#and like no matter how hard you try there are half a dozen people out there undoing all your work at every turn

[filmnoirsbian]

i worry it's misogyny as a culture too tbh. I've always wanted to be a mom and I was talking w an older friend who's a mom or two, and she complained about trying to raise her teenage boy to be open to fat people/queer people /women/disabled people only for him to start saying things she clocked as alt right stuff. she's hopeful it's his "rebellious" phase but she's also worried bc she didn't know what she did wrong. with all the misogynistic YouTubers and tiktokers and all that, how do you even keep your kids from being influenced?

It's insanely scary raising kids right now because censoring their access to the internet is next to impossible (and it is NECESSARY to censor it until their brains have literally developed enough to not just be sponges for every shred of information (real or fake) that gets sold to them. Kids are internalizing everything and it's often to their detriment when the content they consume is unfiltered). There's no great solution, because it's also not great for kids' development to over-restrict. It's just a wild fire out there. There's just us constantly trying to expose them to positive influences and hoping that's enough to overpower the negative stuff they're seeing when you aren't there. I've spoken to parents like your friend, and I've had to have similar conversations with my niece already (who's 8! She's only 8! She was SIX when she broke down crying about the possibility of becoming fat! We still don't even know where she got that from beyond just society at large being fatphobic! It's fucking dire.) and yeah it's terrifying it's a nightmare.

[juuuulez]

📰 | richie jerimovich x reader ; “Princess,” part two.

📖 -> part one.

info: Richie Jerimovich x reader, no use of (y/n), allusions to sex, kissing, smoking weed, alcohol consumption, overall generally pretty fluffy, Richie wants what’s best for you, king of self control bro is trying so hard.

omg this has been sitting in my drafts for like a week SORRY. but anyway i think this was sweet and is so richie’s growth and awareness era i think he’s trying so hard and is doing an amazing job.

let me know what you all think 😝😝

The floorboards are cold, where you’re sitting against Richie’s door, waiting for him to return from work. 10pm sharp? Yeah, right. Though, you’ve never known Richie to be a punctual man, so it doesn’t bother you that much. Anybody else, and you would have left. But maybe you’ve missed Richie more than you’ll let on.

The 6 pack of beers has already diminished, a half-drunk bottle nursed in your hand, the liquid warming with the air. Heavy footsteps are heard from the stairwell, promoting your head to tilt towards the corridor.

10:23pm, there he is.

Before he’s even approached you, he’s apologising, fumbling with a set of keys inside the pocket of a leather jacket. “Fuck. I’m so sorry, princess,” Richie is cursing. “Carmy was bein’ a massive bitch, and apparently there’s a gas leak ‘n—“

The rambling stops, Richie assumably coming to his senses as he eyes you, sitting on the floor, drink in hand.

“Doesn’t really matter, does it?” He relents, sounding uncharacteristically guilty.

So you simmer on the thought, rolling it around like a pearl, sucking on the inside of your teeth. Finally, you come to stand, not reaching anywhere near Richie’s height.

“Mr. New York?”

A grin breaks out on Richie’s face at your clarification, tone questioning despite the fact that you’re sure, that you remember all of those little conversations. About a dozen people, only made real in your brain, courtesy of Richie’s overzealous descriptions of every little problem in his life.

Sure, he was just your dealer. Just a guy you hooked up with occasionally. But that doesn’t mean you didn’t listen, right?

“Good fuckin’ girl.” He grumbles in approval, a spare hand coming to rub the back of your neck. It’s an intoxicating movement, makes your body warm and fuzzy, a pleasant shiver running down your spine.

Richie unlocks the door, the jangling of keys sounding through the hallway. Always the gentleman, he holds it open for you, a smug grin on his face.

“Already made a dent in the beer. Couldn’t wait,” You muse, fingers hooking into the cardboard handle of the 6-pack. “Y’know, this better be worth it.”

“You’ll be right.” Richie dismisses, his eyes following your form as you saunter into his apartment, already so familiar with the place.

He dumps a plastic bag down on the floor, the clutter making an indistinct noise you don’t care to expand on. The beers are placed on the table, and you’re quick to settle into his couch, shoes discarded and knees tucked to your chest.

“So…” Richie begins, coming to stand next to the couch. “Did you want some food?”

Your gaze flickers to him, soaking in how he seems to be a little nervous, a little hesitant. So different. “You know what I’m here for, Richard.”

“Jesus Christ. Don’t call me that, it’s weird.” He outwardly cringes at your words, retreating further down the hallway to retrieve the subject of the night.

In your eyes, it was a little amusing. He’d changed, certainly, but you understood why. Maybe Richie’s party days were over, but you’re certainly weren’t.

Your hands find the TV remote, switching it on. It’s been left to Netflix, some kids cartoon looping in the background from when Eva was here, the colours bright and characters animated. Clicking your tongue, you call out to Richie. “Big fan?”

He comes down the hall a few seconds later, nodding towards the TV. “What, of Adventure Time? Fuck yeah. Shits awesome.”

It makes your face split into a grin, a notion he catches onto. Richie leans down, sitting next to you with a joint poised between large fingers, which you eagerly take. Fetching the lighter, you spark the flame, taking a deep inhale to burn the bud inside.

The lighter falls from your hands, Richie scooping it up to light his own cigarette.

“Blazing tonight?” You ask him, a curious lilt to your voice. It’s not often he doesn’t jump at the opportunity.

“Nah,” Richie waves his hand. “Not much, at least.”

Rolling your eyes, you relax back into the couch. “Party pooper.”

Regardless of the quip, Richie’s big hands find your legs, wrapping around your calves and pulling you further down the couch, so you’re lying on your back, and your legs spread across his lap. They rest there, warm over your jeans.

The joint doesn’t last long, you’re antsy to get it through your system. The next one is cradled a little slower, where Richie even takes a few drags, though you can tell he isn’t hungry for it like you are. Cartoons buzz in the background, a distant noise, and the beers quickly disappear leaving you in a giggly stupor.

You end up in a new position: Richie is lying on the couch, his firm chest against your own, with your chin propped up against him. There’s a grin on your face, chewing down on chapped lips, looking as pleased as a goddamn cat. His hands are planted on you, warm over your back, holding you firm and close. Your fingers fiddle with the gold chain around his neck, tugging and twisting it absentmindedly.

Then, his mouth is warm on yours. Hot tongue sliding against hot tongue. It’s unclear who initiated it, but that doesn’t matter, because he tastes like mint gum and nicotine. You probably taste like weed, but Richie doesn’t care, for it’s easy to get lost in the sensation of you. Like a familiar pattern, someone he can come back to when all else fails, someone who he doesn’t need to try for. You’ll always have him.

Your hands travel down the expanse of his torso, finding the band of his sweats. The fabric is soft and you savour the sensation for a moment, every piece of stimuli feeling that much better, like a prickly fog has overcome your mind and makes your body tingle. You press further, dipping your fingers under the band, which makes Richie grunt into your mouth.

“C’mon,” He mumbled against your lips. “Hands off, sweetheart.”

It takes so much effort to pull away, faces inches from each other. And fuck, your eyes are red, glassy and lidded as you stare at him with a mix of satisfaction and tired lust. It’s sleepy and quiet and feels perfect.

“What’s up?” You ask him.

But he just shakes his head, blue eyes still studying you. “Nothin’ s’up.”

You’re sceptical, of course, because when has Richie ever refused sex? Not with you, at least, and certainly not like this. The thought doesn’t simmer long in your mind, because the grin is soon returning, with a poorly suppressed giggle as you shift a little atop him, pressing your hips down against his own.

“I can feel you.” You tell him, utterly amused by the notion of his arousal beneath you. The sweats do little to contain it, and you can tell that Richie finds the situation enticing, his length hardening slowly under the heat of your clothed body.

The giggles don’t stop, seeming to have hit at the worst possible time, but you feel completely smitten. Your head ducks down against his shoulder, to which Richie pats over your hair, holding you close. He’s breathing steadily, one… two… three…, all in an effort to not flip you into the couch and fuck you right there.

“I know, baby. It’s ‘cus ya fuckin sexy,” He mumbles into your hair, which only provokes another round of snorted giggles from your form. “Trust me, I’d give the world to fuck you right now, princess. You wouldn’t be able to walk for a goddamn week.”

You look back up at him, still smiling and happy, albeit a little sleepy. Everything is blurred and fuzzy, and you can imagine how good the sex would feel right now. “Then do it.” You urge him, tongue darting out to wet your lips, despite the dry state of your mouth.

And it’s so goddamn hard to resist. Because right now, it’s all Richie wants to do. But there’s this stupid voice in his head, telling him no: that’s a terrible idea, he can’t do you like this anymore. He doesn’t want to be the person you come to for drugs or sex. That’s not healthy, and it won’t stop if he keeps indulging in it.

Even if he can feel your clothed breasts against his body, and his dick twitches with each of your words, cursing his mind for being such a massive cock-block.

“Hey, you can barely keep your eyes open.” He points out, brushing back your hair to get a better look at your face. It’s true, you’re drunk and high, drowsy eyes blinking up at him with a smug little grin.

You must know that, too, for you rest your head back down on his chest. If he won’t fuck you, at least you’ll probably have the best nap of your life like this. His heartbeat is audible from this position, and you press your nose closer into his shirt, inhaling a deep breath of musk and man and smoke. “You’re just lucky this is really good weed,” You mumble with a deep sigh, “But you owe me a lay.”

“I know princess,” Richie agrees, his voice low and so close to your ear, the only thing you’re truely aware of anymore. “Maybe.. maybe I’ll take you out, huh?”

The suggestion has his mouth going dry, and not from the weed. It’s slightly timid in the way his tone drops an octave, a tad quieter, simultaneously hoping you’re too stoned to remember but also lucid enough to answer honestly.

“What, like a fuckin’ date? Gross.” You shoot back, the words crude and playful. Your discontent is betrayed by the grin on your face, nose scrunched up in amusement, to which Richie pinches at your ass through those jeans.

“Not gross. I’d be a goddamn gentleman.” He pressed back, conscience lightened at how easily you take the suggestion. His hands soothe the curve of your back, following a trail up your spine, and back down.

It’s calming, and with your eyes closed, it feels like you’re near floating. The distance between you and Richie is nonexistent, like you’ve melted into him, a heaviness over your mind that feels like a weighted blanket.

“M’kay,” You manage to mumble with the last of your awareness. “I’ll hold you to it.”

And he lets it go, for now. Because that’s a positive answer, and you’re practically falling asleep. Richie is glad you can’t see his smile, how happy that idea makes him, the mental image of taking you out like a regular couple. Maybe he’ll wear his nice dress shirt, a tie if you’re lucky, and take you to some restaurant. Bore you with his stupid stories and have a glass of wine, and then, take you home… give you the night you deserve, something calm and loving and (most importantly) sex you’d actually remember in the morning.

You fall asleep on his chest, dreaming of the same thing.

[robinsdearest]

This isn't what it looks like

Bruce Wayne x F!Reader

Five times the birds catch you, and the one time Bruce finally does.

Damian catches you first. It’s late in the night, or early in the morning, depending on how you view the clock. Six one way, half a dozen the other. No matter because your youngest is already demanding an answer for your whereabouts. He can tell something is wrong from the way you jump from your skin when he surprises you. He found you walking up the stairs from the BatCave, and your question regarding his bedtime was dismissed quickly.  You have a certain smell to you that he immediately places. His interrogation is thorough, you do admit to yourself, because he simply cares about you and your safety. He also loves his father and you can see the conflict in his eyes as the gears in his head turn and turn.  You try your very best to explain the circumstance, but you are failing miserably and cannot fully mitigate this instance. You think your secret will be revealed to Bruce before Damian gives you a slight nod after careful consideration.  Damian promises to keep your secret in return for a new pet. Your immediate question is to know which one he wants. You're not above buying compliance.

Jason catches you second. His confrontation is less aggressive than Damian’s turned out to be. You’re not even home when the Red Hood finds you. You’re coming out of an unremarkable garage when he drops from the roof right in front of you. Your yelp of surprise sends a flock of birds scattering to the wind. Jason only crosses his arm to stare at you in silence while you fidget under his glare.  You are blessedly given another chance to explain the circumstance, and Jason is much more receptive and understanding. His gaze flicks between you and the open door to the garage. When he finally spots what sits there, his arms go slack. He takes off the hood and simply listens to the rest of your story. Once you’re done and you think he’s going to call Bruce, Jason throws an arm around your shoulder and steers you back to the garage. He has a few items to negotiate for his silence. 

Tim catches you third. In truth, you had thought he would be the first to catch you. His hacking and investigative skills rivaled that of Bruce’s on a bad day and far exceeded Question’s on a good day.  You thought you had erased any trail of your small venture out of town, but it seems even attempting to cover your tracks was foolish, as this was child’s play for Red Robin. Tim sits in front of the computer and brings up a map of the area you have just returned from. Your face is hot with strong embarrassment as you grip your bag. He slowly turns the chair to face you, an inquisitive eyebrow raised waiting for your defense. You try to plead your case with hard evidence and logical reasoning: it really was a small venture, and you were only gone for less than ten hours, which is amazing in this day of age, and- In an incredibly surprising twist of fate, Tim only acknowledges your story by removing the map from the screen and deleting the record logs. He sips his coffee and tosses his head towards the exit, dismissing you entirely. Your knuckles are white and tight wrapped around your bag as you head upstairs. 

Cassandra catches you fourth. She’s so quiet, you didn’t even realize she was with you until she tapped your shoulder. Your scream is shrill and you thought the glass from the small window would burst. After your body doesn’t fail you with an imminent heart attack, you look back to Cass as her small smile grows into something more sinister.  You don’t even have a good explanation for tonight’s journey. Your plans are in ten minutes, and if you don't show up on time, your company is going to be so upset. You try and explain as quickly as possible. As she sits there and listens to you, you finally realize that maybe your kids are in on it all together and are waiting for the perfect moment to expose you. Too many people are going to know, and you know Bruce would kill you- even worse, potentially divorce you- if he found out.  She signs something that allows your shoulders to finally relax. 

Dick catches you fifth. He’s more disappointed than angry, in reality. Damian had confessed to him in a bit of panic when you hadn’t returned to the Manor after a few hours of being gone. Dick had cornered you in your study as you were finishing a few additional work papers the next day. He demanded to know why you were doing it, if Bruce’s happiness wasn’t enough for you, or if you wanted to send the man to an early grave. You could tell Dick is hurt, and you feel more guilty than you ever had before. You hadn’t taken into account the feelings of your own kids until this conversation.  You know your begging doesn’t work on your oldest; he learned his puppy dog eyes from you, and they’re not very effective when used on each other. Instead, you offer him another solution as an explanation enough. He begrudgingly agrees and follows you out of the manor. A few hours later, Dick is breathless, yet still promises to keep his mouth shut for the time being.

When Bruce finally catches you, he’s shocked, to say the least. Devastated at best.  “You’ve got to be joking.” He’s standing in the middle of the Batcave, sans any and all gear or kevlar. Damn, you had really banked on the Batman being in Metropolis tonight.  “I can explain, I promise!” You have the thought to tell him how good he looks in gray sweatpants, but his face is contorted in anger.  “How long has this been going on? How many times?” He’s circling you in that predator way that you’ve seen Batman circle villains on the street.  You can do nothing but toy with the hem of your shirt that still smells like gasoline and the outside winter air. You sit in the chair next to the Batcycle, the heat of the motor singing a few hairs on your arm.  You had finally been caught, by Bruce, nonetheless. He is for sure going to divorce you; death would be too kind. You explain what has been going on, and like too good of a man, he listens until you are finished speaking.  Bruce calls each of your kids to the cave. When they finally arrive, Bruce demands the truth. To their credit, not one of them lies, and they confirm your story. 

“Hold on.” He stops them from speaking as he pinches the bridge of his nose. “You’re standing there, telling me, that my wife- my wife with almost no training- has been going out at night in the military-grade vehicles specifically made for fighting crime, for months, and not a single one of you was going to tell me?”  You didn't think you had the heart to tell him it was closer to a year. Damian spoke though. “Father, I found her after taking the Batcopter a few months ago.” You couldn’t sleep that night while Bruce was patrolling, so you took the helicopter to Wayne Enterprises to get a few things of work done. It wasn’t the first time you had stolen one of the many vehicles Batman hoards, but it was the first time you had gotten caught.  Bruce’s eyes are digging into you, and you do feel a little guilty now for not telling him any of this.  Jason yells from across the cave. “She had the Batmobile across town.” You had taken the tumbler out to go meet Lucius for a few improvements to the vehicle’s controls; the brake was sticking and you knew it would cause problems for Bruce eventually. You could see Jason’s shit-eating grin from your seat. Bruce held his head with both hands now. “We switched out the tires, too old man.”  Tim didn’t even look up from the computer. “Batplane. She flew to Jamaica and back a couple weeks ago.”  Bruce whips his head to you.  “Alfred said he needed jerk spice, and you know he only likes the traditional kind from the stores in Kingston!” You cry.  Cassandra is only sitting on the boat, which is confirmation enough for Bruce as he turns her way. She had been sitting in the boat cabin while you crossed the Delaware Bay to visit Metropolis for a happy hour with Lois and Diana. You let Cassandra drive the boat back while you talked about your night with the other women.  Dick calls out finally. “B, I was going to tell you after I caught her with the motorcycle.” Bruce throws his arms up as he knows that a contrasting statement is coming. You crack a small smile when it does. “But she challenged me to a race, and I couldn’t say no. She beat me across town, and the punishment for not winning was keeping quiet. That was a few days ago.”  Bruce lets out a mirthless laugh before turning back to you. You give your husband of nearly two decades a sheepish grin. He comes over and drops to squat before you. He takes your left hand where your wedding band proudly sits on your ring finger. He toys with it for a second before turning your hand over and kissing your palm. He sighs dejectedly and lifts his head to kiss you properly.  “You should have told me. I would have made time to make sure things were safe.”  “I didn’t want to worry you. Also, I can take care of myself with my minimum training." You kiss his nose so that he stops scrunching it. "Besides, be proud that our children worked together to help me keep this secret to maintain your sanity. We love you, just remember that." “So you told everyone but me and Alfred?”  You wince, and the movement makes Bruce slap his forehead. He mutters something small beneath his breath that sounds an awful lot like a prayer.  “Alfred might have been the one who gave me the keys for everything.”

[necrotic-nephilim]

for the dialogue prompts ask game

"You're enjoying this, aren't you? Freak." and jaytim <3

send a ship and a quote and i'll write a short fic!

i'm delighted this was the most requested prompt and ship. just for that it got bumped to the front of the line. the sexual tension is implied, but this is mostly just 3k of a torture scene during Tim's Robin era. enjoy <3

“I’ve got a present for you, Hood.”

Jason didn't have to look up to see who was talking to him. The voice was a familiarly grating one. He hadn't exactly been hiding the location of his current base. It was used for meetings with the drug lords under Jason’s thumb. Plenty of his men came through, looking to buy weapons off Jason or try to barter for more territory.

That didn't mean Black Mask was welcome.

Jason picked up a random gun from the table in front of him, making a point to loudly load and cock it. “You can't buy your way back into my good graces, Mask.” He cracked his neck. It'd been a while since Jason has fought Roman. He could use the workout.

“This present isn't something money can buy,” Roman sounded a little too gleeful. There was a heavy thud, followed by a human-sounded groan that made Jason turn his head with morbid curiosity.

Well. Jason would be damned. It really wasn't a present just anyone can pay for.

“How the hell did you of all people manage to pull this off?” Jason asked. He walked across the room, heavy boots loud against the concrete. Crouching in front of Roman’s little present, Jason hummed. “I sincerely doubt you have the skills to catch Robin on your own.”

Tim Drake, hog tied, gagged, and glaring like a bat out of hell, squirmed on the ground with an annoyed growl. His face was bloody and the handle of a shiv was sticking out of his thigh. Jason grabbed him by the chin and tilted his head up, just to be sure he was the real deal.

He was. That scowl was unmistakable.

“You underestimate me,” Roman said, pleased with himself. “I killed a Robin, you know.”

Roman couldn't see Jason’s face under his helmet, but Jason still looked up at him, arching an unconvinced eyebrow. More interesting though, was Tim's reaction. Another angry growl, this time directed at Roman.

“Of course, she barely counted as a Robin but-” Roman shrugged and spread his grubby hands- “I'm more dangerous than you know. More valuable.” He tilted his head to the side, giving Jason a ghastly smile. Jason had vaguely heard stories of a girl who was Robin for a short while. “But I’m giving you the honor of killing this Robin.”

Well, wasn't that a gift.

Jason couldn't say he wasn't pleased to have Tim tied up at his feet. Just the sight made him smile. But wanting Tim dead? That unfortunately would just cause Jason more issues than it was worth. Roman didn't know Jason’s history as Robin. No one did, but the Bats. And if those Bats knew Jason actually killed Tim, they'd make his life a hell of a lot more difficult.

It was tempting, though. Jason was already picturing half a dozen ways he would do it, if he could.

So goddamn tempting.

“You think I want the strings attached to this gift?” Jason was careful not to overplay his hand. He made a show of grabbing a handful of Tim’s hair and yanking his head back to get a look at him. If Roman knew Jason didn't actually plan to kill Tim, it could reveal too much about Jason’s past for comfort.

“My requests are reasonable,” Roman hummed. He was wandering around Jason’s warehouse, looking at Jason's weapons. “All of my men and territory pooled together with yours. For thirty percent of collective profit.”

He really was desperate. When Jason first met Roman, the man wouldnt have taken anything less than eighty.

Jason had heard rumors that Roman was losing ground to the Maronis. It clearly held more truth than he realized.

“What about that nightclub you own on the East End?” Jason asked, studying Tim. His face being hidden was a plus. Tim couldn't read him, no matter how hard he was clearly trying, eyebrows knit together.

Roman sputtered. “What about it?”

“I want in,” Jason said. “At least fifty.”

In truth, it wasn't about the money. Jason could get money just about anywhere. But he’d heard rumors about the girls that worked there getting beaten by their pimps. Jason had been looking for a way to get that under control.

He could always double cross Roman after a couple months, once he gained the support of Roman’s men. It would be easier than shooting fish in a barrel.

“I built that establishment from the ground up,” Roman hissed.

Jason only shrugged. “I could just kill you, then kill Robin.” Under Jason’s grip, Tim flinched and started to squirm harder.

Silence.

“Fifty is reasonable,” Roman said slowly, fighting against every word. “But I want to watch you kill the Boy Wonder.”

Jason shifted his weight. “Why?”

“Sadists enjoy admiring each other's work, don't we?” Roman leaned against a table, sliding his hands in his pockets. “I want to see how you’ll do it.”

That complicated things.

“You want to waste your whole night here?” Jason tried to sound bored. “I’m going to drag it out.”

Roman just laughed. “I did the same with the girl. There's no fun in giving them the easy way out.”

Jason needed time to think of a plan that didn't end in a dead bird on his hands. Which meant he needed to stall.

“Whatever.” Jason shrugged. “Do what you want. Just don't touch my shit and stay back there. I don't want you breathing down my neck.”

With a pleased nod, Roman leaned against a table. He pulled a cigar out of his pocket and lit it.

Jason cracked his neck and pulled his kris dagger off his belt. He cut the gag off of Tim, knicking his cheek with a small cut. Tim actually looked nervous.

Leaning forward to not be heard by Roman, Jason lowered his voice to a whisper. “Put on a good performance, or I'll have to actually start hurting you.” It was the only hint Jason was giving Tim about his working plan.

Tim’s expression changed. His brow furrowed, then mouth formed a small ‘o’ of understanding. He gave Jason the smallest, almost imperceptible nod. He understood. He would cooperate. There was still hesitance. Jason didn't blame him.

He still had to make Tim bleed.

Jason raised the dagger, making a show of considering what to do with it. He brought the blade down on the part of Tim’s chest plate with the thickest armor. The knife would still definitely pierce skin, but a shallow wound.

Tim grunted, face twisting up. He was going the smart route, making it look like he was trying hard to not react. Jason hummed in approval. He twisted the kris around, digging it into Tim’s suit more. This time, the sound Tim made sounded a bit more genuine.

“You can scream,” Jason said loudly. More for Roman’s sake, to play up the sadist act. Of course, a small part of him did want to hear Tim scream. “If you don't make it interesting, I'll just have to get more creative.”

Tim gave Jason a rude scowl. He really should've been more grateful. Jason still could just kill him.

“What toys do you keep here?” Jason asked. He routed around Tim’s utility belt, looking for something interesting. Tim tried to twist away. Jason kneed him hard in the stomach, pulling a groan out of him. “Hold still.”

Jason tossed aside uninteresting things, like lockpicks and fingerprinting kits. A small noise of victory came out of him when Jason’s fingers curled around a tazer.

“This looks fun.” Jason turned it around in his hand, fiddling with the settings.

Tim was violently shaking his head.

Jason pressed the tazer against Tim’s suit and turned it on.

Tim’s whole body jerked and he screamed through grit teeth. Jason watched his expression changed like a hawk. Of course Tim was acting it up, but still. It was something fun to watch him writhe in pain.

“It’ll hurt more if you press it against his bare skin,” Roman called out.

Jason looked over his shoulder. “If I want your useless input, I'll ask for it.” His tone was deadly enough to make Roman stiffen and nod.

Killjoy.

Jason shocked Tim with the tazer again while hunting some more around the belt. Every tortured noise Tim made was music to Jason’s ears.

The next interesting thing Jason pulled out was a small emergency flare.

With a curious hum, Jason lit the flare. Tim flinched and gave Jason a concerned look.

“What are you-” Tim asked shakily. He was cut off by a hard punch to the face. Blood poured from Tim’s nose.

“Don't rush me,” Jason growled. He pulled his kris out of Tim, setting the tazer aside. Jason held the blade against the hot flame from the flare. The metal warmed until it glowed bright red. “I’d really recommend holding still, unless you want to lose an eye.” Jason brought the red hot blade to Tim’s face. Tim froze, breathing hard.

instead of cutting, Jason just pressed the flat of the blade against Tim’s face. A horrible cry came out of Tim’s throat, but he stayed still. The scent of burning flesh filled the room for the long minute Jason kept the hot blade in place.

When he lifted it, Tim curled in on himself, coughing and choking on the blood from his nose. The wavy design of the kris left an interesting mark on Tim’s cheek, swirling back and forth.

“If that scars, I swear to god-” Tim mumbled through grit teeth, moving his mouth as little as possible.

“It won't scar,” Jason hissed back. “Probably.” Which was a shame. He sort of hoped it would. Jason cleared his throat to raise his voice. “I want Batman to know who killed you,” he explained, spinning the kris around in his hand. “He’ll see that and he’ll know whose blade it was.”

“You’re sick,” Tim wheezed. His voice was so small. Too small for Roman to hear. Jason huffed in annoyance.

“Don’t be shy you’re going to insult me,” Jason taunted. He tapped Tim’s thigh with his shoe. A reminder they were doing this for show.

Tim inhaled sharply. “I said you're fucking sick,” he raised his voice. He spat out a mouthful of blood, clearly trying to hit Jason. Jason just shifted out of the way, letting it splatter on the concrete.

“That was rude.” Jason was glad his helmet hid his smile.

He looked at the flare still lit in his hand, shrugged, and put it out against Tim’s stomach.

“Oh god!” Tim tried to twist away. The suit protected him from the worst of it, but he’d have at least second degree burns. Not to mention the parts of the suit that were currently melting and burning into his skin. “Fuck!” Tim’s scream definitely sounded genuine. He was stuck between trying to stay still to keep the burn from spreading and trying to get away from the pain. It was a glorious little struggle to watch.

The flare eventually ran out of juice at about the same time Tim’s lungs ran out of air to scream with. Jason tossed it aside and studied the new wound, pressing his fingers into it exposed raw flesh.

“Stop,” Tim begged, shuddering in pain. “Please, fuck-” he shrieked when Jason dug a nail into the burn.

“He folded easier than I thought he would,” Roman chuckled from his spot across the room, blowing out a mouthful of smoke.

“Well, you see how fast Batman goes through ‘em,” Jason said nonchalantly. Roman didn't know that was a self jab, and he didn't need to know.

Jason cut through Tim’s chest plate, exposing his bare skin. The fabric got stuck and torn on the burn, pulling a whimper out of Tim at the wound being agitated even more.

It always was a damn shame just how pretty Tim Drake was.

If Roman wasn't in the room, Jason would've torn off that damned domino mask by now to get a good look at Tim’s eyes while Jason hurt him.

Jason sliced Tim’s chest open, a wide arc just above his nipples. It wasn't too deep, but still made Tim cry out.

“Now I know-” Jason said, going back to Tim's belt- “somewhere in here, Batman makes you carry acid to cut through metal and whatnot.”

“No, no,” Tim wildly shook his head. “Please don’t.” He went pale at the thought.

Jason found the little vial he was looking for and held it up, right in front of Tim’s face. “Should've done a better job hiding it.”

He unscrewed the top and tipped the vial, dripping it into Tim’s fresh cut. Jason was careful not to use too much. Only a few drops were needed to start eating into Tim’s flesh.

The scream from Tim was blood curling. He tried to fold in on himself, twisting around on the ground like a wild animal.

Jason’s heart was pounding.

The shiv that was still stuck in Tim’s thigh got yanked out so Jason could drop poison into that wound too.

“Stop!” Tim’s voice already hoarse. “I'm gonna- I'm gonna throw up, god.” He sounded hysterical. His head tilted back and he sucked in lungfuls of air.

“You better not on my boots,” Jason warned lazily. He spilled acid into the burn mark on Tim’s stomach. Then, he got an even better idea. “Open wide.” Jason grabbed Tim’s jaw and forced it open with his fingers.

“Shit-” Tim whispered. His tone of voice sounded different. “Jay- don't. Seriously, please-”

Jason ignored him and let a few precious drops fall into Tim's forced open mouth. Then he forced Tim’s jaw shut again and clamped a hand over his mouth. He plugged Tim’s nose too, just for good measure.

The noises were muffled, but unmistakable. Jason’s body was thrumming just watching Tim twist and struggle to get out of Jason’s vice grip.

When Tim’s face started to turn red from the struggle for oxygen, Jason regretfully let go.

Tim immediately spat out mouthfuls of blood and spit, trying to get it out of his mouth. He was wheezing.

Not screaming, though. Jason was about it to lift the kris to stab Tim again, when he got a better look at how Tim was shaking.

Shudders running up and down his body. His legs were squeezed together. When he breathed, it came out in soft moans.

Jason’s heart almost stopped.

“You’re enjoying this, aren't you?” Jason murmured. So quiet he almost didn't hear himself. He got a glare from Tim that seemed to be an affirmation. Jason’s mouth curled into a cruel, unseen smile. Jason tapped the hilt of the kris against Tim’s crotch, making him flinch. “Freak.”

The realization only made Jason want to hurt Tim more. In all their fights, how hadn’t Jason noticed Tim was a masochist? This changed everything. He didn't have to hold back so much.

He actually wanted to see what it took to break Tim now.

Jason stabbed the shiv into Tim’s hip, as close as he could possibly get to Tim’s crotch. Tim squealed, flinching. Then his full body shuddered again. And just when Tim sighed in relief that Jason had avoided his most sensitive area, Jason picked up the tazer again and pressed it right there, against Tim’s crotch. And he turned it on.

This scream from Tim was different. Still tortured, but in a new Jason’s own pants were getting tight.

“Get out.”

“What?” Roman asked, when he realized Jason was talking to him.

“I said get out,” Jason repeated himself. He stared at Tim's bloody, shivering from. “You got a show while I warmed up, now I want some privacy.”

“But-”

Jason pulled a gun out of a holster. He fired it in Roman’s direction. Not quite hitting him, but instead blowing the cigar out of his mouth.

Roman made a pathetic, scared noise. “The deal was-”

“Do you want my men keeping the Maronis off your territory or not?” Jason growled.

“Fine.” Roman stood up, adjusting his jacket awkwardly. “Mail me a finger or something when you finish. I want a trophy.”

“I’ll save a middle one just for you.”

Roman scoffed, but held his tongue, storming out of the warehouse.

“Ass,” Jason muttered. He pulled off his helmet and tossed it aside.

“You didn't have to use the acid,” Tim said, notably sour about it.

“Big words for someone who enjoyed themselves a little too much.” Jason sliced off the rope holding Tim’s ankles and wrists, then tugged off his domino mask. Tim groaned in relief, getting to stretch his joints. He carefully got to his hands and knees, breathing hard.

“Thank you-”

Jason grabbed Tim by his hair and wrenched his head up. He pressed the kris to Tim’s throat. It pulled a gasp out of Tim and he tried to grab Jason’s arm. Jason just twisted his wrist, easily dislocating it. “Oh nuhuh, you little freak,” Jason purred, enjoying Tim’s yell of pain. He leaned in close to Tim’s ear and grinned, all kinds of fun ideas running through his head, now that they had privacy.

Things were about to get a lot more fun. Probably for both of them.

“I'm not done with you.”

[precious-little-scoundrel]

Dear John | Part 2

Masters of the Air Fanfiction

Part 1

Series Summary: Major John Egan wasn’t the pen-pal sort but a couple of hours into a dark night full of writing condolence letters he finds himself wondering why he never tried his hand at the nicer forms of correspondence. Who better to reanimate his numb inspiration than the glamorous Miss Lana Tierney? -the army’s girl next door, the pinup so prolific she was practically a wall paper print and Bucky’s long-standing cinematic crush. It’s not like she’ll read it anyways. Right? Right.

Warnings: suggestive language, crass vocabulary, the vintage form of sexting -honestly this is mostly fluffy in reply to his more overt letter

Author’s note: after episode four I’ve got feelings and fics for this universe that are far ahead of these establishing pieces. So I’ve gone ahead and tossed this preliminary one out but I may very well skip around and ahead to October next. At least now y’all know: she wrote him back. Hehe. If it’s of interest, I’ll probably end up writing John’s reaction to receiving this response as well as Gale’s response to realizing his friend actually went and sent that awful thing.

Date: Early August, 1943

Dear John, (I’m sorry Major Egan, I just had to)

Thank you for your kind letter of the 18th. It’s been many years since I received so delightful a correspondence or so candid an expression of admiration. And you should know I keep most of the letters the sweet people of this country send me. They’re stacked in quite an orderly fashion in my various garages, kept for the rainy days to peruse and keep the blues away and also so I might try very hard to reply. I don’t take such affection for granted. It’s humbling really, always has been, to be so loved by folks but it’s another level entirely to be singled out by someone as brave and impressive as yourself.

I found your letter to be heartfelt and wonderfully brave and in an effort to be equally transparent, you should know that when I finished it I clutched it to my breast and whispered half a dozen prayers for you. Or as you might say, I held it to my knockers.

That’s an awful word, you must know that Major.

As is “rack”, for that matter, but I’ve a sneaking suspicion that you would make it sound charming as even your blotted paper was electric. How could you dare to praise my film set flapjacks and mention making babies? I’m fizzing just glancing at it. You really must be quite the fella and I’m terribly sad now that our rendezvous, such as you say it was, got cut short. You must reprimand your friend -Buck, is it?- and tell him he did an bad deed that night. There’s nothing I like better than duets and hamburgers, we might’ve been one of the great loves by now if he hadn’t meddled. But don’t be too hard on him, if he’s the sort to take it well, kiss him for me, after you chide him.

But since we are being honest, I must admit, reading your letter, being privy to your thoughts, seeing myself through your eyes as it were - dear man, I feel rather riled. Quite riled, in fact. Why, I haven’t felt riled in a while, not like this. Not like an ordinary girl with an extraordinary boy. Do you know what I mean?

Maybe you don’t.

I mean regular, old fashioned flustered. That’s what you’ve made me. And thank you for that, John. Can I call you Johnny? I wonder if you’re the nickname sort, or if you’re real stern and serious, a real John-John. Not a Johnny at all. But either way, I think you deserve a treat, for being so nice, Major Egan. For reminding me I can feel my pulse somewhere besides my wrists before a show -and for all you’re doing in the war, besides. There seems to be no safer hands to trust this to, you do seem so very fond of them, I am led to believe you’d be protective of them, too.

Enclosed is something for the personal morale, I hope you’ll think of me nightly with it at hand, in fact, I’m so excited about it I’ve taken this ill advised measure to insure you do. I’d very much like a report, do they live up to your expectations? They’re homegrown, after all, I hadn’t much say in them but now I’ve got them, I don’t see why they shouldn’t do their bit to keep you alive. A small sacrifice.

One of those reasons you mentioned, John, you’ve so many of them, more than you know. A million souls over here rooting you on, insisting you make it out the other side.

I’m forefront among them, I’ll be scanning the crowd when I come to Europe -because I will, at your invitation. Perhaps if you send me a picture of your own mug I won’t be looking a fool asking every man in uniform if I remind them of an acorn. Are you going to tell me what on earth that means? I’ve tried to work it out but I always end up with some mathematical conundrum and I just know in my heart of hearts you wouldn’t let me down like that, would you Major? It’s something awfully salacious, isn’t it? Please let it be!

I’m a vain little thing and I can’t deny the way this poor heart of mine is all pitter pattering at the thought of you being so awful while also so nice. It’s a strange blend, and rather like my coke, I do prefer my men mixed.

Best wishes, may you have cloudless skies and fresh coffee to your heart's content. My sources -and I’ve excellent ones, an upside of working the war bond circuit- tell me you’re airforce. I think that’s remarkable and I hope you give that picture some thought. Mine, and yours.

Your vain little friend,

Julia Jean Turner

P.S.-I’m only ever ‘The Lana Tierney ‘ to strangers, and we aren’t strangers now, are we? not if you’re to take my picture to your bunk. i suspect you may have already taken that liberty. who’s to say I did not take similar liberties upon reading certain stirring passages of your letter? Xx 💋

__insert vintage titty pic__

Whew this week was a doozy wasn’t it? Here’s some fluff for those of y’all who needed it, and I can promise angst soon for those who want to stay in the soul shattering mood. Hope you enjoy. Feedback is a writer’s lifeblood, let me hear your screams.

Drop a comment to let me know if you’d like to be tagged in any of my MOTA fics. Xo

Taglist:

@stylespresleyhearted

@ab4eva

@earth-to-lottie

@suraemoon

@blurredcolour

@steph-speaks

@crazymadpassionatelove

@rubyfruitjungle

@taestrwbrry

[sarucane]

Ed Teach's Stories

From practically the moment we meet him, Ed's identity is unstable. We know who is he (Blackbeard) from context, from the story told by the the room around him, by Izzy and the flag his crew. But the thing is, Ed doesn't fit the story of the Mad Devil Blackbeard. Two of his first few words are "good" and "love" for crying out loud. He's called "Blackbeard," but his beard is grey.

This instability exists because Ed himself isn't sure what story he's telling--or wants to tell. "I shouldn't be bored, I'm fucking Blackbeard!" All through his early episodes Ed is in increasingly desperate tension with his own identity. He's trying to tell stories within stories, wanting all the stories to be true at the same time, yet aware of the reality that the world is constantly trying to wipe one or another of the stories away. And not really trusting that he can tell the whole story of who he is.

In the first season of OFMD, Stede wears a different outfit every episode. Yet Stede remains the same: despite his internal tensions (almost despite himself) there's a stability to his identity. But all through both seasons of OFMD, Ed putting on a new outfit means he's trying to tell a completely different story about himself.

And underneath this cacophony, there's Ed. And Ed is himself a chorus of stories, a living contradiction. A patricidal murderer who was protecting his mother; a paragon of masculinity who longs for softness and fluidity; a man renowned for violence and madness who has in fact carefully cultivated that reputation and is extremely careful with his violence; a killer who doesn't kill, yet who does kill all the time just at a bit of a remove; a half a dozen names and personas and yet always Ed; unloveable, yet deeply loved.

At the beginning of the show, Ed isn't actually good at telling his own story. He's good at listening to other people's stories, and conforming himself to them often without conscious effort. But when he tries to really tell his own story--asking Stede to run off to China, singing his break-up song song, going to become a fisherman--he fails. We don't understand in the first season why his judgement clouds, why he becomes weak when he tries to tell his story. But in the second season after spending half an episode in Ed's mind, a painful truth is undeniable: Ed, like Stede, doesn't think he's worthy of telling his own story.

So instead of telling his own story, Ed let other people tell his story. In the first season, Ed built off what Izzy told him he had to be. But he couldn't lose himself in Blackbeard, no matter how hard he tried. So in the second season, when Ed couldn't face living with his contradictions anymore, he wrote an ending worthy of Blackbeard.

All this, because Ed thinks he can only be "himself" by telling one, single story about himself. By denying his contradictions, rather than embracing them. Splitting himself in two to tell himself a story, rather than telling the story himself.

What Ed doesn't believe or trust is this: For Ed to really be himself, he has to be impossible. Two contradictory things, at the same time.

The second season of OFMD is about learning to embrace all these contradictions. In each episode of OFMD, character look at the same object or situation (a wanted poster, a unicorn, a velvety suit, a relationship, a past trauma) and they tell two completely different stories about it. Sometimes one of those stories turns out to be wrong, but more often than not both are true, and something else--something beautiful-- is born from the place where those contradictions meet. And the characters, Ed most of all, learn to accept and balance this dissonance.

Thematically speaking, I'd argue that's why the second season of OFMD is more fantastical than the first: fantasies are contradictions, real and not-real at the same time. And isn't that what transformation is, in the end? What you are and what you are not, meeting and becoming "you"?

Transformation isn't all good. At first, Ed's fantastic stories hide his pain or invoke despair

But later, the fantasies make their way into reality. The impossible begins to shape reality--and opens a way for hope.

In the last episode of S2, Ed emerges from the waves as the kraken--but there's 3 musical tracks playing, three themes: the kraken, Ed, and Blackbeard. Then he reads a love letter, and has a deeply romantic moment with his boyfriend. He puts on a new outfit to escape the British, yet his personality doesn't change at all. When Izzy first apologizes to him, Ed says "I'm the one who should be apologizing," but then Izzy changes his entire understanding of their relationship. Becomes the first family figure to offer Ed permission to be himself.

Contradictions galore, and yet Ed is still Ed. Both who he was formed into by other people (his father, Izzy, Pop Pop) and yet who he is.

In the final scenes, Ed begins to finally accept the tensions of his life. He tells Zheng that yes, he wants to kill Richie--but he doesn't go on a revenge quest. And while before his forays into being someone else meant changing his name, his clothes and mannerisms, his whole story, he doesn't act like that at all in the last scene of the ep.

And Ed's been able to do all this, to come this far, because of Stede. Stede, who Ed was drawn to because he was a "fancy man who leads a brigade of imbeciles," yet had won a fight with Izzy. Stede, who looked at Ed at his lowest moment, after Ed had admitted that the entire basis of their friendship had been in bad faith, and said, "I'm your friend." Stede who, even knowing Ed wouldn't want to hear from him, poured his heart into letters about how their bond was unbreakable.

Stede is everything he is, all at the same time. And when Ed was drowning in his own contradictions, (a rope tied around him that he could not undo and yet had put on himself) trapped somewhere "inevitable, yet impossible," Stede appeared as a fantastic, beautiful creature and brought him home.

Stede lets Ed be everything he is, and sees it all as true and worthy of love. Even when Ed fucks up, it's all right.

And sometimes, telling two different stories about something doesn't lead to a fragmented self, doesn't drive people apart.

Sometimes, it means understanding. Means acceptance, safety, connection.

From discordance (contradiction), harmony. A gentleman can be a pirate. A man can be a bird, or a unicorn. Izzy can have been one of the good ones and a fucking nightmare. And Ed can tell all his stories, they can all be true--and he can still be Ed.

[ghoulfuckersincorporated]

Pls More general sfw headcanons of cooper and reader? Ghoul or pre war whichever you prefer honestly.

General SFW Prewar!Cooper Howard Headcanons 2

(I'll do some Ghoul SFW in a follow-up; this got away from me a little.)

Clearly he enjoys film and theatre, but he has a fairly secret soft spot for musicals. Pretty much any musical will pique his interest, and you'll spend a fair few date nights out seeing shows. You find it very endearing that he wants to share his interests with you. He's got an especially soft spot for some of the older, cheesier musicals though; hope you're ready to see "Brigadoon" like a half dozen times! He's got that one on tape.

"Old Yeller" is banned media in the Howard household (as are most things about dogs who die), as well as books like "The Velveteen Rabbit", which he read to Janey when she was four and never truly recovered from. Coop cries like a baby every time and gets so embarrassed. You once asked Janey if she'd ever seen it, and she tells you, rather conspiratorially, that she once watched it at a friend's house.

The old man actually cries quite easily when he's moved by something. He'll try to hide it away, but every once in a while he fully loses it (tbh it's the 'child death' type stuff that really upsets him; to this day, he's still a little mad at Barb for showing him "Bridge to Terabithia" on family movie night and thinking he would like it). You think it's the sweetest thing and you always reassure him that it's nothing to be ashamed of.

I imagine that, like a good, engaged father, he takes a particular interest in Janey's likes and hobbies; if you ask him what she likes, he can give you an entire list of things you can engage with her on, every single one of them accurate and up-to-date. If Janey really likes a book series, he'll read it (or maybe listen to it if he's short on time). If she really likes a band, y'all have fun at the concert! Every group comes through LA so you may be going to several concerts a year eventually. He even knows who her favorite member is! He only falls in love with you more when you do the same with her.

He's a true romantic at heart; despite being really torn up about the divorce and thinking he'll never fall in love again, he does, and hard. It's not long before he (unbelievably, to him especially) finds himself wanting to propose. He waits a while, though, wanting to feel out the dynamic between you and Janey, worrying about how Barb will feel when she ultimately finds out. He doesn't want to be married to her anymore, but he still cares for her, and he doesn't want to hurt her.

I'd like to think that he and Barb had a pretty nice, large wedding (as I've said before, likely at an older age than many of their peers, even if, canonically, it seems they were already dating during Cooper's military service; they both strike me as the type to want to wait until they were better established to actually marry). Not anything too crazy, but since Cooper's career was really starting to take off, she did want to use the wedding as an opportunity to rub elbows, so there were quite a few people in attendance that he flat-out didn't know. It didn't bother him much at the time; Barb always loved an opportunity to network and Coop could never deny her anything. But, given a chance to do it over, I think he'd do things differently.

With you, he'd wanna go to the courthouse. He'd be happy to have a nice, private ceremony eventually, maybe a little vow renewal for your one-year down on the beach in Mexico or something. But when you get legally married it'll be at the courthouse, just the two of you and Janey. You wouldn't have it any other way.

You try your best to keep it under wraps, but, well...marriage licenses are a matter of public record, and there are people whose whole job is to unearth things like that. The fallout (ha) from it may be stronger than you anticipated, but, at the end of the day, you have one another, and you're happy with that.

[fandxmslxt69]

I'm Proud of You

Loki Laufeyson x f!reader

Warnings: Suggestions at problematic friends/family/people. Loki's over-protectiveness, maybe? Swearing, um. Probably a lot of bad sentence structure and grammar and horrible flow if that bothers anyone

A/N: This is shitty and really absolutely horrible and trash, it's 2:20am, I'm tired and I feel so fucking drained and I'm so done with everyone, and I guess Loki's who I always turn to in shitty times. I might take this down later, given how I wrote it in like an hour and it's probably sooo OOC, but I needed some comfort, so here's this I guess? If you're having a hard day, or have been having a hard time, please know that you're amazing and if no one's told you, I'm proud of you for being here <3 -Clem

Synopsis: Loki's there, through the good and the bad.

Word count: 1.5k

Fucking stupid. 

You slammed the door to your room, feeling tears sting your eyes. You knew you shouldn’t be feeling this hurt, but you genuinely couldn’t ease the ache in your chest, and as hard as you wiped at your eyes, the tears just fell down your face. You felt a sob build up your throat as you collapsed on your bed, the exhaustion of the day finally washing over you. Today was supposed to be a good day. It wasn’t meant to end with you crying. You crawled up to your pillow, burying your face in it as you cried your heart out.  Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck. 

You couldn’t stop the sobs ripping out of you no matter how hard you tried. It’s stupid, you shouldn’t be crying over something so small, but sometimes it just hits and you just can’t stop it. You had no idea how long you sat there crying, but your loud sobs slowly turned into quiet hiccups and gasps, and your flowing tears became sniffles and painful breathing. It was like everything hurt, and somehow even after all those tears shed, your eyes still watered whenever you thought about it. 

You sniffled, rolling onto your back and staring at the ceiling of your room. This is fucking stupid. 

Doesn’t mean it hurt any less. You wiped your cheeks, taking a deep breath. 

Okay. It’s fine. This is fine. 

You stared at your room, your breathing slowly down as you worked through the last bit of emotional troubles. You blinked once, twice, and suddenly you were hyper aware of how alone you were, of how it reminded you of all those times you cried quietly in the bathroom so no one could hear you. 

Huh. 

You let out a sort of half laugh that dissolved into another sob as fresh tears sprung in your eyes. 

Alone. 

Just like always. 

You dug the heels of your palms into your eyes, trying to stop yourself from another breakdown, but you could feel your cheeks getting wet as you curled up on yourself, knees pulled tightly to your chest as a new wave of sobs wracked through your body. You didn’t realise someone had entered your room until you felt a gentle hand on your shoulder, moving down to rub your back softly. You gasped quietly, surprised by the touch until you looked up and saw Loki smiling softly. “I-” You started, your voice raw from crying, but Loki only shook his head.  “Sh, it’s alright,” He scooted closer onto the bed, wrapping his arms around you and pulling you into him. You sobbed harder as he flooded your senses- his lingering scent of leather and earth, his touch making your skin buzz with joy. The tears came faster now as you buried your face in his chest, fisting his shirt tightly. 

Loki. 

Loki, here. Right now. 

You felt a sense of relief crash through your system as you melted completely into him, your body moulding against his as he stroked your hair and whispered soft things to you, his hold on you tight and secure. 

Loki. Loki. Loki.

Loki. 

His name rang through your head a dozen times, as if your brain was trying to process the fact that he was here. 

Loki didn’t let go of his tight hold on you until your sobs faded into ragged breathing and sniffles. He pulled away just a little to look at you properly, his hand coming up to wipe your cheeks. 

“My beautiful girl,” He pressed a kiss to your head. “Who’s making you cry, darling, hm?” His voice was soft, loving and easy like it always was, but you could swear up and down that there was something angry hiding behind it, and when you looked up at him properly, you were absolutely certain his eyes were storming with a growing anger.  Is he angry at me? You thought, but then his gaze softened as if he heard you, and he pressed another kiss to your forehead. “You can take your time, yes? I’ll wait until you want to talk,” You shake your head, “Don’t wanna talk about it,” “Alright, that’s perfectly fine. You know I’d never ask you to tell me something you don’t want to share,” He smiled then, but there was something twisted about it. “But, if someone is making my precious goddess hurt like this, and cause her such distress, I’ll need a story eventually,” “Why?” You hiccuped, resting your head on his chest as you fiddled with the hem of his shirt. You could feel the last of your breakdown work its way through your systems, and being in Loki’s arms helped. “So you could go beat them up?”

He stayed quiet, and your head snapped up to look at him. “Loki.”  “Yes, darling?” He tried to feign an innocent look.  “You can’t go beating up people,” “But I won’t. Beating up is a truly ugly way of saying it. I’d never “beat up” someone. It’s disgraceful to my title as a god,”  You shake your head again, wiping the last of your tears from your eyes. “Still can’t hurt people,” “Why not? They hurt you,” “Yeah but-” “But?” “It’s unethical?” You tried to reason.  He raised an eyebrow. “Right,” He absolutely did not sound convinced. 

In all honesty, at the back of your mind, you really didn’t have much against him going out after them. Well, maybe not to kill them, but maybe a little chat. It was kind of…romantic? Hot? That he was ready to shed blood just at the sight of you in tears. You sighed, the simple act of thinking thoughts making you feel heavy. You wrapped your arms around him in a tight hug. “I’m so tired,” You mumbled.  “Did you sleep last night?” “Not that kind of tired,”

You felt exhausted just having this conversation.

“Ah, I see. How about….we cuddle and sleep, and then,” He kissed your forehead again. “When you wake up, I’ll run you a bath, and get you some food, and if you feel ready to talk, we’ll talk. If not, we can do…anything else you wish to do,” He smiled. “What do you think?”

Your heart squeezed. We. We. We. We. 

He was a part of you, even on the bad days.

“Okay,” You nodded slowly. “Sounds good,” With a snap of his fingers, he had you changed out of your regular clothes and into the comfiest PJs you had. He didn’t even bother detaching himself, simply lifting you up with him as he moved into the bed properly and laying down, his body pressed as close to yours as possible. You didn’t really talk much after that, just laying together in bed as you felt the day catch up to you as your mind drifted in and out of sleep. Loki held you tight, peppering kisses anywhere he could. 

“I know you think the world’s out for you,” He said softly. You hummed, his words slowly processing through your sleepy brain. “I thought so too. But then, I met you,” He rubbed your sides. “And things were still hard, and it was still painful, but I was given someone to share that pain with. Someone who could ease the ache a little and make it easier to breathe,” His voice dropped to a gentle whisper as you pressed closer to him, his words wrapping around your heart as you yawned lightly. “I know you’re hurting, and I know sometimes it’s too much to share, but I hope you know that whatever it is that bothers you, you can tell me. And,” He tightened his hold on you, smiling a little when he realised you were half way asleep. “I hope you know that I’m incredibly proud of you, my little mortal, for being so strong despite it all. You helped me learn so much, and you gave me a new reason to live. You’re beautiful, kind and so talented. I’m proud of you for everything you do- even something as little as drinking water.  I love you more than you could possibly know,” You reached up and covered his face with your hand in a bad attempt to stop him from talking. You still felt shitty, and something in you still hurt, but his words seemed to almost…crack through that, and plant a little piece of happiness in there.  He laughed, taking your hand and kissing it. “What was that one quote? The one people use all the time?” You hummed sleepily. “Dunno,” He paused, thinking, before his eyes sparked with realisation. “If I loved you less, I might be able to talk about it more,” He kissed your hand again.  You chuckled softly, before yawning again. “Oh, that one,” That was cute. “So cheesy,”  “Right, I’ll stop talking then,” He pulled you closer. At this rate, he might just be trying to absorb your soul into him.  “I like hearing you talk though,” You squeezed his hand lightly. “Then we’ll talk plenty more later,” He kissed your head again, and you smiled softly as sleep started to wash over you.

Breakdowns really were draining. 

“I absolutely adore you, my perfect girl,” He said, and as you fell asleep, you couldn’t help but think, you’re not alone anymore. 

Loki was here. 

Loki was always here.

[spooky-pomegranate]

I'm Not Like You (Captain Price x gn!reader)

Word Count: 1.3k Summary: You lead your first mission. Price is there for you in the aftermath. A/N: SFW, hurt/comfort, drabble

Is it supposed to feel this way?

When you breathe… when you take a deep breath is it supposed to feel this way? Like the weight of a dozen men standing on your chest. Like there’s never enough oxygen in any room you walk into. Like the air just won’t go into your lungs no matter how hard you try.

Because that’s what it has felt like.

And that’s what it still feels like.

You can’t help but wonder if it will feel like this forever.

It’s cold, windy, and barren here in Russia. It’s been that way ever since you landed here two months ago. You miss sunshine. You miss your home. And you miss him.

More accurately you miss his presence. You miss his composure, his assuredness, his calm. Surely, he would have had these boys home weeks ago.

You can’t stop thinking about him. About what he’d do if he was here.

It wasn’t supposed to take this long. You weren’t supposed to be here still.

“Two weeks to secure the intel, then we’ll exfil you back,” he had said.

He had lied.

It’s been two months and you still don’t have your hands on the intel. You’ve come close half a dozen times now, but close isn’t good enough. Close can get good men killed.

So far, you’d been lucky it hadn’t. Each of your boys was still present, still accounted for, and still with you. You wondered how you’d managed that. You wondered how much longer they’d still follow you.

“You can do this. It’s time for you to step up.” He had said back at base, back at your home.

You wondered now if that was a lie too. This was the first time you were in command and you felt like it would probably be your last.

Men like him were born to lead. You wondered if people like you were born to follow.

But then a break happens. An enemy soldier slips. He uses an open radio channel and you figure out where the files are stored. Then you attack. You raid the warehouse and get the information.

It’s over. You’ve finally done it.

You’ve dreamt about the moment you’re in right now more than a dozen times while you were in Russia. You’d imagined all the ways you’d proudly tell your Captain you’d achieved the objective without losing a single soldier. You’d tell him how they’d follow your every order. You’d tell him how good you’d been.

But what you don’t expect is the wave of emotion that hits you when you finally sit across from him in his office. It comes hard and it comes heavy. Like a tidal wave sucking you into a dangerous current. You’re swept away without a word.

You’re crying. Sobbing. Tears streaming down your face and your body is shaking. It’s uncontrollable the way you fall apart. And it hurts. God how everything hurts.

But he’s there and he moves. He kneels before you. He doesn’t touch you but he’s so close. You can smell his cologne. You can taste his whiskey, his tobacco. Your head swirls, but then you hear his voice.

Steady, calm, soft like a whisper.

“Everything’s alright…” He breathes deeply. “You’re alright.” He says.

The pain. It hurts so much. But you push forward. You speak.

“I’m not supposed to be a leader. Captain, I’m not…” The words are harder to say than you thought they would be. It’s like they’re stuck somewhere deep in your throat. It’s like they don’t want to be said aloud. Like they don’t want to be true.

“What? Because it took longer than you thought it would?” His tone is gentle. There’s nothing accusatory about it, but he’s struggling to understand why you think you can’t lead when you can… when you did.

“No. Because it hurt Captain.”

You feel something warm against your knee. Through a hazy fog of tears, you see his hand. He’s touching you. Cautiously. Hesitantly. Reverently.

“What hurts?” He asks.

“Everything.” You say.

The hand on your knee flexes slightly at your words. You hear him exhale. He shifts closer.

But you continue on…

“Every morning when I woke up and I saw my men my heart hurt Captain. Knowing that if I made one wrong call these boys could be dead… it was too much. It kept me up at night. It gave me nightmares. I imagined knocking on their families doors, telling them I killed their sons because I fucked up. And it hurt Price. I can’t handle that. If something had happened I don’t think I…”

The tears are flowing too heavily now. You can’t see. You can’t sit upright anymore. You fall forward and he’s there. He’s always there.

He lets you collapse into him. His arms circle you and you slump to the floor. You bury your face into his chest.

He’s so warm.

“I’m not like you John.” You mumbled into his cotton t-shirt. Your tears stain the green fabric.

But his hand finds your chin and he tilts your face upward. His blue eyes meet yours. Then you see something you never thought you’d ever see. There are tears in John’s eyes. They prick at the corners and threaten to fall.

“We’re more alike than you think.” He says. His voice isn’t steady anymore. It wavers. A tear falls onto his cheek.

Your Captain is falling apart with you.

“I know it’s a heavy weight to carry, the lives of your men, all on your shoulders. And I wish I could tell you that it becomes lighter with time… but it doesn’t. But that’s what makes you a perfect leader. You’re humanity. You’re goodness. You’re kindness. You care about them and they need that in a leader. They need you as you are.”

Your fingers dig a little deeper into Price’s skin. He doesn’t seem to mind.

His voice continues.

“You’re not alone in your nightmares and your pain. I feel it too. I hurt all the time…”

Price buries his head into your neck. His beard brushes against your skin and your heart aches. No. It smashes completely apart.

You never thought you would see your Captain cry. You never thought you'd feel his body shake like this against yours. You wonder how long he’s suffered. You wonder how long he’s been in pain. You wonder how long he’s held this weight alone.

But he carries on as he always does.

“I’m sorry,” he says. “I’m so sorry, love.”

The pain stops. Your heart stops. You pull back from Price’s neck and the world stops.

He’s never looked at you like he is now. His raw vulnerability…it’s so much. Before you can think twice you move. You push forward and rest your lips against his. You kiss him.

His lips are soft. He tastes woody and earthy, like a combination of his favorite things, tobacco and whiskey. But then you realize what you're doing and you stop. You pull away from him quickly. You’re embarrassed. No. Beyond embarrassed.

Shit.

You hadn’t meant to do that.

Shit.

You didn’t mean to ruin everything.

But before you can allow pity to take hold of your chest, Price’s hands cup your face and he pulls you back toward him. He kisses you deeply, swallowing your moans and chasing after your tongue. Pity subsides. A hunger grows.

You get lost in one another. Your hands roam each other. Skin against skin. Body heat rising. Time stands still. But eventually, you both need air. Eventually, you rest your forehead against his.

“I don’t know how you’ve done this on your own for so long.” You whisper against his lips.

Price sighs. Then he speaks.

“How about from now on, neither of us shoulder everything on our own. I’ll carry some of your weight and you carry some of mine. I want to know when you feel like you can’t move forward, sweetheart. Just tell me and I’ll remind you how good you are. How perfect you are.”

Price kisses you again. It’s soft. Assured. Hopeful. It gives you strength. It takes away the pain.

“I believe in you.” He says.

And you believe in yourself.

[super-secret-clown-corner]

hey did anyone ask for a heavily biased list of s3 worldbuilding headcannons and how i think some of the lifesteal guys interact with each other? no? too bad i was force fed half of this by my brain while trying to go to sleep

cut for length bc it's long sorry not sorry

clownpierce

of course i have to start with clown he is like a bug to me and i'm putting him under a microscope

he is a BEAST. a CREATURE even.

aka he's from the void but no one except ash knows that

the deranged discord thoughts at 2 am said clown is from the void bc everywhere he goes he brings death. he kills. it’s what he does. he kills and he’s fuckin great at it. do you hear me. do you understand.

covered from head to toe in clothing to hide the fact he's from the void. there's a constant slight chill that surrounds him and it's only really noticeable when someone's almost touching him

he never lets anyone get that close anyway besides the occasional handshake or smth bc yeah anyone would be uncomfortable if someone was standing inches away from you. he plays off the cold hands with a poor blood circulation excuse if anyone asks

if he did show skin, his silhouette would be like a black hole where it's completely pitch black, and depending on the angle, he either appears 2d or 3d (very disorienting and unnerving)

this guy does not have a single stable relationship to fall back on. he allies with people for power and not for comradery, and it is So Hard for him to tear down the dozens of walls he keeps up around him because he often finds that when he does, he gets betrayed and left in the dust (mob anon from lifesteal headcannons i am thinking so hard about your submission)

plus it's hard for him to know whether or not this person is allying with him because he's The Deadliest Assassin Blah Blah Blah and they want that safety net/protection or if they genuinely want to ally with him

it takes him a long time to fully trust branzy, and even then he doesn't open up to him about his personal stuff

the mask stays On. Constantly. doesn't matter how much he trusts someone he will never willingly show his face

he and red have a friendly rivalry with the heart economy side of lifesteal, they're both competing for the title of strongest/holder of most hearts or smth like that

ashswag

dude used to be a normal guy way way way way before lifesteal events n stuff but then he fell into the void and came back Wrong

basically instead of dying instantly, he survived for a little bit longer than usual, broke through reality, and saw that everything is just a simulation and everyone is just code, including himself

that fucked him up bad physically and mentally, and his left side is all glitched and void-like now (chronic pain coded)

dude is technically immortal but he never really tested losing all of his hearts yet

he knows that clown is from the void because he knows what the void feels like and is hypertuned to it, and to him, clown RADIATES it like a space heater. he can't stand too close to him and has to have at least one person's width between them. he hasn't confronted clown about it though because he knows when to keep his mouth shut

being close to the void for him hurts in an ocular migraine type way, but he typically pushes through it when he's down at bedrock level or in the end

he doesn't make stable relationships with people because he doesn't really see the point in them

nihilism 100

whatever side he aligns with is usually the one causing the most chaos

branzycraft

evil little meow meow

let him be angry. let him have rage.

he is Just Some Guy (aka normal ass human) but he is so smart

not a fighter but he is a builder and a damn good one at that

need a trap that is sure to kill? branzy

very good at getting the fuck out of situations that would've killed him if he didn't immediately dip when he did

based on vibes alone, early s3 branzy would so be friends with subz and vitalasy (which i think actually happens so i win)

i need branzy to be envious of clown's fighting skill and heart count before he starts warming up to him. please where is the slow burn.

falls out with subz and vitalasy when he starts allying with clown and co, and especially when he tricks vitalasy into the funhouse

during the cleansing when the dirties and team chaos are relatively working together, vitalasy tries to reconcile and pull branzy away from team chaos, but branzy's lost in the power sauce

he and rek are Just Some Guy buddies who exchange near-death experience stories (i need more branzy and rek friendship please please please please please p)

i am ace beaming your clownzy mwahahaha

leowook

strap in boys because have you considered the tension between clown and leo after mob falls (once again mob anon from lifesteal headcannons i am thinking so hard about your submission)

they were tight. they were bros. they were homies. leo was the only person clown felt like he could confide in during mob. and then leo turned coats. i'm SO NORMAL.

clown has NOT forgiven him

super duper a cyborg. he's a tnt minecart pvper he had to have blown off his limbs at some point /silly

but yeah his limbs are mechanical, along with one of his eyes. can't really see it though bc he constantly wears a mask, long sleeves, pants, and gloves. i'll probably default to his left eye if i ever draw leowook face

he and red feel like they would be friends based on vibes

still works/allies with zam after mob in an attempt to go back to what he lost

slaps roof of leowook this bad boy can fit so much mob angst inside of it

princezam

certified Thing. don't know what, he just is

has loony toons vibes. to me.

so annoyingly positive in the eyes of the others, they all want to punch him at least once

hero complex 100

dude just manages to rizz his way into teams

zam is smart. he knows what he's doing.

ok actual serious hcs bro has the most worldbuilding in his explanation tbh

in my head, lifesteal is this independent port city-state that was originally run by everyone and acted as a free, international trade center. zam is the crown prince of the neighboring territory surrounding the city, and when mob started gaining serious power, he charmed his way into working with them.

the deal he struck with mob is that if he wanted to join, lifesteal wouldn't be a part of zam's kingdom and all of his actions in mob were separate from his actions as the prince. it worked out relatively well for both of them: mob got a powerful ally with good political/funding power, and zam got to play hero and get involved with lifesteal politics

when mob fell, he initially respected their previous agreement where he wouldn't play prince in lifesteal, but when heart economics grew too unbalanced in his eyes, he decided to annex the city and then start the cleansing

nobody enjoyed zam annexing the territory, and especially not when his first order of business was to have everyone over ten hearts withdraw and bank them to evenly distribute to people with less than ten hearts

gonna pause here for now bc i feel like if i tried listing another character, it wouldn't have the same heart behind it as these guys do. if anyone does wanna see another silly that i didn't get to here, feel free to shoot me an ask or smth idm :]

fuck cringe i am having a blast i love worldbuilding

[yanderewritingdump]

I've read too many COD fics, and now I'm stuck on scary military dudes who use their skills/resources inappropriately to keep an eye on you.

AFAB reader, female pronouns/gender language used, MDNI.

AN: I would like to share that I know squat about the military/guns/technology, but I think they're neat in certain fictional setting. Most of my information on the world of COD/military on has come from either watching my brother play it more than a decade ago, unwillingly listening to various people rant, and social media thirst traps. Please suspend your disbelief and forgive any inaccuracies you may find.

It was too much of a habit to pull up the camera feed of your back porch, watching you rock gently as you diligently worked at what must be your latest project. Something was taking shape in your hands, but his knowledge of things outside of war and death tended to be a bit spotty. He thought it looked vaguely like a thin, holey scarf. It was the third color he’d seen you use in the last two weeks as you tried to teach yourself from the book next to your rocking chair. He wasn’t exactly sure what you were doing with the ball of twine and weird plastic tool, and he was pretty sure you were terrible at it from the way you grumbled and picked it. The breeze rustled some of the pages, lifting stray strands of hair into your eyes, before picking up and shutting the book gently on the delicate beaded chain that you had put together. That really got you muttering, and he huffed a soft laugh.

Your hair caught the light of the afternoon sun, shining and soft looking. The desire to run his fingers through it, to grip a fistful at the back of your head and pull you into his kiss thrummed through him. He wanted to suck your lip into his mouth for his teeth instead as you chewed on it in thought.

That was too common of a thought. You were always focusing intently on something, a million miles away as you gnawed on your poor lip and thumbs.

He shouldn’t watch you enough to know all these little details, to have all these little fantasies that are ingrained in him with simple habits of yours. But some nights it was the only thing to ease his troubled thoughts half a world away. He was just as addicted to you as his captain was to his cigars, and he was even less to give you up even if the others managed to find out about you.

It's hard not to notice a hulking man sitting in the far corner, no matter how much he blends in to the shadows. At least, it was hard for you and your friend where you were propped up on the bar with your drinks and dinner. When Caden spotted him, he nudged you in the ribs, not so subtly nodding at him as the normal Thursday night crowd milled around you. "Aren’t you in the market for a fun time?" he teased, “because that looks like a fun time.”

You elbowed him back harder in an attempt to hide how flustered you were. "Shut up," you hissed. You risked a glance towards the far corner table, the second of what would probably be at least a dozen more as the night went on. Even in the dimmest part of the bar, he seemed massive, sprawled out with his arm slung over the back of the chair and his legs spread wide into the aisle as he slowly sipped his liquor. The fuck-off vibes radiating off of him were clear even from this distance. “I don’t think he’s looking for company tonight anyway,” you said with a little disappointment. Caden rolled his eyes at you, and it devolved into your familiar bickering as he tried to convince you to approach him and you grumbled at him for trying to live vicariously through you.

He rarely indulged himself in these little trips to see you in person when he wasn’t on a mission. It felt too risky. He shouldn't be seen frequenting the same places as you, staring at you for hours on end. Normally, he wouldn’t even let himself be seen, but something was making him either bolder or stupider when it came to decisions about you. How was he supposed to resist pressing you into the cheap lacquered wood of the bar and leaning down to breathe in the smell of your hair and perfume? How could he not see if your hips felt as good in his hands as he imagined they would? It would be impossible not to press against you and see what sort of sounds you'd make with his lips pressed against your throat.

But he liked catching you looking at him, lip caught between your teeth for a brief moment as you flushed and looked away. Maybe if he were a different person, a more normal person, he could buy you a drink and flirt with you. Instead, he had camera covering every inch of your home and more than one pair of your underwear hidden away in his belongings.

The others would laugh at him if they saw how he was almost drooling over you.

You were in a heated conversation with your friend, heads close together as you whispered intently back and forth before he seemed to have to last word at the way you angrily got off your stool. From his spot, it was easy to tell which profanities you were hissing at him as you grabbed your drink. He was amused by it all for a moment until he realized you were tentatively approaching him instead of finding a different chair for your friend's partner, as was generally expected of this frequent ritual.

He knew what he looked like. A giant of a man drinking alone in a dingy, poorly lit bar did not generally get any positive interest. Apparently, you were braver than he gave you credit for. As badly as he wanted to actually interact with you, he wasn’t sure he’d actually be able to reign himself in if you tried to flirt with him. He really didn’t want to have to turn you down. If his pretty girl wanted him, he would let you have him because he had no self-control when it came to you.

Maybe that’s why he ended up letting you flirt with him and buying you another drink. It was definitely why he let you lead him to your home, pretty, soft hands occasionally reaching back for him in the cool winter air as you giggled at his terrible jokes.

It made you seem even more like a dream than you already did.

He let you hook your finger around his, leading him into your cozy, two-bedroom home. He knew all about it, had access to all the cameras that your parents and family friend insisted you setup around the older home, and had even set up other cameras to cover the blind spots you had missed. Knowing all of that was different than you leading him by the hand inside.

Not that you knew what you were inviting inside your sanctuary.

That didn’t mean that he wasn’t going to press you against your front door, letting his fingers dig into your waist to finally, finally let himself know what it felt like as he presses his mouth to yours. The soft, sweet noise of surprise that fades into a pleased hum satisfies something inside him. He would take care of you tonight, and he’d make sure to ruin every other man for you while he did it.

The gentle way you lace your fingers through his hair and crane up to meet him while he dominates your mouth was adorable. You were pliant against him, letting him drag you that much closer to his body with more soft, pleased noises. How could you be so soft and yielding to a man like him?

You make him crazy, he decides, letting his hands slide down to your thighs. The way you cling to his biceps, nails digging into his hoodie and as he yanks your thighs up around his waist make him smirk against your throat. “Which door?” he murmured against you instead of sucking bruises into the thin, delicate skin like he wanted to.

Fuck, it was hot how strong he was, you thought, locking your ankles around him. He hadn’t even made that discouraging grunt as he just wrapped you around his waist. Only one arm was supporting you as his other hand crept under your shirt to rest on the small of your back. Your back arched, pressing more firmly into him and the kisses he was lavishing on your throat. Each step he took made him grind against you, and you dug your nails in harder at the sheet size of the bulge against you. “Fuck,” you hiccupped when he nipped your throat.

“Which door, sweet girl?”

Surely there was a bruise forming now from his incessant, sucking kisses. “Left door. Kind of a mess. Sorry.”

He shrugged as he set you on a clear area of the bed, laying you back and caging you in for a moment with his body as he devoured your mouth. One of his hands was keeping your hips firmly anchored to his, grinding you against him while the other worked under your top to unhook your bra. When your hands tug at his hoodie, he sat back and yanked it off, letting your ass rest against his firm thighs for a just moment. You didn’t get to enjoy the view of his well-muscled chest for long before he was leaning over you again to divest you of your own top.

Propping himself on his elbow above you, he takes a moment to enjoy the view. You were flustered and flushed, lips plush and shiny from his rough kissing. You looked like you wanted to cover yourself and hide from his scrutiny, but you settled your hands on his sides, biting your lip and looking at him shyly. “So pretty,” he rumbled appreciatively before he was diving down to drown himself in you again. He nipped down your throat to your breasts, gently biting and licking one nipple as he worked your pants open and slipped his hand inside.

He wanted to skip ahead, throw your legs over his shoulders and fuck you until both of you were puddles on the bed. He couldn’t let himself see you against after this, though, and he knew that you wouldn’t be able to take that kind of treatment.

You were impatient to be kissed again. Hand tugging at his hair as you urged him back up your body. He let himself be tugged until his face was even with yours but just out of reach. “Patience, pretty girl,” he scolded smugly. That smugness turned into a groan with him dropping his head into the crook of your neck when he felt how wet you were for him. His fingers were practical dripping as he tried to mimic how he’d see you touch yourself. “Fuck, did you like my kisses that much, sweetheart?” he asked.

You whined, arching into the touch as best as you could under his body. His voice was sinful, low and gruff with a certainty that told you he was used to being listened to. Between that, the confident manhandling, and the way he kissed you like he couldn’t live without you, how were you supposed to stand a chance. “I want more,” you moaned instead of answering. “Vince, please.”

He huffed a laugh that registered as a little dark and sinister to some distant part of your brain as you tried to rock against his finger faster. “Be careful what you wish for, sweetheart,” he rumbled, dragging you to the edge of the bed. Before the surprise had worn off, your pants were gone and he was on his knees with your legs over his shoulders. His arm was like an iron band across your hips, preventing you from jolting away at the first hot swipe of his tongue. Both of you moaned.

It seemed to set off something animalistic in him. The low grunt and groans rumbled through you as he sucked and licked at your clit with a single-minded determination. You were lost in the sensation, trying to grind against his face despite the way he held you down, and your hands fluttered between gripping his hair, his arm, and the bedding.

If he didn’t know better, he would have thought he was in heaven. How else could he explain how it felt to hear you moan and chant his name like a pray as your thighs clenched around his head? The noise you made when he sank his fingers into you must have been the sweetest thing he’d ever hear. He was glad the camera he’d set up in the bedroom had good audio.

Your nails were digging into his arm, leaving pretty little marks that he wanted to tattoo into his skin. Your walls were fluttering around his fingers, thighs trembling against his ears as you tried to stutter out a warning that’s cut off by every muscle in your body clenching. He loved the way your body tries to pull his fingers deeper and the way your clit pulses against his tongue as he sucks on it. He only let up when you whine his name, trying to wiggle away from his grip.

He let you, taking mercy on you just this once. He couldn’t have his pretty girl tap out before the fun even started when she had begged him for more could he?

You were panting, arm thrown over your eyes to block out the light of the room. “Fuck. I didn’t know I could come that hard.”

The bed creaked as he climbed back on, manhandling you on to your stomach and shoving pillows under your hips until he deemed them in the correct spot. “Oh, darling,” he rumbled against the back of your neck, ignoring your yelp of surprise, “that sounds like a challenge to me.” Something in you clenches at the dark promise in his voice.

The bed creaked as he climbed back on, manhandling you on to your stomach and shoving pillows under your hips until he deemed them in the correct spot. “Oh, darling,” he rumbled against the back of your neck, ignoring your yelp of surprise, “that sounds like a challenge to me.” Something in you clenched at the dark promise in his voice.

His forearm was planted on the bed beside your head, supporting him as he ground his cock through the mess between your thighs. “Do you have a condom?” you manage to ask. “I’m not on anything, and I wasn’t planning on bringing anyone home with me.”

There’s a bit of panic bubbling in you, ruining the nice little high you were coasting on before he flashed a small foil packet at you. “Wasn’t exactly planning on going home with anyone myself, but how was I supposed to say no to such a pretty girl flirting with me? Just want to enjoy feeling how wet I’ve got you before I put it on.”

He didn’t like the panic in your eyes when you asked, but something in him preened at the implication that you couldn’t help but want to take him home with you. You knew he’d take care of you, didn’t you? He tore the packet open with his teeth, trying to memorize the way you looked under him even as he mourned not being able to have the full sensation of fucking you.

It was a tight fit despite how wet he had gotten you, and he held your hip to keep you in place as he eased inside you. Your soft, pretty noises as you tried to rock back into him were not helping him stay in control. “Fuck, you’re tight, sweetheart.” He was breathing deeply, head pressed between your shoulders as he reigned in the wild urge to pound you into the mattress and the clench of his balls.

“Fuck me, Vince,” you whined, struggling to push back against him. None of your toys had filled you quite like he did, and you clenched around him in an effort to get him to move.

He growled something against your shoulder, forcing your knees to open more with his own before he was plowing into you. His grip on your hip and the weight of his body pressing into you kept you pinned in place as he started up a steady, hard rhythm that had his balls tapping your sensitive clit with each thrust. It had you moaning curses as your hands wrapped around his wrists in a vain attempt to do something. “You wanted me to fuck you, sweetheart. Now be a good girl for me and take it,” he said, hot breath ghosting across your overheated skin before he was sinking his teeth into the meat of your shoulder.

His firm hold hadn’t relented, forcing you to take what he gave you and scramble to hold on to something. There was already a tightness building in your abdomen, and it only grew faster as he found the perfect angle. “Please don’t stop. Shit. Please, please, please,” you hissed, eyes squeezed shut tight as you chased your orgasm. As if solely to be cruel to you, he pulled away. “No, no, no, no. Fuck. Please, Vince!” You looked over your shoulder at him to try to see why he was leaving you high and dry just in time for him to flip you on to your back and sink into you again.

He looked smug and rumpled in the best way as he found his rhythm again. His dark eyes smirked down at you while that thick, calloused thumb found your clit. You wrapped around him, trying to make sure he couldn’t do that again. He kissed you for a moment, and you could still taste yourself on his tongue. “Hush, pretty girl. I’m going to take care of you. I just want to look at you when you cum.” His shot straight through you, and it was just enough to send you over the over the edge.

Your thighs clamped around his sides, nails scratching down his back. He watched you throw back your head, whispering a choked off version of his name as he tried to keep his rhythm steady. It was hard with you clenched around him so tight and the feeling of finally having you under him. “That’s it. That’s my good girl,” he murmured, petting your waist gently. He managed to keep it together until your thighs relaxed against him and you started making that needy overstimulated noise even as you arched into his touch and rocked up to meet him.  

He wasn’t sure that he had ever cum that hard or that much. It seemed to go on forever as you kept grinding on his ridged body.

He managed to roll off of you before he collapsed, taking a moment to let his bones solidify again before he got to work cleaning both of you up.

[milequaritchsslut]

Don’t forget my love

Based on the song Don’t Forget My Love by Diplo and Miguel

Part 2 here!

Notes📝:Humans can breathe Pandora oxygen somehow idk how but they just do. Reader is pretty young like still in their 20’s after the humans came back 🫣 I just like having the reader young!

Warnings⚠️: Mentions of death, Miles dying, Mentions of cheating, Heartbreak, Mentions of guns, Crying, Mentions of conceiving, Betrayal, (just a lot of sadness)

Background: Y/n and miles went their separate ways since y/n chose to fight for the enemy. Little did she know she’d ever see him again…

———————————————————————

All you thought about was him your husband Miles Quaritch after the last war. After the day was done and you had settled into bed just about to go to sleep there he was in plain sight. You couldn’t rid him out of your head the feeling of him being gone was just too much. You remember it as clear as day.

The last time you saw him you had met on the battlefield on opposing sides. You and Norm had been best friends since you had settled on pandora. He had notified you of the plans they had to side with the Na’vi you hated how the humans treated the people of pandora. It wasn’t right in your eyes. But you couldn’t just leave your husband the whole reason you were here was because of him. But you quickly rid him of your mind as you agreed to help break grace and the others out of jail.

You stood there with your clothes ripped in half from all the fighting you had done you had probably killed dozens of marines to just get to this moment. Gun in one hand the other hanging on your side as you made eye contact with him. Tears started filling up your eyes as you ran to him as he opened his arms. Sobbing in your husbands arms. You hated how things were going you loved him so much but he was an enemy from the other side. Letting go you looked up meeting his gaze with teary eyes.

“Miles you can still make this right and join us pls” Wiping tears from your eyes as you prayed inside he would listen.

his smile quickly dropped at the sound of your words. His duty was to his planet Earth. He hated fighting with you but he couldn’t betray his people. That was where his love for you ended you would never be more important than his loyalty to his home. The realization of this sent shivers down your spine watching his expressions change so fast causing anger to cloud your mind he didn’t have to say one thing to tell you his answer you could read him like a book. “Now I think we both know the answer to this princess” the sound of disappointment ringing through your ears as his words poured out.

Taking a deep breathe and standing back from him and collecting yourself trying to sound strong “I shouldn’t be conversing with an enemy should I then? That’s all you are to me miles just an enemy” Why were you lying when you both knew that wasn’t the truth. Maybe it was to make this departure easier or maybe to make it feel like this was the right thing to do. No it was none of those things it was simply to make him leave you couldn’t betray your cause no matter the reason. He came so close but not enough to make you a traitor. You had never told anyone about this encounter it was too emotional to talk about. Once the war was over you enjoyed this victory as you rejoiced with the Na’vi and the humans who stayed. But you couldn’t rid the feeling of heartbreak in the back of your mind. He was your husband you had shared so many moments to just forget about him like that. But you knew you’d never see that man again at least that was what you thought.

After the war ended and the humans went back to earth getting used to this new way of life was hard. You had decided to stick with Jake and Neytiri and the clan. You were welcomed with open arms since you had aided in the war. Your thoughts got in the way sometimes the thinking that they only led you in with them out of pity since everything you had known your whole life was gone so fast. You were always reassured by Jake and Neytiri. You and Neytiri had gotten close with your time on pandora you had worked with grace in the school and had created a strong bond with the young Na’vi. There was only about a 5 year gap between you two but it made no difference.

You felt almost like family with Jake and Neytiri. You were the one to help aid in every single one of Neytiris pregnancies. Even some of the younger Na’vi children called you “y/n sully” when talking about you. You found comfort in that this was a chance to turn over a new leaf and leave your life on earth in the past. You were eventually known as an add on to the sully family. You slept with them, ate with them, hunted with them. You were the one to help take care of the children when Jake and Neytiri were gone and you loved it. You never wanted any of your own but it was nice to take care of them. You watched them grow up right in front of you.

Though you had created an almost mother-son relationship with the young human boy named spider. You loved him like he was your own since he was Miles child. You hadn’t known Miles had cheated but you didn’t hold it against spider it wasn’t his fault. As he got older you started seeing miles in him more and more. You knew you shouldn’t like it but you did he reminded you of what a great man Miles really was before you both took the job on Pandora. You found yourself putting most of your attention on spider since he did need a mother figure and Neytiri wasn’t trying to apply for the role. You taught him almost everything you knew. It was hard but Jake helped you along the way. You were so grateful that the sully family treated spider as their own. Though you noticed how Neytiri acted towards the boy you ignored it because it didn’t matter as long as you were together.

But this happiness didn’t last long, only a decade after the war the humans came back and they weren’t about to back down. You remember having to hold a sobbing spider in your arms rocking him back and forth whispering reassuring words to him. He had only heard the horror stories about the humans that the other Na’vi had told. He was horrified the night the humans ships arrived. That night you had made a vow to never leave him behind in any sense. And you stood by that no matter where he went you were always behind him. Of course you let him roam around but never too far thr fear that the humans would take him from you and use him as ransom to find Jakes hideout scared the living shit out of you. You couldn’t loose anyone else in your life who was that important to you.

“Come on keep up mom!” The young boy yelled to excited to slow down for you. Jumping over a tree vine trying to keep up with the boy you yelled

“Your too fast for me spider!” You yelled focusing your attention on your destination. Today you had promised spider you would teach him how to hunt a sturmbeest. A large buffalo like creature the Na’vi ate with most meals. Breathing in the fresh air of the forest you looked around to realize you had reached their grazing area. “Spider come we have reached it!” As you gasped for air you had been running for almost 30 minutes straight. Leaning down to rest your hands on your knees you felt a pat on the back from the boy looking down at you. Coming up for air you looked at the boy giving a quick smile before taking his hand in yours and walking to find your prey.

“How many of these things have you killed mom?” Looking up at you as you looked around for your target.

“Hm about 5 I think!” Your eyes widening as you locked eyes on a young sturmbeest. Quickly looking down at your son and putting a finger in your mouth to be quiet he nodded as you both crouched down behind a fallen tree trunk.

Grabbing your bow and arrow out of your holster you quickly handed it to him. You made sure to be silent so the only thing you could hear was the breeze blowing the trees back and forth.

Making sure you kept your voice low you explained “Now bring the arrow up” lifting his arms up to find his stance to shoot.

“yes yes just like that sweetie” moving your hands to his chin lifting it up to focus on the beast. You quickly gave him a thumbs up to signal it was ok to shoot. Just as he let go of the arrow you watched as the animal quickly ran away. Standing up from your position you pushed his hand down to stop shooting. Waiting for silence you watched a group of toned na’vi with guns walked through the clearing where the animal was just standing. They were all army clothing with guns in their hands as they looked around. There was about 11 of them with an expectionally tall male na’vi leading them as they came closer. Jumping down you quickly pulled spider down with you, as you both moved back trying to not be in their line of sight. You watched as they conversed with one another as they searched the area.

You knew if you didn’t leave now you wouldn’t be able to leave. You stood up with spider on your side. You watched as the strange Na’vi caught onto your movements. Quickly running the opposite direction you could hear them calling you to stop.

“HEY GET BACK HERE!” One yelled as you ran with spider moving leaves out of your way.

Looking back to see how close the Na’vi group was you accidentally tripped causing your body to crash onto the hard earth. As you held yourself up you felt a thrashing pain in your ankle. You figured you had twisted it there was no way you were gonna make it out of there you thought.

“MOM!” Spider yelled running back to you

“NO LEAVE ME SPIDER GO!” Grunting trying to flip yourself over to see your enemy’s faces. “B-BUT MOM-“ He was quickly cut off by your harsh orders

“SPIDER LEAVE ME I WILL BE OK” You could handle this yourself even with a twisted ankle. Now sitting up you quickly turned around to watch the young boy dashing ahead.

Smiling to yourself you were just glad he was going to be safe and sound. You knew he would warn the others that the humans were tracking them. As you turned your head forward you found yourself being towered over by a tall Na’vi male. Looking over his body you saved a mental note of how muscular this one was in particular. He looked like he was made of full lean muscle. His army cargos fitting just right in his small hips, the curve of his waist going up to his sweaty pecs. Looking at his neck you watched as the sweat moved in droplets making his body glisten in the sun.

Moving up from his neck to his face it reminded you of someone but you couldn’t quite place it. He didn’t look like any of the Na’vi men you had ever seen. Maybe it was just deja vu of some sort you figured. You slowly watched his eyes widen and his lips part as he knelt down to your small human level.

Letting out a hiss at the man from the nerve he had to get so close to you. You watched as he examined your face and your body almost like you were an art piece at an art show. You couldn’t help but be confused from why he hadn’t put you in handcuffs yet or had not killed you. Slowly bringing his hand up to cup your face you quickly slapped the demons hand away. Was he crazy or just dumb you thought?

“Damn little lady you remind me of my wife!” He confessed flashing a welcoming smirk at you as you just sat there trying to put up a strong front though you were dying in pain.

That sentence sounded so familiar to you like something miles… And there he was the man who left on the battlefield so long ago.

“Miles?” You blurted out to be met with a shocked expression on the man’s face.

“Y/n?” He responded quickly standing up trying to figure out what was going on he thought you had surely died on the battlefield. A femble human like you would had never made it out alive but somehow that day you did.

“Oh hell nah” You were not about to go through this again, not today. Placing your hands beside you, you tried pushing yourself up with any strength that you had left. To only be pushed back down by one of the Na’vi soldiers behind you.

“You better settle down sweetheart” he said with only getting a hiss in response.

You watched as they all formed a circle in front of you trying to decide what to do with you. You saw this as an opportunity and quickly got up ignoring the shooting pains all across your body. Fighting through it you ran as far as you could dragging your ankle with you as the sounds of Miles and his group running came closer and closer till you felt a pair of arms pull you by your hair.

“FUCK OFF!” Holding the root of your hair to lower the pain you were pulled to the ground laying in between his legs.

“We both knew that wasn’t gonna work princess”

“Do not call me that”

“Don’t go all hard ass on me now I’m still your husband yk?”

“That marriage ended years ago”

That might’ve been true but the love never truly went away you couldn’t deny the spark you felt when you realized who he was, and neither did he. That build up in your stomach whenever you thought about him. The way your heart beat sped up when you got too close.

One of the soldiers who was missing all his hair turned to miles and started conversing but you couldn’t hear much. After a long silence he finally nodded his head looking back down at you.

“Your coming with us sweet cheeks”

Rolling your eyes in response. Holding out an arm to help you up and taking it out of pure desperation he quickly had you in his arms bridal style with your arms tight around his neck.

“I missed this y/n” whispering into your ear walking back to the helicopter.

“Shut up”

———————————————————————

[coneyislandbabey]

my back is broad, but it's a-hurtin'. -> e. roundtree

WARNINGS: profanities, sexual tension lol

SYNOPSIS: The push and pull between you and Eddie Roundtree was never-ending. No matter how hard you tried to push him away, you always came back together. word count: 2,120

NOTES: this is part 2/8 of the beast of burden series. Part one can be found here!

Pittsburgh, 1969

“What do you think of her?” Warren asked. You, him, and Eddie were standing in a row against the bar of the nightclub you’d be playing a couple hours later. He was staring in the direction of the stage, where Billy stood messing around with the microphone, his new girlfriend, Camila, standing on the floor in front of him, angling her camera up to capture him in photos. 

“I like her,” you responded. She’d only been hanging around a week or two at that point, but she was kind even while being a little bossy. She had the kind of attitude a girl needed to have any kind of equal partnership with a guy like Billy Dunne, surely. 

“Yeah, but I don’t think she’ll last long,” Eddie said from your other side. That was a fair assessment. Billy had gone through quite the impressive string of girlfriends, just in the two years you’d been with the band. They stuck around for a few weeks, a month or two tops, and then they were gone, and Billy would start bringing around a new one.

“I don’t know,” you hum. “Seems like maybe it’s different this time.” You hoped it would be, at least. You really liked Camila, she got involved and tried to get to know the rest of you guys a lot more than any of the other girls Billy had brought around. She didn’t know much about the technical side of the music, but she made up for that in enthusiasm. Plus, it would be nice to have another girl around, in a more permanent sense. You’d known that rock music, and The Dunne Brothers band itself, were a real boys’ club, but man did it really fucking feel extra like a boys’ club sometimes. 

“I hope she stays. She got us that spot in the paper last week,” Warren said. That was true, too. Camila would come along to every gig and take photos the whole time, and then submit them to the local papers to try to get the band a little spot in the ink. It didn’t work, usually, but you all got lucky with the last one. It was more than surreal to see the shot of the five of you up on stage, rendered in newsprint black and white. 

Things were picking up, in a subtle way, sure, but a way none of you could ignore. You were booking more gigs, more people in the area were recognizing you. Hell, you were getting out of Pittsburgh fairly often, booking in Ocean City and Philly and Wilmington and a half dozen other places. It felt good. Really fucking good. It felt like you were proving your talent, your worth in this band, with every crowded and well-received show you performed. 

“Alright, sound check!” Billy called from the stage, gathering your attention. “We’re just gonna do one song and make sure everything is good.” 

You pushed off the bar and made your way to the stage, slinging your bass over your torso as you went. 

“Let’s do When the Sun Shines on You, yeah?” Billy asked, stepping up to the mic. You all started in on the song, and you immediately lost yourself in playing your bass. As usual, as the song progressed, you and Eddie seemed to drift nearer and nearer to each other on the stage. Your parts, musically, already played off of each other so often, so it only made sense to you that it was reflected physically. It was as if you and Eddie were playing to each other, or at each other, a frenetic conversation. During the more intense songs, you would drift so close that your hands almost bumped each other whilst playing, before you’d sweep around and head back to your side of the stage.

When the song was done and the sound was thoroughly checked, you sat your bass down and stretched your arms over your head. The guys vacated the stage quickly, but you came to sit on the edge, swinging your legs and looking out at the venue, where the employees were readying the space to open soon. Shortly after you sat down, Camila ambled over to you, her camera dangling from a strap around her neck and a sly smile on her face. 

“Hey, Camila,” you smiled, nodding at her. 

“Hey,” she said brightly. “So.” 

The way she drew out ‘so’ into three syllables was incredibly suggestive, and you only raised your eyebrow at her in question. She stepped closer, lowering her voice as if she was about to impart a secret. “What’s the deal with you and Eddie?”

For a moment, all you could do was blink at her. “What?”

“Oh, come on,” she scoffed. “I think every stranger in this building could tell there’s something there. So, what is it? Are you guys a thing?”

You burst out into bright, sharp laughter, shaking your head. “God, no, Cami, it’s not like that at all. There’s nothing going on between me and Eddie.”

Camila weathered you with a stare, both unimpressed and unconvinced. “Right. Sure. I have never seen two people behave the way you do when there's ‘nothing going on’.”

You laughed again, deftly changing the subject to talk about her and Billy, hoping to god that your cheeks weren’t dark with blush. Were you that obvious with your crush on him? The thought was so mortifying that it made you want to die. For a while, you had managed to convince yourself that it was a minute, meaningless thing, your crush. That it had only come to be because he’d helped you learn those songs back in ‘67, helped you earn your spot in the band. You had assumed it would go away after a while, but it didn’t. All it did was grow into something more pathetic and embarrassing every time you saw him, because there was no way he was experiencing the same turmoil over your relationship, and more importantly, there was no way you could act on your feelings even if he was. 

Later, the whole group of you were hanging out in your garage, getting drunk off the cases of beers Warren bought immediately after you left the gig. You were curled up on the middle cushion of your ratty leather couch, feet tucked up underneath you and a beer nestled in your lap. Graham was on one side of you, fast asleep on the arm of the couch, his own empty beer bottle having fallen from his prone hand and rolled away. Eddie sat on the other side of you, one arm stretched on the back of the couch behind you, his thigh touching yours. Billy was drunkenly playing some old nursery song on Graham’s guitar, and Warren was loudly (and also drunkenly) cheering along with it. 

Camila, who was sitting on the rug next to Billy, caught your eye from across the room. She looked pointedly from you to Eddie and back to you, quirking an eyebrow in a silent question. You narrowed your eyes at her in return, imperceptibly shaking your head. She shot you a disbelieving look, but dropped it for the moment. 

“I’m starving,” Warren said suddenly, hand to his stomach. 

“Of course you’re starving, man, you’ve got the munchies,” Eddie laughed. 

“My stomach is eating itself,” he responded pitifully. 

You rolled your eyes at his antics, but you couldn’t keep the smile off of your face. “Alright, I hear you. I’ll go get you a snack.”

“I love you more than anyone else here,” Warren said emphatically as you stood, and you just laughed at him, ruffling his hair as you passed him. 

“I’ll help you carry stuff out,” Eddie announced, getting up to follow you across the yard and to the house. 

You walked up the back steps, before stopping abruptly at the door and peering inside to see if any lights were on. Not expecting your sudden stop, Eddie walked directly into you. “Oh, sorry,” he mumbled, but you couldn’t help but acutely notice how close to you he stayed. 

“Okay, my whole family is asleep in there,” you said, turning around to face him. You were standing so close that your face almost met his chest before you looked up. “That means we have to be absolutely silent on this mission.”

“Mission?” he asked, amused. 

“Yes. The very important mission of providing famine relief to the dying Warren Rojas,” you nodded solemnly. 

“If you want me to be quiet, you have to stop being funny.”

“I can’t help my charisma, you’ll just have to be strong, Eddie boy,” you responded, and he nodded seriously, doing his best to keep a straight face. In your drunken state, you fumbled with the knob of the door trying to get in, and cursed yourself for the noise. Your parents knew about the band by now, obviously, and being as you were an adult at this point, it was not like they could stop you from being in the band even if they wanted to. However, you weren’t exactly of age quite yet, and if they found you standing in the kitchen, drunk and with a boy they weren’t fond of at that, you’d have hell to pay.  

Finally, you managed the knob and swung the door open slowly. You turned to Eddie and pointed to the pantry, mouthing the word ‘chips’ to him. He nodded, tip-toeing his way over in exaggerated movements that made you want to fall to the floor with laughter. Instead, you turned your back to him and headed toward the fridge, intent on grabbing some of the water bottles that your parents kept on top of it. You were able to reach one, but the rest had been pushed further back by someone, and your fingertips could only brush the plastic, not grasp them. Suddenly, you felt a presence behind you, and you turned to see Eddie watching you struggle. 

“Let me help,” he whispered, stepping forward and reaching above your head. His free hand went to your waist to balance himself as the other grabbed enough bottles for the group, passing them down to you one by one. You did your best to ignore his hand, to ignore the way it set every single nerve ending of yours on fire. When he was done grabbing water bottles, you turned around to go, but Eddie didn’t move. Moments passed, and the two of you stood there facing each other in the dark of the kitchen. Dimly, you were aware that Eddie’s hand was still on your waist. It would be so easy, you thought, to cross the mere inches between you and just kiss him the way you’d imagined doing dozens of times before. It would be so easy to just drop all of the water bottles on the floor and grasp his face instead, so easy to– 

But no. The only thing that could come out of you making a move on Eddie or him making a move on you would be teasing from the rest of the band, probably even them suspecting that the only reason Eddie suggested you for bassist way back when was because he had a thing for you, not because you were talented. But you were talented. That was why you got the spot in the band. It didn’t matter how true that was, though; the minute you became anything other than one of the guys here, your very integrity would be questioned. 

You stepped backward until your back was against the fridge, putting some space between the two of you. Eddie cleared his throat, the sound impossibly loud in the otherwise quiet room, and stepped back as well. This had been your dance for the last two years; get close, closer than close, tip-toe right up to the edge until all there was to do was take the leap or fall backwards. Every time, for one fleeting moment, you thought you’d finally decide to take the leap, but you never did. And neither did he. So, the dance continued. 

“Let’s get out of here before my parents wake up,” you said, and Eddie nodded, turning around to lead you back to the kitchen door. When you got back to the garage, the two of you distributed chips and water, before sitting back down on the couch. Eddie’s arm stretched back out along the back of the couch, your thighs touching. Just like you had been before. Just like nothing at all had changed. Because nothing had, had it? Nothing ever did. You couldn’t decide if that thought was a relief, or a thorn digging ever deeper under your skin.

tag list: @eonnyx @celestialstar111 @whataloadofmalarkey @sapphiclm

[necrotic-nephilim]

"How else am I supposed to learn if you don't punish me?" With Jason x Bruce ship pls 🙏

send a quote and a ship and I'll write a short fic!

fucked up BruJay my beloved. this is. honestly more emotional whump than physical and the romance is implied, but i do like this piece a lot, even if i struggled with it a bit. have 2.2k of Bruce and Jason struggling to get along. enjoy <3

Sometimes, Jason did it on purpose.

He knew Bruce’s patrol route better than anyone. Which was by design. Jason wanted to know where Bruce was, what he was doing, and who he was doing it with at all times. And really, Bruce didn’t seem to be stopping Jason from keeping tabs. None of Jason’s carefully placed trackers were removed, and Jason knew better than to assume Bruce had lost his touch. Bruce knew they were there, and he knew they were Jason’s.

So if Jason wanted to avoid Bruce, he knew how to do it. And when he really did want to get work done under Bruce’s nose, it was easy for Jason to dance around Bruce’s schedule and send him tail spinning just trying to keep up with Jason.

But some days, Jason didn’t want to avoid Bruce. He wanted the thrill of the chase.

So he got caught on purpose.

He picked a gang on the side of town Bruce always patrolled at this hour. He used the loudest guns he had with no silencers. He started the messiest brawl he could.

And he waited.

Jason didn’t have to wait long.

Like it always was with Bruce, the entrance was dramatic. Shattering glass as a large form with an unfurled cape descended from the skylight. Jason smiled under his helmet.

There were already at least half a dozen dead. The rest were running around like ants, either trying to get away from Jason or futilely trying to fight him.

“You’re late!” Jason shouted over his shoulder. He dodged a batarang thrown in his general direction. “I expected you to get here at least five minutes earlier.”

“Robbery a block away,” Bruce said brusquely. He turned to a few gang members with tire irons and shivs lifted, ready to charge Jason. “Run. Now.”

They didn’t need to be told twice.

Jason raised his gun to shoot one. He wasn’t particular about who he picked. He knew it didn’t matter. The bullet wouldn’t actually hit them.

Because just on time as Jason squeezed the trigger, a batarang buried into his hand. He swore and dropped the gun.

“Enough, Hood,” Bruce said coldly.

Jason smiled under his mask. “Someone’s gotta clean up this city.” He lunged for another thug.

Bruce’s body was like a battering ram, slamming into Jason. He was heavy enough to knock the wind out of Jason, sending them both tumbling to the ground. Jason groaned, trying to throw Bruce off of him. When that didn’t work, he went for his belt, grabbing his kris dagger and flipping it around.

“Do you hold any value for human life?” Bruce demanded. He grabbed Jason’s wrist and pinned it against the ground. “These aren’t supervillains, they’re normal people down on their luck-”

Before Bruce could finish talking, one of the gang members bashed him over the head with a wooden plank. Bruce’s cowl was reinforced, but the little bastard had managed to hit hard enough to snap the plank clean in half. A grunt was forced out of Bruce and his whole body buckled.

Now that was just rude. Bruce was Jason’s meat, not some stupid punk’s. Possessive jealousy flared through Jason, watching Bruce wince in pain to a wound Jason didn’t give him.

“Yeah, they seem real grateful to their savior,” Jason sneered. He threw Bruce off of him and grabbed the gang member. A wiry thing, probably still a teenager. Jason twisted them around to hold his dagger against their throat with his fingers buried into their hair, holding them still. A horrified noise came out of them. Not that Jason particularly cared. He wasn’t the one stupid enough to try beaning Batman with some plywood.

Bruce was on one knee, looking up at Jason. “Don’t.” His fingers twitched toward his utility belt.

“You can’t stop me,” Jason taunted, pressing the blade against tender flesh until the person was squirming in his grasp and blubbering out incoherent pleas for mercy. “Hands where I can see ‘em, B.”

If Jason was anyone else, Bruce would’ve stopped him by now. A quick flick of his wrist to hit Jason with a tranq dart, was how he guessed Bruce would do it.

But he wasn’t just some rogue. He was Jason. And that made Bruce go still, actually listening to Jason’s demands.

“You’re just doing this for attention,” Bruce said carefully, keeping his whole body tense, but not moving it. “Let them go.”

“It’s working.” Jason shrugged, adjusting his hold on the stranger. “So can you blame me?”

“There are other ways to do it without-” Bruce briefly looked around the room at the bodies littered everywhere- “casualties. And innocent hostages.”

“Innocent?” Jason laughed. He turned to address the person he was holding. “Do you think you’re innocent? Why don’t you tell the Batman where these drugs were getting funneled.”

“I don’t- please, I just help packaging- I didn’t-”

Jason huffed in annoyance. “I’ll tell him for you. The middle school down the street. And if there was extra supply, the youth center just around the corner from it too. You remember that youth center don’t you, B? I slept there sometimes as a kid. It was warmer than the streets.”

Bruce’s mouth faintly twitched. His jaw was set. Jason could see him grappling with the rage of knowing exactly who these low lives were dealing to, while still wanting to tell Jason off for all the ugly murder.

How contradictory that nasty little moral code of his could be.

“Let them go,” Bruce spoke slowly, “and we’ll work together to figure out how-”

“Oh don’t even pretend,” Jason laughed. “Don’t pretend you would work with me for a second.”

“Let them go,” Bruce repeated. He seemed to pointedly avoid admitting to Jason’s point.

Jason let out a long hum like he was thinking about it. “I don’t know. What’s one more to my body count?” He started to press the blade.

Bruce moved inhumanely fast. He kicked up, knocking the knife out of Jason’s hand without hitting the gang member. His hands went for Jason’s throat and he managed to get Jason back on the ground. The gang member ran off, footsteps echoing until they were gone while Jason and Bruce grappled, trading punches and kicks until Bruce managed to pin Jason down. Blood was pouring from Jason’s nose and Bruce had human claw marks across his cheek.

Rough. Animalistic. Just the way Jason liked it.

“Why do you do this?” Bruce spoke through grit teeth. “Why do you make me do this?”

“Like you said,” Jason grunted, trying to twist out from Bruce. “I like the attention.” His struggles only got him pinned harder. Bruce forced Jason facedown against the concrete, with an arm twisted behind his back. Jason’s helmet was torn off and tossed to the side.

“I never want to hurt you,” Bruce actually sounded choked up about it. “Why do you have to take it too far every time?”

Jason would give anything to see his face, right now.

“Maybe I want you to hurt me,” Jason said. He looked at his hand resting against the concrete, blood still pouring out of the wound the batarang left. it was a bright, pulsing pain that danced across his reality, making his blood sing. He hoped it would scar. Another to add to the collection of ones he’d goaded Bruce into giving him.

“Why?” Bruce’s voice broke on the word. It was an ironic thing. How badly Bruce wanted to show Jason his mercy. His gentle side. And how badly Jason wanted Bruce’s violence. He wanted Bruce to fight Jason until Bruce’s knuckles were bloody and Jason was barely conscious. He wanted to feel Bruce’s violence down to the marrow.

Jason craned his head back to look at Bruce and smiled. “How else am I supposed to learn if you don’t punish me?”

Bruce stared. For a long moment, he was silent. Jason listened to his breathing like a lifeline. “You don’t actually believe that.” his voice was soft and laced with something that sounded dangerously close to concern.

Sentimental bastard.

“No,” Jason admitted. “We both know I’ll never learn.”

To prove his point, Jason grabbed a stray piece of glass from the ground and stabbed it into one of the weak spots on Bruce’s armor. It made Bruce’s grip loosen enough for Jason to roll free and try to kick Bruce in the face.

Bruce wasn’t fighting him. He only blocked Jason’s blows, and even then, let some of them hit. It was like fighting a brick wall. Hard and unrelenting.

It was starting to piss Jason off.

“Don’t be afraid to hurt me now, Bruce,” Jason said through grit teeth, throwing another punch. It sailed uselessly over Bruce’s shoulder when Bruce easily dodged.

“No.” Bruce’s expression was unreadable under his mask. “I’m not playing your game, Jason.”

“Damnit!” Jason could feel his anger threatening to take control. He kicked Bruce hard in the shin, forcing the man to his knees. Jason ripped Bruce’s cowl off. He wasn’t stopped by Bruce. Hard blue eyes stared up at him. Practically emotionless. “I know you hate me. I know you’re itching to rip my head off for…” Jason spread his arms, gesturing to all the bodies. “For this! For everything I’ve done.”

Bruce shook his head, hair stuck to his forehead with sweat. “I don’t hate you, Jason. I could never-” He doubled over when Jason’s knee connected with his stomach.

“Well you definitely don’t love me,” Jason snapped, ice dripping from his tone. “If you did… if you loved me, you would let me have this.”

“Killing people?”

“Hurting me,” Jason corrected. He snatched his kris off the floor from where it’d fallen to. He stared at the blade. “I’m sick of your pacificism. I’m sick of you pretending you don’t crave hurting someone and pretending to be someone you’re not.”

“I’ve never pretended,” Bruce looked at Jason through careful, hooded eyes. “That want… that need has always been a part of me. I take too much pleasure in hurting people. Pleasure in believing they deserve it.” He studied Jason for a moment. “I never wanted it to consume you the way it consumes me. Because I know it’s something you can’t come back from, once it takes root.”

Jason hated it when Bruce waxed poetic. It was a whole lot of bullshit that meant nothing to Jason. It did nothing to fight the roar of rage building in Jason’s chest.

“Do you want to hurt me?” Jason asked.

He needed Bruce to say yes.

He knew Bruce wouldn’t.

Even if it was the truth. Which now, Jason wasn’t so sure.

Bruce was silent. He didn’t give Jason any answer, not even a change in expression. Bruce just pushed himself to his feet and looked at his cowl that Jason was still holding.

“I love you, Jason,” Bruce said. He grabbed the cowl, but Jason didn’t let go. “I want to help you. Please let me help you in any other way that’s not… this.” Bruce’s thumb brushed over the still bleeding gash on Jason’s hand.

Jason tightened his grip on the cowl. “I’m not giving you the free pass to sleep easy at night,” he hissed. “You can’t take back any of the scars you’ve given me. And we both know sooner or later, there will be new ones.”

Bruce tore the cowl out of Jason’s hand. Before putting it on, he started to reach out for Jason’s face, but seemed to think against it, hand abruptly dropping. He opened his mouth to say something. An apology, probably.

A muffled, crackly voice came from inside the cowl. A police scanner, by the sounds of it. Jason only caught the words bomb threat and hostages.

So much for Bruce’s attention.

“Come with me?” Bruce offered, pulling his cowl on.

Jason shook his head. “You know you don’t want me there.”

“I always want you-” Bruce cut himself off, seeming to realize how dangerously vulnerable his words were. “The offer to come to me will always be open, Jason. You know that.”

Jason’s fist curled and his blood dripped onto the concrete. “Go to hell.”

Like that, the intimacy was gone. Bruce put his emotional mask back on to go with his physical one and turned heel, walking away. Jason just watched him go, some part of him foolishly waiting for Bruce to turn back and say something. Anything. He could get any other hero to handle the bomb threat. He could spare Jason just a few more moments of arguing and fighting. Maybe even something more.

But of course, he didn’t.

[thesecondplacename]

Title: The boy with the bread.

Summary: Peeta’s picked for the games.

Warings: Ang —--------------------------------------- Living in District 12 is the dream, no, really constantly being malnourished and worrying about being picked for the Hunger Games, it's a dream come true.

For all the sarcasm I spit out there is one thing that makes everything bearable, Peeta he’s the kindest man I know. Both of us have had a secret relationship for about a year, but it started long before I took the leap of faith and confessed my feelings to him. I make paints, not well but well enough that he trades a loaf of bread for half a dozen every 2 weeks. This exchange brought us close, and we got to know each other.

We both had a vision planned for our life. To get married when we aged out of the reaping, I was becoming more successful in District 12 making a steady income that helped feed my family and still have leftovers, scraps really but leftovers non the less. I was on good terms with his father and could hold a conversation with his mother, but Peeta, he was adored by my family. They absolutely loved him. We had a plan and only had to luck out a few more times and we were safe, or at least that's what we hoped would happen.

It doesn't matter how much you want something, how much you pray for something, sometimes you don't get what you want. I remember how my heart stopped when Peeta’s name was called, how I wanted to take his place but that look in his eyes stopped me, my entire life was overturned with just a single word. I was barely able to recognize that someone had volunteered, but when the district raised their hands in defiance I followed.

I was after his mother, she gave me a pitying look, and I knew that we hadn’t kept our relationship as good a secret as we originally thought. I walked into the room where he was standing, and almost burst into tears.

“Peeta,” I couldn’t think of anything to say, how could I give him reassurance that he would live when so many from our home didn't. “I love you, I love you so much. Please try to live, try to come home to me, please I can't do this without you.” I was crying.

He threw his arms around me and held me in a tight embrace. “You can, you can do anything you put your mind to, close your eyes when they show my death, you don't deserve to see me like that.” His voice was thick, he was trying so hard to say everything without breaking. “I love (Y/N). I love you, I’ll try, I promise.” We held each other trying to say everything before we were separated.

“Peeta, when you come home let’s get married, ok?” his blue eyes were staring at me so intensely. “Ok, let's get married after-” The peacekeepers came in before he finished.

We were separated.

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

Note: This was originally only going to be a two-part story, but there is only a certain number of words a post can have so apologies in advance for the people who don’t like that, I’ll be sure to link all the Fics together so it's more seamless to read. To restate this story will have multiple parts.

[elusive-mayfly]

If Vash was reverse-isekai-ed

There was something in the night sky. A bright light. Was it a star? No, it couldn’t be a star, it was too bright and… getting bigger? Was it safe to get closer? But get closer how? How does one get closer to the sky? How was no one else seeing this? You felt like you should be scared, at the very least more cautious. This was potentially a supernatural event and you were at the centre of it. The hair on the back of your neck stood upwards. Someone else might have taken that as a sign to run, but… it felt like something was calling to you. Something was there and you had to see what it was, no matter what

When Vash appeared in this world, it was like he was brought here on a falling star. A mysterious light in the night sky that kept growing and growing and growing until it fell to earth and landed with a large impact. It was a miracle no one else was around to see this phenomenon.

There would be a moment of disbelief. How can this be the real Vash the Stampede? He's a character. But the supernatural falling star and the prosthetic arm are enough to convince you there was more to this person than what you could see on the surface.

Vash was entirely disoriented. He was screaming. Panicking. It took a second to realize he was not where he was just minutes ago. A few minutes ago, he was fighting his brother as they plummeted back to No Man's land. There should have been an explosion, Vash right at the center, but instead he was here.

He'd have a lot of questions, a lot you wouldn't be able to answer.

But it's a no brainer that it would be easier to talk things over in a secluded and safe environment, so when you offer to take Vash home, he follows. Besides, where else would he go?

Accepting that he was in a new world where he was safe took a long time. He didn't have to be looking over his shoulder for danger every few minutes. He could finally relax and not have to worry about what he thought was the inevitable: destruction around every corner that he was desperately running from.

There would be nights where he would try to sneak off without a goodbye. Whether it was because he felt like he was being a burden or because he still hadn't accepted he and the people around him were safe, he would try to leave a few times in the first few months of him being around. It took a lot of patience and compassion to convince him he could stay without consequences.

Having him stay was hard, though. He had no identification. He couldn't get a real job. He would do as much housework as he could to try and compensate for his living expenses, but there was only so much he could do. What if he got sick? What if something happened? There'd be a lot to work out and a lot of backup plans upon backup plans that you two would discuss.

It became a strict rule to not leave the house with his prosthetic attached. That kind of tech doesn't exist in our world and would draw too much attention if seen by other people.

It also became a rule of how many doughnuts he could have in one day. Doughnuts are cheap. You don't equate the price of doughnuts to the price of bullets in this world. You can get a half a dozen for less than six dollars depending on where you went. And so, you almost felt like a bartender making sure your customer didn't overindulge. One doughnut per day.

There was something so satisfying about watching Vash expand his interests. He had time to do things he thought he'd never be able to do, and there were many things he had enjoy that would never have been accessible to him in his own world. With expendable money, you both would often attend classes to learn or expand on different hobbies such as playing sports, baking, or making handmade crafts. One taste of freedom and Vash wanted more, he wanted to experience everything the world could offer to him at least once just to know what it'd be like.

He was enthralled with your world. Animals and nature all around were something he hadn't truly experienced before and he was enamored with it. He'd often go out just to sight see or people watch just to get a glimpse of what he could be and what he could enjoy.

It took him a tremendously long time to accept he was dancing on the edge of being real and not. He definitely was real, he was there and that was a fact. But he came from something not real, a fictional world.

He'd often watch the show he came from and would read online the manga that it originated from. It was interesting to him to see the scenes from his memory play out in a different perspective. It was both painful to revisit the crux of his existence, but soothing to hear the voices of people he missed. He would play scenes of him, Rem, and Nai over and over again. This window to his world was so close but so far.

Vash came to his own conclusions and found his own way to cope with it. He learned to accept that his world was very real to him even if it wasn't real to anyone else. But there's this faraway look he gets when he thinks about home, a place he may never see again with people he may never know again. That never went away.