#I was gonna say body fluid but that sounds worse than body liquid

[mybrainisoveractive]

I wNt Danny to be an alter vers. Of ra Al ghul

Gets resurrected. Wait no. I mean gets summoned and I want my original thought process[of batfam and dp] to be danny/batfam thought process. Like,

First hearing of the batfam :

Rando: -so that's why Robin 3 is my favour-

Me/danny, cutting in,: so... Essentially the 'batfam' is a bunch of furries fighting. Like a furry fighting brigade.

Or[batfam pov, first hearing of dp/danny] :

Rando: -and that's why I like dp

Me: so to get it straight... It's about a loser Boi who turns into ghostie Boi, alive then dead.. then partially dead that fights other ghosties and... Cannibalises them..?

Rando: nO-

Me: and ghostie Boi shoots part of his... Organs? Body liquid? Body part? out as blasters and uses it as shields???

Rando [screeching] : NO-

Danny be weirded out by batfam dynamics like me for sure.

My opinion is that the batfam should go to therapy. Family therapy. And maybe counselling. Just a thought. And a suggestion.

[awhitehead17]

Batfam Alphabet: F - Fear Toxin

Summary: When Tim gets injected with a new variant of Scarecrow’s fear toxin, all Jason could do is hold the kid in his arms to stop him from getting injured further as he waits for back up to arrive. 

A/N: As a warning violence happens, nothing too graphic but here’s a warning just in case!

Enjoy! :D

Jason pauses when his fingers grasp nothing but empty air. Snapping his gaze down, he frowns when he finds his pocket completely empty. He sighs and curses. This is just what he needs, he’s ran out of antidotes.

He looks up across the street to find Tim administering an antidote into another cowering civilian caught in the crossfire of Gotham’s latest villain scheme. Jason jogs over to his brother and glances at him through his helmet. “You got any more? I’m out.”

Tim shakes his head regretfully. “No. That was my last one. We really underestimated how far Scarecrow’s toxin got this time. We don’t have enough.”

Jason hums in agreement and observes their surroundings. They’re together in a back alley of Gotham’s streets, one that had been hit badly by Scarecrow’s latest fear toxin. They had the task of vaccinating all the civilians around with the new antidote. Back in the cave they calculated an estimate number of many people populated the area and had prepared more than enough between them, or so they thought, unfortunately their numbers were far from right leaving them with not nearly enough antidotes.  

Around them now, many civilians are still under the hallucinations of the toxin, some are screaming, crying or even violently yelling at empty air. Jason swears again, this is not how the night was supposed to go.

He’s brought out of his thoughts when Tim turns to him. “We’re going to need to go back and restock. We’re not much use otherwise.”

“Agreed.”

He wonders if the others are having similar issues with numbers and the lack of antidotes. The team’s spread out around Gotham’s most targeted areas, all of them working in pairs for safety and everyone working their asses off to help people in the city.

Wordlessly the two of them head for their hidden vehicles in a neighbouring alley. As they prepare to climb onto their bikes Tim glances his way to say something but ends up yelling in alarm instead. “Hood watch out!”

It’s thanks to Jason’s reflexes that he’s able to duck underneath the swinging arm in time to avoid being hit. He brings his gun out and turns to face his attacker. His attacker is probably middle aged man, a little on the heavy side and he’s wearing a shitty Halloween mask to hide his face. Jason dodges another swing and returns the favour, he takes him out in three quick and precise strikes with his hands.

A loud grunt gets his attention and Jason spins around to find Tim caught in a head lock with a gun pressed against his temple. Tim’s attacker is too wearing a mask as were the four others who now surround them. Where they came from Jason has no idea. How the hell did they miss these guys who had obviously been waiting and hiding for them to return to their bikes?

As Jason levels his gun at Tim’s attacker the four others surrounding him also raise their guns pointing them in his direction, this concludes them all into a standoff.

Tim’s attacker speaks up first. “Put that gun down or I blow his brains out.”

Behind his mask Jason rolls his eyes. How fucking cliché? He keeps his gun up though, pointing at the man and in a cocky statement he takes the safety off with an audible click. The man holding Tim snorts as he had been expecting Jason’s disobedience.

“Very well. I’ll show you how this is going to go. You get one warning and mate, you’ve just used that warning.”

He kicks Tim’s legs out from underneath him and lets him go, unexpecting the abrupt movement Tim crashes to the floor. Once he’s sprawled out on the ground the attacker stamps on one of Tim’s hands, causing a rather loud and sickening crack to ring out. Jason winces as Tim yells in pain but before anyone could react further the same man manhandles Tim to his knees and resumes their previous position.

He cocks the gun and presses it to Tim’s head. “Now, if either of you act up, you’re gonna get a hurt whole lot worse than a broken hand. Now follow us. No funny business! Get his gun!”

One of the men come and wrench Jason’s gun out of his hand and all Jason could do was let him. He doesn’t want to risk Tim any more than he has to.

He and Tim are marched out of the alley and into another before being directed into an abandoned building. They’re walked into the middle of the room and forced down to their knees, once on the ground a couple of the thugs come over to grab their hands and tie them behind their backs. Jason grits his teeth and refrains from doing something like headbutting the asshole, while next to him Tim lets out a pained grunt as his broken hand is jostled.

When they step away Jason twists his body awkwardly to get a look at his restrained wrists to find them tied with cable ties. Jason huffs in disbelief. His attention is soon brought back to the room when one of the attackers speak up.

“Boss we got’em just like you asked.”

Jason straightens up when a new figure walks into the room only to grit his teeth seconds later when Scarecrow is revealed. The bastard doesn’t stop moving until he’s looming over them. Unable to help himself Jason speaks up, sarcasm heavily laced in his tone. “Same shit different day Crane. Why don’t you go and get yourself a new hobby, go for something like knitting perhaps.”

Crane turns his head towards Jason, his expression hidden by that stupid potato sack over his head. “You would like that wouldn’t you? If I were gone there would be nothing to fear. Perhaps that clown but nothing else.”

“Sorry to break it to you but you ain’t that scary.” Jason quips, glaring through his helmet.

“Maybe not right now but with a little help, I will be, I’ll become your greatest nightmare.” Crane reaches behind him and pulls out a box, he makes a show of opening it up and producing a syringe filled with a clear liquid. “A person can learn to control themselves when feeling great emotion, sadness, happiness, anger, but never in times of fear. Fear is the minds greatest enemy and that’s why it’s so powerful, why even the greatest of men fall.”

Jason watches as Crane drifts over to stand in front of Tim, his brother simply looks up with a hard and determined expression not saying anything. Crane fiddles with the syringe in his hands, studying Tim as he does.

“It won’t work. We’re not stupid Crane.” Jason says feeling dread build up inside of him. He knows what’s about to happen and he has feeling he knows exactly what Crane’s response is going to be.

“I know. That’s why I’m sure you’ve worked out that this is a different toxin I’ve produced to the one I’ve already distributed. One of which you don’t have an antidote for.”

For the first time Tim speaks up, snarling at the man in front of him. “Go to hell Crane.” Scarecrow doesn’t answer Tim, instead he reaches down and grabs a fist full of Tim’s hair and yanks his head back to expose his neck.

From his position Jason lurches at the movement, ready to pounce but it stopped when the thugs immediately zone in on him. Guns point at him and at Tim, simply daring him to make another move. Uselessly he settles back down on the ground.

Crane jabs the syringe into the kid’s neck and injects the liquid into Tim’s body. Once it’s empty he steps away, pushing Tim down to the ground as he does. Jason is torn between worriedly watching Tim’s unmoving form on the ground and Crane’s retreating figure from the room.

One of the thugs speak up. “Uh boss now what? We not killing the big one?”

“No.” Crane says firmly. “He has a choice to make, come after me and leave the other to suffer or help him and let me go.”

“You bastard!” Jason yells as Crane exits the room, disappearing from his sight. “You’ll be sorry you’ve left me alive! I will kill your ass when I next see it.”

Jason snaps his attention to Tim who is now whimpering on the floor. He needs to get help, he needs to get Tim to the cave so they can start working on a new antidote to whatever the hell Crane just injected him with.

With some difficulty, Jason twists and wiggles around so he can move to get his restrained hands in front of him. Using a move Dick once showed him, Jason tucks up tightly loops his arms underneath his body so they go underneath him and end up in front of him. It tests his flexibility for sure but it works.

Once his arms are in front of him he reaches up and presses the comms, getting Barbara’s help.

“O! I need immediate assistance!”

“Hood what’s going on, why did you and Red Robin go radio silent-”

Not having the patience Jason cuts her off. “Now’s not the time! We ran into Scarecrow and he injected Red with a new toxin. We need to get him to the cave asap.”

“Shit. I’m alerting the others now and sending them your location. Do what you can to help Red.”

“Already on it.”

Jason signs off and moves to break the cable ties around his wrists. He tightens them up as much as possible, raises his hands over his head and brings his fists down to his stomach in one fluid movement. Upon impact the ties break and his heads are freed.

Not wasting a second he scrambles over to Tim who is now starting to wither on the floor, whimpering pitiful sounds. Knowing there’s not much he can do, Jason decides to break the ties from Tim's own wrists, he’s aware of Tim’s broken hand but that’ll have to be dealt with later on.

At least that was his plan up until he puts a hand on Tim’s shoulder. As soon as Jason touches him, the kid freaks out. He lets out a scream of terror and suddenly jerks up right and starts to scramble away from him. Jason freezes in shock as he watches Tim try and move away from him, but the kid’s movements were hindered by his hands being tied behind him.

“No no no no. I’m sorry. Please I’m sorry, I’m so sorry. No no no. It won’t happen again I promise.”

The words were quiet and raspy but Jason could hear them clearly in the silence of the room. He needs to stop Tim from moving and also to prevent further damage to his hands. He cautiously approaches Tim again, crouching down low and taking slow steps forward, but at the moment Tim only sees him as a threat. The kid screams and continues to try and scramble backwards away from him.

“No no no! I’m sorry! Please don’t kill me…”

Jason frowns at the words as his heart lurches inside of his chest at the sound of Tim’s pleading voice. When he takes another step forward Tim only screams again, making Jason freeze on the spot. He really ought to get Tim to stop moving, Jason doesn’t particularly want to use force to get him to restrain his movements but he doesn’t think he has any choice.

Sighing Jason takes off his helmet, something he admittedly probably should have done before now, and approaches Tim again. As expected the kid screams and begs as he tries to shuffle away, his legs kicks out and his body contorts uncomfortably.

Pretty much out of options Jason lunges for Tim. He grabs the kid’s ankle to stop him from getting any further away before diving onto the floor and situating himself behind Tim. He wraps his legs around Tim’s thighs and knees, pinning them in place and he wraps his arms around Tim’s torso and shoulders. He holds on tightly as Tim tries and fails to buck out of his grasp.

While the kid screams in his arms all Jason could do is hold him and wait until backup comes. He counts the never ending minutes as they tick by. His brother is weakly fighting his hold while tears stream down his cheeks as he whimpers out pleas, it breaks Jason’s heart to hear it all.

Thankfully the cavalry soon arrive, they burst into the room and take in the scene before them. Both Dick and Bruce rush towards them and immediately start making plans.

“How long ago was he injected?” Bruce demands as he grasps Tim’s chin. Tim tries to get out of it but Bruce holds firm as he removes the kid’s mask and studies his dilated pupils.

“Twenty maybe thirty minutes. Right before O contacted you. Crane got away.” Jason reports automatically. He’s furious about Crane of course but family comes first, he couldn’t have left Tim alone in this state.

“Hold him still.” Bruce grunts as he digs through his utility belt. After a moment he produces a small blood sample kit. With quick efficiency Bruce takes a vial of Tim’s blood, caps it off and holds it out to Nightwing who had been hovering on the side but not getting in the way. Dick takes it without words. “Get a head start to the cave, Agent A is preparing to start a new antidote trial.”

Dick nods, his gaze lingers on Tim before his head tilts in Jason’s direction. “Keep me updated.” He disappears before Jason could respond. When Dick is out of sight his attention is drawn back to Tim and Bruce.

“We need to get him to the car and then to the cave. You’ll need to keep him restrained so he doesn’t hurt himself.”

If the situation were different Jason would both be peeved and even upset at the detachment in Bruce’s tone of voice. Unfortunately in this situation he can understand why Bruce is like it, not being emotionally invested will allow him to focus on the task at hand, which in this case happened to be getting Tim back to the cave and working on a new antidote. He’ll let himself feel everything once he knows Tim is safe and sound.

Together he and Bruce manage to get Tim into the batmobile. The kid does nothing other than scream, whimper, plead and cry as they move him. Jason makes sure to tell Bruce about his hand and once in the car Bruce relays the injury to Alfred in the cave. Once they’ve worked out the antidote they can work on his hand.

Getting back to the cave seems long and tedious but once they’re there they move Tim from the car and into the medical bay. They settle him down on one of the cots, having to restrain his wrists and ankles to the bed to stop him moving so much and Alfred updates them on the situation with the antidote.

They were fortunate enough to be able to come up with a temporary antidote in that short amount of time. It turns out Scarecrow hadn’t used a new toxin but rather the same one as before, the only difference in this one is that there are hints of Poison Ivy’s hallucinogen concoction. Dick and Alfred quickly worked together to combine the two antidotes making a new one altogether.

Without much hesitation they give Tim the new antidote and watch as the kid quietens down on the bed and falls unconscious. It’s only after Alfred deems everything is okay that they all can breathe somewhat easily again.

While Dick, Bruce, Jason and Barbara (over the comms) discuss the next steps and about what the current situation is looking like, Alfred stays with Tim and patches up his hand, fixing a cast over the skin and bone until they can get it looked at professionally.

As plans are being made Jason watches Alfred work, his worry for Tim still heavily stirring inside of him. He doesn’t think he’ll be forgetting those petrified screams any time soon. Once the kid wakes up Jason is going to have a long chat with Tim, one to rest his own subconscious and secondly because he wants to make sure the kid is mentally okay after the ordeal. He’ll make sure Tim gets some proper r&r after all of this and maybe even for himself too once Crane is dealt with.

[let-love-bleeds-red]

Ezekiel reyes x reader

A/N: I’m new to posting/publishing my works so any feedback is welcomed! Maybe will do a part 2?? Depending on you readers. Also don't be shy to ask for more characters or different shows. ☺️

Summary: Ezekiel leaves their romantic partner high and dry as he deals with supposed club business. Y/n feeling quite lonely sends an attention grabbing video to Ez only for his phone to be left behind. After a confusing phone call with Angel, y/n decides she needs to see who Ez has been talking to. When Ez’s past crashes with his future puts Y/n in a bad position, y/n must figure out what’s better for her future and their relationship.

Warnings: Mature language, smut, oral sex, fingering, masturbation, mention of bodily fluids, mention of abuse, angst.

Word count: 3073

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Light shuffling wakes me from a blissful dream. My eyes adjust to the light shining through the window blinds. I rub the sleepiness away and make eye contact with the bare back of Ezekiel Reyes. Shamelessly, I take in every inch and mark of his body, happy that he's mine.

Ez turns around feeling eyes on him. "Like what you see cariña" (darling) the corner of his mouth curves up into a devilish smirk.

I'm sure I'm drooling at this point. Recapturing my composure, I throw a pillow at the back of his head. "It surprises me that your ego is bigger than your head" I retort.

He turns away from the dresser facing me “you didn’t mind my head size when it was between your legs,” a shit eating smile filling his face.

“Ezekiel Reyes!” I scold giggling. Warmth floods my cheeks as I hide underneath the covers. Large hands make they’re way up my legs, kisses trailing close behind them. My breath hitches as his lips make contact to my inner thigh. His teeth nip at certain spots making sure to leave many love bites. My fingers scratch the back of his head leading him further up to where my body most craved. He licks my slit, his focus now on teasing my clit.

A soft moan escapes my lips as my hips involuntarily buck up closer to him. Ez smirks kissing up to my sternum. He looks up to me with mischievous eyes. I pout from the loss of contact, “you just want to get me worked up.”

His hand molds my breast while playing with my nipple, “You look so sexy when you’re frustrated.” His hot tongue connects to my erect nipple sucking and tugging lightly, the other hand not stopping its menstrations. He bites the side of my breast causing loud moans to escape.

My hips grind against his abdomen looking for friction and much needed relief. “Fuck.. Ezekiel” my nails scratch along his shoulders driving him further on. “Please mi corazon” (my heart) I moaned, needing more of him. His hand leaves my breast, sliding down to where I ache the most. Two digits pump in me while his thumb gives attention to my clit. I ride along Ez’s hand getting closer and closer to my climax. His fingers feel like magic, hitting every sensitive part. I’m arching from the immense pressure of pleasure that’s fighting to be released. Just as I’m reaching the edge a ringing freezes Ez’s actions. Ezekiel looks to me, then to his phone across the room on the dresser, then back to me. “Don’t you even think about it,” The need for release takes over my emotional state.

Ez kisses my forehead, “Lo siento mi amor.” (I'm sorry my love) He climbs off of the bed making his way to the dresser and answers his phone. He turns away from me talking low to the person on the receiving end. I don't know if it’s my sexual frustrations or the fact that he’s acting sneaky but something was definitely up. Ez’s hush conversation ends as he rushes to get his clothes on. I sit up worried, “Is something wrong with the club? Is Angel alright? Bishop?” Here I am frustrated since we didn’t finish, yet my Mayan family could need help. Even worse they could be hurt. God I’m so selfish.

“No hermosa, everyone is fine. The club needs me for a run. I can’t say no to them,” He eases my mind. “Rest baby, I’ll be back before you know it.” He kisses my head rubbing the crease on my forehead.

“Be careful, I know it's just a run but things can go bad so quick, so please be careful.” I hug him snuggling my head to his chest hearing his beautiful heart beat.

He rubs my back holding me close, “See you in a few, sleep mi corazon” He takes my face in his large hands planting a soft kiss to my lips. After a brief moment he lets go and grabs his kutte from the corner chair. I hear the door close seconds later and sigh sadly. He just left and I’m missing him like crazy. I’m so whipped. Maybe I should show him how bad I’m missing him.

Grabbing my vibrator from the nightstand drawer, and setting my phone on the stand to catch all my naughty actions. I flip the switch to High on my vibrator moving it along my wet slit. The vibration re-excites my sensitive clit, as I rub it through my folds, lubing it up. My other hand finds my breast playing and tugging my nipple. “Ezekiel I want you so bad baby” I moan imagining his hands, his tongue, his huge thick cock. “I want you fucking every bit of me to pieces.” I rub against the vibrator gathering friction on the bundle of nerves. Feeling tired of waiting for release I thrust the vibrator into me. Not stopping to get used to the size, I thrust it fast in and out of me hitting my g-spot repeatedly. Taking my hand away from my breast I moved it down to my clit rubbing the sensitive bud to push me over the edge. “Fuck! Right there Ezekiel!” I moan arching my back. A split second later the burst of release and pleasure fills my body. I take the vibrator out seeing my cum drip along the sleek tool to the tip as I rub my orgasm out. “Would’ve been better if you were actually here,” I look at the camera. “I miss you, baby. Come home soon. I love you,” I blow a kiss toward the camera and end the recording.

After a long hot shower, I lather myself in lotion and get dressed. Checking how the naughty video looks, I send it to Ez satisfied with the results. A ding sounds from across the room. Investigating where the sound came from leads to Ez’s forgotten phone. For someone with great memory he forgets a lot of stuff. I’ll call Angel to let Ez know.

“Hey princess, you finally wise up and realize I’m the hottest Reyes?” Angel answers.

I roll my eyes laughing, “Sadly you’re mistaken Angel, Philippe will always be number one.”

“I’m gonna tell Ez you said that.”

“What makes you think Ez doesn’t know,” I smirk.

“Gross” he groans is distaste.

“Like your face. Anywho, how did the run go?”

“What run? Everyone is given the day off until the party tonight”

Confusion wracks my brain, “none of you went on a run this morning?”

“Not that I know of. What’s wrong?” He asks worriedly.

“Uh nothing, I just thought Ezekiel was with you and the guys. My mistake, sorry to bother you Angel.”

“You’re no bother princess, let me know if you need anything.”

“Okay thanks Angel, bye.” My heart sinks. Ez lied to me. He actually lied and broke his promise. Why would he do that. It has to be important if he needed to lie to me. Yea that’s it.

I look towards his phone thinking back to who he was talking to earlier. If it wasn’t the club then who? Going against my conscience I look through his messages to see Emily pop up on his recent. The messages showing meet up places on days Ez left early to do club business or met up with his dad. My heart is breaking into pieces. Shattering even more with the lies and betrayal. He knew how I felt about starting this relationship, about the trust issues, and trauma. He knew every part of me yet decided to destroy all that was built between us. Liquid drips onto my arms, I wipe my eyes not realizing the tears pouring. I don’t want to cry. I shouldn’t cry. Not over someone who didn’t truly love me. Yet I cry for the love that I gave him. I cry for being dumb enough to fall so hard for him, for giving my all to him.

~Months prior~

Slowly slipping out of strong arms I reach for my shirt and panties laying across the floor. Trying to be stealthy, I look for my missing shorts. How can someone lose shorts in a trailer?! There’s literally no way it’s too small, but of course my luck. I yelp as I feel myself being pulled back into a warm chest. Ez chuckles beside me, happy to catch me by surprise. “Buenos dias hermosa” (good morning beautiful) He kisses my temple leading more down the curve of my neck.

I hit his firm chest, “You scared me half to death, jerk!” Trying to hold back my smile, but Ezekiel being Ezekiel can see right through it.

His hand frames the side of my face as his thumb lightly trails across my bottom lip. “You weren’t trying to leave without saying goodbye were you?” His brown eyes bore into mine taking in every feature.

Not able to lie to him, “Yes, but only to get to the office before Chucky,” I explain while trying to climb off the bed again only to be pulled back to straddling Ez’s waist. “This is what got us in this situation in the first place, Reyes,” pointing to our current position.

His big hands slowly crawl their way up my bare thighs causing shivers to run up my spine. “You’re too irresistible, and you didn’t seem to mind it. I do remember you begging for more.”

Curse his memory. I hit his chest, ”Not my fault you kept following me around, I felt bad. You were like a lost puppy.” I smile thinking back to the first day we met. “Speaking of memory, where are my shorts?”

A mischievous smirk slips across his lips, “now what do I get if I tell you?” His hand now on my ass, pushing me slightly on his erection.

I jokingly ponder his question, grinding my hips slowly to tease, while tapping my chin in a thinking motion. “Hmm.. Not getting caught by Bishop, nor beaten to death. Oh and possibly get buried in the desert.” His smirk falls off his face. “But knowing Bishop he’ll probably castrate you first,” I grin thinking how protective the Mayan President can be.

He groans, pulling my shorts from behind his pillow. “Take them.”

“You were hiding them!” I laugh pinching his side teasing.

“I didn’t want you leaving,” he taps his finger along my thigh nervously.

“As sweet as that sounds, I don't want your death on my hands if Bishop catches us,” I joke.

“I want Bishop to know,” he states confidently. He sits up having us chest to chest as he watches my features. “I want us to date, be a couple in front of the club, in public. I don't want to hide it,” his hand caresses my face.

“Ezekiel,” I stop his hand. “I can’t do that. I can’t put sheer dumb trust in another person, not with my emotions and body.” Heat fills my chest from the traumatic memories. “I will not put myself in a position to be beaten down and taken advantage of.” Slipping out of his hold, I put my shorts and flats on trying to make a quick exit.

His hand gently wraps around my arm catching my attention. “I don't want you for your beauty and body, you’re so much more than that. You’re so strong and very smart, your humor and wit make you, you.” His arms wrap around my waist pulling me a bit closer to him. “I will never hurt you. I’m not that low life thug. I will never lie to you or make you feel uncomfortable. I respect you so much. Just give me a little trust, I promise you won't regret it,” he begs, his eyes full of love?

A knock on the trailer door interrupts the moment. “It’s Chucky, I brought by coffees for a morning wake up,” he explains happily.

I walk over to the door, opening it coming face to face with Chucky. “Thanks Chucky,” I take the two cups. “Do you mind letting Bishop know that I need to talk with him? He’s gonna wanna know I’m dating his prospect,” I look over to Ez smiling.

“Of course young love is beautiful, I hope to witness it myself one of these days.” Chucky sighs dreamily.

I peck his cheek, “You will Chucky. She’ll be one lucky woman,” I assure him.

Muscled arms snake around my stomach as Ez’s chest warms my back. “Chucky, y/n is gonna be late to clock in. I won't keep her for too long,” he kisses my temple.

“I love you Chucky, thank you!!” I squeal as Ez shuts the door and picks me up kissing me all over the face.

~End of Flashback~

My phone ringing brings me out of my haze. I answer it hearing the one man I didn’t want to contact. “Hey I’m calling from a pay phone, I think I left mine on your dresser. Any way I’ll be by to pick you up for the party tonight in a few minutes.”

I hold back from crying anymore, not wanting to show how hurt I am. “Don't worry about me, I’ll drive over by myself,” trying to keep my voice steady.

“Are you sure the house is on the way.”

On the way from where? Is what kills me. “I’m sure. I’ll see you there, bye.” I hung up before he could get another word in, not able to handle a longer conversation. Grabbing a duffle bag from the closet I pack every belonging of his. Erasing any sign of him from my home. As I fold the last of his shirts, his scent takes me in its embrace. I’m really going to miss him. Holding his shirt to my chest I hug it letting the last of my tears drip away.

After pulling myself together, I toss his stuff in my Jeep and head over to the club house. Chucky opens the gate and greets me. “Lovely night to let loose, huh y/n?”

I can’t help but always feel comfort from Chucky, he’s a true sweetheart. “Indeed Chucky. Make sure you get to enjoy the party a bit too.” I pat his arm before driving into the lot.

Hopping out, I head into the clubhouse to see Bishop playing a card game with Hank and Reaper. I greet the men hugging them one by one, leaving the last to be Bishop. “Can I talk to you in the temple?”

He nods a look of worry flashes across his face, “Of course mija. We’ll be back.” He tells Hank. We walk back to the temple, him taking a seat as I stand. “What’s wrong y/n? Did something happen?” He scopes out my face for any bruise or marks.

“Yes but it's not for you to worry about, Bish. Just letting you know I’ll be in Charming for the next couple of days.”

“Why are you leaving? Did the prospect do something to you?!” He starts to stand up to head toward the door.

I stop him shaking my head, “There is a job opening at the hospital there that I’ve been invited to try out. I think it’s a great opportunity for me since I’m back on my feet.” I explain leaving Ezekiel out of the situation.

“But that’s not the only reason. You look like you’ve been crying. What did the prospect do.” He demands an answer.

“Nothing that deals with the club. He didn’t touch me nor hurt me in any physical way. I can’t deal with being in a relationship, they don’t work well with me.” There’s no point in getting Ez into trouble with the club.

He gets up and embraces me, “If that’s what you want then I can’t stop you. Just make sure you’re doing it for you and not just running away.” He kisses the top of my head.

“I’ll call you when I get to Charming,” I pat his chest. “Please keep this between us, for now?” He nods his head in agreement. “Thank you for everything, El Presidente” I smile leaving him to head back to the Jeep. As I exit the club I come face to face with Ezekiel.

He smiles seeing that it’s me, “There you are hermosa,” he leans down to peck my lips. I step back avoiding the gesture. Confusion washes over him as I step around him to get to my car. He follows close behind, “Hey, wait up!” He grabs my arm only for me to yank away from him. “What’s wrong mi amor?” (my love)

“How was your run?” I steal my voice, staring at his brown orbs.

Worry taking over his emotions, “It was fine, everything went well. I’m okay.”

I scoff shaking my head at his lies. “Here,” pulling his phone out of my pocket and shoves it into his chest. “Emily has been messaging all day.”

Realization flashes through him, “wait baby no it’s not like that!” He tries to grab my hands.

“Don’t touch me. You lost the privilege the moment you decided to lie and sneak around. I don't want any part of your charades.” Tiredness heavy in my voice.

“Let me explain, please,” he pleads. “I didn’t cheat. I only helped her with a business issue,” he explains hurriedly.

“I don't need your explanation nor do I want it, Ezekiel. It’s not fair for you to live in your past, while you tell me to move on from my own. It’s hypocritical of you to think she loves you. Emily is a married woman, she loves Galindo, she’s moved on.” I sigh grabbing his duffle bag of belongings from my car dropping them at his feet. “At least I know I’m not the only stupid one in this relationship.”

“I don't love Emily, I love you, you are my everything. You make everyday worth it. I can’t lose you.”

“The problem, Ezekiel, is I don’t believe you. Your words are just that. Words. No meaning behind them. I’m not gonna give my time and trust to a man who doesn’t respect me. I’m done. It’s over. Don't contact me, don't go to my house.” I rush into the Jeep starting it and backing up out of the lot. The only thought is to drive away and don't look back. If I look, then I know I’ll turn and go back into his arms.

A/N: please feedback and let me know if there should be a part 2

[ichbinspeedo]

Part 3 Dio x Reader (Smut)

Warnings: GORE/BLOOD, NSFW, Marking, Biting, Degrading, Heat, Vaginal/Anal Penetration

So like, I  h a t e  Dio with a passion.  He hot and all but just  s t o p.  Buttttt  I'm also horny soo, Vampire Heat.  Why not.  It's like Omegaverse heat but for vampires, I dunno if it's thing but here it is folks 🎊

It had been 6 months since you joined Dio on his quest to eradicate the Joestar bloodline.  You were somewhat of a maid at the mansion.  Keeping the large estate clean and cooking food for the array of talented servants was part of your daily routine.  Not much to aid in the fighting, but enough to feel helpful.

You were working on cleaning up after tonight's dinner when Enya, a close servant of Dio's, showed up.  "Miss (L/n), Lord Dio requests your presence in the Library.  I suggest you hurry, it seems urgent."  The old woman told you, holding the door open as you walked out with a 'thank you'.

As you approached the large doors leading to the library's main area, you could hear scratching.  The sound sent fear up your spine, and you held your breath as you reached for the doorknob.  As soon as your hand came into contact with the handle, the scratching stopped.  You slowly opened the door, letting your eyes adjust to the darkness and searching for your master.

"L-Lord Dio?  You needed me?"  You called out.  To your right, you heard someone breathing hard.  It sounded distant and somewhat strained.  You quickly moved over to the sound, finding Dio in a leather chair.  His face was flushed and sweaty, breathing ragged as he looked over at you.  "Sir are you alright?"  You asked, genuine worry in your voice.

"Hmm"  He let out a low groan, "Tell me, (Y/n), do you know what 'heat' is?"  You gave him a slight nod.  "Well, with my powers has came... something similar.  Quite the inconvenience if I do say.  You seem like a tough girl, I believe you can take me?"  He questioned with an audible huff, looking down his nose at you.

You tried to swallow the lump in your throat, watching his subtle squirms as he stays seated.  "I-I'm not sure, my Lord.  I've never done anything like this before.."  You responded meekly, fumbling with your fingers.  He let out a chuckle and stood up.  Stride after shaky stride, he made his way over.

"Well I'd hope you hadn't.  I want you to be all mine~"  The vampire whispered in your ear, taking his hand into your hair.  "Now, you'd better be ready cause I won't hold back"  He strained the end of his sentence, pressing himself onto your front.  You were lost for words as the giant of a man tilted your head up and ghosted your lips.  He smirked and leaned down further, sinking his teeth into your neck.

He wrapped his leg behind yours and tripped you to the ground, following you down and climbing on top of you.  Gripping your jaw tightly, he forced his lips onto yours.  Your head fuzzy with newfound pleasure coursing through your veins, you kissed him back.  Mindlessly, you started to run your hand through his hair.

He instantly pulled away and smacked you.  "Did I give you permission to touch me?  If I were in an worse of a mood you'd have lost that arm, love."  Dio caressed the mark he had left on your cheek.  You didn't dare fight against him, knowing that if you'd said something you might end up dead.

"Hmm, I can't have you going around thinking you run this place, now can I?"  He said with a grin, pressing a manicured nail into his bottom lip and chuckling.  "Now, should I strap you down with leather, or plain rope?  It's a hard choice if I do say so myself"  Dio leaned in close to your ear, spreading your legs and rubbing his clothed member on your thigh.  He let out a shaky breath, leaned down and whispered in your ear "Or maybe I could just fuck you so hard you can't move~"

With that, he took a razor sharp nail to the dress you were in, slicing it off of you.  He dug his thumb nails into the sides of the underwear you wore, cutting both the clothes and your skin.  You let out a quiet whimper, feeling a warm liquid spill down onto the floor.  "Tsk tsk, you're making such a mess"  Dio said, forcing your face onto the floor.  He rubbed it onto your freshly spilt blood.  "Clean it, bitch."

You immediately stuck your tongue out and lapped at the smear of blood, frantically trying to please your master.  His large hands gripped your thighs and lifted you so your ass stuck out in the air, and your face was pressed into the ground.  Once you finished cleaning the floor with your tongue, you felt a pair of lips on the cuts Dio had just made.  "Mmnh, you taste just like I'd imagined~  Now lets see if you taste as good here.."

Your eyes widened at the realization of his words, feeling the man behind you shove his face into your now bare pussy.  He got right to work lapping up your fluids, pressing his chin into your throbbing clit.  You let out a surprised moan, quickly biting into your arm to keep quiet.  This earned you a smack onto your ass, Dio digging his claws into the flesh.  He pulled himself away from your core for a moment.

"Don't you dare cover your mouth.  I want everyone to hear you.  I want them to remember hearing your moans every time they look at you.  They need to know how lucky you are~"  He planted a kiss onto the mound of flesh that yearned for attention, but left it at that.  "You know what?  Let's make it even better"

He rolled you over onto your back, and brought his thumb nail up to your chest.  "Scream for me~"  Before you knew it, your master had plunged his now unclothed dick inside you.  Him pounding into you at a fast pace from the start had you breaking instantly.  Screams of pain poured out from your mouth uncontrollably, and Dio started to drag a nail into your skin.  It stung like a bitch, but you knew not to complain.

"Ahh, Lord Dio please!" You shouted out, feeling him carve lines into your chest and between your breasts.  The pain focused up to the new cuts rather than the pounding in your abdomen, letting pure pleasure take over.  Dio leaned in further, lifting your hips up into the air.  You felt your orgasm approaching fast, and apparently Dio did too.

"Ngh- Gonna come already?  You little fucking masochist, you like this don't you!"  He yelled, bringing his hand down on your bleeding backside.  After finishing whatever he decided to carve into you, he stopped his movements.  "Answer the question, brat!"  He spat at you, causing you to wince.

"Ahh please Lord Dio! ��I love it so much, I love you Dio please keep going!"  You shouted, clawing at your head.  The cold floor under you left as he picked you up, sitting in a chair facing a mirror.  He had your back facing him and pressed your legs up to your shoulders.  You could see what he had written on your chest.  'Dio Brando,'  the letters splayed across your chest and stuck out like a sore thumb.  You'd been claimed, and you loved it.

"Watch."  He plunged himself into your backside without warning.  The sudden intrusion made tears spill form your eyes, feeling like you were being torn in half.  "Fuck you're so tight back here!  I could use this more often, you'd like that wouldn't you?  Don't you want your master to fuck you raw everyday?"  You let out garbled moans and nodded quickly.  "This is gonna be your new life.  You're gonna be my little slave you slut~"  He scratched down your thigh, using one had to hold your legs up and the other to reach down and rub your clit harshly.  You leaned your head back into his body and turned your head towards him.  You wanted so badly to kiss this man, but you knew better to ask first.

"Master please let me kiss you, please!  I want you to ruin me please!"  Your shouts echoed throughout the loud room, and your master granted your wish.  He tilted his head towards you, connecting his lips to yours in a passionate kiss as he fucked you from behind.  You could feel your own juices acting as somewhat of a lubricant, knowing that the pain could've been much worse.

The more you moaned into Dio's mouth, the faster he went.  It was like he couldn't help but use your pleasure for his own.  You knew he could kill you at any second, so that small surge of power within you makes you burst with happiness.  His thrusts almost seemed desperate inside you, needy grunts and pants being absorbed into you.  With one more thrust into your tight hole, Dio released his seed deep inside of you, pulling away from your lips to let loose a heavy sigh.

Your face turned into one of dissatisfaction, having not reached your high yet.  The man behind you let out a low chuckle, grip loosening on your hips.

"Why the sad face darling?"  He cooed into your ear, scratching lightly on your bloody stomach.  "The night's only just begun~"

[jawritter]

When The Lights Go Out

Chapter 6

Summary: Life hasn’t been your best friend lately, you lost your job, and are on the verge of losing your apartment. Who knew when you decided to join a Sugar Daddy app that your best friend suggested ina last ditch effort to save your apartment, and not end up on the street, your first and only client would turn your whole world upside down.

Pairing: Mobster!Dean Winchester x Virgin! Reader

Word Count: 2203

Series Warnings: Mob level violence, injured Dean, description of injury, creepy Godfather John Winchester, John is pretty much a douche bag, escort services, virgin reader, lose of virginity and all the insecurities and fun stuff that come with it, age gap (23 year old reader; 40 year old Dean), angst, unrequited/requited love?, language, smut, unprotected smut.

Chapter Warnings: Angst, Fighting, Hurt!Dean, description of injury, blood, swearing, John is a dick, regret. I think that’s it. 

A/N: Beta’d by @deanwanddamons! Thanks so much love!! Please don’t copy my work!! Feedback is golden! Hope you all enjoy this one!! It’s gonna be a little bit of a slow burn y’all, but just hang in there!

(This fic is based on this request: Could you do a Dean x reader where she is 23 and lives alone in her apartment, she gets fired and can loose her house, her friend tells her about a sugar daddy app, she makes a profile and Dean 40, contacts her, she is virgin and don’t offers sex, Dean is billionaire business man and needs a girl for his business parties,the reader is really shy, blushes a lot, they fall in love, he takes her to a trip and makes love to her on a private island, could it be a series?)

Want more? Check out my masterlist!!

***MASTERLIST***

***SERIES MASTERLIST***

Sitting in the chair that was facing the window that looked out on the dark lawn below from Dean’s room, you shove the peppermint tea that Jess had brought up to you a little further away. She was just trying to make you better, and you knew that, but you didn’t think there was anything anyone could do to make you feel better. Especially when none of them knew what was really wrong with you. They all thought that you were just nervous about Dean’s job today, but that was so far from the truth.

Dean’s little revelation before he disappeared in the bathroom was the last thing he’d  said to you last night, and when you finally cried yourself to sleep, you were pretty sure he’d just chosen to sleep in the bathroom and not come out to talk to you. 

He was so angry that you were scared to go and try to talk to him, and when you woke up this morning, Dean and John were already long gone. 

A knock on the door and Jess’ entry pulled you from your thoughts as she made her way to sit down on the chair next to you. 

“Hey you. How are you holding up?”

You shook your head and tried to stop the stinging tears that threatened to spill over the surface from falling.

“I’m okay, just stressed.” you lied, pulling your blanket up to your neck like it could hide your shame. If something happened to Dean today, you’d never forgive yourself. He’d done and given so much to keep you safe, and you pretty much told him last night that you hoped he died. God how you wanted to take it all back, do it all different. 

“John and Dean will be just fine. High table meetings are always stressful and dangerous, because the Campbells will be there, and they like to cause problems with John.They still blame him for Dean and Sam’s mom’s death in that house fire, but this isn’t like it’s something they haven’t dealt with before, and by tonight he will be here, safe and sound.”

Swallowing the lump in your throat you nod your head. You hoped with everything in you that she was right, and that they would make it home. You didn't understand all of this stuff, but you knew that if you became John’s you were probably fucked in ever since of the word, if you even lived through the guilt of never giving Dean the chance he deserved. 

You made a promise to yourself, that if he lived through this, and everything worked out okay, you’d give him that chance. Let yourself fall for him like you were doing before you were forced to move in here. Maybe even get to be happy with him.

Jess put a comforting hand on our shoulder and stood from her seat. 

“Sam and I are about to have a Friends marathon in the living area. Want to join us?” she asked, and you forced a smile in return.

“Maybe in a little bit. I think I’m gonna try and take a shower, see if I can scald away some of this stress.” you tell her, and she gives you a warm smile before leaving you to your thoughts. 

Unwrapping yourself from your cocoon of blankets, you wander your way to the bathroom. You didn’t even have time to start the shower, when you heard a blood curdling  scream from the down stairs part of the house. 

Your heart stopped in your chest, and you ran towards the staircase, coming to the landing just in time to see John and Sam hauling a very bloody Dean through the front door, and towards what they called the medical area of the house. 

For just a moment you were rooted in your spot, unable to make your feet move, as absolute horror gripped you.

You don’t even know really what made feet move, but you numbly made your way towards the yelling, not even really paying attention to what they were saying or the man in a suit that ran past you toward him, though you did note that they were calling him Nick.

When you entered the room the horror that greeted you made the bile rise in your throat. 

They had Dean stretched out on a table, his shirt ripped open, blood pouring from his stomach in a way that you couldn’t really even see the injury, but you knew it was bad. Nick circled the table, yelling commands at Sam that you didn’t even hear over the ringing in your ears.

Nick's British accent was cut off by John’s deep voice, bringing you back to your senses.

“Y/N! GET YOUR ASS OVER HERE, AND COMFORT MY SON! KEEP HIM CALM!”

Your attention snapped from the long, deep gash in Dean’s stomach, to the green eyes that were boring into yours. 

Violence isn't something you were accustomed to. You had never seen anyone hurt that bad in real life, but aside from the blood, and the gore of the cut, it was the hurt in his eyes that made your heart shatter. 

He was staring at you, his eyes almost as red as his stomach, the piercing green duller than normal, eyes wet as if he wanted to cry, but wouldn’t allow himself to. 

You staggered a step towards him, and Dean lifted his hand shakily in our direction. That just made it all hurt worse. 

Grabbing his hand in yours, you card your fingers through his hair, keep your eyes locked on his, as Nick and Sam move around behind you, keeping your back to the wound on Dean’s stomach, and focusing on his face, John standing over your shoulder, watching everything closely. 

“Dean, oh my God, I’m so, sorry.” you said in almost a whisper, shock evident in your voice. 

Dean didn’t answer, just gritted his teeth, and closed his eyes against the pain radiating through his body.

“Gonna have to stitch him up here John. He’s not going to make it to a hospital, but it doesn’t look like anything internal was damaged.” Nick said, and John just nodded above you. 

“You...You’re not going to put him to sleep?” you ask as Nick and Sam prepared needles full of brown liquid.

“Can’t do that. He’s lost too much blood, but don’t worry sweetheart, we’re gonna numb him up real good.” Nick said, Jess made her way to the other side of Dean’s head across the table. 

“Nick’s the family doctor of shorts. Everything’s gonna be fine.” she tries to assure you. 

You try and keep the horror and trembling under control. Focusing on Dean’s eyes, you see one large tear roll down his face as Nick and Sam move closer to his wound. His grip tightens on your hand, but he didn’t scream at what surely was the unbearable pain of the needles entering his wound before the numbing medicine could spread. Sam worked at putting an IV in his free arm next to Jess. 

Once the shots were done it seemed like it took them forever to stitch up him, and Dean’s eyes were getting heavy.  Nick assured you it was just the morphine, and not the blood loss. 

“What went wrong out there?” Sam asked, helping Nick wrap his brother’s wound once the stitching was done with thick antibiotic ointments, and gauze 

“Believe it or not, that didn’t happen at the meeting. We stopped to get gas at a station just outside of town, and some of Sammual’s boys jumped him. They weren't all that happy about the high tables approval of Y/N here, and they thought they’d take it out on Dean.”

Sam gritted his teeth and nodded his head. 

“Don’t worry son this isn’t over, they will pay for this.” John assured him, and Jess put her hand on his shoulder to calm him. 

“You on the other hand,” John said, leering at you as Nick finished up Dean’s wound, “clean up my son! Make sure he’s taken care of! He is your responsibility. If something happens to him, I swear to God your next.” 

John left the room his heavy footsteps echoing as Nick and Sam lifted Dean carefully in front of the table they’d been working on him on. Making their way up the stairs, and into your shared room they laid him down carefully on the bed, before Nick hooked up the bags of fluid and a bag of antibiotics to his IV.

Dean barely moved, or acknowledged what they were doing to him, which scared you, but no one else seemed concerned. 

“I’ll be back in four hours to give him another round of Morphine. I’ll go grab some Ambian to help him stay asleep. He needs the rest. Don’t worry sweetheart, he’s going to be just fine.” Nick said, giving you a pat on the back before disappearing to go and get the sleeping aid he’d referred to, returning only long enough to give it to him, and leave. 

Crawling carefully in the bed next to you, you carded your fingers through Dean’s tousled hair, his green eyes fluttering open to look at you. 

“I’m sorry Dean, this is all my fault, and I’ve treated you horribly. I wish I could take it all back.” you tell him, tears falling freely down your face as his hand reaches for you like a scared child that has been hurt, looking for comfort. 

“S’Okay, I shouldn’t have snapped at you last night. This hasn’t been easy for you, I know that. I’m just glad I didn’t die before I got to see you again.” he mumbled, his eyes heavy as he fought against the medication.

Carefully as possible, you slip your arm around his head, pulling him close to you as he loses the battle against consciousness. 

You had a second chance with Dean, and you were determined not to fuck it up this time, this time you would be everything he deserved. 

The sound of your bedroom door opening caught your attention as light flooded the dark room where Dean and yourself were laying. Sam’s overly tall figure slipped inside, and shut the door behind him before making his way to the bed with the small desk chair in tow, sitting it next to his brother's side of the bed, before flopping down in it. 

Dean was not a small man by any means, but next to his “little” brother, he looked so small, especially laying on the bed with his stomach sewn shut, and an IV leading from his arm. 

“Did you finish getting him undressed?” Sam asked, and you suddenly felt stupid. You didn't even think about his slacks and shoes that were still on his feet. 

“Oh God, I didn’t think about that.” You said, ripping the cover off of him as gently as you could, and working to take his shoes off as Sam stood and help you undo his slacks, slipping them down his long bowed legs, leaving him just in his tight, black boxers before the two of you covered him back up, and you settle back down next to him.

“You know, John catches you in here, it's my ass. You heard what he said.” you tell Sam in a hushed whisper, and Sam chuckled darkly. 

“Don’t worry about John. He better not tell me shit about coming to check on my brother.” Sam said darkly, and that for some reason was laced with a promise more lethal than anything John had said downstairs. 

“Why did they do this Sam, why do they hate him so much.” you ask, watching as Dean shifted closer to you in his sleep, unconsciously�� seeking comfort from you, even through all the drugs they had him on. 

“Because Samual Cambell is a narcissistic dick who can’t let the past go.” Sam said darkly.

“He still blames your dad for your mom’s death?” you ask, settling Dean’s head back on your shoulder. 

“Yep, that’s some of it. Some of it is  he’s just a heartless dick, who wants to have all the power. He hated my dad even when my mom was alive from what I’m told. I don’t really remember as she died when I was just a baby. I can tell you this, no man in his right mind would put a death order on his own fucking grandson, much less the son of John Winchester. He will pay for this Y/N, I promise you. Just worry about getting Dean better. We will take care of the rest.” Sam said, standing up from his chair, and making his way towards the door, stopping just short of opening it.

“You know, Dean really does love you, I’ve never seen him like this before. I just feel like you needed to hear that.” Sam said, before disappearing into the hallway. 

God, you hoped he was telling the truth, because right now, you were pretty sure you had fallen from him the moment you climbed out of his SUV, and you were too big of a coward to admit it to yourself, until you almost lost him.

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[delirious-and-slightly-murderous]

For the WIP ask game: please tell us something about Procrastinating Painter and exasperated but horny manager?

Hi Anon!😊 So glad you asked about this one.

So this is, at its core, a character study. 

A little tidbit of information about me: I am a master procrastinator. And not only when it comes to writing but in all aspects of my life too. I am lazy. If I can do it later, I will do it later. And I'll keep pushing it back as much as I can until I can't anymore. Thanks to this I've become a master at finishing projects with very little time and a deadline hanging like a sword of Damocles over my head. I work best under pressure. That's why I sometimes lose interest in my fics so easily. If I don't have a deadline it's very hard for me to get stuff done.

Soooooo, all this to say that one day, while I was despairing over my WIPs I started thinking about the different ways an artist or creator can deal with procrastination. And then, because every idea I get now mostly concerns or can be applied to Berlermo, I said to myself: But what if Andrés was a master procrastinator like me?

And BAM!

This thing was born. (Also I find it kinda ironic and hilarious that a character study in procrastination ended up as a WIP, don't you agree?).

So the basic idea is that Andrés is a moderately known and successful painter. He's not as successful as he could be because he's very particular and picky with his work and who he works for. So he only paints when he wants to and what he wants to. Which would be fine except that he is a procrastinator so his work is scarce.

Enter Martín, who is Andrés' best friend/agent and kinda friend with benefits. He is the one in charge of making sure Andrés gets stuff done even if the man in question does not want to. This means that Martín lives in a constant state of awe at Andrés' genius and talent, and also exasperation because of his laziness and inability to do what he's told. Also he is very much in love with Andrés and hates himself because of it.

So the fic in itself would cover the span of a month while Martín tries to get Andrés to work on an important commision for a famous gallery. From him we would see his struggle with perceived unrequited feelings for a man he feels he cannot fully come to understand. Andrés would procrastinate and we would see all his process and struggle with it. Until a couple days before the exhibition when Martín is about to kill Andrés, his genius strikes and he goes and produces a masterpiece (a masterpiece that may or may not be inspired by Martín).

So mostly it would focus on the art, the feels, the procrastination, and then the mad rush to get things done in time. (And I'd like to think I'd write it with a very oniric feel to it. Oh and also smut, so very like soulful and poetic smut. But well I don't think that's gonna happen.)

(Oh and also a happy ending where they end up confessing their feelings because I'm weak like that😁.)

So here have a snippet:

Martín started pacing and swore as he narrowly avoided walking into a bucket of bright red paint. 

The room was positively tiny and he still couldn't understand why Andrés insisted on spending all his time in it like some kind of recluse. The monastery was big enough to accommodate docens of people at one time but Andrés was happy to cram himself in the tiniest, most uncomfortable room he could find.  

He wondered how Andrés could live like that. The room was cramped, cluttered with books, canvases, sculptures and various bits of artistic trash. It looked like a museum's warehouse, if museums threw invaluable works in a warehouse without thought or care to what became of them. As he walked he deftly avoided discarded pieces of paper, empty paint tubes and old brushes. It was dirty, paint and dust covered every surface. The space not taken up by art supplies was used by a mattress on the ground shoved unceremoniously into a corner, a small coffee table and an enormous oak work table that seemed to be the centerpiece of the place.

Amongst all this chaos there stood Andrés, serene and unperturbed, unaware of his surroundings. With a brush on each hand and one clenched between his teeth. Before him a half painted canvas stretched like a vision of doom. The colors bleak and depressing. A mirage of untold horrors that sucked the life out of the area around it. The air seeming to grow heavier, dense and charged, stilted and dead. 

Martín could feel it in his bones, the emotions Andrés put into his work always expanding and resonating within him, turning him into a vessel for what Andrés couldn't say.

He was choking on an invisible weight and fought against it to unfurl his tongue from the dry cavern of his mouth and produce a sound. He knew the other man wasn't happy and that his intervention would only make things worse. But he had to shatter the looming tension before it swallowed him whole.

"Why don't you find another place. Maybe an apartment closer to the city."

Andrés didn't stop in his work but his shoulders tensed imperceptibly and the fingers of his left hand started drumming against the brush he wasn't currently using. He shook his head softly, his motions fluid and liquid. A delicate movement of silk floating in water.

"I'm not moving in with you Martín."

Martín closed his eyes, the bright hot pang in his heart a familiar caress at this point. He was like an addict, his feelings for Andrés a raging force that ravages his body and leaves him empty and aching. And still he willingly comes back for more, each time climbing higher with the knowledge that when he hits the ground it'll be more violent than before, the pieces impossible to pick up.

"That's not what I'm asking, you know it's not."

Andrés dipped his brush in a mug near his hand, washing out the dark paint, flicking the brush and creating a splatter of black bottomless dots, giving birth to a galaxy in the space that separates them.

"Don't ask things for which you know you won't like the answer."

Andrés' strokes become forceful then, the brush colliding against the canvas in an uncontrolled manner. The anger and frustration behind the movement captures Martín. He feels like a chick standing at the precipice. He can jump and take flight, taste the freedom and exhilaration of the wind rushing through his wings. Closing his eyes and diving not knowing if he's ready to fly the possibility of the deadly agonising crash a dark shadow at his back.

He was saved from having to make the choice by Andrés humming lowly in his throat.

"I love you Martín, but I'm not going to give up my life for you."

That familiar caress is back and the little chick is safely back in it's nest. The precipice dissolving and the unforgivable ground surging up to meet him, ripping him away in a manner more painful than any death. He shrugs, hunching in on himself, knowing the matter is closed and forgotten.

"Pass me my coffee." He demands, plastering a fake plastic smile on his face. While Andrés chooses to ignore the burning heat of things left unsaid that slowly melt the plastic away. Leaving behind a partially uncovered picture of a grotesque truth.

"I'm painting." Came the absent minded reply, the willful ignorance of man with a staggering lucidity of all the consequences of his actions.

Martín got up stretching legs that felt numb, forced to carry the weight of an unfathomable burden. He slowly walked towards Andrés, his steps the slow and lifeless cadence of the condemned, prolonging the inevitable in their approach to the gallows. 

He took his mug and took a long and deep sip of the liquid inside. He became aware of his mistake when Andrés turned to him with a steaming mug in his hand and a confused frown wrinkling his brow. 

Martín immediately opened his mouth, the dark paint water running down his chin like vomit, maring his shirt and staining skin and teeth. In the sickly pale light of the naked bulb, with the shadows under his eyes and the lingering hurt in his being, it made him look like a corpse throwing up thick and rotten blood.

Andrés laughed, the sound had a hysterically joyful quality to it, a discordant note in the gloominess of the room. It immediately invaded them, running through every crevice, every nook and cranny, injecting light and giving back the life that had been sucked out by the oppressing darkness.

The room changed completely, becoming bright and warm without suffering any real physical changes. It was infectious, contaging Martín and changing him from the inside out without his notice.

The rest of the afternoon was spent in a comfortable silence. And the next time Martín stopped for a visit the room felt warm and homely, cosy and welcoming. He also found that the mugs had marker scribbles on them. One read 'Martín' the other 'Paint Water'.

It put a small smile on his face.

Well Anon, it's really shitty right now and needs a lot of polishing and editing, but I hope you enjoy this and that it doesn't disappoint.☺

[carryonmywaywardwriters]

The Boy King’s Concubine - Sam x Reader

A/N: Found it! Here you go, anon! Mildly cleaned it up real quick. As always, feedback is incredible. And, I hope you all enjoy <3

PSA: I am NOT a minor friendly blog. If you are below 18, please come back when you’re older. I don’t want to lose my blog because you were too eager to grow up. If I discover you, I WILL block.

Warnings: Pure porn. Noncon. Knife Play. Blood Kink. Choking. Unprotected sex. Read at your own discretion! 

Word Count: Roughly 3,000

Boy King. The name he'd resisted for so long settled over the room. Demons would do anything to please him. Their blood ran through his veins. Giving his powers an added boost. Grooming him for the role he'd soon take on. Lucifer's vessel.

It should have been terrifying. But, the power was incredible. It ate at him from the inside out like a drug. He couldn't get enough. Even when it made him more primal. Dark inside.

“Your majesty,” A lower level, suited demon bowed in front of Sam at the table he was resting at. Making him drop the fork he'd been digging into the best meal he'd tasted in his life. Anyone who thought hell was simply dark and dreary had no clue just how seductive it could be on the other side.

“You may speak,” The once Winchester leaned back in his thrown-like chair, letting his chin rest on his knuckles as his ankle rested over his knee. Waiting to see what would be offered this time.

He was a bit stiff in his delivery. Sounding less like himself than usual. But, that's what unexpected royalty did to a person. He had an image to live up to now. He had to be clear. Concise. Perhaps even a little over the top.

“We thought you'd like...a present. For your newfound place, here.” At those words, his brow lifted. The demon let out a low whistle. Drawing forth his gift.

Ruby's lips curled up in the corner where she resided, arms tight against her chest. Knowing what was coming. After all? She'd taken special care in crafting the way to staying out of the so-called king's bed. At least, until the proper king took what belonged to him.

One by one, Sam watched a line of collared, naked women walk into the room. Hips swung. Breasts bounced. Hair fluttered. The deep hazel that was beginning to develop black on and off widened in unadulterated awe. His leg dropped to the ground as he straightened in his chair.

“Play toys, huh?” Instantly, he settled further back into his seat. Regaining some of the lost composure. Letting his eyes drift over each and every body. Already feeling his dick twitch to life. “Did they volunteer for the job?”

“They were...recruited.” Came the smug answer. Leaving it clear that the consent was there. Almost. To the demon it didn't really matter in the end. As long as the boy was left content. And, according to the dark haired female form resting in the back, the Winchester was very happy when there was a soft body for him to plow into.

You wanted to scream. To cry. Anything. But, instead, your face was held in the seductive mask the spell twisted your features into. Not that the man in front of you seemed to care. His dark, hungry eyes scanned over your bared flesh, and the others, with undeniable interest.

The recruitment had been simple. Women that wouldn't be missed from the selection of open contracts. It was nothing for the demons to make them choose. Hell hounds. Or to go with them. It had all seemed so simple to just go. Figuring you'd just be taken into Hell for the rest of existence without feeling the pain of that awful death. If only you'd realized what they'd really planned. You would've taken the hounds. Anything over becoming a demon's sex slave.

Your new owner had a face that could have been kind. Soft, bouncy hair that curled at the ends. Not too plush, but not too thin pink lips. Yet, there was something in those eyes. In the way he held his long, lean body beneath the almost baggy clothes. He was dangerous.

“Which one is it gonna be tonight, Sammy?” A woman's voice in the back gave up the man's name. Even that title seemed too kind for the eyes that collided with yours.

It was light enough for you to see the splashing of colors throughout his iris. Bright, friendly, and then a flicker of black danced through them. Not quite taking hold. It told you that he wasn't quite the creature you had initially thought. You didn't know if that made it all better, or that much worse.

He hummed, narrowing his gaze over his choices. Ruby had helped choose a diverse selection. Women of different colors, body shapes, and heights lined in front of him. When his gaze settled back on you, your stomach took a dive. As if it wasn't obvious enough, he licked his lips and nodded your way.

It was an odd sensation. You could feel the warm, sticky air on your skin. Smell the rich aromas of the food mixing with the sulfuric scent of demon as the table was cleared for the being in power. Everything in your sight was vividly real. Yet, as you started to move forward, there was a detachment. Lack of control. Even without him saying it, you knew. Sure, enough, the order was delivered at that first step.

“You...come here.” Your legs shook. You tried to tell yourself it was the fear you felt. But, really? It was the excitement your body had no choice but to carry. When you stood in front of him, long, strong fingers brushed over the front of you. From collar bone to clit. So gently that you could almost tell yourself you'd imagined it. If only he didn't speak. “Already wet...” He tsked out in approval as his digits pushed firmer along your slit, feeling the dampness that had collected there. “I'll take this one.” More ominous words had never been spoken.

Silently, he guided you until your ass was almost pressed against the table. Just close enough that your hands could brace on it from behind while you rested between his knees. His hot mouth was on your already hardened nipple, then. Sliding it between his teeth as his other grip reached around to nudge your lower back closer. Stretching your body a little further. A broken gasp left your lips, turning towards a moan at the rough touch.

“I'll get the other girls settled in, then,” Ruby kicked off the wall, striding up to you for only a moment. Gripping your chin in her hand as Sam released the throbbing nub from his mouth. Her dark eyes looked over your lust parted lips before moving up to the E/C eyes. You wondered if she could see your real emotions. “Break her in good, Sam.” A slap to your ass made you jump as she walked away. Hips swinging as she led the other women out. If she could see what rested beneath the surface, she didn't care.

The door shutting sealed you in, but it didn't empty the room. No, there were still other demons resting around. Watching in interest as their new master stood to his full height to begin the game.

“Where do I even start with you?” The low, deadly voice asked as he towered over you. Too tall. Deadly. Demanding your attention back on what was to come rather than the spectators. A small machete was lifted off the table, making your breathing stutter. “Here?” The tip of it danced over the collar bone. Then, it began a terrifying glide lower. Cool metal tracing down the slope of your breast. He stopped at the still wet nipple he'd nibbled on just moments before. “How about here?”

The stranger didn't hesitate to dive right in to what he wanted. A controlled flick of his wrist made you gasp. Instantly, a  large drop of blood welled up. The liquid slid down across the sensitive flesh in a crimson path. Staining your skin.

Before it could hit the ground, that warm mouth from before caught it. He lapped up the hot liquid all the way up to the damaged flesh of your nipple before sucking it into his mouth. Swirling the salty tang of your skin and the irony fluid in the damp heat. A quiet groan left your lips as your treacherous body leaned into the touch. The brief pain only forgotten by your nerves. Your mind far from blank at the assault.

Low shivers passed through you when that blade of his was back on the move. Sliding down over your stomach. Earning a sharp inhale from your parted lips. He must have liked the sound of that. Sam growled in approval before biting at your tender skin.

As the cool metal slid upwards, more smaller, needle point wounds began to mar your flesh. Sharp stinging dancing across the length of you. The pain was nothing to your body, though, as that slick tongue of his followed the path he'd led. Smearing the sticky red widely before he found his way to your second areola. Tracing it with that damned tongue of his.

You closed your eyes. Silently willing yourself to be able to escape. Or, at the least, to not enjoy the sick game. But, that damned spell held you captive.

It shouldn't have been so erotic. Your wild heart beat should've come from fear. Not from your body turning into a pool of quivering lust. Yet, that's what his actions inspired. The heat of it burned through every nerve.

Then, the machete started moving lower. Ghosting down to parts of you that were too sensitive. As the sharp tip nudged near your clit, your mouth opened. Finally, you could utter something.

“Sam!” Internally you cursed at the wanton moan that had emerged. He, however, seemed awfully pleased at the sound of it. Pausing, he ripped away from your nipple with a loud, effective pop. Staring into your eyes. Demanding everything he was taking and then some.

“You like that?” Hardly. You were dying at every touch. Not that anyone would have believed it if they'd looked between your thighs. The arousal was visible. Trailing down the soft skin. Slick and inviting.

“N...Yes.” It had been so close. One simple word should have been easy enough to mutter. Your eyes watered, but no tears would come. Not unless they were tears of pleasure. The spell would accept no less.

“Then, you'll love this.” He purred out, flipping the blade around rapidly. Handle up. It was less scary that way. You could handle it. Or, so you thought.

“Fuck,” The cry left your lips as suddenly as the unforgiving, hand warmed handle penetrated your entrance.

Your nails dug into the wood behind you as a too pink tongue slid over Sam's lips. He liked the sight in front of him. That much was clear. A jerk of your hips made the stiff object push in deeper. The edge of the blade held a little too close for comfort. All part of the game. Your thighs widened after a long slice appeared on your thigh.

Sam pinched the blade better so he could fuck you with it, properly. His eyes were darkening as he watched the slick coat the dark appendage as it pushed in and out of your body. How it parted your lower, swollen lips with each brush. How the blood slid down your leg in small streams while staining edge of the blade.

“So fucking wet for your new master,” He murmured, admiring the way your body sucked at the tool. Listened to the wet suction of it.“Gonna squeeze around my dick like that?” A whimper escaped you between the broken gasps. “I can feel you trying to pull this deeper...gonna take every inch of me, aren't ya?”

God no. If only your body agreed. It was hungry for everything he'd offer. You had no doubts that when he did as he wanted, he'd be buried to the root in the end. And, you'd just take it. Like the good little girl you were forced into being. Your knees wanted to buckle at the thought, but you didn't dare let them.

The relief you gained from the knife being tugged away from you was short lived. Clattering to the floor in the sudden hurry. Sam didn't bother to undress completely. His shirt was yanked over his head and tossed to the side. Leaving the rippling muscles to your eyes. Show casing that deadly strength you'd known was there all along. The belt buckle jingled as he tore open his pants. Too excited to hold back any longer.

“Oh my god,” The only honest thought you had left your lips. He was big. Too big. Long and thick. Every man, and woman's, dream cock sat heavily arched in front of you. Leaking in eagerness. “Please...” The plea ended before you could beg him to stay away.

His grip was harsh as he pushed you up and then down flat on the table, “Hold here.” Your hands did as told. Grasping into the back of your thighs to leave your body open and waiting. “So fucking good.” You felt the flared head of him rub through your folds. Letting your body's natural lubricant coat him before he caught on the edge of your opening. He groaned at the feeling. A deep guttural sound that sent another pang of arousal through your body. The scream you'd been withholding made its way out when he slammed into you in one smooth motion. So fast your body didn't have a chance to adjust. “Fuck, baby, you're so tight.” He gritted out.

His hands dug into the meat of your ribs as you arched at the fullness inside of you. So tightly there was sure to be bruises when he was done. The deep push of his heavy dick against your cervix as he began to find his rhythm made you cry out, again, brokenly. Your eyes made contact with one of the demons behind you as your blood stained tits bounced. The smug expression paired with the black eyes turned your stomach.

The wet, slapping of his skin against yours was a mix of your life force and arousal spreading over both your body and his. When you found it in you to lift your head, you could see the deep red stain spreading across his 'v' as it met with your thigh's wound over and over again.

Sweat stuck to his brow. Forcing the hair near it to cling to his face. Sam snarled as he thrust roughly. Accepting the way your body tightened around him. Seeking his own pleasure rather than being concerned for your own.

In a swift move, he ripped out of your body's hold. Lifted you up, and then flipped you over. Your hair was yanked in his hand, forcing your head back as he slammed back in without a word of warning. Too far gone for the simple gesture.

The position only served to make it tighter. Make him fit better against your g-spot as he shoved deep. The sting at your scalp was mixed with a pleasure that you'd once again blame on the spell. The clawing of your fingers against the table got you nowhere as he rode you hard. Your ass burned from the newfound strength of his thrusts.

Tears were finally able to slide down your cheeks as you screamed his name, and the word 'master' into the air. It was enough to spur him on. His toes dug in, and he filled you somehow deeper. His teeth sank into your shoulder as he tore at the strands that were fisted tightly.

You could feel it building, then. That tight, villainous coil inside of you. Your walls fluttered around Sam. Pulling him in eagerly as your orgasm approached. As he felt it, his hand left your hair. Snaking its way around your throat over the collar that left you as his prisoner.

It started slow. A simple squeeze. Then, all air flow was cut off as his fingers pressed in. You writhed against his hold; the action throwing you back to where he was near splitting you in half.

Second by second, the feeling in your body slipped away. Black appeared around the edges of your vision. You could only think that the man behind you had decided to kill you, and would finish fucking your corpse. Instead, the grip was dropped just before you blacked out.

As the oxygen and blood rushed back to your head, the pressure inside your belly exploded. The orgasm left you wordlessly, hoarsely crying out. Your nails broke as you clawed to seek more friction. The clenching of your body caused Sam's hips to rut a little more unevenly. Setting off every warning bell inside of your head.

“Master...” The whine wasn't even close to what you wanted to say. You wanted to tell him to get off. Not actually get off. Yet, what came past your dry lips was, “Cum inside of me. Please.”

The unholy growl behind you let you know what was approaching. The way you whimpered only made his bruising grip harder. His short, dull nails scratched your flesh open along your back and sides. The thick, heavy weight buried so deep inside of you throbbed. Growing closer to his own end. Instead of resisting, your body milked him.

When the hot cum filled you, you dropped onto the table in defeat. Any fight your mind had held was gone. The demons had won. Their Boy King was more than satisfied. Your contract had been fulfilled. And if they were really lucky? They'd get another vessel out of the deal. Just in case...

Forever: @dean-winchesters-bacon​​​ @supernaturalginger​​​ @lilulo-12​​​ @awesome-badass-cafeteria-sauce​​​ @michaelneedssomemilk​​​ @lemondropirwin​​​ @fanfictionismydeath​​​ @neii3n​​​ @zpandaqueen​​

[avengerscompound]

Done Waiting

Done Waiting: A Captain America Fanfic

Buy me a ☕ Character Pairing:  Steve Rogers x F!Reader

Word Count:  2059

Warnings:  injuries, smut (M|F, virginity loss, oral sex, light bondage, light d/s)

Synopsis:  Steve shows up at your place in the middle of the night. Whatever happened to him has made him no longer want to wait.

Done Waiting

You wake to the bed dipping to the side next to you.  You roll over and open your eyes.  Steve sits staring at the wall.  Back straight not moving.  He’s still in uniform, but even in the diffused light coming in through the curtains, you can see the gash along his back.

“Steve?”  You say, blearily.  Sitting up and reaching for him hesitantly.  It wasn’t unheard of for Steve to sleep in your bed.  You’d been seeing each other for six months now.

Him just showing up like this was unheard of.  Even though it had been six months, you were taking it slow.  He was a virgin and he had this idea that you should wait.  So you were waiting.  The times he had slept over had been just that.  He’d come around for dinner and a movie and you’d fallen asleep.  For him to turn up like this, something was wrong.

“It’s okay.  I just needed to see you.  Go back to sleep.”  He said gently, without turning to actually look at you.

You run your finger along the tear in his uniform and he flinches.  You climb out of bed and switch the light on.  As your eyes adjust you can see the extent of the damage.  His face is bruised and cut.  There are two large gashes over the front of his uniform too and blood has congealed on it.  “Steve, what happened?”  You ask, approaching him slowly.

He looks away from you and shakes his head.  “All those children…”  He mutters.  He says it so quietly that you barely hear.  But you do hear and your heart breaks.

You crouch in front of him and look into his eyes.  “Do you need to talk about it?”  You ask softly.

His eyes flick away from yours.  “I can’t.  I just need to be here.  Is that okay?”

You nod and run your hand down his chest.  Seeing him like this is a little scary.  He’s always been kind and soft with you, but he’s never shown weakness.  “You’ll talk to your therapist though?”

Steve nods briefly.  You start unfastening his uniform and then stand pulling him to his feet.  He doesn’t resist at all.  “Let’s go have a shower.”  You say.

He follows behind you almost on autopilot.  You turn the water on and while it heats up you remove his uniform.  He looks even worse when you finally manage to get it off.  As well as the gashes there is extensive bruising.  Particularly on the left side of his chest.  “Are your ribs broken, Steve?”  You ask.

He shakes his head.  “Just bruising.  It’ll be healed in a day or two.”

You take off your own clothes and pull him under the water.  You start cleaning him.  His gashes are bad and as you gently wipe off the caked blood they start to ooze again.  As you wash him you notice his cock stiffen.  He’s large.  You knew that already from the times you’d been making up and it pressed against you.  Seeing it was a little intimidating though.  Each touch makes it twitch and jump and soon it’s leaking precome.

He starts touching you too.  This is actually the first time you’ve seen each other naked and his hands go to your breasts even as you clean caked blood from him.   Squeezing them and rubbing his thumbs over your areola.  They harden and you let out a soft moan.

You stand and look up at him and he pushes you against the wall.  “I need you.”  He growls.  Kissing you hungrily.   His hands going to your hair and his cock pressing into you.

“Okay.  Okay.”  You manage to get out breathlessly.  “Not in here okay?  Let me patch you up and then whatever you want.  I’ll give it to you.  Okay, baby?”

Steve lets you go and he follows you out of the shower.  He stands passively as you apply butterfly bandages to the cuts and then cover the whole things with gauze.  You lead him to the bedroom and he sits on the side of the bed right where you woke to find him.   You approach him and when you’re within reach he grabs you, pulling you against him and nuzzling at your stomach.  He grabs your robe and unties the tie, pushing it off.  It falls from you falling around your feet.  You push your hands into his hair.  “You’re sure, Steve?  Don’t you want it to be more special?”

“I’m sick of being the better person.  Of denying myself pleasure.  Of having things taken from me and watching people die.  Please.  I need this.”  He pleads looking up at you.  His hands slide down your back to your ass.  Squeezing it.  You feel like this might be a mistake, but you can’t deny him.  Not when he’s feeling like this.  You lean down and kiss him deeply.

You sit down in his lap and gently rock your hips against his.  His cock slides against your pubic mound.   He palms your breasts and licks over your nipples.  You hum just letting him explore you.  As much as this was a first for you, it was much more of a first for him.  

He gazes up at you again and you run your palm down his cheek.  “Can you take control.  I don’t want to be in control right now.”  His voice comes out so softly.  He sounds scared.

“Of course.”  You whisper and bring your lips to his, kissing him heatedly.  You guide him back and he follows eagerly.

He lies back and you straddle his waist kissing his firm chest and throat.  “How in control?”

“Don’t be mean.”  He says.  “You can tell me what to do.  You can tie me up.”

You nod and kiss him again.  You reach for your robe and pull the tie from it.  You bind his wrists together and then tie them to the headboard.  He could easily untie himself.  And even if he couldn’t, he’s Captain America.  You’re not keeping him there against his will.  You run your nails down his forearms and over his biceps before kissing him again.  You start running your nails down his chest, flicking them over his nipples.  Your mouth follows.  Kissing every inch of his science sculpted form.

The way he flexes and clenches each time you touch a sensitive spot is a turn on just on its own.  The way he allows himself to make sounds when he enjoys something, the whimpers and soft moans is something else.  You pussy drips and your fluids smear down his abs.

The way his abdominal muscles contract and release as you move your nails down them and the way they glisten in the light makes your cunt clench.  You move lower and run the point of your tongue up his shaft.  He shudders and his cock jumps.

You take the head of his cock in your mouth.  Flicking your tongue over the slit and tasting his precome.  He mewls and you gaze up at him.  “You look so beautiful.”  He moans.

You take him as deep as you can.  Which to be honest isn’t that much.  Your lips stretching around his girth.  He moans and his hips buck up forcing himself a little further down your throat.  You gag and pull back, drool spilling from your mouth, down his length.

“Oh god!  Sorry!”  He says, straining against his bonds to see if he hurt you.

You give your head a small shake and continue to suck and lick up his length.  You pull off completely and stroke him as you suck and lick at his balls.  The noises he makes are so primal.  He has given himself to you and the pleasure.  He lets out little squeaks.  Loud groans.  Whimpers, moans, growls.   You’re about to stop and move up, you are so wet that little rivulets of moisture have started running down your thighs when Steve speaks.

“Stop, please.  I’m gonna come.”  He begs.

You release his cock and crawl up beside him.  Stalking towards him like a big cat who has her prey in her sights.  “I’m so wet for you, Steve.  Would you like to taste me?”

His arms jerk and his mouth opens with a silent moan.  “Yes, please.  Can I?”

You stick two of your fingers into your aching cunt and remove them slick with your arousal.  You offer them to Steve and he takes them greedily.  Sucking them clean with a moan.  His eyes falling closed and a look of pure pleasure passes over his face.  You pull them free and he looks back to you.

“You want more, baby?”  You ask.  He nods enthusiastically and you straddle his face.  He starts to lap.  Wide at first, like he’s drinking every drop of liquid up. He pushes his tongue inside of you.  You let him for a minute.  This is new for him and he’s trying things out.  

“Not like that, Steve.  Up higher.  Use the point of your tongue.”  You instruct.

He listens carefully, his tongue flicking up your crevice.  When he touches your clit, it sends a jolt through you.  You moan and fall forward a little you put your hands on his and his links his fingers with yours.

You instruct him a little more.  ‘Suck on it.’  ‘Use your teeth but not hard.’  ‘Draw patterns.’  He’s a quick learner and soon he’s trying his own things and you’re moaning and your hips are rocking completely of their own volition.  Your skin beads with sweat and yet you’re covered in goosebumps.  It feels like there is a lead weight in the pit of your gut and each time his tongue flicks over your clit it pushes it until it crashes down and you come, crying out his name.

You shift down and settle over his cock, sliding against it.   You kiss him again slowly and deeply.  Pouring your love for him into it.  Your hands caress his cheeks and push into his hair.

“I love you, Steve.”  You breathe.  “Are you sure this is what you want?”

“Yes, please.”  He whispers.

You slowly guide his cock into you.  It stretches your pussy and there is a burn there like the day you lost your virginity.  You go slow and stop just before you bottom out.  As you sit letting your body adjust you untie his wrists.  He reaches up and cups your breasts.   His thumbs stroke over your nipples.  “I love you.”  He says.

You start to move.  Just slowly rocking your hips.   You keep your eyes on Steve.  He looks at you with lust clouded eyes.  His moans taking over his whole body.  “How are you feeling, Steve?”  You ask.

“Good.  Oh, god!  Feels so good inside you.”  He moans, his eyes falling closed.

“Better than your hand?”  You ask.

“Fuck yes.”  He groans, thrusting up into you.

You smile. “Language, Steve.”

He opens his eyes and looks at you.  Something shifts.  He smiles, but it’s cheeky and you can see he’s plotting something.  He rolls you over and the controls shifts.  It’s all him, thrusting into you.  “Don’t go deeper than you already are.”  You whisper into his ear.

He nods and you let go.  Letting him take what he needs from you.  He sucks and bites at your neck as you wrap your legs around his tiny waist.  “Oh god, Steve.  Yes.”  You cry.  You slip your hand between the two of you and rub your clit, bringing on another orgasm.  Steve must have been close because he suddenly tenses up and releases inside of you.

You hold onto him as his cock stills.  Eventually, he rolls off you and you switch off the light and snuggle down against him.

He tilts your chin up to him and kisses you deeply.  His soft swollen lips caressing yours lovingly.  “I love you so much.”  He whispers as you break apart.

“I love you too, Steve.  Thank you for sharing that with me.  Do you have any regrets?”  You ask.

He smiles, you can see it in the fractured light through the curtains.  But even though his mouth is turned up he still looks sad.  It takes him a little while but when he speaks his voice sounds cracked.  “I think that’s the only thing I don’t have regrets about.”

[misc-headcanons]

Can I have a scenario for Law's wife getting kidnapped by some other pirates while she's pregnant. She killed them all with her dangerous power that the world government wants her dead at all cost. But the Maine's finds her when her water breaks and they are told to kill her and her child while she can't defend herself. Law and his crew finds her and the dead bodys of the Marines, but more marine are coming for back up. How would Law and his crew reacts to her being captured and giving birth?

(This is a long one, by the way--my longest scenario yet! Enjoy :D)

Content warning for some slightly graphic death and bodily fluids (water breaking and all...)

Pregnancy is usually strenuous and complicated, but this was especially true in ____’s case. Ever since the news spread that the Surgeon of Death had a wife, she’d had a target on her back; when they discovered she was pregnant with his child, she’d gained the attention of even more Marines and pirates that were interested in kidnapping her for leverage against her husband. She hadn’t had to worry much, though--even though she was pregnant, she was still a formidable opponent (half the time she had been accosted, she had managed to defeat her kidnappers before Law ran to her aid). Now that she was in her third trimester though, her mobility wasn’t what it used to be and she was more vulnerable.

A small pirate crew had managed to ambush her while she was alone. The captain, known as Silent Tom, had managed to use his affinity for stealth to sneak aboard the Polar Tang while it was docked and had held a chloroform towel over ____’s mouth until she was unconscious. Two of his men helped carry her out and onto their own ship, and a few minutes after they were gone, Bepo had come into ____’s room to check on her; he smelled a faint trail of chemicals and a knocked-over chair, and he immediately ran to find Law. Something was terribly wrong.

____ had woken up with her wrists tied together in front of her, and a group of starved pirates leering at her. “Whatever reason you have for kidnapping me, it’s not worth your heads,” she said calmly. She shifted uncomfortably in her seat and carefully felt around inside one of her shirtsleeves for a concealed knife she carried on her at all times, and Silent Tom scoffed.

“I wouldn’t be so sure,” he replied. “After all, ever since the World Government found out you had Trafalgar Law’s baby inside of ya, your bounty grew pret-ty large.” He pointed a finger at ____’s swollen belly. “We’ll be at New Marineford in a few days. Until then, try not to make a racket.” He knelt down to cup her chin. “I won’t do anything to harm your little brat, but as far as I can tell, ya can deliver a baby with your lips sewn shut.” 

____ quickly cut the ropes tying her wrists and thrust the knife into Silent Tom’s neck. He clutched his throat in alarm and tried to call for his men in the next room, but no sound came out. He fell back onto the floor and quickly bled out, staining the floorboards with his blood. 

____ wiped a stray bit of Tom’s blood from her cheek, and winced as she felt her baby kick inside of her. She gently patted her stomach with her free hand. “I know, honey,” she said softly, “Lot of excitement. Just sit tight for me while Mommy clears this ship, okay? Then we’ll find our way back to Daddy…”

Despite her large undercarriage, she was surprisingly stealthy. One by one, she managed to take out each of the Silent Pirates and toss their bodies overboard before any of the others had noticed something was wrong. She managed to find their navigator and before she disposed of him, she stole his Log Post and put it on her wrist. Once the last pirate was floating face-up in the ocean, she headed to the ship’s main deck to find the helm of the ship and make her way to the nearest island. There was a small DenDen Mushi on a table nearby, and she set it next to a small console by the steering wheel of the ship. She dragged a chair for her to sit on (steering a ship with swollen ankles can really wear you down), and dialed her husband.

Law immediately picked up, expecting a ransom call from whoever had taken her. His breath caught when he heard her voice instead. “Hi, honey,” she said with a slightly weary voice. “We’re okay, for now; I took out the crew, so it’s just me on board. Well, us. They said my bounty’d increased and they were heading to New Marineford.”

“And you’re sure you took them all out?”

“Yep! I counted the occupied hammocks in their sleeping quarters, and I double-checked by counting all the bodies in the water. It’s a small crew, just 8 people.” She glanced down at her Log Pose. “Just sit tight, I’m gonna head back to the island the Tang’s docked at. I’ve only been here for what, an hour or two? Can’t be too far--”

She groaned in pain and doubled over as she felt something wet between her legs. “____? What’s happening?” Law’s voice was sharp and laced with concern. ____ looked down and felt a small trickle of liquid between her legs

“Oh, shit,” she muttered. She held the receiver against her ear. “Uh, change of plans, I don’t think I’m gonna be able to steer. I think my water just broke.” She took a deep breath and leaned back into the chair as the contraction subsided. “Honey, would you do me a favor and take the Tang out here?”

“I’m already heading towards you at top speed,” Law replied quickly. “Your contractions should only be about ten minutes apart. If you can manage it, try to anchor the ship so you don’t drift any further; after that, lie down and try to relax.”

“Okay, relax,” she said to herself. She slowly rose up and took another deep breath. “Just relax, out on the ocean by myself, having fucking contractions. Okay, okay.” Thankfully, the Silent Pirate’s ship was a bit more modern than your average vessel. There was a button near the steering wheel that automatically raised and lowered the anchor. ____ pressed it and saw a large metal weight sink into the water off the starboard side of the ship, and held the DenDen Mushi back to her ear. “Okay, anchor’s lowered. You want me to give you signs of where I am location-wise?” She peered down at the Log Pose before he could respond. “Looks like the nearest island is to my...southwest. It’s still locked onto the last island they were on, so...yeah, I’m southwest of where you guys are.”

“Got it,” Law replied. “Find somewhere to lie down, and take the DenDen Mushi with you. Stay on the line with me, alright?”

“Alright,” she replied, carefully picking up the DenDen Mushi and waddling to the captain’s quarters. As she was about to go inside, she saw a large shape on the horizon heading towards the Silent Pirate’s ship. “Shit, you’re already here? How fast can that rusty tub go--”

She was cut off as she saw the ship’s large white sails, emblazoned with the symbol of the World Government. “Fuck,” she muttered. “Fuck, of all fucking times for the Marines to show up…”

“____, do not engage them,” Law ordered firmly. “Find somewhere relatively comfortable to hide.”

“It looks like a small-sized ship,” she protested. “I’ll just ambush them and take them out one-by-one like with--”

“No. This isn’t an insult to your abilities, and I am not asking you--I am telling you. For the sake of our child, find a place to hide. If you have a contraction in the middle of a fight, you’re going to lose. If worse comes to worse and they find you, surrender. Your bounty says they want you dead or alive, so if you placate them and show you don’t pose a threat, they’re likely to just take you in.”

“And what then? You gonna storm the Marine’s stronghold and rescue us? Even you can’t take on all of the Marines there, Trafalgar!”

“Knowing you’re both alive and imprisoned is better than you two being dead. I’ll find a way to rescue you. Just listen to me. Please.”

____  hesitated at the quiet desperation in her husband’s voice. “...I’ll find somewhere to hide,” she said quietly. “I’m s--” She inhaled quickly as she felt another contraction. “I love you.” 

“I love you too, ____.”

____ made her way inside the captain’s quarters and found a large ornate closet. She moved a few pairs of shoes out of the way, set the DenDen Mushi down next to her, closed the doors, and took a deep breath. “I’m hidden,” she whispered. “Don’t respond, I’m trying to stay as quiet as possible. Just get here soon, okay?”

She heard the Marine ship lower its anchor as a few soldiers boarded the ship. “Silent Tom’s nowhere to be found,” one of them called out. “Oh, jeez…” The Marines’ footsteps traveled to the side of the ship where ____ had tossed their bodies.overboard. “Shit, I thought Tom said he had her restrained. She really killed them all?”

“What do you expect? She’s the Mistress of Death,” another Marine replied. “But the order stays. Find her and take her back to New Marineford.”

“Isn’t she due soon? We first heard she got knocked up about nine months ago,” a younger Marine asked. “What do we do if she has the baby?”

“If she did, we’d hear it crying,” an older, gruff voice cried. “Newborns are good at two things: making a mess and making a lot of noise. You hear any baby? Besides, our orders about the kid are the same whether or not it’s born yet. She’s wanted dead or alive, the kid is just wanted dead. Either way, we do what we have to.”

The Marines began to search the ship for her, and ____’s blood ran cold at their words. She felt another contraction and held her hand over her mouth to keep herself from making any noise. After it subsided, she carefully reached for the DenDen Mushi. “Law, you need to get here now,” she whispered through gritted teeth. “They don’t want to take our baby in alive, and I’m not surrendering to them.”

“I’m only five minutes away,” Law said, hiding the panic in his voice. “Do what you have to and hold out until then. I won’t let them kill either of you.”

____ gently set the DenDen Mushi back down and gripped her small concealed dagger in her hands. She listened for where the Marines were, closing her eyes and utilizing her Observation Haki to find their exact position. They had split up, and one was heading into the captain’s quarters. She waited until he was only inches from the closet door and quickly swung it open before clamping a hand over his mouth and stabbing him repeatedly in the throat to keep him from making noise. He slumped onto the floor, and she moved to find another hiding place in the room; if the other Marines saw their comrade’s corpse in front of the closet, it’d be easy to deduce where she was. 

She crept forward and hid behind a plush loveseat, and closed her eyes to use her Observation Haki again. There weren’t any Marines on the port side of the ship, since they had started their search on that side. If she was quick, she could hide near the helm and wait there for Law to arrive with less risk of being caught--if she was quick. 

____ gently stroked her belly. “I can do this. We’ll get out of here sweetie, I promise,” she whispered. She carefully pushed herself up and quietly made her way out of the captain’s quarters, and quickly scanned the area around her for any Marines. Once she saw the coast was clear, she crept across the deck and hid inside the area next to the steering wheel, taking advantage of the thick wooden railing that surrounded the helm on three sides. It was only tall enough to hide her presence if she crouched down, and she found herself squatting as she waited for Law’s ship to arrive.

The next few minutes felt like hours as she waited for any sign that the Polar Tang was nearby, and her next contraction came much sooner than the last ones. She bit her lip to keep from crying out, and she clenched her fists so hard her fingernails dug into her palms. This one lasted three times as long, and she tried to steady her breathing. She heard one of the Marines yell for the others after they discovered their comrade’s body. “Shit, she got Commander Collins, she’s here!” Two Marines ran into the captain’s quarters. “There’s gotta be a way to find her...Wait…”

The Marines were quiet for a moment. “Shit, her water must’ve broke,” the younger Marine said. “She’s having the kid right now!”

“And good for us-- she’s left a trail,” the older voice added. “Just follow the drops and we’ll find out where she’s gone!”

____’s eyes widened as she looked behind her. Sure enough, she had still been leaking a bit and had left a small trail of fluid as she made her way across the deck. She heard the Marines’ footsteps getting closer. Shit. Shit. Shit. She tried to maneuver around so that she could face the way she’d come in, only to see a rifle aimed at her face. Shit. 

“H-hands above your head,” the younger Marine ordered in a voice that cracked slightly. From the way he looked, he couldn’t have been older than 20. “No funny business, now…” ____ complied, and tried to play to the young Marine’s sympathy. 

“Okay, okay, my hands are up,” she said, adding a small quiver in her voice. “See? I’ll do whatever you want, just please don’t hurt me. You w-wouldn’t hurt a new mama, right?” She glanced down at her stomach, and back at the boy with pleading eyes. The Marine eyed her pregnant belly and swallowed nervously. “You know, I haven’t even come up with a name yet,” she confessed. “What’s your name, son?”

The young Marine’s hands trembled as he held his rifle. “It’s A-Aito,” he replied meekly. 

“What a wonderful name,” ____ replied with a warm smile. “That’d be a good name if he’s a boy, don’t you think?”

Aito didn’t respond, and he continued to hold his rifle. “P-Put your hands behind your back,” he ordered. “You don’t have anywhere to run.”

The older Marine appeared behind him and glared at him. “Don’t sound like such a chickenshit when you’re apprehending someone,” he scolded. “She’s a pirate, and she needs to submit to our authority. You think that sounds authoritative?” He lowered his rifle to ____’s stomach. “He’ll pat you down for weapons and then cuff you,” he ordered. “Try to escape, and I’ll make sure your baby joins my commander.”

____’s jaw clenched, but she complied. Aito carefully patted her up and down, but in his inexperience he failed to feel the dagger hidden in her sleeve. The area around them felt strange to ____ all of a sudden, and it seemed the world had a strange tint to it--almost as if it were covered in a bluish film. The corners of ____’s lips twitched as she realized what was happening, but she kept herself from smiling in front of the Marines. As he lowered his rifle to reach for a pair of handcuffs, his eyes widened and his skin turned white. He raised a shaking hand to point at something behind his partner. “S-Sir, i-i-it’s---”

“Spit it out, goddammit,” the older Marine interrupted. He turned his head slightly, but kept a trained hand on his rifle. “You shitting your pants at the sight of a seagull or some--”

“SHAMBLES!”

Immediately, ____ found herself on the deck of the Polar Tang in Bepo’s arms. The sound of a gunshot startled her as the older Marine fired his rifle, but she had managed to escape just in time; the bullet shot through the deck of the Silent Pirates’ ship, and the older Marine cursed while Aito jumped back in fear. “Take her to the medical bay,” Law barked, and Bepo nodded. He picked her up bridal style and jumped into the hatch leading inside the ship. Shachi and Penguin were waiting inside to set her up with the proper medical equipment for labor, while the rest of the crew was with Law above them. 

Law quickly Shambled the Marines’ rifles, as well as their bodies. He and the rest of the remaining Heart Pirates boarded the ship and swiftly killed the remaining Marines, with the exception of one to send a message back to the World Government. Aito appeared to be the lucky survivor, though given the butchered bodies of his fellow Marines around him, he didn’t feel lucky in the slightest. Law knelt down and roughly gripped Aito’s shambled body by the hair (which, thanks to how his body had been rearranged, was attached to his hip). “Go back to your superiors and tell them that no matter how many men they send after my family that from now on, all of them will die,” he said with cold fury. “And give them these.” He reached into the bodies of the other Marines and took out each of their hearts, and then took Aito’s as well. “If I hear that another group of Marines is after them, you’ll join the rest of your group in Hell. Understood?”

Aito nodded meekly, tears streaming down his cheeks as Law dropped the hearts at the young Marine’s feet in a pile. Law restored Aito’s mismatched body and made his way onto the Polar Tang. “H-How am I supposed to get back to New Marineford?” he squeaked.

“Not my problem,” Law replied bluntly. He and his crew went inside, and the Polar Tang quickly submerged. The Surgeon of Death sprinted to the medical bay and ordered his crew to prepare all the necessary materials they’d need to deliver his child. He quickly washed his hands and before he put on a pair of gloves, he walked to the bed his wife was laying in. Sweat was forming on her brow and thanks to the IV Shachi had set up for her, her eyelids were half-open. She saw him and her face broke into a relieved smile.

“About time,” she murmured quietly. He gently squeezed her hand. “I wasn’t sure how much longer I could hold out before--” She felt another contraction and gripped Law’s hand roughly.

“Just breathe,” Law said gently. There was a small tremor in his voice as he looked at his wife. The woman he loved was safe. His child was safe. He knew he’d be able to save her, of course, but...in the back of his mind, he was terrified that he’d lose the two most precious treasures in his life. When she let go of his hand, he quickly put on a pair of gloves and a sanitary mask. The rest of his crew followed suit and the Heart Pirates got to work delivering Law’s child. After a close encounter with death, it was time to bring a new life into the world.

[ranger-lcat]

Cold Qrow

For @fairy-anon-godmother , who put this idea into the universe.

Qrow catches a cold when they first get to Atlas. Cause it’s cold and he is not dressed for the weather.

Edit - I wrote another part  Edit - I wrote a third part

—

“I meant it when I said it was good to see you.” 

“Uh… yeah… you too.” Qrow mumbles rubbing his neck. 

Ironwood closed the few steps and pulled him into a hug. It took Qrow a moment for his brain to catch up and he rolled his eyes as he returned the gesture. The warmth and familiarity was welcome, even if the metal was extra hard.  They pull away and stand there awkwardly for a moment. Qrow glanced over to where the kids had been prior. It appeared that they had wandered off, lead by the plucky red-head that had saved them earlier. Qrow could still hear her voice echoing down the hall. 

“Is there a place for me to sleep tonight?”

“There is room in my quarters.” James offered. 

“Lead the way.” Qrow waves his hand, gesturing for Ironwood to proceed.

They walk in silence, footsteps against the tiled floor unnaturally loud. The halls were probably less echoey when there were students. Ironwood’s personal quarters were at the top of one of the secondary towers. So there was another awkward elevator ride up.

*Achoo* Qrow sniffs.

“Bless you.” James, ever polite and proper.

“Someone must be talking about me.” He jokes. *Achoo* “Ugh, I bet it’s Winter…” he rubs his nose, trying to get rid of the itch that seemed to settle in it. 

The elevator dinged as they arrived at the top. The apartment was clean, but gave off the feeling that it was more for show than anything. Qrow doubted James spent much time up here. Ironwood walked in first and went straight for the hall closet to pull a set of blankets out.

“Just let me set up the guest room for you.” He says entering one of the other rooms.

“Wait… set up?” He followed Ironwood into the room. There was a bare mattress and boxes filling the floor. It would take some time to have it up to ‘Atlas Standards’. “Woah. Woah. It’s too late to have to set up a room. I’ll be fine on the couch.”

“Are you sure?” 

“Jimmy, I’ve slept on way worse during some of my missions. Just give me a blanket.” Ironwood extracted one of the sheets from his pile, leaving the rest on the bed for the next day.

“Let me at least find you something more comfortable to sleep in.” Ironwood offers, slipping past Qrow and into his own bedroom.

“Is anything you have gonna fit me?” Qrow leans into the doorframe. 

“I’m sure something will work.” He walks over and hands Qrow a set of folded clothes. “Try these. Bathrooms to the right.”

Qrow nodded and took the clothes. The bathroom was clean, but at least it felt lived in. He peeled his gear off, shivering as his skin is exposed to the cold air, and tossing everything onto the hamper James had in the corner. He probably could due with a shower… tomorrow. Instead he put the clothes James had lent him on. Sweatpants and a t-shirt with Atlas Academy printed in them. 

Qrow rolled his eyes, as much as he didn’t want to look like one of the students, his gear wasn’t comfortable to sleep in. He cinched the pants so they would stay up and debated just leaving it at that, sleeping shirtless. Of course that would put all his scars on display… he puts the shirt on. 

James is waiting in his doorway when Qrow leaves. His uniform jacket was off, leaving just the shirt and pants. 

“Are you sure the couch will be ok, it’s more designed for looks than comfort.” 

“Yes, it will be fine.”

—

It was not fine. The couch was soft enough, his body just refused to let him rest. It felt like a haze had fallen over him, rather than sleep. 

Too early he heard a faint beeping that was stopped and replaced with the sounds of Ironwood getting up and moving. 

No use trying to sleep more so Qrow sits up, rubbing his face to try and remove the exhaustion. And the fuzziness. He sniffs. He was congested… great…

It sounded like Ironwood was doing something in the kitchen. Hopefully coffee, before walking into the living room, Qrow can see he’s already dressed in his uniform. 

“Good morning.” James greats him. “Did you sleep well.”

“Fine.” Gods did he really sound that bad. 

“Do you feel ok?”

“I’m fine.” The congestion making that statement unbelievable.

“You don’t sound, or look fine. Let me get a medic.” He pulls out his scroll.

“No. No medic. It’s just a cold. I’m fine.” Qrow waves his hand around. The only thing worse than being sick was doctors. He didn’t need someone to come and tell him to rest and drink fluids. Especially if he planned to ignore them. “I just need some coffee.” 

“I don’t think coffee is gonna fix this, you should rest today.”

“And let the kids loose in Atlas? That seems like a great idea.” Qrow forces himself to stand. His balance feels off but he’s determined to get past James and get himself coffee. 

“I’m sure Penny and the Ace Ops have them covered.” James doesn’t move as Qrow tries to push him out of the way. “And I’m sure they’d tell you the same thing once they noticed.”

“It’s just a cold. I don’t need rest.” Qrow shoves harder, actually getting enough space to walk between Ironwood and the couch. The problem is a few steps away the world tilts. 

He has to blink a few times to realize the only reason he didn’t fall is Ironwood’s arms. He’s still really dizzy. 

“Perhaps you should rest in a bed.”

“You’re not setting up that room for me now.”

“Of course not, mine is free.” 

James could have very easily carried Qrow. Qrow knows it. But it was a point of pride that he still tried to walk, even if clinging to James’s robotic arm was the only way to keep from falling. The bed had been made already, but James pulls the coverers down for him. 

“Always the gentleman.” Qrow mutters as he gets in. Ironwood leaves and returns, placing a glass of water on the nightstand. 

“Is there anything you need?” 

Stay. “Im fine.” 

“Very well, I’ll be back in an hour.”

“What?” Qrow pushes himself up to look at Ironwood, “Don’t you have important meetings?”

“I can do most of it from here, and since you refuse to see a medic—“

“It’s just a cold!”

“And I want to make sure it doesn’t get any worse.” Ironwood straightened his tie. “Now drink your water and get some sleep. There are a couple of things that I need to handle in person. I’ll be back soon.” He closes the door as he leaves. 

Qrow flops back into the bed. He can see the water set on the nightstand and he is kinda thirsty. Rolling over he drinks half and sets it back, or tries too. It ends up tipping off and falling on the ground. 

“Shit…” the glass isn’t broken, just the water soaking into the carpet. He debates for a second before deciding he’s too dizzy and justs leaves it. Instead he buries himself in the covers. 

---

Qrow wakes up with violent sneeze and a sniff. He groaned as the aches in his body made themselves known. Something cool rests on his forehead. His eyes fly open. 

James is resting his metal hand on Qrows forehead, his thumb rubbing circles against his temple. The cool was nice and the gentle touch eased some tension. The natural hand was holding up the scroll displaying official looking documents as James lounged on the bed. 

Qrow grumbled as the scroll buzzed and another message appeared on the screen. That was gonna get annoying.

“Are you feeling better?” Ironwood set his scroll into his lap. It buzzed again.

“Busy as ever I see.” Qrow nuzzles into the cool of the metal palm. James smiles softly.

“I thought you felt warm, so I turned the cooling up.” 

“Useful.”

“Yes. Are you hungry? I brought back some stew for you.”

“Stew for breakfast huh?”

“Most important meal. It needs to be filling.”

“I could eat.” 

James nods and puts his scroll down, leaving to presumably go to the kitchen. The scroll buzzed a few more times, rattling on the nightstand. Qrow glares at it. It was tempting to just throw it out the window, but it was unlikely the windows opened this high up. Instead he tried to grab it so he could turn it off. It slipped out of his hand and flopped onto the carpet. At least now it didn’t rattle when it vibrated.

“And stay there.” He huffed at it.

“Please don’t argue with my scroll, I tend to get more messages when I do.” James returns with a tray.

“Oh, he does remember how to be funny.” Qrow teases. He shuffles to sit up and accept the tray into his lap.

“Unfortunately, I’m not kidding.” He picks the scroll up and reads through the new messages. Sighing heavily and typing a response back.

“So what is this exactly.” Qrow stirred the stew around. Looked like pasta and meat. 

“Goulash. It’s popular with the students from Mantel.”

“Alright then,” he takes a few bites. It was surprisingly flavorful. “Mmm. Spicy.” Qrow sniffs. His congestion was clearing and he could breathe again. 

He practically inhaled the bowl. The heat of the spices filling his stomach. He was sad when it was gone, but he was full anyway. Comfort and warmth pulsing through his body. 

James took the tray away, replacing it with a glass of water. Qrow wishes he had been given that first, the liquid dulled the heat in his core. When that was gone the dishes were taken away and James returned to his relaxed position on the bed, still trying to keep pace with the incoming mail. He’d silenced the notifications at least.

Qrow curled as close to Ironwood as he dared. Apparently not close enough, as he was pulled flush to James’s side, head now resting on his chest. Gentle hair stroking made Qrow relax.

He felt warm and safe.

[docjamie]

St/erek, sick!Stiles

You know what I love? Sick!fics where the sickie is sick enough to feel bad, but not bad enough to miss work/school. Love that shit. (AU, all characters are adults)

~~~~~~

[[MORE]]

Stiles flinched from his daze as he heard someone snap their fingers in his face. He sighed, gearing himself up to put on a pleasant smile for the customer, but was surprised to see none other than his boyfriend across the counter giving him a very unimpressed stare.

"Derek?" Stiles shifted his eyes around to make sure he wasn't actually delirious and turned back to the man standing in front of him. "What are you doing here?"

"Making sure my idiot isn't at work, choking on his own body fluids. And to bring you this." Derek huffed, holding up a cup holder with two styrofoam Starbucks cups in them. Stiles gave a mushy grin and rested his elbow on the counter to lean against his hand.

"You loooove me." Stiles cooed and reached for one of the cups, relishing in the warmth. He tried to sniff the contents, but his clogged nose failed him completely. "I can't smell this, but I hope its what I think it is." Stiles took a small sip of the drink and relished in the taste of sweet apples and cinnamon. He hummed gratefully, cradling the cup close.

Derek chuckled and grabbed his own slightly sweetened coffee before reaching over to press the back of his hand on Stiles' forehead. Fortunately, he didn't feel a fever, but Stiles was still at work with a cold.

"How has work been today?" Derek asked, looking at the semi-busy bookstore. Stiles groaned and set his cup down.

"I feel like its been worse because I'm sick but jesus christ, babe. I almost lost it with some woman let her wild kid knock over an entire display of the teen fictions. And then another person got pissed that their expired coupon didn't work. Like, I'm sorry for doing my job??" The small rant made Stiles out of breath and he coughed hoarsely into his arm. Derek wouldn't be surprised if his voice was gone tomorrow.

"I wish I could take you home." Derek sighed, taking in the sight of his boyfriend worriedly.

"Good! You can take him!" They both jumped at a stern female voice and looked over to see a petite, biracial woman with dark coily hair and large glasses. She had just sat a stack of books down on the counter and put her hands on her hips, glaring at Stiles.

"Ms. Morgan, I'm okay...hih!-" Stiles quickly statched a tissue from a box next to his cup and ducked under the counter. Derek blinked and gave a confused look to Stiles' manager, who looked exasperated.

"Nn'tishh! HN-TISssh!!" Derek bent over the counter to see his boyfriend on one knee, rubbing his rosy nose into the tissues.

"He's been doing that all day. Please get him out of here before he infects the entire store." Morgan said as Stiles stood up with a wobble.

"You've been hiding every time you sneeze?" Derek asked, incredulously. Stiles sniffled, looking slightly embarrassed.

"It's a book store. I didn't want to disturb anyone." He said and narrowed his eyes at Derek's lips twitching into a smile. "I see you. Don't laugh at me, it's not funny!" Stiles said crankily.

"It's a little funny." Derek teased, grinning when Stiles turned from him in a huff, picking up his drink as he did so. "Don't worry, I came to check on him but I'll take him home." Derek said, turning his attention to the manager.

"Great. Its nice to know that there's someone who has common sense in your relationship." Morgan was used to Derek frequenting the store whenever Stiles was on shift; needless to say, she was relieved when she saw the taller man walk in. She beckoned Derek around the cashier counter.

Stiles was about to protest when his nose tingled again. He pinched his nose and rushed to the "Employees Only" room and Derek could hear Stiles go into another sneezing fit. Derek grabbed the tissue box and both he and the manager trekked to the room to see Stiles coughing into the damp tissues, leaning against the wall.

"Oh, honey. You really don't sound too good." Morgan walked over and rubbed Stiles' back with one hand and felt Stiles' forehead with the other. Stiles sighed at the handling, his manager was known to be motherly and there was no point in fighting her if she was concerned.

"It's fine, it's just a cold." Stiles waved her off, but still leaned into Derek who had put his arm around Stiles' waist. Ms. Morgan tsked at how stuffy her employee sounded and turned to Derek.

"You take him home and make him rest, you hear? And keep him home until he's better, not before. Ah-!" She raised a hand when Stiles opened his mouth. "You may not have a fever, but you can easily get one if you don't let your body heal. Now get out of my store, I'll clock you out." Stiles pouted and crossed his arms, making Derek chuckle and press a kiss to the side of his head.

"Yes ma'am. You," Derek patted Stiles' butt. "Go get your coat, its cold out." He said, giving Stiles a little push. Stiles looked from his boyfriend to his manager and realized he wasn't getting his way. He snatched the box of tissues from Derek and walked to the office, grumbling the entire way. Derek and Morgan both shook their heads.

"Thank you for letting me take him home early." Derek said, turning to the short woman.

"Of course! I was almost about to call you, that poor boy was exhausted all day." Morgan rested her cheek in her hand, rolling her eyes. They paused when they heard Stiles wind up again.

"NN'SHIIH! NN'TISH!" Since there were no customers to disturb, Stiles didn't hold anything back. Derek cringed at the gurgling nose blow that followed. Stiles really didn't sound well. His boyfriend walked back out of the office, hat and coat on and buttoned up.

"Ready to go?" Derek asked. Stiles rubbed his eyes. Now that all of the fight was out of him, he was crashing.

"Y-Yeah-" Stiles choked out before coughing roughly. Derek untied his own scarf and looped it around Stiles' neck, making sure to cover up his mouth and nose. He also tugged Stiles' beanie down until it covered his ears, leaving only his boyfriend's unamused eyes staring at him. Ms. Morgan tittered at the display.

"Looks likes you'll be in good hands. Have a good night, you two!" She said and left the room to return to the counter. Derek returned his arm around Stiles' waist and led him out of the store and too the parked Camaro. Stiles wasn't even surprised that Derek planned ahead so he wouldn't have to take the subway home.

"You were planning to stay until I actually left, were you?" Stiles' voice was muffled behind the scarf and wall of congestion. Derek shrugged, opened the door for his boyfriend and closed it behind him. When he got into the car himself, he cranked up, turned the heat on and shifted the vents onto his shivering boyfriend.

"Hey, someone has to have common sense in this relationship." Derek said, echoing Stiles' manager's words. Stiles gave him the side eye and gave Derek's shoulder a shove, making the older man chuckle.

"Just for that, I'm totally gonna rub my snot on your scarf." Stiles gave a pointed liquid sniffle to prove himself. Derek smirked at the attempted taunt and pulled out of the parking lot to begin the drive back to their apartment.

"Washing machines exist for a reason, sweetheart."

*******

"Sweetheart, wake up." Derek said, patting and shaking Stiles' thigh. He had just pulled into the parking lot of their apartment and just as he predicted, his boyfriend conked out just 10 minutes into the drive. From what he could see that wasn't hidden by the beanie and scarf, Derek could tell that Stiles was screwing his face up in protest. Derek heard a low, muffled whine come from the younger man, causing him to chuckle.

"I know, I'm the absolute worst. But the quicker you wake up, the quicker you'll be in bed. Come on..." Derek gently tugged on Stiles' arm. Stiles finally opened his eyes into narrow slits and whined louder.

"Y'r so meeean..." Stiles garbled, but slowly lifted himself from the car. A gust of cold wind started up and Stiles latched onto Derek, shivering madly. Derek closed the car door, activating the lock on his keypad and shuffled them to the apartment building. They both sighed in relief at the toasty warmth of the lobby. The warmth also made Stiles' nose run something fierce and he sniffled wetly a coupld of times. Even though he did technically say he would mess up his boyfriend's scarf, it was a completely  empty threat and he quickly lowered the fabric from his runny nose.

"Babe, I'm kinda leaking here." Stiles croaked, sniffling loudly again. Derek looked down and cringed at the shiny trail escaping his boyfriend's reddened nostrils. He scanned the lobby and found a tissue box sitting on the side table under a corkboard. He walked over, pinched the box without a second thought and headed back to Stiles, who was waiting at the elevator, button already pressed. Stiles made a pleased sound at Derek's theft and plucked a few sheets before raising the wad to his nose, blowing noisily into them.

The elevator door finally creaked open and Derek steered Stiles in. Once he had selected a floor, he leaned back against the wall, pulling his sick boyfriend with him. Stiles went to relax against Derek's broad chest, but he suddenly froze and flinched away.

"Hn-TISSH! Ekt-SHIH!" The noise Stiles made was of pure misery and he leaned his pounding head on Derek's shoulder, tissues clutched desperately at his nose. "God, I feel like garbage." He whined and pinched the tissues harder. "NN'SHIIH! NN'TISH!...ugh, ow..."

Derek sighed and rested his chin on Stiles' head. He hated that Stiles felt so bad and he really couldn't do much about it.

"Do you think you need to go to the doctor? You've been sick since early this week." Derek asked, fully expecting a wave of protests but he was shocked at Stiles' hesitation.

"I mean...I don't think so? Colds usually last like a week, but I'm just so tired." Stiles proved this by yawning widely. The elevator dinged to signal their stop and they made their way out when the doors opened.

By the time they had made it inside their apartment, Derek had come to a decision.

"How about this. You take some meds tonight, sleep in tomorrow and if you're still feeling really bad by then, I'll set up an appointment for you. Deal?" Derek asked, removing his coat and shoes. Stiles rubbed his eyes and nodded in agreement. "Alright. Go get ready for bed, I'll meet you in a few." Derek pressed a quick kiss to Stiles' ruddy cheek and nudged him to the direction of the hallway. Once he saw Stiles shuffle in their bedroom, he made his way to the kitchen and search through their impromptu medicine cabinet. He managed to locate some cold and flu tablets, but he also found something for sinus pressure and chest congestion. He scanned the symptoms list on all three items before deciding that the tablets were his best bet since they had the night-time version which would help Stiles get some much needed rest.

Derek popped a couple out of the blister pack and opened the fridge to grab a bottle of water. Since Stiles already took the tissues with him, he grabbed the pills and made his way to the bedroom. He found Stiles in sweatpants and one of his own Henleys.

"Contaminating my clothes, I see." Derek teased. Stiles, who was flopped on his back and spread on the bed, raised his middle finger lazily in response. Derek chuckled and walked over to the bed.

"Sit up and take these." He said, holding out the pills and water. Stiles struggled into a sitting position and held his hand out for Derek to drop the 2 pills in his hand. He peered at them and made a face at the familiar dark purple color.

"Night-time? These make me woozy and shit." Stiles grumbled, but popped them in his mouth and took the bottle from Derek to wash them down.

"Well, don't fight the drugs like a dumbass, and we won't have a repeat of you locking yourself in the bathroom." Derek said, recalling a certain amusing and frustrating memory. Stiles waved him off and curled himself under the covers.

"That was one time..." he mumbled. Derek snorted and brushed Stiles' fringe from his eyes.

"Sleep. I'll be joining you in a little while, okay?" Derek mused, bending down to kiss Stiles' temple. Stiles hummed and turned his head to give him a chaste smack on the lips.

"Mhm, sounds good. Love you." Stiles was already dozing off. Derek ran his fingers through Stiles hair again and went to turn the bedroom light off before leaving, keeping the door cracked just in case.

******

Several hours had gone by. Derek was sleeping on his own side of the bed, when a sudden whack on his face jolted him out of his sleep. Derek groaned and reached up to feel it was Stiles' hand that was now resting on his cheek. Derek lifted the offending limb away and sat up, rubbing his eyes. His vision was limited in the moonlight, but he could see that Stiles was not in a restful sleep. Derek reached over and flicked his lamp on, bathing the room in a soft yellow light. He looked back to his boyfriend, who was once again sprawled out on his back. Stiles' mouth was hanging open, snores thick and wheezy as he struggled to take in air. Derek could see the sweat beading on Stiles' forehead and cursed.

"Stiles? Stiles, baby, wake up." Derek shook his boyfriend's shoulder. Stiles closed his mouth and swallowed, but Derek could see him wince at the pain, even in sleep. He shook him again. "Come on, I think you have a fever." Stiles whimpered quietly and barely opened his eyes, squinting in the light.

"Der...? Wha's goin'...wha-?" Stiles shifted around, breath suddenly catching in his throat. He coughed wetly, throat crackling with phlegm. Derek helped his boyfriend sit up and patted his back. When the fit died down, Stiles sat there, gasping for air. Derek thumbed the tears away with one hand and pressed the back of his hand on Stiles' forehead with the other. Sure enough, he felt a damp heat there.

"Wait here, okay? I'll be right back." Derek said and got out of the bed before heading to the bathroom. It didn't take him long to find the thermometer, but Stiles was pretty much drifting off when he got back anyway. Stiles jerked awake when Derek sat back on the bed. He eyed the thermometer and looked up at Derek with a pitiful gaze.

"I cad't breath through mby ndose." Going by Stiles' voice and the tiny 'knnk!' sound as he tried to sniffle, Derek could assume that Stiles was totally blocked up. Derek nodded and helped his boyfriend remove a sleeve from the baggy shirt and placed the thermometer under Stiles' arm.

"I'll call the doctor as soon as they open, alright? I really want to get you checked out." Derek palmed Stiles' flushed cheek, the corners of his mouth slightly lifting when Stiles leaned into his hand.

"Ogkay." Stiles whispered, just wanting to go back to sleep. The thermometer finally beeped and Derek removed the device. He frowned at the '100.1' display. He set the thermometer on the nightstand to wash later and helped his boyfriend back into the shirt sleeve. Derek was just pulling the shirt down in place when Stiles lifted his hands to his face, inhaling shakily.

"Hh...H'DSSHH! HD'SHHOO!" Stiles slowly straightened from where he bent at the waist, but kept his nose and mouth covered. "Babe, I just fugckig...exploded. Help." Stiles whined.

"Eww. You're a mess." Derek teased, grinning at Stiles' glare. He took pity on his boyfriend and handed Stiles the tissue box. Stiles snatched a bunch and turned to the side, giving a gurgling, thick nose blow.

"Once you're done with...that, try and get some more sleep. We still have a few hours until the doctor's office opens." Derek said, grabbing his phone to set an alarm. Stiles sniffled and nodded, moving on to tissue was #2.

When Stiles was as empty as he could get, he collapsed onto Derek's chest, shivering slightly. Derek pulled the blanket over Stiles and wrapped him up tightly. They both drifted off again, trying to get more rest before the sun came up.

While Stiles managed to drift back off to sleep, Derek stayed awake, mindlessly scrolling through his phone. Logically, he knew that his boyfriend would be okay, if not miserable; yet, he still couldn't help but worry. Derek continued to run his fingers through Stiles' hair as sunlight slowly crept into the room, giving it a muted blue illumination. He looked over to check the clock, neck protesting as he did so.

8:47 A.M. Which means the doctor's office opened about 15 minutes ago. Derek ceased his hair petting and carefully removed himself from the heated mass that was his boyfriend. When he was free, he raised his arms over his head to give a full-body stretch, joints popping as he did so. He contemplated waking Stiles up, but upon looking how rough the sick man looked, Derek decided to leave him be while he got ready.

Derek wandered out into the living/dining area, rubbing at his tired eyes. He found Stiles' bookbag on the couch and rummaged through it until he found the planner Stiles carefully kept up with. It didn't take him long to find the list of important phone numbers, his doctor being one of them. Derek pulled out his cellphone from his pocket and dialed the number, tapping his finger as he waited.

"Hello, Morningside Clinic, how can I help you?" A chipper, feminine voice bubbled through. Derek envied the speaker's energy level this early in the morning.

"Hi, I need to make an appointment..."

*******

Derek decided that since he was taking time off work today, he left on his sweatpants and put a decent sweater over top his t-shirt to look somewhat presentable. After he put his boots on, he decided it was time to wake Stiles up. Derek trekked back over to the bed where Stiles was still in the same position that he left him in.

"Stiles. Come on, wake up." Derek said, patting Stiles' chest. Stiles groaned and stretched a bit, turning his head towards Derek. Derek watched as Stiles slowly woke himself up, rubbing at his face and sniffling.

"Timbe z'it?" Stiles mumbled, yawning and sniffling again.

"A little after 9. Your appointment is at 9:45, so you have time to get food if you want anything." Derek suggested. Stiles coughed into a closed fist and shook his head.

"Ndo, ndot that hu'gry, babe." Stiles croaked, reaching for his box of tissues. He blew his nose weakly, wincing at the pain pulsing in his head. "Why did I take ndose breathi'g for grandted." Stiles complained, his voice garbled with congestion. Derek chuckled and walked over to the closet to grab Stiles' own winter boots.

"Don't we all until our noses stop working?" Derek couldn't help but humor his boyfriend's dramatics. Stiles groaned in response, massaging the bridge of his nose. Derek placed the boots down on the floor at Stiles' feet, and the sick man bent down to put them on. However, he sat back up, eyes squeezed shut tight.

"Whoa...ugh...dizzy." Stiles mumbled, resting his head in his hand. Derek didn't hesitate before kneeling down and helping his boyfriend into the boots and tied them up.

"Can't believe you tried to play off how bad you were feeling last night." Derek muttered. Just because he was supportive, didn't mean he would exclude any well-deserved snark. Stiles made a noise of protest.

"Yeah, well..." Stiles trailed off, realizing he didn't really have an argument. Derek stood up, smirking at his boyfriend. "Whatever. Fugck off."

"Very mature. Can you stand?" Derek asked, holding a hand out. Stiles smacked it away and rose from the bed, with only a wobble or two. The sludge in his head shifted again, causing him to list forward into a prepared Derek. "That answers my question." Stiles only response this time was to lift his shirt collar to cover his mouth.

"Hn-TISSH!! Hnkt-SHEEH!!" Stiles coughed a few times before sniffling and scrunching his nose.

"Bless you. Doing okay?" Derek asked, genuine concern in his tone. Stiles nodded and slowly pushed off of the taller man when he felt stable on his feet to start his wobbly trek to the bathroom. As Stiles tended to his business, Derek made his way back out to the living room to wait on his boyfriend, keys and phone in hand. Soon, Stiles shuffled out, his nose noticeably a lot more irritated.

"I just spent so much time blowing my nose, I almost passed out." While Stiles still sounded hoarse, his voice wasn't as low and thick from congestion. Derek waited for his boyfriend to put on his coat before escorting him to the front door.

"If you want, I can buy some softer tissues or something." Derek suggested as they made their way to the elevator. Stiles grinned and leaned into the taller man.

"Aw, you like-like me." He teased, laughing at Derek's eye roll before choking into a coughing fit. Derek could only squeeze Stiles' shoulder in concern as they exited the elevator into the lobby.

*********

A few hours later found the two men leaving the doctor's office and on the way to the pharmacy, both annoyed with one another.

"Derek, she said it was just a cold."

"She also said that you're exhausted and on the verge of bronchitis. I wouldn't have a prescription for antibiotics if you didn't need them." Derek argued back. They have been going back and forth since Derek banned Stiles to bedrest for the rest of the week. Derek pulled into a parking space and turned the car off before sighing. "I don't understand why you fight me all the time when you're sick. You were miserable last night."

"I'mb ndot fighting you, I'mb just disagreeing with your hostage situationd." Stiles said petulantly, congestion back with a full force. Derek opened his mouth to protest the ridiculous claim when Stiles's mouth hung open slightly. His breath hitched, then again a bit louder before he turned his head and squelched a trio of sneezes into his elbow.

"Hh...hh-! Ht-SHEHH! HD'DSHOO! Hih...Hih-NSHH!"

"Well. Didn't want to have to do this." Derek said and Stiles bristled at the ominous tone. He turned back, elbow still covering his mouth.

"What? What are you doi'g?" Stiles narrowed his watering eyes. Derek ignored him and pulled out his cellphone and unlocked it. Stiles watched in horror as Derek brought up the dial pad and pressed '3' and put the phone on speaker. "Derek! Ndo!"

The phone rang twice before the Sheriff's voice filled the car.

"Derek? You need something, son?" Derek locked eyes with Stiles' glare.

"I'm doing just fine, John. However, Stiles-"

"Is perfectly finde, thangk you!" Stiles interrupted loudly.

"Stiles? Are you okay? You don't sound too good, bud." Concern laced the Sheriff's question and Stiles slumped, forgetting about his dad's hound hearing. He lowered his arm, only to quickly raise it up again.

"H'DSSHH!! NN'TSSHH!" Stiles groaned and sniffled into his arm.

"As I was saying. Your son is clearly under the weather and not listening to me. I thought you'd be able to put some sense into him." Derek didn't give a rat's ass about his pettiness. He could tattle if he wanted to tattle.

"Stiles..." the Sheriff began.

"The doctor said it was a cold!" Stiles whined at his dad. The Sheriff's sigh crackled over the speaker.

"But you felt bad enough to go to the doctor. Didn't you?" His dad asked. Stiles' mouth clicked as it snapped shut.

"We're at the pharmacy now. The flu test came back negative, but he is edging into bronchitis." Derek reported. Stiles had fully given up at this point and leaned into Derek over the car console, head pulsing in pain.

"Good man, Derek. I'll be over after my shift to check up on him. Stiles? Please behave, son." There was no stopping the Sheriff when it came to his son's well-being.

"Yeah, yeah..." Stiles mumbled, rubbing his eyes. Derek exchanged goodbyes with John and ended the call. Stiles sniffled thickly again and groaned.

"Ugh. Asshole. I hate you so mbuch right ndow." Stiles grumbled quietly. Derek brought his hand up and rubbed his thumb across Stiles' cheek.

"I love you too."

[yourdeepestfathoms]

could you write something about maggie taking like. 4 more doses of her meds because she keeps forgetting that she already took some

anon is literally asking me to overdose Maggie lmao

TW: Emetophobia. Like- kinda vomiting? It’s not really throwing up, more like Maggie coughing up gross shit all over herself (how she gonna live that down)

———————

        Maggie’s ADD sometimes made her confused. Very confused. And with that confusion comes forgetfulness, and with that forgetfulness comes taking too much Adderall. But she hadn’t been paying attention when she swallowed down the fourth pill she had taken that hour.

Naturally, the effects of this were not good.

There was a noon show that day, so the ladies in waiting had to get ready quickly so they would get to the theater on time to warm up. Maggie was feeling fine up until the performance started and she got really funky cramps in her stomach. They made her shift from foot to foot, fidgeting in her spot to try and ease the uncomfortable feeling throbbing in her abdomen.

It didn’t help.

During one of the parts where the band doesn’t play, Maggie slips her hand down behind her guitar to hold her aching middle. She gritted her teeth and shut her eyes, taking deep breaths in an attempt to soothe the sensation.

It still didn’t help.

Maggie began to not only get more fidgety, but also dizzy as the show dragged on. Things were starting to spin around slowly, colors and lights bleeding together like wet paint on a canvas. She tried to blink away the mishmash before her eyes, but it only got increasingly harder and harder to look at as time went on.

An eyesore was set out before her and she didn’t know what to do about it.

After intermission (which she spent pouring an entire water bottle on her face because she was really hot for some reason) she felt herself getting worse. The auditorium was whirling around her, but she was also starting to see things that weren’t there. Colorful figures all over the stage, shifting and and flickering and glitching out like the screen of an old TV. She blinked at them slowly, feeling the pain in her stomach subside into a warm, tingling sensation.

The figures glided weightlessly across the stage and Maggie turned her head to follow them everywhere they went. She was surprised she was even able to still play in her current state (her hands seemed to be the only things working properly).

Colors grew more gradient and sounds had more of an echo than they usually did. Bessie’s bass was vibrating in her skull, while she could feel the beat of Maria’s drums pulse in her bones. This feeling almost felt otherworldly. It was melting her brain, but was so enticing that she couldn’t snap herself out of it.

Euphoric. That’s almost how it felt.

The bass and drums in Get Down sent Maggie into a spiral so fast she began to feel a little nauseous. Cleves was a mere blur in her eyes when dancing around. The other queens were just masses of color that mashed together into one big mess. Watching them prance around made Maggie’s head start to hurt and she let out an unbidden whine from her weirdly dry throat. It was drowned out by all the noise, however.

Her senses became more alerted as time went on. Things got so bright and so loud and her costume didn’t feel right anymore. It was like a sensory overload, but without the shortness of breath.

Was she even breathing? Has she been breathing this whole time? She can’t remember...

A soft moan of discomfort escaped her lips and, this time, someone heard it.

Bessie looked over at the guitarist and was immediately filled with worry. The young musician’s face was leached of all color and her pupils were huge, like those of a cat seeing feet move under a blanket. She was staring blankly at the curtains, rigid in her spot while her hands white-knuckled her guitar. Bessie reached over and gently nudged her side.

  “You okay, kiddo?” She whispered, careful not to talk too loudly so she wouldn’t interrupt the current scene.

Maggie, very slowly, craned her head around and blinked at Bessie. She was staring at the bassist as if she were an alien from outer space, like they had never even met before. Then, she nodded slightly.

Bessie realizes she isn’t even looking at her, rather at something just behind her.

All You Wanna Do starts and Bessie is forced to turn her attention away. She caught sight of Maria, who was looking at Maggie with concerned eyes. She seemed to have noticed, too. They would need to talk to the young musician after the show.

Maggie could feel herself dissociating out of control. At this point, she didn’t even know what Katherine was saying or singing, and she could barely keep up with her movements with how blurry her vision has gotten. The song was too much, too.

One hand stopped strumming all together, rather just grabbing onto of the strings like they were the only thing keep her together. Without the guitar playing, an obvious shift in the music was created and some of the queens looked back in confusion. Stagehands and other backstage workers in the wings were just as clueless when one member of the band just stopped doing her job.

Maggie stood there for a few seconds as Katherine tried to continue like nothing was going on. Then, she swayed, staggered, and collapsed, hitting the ground with a loud THUD as her body body crashes down on top of her guitar.

Maria abandoned her instrument first. She practically leapt over her drums to get to the fallen girl, with Bessie and soon Joan close on her heels.

It’s taken them this long to realize that someone wearing all black under stage lights should not be shaking this badly.

The audience was an uproar of murmurs and gasps as the queens stared in shock. Anne and Jane darted over, quickly followed by the others. The curtains started to finally close, shielding the sight from the onlookers.

   “Maggie, Maggie,” Maria tried saying, cradling the girl’s body in her lap, “Kid, can you hear me?”

For a moment, Maggie’s eyes flutter open, but they’re upturned in the sockets, pupils still way too wide. Her entire body shudders violently in Maria’s arms, chest jerking unnaturally with each stifled, ragged breath she drew.

It was terrifying.

Bessie gently felt the girl’s cheeks and then forehead with the back of her hands, wincing at how hot the skin was.

   “She’s burning up.” She said.

   “Could it be heat exhaustion?” Aragon spoke up, “She is wearing all black.”

   “Small kid,” Cleves nodded, “Maybe couldn’t take the heat from the lights?”

At that, Katherine jumped up and ran offstage, quickly returning with a water bottle.

   “I knew these costumes were a mistake,” Joan spat. “I can’t wait to rain hellfire on the fucking costume desi-“

Her threat was cut off by a horrible choking-gag sound that could probably be heard throughout the entire theater.

Maria had been trying to get some water into Maggie’s system, which caused her to cough it back up all over herself. The young musician rolled to the side, wheezing and sputtering up the water and other fluids. When she collapsed over again, her mouth, chin, and chest were covered in saliva, drool, and foam created from bile that had managed to worm its way up she throat.

The good news was that she was at least awake.

   “Someone call 999!” Bessie yelled. She instantly turned her attention back to Maggie, who was whimpering and clawing at her stomach. Each breath she took came out as a gasp that wouldn’t be able to satisfy her lungs for long.

   “You’re going to be okay, darling,” The bassist murmured in the voice she used to calm Maggie down. “Just keep breathing.”

Joan moves closer and untangles the guitar weighing down on Maggie’s shivering body. She sets it aside and then places a comforting hand on the girl’s thigh, letting her know she was there.

Maggie’s glossy eyes went from Maria to Joan to Bessie and then back to Maria. She took in a strangled breath, only for more fluids to fill her mouth, so she locked her jaw to keep from making even more of a mess. Maria ended up having to stick three fingers into Maggie’s mouth to get her to open up so she wouldn’t choke. The drummer wasn’t phased at all by what she did, too concerned with the well being of Maggie to be grossed out by anything.

Maggie’s knees curled upwards a little when she coughs, splattering the liquids in her mouth all over her face and neck. Her eyes became wide and she took ragged, heavy breaths when her throat was mostly unclogged, but it wouldn’t stay like that for long. She looked up when a gentle hand glided through her hair.

  “Just like that,” Bessie said. “Breathe, darling. Breathe.”

Maggie did as instructed, leaning her head into the bassist’s touch.

“That’s a good girl,” Bessie cooed, “Very good.”

Joan moves again, this time to take one of Maggie’s hands. She squeezed comfortingly, and the young musician looks over at her with glassy baby deer eyes. It makes all of the ladies in waiting’s heart pinch.

Distant sirens from outside sounded like they were blasting right in Maggie’s ears. She keened in pain, kicking her legs down and digging her heels into the floor. She digs herself further against Maria’s stomach, panting wildly. Hands start to hold her down and she slaps her own around desperately for something to ground herself. She settles for Bessie’s sleeve and clung to that with a death grip. It was the only thing keeping her from losing it, other than Maria running her fingers through her hair. The touch was soothing and gave her a sense of comfort, despite the loud noises and pain in her stomach.

The paramedics bursting through the curtains was a complete blur. Maggie just remembered leaving Maria’s warmth and Joan’s touch and Bessie’s tender presence. All at once, she loses herself and burns out completely.

After that, nothing. She blacks out reaching and whining for her family.

[darkmindsthinktwistedthoughts]

Echo pt2

@kthomas325

Warning: This is a little dark. There is blood, death, Strong Language and yeah ... please read with caution. **Still not sure what direction this is taking so I should add a warning for Author with no plot **

Masterlist

---

Echo part 2

The castle was always active at the start of a new day but it seemed to be particularly lively right now. Servants darted from chambers and rooms fetching and carrying as orders were barked at them from the 9 siblings and their Mother.

Today was the audience with the crown. Dignitaries, as well as members of the general populace, were gathering to seek out solutions to issues from the highest authority in the land. This was part of being a ruling power here but it did seem that the Queen and her offspring took matters a little too far in the direction of dramatic flair.

Main gates were temporarily closed allowing the castle to be set up for the expected crowds that were already milling around outside the castle walls in the streets below. Fresh flowers arrangements were placed on the white stone staircase that lead up the incline to the castle proper. Rooms around the lower level were also locked and sectioned off so that no one could venture further into the building without proper clearance. Light flooded the corridors providing a kind of natural carpet effect on the floor and the Throne room was pristine in all its grandeur.  

Twelve thrones set in a crescent moon shape were at the very top of the chamber. The white stone of the building gleamed thanks in large part to the massive lead lined windows that stood majestically behind the thrones. The light from the twin suns reflected through the multiple diamond shapes casting shimmering shards of incandescent light into the room. There was no doubt it was a room designed for ultimate effect and the Queen knew how to use that to her advantage.

After the hoard of visitors had settled into place and taken position in their queue, the large doors at the side of the Throne room opened and the siblings entered in pair formation. Each was elegantly dressed and shone like a priceless gemstone. In the shadow of one of the large supporting columns of the room a thin razor-sharp smile spread over one man’s lips as he watched the “performance”. It was the only word that could be used for this. The Queen viewed this land as her stage and everyone in it, including her offspring, as mere players on it.

Drones. The thought passed through his mind easily as he watched the royal formation move. Every hair on their head, every accessory, every piece of clothing had been chosen for them by the Queen. Their movements were trained, their words were not even their own as much as they would protest against it the truth was simple.

The eldest child entered with his mother on his arm. The Queen standing straight and tall her age masked easily by the glamour she held. Her flowing blonde hair cascaded down her back and her form-fitted dress moved like ocean waves as she glided towards her seat. The empty chair to either side of her stood as markers to a tale that had slipped into the history books. Beautifully crafted Pawns. I applaud you, dear Queen, you did well. As if she could hear his thoughts her eyes settled on his. Those piercing cold blue eyes that could cut like ice would freeze a lesser man, but not him. He simply stood and maintained his gaze the smile on his face almost mocking.

---

“You took on a case without clearing it with me first?”

The door to her chief coordinator's office barely closed before they rounded on her.

“I’ve told you many times already I cannot always clear these things with you two or three weeks in advance.” She sat straight in the guest chair unflinching as the older man who was like a father to her in a lot of ways sighed and slumped his shoulders.

“That is not the point Kid and you know it. You have just moved and the case is out of your jurisdiction.” He pinched the bridge of his nose where his glasses usually sat. Probably thinking that this choice to wear his contacts today was maybe not the best plan given that headaches made the lenses uncomfortable.

“Most cases are out of my jurisdiction. It has never stopped you from letting me take them on before.” If it had been someone else, she would have been just as indignant as she protested the restriction on her work.

There was nothing except basic formalities that required her attention right now. All Ops had been grounded and placed on downtime which provided her with more than enough time to sit around twiddling her thumbs and being bored. Last time this happened she took on a case that saw her flying to Africa to check a water source for a rare bacterium that should not have been present in freshwater. That wasn’t just out of her jurisdiction it was out of the same god damn continent. She couldn’t understand why her boss was choosing now to be an obstruction on a case.

“Look pick a case any other case. Just not this one.” The sound of his begging pathetically was a far cry from the man she knew. She leaned back in her chair and levelled a defiant glare at him.

“Col you are being unbelievably stubborn and pushy on this which isn’t like you at all. I’m not going to do anything until you say what you are really wanting too and don’t go trying to candy coat it. I’m not a kid.” Her blue eyes that were normally clear had turned thunderous and dark. He knew from past experience that when things felt wrong and she wasn’t getting straight answers it could only ever end badly, for the other guy. He certainly did not wish to join the ranks of the fallen.

“Look. Your father and I go way back right?”

“Right” She nodded firmly. Colin had been one of the first other adult males in her life outside of family members to visit their house. He had helped with schooling and relocations so many times it was hard to think of a time when he wasn’t in her life.

“Wrong.”

“What?”

“Wrong. Look Kid the first time I met your dad it was about three decades ago and he looked like he had survived falling into a mincer at a slaughterhouse. I found him at the side of the road and you were wrapped up in his arms.” Col’s words were blunt and direct. There were no detectable traces of anything that could be considered a lie which made the bombshell he just dropped on her even harder to process.

“How is that even possible? All the years I’ve known you and what? You lied to me the whole time?”

“Only about how far back I’ve known your dad. He is a good man and dammit if I didn’t feel terrible for him.”

“Why?”

“That is something he would be able to tell you, not me. I told you he was injured. He looked like he had come from a renaissance or medieval fair or something, you both did. He was babbling about not letting them have you and how he didn’t have a wife anymore.” Col chose this time to get up and walk to the false shelf on his bookcase. Tapping it so it popped open revealing a bottle of scotch and some glasses. She had known he kept it there but she hardly ever saw him drinking at the office. He poured some amber coloured liquid into two glasses and handed her one as he went back to his own seat. It burned in her throat as she took a sip of it but she felt the muscles in her body begin to relax a little with the alcoholic lubrication.

“I don’t get what any of that has to do with the case.”

“Because for a couple of weeks during that time. We found things.” He looked over at her making sure she was still alright to continue. “Things like large animals, deer, bears all dead. All fresh and all drained of their blood. Some hikers too.” He downed his drink in one go as if the memory of the events was still with him. It wouldn’t be uncommon; you see it a lot in stressful or unusual cases where you have pushed your mind and body to get on with the job at hand you end up with like a remnant of the memories you suppress. Like an echo coming back to you time and time again, some echoes were worse than others.

Her mind went back to the case reports. Mountain rescue and rangers all reported finding campsites abandoned and later finding the inhabitants dead. The things Col was bringing up matched with what she had already found but they didn’t explain the connection to her and her father or why nothing had been said to her before.

“Why didn’t you say anything about this to me sooner?”

“Told ya. It wasn’t my story to tell. And that body thing was an old case that never came up again.” It was clear from his one that even with a feeling of guilt he was going to stay tight-lipped on this.

“What happened with it?” Asking this she followed Col’s lead and drained her glass. The sudden volume of the fluid travelling down her throat caused that familiar burn you got from strong alcohol to tingle in the back of her nose and she suppressed a cough.

“Shelved. Never caught the ones responsible or found out how they pulled it off. But it only went on for a few weeks and then stopped completely.” Col didn’t sound satisfied. She knew him he hated unfinished work, but back then he would have been a rookie. Nothing you can do if a higher-ups decides to shut down an investigation.

“Right.” She put the glass down on his desk with a hollow clink sound and got up to go. Her hand was on the office door when he called out from behind.

“What you gonna do?”

“You said so yourself. Not your story to tell. So, I’m going to go ask the guy whose story it is.”

One thing she learnt was butting heads with a stubborn person when you are also a stubborn person gets you nowhere and to be honest right now, she was in no mood to fight a wall. She wanted answers. The files she received from the Met were back in her office she would grab those. But most important task now was going to find the person whole tale it was to tell and getting him to talk.

---

The Queen elegantly draped herself in her private chambers near her vanity table. The room was a perfect image of what one might be tempted to call excess. Every surface was highly polished and inlaid with crushed crystals making it look rather like the centre of a geode. The audience with the crown was over and she sighed lightly before catching a glimpse of herself in the mirror and grinned.

It had all gone according to plan. The masses were happy and she had been praised for her beauty, kindness and intelligence so many times she was walking on cloud nine. If it was possible to survive on adoration she felt like she could be immortal right now. Naturally however even in this realm that was not something that could be done. Immortality was the stuff of fantasy. But prolonged life? sustained beauty? You could have all of that. It came at a cost if you were willing to pay, and she was just mad enough to do it.

A knock on the door announced the arrival of two figures. Both were dressed similarly in loose clothing bound over with strips of fabric to pull it tight to their forms. This was the typical uniform for scouts. Nothing more than required and everything designed for complete freedom of movement and cover.

“What did you find?” She didn’t bother with greetings. Observing the two visitors like a cat would a mouse.

“The rift is strong, and it holds. We can go back.” The taller one explained with a complete lack of emotion or detail. She was pleased to see this, emotions wasted time and made for weak soldiers.

“Good. Bring me what I desire.” She waved her hand and turned back to her reflection.

“One other thing My Queen.”

“What?” She moved her eyes in the mirror staring through it at the second scout who had spoken.

“The rift from what we can tell didn’t naturally tear.”

She felt her breath catch in her throat at this piece of information. Naturally forming rifts were rare and took generations to form and become stable. A non-natural rift would mean someone with the power to tear at the fabric of time had created it. Someone as powerful as she was, possibly even more powerful. Her blood ran hot as she picked up a clear crystal turning it over in her hand until it changed to citrine. The glittering yellow like a shard of trapped sunlight glowed from within and she tossed it towards the scouts who caught it nimbly.

“When you go back take this. I want to know what happens to it.”

“As you wish.”

The two scouts briskly left the Queen’s chamber. They had their orders and it never paid to keep her highness waiting. Once they were a safe distance away, a shadow in the corridor rippled a pale outline of a figure moved in the opposite direction. Long fingers pulled the edge of their cloak up higher, turning its hood over their head.

---

[builder051]

A poet and a one-man band

Captain America.  No ‘verse.  Could feasibly be Powers/No Powers, Heroverse, or relatively canon.

_____

Steve wakes when he feels Bucky move.  He always does.  He supposes he always has, even in the years before the war.  It was something of a defense mechanism back then, an instinct gone awry.  Instead of sleeping deeply and recharging his frail body, the slightest sound or shift of the mattress would send him sitting bolt upright with his heart hammering in a way that certainly wasn’t healthy.  But his mind was shockingly clear.  Did he need to fight?  Or flee?  Or drag Bucky away from a gun-toting burglar in a black mask?  The adrenaline pumping through his delicate veins made him feel like he could do all of it and then some.  

Steve never had to do any of it.  He’d escorted a green-faced drunken Bucky to the bathroom a few times and firmly insisted he stay put while Steve cleaned vomit out of the bed sheets.  But even then Bucky had stumbled chivalrously, reaching out to the walls of the narrow hallway to avoid putting too much weight on Steve’s skinny arm.  

Nowadays Bucky wakes in the night for very different reasons.  He hardly ever gets up to piss.  He hardly drinks water to begin with.  Sometimes he crashes into Steve, panting and coughing and struggling to breathe.  Sometimes he flails.  Sometimes he rolls to the edge of the mattress and cries.  

The first time each situation arose, Steve overreacted.  “What’s wrong?  What do you need?  What can I do?” he’d asked, grabbing Bucky’s shoulders and hugging him.  Holding him.  Then eventually letting go when it became clear he didn’t have the magic touch Bucky needed.  The loving whispers just made it worse, though it was hard to interpret the subtle shades of sniffle and grunt.

This time when Bucky moves, he curls carelessly, his head sliding off the pillow toward his knees, which peek out from the warm tent of the quilt.  He groans as he forms a ball, and his bony ass clips Steve’s hip.  It’s not the kind of loving brush that should happen beneath the covers, and not nap jerk either.  It’s not the movement of someone who’s asleep and dreaming.  Just the movement of someone who’s unaware.  

“Hey.”  Steve reaches for Bucky’s lower back, pretending he can’t feel the hard ridges of bone along his lumbar spine.  “You ok?”

“Hmph.”  Bucky sits up and pushes the quilt away.  At first Steve thinks he’s bristling, but the shiver doesn’t stop.  The hem of his t-shirt vibrates in a blur of a quiver.  Bucky stands, letting in a gust of winter air that makes Steve’s nipples go hard.  Steve burrows into the blankets and crosses his arms, squeezing his biceps in calloused hands.  Bucky probably doesn’t need him right now, but it makes no difference.  Cold, arousal, weakness… Steve still isn’t allowed to feel.  

There’s silence until liquid hits water with a disgusting splash.  Steve wonders if he’s hearing correctly; fluid in the eustachian tubes does funny things to acoustics, and they haven’t lived here that long.  Something might be wrong with the plumbing…

But who’s he kidding?  Steve doesn’t get sick anymore.  There’s no need to second guess himself.  But Bucky doesn’t get sick either, at least not to his knowledge.

“Buck?  You alright?” Steve calls as he leaps out of bed in a bent-kneed attack stance and jogs the 15 feet into the ensuite.  He isn’t sure what kind of offensive he’s going to launch against an attack of vomiting, but he’s prepared at least.

“Hm.  Yeah.”  Bucky coughs and tears off a length of toilet paper, but drops it when he starts gagging again.  

“No, you’re not.”  Steve starts to kneel beside him, but Bucky puts up his hand.  

He spits.  “Yeah,” he repeats, failing to find the toilet paper and wiping his mouth on his sleeve instead.  “’M fine.  ’M done.”

Steve sighs and bites his lip.  “Ok.”  He pats Bucky’s shoulder, but retracts the touch when he flinches.  “Alright.”  He rocks back on his heels and creeps toward the bedroom until he hears the toilet flush and feels Bucky, cat-like and shadowy behind him.

They lie down a foot apart, and the next thing Steve knows, morning sun is streaming in and the bell on his alarm clock is ringing shrilly.  Bucky’s pale, but his head rests in the crevice between their pillows like usual, so Steve assumes that’s that.  It was a one-off.  Some bad bite of chicken or rotten nightmare that may or may not warrant retelling.  He won’t push Bucky to talk, Steve promises himself.  He won’t be that guy.

He lasts 20 minutes.  Steve suspects it would’ve been longer if Bucky hadn’t suddenly slumped over his elbow and dry heaved onto the floor.

“Whoa, alright,” Steve says, leaving the orange juice on the counter and rushing to Bucky’s side.

A rough belch explodes from Bucky’s throat along with a few drips of saliva.  Steve waits for him to speak or cough or cry, even.  But he doesn’t.  He just gulps and breathes shallowly.  

“You must be feeling pretty sick.”  Steve pushes a strand of sweaty hair back from Bucky’s forehead.  He touches his skin gently with the backs of his knuckles.  He isn’t warm, but he seems to be tender.  Bucky blinks hard in the way that means pain.  

Steve wishes he’d say something.  Anything would be reassuring; yeah, or a faked I’m fine, or even fuck you.  “What do you want to do?” Steve whispers, trailing his thumb down the line of stubble connecting Bucky’s bangs to his cheek to his moustache.  “Bathroom?  Bed?  Or water?  Or…?”  He trails off, feeling his brows knit as he tries to pick apart the blank look in Bucky’s eyes.

Steve winds up putting him in the car.  He knows as well as anyone that it’s a disaster waiting to happen, but he can’t take the empty, silent stare.  Bucky’s in pain, and sitting at the breakfast table and watching him go grey at the sight of steam coming off a cup of peppermint tea is as good as torture for Steve.  

They stop four blocks from the house for Bucky to throw up again.  Nothing, again.  “Aw, Buck.”  Steve pats him softly between the shoulder blades until he stops gagging, then walks back around to the driver’s seat.  He looks at Bucky’s hands resting at a quiver on his knees and holds one as he navigates the neighborhood at a crawl.  

It’s possible to get to Sam at home without nosing out onto any major roads.  Steve’s grateful for it; he’d hate to toss Bucky into the realm of stoplights and honking horns that make up the route to the VA.  Steve just hopes it’s early enough that their friend is still at home.  

He pulls into the driveway behind Sam’s burgundy Corolla, effectively parking him in.  It shores up the help, too, but Steve doesn’t like to think that way.  He doesn’t like not knowing what to do with Bucky, how to help Bucky.  Because after all they’ve been through, he should.  He should know better than anyone.

“I’m sorry,” Steve says to Sam instead of hello.  “He keeps throwing up, but no fever, and we didn’t eat anything weird.”

“Ok, um…”  Sam drops his work bag and travel mug on the kitchen table and leads Bucky to the sink before the retch written on his face can turn material.  Steve follows with a kitchen chair because he doesn’t trust Bucky’s ability to stay on his feet.  

“Ok, ok,” Sam murmurs, leaning with Bucky over the basin and looking perfectly at home like a PJ in the field.  Steve feels useless, standing alone in a kitchen that isn’t his.

“You wanna just give us a minute?” Sam asks over his shoulder.

Steve wants to say no, but that would defeat the purpose of coming to begin with.  He trudges to the living room and watches Good Morning America while he alphabetizes the magazines on the coffee table.

Quiet murmurings come from the next room for a while, then footsteps.  Steve looks up quickly, but he barely glimpses what looks like a three-legged shadow stuttering down the hallway.

“Alright,” Sam says matter-of-factly, reappearing to clap Steve on the arm with what’s probably supposed to be a grounding touch.  “Sorry if I spooked you.  He’s gonna lie down.  You wanna talk?”

“Yeah.”  Steve sits up straighter.  “What’s wrong with him?”  He shakes his head at his choice of words.  “I mean, why’s he sick?  What…?”

“Well, you probably need a doctor to know for sure-for sure.”  Sam smiles sadly.  “But… You know about depression, right?  Anxiety?  Stress?”

“Yeah,” Steve says again, slowly and stupidly.  “I mean, I haven’t discussed them in detail, but I’ve read pamphlets.”

“Geez, sometimes I think SHIELD is worse than a high school guidance counselor.”  Sam laughs.  “Long story short, they wreck a person.  Badly.”

“He’s just sad?”  Steve’s heart drops down to his stomach.  “Or… Overwhelmed?”  His brain takes off again, wondering how in the world he missed this, how Bucky could be so hurt and not show it, not ask for help.

“It’s not that simple,” Sam says.  “But if it helps you process it to think of it that way, well, yeah, kinda.  It’s not regular sad, not civilian sad.  You saw bad shit in combat, right?  Saw people die?”

Steve nods.  He saw Bucky die.  He wanted to mourn him, but never had time before something came up, then another thing, and another thing, and then Bucky was back.  

“It makes some guys get angry.  Some have survivor’s guilt.”  Sam shrugs.  “Some guys need to hit things when it gets bad.  Some get sick to their stomachs.”

It makes sense.  The worst kind of sense, the horrible oversimplified kind that means he understood it the whole time, his view was just skewed.  Like the easy math problems he’d miss on tests at school because he looked out the window at the wrong time.  Steve feels guilty all over again, thinking back frantically to find where he turned his view away from Bucky and why and how he can put it back.

“I…” he says slowly.  “Is he gonna be ok?”

“Yeah,” Sam says.  “Soon.”  He gets to his feet.  “Want some coffee?”

Steve looks up at him.  “Aren’t you going to work?”

“Nah,” Sam replies.  “You’re looking after your boy.  Somebody’s gotta look after you.”

Steve can’t help but chuckle.  “Thanks,” he says.  “I appreciate it.”

[alounuitte]

a little under the weather

Phil might be getting sick, but there's no way he's going to let it get in his way when he's been trying so hard to be a better team player at the studio. After all, he's finally found some pride in what he does. (Or, Phil is reminded that some days hard work and a good attitude aren't all you need, after all.) (post-loop, light on actual romance and heavy on comfort and companionship.)

chapter 5 (also on my ao3)

(warnings: vomiting)

-

The sun in his eyes and the beginnings of a headache wake him up to find Rita already awake and making breakfast in the kitchen.

“What time is it?” he asks groggily, rubbing his eyes. “Sun’s up.”

“Little before seven,” she says.

“You’re late for work,” he mumbles.

“I’m going in at eight,” she replies. “Why didn’t you wake me up?”

“Huh?” he asks, blinking at her.

“You were sick last night,” she says. “You should have come to get me.”

“Oh,” he says. “Didn’t want to bother you.”

She leans around the corner and throws a balled-up napkin at his head, which bounces off his cheek and lands in the garbage. “I told you to wake me up if you needed anything,” she reminds him sharply.

“Nice shot,” he says dryly. “Anyways, I didn’t need anything. What were you gonna do about it?”

“Well, at least I could have sat up with you,” she says. “Or made you more comfortable.”

“That’s not…” he begins.

She scowls, holding up the spatula she’s using like a threat, and he shuts up. “Pretty sure comfort and companionship still fall under the label ofanything, ” she says. “You think you can try to eat something?”

“Ugh,” he groans, throwing his arm over his face. “I guess I can try. ”

“What do you want?” she asks.

“Well, part of me really wants the eggs you’re making,” he says. “Fortunately, I know that part of me is stupid. ”

“You don’t want my eggs anyways,” she says. “You think the way I make them is gross, remember?”

“Oh, yeah,” he agrees. “Do me a favor and don’t eat them out here, huh?”

“Yeah,” she says dryly, “since even when you’re not sick you act like just seeing them might make you puke.” She looks around the kitchen, putting her hands on her hips. “I can make you toast,” she offers. “Or you can have more applesauce, or, um…”

“Toast is fine,” he says. “Hey, get me a Gatorade too, will you?”

She grins at him. “Wow,” she says, “look who’s behaving himself this morning.”

He manages a wry smile in return. “Well, it’s the only thing that’ll get you off my case, isn’t it?”

“Mm-hm,” she agrees, laughing, and goes to put some bread in the toaster for him.

“Hey, speaking of,” he adds, “you’re gonna send me my stuff when you get to the station, right?”

She hums thoughtfully, getting out a plate for her food. “If you promise you won’t strain yourself,��� she says.

“I promise,” he agrees quickly, which earns him a suspicious sideways look.

“And you’ll rest, and drink fluids,” she adds.

“Come on,” he says. “I already asked you to get me a Gatorade. I’ll drink fluids.”

“And take something for the fever,” she says. “Your temperature’s still up, you need to keep an eye on it.”

“Rita, if it will get you to send me my things, I will text you photo evidence of my exact temperature every hour,” he says, exasperated.

“Okay,” she agrees, “if you’ll also take some ibuprofen before I leave.”

“Fine,” he says. “Bring it over here.”

She grabs the bottle as well as his toast and a Gatorade. “Here,” she says, and shakes out two tablets.

He takes them but only puts one in his mouth, leaning over to get a drink to wash it down. “I’ll take the other one in a little bit if I’m feeling okay,” he promises, and her glare softens.

“Take care of yourself today,” she says, and leans down to kiss his temple. “For me. Promise me you will.”

“I promise,” he says, and catches her hand. “Thanks,” he adds, after a moment, “for being here.”

She smiles and squeezes his fingers. “I better head out,” she says. “Hang in there, Phil.”

“Take my umbrella,” he calls as she goes to put on her jacket. “It’s gonna rain tonight.”

“Oh, is it?” she says lightly. “You’ll have to keep me updated after you take a look at the charts.”

“Are you doubting me?” he asks, mock-offended. “I’ll have you know -“

“I’m sure your predictions are plenty accurate,” she says, pulling on her coat. “You’ve only been really wrong, like, once this year, right?”

“Oh, shut up,” he grumbles. “Get out of here, don’t be late on my account!”

“Wasn’t planning on it,” she says lightly, and waves as she steps out the door.

He sets up his laptop on the coffee table and sits down on the floor, the quilt wrapped around his shoulders and the blanket over his legs, leaning back against the couch. It’s not as comfortable as being on the couch, but it’s probably better than keeping his computer on his lap when he might start throwing up again any time. He pulls the trash can over next to him so he won’t have to scramble for it if - or, well, probably when - he does get sick.

Rita hasn’t actually emailed him yet, so he decides he ought to put on a movie until she does. After a few minutes of deliberation, he settles on Star Wars and gets up to put the first one in. He’d rather watch A New Hope, but he’s going to be working, and that’s an experience he wants to savor, seeing as he hasn’t seen it since before Punxsutawney, two months and God only knows how many days ago. He’ll save the best ones for after his work day is over.

He leans back against the couch and sips his Gatorade while he watches the opening without actually reading any of it, his vision half in focus except for when he glances at the computer to see if Rita’s actually sent him his work yet. His head is feeling cloudy again, but the ibuprofen should help when it kicks in, at least to ease the dull ache in his temples and cool the flush he can feel across his face.

His phone chirps next to him, and he frowns, blinking stupidly at it for a moment before he manages to actually pick it up. It’s Rita, which makes him glad at first until he gets his eyes to focus enough to read the message. Lovely Rita: pretty sure you promised me a picture of the thermometer?? He groans and rolls his eyes, stumbling to his feet to get it from the bathroom. He hadn’t figured she would actually make him follow through on that. Hold on, he texts her, shoving it under his tongue and slouching back to the living room to sit back down. Phil: So are you going to send me my work stuff after this or Lovely Rita: pics first He takes one of himself making a face at her and sends it back. Lovely Rita: very funny phil. The thermometer beeps and he grimaces as he checks it and sees a reading of 102. That’s worse than he thought. He takes a picture of it for Rita and tosses it on the table. Phil: Happy now? Lovely Rita: oh :( Lovely Rita: are you sure you’re up for working? Phil: Yeah I’m fine Phil: I only took the ibuprofen like half an hour ago it’ll go down more in a bit Phil: Anyways if I don’t have something else to do aside from watch the phantom fucking menace I’m gonna lose my goddamn mind Lovely Rita: okay if you say so Lovely Rita: give me your password so I can get everything for you Lovely Rita: and tell me what you need me to send you I don’t know what you’re looking for He texts her the password and a list of the files he needs and where to find them, and then leans back against the couch, dropping his phone on the floor. He really should take the other ibuprofen, he thinks, just to help get his temperature down. He’ll do it when she actually sends him the email, he decides, and goes back to staring blankly at Liam Neeson and Ewan McGregor fighting droids.

He holds his focus for a while, but his headache, if anything, gets worse as he works, and after an hour and a half he’s starting to feel queasy again as well. He groans and pushes his laptop away, leaning back against the cushions and closing his eyes. If he rests for a few minutes he ought to feel better.

He hears the unpleasant sound his stomach makes, and grits his teeth, willing himself to keep his breakfast down. He can taste acid in the back of his mouth and swallows hard. He’d been fine ten minutes ago, for God’s sake.

His stomach turns over again and he covers his mouth with the back of one hand. He burps a little and the chalky, bitter taste of the painkiller hits his tongue, making him gag; he grabs the trash can and pulls it into his lap before he retches and vomits, coughing up a watery stream of undissolved medicine and acid and sports drink.

“Oh, Lord,” he mutters, screwing his eyes shut and trying to catch his breath. He heaves again and ducks his head as another mouthful of liquid forces its way back up his throat. His eyes and nose are burning, and he’s getting chills again, tremors wracking his body in between another few rounds of throwing up all the Gatorade he’s had to drink this morning.

Maybe he should take a break, he thinks, hunching his shoulders as he leans over the garbage, waiting for his stomach to settle. It makes him feel a little guilty, wanting to give up so soon, but his head is so cloudy he’s not sure he can read his computer screen, let alone actually analyze anything he’s looking at. And really, he just wants to lay down. Maybe it’ll help with the nausea, even just a little.

He groans and leans over to close his laptop, setting the trash can aside. The sound of liquid sloshing in the liner makes him gag again, but he just coughs and dry heaves a little before it passes. Wrapping the quilt and blanket around himself, he crawls back onto the couch and curls up on his side, closing his eyes. When the room stops spinning he’ll feel better.

He’s half asleep when Rita texts him again, and groans as he pushes himself up on his elbows to lean over and grab his phone from the table. Lovely Rita: hey how are you doing? Lovely Rita: update pls Phil: Well I could be fucking better. Lovely Rita: :/ Phil: Sorry, that wasn’t nice Phil: I took the other ibuprofen but it made me sick Lovely Rita: oh no hon :( Phil: So I’m laying down since I puked like eight times in a row Phil: Also, throwing up painkillers is the worst. Lovely Rita: hang in there, ok? ily She signs her message with a heart, which makes him smile in spite of himself. Thanks, he sends back, and closes his eyes again.

He feels a little better in the afternoon, enough to eat some applesauce and saltine crackers and take another ibuprofen at least, and he manages another few hours of work without giving himself a headache or having to stop and spend ten minutes bent over the trash can spewing his guts out again. Around two he takes a break to rest his eyes and text Rita again.

Phil: Hey Phil: Guess who had lunch and didn't even bring it up an hour later Lovely Rita: yay! Lovely Rita: proud of you babe Phil: You're making fun of me aren't you Lovely Rita: no! i am proud Lovely Rita: it sounds like you're doing a little better! :) Phil: Yeah, a little bit, I think.

He gets back to work, and only stops when he gets an email a little after three marked as urgent. He quickly pulls it up, frowning. It’s from Rita, sent with the subject line “Important Communication ATTN: Phil Connors,” and he hurries to open it.

The first thing in it is a link to the station’s Facebook page. He squints, looking past it to the body of the message.

Wishing Mr Connors a quick recovery from Cranberry! Love, Tina, Joe, Matt, and Marcus. 

Sending healing thoughts for our favorite weatherman! - the Andersons. 

Stay warm and get lots of rest so you can be back in good health, Phil! 

Hope there’s better weather soon for Phil! 

Dear Phil, my daughter Penny (6) wants you to know she hopes your mom will make you some soup to help you feel better and that you have lots of good books to read while you’re in bed. Hang in there! - Mandy C

He doesn’t realize he’s tearing up until his vision starts to blur, and blinks quickly, shaking his head as he grabs his phone to text Rita.

Phil: This isn’t really urgent you know Lovely Rita: i dont know what you’re talking about Phil: Yes you do. Lovely Rita: correspondence from viewers is very important Phil: I would have seen it when I come back in tomorrow. Phil: Anyways I know you’re trying to guilt me into resting more so cut that out. Lovely Rita: well I can’t help but notice you saw your urgent email pretty fast Lovely Rita: since you were sitting at your computer probably giving yourself a headache trying to do math Phil: It’s more physics than it is math Lovely Rita: not the point, phil :/ Lovely Rita: get some rest and watch star wars we’ve got your workload handled Lovely Rita: and the more you strain yourself the longer it’ll take to get better

He scowls at his phone and sets it aside, looking back at the email. The list of messages goes on, more notices from Facebook and emails sent to his work address and mentions on Twitter, all wishing him well. There have to be at least a hundred of them - Rita must have been putting them together all day to send him this.

Despite himself, he smiles as he reads them, drying his eyes and cheeks with the corner of the quilt when he catches himself starting to cry a little. Even if he knows she only did it to make him feel bad for not resting, he’s a little grateful to Rita for passing on the messages. It’s a nice reminder that even near strangers seem to like him even better now.

Maybe, he decides, it wouldn’t be so bad to send in what he's done so far and take it easy for the rest of the day.

[theclaravoyant]

AN ~ for the Anon who prompted (paraphrased):

Genderfluid!Daisy getting drunk and trying to come out to their partner(s)

For the ship of my choice I decided to try my hand at some TripDaisy, and while I don’t think it came out (*ba dum tsh*) as fluffy as you may have intended, I hope the mild angst/hurt/comfort/fluff blend is satisfying :) Hope you like it!

Read on AO3 (~1300wd). Rated light T.

-

now take a hold of your soul

The small club buzzed with life as Daisy Johnson sat at the bar, casually nursing a lemonade as she looked around for someone she was expecting. She beamed when, at last, she saw Trip enter at the other end of the room. As he passed the tables and the dance floor, looking for her, the strobing pink and green lights shone richly on his dark skin, and on his white teeth that shone across the room at her when he beamed back. He opened his arms as he got close, and Daisy slid off her seat, waving for their first round of drinks before embracing him with a kiss.

“Congratulations!” she called, over the music. “You did a great job today! So glad to see you’re finally getting some recognition!”

“You know what they say though,” Trip said, brushing her off, although his humble smile glowed. “Behind every great man is a woman –“

“Shoving him full of congratulatory drinks?” Daisy suggested, holding up one shot for herself, and one for him. “The first one’s the good stuff. It gets more budget after that ‘cause I’m not made of money, but cheers!”

Trip laughed. “Cheers!”

They tapped their glasses together and threw the shots back, and then Daisy pointed a finger at the jukebox. Someone she’d paid earlier dropped a selection, and the iconic 80s drumbeats filled the bar.

“Ooh!” Trip called. “This is my jam!”

Daisy laughed. She’d never met a man with more jams than Trip, and the enthusiasm with which he beckoned her out onto the dancefloor was enough to draw the attention of half the bar. With eyes on them, Trip leaned into it, pretending to throw a lasso around her and pull her toward him before both of them launched into a semi-co-ordinated dance. Whether it was nostalgia or infectious enthusiasm, Daisy was pleased to find that the rest of the crowd got in on the action with ease. Dancing, singing, and eventually, karaoke, made for an even better night than Daisy had planned, and by the time she and Trip had retired to one of the booths – both tipsy, sweaty, and breathing hard – she was riding a high of sugar, alcohol, and endorphins.

“Love you,” she murmured, cuddling into his chest even though they had the whole booth to themselves. “’m proud of you. You know that? You are bad. Ass.”

“Well, thank you, I am,” Trip agreed, turning his glass between his fingers with pride and a little drunkenness swelling his chest. “That’s why we make a perfect pair.”

“Shux.” Daisy grinned a slow, lazy grin, and lay her chin on her hands on the table. She was drunk enough to feel warm, and Trip’s hand was strolling over her back, and if she sunk any further into relaxation, she reckoned, she’d soon start purring like a cat. The sugar high was wearing off, for now. Either that, or she was ascending a level of drunkenness. Probably both, as the still-dancing crowd seemed to blur in time and colour before her eyes. “Geez, how are those guys still going?”

Trip laughed. “When did you turn into such an old granny?”

“The body is willing,” Daisy explained. “The 5am starts are not.”

“Oh, shit, May’s gonna freak –“ Trip very nearly giggled, and Daisy giggled too, her nose crinkling as she did.

“Nah, I got tomorrow off. Gotta treat my man to a proper congratulations!” She slapped his chest – slowly, drunkenly, fluidly and inaccurately – in praise. Then fell into it, and settled there, her face a little mashed into his chest, where she whispered: “Damn, you’re ripped.”

“Oh, you like that?” Trip raised one of his arms, showing off his guns to Daisy, who poked it with a finger.

“You have really nice muscles,” she said. “And a nice face. And a nice ass.”

“Damn right,” Trip agreed. “And I think this ass wants to get us some water, hm?”

“Hate to watch you walk away,” Daisy agreed, mashing the saying into one. Trip headed back to the bar, dancing so that his hips gyrated exaggeratedly, and Daisy, true to her word, watched. By the time he had fetched the jug of water and returned though, the alcohol and the sugar crash and the warped way that time worked when she was drunk - and that time being spent alone – was bringing Daisy down, fast. The smile had faded from her face and she stared at the blue liquid that was her cocktail, as if she could see straight through it to something that still, somehow, meant nothing. Trip swapped the cocktail out for a glass of water and Daisy looked up at him: part of her still distant, but part of her surprised. Maybe even surprised that he’d come back.

“Do you think I’m a freak?” she asked.

“Nah, man,” Trip insisted. “I mean, only in the good ways.”

Daisy snorted derisively, and took a swig of the water, and pulled a face. She’d been looking forward to restoring the sugar high, but she knew water was better for now.

“They’re all bad ways,” she said. “I never fit.”

“Hey, the way things are going, if everyone fit, the world would be a way worse place,” Trip pointed out. “And besides – you fit with some people. The important people. You fit with me, right?”

Daisy sighed.

“I don’t know.”

Trip frowned. He shifted his seat, moving back to Daisy’s side and pulling her into his arms.

“Hey, now, where’s this coming from?” he crooned. “You and me are good, girl. Don’t get down on yourself about that. There’s plenty else in the world to worry about, but not that.”

Daisy shook her head.

“Can I tell you something?” she asked.

“Always.”

“Sometimes… I don’t always feel like girl. Which is crazy because like, I don’t even know what feeling like a girl is supposed to feel like – like that’s crazy, right, how is that a thing – but like… I feel like I just know sometimes. I’m wrong.”

“No,” Trip assured her. “You’re not wrong, Daisy. You’re here. Your existence... is what it is, but it's not wrong. You matter, no matter what. Hey. How long have you been feeling like this?” Daisy shrugged.

“I dunno. My whole life, I guess. I thought it would go away when I found out all the Inhuman stuff but it never really did. It’s just what I am. Just another freaky layer to the freak onion that is my life.”

Trip squeezed her in a hug, kissed her hair and whispered in her ear: “I love the freak onion. Don’t you forget it. And you know, you’re not alone. There’s words for people like you.”

“Yeah, -“

“Nice words,” Trip interrupted, before she could start on a list.

Daisy pouted. “If you start spouting some cheesy shit like ‘hero’ or something I’m getting a cab.”

“You are a hero, whether you like it or not,” Trip pointed out, “but that’s not what I meant. I mean, there’s a whole bunch of people out there who don’t feel like they’re what they were born as -”

“I’m not-“ Daisy started, but Trip didn’t let her cut him off.

“- and some of those people only feel it some of the time. Like, there’s this thing called ‘genderfluid.’ I don’t remember much about it, it came up in Group once, but it’s pretty self-explanatory, isn’t it? Must be where your gender, is like… fluid.”

Daisy took a long drink of water. Trip took this as a reminder, and poured himself one too. And they started again.

“Gender…fluid…” Daisy murmured, pulling out her phone and googling the term. She squinted at some of the articles through her drunkenness. “That’s cool. Lots of gender binary bullshit though. You sure it’s really a thing?”

“Yeah. If you read what people actually talk about, people who experience it, a lot of it sounds like what you said just now. I mean, maybe consider again it when it’s not 2am and we’re not pretty heavily inn—in—well, drunk.” He laughed at himself. “But I’m pretty sure it’s a thing.”

“And – and I mean if it is,” Daisy put forward. “You don’t mind?”

“Look, I’ve revealed a lot of things I’ve regretted at 2am DNMs,” Trip said, “so if you wake up tomorrow and want to forget this whole thing, that’s fine. But if you follow the trail and it means something, I’m here for you. Names, pronouns, the whole shtick if you want.”

“Thanks, but I mean for you,” Daisy pressed. “For us. I mean, if I’m not a girl all the time – that sort of means you’re… not straight all the time.”

Trip shrugged.

“I’m easy, girl. Man. Whichever.” He grinned. “And if it turns out I swing more ways than I thought I did yesterday then that’s fine with me.”

He leaned back against the seat, smooth as a player, with a falsely self-aggrandising grin that, gradually, coaxed a smile out of Daisy at last. Then, more sincerely, he reached for her hand and looked into her eyes.

“Look, Daisy, you’ve always been special,” he said. “You’re an orphan with a family. You’re a human alien. You’re a hero, but you’re also an oxymoron, and that doesn’t mean you’re a freak. Not in a bad way. It just means you were never going to fit in someone’s neat little boxes, and that’s okay. ‘Specially since, you know, ticking boxes - you’re doing that left right and centre, as far as I’m concerned.”

Daisy groaned silently, but she was still smiling.

“I tick your boxes? That’s what you’re going with?”

Trip nodded, a sparkle of mischief back in his eyes as he became satisfied that the worst of Daisy’s drunken despair had passed.

“You’re welcome,” he said. “I’ll be here all week.”

Daisy rolled her eyes.

“Shut up and drink your water, babe,” she said, and she drank too.