice of a man who was leaning against the wall. She’d come to be very observant, especially since finding out about Peter being Spider-Man. As soon as she passed him, he started following her. She felt a wave of unease and anxiety hit her and she tried to get her phone out as calmly as possible. ‘Someone’s following me,’ she texted Peter, hitting send and putting her phone back in her pocket. It was that moment that she felt a gun press against her back. “I’m not looking for trouble,” she said, putting her hands up a little. “I promise. You can have my bag. I can even make it easy for you and take out the good stuff for you. I won’t say anything to anyone, I promise.”

The brief moment of silence made her all the more anxious. She was going to die in this alley. Oh, this was not how she was supposed to go. Adrenaline coursed through her veins as she tried to figure out what to do. There was pepper spray in her bag if she could only get to it without drawing too much attention. “I have quite a bit of cash. And the bag is a knock-off, but the wallet isn’t,” she said, reaching into her purse as if to prove it to him. She grabbed her pepper spray and turned around to spray him.

WADE: Sometimes the voices were just so loud, Wade thought, the barrel of his gun pressed innocently enough to the temple of his mask. For once, it hadn’t been pointed at his own head. Instead, Wade cradled the cool metal handle like an old friend, slipping from his forehead to his cheek in a slow seduction.

How long had he been standing in the shadows, eyes catching figures as they passed by? The echoes of voices ricocheted off of the brick city walls, Wade’s grip tightening on the weapon in his hand. He’d always preferred a sword - preferred the heaviness of it in his hand, the slow descent and precision it took to wield the blade properly.

But the madness that crept in that evening seemed to lay thick in the air around him, coating his tongue with subconscious thoughts and actions, making his gloved fingers ache to rip and destroy. That was all Wade was really good for, wasn’t it? Some people like Peter were made to create, and Wade was made to demolish. And really, even the distinct loss of hope needed a face to attach to the name, didn’t it?

There had been a certain mania in his actions, Wade following a familiar figure through a crowd, down an alleyway. He couldn’t name them precisely, but Wade hadn’t expected much, considering the tunnel vision in his head lay around him like a thick fog. The only thought that seemed to register was the echoing hiss of, do it, Wade — make them pay, make them hurt the way you hurt, like snake venom between poisonous fangs. How long had he been standing in the shadows, eyes catching figures as they passed by—

It was a rush, the moment he began to move, the gun no longer pressed to his skull, and instead pressed into an easy target. A lithe back, a living being existing in the darkness, the same as Wade had been. Had he been? Don’t hesitate. Make them pay, Wilson. They all think you’re crazy, show them crazy. Let that hatred in. And he did.

The stranger’s actions had been easy to recognize, the skilled mercenary having done the same motions so many times throughout his career. After ‘they’ had made him a monster. After he had come out of the other side, scarred, and broken, and useless, and crazy and —

The pepper spray did nothing through his mask, Wade’s own leather clad arm coming up to brace and parry the motion away from him. There was a crack to the bone that met his palm, and Wade wasn’t sure if it sounded more of a break or a sprain over the continued whispers of doubt around him. How long had he been standing in the shado—

Wade growled, shaking the thoughts away from his mind, heart thudding wildly in his chest as his elbow flew toward an untrained stomach, something in him exploding in a release of pressure. The violence was the only thing that quieted the voices. That made him feel normal again.

I want to be good, Wade’s thoughts screamed, even as a hand gripped hair, I’ve worked so hard to be good, he pleaded with himself as he pushed a tender skull into the brick of the wall beside him.

MJ: How was this night going to end? Was she going to die, her body bloody and bruised on the cold cement? Was this really going to be her end? All of her life, all of her future, gone because she happened to take this route on this night? MJ had too much to live for. Her life was falling into place. She’d given up on her reckless life and taken up a much more responsible one because she wanted to improve herself, her life, have a better future. All of that to die in an alley? That couldn’t be her end. As her hand was swatted away, an audible crack ringing in her ears, she let those words echo in her head to bring her strength. This will not be your end, Mary Jane.

The pain in her arm throbbed, shooting through her body. It made it hard to focus, but she could not let this be the last thing that happened to her. She steadied herself on her feet, preparing to take off, when an elbow struck her. “Please,” she begged, her voice weak, her hands gripping her stomach. MJ knew she was no hero. She wasn’t skilled in combat, didn’t have enhanced anything, and didn’t have tech that could help her. But she’d always considered herself street smart. She always thought she could fend for herself, that she didn’t need to be rescued. And yet here she was, a man in a suit beating the life out of her, and all she could think was how desperately she wanted someone, anyone, to come and save her.

Why her? Had she done something to deserve this? Was she just a random target? Her soft voice cried out in a whimper, her face hitting the wall, skin scraping against the rough brick. Pain enveloped her. It was all she could feel. Her thoughts blurred, her mind having a hard time finding clarity in anything. All that existed right now was pain and fear. And yet, when the hand let go of her, she mustered up all of her strength to run back towards the street. Her heel broke under her, causing her ankle to twist, more pain reverberating through her body, though she hardly noticed it at this point. She wailed in anguish, frustrated that she couldn’t seem to escape this.

“Please don’t kill me,” she pleaded. Everything that happened she could recover from. This didn’t have to be the end. If he would just spare her, she could be okay. MJ was strong. She was a fighter. A few setbacks wouldn’t keep her from leading a fulfilling life. She didn’t think she asking for much, begging for him to have mercy. She didn’t know how much more she could take. Her eyelids felt heavy, and she feared if she passed out here she wouldn’t wake up again.

WADE: It took only moments, for Wade to watch the girl fall blindly onto the disgusting pavement below. It took only a few more moments for her voice to register as familiar, for her figure to be someone he had seen multiple times by Peter’s side. For her name to flicker into his mind’s eye. Mary Jane.

Behind the mask, Wade could feel the blood drain from his face. Could feel his heart begin to beat wildly, the voices in his head retreating back into the darkness they stemmed from, curling violently around memories in his brain, satisfied by the hurt he’d caused.

Peter.

Everything after seemed to disappear in a flash, his gun back in its holster, his burner twisting into his palm. Wade had every street in New York memorized by now, even twist and turn through the alleyways and where they led. 9-1-1 was easy enough to dial, Wade’s voice lifeless as he called for the paramedics to their location.

Peter.

She didn’t know who Wade was. She hadn’t recognized him. Wade hadn’t spoken. It was dark, and foggy, and —

The sirens kicked up in the distance, and even in late night traffic, it would take them twenty minutes to arrive on scene. Plenty of time for Wade to leave and pretend that nothing had ever happened and that the girl 10 feet before him wasn’t someone he knew and —

Wade pulled himself up onto the building, head still swimming with dark thoughts. He didn’t wait and see what would happen, the very little part of him who wanted to be good begged him to stay. Begged him to own up to it and spend time in prison, and maybe he would eventually figure out how to die there and —

Wade blinked, and suddenly he was at home, that same old friend in his hand, on the couch. This time, the barrel was not pressed lovingly to his cheek, instead, nestled against his temple. What he would give for some silence, to forget the horror he’d just caused. The trauma. The ache. The hurt it would bring to Peter and —

Silence.

MJ: There was a shift, one that would have been more noticeable if MJ wasn’t consumed with pain and discomfort. She could hear her own heartbeat loud in her ears, drowning out so many of the sounds of the city. The cool of the ground providing some kind of comfort, her body on fire, the warm blood seeping through her clothes only making that feeling worse. Her breathing felt labored, and in the moment, it was all she could focus on, every sharp inhale piercing her chest.

When she opened her eyes again, the man was gone. Despite the way her arm and head throbbed, she felt herself relax, the fear of what else may happen dissipating like the steam of her breath in the cold air. Some of the shock and adrenaline that clouded her emotions fell, and she laid there and sobbed. There was a distant - no, much closer - sound of sirens, and she could only assume they were for her.

Her eyes felt heavier by the second. The fear returned, forcing her to keep her eyes open even as she wanted nothing more than to close them on this horrible night. Somehow, the pain was all-consuming, and she felt numb at the same time. Perhaps the brain couldn’t process that kind of pain. MJ thought of all the people she knew who had endured much worse, how they still got back up, kept fighting even. She was weak. She hated that there was nothing she could do but wait, writhing in agony, for some sort of help.

The sirens were louder. They couldn’t be more than a few blocks. She wanted to do something, alert them where she was, move closer. The mere thought of standing up was too much to bear. The feeling weighed her down, making her feel more helpless. And then, out of the corner of her eye, she saw someone swing down.

Peter.

Even through her own pain, she could feel his. He would be devastated. She didn’t know if he could handle something like this. “Peter,” she called for him, her voice quiet and weak. “I’m sorry,” she sobbed, the mix of emotions and torment taking over any ability she had to restrain herself. She reached for him, convulsing as she sobbed, each one worse than the last. She swallowed thick, taking deep breaths as a different sort of panic set in. “I’m so sorry.”

PETER: She was supposed to come for dinner.  They were celebrating: the fellowship, her last day of work, a bright and shining future where Mary Jane Watson got the star billing she deserved. Front pages dominated by her bylines, changing the world (maybe, if he let himself hope long enough, finally dethroning Jameson from the Bugle once and for all). He’d gotten champagne (the cheap stuff) and flowers (still cheap, but a step above carnations). He’d thought about cooking, gotten as far as taking a dusty box of pasta from the cabinet, before thinking better of it. MJ deserved better than his cooking. They could order something when she got here, which would be– what had she said? Twenty minutes?

He checked his phone. Yeah, twenty minutes. And then it buzzed in his hand, and Sandwich barked. A second message. There’s someone following me.

Shit.

where are you? he texted her.

No response.

do you need backup

Nothing.

Sandwich growled at his feet, as if he, too, knew that something was wrong. Something was very wrong. It could have been nothing–dead battery, phone on silent, loud buskers near the subway. It could have just been MJ being MJ, living her life, not entirely beholden to one highly strung, overly protective boyfriend. But, in Peter’s experience, it was never nothing.

i’m coming

In seconds, he was in the suit, one foot out the window, telling his dog to be good and let me know if MJ comes back, okay?, as if that would do any good. (Unlike that one haunting existentialist TikTok dog, Sandwich didn’t know how to talk. His only character flaw, really.)

Once he was out, dozens of stories high above the city, he realized he didn’t know where he was going. Uptown, probably. Somewhere between her office and the apartment. She could have been anywhere in those city blocks below him, lost or hurt or confused or– no. Not yet. She was down there. She was fine. She had to be. She was MJ, the strongest person he knew. The kindest, the bravest, the most likely to scare off a mugger with sheer force of will. And Peter’s most publicly known vulnerability.

Maybe Tony had had the right idea with those suit trackers, after all.

Before he could try going full hacker (or just booting up Find my iPhone and hoping for the best), he heard sirens. Close, getting closer. Maybe it was a coincidence. It was a big city; he’d spent enough days keeping busy off of police scanners to know. But he knew with this one, too. It wasn’t his spider sense, not a radar or a danger detection. He just knew. Deep in his gut, he knew.

He was sixteen, it was a sticky August night, and there were sirens in Forest Hills.

He was eighteen, it was July, and there were sirens at the George Washington Bridge.

He was twenty-four, it was November, bone-chillingly cold, and there were sirens near Midtown.

Finally, down below, he saw her. He’d know the shape of her anywhere. Hidden in shadow, alone, and small, so small. And still. Too still. Who had done this? Who could do this?

He landed next to her, every muscle in his body strung taught. The sirens were getting closer, and he couldn’t be there when they came, because they’d see Spider-Man crouched over a woman’s body, and he knew what they’d think. They’d thought it with Gwen. This time wouldn’t be any different.

But MJ was moving, breathing, apologizing, even though she had nothing to apologize for. It was him, all him, always him. With a shaky breath, he knelt down to meet her, mask to bloodied face. This stupid, fucking mask. It hadn’t done him any good; he’d been too late, too busy being human to stop this. He ripped it off, let it fall somewhere behind him, cradled her in his arms.

“Don’t be sorry,” he whispered, brushing the hair off her face. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

MJ: Tears fell more freely with the comfort of Peter holding her head. A part of her wished he wasn’t here, he wasn’t looking at her all bloody and bruised, crying and falling apart at the seams. She was strong. They always joked about how she was stronger than so many of the heroes in this city, how she could convince anyone to do anything.

Not when it counted, though. Not when it mattered. Then, she was just another victim in the streets, another civilian who needed saving. She was the person who couldn’t save herself.

She was supposed to be strong. She was supposed to be bubbly and bright and full of energy. Even in the darkest of times, MJ found it in herself to crack a smile, to bring joy to others’ faces. Even when nothing was going right, she could bring small comforts to near strangers. She was capable of a kind of strength others didn’t have, but now she didn’t even have that.

Tears rolled down her chin, wetting her already damp shirt as they were caught in her collar. The part of her that wanted him gone, that didn’t want him to see her like this, was largely overshadowed by the part of her that needed his solace more than ever. This hurt him as much as it hurt her, she could see it in his eyes, in the concern that laced every one of his features. She knew how he felt; normally she was the one at home, waiting, worried, hoping he was okay. Peter could defend himself in a way she couldn’t. Peter could heal in a way she couldn’t. But she knew the anxiety all too well. Beneath her smiles and her sparkling personality was a young woman who was so anxious about the man she loved every day of her life. And so she knew how the feeling was filling his chest, weighing him down, making him overthink everything.

The hand that wasn’t hurt reached for him, gripping his arm as tight as she could. “No, no,” she said, shaking her head just a little, the movement causing the throbbing to increase. “I love you, Peter,” she sobbed, taking a deep breath. “I love you so much. I’m so sorry,” she managed, more tears, faster, wetting her cheeks. She knew the losses he’d experienced. She was there when Uncle Ben died, and when Gwen died. She knew how they haunted him. She knew how guilt consumed him. She didn’t want to add to that, to his trauma, to his distrust, to his guilt. This wasn’t his fault. She was in the wrong place at the wrong time, like so many other women. She’d written articles about this kind of violence against women. She was supposed to be invincible. She was supposed to be too smart to put herself in danger. She was supposed to be vibrant and charismatic and careful.

“Don’t go,” she begged, knowing as the sirens got closer he’d want to leave. She knew how this looked. And she knew how he thought, knew him better than he knew himself. But the world knew Peter Parker was Spider-Man and the world knew Mary Jane Watson was his girlfriend and she was awake and she didn’t want him to leave her side. He was her rock. She needed him. There were a handful of other people she cared about, but no one brought her comfort the way Peter did, the way he had for years. She needed him by her side. She didn’t know what was going to happen to her, and if he left, she didn’t know when she’d see him again. “Stay with me.”

PETER: The sirens were getting closer. Who had called them? Had she mustered up the strength to dial 911, collapsed and broken and alone? Had someone seen her, called for help, and fled, hoping that doing the absolute bare minimum would be enough? (Peter had, admittedly, been known to dial and dash himself, but not before making sure that he’d put all the pieces in place for justice and left a note. Nothing good ever came of Spider-Man being there when the cops showed up.)

Any thought he’d had of leaving vanished as soon as he saw her. He would to ride this one out by her side, all the way to the hospital. At least now, they knew everything. At least now, he had nothing to hide. He could sit in the ambulance in his suit with his face–his real face–exposed, and he could clutch her hand tightly the entire time while he tried not to worry about the medical bills. If he’d thought she could handle the ride, he would have swung her to the hospital–it was faster, anyway. But this was about her, not his pride, or the dire state of his bank account.

He’d get May to meet them there. He’d get someone to check in on Sandwich. Maybe Tony could help him ride out whatever inevitable media circus this would bring. He’d fix this. He had to.

“Never,” he said. “I’m not going anywhere."

From the very first moment he’d slipped into the Spider-Man suit at fifteen, back when it was crudely homemade and poorly designed, this was what he had feared. This was why he had fought so hard to keep himself secret for so long, why he’d told no one, even when it would have felt so good to shut Flash Thompson up once and for all. This was why he’d gotten Tony to bend the rules of the Accords, just for him. This was why, when Octavius had ripped off his mask and the world had plastered his face (bruised, tired, unremarkable) all over the internet, he had shut down.

When they knew his face, they knew what mattered to him. They knew who mattered to him. They knew how to cut through all the bravado and bluster and right to the core of it all.

Spider-Man was Peter’s fight, and Peter’s alone. None of them asked to be dragged into the tangled web of bullshit he’d woven himself, not May or Ben or Gwen or even MJ, who’d known and stood by him anyway. This was his burden to carry, these were his decisions. These were people, not pawns, and he’d laid them directly in his path.

No.

No more.

He’d see this one through, he’d make sure MJ was okay, and then no more. Peter would find who’d done this, and they would pay. Oh, god, would they fucking pay.

"I love you, MJ. So much.” At some point, he’d started crying, too, and he wiped away the tears, the fabric of his gloves course and rough against his cheek. “I’m going to make this right, you hear me?”

And then there was the rumble of an engine and cries of It’s Spider-Man! and She’s hurt!, and the paramedics descended. Peter squeezed her hand one more time and stood up, giving them room to help her.

“She needs a hospital,” he said. “She was attacked, I think. I don’t– I don’t know what happened.”

But I’m going to find out.

#( discords ) #( no more ) #( c: mj ) #( c: wade ) #violence tw #injury tw #blood tw #suicidal ideation tw #death mention tw