#every time i think about it bile creeps up my throat

[gravehags]

[car crash noises, ambulance siren, agonized screaming, blood and viscera everywhere] today was totally fine btw :)

[nightunite]

r.e. with johnny banging one of his maids

what's the breaking point or final straw that makes the maid finally snap and make the decision to leave soap? or, maybe even the point just before the decision is made?

-- 📖

Omg my first anon who signs their name! Welcome! Enjoy this angsty piece! Following the revelation that she is not the only one Johnny sees in the duchy, she does her best to limit her time with him. The thought of him touching her makes her skin crawl, makes her stomach curdle over the memory of him holding the other maid so tightly to him (the way he held her, how many more are there-). However, she also knows she cannot avoid him entirely, cannot retreat fully as he is still her employer, a fact seared into the forefront of her mind now when it should have been when this all started. She tries not to show her discomfort when he leans into her space, as she can now smell the perfumes of other women on his skin, can see his plump mouth most likely having kissed another before coming to her. She wonders if he even bothered to wash himself between, or if the hands he touches her with are still coated in the consequences of his actions. There's no comfort in his concern over her, him spending more and more time as the days go by to coax her into telling him what's the matter, is someone bothering her? He'll make it all go away for his sweet little maid, his favorite. He winks as he says their inside joke; bile creeps up her throat at the knowledge the joke is on her and always has been. She just manages to kiss him, brushing off anything further with a variety of excuses: She isn't feeling well, there is so much she has to do, a guest is due shortly. She even uses the tried and true 'I am unclean' excuse, face flushed as she looks down, desperate for him to believe it even though the stress of the situation she has found herself in has put it off for the forseeable future. Every time she feels her heart lurch over the sight of him, her stomach lurches as well. It's a struggle for her to keep food down, constantly envisioning the man she loves with other women. The knowledge he would have to wed someone of his station had always loomed over her, the thought of him forsaking his reputation due to being in love with her a fantasy she only indulges in when she lays down for bed. These days the thought brings more cruelty than comfort, and it's resulted in her stumbling from bed to heave up the meager portion of dinner that she manages to eat. The other staff notice how there seems to be an air of illness about her, her face paler than before, eyes red-rimmed at times, the dazed look she gets when she thinks no one is watching. The cooks especially take note of it, see how she struggles to keep food down, how she picks at her plate unless it's the blandest of soup or a portion of fruit. The head cook, a stern woman who runs the kitchen efficiently and while putting the fear of God into those who test her, has rubbed her back alongside the head maid more times than not when she hangs her head in the toilet. "I swear lass, you heave more than an expecting mother. Duke MacTavish ought to call in the doctor and have you seen to already, before you waste away!" If her eyes weren't blinded by tears, they would be wide open in horror. The vomiting, the missed days, the sleeping... All caused by stress yes but... Is there anything more stressful than carrying a new life inside of you? Particularly one born of such circumstances? Her breathing picks up, the last of the bile coughed out while her mind races, the thought growing more and more sure as she thinks back to the days when she and Johnny had gone further than they ever should have. The best case scenario is people assuming she is a loose woman; a random unnamed man being the father and her child being a bastard. The possibility to spin it as her being taken advantage of by a man who was passing through town is there, not likely to work but still an option. The worst case though? The scandal of bearing a Duke's bastard, of having lain in her employer's bed? All of them would be ruined.

The head maid sends her to bed to ensure she doesn't get anyone else sick with whatever she has. She lays in her bed, hand shakily pressed over her stomach, watery eyes fixed on the ceiling while she bites her lip to keep from sobbing. She has to get out, even if there is no child inside her. Things have crossed a line and she's clawing at it to let her back on the other side. This was doomed from the start, and this needs to end before this becomes a choice she can't take back. There has been recent gossip of the Baron of the woods returning, of him needing new staff due to several of his retiring from age. No connections to Duke MacTavish, a place out of the eyes of society, a man who does not partake in the prodding of other's status. It appears she will need to find a way to visit the Baron's home discretely. Soon.

[rodolfoparras]

Thinking about old man Price trying lingerie for the first time 18+

Pairing: John Price x Top Male reader

Content tags: mirror sex, humping, toxic masculinity

Series/ One Shot: Old man Price trying…for the first time i,ii

Throughout the course of his life Price has been called various things. Some of them were intended as compliments while others were meant as insults.

However never once in his life has he been called pretty, that was until he met you and it seemed that was the only word you were willing to use for him.

Men weren’t pretty but to you Price was pretty even though he was twice as old as the men you usually dated, with crow feet around his eyes and smile lines that appeared on his face every time he laughed or smiled.

Men couldn’t be pretty but to you Price was pretty even with his lack of experience, tears spilling down his cheeks and drool dripping down his chin as he did his best to take your cock down his throat.

Men were only ever handsome and strong but to you Price was pretty, beautiful even when stark naked and splayed out on your bed, baring his body and heart to you.

So with that in mind he thought you’d find him pretty like this: dressed in a lingerie that appears as red as his face, with a plunging neckline that highlights his pecs, material so sheer it shows his perky nipples and so thin his chest hair pokes through it.

As his gaze trails lower down his body he sees the way his cock leaves a remarkable imprint on the lingerie, frail fabric prickling at his sack and sitting tight around his length.

For a second he wonders if he should turn around, put his clothes back on, and forget that this ever happened.

But he’s already gone through the humiliation of getting the underwear, had even looked the cashier straight in the eyes and lied when he had said the piece was a gift for his girlfriend. It would be a waste not to go through with the plan.

However what he hadn’t expected was for you to walk in so soon, unaware he was standing in the room, and only dressed in skimpy underwear.

“John have you seen my-“ you don’t even finish your sentence, completely freezing in place and mouth falling agape as you take in the sight of the older man.

“Jesus Christ “ you say, sounding like the breath has been punched out of your lungs, not anything like you’re wondering why a man would ever wear something like that and everything like why a man like him hasn’t worn something like this before.

“When -when did you get this ?” You croak out, while carefully approaching the older man.

“I got it the other day, what do you think?”for a second he feels fear creeping up his neck, bile rising up in his throat as his legs ready themselves to run away in shame but then you say the one word you always seem to use for him and relief floods his body.

“Pretty”

“Yeah?” Is all he says, feeling butterflies swarm his stomach as his cock twitches in excitement.

You only hum in response as you hook a shaky finger around one of the shoulder straps, as if to take a better look at the piece before you harshly tug at it, and crash your lips together.

A surprised gasp escapes his lips, body momentarily tensing before he relaxes and returns the kiss.

One of your hands buries itself in his locks while the other hand slides lower down his body to cup his cheek, squeezing the tense muscles there.

“Please please “ he mumbles against your lips, not even knowing what he’s asking for as he tries to pull you impossibly closer to him.

“Oh fuck, look at yourself,” he hears you grunt out, before you swiftly turn him around, pressing your palm down on his lower back and forcing him to bend over and look himself right in the mirror.

When he sees his own reflection in the mirror , he almost doesn’t recognize himself. His hair is mussed, face flushed and mouth agape. For a second he dares think he looks-

“So so so pretty” he hears you say, sounding absolutely entranced as you grind your cock up against the cleft of his ass, pushing the coarse fabric further up the sensitive flesh and creating a delightful friction between his legs.

“Don’t- don’t tease please” he whines out as he arches up, ass pressing harsher down onto your clothed cock.

There’s a ripping sound being heard throughout the room, a brief stinging feeling grazing his skin before the lingerie’s being thrown carelessly onto the carpeted floor.

“ I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’ll buy ah I’ll buy you more- so many more just- ah- just need you right now” you say through labored breaths while sloppily grinding up against his ass.

And as he sees your shaky hands unbuckling your belt through the reflection of the mirror, and hears the curses escaping you lips when you can’t get your jeans off fast enough and feels your hard cock pressing up against the cleft of his ass, he feels pretty, so pretty.

[derww]

DEVOTIONS WEEK DAY 2: POTIONS/DEATH

CW: Suicide attempt, suicidal ideations, mental breakdown, ableism, DDDNE

This is the first thing Zam does when he realizes that everything he has done this season has been absolutely useless: he kills himself.

Okay, he tries: he abruptly turns away, throws off all his armor, takes a few springy steps, and then jumps down. The height is small, but he has ridiculously few hearts, so it's enough...

A moment before landing something breaks on top of his head, and the fall does not cause any damage. The nasty swamp slime gets into his mouth, and he spits it out, at the same time shaking off the glass stuck in his hair.

– What do you think is the probability that he has milk? – Pyro asks Spoke, tossing another splash bottle in his hand. Zam stares at him. How the fuck did he even hit? He is disgusting and wet. He has milk, but only in the enderchest, and he is not stupid enough to believe that he will be given time to drink it. Or that it would make any difference.

– I don't know, man, – Spoke spreads his hands, – like, high? Doesn't matter. Let's continue my supervillain speech. Time is not infinite, you know.

He doesn't want to continue the conversation. He pukes on the spot. He reeks of corpse rot. He doesn't want to be here. He doesn't want to be anywhere at all. Oh, God, can he just fucking die already?

Mapicc rolls his eyes. He looks annoyed, but not surprised. He and Spoke exchange understanding glances. Zam mechanically wipes his mouth from vomit, staring past them. There are too many things around. Everything is too bright and distinct. He wants to pierce through his belly with a sword, and he is horrified to realize that this will not help.

They- they don't even laugh at his insignificance and helplessness, they see it as an expected hindrance, as something that will happen when you tell the PrinceZam about the impending apocalypse. For some reason, it's so much worse. The vomit is creeping up in his throat again.

Step. Another. Third. This time he jumps into the void – because the Abyss kills anything, and even if not, suffocating in the infinity is still better than being next to them. That's the only thing he wants right now – to die.

He barely does not manage to reach y 0 when he is teleported back to their feet, and he falls to the knees. He violently coughs up bile. Deep disgust fills every cell of his body.

– Listen, – Mapicc says wearily, – let's skip this part. Yes, Spoke has backdoored the server, yes, he has an OP, and yes, no mundane plots have any meaning anymore. Wormhole will open in a week. Are you with us?

He lowers his head. His hands are shaking. He wants to wash himself. He wants to be anywhere else. He wants warm clothes and soft food. He wants to go home and bake a pumpkin pie. He wants to kill himself.

– Earth to the PrinceZam,– Spoke snaps fingers in front of his face, – bro, hang off. I need your answer. I'm only giving you a choice anyway because you're different. Be faster.

He opens his mouth and stutters and gasps. Nothing in his body works properly. For the first time in months, he can't say anything. Why-why at all. What's the difference. They can't make his life worse. They won't be able to mess up any more. They are not-

A blurry image with black and red appears in front of his face. Black hair. A pale face. A red hoodie. Bandana. Horns. Zam doesn't have to think about it to know that it's Mapicc.

– Listen, – Mapicc's voice comes to him as if from under water, - I know it's hard, – no, he has no idea, – and really, really sucks. but this is the situation we find ourselves in now. Right now, you don't have to do much, right now you just need to make one decision. Okay?

Something inhuman is bursting out of him. He's throwing up again. Mapicc sighs.

– Hey, – he says too calmly, – it's hard, I know. But not worse than the end of season two, right? – much, much worse, – just take a deep breath, exhale, give yourself time to think and make a decision, okay? And we'll leave you alone.

He can't. He can't. He is not-

– If I refuse, – he says, dead–straight, – will you let me die?

– No, of course not, – Spoke's voice comes from somewhere to the side, and he doesn't have enough strength to turn his head, – why did we try otherwise? Wait for the Wormhole, and I'll think about it. Maybe I'll give you endless effects, or maybe I'll let you die in peace. Who knows? I haven't decided yet.

– Don't listen to him, – Mapicc interrupts, irritated, – don't think about it. Just decide whether you want to destroy this world or fight for its preservation. If you want to keep it, the defenders will pick you up sooner or later. If you want to destroy it, you will become the third with me and Spoke. We will work together. Like before.

He's looking past them. His heart is beating too fast.

– if I join you, – he says dryly, – will you let me die?

– When you will finish your work? – Spoke giggles, – yeah, sure, why not. It wouldn't matter.

He swallows a lump. His throat hurts. Mapicc seems to be looking right at him. He's suffocating. He doesn't want any of this.

– Okay, – he says in the end, – I'll help you. And then you'll let me go.

Spoke grins.

– And that's the deal! Good job, PrinceZam. That's more like it.

At least Mapicc and I will be friends again, he thinks detachedly. At least there's anything good about it. Maybe I can get over it. Even if it's only to get the fuck out later.

[fourstarsoutofnine]

To get away, Chapter 5

Things we don’t speak of.

Not beta read lol

Tw: talks about ptsd and healing, and legend self loathing but are we surprised? No.

“So.” The traveler said, eyes drooping as he and the veteran walked out of your room. He was still exhausted.

“So.” The veteran mirrored him.

“Are we going to talk about that?”

The veteran took a deep breath and heaved a sigh. “Link. There are some things we don’t talk about… things we don’t speak of….” He took another breath. “This is one of them.”

“Often, those are the things we need to speak of most… you know I’ll understand more than anyone.” The traveler put a hand on his shoulder.

He turned to him slightly, a pained expression on his face. “…but will you? Will you really?”

“Have I ever given you a reason to think otherwise?”

The veteran stalled, looking off beside the traveler’s head. “…no.”

“Exactly. Let me in.” His grip on the vet’s shoulder tightened slightly. Comfortingly. That pressure was comforting.

The vet pulled him down the stairs and outside. He was never good at talking about his feelings and trauma, and goddesses forbid anyone else being around to hear it. He took a deep breath and looked off, not wanting to look the traveler in the face while he spoke.

“…one of my adventures consisted of…” he paused. “a dream. And that was the only time I’ve ever… trusted someone with—me… and that wound me up losing who at the time I was so sure was the love of my life. I lost her to this big stupid windfish. The entire thing was fake—it was the windfish’s dream and i had to wake him up. Marin was gone after that. The island was gone.” He fought back the bile rising in his throat. “It’s all just a distant memory now but-…. All the time, I’m terrified of waking up and everything being a dream. It’s like I’m waiting for the other shoe to drop. Like I can’t let myself be happy, and I hate it. Why do I do that? Why can’t I just let myself be happy?”

The veteran finally looked over at the traveler, tears in his eyes and threatening to spill. The traveler wrapped him in a tight hug. “Fear does that, Link. Creeps up on you. Sometimes you’ll go ages without thinking about it and then all of a sudden bam. You’re back in. You feel like you’ve been dragged back, claw marks in the dirt—but you haven’t. You don’t have to start over every time you have a flashback. And you don’t have to stop yourself from being happy… you can let yourself be happy. Don’t waste your life waiting on the other shoe will drop… Cause you’ll realize it never will, and realize you’ve spent so long trying to survive that you never lived.”

The veteran took a deep breath and his shoulders shook. He was crying. That soft, quiet cry developed into a sob as years of unprocessed trauma and heartbreak came forth, flowing out like a cup of wine left under a running tap. Healing.

“If—it happened so long ago—why does it still hurt so bad?” He choked out, muffled by the traveler’s tunic.

“It’s like a bone.” He said softly. “When a bone heals wrong, you have to break it again so it will heal properly. Then you can use it.” He rubbed his back.

The veteran felt small. He realized this was the smallest he’d ever felt in his life. He always saw the traveler as his younger brother. Someone he had to protect. Someone he loved more than himself…now, he felt like the little brother. Felt like a little boy. A kid. Cradled by his older brother, hidden away from what cruelty lies outside. Safe. The veteran felt safe.

“I’m sorry.” The traveler spoke again. “I’m so sorry that happened to you… and I’m sorry you didn’t have anyone there for you then… im sorry you feel like you need to be guarded all the time. You don’t… not with us, at least… we are all here for you. Anything you need…”

The vet nodded. He sat up and wiped his eyes, sniffling. “Thanks, man…” he sighed heavily, head feeling heavy and thick from crying. He could hear his heartbeat in his ears and he hated it. He hated to cry. Hated feeling small and weak.

“A bone has to be rebroken before it can heal properly.” He remembered. He wasn’t weak. He was healing.

“Really.” He spoke again. “I really, really appreciate it… thank you.” He hugged him tight.

“Always. I’m always here. So are the others…” he pulled away when the veteran did. A cold breeze passed through them and they both shuddered. “We should get inside. You need sleep.”

“..i can’t go back in there with her. I don’t—“ the veteran tried to make excuses but they died on his tongue when the traveler put a hand on his shoulder.

“You can. Just go in there. You were rooming together anyway… she’s alright. Healed, thanks to whatever powers she’s got. Go sleep in a bed.” He smiled. “You’ll wish you had a bed to sleep in a few days from now.”

The veteran huffed a laugh for the first time in a good few days. “Got that right…” they made their way back inside. Everyone had gone to bed by now. They went up to their rooms, the traveler pausing while the veteran went inside. “Night, traveler.”

“Goodnight, vet.” He smiled. “Sleep well.”

The door clicked shut and the traveler went off to bed.

[euphoricfilter]

Star girl || JJK

Pairing: Jungkook x F. Reader ~ ‘Stardust’ couple

Genre: Fluff || Smut || Angst || Established Relationship || Non-idol au

Summary: Sometimes life just feels like too much, where the solace of the night no longer feels as healing as it once was. Luckily Jungkook is there when everything feels like too much.

Word Count: 4.9k

Tags/ warnings: fluff, mild angst, boyfriend kook is there to make everything feel better, smut in the forms of: fingering, unprotected sex (don’t be stupid, this is fiction), holding hands during sex :(, it’s all just very soft and healing, creampie, cum play, multiple orgasms, oral (f. receiving), he eats his own cum, overstimulation

Notes: this is part of the ‘Stardust’ universe, however it can be read as a stand alone. idk how i feel about this one :’) if there are mistakes, look away <3

(request is posted at the bottom under the taglist~ the request wasn’t specifically for this universe, however it fit the au)

my masterlist

✯ ✯ ✯

You’d always believed the night to be cathartic, something almost healing about simply living while people slept. Expectations washed away of an evening with a shower, dampened mood sated with soft sheets and far fetched dreams in far away lands much more perfect than your own.

Where the moon was your only friend, no words needed between the two of you, as you simply lived among the stars. The galaxy’s gentle caress lulling you into a blissful state of peace. 

The street lamps bleed muted orange light into your room, curtains pushed open so you could watch the world, and wonder what it be like to explore the milky way.

It’s daunting how catharsis can mutate into something a little more wretched. How loneliness can creep up on you, how it lurks in the shadows during the day— following you with silent footsteps. How it slowly consumes a little more of you with each passing night.

How you don’t seem to notice the clouds that take over the sky, how the stars in your universe don’t seem to shine as bright as they once were.

It’s strange how when the lights turn off, and you’re curled up in bed, a sticky sadness consumes your entire being until you’re falling. Drowning in an endless darkness, scaly hands of solitude tugging you further into the abyss until bile rises up your throat and your eyes sting with unwanted tears; where you start to feel sorry for yourself and that icky feeling only seems to amplify.

It’s an awful feeling, that no matter how much you toss and turn, an overwhelming sadness plagues your mind until sleep seems to scuttle out your grasp, leaving you to rot in your own self-deprecating thoughts. A phantom hand locked around your throat, weeding its way into your heart, squeezing in a way that has you breathless.

A prisoner to your own mind. Until days bleed into one another— how that rotten sadness gnawing away at your mind— the sadness that had only ever caressed your cheek in the dark, had slipped between the cracks of your resolve. Bleeding into the crevices of every thought that consumed you.

If you weren’t absorbed with the mountain of assignments, your thoughts always seemed to wander in the direction of the unexplainable loneliness that hugged you, leeching of your emotions until you were left drained, utterly exhausted.

You think you’d lost count of how many days you’d kept yourself tucked in bed, a false sense of security easing a small portion of your mind as you simply exist under layers upon layers of blankets. Pretending anything that lives and works beyond your four walls doesn’t exist. Because if you didn’t acknowledge the wider world and your problems then they simply weren’t there.

Your laptop lays propped up at the end of your bed, and you think the battery died three days ago. You hadn’t bothered to plug it back in. Knowing that if you did, a long list of untouched assignments would greet you, and if you didn’t have to look at them then the deadline meant nothing. Prickly guilt eating away at your mind each time you remember an assignment that had passed, and a lecture you had missed.

You didn’t particularly enjoy skipping classes, knowing the workload would crush you when you finally got back into the groove of student life, but the very thought of getting up is enough for tears to slip down your cheeks.

With eyes shielded by the velvet blanket Jungkook had bought for your one year anniversary months ago, your gaze is veiled from your room that looked like it had seen better days.

You’d gotten to the point where cleaning seemed near impossible, with clothes strewn across the floor, with any other pieces of your room that had fallen victim to your slight rampage a couple of nights ago, finding a permanent home on your bedroom floor.

You had the decency to at least eat in the living room, and from what you can remember there’s probably a few too many boxes of food laying around, dishes probably piled high in the sink.

You don’t miss the jingle of keys outside your door, nor do you make any move to sit up when you hear your boyfriend milling through your apartment in search for you. You’d have felt an ounce of shame if Jungkook hadn’t seen what can happen when you get into a bit of a tizz, locking yourself away so you didn’t have to be a functioning member of society.

“Oh, pretty thing” Jungkook coos, bed dipping under his weight as he sits by your feet. Gentle not to startle you.

You pull the duvet down under your chin, “Kook?” you murmur, watching his lips tug up into a soft smile; a look of understanding washing over his features.

“Hey, baby. You doing okay?” a silly question on his part, but at least he knew you were alive.

You nod, albeit hesitant.

“Why are you here?” you murmur, eyebrows creasing.

“You haven’t answered any of my calls, I was worried” his hands finds their way to your thigh, touch ever so soft you feel the telltale signs of tears coating your eyes.

Your gaze flickers over to your phone, pulling your arm from under the cocoon of your blanket you tap on the screen, “It must have died, I didn’t notice. Sorry” you turn your attention back to your boyfriend.

“How about we get you washed, and then I’ll cook us something yummy?” he offers and you sink further into the pillows surrounding your head.

“I don’t really—” you sigh, “I’m okay”

“None of that, my darling” he soothes, leaning down to press a kiss to your forehead before he’s pushing himself to stand.

You watch as he wanders into your bathroom, your eyes squinting at the blaring light that spills over your bedroom floor. The first sign of light in your room in almost a week.

You throw the blanket back over your head at the sound of running water. Jungkook’s voice echoing throughout your bathroom as he hums a song he’d probably been listening to on his way over to your place.

He’d always been a good singer, though he refused to ever show anyone other than you— a little secret the two of you had. And maybe it was selfish, how you’d get giddy each time he would sing for you, because you’d always been the only one to see him like this, hear him like this. A special something only the two of you had cupped in your hands, delicate like a butterfly’s wings but ever so beautiful.

“Come on” Jungkook tugs the blanket from your body, and goosebumps raise up the skin of your arms.

“Why are you shirtless?” you frown, fingers skimming the edge of your blanket, grasping at the material, ready to pull it back over your body. If it had been any other day then maybe you’d ogle at his toned chest a little longer.

“We’re taking a bath together. I put extra bubbles, just for you” he juts his head in the direction of your en suite.

You watch as he bends down, arms hooking around your body.

He throws you over his shoulder like you weighed nothing, and you watch the muscles of his back flex in that delicious way that has your thighs clenching; heat simmering in your stomach that only he’d ever be able to sate.

The mirror had steamed up, a little relief washing over your body; aware you probably looked like absolute dog shit. You can’t remember the last time you even bothered to shower, let alone wash your face. Your nose scrunches up in distaste before Jungkook’s easing you back onto your feet.

He grabs the hem of your shirt, tugging it over your head with practiced ease.

“Hands on my shoulders” he tells you as he bends down, fingers hooking around the waistband of the pyjama pants you were wearing.

You press your weight against your boyfriend as he helps you out of your panties, flinging them back through the door into your room before he’s discarding his own clothes.

He holds your hand as you step into the tub, toes tinging from the scalding water— heat smoldering up your body.

“You sure this isn’t too hot for you?” you smile over your shoulder, “You complain about how hot I have my showers”

Jungkook scoffs, a failed attempt at coving the smile that threatened to pull at his cheeks.

You sink into the water, feeling the bubbles tickle your bare skin. Muscles melting as you bask in the warmth, uncaring as Jungkook slips into the tub behind you.

Your boyfriend’s knees knock against your hips, a little bit of a tight squeeze but neither of you seem to care as you lean back into his chest.

“Feeling better?” he whispers, lips pressed against your shoulder, warm breath tickling bare skin.

You nod, eyes slowly falling shut. Sleepless nights finally catching up to you as you finally find the comfort you’d been craving for so long. The unsettling feeling of pure loneliness fading into a warm love that spreads over your chest.

“I’m sorry I’ve been so busy with classes” Jungkook’s hands run down your arms, tips of his fingers exploring places he knew better than he knew his own body. Knowing where to touch you, where to avoid.

“It’s okay” you whisper.

He sighs, “It’s not. I shouldn’t put shitty assignments over you. I should have known something was wrong when you stopped reading my texts”

“I’m sorry about that” you peek over your shoulder, though Jungkook simply smiles. Nothing indicating any agitation towards your bad habit.

“You don’t have to apologize. It’s my job to always be by your side. I’m sorry i’m like, four days late. I’ve been swamped with classes I didn’t even realize you’ve been having a hard time”

“You don’t have to apologize.” you mirror his response, “Even before we were dating, you always did so much. I’m grateful, but I don’t want you to feel obligated to do all this”

“I do it because I love you, baby” he tilts your head up from your chin, gentle kiss pressed to your lips. And you sink further into his chest. Somehow wishing the two of you would simply melt into one being, forever intertwined.

“I love you more”

“Impossible” he snickers, “I love you more”

“For every star there is, in every galaxy, even the ones we don’t know about, each one is a piece of my love for you” you declare, unaware of Jungkook’s morphing expression.

An unfathomable, bubbly feeling of pure love consuming his entire being, bursting at his seams. A feeling so unfamiliar yet welcoming, that he doesn’t know what to do with himself.

“That’s a lot of love, my little star girl” he muses, hands running over your hips as his lips skim over your jaw. “I love you as much as you love the stars”

“That’s a lot of love, too” you hum, pushing yourself to turn around and face your boyfriend.

You smile at the flush of his cheeks, dusted rosy from the hot water. Ends of his air damp from the steam. Bubbles touching him in places you’ve kissed, worshipping his skin like you have as they trail over his stomach— inching down to more intimate places. Another part of him only you’ll ever see.

“You’re pretty” you tell him, watching his ears flush, red hue bleeding down to his chest.

“You’re prettier” he counters and you laugh.

“You’re impossible”

He tugs you closer between his legs, water sloshing around the two of you, “But you love me for it”

“I do” you admit, “And I wouldn’t change you for the world”

“Is that so?” he hums, your favourite smile tugging at the corners of your lips, “Now why don’t you tell me what you’ve been feeling while I wash your hair?”

“That sounds nice” you agree, hands cupping his cheeks, “Thank you, Jungkook. I really mean it”

“I know you do” he leans into your touch, hair falling over his eyes a little from where he’d been growing it out, “Thank you for being here” he takes ahold of your hand, gentle as he presses a kiss to the tips of your fingers.

✯ ✯ ✯

You sit on the edge of your bed, old sheets torn off, slung on the floor for the wash that Jungkook promised he’d do after helping de-tangle your hair.

He’s ever so gentle, and never once complains when your head tips forward too far, or you fidget, feet numb from the way you’d sat on them.

He’d helped you wash your face, having you sat on the counter as he brushed your teeth before chucking you in one of his old sweaters he’d left at your place. Folded neatly where he’d left it the last time he’d spent the night, other items of his clothing slung over your desk and the frame of your bed.

“I’ll wash up while you sort this room out, okay?” he smiles, tugging your curtains open.

You watch orange light flood into your room, eyes transfixed on the full moon as Jungkook plugs your lamp in beside your bed before he makes his way into the kitchen. You wonder how long it had been since you’d star gazed.

You wonder why the stars seem to shine that little bit brighter than they had the last time you’d looked at them. Something acutely similar to Jungkook’s eyes when they light up, passion evident in his gaze, maybe even love. You’d hope it was love, the stars in his eyes always that little bit brighter when he look at you.

Jungkook had always been your little laundry fairy, easily navigating your washing machine with ease, even before the two of you were dating. His new domestic passion being washing up. Something about his hands soaking in bubbly water and clean dishes bringing an extra sparkle to his eyes. Almost as sparkly as when the two of you locked gazes.

You didn’t particularly like washing the dishes, always finding your hands felt grossly dry afterwards where no amount of sweet smelling hand cream could redeem the damage done.

Your boyfriend has had a few too many conversations with you about what chores he’d take on if the two of you were to ever move in together. And you had been more than happy when he’d stepped forward for washing up and laundry duty.

Your gaze snaps towards the door when you hear the grating sound of a pot colliding with your tile flooring.

“You okay?” you call out, bending down to pick up the clothes blanketing your floor.

“I’m fine!” Jungkook shouts, “The handle was slippy”

✯ ✯ ✯

“Thank you” you whisper, tucking Jungkook’s hair behind his ear.

He smiles, “Stop thanking me.”

“I just feel really shitty that you have to do all of this stuff for me”

Jungkook’s arms snake around your waist, pulling you closer to his body until your nose nudges his chest. Your eyes slip closed, body hyper aware of your boyfriend’s fingers as they brush up across your back.

“I don’t have to do anything. I do it because I want t— hey, what’s wrong” he frowns, peeking down at you when he hears a sniffle.

Your hands come to cover your face, body shaking, chest jittery as a sob wracks throughout you.

“Nothing” you hiccup, “You’re just too good to me”

Jungkook laughs, nudging you onto your back before he’s pushing himself up— body caging your own. “You forget all the things you do for me too” his arms flex as he eases a kiss over your eyelids.

Your arms wrap around his neck, tugging him down for a kiss. It’s salty, tightness in your chest chocking you as you tilt your head.

Jungkook’s tongue licks at the seam of your lips, a silent request for access. Your lips part, another tear slipping down your cheek.

“No more crying, my star” Jungkook whispers, lips moving against your own. He pulls back briefly, watching your eyes search his own. Watching as they glisten with unshed tears, his thumb gentle as he brushes it over your wet cheeks.

“I’m sorry” you swallow, hand coming to wipe your eyes, only Jungkook stops you, back of his fingers brushing the delicate skin under your eyes, always worried you pull at them too much when you get upset.

“No more apologies either, okay?”

You nod, lips parting in awe. Smile pulling onto Jungkook’s face, and you’re kissing him again.

Your fingers thread into his the back of his hair, tugging gently, an attempt to mould yourselves further into one another.

One of your hands trail down the front of his body, hand firmly pressing against his cock.

Jungkook pulls his face away from you, “We don’t have to do that, pretty. I didn’t come here to have sex” he pants, tongue laving over his bottom lip.

“I know” your voice breathy, “Still want you”

Your hand squeezes his cock over his sweatpants, twitch of interest dampening your panties as you feel him slowly harden.

“You sure?” he presses a kiss to your jaw.

“Mhmm” you hum, impatient fingers pulling the sweater over your head, panties easily shucked off and thrown onto the floor, your boyfriend following you as he sits up, pulling his clothes off.

Jungkook’s thumb parts your slit, coated in a thick sheen of your arousal— and you moan as he brushes over your clit. Thumbing meanly over your little bud as he leans down for another kiss.

He drinks in your moans, lips swollen, glistening in a mixture of both your saliva as his tongue prods into your mouth— always having liked it a little wet and messy.

Your hips buck up, fingers clasping the sheets as a fingers teases over your entrance.

Your mouth falls open as Jungkook presses a finger into you, lips sucking the skin of your neck.

“Feels good” you whine, walls clamping around his finger as his thumb continues to brush over your clit.

“Yeah?” he croons, pulling his finger out before adding another. Curling them deliciously.

Your hands blindly trail down his body, nails accidentally dragging across Jungkook’s cock-head. He lurches forward, thumb pressed firmer against your clit and you cry out from the shock of pleasure that fizzles up your spine.

“Sorry” you pant.

“Fucking hell, tell me next time” he laughs, head falling between your tits as your hand wraps around his shaft.

“M’ close” you warn, thighs clamping around Jungkook’s hand, though that barely deters him, relentless as he scissors you open; wet squelch meeting your ears with every thrust into you.

You tip over the edge as he eases a third finger into you, “I’m cumming” your thighs shaking around his hand as he brings your slick up over your clit— messily elongating your orgasm with quick flicks of his wrist.

Your hand falls away from his cock, Jungkook’s nose scrunching up as it slaps wetly against your thigh. Bead of pearly pre-cum staining your skin.

Your arms wrap around his neck, bringing him into another kiss as his fingers ease on your clit, dipping between your slit before he’s slicking his cock up with your cum.

“Think you’ll be okay?” he murmurs against your lips, running the tip of his cock over your cunt, your eyes squeezing shut as the tip nudges your clit.

Your hips jolt upwards, and Jungkook laughs. A hearty one that has you smiling up at him.

“I love you”

Jungkook presses another peck to your lips, “I love you”

Your fingers part your pussy lips, and Jungkook’s holds the base of his cock, lining himself up with your entrance.

“So pretty” he murmurs, entranced.

You squirm under his gaze, cheeks flushing red as Jungkook’s eyes meet your own.

His smile had always started with his eyes, worming its way towards his lips as he gently pushes into you— head of his cock splitting you open.

Jungkook’s fingers thread with your own, hips languid as he thrusts into you. Your eyes flit between his, watching as his eyebrows furrow in the building pleasure he’s feeling.

There’s nothing rushed in Jungkook’s movements, the mere act of the two of you connecting in such an intimate way fulfilling enough. The raw emotions swimming behind his eyes with each wet squelch of your sodden cunt that overshadows both of your shaky breathing, is enough to slowly bring you hurdling towards another high.

You squeeze his fingers, thighs wrapping around Jungkook’s waits as he leans down, wet, open mouth kisses pressed to your tits— gentle thrum of pleasure sparking down your body as his tongue laves over your nipple.

“I’m close, pretty. Cum with me” Jungkook grunts, eyes closing in utter bliss.

One of your hands slip out of his grasp, worming between your bodies until you brush over your clit.

“Good girl, play with yourself for me”

Jungkook rocks into you, hips stuttering as he nears his release, thighs clapping obscenely against your ass. Your fingers pick up their pace on your clit, staccato of moans tumbling past your lips— Jungkook’s deep groan harmonizing with you.

“Gonna cum” you hiccup, thighs tightening their hold they have on your boyfriend.

You feel his cock twitch, cry of pure pleasure muffled by his lips as Jungkook’s release paints your walls white. And that’s what pushes you over the edge, the world around you seems to muffle, crackling in your ears as you feel unadulterated pleasure course throughout your body in thick waves.

“Well done” Jungkook’s hips pull back a fraction before he’s pushing back into you, “Did so well for me” he croons.

Your chest stutters out a breath, hands mindlessly grasping onto any part of Jungkook you can hold on to. Warmth of his sweat slicked skin helping the buzz of your high melt. Bodies still one, the closest the two of you will ever physically be.

“You okay?” he whispers, lips pressed against your forehead and you nod; legs falling from around his waist.

“Thank you, Kook”

He snickers, “You don’t have to thank me for this, darling” he pushes the sweaty strands of hair from your forehead.

“Not for this” your nose scrunches up at him, “Just—“ you start, lip tucked under your teeth, “Just for everything”

“I love you”

Your muscles relax, giggle bubbling up your throat, “I love you more”

“We should have put a towel down, we just cleaned the sheets” he groans, falling on top of you.

You wheeze out a breath as his full weight settles over you; groaning as your walls clench around his cock that’s still nestled inside of you.

“I have a surprise for you” Jungkook’s lifts his head, and you crane your neck.

“Surprise?”

“Yeah, go pee and then I’ll show you” he tucks your hair behind your ear.

You thighs twitch at the slow drag of his softened cock as he slips out of you.

Jungkook’s fingers drag through your slit as his cum leaks out your hole, a whine pulled from the back of your throat as he fingers his cum back into you.

“How messy” he teases, and your cunt clenches around nothing as he smears his cum over your pussy, “Let me help clean you up”

Your boyfriend scoots down the bed, trail of kisses setting your skin alight as he makes himself comfortable between your legs.

He kisses over your clit, tongue flicking out, toying with the swollen little bud before he’s wrapping his lips around it. He continues to push his cum back into your sodden cunt, walls pulling him in until he’s knuckle deep inside of you.

You whine as he crooks his fingers upwards, stomach tensing as he slowly drags them out of you, mouth leaving sloppy kisses over your entrance, tongue teasing as he circles your hole.

You moan at the lewd noises your cunt makes, burning hot pleasure shooting straight to your throbbing clit as Jungkook’s fingers draw tight circles over the bundle of nerves.

“Cum on my tongue” Jungkook pulls away briefly, only to shove his face further into your cunt, scooping out his own cum and letting it coat his tongue.

Your fingers tangle into his hair, shuddering as his nose nudges against your clit, “I’m cumming” you whine, hips bucking into Jungkook’s face. Using him to get yourself off.

Jungkook hums, vibrations thrusting you head first into another orgasm, body still thrumming with the aftershocks of your previous high.

Jungkook doesn’t stop, tongue licking a bold stripe up your pussy, lips wrapping themselves your clit again— teeth gently scraping over the sensitive skin.

You sob, thighs clamping around his head. Another gush of slick leaks out your cunt and that’s all it takes for Jungkook to finally pull away.

You moan into the kiss as he holds himself up over you, mixture of your releases coating your lips. Jungkook’s chin shiny with your thick arousal. “Always so good for me”

✯ ✯ ✯

“Careful there’s another step” Jungkook warns, arms wrapping around you waist, helping you up the final step.

Your hands remain over your eyes, blindly trusting that Jungkook wouldn’t let you hurt yourself. A sentiment that doesn’t fly over his head, something he definitely thinks about way more than most boyfriends would— but he simply can’t help himself when it comes to you. Everything you’ve ever done is effortlessly perfect to him, and the fact you trusted him like this is enough to have him pressing kisses in all your favorite places.

“What are we doing?” you dare ask, knowing he wouldn’t give you a hint. He’d be adamant on keeping it a secret as the two of you showered and he helped you change.

Goosebumps prickle the skin of your arms when a door swings open. Breeze pushing your hair out of your face as Jungkook pulls you outside. First gust of fresh air causing the hair on the back of your neck to raise.

You’d always believed the night to be cathartic, something almost healing about simply living while people slept. The air always a little fresher, freedom easier to grasp. The world at ease when night fell, where the sky felt closer to the ground; endless possibilities sat at your feet like you finally had control over your life.

“Open your eyes” Jungkook gently pulls your hands away from your eyes.

You look around, “We’re on the roof?” you turn back to Jungkook, eyes furrowing in confusion.

“Look up” he points to the sky.

Your head tips back, mouth opening in awe at how clear the skies were— a million little stars winking at the two of you. Flickering like little fireflies, and you can’t help but smile as you spot a shooting star. Silent wish on the tip of your tongue, and Jungkook seems to have the same idea as his eyes flutter closed.

Jungkook pulls the blanket off his shoulder after making his wish, spreading it out on the floor. One the two of you had used countless times for picnic dates in the park.

“I thought we could stargaze. There aren’t any clouds tonight” he pats the blanket. Silent invitation for you to join him.

You wonder if it were possible to fall in love with someone all over again. Whatever love you felt for them amplifying until all you can feel in an inexplainable love for someone else.

Love is never linear. Never constant. It influxes, where maybe the lines of yours and Jungkook’s love cross paths every now and again when the two of you spend time alone like this. Everything seeming ever so easy when all that existed in your worlds were one another— orbiting until every other planet in the solar system is out of reach, where you’ll always stay together even as the universe crumbles around you.

Loving Jungkook has always been so easy. And truly you believe that for as long as there are stars in the sky, your love will forever be with him. Trusting that he’ll delicately hold your heart as you hold his, because there’s no one else in the entire universe you’d rather have by your side than your best friend.

“I really love you” you blurt, as the both of you lay side by side, “I love you doesn’t feel like enough to explain it”

“I feel like that a lot. It’s a weird feeling” he hums thoughtfully, and you nod your agreement.

“I like it” you murmur, fingers finding Jungkook’s, pinkies intertwined, “It’s a good feeling”

“I like it too” Jungkook turns his head to look at you, endeared smile on his face when you meet his eyes, “My star girl”

You smile at that, tilting your head, featherlight kiss pressed against Jungkook’s lips. Where he chases after you for another, and then another.

“There’s a meteor shower in a few weeks, we should go camping and watch it” Jungkook tells you mindlessly, a thought he’d been meaning to bring up days ago but had been lost somewhere in the dark corners of his mind.

“I’d like that” you nod, brushing his hair out of his eyes.

“I’d like that too” his nose scrunches up, and you kiss it; laughter bubbling up Jungkook’s chest, contagious as you start to giggle too.

Meeting Jeon Jungkook had been the luckiest part of your life, and maybe he was your special star. The one you always find whenever you turn towards the sky, no matter where you are, always watching over you.

To Jungkook, he’s more than certain you’re his. You’d always be the prettiest star in his universe, and he’ll continue to follow you until you fizzle out into stardust.

🪐 thank you so much for reading, feedback is always appreciated

permanent taglist: @m1sss1mp @supernoonanyc

request:

[jxsterr]

something crazy that’s just crossed my mind is the whole thing of does zelda miss link while she’s stuck in the past? i know the memories don’t do shit all justice to tell us ANYTHING about zelda’s feelings on this whole situation but it does make you wonder. i personally think she misses him like he’s dead

because imagine this. you’ve been trapped in stasis for literally a century. you’ve watched all of your friends and family die. then your knight, the one you watched die in your arms, finally comes back and frees you. you then move into a small house together, it’s not much but it’s honest living. you spruce it up with decorations until you can both stand back and say, “yeah, this feels like home.” you live the next year or so quaintly, travelling around hyrule to restore it to its former glory as best as you can, all within the company of someone you hold closer than a best friend. he’s still there, even though he doesn’t have to be, and follows you ever loyally. you wonder if he’ll ever go his own way, but his insistence on remaining by your side makes you think otherwise.

you believe in the strength of learning, that the children of hyrule need to be better educated in order to solidify a strong future for the kingdom, so you build a school. you hire teachers and organise the school’s curriculum, taking part so much that you become a teacher yourself. he greets you every evening when you come home and plates up dinner already piping hot so you don’t have to worry about it. life continues this way, simple and non exhaustive, living earnestly beside someone who would extinguish the sun if it meant you’d smile. you love him, realistically, and he loves you too.

something stirs under the castle and, like the good princess you are, you go trundling into the depths below with your loyal knight to solve the problem. it bears endless discoveries, things you know you’ll stay up all night studying; things that bring you so much joy that he holds your torch so you can enjoy it without interruption. instead of the torch, he’s soon holding a shattered blade in his bloody hand, arm eaten and burnt raw by something that smells so vile it’s all you can do not to vomit. you watch the world fall into peril once more, and as you do so, you feel yourself falling to the exact same fate. you see the way he throws away legend and jumps after you, knowing that he is also falling to his demise. you see the fear in his eyes, the way tears cling to the corners of them and feel the burn of your own.

his plan was always to die by your side, and he will do it by any means necessary.

you wake up and he’s gone, your world is gone, and you’re somewhere new. two strange people greet you and quickly take you under their wing, and while a new world means endless discoveries, you can’t help but wonder if link is dead. did he kill himself alongside you, only for you to somehow survive and let him fall alone? the thought makes the bile creep up your throat.

who’s to say that, during the period of time where link is unconscious, she isn’t wracked with guilt at the realisation that he may be dead? she’s thousands upon thousands of years in the past, and his body may be the only one laid cold at the bottom of that chasm. would people even remember him? yes, he was the hero of hyrule, but he’d always kept a low profile. humble to a fault, she’d tell him. and the fault may be that if he’s dead, perhaps only her name would grace the lips of hyrule. the survivor’s guilt would eat her whole knowing that he’s died for her twice now.

so you can imagine her relief when she feels the pull of him and his sword. the relief when she can make her vow to him. the relief in knowing that he’s okay, somehow, and that he’s alive above everything else. but now that she knows he’s okay, what’s there left to do? well, miss him, of course. they’re inseparable and very rarely do things without the company of the other, she’s going to miss him like her right arm.

in the day she’s surrounded by people—sonia, rauru, mineru and her army of constructs, plus the rest of the people of this era of hyrule—but come the night, she’s alone. her bed lacks the warmth it used to hold, doesn’t bear the imprint of where her love has slept beside her. she’s painfully, irrefutably alone. she’ll step out onto the balcony of the castle alone and wish he was by her side, wish that she could just speak to him again even for a little while. for as long as she walks this hyrule, there is an overwhelming, gaping hole in her chest. she finds comfort in the presence of sonia, rauru and mineru but there’s only so much they can do. she talks to sonia about him. she talks to rauru about him. she talks to mineru about him. anyone who will listen to her speak of her talented hero, she will talk to.

she rides a construct and thinks of him. a steward construct explains to her the biodiversity of the land and she thinks of him. she spends her nights at her desk, quill in hand and illuminated by candlelight, and writes in her diary as if she’s speaking to him. it cuts her open over and over with every day she has to wake up alone.

when she decides the only thing fate has left in store for her is to become a dragon to aid link in the future, she weeps for days on end. she knows that this is it, everything she’s ever known will be beyond her forever now. she lives on in the skies, but her soul dies here. all those years they spent together building a life together, growing, all for nothing. they were cursed from the very beginning. ever since they fell to the calamity the first time fate has had it out for them. and so her last thoughts while she can still think are of him. she prays for his safety, for his success, and for him to have a happy and long life without her. she weeps knowing she’ll never grow old with him or get to experience the revival of her kingdom. it tears her from the inside out, and she screams even as a dragon at the loss. it’s overwhelming, devastating beyond any weight words could hold. she’s lost everything, lost everyone, and lost herself. she was doomed from the beginning. she was never meant to be happy.

so yes, the ending of totk should’ve been a HELL of a lot more emotionally charged. seeing someone you thought was dead AND that you worried you’d never see again?? she’d be crying for hours in his arms

[professional-yearner]

Can't Help Falling In Love With You 🤍

Pt. 1

Yandere! Cheater! Officer Clone trooper x Fem! Reader

Series TW!: cheating, mistresses, grief, murder, Evil-ish, being trapped, toxic relationships, forced relationship, obsessive love, obsession, general insanity, manipulation, disloyalty

A/N: I hope you guys like this first installment of my new-ish series! I do intend to finish it this time lol. I really hope you like it! :3

You sat in the dark, staring blankly at the messages. They were sweet, affectionate, and playful, with a deep sense of connection that made bile creep up your throat and your head light. You remembered when Steel used to message you like this, it seemed so distant now, but you could remember it almost vividly.

You hadn't realized you were crying until you had to sniff to keep mucus from dripping onto the data pad. It made sense why he had been so distant recently; staying out late on his leave instead of being with you, always on his data pad doing 'work', never really touching you anymore.

The name opposite his own messages seemed to be laughing at you, bold and victorious as it burned into your retinas;

Arah

Was that her name? It was pretty, like she must be. Was it just that, or was she funnier, smarter, more capable, more interesting? Maybe all of the above.

You cried out, pain racking through your entire body; you had thought he was your person. You thought he thought you were his person.

It had all come together when you met him, and now it had so rapidly fallen apart.

-

The morning following your discovery was bleak, but you had to keep it together, at least until he left again for the day.

It was a sisyphean task to hold back your tears without him noticing as he pressed a kiss to the top of your head before he went (something he hadn't done in a while), but you didn't think you could face him now, not until you got yourself together a bit.

You finally broke once he closed the door behind him, trying to take air between sobs as you did your best to move towards the bathroom.

Skincare didn't work, the tears and snot wouldn't stop long enough for any of your products to set.

Putting on a nice outfit didn't work either, you just found new ways to compare yourself to how pretty his new girl must be, making your crying all the more intense.

Finally, you found yourself in the kitchen, exhausted from a day that sped by you and stomach rumbling.

You had to climb the counter to get the ingredients that you needed, seeing as the it only reached your hip at the most.

Steel had insisted on you not "wasting your money" on a step-stool, going on about how he'd always be there to get things down for you. Remembering that made you grit your teeth, grief momentarily replaced with vitriol.

Karking liar.

Mixing and cleaning went by in a blur, you were so practiced by now it felt like a reflex. You looked down at what you were making.

It was both of your favorites; pancakes.

It was simple, basic even, but it had kind of been your thing. It seemed appropriate considering you had met in a diner.

You felt your eyes heat as you flipped the pancake.

You really thought he loved you.

You could remember the first time you had kissed, the first time you had felt so wanted and right with someone;

You giggled as he bumped your shoulder with his, the rough material of his uniform scuffing your bare arm lightly as he grinned down at you. The rain pattered on the two of you, your hair and his hat beginning to drip.

You paused your walking as you caught his eye, the look he was giving you catching you off guard; his brown-gold eyes shone more openly than you had ever seen them, soft affection following your every movement as his lips curved into a warm smile.

"What?" You smiled up at him, laughing lightly.

He stepped out in front of you, leaning down to push the hair away from your face and touching your nose with his,

"You're perfect, angel."

Your eyes widened as you took in the moment, a desire settling itself against your ribcage at his declaration. Stomach fluttering, you worked up every scrap of courage you had, finally leaning forward and closing the distance between the two of you, pressing your lips shyly to his.

He seemed to be in shock for a moment, making you pull back, only to give a small squeak of surprise as he shot out a hand to bring you back, capturing your lips gently, but passionately, against his once more.

You both stayed like that for a while, lips moving against each other in quiet tenderness before he pulled away slowly, rubbing your cheek with his calloused thumb,

He breathed softly, face only an inch from yours, "Sweet girl."

You bit back a silly grin, bringing your forehead to his and placing your hands at the sides of his face in a Keldabe kiss, one last show of your overwhelming adoration before pulling away.

"You want to come back to mine? I could make breakfast for dinner; your favorite."

He said nothing for a moment, looking at you as if you were the beginning and end of the galaxy, making you almost tear up before his face broke into a lopsided grin once more. He picked you up by your waist suddenly, causing you to squeal as he spun you around, laughing,

"Cyar’ika, you are the love of my life!"

You stared at the pan, watching the pastry grow black as you zoned out. The love of his life.

You sobbed, clutching the counter as the smell of burning pancake filled your nose.

Maker.

[whosmoraless]

"In case it escaped your notice, I care about you!"

@peterbsideparker

let's make it hurt

Nobody would ever consider Miles an angry person - much less Miles himself. Not in the sense that he never has been, or that he's a push-over, he just never had a temper on him. When faced with vitriol thrown his way, he meets it with a shrug and a quip, or works to diffuse it, or some mix of the two. His patience could usually withstand a category 5 hurricane.

And yet.

In the face of those simple words, from Peter of all people, after everything he'd been through in what was absolutely the fucking worst two days of his life? Hell, the worst year and half of his life?

Miles swears he feels something snap inside him; can practically see the spiky little sound effect bubble pop up near his head.

"Uh, of course it escaped my notice," the teen spits out, his teeth grinding, "How the hell'm I supposed to believe shit you say? You- all of you- were tooootally down with just- just abandoning me."

He can feel it, the way his friends' their pitying, wide eyes bore into him, some with their hands raised like they're placating a wild animal; no doubt thinking him pathetic, or childish, or unfounded in his rage.

But what else is he supposed to feel? His dimension, his home is wrecked, his life nearly ruined by some creepy guy turned cosmic flaw. A rabid vampire-y guy chased and throttled him to shit and nobody helped. He nearly died while stranded in the wrong dimension, all as his father was in imminent danger. And they didn't care. They were complacent in it.

All because of one self-important man with a stupid, half-baked theory with more holes than Swiss cheese convinced them it was for the greater good.

And now they have the sheer, unmitigated gall to think that saving him at the last possible second and having a fucking heart to heart after Miles about fucking killed himself after the battle will make it up to him?

Fuck. That.

He's not that awkward, people-pleasing middleschooler they met so long ago, who would've done anything, put up with anything, just to be accepted. To feel less alone.

He died a long time ago.

They don't get to wash their hands of guilt so easily now. Not now that Miles is older, wisened, traumatized by time and experience and long nights crying and almost throwing his entire life's dream away for them only to realize he wasn't even a blip in their goddamn minds.

Miles has to physically swallow down the bile creeping up his throat.

"I can sorta, sorta get why you two-" he gestures at Gwen and Peni with his non-shredded-by-Miguel arm, "would go along with it, that guy's scary as hell, probably said allll the right things to you at the worst times of your lives."

They wince. Good.

"But you? You, Peter?"

He despises himself for the way his voice wavers as he shouts. The last thing he needs is to start angry-crying; make himself look more like a dumb kid.

"You never, ever thought for a single moment that, yannow, dooming countless people to die if that batshit theory were right, fucking helping it happen, was kinda sorta seriously fucked up?"

(In the corner of his eye, he sees 42-him's mouth twitch. He can't help but feel indignant for him too; this whole time the Society O'hara's band of sheep could've helped him, but they chose not to. Let his dimension go to shit because of that stupid fucking Canon.)

"And then you decide to be all buddy-buddy with me now? 'Cause of what, guilt? Some weird complex? Nuh uh, no way, I am not letting you just- just get away with this shit. You're the grown adult, why'd you never act like it?"

Sure, maybe it's getting personal now, the memories of the way the original group talked shit about him literally directly behind his back; forcing every single complicated feeling he had for them out into the air that he never allowed himself to feel back when he was a lonely kid who just missed their presence.

But... this all goes to show they never believed in him. Not once. It's not a hard leap to go from dumb-kid-who-can't-be-trusted to anomaly-that-can't-be-contacted.

Maybe Miles isn't thinking totally straight. He's angry, he's hurting, and he's tired - physically and emotionally. Tired of having to prove himself his whole life. Of being expected to be 'mature' and the bigger person even when everything screws him over. Of continually having to prove himself to grown adults who refuse to see past their noses until forced to.

Like Miguel. Like Peter.

A shaky breath. Clenched, trembling hands. "Why wasn't I worth it?"

[gwiyeounsonyeon]

Red

Pairing: cis!Simon Riley x cis!Male Reader

Summary: Reader and Simon try sensory deprivation and Simon safe words

Words: 677

Warnings: brief mention of abduction and torture, just the words no description

Notes: I see how the poll is going so I whipped this up really quick, and nearly had a meltdown because I accidentally deleted it all but thank the lords for notion because It had an update feature so I got it all back. I'm getting sick and tired of Tumblr not putting my posts under the tags, I've been trying to fix this for ages.

if you like my work please support me with either the tip button or visit my kofi page, you can see the pinned post on my blog for more information please look into it.

“Is this… are you sure about this Simon?” Simon's wrists were tied to the headboard above the soldier's head, you were straddling Simon, hovering over the older hips. “I- I mean… I don't want you to feel like you have to do this” Simon huffs in response trying to act annoyed but truthfully he's not entirely sure how he feels about being in this situation, his mind is running miles a minute and he can't get his thoughts to slow down.

Simon keeps picturing all of the times he's been tied up while held captive and tortured, he tries to push those thoughts out of his mind because he's here with you, his wonderful, amazing, and very understanding boyfriend but he just can't do it. Simon knows you would never hurt him on purpose and you're proving that by hesitating and continuously questioning him and constantly making sure he's alright.

Simon thinks he should feel annoyed or happy or something like that but his mind is racing and it isn't giving him enough time to feel anything other than the anxiety and the suffocating sense of impending doom and he knows he should speak up and tell you that he doesn't know if he's fine but Simon is stubborn and has a big ego so he swallows the sour bile creeping up the back of his throat and nods.

You don't look convinced. You give Simon an anxious look before taking a deep breath to settle your own anxiety and then you carefully slide the blindfold over Simon's eyes, plunging him into darkness, and almost immediately Simon is overwhelmed by anxiety. The soldier feels like he's been swallowed up in a void, he can feel your guys’ sheets underneath him, the soft texture you had insisted on, and rambled on about the thread count until Simon got annoyed and shoved the pack into the cart.

The feeling and memory should comfort him but he can't see you he can't see anything, his other senses go into overdrive, Simon swears he can hear the electricity buzzing through the walls and his blood pumping in his veins and he vaguely wonders if this was how you felt every time you got overstimulated. Simon’s so caught up in his head that it takes him a minute to realize that you've been calling his name, he flinches when he feels your soft hand smoothing over the scarred skin of his chest, over his heart.

“… Simon? What's your color? Are you okay?” You sound so worried, Simon can practically picture the worried anxious look on your face and the thought forces him to come to his senses, he's tensed, almost painfully so and his hands are balled into fists so tight that he thinks his fingernails punctured the skin of his palms. Simon opens his mouth to speak, to like and say that he's okay, just a little nervous maybe but all that comes out is a pathetic whimper “red.”

Simon hardly recognizes his voice but before he could get further into his head and get all insecure about how pathetic he feels, the blindfold is off his hands are free and your worried face is taking up his line of sight, you had gotten off of him somewhere in between taking the blindfold off and removing the silk from his wrists. “Baby? Are you okay? What happened?” Simon doesn't know what to say, he doesn't know if he can say anything but you understand, you always understand.

You wordlessly pull Simon to your chest and curl around him, he finds himself admiring the way your bodies fit together like you were made for each other. Simon sinks into your embrace, timing his breaths with yours and listening intently to your heart beating. He hates how much he needs you but he can't find it in himself to push you away, he nuzzles further into your chest, and in turn your grip around him tightens, You don't ask anymore, you don't push him to talk, he’ll do it when he's ready.

[reidslovely]

I wanna know how frst Peter reacts to reader getting a preganancy scare! Like what's your version of him in it? Maybe a small blurb?

Stop because I've had this thought before and I've asked people about it but I've never been asked this. I think it would go something like this…

TW: mentions of pregnancy, and throwing up

instead of ‘hearting/liking’ this post please reblog or comment

You were sitting nervously on the steps of Theta Tau, hands balled nervously in your lap.Eyes directed to the stone pavement in front of you, head shooting up at every pair of nike panda's that came into your sight. A few of the brothers offered you to come in and wait for Peter as they got back from classes, confused as to why you were sitting outside the door of the house like a vampire scared to cross into a church.

"Parker put your ass out already? I can kick his ass." Harry offered. You smiled back putting your hand up.

"All good Harry I just I need to catch Peter as fast as possible talk to him about this project thing."

You lie through your teeth and the bile is creeping up your throat again. You couldn't be pregnant..could you? You guys had been safe..most of the time. But nothing is fully effective, you both understood the risks you just...never thought it would happen to you.

"Okay well he was leaving Octavius' lab about fifteen minutes ago should be any moment now."

The pregnancy test in your bag screamed at you. Well the pregnancy tests..plural..three. "Thanks Harry."

"Yeah no worries see you tonight." He whispers, looking over his shoulder skeptically. "Wait Har..?"

"Yeah?"

Harry was Peter's best friend, he'd know how Peter would react and if you knew..it would make this all easier.

"What are you doing here bashful?"

The nickname sent goosebumps down your body, and not the kind that makes you excited to feel one's presences. The kind that makes you feel like a little kid standing in a mess they created afraid to move.

You turned to Peter a smile on your face. Greeting him with a hug and kiss, hands grabbing at his jacket. Noticing the immediate switch in demeanor his arms are around you in seconds...hands ripping out the earphones in his ear.

"Okay, it's okay. Your hearts beating so fast." He whispers. "I hear it, it's okay." He whispers, his face showing no change not wanting to alert Harry.

You two snuck past everyone, the only person alerted was Harry who didn't push any further than what he was invited into. Sneaking up to his room, he pushed a chair under the handle and sat you down quickly.

"What's wrong?"

"I'm pregnant."

You don't know why you said it like that.

Peter's jaw dropped slightly and color drained from his cheeks, you both thought he was on the verge of throwing up like you had all morning.

"You're sure?" Before you could get your words out he's spiraling out hands shaking and talking faster than normal. His mumbles falling out under his breath hands shaking as they held your knees.

"No I have tests in my bag, I wasn't ready..I couldn't take them alone."

Panic still laced every movement he made, his hands coming up to hold your face. "Okay..lets do it."

So he stood with you in the bathroom facing the door, wanting to give you some shred of privacy, his head leaning against the painted red wood of the door his life flashing before his eyes and you felt yours crumbling down as you dried your hands.

"It's okay, okay we can do this whatever the outcome is we can do this." You whisper holding his shoulders turning him to face you.

Peter nodded, his hands rubbing your shoulders. "Octavius just started paying me it's not a lot but I've got plenty saved up." He spoke in a shaky tone, the muscles in his neck tight but he looked at you with such loving eyes. He meant everything. "We could do this. Yeah, we could live here..or not" He says after seeing the way you hunch your body forward with a laugh. "the summer before my freshman year I turned the attic of my house with May into a little like apartment we could live there until we can afford something. And I find a way to work and provide for us." He flattened out your hair tucking it back.

"I can work Peter..I'd just be pregnant. I could still work at the office."

"No, I wouldn't have it." He jokes kissing your head. "You'll be so tired already, and I'd love nothing more than to come home and take care of my girls."

"You're girls..we don't even know if I am."

"Well I think either way we will have a girl. I'm a total girl dad, look at me."

You smiled and pushed your face into the soft fabric of his polo shirt, your tears absorbed into the fabric.

"I've got you..I'm not going anywhere. I love you so much bashful alright, you're my girl."

'You're my girl' was the best way to be described by Peter, it was like a status symbol. Parker's girl got all the attention, all the coolest parties, it was one that got you known pretty well around campus. Peter was gonna take care of you, and you felt so silly thinking anything else.

Peters hand rubbed circle around your lower back, his free hand rubbing against her stomach at all the what if's. He was nervous but he could do this, he'd always wanted to be a dad. This was a little earlier than expected but, he could do this. "If it makes you feel better I can only hear your heartbeat." He laughs

"It's to early to hear another one this early.."

"You never know. What are you gonna do if my radioactive jizz makes our baby come out with four legs and little fangs."

"Become a phenomenon I guess..all that news coverage would pay our little spiders way through college."

"Hey our little spider is gonna be legacy because of me. You're welcome." He laughed nuzzling your face to his. You smiled, rolling your eyes in response. The timer rang out through out the bathroom and you looked at him. "I can't do it..I can't look."

Peter nodded closing out the timer, and walking over to the sink. You felt a peace in knowing whatever it was gonna be you'd be fine and safe with Pete.

"Well.."

__

Ahhh cliff hanger!! I'm a bitch I know but I couldn't decide on what I really wanted the results to be so I didn't :) love you 🫶🏼

also do y'all want me to start adding my tag list to blurbs??

tag: @helloheyhihowdyheya @sincericida @moonyslove78 @a-lumos-in-the-nox @messymissy @adhdhufflepuff @toomanyfictionalboyfriends @ateliefloresdaprimavera @eevylynn

[lillie98]

An excerpt from a Fic I wrote a while ago centering on Autistic!Mike. I wrote it from my perspective as a late-diagnosed female who found euphoria and purpose from this one little word. I hope you take the time to read it and understand the life-changing power of diagnosis. Autism is not a tragedy. Rather, it is a difference in the Human Condition that deserves celebration.

"Hey…Will, I almost forgot. I need to tell you something important". Will immediately flinches awake and startles, scanning the room for threats.

"What? Is something wrong? Are you okay?"

"No, nothing's wrong," Mike assures him, running his hand down Will's cheek. Embarrassment and shame course through him. He wishes Will’s nervous system didn’t overreact this way. He speaks quietly and clearly, emphasizing his words. "I'm okay. We’re safe.” Will leans into Mike’s touch and anchors himself in the present. He is safe, Mike is safe, and they are together. His eyes slip closed as he takes a few steadying breaths. He then shifts to his side to see Mike better, turning on the small lamp on the nightstand and propping himself up on his elbow. Tears prick the corners of Mike’s eyes as he stares at the ceiling, steeling himself for anticipated rejection. Will places his hand on his boyfriend’s shoulder.

"Hey, whatever it is, you can tell me, okay?” he reassures Mike. “We'll work through it together. You know how much I love you.” Will's words ease Mike's racing heart. Here goes nothing.

"I talk to Robin a lot–just like you–but we don't just talk about boyfriends. We…we talk about…other things, too.”

"What kinds of other things?" Will probes. Mike swallows hard.

"We…we talk about…fuck, this is tough….about my…my brain.” He can't believe he said it. He can almost feel Will slipping away, but his boyfriend stares baffled. They talk about Mike’s brain? What about his brain? The last time Will checked, Mike's brain was perfect. Why does this involve Robin? Mike cannot make eye contact. Will green eyes stare directly into his soul. If he looks back, he will lose his sanity. His hands white knuckle the sheets–anything to ground himself. Despite every cell in his body telling him to abort the mission, Mike forces himself to continue. If Will decides to leave him, he deserves to at least know the truth.

"My brain is…different from most people's.” Mike’s not sure how to explain this without sounding completely insane. “I have difficulty connecting with people and holding on to relationships. I'm blunt and straightforward, and people think I'm rude. That's why making friends is hard for me. People don't understand how to interact with me.” The words are slow and halted, forced out like a reluctant child. Will hangs on every one. He has yet to see the whole picture but will keep listening until he does. Mike continues as bile creeps into his throat.

"I also struggle with change. I need routine and structure; it keeps me safe. When that structure changes, it takes me longer to adjust. Like when you and El moved away, or Max joined our Party.” Words come faster now. He’s held this pain inside for too long. “I don't understand why things change and how everyone moves on while I'm stuck in this perpetual loop. I get scared that everything will change because one thing is changing, and it’s too much to handle. I don't want to be hostile, but my brain tells me to protect myself. Routines also help me not feel overwhelmed by the world. Everything is loud…and bright…and fast. It's terrifying.” Tears spill out, emotions too much to contain. “If I stick to my routine, some of that stuff fades into the background. But as soon as it changes, that all comes rushing back in. My body shuts down, and I can’t stop it. I lose control, and it's scary, Will. It's…It's so scary!"

Mike breaks down and rolls into his boyfriend’s waiting arms. Guilt consumes Will as he processes Mike’s words—He had no idea. How has Mike survived this long—kept this pain lodged deep inside himself as it slowly consumed him? How did he not notice his best friend, the love of his life, was drowning? Will rubs deep circles into Mike’s back, attempting to ground him. He wishes Mike had told him sooner. He would have helped him through it, been there for him when it was all too much. How did he miss it? Something so central to Mike's being unknown to the people he loves most. Will's mind drifts back to their childhoods when Mike would fall apart on the floor. Will would hold and rock him until he calmed down–not dissimilarly to what he did last week at the hospital. Then it clicks. Mike is describing those moments. Nights spent on the kitchen floor crying over a scratchy shirt tag or "wrong foods" touching. He got angry because Will canceled plans they made a week ago, even though his PTSD flared up and he was too weak to go out. Will’s head swirles with examples, and each one makes more sense than the last. He holds Mike's face, wiping tears with his thumbs.

"Mike, I understand. I see how scary those moments are for you. I may not feel what you feel, but I see your pain, and that’s enough. You are not broken, and there is nothing wrong with you. Do you understand me?" Mike tearfully nods. Will’s voice shakes, but he needs Mike to understand. "I love you so much, and I am honored you feel safe enough to share this part of yourself with me. I will always be here to help you, just like you help me. We need each other, and I am so thankful to have you in my life. I do have a question, though. Does it have a name, and why do you discuss it with Robin? Isn't that something a doctor tells you?"

Mike laughs at Will's innocent questions. "You should talk about it with a doctor, but most don't know much about it. It's called autism, and I talk about it with Robin because she has it, too. She's the one who saw it in me. The first time she explained it…I cried, Will. I had never heard a word describe me so perfectly.” As he remembers the moment, new tears form, and a smile radiates through his body. “It was like…I had a missing piece, and Robin found it. She unlocked me. I finally have permission to be myself. All of these struggles, all of this pain, it's real. It has a name. I've never felt this way, and I want you to know so you can feel it, too. I love you so much, Will.”

Autism. Will rolls the word around in his mind. He's never heard it before, but it makes sense. It explains Mike. His bluntness, his temper, his everything. He pulls Mike close and hugs him tightly, tears mingling in their embrace as they celebrate the moment. It is not sad. Instead, it is euphoric.

[rubydubydoo122]

In every universe Jason Peter Todd dies young. It’s a fate sealed across the multiverse. Maybe he could hope that there’s one universe where he doesn’t. aka, Jason, Dick, and Bruce go multiverse hopping, and are not having a fun time. (Ps, when I started writing this fic I hced Jason as Latino, but I don't really believe in that hc anymore, so just a heads up if you don't like that hc)

TRIGGER WARNING -> Child Death (it's Jason) and overdose

Bruce seemed to have that look on his face. The one where he was about to tell Jason something he didn’t want to hear in that tone that made him feel like he was 12 again.

12, like the little lamb who the Joker had Gutted alive, eaten alive.

Jason had to swallow the bile that was rising up in his throat, and turned to Bruce, “I’m sorry I killed the Joker, but not really. You can yell at me later for it. Ok?” Jason wasn’t taking any of Bruce’s ‘Holier than thou’ attitude. He know. He knows he’ll never be good enough for Bruce. He’s known since the moment his brain was sewn back together by the Lazarus waters. Jason knew he could never be good enough for Bruce. If Jason knows that, Bruce has to know that.

Dick was leaning against a wall head clutched in his hands and with his eyes squeezed shut shut. Then he took a deep breath, and it was almost instantaneous the way Dick collected himself.

Just another way Jason wasn’t Dick and would never be him. 

Though, Jason felt like he was missing something when he realized both Bruce and Dick were plastering on their gala smiles.

Though Dick’s voice was tight, barely masking the venom when he spoke, “Ms. Haywood.”

Jason doesn’t think he’s ever turned around so fast, “ Mom?”

Sheila’s eyes lit up in a way Jason couldn’t explain, “Willis,” She swatted Jason’s chest, but let her hand linger, “I thought you were the one who told me to stop calling you papi. ”

Oh. oh. Ew. Ew. Ew. This was some “Back to the Future” type buffoonery. He took a step back, but then noticed how eyes were red and pupils were dialated, “Sheila, are you high?”

She giggled, “It’s just a little coke.” she moved closer and ran a hand up and down Jason’s chest, “You look nice. Almost like the day we met.”

Dick swatted Sheila’s hand away and slightly stepped inbetween the two.

Jason could feel his shoulders creep down a little, now that Dick was acting as a wall “Where’s Jason?”

Sheila pouted, “but Willy, it’s my weekend with him.”

“You’re as high as Icarus right now, and outside, without him. I think I have every right to see my son. Can I borrow your keys?” He held a hand out.

She hummed, “Alright, butcha gotta gimmie something first.”

“Ok…”

She put a finger to her chin and looked up, “A romantic old kiss.”

Jason was about to die from discomfort and cringe into hell, “How about… I promise you one for later.”

She sidestepped Dick and gripped Jason’s collar, “nuh, uh uh,”

Jason was dead. He was dead, and this was hell, “Sheila, please, not–not in front of my Dad.” Jason glanced at Bruce who seemed to be rebooting. The words kinda slipped out, but they seemed to make her falter, “And you’re making a really bad first impression.” Hopefully this wouldn’t be much of an issue. He was pretty sure Papi’s parents died years before he was born, because this was Gotham. No one lived long.

“Oh.” Sheila immediately let go, and smoothed her hair, “It’s nice to meet you sir. I- uh, Willis didn’t tell me he was bringing you. I’m Dr. Sheila Haywood.” She held out a hand

Bruce raised an eyebrow, but didn’t shake it back. It was a power play that Bruce uses with superheroes he didn’t trust. 

“Sheila, why don’t you go on a little walk. Sober up. Then we can all talk together.”

“Yeah. Ok.” She dug her keys out of her pocket, handed them to Jason, and headed down the block.

He ignored Bruce and Dick’s looks as he headed towards the apartment listed on the keychain. It wasn’t too far, a couple buildings down, but something about this Gotham made him feel… off kilter. He didn’t really recognize it as well as the other ones. It seemed… better somehow. Not that there wasn’t crime happening around them, it’s just, compared to their Gotham, the crime seemed juvinile.

The opened the door to the building and went to the third story. Only to realize the door to the apartment wasn’t even locked.

It’s because she was high.

But then why didn’t Jason lock the door? By the time he was five he knew locking the doors were important.

“Mama?”

That was a baby.

He heard scrambling, and the sound of small footsteps making their way to see who had just come in. Baby Jay laid eyes on Jason and his face lit up, “Papi!” and the toddler was barrelling towards him. 

Jason squatted down to embrace the Baby Jay, and stood up while bringing the kid with him. Jason was very skilled at the art of picking up kids. The Alley Kids don’t call him Tio Rojo for no reason. 

He planted a kiss in Baby Jay’s curls, “What have you been up to, Mi alma.”

Baby Jay leaned into Jason’s shoulder an shook his head. Though, it was a bit aggressive, so Jason was 90% certain he was wiping his face on Jason’s shirt, “Nothin’...” Jay looked up and held Jason’s face with both hands, “Papi, your eyes hold the whole earth.”

Jason gave Jay a little laugh, “Is that so?” Though he held Jay’s eye contact. Something… something was off.

“They’re brown like the dirt, green like the trees, and blue like the oceans.”

There was a soft chuckle, that definitely did not come from Dick. Except, Bruce doesn’t chuckle. At least not anymore.

Jason turned around to look at Bruce, who was looking reverently fondly longingly warmly at the two of them, “It’s nice to know you’ve always had a way with words.”

Honestly, Jason might’ve stool there gaping like a fish for years if Baby Jay didn’t start making grabby hands towards Bruce. 

Bruce’s eyes narrowed and reached a hand out to wipe Jason’s face. Baby Jay began to flop towards Bruce, and Bruce immediately caught him, “Hey there, Jay. What’s on your hands?”

“Nothin’!” Jay stuffed his hands in his tiny pockets, “I don’t even have hands.”

If Bruce didn’t look so worried serious, Jason would’ve laughed. Except he didn’t, because now that he thought about it, it did feel like something was on his face. 

Dick made his way deeper into the apartment, very obviously looking for something.

He wiped it with his sleeve, and when he looked at it, there was a white chalky substance clinging to the brown leather. 

“Shit!” Dick swore from the kitchen, “There’s cocaine spilled on the dining table. And a spoon.”

“Call 911.” Jason immediately bent down to grab the Narcan from the pocket by his ankle. Except the packet he had was empty. He used it to help a man who was overdosing during patrol, before their stakeout with Black Mask.

And Bruce keeps Narcan in the vehicles he drives, not his utility belt. Because the parts of Gotham Batman patrols ‘doesn’t have much of a drug problem.’ “Dick, do you carry Narcan with you?”

“I ran out a couple days ago, and only had time to restock for my uniform.” Meaning Officer Grayson would have Narcan, not Nightwing.

Jason looked back to Bruce and Baby Jay. Bruce who’s eyebrows were furrowing more and more, and Baby Jay who was looking at Bruce like he was an angel.

Jason stood up, “Sheila’s a doctor. Maybe… Maybe there’s some in the bathroom? Or the kitchen. Or somewhere.”

He made his way to the bathroom. It was where Mami kept the Narcan when her opiates had been messed around with. There was a first aid kit, but only the with the basic bandaids, antibiotics and painkillers.

“There…There isn’t a home phone.” 

What?

Jason remembers using the homephone to call 911 when– right. Sheila’s his mom, not Catherine.

Still, why, why in the world would she leave a four year old at home alone ? Why in tarnation would she leave her cocaine in reach for a toddler ? She was a doctor , she should know better.

Even when Mami had doctors appointments and Papi was busy working, because chemotherapy is expensive, she would leave him with their neighbor, not all alone. And when the neighbors were too busy she would take Jason with her. Even when Mami had switched to opiates after they couldn’t pay for chemo, even when she was so tired she could barely walk, she made sure to keep the meds sealed and out of reach from Jason. And now, because Sheila was too careless, because Sheila didn’t care, because she didn’t want–

There was crying like the lamb like Tiny Tim. Right, Bruce was alone with a baby. He probably barely knew what to do.

He went into the living room and sat down next to Bruce, who was holding a wriggling Jay. Jason took Jay from Bruce and started rubbing his back. He was warmer than before, “What’s wrong?”

Jay grabbed at his chest, and pulled his shirt, “ Hurts .” Jason rested his hand on Jay’s chest. His heart was beating rapidly. 

Jason– Jason didn’t want to tell Baby Jay a poem to distract him. Because a poem would mean the end and– It can’t be the end. Not when, not when Baby Jay had never lived. Not when he had a whole lifetime ahead of him.

Bruce stood up, and went over to where the CD player was sitting on the windowsill.

“Bruce, what are you doing?”

Jason could tell what Bruce was doing. He was searching through the CD basket. He really meant why he was doing it.

“You, um, you said you used to listen to Billy Joel with your… Dad.” Bruce found the CD he was looking for, “This doesn’t say what song it is.”

“Billy never disappoints for any occasion.”

Bruce put the CD into the player, and the quick stacattos of the piano chords began to play. Maybe ‘Only the Good Die Young’ was a bad song to play when a toddler what fighting for his life.

Though Jay’s crying pettered out when he heard the music.

“ Come out, Virginia, don't let me wait; You Catholic girls start much too late; Aw, but sooner or later it comes down to fate; I might as well will be the one,” Jason stood up, and started swaying to the beat with Jay in his arms, as they listened to the song, “Well, they showed you a statue, told you to pray; They built you a temple and locked you away; Aw, but they never told you the price that you pay; For things that you might have done. Well, only the good die young; That's what I said; Only the good die young; Only the good die young.”

Jason started singing, because he didn’t want Jay wondering why they were just swaying in silence, “ You mighta heard I run with a dangerous crowd; We ain't too pretty, we ain't too proud; We might be laughing a bit too loud; Aw, but that never hurt no one; So come on, Virginia, show me a sign; Send up a signal, I'll throw you the line;” Jason covered Jay’s eyes, and earned a giggle, “ The stained-glass curtain you're hiding behind; Never let's in the sun,” Jason felt his heart swell as Jay softly sang along. 

He was aware that Bruce and Dick were just watching. He was aware that Jay’s heartbeat was still getting faster and faster. He was aware when Jay stopped singing along. He was aware when Jay went into cardiac arrest. He was aware when Dick started doing chest compressions on the doll on the couch. He just couldn’t seem to move his arms, or legs. He couldn’t seem to blink and he couldn’t hear anything. Weren’t they just listening to Billy Joel? What were they listening to again? Vienna? My Life?

There would soon be a child buried in the ground. In a coffin that was too small. There were now seven coffins in the ground that were too small. There was going to be more. With each universe the went to, they brought the death of a Jason like an inescapable prophacy.

Everything lurched around him. The sun engulfed the earth, though it goosebumps dotted his skiin like there was six feet of snow on the ground and he was buried in it. He was buried in white.

A child was gone.

[imtheiliad]

KEEP YOUR BRITTLE HEART WARM [404 words | 6x15 coda] or the See Me Norman speech Eddie deserves to give <3 it isnt really getting together cause it didnt really fit the vibe. this is what happens when i dont get torrents in time<3 title from peace by taylor swift

"I really thought I found someone who saw me, really saw me you know? But after that first date, we didn't have anything else to talk about and it was just awkward." Buck sighs.

Eddie places his beer bottle down on the counter with a little too much force which he realizes a second too late as he hangs his head.

"Did you ever stop and think that maybe there was already someone that sees you," he swallows past the bile that seems to creep up his throat.

He can feel how the whole kitchen stills around him. How Buck is barely breathing.

"I don't-"

"Buck!" It falls from his lips with an unmistakable hurt that has been begging to spill over for weeks.

He finally turns around and faces him.

"Do you remember that call my first year on the job, the woman on the highway overpass?"

Buck looks puzzled for a moment and something finally crosses his face.

"See me, Buck. See me. I been here this whole time. And I thought I had to wait for you. That maybe you would never see me, and I would live my life watching you be happy from the sidelines, holding back because you would build something else. And I was doing it for you, and i thought I could do it for the rest of my life. But then you died, and I have to be selfish. Because I need you to see me see you. Not just for your experiences, not just for your job. I see you for who you are. For every piece of you, even the parts you try to hide. I see them. I know them. And I love them. See me Buck."

He runs a hand down his face, looking at the fridge, seeing if he can make out the chicken scratch notes on the Durand calendar.

"Frank said I should be more honest and not hide my true feelings. So, it hurt, I have tried so many ways to get you to see me quietly, and then you knew her for two hours over coffee and said that she saw you. It hurt. I have been right here," he finally looks up at Buck.

"I never want to hurt you Eddie. I-- I am so sorry." His voice is brittle and sincere.

"I know you didn't. And I know you are."

"'Cause you see me."

"Yeah."

[maya--4]

Regrets

Pairing: Simon 'Ghost' Riley x Ghost!Gn!Reader

Summary: Ghost finds an actual ghost.

Words: 2053

Warnings: Gore, Reader expresses great distress finding out they died and wants to sleep forever. That's all I can think about but if you run into more tell me. I plan for the other chapters to get much darker so look out for that.

A/N: Part one of my Simon 'Ghost' Riley x actual ghost!reader. I was originally going to write as one big fic but decided chopping it up into pieces would be better. This is not my first fanfic but it is the first one on Tumblr I've ever posted. :)

Also inspired by this fic made by @ceilidho

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  It's your room. The little concrete box you've spent the last 6 months in. An ache creeps in from... somewhere you're not sure. Like your body has been fused, all your nerves tangled and rewired. When your hand rests on the wall you feel the sensation of touch throughout your entire body. The room has changed slightly, the bunks are still there but your bed sheets have changed. You have no memory of how you got here.

It takes a minute for everything to return bit by bit, each memory hits you like a brick, all the years of loneliness trying to make friends and trying to win your parent's approval, all the time spent just for a fraction of affection. Then the army, you joined thinking this... this would be the thing that gets your parent's praise. The hollow feeling in your chest feels almost debilitating, the lump in your throat borderline choking. You made a friend, thinking of his name makes your head throb. Remembering anything about him makes you feel ill. Your body trembles, chest heaving frantically but air doesn't fill your lungs. You're not choking like you think you would... It's a dream. It has to be a dream, it would explain the weird sensations. That's a rational explanation for this.

'Just a dream, only a dream.'

The door opens and a man in uniform walks in, he's of a low rank, you don't recognize him as one of your roommates.

'Must have the wrong room.'

Your mouth opens to speak but nothing comes out but you can see him jolt, his head whips around to look at you.

  He's completely silent while looking at you. He looks afraid, not the kind of fear you get when someone hides around the corner and jumps out. It's like he's seen a ghost. You try to speak again but you have no breath to speak. He backs out of the room quickly slamming the door on his way out.

  You would have flinched at the sound but your attention is focused on something else. The mirror he was standing in front of... You didn't see it before, and when he walked in his frame blocked it.

  The face in the mirror is torn, teeth and muscles exposed on one side. The collar of the uniform drenched in blood. Another false inhale and the figure in the mirror moves its hand to its face. You see your hand in your peripheral vision. It's your face, but that can't be real, you're not dead. You were just in the gym. Confusion and denial cloud your thoughts until everything suddenly clicks.

'I died.'

Your hand drops, suddenly to weak to hold it up. The silent scream that is torn out of your throat does little to help all the sudden emotions. The realization makes you want to vomit bile but there is none. This is what you get, after years of neglect and sadness, all the years being forgotten, and the only thing in return that you get is death? The lightbulb flickers before shattering leaving you in the void.

  You feel nothing when you knell to the ground and coil up in a ball, sobs wrecking your body. What did you do to deserve an eternity of solitude?

'Why couldn't I just sleep forever? who's sick fucking idea was it to bring me back!?'

Your begs and sobs fall on deaf ears. You come to find out that time moves differently when your dead, not even sure how long you were dead before becoming a ghost. You try to seem non-threatening at first, but part of you dies with every interaction with the living, their fear only furthering your spiral into madness. You hold on to your humanity as long as you can but the passage of time takes everything eventually. Grief and longing morph into animosity, you find yourself lashing out more and more until they abandon the room completely. Turning it into a storage closet, installing an almost blindingly bright light to make you disappear. They rarely come in leaving you in total darkness, the shelves gather dust and cobwebs. It's almost peaceful if not for your thoughts hanging over you, the what-ifs, the jealousy, the regret.

  But curling up on the floor and being alone just feels better. Those moments you can forget reality and slip into daydreams are the only things you look forward to.

You can't do that when people are looking.

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

"You can't be serious Price." Cold seeps into his skin through his jacket where he leans against the wall.

  "You're not the only one, they're checking the rooms adjacent to yours too."

  'As if that changes anything.'

"Why do I have to pack up and leave? Can't they just do their jobs faster?" His eyes scan the forest just outside the base fencing. The sun has set past the tree line leaving a golden halo over the the tops of them.

"It's only two days Ghost." Price says before taking a drag of his cigar.

"What could they possibly be doing that would take two whole days?" Asking seems futile now, he knows they are checking the walls for structural damage, pipes that run through the walls, and the bathroom making sure everything is still up to code. But does that really take that long?

The captain breathes out, smoke pouring out, amusement written on his face.

"Maintenance."

It's not that he harbors any attachment to his room at the barracks, or anywhere else for that matter. He likes the convenient placement. It's the perfect distance to most of the base amenities and facilities while also not having too much traffic in the hallway. The room he's given temporarily is a different story. It's a long distance from everything, tucked into an old corner of the base. Roughly the same size as his own room but without the bathroom addition. He takes note of the single bed in the middle of the room, the scratches in the floor from moving bunks around, dusty cobwebs clinging to the ceiling, and stains on the walls and floor leave him wondering what soldiers could be doing in here that stains concrete. The metal frame creaks when he sets his bag on top.

"You've got to be fucking joking." He pinches the bridge of his nose, reminding himself he's slept in worse places.

He falls asleep easily when he needs to, so why can't he? Why does he feel on edge? There's no furniture for someone to hide behind, no windows for someone to look through, even the door is locked, but he can still feel someone watching him.

  He can't see you, not with the lights off. It should stay that way, just until he leaves. It's odd, they stopped putting people in here since they turned it into a storage room. This guy must be important for them to clear it out and give it to him. You just hope it's not permanent.

He doesn't remember the exact time he falls asleep but it had to be late because he wakes up strained. His hand paws around on the ground for his phone, unplugging it from the wall. Hitting the power button proves to be useless.

'It's dead.'

  He plugged it in last night, saw it charging before he layed down. He groans and goes in the general direction of the door to find the light switch in the dark. The light burns shapes into his vision, his eyes screw shut at the sudden blinding light.

'Who thought it was a good idea to put the brightest lightbulb in such a small room?'

The day doesn't get any easier, seems everything decided to go to hell and blow up in his face. A small fire in the kitchen, although not doing much damage means a mountain of paperwork for him later... on top of the paperwork he still has yet to do. He spends his entire day sitting behind a desk. The feeling of being watched doesn't return until he goes back to the room for the second night. The small light of a lamp illuminates the space, made sure to grab it on his way back so he can see in the morning without essentially flashbanging himself.

But it reveals a different problem, the far left corner of the room is darker than the rest. No matter how he moves the lamp closer does it dissipate. It remains a void. He's heard stories, distortions found on security footage, soldiers walking down the hallway in retired uniforms and disappearing around corners, soldiers bleeding out on the ground calling for help, and when medics arrive they've vanished without a trace. Given his name, he's familiar with the concept of 'Ghosts'. If this is one of those cases this one is not corporeal. It has no form, no mouth, most likely the reason he was on edge the night before. Or he's finally lost his mind.

Sleep envelopes him quicker tonight, knowing what had him on edge.

'Just a little shadow.'

He saw you, no doubt about it he stood in front of you, just staring. You can't tell what the hell he's thinking with that fucking mask on.

   'Please just leave me alone, I can't handle it...'

   The words echo through your head over and over. You truly can't tell that time passes when you are alone. Days, even weeks can pass by in what only feels like a few hours but when people come you can feel every second that passes only brings you closer to hysteria.

   Your peace returns when he leaves in the morning. No other furniture has been brought in, which hopefully means that he's not staying permanently. That fucking mask irritates you beyond reason. It could be that you've been left by yourself for so long.

   The groan that leaves his throat holds no amusement as he reads the screen of his phone. Price just delivered the news that a pipe in the wall is corroding and needs to be fixed. This means he's stuck with the shadow and creaky bed for another night at least until a qualified repair crew can come to base.

   "Should just throw the mattress on the floor." He mutters, pocketing his phone and changing directions, his original plan being thrown out the window as he carries a bundle of unfinished paperwork with him.

   He opens the door and flicks the light on, the overhead light illuminating every nook and cranny of the room like a flood light. It's unnecessary in such a small room but the lamp he grabbed is too dim for him to see what he's reading. Almost forgets about the shadow in the corner of the room as he sits down on the bed. The only reminder is a buzzing of his nerves that won't go away. He can feel the begining of a headache starting to form. His eyes trail to the corner involuntarily, like a moth to a flame. It's not visible, but he can still feel it. He manages to pry his eyes away and focus back on his work. Time passes and his headache has doubled. He gives up, choosing to do the work tomorrow and try to sleep off whatever has come over him so quickly.

'That's enough for today.'

He puts the folder down and does one more check to see that his phone is charging and that the handheld lamp is on before standing to turn the main light off. The lamp gives a small glow to the room.

He's not expecting the eyes in the dark, the lamp on the ground highlights the silhouette of the shadow. No longer just a corner devoid of light, the head, shoulders, arms, and legs can be seen albeit blurry. The malicious intent behind its eyes isn't lost on him though. He can feel the pure hate in its eyes, but realistically what can it do, stare him to death? His lip twitches upward into a grin.

   He doesn't spare another second thinking about it, checks the lock on the door, and makes his way to the bed. He takes a glance at the shadow. Their head has turned to look down at him. Still pressed into the corner like it was trying to stay as far away from him as possible.

   "You don't seem very happy that I'm here, Are you scared of me little shadow?" He regrets speaking. Whatever it is begins to shake violently, still firmly planted in the corner. A low growl turns to a sharp shrill before the lamp light bulb shatters plunging the room into darkness. His ears ring at the sudden shriek.

   'Probably shouldn't provoke the shadow.'

[pepperfishh]

The Autonomous: Chapter 12

The Autonomous: Chapter 12

Trigger Warning: Sexual Assault

I’m not ready to return to my dorm when the others retire to theirs. Every time I look at Peter, he’s got more of those garbage articles that Erudite is pushing about Abnegation. I can only be around it so much before I break and make the mistake of admitting I came from Abnegation.

I need to be alone tonight.

I’m at the net.

I was so determined to belong to Dauntless, I jumped into a seven-story fall without knowing what was at the bottom. Dauntless has been my entire life. When I saw them at school, I always wanted to be like them. Loud and daring and free. Free to express myself however I wanted, rather than constantly bite my tongue and try to fit in.

It’s late – definitely later than I’m allowed to be roaming the halls. I hear voices at the end of the hallway and creep closer, sticking close the walls to hide in the shadows.

“So far there haven’t been any signs of it.” It’s Eric.

“Well, you wouldn’t have seen much of it yet,” comes a female reply. Cold and familiar, but I can’t place it. “Combat training shows you nothing. The simulations, however, never fail to reveal the Divergent rebels. You’ll have to examine the footage several times to be sure.”

I think my stomach dropped to the floor. I feel cold and frozen.

“Don’t forget the reason you were appointed to this position,” the voice warns. “Your first priority is identifying any that come through your pipeline.”

“I won’t forget,” Eric promises. As their voices move further away, I inch closer to the corner, tilting my head forward to try to see them.

Then someone grabs me from behind.

I open my mouth to scream, but a hand claps over my mouth in a harsh smack. I thrash, but the arms holding me are too strong. They pull me back against a much larger, much more muscular body than mine. I bite down on the fingers over my mouth.

“Ow!” a voice cries.

“Shut up and keep her mouth covered.” That’s Peter. I didn’t return to the dorm tonight, so he came to find me. And brought help.

A strip of cloth covers my eyes and someone ties it behind my head. Two hands hold my arms, dragging me forward. Another two are on my back, shoving me. One is still over my mouth. There are at least three people. All much larger than me. I don’t stand a chance.

The dread settles in like lead in my stomach.

“Wonder what she’ll sound like begging for mercy.” Peter is laughing. I think there are tears in my eyes. The cloth feels wet now.

I hear the crash of water against rocks. As the realization settles in, I start thrashing, throwing all my weight back and forth as hard as I can. I’m not sure it does anything at all.

“Lift her up. C’mon.”

I think about giving up. Just for a moment, I long for that peace I felt the first time I went through my fear simulation. Just acceptance of what was going to happen.

My stomach is pressed against something hard and cold. I think it’s the metal railing. The one that overlooks that chasm. The acceptance is gone. I’m not dying tonight. At least not without taking one of them with me. My breaths come out in pants. One of them is pressed against my back. His hand gropes along my chest.

“You sure you’re sixteen, princess? Doesn’t feel like you’re more than twelve. Not sure what Eric and Four see in you.” Peter. The other two laugh.

“Nah, I bet she’s a virgin,” one of the others calls out.

“Oh, let me check.” Peter’s hand crawls down my front. He lifts the bottom of my shirt and his hand creeps under the waistband of my pants. Bile rises in my throat and I swallow the bitter taste. I have nowhere to go in my mind to block out what’s happening. I’m forced to be 100% present as I feel the invasion of his fingers. “Oh, I think I found it. You were right.”

His mouth clamps down on the juncture between my neck and shoulder, and I let out a muffled cry as his teeth break thought skin. He grinds against me from behind, and I stop fighting for a moment and freeze in terror as I feel his erection against my ass. No. If they’re going to kill me, I’m not letting them rape me first. This is not happening.

I bite down on the hand over my mouth again and it slips from my mouth. “Dammit, you bitch.” Al’s voice. Al was the one covering my mouth. As soon as he releases me, I buck back against Peter, slamming my head into his. His arms loosen around me in his surprise and I find my opportunity.

Someone, I think Al, has returned to my side to regain control. I throw my elbow at him and I hear him grunt. I get my feet up on the railing and push back, taking Peter with me and slamming him into the wall.

Something hard strikes my face. Peter scrambles out from between me and the wall and throws me to the ground. My hands scramble to remove the blindfold. A foot drives into my side and I start coughing. Somewhere in the back of my mind, I think about the fact that the liquid on my hands is the blood that I just coughed up, but I don’t have time to worry about that. Another hand grabs my hair and slams my head against the floor. A scream bursts from my mouth.

I’m dizzy, but I fumble around my head to try to get the blindfold off. I find the edge and drag it up and over my head. My vision is blurry, but I see someone running towards and us someone – I think it’s Al – running away.

My hands feel around for the railing, and I haul myself to my feet. The moment is short.

He’s wearing a facemask, so even without the blindfold, I can’t see his face. But I know it’s Peter who wraps his hand around my throat and lifts me up. Spots are appearing in my vision as he holds me over the chasm. I try to kick him, but my legs can’t reach.

I hear a shout and he releases me.

I slam into the railing and frantically reach out my arms, hooking my elbows around the railing. I feel the mist against my ankles. I’m on the wrong side and I’m too weak from oxygen deprivation and too many blows to the head to pull myself over.

This is actually it. I don’t feel the peace I thought I would. I just feel terror.

The third attacker that I didn’t recognize is on the floor screaming. I hear thumps and groans. I blink several times trying to focus.

“Four,” I croak out.

My eyes fall shut and I feel my body give out and start to fall from the railing. Hands wrap around my arms and lift me effortlessly over the railing. He pulls me against his chest, easing an arm under my knees. My face turns into his shoulder, and I remember nothing else.

…

When I open my eyes, I’m unfamiliar with my surroundings. I hear water and I try to lift my head, but that takes more effort than I can put forth at the moment.

Everything hurts. I shouldn’t move. I can’t be in good shape. I tell myself to be thankful for the pain. There’s no way I’m dead and it still hurts this much. I blink several times and move my head a miniscule amount to look in the direction I hear water.

Four stands in the bathroom with his hands in the sink. He has a cut at the corner of his mouth, and his knuckles are busted, but he seems otherwise fine. He turns off the water and dries his hands on a towel.

He walks to the refrigerator and pulls out an icepack. I consider closing my eyes again – they’re very heavy right now, and it hurts to have them open – but then our eyes meet and I can’t close them.

“Your hands.” I’m not even sure if he can hear me. I can barely hear me.

“My hands are none of your concern.” I guess he did hear me. He rests one knee on the bed and leans over to slip the icepack under my head. I can’t stop myself from reaching out to touch the cut on the side of his lip.

I momentarily curse myself for my moment of weakness, but if questioned later, after the night I’ve had, I think I can legitimately chalk it up to brain damage this time.

“Tris,” he says against my fingers. “I’m fine.”

“What happened?” I ask, letting my hand drop.

I can’t read the expression in his eyes when he looks at me. “I was coming back from the control room. I heard you scream.”

“What happened to them?”

“I went back and dropped Drew at the infirmary a half hour ago,” he explains. “The other two ran. Drew says they were just trying to scare you. At least, I think that’s what he was trying to say. It was hard to understand him.”

Any other time, the look on Four’s face would be terrifying in the current context. I found it rather comforting. And something else I didn’t want to think about.

“He’s in bad shape?” I ask instead.

“He’ll live,” he says bitterly. “In what condition, I can’t say.”

“Good,” I spat. I’m so angry. I’ve never felt like this before, and I don’t know what to do about it. I think I’m shaking.

Four crouches down and rests his hand carefully on the side of my face, his thumb skimming my cheekbone.

“I could report this,” he offers.

“No,” I say immediately. “I don’t want them to think I’m scared.”

He nods. “I figured you would say that.” After a beat, he asks, “Who were the other two? I only got a look at Drew.”

“Peter,” I hiss out. “And fucking Al.”

I move to sit up and Four makes some kind of tsking sound before slowly squeezing his arm between my shoulders and the bed and helping me sit. I sway as the dizziness hits me and pain bursts from every inch of my body. I stifle a cry.

He hands me the icepack. “I’m the only one here,” he reminds me. “You’re allowed to just be in pain.” I look away from him, tears streaming down my face. “You wander around too much. You should probably stick close to your transfer friends from now on.”

I take a deep breath, but it ends up more of a series of gasps. “I thought I was. But they’re pissed at me. And Al…”

“Your strength made him feel weak,” he says softly. “He’s ranked last and he knows he’s out. He’s terrified.”

I nod. That makes sense.

“The others will probably come around if you just show the tiniest bit of vulnerability. Even if it’s fake.”

“You think I have to pretend to be vulnerable?” I ask incredulously. “If you were a half a second later in grabbing me, I’d be dead. I’m feeling pretty damn vulnerable.”

“You sound much more angry than vulnerable.” Asshole.

“I know you,” he says. I’m not sure I believe that. “You’re going to want to march into the dining hail tomorrow with your head held high and pretend like nothing happened. But you should keep your head down.”

I look down. My shirt is ripped to pieces and, I’m sure Four didn’t even notice before, my pants are unbuttoned.

“I can’t,” I gasp out. I feel the bile returning.

“You have to.”

“You don’t get it.” I don’t think I have many words left. I scramble to my feet, ignoring the pain and his protests, and my eyes dart back and forth trying to remember where the bathroom was. “They touched me.”

And I take off stumbling towards the bathroom with Four hot on my heels. His hand slips into the doorway above my head and flips on the lights as I fall to my knees and empty the contents of my stomach into the toilet.

I’m glad my hair is too short to worry about it getting in the way, because I’m on the ground for a good ten minutes heaving, and Four seems to be permanently attached to that doorframe.

Finally, the feeling goes away and I fall back to rest on my heels. I look up at Four. His entire body is tight and his knuckles are white, clenched around the doorframe. His hands are huge. Bad Tris.

I stare at him for a moment longer, not sure how to respond to the Four that’s in front of me.

“They touched you,” he repeats lowly, his eyes are darker than I’ve ever seen them.

I clear my throat. “I am not going in tomorrow morning with my head down. Not for Peter.” I spat his name out with such venom it almost surprises me.

“You need to go to the infirmary,” he finally says.

“No.”

“Tris,” he argues. “That is… He…” I’m glad Four can’t bring himself to say anything about it, because I don’t want to hear it anyway. “You need medical attention.”

“I…” I don’t know what to say. If I actually report it, I’ll have to actually tell someone what happened. Like, in detail. And that thought almost makes me sick again.

There’s one bright moment where I remember what Eric said before. Peter will get kicked out. He’s done.

Then I remember the conversation I overheard before they snuck up on me. Eric and whoever that woman was.

I can’t trust Eric.

“Tris, please.” He’s practically begging me now. “Please, let me take you to the infirmary. I’ll stay with you the whole time. They won’t touch you again. But if you don’t report it, they get away with it. Peter has already gotten away with too much.”

After another long pause, I finally nod in agreement. He reaches out a hand to help me up. I take it gratefully and lean into his side when I’m on my feet.

“You good?” he asks softly. He wraps an arm around my back for support and guides me out of the bathroom.

“Just a bit dizzy,” comes my weak response. He comes to a stop at the couch and grabs a zip up sweater from the arm. He helps me pull my arms in and steps back to give me space as I slowly zip it up.

“Come on.”

The walk to the infirmary seems to take forever. Probably because it does because I’m moving so slowly, I’m practically falling asleep. When we finally reach the infirmary doors, Four reaches out to push one open.

“You should have just let me kill him the first time.” I don’t know where the thought came from; it just kind of slipped out. I hadn’t even been thinking about it.

Once the words are out, I find I don’t regret them. Four meets my eyes. He agrees with me.

He tightens his hold around my back, but I wince as a spark of pain erupts from my ribcage. A muffled “fuck, sorry” falls from his lips and he lowers his arm a bit to move it away from what is probably a broken rib.

I have a death grip on his shirt as he leads me into the infirmary.

My free hand comes up to shield my eyes as we walk in; it’s painfully bright in here. There’s a man I don’t recognize hovering over someone. I realize with bitter glee it’s Drew; he’s practically unrecognizable.

The man looks up as we enter, and his eyes go wide as he takes in my appearance. He rushes towards us, but as he gets closer, I find myself involuntarily pulling closer to Four, turning my face into his side.

Four wraps his arm around my shoulders and pulls me to his chest in a tight embrace. I feel safe. It’s strange.

I feel his other hand move away, and he says quietly to a doctor, “Is there a female on duty tonight?”

If the man responds, it’s nonverbal. I hear Four let out a sigh. “I’ll get Shauna down here. Is that okay with you, Tris?” His voice is unbelievably soft. I’ve never heard this tone from him. I nod my head weakly against him.

“Okay, come on.” He walks me to a bed as far away from Drew as I can possibly be. I feel the bed against the back of my legs, and he urges me down, slowly releasing me as I settle in. He reaches behind him and pulls the curtain partially closed to block Drew from view.

He squats down slightly to bring his eyes level with my face. “Are you okay if I leave for a few minutes to go get Shauna?” I tense. No, I am not okay. I came here because he promised he wouldn't leave.

What if Peter and Al come back? I’m sure they assume after the damage they caused, I’d have to go to the infirmary.

My panic must show on my face because he lets out a stressed sounding sigh. He turns towards the curtain and pokes his head out.

“Are you able to go get Eric Coulter?” he asks. I assume the other man is who he’s speaking to.

“I have another patient,” he protests immediately. “I’m the only one on duty. I can’t just leave.”

“He seems stable for the moment,” Four argues. “If he happens to die in your absence, it’s the least of what he deserves.” Scary Four is back, but I kind of like it. He lets the implication set in for a moment, and finally, the man agrees to go fetch Eric.

Four steps back to my side of the curtain and looks at me.

“You should probably lay down.” He’s already back to nice Four. That was a quick change. “You look like you’re about to keel over.”

I don’t even say anything. My eyes are heavy.  He’s right. I start scooting back on the bed a bit and he slides his arm under my back to help me lower my upper half to the bed. The minute my head hits the pillow, he pulls up the blanket from the foot of the bed and covers me with it.

He scoots the chair closer to the bed and takes a seat. He grips my hand lightly in his and rests his head against the other one with his elbow resting on his thigh.

I’m barely conscious by the time the infirmary door opens, but when I feel him start to pull away, I tighten my grip on his hand. The adrenaline has long worn off, and all I’m left with is fear.

And weakness.

I hate it.

“I just need to talk to Eric,” he promises. “I’m not leaving.”

“What’s going on?” Eric’s voice is slowly getting louder as he gets closer.

Still grasping my hand, Four stands. He places his other hand on my arm and gives it a quick squeeze.

“I’m not going anywhere. I’m just going to step over here and talk to Eric real quick and then we’ll find Shauna.” I reluctantly release his hand and he steps around the curtain.

“Dammit Four,” Eric curses. “It’s the middle of the damn night. Why did you call me do- What the fuck? Tris?”

He sounds close and judging by the sudden concern, I assume he can see me now. Fake concern. It’s fake. Eric wants me dead, even if he doesn’t know it yet. I start to open my eyes, but the light filters in just a sliver and I let out a moan and close them tightly again, throwing my arm over them to block the light out more.

“I need to get Shauna down here,” Four interrupts him.

“Why?” Eric asks impatiently. “Shauna’s a nurse. We have an actual doctor right there. Why does it need to be Shauna?”

“Because,” Four spits out, his tone on the edge of dangerous again. “Tris needs a female medic.”

“Fuck.” Eric understands immediately. “Fucking assholes. Who?”

“That’s the one I got.” I assume he’s pointing at Drew. “The other two ran off. She said it was Peter and Al.”

“Son of a bitch, why’d you let them run of Four? Fuck!”

“I had to make the choice between chasing after them or grabbing her before she dropped into the chasm,” snaps Four. “I trust you feel I made right decision, given the circumstances.”

“They were trying to kill her?”

“Dammit Eric, can we have this discussion after we get her medical attention. Can you please go get Shauna?”

“Why can’t you?” Eric argues back. I want to punch him. I know he’s a little power hungry, but couldn’t he just do what he’s told for once in his life.

“Because she loses it if I try,” he snaps. “Please, Eric, please just go get Shauna.”

Four has said please more times in the last sixty seconds than he’s probably said in his entire life. I almost giggle.

I don’t hear anymore words exchanged, but the door opens and closes again, and then Four’s hand slides back into mine.

There are voices. Loud voices. Did I fall asleep? I don’t remember. I’m holding someone’s hand. I wiggle my fingers a bit and they squeeze my hand in response.

I start to open my eyes, but fuck, it’s so bright. I’m barely squinting; my vision is blurry, but I can see Four still sitting next to my bed.

I think Eric is back with Shauna. I hear the rings at the top of the curtain jangle as it’s moved to the side, and then I see Shauna. There’s a blur right behind her; I assume that’s Eric.

“She’s awake?” Eric asks.

I try to reply, but my throat is scratchy, probably from screaming – or the whole strangulation part – and it comes out as a cough. With my free hand, I start to push down against the bed and try to force myself up, but the movement almost makes me scream.

Four is on his feet immediately. He releases my hand before I can protest and slides his arms behind my back again to help me sit.

Sitting up, I finally manage to open my eyes all the way, but the action has the room spinning. I sway a bit and reach an arm out to steady myself. Four catches it and holds me still.

“You good?” he asks, his voice deep with worry.

“Ye-” I cough. “Yeah.”

I haven’t really had the chance to see what I look like, but based on how Shauna and Eric are looking at me, it must be bad.

Shauna takes a hesitant step closer and Eric follows. I don’t look at him. He pulls the curtain closed behind him.

“Can you walk me through what happened tonight?” Eric asks. He pulls a chair over from the bed next to mine and drops into it.

I start to talk again, but I’m not sure it’s understandable. Shauna moves away for a second, and then she’s returned with a cup of water. I try to ignore the way my hands are shaking as I take the cup from her and tip it into my mouth.

The cool water burns as it goes down my throat, but it feels better now.

“I don’t remember where I was,” I start off, “but I assume it was somewhat close to the chasm because it didn’t seem like it took too long for them to get me there. They came up behind me; I didn’t hear them. Grabbed me and dragged me to the chasm. Tried to throw me over. Four showed up, beat the shit out of them, grabbed me before I fell. Then he made me come here.”

I glance at everyone and it’s glaringly obvious they know I’m leaving something out.

“Tris.” Four’s voice is low, warning. “We agreed.”

“You agreed,” I snap at him, glaring. He doesn’t seem afraid of me, but I can’t really blame him. “I didn’t really want to come here.”

“Tris.” Eric’s voice pulls my attention away from Four. “Do you remember what I said last time?” I nod. “Do I have a reason to throw Peter out now?”

“Is attempted murder not enough of a reason?” My voice is so high pitched, it’s unrecognizable.

“Okay, boys, I need you to step out,” Shauna interrupts. I look at Four panicked. “I’m not asking them to leave, Tris,” she promises me. “I just want them to step on the other side of the curtain so we can have privacy for an exam.”

I reluctantly agree and they both step away. Shauna pulls the curtain all the way so I can’t see any other part of the room.

She talks quietly through every step.

“Let’s take the hoodie off first, okay?” I lower the zipper and she reaches out to help me pull my arms out. She lets out an audible gasp, and then apologizes for it.

It was dark in Four’s apartment, so I didn’t get a good look before, but my shirt is ripped to the point that it’s not even covering anything. There are scratches and bruises all over my chest. I spare a thought of concern at my tattoo being visible, but Shauna doesn’t even pause when she sees it, so I think I’m safe.

She places her fingers on my ribs and starts softly pressing, apologizing each time I cry out in pain. She moves up to my head and moves it in circles. It makes me dizzy, but she seems satisfied with the results. When her fingers start palpating my skull, I’m practically sobbing.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry Tris,” she’s whispering. “I’m almost done. You’re doing great.”

Finally, she steps away and takes a breath. “Okay. Tris. Look at me.” I meet her eyes. “Just you and me here. Do I need to draw blood?” I guess my blank expression shows my confusion. “Do I need to check for pregnancy and STDs?” she clarifies. Oh.

“Um… I’m not su… I don’t think so?” It comes out as a question. I know the pregnancy part. But it’s too difficult to form rational thought; can I get an STD from his fingers? No, right?

She’s looking at me expectantly, waiting for me to continue.

“No,” I say more firmly this time, but I still think I may sound unsure. “He um… They said they were trying to…” God, can I even repeat this. When I continue, my voice is so quiet, I can barely hear myself. “They were trying to see if I was a virgin.” I can’t stop the shiver of disgust the runs through me. “He um.. it was just his hand.” Shauna nods in understanding.

“Okay.” She pauses. “Did it hurt? Does it still hurt? He still could have caused an injury.”

I hadn’t really thought about it; I think the pain everywhere else was kind of masking it. But if I really tried to focus on it, it did hurt.

I nod, my face bright red. “Ye-Yeah. It kind of burns.”

I feel the bile rushing up my throat again and I start to gag. Shauna’s eyes fly to my face as I cover my mouth with my hand. She rushes to the table next to me and pulls a metal pan out of the drawer.

I grab it from her hands with just enough time to bend over it and puke again.

“Shauna!”

“We’re fine,” she calls back.

Turning back to me, she says, “Do you feel comfortable with me doing an exam? To make sure he didn’t cause other injuries?”

I almost shake my head, but the action hurts too much. She must see my answer in my eyes because she drops it. Shauna brings me a wet rag to wipe my face and then hands the cup of water back to me. When I’ve finally stopped hurling again, she takes the pan and sets it down somewhere.

“Okay,” she sits on the very edge of the bed and looks back at me. “Are you okay if I let them come back in? I’m not sure how much longer Four is going to be willing to stand on the other side of the curtain.”

I pull on the blanket that’s covering me, and Shauna stands and helps me pull it over my shoulders. I wrap myself tightly in it and nod to her. “Okay.”

She pulls the curtain open and Four rushes back in and drops into the seat next to my bed, reaching his hand out. I slip my hand out of the blanket and grab it.

Eric takes the other seat, and Shauna resumes her spot on the edge of my bed.

As she starts talking, I turn my head away from them and close my eyes. I hear her describing everything I’ve told her to them. Every once in a while, I feel Four’s grip tighten, but each time he immediately loosens it and offers a quiet apology. I try to focus on the feeling of his thumb brushing back and forth over the top of my hand.

I hear something about photographs. My eyes widen and my head snaps around quickly. Too quickly. I slam my eyes shut and groan, my free hand going to clutch my head in pain.

“What?” I groan out.

“If you want to file a formal report, I need to photograph your injuries.” Her tone is apologetic. She knows I absolutely do not want to do it.

But before I can say anything, I hear a harsh breath leave Four’s mouth and I look up at his face. But his eyes aren’t on my face.

With one hand holding his, when I clutched my head, the blanket fell open and was no longer wrapped around me. I cringe back under his gaze.

“Tris,” he forces out before I can curl back into myself. “Tris, you need to report this. I know it’s… I know you’d rather forget this happened. But I think you know it’s not going to be that easy. It will be much harder if you have to keep looking at him everyday.”

I look away from him to see Eric’s reaction, but he’s just staring at my chest. He looks horrified. His eyes are wide and locked in on – I glance down – my tattoo. There’s recognition in his eyes. I quickly pull the blanket back around me. He blinks and looks up to meet my eyes.

I think we both look equally horrified.