#and opened the game again like a madwoman

[throughpatchesofviolet]

This took far longer than I'd of liked, but it's done ... onto Section 03.

[sehodreams]

Can I request nurse reader x sungchan whose secretly been stalking him and when he comes in she forces her self on him

TW and tags: dark, noncon, nurse!reader x basquetball player!Sungchan, p in v, no condom, stalker!reader, somno.

Comment: please if you don't like this kind of content just skip it. Like I said, I write anything I feel like doing so you're free to not read it. I always think of more than one version about something I write, but the other is rather soft so I leave this one a lot darker here, hope you like it!

WC: don't know but it's pretty short.

AGAIN, IF YOU DON'T LIKE, SKIP.

His family told him to not overthink it that much, but Sungchan knew it was weird for him to sleep so deep almost half day and all night. He had asked the doctor to run a few extra tests thinking it was anemia again but the doctor told him and his family it was unnecessary since his first tests were okay, that the stuff making him so sleepy was probably the painkillers doing it's job, and he had a broken leg, so he'd continue taking them for days and he better got used to them.

However, deep down, Sungchan knew that it was impossible for that to be the only thing making him so tired every day. It didn't matter that he slept 12 hours straight, he'd wake up feeling dizzy and even more tired than when he stayed up two days in a row when the busiest game season started.

So, when he woke up in the middle of a night one day, he knew it wasn't a coincidence that his medicine knocked him off so frequently.

The night was colder than usual and he woke up feeling the chill over his legs. He opened his eyes, searching for some kind of light inside the room, the only one being a ray of yellow illumination coming through the door crack from outside.

That was all until a flash blinded him, and finally being able to focus his sight, he saw you over his body, like a demon in one of his numerous nightmares.

He couldn't see your face, the only thing he could distinguish that night was your wide smile upon him, jumping over his cock and taking more pictures of him like a madwoman.

You were completely dressed, he could feel the hem of your uniform brushing his bare legs under the gown and he finally understood why everytime a nurse would come into his room his whole body would paralyze, replaying a memory he couldn't recollect of what happened to him every night when no one was around, his family happy at home, his famous friends probably living their extra life at some party and his co-workers training like he couldn't anymore.

He wanted to push you but his body wouldn't listen to him, so in the dark, in the silent night, the only sound that would creep his ears would be the wind against the tree outside his window, the old bending machine in the corridor and the wetness of your cunt stealing his life.

Sinking again and again over his length, he couldn't scream even less cry with the stimulation his member was suffering, intense even with all the medicine inside his body.

He felt you dripping down over his cock and drops of your sweat and past orgasms prickling his crotch, and soon, after his head got dizzy again and his eyes couldn't focus in the little light beside him, he spurted his thick and healthy cum inside you. Feeling everything but not being able to do something about it, he stayed there and let the darkness take him away once again.

"Good morning Mr.Jung, how do you feel today?" You asked with your bubbly smile, sending a painful pinch to his stomach without him being able to understand why. He can't remember anything about his nights but he feels repulsed by your presence and his mouth wants to say something rude but decides to stop himself when his mother's face appears in front of him with her usual ear to ear grin.

"Better, than you for asking" was the only thing he could say, accepting the pills you gave him and soon falling asleep again.

[yourfellowhuman07]

Alliances of the Heart

A She-Ra: Princess of Power 2018 fanfiction

For centuries, the All Princess Ball has been a time for the nobility of Etheria to let loose. Flaunting their power, prestige, and fashion for all to see. The ball had always been politically neutral, but, as tension from the war rises, not everyone is so keen to forget what happens beyond the walls of Castle Chill.

Lord Hordak, along with Princess Scorpia and Force Captian Catra, have come to the party to make alliances and find out everything there is to know about their enemies. Careful to not arouse the suspicion of the Princess Alliance.

Princess Entrapta, being the scientist she is, decides to come to the party to decode the secrets of body language, despite getting the same data from every other party she has ever attended.

When the two rulers cross paths, their plans flip on their heads as the two grow closer. Now it is up to Catra and Scorpia to push the two together as Adora and Glimmer stick their noses where they do not belong.

________________

Okay, I know it's been a couple months since I posted another chapter, but life has been hectic lately and creativity is a struggle. Hopefully, as the school year winds down, I can find the time and creativity to write.

As always, thank you for reading!

________________

Chapter 9: A Gift

Adora paced around her room, muttering to herself like a madwoman. She had miserably failed to get Entrapta to join the Alliance, and she had spent most of her time beating herself up for it. 

In the days before the Ball, Adora had crafted a master plan to grow the membership of the Alliance (despite Glimmer telling her she was supposed to have fun). She was going to go after Entrapta first, but Hordak snatched her up before Adora could have a real conversation with her. Adora hoped she could change Entrapta’s mind about joining the Horde; however, because Entrapta and Hordak were nowhere to be found last night she was already too far gone. Thus, that left Princess Frosta and Prince Peekablue (if he ever decides to show up); therefore, right now, Frosta is her biggest target.

As Adora paced up and down her room, a plan was forming in her head. Based on her past interactions with Frosta, Adora needed to handle this carefully. She clearly can’t treat her like a child or someone her age. Right now Princess Frosta is her superior. It’s her castle, so Adora has to play her game.

___________________

Entrapta checked to see if she had everything she needed in her pockets; they were. She wiped the smudges off her goggles and mask until they were as clear as they could be. She ate a small snack and she checked her pockets again. She looked up at the digital clock on the wall;  still, 30 minutes till the party started again. The princess sighed and flopped back on the bed. 

Since her interaction with the Warlord earlier, she had been itching for the party to restart. She couldn’t exactly explain why she was so eager to see the warlord, but she hoped with time, that would be revealed to her with more research. However, for now, she will use friendship as a band-aid for her indecision.

Suddenly, there was a knocking at the door, snapping Entrapta back to reality.

The princess shot up from her bed and stumbled towards the door. She ripped open the door and looked up to see- nothing. Her shoulders slumped and she looked to her eye level, seeing one of the guards clad in a giant coat making them look like a giant marshmallow.

“You’re Princess Entrapta of Dryl, right?” They asked with a voice akin to stale crackers. 

Entrapta nodded as her confusion grew.

“Then this is for you.” The guard shoved a box into the princess’s hands and turned away to walk down the hall.

Thankfully, Entrapta didn’t give much thought to the guard’s attitude; instead, she focused on the box in her hand. The box was a deep plum with a thick, silver ribbon wrapped around it and forming a bow on top. Entrapta flipped the package around to see there was no note.

She sat the box on her bed and tugged at the end of the ribbon. She gently lifted the top of the box, revealing another package wrapped in tissue paper with an envelope sitting on top. Eyes widening, she half-hazardly ripped into the envelope. 

“So you don’t get cold.”

A smile painted Entraptas face as she reread the sharp cursive, running a gloved thumb over the lines script.

After reading the note for a final time, she turned her attention to the paper package. As gently as her excitement would let her, she pinched the paper in the middle and tore it apart. Her eyes widened when she took in the sight of a neatly folded coat.

Like the box, the outside was a deep plum, while the lining was a perfect white that looked like lamb’s wool. Entrapta took off both gloves and ran her hands over the fabric. The plum fabric was smooth and silky while the lining was impossibly fluffy and scratched an itch in Entrapta’s brain she didn’t know she had. She gingerly picked up the coat, noticing how the bottom hem was shorter in the front than in the back. She continued her examination, noting how, despite zipping in the front, there were buttons that could only be for decoration. She noticed the large, enchanted hood that could fit the tops of her twin ponytails, and it could easily be detached! Entrapta slipped on the coat, which was perfectly tailored to her, feeling all the various pockets until a small zipper at the hems caught her attention. She unzipped the hems and discovered the white fluff was removable, creating a lighter coat!

As Entrapta admired the craftsmanship of the piece, her earlier ponderings crept up her spine and into her mind.

It was obvious that Hordak was responsible for the gift, only serving to complicate Entrapta’s already confusing perception of the warlord. However, Entrapta’s rationality was firm in the notion this was an act of friendship, despite the fact this was the most thoughtful gesture someone had directed toward the princess.

Before she continued down that mental rabbit hole, Entrapta caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror. It was rare Entrapta would stand infront of a mirror and scrutinize her outfit. She saw how grubby her overalls and top were compared to the lavish coat, and she started to regret her fashion choices. Not because she felt insecure, but because she felt bad she could get the coat dirty. 

She looks over her shoulder and eyes the suitcase thrown into the corner of the room.

Before Entrapta arrived in the Kingdom of Snows, Morrella visited her and, upon seeing what the princess was packing, insisted she bring along something fancier. Entrapta, of course, insisted she wouldn’t need them, but Morella insisted. Eventually, the two met in the middle, and Entrapta packed a couple of blouses and trousers.

Now, she was thankful Morella was so insistent.

[hacked-by-jake]

Spoiler (badly written) poem ahead:

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I said I was done with Duskwood.

Said I moved on.

Told everyone I won't write fanfictions anymore.

Impatience killed the love for Duskwood.

I said I didn't love Jake anymore.

Was fine with him being killed in the mines.

Didn't care about the group.

I closed the chapter.

Never looked back.

Thought the new game would never arrive.

Two years passed.

A notification of Instagram popped up.

Everbyte posted something new.

Shrugging, I opened the notification.

After endless waiting, Moonvale came out.

Like a madwoman I sprinted to the play store.

Downloaded the game.

Like a fury I played the mini games.

Oh, I hated them with passion.

A burning passion.

But this burning passion quickly changed to...

Burning love.

A desire.

A fire in my heart.

The tingles under my skin when my screen glitched.

A new data got transmitted to my phone.

A save data of Alan's body cam.

In the dark forest, he held out his gun.

Pointing it at invisible ghosts.

But his target was long gone.

The trace he left behind...

A hoodie black as midnight with burning holes.

An empty burned backpack.

And his famous anonymous mask.

And suddenly.

My screen flickered again.

His profile picture with his famous mask popped up.

MC. I will find you.

As it turns out, I do love him still.

Never stopped.

Tried to drown the pain of losing him in distraction.

Please find me, Jake.

An emotional poem by a former fanfiction writer.

Badly written?? Not sure if we're reading the same text. This is fantastic! A Duskwood/Moonvale poem! Simply awesome! Holy!

You know, I hope you don't mind that I don't say much about it, but I feel like I don't have to, it's wonderful and I won’t comment on it because it say everything perfectly.

And I'm very sure a lot of people will relate to that! 💚

Welcome back in the Jake fan club, hehe!

[leavingautumn13]

Do u like pokemon remakes

under the cut because i got longwinded.

tl;dr: yes, BUT.

i'm not opposed to the idea of remakes, but it depends on the remake. frlg and hgss were obviously necessary for people to have access to gen 1 and 2 pokemon in the advance generation. they also expanded on the original games in some way. we got the sevii isles in frlg, and eusine's suicune thing in hgss that i don't remember because i haven't played hgss in a hot minute.

i like oras for the same reason--we got more content than the original games (though i'm forever salty about the battle frontier not being added in the postgame), so they're not a pointless purchase.

bdsp, though, added nothing. i was extremely hyped for platinum-inspired delta episode-esque postgame and we got nada. in my heart, pla is the actual gen 4 remake. like, there's no point to playing brilliant diamond when i can bust out my old copy of pearl that i already paid 60 usd for, yknow?

my dream for a hypothetical bw remake is open world like sv, and expands on the story in some way (maybe pulling elements from bw2 in), and gives us access to more pokemon at least in the postgame. like, let me take the subway wherever in unova i want to go, and if i get my ass handed to me by a level 40 pokemon when i haven't hit the first gym yet. that's being a pokemon trainer baby! (lbr, i just want an open world game with public transportation you DON'T go through a loading screen for unless you like, WANT to.)

"wouldn't that affect a linear story like the one in bw" no, not necessarily--sv still had plot points in particular places, but you could do them in any order. just make it so the next plot point won't trigger until you've done the previous one and you can guide players through the route you'd like them to take while still giving them the option to take off into the wilderness like a madwoman because they absolutely have to have this one particular pokemon (which is something i definitely did in sv to get a tatsugiri before the second gym, and it was a blast. did she listen to me? not at ALL. was it worth it? HELL YES).

now--are pokemon remakes just another entry in the current zeitgeist of pointless remakes when the original is just fine? i mean, i'd argue yes if we didn't get more content than the original games had, so again i think it depends on the remake. there's also the issue of original copies of old pokemon games being difficult to find and way expensive when they are found. i mean, just a few years ago used copies of hgss were still going for 60 usd retail. so it's nice that remakes can introduce new or younger players to the stories that people who played the originals enjoyed while still remaining somewhat accessible.

that being said, i'm a huge advocate for people just playing emulators too. just be safe when you're downloading stuff off the internet, obviously.

[remmammie]

Since TWEWY was added in Kingdom Hearts ♥️ : DDD. I was thinking Misaki Shiki x Male! Reader where the two of them are in an amusement park and reader has a Polaroid camera to take photos of the park and Shiki.

I apologise for this taking so long! Between college and hobbies, I've been stressed for time, but I'll always have time for you guys! I do have some exams coming up, though, so I'll let those pass before opening up my asks again. Anyway, Shiki! My love! Enjoy some scenario headcanons for such a precious character~

Shiki x M!Reader at an Amusement Park HCs

If she's going out anywhere, you know Shiki is coming out in her best clothes. She embraces the fun and bright colours of an amusement park and, though she doesn't insist that you match per se, she'd be over the moon to see you looking your best as well. If you let her, she'll happily pick out a handsome outfit for you - after all, if she wants to work in the clothing industry, she must know a lot about men's fashion!

During this "getting ready" period, Shiki whips out a disposable camera.

"What's that for?"

"For taking photos, silly! I want to commemorate this forever! I'll pin them up on my corkboard at home, ooh! And you can take some too!" Shiki keeps rambling about all the different places, rides, and poses she wants to include in the photos, acting like a real model. You can't help but smile and nod.

As soon as she's secured the camera in a satchel bag, Shiki is tugging you out of the door, into your chosen mode of transport and is practically buzzing the entire ride to the amusement park. You both have been planning this trip forever; you once slipped up and called it a "date" which left Shiki in flustered fits of laughter.

Once you arrive, Shiki's eyes are positively glittering with awe: all the flashing lights, the glorious smell of trashy food, the bustling people all with different stories, and, the best of all, experiencing it with you. It's the first photo she takes.

"Come on! Pose with me! Get over here, you goof!" She bundles you over to her side, standing on her toes with the camera stretched over her head. She smiles, teeth and all, almost as if the strings holding such a grin up will snap! Her other hand grips yours tight and Shiki angles it secretly so the photos captures the intimate moment.

Shiki has been to an amusement park before - she's likely gone with her friends from school - but it's a lot different when you're accompanied by your partner. Yet, she can't be nervous around you, especially when there's so much to do with you!

If you're the type of person who likes rides, I'm sure Shiki is an adrenaline junkie too - she'd go on pretty much anything with you, often taking photos getting on the ride, then getting off. As for anything that goes too fast or too high for her, Shiki will cling onto your arm for dear life, screaming from pure amusement, laughing like a complete madwoman. She's enjoying herself, don't worry!

If you're not the type to go on rides, Shiki insist that you try some stall games together: hooking ducks, throwing darts and balls, kicking a football into a certain hole, etcetera.

"Isn't this the part where you swoop in like my hero and win me a big stuffed animal?" she suggests with a cheeky wink. You sigh and rustle the hair on top of her head. Shiki has just wasted at least half of your money trying to win a stuffie, now she's practically begging you to try and win one for her. Whether you're successful or not doesn't actually matter to her because she'll tease you either way.

Of course, you two need to eat at some point. After insisting that you should get the rides out of the way first lest Shiki wants to feel sick all night, you decide to invest in some trashy, amusement park food of your choice. Shiki's all for it: hot dogs, ramen, ice cream, doughnuts, crepes, and pancakes! This is where her taste buds thrive. She makes sure to get a really unflattering image of you both eating. When you try and get her to get rid of it, she just cackles and hides it from your view, giggling while she looks at it.

"Oh! I'm totally showing this to Eri! She'll get a real kick out of it, haha!"

At some point during all of this, you secretly take the camera from Shiki and take some more candid photographs of her. Shiki is so gorgeous without even trying, you know this... She might be playing with the stuffed animal you got her or if she decided to bring Mr. Mew with her when you snap a quick photo without her noticing. Pocket it to put it somewhere special later, or show her, tell her she's pretty without even putting in any effort. She'll giggle and blush a little, telling you off for being such a sap.

[tiefling-with-a-gun]

Margot Thoughts #129

You know, I tried to retire. The Ringmaster was dead, I’d lost my contract, I’d burnt down the Carnevale, I’d left the Cabaret. I wanted to focus purely on business, the simple act of running a play. An innocent play, one that hurt no one (despite what the reviews said). A fresh, clean business. My life was open up to me, I could live it as someone other than a crook. Other than… this.

Ms. Lamplight was calming down north and east row, but in the south and west it was going to shit. Lines were being drawn, territories were being fought over. Despite that, though, I had my one street. A couple people came to me, looking for protection money, but I talked them out of it. Nobody wanted to touch the madwoman who killed the Ringmaster. I stayed clean for about two weeks.

One day, a kobold came to me, looking for protection money. I laughed it off as I normally did, then he made some threats about how the Scraphive would rule Scarlet Row one day. I chased him off, but decided to investigate.

With the help of Bones Malone, they’d taken much of East Row, and they had several spots in the sewers. Slavers. Scum. It was my own fault, really. I had assumed that, since we had defeated the two gangs involved in trafficking (the Carnevale and the Black Tide), the barbaric practice would stop. But there was a niche in the market, and I suppose it makes sense that someone would try to fill it.

No, I decided. I couldn’t just stand by and let it continue. The Carnevale was ash, we would not deal with meat again. I burnt as many of them as I could, but without my hellfire, well, it was a slow process. But with a few good fires, they were all but out of South Row.

Then, I saw another gang, the “Harlequin’s Horde” or some other nonsense, begin to win the street war over South Row. At first I was relieved, business tends to be better when not in a war zone. Then I checked to see what they were like.

Their leader was a man who so clearly wanted to be the next Ringmaster. He hated me for killing our old boss, as if I had not spared him from a life of agony. He kidnapped one of my stage hands, hurt them, and promised to do it again until I gave myself up. Well, I decided, if he wants the Ringmaster back, he can have it. In the end, he begged me to spare him again. The Horde disbanded a couple days later.

A few more potential victors came. None were worthy. They all had ties to the Scraphive, or used slaves, or held the Ringmaster in too high a regard. A couple times, they tried to destroy my theater or made an attempt on my life preemptively. My punishment for that was simple: I would burn down their greatest source of profit.

South Row is still at war, and the Scraphive still has a foothold in East Row. But with my magic back in full… I can get to business. It was naïve of me to think I could put it all away. I belong in this game, playing it is one of the only things I’m good at.

[reemerarius]

So, I saw all the hubbub about that one actress starring in the live-action Snow White. And, long story short ages ago I wrote this. It's not the best, and I'd like to revisit it someday, but here's The Snow White Dethphonticth

I'll leave you with an excerpt, please note I started touching it up so this version and what's in the ebook might be different:

It is in due time the two wed and Snow White is nowhere to be seen. She refused to come to the wedding. It was expected, but the king apologizes to his new queen nonetheless. It would not be for a few days until Sylvia cross paths with Snow White. It would be an uneasy moment.

Snow White is taller and skinnier than Sylvia. The contrast between Snow White's pale, sickly-looking skin and void black hair was unnatural. She stands up straight at the end of the hall in a beautiful gown and no shoes, her toes poking out from under the hem of her dress. As slim as she is, her presence saturates the space. Sylvia can not get herself to move, she is not even sure if the girl was looking at her, Snow White's bangs cover her eyes. She turns from Sylvia and goes on her way. Sylvia has not realized the door she is at has opened. When she turns, there stands the king inviting her in.

“What has caused such an ill look about you, My Queen?” the king brings her to sit.

“I saw her. At the end of the hallway. Snow White, was it? I don't know how, but I'm certain it was her. She... Is she always...”

“Calm down. I apologize. She's grown fond of her games. She's just been acting out ever since her mother's death,” the king takes her hands in his.

“Yes, of course. Any child would grieve such a loss. I'll do what I can to help ease the pain.”

“Thank you. That's part of the reason I brought you in here. I want you to help Snow White to heal, to grow, to learn. No teacher wants to work with her because of her outburst. The staff will barely go near her. She doesn't want anything to do with me. She runs and hides when I go looking for her, so I've never seen this behavior myself. But everyone is complaining, so there must be something wrong. I know it's a lot to put on you all at once. But I need this, she needs this.”

“It's fine, My King. It's the queen's duty to watch over a child's schooling as is. You aren't asking too much of me at all. But, if I may ask you a question, My King?”

“Yes, by all means.”

“Who came up with her name?”

“There was an... incident in her youth,” the king tells Sylvia the story.

“No wonder she's acting out, whatever happened in those woods must have scarred her and then to lose her mother on top of that. Poor babe,” Sylvia squeezes the king's hand, hoping to leave some reassurance imprinted into them.

The next week bumbles in as clouds of dust and torn down cobwebs. The old queen's quarters are finally being cleaned out after all these years. Amidst the moving of furniture, the old queen's journal is found and brought to the king.

He pulls it out that dusk and reads into the night. Unsure of what to make of his late queen's notes, he places the notebook away. The king is not sure if the last few entries were just the ramblings of a madwoman or a warning something awful, he decides to go with the option he can wrap his logic around. He knows he needs to start being a father to Snow White again. Everything should have been fine.

The sun breaks on the horizon and he roams the castle for his daughter. He follows sightings of her, somehow she must know he is looking for her and is actively avoiding him like usual. The king hunts for her through lunch. He refuses to quit and he believes his effort rewarded. He has followed her to the last room of a slightly empty hallway. She can no longer avoid him. The king walks in on her crouching in a food pantry. The king can feel their eyes connect through Snow White's bangs.

“We really should get those cut soon. It's unbecoming of a princess to hide her face,” the king pauses as Snow White stands up, she has his height. “Listen, you know you can't keep going on like this. Everything you've been up to will be coming to an end. You will not be bringing any more chaos into my castle. Your behavior will be punished from here on out. Am I understood?”

Snow White tilts her head in thought.

It is a few days until the castle is silent. The king's hysterics had echoed through the stone walls, shaking Sylvia to the bone. There was nothing the doctors could do before he was too far gone. The king was buried in the family cemetery far back behind the castle.

[purelyfiction]

All Fun & Games ♧♤♡♢ 3.1

Robert ‘Bob’ Floyd x F!Reader |1| 2 | 3.2

Word Count: 5,335 words

Summary: In a rather spontaneous fashion, Bob has invited you to take a glimpse into his routine - one that you don’t normally get a good look at while up in the air.

Content Warning:  This story will have TopGun: Maverick plot line elements to it and will possibly spoil the movie for you. Please be aware. This - and all of my stories - is 18+. By continuing to read you agree that you are 18 or older and that any content you come across is by your own decision. || Mild NSFW subjects

Author Note: .... don’t hate me. This has taken such a long, long time to get out because of work, life - so many things kept piling up. Thank you so so so much for your patience, I think it was early July the last time I updated, so this is long awaited. And because of that - I’ve double updated. This chapter has an extension to it, since I am a madwoman and can’t stay under 8k words and ended up writing nearly 11k words for one part. So, please enjoy more Bob x Vegas content - and please please thank @callsignthirsty​ and @deadratio​ for being my editors, sounding boards and generally great friends. You’ll likely see them again soon. Without further adieu: All Fun & Games - Part 3.1

Attention: If you would like to be on the tag list please see the pinned post on my blog for the document. If you’re not able to access it please message me, I rarely find any tag requests in my notifications!

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Bob simply told you to go home and change into an old pair of jeans, a shirt you can sweat in and closed toed shoes. And that he’d eventually be over. So, you did just that despite the 99 degree heat wave North Island is going through. You can’t help but think he’s going insane when he shows up to your door wearing double denim. A stark brown cowboy hat sits on his head, making his gold aviator frames shine in the late morning light. 

The jean jacket on his shoulders is worn, and so are the jeans on his hips. Rugged and thoroughly loved cowboy boots sit on his feet. “You look like a right cowboy,” you offer with a smirk as you shut the door behind you, engaging the automatic lock on the door. 

“We’re goin’ ridin’, I’d hope so,” he snickers, hands in his pockets as he turns. When you begin down the path, you spot his vehicle in the street. Bob had showed up to pizza night after dark, and the street was very poorly lit - meaning you’d not seen what he’d driven there. 

Which is why it takes you aback to see a midnight black silverado at the end of your driveway. “You drive a truck?” you ask, raising an eyebrow in surprise as he approaches the vehicle, looking back at you. 

“I’m dressed like a cowboy and you really think I ain’t gon’ be driving a vehicle that matches?” he retorts, before reaching the passenger door and opening it. Bob offers his hand to you, which you hesitantly take before climbing in. He shuts the door before he gets to his side and you can’t help but find the entire interaction... charming. 

Once he’s in the cabin, you smile at him. “Maybe I should’ve seen it coming the second you showed me photos of a horse when I woke up this morning,” you tease as he’s starting the engine. 

“The signs were all there,” he jokes as he pulls from the curb. It’s not until you’re pulling out of your housing plan that you notice he’s seemingly driving from memory. Another 15 minutes pass before you’re in winding streets, only to pull into a very small parking lot. 

“This does not look like a stable, Bo,” you point out and he gives you a look. What he’s pulled up to looks like a red and silver classic bullet diner, neon lights and all. The lot isn’t very full but it looks like there’s a lot of people from what you can see from the wide windows.

“What an astute observation, Lieutenant.” He gives a snicker before opening his door. Bob’s nearly halfway out his own before he sees you try for your own. “Don’t you even think about it.” He gives a pointed finger before shutting his door, making you laugh while he’s dashing around the front of the truck, coming over and opening your door. With a waiting hand, he helps you out and the door swings back to the closed position. 

“Thank you. I… don’t remember the last time someone opened a car door for me,” you admit as he waits for you to head to the diner building, a hand coming to the small of your back as he walks a little way behind you. 

“I can. It was last night,” Bob points out and you laugh thinking about being leant over the console of your car, attempting to reach the other door handle from the driver’s side. 

“It was, wasn’t it?” You can’t wipe the smile off your face as he moves to pull the door open, a bell ringing above you as you pass through what seems to be the entrance to a time machine. There’s classic black and white tile through the entire building, as small as it is, neon red leather booth seats, a classic milkshake machine down the bartop - a jukebox at the end of the narrow aisle that’s been created. 

The diner is absolutely bustling, almost every seat is filled, despite the few cars that adorned the parking lot. As you wait to be seated, your wandering eyes fall on a row of familiar machines. “I haven’t seen these in years,” you reminisce before crouching down to look at the little red capsule vending machines.

They haven’t been filled in some time - at least from what you can assume, as many of them are nearly empty. You’re looking over a novelty one when you hear the clinking of metal on metal. Turning your head, you find Bob cranking the knob to one of the dispensers, his hand sitting at the bottom of the chute, waiting for his purchase to come tumbling down. Orange, brown and yellow candies tumble into his palm, a childlike grin on his features as he stands upright. 

“Reese’s Pieces at 9 in the morning?” you scold, watching him make a funnel with his hands and letting them fall into his mouth. 

“What?” He snickers, mouth full as he chews at the candy. With a shake of your head you’re turning your attention back to the machines in front of you. A laugh leaves you when you spot a range of incredibly poorly made necklaces. 

“Look!” you laugh pointing at one of them, making Bob crouch down to look at the panel wedged into the glass. “There’s a bull - it would complete your outfit,” you tease, standing upright as he takes a closer look. A quick glance around the restaurant, you’re finding the bathroom and excusing yourself. 

When you return, you find Bob with at least a dozen plastic bubble containers, making you laugh as he wedges yet another quarter into the machine. 

“Bob! What on Earth are you doing?” you question, crouching down again, picking up a few of the bubbles. You’re looking at each of them, finding a skull and crossbones, a motorcycle, a dagger - Bob huffs when the next container tumbles out. 

“Ah! Finally.” He lets out a laugh and stands up, making you follow suit and step closer to him as he pops the lid off the plastic, pulling the metal from the container. “Turn around.” He’s got a wild grin on his face, but you turn so your back is facing him. In a matter of seconds, he’s pulling the chain around your neck, doing up the clasp in the back. Your fingers pick up the charm, quickly identifying it. 

A bull.

As you let out a laugh, you hear Bob’s last name through the waiting area and are quick to follow the older woman hostess to a seat. You approach a booth and are quick to slide in on one side as a menu is offered to you. “Robert, are you gonna need one as well, or the usual this morning?” 

Your eyes look toward his face as he grins at the woman. “No, same thing for me this morning, Diana. Coffee - for both of us?” He says it more like a question as he wags a finger in the air, grouping the pair of you together.

“Alrighty, I’ll get Paisley on that right away. Take your time, dear.” You give an appreciative smile at the woman before looking over at the WSO across the table, who’s already peeled his hat off the top of his head, setting it on the seat next to him. His hair is a wild mess, which makes you take a deep breath as you try to gather the sentence that had been on the tip of your tongue - now suddenly gone at the sight of the male in front of you. 

Finally, it springs back to its launchpoint on your lips. 

“You really come around here frequently, don’t you?” you quip with a smirk, and he shrugs. 

“Sort of. The riding thing is newer but - I used to come here a lot back when I was at TOPGUN the first time. One of my good friends and I spent a lot of time in these booths - and a lot on syrup and coffee.” Bob snickers but there’s something lingering in his words that rings somewhat insincere. 

You choose not to prod, smiling in return before looking down to the menu. As you’re still reading over the options, a black haired woman approaches with an all too eager grin. “Bobby! It’s about time you were here for the morning, I was beginning to worry you weren’t going to show.” She grins, setting a mug down on the table complete with milk and sugar. Bob greets her in return, a quick glance is sent your direction when he realizes she hasn’t brought a mug for you. 

“Me not show? Unlikely,” he hums. “You’ve not met my colleague,” Bob continues in his introduction of you, wherein Paisley gives a very cold fake smile. 

“Pleasure, Lieutenant. Guess I forgot your mug, didn’t I? Let me grab that. Do you know what you want since I’m on the way in?” You’re giving her your order - leaving her to snatch the menu from your hands and make her way back to the kitchen window. 

“Well she’s… pleasant,” you suggest and Bob shrugs. 

“Must be having a rough morning. She’s usually a right sweetheart.” He shrugs and sips at his already prepped coffee, which makes you furrow your brows. 

“You must be here a lot if she knows how you take your coffee…” you offer, receiving a shrug in response. 

“I’ll stop in sometimes during the week or grab dinner when the mess hall is less than appetizing. But I’m usually only here on Sunday’s before going to the stables.” 

“Understandable.” You hum, leaning onto your hands that are propped up by your elbows on the table while meeting his eye. Bob mimics the stance, which doesn’t seem natural on him - making you laugh. He’s joining in as well before you start asking a question: “Not to be weird but: What’s your favorite color?” 

Bob gives a chuckle before he taps the leather of the seat he’s sitting on. “You’re looking at it. I haven’t been able to figure why, but red is just such a… vibrant color. It makes me think of home. My pap’s ranch — well my uncle Dale’s ranch, now — has this massive red barn and a few dozen cows to boot. I spent my summers there, like I said, so I have fond memories of that red shining in Tennessee July. That and apple picking in the fall. My momma planted a few apple trees on our acreage in Georgia and she makes the best apple pie with them. It’s funny, seein’ we’re the peach state and all.”

Your laugh pairs with his before dancing through the metal and linoleum of the diner, only to be stomped out as Paisley returns with a mug and fills it with coffee for you. “There’s cream and sugar on the table. Bobby, your food should be out soon. I put hers in a minute ago so it’ll be here… eventually.” 

“Thanks, Paise.” A grin from the brunette, the woman exchanging one and dismissing herself from the table without another word. You let out a sound of astonishment and he furrows a brow at you as he sips his coffee. 

“It’s like I don’t exist when she shows up,” you point out and Bob shakes his head as he swallows. 

“I don’t think, she’s just doing her job,” he offers as you fix your coffee. 

“It wouldn’t kill her to be a little nicer,” you mumble once your mug is to your lips. “Anyways. Tell me more about this ‘acreage’ of yours. You guys have a farm in Georgia?” 

Bob shakes his head as he shifts in the booth. “No. I mean, momma has chickens but that’s about it. There’s a good 10 acres at minimum. At least a quarter of it has a line of wooded area. Land is a big deal in the south for some reason. Our house is this massive farmhouse built in the seventies, and most of us have moved out. Rylie is the only one still there.” 

“Rylie?” you question, your gaze taken by a passing truck with a trailer hitch attached to it. You must be somewhat close to the stables. That paired with the countless farm hands around you, you had to assume. 

“Youngest of 5,” he answers, leaving your eyes to widen. 

“You have four siblings?” Your jaw slides to open your mouth as he nods. 

“Sisters, to be exact. I’m the oldest, then there’s Robyn, she’s 13 months younger than me. We’re jokingly referred to as the twins since we were raised so close to one another. Rowan was born in ‘93, so she’s 27, Raine at 25, leaving us with Rylie who’s 16.” Bob sips at his coffee again, your hands twirling the mugs bottom on the table it rests on as you listen. 

“That’s…. A gap.” You kindly point out and he snickers as he sets his mug down. 

“She was a bonus kid. Momma said she was done having kids and then… Ry-guy came along.” You click your tongue, sitting in silence for a minute before you point out the obvious. 

“All Rs,” you hum, and he sighs. 

“Was hoping you wouldn’t point that one out.” Bob stretches back against the leather, leaving you to tilt your head. 

“Why’s that?”

“It always follows with ‘is your mom Rebecca and your dad Robert Senior?’” He fiddles with the silverware on the table. 

“Well, are they?” He smiles as he sees your expression of intrigue and shakes his head. 

“Johnathan and Kelly.” A laugh breaks out and you have to cover your mouth. 

“Sorry, sorry - so what the hell is with all the Rs?” You can’t wipe the stupid grin on your face as he grins with an air of discontent on his shoulders. Clearly you’re not the first one to ask. 

“My granddad on my dad’s side is named Robert - so I’m technically jr, but he’s not around that often. He lives in a retirement plan in Florida. As for the Rs, I was named after granddad, and then they had Robyn. So when Rowan was born they… just kept goin’.”

“It’s kinda cute,” you admit as Bob goes for another sip of coffee only to realize his cup is empty. He shrugs as he reaches across the table, sneaking your mug away from you as Paisley approaches with a coffee carafe in hand. He’s still mid sip when both of you look at the dark haired woman. 

“You could’a asked for more coffee, Bobby,” Paisley notes as the male returns your mug and she takes his to fill it. 

“Eh, don’t worry about it, coffee tastes better from Vegas’ cup anyways,” he teases with a grin, making you giggle. 

“I see. Well, food will be here soon,” Paisley mumbles before turning back toward another table, making you look to him with a look of ‘is she ok?’ and Bob waves you off as he fixes his coffee. In the time it takes to finish his task, a food runner is dropping off a meal of waffles, bacon and eggs in front of your coworker, making him grin and thank the employee. 

“I’m gonna run to the bathroom and washup, ‘kay?” 

“Sounds good.” You confirm as he gets up, passing Paisley on the way to the bathroom as she stops at your table to check your coffee. 

“So, how long have you been together?” she asks bitterly as she fills your mug to the top. You freeze at the question, your head moving back and forth. 

“I- We aren’t-”

“He’s flirted with you since the minute you stepped foot into the diner. I knew I heard your name before. You’re the Vegas chick that Diana keeps mentioning when she waits on him. She asks him every week how things are going with you two, and he always says you two aren’t dating but I get it. Work probably doesn’t like the idea of you two together-”

“Paisley, right?” You clear your throat and look her in the eye. “Bo-Robert and I aren’t dating.” The nickname leaves you first, leaving you to correct yourself. “It really isn’t any deeper than just a good pair of friends who happen to work together.” 

The woman in front of you lets out a laugh and shakes her head. “Friends don’t spend three seventy five on a capsule machine for a toy necklace, but you keep telling yourself that.” Paisley then disappears as quick as she appeared, leaving you to your thoughts.

People in this diner knew who you were. Which meant Bob had been openly talking to people about you. What had he been saying? Was it bad? You’re tugged from any questions as Diana reappears with your plate. 

“You’re paler than a ghost, are you alright?” she asks as she sets your dish down. You nod and grin at her with a smile that doesn’t quite reach your eyes. She notices, but she doesn’t dare prod you further. 

“Yep, yeah, I’m good.” Your brow furrows and you’re about to ask a question when Bob slides back into the booth. 

“I’m so excited about these waffles, Di. I’ve been thinking about them all week.” He beams at the woman and she lets a hand hover over her chest as you start at your meal. 

“Well that just made my day. You’re a charmer Robert.” She then looks over at you. “Watch out for this one.” 

“I certainly will,” you fire back as Diana starts off, leaving you to watch the childlike joy on Bob’s face as he tears into his breakfast. 

                                                  ════⋆★⋆════

With full stomachs, you’re headed back to Bob’s truck and pulling onto the road. He’s got his window down so there’s a refreshing breeze in the truck. As the wind flows, it makes the wispy bits of Bob’s hair that stick out from under his hat flit about.

Eventually, he turns onto a gravel road that leads down toward a large building and a small parking lot. As you climb out of the cab, Bob’s grabbing a brown bag from beside him, making you tilt your head. 

“What’s that?” you ask with curiosity, as he leads the way toward the stables. 

“A little somethin’. Don’t fret your pretty head about it.” Bob glances over his shoulder as he guides you to an open barn door. You smile at him, despite the way your stomach is flipping at the words. 

Just friends. Just friends. 

Between the cracked concrete and the rusted lock hatches, you're sure the stable has seen better days, but it smells well loved and lived in. Like home away from home. You try to take it all in while keeping up with Bob's over-eager steps down a poorly-lit hallway. There are multiple people tending to stalls and carrying feed, and you give them all an awkward small smile and a wave, not sure what else to do with your hands. They usually reciprocate a smile in return - many of them have not so subtly taken notice of your incredibly white shoes, their low chuckles telling you that they won’t remain white for long. Part of you is self conscious as you pass people, and it must be clearly written across your face, because when Bob turns to see you lagging behind, he stops and waits for you. Once you’re at his side, he carefully takes your hand in his and looks you in the eye. “Hey, what’s the matter?” His grip is reassuring, but you shrug it off. 

“I’m fine.” You wave him off with a smile but he’s already trying to find a solution. 

“No ma’am, you are not.” He turns to face you as someone passes by with a quick ‘morning Bob’. He greets them with a smile but grabs their attention. “Can I ask somethin’ of ‘ya?” 

“Sure thing.” The woman pockets her hands, smiling at you before looking at Bob.

“This is my friend’s first time ridin’,” he looks to you to confirm and you nod, “is there anything you can suggest that will help her confidence?” Bob asks. 

The woman gives you an assessing once-over before she starts on her soapbox. “Well, for starters, she could get a heartier shoe on her foot. Somethin’ with a heel and steel toes. Or at least more protection than fabric. Those sneakers won’t offer nearly the same protection as a boot. As for the horses themselves, they’re more nervous than you. A first time rider like yourself should ride a well-broken horse.” She then turns to Bob, “who were you going to take out for her?” 

“I was thinkin’ Goldrush? She’s pretty even tempered, there was a six year old ridin’ with her last week,” Bob offers, tilting his head in what you assume to be Goldrush’s general direction. His hand is still in yours, somewhat playfully rocking in the air as he continues his conversation with this stable hand. The feeling is reassuring while simultaneously strange. 

“That’s probably your best bet. I know Heeler and Levi were just out, so they’re probably darn tired and wouldn’t stand another ride.” Bob gives a nod and thanks the woman by name - Jennifer you think it was? You were too focused on the curious head poking out of the stall to your right, making you grin. Soon, Bob is guiding you to a wall that’s filled with lockers that have seen better days. He’s grabbing his keys from his pocket and opening one up, old and nearly peeling duct tape over the door with black Sharpie scrawled across the front: 

R. Floyd

It’s funny how six letters could make you break out in such a childish smile. 

Yet here you were, watching as the cowboy next to you opens his locker (a rather messy one at that) looking around for something. 

“What’s your shoe size?” He looks up at you from his squatted position, a rouge boot in his hand. 

“You’re going all stalker on me, Floyd.” You tease, looking down at the boot. Luckily, the boot was a half size bigger than your own, making you look at him as he guides you to a seat nearby. “Do I wanna know who these shoes belong to?” 

“First off, they’re boots. Get it right.” 

“Sorry, sorry. Whose boots are these?”

He has a wild smirk on his face, shaking his head as he undoes your laces on your sneakers. “They’re Robyn’s. She left them here back when I was in Leemore,” Bob answers before looking up at you, one knee to the ground as he tugs the shoe off your foot. “I’m not tryin’ to be a dick you know. My name’s not Seresin.”

An astonished laugh leaves you as he starts to get your other shoe off, a rather proud expression painted on his features. “Oh yeah? So what’s the difference, cowboy?” you hum, watching as he undoes your laces and shifts onto his other knee to toss your still-white Nikes into his locker. 

“Well most notably, they’re leather. But, I reckon you already knew that.” He snickers, carefully taking the back of your calf, guiding your foot into the boot and shuffling it in for you. When your foot finally sinks in, it’s damn comfortable. “The boot has more protection to keep your calves from chafing against the side of the horse, and the heel keeps your foot in the stirrup. And, well - if a hoof ends up misplaced on your toes, they’re better protected.” 

Your eyes widen at the last one and he taps your knee in reassurance as he slides the other shoe on. 

“It’s never happened to me and I’ve been ridin’ for years. Just a precaution, V.” When your feet are secure in the boots, he’s standing upright and taking your hands to guide you onto your feet, like you were a newborn calf learning to walk. “They feel good?”

“I get why you wear boots now,” you admit as your feet shuffle along the dirt floor. They’re hugging your foot comfortably, and barely have any shift to them, keeping them in place. When you look back up at him, he’s grinning ear to ear. 

“Now you’re a right cowgirl.” He’s beaming and you can’t help the reflected smile on your face. With his hand still in yours again, he’s shutting his locker and leading the way out of the barn like structure, out to a gravel path and toward another barn. When he opens the door, you find nearly a dozen horses in their own respective stalls. “Welcome to the stable.”

Bob begins to lead you down, introducing you to each horse, a few of them getting nose and ear scratches from the back seater. It’s not until you’re in front of a stall with a white and brown horse who’s bouncing their head excessively and whinnying at the sight of your coworker. 

“And here’s the man of the hour,” he cheers, pulling his face away as the horse excitedly tries to lick at him. “Easy, Cop, easy.” He chuckles with a greeting pet to the side of the horse’s neck. Bob’s handing you the bag he’s been carrying around. “Open that for me?” 

When you do, you’re greeted by a cinnamon sugar coated pastry, which Bob pulls from the bag still in your hand.

“This is what you’re after, ain’t it buddy?” He holds the donut up in the air, the horse sniffing along, lips moving in an effort to grab the snack in Bob’s hands. He’s teasingly keeping it just out of the poor animal’s reach.

“Bo, stop mocking him,” you admonish with a laugh, leaving Bob to cave and feed the treat to the white and brown spotted animal. As Copper’s teeth bite into the fried dough,  he notices the bag in your hand. You have to reach out with your spare hand to stop his muzzle from entering the bag and stealing another treat. 

“Hey!” you laugh, gingerly pushing his snout from the brown paper. “I don’t think both of these are for you, pal,” you hum, using your knuckles to gently rub his forehead. 

“Unfortunately not,” Bob confirms, before pointing out a tan horse a few stalls down. “That’s Goldrush. The other donut’s for her. We can feed her and then I’ll get her saddled, we’ll get her in the pen, and then we can grab Copper.” 

Bob leads you to Goldrush, and teaches you how to feed her — palm flat, fingers together, thumb tucked against the side of your hand. She’s so calm, happily letting you pet her as Bob starts to layer on tack to get her ready. The brunette is carefully teaching you about each layer: the saddle pad, the saddle, the girth, and bridle. As he moves about the stall, you can see the sweat begin to bead on his forehead. He’s eventually shrugging off his denim jacket, leaving him in a long sleeve linen shirt with countless stains on it. He’s pushing the sleeves up his forearms and getting back to the task at hand. Now your attention has shifted from the tack equipment and all their names, to the way his muscles flex with the tightening of clasps, the sheer strength needed to lift the saddle up and over the horse, the spots of his shirt that have changed color with moisture-

You realize he’s said something, which makes you startle back to attention and look at him with eyes and ears open. 

“Huh?” you prompt, seeing his outreached hand holding the reins. 

“You wanna walk her to the pen?” Hesitantly, you take the leather leeds from his hand and begin to guide the horse from her stall - with Bob’s help. “Look at you, you’re a natural.” He’s clearly teasing you, based off of the smirk on his features, you roll your eyes. 

“Open the gate, Floyd.”

“Yes ma’am.”

It doesn’t take long for Bob to get Copper ready, but once he’s done, the WSO is drenched in sweat, which certainly doesn’t go unnoticed. You’re not sure if he can tell, but there is a burning to your skin that you’re absolutely certain isn’t from the sun. 

Bob recommends that you take a few laps around the enclosure before you head to a trail, just to make sure you’re comfortable, and Goldrush is letting you be her passenger. You’re attempting to navigate the task of mounting up when Bob rushes over, pulling a pair of gloves on. 

“Here, wait.” Soon enough, the WSO’s hands are on your waist. “At the count’a three, jump.” With one foot in the stirrup, you’re nodding at his instructions. As he counts, you bounce your knees, before jumping up, Bob’s arms helping you up as you pull yourself up and over the width of the saddle. 

“Hey! Look at that!” you cheer, looking down at Bob who’s grabbing ahold of the reins in leathered gloves. 

“How’s the weather up there?” he chides as he begins to step with Goldrush along the wooden fence, helping you get used to the motion - you’re holding on to the horn of the saddle as you shift side to side which each step Goldrush takes. 

“Hah hah. You should drop out of the Navy and go on a comedy show,” you taunt with a smile. 

“I know, such wasted potential.” Bob smiles up at you before reaching up to hand the reins over. “You feelin’ okay up there, darlin’?” 

You swear you had an answer. All the way up until darlin’ in that damn drawl flies off his lips. It’s like a Rubrik’s cube was scrambled just as you were about to solve it - and now you’re being timed to get all the colors right. 

“Ugh, yeah, yeah. I’m good.” You hesitantly take the straps from his hands. 

“Glad to hear it. So let’s work on steering.”

With a quick lesson under your belt, Bob is climbing up on Copper’s back and starting to navigate you both from the pen toward a path just off the grounds of the stables. The path is a dirt path that starts up the base of the nearby hill - or was it a mountain? 

Either way it had some elevation to it and both horses breezed over it. There were trees littered along the path, but they gave way to glimpses of the ocean nearby. 

“How often are you on this path?” You’re shouting so Bob can hear you up head on the trail. He turns to look at you from over his shoulder. 

“At least once a week. There’s not many paths near here that are horse accessible, so we’re pretty limited,” he explains and you nod. You’re taking in your surroundings, trying to focus on staying in the saddle, your knuckles gripping the leather of the horn as you continue to climb further up the trail path. 

“How are you so rigid on this thing? I feel like I’m sliding with every step.” Bob glances at you again and kicks his legs out at his sides. 

“Hug the horse with your legs. You should be moving your body with her head. Horses move their entire body when they walk. So you’ve gotta move with them.” He’s faced forward again and you’re watching the way he’s riding, trying to figure out what he means. 

You’re not easily distracted, but there’s something in the way thatBob’s hips seem to bounce with each trot Copper takes that has your head in the clouds. You swear if you knew the way back, you and Goldrush would’ve been running back to the stables, but you don’t, so your skin is hot and you hope Bob’ll just blame it on the heat. 

The two of you mingle in light conversation, taking in sights and listening to Bob’s stories about his grandfather’s ranch. Getting to know him has been a big part of the weekend, and there’s a mental list you’ve been running: 

Tequila and Robert don’t mix

He doesn’t wear pajamas

He’s a cowboy

He drives a truck

The man is ripped

He’s a true gentleman

He has lots of siblings 

You’re certain the list will continue to grow the more you’re around him, and frankly, you’re not too mad about it. 

                                                    ════⋆★⋆════

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@luckyladycreator2 @queengeek487

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[howl-fantasies]

Plot twist everything that happened in the past fic was a nightmare that yn was having will sleeping with victor in their apartment and victor wakes her up and as she wakes up she shoots up sweating and in tears and victor comforts her back to sleep

Hi dear! Ahaha thank you for your request, I was so sad about Y/N's death, your request is the perfect opportunity for me to offer an alternative end to the story😂

Y/N will be in tears at some point. Maybe not as soon as she woke up since she will be in the middle of processing everything, but she WILL, I swear. 😈

Warning: profanities, it's Gotham guys, Victor Zsasz being Victor Zsasz. English mistakes: i'm sorry about it, I'm working on it! 

Word count: 2.064

Part. 1 : Syfall

LITTLE NIGHTMARES

"I love you."

She felt her hand letting go of the phone, and she heard her arm smashing the ground loudly but felt no pain. She didn’t feel anything anymore. She could only listen.

Listen to the distant voice yelling her name from the speaker of her phone. Then, nothing.

Everything went black. She lost the game.

--

A hard slap on the side of her face, then the feeling of freezing water all over her body made her jump out of her skin and let an undignified yell out of her throat.

"Bloody fucking hell!"

Y/N took a painful breath and opened her eyes, closing them immediately when blinding crude lights hurt her eyes. 

As a reflex, she started to trash like a madwoman in hope to blindingly kick some ass while she was searching under her right arm for her gun, it must be in her holster, right?

What was happening?

"Is it how you welcome your rookies here in hell, you fuckers?! I swear I'll exorcise you with my fucking own bare hands you sons of a bitch!"

Profanities, another coping mechanism, if you ask her. But whoever put her in this stupid situation wasn't having it, spraying another shot of freezing water directly on her angry face, cutting her somewhere around “(...)! Suck the barrel of my gun like a big fat cock!”

Perfect, now she was going to die a second time from suffocation. Great. Really great. Purgatory wasn't supposed to be fun, ok she got it, but they could have made a little effort here! Damn Victor was way more imaginative with his torture sessions. What was he waiting to join her et get the job?!

"Sweetness."

Now she was hallucinating. Or were they going to torture her with the voice of her still living lover? Yeah, torture was more like this, it was starting to get better.

"Y/N." Called his tired voice again as the water left her face. She put a shaking hand on it, brushing the liquid away and finally decided to open her eyes again.

White marble. White marble everywhere. And her naked ass currently sat in the black bathtub. Oh. Wait a minute here.

"What the fuck am I doing in the freaking bathtub?!" She asked, still processing everything and starting to feel absolutely ridiculous.

"Well", came Victor's heavy sigh on her right, "I put you here." He said while taking a seat on the white and black chair next to the thub. He looked absolutely exhausted. "Just an hour ago, you started to trash around the bed,”  he explained.

"Then, you suddenly stopped and started to wheeze like a dying old man. Had to call you twice before you served me some nonsense about Gotham being your legacy."

The woman blinked slowly. Oh. So everything was just a dream. A little nightmare made by her sick mind. Ok. Cool. She was still in the game after all. Good. She exhaled loudly, feeling her tensed shoulders slump from relief and letting her back do the same against the cold surface of the thub. "Goodness," she muttered.

Now she was really feeling like an old thing. Too old for all this shit. Everything felt so real, and she remembered it with absolute clarity. The street, the rain, the cold, the pain... her own inner maelstrom of thoughts... Her three last words...

This last piece of memory made her tense all over again, like she was just struck by a train. Did she say more than the "please protect new Gotham, she is my legacy" out loud? Oh please no. It would be terrible.

"Y/N?" Called Victor again. He was concerned. He always was when she  was so lost in her thoughts he had to take drastic measures to bring her back. She always was like this, fortunately not during any of their mission.

But in private... He couldn't remember how many times he had to inflict her pain to ground her and free her from her own complex and sinuous mind. 

If he was honest, he felt sometimes a bit jealous when he saw its capacity to trap his significant other in its twisted depth. Torturing her even better than him, touching her better than he would ever be able to.

Tonight was no exception. It made her a prisoner of one of her own personal  hell. He had jumped out of his own skin when her trashing started, thinking they were under an attack and someone was manhandling her just next to him.

However, it was only one of her many nightmares. He was accustomed to it since they started to live together, they were frequent with Y/N, and him too, they both knew it. He tried to call her, only getting grunts and unintelligible mumbles at first, then catching a few things.

She may have heard him since she directly spoke to him about taking  care of Gotham. Her voice shook him to his core, and as if she definitely wanted to finish him, her last three words tore him apart.

Oh yes, he heard it. Made him freeze like a deer in front of a truck a few meters from it and ready to be strike by it. Four years. Four freaking years, and she never said them. He often wondered how he would react if he ever heard her say it. Terror? Anger? Disbelief? Probably.

Being said while she was awake and in full possession of her manipulative mind, he would have doubt it and make her pay for this low move. But she wasn't. The glorious hitwoman was laying next to him in deep slumber hadn't a clue about the bomb she let out.

No doubt she would have preferred to bite her own tongue and swallow it than confessing genuinely her feelings for him. But she did. And he felt terrified. Terrified, but not angry. In fact and he wanted to smash his head against the border of the fucking thub for it, he felt happy.

But he didn't really have the time to bask in his newfound happiness since her breath suddenly decided to stop, making him panic. No way. No way for her to left him on this cliffhanger. No. Fucking. Way. In. Hell.

So he had grabbed her, lifted her from their shared bed and threw her in the bathtub just before opening the coldest water he could choose and splash it unceremoniously on her sweating naked body. Damn, he even had so to slap her to finally wake her up.

She was still tensed, he observed. Glaring at the wall in front of her like she would be able to make it crumble just with her inner fury. He stayed silent. Breathing slowly. He wouldn't try to call her again. It would be a disaster. She remembered the three words, her face was saying everything he needed to know.

Now she was thinking hard. Probably considering her options. Engagement and relationship, in general, always were an issue with her. Not like he was judging her, here in good old Gotham it still was one of the best ways to be killed. Admitting her love for him, would make her weak. Both of them knew it.

Finally, her head moved in order to face his neutral face, scrutinizing his eyes, posture, every little mimic she knew in order to find the answer to her silent question: did he hear?

She may have found what she was looking for. Her piercing gaze shaking just a bit before her beautiful eyes were slowly drowned in tears. Oh no. God please no. He wasn't good with her tears. Especially when he was the one responsible for it.

Never was, never will. Always felt like the biggest idiot in the room. You know, the one offering a lame glass of water as he would be incapable to find the right words.

That's why he preferred the presence of another person with them in this situation, ideally they would be the one responsible for the crying and he would beat the absolute shit out of them. For that, he was good. But now... now...

"Don't you dare", he breathed in raising panic. See what he was talking about. He was starting to hyperventilate.

His words made her laugh without any joy. "Fucking hell. You definitely heard it."

No, no, no, tears were rolling down her face which she tried to hide in her hands. He had to focus on his breath and wake the logical and practical part of his brain. Time for some facts to stop the sinking.

"Sweetness. Shhh. Shhh. Ok. Look. Not like you yelled it in a megaphone on top of  the Waynes' Tower or something",  he tried, hearing a snort. Good, it was something.

"Would have blown the whole city sky high if it was the case," she muttered. Good, sarcasm. Better than tears. He had to give himself a pat in the back.

"Attagirl, that's the spirit!" He smiled despite the seriousness of their situation. He even grabbed the side of her head to pull her to his lips giving her an encouraging kiss. The goofy moment didn't last, though. And her beautiful smile vanished like ice under the sun.

"Vic?" She called after a moment, earning a gentle "hm?". "If I die from a stupid bullet, take care of the city for me would you? And make sure Oswald and Ed don't kill each other or end killed in a stupid way." She muttered.

Again, he felt ice pierce his heart. Her dream must have really shaken her if she was asking for favors like this. He noted the change of subject, but decided to not point it out, for now.

To occupy himself and escape her sharp eyes, he looked at his right hand now slowly moving in the water of the bath and let a heavy sigh out. "Ok, Y/N."

The hitwoman nodded twice, falling silent again and resuming her glaring at the white wall in front of her. Clearly, the elephant in the room was still here, pretty cosy, probably having the best tea of its life until one of them find the courage to address it.

Victor got his hand out of the water, hanging it in the air for her to take. Fuck the elephant. It can stays in the room, they'll quit it. "Let's go back to bed Sweets," he offered.

She seemed to share his total lack of courage and grab his hand, ready to flee with him like the cowards she knew they were. But it was too much. Too much to talk about at 3 AM a Wednesday night.

She let him lift her from her seated position and dry her body with a fluffy towel in absolute silence. Both smart-asses too afraid to bring by accident the "three words subject." As soon as he finished drying her, Victor grabbed her behind her knees and lifted her again, kissing her forehead and walking back to their bed.

Hitman and hitwoman were now laying on their back, looking at the ceiling like two idiots. Sleep clearly left the room.

"There is a crack." He heard Y/N whisper to nobody. He searched it for a minute before answering. "Yup. Next to the chandelier."

Deafening silence again.

"There is another one, a bit on the left," she added in the same blank voice.

"I love you too."

He could have laugh, in fact he was fucking trying not to. Her whole body had a jolt like she was struck by the thunder.

"FUCKING WHAT?!" She now yelled, turned on her side to be able to see him better. Her eyes seemed ready to pop out.

"I'll call someone to take care of the cracks," he muttered as nothing had happened and biting his tongue just to gulp the hysterical laughter bubbling inside of his throat.

And like the courageous man he was, he closed his eyelids, ready to pretend falling asleep to escape any talk they both knew they weren't ready to have.

A soft 'pof' next to him indicated that she let herself fall face first on her pillow, like the incredibly brave woman she was.

Good. They were both masters at pretending. Just one or two hours like this and everything will be back to normal. Eventually.

Oh god, they definitely were rookies at lying to themselves.

--

A/N - I hope this alternative end was to your liking. I can't picture some pure fluff for those two idiots. But total awkwardness when it comes to feeling... hell yes!

Here is a little bonus, please enjoy Victor’s absolute worthlessness resumed in this meme:

[buttercupsandboys]

Sunshine & Rainbows — an Alfie Solomons x original character story — Chapter 2

18+ NSFW - minors don’t interact 🙅🏻‍♀️

MASTERLIST | READ ON AO3

CHAPTER 2: the unknown variable

Word count: 2261

TW: language typical of Peaky Blinders, mild sexual references

Alfie and Thomas meet for the first time, and Livy can’t keep her mouth shut. Chaos ensues.

“Put him down, mate. He's only little.”

Alfie makes his way towards the front of the bakery and gives his second visitor of the day a once over. He hums under his breath; the gypsy isn’t much bigger than the bird waiting upstairs.

“You on your own?”

“Seems so.”

“Well, you're a brave lad, ain't you?”

Alfie turns without waiting for a reply and heads in the direction of his office. His stride is slow, yet purposeful, the hallmark of a man used to getting what he wants when he wants it.

After a quick stop to sample the bread, they climb the stairs and continue to his office. Alfie opens the door and gives a silent prayer of thanks when he finds Livy sitting demurely in the corner with her hands folded neatly on her lap.

He’s not sure what he was expecting, but something in his gut warns him to proceed with caution. There’s an air of unpredictability about her as if any minute things could descend into fucking chaos.

It’s unsettling because he’s usually the mad fucker—the unknown variable in any equation—and he full well uses it to his advantage. Now he can’t help but feel like the tables are turning and he’s about to fall victim to his own game.

“Who’s this?” Thomas stops in the doorway and looks her over, his eyes lingering far too fucking long in Alfie’s opinion.

“Well, that’s none of your fucking business, innit? So how ‘bout you take a seat or fuck off.”

The two men exchange stares before moving to sit at opposite sides of the desk. Thomas withdraws a cigarette from his jacket pocket, rolling it once across his lips before lighting it. Alfie responds by leaning back in his chair with his hands resting on his stomach, the picture of casual indifference.

Livy watches the stand-off with mirth in her eyes, but keeps a straight face and avoids attracting attention. At least for now.

“Well, I've heard very bad, bad, bad things about you Birmingham people. You're gypsies, right? So what, do you live in a fucking tent or a caravan?”

“I came here to discuss business, Mr Solomons.”

“Right, well!” Alfie claps his hands, the noise echoing across the room. “Rum's for fun and fucking—“

To Alfie’s horror, he’s interrupted by a fucking giggle. Thomas whips his head around, and both men stare as Livy presses her hand to her mouth in a failed attempt at controlling her laughter.

“I’m sorry gentlemen, please ignore me. It’s just that …” she trails off for a moment, nearly regaining her composure, before giving up and breaking into giggles all over again. “It’s just that I really fucking love rum. So what do you think that says about me?”

Christ. Alfie tries to hide his shock at the words spilling from her mouth. He should be annoyed, angry even—because this is business, innit? He waits, almost expectantly, but his infamous temper fails to make an appearance. Instead, the curve of his lips betrays his amusement, and he swears he can hear William laughing in his ear.

“She’s one of a fucking kind mate”.

That cheeky bugger is clearly taunting him from beyond the grave. But there’s work to be done, so he pulls himself together and darts his eyes at Thomas, assessing the situation.

The smaller man gives nothing away, his face expressionless, but Alfie feels certain that he’s thrown by the redhead. She’s a wild card, and in that moment, he decides the best move is to include her in his hand. After all, a madwoman in the company of the Mad Baker can only bolster his reputation.

“Well pet, I’m not sure what it says about you. But considering the contents of those barrels out there—“, he grins and points a thick finger towards the door. “I’d say I’m a lucky fucking man, yeah?”

Then he winks and Livy is practically preening with delight. Thomas, on the other hand, remains stoic, inhaling deeply from his cigarette, so Alfie sighs inwardly and continues to play the game.

“But whiskey, yeah.” He slowly reaches for his drawer, eyes never leaving Thomas as he removes a bottle and two glasses. “That is for business.”

“Let's talk first, eh?”

Alfie considers the man for a moment, running his hand down his chin, before slowly returning the bottle.

“Suit yourself.”

He gives his beard another stroke before suddenly leaning forward and cocking a brow. “They say you had your life saved by a policeman”, he remarks in a conspiratorial tone, with a twinge of poorly concealed disgust in his voice.

Yet again, they’re interrupted by a fit of giggles from across the room, but this time Alfie leans back, folding his arms across his broad chest, and waits patiently.

“You right there, love?”

Feeling encouraged by his attention, Livy decides to leave the sofa. She walks across the room before coming to rest behind Alfie. After placing a small hand on his shoulder, she leans down and whispers loudly, “How do you think he looks in the mirror each morning knowing he owes his life to a fucking pig?”

Yet another string of giggles escape from her cherry red lips, and somehow, she manages to look hopelessly innocent and desperately wicked at the same time.

Alfie makes a mental note to go temple and thank god for whatever the fuck is happening right now. He’s usually good at reading people, but he’s still not sure about her. Is this tiny woman purposely trying to aggravate Thomas fucking Shelby? Or is she truly unafraid to speak her mind, making her a rare creature indeed.

He thinks back to William and his fucking stories and concedes that there must be some element of truth to it all, but just how much remains to be seen.

Either way, there’s just something so fucking precious about the way she carries herself, and it triggers something primal in him. He wants to fucking devour her, protect her, and worship her. He’s never felt like this before but it’s un-fucking-deniable, and it only gets worse every time she opens her beautiful mouth. He’s desperate to get her alone but unfortunately, he has to deal with this fucker first.

As if on cue, Thomas interrupts his thoughts. He gives Livy a piercing look (which makes Alfie want to punch him in the fucking face) before replying, “I have policemen on my payroll.”

“Well, I don't like policemen because policemen, they can't be trusted.”

“Mr Sabini uses policemen all the time. That's why he's winning the war in London and you are losing it.”

“A war ain't over until it's over, mate.” Alfie scoffs. Fucking hell, this lad needs it all spelled out, don’t he? But if it’s a show he wants, it’s a show he’ll fucking get.

“I once carried out my own personal form of stigmata on an Italian.” Alfie moves his large hands theatrically as he continues. “I pushed his face up against the trench and shoved a six-inch nail up his fucking nose, and I hammered it home with a duckboard.”

He pauses to glance at Livy, taking note of the fire in her golden eyes, before returning his attention to Thomas.

“It was fucking biblical, mate. So don't come in here and sit there in my chair and tell me that I'm losing my war to a fucking wop.”

“That war was a long time ago. You need to be more realistic.”

“Realistic, yeah? Realistic?”

“Well, if you weren't losing the war, then you wouldn't have sent me the telegram.”

Fucking hell. This cunt is testing his already limited patience. “Really? You forget your fucking telegram. The telegram just said, "Hello."

Alfie wags his fingers mockingly, and this seems to amuse Livy because she joins in, scrunching her tiny fucking button nose and waving her little fingers with glee.

But then her mood takes a sudden turn. With a slight pout, she turns to Alfie and whines, “This man is such a bore. What on earth does he want?”

Alfie looks at Thomas and barks, “You heard the lady. Get to the fucking point.”

“We join forces.”

“Fuck off. No! Categorical.” Of course, Alfie is a businessman and he’s open to any deal that benefits him (which is why he sent the fucking telegram). But he continues with his mock outrage. “Fucking ridiculous.”

Thomas proceeds to argue his case, blabbering on about percentages and what not. But Alfie’s not paying attention because Livy is running her fingers through his hair, her nails gently massaging his scalp, and he finds it fucking hard to concentrate.

He just manages to pick up on something the other man says about “trust” and “protection”, which reminds him …

“Oi, you're the bloke who shot Billy Kimber, right? You did, you fucking shot him. That's you.” Alfie growls accusingly, “You fucking betrayed him, mate.”

Livy shakes her head disapprovingly and clucks her tongue like a governess scolding her disobedient charge. Alfie snorts at her response, but Thomas ignores them both and continues with his well-rehearsed speech.

“I can offer you a hundred good men. All with weapons. And a new relationship with the police.”

Alfie slides his hand along Livy’s hip, his fingers lightly skimming the deep green silk, before casually reaching around her ample bottom to retrieve his gun from inside the desk.

“Intelligence”, he murmurs, “Intelligence is a very valuable thing, innit, my friend? And usually it comes far too fucking late.”

After sharing that delightful pearl of wisdom, Alfie raises his arm and calmly points the gun at Thomas, aiming directly between his pale blue eyes.

Livy, to her credit, seems completely unfazed by the weapon and the implied threat of violence accompanying it. So Alfie decides to drag out the theatrics a bit longer.

“Let's say that I shot you already, right, in the fucking face. And the bullet goes bone, mush, bone, cabinet over there.” Alfie waves the gun vaguely in the direction of the opposite wall. “Which is a shame, innit, 'cause that cabinet's fucked now and I got to get rid of it.”

“Oh Alfie, that would be a shame, darling. What a lovely cabinet.” Livy shakes her head, a forlorn look on her face like her favourite cat has just fucking died.

“It is, love, a right shame,” Alfie mutters consolingly before turning his attention back to Thomas.

“So, what I'd do is this… It's fucking simple, mate. I cut that cabinet in half, don't I? And I take one half of the cabinet and I put it into a barrel, and I take the other half of the cabinet and all its pieces and I put that into another barrel, right?”

Livy is so close now that she’s practically on his lap, hanging onto every word spilling from his dumb fucking mouth. He’s just talking shite now, but for some bizarre reason, she seems to be enjoying herself—and who is he is to deny a beautiful woman? (And if he can fuck with Thomas Shelby while doing it, well, that’s just the cherry on top, innit?)

“So I send this barrel off to Mandalay. And the other barrel off to somewhere like... I don't know… Timbuktu. You ever been?”

“No,” deadpans Thomas.

“No? Would you like to go?”

Livy interrupts before Thomas can respond. “Oh YES, darling! This world is far too wonderful to stay in one place, don’t you think? I hear they have camels, which are like horses with giant humps! Can you even imagine? Although I wouldn’t like to travel in a barrel, thank you very much.”

And with that, Alfie fucking loses it. He puts down the gun and gives into temptation, wrapping his arm around her waist and pulling her the last few inches onto his lap. He’s still utterly and totally mystified by her—she might be genuinely fucking insane—but he’s not afraid to find out.

He just needs to get Thomas fucking Shelby out of his office because he’s had enough of this cunt to last a lifetime.

“Alright, mate. You caught me in a fucking agreeable mood. Tell us your plan.”

— • — • —

A deal is done in record fucking time, neither man keen to spend longer in the other’s company than absolutely necessary.

But now business is the last thing on Alfie’s mind, as the door slams shut and they’re finally alone.

He glances down at Livy, who is still perched invitingly on his lap. She fingers the well-worn fabric of his white cotton shirt before nervously pulling her bottom lip between her teeth, showing the first signs of insecurity since arriving on his doorstep.

Her thighs are mere fucking inches from his aching cock, and he can’t remember ever needing a woman so desperately. Every fibre of his being is begging him to pull her closer—but then he remembers what brought her here in the first fucking place.

She’s here because she needs help, you fucking bastard.

This bright, beautiful woman comes to him in her time of need, and he puts her in a room with two of Britain’s most dangerous men.

Alfie drags a rough hand down his face before slipping an arm under her knees, lifting her from his lap. He places her down gently on the edge of his desk, before settling in his chair, pushing back until she’s just out of reach.

“Alright pet, that was quite a show. I can see you’re a big girl, yeah? But I think it’s ‘bout time for a chat, love, don’t you think?”

A/N This chapter is clearly a reimagining of the scene where Alife and Thomas meet in season 2, episode 2 of Peaky Blinders. After this, most of the story will be non-cannon and I won’t be recycling so much of the original script.

[thewertsearch]

Your mother then purchased a fresh pack of W's and left them there for your convenience. Appreciative of the thoughtful gesture, you left her a sincere THANK YOU NOTE, which you had legally notarized, and then marked with a drop of blood.

This hundred-dollar one-upmanship game? I have no doubt in my mind that some rich people IRL just do this. For fun.

Finally, Mom gets her intro. Looks like we haven’t unlocked her character yet, but the silhouette is unmistakably your classic 50s housewife. Just look at that beehive!

And of all things to be doing during a power outage. She's up to her IRONIC HOUSEWIFE routine again. That mop bucket doesn't even have any water in it! What an absolute madwoman.

OK, line in the sand. if we see that bucket and it's actually empty, then I'll put my chips in the 'Mom really is trolling Rose' basket.

GG: hi dave!! TG: hey sup GG: not much sup with you!! GG: bro! hehehe TG: haha TG: good one TG: s'alright being chill i guess you know how it goes GG: great! feeling cool today? GG: mr cool guy? TG: oh man you know it GG: sooooo cooooooool!!!

GG is either a true master of irony, or the most sincere of the friend group. Either way, the more we hear from them, the more I like them.

GG: he will not open it GG: he will lose it!!! TG: oh TG: uh TG: wow sorry to hear that i guess? GG: no its good actually! GG: because he will find it again later when he really needs it GG: which of course is why i sent it in the first place!

...

...hang on, what?

TG: see like TG: i never get how you know these things GG: i dont know GG: i just know that i know!

What?

My mental model of GG was that they were the ‘normal’ kid of the group. No Sburb knowledge, no Skaianet secrets, just reacting to things as anyone would. And now we’re learning they’re some sort of oracle. They’re better with the occult than Rose is, without even trying. 

Dave is saying this is a recurring thing, GG knowing things they shouldn't - and according to GG, it's not really something they’re doing consciously. Could this be their predetermined ‘role’ in the game, as the party seer? 

Maybe their browser isn’t a god at all. Maybe it’s Cassandra.

GG: i have to feed bec which is always a bit of an undertaking TG: man TG: if i were you i would just take that fucking devilbeast out behind the woodshed and blow its head off GG: heheheh! GG: i dont think i could if i tried!!!

Bec? The one who told you to avoid the meteor? 

Or OK, looking back, there’s nothing there about Bec speaking. He 'seemed to think it was dangerous', which in retrospect, sounds like more of a vibe GG was getting from an animal. Some sort of ‘devilbeast’ which may or may not be immune to bullets.

...GG is the weirdest of these four, aren’t they?

TG: say hi to your grand dad for me too ok GG: ._. GG: yes i guess an encounter with him is almost certain GG: it is usually........ GG: intense!!! TG: well yeah isnt it always with family

Considering that in the Homestuck universe, seeing your parents comes with an anime intro, a mysterious silhouette, and barely stops short of pasting some ‘menacing’ kanji onto the screen... yeah, it kind of is.

[singlecelledthot]

Hi! If you're still taking requests, how about a part 2 to your Fujin fic? I'm more than a little obsessed with it!!

I cannot even begin to tell you how excited I was to get this request, Insufferable was just a little fluff piece I did to show people I could write, that you love it enough to want more just---makes a goblin feel loved 💕💕💕

Insufferable pt. 2

Piaring: Fujin x Fem!Reader

Warnings: Fluff, romantic tension, kissing

Tags: @icy-spicy @subarublue @lilliannmac @weirdlittlecorner @bihansthot @dinogoofy @onesillybeach @the-colonialtemplars

“Would you like to take a moment to catch your breath?” You practically growled at Fujin as he shifted out of your grasp, sliding easily along the grass as if he were on ice. You clawed your fingers and spun quickly, aiming to hit him with the Fu Jow Pai you’d been practicing. It was perfectly suited for combat against the likes of Fujin, who specialized in being unpredictable for fun. The Wind God had invited himself to your personal training, much as he always did--you wouldn’t change this habit of his for the world but when he got involved the desire to plant a punch on his stupidly handsome face was nearly all consuming. You missed of course, as the god danced and spun around your harsh strikes, clearly amused at your mounting frustration.

As you darted for him, swiping your ‘claws’ like a madwoman, Fujin tucked his arms behind him and merely twisted and danced away from you, completely open to a strike but out of your reach. The difference in skill between the two of you was obvious, and he teased recklessly, his face still curled into a gentle grin that made your little heart thud faster. Why did he have to be so pretty? Why did he have to know it?

Insufferable.

You took a dive trying to get your strike to connect to his chest and pitched forward as you missed, your feet left you and your body tumbled towards the ground so quickly you only had time to close your eyes. Fujin was faster though, his hand struck out to wrap around the one you had led with, dragging you easily away from the ground and your trajectory until you were being held off the ground by your wrist. When the world stopped moving, you blinked open your eyes and twisted around to look at Fujin, who seemed rather confused. “H-hey, Fujin?” He blinked and looked up at you, clearly having been staring into the foreground between you instead of at you. "Hm?"

“You’re uuhh, Fujin you can put me down?” Suddenly, confusion morphed to smugness and you had three seconds to widen your eyes and try to squeal at him to stop before he grabbed your other hand and hoisted you up into the air by both of them. His feet still firmly planted on the ground while your own were several inches above it. It was moments like these that you were reminded of just how large gods were compared to people. Namely, Fujin being two feet taller than you, an already short person. “Fujin, stop! Don’t you dare!” You screamed as a gust of wind blew your robes upwards, your hair whipping around your face and it almost seemed like he was--no he wouldn’t dare!

“DON’T YOU TICKLE ME!”

It was too late, his game was up so he doubled down and sent small fingers of wind up under your clothes to your belly, ankles, neck--anywhere he knew to be ticklish. He didn’t think much about what he was doing other than that he loved to hear you laugh. These past months at the Sky Temple with you had been otherworldly. Fujin had never expected to find such comfort and joy in your company--even when you got quiet and he could feel a shift in the space between you both--you found companionship even in silence to be easy. It was downright disruptive when you both were together, you're sharp wit against his cunning, your fiery passion for knowledge and---hells he could still feel your hand on his chest from those months ago when you’d both gotten close over a talk about existentialism. Too close.

“Fujin?”

His laughter and smile had died down, leaving you breathless but confused as the wind that tickled your skin disappeared as well. He held you suspended by both your small hands in one of his, everytime you wiggled your hip or knee would bump his side. He had felt your breath on the shell of his ear as you squirmed particularl close, and now he stared at your flushed features with a sort of seriousness you did not know the Wind God to possess.

When you’d called his name he blinked back into the present, almost startled that his mind had drifted so far. You laughed, letting your head fall back between your arms to get a better look at him. “Fujin, you can put me down now. I promise not to retaliate.” His eyes soften but his smile did not return, instead when he set you on your feet he placed you impossibly close to him. Your hip settled between his thighs, and you could do nothing to hide the warmth in your cheeks, nor the stuttering whisper of his name as you peered up at the thoughtful trickster. His hand brought yours down to his chest, where he placed both your palms flat down over his heartbeat, you struggled to maintain eye contact and soon you found yourself staring at where he had your hands trapped. Anywhere but into that penetrating gaze.

Fujin hummed your name down to you to draw your attention back to him, and when you did you were so floored by the look of intense interest he wore, it was as if your entire body was pinned to that spot. Before you could duck your head down again to shy away, he released your hands to dart up and cup your chin gently between his fingers, his skin was slightly cool as it caressed yours. “I—“

“‘You are very warm.”

“Fujin, please I can’t….”

“You can’t, what? Tell me.” His voice was so gentle it nearly broke your heart. You swallowed to catch your breath, still hopelessly distracted by his solid body wrapped snugly against you. “We shouldn’t…can’t do this.” The smile returned for a second as he caught onto your game, too clever to miss how while it seemed you were trying to convince him, in truth you were trying to convince yourself. Everytime you thought of how the consequences for this shift between you would be too great, he would inhale deeply and you could feel his muscles move under your palms and he was—- he was just so lovely. Your eyes fluttered as his gaze became too much for you and you had to duck your head down to simply survive his proximity. His fingers wouldn’t let you, he tilted you back to look at him, only then did you notice him leaning in.

“Fujin, please-“ What were you even begging for? It wasn’t for him to stop, as warmth and trepidation and giddiness all welled inside you to create an ambient sense of pleasure that rocked through you like a storm. He pulled you close, eyes downcast to your mouth, his clear intention. “We shouldn’t....” His mouth connected with the corner of your own, soft and almost chaste if it weren’t for the way his body pressed into yours. “I know.” He laughed, closing the space between you without hesitation. Your heart soared as he pressed his mouth to yours, seeking to deepen the connection of your lips on his. You could have sobbed for all that, that simple kiss held within it. He knew of your concerns, they mirrored his own and yet for you he could not deny himself. Nor you.

Fujin let go of your other hand to wrap both broad arms around your shoulders and press you up into him. He was calm, but insistent as he kissed your breath away, never pressing too hard for you to let him in but greedily allowing you to take your own pleasure from his tongue. His moment of boldness spurned on your own burgeoning desires and your passion washed over him like wildfire. You were raw heat, melting into his arms and fitting so perfectly against his body, he could not let you convince him to not pursue this, when your vigor for him erupted with the littlest provocation. Your hands had even found their way into his hair, where you tangled your fingers into it and pulled the strands out of place in your haste to kiss him.

The want for him was telling, he could feel your soul ache for his touch. As it had all those months ago when he’d caught you by the elbow. Fujin knew that things were spiraling and the perhaps he had better—

“Lord Fujin!”

The bounding voice of Bo Rai Cho pinged off of the cobblestones and flattened walking paths that led to the two of you. You both detached quickly, luckily there was a bend in the path and Bo Rai Cho had rounded it just as you had disconnected. The loss of Fujin made your heart ache, his own tense expression spoke of his desire to simply pull you to him again. But he turned instead to greet his friend, knowing he’d had best push through this burning desire for you if he wanted Bo Rai Cho to remain oblivious.

“Lord Raiden is summoning all of us to the inner sanctum, he has had another vision—Lord Fujin?” The god in question had turned around to look over his shoulder only to find you gone. Loneliness swept through him and he nearly exclaimed from the deep gutted need for you to be in his arms again. Instead he apologized to his friend and asked to be led to where Raiden was gathering the others. He would find you after this, he needed to. It was impossible now for him to stay away.

[the-widow-sisters]

It’s Got a Lot of Pockets

Summary: Natasha has finally managed to find a place to stay for the night after she escaped Ross. Now that she has a chance to relax, she decides to take a closer look at her baby sister's prized vest. Surprisingly, in its famed pockets, she finds something that makes her positively ache to see her baby sister again.

Word Count: 2456

A/N: This was just kind of a quick, short idea that I've had in my head for a while now, and I just had to write it out 😂💖 Of course, I'll take any excuse to do an emotional analyzation of a character 🤣

Also, I'm going to try to update my current multi-chapter "The Road Trip of a Lifetime" as soon as I can 💕 The thing is that I have the fic already all planned out with an outline and everything (I know, it's like you guys don't even know me anymore, heck, I barely know myself when I'm actually following an outline 😂🤣) but I'm just having trouble with inspiration. Might be because I've done something like this for a previous fandom, but it might also be that I worked like a madwoman and way too fast and much on my other multi-chapter "Safe and Sound" that I wrote recently 😅 Idk, but I'm going to take some time to play this Avengers video game I have, and hopefully that'll spark the inspiration 🥰

I hope y'all enjoy this one! 😊

  Natasha opened the door to the motel room she had gotten, letting out a deep breath as she stepped in tiredly. Her footsteps were soundless, largely out of habit, and she quickly swept the room for any potential cameras. Once she was satisfied with what she had found, she let out a deep breath before sitting down heavily on the bed and dropping her bag next to it.

  After she had given Ross the slip, she had been on the run as fast and hard as she could go, desperately attempting to sneak back to her Norway hideout so that she could have some time to collect herself before she headed out to go save the Avengers. At this point, she was positively exhausted, and she felt almost as if she could just pass out there on the spot.

  Everything was sore. Her back, her head, her feet.

  But what hurt the most was her heart.

  She had not wanted to leave Yelena like she had. However, at the same time, she had not wanted Yelena to be associated with her and all of the mess with the Avengers. She wanted to give Yelena an opportunity at some manner of life outside of her own. One that could allow Yelena to go on and actually be someone instead of being trapped in Natasha’s current nightmare.

  Which brought her to her current dilemma. Some part of her was happy that she had managed to have time with her sister and take down the Red Room, but another part of her was worried that Yelena may not have felt the same entirely in regard to her feelings about spending time together. A darker part of Natasha, the part that was there because she had rarely experienced any different even from the Avengers, was afraid that Yelena might just never want to see her again since she had her use of her.

  Even the Avengers had left her alone at some points. When they were facing Ultron and she had been dragged back to Ultron’s hideout, a part deep within her had been terrified out of her mind. She had heard them in her comms. She knew that Clint had wanted to come for her, but Steve had told him to keep driving. Despite the fact that she understood why Steve had told him to do that, it still hurt just a little.

  But regardless of all that and all of those insecurities about Yelena and the Avengers, she found herself extremely thankful that Yelena had given her the vest.

  At the thought of the piece of clothing, Natasha looked down at it, fiddling with the collar at the top where it was laying around her neck. In spite of her better judgement and despite the fact that she felt ashamed of doing it in the first place, she raised the collar to her nose, taking in a deep breath.

  Natasha nuzzled it gently with her nose, taking in the feel of the fabric and wishing more than anything that it was her sister there against her instead. At that thought, she drew back just a little, slightly bewildered at herself for her sudden intrusive thought. She did not even know if Yelena wanted to see her again, much less actually be this close to her.

  However, she did once again drop her nose to the vest to take a halfhearted, shameful sniff. She could still smell that scent associated with her baby sister that she had managed to get small whiffs of as she had spent time with her during their time together while working together to take down the Red Room. She wanted more than anything to get a breath of the real thing.

  Natasha let out a deep breath, resigning herself to the fact that she was definitely not going to get that real thing tonight. She tiredly reached down and unzipped the vest, slowly taking it off of her as she reveled in the pain resonating through her back. Once she finally got it in her hands, she looked at it carefully, unable to resist smiling just a little as she took in the sight of the thing.

  Somehow or another, Yelena had managed to save her yet again. First, when they were young, Yelena saved her humanity, and now she had saved her from an arrest. The second paled in comparison to the first, but it was nevertheless baffling to Natasha to think of the many times that Yelena had rescued her in different ways.

  Natasha ran her hands over the vest softly. As she ran over one of the many pockets, she quickly realized that it had something inside. She furrowed her brow, looking carefully as she unzipped it. She ran her fingers down in the pocket, locking around an item as she withdrew it.

  She swiftly realized it was bubblegum. She huffed just a little with amusement, looking at the package and realizing that Yelena must have gotten it during her time in Budapest given the language written on the packaging. She ran her hands over more of the vest, suddenly feeling a little curious about what else that the blonde could have left behind in it.

  To her surprise, she suddenly felt a large protruding object in one of the pockets. It was not particularly big, but it was a little too big for the pocket that it had been stuffed into, and Natasha wasted no time reaching inside the pocket.

  There she found a small notebook. Natasha tilted her head as she withdrew it to look at it, holding it in her hands gently. It looked almost like a journal, and while Natasha did not want to pry into anything that Yelena did not want her to, she was undeniably extremely curious.

  As she took some time to consider it, she quickly realized that it was likely not an accident that the thing was in the vest. Natasha had noticed Yelena stuffing her own half of the photobooth pictures into her bra at one point, which meant that she chose to leave this little book behind.

  Natasha almost wondered if Yelena had intended on her finding it. Natasha carefully opened it, swiftly taking in scrawly handwriting that was obviously not too well-practiced. Natasha brought it a little closer to her eyes as she read it wordlessly.

 Natasha,

I just came out of the mind control about seven hours ago. Everything feels like it’s too much. My head hurts, and I can hardly think straight enough to write this in this notebook. I feel stupid for even writing this now. You’re never going to see this. And why would you care anyway? You probably don’t even know I exist while you’re off living your life.

But here I am still writing. I don’t know, I thought it was a good idea because most people have journals. Or I think they do. Maybe you even have one.

                                                                                            Yelena

    Natasha swallowed hard, looking over the page as she took in what was so obviously her sister’s handwriting. She ran the fingertips of her index and middle fingers over the notebook page, and she let out a shaking breath as she flipped the page hesitantly, waiting to see what was next in Yelena’s journal.

 Natasha,

           The headaches have become less frequent and aren’t as bad as they were. And I’ve caught up with your adventures in America. You seriously have a thing for posing. It’s disgusting. Unfortunately, it does look cool. It just looks very staged.

           And you must have a real thing for making your employers mad. First, you try to blow Dreykov up, and then you destroy SHIELD. You must really have something against authority. Honestly, as much as I hate to admit it, that’s pretty cool, too.

           And now I’ve disgusted myself.

                                                                                              Yelena

    Natasha could not help her slight laugh at Yelena’s sass even on paper. It was so typically her, and it made her so ridiculously happy to just be reading it in Yelena’s voice. Natasha shifted her eyes to the next page, starting to read once again.

 Natasha,

           You have so many friends. And a life. A real, actual life that’s so perfect in every way. I wonder if you even think of that life in Ohio anymore. If you think about me anymore. Or do you even remember me?

           I feel so stupid writing this like it’s a letter. I know journals aren’t set up like this, and it’s stupid. But I guess some small, dumb part of me is hoping that I could tell you these things. Have my real sister to share all these thoughts with.

           But things like that don’t happen for people like us. Unless they’re you. And you somehow made it. Lucky, I guess.

                                                                                               Yelena

    Natasha let out a deep breath, pain resonating deep within her as she thought of her baby sister and wished she could tell her everything right now. Tell her that she thought of her all the time. Every day, she would think of her at least once. Sometimes it was something as simple as seeing macaroni and cheese and remembering her silly smile, and sometimes it was as deep as thinking of how the Yelena that she knew from Ohio would have probably been scared of Hulk.

 Natasha,

           I managed to fool this dumb man into let me stay in one of your old hideouts in Budapest. Dreykov never found it, but it was always rumored to be in this part of the city. At first, I didn’t know it was yours, but when I got in and performed a routine check, it didn’t take long to find your stuff. Seriously, you should do better at hiding your things.

           Also, the bullet holes in the walls confuse me, and I’m not sure what they’re from. I know you must know, and I would really love to ask you. So many stupid things I would like to ask you, and you probably don’t even care.

And there’s another problem. I didn’t mention this earlier, but I have the remaining antidotes to save so many other widows. That itself is not a problem. The problem is that I have no idea how to start or how to do anything about it.

That was stupid of me to say. “I didn’t mention this earlier.” I look stupid. I’m not talking to anyone. Even though I wish I was.

                                                                                           Yelena

    Natasha softly brushed her thumb over the crossed-out words. It hurt her to see Yelena’s confusion and the struggles she was facing all alone. It made her wish she was talking to her now. At least then she might could at least attempt to resolve a few of these problems that Yelena seemed to be going through.

 Natasha,

It’s a bad decision, but when the dumb man came and said that he was here to take the things that belonged to the previous owner, I knew it was you and I had to. You’re the only hope I have to save these widows. The only connection to people that can help synthesize more antidotes. So I managed to drop the antidote’s container in the box of your things. I also left my half of our pictures attached to the antidotes.

I honestly don’t know why I did that. It’s not like you’re going to care it’s me. But I guess some part of me wanted to remind you. To see if you still remember or care. I don’t know. It’s stupid.

I guess now all that’s left to do is wait and see if you turn up.

                                                                                            Yelena

    Natasha felt her stomach sinking, everything in her wishing that she could hug Yelena or do something to take away the pain that she could feel radiating from this page in particular. She wanted to assure the girl that it was all alright and that she had always loved Yelena. She was not good with emotions, and while she did not know if Yelena wanted the exact same level of sisterhood that she did, she did at least know that Yelena cared at this point.

  Natasha turned the page, and to her shock, she quickly realized that she had reached what seemed to be the last entry in the journal. She took in a deep breath, wondering what would be written.

 Natasha,

           No matter how much you try to act like you don’t, I know you care. I don’t know how far that care goes, but I know you do, and that’s good enough for me. Now that we’re here together, it feels like a lot more things are clear and at the same time unclear.

           You are so frustrating and confusing. You care but at the same time you don’t. You’re so cold, but you’re so warm also. And I feel like I know you, but I don’t know this version of you. Not really.

But I want to get to know this version of you. I do. And I just hope you feel the same. Maybe after taking down the Red Room, we can talk and get to know each other again. Maybe that’s something you want, too.

Look at this stupid journal… If you ever end up actually reading these letters, I hope you spare me and don’t make me talk about this. It would be the most embarrassing thing I’ve ever had to face.

But the insane part is I want you to read them. I want you to read them and to think of me again. I wouldn’t feel so alone in the world if I knew you were thinking of me. I hope you know I think of you. Because I do. A lot.

                                                                                               Yelena

    Natasha furrowed her brow as she realized that a droplet of fresh moisture had landed on the page. As two more fell upon the paper, she reached up and touched her face softly. She quickly realized that she was crying.

  Natasha let out a deep breath, trying to pull herself together. She checked the book for any more filled entries, and as she took in the fact that there were none left, she softly shut it. She sniffed hard, wiping at her eyes as she stood up from the bed. She quietly moved over to the motel window, looking out of it as she tried to collect herself.

  At that moment, she silently resolved to herself two things.

  She would obey Yelena’s wishes and never bring the book up again.

  However, she was also going to make a point at some point in their lives, when Natasha was perhaps a little braver, to tell Yelena how much she meant to her.

  One day.

[irrelevantwriter]

Problem With You

Pairing: Rio (Good Girls) x Female Reader/You

Rating: Explicit, NSFW

Warnings: Language, unprotected vaginal sex, mention of bodily fluids, banter as foreplay, mental warfare, Rio being jealous...and admitting it (toxicity at its finest)

Word Count: 3.3K

Summary: Part 2. You decide you aren't going to let Rio affect you. Good luck with that. 

A/N: You guys do not even understand how much I appreciate the love and support I’ve gotten for my Rio fic! Really, truly. Ya’ll know how to make a girl feel special and because of that, I wrote like a madwoman. Seriously. @likedovesinthewnd​ can attest to that fact lol. So here we have a part two for House Call. If you haven’t read that, I highly recommend you do. Only because I added some plot this time around. Ya girl is riding this Rio wave as far as it’ll take me, so strap in because a bitch is plottin’. I hope you guys like it. Feedback is that good shit. 💗

*Read Part 3 here

*Give and Take series masterlist

*Masterlist in bio.

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

You laughed to hide the expression of boredom you wore as you walked up the driveway to your house. Luke, your date, hovered behind you, an obvious look of hope in his green eyes.

It wasn’t happening.

“I had a really great time tonight.” He said with a sheepish smile, his boyish grin doing nothing for you.

“It was fun.” You lied, taking a step back to make your getaway.

Luke matched your movement as he started to lean in close, his intention clear. And unwanted.

“Hey, mama…”

The voice made you jump, forcing your date to move back and out of your space. You turned to your right to see Rio leaning against your parked car, legs crossed at the ankle and hands stuffed deep into the pockets of a black jacket. He was ominous looking. Mysterious, with that hint of danger that seemed to follow him everywhere. His dark eyes were trained solely on you, ignoring the other man just feet away.

“You know this guy?” Luke asked with an amateur bravado that made you want to cringe.

The men couldn’t have been more different. You knew of Luke from little league soccer. He was the father to one of the boy’s on your son’s team. He’d been divorced for a few years and had made his interest in you known once you and Paul had split. And after your rendezvous with Rio nearly two months ago, you were itching for something...anything that made you feel half as alive as you had that day.

It was not going well.

“Family friend.” You replied, gaze still captivated by the man in black.

Rio chuckled at your answer, but didn’t say anything to refute it.

“Are you-,” Luke started, addressing you with a concerned lilt to his voice.

“I’ll talk to you later. I’ve got some stuff to deal with.” You cut him off, leaving no room for argument.

Thankfully, he took the hint and nodded, pulling his car keys from his pocket. “I’ll call you.”

“Okay.” You said simply, desperately wanting him to leave you and Rio alone. The situation was beyond awkward for you. It was uncomfortable to have Rio present to view something so personal. And you could tell he was sizing Luke up, the smirk on his face saying exactly what he thought about your date for the evening.

Luke gave you and Rio one last wary glance before he was walking down your drive and to his parked car. You waited until he’d driven away before you faced Rio full on, eyebrow quirked up in annoyance.

“What’re you doing here?”

He didn’t answer you.

Instead, he straightened and began to walk in your direction, eyes appraising you and your dress. You stiffened your spine, unwilling to let him see you so flustered. That game was getting old. He would pounce on your nervousness, manipulate it to his advantage. You weren’t going to let that happen again.

In the weeks since you and Rio had slept together, he’d made his attraction for you obvious. The drop-offs were now moments for him to flirt, attempting to keep you in an anxiety-riddled state for his enjoyment. He liked to see you affected by his presence. You didn’t.

You’d regretted sleeping with him the moment it happened. You didn’t want to be involved in that aspect of his life when you were so entrenched in his business operations. It wasn’t a good look. And chances were, Rio wasn’t the type to take on a divorced mother of two from the suburbs. He led a very different life from yours. He was looking for someone to fill his needs in the moment. Nothing more, nothing less. But that’s not what you wanted. Least that’s what you told yourself.

At this point it was more about self preservation than anything else. And with Rio, your need to protect yourself was on high alert at all times. Be it your life or your dignity.

“Who was the guy?” He finally asked, his strides bringing him close enough for you to smell his cologne.

“Friend.”

“PTA or little league?” He taunted with a knowing smile.

You hated that you were that predictable. That he could read you so easily.

“Does it matter?” You snidely retorted, tightening your grasp around the black clutch gripped in your right hand.

“Nah, it doesn’t.” He replied smoothly, licking his lips...lips that you’d tasted...lips that you wanted to taste again. “We gotta talk.” He continued, face growing serious.

The shift in mood made dread knot your stomach. You swallowed thickly, eyes darting to the darkened houses and empty streets in your neighborhood.

“Inside.” You gestured behind you and turned away, leading him to your front door. You walked the steps up to your porch, not hearing him follow at first. You knew what the reason was. You’d worn a fairly modest black dress on your date with Luke. The garment hugged your figure with a high neck and long sleeves, the length stopping at your knees. The eye-catching feature of the dress was the back...or lack of. It was backless and it’d apparently gotten the attention of more than just your date tonight.

You struggled with your keys in the lock, feeling his gaze burn hot across your naked back. You shivered and sucked in a breath when you felt a delicate brush of a finger dance along your spine, his body heat now crowding you. His breath was warm against your neck, the suddenness of his actions making your head spin.

“S’cold out here. You’re shaking.” He rasped into your ear, finger still trailing in a sensual pattern against your flesh.

“It’s not the cold.” You said flatly, finally pushing open the door. You left him on the porch as you walked into the dimly lit house, setting your purse and keys on the bench in the foyer. You went straight to the kitchen, flicking on a light. The soft clicking of the door let you know he’d made his way inside after you.

You pulled two glass tumblers from the cabinet and then grabbed a bottle of whiskey that Paul had left behind. You poured the amber liquid into each glass, your mouth already preparing for the intense burn that would come with swallowing it down. You were in need of the liquid courage though.

“How’d you know my kids wouldn’t be here? You have my custody agreement memorized or something?” You asked as you sipped at the liquor, sliding the other glass towards Rio from across the kitchen island. The exact island he’d fucked you on weeks before.

You didn’t bother trying to hide your aggravation towards him. Ever since that day in your kitchen, he’d been difficult to ignore. He was a constant in your thoughts. Your dreams had only gotten more explicit, more intimate. It was irritating. You hadn’t felt right since. And it was all his fault.

“Something like that.” He said, eyeing the glass on the counter. He studied you for a long moment, as he was prone to do. He watched you gulp down the entirety of its contents, his mouth turned up in mirth.

“What’d you need to talk to me about?” You questioned, trying not to wince at the bitter taste that now sat on your tongue. The whiskey was already heating up your insides, coating them in a fine layer of confidence and nonchalance.

“How’d your date go?” He threw back, dodging your question as he finally picked up the glass and swirled its contents.

“Why?”

“I wanna know.”

He tossed the drink back in one go, his inked Adam’s apple bobbing with the motion. It was a surprisingly erotic sight.

“You really wanna know about my date?” You asked incredulously, eyebrow once again raised at him in question.

“I don’t ask questions I don’t wanna know the answer to, darling. You know that.” He retorted with a testiness that made you momentarily retreat.

“It was fine.” You supplied with a shrug of your shoulders, unsure of what he was looking for. The date had actually been a disaster, but you weren’t going to divulge that to him.

He laughed. A real laugh with his head thrown back and chest vibrating.

It pissed you off.

“What the hell is your problem?” You gritted out between clenched teeth, the alcohol now rushing through your veins and fueling your rising anger.

Rio went silent. He straightened to his full height and edged past the island to stand in front of you. His face gave away nothing. No smirk. No narrowed eyes. No false sense of security with a charming smile. Nothing.

“Who says I got a problem?” He finally said, leaning into your face and making you lock eyes with his own.

Your gut reaction told you to look away, but you fought against it. Instead choosing to meet his intensity head on.

“You seem awfully interested in my personal life. If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you were jealous.” You taunted, fully expecting another round of laughter from him.

You should’ve known by now that Rio never did anything you expected. That’s what made him Rio.

“And if I was?” He challenged, not backing down from your accusations. He shifted closer, forcing you to lean back. “If I said I’d kill him for touching what’s mine. What would you do? Hmm?” He continued, eyes roaming your body as he spoke. His voice grew thicker, the desire now suddenly apparent and washing over you like molasses.

“You wouldn’t.” You whispered, feeling the ghost of his hands along your hips. The barely there touch made your body come alive with familiarity, the memory settling right between your thighs.

“I don’t make threats I don’t plan on acting on, baby. You know that.” He teased, throwing his own words back at you.

“I’m not yours.” You shook your head, tightening your hands into fists to keep them at your sides.

He laughed, though the sound held no real humor. “Yeah, you are.” He said with a nod, hand reaching around to drag along your back, making your eyes fall shut.

His touch felt so good. Intoxicating. Like your body knew who it’d been waiting for this entire time. You’d been a fool to think you could replace the feeling.

“What do you want?” You asked, exhaustion lacing your words. You felt like you asked him that same question every moment you were together. You knew the answer this time though. You were just hoping you were wrong.

“You.” He whispered, finger now caressing your cheek and pushing waywards strands of hair off your face.

You’d been expecting the response, but it still jolted you. Still made you fraught with worry and unease. You lashed out, pushing his hand away and putting distance between your bodies.

“You want me to quit my job. Leave my kids. To do what with you? Run away to wash money and run drugs?”

“Yeah.”

You studied his face for several silent seconds, searching for any traces of humor. There were none. He was serious. Unflinchingly honest in his desire to have you.  

“Well, that’s not gonna happen. So you should probably go.”

You brushed off his words and moved past him and towards the entryway, ready to see him out. You didn’t get far. You made it to the other side of the island before a hand reached out for you and slammed you back against a firm chest. You gasped, unable to pull away as another hand attached to your other arm. They held you by your elbows, forcing your backside to press dangerously close to his front.

He’d moved quickly and without warning, nearly knocking you off your heels. You were both breathing heavy, both from the movement and the lust that threatened to spill over and bleed out all across your hardwood floors.

“You’re stubborn as shit.” Rio breathed into your ear, his grip tightening around your arms and forcing you to still.

“I’m smart.” You retorted, feeling yourself start to loosen in his hold. His chest was pressed tightly to your bare back, his crotch nestled almost perfectly against your ass. Your lower body shifted under the guise of pulling away, but you felt it. And so did he.

“Yeah, that too.” He whispered.

His face buried itself into your neck, lips covering the area with kisses. You arched into his touch, getting lost in the familiar sensations. His hands dropped from your arms and reached for the hem of your dress, pulling the fabric up your thighs.

It was happening again. The vortex that swallowed you up last time was back and it was making time simultaneously speed up and slow down. The outside world felt like it was at a stand still while you and Rio reintroduced your bodies to each other. The soft touches and gentle caresses morphed into hungry grasps and passionate clutches. His mouth worked over your neck and sucked, knowing exactly what that action did to you. You reached around and ran your nails over his scalp, feeling him shiver in response.

Your feet shuffled as he led you to your couch, pressing you into the back of it. You pushed your ass out and into him, feeling the length of him beyond your clothes. His hands tightened around your hips and then traveled under your dress. You gripped the cushions as he tore your panties away, the savagery of it making your thighs slide obnoxiously together. You moaned when his rough hands kneaded your ass, spreading the flesh to see what was waiting for him.

Through the fog your heard a distinct growl that reviberated from his chest and went straight to your throbbing sex, your walls desperately clenching around nothing. You bit your lip when you felt the head of him at your entrance, the heat from his flesh so overwhelming that your knees nearly buckled.

“Spread your legs, mama. Let me in.” He instructed, hand latching onto one of your shoulders for leverage.

You obeyed his command. You obeyed because that’s what you always did. You always ended up doing as he said. And that’s what scared you. Not the illegal shit or the risk of throwing your whole life away. It scared you with how complacent you could be to him. And you knew that eventually you’d give him the life he wanted from you.

A strangled moan fell from your lips as he began to push forward. He felt larger this way. Felt as if he could reach all the way into your chest if he wanted to. You pushed back for more when he teased you, sliding back out and refastening his hold on you.

In the next moment he was fully embedded inside of you, pulsing with such a need that you could do nothing but tighten around him. He appreciated the sentiment. You cried out in what sounded like agony, but was in fact an unbearable amount of pleasure that felt nearly spiritual.

His hips slammed into yours with wild abandon. You steadied yourself along the couch, feeling the piece of furniture slide across the floor with every thrust. In this position he had full access to you, and he utilized it. He roamed your body freely and without permission, making you beg for more. You couldn’t see him. And that was just fine because you could feel him. You could feel every hard line and groove. Every brush of his fingertips and bruising kiss. You could feel it all.

“Fuck...I-,” You gasped as you circled your clit, feeling him hit so deep that you were forced onto your tiptoes in your heels. “I’m gonna cum.”

Your confession earned harder, slower strokes. They made you see stars. And within seconds your entire body was spasming with waves of pleasure akin to electrical shocks. The force of it was almost painful. Sounds that you didn’t recognize flew past your lips as you trapped him inside of you and rode out the blissful high.

His hand moved from your shoulder to the back of your head, readying himself for his own release. You went limp after such a powerful climax and he took that as his cue to continue. His pace was forceful, low grunts permeating the air as he fucked into you. His fingers dug into your thighs in that way that made you feel owned. You clenched your inner muscles around him, coaxing him further into euphoria’s waiting arms.

“Shit,” He hissed, his hips beginning to stutter as he finally came.

You accepted every thick drop that now coated your walls. You couldn’t describe the feeling of fullness you felt with his cum settling into your womb and his twitching length still nestled tightly against your walls. But for as wrong as everything else felt with Rio, this...this felt right.

His low chuckle broke the silence as he retreated from your body slowly. You missed the sensation almost immediately.

You stood on shaky legs and pulled your dress down, seeing the shredded lace that had been your panties in a pile near your feet. You kicked off your heels, a relieved sigh leaving your lips at the action.

“I’m gonna be gone for a bit.” Rio announced suddenly, reaching up to lazily scratch at the facial hair that lined his jaw. He’d redressed, now looking like a poised professional and not someone who’d just cum inside you.

Mild panic seized your chest, but you schooled your features, attempting to play it cool.

“Gotta get back to your other life?” You retorted, choosing to be a smart ass rather than show any real concern for the man who’d just fucked you in another area in your home. Another space where your family gathered desecrated by your sins.

“Nah, this is it for me, darling.” He said with a shake of his head and lick of his lips. “Just gotta handle some things.”

“That’s not vague at all.”

He stepped to you, once again pressing you into the couch. Only this time you were facing him, breathing in the same whiskey-tinted air as he invaded your space.

“You know what your problem is?” He rasped, voice rough enough to send a tingle down your spine.

“You.” You jabbed. The liquor was working. Your lips were loosened and your attitude was running the show. You’d be lucky if Rio decided to ignore your childish behavior.

He angled your chin up to him, leaning in as if he was going to kiss you. He hadn’t yet that evening. And you found yourself yearning for it. His fingers slid over your lips and trailed down your neck, gently grasping your throat. He didn’t apply pressure, but the innuendo was there. It thrilled you in a way you hadn’t been expecting.

“You worry too much.” He said, eyeing your lips the entire time.

You licked them in response, having nothing to say for once. He wasn't wrong.

“Everything stays the same. Mick will be at the drop-offs. He’ll stay close if you need anything.” He explained, his hand floating down your collarbone and over your breast to settle on your waist.

“And you?” You dared to ask, hoping he wouldn’t see your question as anything more than a professional query.

“Like I said, I got some things to handle. I’ll be in touch.” He deflected. “And don’t miss me too much, yeah?” He said with a charming smile, choosing to grip your hip and squeeze.

You scoffed at his words, crossing your arms and watching him leave without another word. You tried not to let the new information he’d shared bother you. He didn’t say how long he’d be away, but you had a feeling it was going to be for more than a few days.

The notion made you uneasy.

While Rio’s presence unnerved you, his looming absence made a lump form in your throat. You didn’t have the energy to analyze what that meant. It was going to be back to business. And in a way you were grateful for the reset. He’d come back and things would go back to an employee-boss relationship. Back to normal.

Right?

[waybrights]

so... i wrote smth for this post abt sasha doing anne's makeup before an interview/concert... i also didn't mean to post 2 fic things today and answer like no asks, so i'll do those tomorrow!!!

---

Anne had never been great at makeup. When she was younger she'd never been interested in it, and when they became famous, there was always someone hired to do it for them. Until, one evening they were due to go on a talk show in twenty minutes and no one had shown up.

Now, Anne wasn't usually one to panic, but she had several large pimples that she did not want being broadcast to the whole world and she didn't have the skill to cover them up. "Hey, Anne? Why are you just sitting there?" Sasha asked her, coming up to lean on the back of her chair. They looked at each other in the mirror and Sasha seemed to catch the panicked look in her eyes. "Oh."

"Yeah. I need your help," Anne mumbled, shifting uncomfortably on her stool as Sasha stared at her face. That wouldn't normally freak her out, but recently every time Sasha looked at her butterflies would start to run a riot in her stomach.

After a few seconds, Sasha's eyes lit up and she nodded vigorously. "Yes! I'll do it! Totally." And before Anne knew it, she was being pulled off her stool and pushed onto the couch. She dropped down next to Marcy (who didn't even look up, too engrossed in her game) and fiddled with her thumbs as Sasha grabbed everything she needed off the table.

"Okay, Mar Mar? Do you mind moving? I need to do Anne's makeup," Sasha said giddily. Her cheeks were flushed and there was a light in her eye Anne hadn't seen since they were kids. Is she really this excited about doing my makeup? Anne thought as Marcy silently slid off the couch and onto the musty, brown carpet.

She glanced up expectantly at Sasha, who just grinned down at her like a madwoman. "Why are you looking at me like that?" She asked suspiciously.

"Lay down, it helps if I can get close to you're face," Sasha said, pointing to the couch. Anne did what she said, hesitantly swinging her legs up onto the red couch and laying her head on the arm. As soon as she'd got comfortable, there was a heavy weight on her stomach that blew the wind out of her.

"Oh, shit sorry, I didn't mean to sit down that fast!" Sasha's worried face popped into Anne's view.

"It's okay, just wasn't expecting it," Anne laughed, her face heating up as Sasha leaned down.

Soon their faces were only inches apart as Sasha applied products to Anne's face. "So..." Anne said after a few minutes of silence. "You ready for the interview?"

"Shh, I don't want to mess up," Sasha hissed, but there was no malice in her tone. "And yeah, I guess I am. It's always the same questions anyway, what's your favourite song on the album? None because we didn't write them and they're boring."

"As much as I would love you to say that, we still have three years left in out contract so please don't upset Mr Andrias. Just this once," Marcy mumbled from her spot on the floor. Sasha rolled her eyes and sat back to put away the bottle she was holding.

Anne went to sit up, but was pushed down by Sasha. "I'm not done yet, I still need to do your eyes!"

"But are you close? We need to be out of here in like, five minutes."

"Anne, have I ever made us late before?" Sasha asked. Anne opened her mouth to talk about the multiple times they'd been late to concerts or interviews because Sasha was doing her makeup, but she was shut down before she could even suck in a breath. "Y'know what, don't answer that." Anne huffed out a laugh as Sasha re-positioned herself and pulled out an eye shadow palette.

Suddenly, their faces were extremely close, so close Anne could feel Sasha's breath tickling her cheeks. She could feel her face heating up and tried to push it away, but that seemed to only make it worse. At least Sash won't notice. But the light flush in her cheeks threw Anne's hope out the window. Crap, crap, crap she knows, she knows I'm blushing.

Thankfully, Sasha didn't bring it up as she worked her magic. They just lay there in silence, Anne watching the way Sasha's nose scrunched up as she concentrated. "You're staring," Sasha noted quietly as she shifted to do the other eye.

"What else do you want me to do?"

"Close your eyes," Sasha said with a smile. Anne quickly nodded and squeezed her eyes shut. "Not that tight, nerd, just like you're sleeping," she laughed. Anne nodded again and took a deep breath, forcing herself to relax.

Finally, Sasha sat up. "Done!" She said happily. Anne blinked her eyes open and wiggled out from under Sasha.

She stumbled over to the mirror (her legs had fallen asleep without her noticing) and grinned as she took in her reflection. Her eyes were immediately pulled to the tiny purple dragonfly that Sasha had somehow painted under her left eye, it matched the two lines drawn on the creases of her eyelids, following the curve perfectly and then flicking out. "It looks amazing, Sash," she said gently, her eyes finding Sasha's reflection in the mirror.

She wanted to say more, but was cut off for the second time that day by a voice crackling through the speaker. "Sasha and the Sharps, you're due on stage in three minutes."

"Hey, it was no problem, it's what friends do," she replied with a small smile that didn't quite reach her eyes.

Friends. We're just friends. It made sense, there was never any unspoken understanding between the two that they liked each other, but something in Anne still hoped that maybe Sasha would like her as more than just a friend.

"Anyway, we should probably get going. Don't want to be late," Sasha said quickly, turning away and packing all her stuff into the box she'd brought.

Anne nodded and nudged Marcy. "C'mon Marce, we've got an interview to do."