#learn some fucking self control and don’t do anything before noon

[thesoundofmadness]

my surgery is a month away and I’m already anxious about it

#specfially what’s gonna happen the night before #if it wasn’t obvious enough I’ve been having sleeping problems for a while #with the biggest factor being I can’t sleep with hunger #but I won’t be allowed to eat anything after midnight #and my dad might not cook dinner that night because why should I expect my father #my only caretaker #to cook dinner for me without his stupid girlfriend around #earlier he got mad at us for asking to order out when he wasn’t making dinner #‘make the eggrolls in the freezer’ that’s not a meal sir #what should I expect from him when all he does is smoke weed and drink all day #it wasn’t even 9 and he drank a Bloody Mary #he hit a thing before my doctors appointment this morning #like I get it shit is fucking awful right now and weed and alcohol are your only coping mechanisms #but you have two teenage daughters to take care of #learn some fucking self control and don’t do anything before noon #and don’t think I didn’t see you pouring beer into your to go cup earlier #fuck #ignore this I’m just tired and angry #and anxious #it’s one am I wanna sleep

[keilemlucent]

fuck me happy

(r18+)

dabi x reader

ao3

word count: 3.6k 

You couldn’t fuck someone into happiness, but it did take the edge off with him. Being fucked and shown that you were a being worthy of care rather than just an object was not close to a cure, but damn, was it a reminder. 

warnings: hurt/comfort smut, sad reader, soft gooey dabi, dom/sub undertones if you squint

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just some fluffy ass, feel good, but feel a lil sad type of smut. please 2 not attempt to fuck away your depression, just read and enjoy :’^)

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Dabi smelt like cigarettes, wood-smoke and cheap incense. It was an intoxicating cologne that you’d long been conditioned into thinking was the hottest smell in the world. Like, drop your panties and bend over the nearest surface and let him rail you without a single question asked.

Not that day, though.

Despite the fact you heard the apartment door open, you didn’t so much as greet Dabi. Your mind felt muddy and slow, addled with things you didn’t want to think about it. It was easier to burrow in blankets, clutching a pillow and pretend it would go away. 

The bedroom door creaked open, light spilling in from the hallway.

“Aw, napping? Cute.” Dabi’s smoke-burned voice drawled. You were very awake, but you didn’t have it in you to tell him otherwise. 

You felt the bed shift, one of his hands falling over your hip through the covers. The gesture was comforting, but it hardly helped to unknot the pressure in your chest. You rubbed your wet face on the pillow in your arms.

“Hi,” Your voice was small, muffled by the covers held over your head. 

Dabi hummed, rubbing slowly at your waist and thighs. You twitched.

“I didn't think you were awake,” Dabi hummed, pausing. “Are you trying to sleep?”

“Nope.” 

You hated how your words clipped. You really, really appreciated Dabi being there, you just didn’t know how to move or think correctly. You just felt like shit. You wanted to stew in your shit and self-hatred until it was a little more bearable. “Just feeling bad.”

Dabi wasn’t one to ask questions, not unless you started talking. For how much he monologued, he also could listen when given the opportunity. Though, you weren’t much for talking. Dabi had seen you like this before, and he knew enough of you to proceed somewhat gingerly. 

His weight shifted from the bed, rustling sounding from around the room. You heard the unzipping of his boots, the heavy sound of his jacket dropping to the carpet. You sniffled. You hated being this pathetic, unable to face someone you were supposed to trust, but it was inevitable sometimes. 

The comforter was peeled away, his familiar, strong scent nearly burning your nose. Part of your brain got at least a little suggestive, but most of it was just comfort. You sank deeper into the blankets. 

Dabi slid in behind you, quickly rewrapping the two of you in the softness of the covers. The heat of his chest radiated through your back as you held your pillow tighter. 

“This alright?” His voice was low against your ear, hot breath tickling your ear. 

“Yeah.” You spoke softly, pulling your legs from their near fetal position to stretch out a bit more, “Sorry.”

You heard him half-scoff behind you, pressing the most gentle kiss against the side of your head, “You don’t need to apologize. I’m here.”

‘I’m here.’

It was a mutual sentiment. Demons attracted demons, that’s how things worked sometimes. Dabi had plenty of horrifying nightmares and many bad days just as you had your own moods. You both had learned some time ago, you just needed another person there to lean on, whatever that meant. Sometimes, the most important thing about helping each other was just being there no matter what weather raged unseen.

Dabi’s arm slowly curled over your waist, pulling you closer as new tears built in your eyes. It was subtle, but you could feel the soft squeeze of his scarred hand over your hip, dipping just under your shirt to touch your bare skin.

You didn’t say anything for a while, shaking the slightest bit and just letting yourself rewet the pillow in your arms. Dabi’s grip eventually drifted under your shirt to your midriff, his thumb rubbing little circles over your tummy. 

“I just feel like garbage,” You finally broke the silence, voice trembling. “I know it’ll stop and get a little better at some point. I just want that point to be now.”

Dabi nuzzled into the back of your head, pressing languid kiss after kiss over the back of your neck, “That’s understandable. Shit hasn’t been easy lately.”

You sniffled, nodding and acknowledging the fact that circumstances could’ve been better. Bouncing back seemed like a far-off concept in the middle of your metaphorical, mental storm, right?

“It h-hasn’t,” You hated how weak your voice came out, how quiet and strained it was. “But like, you’d just figure I’d learn how to be better, you know?”

“Learning to cope is hard, most people suck at it and hide it,” Dabi reminded you, though the sentiment was only partially comforting. “I think you do a pretty good job.”

“How can you say that?” There’s an annoyed edge to your tone. “I’ve been hiding in bed literally under the covers since noon. I can’t even think about anything else other than how fucking awful I feel.”

Dabi didn’t like that answer too much, it seemed. A little grumble sounded in his throat, pads of his fingers digging into the flesh of your stomach.

“That’s how it works, you know that. You can’t get away from it and that’s why it sucks,” Dabi punctuated his words with an extra wave of heat from his body. “Besides, staying in bed all day is better than it could be. You could be being reckless, but instead—”

His fingers twitched at your sides as he left a quick smattering of kisses across your shoulders, hair, ears, and anything else he could reach. The feeling of his breath on the sensitive skin made a giggle burst from your mouth. You squirmed against him, pressing back into him and relishing in his warmth. 

It was nice, how he provided some sort of reprieve. 

“I get to find you, all snuggled up in bed, only in a t-shirt and panties? I don’t know, this is a treat.” Dabi snickered, pinching your thigh for emphasis. 

Maybe his sexual appetites were a little misplaced when you weren’t feeling better, but his particular heat and touch were comfortable attention. You ate it up. 

You gave him a hesitant smile, pressing your ass into his growing bulge, “I see where your head’s at, hm?” 

“Can you blame me?” Dabi tilted his head to press a hot kiss to your jaw. “There’s nothing better than getting to spend time with you. I just want to help you feel better, whatever that may be.”

It was a rare moment of genuine vulnerability from him, but you’d take it.

You let go of your pillow, flipping to turn towards Dabi. His hands followed your motion, pulling you close again as you tangled your legs with his.

You hadn’t fully processed it before, but he also wasn’t wearing pants.

Looking up at him with shiny, gooey eyes, you cupped his jaw and rubbed at the gnarled skin.

“Thank you, for always being here, you know?” You avert your gaze you spoke, refusing to look at his bright eyes and instead tracing the contours and shadows of his collarbones through the wide neck of his long sleeve. 

Carefully, he pulled your hands to his lips, pressing his lips to the meat of your thumbs, “Do you want me to ‘distract’ you?”

You rolled your eyes, “I knew it. Horny.”

“Like I said, ‘can you blame me’?”

Truth be told, a bit of a sexual distraction sounded nice. Very nice. It made the heat Dabi was emanating seem ever sweeter, something to fall into and ease your aches in more ways than one. 

Dabi nudged your nose with his own, “Do you want me to help you feel good?”

“Please.”

It was the same small voice from before. 

Dabi didn’t mind, he knew how to coax out better far more pleasurable feelings from you. Lazily, he dragged you even closer, latching your lips together in a breath of near-steam. 

He licked into your mouth, unashamed in the hunger in his actions. You didn’t mind. It felt good to be desired, especially in the gooey way you knew Dabi would indulge you.

Your shirt was already rucked up, making it that much easier for him to press the fullness of his hand against the small of your back. You arched all for him and the show of it. Nothing more for how tired you were, but the small circles and mindless brushes of his fingers over your rapidly-heating skin were more than enough motivation for you to give into him. 

Dabi liked a bit of control. 

(A bit was an understatement, but he wouldn’t push you, not on your shittier days anyways.)

He tangled a hand into your hair, angling your head to better slot your lips together. The bareness of his knee pressed against your covered cunt. A small moan muffling into Dabi’s mouth as you rolled into his subtle actions. You heard a throaty chuckle vibrate from his chest.

He pulled away, his hand gripping your jaw with enough strength to warn you not to try and look away. The yolks of his azure eyes looked dazzling despite the darkness of the room as he met your gaze. There was a bit of mischief in their depths and the lazy motion of his knee against your clothed sex. You knew that Dabi wouldn’t push you, but he did know exactly what parts of you to push and pull to make you melt away in his natural fever. 

His low voice washed over you, the tone itself alluring but his words dragging you deeper. 

“Let me take care of you, princess, how about that?” 

You were a puddle for him, sadness pushed back as you nodded desperately, “Please.”

Dabi’s thumb ran over your lip, a gentle smile with a playful lilt gracing his face.

Coaxing you into a state of softness for him wasn’t hard, but it must’ve been satisfying, based on the sweet smugness in his eyes. 

He pressed two fingers against your lips as sweetly as one could, eyes going half-lidded, “Suck.”

You nodded, compliant and boneless. You parted your lips and let the fingers to slide back on your tongue. They pressed down, but not enough to gag you, just enough to make you drool over the digits. 

The knee flush with your sex moved away, Dabi’s available hand pulling down the elastic waistband of your panties, helping you slide them off and kick them somewhere under the covers. It was all slow, no rushing or pressing in the way Dabi moved against you. It might’ve even been going too slow, but you weren’t in any place to do anything other than crave more. 

With Dabi’s elevated and steadily rising temperature, your place under the comforter was growing increasingly warmer to the point of being stifling. Fucking around with Dabi always meant getting a bit too sweaty, but you didn’t want to get heat exhaustion before he had even properly gotten to your cunt. 

You opened your mouth a bit wider to speak, but the narrowing of Dabi’s eyes cut you off. 

“Good girls don’t speak with their mouths full, do they?” He asked with a tilt of his head. He spoke with the same smug grin as before, fingers almost pushing too far back in your throat.

You nodded, sniffling.

Dabi must’ve caught your cues to get some relief from the heat of the blankets and his sweltering body as he sat up, only to pull the blankets to the ground, sans a single thin sheet. 

It felt a bit revealing, to be so suddenly disheveled and half-naked. You pulled the sheet up and over your legs as Dabi drew his fingers from your mouth. You sucked in a large breath, tucking yourself closer to him as he adjusted back down to the mattress.

He met your gaze as he sucked the fingers into his own mouth, pulling them away moments later with a percussive pop. The fingers slipped under the sheets, teasing along your hips and dipping to your thighs. 

“Want me to fuck you like this, sweetness?” Dabi’s gravelly voice was sweet sin in your ears, washing over your like honeyed wine. “All nice and slow, show you how good you can feel?”

“Please.”

For one word, it held plenty of pleading it in.

You wanted nothing more than for his hand to keep on its bath, your thighs squishing together and shifting as slick and sweat wetted your thighs.

A husky chuckle and a kiss to the top of your head were all the confirmation you needed from him, but he gave you a bit more, “I got you, princess. Just keep being a good girl for me.”

Oh, you would be. Anything to get him to keep saying such sweet things. 

You melted in him, wedging your face into him at his collar bones as he propped himself up on an arm. 

Your gooey mind wanted him even closer, despite how perfectly tucked and nestled into him you were. You just wanted more. And, his shirt was certainly getting in the way. You pulled at the hem of it, helping Dabi pull over his head, dropping a few of your own kisses over the rough skin of his throat. 

Dabi gently patted you back down, his palm drifting to lay flat against your sex, spit-soaked fingers grazing your slit. You keened, even at the barest contact. You muffled your moans against his chest, his soft chuckles sounding in tandem. The meat of his hand slowly circled over your clit, one finger dipping into your cunt without pause.

Your hips met his motions, desperate already and greedy, the syrupy pleasure his hot palms giving your clit slow circles just not being enough. Dabi must’ve noticed your insistence, spotting it in the way you clutched at his waist and tried to drag him even closer. With a kiss to your crown, he pressed another finger into your slick-soaked cunt, crooking the fingers just right.

You couldn’t help the warbling moan that broke from your throat as your nails dug into the unscarred skin of Dabi’s hips. Despite his smug laughter, he was quick to lavish you sweet nothings as he continued his slow, soft finger-fucking with a reverie that he would only ever let you feel and see.

“How does it feel, sweetness?” His lips were at your ear, gooseflesh rising on your arms. 

“R-really nice,” you moaned, toes curling as hot pleasure runs you up and down. The chemical additive that was his voice was like high-proof whiskey on embers— it only stood to make you burn. 

“You’re so good for me,” His words rumble from his chest to yours, his sweet heat spicing your mind even more. 

Some days, Dabi might’ve made you grovel for touch like this. He liked pushing you, making you pliant and compliant with words and touch. Though, he wasn’t needlessly cruel. He was oddly fair for being a villain. Especially on your bad days, he gave what he could to ease your aches. 

You took it greedily.

As your breaths got a little deeper, harsher, puffing against Dabi’s skin as you clung to him, Dabi’s bulge began to lightly rock against your leg, fully hard and undoubtedly aching in the same way that you were.

He wouldn’t pass up the opportunity to make you squirm, even in your mutually heated states. 

“You want more, princess? Tell me what you want.” His fingers pulled out of you, a new rush of slick wetting your thighs.

“You— you know what.” You huffed, breathless. 

Dabi mused for a moment, clicking his tongue. He shifted above you, pulling off his boxer briefs in the process.

“I suppose I do. You are nice and wet for me, huh?” He asked you, urging you flat onto your back. He dragged one of his fingers from your hole to your clit, swirling at the nub. You arched your back and cried for him, pressing into the wire of his scarred arms. 

He sat back on his knees, pumping his cock slowly. In the faint light of the bedroom, you could see the balls of his piercings almost flush with his cock. Your mouth watered. The feeling of the hot metal against the back of your throat would’ve been heaven. 

As you started to rise, tugging at Dabi’s hips for him to come closer, he just as quickly pushed you back down.

“Let me take care of you, sweetness,” He kept his voice so soft, it nearly hurt. 

You nodded, settling back down onto the mattress and bending at the knees. Dabi was hardly reverent, not in the way he slicked his cock with preek, but somehow to the look of love he was giving you was. 

You relaxed into the mattress, half-boneless before even being boned. 

Dabi smiled, watching your complacency. He loved using smooth words on you to get you to rest. You just needed a bit of coaxing. 

A lazy ball of spittle dripped from his lips to his cock. You watched, mesmerized as he slicked himself down, his thick cock contrasting with the burns over the rest of his body.

Dabi was very beautiful, though he’d never accept it.

He looked even prettier on top of you, easily bringing your legs up to rest over his shoulder. Angling your hips up meant he would reach the perfect parts of your inside, ram you just right.

He teased the head of his cock against your cunt, running it up and down with almost torturous slowness.

“Please,” It was another plea, something desperate from your lips as you gripped at his thin hips and squeezed.

He didn’t ask you for any more, just leaning down to give you soft kiss after kiss all across your cheeks and jaw. 

“Gonna make you feel so good,” His voice shook as he slowly fucked into you, letting you adjust to the girth of his cock. It wasn’t a long wait, you were basically meant for it, your pussy long since memorizing even the specific feeling of the metal of his piercings. You could feel him shake against you, slowly exhaling as he filled you up.

There was a subtle burn, but nothing that didn’t bring you some pleasure. Dabi knew just the pace to go to keep you yearning and doughy in his hands, cock head brushing that sweet spot inside you as he bottomed out.

The urgent look you shot him and the whine that sounded from the back of your throat was more than enough for him. You didn’t need to beg to feel good. 

As your breaths aligned, Dabi braced his arms around your head, nearly steaming breath puffing against your neck. You matched him, hands flying to his hair as he slowly pulled out of you, only to fuck into you once more.

It was something slow and unhurried, but not at all lazy. Dabi was simply taking his time, each cant of his hips deliberate and unrushed. With each thrust back to your cunt, you gushed around his cock as Dabi grinded and circled his hips. You fell into his motions, fully rolling your body and chest in time with his own. 

It was a gentle dance, one that was accented by sweet words and light bites to your neck. All you could do what moan and cry with his gently burning motions, sputtering at each sweet phrase that drifted from his lips. 

Your breasts rolled against the metallic heat of Dabi’s nipple piercings as he pressed so tightly to you. You could tell he was getting close, and you weren’t far off either, especially as he dipped a hand to roll over your clit to replace the barest friction that his thrust provided. 

“You close, princess?” Dabi cooed into your ear, his cock jamming into your insides particularly hard. “Want to come for me?”

You nodded, a few babbling affirmations spilling from your bitten lips. 

“Come when you need to, sweetness. Come on my cock like you do so well,” The command was all you needed to be sent over the edge.

His fingers sped up on your clit, honey-warm pleasure rolling over you as you crested over Dabi’s cock.

It was slow and almost unbearably warm as you tensed, arching your back and wailing into Dabi’s shoulder as he fucked you through your orgasm. He thrust into you harder, faster, losing rhythm just before seizing and spilling into you. Dabi was always quick to follow when he got you so melted. Who knew being nice turned him on?

All the while, your body curled for him, tension rolling and breaking as you clung to him and kissed him mindlessly. You both came down, groans, and cries falling away. 

Finally, you both came to a stillness.

Dabi pulled back from your neck, meeting your sleepy gaze to rub at your cheeks and kiss some sweat from your brow, “How are you feeling?”

You couldn’t fuck someone into happiness, but it did take the edge off with him. Being fucked and shown that you were a being worthy of care rather than just an object was not close to a cure, but damn, was it a reminder. 

“A lot better,” Hoarse voice gleaming with a smile. “But, I think I want that nap now.”

“Easy.” Dabi rolled to his side, never letting you get too far before pulling you close again. 

The slowly cooling slick and cum wetting your thighs sticky was forgotten as your gooey mind allowed you some rest. Against Dabi’s still trembling form, his arms wrapped snuggling around your waist and idly rubbing circles as he was before, it was easy to fall into a light, contented sleep.  

#salem writes #dabi x reader #dabi x y/n #dabi x you #dabi reader insert #dabi smut #mha smut #mha reader insert #unbeta'ed

[kyloswarstars]

ROOMMATES • Part 10

Divergent • College AU • Eric x Reader

ROOMMATES masterlist 💫 Divergent masterlist

You escaped your current living situation by moving in with your friend Christina – and five other college students. Little did you know that one of them was the guy who was your ultimate pain in the neck since your first semester. Now, you had to find a way to not strangle him in his sleep out of pure frustration. Also, you had to find a way to get rid of those weird butterfly feelings for him that slowly grew in your stomach.

Words • 2k

The enemies to lovers story no one needed.

/////

When the sun had completely set, the natural darkening of the sky carried you out into the universe. Brains were only organs. Still, you couldn’t apply the lessons you had learned today. Your thoughts drifted off, completely out of your own body and settled themselves somewhere in the taurus star sign or something. Your blood was boiling and it only got worse for the time being as long as it took for the truck to be removed and the traffic to roll again.

Zooming out was the only thing that could make you escape from Eric while being trapped in a car with him.

It was possibly long after midnight when you finally made it home but you couldn’t recall how you got there or when Eric started to drive again. You only noticed that you had followed him out of the car and stopped in front of the apartment door for him to unlock it. Not even the three flights of stairs had made it to your awareness.

Music was droning, your roommates were gathered around the dining table and obviously on a good way to get completely wasted. Loud bawling erupted when they realised Eric and you were there.

You stared at them in confusion, slowly zooming back into your body and, unfortunately, your own brain. You were far too agitated to ask the question as to why they were in the apartment already when it took so long for the traffic jam to vanish, though.

Without a word, you left for your room, grabbed a pillow from your bed and screamed into it.

Eric’s door was thrown into its frame with a loud bang shortly after.

He didn’t say a word anymore after you forcefully ripped yourself from him. And you hadn’t dared to look at him. You didn’t know what was going through his head. Did he even care? The way you did?

It kept you up all night. You didn’t have a single minute of sleep by the time you saw the sun rise outside of your window.

At some point in the night the living room bender sounds had died out. You had heard everyone leave for their rooms. They wouldn’t wake up any time soon, no chance to search someones presence to distract you with. You were left with your brain and the staring at the wall.

His knuckles didn’t say good night last night.

You hadn’t knocked as well. You couldn’t. You hadn’t been able to stand it if he didn’t respond to it.

The first time you got up to knock at Eric’s door was around six. You stood there with your bare feet, had your hand formed to a fist but didn’t bring it to his door. Instead you left for the kitchen, got a bottle of water and threw yourself into your sheets again. That they didn’t smell of him like his own bed made you freak out so you laid on your floor instead.

The image of his lips returned whenever you closed your eyes. Even if it was for the short blink to hydrate your eyeballs. You wanted to squeeze some matches between your eyelids so they didn’t shut anymore.

It had been easier to zoom out when you stared at the night sky with all its stars instead of your room’s ceiling. It just didn’t work anymore. You couldn’t escape and even with more room than in Eric’s car, you felt more trapped than ever.

You took a second attempt to knock at his door after you heard some of your roommates already woke up and left the apartment. Noon?

Eric’s door was there and you only had to knock at it. You couldn’t. You leaned against the wall beside it, observed the wood and overthought everything that had happened in the car yesterday. It didn’t seem like Eric had been disgusted by the fact to kiss you. In fact he totally respected your decision not to kiss him. So he had respect. But why were you even thinking about this? You didn’t want to fall for him. Not yet and you didn’t know if ever. You didn’t even know if it was worth brooding over this reoccurring debate with yourself. You didn’t even know if Eric’s self-control had been on the verge of torment because he liked you and you just didn’t finally kiss him or because he was a guy and it was hard to control the heat of the moment.

Ugh. You went back to your room.

It didn’t matter what Eric thought or that this situation happened. You didn’t want it to happen. You wanted to stay for yourself, start the new semester and be totally okay with the way things were going. Because they were going well. The Peter chapter was closed, flashbacks were at bay, you had finally accepted the fact that your scar wasn’t a window to your past. It was just a scar. Only a scar and only you alone decided how much importance you assigned to it.

You decided. You could decide.

You were running around your room like a mad cat. None of your little papers worked. And everything that could possibly distract you was just aggravating. You didn’t want to do things. You wanted to… kiss Eric.

The third time you found yourself in front of Eric’s door was in the evening. None of your roommates was in the apartment. You didn’t care for where they had vanished to. But you knew for sure that Eric was home. You could hear the never ending foot steps in his room.

3… 2… On one you wanted to knock but the door flung open. „Get in for fuck’s sake,“ Eric said, dragged you in with a tight grip on your wrist and threw the door shut just like last night.

He didn’t wear a shirt, of course he didn’t. The dark circles under his eyes told you he didn’t get any sleep either.

Eric sat down on the edge of his bed, propped his elbows on his knees and his head in his hands as if he had a headache. His silence was torturing as you went to lean with your butt at his desk and studied him. Now what?

„I want to know something.“ Even though those words just left your lips, you didn’t have a single clue on what it was that you wanted to know. Because you basically wanted to know everything.

Eric took a deep breath and sat up straight. „Go ahead then.“

„Why are you so… you?“

„What do you mean, Y/N?“ Eric stared back at you, slightly desperate and full on confused.

„I don’t know, Eric. Why are you so good?“ You seriously didn’t know what you were doing or what you wanted from this conversation. All the thinking of last night and the questions you had thought about were suddenly hard to remember.

„Me? I am no good.“

„You are. With me… and it’s irritating.“

You didn’t make any sense and it showed. On Eric’s face. „I don’t know what to say, Y/N. Really.“

He was confused. You were confused. Where was this leading to? Was it even leading to anything at all? It was a pointless conversation as long as you couldn’t bring out the words you actually intended, those you were in deep need of answers for.

Eric’s muscles were tensed, you could see that from seven feet away, and this specific expression returned to his face. He looked angry. You were scared to ask but couldn’t resist. „Are you mad at me?“

„For what?“ He threw his hands in the air, more desperate than before but completely without the expression which you thought had been anger now. He didn’t make sense at all. Eric swayed back and forth. He was close to get up from his bed a couple of times but always stopped himself in the last second. „You did nothing wrong. Why would you think I am mad at you?“ The rasp in his voice was so prominent and it distracted you more than the plain view of his torso.

„Because I tried to kiss you. And then didn’t.“

At some point you expected the vein at his neck to burst and cover the room in blood. It didn’t of course but Eric seemed so under pressure, just like in the car, that you wouldn’t have been completely surprised if the vein did burst.

Eric shook his head. „That’s okay, Y/N.“ Once again he was close to getting on his feet but didn’t. „You are allowed to decide what you want to give to someone and what not.“

„Why are you so… so good?“ The picture just didn’t want to fall into place for you.

He sighed, so deeply that when he exhaled you were afraid his lung would come out as well, not only air. Eric bit his lip, tried to speak, bit it once more. „Y/N, what is it that you want?“ Eric’s question was far from being annoyed. He wanted to have a true answer but you had no clue what answer that would be.

You stared into each others eyes for so long that your eyes started to burn from not blinking. When you finally did, that millisecond had been enough for the image of his lips to return in your consciousness. Your eyes trailed away from his own down to his lips. And you knew what you wanted.

„I want to kiss you.“

He bit down on his lip again but this time with full force. Eric shut his eyes and his voice was only a whisper. „What is holding you back?“

„Nothing,“ you stated and Eric’s eyes flashed open. You stirred free from the leaning to his desk and stumbled over your own feet on your way to his bed. He reached out to catch you from falling. You regained your balance quickly but the dynamic of closing the distance between you was gone.

„What a clumsy penguin you are,“ he laughed.

„Shut up,“ you finally stood before him, bowed down to his face and crashed your lips on his. Eric’s hands immediately found their place at your waist and dragged you down to sit on his lap. For it being your first kiss, there was no shyness or getting used to each other. Eric slid his tongue between your lips and demanded for everything you were willing to offer.

The butterflies in your stomach weren’t butterflies anymore. They were finally and probably once and for all replaced by that doomsday thunderstorm and even the attempt to find words for how that made you feel was impossible.

One of his hands reassured your back, so you wouldn’t escape Eric’s proximity, the other one worked its way under your shirt. You felt it touching your scar but you weren’t afraid of that touch. He kissed you with such a rough gentleness that you wondered where this cockiness of his debates had went to. Maybe it had been sent right into your own hands because you vaguely sensed them tugging at Eric’s waistband.

Eric tried to break the kiss but it was hard for you to let go just yet. He stopped your hands with one of his and placed the other in your neck to gently pull your face away from his. He stared into your eyes for a moment only to close them once more when he pressed his forehead against yours.

„Do you really want this?“ His question was mumbled completely out of breath. „I need to know that you want it.“ His hand on yours was trembling. The thunderstorm in your chest made you tremble as well.

You cupped his jaw and shook him a little so he would open his eyes. „I want you.“

He swallowed a lump in his throat and connected his lips with yours again. He removed his hand from yours on the waistband and none of you stopped anymore because this, all of it felt like a symphony – big time orchestra.

/////

Taglist • @longlostinanotherworld • @dosentier • @dhunhdchrih • @coryisagee • @liiinetti

#divergent #insurgent #eric #eric coulter #divergent eric #divergent eric coulter #divergent eric fanfiction #divergent eric imagine #eric x reader #eric coulter x reader #eric coulter fanfiction #eric coulter imagine #divergent eric x reader #divergent fanfiction #divergent imagine #fanfiction #fanfic #imagine #college au #kyloswarstars

[whump-town]

The Safe Side

No pairings

No warnings (surprising, I know)

Hotch is getting older and that scares the shit out of Reid

I probably wouldn't have finished this if not for @genevievedarcygranger

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

His only symptom is memory loss.

Reid sees it, he knows it. The symptoms he’s committed to his memory for better or worse dispelled so easily, so regularly before him but he can’t help but entertain his irrational fears. He’s not sure why. It would not be more comforting for Hotch’s occasional forgetfulness to be Alzheimer’s and not age and yet he waits for the moment that proves him wrong. For the phone call that Hotch is dressed for work and trying to get up to the bullpen. That they’ll lose him to anxiety and aggression, he’ll lose his temperament and comforting nature bit-by-bit until he’s broken down. And Reid will lose him too.

The good things become tainted by his fear.

At Christmas, they go to Rossi’s like they always do, and while the others dance to the music softly humming through the room Reid finds himself watching Hotch. Inspecting the grey hairs growing ever more along his temples, spread now through the rest of his hair. They age him appropriately but Reid can’t help but feel betrayed by their presence like he’s being taunted. No different from the reading glasses perched at the very edge of Hotch’s nose, the ones Hank lightly reaches up for. Old enough not to grab at them but still curiously taking a finger to trail their frames. Reid neglects his desire to be closer to them, to be drawn in by Hotch’s deep voice and the crackling fire soothing Hank to sleep. He stays where he is, hearing the ghosting bits of “Where The Wild Things Are” for the third time.

All he hears is science. Proof in the voice’s Hotch uses for each character -- “Oh, please don't go — I'll eat you up — I love you so!” -- that his language center had no inhibitions. The way Hank looks at Hotch when he bellows that line the first time, giggling and writing about when Hotch tickles him and squeezes him up tight so Hank can’t get away is lost to Reid for what it really is. That the spontaneous tickling and the reading mean other things. The love between them and Hank’s adoration for Hotch boiled down to symptoms Reid can prove Hotch doesn’t have.

Reid is terrified and it won’t let it up.

He finds himself panicking in Rossi’s backyard, surrounded by laughing people. Happy people who have no idea what his problem is. But he sweeps his over the clusters of chatting people and realizes that in all the groups he can’t find Hotch. Amidst them, he’s fairly easy to spot. Sticks to what he knows and who he’s most comfortable with. Diplomatic in that he makes sure he talks to everyone once but if he’s going to be someplace he’s not where he should be.

This is it, he tells himself. He’ll find Hotch confused, ambling about alone and where he shouldn’t be. Not sure where he is or why he’s here.

And then Reid turns around and finds Emily sitting with him on the porch swing. One of Hotch’s legs stretched out over the expanse of the porch, dark jeans a contrast to the concrete as he rocks them back and forth. Emily’s head on his shoulder and his arm around her back, a glass of wine passed between them. Neither saying a word as they watch the teams they built interacting with one another, families mixing together.

Reid can’t enjoy their smiles, the way they look out over everyone like proud parents.

Even his own birthday with books in a variety of languages sitting around him wrapped in an array of papers that so brilliantly display who their giver was. With his fingers tracing the one covered in newspaper, the one he knows is from Hotch, Reid is lost to this rot in the pit of his stomach. The sludge that fills his veins with tension. It leaves him the only person not smiling, with no idea what’s happening, when Garcia and Hotch stand over his cake fussing about which direction to light the candles. He misses the finger Hotch swipes through the icing and dollops right on Garcia’s nose. Looks up to watch Garcia retaliate with the same treatment but can’t enjoy it, can’t feel love or ease when the room erupts in laughter and Garcia and Hotch stand there with their icing-covered noses smiling at one another.

He finally finds the courage to mention it to someone, tells Morgan one afternoon when they both end up at Hotch’s house. Morgan is there fixing some wooden stakes in Hotch’s garden and Reid dropping off groceries. Hotch is sleeping off surgery medication, unaware of the hushed conversation being had outside.

“Kid,” Morgan can see it. The terror eating Reid alive. “They just hacked him apart and put him back together, all right? He’s on some strong shit right now. He’ll be fine in a day or two. You’ll see.” Morgan tells him not to worry about it, Hotch has been knocked around his entire life. Nearly sixty years of severe blows to the head and if he manages to walk out of this life with just a sketchy memory then he’s getting off lucky.

But when Hotch stands for too long in a room trying to remember what he was doing or when he can’t provide an answer for how much coffee he’s had or if he needs eggs or if he had the last bowl of oatmeal this morning it scares the shit out of Reid.

Really, Hotch is fine.

Hotch had to write his doctor’s appointments down and he’s constantly needing some sort of surgery to fix whatever old injury is coming back to remind him of his previous offense but he’s his normal actively grouchy self. He never forgets to stop by Reid’s apartment Thursday around noon or his promise to get Henry and Hank from school when no one else can.

That doesn’t mean no one worries about him.

He would hate to know the collapse wasn’t when they started taking note of his fragile health.

Two weeks after his forty-fifth birthday he pulled a muscle in his chest (moving the couch so Jack could get a Hotwheels out from underneath) and JJ had watched him pause during his coffee run to press his palm into the strain. Her mind had filtered through a hundred scenarios to explain the behavior and they’d all ended with his death. Hotch is the kind of person with a puzzle piece life, whose pieces are spread out over the course of years, meant to be collected and put together by only the most detail-oriented. She knew his father had died of a heart attack and Reid only served to reiterate that fact. It was only a pulled muscle but, not for the first time, she felt utterly terrified of how much losing him would hurt.

There’s a string of these awful moments when his humanity, his mortality, is right there for them to witness. And, as strong as they’d like to believe themselves to be, they look away.

He’s fine now, all things considered.

The janky memory thing isn’t all that bad. He has milked it on more than one occasion. It’s how he keeps missing his physical therapy. Although, that has come around to bite him in the ass. He’s supposed to be using this cane they gave him and now someone shows up every week to take him to the appointment so he can’t even play it off like he’s forgotten. Typically it’s Emily or Derek but Garcia’s shown up and Reid even took him once. It’s very annoying. Doesn’t help that there are roughly thirteen people who he might run into in public who know he’s supposed to be using the cane and who will inquire about it or bring it up to someone else.

He hadn’t realized just how many people could get on his case until he’d run into Matt’s wife in the store and after having their brief, polite conversation where he mentioned Reid had called him not that long ago asking for advice on the BAUs current case, she asked about his knee. She said Garcia had been fretting over this last surgery he had and told her about it, she hadn’t thought that much time had passed. Was surprised he was back on his feet. It had taken six hours for him to get the phone call from Garcia and then Emily came over an hour later begging him to just “for the sake of my fucking sanity, Hotch, take it easy”. That’s when Garcia sat down and made him a calendar and he lost his say in matters of his grocery shopping and responsibility to take himself to doctor’s appointments.

He’s since won back grocery shopping. His doctor wrote him a note and Garcia conceded. She’s not stupid enough to toss their schedule for his doctor’s appointments though.

So, though he loathes it, he takes the cane with him when he leaves the house.

He’s learned his lesson. Penelope Garcia is one scary-ass lady who has far more control over him and everyone else than he’d care to realize.

Hotch hears the doorbell, muffled though it is, from outside. He’d known getting down on the ground was a bad idea with the way his knees have been hurting but he’s got zucchini and cucumbers laying out in the sun and while he ignored them yesterday, he knows he need to get them out today. Reid had expressed interest in them and Rossi’s likely to want the zucchini. He also knows Derek offered to take care of this sort of stuff but it’s a too warm Sunday morning and Derek’s likely chasing around a happy toddler.

Besides, he doesn’t have enough tomatoes to compensate for Derek’s work. That being said Derek would come over and do it regardless, he doesn’t mind.

“It’s about to rain,” Reid informs him the second he gets to the door. Hotch watches Reid’s eyes flick to his empty left hand, to the curve of his limp palm where his cane is supposed to be. Unlike the others, Hotch knows Reid will not say anything directly to him. Emily might ask where the cane is and Garcia would insist on going to get it but Reid will just anxiously flicker back and forth between Hotch’s face and his hand. Twisting and worrying until Hotch gets it himself. Which is surprisingly effective.

Hotch hums his agreeance, he could smell it in the air. Can tell it’s going to be a good storm with the shift and strength of the wind coming in. It’ll cool things off for a few hours then bring back the humidity and the mosquitoes with a vengeance.

“Do you think” Reid follows Hotch into the kitchen. He’s careful to keep a distance, not to push Hotch’s pace. He mills about in odd places to compensate their gates, looks at the book sitting on Hotch’s coffee table. “Do you think it’s going to rain a lot?” He’s a genius with the means to figure that out on his own and likely he already knows what he thinks the answer is. Hotch’s opinion is still important.

Hotch is in the fridge, rustling bags around as he finds the bag of vegetables he’s got set aside for Reid. He’s weird about fruits and vegetables, worries about bacteria and things but will eat a Poptart for every meal if given the chance. The logic is irrational but after twenty years of worrying about Reid’s diet, Hotch has finally found a solution to this particular problem.

“No tomatoes,” Hotch promises as he hands the bag over to Reid.

Reid nods, “I don’t like tomatoes.”

“I know.”

Reid takes his bag, smiles as he thinks about what things he can make with what he’s been given. “How much do you think it’ll rain?” he asks again.

Hotch hums, having heard Reid the first time. “It’ll be a good storm,” he figures, “might take out the electricity.” He only adds the last bit as a warning. Reid’s scared of the dark, a fact exacerbated by big storms that knock out the electricity. A common occurrence but no less startling.

“Oh.” Reid worries his lip, looks to the ground and everywhere but where Hotch is.

It’s likely to start soon, the winds really picking up and the sun’s drowned out by thick, rolling clouds. The storm of the century it’s likely not. Hotch doubts it’s even the sort people pull over on the side of the road to wait out but he decides to think it might anyway. Decides to tap Reid’s elbow and motion for him to follow, “come on.” He’s not even really sure where he’s going but it’ll lend a distraction. “Wait out the storm,” Hotch tells him, glancing back to make sure Reid’s following. “I wanna show you something.”

They spend the storm in his office, leaning over an old law school textbook. Reid has an affinity for them. No matter how many times Hotch uses them for a distraction, pulling them down from their dusty shelves, Reid still takes to them like it’s the very first time. He’ll sit for hours reading over the information but, his favorite parts, are how Hotch they are.

The notes he’s scribbled in the margins. Flashes of yellow highlighter. A coffee stain or smudge where his palm moves against not yet dried ink. Notes for cases or classes. Pages he’s dog-eared. They’re lived in, nearly perfect condition biographies. Of course, Reid gravitates to them.

By the time the storm rolls over Reid realizes he’s been alone in the office for hours. Sheepishly, he gets up and looks around. Makes his way through Hotch’s house until Reid finds him on the couch. As soon as Hotch sees him he takes off his reading glasses, placing a bookmark in his book and raising his eyebrow to inquire if Reid needs something.

“I should probably get going.”

Hotch doesn’t miss how suddenly bashful Reid gets, the way he looks down at the floor. “If you’d like,” Hotch won’t encourage him to leave. He spends a lot of time alone. He doesn’t mind have someone floating around. But Reid’s decided he’s overstayed his welcome so he moves cautiously towards the door. Taking his time because he knows Hotch will see him out.

“Be careful,” Hotch tells him as he opens himself up for a hug and Reid flushes a little under the attention but still steps into Hotch’s arms. Hotch gives him the bag of vegetables and frowns at the state of Reid’s hair. “Stop worrying so much,” Hotch fusses and they’re both aware of how parental his tone has gotten as frowns. He can see grey hairs here and there. Maybe not as present as his but there. “Do you want to talk about it? Whatever’s worrying you so much?”

Reid freezes, confused. Ordinarily, he’d give in, Hotch always fixes things but not this time. “I’m okay,” Reid promises.

Hotch doesn’t believe him but Reid’s an adult and Hotch knows when he’s needed Reid will know where to find him. All he can hope is that Reid comes to him if he really needs help. “Alright.”

They nod once more and Reid steps out but he’s not halfway down the driveway when Hotch shouts “I meant it, be careful driving home!”

Reid stops where he is, struck by the oddness of this situation. He made it his entire childhood without this sort of thing. His mother cared that he got home but he didn’t have friends to be out with. Never needed to stop and figure out how to call home and tell her he’d be home late. Now he’s lost his mother and he’s lost Gideon.

And he’s terrified he’ll lose Hotch next.

“I’ll text you when I get home,” he offers, feels silly the second it comes out of his mouth. Like Hotch would care enough for that. Like Hotch won’t be bothered with him texting him. Like Hotch is going to sit there and wait for the text.

Hotch narrows his eyes, “you’d better.”

Because Hotch will sit there and wait for the text.

“Yes, sir.”

Hotch is fine but Reid will keep watching just to be on the safe side.

#criminal minds fanfiction #aaron hotchner #spencer reid #criminal minds

[tinyboxxtink]

"Black Magic" *Part 6*

Part 5

Part 7

Okay so this one's a bit shorter, but like I said I want to try and keep it a "day" a chapter. Also, I don't think you want this day to be ANY longer.

....I'm so sorry.

Also also---- I'm going out now. I'M SO SORRY.

I'll post another chapter tonight....be strong my babies!

Side note how perfect is the gif with the angry barba and the smirking Olivia....I mean.... what?

Tag List:

@bookishfanfic

@stars-in-the-skies-world

@omgsuperstarg

@chasingeverybreakingwave

@gibbs274

@milkshqke

@wanniiieeee

@word-scribbless

@objection-argumentative

@aprildecker-blog

@lolliepopsicle

@madamsnape921

@stars-trash-18

-------

You arrived at the door of Rafael's office early once again, knocking this time. You looked like a million bucks. You had taken at least an hour to get ready, your outfit, your hair, your makeup. You were ready to make a move. You knocked again. There was no answer. He should be there, maybe he didn’t hear you. You knocked a little louder. Where could he be? You decided to take a peek and peer open his door to see the most horrifying sight:

Rafael and Olivia, making out on his desk. They both snapped back when they heard the door open.

“Y/N!!” He yelled angrily. “Don't you knock?”

“Oh.. oh my God I'm so sorry sir I'm really sorry. I just brought your morning coffee sir,” You were upset, embarrassed , confused , distraught unable to speak, unable to think.

“Well you should learn not to peep on other people Y/N,” Olivia gave you an evil smirk. “I should get going anyway baby,” she rubbed the lipstick off Rafael's lips. “I have a long day.”

“Oh but I'll miss you carino,” Rafael whined while rubbing his nose against hers in a disgusting fashion.

“I know baby, but maybe we'll have lunch?” She messed with his collar.

“You can count on it,” Rafael growled seductively, smacking her butt as she walked towards the door. “Two can play at your game,” she whispered at you as she walked out

Oh my god. Oh my God oh my god!! How did she know? How was it possible? So many things went through your head at that moment.

“I um, I left something at my desk,” You lied quickly as you headed out the door.

“Olivia!” You called after her angrily suddenly overwhelmed with courage. She stopped and turned and stared at you

“Really? Got some balls on you now do you?”

“What did you do?” You demanded.

“I didn't do anything to him.” She acted innocent. “He just realized that his feelings for me were there all along,” she batted her eyes mockingly. “Isn't that what you did?”

“It's not real!” You barked. “You know it's not real. It'll wear off by tomorrow,”

“Oh I really don't think it will” She held up a water bottle in her purse and it was filled with a….purple liquid? Yep it was purple. Why was it purple? Did she make it stronger? Oh God how strong did she make it?

“Olivia you can't do this to him. I stopped and realized if it wasn't real, I didn't want it.”

“Oh that's bullshit.” She rolled her eyes. “You just brought him his morning coffee. You and I both know that it has that stuff in it. You just needed to refill him but I got there first.”

“No that's not true! You yelled, tears stinging your eyes now. “And he loves me. I know he does.”

“Oh my God you are delusional,” she laughed.” Look I'm happy you had a fun day yesterday but you’re out of your league here, sweetie. He's mine and he always will be? Got it?” She smirked again, then turned and stomped away in her heels leaving you there speechless.

----

You were furious, you were confused, you were upset and then you realized that you had to still continue this day as if nothing was different. Nothing was wrong. You wondered how strong Olivia's stuff was. You wondered what the rules were. Did it block out his feelings for you completely and only focus on her? Did it wipe any memory of you and him at all? Could you break it? You had so many questions you needed to call Chloe but you know you couldn't until your break so you sucked it up and walked back into Rafael's office.

“I'm really sorry about that so earlier,” You did your best to keep from crying. He looked at you with an almost look of disdain.

“Yeah well you really need to be more professional, Y/N.” He scoffed.

"Now you really need to get me copies of these prepositions by noon so that I can go to lunch with my beloved and then go to court.”

“Your beloved?” You spat unintentionally, wanting to gag.

“Excuse you?” He gave you an angry look.

"Look I know that you have some kind of crazy crush on me, but you need to learn that what me and my girlfriend have is something you can't get between so you really need to either control yourself or I will relieve you of your services.” He glared at you.

You couldn't breathe, you felt your heart beating in your chest and your ears. Your palms were sweating, you were having a panic attack. What the hell did she put in her concoction? How did she make him turn so harshly against you?

“I... Yes sir, sorry sir, right away sir,” You whispered grabbing the papers from him running out of the office.

Finally after you got Rafael his copies and he stormed out of his office to go meet his “beloved”, you took the break to call Chloe in tears.

-----

“Oh My God, what happened honey?” She asked, immediately hearing your sobs over the phone.

“She did it,” You sobbed.

“Who did what now?”

“She found the spell! Or some spell. I don't know what she did. I don't know how she could have-- I don't know what she did!!!” You kept sobbing uncontrollably not being able to form coherent thoughts.

“Okay, I'm going to need you to slow down,” Chloe said in a calming manner. “Breathe honey. Use your words. Now explain to me exactly what happened,”

You took several deep breaths trying to compose yourself so that you could explain what was happening to her.

“I went into Rafael's office this morning, and he was making out with that vile woman,” You sniffled.

“What vile woman?”

“Olivia, his ‘beloved’,” you rolled your eyes through your tears.

“His beloved?”

“It's some woman that he works with, and apparently has been in love with him forever. She somehow, I don't know how, figured out what we did to him and she somehow found her own spell. Which I'm pretty sure is not the same one, because it was a purple liquid. AND she not only created feelings for her, she made him hate me!!” You continued to sob.

“...Oh,” Was all Chloe could say.

“OH…?!” You scoffed. “I thought you said that magic laws frowned upon spells like that, controlling people's free will!”

“It does! Good magic anyway,” She sighed.

“What the hell does that mean?” You yelled angrily.

“Well I mean you know there's good witches and bad witches,”

“Oh my God, what in the Wizard Of Oz fuckery--”

“I don't know what to tell you honey. That's how it is. There's good magic and there's black magic. Black magic is all selfish and self-indulgent and instant gratification. She must have gone to somebody who deals in that,”

“Who could it be?”

“I don't know! It's not like they're listed in the yellow pages! WAIT-- Oh my God I think I might have an idea,” Chloe suddenly paused. “...But you're not going to believe me,”

“Oh my God what does that mean?” you asked wearily.

“Well.. you've seen all the movies right? You know like Cinderella, Sleeping Beauty and Snow White,”

“Oh God. Are you seriously going to tell me that true love's kiss can break the spell?”

“Well.. you really don't have any other options right now, do you?”

“CHLOE those are Disney movies for fuck’s sake!!”

“Hey, remember Once Upon A Time? THAT was the ‘real world’, and true love’s kiss brought magic to our world!” Chloe pointed out.

“THAT’S A TV SHOW!!!!!”

“I don't know what else you want me to say here babe. But you should do it. Unless you want to lose him forever to this “Olivia” person. You said that she had a lot of it, right? She could keep this up for as long as she wants. AND the more she gives him the stronger it's going to be and the harder it is going to be to break. I mean he might end up really hating you and firing you, and then your whole life will be ruined. You not only need to break this spell for you to be happy, but before it impacts your entire life,” Chloe warned.

“Oh my God, oh my god…” You whimpered. “I should have never done this.”

“Hey chin up this will work out I'm sure of it!” She said in a chipper tone.

“Okay Jiminy,” You rolled your eyes as you hung up and went back to your office. You did your best to continue with the rest of the day, trying to stay out of Rafael’s way. Which wasn't hard, considering that he was in court most of the day. Around four he texted you and told you that he was no longer in need of your services for the day so you could go home early. Oh also he just HAD to add that he was going to go out with Liv. You wanted to vomit. You headed home and went to brainstorm with Chloe.

-----

“Okay so I've been researching black magic. Chloe had papers sprawled out all over her bed when you came home. “She must have used a combination of love and hate spells.”

“Wait, so you mean actual love spells? Like actually creating fictitious love? Not just magnifying what he felt for her?”

“Correct” she nodded. “I don't think he ever had real feelings for her.”

“Well he said that she and him had a thing, and that he thought about her like that when they first met. So maybe it was going off of that,” You shrugged sadly.

“Another thing we need to figure out is how to get the rest of the potion from her somehow,”

“And just HOW do you expect me to do that?!”

“I don’t...I don’t know,” She shrugged, sifting through her research.

“Chloe, give me something you DO know,” You rubbed your temples; this was giving you a migraine.

“Okay… well, maybe if I talk to my other friends they can figure out a way to counteract the effects even just a little, if you're not willing to or unable to get true love's kiss,”

“Oh God--”

“Hey, I'm just saying”

“Whatever.” You sighed. “My head hurts, my heart hurts, everywhere hurts Chloe,” You whined. “I just want this to be over,”

“Okay honey just-- just go get some sleep, I’ll figure out a game plan for you to use tomorrow,”

“Okay...thank you,” You gave her a small hug and went to your room.

You went to bed with a deep feeling of dread.

#rafael barba #rafael barba imagine #rafael barba x you #rafael barba x reader #rafael barba fanficton #law and order svu #law and order svu fanfiction #black magic

[darker-soft-starker]

Starker High School AU Pt. 6 (1, 2, 3, 4, 5)

---

tw: general howard stark warning

---

There is a buzzing by his ear.

At first, Tony doesn’t really notice it, waking up in short increments before being pulled back under. But he keeps waking, unsure what keeps tugging him out of his dreams, hand flapping around his face as he tries to stop the incessant ringing.

“Blergh,” he mumbles into his pillow.

Batting his hand around to quell the source of annoyance, he comes to grip his phone, squinting as it lights up inches away from his face and vibrates against his palm. For a second he thinks it’s his alarm, but then he remembers that he didn’t set one. It’s a succession of text notifications cascading down his screen that alerts him out of the slope of slumber with a start.

The only time his phone goes off like this is an emergency. The first thing he registers is that it’s only eight-minutes after seven. He blinks, sight clearing from the sleep wedged in his eye as he reads the flurry of still-incoming texts.

> so thanks for last night > yknow > for the ride > i mean > you know what i mean > anyway > so that folder i gave you had my BIO notes, not econ > im such a doofus > i need them back > don’t bother looking at them lol > can we meet up?

Tony groans, eyelids heavy as anvils. Jesus christ. He didn’t get home until four after dropping this guy off and he’s already up and bothering him? What gives?

Exhausted and annoyed, he tucks his phone under his pillow and sets it on do-not-disturb for extra measure. There ain’t no way he’s getting up at seven on a Saturday for fucking class notes. Prick.

In his opinion, he’s filled his quote of good deeds for the month and he doesn’t need to be up for another few hours. Whatever it is, he thinks, snuggling into his pillow, he’s sure it can wait.

---

The next time he wakes it’s just after nine. There’s a gap in his curtains allowing a sharp shard of sunlight into the room where it directly pierces into his eyelids. 

He groans tiredly into the drool patch on his pillow, willing sleep to come back to him, turning on his other side, gripping the edges of the quilt and tightening it around himself until he is firmly cocooned within it. It’s nice and warm, and sleep is such a rare commodity to him so it’s novel to bask in its dregs. But there isn’t any more sleep to come he’s quick to realize, giving up after a few minutes and blinking up at the ceiling. 

Nine is practically six. It’s criminal to be up this early.

There’s an unusual flurry of texts on his phone, some from Rhodey, but most of them are from Parker, an endless ladder of increasing franticness. 

Tony tosses his phone to the end of his bed carelessly. 

It’s been literally less than twelve hours since he’s had to deal with the shithead. Surely whatever was lodged up his ass couldn’t possibly be as important as Tony ignoring him. 

Swinging his legs off the bed, he stands and stretches his arms up high, fingers curling. The stretch feels good and he takes a quick sniff of his armpits to gauge if he can forego a shower for the third day in a row. 

The stench is wicked. It’s possible that he’s overdue.

He strips off as he heads towards the adjacent bathroom, naked and nursing a semi.

He can’t help but shudder as his back meets the cold tiles, the intuitive shower head following his body with a mechanical whir, miscalculating its aim and spraying him in the face.

Ah. That will need to be recalibrated, he notes. 

But, he can’t say he really minds, tolerating the spray, even as it hits his mouth like a fire hose. He ducks his head to wet his hair, reaching blindly for the touchpad to dial down the pressure. Once the water is to his liking he reaches down to take himself in hand, leisurely stroking himself.

It’s just a perfunctory part of his morning ritual; he doesn’t really have anyone in mind as he brings himself to full hardness, just the fleeting memory of lips around his cock, the next of a well rounded ass, not feeling particularly creative. 

Okay, so maybe he pictures some big, brown eyes and dark hair he can run his fingers through. And maybe he goes off like a rocket. That’s his business.

Anyway, once he’s out of the shower, a towel wrapped around his waist, he inspects his appearance in the mirror. The bruises on his face are still pretty gruesome, deep purple and beginning to yellow around the edges. The cut on his lip seems to be well and truly scabby.

Turning to the side, Tony takes observation of his overall torso region; his stomach is not as defined as he’d like it to be - probably due to his affinity for carbs and sweets, if he’s honest. Between a few fingers he can pinch the skin and pull it a little -- and look, he’s a bit soft around the middle, but he lifts, alright. Maybe he isn’t exactly steel cut like the dudebros on the football team who have made being ripped their life mission, but he has musculature under the adipose.

Is he a little self-conscious about it? Sure. Is he worried about it enough to give up garlic bread and cronuts? No. Especially when he spots a new chest hair nestled comfortably between his pecs.

Probably a bit too proud of himself because of a singular piece of hair, Tony gets dressed in a pair of jeans that have seen better days, speckled with singe marks and thinning at the knees and a singlet, slinging on his leather jacket for the finishing touch. 

He almost forgets the bot.

“Look at you,” he says, to the mangled mess of metal on his desk. Scooping the injured, beeping bot Tony stuffs it into his backpack. “Come here, darling. Shh, you’re okay.”

Peering both ways out of the hall to ensure the coast is clear, he quickly descends the stairs, shushing the bot the whole way.

On the ground floor, he pauses when he hears voices coming from his father’s office. It takes a second to recognise the voices, his father and Stane arguing over one another, loudly, then softly. He tries to listen in, catching somewhat audible hisses about the company finance officer.

Careful to avoid the floorboards that squeak he tiptoes to the kitchen to pocket a few muesli bars and a water bottle from the fridge. 

The voices get progressively louder as he sneaks to the front door, silently saluting their maid as he passes. She waves back at him, offering a sympathetic smile as he goes out the door. 

His heart pounds as he reaches his car, parked around the corner street. 

“Alright, baby,” he grins, revving the engine. “Let’s go.”

---

“The fuck?”

It’s hard to be sure, but perhaps Rhodey doesn’t expect Tony’s unannounced arrival at his front door. Not if the furious scowl and bunny slippers on his feet are anything to go by.

Nonetheless, he slips past the front door, welcoming himself into his friends home, despite the exasperated outcry of for fucks sake Tony, it’s Saturday and it’s not even noon, can’t you call ahead? 

No, he can’t call. Well, actually, he reconsiders, heading down the hall to the basement, his friends footsteps echoing behind him, he probably could, but it wouldn’t make anyone less mad at him, so what’s the point?

Besides, judging by the empty driveway and barren living room, Rhodey’s family is already out, he’s not sure what the issue is.

“The issue is I am tired, man,” his friend complains, following him down the stairs. “What are you doing here?”

“Me too, honeybear, freakin’ exhausted,” Tony mutters, skipping down the stairs. “Go back to bed. I’ll be out of your hair in a minute.”

“Oh sure, and let you solder your fingers together again. Nah. Not taking the fall for that.”

“I’m not going to solder my fingers together. I’m a pro.”

“Unless you need me to remind you of last summer,” Rhodey takes a seat at the workbench, “I suggest you shut up.”

“You’re rude, you know that?” Tony asks, retrieving the bot from his backpack and setting it upon the bench. “I’ll have you know that I’ve learned since then.”

“And yet you still refuse to wear gloves,” his friend sighs, settling heavily upon the adjacent chair. There’s a comfortable quiet between them while Tony works, carefully settling all the pieces onto the table, moving each with care.

It’s hard to miss the weight of observation on the back of his neck, but he lets his friend drink his fill before he’s ready to speak.

“You fuck up something?” He points to the bot.

Tony shakes his head, pressing the solder into the circuit board. “No. Well, yes. The coding is perfect, as usual, but this idiot isn’t any smarter than a Roomba. He’s meant to be smarter.”

“So?

“He is smarter. I dunno, sometimes he messes up,” Tony mumbles, reaching blindly for the bent-nose pliers before Rhodey places it in his hand. “He’s not bad, just dumb. It’s not his fault.”

“And again, what happened? Did you run him over?”

“No, the old man got sick of me playing with ‘toys’. Dumb-dumb here met the wall in a very dramatic fashion. It was an Oscar-worthy performance.”

There’s a sigh from behind him.

“Does that explain your face?”

Tony glances behind him and smirks. 

“You mean my dashing good looks?”

“Tony.”

“Honestly? I got into a fight with a feral racoon that ran off with some old lady’s purse. It nearly cost me an eye, but I saved the day. She called me a hero, gave me some stale crackers from her purse and then gave me her number.”

“Tony.”

“Fine. I was skateboarding. I was in the middle of executing a super complicated kickflip but lost control when an enlarged gutter rat scurried in front of me. I flew headfirst into the gravel. Very embarrassing. That work?”

“Tony.”

“Look, just leave it will ya? God, you’re like a nagging wife. Pick whichever story makes you feel all nice and fuzzy inside.”

Rhodey is suddenly before him, waving something in his face. “Your phone, jackass. Your better half is calling?”

Huh?

Tony blinks, gently setting down the pliers and the chip he’d removed, taking his phone. It vibrates, Your Better Half flashing across the screen. 

“Parker, ugh.” 

He really should have changed the contact name by now, he thinks, swiping to answer.

“Alcoholics Anonymous,” Tony answers by way of greeting. “How may I direct your call?”

“Ha ha, very funny, asshole. So you are awake. I’ve been trying to contact you all morning.”

“I know. I’m beginning to think you actually might have separation issues,” Tony says. “I just got rid of you like eight hours ago.”

“I’m calling about the folder. Didn’t you read my texts?“

“Oh, I read them,” Tony settles back on the stool and continues to work on the main circuit. “See, I was just ignoring you. Hoping you’d take the hint, but I forget subtlety is lost on you.”

“Look, I need my notes. Can we meet up?”

“Right, for Bio,” Tony rolls his eyes. “Can’t it wait until Monday?”

“No. I, uh -- I have a test first period. I need to study for it.”

“Uh-huh. Just remember, the mitochondria is the powerhouse of the cell. You’ll be fine.”

“I take AP Bio, asswipe, I’m aware of that. Can I just get it back, please?”

“You take AP Bio? Was that an admin error or something?” he asks, holding the chip he’d retrieved earlier up to the light to inspect for any damage. 

It looks to be ok. The damage to the bot overall seems to be mostly cosmetic, couple of scratches, a few dents. Nothing that a few replacement panels wont fix. Whatever he hasn’t already got stored here Rhodey will surely have spare parts, it’ll be fine. God, what would he do if his friend didn’t lovingly tolerate Tony using his space for storage and barging in whenever he lucks. It’s lucky Rhode’s parents are so chill though, unlike his own. He may be a hot-head but he’s practically a saint compared to -

“ - hello? Are you still there? I can hear you breathing.”

Tony blinks. “Right. Your notes. Look, I’m kinda busy. I have a life outside of you and I don’t actually care about your academic integrity, so, you’re gonna have to wait.”

“For how long?”

“I’ll drop them off this evening, like six-ish. Hey, maybe we could do that interview with May if she’ll be around.”

“...I’m not sure that’s the best idea.”

“C’mon, I already told you I’m not actually hot for your aunt. I’ll be professional.”

Rhodey shoots him a bewildered look.

“That’s not what -- look, whatever. Just don’t be late okay. I have a life outside of you too.”

“Yeah, I’ve heard that one before. I’ll try and not get in the way of your weekend plans of crying while you masturbate.”

“I literally hate you.”

“And yet you aren’t denying the crying. Anyway, I have to go now, try to clean yourself up before I get there. See you at six, bubby,” he hangs up, cracking his neck before refocusing on his mangled creation. “Now where were we?”

“What the fuck.”

Tony pauses, pliers in hand. There is a particular expression on Rhodey’s face erring on the side of confused and haunted. 

“What?”

“’Bubby’?”

“Don’t say it like that - it’s like an inside thing. Don’t repeat it to him, alright, he’ll get pissy. And then I’ll get pissy.”

“You know it’s just a project, right? You two aren’t actually married.”

“Thank god. Could you imagine being married to that guy?” Tony shudders. “Scary.”

“Two weeks ago you said he was the bane of your existence. Now you have ‘inside things’ with him? You saw him last night?”

He sighs, shoulders dropping. Yeah, he doesn’t really have a good explanation for any of that. 

The thing about himself, Tony’s found over time and trial, is that he really, really likes to press buttons. He likes to test variables, wants to see what would happen if he did something he wasn’t supposed to, and map out the world as it occurs in motion around him. Curiosity means he likes to test the parameters, to see what can yield, what will bite back.

More often than not that kind of impulsive brand of curiosity has gotten him in some sort of trouble. Turns out not everything and everyone appreciates being tested - and many things like to lash out when pressed.  

Parker, Tony has found, is somebody that doesn’t yield or bite. If Tony was a betting man he’d have placed his money on the boy being more of a yielding type - but what he does is he presses buttons just as much as Tony does, buttons he didn’t even know he had to be pressed. 

And that very much interests Tony.

He just doesn’t know what to do with that information, except to keep pressing.

“I’ll explain later,” Tony promises, mentally crossing his fingers. “In the meantime, can we forget about Parker and focus on my broken baby here?”

Rhodey relents, but Tony knows that look in his eye. He’ll be hearing about it later and at the most inconvenient time. And he’s gonna tell Pepper.

Wonderful.

He really should change Peter’s contact name in his phone.

---

By the time he leaves the Rhodes residence and heads to his next destination, his robot is in somewhat in working order again. It remains fairly immobile though, just until Tony can replace the damaged infrared and touch sensor. It clicks its metal claws sadly towards Tony in the passenger seat as he drives.

It’s a Roy Orbison kind of day, so the music is loud and the guitar is heavy as he makes the drive to Harlem.

And if Tony frees a hand to pat the bot on its’ metal head every so often, that’s his business.

When he reaches the other side of the city he parks in his usual space at a nearby lot and contemplates whether or not he should leave the malfunctioning bot in his car for the sake of being professional. It clicks at his jacket, weakly grasping the material as if on a plea - and damn, Tony knows the thing isn’t actually sentient but what kind of asshole would he be if he left it here for the day.

Heart squeezing with sympathy, Tony delicately places him in the backpack, leaving the zip partially open for ‘air’.

Next, snacks.

While he’s retrieving a pack (or two) of Reeses, he comes across Parker’s folder that he’d stashed there last night. Their conversation from earlier returns to the forefront of his mind.

Look, Parker might not be the knuckle-dragging, monosyllabic dumbass Tony initially suspected that he was, and yeah he was savvy as demonstrated during their trip to the rental market - and yeah, definitely smarter than his social circle would suggest, and is absolutely and a source of constant surprise to Tony - but is he AP Bio - or AP anything material? 

Time to find out.

The first thing that Tony notices is that the notes are definitely not for Bio. They’re for Econ, as initially prescribed. 

The second thing he notices, as he flicks through the papers, skimming over the complicated graphs and annotated research, is that what he’s reading is actually good. 

Well, I’ll be darned, Tony thinks, eyes getting progressively wider as he flicks through the pages. Not bad at all.

Makes him wonder why Parker thought he was missing his Bio notes though.

The answer to that becomes clear when a crumpled envelope falls out of the stack onto Tony’s lap. He picks it up, at first thinking it’s a part of the research, but pauses. It’s open and it’s addressed to May Parker.

“Um,” he says.

It’s from Queens Presbyterian Hospital, which should make him drop it as if it were burning. It doesn’t, though. Either it’s meant to be included in the folder, or it’s not and that’s why Parker has been acting like a crazy-ex all morning.

Hmm. Tony sits there, torn, debating whether or not to look into it, the overdue stamp standing out against the crisp paper like a warning sign. On one hand, he’s running kinda late and, y’know, privacy or whatever -- on the other, his fingers are already itching to know what’s in it.

Mind your own business, he can already hear Rhodey saying, mind your own business, Tony.

Curiosity and a distinct lack of a moral compass wins, as always. Just a quick peek, that should be okay, right? The envelope is already open anyway, so, it’s not like anyone will be able to tell.

God, this is none of my business, he tells himself, even as he’s retrieving the letter from within and starts reading it. 

Oh.

Tony quickly stashes the letter back into the envelope and back into the folder. Yep, definitely none of his business. 

Yeah, he really shouldn’t have done that. Big fucking yikes on his behalf. And yep, there’s the guilt -- or at least he thinks the stomach churning is guilt, it could be the stale muesli bar he ate on the way.

Nonetheless, it hangs over him like a dark cloud as he picks up his backpack and heads out to the garage across the road. What kind of asshole looks into someone’s mail because they can’t help themselves. This dick, that’s who.

Fixing a grin he doesn’t really feel, he heads to the back office. He knocks on the window, ducking his head into the open door.

“Yo,” he waves to the man sitting behind the desk. “Sorry I’m late.”

“Hey kid,” the man looks up, smiling before his face drops. “Tony, your face. What happened?”

“This? It’s nothing --”

“-- is that why you couldn’t come to work yesterday? Not that I mind,” the man stands up. “Are you okay? Was it --”

“-- Was it nothing to worry about? Absolutely,” Tony holds his hands up in surrender. “Just an unfortunate encounter with a wild, feral squirrel in Central Park. I tell you, they’re deceivingly cute, but they’re pests. Totally out of control.”

“Tony.”

“Jarvis,” he interrupts, gesturing to the cars in the garage behind him. “C’mon. Look, let’s get to work, okay? Save the violins for later.”

And by later he means never.

The man sighs, world-weary, looking at him like he knows exactly what he’s thinking. At first he’s certain his boss is going to push the issue, but it must be a day for dodging bullets because he relents.

“Alright, kid. I got a ninety-four Ford sedan back there with your name on it. Busted fan belt, overheated engine. Probably needs a new set of spark plugs while you’re at it.”

With a grateful nod, Tony heads back, locating the vehicle in question. It’s rusted to all hell and probably not worth the cost of repair, but he gets stuck into it anyway, keen for a distraction. He sets his bag and bot down near him while Jarvis blasts Alice Cooper’s Poison.

Tony might not have all the answers to life’s problems, but this is something he knows how to fix.

---

He probably distracts himself a little too well, because by the time he’s wrapped up with the Ford it’s already five-thirty and he’s a mess of engine oil and coolant.

It’s only when Jarvis squeezes his shoulder and points to the clock on the far wall does he realise that he’s lost his sense of time. How the fuck is he supposed to clean up and get all the way from Harlem to Queens at this time of night?

“Ah, crap,” Tony mutters, setting down his socket-wrench in his toolbox. “I’m late.”

“Late for what? You got a hot date or something?” Jarvis asks, stepping back to give him some room as he rushes to the staff bathroom. 

“What, no,” He calls back, running the faucet and pumping soap over his hands. “I gotta go see about a guy.” He struggles to hear his boss over the running water but he doesn’t have time to stop and figure it out. 

“From school?”

“Yes, and a prime pain in my ass,” Tony mutters, drying his hands on his jeans, walking back into the garage. “Anyway, see you Monday, chief?”

His boss nods, passing Tony his earnings for the week in cash. Tony should have known to dash and run because he starts hearing the proverbial violins when Jarvis clamps a hand on his shoulder, squeezing in a way that is more paternal than Tony is comfortable with. 

“You know you can call me, you have my number. You come up and see me and the missus whenever you want.”

Tony fake snores.

“Jarvis.”

“We have a spare room,” he insists, shrugging sheepishly and stepping back. “It’s yours at any time.”

“I see you enough, okay, don’t push it. I’ll see you Monday,” Tony draws him into a one-armed hug and claps him on the back. “Don’t you worry about me.” 

“Don’t make me worry.”

“No promises,” Tony salutes, slinging his backpack on shoulder and walking backwards out of the garage to the street. “Hug the missus for me.”

Jarvis salutes back. 

With that he sprints across the street when there’s a gap in traffic, bot snapping gently at his hair as he runs.

Sweaty and sore, he is full of energy, a sense of accomplishment coursing through his blood, like an afternoon of work can only provide. He should fire off a text, he thinks, as he starts the ignition and heads out onto the road, yeah. Let Parker know he will be late.

And he does genuinely mean to send a message at the next traffic stop, but then Queen starts playing on the radio and Tony isn’t a fool, okay, he turns that up loud.

Next traffic stop, he promises himself.

---

“I’m beginning to think you can’t read the time,” Parker opens the door with a scowl. “You said six.”

Wincing in the hallway, Tony looks at his phone. Six-fifty-nine. It’s not totally his fault, okay. There was a pile up along the way and traffic was a nightmare of  ridiculous proportions. He swears he’s gonna be the first person to invent a commercially viable flying car just for the sake of personally avoiding road congestion.

“Yeah, so. Here’s the thing: I had things to do, okay, priorities --”

“You and your priorities, I swear to god --”

“Here,” Tony cuts him off, passing him his folder, letter neatly inside where it isn’t going to obviously slip out. “Your folder, dumbass.”

Peter grips it, holding it to his chest as he stares at Tony for a moment, before passing it to the nearest flat surface, a weathered and small table that holds their keys.

“Okay, thanks,” Peter nods, smiling grimly, looking behind his shoulder. “Appreciate it. You can go now.”

“So where are the Econ notes,” Tony blurts, wincing as he plays dumb. “I mean, if you had something prepared.”

Peter blinks, surprised. “Oh, uh. Um, It can wait until Monday, can’t it?”

“The assignment is due Wednesday.”

“Right. Um, just give me a sec --”

“Is that Tony?”

May appears behind Peter, smiling brightly. Tony waves, rocking back on his feet. 

“Hey, Missus Parker.”

“Hey there, handsome,” she hip-checks her nephew, joining him in the doorway and glancing between the two. “You didn’t mention we were having company tonight, Pete.”

“He’s not handsome and he’s not staying --”

“-- I was just dropping something off,” he looks to Peter. “And excuse you, the lady has spoken and I have to agree. I am handsome. Some might even say that I’m debonair.”

“And some might say that you’re deplorable.”

“Hmm, I think you mean adorable.”

That prompts a smile out of Peter. He crosses his arms over his chest and tilts his chin up, all haughty.

“Tony Stark, you are many things, but adorable isn’t one of them.”

He leans in, pouting playfully. “Oh come on, Parker. I’m a little cute, aren’t I?”

“No.”

“Not even a little?”

“Uh, let me check,” Peter pauses before smiling sardonically. “Verdicts in - jury says you’re one-hundred-percent despicable. Sorry.”

"I’m sure I could sway the jury.”

“I think you mean you could pay the jury.”

Tony nods, pretending to be serious. “Well, yeah. You know, for consensus.”

Peter licks his lips, shifting closer.

“Consensus is important...”

“...Well, if you two are done,” May says after an extended period of silence, tying her hair back into a ponytail. “We were just about to head out to a Thai place around the corner. Tony, you should join us.”

“Oh, no, that’s okay. I should go --”

The rest of his words are cut off by a truly monstrous growl of his stomach. He winces, scrunching up his nose sheepishly. He probably should have eaten more than Reeses all afternoon.

“Well, I guess that settles that,” May says, stepping out of the doorway and beckoning Tony in. “Come in. Sorry about the mess.” 

It’s with Peter still staring at him that he reluctantly enters their apartment, brushing past the other boy. It looks the same as it did the other week, mostly tidy and smelling like incense. There’s a sizeable stack of unfolded laundry on the dining table, however, that wasn’t there before. 

Tony’s distracted by a pair of dancing-bulbasaur boxers sticking out of the pile when May leans in close to sniff at his hair. 

“You’ve got something in your hair, honey. Is that paint?”

He runs his fingers through his hair, palm coming back streaked with green. “Oh, uh, radiator fluid,” he explains, holding up his hand. 

“Can I ask what you did to your face?”

“I saved a homeless guy and his beef-sandwich from a pack of rabid, angry dogs. No need to call me a hero.”

May looks at him oddly. “Oh, well, if you say so. Go get yourself washed up and we can head out.”

The burn of Peter’s stare follows him all the way to their bathroom.

---

The meal is less awkward than Tony thought it would be.

Well, for him at least.

Over larb and khao pad they’d gotten through an informal interview with May about her experience as a caregiver with a single income. Not only was it informative for his own future financial independence, but she has been generous enough to speckle in colorful anecdotes of her nephew’s upbringing. Parker’s face has been getting progressively redder all night and it has nothing to do with the spice in his food.

Tony has enjoyed the evening thoroughly.

“ - and of course, we were lucky we hadn’t decided to go cheap on the health insurance. Especially when Pete here broke his wrist at gymnastics when he was eight.”

Tony barely holds back a snort. 

“You did gymnastics, Parker?”

Peter tips his head back to stare at the ceiling and sighs. The flush seems to be creeping down his neck too, Tony observes gleefully. He stuffs a large mouthful of rice in his mouth to mitigate the urge to tease. 

"Yes, he was very good, weren’t you, Pete? So talented, you should see his medals.”

“Stop, please.”

“C’mon, no need to be embarrassed, Pete, you were amazing,” she says. “You’re still a flexible little bug, aren’t you?”

Tony chokes on his rice.

Peter has his eyes squeezed shut and looks like he wants the earth to swallow him whole. 

“May, I’m literally begging you.”

“Uh,” he beats at his chest with his fist, swallowing roughly. “So how long did you do that for?”

“Until I was fourteen.”

“Why’d you quit?”

There’s a very deliberate, weighted pause. May and Peter share a look between them and Tony gets a deeply uncomfortable sense that he’s just stuck his foot in it. Retract, he thinks, already regretting opening his mouth.

“Well,” May clears her throat, her tone light. “After my husband, Pete’s uncle Ben died, we moved away and we had to make some... financial cuts at the time.”

The bite he’s just taken goes to ash in his mouth. God, he really is a big idiot isn’t he. He’d assumed that May never got married to the man in the photos or that they’d just divorced, he didn’t realise that he’d passed - and so recently, too. Welling up with shame, he can’t stop himself from glancing at Peter, who’s staring at the table, lips pursed.

“Oh,” he clears his throat. “I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to - I didn’t know. Sorry.”

“It’s okay,” May waves her hand dismissively, but her smile is strained. “Anyway, what about you, Tony? You’re severely asthmatic, right? That must have been hard, growing up if you wanted to play sports.”

Tony’s eyes widen.

“Yes, um, so hard. Luckily I’m not really an exercise-y kinda guy. I personally prefer to keep a heart rate below eighty beats per minute.”

“Did you have any hobbies growing up?”

“Yeah, driving my parents crazy,” Tony says, glad for the shift from the somber topic. “Escaping from nannies, seeing how quickly I could get them to quit.”

“You like tinkering,” Peter says quietly, looking up. “You mentioned, before. Cars and stuff.”

He shrugs, starting to feel as if he’s under the microscope, especially when Peter looks at him, eyes glittering with thinly-veiled interest. 

“I mean, I don’t know. I like - building stuff, I guess. Machines and robots, y’know, cars. It’s like, whatever.”

“You want to be the next Elon Musk or somethin’?” Peter asks, not unkindly, resting his chin on his hand.

“Nah, I wanna be the first Tony Stark,” he scratches his cheek, suddenly bashful. It’s an uncommon feeling for him. One hard to avoid, however, particularly when there is a boy who Tony doesn’t really hate who’s asking about his life like it might matter. 

He clears his throat. “Anyway, mostly it was just me cataloguing all the ways I could make the vein in my fathers’ head pop. I’m still working on that.”

May looks between them, smiling.

“Sounds like you were a handful.”

“Sure was.”

Still is, apparently, no matter how much he tries to stay out of the way.

The silence that follows is punctuated by the sounds of cutlery scraping across plates, of shrinking ice cubes rattling against glass. It feels pensive at the same time as it does thorny, like Tony opened the door to let someone in but accidentally let out a few ghouls.

And despite knowing he’d stepped on a landmine with the Parkers, he can’t help but wonder what other pieces of the puzzle he’s missing. Why Peter doesn’t live with his parents. Not that Tony is invested in him or anything.

He just doesn’t like mysteries, that’s all.

May excuses herself after to head to the bathroom not long after. It’s during that time that the waiter brings the check, which Tony takes immediately, slipping in some of the cash he’d gotten earlier, despite Peter’s protests. He was gonna do it anyway, even if he didn’t have the letter in the back of his mind.

“Stop paying for me,” Peter says after he passes the check-book back to the waiter. “Your family is rich, I get it. I’ve told you, I don’t need your charity.”

Tony shakes his head. It’s not worth mentioning that the only money he spends doesn’t come from his family.

“It’s not charity. Do you really think I’m that nice, eh? C’mon. Maybe I like lording it over you.”

“Well, at some point I’m going to pay you back.”

“And when that time comes I’m not going to accept your money.”

“You will,” Peter smiles wryly down at his plate. “I have my ways.”

“As do I, sweetums. Now, do me a favour: shut up and finish your larb.”

Peter does, but something about him shifts. It seems more quiet and contemplative, his eyes staying longer on Tony than they normally would. He wants to tell him to take a picture, but for once, Tony thinks it’s probably best if he keeps his mouth shut.

---

Back at the apartment, Peter goes to retrieve his ‘Econ notes’, taking the folder from the table and retreating to his bedroom. In the interim, May offers to let Tony stay over, inviting him for what he’s sure would be a rousing game of Mario Kart. 

He politely declines.

“You sure? Winner gets to choose a movie.”

“I should really get home,” he says. “Thanks though. And thanks for dinner.”

“No problem. Thank you for paying, you didn’t have to do that. Let me pay you back.”

“No need. Think of it as payment for your services and letting us pick your brain tonight.”

She reluctantly accepts with a lot less pride than what her nephew displayed and that makes Tony feel a little sick, because it’s evident that she’s a proud and stubborn woman by nature. Her acceptance, albeit laboured, speaks volumes as to the reasoning behind it.

What takes him by surprise is when she hugs him goodbye and kisses his cheek.

“You’re a good egg, Anthony. Don’t be a stranger, okay?”

It’s probably the most maternal touch he’s had since, well. Probably since he last went to stay with Jarvis and his wife. Fidgeting in the hold, he’s not sure if he wants to squirm or to sink into it.

May leaves when Peter comes back in, a familiar stack of notes in his hands that he passes to Tony.

“You gonna kiss me goodbye, too?”

“What?” Peter blinks.

"Uh, never mind,” Tony waves the papers at him. “Thanks for this.”

Peter looks around to make sure they’re alone before leaning in rather promptly. 

“Wow, hold up on the proximity there,” Tony inches back, startled by their sudden closeness. “I was joking about the kiss --”

“You read the letter, didn’t you,” Peter whisper-hisses.

“What? Letter? What letter?” Tony says, voice strangled. “I don’t know of any letter.”

He gets a painful poke in his chest for his lies.

“Don’t play dumb. It wasn’t where I left it.”

“I’m not -- ow, quit poking me.”

“Then stop lying. You’re unbelievable -- don’t you know that opening someone else’s mail is a crime?”

Tony’s shoulders slump as he concedes.

“Look, it was an accident, it just slipped out. And also, it’s not technically a crime, if the envelope was already open.”

“Oh and the letter magically opened itself and forced you to read it.” 

“That could be argued.”

“Why couldn’t you mind your own business?“

Sick of being poked, he shoves the papers between his arm and his ribs to hold them and takes Peter’s fingers in his hands, squeezing the digits when they struggle to break free of his hold.

“I should have, I admit it - I didn’t think, okay, I’m sorry. Is she okay?”

Peter stops struggling, looking over his shoulder again.

“I don’t know,” he leans in again to whisper, “I only found it yesterday, I haven’t spoken to her yet. Look, I know you hate me, but can you please not tell anyone about this?”

“Why would I tell anyone?”

“I don’t know, because you’re the devil, and you get a kick out of seeing me suffer?”

“True, but I’m not going to tell anyone. Promise. That would make me look like an asshole and you like a martyr. Ergo, I shut my cake hole and continue looking better than you.”

“You’re a real prince charming,” the other boy huffs, but seems to take him at face value. “If I find out differently I’m going to come after you. You’re going to need dental work afterwards.”

Tony lets go of their joined hands, balling his fists and raising them to his face, mimicking what the other boy had done last night. 

“You wanna tousle, huh?”

He gets a light shove out the doorway for his attitude.

“Alright, smartass. Get the fuck outta here already.”

“Going, going. Goodnight, princess.”

He mock bows, peering up under his eyelashes, momentarily arrested as he watches Parker roll his eyes and bite his bottom lip in an attempt to smother a smile. 

His heart continues to beat a bit oddly all the way down to the car, where he sits in contemplative silence for a few moments until the sound of metal clicking shifts him out of his thoughts.

“Oh, hey you,” he coos, gently retrieving his bot from his bag and placing it in the passenger seat, instantly feeling bad. “I didn’t think I would take so long. I’m sorry.”

Placing a seatbelt over the bot and buckling him in, Tony begins to narrate his night to him as he pulls off the curb and begins driving.

“I guess that Parker isn’t so bad,” he tells the bot, who swivels its head in response to his voice. “I mean, he can’t dress for shit and has questionable tastes in friends - oh, and cannot hold his liquor - but I dunno, baby-bot. He’s okay. Don’t tell anyone I said that, though -- and oh my god, did I mention he did gymnastics, what a fucking dork...”

The thoughts churn and buoy him until he pulls up to his house nearly an hour later. From the driveway he can see his fathers office light still on.

The sight of it makes his stomach drop, all good cheer gone in an instant. 

“Damn,” Tony whispers to himself, tapping his knuckles against the steering wheel. This time of night on a Saturday can only mean one thing and he is really not in the mood to be in the crosshairs of whatever his father and Stane are up to.

But before he can work himself into a worry his phone vibrates in his pocket.

> hey, look, thanks for not being a total dick tonight about everything > and last night as well, I guess > yknow what i mean < ur welcome < by the way, i’m proud of you  > for what < not finishing off ur aunts beer tonight < takes strength < asking for help is the first step > omfg i take back what i said > ur the worst < and ur a pain in my ass > they have creams for that u know > anyway, g’nite, butthole > p.s. you’re still not adorable Tony smiles down at his phone. < goodnight bambi The bot clicks at him, breaking him out of his train of thought.

“Don’t look at me like that. Let’s go in, but you gotta keep quiet, okay.”

He manages to avoid detection and attention from anyone, despite accidentally stepping on a squeaky floorboard. Maybe it had something to do with the record player and raucous laughter coming from the office.

In any case, Tony’s just happy to make it back to his bedroom. There, he toes off his sneakers and starts getting ready for bed, stashing the leftover cash into a drawer.

It makes him think about Peter’s reluctance for Tony to pay for over the last couple of instances, and how freaking annoying that is. And rude. 

Honestly, the dude should count himself as one of the lucky guys - Tony is not that magnanimous. He doesn’t experience an impulsive, unthinking eagerness to provide for just anybody.

Oh.

Tony stills in the middle of his bedroom.

Oh no.

He knows what this is.

“This is bad.”

---

*

*

---

tagging: @bylerboyfriends @ravens-starker-stuff, @starker-rays, @ironspiderstarker, @muse-of-gods, @notfor-temporaryuse, @tabbycat1220, @sugarfreecult, @rebel13lion39, @plueschpop, @spideravocados, @jellybbunny,  @booktrashme, @elfkido, @mycatislickingmybedsheets, @queerghostboyo, @disneyprincessdominatrix, @cherrygoldlove @starkerflowers @starkeristheendgame @thewolffearsher @starkersugar , @starkerforlife6969, @css1992, @parkerrbitch, @fuckmemrstark, @blankblankityblank, @ilovemoreid, @blaquedecember, @killmylonelysoul, @notfor-temporaryuse, @arvaen

#starker #ironspider #tony stark x peter parker #high school au

[viriyanon]

'tired' ? for your challenge :P

a.n. anon u... u reel me into a very dangerous thought okay. for the first 3 minutes, congratulation. but not after that. not toDAY SATAN!!1!1!1!!1

also. this is unexpectedly LONG. SO. LONG.

jiang yuelou sighs in annoyance after hanging up zhan junbai's phone call, telling him that his men failed to track down hong kong's emerging opium dealer that currently supplies jing city with an unidentified type of poppy. the whole police bureau is on fire due to this discovery.

"all i could confirm is that they indeed sell a new type of opium, presumably from india. but we failed to extract any information about the leader, let alone catching them. they were enforced by british authorities and my men suddenly were outnumbered," says junbai dimly from the other side of the line, clearly not liking the unpredicted variable in their perfectly planned undercover.

the executive offers an apology, which yuelou dismisses in a second 'cause executive zhan, regardless this one very failure, is still the best external alliance ever. the most reliable source, partner, and friend. yuelou can't ask for a better connection than zhan junbai.

but that doesn't change the current result. coming with that are mayor cai's aggravation and bai jinbo's wrath. song rong and sun yongren can only dip their head down watching the commissioner throw those paper in their boss' face, saying how incompetent yuelou is.

("well, let's see if commissioner bai can capture them by himself!" sun yongren says quietly, aggressively biting a baozi in his head 'cause it's pass dinner already.)

so, having a bad day is an understatement. it's beyond bad, it's bad bad. jiang yuelou is not someone who accepts defeat easily, he never wants to be one step behind. when he's one step behind, he must be in the chasing mode—he must be the one controlling the lane, the illusion of safety margin that manipulates the target's decision, the pace of their game. but today, someone else's successfully taking over him without his permission, dragging him around like a lifeless ragdoll.

thinking about him getting controlled by an unknown party burns him, anger boils in his vein—violence at the tip of his fingers, ready to transfer his rage to anything and anyone without mercy. upon seeing jiang yuelou disappear into his room, song rong and sun yongren immediately rush to every corridor that yuelou will have to walk through to exit the building, telling everyone not to initiate any conversation if their boss pass them by to avoid making the bureau a blood painted crime scene.

"don't- don't talk to chief jiang when he walks out, understand?!" sun yongren repeats the same information to some rookies coming in for their night shift before running to other corridor. the young officers, still with their idealism and lack of experience, take it with a grain of salt.

next thing they know is they freeze under the wall-mounted lamp as jiang yuelou grimly walks down the corridor. noone says anything to him, not even looking up from the carpeted tiles after they nod to salute him. his subordinates immediately clear out of his way, bumping their shoulders into the wall to avoid bumping into the walking wrath instead.

the said chief passes by the rookies too, giving them a side-eye, and they feel like they just get caressed by death. the yellow lights from the filament lamp falls on his pale white face, clenched jawline, and riled expression every two meter, making his appearance more hair-rising due to scanty lighting and blank spots. in addition, winter wind is particularly strong this week, easily slipping inside from the gap between the window frame and the stone surface. the corridor, dimly lit and gravely chilling, feels like a gate to the underworld and yán wáng is coming to take them personally, for a good minute.

the chief keeps striding without diverting his attention anymore, eyes fixed forward to shove everyone aside. he only has one destination set in his mind now and before he gets to it, his revolver will aim towards whoever gets in his way and extricate them his way, which usually is... freestyle.

when yuelou arrives in front of yuzhi’s front gate, he can’t help the bubbling anger overflowing his already small pot. the wooden doors are closed, tight, locked, yelling at him “no chen yuzhi today.” noone in this world would understand the immense effect this sentence can do to jiang yuelou who has grown a co-dependency with the doctor. today is marked as yuelou’s worst setback in life.

the chief exhales loudly, admitting his defeat to the universe, and makes his way towards his house with heavy shoulders. the rage and anger he wanted to lash out recklessly towards chen yuzhi douses entirely by the fact that the doctor’s not home to listen to him vent. thank goodness the snowfall is not heavy today unless he’d bury himself under the thick snow in one of jing city’s darkest alley. it’s sad that he is alone in this big, big world today. dramatic, but valid.

just when he’s about to open the gate to his house, he sees they are already unlocked. jiang yuelou never forgets unlocking his own house. facing unforeseen danger on daily basis, yuelou immediately slips his hand into his jacket and pulls out the revolver from its holster. he opens the wooden gate slowly, trying not to make even a creak from the rusty hinge and accidentally announce his appearance instead.

slowly but steadily, the gap widens and he steps inside with his arms are stretched out, his revolver is ready for some quick shooting. but he is welcomed with his brightly lit house in lieu of a group of opium dealers whose lives he ruined in the past. his eyes widen in disbelief upon seeing steam rising from freshly cooked foods on his dining table. yuelou freezes from his place, his arms gradually lowering themselves as well as his self defense.

soon, a man dressed in a warm ivory white knitted turtleneck appears with two plates of dish in his hand coming out from his kitchen and setting them on the table with other dishes. his hair, as usual, combed neatly—unlike yuelou’s hasty finger-combing technique. he is wearing yuelou’s slipper, the one he left behind in his living room when he was off to work. the moment the said man looks up and meets him in the eyes, a smile blossoms on his face, so beautiful yuelou can feel his heart wrenches from the mere sight.

"yuelou? you're home."

this is the view he's always dreaming of for God knows how long but never dares to tell. to come home to chen yuzhi dressed in a warm clothes, smiling under the bright light of jiang residence and welcoming him with a tight hug. and if he tells him he misses him into his ear, yuelou will pepper him with kisses all over his face, free of charge for undeterminable time, until yuzhi is tired from giggling and trying to escape from his iron grip. until he puts his palm over yuelou's lips as the last attempt to prevent him from attacking his face again and smile playfully at yuelou's temporary defeat. until the glint in his gleaming doe eyes changes into something like want, something that sounds like a request to kiss him properly if yuelou has some energy left to be wasted.

and jiang yuelou will not ask twice if he catches yuzhi's eyes flicker to his lips just once and goes back to meet his eyes. because yuzhi will see him doing the same thing too and he will understand that both of them want it.

jiang yuelou slams the wooden gate close, storming towards chen yuzhi whose eyes widen at his explosive reaction. impulsivity has neither been a best friend nor a rival, in yuelou’s case, but he learns to run for what his heart longs the most. and this is the first time his body really runs for what his heart wants. his heart wants comfort.

the chief throws away his revolver once he is inside his house and immediately reaches out for the doctor. one of his arm pulls yuzhi closer to his body as tight as he could while the other one is fixated on yuzhi's jawline, gently tilting it to a better angle ‘cause,

fuck this.

"yue-"

chen yuzhi never finishes his name as yuelou closes their gap and captures his upper lip, his teeth painfully clashing against yuelou as the latter miscalculates his strength. but yuelou doesn’t stop to apologize like every time he accidentally hurt him, instead crowding him against the dining table and kissing the light out of him as if the last time he had a meal was a thousand years ago.

yuzhi is confused, very confused. this is not their first kiss, but this is the first kiss that yuelou does so overly rough, messy, and raw, like a mass mayhem in a week long blackout. he knows yuelou tends to be stormy when his trauma is triggered or his mission falls by the wayside but he never lets this kind of weather affects his behavior and treatment towards chen yuzhi. after the doctor treats him routinely and he gradually gets better at controlling his emotion.

understanding and patiently waiting are yuzhi’s best weapons to pacify yuelou, returning him back to the ground until both of his feet firmly embed to the soil. he only needs to mold it into a form of physical affection without trying to change his pace. something that jiang yuelou will perceive as an act of submission. only this way, yuelou can and will melt. he is not a man who can be persuaded by asserting one’s power on him, and coercion is never chen yuzhi’s forte anyways.

the doctor gently squeezes yuelou’s shoulder once where he places his hands before and moves to hook them around his neck. he buries his right hand in his black hair, his fingers are warm and heavy against the skin of yuelou’s head. his thumb is rubbing a small circle on his back head tenderly, like a mantra he does it over and over again until jiang yuelou comes back to his sense.

that’s when yuelou’s grip on his waist loosens little by little, his turbulent kissing reduces to a slower and intimate one—the one that always trips chen yuzhi and makes him fall deeper for the other man and his enigma. soft moan slips out of his lips only to get muffled by yuelou’s inadvertent growl. 

they gasp for air eventually but never leaving their hands from each other’s body, not quite ready to let go. in between their huff and puff, yuelou steals a soft kiss on yuzhi’s cheekbone.

“i’m sorry, love. i was–” yuelou hesitantly looks up, straight into yuzhi’s eyes. the decision is a bad move, probably the only bad move that yuelou has ever made ‘cause the emotion in yuzhi’s eyes, they remain calm and considerate, far from judgmental nor do they spiteful. his lips are bruised as hell but his eyes, they never stop glistening with benevolence and never-ending patience towards his lover.

jiang yuelou can’t stand the guilt rising in the depth of his heart after seeing them. they are together, chen yuzhi chooses to be with him not to be his outlet of rage. the image of his defenseless late mother flashes in yuzhi’s face and he instantly regrets whatever he forced yuzhi into earlier. even if it’s just a kiss, something he did daily, routinely, sneakily, wholeheartedly, nothing really abusive and malignant about it but yuzhi might be hurt today. and if yuelou hurts him, he is breaking his own rule written on the very top of the list.

“yuzhi, i’m sorry i–” chen yuzhi slides his hands, cupping the older man’s face that looks like a 13 year old boy now under the weight of his guilt. smiling ever so fondly, he says, “you are tired, love.”

words stuck in yuelou’s throat for the third time upon seeing yuzhi’s eyes that have perfectly sensed his weary and withheld agitation. it’s his red light, then. it’s time for him to let yuzhi take control of the situation and do his part of the day. to do what he is the best at that yuelou is the worst at. any other matters can wait until yuzhi deems him to be fully loaded with ammo and health again.

jiang yuelou leans forward into chen yuzhi’s body, resting his feverish forehead on the crook of his lover’s neck, seeking comfort and humanly touch. yuzhi can’t help smiling at yuelou’s clinginess—he never says it but he absolutely loves it. love the idea to take care of the most troublesome chief officer in the whole jing city. love the way his toned muscles and tensed neck relax under his lithe fingers as he bathes him in a bathtub.

“let me prepare hot water for your bath.”

“will you wash my hair too?”

“hm.”

“what else will you wash?”

chen yuzhi presses a kiss on yuelou’s cheek, whispering “make a wish” before walking towards the kitchen, and disappear behind the white wall.

#viriyanon answer #killer and healer #jiang yuelou #chen yuzhi #yuezhi #killer and healer fic #i should stick to making gif and doing fanart rite #viriyanon writes #of burned sunset

[winter-soldier-vibes]

Why do you bother with me? (Bucky x reader)

Why do you bother with me?

Bucky x reader

Summary: Reader struggles with body image, has bulimia and Bucky catches her purging one day while the rest of the team was on a mission

Word count 2726

Warnings: bulimia/vomiting, low self worth

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

You didn’t know how to stop. You didn’t even know if you wanted to stop.

You knew it was a problem and it was getting worse. And it started small. You were painfully aware of the people who you were living with and their appearances and you couldn’t help but feel insecure around them. Especially when you were around Natasha. She was like a goddess, and you just wished you had a fraction of the looks she had going for her.

Looking at yourself in the mirror, you felt absolutely disgusting. All you saw were problems and things that could be improved. You decided to stop eating as much as you were, and if you did then to eat only healthy things. And it worked for a while. It was all healthy and there wasn’t an issue.

That is, until one night when you were out with the others.

You had gone out to a bar with a few of the team members after a mission to celebrate. And you really didn’t plan on drinking as much as you did. But you felt a little buzz and then there was a bunch of food and you didn’t stop yourself. Later that night you realized what had happened and you began to panic

How could I be so stupid?

What the fuck was I thinking?

God I’m such a failure…

You were trying to figure out what to do to fix what had happened. You were frantically trying to figure something out as you looked at yourself in the mirror, when your gaze focused on the toilet that was behind you. You froze. Is this what you wanted to do? Was it even an option? You had heard about purging before and you knew the consequences it could have on your body. But then you thought back on the last few hours.

You didn’t think you had a choice.

You made sure the door was locked and played music on your phone, turning to the toilet. You bent over in front of it and stuck a finger down your throat. You weren’t practiced at all in how to do this, so it took a few tries before it began to work. It felt horrid, and you wondered if it was really worth it. But whenever you would go to stop you found that you couldn’t. Because after that initial awful feeling, you felt relief.

When you began dry heaving and nothing more was coming up, you flushed the toilet and walked over to the sink to clean yourself off. Your eyes and face were red and your throat was sore, but you just wet a towel and wiped your face. 

You really thought it’d just be a one time thing. You had no idea it would ever become a habit

You had gone back to your regular way of eating, but whenever you ate something you deemed to be ‘bad’, you would find yourself bending over the toilet and vomiting it out minutes later. You would always promise yourself that it would be the last time, but it never was. 

Instead, you found yourself wanting to do it more. It was addicting, the euphoric feeling of being empty and being able to control it. You would obsessively control your intake but every few days you would give in and eat some sort of junk food, just being unable to resist. But once you came back to your senses you would revert back to the bathroom, knowing you could get rid of it. 

It had gone from being once a week to almost every day and you didn’t remember when that happened. You found yourself being triggered to do it more often, feeling less able and willing to eat. 

Your throat was always sore and raw, and your knuckles were beginning to call us over. Your stomach was in constant pain and whenever you stood up you would get tunnel vision and sway on your feet a little. Whenever someone would catch any of this, you just claimed to not \drinking enough water or forgetting to wrap your hands when using the punching bag. 

You were losing weight, and you loved every bit of it. But after a few weeks your weight stabilized and you became frustrated. You weren’t doing anything differently, and even though you still slipped up, you always fixed it. You began throwing up almost anything you put in your body, refusing to keep anything down.

The team had noticed you were losing weight but they didn’t think too much of it. At least, not at first. But when you kept getting dizzy when you stood up, that was a cause for concern. Steve made sure you weren’t assigned to any missions for fear that you’d pass out. You were angry when you realized why you were staying back all the time, but you gave it up. There wasn’t anything you could do about it without changing your ways, and you weren’t ready to give that up just yet.

You kept losing weight, and you weren’t able to keep anything down anymore. You were terrified that someone would find out, but it was overpowered by the urges to care too much.

Most of the team was away on a mission, except for you and Bucky. He had to stay back because the team was still a little hesitant to bring him on missions. Steve trusted him wholeheartedly, but he knew that it would take time for the rest of them to get to know the Bucky he knew.

You had been exercising despite the dizziness that you felt because you felt like you needed to. And it wasn’t too bad after a while. You’d learned to ignore it. It always went away eventually.

You finished beating the punching bag and began to unwrap your hands when you heard a voice from behind you.

“At least you remembered to wrap them this time.”

Startled, you turned around to see Bucky with a half grin on his face. You smiled and brought a hand to your chest. “You scared me!”

He chuckled. “Sorry, my bad.”

You shook your head and bent over to grab your water bottle, but when you stood back up another wave of dizziness hit you. You put an arm out to lean on the punching bag, but Bucky caught you first.

“Woah, you okay?” he asked. He noticed how your fram was a lot smaller than he remembered.

You shook your head and got your footing back, pushing away from Bucky. “Yeah. Fine.”

He stood there for a second. “Whatever just happened, I don’t think that it’s normal. So you want to tell me the truth?”

You offered him a smile. “I just probably haven’t -”

“Been drinking enough water, yeah I know.” he finished for you. You closed your mouth and looked away, biting your lips nervously. “Look, it’s just after noon, why don’t you come eat something with me.”

You snapped your head up, but tried to hide the panic on your face. If you said no, he’d suspect something and insist. You knew you could take care of it after. Plus, what harm would it do? You hadn’t kept much down the past few days anyway. Nodding, you head out with him to the kitchen.

You made yourself something small, and Bucky noticed that too. But he decided not to say anything about it. Not yet anyways. It was when you were playing around with it more than eating that he decided to speak up.

“Something wrong y/n?”

You came out of your thoughts, realizing you had been absent-mindedly picking at your food. Shaking your head, you said “No, everything’s fine,” and brought your fork to your mouth.

With every (small) bite you took, your stomach churned. You knew it sounded crazy but you just felt like it was causing you to gain weight with every forkful. Eventually it got to be too much for you and you pushed your chair back, bringing your half eaten plate to the sink. Bucky looked confused, this was coming out of nowhere for him. “You okay?”

Turning your head as you walked out, you said “Yeah, just not feeling great. I’m just gonna go lie down.” Before he could say anything, you turned on your heel and left. 

You walked quickly until you were out of sight and ran the rest of the way back to your room. Shutting the bathroom door, you hunched over the toilet and shoved 3 fingers down your throat, trying to trigger your gag reflex. It didn’t take too long before what little you had eaten began coming back up.

What you didn’t know was that Bucky, being the concerned man that he is, had decided to come to your room. If you weren’t feeling well he wanted to know if he could do anything. But when he saw you weren’t in bed and the bathroom door was shut, he grew more concerned. And even more so when he heard you retching.

In your panic, you had forgotten to turn on some sort of sound to cover up the sounds you were making, but you also forgot to lock the door. Bucky opened it to see you hunched over and he quickly came over and started pulling your hair out of your face, rubbing your back. You didn;t even notice

But he noticed after a few seconds was that one of your hands was in your mouth, and he grew even more worried. Pulling your hand away gently, he said  “Hey, stop it.” You flinched at his touch, finally realizing he was there. Your eyes widened and you tried to wrench your arm back, but he tightened his grip.

“What are you doing?” he asked softly.

You shook your head, a little out of breath and heart racing. You kept your eyes anywhere but on Bucky, saying softly “I just didn’t feel well…”

“Then why did you have to force yourself to throw up?”

You opened and closed your mouth a few times, trying to find the right thing to say. And if there was any chance that you could talk your way out of having this conversation. You felt tears in your eyes and let out a sob before you could stop it.

He hugged you and started to rub your back. He whispered comforting things to you, and after a while you realized he was slipping in Romanian phrases. You had no idea what they were, but it was relaxing you. 

Once you had calmed down enough, you said “I don’t know how to stop.”

Bucky swallowed. “Wait - how long have you been doing this for?”

He had an idea of how long, but he wanted to be wrong. He couldn’t imagine someone doing this to themselves for an extended period of time.

“I don’t know...a few months?”

His grip on you tightened. “Why are you doing this to yourself?”

You shrugged. “I was insecure about myself I guess. Hell, I can’t look at or think about Nat without hating myself. I was dieting and it was fine until this one night where I just totally binged while I was drunk. I thought it’d be a one-time kind of thing.” you shook your head. “I never meant for it to get this far.”

“Why didn’t you say anything?” he asked, trying to understand why you wouldn’t ask for help when you were obviously hurting.

You closed your eyes, embarrassed to give your answer. “I didn’t want to stop. And I knew that you guys would make me.”

Bucky’s heart ached for you, wishing he had said something sooner. He had noticed you were getting thinner but he didn’t think too much about it. But it was all starting to make sense to him now. You disappeared after eating, your knuckles would be raw sometimes, the dizziness… he felt like an ass for not putting it all together.

“You know how unhealthy this is, don’t you? He tried.

You nodded into his chest. “I guess I just stopped caring.”

He pulled back to look you in the eyes, and his hands rested on your shoulders. “You know how much we all love you, don’t you?” You nodded and he continued. “Look, I know you might feel like you have to do this, but it’s so dangerous.” He swallowed before he said “This can kill you, you know that right?” You kept your eyes downcast but you nodded again. He sighed. “This team needs you y/n.”

You now looked at him, fresh tears in your eyes as you narrowed them. “Do they?”

He shook his head slightly. He didn’t understand how you couldn’t understand your worth. “Yes, we all do. You’re so valuable to everyone not just as a team member, but as a friend. You’re such a great person. You’re funny, kind, brave, everything about you is good.” You scoffed slightly, wanting to believe him but not quite able to. “I really want to trust you on that, I really do. But I just don’t.”

He sighed again. “Well it’s true,” he said softly. You pulled your lips into a smile for a split second before dropping it again. “Let’s get you cleaned up,” he said, and you noticed that your hand still had vomit on it. God I’m disgusting.

You flushed and moved to the sink, bringing water to your face before looking over to Bucky. “You know you don’t have to stay, right?”

He smiled slightly. “I want to.”

You tried to hide the confusion you felt and turned back to the sink, trying to wash away the redness in your eyes but not really succeeding. You turned off the water and dried your hands and face, before running a hand through your hair and crossing your arms. “I’m sorry you had to see all of that. Look I’m serious, I’ll be fine if you go -”

“I’m not going anywhere, doll.” he said. Since when did he call me that? You wondered. Shaking it off, you nodded and turned back to your room, sitting on the bed. You kept your eyes on your hands in your lap but felt the bed dip next to you. “Why are you even bothering with me?” you asked, still looking down.

“Because I care.”

Now you looked at him, not hiding your confusion this time. “Why?”

Because you’re an amazing person. Because I can’t stand to see you doing this to yourself. Because I’m worried about you.” He looked down and took a breath before he looked back at you. “Because I like you, y/n.”

You furrowed your brows together. You were not expecting that. “Sorry, I shouldn’t have said that -”

“No, no It’s not that, it’s not that at all,” you said, putting a hand on his arm. You took a breath before saying “I - I’m just a lot to deal with. And I don’t know why you’d want to put up with me.”

He cocked up an eyebrow. “And I’m getting over everything HYDRA did to me and I have a metal arm, I’m sorry, I’m not a lot to deal with?” he asked before laughing a little. You joined him, nodding slightly. “Good point.” you said.

“But I am being serious y/n. I really do like you.” You looked up at him and from what you could tell, he was being genuine. After today, you had no idea why no one else really trusted him. He was being so sweet to you. Smiling a little, you confessed “I like you too Bucky.”

He brought you in to hug him again, and this time you wrapped your arms around him too. “We’ll get through this y/n. I’m here for you all the way.”

You nodded. Maybe he was right. “Thank you Bucky.”

“For what?”

You looked up at him. “For believing in me. For staying. And for this,” you leaned forward to kiss him.

After a few seconds he pulled away, the two of you smiling. “Anytime, y/n”

#buckybarnes #buckybarnescomfort #avengers #mcu #marvel #fanfiction #imagine #bucky imagine #bucky barnes #bucky barnes imagine #bucky barns x reader #bucky barnes comfort #bucky barns imagine #bucky barns fanfiction #tw bulimia #tw body insecurity #tw bulemia #tw purge

[spaceprincessem]

I would like to request a prompt of dick and kory bickering and Dick kisses kory to stop argument as I really love dick and kory bickering like a married couple and Dick and kory becoming an official couple

oh hey there friend! Thank you for the prompt! I think I made this way more angst filled than you might have wanted oops haha. I’m also going to take this opportunity to use it for Septembers DickKory prompt: Autumn/Spring @dickkorysource So I hope you enjoy!!

Dick knew he fucked up.

It wasn’t like he was doing it on purpose or anything, but despite everything Dick still hadn’t learned to control his self sacrificing nature. It was something that had just been ingrained into him since Jericho. The need to save everyone, the need to pay the price even if he didn’t commit the crime. He sat on the cold, hard ground, arms wrapped around his knees as dark, glowing hands ran over his back, magic slipping through his hair, pulling the terrible pain into a simple, dull ache in his head. He kept his eyes on the cluster of trees just in front of him, leaves bursting with colors of fiery reds, oranges, and yellows. It was a bright contrast to the grey evening, clouds threatening to burst with rain at any moment.

A chilly burst of wind knocked against the trees, leaves scattering to the ground. He watched one leaf in particular, swaying back and forth, slowly sinking until it gently settled in a puddle. Autumn gave way to winter, allowing a certain quietness to overtake the city as life prepared for the long months ahead, resting and waiting for the first hints of spring. Spring allowed the chance for new beginnings. Fall was gentle. Falling was easy. He was an expert at falling, but unlike that soft, orange leaf Dick’s fall had not been kind. It was a fall that promised the end. There would be no quiet winters nor the chance of starting over again in spring. Just an end.

And just when the fall was inevitable, he was reminded of the promise of summer, bright, hot, and blazing as strong arms grasped him, pulling him to safety. Now those summer eyes were burning into his skin, setting him ablaze as if the sun were beating down on him like it was high noon. 

He felt the magic slowly fade and the small clearing of a throat snapped his attention forward, but he still didn’t meet the bright greens watching him closely.

“Thank you, Rachel,” Kory said, tone hinting just how pissed she was, “we’ll join you all in a moment.”

Dick watched Rachel leave before he slowly got to his feet. He rolled his neck, his shoulders, flexing his sore muscles. He knew Kory was waiting, arms crossed over her chest, but he wasn’t ready to give an answer.

“Thanks,” he said instead as he ran a hand through his sweaty hair, “for saving me.”

“Want to tell me why you decided to go off on your own?” She asked. Straight to the point. There was never any bullshitting with Kory.

Dick frowned. “Does it matter?”

He heard Kory exhale deeply and he chanced a glance at her. She was still in civilian clothes and he noted - with a private smile - she had grabbed one of his leather jackets to wear. He could feel his heart leaping in his throat at the sight.

“Yes, Dick, it matters.” Kory said, exasperated. “You could have died.”

“I’m fine.” He said with a wave of his hand. He wanted to leave because he was afraid of where this could go if they stayed.

Kory laughed. A hollow sound. “Dick, seriously? The only reason you’re alive right now is because Gar and I figured out you had gone out behind our backs.”

“I didn’t want anyone to get hurt.” He argued back. It was a reflexive answer, one he always had sitting on the edge of his tongue.

“But it’s okay if you get hurt?” Kory asked, arching an eyebrow.

“No, that’s not-” He huffed in annoyance. “Look, he wanted me and if that meant that I could take the heat off of the rest of you-”

“No.” Kory snarled, eyes flashing for a moment. “No, you don’t get to do that.”

“So you’re telling me I should just stand back and watch the rest of you get hurt because of me?” Dick said through gritted teeth. This guy had come too close to destroying all of them. Destroying his family. He couldn’t live with himself if he lost the Titans. Lost Gar and Rachel. Lost Kory.

“God, Dick,” Kory said as she turned away from him, flinging her arms in the air, “you’re so infuriating! We can handle ourselves!”

Dick rolled his eyes. “You don’t think I don’t know that?”

“It doesn’t seem like it when you run off and play hero all the goddamn time!” Kory barked as she rounded on him again. “Tell me why you went this time.”

Dick froze. He could come up with a million reasons, all of them believable, but there was one - just one - that kept running through his mind, clawing its way up his throat, threatening to burst out. He tried to choke it down because he couldn’t, no, he wouldn’t say it.

His silence only pissed Kory off that much more. “Don’t you dare give me the silent treatment. Tell me why you went off on your own.”

“Kory…”

“Is it because you have something to prove?” She asked, taking a step closer to him. “Is it because you think you’re the only one who can save the world?” She was in his space now, finger jabbing against his chest.

“No I-” he began even as something inside him told him to lie. 

Lie. Lie. Lie.   

“Do you feel like you have to pay some stupid price for the mistakes of the past?” She continued, hitting everything fucking nail on the head, because she knew him, she knew him like no one else and it was fucking terrifying. “Because if we lose you then I wouldn’t know what to do with myself, Dick, and you have to stop being so selfish and-”

Kory was cut off and Dick cupped her cheeks, bringing their lips together. Because this, this right here, was the reason he had done the stupid, terrible things he did. Because losing Kory was as painful as it gets and if he could do anything - anything - to keep her safe then he would. He’d go to the ends of the earth, hell and back, and all those other stupidly cliche declarations of love and sacrifice because that’s just who he was. Maybe Kory understood, because it was Kory and she was the most perceptive person in the universe and, yeah, maybe Dick didn’t deserve her, but she cared about him anyway and it was enough being wrapped in her arms as their lips met in hunger and desperation. 

They broke apart, foreheads leaning against each other.

“Run off again to play hero,” Kory said, but her voice was soft, pleading, gentle, “and I’ll kill you myself.”

Dick smiled before brushing his lips against her forehead and pulling her tightly against his chest.

#dickkory #titans #dickkorysource #titans tv #dick grayson #koriand'r #tt

[ambersky0319]

Some random shit cause why not?

Gonna do this organized by pairing so

Creativitwins

When I say creativitwins btw, I mean no romantic relations between these two what so ever, and only mean their sibling relationship. RemRom shippers DNI/Do NOT tag as RemRom

They have a monthly prank war, most of it taking place in the Imagination so they can go all out but sometimes they'll do more harmless pranks on the others in the mind palace

If they have partners, they're best friends with the other person's partner

Ex. Intrulogical and Roceit = Platonic!Logince and Platonic!Dukeceit

Neither of them is King, and King is neither of the twins. It took awhile for everyone in the mind palace to accept this

They celebrate the split together, for awhile it was in secret. They spend the day just at each others sides and its the one day everyone can expect them to get along

They would murder for each other

Very critical of one another's partners if they have them

They both helped in creating the Dragon Witch, and the Dragon Witch has a strong bond with the twins because of this; the Dragon Witch was the last creation they made together before feuds started between them

Remus does very minor things that annoys Roman but Roman can't get mad cause they're really petty things and he hates that Remus knows just how far to push it

They binge movies sometimes, alternating between what each of them likes

They collaborate on fanfics together

Often times it's hurt/comfort fics

Remus is scarily good at writing fluff with very interesting descriptions and Roman's amazing when it comes to angst that can punch you in the gut in so few words

They are the matchmaking royalty of the mind palace, and know within hours when someone develops a crush

They both get very loopy whenever Thomas has a crush, and around 3am if Thomas hasn't gone to bed yet

They get into a l o t of fights, and often say many things they don't mean. They make it up usually but there are some things that were never resolved

Remus taught Roman how to sew, but he's awful at designing himself so Roman helped create Remus's outfit so that it didn't look like a fashion hurricane had wrecked his brother

Sometimes Remus will waltz into Roman's room when Roman is sleeping and just flop onto Roman

On these nights(it's always in the middle of the night) everyone will be woken up by unholy screeches from Roman as Remus refuses to get off him. Except Deceit, who sleeps with headphones on and music blasting cause he knows Remus will do some random loud shit at night and he needs beauty sleep

Both the twins can't recall any memories from King, but they have a journal left by him in the center of the Imagination and sometimes they'll just sit together and go through the entries

At the end of the day they have each other's backs and would do anything to protect the other

Kingceit

This is obviously before the split

King just always felt a certain curiosity when it came to the dishonest side, and Deceit didn't mind Creativity's company

When Virgil first forms they take care of him together

Deceit is tiny and King is pretty tall so King just loves to carry Deceit around and Deceit just lets him after awhile

King loves hearing Deceit sing

King also adores Deceit's scales, and he loves kissing every single one in the morning and seeing Deceit's human side blush

Deceit enjoys hearing King's random stories and ideas, and often helped expand them by asking questions

For a long time Deceit had some control over the Imagination because King gave him that ability, but after the split Deceit left all the control to Remus and Roman

Deceit still can't enter the Imagination after the split occurred, no matter how much the twins beg him to visit and see what they've created

King and Deceit's relationship just kind of works, y'know? And it just sort of happened over time and it just felt right to them

King is not allowed to cook. He does not fight Deceit's decision to ban him from the kitchen, as last time King tried cooking he nearly burned most of the house

King's great at decorating cake tho so Deceit bakes the cake and King gets free reign over how it looks in the end

They go to bed super early and sleep in till around noon, often drifting back and forth between sleep and consciousness

Both are absolute saps when they're tired and say the most cheesy shit to one another

Dukexiety

Late night conspiracies

They actually make a great team when protecting Thomas, none of the other sides realize that a lot of the things that Virgil worries over for Thomas's sake were things suggested by Remus(ex. "What if that guy drugged our drink and we end up being overcome with so much pain that it paralyzes us and we can't call out and he ends up killing us" turns into "hey lets not drink this in case someone messed with it")

Virgil loves listening to Remus's stories, and is often one of the first to read them(after Remus tells him anything that might be triggering so Virgil knows if he could take it or not)

Remus is a cuddle monster but respects when Virgil doesn't want to touch anyone and usually asks if Virgil would rather be alone or if Remus could like, hang out on Virgil's floor for a bit of something

Remus made Virgil's hoodie

They both stay up incredibly late just talking about anything

And they both get up incredibly early

Logan scolds them constantly that they should sleep more

Virgil one time made a playlist for Remus to use when writing and Remus fucking cried while almost squeezing the life out of Virgil in a hug

Virgil's also drawn fan art for Remus's work but never intended to show Remus cause Virgil never thought he was any good

Remus found his sketchbooks one day and tackled Virgil in a hug the next time he saw Virgil

Virgil loves holding hands, so if cuddling is too much they'll just hold hands and sit side by side doing their own thing

Virgil absolutely loves Remus's tentacles, they're incredibly useful and whenever Remus uses them to hug Virgil, Virgil never feels safer

Virgil is strong as hell and just carries Remus bridal style sometimes

Virgil does Remus's makeup

Remus calls Virgil his Scare-bear and his Starshine, Virgil calls Remus his Gremlin and Bastard Husband(Remus grins ear-to-ear at the nicknames)

Also common when they're both sleep deprived and sappy and shit are Hon, Love, Darling, Dearest, Honey-Bear, Light of my life, Night to my day, and Moon to my stars

Intrulogical

They're both enthusiasts of forensic shows and murder mysteries

The show Forensic Files? They binged every episode together. They try to figure out who the culprit was before the episode ends and it's revealed. Remus has been correct 5 more times than Logan, however they both often get it right

Remus is on amazing terms with the Dragon Witch and the Dragon Witch ends up officiating at their wedding

Logan patches up Remus whenever one of Remus's creatures hurt him

Logan will edit all of Remus's works, as well as help develop ideas by giving feedback or ask questions or just listen to Remus ramble

Logan loves Remus rambling and will get comfortable wherever they are cause it can go on for hours

Not that he minds

Remus is Logan's Duke and Logan is Remus's Star

Remus is very easy to fluster

Especially when Logan says he loves Remus. Even after the thousandth time Remus turns crimson

Fucking dramatic these two are with their romantic gestures and yet still somehow keep their relationship hidden for years

Remus loves Logan's room cause it's actually very calming and it's filled with a bunch of soft chairs, piles of pillows and blankets, and an air mattress in the corner if anyone wants to sleep in Logan's room for the night

Logan was shocked that Remus's room was actually pretty organized. Still messy, but you could definitely find anything you needed by just glancing around

They both enthuse about space

Remus created a constellation in the Imagination and named it Logan

He also regularly creates new constellations there so Logan can find them and name them

Logan definitely writes fanfics based on Remus's stories

Remus breaks down the first time Logan says he loves Remus, and the night ends with him holding Remus close and uttering the words softly over and over

Remus loves hearing Logan read and sometimes if Remus can't sleep Logan will just read to him

Anxceit

Virgil and Deceit have many debates, they're friendly though and they both agree before the debates that they'll keep it friendly

Deceit's great at getting Virgil out of a panic or anxiety attack

Deceit uses all six of his arms when cuddling Virgil, playing with Virgil's hair or hands and holding him around the waist or stomach

They bake together a lot. Virgil has a massive sweet tooth

Will stab a bitch if you hurt the other

Virgil really loves to paint Deceit's nails

He also sometimes uses makeup to cover up Deceit's scales when Deceit gets really self conscious about them. Once the makeup comes off though Virgil will pepper kisses over the scales and run his fingers over them lightly and tell Deceit how gorgeous he looks

On the flip side Deceit loves his scales and so does Virgil cause they glimmer in the light

Virgil adores drawing Deceit

They do holidays in an anti way and do the opposite of everything you're supposed to do

They just sort of had an agreement that they'd get married and then they did, no big wedding or anything

Everyone was shook when they learned that the two were together, more so married

Both love cuddling and hold each other whenever. But they still have their different rooms cause sometimes you need a break y'know?

Sometimes they'll sit together in relative silence doing their own thing but like, leaning against one another lightly as they do it

Deceit monitors Virgil's coffee intake

#dukexiety #creativitwins #intrulogical #kingceit #anxceit #virgil sanders #deceit sanders #remus sanders #logan sanders #roman sanders #king sanders #romantic intrulogical #romantic dukexiety #romantic anxceit #romantic kingceit #sanders sides #ts sides #ts logan #ts remus #ts deceit #ts king #ts virgil #sympathetic virgil #sympathetic logan #sympathetic deceit #sympathetic remus #headcanons #long post

[percy-the-penguin]

Struggles

Ok so thanks everyone who encouraged me to do this, love you all

It’s about S!Anne’s struggles with OCD and ADHD and S!Jane struggling with Dyslexia. 

It was a bit rushed so sorry about that and sorry if I get anything about any of these things wrong. I was able to use my own experiences with ADHD and Dyslexia but I did my best with OCD

This has the HC that Anna has OCD

Last names= Swapped

Word count: 1502

TW: None I don’t think, let me know though

Boleyn was sitting on the couch reading. It was a book about Mental illness and she was on the OCD chapter. Cathy had given her the book since she realized how much the queen liked to learn

Boleyn tapped the fingers of her right hand on the armrest of the couch every time she turned the page. Pointer, middle, pointer. She didn’t realize she was doing it. It was just a subconscious habit

When she reached the end of the chapter she shut the book and started thinking as she set the book perfectly centered on the table in front of her

Seymour ran down the stairs, her trusty lighter in hand and signature smirk on her face. She skidded to a stop when she noticed Boleyn sitting on the couch, looking at the closed book in front of her 

“Hey nerd, you know what helps with reading? Opening the book.”

“I am aware of this you uncultured swine. I’m merely pondering on the chapter I just read.”

Boleyn’s watched beeped, signifying it was noon. She took her hair down from the low ponytail it had previously been in

“Okay well what were you reading?” Seymour questioned

“Not something you could grasp.” Boleyn retorted

“I’m smarter then you think, try me.”

“I highly doubt that’s true”

Seymour rolled her eyes and picked up the book after putting her lighter in her pocket. She opened to a random page and started scanning it, attempting to make sense of the jumbled mix of letters and words that she was seeing. She frowned “What’s dysphoria?”

Boleyn stood, walking over to stand on the right of the beheaded

“Firstly, dysphoria is by definition ‘a state of unease or generalized dissatisfaction with life.’ secondly, that word is dyslexia, not dysphoria. Lastly, dyslexia is ‘a general term for disorders that involve difficulty in learning to read or interpret words, letters, and other symbols, but that do not affect general intelligence.’”

“Can I set this book on fire?” Seymour asked

“No!” Boleyn responded, snatching the book as Seymour pulled out her lighter

“What’re you two up to?” Jane questioned as she walked into the room the two swapped queens were in 

Seymour scowled and grumbled something under her breath. She wasn’t the biggest fan of her counterpart 

“Good afternoon” Boleyn greeted “I was reading when this vermin interrupted me” 

Seymour rolled her eyes “You were not reading”

“I was processing the words on the cover and therefore reading” 

Jane looked at the two with a slightly confused expression on her face “Alright..would either of you like anything?”

“I would like to burn that book” Seymour announced 

“No.” Boleyn responded quickly 

“Erm, lets not” Jane said with an awkward laugh

Seymour sighed “You guys are no fun”

Jane went into the kitchen to make herself some tea

Within the next few days, Cathy had started noticing Seymours struggle with reading and writing along with Boleyns methodic tendencies and hyperfocus 

She approached Seymour first

“Hey” Cathay greeted

Seymour glanced over “Hey.”

“Can I ask you a question?”

“There’s nothing stopping you.” Seymour responded

“Fair enough. Do you have Dyslexia?”

Seymour simply shrugged “I don’t know. Is that the reading thingy Boleyn was going on about?”

Cathy nodded and Seymour shrugged again “Don’t know”

They had a short conversation before Cathy asked Seymour to read something which confirmed her theory when Seymour read d’s as b’s, q’s as p’s and constantly switched words and lines. Cathay thanked Seymour and left her so she could do..whatever she was doing.

She went to Boleyn next 

“Hi”

“Hello Catherine” Boleyn looked up “May I help you?”

“I just had a question. You read the book I gave you right?”

Boleyn nodded in confirmation “Yes.”

“Do you think you might have OCD?”

“I believe it could be a possibility, yes.”

Cathy nodded “What about ADHD?”

Boleyn pondered on the question for a moment before responding “That is also a valid theory. I do exhibit the Hyper Focused side of the disorder”

Cathy nodded again “Well if you want to talk to anyone about it, Anna has OCD and Anne has ADHD”

“Thank you.” Boleyn responded politely though the thought of talking to her chaotic counterpart was not appealing 

After a few days, Boleyn got curious so she went to Anna’s room and knocked on the door

“Who is it?” The red queen called 

“Boleyn” the divorced queen responded 

There was silence for a moment before Anna responded 

“Come in”

“Thank you” Boleyn said as she walked into the room, closing the door behind her

“Cathy says you have OCD?”

Anna nodded “Yeah?”

“I do too, self diagnosed of corse but I was wondering if you had any tips to help me cope with the compulsions and, erm..more intrusive thoughts.”

Anna nodded in understanding “I’m not sure how good my advice would be but I can give it a shot”

Boleyn nodded in acceptance and sat down, waiting for Anna to speak 

“First off, never try to stop the thoughts. Nine times out of ten it only makes it worse. Secondly, it’s okay if you slip up with a compulsion. It doesn’t mean you’re a failure if you do. Thirdly, slowly try to lessen the compulsions like if you have a tapping compulsion where you uh..tap a doorframe five times before you go through. Next time try to just do four and repeat that until it feels comfortable. It’s okay if it feels uncomfortable at first, that’s completely normal so don’t push it. Lastly, don’t be afraid to reach out and ask someone for help. It sometimes helps to talk about your thoughts and compulsions and can even lead to good methods of dealing with them. Oh, also, everyone’s OCD is different so if some methods don’t work for you that’s okay. You can find your own methods and do research on what could work.”

Boleyn nodded “Thank you that was quite helpful”

“Happy to help” Anna respond 

“Have a good day.” Boleyn respond before exiting the room, automatically touching the door frame with her right hand as she went

Boleyn took a breath and thought for a moment before deciding to talk to her counterpart against her better judgement 

She walked into Anne’s room. Anne was laying stomach down on the bed, propped up with her elbows as she held a controller and played Halo

“Are you busy?” Boleyn asked 

“Yeah but give me a sec and I’ll be right with you” Anne responded

Boleyn sat down and waited. It took Anne five minutes to get bored of what she was doing so she took out the game and put in another, seemingly forgetting about Boleyn who cleared her throat to get the girls attention

Anne looked over “Oh, right, sorry. What’s up?”

“I was wondering about your ADHD”

Anne shrugged “I have it. No idea what it means.”

“Well what are your symptoms?”

“Uhhh” Anne thought back to when Cathy had talked to her “Hyper, short attention span, fidgeting, impulsive, probably some other stuff. I dunno” 

“That was little help but good to know, thank you” 

“Mhm” Anne had already gone back to the game 

Boleyn rolled her eyes and left

Seymour sighed as she sat on the couch, biting her lip and questioning how the fuck people could read. Parr had suggested the book but Seymour was having great trouble decoding the words. She was about a minute away from burning the stupid book when Cathy came down 

“What’s up?” Cathy asked, seeing the frustration on Seymours face

“I can’t read this stupid ass book” Seymor complained “The words are all jumbled and the letters don’t make sense and I keep skipping lines”

“Have you ever tried an audio book?” Cathy suggested

“Hm?” Seymour asked 

“Its something where someone reads a story and records it. There are a lot of apps for them. It might help you to listen to it as well as read along to keep yourself on track. May I see your phone?”

Seymour looked suspicious but gave Cathy her phone after unlocking it 

Cathy downloaded an audio book app for her and started the subscription with her own money

“Thanks..” Seymour said “Why are you helping me? Do you want something?”

Cathy shook her head “No no, I just enjoy reading and hopefully you will too once you get the hang of it. Reading also leads to better writing so its a win-win” the blue queen smiled “Just remember it can be frustrating but thats okay. Learning no skills are hard but please don’t set anything on fire because of it”

Seymour smirked “I make no promises” 

Cathy laughed a bit

Within the next few days, Seymour was making progress. Cathy had been right, the audiobooks did make a difference and helped her follow along. When she was listening to audio books was the only time she wasn’t chaotic, almost peaceful. Of course she never forgot to add just a bit of mischief to someones day

@ender1821 @arithebroadwayaddict @mega-heir-of-heart

#six the musical swapped au

[aenwoedbeannaa]

A Curse Meant to Be Broken | Geralt x Reader | Part 3

Summary: The famous Geralt of Rivia has promised to banish a Noonwraith from your village – one that he knows is tied to you directly, but that is not the only monster he vows to fight. Despite his adamance that you do not accompany him to the old home to which the Wraith is bound, the White Wolf may not have a choice.

Word Count: 3,050

Warning(s): Violence, blood.

Notes: I am aware that the Noonwraith in this story isn’t necessarily 100% lore-friendly, but in this house, we bend lore for the sake of storytelling.

Part 1 | Part 2

From the Ashes

You wake up at dawn, soft light peeking through the mismatched washboard walls of your small room, and flooding in through the weather-beaten window above the small desk. You are surprised that you fell asleep at all, with all the unanswerable questions racing through your head and the nervous energy that seems to be lighting your nerves on fire.

You dress quickly, with shaky hands – a plain dress cinched at the waist with a belt and your beaten-up leather boots. You feel strange without the silver piece of jewelry hanging around your neck, but you know that it is for the best. Still, you stare at yourself in the cloudy mirror that never seems to get clean no matter how much your scrub it, feeling the slight sting of emptiness and loss.

You rinse your hands and face in the washbasin at the other side of the room and comb your hair, just as you would any morning; as if this was just a normal morning. And, indeed, it starts that way. You rush down to the kitchens to help prepare breakfast – in your case, mostly just setting things on platters and rushing back and forth between the kitchen and the dining room. Usually, Stephic would just take his breakfast in his study, but this morning, there is a guest, and so the dining room must be prepared.

You feel a pang of emotion when you spot the two chairs, left out at slight angles. You take a breath to stay composed as you straighten them and push them back in. A quick survey of the rest of the dining room confirms that it is ready – perfectly suitable for Stephic and his coin-bought friends. And, of course, Geralt of Rivia, the guest for whom this whole thing was being prepared.

Geralt of Rivia, who people call a mutant and a monster, but who was the only person to treat you like a human being in years.

Geralt of Rivia, who told you everything was going to be ok.

Finally, you head back to the kitchen to eat your own breakfast. While the household is eating eggs, bacon, and fried potatoes, your breakfast is the same as always – a bowl of sticky oats with a spare bit of honeycomb. Stephic liked to talk about how well the servants in his house were treated, but it was such a bold-faced lie no one dared challenge it – except Geralt of Rivia.

By now, you can hear the creaking of hardwood floors as the rest of the manor begins to wake. You stomach churns with anxiety, making it increasingly difficult to eat the porridge in front of you, despite the fact that there was extra honeycomb today, which you love. You know that the Witcher told you that you cannot go with him to the old house, but you don’t plan on following that advice. Sure, you know that you shouldn’t disobey orders, but it is the cursed spirit of your mother. All of the anger and bitterness you feel, but multiplied tenfold; enough to leave her spirit – angry and lethal and stuck in this god-forsaken town.

“Girl,” the chef barks, pulling you from your thoughts, “Are you going to finish eating or just stare off into space like you’ve lost your brain?”

You turn and glance at him, glowering. Ordinarily, you do whatever you can to appease everyone in the house for fear of retaliation or punishment, but today is no ordinary day. And, if the Witcher was not speaking falsely, perhaps you won’t have to worry about Stephic and his monsters any longer.

“Don’t look at me like that, wench,” the cook shoots back, eyes narrowed in frustration. He is not used to being challenged by you.

“I’ll look at you however I please,” you shoot back, feeling a surge of energy that you have not felt in years. With an end to this living hell in sight, some of your old fearlessness has returned – remnants of a personality long abandoned for the sake of self-preservation.

After a moment of tense silence, the cook barks a laugh. “You think, just because you had one conversation with the famous Geralt of Rivia, that your life is about to change?”

You try not to let your face reveal that he had struck a nerve, reminded you of the precarious situation you were still in. You will your expression to turn to stone, and are somewhat successful, even as your mind bursts with questions – namely, how the hell he knows that you stayed awake well into the night speaking with the Witcher.

“He is here to lift a curse, not free servants worth less than the dirt caked on his boots.”

A wave of rage crashes over you, leaving black static clouds around the edges of your vision. You stand up with a huff, nearly knocking over the rickety wooden chair in the process. “You seem a little over-confident for a chef in a backwater town that no one bothers to visit,” you sneer.

“And you seem a bit naïve for a servant girl with no family and not chance at a life even half as good as this outside these walls.”

The words knock the wind from your lungs, but you don’t back down. Even as you hear footsteps on the stairs and voices filling the dining room just on the other side of the door. It feels good, fighting back. Even if the Witcher does break his word and leave you abandoned here, at least you realize now that defending yourself is not pointless. You’re beaten when you back down, weak as a mouse, and let everyone walk over you. Why not risk the same beating but going down with a fight?

“If there is one thing I am not, it is naïve.” Your voice is low, but in the way that only indicates how desperately you are trying to maintain control.

“Hm,” he says, patronizing, “So, crying on a stranger’s shoulder about your hardships is not naïve?”

His tone is so nasty that it takes every bit of self-control you have not to spit at him. You fully intent to come up with something horrid to respond with, but your mind betrays you, and the only words that come out are soft and confused. “You were listening.”

The chef laughs again, that grating laugh that sounds more like a rabid dog barking than a human expressing joy. “Me?” he asks, “Of course not. But you know the staff – word travels fast around here.” He smiles nastily, looking you straight in the eyes, “And the word is that you long to escape this place.”

You swallow hard. Of course, you should have been more vigilant. The manor was crawling with staff and courtiers, all to make Stephic seem more important than he was. Your worry, though, is not the gossip of Stephic’s henchmen, but that word might get to him before you can slip out, before Geralt has a chance to help you leave this place. If Stephic has learned about your plans, there is a chance – and not a small one – that he will do whatever is in his power not to let you leave.

But then again, how can he stop you if you are already gone?

You make up your mind in that instant, looking the man straight in the eye just as he had done. “Fuck off,” you snarl, before storming out of the kitchen through the back door. You don’t pause to look back. You don’t regret not running up to your room to grab your possessions. You just leave, out through the back gardens and into the town, headed straight for the place that you know you should not be going – all the while trying your best to push the harsh reality that Stephic will likely have his guards looking for you within the hour.

***

You sit with your back against a tree, just beyond the old burnt-out cottages. The plants are wild here, with no one bothering to cut them, and, unlike so many of the forests surrounding your little town, this one is thick with trees. No one comes here, even to cut down trees for lumber. Nilfguaard has plenty of other forests to destroy to build more ships – this one is safe primarily because it is unsafe. And yet, you do not feel scared.

The only way you can tell the time is by the position of the sun in the sky. And, according to that, it is inching closer and closer to noon. Surely, the white-haired Witcher will be arriving soon. But, from your vantage point, where you can see everything, you have yet to see him approach. Perhaps he is preparing – or, perhaps you were naïve and he had no intention of lifting the curse or freeing you. Maybe he just wanted to stop you from crying and get on with his evening.

With so many what ifs and maybes, your mind is foggy and clouded, making it difficult to concentrate on much of anything.

Perhaps that is why it was so easy for the Witcher to sneak up behind you, or perhaps it is just his specialty. You jump when you here your name, low and rumbling.

“What are you doing here?” he asks, looking some mix between angry and surprised.

“I had to leave.” It isn’t much of an explanation, you know. There were other places you could have gone, of course. But at the same time, there was no way you could say away. Part of you knew that it was because the cook’s words had really gotten to you. What if he decided to leave without fulfilling his promise – you had to get out of that place, and you couldn’t wait around for Geralt to come back and fetch you.

“Certainly a few more hours wouldn’t have been too much more trouble,” he says, glancing you up and down. “You didn’t even bring any belongings.”

You look back at him and shrug, “I don’t have any belongings.” It isn’t a lie. You have a few dresses, stockings, and other clothing items, but your only true personal possession was the silver locket that you knew the Witcher now had; and you weren’t getting that back. The rest didn’t matter. Once you found steady work somewhere, you’d buy more.

“Fair enough,” he said, resigned. Now he is looking past you, toward your old family home. Curious, you turn around as well, trying to figure out what exactly he was looking at, but realizing it was probably useless. You didn’t have Witcher eyes, after all.

“It is dangerous for you here.” You don’t turn around to look at him, but you can hear the worry in his voice. Of course it isn’t safe for you here – you knew that. But at the same time, neither was anywhere else in the city. The only difference here was the type of monster you were hiding from. You tell him as much.

He stays quiet for a moment before finally letting out a deep hmm.

“Which house is it?” he asks, looking at the cluster of burnt-out shells of what used to be homes.

“The one on the left,” you say, gesturing toward the familiar charred wood.

“Ok.” He seems to be calculating something in his head, likely something to do with whatever it was that he was going to have to do here. You hear him moving behind you, so you turn around. He has pulled the locket from one of his pockets and his digging around in his pocket with his free hand until he finds what he was looking for. You eye the small vial curiously, not recognizing the liquid inside.

“It’s Spectre Oil,” he explains, as if he can hear your thoughts. He unsheathes his silver sword, puling the stopper from the bottle and applying the clear oil to the blade. “Without it, there’s no way I’d win this fight.”

You nod understanding, not wanting to speak or distract him, despite your intense curiosity. You continue watching as he focuses on the tiny locket in his other hand, studying it for a moment.

“Right.” Geralt stands up, looking toward the rubble of your old home. “Better get this done, then.” His matter-of-fact tone is almost off-putting. But then again, he is a Witcher, and this is his profession, after all. He must know what he’s doing.

He doesn’t need to tell you not to follow him, but you don’t need him to. Suddenly, you have no urge to get closer – no urge to see what is left of your mother. So, you stay where you are, half-hidden behind a tree, though you don’t know if that is any help at all against a spectral creature.

You watch Geralt make his way over the house with feline grace. It’s like watching a dance as he stops in front of the house, bending down to place the silver chain on the ground, in what used to be the doorway you’d walked in and out of so many times, taking it for granted that it would always be there. Call it young naivete or just general hope and faith in humanity – you just never thought an entire army would march through and destroy it.

You only start to feel the prickle of nerves when he stands up. You aren’t sure whether it is your own nerves crackling or whether it’s the air around you – it could easily be either. After a moment, the air fills with the strange hum that you can only identify because you’ve heard it before, several times. You used to walk by here before it became obvious that it was too dangerous.

The strange hum, followed by the unsettling howl of a creature that shouldn’t exist.

And then she appears.

She moves like lighting, but so does the Witcher. It is difficult to keep up. It feels strange to watch, considering that used to be your mother and all – but you try to remind yourself that this is not her anymore.

She’s gone.

But at the same time, she’s right in front of you. Or rather, a good thirty yards away, in front of the Witcher, who appears to be dodging, parrying, and attacking all at one time. And then there’s purple light, a circle, and shrieks that make you involuntarily cover your ears. It takes you a moment to realize that the sound is magnified because you are screaming too – it’s like your blood is boiling, overheating you from the inside.

You open you eyes slowly, looking up to see the Witcher, backed up against what is remaining of one of the walls. Something seems wrong – he looks more like he’s fighting the wraith off than actually fighting the wraith. And the pain. Something feels so wrong.

You realize, with horror, that every time he moves his hand, casting that spell with the purple light and slashing his silver sword at the wraith, you feel the pain like that deadly silver is pushed up to your own throat.

“She’s connected to you by your blood.”

And suddenly, you know exactly what to do.

Fighting the pain, you bend and pull the knife you had hidden in your boot. You take a few steps, extremely shaky at first, but growing less so the closer you get.

And then you realize the reason why – Geralt is pressed up against the wall again, with the Wraith ready to slash at him with claw-like hands.

Everything happens at once. Geralt realizes your presence, eyes wide as he sees you standing directly in the doorway, where your necklace lays. Then he notices that you have a knife in your hand.

“Y/N!” he shouts, “No!”

You barely hear him. The wraith is about to dig those deadly talons into him, and you cannot let that happen.

“Mamma!” You scream, drawing the wraith’s attention as you draw the knife across your palm. You wince as blood wells up and falls onto the dilapidated stones.

Faster than you can comprehend, the wraith turns on you with a screech that makes you drop to your knees, coving your own. You’re too scared to look up; too scared that all you will see is that face, that tattered dress, those monstrous hands.

You don’t see her, but you feel it. The sharp scratch of claws on your back. It burns, hurts, makes you scream louder and press yourself to the ground, attempting to roll out of the way. You feel you back, damp with what you know is blood as it soaks through your now tattered dress. Your eyes are still squeezed shut against the horror, not wanting to believe that this is happening; not wanting to believe that, after everything, this is how it all ends.

And then, you hear the swish of steel and a grunt that must be Geralt, and then a terrible screech that sounds like it comes from something that has never been human.

And then, silence.

You head is swimming as you lose blood, exhaustion taking over. In a daze, you open your eyes and see Geralt standing there, sword still drawn – alone.

“Geralt,” you mutter, taking a shaky breath as your vision clouds.

“Y/N,” he says, dropping his silver and falling to his knees beside you. He puts one arm up under your neck, supporting your head, and the other under your knees.

You are in an out of consciousness now, but you are vaguely aware of him picking you up, wrapping your hand and pressing cloth against your back. You feel pressure, like he’s wrapped something across the middle of your body as well, but you must have blacked out for that part.

You think you smell smoke, another fire burning in this burnt-out place. And then you feel his arms around you again, and warm lips on your forehead.

The last thing you are aware of is a whisper against your ear, “I’m getting you out of here now, Y/N.”

And then the world fades to black, but you are smiling. Finally, the curse is lifted, right where it began. And here, upon the ashes of your old life, something new and beautiful feels like it is beginning.

________________________________________________________________Taglist: @earthtokace @fairytale07 @geeksareunique @jesseswartzwelder @kingnaizx @they-call-me-thewildrose @they-call-me-thewildrose @bitcheswithbrokenhearts @mystriee @hi-there-x @queenie-b- @pantrashtic @ivvitm1109 @hecatemacbeth7 @whatiswrongwithpeople  @itshaleighyo7 @evyiione @comicbeginning @ayamenimthiriel @divaroze​

#geralt of rivia #female reader #geralt x reader #geralt x female reader #geralt of rivia x reader #geralt fanfiction #the witcher #the witcher fanfiction

[sugarsugarmoon]

Something New (m)

Summary: You suggest to your boyfriend, Jin, that you try something new in the bedroom, and you aren’t sure how he’s going to react.

Genre: Smut and a small amount of Angst

Warnings: masturbation, oral sex (m. receiving), fingering, soft dom!Jin, swallowing, marking, a very small amount of cum play, an accidental tiny bit of angst

Word count: 3967

A/N: so...here it is. My first fic published here. I did not picture it was going to be smut, but here it is. Thank you so much to @taetaesbaebaepsae for encouraging me and loving me. You inspire me, and I love you. Also, thanks to @purpletigertaetae for being hella supportive.

You had been nervous to see your boyfriend, Jin, because you hadn’t talked to him since this morning when you’d mentioned to him that you might like to try to be a little “more adventurous” in the bedroom. He usually texted you throughout the day with dumb jokes and puns he thought of, but he had been upset when you left. It’s not that sex with him was bad; you just wanted to expand.

Sex with Jin was good, but it was starting to feel a little bland after years of the same thing over and over. You had a routine. Only in the dark, in your bedroom at night before going to sleep. You would start by making out. He would put his hands in your shirt and roll his thumbs over your nipples until you whimpered for him, then he would shift slightly on top of you and put his hand in your underwear. He would rub your clit and finger you at varying speeds and intervals (you’d tried telling him that it’s better to just do one thing at a consistent speed, but he got so excited that he had a hard time controlling himself). He would be bucking into your hip by the time you hit your orgasm (if you hit it). It was never an overwhelming, blacking-out, toe-curling orgasm. Just a tensing of muscles and a release of pressure. It felt good, but it never felt amazing. After that you’d get on top of him and grind down on his clothed length. You would slide down, kissing his stomach on the way down and take his length into your mouth. You’d bob up and down, tasting his salty precum until he pulled you up to ride his dick until he came. You would ride him, leaned back, tits bouncing until he hit his release. When he came, he came hard, and then it was done.

Every time. The same thing. For years.

And it was fine. Until one day, you read a story online. You hadn’t been looking for smut, really. It came up in a search for something else, and the prose was intriguing. Before you knew it, you were soaking through your panties reading about one character tying the other to the bed, choking her, and degrading her. You masturbated in the shower thinking about those scenes, crying out as you came hard from rubbing gentle, slow circles on your clit.

So you read more. Everything that you could get your hands on, particularly the ones where a mild-mannered guy took a dominant role.

After that, you couldn’t stop thinking about it. It was on your mind in everything that you did. As you folded the laundry, you couldn’t help but wonder how it would feel to have your hands bound to the headboard with the lace panties you were folding absentmindedly again and again. As you typed up reports at work, you wondered what it would feel like to have Jin call you “his little slut,” instead of the usual “princess” or simply “y/n.”

Jin noticed how distracted you were. When he rolled on top of you, rutting against you like always while rolling your clit between his fingers, you didn’t respond to his body the way that you normally did, didn’t lean up into him, arching your back. He didn’t say anything right away, ego feeling slightly bruised, but he had definitely noticed.

Then one morning, as you sat at the table with your coffee cup, he stood over you until you looked up at him with big, confused eyes.

“All right. What is up with you? Am I doing something wrong?” he asked, his voice revealing the hurt that his expression was trying to cover.

“Nothing? What? No,” you responded confused and taken aback by his sudden accusations.

“The last few times that we’ve had sex you’ve clearly been...distracted. So what is it? I’m starting to worry. Is there someone else?” 

Tears are starting to pool behind his eyes as he crosses his arms in front of his chest.

“What? No. Baby, oh my god. No.”

You stand up, reaching for him, but he pulls away, refusing to look into your eyes.

“Don’t say it’s nothing. Don’t say that nothing is wrong because something is definitely wrong.”

“Jin, baby, you have to believe me. You aren’t doing anything wrong. I’m not cheating on you. I don’t know where this is coming from, but I think I’m maybe just distracted by work.”

“Stop lying to me. Just tell me,” he says in a barely audible, miserable voice, a single tear cinematically rolling down his cheek.

“Fuck, Jin. No please. Fuck,” you coo.

You hadn’t realized how much this would hurt him. You had been afraid to ask him, afraid to hurt him or make him think that you didn’t like what you had. But now he’s staring at you with so much pain and fear in his eyes that you know that you have to tell him. You take a step forward, gently placing your hands on his shoulders and sigh.

“Jin, look at me. It’s not that you’re doing anything wrong. I...I just was reading something online, and I think that I’d like to...change things up a little bit in bed. There are some things that I want to try that I think that you might like to. I want you to dom me, and I...I didn’t know how to bring it up. I’m so sorry. I never meant to hurt you.”

“Things you want to try? So I am doing something wrong.”

“No, baby, I promise. That’s not it. I love what we do, but I know it could be even better.”

Your phone buzzes on the table, and you look down to see that it’s 10 minutes past the time that you needed to leave for work. Fuck.

“Go,” he says meekly, “we can finish this later.”

You look him in the eyes, trying to convey as much love as possible with your gaze. You run your thumb over his cheek to wipe away the tear streaks and chastely kiss his lips.

“I love you,” you say, as you gather your keys and phone off the table.

“I love you too. So much,” he whispers as you glance over your shoulder before shutting the door.

***

Jin felt torn. He knew felt like you wouldn’t lie to him, and he trusted you. But you had been so distant, and you’d never acted like that before. You were always the first person to laugh at his stupid jokes, and you were the person who would rub your hand up his thigh, kiss up his neck to his ear, and moan into his mouth.

He tried to do his normal off-day routine, but he couldn’t seem to focus on anything. Two things you had said stuck in his mind. You had been doing some reading, and you wanted him to dom you. He’d be lying if he said he had thought about you pliant and submissive underneath him, following his every command. He didn’t know that you had been interested in that because it had never come up in conversation.

By noon, Jin can’t control his curiosity anymore. He sits down in front of your computer opens the browser. He goes into your history, and there it is: countless pornographic short stories that you had been reading. He couldn’t help but think that he really needed to teach you how to use Incognito again. He starts to click through the stories and read. He is captivated by the stories on the screen. Thousands of words describing unassuming, mild-mannered guys with substantial dicks taking control of a normally self-assured, career-driven woman. When he reads the words “my little slut,” for the umpteenth time he feels himself hardening in his pants. He loves you so much, and he wants everyone, including you, to know that you are only a slut for one person, you’re his little slut. 

***

When you walk in the door, you aren’t sure what to expect. After this morning, you’re worried that Jin is going to tell you to get your stuff and get out. You throw down your bag and keys, calling out for Jin.

When you come around the corner to your bedroom, he meets you there and, without saying a word, pushes you up against the wall with his body. You let out a little surprised “ooh” as your back hits the wall and he presses his lips into yours. His firm, broad chest presses into yours and keeps your firmly in place. He guides your mouth with his hard, feverish kisses that make your face heat up. As he leans further into you, his already hard cock presses against your stomach, and you feel the heat spreading down through your belly and between your thighs. He pulls away from your lips and starts to nip at your neck and collarbone.

“Hi to you too,” you say. “What’s going on?”

With his mouth still against your skin, he responds, “I did some reading. You should learn to clear your browser history.”

He bites down on the skin on your neck sucking and laving his tongue over the bruise you can already feel forming. You are too turned on to be embarrassed that he saw all the smut you’d be reading. He brings his large hand into your hair, running his fingertips over your scalp before wrapping your hair around his fist. He lifts his eyes and meets your gaze. He gives a gentle tug of your hair.

“Is this all right?” he asks before moving any further.

You nod as vigorously as you can with all of your hair in his hand.

“Uh uh, baby girl, use your words,” he admonishes.

“Yes. Please pull my hair, Jin.”

He presses his mouth to yours again, full lips overpowering yours while his tongue traces along your bottom lip. He pulls his lips away from yours and pulls gently on your hair. You can’t help the urge to talk that comes over you.

“Please, Jin, harder.”

He looks at you with something like menace in his eyes, pulling your hair until you feel the pricks in your scalp. The tug angles your head differently, and Jin runs his tongue along the newly exposed line from your collarbone up to below your ear then nips at the skin of your neck.

You cannot stop the moan that escapes you, deep and primal. 

“You don’t call the shots anymore,” a breathy whisper tickles your ear, “...this is okay, right?”

“Yes. You’re amazing. You’re so fucking hot,,” you whisper back as your mouth finds his again, his hand still pulling your hair taut.

He pushes into you again, thrusting his erect dick into you for friction and lets out a small, low moan. He releases your hair and pushes you onto the bed.

“Take your clothes off,” he commands, tone unrecognizable from the sweet, silly boy that usually occupies that body.

You throw your shirt over your head and pull your jeans down, struggling to kick them off. You look up to see two intense, blown out eyes watching you.

“All of it.”

You unhook your lace bra and throw it to the side, keeping eye contact. His tongue darts to the corner of his mouth, and his eyes follow your hands as you hook your thumbs into the waistband of your panties and slide them down your thighs and kick them off toward him. He catches them and makes a low growl in his chest. He puts them to his nose and inhales deeply before he throws them aside.

“Lie down and spread yourself open for me,” the voices commands again.

You do as your told, slightly embarrassed by how much you are dripping from the domineering persona Jin has taken on.

“Oh, so wet for me? I can see you glistening from here, baby. You’re such a little slut for this cock, aren’t you?”

Your eyes widen at the use of the term, and you feel your cunt unexpectedly clench around nothing. You whimper again just from his word.

“Is this okay?” He asks again, with wide innocent eyes. When you nod, he continues, “then use your words, you little slut. If I have to tell you again, I’m going to punish you.”

“I’m sorry, Jin. I’ll be good.”

He throws his head back and moans deep in his chest. He begins palming his cock through his pants and looks back down at you, making brief eye contact before looking at your drenched pussy.

“Fuck, I’ve never been this hard before. You’re such a slut for me, getting me all worked up like this. Touch yourself, and show me,” he practically growls.

You slide your hand down between your legs and begin to rub slow circles on your clit, already feeling like you could come just from tone in Jin’s voice and the domination in his actions. You moan as you feel the tightness in your stomach begin and your pussy clenches again.

“Don’t cum until I tell you,” Jin grunts, taking a step closer, so, now, he’s standing between your legs inches from your arousal. You want to reach out, shove his pants down, and pull him into you, but he was giving you exactly what you asked for this morning. You remove your fingers from your clit and slide them down your folds. You rest them at your entrance and look up to Jin for approval. When he winks at you, his usual cocky wink, you slip a finger inside.

As you pump in and out, you feel the desire clawing in your chest, begging to be let out. Begging to be fucked.

“Please, J-Jin,” you whimper.

“Please what, my little cock slut?” He responds.

“Please let me see your dick. Please Jin, I need it. I need you. Please.” You have never begged anyone for anything in your life, and both you and Jin know it. But the pleas fall off your tongue anyway, and Jin groans. 

“Fuck, I don’t think I can do this. I’m gonna cum in my pants if you keep doing that,” his eyes look a little panicked, as he undoes his belt and pushes his pants down his hips. He bulge strains against his underwear, tip visible poking out of the top of the waistband. After he’s kicked his pants aside, he glances from your eyes to where you are desperately thrusting your fingers into your cunt. His fingers start twitching watching you do it. “Let me feel how wet you are.”

He takes his hand squeezes your hip first, licking his lips. You pull your hand away and gently stroke his forearm. He runs his thumb over your clit, down through your folds, and gently presses it against your entrance before sliding it back up. You whimper at the contact.

“So wet for me, huh?” He takes his thumb and brings it to your lips. You open your mouth, and he presses it against your tongue. “Taste it. Taste what I do to you. Only I can do this to you.” You lave your tongue around his thumb, then shut your lips around it and suck. “You’re mine,” he states before bringing his hand back to your core.

“I’m yours, Jin. Only yours,” you whine back to him as he slips two fingers inside you. “Only wet like this for you.”

When Jin starts to pump his fingers into you, he keeps a steady pace, curling his fingers up to hit the bundle of nerves inside you while gently rolling his thumb in slow steady circles over your clit. You’ve been stimulated for so long that before you know it you are whimpering, muscled starting to clench.

“Please, Jin, please let me cum. Please I’ve been a good girl. I’ll be a good girl. Please,” you’re rambling, words spilling out of your mouth, head thrown back, eyes pressed tightly shut.

“Look at me,” Jin commands. You peel your eyes open and meet his dark, fiery gaze. “Cum.”

The tightness in your belly snaps, and you feel a floodgate breaking in your core as a rush of warmth is all you can feel. Your mind is blank and all you can see are iridescent swirls behind your eyes, the sound of the room muffled as if you’re under water. The only thing in the world is the sensation between your legs. Your toes feel like they’ll never uncurl, and primal, guttural sounds are escaping from deep within you. 

As you start to catch your breath, coming down from your high, you whisper, “Holy shit” and feel Jin slip his fingers out of you.

Once your eyes start to focus again, you see Jin has his cock in his hand, eyes wild, breathing heavy. “I want to feel you on my dick,” he growls.

“Okay, come here, I’ll ride you,” you respond.

“That’s not what I mean. And, you aren’t in charge remember? I told you I was going to punish you if you did it again.”

Oh shit. The idea thrills you.

“I’m sorry, Jin. I’ll take my punishment.” You watch as Jin brings his hand back to your pussy, swiping at your arousal pooled between your legs. He collects it on his fingers and strokes it down his cock, groaning slightly as he does it. He reaches his fingers back to you and does it again until his cock is shiny with your arousal. He pumps his cock a few more times before he says anything. “Get on your knees,” he commands.

You shakily push yourself off the bed, muscles exhausted from the intense orgasm he’d just given you. He grips his shirt from the back and pulls it over his head. His broad chest, one of the things that turns you on the most, bare, his nipples hard, begging to be touched. “Are you still okay with this?” Jin asks in a much more self-assured voice than the last time.

“Yes,” you respond from your spot on the floor in front of him, “I’ll tell you if I’m not okay. And maybe just...ask me before you do anything crazy…”

“Don’t worry, baby. You’re such a little slut, but you’re my little slut. I’ll take care of you.” He takes his cock, still slick with your arousal, and runs it across your slightly parted lips. “I want you to lick yourself off of me. I want you to taste us both to remind you whose little slut you are.”

You open your mouth and circle your tongue around the head of his cock before taking it into your mouth. As you suck, you taste the familiar salty taste of his precum, but this time it’s mixed with the musky taste that Jin had put on your tongue earlier. The taste of you and Jin mixed together has heat rushing to your core, and you lick a stripe up the underside of his dick, swirling your tongue around it as you move up the shaft. You take the head of his dick in your mouth, rolling your tongue around it. You feel him twitch in your mouth, and you moan around him, reaching your hand up to help stimulate his cock. He gently slaps your hand away. “Keep your hands behind your back. I’m going to...take control,” he said a little hesitantly. 

You put your hands behind your back adjust the position your kneeling in, settling back on your heels. You look up and make eye contact with Jin, who, despite having his throbbing cock gently resting on your slightly parted lips, is looking down at you with a gentle affection in his eyes. “I really need you to tell me that this is okay before I do this.”

You flick your tongue over the head of his dick. “Jin, baby, please. I need you. Please fuck my mouth. Please,” you beg, having seen how your begging has affected him.

He doesn’t need you to tell him again. “Open,” he commands as he fists his fingers into your hair again.

When you open your mouth, Jin slides into you slowly, let you adjust. He pushes into you until your nose hits his pubic bone. He slowly pulls back out then starts thrusting. You feel the delicious pricks on your scalp of him pulling your hair. His thrusts get more erratic when you moan on his cock, and he pushes the back of your head gently. You gag a little bit and hear a sharp intake of air from above you.

“Such a good little slut. Look at how well you take my cock.”

He starts bucking harder into your mouth, and you feel your throat completely relax as you gasp through your nose for air, feeling slightly panicked to breath, tears forming in the corners of your eyes. You feel Jin’s cock twitch and his muscles tighten. His thrusts are shorter and less rhythmic as he gasps, “Baby, I’m gonna cum.”

You let out a little, affirmative moan to let him know that you’re ready, and he yanks on your hair as he fills your mouth, grunting, hips stuttering. You feel his hot, salty cum in the back of your throat and on your tongue, and before he finishes, he pulls out and the last of it hits you on the cheek. He rubs his cock on your cheek and spreads the cum around. Look at you with his fucked out expression, relishing his marks on your face. You take your finger and wipe some of the cum from your cheek and pop your finger in your mouth. His expression changes to amusement as he starts coming down from his high. His bitten lips spread into a smile, and then he starts laughing his windshield wiper laugh. “Oh so you’re nasty?” he laughs out.

He pulls you up to kiss him, and it is tender and loving. You feel all of the relief that he feels from having you as his and only his in his kiss. He wraps his arms around you and holds you against his firm chest. “I really would love to go for round two, but I think I need a few minutes,” he whispers. “But what can I do for you right now? I was reading that baths are really good for after. Do you want a bath? Let me wrap you up in this blanket. Do you want a plushie?”

You are overwhelmed by the rush of fondness that you feel in your chest. You feel tears stinging the back of your eyes. “Can we just wrap up in the blanket and cuddle? I just want to be near you.”

Jin picks you up and carries you to your side of the bed. He tucks you in firmly before he climbs into the bed on his side. He pulls you into his chest, and you nuzzle your face in the crook of his neck. “Really though, Jin. If that made you uncomfortable, you don’t have to do that. I know that you wanted to do it for me, but I don’t want you to do anything you don’t feel okay doing.”

“You’re kidding, right? Clearly, I had an amazing time. I wish that you would have just asked sooner.” He gently kisses the top of your head, ghosting his fingers over the skin of your shoulder. “Besides, I already ordered some silk ropes, so we at the very least need to try those out.”

You bury your face deeper into his neck, and the two of you continue talking and giggling until you fall asleep in the arms of the man who would do anything for you.

#jin x reader #kim seokjin x reader #seokjin imagine #jin imagine #jin smut #seokjin smut #bts smut

[ajokeformur-ray]

Cold hands, gentle soul // Joker x Reader // angst + fluff.

This is a twin piece to Coming Home To You. I wanted to explore a similar scenario with Joker in which his fear of losing you is never too far from the surface and tonight, for reasons you have to figure out, everything bubbles over and you’re left with the realisation that the man you first fell in love with is still right here.

I believe that Joker is just as tortured as Arthur is; his entire performance on the Murray show was an explosion of pain and anger and rage, and therefore I feel no shame in writing for him romantically. I fought it at first but now this is the hill I was die on, I don’t care. I love all of Arthur Fleck.

I hope that you enjoy this fic as much as you liked the first! <3 Let me know what you think; as always, there’s little pieces of my soul scattered everywhere, and my love for Arthur Fleck is laced throughout too. Where else can it go but in these works I share?

TW; swearing, smoking, miscommunication in a relationship and definite unhealthy elements which reader is aware of. Angst and fluff; no smut but there is nudity. Reader has flexible morality. Implied mentions of being sick and nausea; no actual occurrence of this though.

Word count: 4, 869.

Something was wrong. 

Something was really, really wrong. 

Joker had barely spoken to you all day. He had smoked almost double his usual twenty a day while he sat on the sofa in his eccentric three piece suit and his face dressed in full make up. All day was he staring at the television with one leg crossed over the other. He paid little attention to what was on the television and even when the news reported another riot outbreak did his lips barely twitch upwards in the self satisfaction that he usually felt. Not knowing how to read his painted face, you had stayed away from him. If Joker had known how to speak through the shouting in his mind, he would have asked you to stay beside him. He would have told you that he was so, so scared of losing you that he was stuck on the sofa, unable to stop the tirade of negative thoughts which had smashed through his facade like someone had taken a hammer to a mirror. So reluctant was he to open up to you, however, because he never wanted to go back to the weak days when he had been Arthur Fleck, that he did his best to keep himself quiet... His restraint manifested itself in anger towards his own reluctance, which was projected thus onto you. Today was a mess, everything was going wrong and he didn’t understand why he couldn’t just tell you and that made everything so much worse. Combining this with the fact that he had no control over his mood and actions meant that there was a very unpleasant atmosphere in the cramped apartment.

When you tried to speak to him throughout the day, Joker would take a deep drag on a cigarette - by noon you had stopped counting how many he was smoking each hour - and either stare at you until your temporary bravery faltered and you stuttered out a, “Never mind” or he would ignore you all together. It dawned on you by three in the afternoon that Joker was angry. It was in the way his nostrils occasionally flared. In the way he would randomly clench his fists or in the way he would audibly groan and tip his head over the back of the sofa, like he couldn’t handle whatever was bothering him anymore. It was in how restless he was; often did he rearrange his legs, only to huff and rearrange himself some more. He didn’t stay in the same position for longer than a few minutes at a time. You would do your best to not worry about him until his knees started to bounce, though. That was a danger sign that was left over from before his Joker transformation and it always spelled trouble. It meant that Joker was feeling too much all at once and his nerves, his neuroses and his tensions were getting the best of him. Woe betide you if ever you didn’t take this warning sign seriously. 

All day had one thought been in your mind, swirling like a tornado and disturbing the peaceful waters of your mind: if the shoe had been on the other foot, Joker would have literally cornered you into telling him what was wrong by now. He would have backed you into a corner and made you tell him what was causing your bad attitude. He would have barricaded the front door and used his body in all the best ways to make you speak to him. Joker wouldn’t have taken no for an answer. He always preferred to get everything all out into the open as soon as possible so that whatever it was could be resolved; he knew well what it did when one held in their emotions and didn’t act on or even release them. It poisoned one’s heart, made them bitter. Over time did this twist their soul until they no longer remembered who they had been before the emotions had taken hold with a tight and relentless grip.

The way that Joker point blank refused to even look at you for any period of time longer than it took for him to glare at you before he inhaled deeply, closed his eyes, pinched the bridge of his nose and counted to ten under his breath; his lips miming as he did so was starting to piss you off. It was starting to really piss you off. What made him so special that he could act as he liked, whereas if you tried to do it, you would be confronted and held accountable for your actions? It was just rude and you had had enough. You had the feeling that he was trying to protect you from himself. He was trying as hard as he could to not tell you what was wrong for some reason, but the irony was that, in doing this, Joker was doing what he was trying so desperately to avoid. It was nonsensical but the modicum of logic within his suspected thought process was so Arthur that it made your heart ache. He was still the man you had fallen in love with all that time ago. You could feel it and it gave you hope; a dangerous thing for one to possess in a city like Gotham which took everything that you had and more, giving nothing back but desperation and shreds of the person you had been before it all.

You made dinner quietly, spending as much time in the kitchen as you could. You made Joker’s favourite meal, complete with another pack of cigarettes which you had stashed in the bedroom for emergencies, and you had set both down on the living room coffee table with an expectant look towards Joker. You would have taken a sarcastic comment over the passive aggressive way he said “thank you”, like he actually meant the opposite. When you had taken the liberty of lighting a cigarette for him and holding it inches from his mouth and Joker had pulled his head back and snatched the cigarette from you, that had been the last straw for you and you had moodily stabbed at your own food, no longer restraining the urge to glare at him. Underneath your growing anger, however, was worry. It had a hold of your stomach and was making you increasingly nauseous with every mouthful. What the fuck was going on with Joker? You couldn’t help him until he came to you for help, but the way that the grey sky outside had slowly bled into a blacker, more ominous setting made you feel like this would continue into tomorrow; you didn’t think your temper could handle another trying day like this one. You didn’t think you could handle this again in the morning. You had never been great with tense or confrontational situations; most especially when you were being forced to walk on eggshells because you didn’t know why things were strained.

After dinner time, you were just as pissed off as Joker seemed to be. You no longer tried to speak to him. Instead, you holed yourself up in the bedroom after dinner had been cleared away, making your own displeasure known by slamming the door hard, hard enough that the paper thin walls shook and you felt a contrasting sensation of guilt towards your own childishness and satisfaction. You hoped it pissed him off even more; if he was going to treat you the way he had all day then the very least you could do was give him a reason to do so. He had been fine when you had woken up this morning, but by the time you had come out of the bathroom from getting ready for the day had his mood soured. Something had happened while you had tended to your physical and bodily needs and he wasn’t telling you what it was. You had tried many a time to ask if he was all right, but each time did he snap, “Yes, doll. I’m fine.” Any questions you further asked were greeted with the silent treatment and his mood - and yours, subsequently - had deteriorated throughout the day.

You lay curled up on the bed with your back to the door. You were seething and left there to stew in it. It was here, on the bed that you had always shared with the man that you loved, that you could admit to yourself that you weren’t angry. Well, you were, but  you were only truly angry about how Joker was hiding something from you. His attempts to protect you from whatever was bothering him were admirable but unnecessary; hadn’t he learned by now that nothing he could ever do or say would take you away from him? You had been with him long enough to know that he was it for you. Never again would you love another. You never wanted to love another again. When you considered his overall mood and the way he very obviously just wasn’t okay but he also wasn’t telling you anything, you were more worried than anything else. It was making you sick to your stomach and you hoped that your dinner wouldn’t come back up; nothing ever tasted good the second time around.

You shut your eyes, curled up even tighter into yourself. You were beginning to feel the consequences of the day’s tension now. You felt sick, you were scared and you were angry at how you had been treated and you were feeling lonely. Joker was just beyond the insubstantial bedroom wall, he was less than thirty seconds away from you in reality, and you felt lonely. Unneeded. You felt inadequate and just wrong, like nothing made sense without Joker by your side. You knew it was dangerous, unhealthy, to place so much of your worth and value as a person into someone else, but you couldn’t help it. You loved Joker too much, you had been there for him, with him, for so long and through so much that without him by your side, your life became cheap. Meaningless. Empty. Your arms felt empty. Just as you realised this, the bed became too big, too cold, too empty and void of everything that had happened here: love, passion, desire and lust and adoration and trust. Trust... Did Joker trust you with what he was experiencing? Did he trust that he could tell you anything and you would listen to him, you would comfort him, hold him and love him and make sure that he knew that he wasn’t alone, that he was seen? Did he know that you loved him?

How had things spiralled so far out of control in just one day? 

You let out a soft noise of pain, just wanting to alleviate the ache in your heart, that palpable sensation of love and loss, loneliness and grief. It seemed as though your entire being was bleeding from the inside out for Joker, for the man that he was once, that sweet, pure man of sunshine and light and goodness despite all that happened to him on a daily basis. Your heart bled for the man that he was now; how he obviously felt that he couldn’t be honest with you about what was going through his mind. You had only ever wanted to help him. What good were you to him if you were incapable of doing so at the most crucial moments? You knew you loved each other, and you clung to that knowledge just as surely as you were gripping the duvet beneath your body, your fingers wrinkling the material which still had lines from where it had been folded. You had only changed it this morning and you allowed the scent of fresh laundry to wash over you, soothe you and still the chaos inside you that had been put there by the man who usually brought you nothing but peace and solace.

All thoughts left your mind when your ringing ears picked up the sound of the bedroom door cracking open. You stayed completely still. Your eyes were open now as you stared at the wall, hardly daring to breathe. You were suddenly conscious of your heart pounding in your head, of the way you could feel Joker’s presence in the room. You knew not where he was, only that he was in the room with you, and it seemed to set your entire body alight with love and affection, worry and fear. It was so conflicting to be in love with a man such as Joker, but you wouldn’t trade it for the entire world. You had tasted total liberation in his soul and you would be damned if you ever went back to the way you had lived before you knew that such a man existed. You had always craved, in the deepest parts of yourself, someone who made you feel like you could create chaos, that you could do anything and everything you wanted to without fear of the repercussions, without fear of judgement. In Arthur Fleck, in all that he was, had you found complete and utter acceptance and understanding. That had never been any different, even now. You had always been able to be your naked self around Joker and he had been the same with you - you were each other’s home, each other’s safety. No matter what either of you did, you were safe with each other. You were whole and happy and alive. Joker made you feel alive and that was more valuable to you than anything else.

The silence stretched impossibly far. It mirrored the way that the skin on your hands was pulled taut across your knuckles; so tightly were you gripping the duvet upon which you rested. 

The bed dipped behind you and instantly did you tense up. Slowly did curly green strands of hair descend over you, marring your limited vision of the darkened room. You bit your lip as Joker leaned down further still to press a kiss to your cheek. You shut your eyes, feeling a sad smile spread across the corners of your mouth. Unconsciously did you sigh and lean into the touch.

“I know you’re awake.” Joker’s voice was deep, raspy from the way it hadn’t been used for a long time. He hadn’t spoken for hours and if your eyes hadn’t already been shut, they would have slid closed blissfully at the sound of his voice. Oh, help you, it was your favourite sound next to his heartbeat. Just knowing that he was alive, that he was beneath you in those moments, meant more to you than the knowledge of your own continued existence. During those nights that he couldn’t be with you did you suffer the most with sleeplessness, and when he came back in the mornings to find you wide awake and too worried to sleep was he reminded of the depth of your love for him. Sometimes he stayed out all night on purpose, aimlessly wandering around Gotham, just so that he could come home to you in that state. He dearly loved tugging you over to the sofa so that you could fall asleep on him, your head roaming his chest until you found that spot. Oh, how he adored you. You were his entire world and he was yours. Together, your worlds did collide into a universe full of love and light, challenges and triumphs.

You didn’t move. Joker’s breath washed warmly over your cheek and you just enjoyed the closeness. You hadn’t been this physically close to him all day and like he was a drug had you experienced withdrawal. With a huff that carried the weight of unshed tears did Joker put a strong hand on your shoulder, tugging you so that you were lying on your back, your legs still bent. As his face came into view, you saw the tears in his eyes, the way his makeup was smudged; the blue triangles had become physical markers of the tears he had already shed. You lifted both hands slowly, so slowly, and Joker watched you with some hidden depths of pain in his eyes. But you knew. You knew him even better than you knew yourself, and as your fingertips just gently grazed his face did he finally shut his eyes and allow his tears to fall. You didn’t bother to wipe them away. Instead, you tugged him down to you by sliding a hand around to cup the back of his neck, pressing kisses all over his painted face. Joker was beginning to tremble, and you took the initiative to pull him down on top of you fully. 

Again and again did you kiss his face, his neck, his jaw... anywhere and everywhere you could reach with his face in your hands did you rain kisses. You had always kind of liked the taste and smell of the face paint that he used, so it was of little consequence to you when it started to smudge on your own face in a strange combination of red, white and blue blurs. You looked like a work of art to Joker.

You opened your mouth to speak and the resounding inhale you took to announce this had Joker’s eyes snapping open as you lured him back to reality. His face was hot under your hands, his body the most welcomed weight. He was like a security blanket in that moment, giving you the strength and the courage you needed to face the very issue which was also giving you comfort. “You’re still the man I fell in love with. Nothing has changed.”

A broken sob. His hands gripped your hips tightly. He would probably leave bruises but you didn’t, wouldn’t care. Anything was better than the sense of emptiness he had begun to instil in you.

Again were you forced to wonder just what was going on in Joker’s mind. Unless... unless that was the issue: Joker was scared that you didn’t love him anymore and in an effort to keep you safe from what was hurting him, he withdrew to the point that you wondered if he still loved you. He thought that, because he had changed, because he had succumbed and dropped any and all sense of responsibility and shed the shackles that were holding him down, because he had transformed from Arthur to Joker, that you didn’t love him anymore. And because you didn’t love him anymore, that meant that he couldn’t tell you what was bothering him even though he desperately wanted to.

In a twisted way did it make sense. You silly man.

You cooed quietly and tugged him down into a proper cuddle; his face resting in the crook of your neck. You rubbed his back, played with his hair, stared up at the ceiling and allowed yourself to cry. You decided to take a wild stab in the dark and just talk. All of those things that you thought of late at night that you dared not tell Joker did you tell the ceiling, needing the man in your arms to understand just how critical this entire situation was. A change in your relationship would occur this night, but it would be for the better. From rock bottom could you only go up; you would drag each other up in the sunlight if you had to, hand in hand and triumphant. “Don’t you know that I’m not afraid of you, of what you do. I’m afraid for you.” Joker stiffened in your arms and you felt him holding his breath, his heart beating a wild tattoo against his rib cage. “If something ever happens and you get taken from me - death or prison or hospital or something - I don’t know what I’d do. If I ever lost you, I couldn’t... mm.” You cleared your throat, raised a hand from Joker’s back to swipe your hand across your face before putting it back where it had been. 

“Let them try,” Joker snarled and you smiled. You just smiled. He was talking again. He wasn’t snapping at you, he wasn’t glaring at you. Finally had he accepted the help that you had been trying to give to him all day. “I would rip this world apart to get you back.”

I know you would, Arthur. Only in the safety of your own mind did you dare to call him by his real name. You were unsure of how he would react and so you didn’t risk anything. It was better to keep quiet than to raise questions which he himself had no answer for.

“Will you tell me now?”

“No,” Joker sighed. He sounded so much like his old self that your tears fell hotter, faster, and you couldn’t stifle the sob that left your lips for the life of you. He raised himself then to look at you, supporting his weight on his elbows as he gazed down at you in consternation. It seemed in that moment that he realised what he had been doing to you all day, and the most sincere apologetic look flashed across his face and settled into one of love as he bent his head to kiss your tears away. You leaned into the touch, wanting more of everything that he was giving you. He pulled back just to say “I don’t need to. You love me.”

You grinned. You couldn’t stop yourself. Help you, you did. You would follow him into Hell just to stay by his side. It was with an unspoken mutual decision that you decided to put today behind you. Bottling his emotions up hadn’t worked and you had only fed off of each other’s discomfort. You had somehow managed to figure out what it was that was bothering him and without his even needing to tell you had you soothed his fear in the end. He wasn’t going to lose you because he was Joker now. You still loved him. You weren’t going to leave. You were going to stay by his side and that was all he had ever needed; to be needed.

You hesitated on your next words. Could you say it and get away with it? Would he allow you to bring up his past, to bring up his most vulnerable and weakest part of him? Would he take it at face value and understand that you said it with only the best of intentions? Would he run? Would he get angry? Woulds, coulds and shoulds threatened to choke you but just at the point Joker was going to ask you if you were okay did you say,

“I love you, Arthur. I love you so much.” You allowed all of your love, all of your affection and devotion, trust, respect and need to show on your face and it was with some kind of released tension that Joker smashed his painted lips against yours, kissing you again and again and again. 

“Show me. Please, show me,” Joker suddenly seemed almost frantic in his movements to get the both of you undressed, and you grabbed his hands in yours tightly, tugging lightly so he knew to look at you.

“Relax.” You murmured, holding his face in your hands. “Let me take care of you, Arthur.” You rubbed your thumbs across his face in soothing motions, willing him to understand that there was time. Nothing had to happen right now, nothing had to be done before a certain time limit. There was no getting up for work in the morning, nothing that urgently had to be done. You had time. 

Carefully did you roll so that he was under you. Softly, gently, did you undress him, making sure to keep your eyes on his body language. The way he inhaled shakily when your hand brushed over his crotch, the way his eyes focused on the way you easily unbuttoned his shirt with deft fingers, the way he arched into your touch. You put so much care into everything you were doing, trying to use your actions to convey just how much you still loved him, even after everything. Truthfully did you know that there was nothing Joker could say or do that would turn you away from him. You were just in too deep to be able to pull yourself out of the life that you had built together.

When at last you were both naked, your clothes scattered carelessly about the room, did Joker begin to take initiative again as he rolled so that you were under him. 

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry, I - “

Gently did you shush him. “It’s okay. I understand.” You reached up and kissed him tenderly, keeping only love at the forefront of your mind. Desperate were you to soothe his pain with your love, your patience and your understanding. Your anger had melted away now as though it had never been there in the first place. You could never stay angry at him for too long; it hurt you too much and often did you just let it go, accepting each moment as it came. “I know you.”

Joker seemed to lose all trace of lust and want as all the fight left his body. He tucked his head back into the crook of your neck, pressing dry and warm kisses to the skin there as he snuggled into you. He just wanted to be loved. Clumsily did you attempt to pull the duvet out from underneath your bodies. Joker huffed the first genuine laugh of the day against your skin and it made you laugh too. Joker pulled back to gaze at you, galaxies in his eyes as a slow smile spread across his face. His makeup was now smudged all over your face, your chest, your clothes, and he looked more like his bare faced self, now. He was ethereal no matter what state he was in. 

“Look at you.” His voice was quiet, his eyes shining with that same spark that Arthur’s eyes had always had, and you heard his words for what they were; an apology and a promise. A promise to try to be better in the future. A promise to try to be more open, to allow you to see his vulnerability without leaving you on eggshells and uncertainty. It was a promise to try, just try, and that was enough. You both knew that you would be fine together if you continued to try every day, as it came. Sometimes one of you had to try more than the other, and sometimes it was more of a balance. But no matter what, you couldn’t give in, you couldn’t give up. Each day did you choose each other and each day did you fall more in love. You completed each other and offered balance to the other’s personality traits. It was written in the stars, you liked to think.

You blushed. “Speak for yourself.” You booped his nose with a delicate finger and he smiled at the old, familiar gesture as he caught your hand in his, held on tightly and pressed a reverent kiss to the palm. The gesture had made him think of the day he had come home shattered by the truth, and you had showered with him and gently put him back together; you had always been there for him, always, and nothing he did would ever be enough to repay that kindness, that goodness in you. He would spend the rest of his life being the best version of himself, if only to make everything you did for him, everything you had sacrificed for him, worthwhile. Even now, even after all of this did he feel most unworthy of you. If you knew, you would tell him that in feeling unworthy did he become worthy, but he wouldn’t understand or be able to accept that he was already more than enough. All he had to do was to be himself and in that would you love him. 

“I love you.”

A soft murmur against the skin of his neck. “I love you too.” Again and again did you kiss him, as if you were trying to kiss his tormented soul better. As if you could reach the deepest parts of him and soothe them. Love them. Heal them. Heal him. If love was enough to heal someone’s hurts and torments, then the strength and depth of yours would mean that Arthur Fleck would never feel an ounce of pain or hurt ever again.

In the end, it would never matter who or what Arthur became, what he did or even what mischief he caused in the city. He was yours and you loved him, cherished and treasured him. You were still just as fiercely protective of him as you had always been, and though there were more challenges now than there had ever been in your relationship, you were still able to reach the rawest parts of him. You were still able to bring  his vulnerability into light and you could still quiet his rage. So long as you could reach his core self, his goodness, you knew that you were still needed. No matter what happened, you would never leave. Not for all the money in Gotham.

The Arthur Fleck/Joker Defense Squad @writings-of-a-gen-z  @x-avantgarde-x  @mapreza1 @insomniabird  @mavalenovaninagavi  @itwasrealenough  @morrisonmercurymalek  @rand0ms-fand0ms  @rafaelina-casillas @aclownthing  @rebs-doom  @vivft  @help-i-am-obssessed @autumnaffection   @taintednihilist   @vladtoly   @mg-woolf99 @misstgrey92  @that-s-life   @dopey-girl-blogs  @seeking-dreamland  @sweetheart-syndrome  @heartxfdesire  @xmusichealsthesoulx  @0callmejude0  @the-one-that-likes-riddles  @hannibalsslut  @folliaght  @freeeshavacadoo  @bingewatchingmylifegoby  @unlovedbyeveryoneandeverything  @okamiredfoxx  @sp0okysp0oky  @the-pandorabox  @mardema  @jibanyyan  @honeyflvredcoughdrop  @emissarydecksetter  @jokerfleckk  @epidendroideae  @chuuntas  @stillmabel  @pumpkinpeyes  @onehystericalqueenposts  @the-jokers-wolf  @nalsswa  @justahyena  @arianatheangelworld  @soullessblondbitch  @gothamslittlejester  @twentyonestarrynights  @sirianfromsixties  @kissmeclownman  @joker-is-my-hero  @lazyloosah  @lovesickkloxx  @ladylovelyluna  @live-love-loki  @clownerybbxx   @tragicarthur    @anmach123

#arthur fleck #arthur fleck x reader #arthur fleck x you #arthur fleck x y/n #joker #joker 2019 #joker 2019 imagine #joker imagine #joker x you #joker x y/n #todd phillips #joaquin phoenix #Joaquin phoenix joker #joaquin phoenix x reader #joaquin phoenix imagine #phoenix!joker #phoenix!joker x reader #phoenix!joker imagine

[noodlecupcakeswritings]

Ownership - Chapter 2 (A Kylo RenxOC AU)

Cora Ardmore and Kylo Ren work for rival companies, but they don’t know that until after they spend the night together. Once their identities are revealed to each other it’s a question of who will cave first?

This fic is pure porn, pure kinky porn.

Please leave comments, kudos and reblogs if you like it. If you would like to be tagged let me know. You can find my AO3 here

Warnings: Language, Sexual fantasies, Dirty thoughts, Kylo Ren is a warning, No Cora in this chapter really 

Chapter 2

Kylo Ren

I made it home around noon, parking the car in the garage. I picked up any mail on my way to the living room. Sitting down on the couch, I opened up my laptop and the browser. I typed in Cora’s name and searched the results. She’d been stupid enough to put her full name in when she gave me her number. I sat back in my chair, unhappy with the results that had come up. Clicking the first link, I was taken to The Resistances’ webpage. She worked for that left-wing bullshit publication?! She worked for my mother. Whilst I didn’t have much against the magazine itself it was still my mothers and wanted nothing to do with either. I’d made that very clear the last time we saw each other over five years ago.

This definitely threw a spanner in the works. Did I really want anything to do with someone that worked for my mother? Someone who worked close with her. Someone who probably shared all her views. Someone who was probably just as insufferable as Leia. I clicked on ‘The Board’ header, quickly scrolling past the section and image of Leia until I found Cora’s. I was met with a professional business styled photo of her smiling softly at the camera. I had to admit it was a good picture…or perhaps it was the subject matter. Those pretty green eyes were full of so much innocence. Her long black hair framed her dainty face nicely. She might have looked a little better if she’d put some makeup on though.

And her wardrobe could do with spicing up, blazers didn’t suit her. She’d look much more tempting in a button up blouse and pencil skirt. My eyes skimmed over the small paragraph about her, it didn’t offer much useful information to me. She’d been with the company for five years and worked her way quickly through the rank’s blah blah blah. I needed to think about my next move carefully and with a level head. Heading to my bedroom to change, I decided I’d go for a jog around the block. Exercise helped me think.

I’d been in the same position for the better part of four years and it was only natural to want more. I wanted to progress, I wanted total control of The First Order. But Snoke stood in the way of that, the old man wasn’t looking to step down anytime soon and even when he did there was no guarantee he would hand the company over to me. He trusted me for the most part, but I didn’t trust him anymore. I had at that start when I was younger and naïve but now there was an alarming number of red flags. Snoke had expanded the company to other countries, selling them weapons and security. But then he’d also started selling weapons to smaller terrorist groups, groups that could threaten the security of this country. It was a part of my job to ensure the safety of this country and its citizens.

There was also probably embezzlement and bribery. I’d kept quiet about it in order to keep my job so perhaps I was just as bad. However, if I wanted to expose him, I’d need evidence. And right now, I didn’t have anything that would hold up in a court. And then there was the issue of exposing him itself. If I were to do it, it had to be in a way that didn’t bring me backlash or worse. If Snoke had ties to terrorists, he probably had ties to other people that were just as bad. Snoke could likely make a person disappear if he wanted. He had no issue firing staff for the smallest of reasons. Thankfully I wasn’t the only staff member who wanted Snoke out of the picture. The head of Missiles and Fire Control, Armitage Hux was also on board. However, there were other heads of departments that we couldn’t trust. Mainly Tarkin and Krennic.

They’d been with the company since Snoke built it so the three of them were pretty close. I’m sure they had crimes of their own, but I’d find that out eventually. Suddenly it all seemed to click in to place. Cora would be my way of exposing them. The Resistance would kill for a story as big as this. And it would grant me safety once everything was out in the open. Even though I’d make sure they kept their source to themselves. It was just a precaution. The only issue was Leia. If she got really interested in the story, she could stick her nose in too far. But she’d have to know the basis to give Cora permission to run the story. It was a risk. And I was already risking enough.

If Cora breached my confidentiality, I’d breach her story. Besides I had no intention of it just being business with her. There was no reason we couldn’t mix business and pleasure. I’d given her my number for a reason. Now I just had more of a reason. I wanted to drag her into my world at full force. I wanted her for my own selfish needs and fantasies. I’d been looking for a new toy for a while and she ticked all the right boxes. It had been very obvious that night she had very little self confidence in her looks or in the bedroom for that matter. She had an innocence about her that I wanted to corrupt. I wanted to mark her as mine. And I would. I felt I’d made a good impression of myself last night and this morning. I’d turned up the charm for this exact reason. She’d be a fool to say no to me now.

I finished my jog, heading for the shower. I took a quick one, washing myself off and quickly going over my hair. I dried off and changed into clean clothes. My phone buzzed, the sound a little more muffled as it rested on the bed. It was nothing important, just an email notification. I brought up Coras number and wrote out a quick message before hitting send. I know who you are. Three dots appeared meaning she was typing. I waited, sitting on the edge of my bed. Cora And what? You're gonna threaten me now? That is what people say about you. Oh. So she'd done her research too. Clever girl. I should have expected it what with her job. It was her job and her nature to be nosey. Unfortunately I did have a reputation with my short temper.

I don’t threaten those I like. The three dots appeared again. She seemed like she’d be easy to wind up. Cora Well after discovering the truth, I’m not so keen on you anymore. Bullshit. If that were the truth, she wouldn’t have text me back. She wouldn’t have kept this conversation going. You liked me a lot last night. The dots appeared, disappeared and then reappeared again. They stayed on the screen for a few minutes and then vanished again. I smirked; she knew she couldn’t deny it. I decided to make this a little easier for her, she was going to a stubborn one. I liked you a lot last night and that hasn’t changed with what's come to light. That was mostly the truth. I was still determined to have her.

Cora Why would a man who is clearly pro war and god knows what else, be interested in me? A woman who works for a magazine who exposes criminals, who is anti-war, who is pro feminism? My line of work didn’t necessarily define my views. It just gave people ideas of my views. I’m not pro war, wars just happen to be very lucrative. So when are you free next? I was thinking we could do dinner. Cora I’ll pass. Shame. She’d cave in eventually though. I’d make sure of it.

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Over the next two weeks I went out of my way to text her every morning and evening. And every time she responded. She was playing hard to get and she was indeed stubborn. But if I really was bothering her, she would have blocked my number by now. I’d started to create a mental note or list of things I wanted to do to her when finally she caved in. I think first I’d have to tie her hands behind her back, put her over my knee and spank the stubbornness out of her. And if that still didn’t stop her smart comments perhaps, I’d fuck her throat until she’d learned her lesson. She’d look good with my cock down her throat, gagging on it with tears in her pretty green eyes.

It was hard no to get distracted at work with all these fantasies. Hux was starting to notice just how distracted I was. “Will you focus Ren? I can see your looking through me not at me,” Armitage snapped. I blinked, snapping myself out of my dirty thoughts and returned my focus to him. He was going over the latest project he’d been working on. Something called Starkiller. Hux sighed, knowing that he still didn’t have my full attention. “Something's bothering you,” he announced. “What? Nothing's bothering me.” “Normally I have your attention and you aren’t checking your phone every half an hour.”

I suppose I had been checking my phone more often than usual. No toy before Cora had ever held out this long, they would have caved within the first few days. But Cora’s stubbornness continued to amaze me. “I’m guessing it’s a toy that’s gotten you so distracted?” Hux asked. “Potential toy. She’s making this harder than it needs to be.” “Or perhaps she isn't as interested as you think?” “Trust me, she's interested.” “If you say so. But for now, I’d love your full attention.” As if to prove a point I made a show of turning my phone off and putting it on the table. Hux smiled and resumed going over his blueprints with me.

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[ratonnhhaketon]

See The Fire In Your Eyes (Chapter 2)

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Summary: Catherine Hays grew up in a picture-perfect, high society family in Virginia. She had her whole life planned out for her and was about to get married to a man she could not stand. When her brother uncovers a murder plot and has to pay with his own life, Catherine decides she can’t continue playing along. She takes control of her own destiny and goes south to a pretty little town called Blackwater.

Warnings: Swearing, Canon-typical violence, mentions of death (briefly) 

Chapter 2 - Three Of A Kind 

Blackwater was vastly different than any city Catherine had ever visited. It was dry, most of the streets were dirt, and it always smelled a little bit like horse shit. But, it was her new home and she learned to get used to it quickly

Her first mission upon arriving in the new city was to find temporary housing. Ultimately, she would like to find an apartment to solidify her new life, but for now she chose to rent a hotel room. After walking through the streets she found a hotel across the street from the saloon and decided to spend the night there. She booked a room for the next week and headed straight up.

The room was small but would satisfy her needs. It had a bed with nightstands on either side, a dresser, and a fireplace that seemed to have been snuffed out recently. She put her luggage down by the dresser and sat down on the bed. The mattress wasn’t the softest thing she’d ever slept on, but it would have to do.

Catherine rubbed her hands over her face and sighed. This was the first time she was truly able to think about the past few days, seeing as she was asleep for most of the train ride the previous night, and all of the emotions she refused to let surface finally broke through.

She cried, not caring how loud she was or who would hear her. Reid, her baby brother and the closest friend she ever had, was gone. He was gone and she didn’t even stay for the burial. On the one hand, she hated herself for not giving him the final goodbye he deserved, but she also knew that she would not have lasted being in Calvin’s presence one more time.

Calvin. That absolute bastard was the reason all of this had to happen. She was disgusted at not only the fact that he killed her brother and was planning to kill his own father, but the fact that he so perfectly hid that side of himself. Who knows how long he was sitting on the decision to take another person’s life?

Her thoughts then drifted to her parents. She felt guilty for not telling them anything that was going on. About Calvin mistreating her, the true reason behind her brother’s death, or even explaining why she needed to leave her old life behind. Catherine hoped, only for a moment, that they would track her down and write to them. But then she realized that if they found her, it was almost impossible for him not to  track her down as well. And she did not even want to think about what he would do to her for running from their marriage.

After calming herself down enough, Catherine wiped her eyes on her sleeves and stood up. She would not dwell on the past any longer. This was the start of her new life and she was going to begin it now.

She picked up her suitcase and put it on the bed, throwing the top open in the process. Inside were various dresses, chemises, boots, and jewelry. She shuffled some clothes around before finding the one pair of pants she owned: simple, black pants that she bought so she didn’t have to ride sidesaddle on her stallion back home. Seeing as she would need to buy a horse from the local stables to get around, she was very thankful that she remembered to grab the garment before leaving.

Catherine undid the buttons on her skirt and let it fall to the floor before wiggling into her pants. After fastening the button and making sure everything was smooth, she grabbed her pair of black riding boots and slipped them on as well.

Her first order of business was to head to the saloon and ask around for some work.

She made her way down to the street outside and crossed the road to her destination. It was just around noon so not too many people would be drinking just yet.

Catherine walked up to the bar and greeted the man behind the counter. He gave her a polite smile and greeting while drying shot glasses. “Do you happen to know where I could pick up some extra money? Like odd jobs and such?”

He placed the glass he was cleaning down on the counter. “The sheriff is always looking for help on bounty missions and if you’re skilled with a bow the butcher always appreciates a good deer or elk.”

Catherine tapped her fingers on the counter as she thought. Neither of those sounded particularly fun, but she would need a way to live if she was going to stay down here. She looked around the bar for a moment and spotted a poker table near the window. Perfect. She knew the ins and outs of the game like the back of her hand, learning early on in life how to play from her father. This was her ticket to success.

After ordering a whiskey and thanking the bartender for his help, she walked over to the men at the table and smiled. “Afternoon, gentlemen. Mind if I join?”

The men around the table gladly accepted and dealt her into the game as she sat down. Everyone introduced themselves as they placed their bets. She learned that the two men sitting on either sides of her were Thomas and Alvin, and the man across from her dealing was Jackson.

“So,” Thomas, the tall, buff man sitting to her right, spoke up. “What’s a pretty little woman like yourself doing out here all alone?” Catherine’s stomach turned at the term he used for her.

“Just trying to enjoy my afternoon and make some money in the process.” She picked up her cards and resisted the urge to smile. A pair of aces. This was gonna be easy.

The group played a few games, Catherine winning all but one of them, before the men were visibly disgruntled over not having won anything. Knowing that being $30 richer was a very good start, she decided it was time to leave. She bid the gentlemen goodnight before getting up and walking out of the tavern.

As she walked back to her hotel she felt someone following her. She ignored it at first, but when she noticed the sound of footsteps behind her she cautiously turned over her shoulder.

She saw Thomas about ten feet away and he did not look happy. She kept walking, faster this time, until he caught up to her and grabbed her arm. He yanked her arm back, causing her to spin around and almost fall into him. “GET OFF OF ME!” She yelled, hoping a lawman would be near to help her.

His grip became tighter as she struggled  in his grasp. “I don’t know what game you thought you was playing, but we don’t ’preciate cheatin’ in this town.” His voice was low in almost a growl, and his eyes were hidden from the shadow of his hat.

She winced at the pain in her wrist. “I-I can give you back your money! Just fucking let go of me!”

He released her and she fell backwards onto the stone sidewalk. “Keep the damn money. But if I see you playin’ my game again, it won’t end pretty.”

Catherine watched as he walked back off in the direction of the saloon. She sat on the ground for a minute, shaken up and trying to steady her breathing, before getting up and practically running back to the hotel.  ~~~~~

The next morning Catherine headed down to the tailor with one of the expensive dresses she had in her suitcase. The man working was ecstatic to see the garment, immediately knowing it was from a well-regarded dressmaker in Virginia, and offered her $150 for it. The actual garment was worth over $250, but she couldn’t complain.

She decided it would be a good idea to buy a horse and some weapons just to be safe. After the incident last night she knew she would need a way to defend herself.

The gunsmith recommended a simple pistol and hunting knife, as well as the appropriate belt and holsters. At first she was contemplating not buying ammunition for the gun, seeing as taking another person’s life was the last thing she wanted to do, but she decided it was a good decision to get at least one box.

Admittedly, she did feel safer knowing she had a way of self defense, especially after the man working showed her how to use it when she sheepishly admitted she had never owned one. But there was also a part of her that was terrified of the possibility of having to use it. She could never see herself as a killer, especially after knowing Calvin did it so casually and treated it almost as if he enjoyed it.

She tried to shake the thoughts from her mind as she walked into the general store in search of supplies for her horse. Her mind was still racing as she entered the shop, and she almost didn’t notice the man walking out and directly towards her.

She stopped when she was about a foot away from him, looking up to meet his blue shirt and black neckerchief. The man, standing about half a foot taller than her, looked down at her and smiled behind his worn leather hat. “S’cuse me, miss,” his gruff voice said as he moved past her and out the door.

Catherine stood in place for a moment, shocked by the man that just passed her. She hoped, just a little, that he would turn back around into the store so she could see him again. Continuing up to the counter, she pushed the thought out of her mind and focused on buying what she was here for.

~~~~~

After her shopping trip Catherine decided she needed to find another way to make money besides poker until the situation with Thomas calmed down a bit. She thought over her options and decided that bounties were off the table. The possibility of dying or having to kill another person definitely did not seem appealing, so she decided to try her hand at hunting.

Killing an animal was something people outside of cities did all the time to live, so how hard could it be?

It was much, much harder than she expected, both physically and emotionally. Seeing as she didn’t have a bow, she had to try to kill with her hunting knife. This meant small game was the only logical choice and their tiny bodies moved a lot faster than expected.

But she did happen to get lucky with two rabbits that she managed to catch off guard. After turning around a tree trunk as fast as possible, Catherine seized the small animal by the feet and held it to the ground. With a shaky hand she lined up the knife with the animal’s neck. Her head immediately turned to the side and her eyes clamped shut as the blade went straight through skin and muscle. A small, final squeak escaped the animal as it’s life was stripped from it in one swift motion.

Catherine lifted the blade out of the animal and opened her eyes, regret and sorrow bubbling up inside her as she looked at the tiny carcass beneath her hand.

“I.. am so sorry,” she said in a whisper. She knew that the kill was not in vain and that the butcher would use every part of its body, but it still felt wrong to take the life of another being, even if it was just a small animal.

After taking a second to breathe and collect herself, Catherine stood up and took the animal back to her horse. She secured it tightly to the side of the saddle and tried for another.

The next hour was slow and aggravating, but the second kill came easier. Granted, killing was still not something she wanted to do, but she was more okay with it.

Having secured the second rabbit and mounting her Tennessee Walker, Catherine rode back into town and straight to butcher. The $7 she got as payment was certainly not bad, but she wished she was able to go after bigger animals to get more money back.

Nightfall was starting to approach while she left her horse at the stables for the night. As she started heading back towards the hotel, she spotted a group of three men walking into the saloon. Normally she wouldn’t care about men going to get drunk, but the man she saw from the general store earlier that day was one of them.

Catherine waited until they entered the building to cross the street and follow them in. Upon entering, she made a beeline straight for the bar to order a drink. The bartender slid her a bottle of whiskey and she popped the cork before doing a scan over the crowd. The room was more packed than the previous night, but she found her target with ease.

The man in the blue shirt was sitting at the poker table with two other men, one of them looking dirty and greasy. The other, however, was a stark contrast. He looked groomed and held himself at a very high self esteem, no doubt the leader of their group. And those rings. Bright gold stood out on almost all of his fingers, shimmering in the dim light of the saloon. This had to be her big break. If she did it last night with a bunch of drunks, it couldn’t be too difficult to do it again.

She fixed her hair, running her hands through the auburn locks to get rid of any tangles, before sauntering over to the group. The three men were engaged in conversation, the ringleader letting out a hearty chuckle at something one of the others said. “Good evening, gentlemen,” she said with a smile. “Can I interest all of you in a game?” She gestured down to the deck of cards sitting on the table.

The man in the blue shirt sat up and looked to the man sitting to his right. The dark-haired man shared a glance with him before turning back to Catherine. “Alright, why not?” He smiled and passed the deck to the man sitting on his right. “John, you deal first.”

She sat down in the chair between the man in the blue shirt and who she now knew as John and gathered her chips to buy-in.

“I don’t think I caught your name,” the man sitting across from her spoke up as he looked at his cards. He tried to hide a sly smirk as she looked at them, but Catherine was able to notice it.

“Cathrine Hays,” she said with a smile, throwing in a few chips for her bet.

“Well, Miss Hays, it is a pleasure.” He gestured to himself, “I’m Dutch van der Linde and this is Arthur and John.” The two men sitting to her sides nodded when their names were announced.

Despite going easy on them for a couple games, Arthur was the first to drop out. He decided he’d rather “sit back and watch” rather than play, so Dutch slid him some money to get the table a round of drinks. When he returned he handed Catherine another bottle of whiskey. Their hands brushed for just a moment as she accepted the beverage, her face immediately heating up at the contact.

As they played, Catherine played to her strong suits. She was able to go three games without losing, and John had finally swallowed his pride and given up. Dutch, however, was not giving up so easily. He was determined to win no matter what.

“Tell you what, Mr. Van der Linde,” Catherine smiled. “We play one more game. If you win, I’ll give you my silver pocket watch. If I win, I get one of those rings.”

She heard Arthur chuckle and John let out a low whistle beside her. Dutch’s eyes narrowed and he passed the deck to her. “That sounds like a deal.”

Before they even had time to place their first bets down, the door to the saloon swung open. Thomas, the man from the night before, stomped in and made a beeline to Catherine. She felt her heart speed up with every step he took towards her.

He stopped inches from her and pulled her up by the collar to his face. “What did I tell ya ‘bout playin’ MY GAME?!” His voice roared. He reeked of alcohol and sweat. Her hands immediately went to his wrist and tried to pry it off of her shirt.

The men sitting at the table instantly stood up to defend her. “Okay, sir, why don’tcha  jus’ put the lady down and we talk this over like civilized folk?” Arthur’s voice was calm as his hand slowly reached for his pistol.

Before Thomas had a chance to reply, Catherine swung her right hand as far back as possible and punched him straight in the throat. He immediately dropped her before stumbling back and struggling to breathe. She fell to the floor behind her and John bent down to help her back to her feet.

Before the assailant was able to regain his composure, Catherine grabbed his hand and bent the wrist backwards as far back as it would go without breaking. “Don’t you EVER think about laying another finger on me,” she said through gritted teeth. “If I ever see you anywhere near this establishment, I will not hesitate to break every bone in your body. Got it?”

He nodded rapidly and gripped the hand she had pinned until she let go. Without missing a beat, he immediately ran out the door and down the street, vanishing into the night.

At this point everyone in the saloon was watching, some backing away from Catherine in fear. She turned back to the poker table, seeing Dutch, Arthur and John visibly shocked and impressed at her display. After looking between the men for a split second, she dug around in her pocket before slamming a dollar on the table. “Here, for the drinks,” she said quickly and walked out the door.

The group of men looked at each other for a few seconds before Dutch headed out of the building, the two others following closely behind. They found Catherine a few buildings down the street leaning against the wall with her head in her hands.

“Miss Hays,” a voice snapped her out of her thoughts. Her head shot up, breaths coming in and out quickly and her eyes wide with fear. “I wanted to make sure you were okay. And what was all that about?” Dutch’s voice was soft and calming.

She swallowed the lump in her throat before speaking up. “I-I’m fine. That.. His name is Thomas and he’s a bastard. I joined him and his friends last night for a game because I needed the money and he wasn’t all that happy that I was winning. He followed me back to the hotel I’ve been staying at and threatened me.” She felt her eyes glaze over as she remembered the previous night.

“Did he hurt you?” Arthur spoke up with a sympathetic tone.

She shook her head. “No.. no, not any worse than he did just now.”

Dutch spoke up again. “You said you’re stayin’ in a hotel, can I ask why?”

She sighed and closed her eyes. “I had to leave my previous home. It's not safe for me to stay there, so I went as far south as I could and it led me here.”

He put a soft hand on her shoulder and she met his gaze. “If you’re in need of a home, we can help you. We’ve got our own family of people that need help and protection.” He could sense hesitation without her even speaking up. “We’ll keep you safe. Nothing bad will happen to you again.”

Catherine looked into his eyes and saw nothing but genuine kindness, something she hadn’t seen a lot of since leaving home. She smiled weakly. “Thank you, Mr. Van der Linde.”

“Call me Dutch.”

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