#When they come out they are bigger making it more painful . and really fucking destructive

[jqhotchner]

quest

six

warning: mention of abuse, sexual assault, kidnapping, guns, knives, and mention of miscarriage, murder, sexual themed

darius was a troubled kid. you couldn’t really blame him. his father was an abusive alcoholic and his mother just took the punches like a ‘good house wife’ while darius watched it all unfold.

his troubled behavior started when he was in the first grade. he’d push other kids and make fun of them. darius father blamed his mother and she’d become a punching bag.

the older darius got, the worse he became. and watching his father only made him crave more destruction.

his first crime was as simple as stealing. he started off small. a pack of gum from a corner store would give him a small drive. but over time he needed more. so he started to steal more items. some chips, a soda, hell he even stole a box of tampons once.

he loved the rush! but it still wasn’t enough. he needed to go big! so he’d started to pickpocket. took him awhile to become smooth and unnoticed. it’s why he would steal from people in different neighborhoods as practice.

when he got better he went to the north side of the neighborhood. he’d steal from the rich preppy kids and get away with it each time. none of them noticing their wallets had been gone until they arrived home.

he couldn’t believe how much cash they’d have in their pockets. it was unbelievable how stupid they were by not having a card or carrying a smaller amount. but he was making money.

still, he felt something missing. he needed a bigger rush. he just didn’t know what exactly was missing. that all changed the night his father came into his room, drunk out of his mind, thinking he was his mother.

darius tried to push his father off of him. he tried to get through to him. but this only made him angrier.

“do we have to go over this again brenda?! you’re my wife! i can take it any time i wanna.” he slurred in his sons ear.

darius just gave in. letting his father do whatever he wanted as he cried from the pain. when his father was done he zipped up his pants and spit right on darius face.

“going out for nother beer.”

darius had no idea what his mother really went through with his father until then. but he promised she would never have to suffer like that ever again. that was his first awakening.

darius planned how he’d do it. he had to carefully make it look like a stupid drunken accident. he knew he could! his father had a record.

he knew he’d get away with it. took him months to finally come up with a carefully skilled plan. he made sure his mother wasn’t home and he sat right next to his dad. darius simply asked if he wanted a beer.

he’d get up, go to the kitchen, poison said beer, and handed it to him. darius would just wait. he’d watch as his father drinks his beer and watch the football game. he would ask for another, and another, and another. until eventually he’d finally get sick.

darius smirks as he watched his father die. he’d bend down as his father eyes watered and got blurry.

“you sick fuck! i hope you burn in hell.” darius would wait upstairs. when he heard his mom screamed he knew she had found his fathers lifeless body.

he’d rush downstairs and pretends to be shocked and broken. his mother called the police. after a few days of investigation they ruled it as alcohol poisoning.

that was his first kill.

darius and his mom moved on. they moved to texas, darius mom found a new lover, got married, and smiled way more than he’s ever seen her smile.

darius even graduated high school. he met the most beautiful woman he’s ever seen and had to marry her.

she got pregnant with their first kid, tim y/l/n. darius loved being a father. but deep down he was missing something. his wife started to notice his change in demeanor.

he was distant. it was like he was a different person. so when she fell pregnant with their second child she became depressed. he was never around, never present. this caused her to lose the baby.

his wife was devastated. darius promised he’d change. he would go to therapy and figure out what was wrong.

but he never went. instead he did something he hasn’t in a long time. he stole. and it gave him that rush back. the happiness he was missing. it would work for a while. the rush of not being caught.

darius wife noticed his changes. she wanted to try again. and a few months later her and darius had their second baby boy, john y/l/n.

for two years darius was happy. he was content with just stealing. but he needed more. he knew what was missing. that rush of killing. he had never felt so much power in his life until he killed his dad. he needed more.

so darius would find his next victims. woman who worked the streets. no one would miss them! they were perfect for his plan. he’d start with a woman who went unnoticed first.

he would stalk them and see who would get less customers. the one that hid in the shadows the most. when he finally found the one he’d wait patiently.

the night he picked her up he drove into a wooded area. he would park his car, be friendly, even allowed her to give him head. when she was done he’d caress her face.

darius would kiss her lovingly before wrapping his hand gently around her neck. he’d look her in the eyes as he choked her.

fighting for her life she scratch his arm. but he would only squeeze harder until she was lifeless.

darius smirks. he felt that rush again. this was exactly what he was missing.

when he finally came back to his senses he would get out of the car, walk to the passenger side, grab her lifeless body, and walk into the wooded area. darius had already dug a six feet grave hours ago. he would drop her lifeless body into the grave and bury her before going home to his wife and two children and pretending like nothing happened.

and this would last four five years.

five years after the first prostitute he killed, darius would have killed about fifty woman after that.

he couldn’t believe he got away with it for so long. no one suspected a thing. at least he thought.

his wife noticed a few things. it started when they found out they were having a girl. the way darius face would turn white. and when they had their daughter he treated her differently than the boys.

almost as if she didn’t exist. she would bring it up but darius would shrug her off. the years soon went by and darius would still ignore his daughter.

whenever abigale would climb on his lap he’d lift her up, sit her on the other couch, and go back to his chair.

he wouldn’t feed her, change her diaper, bath her. nothing! darius would only take care of the boys. his wife couldn’t stand that!

she had enough and yelled at him. this was the start of their rocky marriage. time went on, darius kept killing, the kids were getting older, and their marriage was practically over.

when the kids were teenagers, tim 17, john 15, and abigale 14, they’d noticed things.

how their father would be gone all hours of the night, their mother would cry herself to sleep, their father smelling like perfume, their mother not even being emotionally present. at that point they took care of themselves and each other.

one night they’d come home to their parents yelling. it wasn’t anything out of the ordinary but it was louder than usual. the could nearly hear them a block away.

when they got inside their mother was holding a pair of panties and shoving it in their fathers face.

“who the fuck is she, darius!”

“i told you it’s nobody’s!”

“how the hell did it get in your car then?!”

their father would walk away.

“i don’t know! do you know how many people get into my car a day?! it could have been any bodies.”

“oh, fuck you! that is the most lamest excuse ever. tell me who she is!”

they’d continue to fight. moving to their bedroom and closing the door. the three siblings would sigh before turning on the tv and trying to shut out the noise. that is until they heard silence.

they got nervous. not knowing what to do tim told his siblings to stay put as he walks over to his parents room.

he knocks on the door and waits for one of them to answer.

when his dad finally opened the door he gasped. he had blood on his hands and was holding a knife.

“i—i didn’t mean to. she just—all i saw was red and i—shit!”

tim didn’t know what to do. he didn’t know how to feel. but seeing his mom lifeless body he knew he had to protect his siblings. tim knew what could happen if the police found out about this. his siblings would be put into foster care, he would be sent but eventually kicked out when he turned eighteen, trying to find a home, only to most likely live on the streets or turn to a place of crime. that would just ruin them all. he knew he had to hide this.

his siblings unfortunately didn’t listen. they ran to him after he was gone awhile and cried when they saw their mom.

“listen! you two wanna stay together right?”

abigale and john both nod their heads.

“then we have to help dad his moms body, okay? we have to protect dad so we can all be together.”

and that’s what they did. the helped darius grab her body, dug a hole in the backyard, and buried their own mother.

that was darius last murder. but it was far from his last crime.

a year went by. tim decided to stay with his siblings despite him being eighteen. he didn’t trust his father. he was currently in school.

after what happened last year he decided to study law. he needed to know what could happen to them if the truth came out. and he would do anything in his power to protect himself and his siblings.

they didn’t talk much to their dad. he was rarely home after killing their mother. they didn’t care to know where he was. he would leave them money for food and leave until they needed more.

they were better off without him around. but their dad had other plans. he missed his wife so much.

he never meant to hurt her. he lost it and killed the one woman he could ever love. he needed to find someone similar.

that’s when he spotted her, sarah. oh was she beautiful. she looked so much like his late wife. he had to have her.

unfortunately she was with this man. he didn’t like that. he had to get rid of him somehow.

darius had made many connections over the years. living the life of a criminal he had to. he found dirty cops, scammers, thieves, drug dealers, everyone and every department you could think of.

darius even had a buddy who had connections with the military. he called him up and explained his situation. two months later the man was shipped off.

that’s when he’d make his move. he needed to be very careful though. he drew up a plan to make her his forever.

but as the months went by, her belly got big. oh, she more perfect for him than before. she was carrying a child. his child!

after failing his other three children he thought this was a sign. they belonged together.

but he knew he couldn’t lie to his children at home. he had to tell them the truth. they had to know everything. he promised to never hurt them like he did a year ago, ever again.

so when he got his friend from the military to finally capture sarah, take her to his home, and threw her in the basement, he told them everything.

“she’s gonna be your new mom.”

they all thought he was sick. but they kept their mouths shut. knowing if they went to the police everything could have come forward.

and as the months went by, you were finally born. and your siblings, they wouldn’t allow anyone to hurt you. even if you weren’t biologically tied to them.

“and that’s the story. our father told us everything that night. from his parents, him pickpocketing, his murders. everything!”

“why’d you stay so long? after yn was born? she wasn’t tied to you in anyway? why did you wait until she was thirteen to leave?”

“despite her not being blood she was our sister!”

“she was a little girl who got caught up into our fathers twisted ways.”

“the moment she was born we fell in love with her. she was our sister! but ultimately we had to move on with our lives. we were all happily in relationships.”

“i wanted to start my career in law and start a family with my then girlfriend, current wife.”

“i had lived near by. a few yards away and got pregnant. i knew being near my dad and the body of my mother could cause me to lose my baby.”

“and i wanted to start school myself. we were too close to our father. all of us had homes near by but we just couldn’t do it anymore. we couldn’t live so close to a monster.”

“and we knew he’d never hurt her. he was capable of hurting her mom. but never her. to him this was his fresh start to do right. and he loved yn like his own. in his sick twisted mind she was his.”

“did your father ever tell you where the other bodies were? the sex workers he killed?”

“no, but,”

“he use to take us to this woodsy area when we were kids. there was a tire swing he built and he had a shed.”

“we believe he bought land there. it’s where we think he buried the bodies.”

“do you remember where it was?”

tim, john, and abigale nod.

“can you take us?”

“yes.”

the search was set. they had the dogs sniff around and already found thirteen bodies.

they wanted to wait to go to the house until they’ve found enough evidence against darius. currently they only had bodies. they needed proof he was responsible for this.

they knew just who to get it from. chief peterson. he had no idea he was being interrogated. thinking they were waiting for another potential unsub he sat at the table.

derek and rossi sitting right across from him.

“where is this unsub? who is it?”

“just be patient. they’re coming.” rossi states.

“i don’t have time for patience! i have to prove my goddaughter did not do this crime!”

“oh? so you know miss y/l/n? we didn’t know that.”

“yeah. im a family friend.”

“pretty close to the case? don’t you think you should have sat this one out?!”

“not when it comes to my family. i don’t care about the rules!”

“how long have you known the y/l/n family?”

“forty years. why?”

“no reason? it’s just interesting how you didn’t bring this up before.”

“i don’t have to answer to you!”

“you see, charles. may i call you charles?”

officer peterson gives them a look.

“we’re here to help you solve a murder! that girl, miss y/l/n, she was the perfect unsub! at the crime scene, finger prints on the knife, on the will. everything about her was perfect. yet she was held in a cell for majority of the forty eight hours you held her, never once did you interrogate her, hell, i don’t think she knew about her godfather being a cop. you had your men speak to her for, how long did they say rossi?”

“ten minutes.”

“ten minutes before putting her back into the cell and keeping yourself hidden. because you know if she would have saw you she’d be confused.”

“we talked to miss y/l/n and asked her if she knew you. she told us you’re her godfather. you and mister darius play golf every thursday and had the impression you worked at an auto shop.”

“now how would she get that impression, derek?”

“because you told her! in fact you bought an auto shop when she was fifteen, renamed it petersons auto repair store, and took her there to see. because you had to keep up with the charade. she was turning sixteen soon. which meant she was gonna learn how to drive, get a car, and cruise down the highway. and guess what? just in case something was wrong with her car,”

“her godfather had an auto repair company she could go to get get it fixed with a family discount.”

“kinda genius, right?”

at this point peterson knew he was caught. he knew they knew more and lying would only get him in more trouble.

“i always knew this day would come.”

“why don’t you tell us everything you know chief peterson. maybe we’d cut you a deal.”

and he did. he gave them all the evidence he had on darius. all the times he broke the law and he covered it up for him.

he even went as far as helping them catch darius red handed. getting him to confess to everything.

they arrested darius along with everyone that worked for him. no charges were pressed against you any longer.

the only thing that mattered was getting your mom help. she was gonna need to go to some form of therapy. reid helped you find a program fitting for her.

you had no idea how long she would have to stay. but you were glad she could get help. being help hostage for over thirty years could really break someone.

when you reunited with your children you hugged them tightly. thanking jj for taking care of them. your siblings were shocked to learn you had been married, divorced, and had triplets. but they already adored their nieces and their nephew.

aaron stayed behind and watched. you look at him and frowned. you knew what was coming next. but you couldn’t talk now. you just wanted to get some rest with your babies.

your sister nudged you.

“stare much?!”

you looked at her. “huh?”

“i get it. he’s cute. but no need to drool.” she smirks.

“oh.”

your sister looks at you suspiciously. she looks down at your kids and looks back at you with her eyes widened.

“holy, shit! that’s him isn’t it?!”

“who’s who?” your brothers walk over to you.

“that hot fbi guy! that’s the ex husband and baby daddy!”

“seriously?!”

“a cop sis?!”

you blushed. “shut up! yes, it’s him. can we not act like children?”

“how could you possibly leave that?! fuck! if my husband looked like that id never leave the bedroom.”

“gross! abi! i don’t wanna think about you in the bedroom. i especially don’t wanna think about our little sister in the bedroom.”

“he’s coming over. go away! all of you.”

they walk away with their nieces and their nephew to give you two privacy.

“hi.”

“im gonna be staying here for awhile. i think tomorrow we should meet up. ill have jj stay as well to keep the kids—”

“we can watch them.” abigale buts in.

“are you sure abby?”

“yeah! you can drop them off at mine. im sure they’d love to meet their cousins.”

“alright. um—sure. where—where do you wanna meet?”

“ill have emily send you the information. but i think its best you unblock me as well. ill see you in the morning. goodnight yn.” aaron states before walking away.

you bite your bottom lip. you were happy this was over with your dad. but you were not ready for this conversation with aaron.

“come on darlings. let get to bed.”

finally! darius is arrested and you aren’t going to prison

but now you have to deal with aaron.

you have no idea which is worse :/

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taglist:

@ivebeenthearchersstuff @shergoretzxx @slut4ethan @rosiehale23

[gabessquishytum]

When hob lets his boyfriend dream take him home, he doesn’t expect to become the family property and plaything.

But that doesn’t mean he minds!

Dream promises that his family with like hob, offers him a drink and next thing you know, a tipsy hob’s on his back, dream pounding into him. Hob moans so loudly he doesn’t even think about the fact that the door is open. Or that Dream’s family can probably hear.

The next morning, hob is at the sink making coffee when destruction comes up, bends him over the counter with a hand fisted in his hair and fucks him until he comes all over the marble

Desire ties him up and plays with him for hours, without letting him come even once.

Death invites him out to the pool and he can’t resist eating her out when she asks.

Everyone in the family has a use for hob and hob absolutely gets off on being used. Dream is just pleased his family approves. He rather thought they’d like him.

Aww, this is oddly wholesome. Love to see siblings sharing their toys nicely <3

The best thing is that Hob really loves it. He adores Dream, would do anything for him, would like to marry him - but. He also likes other things, too.

Destruction's cock is bigger than Dream’s. Thick and heavy, it matches the rest of his body. He can squash Hob flat and hold him down. He can bruise Hob’s skin with just a pinch. And he's such a sweetheart, too. So hairy and cuddly. When Hob limps back to Dream, he's always smiling.

Desire is crazy. They make Hob beg until he's hoarse. They tease him, comfort him, degrade him, make love to him. They seem utterly satisfied by everything Hob does, but utterly unwilling to give satisfaction in return. And they always give Hob the best showers afterwards. He may still be horny, but he's never felt cleaner.

Death is so kind. Such a gentle, dominant presence. She seems faintly amused by Hob’s willingness to please her. She spoils him, lets him explore her body with his tongue. She reminds Hob a lot of Dream, particularly when she fucks him over the lounger with her strap. The same relentless rhythm. She makes him cum until he can't feel his limbs.

Destiny likes to use Hob as a footstool in the library. He'll play with Hob’s hair, and feed him chocolates if he manages to be good.

Despair enjoys Hob’s physicality as much as any of the siblings, although her touches are more exploratory than sexual. Occasionally painful, but generally pleasant in the end. She gives an incredible massage, if you can stand to ache afterwards.

And Delirium really just likes a cuddle.

He belongs to Dream, in Dream’s arms and Dream’s bed, but Dream is generous. He knows what his Hob needs. And if the family can finally agree on something... that's a bonus for everyone, isn't it?

[esther-dot]

With the way sometimes Grrm talks about Dany "hot chick riding dragon" or her relationship with Drogo, idk how to say this, is jarring to say the least. We know he was surprised by people seeing san/san as romantic but I still don't know whether he intended Dany's wedding night to be rape (which it obviously is) but then he denied it. Sometimes I get the feeling he doesn't care for her the way he cares for say Sansa and Arya (he would never pair them with Drogo or Daario or Euron! yes Sansa married Tyrion but Grrm made it sure to be unconsummated and little more than sham), probably because he always intended for her to be doomed.

(in reference to this ask I think)

I don’t know that we can look at how much Martin makes a character suffer as an indication of how much he loves them. Tyrion has been misjudged/mistreated his entire life (even abused as in infant), and yet, he is Martin's favorite character. He’s not dishing out pain based on his affection for a character imo. I think he wants to look at certain ideas, and as much as he loves all his characters, as a writer, they’re tools he’s using to say certain things.

As fans, not the artist, it can be hard for us to emotionally disengage enough to think of it that way, but writers are trying to convey big ideas, and Dany’s lovers/husbands at times are representative of something about Dany, it isn’t always as simple as a sex scene, and if Martin is locked into that type of thinking, it may not be hitting him the way it hits us. I clearly remember being 13/14, I remember my friends at that age, so it offends me to read certain scenes or hear him talk about the girls in a certain way. I am with you in objecting to how he speaks about Dany.

That being said, I did have a new thought about this.

Martin endorsed the famous Meereenese blot essays, and in those, the author argues that Dany's choice in men indicates something about her--that she is moved by violence, that peace bores her. He relates what Martin has written about her sex life to Dany's character development, and I think that may be the light in which Martin views his choices, not the one we adopt, "this is a 13 year old child." If we want to extend that grace when interpreting his writing, we can assume that Drogo, as well as Daario, were created to show us Dany's desires--not write Dany as some sexual fantasy for pervs. They may both have been written to show us that Dany is drawn to violent means, even though it scares her, even though it hurts her, even though it may lead to her demise.

I hadn't really thought beyond my repulsion before, but this ask did remind me, there's a long literary history of writing land/countries as feminine, and seeing as how Martin has used the term, "come-into-my-castle" as a euphemism for sex, it's worth wondering what additional purposes some of these sex scenes serve. Maybe, they're conveying bigger ideas? As in, Sansa's choice to not have sex with Tyrion does mean she remains a virgin, but plot-wise, it matters because this actually protects Winterfell, the North, from the Lannisters. It can be read as Sansa (the North) will not be permanently conquered by the enemy (Lannisters), but will become free.

And if we look at Dany with the same idea, Martin's insistence that Dany's wedding day sex was consensual (yikes) and a “seduction” (fucking yikes) the literary point may be that scene is standing in for Dany being seduced by power and violent means, that rather than protecting her country (Westeros), she will willingly bring destruction and death. It is possible Martin's choices were less about whitewashing statutory rape (he goes on to write about Drogo brutally raping Dany so the way he objected to D&D's rewriting of the scene seemed odd), maybe the focus was always meant to be on what Dany loves, what she desires, it just took us getting to ADWD and her riding a dragon with some...uh, sexual sounding descriptions, for Martin to connect his dots.

All the same, I will not defend him. I am repulsed by how he has spoken about Dany in interviews, and I don't like how he sexualizes little girls. It disturbs me.

[tactlessly-sen]

Harley fucking Quinn and Jinx: analysis of crazy.

Harley was created by and admired by people who don't really get psychology (and thats perfectly fine btw, you don't have to "get" psychology to resonate with a character...but like if u resonate with Harley...atb dude). For them, "crazy" is its own thing and it consists of randomness or destructive behavior and that's it. Jinx was created by people who understand the different conditions, where they come from, and how they impact you.

A small point on the scenes where they respectively exhibit violence…

Harley isn't being 'violent'. She hamms it up, stands around making funny faces, making one-liners.  Jinx has her moment, and then just casually shoots the kid in the back without a word. 

Harley wants to be crazy, Jinx doesn't. Harley is more to glorify “crazy” and quirkiness for the sake of a laugh. Jinx’s “crazy” comes from actual pain and doesn’t exist for laughs.

Harley is performing insanity. Jinx is insane. Jinx isn't trying to entertain anyone. Not even herself. Least of all herself. 

Harley isn't dangerous, she's easy to approach, you can feel like you can have a laugh with Harley. Hell, in the movies she's most often seen literally partying. Jinx - when she's not blowing up buildings and casually murdering children - is a gadgeteer in a madness basement talking to life-sized dolls of people she killed and talking to herself while trying to figure out how to make bigger and bigger explosions because it's the only thing she's good at.

Harley is a character trait.

Jinx is a character. 

Here is a really cool video on the topic..

[nogoawaytism]

Okay, so I really like the idea of Silver Bull. (And by "like" I mean it's been burning in my veins for months.)

Oh shit, it's long.

Realistically, it would take quite a long time to fully develop of course. There's Adam's racism towards humans combined with Merc's inability to really open up to anyone who isn't named Emerald. And of course there's always the angle of the two being an all-around toxic pairing, much angst. Buttt since I'm just a sinnamon roll and want everyone to be healthy and happy, I'm going to go for the healthy variety.

(By the way, in my au, Adam and Ilia are the same age as most of the cast. I never really saw the point of making them older and younger respectively.)

Initially, when Adam is forced to spend time around Emerald and Mercury (the HORROR), it's the worst day ever. You could write at least one full season's worth of a sitcom. Emerald and Mercury just do stupid shit to intentionally piss him off. To be clear, it isn't 100% out of malice. The two have some desire to see him cut loose in spite of everything. From seeing how he fights, they know just how dangerous he is, especially towards humans, but even from the start, there's this sort of mutual respect from both parties. I think Adam would be the one to feel attraction first, and he's horrified that he's capable of feeling attracted towards a human. Inevitably, the shells crack over time. Adam and Mercury aren't blind to the softness that Fox can bring out of Emerald, one different than the one Mercury can sometimes evoke. At this point, the concept of a human and a faunus together romantically is such a foreign concept to Adam- obviously it was horribly taboo in Atlas, and it would be highly looked down upon in the White Fang to say the least. Eventually Adam's curiosity gets the best of him, and he asks Fox "What do you see in her? She's a human!" Fox replies "She's more like me than she is different." and elaborates on the similarity of their pasts. Fox also tells Adam "I can tell there's something that's hurting you too. It's buried deep inside, but it dictates your every step. And I don't think I want to force it out of your mind." Adam's understandably kind of freaked out over Fox's semblance, but there is some innate trust because he is also a faunus. They develop a friendship- probably Adam's first friend that isn't in the White Fang. They've gone through hard times. Neither has a living family, and Adam was blinded in one eye, while Fox has never had vision in either.

Eventually, Adam and Mercury do reveal their pasts to one another of their own volition. It's a big turning point in Adam's worldview, it's not like he wasn't aware that humans could be abused, but rather it's hearing a firsthand account of an especially horrific case, one that's honestly quite similar to his own. For the first time, Adam is connected to a human via mutual understanding, albiet a fucked up one. And for once... it's like those racial barriers aren't there. It's a pair of two scared little boys, experiencing something NO ONE should ever experience, looking into a mirror, plenty of visible scars, and even more invisible ones. Suddenly, all of that repressed pain from over the years, channeled away into rage and destruction for a cause bigger than they are- the dam breaks.

They cry. How many years has it been since their eyelashes have gotten spiky with tears? Or their heads hurt, is it from crying? The beatings? The mental strain? Losing their humanity, as they feel it draining from them day after day? How long has it been since their faces have been flushed from raw emotions that haven't been channeled into a fight? Do the once-familiar sensations of hot tears streaking down their faces, running into their mouths and leaving a salty aftertaste in their mouths feel foreign now?

Even with the freedom fighter and the assassin's hard facades, there is no shame in everything coming forth, because he knows, the man across from you knows, did anyone? Did you give up on anyone knowing? Or are they dead because you survived and they didn't? You thought you could move on, did you really? It's in your face now, those prosthetic legs, that charred flesh, hidden away under fabric to avoid rude or frightened stares.

Where do we go from here?

[casspurrjoybell-23]

LOST and FOUND - Chapter 1 - Part 2

*Warning Adult Content*

I quickly got back into the car and muffled a sob with a hand over my mouth.

I put my seat belt on, checked all the mirrors and turned the car on.

Tears were rolling down my cheeks and I was putting the emergency brake down when there was a knock on the window.

I looked over to see the pastor peering in at me.

"You shouldn't drive when your upset, Beau. Why don't you come back inside and calm down?" he asked outside the car.

"No," I almost shouted.

"I need... I need to leave. I need to go home."

Home where all my memories suffocated me even more but at least I could suffocate in Harrison's worn sweater that was way too big for me.

I could sit in his office and go through the file on his computer that was just pictures of me and the two of us together.

I couldn't stand anyone looking at me for another second.

I needed to be alone, just me and my heartache.

"Beau," Pastor Bill said gently.

"Son, please come back inside. Harrison would've wanted..."

I put my hands over my ears and screamed.

I closed my eyes started mumbling gibberish about knowing Harrison better than anyone and other crazy shit.

Pastor Bill tried to open the car door but I had already locked it when I got in.

I opened my eyes and put the car in reverse.

Pastor Bill frantically knocked on the car window, saying my name over and over again as I backed out of the parking space.

I put the car into drive and tore out of the parking lot.

As soon as I was on the road, I felt guilty about leaving Pastor Bill like that when he had only been trying to help.

No one could help me though.

I was drowning and it was way too late to save me.

I was just waiting for my heart to break that last inch and leave me dead.

I think I was swerving on the road because I was getting honked at a lot.

Tears blurred my vision and I was driving faster than I ever did.

I just needed to get home.

Trying to go out and do normal things was a mistake.

Why did I think I could handle it?

I had really grown to love the sense of community that church had but that was something I did with Harrison.

I never would've gone to church had it not been for him.

Why did I choose one of the activities that I always, always did with him?

I may as well just shot my myself in the chest, it would've been less painful.

I finally pulled into our driveway, parking haphazardly.

I ran to the door but my hands were shaking so bad that I dropped the keys as I tried to unlock it.

I tried a second time and managed it.

I slammed the door shut and locked it immediately.

I needed to keep everyone out, keep everyone away from me.

I was self-destructing and I needed to do it alone.

I curled up in Harrison's armchair with his blanket but I scrambled when I noticed that my shoes were on the furniture.

I took them off and scurried them over to the shoe rack, then sat back on the chair.

I huddled under the blanket, knees pulled to my chest.

I put the blanket to my nose, trying to find any trace of his scent but there was nothing.

I cried, hating that I had used the blanket so much that there was no trace of him left on it.

I screamed again.

'What a fucking mess you are, Beau. You were a mess when you met Harrison and he managed to fix you up a little, make you a decent human being but now you're all fucked up again.'

I sobbed, soaking the blanket with my tears.

That's what it smelled like now... salt and sadness.

Eventually I tired myself out.

I cried myself to sleep for the millionth time in the past five months.

But my dreams weren't any better than real life.

*********

I walked into the quaint little bookstore with the list of books I needed in my hand.

When I actually entered the store I realized they would be much harder to find then I initially thought.

The store was much bigger than it appeared on the street.

My eyes flitted over to the checkout counter.

A man stood behind it, looking at something on the computer and occasionally scribbling something down.

He hadn't stopped to greet me even though a little bell above the door had announced my entrance.

I walked over and he completely ignored me.

Eventually I put the list down on the counter and said...

"I need these books."

The man's eyes looked up, slightly narrowed.

"It said online that you have them," I clarified.

They were books I needed to finish an essay for my English course I was taking at the community college.

I had been on the bus for two hours to get to this store, so if he told me they didn't have them I was going to flip out.

He grabbed the list from the counter and looked it over then looked back at me, eyes still slightly narrowed.

He was actually quite handsome even with the scowl on his face.

His dark hair was peppered with gray and he looked old enough to be my father but that didn't turn me off in the slightest.

He didn't appear to have any interest in me though as he said...

"I can get these for you."

But he clearly wasn't happy about it.

He gave me one more narrowed glance before he left the counter and went to find the books I needed.

I only waited five minutes before he returned and set them in front of me.

He was much gentler with the books than I expected him to be since he still looked pissed.

I looked through them quickly, checking to make sure they were the right titles, before he started ringing me up.

My mouth went dry when he said...

"That will be seventy-eight fifty-four."

"I... uh..." I scrambled to pull the bills I did have out of my pocket.

They were all crumpled and I tried to smooth them out, this guy didn't seem the type to put up with crinkled money.

"I only have..." I swallowed.

"I'm sorry. I don't have enough but thank you for your help."

With my face on fire, I turned to leave.

His voice was rough when he spoke.

"How much do you have?"

I turned to face him again as I smoothed the bills in my hands.

"Twenty-six," I answered, beyond embarrassed.

He raised his eyebrow at me like he couldn't believe I had expected to be able to afford three hardcover books with twenty-six dollars.

I started to stammer but he held up his hand and I stopped immediately.

"You may have them," he said.

When I started to object he gave me a look and I snapped my mouth shut.

"Consider it a loan," he explained.

My expression must have shown my confusion because he explained.

"Can you be here on Saturdays?"

I nodded quickly.

I was never doing anything on the weekends.

Occasionally I hung out with some friends from high school but if the handsome bookshop owner wanted me to be here on Saturdays, I would be here.

He gave me a stern, firm look that got my blood flowing way more than it should've.

"I expect you to be here at twelve noon sharp."

I nodded again and he pushed the books toward me.

I quickly grabbed them and clutched them to my chest.

"Thank you, sir."

"Harrison," he said, not looking very happy to give me his name.

He looked like a grumpy bear.

"I'm Beau. It's nice to meet you," I said politely.

He just nodded, still not smiling.

Right then it became my personal mission to get him to smile.

Maybe it wouldn't happen to today but it would happen.

"Do you mind if I stay and look these over?"

He didn't say anything, just moved his hand to gesture to the tables set up in the corner of the store.

I forced a pleasant smile and turned away.

If I swung my hips way more than usual then that didn't mean anything.

I felt eyes on me and that made me smile.

I sat at one of the tables and tried to focus on the information that was in the books.

I needed to get an amazing grade on the essay or else I would most likely fail the class.

I still felt eyes on me though and I would look up through my eyelashes to find Harrison already looking at me.

He would scowl and look away.

I don't know why but it made me smile.

After playing that game for at least half an hour, I decided it was time to leave.

Give him a chance to think about me before I had to be back next week.

I smirked, swaying my hips again as I walked towards the door.

I waved my fingers at him with my free hand.

"Twelve sharp," he ordered.

"I'll be here," I chirped and left the store.

Oh, I would definitely be there.

I would be thinking about handsome bookshop owner Harrison all week.

Little did I know that he was to be the love of my life.

[its-inevitable-lupe]

I think when I struggle with my own self I think of you and sometimes I open my eyes. I know I lied to you many times.. more than you won’t know. I know I wasn’t honest. I wasn’t unfaithful but I let & went afterwards or let others entertain or not exactly like that but didn’t stop. I know my trauma, my bad part got the best of me. I made you cry more than anything & sad… which I never want to do or treat poorly or maybe take charge. In the past I use to hate myself while healing. I deserve it. I think our mistakes make us grow and not do again. Sometimes I think we are meant to be. Sometimes I think we need space & will come together years later. Sometimes I excuse all you did. Sometimes I think you’re someone I never want to remember feel or think existed these three years. Sometimes I think love is not what we had. Sometimes I think you disturb me because as much as you said you cared for me Maybe you never did. Maybe you do not know what it is. My accident showed me your true self… mad at me for what??? Then lie to me as if I been behind you all this time while you’re with other people. Because deep down you didn’t get over me. My trauma & me confiding in you. trusting you. I forget you know a little too much of me. Then blame me and told me why I would say it to you when you said I could. Blame me a million times. And you traumatized me with your person stories that I could never sleep for months because I loved you so much and I couldn’t think of someone hurting you. I would kill for you. But damn even till this day when I hear stories I think that I hope you are healing for that. Anyways.. even I was scared to tell you anything when I had told my mom months ago & I was silently deeply struggling with it and feeling disgusting and judged with myself. How I had two jobs and you couldn’t care about me or my schedule. How I had horrible anxiety addictions and you never noticed. How you enjoyed manipulating me and abusing me & I guess we both drag each other. I’m bothered how you never heard the sadness and hurt in my voice many times. How I was beyond fucking a nervous breakdown every week. How I had major heart issues because of it. how I had to be on pills. I went to the hospital because you were a reason. Only one person knows of this. How love the emotion is truly my destruction and love should be beautiful and peaceful daily. And I don’t blame you for everything but you didn’t stop. You push me. Always. But I guess ur younger so yeah a part of me will take accountability idk… seems fair right? Your words never hurt me, the buddy death threats and shows you would do publicly and lie in front of everyone and ur friends never hurt me. Not even you telling me of other people you been out with or were… and girl you’re a liar and honestly an emotional cheater and you can say no.. but we all been. And I could of gone and ruin things but I would never. You are not the bigger person & never been. I have not been. We both are trash what we have done & grown up at a lot. Someone who tells their ex after years that oh a future and maybe yes. While being in another situation. Dear you’re shitty. Just like me. But I would never do that to someone or say. Because I never claim to love them. There are many times I should be upset, sad & even you telling me to take drugs, drink knowing how I struggle. Like nothing you have ever said to me hurt me. I hurt me, that’s my biggest pain. People have hurt me my whole life that I never get hurt. I don’t feel it. Parts of me would see you and parts of me just wish I never see you & forget about you and just think of something good & moments we had. that is what’s worth carrying. Because no human is perfect & there has never in years been a proper face to face conversation and that is truly dead and I would never ever see you the same. You’re someone who was pure & I actually really trusted you. I wanted to have a whole family. a life with you without hesitation but my hesitation was the lack of experience & life. Rip u off. RIP. I lo-ed u.​​​we both made many wrongs & never made it right

[ladventures19]

August

Freaking out -the wrecks

I’m not really sure what happened. Under the stress of it all I keep finding new ways to keep quiet. I’ve been quiet inside and out for a really very long time now.  I’m not the jarringly loud student anymore. I’m not the present and satiated person I know I once was.

I hope that one day I’ll be just loud enough. Just right and just wrong. Balanced. I’d wish that my conscience wouldn't tell me I’m creating problems to distract myself from reality; Munchhausen- Maybe I could learn to listen when all my alarm bells are ringing.                                                                              

I don't really remember when I started thinking that key phrase,

“Something is wrong with me”

Something has always been wrong with me. Complaining constantly and I think that maybe people just got tired of hearing me complain; that I’m tired or I’m in pain. That I can’t think, I can't sleep- I don't dream. And sometimes I prefer the pain of my sore eyes before I go to bed because the rest after an emotional comedown feels more complete. You don't fuck around with a girl who just wants to feel something. Well worse, many want to.

Just as a volcano rumbling on the brink of eruption, pressure must eventually break its limit. So I imagine that if you don't speak for years, it comes out all at once.  

I’m not sure that I’m the same person every day. And I’ve come to know myself as unpredictable. What do you do when you can’t trust yourself?

As positive as I can be, I take all negativity in stride. Look how strong I’m getting. I love feeling nothing and everything. Under-stimulated and overwhelmed. Chaotic. Powerful. The very nature of chaos makes it randomized. In the end, the duality of infinite good and bad only defines chaos as predictable and destructive, chaos restores natural wealth.

Maybe that's why I have to write again. Drunk. At 3:03 am on a Thursday morning.

So I can control the chaos a little. Maybe to keep it from consuming me any longer. I’ve more or less completed a small goal and now I struggle to report more. I wanted to be happy, my new medication fixed that. But honestly, I’m losing it a little.

I wanted to stop living with my parents and be financially independent, maybe save up for things I’d like. And while I pay very little on the rent of my room in an apartment that I share with two people, I still help my parents with the bills and rely on them for rides to work. I wanted a car that could take me far away and I do have one, the old family car. I hate almost every memory in that car. But it's mine now. Unregistered, uninsured and I remain unlicensed. But if I really wanted to, that car could take me anywhere. Anywhere at all. Impulsively, I have half the mind to drive off somewhere now but I know better.

I wanted money and recognition of hard work and I'm currently training for my promotion. I wanted my family in my life and now I've reconnected.

I wanted to party and be adored. Now I have good friends and a good life.

I must have the key to the universe in my heart because after realizing that i didn't want to die, i took some of the opportunities that came my way and somehow ended up with a little bit of everything i had ever dreamed of. Just enough hope to push forward to each fleeting moment. The only problem is that I’m truly not used to dreaming bigger than sex, money and love.

For now I've decided that I'll let each moment matter and trust that me being my best person will continue encouraging the understanding of flaws. Maybe I'll open my heart. Maybe I'll stop joking and open my heart.

Aand maybe I'll go to bed now because it's 3.37 am. I’ll keep trying so that maybe someone else who's trying can find me. Maybe then, we could just try together.  

[hpimaginesandblurbs]

wait draco fucking his arranged marriage wife on a couch after she admitted to still seeing her ex (not knowing he has feelings for her obviously) and he’s like oh? can he fuck you like this tho?

pairing: draco malfoy x reader 

warning(s): 18+, adultery, arranged marriage, slight degradation

word count: 3.0k 

a/n: this was not supposed to be this long but it ran away from me as i started writing. this is the longest thing i’ve written on tumblr so far and i hope you all enjoy it! one of my own person favorites. 

Another day felt like another day wasted in the walls in the stuffy Manor you called home. Except it wasn’t home. And it wasn’t another day. 

No. After weeks of trying to get your husband to open up to you, you had had enough. It was an arranged marriage, and although you were no fool and had no pretenses of pretending to love him, you’d at least like to get to know the person you called your husband. 

Back in school you had always thought the infamous Draco Malfoy was rather handsome, anyone would be a fool to deny it. He was confident and popular, great at Quidditch, and seemed like the perfect gentleman - everything you could want in a husband. Turns out it was the opposite. All the feelings you thought you might develop for him were unrequited, and he ignored you at every turn. 

So you took it into your own hands to get what you were so desperately craving: physical affection. It didn’t take much, truly. All you did was send an owl to your ex boyfriend from your school days and one thing led to another until you were in his bed, wrapped in his arms, and rocked to your core with pleasure. 

But now you were back in your ‘home’, wasting away within the walls of the Manor with your husband nowhere to be found. 

It wasn’t until hours later, when you were getting ready to push yourself up from the couch to head to bed, did the fireplace flash green, signaling his arrival home. 

“Hello. How was your day?” You asked politely, hoping just this once he might fall into a normal conversation with you. 

“Fine,” he replied shortly, not even bothering to look at you as he emptied his pockets and put down his very important briefcase that was a mystery to you. 

A blaze of frustration ran through your body, desperate to get more out of this man than just one word. A crazy thought came into your head, to tell him about your day, but you pushed it aside. No, Malfoy’s wouldn’t think highly of a girl who committed adultery within weeks of marriage. But…

“My day was great,” you told him, rather impulsively. 

At first he seemed shocked that you even said anything, the conversation usually reached its end by now. But he recovered quickly, politely asking “And what was so great about your day?” 

Naturally, you could lie. Tell him you met up with your female friends for lunch. Tell him you read a good book. Tell him anything but the truth. But… 

“I reacquainted myself with my ex boyfriend from school,” you told him, daring to look him in the eye as you spoke. 

“Reacquainted? How?” He asked, a series of emotions flashing over his face that you had never seen before. It sent a thrill through you to see him showing any emotions at all. 

Again, you could lie. Tell him you met him for lunch. Tell him that you ran into each other in Diagon Alley. Tell him anything but the truth. But… 

You knew even if the truth did come out, he would have to keep it a secret. He wouldn’t dare be seen as a spineless cuckold as his wife went around sleeping with whomever she pleased. 

“I owled him a few days ago, asking to meet him,” you began, watching as his face contorted into something akin to anger. “I went to his home, for lunch, and it didn’t end with lunch.” 

You left the end of your short story rather ambiguous, wanting to see what he’d do with the information you presented him. He had barely moved from his place by the fireplace, but the look he was giving you could set you up in flames if he wanted it to. 

“So, what? You fucked him?” He asked, the politeness in his voice giving way to the anger he was feeling. 

In a sick way, it pleased you to see him angry. Gave you a sense of pride that you, the wife he had seen fit to ignore, could get such a rise out of him. 

“Yes, seeing as you haven’t even touched me,” was your spiteful reply, foolishly placing the blame all on him despite your own actions. 

“You stupid, silly little girl,” he said under his breath as he stalked over towards you, menacing in just how much bigger he was than you. “You don’t fucking understand a thing about me, do you?” He asked, hovering over you, his hands braced on the back of the couch that you were still seated on, your faces inches apart. 

“You don’t let me. You never speak to me,” you argued, ready to turn this into a fight filled with low blows if he really wanted it to go that way. 

“You think this is a fucking walk in the park for me? Having some girl I’ve barely met in my house looking terrified of me every time I come near her? Suffering through your daily attempts to talk to me, but knowing how unbearably uncomfortable you are in being here? You think I wanted this? For either of us?” He asked seamlessly, almost in a rush to get all of his thoughts out before he thought better of it. A look of hesitation passed his face for a brief moment before he continued on, more quietly now. “You think I wanted the girl I couldn’t take my eyes off for a single day after fifth year hating being in my presence? Going behind my back to fuck someone else because I’ve held myself back in case she was uncomfortable doing anything more than just acting like my wife?” 

He didn’t meet your eye at first, but when he did you saw the weight of his emotions. He was hurt, by himself and by you. He was jealous of the man you had chosen to spend your day with. He was terrified of your reaction to his words. He was furious he even had to have this conversation, in this way, in this situation. He was relieved he finally got it all out. 

“Wh- What are you saying?” You asked cautiously, not wanting to twist his words to meet your own fantasy of having a loving husband. 

He took a deep breath before he answered, but made no moves to rid himself of his proximity to you. “Y/N, I’ve been head over heels for you since the moment we met. But having an arranged marriage, I couldn’t do much more but assume you didn’t share the same feelings as me.” 

“Oh,” was all you could even say back, too overwhelmed to think of anything else. You searched his eyes for the lie, but they held nothing but the raw truth. He must have seen something in your eyes as well, because his tone shifted into something else entirely before he spoke again. 

“Now, Y/N, I think we got off on the wrong foot and I didn’t make my intentions clear with you. I intend to be a good husband, a loving husband. And yet despite my best efforts to be the perfect gentleman so far, you went behind my back to sleep with some other man. And what does that say about you?” He asked, his eyes boring into yours as he spoke. 

You were sure he could hear your heart rate from how close he was, your pulse racing at his words. “I- I don’t know,” you stuttered, willing to let him take this wherever he saw fit. 

“I’m not going to place the blame all on you, because I know I haven’t been perfect. But one might say that you’re a dumb little whore, and I might be inclined to agree. A stupid, little girl trapped in her big, posh Manor. Going out to let any guy fuck her, not even knowing that her husband can fuck her better than anyone else could.” 

“And you could fuck me better than someone I know can?” You asked incredulously, shocked at the words spilling from his mouth. But even if you tried, you couldn’t deny the way he was so sure of himself, so sure he could please you better than any man, aroused you to no end. 

He let out a dark chuckle and looked at you, amused. “Of course I could, darling. That is, if you give me the chance,” he told you in a teasing tone, before pushing himself off of the couch to walk away. 

“Wait,” you started, once again acting on impulse. You might regret your next words, but damn it if you weren’t curious. And he was your husband after all. “Prove it.” 

“Prove it?” He asked, turning on his heel to face you again, a victorious grin written across his face. When you nodded, he only lifted a brow before he continued. “Now? Haven’t you had a long day of, oh how did you put it, ‘getting reacquainted with your ex’?” 

“You talk a big game, Draco. Now I’m asking you to prove it. Scared?” You asked, baiting him. 

In a split second and a flurry of movement later, he had you laying down against the couch, pressed into the expensive fabric, with his weight on top of you, pinning you down.  

“I’ll give you one last chance to back out of this. Tell me now, otherwise I’m going to fuck you through this couch,” he said through gritted teeth, clearly fed up with your antics. 

Without even thinking, your lips crashed onto his in a heated kiss. Lips you hadn’t felt since your wedding day. You hadn’t even remembered what they felt like until his tongue was darting along your bottom lip, hastily requesting entry. 

As your kiss remained heated, he was expertly shedding you both of your clothing until you were almost bare. He had only left you in your small, lace thong in the aftermath of his destruction. 

His hands traveled your body possessively, as if trying to memorize every curve and edge of your skin. The moment your bra came off, your breasts were in his hands, easily rolling your nipples until you were gasping for air. He swallowed all your noises greedily, as if you were feeding them to a starved man. 

It wasn’t until he pulled away, his hands resting on the waistband on your underwear, did you have a moment for a coherent thought. 

“One last time, are you sure Y/N?” He asked as if it was painful for him. As if it was the case that you said no, it would be immensely difficult for him to pull himself away. As if it was the case that you said no, he’d die a painful death at your feet. 

“I’m sure,” you said softly, not wanting him to think for a second that you had any hesitant thoughts about this moment. 

As he slowly pulled down your final layer of clothing, it gave you a chance to finally look at him.

And he was beautiful. 

He looked like an ancient Greek statue, perfectly carved and crafted out of marble come to life. His perfectly defined lines, his impossible definition, his muscles in all the right places. Your eyes eventually traveled down to his cock, and your breath hitched when you finally saw how large he was. If you had known this all along, perhaps you wouldn’t have sought out another man for your pleasure. 

He seemed to be taking you in just the same. His eye trailing down your body with such reverence that you felt like an ancient Greek goddess yourself, if only for a moment. 

“You’re gorgeous,” he said softly, almost as if he didn’t mean for you to hear the words. 

“You’re not so bad yourself,” you replied, giving him a shy smile when his eyes met yours again. 

“I’ve been waiting to do this for a long time,” he told you, still in the soft tone that he had. He gracefully let his body fall back over yours, bracing himself on one forearm while his other hand traveled the length of your body. 

When he caught your lips again, it didn’t hold the same heat as before, but there was something new there. Something good. Something that could only be translated through your lips in that very moment. Something akin to adoration, worship, even love. 

His hand stopped its travels at the apex of your thighs, expertly running his fingers over your clit and down your slit, feeling for himself just how wet you were. He groaned at the feeling of how wet and warm you were, and you felt his cock twitch against your stomach in anticipation. 

He slowly opened you up for him with his fingers. First with one, then two, even venturing to three before he was content that you wouldn’t be uncomfortable. He didn’t rush the process, kept a slow, steady, predictable pace as he worked your body. And every time you got close to the edge, he’d gently bring you back down, leaving you a whining, writhing mess by the time he was aligning his cock with you. 

“Draco, please,” you begged shamelessly, more than ready for him. 

“Did you beg for him earlier?” He asked almost nonchalantly, teasing you with the tip of his cock. 

He must have seen the shock on your face, shocked that he would bring it up in this moment, because he only chuckled before pushing inside of you, a gasp easily pulled from your lips at the intense stretch. 

He didn’t fuck you gently, immediately starting with a breakneck pace that left you seeing stars from the first moment he bottomed out. You were easily rewarding him with your moans, letting him know just how good it felt without words. You couldn’t speak even if you tried. 

But he talked. Oh, yes. He ran that pretty mouth of his as if he wasn’t thrusting so deep inside of you the couch was rocking. 

“I was right, wasn’t I? You’ve never been fucked like this, have you?” He asked, right as you were beginning to climb that peak into a pleasurable abyss. 

You gave him a feeble nod in return, not trusting your own mouth to properly respond. 

“Did he fuck you like this?” He asked, biting the question out through clenched teeth as if he was dreading the answer. “Tell me, Y/N, did he?” He asked, fucking you even harder now in his frustration. 

“No,” you cried out, breaking free of your moans for a second to answer him. “He can’t fuck me like this,” you added, if only to stroke Draco’s ego, but nevertheless it was true. No one could fuck you like this. 

“Cum for me, let me feel you,” Draco said, lowering his head into the crook of your neck to ground himself, trying to fight off his orgasm until you got yours. 

It didn’t take much longer after that. He had worked you up so much beforehand that your orgasm came to you easily and came with such a force you were left breathless in its wake. Your nails carved down Draco’s muscular back, sure to leave delightful scratch marks that you could study later, as you cried out in bliss. 

The moment he felt your walls contract around him, he let himself go with a low groan. The sound was music to your ears, and only intensified the feelings you were experiencing. To have him so close, sharing in the same ecstasy you were, it was like magic. 

When you both came down from your highs, he swiftly rearranged the both of you until you wrapped in his arms, both lying on the couch. It was a strange feeling, being in his arms for the first time like this. If someone had told you this would be happening only a few hours before, you would have laughed in their face. But now here you both were, sweaty and satiated, basking in the bliss of finally consummating your marriage. 

The thought made you giggle, and when he shot you a perplexed look, you couldn’t help but explain. 

“We finally consummated our marriage,” you explained, still giggling. “And don’t worry, by the way, I’m on the potion,” you thought to add, just in case kids weren’t looming in the future for him. 

“Good to know you won’t be birthing any bastard children,” was his sullen response, clearly still hurt by the events of the day. 

You shifted your body until you were looking directly at him, but he made no moves to pull his arms away from you. If anything, he held you tighter when he felt you move, unwilling to give up the moment. 

“Look, I’m sorry about what I did today. It wasn’t right and it wasn’t fair to you. And if I had known even a fraction how you felt about me, I wouldn’t have done it, because I feel the same about you. I was just feeling incredibly stuck in what I thought was a hopeless marriage, and I was lonely, so I sought out someone else. But now I understand that that isn’t the case, and I can promise you, from the bottom of my heart, that it will never happen again,” you told him, putting everything out there for him. 

“You feel the same?” He asked timidly, after a moment of deliberation. There was a look of hope on his face, and never in your wildest dreams would you shut down such a rare display of emotion from him. Then again, you may be expecting more of his emotions from here on out. 

“Yes. I’ve always been attracted to you, and the little bits of you that I do know, I like. I want this to work, Draco. I want this to be a real marriage. All I wanted was a shot.” you said, just praying he wanted the same. 

“‘I’ll admit, I wasn’t a good husband to you by any means, and I probably unknowingly pushed you into doing what you did. But now that our intentions are out there, I’d like nothing more than to give this a real shot,” he responded, that newly familiar look of hope in his eyes present once more. 

In that moment, you could both feel it. The beginning of something great.

[unstoppableforcce]

dirty, pretty, beautiful

— “goddamn… I love to watch you work”

pairing: billy russo x f! street fighter! reader

masterlist | 5.2k | ko-fi

warnings: [18+], fighting, blood, blood kink (?), semi-public sex (? it’s a bar bathroom), slight choking, just overall violence (?) but enthusiastically consensual, all smut is from Billy’s POV

a/n: so maybe, I ignored every other WIP I have to write for billy russo. and yeah, this is 9000% inspired by the scene in 1x12 where billy is clearly turned on watching frank kill a man. but i really like the way this came out so I don’t even care

The warehouse had a stink to it. Musty, heady, metallic… Metallic like the remains of a handful of change against his palm. Metallic like waft of hot rain off the highest train tracks. Metallic like the taste of blood, coating his teeth, smothering his tongue until it was all he imagined he would ever taste again.

Fresh blood had a sweeter smell, a saltier smell even, but as more time passed, as the heat of the daily sunlight poured in through the windows left unboarded, as the frigid, damp night settled within the empty body of the building, the smell grew rancid. A ripe fruit passing it’s best by date, left to sit for far too long. A living liquor left to die, to rot, to stink. It was a smell he was far too familiar with, a smell that laced more of his memories than he cared to ever voice. A smell that, on his worst days, he found himself missing.

With hands heavy like weights, stuffed into his pockets to keep him anchored as the smell flooded his head, he managed his way forward towards the hum of the crowd. Hustlers worked the crowd, kids barely old enough to enlist waving hands full of crumpled bills and corralling bet after bet.

“We’ve got three fights! Three fights left until the main event!” One called.

“Place your bets and place them fast!” The next one chanted, over and over again, louder and louder each time a new wad of cash was pushed into his hands.

“This is a night you won’t want to miss.”

Clearly, the crowd agreed.

The itch of his sweater brought a new heat as he moved deeper into the crowd circled around the main cage, a cold sweat gathering at the back of his neck where the collar of his leather jacket met his skin. He knew better than to wear one of his suits to an event like this, but he still found himself missing the fond feel of the expensive fabric, the protective layer it granted him, the height it added to his already intimidating form. A few sideways stares told him he still stood out plenty on his own, but something about being dressed down struck a chord with him he didn’t like.

It was wearing a different skin, a more vulnerable skin, one that left him desperate in a way he hadn’t felt in far too long.

Billy Russo was a powerful man, but he hadn’t always been. It didn’t matter how many years it had been, he spent far too long walking on the edge, toeing a line. The group home, the bullies, the stares that followed his pretty fucking face wherever he went… one wrong move, one bad decision, and he could’ve ended up here under much different circumstances.

It could have been him in the ring, fighting for his next meal, fighting for his life.

His hand scratched at his beard as he shouldered further into the crowd for a better view, doing his best to ignore the brutal stench of violence and the unclean men surrounding him. It didn’t matter what feeling bubbled in his chest, nor what aching memories echoed in the back of his head, he was here for a reason. Recruiting discharged soldiers could only sustain their workforce for so long if special forces remnants and women remained hard to come by. When rumors started to grow, flowering up from the filthy underbelly of the city, a fighter to end all fights, he knew he had to get his offer on the table before anyone else could.

Anvil needed operatives. He had a job to do. The stench of blood and the avalanche of feelings that came with it, that was just… well, he could handle it. With or without his suit and tie.

“... El Tigre and the Mountain!”

The crowd roared for the first fight of the night.

There was a particular bias for the Mountain, which, upon laying eyes on him, made enough sense. He didn’t get the name out of irony, he towered over his opponent by a good foot, and no amount of speed on the smaller man’s part was going to make a difference. The fight lasted, violent hit after violent hit, but within a few minutes, the Mountain prevailed as expected.

Then another fight, just as brutal. Then another.

Watching men beat the shit out of each other, however, was nothing new. If he wanted unthinking violence and filthy brutality, he knew where he could get it a lot cheaper, he was here for overlooked skill, an underestimated killer. He was here for—

“The crowned royalty of chaos, the duchess of destruction, the princess of pain… the one and only…” his voice echoed across the warehouse, rumbling as the crowd grew uncontrollable. “The Queen of Combat!”

If the crowd had allowed enough space between where their rowdy bodies pressed against one another, Billy thought some of them might get on their knees and submit to you right there and then. Hell, the second he laid eyes on you, the thought even crossed his mind.

And he’d be lying if he said it didn’t linger.

The warehouse shook with unflinching loyalty, his ears defeaned by the corresponding cheers. Shoulders hit into his, shoved from behind, pushed by the guy in front of him, some of the crowd climbing up on the cage just to gain a mere inch closer to you. And yet, you made your way into the cage without sparing a glance to a single one of the aggressive animals clawing at the fencing, unphased by the noise, unflinching. Your chin lifted just above the noise and your graceful stature carried you the rest of the way in. Regal was an understatement, but, watching you as closely as everyone else, he wasn’t sure he even had the vocabulary to find a word that worked better.

Blood stained your hoodie, bruises scaled the ridges of your knuckles, and yet, he was sure that one word from you could summon an army out of the screaming crowd surrounding you. One word from you and Billy… well, the things he’d do for you.

His eyes locked on your knuckles, watching closely as you wrapped the brutalized skin away, then moved to your body as you tossed the old hoodie away. Scars and marks lined your torso—bruises left over from a fight a mere few days ago judging by the healing, scars from fights so long ago they were nearly faded, burns, cuts, slices, bumps… your skin was a war zone.

And he knew war zones. Shifting his weight from one foot to another, a hot pressure in his jeans apparent, he was sure he could lose himself in a war zone like that.

If the man who entered behind you was your opponent, it was clear there wasn’t more than a handful of souls in the whole arena who cared. There wasn’t a single clap out of beat, not one change in the roar of support aimed at you and you alone. He was bigger, sure, but if energy was anything to go by, he could be Paul fucking Bunyan and it wouldn’t have even come close to matching your unwavering support.

“Fighters, get ready.”

Your opponent took a few jumps, slapping his arms like he was Michael Phelps. You took one step forward, rolled your shoulders and leveled your stare.

There was no doubt in his mind who he considered a threat, who he considered a future asset.

“Tap out or knock out.” The kid stood between them reminded, and when neither of their deadly stares shifted, he nodded his head once, blew his whistle, and got the fuck out of the way as fast as possible.

But you… you waited.

Your opponent jumped at you, feigning left then right but not putting much strength either way, hoping for a flinch. A flinch he didn’t get. You didn’t even blink.

You just waited.

And when he opened up his left side in frustration after a series of perfectly blocked hits, you turned it on. He couldn’t even get his hands up fast enough.

It wasn’t like he was some nobody they pulled out of the gutter to have you fight tonight, he was clearly a skilled fighter of his own, it just didn’t matter in comparison. You were quick, controlled, deliberate. Two punches for every one of his. Perfectly placed to have him grunting and groaning while his landed with nothing more than a hiss or blink.

If he thought his sweater was suffocating him before, god, he had no idea what he was getting himself into.

He could feel the hum of his heart, and the sudden staccato everytime your fist connected with a crack. He could feel his pulse beating through every inch of his body, from his temples to his toes and every throbbing inch in between. Another hit, he could see the blood coating the wraps across your knuckles. Another hit, he could see the crimson staining your teeth.

He wanted a taste—no, he needed one.

A hit to the ribs had your opponent crinkling, a jab to the face had him spinning. A kick to the knee buckled him over, a knee to the chin sent his teeth up into his brain. As blood splattered up your bare thigh, your opponent collapsed to the concrete.

Knock out.

Even if he wasn’t truly out, he knew better than to move, his eyes already swelling shut, his unscarred skin bruised and bloodied.

The crowd went wild, but Billy couldn’t hear. He watched you swipe your wrapped hand against your chin, wiping away the blood from your lips, and he swore his mind short-circuited as his blood rerouted elsewhere. You were fucking gorgeous, you were delicious, you were his new religion, you were… Royalty.

A Queen.

Fuck, he was hard.

With your hand lifted in victory, the crowd reached a volume Billy hadn’t even thought possible, and when you ripped your hand away and moved back for your discarded sweats, the crowd again tried to swarm you. To touch you, to feel your power, to feel you up. He just watched. He’d catch you when you came back out, showered, with cash in your hand. In his experience, people were much more open to recruitment when they weren’t being verbally and sexually harassed by hoards of disgusting men with filthy leering stares.

It took about an hour, stood outside in the back alley where the late night wind beat him up with freezing gust after freezing gust, but when you came out, you were alone. That alone made it worth it.

Shouldering open the heavy metal door dressed in fresh sweats hanging loose off your hot muscles, you made it a whole two steps before you caught sight of where he lingered in your peripheral and nearly jumped out of your skin. “Staking out this door is a good way to get the shit beat out of you, you know.”

The cool bite in your tone hit even harder than the wind, but neither did anything to cool him down. In fact, his smirk only grew as you raised your chin in a stubborn challenge.

“Don’t worry, I come in peace.” He defended, lifting his hands where they held in his jacket pockets for the warmest show of surrender he could muster.

“Not interested.”

He took a careful step forward, eyes holding your piercing stare. “You haven’t even heard my offer.”

“Don’t have to.” The bag hanging over your shoulder shifted as the wind whipped by once more, and you quickly moved it down your arm as the weight found one of your more grueling injuries stretching the length of your collarbone. If he hadn’t been looking so closely, maybe you could have hidden your shrug, but he saw it all, he wanted to see it all, even as you argued back. “Whatever it is, I don’t need it in my life.”

Your feet found two more steps away before he pulled you back with his sly smile and slimier argument. “Just one drink.”

It’s not frustration that stops you this time, it’s curiosity, one brow raised as your arms cross over your chest. “Are you serious?”

For the first time, he doesn’t have an answer. For the first time, that perfect exterior cracks, his brow furrowing and his mouth left open. “What—“

“I mean…” your laugh shook him out of it, the sound something rough and throaty. “Seriously? I thought for sure you were here to recruit me for something, with this whole pretty boy soldier off-duty look you’ve got going on but no… you want to get a drink? Seriously? You waited out here for an hour in the cold because you want to fuck me?”

He cleared his throat as his stare and smirk absconded, was it really that obvious? Did he really even care if it was?

Business Billy, he reminded himself chastely.

Cutting the distance between the two of you in half, he extended his hand for a shake he knew he’d never get once his mouth opened. “Billy Russo,” he introduced.

Your smirk fell in the same second

“That Anvil guy?”

His hand pulled back and his disposition shifted to the only defense it knew, a cocky smirk and casual shrug. “My reputation precedes me, huh?”

“You take good people who get out and you toss them right back in.” The cold bite had vacated your tone entirely, and what replaced it, the heat of your righteous indignation, reignited the fire he felt when you were fighting. A match strike. A sharp cut against a stick of flint.

It wasn’t like he hadn’t gotten it before, but coming from you… well, he just couldn’t turn his cheek to it. “I help those who can’t get back on their feet—“

“You help them get back to the hell that messed them up in the first place, you mean. How charitable.” The sarcasm was a slap to the face, and still, he couldn’t find it in himself to take a step back.

“At least I take care of my people, I pay better, I—“

Your scoff echoed around the empty alley, bouncing off the dumpsters and brick walls, reverberating in his ears until it was all he could hear. “Yeah? And just how much is a life worth to you?”

His jaw clenched. “More than the government, sweetheart.”

“That’s not really saying much, is it?”

He let loose a sigh, a breath of tension he didn’t even know he was holding as his shoulder twitched and his stare found anything to look at that wasn’t you. What was he supposed to say? What argument could he voice back? You had a point. Hell, he could see a younger version of himself making the same argument back when things first got bad over there, back when he first thought about getting out.

The sentiment was respectable, and your stubborn tenacity was nothing to scoff at, but this wasn’t about heart.

Some people just don’t make it out. Some people can’t. Why was he so wrong for offering them a path back, what was so immoral about offering the opportunity for them to profit off of what they were previously exploited for? If he didn’t do it, then someone else would. And at least… at least he cared. At least he knew what it felt like to come back home and not have a home waiting for you, to have blood on your hands so violently red that you can’t go back into the real world without people noticing.

Your knuckles, scarred and scabbing, told him that you knew too. You found your way back to the fighting, just like the ones he recruited to work for him. Were you really so different?

And still, a part of him knew that voicing that question, in that way, was a good way to get beat up.

His eyes found yours again as his hands lifted and fell back down to his sides, defeated. “You’re right, but it’s just the way things are. Not all of us come home and end up underground fighting royalty.”

Your head shook as you muffled your rough laughter. “It’s not as glamorous as it looks.”

“Nothing ever is.”

Now it was your stare that redirected, eyes dropping to your feet before you let them scale their way back up the rocky terrain of his dressed down form. Worn boots, dark jeans, tight sweater, leather jacket, and that face. That pretty face. Exhaustion buried in the bags beneath his eyes, frustration laced in the furrow of his brow, a familiarity in the darkness of his eyes, a void of everything you remembered, skilled violence and inescapable grief, a void so familiar, a void you could lose yourself in.

It was late. It was cold. And you were alone. You were always alone.

You had made worse choices.

Sucking your bottom lip in tight between the bite of your teeth and slowly letting it out, you cocked your head to the side and began working on the last of your stubborn defenses. “If I say yes to the drink, is it just going to be more of this recruitment talk?”

His head twisted into a similar quirk, his smirk slowly gaining back its traction on his lips as he took you in with a similar once over. He inched one hesitant step forward, and when you didn’t shy away from the renewed heat of his attention, he took another. “Well I mean… I guess it depends.”

“On what?”

“On how much talking we do.”

—

It had been a while since he last had bathroom sex.

His boots stuck to the filthy linoleum floor, making every shift of his footing an extra effort. The shitty fluorescent light overhead flickered in and out with an infuriating lack of rhythm, blinding one second and pathetically inadequate to see you beneath him the next. But as his fingers gripped tighter around the flesh of your thighs, pushing you down into the cool porcelain of the sink he had you sat on, he had to admit that you were right. For everything it was, at least the sink was clean.

“So…” The burn was exactly what he remembered it to be, the cheap liquor clawing at his throat as he forced the shot down, chasing it with a quick swig of the even cheaper beer you had ordered for him. “This is your bar of choice?”

There had been six shots, three for each of you to start with, but you smirked around your final shot and he couldn’t even think ahead to his second. “Is that judgement I hear?”

He could feel his shoulder tick as he corrected with a slow drawl, “curiosity.”

“There are worse bars.”

“There are better ones too—“ His hand caught yours as you reached for one of his two remaining shots, his fingers wrapping carefully around yours. “Do you mind?”

You tried to pull back but his grip didn’t budge.

“You didn’t seem interested,” you fought, following his eyes as they dipped down to your busted lips. Again, you tried your hand. Again, he refused to let go.

“I’m plenty interested.”

You could feel his grip loosen, but this time, you let him hold it there. If anything, you leaned into it. Reaching with your other hand, you brought your bottle to your mouth and wasted no time licking up the remnants of your sip left behind across your bottom lip. Again, his stare followed, his nose scrunching as something deep in his chest began to burn. Again, you leaned into it, close enough for his cologne to overtake any of the thousand other smells swirling around the packed bar.

“Actually,” setting your beer back down, your unoccupied hand found the inseam of his jeans, his legs perched open on his stool with you sat between them. “I like this bar because the bathrooms are the cleanest.”

Picking up his next shot, he couldn't help the twist of his brow nor the uptick of his heart rate as your fingers teased higher. “The bathrooms?”

“Yeah…” your casual tone betrayed the tension pulled taut between the two of you. Every point of contact had him burning. Your hand in his, a candle flame he couldn’t stop drifting his hand over even as it burned. Your hand inching on his thigh, a creeping flame following a line of detcord towards explosion. Your stare, a rumbling volcanic heat mere seconds away from erupting. The rowdy crowd surrounding the two of you was nothing, the stuttering breath fleeing your chest all he could hear.

He leaned in, his brow still furrowed in confusion.

You leaned closer, pulling your hand from his thigh to take his last shot for him. “You ever been fucked over a filthy sink, Marine?”

He prided himself on his composure, in battle and in bed, but fuck, with two fingers inside you feeling you clench around him and his head buried deep in the crook of your neck inhaling the harsh stench of industrial soap trying it’s best to cover the smell of blood, he could feel himself skirting dangerously close to an edge he wasn’t ready to fall off of yet. His dick wasn’t even out of his pants and still, when he thrust a third finger into you and saw your brutalized knuckles wrapped around his bicep, nails digging through the thick fabric of his sweater, his name falling wrecked from your lips, he very nearly lost it.

“Russo— Fuck—”

“You like that?” He challenged breathlessly back, biting down hard on your battle bruised shoulder to keep it together as you grew closer and closer to the same edge. The light flickered and his stare shifted back up towards your face. A Queen brought to a trembling mess, teeth piercing the already torn center of your beaten lip. “Yeah, you do, don’t you?”

“Shut up.” The whine that accompanied your words betrayed the cut of them and his smirk only grew.

His lips scaled the scarred terrain of your shoulders, climbing up the bruised battlefield of your neck, nipping at every inch you offered him with your head thrown back against the steamed up mirror. “Shut me up.”

Your chuckle intercepted your heaving breath, the hot pants hitting his skin and flushing his cheek. “Yeah?” You challenged, your words ghosting over his lips as he drew ever closer. The cut of your nails dug into his arm pulled back, your grip settling comfortably around his throat instead as you inhaled his violent groan. “Make me cum.”

He fought against your vice-like grip as you squeezed tighter and tighter, stealing a singular kiss from your lips. “Yes, Ma’am.”

These were his cheapest jeans anyways.

Dropping slowly to his knees, his neck pulled from your grasp and his mouth found your ready and weeping heat. With one lick, your thighs closed around his ears, one suck of your clit between his lips and one of your calloused hands found his hair while the other gripped tight to the sink for any hope of stability.

“Billy—”

His fingers had worked you too close to the edge already, it didn’t take long before his fingers, still deep inside you, found the right spot and the burning pressure of his mouth on your clit had you soaring. The beating pump of your blood filled your head, the thumping echo all you could hear as your vision began flickering in time with the ancient fluorescent over head. You could feel him moaning into you, your stubborn grip holding tight to his previously pristine head of hair, dragging you closer as your screams no doubt echoed around the small bathroom.

Maybe the music and the boisterous crowd outside in the bar would be loud enough to cover the sounds. Maybe not. He couldn’t care less.

All he cared about as he fought his way back to his feet was the lazy pull of your hand in his hair. All he could ever imagine caring about for the remainder of his lifetime was the effortless drag of your tongue over his chin and lips, collecting the remains of your orgasm before sucking him in for the longest kiss of the night. Loose. Languid. Luxurious.

“Was that up to your standards, your highness…” he murmured with a smirk along the side of your mouth, his hands scraping down to your thighs, dragging himself closer.

Your grip found itself again in his hair, tugging tight. “Take your pants off.”

“Ask nicely.”

He felt the warmth of your scoff against his cheek, but you agreed in the only way you knew how, your hand not buried in his hair dropping to the bulge in his jeans. “Please…” your lips pressed once to his chin, then to his neck, soothing the crescent mark your own nails had left. One kiss, then another, and before he could reach his hand to his own belt to comply, you bit into the mark and deepened the color. “Take your fucking pants off.”

His lips twisted into a snarl, but he had his belt off and his pants open in record time.

The condom in his wallet was only supposed to be a backup, but he had never been more grateful for his disgustingly hopeful thinking than he was to find it exactly where he had remembered it being wedged between the folds of leather. And as you pulled him out of his boxerbriefs and rolled it on with a few lazy pumps, your satisfied smirk told him you were equally grateful.

Still, your fought. “It’s not expired, is it?”

“God, I hate you.” He swore back, but his heart left halfway through the words, his chest deflating, a nearly whimpering moan leaving his lips as he pushed into your soaking folds. “I fucking—“

Your hips rolled as he seated himself fully within you and again, his breathing stuttered. If he thought he was close before, this was just embarrassing.

He remembered the ruthless violence of your fight, the blood running from your nose and staining your teeth, the strong pull between your shoulders as you landed hit after hit. He gripped tight to one of your thighs with one hand and flattened his other palm to the mirror behind your head as his pace picked up. He remembered the echoing crack as you landed your final blows, the utter brutality that oozed from you as you moved from one hit to the next. He dragged your hips closer, he pulled you flush against his chest, muffling your cries into his sweater.

He remembered your knuckles and every groan they elicited. He kissed your jaw, unable to stop himself from thinking of how many you had broken.

The rough drag of him inside of you was taunting, the feel of him so full yet your climax still dancing out of reach. It was too much and too good all at once. Too little and too overwhelming in the same breath.

“Billy—“ your broken sob tore through his chest with a heat he didn’t even recognize, a burn so heavenly he swore a sunburst sliced through him. “Fuck— Russo, yes—“

Every muscle in your body tightened around him, squeezing him, clawing at him, destroying his composure. He tried to draw it out, he tried to fight back from the edge, but your moans turned to music and his head emptied out. “I—“

“Come on,” you cooed, your words slurring as you forced his lips back to yours. He was melting, the heat was too much, searing his insides, charring his heart and fuck… he was melting into you. “That’s it.”

His nose scrunched, his teeth baring, a guttural snarl escaping his fiery chest as he powered himself even further into you. Again and again and again and— “Shit…”

You whimpered as his hips stuttered, you whined as he fell still.

“Shit…” he repeated, trying one last languid thrust as he found his way back down from his blinding high. “That was… fuck…”

“Yeah,” you muster just enough breath for a chuckle. “Yeah it was.”

He barely had enough time to catch his breath before you were pushing him back on unsteady legs, he barely managed to catch himself on the neighboring stall before you hopped down of the sink. He wanted to laugh at your sudden urgency, make some kind of joke, or pull you close and disregard it entirely, but he still couldn’t breathe. His hair fell in his face, his sweater rucked up around his waist and his dick barely soft—

He was a mess. A wrecked mess without the words to stop you. You already had your pants back on by the time he had the condom tied off in the trash, you were fixing yourself in the mirror before he even found a hold on his belt.

“You know, I know some bars with nicer bathrooms.” He finally fought, catching your attention as he fed the tongue of his belt back through. “Better beer too—“

A battering knock sounded on the door, making both of you jump. “Can you two hurry it the fuck up! Some of us have to pee!”

Neither of you two could hold yourselves back from laughing at that, breathless or not, even Billy felt a subtle heat rise to his cheeks. Not for getting caught—no, surely that was inevitable in a place this packed—but because he really didn’t care, because he wanted nothing more than to do it again.

You had to feel the same, that had to be as good for you as it was for him, god it was better than good. If you wanted him on his knees, he would beg. If you wanted to wreck his shit, he’d say ‘yes, please’—

You pressed a firm hand to his chest, forcing him back to the stall wall. Your lips hovered over his, so close, he could taste your breath. “This won’t happen again, pretty boy.”

His head quirked with a glare, your hand keeping him in place as he fought towards your lips. “No?”

“No.” Your lips grazed his as they formed around the word but it wasn’t enough.

“That’s a maybe then?”

“No, it’s not.” He could feel your pulse, the beat of your chest pounding against his as you keep him just close enough and still too far away. He could feel the lie as you made it.

His smirk only grew as his lips touched yours. “Well, if we’re not having sex, you should just come work for me.”

You hand slammed him back but he just laughed.

“Not fucking likely, Russo.”

He surged against your grip for one last kiss before you pulled back. “Well,” he sighed, slumping back against the wall and finally accepting his defeat. “I know where to find you, at least.”

Even your stubborn tenacity couldn’t hide your smirk as you unlocked the door. “Maybe so.”

That wasn’t a no.

[bloodstainsontengensfloor]

Mai Zenin x Fem!Civilian Reader:

A snapshot before it’s too late

Warning: spoilers for 149!

TW: light reference to suicide

::readmore:: Flash!

Mai crinkled her nose, placing a hand on her hip as your Polaroid barfed up the film. “What was that for?” She asked, a light blush scattered across her face as she watched you take the film out and place it on the table in front of you. You and Mai had gone out for Boba on the shoreline, and the sunset was just... perfect right behind Mai. You couldn’t help yourself.

“Sh! You have to wait for it to form-“

“If you shake it I’ll be faster-“

You slapped Mai’s hand away. “No! That makes it worse-“

“No it doesn’t-“

“Mai-chan, just look and wait-“

“Y/N! I don’t have the patience-“

“Look!” You said, proudly and carefully picking up the Polaroid picture to show Mai. You weren’t oblivious to her obvious embarrassment, but... with the sunset behind her and the natural beauty that was her, you really couldn’t help yourself. Mai didn’t seem entirely impressed, and it was just a Polaroid, it wasn’t something to be absolutely amazed by.

“Humph, I don’t even know why you made that.”

“Because some moments are so beautiful, you just can’t stop yourself from capturing them.” You said, without missing a beat and without really thinking. After realizing what you said (and how totally cheesy it was), you blushed, mumbling some apology and ramble about how the sun looked pretty with her silhouette. You nervously took a sip of your Boba-

Flash!

Your eyes were wide as your vision focused again. “Huh-“ You asked, blinking rapidly a few times. Mai just smirked, your Polaroid in hand. She lightly began to wave the film that was just vomited out of the top of the camera.

“What?” Mai said, feigning innocence. “Some moments are just too beautiful that you just want to capture them.”

-

-

-

-

-

You didn’t expect not seeing Mai after October.

You didn’t expect her sister, burn marks scattered around her body, to come to your house. You never even met her sister before, but now you did, and you were scared. You knew what Mai did was dangerous and you woke up one morning in a cold sweat, unaware why. Before you shot up in your bed, you swore you heard seagulls or the lulling sound of the waves....

“I don’t really know how you knew my sister.” Maki said after a while. She sounded as alive as she looked. Her voice was dry, almost monotone. She was a lot bigger than Mai physically. You thought focusing on the differences between the twins would be easier than focusing on the similarities. You knew why she was here. You knew what happened. It was one of those things you would know. The way you felt off the past few days, like something was missing from your world. “Anyway,” Maki shifted the sword in her grip. She placed it on the table that sat between the two of you. “This is the last thing Mai gave me.” You felt a lump grow in your throat. “The last thing she ever gave anyone.”

She couldn’t even say the words that would finalize it. Mai was dead. You felt your finger nails dig into your palms as you avoided eye contact. It might have been a terrible thing to say, but it was a blessing that was Maki was so damaged that she barley looked like Mai anymore. Well accept for the hair... and if you looked closely enough you could see... You swallowed the lump in your throat, and tried to settle your breathing. You wouldn’t cry in front of Maki, Mai wouldn’t have wanted that. Mai always described Maki as stronger and as braver and as brasher and-

“So.... yea.” Maki awkwardly added, fiddling with the sword in hand. The last thing Mai created was a weapon of destruction... that was so dramatic... just like her...

Maki kept on rambling, and despite yourself, your mind wandered. Mai sacrificed herself, she did something heroic. You knew Mai, she wasn’t heroic. She was selfish and prideful and obnoxious and a total bitch almost all the time. But at the same time she was funny, caring, and someone so full of love that was never taught how to give. Sometimes you would catch Mai staring at the ocean when you guys would go to the beach, and there would be something so dead in her face. Sometimes you would notice the way Mai cut things off when she spoke about the jujutsu world. The anger, sadness, and despair in her words...

A dark thought crossed your mind that you quickly shuddered away. It could be true but right now, you didn’t have the stability to worry about it. “She left.” You said, cutting of whatever Maki was saying. “She left us both.” Maki stared at you for a little. Her expressions were even harder to read than Mai’s. “But I’m okay with that... if that makes sense. I just wish that-“ The breath got caught in your throat. You closed your eyes and took a quick, shaking, breath. You wouldn’t cry, not yet at least. Or maybe even at all. Mai hated seeing you cry and you could almost hear her mocking voice.

“Aww don’t flatter me too much by crying over my death! What happened to trying to keep my ego down?”

Despite yourself, you smiled, letting out a wet chuckle. Maki raised a brow but said nothing. “I just wish that she got to say goodbye.” You added. Maki didn’t respond.

After a few moments of silence, Maki asked, “was she happy?”. You looked up from your own pity party and saw the tears that were gathering in the corner of Maki’s eye. Maki was half of a person now, and no matter how much shit Mai might have told you about her, you knew they loved each other more than anything in this world.

But her question got you thinking. Was Mai happy? She hated being a shaman, she didn’t want to be one at all. That’s why she was always with you because with you, she could pretend to be normal. Pretend like she was just a delinquent friend coming over, and not a shaman who wanted to play a different role. But Mai’s eyes always lit up or softened when she talked about her friends. The way she teared up when she explained the time Utahime-Sensei let her stay with her over the Winter Break because Mai didn’t want to go back to the Zenin complex without Maki. The way she complained about Todo but the light tone in her annoyed voice told you that she enjoyed his company. The way she held Nishimiya in such high regard that you always felt a little bit of jealously burn in your stomach. The way she admired Miwa for being apart of the world but still was able to smile and have fun, how nothing could break her stride. The way she would tease Kamo in her descriptions of him but admitted that he was one of the people who she related to the most. “I just wish he didn’t have such a large stick stuck up his ass”, she had said. The way she explained Mechamaru’s crush on Miwa and how the two should just suck it up and go on a date because she couldn’t stand watching them run circles around one another anymore.

The way she smiled when she was with you. The way she looked... free whenever you guys went on your mini adventures. The way she softly would kiss your lips or the way she snuggled into your shoulder. It was so tender and so normal and so sweet it seemed so out of character for Mai. But what she had with you was one of the things she wanted but never had before.

“Y-yes.” You said, annoyed that another lump had grown in your throat. “I-I think she was.” Maki let out what seemed like a sigh of relief. She hastily wiped away the tears that had gathered in her eye before standing up, confident, powerful, and intimidating as ever. You hated how much she looked like Mai then. Because now she was playing a part she didn’t want to play and she was feeling a pain she couldn’t understand.

“Well, that’s good then.” She said, pulling something out of her pocket and handing it to you. You lightly gasped as you realized it was the Polaroid Mai had teasingly took of you, and that it was stained with some blood. “This was on Mai’s b- when she di- when she left.” Maki looked at the clock on the far side of the room. “Well... I should be going now.”

“Thank you, Maki-San.” You said, holding the Polaroid a little bit closer. Maki grunted in acknowledgment before leaving. And that’s when you let the dam break.

What? Did you think you wouldn’t be in my final thoughts or something?

You sobbed, your throat burned as you held the Polaroid close to your chest. Your parents weren’t home so you could have screamed if you wanted to, but with what was happening all over Japan, you knew it was better not to. You held a bloody memory of Mai, a bloody memory of the two of you together. You couldn’t even remember the last thing you said to Mai and Vice versa and that was even worse. You stumbled up your stairs and threw the door open to your bedroom, your body feeling weak. You ripped down the Polaroid photo of Mai from that dumb beautiful day on the shoreline and sobbed. Something was missing for the past few days and now you knew what it was. No more teasing smiles, no more taunts, no more kisses, no more late night adventures, no more unexpected sleepovers, no more nothing. Because Mai was nothing but a fucking sword now.

Well, I think I’m a pretty hot sword but-

“I hope we meet again. I don’t know what happens or where we go after we die, but I hope we meet again. If we meet in some afterlife, I hope it’s a good one. I hope it’s happy. And if it’s rebirth, I hope you aren’t a shaman. I hope your family loves you. I hope you and your sister get to be real sisters and not be torn apart by the world of a Shaman. I hope we meet at school or some Starbucks or something, and we do this all over again, but it ends better. It won’t end like this.

And if we just become nothing after we die, I hope i become nothing with you, right by your side. And if we return to the stars whose dust we were made from, I hope our stars are right next to one another, and I hope yours shines brighter than you did in this life.

I wish you the best, Zenin Mai.”

—————————————————

Yea I’ve been dead for a bit, still not over her death so uhm... here. Enjoy. Or cry. Or both’

[whenrockwasyoung19]

As a historian, I really want to do a piece on how 9/11 has been commemorated and how it’s been remembered by the people who lived through it and the generation that came up after. So I need to see 9/11 memes so I can determine what jokes about 9/11 are deemed acceptable by society, if any, and which ones are purely tasteless.

Having lived through that time, and remember the South Park era of comedy, I saw a lot of 9/11 jokes in the years after the attacks. They were tasteless then but laughing at them felt cathartic in a way. We’d all been through this collective trauma, and laughing at some shitty jokes was a way of coping with that trauma. But were these jokes tasteless? Probably.

I feel like as we get further away from the event, our memory of it gets more and more distorted. I think for a lot of people who weren’t there and don’t share that collective trauma they can be more cynical about it than the people that were. What do I mean by cynicism? This refers to a couple of trends I see in 9/11 discourse. The first is tasteless jokes, usually in the form of memes. The second is discourse that usually makes a lot of (false) comparisons between 9/11 and some other tragedy. This can be a comparison between some military mission performed by the US military or a natural disaster and most recently the pandemic. The emphasis in these comparisons is that 9/11 wasn’t that bad actually OR what America has done in retribution for 9/11 is worse than the original act itself. The latter point isn’t necessarily wrong but using a tragic event in which thousands of people lost their lives to do it, while an effective rhetorical strategy, can also come off as cynical and disrespectful to the people who survived it or lost family members. I feel like the best way to make that argument is to emphasize how horrible 9/11 was but explain that what the military did in response was perhaps even more destructive and cost more lives. I think deemphasizing how bad 9/11 was or just using it to make a political argument can read as disrespectful and not enough people find that tricky balance between political argument and disrespect.

As for the but such and such was worse, those people can shut up. Like I can entertain conversations about the actions of the US government and military in response to 9/11 because those are conversations worth having. This sort of cynical worldview doesn’t actually yield effective discourse. It essentially posits that because more people died in say a hurricane or an Earthquake that that event was a bigger tragedy. But as a historian, I can tell you that historians don’t claim that something is more significant or even more tragic or less tragic just because at some point in history a worse thing happened. Like as a historians were more aware than most how many bad things have happened in history, so there is no point in comparing all the tragic things to all of the other tragic things like some kind of mad web. Like there is no point in comparing a natural disaster to a terrorist attack because they are in no way similar other than the fact that innocent people died. They are far more dissimilar than similar, and comparing to disparate events that may not have even happened around the same time doesn’t make any sense. What points of comparison are we drawing and to what end? What does that really tell us about the society we’re living in or were living in during the time of these events? So just the business of comparing tragedies is a pointless endeavor but it also posits that the only thing that measures how tragic something is is it’s death toll and that’s not true. 9/11 is a tragedy not just because innocent people died but because of how meaningless their deaths were. They were caught in the crossfires of a conflict that these random office workers, flight attendants, flight passengers, and first responders had nothing to do with. An ongoing struggle between the East and the West, the dynamics between the most powerful nation on Earth and tiny subsections of a massive global religion has nothing to do with these people who died and yet they lost their lives anyway. Now that is true of any civilian attacks. But that’s the thing: there have been far worse civilian attacks in history, even some conducted by the US military (the Dresden bombings come to mind) but that’s kind of the problem with drawing comparisons. I can’t really say if the Dresden bombings and the Blitz were worse than 9/11. It simply doesn’t feel like my place to say to someone that suffered that your tragedy is actually smaller or less significant than this other tragedy that happened some other time. They are all hugely significant in their own ways, they are all tragedies, and they should all be remembered and discussed with reverence.

I do feel that a lot of the comparisons between 9/11 and some other tragedy come from this place of “why does the US make such a big deal about 9/11 and not xyz tragedy?” And this is a valid question but not all of the answers come down to “the US doesn’t care about xyz tragedy” or “the US only cares about itself!” So let’s go through some reasons why the anniversary of 9/11 is so widely covered. Firstly, it happened on our soil. Countries are always going to honor things that happened to them. It’s just a thing. If it affected the people in that country, then yeah they’re gonna go on and on about it. Secondly, it happened 20 years ago so it’s still in very recent living memory. Most people alive on the planet have vivid memories of that day, so most people still remember what that day felt like and want to honor the victims and commemorate it. Thirdly, all the cynical reasons. Yes the US is less concerned about anything else that’s happened outside of our borders. What happened to us matters more to anyone else. No this isn’t great but I’m just reporting the state of things. And yes, the US is selective about what it remembers and what it doesn’t, and the government has a history of struggling to acknowledge the bad things America has done. And lastly, America never really stopped being overly nationalistic like a lot of other countries did after the rise of fascism scared them out of ever doing that shit again. America just maintains its nationalism. Maybe one day it’ll have a more nuanced perspective of itself like other countries do but we’ll see. So yeah there are a lot of reasons why the US makes a big fucking deal about this day and will forever and not all of them are bad or reason to criticize.

Ok now to acknowledge the memes. God any time I tell kids not to make memes about 9/11 I feel like a grandma. I mean I could go on and on about how it’s disrespectful but the people making them know this and don’t care. I guess I’m more interested in understanding why people make memes about a national tragedy. I think it has to do with how 9/11 has been remembered which is largely clouded by all of the political and military stuff that happened as a result of it. For people who learned about 9/11 years after it happened, they didn’t experience these events in real time. For those of us who lived through it, we didn’t know all that was going to transpire because of it. On that day, all we really knew was that thousands of people were dead and more were going to die in the conflicts that would result from it. We didn’t know that the wars would last decades or how pointless it would all be in the end. We had no idea how shitty George Bush was or how incompetent his administration was. We definitely had no idea that Trump was coming. So for a lot of us, we can separate the mess that happened because of the attacks from our memories of the attacks. It’s so much easier for us to think only about the events of that day because we were there. We have specific memories of it which we can latch onto rather than just thinking about news footage or events that came later.

And the cynicism that people feel is somewhat earned. The attacks obviously spurned two decades of Islamaphobia as well as countless military attacks in the Middle East. For a lot of young people, they feel like they’re supporting Muslims or standing against Islamaphobia by disrespecting an event that prompted so much Islamaphobia. And I get that. But also that’s not the way to do show your support or take a stand. Keep in mind that the people who died that day had no idea what they were dying for. Most in their last moments probably didn’t even know it was a terrorist attack. The American people didn’t even realize the first plane was an attack. So it doesn’t really make sense to disrespect their memory when it’s not their fault that their deaths resulted in so much pain and suffering for the Muslim diaspora. Disrespect the people who were openly Islamaphobic after the attacks, criticize the American government for their actions in the Middle East. But not the people who had no control how their deaths were remembered or used by politicians, military leaders, white nationalists, and other racists to attack Muslim people.

As a historian, it’s my job to try to apply a historical context to people’s actions. A lot of people have done this to observe why people responded to the attacks the way they did. Now I want to use it to understand why so many young people feel at best indifferent to the events of that day and at worst resentful and disrespectful towards ur

[emo-and-confused]

au//// When someone’s causes you emotional damage or trauma, thin flowers raise from your skin. Most people have, on average, three groups. The people of the DSMP typically have a few more than the average. However, Tommy has significantly more, and people don’t realise.

Tommy’s first set of flowers raise when he’s only seven years old. Phil neglected him for his oldest brother, leaving Wilbur to raise him. The group of five flowers raise when Phil misses his seventh birthday in favor of going on an adventure with Techno. The flowers are green and white, and cover his upper thigh, raised slightly from the skin, the marks being tender and feeling slightly like a petal. He doesn’t tell Wilbur, even as his brother holds him while he cries. He knows what the flowers mean, and he doesn’t want Wilbur to feel even worse for him. Even when wearing shorts, the flowers aren’t visible.

(A small flower is added to the group of five on his thigh when he leaves for the Dream SMP, Wilbur promising to come and meet him soon, while Phil and Techno don’t say anything. The flower hurts a little more when it grows in, and the green petals have a mixture of pink swirled in. He still doesn’t tell anyone)

Tommy’s second set of flowers is smaller, during the Disc Saga with Dream. Two flowers raise from the skin along his shoulder blade, both a shade of green usually associated with the admin he’s at war with. He didn’t feel too hurt by the war, but he felt enough of it. He understood though, even if Dream had invited him to his land, Tommy guesses he was just too much to handle. But Tubbo kept him grounded, so he didn’t back down from the war. They were his discs anyways. The sleeve of his shirt covers the flowers; he keeps it a secret.

Tommy’s third set of flowers bloom when Eret betrayed them for the Dream Team. Six flowers bloom across his chest, hurting while they raise. He had liked Eret, he had thought they were friends. Now he can barely look at the guy without remembering the feeling of betrayal, the words “It was never meant to be” ringing in his ears as he remembers Dream killing him and taking his first life (a new green flower is added to his shoulder blade). He trades his red and white shirt in for a bigger size, so the flowers don’t show through the shirt.

Tommy’s fourth set of flowers grow when Sapnap kills Henry. It hurt more than when Sapnap killed Harold, because Henry’s death was intentional. He liked Sapnap at one point, but they had an unsteady friendship. Henry’s death caused a single cream coloured flower to raise at the skin on the right side of his ribcage, creating a constant reminder of the death of his pet.

Tommy loses sight of when the flowers start to bloom after that. He stops remembering which grew in chronological order, and instead only remembering why they grew in the first place.

More neon green flowers raise across both shoulders as Dream continues to mess with him, sometimes the colour of his discs showing up at the ends of the petals. He adds length to his sleeves, and makes the neckline of his shirt a little higher. It’s okay, no one needs to know. He’s not weak, he’s not sensitive (he knows the amount of flowers he already has say otherwise).

The flowers from Eret hurt less as time moves, the king redeeming himself slightly. The flowers don’t fade, he doesn’t think he ever will, but the pain is almost completely gone.

(When he comes across the Final Control Room with Techno, the pain comes back. It doesn’t leave for a week.)

Schlatt causes a grey flower to raise on the back of his neck. He was Tommy’s idol, and he really thought they were, or could be, friends. But his and Wilbur’s exile proved otherwise. His hair covers the flower easily; he doesn’t have to try hard to hide it.

Quackity’s betrayal of L’manburg for Schlatt makes two small blue flowers bloom right above Schlatt’s grey one. It hurts but is almost completely forgotten when Quackity joins them in Pogtopia later.

He gains five brown and yellow flowers from Wilbur during Pogtopia, covering the left half of his stomach. Four more are added when he blows up L’manburg, one more is added when he sees his brother begging his father to kill him. A huge green and white flower is added to those on his thigh. He doesn’t wear shorts anymore to keep it hidden. All of them cause him pain.

Techno causes four pink flowers to run down his right arm. His brother told him to die and spawned withers. It hurt a lot, but he continued to hide. The flowers were thinner than the others, and he starts wearing a white long sleeved shirt underneath his iconic red and white tee. It hides them perfectly. No one questions the new fashion choice.

Seven yellow and black stripped flowers bloom across his heart when Tubbo exiles him. His best friend exiled him and sent him away for a mistake that he didn’t mean to make. The prank had gotten out of hand.

In Logstedshire, the green flowers across his shoulder blade multiply and grow darker, and he has to ask Ranboo to get him the red and white hoodie he has stored in his home, back in L’manburg. He prepared for this, he knew he was going to be covered in flowers one day. People just didn’t like him. Ranboo doesn’t ask why, he doesn’t see the dark green flowers through the white shirt sleeve.

Dream finds out about his flowers. He’s the first one to ever find out. Dream manipulates and gaslights and abuses him, and he almost jumps into the lava so many times. When Dream blows up Logstedshire, no new flowers are added, but the preexisting ones burn. He almost jumps off the pillar he made. (He doesn’t).

When he finds Technoblade’s cabin, he starts to heal. His flowers hurt less and less as the days go by, but they never leave. They never fade.

But then Dream blames him for blowing up the community house, and he and Tubbo fight after Tubbo gets his disc from the enderchest. A new black and yellow flower is added to the bunch over his heart.

Then he chooses Tubbo over Techno. His best friend over his brother. Both have caused flowers but Tubbo was always there. He doesn’t feel like he’s betrayed Techno; he never agreed to L’manburg getting blown up. And Techno sides with Dream, causing more pink flowers to be added to his arm. He understands though, he did chose the opposite side. It doesn’t matter if his brother was the first one to hurt him.

Fundy and Niki both cause flowers; Niki’s two purple and Fundy’s two orange ones intertwining with each other on his ankles. Niki burned down L’mantree and Fundy sabotaged their war supplies. It’s okay though; they might want him dead but he fucked up in the past. He understands their hatred of him.

Other miscellaneous flowers are spotted across him, and his gives up on trying to remember who all hurt him. His skin is painted with thin petals of all colors, from so many people.

When L’manburg’s been blown up for the last time, Dream’s TNT running out and Techno’s withers being dead, and Phil standing with the two of them looking at their work, Tommy is tired. He struggles to breathe normally, but he doesn’t cry. He’s past that.

Dream looks at him, his mask lifted up just barely enough to see the smug smile on his face. Tommy looks down, looks at the destruction. He’s so tired.

“How many were added?” Dream asks. Tommy knows what he means. Tommy doesn’t respond.

Everyone is listening, just like they did at the community house. They’re confused, but they let it play out, not intervening. They never do.

Tubbo moves closer to Tommy as Dream does. Techno and Phil just watch with the rest.

“I asked a question.” His voice makes Tommy shiver and represss memories of Logsted. “How many flowers were added since I last saw?”

Tommy’s reply is simple: a shrug and a quiet “too many”.

Dream moves before Tubbo has a chance to stop him, and Tommy doesn’t try and defend himself. Dream’s axe slashes at Tommy’s hoodie, cutting away the fabric and revealing the flowers that cover his arms and stomach and shoulders and back. The axe cuts at Tommy’s jeans, the denim peeling slightly and showing a sliver of flowers at his thighs and ankles.

No one knows what to do, no one knows what to say, as Dream reveals the pain of the sixteen year old. None of them have as many flowers as that. A lot of them have more than three bundles, but no where near as many as those on Tommy’s skin.

Tommy just closes his eyes, and breathes in. He turns around and walks away, hearing Dream’s laugh coat the silence in the destruction of the broken country. It’s not until he’s at the stairs of the Prime Path that he hears yelling, everyone accusing others and shouting for revenge at Dream.

Tommy doesn’t notice when he gets to the bench, he doesn’t notice when he sits down and watches the sunset. He only becomes aware of reality once more when he feels Tubbo’s presence behind him.

They don’t say anything. They don’t need to. The silence is comforting.

[un2-verse]

BILLY — Kim Taehyung (2)

pairing: taehyung x f reader

genre: horror au, yandere au, saw/john kramer au

synopsis: News of a Sadistic Serial Killer nicknamed “Jigsaw” is spreading around town like wildfire… the nickname stemming from the puzzle piece he cuts from every victim’s body. No one knows who he’ll trap next but in a town full of delinquents and criminals, it could never be you. Right?

warnings: mentions of suicidal thoughs, abusive relationships, stalking etc. dont read if triggered. there are some ?? fucked up things in this but idk what to word them. but also mentions of self harm/self hating thoughts.

wordcount: 2.2k

a/n: unedited so pls forgive me for any mistakes and lmk if u want to be added to a taglist^^

series masterlist

part one part three

You’d spent a couple of hours in the café with Taehyung. Jimin popped over every now and then to talk with his best friend and to make sure you had everything you needed while there.

When you left, Jimin wrapped his arms around you as he bid his farewell, “It was lovely to meet you Y/N! Please, don’t be a stranger!” You simply nodded your head as you pulled away from the hug. You grinned back at him as he moved to Taehyung. You opened the door, carefully stepping outside to leave the boys with some privacy.

Once the door shut Jimin’s smile beamed, “so she’s the girl you’re always talking about, Flower? Right?”

“Yeah she is, thanks for that though man but, I’ve gotta go. I’ll see you later?”

Taehyung smiled as he made his way towards you, you looked up and he swore, he saw a hint of nervousness in your eyes, probably because it’s dark, he thought to himself. “Come on then, let’s get you home.” He held out his hand, you were quick to grab a hold of it. Taehyung intertwined your fingers as he tugged you back across the road, “it’ll take about twenty minutes, you gonna be alright to walk?” he glanced down to you.

Your heart warmed at the way his eyes smiled with him, “I’ll be fine, thank you.” He seemed happy enough with your answer as you fell into a steady rhythm. You felt a little conflicted, you may not know Taehyung well but he had an energy about him that made you wanna spill every secret you knew, you’d shared pointless stories while you were at the café, having learnt Taehyung was a family oriented person, he loved art and he was passionate about little subjects other people would deem small. Yet he had a warmth that you’d not seen in anyone else.

Fuck it, you thought, he’s shown nothing but kindness, you may aswell open upto him… atleast.

“I was in an abusive relationship.” Taehyung felt himself smirk but quickly wiped it from his face, he arched an eyebrow as he looked down to you, “it was my first too. It left me, fucked up, in a way. Not that I wasn’t already fucked up.” Progress. He squeezed your hand in reassurance, go on… “I’ve always been insecure and uh, uncomfortable with the way I look. After that disaster of a relationship, it left me worse for wear.” you kept your eyes on the road, you didn’t want to see the judgement on his face yet it didn’t stop you from carrying on, “I never told my friends or family about it. None of them knew I was struggling before it anyway so I’ve been letting it tear me apart.”

“Why tell me then doll?”

You risked a glance at his face. There were no traces of judgement or pity. Swallowing down your nerves, you added softly, “I had to tell someone. Even if that someone is a random person— who showed me kindness when I needed it.”

Taehyung felt his heart clench, she’s already trusting me… this was easier than I thought. “Don’t feel like you need to tell me anything baby,” I already know it all.

You felt your cheeks burn from the pet name, how could something so simple, affect you this much? God, talk about a schoolgirl crush. “That’s the thing, I don’t feel like I need to. I just, I want to.”

Taehyung presented you with his boxy grin, “Then you can tell me anything you want, whether it's big or small.”

“Thank you Taehyung.” It was like the sun had shone down on you, the simplest gesture meant the world. Here you had a person willing to talk to you about your darkest secrets. A person willing to listen. Someone who had no ties to your family, which made it easier for the words to flow from you, “It’s like, I was this happy, care-free kid. I smiled without forcing it and when I laughed… I felt free. I didn’t feel like I was losing my breath. Not like I do now, everytime I do so much as breathe, it's like these roots have twisted around my lungs and everytime a breath escapes, they crush them tighter. It’s like a reminder. You’re never fully alive. You’re never fully happy. Pain overrides any other emotion. I’ve learned that, after all those years. I used to think, I’d never accept it.” A solemn silence fell over you. The roots squeezed your lungs even tighter as you whispered, “I’m scared of living.”

“Flower, some people are anchored to this world by their feet, others by their fears. You don’t have to voice it, I know you’re scared. You have your fears. Your demons. The thing you were doing at the cafe; is destructive. Anything that harms you, is destructive. Fuck, it may only be something as simple as picking your skin but that can lead into bigger things.”

It already has.

“Taehyung, I know that. I knew when it started but it helps, it lessens my anxiety. You’re the only one to have picked up on it. My friends… they don’t notice. If they do, they don’t mention it.”

Taehyung scoffed, “You really think anyone on this planet is your friend?”

Your mouth was sewn shut. You didn’t want to admit it but, there was some truth to his words.

You walked home in silence.

That night haunted you. It forced its way into your dreams. It clouded your thoughts when Yoongi and Hoseok were with you. When you’d spent time together, you were vacant. A soulless body. It was like a poison had found its way into your brain, second guessing relationships and people’s motives.

‘You really think anyone on this planet is your friend?’

Why were you letting it get in your head so much? You knew your friends. They were the only ones you felt safe with. They were your friends for a reason, they supported you (albeit sometimes they had a sense of… tough love) but they always had your back.

You didn’t mention Taehyung to Yoongi or Hoseok. You felt as though that was something that should be kept between you and him. Plus, the duo would’ve felt betrayed and upset by the fact you had wandered into foreign territory alone and found company in a complete stranger-- especially after they’d warned you about the whole Jigsaw shit.

To save the arguments, you went about your life as usual. You helped out your Mum with the flower shop, the array of flowers made you realise how the simplest things were beautiful. That of course, didn’t include yourself. Rancid thoughts clouded what was once, a tranquil space. Those god forsaken roots hadn’t lessened. Breathing was still difficult— as was pretending that you were absolutely fine.

You avoided mirrors, a quick glance could wreck your entire mood. You hated people taking photos of you, it made you scrutinise every single thing.

My nose is too big.

My chin is too round.

My face just shouts ugly.

My legs are disgusting.

My stomach is embarrassing.

My boobs are weird.

Not to say, you didn’t have these thoughts on the regular. However, the more you eluded your appearance, the voices lessened. You could ignore the way you looked, forget it completely. Often convinced yourself you were a plain person. The stereotypical norm: someone that no one would look twice at. It helped you get on with everyday tasks, it helped you ease the anxiety.

After all, every flower must grow through dirt.

But how would you react? If you knew, he had all the pictures of you?

Tuesdays you worked at your Dad’s garage. You didn’t know much about cars but you enjoyed his company. As well as spending time with Hobi and Yoongi. You often found yourself pranking the former with Yoongi, little jokes that luckily, didn’t piss Hobi off too much.

Today though, you were late. You’d had to spend more time trying to find the more appropriate clothing… you didn’t want people to see the slashed lines of red that littered your body.

After you messily threw an outfit together, you made your way down to the garage. You found your eyes trained on the silver Nissan Skyline, mouth agape as you collided into something.

You felt hands grab your shoulders, “Watch where you’re going,” Yoongi brought his hands to ruffle your hair, “gotta be careful while we’ve got that here kidda. That fuckers expensive.” He released a chuckle as you rolled your eyes, softly elbowing him out the way.

Your dad was under the bonnet, a box of tools were scattered around his feet. Organised mess, your Dad was infamous for it.

“Sorry I’m late Pops, what do you want me to do?”

Not even a second later, your Dad turned to face you, “Ah darling, not a lot while we’re working on this. Can you go make us some drinks?”

“Yeah course, I won’t be too long!”

You passed Hoseok on your way to the little kitchen situated at the back, he sent you a wink as he shouted across, “Coffee for me kidda!”

Three cups were spread in front of you. Americano for Yoongi, Coffee for Hobi and Cappuchino for Pops. Just as you were about to shout the guys, a presence had situated itself comfortably behind you. Before you had time to turn around, a deep baritone voice addressed you, “You not gonna ask me if I want a cup baby?”

You felt yourself still. You knew that voice. The voice that was haunting your dreams, even your wake.

You really think anyone on this planet is your friend?

Taehyung watched the way your body tensed, your shoulders stiffened, your breathing altered. Hm, she’s nervous. How cute.

“What are you doing here?” the words passed your lips, delivered as though they were encased in thorns.

A deep chuckle filled the room, “What do you think I’m doing here?” Taehyung inched closer, the atmosphere was almost palpable. You felt the way his chest brushed against your back, a sudden chill shot through you as he brought his hand up— which grazed against your skin whilst he moved your hair from your neck. His eyes turned hungry at the sight of your goosebumps. Your heart raced when he brought his head lower, lips next to your ear, “You think I’m here for you baby?” I am… but you don’t need to know that just yet.

You spun around, squashed between the table and Taehyung. Heat radiated off of him, how can he be so hot? It felt like you were in a furnace (while face to face with the Devil.)

Fear stricken, you tried to fight through it. Don’t show him. Don’t let him see. With a sarcastic smile plastered on your face you retorted, “Of course you are Taehyung. You tracked me down using the information I gave you and figured out which Garage is ours.”

The sarcasm was practically dripping from your tone like venom. Taehyung felt himself stifle a laugh.

You just didn’t know. In all fairness, you didn’t know anything. How would you know that Taehyung had done exactly that, except he’d done it months prior.

He lowered his head to yours, your hands raised to push him away but Taehyung wrapped his fingers around each wrist and tugged them to lay between you before you even had the chance to nudge him. You felt like you were stuck in a Venus fly trap.

“I’m not some type of sicko, doll.”

You were just a naive, misunderstood, little girl.

“I’m getting my car fixed. Your dad’s working on it right now.”

Your body visibly relaxed, releasing a breath you didn’t know you were holding. “Oh, the Skyline? Wait, you have a car and made us walk back to mine the other week?”

“I didn’t make you walk for the fun of it baby, my car is literally in the shop so obviously it was broken.”

Only, the car was perfectly fine when you met him those weeks ago. He had made the pair of you walk so he’d have more of a chance to speak to you and to touch you. The only way he could follow you around without being suspicious, especially at your dads work, was to have a somewhat reasonable excuse (which resulted in him messing with the engine). He knew although you’d shied away from him that night, he could easily win you back around.

“Oh shit, I’m sorry Taehyung. I’m also uh, sorry about how that night ended.”

“Don’t sweat it, I know what I said came off a little... weird but I didn’t mean any harm.”

With an angelic smile on your face in return, Taehyung knew that soon, that smile would morph into a grateful one. After all, he was going to help you.

Until a person is faced with death, it’s impossible to tell whether they have what it takes to survive.

Live or Die.

Your choice.

He had first seen you out and about last year. However, he had first heard of you when the guys working for him had slammed a file onto his desk, Subject #13 was scrawled on the top. Filled to the brim with pictures of you and everything about your life down to the littlest detail.

L/N Y/N— D.O.B 03.11.02— 19 years old.

Phone number: XXXXX.XXXXX

Female. Lives with parents at: 171 Norm Street, Falfield F91 7DW. Was outcasted at school but befriended a Jeon Jeongguk [19 years, male. 92 Carriers Road, Cressage CY5 3EA. XXXXX.XXXXX].

Ex partner is Kang Jaehyo. [23 years. Male. Abusive and manipulative, laid his hands on Y/N multiple times leaving bruises and scars. Sexual abuse was also discovered. Have been broken up for 4 months. 13 Walkers Drive, Falfield, F73 1DL XXXXX.XXXXX]

Y/N has suicidal ideations (as well as 7 attempts). Self harms by “cutting” “punching” and “scratching”. Diagnosed with Depression and Anxiety Disorder on May 13th 2016. Works at Toret Garage and Letty’s Floral. Both places owned by parents.

The web of lies and deceit had barely scraped the surface.

[roger-that-cap]

right where you left me

summary: this is the fourth prompt of @caplanbuckybarnes ‘s summary challenge! this idea kind of went a little crazy on my part, but the prompt is: remember when you said you’d marry me? today’s our wedding day and you’re not here to see it. 

warnings: y’all, i really said that i didn’t write angst and then made cardigan, and then this after one serious talk with @teenwonder - yeah, so this is angst? i wrote this while extremely vulnerable so this is very messy- deepest apologies

note: yes, the title is a taylor swift song. it is a must listen if you haven’t heard it, please!

word count: this is literally a baby, the shortest thing i’ve ever written- 1.4k

also guys, i got to 300 followers sometime last night- thank you!! i’m so glad that other people are enjoying my stuff, it’s such a great feeling.

If you had known that one person wasn’t coming back after retrieving the soul stone, you would have gone with Natasha instead of letting Clint go, and you would have forced her to let it be you. At least, that was your main thought for weeks and weeks, until the hole in your heart grew bigger and the rock on your finger grew almost too heavy to carry. Then, after your anger at her for leaving you in the dark and alone faded, you realized that it was just sadness. Nothing but. And for a while, it seemed to be going on a steady incline, and nothing was even close to getting better. 

You woke up every morning in emotional pain. Every morning, the right side of the bed was cold. Every morning, there was a lack of eyes on your face, and of feather light touches going down your back. There were no whispered Russian words or sweet nothings spoken in English. It was just you and no one else, and you could have never imagined that peace and quiet could have ever been so destructive. You would never be over the fact that it seemed like everyone had gotten their loved ones back, clicked right back into place like they never left to begin with, but you were stuck. Stuck in time, stuck in emotions, stuck with your body still aging but your heart never moving on. You were on a spinning platform, watching everyone grow old and renewing old vows and having kids, and you couldn’t get off. You would be there for the rest of your life, right where she left you. And then, that was when you took your original thought back. 

You would have never been able to leave her in the amount of sadness that she left you. 

You knew that she was always self-sacrificing, no matter how much she liked to pretend that she wasn’t the sort of team player that the world needed. It showed in the way she spoke about certain topics, the way she always secretly cared for the underdog, how she always stood up for recruits trying to prove themselves,  and even how she always watched out for the little guy and stuck her neck out for the people she knew needed a little more help than others. Hell, she met you by sticking her neck out for a stranger. You were fighting a man inches taller than you who had a knife swinging at you so wildly that you were sure that he was actually going to get you with his manic jabs. She came flying in out of nowhere without a sound like some sort of battle angel, and before you even realized who she was, she stepped in, took a shallow stab for you, and then dropped him so quickly that you were scared he was dead. 

  She sported that scar for the rest of her life, and at first, it brought shame to you. It made you feel guilty; knowing that your weakness caused another person to wear a scar on their body. Especially her and her body, because she was flawless. Because as hard as she seemed, she was beautiful inside and out, and she didn’t deserve to have any scar of any kind. As your love grew on, things changed, and that godforsaken scar became the flame to your hovering moth. Your fingers always managed to find it, even over her civilian clothes or tactical suit, and your lips always brushed over it when the lights were out and the air was thin between the two of you, when all there was was you and her and the candles that burned on the other side of the room. 

Now, you couldn’t imagine not wanting to see that scar. All you wanted was to trace it with your fingers even though you knew every single puckered spot that hadn’t healed correctly, and every curve of the scar itself. You couldn’t think of a more peaceful scene than placing light kisses on it and then looking her in the eyes, watching her smile that pretty little smile she did every time, the one that said that she would jump in front of the knife a thousand times over again. 

 So, yeah, you knew that she was self sacrificing. But you would have never thought that she would leave you in shambles. And shambles was what you were in as you sat in the apartment, the one that you used to share that you had nearly cleared out with the help of a pitying Sam and Maria Hill, in your beautiful white gown that you were so certain matched the one that Natasha had picked for herself. 

You still hadn’t seen it. 

  You were in the entire outfit. Your shoes were strapped on lazily, your veil was pushed back and crinkled, your mascara was running, but your dress was perfect. Your dress was frozen in time, stuck in a day that it had never even seen play out. Your sobs echoed louder than any laughter in the apartment had now that all the picture frames and decor had been torn down. 

  She was supposed to marry you. That was the promise that the both of you made when she got on one knee after the best day at Coney Island, surprising you only because you had a black box in your pocket, too. You were supposed to marry Natasha Romanoff, and your wedding day was here, knocking loud and proud, standing on your doorstep. It was the day, the one that was staring at you in the form of the glaring pink sharpie that you two had used to circle the day on the calendar. The calendar was the only thing still up in your apartment, as if you could ever forget the date. 

Suddenly, the dress that fit you perfectly began to feel tight. The necklace that you picked because it was elegant and light felt heavy around your neck, like a collar of sadness preparing to choke you at any second. You stood up, ready to take it all off and throw your dress and all of it off of the top of Stark fucking Tower, but then the heels that were your perfect height felt too tall. You collapsed back onto the couch, bawling your eyes out and whispering her name like a prayer over and over again, like it would bring her back to you, standing in a radiant white dresses that you could have only dreamed of. You could imagine it, her staring down at you with the soft smile she reserved for you that you missed so much, hand reaching out for yours, and you would have stretched to the point of desperation just to touch her. The door to your apartment had been unlocked and there was a quiet shuffling that signaled people coming in, but you didn’t care. 

You didn’t care that they were her friends, or yours. You didn’t care that they had somehow gotten a key to your apartment, or that they looked almost as heartbroken as you did, sitting on the floor of the apartment that used to be shared, and so full of life and love. You didn’t care that you could hardly breathe through the pain or through your chest rattling sobs, nor did you care that someone had their arms wrapped around you and was trying to break through your eternal wall of grief. 

You and your dress were stuck in time. Stuck in a place where nothing bad ever happened to you or Natasha, in a timeline where you two managed to get married. In your mind, you were looking at Natasha while you threw your bouquet at your small group of friends, wide smiles on the both of your faces as you heard their playful squeals. In reality, you were sobbing on your floor, dust collecting on you and your true emotions as pages of reality and dream world stuck to each other. She left you, and she left you with no choice but to stay in a moment that would never happen forever. You flinched when you felt the arm squeeze you gently, forcing you to look at who was truly there in the flesh in front of you. It wasn’t her. 

  But it was your wedding day. And she was never going to be there to see it. 

****

i got sad and selfishly decided to make it other people’s problems- this is the result

[posallys]

i saw a post about percy and poseidon and i figured i'd drop this stupid little headcanon i have here (i also take stuff from this analysis, so go read that mayhaps)

Ya know how we’ve established i think that Percy’s fatal flaw should be control and not loyalty? And how I talked about the whole “Percy and Poseidon are quick to anger” thing in my analysis of them? And how it’s literally in their nature to want to be in control of everything around them?

okay, well, for whatever reason, percy is on olympus (maybe a solstice? maybe annabeth is talking about stuff for her rebuild? idk)

and a god somebody says something and it he gets pissed, and since his emotions are so closely linked with his powers, he accidentally triggers an earthquake

except, poseidon could obviously tell that there was going to be an earthquake bc he could feel it, so he just kind of pops in front of percy and grabs his wrists/hands and is like "that's an awfully big earthquake you almost caused, ya know."

And Percy’s kind of shaking because he could feel the way the anger took over and how he couldn’t stop the earthquake himself. He was trying so hard to restrain it, to hold it back, but he couldn’t.

He doesn’t really say anything to Poseidon, because he’s clenching his jaw to the point that it’s painful, but he looks up at Poseidon, and his eyes kind of give it away.

(and it may not have been obvious to anybody else, but it was obvious to poseidon because he can't even begin to count the amount of times that look has been on his own face)

So Poseidon takes a deep breath and closes his eyes and nods a little (meanwhile the rest of the gods are just like 👀 👀 because percy almost fucked a lot of shit up and poseidon is being very calm and also being a dad and trying to help his kid)

So he lets go of percy's wrists and is like "come with me"

And Percy kind of hesitates for a moment, but then Poseidon is like “It wasn’t a question” because he knows it’s probably the only thing that’ll help, so it’s Not A Question.

(and poseidon knows that he should have done it after the titan war. He should have helped Percy sooner, but he didn’t, so he has to do it now, and he’s going to do it, because he's not going to let percy keep walking blindly through the mess that is their powers)

Poseidon does some god shit and flashes them out to like. The middle of fucking nowhere. like just creates a little slab of land in the middle of the ocean. nothing around for hundreds of miles except open water

Percy just looks at him like wtf? "Dad, why are we in the middle of the ocean??"

And Poseidon just kind of chuckles and is like “yeah, actually, we are in the middle of the ocean. This is the point that’s as far from any land that you can get.”

“Uh? Why?”

“Because it gives me enough time to stop any damage before it happens.”

Percy’s like “???? what damage?? Pls explain”

“I should have done this after the titan war, Percy. I should have—well it doesn’t matter what I should have done. You have to learn how to let go, and I’m going to help you.”

And Percy doesn’t like the idea of that. He doesn’t want to let go. He doesn’t trust himself not to hurt someone or cause destruction (after all, his name means to destroy).

He must be making a face because Poseidon looks at him sympathetically.

“I know it’s hard, Percy. Believe me, I know better than anyone.”

Poseidon pauses for a moment and then continues… “How do you survive a riptide?” he asks.

Percy answers immediately. “You have to let it pull you out. Eventually, it’ll let you go out the side or the back. You don’t want to fight it, though, because you’ll probably drown trying.”

Poseidon purses his lips and nods, and Percy’s looking at him confused for a moment, trying to figure out why his dad asked about a riptide (because Poseidon obviously knows how they work).

And then he Gets It. “You mean...I have to stop fighting…”

“You have to let go. You have to let yourself be carried out sometimes. The longer you fight, the more tired you get, and the worse it becomes. The sea doesn’t like to be restrained, Percy.”

“But I—” Percy’s voice cracks

“I know you don’t want to, but I promise you, it helps.”

Percy nods and lets Poseidon tell him what to do.

Poseidon tells him to scream. To really let everything out. “I know, I know, you’ll probably feel stupid doing it, but do it anyway. No restraints, no worries. let it flow out of you.”

And so he does. He screams the way he’s wanted to for what’s felt like forever at this point. And the ocean responds to him. It responds to his frustration and his anger and his pain. And the waves are rough and choppy and the sky is turning a shade of grey, and the ground is trembling, and then the waves are getting higher and higher and they’re building, building, building, and then they’re crashing onto the ground around him.

And it feels good, really. To let go. to not have to restrain himself

And Poseidon is there watching him (and he’d stop anything Percy may cause before it got to a place where it could cause harm (there’s a reason they’re in the middle of the ocean, after all)).

And Percy’s scream dies out, and he sits down and he breaths and he feels like the world has been lifted off of his shoulders again.

But he’s not done yet because Poseidon is coaching him through things, making Percy create earthquakes and hurricanes and tsunamis, helping him find the balance between controlling them and letting them control him.

And then poseidon teaches him how to release his anger. He walks Percy through the steps. Start with your hands; unclench your fists. Relax your arms, your shoulders. Roll them out, hold yourself up straight. Unclench your jaw, stretch your neck out. Don’t hold the anger back, but don’t let it consume you. You have to change it, you have to feel it. Let it move through you like water flowing down a river. Feel it in your arms and your fingers and your legs, but then push it out. Not aggressively—calm. It has to be calm. You have to let it carry you to a certain point, but you can’t struggle. It’s a riptide, Percy. Once you surrender to it, you can escape it. Once you surrender to it, you really have control.

And it works. Percy goes through the steps, slowly relaxing himself, letting it move through him until it’s no longer anger and he no longer feels like he’s being crushed.

“I caused a lot of destruction when I was a younger god, Percy. I didn’t have a good grip over my anger. It took me a long time to figure out that, while I may control the ocean, the ocean also controls me. Do you know why? Because I am the ocean, and so are you. The ocean is inside of you, and you must find the balance between controlling and being controlled.”

“How often do you do this?”

“Every few months. It’s easy to get caught in the cycle of control again. It’s in our nature to want to be in control, so conceding isn’t easy for us. So when I feel myself on edge, when I start angering quicker, I come here and I let go.”

So they make a habit out of it. They come out to the middle of the ocean every other month, or about as often as either of them needs it, and they let go, and Percy slowly gets better at becoming one with the ocean, better at finding the balance.

(and then they go to this diner in Montauk that Poseidon has a weird obsession with….)

And when Estelle is older, the three of them take the trip out to the middle of the ocean together, and they teach Estelle how to find balance. And she’s younger than Percy was, so her anger hasn’t had time to peak.

Unlike Percy, whose anger is silent, sneaky, creeping up out of nowhere (the way he’s smiling one moment and lashing out the next) Estelle’s anger was a storm you could see coming a hundred miles away. Her anger brews on the horizon, building and building, slowly getting bigger until there's nothing left but for it to shatter. Which makes it easier, really. She’s better at letting go than Percy is—she has time to let it dissipate before it reaches her.