#like seeing the kind of body that gets glorified over and over again is... scary

[harlesluvsyou]

🃏─────BUNNY

in which, joker burns

with jealously, and reminds you

that you’re his ❞

ledger!joker x f!reader, NSFW (18+), jealousy, hate/make-up sex(if you squint), hair pulling, smut, gun play, knife play, blood play, breath play/choking, slapping, joker is joker, threats, VERY toxic situation ship! tho i write this, its never to glorify any of the especially cruel actions. keep this in mind and read at your own caution and leisure.

Your date with Danny- Dave? You weren’t sure- had gone just like the other four had, boring and leaving your heart aching for your clown prince of crime. You two, Joker and you, had gotten close after he stayed at your apartment for a month after robbing a nearby bank. He had threatened to kill you if you didn’t let him stay- it ended up though the only killing he was doing was between your legs. You both grew very fond of one another- and then one day, you woke up and he was gone- in his stead, a note telling you he’d be back soon. You had waited for what felt like forever, weeks and weeks passing you by with no sign of him. So, you did what any normal girl would do and moved on.

You walk through your apartment door, grumbling to yourself about how bad the food was at the restaurant you had been at not too long ago. You hear the sound of your TV, perhaps you had forgotten to turn it off? It’s when you hear a low hum that you snap your head towards the sound. You could recognize that voice from anywhere.

You stiffen when you see him there, sitting on your couch with his legs propped up on your coffee table. The TV on and illuminating your living room. His dark eyes flicker to your form, and in your daze you forget that you’re holding a bouquet of roses- and they most certainly aren’t from the man in front of you. “Uh, hi?” He drawls, looking as if he was expecting a much warmer welcome.

He looks like a dream, his head lulled to the side as he tongues the side of his mouth- his tongue flickering over his red colored lips. His hair combed back and his greasepaint just as messy as you remembered. His eyes are a dark ebony, trailing up and down your form and stopping momentarily at the flowers you have squeezed in your grip.

His purple coat and his green vest are draped across the back of your couch and are long forgotten by the time your eyes run over his body again. All he wears is his button up, the fabric tight around his shoulders and his biceps- his tie is loose, hanging limply around his neck. You watch as the muscles in his thigh flex underneath his pinstripe purple pants. His hands are still covered by his leather gloves and God, do you wish they were around your neck.

He looks so beautiful it makes your breath hitch in your throat.

You shudder as he sits up, his argyle patterned sock clad feet hitting your rug as he cracks his neck. He leans forward, his elbows resting on his thighs as he man spreads. You swallow thickly, watching as he fidgets with his hands and you have to work hard to pull your eyes away from the way his pants become tight around his groin.

You take a step back the second he shoots up from the couch, your shoulders pulled up to your ears as your whole body tenses. You try your best to discretely kick off your heels, inching towards the door as he begins his slow walk towards you. He’s fucking tall, taller than you remember as he approaches you like a hunter approaches their prey. Your muscles lock up, your mind telling you to run as his broad shoulders poke into your personal space. He’s too quiet, his lips twitching and his body a scary mixture of fluid and rigid.

You’re scared he will hurt you before you get the chance to explain yourself.

For a moment, you mistake the furrow in his brow and the look in his eyes as kindness- you don’t know how you make this mistake- maybe because you thought you knew him better than you do and because the light catches his eyes just right. Making them twinkle with a golden and pretty brown that’s so familiar and beautiful it swallows you whole. Your shoulders fall and you relax. You think for a moment he’s calmed down and you’re immediately given whiplash when he snatches you up by your hair. You gasp, your back colliding harshly with your apartment door. Pain explodes across your body, your lips pulling into a sneer as your eyes squeeze together. Your scalp burns, your hands dropping the bouquet and flying up to hold onto his forearm as he looks down at you.

“I, uh, leave you alone for not even,” he smacks his lips, “a month!” You don’t argue, though it’s been a bit over a month since you last saw him. “And now loo-k at you, doll…” A sidelong glance with some consideration and you realize he’s picking his words carefully. He wants to make sure his words split you in two, breaking your heart and really hitting you where it hurts. “Being a pretty little slutttttt for someone else, hm? If flowers was, hah, all it took to get you to spread your legs…I would’ve gotten you flowers ages ago, baby doll.”

His grip on your hair tightens and despite the even and amused tone of his voice you know him at least well enough to know to be afraid. He smells like cedar and gasoline and you cry out as he slams your head against the door again. You open your eyes, tears filling them as fear grips at your heart tightly. You’re barely on your tippy toes, your feet flexing as they ache for proper ground.

“N-No! It’s not like that, J! P-Please, please believe me.” You choke out as your chest heaves, terrified by the way rage swims and sparks in his irises. You’re horrified when you realize you’re actually enjoying this, excitement coiling in your gut, tangling around your terror until you can’t tell them apart. You hope he doesn’t realize, but you know he does when he quirks an eyebrow- his lips turning from a frown into a knowing smile. Your words don’t seem to soothe the flame ablaze in his eyes, it only seems to heighten it as he drops you to the floor.

You stay there like that, cradling your head as he steps over you. All of your muscles seize up as the door behind you locks with a click. A second one doesn’t sound, meaning he left the top lock undone. You raise a shaking head, your eyes wide and doe-like. He laughs, and you’re sure that that’s what the devil sounds like.

Why does it sound so compelling? So magnetizing?

His lipstick is slightly smudged, the red making his scars look angry and the little lightning in your entryway highlighting every crack and crease in his greasepaint. “You, uh, scared, babydoll?” He drawls, cocking his head mockingly. One of his hands runs through his hair as he looks down at you. He’s faster than you remember, and you’re dragged up to your feet before you can even utter a word.

The grip on your wrist is punishing and you cry out in pain as he squeezes you tighter. “You sho-uld be.” He clicks his tongue, your legs shaking and your knees threatening to give out underneath his heated glare. He pulls you into him, breathing in your scent and placing his hands on your hips. They feel like fire against your clothed skin.

You squirm and cry out when his fingers tighten- the pressure becomes so harsh that you think for a moment your bones will snap. You’re certain you will at least be bruised and in agony by tomorrow morning. “Tell me, because I am, oh. So. Curious..” He hisses, and you try to pull away from him again when he begins to back you into your apartment. Your hips flush and his body too close to you. “Did you think..that I, uh, wouldn’t come to visit my favorite little bun-ny? That, I, me, me, me, me! Your sweet beau- your villainous lover, wouldn’t see all the pretty gifts in your room and wait for you to come home so that I could, uh, discuss the fact you’ve been a little unfaithful whore?”

You say nothing, swallowing your words and biting back the fact he’s much less than a lover if he only returns to you and comes around when it benefits him. You know better than to speak out of line when he’s like this- valuing your life and all your teeth. If you talk back, you might end up with a broken bone or two.

His eyes are like black mercury, evil and unnatural- something dangerous navigating the depths as he takes a deep breath and sighs. Eventually, your knees hit the back of the couch and you fall into it- the plushness of the fabric feeling like heaven against your flushed skin. The moment of peace doesn’t last long as he grabs you by your hair, you kick and scream as he drags you up the couch. When he releases you, you’re on your back- your tear filled eyes blinking up at him owlishly as he stares down at you.

You do your best to ignore the way heat seems to trickle down into your panties from your lower abdomen.

His hands grab ahold of your bare thighs as he sits at your feet, tugging you down and pulling your thighs over his own. Your dress has ridden up all the way, exposing your lace purple underwear- the way he growls shows his approval and appreciation. He did always love when you wore his colors.

After what feels like a forever— in reality, it could’ve been a minute or two or ten, it would’ve made no difference to you—his lips attack yours. You kiss back instantaneously, and you blame it on muscle memory when your hands bury themselves into his hair- the locks soft against your fingertips. Kissing him is like second nature, it comes as easily to you as breathing and you shudder when he grinds himself against you.

You breathe in his scent, relishing in his touch and the way his gloved hands pull up your dress even further. He kneads your exposed flesh gently, and you remember why you had missed him so much. You gasp, throwing your head back and breaking the kiss when his hand suddenly strikes you. Stinging pain blossoms across your skin, and you watch with low eyes as he sticks one of his hands at a time in his mouth. He catches his gloves between sharp teeth, dragging them off of his hands and throwing them to the side.

“I-I fucking hate you.” You sneer, trying more so to convince yourself than him. He raises an eyebrow and cocks his head to the side as he huffs a laugh through his nose. He knows you better than anyone, knows that you need him more than the air you breathe or the food you eat. He knows that you’re shaking underneath him not just because of fear.

He nods. “Uh huh. Care to, uh, put your money where your mouth is, sweetness?” You don’t get the chance to reply as you have to bite back a moan when his hands touch you again, his warmth so familiar and so sweet that it leaves you needy and wordless- all your sass disappearing. His hands carelessly pull down the top of your dress, your breasts bouncing out as he growls and leans down. He rolls one of your nipples harshly between his thumb and forefinger, his lips and teeth working on the other until your back is arching and your skin is being painted with red, white and black.

He pulls back and gives you a toothy grin as he yanks your sensitive bud hard. His hands trail down your stomach until he reaches the waistband of your underwear. He snaps it against your skin. “It’s a real shame, I really like this color on you.” His tongue flicks out to lick the corner of his mouth as he suddenly wraps all of his fingers around the side of your panties.

You try to tell him to wait, but by the time you even choke the word out- your lace underwear is in his hand, leaving red marks on your skin where the fabric rubbed against your tender flesh while he ripped it off of you. You don’t stay mad about it for long when he begins to unbutton his shirt slowly, watching with barely concealed amusement when your eyes stay trained on each section of tattooed and scarred skin that comes into view.

He throws his shirt to the side before taking off his tie and draping it over your own neck. The gentle fabric feels like a noose even if it’s loose for now. It kisses your collarbones and lays flat between your falling and rising chest. You ogle him, his abs poking out beneath marred skin as he chuckles at your obvious attraction.

“What? You, uh, like what you see, hm, bunny?” He coos, and in your humiliation you don’t even realize what you’re doing until the back of your hand strikes his face. Your wrist is in his grip immediately, his eyes darkening as his own hand cracks against your cheek.

Your head snaps to the side, your head swimming for a moment as the stinging tingles and moves across the surface of your skin. “Tha-t wasn’t very nice, I’ve been, uh, very patient with you. Don’t mistake it for….kindness, doll.” He laughs before groaning at the dazed look in your eyes.

Fuck, he hit you hard.

“If I let you go, will you, uh, be-have?” He utters quietly, and he smiles as you nod rapidly. He drops your hands before diving back down to kiss you. His bare chest brushes against yours as his lips devour you, teeth nibbling and drawing blood from your delicate mouth as he works his hands through your hair. He pulls harshly, snapping your head back as his greasepaint begins to rub off on your neck. He kisses your throat sloppily, taking extra care at your artery. He nibbles the skin, shuddering as he feels your pulse accelerate.

Jesus, you feel like you’re going to pass out.

Your legs spread when he reaches into his back pocket, pulling out a knife that has his initial carved into the handle. He flicks it open and brings it to the curve of your tits, you curse when it brushes you. It barely touches your flesh- but it splits anyways. Immediately, your skin begins to weep red- how sharp is that knife?

“What happened to all that, uh, moxie?”

His tongue laps up your blood, making the small incision in your skin sting even more. The pain and pleasure of everything mix together, your head swims as he finally- finally, unzips his pants. The sound rings in your head as he pushes your head down by your hair so you can watch the show.

He makes you stare as he pulls himself out of his boxers- surprisingly perfectly shaved— and lines up with your entrance. You shudder, and you glance up through your lashes. You beg him with your eyes, your whole body alight with nervousness and fear as you shake. You want to plead with him, ask him to be gentle- but you know it would all be for not. He laughs at your pathetic display, smirking down at you.

He pushes in slowly, and you grit your teeth as he fills you- every inch and vein and perfect curve of his cock brushing against your walls. The stretch is agonizing, forcing your delicate skin to accommodate his girth. He’s big and it hurts- your wetness doing nothing to ease the discomfort as he groans. You clamp around him like a vice. “You missed me, didn’t you, doll?” He chuckles out, sweat glistening on his forehead as his eyebrows furrow.

He leans over you, resting on his forearms and entangling one of his hands in your hair as his back curves. He pulls out slowly before pushing back in, and you gasp as the fire within him begins to root itself inside of you. The desire you feel runs rampant, consuming your every thought as his hips rock into you. Your couch squeaks uselessly as he pistions his hips so hard that you know you’ll be bruised. He sets an even tempo, fast and hard and ruining as he takes your heated skin between teeth.

“Oh- fuck- God!~” You cry, your muscle tightening as your pleasure spikes. Your jaw drops, your eyes screwing shut as oxygen you desperately needed left you in a wanton gasp at a particularly harsh thrust.

When you open your eyes he’s frowning down at you, his eyes dark and his eyebrows furrowed. “I have no clue what you’re, uh, calling to God for.” He chuckles, leaning down to whisper in your ear. “He can’t hear you when you’re being corrupted by dirty criminal filth like me.” He growls, nibbling on your tender skin and laughing at you when you whine louder than before. “Oh, ho, ho! Little miss innocent isn’t so innocent after all, hm? Does that make you ho-t and botherrrred? Knowing that you’re letting a mass murderer use your pretty little cunt to get off?” He chuckles out, not even half as breathless as you as he forms his sentences easily.

He leans back, pulling your calves over his shoulders as he fucks into you. Your head is thrown back, your hands buried into the fabric of your couch as one of his hands run down your stomach. You groan when his hands brush against your breasts- and then hiss when he purposefully pushes into the cut he had made earlier. You go to cuss at him but find your voice lost and your heart immediately forgiving him as his thumb brushes against your clit. Need sparks in your chest, heat flooding between your legs as you shake helplessly. Your pleasure is all you can focus on, your body writhing beneath him. He works your body perfectly, moving his thumb expertly against your heat and making you dizzy with pleasure.

You squirm, every single one of your nerves screaming as he pulls out. He tucks his knife between his teeth and roughly rolls you onto your stomach. One of his hands press your head into a pillow, your arms wrapping around the plush fabric to ground yourself as he enters you again with one smooth motion. He takes his knife out from his mouth and tucks it back into his pants as he fucks you. You can feel the electricity underneath your skin crackle when his hands come into contact with your skin. He kneads your flesh gently, and the sound of slapping skin and breathless moans fill the air.

He rolls his hips, his tip kissing your cervix and leaving you screaming into the pillow. “Shut up.” He growls suddenly, all form of patience leaving his body as he finds the tie around your neck. “You’re, hah, enjoying this a bi-t too much. Look at the timeee!” He drawls, tsking and shaking his head from behind you. “So late and you’re so louuuud..wouldn’t want to wa-ke, uh, your neighbors, would we?” He yanks it back, tightening the tie around your throat and cutting off your air supply. He laughs loudly as you gag and choke at the sudden loss of oxygen, your neck snapping back as he forces your back to arch into the couch.

You feel delirious, pleasure crashing over you in waves as your core pulls taut. You choke out a whimper, your orgasm quickly approaching when he shifts his hips and buries himself into you at an angle. Pleasure makes your brain go blank- and he must realize it when he laughs. “Oh? Found your swe-et spot, did we?”

He drives into you over and over again, fucking that spot raw until you think you’ll burst if you don’t cum. Your thighs shake, your muscles spasming as you choke out cries and pleads. Your walls flutter around him, the lack of air rendering you so dizzy that black spots pop up in your vision. The pleasure overwhelming as your head clears for a moment, and then is dragged under the depths once again.

You drown in your desire as his hand cracks against your ass. The pain dances with your euphoria so beautifully that it all feels the same to you. “That little boy toy of yours can’t fuck you like I do, hm? Can’t make you, uh, beg for more or for pain? Can’t fuck you senseless- can’t make you a shaking, crying, fucked out mess beneath him?” He asks, and is delighted when you shake your head- murmuring in agreement as you shudder. Suddenly he slows down, his eyes rolling over to the boy who stands wide eyed in your entryway. “Hear that, loverboy?”

In your pleasure, you hadn’t heard the creak of the door or the voice calling for you- telling you that you had forgotten your phone. You hadn’t heard when Daniel- Derrick…maybe, said the door was locked and he had let himself in using the key under the mat because he heard you scream and was oh so very worried- especially when he saw the roses on the floor. You hadn’t heard any of that or the slap as a box of chocolates fell from his hands in his shock. “C’mon baby. Show the eager crowd what you’ve, ah, got! You are tonight’s en-ter-tainment after all..”

You look to the brunette man, your whole body shivering and your face ruined by mascara running down your cheeks. Your eyes go wide in terror, and you want to shot yourself when you realize you don’t feel any guilt or shame. You mean, it was only the fifth date? He didn’t even know your middle name to be fair- and for the life of you, you couldnt even remember his.

You cry, your eyebrows furrowing as Joker reaches underneath you and between your legs. His eyes don’t leave the heartbroken boy at all as he begins to fuck you as harshly as he had been before. Your body arches into him, you lean deliberately into his touch- craving what only he can give. “What? Something’s eatin ya? You, uh, wishin’ you could be me- fucking dollface here? Or are you wishin’ you could be her? I’d get it, I’m, hah, a very good fuck after all.” He huffs, laughing and twisting your clit between his hands and forcing you towards an orgasm that will crush you. “Can you, uh, tell by the look on her face? Isn’t she so pretty when she’s fucked stupid?” He yanks the tie back, revealing your, as he called it, “fucked-stupid” face. Your mouth goes between hanging open and your teeth clamping together tightly as you fight for air. Your eyebrows drawn together and your eyes alternating between being squeezed shut and half lidded as he pounds into your dripping cunt.

Finally, after what feels like an eternity he rolls his hips forward and presses on your clit. He’s all around you, his scent and his voice and his touch. The humiliation, the desire, the hatred and love. It eats up all rationality and shame you have and your whole body locks up- the coil in your stomach snapping and going haywire- brushing against every vein and nerve ending and setting you on fire. Your eyes roll back, your mouth falling open in a breathless gasp as he finally lets go of the tie and allows you to breathe. Shivers rack your whole body, and you’re certain if it weren’t for his hand on your back- pressing you down- you would’ve jumped off the couch like a woman possessed.

Your orgasm rips through your body, ripples of vicious animalistic desire filling your chest and making you whine. He never stops thrusting, never stops laughing and mocking you and the man who had walked in on your little “play date,” as he would call it. He groans when you call his name, sweat coating his body as his muscles flex from the effort it takes to not seriously hurt you. He really, reaaaaally fucking wants to. Joker knows he could kill you right now, you’re so vulnerable and it would be so easy to snap your little neck. You’d die while having one of the most earth shattering orgasms you’d ever have.

But the second of satisfaction he would gain from feeling your bones give way to him? Well, it would never compare to how tight your pussy clamps onto him. How pretty you sound when you beg and whimper and cry. How delicious it is when your tongue caresses his name as if it’s the only thing besides his dick you’ll ever want in your perfect mouth. God, he thinks, you’re such a good lay.

He fucks you through it, and you ride wave after wave of pleasure until you can’t figure out if it’ll ever end. It all comes together perfectly, your bliss following one long nerve throughout your whole body. You cry out, shockwaves of need flooding you and making you forget when your orgasm even began. It felt like it had been going on forever, the friction between your legs never ending as somewhere underneath all of your dopamine and oxytocin, his voice reaches you. His pelvis slams into your ass, his hand tangling in your hair and yanking it so hard you think it’ll come out of the root as he coos. “Good girl,” he drawls, “that’s it, keep it coming.” He laughs, watching as your back arches to a degree that looks painful.

Shuffling sounds and his voice drops as he speaks to Dillion…you think, who is now trying to leave. “You stay,” he pants, “right fucking there. Watch as I fuck what you thought was yours- but act-ually is and will always be mine. Isn’t that right, baby?” He coos, laughing when you confirm with a breathless and whiny yes, sir.

The boy’s—his name you finally recall as David— eyebrows furrow. “Fuck you!” He yells, his fists bunched at his sides as he spits the word as if it’ll shoot Joker down from his place on top of you. As if it’ll slow his thrusts and make your eyes roll back into place.

Joker snorts, his hands moving to massage your ass as he leans back and fucks into you slower than before. “Thanks for the offer, toots. Butttttt,” he glances at the a qqq man, his eyes running up and down his body, “you’re not my type.”

You whimper and whine and with every slow thrust he breathes life back into you, winding you up like a toy and pushing you once again towards another orgasm. David turns to leave again, and this time Joker reaches behind him and grabs his gun- you hadn’t even known he had it on him. “Ah, ta, ta. I thought I told you to stay put. Either you listen or,” he points the gun at your head and you freeze up, horrified by the way your excitement doubles inside of you. A click sounds, the safety off and your pussy sopping wet at the risk of it all.

You would really need to look into therapy after this.

“Actually? You. Know. What!” He smacks his lips, laughing as he presses the gun harder against your skull. “Leave and I’ll just, uh, find you. Get my goons to kidnap you and then we can have our own little play date. Would you like that, David?“ He utters his name like he’s known it his whole life, his eyes darkening as you squeeze around him. “Would you like to have some, uh, real fun? I do have to say though, I highly dou-bt that I, uh, will be as sweet as I am with my little bunny here..I have a soft spot for her and this pretty pink pussy of hers. I might end up tossing you around a bit.” His eyes fall back onto you as your pussy spasms around him at his threatening words, wishing for a moment he was saying them to you and not him. He taps the barrel of the pistol against your head, and you whimper aloud. “She seems to like that idea too. Yeah, baby? Want me to, uh, fuck him u-p for wanting to get into your pretty purple panties?”

You don’t mean to moan as loudly as you do, and you groan as he pulls you by your hair- bringing your back flush against his chest. “Say cheese.” He laughs, forcing you to look into the hazel eyes of your past date. At this new angle, somehow he’s fucking even deeper into you. You squirm and cry as he breaks down your resolve with every single thrust of his hips. Your boobs bounce along with every snap of his pelvis, and he grabs your arms and twists them painfully back and behind you. He yanks you to meet every piston of his hips, his shoulders rolling back as he grits his teeth- his tongue flickering across his lips as he furrows his brows.

Your bodies slant together perfectly, two puzzle pieces snapping together as your body presses deliciously into his. He nibbles on your neck, letting go of your arms to fondle your breasts with calloused hands. He keeps his eyes on David, smiling against your heated skin as the sound of your pleasure fills the space. Your nails find purchase in the fabric of his pants, your ears ringing with the sound of your own slick and skin slapping against skin.

Your pleasure builds, slowly but surely you’re toeing the edge of a cliff- ready to be thrown off. It’s only when his teeth bite deep into your shoulder that your eyes roll back. Finally, you come undone once again. It’s unexpected this time and hits you like a truck. You scream out his name, your pussy quivering as you shudder. Your pleasure burns red hot, making your stomach tighten to a degree that is damn near painful. He slips a hand up your chest, squeezing your neck as he murmurs praise in your ear. He tells you that you’re taking it so well, that you feel so good around him and his words? They go right between your legs, adding fuel to your never ending fire of want for him. You twitch against him, your hair sticking against your sweaty forehead as you shudder. The wet sound of your cunt is filthy, his cock buried so deep inside of you that you can’t think straight.

He whispers in your ear, your body reacting to every little word that slips into your head as he paints your body red with his lips. He leans back, pulling you with him until he’s on his back and you’re riding him reverse cowgirl. Your thighs shudder- barely able to move as exhaustion begins to hit you- but you pull yourself up anyways until just his thick tip is inside, he clicks his tongue and grabs your hips- he pulls you down harshly and forces a loud cry from your throat. “Sorry, toots. I’m not, uh, feeling very pat-ient today.”

You ride him like a dog in heat, chasing a third orgasm to hear that lovely praise fall from his lips. From the TV, a loud scream sounds and you jump for a moment before continuing the bouncing of your hips. Your nails dig into his thighs for leverage as you drag yourself up and drive your hips down the thickness of his cock- rendering yourself thoughtless as you babble out nonsense he can barely make out. He laughs at you, rubbing circles into your waist with calloused finger tips.

Still, David stands there. Rage and fear filling him as he watches your hips roll around the clown’s dick. When he finally can’t take it anymore and runs out, not believing in- or perhaps not caring about the Joker’s threat- the man underneath you laughs.

You try not to think about what will happen to David.

Another scream, louder than before, breaks your focus and you feel his muscles tighten underneath you. J laughs, shuffling a bit to get comfortable. “I bet that, I, ah, could make you scream louder than that. Shall we find out?”

You don’t get to respond, his hips pounding up into you to meet every sloppy motion of your fatigued body. “Mm, that’s it, baby doll. Roll those pretty hips for me. Lemme’ see just how much you missed me.” And you do, you roll your hips and let him fuck up into you so harshly you see stars. You scream as he fucks the sense right out of you. You’re certain you’ll be able to count and name every planet in the solar system by the time he’s done twisting the wires in your brain over each other. “Keep going, sweetheart. Make yourself cum all over my cock again. Do it, for me.”

Pleasure lights the furnace inside of you again, and you shake your head. Earlier, the pleasure hadn’t gotten to a point of it being overstimulating and painful- now? It had. You plead and beg, your words leaving you so fast they hardly make any sense. “No, no, no, no. J, mmm, no! I can’t- fuck, not again.” His hands reach up, grasping your hair and pulling you backwards until you fall flat against him- somehow, he stays tucked inside you the whole time.

He huffs, rolling his eyes. “Uh, yeah? You can and you will because I told you to.” He growls, fucking into you like it’s the only thing he can bring himself to care about. You cry out, whimpering as he slides into you perfectly- the fabric of his pants soft against your heated skin.

“Please, J! Please..”

He tsks, wrapping a hand around your neck and growling down at where you lay on his chest. “You want a change of pace that bad, hm? Fine then. I’ll give it to you sweet cheeks.” You whimper in confused relief- not quite understanding his words as he picks up the pace.

As your pleasure burns hot once more, your body stiffens with pleasure turned pain while your toes curl. It’s then he stops suddenly. All of your euphoria slipping through your fingers like sand. His muscles twitch with effort as he exercises the most self control he’s had to use in years.

That’s how you end up being edged for at least an hour, by the time he’s finally breathless and shuddering- trying as hard as possible not to cum just yet, you’re crying even harder than you were before. You’ve been babbling nonsense, your brain melting out of your ears as he presses into you. He peppers kisses against your neck, panting and groaning as he fucks you- the hand around your throat tightening with every sloppy thrust.

“Alright, dollface.” He pants, his head getting thrown back when your overworked pussy- throbbing around him- tightens at the sound of his voice alone. “Okay, pretty girl.” He rolls his eyes, finding it amusing how needy you are. Greed fills your chest, you need more. “It’s, uh, my turn to put on a show.”

He pushes you off of him, forcing you onto your hands and knees. There’s no resistance when he lines up and slides back into you with a wet squelching sound that makes your head spin in dirty desire. “It’s our,” he smacks his lips, laughing, “last performance of the eve-ning. Let’s go out with a bang.”

He grabs your hips in a vice, gritting his teeth and groaning as you whimper and whine with even the slightest tilt of his waist. He leans over you, whispering in your ear as your ass slaps against his pelvis. Every time he pulls out, your spongy walls suck him back in- needing it- needing him so fucking bad.

You whimper something, and he manages to make out the syllables that make up his name. Your used hole shudders, quivering while you squeeze your eyes shut as your screams reach new heights. He doesn’t care enough to tell you to be quieter. He wants everyone to hear you, hear the way you become a mindless slut just for him.

Finally, he builds you up again. Every swift movement adding one more stick to the fire- one more brick in the house of pleasure that was destined to fall and crush you underneath its ruins. Joker groans, his balls tightening as his thrusts lose all tempo and rhythm. He chases his high, one of his hands slipping between your lips and he starts to fuck your mouth with his fingers.

You hollow out your cheeks, whimpering and gagging as he makes you choke on his digits. “Bite me.” He hisses, and you freeze up at his request, thinking he maybe didn’t mean literally. When the feeling of cold steel meets your neck, fear washes over you. “Bite me, you fucking bitch.” He growls, and your teeth close harshly around his fingers.

His eyes roll back, his mouth falling open in a breathless wheeze as his strokes only seem to speed up. The knife nicks you, blood trickling down your neck and painting your body with red. “Harder, doll. Keep it up and you’ll be earning the next orgasm I fuck outta you.”

You do as he says, and the taste of iron fills your mouth as you break through his skin. The taste is addicting, and you feel like a pittbull that has had its first taste of blood. Once you have it, nothing will ever be enough until you have it again. Maybe it’s the endorphins flooding your system, or maybe you’re more like him than you thought- but you moan at the taste of his life draining from his hand. His blood dancing across your tongue.

You sink your teeth in deeper and his hips stutter, his shoulders rolling back as his mind goes blank. “Ohh fu-ck, baby.” He grits out, his jaw and neck flexing as he goes rigid. “Yeah- I’ve decided…‘m jus’ gonna keep ya. Gonna wrap you up in a bow and, uh, fuuuck- gonna keep you. You’re too good to let go. Gonna stick you in a room and throw away the key so, ah, nobody else can have this pussy. Yeah? You like that idea, sweetness? You like it? You like me?” He growls, and you hum in agreement around his fingers- drool dribbling down your chin as he shivers and fucks you so hard you hear the low scratching of the couch moving with each snap of his hips against you.

His words are filthy and you feel your whole body shaking as he rolls his hips, you’re so close you can hardly make a sentence without moaning and whining like some horny slut. “Oh baby doll…” He snarls, teeth bared as he shakes. “I’m gonna cum, sweetheart. Gonna cum deep inside of this pussy of yours. I’m gonna knock you up good- make you stuck with me.”

And you snap at his words, your body alight with motion as you tremor violently. Your walls clench around his length and he too comes undone. He pulls you closer, emptying inside of you and shaking as his muscles constrict. He pants behind you, chest heaving as his pleasure ripples through his body. He lets out a shuddering breath, waiting to come down from his high.

A knock sounds at the door. “Hello, this is the GCPD, your neighbors heard some screaming and were concerned for your safety. Is everything alright?”

Joker groans, and you sigh in defeat- exhausted and absolutely tuckered out. Now, you have to deal not only with your psycho clown- but with a bunch of cops. This was going to go every way but swimmingly.

hiii! please excuse any misspellings i looked this over like 100 times lol!!! i really hope you enjoyed :3

[dreamlanddoll]

I am saying this as a skinny person I am so tired of seeing skinny girls put on the blandest most basic outfit you've ever seen and calling it "fashion inspo" and all the comments being like "yeesss queen people only hate bc they're jelous of u"

[writingquestionsanswered]

Tattoo Shop AU - a quick, practical guide for writers

Guest Post by lebanon-hangover

lebanon-hangover said: this is based on my personal experience with the industry only, so depending on the era and country you are portraying, it may not be 100% accurate for your setting.

Hygiene

It may not be obvious at first glance, but most tattooists are clean freaks. We work with human blood every day, and we get clients from all ages, ethnic and social economic backgrounds, with all sorts of medical conditions.

We usually mop frequently, bleach the sinks, wipe down everything, and use cling film or bags to wrap everything. I mean fucking everything. We also scrub in, and sanitise the area on the person we work on.

Needles are collected in a sharps bin, and handled very carefully. Medical waste goes in yellow bags, and both are collected by a professional service.

Used ink caps may look full, but the ink gets diluted by blood. Like you dip the inky needle into the person, but you also dip the person’s blood into your ink. These are medical waste too.

Cleaning up must be done promptly after the session. Bin everything disposable, put things through the ultrasonic and the autoclave, and sanitise the area. We may take machines apart, but more for maintenance than cleaning, sometimes we swap parts in them too.

We have two sinks, one for hand washing, one for cleaning.

All inks and needles have use by dates.

The internal dynamics of a studio

Depending on the country, some tattoo shops tend to have ties to biker gangs, and some of those internal dynamics and unwritten rules are often present.

There’s a pecking order and it’s dead serious. Basically the longer you’ve been in a shop, the higher ‘rank’ you are, you get the better positioned stations, first pick of walk-ins, etc (Unless the client is asking for someone by name). Regardless of your actual experience in the industry, like if you move into your old apprentice’s shop, they are still senior to you. If the owner or their partner is an artist, obviously they are on top of the chain by default.

We are self employed, but we have a boss. You are only making money if you are working, but you still have set work hours.

We get paid by the clients, and we pay the studio a cut. In return, there are some items provided by them, and some we buy for ourselves. Usually the chairs, tattoo beds, gloves, cleaning products, clip cord covers, masks, aprons, ink caps, vaseline, green soap, and some basic ink is provided by the shop. We buy our own machines, arm rests, stations, pedals, power supplies, clipcords, tips and grips, needles, special colours, stencil fluid…these are a personal preference, and often depend on the artists’ style.

We totally ask to try out each other’s equipment sometimes, or ask for a certain type of needle if we ran out.

The receptionist is usually just one of us, maybe a piercer, but it also can be a hired person in top studios.

The apprentice in the traditional system is often mistreated, and they have to pay for their education, have to be there multiple days a week and don’t make any money. It’s kind of like a tear them down, build them back up again thing to see if they are really serious about the job. Times are slowly changing, but 99% of them will always need a second job. Most of them are working as bar staff.

When you open a new studio, you must visit all the existing local ones and introduce yourself, otherwise you may get a brick through the window. Otherwise there’s not much beef among individual artists, they are often friends, go to conventions together and party after, etc.

The Artists

Tattooing is a fairly physical job, stretching skin is very important. We have to also keep our clients safely still, so we often use positions to pin them down a bit. Sometimes you hit a reflex point on the foot or under a knee, and you don’t want to get kicked. Sometimes you have to pull away super fast, cos they are sneezing, yawning or giggling.

Most tattooists drink a lot of coffee, tea or energy drinks.

Some people are all rounders, some have specific styles, but we recognise each other’s art styles. Sometimes we delegate work to each other, if we think our coworkers style fits the concept better. For example if there’s a person who does script well, we give them those projects.

We don’t like when people come in with designs from other artists. Art theft is frowned upon, and we work best with our own drawings.

Most apprentices practice on their own legs, and sometimes we tattoo each other when it’s quiet. Most people have cover ups, or bad pieces from their early days. The artists’ own tattoos sometimes are in a different style than what they do, but we like to collect ink from friends or colleagues we admire.

In the first 1-2 years one is an apprentice, then junior artist. At 5-8 years of tattooing, you have earned your stripes and are considered an experienced artist.

Conventions are really fun, but can be stressful. You can make good money working at one, and sometimes get awarded for it too. We can also spend a lot at a convention.

Sometimes we poke our fingers by accident, and it’s a scary thing. Good case scenario is just some random dots on your fingers. Let’s not go into the bad case scenario.

We do guest spots sometimes, just to meet new clients, and change it up a bit.

We spend a lot of time drawing up things, and designs are meant to fall on specific muscles, stretch with the skin a certain way, so they are tailored to the body proportions of the client. A good tattoo is also an optical illusion, complimenting the body shape.

Social media presence is like a second job, you need good photos, and you need to market yourself.

Tattoo ink does not wash out, so some stains are inevitable when pouring it out. Those ink bottles get stuck so easily, and we wrestle them a lot. We try to avoid it, but wearing all dark colours is a thing for a reason.

The Clients

Tattooists need to have a good ‘bedside manners’ too. We get nervous or self conscious people, and we are told personal things during long sessions. For example scar coverups and memorial pieces can be very emotional.

We have pretty good poker faces and first aid trainings. People can faint, get shaky, throw up, some have seizures, have b.o., get sweaty, etc the same way as at a blood donation event? It’s no big deal really. We sit them down, give them some water and some sugar, and re-book them if necessary. Most artists keep some wet wipes, mouth wash, deodorant, sweets, maybe even some clean clothes at work, just in case.

If someone comes in with a wild idea for a jobstopper, we would sit down and have a long talk. If they haven’t got many tattoos, we usually try to stir them towards more safe choices, offering them creative ideas. It’s like those jedi mind tricks sometimes.

If someone is undecided, we show them our own hand drawn flash sheets. Once its gone, its gone tho, we don’t use the designs twice.

Pinterest is full of photoshopped fake tattoos, some that won’t even work as real ink. Many people also touch up their work digitally on photos, so some clients have really unrealistic expectations.

We can totally tell if someone is intoxicated or hangover. It thins the blood, and they bleed out the ink, and it’s super annoying. if it’s bad, they will be sent home and rebooked.

Some folks are self conscious about body hair, their size, stretch marks and scars. Chances are, we have seen similar, and we aren’t bothered by it, because it’s work. Surgery scars, scars from accidents, self harm scars, burns, we see it all the time. We shave some really hairy dudes all the time girl, your legs are fine. Seriously. If something makes tattooing you dangerous we will tell you.

Fit, muscular people are harder to tattoo because they are really firm. Its a workout for us.

Everyone gets midnight messages about the aftercare from nervous clients, and drunken booty calls about getting inked right at this second. We have copy paste replies…

We get creeps sometimes. Stalking, weird conversations, tmi info dumps etc.

Other things to include (for fun, or for plot reasons)

We sometimes have those “oh fuck” moments. We all do, but mistakes can be fixed, and we play it cool.

Tattooing takes time. Usually 30 minutes to multiple sessions though years and years.

Healing tattoos takes about 2-4ish weeks, and your characters shouldn’t go roll around in dirt, sunbathe, swim, pick at the scabs. Nasty infections, and messed up tattoos would be the results.

If you have a strong immune system, and you get a lot of work done in one sitting, you may get a brief bit of a temperature. It’s normal, and will go away.

Its a lot easier to get seriously drunk after getting a tattoo. Be careful.

We sometimes draw on each other for practice with our marker pens.

Tattoos are inside the skin, not on top of it. Imagine a low opacity, skin toned layer over the ink, adding to the healed tattoos’ colour. Please stop making your characters skin fully transparent.

Heavy blackwork and palms are done in multiple sessions.

You can’t cover up moles, because if they develop skin cancer, the dermatologist can’t see the signs.

There’s a stereotype about piercers having blacked out sleeves.

Stencil fluid looks just like cum.

You get that annoying itch on your face when you scrubbed in, put on gloves and finally ready to go.

Some artists have a strong preference for coil or rotary machines, and they bicker about it a lot. Coils are louder, more punchy, and more traditional, perfect for lineart. They can be customised, and they last forever. They are also called glorified doorbells by people who prefer rotaries. Rotary machines are smoother, lighter, and often use needles that are pulled back into the cartridges for safety. They are better for shading and delicate line work. Older tattooists often say they are dildo or butt plug shaped, overly delicate and are for “soft millennials” only.

Every artist owns like 5 to 20 machines, and they have specific machine builders they are loyal to.

The “which cable is broken and cutting out” guessing game. Clip cords and pedal cables get worn out easily, and that results in your machine running really jerky.

Walk-in always show up 10 minutes before closing.

We often look quite silly at work. Sleeves rolled up, folks use all sorts of plastic ppe, headlamps, and we tie up our hair. Add couple of purple smears from carbon paper, and we aren’t scary at all.

[soldmysoultootomeboys]

Demon MC with Human Obey Me Brothers Reverse AU

Okay but what if the brothers were all ‘normal’ humans who ended up summoning a demon, who is MC.

I’m in love with this idea. Lowkey might write a fic about this  jk...unless? Levi’s was surprisingly the most fun to write. Also I guess tw for normal demon things??? Nothing too graphic tho

Part 2

Lucifer

As a human he was a high ranking businessman. While still a formal person on the outside he had a perverse interest in the occult that he hid from the rest of his coworkers.

Due to his important position and large pay he manages to get his hands on some rare books on demon summoning. After a lot of research he tries them out.

When he summons you he doesn't look surprised or afraid and is quite clinical about it at first. The first thing he does is bind your powers so they can never be used against him. After he informs the rules you must follow if you're to be living with him.

Even as a human he is quite prideful and controlling and he wants to remind you who's really in charge.

At first he only sees you as a demon. He lets you do your own thing when he isn't ordering you around and when the two of you do go out in public he only introduces you as an acquaintance of his. People are rather surprised at this as he's not the type to walk around with others and rumors quickly fly off about you two.

It's not until you two are walking home from a shopping trip that you really start to bond. It was a late night and no one was around so the two of you take your time, enjoying the cool air and stars.

All too late that you hear the click of a gun. From the shadows steps a man, weapon pointed straight at you. Seeing your nonthreatening human form as well as Lucifer who practically reeks of wealth he thought the two of you easy targets. Wrong.

With inhuman speed you lunge forward shifting into your demon form. The gun clatters to the floor as you rip him to shreds with no remorse. It's only when Lucifer finally calls you away that you realize he's dead.

Once you manage to get home he is immediately lecturing you about how risky the actions you just did were. Someone could have seen you or more importantly seen him. What would you have done if the cops got involved? Eat them?

Once he's done though he thanks you and a few days later a gift ends up in your room. He never claims it, even though you can smell his cologne all over it.

After that night Lucifer treats you different. Not better, but not worse either. If anything he's a bit kinder but in a cold sort of way and he keeps his distance when anything gets too serious. At first you think its because he's scared of you. It isn't till he finally approaches you, a stern look on his face and orders you to transform that you realize he was working up the courage to see what you really looked like.

The pact urges you to turn, so you do and you let him examine you, circling several times. He's most interested in your wings, asking if he could touch them and when you consent he gently runs his hands over them. Despite you being a demon he treats you delicately shifting aside feathers with a careful hand and running a light fingertip over leathery skin.

It's a strange feeling at first, but not bad and you're practically purring by the end

After that he asks to see your true form more and more

Mammon

He didn't mean to summon you.

He just wanted to make a quick buck. It was getting close to Halloween people were starting to be interested in demons and spooks once again. That's why he thought it would be a great idea to start a seance business.

Twenty dollars for him to pretend to summon a demon, maybe shake a table once or twice, have some scary sounds playing in the background, nothing too big. Who would have known that the book he stole as his main prop would really work.

When he first sees you he screams.

He immediately tries to shove you back into the book to no avail. As he has no clue how to get rid of you he ends up stuck with you, a terrifying demon.

At first its very easy (and amusing) to scare him. Bear your teeth, mumble in a made up language, threaten to rip him to shreds.

You can actually see his soul leave his body when he faints.

However in typical Mammon fashion he gets used to you surprisingly quick, especially when you don't come through on your promise to eat him.

After that he figures that together the two of you could start scamming people for even more money. After all, he does own a real live demon now.

You two make bank stealing and tricking people. With his knack for creating schemes and your powers the two of you are rolling in money in no time, although it always seems to be lost pretty quickly thanks to his terrible gambling habits.

It's in the middle of a heist that something goes wrong. Someone, you don't know who you can only hear the click of a revolver, pulls out a gun. With lightning fast reflexes you’re tackling Mammon shielding him with the tip of your wing and just in time as something is shot into it tearing through muscle and sinew.

The urge to rip them to shreds overtakes you, growing with every second that your human is in danger. But there was so many of them and you couldn't protect Mammon and yourself at the same time. The need to get somewhere safe is much more important so you leave.

It's only your quick reflexes that get the two of you out alive.

When you finally get home Mammon laments over all of the money he lost on the deal. acts like it doesn't affect him. His complaints last exactly till he sees the blood staining your form.

He almost faints right there.

Once he recovers he's immediately running to get ice packs and gauze, fussing over your injured wing. It's obvious he’s worried even though he tries to hide it under his tsundere act. When you’re finally bandaged up he thanks you glancing at your wound the entire time.

It's hard not to appreciate the gesture.

You just don't know how to tell him that your going to be perfectly fine in like two days (thank Diavolo for demon healing)

After this you two are a lot closer. Even before you were friends, but now the relationship has morphed into something different.

The two of you do less dangerous scams and while Mammon doesn't act too different he gets super weird when you're too close. Blushing a terrible crimson and freaking out when you touch.

Even for a demon its not hard to see that he has a crush.

Levi

Also summoned you on accident.

He was actually trying to summon Ruri-chan. You have to admit when it comes to her he does his research. Drew a full pentagram and everything and as a final touch placed a little plushy in the middle.

He absolutely panics when you arrive here instead.

Used to humans being afraid you, you ignore him at first. You fall to one knee eager to pledge your loyalty in exchange for his soul when you land on something squishy.

Pulling it out from under you see a plushy??? Of some anime character??? TF???

This pulls him from his stupor and he snatches it from you and begins to lecture you on the importance of Ruri-chan and anime on human culture.

You have no clue whats going on at this point.

When he finally stops talking he actually gets kind of excited. He summoned a hot demon??? Woah! This is just like his anime 'I accidentally summoned a demon from Hell who became my roommate and now I might be falling for them.' 

At your confused look he immediately turns it on and has you watch it. You two end up having an entire movie night together.

After that the two of you mostly act like roommates.

He often compares you to his favorite series TSL where 7 humans summon a demon named Henry and go on crazy adventures with him. The first time he accidentally calls you Henry he blushes like crazy.

At first he acted like you were annoying him most of the time but it was pretty easy to catch on to his tsundere act. He actually loves having you around and will whine when you have to leave. He says its because he can't play two player games without you but you know the truth.

On the rare occasions the two of you go out he gets jealous of anyone with even the slightest interest in you. Your HIS demon why are you giving someone else your attention?

Its pretty easy to distract him though. Just the slightest touch and hes flushing and stuttering. You can do whatever he won't get the hint that you like him the most.

'There's no way you meant to do this. This must be some weird demon norm I don't know about. Yup that's it.'

Satan

Summoned a demon on purpose. And not just that summoned you on purpose.

With his extensive library he had more than enough information to figure out how to summon a demon. After that it was just a matter of choosing which one. He finally settled on you.

You don't need to worry about explaining how a pact works to him. He already knows everything on it. Maybe even more than you. Nerd.

Don't express this opinion out loud. He will be furious.

Even so he'll still make you tell him about summoning a million times just to see if you know anything different.  

Mostly you’re an over glorified assistant/labrat to him. MC grab that book. MC draw this summoning circle. MC stick your hand in this flame.

Of any of the brothers he is the one who sees your demon form the most and the one who asks the most questions about it. You have very sharp claws what are those used for? Four sets of wings? I wonder why you have so many. Slitted eyes? Do you have any idea why they are like this?

He is very interested in the differences between humans and demons so you end up performing a lot of tests.

He would also be curious about the celestial war and your part in it. Its up to you to choose to answer him or not.

If you ignore any of his questions he will get annoyed and be snippy. But just tell him an interesting tidbit about hell and he'll be back to normal in no time.

As for his actual job he works as a researcher at a big lab. You go there often to help him with his work. He used to have a lot of assistants but none could handle his terrible rage.

Its one of the reasons you work so well with him. An angry human? That's no big deal. Now if he was a demon that would be something to talk about

His tantrums are actually kind of cute. Like a fussy kitten.

Telling him this has a 50/50 chance of either making him blush or rampage.

If its possible he uses you to annoy his colleagues

Janice talked shit about his theories on planetary alignment? Poison her

Jk not really but maybe just, like, make her day a hundred times worse?

Thanks MC you're great

A power team at its best. His need to get back at people he hates works well with your general need to cause mischief 

Asmodeus

An orgy summons you obvious reasons. Although technically not the one who summoned you, you end up making a pact with Asmodeus before the nights over.

It was inevitable really, of all the humans there how could you not choose him? His overblown confidence and cocky insistence that he was perfect was practically adorable. I mean here you are, a demon of all things, and yet this little human is here insisting that he was perfection himself. You just wanted to eat his soul right up he was so cute.

To him its obvious why. After all, he was so beautiful that even demons fell in love with him, he couldn't blame you.

Even if you tell him the real reason he won't believe it.

Immediately starts bragging about how he could seduce demons

If you leave a pact mark on him though he will complain

As for actual duties you don't have a lot

At parties you work as his wingman but at home the two of you have more of a domestic role. He treats you more like a best friend than a demon.

He has a lot of spa days, something he immediately insisted that you take part in too.

One day you bring him a bottle of demon moisturizer. Big mistake

When he finds out about all the different demon beauty products he immediately orders you to get him some.

Your poor wallet.

He's always ordering new things. He really wants to go down to Devildom so he could look himself instead of having to order off Akuzon. One day you'll figure out a way to show him the eternal night.

He's also very flirty towards you, something your not surprised about. Hes always on your lap or petting your head or asking for affection, and he constantly alludes to the things the two of you could do. As time goes on he begins to get even more needy, sometimes ignoring others at parties just to flirt with you. He wants all of your attention all of the time.

Beelzebub

Did not mean to summon you but now that your here hes pretty okay with it

Of all the brothers he the one to treat you the most like another human.  

However you have one duty that you take very seriously

You must protect his brother, no matter what.

Other than that you two are like roommates. He doesn't really ask you of much except to keep the fridge stocked (which is a bigger job than expected this guy eats a lot) and he'll take care of the rent and everything else.

Sometimes he'll ask if you want to head to the gym with him. You thank your demon metabolism since every time you end up going he always stops for burgers and shakes at his favorite place on the way home.

He lifts a lot for a human, no surprise since you've seen how sculpted his body is. Seriously he's like a Greek statue. You spot him while doing reps and help correct his form while necessary. It's a bit of a switch from dealing with demon biology to human biology though so you have to make sure that you don't accidentally hurt your new friend.

Sometimes the two of you have movie nights, although its more of an excuse for him to buy a bunch of human food and you to buy a bunch of demon food and pig out. He still manages to out eat you somehow.

Occasionally the two of you will go out with his brother Belphie although it usually ends up with either you or Beel carrying him when he falls asleep. But it gives you time to chat with Beel on your own which you don't mind

The two of you end up with a good bromance, sometimes minus the b.

He treats you like an old friend and even ends up telling you about Lilith, his dear sister who died when a car hit her. He had only managed to pull his brother out of the way at the time and he still remembers it well. You can practically smell the guilt that hangs off him when he tells you that. It's hard not to feel touched after that story even for a demon.

He confesses a lot of things to you, things he has a hard time saying to other people. He never calls upon his pact to swear you to secrecy. He trusts you.

Belphie

Also summons you on purpose

When you first meet Belphie he's angry, uncontrollably angry. It's at the point where it almost surprises you. After all a human filled with so much wrath is no small feat.

His first order is a tough one but one you have no choice but to accept. 

Kill the man that murdered his sister

The two of you work hard to hunt him down, spending many days brainstorming late into the night. Although it always ends up with just you working, as Belphie has the strangest tendency to fall asleep while talking. (Narcoleptic maybe? Or just lazy?) Whatever the case you don't terribly mind.

Even just his presence helps, in some strange way.

When you finally track him down Belphie insists on going too. He wants to see the man die with his own two eyes.

It's not a hard fight but it is an emotional one. Through the bond you two share you can feel Belphies anger, his pain, his desire for revenge, and then finally an emptiness.

When its over the two of you go home, still covered in whatever bits of him were left. Belphegor shows no emotions and you wonder if hes in shock from seeing someone die so suddenly, but all you feel is a tired yet content thrum through your bond.

When you finally get home Belphegor immediately tries to go to sleep and its only through a little nagging and a lot of manhandling that your able to convince him to shower first. By now the bloods beginning to dry into a nasty goop and once he's done you jump in too, soothed by the steam and clouds of soap drifting around you.

To no ones surprise Belphie is asleep when you get out. It's then when you realize that you have nothing left to do. 

With that one action your purpose here is done, and yet your pact remains. Your thoughts begin to rise Belphie who clings stubbornly to sleep. It's no use though. The two of you are too connected for it to stop. 

You hear the sheets rustle and he raises one hand patting at the covers. A universal sign to come here.

"You're so loud" He mutters even though you haven't said a word. "Just sleep already."

A useless answer but a comforting one. You curl up at his side, feeling the tiniest bit like an obedient dog, but his arm settles over your shoulder and he drapes himself over your chest erasing the thoughts from your mind.

You eyes flutter close, at least for the moment. You can decide what you should do when you wake up.

[honeykawa]

Fly | Route: Tanaka Ryuunosuke

genre: mafia au, choose your own adventure

warnings: violence, suggestive themes but nothing graphic

word count: 3.1k

Fly Masterlist

“I choose him”

You looked at the man who had been standing in the corner of the room with his arms crossed

“Tanaka get your ass moving and take them home. Pick them up in the morning and take them home from now on. Make sure they dont run away or itll be on your head”

“Got it boss”

The car ride to your apartment was filled with silence and the soft sound of music coming from the radio

You were too nervous to say anything

The growing feeling of anxiety in your chest made it almost hard to breath

You started to unconsciously grab at the area above your chest and your breathing became irregular

‘How did i get into this mess?’ ‘whats going to happen to me?’

These thoughts keep rushing through your head

“--hey are you okay?”

Tanaka pulled the car over so he could stop and assess just what was happening

And from the way he saw it...it looked like an anxiety attack

His panicked a little himself watching you like this he didnt even want to imagine the feelings rushing through you right now

He got you to control your breathing again and come down from your panic

“You good now?”

You nodded your head, still weary about being near this man

He could tell you were still on your guard with the way you wrapped your arms around your body, as if you were trying to make yourself smaller

“I know it seems rough right now but i swear itll be okay”

His voice was soft with you, something you didnt expect from someone in the mafia

The car ride after that went pretty smooth

“We’re here”

The ride went faster than you thought it would and you got out of his car before saying your goodbyes

“Ill pick you up in the morning...if you need me heres my card”

He held out his card to you as you slowly took it from his hands

“See you”

And with that he sped off as you went inside your apartment to go to bed, hoping that maybe this had all been a dream

Once tanaka got back to his apartment he immediately plopped himself onto his bed and covered his eyes with his arm while thoughts of you plagued his mind

‘Cute’

His arm fell down to his side and he just stared at the ceiling

“Get your shit together tanaka. Your job is to watch them, nothing more”

He rolled over to his side with thoughts of you fading as he drifted into sleep

You woke up to the sound of light knocking on your door

And as soon as you opened the door it finally set in that last night really did happen

“Are you ready to go?”

Tanaka took one look at you and let out a deep sigh knowing that you werent

“Ill give you fifteen minutes”

You nodded your head as you ran back into your room and changed into something work appropriate

Wait where were you working? What would be considered work appropriate?

Based off of what tanaka was wearing you assumed something business casual

When you came out you looked at tanaka to see if this was good enough and he just nodded his head and started walking back towards his car, opening the door for you to get in

“I talked it over with daichi and youll be working with me as my assistant”

Your eyes widened and he immediately knew what went through your mind

“No not like that! Like with actual business stuff you wont really have to do anything with the mafia”

His flailing around made you laugh a bit and lifted a weight off of your shoulders

Listening to you laugh was almost relaxing, his cheeks heating up from the mere sight of your carefree smile

He gave you a quick tour of the place and introduced you to the others if you ran into them but that was about it

As his assistant you really didnt do much

If anything it felt like he was just an over glorified babysitter

But you shuffled through the files he gave you and sorted them the way he wanted

Tanaka watched you from the corner of his eye while you both worked

It wasnt that he was worried you would do it wrong

But it was just last night that you had that anxiety attack right in front of him

“y/n do you want to go out?”

You looked up from your papers and looked at him in confusion

“Right now? And what do you mean by ‘go out’?”

A big smile appeared on his face

“Yeah right now! Lets go! And dont think too much of it”

He stood up and grabbed his wallet

You followed him and as you two rounded the corner of the block he held the door open to a small cafe

“Go ahead and order whatever you want its on me”

You were weary about being here

Would you two get in trouble for leaving like that?

Tanaka could see the worry still lingering on your face and rose his hand to gently pat your head

“Like I said its on me so dont worry about leaving the office ill take any repercussions if there are any”

The grin on his face took a weight off of your chest and you felt like the air around you wasnt so thick anymore

After getting back to the office no one had even noticed that you two had even left

Whos running this place??

The next few weeks seemed to be fine

It was almost like you lived a normal life and you werent being watched by the mafia

You and tanaka had grown closer and it was easier to talk to the others now

He treated you kindly and tried to understand your situation

Unlike the two interns who always berated you for not knowing where certain files were or would roll their eyes when you would flinch at sudden movements the first few days

But tanaka took it slow with you, doing little things so that youd be more comfortable

At first it was subtle

If you needed to go make a copy of something he’d suddenly need to go grab something from the copy room with you even if you insisted that you could get it for him

Or how he always tried to include you in conversations with others so you would get more comfortable around everyone

Tanaka grew to be someone who it was easy for you to be around

But that sense of calmness was quickly wiped away when you joined him on one of his...excursions

“Heres the case. Now give us what we want”

Tanaka held the case in front of him while you just watched from the car

Sure, he’d take you with him but he’d never let you actually get out

He didnt really want this to take too long

Especially since it was just him against a good handful of men

But the men he was making the trade deal with suddenly saw you in move in the car and locked eyes with you

His smile sent a chill down your spine formed on his face

“New deal: give me that hot piece of ass in the car and you have a deal”

Tanakas jaw clenched at the the disgusting words just said about you

“Im sorry but,”

You couldnt see tanakas face until he looked up at the man in front of him

The look on his face utterly terrified you

“I’ll kill you if you even try to put a hand on them”

Everyone stood there unmoving, too scared to move

Tanaka turned around and headed back to the car where you were

“Deals off if that wasnt clear”

But one of the other men moved towards him

“The fuck you mean its off!”

Tanaka easily evaded the man’s advance and took him down with only a quick few movements

“Anyone else want to try”

The question was simple enough but no one dared made eye contact with him as he got into the car and drove off

The car ride was quiet, youd never seen tanaka look like that before

It scared you

He scared you

Tanaka noticed your silence and reached a hand out to pat your head but his chest went heavy at the sight of you flinching

“Y/n?”

You knew he wouldnt hurt you but you couldnt stop the slight tremble

“Im sorry tanaka”

A weak smile appeared on his face

“It’s fine y/n. i’ll take you home, okay?”

You just nod your head and neither of you talk the rest of the ride

A few days go by and you can feel the distance between you and tanaka growing

Its so noticeable that the others in the office can feel the awkwardness between the two of you

Tanaka suddenly stood up from his seat which startled you but he quickly rose his hands

“Woah sorry didnt mean to scare you”

He said it with such a sad smile on his face that it almost hurt to even look at him

“Ill be back in a moment, gotta use the bathroom”

You nodded your head as he left and let out a sigh

You knew he was just doing business

This was his job

It just shocked you to see the man thats been so kind to you to look...like that

Tanaka on the other hand knew this would happen eventually

He washed his face in the sink and looked up at his reflection

‘Remember your place. They deserve better’

He wiped off his face before heading back to his office only to see you not there

His heart just drop not seeing you there

“y/n?!”

He was about to bolt out of there but as soon as he turned around he bumped right into you

You fell onto the ground and the papers you were holding scattered around everywhere

You both just looked at each other for a moment

“Tanaka--”

Before you could say anymore he scooped you into his arms and you could feel the slight tremble in his shoulders before he quickly pulled away once he realized what he was doing

“Sorry y/n i dont know what came over me”

He started help to pick up the papers you dropped but before he could get too far you pulled him into a hug

He was frozen on the spot at feeling your touch

The warmth from your hands made his heart beat erratically

“Im sorry tanaka”

Your arms tightened around him

Youd seen so many sides of him

How clumsy he was

How kind he could be

Youve also seen how scary he could be and honestly it still shocked you

But you want to believe in him

The him thats been nothing but gentle with you

You could hear him let out a shaky breath before pulling you into his chest

After that your relationship with tanaka went back to normal

Or at least as normal as it could have been

Ever since that day youve started to notice how your heart speeds up whenever you look at him

Or the butterflies in your stomach when he smiles at you

He was careful to not let you see the mafia side of things anymore

You appreciate the thought but youd be lying if you said it didnt worry you when he came to work bandaged or bruised

Today was one of those days where tanaka had picked you up with some visible injuries

The cut on his face looked fairly fresh and without realizing it you reached up and gently ran your thumb over it

“Um what are you doing y/n”

Not that tanaka hated this

He felt his heart flutter at your touch

“You know, i dont mind helping you if you need it”

He smiled and took your hand off of his face

“Thank you y/n but im fine”

Just knowing that you cared was enough for him

‘I love you’

They were words he couldnt say

But he knew this life wasnt for you and he couldnt force you to come live in it

A few weeks go by and you feel like every time you get close to him he pulls back to just keep it barely within the realm of just friends

But that was fine as long as you could stay near

It was another one of those days where tanaka was off doing mafia business so noya kept you company

He always had his guard up but he seemed to take a liking to you

“Do you like tanaka”

The question caught you so off guard you dropped your pen

You looked up at him

“Is it that obvious?”

Noya kept working on whatever was in front of him not even sparing you a glance

“Painfully”

You could feel your embarrassment rising

“But if it makes you feel any better i think he likes you too so promise me...make him happy”

Before you could say anything back noyas phone went off and he immediately answered

His eyes went wide and his head whipped towards you before hanging up and dragging you somewhere

“Noya! Where are we going?”

He rushed you into a car and he took the wheel before driving off to who knows where

“Where are we?”

He got out of the car and opened your door

You were at an apartment complex from the look of it

“We’re at tanakas apartment hurry up”

You immediately got out and followed after him and you almost felt your legs give out seeing the state tanaka was in

Bloody and battered

Hinata was sitting next to his bed with his arms crossed

“Idiot rushed in despite not having a gun”

Noya rolled his eyes

“You know he doesnt like carrying one whyd you let him go alone?”

“Not my fault he didnt stop to think”

They kept talking to each other and went into the other room leaving you both alone

His breathing seemed stable as he slept but tears escaped your eyes as you took a seat next to him

Noya left you with tanaka and told you to take care of him

“He’ll try to tell you hes okay. Dont listen to him hes a fucking liar so take good care of him for me”

It was funny but it almost sounded like a goodbye

Tanaka woke up later that night only to see you sitting next to him with tear stains on your cheeks

The thought of you shedding tears because of him both hurt and warmed his heart

He reached up to wipe your face despite the pain he felt

Your cheeks fit perfectly within his hand and he found it cute how you leaned into his touch subconsciously

He couldnt move much but this is all he needed

You woke up before he did that next morning and decided to make some breakfast for the both of you

When you came back in he was just waking up

“Good morning tanaka”

The smile on your face as the sunlight trickled in through the window made him feel at ease

This...this was the life he longed for

“Morning”

He tried to sit up but flinched while doing so

You rushed to his side and set the food down before helping him up

“Dont push yourself. Youre still pretty banged up”

You changed his bandages for him every evening after that

“I can do this myself you know”

He said it with a light laugh

He was starting to get back on his feet and regained most of his movement and strength

“I know but...id like it if you would rely on me just a bit more. I know i cant do much but i can do this”

He didnt say anything back to you after that

In all honesty he didnt want to do it himself

Every time your hand even brushed over his skin it felt like he was on fire

Even the scars that have long since healed throbbed at your touch

His heart beat so hard against his chest that he was afraid that you could hear it

“There all done! Hope that wasnt too bad”

‘Dont smile at me’

‘Youre far too precious’

‘I dont know what ill do if you look at me like that’

He really was planning to let you go, he was fine with just keeping you at an arms length away but now he knew he was in too deep

You got up to put the first aid kit away but he quickly pulled you into his bed with him and he held you tight against his chest

His face was buried into the crook of your neck

He didnt know what he wanted anymore

He wanted to keep you safe but he couldnt guarantee that with him being in the mafia

He hated it

This life wasnt the one he wanted anymore

The life he wanted was with you

Slowly, he rose his head to look at you

“Run away with me y/n”

Your eyes widened in pure shock

“What...what did you just say?”

You couldnt believe what he just said

His eyes were serious though

“Run away with me. I dont want this life anymore. I want to give you the life you deserve. One filled with happiness and laughter where you dont have to worry about things like if ill come home the next day or not. One where you arent targeted. I love you y/n. I love you so much so please, run away with me or so help me god ill just take you”

He held you so tight that it felt like he might break at any sudden movement

You wrapped your arms around him and held him gently against you so you wouldnt hurt any of his wounds

“Then take me away”

That was all tanaka needed to let go of any reservations that were holding him back up

He kissed you with everything hes been bottling up until this moment

Your lungs burned as pulled away, both out of breath but hungry for more

“I hope you know Im not letting you go. Youre stuck with me now”

You laughed and kissed his forehead

“I wouldnt have it any other way”

That night was spent in each others arms, both of you longing for the others touch and neither of you wanting to be apart for even a second

Noya visited the apartment a few days later only to be met with complete silence

A knowing smile appeared on his face as he shook his head

He knew wherever you two were you were both happy

Because he knew you would keep your promise to him

[spencerspecifics]

This is chapter two to that fic I posted a few months ago! I'm calling this fic "Technical Analyst". Enjoy :)

~

Technical Analyst (ch.2)

~

Chapter one here

———————————————————————

Derek started his search for more information at the beginning, the FBI database. He knew Spencer’s first and last name, plus his old division, he should be able to find it easily.

And he did, it wasn’t a lot of information, though. All Spencer’s personal information was blacked out, only could be opened by a unit chief or anyone else higher up. Which meant he’d have to go crawling back to Hotch to learn anything about the guy.

Damn, he was almost back at the start of his search, knowing nothing. But he wasn’t, he still had a bit of information on Reid, but not a lot, not enough. So he read all he could on the guy.

He’s a doctor, but in what, medical training? That seemed like the most reasonable answer, but if that’s the case- what’s a medical professional doing working on their computers? Derek wanted to learn more about that.

Past that, all Derek could see about him was his previous work in domestic terrorism. And he had an okay record. The chief unit agent had a few notes about him on the reports from their cases, such as; “While Dr. Spencer Reid is a bright individual, we found the information he does hold to not always be the most helpful. With that being said, we’ve set him on the research end of our work, to help him learn more and to help our field agents stay focused.” “Dr. Spencer Reid is an amazing researcher for the domestic terrorism unit, but he doesn’t socialize strongly with the rest of the group.” “Dr. Spencer Reid seems more interested in the scientific behavioral aspects of why our unsub’s do what they do, while that is helpful for de-escalation when we encounter our unsub’s, (which our other agents take care of, as Dr. Spencer Reid isn’t in the field much.) it is not necessary, as he is not a profiler, even though he has trained with SSA Jason Gideon. We have now set him on research full time.”

Derek kept scrolling, similar notes kept showing up, Dr. Spencer Reid was smart- but not always conventially, he was specifically interested in behavioral studies- so why wasn’t he with Garcia? Or on the field with the BAU? Not to mention he had trained with Jason Gideon, one of the BAU’s best agents. Morgan had only met Gideon briefly before he retired, and since then he hadn’t heard much of the guy (except for what Rossi would say once and a while.)

Derek had enough bread crumbs about the genius to put his next move together, he was going to ask the genius about his favorite behavioral cases (if he had looked over any, which Derek had a feeling he had). He was also going to try and apologize, Derek didn’t know if he upset the guy about the domestic terrorism unit question, but it was just plain curiosity. He wasn’t trying to upset or offend, he was just curious. He had no open cases, after all, what was he supposed to do? Finish logging his cases like a normal person? No, and he had already had that done (the last thing he had needed was Spencer putting them through VICAP, which he did at that insane speed of an hour). So Derek was making work for himself, investigating this genius he had never heard of before.

~

Spencer had made it back to his way too small office, practically shaking from an overwhelming feeling that he couldn’t pinpoint as he did his best to shut the door behind him (which sadly took a few tries, as his hands were shaking a bit too much for him to get a hold on the handle. He ended up pushing the door shut with the toe of his shoe instead).

Was it anxiety? Stress? Anger? He wasn’t sure. He wasn’t angry at anyone, more at the bureau as a whole. He was mad he was demoted, but he had been living with that for six months now, the time frame for being reasonably mad had long been over by now.

But as soon as Derek had asked him why he was out of domestic terrorism, something flipped inside Spencer’s head. He never had to explain why he left before. Not to his mom in his letters to her, he just told her he was transferring to a different unit- to which she said that was good, and the less scary work he had to do was better for him (and for her piece of mind).

And when he had met Garcia, he didn’t have to explain himself, she never really asked. Hotchner or Strauss must’ve told her in advance why Spencer was now going to work alongside her and Kevin, but she kept her curiosities surrounding Spencer’s career path to herself. Kevin was the same as Garcia in that regard, he never asked. And Spencer wasn’t that close to Kevin, anyways. All their conversations revolved around computer work, or the occasional conversation about Doctor Who. But that was it, it never got personal.

Point is, Reid never had to explain to anyone why he was out of domestic terrorism. No one asked, no one dug deep. No one was curious. And Spencer couldn’t just answer Derek by saying; “They kicked me out because I didn’t click, I didn’t have any field hours. And because I wasn’t important enough to them to be saved. They let me go, budget cuts.” No, Spencer couldn’t say that.

It’s not that Spencer couldn’t admit defeat. He could, it’s just in this case, these people didn’t need to know about his defeats. He was working with them for a week. A week, that’s all. He didn’t want to tell them his life story, he didn’t want to tell them all the bad parts about his life. He didn’t want them to know about his failures, especially this one. It embarrassed him. The less the BAU agents knew about him, the better, in his opinion.

Spencer was standing in his office, still having not moved from where he pushed the door shut after he had entered. He just needed a second, he was still slightly shaking.

Maybe he should start seeing a therapist again. But maybe not, it’s not like he was having an attack of any kind. He was just overwhelmed. The thought of explaining why he left domestic terrorism was too much, the anxiety behind the explanation, then the embarrassment, not to mention his anger towards the bureau, and the stupid stress he felt of his daily job of being a glorified IT worker- it was just too much.

Spencer took a deep breath in. The shaking was slowing down ever so slightly, a good sign. He stepped towards his desk chair, sitting down while he kept trying to slow his breathing. God, he felt pitiful. He was shaking over having to explain himself, and while his reasoning was valid for not wanting to explain- this response his body was doing was not normal.

Spencer just kept breathing, counting off the digits of pi he could remember as he went. Numbers always helped him clear his head.

~

Spencer had continued counting, all the way to the forty-seventh digit of pi, before he fully felt calm again. Good, he breathed a sigh of relief as he tapped back onto his computers.

Now, hopefully, he could get some work done.

~

And Spencer did, he was able to help transfer a bunch of completed cases to Strauss, before another knock at his office door pulled him out of his work pace.

“Yes?” He said, turning around in his chair once again to see who was at the door. This time, it was Kevin who pushed the door open slowly as he entered, stepping in a bit to the room, but leaving the door open. “Hey, how’s your first day with the BAU going?” He asked curiously, just making small talk. He was probably trying to get out of work he was being told to do, either that or he was on break and bored.

“It, uh, it’s going okay. Nothing’s happened, really. I met agent Prentiss and agent Morgan.” He told Kevin casually as he turned back to his computer to finish logging in the files information, he knew Kevin wouldn’t mind if he turned away to do work while they talked. Kevin knew he was good at multitasking.

“Oh dude, Morgan-“ Kevin groaned, shutting the door behind him quickly as he entered the room to lean against Spencer’s desk, so Spencer could keep working and see Kevin. “Garcia loves him, and he’s a nice guy. But should I be jealous?”

Spencer wasn’t good in this conversational aspect. Ask him what the most poisonous frog in North America is, and he could answer you no problem (it’s the poisonous dart frog, no surprise there.) but this? Spencer couldn’t navigate this. So he took Kevin’s question scientifically.

“...I don’t think so. Garcia is a good person, she wouldn’t ever intentionally hurt someone. Especially you.” Spencer answered after a moment of thinking, turning to look at Kevin to gauge his reaction, “Right,” Kevin nodded in agreement, as that answer did make sense to him, “But should I-“ Kevin started, then stopped himself quickly.

He smiled down at Spencer sheepishly, “Sorry. I know you aren’t a therapist, my bad, man.” He apologized simply, Spencer just gave him a polite small smile in return, it’s all he could muster. “How did the meeting with IT go?” Reid asked, changing conversation topics easily.

“Stupid. I know how to fix my keyboard, so does anyone else here with basic understanding of computers. I bet the janitors could do it.” That elicited a small laugh from Spencer in return, as it was true. Fixing a keyboard definitely wasn’t complicated. It was just stupid nonsense that Kevin had to talk to IT, but that’s what they dealt with, day in and day out.

Kevin left quickly after that, he had just been on break, and before Spencer knew it kevin had to go running off to the child abduction unit to help them with their computers.

~

Though Derek had devised a plan on what he was going to say to spencer, he still had no clue how he should go back to the genius and start the conversation. He had no work related reason to go back, all of the files that needed to go through VICAP were sent.

Maybe Derek should get a paper cut, ask for the doctors help? No, a paper cut doesn’t require a doctors expertise. Not to mention he wasn’t even sure if Spencer was a medical doctor.

So Derek was stuck, looking over files at his desk that he most definitely was done with, as he messed with pens on his desk absentmindedly.

Emily noticed his mood shift into restless boredom pretty quickly, but she had her own work to do, too. So as she watched him tap away on his desk, she was doing her best to work. She had to get these cases filed correctly, after all.

~

Her urge to stay focused on work didn’t last long, though. Derek’s mood was just too much to not pay attention to, she would rather talk to him than do file work, anyways.

“Okay- what’s wrong with you? Drink too much coffee?” She asked him as she set down her case file onto her desk, Derek stopped tapping his pen to make eye contact with her. “Hm?” He asked simply, he hadn’t heard her, he was absorbed with thinking of what to do to get to Spencer and talk to him.

“I said,” Prentiss said, as she leaned forward a bit in her chair, “What’s with you?” Yeah, she was totally more interested in bugging Morgan than doing her cases. Derek just shrugged, he wasn’t about to tell her what he was actually thinking. That would just make her even more sure that Derek thought Spencer was cute, which wasn’t the case. He just was curious about the guy, and now he had struck a nerve in spencer, so he had to make it right and apologize. It was a normal thought process to have, but he knew Prentiss wouldn’t see it that way.

“Nothing,” Derek lied easily, gesturing to his finished case files as he spoke, “It’s just.. finished all my cases, and I can’t leave yet. So, I’m bored.”

Emily took his answer and nodded, “Wanna do mine?” She joked with him, gesturing to the short stack she had on her desk. Derek chuckled in response, shaking his head slowly.

“I don’t know ‘bout all of that.” He said, the stack, though short, had at least fifteen files, and as much Derek was bored (which was true, he was just stuck thinking.) he wasn’t bored enough to warrant work.

“Aw, c’mon, help a girl out. Here.” Prentiss said, grabbing a few off the top and passing them across her desk to his, setting them on the edge of his desk. “Just do these for me, please.”

Derek nodded, giving in. “Okay, sure. What’s left on these to do?” “I don’t think much, just finish filling out the descriptions on how we profiled the unsub, then get them into VICAP for me.” Emily specified, looking back to the rest of the stack of files.

VICAP. Derek couldn’t get them into VICAP, he didn’t know VICAP well enough. But Spencer did, and it wouldn’t take Spencer long. Perfect. He now had an excuse to get back to Spencer and talk to him more.

Derek just nodded, even though a small amount of excitedeness was now growing inside of him. Because now he had an excuse to keep talking to this mysterious genius.

“Yeah, I can do that.” He told Prentiss simply, she gave him a smile in return, along with a “thanks”, before turning back to the file she had sat down on her desk originally in favor of talking to Derek.

Now, all Derek had to do was fill these cases out. Easy.

~

And it was easy, as expected. Derek got them filled out no problem, writing the profile explanation had been something he’d been doing for years.

And it was always easy for him to do, it was just explaining the order of events- from ‘we spoke to local law enforcement’ to ‘we surveyed the area the victim was found in’ to ‘we looked at recovered evidence at the scene’, all the way to the end goal which usually was something like; ‘we figured our unsub was most likely a male in his 30’s with a menial part time job and bad temper’.

It was that, rinse and repeat. Except of course, every case was different. But the bullet points were all oddly similar.

But still, it didn’t matter. Derek had a reason to go back to Spencer now, to apologize, say “sorry I struck a nerve, doc.” And he wanted to. After all, he didn’t wanna piss off the computer genius the BAU was employing for this week.

~

So, Derek finished the case files as quickly as he could humanly manage, before making his way out of the bullpen. Thankfully Prentiss wasn’t there to ask him where he was going, as she was in a meeting with Hotchner. And double bonus, J.J. and Rossi were both at some profiling seminar for today. So the bullpen was practically empty. It was beautiful.

So, Derek made his way out of the glass doors, down the hall, back to Spencer’s office. He hoped to redeem himself of his earlier fuck up.

~

Spencer had his soundproof headphones on, totally oblivious to the outside world. After all, he had finished all his work for the day, now he just got to read, just as he had hoped for. So while Bach played through his headphones, his mind was focused on the thick Russian translation copy of the crucible. He was excited to see how Russian people viewed such an American phenomenon of the Salem Witch Trials.

He was ecstatic to say the least, translating the Russian letters to English in his head at lightning speed while he kept reading along. It was only when he was tapped on the shoulder that he got pulled out of his methodical pace. He pulled off his headphones as fast as humanly possible, turning around in time to see agent Derek Morgan back in his office. Crap.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to interrupt-“ Derek started, gesturing at the thick book in Spencer’s hands. “Oh- um, you’re fine. Sorry.” Spencer spoke quickly as he set the book down on his desk, leaving his headphones wrapped around his neck awkwardly, Bach’s light piano melodies could be heard very softly.

“What’re you reading?” Morgan asked Spencer politely, “The Russian translation of The Crucible. I’ve already read The Crucible, but knowing the Russian word choices and ways they choose to phrase such a strictly American experience is something fascinating to me, I notice that their word choices often-“ Spencer started on a tangent, only stopping when he looked up to see Derek’s face in the classic stare many people gave Spencer over his lifetime. A mixture of ‘slow down’ and ‘what the hell’ and ‘all I did was ask a question, I didn’t wanna hear him rant’.

Spencer slowed himself down, “Sorry. Uh-“ he looked down at Morgan’s hands, there were files. Perfect. “Have work for me?” Spencer asked politely, Reid’s swift change in conversation seemed to surprise Derek as he gave him a perplexed look.

“Uh, yeah- these just have to go into VICAP.” He said as he handed them over to Spencer. There were only four this time, Spencer could probably finish these in fourty five minutes, an hour tops. That meant Spencer would still have plenty of time to read, perfect.

“Okay, I can do that.” Spencer nodded as he took the files from Derek’s now outstretched arm. Derek let his arm fall back to his side once Spencer had taken the files and set them on his desk, next to his now empty coffee thermos and computer mouse.

“Hey- I also just wanted to say sorry about asking about your work in domestic terrorism earlier. Wasn’t my place to ask.” Derek spoke up awkwardly, after Spencer had started to look over the files. Spencer looked back up at Morgan when he said that, though. He wasn’t sure how to respond.

He never had to explain himself before, and now someone was apologizing to him. Normally, people wouldn’t. What was Spencer supposed to do now? He hadn’t ever been in a situation like this before. He felt like his IQ was going back down drastically, and not just because Derek was an attractive male, standing in Spencer’s office, wearing a short sleeved t-shirt that showed off his muscles in a way no one should ever show them off.

Well, it was partly that. But Spencer was doing his best to ignore that part of his brain. But now his entire brain was in the pitfall. Not sure what to do.

So Spencer muttered a ‘thank you’ and nodded quickly, pulling eyes back down to the files and not on agent Derek Morgan, because Spencer didn’t know what to do.

~

They were stuck in an awkward silence, for what felt like forever. But Derek didn’t want to leave it his way, that’s the last thing he wanted. After all, Spencer was a friend of Garcia’s, which makes them acquaintances by default. Plus, this guy was gonna be running the computer tech side for the next week or so of the BAU. He couldn’t make it awkward, what if a case happened and they had to go out there and work together?

Derek was overthinking this, but only because he cares so much about Garcia. That was his reasoning on why. Not like his reasoning mattered, though. He still hadn’t said anything to Spencer past the awkward apology. He had to say something new, now. Either that, or he should just tuck tail and leave Dr. Spencer Reid’s office that was the size of a walk in closet. 

Derek wasn’t about to dip out, though. So he spoke. “I saw in your file that you worked with agent Jason Gideon, what was he like?”

Spencer’s eyes went back up to Morgan’s again. “He taught me a lot, he’s very simple and to the point. I thought you knew him- since you’re on the BAU?” Spencer responded to Derek’s question with a question.

Derek shrugged as he made himself more comfortable, leaning up against the file cabinet that was behind him. He was hoping to stay for a while and talk, and it seemed he was getting that. Spencer watched him as he did so, “I only met him once before he retired, I’m more familiar with Rossi and Hotch.” He spoke in return.

“I’ve read Rossi’s books, they’re phenomenal. I’ve wanted to approach him and talk about his work on some of the cases he’s done- but I never get the opportunity to.”

“You’re working with the entire BAU, you’ve got the opportunity now. You realize that, right?” Derek asked Spencer curiously. Spencer nodded, “I do. But I checked his schedule, he’s at a seminar right now:”

Derek chuckled, he didn’t know Spencer well enough to make presumptions about the guy, and he had agreed with the BAU a long time ago not to profile each other- and by that logic, he had also agreed not to profile Spencer. Not that he’d want to, though. That’s just not fair.

But oddly, Spencer checking Rossi’s schedule sounded like something this guy would do. He’s too smart to be working as a technical analyst in a small ass office. Derek still wanted to ask him so badly ‘why are you here?’. But he knew he shouldn’t. So he redirected the conversation again; “What’s some of your favorite behavioral cases?”

~

Spencer hadn’t meant to keep Morgan in his office for over an hour, explaining in depth about his favorite behavioral cases. It just happened on accident.

Usually Spencer stopped himself when he rambled, but Derek didn’t seem to mind. And once Spencer started talking, it was near impossible to stop. It was only when Prentiss knocked on the office door, peeking her head inside- did Spencer realize how much time he had taken away from Derek.

“Hey, I was looking for you, Morgan. You finish those files?” She asked him innocently, “I did, just getting our new tech analyst to put them in for me.” He responded easily, Spencer looked back down at the case files. Yeah, he needed to do them.

“I’ll get started on them now,” Spencer nodded, “Sorry.” He told Derek after Prentiss had left, leaving the office door cracked open.

“No worries. I enjoyed talking to you. Hope we do more work together.” Derek told him with a small smile. Crap, Spencer didn’t like this guy one bit. He was too nice, too handsome, too charming. This was a dumpster fire of a situation.

Thankfully, this seemed to be the end of it, at least for now. These were Prentiss’ files. He could finish these and leave them on her desk. No more interaction with Derek Morgan, which is definitely what Spencer needed.

“I’ll see you, doc. Thanks again.” Derek told him, that smile still on his face as he exited, shutting the door behind him. Spencer didn’t respond as Morgan left, he was just feeling his face blushing red, goddamnit. He was going to curse at Penelope garcia for having such an attractive best friend. This just wasn’t fair. This was going to be a problem, a nagging, buzzing fly around Spencer’s mind until the week was over.

Thankfully this was just a week long ordeal. Spencer could handle that. He wouldn’t know what to do if he was a permanent worker on the BAU.

Reid brought himself back to focus, working on the files. Which he did at record speed, like always.

~

“Dude, I was looking for you for like- an hour. Were you with the doctor the entire time?” Prentiss asked Derek curiously as soon as he sat down in his desk chair again.

Morgan shrugged, “I gave him your files, we were just talking.”

“For an hour? About what?” Prentiss asked him, surprised because Derek wasn’t that big on long conversations.

“Spencer used to work with agent Gideon. He told me about that.” “No shit, really? That’s cool.” Prentiss muttered, definitely a tinge of jealously in her voice, “I’m gonna ask him for whatever tips Gideon taught him.”

“Maybe I know those tips.” Derek joked, wagging his eyebrows up and down as a way to piss emily off. She rolled her eyes at him, “No way you remember all he said. You were probably too busy staring at his face.”

“For the last time, he isn’t cute.” “Uh, yes he is.” Prentiss scoffed at Derek for such a weak rebuttal. Now it was Morgan’s turn to roll his eyes, “I’m done talking to you. I got your files done, Prentiss.”

Now, emily was sarcastic; “Oh and thank god you did four of my fifteen files. I never would’ve finished without you- seriously, thank you so much Morgan.”

Derek just continued rolling his eyes, deciding to roll around in his office chair to face the other way, facing his filing cabinent. “What’re you even doing?” Prentiss asked him, “Ignoring you.” He replied easily, eliciting a giggle from Prentiss, before hearing her reply; “Whatever man.”

———————————————————————

taglist: so far just @electricsockhead bc they commented a while back they wanted to know of any more chapters coming out. If you want to be on my taglist send me a message :)

[lenathogwarts]

Dark Days (Ransom Drysdale x Reader)

WARNINGS: description of depression and its symptoms, mentioning of suicidal thoughts, ANGST! - angsty story with a message behind it (gets fluffy towards the end)

This One-Shot has a major trigger warning! If you suffer(ed) from depression and/or have suicidal thoughts and know, that reading about these topics triggers you, don’t interact with the story! I’m serious! Don’t!

This story is purely meant as an outlet and doesn’t intend to glorify any of the things mentioned above. I would never want to pull anyone down! So – if this is not your cup of tea, just skip this one 😊 Remember to take care of yourself (especially with everything that is going on right now!) ♥ If you ever feel lonely or just need/want someone to talk to, feel free to message me!

Word Count: 780

(Barely edited, all mistakes are my own, hope you enjoy reading anyways! ♥)

You loved the happy days. Laughing, smiling, drinking in the beauty of the world. On these days, everything was easy. No insecurities or thoughts that wore you down. Everything was just as it should be.

But there were also the darker days.

On which you didn’t feel optimistic.

On which it was difficult to laugh.

On which the world started being just a little less colourful than usual.

In the beginning, you hadn’t worried about these days all too much. They tended to go just as fast as they came. And everyone had bad days. No one could be happy all the time.

Right?

Gradually, the bad days became worse. At first, you didn’t even notice that it was happening, but slowly your mind started going … places. Your thoughts started to scare you. You knew they were unhealthy. You knew they weren’t true.

Right?

But just before you could lose control, you pulled yourself back from the edge.

No, you weren’t worthless.

No, you weren’t unworthy of being loved.

No, it wouldn’t be easier for everyone if you weren’t here.

As soon as you had managed to stir yourself away from that cliff, the happy days followed.

Life was good again.

And you tried your best to ignore the threatening dark shadows looming right at the edge of your little world.

Ever since the world had gone to shit, the dark days had become more frequent. Over the last year, every ounce of joy stashed away for the bad times, had been sucked out of you until there was nothing left but an empty shell. While everyone seemed to be able to move on with their lives, even finding the power to grow and improve themselves, your life became stagnant. Stuck in the same place as the year before, with no progress to show, you started plummeting down the spiral towards the ground headfirst.

Everything felt weirdly numb. The light days had merged with the dark days until everything was just grey. No highs, no lows. Just – nothingness. At some point, you had stopped caring. All you wanted to do was sleep. And even though you were tired, you just couldn’t.

Living became more exhausting every single day.

A loud knock on the front door to your apartment pulled you out of your thoughts.

“(Y/N)? Are you home?”

Ransom’s voice from the other side of the door let your heart sink. He couldn’t come in here. Your apartment was a mess – dirty dishes piled up in the kitchen, piles over piles of stuff cluttered the living room, leaving no clear spaces on the floor.

“I know you’re there. Open up!”

Shit, you thought, holding your breath. Maybe if you kept quiet, he would go away. You could text him that you were … buying groceries. Yes, buying groceries! That was a believable excuse!

Go away, Ransom! Please!

You took a quick look down at yourself. You were still wearing the same old T-shirt and sweatpants you had found in one of the clothing piles two days ago. For some reason, you were only wearing one of your socks. Until now, you hadn’t even noticed the other one was missing.

“(Y/N)”, Ransom said again, his voice softer this time, “Are you okay?”

The question caught you off guard.

No, a tiny part of your soul cried out.

In fear of an actual sound leaving your body, you pressed a hand over your mouth. You tried to force all the emotions back down that threatened to come to the surface.

“I’m going to let myself in.”

In horror, you remembered the spare key that you had given him ages ago.

You heard the sound of the key turning in the lock and the front door being opened.

The light was switched on in the hallway and you could see Ransom stepping into your apartment.

You couldn’t move or say anything as you watched him making is way through the mess, slowly coming towards you.

He must be repulsed by you.

He had his shit to deal with and your problems were nothing compared to his.

You were a failure.

Not capable of doing anything.

Even if it was something as basic as keeping your apartment clean.

I am a failure. I am a failure. I am a failure.

Neither of you had said a single word ever since Ransom had entered the apartment. You just stood there in silence, looking up into his blue eyes, waiting for his reaction.

Suddenly, his eyes went soft.

“Do you need help, (Y/N)?”

It was as if he had whispered some kind of magic spell. A loud sob escaped your lips.

“Yes.”

Author’s Note: 

Some people will probably consider this next part cheesy or cringy, but I feel like it needs to be said: 

If you are struggling with your mental health right now, I want to let you know that it will get better.  

Even if it may not seem like it now, it will. One of the most difficult parts of every journey towards better mental health is to recognise that there is a problem in the first place. Once you’re at this point, it is crucial, that you actively take the next step: get help. There is nothing wrong with needing help. Don’t be ashamed. We all need help sometimes. I know, that this can be scary. But I also know that you are so much stronger than you may believe right now. 

You will get through this. Feel hugged. Len.

[yanderemommabean]

A Senseless Dr Lee Short by Mommabean

With an exhausted sigh, a bloodied, glove covered hand comes up to wipe his forehead. The newest toy of his laid like a useless slab of meat on the table, finally going quiet and starting the beautiful process of rigor mortis.

As he brings his hand back down to his side, he studies the victims body once again. It’s such an odd feeling, knowing that just seconds ago they were alive and still fighting for life, only to now become nothing more than a glorified sack of meat and skin.

They were once somebody with a life, with meaning, somebody who meant something one second only to become obsolete in the next.

Pity. But he can’t help who his horrid hunger chooses. It’s usually people who deserve it anyway. Entitled brats, loudmouths, obnoxious strangers who think the world owes them everything. He hates those vermin. Loathes them. It’s a struggle everyday to hold back his urges to strike on sight, something about their attitudes just draw out the worst in him.

They think they’re so suave, so smart, better than anyone and can get away with anything.

Well he’s doing the world a favor. Purging it of their existence one fun night at a time.

Lee’s phone vibrates in his pocket and he finds himself brought back to the moment. He huffs a soft breath and tries to act casual - well as casual as a doctor can be when it’s a call this late in the fucking night.

“How can I help you?” He asks dryly, beginning to take off his mask with one hand so he can slowly start cleaning up his mess. He could feel the blood drying on his face, and would honestly rather have this call after a shower or long bath.

“Hi. I know it’s late and...I’m sorry I’m just - I’m a bit nervous when it comes to calling any doctors or setting appointments but I...um-“ a voice stammers on the other end. Lee couldn’t help a soft, understanding smile as the caller continued their conversation.

He’s used to anxious patients, he knows how scary and unsettling it is to talk to someone over the phone or even in person. It’s something he’s struggled with for years, and still on occasion has issues with. Having a possible patient with the same problem is reassuring on both sides.

“No no you’re fine! It’s my job to help people! What seems to be the issue?” He asks with a lighter tone, pressing the phone against his cheek and the crook of his shoulder and he slid off his blood stained gloves.

He nods and hums as the caller describes their concerns and confusion on a recent blood test, voice still stuttering and pausing as the anxiety built up.

Poor thing. No need to be nervous around him! Not unless you suddenly show you’re one of those vile, entitled, egomaniac wastes he loves to experiment on.

“I see. Well I can set up an appointment for another test and we can discuss your concerns after! I don’t mind having a one on one.”

“You sure it’s not a bother? I know usually nurses are told to do the work and discussion”.

To be fair, that’s typically true. But Lee is a firm believer in meeting with patients when he has the time, and he’s not going back on his word now.

Besides, this patient sounds cute. He’d be a lunatic to pass up meeting a cutie!

“Yeah! It’s absolutely fine! How’s about eleven or noon? I don’t think we need one too early” he chuckled.

A soft agreement was whispered over the line, and the voice gave a nervous goodbye before they both hung up.

That was strangely fun and relaxing. He almost forgot about the major blood bath he was standing in. Ah, yeah, he needs to get on the clean up now or soon the neighbors will complain about the smell.

You’d think a basement with thick walls and padding would help with smell, but sadly it’s just noise that it absorbs. A guy can dream though, can’t he?

“Alright, playtimes over” he grumbled to himself as he begins to roll the corpse into plastic, dumping it into a blue barrel. With a thud, the body lands head first, stiff muscles making it hard to push the legs inside.

Eventually he decided to just break the legs - and if that didn’t work he had plenty of removal tools - and managed to shut the lid. He’ll fill it with acid later, it’s not like it’s going anywhere.

“Depending on how things go, you might be my last toy for a little bit. Don’t get too excited though. Still a chance they’re one of your kind” he said bitterly, flicking off the light as he ascended the stairs out of his basement, leaving the room of horrors in the darkness.

(This isn’t really anything important I just needed to write and I had no idea what so...here’s some Dr Lee! -Mommabean )

[whump-town]

A Cumbersome and Heavy Body

Chapter Five: They Told Me That The End Is Near

Summary: Stubborn until the very end, Aaron Hotchner isn’t going to go down without a fight. It’s just getting hard to tell the difference between fighting them and fighting the cancer.

Word count:  3195

Author’s Note: I’m about to fuck yall all kinda of ways-- buckle in babies cause shit is GETTING FUCKED

Warning: the subject of this fic is cancer and it’s treatment, cursing, maybe out of character (idk, man. hotch is weird)

Welcome to the final show Hope you're wearing your best clothes You can't bribe the door on your way to the sky You look pretty good down here But you ain't really good

She hates everything about labeling his days as “good” or “bad”-- this stupid emphasis on each thing that he does and how well he can perform it. The doctors will ask how he is, nearly expecting to be told something other than like he’s dying, and that always frustrates her beyond words. She can feel Hotch tense each time, looking to her in his desperate attempt to conjure a lie they will believe. “Good” or “bad” and he wants to say “okay” so that they don’t poke him more. So they don’t stand him up in the room and run their hands down his sides feeling for more swollen nodes and inclinations to infections or whatever other bad nonsense will rear its ugly head.

Mostly, she hates how there are “bad” days and there are days that aren’t gut-wrenchingly horrible but they aren’t “good” either.

Tuesday he’d smiled and sat for three hours with Reid. The genius turned on the sofa to face Hotch in the recliner, rocking himself gently as he spoke about anything and everything on his mind. Emily had watched them for a moment from the kitchen, shocked at the painless ease Hotch was sitting with. Enjoying something close to normalcy as Reid doesn’t look at Hotch and see the sickness overcoming his pale skin. Doesn’t see how tired he is or how weak. He’s just Hotch and they’re sitting in the living room talking about quantum mechanics and then attachment theory and diagnosing schizophrenia.

For three hours there is so much normalcy to their chaotic lives. For three hours there is “good” and for the remaining hours after Reid leaves there is something close to right in the middle. It’s fighting tooth and nail over some supplements he’s supposed to have in this meal replacement that tastes like chalk. She chases the fight with vodka and he locks himself in his office to drink the meal replacement in the sort of isolation that affords him endless frustration with no outward consequence. He ends up sitting in there and hoping she forgives him for being such a pain in the ass. He knows she probably will.

Then he does something stupid, something entirely brought on by impulse.

“You’re a fucking asshole.”

He can’t finish the job on his own, the clippers shaking painfully in his grip. His arm hurts and he can’t stand long enough to get the whole thing even. “It’s falling out, anyway.” He tells himself that it doesn’t matter, that he should be lucky he made it to this age without losing it. He tries not to think about it, mostly. To the way that his father used to smile at him and rustle it just to see the strands sit in all kinds of directions. How Haley would curl against him, arm over his shoulders, and brushing the strands as they talk.

But it’s just… hair. Mostly.

And “good” had melted into bad as Emily stood over him, running the clippers through his remaining hair. She’d cried and he had too but he had the free hands to wipe those tears before she could see them. She’s always the strong one, the least he can do is pretend for a moment.

Standing behind him, she can see every bone in his back. His pale skin stretched over each vertebra, like the hard pressure across knuckles clenched tightly. The plethora of scars in various stages of healing-- several from tubes and wires and tests and others from the childhood he refuses to speak of. A canvas with a story right there for her to see. There are no real secrets between them anymore.

The last bit of hair falls and she looks at what they’ve done. “You’ll have to wear a hat,” she tells him. She steps out of the tub, using his shoulder to balance herself. “I always thought you had a weird-shaped head but now I know.” There’s nothing abnormal about his head, she’s just thinking about how cold he always is. That at least now he’s got an excuse to wear a beanie inside and how he’ll look like a dork with the assortment of color and variations Garcia’s going to knit the second she catches wind of this.

She offers him her hands so that he can stand too and it’s a testament to their proximity that his shirtlessness isn’t strange. She’s watched his skin ease apart under the pressure of a scalpel. Sat beside him on the bathroom floor, head on his shoulder as the night moved on but they both knew he’d be back here all together too soon to get up. The scars are nothing to the vulnerability that he’s shown her.

Standing she… she sees the protrusion of his collarbone. Of the harshness, the invasion of the central line snaking into him. It overcomes her and she pulls him into her. Throwing an arm over one shoulder and around the other, pinning him against her. “I love you,” she whispers turning her face into his neck.

Her warmth seeps into him, in every place that her skin rests against his. The desperation in her tone makes him smile, the way that she holds him. He’s empathetic to her pain but it feels good to be held, to be loved like something someone is terrified to lose. “You know,” he says. “I kind of figured. You’ve stayed around too long for someone who, supposedly, hates me.”

She laughs. How many times had she gone out of her way to mumble “I hate you” at him? For waking her up to make her go back to bed so that she doesn’t spend her whole night on the floor as miserable as him. To have something to say in the face of the scary things that happen, when he squeezes her hand too tight or when he’s that numb calm she knows is no good.

“I do hate you,” she sniffles.

He laughs. An actual laugh. “Good,” he replies, wrapping his arms around her. “Good.”

Wednesday he makes her French Toast with a black beanie pulled down over his ears, one she’d seen only in the winter to stave off the threat of the ear infections the icy fingers of the wind give him. They talk while they eat and it’s a truly monumental thing to be shared between them-- a meal.

There’s something about sitting there and watching him perfect some glorified egg bread that annoys her. Knowing that likely, tomorrow this will be like a slap to the face. A taunt to see him now and then. Today he will the Aaron that she knows. The Aaron that peers over her shoulder while she’s trying to do things, baiting her into pointless arguments with his bad French and even worse German. To the Aaron who walks soundless and who grins when he turns up silently behind her and makes her yelp with a jump.

She watches the ease in which he takes to his french toast bleed away like the color in his face until lunch brings one of those meal replacements and he can’t do it. Then she finds the french toast she thought he’d eaten in the trash where he’d purposely tried to cover it. Knows that next week they’ll find the meal replacements didn’t work and do something else to his poor body. Cut another hole, insert another tube.

She hears him fall that night.

After hearing him laugh loudly over some stupid thing she’d said.

After playfully fighting with him over stealing one of his sweaters-- he has so many it’s not going to kill him to let her borrow one.

After just sitting with him on the couch for hours listening to music and sitting in the dark.

She hears him fall and, worst of all, she hears how hard he tries to cover it up. The sound is not as distinct as it should be with no crash that rattles dishes or a harsh thud. A stumble, really, a softer thump as he leaned into the wall for support but found none.

“Aaron.”

He’s sitting up against the wall, shoulders sunk in and head hanging. When he looks up she sees the blood pouring down his face, the tears pooling at the corner of his eyes. “...can’t stop it.” He coughs, wiping at the blood across his lips. “It won’t stop, Emily.”

She runs to the bathroom, grabbing a wad of toilet paper and not thinking twice about manipulating his face in her hands. One hand holding the back of his head while the other dabs the blood up. “We’re supposed to go to the hospital when this happens,” she reminds him. He’ll need platelets or something invasive but more than likely he’ll be submitted to an hour-long wait in the E.R. to be told it was the right thing to come in but altogether unnecessary.

He groans, not in pain but in the general theme of the awfulness he knows will ensue if she makes the decision they will be going to the hospital. To the cold beds and the wheelchairs.

“Water and bed,” she says, instead of what he’d thought would be her asking where his shoes and coat are. She smirks at him, knowing what he’s thinking and seeing the surprise written across his face. “We’ll tell them Tuesday about it,” she assures him. Tuesday when they’re probably going to tell them he needs to come back in another day. When they see the supplements aren’t working and he’ll probably need something invasive and painful. Then they’ll deal with the nose bleeds popping back (and that cough she’s noticed but has let convince himself she hasn’t noticed).

“Bed,” she says again when the words seem like they haven’t processed.  

“Bed,” he repeats thickly, her fingers clamped over his nose thickening the nasally quality of his voice.

They shuffle down the hall, Emily’s fingers curled around his hip and his arm over her shoulder. Heads bent in towards one another. He whispers an apology, feet hardly leaving the ground, and leaning on her a little too much. He imagines the beginning. When he’d laid on his bed, thinking about her and thinking about his father. The way the cancer had eaten his father away and he can see in the mirror, he watches closely and knows the same thing is happening to him.

His father had done what he can’t-- ended it.

It had been Aaron who found him. So strange to see such a violent man seemingly… peaceful. His memory is a patchwork of things, his childhood full of too many greys of undetermined moments, but that sight. Seeing his father’s lifeless body in the high-backed office chair he’d spent so many waking hours in has been unforgettable.

He can’t do that. He won’t make Emily see that or leave that sort of memory for Jack. It’s important to him that it be like this.

“You have to sit up.” She props him up on pillows, ignoring his complaints. The blood has slowed and there’s nearly no point in wiping it away. He just watches her, vacantly staring back as she tucks the blankets around his chest. “Sleep,” she instructs, kissing his forehead. “Do you want me to stay?” He knows she will. She’ll sleep right here beside if he asks but… no. He’ll be okay.

It snows.

He watches it from the only window in his room, she’d pulled the curtains back before she fell asleep. He sees her and her giant shadow with the yellowing light from the street pouring in, eating out the deep consuming darkness looming over him. Until today he’d only ever suspected she was dragging his office chair into his room but he’d never caught her, always waking up after she’d moved the chair back and gone back to her own room. Leaving behind only the three deep dents in the carpet where she’d sat for hours. There had been so many nights he’d spent sitting and watching Jack sleep as a baby-- some irrational fear that the baby would stop breathing in the middle of the night and so long as he was watching Jack would keep breathing. He needn’t ask silly questions, he knows she’s using the same irrational approach.

Clenching his teeth he tries to bite down against a cough breaking out, afraid to wake her some such peaceful slumber. He pulls himself upright, curling down as his temples throb, and his body shakes violently beyond his control. A goal in-sight-- the water on his nightstand and getting Emily back to bed-- he powers through it and overcoming the weakness of his body feels so satisfyingly familiar. To days when there was pain but no cancer and he loves the triumphant that washes over him.

The water is warm and stale, left there by Emily yesterday when she’d forced him to take his medicine (even though he thought he’d throw it back up and he had). It kills the ache of his throat, dry and bitter, and he clears his throat softly to take the rest away.

“Emily,” he whispers. Moving his lips cracks the dried blood on his face he grimaces as he smells the thick scent of the blood. “Emily, get up.” He won’t leave her to sleep in this chair all night. He’s made the mistake plenty of times, knows it’s no good. “Come on,” he touches her arm, palm against her bare skin. She jumps his touch is so cold. “Sorry, sorry--”

She really sees him and jumps even harder. Yelping in shock. “Oh! Oh, God!” She wraps her arms around her chest, breathing quickly, startled. “Fuck Aaron,” she shouts. “You scared the shit out of me!”

He rubs his nose, tries to dislodge the blood.

“Is-- Is something wrong?” She pushes her hair back from her face, “are you okay?”

God. He’s hurt her irreparably, hasn’t he?

“Nothing.” He offers his hand, even if the hand trembles visibly enough in the low light. “Nothing, I promise.” She takes his hand, allowing him to guide her up. “You shouldn’t sleep in that chair,” he informs her softly but still with that distinct fussiness to his voice.

She looks back to the chair and up at him, “I guess I’ve finally been caught.”

He smiles. The first time he’d put two and two together he was angry. Overly frustrated, seething over something so… sweet. She’d sat with him through the night, watching him sleep, just trying to be close and he’d been mad. Not now, though, now he can see how tired he is. He can feel her hand still clutching his. “It’s okay,” he shrugs. “It’s late, let’s go to bed.”

She frowns, brows crinkling as she looks around them in confusion. Sleep riddled brain torn between the rational thought that concludes he’s right, she should go to bed, and the worry she’d felt hours ago about leaving him in this room. She’s not sure what to do now, which thought to travel and act upon.

“Do you--” he looks down at the thrown back covers on his bed. Remembers this wouldn’t be the first time she’s slept in that bed beside him. Likely more than just the memories he can think of now, unprompted. He blushes, embarrassed he even had the thought but she looks down to and nods.

She doesn’t want to leave him alone.

He doesn’t want to be alone.

They start side by side, neither entirely comfortable. She falls back to sleep first. He can feel her breath even back out and within a few minutes she turns over towards him, her hand resting over his wrist. He looks back to his office chair, the giant back of the old thing. She’s so afraid to lose him, they all are. He can feel it in every little thing that they do. How Dave lingers a little more after each visit, hugs him a little longer. The way Derek looks at him, how close he stands. Even in Spencer and Jack who soak up his attention like flowers to the sun. Turning and facing him, finding him wherever he is to enjoy just one more moment. Hanging on to his every word.

He wakes soaked in sweat, shaking as Emily talks to someone rushed, too quickly to sound anything but frantic. Afraid.

He opens his eyes as a sea of red flushes through the room, the shrill of an ambulance breaking up the serene silence the snow has muffled the Earth with.

“Aaron?”

She’d woken to him struggling to breathe. Both had turned over in the night and while she’d turned toward him, he’d turned away from her. Her arm over his hip, her head against his back, they were nearly welded together. If not for the proximity-- his arm pulling hers closer, her leg in-between his, she likely wouldn’t have heard him at all. But she’d felt him jerk in his sleep, fighting his body for air.

And he wouldn’t wake up.

“Aaron?” she calls a second time. She should go open the front door, let the EMTs in but she’d seen a sliver of his eye. His cheek is cold against her palm but she cries, tears streaming when he opens his eyes. When he turns his face into her palm. “There you are,” she beams. His eyes slide back shut. “Stay awake,” she asks, her nerves getting the best of her and she shakes him. Pleased when his eyes open back up and find her. “Stay awake, don’t you want to see the snow?”

The stretcher is cold and he mourns the loss of his thick comforter but the drugs flooding into his blood makes him loose, pliable. He doesn’t fight being taken from his bed, even if he longingly looks back for it. Lets them strap his legs down place an oxygen mask over his face. The snow means nothing to him. He hates it, honestly, but as they step outside, Emily tossing his winter coat of him like a blanket, he looks up at it falling down on him.

Her hand slips away and he looks back for her, confused. She stands in the street, face turned to the fat snowflakes falling around her. All the light coming from street lamps high above her head. He’s reminded of a lifetime ago. When she’d gone against his orders and gone to investigate Michael’s death with a ferocity he hadn’t seen coming. When she’d avoided his eye and said she’d understand if he wanted her badge and gun after that little show. She’d forced his hand, made him call the Vatican, and consider his own allegiances. To when they were two very different people than they are now-- younger, naive… alone.

She catches up to them, slipping her hand back into his. Her fingers freezing cold as they curl around his. “Don’t you love it?” she asks. She looks back out, watching until the doors shut behind them and all she has is a tiny window.

He doesn’t but she does.

She looks young, weightless.

In a way, yes, he does love it.

@laiba-the-person, @emily-hottie-prentiss, @unionjackpillow, @clockedstar, @baumarvel, @blakeprentiss, @qvid-pro-qvo, @aaron-hotchner187, @ssalavellan, @lazyhater 

[songfell-ut]

Chapter 1, I suppose

...Hello! It looks like this thing is on. So. Hi.

I am posting this because I saw an Undertale comic by @lostmypotatoes on one of those dub channels, and it was such a neat and unfinished concept that I started writing an original story based on it. Then I contacted her and she was super sweet about my thievery and I was like ha ha too bad I didn’t make this a UT fic and now I wrote this too.

I don’t know any of the usual formatting or etiquette for posting fic on here because I’m old and don’t do stuff. Sorry! (I signed up here for this very purpose.) It’s...good gravy, almost 7,000 words. Anyway! Here you go, let me know if I should look into Witchfell I don’t know I just did him Underfell but there’s witches

*takes Valium*

~~~

"Make way! The High Priestess approaches!"

The monster sat up in his prison cell, focusing on a slim figure coming down the stairs. In the room's single witchlight, he could make out a few details: a black gown with a narrow skirt that flared over the stone floor, a spiked headdress, and a long, dark veil over her features. The orange pinpricks of his eyes narrowed.

The guards stood at attention as the priestess approached the cell, her head high and her hands demurely folded. "Make haste, men!" barked the captain. "Secure the creature! Tighten those bonds!"

She stopped just short of the bars as the guards made a show of pulling levers on either side of the cell, stretching the chains tighter on the monster's limbs. "How long has he been here?" she asked.

"Three days, my lady," the captain said, "but he has refused all of his meals."

The priestess looked steadily at the captive monster. "Does he have a name?"

"He calls himself 'Sans,' my lady," the captain replied.

The High Priestess' headdress tilted to one side. "You know, Captain, wood and iron bars cannot hold a boss monster," she said quietly.

The men jumped as the monster snorted—as much as a skeleton could do so. "Funny, I told 'em the same t'ing," he said, his voice rough and painfully loud in the tiny space.

The captain gripped his sword hilt with one hand. "Silence, monster!" he snapped.

"No, let him speak," said the priestess.

Sans grinned wider, baring huge, jagged teeth. Though he remained sitting, he towered over the humans on the other side of the bars, especially the young woman. "How generous of you, witch," he said mockingly. "Tell me, how may I repay your kindness? Let you take my SOUL? Harvest my magic? Or add me to yer evil little collection?"

The guards muttered to each other in dismay. "How dare you speak to her with such disrespect?" demanded their captain. "She is the High Priestess of this realm, and you will address her as such!"

"Wow, what a loyal dog. You heard 'er, I get to talk," retorted the skeleton. He glared down at the priestess, ignoring the captain's sputtering. "Now, witch. Tell me. What are ya gonna do t'me? I ain't very fond of surprises. My heart can't take it." He placed his bony palm on his chest. "Grant me this one kindness, ya magic thief."

The High Priestess did not move. "Captain. Free him."

Sans lifted the equivalent of an eyebrow as the men gasped. "High Priestess," protested the captain.

"Release the bonds," she said.

The captain swallowed. "Is this a wise—"

"Free him, now." The woman's hands dropped to her sides as the guards reluctantly pushed the levers back up. "Sans, I'd like to make you my apprentice," she told the bemused skeleton. "In return, I will give you your freedom."

Stunned silence hung in the air. "You want me to be your apprentice?" the monster repeated. He looked at her, and he threw his head back and roared with laughter.

The captain bristled, moving in front of the woman with his sword drawn, then stepping back at her murmured command. The other men winced as the monster's laughter echoed off the walls. "Stars! That is rich!" Sans slapped his thighbone. "Ya know," he said, more conversationally, "I'd be less offended if ya dragged me out an' forced me to be yer slave."

Suddenly, his grin had no humor in it. The priestess tensed as the monster reached up to grasp his collar. "Do ya think I'm stupid? Me as your apprentice, witch? Please, don't fool yerself with your own lies!" The collar shattered, crumbling to dust. He gave another laugh, eyes glowing a hellish orange. "But I guess I should thank you for the opportunity," he said savagely. "'Cause now I'm going to—"

The air around him exploded in white-hot flame as the monster's voice rose to a bellow of "KILL YOU ALL!"

~

Power raced through the skeleton in scintillating waves, lighting the cell as bright as a hot day. Now Sans could do what he'd dreamed of since that first human sorcerer had caught him unawares: murder everyone in his path. There were so many possibilities! Fire was fun, but usually worked too fast. He could always tear them limb from limb, but that was messy and labor-intensive. Then there was blue magic, which turned them into stupid, flailing rag dolls, easy to pick up and impossible to put d—

A twinge of suspicion interrupted his musings. Where was the screaming, or the sound of fleeing footsteps? Sans lowered his aura until he could see the room clearly, and what he saw chilled him to his very SOUL.

His attack hadn't killed anyone. It hadn't even singed them. The cell's bars had disintegrated, but now a translucent golden haze stretched from floor to ceiling, and his magic was splashing off it like raindrops off an umbrella. The guardsmen were bravely huddled by the stairs, slack-jawed but unharmed, while the High Priestess stood right where she'd been, hand raised and lips moving.

Sans was not quite so confident now. In fact, his first impulse was to run away screaming. This was the stuff a monster's nightmares were made of: he was trapped by a barrier.

Once upon a time, he'd tormented his brother with stories about a bad little skeleton who went out alone after dark, or talked to strangers, or didn't do his big brother's chores for him, and it always ended with the bad skeleton getting caught by a human. All monsters heard those bedtime stories and learned that there was no escape from barriers; not even the King was strong enough to break one, and just touching them would kill you. If you were lucky, the human would drag you off to be their slave, never to be seen again. If you weren't, they'd squeeze the magic from your body or snap your ribs open to dig your SOUL out, then leave you to die and let your dust blow away.

Panic closed over him like a shroud. He gathered all of his magic and threw himself into a shortcut out of the castle, only to strike an invisible wall and bounce right back into the cell. Shaking his head to clear it, Sans looked around and realized that the barrier had him boxed in on all sides.

Anger saved him, as it always had. In another moment, he wasn't afraid anymore; he was furious at his captors and their whole cheating, thieving, murdering, thoroughly worthless race.

And it was the worst possible moment for the priestess to open a small hole in the barrier and say, "Sans, please calm yourself. I don't want to hurt you."

She snapped the barrier shut half a second before a wickedly pointed bone thudded into it, the tip nearly touching her nose. "So be it," the young woman said tightly, and the bone evaporated as the barrier glowed brighter.

Sans knew better than to waste his energy in an all-out assault. Instead, the boss monster contemplated the force it'd take to punch through one small area around her neck or her heart. He might still be afraid, but every fiber of his being wanted that woman dead on the floor. So...

With a flick of his wrist, he summoned an array of massive, razor-sharp bones, almost too many for the cell to hold, and began firing them at blinding speed, one right after another. The priestess didn't react, but as he struck the same few inches of barrier over and over again, he saw bits of gold flake away, revealing a tiny crack.

He smirked, focusing his magic to hit harder and faster. So much for scary stories. Her people might have been glorifying her as some kind of mighty sorceress, but she was just another stupid human, witch or not. She'd raised her other hand to reinforce the spell, but more and more cracks were forming. You're boned, he thought, chuckling to himself.

Still, as he watched and waited for the golden light to shatter, he had to feel some grudging admiration. Most of the magic-wielding humans he'd killed were big, blustery men, and none of them had lasted half as long as this scrawny female. What kind of SOUL did the witch have, anyway? He'd seen just about every color there was, and figured she was stubborn enough to be purple, or maybe a patient cyan, or even orange for bravery. After all, he was throwing out everything he had, and she wasn't backing down. The skeleton squinted at her through the barrier, searching for the telltale spark of—ah, there it was. There...it...was.

For the second time, Sans looked at her and knew instantly that he was boned. Despite the ferocity of his attacks, the cracks in the barrier were starting to fill themselves in, and the air crackled with another surge of her magic. A merry little chorus of Shiiiiit shit shit shit rang in his head as he stared at her blazing-red SOUL, and it only got louder when he remembered what that color meant.

Determination.

It didn't matter that she was just a human. His intention to kill her was nothing compared to her will to live. As the bones he conjured came slower and weaker, dissolving as they hit the barrier, Sans knew with horrible certainty that he wasn't going to win.

The stories had to be true after all. Unless the priestess got careless and he could either kill her or use a shortcut, he was going to have to do whatever she wanted for as long as she said. But maybe, if he caught her off guard...

Sans let his arm drop. The last few bones clattered to the floor, and he sank to his knees, head bowed. Behind the High Priestess, the men all breathed a sigh of relief.

To her credit, the woman didn't let the spell go. She poked her head through for a better look at him, motioned to the guards to stay where they were, and knelt in front of the massive skeleton, halfway inside the barrier. "I'm not surprised that you wanted to escape. I can almost excuse you for trying," she said. Her voice was calm enough, and as far as he could tell with her veil on, her face was still expressionless.

He would have bought it if he hadn't noticed her hands clenching in her lap. "Almost?" the skeleton asked, head still lowered, eyes fixed on her.

"Almost."

He shrugged, watching her knuckles turn white. "Guess that's why yer the High Priestess, huh?"

"It is. None of my magic is stolen," she said.

"'Course not. Our power's no good in barriers. We ain't that stubborn, or that dumb," he added bitterly.

"My offer stands," she continued, as if he hadn't spoken. "Do you have any questions or conditions you'd like to propose?"

Sans glanced at her headdress. The spikes atop it dipped in and out of the golden curtain as her head drooped. She had to have expended most of her power holding him off; after several days with no food or sleep and then wasting all that effort on the barrier, he was pretty worn out himself. Too bad monsters couldn't take a human's magic, just her...

Her SOUL. It took all his self-control not to jump to his feet in excitement. Why the hell hadn't he thought of that? An ordinary monster who absorbed an ordinary human SOUL was supposed to grow incredibly powerful. What would happen if a boss monster gained all the power of a gifted and highly determined witch?

The High Priestess shook herself and sat up straighter. "Please answer me, Sans. I don't think either of us wants to go through that again."

"No," he admitted, shifting his weight back, edging toward the wall. Sure enough, she unconsciously moved closer, a few more inches into the cell. "I do have one question," he said, moving back again.

The woman frowned, scooting almost all the way out of the barrier. "What is it?"

He slowly, delicately reached down and tapped on her headdress, gentle as a light breeze. "Mind if I get a better look at ya?"

The priestess started. For the first time, she seemed uncertain. "I..." She frowned, and as she opened her mouth again, Sans lunged at her.

There was no question of her ducking behind the barrier in time. Before she even knew that he'd moved, one of the skeleton's hands had closed around her torso and lifted her as easily as a child holding a doll. The barrier vanished behind her, and Sans said casually, "Heel, or I'll stomp 'er like a grape."

The guards froze in the act of drawing their swords. The priestess started to say something, but he flexed his hand ever so slightly, and she stopped.

Sans smiled. He considered her for a moment, wondering if he should crush her anyway and squeeze her out slowly in front of the guardsmen, the way humans drained a monster's magic. It was tempting, and kind of poetic, but he decided he'd better not; he didn't want to damage her SOUL. Besides, she'd put up a hell of a fight. If anyone deserved a quick death, it was—

"Sans," she said. To his astonishment, she worked her arm out over his fingers and rested her hand on his knuckle. "Please," she murmured.

Normally, he would have laughed at a human begging him for mercy, but this didn't feel like begging. She was just looking at him calmly.

...No, the crazy bitch wasn't asking, she was telling. She was distressed, but expectant, as if she was just waiting for him to put her down and apologize!

He should've squished her or bashed her against the wall for that. But, somehow, as the veiled priestess stared into the fire of his eye sockets, the idea of breaking her didn't seem much fun anymore. Her head lowered and tipped to one side, and all of a sudden, it was like his mind – his memory – got pulled sideways.

As he stared back at her, he was no longer facing a mortal enemy. He was back in a moment he thought he'd forgotten, standing in front of his house in Snowdin. A tiny human in a striped shirt was holding his hand and smiling up at him with perfect, stupid trust, and he knew that however much he despised humanity, he could never hate this kid, any more than he could reach up and stop the sun in its orbit. Why did he have to think of it now, when he needed all the homicidal energy he could muster?

With a painful effort, Sans tore himself away from that memory, back to the present and the woman in his hand. The skeleton growled, starting under his breath and working up to a snarl that reverberated throughout the stone walls. To hell with her. To hell with all of them!

Lack of space was a definite issue, but Sans prided himself on adaptability. He extended his arm to its full length, nearly shoving her into the frightened guards, which gave him enough room to materialize a single blaster.

It was much smaller than usual, and that was fine, because it'd concentrate the last of his power into one good shot. The skull shone an incandescent red, eyes aflame and fangs glinting in its own light, literally nose-to-nose with the High Priestess. Sans let his rage and frustration rise like a tide of pure filth, distantly surprised that he could still feel some grief beneath it all, and the blaster's mouth creaked open from the pressure building in its throat.

The priestess had pulled herself upright with her free arm. The scarlet luminescence was right up against her eyes, but she screwed them shut and leaned forward, face set with determination.

In his haste to align the blast and hit all the humans at once, Sans didn't hear anything unusual; he didn't even notice when the light dimmed just a little, or that the pressure had stopped rising. But then a shock ran through him like a hand grabbing his SOUL, and he jerked out of his concentration to see – and feel – the woman stroking the blaster's nose as if it was an overexcited puppy. "It's all right," she said, so low that he barely heard her. "Please, stop. It'll be all right. I promise." And he'd be damned if the giant skull wasn't closing its mouth and leaning into her hand!

No one had actually touched one of his blasters before. They were long-distance weapons, and he used them as such, only getting close when it was fun or strategic to do so. His first reaction was horrified indignation; he might be about to vaporize her, but for crap's sake, he wasn't being inappropriate.

As she kept petting, though, she leaned in and rested her forehead on the skull's lower jaw, and the skeleton felt an alien sensation steal over him, something he didn't recognize at first. The light dimmed further; the skull's jaws drifted shut. For the first time, Sans heard a soft, rich sound—it was the woman humming to herself, or to the blaster, as if trying to soothe it.

And it was working. Sans felt as if he'd been drugged, with a sense of...peace? Was that it? Yes, it was absolute peace washing over him, relaxing his grip so that the young woman had to catch herself before she fell out of it. She might have been smiling faintly beneath the veil, but he couldn't focus enough to tell. He wondered if it was the same magic that had made him think of Kris, a distraction to save herself and kill him before he attacked again.

No...he wasn't drugged or under some kind of spell. Sans remembered feeling this way when he was a lot younger, and a couple of times during the humans' last visit to the Underground, when he and Pap discovered that at least one human was worth something. Of course, then they'd lost him, and there were no more humans worth anything.

It never failed to amaze him. They'd had less than a month together, but all these years later, he still missed the little bastard so much that it hurt.

Luckily, the pain didn't last. The woman kept humming, and Sans grew less and less angry. The blaster made a kind of purring sound and vanished; at the same time, Sans' arm fell, releasing the priestess, allowing her guards to rush in and pull her away.

The boss monster gazed at the angry humans with total detachment, scratching the back of his head as he yawned. She'd won. "You win," he mumbled.

"Are you all right, my lady?" demanded the captain, helping her sit down against the wall.

The humming had stopped. The young woman rubbed her eyes, keeping them shut. "Don't kill him, please" was all she said.

Sans closed his eyes, too. The humans were conferring in rapid whispers on what to do with him, but he didn't care anymore. It was almost a relief when they stepped back, a couple of them grunted with effort, and something crashed into his skull, knocking him out.

~

Over a day later, the High Priestess shut the outer door to her chambers, set a covered tray on the table, and sat down at her mirror. She checked that her eyes were clear, or at least not so puffy anymore, then picked up her veil and headdress and settled them over her head. She stared at her reflection for a full minute, as if waiting for the woman in the mirror to get up first. She sighed, and finally pushed herself to her feet.

Just outside her bedroom, she paused, running a thread of magic ahead to check each of the loose barriers she'd set around the bed. Two ripples came back, one very close by. "Good morning. Please step back," she said into the slight crack in the door.

A pause, then a soft creak of floorboards, unnervingly quiet for something – someone – his size. "Further, please," she ordered.

He made a noise she couldn't interpret. Floorboards creaked again, and the bedframe groaned under his weight. The priestess turned the doorknob, picked up the tray, and elbowed the door open.

Sans was sitting on the edge of the bed, knees on his elbows. He had opened the windows, and in the early daylight, he looked even more menacing; the light shone through his filthy shirt, shadowing the spaces between his ribs. The young woman made herself place the tray on a side table and pull up a chair with perfect unconcern, as if she couldn't feel him staring her down. "I see you're all healed. You must have slept well," she said coolly. "I know I did."

The skeleton glanced behind him at the rumpled sheets. "Uh..."

"You were alone the whole time," the priestess hastened to add. "There's a very comfortable couch in my office that I've been using."

"Yer office, huh?" Sans stretched his arms out over his head, bones clicking softly as he rolled his neck around. "Pretty nice setup y'got here. What is this, silk? Real feathers?"

She inclined her head. "I would have removed you from your cell much sooner if I'd known you were there. No one told me until Duke Archibald asked me to help select your new owner, which, no, I am not." She grimaced. "May I ask how you were caught? You're certainly capable of defending yourself."

Sans didn't answer. The young woman was thinking of what else to say when he grunted and turned to stretch back out on the bed, splaying his limbs across the huge mattress. "This's the most comfortable place I ever slept, y'know that?"

"Me, too," she said before she could stop herself.

Sans glanced up, as if wondering whether he'd seen a glimpse of personality, and she cleared her throat. "Is it the same reason you made no attempt to break out of your cell for three days?"

"Got caught tryin'a steal some grain," the skeleton mumbled. "Not a lot of food in the Underground these days. I hadn't had anythin' for a while, so I was weak as hell."

"You refused to eat anything while you were imprisoned," she pointed out.

He shrugged. "I figured it was poisoned or drugged 'r some other shit. Humans don't get their mitts on a boss monster every day, but ya can't have five sorcerers watchin' me every second. Feeding me some kinda crap like that would be the easiest thing t'do."

That didn't feel quite right, but without more evidence, the priestess decided to leave it for now. Instead, she pulled the side table closer to the bed and removed the tray's cover.

Sans twitched at the sight of steaming hotcakes, piles of cheese-sprinkled eggs, tomatoes, and crisp-crusted sausage links. The priestess cut a tomato slice into quarters with her fork, speared one and, with the ease of long practice, took hold of her veil between two fingers and lifted it long enough to get the fork to her mouth, dropping it as she put the fork down.

"Seriously? Just take the damn thing off," the skeleton remarked, sitting up.

The young woman made a show of chewing, swallowing, and lifting another tomato to her mouth. He didn't have a stomach, but if he had, she probably would have heard it growling; he was shifting around and scowling, clearly agitated. So she quickened her pace, taking a huge bite of egg, a chunk of hotcake, and a sausage, in turn eating as fast as she could.

Sans' eyes had lit to orange again, and the priestess was glad to put the fork down. "There. You see? It isn't poisoned," she said briskly. She stood and pushed the side table over to the bed. "Help yourself."

The orange faded. His skull tilted this way and that, like a wary but curious animal. "What?"

"I had breakfast over an hour ago. This is for you," she explained.

He glanced at the tray, then back to her. She waited for a full ten seconds, almost holding her breath, before she was rewarded with a rude noise. "Can I have another fork? Don't want your germs," he said.

The priestess knew when she was being tested. She picked up the fork. She went to the nightstand and the pitcher of water standing ready, and dunked the fork in it, swishing vigorously. "Here. But first," she said, holding up the dripping utensil, "I'd like to get a few things straight."

He didn't move. A moment later, she felt a tug on the fork, and instantly snapped the connection by raising another barrier. "No cheating," she reproved him.

"I'm cheating?" The skeleton banged his fist on the bedpost. "How the hell are you doin' this? I'm not dumb, lady! Ya can't just slap a barrier on somethin' that blocks every kinda magic! I can't get out of here, I can't go blue, ya did some weird crap to my poor blaster—"

"I helped you calm down. You've been asleep for twenty-six hours, by the way."

He stopped dead, but only for a second. "Yeah? Well...well, how do ya know so damn much about what I can do? If I'd known this was gonna happen, I'd'a left a long time ago!"

"And yet you didn't." The woman crossed her arms, keeping the fork pointed away from him. "I don't believe that you were too weak to remove yourself from the situation, Sans. We all have our secrets, and I don't mind that, but I need to know that you won't take drastic measures before we've completed our arrangement."

"There is no arrangement, witch," he shot back. "I'll make you a deal, okay? Forget this apprentice crap, lemme go now, and I won't kill anyone on my way out. How's that?"

She tapped the fork on the pitcher's handle. "Your people possess almost no farmland, and the area we've left you has notoriously poor soil. Did you know there are several potions, all made from common ingredients, that could double your crop yields in the space of a few years?"

Sans started. "No, and I don't care," he said, but without conviction.

"You should. There are also potions that can heal wounds, preserve foodstuffs, and send you to sleep with no ill effects, using only the tiniest bit of magic. Do you mean to tell me that monsters need none of these things?"

The skeleton looked at her warily. She could almost see him thinking. His rough speech and rougher appearance didn't fool her: he was at least as intelligent as she was, and also cared enough to want to hear more. "So," he rumbled, "I learn all this fantastic secret knowledge, and you get...?"

"Insight. Humans have been fighting monsters for centuries, and the more we know about you—"

His eyes flamed. "The easier it is to kill us? You seriously think I'm gonna—"

"The easier we can stop dying!" she snarled, her anger suddenly flaring right back at him.

The boss monster's eyes went blank with astonishment. She took a long, deep breath that did not help at all. "Believe me or not, Sans, when I say that I want to make peace for everyone's sake. I am tired of hearing every unsolved crime and evil thought blamed on monsters. I am tired of arguing with sorcerers who want to seal the entrance to the Underground and let you starve to death so that we don't have to talk about it anymore. I am tired of mediating disputes over monster ownership, as if we had any right to help ourselves to other sentient beings, and I'm sick to death knowing where our magic comes from and being unable to stop it!"

She was almost panting now, gripping the fork like a trident. Sans was staring at her like she'd grown another head. She swallowed, and lowered the fork. For want of something peaceful to do, she dipped it back into the pitcher for more swishing. "Monsters are not completely blameless," she said quietly, "but you are outnumbered by a much crueler and stronger race, and we've taken that advantage too far. It has to change, Sans, but we cannot do anything until we learn to talk to each other again."

Sans' teeth ground together. "Have you ever read a history book?" he snapped. "Ya know what happened the last time we had humans over to play?"

The priestess stared at a spot on the wall. Sans looked up in alarm as the barriers surged in and out of visibility, hissing softly. "Yes," she said, and went on, reciting from memory: "Several people were killed in an explosion caused by faulty stage effects at a farewell gala for the human delegation, most notably Prince Asriel of the monster race. Though the exact cause of this unfortunate accident remains unclear, its scope and destructive power were hallmarks of human magic, leading to accusations of sabotage and assassination from both sides. War was prevented solely by the will of Queen Toriel, who was devastated by the loss of her son and adoptive daughter, but nevertheless prevented her husband from executing the remaining humans. The delegation was permitted to leave, and in exchange, humans promised the Underground would never be sealed."

"...O...kay, then. Yeah. That's...that's pretty much it." Sans rubbed the back of his neck, scratching between the vertebrae. "Knowin' that, you still think you can teach me a bunch of stuff, turn me loose, an' make everything all better?"

"No. But I can try." On impulse, the priestess knelt, looking up at him and hoping the effect wasn't spoiled by the dirty fork. "Sans, give me one month. That's all I ask. You can have copies of any recipe you need to take back with you, and I'll show you the techniques to make them work properly. You won't have much freedom of movement, but you won't be kept in a cell, either." She glanced at the feather mattress and added, "You can keep the bed for yourself. As luxurious as it is, I feel lost in it."

He didn't laugh, but he didn't sneer at her, either. His eyes went from the fork to the bedpost, the canopy, the bookshelves lining the walls by the fireplace, and back to her face. "I need some time t' think about it," he said reluctantly. "What happens if I don't wanna?"

Her magic crackled in the air again, and she winced, trying to calm down. "I'd rather not say, but I think you know the answer. Remember, I'm not the only human who can use barriers."

He did not like that, and she couldn't blame him. She looked down at the fork in her hand. "You should eat now," she said lamely, and held it out to him, handle first, praying she had judged correctly.

The skeleton's face was impossible to read. Now that it was quiet, it reminded her too much of when he'd grabbed her in the cell. Her instincts screamed at her to pull her hand back and throw a barrier between them, but determination surged as she remembered how she'd already faced down his attempts to kill her. She was going to forge a lasting bond between their worlds and hand him a kitchen utensil like a normal person or die trying.

Slowly, Sans reached down, and she fought to keep from panicking as his massive hand approached hers. He paused...and plucked the fork from her grip with delicate courtesy, holding it up between them. "Hm. Too small. Still dirty." He tossed it back into her lap.

She stared at the fork. She stared at him. She picked up the fork, dropped it into the pitcher, and plunged her hand in after it. Out came the utensil; she turned her back to him, and with one swift motion, off came her veil. As High Priestess, she wore it for most of her waking hours, which meant she'd learned to whip it off without even disturbing her headdress, the way she'd once seen someone yank a tablecloth out from beneath a set of dishes.

And as High Priestess, if she wanted to use her sacred veil to dry a mostly-clean fork in order to please a giant monster who was intimidating her and somehow also being a complete snot, then who was going to stop her? No one, that was exactly who.

With a righteous huff, she turned back around, still polishing the bedamned fork. "Here," she said, facing him for the first time. "I hope this is satisfactory."

Sans looked at her. He didn't say anything.

The world always seemed a little too bright when she'd just had the veil on, and the light from the window was in her eyes. She rubbed them on her sleeve and tucked a strand of shoulder-length hair behind her ear. "Well?" she demanded.

Sans didn't take it. He was leaning forward, hand dangling as if he'd started to reach for it and somehow forgotten what he was doing. His sockets were blank, an odd color washing over his bony face. "Uh," he said. "It's."

The priestess didn't know that that could be a complete sentence. It probably wasn't, she thought in growing irritation. "Sans," she said carefully, "are you going to use this, or would you like to eat with your hands?"

The skeleton shook himself and turned away. "Never mind. 'm not hungry," he grumbled.

She bit back the urge to call him a colorful name or two. "Sans, this is not a joke. There is nothing wrong with your food, except that it's cold. Eat it. Please."

"I will, I will." Sans hunched his shoulders. "Just gimme a couple minutes."

She did not have the time or patience for this. "Sans. Look at this." He glanced at her, and in one motion, she stabbed a sausage and another chunk of hotcake. "Say 'ahhh,'" she ordered, and when he blankly repeated, "Ahh?" she thrust the fork into his mouth.

Sans nearly choked, demanding, "Wh' th' fuh, 'a'y?" before he swallowed it whole. The priestess was fascinated to not see anything pass his throat, though she knew he had eaten it. "What the fuck, lady?" he clarified.

"I am not 'lady,' thank you, and I know you know better words than that," she said sternly, putting the fork back on the tray. "It's not my fault if it got cold."

"I don't care how hot or cold somethin' is, lady. Ya didn't give me a chance to get my tongue out, so it's all the same to me." The boss monster answered her puzzled look by concentrating, then opening his mouth and pointing. "Thee? Tah-dah."

Good God, he suddenly did have a small, floppy red tongue. She flapped her hand at him, face burning. "All right! I believe you! Put it away!"

He did, and she was relieved to see nothing but a mouth full of giant fangs. "So," he said presently, "if I'm not supposed ta call you 'lady,' what's your name?"

The priestess blinked. No one had asked her that in a long, long time. "Well...if you don't like 'my lady,' there's always 'Your Eminence,' or my ceremonial name, Thea." It occurred to her that he was probably not going to react well to any of her suggestions, but she soldiered on: "You could just say 'High Priestess,' though that's a mouthful. At the convent, they gave each of us a different saint's name, and I was—"

Sans held up his hands. "Okay. That sounds peachy. But what. Is. Your. Actual. Damn. Name?"

She grasped her skirt so hard that her nails dug into her palms through the thick velvet folds. "My name is Frisk."

Sans' eyes were blank again. "Huh. No wonder. Welp, nice to meet you, Frisk." He raised a hand.

It was a blatant lie, but cordially given, so she attempted a smile in return. "It's nice to meet you, too, Sans."

For some reason, that seemed to alarm him. He drew back, then suddenly grabbed the tray, tipped his head back, and dumped the entire contents into his mouth. He had no cheeks, but his face somehow looked very full before he swallowed it all, dropping the tray on the floor. "There. Where's the bathroom?" he rasped.

Frisk realized her mouth was hanging open, and shut it. "It's...why do you ask? You're a skeleton."

"Right. Right." He scuffed the bones of his foot on the carpet. "Oh, look at this. Fork yes."

Sure enough, he'd found the fork. She scooped it up, setting it on the table, and out of nowhere, the priestess felt a real smile lift the corners of her mouth. "Just in tines."

The words hung in the air for a long moment. Frisk was beginning to feel stupid when Sans smacked his thighbone and gave a shout of laughter. "I'll be damned! You got the point."

"It's food for thought," she said, and grinned as he doubled over. "I'm sorry. Please fork-give  me."

Just like that, she thought distantly. Yesterday – the day before? – she'd fought for her life against a boss monster who interpreted her overtures as a deadly threat, and now they were giggling in her room like drunken schoolgirls. Was this going to work after all? Was this how real peace began, with awkward silence and stupid puns? If not, Frisk could always console herself that this was the most she'd laughed in years.

~

Sans was not wondering the same thing. He was thinking how he'd woken up not knowing where he was and had had to figure out that he wasn't dreaming about the battle in his cell; a human witch really had trapped him and knocked him out with some kind of weird brain-magic. Once he got over the fact that he couldn't take any shortcuts and wouldn't fit through the windows, though, he had to admit things could be worse; the bed really was the most comfortable thing in the world.

Talking with the witch was not comfortable. It was bad enough when she was asking him questions about his capture and not breaking out of prison, but then she had to give him food and say things that made sense, and things that made even more sense, and then...

He'd never understood why human men made such a huge fuss over women. Monsters came in so many shapes and sizes that anything was possible; the inside really did count more than the outside, except maybe when it came to reproduction. But that was a rare occasion for monsters, who thought that humans' obsession with it was shallow and weird at best. Sans in particular had no interest in the human form unless he was trying to destroy it; they were all just skeletons with varying degrees of hair, meat and fluids in the way.

And then that infuriating woman had turned around in the sunlight, veil and stupid fork in hand, and he suddenly couldn't breathe. The overall picture was what made him feel a huge mess of feelings he didn't like or understand, but he could see every detail perfectly: her lips pursed in annoyance, the sun reflecting off that black circlet thing, chestnut hair shining and eyes half closed against the light. Her dress was still black, but today it was a looser, laced-up style, shoulders partly hidden under some kind of sheer material that ended high up her neck.

And then she had turned her head and done something with her hair, and now he couldn't think things right. All he could try to do was turn away, then eat it all in order to make her go away, and only his punning instinct had saved him from saying or doing anything else stupid.

Why did she have to like puns, too?

This was bad. It had gotten very complicated, very fast. He had to get out of here. She'd demonstrated some emotion behind her priestess-y facade; maybe he could appeal to it, persuade her to take some other monster under her wing and...wow. Speaking of wings, as she laughed, he happened to look down at her from a different angle, and she had a really nice rack. It was hard to see under such dark clothes, but they accentuated the graceful outline of neck and shoulder perfectly. Under the sheer material, her collarbone was—

"...going to do it," she was saying, wiping away tears of laughter. "I'm not all-powerful, but I have enough influence at court and with the Church to guarantee your safety." Frisk looked up at him, bright-eyed, and his SOUL did another loop-de-loop. "So, Sans. Will you stay?"

He didn't want to, it was a bad idea, and he said, "No," in his mind.

She smiled, tilting her head.

"Yeah," Sans said out loud.

[he-is-mine-i-am-his-blog]

Wild geese 5/18

Fandom: Painter of the Night

Pairing: Baek Nakyum/Yoon Seungho

Ratings: M

Word count: ~1900 words

Story summary: When Nakyum enters an arranged marriage with Lord Seungho, he does expect to find himself in a situation where he does, fighting for his life. ***An arranged marriage AU, set in the Joseon period like the canon.

Warnings: This story contains graphic depictions of violence. These scenes are not terribly gory, excessive, pointless, and violence is not glorified in anyway. I will not give warnings with specific chapters as not to spoil the plot.

Read below or on AO3.

***

Nakyum is sitting behind Seungho on top of his horse. They ride silently. Not a single word has been exchanged between them since they set on their journey.

With a light hand on Seungho’s shoulder, he holds onto him to keep himself steady. He does not dare to sit closer to his husband, to lean against him, even if he craves for the comfort of closeness more than ever. It is not his to have now.

There are tears streaming down Nakyum’s cheeks. They do not ease the further they get in their journey. They continue to fall because they can do so now as his face is hidden from all. He cries in complete silence if only to hide his sorrow too.

His accident had put the hunt to a halt. After they had determined that Nakyum survived it largely unharmed, despite the dangerous situation, their attention turned on his mare.

She was not as fortunate.

More tears well into his eyes at the memory of his horse, and he can’t quite keep quiet. A sob escapes his lips before he can swallow it down.

When it became clear that she had severely damaged one of her legs, that she could no longer walk, that she could no longer even get up from the muddy bank, the decision was made. It rushed in with blinding clarity. There was only one humane option. They could only end her suffering, as there was no way for her to walk, there was no way for her to heal from an injury as serious as hers.

The mood at the hunt was dampened by what took place, as this was not a death any of them were keen to witness.

The elder master Yoon had ridden to see what happened. He looked at his son silently, as the horse was freed from its misery. It was Seungho, who then decided to bring Nakyum back, so that the rest of them could finish the hunt. Nakyum was clearly too shaken to continue, even if they could get him another horse. Seungho’s father had just nodded at his son, and so, they left the forest, the two of them on the road back.

Nakyum’s tears only cease when they must, when they near the Yoon residence.

As they arrive at the stables, Seungho swings his leg over and hops off the horse. He turns back to Nakyum and helps him off the horse too, his hands wide and firm on his waist.

His hands stay on Nakyum, even after his feet find the solid ground. One hand lingers at his side, another comes to hold his shoulder.

For a moment, they stay so close to each other there, when neither of them steps back. They remain silent. Nakyum has his eyes lowered, his head bowed down, although Seungho must be watching him now. He must see the red eyes and the tear-stained cheeks.

Nakyum cannot meet his gaze.

The pain of what happened is still too fresh and vivid, too heavy on his mind.

Seungho then turns away, and he hands over the reins to a servant who had come to greet them. He grabs Nakyum’s hand blindly, and Nakyum winces as a sharp ache lances his wrist, but he bites down the pained yelp.

Stalking towards the house, Seungho begins to drag him behind. It isn’t until they are in the middle of the courtyard that Nakyum tugs against the hold.

Seungho stops and spins around to look at him.

There is still that fire in his eyes, even if it has morphed into something that Nakyum can’t quite understand.

“Stupid,�� Seungho spits out as if he can no longer keep the words in, “So horribly irresponsible.”

Nakyum has to lower his head again only to avert his eyes. He feels like crying, but he will not allow himself to break down in front of his husband. He refuses to do so.

“A horse died because of your actions,” Seungho says, “You should have not participated in the hunt if you can’t even ride!”

Nakyum flinches at the words.

He is not as skilled of a rider as the others are, he knows.

He had not grown up like Seungho – or any of the other noblemen had – with the freedom to go gallivanting in the forest on horseback whenever he wanted. He had learned to ride, only because they were one of the few commoners in their village to even afford a horse. He had learned!

He was not as good as a nobleman would be, he knows, but he could ride.

Still, the words bring tears to his eyes. They do because they rush at him with an overwhelming sense of guilt.

He thinks of his mare, of the way that she had looked lying on the bank. Her mouth was foaming, her eyes rolled up, her voice so pained when she tried to rise from where she had fallen. He thinks of how she had acted before and during the hunt, how she had seemed agitated, how she had not seemed herself.

Nakyum shouldn’t have gone. He shouldn’t have pushed her as he did.

“I hope you are proud of yourself.”

The words hurt, even if Seungho’s tone has lost its heat.

Nakyum can’t stay, he can’t listen anymore.

He turns on his heels and scurries off the courtyard.

He goes directly to his private sleeping quarters. The door has barely had time to close behind him before he tumbles down on the floor and cries. He lifts a hand to his chest, clutching at the jacket, because it hurts. It hurts too much.

  ***

  Nakyum cries hard, slumped down on the floor of his sleeping quarters. The stormy waves of his sobs rack his body. The violence of his sorrow is quick to pass though, burned out by the intensity of it.

The last of the tears are falling down his cheeks when he hears the careful knock.

He hesitates for a moment, until he gets on his feet. He wipes with the edge of his sleeve. It is in vain, he knows, given that anyone could tell he had cried just looking at him.

When he opens the door, he finds Seungho’s personal servant at the doorstep. His eyes are cast down, the look on his face solemn.

“I heard what happened,” he says quietly, “I have come to see how you are doing.”

When the older man lifts his eyes, Nakyum has to look away. He doesn’t know what to say. He doesn’t know if he can speak at all, so he doesn’t say anything.

He doesn’t even invite him in. He just leaves the door open, as he walks over to sit down on the mat in the middle of the room.

He lowers his eyes, he hangs his head in shame. It’s enough that the nobles knew, but now the servants did too.

Mr Kim hesitates, but he then approaches Nakyum and asks, “Are you okay?”

The question is only met by silence.

The older man looks at him for a moment, until he places a hand on his shoulder and squeezes it lightly. When he is given no further reaction, he sighs.

With tender touches, he examines Nakyum again to confirm that he is not physically hurt. His careful attention has tears welling in Nakyum’s eyes.

When the older man reaches down the right forearm to examine it too, Nakyum flinches and tries to pull away. He had felt the pain blooming in the wrist before, in the forest, and again at the stables when Seungho had gripped it. It felt nothing compared to the heartbreak inside his chest though.

“I will call for a doctor to come and see your wrist, Sir.”

“No,” Nakyum says determinately, looking down at the hand lying limp in his lap.

He doesn’t want it to be looked at, to be treated either. This can serve as a punishment for what he has done, what he has caused with his carelessness.

Mr Kim sighs again, sitting back on his legs, where he has kneeled in front of Nakyum.

“Sir, it really would be best if this is seen by a doctor. It could be injured wor-“

“No!” Nakyum says again louder this time.

His eyes snap up to meet the servants. He means his words to be heard, to be listened and respected.

The older man looks at him for a moment, before he nods. He gets up silently and leaves the room. The door left ajar in his wake.

Nakyum is alone again.

He looks to his side.

The silence of the room is oppressing, heavy. It only adds to the heaviness in his heart. He can’t help but feel guilty, to feel hurt, to feel so much more than that.

Staring towards the closed windows, he can’t help but think of what happened.

He thinks of how it was not right, how none of it was right. He thinks of how she had not acted like herself even when they were just leaving the residence.

She was a mature mare, well trained, that did not get easily agitated or spooked, except today she had.

It is not his fault. It should not have been his fault.

And then, Nakyum’s eyes fall on the pillow on the floor by the windows.

He remembers the snake that they had discovered in his room, the snake that was not supposed to be there. Just as the horse that was not supposed to get agitated and try to throw him off, without much of reason – with no reason at all.

The air is stolen from his lungs by the sudden realization.

None of it was an accident, none of it was a coincidence.

Someone wants him hurt, someone wants him dead.

It is then that he hears the quiet exchange outside his door. He doesn’t see, he doesn’t hear much at all. He can only make out the words spoken by the familiar voice of Mr Kim.

“… best if I do, Master,” he says, “He’ll be okay, I assure you.”

When the man returns to the room, he has a small basket with him. He closes the door behind him before he rejoins Nakyum, placing the basket on the floor beside him.

He is gentle as he removes Nakyum’s outer clothes. He then takes the injured wrist in his hands. Nakyum doesn’t stop him this time. He only watches him silently, as he sets on his work. 

He binds the wrist carefully, using a few smooth pieces of wood for support, adding padding and binding it tightly with long strips of cotton.

“It was probably scary what happened to you,” the older man finally says, his voice soft and kind, “It’s okay to feel fear. It must’ve been scary for others, too, seeing you get in such a terrible accident.”

Nakyum looks at the servant silently. He knows he shouldn’t tell anyone, he knows he shouldn’t trust anyone, but after a moment of silence between them, he speaks the words.

“Not an accident,” he says, so quietly that it can barely be heard.

Mr Kim’s hands still. He lifts his eyes to meet Nakyum’s, his brows furrowed in confusion.

Nakyum knows he shouldn’t tell anyone, but he can’t help but confide in this older man who reminds him of his own father.

“It was not an accident.”

[lurafita]

Kitten Peter! ch. 2

Go here for the plot bunny that started it all: clickbait

Go here for the actual first chapter I wrote for the plot bunny: more clickbait

Go here for the Ao3 link: how can there be even more clickbait

Okay, let’s start this. As with all the other stories, EVERYONE that comments on any of the parts, get’s automatically put down in the tags. If you don’t want to be tagged for this or future parts, (but still want to comment, in which case: bless you), just write “no tag, please.” Or contact me via messaging here. I completely understand if you want to keep your notifications as clear as possible.

Despite the many, many promises that he was not about to have a mental breakdown because his ex was coming back, Pepper had herded Tony (and Peter) out of the lab and into his living room. Then the fiery redhead had made him something to eat. A very poor attempt at fried vegetables with rice, that the billionaire had forced down his throat through pure will power. The woman was a great friend, a fantastic assistant and a marvelous CEO, but she could barely boil water.

Not that Tony would ever tell her that.

As he chewed his way through the mushy rice and cotton like broccoli (how did you even get vegetables to take on this kind of texture?), he couldn't help but envy Peter. The little kitten was happily munching on his chef cooked, kitty appropriate, fish dinner.

It had taken another hour after that to make the woman believe that he really was okay, before Pepper had finally left for the night. With the sudden absence of someone inquiring if he really was alright, Tony found himself asking the very same question.

Was he okay?

The feeling of tiny claws digging into his pant leg diverted his attention momentarily to the tiny brown kitten scrambling up into his lap.

"You realize these pants cost 900$, right? And here you are, poking them full of tiny holes and spreading your hair all over my general wardrobe."

Contrary to his words, he immediately scratched Peter's head once the kitten had made his way up and into his favorite spot.

"We are going to get some visitors tomorrow, Petey. This tower was actually not always this empty, you know? I mean besides the business departments and all the other S.I. staff."

Peter was apparently not finished with climbing his human, and proceeded to scale up the inventor's shirt. Tony kept a careful hand underneath his kitten, content to let Peter climb up on his own, but ready to catch him should he slip.

"They used to live here, you know? The Avengers. Earth's mightiest heroes. I was one of them. AM one of them, but you know this. You have seen my suit. I'm Iron Man, and therefore the best, right?"

Peter had made it up to Tony's chin and was rubbing his little body affectionately along his beard and cheek. Tony smiled.

"Right. Anyway, the rest of the team has been away for some time... I think they left about two weeks before I found you, and they are coming back tomorrow and I... I don't know how I feel about that."

He sighed deeply, as if finally admitting that part to himself, after having spent the last few hours denying any negative thoughts to Pepper.

Peter settled himself on his right shoulder and rubbed his head against the skin on his neck, letting out a tiny mewl that sounded almost prompting.

"It's not that I don't want them to come back. They are my friends, and I actually like having them around. Even Barton, and that guy is a menace, I tell you. If he tries kidnapping you into the vents, you go ahead and scratch up his stupid face, got it?"

He ran his fingers over Peter's small back, and the kitten started purring. Tony relaxed.

"You will like them. There is Rhodey, who is my best friend, actually. I met him in college and he... well, he has been looking out for me ever since. He is also an Air Force Colonel and probably the most level headed of all of us. He has a suit that is almost as cool as mine, but he buckled under the peer pressure and gave himself the moniker of Iron Patriot, which isn't even a fraction as cool as his previous 'War Machine'. Then there is Bruce, my science bro. He is the strongest Avenger and he might even be smarter than me, but we are not gonna tell him that. He also turns into a tall, green rage monster on occasion, but he is really just a big ol' marshmallow on the inside. Clint is our modern day version of Robin Hood, just without the stealing from the rich and giving to the poor thing. ... On second thought, scratch that. He always stole my fucking coffee and then drank it himself. As if he wasn't perfectly capable of brewing his own. So, yeah. Modern day Robin Hood with less altruistic intentions and only marginally better fashion sense. I'm not sure if Thor is on earth right now, so he might not make an appearance tomorrow. If he does, try not to climb him, okay? I know he is easily confused with a tree, and his stupid cape is probably a very big temptation for your little claws. But you just never know when that big lug decides to twirl his glorified hammer and light up like it's the fourth of July. And if Thor electrocutes my little Petey-Pie, I'm gonna blast his head off, Asgardian royalty or not. So we better avoid that and don't go climbing up any aliens, okay? Trust me, it's not worth it. His beard doesn't hold a candle to mine."

On cue, Peter rubbed his head against the billionaire's bearded chin, letting out a contented mewl.

"Natasha is a bit more difficult to describe. I'm pretty sure if Fury ever manages to clone her, he will jsut retire every other superhero and agent on the planet and fill all his mission teams with Black Widow clones and take over the world. ... Come to think of it, that's a very scary thought. Friday, remind me to hack into Shield later and see if they have any kind of cloning research in the works."

"Of course, boss."

Peter didn't startle anymore when Friday's disembodied voice sounded throughout the tower, but he had started batting his paw in the air whenever she spoke. Like he was waving hello. Tony thought it was precious.

"Anyway, Natasha is pretty badass, but I don't think you have anything to worry about. Just hit her with the eyes and she is gonna be a goner for sure."

He could actually picture Natasha stopping in the middle of kicking Clint's ass, just to give Peter a tummy rub. He would have to be vigilant from now on. He wouldn't put it past Barton and Romanoff to try and kidnap (catnap?) his little Petey. He was going to write an anti-kitty-napping code into Friday's mainframe.

"And that brings us to... to Steve."

His mood took a nose dive. There was the crux of the matter. Steve.

Peter, clever little kitty that he was, noticed the change in his human immediately, and bumped his head against Tony's cheek with a questioning meow.

"It's... complicated. Steve and I, we used to be in a relationship. Shoot, I haven't given you that particular talk yet, have I? So, when one mature cat really likes another mature cat, and they decide to have a bunch of little kittens together... wait, that's called a litter, right? Okay, so if these two cats really like each other, and are both of a consenting age, they might decide to have a litter of adorable little kittens together, you know, if one was in heat and it's like mating season... do cats have mating seasons? Actually, this comparison doesn't really work, because neither Steve nor I were trying to get each other pregnant... You know what? You are way too young for this kinda talk, mister."

He carefully took Peter into his hand and held the kitten in front of his face, so he could look directly into the big, round eyes.

"I do not want you getting any ideas of running off with any mangy, ruffian tom cat, or some little pussy hussy, that tries to lay their dirty, perverted paws on you, got it?"

Peter leaned over the rim of Tony's hand and licked him on the nose. Tony grinned.

"Okay. But we will be having a 'stranger, danger' talk later."

He then cradled the kitten in both hands and cuddled him into his chest.

"So, back to the Steve issue. We were together. As, in a relationship. All official like, with going on dates and pet names and everything. The media even had a ship name for us: Stony; which, not very original, but no one has ever accused mass media of originality, so what can you do. Anyway, Steve and I were a 'thing', and I thought we were a 'good thing', you know? I mean, we hadn't dropped the L-word yet, but we had been going steady for a pretty long time, and that was kinda a first for me, and... I liked it. Him. Us. Being an 'us' with Steve. And it was good. Comfortable. And then Barnes came back."

His hand stopped petting Peter at the memory, and the kitten softly tapped his paw against Tony's thumb. When Tony looked down, he once again couldn't stop the thought that Peter must somehow understand him, because right then, the little kitten was looking up at him with an almost too human expression of worry and sympathy. He smiled at him and resumed his petting.

"Long story short, Steve slept with Barnes and broke up with me. And, look, it's not like I don't have sympathy for the guy. The things Hydra did to him and made him do... Suddenly being free of all that and having your best friend there with you...  And I understand Steve's side of things as well. Kinda. Those feelings he has for Barnes, they probably weren't anything new. But back in his time, same sex relationships weren't simply frowned upon, but downright illegal. Then there was the war and the serum and everything else... They probably never really had the time or opportunity to realize exactly what they felt for each other. And then suddenly Steve wakes up decades in the future; and everything is different and he gets put on this team of super idiots and there is fighting and aliens and more fighting and in the midst of all of this, there is the cultural shock of having just skipped like two whole generations..."

Tony had been thinking a lot about it, actually. He wasn't always honest with himself, and he wasn't always good with his emotions. It was something Rhodey had said to him a long time ago. That sometimes, in order to understand our own feelings, we had to understand the feelings of those around us.

And with Peter's calming influence, he had been thinking a lot about Barnes and Steve and himself and their relationships.

At first, fresh after the break up, Tony had just been angry. Hurt, too, but that was so much harder to face than the anger had been, and so he had settled on that instead.

After the team had left for the compound (and Tony understood that his personal relationship drama could not stand in the way of the Avengers availability for missions and their need to keep up their training regimen.), he had locked himself in his lab for three days, trying to tinker his anger and hurt away. Then Pepper had lost her patience with him and hauled the genius out of there and made him see a therapist and sleep and eat (not in that order, though).

Any protestations that he didn't need to see a shrink just because his boyfriend broke up with him, were waved away by the woman ("Someone taking care of your mental health has been long overdue.")

It hadn't helped. The therapist and the food and the sleep, non of it had helped and Tony just got angrier and angrier at his own inability to let it all fucking go. (He had missed his Iron Man suit, and being an active Avengers, but even Tony, as much as he hated to admit it, knew that he hadn't been in the right frame of mind for it)

But then had come that fateful night, where Tony had taken his therapists advice to take a peaceful, relaxing stroll around some neighborhood. It hadn't been peaceful, and it hadn't been relaxing, and Tony had been pissed all the more for it. And then he almost got shot by some two bit thug. But he didn't regret it one bit, because those were the circumstances that brought Peter into his life.

Ever since the little kitten had launched himself at Tony's almost murderer and saved the billionaire's life, things had started getting better. Having a tiny, fluffy creature to take care of and adore, had left Tony no time to dwell on his anger. Watching as the kitten explored his new home with too much enthusiasm and too little coordination, had made the man smile and laugh more in those first few days, than he had in weeks (months?).

Cuddling up with Peter anywhere and having the little fluffball purr up a storm, never failed to relax Tony and often lulled him into a deep, and thankfully dreamless, sleep. He quit going to his therapist and started taking Peter with him wherever he went. Pepper wasn't impressed the first time he showed up to a board meeting, with the kitten neatly tucked into his shirt's breast pocket. But she had quickly given in when she saw that Tony actually paid attention during the meeting, and was much more open to listening to the boards suggestions, while he was playing with Peter.

He talked to Peter all the time, about everything. S.I. business, new projects, what he thought about any particular book or movie, his robots, his suit, absolutely anything that came to mind. Aside from the Avengers. Until now.

"So, really, I get it. Those two are probably some kind of star-crossed, destined to be, once in a lifetime, lovers. And I don't even begrudge them finally being together. I just... I hate how it happened. I hate that Steve all but ignored me when Barnes came back from the dead. I hate that he slept with him while we were still an item. I hate that it made me feel like I had been a stand-in for Barnes all along. I hate that I have hardly talked to any of the team since they relocated to the compound. I hate-" He sighed. "I hate that I don't hate him. I kind of want to. I feel like that would be easier, you know?"

Peter just looked at him with his big, adorable eyes and laid his little paw on Tony's chest, right where the genius' heart was beating. Really, sometimes it felt like the kitten understood every word.

"I miss him, but not in the way one misses a significant other. I miss arguing about reading the newspaper on my tablet versus reading it on paper. I miss confusing him with pop culture references he doesn't know about. And I miss him getting on my case about spending too much time in the lab. But I'm not too hung up about all the couples' stuff. Not saying I didn't enjoy the se-  wait, this isn't appropriate for young kitty ears. It's not like I didn't like our 'intimacy', but looking back on it now, I think Steve and I, we were always more of a 'friends with benefits' type of relationship, with more weight placed on the 'friends' part of the deal. Don't get me wrong, I'm still angry about Steve cheating on me like that, and how it all went down, but I think I can forgive him. I mean, obviously we will need to have it out, first. We didn't really get to the 'break up talk' before I pretty much kicked everyone out, and I guess that's partly on me. But, I want to forgive him. So, if Steve and I manage to clear the air between us, and all that sentimental stuff, ... yeah."

Peter had climbed back up to Tony's shoulder and lovingly rubbed his head against every part of his human's face he could reach. Tony laughed.

"Love you, too, Petey. You are the best kitten in the world, you know that? I will tell Vincent to make you something extra special for breakfast tomorrow."

Tony brought his hand up to massage his fingers into the soft fur, while Peter burrowed himself into the man's neck and purred until they both fell asleep.

______________________________________________________________

______________________________________________________________

tbc

Okay, let me first say, I understand if people might be a bit confused over Tony's seemingly easy forgiveness here, but I hope I managed to portray that in this story, Tony and Steve's previous relationship isn't meant to be the main plot point. It's actually not even meant to be a particularly important plot point. The story's main plot is the relationship between Tony and Peter, and Peter being an adorable little ball of fluff. :-)

Also, I didn't want Tony to be completely broken up because things with Steve went south. Matter of fact is, romantic relationships sometimes don't last. They sometimes don't work out. And sometimes someone messes up. Steve cheated on Tony. That was a douche move, no question. But I didn't want to just bash his character. Steve didn't cheat on Tony because he didn't value him, or because he is just is a super asshole. These are very special circumstances, and things didn't go great, and Steve isn't perfect, and he messed up. But he didn't do it with malicious intent, and he is still a good guy, and he will try his best to repair the trust between him and Tony.

Tony is gonna get a bit of funny, petty revenge on Steve, though. With Peter's help, of course. ;-)

Sidenote: I would really like to know your opinion about Tony's aborted efforts to have 'The Talk', with kitty Peter. :-) :-) :-) I hope it was as funny to read, as it was to write!

Please tell me if tagging didn’t work, or if I forgot anyone!

TAGGING: @ theonemetorulethemalll  @ sapphire-of-shield  @ plueschpop  @ deliciousflapbanditfarm  @alanaaw88

[mookybear12404]

A House, A Home

Rating: T | Fandom: Mob Psycho 100

Summary:  If you had asked him on any given day, being a parent would have been the last thing on Reigen's mind. Why was it now then, that he couldn't get the image of the little black haired boy out of his mind?

Next> | Read on AO3 | Ko-Fi

Reigen lowered the match from his mouth, snuffing out the flame with a quick shake of his hand. He took a long, deep drag from his cigarette and waited to feel the smoke fill his lungs before tossing the matchbox onto the table.

Man, what was he even doing?

He pulled the cigarette from his mouth and exhaled, his breath forming a cloud of smoke. He leaned back in his chair and watched the cloud dissipate.

At this point, he was nothing more than a glorified masseur. He spent more of his time giving massages and advice to clients than he did actually exorcising evil spirits. He couldn’t even remember the last time he had gotten a job that involved anything even remotely supernatural.

Perhaps, he wondered to himself, I should just give up and find a real job.

But the idea of going back to his old career, sitting in a cubicle for hours on end, answering phone call after phone call, filling out mountains of paperwork…

No. He thought to himself, placing the cigarette back onto his lips. I can’t go back there again.

“Excuse me?”

Reigen had been so lost in thought, he hadn’t heard the footsteps approaching the door. He quickly reached out his arm to the ashtray, smothering his cigarette before the client could see it.

“Ah- yes! How may I help you?” he cried out. His voice faltered at the end of his sentence as his eyes caught ahold of the figure standing at the doorway.

It was a young boy, that couldn’t have been older than five… maybe six? His face peeked out from behind the door frame, his eyes partially obscured by his silky black hair, which had been trimmed into the shape of a bowl-cut. He wore a baby blue shirt, and his hand gripped tightly onto the strap of his little black backpack.

It’s just a kid, he thought to himself

“What do you want boy?” he asked irritably.

“Um, I-I’m an Esper,” the boy muttered.

“What-?” Reigen gasped.

“Y-yeah. And there are times when- when I can’t control my powers. It’s scary.”

You little brat, he thought to himself. This had to be a prank. Perhaps the boy’s older brother put him up to this?

“Did someone tell you to come here and say that?”

“N-no!” he exclaimed, clenching the strap of his backpack even tighter.  “I haven’t been able to talk to anyone about this…”

His eyes trailed down to the floor, his voice growing even smaller.

“I thought you might be the same as me…”

Something didn’t seem right to Reigen. There was no way this kid could be acting, he we much too young for that. A pathological liar perhaps? Or maybe he just had an overactive imagination?

The boy was shaking. His eyes darted back and forth across the room.

Whatever it was, the kid seemed genuinely troubled. Reigen couldn’t just turn him away like this.

“Well alright, come on in.”

The boy sat across from Reigen, his tiny hands grasping onto the steaming cup of tea that Reigen gave him. His little legs dangled over the chair. His bright, wide eyes fixated on Reigen.

What’s with this kid?

The more Reigen spoke to him, the more he was certain that this boy genuinely believed he was a psychic.

Reigen thumbed the side of his teacup. He wasn’t sure what to do. He could try and convince him that his powers weren’t real, but he knew that wouldn’t work. Reigen could tell from the kid’s face that to him, these powers were a very, very real thing.

So instead, Reigen did what he did best.

He pulled some advice out of his ass.

“Listen kid. Having psychic powers that doesn’t make you any less human, okay?”

The boy nodded vigorously.

“You see, it’s the same as people who are fast, people who are book smart, and people who have strong body odor. Psychic powers are just another characteristic you can have.”

Reigen rose from his seat and sat himself down on the low-rising table so that he could place his hand onto the boy’s shoulder.

“You must embrace your powers as a part of yourself, and continue to live positively,” he continued. “The truth behind one’s charm is their kindness! What’s important, in the end, is being a good person.”

The boy’s face split with the widest smile. His eyes brimmed with hope and wonder.

“May I come talk to you again?” he asked enthusiastically.

Oh boy, Reigen thought to himself. He had been hoping to get the him to finally leave, not entice the kid into continuing to pester him.  

“Yeah, I don’t know about that… I’m a busy man, you know?” Reigen lifted the cup of tea in his hands to his lips. “And anyways, you should probably go home for today-”

Reigen stopped. Talking to the boy, he had been so distracted that he had almost sipped scalding hot tea.

That would have been a dumb mistake, he thought to himself, as he blew onto the hot drink.

“But Sir-”

“I’m sorry kid, I don’t have time for this. Okay?” He blew on his tea again. “I’m sure you’ll do just fine on your own. Just remember everything I told you, and you’ll be okay. Alright?”

The boy nodded, but looked down at his feet in disappointment.

“I’m sorry, but I’m going to need you to leave now, okay? I could have clients coming in here at any moment. You need any help getting home?”

The boy shook his head. “I can walk back by myself.”

“You sure?”

The boy nodded, and set his cup of tea back onto the table. He hadn’t taken a single sip since he had entered Reigen’s office.

“Thank you. For the advice… Sir.”

Reigen could hear the hint of disappointment in his voice.

He tried to ignore the twinge of guilt in his stomach as he waved goodbye to the little boy. It wasn’t his job, after all, to babysit every random kid that came walking into his office.

Reigen watched from the window as the little blue figure of the boy grew smaller and smaller, before finally disappearing into the crowd below.  

[sarcastic-sunshines]

Struggles

Author’s Note: This is my submission for @purple-apricots and @hoopshoney ‘s With Love, from Wakanda Fic Fest.  My prompt was “you’d be a great mom.” I really enjoyed writing this and it was a great challenge for me as new writer. As always I hope you all enjoy it and make sure to check out all the other amazing writers.💜💜______________________________________________________________

T’Challa turned to look back at the entrance that led to his chambers, pacing up and down the hall in hopes his wife would soon exit the room and join him for their Valentine’s Day date. If left up to him, they would not even be going. He made sure his love for Thabisa was shown everyday, but her love of the holiday was infectious and T’Challa felt his best knowing she was happy. So if dressing up and celebrating an over glorified holiday made her smile, then there was nothing he wouldn’t do to see the smile that kept him going everyday. However, he couldn’t lie that his patience for Thabisa tonight was wearing thin. She had promised to be ready an hour ago, and though he knew that was not going to be the case, she was going past the time allotted to be fashionably late.

He entered the bedroom hearing the soft rhythm of her playlist.  He looked at the bed and saw the dress she had promised would leave him speechless. He smiled as he imagined her in it.

“Thabi?”, he called walking into the closest assuming she was in there picking shoes, but the lights and the ajared door had fooled him. His expression shifted as he walked towards the bathroom door calling her again. Still, he got no response but could hear her light sniffling from the other side.

“Thabi? What is going on? Are you alright?” He knocked as he asked with his heart rate increasing as he thought of all the possible things that could be wrong with her.

Thabisa lifted herself from her spot on the floor wiping her eyes and leaned against the bathroom door pulling her robe close to her. She mustered all the energy she could to not give away the fact that she was crying.

“I am fine. I am not feeling well. I have cramps and I can’t go on our date anymore.” 

T’Challa could tell that she was lying and couldn’t understand why. Only this morning she had been glowing and excitedly stating that her gift for him would be one of a kind and he could never guess what it would be. Her enthusiasm made his heart yearn for her and even made him willing to celebrate this holiday. Now, he felt anxious and worried, because her sadness and pain quickly became his and hearing her sorrow broke his heart.

“That is fine, my love. We can stay in and still enjoy each other’s company.”

 He waited for a reply and he was met with a shaky ‘okay’. He took a large breath before taking off his suit jacket,  placing it is on the bed next to her dress. He turned back to the door and knocked again with a little more ferocity.

“Thabi, can you please open the door. Whatever it is, we can work through it together, okay? I don’t like to hear you like this.”

He waited and heard no movement.

“My love, please,” he said with a little shake to his own voice.

Finally, he heard movement as the lock unclicked and he heard her shuffling away from the door. He opened it slowly and peaked looking for the holder of his heart only to find her leaning against the bathtub, in her robe and bonnet, makeup smeared, matching the mood of the room. Thabisa looked up at him causing her to start crying again.

The whole night had become a disaster.

She had woken up that morning feeling hopeful and thankful for the ache in her lower back and her tender swollen breasts. Her period was already a week late and she was sure this time Bast had finally answered her prayers. So she told her husband that her gift to him was one of kind and was eager to share her joy with him. She had gotten a box and was going to place the pregnancy test she planned to take in it, only for her to begin to get ready for their evening and be greeted by a very misleading aunt Flo. In the moment Thabisa was frustrated and felt betrayed by her own body. Why was getting pregnant so difficult? Wasn’t this what her body was made to do?

T’Challa slowly lowered himself next to his wife. He grabbed the roll of tissue paper and passed it to her as she lowered herself to lay in his lap. He ran his hand up and down her body soothingly.

“My love, would you like to tell me what has stolen my favourite smile off of your face? Just tell me the truth. I am here to help.”

“I wasn’t lying when I said I got my period.”

“You mentioned that, but in all my time of knowing you, it has never brought you to this much tears.” 

Thabisa lifted her head off his lap and turned to face him as she blinked away the tears in an attempt to control her emotions enough to speak. T'Challa gently caressed her cheek wiping away at the tears that had escaped.

“I thought I was pregnant,” she said lamely between hiccups. T’Challa finally began to put together the situation. After months of trying with no hope, not even a scare to encourage them, T'Challa began to see his bubbly wife slowly disappear into a shadow of herself. He tried to remain positive for the both of them and reminded her of his never dying love for her. Though often his attempts were defeated by the envy she felt as she watched friends and family receive the very gift that she begged Bast for. Today had been one of the few days that he felt the woman he loved return, but now he wasn’t so sure.

“Thabi, it is okay, we will keep trying. The doctors said there is not an issue with either of us so when the time is right it will happen. I don’t like seeing you like this. “

“It is not okay, T'Challa!” Thabisa found herself yelling emotions she hadn’t truly shared until now. “You don’t know how hard it is to attend baby showers for others and to try and be happy for those who have what you want so badly! Yes, it has only been a few months but it is scary to think that in all this time we haven’t even had a miscarriage or anything. I feel like my body isn’t doing its job, like I am paying for some sin I have committed.”

Thabisa’s tears became more frequent as T’Challa reached up again to try and wipe them. He didn’t know what else to do to comfort his wife. To make her understand that her debt to him was only her love.

“I have prayed and prayed and it is like Bast refused to listen. Is this her way of saying that I am not meant to be a mother? Maybe I don’t deserve-” T’Challa pulled her into his chest as she sobbed. He felt a few tears slip from his own eyes. Seeing her like this was becoming too much for him.

“Eh, eh. Do not speak like that. You know that is not true. I have no doubt in my mind that you’d be a great mom. Probably the best, my love. I have seen you with children, honestly it is one of the many reasons I fell in love with the most beautiful school teacher I have ever seen .” He felt her breathing finally steadying and whimpers slowly decreasing. “Your large heart and your empathy is unmatched. Children are drawn to you like a magnet, no matter where we go. And you dote on each one with your undivided attention as though they are your own. Sometimes I am little jealous,” he finished jokingly. His heart skipped as he heard the small giggle coming from her.

Thabisa separated herself from him again, looking him in his eyes searching for truth in his words.

“You think so?”

“Thabisa, of course.” He grabbed her hands and kissed them. “I don’t know when that will be, but I do know that if there is any role that you were made for, it is that of a mother. And Bast willing, we will have enough to fill all the empty rooms.” Her genuine smile mended his broken heart. He  lifted her up and set her on the edge of the tub. He grabbed her make up wipes and wiped of what was left. He brought her favourite pyjamas and led her to their bed.

After changing himself, he brought her a replica of the sundae that they had shared on their first date that he had had the chefs prepared. He had also gotten her a bracelet engraved with their wedding anniversary on the inside. Thabisa was almost brought to tears again as she appreciated the gesture.

T’Challa held her tight as they shared the dessert and she laughed at his jokes. Her laughter was like music to his ears, and he always wanted this song on repeat. She leaned into his warmth and allowed his love to heal her.

“I am sorry that I ruined Valentine’s day.” T’Challa kissed her cheek.

“You didn’t ruin anything. I rather be doing this anyway. You know I do not mine showing you my love for you everyday.” Thabisa smiled feeling lucky for the man she had.

“I know, and I thank you for that. I don’t have a gift for you though.” T'Challa shifted so he was facing her.

“Thabisa, your smile and happiness is more than enough for me. You already gave me the greatest gift when you allowed me to call you my wife.”  Thabisa held his face as she leaned in to kiss him.

“Happy Valentines day.”

“Happy Valentines day, my love.”

[ghoultyrant]

Grimdark Tau

I’ve long felt Tau were plenty grimdark without slapping in grimderp elements, running with just baseline components. No need for "gifting" mind control helmets to supposed allies, pheromones assuring Ethereal leadership, or mass sterilization of human colonists to make room for Tau colonists. These just draw attention away from the actual, existing grimdark.

Let's take a look at the other factions of Warhammer 40k, and their grimdarkness. Orks are grimdark because they are a plague of violence for its own sake, virtually impossible to eradicate and fully capable of overrunning the galaxy through sheer breeding advantage combined with intrinsic military advantages. Even with a concerted effort by everyone else to exterminate them, there's no way to be completely confident they're all gone, and so long as they exist peace is not on the table. Craftworld Eldar are grimdark because they are smarter than you, stronger than you, live longer than you, are outright super psychics that see the future, and are completely disinterested in your survival or well-being if you aren't Eldar. The Imperium is grimdark because they treat everyone and everything like garbage out of sheer necessity. The Inquisition isn't the ruling body squashing political dissension using the veil of religion. They're fighting a threat fundamentally dedicated to the eradication of anything resembling civilization, and the only viable way to do so involves brainwashing, social manipulation, and outright genocide of problematic population. In other words, being good requires monstrous behavior in the Imperium, and that's depressing/grimdark. Tyranids are grimdark because EVERYTHING ENDS IN TYRANIDS. EVERYTHING. Also, Genestealer cults that are virtually impossible to detect before they reach a substantially threatening stage and the only real solution is to kill the infected. No good answers and we're all doomed. Pretty straightforward grimdark. Dark Eldar are grimdark because they do all the awful things they do to stave off the destruction of their immortal souls. Well, most of the things. Partially they're just that twisted, but then again that grows out of the necessity of inflicting suffering for their own survival, which is going to tend to weed out any Dark Eldar that's squeamish because their soul will be eaten. Net result; there's a reason to feel kind of sorry for the monsters even as they torture you for giggles, which is all kinds of messed up. Grimdark: achieved. Oldcrons are grimdark because their goal is extermination of all life, everywhere, wrapped up in a shell of barely sensate beings reduced to "I have no mouth and I must scream" as the means to achieve this goal, all directed by immortal people-eating monsters harvesting us like cattle. Not because they have to to survive, but because we're more delicious than stars. That's depressing because it implies a missed opportunity for peaceful cooperation with vast beings of cosmic significance, and also because, again, there's an urge to feel sorry for the mass-murdering killbots even as they literally atomize you, and again, that's all kinds of messed up. (Newcrons are... not really all that grimdark, by comparison, but whatever)

Chaos, is, of course, Chaos, and has layers of grimdark built in. Every thinking creature's every thought and random feeling contributes to the Immaterium, but then the Immaterium pokes back and encourages patterns growing in it, leading to a snowball effect where incidents in history of violence and anger and so on have made the Immaterium an unhappy and scary place, which then promotes violence and anger and so on, feeding in on itself. To fight Chaos is to feed Chaos. If you join Chaos, you are driven onward by a constant, eternal fear for your immortal soul, fully aware that your life and the quality therein now hinges on the whims of the pitiless and random Gods of Chaos, whom may turn you into an I Must Scream slab of tortured flesh because you bore them, or because you failed them one too many times, or because they thought it would be funny, or because they were actually trying to give you a gift and said gift was too much for your mere mortal flesh to handle. Also, your "allies" in Chaos are only slightly less likely to try to kill you than the opposition is. This isn't even getting into how horrifying it must be to find yourself a part of Chaos while having an actual moral compass. Oh, and enlightenment is demons and so is liable to explode your head.

-----------

So, the Tau.

The Tau trip all the happy feelgood terms and images of goodness. They speak of "The Greater Good", prefer diplomatic appeals to military aggression, have clean looking technology, invest resources into improving the quality of life of their people, and glorify individuals helping the collective. They're nice guys driven to make the world a better place for everyone in it, right? Let's look at some of these bits a little closer. Greater Good is rendered as "Tau'Va." in the Tau language. One can infer that Tau therefore probably means either "Greater" or "Good", either of which is somewhat alarming. Human cultures largely name themselves "the people" if you translate their name for themselves, which is a pretty neutral statement. The Tau are either saying they are the definition of goodness or that they are greater... than anything that isn't them, presumably. Neither of these suggests the Tau view their allies as equal partners. Reinforcing this is that Tau diplomacy is not aiming for an alliance of equals. You serve the Tau Empire, or you die. Certainly, the Imperium gives anything sufficiently inhuman just the "you die" option, but the Tau are not asking if you want to fight alongside them against external third parties. They aren't NATO or some other compact between equals. Being integrated into the Tau Empire means being suborned to the Tau Empire. They will bring you into their Empire, they won't take "no" for an answer, your government will be leashed to their will, or they'll just kill you and ship Tau into the area you once lived. Your governor may remain a governor, but that doesn't mean your government has any real power.

Ethereals are the leadership caste. The underlying assumption of the Tau Empire is that everyone in it serves under Ethereals. This is unilaterally declaring Ethereals the only valid authority, no argument allowed. You're not Tau, you're never in charge. You are Tau, but not an Ethereal, you're not in charge. There is no equal representation at the highest authority levels: first and foremost Tau interests will be represented. Even if they have a principle of allowing everyone their foibles and building the world to work in harmony for everyone, the command decisions will still be skewed towards Tau interests, even if the Ethereals genuinely believe in equal treatment for all, with no possibility of cycling in non-Ethereal leadership to soften the bias. Naturally, Tau priorities will then be skewed toward Ethereal interests over the interests of other castes, for extra special bonus grimdark. The Tau loathe individual expression, and box you in based on your biology. They are fundamentally racist in a way that goes well beyond any possibility of practical motives, including forbidding crossbreeding of Tau Castes. This is basically eugenics, and not some idealized "let's weed out life-ruining defects!" eugenics, but the arbitrary, politically-minded kind that, among other points, contributes to keeping Ethereals the sole authority. A Fire/Ethereal crossbreed is not allowed: you can't marry your family into a position of power. Based on their treatment of their own and their treatment of their allies, it seems likely that once the Tau settle on what they think humans are ideally suited for, they are going to attempt to lock them into that role, no arguing or accommodation for people who don't fit this idea. All unusual occurrences in any given species or Caste will not be given due consideration for not physically fitting their standard role, because the Caste system is absolute. A Fire Caste Tau who is clever with her hands and intellectually good with machines will not work within Earth Caste factories or laboratories. She will be given a combat suit and a gun, and off to war she goes. The Tau’s Greater Good is a patriotic ideal, not a philosophical/moral one. The Greater Good starts from being defined as the members of the Tau Empire, not the galaxy's whole breadth of species. There is a component of real-world philosophy to their ideology, in that they see no point to unnecessary fighting and don't understand why other species will die to a man for no clear benefit, and similarly will more readily ally against greater threats than many of 40k's factions. However, mostly it is largely the same as the Imperium's fanatical devotion to the Emperor, only directed at the Tau Empire as a whole. This isn't "what benefits the most people by the largest amount?" This is "Whatever the Greater Good Tau Empire demands." That's an implicit mandate that the Tau Empire can do whatever it wants and be morally justified. That they happen to angle it more toward seeming nicer than the Imperium's mandate of "Whatever the Emperor wants" gets used for doesn't change the fact that it's the same level of fanatical zeal unchained by ethics or a real moral code. The Tau ethos of sacrifice for others goes a bit beyond glorifying the individual dying to save everyone else where no other option exists and ranges closer to Imperial Guard "everyone is expendable" military philosophy. The expectation is you will die for your Empire on a moment's notice, even if it is merely convenient rather than necessary. It never openly ranges into calculating how much your death will buy... but a refusal to explicitly admit to something doesn't mean it isn't happening. The Tau are grimdark because they are, in many ways, villains with good PR. Sure, they won't treat you like crap just because they can if you join their Empire, and in general they have a policy of decent quality of life for citizens. That doesn't mean they are utopian or even as "good" as the surface image suggests.

It's redundant and gratuitous to have shenanigans like the Tau Empire sterilizing human populations or "gifting" mind control helmets to prospective allies, and I’ve always been a bit surprised at how normal it is for 40k fans to feel the Tau are undermining 40k’s grimdarkness such that the creators feel the need to slap in this nonsense.

I suppose it’s appropriate in a meta sort of way that the Tau PR engine is so effective it works through the fourth wall...

[rachello344]

I’m going to tell you all a story. I don’t really know who all will see this, but I think it’s important for me to make my position and my history clear, so I’m going to write it out anyway.  This will probably have some level of TMI, so your mileage may vary, but I don’t want to censor myself for this.  Includes frank discussions of sexuality, sex ed, etc. so it’s relatively NSFW.  Nothing especially graphic, but again, ymmv

This is... much longer than I meant it to be, so tl;dr: Fiction is meant to be a place to explore.  Being afraid of sexuality or intimidated by it is normal, but trying to control the people around you because of that is not.  The only person whose sexuality is your business is your own, and potentially your partner(s)’.  Policing the sexuality of other people will not give you anything more than the illusion of control.  Illusions, however nice, don’t generally last long.  Be kind to others, and be kind to yourself.

I started reading fanfiction when I was 12 or 13, which I think is about the average.  Everyone around me was starting to talk about dating and the like, and I wanted to figure out what they were talking about without asking anyone I knew.  As an avid reader, the only way I knew how to get contextualized information was through stories.  So I did what I think a lot of kids online inevitably do:  I looked up stories about sex and romance.  The site I was using at the time was DeviantART.

Any of you who have used the site are probably recoiling right now, as you should be.  I have seen so many terrible things written in fiction from such a young age that a lot of the stuff people complain about here seem legitimately tame.  But that’s not the point.  The point is, I was a curious kid looking for answers, and I turned to stories to find them.

I started with original fiction.  Imagine that.  A 13 year old girl online reading effectively hentai-style fiction about OCs she had no connection with.  I learned about my body through badly written dA hentai fic.  I figured out things that felt good.  I experimented quietly when my family left for my brother’s baseball games.  And then, at some point, I found my first fanfiction.

I’d technically written fanfiction of Sonic characters when I was 8 or 9, but they were all just fairy tales with Sonic and Amy as the leads.  I didn’t start with Sonic fanfiction, though.  No, the first fanfiction I remember reading was Naruto.  It was a badwrong Uchiha-cest fic.  I was probably 13 at this point.  I’d never watched Naruto, but I absolutely knew that those characters were related.  Morbidly curious, reluctantly fascinated, I read the fic.

It was short, but it was definitely hot, to my 13 year old standards.  I mean, most things were.  I was 13.  I didn’t exactly have standards.  And then I realized:  If this exists, shouldn’t there be stories with characters I actually know?  Granted, I still read SasuNaruSasu fic because it was SO easy to find--I preferred Naruto topping at the time, but now I’d go back and forth, I think, I just hated the characterization of bottom!Naruto--but I also discovered slash for things I actually knew.  Sonadow was a revelation.

It does not escape me that I got my start in fanfiction reading incest and furry porn, btw.  I mentioned earlier that I was curious, and that was my driving force.  I wanted to see where the limits were.  I would read anything.  And then once I figured out the tags, I could look for the things I liked and avoid the things I didn’t.  I didn’t much care for a lot of things where romance was concerned, but for a PWP those limits evaporated like rain in the desert.  And through this process, I developed standards.  Things I will read, things I won’t, writing styles I prefer, things that I won’t read no matter how well written, writing unskilled enough that I wouldn’t touch it regardless of the kink depicted.  And on and on and on.

I feel like it bears mentioning that the demographic of my junior high and high school was predominantly Mormon and Fundamentalist.  Not all, but a significant number.  We were mostly white, mostly well-off.  I was in as much of a bubble as I could be.  But that meant that until my friends started coming out in high school, I didn’t know any queer people IRL.  I had one friend, Avery, who told me she was Bi in eighth grade, but until about tenth grade, she was the only one who’d told me.

Our sex ed was abstinence only.  Heteronormative and absolutely the kind of thing that we all speak out against.  There were no websites that I could find with reliable info.  I was using google image searches to figure out what genitalia looked like, and I wish I were kidding.  All I’d ever seen was stuff with diseases and sores.  I was told that a girl who has a lot of sex is like an old pair of gym shoes.  I was told that boys will be boys.  I was not told that boys could love boys or girls could love girls.  I was told “Just say no,” instead of any kind of way to tell when it was safe for me to say Yes.

Luckily I wasn’t interested in sex for me, personally.  I was interested in it intellectually.  I wanted to know how it worked, why people chose to do it, what it might feel like, what kinds of sex you could have.  I was arming myself with knowledge in case I ever needed it.

When I was 15, I stumbled on a kinkster’s blog.  She was a writer, and she specialized in BDSM practices and culture, specifically in explaining it to the uninitiated.  I was too young to be there, but the information I got was invaluable.  Again, scarleteen might have existed?  But I’d certainly never found it.  This was the first time I saw someone talking about consent, about condoms and dental dams, about safe words.

It was life changing.  I read her blog avidly.  I spent about three weeks there, researching BDSM.  When I found something that seemed interesting, I’d return to deviantART to see if I could find it in story form.  I’d google terms I wasn’t familiar with or cross check online.  I googled so many things that it’s lucky that my parents let me have my own computer (an old desktop from my dad’s boss).  It’s even luckier that my parents generally let me have free reign.

When I was 17, I found the word Asexual.  It was the best word I’d seen for how I was feeling.  Sex positive asexual.  “It would be fine if it happened, but chastity isn’t exactly a punishment.”  I could make do on my own without much trouble, and I didn’t really like any boys.  Not like that.  (Whether or not I ever liked girls, I’m still trying to puzzle out.)

What I’m trying to say is that my best online experiences were via kinksters.  Fic at the time did NOT go into safer sex details.  They were either implied, glossed over, or outright ignored.  Fantasy doesn’t need to jive with reality, so it’s hardly wrong of them to ignore it.  But that information was truly incredible to me.

And I know I’m an odd case.  Someone who’d never felt sexual attraction to her knowledge researching every kind of sex under the sun sounds strange, I know.  But I’ve always been a researcher.  When I come across something I don’t understand, I look it up.

I guess, the point I was trying to make is that... for me, without all the “bad” erotica and porn, without kinksters, without slash ships, I never would have figured things out for myself.  I had no sexual education to speak of, no context for anything I did no, no one to talk to, and I definitely didn’t have any queer role models or examples in media or in my real life.  The first time I met a lesbian was when I was 13; she was my gym teacher.  And she was the absolute first queer person I ever knew about.  And until college, I’d never met another queer adult that I knew of.  Never.

We had a gay straight alliance in high school, but I didn’t want to get involved.  The cultural climate wasn’t outright homophobic, but I’d learned to keep my head down for being “too much” a feminist.  Like hell was I going to put a target on my back.  I doubt I would have been bullied--no one had come after me yet--but I didn’t really want to tempt fate either.  I stood up for the people around me, and I called it good.

When I hear people say “Kink is unhealthy and glorifies abuse” I think back on my sex ed, on learning that women who sleep around are dirty.  I think about the first time I ever even heard about consent being on a blog about a woman who loved BDSM.  When I hear people say “X fic trope condones Y behavior” I think back on the absolute sewage that I was reading as a young teen.  It’s safe to say that I’ve read just about every kink there is.  I read vore on accident by the time I was 15.  And I didn’t even remember it until I had a visceral flashback to it about a year ago when the jokes first started getting popular.  And despite all of the abuse and rape and badwrong incestuous fic that I’ve read, never once have I knowingly harmed another person.  And that makes the arguments feel a little odd.  Like “violent video games make teens more violent,” the argument that violent erotica and porn makes teens more violent is absurd.

So, for those of you still reading, if you promote anti-shipping or kink critical anything, I think you should look at it a little more closely.  Do some more reading on the other side, within your limits.  Do your own research and figure out where you stand.  I know that sex can be intimidating and scary, especially when you’re young, but something can be scary without being harmful.  Only you know your limits, but there are plenty of places to do research that have reliable information.  I’d be happy to help you find them.  For general sex ed, scarleteen is definitely my go-to.

Policing other people’s sexualities is not the way to make things feel safe again.  I know it seems like a suitable answer, and it makes you feel like you have power and safety, but think about how you feel when people tell you what you are and aren’t allowed to like or do or feel.  Think about how you feel when people accuse you of all kinds of things simply because your views are different.  That’s what anti-culture is doing.  And just because you don’t agree with someone doesn’t mean you have the right to tell them how to feel or how to think.  Because that opens the door to them returning the favor.

“But incest--”  “But CGL--”  “But--”  No.  It doesn’t matter.  If you know it isn’t for you, then avoid it.  That’s the end of it.  Do I think some things are weird or even kinda gross?  Sure.  But that doesn’t mean no one is allowed to like those things.  If that was the case, no one would be allowed to write fic where people have sex in a kitchen or otherwise involve food in the process.  That squicks me out, but that doesn’t mean people don’t want to get off to it.  I avoid the tag and move on.  Don’t waste your time on things you don’t like.  Period.

Life is too short to waste your time on things that turn you off.  That’s time better spent finding the things that turn you on.  And hey, tastes change.  Maybe someday I’ll decide I want to read people having sticky food sex (doubtful).  Maybe someday I’ll decide that I cannot read another tentacle fic ever again (unlikely).  I won’t know until that day does (or doesn’t) come.  But I’m not gonna waste energy worrying about what other people think about my fantasies.  They’re no one’s business but my own, and theoretically a future sex partner should I find one.

Fiction is for exploration, so explore!  Find ways to keep yourself safe.  Figure out what you need to avoid, and how to do it.  Find the things you want to read and read them.  Consume the media you want to consume.  And if anyone bullies you for it or tries to make you feel bad, you block their ass on sight.  They don’t deserve even a second more of your time.