#but sometimes a bitch desperately needs to rail her mans too

[boop-le-snoot]

PARTY FAVOURS | CHAPTER 3

Rating: Explicit.

‼️TW: Reader is EIGHTEEN! Recreational drug use, smoking and alcohol consumption, deeply internalised self-loathing, very questionable moral standards. Daddy kink taken half-seriously. BDSM themes in later chapters - explicit content will come with it’s own TWs. FIRST PERSON POV.

Summary: You’re Peter’s classmate, a child of rich and famous but uncaring parents. Getting paired up for a lengthy project with the boy was an interesting turn of events and you don’t know whether to feel blessed or cursed when you develop, seemingly, a perfectly normal, harmless crush on Tony Stark. Fueled by feelings of inadequacy and boredom, your life spirals out of control - and you’re lucky your newfound friends are there to pick up the pieces even if you cannot find it in yourself to believe these amazing human (and not so human) beings voluntarily give you more than a fleeting glance and an offhanded thought. And they brought cake!

A/N: Peter always unapologetically stealing all the uwus. It’s the MCU law, sorry, didn’t make it. Tony Stark can ✨rail me✨. Enjoy, deviants.

THE TAG LIST IS NOW OPEN! @another-stark-sub @mostly-marvel-musings​ @vozit​ @littlegasps​ @pilloclock​ @shereadsinquiet​

Beta read by the lovely and patient @miscmarvelwritings ! She deserves THE WORLD! I’m not kidding. Please visit her and show her some love, my homegirl is stressed 💖✨

I didn’t see Bruce nor Tony for a week. The doctor was away on some science conference (he sent me one dorky selfie next to a whiteboard full of barely intelligible equations as proof), Tony was in California, having some sort of a board meeting. How do I know? Peter, out of lack of better things to do, constantly texted me updates on his science patron’s whereabouts and what-abouts.

In times like these, it took me for a loop - I was on a first name basis with Tony Stark and Bruce Banner. In the beginning, I was intimidated - I avoided them both like the plague and tinkered in the lab with headphones on whenever I could, until Tony made a comment so snarky I couldn’t resist joking back. That’s not to say Bruce was a social butterfly, but even he gave into my tomfoolery after seeing me stand calmly throughout several of Tony’s hissy fits.

What amazed me even more so was that despite Tony being literally an insufferable little brat, I still longed after him. Sure, the man was hot as hell - but his physical traits were much less significant when it came to my feelings towards him than the amount of sheer drive and willpower he possessed. He was stubborn - that’s another trait we shared - and unapologetically himself in every damn situation.

I could write poetry about the million expressions in his face, about the shine in his eyes.

But I won’t. He’s a technical guru. Ever since I started hanging around the tower, I became much more conscious about what I posted online. Not to say I had a Stark fan blog or anything, but I’d stopped scrolling through the tag, even if I didn’t actually click on any articles. I dutifully reblogged pictures of Tom Ellis instead - while he was a very fine, distinguished man, he wasn’t Tony Stark. I enjoyed looking at the first and enjoyed being around the other. And even though my feed still had the occasional “I love arm” shitpost, I focused on aesthetic pictures and quotes instead - things I had an active internet presence for.

My personal life wasn’t very interesting. I didn’t have any close friends and any and all sex I’ve had was just a bunch of one night stands, fueled by alcohol, selfish lust and the occasional joint. Despite having a fair share of kind, generous lovers, the morning after left me feeling a little bit emptier every time. I thought about getting a boyfriend or something… But quickly became totally clueless as to where I could find one. Men under twenty-five could barely hold my interest long enough to have a casual chat and I wasn’t naive enough to think there were a lot of honest, well-intentioned thirty-somethings that wanted to date my high school ass.

Peter had a crush on me, I knew that. The boy developed one or another kind of feelings for anybody who showed him the tiniest bit of kindness and it alarmed me. In any other case I would have bailed on him, gently, of course, to spare him the disappointment but my selfishness got in the way. I regretted it every day. A wave of desperation rose in me every time I thought about moving on without seeing Tony or Bruce, without Peter shyly smiling at me as he explained how the things he created worked. A faint hope that one day, his schoolboy puppy love will grow into a brotherly kind of regard was the only thing that kept me afloat in my sea of guilt.

As the Fall rolled around, so did my gloomy mood. It was hard to be sad when the sun was shining and the birds were chirping outside, but with clouds hanging over the city like a lead curtain, the bottled up negativity rose to the surface uninvited. Mother had returned from her business trip, adding an uncomfortable, hollow sort of chill to the house wherever she stood. I don’t know what was worse - the hours we spent in one room ignoring each other or the immaculately structured questions she asked me about my studies and extra-curriculars. Mother didn’t ask me about my friends, or my feelings or any of the other things a mother was supposed to give a damn about.

I was an asset to her company and that was that. If you would have asked her, she would tell you I’m old enough for her to mind her own business - which was technically true. Yet according to her, I’ve been old enough since seventh grade. My dad answered his messages sporadically, sometimes with a two-word answer and sometimes with a cocaine and booze fueled rant eleven texts long. I felt sorry for him. I really did.

My phone was blowing up. Party invitations, likes from people I saw once or twice (“oh my god, you’re, like, so hot, what’s your Insta”), DMs from guys looking to score an easy piece of ass. I never answered. If I wanted to party, I just sort of showed up and everybody went along with it. I took care of my appearance and it showed - never once was I turned away from a party. Everyone wanted to dance, to share their drinks, to light up and get faded together and fade into the city, into the cold air and grey sky.

Skirt swaying and top clinging to my chest, I danced. The sweaty, heated bodies around me did the same. Not one of us cared, it was a Tuesday night and the place packed way too many people. An arm snaked around my waist, startling me. I had to begrudgingly crack open an eye to see the bastard in the dimly lit room.

“I saw you at the bar, you looked bored. Maybe you need something to cheer you up?”

So not a creepy rapist. Just your friendly neighborhood drug dealer. At house parties like these, there was always The Guy. He never danced, he sipped on the same drink all night yet always looked like he was having the time of his life. I was no stranger to the occasional joint, or even something more stimulating…

“I got the good stuff, sweetums, you’ll be fine and dandy in no time.”

Eh, what the hell. I inconspicuously danced with the guy to the middle of the crowd, exchanging a few crumpled dollar notes for a baggie of two pills. In no time, I chased one down with a hastily poured Jack.

The world did become better, as the drug dealer promised. People were nicer, friendlier and I almost didn’t believe mother was a useless, stone cold bitch. I almost didn’t care that I was deeply, madly in love with a man as unreachable as Olympus. If I squinted, the guy sitting at the bar looked kind of like Tony, tan, dark hair, worn jeans and a band tee.

So I danced. I danced and I stared right at him and then we danced some more. I closed my eyes, letting his arms grab me and pull me, I let his beard scratch my neck where he sucked a mark on me, I let his rough palms choke me against a wall in one of the bedrooms on the second floor of the house. It felt good to be wanted. It felt great to be needed as he rutted inside of me, hitting that sweet spot with every twitch of his hips.

It felt lonely when he left, pressing a kiss to my forehead and saying something dumb like “Be good, kid.”. I don’t remember what exactly it was, only that I had to turn my face away from his breath that reeked like weed and vodka.

To shake off the void that made home inside of my chest, I went to the roof to get some fresh air. The house had a nice patio on it - I actually knew the owner - that hosted more plants than I’d care to count. There was an ashtray and an abandoned pack of cigarettes. I greeted the faintly blooming sunrise surrounded by a cloud of smoke, shivering in the autumn mist.

Sounds of the party became less prominent with every passing minute as people geared up to go home and get a few winks of sleep before going to work. New Yorkers weren’t really thoughtful partying on a Tuesday, but then again, neither was I. The city always was busy - even then, at the crack of dawn, the dull throb of a bassline was rudely interrupted by a blaring car alarm followed by dogs barking in aggravation.

The more I sat there, the bleaker everything became. I had enough common sense to know I was just coming off the drug but for once, I had been happy and content for several hours without a care in the world. It had been too long since I felt that way and what’s a little low after a good high?

Mother left for her early conference at five AM sharp, I entered my house at five-thirty, making a beeline in the shower and immediately dumping my alcohol and cigarette soaked clothes into the wash with the smelliest detergent I could find. I gave similar treatment to my body and my hair, using the chemically-smelling products on my body and on my hair, brushing my teeth multiple times.

By the time I was leaving for school, only a faint smell lingered in the air where I’d previously entered, so I set the air freshener to automatically spray the obnoxious mist every ten minutes. Mother gets home at twelve for lunch, that should be more than enough time for any remnants of my partying to disappear into the lilac and lavender fumes.

The Valium I’d popped to deal with the aftermath of Molly made my brain sluggish. One look in the mirror and I hastily put my sunglasses on - the ashen colour of my face and the slightly crazed look wasn’t very complimentary to my complexion. The teacher didn’t give a damn. I stared blankly ahead of me for most part of first period.

“What happened to you? You look like hell!” Peter’s exclamation, while usually would’ve alarmed me, barely made a dent in my stupor.

“I feel like shit, too,” Admit what you can’t deny. Deny what you can’t admit. “I didn’t get any sleep. Like, at all.”

Peter frowned, the crease between his eyebrows growing deeper with every passing second. I flinched when his hand tentatively touched my forehead - the pounding in my temples slowed to a dull throbbing but it was still unpleasant when someone was all up in my space.

“Jesus, you’re as cold as a corpse. Maybe you should go see the nurse,” His worry bled into me too. Like hell I was going to the school nurse! They were specifically trained to recognize the signs of substance abuse.

“I’ll head home straight after school, I think we’ll have to skip our sciencing,” No way also I’d be letting Tony and Bruce see me like this. Oh my God, I was a mess. “Mother’s home.” I added. Even the emotional frostbite I’d get from being around her was more tolerable than being a downer for Peter and Tony.

Peter’s face immediately softened in sympathy. He knew almost everything about my relationship with my family, including him actually seeing my mother that one time. He told me she gave him the creeps and I don’t blame him at all. The stoicism that was required for her work made my mother an unbearable person to exist around outside of her fancy office on the top floor of a glass high-rise building.

“Okay, but promise to text me if it gets worse. You might have caught the autumn bug that’s been going around,” He obviously said the last part to calm himself down. Sweet little Peter, naïve child. I solemnly nodded nonetheless.

When I got home, I went straight to bed. Tony was being Tony, as usual, but in a strangely kind way. I suppose it should’ve made me feel better and it kind of did, but then it went downhill from there. I couldn’t explain why I started crying. I bawled my eyes out at how unfair this god-damned world was and when the doorbell rang… Let’s say, the delivery boy hightailed it out of there once the bag of takeout was deposited into my arms. I looked and felt ghastly.

I ate as much as I could and dropped into a restless nap, drifting in and out of sleep with exhausted exasperation. There had not been a time where I felt so low after popping a pill and I was equal parts alarmed and satisfied. For one, the drug dealer didn’t lie like they usually do - the stuff was good and I still had the other pill hidden away in a bottle of painkillers, inconspicuously mixed with other white pills but shape distinctive enough for me to recognize should I have need in taking it again.

The thought of well, taking it again, was fleeting. I had school tomorrow and a missed science bender to make up for. A few buzzes of my phone later, I felt happier. Better. Not so down anymore. I meant every word that I said - Bruce was very precious, kind and gentle. And so, warm and soft. And totally kissable.

Well, fuck. What do I do now?

[peantutbutter]

Alfredo Diaz, Neighborhood Watch

Rating: T (language and mild violence)

Summary: Alfredo takes his role as part of the neighborhood watch very seriously. Maybe a little too seriously... (Inspired by the Scotland Yard Let’s Roll)

[AO3]

Everyone tells Alfredo that he takes his position on the neighborhood watch way too seriously.

“You don’t need to drop everything at ten pm because some kid comes knocking asking if you’ve seen their cat,” the man next door grouses, bleary eyed and dressed in his bath robe. But Alfredo already has a flashlight and tin of tuna. The poor girl’s tears has subsided now that she’s found someone to help her.

“He’s not your child, why are you even bothering? If he’s really missing, just let the police take care of it,” the lady across the street says, exhaling cigarette smoke in his face. He bites his tongue and doesn’t tell her that the kid has been known to run away on occasion. He doesn’t tell her about how the parents are going through a messy divorce and the poor guy is caught in the middle. The lady scoffs at him for not responding, but she turns away and heads back inside, and he continues patrolling the block. It takes him a few hours, but he finds the little man and treats him to some Dairy Queen before bringing him home and reminding him he’s loved, cared for, and if he ever needs anything, just call.

Alfredo Diaz cares about his neighborhood because after getting out of the military, it’s all he has.

The people around here like him. He’s helpful, kind, good with their kids, and more importantly, good at keeping their kids out of trouble. Even the teenage ruffians know better than to get up to hijinks when Alfredo’s around. Not because they’re afraid he’ll call the cops on them or anything, but more because they don’t want to disappoint him.

And also because sometimes he bought them beer and would hang out and tell war stories from his time in the military.

He’s a goddamn pillar of the community, he does his best to set an example for as many people as he can. Good role models are hard to come by in Los Santos.

He’s spent the past few hours sitting on the porch of his home, listening to the police scanner. The Fakes had hit a jewelry store a few miles north of the neighborhood. Far enough away that there aren’t any cops crawling the streets, but close enough that there’s the off chance that gang members might come ripping through in their escape.

Not that he knows what he’d do if any of them come gunning past. According to the scanner, the Fakes have mostly dispersed and taken off in different directions. His own bike is in the shop so it’s not like he could chase them down if they came past. And the only quasi-weapon he has on hand is a foam baseball bat he’s been meaning to return after that impromptu kids baseball game a few days ago. Competent as he is in melee combat, he knows the chances of coming out unscathed bringing a children’s toy to a gun fight aren’t good.

Besides, it’s unlikely any of them will come this way.

So, he sits vigil to do the least of what his civic duty asks him to do. Report a sighting should they come this way, and stay out of trouble.

Or at least that’s his initial plan.

But then he sees a figure running down the street on foot. They’re too tall to be a child. All the neighborhood kids should be asleep by now, and most of the teens and adults are probably watching the news, awaiting more information on the Fakes’ most recent heist.

So who the fuck is this?

Alfredo leans over the porch railing, trying to get a better look. They’re doing a good job at dodging the patches of light illuminated by street lamps. It’s hard to make out any defining features, but whoever they are, they’re fuckin’ huge. A massive frame with broad shoulders that seems to be clutching a bag close to their chest. His fingers moving to wrap around the grip of the foam bat. They’re moving like they’ve stolen something, and he frowns. If someone stole something from one of his neighbors, then he’ll be damned if he lets them get away.

He’s Alfredo Diaz of the motherfucking neighborhood watch.

He stands up, bat in hand, and the figure freezes about a block away. They both stand stock still. He’s unsure as to whether or not the person can make out his figure. His porch light is dim, and there are trees and bushes in the way that might block the view. But even if they can’t see him, they’re not taking any chances. The movement of him standing was enough to get them to bolt. They cut in between two houses and starts booking it through the backyards.

“Oh no, you don’t,” Alfredo mutters. He leaps off his porch, breaking into a sprint. It doesn’t take him long to track down his target. While the yards offer more places to hide than the open streets, they also slow the thief down. Play structures, gardens, inflatable pools. There are a number of obstacles in the way. And although the thief is incredibly fit, hopping fences with ease, they’re in no way as familiar with the yards as Alfredo is.

He knows that the Smiths tend to leave their gate door unlocked, so he doesn’t have to leap over the pickets. And that the Robinsons have a tendency of leaving their hose lying about, a constant tripping hazard for anyone who dares trek through their backyard. He also knows that the Yungs and the Sanchezes have a garden tunnel connecting their yards. He uses that to cut the thief off.

He’s breathing heavily when he corners the person in the Yung’s yard. It’s a messy tackle, but he lunges at the person’s waist, and Jesus, they’re fucking solid. “No one escapes the neighborhood watch, bitch!” he yells. He’s not entirely sure what prompted him to say that, but it feels right in the moment. Been a while since he’s felt like a badass.

They fall to the ground in a pile of flailing limbs and pained grunts. It’s a good thing the Yung’s are on vacation right now. With all the commotion they’re making, he’s sure it would have woken them up.

They struggle, a fist making contact with Alfredo’s jaw hard enough he thinks a tooth might have been knocked loose. But he manages to pin the guy — and it is a guy — underneath him. Alfredo’s knee is pressed between the guy’s shoulder blades and he’s managed to pin his hands behind his back using the bat.

Now that he’s up close and personal, he’s got a better look of the guy. Long hair pulled back in a ponytail, leather jacket, black-and-white face paint streaking with sweat, and….fuck. This isn’t some punk thief stealing from his neighbors.

He’s got the Vagabond underneath him.

Were he any less disciplined or not as well trained, he might have let go out of pure shock. But he keeps bearing his weight down on the infamous criminal because if he doesn’t, odds are he won’t make it out of this alive.

The Vagabond struggles beneath him, kicking his legs and trying desperately to buck him off. He spits out threats, snarling like a feral animal. “Get the fuck off me,” and “Let me go and I’ll let you live,” and, eventually, “I’m going to fucking kill you.”

Alfredo’s heart is racing. It’s taking all his strength to keep the other man from breaking free. “Mister Vagabond,” he grunts, resisting a particularly strong wriggle. “On the authority of the neighborhood watch, I am placing you under citizen’s arrest for, uh— theft for sure.”

The Vagabond stills and turns his head. He glares at Alfredo from over his shoulder. “You’ve gotta be fucking kidding me.”

“I…No?” Alfredo responds.

Then the Vagabond smirks, and goes lax, no longer struggling against him. “Well, good luck with that,” he says.

Alfredo doesn’t have time to process just how bad that kind of reaction is when he feels the kiss of metal at the back of his head. He immediately lets go of the bat and brings his hands up.

“Anyone want to explain what the fuck is happening, here?” a feminine voice asks from behind.

He twists around slowly, swallowing thickly. A red-headed woman stands behind him. She doesn’t look angry, which he supposes is a good sign. Irritated, maybe. Definitely vaguely amused. She lifts an eyebrow pointedly at the Vagabond. “Well?”

The Vagabond slips out from beneath Alfredo. He grabs the bag and dusts himself off. “Neighborhood watch,” he says. He flashes a smug smile that sends a message, loud and clear: You’re fucked.

But the gun pressed to his head is lowered and the woman looks at the Vagabond incredulously. “Neighborhood watch?” she repeats, holstering her weapon and dragging a hand down her face. The Vagabond’s grin falters. “You escaped the LSPD but were caught by the neighborhood watch? Are you fucking serious?” The Vagabond opens his mouth to defend himself, but she cuts him off with a wave of her hand. “I don’t want to hear it. The car’s ‘round front. Go.”

Alfredo doesn’t think he’s ever seen anyone act so meek. It’s a strange look on the Vagabond. He watches him sulk his way around the house, and he hears the sound of a car door creaking open and slamming shut. The woman circles around him and sighs. She offers her hand and he hesitantly take it. “What’s you’re name, kid?” she says, pulling him to his feet.

It’s an awful idea to tell her his name. He knows it is. But she commands such a presence that he can’t help but answer.“D-Diaz,” he stammers.

“Diaz,” she repeats back at him. “Good name. You live around here, Diaz?”

He nods.

“You care about this neighborhood and the people living in it?”

He nods again.

“Good,” she says firmly. “Now, here’s what’s going to happen: You’re going to go home and get some rest. Then, tomorrow morning you’re going to make a few calls to some of your neighbors and ask if anyone saw what happened tonight. If they did, assure them that it was nothing to be concerned about. You will make no mentions of what you did or saw tonight to anyone. Not your neighbors, not the police, not even your mother. If you do, we’ll know, and we’ll have to do something about that. You don’t want us to do anything about that, do you?”

“No, ma’am,” he whispers hoarsely.

She looks at him gently and smiles, patting his cheek. “Good man. Now, get out of here.”

He stares at her in stunned silence, amazed that she’s just letting him go. Unless this is some sort of trick? But with a wave of her hand, he turns on his heel and books it out of there. He doesn’t stop until he reaches his front door, and it’s only then he thinks to look behind him to see if he’s been followed. A quick glance tells him he hasn’t. No cars linger conspicuously on the street, and he doesn’t see anyone lurking around.

But he doesn’t take any chances. He locks and bars the doors and double checks to make sure his windows are shut tight. Not that he’s sure a simple lock would be enough to stop the Fakes from getting to him if they really wanted to. But as the adrenaline wears off, exhaustion sets in, and his bed looks incredibly comfortable. Tucking a handgun under his pillow, he drifts into restless sleep.

He’s got a lot to do tomorrow.

* * *

A week later, a knock comes at his door. He answers it and sees the red-headed woman from before. Standing beside her is a tall man. It takes him a moment to recognize the guy without the face paint, but he realizes it’s the Vagabond. His blood runs cold. He fights the urge to slam the door on their faces. He can’t imagine that would go over well.

Instead, he forces a polite smile. “Can I help you?” he asks.

The woman looks to the Vagabond, who appears thoroughly displeased to be here. “My friend, Ryan, owes you an apology.”

The Vagabond — Ryan? — scowls and crosses his arms. “Sorry,” he says, not even bothering to look Alfredo in the eye. The woman elbows him in the ribs. “I’m sorry for threatening to kill you,” he amends.

Alfredo doesn’t buy it, not with the petulant and unapologetic look in his eyes, but he sure as hell isn’t going to reject it. “I…Sure. Whatever, dude. It’s all good.”

The woman pats Ryan on the back. “There. That wasn’t so hard, now was it?” she asks gently. Ryan flushes and grumbles something under his breath, but he nods slightly to appease her. Then she turns to Alfredo and holds out her hand. “I’m Jack, by the way.”

He takes it and gives it a weak shake. “I, uh…Alfredo.” he responds.

“I know,” she says. Because, yeah. Of course she does. She knows where he lives too. Fuck. “Can we come in?”

He freezes. His eyes dart around, quickly taking stock of who’s out and about. A handful of children are playing on the street, and a few people are walking their dogs. As much as he wants to shield innocent civilians from these criminals, he’s also not keen on being alone with them. Witnesses are good. Especially if he’s about to be kidnapped or murdered in broad daylight. “I’d rather you didn’t.”

Jack looks at him gently. “We’re not here to hurt you, Alfredo. This is a conversation you don’t want to have out in public.”

“Give me the highlights,” he says, hoping he sounds braver than he really feels. He was less afraid under enemy fire in the desert than he is now. “What’s this about?”

Her gaze flicks back over to Ryan, who’s shoulders nearly cover his ears in a full body pout. “You took down my friend with nothing but a toy baseball bat,” she says with a clandestine smile. “We have a job offer for you.”

[minuteminx]

Revolutionary

Pairing: Preston Garvey/ Female Sole Survivor

Summary: In the aftermath of personal tragedies, Preston and Charlie both seek to make a difference in the Commonwealth and those around them. They could never anticipate the impact that they will have on eachother in the process.

Chapter Five: Coast’s Clear

Chapter Summary:    Charlie doesn't know many things for certain since she woke up in the future, but one thing she does know is that she will never watch someone she loves die again. Not if there's something she can do about it.

[First Chapter]

[Previous Chapter]

[AO3 Link]

“For mad I may be, but I will never be convenient.”

― Jennifer Donnelly, Revolution

Quincy Ruins, June 2288

Charlie hadn’t lived in Massachusetts for long when the bombs fell.   She and Nate moved up from West Virginia in July of 2077, she’d gotten a position as a postdoctoral fellow in neuropsychology at Medford Memorial Hospital, more than a  little  excited to make use of her shiny new degree.  Shaun was born two months later.  After spending most of her life moving from place to place for her education, she was ready to settle down. She never made it that far.

Needless to say, she’d also never made it down to Quincy.  Though, at the moment, she desperately wished she had.

Preston had this way of looking at her sometimes when he thought she didn’t notice, a lingering glance over his shoulder, a careful observation of her face as if he expected to find some twinkle of pre-war nostalgia in her eyes when entering a new area, memories from a time when the air didn’t reek of sulfur and rotting flesh, and no one had to worry whether or not they’d be run out of their homes and mowed down by mercenary cults.  She could offer him no solace.  She could barely even look him in the eyes.

In more comfortable times over the past eight months since they had met, he simply asked her if she was familiar with locations or landmarks.  Once, he asked her if she had fought in the Battle of Bunker Hill, and she informed him that she was two hundred and thirty-seven years old, not well over five hundred.  His smile had wrinkled up his eyes that day as he laughed away the embarrassment.  Today, there were no stories to be told, no jokes or laughter, just Preston, Charlie, Amelia, a handful of other Minutemen and a large pile of ashes that used to have names.

“I don’t like this,” Charlie muttered, more to herself than anything.

She jumped when Preston replied, “Me neither.  Not one bit.”  

She hadn’t expected him to hear her, or even pay attention.  She could barely see his eyes from under the shadow cast by his hat, but she didn’t need to see to know that he wasn’t okay. He wasn’t one to wear the overwhelming grief he experienced on his face, anyway.  The last time they’d visited a Minutemen graveyard, as the Lexington Super Duper Mart had turned out to be, he had to excuse himself from a barricaded room filled with deceased members of the militia.  She found him in the feral-corpse littered hallway, green around the gills and sweating.  He didn’t have a weak stomach, but reminders of his loss seemed to impact him viscerally.  She wondered how he managed to keep his composure now, standing in the place where it all started.

She was drawn from her thoughts by a thunderous boom that left her ears ringing.  She hated that noise. Looking up towards the direction of the blast she saw a small, mushroom-cloud pouring up from a nearby building.  A fucking nuke. Hadn’t people learned a damn thing?

Charlie scanned the area for someone holding a Fat Man.  She’d been toe-to-toe with wielders of those atrocities enough times to know that she had to act, and fast.  Movement on the roof of the nearby church.  Just right if the belfry stood a large figure, someone in power armor, with the exact weapon.  Without another thought, she charged in his direction.  If she got close enough in range she could keep him from firing again.  He wouldn’t get another shot. Not if she had anything to do with it.

She tangled with very few Gunners on her way to the church, thankfully.  Most of them were distracted by the small militia that accompanied her.  A couple of grunts took shots at her once she made it inside, but they missed and she fired back, hitting each of them once.  She didn’t stop to make sure they were incapacitated.  There wasn’t time. She needed to get to the roof.

The stairs that led to the belfry were worn and rickety.  In less of a panic, she probably would have made her way up them gingerly, avoiding the obvious areas of dry rot.  Still, she managed to make it to the top without event.  She hoped the luck would stay on her side just a little bit longer.  She just needed to take out the Gunner with the Fat Man, or at least distract them long enough to protect the Minutemen. Her Minutemen.

“Hey,” Charlie shouted, pointing both of her pistols at the man loading a mini nuke into his gun, “Asshole!”

“What the--” he looked up from what he was doing just in time for her ballistic round to strike him between the eyes.

“Yes,” she said under her breath.  How had she gotten to the point where she felt relief at another person’s death?  Is this what the Commonwealth made of all its inhabitants?

She moved in closer to examine the man’s corpse, still standing erect in the power armor shell. A whole lot of good that did him. He was a relatively young man, mid-thirties, and she wondered if he had a family.  MacCready had been a Gunner once, he’d told her as they sat drinking whiskey in The Third Rail, bloodstained and bathed in red neon light.  It was a gig, a way of making money to support his young son when he had no better options.  What if this man had been just like him?  Charlie didn’t want to think about it.

Noting a fully loaded, modified laser pistol on the ground near the dead Gunner, she picked it up, discarding both of the 10mms in her hands.  They’d just been spares, and she was out of ammo anyway.  She also looted a stimpak and a good chunk of caps before standing up and adjusting her belt.  A loud crash of metal and puffing of hydraulics rose up from the street beneath her and she rushed to the edge of the roof, crouching to keep out of view.  

Preston. A more practical person would have noticed the handlebar mustache wearing the T60 first, the actual source of the commotion, but then again she never claimed to be practical.  Why was he alone?  Why hadn’t he fallen back to the gates with everyone else, where it was safe?  She’d run at a man shooting nukes to protect him and there he was out in the wide open, staring down who could only be the notorious traitor Clint, if the militia hat and sheer aura of son-of-a-bitch were any indication.  It was out of character for Preston to be so reckless.  Maybe he’d forgotten that was her job.

The two men spoke, but she was too far away to make out any of the conversation.  She’d never seen Preston look so visibly angry or shaken.  She needed to get to him before something bad happened, but she needed to be careful.  Frantically, she dug through her various pockets looking for one item in particular. Hoping, praying she still had it.

She smiled and let out a sigh of relief as she pulled the stealth boy from her satchel.  That Railroad operative, Deacon, had given it to her as a welcome gift when she’d agreed to help him out.  At the time, she’d shrugged it off as a passive aggressive commentary on her lack of discretion.  She’d have to thank him next time they crossed paths.

Charlie rushed back inside the church tower, and down the rickety steps as quickly as she could, flipping open the cap of the stealth boy and pressing the button as she did so.  By the time she reached the street, she was completely invisible.  Later, when she and Preston were safe and sound back at Sanctuary, she’d ask Sturges how it worked.

As she crept her way up behind Clint, the man reared back and punched Preston so forcefully it sent him flying into an old junked out Corvega parked nearby.  She brought her invisible hand to her invisible mouth to keep herself from gasping audibly.  As far as she knew, stealth boys weren’t sound proof.  She took some deep steadying breaths, ignoring the burn of tears in her eyes.  Now wasn’t the time to lose her shit.

Moving into position directly behind Clint, she noticed Preston’s eyes on her.  He must have noticed the movement in the air.  She lowered the stealth field, watching relief wash over his face as she smiled and drew her finger to her lips.  Clint would not take him away from her.  She wasn’t in a cryochamber this time, and she would not stand helplessly by and watch someone she loved die.  Never again.

“What’s so fucking funny,” she heard him ask Preston who was, despite it all, laughing.  

“Nothing man,” Preston answered, slurring his words in a way that made Charlie uneasy, “Nothing at all.”

She took that opportunity to fire, aiming her fancy new pistol at the legs of Clint’s power armor.  She had noticed that they were damaged as she moved in, knew it wouldn’t take much to disable them.  Sure enough, after a half-dozen or so shots, the T60’s leg’s locked up, forcing the man to jump out.  He turned in her direction as soon as he did so.

“You little bitch ,” he snapped, and christ, if Charlie didn’t hate being called a bitch.

He tried to raise his weapon and fire at her, but she’d already pulled the trigger, launching a blast of burning red energy into his chest, and filling her nostrils with the sterile scent of ozone.  She holstered her weapon and hovered over him for a minute, shaking her head.  “I’m not a bitch.”

Charlie then brought her eyes back up to Preston, where he sat leaned up against the car, worry tightening her chest.  It wasn’t a good sign that he hadn’t even tried to stand up yet, so unlike him to not make an attempt to brush off his injuries and press forward.  She ran over and knelt down in front of him, cupping his face in her hands and turning it to the left, then the right to check for any signs of external bleeding.  When she saw nothing more than a couple of superficial scrapes she brought up her pip boy and flashed a bright beam of light into each of his eyes.

Shit , she thought, but hid her worry behind a laugh as he flinched and squirmed away from the light.   Only one of his pupils had responded to the flash, which meant that he had a concussion at the very least.  She refused to entertain the other possibilities at the moment.  The tears she had held back just minutes earlier returned to her eyes, and she didn’t fight them this time.

“You’re okay,” she told him, kissing his forehead reflexively, “Looks like you might have a concussion, but you’re safe.  I’m here.”

He blinked up at her a few times, and she wished she could live up to that version of her that reflected in his eyes.  She wished desperately that she could be everything he needed her to be, but with Shaun, and the Institute, and--

“You’re really scary sometimes,” he interrupted her snowballing thoughts, a smirk twitching at the corners of his mouth, “You know that?”

She knew she shouldn’t take any of his concussed statements seriously, but an embarrassed laugh bubbled up from her chest, and she couldn’t hold his gaze.  “I’m sorry, I just… I’d just watched Clint knock you into the car, and he was about to kill you, and I just…”

She trailed off, internally chastising herself for failing to conjure up a coherent response.  She wasn’t even the one with the head injury.  A gentle tap, and tug at her chin guided her eyes back to Preston.  He let his hand linger where it was as his smirk turned into a full-on smile.

“No,” he said, laughing softly, and shaking his head, “It’s kinda hot.”

Heat rose to her face and she snorted gracelessly at his compliment.  She didn’t know how or what to feel, couldn’t put her finger on why his affection made her so overwhelmingly sad.  She shrugged it off and wiped a tear from her face. “Jesus, you hit your head harder than I thought.”

He didn’t respond, and his eyes fluttered closed instead, hand falling limply from her face.  Panic surged up into her chest and she leaned forward to catch him from falling over on his side.

“Preston,” she called out frantically, as she repositioned herself so that she could ease his head down onto her lap, removing his hat and setting it on the ground by her hip. “Preston?”

Again, no response.  “God damnit,” she snapped, slamming the side of her fist into the metal of the car door behind her, body finally giving into the sobs she’d been fighting, sobs that weren’t solely in response to present events.  She doubled over, knuckles turning white around the fabric of his duster she clenched in her fists.

“I’m sorry, Preston,” she whimpered, knowing he couldn’t hear her, knowing it didn’t matter because she would continue to let him down. “I’m so sorry.”

Charlie stiffened at the sound of footsteps, straightening up to see Amelia, her long brown hair flying out of it’s braid, followed by the others who’d accompanied them.  She found herself wishing MacCready was there, Codsworth, Sturges, anyone except the contingent of unfamiliar faces peering down at their commanding officer having a temper tantrum. Amelia glanced between Charlie and Preston, pretty blue eyes filled with concern.

“He’s okay,” Charlie explained, scrubbing tears away from her swollen face, “Just unconscious. He hit his head pretty bad.”

“What happened?”

“Clint-- at least I think that guy over there’s Clint-- hit Preston so hard he sent him flying into this,” Charlie pointed to the car behind her and watched as Amelia approached the body of the man Charlie’d just killed.

The woman frowned, shook her head, and kicked the corpse before returning to Charlie’s side. “That’s Clint alright, the bastard.”  She offered Charlie a reassuring smile, and then glanced down at Preston, “You got a stimpak on you, General?”

Charlie recalled the one she picked up from the Gunner she’d taken out.  She could have slapped herself for not thinking of it sooner.  She reached into one of the pouches on her belt and pulled it out, showing it to the other woman.  

“Perfect.  Let’s give it to Preston, just in case he’s more banged up than he looks.”  She took the syringe from Charlie’s shaking hand gently and removed the cap, and jammed it into Preston’s upper arm.  He jerked slightly at the pain, but didn’t stir.  Amelia continued speaking, “What do you say we have a couple of the boys move him someplace comfy?  There are some abandoned apartments up the street.”

“Yes.” Charlie nodded.  “What about the--”

“Coast’s clear.  Any of the Gunners we didn’t kill ran off.” Amelia smiled.  “Quincy’s ours again.”

[holylulusworld]

The date

Summary: To get hold of Brock Rumlow, his nemesis Steve Rogers is not holding back. He will cross lines if he has to, even if this means to use Brock’s sister to take him down.

Pairing: Cop!Steve Rogers x Reader, Brock Rumlow x Sister!Reader, Sam Wilson, Nick Fury, Wanda Maximoff, Pietro Maximoff, mentions of Bucky Barnes

Warnings: angst, undercover work, investigations, shy reader, flirting, lies, mentions of abandonment, mentions of drug abuse, angry Sam

Love Undercover Masterlist 

“What shall I wear?” Standing in front of your drawer you don’t know which outfit you shall choose to go out with an attractive man like Steve. “I am bad at dating, Wanda…” Whining you look over your shoulder.

“Your clothes are a nightmare for any fashionista, but I’ll find something for sure.” Getting up, Wanda pats the head of kitty before she stands in front of your clothes, clueless.

“Wanda?”

“Shit, Y/N. Only shirts, jeans and sneakers are in there. Do you have a skirt or top?” Rummaging in your drawer your friend curses, not able to find anything wearable for a, as she would call it, hot date.

“I want to have a coffee, not seduce Steve, okay. I don’t think he’s that into me…” Rubbing your arm nervously you look at the only dress you own. “How about the blue dress? It’s new…”

“It’s old-fashioned, I mean old…” Wanda mutters but you like the dress. You found it at the flea market, it’s from the ’40s, hugs your curves and reminds you of the pictures of your grand-grand-mother.

“I like it! This is the nicest piece of clothing I own…” Getting the dress out you look into the mirror. “I like blue too…”

“Fine, it looks good on you, Babe. Let me find the matching make-up and maybe heels…” Now Wanda opens her huge duffle bag to get make-up, heels, and everything she will need out.

“Why do you have three pairs of heels and stuff in your bag?” Laughing you watch Wanda’s features darken.

“You never know when your best friend calls for an emergency. Now have a shower and I’ll iron the dress and prepare everything else. You will rock this date for sure…”

Nervous, no beyond nervous you look in the mirror. The woman looking back doesn’t look like you. The dress hugs your curves, the heels let your legs look way longer and you like it, but the make-up is not your style.

“I’ll wear the heels and I like how you curled my hair but…” Grabbing a tissue you remove the red lipstick. “Less make-up, Wanda, this isn’t me. I shouldn’t look like I want to get laid or anything…”

“Gosh…doll…” Smirking Wanda uses the nickname Steve used. “I bet you dreamed of getting laid but Steve the whole three days.”

“No…” Flustered you glance at the woman in the mirror once again. “Less make-up, but I like the rest, Wanda…thank you.”

“Anytime, Babe. Now let me fix your make-up and hand you some condoms.” Giving Wanda a bitch face, you shake your head. “Come on, just do it with Mr. Hottie. He called you doll…”

“I don’t even know him, Wanda. I can’t just jump his bones or something. You know I am not like that.” Whining you glance at the condoms in Wanda’s hands before she stuffs them into your purse.

“I know, holy Y/N. Now shut your cute mouth and listen to me.” Taking your hand in her hands Wanda takes a deep breath. “Sometimes you meet a guy and you just know you want him to rail you into the mattress. Better safe than sorry.”

“WANDA!” Removing the condoms, you toss them at your friend. “I won’t have sex with him after knowing that guy for five minutes!”

“But…” Giving you a wink Wanda puts a condom back into your purse. “He saved your and kitty’s life, Babe. Who could ever compare with a hero saving your cute ass?”

“He saved me…” Feeling the heat creeping into your cheeks you giggle. “His hands were so strong, and he smelled so good. Manly…no musky or something. I wanted to sniff at him but this would’ve been weird, I guess….”

“Holy…you got it bad, Babe.” Smirking Wanda pats your cheek. “I bet he will pop your cherry soon enough.”

“WANDA MAXIMOFF!” Enouncing every letter, you point a finger at your friend.

“Just saying…”

----

“Steve, you can’t be serious! You want to go out with that poor girl and then what? Torture her between drinking coffee and giving her puppy dog eyes?” Sam is furiously gesturing with his hands. “I will call him, I swear.”

“You will not bug him right now! He still needs time to recover, Sam. This is the best way to get close to Brock Rumlow! If I pretend to like his sister, he might invite me to the inner circle or, she will give me information about her brother.”

Sam inhales sharply, not wanting to imagine what Steve has planned or which line he will cross to get what he wants.

“Steve, Director. Did you have a look at her file? Did you know she got shot shortly after Rumlow Sen. kicked her out?” Pointing at the picture in the folder Sam glares at Steve.

“Steve, you are my friend, my partner but I will not stand at the sideline and cheer for you while you abuse this girl. She went to enough shit in her young life!”

“This could all be a cover, Sam. Maybe Rumlow’s father wanted a doctor to take care of his men. She leaves the family, studies freely and comes back anytime he needs her to fix a wound.” Steve tries to reason with Sam, but his friend won’t have it.

“If you believe this sweet girl has anything to do with the mob, you are a lousy cop for sure. Steve you are blinded by rage and guilt. I know it should’ve been you going undercover and bring Rumlow down. Bucky jumped in as you were with Peggy at that time.”

Sam closes the files, shoving it toward his friend. “Before you hurt that girl and cross a line, you should have a close look at her file and the life she’s living.”

Tapping his fingers onto the folder Sam sighs. “Until you tell me that you won’t use her, I am out of this. I’ll take a few days off. I can’t believe you want to use her to get Rumlow. She means nothing to that bastard, you know that.”

Grabbing the door handle Sam looks over his shoulder, giving Steve a cracked smile.

“You desperately try to fix what happened to Bucky, but that’s impossible. All we can do is doing our job but not the way you want to do it. For me the bad guys are bad, the good guys are good. Sometimes we have shades of grey, but you, my friend will turn darker than black if you act like Rumlow…” The door slams shut behind Sam and for the first time, Steve doubts his plan.

“You should meet up with the girl, try to poke her a bit. Maybe she will tell you something useful, maybe not.” Fury glances at the information Sam gathered. “Wilson may be right, Steve. Keep it low. If she has no contact, leave her alone.”

“It’s only a coffee, Nick. I saved her life and she wanted to thank me.” Rubbing his bearded chin Steve remembers the way you felt against him. He can still smell your shampoo and his mind wanders to your hands on his chest. “I will not marry her to bring Rumlow down.”

“Good, that’s good.” Fury doesn’t like the way Steve stars at a picture of you. “We don’t need anyone suing us for seducing an innocent girl.”

“You look amazing, doll.” Steve can’t take his eyes off you. Wearing a dress looking straight as if you jumped out of a 40’s advertisement, matching heels and your hair in curls you look like you put a lot of effort into impressing him.

“I don’t know…” You are not as self-confident as the women Steve usually goes for. Flustered you tug at the seem of your dress, doubting your appearance.

“Wanda insisted I have to wear a dress on a date. I…I think I am overdressed…Sorry…”

“Never apologize for looking beautiful, Y/N. I mean…” Licking his lips Steve rakes his eyes over your body, admiring the swell of your breasts and the tiny scar at your left knee.

“I am bad at stuff like that. I only have one dress…” Shrugging you smile as Steve pulls the chair for you. “Thank you…”

“My pleasure…” Steve slowly doubts he can stay professional. He needs to remind himself this is an investigation, not a date with a pretty girl. “What do you want to drink?”

“Is tea okay? I am not into coffee that much…” Giggling you can see the look your savior gives you. “I didn’t want to tell you when you asked me for coffee…”

“Noted, doll. You don’t like coffee, but you like tea and cats…” Smirking Steve leans closer, brushing his fingertips over your hand on the table. “Anything else I need to know, Y/N?”

“Uh—I don’t know…” Wrinkling your forehead you don’t know if you can tell Steve you only have Wanda in your life. “I am a loner, I guess…” Rubbing your hand over your dress you try to calm your racing heart.

 Steve looks at you with those ocean blue eyes and you are sure Wanda was right. You will fall for him for sure …

“Loner? Such a lovely young lady?” Steve squeezes your hand and your breath hitches in your throat. “What about good friends…?”

“I only have Wanda. Her mom and mine were friends when we were little. After my mom died, I had no one left and Wanda’s mom, she offered me shelter.” Ashamed you dare not to meet Steve’s eyes. “I was grateful, but it was cramped for sure.”

“I see…I am sorry for your loss.” Nodding you give Steve a cracked smile. “My mom, she…gosh…” Rubbing your forehead nervously you glance at Steve.

“You can tell me anything, doll. I work as a social worker.” Steve starts lying to you the moment you opened up to him. He knows that you will tell him anything if you trust him enough.

“She loved me, but she loved drugs more…” Blurring out the truth you believe Steve will run for the hills now, instead, he takes your hand to kiss your knuckles softly.

“I tried to help her but my stepfather…he’s not a good man.” Sniffling you swallow hard. “Here I am babbling about my life.”

“That’s quite alright, Y/N. I like to listen to you. Maybe you want to tell me more, one day.” Steve waves at the waiter, knowing he shouldn’t push you right now. “Don’t hold back, Sweetie…”

“You are nice, Steve but I don’t want to bore you with my stories. How about you tell me something about you?” Blinking a few times Steve looks at your lips, licking his own before the spell gets broken by the waiter taking your orders.

“I am a simple boy from Brooklyn. Honestly, I hate that I had to leave it for work.” Nodding you lean closer, listening to Steve’s words. “Where are you originally from?”

“You will laugh…” Giggling you look around the café. “I would never laugh about you, Y/N.” Covering your hand Steve searches your face as you lean closer.

“Minnesota. A sleepy town called Biwabik.” Steve’s brows furrow. According to your file, you are born and raised in New York.

“Interesting.” Rubbing circles into your skin Steve searches your face for any kind of lie. “How was life in Biwabik?”

“I can’t remember, Steve. I was like three when mom moved to New York, dreaming of a career at the Broadway…and shit…” Covering your mouth with your hand you mumble an apology. “Sorry, I tend to curse while remembering my mom and our life…”

“Broadway…huh? She was an actress or a singer?” You picked Steve’s interest and he pushes your buttons to get more information. Anything he can use against Brock or find out more about you.

“Nah, she wanted to become a costume designer. She had talent, tho…” Watching the waiter place your orders you thank him before you clear your throat. “But before she had the chance, she caught the wrong man’s attention and…”

“Your stepfather?”

“I think that’s enough about past dreams and my mom’s life. How about I tell you about kitty?” Chuckling Steve hides he’s impatient to get to know more about what happened to your mother and your connection to the Rumlow’s but again…he needs to slow down.

“Right! How is the little furball?”

“I adopted her, Steve. She eats for two and …” Squealing you give Steve a wink. “I’ll be a mom soon…”

Steve chokes on his coffee, and his eyes immediately land on your stomach. His hopes shattered he takes his hand off yours. “You’re going to be a mom soon…”

“Yeah! According to the veterinarian, kitty is pregnant. I’ll have more than one kitten soon…” Smiling you take a bite of your cake and Steve nods, hiding the relive washing over him.

“Kitten…that’s great, Y/N. I am more a dog guy, but cats are cute.” Now you narrow your eyes, glaring at Steve.

“I think, we shouldn’t see each other again.” The words floating out of your mouth make Steve’s heart drop. For a moment he forgot this is all fake.

“If you can’t admit you love my kitty, you are not the right guy for me…oh…crap…” Hiding your face in your hands you curse yourself.

“Hmm…I like kitty, Y/N. Maybe I can visit her next time?” Next time, Steve said next time and your heart starts to flutter. “We could have dinner at this nice Italian restaurant I know in Brooklyn.”

Steve offered you his jacket as he walks you home. One arm slung around your shoulders he debates to see you again or just check if Sam was right about you.

But investigating your past with your help will be way easier…right? Lost in his thoughts he barely recognized you stopped in front of your apartment complex. Your look up at him, innocently and he can’t help himself.

Before his mind can stop him, he cups your cheek and presses his lips to yours. It’s the perfect kiss to you and you melt against Steve.

“Doll…I had fun. I’d like to see you again…”

“I’d like that too, Steve…” Shrugging his jacket of you smile one last time at him before you unlock the door. Like a gentleman Steve watches you close the door.

He can’t see you press your back against the door, sighing. You feel like you are walking on air and know for sure. You are falling hard for Steve and you don’t even know his surname…

Steve waits for a while, sending Fury a message while two pairs of eyes watch him slowly turn to enter his car.

“I want to know everything about that guy, like yesterday.” Brock clenches his jaw, slams his hands onto the steering wheel as he must watch Steve drive away while you look out of the window, smiling.

“We won’t get her back if she has a relationship and friends she can rely on.”

“All I can say is that she met him after work and that he saved her life. According to my sister, she’s head over heels for him, boss. Maybe it’s better this way…”

Gun pointed to his head Pietro falls silent. “I’ll try to find out more, boss but Wanda doesn’t know I work for you, she can never know…”

“We have a deal. Fulfill your part and I’ll keep my word…”

All works Tags

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Love Undercover Tags

@aubageddon91​​, @an-awkward-human-1​​, @the-soulofdevil​​, @s-t-r-i-k-e-us​​, @taylortheeshowpony​​, @captainchrisstan​

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@stuckys-whore​​, @notyourtypicalrose​​, @voltage-my2dlove​​, @thedoctorscamanion, @officialmarvelwhore​​, @randomgirlkensy​​, @juniorhuntersam​​, @lumar014​​, @doctorswife221b​​, @sister-winchesters99​​, @sweetkingdomstarlight-blog​​, @the-soulofdevil​​, @chonisberonica​​ , @redroomproperty​​, @natura1phenomenon​​, @chaoticfiretaconerd​​, @heartislubbingdubbing​​, @hhiggs​, @sea040561​​ , @midnightsilver16830​​, @rvgrsbrns​

Steve Rogers/Chris Evans Tags

@roonyxx​, @stylesismyhubs​, @multisuperfandom​, @mrspeacem1nusone​, @shadowcatsworld , @fallenoutofrose​, @rynabarnesrogers​, @denisemarieangelina​, @gabifernandessn​, @heyiamthatbitch​

[1zashreena1]

Emotional Spanking -8

18+, m/f, technically OCxDiego Jimenez [Power]

Summary: Princess has an emotional epiphany, a panic attack, a visitor, and a pleasant disciplinary action. In that order. 

WARNINGS: Ridiculous descriptions and ‘the code is more like guidelines’ outlook on grammar. Is it OOC if the character was given essentially zero development in canon???

SMUT. SPANKING. FEELS. the L word, previously completed kink negotiations, plus size woman+fit man, soft!Diego, immediately followed by hard!Diego, overwhelmed Princess, He Licks Everything, is a relationship happening??, literally no one knows, not even them

A/N:  Princess took on a life of her own and has essentially become an OC. There are infrequent mentions of her description (specifically as plus size) and her actual name in later pieces (its Bicki). She started as self-insert so she looks like me (plus size, white, short, blue eyes, curly hair). If that is not your thing, I totally understand. And do not feel obligated to read this, I will not be offended!

I’m not a fan of “plot” so be aware that most of this series is just meandering through their relationship, angst-fluff-smut whiplash style. But with dick jokes.

This piece is my baby.  My heart is in this one.  You have been warned.

TAGLIST: @chelsfic​​​ @symbiont13​​​ @nicke0115​​​ @bunnykjm​​​ @rosee-sensuelle​​​ @girlpornparadise​​​ @mandoplease​​​ @heresathreebee​​​ @xxsteph-enrixx​​​ @jetiikad​​​ @joalsglasses​​​ @mutantcookiesecrets​​​ @demoncatstone​​​ @squidlywiddly87​​​ @lockedoutofmyotherblog​​ @poeedamerons​

Whoever is banging on your door at 6:45 on a Monday morning is relentless. You know it's not your downstairs neighbors; the second floor apartment is still empty because your landlord is actually very sweet and doesn't just screen future tenants for ability to pay the rent, he tries to make sure they'll fit in with the current tenants too. And the little family on the first floor has that loud-ass two year old. There's no blabbery baby talk and the sound of the impact is damn near at the top of the door. So it's definitely Stranger Danger.

You're just going to wait it out. They have to give up at some point. And you've just spent three days ignoring literally everything in the universe, so really,  the odds are in your favor here.

Except… you live in a tiny little town. The population on the sign says 570, but they were being generous in counting all the farms within a 10 mile radius. No one comes to your door accidentally. People don't wander up three flights of exterior stairs on an old farmhouse in the middle of Pennsylvania Dutch Country while it's barely above freezing and still dark out. So there are two options:

Serial Killer.

Or, ugh, someone who knows you.

They're not stopping and it's starting to piss you off.

 "This better be a fucking murderer!" You mutter as you stomp to the door.  Impressive really, considering your pajama pants are over a foot too long and the apartment is carpeted. You reach the door and turn the deadbolt (banging still going on), unlock the doorknob (really, this is just excessive), and yank the door open with a war cry. 

"WHAT THE FUCK!"

Its Diego.

Its Diego looking... odd? You take a split second to catalogue his appearance, it's like a reflex at this point because you can't not ogle him every time his existence is within your range of sight. He's not wearing a belt?? His shirt is half untucked and his jacket extremely wrinkled. One side of his hair is completely flat, as if he slept on it, and his squinted eyes are very, very red. Like he just came off a three day bender. Or he's been crying, your traitorous brain oh so helpfully supplies.

Diego, frozen mid-bang, also takes this time to look you up and down. His eyebrows raise and his brow furrows, clearly not impressed. You're wearing the same pair of pajamas as the last three days. Mismatched socks (one is orange, the other neon green), the overly long drawstring punjammy pants with one cuff rolled up from your stomping, a shelf bra camisole that lost its ability to function as a bra sometime in the last decade, no make up, and your somehow greasy yet simultaneously frizzy floop of curls.

Softly, but with great feeling, he rasps, "What the fuck, Princess?"

Oh no, this is Not Good. This is so, very, incredibly, horrendously bad. Your right arm tenses in preparation to slam the door in his face. His left hand shoots out to land on the door, his arm taut to hold it motionless. He's keeping the door pinned to the wall so he can continue taking up all of the open space of the doorway with his massive body. You snarl silently at him but let go of the door because you know this is the one man who actually can physically overpower you. And you don't need a shattered door to match your shattered pride.

You aim for unbothered dismissive bitch when you ask, "What are you doing here?" 

You fail spectacularly when it comes out in a tremulous whisper. 

Instead of waiting for an answer you spin around and go left into the living/dining/kitchen largest-space-in-the-apartment all-purpose room. You collapse on your tiny sectional and tuck your feet up under you to sit cross legged. You can hear Diego slam the door and follow after you.  As he comes around the chaise of the sectional you reach behind yourself and grab the crocheted blanket your mom made off the back of the couch and desperately try to hide in it. All you want is to become invisible. Diego, of course, is not going to allow that. Asshole.

"What am I doing here? You have not answered anyone for three days! Not your normal phone, not the phone I gave you, not even a Facebook message from your mother! Your sister told Lisa that no one can reach you. Lisa called Julio! What have you been doing?? Clearly you have... gone nowhere…?"  His speech started off barking but had shrunk to down to a horrified whisper as he took in the state of your apartment.  Everything is everywhere.  There are dirty dishes on the breakfast bar. Hair bands scattered across every horizontal surface. A lone lip balm is abandoned on the floor among a sea of used tissues. 

--------

This is so not the woman he knows. There's no sarcastic snark of an answer. That woman would never leave something as important as a lip balm on the floor. Shit, she uses packing cubes for fuck's sake. As he kneels down to retrieve the tube of mint goop he hears it. The one sound that always makes him freeze up and opens a sinkhole in his belly: She's crying.

This unflappable woman who makes eye contact with all of his men, who never hesitates to lecture him on 'feminist theory', who gleefully stuffs an entire slice of pizza into her face while sitting in the VIP booth at the club with skinny models looking on in horror, and once called his bluff about putting on a show in the back of a limo by winking and telling Julio to watch them as she pushed him to his knees in front of her while simultaneously yanking up her miniskirt… is crying.

 And it's probably my fault. He's almost certain this is his fault. Who else could make her emotional like this? Is someone else important enough to be worth her tears? It had better be my fault. If it's someone else I will kill them.

He looks up to see she has wrapped herself entirely in that weird fuzzy blanket her mother somehow made. The whole blanket creation process had been a mystery to him despite listening to her mother explain it step by step. She even has it over her head like a hood. Which would be adorably hilarious if she weren't ugly crying. Ew, please stop.

It only takes two shuffling steps on his knees to reach her, the living room is so small. He wraps his hands entirely around her forearms and pulls her own hands from her face. How is she beautiful with snot running from her nose? Only for her to flinch backwards. Okay, ouch. 

"Look at me." He demands. She just scrunches her face harder. He tries a softer tone, "Please?"  That does it. Those bottomless eyes come up and they are so, so lagoon green rather than the normal deepest blue of the open sea. How does she do that?

"Tell me. Talk to me, Princess. Let me in." 

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

How does he do that? This large, intimidating, powerful, volatile man should not be able to make you feel safe of all things.  Blurting out your feelings to Lisa had been terrifying. Realizing what had just come out of your mouth had brought on a sense of fear so acute it was nauseating. But here you are, staring into that pleading chocolate gaze and wanting nothing more than to answer him. 

You can vividly remember the conversation that triggered this entire mess:

You came home from another insane weekend in New York and desperately needed to ruin your best friend's day with extremely detailed descriptions of your depravity. Lisa being Lisa, acted exaggeratedly horrified to hear that you demanded he fuck Franchesca in the bathroom so you could go down on her after to lick out his come while he then fingered you. Okay, maybe she wasn't  exaggerating… much. But she knows you. She was not surprised that you wanted to watch him rail Franchesca over a bathroom sink but he insisted on trying to choke you with his tongue while he did it. And she is not shocked that you licked Franchesca off in under two minutes-- or came for him just after. Lisa is still laughing about the finality of Diego's abrupt dismissal of Franchesca the second you come all over his hand when she tells you, "That asshole is a full on freak, girl. Perfect for you!" 

And the moment of your damnation, a soft sigh of an admission, "Yeah. I love him."

And you had removed yourself from all human contact for 3 days immediately following that. No social media, no phones, no internet. Nothing.

...so here you are.

His gigantic hands are wrapped around your forearms, fingers so long they overlap his thumbs. You're not afraid of those hands or their assumed capacity for violence. You should be; you know that, you're not stupid. Or maybe you are. After all, you trust this man who runs the most powerful fucking drug cartel in the western hemisphere and you've never even gotten a speeding ticket. While you've been lost in your musings, he released your forearms only to cup your face in those ridiculous hands. Those hands you love, you fucking dumbass. 

No other man has ever touched you like this. Never touched your face with reverence,  handled your body with an almost jealous possession, or ripped your heart open ever so gently with an earnest expression. He listens, enthralled, when you go off on a rant. He watches where you look while you're out and about. Like a hawk, he notices every shiny little thing you linger on, only for you to find it hidden in your luggage on the way home, wrapped neatly in a tiny box. You once told him that you don't like your elbows touched, it produces some weird overload sensation in your nervous system. And he never took your elbow in hand again, shifted to a hand on your lower back (or your ass, of course. Always a classic). He never seems to care what size is on the tag of the clothes he gets you, only that you like them and you like the way you look in them. He throws his head back with booming laughter when you scream obscenities at traffic. He always thanks you when you make food. Even if he does have to peel the cheese off… he just gives it back to you.

You may have gotten used to the private jet, the SUVs that cost more than your parent's house, the way every restaurant where he takes you has no prices, hell sometimes there isn't even a menu. You've even grown accustomed to the jarring dichotomy of coming home to an apartment the size of his penthouse bedroom while still dripping in precious stones and stuffing your new Louboutins in your purse for the three story climb.

But you're almost certain you will never be over the way your cardiovascular system seizes up when he captures you with a single look, or the functional failure of your lungs when his eyes crinkle with laugh lines, the complete implosion of your stomach when those damn dimples appear, or how your entire reproductive tract clenches with need when he licks his lips, and when your brain stutters to a halt because he lays those hands on your shoulders and swipes his thumbs up your jawline to stroke the pulse point under your ears while leaning his forehead on yours.

You realize you've just been staring at him like a moron for what must be for-fucking-ever. You can tell it's been a while because his eyebrows have lowered and he's starting to look a little defeated. You can feel the weight of his hands easing from your cheeks as he begins to pull back from you. Oh no you don't, you gorgeous fucking asshole.

You slap your hands down on his shoulders with entirely too much force and fling yourself off the couch directly into his lap with a level of violence usually reserved for people who won't put their phones away in a movie theater. He grunts with the sudden addition of your weight and teeters backwards for a second before smashing you into his body via the vise of his arms. You bury your face in his neck, where his stubbly beard catches on your stupid frizz, card your fingers through his amazingly soft hair, and start a whole new round of bawling. 

He's kissing the side of your neck, nuzzling into you like he wants to be inside your skin with you. His fingers are spread wide across your back, he's trying to touch as much of you as possible all at once. You can hear a soft, keening whine but you have no idea which one of you is making it. Does it even matter? 

The noise stops when you feel his teeth gently sink into the join of your neck and right shoulder. Oh. Guess it was him. His right hand dips low to palm your ass cheek and flatten you further against him. You automatically squeeze your legs around his hips in response.

You realize he's not hard. The shock of this revelation further delays you in understanding that someone is talking. And that someone is you. 

"Please please, I'm sorry, please." Hiccup. "Its never- I've never been. I'm scared. It's too much and I'm scared." Another sob. "You keep leaving and it's just. What i-i-i-if you don't come back?" A stuttering inhaled gasp. "Who am I w-w-w-without you? What do I do?" A coughing sob. "You m-m-m-make me weak like this and I fucking h-h-hate it!" And you dissolve into another round of wailing sobs. You know you're practically screaming but you can't seem to stop. Your left hand is clawed into his hair and your right is fisted in the collar of his jacket, ruining the Armani. You're fairly certain the mess of snot and drool leaking out of your face isn't doing any favors for his shirt either.

He's just… letting you. Just letting you ruin his stupid expensive clothes and have a meltdown all over him. Like this is okay. Like it's no big deal. His left hand is rubbing circles over your ribcage while you howl. He releases your neck to raise his chin and tuck you up underneath it. Rubbing his goatee over your hair, then kissing the top of your head so incredibly gently. That can't smell good, you think hysterically.

Your sobs are finally starting to ease but he hasn't made a move to let go yet. You start to wonder how long he's going to kneel here holding you. Can it be forever?

It finally registers that his breathing is rough, labored. His shoulders are shaking under you. Now you're legitimately frightened. 

"Diego?" You finally work up the nerve to speak. You hate the way your voice sounds like a small child. "...baby?"  He is slowly stiffening under you and not in the fun way. You start to pull your face back from his neck only for his left hand to shoot up into your hair and hold you in place. It's not painful but it's definitely not soft either. Your breathing is starting to speed up. You instinctively know something important is about to happen. And it terrifies you.

He is holding you so tight its bordering on painful when he finally speaks into your hair.

"Why. Tell me why you fear that I never return. You are not weak. And this is not hate." He uses the hand in your hair to pull your head back. You fight it at first, it's just your nature. Then you squeeze your eyes shut and let him move you like a ragdoll. With no vision you don't know what he's doing until you feel the press of his forehead against your own. He bumps his nose against yours then rubs his bristled cheek against your soft one. You realize he's rubbing you like a cat and it makes you smile ruefully. My Murder Panther.

With his lips pressed right to your ear, he rumbles ever so softly, "Tell Diego, Princess."

Your whole body seizes up with the sensation. Oh, you fucking bastard. You would say it aloud except the undercurrent of fear in his voice gives you pause. He's afraid. He's afraid of you. Of the possibility of your rejection. Just like in the kitchen when he blurted out that he wanted to keep you. The way he froze, paralyzed in fear, after he whispered that he loved you. It's the same soft, lost little boy voice, the slight tremble in tone, the uncertainty. 

And this time...this time, you can't take it. Tears slowly slip down your cheeks as you squeeze your eyes shut even tighter. You remember the night you met. His breathtaking smile when you turned the tables on him. Those damn dimples. When you felt the gun in the back of his pants. The moment you decided to do what you wanted and not what you should. Fuck it.

You press your own lips to his ear, his grip in your hair pliant enough to allow it. He's shaking under you. The fingers of his right hand are digging into your hip like claws, you find the pain grounding. Knowing that you're in control of this entire moment is both thrilling and terrifying. You could break him, right here and now. Fuck it.

And he would let you. This rich, powerful, enigmatic man who has already confessed his love to you. Fuck it.

"Diego.." You breathe into his cheek. He shudders under you and sighs out in a broken whimper. 

Fuck it.

"Diego… I love you."

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

There's a long moment that nothing happens. Everything is frozen in place. He doesn't even breathe for fear that he'll wake up from this, just like the dream from a few weeks ago.  When he does remember to inhale it's a raspy choke of a gasp. It hurts, he realizes. Is it supposed to hurt? 

His eyes are burning. Taking an immediate red eye flight from LA and then driving three hours to her place was probably not his best plan, but he had been terrified. He had needed to have her exactly where she is right now.

He loosens the grip in her hair and turns his face into hers to rub his wet lashes on her cheek. Her hands are coming forward to frame his jaw, hands so tiny and soft. He has refrained from saying it himself for fear of scaring her off. He knows its selfish and he doesn't care, he wants to hear it again. Over and over. Until it stops hurting.

"Diego?" Her voice is so soft, harsh from crying yet still so high. He opens his eyes to see that she still has hers closed. He slides his goatee over her skin until his lips hover over hers.

"Again." He murmurs, "Please, my princess. Tell me you will let me keep you."

‐-------------------------

This couldn't hurt more if he'd reached into your chest and snatched your heart with his bare hands. He sounds so small and hopeful, so vulnerable. Am I his first? The first person to love him?

You can't stand this man begging for your affection. You find yourself wanting to give him everything.  Your secret is already out; in for a penny in for a pound, right?

You take a deep breath and dive in head first because you're a fucking Scorpio, damnit.

"Diego, baby." You stroke his cheeks, petting down his stubble with the direction of the growth. Just like you would pet any other cat, you find yourself grinning. You open your eyes to see him so close its dizzying. His are shut but his expression is pure yearning, eyebrows drawn down and brow furrowed, jaw tensely solid, wet lashes stuck together in spiky pieces. "I love you." 

He chokes and his eyes snap open to meet yours. Now it's your turn to muck up the basic process of breathing. There's so much everything in his eyes you feel like you're drowning. Every fucking romance novel cliche was right.

"Again." He demands. In typical Diego fashion, he wants it and he wants it now. You can't help your smile growing wide. There's my Murder Panther.

"I love you." You maintain eye contact while leaning your forehead against his. "I love you." Its like you can't stop yourself. You brush your lips over his goatee, he chases you back to ghost a kiss on your lips. "I love you." Its just pouring out of you now.

"I-" Kiss.

"Love-" Kiss.

"You." Kiss. 

You expect him to keep kissing you. To slide that perfectly wicked tongue between your lips and drive you even further insane. But he doesn't. He pulls back to pant in your face, then closes his eyes and whimpers. You watch the play of emotions across his features, so quick you can't identify a single one. He finally gathers himself into some cohesive comprehensible thought and speaks:

"I dont. I have never. You have to, to do the...uhh… help?"

Or not.

You can hear so much in that soft rumble. Fear, relief, uncertainty, pleasure, hunger, but most of all, trust. He's trusting you. Trusting that you know what to do. Trusting that you can lead him on this new path. Trusting that you'll take care of him. This man who leads the largest criminal outfit on the continent and is intimidated by nothing, entrusts his being to you. It's like being stabbed in the heart, a searing pain that brings tears to your eyes and a painfully wide smile to your lips.

You slide the thumb of your right hand forward to swipe over his cheekbone. Your left hand goes back to stroke his hair. He nuzzles into your right hand, beard both soft and scratchy. Just like him, all contradictions.  You can see his lashes flutter and you open your mouth to speak but…

Wait a minute.

Seriously???

"Diego… Are you staring at my tits?"

He's not even remotely repentant. "They are just. Right There! And no bra!"

You throw your head back and laugh. You laugh so loud it hurts your throat and brings tears to your eyes. You laugh until you're gasping for air. When you finally open your eyes and look at him your heart tries to crawl up and out of you just to get to him. 

He's staring up at you, eyes wide with adoration and jaw hanging open in wonder. You bend forward to rest your forehead on his again. "You soft little Murder Panther." You don't even bother trying to hide your ridiculously pleased smirk.

His right hand slides up your hip to your lower back while the left lowers slowly from your hair to the back of your neck. His lips curl up at the corners. His gaze is still soft as he murmurs, "Only for you, my princess."

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

She's so soft in his arms. Relaxed and loose, trusting that he'll take her weight without buckling and keep her safe from falling. It makes his chest ache and his eyes burn. He raises his chin, bringing his lips to her, only she dives down for him at the same moment, colliding together just this side of too much, too fast. Always so eager, the thought makes him groan deeply. She shivers in response and whines, so high pitched it makes his ears ring.

She's curling her fingers in his hair, using the leverage to tilt his head to the angle she wants while he kisses her. He's rubbing his lips over hers, making sure to apply enough pressure that her fair skin will show the beard burn later. When he feels her left arm begin to tense he goes to draw back to look at her… only for her to yank on his hair. He yelps, and she seizes the opportunity to delve her tongue into his mouth. Holy fuck, she is perfect.

And then she's abruptly pulling back. No no no no no no! 

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

Like a slap upside the head, you suddenly remember that you haven't showered...for three days. Fuuuuuuuck.

"Wait, wait Diego, hold on-" In the time it takes you to whine those five words he's already moved on to your neck. His left hand is threaded back into your hair and holds tight close to your scalp to gently but steadily pull. Just how you like it.

"Uhhhhhhhhh wuhhh…" Oh yes, so eloquent. He's rubbing that fucking goatee everywhere and you're about fourteen seconds away from passing out. You put your hands on his shoulders and start to push him backwards. He growls in displeasure and you whimper. Okay, maybe a little more, your traitorous brain isn't even helping here. You try again, "Baby, baby. I haven't. Oh god, yes. Uhh huh. Wait, just, can you pause? Mmmmmm… Oh my god, Diego stop!" Apparently barking works.

He growls again but manages to disengage from tormenting your neck with one last long lick. Do not think about that tongue! 

"Fucking what?" He mutters, breathing hard. "I cannot have you? Now?" How very Diego. He's blinking at you in agitated confusion, pupils blown wide and flushed lips parted. His hand in your hair is shaking, the other has sunk back down to grip your ass very, very securely.

You can feel your face flushing with embarrassment. Your gaze darts off to the left, this is mortifying.  "I haven't showered in three days. I smell." When you finally manage to make eye contact again he's grinning. Oh no.

"Oh si, Princess. I can smell you." His tone is arrogant, but the thickening of his accent betrays just how aroused he really is. His left hand slides down to your butt, too. That grin is all teeth, Pure apex predator. 

"Yeah, that's what I me-yeeeeen!" He doesn't let you finish. Instead he slides both hands under you, where ass meets thigh, and picks you up to deposit you back onto the couch. You always squeal in delight when he picks you up, That is never gonna get old. The moment your weight is on the cushion he brings his hands forward and then around your inner thighs to spread your legs wide. Before you can even register what is happening he dives down into your lap, burying his face in your crotch and inhaling deeply. 

While your brain has stalled in shock (because Are you fucking serious?) your hips have decided this is a great idea and lurched forward to practically hump his face. His exhale is the longest, loudest, sexiest groan you have ever heard. Your hands fly to his hair, but instead of pushing away they are definitely holding him in place. He's rubbing his face against you, turning his head from side to side, moaning endlessly like he can't get enough. 

Your brain finally catches up and you abruptly cut off the whine that's been pouring out of you. You just have to open your mouth, "Are you fucking serious right now? You like that?!?" 

With one last hard rub of his face against you, (FUCK YES, rub that bearded chin on my clit) he pulls back to look up at you. And if you thought he looked aroused before, he is positively wrecked now. His eyes are slitted in pleasure, brows drawn together with need, jaw slack, mouth open and panting. He doesn't keep you waiting for an answer. "Well, not your normal sexy bakery scent. You smell like you but just, more. Damn delicious." He growls. 

Okay, two things: 

You file 'sexy bakery' away for later discussion because wtf, lol.

And. And he really means that. He's dead serious. He has a death grip on your inner thighs, his hands are like steel. As if he's afraid you'll try to push him away, to stop him. Fat fucking chance, babe.

You cup his face with both hands and smile softly down at him. In wondrous amazement you whisper, "Holy fuck, I love you." The transformation of his expression from blissfully needy to Horny Murder Panther is damn near instantaneous.

"Good. Now gimme this pussy!" He orders. 

You laugh, but your hands fly to the drawstring of your pants in obedience. He erupts into a flurry of actions, pulling his jacket off to dump it on the floor behind him. He only gets as far as unbuttoning the cuffs on his sleeves before giving up and just ripping the shirt up and over his head to join his jacket. The sight of solidly muscled chest rippling like that short circuits your brain. What were you even doing? Was it drooling? Its definitely drooling now. 

His hands come back to your thighs, fingers digging deep into your soft flesh. He yanks you forward until your ass is hanging off the couch. You snap back to awareness and start frantically pushing your pants down. He grabs the waistbands of both your pants and underwear and hauls the whole mess down your legs at what has to be record speed. Before you have a chance to do anything else he's burying his face into your pussy like a starving man. 

He uses his flattened tongue to give you a long, slow, torturous lick from the bottom of your entrance to your clit. Your back arches to mirror his movements while you sob in pleasure. Then he does it again. And again. Over and over in an endless loop of wet decadent friction. He grips the backs of your thighs, the heels of his palms brushing your ass while his thumbs are buried in the creases where leg becomes hip. He pushes your legs back more yet, widening you further and practically folding you in half. You can't even bring yourself to be worried about how your squishy stomach compresses into rolls. Diego certainly doesn't care.

He changes tactics to latch onto your clit. Sealing his lips around you, he alternates between hard suction and softly sliding his tongue up under your hood to drive you mad. The direct pressure is almost too much, you whimper and squirm after only a few rounds of this. He leaves off and you think you're catching a break to breathe. You are so, so wrong.

He goes lower to literally lick you from bottom to top.

With a shriek, both of your hands fly to his head. "Holy fuck. Oh my god, oh my god. Baby. You. Oh god. Baby, fuck yessss… " What started out as some kind of blasphemous incantation ends in you hissing with unadulterated sin. He moans against you in response but doesn't stop. The incessant long strokes of his tongue have you closer to orgasm faster than you can ever remember it happening before. Your legs are shaking and tears are pouring from your eyes. You reach your right hand down to touch his left where he's holding your thigh, needing something, anything, to ground you. And he laces his fingers with yours. 

Your heart clenches. "Diego…" you whisper for him, sobbing from the intensity of everything. With a choppy groan he refocuses on your clit, ferociously determined. Your entire abdomen is tense, you're wound too tight. He presses his flattened tongue against you even harder, shortening his strokes just to cover your clit. It feels infinite, you can't tell where one lick ends and the next begins. Just constant, unyielding pleasure. It's too much, holy fuck it's too much, never stop.

Everything clicks into clear focus. Your pussy compresses tight on nothing, and then you snap. Your whole body seizes up with your orgasm. For one long, terrifying moment your heart pauses and your breathing stops. It all comes crashing back together and you suck in a lungful of air with a choking sob. Waves of agonizing pleasure wash over you, your body shuddering with each one. He's still pressing that incredible, miraculous, entirely evil tongue to your clit. Holding fast and drawing your climax out as long as possible. Growling against you with heavenly vibration. As the rounds of your clenching cunt ease in both intensity and frequency he slowly slides up and off of you. 

He rests his sweaty forehead against the inside of your right thigh, panting so hard his breath is hitting you with almost physical force. You pry your right hand off your own thigh, keep your fingers laced together, and bring his hand up to your chest where you lay it over your heart.

You keep your eyes closed while you brokenly cry. "I love you, Diego."

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

His right hand snakes up your body to slide around the back of your neck. He's pulling you forward, sitting you upright. His left hand slides back down to your hip where he grips you tightly and pulls toward him simultaneously. Your eyes pop open when you feel like you're going to fall off the couch. 

Diego scoops you back into his lap with your momentum and proceeds to just stand up. You yelp in surprise as your arms shoot around his neck to hold on. It takes a second to realize that you're essentially just sitting on his left forearm, his right hand is still gripping the back of your neck tightly. You moan in pure arousal, hiding your face against his shoulder. The fact that he just tosses you around like a ragdoll is so mind-meltingly hot. The sheer bulk and breadth of him never ceases to render you speechless. There's just so much Diego that he blocks out everything else. Its overwhelming in every sense. Let me just drown in Diego.

By the time you've contemplated your fate, bodice-ripper romance novel style, he's made it halfway down the hall to your bedroom. You tuck your legs tighter around his torso, the hallways in an old farmhouse aren't exactly spacious, and he purrs against you in response. Your body's physical reaction is so strong that you choke. Is there anything about this man that does not turn me on? 

He makes it to your bedroom without incident (a miracle, really, considering it looks like a bomb went off in your apartment) and deposits you on the bed. He's been so incredibly gentle with those huge hands that it takes you by surprise when he firmly grasps your jaw and growls at you. "Look at me."

You swallow, hard, and open your eyes. He's staring at you so intensely, his gaze unreadable. He uses his grip on you to slowly push you down onto your back. You don't even try to fight it. You're not sure what he's doing but it's very clear that he needs to do it. He squeezes your jaw with purpose and you blink up at him in confusion. He cocks his head and regards you like… well, like prey.

It's been a long time since he has made you nervous like this.

He finally releases your jaw to slide his hand down your throat and rest it over your pounding heart. He pulls the neckline of your camisole away from your body then allows it to softly snap back against you. "Take this off." His growl is quiet, but it still sets off alarm bells in some primal part of your brain. He sees the hesitation in your eyes and barks out, "Now!"

You whip the top off over your head before he loses any more patience and rips it off of you in shreds. His hand is back on your jaw, ensuring you look nowhere but at him. His breathing is harsh, you can see a muscle tic in his left cheek, and his eyes are wild. Feral, you shiver with the thought. "Stay, Princess." He orders softly and releases his hold on you. 

You don't dare move.

He straightens back upright and his hands go to his pants. You have a brief moment of hysteria, Have fun getting those impeccably tailored pants over that massive cock, but you manage to stifle the thought and keep your expression steady. He's toeing off his shoes while undoing the button, then pulling the zipper down. You watch his hands in fascination. It's an obsession you have no plans of shaking. He manages to get the pants over his hips with no problems, a complete lack of underwear always expedites the process. 

He moves to climb on the bed and you spread your legs for him like a reflex. This man has had a profound effect on you. Before you get too far he throws his left leg over both of yours, straddling you and effectively immobilizing you. You reach up for him as he plants his elbows just outside of yours and cups your face in those hands you so adore. Your own hands land on his shoulders and he allows it, for now. You try to urge him down on top of you, but he's not budging. You want to touch more, feel all of him, but he's just looming over you to block out the rest of existence.

His hands are like iron, caging you in to bend you to his will. His eyes search your face, you have no idea what he's seeking. Finally, he rumbles down at you, "Do you know what you did?"

The question is soft, dangerously so. You can feel yourself starting to shake. You have a sneaking suspicion that there is no right answer so you just shake your head in a 'no'. He cocks his head again and you find yourself blinking rapidly. His eye twitches when he finally answers, "You scared me."

You're shocked. Never in a million years would you have expected this man to straightforwardly admit fear. He leans in close to your face and your breathing hitches. "I'm sorry." You whimper. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to. I never meant to scare you." You don't even recognize your own voice. Its small, plaintive and timid. 

He moves back upright and kneels over you. His expression is only becoming more fierce. You start to draw your legs out from under him, curling up some, instinctively seeking to protect yourself. "You didn't mean to?" He rumbles incredulously. His eyebrows are rising and you can feel actual anger radiating off of him. 

He snaps, "You didn't mean for me to drop everything I was doing?" And faster than you can comprehend his right hand comes down on the outside of your left thigh. The sharp sound of the slap echoes in your tiny room. Your jaw drops in shock, then the pain blooms out from the point of impact. You look from his face to his hand, then back again. "Diego, I--"

"You didn't mean for me to cancel two drop receivements and a business meeting?" His hand comes down again, but you're already moving. You try to turn away, rolling your legs to the right. His hand lands on your left hip, fingers long enough to catch the outside of your cheek. You shriek and start trying to escape in earnest. His left hand shoots down and grabs both of your wrists, stopping you from pulling yourself away from him. "Diego! Wait, I don't--" 

He clamps his legs around yours and uses your momentum against you to turn your hips entirely to the side. He has both your wrists pinned down in a bruising grip. Your shoulders are flat on the bed, there's nowhere you can hide your face. "No! I'm sorry, I didn't mean to cause--"

"You didn't mean for me to take an immediate flight across the entire country?" This time the slap lands fully on your ass. And it hurts. You yelp as tears spill over your cheeks. "No! I'm sorry! Please--"

"You didn't mean for me to drive two hours from the airport after I've been awake for almost two days?" His volume has risen, he's practically yelling. His hand comes down again, lower this time to catch the bottom of your cheek, where it becomes the tender skin of thigh. "I'm sorry! I'm sorry! No I didn't--"

"You didn't mean for me to find you here like this? Having some sort of tantrum like a child?" He roars. This time there are three slaps, one right after the next, all landing in the same spot. Your shrieks are coming out in stutters, interspersed with gasping inhalations. "No! No no no! I'm sorry! I'm sorry Diego! I'm sorry!" You're sobbing with it, choking on humiliation. You can't hide your face, there's nowhere to run from this.

"Or you didn't mean for me to find out that you cared? Huh? That you love me!" His voice cracks over the sound of his near constant strikes. You're wailing in tears, "Yes! Yes! Okay! Damnit Diego, I'm sorry! I was afraid! I'm sorry! I'm so sorry…" you dissolve into incoherence. 

He releases your wrists and grabs your face again. You try to push him away, but you're too weak. "Look at me! Look at me, Bicki!" he hisses. You shake your head no. "Mirame, Princesa! Please, please." His voice is hoarse, dripping with fear and desperation. You open your eyes to find him right in your face. His expression is twisted up with pain and desire. "You cannot do this! I have to know you are safe! Protected! Let me keep you!" 

It suddenly dawns on you what he means with 'keep'. He wants to protect you yes, but what he really means is 'have' you. Present in his life. At his side. Your heart in his keeping.

His hands are stroking you, over your hair, down your arms. He grips your hands tightly, bringing them up to his face. You hold onto him, your only constant in this. "Diego.." you hiccup. Then, with no warning and no conscious command on your part, you slap him. Hard. 

You're both frozen in place, equally shocked. Staring at each other in escalating tension. You sniffle and it launches him into action.

He grabs your left hip in a bruising grip, pushing your leg to your chest, pulling it out from under him so he can get between your thighs. You frantically claw at his shoulders, his biceps, anything to pull him closer. You need him. Right now. You need him so deep inside you that you don't know where he ends and you begin. 

He slides home in one powerful thrust. Your whole back arches and you grimace in excruciating ecstasy. The stretch of it burns, it hurts so perfectly. His left hand is wrapped around your left thigh, holding you open for him, his right on your left shoulder, keeping you steady and still for him to bottom out. He stays there, grinding his cock into you as far as possible. Still trying to push the last few inches into you. Your vision blacks out and you scream yourself hoarse with your orgasm. 

When you come back to awareness he's kissing all over your face, murmuring your name. You turn your face to his, seeking. He fits his lips over yours and you both moan. You pet over his shoulders, reach back up to tug on his hair.

He starts a steady rhythm of long, slow strokes. You can feel every damn inch of him and it's so incredibly, deliriously good. You open your mouth to him and he deepens the kiss, tongue moving to match his hips. He tastes like you. All you can smell is his cologne, underscored by pure lustful male. This is indescribable. Each and every one of your senses is nothing but Diego.

His right hand glides down to cup your breast, hefting the weight of it and rubbing his thumb over your nipple. You break off the kiss to throw your head back, whining in pleasure. His lips trail down your neck, beard leaving fire in his wake. He laves his tongue over your nipple before latching on and suckling. You can feel another orgasm approaching, and so can he.

"That's it, Princess. Come for me. Show Diego what a good girl you are." His hoarse voice and soft commands push you right over the edge. You're rippling down around him, sobbing and nodding. Yes, yes, your perfect little princess. 

He picks up the pace, the force of his thrusts rocking the bed into the wall with a steady banging. You can't seem to care. You're whining and pleading, "I'm sorry, please please. Yes baby, yesyesyesyesss…" 

"I know," he coos softly to you. "You are so very sorry, aren't you?" You're nodding desperately in agreement. "Will you do this again? Huh?" You shake your head 'no' so fast it makes you dizzy. His words would be condescending if his tone wasn't so very emotional. It's okay. You need him to vocalize what you can't. And he knows it. He knows you.

He pushes your left leg out to the side, sliding his right hand up your thigh to grip your hip. His left hand travels down your back between you and the bed. Through nothing but raw power he lifts your wide hips and rotates you so you're flat on your back and fully open to him. You keen at the show of strength, just like he knew you would. 

"Are you going to be a good little Princess for Diego?"  When you don't answer he pulls back and stops. Your eyes snap open and you whimper in desperation. He's watching you, waiting. His brows are drawn together in concentration and his jaw is set tight. Those beautiful brown eyes are nearly black with hunger. He digs his nails into your hips while he waits. 

You struggle with gathering enough oxygen before you can answer, "Yes, yes I'll be good. Be good for you, I promise!" You aren't sure who is in control of your mouth right now. You don't feel like you have any control. He rewards you by filling you up completely. Your eyes roll back into your head, taking all of him at once always steals your breath. 

He stays fully sheathed and leans over you. Bringing your knees up to your shoulders and his face to yours, he takes your lips under his. You sob into his mouth, you can feel the head of him pressing against your cervix. He nips your bottom lip then swipes his tongue over the sting. "Does my princess want this? Does she want Diego to keep her?" 

You cling to his shoulders. Closing your eyes in chagrin, you nod. He keeps his face pressed to yours. "Tell Diego. I need to hear it!" He hisses. 

"Yes. Want you to keep me. Please." you whisper, broken and needing.  He rears back and starts a frantic pace. His thrusts are short and brutal, stabbing directly into the core of you. You can do nothing but howl in pleasure and take it. Your spasms around him are nearly constant, one after another you come in rolling waves. You're begging, or cursing, hell, you have no idea what's coming out of your mouth at this point. 

He brings the weight of his torso down on you, crushing you into the bed. "Come! Come now! Come, my princess, come for your Diego!" His words are a command, but his voice is begging.

You're bawling again. "Yes, yesyesyes. Diego, Diego pleeeeease!" You have no idea if he can understand you. You're pretty sure only dogs could hear that. "Please Please please please please, baby. Please. Need you. I love you!"

He buries his face in your hair and drops your legs in favor of engulfing your shoulders in his embrace. You wrap your legs around his hips, you have to keep him as close to you as possible. Your arms snake around his torso, squeezing tight to bring your chest up against his. He's grunting, his thrusts becoming erratic. 

Then you hear him. His voice is quiet, words pleading, "Come. Let me keep you. Please, please. C-come. Princess, need you. Come home with me!" You nod tightly, sobbing silently as he freezes up in orgasm. He chokes out a groan, then collapses on top of you. You welcome the weight of him. He nuzzles into your neck, tickling you with beard and a big sigh. "Love you."

It hurts. It hurts deep in your chest. You hope it never stops hurting like this.

He retreats out of you, faster than you would like. You're pretty sure he forgets just how large he is. You feel wrung out, stretched out of shape and hollow. He pulls his right arm out from under you and rolls off to flop face-up on your right side. His left arm is still trapped under your back. Do you care that it's lumpy and uncomfortable? Nah. You unearth your right leg from under both of his and he makes a whiny huff about it.

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

He's struggling to catch his breath. He didn't mean for things to get so… out of hand. So to speak. She always does this to him. She withholds her more serious emotions and it drives him crazy. She never makes a fuss about his responses, never freaks out when he shows her affection, never gasps in shock when he gives her his ultimate deference. She acts like she has no deep feelings for him and it makes him want to beat it out of her. Apparently that is the correct method.

Her body is relaxed and casual on his arm. But he's greedy and doesn't want her to seal off all those delectably vulnerable emotions she just displayed. Soft, pliant, obedient, needy Princess is his new favorite.

He rolls her into his side with his trapped left hand while rumbling softly, "Come here." And she does. She snuggles into his side willingly and it makes him feel so soft that it's disgusting. Or maybe that's the guilt. She didn't agree to the spanking before hand. She didn't even know it was coming. Honestly, neither had he. His next thought feels like a stab to the lungs. What if she is afraid of me now? Did I hurt her? This is disgustingly emotional.

"Princess?" She sighs a soft 'Mmmm' in answer. She burrows into the coarse hair and soft skin of his underarm. Is, is she sniffing me?? He decides that ignoring her utterly adorable weirdness and addressing the ceiling is his safest option at this point. "Are… are you hurt? Did I hurt you?" 

Her left hand freezes on his chest. Her face slowly creeps into his field of vision from the bottom left corner. Her expression is… mystifying. He keeps his head still but moves his eyes to his peripheral vision to squint at her in concerned concentration.

Slowly, ever so slowly, her lips curve up in an absolutely evil grin. That damn left eyebrow arches imperiously and he is completely certain that she will be the death of him.

"Did you hear me use the safeword?"

[green-eyed-whumpster]

My OC Universe: Rowan 61

Chapter 61 Summary: Rowan really badly wants to stay with Cordelia now that he knew she would protect him. Except, Cordelia isn’t really made for babysitting (I know it’s a mean term but come on, it’s kind of accurate.).   (Taggerines: @just-a-whumping-racoon-with-wifi, @much-ado-about-whumping, @abitefullofeverything, @whump-me-all-night-long, @sky-or-something-idfk and @tears-and-lilies)

Trigger Warning: Mean bitches, threats.

The gentle rocking of the horse and the warmth and comfort coming from Cordelia’s body protecting him allowed Rowan to relax, watching through hooded eyes as the manicured lawn and tessellated stone road fell away to uneven cobblestones, brick and thatch houses, and the hustle of a highly saturated society.

It had been so long since Rowan was close to the average lifestyle that it felt like a dream, seeing people walking in the street, some mobile vendors selling small trinkets or snacks, the sound of pleasantly idle chatter and shop owners promoting their business, the smell of meals being made and smoke wafting from the chimneys. Such insignificant, thoughtless actions that these people underwent every day, and Rowan admired them so for it. The parent taking their child to the market, or the group of young teenagers, taking the washing to the well. It was a blissful life, even if they didn’t realise. “How are you going?” Cordelia’s voice brought him from his trance and he looked up weakly to try and catch a glance at her face. “I’m fine. I’m actually better than fine,” He whispered, closing his eyes for a moment. “I-I’m so happy,” She smiled slightly, her hand on his back tightening comfortingly as she guided the horse through the busy streets. “That’s good,” She sighed. “I’m so glad I’ve finally gotten you out of there.” He grumbled softly in reply. “We’ll be there soon,” She said softly. “I can see the wharf,” Rowan looked up excitedly and strained his eyes to try and catch the landmark that had just disappeared from view. “Have you never been to the ocean?” She asked, watching his head crane on his thin neck to try and glimpse the sea. “I’ve only ever seen it from William’s balconies!” He answered, twisting his spine unnaturally far as he leant with the curve of the road. “You did a good job, then, I spent a week scoping out the castle for secret passages and hidden rooms and I couldn’t find a view clear enough to the sea.” She replied and Rowan hesitated, casting his eyes down slightly as he shrugged. “William had a secret room where he…he kept…he called them toys –“ “You don’t need to tell me,” Cordelia interrupted, stroking his back gently. “There was a room, that’s all I need to know.” “I would sneak up there sometimes because there was a tiny balcony jutting over the wall. It was the highest point in the castle.” He said anyway. “The doorway was behind a tapestry in his room, which is probably why you couldn’t find it.” The sound of civilisation grew louder as they reached the community of the docks. 

Taverns roaring with brawlers, or singing, or sailors telling tall stories, street-side shops, selling the day’s catch, traders loading their wares onto ships for international selling or into carts for whoever would buy it in the city. The smell of salt and damp wood perforated Rowan’s nose and it wrinkled slightly at the unfamiliar and acrid scent. “What’s that sound?” He asked suddenly as his head whipped around. “It sounds like thunder!” Cordelia’s face relaxed and she smiled. “It’s the waves,” She said calmly, bringing the horse close to the edge of the dock as Rowan looked over, seeing the turquoise water lap at the platform. “Tha-that’s the ocean?” He asked and she nodded, pulling the horse to stop and looked at him carefully. “I’m going to climb off, now,” She said, soothing him as his face dropped. “I’ll hold onto the horse,” She promised, letting his hands clutch around the one she held to him. “But I’ll need to be more mobile when we reach Marie’s ship. Don’t worry, just do your best to hold still and I’ll be off before you know it.” He nodded weakly and she unhooked his legs from hers, placing one over his to rest in the stirrup, sliding over the back of the horse’s hind to land on the ground. He whimpered as the beast shifted in response and quieted as soon as he felt Cordelia’s hand on him. “Now,” She placed her hands on either end of the saddle and looked up at Rowan. “Carefully swivel around and we can keep going.” He swallowed nervously and she lifted a hand to rest on his hand. “Just take it slow,” She soothed. “I’ll catch you if you fall.” He groaned uncomfortably as he lifted his leg to shift on the unstable creature. 

Cordelia waited patiently as he inched around, trying desperately to stifle his whimpers to try and save what little pride he could have when surrounded by strangers. “Your wife need any help?” A man twice Cordelia’s breadth and a head taller mocked just as Rowan settled, facing the front of the horse. “Your boyfriend like it when you talk to people that way?” She spat back without hesitation, jutting her chin to a man similar in size beside the first one. “Why you little –“ He was silenced by the needle-like tip of a blade resting between his collarbones, the dip of skin showing that she was applying just enough pressure to prove to him its danger. “Next time you wanna prove your toxic masculinity, try proving it to the mermaids.” She pressed a little harder and he stepped back. “Get lost. And hope I don’t find you when my ‘wife’ isn’t here to stop me from killing you both.” The pair disappeared into the crowd and she turned back to Rowan, sheathing the knife in its scabbard by her belt. “Are you all right?” She asked and he nodded weakly, swallowing the terror that swelled in his chest at the threat of danger. “Good,” She said softly, taking the reins for the horse. “Not too far, we can get you a bed and something to eat soon.” He nodded softly, but his attention was on the large body of water splashing over the posts slick with algae and studded with barnacles. Rowan jumped when the horse suddenly stopped and turned to look at Cordelia as she wrapped the reins around a railing. “Please…” He swallowed his whimper and wrung his hands together, purposefully avoiding Cordelia’s gaze as he realised he didn’t want to ask any more of her than he had to. “What’s wrong?” She asked anyway, reaching a hand up to gently tilt his head back in her direction. “Nothing,” He murmured and she raised an eyebrow. “Rowan, tell me what’s wrong,” She demanded gently. She wouldn’t hurt him if he didn’t, but she didn’t want to spend the next week with Rowan hiding his feelings while she’s trying to help him. “Whatever you ask, I may or may not be able to provide it, but it’s better that you try and communicate what you want purely so you relearn that it’s all right to want things.” Rowan swallowed as his instincts told him to remain quiet, but still formed his sentence as his desire to please won out. “I-I’m afraid of being left alone,” He admitted quietly and she nodded understandingly, fingers lingering on his thigh as she considered how to combat his fear. “Of course,” She muttered, eyes scanning the boat rocking in the ocean as if her solution would jump out at her. Surprisingly it did. Rowan yelped as she called out to the ship, her voice carrying over the soft breeze to catch a sailor’s attention. “I won’t leave you for long,” She promised, her voice much softer now. “Once I’ve organised my personal things then I’ll take you to an inn.” Rowan nodded softly, whining softly as the horse shifted idly. “This is Jack,” She said, drawing his attention from the beast to the man approaching them. “He’ll keep you company,” Rowan didn’t want to be left alone with a random stranger. He didn’t want to be separated from Cordelia, full stop. “I’ll be back as soon as I can,” She promised. “I’ll keep him safe,” Jack assured her before she ran down the dock towards the gangplank. 

“So, how did you come to be in contact with our delightful Cordelia?” Jack asked, attempting to begin a conversation with the skittish creature. “We have a friend in common,” Rowan whispered, hands clutching the saddle until his knuckles went white. “That hunter in the middle of the forest?” Jack continued, unperturbed by the boy’s discomfort. “Heard he’s quite a shot with a bow,” “I wouldn’t know.” Rowan answered softly. “Where are you going?” “To Peter’s.” “You don’t have any luggage?” “No.” The pair sat in silence for a while after that. Jack realised that Rowan wasn’t interested in conversation. And Rowan appreciated it. He tried to quiet his fear every time the horse shifted side to side or tossed its head in exasperation, but without Cordelia’s soothing, it was harder to remain calm when the horse continued to fidget. “It’s all right,” Jack said, breaking the silence for a moment. “He’s just bored,” Rowan didn’t particularly care about the motivation behind the horse’s behaviour, he just wanted it to stop. “You’re not fond of horses, are you?” Rowan felt the twitch in the corner of his eyes as the repressed urge to roll them broke through his well-trained psyche. “No,” He murmured. “Would you be interested in telling me why?” Jack asked, running his hands down the horse’s neck, soothing it slightly. “I-I just don’t trust them,” Rowan whispered. “I don’t know how to ride.” It was easier to say that than to admit the truth. “It’ll be all right,” Jack soothed gently. “It probably doesn’t help, but try not to fidget, they can sense if you’re anxious and they won’t behave themselves,” Rowan swallowed nervously and nodded, willing himself to release the saddle so the horse wouldn’t keep fidgeting. “You’ve got quite a shiner,” Jack said as Rowan finally loosened his grip on the smooth leather. “Cordelia didn’t do that, did she?” Rowan shook his head quickly and lifted a hand to cover it. “No! No, of course she didn’t!” He exclaimed and prodded it softly, instinctively. “I-I was kicked.” “Oof, the bastard got you while you were down, eh?” If only you knew who you were referring to. “H-he did,” Rowan was overjoyed to see Cordelia jogging towards them, a single satchel thrown over her shoulder. “All right,” She panted as she came alongside Rowan and looked up at him. “I’ve arranged for everything to be packed up for me so we’ll be good from tomorrow,” She explained and he nodded softly. “Uh, thanks Jack, we should be good from here,” She smiled and the man nodded. “No worries. Maybe I’ll catch you tomorrow.” He said and smiled at Rowan. “It was nice to meet you.” Rowan knew he was lying.

[jawritter]

A Thousand Years...

Chapter 10

Heart beats fast. Colors and promises. How to be brave. How can I love when I’m afraid to fall. But watching you stand alone. All of my doubt suddenly goes away…..

Summary: A soulmate’s purpose is to shake you up, tear apart your ego a little bit, show your obstacles and addictions, break your heart open so new light can get in, make you so desperate and out of control that you have to transform your life, then introduce you to your spiritual master. – Elizabeth Gilbert, Eat, Pray, Love

A new town, a new job, and a new life, one that you didn’t even expect……

Pairing: Jensen Ackles x Reader, Jensen Ackles x Danneel

Word Count: 1756

Warnings will include… Smut, language, unrequited/ requited love, cheating, and possibly more. This is brand new, so I will add to it as I know. Chapters will have warnings of their own if need be….

A/N: So my little cousin was watching breaking dawn in the living room, and I was folding clothes in the guest room… When the credits rolled and this song started, this fic hit me right in the face… I couldn’t escape it.

Fic Based on the Song A Thousand Years, by Christina Perri

Missed it so far or just want more in general? Check out my masterlist!!

*****MASTERLIST*****

****SERIES MASTERLIST*****

"Danneel?" 

Sure enough, there she stood in all her glory. 

Jensen didn't let go of your hand, in fact, he pulled you tighter against him, snaking his arm around you while she just stood there like she had every right to, and smirked at the two of you. 

"What do you want?" Jensen asks her, his voice tight with annoyance. His whole demeanor seemed to shift at just her very appearance. 

"I see you've wasted no time in moving your little slut in Jensen. That's got to be some sort of a record. What? It's only been a few weeks?" she sneered at him.

 Jensen was fuming next to you. You could almost feel the anger rolling off of him.

"You've got three seconds to tell me what you want, or I'm calling the cops and having you removed from my property," Jensen threatened, not moving an inch or letting her inside at all. He was practically growling at the woman that was standing there completely unfazed by the rather large and angry man holding you tight against him.

Whatever happened between the two of them, it must have been bad, because you had never seen Jensen act this way. You thought Steve said they were still going to co-parent, and they were still going to run the brewery together? From where you were standing right now it didn’t look like that was even possible. 

"Arrow forgot her blanket here, I came to get it. I didn't expect your little whore to be here already though what a pleasant surprise," her gaze turned to you, and Jensen pushed you behind him, stepping in front of you. 

"Y/N, go get the small little throw blank out of the twin's room. it's the only one hanging over the rail of the bed. You should be able to see it as soon as you walk into the room," Jensen instructed, his eyes never leaving Danneel like he didn't trust her at all.

"What makes you think I want your little fuck buddy to touch anything that belongs to my child?" she asked Jensen, her voice level, but if looks could kill you'd both be dead.

"I don't give a fuck what you want Danneel. You lost the privilege of having an input on what goes on in this house, what I do with my free time, or who I'm sleeping with a long time ago. So Y/N will go get the blanket for you, you're going to take it, and you're going to get the fuck off my property." Jensen's voice was laced with venom, and it even scared you a little bit. You had never heard him so harsh, especially with her, but apparently, he was right about one thing. You didn't know anything. So you kept your mouth shut as they continued to tensely bicker at the front door while you went to get Arrow her blanket. 

You knew this wasn't going to be easy, whatever this was between yourself and Jensen, but whatever this was just got a whole lot harder, not only did he have three children, but a soon to be ex-wife. You knew you were going to have to find out what went down between the two of them really, but today was not that day. You were still feeling a little vulnerable and confused from last night's events, and you didn't want to go there, not even a little. 

Once you'd retrieved the blanket you made your way downstairs, things had grown eerily silent, and you wondered if he'd knocked her out or something because by the time you went to the twin's room you could hear them yelling at each other. 

When you made your way to the front door they were both still standing. Danneel looked as if she wanted to murder not only him, but you as well, and Jensen just looked every bit of done you could imagine. 

About the time that your foot hit the floor next to the stair, and Jensen turned his head slightly to look at you, Danneel reached up without warning and hit him hard enough in the face to make him take a step back, grabbing the side of his face. 

You were momentarily so shocked that all you could do was freeze. Before you had a chance to register what came next Jensen came over to where you were standing, grabbing the blanket from your hands he threw it in Danneel's face. 

"Anything else you want to pack out of this house will only be done under court order, and know this bitch, I will see my kids again; you can't keep them from me. You will be hearing from my lawyer no later than tomorrow. Your nothing but a lying little whore. You said we were going to do this civilly, and not get the courts too heavily involved for the children's sake, but here you are, nothing to do but stir the pot until we're standing here. This isn't all my fault Danneel remember that. You have 24 hours to change your mind, which if you were smart you would stand down, and bring those kids to see me next weekend. If not you WILL regret it." 

Not giving her a chance to argue back Jensen slammed the door in her face, leaning against the door frame with his back to you, and his shoulders squared. You wanted to reach out to him, comfort him in some way, but you didn't know exactly what your place here was, and you didn't want to cross any sort of lines. 

"Jensen?" you said, slowly taking a step towards him cautiously, keeping your distance. Upon the sound of your voice, Jensen let go of the door frame, turning to face you, leaning his back against the door. 

"Hey." 

"Hey." 

"Are you okay?" you ask him, so angry now you were shaking a little when you wrapped your arms around his waist, taking into account for the first time how thin he really was. 

"I'm okay. I just... I need a few minutes by myself okay? I have to make a phone call. Why don't you go get settled in, and put on something a little more comfortable? Then we will settle down with a movie or something and do nothing for the rest of the day. That sound okay?" he asked you. 

The unreadable look on his face made you uneasy, but you didn't really know him well enough to know if he was telling the truth about being okay or not, so you just nodded and made your way to your room with your mind a thousand miles away from the room you were standing in as you changed into some of your favorite PJ pants, and an oversized T-shirt. 

You couldn't believe she had the gaw to hit him and to do it when he wasn't even looking at her. It made you really wonder about this marriage. What really happened here? Was that the first time she'd ever hit him? Was she abusive? How do you handle that if she was? I mean you, didn't exactly come out of the world's most healthy relationship yourself, but your ex had never hit you. He was manipulative and controlling, but he never raised his hand to you.

You didn't want to ask him. You two had already got whatever this was off to a rough start. Between him kissing you while still being married to Danneel. Then coming over to your apartment to give you a whole fucking car. Then fucking you against the back wall of the taproom. You didn't need to add abuse to this too. 

Then it made you wonder if that was what was wrong with him all along. He told you in your apartment the morning he gave you the car that you didn't know everything you needed to know about that marriage. That you didn't know what you thought you did. 

You felt like a boulder had been sat down in the pit of your stomach. You couldn't understand why anyone would want to hurt him?  Was he at your apartment that morning trying to reach out for help, and you pushed him away? Sitting down on the foot of your bed after you put the last shirt in the dresser that you'd bought from your apartment you wanted to kick yourself. 

Your mind was racing. Now that you saw it happen it was all very clear to you now. He was so thin... You had watched enough Supernatural by now and watched enough cons on youtube to see that he wasn't always that thin. 

He had gotten hard over the years. You thought it was just an act, part of the character that he played, that doing it at cons to entertain the fans. But what if it wasn't?

A knock on your door made you nearly jump out of your skin. 

"Y/n! You okay baby?" he called to you through the door, and you hurried to the door to open it for him. 

"Hey, sorry, I was putting some things away before I came down," you told him, stepping out into the hall with him. He'd changed into his PJ's and a black henley. The first thought that crossed your mind was, “God he was so thin,” but you shoved it down because you couldn't tell at this point if you were just being paranoid, or if you were making something out of nothing because of what you just witnessed. 

Maybe that was the first time that ever happened. Sometimes when couples split up things get more heated than they ever did before. That doesn't make it right, but he may be thin for a role he's playing, and you're just making all this up. 

Jensen always carried himself in any way that wasn't vulnerable. Could you be searching for something that wasn't there? 

Whatever was going on here, you made your mind up as you lay on the couch with him, his arms around you, holding you tight to his chest as whatever he'd turned on Netflix played, that you weren't going to judge or jump to conclusions. 

You were both two messed up individuals, that much was becoming apparent. Maybe that’s why you were so drawn to each other. You needed each other.

Whatever happened to him with her, when he was ready he'd tell you, and whatever was going on you'd be there for him. 

Because regardless of whatever happened here between them, and however messed up it was that the two of you were lying here right now with his arms wrapped around you. It felt right like you belonged right here all along. You’d deal with whatever came your way. You just needed him to be okay, an for once you wanted both of you to be happy.

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[sincerelybluevase]

Careful, Madam Chapter Four

A/N Thank you guys for all the kind comments! They really mean a lot to me and help motivate me to keep writing, hence why there’s a new chapter now 😉. Tagging @need-not, @emptymasks @thegirlisuedtobe @halewynslady @solattea @alice1nwond3rland @ladynephthyss

 The rain came down in thick sheets. It drummed on the roof, against the walls and the mullioned windows. Someone had opened the window of my room and the sweet, green scent of summer rain drifted in, pure and cool and cleansing. How easy it was, to sit quite still and listen to the water gurgle in the drainpipes, to smell the scent of the azaleas, and not think, not feel…

Mrs Danvers kept looking at me with those liquid eyes, my knuckles dimpling her cheek. Funny, how far she and I had come, and so suddenly, too. This time yesterday I had feared her enough to scurry through the halls of my own home afraid to make a sound, as if she was some sort of predator who would pounce and break my neck if I was not careful. Now, she seemed my only friend and ally.

“I can’t be with child,” I said, very calmly, very coolly. “You are mistaken, and Maxim is, too.”

“Then why the nausea, Madam, the loss of your appetite, your heightened sense of smell? And all the time you’ve been with us, you’ve only bled once.”

“How would you know?”

“Did you think I took no interest in the habits of my new mistress, in her health and wellbeing?”

I wished to go back to that state of numbness that had held me prisoner only moments ago. It seemed preferable to the panic that now threatened to engulf me. It made my mouth dry and my heart hammer. My frock stuck to my neck and back.

“You don’t understand. I can’t be, I mustn’t be…” I pulled my hand from her grip and pressed both palms hard against my eyes, watching sickly colours bloom.

Days before, I had pictured the children Maxim and I were wont to have one day, strapping boys with grazed knees and a penchant for sports and mischief. I had imagined them running through the halls of Manderley, leaving their things everywhere, tennis rackets and cricket bats, wellington boots, thumbed adventure books, leather balls. Most of all, I had thought of Maxim’s face as he beheld his sons, the pride and fierce love making him handsome. He would look at me then, that strong look softened, and he would put his arm about me and kiss my forehead, and I’d be so desperately happy I could choke on it.

Now, all I could see was that haggard, haunted look of quiet madness as he told me how he had put a bullet through Rebecca and had felt only triumph, the straying bitch at last brought to heel…

Mrs Danvers clasped my wrists and pulled my hands away. “What do you mean, Madam? Why mustn’t you be?”

It all moved about inside of me, twisting and turning, scraping my innards like a little sharp-nailed hand. It clawed its way up my throat, cutting it to ribbons, and it could not be swallowed down and hushed, it could not be denied…

Mrs Danvers rubbed the tears from my cheeks with her thumbs. “Why, Madam?”

“Because I shall never be free of him once I give him a child,” I whispered. We stared at each other, both shocked by my words. I had not known what I would say until it was said, and now it could not be taken back.

“I… I didn’t mean that,” I stammered. “I don’t know what I’m saying, Mrs Danvers. He’s my husband; of course I wish for us never to be separated….” But the words sounded hollow to me, and the rapid thumping of my heart screamed liar, liar, liar.

Mrs Danvers hardened. Gone was the soft, liquid look. “Of course,” she said, her voice that mechanical thing once more, stilted and lifeless, “why would you? Not even Rebecca wanted a divorce, and she cared nothing for him, despised him, even. You, who love him, who says he is your whole world, would not want to miss him, not even for a moment.” She stood and went to the window to shut it, the rain splashing on her hands and face. She did not come back to me but remained standing there. The windowpane reflected her face remarkably well. It looked pale, tight.

I felt as if I might cry. “Mrs Danvers,” I said, “Mrs Danvers, Danny, please.”

“Please what, Madam? What do you want? You still don’t know, do you? To have his child, to be free of him, to be a perfect little wife, to be another, to love him, to love me. You can’t make up your mind.”

“Please don’t,” I whispered.

She turned round, pressing her hands hard against her ribs, curling slightly forward, as if in pain. “They found her boat, but you knew that already, didn’t you? They found her, yet all Mr de Winter could worry about was you, your little sickness, your delicate condition. Sometimes, it’s as if I am the only one who wishes to remember her, the only one who truly cared. He doesn’t even speak of her.”

“Oh, Mrs Danvers,” I whispered, “you wouldn’t like him to. I promise you, you wouldn’t want to hear what he has to say about her.”

Two spots of colour burned high on her cheeks. “Does he call her names? Does he rail at her, denouncing her for a whore and an adulteress? Does he, Madam?”

They came again, those traitorous tears. They stung, burning hot. I nodded feebly.

She laughed. “Well, then he hasn’t forgotten to be jealous, has he? Men! When they look at women, they only see whores and saints, and like nothing better than to tear a woman down they lifted up. Trust a man never to see a woman for what she really is.”

I thought of my father, of his warm-heartedness, his laughter and love. “No, Mrs Danvers. They’re not all like that. Most men are normal.”

She laughed again. It sounded like keening. “Perhaps, but that’s the worst of it, Madam; how are we to know who is and who isn’t? Safer to assume they’re all pigs.”

I was tired as a dog, all wrung-out. “But they aren’t, Mrs Danvers, truly they aren’t. I’m sorry you think they are, but that isn’t right and it isn’t healthy.”

“It isn’t right?” She tore at her cuff, pushing the fabric up to her elbow, and held out her arm to me. With a finger she traced the scar there, the neat purple line in her flesh. “You’ve wondered how this came to be, didn’t you? I shall tell you. I went to care for Rebecca when she was seven. Her mother had died when she was born, and so a nurse had taken care of her all her life. Now that she was seven, it was time for a governess, and I was employed. I was twenty-one; my employer, her father, a man of forty-six.”

She kept moving her finger over the scar, rubbing it red. “I found out the first week that he had wandering hands, and within a month, that his hands were not the only things doing the wandering. I wished to resign then, but he wouldn’t give me a proper reference, and without one, I was worth nothing. And there was Rebecca, of course. Such a charming child. The longer I stayed, the more I loved her. The more I loved her, the harder it was to leave. Her father’s… ministrations were never quite bearable, but I grew used to them. They had to be borne, for love of her.”

Still she rubbed, harsher now, her clipped nails leaving white streaks that flushed crimson. “And on and on it went, until one day when Rebecca came home early. I never knew if she suspected what her father and I did; he made sure she was not around when he paid me his little visits. Rebecca was supposed to be riding her horse, but the animal had thrown a shoe and so she’d returned earlier than expected. Sixteen she was then, with all the wit and beauty of a woman twice her age.”

Mrs Danvers smiled at the memory. It was a fragile, broken thing, this smile of hers, and it cut me deeply.

“We didn’t hear her. How could we, over his groans? But in she came, dressed in her riding habit. I didn’t know she was watching us, not until her father screamed and rolled off of me. She had struck him with her riding crop, and she kept striking at him, over and over again, breaking his skin and drawing blood. He nearly lost an eye. In the end I had to intervene; she was so wild, I thought she might strike him dead if I did nothing. I had to restrain her.

“‘You won’t ever lay a finger on her again,’ she told her father, ‘do you hear me? She’s mine now.’ He laughed through his tears, as if it was all a great joke. ‘What, do you want to fuck her yourself?’ he asked, so she hit him with her bare hand. Afterwards, she took me to her room and helped me clean the gashes she’d made, and then I was safe. So you see, I know men are not all wicked, but you’ll forgive me for not taking any chances.”

How could I ever tell her what Maxim had told me?

I went to her and stilled her scratching hand. She had broken the skin, and little beads of blood welled up. I put my mouth to the soft inside of her arm and sucked at it, fighting through the nausea to lave her poor skin with my tongue. “I’m sorry you were hurt,” I murmured.

Her hand curled against her ribs, pressing hard against her stomach. “I miss her so much I sometimes wish to destroy myself,” she whispered.

If anyone deserves to know what happened to Rebecca, it is Mrs Danvers. She’s the only one who truly loved her, I thought. Rebecca, with her brain and breeding and beauty, her wit and charm. Nothing of that had mattered in the end; she had died like a dog at the hands of the man who had sworn to love and cherish her.

If I did not tell her now, I feared I never would. I had to tell her, even though it smote me.

“Mrs Danvers, I must tell you something, something that Maxim only just told me.” My throat was still painful from where she had bruised it last night, pressing my face against the sheets as she made love to me. I swallowed thickly; the lapping at her skin had made me salivate. I kept kissing the sore spot at her arm, postponing the moment I had to talk, until she took hold of my chin and made me look up.

“What must you tell me, Madam?” she asked softly.

“It’s about Rebecca. Maxim told me…he killed her, Danny. Maxim killed Rebecca.”

[fairiesherefairiesthere]

Fraxus fake Boyfriend AU part 1/?

So it’s Fraxus day, but this isn’t finished yet so I decided to split it up. Here’s part one folks! (it’s a modern au)

"No Freed, you can't hack your father's bank account. The feds will get you and then I will be tragically best friend-less."

"No, you don't get it", Freed says and on the grainy computer screen, Laxus can see him shake his head. "If I go to jail, it'll probably be in Crocus, which means you can actually visit me instead of videocalling me at stupid o'clock in the morning. Also orange is an excellent colour on me."

A quick glance at the lower corner of his screen and a bit of mental math tells Laxus that it's indeed way too early in the morning for Freed to even consider to talk to him. "Justine it's three in the morning there, why are you even awake?"

Although it's hard to tell with the awful videoquality, Laxus thinks he can see the other man pout. "Talking to my bestie, duh", Freed replies and bashes his eyelashes obnoxiously, drawing a huff of laughter out of Laxus. "What are you, a fifteen year old schoolgirl? The lack of sleep is clearly getting to your head."

Smoothly ignoring Laxus' criticism of his horrendous sleeping habits, Freed continues the earlier topic. "Speaking of besties, made any friends yet?" Groaning, Laxus rolls his eyes. "My roommate is an actual nutjob and I don't know why I'm fond of him. He introduced me to his absolute bitch of a friend and I think I like her even more", he confesses and the pixelated image of Freed gives him a smug smirk. "It's because you like to be bullied, Laxus dearest. You won't say it, so I'll say it for you : bottom rights baby."

"I hate you and if you were here I'd smack you", he half-heartedly threatens and Freed replies "Kinky" without missing a beat. While the two of them are engaged in a staring match without actually being able to make out each other's eyes in the blur of colours on the screen, Bickslow throws open Laxus' bedroom door and yells: "Time to hide your porn blondie, it's time for reallife interaction with actual human beings!"

On instinct, Laxus does click away and as soon as the connection with Freed breaks he sees it fit to pout like a child. Their schedules matching (or one of them not sleeping for a day) and their wifi allowing them to see each other is a ridiculously difficult situation to stumble upon and now he's wasted his chance. Bickslow looks at least apologetic. Laxus was going to forgive him, until he opened his godforsaken mouth. "Dang man, the porn that good?"

"I hate you too", he says without clarifying to Bickslow who the other despised person is. He doesn't seem to mind as he plucks Laxus' computer from his bed, plops it down the nearby desk and sits himself down right in front of Laxus, legs in lotus position and bouncing with way too much energy. "I had a great idea", he announces and Laxus immediately doubts him.

"You see Ever and I, we thought you were a bit lonely and it might heal your soul to... Nah, scratch all of that, Ever and I were really fucking bored and we thought : Hey, let's set our absolute bestie up on a date! So here we are. Get dressed, you're going on a date."

"I can't", he says and desperately tries to come up with a reason. Uni work won't fool them, because they know that he's actually a good student, other activities won't work either because he's a social recluse and not even Makarov can save him because for some reason, the little shits he calls friends are all buddy-buddy with his grandpa.

"My boyfriend would hate it", he continues, cheeks colouring. It's because of the lying, not because he can only come up with one boyfriend-candidate in his mind. The statement is bland and straight to the point, which makes his words sound all the more true. Of course, Bickslow doesn't even buy a little bit of it. "Prove it", he demands.

While mentally apologising to Freed, Laxus digs up his contact information and futily tries to call him. After the third time trying, Bickslow looks even less convinced, which is an impressive feat considering he didn't believe Laxus from the beginning. Sighing, he goes to their chat instead and unlike their usual nonsense, he finds a sweet (?) message from Freed.

Damn, the wifi is really fucking with us huh? Wish we could talk more and I wish I could see your pretty face instead of a black screen and some smudges of colour here. X from the most beautiful man you know."

'Conceited brat', he thinks fondly and replies: Cymbeline (Act 3, Scene 4) Line 35-39, but replace 'slander' with 'you bitch'. They've adopted this weird system where Freed uses slang and Laxus literary references, just to meet each other's vibes somewhat. Sometimes it works, most of the times it really doesn't, but at least it's fun.

"Bro have you forgotten about my entire existence already? Stop smiling at your phone and admit that you don't have a mans!" Wordlessly, Laxus passes his phone to Bickslow who gasps. "Book quotes? Shit man, you're in deep. I'm gonna tell Ever." Without a warning, Bickslow disappears through the window, probably giving Evergreen her twentieth heart attack of this month by landing on her balcony. If the school thought a floor would seperate girls and boys, then they clearly hadn't met Bickslow.

Too late Laxus realises that Bicks has taken his phone with him and hopes his friends somewhat value his privacy and don't scroll too far up. There are the occassional way too deep talks around midnight but also a one time onceler x barry b benson bdsm roleplay (Freed had needed help with a creative writing assignment and Laxus had contributed a whole lot of nothing).

Barely five minutes later, Evergreen marches right into his bedroom, heels clicking snappily on his floor. "What", she spits and waves with his phone, "is this?"

"My cellphone."

Unperturbed, she continues her dramatic rant. "You have a boyfriend and you don't bother telling us?" Her tone turns sly and she elegantly flops down on his bed, rearranging her body to give herself a 'stern posture'. She looks like an irod rod trying to do yoga. "Or are you just making things up? Feel free to prove me wrong by showing us what he looks like."

"Why would I bring my photoalbums to uni?" he asks dumbfounded and Ever looks at him as though he just came down from Mars. "Laxus, honey, snapchat is a thing? Email if you're oldfashioned? Where are your boyfriend's nudes?"

"You're in a relationship."

"With a great guy who loves and trusts me and knows I ain't gonna cheat on him. Show me the dickpicks." Annoyed, he gives her a little shove. "I don't have any, I'm used to him being around. He's on another continent now and I just recently realised that all my memorabilias are at home."

"Convenient", Ever remarks dryly and Laxus sighs deeply and stretches out his hand. After she dumped his phone in it, he sends Freed a message ('Bro send me a pic of u ppl wanna know u exist') and shows it to both of his friends. "There."

Surprisingly fast, he gets a message back. 'No. The paparazzi and the FBI agent assigned to me will have to try harder than that to get a hold of ME (why is this man so ridiculous).' He shows it to Ever and Bicks and the former uses this opportunity to snatch his phone, typing a response before Laxus can properly register what's happening. "Hi I'm Laxus friend and I don't believe you're his boyfriend. Send a thirst trap to prove you exist. Or nudes", she reads aloud. Bickslow guffaws at that and Laxus sighs, resigning himself to face the consequences of his actions. What he does not expect however, is for Freed to send a picture back.

It's an awful photo of high school-aged Freed, complete with braces and a very unnatural smile. He's gangly, thin and looks like the walking embodiment of an awkward teen. 'This is a nude, as my soul has never been as bare as in this one picture', the caption reads and Ever laughs. "You know what, he passes the test." She purses her lips. "For now at least, I'm going to need more concrete evidence of this being an existing human being, because everyone can pluck a photo from the internet. Anyway, you're way too late for your date, so you get off easy Laxus."

After brushing nonexistent dirt from her skirt she opens her arms for Bickslow. "Take me home, spiderman", she orders and he gives her a salute. "Roger madame!" he yells before plucking Ever from the floor and leaping over the balcony railing. Their trust in each other is remarkable, but Laxus does think they're weirdos.

The very next day, Ever once again bursts through his door and Laxus mentally curses because he hasn't had the chance to discuss this whole thing with Freed yet. "Laxus", she says, voice dead-serious. "Evergreen.", he greets back as she half-crawls under the covers of his bed. "It's fucking cold", she clarifies before opening her laptop. That seemingly insignificant action makes Laxus weary, as Ever is holding her rickety laptop that's for illegal purposes only.

"I reverse searched that pic of your boyfriend and before I tell you the results, I'd like to know how exactly you met him."

He recognises her nosiness for what it really is (worry) and with a sigh, he gives her the sparknotes version of their history.

"We lived in the same town and we became friends because both of our fathers were absolute shit. They were friends so we became friends. At age thirteen he moved to Alakitasia and we reconnected because we matched on that stupid tinder profile you guys made me."

"Are you sure you weren't catfished?"

"Yup, because we skype regularly."

"Okay. Then certainly you're aware that he's a billionaire? Like, the heir to Justine Industries, the biggest technologie giant at the moment?"

He tries to see the whole situation from her perspective and has to admit that 'I have a boyfriend overseas, who's also a billionaire', sounds a bit too over the top to be true. "Yep, his pa's job is the reason he moved. I know this whole situation sounds like a huge lie to stop you guys' antics (probably because it is), but I swear it's true (it really isn't)."

"Okay then", she mumbles before putting her feet into Laxus' lap. The audicity of this woman, he thinks as he does absolutely nothing to move her. "I'm sorry for the whole 'setting you up' thing, it was rude of us. We just wanted you to have someone, you know? Because you deserve it and we can also see that you kind of want it and we wanted to help. We were too overzealous."

Ah, what a festive feeling brews in his chest. Nothing like a bucket of guilt to get your morning refreshment. The worst part is that Evergreen isn't even done yet with her sentimental speech. "Also, you get really happy whenever your man sends you a message, so all in all I'm glad our big plans didn't work out. I'm still going to be weary of  his actual existence until I meet him, I hope you don't mind." He shakes his head. "Nah, be weary all you want."  

After dropping Evergreen off at her boyfriend's, he rushes to his room to send Freed a message to update him on his situation (he even uses the actual sms-system instead of the internet, which is crazy expensive but he's in a bit of a panic). Unlike most of the time, Freed responds quickly. Laxus wonders why his wifi is absolute shit if he's rich enough to pay for intercontinential messaging. An agonising five minutes pass as the speech bubble ominously keeps showing that the other is typing. When it finally shows up, all it reads is :

"Lol"

"That's all you have to say?" he furiously types back, but before he can hit send, he gets another message. "Whatever man, I'll be the hottest boyfriend ever." After that, it's radio silence again.

The silence between them is broken a few days later. Laxus is trying to enjoy his lunch while Bickslow and Evergreen bicker over something or other, when his phone pings. Little gremlins that they are, they've already looked at the message as soon as it pops up. They read the godawful collection of words "Send me a pic of your feet" before he does.

"Romance at its finest", Bickslow dryly jokes and Evergreen turns to him with big worried eyes. "You're sure he's not a catfish? Or is this what you consider a raunchy picture?" Laxus would answer if he knew what the fuck is happening. Another message appears :  "With measuring tapes surrounding them, not in a weird, gross, fifty year old with a feet kink kind of way. I want to spoil my boyfriend (with my father's creditcard)."

"Aw how sweet, he's committing crimes for ya", Bickslow croons and Laxus grumbles. "I'm not about to give him anymore excuses to commit theft.", he says while typing "Absolutely not." At the other side of the table Evergreen collects her phone from her bag and opens Instagram. After looking for and finding Freed's profile, she sends him a selfie with Laxus and Bickslow in the background and adds a thoughtful message detailing Laxus' feet. "Honey, you need shoes that fit you. No stores have your size and if your insanely rich boyfriend's dad can involuntarily provide, why not take the chance?"

A few days later, the shoes do arrive. They're the most comfortable pair Laxus has ever owned and there's no obnoxious trademarked name smacked on it. He thanks Freed, but asks him to please not do something along those lines again. Knowing full well that Freed himself would never be financially bothered by it, he still feels guilty. Freed apologises (he really shouldn't, he's been nothing but an angel while Laxus is being bothersome) and drops the matter.

"Where are you rn?" The message feels somewhat ominous, but Laxus ignores his gutfeeling that tells him that today is going to be weird. "The western outside food court of Crocus' uni, why?" The response that he gets is a simple :  " :) ". Like a dumbass, he decides to not question it.

While he's chilling out, head resting on his crossed arms, he hears an unusual amount of chattering. Although he and his friends had chosen this place because of how little people came here, it seems like that peace is now gone. Rest in peace, piece. Vibrating bothersomely, his phone grabs his attention. "Got ya another present!" Brows furrowing, Laxus reads the new incoming message : "Kids and their phones these days. Look up darling !"

[slasherscream]

omg i love ur blog so much 💕 all of ur poly billy/stu/reader stuff owns my ass😍 can i request billy/stu/huge buff dude reader (like at least 6'8" could probably bench press both of them agdjdhd) headcannons (nsfw or sfw its up to u!)

A/N: speaking of ass owning? you know who's ass you own? 

     billy loomis x m!reader x stu macher             ft. s/o is an absolute beefcake

                                                     ——————– 

You own Stu's ass. He sees you and he stops dead in his tracks. Please.... please sir bench-press him please-

Toxic masculinity #Whomst? Sorry he's not heterosexual so when he sees you the first time it's just instant 👀 👀 👀 👀

Billy was about to get annoyed because uhm who is His Boyfriend™ looking at like that who isn't him? Who?? Where are they?? He's gonna kill them.

Then he sees you and like fuck man?? He... fucking gets it. Stu and him make the shadiest eye contact in the world and it is instantly agreed they are about to trap you. They're both Ash Ketchum in this bitch #RIP you never saw it coming beefcake. 

Stu calls you beefcake I'm so sorry it's just what he does and he won't stop. Non-negotiable part of the relationship. Beefcake, stud ...stud-muffin. He won't ever shut up.

This is Stu at all times @ you. Listen       listen he's always been the muscle in all his relationships full-stop. With girls and guys alike. And he's fucking loved it 100%. Throwing a partner over his shoulder? Carting them around like they weigh nothing because they don't?? Goofing around just because he's #Big And Strong and can? He loves that shit.

But someone else doing that .... to him? He's in tears please throw him on your shoulder or give him a piggy back ride he'll actually giggle. It's very pure.

Not so pure? Can you actually hold him down and just fuck the shit out of him? He drools at the mere thought. He's constantly talking about how big and strong you are the whole time you rail him too?? He's living his best life.

Stu's got a size-kink that goes both ways         that is now well established. It was very important that you know how deep his love for your tall, strong ass physique goes.

Billy does not have this same kink. If he does have a size kink it's probably for smaller/weaker partners tbh. Stu is a 6'4 tree but he does whatever Billy says and wants 98% of the time. He's Billy's sub if not usually Billy's bottom as well.

He does like being a dom to you though?? That's his exact kink. Having you on your knees while you suck his dick and he's got a hand in your hair just guiding you as he sees fit? Bro... he's #Into It. Do what he says and he'll just fucking nut he's gross. 

But despite his total type A personality no one stays in one sexual role all the time so he does like little tussles for control sometimes. It's hot. If you manage to get him to bottom though he's a power bottom and a brat. Have fun with that (to be fair you will genuinely have fun with that). 

He is not Stu though do not pick him up in public!! He is in charge of this relationship! He is the Stu and You wrangler and tamer! Don't make him start swinging (a brat? anyone? a brat?). 

What he does really like is you hugging him? He's still always desperate for cuddling even though he'd never admit it and he does like how strong you are? Wrap your arms around his shoulder and pull him back against you. It's a quick way to get him to chill out and everyone is amazed whenever you do it?? 

Randy has literally bowed to you on multiple occasions for this special gift you have (this of course starts back up Billy's Killing Instinct so you have to keep a tight grip on him). 

He wants you to sit in his lap. He's so hardheaded and dumb. He insists you sit in his lap even. He has Stu do it all the time but Stu is at least like a ...lean sort of buff guy. You are not. This matters not to Billy Loomis who has an ego the size of the sun. 

On multiple occasions you and Stu have sat in Billy's lap at once just to see him finally break but so far he never has. He'll never admit defeat. You two just take pity on him and get off eventually. You're even nice enough to subtly rub feeling back into his stupid, fucking legs without commenting on why they're numb (so far his streak for ignoring the agony of leg numbness is 1h and 41m ie. the running time of Nightmare On Elm Street). 

The healthy middle ground of satisfying this urge in Billy to always have his partner On Him is for you to sit in-between his legs. Stu? Says fuck that?? He's sitting in-between your legs. The utter joy of a taller bf...he's on cloud nine. 

You're tall enough that you've gotta bend down and kiss him and he swoons just a little. Billy wants to perish. Instead of just asking for kisses he always ...drags you down by your shirt. Who is he flexing on? 

He was already fed up from kissing Stu he's at his wits end. Will he ever accept a lesser amount of kisses? No.

Billy is gonna break his spine trying to dip you or pick you up or some shit but it's fine...it's fine don't worry about it. 

They’re both sexists that are inherently a little (not much let’s be clear adjkl) less protective over guy partners than girls partners but because you are so big?? The....messes you get dragged into.

 stu: oh yeah?? why don’t you say that to my boyfriend’s face *drags you into a fight he started when you were just minding your own business*

Billy won’t do that to you but he’s Very Possessive over you. No one look at you. If anyone looks at you his day will be ruined (the drama)! Yes ---- Of course he knows you’re built like the fucking rock?? That 5′0 girl who you’d have to bend down for 800 years just to hug her needs to keep walking before she gets got. Grab him quickly before he starts a fight. 

                                                     ——————–

[suffering-and-happy-about-it]

WhatsApp? Part 15. (Steve Rogers x reader)

Description: You’ve never been lucky with guys. You just wanted to catch someone’s eye, to be loved. One day, that’s about to turn completely - with one fake, completely imagined number a guy gave you.

A/N: “Let’s talk about s*x baby, let’s talk about you and me.”, going off the rails, as I always tend to. Enjoy, babes.

Warnings: Oh, first kiss like hello bitch? Some smut happening/implied at the end of the chapter. Also, I think it's time to properly hit it off and just slowly start to slide towards the end.

Word Count: 3.7 K

Tagging: @missdictatorme, @songforhema, @mikariell95, @jaqui-has-a-conspiracy-theory

Read the rest here: Part One  Part Two  Part three  Part four  Part five  Part Six Part seven  Part eight  Part nine  Part ten  Part eleven  Part twelve  Part thirteen  Part fourteen

If you like to have your readings in order :):  H E R E  

You couldn't actually believe that it happened - for some unknown reason, you found a fucking gem hidden amongst the other guys, with such a silly coincidence. Yeah, having Steve close could be described as a drug, simply. 

The evenings after your work were the absolute best. It was nice to have fancy dinners, to go into some crazy places; but as the weather got crazier and crazier, you started to have him over. Sometimes, he even slept at your place. On the sofa, but you tried your best to stay cool about that. 

It wasn't about you not being attractive or whatever - it was just about Steve being Steve. That was just a thing you discovered throughout the time. Steve being Steve consisted of holding your hand on the street occasionally, but just really innocently, sitting far away from you on the sofa, really gentlemen manners, never ever being mature or whatever. 

Bucky told you that those things were completely normal around that man out of time - and that it was bullshit to wait for him changing the things around. Not gonna happen, girl.

“How about yesterday’s hangout?” - Bucky asked from somewhere between Deena’s neck as he kissed her tenderly. You, Buck, Deena, and Sam were hanging out for that day’s lunch pause and so far so good. 

“You already know the answer, Buck.” - You mumbled and rearranged the glasses on your nose. Yesterday, Steve was having a sleepover at your place and you watched Harry Potter together. That man never saw those movies and Sam hadn't the time to show him. 

It was all fun, kind of romantic, cheesy enough, it was fun with a lot of popcorn and some really sweet drinks. As usually, Steve fell asleep on your couch, this time during the three trials of the Goblet of fire. Then you turned the movie off, covered him in a spare blanket and called it a day as well.

“Lemme guess.” -  Deena looked at you from under Bucky’s armpit and you almost didn't see her eyes because of the cap she was wearing. That piece of clothing was definitely her boyfriend’s. Sam Wilson, another of their friends, was walking on your second side, sipping some green-ish smoothie which looked disgusting to you. - “Steve was acting like Steve, wasn't he?” 

“I’m tellin’ ya, girl. Ma boy is just all over the place from you, even after all the time ya just simply hang out with him...” - Sam threw a hand over your shoulder and shook you a bit, offering you a sip from that disgusting smoothie. 

The more you got to know Sam, the more touchy and feely person he was around you. But it wasn't too much at all or something like that; it was just in a friendly way and you could feel that. So his huge fucking arm over your tiny shoulder? That was a normal thing for you at that time - after hanging out with Steve for three to four months. 

The first date was something that almost made you explode with happiness - Steve really put some effort into that. It wasn't effortless after that one night, not at all; but Steve was still nervous around you. Sweet and caring, but fucking nervous. And you could feel that. 

But you wanted to cuddle, you would beg to be kissed, you would bring him the whole world if he only indicated that he loves you. You just needed that - your patience was wearing. It would take only a slow push to throw you off the fucking cliff. 

And you pushed his fucking smoothie away because it just smelled so terribly.

“You would bet your fucking birdy brain, asshole.” - You looked at Sam with a shocked face. 

“Then fucking do it, girl, and stop yellin’ at me. It ain't my fault at all. Jesus, those hormones are just fuckin’ you up.” - Sam said and watched you like you were a fucking psycho. Yeah. The period was always the toughest time in women's life - and you were letting Sam and Steve letting to know your feelings. From the men, you were always only nice to Bucky, because he was always nice to you.

You didn't have your period, it ended up like three days ago, but you told Sam that it continued so you could behave like a dick to him without finding excuses, which you did anyways. 

“So, it is pretty obvious to me. Because your little Stevie is fucking oblivious, we need to make a plan.” - Deena peeped from under Bucky and opened the door to the bistro you were visiting that day. As usual, there were a few ladies and some young boys who desperately wanted to take a photo with the less known Avengers. 

You knew how to handle those situations with smiles - Steve had taught you, how not to freak out when someone wanted to take a photo with him. It usually happened when you and Steve went to the supermarket or to take some takeaway food. The people were just so happy to meet those superheroes in person, to have a small talk and to leave.

That was pretty ok and some fans of Steve, Buck or Sam even appreciated you, asked about your day and so on. Sometimes they even insisted on having you and Deena on the photo, usually adding something like “Even a supersoldier needs a shoulder to lay and cry on” or “Behind every successful superhero, there is a woman” and you personal favourite was “Superheroes find super girlfriends who can bare their whole history and personality and love them for who they are” (you saw that on one young lady’s Instagram story - there was a photo of you watching Steve with a dead stare when he was choosing his ice cream’s flavor for a half an hour; Peter had shown it to you while you were at work.)

“What kind of plan, Deena?” - You raised her eyebrows at her and she and Buck shared a stare like it was completely obvious. 

“I would name it the ’Seducing Steve’ plan for work purposes.” - She said in a laid back tone and sat down into the furthest box. 

And so, wizardry and witchcraft were starting when those three started to discuss how to seduce Steve Fucking Rogers.

---

“Oh, she's in a good mood.” - Bucky answered Steve’s question when he and Sam came back home from their work out. - “It is a pity that youve missed that lunch. We had such a good time.”

“Oh, yea?!” - Sam shouted from the bathroom so loudly, that the glasses started to shake. - “Yo girl almost killed me four thousand times, she was grumpy and a pain in my fuckin’s ass!” 

“That is what you get from messing with the ladies. Oh wow, how sad I am that she didn't hit your forearm with that fork.” - Bucky yelled back and Steve was really confused - he was about to buy her some chocolate nonetheless and some other snacks, but he needed to know how he should act. 

“WHAT?!” - Sam’s head peeked from behind the door at that exact moment. - “She started all those kinds of beef and now your taking her side? Traitor!” - The chocolate skinned diva closed the door again. 

“I will leave you to that.” - Steve slowly put his jacket on, but Buck and Sam got into their beef so much that they didn't even notice that Steve is leaving. - “Today is the day od Lord of the Rings. I'm curious about that and I hope I won't fall asleep.” - He smiled and left the flat, writing you a super-short text. 

Steve: See you at your place in ten.

---

You checked yourself in the mirror for the last time - you had a lumberjack shirt put on because according to Sam and Buck, Steve was secretly living for women in shirts; especially with some nice top under it. Fuckingly tight jeans were just something that needed to be and some high-heeled boots were it. 

Sam said that you didn't need anything more than that. 

But Bucky laughed devilishly, kissing Deena on her temple. You needed one last thing before you could call your plan a success. Other man’s attention. And Bucky was fucking sure you could achieve that, you little hidden she-devil.

And he knew that other man’s attention is something that can make Steve all worked up. Bucky chuckled; he was sure that it will be more than enough to work Steve up for not only just a kiss. But he shut his bitch ass up - if you will take a day off tomorrow, he will know that the plan worked.

When Steve showed at your door, you let him in - but only to put the paper bag near your fridge. Then you put your old, but the still sexy, jacket on. This one especially Deena’s favorite; she used to say that this jacket was making your boobs bigger and that it practically screams fuck-me-here-and-now. The only problem with it was that it wasn't really warm.

“You're going somewhere?” - Steve asked with a small smile, frowning a bit. 

“Yeah. I want to leave for the night, have some fun in the downtown. Sorry that I didn't text you that I'm changing the schedule, I just thought that I can surprise you.” - You locked the door to your apartment and took his elbow to your hand, leading that poor and scared man behind you.

From nowhere, Deena took some tickets out of her purse - it was tickets to some local stage where a DJ would be performing. She wanted to go, but in the last while, she decided that she wanted to do something different - which implied that she wanted to fuck the night away. 

But it was your chance after all - a chance that shouldn't be left alone. And if Steve would not hit on you after that? Well, at least you could drink your fucking ass off before showing him what courage looks like.

The night was pretty cold, today at least, but it wasn't that much of a long road. The sky was all iron cold and almost white, illuminated with the yellow shining of the city lamps. Something about that felt nice when you and he walked next to each other on the crowded streets, laughing and simply talking without the smallness of your room, without watching every move he made, if he wasn't closer or too far away. 

He felt less nervous. Bucky got an idea why, but again, that fucker just smiled and sipped his diet cola without giving you a proper fucking answer. 

"So, we're in front of the club. Come on, I wanna have some fun!" - You smiled and basically dragged that poor man inside. Oh yeah. Modern-day disco - Steve Rogers's personal nightmare. His greatest enemy which he couldn't beat even if he tried to.

There was a lot of young people - including people from the age of eighteen, maybe even younger, and up. Steve wasn't feeling his best, that was for sure. But he was doing it for you, that kept him going.

The show itself was good - you screamed most of the lyrics because you knew them from when you and Pete turned on the radio and sang along. That man was a fucking bomb of that summer, which made you wonder why would Deena give up on that tickets so easily and why he was performing for such a small crowd when he could sell out stadiums full of people.

"I'm going for another beer!" - You screamed to Steve, he needed to lean down, and you shook the empty plastic cup. - "You want some?"

Steve would gladly not accept your offer, just because you were getting drunk as hell, and he didn't even know that you had two shots of some really good Russian vodka stuff in each of your cups of the beer. He was drinking as well, but he knew that nothing, except Thor's centuries-old ale, could bring him on his knees.

But he gently refused with a smile, biting those comments down into his lower lip. You shook your shoulders and left to get some other shit.

A guy trailed you down at the bar; he had his eyes on you since the very beginning. Your enthusiasm for the music, your dancing moves and knowing almost every lyric made him watching you all the time. You seemed to have company - but since the man wasn't holding your lips from behind while you danced, since he didn't even kiss you, the bar guy assumed that it isn't your date.

Just a friend. That's what Steve was in his eyes.

"You seem to be enjoying yourself!" - That guy shouted at you so you could at least barely hear him through the EDM and basses. - "I live for that, sweetie! Name's Rick, by the way!" - He offered you a hand. You accepted it without further thinking; it was warm, dry and he had a firm handshake.

He was pretty handsome, you needed to say that, but it was fading away in comparison to Steve's eyes. Girl, you needed to hit a home run that night so bad. You just needed to, not thinking about the rest which might follow right behind.

"Name's Y/N. Awesome to meet you!" - You smiled, getting the cash out of your back pocket.

"Leave it there, Jesus. It's my treat!" - Rick bumped your palm away and quickly paid the beer and two shots. He was watching as you poured them down to the beer with an open mouth. - "Wow. That's something. I like your style!" - He smiled widely and you chuckled.

"So what are you searching for in here?" - He asked when you poured half of the bear down your throat. You frowned cluelessly at him. - "Everyone in there is searching for something. Some of them are feeling tough since they used their fake IDs, some people are looking for a good fuck in here, someone's mingling out there. Might be my case!"

"Oh, really?" - You opened your mouth. Girl, you were so wasted at that moment, I tell you. - "How so?"

"A bad breakup. I'm trying to find someone who would like to mingle!" - He shouted over the start of a new song. - "You?"

"Hitting my best shot with a totally clueless guy! You see him? He's Captain America himself!" - You shouted and Rick suddenly stopped. Shit. Captain was eyeing him down with a dead stare and you were his fucking girl. He needed to back off as soon as he fucking could to save his own damn ass. - "He's the sweetest and most caring guy ever! You know? But when we're alone, he's all nervous. I need to make him make a move with me finally."

"Yeah. I don't wonder why he's nervous. You're so gorgeous!" - Rick complimented you light-heartedly. It made you smile and you tenderly pat his shoulder.

That was all Steve needed to see. A guy whispering you things, you touching his shoulder and laughing out loud. You had the most beautiful face when you were laughing. And he wasn't the reason for that laughter. Steve just stopped from anything he was doing and frowned, watching your every move.

He knew he was taking things too slowly. He was acting like a fifth-grader around you, but it had a specific and good reason. Steve was sure as hell that he would lose control as soon as his lips would touch yours. You smelled so good, you were funny, beautiful and for that matter, he was sleeping on ice for the last seventy years. And he was a man.

It would be a disgrace for Steve to say that he's horny. Or to say it out loud. But the truth is that is was almost painfully obvious for Bucky and Sam, and basically for every single person who knew Steve. Like Natasha specifically.

But sometimes, when you watched the movie like nothing mattered, Steve looked at your partially opened lips and eyes slowly winking, on that messy hair and a right t-shirt - and suddenly, all he could think about was sex. Or literally tearing the top off you, so he could see more of that body. Or just standing behind you while you leaned down to search through your cupboards, just to gently circle his hands around your waist and to brush his weakest spot on that peachy ass.

That was when Steve sat straight and moved even further away from your body. He didn't want to look like a horny rabbit in your eyes. Even if you wanted to fuck soul out of his body when the nearest chance comes by.

You were both such dummies in that matter. Even Peter could tell Steve's not relaxed bevause of something when he met him for the first time. Peter had similar feelings for Liz Allen, but he was just itching to kiss her. Peter could instantly tell what the fuck is going on.

But you couldn't. That's why you were standing at the bar with Rick's face practically laid on your shoulder. And Steve didn't know what to do first - if he should beat the soul out of his fucking body or if he should you home.

The other option said way better.

You could see Steve's body coming through the crowd directly to you and you bit your lip. Fucking Bucky Barnes. He was right; of course, he was, he knew Steve way better than anybody. You looked at Rick and raised your eyebrows, pouring that drink down.

"Wish me luck, Rick." - You kissed his cheek just to work Steve up even more. - "Hoping for the best lady for you to mingle with!" - You held your fingers crossed tightly when Steve approached you in his typical not-so-sure-about-anything behavior. He leaned down to your ear, touching your jaw with shaking fingers.

"Do you want to leave this place?" - He asked in a sultry tone and you smiled at him. You were drunk, your eyes were shining, your smile was big as ever and even though the beer was smelling from you, you were one of the sexiest ladies Steve has ever seen. So when you nodded, he exhaled.

Oh man, did he finally worked up the courage to do you things you will never forget? He was all heated up when you stood in front of the club as you watched the first snowflakes of that year fall down onto the ground.

He covered you in his jacket because your fuck-me jacket was lost somewhere inside.

"Your place or mine?" - He whispered, playing with his thumbs on your jawline.

"What?" - You asked drunkenly and giggled.

"Don't you try to play that innocent card on me now." - He stood up laughing, watching the people looking at you. No stupid photos now; he would most likely kill them if they would ask. Right now, he had some bigger problems which you needed to solve. - "I know what you're after. And I'm after that as well, kitten. So... I'm asking, you if it's your place or mine."

Sam was at home at that time - not much of a problem for Rogers. He would just swing you on his shoulder, look at his friend and he knew that Sam would immediately know that he should leave the place hella fast. Buck was over at Deena's and Steve knew that they're probably occupied by each other as well.

"Mine. Definitely mine." - You sighed and let him lead you home through the crowds of people. They were staring at you two - Cap and his drunk girlfriend. Oh, did Steve know that his reputation will be torn apart in tomorrow's news and he couldn't care less?

Steve was sure that Tony will be making fun of him or teasing him alongside Clint, Bucky and Sam will be eager to hear every single detail, Natasha will have that sultry face and curious eyes - but Steve decided that every one of them could go fuck themselves if they want.

All he wanted at that moment was you, finally naked, in the shortest time possible.

You almost crashed the door to your flat. The first kiss sure wasn't as romantic or slow or pure as would've wished, but you didn't think about that much. Why? Your back was pressed to the wall next to your door as you were slowly turning into a moaning mess.

There was a little thing that nobody knew about Captain America himself, maybe even Bucky didn't - he was extremely eager. Thanks to his self-control, he was somehow able to hide that element of his personality in front of the others. But he knew how he acts when he has nothing that would make him stop.

The warmth of someone's body leads to touching. Touch leads to a kiss. The kiss leads to foreplay. Foreplay leads to showing you the heaven's gate. That was just how he saw things.

You stripped the jacked off your body in a short five seconds, along with the shirt. You could hear your furniture moving, falling down and crashing onto the ground. You didn't fucking care at all.

Steve was hot under your touch, firm and smooth, his kisses were sweeter than Bucky's plums and the palms on your ass were making you nuts.

Boy, you didn't know what pleasure the man out of time will bring you that night; but you couldn't wait.

[giantchasm]

Antimatter Aguri AU Masterpost

Sack has entirely too many AUS about Aguri? Sack has entirely too many AUs about Aguri!

Anyway. I decided to finally make a post explaining this AU to the general fandom, since I’m proud of it and not sure I’ll ever get around to entirely writing a fic based on it. So I may as well share the concepts.

Have you ever wanted an AU where Aguri lives? But do you feel a simple ‘she lives with no complications AU’ is too easy of a way out, and ignores a massive part of Korosensei’s arc? Have you ever wanted an AU that would make you hate the villains of Assclass even more than you already do? Have you ever wanted an AU with cool monsters smooching cool monsters? Have you ever wanted an AU where Aguri S U F F E R S? And have you ever wanted an AU about long term recovery after massive trauma?

Then BOY do I have an AU for you!

The rest is under the cut because this is going to be a LONG post.

In this AU Aguri manages to survive her close brush with death.

How she survives, however, is significantly less uplifting.

Basically Yanagisawa pumps her full of Antimatter shit after finding her body in a desperate attempt to save her life. And it works. Hooray!

He hurries her into another part of the lab before Akari can see a thing, and continues pumping her full of Antimatter to try and stabalize her. But being a Known Cunt, things don’t exactly go too well after she comes to. Especially considering she's ALIVE. Without his weird fucked up revenge quest to serve as motivation he still has nothing to strive for, so he goes right back to his experiments. 

This time on her. 

Like the moment she wakes up one of her first questions is "wait. Where did the reaper go? Is he okay" and he FLIPS his SHIT on her. Yells at her for being obsessed with the Reaper and accuses her of not giving a shit about him. (CAN YOU BLAME HER?)

She tries to deescalate the situation and turn it into an amicable breakup, but considering he fucking sucks hes not gonna take that for an answer. He decides that Korosensei escaping in the first place was her fault anyway, scapegoats her for the entire thing, then locks her in that room and continues his experiments. Namely this time he’s curious about finding out if an Antimatter being that won’t explode can be created.

And it. Is. Bad.

Like these experiments continue over the course of months and she degenerates more and more until she realizes everyone thinks shes dead. That she’s never going to get to see The Reaper or her students or her family again. She resigns herself to a life of suffering. Like. Pretty much wishes she'd just DIED back there. Which is. Really sad.

Sometime during this time she sees Itona and begs for help, but considering Itona’s pretty much out of his mind in his own right during this time he's not of much help.

When the tentacles ask her what she wants, she answers “safety.” That’s all she wants. To stop being hurt. She dwells more and more on the last time she saw the Reaper. And that’s what her form begins to reflect. So she starts lookin a lot like Korosensei did during his escape w/ the writhing tentacles and such.

And with that wish that’s when something starts to shift w/ the experiments. Like. They go completely off the rails.

She can no longer receive injections. It just doesn’t break the skin. Antisensei weapons simply don’t work on her to the same extent. With force, they can cut her, but nothing like how they make Korosensei’s limbs outright explode. 

Suddenly this is terrifying. CONSIDERING KOROSENSEI WISHED TO BE WEAK. AND ENDED UP THAT FUCKING INVINCIBLE, SHE'S ON ANOTHER LEVEL ENTIRELY. 

Her restraints are like tripled and the room is reinforced with Antisensei material. They find a way to keep pumping her full of antimatter. Despite ppl working under Yanagisawa starting to voice their opinions that this seems dangerous, he doesn’t relent because this isn’t about scientific development at this point, much less safety for him. It’s about his fucking power complex.

And around this time back in the main class, the Itona redemption arc is going on. And as soon as Itona’s back in his right mind hes like

"OH. MY. GOD." 

LIKE HE'D SEEN THIS LADY IN THE LAB BEGGING FOR HELP BUT JUST BEEN TOLD "OH, DON’T WORRY ABOUT HER SHES NOT A THREAT TO YOUR QUEST FOR STRENGTH. SHES PATHETIC" 

When she was begging for help she namedropped Akari. Itona does some digging and finds out Kayano's true identity, before confronting her with what he saw. 

As you can imagine, Kayano kind of flips her shit?? Can’t exactly blame her considering her dead sister is A) Alive B) BEING TORTURED

Kayano comes forward to Korosensei. Asks him if he'd be willing to do anything for his students. For her. He of course says yes. But to that she replies "Even save the life of someone you tried to kill?" 

He's understandably confused. But she explains everything. What she saw. About her tentacles. And about what Itona told her. And in turn he tells her about everything, too. The truth. He begs her to remove her tentacles, but she refuses until she knows Aguri is safe.

Korosensei anxiously tries to explain that there’s no doubt the lab is reinforced, and he doubts they can even DO this. Kayano says she knows they can do it with her classmates on their side, but Korosensei argues he promised he’d protect them, and he REFUSES to put those kids in a situation like that. 

But Kayano argues right back that they’ve dealt with worse (i.e Takaoka) and that if he doesn’t ask them, she'll ask them her damn self. She doesn't need him. Does he want to help or not? 

Korosensei reluctantly (VERY RELUCTANTLY, both out of his caring for Aguri and his desperation to keep Kayano and the rest of the kids safe) agrees to help rescue her.

They give the class VERY vague details (No dump about Korosensei’s backstory, nor about Aguri being Kayano’s sister. There's literally no time for that. Just that there's something like Korosensei out there that needs their help. They do… however tell them that this new Antimatter creature is their former teacher, as they feel it will help inspire the kids to do this.)

Irina and Karasuma are not let in on what’s going on. Korosensei and Kayano actually gather the class after school to specifically avoid those two.

Cue them breaking fucking in. Knocking out lab workers and shit. I don’t know how to describe action sequences. Eventually they find her. And it's so much worse than they could have imagined. Not even really her physical form. (Though that’s pretty grotesque too.) Just how MISERABLE she looks. She has this dead look in her eyes. She's completely pinned down. She doesn't even see them approaching the class because she's so restrained she can't turn her neck. It's like she's a shadow of herself. Miserable and scared and alone.

They break in and free her. She's completely taken aback. This can’t be real. But Kayano and Korosensei are already helping her to her feet as she asks 100 questions. Is... Is that the REAPER? And... What on earth is Kayano implanted with? She's clearly super dazed and acting like she isn't really processing any of this, but she's still worried. She doesn't even really get her answers, namely because they're interrupted. 

Surrounded by people working in the lab and approached by Yanagisawa. He starts to monologue about this happening due to Korosensei’s escape, because that was her fault. And now this is Korosensei fault! It’s beautiful, really! Perfect cause and effect. 

If he hadn’t escaped she never would have been reduced to this. It’s all. Korosensei's. Fault. He hadn’t even cared to try to save her life! Now THAT proves he doesn’t really care. Not like YANAGISAWA cares. He- he doesn’t get to finish his villain monologue because in an EXTREMELY CATHARTIC CHAIN OF EVENTS Kayano goes ape shit on his ass and RIPS OUT HIS OTHER EYE.

YEAH. She’s fucking PISSED.

It’s about now Korosensei’s having an internal debate, because on one hand he’s REALLY trying to be better and be a No More Mr Murder Man, namely BECAUSE of Aguri. On the other hand this guy SERIOUSLY hurt Aguri and might hurt his students, too. 

They’re being surrounded by guards and scientists with Anti-sensei equipment by now. Korosensei's seriously in danger. But that’s where Aguri’s INVINCIBILITY really gets to shine. She protects Korosensei, while ALSO BEGGING KAYANO TO STOP (By now she’s practically lighting that bitch up. LMAOOO) 

Something something she’s been hurt by Yanagisawa but “HE DOESN’T DESERVE TO DIE!” (Oh get a fucking grip, Aguri I love you but he really does deserve to die at this point) 

Finally, Kayano’s classmates manage to rip her off him and they all make their escape. Every student comes out of this unharmed. Thank fuck.

The moment they're out there there's. A lot of things to process and a lot of explaining to do. Like Korosensei hurriedly rushes literally all of them miles away from that hell place, and the ENTIRE TIME THEY'RE ALL ASKING QUESTIONS. 

"WHAT WAS THAT??" 

"DID YOU KNOW YUKIMURA SENSEI??" 

"IS SHE OKAY?" (NO LMAO) 

"WERE YOU A PERSON TOO?" 

"HOW DOES SHE KNOW KAYANO? WHO'S AKARI?"

Korosensei and Kayano are getting flooded with all these questions while Aguri’s pretty much on the brink of sobbing because its the first time shes been outside in six months and the breeze feels so nice on her face and she can see the sky and oh my god its so overwhelming. She never thought she'd see or feel any of this again.

Like shes completely emotionally compromised. Lots of happy tears and sad tears and fuck-i-don't-even-know-what-emotion-this-is tears. 

Korosensei eventually manages to shoo all the students. Tells them to go home and get rest. He'll answer it all in the morning. But for now him, Aguri, and Kayano have a LOT to deal with. 

He removes Kayano's tentacles. It's about now he notices someone hanging back in the trees watching them and gets nervous for a second, but quickly realizes who it is.

"OKAY, YOU CAN GO HOME NOW, NAGISA." and hes like "OKAY OKAY OKAY. I JUST WANTED TO MAKE SURE KAYANO WAS REALLY OKAY" BEFORE SCRAMMING.

(BLESS HIS SOUL. HE’S A GOOD FRIEND.)

And kayano's like "Yay! No tentacles! Okay, so now you can do that to Aguri too, right?" and Korosensei and Aguri are like "hhahhahahahahhahhhhha." Because lets face it, tentacle implants and routinely having antimatter directly injected right into your bloodstream for months on end are pretty different situations. 

"I'm afraid not, Kayano." Korosensei says.

And Kayano's like "...Okay." and they head back to Kayano's place. Kayano just wants to go home with her sister, but she gets Aguri and Korosensei also have a lot to talk about, so she lets him stay the night.

Its clear the tentacles took a lot out of her because she's conked out before they know it. Aguri has to tuck her in. Cue more crying because she never thought she'd see her baby sister again and oh my god she's so tall and oh my god she dyed her hair and oh my god look at her sleeping so sweetly and oh my god she fought so hard for her and oh my god oh my god

Then Korosensei and Aguri go to Aguri's room. Which hasn’t been touched in months. Its depressing, really. But its also like coming home. 

She says she thinks she just wants to sleep, too. But like. Does that thing where you "want" to sleep but keep talking? Yeah. She just keeps saying "one more thing" and rambling to Korosensei about how traumatizing that entire experience was and how much she missed him and everyone else and how weird it is seeing everything again and none of this even feels real. Like she's going to wake up and she's going to be back there and she's never going to get to see them again. 

There's a LOTTTT of crying. But he's there to try his best to help.

She also 100% confesses to him and they PROBABLY make out, but its not like an "officially together" sort of thing because he realizes shes. Super emotionally compromised right now. But he promises that he gets it. He gets. Pretty much exactly what she's going through. And that he'll be there for her. No matter what, this time. 

Eventually she manages to sleep. It's sweet.

And the next morning is weird. ‘Cause all the kids and Korosensei and Aguri are waiting anxioussslyyy at the school. They're there super early. 

But Karasuma's equally as prepared. He SLAPS a newspaper on the desk. "HEY WHAT"S THIS ABOUT A LAB BEING BROKEN INTO LAST NIGHT??" 

And Korosensei's like "AHAHHAHAH...AHAHAH.... YOU THINK THAT'S BAD? WE ACTUALLY HAVE LIKE 800 MORE IMPORTANT THINGS TO TALK ABOUT." AND MOTIONS TO AGURI.

Karasuma loses his FUCKING MIND

"WHAT DID YOU DO!??!?!?!?"

Around now Irina's arriving and. You can imagine she's equally as baffled.

But Korosensei begs them to hear them out. And he finally sits down and explains his Tragic Backstory to his students (and more details of it to Karasuma) far earlier than he’d liked to have.

That’s great and all, but only raises the question of what to do now. Kids are already arguing about whether or not they don’t want to kill Korosensei anymore, and that’s not getting STARTED on Aguri. Do… does she need to die, too? There’s instantly EVEN MORE arguing over that, especially on Kayano and Korosensei’s part. Like that's a BIG FAT NO, CHIEF.

Aguri sheepishly admits she thinks that would be difficult anyways, and showcases her near invincibility. Karasuma loses his FUCKING MIND YET AGAIN and makes a lot of calls. 

He tries to dismiss class for the day, but Korosensei refuses. They actually have a bit of a fight over it. People NEED to come and collect Aguri and do tests. But Korosensei refuses to let her go through that alone after what she’s been through, and also refuses to shirk his job and let his kids miss class over this. Karasuma reluctantly allows a delay until class is over. Namely because its not like he (even with government help on his side) could forcibly take either of them in.

It becomes pretty clear pretty quickly why Korosensei fought so staunchly for this, aside from just his responsibilities as a teacher. It was for Aguri. He felt she needed this. To be in that normal environment and be a teacher again, even just for a day. 

Her demeanor's. different. And the students notice pretty quickly. She's nothing like the goofy happy go lucky Yukimura-sensei they had a few months ago. but she's trying her best, even if they're super worried for her.

Anyway, that night things go DOWN. the government figures Aguri is NEAR INVINCIBLE and shits themselves. It looks like the world’s going to fucking end. They work harder on developing more and more deadly things, but it looks.... bleak.

Meanwhile obviously the E Class, Karasuma, Irina, and Dos Horny Octopi are already putting their heads together to try and find a way to prevent that. While they try to deduce how to save the world AND their teachers, arrangements are made to let Aguri teach as well (With EVEN MORE money slid Gakuho’s way…) They get the scoop on Yanagisawa, and learn he’s in no condition to be a threat right now. (But I’m sure that won’t last.) And finally things return to… Some sort of normal, but it’s hard considering everything that’s gone down has shifted their views on everything so radically.

Anyways enter the COMFORT half of the this hurt/comfort AU.

From thereon out its about Aguri trying to find her place in the world and trying to find a way to be happy again while chipping away at her trauma. Trying to find a way to want to live again after feeling like she lost everything. About, like, ll the little things she missed and her emotional reactions to them and trying not to blame herself for feeling unhappy. About wondering if she'll never feel like the same person she was back then, and if that makes her broken (HEAVENS NO. OF COURSE NOT!) 

And of course, about Aguri reconnecting with her class, reuniting with her sister, getting to know Karasuma and Irina, and [reads smudged handwriting on hand] dating Korosensei.

Stuff like them going on dumb dates in their shitty normal people disguises and feeling awkward about how everyone's staring at them but then laughing because "They're totally staring at you more, dork!" 

Needless to say, Korosensei lives in this AU. 

The shield is still put up and its. Super sad. Like Aguri's stuck outside of it and it's 100% a callback to how they couldn’t touch each other before. Like going from being separated by that wall to being separated by that fucking shield. "I want to touch you Mister Reaper..." again indeed.

I don’t know exactly what I’m going to do with 2.0. I feel like Aguri would try and force Korosensei to reveal his identity during the 2.0 arc, all things considered. But I don’t know if that would make things better or worse. Would it just make 2.0 more vengeful, or is it not too late for him to find some peace and acknowledgement from his mentor? I... Don’t have an answer.

But either way, yes, with or without 2.0, things get NASTY in the shield like in canon when Yanagisawa shows his head (You thought Kayano maiming him was going to hold him down? NEVER.) And when it looks like Korosensei and the students are in danger, Aguri forces herself in through the shield despite the fact that it SERIOUSLY INJURES HER. (Like, God, even w her near invincible tentacle boost she's practically maiming hersel.) Because she NEEDS to protect Korosensei, and she NEEDS to protect those kids.

She lost everything once. She never thought she'd be happy again. But she is. She’s managed to find that. And she won’t let anyone fucking take that from her. She gets to be the one to defeat Yanagisawa, essentially thematically taking back her agency completely.

And something-something the kids use the power of media against the govt in the same way the govt used it against them, and livestream Koroagu’s beautiful reunion to the point that something something people don’t want them killed or something. Or maybe she shields Korosensei from the laser herself (Again at massive risk to herself) or both or I DONT KNOW. But either way they LIVE because they’ve been through much and they’ve earned it and I WANT them to.

Like in manga canon Yanagisawa survives but paralyzed. Aguri stops by once, talks a little (He can’t respond LMAOOO), essentially reaffirms she’s refound her happiness, she knows who she is, and that she doesn’t hate him. She’s scared of him. And she hates what he did to her. But she doesn’t hate him. Because that’s not the sort of person she is. It’s never been. And letting what he did to her take that from her would be letting him win. She says she hopes he finds a way to be happy someday, then walks out, reclaims her life, and never has to see him again. (Which obviously I don’t think is the best way/the only way/even a good way to react. You should NEVER feel obligated to forgive your abuser. EVER. Even superficially. But I do think it’s a very Aguri way.)

Her and the kids and Korosensei live happily ever after. Well. “Happily ever after.” There is no happily ever after after trauma. After depression. After wanting to die. But it does get better. And she’s finally, finally surrounded by people who love her. So maybe even if she’ll never quite be the same, that’s okay. She’s not broken. She’s pretty happy. And even if she’s not completely happy yet...

Who knows? Maybe one day she will be. 

And that’s a pretty beautiful thought.

[mittensmorgul]

Today on the tnt loop: How To Sell Your Soul To Hell 101. 2.08 Crossroad Blues.

Dean’s been worried since 2.01 that John may have traded his soul for Dean’s life... and this is the episode where he gets the proof. He’s spent the season to this point on his “What’s dead should stay dead” streak, like with the Nice Guy™ in 2.04. Even the first few people they run into in 2.08, Dean feels justified in looking down his nose at them-- people who sold their souls for material gain, fame, and fortune.

First the architect who designed beautiful buildings, sure, but they end up talking to a colleague because he didn’t even have any family. Just his career. Then the surgeon, who yeah gained fame and fortune, but at least she saved a heck of a lot of lives, right? She was already a surgeon, she just wanted to be chief surgeon. She wanted to be in charge... and the only person who she shared her life with was apparently her housekeeper. Ambition that meant very little when the hounds came to drag them away.

It’s easy to feel like those folks were greedy, and therefore deserve what they got:

DEAN: Great. So we've gotta clean up these peoples' mess for 'em? I mean, they're not exactly squeaky clean. Nobody put a gun to their head and forced 'em to play Let's Make A Deal. SAM: So what, we should just leave them to die? DEAN: Somebody goes over Niagara in a barrel, you gonna jump in and try to save 'em?

But Sam persists, so Dean goes along with him. They find the guy who summoned the demon in the first place, who’s spent the last 10 years regretting not only his deal (he traded his soul for artistic talent, and he’s about to die penniless and alone with nothing to show for his life but a bunch of art nobody wants), but the fact that the demon stayed and made deals with a bunch of innocent people who didn’t even really believe or understand they were literally going to hell in ten years’ time for it. That guilt weighs on him, too...

GEORGE: Listen. I get that you boys want to help. But sometimes a person makes their bed, they've just got to lie down in it. I'm the one called that demon in the first place.  DEAN: What'd you do it for? GEORGE: I was weak. I mean, who don't want to be great? Who don't want their life to mean something? I just... I just never thought about the price.  DEAN: Was it worth it? GEORGE: Hell no.

And Dean gets just a bit more validation (or reverse validation? what do you call it when someone gets proof they’re unworthy?) that he wasn’t worth it, that John should never have made that deal.

And now we’ve arrived at the next Winchester Family Sacrifice Go Round, and the narrative wheel spins again. Feeling supremely justified and morally righteous, they find the final man who sold his soul. Dean coldly mocks the guy for selling his soul to get a girl, but...

EVAN: No. He's right, I made the deal. Nobody twisted my arm, that... woman, or whatever she was, at the bar? She said I could have anything I wanted. I thought she was nuts at first, but... I don't know how to— I was desperate. SAM: Desperate? EVAN: Julie was dying. DEAN: You did it to save her? EVAN: She had cancer, they'd stopped treatment, they were moving her into hospice, they kept saying... a matter of days. So yeah, I made the deal. And I'd do it again. I'd have died for her on the spot. DEAN: Did you ever think about her in all this? EVAN: I did this for her. DEAN: (advancing on him) You sure about that? I think you did it for yourself. So you wouldn't have to live without her. But guess what? She's going to have to live without you now. But what if she knew how much it cost? What if she knew it cost your soul? How do you think she'd feel? SAM: (putting a hand on DEAN'S chest, pulling him back) Okay, that's enough. You just sit tight, all right? We're going to figure this out. 

Just like John did for him, and would’ve likely done again... so would Evan.

(brief aside to lol that the demon Dean summons knows who he is, and tells him “I get the newsletter.” The demons have had a weekly Winchester column in their paper forever, haven’t they?)

Dean has a plan though... and he’s got a plan B as well. Plan A is almost clumsy for him, like he wanted the demon to think the obvious devil’s trap under his car was the best he could do, wanted her to underestimate him and let her guard down, so she’d follow him into the real trap-- which she does while she’s rolling along delivering the taunts about how John sold his soul for Dean’s life.

DEMON: No. I don't think so. I'm not going to put you out of your misery. DEAN: Yeah? Why not? DEMON: Because your misery's the whole point. It's too much fun to watch. Knowing how your daddy died for you, how he sold his soul. I mean, that's gotta hurt.  (DEAN is backed up against a wooden railing) It's all you ever think about. You wake up and your first thought is, "I can't do this anymore." You're all lit up with pain. I mean, you loved him so much. And it's all your fault.  (DEAN recoils as she gets more in his face.) You blew it, Dean! I could have given you what you need. DEAN: What do I need? DEMON: Your father. I could have brought him back. Your loss. Seeya, Dean. I wish you a nice long life. DEAN: Hold on. She stops, smiling.

His misery is the whole point. well, she’s right about that. This is all part of the longer game of breaking Dean enough to sell his own soul, giving him all the tools and knowledge to do it, but also destroying his self-worth in the process.

(and another aside to lol at a woman associated with darkness and death has told Dean that what he “needs” is one of his dead parents... this time John, but in 11.23 Amara actually does give him back Mary)

DEMON: I could give you ten years. Ten long good years with him. That's a lifetime. The family can be together again. John, Dean, Sammy. The Winchester boys all reunited.  (she advances towards him) Look. Your dad's supposed to be alive. You're supposed to be dead. So we'll just set things straight, put things back in their natural order. And you get ten extra years on top. That's a bonus.

“Proof” that Dean is “supposed to be dead.” Kinda hits hard.

But Dean had no real intention (at least not right then) to accept that deal. It did maneuver the demon into the actual trap, where Dean bargained to trade HER life/freedom for Evan’s. Rather than be exorcised and banished back to Hell, she agrees, and seals the deal with a kiss. But Dean has proof about John’s deal now (and that demons are creatures of their word... no doubting she was telling him the truth, or at least the most painful possible version of it)

SAM: He did it for you. DEAN: Exactly. How am I supposed to live with that? You know, the thought of him... wherever he is right now. I mean, he spent his whole life chasing that... yellow-eyed son of a bitch. He should have gone out fighting. That was supposed to be his legacy. You know? Not bargaining with the damn thing. Not this.  SAM: How many people do you think Dad saved? Total? DEAN: That's not the point, Sam. SAM: Evan Hudson is safe because of what Dad taught us. That's his legacy, Dean. But we're still here, man. So we gotta keep going, for him.

And here we have talk again of “legacies” and what that means to them, which becomes a big theme again in s12 (I mean it’s the whole point of 12.18, yes? selling out everything for the good of the family legacy?)

And we don’t yet know the Big Terrible Secret John told Dean before he died... that’s gonna linger out there all through 2.09 into cliffhanger territory before finally being revealed for the horror it is in 2.10...

Lies, manipulation, Dean’s crumbling self-worth, stripping away his cavalier facade that everything is fine and he’s coping fine (which we got a glimpse of when Andy forced him to tell the truth in 2.05, but has been getting consistently shakier as he’s forced to face the truth of what John did and his scrambling to adjust to life without John out there to tell him what to do as things so much further above their pay grade begin organizing a targeted campaign against the Winchesters for purposes as yet unknown). This is something John in no way prepared him for, and it’s all now suddenly on his shoulders as the world goes to literal hell around him.

Like Chuck doing the same thing in abandoning his angels... but more about that in the 2.10 report. This one’s getting long enough already. But just bear in mind that ALL of this was Chuck’s design anyway... his manipulation, these sorts of deals, familial sacrifices, and a bigger and bigger cosmic picture as the narrative spiral spins again.

[calleo-bricriu]

I’m still on a break from that awful fiction book. Nearly done with it but still annoyed with it for being so terrible.

Instead, here’s the next chapter of “Facts for he Married”.

As an aside, you cannot read this man’s medical books without basically reading them as that insufferable Leigh character from his fiction book because Leigh is him with a different name.

Anyway.

I got through a good few paragraphs of the third "case study" in Facts for the Married before realising that interruption wasn't talking about in conversation.

Apparently, the third anecdote here is about a couple who is just bad at sex.

Which, of course, is entirely the wife's fault, according to the author because how could a man be wrong or not good at such a thing?

It goes a little off the rails pretty quickly with, "No nation can last whose social life is one of sensuality and sex perversion. History has shown this fact. But, however much we may look back upon the times of Nero or Caligula or try to imagine the Eleusinian orgies, we should try to remember that such things as were done and said were at least open and public matters and as such could have been regulated, had a high moral standard been in existence." He’s just saying shit like this to the two people in his office for their appointment unprompted.

I guess regulated public orgies would be moral though. I’m not sure--how--but there we go.

"And what is a prettier sight in the world than a plump mother with a plumper baby?" A lot of things, if I'm being honest. He's talking like he's trying to sell them off to a butcher.

He's finally moved on to the totally real and not something he just made up couple and we've got a pale, thin husband and an irritable, twitchy wife. She’s described in the sort of way where you just know the author wants to call her bitchy or worse but Swears Are Not Allowed, so she’s just “irritable and nervous” and occasionally ‘shrew like”.

The totally real husband starts trying to explain the relationship issues with his wife, like a normal person might, and the doctor cuts him off about five words in and essentially tells him to shut up with his complaining then tells him he needs to start living according to the laws of nature and, at 39, there's no excuse for him to have--loss of stamina, as well as the "fact" that all the drugs in the world won't fix his wife being a frigid, nervous bitch.

Little harsh.

"You fear impotence, and your fear is justified," is probably not a statement that is helpful here, especially since the guy just explained that that’s literally one of his problems. For some reason, I got the image of this doctor sort of looking down his nose in an inappropriately appraising way at the guy when he said that.

He goes on and tells this poor guy that he's also got a shite memory, doesn't know how to sleep correctly, has headaches, has no idea what he's doing or talking about because the guy never mentioned any of this, and at one point the guy tries to agree with him then explain more.

"Sometimes, I feel--"

"Yes, no need to waste your energy in telling me," and he goes off describing more 'problems' this guy has because he's good enough to read minds I guess. This man is a terrible doctor both for his wildly inaccurate advice and for the fact that he doesn’t listen to his patients.

At this point, we find out the absolutely real wife is sitting RIGHT THERE (she had only been mentioned as having existed previously and the writing was such that it read like just the Doctor and the poor guy trying to explain his problems) and interrupts (the conversational type this time) the doctor that another doctor told them that her husband had spinal issues, and THIS doctor just sort of went with, "Whatever, he was a quack. I'm a real doctor."

"But did you tell him and the others you have been to that you lived unnaturally?"

Okay first of all, what?

Second, she tells him no and gets berated for not knowing she was "living wrongly" and I assume sarcastically asks if her husband even objected to her trying to tell other doctors they were normal people.

He tries to answer, gets interrupted by the doctor again who somehow knows that, before this couple got married, she told him she didn't want kids and he was cool with it.

...and that's why they're bad at sex, because they don’t want children. That's the long conclusion. I have to admit, I’ve never wanted children and I don’t think I’m necessarily bad at the sex thing. Then again, I haven’t tried to drag up the ghost of Dr. Howard to ask his opinion and I kind of want to because I’m definitely the sort of unnartually wrong living sort that would probably kill him a second time just by being in the same room with me.

The doctor sits there for seven pages berating her for not wanting to have kids, that her husband needs to start demanding babies be made and if she refuses and cuts him off it's entirely her fault if he cheats on her.

Since the husband appears to be a reasonable person, despite the author's attempts to write him as completely useless, he tries to explain that he doesn't really want to do that, that it's beyond inappropriate to demand his wife have children if she doesn't want them, he was perfectly okay with this while they were dating and when they got married and that it’s her choice (you know, a reasonable, normal response--just not for 19--when the hell was this one published? 1912.) and, of course, gets cut off by the doctor again so he can berate him for being useless and spineless in one breath and stopping just short of calling his wife a frigid bitch for refusing to get pregnant.

We're introduced to a third sex: Neutered. While I know that sounds amusing, all it means is that you’re not conforming to prevailing gender role expectations of the time so you’re no longer a man or a woman you’re a ‘neuter’. He also briefly mentioned it applies if some sort of surgery is required that leaves one sterile or if they end up with a disease that makes them sterile.

I don't--think that's how it works but, okay, sure, why not?

So, they both stop trying to explain to the doctor that he's being an idiot (which he is) and he orders them to go home and start being less terrible at sex--no advice as to how, it was pretty much just, “Go home and have, like, at LEAST two kids then you’ll be fine,” at which point he'll stop being--how was the husband described? Pale and thin; he'll stop being pale and thin and presumably also stop being a spineless wreck and she'll be much less of a frigid bitch once she has babies plural.

I'm a bit concerned at this point he's going to make good on the threat of giving "explicit advice and instructions" but will also be kind of disappointed if he doesn’t.

Wife is used as a verb a few times, in reference to older men ditching their first wives and grabbing a "young girl" as a new one and THOSE men deserve "nothing but contempt from their young wives". Don’t use wife as a verb, though, unless you’d like whichever person you do that to to give you a well deserved punch in the teeth for it.

The reason for that is--that hypothetical older guy she’ll jump to once she gets tired of Mr. Spineless here, will either make her a nervous wreck by being even more terrible at sex (because if he were any good at it he could have kept his first wife and she wouldn’t have walked the second the kids were grown, of course) and it's his fault because he's repeatedly insulted her and "starved her to desperation" by being terrible at sex. I don’t know why he’s talking about this, at no point did this couple express the desire to get divorced or get a sugar daddy involved.

I'm not sure how this is applicable to the 100% real couple in the room with this doctor.

He finally starts rambling on about old men and young women and tells him to not jump back into it because he can't risk any strain on his vitality, "what little you have left" (quit murdering the guy, Doctor, damn...), and needs to take a 3-6 month holiday by himself so he can get his life back together. If his job gives him hell about wanting to take SIX MONTHS off, he's supposed to tell them that they don't have that option and fuck off on holiday anyway.

I don't think reality works like that. I have a hell of a lot of accrued time off and I'm still pretty sure if I told @directoryandle that I was going to fuck off on a six month holiday I'd be sacked (unless I could make a convincing case for it being a working holiday).

So, husband has to take a 3-6 month holiday by himself, now it's the wife's turn for getting advice. These people don’t have names, as an aside, because it’s “real case studies” so he’ll sometimes go with “Mr. S----” or “Mrs. S----” but that’s it. Usually he just calls them “the husband” and “the wife”.

Her orders are to let her husband take that 3-6 month holiday without her and told what amounts to, "At least you're not a murderer, so there's that," and reminded to (once he's back from his holiday, of course) get to work on that having multiple children thing. Presumably a woman who doesn’t want kids is only one run up from an actual murderer.

They’re both somehow pleased with this awful advice and then we get to the “Fourth Case Study”.

The couple in the fourth absolutely real case is the opposite, they're too good at the sex thing and she's noticed he's losing weight and energy and the husband is just, "I don't see the problem here, I’m fine."

SHE tells the doctor she'll cut her husband off if it'll fix his health because she’s concerned that he “wants to love her too much”--like, honey, you can just tell him no, you don’t have to say yes to his 30th request for the day or however excessive this is, he’s got working hands and is a grown adult let him deal with it himself now and again--which doesn't seem to be terrible in any regard, and gets praised for that while he gets sarcastically lectured for the rest of the chapter about how he's being excessive and needs to calm down.

And how often is this happening that the husband is actively losing weight? I mean, you could just try feeding him more to make up for the calorie deficit I guess.

Honestly, despite how much like the Perfect Wife he was trying to portray her it really did come off as he subtly asking him to tell her husband to fucking cool it because they already have five kids and she hardly has any time to get anything done without him pestering her about it 4+ times per day--but it can’t be phrased that way or then he’d have two write about how she’s a terrible person who doesn’t appreciate the good things her husband has given her.

There's just no winning with Dr. Howard.

[lilyharvord]

Can u please do a chapter of song of fire from Cal's perspective? Maybe when he finds out she's pregnant? That would be awesome thx.

AHHHH I COULDN’T IGNORETHIS!!!!! (Honestly finals have been a bitch to me and I needed a break so I did this). I miss this AU too much…

A Song of Fire (Part 2From Cal’s POV)

It’s hard to say whatirritates me more. Evangeline’s constant unsteady stare, or my grandmother’sdisapproving look. Either one of those is probably enough to dampen any mood Ifelt at the moment. I wasn’t even sure what to feel. It had been months since Ihad last seen her, and I wasn’t entirely sure I was prepared to see her, notafter what had happened the last time we had seen each other. 

Davidson had been verytight lipped about the whole thing. He had refused to answer any questions Imight have had. The silent treatment had been worse than anything though. I’dhad nightmares the entire night leading up to this meeting. I hadn’t been ableto sleep, twisting and turning like a man possessed. What would she tell metoday? Would she tell me that it was officially over, that there was no hope?That I was on my own? Maybe that was why Davidson had been so silent about thewhole thing. Maybe that was why I had been denied any information about themeeting at all. 

Islowly turned to glance out at the crumbling buildings, at the shatteredwindows of the Rift’s town. This place had been hit hard a long time ago,during the nuclear bombings before the rise of the empires of the Lakelands,Norta, and Piedmont. The people that used to live in this town had beenmoved to other locations. I had seen them in my few trips down to the towns. Theyhad dark sunken eyes, and rail thin bodies, and spirits that were almostnon-existent. It was stomach crunching to put it mildly. And it just remindedme that the Samos’ could not sit on the throne of Notra. That was Notra’sfuture if they put me seven feet under before the end of the war. For thatreason, I had trouble sleeping as well. Sometimes, I heard Larentia’s pantherpacing outside my door, and on those nights, I usually laid awake, looking atthe ceiling, wondering if tonight would be the night they decided they didn’tneed me anymore.

“Iwill speak with this little rag tag group first.” I glanced up at mygrandmother’s words. Her lips were drawn in a tight line of disgust as she spokeof them. It had taken a lot of convincing on my part to get her to even so muchas agree to let me come out to this meeting. She had argued to bring them backto the Palace of the Rift and to meet with them there. I had argued that it wasbetter to meet at a more neutral space. The transmission from Piedmont had statedthat Mare wanted to speak with me privately, and talking with her in the palacewould be the opposite of that. Every single word we spoke would probably berecorded and used against us. I couldn’t put her in that position, not aftereverything else she had been through.

“Marewanted to speak with me, she won’t be happy if you walk out there.” I repliedstiffly, earning a glare from my grandmother who simply sniffed in distaste andsaid, “You’re going to be king Cal. I know that things have been different foryou over the past year and a half, but the faster you acclimate to the properdecorum again, the better.”

Iopened my mouth to argue, only to close it quickly and look back out thewindow. It was no use arguing with her, she would throw the same arguments outover and over again. I was tired of arguing with her, tired of arguing witheveryone. It was always one battle after another, and I wasn’t sure I had it inhim for one more right now. All I wanted right now was to see Mare. It reallydid not matter if she was a hissing, spitting ball of fury, I just needed tosee her.

Thecar came to a stop, and brushing off the pants of her uniform, my grandmotheropened the door. I went to follow her, but her arm barred my path, and shesmiled softly before saying, “Wait here.”

“Theywon’t try anything; she just wants to speak to me.” I spoke stiffly, but mygrandmother simply narrowed her eyes and closed the door in my face. Evangelinetrailed after her, glancing back at me only once. They argued with each otherfor a few minutes, from what I could tell before they turned the corner intothe park. I watched that corner for a long time, until my vision blurred andall I could see was the corner brick that was sticking out slightly. Over thesound of the silence in my ears, I hear a familiar voice, spitting somethingthat I can’t quite make out. I feel my lips pull up in a smile, it doesn’t takemuch to guess who that is. No doubt Cameron was voicing an argument, gunsblazing and fire in her eyes. She was a sight to behold when she was like that.I wished for a moment that I had tried harder to be better with her, to nothave been the person she had probably guessed I was from the moment she hadfirst seen me.

Myeyes snap up when I see movement near the park entrance, and I watch Evangelinestride toward the vehicle, her lips curled up in a smirk. My grandmother is hoton her heels, obviously furious. That’s my cue though, and I open the door andstep out. Evangeline watches me for a moment and then says, “seems as if theyreally want to speak to you.”

Iclose the door behind me, feeling my stomach twist in surprise at her words,which are absolutely genuine.

“Wedon’t have to deal with this,” Anabel argues, her eyes cold as she starts tospeak faster and louder, “You don’t have to do this, you can just-“

Ibrush past her, my eyes already set on the park gates. She’s here, I can almostfeel it, feel the charge in the air that follows her everywhere. My grandmothertries to grab my arm, but I pull it out of her grip and hiss, “You’re not goingto stop me from doing this.”

Iturn on my heel again and open my stride, trying not to run like I want to,forcing myself to try and seem cool and collected. I don’t want to look like adesperate child, but I feel like it. I can feel my heart racing, poundingagainst my chest and pulling me toward her. My grandmother continues to follow me;her voice is drowned out by the rush of blood in my ears though. I’m so close,so close I can almost feel the brush of her hair against my cheek, taste thesmell of her shampoo and the hear the sound of her breath as she exhales softlyagainst my neck. I’m here, I want to cry, I’m here, I’m so close.

Irace around the corner into the park, feeling my skin burn as I stand there infront of everyone, feeling all of their eyes land on me. I can only see herthough. She sits below Farley, her eyes watching me as well. I haven’t seen herin months, but nothing has changed. I feel like a ten-year old kid again, as mystomach drops and my heart pounds in my ears. There you are, I want to whisper,I’ve missed you, almost forces its way out. She doesn’t move as we sit therestaring at each other for what feels like eternity, but I break the moment,when I start toward her, my hand twitching at me side. I just want to touch heragain, to make sure she’s real.

Cameroncuts me off though, her eyes like fire as she sneers at me. I halt, almostdigging my heels into the pavement to stop myself before I slam into the wallof muscle that is Cameron Cote. I look at her over Cameron’s shoulder, feelingmy heart ache at how close I am to her, and yet how far I have put myself. Imade this canyon between us, the pain I feel, I caused it.

Sherises slowly from the bench, her hands never leaving the pockets of her jacket.She reaches out and sets her hand on Cameron’s shoulder, and the girl doesn’tflinch like she used to when Mare whispers, “It’s fine Cam, I can take it fromhere.”

Thegirl looks over her shoulder at Mare, her shoulder’s tightening for a moment.She nods slightly, and then steps behind Mare. Still, she glares at me over hershoulder and spits, “You let me know if he tries anything, I’ll make him wishhe’d never been conceived.”

 I feltmy eyes widen and my heart drop. Did they honestly think… I wanted to hurt her?I just wanted to see her, to touch her, I didn’t want anything else from her.She watches this, before she slowly steps closer to me, her eyes rising to meetmine as she whispers, “Let’s walk.”

Iglance, for only a fraction of a second, over my shoulder at my grandmother,who looks like a bomb sitting precariously on the edge of a cliff. Her eyesnarrow on me though, and I inhale softly before turning back to Mare andoffering her my arm. The only thing I can do to really put up the façade thatI’ve settled back into this whole position. I wondered if Mare could tell thatI wasn’t though. She tended to be very perceptive when I came to me, andeverything I did.

        I watch her slide her hand into the crook of my elbow, andmy body burns at the touch, knowing she’s finally here, next to me. She doesn’tpress up against me though, she simply walks next to me, keeping a special fewinches between our bodies. I tried not to flinch or stiffen at that, but Ifailed miserably and I knew that.

        Forcing myself not to get lost in my thoughts, I started inthe direction of one of the paths. I had chosen it a week ago, when we had setthe meeting up. It would lead us away from the whole group, and I see Marenotice this. Davidson’s guards notice it as well, and they stiffen. Mare simplynods to them, but it does nothing to satiate them. They watch us the wholetime, and I can almost feel their eyes burning holes in the back of my skull asI lead her deeper down the path.

        I wait until we’re obscured by the bend in the path to reachup and softly set my hand on hers. She doesn’t immediately pull away, and I letmy body expel every ounce of fear and worry in a single exhale. She glances upat me, her eyes hard as she asks, “Playing with the silver nobility isn’t aseasy as it used to be, I assume?”

        For a moment, I can just imagine the two of us walkingtogether in Piedmont, discussing our day and the troubles we had been facing. I’mnot sure if I should react to her obvious disdain for the subject. In the end,I reply, “You have no idea,”

Ican almost feel my lips pull up in a smile at the fact that we are justtalking, and that she hadn’t tried to skin me alive yet. Her grip loosens justa little bit as she replies, “Oh I do, I played dress up in the Burner Courttwice.” Her reply is so casual, and yet holds more weight than both of us willever be able to understand. Her words burn, more than anything I have everheard before. I pull away just slightly too, worried that now that we are outof sight, she’ll take me down and beat me into a pulp. She’s certainly had timeto determine exactly what she feels about this whole situation, and I wouldn’tput it past her to crush me into the pavement and leave me there bleeding. Pullingaway is the least I can do to make sure that that does not come to pass.

Mystomach still turns though, and my eyes keep wandering to her profile. It’s seton the path before us, watching the leaves as the break from the trees and raindown onto the pavement. I can’t help wondering why she is here, why she woulddemand to speak to me and me alone, unless it’s a warning. Maybe she’s here totell me that my time is up, that the Guard is here to kill me. Maybe mygrandmother was right. I wouldn’t be surprised, nor would I be offended by iteither. I knew what I was doing, the choice I was making. I knew that by doingthis, I was destroying every bridge I had built. But I had to do this, I had totake the crown. I was the only one who could take the mantle, who could step betweenthe Guard and Samos family and give everyone a new target to shoot at so thatthey stopped shooting at each other for long enough to work together. So far,my plan had worked perfectly, but in the process, I had lost the most importantthing to me.

Ican’t hold back my curiosity anymore either, my need to know so strong that Ican’t stop thinking about the question anymore. Inhaling the sharp scent ofearly autumn, I say carefully, hoping to not prod her too much, “When we gotthe message that you wanted to meet… I didn’t know what to expect.”

Sheglances at me finally, her eyes closed off, but his lips pull into a tight lineof worry. She tries so hard to be unreadable, and lately, she’s been successful.Still, her next words bring me to halt as she says, “Well, I…I needed to tellyou something, something that I could only tell you in person.”

Hereit is, I think as I freeze in panic. She’s telling me that the Guard hasofficially targeted me, I’m her new target, her new mission. I raise my eyes tomeet hers, searching those depths that I had fallen in love with for any signof the truth she is about to reveal. She takes a step back, more out of courtesy,considering the fact that we were almost chest to chest, but it still hurt towatch her do that.

Shewatches me for a long time, long enough that I see a few leaves fall around us.Eventually though, she reaches up with a hesitant hand to unzip her jacket, herfingers curling around the zipper in almost a death grip that turns herknuckles white. She watches me the whole time, her eyes wary as she whispers, “Something’shappened,” my heart speeds up in surprise as she slowly continues to unzip herjacket. I have no idea what she is actually doing, let alone what she might betrying to hide underneath her jacket. I wonder if it’s instructions, some sortof confidential paperwork. That would explain why she was walking with herother hand in her pocket the whole time. Maybe it was to support the papers? Ihad no idea, and the longer she takes to do this the more terrified I become. Shelooks pained though as she continues to unzip, and continues to whisper to me, “Somethingcompletely unexpected…and terrifying…and,” she pauses, her voice wavering, “andsomehow wonderful at the same time.”

Sheshakes like a leaf then, and my heart aches to see that pain behind her eyes,that is slowly leaking out, slowly starting to ooze out of every single pore.On instinct, I step forward, and reach for her, whispering, “Mare, what’swrong? You’re shaking.”

Icall on the fire deep in my veins and push some of that heat around us,encasing us in a bubble of warmth like I used to do in the Notch when she wouldfind her way into my bed roll at night. She reaches between us, and rips thezipper down all the way, her breath expelling in a soft rush of panic andchocked pain, but I can only look at her, at the tears that are starting towell up in her eyes. I can’t remember the last time I saw her cry, and Iwondering if this has to do with something like that. A tiny sob escapes herthen, and I have no choice but look down at what she is revealing to me.

Myheart stops for a fraction of a second, and my mind goes so numb, I’m worried Imight pass out. In fact, I take a stumbling step back, my chest rising in asharp inhale at the sight. Forgotten gods, it wasn’t possible, it just… itcouldn’t be. I drag my fingers into my hair, and knot them there, wanting to pullit all out by the roots. Your fault, my mind screams, your fault, your faultyour fault your faultyourfaultyourfault-

Ialmost can’t breathe around the words stuck in my throat. How long, I want toask, how long have you been like this? Which is a stupid question because thenit sounds like she’s sick or just injured, but she’s not, this is somethingelse. Something, wonderful, and beautiful, but also terrifying. I realized thelast part only a second after the first. She was in danger like this, theSilvers would come for her with a vengeance now, to remove her and—

Icouldn’t follow that thought, not matter how much my mind screamed it at me. Ican’t even help that I start pacing, my mind going a thousand miles an hour,trying to come up with plans that are adjusted to this new information. I can’teven imagine the panic she’s feeling, let alone how long she’s had to deal withit. I freeze in surprise at that thought and then flipping around on her Imanage to choke out, “How long?”

Shehugs her elbows to her chest, her cheeks getting splotchy as she whispers, “Sixmonths.”

Everythingleaves my chest in a massive exhale that sounds like I just got sucker punchedin the gut. But that is what it feels like. She coulnd’t have bothered to tellme until now? She waited six months to tell me this? Six months to let me knowthat I’m going to be a father? My heart races with that thought, panic floodingthrough all my muscles and nerves. I’m not ready to be a father, let alone afigure that is supposed to show someone how to live their life. I barely havemine under control and based off of my recent actions, I was not exactly aprime role model for our child. Forgotten gods, it was our child, not just somerandom baby, but ours. Something about that made my stomach clench in fear,because I knew, I knew that I couldn’t leave the Rift, I was bound to my crownnow, and nothing would be able to pull me away from it short of death itself.

“Six?Six! And you couldn’t have beenbothered to tell me until now?” My voice is a wheeze as I try to understand. Icould have found a way to get out of this months ago, instead I was dealingwith it now, when I couldn’t do a thing about it.

Sheinflates in fury and spits, “Well you weren’t exactly around! You were busybeing Volo’s pet!”

Ifeel the rage before anything else. She’s going to do this now? Bring that upnow?! We have to try and figure out the damn future of our child, and she wantsto bring that up instead? The ice in my words leaks out into my ability as Isuck the heat away from around us. It builds inside me as I hiss, “Don’t startthis.”

“Don’t—start—what?”She breathes, and the words a threat, a warning that I was the cause of thispain she feels, the cause of all the shit she now has to go through. I can’thelp feeling my defenses slide into place as I reply, my voice just as angry ashers, “You’re pregnant, and you didn’t bother to tell me, I had a right toknow!’

“ANDI HAD A RIGHT TO KNOW YOU WERE GOING TO LEAVE ME!” Her shriek is enough to makethe birds fall silent around us. Even further away, the constant chatter of ourgroups falls to silence and my skin prickles. They’ll be listening now, wantingto hear what caused that outburst. I wouldn’t put it past my grandmother tosend guards, to send Evangeline over here to make sure I’m still alive. For amoment, I honestly think that Mare might kill me, the fury in her eyes isenough to do it, instead, she crumbles though.

“Youleft,” She chokes, her breathing heavy and her cheeks shinning with newlyfalling tears, “You left me, you left us. You left us.”          

Iswallow around the thickness in my throat, her pain palpable in the air, andinfectious. I feel my own eyes watering, feel all that anger and regretbuilding up as I choke, “I didn’t know you were pregnant, if I had…if I had, Iwould have… I would have…”

“Youwould have what?” She sobs, massive tears falling from her eyes as shecontinues, “Was I not good enough? I had to add a baby, an heir, into the mix to keep you around?”

Myheart breaks, and I try to back pedal, try to make her see that nothing’schanged, that my heart still belongs to only her. I reached out desperately forher, touching her for the third time, feeling the strength in her arms as Iwhisper, “No, no, no, Mare please. I told you. I told you that I love you, morethan anything in this world, and that the only thing I want is you. I meantthat, I meant every word.”

Shesobs softly and then manages to get out around her hitched breaths, “Then youshould have stayed!”

Iwince, and more than anything in that moment I wish that I had stayed. That Ihad made a different decision that day on the balcony. “I know,” I whisper toher, as I press my forehead against her own, feeling my tears slide down andjoin her own, “I know and I regret it , I regret this, more than anything, butI’ve set a path…I have to stay on it. I have to do this.”

“Youdon’t have to do anything you don’t want.” She whimpers, trying to sound assertive,trying to sound brave. “Come back, come back with me to Piedmont, to theScarlet Guard. Forget the crown,” she pauses, and I know the words that arecoming before she can even say them, “Choose us, Cal please.”

Herlast word is practically a sob, and it only makes it worse. At least on thebalcony she had been stern, had been decisive and proud. Here, she’s in pain,and showing every inch of it. I squeeze my eyes shut to avoid hers, and the actmakes more tears run down my cheeks, burning paths into my skin that burns withmy own pain. “I can’t,” I choke, “I can’t come back. I’ve stepped too far now.I’ve gone too far.”

“Nocome back, you can, you can come back. It’s not too late.” She begs as she cupsmy cheeks, gripping my face so that I can’t pull away again, so that I have tolook at her when I answer. She won’t let me off easy this time. It’s the firsttime she’s initiated anything since we got here, and I can’t help how familiarthe gesture is. I lean into her touch, and press my lips into her palm, whisperingsadly, “Maybe, maybe not, but I have to do this. I have to do it to keep theSilvers in line, to keep them from coming after the you and the Guard,” Iglance down, my hand reaching out, to touch her stomach to brush against theplace where our child rests. But I can’t do it, I can’t bear to think that Ileft her in this position. I pull my hand away, and finish my statement, “Nowmore than ever.”

Shegrabs my hand with a desperation that I didn’t realize she had, and presses itagainst her stomach, and I can almost feel the weight she carries. I feel the slightestflutter as the baby shifts at the new sensation of heat that radiates from myhand. I can feel the vibrations of the kick it delivers to her hip, and thatjust about destroys me. Before know it, I’m crying again, heaving sobs overthis. The fact that I’m going to be a father, and the fact that this is ours,that we made this small life together both crash down on me at the same timeand I can’t help it as I slowly sink down to the ground with the weight of it.Mare goes with me, melting into a puddle in my arms. She curls around me,pressing her stomach against mine so I can feel the little fluttering kicksthat our child performs as it presses a hand against her skin. I can feel allfive tiny fingers pressing against my stomach and I can’t help the sob that escapeswhen I feel that. She latches her arms around my neck and presses her lipsagainst mine, the same kiss she had given me after Archeon, after we had pulledher out of Maven’s cage. I wrap my arm around her in response, pulling hercloser, keeping her close. I was terrified that if I let go, I would never gether back.

Ibrush my hand against the stomach, feeling the baby follow it, and almost laughat that. Instead, I cry harder, shocked at how much I’ve missed, how much I letmyself miss with my mistake. But I have to do it now, more than ever. I have tokeep her safe, have to keep our baby safe. I need to keep the Silvers on thehunt for Maven, have to keep them and the Guard at peace. I can’t do that if Igo to Piedmont. But, there is a way to bring her here, with the baby, when it’ssafe. My heart races again at the thought of it, and pulling her face to mine,I whisper, “I’ve got a plan, I don’t know if you’ll like it, but I’ve got aplan.”

Shenods, a miniscule movement, but it’s an agreement nonetheless, and as soon asshe gives me that conformation, I tell her exactly what I have in mind.

[redditnosleep]

Somebody Broke Her

by TobiasWade. Warning for domestic violence.

You know the kind of girl I’m talking about. She looks like life chewed her up and spit her back out.

You can see it in her eyes, if you could even see her eyes. Her loose tangled hair covers most of her face, and she’s always staring at her feet. You can see it in her hunched shoulders, hear it in her mumbling voice. She’s both desperate and afraid to be heard, hating herself for everything she says and everything she doesn’t say.

She doesn’t live in my building, but I see her almost every day when she visits her boyfriend in the apartment next door. I’ve said hello to her a few times — she always flinches when I talk to her. The first thing out of her mouth is inevitably an apology — sorry for being in my way, or for being here too often, or for taking up one of the dozen empty parking spots. I asked her name once, but she said it didn’t matter.

“Why not? What am I supposed to say when I see you?” I asked.

“Nothing. You don’t need to. I’m nobody.”

“Well my name is —”

But she just kept walking. Head leaning against my neighbor’s door, hands in her pockets, looking like an ostrich trying to disappear into the sand.

“Bye nobody!” I chimed as the door opened to let her in.

I couldn’t be sure under the hair, but I think she almost smiled. “Bye somebody,” she murmured, disappearing into the doorway. My neighbor Jeff poked his head out — scrawny fellow with a soul patch and a beanie which seemed permanently fixed to his head. He nodded sharply at me like a fighter paying insincere respect to his opponent, slamming the door.

I liked watching Nobody from my balcony when she was parking her car. I liked the fluid grace of her movements which transformed regular motions like opening doors and stepping over obstacles into a choreographed dance. I must not have been the only one to notice either, because there always seemed to be someone hitting on her whenever I saw her. Not the charming kind either — fat oafs jumping out of their car like they were waiting for her, or pushy street rats backing her up against the building. I thought she was a prostitute at first, but she always rebuffed them so vehemently that I figured that wasn’t the case.

Often at night I’d see her leaning on the railing of my neighbor’s balcony, smoking a joint and staring off into space. I got the feeling that she was staring into a world that only she could see, but looking at her face, I also got the feeling that it wasn’t a very pretty world. I wish I could see it too. Sometimes I’d go out onto my own balcony and try to make an excuse for conversation, but she’d invariably duck back inside the moment she saw me. If I was lucky and she seemed to be in good spirits, I’d hear a “Bye somebody” before she went. A stupid joke, but it always made me smile.

She couldn’t have been happy, but I suppose it wasn’t any of my business. I’d hear her boyfriend yelling at her through the walls sometimes, although I never heard her say anything back. I figured that she was her own person with her own choices to make, and if she was being really mistreated, then she wouldn’t keep coming back. It’s not like I had proof that she was being abused or anything — and what I did guess, I quickly dismissed as petty jealousy, resolving not to interfere with her life.

That resolution lasted for about two months, but it ended last night. It was after dark and I was getting home late when I spotted Nobody pressed up against my building. Two men in leather jackets were several inches too close for innocent conversation, practically pressing themselves on her while she squirmed to get away. I honked my car horn at them, and one looked over his shoulder. Fat stupid face, mouth hanging part way open, he stared at me for a few seconds before turning back to her.

“I got to go,” I heard her say. “Somebody is waiting for me.”

I honked again. Fat-face turned to walk over to my car. “Cool it, asshole,” he shouted. “This target only has 11 points left anyway. Get your own damn girl.”

I rolled down my window. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“You new or something?” he asked, fishing out his phone. He showed me the screen which depicted a GPS map of my neighborhood. Scattered throughout were little targets, each with a name and a life-bar like a video game character has. The target against my building was named ‘Cillia’, with 11/100 life remaining.

“I don’t know what the fuck that is, but I’m not playing,” I told him.

He laughed. More like a guffaw really — deep and guttural without the slightest hint of mirth. “You’re after that piece of shit and you’re not even getting points? Hey Mark — he actually wants this bitch.”

The other guy — presumably Mark — still had the girl against the wall. He made a half-lunge at her as she wriggled free, but it was just to scare her. She looked like she was about to run toward my car, but seeing the fat one over by me, she sprinted to her own vehicle instead. We all watched as she tore out of the parking lot, the biggest smile I’d ever seen plastered across her face.

“Don’t waste your time. Somebody already broke her.” Fat-face slammed my car with the palm of his hand as he turned to leave. “Let’s go Mark. There’s two more of them on this street.”

I was so relieved to see them go that I didn’t try to ask more questions. Nobody had a name. It was Cillia. And something was tracking her location and broadcasting it out to these creeps. It didn’t feel like I was meddling in someone else’s business anymore. I couldn’t just play dumb and let her sort this out for herself.

A few minutes later and I was hammering on my neighbor’s apartment. “Hey Jeff, you in there?”

“Bug off,” came the muffled reply.

“It’s about the game you’re playing with Cillia.” It seemed pretty vague to me, but if he was involved then he’d know what I was talking about.

Loud shuffling like someone crossing the room in a hurry, and the door opened a moment later. He was wearing nothing but his boxers and his beanie, skinny body blocking the door.

“Yeah, what about the game?” he asked. I hesitated, unsure what to say next. He must have misread my silence, because his face became animated and hopeful. “Hey did I win the prize or something?”

I nodded stiffly. Jeff threw the door open to welcome me in, practically dancing with excitement. “Holy shit I knew it! I’ve been on the leader-board for weeks — it was only a matter of time. Seriously competitive shit, you know? I’ve got everything ready for you, come on in.” He rushed to a cabinet under the sink and began hauling out cardboard boxes. I still didn’t know what the hell was going on though, so I had to play along to get more answers.

“How many points are you at now?” I asked.

“723,” without hesitation. “19 separate targets, although I’ve been getting most of the points from Cillia, as you know.” He plopped two cardboard boxes on the coffee table beside me, flaying them open for inspection. The greasy smell of stale sex was nauseating. “This one’s got all the condoms in it,” he said. Hundreds of them — all used — neatly tied off into little balloons. “Then this one has all the recordings.”

“723 is a lot,” I said, pretending to be impressed. “Tell me how you were keeping score.”

He looked suspicious for a moment, but it passed. If my question raised any red flags, then he was so pleased with himself that he didn’t dwell on it. “It’s legit, I swear. I used the ‘Break Her’ rulebook and everything. 10 points for humiliating her. 15 points for taking a personal item or making a big decision for her. 25 for unwanted sex or something physical. Then I’ve got a bunch of the small ones I’ve been building up — the daily criticisms, isolating her from friends and family, that sort of thing. What’s the prize going to be?”

“Hold on a minute, I got to ask all the questions first. Standard procedure, you know.”

“How come you never told me you worked for ‘Break Her’? You must have known that I played,” Jeff asked. Again the suspicion, this time lingering on his face.

I shrugged, making notes on my phone as though I was dutifully recording his answers. “What do you think the purpose of the game was? And how did you get into it?”

“Isn’t it obvious? You just got to break her. I started playing when my buddy got dumped by his ex. He paid to have her registered in the system, and I thought it would be fun to join so I could start harassing her. At first it was just to support my buddy, but it was pretty helpful seeing where all the vulnerable chicks were. Turned out I was pretty good at it, so I decided to try and get enough points to win the prize.”

“Uh huh.” I typed as he talked. My fingers were literally shaking. “And Cillia? Did you ever love her?”

He laughed. It wasn’t a pleasant sound. A pause, then: “Oh, are you serious? Come on, man. It’s just a game. So what’s the deal? Am I getting the prize today or not?”

I didn’t look up from my phone. I was so disgusted that I couldn’t even look at him. The silence was excruciating.

“Is this legal?” I breathed. Silence again, as both of us digested what I said. My cover was blown.

“You lying piece of shit,” he grunted, protectively ripping his boxes away from me. “You trying to steal my points or something?”

He was on me before I even realized what was happening. Bony arms wrapped around me, the momentum flinging me to the ground. He got in a good hit to my jaw before I flipped him on his back. I was bigger and stronger than him, but he twisted under me like a feral animal.

“She’s mine! You don’t know how much work I put into that bitch!” he roared. I punched him to shut him up. He spit blood at me, and I hit him again. I never thought it would feel so good to hurt someone, but now that I started, I couldn’t stop myself. Next I knew my hands were so soaked in blood that it ran between my knuckles like rivers. Jeff wasn’t moving. And I was okay with that.

Jeff’s phone beeped where it lay on the ground. Somehow the weight of what I’d just done didn’t hit until I heard it. It beeped again, and I lifted it to see what was going on.

It was a notification from ‘Break Her’. I opened the app, and saw a short questionnaire. Humiliation, abuse, control — a daily checklist for him to go through to get his points. What the hell did I get myself involved in? And who was I to think I could make any difference when a whole world full of terrible people were trying to destroy her?

At the bottom of the form it asked: ‘Did you see her smile today?’ Numb and overwhelmed, I clicked ‘yes’. Immediately Cillia’s life-bar jumped a point, up to 12/100.

Well that’s some difference at least. Not much, but it’s a start.