#and like. why is everything so washed out. please make something saturated please please

[mayonneise]

wow. the color grading in this show fucking sucks

[lucyhblack]

Nightmare headcanons:

(It's mainly about his corruption, but there are a few other things)

His corruption does not have a distinct taste. It will have a taste for each person, but they will all have unpleasant tastes. Not necessarily something bad or disgusting, but something that reminds you of an unpleasant experience.

For example: if a person suffered a painful breakup in a garden, upon tasting Nightmare's corruption, that person could taste flowers, which would automatically take them back to that specific memory.

(in other words, the “taste” of Nightmare’s corruption affects more than just the sense of taste)

Nightmare can also control how "unpleasant" the experience is, "intensifying", so to speak, the unpleasant taste/memory.

(from a simple uncomfortable memory, to something really tragic/traumatic)

The corruption is constantly “oozing,” but it doesn't come loose or stick to other things unless Nightmare wants it to. He can use his corruption as a weapon by throwing it like projectiles, but these parts are soon drawn back to him.

Technically Nightmare doesn't get dirty, as anything that falls on him is soon “washed away” by the corruption… with the exception of Ink's paints or Error's ropes. Therefore, he doesn't need to take a bath (even so, he does it because he likes it. Especially baths in the bathtub).

Nightmare knows many languages, but many he can only read, not pronounce.

He cannot use a gasterblaster or bone attack, but he can make his corruption take the form of bone projectiles and even shape it into a blaster, even if it cannot fire.

He has bones, but they are so “saturated” with corruption that they can be moved and readjusted as he pleases. At this point he's more slime than skeleton.

Its consistency is also like that of slime. Soft, but not necessarily sticky. It is not cold, but slightly warm, giving the unpleasant sensation of something alive.

Corruption can cover everything he is wearing or not wearing, as he wishes.

A long time ago he stole an outfit from a Sans Classico from a genocidal timeline, soon the outfit became dirty, destroyed and had to be replaced. For a time he continued to steal clothes from dead Sanses, but soon realized that if they covered them with their corruption he would not need to worry about cleaning or damaging them and would not need to replace them.

He can change his clothes (making his corruption recede) and prevent the new one from being covered by corruption if he wants… but why so much trouble?

Sans's classic outfit isn't something he particularly prefers, but in a way it's kind of thematic, isn't it? Even though "his boys'" have some differences, they are similar enough to seem like a team (with the exception of Cross who stands out horribly)…

Not that he wants to match them or anything! But they are practical and comfortable and don't stand out (not that being discreet is of any use when you're covered in black goo and have 4 tentacles on your back).

His Corruption is quite sensitive and can capture even the most subtle changes in temperature, pressure and especially intentions. Despite this, none of these things physically affect Nightmare (he may register that he is cold, but it doesn't affect him).

One cannot practically cause permanent physical harm in their corruption unless they are imbued with a great positive force.

It can be sliced, crushed and even exploded, but none of this damage is permanent unless it is done with great and powerful positive energy. Which makes it almost indestructible, as it is very difficult to cause damage to something when 100% positive.

The only people who can really destroy it/deal prolonged damage are: Dream, Ink (especially if it is fused with Fresh), Lust and Reaper.

Others can cause you damage (even extensive to some extent) and force you to retreat, but only the ones above can cause long-term damage.

Error is a good example.

The Destroyer could be a terrible enemy, despite not being able to directly cause permanent damage to it.

His ability to mess with codes could mess things up for Nightmare (it doesn't affect him directly, as he is an outcode and therefore “inaccessible” to Error, but the Destroyer could control/alter the perception of others and make them capable of to cause serious damage to Nightmare). Other than that, the Destroyer's simple magical strength is more than capable of making the Lord of Negativity retreat and avoid direct clashes.

Error's ropes can trap Nightmare, but they don't do much damage (Error also doesn't like using them on Nightmare because the feedback he receives from the ropes when they are around Nightmare is unpleasant).

Nightmare doesn't like anything that alters his perception, so he never gets high or drunk (although he can sometimes overindulge in wine, he makes his corruption “burn off” any effects of alcohol, preventing him from getting drunk or having a hangover).

Although most common poisons do not affect him, he has a type of “allergic reaction" to large doses of chocolate (especially dark chocolate)).

He has no need to eat or sleep unless he has to recover from some injury, even so he likes to disconnect from the world for short periods (and from the dreams he has in those little naps).

The same goes for food. Even without the need for it, he likes to eat and try new things.

He has a sweet tooth and tries to hide it because he thinks it doesn't look “good” with his image.

[istumpysk]

Operation Stumpy Re-Read

AFFC: Cersei IV (Chapter 17)

They rose; three ugly men, and ragged. One had a boil on his neck, and none had washed in half a year. The prospect of raising such to lordship amused her. I could seat them next to Margaery at feasts. 

I aspire to reach this level of petty.

+.+.+

When the chief fool undid the drawstring on the sack and plunged his hand inside, the smell of decay filled her audience chamber like some rank rose. 

I believe that belongs to Daenerys.

+.+.+

The queen considered her prize, unflinching. "You've killed the wrong dwarf," she said at last, grudging every word.

"We never did," one of the fools dared to say. "This is got to be him, ser. A dwarf, see. He's rotted some, is all."

"He has also grown a new nose," Cersei observed. 

[...]

"You have wasted my time and slain an innocent man. I should have your own heads off." But if she did, the next man might hesitate and let the Imp slip the net. She would pile dead dwarfs ten feet high before she let that happen.

Nice, Cersei.

+.+.+

This was the third head that had been delivered to her. At least this one was a dwarf. The last had simply been an ugly child.

How many dead kids is that for you?

+.+.+

Maggy the Frog, they had called her in Lannisport. If Father had known what she said to me, he would have had her tongue out. Cersei had never told anyone, though, not even Jaime. Melara said that if we never spoke about her prophecies, we would forget them. She said that a forgotten prophecy couldn't come true.

Speaking of dead kids, that Melara had some pretty good advice.

+.+.+

"Knowing is the nature of my service."

Varys had all of us believing he was irreplaceable. What fools we were. Once the queen let it become known that Qyburn had taken the eunuch's place, the usual vermin had wasted no time in making themselves known to him, to trade their whispers for a few coins. It was the silver all along, not the Spider. Qyburn will serve us just as well.

Today I learned Varys still has a strong grip on King's Landing, and isn't easily replaced.

You'll never guess what Cersei thinks to herself later on in this chapter!

Varys would have known, Cersei thought with irritation. 

+.+.+

A knight of the Kingsguard was always posted outside the doors of the council chambers when the small council was in session. Today it was Ser Boros Blount. "Ser Boros," the queen said pleasantly, "you look quite grey this morning. Something you ate, perchance?" Jaime had made him the king's food taster. A tasty task, but shameful for a knight. Blount hated it. 

Yes Boros, why do you look grey? Is it heart disease? Low oxygen saturation? Something in the food that's inexplicably not troubling Tommen? What's going on, Boros? Tell us, Boros.

+.+.+

My councillors. Cersei had uprooted every rose, and all those beholden to her uncle and her brothers. In their places were men whose loyalty would be to her. She had even given them new styles, borrowed from the Free Cities; the queen would have no "masters" at court beside herself. Orton Merryweather was her justiciar, Gyles Rosby her lord treasurer. Aurane Waters, the dashing young Bastard of Driftmark, would be her grand admiral.

And for her Hand, Ser Harys Swyft.

+ Qyburn, Pycelle, and Jaime Lannister (not present).

Is this the most incompetent small council you've ever seen? No "masters" indeed.

This post will be huge, so I won't share everything, but please note that throughout this entire meeting Harys Swyft will make it clear he has no idea what's going on, and Gyles Rosby won't stop coughing. It's hysterical.

+.+.+

Ser Harys had been thrilled by his appointment, too dim to realize that he was more hostage than Hand. His daughter was her uncle's wife, and Kevan loved his chinless lady, flat-chested and chicken-legged as she was. So long as she had Ser Harys in hand, Kevan Lannister must needs think twice about opposing her. To be sure, a good-father is not the ideal hostage, but better a flimsy shield than none.

Oh.

I guess we got to the bottom of that.

Still, the author makes a point to have Cersei inquire about Dorna Swyft in a chapter where Kevan dies. Kevan may be eliminated, but I don't think we're done here.

+.+.+

"Ser Jaime is at his armorer's being fitted for a hand. I know we were all tired of that ugly stump. And I daresay he would find these proceedings as tiresome as Tommen." Aurane Waters chuckled at that. Good, Cersei thought, the more they laugh, the less he is a threat. Let them laugh. 

I'm sorry, is Jaime now a threat? Oh, Cersei.

+.+.+

"As you command. Prince Doran has taken his brother's unruly bastards into custody, yet Sunspear still seethes. The prince writes that he cannot hope to calm the waters until he receives the justice that was promised him."

"To be sure." A tiresome creature, this prince. "His long wait is almost done. I am sending Balon Swann to Sunspear, to deliver him the head of Gregor Clegane." Ser Balon would have another task as well, but that part was best left unsaid.

Spoiler alert:

Prince Doran took a jagged breath. "Dorne still has friends at court. Friends who tell us things we were not meant to know. This invitation Cersei sent us is a ruse. Trystane is never meant to reach King's Landing. On the road back, somewhere in the kingswood, Ser Balon's party will be attacked by outlaws, and my son will die. I am asked to court only so that I may witness this attack with my own eyes and thereby absolve the queen of any blame. Oh, and these outlaws? They will be shouting, 'Halfman, Halfman,' as they attack. Ser Balon may even catch a quick glimpse of the Imp, though no one else will." - The Watcher, ADWD

Let's examine this for a second. Who told Doran? Cersei is unwilling to inform the small council, meaning few people know of this plan.

I believe it could only be one of the following: Varys, Qyburn, or Taena Merryweather.

+.+.+

Pycelle harrumphed and eyed Qyburn sourly. "The spear was poisoned. No man could have saved him."

"So you said. I recall it well."

Rest in peace, Gregor Clegane. No man could have saved him.

(I don't actually want him to rest in peace.)

+.+.+

"Sparrows, Your Grace. Septon Raynard says there may be as many as two thousand in the city, and more arriving every day. Their leaders preach of doom and demon worship . . ."

[...]

"He was an old done man, Your Grace." Qyburn smiled at Pycelle. "His passing should not have surprised us. No man can ask for more than to die peacefully in his sleep, full of years."

"No," said Cersei, "but we must hope that his successor is more vigorous. My friends upon the other hill tell me that it will most like be Torbert or Raynard."

Be careful what you wish for.

How fortunate for Cersei that the High Septon she wanted to kill suddenly dies. Some people have all the luck.

"He was an old done man, Your Grace." Qyburn smiled at Pycelle.

Lol, bitchy Qyburn.

+.+.+

Aurane Waters seemed as bored as Cersei by all this prattle about septons. Seen up close, his hair was more silvery than gold, and his eyes were grey-green where Prince Rhaegar's had been purple. Even so, the resemblance . . . She wondered if Waters would shave his beard for her. Though he was ten years her junior, he wanted her; Cersei could see it in the way he looked at her. Men had been looking at her that way since her breasts began to bud. Because I was so beautiful, they said, but Jaime was beautiful as well, and they never looked at him that way. 

+.+.+

"One will serve as well as another," the queen announced abruptly, "but whosoever dons the crystal crown must pronounce an anathema upon the Imp." This last High Septon had been conspicuously silent regarding Tyrion. "As for these pink sparrows, so long as they preach no treason they are the Faith's problem, not ours."

We're going to pay close attention to the things Cersei dismisses in this chapter.

The Faith of the Seven and its followers.

+.+.+

"My lords may read the letter if they wish. Royce and these others are massing men below the Eyrie. They mean to remove Littlefinger as Lord Protector of the Vale, forcibly if need be. The question is, ought we allow this?"

"Does Lord Baelish seek our help?" asked Harys Swyft.

"Not as yet. In truth, he seems quite unconcerned. His last letter mentions the rebels only briefly before beseeching me to ship him some old tapestries of Robert's."

The mystery of the tapestries will get an anticlimactic ending. I think.

Petyr laughed. "Perhaps I shall. Or better still, to our sweet Cersei. Though I should not speak harshly of her, she is sending me some splendid tapestries. Isn't that kind of her?" - Alayne I, AFFC

x

Lord Nestor was showing Lady Waxley his prize tapestries, with their scenes of hunt and chase. The same panels had once hung in the Red Keep of King's Landing, when Robert sat the Iron Throne. Joffrey had them taken down and they had languished in some cellar until Petyr Baelish arranged for them to be brought to the Vale as a gift for Nestor Royce. Not only were the hangings beautiful, but the High Steward delighted in telling anyone who'd listen that they had once belonged to a king. - Alayne I, TWOW

+.+.+

"War?" Orton Merryweather laughed. "Lord Baelish is a most amusing man, but one does not fight a war with witticisms. I doubt there will be bloodshed. And does it matter who is regent for little Lord Robert, so long as the Vale remits its taxes?"

No, Cersei decided. If truth be told, Littlefinger had been more use at court. He had a gift for finding gold, and never coughed. "Lord Orton has convinced me. Maester Pycelle, instruct these Lords Declarant that no harm must come to Petyr. Elsewise, the crown is content with whatever dispositions they might make for the governance of the Vale during Robert Arryn's minority."

2. The Vale.

+.+.+

"Could we make use of the ironmen?" asked Orton Merryweather. "The enemy of our enemy? What would the Seastone Chair want of us as the price of an alliance?"

"They want the north," Grand Maester Pycelle said, "which our queen's noble father promised to House Bolton."

"How inconvenient," said Merryweather. "Still, the north is large. The lands could be divided. It need not be a permanent arrangement. Bolton might consent, so long as we assure him that our strength will be his once Stannis is destroyed."

Strange, that's the second time I've read something like that in this book.

It's land we need, not crowns. With Stannis Baratheon and Tywin Lannister contending for the Iron Throne, we have a rare chance to improve our lot. Let us take one side or the other, help them to victory with our fleets, and claim the lands we need from a grateful king. - The Kraken's Daughter, AFFC

Too bad there isn't an obvious piece of land a grateful king could give to the ironborn.

+.+.+

"I do not propose to climb in bed with that sorry pack of squids. Their turn will come, once we have dealt with Stannis. What we require is our own fleet."

3. The sorry pack of squids aka Euron Greyjoy.

+.+.+

"I propose we build new dromonds," said Aurane Waters. "Ten, to start with."

[...]

"Though large, the crown incomes are not large enough to keep abreast of Robert's debts. Accordingly, I have decided to defer our repayment of the sums owed the Holy Faith and the Iron Bank of Braavos until war's end." The new High Septon would doubtless wring his holy hands, and the Braavosi would squeak and squawk at her, but what of it? "The monies saved will be used for the building of our new fleet."

[...]

"Your Grace," Pycelle said in a quavering voice, "this will cause more trouble than you know, I fear. The Iron Bank . . ."

". . . remains on Braavos, far across the sea. They shall have their gold, maester. A Lannister pays his debts."

"The Braavosi have a saying too." Pycelle's jeweled chain clinked softly. "The Iron Bank will have its due, they say."

"The Iron Bank will have its due when I say they will. Until such time, the Iron Bank will wait respectfully. Lord Waters, commence the building of your dromonds."

Oh dear. Never piss off the debt collectors, Cersei.

4. The Iron Bank.

+.+.+

"My lords may not know," said Qyburn, "but in the winesinks and pot shops of this city, there are those who suggest that the crown might have been somehow complicit in Lord Walder's crime."

[...]

"These sparrows are especially outspoken," warned Qyburn. "The Red Wedding was an affront to all the laws of gods and men, they say, and those who had a hand in it are damned."

Cersei was not slow to take his meaning. "Lord Walder must soon face the Father's judgment. He is very old. Let the sparrows spit upon his memory. It has nought to do with us."

[...]

"A little spittle on Lord Walder's tomb is not like to disturb the grave worms," Qyburn agreed, "but it would also be useful if someone were to be punished for the Red Wedding. A few Frey heads would do much to mollify the north."

"Lord Walder will never sacrifice his own," said Pycelle.

"No," mused Cersei, "but his heirs may be less squeamish. Lord Walder will soon do us the courtesy of dying, we can hope. What better way for the new Lord of the Crossing to rid himself of inconvenient half brothers, disagreeable cousins, and scheming sisters than by naming them the culprits?"

Qyburn has a lot of questionable moments during this meeting. I can't tell if it's sabotage or he's not as clever as I originally thought.

They'll never rid themselves of the stain that is the Red Wedding, so what good could ever come from helping incite a Frey civil war?

Also, it goes without saying, the crown will back the wrong Freys. Because, duh.

+.+.+

"Little enough," Cersei assured him. "Lord Qyburn has spoken to the crew of that Myrish galley in the bay. They claim the Golden Company is making for Volantis. If they mean to cross to Westeros, they are marching in the wrong direction."

5. The Golden Company.

+.+.+

"If Lord Janos can be believed, he [Stannis] is trying to make common cause with the wildlings," warned Grand Maester Pycelle.

I'm sorry, am I supposed to believe Janos can read and write?

+.+.+

"Desperate and foolish," the queen agreed. "The northmen hate the wildlings. Roose Bolton should have no trouble winning them to our cause. A few have already joined up with his bastard son to help him clear the wretched ironmen from Moat Cailin and clear the way for Lord Bolton to return. Umber, Ryswell . . . I forget the other names. Even White Harbor is on the point of joining us. Its lord has agreed to marry both his granddaughters to our friends of Frey and open his port to our ships."

"I thought we had no ships," Ser Harys said, confused.

"Wyman Manderly was a loyal bannerman to Eddard Stark," said Grand Maester Pycelle. "Can such a man be trusted?

God help us when Pycelle is the smartest person in the room.

+.+.+

Stannis has sent his onion smuggler to treat with White Harbor on his behalf. Manderly has clapped the wretch inside a cell. He asks us what he should do with him."

"Send him here, that we might question him," suggested Lord Merryweather. "The man might know much of value."

"Let him die," said Qyburn. "His death will be a lesson to the north, to show them what becomes of traitors."

"I quite agree," the queen said. "I have instructed Lord Manderly to have his head off forthwith. That should put an end to any chance of White Harbor supporting Stannis."

Bad advice, Qyburn.

Wrong decision, Cersei.

+.+.+

Cersei smiled. "The fat old fool may have been loyal to the Starks in his own way, but with the wolves of Winterfell extinguished—"

"Your Grace has forgotten the Lady Sansa," said Pycelle.

The queen bristled. "I most certainly have not forgotten that little she-wolf." She refused to say the girl's name. "I ought to have shown her to the black cells as the daughter of a traitor, but instead I made her part of mine own household. She shared my hearth and hall, played with my own children. I fed her, dressed her, tried to make her a little less ignorant about the world, and how did she repay me for my kindness? She helped murder my son. When we find the Imp, we will find the Lady Sansa too. She is not dead . . . but before I am done with her, I promise you, she will be singing to the Stranger, begging for his kiss."

[...]

"In any case," the queen went on, "Lord Eddard's younger daughter is with Lord Bolton, and will be wed to his son Ramsay as soon as Moat Cailin has fallen." So long as the girl played her role well enough to cement their claim to Winterfell, neither of the Boltons would much care that she was actually some steward's whelp tricked up by Littlefinger. "If the north must have a Stark, we'll give them one." 

I don't think she's dismissing Sansa at all, but I think she's greatly underestimating what a disaster it is that Sansa is still alive. They don't call her 'the key' for no reason.

+.+.+

Another problem has arisen on the Wall, however. The brothers of the Night's Watch have taken leave of their wits and chosen Ned Stark's bastard son to be their Lord Commander."

"Snow, the boy is called," Pycelle said unhelpfully.

"I glimpsed him once at Winterfell," the queen said, "though the Starks did their best to hide him. He looks very like his father." 

You would have done more than just glimpse if he looked anything like his father.

+.+.+

"Snow shares Lord Eddard's taste for treason too," she said. "The father would have handed the realm to Stannis. The son has given him lands and castles."

"The Night's Watch is sworn to take no part in the wars of the Seven Kingdoms," Pycelle reminded them. "For thousands of years the black brothers have upheld that tradition."

"Until now," said Cersei. "The bastard boy has written us to avow that the Night's Watch takes no side, but his actions give the lie to his words. He has given Stannis food and shelter, yet has the insolence to plead with us for arms and men."

She's not wrong, his actions give the lie to his words. He can pretend to be neutral all he likes, but he's clearly picked a side.

Side note, what exactly was George planning to do with Stannis for five years? Were they going to stay idle in the north for that entire duration? Bizarre.

+.+.+

"This," Qyburn said. "For years now, the Night's Watch has begged for men. Lord Stannis has answered their plea. Can King Tommen do less? His Grace should send the Wall a hundred men. To take the black, ostensibly, but in truth . . ."

". . . to remove Jon Snow from the command," Cersei finished, delighted. I knew I was right to want him on my council. "That is just what we shall do." She laughed. If this bastard boy is truly his father's son, he will not suspect a thing. Perhaps he will even thank me, before the blade slides between his ribs. 

Heh, he may not be his father's son, but he still has a lot of Ned Stark in him. Didn't suspect a thing.

A lot of people speculate that Qyburn could still be employed by Roose. I'm not sure I buy that, but it is interesting he's pushing for a Jon Snow assassination here.

+.+.+

This was how an enemy should be dealt with: with a dagger, not a declaration.

Tee-hee.

+.+.+

"One last thing, Your Grace," said Aurane Waters, in an apologetic tone. "I hesitate to take up the council's time with trifles, but there has been some queer talk heard along the docks of late. Sailors from the east. They speak of dragons . . ."

". . . and manticores, no doubt, and bearded snarks?" Cersei chuckled. "Come back to me when you hear talk of dwarfs, my lord." She stood, to signal that the meeting was at an end.

6. Dragons and the Mad Queens who ride them.

+.+.+

Ser Osney caught her hand and kissed her fingers roughly. "My sweet queen."

"You are a wicked man," the queen whispered, "and no true knight, I think." She let him touch her breasts through the silk of her gown. "Enough."

"It isn't. I want you."

"You've had me."

[...]

"Tell me true. Do you think our little queen is pretty?"

Ser Osney drew back, wary. "I suppose. For a girl. I'd sooner have a woman."

"Why not both?" she whispered. "Pluck the little rose for me, and you will not find me to be ungrateful."

[...]

"Tommen is not Aegon the Unworthy. Have no fear, he will do as I bid him. I mean for Margaery to lose her head, not you."

Cersei has this great plan where she's going to get Margaery caught doing the exact same thing Cersei's doing.

+.+.+

"Lying with a queen is treason. Tommen would have no choice but to send you to the Wall."

[...]

"A black cloak would go well with your eyes, and that black hair of yours."

"No one returns from the Wall."

"You will. All you need to do is kill a boy."

Don't worry about it, Jon's doing a mighty fine job at killing the boy all on his own. Literally, and figuratively.

In case you're unaware, both Cersei and Ser Osney will be imprisoned, stopping this plot from happening. I almost question whether there was any point in writing it.

+.+.+

After he was gone, Cersei summoned Jocelyn to brush her hair out whilst she slipped off her shoes and stretched like a cat. I was made for this, she told herself. 

+.+.+

That night the queen summoned Lady Merryweather to her bedchamber. 

[...]

"On the morrow I want you to pay a call on my good-daughter," Cersei said as Dorcas was dressing her for bed.

[...]

"Tell her also that she has a secret admirer, a knight so smitten with her beauty that he cannot sleep at night."

"Might I ask Your Grace which knight?" Mischief sparkled in Taena's big dark eyes. "Could it be Ser Osney?"

She doesn't say anything incriminating, but talking about this in front of the handmaid is dumb. Don't even get me started on including Taena Merryweather in this plot.

In case you're unaware, Ser Osney will be unsuccessful at seducing Margaery. Did Taena have something to do with that? We'll never know.

+.+.+

"Might I ask Your Grace which knight?" Mischief sparkled in Taena's big dark eyes. "Could it be Ser Osney?"

"It could be," the queen said, "but do not offer up that name freely. Make her worm it out of you. Will you do that?"

"If it please you. That is all I wish, Your Grace."

I feel like you can't fully appreciate what George is doing with Taena and Cersei unless you see it on the page.

+.+.+

"Do we have wine?"

"We do, Your Grace." 

x

 She let Lord Merryweather fill her cup once again. 

x

That night the queen summoned Lady Merryweather to her bedchamber. "Will you take a cup of wine?" she asked her.

"A small one." The Myrish woman laughed. "A big one."

x

They stayed up late into the morning, drinking Arbor gold and telling one another tales. 

Drinky, drinky.

+.+.+

"Has Your Grace ever known a man like that, I wonder?"

"Robert," she lied, thinking of Jaime.

Yet when she closed her eyes, it was the other brother that she dreamt of, and the three wretched fools with whom she had begun her day. In the dream it was Tyrion's head they brought her in their sack. She had it bronzed, and kept it in her chamber pot.

Lol, only Cersei would dream of doing her business on someone's head.

Final thoughts:

To summarize, Cersei has decided to ignore the following things.

The Faith of the Seven and its followers.

The Vale.

The sorry pack of squids aka Euron Greyjoy.

The Iron Bank.

The Golden Company.

Dragons and the Mad Queens who ride them.

What could go wrong?

-> return to menu <-

[lantsovsupremacist]

nikolai lantsov request of exes to enemies to lovers with angst and fluff (happy ending pls)

blondie writes for nikolai lantsov and him alone. i simply translate! 😉

part 1/2 🧍‍♀️you get happiness later!

nikolai lantsov: sad beautiful tragic

time is taking it’s sweet time erasing you, and you got your demons and darling they all look like me.

cause we had a beautiful magic love there; what a sad, beautiful, tragic love affair.

with footsteps pounding down the stone staircase, you locked your eyes beneath you to avoid falling victim to one of the chipped steps. the tears collecting at the forefront of your irises did little to mitigate the matter. the castle still confused you but as long as you could flee from wherever he was, you would manage. for every passageway you put between yourself and the place you left him you breathed a little deeper.

he did not call after you.

he did not care to fight for you.

he did not want you to come back.

perhaps, you would not have acted any differently, but his actions—or lack there of—still stung immensely. it took no longer than a blink of an eye for him to break your heart. the strong hands that had once held you tore it into two without leaving behind a shred of remorse.

you felt overwhelmed and dizzy. you started to hold your breath in an attempt to delay the sobs smoldering in your throat. any more oxygen and they would surely be set ablaze.

when the door finally closed behind you and things quieted, you allowed yourself to tolerate the tears. how unfortunate it was that you fell apart behind four unfamiliar walls. the room was more of a formality than anything else, given you had not spent a night apart from nikolai. that would all change now, of course.

it had been easy to fool around with sturmhond. you did not have to care if every word he spoke was a lie. you were not responsible for either his feelings or your own. you entertained each other for a time.

a knock came at the door. with your fingertips gripped across the back of a chair, you looked up into the mirror ahead of you. puffy eyes hanging above red and splotchy cheeks reflected back.

“go away.”

ignoring your command, the door swung open.

genya shuffled inside, hands behind her back. you started to cry again. it was not nikolai. your breathing grew despairingly shallow. your mind wanted to forget nikolai, but your heart was crumbling without his other half to support it.

“oh,” she whispered, immediately beginning to wring her hands at her sides, “oh, honey.”

your chest battled gravity as it rose up and down repeatedly, “he doesn’t want me anymore.”

genya sunk down on her knees alongside you, bringing a quick arm around your shoulder. she brought your hair behind you shoulders and wiped the tears that had already fell. with furrowed eyebrows, she brought a hand to your wrist. stroking her finger over your pulse point, you began to find yourself relaxing your breathing. she kissed the top of your head, a spot where a crown might have one day rested.

“nikolai is foolish and confused,” genya comforted you, “i think he wants you more than anything else, so much so that he doesn’t know what to do.” a sad smile lined her features, exposing a dimple just beneath one of her scars.

“so many people want him,” you began, rising from the ground with a sniffle, “the entirety of ravka depends on him, and i’m just me.”

“i happen to believe he’ll disagree,” she offered, “i know i certainly do.”

genya sighed, tugging on your elbow with a nod to the door. you tried to dig your heels into the floor, but she guided you elsewhere. you allowed her to carry you forward.

“don’t take me to him,” you hiccuped, “please, genya.”

“no,” she refuted, “you’re not leaving it like this.”

“he did,” you whimpered, finally tugging your hand out of her grasp, “why shouldn’t i?”

“because you either have to let him keep your heart or make him give the other half back.” her words were even and carefully considered.

—

genya disregarded the royal guards. you followed behind her, sparing them a single glance. they settled back into place. you almost laughed. you had become such a permanent fixture of nikolai’s life that his guards relented to genya barging in because of your presence.

nikolai was slouched in a chair, appearing rather exhausted. his hair hung a mess over his eyes. you bit your lip at the sight of his leg bouncing restlessly.

genya sent him a look more threatening than you would have ever been able to accomplish in your current state. he caught himself before he could roll his eyes or argue, unwilling to sacrifice a member of the triumvirate. you supposed he could simply justify your loss as collateral damage.

your eyes trailed genya’s form until she departed entirely from your view. only then, did you dare take nikolai in fully. he looked about as awful as he had made you feel.

“you didn’t come after me,” you phrased your words as a question, begging him to answer.

he shifted, leaning back in his chair to look up at you, “i didn’t want to.” it left you looking down at him.

you breathed out in disbelief, shaking your head at his tone. he knew exactly what he was doing to you. you wanted to rip your heart away from him. maybe if you cut away the remaining strings, he would not be able to control you like he did now.

“what if i wanted you to?” your voice increased an octave, clattering against the walls as an echo.

a scoff left his mouth as he resigned to engage in the breakdown of another fight, “it wouldn’t have mattered. you wouldn’t have listened to me.” before you could respond, he spoke up again, “i don’t have to follow after you.”

you shifted your gaze to the glass of water on his desk. no matter the desperation building in your chest, you wanted to feel angry, instead. it was easier to manage. so, you lashed out at him. building the water pressure in the lone glass, you watched it shatter on his desk and saturate the paperwork.

“missed me,” he mumbled wearily.

feeling like a child, you stomped your foot and sent the water to splash against his face. it dripped past his lips—a sight you chose to ignore, lest it elicit a response rather inappropriate for the current circumstances. they caught in a smile as he laughed bitterly, bringing his hands across his mouth.

“i told you i would marry you,” nikolai pressed onward carelessly, running a hand through his hair as if to dismiss your actions, “certainly not my fault you said no, now is it?”

“because it sounded like something you’d resigned to accept! something that had to be done!” the words tore through your throat painfully, “it should be a privilege. it should be love.”

you detected the exact moment he comprehended the final line. he straightened and swallowed harshly. nikolai lantsov looked inexplicably afraid.

“it should be love?” he questioned quietly. now, he was angry and afraid. you knew it to be a fragile but dangerous combination.

“you assume marriage is enough for me,” your voice grew louder, daring him to fight, “marriage won’t make you love me again, nikolai lantsov.”

“you’re putting words in my mouth!” the fervor in his voice did not go unnoticed.

“someone has to,” a moment of silence passed, “you haven’t talked to me in weeks,” you clung to a whisper, “not really.”

you watched his eyes carry themselves across the room. you cursed your heart for hoping they would find land in you. they kept searching elsewhere, drifting further out to sea.

“again?” his voice was broken.

“what?” you questioned, clearing your throat as the sudden shame washed over you for barging in on the king.

“you said marriage wouldn’t make you love me again,” he dared a step closer, “have you stopped loving me?”

you took a trembling step back from him with your heart beating erratically inside your chest. you could not find the control to move your fingers, not even to curl them into reluctant fists. suddenly, everything felt heavy, and you did not want to carry the weight alone.

“i don’t know, nikolai,” you answered somewhat truthfully, unable to gather an honest answer.

“i suppose that’s fair,” he relented.

“i suppose it is,” you whispered with a frown.

you turned to leave after a moment, taking his soundless stance as an indication of retreat.

“you broke my heart,” nikolai realized aloud, hands deep in his pockets as he stared at you.

“yeah well,” he titled his head at you, “you broke mine first,” you spoke coldly, hardening yourself to ice against his warm body.

taking a step away from him, you gasped as his hand found your jaw. although his grip was firm, you refused to melt at his feet. you did not belong to the whim’s of nikolai lantsov’s heart any longer.

“i’m leaving you, nikolai,” you stuttered out as you backed away, gasping at the shiver in your chest enacted by his touch.

his jaw tightened, “you can’t.” his voice was a ghost of a severe whisper, and you knew it would haunt you forever.

“i have to,” you spoke clearly.

“i-,” he fumbled fervently for any semblance of conviction or persuasion, “you can’t leave me.” he had ran out of personas to pull you in with.

“i already have,” you granted him a final look out of pity before you left his room behind and with it, his wavering silhouette.

[aminiatureworld]

Disappearance III

Character: Childe, gn!reader

Word Count: 2,581

Warnings: None

Premise: In which there is an argument and the reader disappears.

Author’s Note: Childe my favorite character, how I love to torture you.

But genuinely I really like how this one came out.

Childe

Childe craned his neck to stare at the clock on the wall behind him. Sighing at the lateness of the afternoon he turned back towards the papers in his lap, trying desperately to focus, to not let his thoughts drift off to the argument that had taken place in the morning.

It had started out simple enough. Childe had informed you that he might be gone for some time, as the Tsaritsa had requested a high-level reconnaissance mission, and Childe was to be the one to lead it. He thought that you react much the way that you always had, assurances of his success, light-hearted reminders to stay safe, and a goodbye kiss as you two settled back into a normal routine before the day of departure. Instead however, your lips had slanted into a frown, and you stopped making your breakfast to turn and face your partner.

“Childe, I wish you wouldn’t always take things on yourself.”

“What do you mean darling?” Childe felt a wave of surprise wash over him. After all, what else was he supposed to do?

“I mean that you’re being entirely too reckless Childe. You know that you have too high a profile to be doing stuff like this. I… I would like you to sit this one out. Just this one.”

Childe couldn’t help but laugh, whether out of irritation or genuine amusement he wasn’t sure of. “As much as I appreciate the concern, I can’t do that. No leader worth their salt would send their underlings off alone, even if they are some of the weakest underlings in the world. No one’s been able to pull the wool over me yet darling, it’ll be perfectly alright.”

“You’re not listening to me,” your voice picked up in intensity. “Childe I really try, I try to remind myself that you’re a Harbinger and able to take care of yourself; but sometimes it’s just too much. This is too much.”

“You’re being silly,” Childe said, trying to keep his tone light. “I’ll be fine. Besides, I can’t disobey the Tsaritsa. She wishes me to do this so I will. It’s as simple as that.”

“The Tsaritsa is far away, she has hundreds, thousands under her command. She won’t bat an eye at your safety.”

“Like you said, I can take care of myself.”

“But what if one day you can’t? What if, what if one day you don’t come back. Please, just this once; just this once don’t go.”

“I know that the length of time is upsetting, but you can’t react like this every time I have to go away for a while. I promise that you’ll have me all to yourself afterwards.”

“It’s not about that Childe! Please, please listen to me. I’m worried about your safety. I’m worried one of these days you’re going to end up in a fight too big even for you. What will you do then? What will your underlings do? What will I do? Please, tell the Tsaritsa you have to stay and make sure the Bank stays out of trouble, or that nothing happens in Liyue. Please, don’t go this time.”

“You’re being irrational.” By now Childe was definitely irritated.

“No, I’m being realistic. You don’t take care of yourself enough.”

“You’re just underestimating me. Besides, I’m a better fighter than you’ll ever be. It’s not like you can protect me even if I stayed here.”

“What?”

“It’s not like staying in Liyue would be any safer, better to face things head on. For the Tsaritsa, for Snezhnaya, that is the most important thing. If you can’t see that, you’re just being stupid.”

Although Childe regretted the words almost immediately after they left his mouth he could see that saying that would’ve had no effect. So instead he watched silently as your face clouded over and you stormed out the door, not bothering to grab your food as you slung your pack around you back and walked out. A part of him wanted to call after you, but he knew that even if he did you probably wouldn’t listen. Even if you did, what could he say? After all, he had simply spoken the truth; even if you couldn’t accept it as such.

Now Childe sat on the couch, eyes glazing voer as he stared at all the paperwork that needed to be done before his mission. He had already spent a hectic, uneasy day at the bank. Though he knew that none of his underlings would be foolish enough to try to pull something while he was gone, Andrei would make sure of that and Childe would make sure of Andrei, it was still tedious, boring work. This was in no way helped by the lingering ill will from his fight with you earlier. Though Childe ultimately forgot fights relatively quickly the time right after was always an uneasy one, filled with sudden flashes of irritation replaced suddenly by the wish for it all to have never happened.

He had hoped that you might be home by the time he arrived, but your absence wasn’t truly much of a surprise. Besides the fact that you were still probably angry with him, something Childe couldn’t really fault, you had recently been involved with some project near the Chasm, and it was hardly surprising that something that big caused you late hours. Still he couldn’t deny the fact that he was somewhat disappointed, or maybe disheartened was a better way to put it. He hated fighting with you, especially fights that lasted. Even if he was irritated with you, even if he thought that you had demanded something impossible, he still regretted snapping at you. He just wanted you to come home now, that way he could apologize and explain the situation better. That way he wouldn’t leave with any ill will behind him.

The clock was excruciatingly slow, but the insult of that wasn’t registered until Childe dozed off. Waking up in the middle of the night he was surprised at your continued absence. Though he had expected that sleeping on the couch might’ve happened, your total disappearance was certainly something that threw him for a loop. Making his way to the bedroom and flopping down on the bed Childe closed his eyes, pushing away the anxiety that clustered at the edge of his thoughts.

Perhaps you’d ended up staying with Hu Tao, or maybe you’d gone back home to your family. He had been awfully mean after all, and you were never the kind of person to take his insults sitting down. Still, if that were true why hadn’t you packed more, or come back to collect your things? It didn’t make any sense. Questions and half baked reasonings floated through Childe head as he tried to delay the inevitable pull of sleep. The last conscious thought he could remember was the knowledge that at least you would be back tomorrow.

You were not, in fact, home tomorrow. The Harbinger’s time spent at the Northland Bank was almost completely useless, the meeting with the people he’d be going on his mission with even more so. Though Childe wasn’t necessarily the most attentive listener, often letting his mind wander when his fellow Fatui members fell into arguing about the most insipid things, he knew that paying attention to a plan as a whole was critical to its success. Even so he couldn’t bring his mind to focus on the maps and profiles that sat in front of him. Where were you? It seemed like such a silly question, but the longer it floated in Childe’s head the colder he felt.

Finally the meetings and the menial tasks ended and Childe could go home. Sprinting down the winding streets of Liyue, not bothering to hide the fact he was in a hurry, Childe burst into the apartment. His heart sank as he was met with the same image he’d seen when he’d left that morning.

Afterwards Childe wandered around the docks of Liyue, trying to keep the quickly fragmenting pieces of his mind together. He knew that he was probably overreacting, knew that you were simply staying away because of what he said, knew that it wouldn’t be forever – you would have definitely told him if that were the case. Still he couldn’t help but feel dread crawling over him, saturating the cracks of his brain as he wondered how he’d managed to fuck everything up so much. He had underestimate how much his words must have affected you, and that only made him feel worse. Finally exhausting his walk along the pier Childe set off towards the edges of the city and into the vast wilderness of Liyue. He needed to find something to fight.

The nightmare continued on into the next day, then into the day after that. Childe could barely remember what he did during those days, walking around as if possessed, unable to concentrate on anything for more than a few moments before his thoughts inevitably found their way back to you. Mostly Childe ended up sleeping, dozing off at his desk or on the couch, papers fluttering from his hands onto the floor. Mostly Childe dreamed of you.

They weren’t dreams of any particular note, their contents incredibly mundane. Not that it matter to Childe; within those dreams he felt nothing but happy domesticity, a calm that washed over him as he walked with you to the market or lay next to you under the stars. Always you would appear in his dreams suddenly, and always he would throw his arms around you, clinging to you as if even an embrace wasn’t enough. Always he woke up with a sense of desolation so vast it threatened to consume him.

Finally on the fifth day Childe couldn’t take it anymore. Waking up at almost the crack of dawn the Harbinger rushed to the Bank. He wouldn’t stay long, only enough to inform Andrei that he’d be out for the day. Then he’d go to the Guild and check and make sure everything was okay. Then, well he’d figure out what to do then. It seemed pathetic to chase after you, not to mention gross. He wouldn’t become a stalker, wouldn’t let himself fall into such pathetic behavior. Still, he had to make sure you were at least okay. As long as he did that, well, the rest could come later.

Striding into the Bank Childe was met with a surprising sight. Normally Ekaterina stayed firmly tucked inside her receptionist cubby, even more antisocial than the likes of the Balladeer or the Fatui that guarded Dragonspine. Now however she stood at the front of the booth, wringing her hands this way and that as she stared at a piece of paper in front of her. Feeling a sudden sense of dread Childe walked up to her.

“Ekaterina?”

“Oh!” Ekaterina whirled around, look on her face one of utter anxiety. “My lord, I was horrified to hear of the news, tell me, do you know if they’re almost free?”

“What are you talking about?” Childe narrowed his eyes.

“Why, your partner. I only heard today from Nadia; no wonder you’ve been so distant recently, if it’s not too much for me to say so. I only hope that they’ll soon be rescued, I’m sure you know about the situation better than I do though.”

“Ekaterina, what in the Tsaritsa’s name are you talking about?”

A shadow passed over Ekaterina’s face, a look of utter dread. Swallowing slightly she stared at a spot in the wall right to the side of Childe. “You partner, my lord, I’ve been informed that they have become trapped in one of the caverns of the Chasm. I thought that you knew about it, it’s been five days after a–”

Childe didn’t hear the rest of what Ekaterina had to say. Whirling around the Harbinger slammed his way out of the bank, aiming towards the nearest waypoint. Cold dread washed over him and with it desperate determination. He’d rescue you. If he had to tear apart the entire Chasm and raze all the mountains in Liyue to the ground so be it.

  Approaching the Chasm Childe felt a rush of adrenaline wash over him. He was terrified. By the Seven, he was utterly terrified. Images of you flashed in his mind, images of you cowering in the dark, stuck at the bottom of an endless pit, lying on the ground with no air or food or life in you. How could he have let this happen? How could he have not known of this before? Anger burned within Childe, anger at himself. He should have never let you walk out of your apartment without apologizing first. He should have enquired after you after the first night you didn’t show up. He should’ve been the first person there for you, instead of the last person to know. He was so utterly stupid.

Approaching what must’ve been the site of the accident Childe felt his stomach drop to his feet at the sight of you. You were covered in dirt, cuts spread across your arms and legs as you slumped against a Guild member, dragging your feet in an awkward shuffle towards the stretcher that must’ve been meant to bring you to the apothecary. There were a variety of Guild members flocking around you, along with one of the doctors of Liyue, who was scribbling notes down furiously. Your expression was utterly dazed, as if you weren’t exactly sure of what was going on, something that tore Childe apart.

Stepping towards you Childe called out your name. At the sound your head jerked up, and you gave a hoarse sort of cry before turning to make your way towards him. Sprinting towards you Childe stepped backwards as you fell awkwardly into him. Steadying you for a moment before wrapping his arms around you Childe felt all his emotions crashing over him, so intense that he couldn’t control them anymore. Ignoring the tears that tracked their way down his cheeks the Harbinger let out a shudder.

“Thank the Seven, thank the Seven you’re safe. I’m sorry, I’m so, so sorry. You don’t have to forgive me, alright? You don’t have to forgive me, but by the gods I’m so sorry.”

“I wish you had been there,” you mumbled softly. “It was so dark, I couldn’t see anything. I thought, I thought that I might never see you again.”

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry I said all those things to you, I’m sorry I didn’t listen to you, I’m sorry I wasn’t there for you.”

“It’s fine.”

“It’s not fine. You should’ve fold so easily you know, you should be really, really angry at me.”

“I don’t want to be angry at you though, I just want you to stay.”

“Then I will,” Childe tightened his embrace around you. “I promise I will.”

“Okay.”

Having apparently said everything that had to be said you let Childe sling you onto his back, refusing to be carried to the hospital in the stretcher. As you appeared to doze off on his back Childe made a promise to himself. Even if he couldn’t disobey the Tsaritsa, even if he couldn’t change who he was, he would never leave you when you needed him to be there.

You would never find yourself needing him to be there without the chance of your need being met. That he promised you.

[keilemlucent]

So I saw that your requests were open and was wondering if you could do some aftercare with Hawks? Like after a really intense scene and the reader is out of it for awhile so Hawks just patiently helps them come back into reality?

ugh anon, you got me on this one. i truly love a good aftercare fic, and i really love reading fics with bdsm elements!! i combined a bit into here <3 there may be some inaccuracies, but nonetheless, enjoy this little number!! 

word count: ~2.4k

warnings: bdsm scene, a bit of degradation, praise kink, aftercare, fluff, fluff, avian keigo (think ‘best nest’-verse)

scene & stop:

||||||||||||||||||||

Keigo had set a brutal pace long ago, as he usually did. Twisting, pulling and pushing you faster than you could fathom or keep track of. You’d stopped trying to make sense of it all when Keigo had hauled you up by your feather-bound wrist, arching your back into a painful curve and stuffing you full of his cock to the point where it was almost difficult to breathe.

You loved every moment of it. 

“Oh baby,” Each rhythmic slap of skin seared across your gooey mind. Keigo’s voice, sweet despite the force of his actions, washed over. “Look at you, always such a good cock sleeve for me when I ask, huh?”

You could only make yourself whine, any answer feeble and small in the back of your throat. Most of your conscious effort was going into bracing your thighs, keeping yourself upright and poised against Keigo’s grip and the feather nearly vibrating on your sore clit. 

His wings beat the air with each thrust, filth slipping from his lips, long-since saturating your psyche. It was nasty, undeniably, all of the words dripping over you in time with Keigo’s harsh breath and bites over your shoulders. 

“Come on, dove, use those pretty lips to tell me how good my cock feels,” Keigo growled against the shell of your ear. “I know they’re more useful when my cock is down your throat, but I guess I’ll settle.”

You swallowed, shuddering a particularly harsh thrust that hit your deepest insides, “I-It feels really good, sir, v-very good.”

“Oh, ‘sir’? How polite.” A laugh colored his tone, mocking and high. You whimpered, lost in the speed of sensations, almost drowning in it if not for Keigo’s constant touch and words. “You really are just a fucked-out, fuck toy, huh?”

His hand wrapped around your throat, squeezing the sides of your neck with just enough pressure to make you go nicely hazier. You were quickly shoved into the bed, back still arched, hands still bound, but this time with your face smushed against the sheets, whimpers and mewls muffled by the silks and satin. All the aches and pretty cruelties went right to your cunt, spent and dripping.

Keigo’s pace turned harsher, faster even still. You drank all of it in, feeling your whines break into cries and sobs as the sheets below you soaked with tears and spittle.

“Awwww, is my needy birdie crying?” Keigo sneered above you, a sharp slap coming down on the flesh of your ass. It stung, burned through you like a divine iron. “That’s cute. Too bad.”

He had warned you he was in a particularly nasty mood-- not that you minded too much. The pain and aches mixed with the hot pleasure over your body, stripping you down to just raw nerves.

You both loved it.

Keigo had to be getting close, the feather circling and lapping at your clit getting more erratic and shaky with the pace of Keigo’s hips. You vaguely recognized it through the fog, a new stream of tears dripping down your cheeks. The bruising of Keigo’s cockhead against your cervix was almost too much, but you held out.

It all ended abruptly.

Keigo dragged your weeping face from the duvet, almost contorting your body with the amount of pressure and strength he was exerting. With a few pointed thrusts, you shuddered and screamed through your last orgasm, a slow rolling thing after so many other ecstasies preceded it. Keigo came moments later, the shuddering of your gooey cunt around his girth undoubtedly pushing him over the edge.

While he’d been keeping your cumming and cumming and cumming for what had to have been hours, he’d been edging himself, saving his load for when you were completely rung out.

Oh, and you were.

You felt his absence more than you felt him inside you. As he pulled out of you, cooling cum dripped along your inner thighs.

And moments later, you were boneless.

You slipped down against the sheets, feathers and hands removed. You were spinning, high, light and floating. It felt a bit too high, consider you couldn’t feel or hear Keigo.

A new wave of sputtering cries got muffled into the sheets.

“Hey, hey, dove, I’m right here,” Keigo’s voice was so soft compared to the grating cruelty from just moments before. Arm loop around your waist, his face buried into the crook of your neck from behind. “I’ve got you, let me hold you.”

You slowly turned, just enough to bury your face in his chest, and nestle into him the best you could. Keigo linked your sticky legs together, pressing a few kisses to your hairline.

“Gimme some taps, dove,” Keigo urged, nosing into your hair and pulling a thin sheet over the two of you.

Your fingers twitched against his clammy back. 

One tap. Two tap. Three tap. Four taps.

Keigo hummed, “Got you, dove. Thank you for showing me. I’m so proud of you.”

The praise crashed over your melted mind like weighted, lavender-smelling blanket, something grounding and soft to safely hold onto.  

Keigo tended to get particularly tender during aftercare, no matter the scene. It soothed both of your mental aches.

“You did so good, dove,” He purred against your ear, all warm and solid like you needed. You squeezed him, a silent ‘thank you, you too’. 

Keigo blanketed you in sweet everythings, little kisses and the most gentle touches he could muster. You kept your face tucked into his chest, the aftershocks of it all making you shiver against him. It felt safest to keep your face hidden from view. 

Though, with each passing moment, you felt yourself floating less and less. 

Keigo, surprisingly, was patient, particularly in moments like these, with you, that required the mutual bearing-of-souls. 

You slowly peered him up him, hardly pulling away much. Despite how clammy and sticky you felt, being near Keigo meant you were safe and okay. 

“There’s my dove,” Keigo beamed down at you, giving you the sweetest, warmest type of smile. He peppered kisses across your face, kissing away the few stray tears that remained. “You’re beautiful, you know that? Especially when you’re all marked-up and sweet for me.”

You rolled your eyes, not ready for any sort of words yet, but you have just enough spunk to nose at his jaw, nipping near his stubble. He’s quick to rub his hands up and down your sides, trading your little teasing for a whole heap of kisses and squeezes.

“I love you, dove, god, you did so well,” Keigo crooned, nearly crushing you against him. “Can I help you out a bit, clean you up a little? We can take a bath after, use one of those bath bombs we got?”

You nodded, tucking into his neck again to speak, voice hoarse and dry, “Please.”

He squeezed you, giving a happy nod. 

Keigo’s feathers fluttered off, a tap running in the nearby bathroom. There was a water bottle, chilled, pressed into your hand, already opened.

You tipped it back, drinking down whatever your dehydrated body would take. Keigo’s hand stayed over your own, keeping the bottle to your lips and then pulling it away, “Little sips, love. Don’t want to hurt your tummy.”

True, your guts were more than rearranged, your insides definitely feeling a bit out of wack. You were sure they’d settle, especially after some more water, time, and a nice bath. Keigo would always treat you to your favorite delivery takeout when you were done with scenes. The thought set you smiling, nuzzling into the side of his neck to show what you felt, even if you couldn’t say it quite yet. 

The water was taken away, placed on a bedside table. Keigo kissed the tip of your nose, “Just give me some taps if you want more.”

You nodded, leaning back into the comfort of his embrace.

Keigo took a soft looking towel from a returning feather, repositioning you to lay as he wanted. It was a bit too exposed, but you kept a solid hold on his shoulders. 

Gently, he wiped away the cum and slick that stickied your thighs. He cooed some praises as he idly talked through the scene as well, his own form of aftercare. You listened the best you could, humming and pressing harder against him to show you’d heard him. 

He knew you well enough to know that that was your best way to show love in such a state.

After cleaning you, Keigo paused, tossing the dirty towel into a hamper, “Would you like to take that bath still?”

You nodded, sitting up, though Keigo was quick to assist your, wings fluttering and settling, tucked into his back. It was clear why he did as you winced, muscles across you body burning hot with new, bright aches.

“Aw, dove, I’ll carry you, ” Keigo cooed in the back of his throat. Quickly sliding and scooping you into his arms. “Don’t strain yourself.”

He pressed a kiss to your forehead, tucking you against his chest and carrying you to the bathroom.

Setting you down, you lingered around his neck. Lacking that grounding physical was always scary after a scene, especially one that was so long and intense. 

Keigo, ever-observant, caught your hand to squeeze it, “Do you want a feather to hold onto while I set things up, love?”

You nodded, a feather quickly coming to rest on your bare lap. Your own nakedness, the awareness of it, surprised you. 

You looked to Keigo with glassy eyes. He flashed you a sympathetic look, squeezing your shoulders, “Just gotta grab the bath stuff, then you’ll be getting all the cuddling in the world, angel.”

You trust him.

He was as fast as possible, darting into a bathroom drawer, dubbed the ‘aftercare drawer, for a few supplies. As promised, a few colorful, fragrant bath bombs, a bottle of luxury bubblebath (somehow, you had no idea, fused with Keigo’s calming avian pheromones), a bar of warm-smelling, skin-softening soap, along with a few different bottles of massage oil (and, of course, Keigo’s bottle of wing oil if he was in that particularly mushy mood).

Carefully, he brought an armful of supplies back, feathers carrying the rest to the thick rim of the massive soaker tub. It was opulent, pretty marble that might as well have been the size of hot tub. It was made specifically to accommodate Keigo’s wings, long before you were in the picture. Still, the two of you fit well in it, snug together in your precious moments.

You chose one of the bath bombs from the stack, one that you spit rainbows across the bathwater as you unceremoniously plunked it into the tub.

Keigo snorted from the bathtubs edge, checking the temperature with his hand, “Nice toss.”

“Thank you,” Your voice was quiet again, but not as meek. You squeezed Keigo’s feather in between your hands. 

Keigo could, of course, do most of what he needed to with his feathers. But, with you, especially in these softer, slower moments, he wanted to do them on his own, with his own hands.

It was a sweet gesture, all for you.

Keigo dumped in a few healthy gulgs of a bubble bath, foam rising on the top of the water. You watched, mesmerized by the colors and textures. 

So mesmerized, you hardly noticed Keigo leave the room and return, kneeling down in front of you and offering the water-bottle once more.

You stared at for a moment, slowly taking it from his hand, softly speaking once more, “Little sips.”

“Perfect, dove, perfect,” Keigo shined you the sweetest smile as you took a few little sips, the feather from your lap darting to turn off the bathtub’s faucet. His wings were settled against back, desperately need a bit of preening, but still happily twitching and vibrating with Keigo in his own relaxed state.

You set the bottle down, Keigo kneeling in front of you to scan you down, “I don’t see any places where I broke skin, but once we get in, tell me if anything stings, okay?’

You nodded complacently. Keigo, ever-dutiful, cupped your cheeks and gave you a quick smattering of kisses before helping you into the frothy bathwater.

The water was hot, maybe a little too hot, but you didn’t mind. The heat rolled against your aching muscles, soothing you. 

Keigo slipped in the tub behind you, wings extended out and up to avoid the suds. It was the usual routine, Keigo immediately pulling you to his chest, toned thighs framing your own while his arms made their home around your mid section.

You leaned into him, all of you, mind, body and spirit. Cheek against the dew of his chest, you let your eyes go half-lidded, slowly but surely allowing the heat of Keigo’s touch and the comfort of the water around you bring you back to lucidity.

Sometime later, you weren’t sure how long, you finally spoke.

“Love you, Keigo, thank you,” Your voice was still scratchy, overused with tears. It was a bit endearing, apparently, based on the way Keigo chuckled and squeezed your waist.

“Anytime, dove,” Keigo hummed against your ear. He rocked you two slightly, little ripples hitting the sides of the tub. “Do you want a massage after this? I can imagine you’re a little bit sore, huh?”

“‘A little bit’?” You craned your neck to frown at him. “I dunno, Kei’, I think I can confidently say you’ve made good on your promise that I ‘won’t be walking straight for a month’?”

Of course, Keigo had his rougher moods that left you more than sexually wrecked, sore in new, deep places, but he had plenty of softer ones as well. He was adaptable and fickle, and you were happy to ride the waves of his preferences as he harmonized with your own. Sure, that meant that sometimes, you were wordless for an hour or so, needy and burning, but god, you fucking loved it.

Keigo squeezed you, burying his face into your neck, and whispering a few small words, “You okay?

You just had to reassure Keigo, as quietly insecure as he was.

“More than, it was really, really good,” You sighed against him, littering his stubbly jawline with kisses. “You just gotta carry me around a bit. A massage might be in order. I can preen your wings, if you’d like?”

The extended feathers shuddered in a wave as Keigo nodded, any of his own subtle shyness fading as he returned your affections.

You fell into each other, far differently from your recent hours of hot pleasure and pain, satisfied and safe in each others arms. Keigo cooed and hummed a simple melody as you let your pains begin to fade, lulled, safe, and sated.

[iam93percentstardust]

For the birthday prompt: [Winteriron or Stuckony] Omega Tony soothing Alpha Bucky after a panic attack/nightmare shortly after they get him back to the Tower/Compound. Maybe a little bit of the team being overprotective on the omega genius and had been keeping him away from the "dangerous" and traumatized alpha assassin. But in the end, Tony just struts in like it's nothing and Bucky just f'ing melts to do whatever Tony says (in a sweet way, not a creepy one). Please?

Tumblr is doing weird things with the asks so if this doesn’t work, bear with me and I’ll post the story in the notes.

This story got a little bit (okay, maybe more than a little bit) away from me so I hope this is still what you were hoping for! I went the Stuckony route here and I’m also headcanoning that after a few years of dating Steve, Tony has mostly gotten over his emotional constipation.

As always, everything I write is on ao3 but tumblr doesn’t like links so I’m not including that

~

The first time Tony sees Bucky Barnes, it’s through a screen.

It’s the first real lead they’ve had in months, since the flurry of sightings immediately following SHIELD’s collapse. The team had sent Natasha and Clint to check it out. They’re both betas, and Nat’s ability to control the calming pheromones all betas let off gives them an edge over an alpha they suspect is on the verge of going feral.

He’s not on the verge, Tony realizes when he sees Barnes on the screen for the first time. He is feral.

Eyes clearly gone red, clear even through the low saturation of the screen, baring his fangs at Natasha and Clint as they cautiously approach, growling so fiercely that the other people in the market are giving him a wide berth as they peer at him fearfully from under their lashes—Bucky has been pushed past the point of breaking into ferality. It’s not surprising. Their entire world crashing down—literally, in this instance—would be a lot for any alpha to handle, but for one trying to deal with seventy years of brainwashing and amnesia? Yeah, Tony’s not surprised.

There’s something slightly terrifying about it. Alphas going feral is supposed to be a nightmare story, something you tell children about at night to scare them into being good. It’s not supposed to be something you see in a crowded marketplace. And when Tony thinks about how easy it would be for something to go wrong, if they’d sent someone other than Nat or Clint—like Steve who had wanted so badly to be the one to bring his friend in or even Tony with his omega pheromones evolved to tempt alphas into paying attention to him and only him—he shudders.

But—there’s something almost piteous about it too. It’s clear that Bucky is terrified beneath his snarling veneer, clear that he doesn’t fully understand what’s happening, and something in Tony’s heart shifts the same as it had the first time he saw Steve.

Something thrums deep inside him to the tune of mine.

“I can help,” he says.

Beneath him, Steve shifts uneasily, saying, “Tony—”

“I want to,” he interrupts. He turns, Steve’s arm sliding from his stomach to his hip, and rests his head on Steve’s shoulder, watching Nat raise her hands placatingly out of the corner of his eye. “I’ve had six months to get used to—everything. It wasn’t his fault, I know that, and—and you still love him, Steve, I know you do.”

“I love you,” Steve says, which isn’t really much of an argument.

“I know.” He smiles when Steve rolls his eyes at the well-worn response. “But you love him too. And… he feels like you did when we first met.”

He can feel Steve tense, and he tucks his head deeper into the crook of Steve’s neck, purring quietly to force him to calm. He knows his alpha is only worried about his safety. Bucky isn’t the same person he once was and even if Steve still has feelings for him, it’s only instinct to be worried about the omega he’s also in love with. But he doesn’t need to be worried. Tony is more than capable of taking care of himself and his own instincts are screaming that Bucky won’t hurt him, that Bucky is his. Only once Steve is fully relaxed again does he continue, “Please, Steve. I want to help. I want to know him better and I want to know if what I’m feeling about him is real. Let me?”

Steve sighs but Tony feels his lips curve upwards where they’re pressed against his hair. “I don’t let you do anything.”

“And don’t you forget it.”

~

Bucky is still feral by the time he, Nat, and Clint return to the tower, but it’s tinged now with panic. Tony can smell the sour scent it all the way from where he and the rest of the team are waiting in the kitchen and Bucky’s still outside. He’s not sure if that says something about his strength as an alpha or the depths of his panic, but either way, it’s not good. He glances again at the screen where he can see Natasha trying to calm Bucky down enough to get him to enter the building—the windows blacked out so that Bucky doesn’t panic further at the sight of the team just inside the landing pad—but it’s no dice.

“I’m going out there,” he announces.

It’s meant to just let everyone know that he’s going, but everyone else seems to take it as an invitation to stop him. The noise in the kitchen swings up into an uproar. Even Steve, who knows that he has every intention of helping, has tucked him up against his side, keeping him from taking a single step out of the kitchen.

“He’s dangerous,” Bruce argues once the initial noise has died down a little. It’s telling that Steve doesn’t immediately argue with him the way he normally does when someone says something bad about Bucky.

“We’re all dangerous,” Tony shoots back, ineffectually trying to wriggle his way out of Steve’s arms. “I’m dangerous and biology practically dictates that my orientation is about as dangerous as a bunny rabbit.”

Steve, who has been on the receiving end of Tony’s intense heats, snorts.

“Look,” he continues, “Nat’s not having any luck getting him to calm down enough to come inside and right now I’m really worried he’s going to either steal the Quinjet and take off or jump off the tower and take off. Either option comes with a lot of paperwork that I have to sign so I’d prefer it if he just came inside so why can’t I try? We can’t send another alpha out there, he’ll take that as a sign of aggression, and we can’t send Sam. The last time Bucky met him, he kicked him off a helicarrier. So that means we’re down to me. Sucks that it’s me but I’m our best option.”

“If he hurts you—” Steve begins.

“He won’t,” Tony says softly and turns so he can nose at Steve’s scent glands. “You won’t let him. I know you’ll be right there, ready if something goes wrong.”

Steve clearly still doesn’t want to let him go out there but his arms loosen enough for Tony to slip away. He smiles at the others, hiding his own nerves beneath a façade of self-confidence that he absolutely doesn’t feel. It’s not like any of them are wrong: feral alphas are dangerous, and this one is more dangerous than most. But he’s not wrong either: Bucky is in more danger the longer he stays out there. Hydra is searching for him and it was sheer luck that the Avengers found him first. But he doesn’t know how long that luck will hold, so the quicker they can bring him in out of the cold, the happier he’ll be.

He straightens his shirt and steps outside, ignoring the way the rest of the team trails him to the door. Bucky’s red eyes snap instantly to him. It’s unsettling, a little terrifying, and Tony has to stop himself from reaching for his sunglasses or from jamming his hands in his pockets. Instead, he holds himself loose and open, hands at his side and palms open so Bucky doesn’t think he’s hiding a weapon in his fists.

“Tony, what do you think you’re doing?” Clint murmurs, alerted to his presence by the sound of the door closing. Natasha is still concentrating on Bucky, trying to soothe him. Even from where he’s standing, he can feel her pheromones washing calm over him and he revises his plan to include her. He’s never felt this kind of strength from her before but he’d be an idiot not to use it.

“It’s okay,” he says, keeping his eyes fixed on Bucky, who’s growling lowly now. “Go back inside, Natasha and I have got this.”

“Can’t do that,” Clint says. “Steve would have my head if—”

“Steve’s my backup. He’s right inside. Go inside; I can’t calm Bucky down if he’s worrying about you.”

“But—”

“Please.”

He thinks it’s the please that does it. By now, the team knows that the whole Tony Stark doesn’t use social niceties thing is bullshit but he still spends so much time in the workshop, and so much time teasing the others when he’s not working, that it’s still an indicator that he’s completely serious about something.

Clint doesn’t waste time asking any other questions. He, more than anyone else on the team except for Steve, knows better than to underestimate people and question them when they’re confident. And Tony is about as confident as he can be. There are ways that this can go wrong, absolutely, but they’re running out of options and what he’s about to try is something that’s been scientifically proven to be effective.

He doesn’t watch Clint go, though Bucky does, only to snap his gaze right back to Tony as soon as Tony takes a step forward. He places a hand on Natasha’s shoulder as he passes her, murmurs into her ear too low for even supersoldiers to hear, “Keep up the good work. You’re helping,” and comes to a stop within armlength of Bucky, knowing that Bucky could easily reach out and hurt him if he wanted to.

It seems to throw Bucky off, who blinks at him. Tony smiles at him and reaches up to his neck, loosening the scent blocker just enough to dilute the bonded scent pouring off of him and allow his own to filter in.

Bucky blinks again. “Omega,” he says eventually, voice rusty with disuse.

Tony smiles again. “That’s right.”

“And… Stevie?” Bucky guesses. In that moment, he sounds so young that it makes Tony’s heart break. Bucky had his future stolen away from him just the same as Steve did. He can’t fully regret that because it brought them both to him, but he knows how much pain and healing Steve had had to go through after waking up in this century and he knows what Bucky will still have to do, and he hurts for them.

“Steve’s my alpha,” he says. “Do you remember Steve?”

Bucky hesitates and then slowly nods. The red is slowly starting to recede from his eyes—though Tony isn’t sure that has anything to do with what he’s doing or if it’s just because he’s managing to baffle the alpha—and then Natasha shifts. It’s nothing more than a twitch of her leg but Bucky instantly notices it.

Before Tony realizes it, Bucky has snatched him to him, tucked him behind the mass that makes up Bucky’s body, and is snarling at Natasha, eyes scarlet red again. Just barely, he sees the door start to open and if it does, if the team comes out of it ready to fight, they’ll lose Bucky.

“No!” he shouts, startling Bucky. It’s enough though. The door pauses. Tony can see Steve through the crack, looking terrified, but he isn’t hurt. He’s okay. Bucky hasn’t done anything other than seemingly try to protect him.

He darts in front of Bucky again, wraps his arms around his shoulders, and tugs him down to his neck, tucking his face into the loosened scent blocker so he can inhale both Steve and Tony.

“Settle,” he commands. It’s usually a command an alpha uses for their omega but there’s precedence of omegas using it too. He draws on every ounce of strength he typically reserves for the boardroom and pushes it into his voice, ordering him again when Bucky lets out an answering growl.

It takes a moment but Bucky suddenly melts, going limp and boneless against him. Tony’s only half-expecting it; the alpha’s weight takes him by surprise and they sink to the ground, Bucky taking in huge gasping breaths as he breathes in their combined scents.

“Oh my darling,” Tony whispers, hands coming up to stroke through Bucky’s hair. “It’s okay. You’re okay. You’re safe.”

~

Without quite meaning to, Bucky ends up moving into the guest room on his and Steve’s floor. Tony means to put Bucky on his own floor but then Bucky spends the afternoon following him docilely around the common areas, as sweet now as he was feral a few hours earlier. The others still seem a little wary but as time passes and it becomes obvious that Tony is in fact doing some good, they start to relax. By the time they’d be heading up to bed, Bucky is stretched out on the couch, head on Tony’s lap and feet tucked under Steve’s legs, as the team watches a movie.

“I think he’s imprinted on you,” Clint observes dryly as he heads for the elevator. “Like a duck.”

Tony doesn’t look up from where he’s carding his fingers through Bucky’s hair but he feels the alpha tense. “That’s okay, darling,” he comments idly. “I’m pretty sure Steve and I imprinted on each other once we started living together too.”

Natasha groans. “Don’t remind me. It was like watching a Disney movie without the singing animals.”

“Disney movie?” Bucky asks, voice muffled by Tony’s thigh.

“I’ll show you,” Tony assures him.

The rest of the team starts slowly filtering out until it’s just the three of them. Tony and Steve exchange a look over Bucky’s head, not needing to communicate with words after the years they’ve spent together. They’re both concerned about where Bucky will sleep tonight. With a quick glance toward Bucky and a tilt of his eyebrows, Steve tells him that he would be more than happy with Bucky staying with them, but he’ll leave the decision up to Tony. No one likes the scent of a distressed omega after all, and the easiest way to end up with a distressed omega is by inviting someone into their space that they don’t want there.

Fortunately, Tony would be more than happy with Bucky there. He hadn’t been joking when he’d said that one look at Bucky and it had felt like they were meant for each other, just as it had felt with Steve—and, he suspected, just as it had felt with Steve and Bucky, even if they’d never made a move.

But he wants the choice to be Bucky’s, so he gently lifts his hands away from Bucky’s hair and asks, “Bucky? Do you want to have your own floor? We’ve got a few extras for when we expand the roster. Or you could stay on our floor, if you’d prefer?”

Bucky doesn’t even hesitate to say, “With you.”

He knows Bucky doesn’t mean it the way he wants, doesn’t mean that he’ll join them in their bed, but maybe… Maybe someday, once Bucky is better (he isn’t so naïve as to think this is the end of it; he only has to look at his own history with backsliding after Afghanistan and Stane and the palladium reactor to know that) and if he and Steve can figure out the right words to invite someone into a triad bond…

Well. Maybe someday.

~

He wakes up in the middle of the night to Steve gently shaking his shoulder. “Waz wrong?” he mumbles, blearily rubbing the sleep from his eyes. “Did I have a nightmare?”

“No, sweetheart,” Steve whispers, leaning over to kiss his bare shoulder. “Bucky wanted to know if he could join us. Said he was worried about Hydra.” He doesn’t say if Bucky was worried about Hydra taking him away or someone else, Tony or Steve, he notes, but the answer is the same either way.

“’Course he can, long as he’s not a blanket hog.”

He fully expects Bucky to climb in on Steve’s other side. It only makes sense: the two grew up together so of course, Steve would be the middle in this instance. Instead, Steve tugs Tony closer to him so that he’s spooning up behind him, and Bucky crawls under the blankets so that he’s facing Tony, looking more relaxed as soon as his head hits the pillow.

Huh. Maybe there’s something to what Clint was saying about Bucky imprinting on him. He would be more worried, but alphas don’t imprint on someone unless they feel safe with them, unless there’s the beginning stirrings of a mating bond in the back of their mind, even though a full bond takes time, communication, and love to develop. Considering that Tony’s pretty sure he’s imprinted on Bucky the same way, he really isn’t that concerned about Bucky’s feelings.

Still though, he makes a note to sit down and talk with Bucky eventually about how they can’t just rush into this. They’ve all been through too much to immediately strike up a relationship. Bucky isn’t in the right mental state at the moment. And as for Tony, he wants to make sure they’re all on the same page and that Bucky won’t regret this two years down the line. Hell, he’s still uncertain that Steve won’t regret this at some point, so he definitely wants to know that Bucky’s sure of his feelings.

But that’s a problem for tomorrow-Tony, he decides. Tonight, he’s going to snuggle into his alpha’s warmth and enjoy having Bucky close by instead of somewhere out in the world where Tony can’t keep him safe.

~

The next day is weirder. Not in a bad way! Just—here: when Tony finally drags himself away from the warm spots in the bed that his mates (not his mates; his mate and his mate’s best friend… who might one day be his mate), makes his way into the kitchen, and sleepily grumbles, “Coffee,” there are suddenly two steaming mugs in front of him, one from Steve and one from—someone else. He raises his eyes slowly to where Bucky is watching him with hopeful eyes. That answers that question then.

“Uh, thanks, Snowflake,” he says and takes a cautious sip out of the one Bucky put down. It’s not that he thinks it’s poisoned. It’s just that Bucky has been here for less than twenty-four hours, there’s no way that he know how exacting Tony can be about his coffee, how particular—how—how…

Huh. This is pretty damn perfect actually.

He takes another, larger sip and then looks at where Steve is busy making breakfast for the three of them. Steve watches him with an amused look in his eyes. Tony knows Steve isn’t concerned about someone else preparing his coffee—Bruce has done it plenty of times and whenever Rhodey’s in town, he insists that he’s the only one who can make Tony’s coffee—he’s just enjoying watching the two of them together.

He thinks about the nights he used to wake from a dead sleep to the sound of Steve weeping over Bucky, about the concerns he used to share with Tony that Bucky wouldn’t want to stay with them or would want to leave. He wonders now how much of that was fear that Tony wouldn’t want Bucky to stay because he wouldn’t be able to stomach housing the person Hydra used to kill his parents. Silly alpha, he thinks fondly. As though Tony wouldn’t love anyone Steve loves.

At least that’s a fear he can put to rest.

Gulping down half his coffee in one go, he leans back in his chair and casually says, “Steve, you’re fired. Pack your things and go. I’m keeping this one. His coffee is lightyears ahead of yours.”

Steve bursts out laughing and crosses the kitchen to pull him up and kiss him soundly. Tony purrs into the kiss, answered with a low rumble from Steve and then, so low he almost misses it—another rumble from Bucky. He smiles triumphantly and pulls away with another kiss, hands resting on Steve’s broad chest.

“Better finish up that breakfast, soldier,” he says teasingly. “Got things to do today in the workshop and I need my alpha down there to stand around and look pretty. You too, Bucky Babe,” he calls over his shoulder. “Universe gave me two supersoldiers, be a shame not to take advantage of that.”

He doesn’t know what Bucky looks like but the kitchen suddenly scents like contended alpha, and he knows it’s not Steve’s scent because he knows Steve’s scent as well as he knows his own. He smiles again, nuzzles deeper into Steve’s chest and hums happily.

It’s not perfect yet, he thinks, but soon—soon it will be.

~

Tony was right that first day—it takes time, months really. Time for Bucky to backslide and Steve to backslide and Tony to back-shimmy because he doesn’t do anything as gauche as slide. It takes months of therapy, days of consultation with the world’s top experts on how to remove the brainwashing and programming from Bucky’s brain, hours of working together in the workshop on Bucky’s arm as Tony comes up with improvement after improvement.

It’s countless bad nights where Bucky wakes up in a nightmare and reaches to strangle Steve—never Tony, never his omega, but always his best friend—and countless bad days afterward trying to convince him to come back to their bed. It’s figuring out how to work around the myriad of triggers all three of them have and sometimes it doesn’t work. Sometimes Bucky doesn’t realize that Tony can’t handle baths anymore. Sometimes Steve doesn’t notice that Bucky’s afraid of heights. Sometimes Tony misses that it’s the anniversary of Bucky falling from the train.

It’s bad sometimes.

But it’s good sometimes too.

It’s figuring out how they curl around each other in bed and waking up warm and rested. It’s feeding each other by hand in the morning when they’re too tired to bother with silverware. It’s cups of coffee and donuts with sprinkles and warm hugs. It’s Bucky resting his head on Tony’s lap and tucking his feet under Steve’s legs during movie nights.

It’s Tony and Steve dancing together around the kitchen island as Bucky cooks, watching them fondly. It’s Bucky crooning old songs from the 40s when Steve’s on a mission and Tony can’t sleep without his alpha. It’s Steve and Bucky spending hours walking the streets of Brooklyn, reminiscing about growing up together.

It’s love, blooming slowly but surely for everyone to see.

And when one night as Tony is changing out of the charcoal suit he’d worn for the board meeting that day and into his pajamas and Bucky stops him with a hoarsely whispered, “Doll,” he smiles and guides Bucky’s hand to his waist.

“It’s okay, darling” he murmurs. “You can.”

Bucky’s kiss, when it comes, feels like coming home.

[fullmetalscullyy]

and A lay B down to nurse their wounds......? 😫🥺🥰

eri my beloved tysm for the request and sending a prompt 🥺💖 ilysm and hope u enjoy some Soft royai!!!

this kind of ended up being a blend of two prompts? this one and feeling cared for one from that prompt list asdffds i hope that's ok but also it's what riza deserves <3

send me a prompt

rated: t | words: 3054 | tags: hurt/comfort, soft royai, tending to wounds, fluff

read on ao3

They are silent once the safehouse is deemed secure. The quiet is deafening as it shrouds them both. It’s almost oppressive as they take stock of what they’d just escaped from and process the fact they’d been in a shootout about an hour ago. The lack of sound is jarring, it’s such a contrast, but there is a comfort in it as well, because they’re okay. They’re safe and they’re together. Now, where there is no one shooting at them, no one chasing them, they can both finally rest and let their guard down. The adrenaline is abating, leaving muscles quivering and allowing breaths to leave their lungs much easier.

The Colonel sits heavily on the couch behind them, letting the cushions catch all of his weight as a long sigh of relief passes over his lips. He lets out a quiet hiss as he hits a sore spot, either on his legs or up his back, but apart from that he’s silent.

Riza feels the tension fizzle out of her shoulders, dragging them both downward slowly, peeling away from her ears, as she finally starts to let herself relax.

They’ve both had a rough few hours, but they made it out. There’s a few bruises and lacerations covering their skin; Riza has one on her left forearm and one on the left of her abdomen, and the Colonel has a small one on his cheek. His lip is burst as well, the result of an unsuspecting punch to the face. She’s sure he sustained more as they fought their way out to safety, but she can’t be sure. There’s no blood pooling on his clothes or saturating any of the fabric of his uniform, so that’s something. That was enough while they fought their way out.

“Lieutenant?” His call for her attention is soft so not to startle her and it’s full of concern.

She turns, wondering what he needs, to see his questioning stare as he watches her still standing in place with her hands clenched by her sides. Her fingers relax automatically, letting go of the tension, but she cannot help the wince as the muscles of her forearm contract, aggravating her injury there.

“Are you all right?”

“Of course, sir.”

He scrutinises her for a moment longer than usual. His eyes narrow slightly as he does so, indicating he doesn’t quite believe her, but she is. He lets it go with a simple nod.

“Sit,” he urges, gesturing to the cushions next to him on the couch. “Please.” He beckons her gently with a tired smile.

The Colonel’s expression mirrors her own, Riza is sure. Exhaustion has settled deep within her bones, and she knows she should stop, that she should sit down and tend to her wounds. With the adrenaline gone her side is throbbing, and both injuries need cleaned and covered as soon as possible. There’s a sharp pain in her oblique muscle as she thinks about her worst one, which makes her twitch and grimace.

“Lieutenant.” He almost breathes her rank. It catches her attention and she’s momentarily taken aback by the look on his face. It’s filled with understanding, and his concern is back. One eyebrow lifts in an enquiry, calling back to his earlier question regarding her wellbeing.

“Honestly, I’m all right,” she assures him. “It’s only a few bumps and bruises.”

The Colonel nods. “Okay. Shall we see to that wound on your side?”

Riza watches as he swallows after speaking. It wasn’t his fault or hers, it was the fault of the man who’d been wielding a knife, but as her commanding officer she knows the Colonel will hoard the responsibility for everything that happened today.

“What about the one on your cheek?” Her counter makes him smile knowingly.

“Mine feels like it’s nothing compared to that,” he replies, nodding towards her torso. His smile dies on his lips as they both look at the patch of blood seeping through her military jacket. Real worry replaces his concern and Riza nods, giving in.

“Come here,” he coaxes, speaking ever so gently.

The mood feels like it has shifted slightly but Riza dismisses it. She’s too tired and sore and will still need to see to his wounds once she’s been taken care of. There are more important things to focus on.

“Sir, I can see to it myself. I don’t mind.” Riza appreciates his offer more than he could know, but she still has to say it. She doesn’t want him to feel obligated to do so.

Realising his gentle command is going ignored, the Colonel stands to join her and slowly reaches out to catch her fingers within his own. He curls them around her digits, but his touch is light. Unrestricting, but tender. His touch is calming and welcome.

“Lieutenant.” His tone is firm, but he’s not ordering her to do anything. It’s placating and an offer. “Let’s clean up that wound. I don’t want you twisting and turning any more than is necessary, given its location, but only if you’re comfortable with that. It’s completely up to you.”

She stares at him, noting the undercurrent of worry but also taking in the care she sees in his eyes. He wants to help her. He wants to look after her, to make sure she’s patched up and all right.

The Colonel does not tug her towards him. He simply holds her hand, his own arm outstretched and waiting, giving her the freedom to pull away if she so wishes. It’s her choice; go to him and accept whatever he is willing to offer or take a step back and away. The Colonel won’t mind if she picks the latter, Riza doesn’t think. He will be mildly disappointed. He’ll probably pout at her childishly, but it will not become an issue between them… The thought of his reaction almost makes her smile fondly. The corners of her lips twitch.

She steps forwards and his smile grows wider as he smoothly guides her towards him by the hand. Before their bodies can collide, he sidesteps and lowers her hand to their sides before turning and taking a cautious step down the hall behind him, waiting for her to follow him.

Even into hell.

Of course, she follows him.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

“How does that feel?”

“Good.” The bandage around her torso is secure and places enough pressure on her wound. The safehouse is well stocked with plenty of first aid supplies so there’s more than enough for them both.

Riza straightens in her chair at the table in the safehouse’s kitchen. She’d leant forward onto her elbows, being mindful of her injured arm, as the Colonel cleaned up her side. As he did so, she saw to her forearm, both working in tandem to patch her up. It was an arduous affair, but a necessary one. With every wince and flinch she felt him hesitate behind her. Riza could almost feel the sorrow pouring off him, but there was nothing else to be done. He knows that, but it still doesn’t mean that he likes being the cause of it for her.

She shivers as cool air washes over her exposed skin and her side twinges with pain. Reflexively a hand rises to cover the aching area.

“Still sore?”

She nods, and the Colonel sighs quietly. She knows what he’s thinking. He wants to take her pain away.

“It will be okay, sir,” she placates.

He huffs and mumbles to himself, not satisfied, which causes Riza to roll her eyes fondly at his antics.

Before she can move any further, something is draped over her shoulders. She had to remove her shirt for the Colonel to work on her properly, so she’d been left in just her sports bra, but looking down she sees the Colonel’s black overcoat covering her. She knows it’s his because she’s suddenly shrouded in the smell of him.

It makes her smile. Riza leans back in her chair and tugs the article of clothing tighter around her body, relishing in the warmth it provides and the comfort it brings, alongside the thoughtfulness of his gesture. She shoots him a grateful smile, but he doesn’t notice. He’s too focussed cleaning up after his work. Riza watches him, taking in the look of concentration on his handsome features as he carefully collects the soiled bandages and wipes. When he senses eyes on him, the Colonel glances up and looks at her so expectantly – it’s almost innocent – before his expression changes and turns perplexed.

It reminds her of the boy she grew up with. Before war and guilt and unspeakable atrocities.

“What is it?” There’s a smile tugging at his lips, and she discovers its contagious.

“Nothing,” she replies, schooling her expression and readjusting his coat.

“Is anything wrong?”

“No,” she replies. “There’s nothing wrong at all. Thank you for your coat.”

His smile is bright and pleased. “Of course, Lieutenant. You’re welcome.”

After the waste is disposed of the Colonel wipes carefully at his cheek and lip. The alcohol smarts and he hisses in pain and flinches away from it, but still powers on through. It’s a quick job, only taking about five minutes, and once he’s done, he rummages around inside the first aid kit once more.

“I could have helped you with that,” Riza offers. As she sits up in her chair she flinches as the movement jostles her side.

“And that’s precisely why I did it myself,” he chuckles quietly, eyeing her above the mirror he had propped up on the table between them. It had been fascinating to watch him work. “Here.” A small white bottle is offered to her. Painkillers. “These will help with your pain, apparently.”

“Thank you. Is there any ice for your bruises?”

The Colonel nods and collects it from the freezer. It’s pressed to his cheek, and he grumbles about the cold.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

While the safehouse is well equipped and the perfect spot for them, they are both presented with a small issue when night falls.

Both stare at the single bed in the bedroom.

The Colonel scratches the back of his neck and fidgets on the spot, shifting his weight from one foot to the other once, then twice. Riza exhales slowly and quietly, resigning herself to their sleeping arrangements. She grips his coat tighter, so it doesn’t fall off her shoulders.

Riza could have changed into a t-shirt but she can’t quite let go of his coat just yet. The Colonel doesn’t comment on it either. He doesn’t question her choice and seems more than happy to allow her to keep it for the time being.

“I…” The Colonel clears his throat quietly. “I can take the couch.”

As he turns away Riza’s hand reaches out. She grips onto his shirt, halting him. He looks down at her hand, before his eyes jerk back up to meet hers. He knows what she’s asking of him already, but he still hesitates. He still waits for her to voice it aloud.

Like the courtesy he’d offered her earlier, he can move away if he wishes to. Her grip isn’t tight or restrictive, yet he doesn’t pull away. She doesn’t expect him to stay with her but…

She wants him to.

“What do you need, Lieutenant?” His prompt comes after they’ve been standing in silence for a beat longer than he expected.

She looks up at him, gripping onto his coat.

“You.”

The bed is a tight squeeze, but they manage. The military wouldn’t splash out for a large double bed for their officers. In all honesty, Riza is surprised there’s even a proper bed, and not just a cot. But she supposes it would have kept up appearances when they moved equipment into the neighbourhood.

Riza is pressed with her back to the wall while the Colonel faces her –

It feels wrong to refer to him as such in their current position. The mission is over. They’re laying low and off duty while the heat clears from them both after their escape. They’re not Lieutenant and Colonel right now…

She snakes her injured arm underneath his, reaching across his torso, and spreads her fingers across his lower back. Their bodies are pressed even closer together – she can feel the heat radiating off of him (which makes her smile to herself) – but he’s secure. She wants to ensure he won’t fall backwards off the bed in sleep.

“Are you comfortable?” His breath washes over Riza and her eyes flutter closed at the pleasant feeling. His voice is so low that it causes her to relax instantly. It’s such a pleasing sound as she lies there, pressed up against him.

She hums her approval. Riza tips her head forwards, causing it to brush against his chin and throat as she burrows even deeper into the warmth between them. The painkillers are kicking in and making her drowsy.

“Good.”

Her sleepy grin is hidden when she feels lips on the top of her head, but she makes a soft, pleased sound as he kisses her. When his hand runs through her short hair she’s almost lost to sleep completely.

“As much as it pains me to see you with those injuries, it has worked out quite well for us.” He laughs, but there’s a nervous edge to it.

A frown tugs at her brow as confusion becomes prominent. “What do you mean?”

“It makes us the perfect fit,” he murmurs after a brief pause.

He’s right. Lying on his uninjured side leaves him in the perfect position to lie facing her, and Riza lying on hers leaves her able to curl into him.

“So, getting punched in the face was your plan all along? So you could cuddle me in bed at night?”

His laughter is full of joy at her joke. “Anything for you, Lieutenant,” he winks, “you know that.” His arm wraps around her shoulders and back, pulling her tighter against him.

“How’s your cheek,” she mumbles tiredly. She can no longer bring herself to keep her eyes open. She blames the comfort and care he always brings her so effortlessly.

“It’s fine. Don’t worry, Lieutenant.”

“Riza.”

There’s a beat of silence.

“Pardon?”

“Riza,” she breathes.

She cannot remember who crossed the line first tonight – perhaps they both did, but it is completely muddled within her memory. She doesn’t want it there between them. Not now, when she’s so comfortable and feels so cared for. Not when Roy’s fingers are combing through her hair, and she can hear his heartbeat close to her ear and feel his pulse thrum underneath her touch.

“Of course, Riza.” He grants her request so easily and quietly as he presses another kiss to the top of her head. Riza can practically hear the pleased smile that she knows must be on his face. Roy joins her on the other side of the line willingly and without hesitation. He only wanted to make sure he heard her correctly.

“I’ll always worry about you,” she adds. She curls closer into his chest and holds onto his lower back even tighter. Her fingertips increase their pressure there.

“I’m okay,” he soothes, his voice a hum underneath her ear. “You fared far worse than me.”

Riza tips her head back, exiting the cocoon of warmth they’d made between them. Blearily, she blinks up at him and notices the strained look on his face. The arm holding onto his back moves slowly and she brings it up to cup his cheek. Her thumb caresses his cheekbone, close to underneath his eye, and Roy’s eyelids flutter closed, seemingly of their own accord. That makes her smile and leaves Riza feeling pleased with herself. She can do that to him, offer that feeling to him, like he does to her.

Roy’s head turns and she grants him the space to move. With it, he presses a kiss against her palm.

“I’ll always worry about you too,” Roy admits. His fingers ghost over the bandage on her arm. Even though his touch is barely there it still tickles her skin, lifts the hairs on her arms, and makes the base of her neck tingle.

She shivers.

Roy lowers his hand to the space between them. The muscles of her stomach become painfully aware of his hand’s proximity and start to tingle. It becomes too much and Riza has to move forward, closer to him and his hand, to rid herself of the pleasant, but overwhelming feeling. The back of his hand is now pressed against the bare flesh of her abdomen.

“We have to lay low tomorrow as well.”

Riza nods in agreement. That was their orders, after all.

“We have to rest,” he stresses, and she catches onto his meaning, “to let ourselves heal.”

She smirks up at him, knowing exactly what it is he’s proposing. He was always a crafty one.

Not moving far from this bed and nursing their wounds together sounded like a wonderful plan to Riza.

Roy runs a hand up her arm to her shoulder, the backs of his fingers trailing along her skin and igniting a trail of fire beneath them, then back down again. “If the military had provided us with the appropriate facilities, like, say, a bed each, we would be able to do it apart and by ourselves. But,” he sighs heavily, exaggerating the sound, “since the military didn’t, we must make do with what we have.”

“What a shame,” Riza smiles tiredly.

“You’re stuck with me, Riza,” he chuckles. “Sorry.”

“Darn.”

“Blame the military.”

“Don’t worry, I will. They’ll receive a stern letter about the lack of facilities provided inside their safehouses from me tomorrow.” Riza yawns loudly towards the end of her sentence but Roy is already laughing. “Or maybe it will get lost in the post.” She’s pretty sure her speech is incoherent at that point. Roy’s affection has almost lulled her completely to sleep.

“Sleep well, my Queen.” He presses his lips to her forehead. “Let me know if you need any more painkillers.”

“I will,” she mumbles tiredly. “Sleep well, Roy. Thank you,” she breathes happily.

Wrapped up in his arms, clinging onto Roy tightly, Riza falls asleep feeling completely safe and cared for, and at peace.

[wildernessuntothemselves]

Prey for You | Part 2

Genre: Smut

Word Count: 3.5k

Summary: After fucking you at the party, Chan takes you back to his place and you get a glimpse into who the man you despise so much truly is.  Warnings: enemies to lovers, switch!reader, switch!chan, wolf!hybrid chan, fox!hybrid reader, really unheathly dynamics, reader is fucked up, chan is fucked up, dirtiest of talks, shower sex, chocking, degradation, the whole shebang

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4 Part 5, Part 6

gif credit

Rummaging through the closet in the room, Chan quickly finds a shirt and puts it on, replacing the one you just stole from him. Looking over his shoulder at you, his eyes flit over his oversized black shirt covering your body, and he asks, “Do you want some pants?”

“I’m fine. The sooner I can wash you off of me the better.”

He grunts in response, walking back towards you and grabbing your hand. “Keep your head down and stay quiet. We don’t want to grab any attention.” He says, not giving you a chance to shoot a snide remark back at him as he pulls you behind him and out the door.

Chan discreetly ushers you out of the house where the party was, and guides you to his car without anyone really spotting you two.

“Nice ride.” You snark, checking out the interior of his luxurious car. “Careful or people might think you’re overcompensating for something.”

He snorts, starting the car and pulling out of the lot.  “That’s okay. I’ll just get you and you can tell them all about how my cock split you in half.”

“Fucker.” You mutter lamely, wincing as you shift in your seat. Chan gives you a side look and sheepishly says, “I’m sorry for being so rough. I’m not usually like that. I don’t know what happened.”

“Maybe Saint Chan isn’t as perfect as he thinks he is. Maybe you’re no better than the rest of us predators after all.”

He doesn’t reply to that and you look at him out of the corner of your eyes to see his jaw clenched and his knuckles white.

The rest of the car ride passes by in silence.

Chan pulls up in a nice neighborhood, and gets out of the car. You, however, stay put, prompting Chan to look at you in confusion and ask what you’re waiting for. You cross your arms over your chest and quirk an eyebrow at him, waiting. Realizing what you want, he throws his head back with a curse before he stomps around the car to your side and rips the door open.

“There you go, princess.” His voice drips in sarcasm but your smile is self-satisfied and you pat him on the head as you get out of the car. “Good puppy.”

His apartment is as nice as you imagined it would be. You already knew he was well off and that he lived alone. He came from old money which is just typical. Of course someone like him could afford to preach kindness and judge people like you for not being perfect.

Despite yourself, you were starting to feel pretty intimidated inside his lofty apartment, surrounded by the wolf’s scent.

“Not bad, eh?” Chan jokes and you turn to him and roll your eyes. “Where is the bathroom?”

“Oh, there is one over there, another over there, and another in the bedroom if you’d prefer that.” He says pointing them out to you. It was physically impossible to stop yourself from rolling your eyes once again, and he pouts. “What?”

Of course he’d have three fucking bathrooms in his place.

You don’t say anything though, silently heading to the bedroom, which was gorgeous of course, just like the rest of the house. You fight down your feelings of inadequacy as you open his dresser to pick out something to wear after you shower, but the overwhelming scent of him, so strong and elegant, saturates every item of clothing you touch and suffocates you.

Quickly grabbing a simple black shirt like the one you’re wearing, you start heading towards the bathroom, Chan in tow.

“Do you need help?” He offers when he sees you wince as you get the shirt off.

Throwing the shirt to the floor, you regard him for a moment before deciding. “Run the water for me.”

"Yes, ma’am." He replies sarcastically but does it anyway.

When you step into the shower, the warm water hits your body and you moan in relief, the heat soothing your muscles. You feel Chan’s eyes heavy on you and you look to see him shamelessly watching the water stream down your body.

“What are you doing standing there, didn’t you say you’d help?”

His eyes snap to yours and he swallows. It’s your turn to watch as he takes off his clothes, getting a good look at his muscular body as he undresses. Yeah, he definitely wasn’t the type of guy you usually went for. Everything about him was wrong, from his sinewy muscles, to his big dick, to his rough features. Yet, you still feel a burn in your belly as you look at his bare body.

Tearing your eyes away, you grab his shampoo and hand it to him pointedly as he steps into the shower. He takes it without protest, opening it and squirting some of it into his palm before raising his hands towards your head.

“May I?” He inquires softly.

“Look at you asking for permission to touch me after you blew my back out there. Yes, you may, puppy.” You turn around and back up towards him a bit to get out of the water, leaning your head back so he’d have an easier time.

His hands on you are firm but gentle, a stark contrast to the way he treated you just a while ago, and you find yourself closing your eyes and enjoying the way his fingers massage your scalp. It is almost soothing.

But then you feel something poke you in your lower back and you open your eyes with a laugh.

“Aww, is puppy getting a little excited?”

He groans, burying his face in your neck. "You drive me insane."

“Good.” You say, turning around and reaching out for the shampoo bottle, squeezing some of it onto your hand before you order, “On your knees.”

Chan looks you right in the eyes as he gets on his knees, his own eyes hungry, eating you up. You return his gaze with as much intensity, but your hands mimic his gentleness from just moments ago. It has the desired effect on him and he soon closes his eyes and leans into your touch like a spoiled puppy.

When he’s pretty much purring in your hands, you suddenly grab a fistful of his hair and give it a sharp tug, making him snap his eyes open as he moans out, his hands shooting up to grab your hips. Gaze smoldering, he starts planting open-mouthed kisses on your lower belly, slowly inching closer to your heat with each one, following the scent of arousal he no doubt smells between your legs. You let him have his fun, your hold on his hair getting firmer the closer he gets, but when his mouth is almost on your lips, you pull him back to his feet again.

“Why?” He whines. You push the bottle of body wash and a loofah into his hands. “Finish cleaning me up first and maybe I’ll give you a treat.”

He frowns, throwing the loofah away and squeezing the body wash into his hands instead before putting them directly on your body. “Brat.” You mutter as he rubs the wash over your body like he was massaging you. When his hands reach your breasts, you have to hold onto him to keep your knees from giving out, and the cocky bastard relishes in it, his palms kneading your breasts firmly, his thumbs brushing over your hardened nipples every so often just so he could feel you dig your your nails into his biceps as you jolt.  

Your breath is ragged by the time his hands leave your breasts and slide down your abdomen, rubbing your belly softly as he practically coos at you, “You look so precious right now. I bet no one has seen you like this before. My pretty little fox.”

You open your mouth to say something but he wraps his arms around your waist and grabs your ass, his large hands pulling you cheeks up as he presses you flush against him, making you feel just how hard and big his dick is trapped between your bodies.

You could feel a moan rumbling in Chan’s chest as one of his hands inches further down your ass and his fingers swirl around your clenching hole. “You’re so wet for me, baby. Let me give you what you need.”

His arrogance and cocksure way fire you up and you know you can’t let him keep going like this or you’ll be stuck under his control. So, slipping a hand from his biceps, you slither it between your bodies and push his cock down, nestling it between your wet lips as you squeeze your legs around it and start grinding on it. He throws his head back, a deep moan coming out of his throat as you slide forwards and backward on his cock, teasing him.

“Baby, please.”

“You want it?” You ask, grabbing his jaw and making him look down at you.

“Yeah.”

“How much?”

“So much I could fucking die.”

“Aw, poor puppy.” You coo, tapping his cheek lightly before you step away, depriving him of your touch all together

“Fuck me!” He curses in frustration, and you smirk, pulling him under the water. “Not yet.”

You take the lead this time, washing all the soap off his body and then yours before you step out of the shower again and grab the conditioner, squeezing some of it in your hand then applying it to his hair. He stares at you the whole time, dark and intense, but every once in a while letting out a soft hum or a little sigh when you massage a spot he likes.

“You’re pretty like this.” You whisper, making him blush at the unexpected compliment. Loving the flustered look on his, you lean up and kiss the side of his mouth. “You like that, puppy?”

“Hmm, yeah.” He purrs, catching your lips with his in an open-mouthed kiss, his tongue eagerly pushing into your mouth. You kiss him back, feeling softness all over--from his lips, his hair, his small touches... But he quickly gets worked up and you have to break it off before you get carried away again.

He huffs as you give him the conditioner bottle, and he quickly squeezes some of it in his hand, hurrying to coat your hair in it until it’s silky smooth then walking you back into the water to wash the both of you off.

“There, all clean.” He says, cupping your cheeks, your face getting swallowed up by his big hangs as he plants a chaste kiss on your lips. “And so beautiful.”

You reel back, uncomfortable with the tenderness he regards you with.

“Is something wrong?” He asks with concern.

Yes. It’s all wrong. This is wrong. This is Chan for fuck’s sake. He doesn’t care about you. You don’t care about him.

Stomach twisting, you spin around, heart beating in your chest and you push your ass back towards him and say in your most haughty voice. “Here, puppy. Have your treat.”

Chan is frozen from a second before his face hardens and he pushes you against the glass door, his cock nudging against your entrance. All gentleness is gone as he pushes his large length inside your sore pussy all at once, making you scream. “Stupid dog, don’t you know how to take it slow!”

He ignores your insult, groaning deeply. “Shit, it’s like you got even tighter. I could get used to this.”

"That's not up to you."

"Come on, I know you like it.” He coaxes, pulling his cock out before snapping his hips forward, filling you up with his cock again. “We can make this a thing. Maybe getting fucked by me on the regular will stop you from lusting after little prey hybrids."

"You talk so much shit for a wolf who practically presents his ass to everyone, superior or inferior."

"Fuck, you’re the worst." He growls, grabbing your neck and squeezing tightly. “It’s like you want me to lose it.”

You bite your tongue, letting him take his frustration out on your body, feeling more safe in the rough way he manhandles you than in his sweet words and soft gazes.

Chan is too worked by now, it’s evident in the sharp thrusts of his hips and the grunts bubbling out of him. You’re not much better, your pussy taking him all the better this time due to the arousal that’s practically dripping out of you.

“Chan,” You gasp, voice muffled as your body is squeezed between the glass wall and Chan’s body as he fucks into you relentlessly. “Touch my pussy.”

He moans at your words, hurrying to comply. “Yeah, baby, there you go. Good girl.” He drawls into your ear, fingers incessant on your clit and the grip he has on your throat making you lightheaded. “You wanna cum on my cock, baby? Wanna milk my cock until I fill you up?”   You were so completely not in control of the situation but you had no energy left to try to flip the tables. So you just focus on your violent orgasm you could feel the wolf tearing out of your body.

“You’re gonna cum, aren’t you? I can feel your pussy clenching down on me. Let go, baby girl. Cum for me.” Chan moans raggedly, hips slapping against your ass loudly and you know you’re gonna look like you took a rough spanking when you’re done. “Be a good little fox and cum on me.”

“Fuck!” You squeak out, cumming, and Chan quickly loosens his grip on your throat, letting the air flood your lungs and light your nerves up, making you feel the orgasm racking your body all the more.

“Shit---ah--shit!” Chan grunts, hips stuttering as his own orgasm hits him. “Good girl. Good girl.” He praises you as his seed fills you up, and he lays kisses up and down your neck as you both come down from your highs.

“Fuck, I can barely stand.” You gasp against the glass, your legs shaking as you struggle to stay up.

Chan pulls you into his body and walks you under water, grabbing some soap and gently cleaning you up where his cum was leaking out of you. When he’s done, he scoops you in his arms and puts you down on the closed lid of the toilet seat, quickly grabbing a towel and wrapping you in it before getting his own towel.  

He takes you in his arms again and carries you to the bedroom, plopping you softly on the bed and using the towel around you to dry you off, taking care to be extra gentle so as not to hurt your sore body.

You watch him intently--the way he handles you so gently, you'd think he actually cares for you. You could sort of see the appeal he has to some people. You'd always been so put off by his non-confrontational attitude, judging him for bowing down to lesser hybrids when he had all this power that you wished you had even a quarter of, that you never thought to see it from their point of view. A powerful predator acting all sweet and protective over them? Of course they would eat that shut up.

It’s also no wonder he was so rough on you. He'd been repressing his nature for so long that when he finally lets himself act on it, he can’t control himself and it disturbs him. He's only nice to you now because he feels guilty.

Good. He should feel guilty. You fucking hate his guts and the stupid narrative he’s trying to push about how predators should treat prey with compassion and love, that we’re all equal. And that’s great. That’s lovely. But where does that leave you? You get treated like shit by everyone, prey and predators alike distrusting you, but his precious prey are the worst offenders. They’re cruel and violent just like predators are, but at least predators are upfront about it. Prey stab you in the back.

Chan reaches over and grabs the shirt you had picked out earlier, pulling it over your body before he carries you to the top of the bed and puts you under the covers.

“Hold tight.” He whispers, brushing your hair softly before getting up and stepping out of the room, leaving you alone to your thoughts.

You pull the cover around you tightly, wondering what the hell just happened. Here you were, in Chan’s bed, the man you despise, surrounded by his scent after he’d just fucked the life out of you in his shower. You’re sure even you are drenched in his scent by now. This wasn’t really how it was supposed to go.

You don’t get to think about it for long though as Chan quickly gets back into the room, a bottle of water in his hands that he opens and presses to your lips. “Drink.”

You scoff, taking the bottle from his hand and sitting up, doing your best to hide the grimace of pain on your face. “You need to stop telling me what to do.” You mutter before gulping down some water.

“You’re cute when you’re pouty.” He chuckles and you almost spit the water in his face.

"Cut the crap, dog." You snarl, shoving the bottle at his chest. “I’m not one of your little worshippers. You can’t lie to me. Not after you almost broke me back there.”

Chan blushes and his ears turn red. “I’m sorry. I’m really not--”

“Yes, you are. You can’t lie to me.”

He frowns, perturbed by your words. “The way I acted when we had sex… that’s not me. I don’t want you to think that.” He looks at you earnestly, like the thought of it genuinely weighs down on him.

“Since when do you care what I think?”

He hesitates, stares at you for a moment, searching your face for something, before he sighs and stands up, heading towards the closet. “I don’t. I just don’t want you to go around spreading rumors about me.”

You snort. So this is what this is about. “I don’t care enough about you to bring you up in conversation.”

"Of course." You hear him mutter bitterly as he pulls some sweatpants on.

You stay quiet, watching as he gets in the bed and turns his back to you, You do the same and that’s how the both of you go to sleep.

__________________

You wake up to the smell of food, and you sit in bed for a minute, wondering if you should go and eat or just get your things and leave. The sounds of your stomach rumbling makes that decision for you, and you quickly get out of bed and follow the scent to the kitchen where you find Chan making eggs and bacon.

“You better have made some for me.” You mumble groggily, sitting down on a chair slowly, wincing as you ass touches the seat.

“Of course. I’m a gentleman.”

You scoff but say nothing, watching him as he puts the food in plates and sets them down on the table, one for you and one for him. You eat breakfast in an awkward silence.

“Well, thanks for the food.” You say awkwardly, standing up. “I’ll...uh...I’ll wash the dishes.”

“It’s ok, I’ll do it.” He grabs the plate from your hand before you can protest and puts it in the sink along with his before turning back to you, nervous. “Listen, there is something I wanted to ask of you.”

You quirk an eyebrow at him. “What, you want to turn this into an enemies with benefits thing.”

He breathes out a laugh, “Yeah, actually that would be great. But um...that’s not what I wanted to say. You see...um… the both of us, we don’t really.... How do you say it….um….”

“The nervous puppy act isn’t cute when a wolf does it.” You lie. He does look cute all wide-eyed and nervous suffling. “Man up and spit it out.”

He grits his teeth at your words, annoyed, but it gives him the courage he needed. “Can we keep this between us? I’d rather no one found out about what we did.”

Of course, you should’ve expected this. Perfect Chan doesn’t want anything to tarnish his reputation, and certainly not a momentary lapse of judgement where he associated with someone vile like you.

"Yes, of course. " You reply coldly. “Anything else?”

"No-- and please don’t take this the wrong way." He rushes to say, “I really, really like...this.” He gestures between you and him, “I want to keep doing it but you and me...we’re different, and I’d rather people not know about it.”

“Don’t worry, Saint Chan. I’d rather people not know I fucked such a gutless, impotent predator either.” You spit, disgusted.

“Hey, wait--” He hurries to say but you were already walking to the door.

“Spare me.” You hiss, opening the door and slamming it shut behind you.

_________________

A/N: Feedback is greatly appreciated and highly welcomed!

[thesmokingguns]

Phone Tag

Word count: 3512

Requested: “My idea was that the reader thought Kelly was cheating on her on tour, and when he comes home, he finds her really upset and comforts her and assures her that he only loves her”

Requested by @littlemisscare-all

A/N: I just want to thank @littlemisscare-all for the request and letting me message her about questions I had. Kelly Nickels is a new character I’m writing and she was patient with my questions and so helpful. This is a little longer than my usual one shots so I hope you like it. I have three requests I need to write on top of my regular stuff I want to put out so feel free to make a request but I’m going to say the time might be up to a week now. I also have a tag list you can be added to by just messaging me or filling out the form. Please let me know what you think ❤️

Tag List: @thenobodies-inc , @littlemisscare-all , @agroupiewhore, @ayablackwood

Ring, Ring, Ring

The constant sound of the phone trying to connect with room 828 was filling my head. The high pitched sound bouncing around your mind as you wished he’d  pick up. After another minute of the phone going unanswered you hung up, wiping my sweat filled palms on the denim dress hastily.

You could see your fingers trembling, the anxiety of the situation coming out in physical ailment as your trembling hands started to get numb. You shook out your hands, flexing them, cracking them, pushing them together, anything to just calm yourself down enough to feel them again. Your heart was beating so fast that it felt like it had turned on its engine and got lodged in your throat when it pressed the gas. You couldn’t swallow down the pounding so you tried instead to take a gulp of air. Breathing in through your nose and out of your mouth. In through your nose and out through your mouth. Even though you felt like you were not getting enough air when you breathed through your nose you continued anyway trying to calm your body that seemed to be fighting you.  You were trying anything to try and stop the full fledged anxiety attack from coming on.

You stepped back into the store, trying not to make eye contact with your friend and coworker as you started to fold the sweaters  on the front side table. Your hands needed to stay busy as you tried to avert your eyes from anyone, tears pooling in them. You couldn’t think about the situation or you’d start crying. But fuck, it had been almost a week since You had heard from your boyfriend. Your hand went to my pocket, pulling out the ripped out notebook paper Kelly had given you with the name, date, room number and phone number for each hotel. He was supposed to be in Phoenix in room 828 at the Hilton Hotel. Which you had already called seven times throughout the day without any response.

“Y/N, are you okay?” Your coworker touched your shoulder and you let out a sob, hands flying to your face. The feeling of someone touching you after the last month of being alone was too much. You broke feeling the loneliness blanketing over you, covering you. Your coworker was leading you to the breakroom, thankful no one was in the shop to see you have a complete mental breakdown.

He had promised you that you would talk every day; he had seen the nervous look in your eyes when the guys talked about the tour. All the girls that would be throwing themselves at the band. They were all about the three fundamentals: sex, drugs and rock n roll. How were you going to compete with something you weren't there to see?

“Jesus Fucking Christ, where the fuck is that paper?” Kelly was tearing apart the tour bus looking for a yellow piece of legal paper that you had written down all the numbers to call you on. He had lost it a week ago after he had drunkenly started a shot game with Phil that night and that had proved to be a horrible mistake.

When he had woken up, on the kitchen floor of the tour bus, a hangover so bad he wanted to fling himself into the highway all he could think about was calling the person that he loved and telling her about his night. The sound of her voice coaxing the hangover out of him and filling him up with the love she had for him. He had pushed himself off the floor, grabbing his cigarettes from his jacket and digging in the inside pocket for the list of numbers, but the paper was gone.

It had been six days since he had lost the numbers and as much as he tried to remember a phone number he couldn’t even think of one. He had expected a phone call to explain everything but the problem was that phone call had never come. This was just another layer of frustration that Kelly couldn't figure out. For the first few weeks of the tour he had gotten the calls at the hotel but a night before he lost the number the call hadn’t come in.

So now, being the very logical, even headed, and not complete maniac that he was, Kelly was tearing apart every single part of the tour bus. Ripping open trash bags, pulling apart beds, and crawling under the table that had a weird sticky substance underneath. As he pushed half drank beer cans aside he saw the flap of yellow sticking out. His heart leapt to his throat as he snatched up the paper, flipping it over and groaning audibly. The paper had gotten saturated. One number was partially visible with only a couple numbers melting together.

Walking off the tour bus he headed over to the payphone, setting a handful of change on the metal bottom as he started to dial different combinations of the number hoping that he could finally reach his girlfriend. Hoping that her lack of calls to him didn’t mean they had broken up or what if she had met someone else? She did have that fucking girlfriend who didn’t like him. What if she had gone out to The Roxy and met someone else?

He gripped the paper so hard in his hand as the phone rang and he thought of you with someone else. He needed to talk to you,

You were walking home, unable to work as your mind went a million miles a minute. Your heart thumping so loudly that your own thoughts were muted and just scenarios were popping in your head. Images of Kelly with his arm around another girl, disheveled hotel rooms with discarded clothes, his lips worshiping someone else's body. You stopped on the sidewalk closing your eyes, fists tightening as you told yourself not to scratch your arms. It was all in your head. This was all in your head and not real.

Another shaky step towards your apartment. Your eyes were on the payphone at the end of the block and you figured you could try one more time to call the hotel. Maybe when you heard his voice it would put out the fire of your mind. He could calm your anxiety, easing you from the panic attacks it caused and draw you in with the safety of his voice. He must have known how crazy you were going and when he finally talked to you he would have a logical explanation for why he had disappeared.

As you convinced yourself that he was going to answer this time, you could feel the burning bile in your gut start to be put out as the rational part of your mind tried to make a little room for you to have hope. The way your hands trembled as you took out a dime, sliding it into the slot and dialing the number, let you know that the temporary band aid your rational side had put on your anxiety wasn’t going to stick for very long. If Kelly didn’t answer it was going to be ripped off and you’d be left with the exposed wound that you would need to deal with..

Ring...Ring...Ri-

“Hello?” your heart caught in your throat, and you could feel your eyes widening as you heard a voice answer the phone on the other end, “Hello, is anyone there?” The very female voice that was answering the phone was not your boyfriend.

“Kelly?” his name left your lips, almost a whimper. All of the worst situations that you imagined could be happening in your head seemed to come to life now. It wasn’t just in your head, a woman was answering his hotel phone.

“Ohhhh, they’re in the shower. If you call back in an hour-” you hung up the phone. It took you four tries before you could get the receiver on the cradle because the shaking in your hand was running through your entire body now. You tried to crack your fingers, a weak attempt to get some control of the motions of your body.

In the shower. If he was taking a shower at 4pm what was he washing off of himself? Who was the girl who had answered the phone? Had he not answered because he had been so busy with her all day? You dry heaved in front of the payphone, sucking in air when nothing came out. You wanted to go home and hide, burying yourself under blankets until the weight of the sadness lifted. Not that you were sure it was ever going to lift because you had just caught him cheating on you.

It was a miracle that you made it to the apartment. You dropped your keys twice, your hands not working how they were supposed to. Your grip on them slipping and letting them fall through your fingers. Had you let Kelly fall through your fingers?

You hissed out a curse, shouldering into your apartment and locking the door behind you. You were off of work tomorrow so you could stay holed up inside the apartment for at least twenty four hours before anyone would think to call. That gave you time to wallow in your emotions and feel everything you needed to feel.

Looking around at the space it dawned on you that you would need to leave. Separate your things and get out of the city before he comes back to it. Which didn’t give you enough time at all because he would be back in two days for the LA show at the Whisky a Go Go, Where were you going to live? Maybe you could find a roommate or you could always stay with your best friend. She would let you in. There was so much to do and so much to figure out but you needed to lay down and figure it out from the comfort of the bed.

On the way to the bed you tripped over the phone you had kept beside it for the past few days hoping for Kelly to finally call you. You looked at the phone hanging off the hook, knowing if anyone called you they would just get the busy signal but you didn’t hang it back up. Kelly was too busy in some hotel room with a strange girl and he hadn’t bothered to call you in a week anyway. You needed to just get in bed and mourn your relationship. You’d move out tomorrow and start a new life without him.

Kelly hung up the phone, looking at his apartment phone number that the girl at the shop had just given to him. He had missed you by twenty minutes and from what he had just heard you were in bad shape.He sucked in his bottom lip as he dialed the home number. He would explain everything to you as soon as he had you on the phone. He could already picture you asking him if he had at least won the drinking game.

“What the fuck?” He looked at the phone when he got the busy signal. It had to be the right number. He had repeated the number twice to make sure that he got the correct number and now he was getting a busy signal. He dialed again, getting the same alert sound. Then again. And again. He stopped after constantly calling for ten minutes to take a breath. He was going to need to have a beer and try again.

He tried calling twenty minutes later, an hour, three hours, and before he went on stage for the show. His mind was thinking of how you could be on the phone for that long. He frowned as he grabbed his bass going over to the band's manager. He needed to get home sooner than the tour bus would take him.

You got out of the shower, wrapping your sweater around you over your nightgown. Your eyes skimmed the apartment where you had spent the last four hours cleaning like a maniac and separating everything. Your records were in a milkcrate by the door, along with a trash bag of all your clothes. Things like pots and pans didn’t seem worth fighting over. You would leave those for him. Even though you weren’t even sure if Kelly knew how to fry an egg.

Twirling a piece of hair around your finger you tried to calm the uneasy feeling filling you. He had been the one who hadn't answered your calls or called you. He was the one who had a girl answer the phone in his room. He wanted you to leave but he didn’t want to see the hurt he caused by telling you it was over. Your friends had all warned you about dating a rockstar so it wasn’t like you could expect much sympathy from them. But you had been with Kelly for over a year and hadn’t seen it coming. It felt like you were blindsided. To love someone so much had really just opened you up to the pain you were feeling now.

Moving to the bedroom you looked around the room, the pit of your stomach turning in sadness as you thought about this being the final time you sleep in this bed. The tears boiling up and tumbling down your face as you sat on his side, touching the pillow that he slept on. You could smell his aftershave and scent on his pillow just making you cry even harder. The feeling in the pit of your stomach growing as you missed someone who was gone.

Over your tears you didn’t hear the sound of the front door opening. You were wrapped around a pillow mind racing in a thick fog of all the reasons you weren’t good enough. Why couldn't he love you? Could anyone love you?

“Y/N, baby, what’s wrong?” Arms were wrapped around you. You were being pulled onto a lap, hair pushed away from your tear stained face.

“K-Kelly?” It comes out weekly, almost afraid you’re hallucinating arms wrapped around you, fingers touching your tears, pushing the puddles that gathered on your skin with an expert flick of a thumb.

“Yeah, baby, I’m here. What happened? Why are you so upset? Who do I need to fight?” He was trying to defuse the situation with humor to drag you out of your hysterics. But he was the one that had gotten you to this place.

Sitting up you pushed yourself off his lap, a frown forming on his face from this action. You could feel the way your hands were starting to go numb as you wiped your tears, knowing there was going to be a confrontation with him.

“I called you for a week, Kelly. I called all the numbers multiple times a day and you didn’t answer. You didn’t call me back.” The way he frowned at this didn’t go unnoticed by you. You took it as a sign of his guilt. He had been ignoring you on purpose. “And I called this afternoon and a girl answered from your hotel room.” He stood up suddenly shaking his head.

“No, no, no.” You rolled your eyes at his weak attempt to lie about the fact you had spoken to a girl that was in his room, “Oh fuck, we didn’t even check into the hotel today. I was on the tour bus looking for the list of numbers you had written down for me.” He was digging into his leather jacket pocket looking for the yellow paper. You were trying to process what he was saying.

“But they said you were in the shower when I asked for you.” You said with a frown, trying to process what he was saying. It would be easy to believe him, tryst him blindly and forget all the drama but there were so many things that just weren’t adding up. He produced the yellow list holding it up with the missing pieces and wet pen running into a blurred mix of ink.

“Call the hotel now. I’m obviously here with you. Maybe they heard you wrong?” He knew you needed real proof. He looked at the phone on the floor that was off the receiver, “I tried to call you today. I guess this explains the busy signal.” He moved to hang it back up.

“I called you and you didn’t answer all week and you didn’t even call me once.” You pointed out. “You’re on tour with all your horny band members and I’ve been out with you all before.” You didn’t want to ask him because you knew that he would answer you honestly. He couldn’t lie to you, even on little things he was always 100% honest. Which you had found out one night when you tried on a new dress and asked how you looked and he had told you the dress looked like a rejected extra from a Cyndi Lauper music video.

“I lost the phone numbers when I was drinking with Phil one night. It took me a week to find them on the bus.” He confessed. That story seemed pretty on par for who they were, “And are you asking if I was stupid enough to cheat on you?” At the words you went white, gripping the sheets. Kelly took in your reaction and knew that’s exactly what you were thinking had happened. “Listen, Y/N.” He moved over to the bed gripping your face in his hands, stroking your cheeks with his thumbs and giving him a soft smile, “I love you. Just you. And I wouldn’t do anything to ever lose your love. I spent a week trying to find a paper just so I could hear your voice. I was waiting for you to call all week, baby. Why didn’t you call me?” The soft way he spoke was melting the ice in your veins, calming you with the right touches and bringing you to the current situation happening in real life and not just in your head.

“I called you so much. I called all the hotels that you told me to call. But you never answered me.” You pointed to a crumpled up ball on the nightstand. Watching him grab it and smooth out the page of numbers.

“Oh shit.” He rubbed his chin and looked up at you with an almost embarrassed look. You knew exactly what that look was. He had made a mistake, “So, um, these hotels are out of order. I must have copied them backwards because this one.” He pointed at the last hotel you had called today. “Should have been here.” He pointed a few up and you sighed in relief. The tears still came flowing out but this time in relief, “I’m an idiot. I’m sorry, baby.” He reached out, folding you to him. Your body was relaxed, allowing him to calm you with his back rubs and head kisses. Comforting you by holding you in his arms and reminding you that he loved you with his touch.

“I’m sewing my name and our telephone number into all your clothes tomorrow.” You muttered after a little while. He chuckled, kissing the top of your head.

“Next time, just come on tour with us. That way we never have to worry about playing phone tag.” You nodded your head listening to his heart beat. “We’re going to have to spend tomorrow morning unpacking your stuff. But I do respect your commitment to cut ties so thoroughly that you organized the records.” He got the laugh out of you that he was looking for. You sat up, shrugging your shoulders.

“I was just looking for an excuse to steal your Bowie records.” You teased him. He scoffed, pulling you to lay down beside him.

“I flew back here to be with you, Y/N. The least you could do is not threaten to steal my records.” Kelly pulled you close to him. “Do you feel better now that I’m back?” The concern in his voice warmed you to the core. You nodded your head at him. “Now you know you’re stuck with me and how wrapped around your finger I am.” You sighed out softly, eyes heavy as you felt like you could finally get some sleep after having a week of anxiety dreams and panic attacks preventing you from getting more than a tossing turning sleep for the week.

“Maybe next time send me a postcard to let me know you love me.” You said through a sleepy haze.

“Maybe I’ll train carrier ducks to send messages. Or learn how to do smoke signals.” A smile slipped out as you cuddled closer letting him lull you to sleep with his soft touches and soft mutters. He loved you, you could feel it. And that was all you needed

[nlights37]

Fixer-Upper Ch. 5: Teaser

Trying to get this shit wrapped up as I type this, but until then, please enjoy this peek into Joe Snow's Real Depression Hours!

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At least a quarter of the whiskey bottle remained, and he’d committed fully to polishing it off, but it seemed like it was taking forever.

That probably had something to do with the fact that he couldn’t quite breathe through his nose.

The nose thing, well, that was from the crying, not that he would ever tell anyone about that. Especially not Dany.

Fuck, now his eyes were burning again, and he wasn’t supposed to think about HER, not her name or her smell or her taste, Gods, the way she tasted was insane. There was this spot just at the pulse in her neck, where she was so sweet, and something about the way her heartbeat would speed up under the tip of his tongue, the way he could fucking feel her getting hotter for him, just made him crazy.

Jon slapped a hand against his own cheek, wincing a second after the loud crack sounded through the air, furious with himself. “Stop it.”

He heard a whine and looked up to find Ghost watching him from the corner, which was shocking on it’s own because the dog had refused to even look at him since he’d gotten back from his breakup and subsequent breakdown in his truck. How the dog had known he’d spent an hour in that parking lot silently crying, swiping his sleeve across his face every few minutes until the fabric was soaked, he wasn’t sure.

Who the fuck even was he anymore? He didn’t remember ever being this fucking pathetic.

Ghost tilted his head at Jon.

“This is your fault,” he answered, at the question in the dog’s eyes. He jabbed a finger towards Ghost, the rest of his hand wrapped around the liquor bottle, liquid sloshing as he pointed accusingly. “You were supposed to stop me, pal. How did you let me get in this fucking deep, huh?”

Maybe it was the alcohol but he was sure, in that moment, that Ghost glared at him.

Then the dog huffed, and circled, and turned his back to Jon completely.

“Don’t give me that bullshit, man.” Jon rose, a little unsteady, passing the muted television currently playing a ‘Westerosi Pickers’ marathon that he had chosen because he thought it would distract him but really all it had done was make him wish Dany was there tucked up right next to him like she was supposed to be, making fun of the hosts and eating all his chips and doing that thing he really liked to his earlobe during commercials.

No, no, he didn’t need to think about that, and he pitched forward, hand finding the wall there in the corner, as he slipped down next to his dog, in the dark. Fuck, it was night.

How long had he been drinking?

Fuck it, it didn’t matter, because he clearly hadn’t drunk enough yet, everything still hurt too much.

Begrudgingly, Ghost shifted until he could put his head in Jon’s lap, then sighed.

“You sad, too?”

Big eyes angled up to look at him, and another low whine emerged from the dog.

Jon set aside the bottle on the floor beside him and fished in his pocket for his phone, grunting with even that minor exertion. The screen swam before his eyes at first, but he managed to connect his phone to the bluetooth speakers above the television, and he fumbled around until he finally got his music app opened, the appropriate playlist selected.

There was dead air for a moment, and he met Ghost’s eyes again, resigned. “We gotta do it, pal.” The opening strains of ‘Everybody Hurts’ began to play, and Jon shook his head regretfully as Ghost’s ears pricked up. “Time for the breakup ritual.”

This wasn’t gonna work. He knew it, even as he began to bob his head drunkenly, every forlorn word striking directly into his inebriated broken heart.

He knew it wasn’t gonna work, but that didn’t stop him from coming in where he always did, off-key and far too loud. “Don’t let yourself gooooooooo,” he bellowed, face crumpling as he started crying again, mangling the next line terribly because he was finding you couldn’t shout your heartbreak out when you were also sobbing.

But he pulled it together for the most important part, yelling and slurring to the empty room that everybody DID hurt sometimes, and he was everybody, apparently.

His head thumped back against the wall and he stopped trying to do anything but sniffle and hiccup and drink and just let the rest of the song happen to him.

It looped, three times, and now he could only manage short breaths through his mouth, but when his reddened eyes fell on the gift bag he’d shoved beside his coffee table he jumped as if he’d been electrocuted. “Fuck,” he rasped, and crawled over to get it, leaning against the base of the sofa for support as he cradled the item in his lap.

Then a chill wracked him and it clicked in his mind why he’d tried to shove this out of sight earlier.

It smelled like her. Like that fucking lemon meringue pie body wash she used that made her smell fucking edible and he could almost taste her skin under his tongue, the firm give of flesh as he would sink his teeth into the rounded curve of her hip and she would moan and thread her fingers into his hair and pull…

He let his fingers crinkle against the tissue paper and sucked in another thin stream of air through his nose, still stopped up, his eyes feeling heated and swollen as he looked down at the present she had given him.

If he opened he, that would be it. It would be over. He didn’t know why, but it made a weird sort of sense, and he was convinced that this had to be true. So maybe he just shouldn’t open it.

But he had to.

Because she gave him something, and he had to know, he couldn’t not know, what was in this bag.

His mind flashed sluggishly to the desk calendar page he had meticulously poured over before declaring it a masterpiece, a brief record of what they’d done, a little something to remember him by when she inevitably got scooped up by some lucky fuck who could behave himself at parties and be respectable and made better choices. Jon was just a ruiner, anyway, that was one thing Ygritte had probably been right about, that Jon ruined everything he touched, killed it until there was nothing left.

Dany was better off without all his bullshit, in the end.

So, while he’d had every intention of keeping Naked November for his own personal times of reflection he’d decided to give it to her.

He wondered if she had unfurled it yet, if it had made her laugh, or maybe she’d studied it with that tiny devilish little smile that always popped up whenever sex between the two of them was involved.

Maybe she was doing what he was. Maybe she was getting shitfaced drunk and listening to sad music and trying to scrape together the will to purge Jon from her life. If he were going to continue on with his own special breakup traditions he would need to go round up all the things he hadn’t given her back at the park, things around his place that he knew full well were there but he hadn’t been able to part with. Her spare toothbrush, his extra from his last dentist visit, purple plastic spangled with silver glitter, still sat in the holder by his sink. Three berry yogurts were lining the door of the fridge, along with the pale ale she’d brought the last time she’d come over. Several of Drogon’s cat toys, his ‘floaters’ that ended up travelling between both their places, were scattered in with Ghost’s.

Maybe she was wandering around her place right now and finding it was just as haunted by the spectre of him as his house was saturated with her.

Maybe she was crying. He didn’t like the thought of that, at all. She’d looked upset at the park, putting on her best unaffected face for awhile, but maybe it was just the sex she was mourning.

A small, petty part of him hoped no one ever fucked her like he did, and made make all those amazing noises she made, and he hoped she never called someone else baby in that low throaty voice that made him want to bury himself inside her until neither of them could walk. That was his, and maybe it was selfish, but he didn’t care.

“Fuck it,” he muttered, and took another drink from the bottle, smiling bitterly at the burn then thrusting his hand into the paper. He grew still when his questing fingers encountered a hard edge, and for the life of him he couldn’t begin to imagine what it could be.

So, he took a deep breath and braced himself, and pulled the object free.

[hallowed-be-thy-username]

Clothing Is Custom, No Labels

“No matches on prints, DNA, dental. Clothing is custom, no labels. Nothing in his pockets but knives and lint. No name, no other alias.”

Summary: You’re one of the last bespoke tailors in town, making suits and custom clothing for Gotham’s elite. Business men and women, well known lawyers, the Wayne family, and… the Joker?

Genre: Self-insert, porn with plot, longfic

Pairing: Ledger!Joker x fem reader

Warnings: angst, manipulation, panic attack, graphic violence/murder, attempted kidnapping

Word count: 5,633

Author’s note: Oh man, I am SO excited for this chapter, you guys ALSAKDFNDJFDJSNF it's a doozy and I really hope you like it!!

WARNING this one is graphic and violent, heads up! Graphic depiction of a corpse, violence, blood, attempted kidnapping, panic attacks.

Please read the warning above and do not interact with this story if you are a minor! Comments and reblogs always appreciated ❤️

Musical Inspiration: Tear You Apart by She Wants Revenge

- Part Eleven -

You felt dizzy. It was happening again. Everything felt like it was spinning as guilt and anxiety started to flood your brain, drowning you, making you gasp for air.

Your lungs couldn’t seem to pull it in fast enough. Short, quick breaths burned your throat as you desperately grabbed for something, anything to steady yourself. Your fists closed around the lapel of Joker’s vest where he sat beneath you, still inside of you.

His painted face came into focus as you blinked your eyes and panic struck you like lightning, jolting you to scramble to move off of his lap. But he was too quick. His hands firmly gripped your waist and the room tipped backwards as he wrestled both of you to the floor. Strands of his faded green hair hung in a curtain over your face where he held it in place, inches below his own. Puffs of your heavy breath washed over his face, his expression indecipherable as always, only an inkling of anger visible in his brow. He kept you still on your back where he knelt on top of you and flickered his gaze over your face. The cold rush of adrenaline in your veins began to subside and you could feel pressure between your legs. He’d managed to stay inside of you, giving you no room to push him out. Your heart fluttered and eyes shut as you forcefully tried to wriggle your way out from underneath him, but it was as if you weighed nothing in comparison to the strength of his grip. Despite the futility of it, you couldn’t stop yourself from trying to fight him, a fire burning in your chest, until he suddenly spoke.

“Look at me,” he growled, his gravelly voice rumbling in his throat, and your eyes flew open.

He stared down at you with an intensity that froze you to your core. You stared back with wide eyes and your mouth dropped open but remained incapable of making any sound. His eyes looked as though they’d grown darker, peering past your skin, your bones, to gaze at the very thoughts that relentlessly tore your mind to pieces.

“The dominos, my dear, they’re gonna fall. It’s al-ready started. One by one, they’re gonna fall and they’re not gonna stop.”

Your chest felt so tight. His words stirred up the flames that had ignited so quickly, burning you, pushing you to fight. What were you fighting? His hands held the sides of your face tightly as you stared into the blackness of his eyes that remained fixed on yours. It was the only thing keeping you grounded as you felt yourself nearing the edge of an endless blackhole within your mind, its pull growing stronger. How much more of this could you take before you let go?

Joker slowly nodded his head, sensing the changes happening behind your eyes. Of course, he knew what was happening. That icy drip you felt down your back, that sudden shock driving you to action without any direction, that twinge of remorse. It told you to run, to fight, to hide from this feeling that was growing in your chest, squeezing your insides, pushing you closer to that edge. But he held you there, forcing you to face it.

His voice dropped lower as he continued, “Don’t forget our little deal. You gave your control over to me. Dontcha remember, doll?”

You tried to breathe. You tried to calm the anxiety threatening to suffocate you as your body began to tremble on the floor. He wasn’t going to let you run. The flood of chemical signals saturating your body, tormenting your mind, told you to run. But is that what you wanted? It’s what your body was telling you but, is that what you wanted?

He’d rendered you unable to answer that question. Your heart pounded relentlessly as that thought sank down to your stomach. He knew this would happen. He gave you something he knew you wouldn’t be able to resist. How did he know? You never even knew it yourself. He saw something in your eyes you didn’t know was there. He used it too. He lead you straight into a trap you couldn’t have guessed would go this far, unable to see past his alluring figure, looming over you, reaching out to touch you, give you more of you’d come to crave so badly. And you’d let yourself fall for it again.

You couldn’t recognize all of the emotions you were feeling, all twisted together, but one stood out, creeping up from behind you and prickling your skin. Anger. Your breath quickened, puffing his hair out of our face before you struggled against his grip once again and his hands left your face to grab your wrists as you tried to push him off. It was like you were pushing against a brick wall. His fingers wrapped tightly around your wrists, his hold sure to leave marks on your skin, and a smacking of his lips brought your attention back to his face to see his gaze had remained unbroken. It wasn’t fair, the way he made you feel. So conflicted and guilty, but so alive. You couldn’t stay away from him, he made sure of that. Tears began to burn behind your eyes, but you couldn’t let yourself cry in front of him again.

“I… I hate you.”

The words tasted bitter on your tongue, the sound of them distant, as if it wasn’t you speaking them. They were just venom, spat desperately in his face in an attempt to fool the predator that his prey was stronger than she actually was.

The straight line of his mouth curved into a haughty smirk before he replied, “Mmm, I guaran-tee that you don’t.”

But he can’t be fooled.

You took quick breaths in and out as you scowled at him until the heat bubbling up inside of you reached your mouth and you shouted, “Just leave me alone!”

“We both know you don’t want that.”

His quip only infuriated you further. Your fists tightened and the pressure in your forehead made tears come to your eyes as your chest shook with staggered breath. You couldn’t think, reduced to a knotted bundle of frustration, wound up so tight it hurt. All you could do was scream. You cursed at him, shouted, yelled, it burned in the back of your throat and echoed in your head, releasing the anger that squeezed it out of you until his hand clapped over your mouth and your eyes tore open.

“Careful now, sweetheart. You’re gonna hurt my feelings.”

A sharp breath in through your nose carried the scent of greasepaint that always stained his fingers and the room suddenly felt eerily calm. The tv was still on, the sound of a commercial for Gotham Savings and Loan drifting past your ears, just audible over the sound of your breath mixing with his. It was as if the fire in your chest had been doused with water, leaving only smoldering embers where flames had just been burning up your insides. You let your breath out slowly and your muscles released, too fatigued to hold on. You could see the tension in his jaw disappear when he felt you relax beneath him, keeping your eyes fixed on his, the crushing darkness you’d seen within them just a shadow.

“I’m gonna tell you a secret,” he said in an unexpectedly relaxed tone, raising his eyebrows. “You aren’t as helpless as you think you are.”

Your brow furrowed as you continued to stare up at his face, your thoughts not yet cleared from beneath a layer of ash.

His tongue flicked out over his lip and now that he was sure he had your full attention, he continued, “Ev-ery-thing is balanced, a steadfast but delicate system. All it takes is one little push to bring it all crashing down.”

He blinked at you and slowly moved his hand from your mouth as you blinked back. Why did he always have to speak like this? Always so cryptic and steeped in maddening ambiguity. Against your better judgement, you voiced your frustration to his face.

“I never know what you’re talking about.”

You flinched when he suddenly burst into a loud fit of laughter, its pitch ringing in your ears and sending a shiver down your sides. He swallowed it back in muffled giggles before managing to speak, “Is that so?” Then his breath slowed, his voice steadily dropped as his grin faded and he looked you in the eyes and said, “I think you do, doll. You do but you just don’t wanna listen.”

The twinge in your stomach pushed you to try to argue, opening your mouth before you even knew what to say. But he was quicker, he was always quicker. He leaned in even closer, his fingers wrapping around your wrists as he spoke.

“Doesn’t it get old playing the victim? Hm? You know we’re far past that by now, sweetheart.”

Like a switch had been flipped, you froze beneath him once again. He knew too well how to get what he wanted from you. Arousal, obedience, fear. He was always right. You could tell yourself that you didn’t know something like this would happen, but that doesn’t make it true. You’d already come to this conclusion so many times, but it just so hard to accept it. Your mouth closed and you fell silent as your eyes caught sight of the bite mark you’d left on his neck. You knew. You knew and you chose to ignore it. You knew and you liked it.

Joker kept his eyes on yours, obvious that he knew he’d gotten through to you, and slowly nodded. Then let go of your wrists before he suddenly stood up, pulling out of you and taking the breath from your lungs along with him. All at once, his heat and pressure were taken away in an unexpected shock to your system, leaving his cum slowly dripping down between your legs where you laid naked on the floor. It had to have been on purpose. This cold, empty, vulnerability. You wanted to hate him, but you couldn’t. Just more evidence of the power he held over you, the heat you could never seem to get enough of. You’d been frustrated by it. It bothered you at first, but that was changing, twisting into something else. No matter what he did to you, all you wanted was to submit to him. No one had ever left you feeling this empty, this hungry to do it all again.

After tucking himself into his pants, he reached into his pocket to retrieve a pack of cigarettes then kept two from the pack in his lips. Then he held the flame of a lighter from another pocket to their tips until they glowed in the dim light from the television that was cast over his body where he stood over you. Kneeling down, he took a deep inhale from both cigarettes before plucking one from his lips and placing it between yours as smoke curled into the air from the corners of his mouth.

“You did well, doll. I’ll see ya when the next domino falls, hm?”

The front door shut as you stared up at the ceiling, holding the cigarette between your fingers after taking a deep drag, trying to suffocate the butterflies that had returned to your stomach.

_______________

What are the stages of grief again? Denial, anger, bargaining, depression, acceptance. Is it normal to feel them all at once?

The past few days had done little to clear your mind. But exhaustion had carried you to the point of passivity. You’d become numb. You supposed it was a defense mechanism, a subconscious effort to save your sanity. Even when you finally heard word of what Joker had been up to since you’d seen him, you had trouble having any sort of feelings about it.

After spending days in your apartment, usually in a state somewhere between asleep and awake, you decided it was best to open the shop. It was sort of like playing pretend. Like you weren’t wrapped around the gloved finger of Gotham’s newest and most notorious criminal who’d been giving you the best sex of your life in exchange for selling your soul to him. Just a regular small business owner trying to stay afloat. Your regular customers had certainly taken notice of your frequent absence lately, as proven by the not so friendly messages left on your answering machine. So, you did your best to keep up the charade under the guise of a “death in the family”.

A stack of newspapers was waiting for you on the doorstep and at the top of the pile, a headline pertaining to a certain clown.

“CITY BRACES FOR JOKER’S NEXT MOVE. COMMISSIONER LOEB FUNERAL PROCEEDINGS TO CONTINUE AS PLANNED.”

You took the one from the top, then unlocked the door and hung up your coat, pausing before dropping the paper on the desk. A little feeling settled in the pit of your stomach. You didn’t renew your newspaper subscription this year. Your eyes shifted to the door as those pervasive goosebumps rose up on the back of your neck. You knew exactly who left it here. Ignoring it, you swallowed against the sudden dryness in your throat and moved on to turn on the shop lights as you tried to reason with yourself. Don’t read it, you’ll find out what he has planned soon enough. He’s using you for his games.

But reasoning has never been your strong suit. After all, you should keep up with what’s going on, right? You rushed back to the desk and dropped into your chair before swiftly unfolding the paper, your palms already damp with sweat.

The article had little details to offer until it stated that a threat was made on the mayor’s life in the form of a fake obituary. The thought that Joker had a certain flare for the dramatic made you shift in your chair as your heart fluttered and you finished reading. For the amount of crime that went on in this city, Gotham was never good at responding to it. Not in any way that made sense, at least. They were going ahead with the commissioner’s funeral and the mayor was still scheduled to give his speech. It seemed like they were asking for it by now. Why would they just put the mayor out in front like he was bait?

Then your stomach sank even further. Maybe it was a trap. Gotham PD couldn’t be that stupid, they must be planning to catch him when he goes after the mayor. The next domino. Your heart started pumping faster as an inexplicable need to warn him flashed in your mind. No, that’s stupid. You don’t want to protect him. He’s a sociopathic murderer.

Here you were again. Caught in your own web, tangled between what you knew you should want and what you really wanted. You already knew what you wanted and so did he. You remembered when you saw him only days ago, the feeling that carried all the way down to your toes, the look in his eyes, the way he touched you. The sounds he made when he fucked you.

A furious rush of tingles ran down your back and your mind raced. He must know it’s a trap. He’s smarter than them. He wouldn’t let himself get killed that easily, right? Your hands gripped the desk as you tried to calm yourself, accepting the reality that you couldn’t hold back these feelings. You couldn’t hold them back or you’d loose your mind faster than you already were. He told you he’d see you again, you just had to wait. He hasn’t lied to you so far.

Once the buzz in your body settled and your breath slowed, you stood from the desk to get something to slake the thirst tightening in your throat. Maybe it’ll help clear your head too. You opened the fridge in the workshop where you kept complimentary drinks for costumers then scanned its contents before stopping yourself from grabbing the champagne and reaching for a bottle of water instead. The cold water soothed all the way down to your stomach and you closed your eyes, the relief even better than you’d hoped for. Then a sound coming from the front room made your eyelids fly open. It sounded like the door closing.

You were already on edge, maybe it was your imagination. But you couldn’t ignore the anxiety that trickled down your back. Did you lock the door behind you when you came in? Your heart raced and that feeling in your stomach was back with a vengeance. Silently setting the water bottle down, you took careful steps toward the door.

The silence was deafening as you slowly passed through the doorway into the front room, your gaze unblinking and brow heavy. You should’ve called out and ask who was there, but your voice was nowhere to be found when you opened your mouth. Then you thought maybe it was Joker, here to collect his next favor, and your heart fluttered. When you passed the desk, your mind busy with possibilities, you turned to see a man in an oversized suit jacket standing in the fitting area.

Your voice finally showed up and the man whirled around when your startled scream rang out into the room. In the split second that your brain had shifted to fight or flight, you’d backed up against the wall and sucked in a breath as your sensibility returned, your cheeks flushing hot.

“Sir, the shop is closed!” you blurted out in embarrassment as you tried to catch your breath.

Your back was still flat against the wall when he flashed you an unnerving smile and answered as he turned to face you, “My apologies, miss. Pardon my intrusion but I am here on behalf of someone who wish to speak to you.”

His accent. You could almost smell the stale cigars.

The heat drained from your face and before you could second guess yourself, you made a break for the front door. Your panicked muscles carried you as far as ten feet from the door before a pair of arms wound around your middle and pulled you backwards as you kicked and shouted. You managed to jab your elbow straight into the man’s stomach, eliciting a pained grunt, but he still wouldn’t let go, dragging you toward the exit out to the alleyway as you screamed obscenities at him, your heels skidding on the floor.

He grunted again then said with increasing irritation in his voice, “You only make this harder on yourself, eh? Now be a good little girl and shut up!”

A swell of burning rage rose up in your chest when his words left his mouth and with more force than you thought you were capable of, you jerked your body forward and pulled the man off of his feet to tip him over onto the floor. He took you down with him. But the fall broke his grasp, and you were able to wriggle free before scrambling to your feet. The front door was still your best hope. Maybe someone in this godforsaken city would hear you scream and do something.

You took a leap toward the door once again before your chin slammed against the floor boards after he snatched your ankle and brought you crashing back down onto the floor. A frustrated shout scratched in your throat as you twisted onto your back. His hand caught your fist when you swung it toward his face, the satisfaction from the crack of your knuckles against his jaw never fulfilled. Everything was happening so fast but also so slowly as you struggled against his grip where he was bent over top of you on the floor, his cologne burning your nose. The air hurt your lungs and blood roared in your ears, your thoughts muddled by the raw anger that took over your body. This couldn’t be happening. You couldn’t let this happen.

His hand twisted in your hair and pulled hard, the sting in your scalp making you hiss through gritted teeth. Then you saw it in the corner of your eye, your pair of heavy upholstery scissors had been knocked onto the floor, just within your reach.

A flash of red blinded you as your fist tightened around the handle just before you felt the resistance of the blades sinking into his flesh. Everything else seemed to stop and your muscles squeezed to push them in further, your mind gone blank. His hand left your hair to grab at his throat, sputtering and choking as you released your grip on the scissor’s handle. His eyes grew wider as his lungs tried desperately to pull a breath in, but it was too late.

Blood saturated his shirt collar, flowing further away from his brain, his mouth gaping open. It gurgled and bubbled, gasping for air that could no longer pass through, only thick blood filling his airway as his consciousness rapidly faded to black. Your body went numb and rolled out from beneath him before he hit the floor, his frantic movements gone still.

Soon you were on your feet, staring at the body face down on the floor, your scissors shoved into his throat. You blinked before a wave of panic suddenly pushed you against the wall, plunging you into a cold sweat, unable to look away from the pool of bright red seeping into the rug. You couldn’t stop yourself from panting and trembling, your head growing lighter until you felt the walls closing in. The only thing that kept you from passing out was an eruption of nausea, the second surge of a physiologic response to the realization of what you’d done as you slid down the wall into a heap on the floor.

You retched against your sobs that burst forth, the only sound in the unnervingly silent room as you let it all out, too overwhelmed to know what else to do. There was strange solace in the blur that your tears brought to your vision, distorting the scene in front of you, like it wasn’t there. But it was. Your mind began reeling, attempting to process, to rationalize. You killed him. He was dead. Now it was so quiet.

It wasn’t clear how long you’d spent like that, trapped beneath the weight of shock. But gradually the torrent of emotion that had stunned you quelled, and your breath slowed, nearly all of your capacity for feeling exhausted. In the absence of feeling, you regained your ability to think. He was dead but he attacked you. It was self-defense. It was self-defense.

Then your eyes flew open and your stomach sank before you managed to stand up, your legs buckling underneath you as you rushed to the door to turn the lock. What do you do now? You spun around, your back to the door, and scanned the room in some attempt to come up with a plan. Now there was a body on the floor and blood all over your shop. It should have surprised you how quickly your attitude shifted from devastated by what you had done to upset by the situation it put you in. But you knew exactly who had something to do with that.

You aren’t as helpless as you think you are.

You swallowed against the lump in your throat. This was because of him. He was the whole reason this man was here, the only reason that Chechen sent him here to get you. What was going to happen now that he wasn’t going to return with you? You didn’t have much time, did you? A feeling of dread settled into your stomach. This was all because of him but he was the only one who could help you.

Bile rose up toward your mouth, but you stifled it as you stepped around the body in search of Joker’s phone, the air feeling heavier as you rounded the desk. This still didn’t feel real. It was there in front of you, but it didn’t feel real.

The screen lit up and you scrolled through the list on “unknown” and “private” numbers. Your heart beat faster as anxiety bubbled just below the surface, threatening to pull you under again until you stopped on one of them and hit the call button with your thumb. Holding the phone to your ear, your hands buzzed while it rang, each tone loosening your tenuous grasp on rationality. The ringing stopped and then, nothing. A squeeze in your chest pushed you to try again. No answer. Your breath quickened and your hands started to shake but you couldn’t give up. You chose another number and hit call, then another. One last try.

Your whole body tingled now as it rang. One ring, two rings. On the sixth ring, you were ready to submit to the heightening unease crawling up your back until you suddenly heard his voice.

“Little busy right now, doll.”

It felt like your heart stopped then restarted and you couldn’t get sound to come from your mouth for a moment before you managed to almost whisper, “I need help.”

There was silence, permeated by the sound of your breathing as you trembled so hard you almost dropped the phone.

“And where might help find you?” he asked in an unusual tone.

Your voice was hoarse but a bit stronger when you answered, “My shop.”

He was silent again and you could hear something in the background, but the thumping of your own heart in your ears made it difficult to recognize what it was.

“Wait there.”

Then the call was ended.

The phone slid down away from your ear as you let your arm fall to your side and lowered yourself into the desk chair. He didn’t even ask what happened or what you needed help with. But there was something about his tone of voice. It brought you a strange sense of relief, knowing he was coming. It sank into you, warm and calming, easing your nerves all twisted up inside you. It was crazy, wrong, backwards, but that didn’t make it any less true. You didn’t have the energy to think about it anymore, acceptance was just by default now.

Your stomach twinged when you remembered what was on the other side of the desk and you felt a sudden need to be as far away from it as possible, standing from the chair so fast your head felt light. There was an inexplicable, contradictory urge to look that you fought to resist as you rushed to the back room, keeping your eyes averted. You had to try to stay calm and wait.

The next hour was pure torture. You sat clutching the burner phone tightly and stared at the bottle of water you’d left there not long ago, but by now it felt like days. Surely you needed it, but the thought of swallowing anything made your throat tighten. Every time the way it felt when the blades in your hand sank into flesh crossed your mind, it was like there was a short circuit and it was gone as soon as you blinked. You would have never guessed that you’d be capable of doing something like this. Did Joker know? He seemed to know more about you than you did. Were you like him? Does he go numb when it happens like you did?

You were shaken out of your trance when the sound of the side door opening made you flinch before you got up to rush toward the front room. Your breath hitched when, for the second time today, instead of seeing Joker, you saw someone else. But he looked familiar.

“The fuck happened here?” Joker’s goon with the bald head and leather jacket asked.

Your tense muscles relaxed a little, and you watched a few other men you didn’t recognize enter the room, their faces showing an equal amount of surprise before the door shut.

“Where is he?”

“Boss is busy.”

You blinked at the hulking man and tried to focus on staying calm as your ever-persistent level of anxiety threatened to rise up again. He wasn’t here but you supposed he trusted these men since he sent them in his place, for whatever that was worth. “Ok,” you answered softly.

The man looked down at the body then back to you before he raised his eyebrows and said, “A’right, so we gotta move a body then?”

He seemed so casual about it, staring at you and waiting for a response until you slowly nodded. They moved surprisingly quickly, taking the mirror and tables off of the rug before rolling the body into it. Most of the blood went with it but there was still some on the hardwood. They asked you if you had any bleach. It was surreal, watching them rid the room of any sign that something so violent had happened. They carried out the rolled up rug to toss it into the back of the white van they’d driven then used bleach and scraps of terry cloth that you never knew why you’d kept to clean up the rest of the blood before throwing it all away in a garbage bag, thrown in the van with the body.

It seemed strange how easily they could make it all go away. Physically, anyway. The reality of it was finally starting to sink in. You weren’t sure how long the images would replay in your mind, the moment you saw his eyes grow distant, the blood welling up in his mouth.

You stared blankly ahead through the windshield from where you sat in the van’s passenger seat, your chest rising and falling steadily with your breath. They hadn’t bothered to blindfold you this time. It wasn’t clear why. Maybe they saw the vacant look on your face and knew you wouldn’t remember any of the drive anyway. It was still daylight, but only just. The whisps of clouds on the horizon fluoresced in bright shades of pink and orange. Gotham usually isn’t treated to such beautiful sunsets.

It wasn’t long before your surroundings morphed into the now familiar sight of urban decay. Broken windows, gated doors, peeling paint. You watched it all pass by until the van made a turn toward the docks. You’d never been to this place before. The shrill sound of gulls met your ears when you followed the group of men out of the van, parked behind what looked like an old shipyard warehouse. None of them said a word or even looked back at you as they carried the body and bag of bloodied rags toward a rusted door, but a flutter in your stomach compelled you to stay close.

Voices echoed off of the ceiling that rose up two stories, lined with crisscrossed metal scaffolding and flickering lights, above a large central room that was littered with broken crates and scrap metal. Graffiti covered much of the weather beaten brick walls and a staircase leading to an upper level. You’d actually always wanted to see what these abandoned buildings looked like on the inside. They’re all over Gotham, corroding monuments to a once thriving city. This place was a hive of activity; groups of men cleaning guns, unloading various boxes and crates, there even appeared to be a riotous poker game underway. You focused on steadying your breath as you took in your surroundings before your gaze landed on where the men had carried the body.

Across the room, they were opening the door to a huge furnace, the bright glow making you squint your eyes. Your mouth slowly dropped open and your throat became dry when you saw them heave the body, rug, and bag of evidence into the white hot flames. And that was it. Like it never even happened.

Your nerves crept up on you and even this open space started to feel like it was closing in. What were you doing here? This was the last place you should have been, surrounded by the sort of men who could easily have stood in place of the one who was now being rendered to cinders. A shiver ran down your back and you quickly turned to run out the door but instead slammed hard into someone’s chest. A surprised gasp nearly made you cough when it dried your throat even more and your hands reflexively flew up to shield yourself as your gaze dropped to the floor.

A powerful jolt tightened every muscle once you blinked, seeing brown shoes and purple pinstripe pants standing there in front of you. You let your eyes travel up his chest, rising and falling steadily, covered only by a thin white tank top, and your heart fluttered before reaching his face when it dropped into your stomach. The white, red, and black that always obscured his features, it wasn’t there. You could see the pink, gnarled scar tissue that distorted the corners of his mouth, bare and uncovered. His skin bore only traces of the distinguishing paint, like it had been hastily wiped off.

His tongue flicked out over his lip and you sucked in a breath when your eyes darted up to meet his. Warmth seeped in beneath your skin, pooling in your belly as electricity ran across the surface of your body.

“Hello, doll.”

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[jaedore]

BINDING BONDS | 4

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parings: jung jaehyun x reader

genre: ceo!au, arranged marriage!au, consumption of alcohol, asshole/player Jaehyun, swearing

[ ◇ angst ]

note: BB deals with themes of mental and physical abuse, which can be upsetting for some readers. If you feel uncomfortable reading these types of plots, you are advised to not continue

a/n: just a little update before things get a lil crazy. i didn’t want the characters to go through so much so quickly, so enjoy this filler chpt!! also send me some feedback, i’d love to hear from you guys! ♡

[ 6.2 k ] 

You woke up to a throbbing headache and the sun shining in your face. You tried moving away from the light, but a firm pair of arms held you in place. Turning your head, you see Jaehyun sleeping peacefully behind you. You instantly jolt away from him, aghast that you two were in the same bed. 

Jaehyun stirs from the impact but immediately falls back asleep after mumbling incoherent words. Out of all the moments you’ve had with him, this is the first he held such placidity, you couldn’t help but see those features of his that everyone admires. Jaehyun’s skin coated with a honey tone that looked like it was made for a polished statue, the way his feather-like eyelashes kissed his cheeks, and the tint of his lips. It felt like you’ve done this before, admire him. 

Oh no, we didn’t...you looked down and realized you were wearing his shirt, clutching the black cotton between your fists. 

“You’re awake,” Jaehyun whispered, rubbing his eyes. 

“Uh yeah,” you avert your gaze elsewhere, even his morning voice made you jittery. 

“Don’t worry, we didn’t do anything,” he responded, looking at your disheveled state. 

Your hair was put in the worst bun possible, last night when Jaehyun was removing your makeup, your hair was all over your face so he had no choice but to put it up somehow. Since you slept in it, more hairs poked out making you look bizarre. The bare face you possessed brought out the puffiness of your cheeks and the swole in your lips. Jaehyun couldn’t help but look at you, who sat in his shirt. Considering that it was bigger on you, he noticed your shoulder poking out. Nervously, Jaehyun diverts his gaze elsewhere. 

“Then how did you get into my bed?” you asked, the last thing you remember was drinking to the sight of him and Chaeyoung at the after-party last night. 

“You wanted me to stay,” Jaehyun clarified. 

“And you listened to me?” you blurted, clearly frustrated with your actions. As you threw the blankets off, Jaehyun gently grasped your hand to stop you from leaving. 

“Y/n, please. About last night, I meant what I said at the Charity Ball,” he began.  

“I don’t know,” you brushed him off, standing up. 

“Please, just hear me out,” Jaehyun begged. 

You hesitated for a bit, what if he doesn’t mean his words? What if he just goes back to how he was? You inhaled enough air to inflate your lungs, making your decision. You sat back on your bed, crossing your legs, letting him continue. 

“I know what I did was wrong and nothing will ever justify it. I was just angry that I wasn’t allowed to find love for myself, I was angry that I couldn’t be with Chaeyoung. All of the words I said that tore you down, every action that I had done to hurt you, I take it all back. You didn’t deserve to be treated like that and I’m truly sorry. I know it’ll take a while for you to forgive me, but please, I want to apologize for everything.” Jaehyun looked up at you and you knew he genuinely meant what he said because you’ve never seen such misery in his eyes. 

You sat dazed in front of him, your mind couldn’t stop asking questions. Does he even mean all of this? “So what does this mean?” you looked up from your lap. 

“I don’t know, but I do want to try this out with you. I want to see if I can get there with you...no-” he shook his head, “-I want to get there with you and we can go as slow as you want!” 

You sat there thinking to yourself, you were so conflicted and guarded. Is this too soon? Is he just saying this to get in my head? 

“Please say something,” he pleaded, fiddling with his fingers. 

“I-“ you inhaled a sharp breath, “-I don’t know Jaehyun. We’ve been so hostile towards each other the entire time. This is toxic, this isn’t good and I don't want this.” you faltered. 

“Then what should I do?” Jaehyun asked, brows furrowed. As desperate as he sounded, he genuinely wanted to be better for you...and for himself. 

You didn’t know, you didn’t want to say anything because there was a lot that you wanted him to do, “Jaehyun,” you fumbled for the correct words, “I-your words really hurt me, don’t think I have the heart to trust and forgive you right now.”

“Oh,” he lowered his head, clearly disappointed. 

“I appreciate you apologizing though. I think it’s just going to take me some time to figure this out on my own.”

“Of course, take as much time as you needed,” he stood up and with soft steps, walked out of your room.

Why is he so sad in the way he walked? What happened yesterday and why is he suddenly acting differently? You threw your blankets aside and rested your hands on your propped up knees. Your pounding headache wouldn’t stop as you tried to recall the events that happened last night. You remember the vibrations of the blaring music, the flashing lights, the sheer coating of sweat on your body, Jaehyun dragging you away, the dried tears that stained your cheeks, and...you crying. Oh my gosh...you winced at your humiliating behavior as the conversation you had with Jaehyun came back. How can you be so stupid? Get your shit together, damn it y/n!

It took you a while to get yourself out of bed, you didn’t want to risk facing Jaehyun. Maybe that’s why he’s all apologetic now. You thought, citing your conversation with him from last night. When you finally heard the familiar sound of his door shutting, you got up to wash your face. It was then you realized you didn’t have any makeup on. Oh, he must’ve taken it off…

After getting yourself ready for the day, you walk downstairs and there’s a saturated aroma of savory breakfast food filling the air, “You made breakfast?” you walked down to see two sets of plates placed on the table filled with food. 

“Yes,” Jaehyun’s lips pressed together. 

“Oh, thank you.” 

“I’m sorry for not making you any last time,” he scratched the back of his head, “um, let’s eat.” 

If you were to be honest, the tension between you wasn’t exactly there, but it was just a little awkward. You sat across from each other in silence as you ate, the quietness was eating you alive so you took the courage to speak first.

“What happened last night?” you asked him, you just wanted confirmations of your thoughts. 

“Well” he began, “at the club, you got super drunk that you started dancing with one of my friends, Johnny Suh. So I took you home and...you started crying.” 

“Oh my gosh,” you rested your forehead on your palm, embarrassment washing over you, so everything I said was true. “Please don’t tell me what I said,” you held up a hand and continued eating your food. You already knew what you said, you just didn’t want to hear it from Jaehyun.

“Oh. Okay,” Jaehyun thought that maybe you were just embarrassed, but he also felt like you didn’t want to talk about how you truly felt. He figured he’d have to wait for you to be ready without being intoxicated. 

The day went on how it usually did, you both went to your rooms, this time leaving your doors opened a bit. Occasionally, you’d go to the kitchen to get a snack and you’d see him doing the same. Instead of just staring at each other with a void, a small nod would come.

It’s going to take time. Jaehyun reminded himself as he watched you go back up to your room.

You, on the other hand, you weren't handling it too well. You were so used to people coming and going as they pleased, that you’ve built yourself a wall. You’re just trying to be cautious because of the past and because of how Jaehyun regarded you. 

Your phone rang, interrupting you from your thoughts, “Hello?” 

“Hey, how are you doing?” Haewon asked. 

“I’m fine.” 

“You left me last night without telling me that you were leaving early with Jaehyun,” you knew your best friend was pouting on the other side. 

“I’m sorry, I was just really wasted,” you sighed, you needed to stop doing that. 

“Yeah I know, at least you got home safely,” Haewon commented, “he didn’t...yell at you again right?” 

“No.” 

“Oh really? What happened?” 

“Well this morning, Jaehyun apologized and said that he wanted to actually try. But I don’t know, Haewon. I really really don’t know what to do,” you faltered. 

“Really y/n? He apologized? And you’re going to really believe that? ” Haewon doubted. 

“I mean he sounded sincere,” you shrugged.

“Well, I don’t trust him at all! I hate the way he treats you. There’s no way he whole-heartedly meant it.” Haewon retorted. 

“We’ll see,” you huffed. 

“Anyways, I know you're still planning your collection for spring and summer, but I just wanted to check up on you. I hope you’re doing okay,” you felt her heartwarming smile melt your heart. 

“I’ll be okay,” you reassured her. 

“I’m serious, y/n! If he mistreats you again, Imma just have to come over and give him a little punching!” Haewon threatened. 

“No! Don’t!” you said in bewilderment, “Mark already did and it didn’t end looking good, so please, no more fights.” 

“What? Mark Lee? No way.”

You explained to her the situation of that morning, you still couldn’t erase the image of Jaehyun who looked defeated and contrite at the time. The way his full shoulders suddenly withered over his sturdy body, his firm hands collapsed beside him, and his eyes painted in poignant. The image stained your brain and no matter how much you tried forgetting it you couldn’t help but feel the slight twinge in your chest. 

You rushed the conversation, in hopes of ending the topic, “alright, it’s late and I have to get into the office early tomorrow. Goodnight, I’ll talk to you later,” you yawned. 

“Okay, love you,” Haewon replied. 

You hung up, feeling your stomach grumble. You’ve been in your room all day, you haven’t gone out to eat yet. You headed to the kitchen for a late snack and as you opened the fridge, you spotted a written note stuck to the top of a container.

[ I made some for dinner, but you seemed busy on the phone. Just heat it in the microwave until it’s the way you want it ] 

You took off the top, smelling the stir fry. You nodded, impressed that Jaehyun can actually cook. Once it was warm enough, you sat at the table and scrolled through emails.  You had more files that needed to be approved, hopefully, it wasn’t as much as the last round. Launching a new collection was definitely hard, especially when it’s for two seasons of the year, which meant two different concepts. You loved your job, but sometimes you wish that there were easier ways to approve things. 

“Good morning,” your mother greeted.

You pressed your lips together at the familiar sight on your desk. Once again, there were stacks of files sitting on your desk, so you had to literally move them to make room for yourself. As you sat down, you ordered the files from most urgent to least and immediately got to work. 

This time, you weren’t so harsh on yourself. You often took breaks and occasionally got food with your mother, you enjoyed the time you shared with her because it wasn’t often that you did. 

“How are you and Jaehyun?” 

“We’re...good,” you hummed, stirring the tea that sat before you. You watched as the tinted liquid swirled after your spoon in the glass cup, it went with the flow. Maybe I should too. 

“Honey, I know when you’re lying,” she took your hand in hers, almost as if she was trying to shield you from the dark world of being hurt. 

“Mother, really, we’re fine,” you sighed. You didn’t want to trouble her or stress her out, you both already have enough on your plate. 

“Just know that you can tell me anything, okay? I’m your mother.” 

“Of course,” you thinned your lips. 

When you came back to your office, you were persistent on finishing, so you worked hard until the series of words soon became blurred and your brain couldn’t absorb any more information. When you looked at the clock, it was suddenly 7pm. You felt the tension in your shoulders, rolling them back, you knew you needed to reward yourself before you started on another department. You strolled into the break room and brewed a cup of tea and sat at one of the closer tables, you heard a text from your phone. 

[ Jaek-ass: hey I made some food and stored it in the fridge again. Just reheat it when you come home ] 

You haven’t changed his name from your contacts, you were going to leave it at that for a bit. Of course, he was gentle in caring for you when you were wasted, you could still feel the warmth of his arms around you. Also when he apologized and when he made you dinner, but despite all that, you were so guarded. You know he was trying, but the hurt that he caused you was blocking you from accepting it. 

When you came home around 9, it seemed like Jaehyun was already in bed. He usually worked from home, but this week he was in the office. You envied how he always seemed to have it lucky, everything usually goes his way. You walked to the fridge to take out the container of food he prepared for you, this time it was macaroni and cheese. You chuckled as you set it in the microwave, you always ate this during your college days whenever you were pulling all-nighters. The taste brought you back to your old days. 

You found your mind wandering to Jaehyun and his old days. You wondered where he went to think and process his thoughts, who were the friends that made him laugh and formed those dimples of his, you didn’t know a lot of things. Did he talk to Chaeyoung yet? You sighed, they had so much history. You knew you were intruding into their relationship, but this was a situation that you couldn’t help. 

As you got ready for bed, you called Haewon for a little chat, before you moved in with Jaehyun, she would always come over and spend time with you. You missed her dearly, she was the crazy friend that always gave you a good time, but this time you wanted to talk seriously with her. You expressed to Haewon your concerns about letting your guards down and opening up to Jaehyun. She always knew you were guarded and always did her best to make you feel comfortable, but she felt like if you never let your walls down, there was going to be no one waiting for you. You huffed when she said that, all you wanted was to find someone for yourself… but maybe that person is you. 

“Well, I’m going to head to bed. You probably have a busy work schedule too, so go to bed, I’ll talk to you later. Love you.” Haewon bid. 

“You have no idea. Goodnight, love you,” you hung up the phone and threw yourself on the bed. It’s not like you can blame your parents for putting you in this position, this is all they know, they were put in this situation, and so were your grandparents. To be honest, it felt like a family curse.

When you woke up the next morning, Jaehyun had already left for work. Breakfast was stored and as you reheated it, you scrolled through your emails. The Designing Department had already sent digital images of rough drafts for the upcoming Spring-Summer collection. The designs didn’t look right, so you figured you’d have to go to their department today. You exhaled in annoyance, going down there meant that you weren’t able to work on the files, which means that everything you hoped to finish was going to be put back. 

“Morning sweetie,” your mother greeted from her desk. 

“Good morning mother, I have to go down to the Designing Department for a bit today, have my assistant call me if I'm needed.” you quickly set your bag and made your way.

You double-check your notes, making sure everything was ordered and organized. As the upcoming CEO, you had to have your life together. As the elevator doors open, you stride to the open doors that hold one of the most important assets of the company. 

“Good morning, Ms. y/l/n.” everyone greeted you. 

“Yes, good morning, everyone. Today we have a busy day, I went over the files that were sent to me and some adjustments need to be made. That being said, I want to work with the design processors first, we’ll get all of the designs done for the prototyping to begin today. Everyone, get to work!” You commanded, everyone dispersing into their job. 

You walked over to where the processors were, they were in charge of designing the outfits. The colors, patterns, print, and proportion were all done by them. Several of them had their head buried in their desk, Park Chaeyoung. There she was, sitting in her desk, solely focused on her designs. Her head perked up once you towered over her. 

“I heard you’re very good at designing-” you nodded at her drawings, “-may I take a look?”

“O-oh! Of course,” she handed you her stack of papers. 

You quickly scanned her sketches, her lines were delicately drawn with preciseness and the patterns complimented the outfit, she unexpectedly met your expectations. One thing that bothered you was that the colors didn’t harmonize well together, instead, they clashed. Nonetheless, you were still impressed. 

“They’re not bad,” you sighed, handing them back, “but I advise you not to play with the colors too much. The designs are very well drawn, but the colors clash too much. It makes it hard on the eye.” you advised her. 

“Yes, Ms. Y/l/n, thank you for the advice.” Chaeyoung bowed her head. 

You smiled back before drawing your attention to the rest of the team members. You went to each of them, making sure the designs were well correlated with the collection. You made sure to speak with every designer and ensure that everything corresponded. Every fabric, texture, detail, and sampling had to be perfect, there was no room to mess up. 

By lunchtime, you weren’t as close to finishing as you wanted to be, but you can tell that you lacked effort from the designing team. You huffed in annoyance, “alright, everyone, thirty-minute lunch, please. Be back as soon as possible!” you demanded. 

As you let the entire team to lunch, you sat and scanned over the designs again, ensuring everything was perfect enough to move on. You wrote corrections and notes here and there, so the processors knew what to revise and change.

Jaehyun sat in his office chair, fixated on the papers in front of him, his hair tousled, and his tie slightly loosened. Going over the accounting finances were a pain in the ass, he had to make sure everything was correct, and so far, they weren’t. The debits and credits were mixed up, even an elementary student could’ve figured it out. It wasn’t even better that he was meeting up with Chaeyoung at her place tonight. Jaehyun was going to clear things up with her and for once, he felt like he was doing the right thing. 

Back at Audace, as soon as the department was back, it was time to get to work. You gave the processors a few minutes before beginning the prototyping process. Not only was designing hard but so was sewing. Everything had to fit together, the fabric needed to be embedded, and it had to be the fabric that the outfit was designed for.  You glide the folded textile through the sewing machine, yarn connecting it into one. As you put the finished textile on the mannequin, you heard someone scolding. You turned your head to see the head department, Jieun, lecturing Chaeyoung as she held her head low. You walked over, hoping to alleviate the tension. 

“You should know better! Even if Ms. Y/l/n gives you thirty minutes, you only have twenty minutes! We are launching our Spring-Summer collection. We don’t have time to be flexible, we don’t even have time for lun-”

“Everything alright here Jieun?” You raised a brow. 

“Y-yes,-” she bowed, “-everything is okay.”

“Then let’s get back to work, we have a lot to do.” 

You led the Designing Department through the whole process in making the outfits. Textiles were sewn, fabrics were slipped on the mannequin, and outfits were completed. You sighed after completing a few, the department still had a few more to go and it was almost the end of everyone’s shift. Your fingers flowed through the silky fabrics of one of the blouses you put together, you were putting your whole heart and soul into this collection, you had to impress society that you were made to be the next CEO. A ring from your phone suddenly distracted you from your thoughts. 

“Hello?” 

“Hey y/n,” it was Jaehyun. 

“Hi, is everything okay?” It wasn’t usual for him to call you at all.

“Yeah, everything’s fine. I’m just letting you know that I won’t be home until later tonight,” he said. 

“Oh, ok-” you paused, “-do you want me to leave you some dinner?” 

“No, that’s okay. I know you’re busy with work, just get some sleep when you get home. I’ll eat when I’m done.” Jaehyun said. 

“Okay,” you bid him goodbye and hung up the phone. 

You could hear the fatigue and stress in his voice. Maybe he’s busy at work, hopefully, he gets some sleep. You didn’t want to meet an angry Jaehyun again. You eluded your thoughts and got back to work, you figured that you’d be working overtime also, so you did your best to rush with preciseness. 

Jaehyun cleaned his desk, he grabbed his bag, ready to leave for Chaeyoung place. He hadn’t figured out what he was going to say to her, but he had a clear idea. 

“Goodnight Mr. Jung,” his employees bowed as he passed them. 

Once Jaehyun was driving on the road, his mind strayed to you. He wondered if you were okay at work, if you had a lot, and if you were taking breaks often. Jaehyun didn’t exactly know you, but he knew how stubborn you were, especially when it comes to work. You liked to plow through the work, you liked to get things done. Jaehyun sighed as his palms tightened on the steering wheel, he was nervous to talk to Chaeyoung. So many ‘what if’ scenarios flashed through his mind.

When Jaehyun pulled into Chaeyoung's parking lot, he felt his palm sweat. Uneasiness settled in his bones, he didn’t want to break her heart, he didn’t want to break the woman he loves. He’s already broken you, he didn’t want to break another, especially Chaeyoung. Jaehyun timidly walked up to her door, quietly knocking on it, hoping that the hush of it was heard. 

“Jaehyun!” she pulled him in for a hug, shutting the door behind him. 

“Hey,” Jaehyun gently pulled her away, “we need to talk.” 

Chaeyoung pulled him to her couch, she sat and grasped his hand sensing the seriousness, “Is everything okay?” 

“I-” Jaehyun rubbed his face, hoping it’d release some of the tension behind his expression, “-we need to stop.” 

“What do you mean?” Chaeyoung’s voice quieted. 

“This,” he pointed back and forth between them, “we need to end this.” 

“W-why? Did I do something wrong?” Her voice weakened.

Silence drapes the room as Jaehyun sits across Chaeyoung. He knows he has to tell her the truth, that’s what she deserves, but her reaction made Jaehyun anxious. Would she hate me? What if she never wants to see me ever again? He couldn’t afford to lose her, but at the same time, the guilt ate him alive every time the image of you flashed in his head. 

Jaehyun tangled his fingers through his hair. “No, you didn’t do anything wrong,” he exhales, “I’m engaged to someone.” 

“What?” Chaeyoung’s eyes widen, “who?”

There was a long pause before Jaehyun can speak up, “Y/l/n Y/n,” he lowers his gaze at his fiddling hands. 

“My boss? You’re engaged to my boss?” Chaeyoung stood up appalled. 

“Please sit,” he begged. 

She yanked her hand from his, “How? Why? Since when?” 

“Since a while ago, we won’t be getting married until the summer. It’s for business, but honestly, I just don’t think my dad wants me to marry you,” he quietly scoffed, “Jung Corporation is a joint company with Audace.” 

Chaeyoung’s head falls into the palm of her hand, “I hate you. How could you do this to me? Why didn’t you tell me earlier?” 

“Because I wanted to be with you! But I’ve treated y/n like shit and now...I want to try this with her,” Jaehyun whispered the last part. 

Chaeyoung sits in silence, before she releases a long-awaited sigh, “Please go,” she points to the door. 

“Ch-Chaeyoung, please,” he pleaded. 

“Get out, Jaehyun!” 

So as much as Jaehyun wanted to stay he knew he had no choice but to leave, he knew that you were probably waiting at home for him. This is now over and he knows that it’s time to focus on fixing this up with you, but he can’t help but feel the pain in his chest. For such a long time, he’s waited for Chaeyoung to come back from the states and start a life with him. Of course, things never work out for him. 

Before he drove home, Jaehyun drove to the edge of a cliff. The twinkling lights that lit the city helped him overlook his problems, it helps remind him his problems were only small. Jaehyun rested his head on the steering wheel, a choked cry came out, which grew into sobs about everything he’s done. Jaehyun wanted out, he didn’t want to be put through this, not anymore, but thought of you always reminded him that he wanted to be better. Even though he had you, his heart hurt for Chaeyoung, the memory of her crying, pointing out the door, telling him that she hated him would resonate in his mind. 

When you got home, Jaehyun hadn’t made it back yet, usually, he’d be home around 5 if he was ever late. You shrugged it off, making your way to the kitchen making dinner, and turning on some music. You were making your favorite dish, pad thai. Hopefully, Jaehyun liked it too because you were going to pack a little for him. 

The rice noodles that sauteed with the sauce and vegetables filled the kitchen with a delectable aroma. You set yourself a plate and a container for Jaehyun, leaving it uncapped to cool down. You sat by the table, munching on your dinner as you scrolled through your phone. You replied to text messages and emails that required your approval. 

“Maybe I should just stay later,” you sighed. Since you spent the day in the Designing Department, you didn’t get the chance to work on any other department files. You rubbed your temples in frustration, you were going to have to bring them home. You were never fond of bringing work home, you cherished the moment you had after work because it was your time to relax and be at peace. Work was work and whatever work you had you left it in your office until the next day, but everything was so demanding now. 

You didn’t want to think about it anymore, you set your phone down to enjoy the food in front of you, but you shortly heard the door open and a tired Jaehyun walked in. His hair was tousled, his tie was loose, and a couple of buttons were undone. His eyes held dark bags and were stained red, was he crying? Jaehyun looked at you curiously, to him, you looked overworked, considering you were still in your work clothes. 

“I just got home,” you answered, it was like you read his mind, “I made some pad thai and packed it in the fridge, just give me a second-” you got up from your chair, making your way to the fridge, “-I’ll heat this up for you.” 

“O-oh, you don’t have to. I can do that, just come finish your food.” Jaehyun stuttered. 

“It’s okay,” you already had the pad thai on a plate and placed it in the microwave.

You set the warm food in front of Jaehyun who seated himself beside your chair. You watched him from the corner of your eye, you wanted to see his reaction. 

“This is really good,” his eyes widened. 

“You like it?” you asked. 

“Yes, what is this?” Jaehyun asked, taking another bite. 

“Pad thai,” you replied, “when I was younger, my family and I would often take trips to Thailand. One of the chefs taught me how to make it since I like it so much.” 

Jaehyun nodded, continuing to eat as you quietly sat and finished yours. You offered to clean up and let him get ready for bed, but he was persistent in doing the cleaning, so you let him. You walked up to your room to get ready to shower, hoping that the hot water would release the tension in your shoulders. As it did, you couldn’t help but feel unsettled, you were typically good at giving people the cold shoulder, especially to Jaehyun, so why were you suddenly being considerate of him? You dug into your subconscious to see where your feelings were with him. You convinced yourself it was going to take time to forgive him, but your actions already said that you did. Colliding with your thoughts, you didn’t know who to listen to. 

It was late and you wanted to leave for work early in the morning, but as you laid in bed, you couldn’t stop shuffling in your sheets. Your body was physically drained, but your mind was everywhere. Why did he come home late? Was he crying? Your brows furrowed. You remembered how he looked at you when he came in, for a split second you thought you saw heartbreak and regret in his eyes. Maybe he went to go talk to Chaeyoung. You sighed. Only your thoughts of tomorrow could confirm it. 

So there you were, 5am, sitting in your office going through the files. With your tea beside you, the shuffling of papers swayed the steam coming from the cup, almost cooling it down. 

By the time your mother came in, you had finished the Marketing Department’s files. “You’re here early. When did you come?” Your mother set her bag on her desk. 

“5,” you said, grabbing the files leaving the office. 

You stood alone in the elevator, employees coming and going. On the 5th floor, Chaeyoung stood wide-eyed as the doors opened to the sight of you. She bowed and quickly came in, standing a few feet from you, you saw how she tightly held onto the files in her hands. You figured she had to drop some paperwork off at another apartment, but your assumptions stood true, Chaeyoung’s eyes were swollen, bags shadowed beneath her eyes. She looked like she hadn’t slept in days, even though you saw her yesterday. 

The two of you stood silent until the 4th floor was met, you nodded to her and left for the Marketing Department. On your stroll there, you could hear whispers occurring as you passed by. The Marketing Department was notorious for gossiping, they knew many of the present trends and updated buzz. Usually, they spoke about you, but a familiar name was called and you slightly stiffened. 

“Did you see the pictures of Jaehyun at the after-party?” one of them said. 

“No, show me!” another begged.

“They’re blurry, but isn’t he handsome???” the girl gawked. 

“Who’s that girl he’s carrying?” another asked, frustration glazing her question. 

“I’m not sure, but I’ll figure it out. I always do,” the girl chuckled. 

Your eyes widened as you realized that girl they were referring to was you. You quicken your strides to the head office, you quickly drop it off to make your way back to your office, avoiding the girls. You panted as you fell into your chair, you weren’t aware that you were holding your breath through all of that. 

“Are you okay?” Your mother noticed your thwarted expression. 

“Yeah,” you sighed, getting back to work. 

As you worked on your files, you lost track of time as your focus was solely on completing them. Your mind was distracted the second your secretary stood in front of your desk. 

“Can I help you?” You asked, your focus not leaving the papers in front of you. 

“Ms. y/l/n, someone is here for you.” She said. 

“Unless they have an appointment, I don’t have time to talk.” 

“M-Ms. y/l/n,” your secretary hesitated, “it’s Mr. Jung.”

You sighed, looking at the clock. You hadn’t realized it was already noon. Why is Jaehyun here? “Let him in.” 

Your gaze avoided the door to your office, you didn’t want him to think you were waiting for him. When Jaehyun walked in, he was dressed in a dark grey suit, his tie well done, his hair slicked back, he looked rather composed, unlike last night. 

“Hi, I hope you’re not too busy,” Jaehyun walked up to your desk, you could smell the cologne he always wore. It held a clean, wood, and rich scent like it was made solely for him. 

“Just a little bit, is everything okay?” You quietly asked. 

“Yeah,” he sat down in one of the seats in front of you, “I was wondering if you have time for lunch.” He enjoyed the moment last night as you two ate, so he wanted to have lunch with you today. 

Oh...Your eyes slightly widen, you didn’t know if you were excited or surprised. “I have time,” you nodded. 

“Great, I don’t know what you like so I just brought some kimbap that I made,” Jaehyun’s lips pressed together. 

“That’s okay, I like it.” You reached to grab one and popped it in your mouth.

Before you could grab another, your mother marched in, “Honey, I’m ba-OH! Mr. Jung, I wasn’t aware you were coming. I’ll leave you two be.” she quickly ran out. 

“No, mother it’s okay!” You begged, anticipating the awkward tension between you two, but she was quick to leave. “Sorry about that,” you commented, lowering back into your seat. 

“That’s okay,” Jaehyun chuckled, you saw those dimples and his whiskers again, it sent jitters to your spine. “What are you working on?” he nodded at the papers in front of you.

“Um-” you looked at your files, “-just approving the departments’ files. We’re coming out with a new Spring-Summer collection, so they need my approval for several things.” 

“That’s a lot. When do they need it?” 

“By the end of the week, I usually finish by Thursday but it looks like I’m going to have to bring some home so I can just finish on time,” your smile fell when you realized who was standing at the door. 

Jaehyun picked up on your expression and turned around in his seat, “Ch-Chaeyoung.” 

It felt as if time had slowed down, the three of you stood still in your places. None of you said a word and let the unsettling feeling resonate in each other’s bones. The silence blanketed the room and brought tension between everyone. 

You held your breath before speaking up, “What is it Chaeyoung?” you asked.

“Your secretary wasn’t at her desk and I needed to drop these off as soon as possible, they need your approval.” She walked towards your desk and gently set them on your desk. 

You thank her as she bows and leaves, Jaehyun’s gaze never leaving her figure. You felt your stomach lightly drop, was it the kimbap? Or were you flustered, hot, and maybe a little jealous? Nope. 

You cleared your throat, earning Jaehyun’s attention, “I’m full and I have a lot to do, so I’ll see you at home.” you said, this was a way of forcing him out of your office. 

“Y/n,” Jaehyun’s head fell to the side.

“I don’t want to know Jaehyun. Whatever you have with her is your issue,” you opened the doors to your office, “please leave.” you did your best at keeping your composure together. 

“Y/n, I ended things with her.” Jaehyun’s palms fell in front of you in reason. 

“Please, Jaehyun,” you gulped, “go.” 

[ashintheairlikesnow]

Whumptober Day 27: Extreme Weather

CW: Environmental whump, references to drug and alcohol use, references to Derrick (see: The Break-Up for his last appearance), Kauri’s Bad Life Choices, slut-shaming, trauma response, untreated abuse survivor with fucky headspace, referenced abuse

When Krista opens the door, Kauri stands on the doorstep to her apartment soaked to the bone, water dripping off the flattened curls of his hair, stuck to his forehead. Water runs in rivulets down his cheeks like tears, drips from the sleeves of his sweater onto her doormat.

She’s proud of that doormat. She picked it out at Target and it says Shoes Off, Witches. 

Krista decorates for every holiday, because she can, because the holidays belong to her. There are tiny pumpkins, alternately white and orange and painted with little patterns, lined up along the little railing on their concrete patio. She has little witch figurines in the centerpiece of the circular dining table she and Sonya found at a garage sale, and a Halloween wreath made of black and orange leaves hangs on the door.  

Mrs. Richardson didn’t celebrate Halloween, because of something to do with celebrating our sinful natures and something something demonic influences hidden in seeming fun and the devil something harry potter witchcraft something, but Krista celebrates every holiday, just because she can.

Sometimes she thinks of Miss Alyssa and wonders if she celebrates Halloween, now, too.

“What are you doing here, Kauri?” Krista squints past him, shivering against the chill air even in her big soft purple sweatshirt. It had cost her six hours of work to pay for it, it was so expensive, but it’s the softest thing she’s ever felt in her life, like wearing a cloud with a hood on it everywhere she goes. 

“Can I crash here?” Kauri blinks rainwater out of his eyes. 

Behind him, the rainstorm that’s been going for nearly three days continues, pouring water like it’s falling from overturned buckets from the dark gray skies. “Sorry, they shut the buses down, it’d take me like five hours to walk to the shelter from here, and…” He rocks up and down on the balls of his feet, and Krista winces at the squelch from his thin black-and-white checked shoes. 

Krista takes a deep breath, looking over her shoulder. Sonya is still in the bedroom, finishing up a call for work, speaking in her Phone Voice, softer and pleasant, with all the edges sanded off. When Krista was a pet, she spoke in a voice like that. Sonya speaks for her job to men who constantly interrupt her, but somehow when she does it, the voice is gentle but commanding, where Krista always felt her voice just sounded… weak. “I don’t know, Kauri, I’m not… I’m not sure.”

“Please?” Kauri’s eyes are huge and blue, and water frames them as it runs from his hair. He shudders, as a winter breeze blows at his back. A spatter of the tiniest water droplets is blown with it, and Krista blinks rapidly against the feeling. “Please? It’s just for tonight, they said the buses should be running tomorrow morning if it doesn’t get worse… please?”

“If it doesn’t get worse,” Krista repeats, her eyes scanning back into the parking lot. Someone drives past, their headlights on, and the rain falls in such thick sheets that Krista can only see their headlights, not even the car.

Who would drive, in something like this?

She looks back at Kauri, and figures maybe someone who would walk in rain like this, someone who doesn’t have a choice. Not every business is closed, after all, and not everyone can work from their laptop like Sonya. Not everyone can afford the days off if they call in. There are people who don’t have the option to stay safe from the floods. There are people who are told to risk their lives or they will not eat. 

There are times Krista wonders how anyone doesn’t become a pet. At least she never had to watch a paycheck disappear from a bank account nearly as soon as it was deposited before.

Not that she knows of, anyway.

“It’s just overnight,” Kauri says, softly. “I know she doesn’t like me, but… but it’s just one night.”

She looks at him, in his soaked-up shoes, shivering in the rain and with his backpack dripping as hard as everything else, and then she sighs. The felt leaves on the Halloween wreath rustle against the door as she steps back and to the side. “Take your shoes off and stay on the mat, I’ll get you a towel to get you to the shower. I think you can probably wear some of my sleeping clothes.”

Kauri’s eyes brighten, and he kicks off his sopping shoes and peels off soaked-through white cotton socks. His toes are wrinkled from being wet for so long, and he spreads them with a sigh of relief against the rough doormat. 

“Thank you, Krista, thank you so much-”

“Get inside,” She says, but her voice is gentle, and he steps in to stand on the inside doormat (this one just says I hope you brought tacos) while Krista walks away, across the soft beige-gray-nothing-color carpet in the apartment, swinging around the low-slung coffee table by the couch. She ducks into the small bathroom and grabs the towels off the towel rack.

Sonya calls out, “Baby, do I hear someone at the door?”

Krista hesitates, towels in hand - she bought them at Target, too, the bathroom is fall-themed and the towels are a deep saturated pumpkin orange and a hunter green and they have cream-colored stitching that reads thankful and choose joy - and looks towards the closed bedroom door. “Um, yes. You remember Kauri Grant?”

There’s a pause, and then the bedroom door cracks open, and Sonya peeks through. Her short, straight brown hair is pulled back with clips to keep it out of her eyes, and she’s still in her pajama pants and t-shirt from last night. “That druggie friend of yours? The homeless guy?”

Krista shakes her head, nervously twisting the bunched-up towels in her hands. “He’s, he’s not-... he’s not on drugs, Sonya, I told you he’s not on drugs.”

“But he is homeless.”

“... yes.”

Sonya’s lips are a straight line, and the look she gives Krista makes her heart flip unhappily. Kauri always makes Sonya look like this. She doesn’t trust him, thinks he’s going to get Krista arrested, thinks he deals or buys or something, but Krista knows the truth and it’s a truth she can’t tell.

If she told Sonya what Kauri is, there would be questions, and then Krista would have to explain what she is, and she… she can’t.

What if Sonya reported him? Krista would shatter if she were the reason someone had to go back. So… she keeps his secret for him, and it’s just one lie, but it means Sonya only ever believes the worst.

“Well.” Sonya takes a deep breath. “What does he want?”

“They stopped running the buses,” Krista says, keeping her voice low. “Because the roads are so flooded.” The TV is still going, running a show Krista doesn’t even remember turning on, and Kauri is still on the inside doormat, dripping and cold and wet and in need of somewhere to stay. “He just wants to crash overnight, Sonya. Please.”

“I’m tired of you letting this guy take advantage of you, Kris,” Sonya says, and then just sighs, raking a hand through her hair and getting it caught on the clips, frowning and jerking her fingers back out, leaving her hair all mussed and beautiful. Krista wants to kiss her, but this isn’t the time. 

“It’s just one night-”

“It’s never just anything with Kauri Grant, Kris, and you know it. Just one night with Kauri Grant means he’ll eat half the food in our kitchen and you’ll end up washing his clothes for him-”

“He shouldn’t have to pay for laundry!”

“How come he can’t stay at a motel or something?”

“I don’t know, probably he hasn’t been making much money, if it’s raining people don’t go walking around to give-”

“Oh but somehow he always has money for drinks when he calls to see if you want to go out, though? You think I haven’t noticed that?”

Krista sets her jaw, at that. “Sonya. Please don’t do this. You know he almost never has to pay for drinks-”

“Because he’s fucking all the bartenders, Kris!”

“He just needs somewhere to crash for a single fucking night. Come on, Sonya, don’t be-... don’t be like this. He’s my fucking friend. It’s not like I have a lot of those.”

She never curses, and the unusual word coming from her lips pulls Sonya up short from whatever she intended to say next. There’s a silence, and then her girlfriend sighs and pushes the door open a little more. She holds out her arms and Krista steps into them, taking the tight embrace and soaking it up.

On the bed, their black cat Pepperjack looks up, gives a soft chirping meow, and lays his head back down again. 

“I’m sorry,” Sonya says, softly. “I know you care about him. I just wish I understood why.”

Because we’re the same, in all the ways that made us. Because he needs to know there are places where he is allowed to stay. Because of a million reasons I can’t tell, secrets I have to keep. 

Because he’s a ghost, and he wears the face of someone who died for him to be born.

Just like I wear a dead girl’s face, just like Leila does, like Chris and Antoni and all of us, we’re all walking around in someone else’s discarded body.

And I can’t tell you.

“He’s my friend,” Krista says again, more softly, and kisses Sonya’s cheek. Her girlfriend turns her head to turn it to a kiss on the lips, and Krista relaxes into the soft reassurance that comes with the love in that kiss. “One of my first friends, really. He’s just going through some stuff right now-”

“Baby, you always say he’s going through some stuff. When does he finish going through it and get out on the other side of all that stuff?”

Krista sighs, and nuzzles her way back into another kiss. “I don’t know. But he’ll leave as soon as the buses are running again, I promise, okay?”

Sonya nods, and they rest their foreheads together for a moment, let the softer silence stand. Then Sonya says, quietly, “Okay, baby. Just. I feel like Pepper over there is all the strays we need in our life, you know?”

“I know,” Krista murmurs. “But he’ll have somewhere to go once it stops raining, I promise.”

“Yeah. Well, I’ll start making a list for replacing all the goddamn groceries he’s gonna eat.”

“He doesn’t get much good food out there-”

“Kris. He’s a taker. He uses you. And when he’s here, he uses us. I don’t see why you don’t get that.”

“He’s not-”

“Kris, listen to me. Stop trusting some pretty dude who is just going to get you hurt when he pisses the wrong person off. I know you guys met at the same homeless house or whatever, but he’s going nowhere fast and you can’t let him take you with him.”

“Sonya, stop.”

“Kris-”

“I said stop it.” She pulls back and away, grabbing some of her baggy sweatpants and a t-shirt from the pile of ‘clean’ clothes folded on top of the dresser until she has the energy to put them in the dresser - which is never, Krista delights in being able to be messy in her own home - and carries them out. Sonya stands in the doorway watching her go, and then sighs and goes back to her headset, back to work.

Kauri, still just inside the doorway, is lowering his phone from his ear as Krista comes into view. Nat bought him that phone, so she’d know Kauri was alive the weeks he was gone. Nat bought him the phone, he bought his clothes with panhandling money, his sweatshirt is Dustin’s. The backpack he found abandoned at a bus stop. 

Nothing Kauri is wearing, or holding, is really his own.

A little plastic ziplock-style sandwich bag sticks out of his pocket. He had his phone in it to keep it dry, Krista thinks, and wonders how long he’s been wandering around out there in the rain. She hesitantly speaks up. “Here, Kauri, I’ve got towels and some clothes to change into-”

“Don’t worry about it,” Kauri says, softly, and glances up at her  before he looks down again. Water drips from his hair onto the phone’s screen and he wipes at it with his finger, squinting. “I’ll be gone in a second.”

“What?” Krista goes still, and realizes that she and Sonya were not as quiet as they thought they were. “What do you mean? It's pouring-”

“I called someone,” Kauri says, flat and sharp, without looking at her. “Gonna walk to that bus stop with the little roof and he’ll come get me. Don’t worry about it.”

“Jake? It’s not- Kauri… it’s not safe for Jake to drive all that way across the city, half the roads are flooding-”

“Not Jake.” Kauri isn’t just not looking at her, he can’t. His face is a little red, splotches on his pale cheeks. Is some of the water on his face tears, now, and not from the rain? “I know someone else who lives near here. He’s coming to get me.”

“Kauri…” Krista closes her eyes, guilt twisting around inside of her that he’d heard. He knows Sonya doesn’t like him, but Kauri is so sensitive to being disliked. She should have pulled Sonya into the bedroom and closed the door. “Who is it?”

Kauri blows air through his nose. “It’s Derrick.”

Krista hitches in a breath in surprise. “Your ex? Kauri, didn’t-... didn’t he threaten you when you broke up?”

Kauri shakes his head, gives her a smile that doesn’t reach his eyes. “No. I misunderstood him, that’s all. I thought, um, I thought he was angry, but he was just… sad. The whole stupid fight was my fault anyway, and I’ve seen him since and he agreed to be friends. It’s fine. I asked, and he wants me there. I’ll sleep on his couch.”

No, you won’t. We both know you won’t.

“He wants you there,” Krista parrots, plaintively. “Kauri, you don’t have to leave, or anything, I swear. I’ll make you a bed up-”

“It’s fine,” Kauri repeats, and gives her another breezy, airy smile. He sticks his phone back into the little clear bag, closes it up, and shoves it back in his pocket. He slips his soaking-wet shoes back on and Krista winces as she hears the way his feet push water around inside them. “I’m fine, Krista, it’s really not a big deal. Derrick always says I can call him, when I run into him-”

“You’re still seeing him?” Krista licks at her lips. She holds the towels and clothes useless in her arms like a child hugging a teddy bear, feeling guilty and useless. Kauri came here for somewhere safe to stay, and felt unwanted, and now…

“No, but he… we show up at the same places sometimes.”

“... Kauri, is he following you?”

Kauri gives a brittle, bright laugh. “What? No! It’s fine.”

“It’s fine,” Krista repeats, and then says softly, “It’s fine, it’s fine, it’s fine. You… you always say it’s fine. How many times can you say it before you just… admit when it’s not, Kauri?”

Kauri’s smile drops, for a second. His blue eyes meet hers, haunted and sad, making the choice to hurt himself rather than be hurt by anyone else. Kauri Grant is a ghost, she thinks, and very nearly says out loud. You don’t have to haunt us, Kauri. You could have a home.

He takes a deep breath, pulls the hood of his zip-up sweatshirt over his head, where it flops, just as soaked-through as everything else, providing no safety from the rainfall at all. Water drips off of it onto his nose. “I’ll say it as many times as it takes to believe it,” He says, heavily.

“For who to believe it? Us, or you?”

“I’ll catch you later, Krista. No big deal. Thanks for letting me hang out for a minute.”

Krista watches, helpless, as Kauri turns and walks back out into the rain, shoulders hunched. The rain is so thick that he disappears from view before he’s even fully across the parking lot. From a man to a shade of the fog to nothing at all.

Sonya wanders out of the bedroom to find Krista still staring outside, through the open door. “Baby? Where’s your friend?”

“Where’s my friend? He heard us talking.” Krista’s voice is thready trembling. “He found someone else to stay with.”

The ex-boyfriend, who told Kauri he was a ditz and kind of dumb, who told him he was lucky someone put up with how difficult he is, who broke up with him while threatening and scaring him, who… who still let him leave, at least.

So it’s better than where he came from, maybe.

But not by much.

“Oh. So he did have somewhere else to go. Probably he just called his dealer, Krista. Nobody looks that strung out without being on something.”

Krista’s fingers tightened on the cloth she held in her hands until the tension hurt, ached up her arms and to her shoulders. “Sonya, he’s just-... he’s messed up, but he’s not-... he’s not on drugs. He’s just had a hard-... a hard life.”

“Yeah, I mean, a lot of us have. But you always let him take advantage of you, Kris. That’s all. That’s all I worry about. I mean, I’m sure he’s a fine guy, but I’m not on Team Kauri, you know? I’m Team Krista. I worry way more about how you get all weird for a couple days every time he’s here.”

“Sonya-”

“He’ll be fine.”

Krista shakes her head, but repeats, “He’ll be fine,” to settle her own nerves. She realizes belatedly that Kauri’s socks are still balled up on the concrete step outside her door, and she moves forward, closes the door, and does up the locks, leaving them there for now.

Maybe he’ll come back for them.

He probably won’t.

Pepperjack meows softly at her, and she turns to see the black cat winding his way around a leg of the coffee table. Something in his eyes looks… reproachful. Pepper likes curling up with Kauri when he stays over, warm against his back or on his chest, just under his chin. 

Krista walks past Sonya to hang the towels back up, puts her clothes back in the clean clothes pile, and curls up on the couch with Pepperjack in her lap and Sonya at her side. Warm, dry, and guilty.

She sent the ghost away - or Sonya did - or she did, by not defending him enough… and still, Krista feels haunted. She pulls her own phone out from the pocket in her pants and texts Jake. He went back to Derrick.

She doesn’t have to say who he is. She sees when Jake reads the message, but he doesn’t send anything back right away. Maybe he’ll call Kauri. Maybe he’ll convince Kauri to go somewhere other than his shit ex-boyfriend’s place. Maybe maybe maybe, but it all relies on Kauri not running away.

It all relies on Kauri. Kauri’s a survivor, she tells herself. They all are. She texts Jake again. I’m sure it’s okay. I’m sure he’ll be fine. I’m sure.

Yeah, is all Jake sends back. She can feel the anger through the inconsequential bloodless single-word response. Anger, fear, and worry.

She closes her eyes. 

He’ll be fine. He’s fine.

How many times do they tell each other Kauri is fine, when everyone knows it’s not true?

---

@maybeawhumpblog, @pepperonyscience, @haro-whumps, @18-toe-beans, @burtlederp, @finder-of-rings, @giggly-evil-puppy, @whimpers-and-whumpers, @moose-teeth, @whump-it, @lumpofwhump, @pumpkinthefangirl, @slaintetowhump, @astrobly @whumpiary @whump-tr0pes  @raigash @cubeswhump

[fabricdragondesigns]

CW:  Discussion of sizes, clothing fit, and patterns v ready to wear (other than the 1st item not really in any order)

1. first of all, if you are new to sewing you need to memorize this  *Your pattern size has nothing to do with the size you wear 'off the peg' or 'ready-to-wear.*

0nothing

not at all

no, i don't care if they say something that "sounds like" ready to wear sizing.

2.  you need to take your measurements.you do not have any idea HOW to take your measurements if you are not used to buying patterns, because everyone has taught you incorrectly.    

2a. UNLESS patterns say otherwise they are fitted for a 5'6 woman with a 'B' cup size.  You want to  buy  the pattern based on your "high bust" (above your girls)  if you are larger than a B cup, and then make adjustments.  if you do not do that you will buy for the "bust measurement" and it wont fit your shoulders.  many patterns have pre-done adjustments for  C and D cups, but THEIR idea of a C and D cup may not be yours- check the fit.    

2b.  for the love of Gd do all your fittings and measurements in the same bra- or same type of bra- that you will actually be wearing the pattern with.  a strapless bra v a regular bra will change your fit.

3. worth its own bullet point:  all patterns are designed with ease (extra space for it so you can move) and/or  'design ease (how it fits, like a 'loosely fitted' top is not as tight as a 'slim fit')   

3a. If you are sewing a skirt with a snug waist, but full swishy gathers... it will fit over a wider range of hip sizes than the pattern says.      

3b. you buy your pattern based on the part of the body that is a critical fit.  if it drapes off my bust and then  is "A" line  (flares out) it doesnt matter much  if my waist is a bit larger than the pattern.    

NOTE:  if you have an *extreme* difference of size between your waist bust and hips, you may need to worry about this, but if its just a little off the measure in a loose fitting place?  dont worry about it.

4. did i mention your pattern sizes are not your RTW sizes?  i did? cool... have i mentioned that your RTW sizing is an arbitrary number that varies widely between brands anyway?you knew that? good.

4a.  fit of a pattern can also vary between vastly different brands.CHECK THE PATTERN AGAINST YOUR MEASUREMENTS because while the 'big three' you see in the fabric stores may all be similar,    EVEN those have specialty lines that use different sizing... and if you get into ANY of the other designers?  Totally different sizes.

5. you need to make a 'muslin' or test fit (pin fit) the pattern at the very least.   

5a. no, seriously you do... at least until  you have made enough similar patterns that you can check the fit against your existing work.    

5b. if you cannot bring yourself to "waste" the sewing on  a muslin?  at least either buy a 'fun fabric' to make a trial run in, or buy double of your fashion fabric.    

5c. ok, but don't swear at me when you find out you need to replace that 'perfect' fabric because the pattern doesnt fit, and now you cant find anymore.

6. If you expect to launder the clothes? you need to wash the fabric before you cut and sew it.    

6a. this is also where you keep a close eye on red, purple, blue and other super saturated colors for any sign that they are 'bleeding' and likely to end up making all your white blouses a weird pinkish color in the next wash.   

6b. some fabrics (cough linen and linen blends) fray and can generate a lot of lint- especially on the first wash. this is why many people serge or zig zag stitch the cut ends of the fabric before washing.

7. look at the pattern and choose fabrics wisely.  That  pleated swishy skirt may look really cool in a crisp  stiff fabric, but it wont be a SWISHY skirt... it will stand out away from your body...  this may be what you want, but it may not.Likewise that crisp jacket detail will look sad and wilted in a soft  drape fabric.

8. pattern photos (the models) often show the patterns in fabrics that do not help you understand the pattern at all- look at the black and white line drawing that shows you the seam lines.    

8a. also, yes, they choose really weird  fabrics for some of the photo shoots- no we don't know why.

9. seriously please get  any shame or obsession with "sizes" out of your mind (in general but in sewing especially).    

9a. no one will see your size number: it doesn't appear on the back of your dress, but if it makes you feel better put a label in everything you sew  with whatever size you like.    

9b seriously? sizes are not even consistent in RTW, and they are not the same across different pattern lines.  the whole point of sewing is to make the clothes fit you.    

9c. honestly you can get professionally made clothes labels and put whatever size you want on them. a friend who made clothing actually named her sizes after the fit models she used,  so Roseamund and other names were *sizes*... its cool.  your clothes should be YOU sized.

10. pattern making and alteration sounds scary, but even if you dont want to do it at all? some things are really easy.    

10a. some patterns  come with interchangeable parts, so once you make one outfit that fits, you can wip up a dozen with different necklines, sleeves, amounts of swish in the skirts, length in the pants, pockets...    

10b. certain changed are easy- peasy.  change the fabric  (remember the crisp versus draped fabrics?), make it dressy or casual,  changing pleats into gathers (or vice versa) add trim, pockets, embroidery, lengthen or shorten it.    

10c. some changes are a bit more skilled, BUT STILL WITHIN BEGINNER capabilities, just  take your time!add an over-layer of lace (in whole or in part), add width to a sleeve and make it a dolman or a flutter sleeve, add width to the skirt, changing it from a straight skirt to a full skirt, add a colored insert, or 'slot seams' (not as hard as it sounds, trust me)

you can LITERALLY make hundreds of outfits out of a good basic pattern set by making minor adjustments!

[pbandcas]

Where the Love Light Gleams

So I took a small break from my Endverse Advent Calendar series to write some Christmas fluff! this is for @diminuel (for inspiring me on Twitter and also for being an absolute omega!Cas supporting treasure)

tags: omega verse, omega!Castiel, Alpha!Dean, mpreg, Jack and Claire are Dean and Castiel's kids, family fluff, proposals, and inappropriate humor, pregnant Castiel, Pregnant Eileen

pairing(s): Dean/Castiel, Sam/Eileen

characters: Dean Winchester, Castiel, Sam Wincheste, Eileen Leahy, Jack Kline, Claire Novak

Read on AO3

Where the Love Light Gleams

Christmas, Dean decided, wasn’t actually so bad anymore. He wasn’t sure if it was the fact that they weren’t constantly moving around and could settle in one place for the holiday. Or if it was because they weren’t constantly fighting for their lives anymore or trying to stop another apocalypse. Or if it was because the bright smell of cloves and honey and sunlight after a storm permeated the air around him. The smell of content, happy omega, the smell of his content, happy omega. Cas was once again rearranging the small pile of gifts under their tree. The rainbow lights reflected soft smears of color in his dark hair. The blues and yellows bringing out his eyes, the reds and greens stained his cheeks and nose. Dean couldn’t help the happy rumble in his chest at the sight. They had only been officially mated for a few months. Cas had just started his pre-heat mood swings and finally demanded Dean either bite him and claim his ass or he’ll go find an alpha who would. Who was Dean to turn down such a romantic request. Now they proudly wore each other's bite and Dean— well Dean had plans.

See being mated, they didn’t have to technically get married. They were already together, till death do them part and all the jazz because as Cas had mentioned many times before, Angels mated for life. Even little Graceless, earthbound Omegas, but Dean wasn’t an Angel. Though he did believe in mating for life, he just— had other customs he wanted as well. Which was why, hidden away in the branches of their Christmas tree was a little black box with a little silver ring inside. “I think if you move them around anymore, the paper will rip and you’ll ruin Christmas.” He said with a slowly widening smile. Cas blinked over his shoulder at him owlishly before he frowned down at the gift in his hands. With a tilt of his head Cas set the thin box down on the very top and sat back on his heels. “I am… nervous.” Cas admitted softly, sadness and anxiety saturated his scent causing Dean to frown. Before he could say anything else though Cas shook his head and pushed himself to stand. With one hand on his hip and the other on his chin, he murmured softly, “I want everything to be perfect.” Rolling his eyes Dean walked up behind him and circled his arms around his mates waist. Propping his chin on Castiel’s shoulder he pressed a soft kiss to his mating bite before peppering more kisses up the side of his neck and up to his temple. “Everything will be, Angel. You worry too much.” Content Omega was back and the Alpha in Dean preened at being the cause of it. “Now come on. Help me finish up cooking before Sam and Eileen get here.” “You are under the assumption they will arrive before Jack and Claire.” Cas shot back with raised brows, an amused smile playing across his lips. “At least your brother and his wife will help cook… your children will not.” True, Jack was always more than happy to help, however, they’d all agreed long ago that he was never allowed in the kitchen. And Claire, well, Claire just didn’t like to help. Dean barked out a laugh at that and he nudged Cas’s cheek with his nose affectionately. “They’re your kids too, honeycake.” He paused for a minute before his grin widened. “She’s not even related to me, but Claire is pretty much a spitting image of me at her age. I love it.” Cas rolled his eyes and wiggled out of Dean’s grasp. “Of course you would. Alphas. I swear.” ————— They managed to get the last pies in the oven as they heard the bunker door open. Instantly loud arguing was heard and Dean shot Cas an amused smirk. “There is no way anyone could go to every house in a single night to deliver presents. Magic reindeer or not.” Claire growled with an eye roll as she sauntered into the kitchen. Jack followed hot on her heels and a wide smile on his face. “But it’s magic, C. Anything can be done with magic.” He turned his happy grin to Dean and Cas where they’d moved from the ovens to come give them hugs. “Isn’t that right, father?” He let Cas wrap him in a tight hug as he waited for Dean to speak. The hunter snorted, gave his o wn hug, then stepped back to ruffle Claire’s hair. The younger alpha groaned and shooed his hand away.

“Well duh.” Dean said in exaggeration, rolling his eyes for extra effect. “How else would there be presents here for you otherwise?” Jack’s face lit up at that and he all but scrambled from the room leaving behind a trail of cinnamon and rain.

“Oh! Are there?” He called excitedly as the door swung shut.

Claire snorted but sent a grin Dean’s way before turning to Castiel. Her face visibly softened as she smiled. “How’ve you been, dad?” Cas let the pleased expression take over as he opened his arms in invitation. To no one's surprise, she took it instantly and wrapped her arms around the omega. Whether she’d admit it or not, both Dean and Cas knew she adored Castiel.

“Busy.” Cas laughed as he pressed a small kiss to her temple before letting her go. “It has been like wrestling a hurricane to keep this one from actively hunting.” He jabbed a thumb over his shoulder at Dean. At Claire’s snort Dean rolled his eyes. “He wouldn’t know what a vacation was if it bit him on the ass.” They both laughed as Dean sputtered in indignation.

“It was a mating leave, Cas. Not a vacation, and after the holidays we’ll be right back at it.” He pointed a warning finger at them both, Cas raised an eyebrow and Claire snickered behind on hand. “Now. I’m going to go make sure the other one hasn’t opened anything yet.” With that he swept from the room, grumbling about ‘cheeky omegas’ and ‘nosy brat alphas.’

The second the door shut Claire whirled on him. “Did you tell him yet?” She demanded practically vibrating in excitement. Cas shushed her with one hand as he peered at the door, making sure her voice hadn’t carried.

“Not yet.”

“Ugh, Daaad.” She whined and crossed her arms over her chest, “What are you waiting on? For him to smell it first?”

Truth be told that had been Castiel’s biggest fear thus far. That Dean would smell it before he had a chance to tell him. He’d managed smothering the change so far but he knew it was just a matter of time. “I’ll be telling him tonight.” He said with a soft smile and happiness rolled off him in waves. “When we do presents.”

“Cas! Claire! Sammy and Eileen are here!”

They shared one last look before Claire clapped a hand on his shoulder and nodded. “I know I’ve said it before, but I’m so happy for you, dad.”

——————

The second the two stepped into the main room Cas was swept up into a hug, his feet barely brushing the floor. Sam’s bright apple smell enveloped him in a content bubble and he couldn’t help the smile from blooming on his face. “Hello, Sam. I trust all has been well?” The tall alpha rumbled out his agreement as he spun them in a half circle. Cas could pick up the second Sam’s nose twitched and his scent grew curious as he scented the air around Cas. “Don’t say anything.” He whispered quickly, eyes glancing up at Dean who’d just released Eileen with a wide grin.

“Come on now man, that one’s mine.” Dean teased as he came over and pulled Sam into a bear hug. Sam rolled his eyes but pat him on the back anyway after letting Cas slip away to greet Eileen.

“So, how’s mated life treating you?” Sam’s shit eating grin grew when Dean’s ears flushed bright red and he mumbled ‘shut up’ under his breath. He was smiling fondly after his omega though. It was all so disgustingly domestic and Sam almost didn’t believe it was actually Dean. “That good then?”

The smell of satisfied alpha washed over them both as Dean turned his gaze back on his brother. “It’s been amazing, Sammy. Like. Seriously,” His eyes jumped to where Cas and Eileen were now excitedly talking to Jack. The young beta was showing them something on his phone and they couldn’t hear what exactly they were talking about but it was clearly entertaining. From the other side of the room Claire was poking around with a CD player, her tongue poking out of the side of her mouth in concentration. “I’m happy, man.”

There was a triumphant sound as Claire managed to get the music to turn on and instantly ‘It’s beginning to look a lot like Christmas’ started filtering through the room. Beside him Sam smiled, “That’s good, Dean. That’s really good.” He patted him on the back once and then, “You deserve this. You deserve each other.”

“Enough about me.” Dean said in embarrassment, “How are you and Eileen doing? It’s been a while since we’ve gotten together.” He looked over the dark haired woman where she now sat beside Castiel in front of the tree, her hands resting lightly over her protruding stomach. “She’s looking quite… large.”

Sam scoffed with a smile. “She’s pregnant, Dean, you know that, of course she’s large.” The expression turned fond and the apple scent around them sweetened. “Things are going really well. Just hit six months and the little bugger is super active.” The almost longing look on Dean’s face made Sam’s heartache. His brother had always been the more pup oriented of the two. Always talking about wanting to settle down and raise a family. “Have you and Cas talked about… you know… having pups?”

Dean didn’t say anything for a long moment and then, “Sometimes.” His voice was distant as he watched the two omegas laugh quietly as Claire plopped down beside Cas, her feet instantly coming up to rest on his lap. “Though it’s usually when he’s in heat and begging me to--”

“Oh ew, Dean! No, don’t even. I don’t need to know that.” Dean gave him a wolfish grin and waggled his eyebrows but the effect was lost when his scent dampened. “Mating habits aside,” He groaned, face twisting in disgust, “Have you talked about it while both of you are lucid?” Dean only shrugged and Sam pursed his lips, one eyebrow raised, “Why not, Dean?”

“Because I don’t know if he’d actually want a pup with me.” He shot back, the air burning around him, causing Sam’s nose to wrinkle. The next second the strong soothing smell of honey overtook them. Both blinked dazedly as Castiel popped up to wrap himself around Dean, his face pinched in a frown as he scented at his mate.

Looking up Dean, Cas pressed a hand against his mating bite. “You are distressed. Why are you distressed?” Turning to the younger Winchester he frowned, “What did you do?” Sam put his hands up and shook his head with a laugh.

“Nothing, Cas. We were just having a conversation.”

“Well, time for conversation is done. It’s time for food.” With that he turned on his heel and stalked away toward the table currently being set with food by Jack and Claire. Dean shot his brother a long suffering look that was only mildly put off by soft pine. They’d talk about it again later. He knew that, but for now he followed his omega toward the rest of their family.

——————

“Oh my God.” Claire burst out with a laugh as she pulled out a pair of soft looking pajama pants from the box Jack had handed her. They were bright yellow and covered in little cheeseburgers and she grinned at Jack, “These a fuckin beautiful.”

From the couch Cas ‘tutted’, “Language.” Claire rolled her eyes and stuck her tongue out at Cas before turning back to Jack and giving him a hug. The cheeseburger pants grasped tightly in her hands as she rubbed the back of his head affectionately.

“Thanks, J.”

Jack seemed to preen under the praise as he said brightly, “They match Dean’s hotdog pants!”

Dean nodded approvingly as he eyeballed the bright pants, “That they do.” He turned slightly toward Cas and nudged his side, “You and Jack need a pair now. I’m thinking fries for the kid,” Jack’s face lit up as Dean tossed him a box he had at his side. Not breaking eye contact with his mate he smiled, “Great minds think alike, ya?” Dropping his voice lower he muttered, “Soda’s for you, my little juice box.” Cheeks instantly burning Cas looked away from him, wide eyed and mouth gone dry.

As Jack pulled out the red pants covered in fries, Claire handed Castiel an almost identical box. Cas frowned, his face still burning at Dean’s comment, at the box in his hands then glanced between the two, “You planned this.” Dean shrugged, smirk firmly in place as Cas opened the box and pulled out dark blue pants covered in soda cups, the straws each a rainbow of colors. “Did you pick them out?” He asked Claire tentatively, alarm raising as the two alphas looked at each other with matching smirks.

The look was all he needed to know before he was wishing the floor would open up and swallow him whole. Sam and Eileen cackled on the love seat and Castiel shot them a glare. “You are all terrible people.” Sam shrugged one shoulder as he wheezed through his laughter, Eileen patting his back while stifling her own giggles.

Beside him Dean let out a soothing rumble and nuzzled against his cheek. “Oh come on, honeycake, it’s all in good fun.” Cas huffed, but let himself be soothed at the same time. The rest of the presents were handed out. New matching knit sweaters for Sam and Eileen from Jack and Claire. A new rifle for Claire, much to Castiel’s displeasure. A new laptop for Jack. A card from Cas to Eileen that neither alpha knew what it said but there were tears and hugs and happy smiles.

Then Dean was raising to his feet and grabbing something hidden away in the uppermost branches of their tree. He cleared his throat and all eyes around the room snapped up to him. First on the box in his hand, then to his content smile and crinkled eyes and the rainbow lights haloing his blonde hair. Jack’s head tilted in confusion as Claire choked on her cocoa, eyes widening.

Happy honey and cloves flooded the room instantly as Dean took another two steps forward before falling to one knee in front of where Castiel was still perched on the couch. “I know you know what this is and what’s going on… so do I still have to say it?” Cas nodded quickly, voice catching in his throat.

“Dean! Of course you do!”

“Shut your face before I take your shit back.” Dean wagged a threatening finger at Claire who snickered back. Turning back to his mate he huffed, but he smiled again anyway, “I love you, Cas. You know I do, and I’m happy to be your mate. Always.” Castiel bit his bottom lip as his eyes sparkled with flecks of brilliant gold amongst ocean blue. “But I’d be even happier if you’d be my husband.”

In lieu of answering Cas merely launched himself off the couch and tackled Dean to the ground. Both of them laughing as their mouths clashed together, none too gently and their family cheered around them. “So that a yes?” Dean murmured against Castiel’s lips after a moment of kissing him soundly.

Cas pulled back enough to give a small, soft lick to the mating bite on Dean’s neck before he nodded. “Yes. Of course yes.”

——————

The night was just starting to wind down when Claire gave Cas a pointed look in the kitchen as they were refilling their mugs that Dean didn’t miss. From his spot in the chair he raised an eyebrow at the silent standoff. Finally it seemed that Cas won when Claire threw her hands in the air, grabbed her, Jack and Eileen’s mugs and stormed out to rejoin the others.

Dean watched Cas shake his head in exasperation before he picked up Dean and Sam’s mugs. He passed Sam his on the way past, the younger Winchester took it with a soft thank you. Pausing briefly by the tree Castiel picked up a small thin box that everyone had noticed, but hadn’t mentioned. Stopping beside Dean’s chair he held out the cup in one hand and the box in the other. Dean furrowed his brows when Castiel’s scent turned apprehensive and he quickly turned away to go back to the kitchen.

As Cas picked up his cocoa and took a large sip, eyes nervously on Dean’s face, waiting for his reaction before quickly flitting away. There was a slight rustle as he slipped the wrapping paper off, then cardboard coming apart, then… silence. One beat. Two. Then the wobbly sound of photo paper moving against itself.

Taking a deep breath, Cas held his mug tightly between his hands and wandered back over to stand behind Dean’s chair. He hadn’t dared to look at his alpha’s face yet but he watched mesmerized as his fingers trailed over the black and white photo almost reverently. “This-- Cas?” Licking his lips, Cas leaned over the back of the chair to wrap his arms around Dean’s shoulders.

He was still staring at the sonogram when he whispered, “Cas... is this…” He broke off, hand starting to shake slightly. Cas let his scent soften enough that faint vanilla could come through the fresh rain and honey. He pressed a gentle kiss against his alpha’s temple and when he smiled he knew Dean could feel it too.

“That’s your pup, Dean.” The cocoa was dangerously close to tipping but neither of them noticed as the scent of joyous alpha saturated the air. “Merry Christmas.”

—————

Curled around his omega later that night the enormity of it sunk in all at once. With a feather light touch Dean pressed his hand against the Angel’s lower abdomen. The softly content answering purr told him Castiel was still awake, though he was completely pliant in Dean’s arms.

Stroking his fingers over the still flat plane of Castiel’s stomach Dean pressed his face into the hair at the nape of his neck. “That’s our pup.” Dean breathed in amazement, heart threatening to rip from his chest with how hard it was beating. “That’s our pup.”

Christmas, Dean decided, wasn’t actually so bad anymore. He has officially decided it was because of the bright smell of cloves and honey and vanilla wrapped in sunlight after a storm.