#he needs to be stopped he’s ruining my life

[saymio]

Silent Obsession

Pairing: Hwang In-ho (the front man) x Fem!reader

Summary: your husband was missing, and all you did for days was stay at home crying your eyes out...waiting for your dearest husband to come home. this was until inho had decided to come give you a little visit while you were all alone and vulnerable.

Warning: dead dove: do not eat, noncon, degradation, light bdsm, manipulation, In-ho is obsessed with you, rough sex, mentioned age gap (20 years), cheating (not rlly), there might be more but I'm too lazy to write it.

A/N: not proof read. this takes place during s1. (most/all of the beginning contains junho x reader content)

7.2k Words

...

it was 2015, just a few days ago your boyfriend junho had invited you to meet his family on the day of his brothers birthday. his brother was turning 40 and they were hosting a small party, just a few people... and your boyfriend thought this would be a great time to invite you to meet his mom and brother. he was ecstatic at the thought, he really wanted his family to get to know you since last year he had met yours. and he was really serious about you... but it would be an understatement to say you were nervous. hell, you were scared. you wanted to leave a good impression on his family, this was the man you wanted to marry. if his mom didnt approve of you what could you say? she was wrong? that her opinion didn't matter? these thoughts swarmed your head for hours every day....

junho was driving the two of you from your small shared apartment to his moms place. you were sitting in the passenger seat as you stared out the window of the car, you were shaking... not from the cold but from the anxiousness you were brimming with. your fingers tapped against the interior of the car, your nails making a clicking sound every time they touched the material. "are you cold y/n? I told you itd be cold today..you should've worn a bigger jacket" junho glanced at you for a second before staring back at the road and sighing. he hated when this happened, when youd be so insistent in not 'ruining' your outfit that you wouldn't pay attention to whether you'd be cold or not. this always happens! ..but he always wears a jacket for you. because he knows you'll end up shivering from the cold gusts of wind and he cant stand the thought of you suffering from the freezing temperatures. you let out a small chuckle, it was barely over a whisper but junho heard you loud and clear. "why're you laughing.." he frowned a little, not because he's upset or mad at you but just because you werent taking the situation that seriously. "what if you catch a cold? at least think about me when you dress this way..you know I hate when you're in pain.." the last part of his sentence was soft and quiet, as if he was murmuring to himself..making sure you wouldn't hear him. "stop worrying so much babe...I'm not cold or anything.. just a little jittery, its my first time meeting your family after all." you giggled at his genuine worry for you, he was such a drama queen. making these small actions seem so much more serious then they were..but its something that made you love junho. how kind and protecting he was of the people he cared about. "nervous? you don't have to be nervous y/n...I'm sure they'll love you." junho's right hand made its way to your left hand. holding it tight before giving you a soft gentle smile. his ability to sooth you with just his smile had to be studied, he truly was an angel on earth to you, like he had a halo on his head 24/7. you leaned forward a little and left a quick peck on his cheek, quickly leaning back down to your seat and looking away from him. but at the corner of junhos eyes he could see how red you've gotten...he thought it was adorable. how the two of youve been dating for 2 years but you still got flustered over small kisses. you were so innocent and kind, the exact woman he needed in his life...

but little did junho know, he was right. his family did love you..especially his brother.

you had arrived at his mothers house, .. your nerves were spiking, how should you introduce yourself? what if the cake you made was still raw? what if inho doesn't like his present? these thoughts ran through your head as you two waited for someone to open the door. your finger nails tapping against the box the cake you had made was in. the sound deafening you as you just wanted the damn door to open already. you really just hoped youd make a good impression... after what felt like an eternity the door opened, behind to door revealed the birthday boy himself, Hwang In-ho. junho just shook his hand before you bowed at him slightly before shaking his hand and introducing himself briefly. "happy birthday In-ho, my names y/n" In-ho just nodded coldly at you, if the harsh winds outside didn't freeze you his stares did. he stepped aside, allowing the two of you in. he lead the both of you up the apartment complex stairs, your heels making a loud click sound echo though the staircase with every step you took. after only a bit of walking up stairs you had reached the door to where the party was being hosted.. . . when junho had told you itd be a 'party' you expected a family gathering with like 15 people, but upon arrival you quickly realized..it was truly just him, his brother and mom celebrating inho's birthday today. you were pleasantly surprised, you hated large groups of people..it made you skittish and always super nervous. so just 3 other people being there calmed your nerves down, alot. the apartment was small and cozy, very homey and nice. his mother had made a mini feast with delicious foods and decorated the place with a few balloons and banners. it was a seemingly wholesome sight of a mother doing something nice for her sons special day, it made your heart warm up inside your chest as you took a seat at the table. "hi honey, what's your name?" junho's mother grabbed one of your hands, cupping it with the both of hers. you felt yourself blush and smile, you had barely even been inside yet his mother was being so kind already. her soft gentle voice, and kind soft eyes. it was everything that's junho was. "y/n, what about you miss?" you were trying your best to be as polite as possible, you didn't want to tip her off and cause her to hate you.. but you felt kind of uncomfortable.. inho..he was staring at you alot. and it was like he wasnt trying to hide it, his dark eyes piecing into your soul. as if he were looking for the innocence inside of you... to take it away from you. the entire day just led to you getting more and more uncomfortable. you weren't able to stare into his eyes because you felt if you did he would just jump onto you not giving a shit about his mother and brother being there too. "y/n, what would you say if your favorite thing about junho?" inho spoke, his deep voice sent uncomfortable shivers down your spine.. this entire atmosphere..it was odd. but it was like only you caught onto it. you stared at inho before turning to junho...he was blushing. he tried keeping a stoic face but you could tell he was getting flustered before you even spoke. his ears tinted in a light pink an so was his neck. "ah.. well his kindness..I think its the main reason I fell in love...he's very kind and soft spoken to people. at least until they do something wrong..but either way he's an angel." a gentle smile took over your face, you stared at junho and then at inho to continue your sentence..it was obvious you were head over heels for this man.. "he's just a very likable man." inho smiled at you, not speaking a word but it was like his face said them all for you. but they weren't the words you'd expect a caring older brother to say, it was more like a .. 'wow how nice.' but in a sarcastic tone.. his mother on the other hand.. "aww how sweet! young love, its so beautiful." she clasped her hands together before grabbing your forearm and staring up at you with twinkling eyes, it was like she was already envisioning your wedding and family with junho. "promise me you'll take care of my son, okay?"

it was a little past 10pm by now, everyone had eaten a slice of cake and junho's mother adored it. junho was right, his mom did love you. she was already talking about marriage and how she wouldnt be surprised if you made the wedding cake because the one you had brought today was "just too delicious!" you laughed and giggled at her antics, your face flushed in embarrassment. you turned to look at inho, who was staring at you intensely. your happiness almost instantly vanished as you shuffled in your chair. maybe he was upset you hadn't given him his gift yet...that should do it!! maybe he'd stop once you did. "a- inho, I brought you a gift." his eyes widened and it had seemed like he just heard life changing news, maybe he really was just sulking over a present..it was kind of cute. you grabbed your bag from your feet next to you and shuffled around until you found a yellow box, you pushed it towards inho and smiled. your tried your best to give a genuine, heartfelt smile even though you felt uncomfortable with all his glances and stares. he smiled at you, this time it seemed a little less fake...but still not genuine. he opened the box, it was a watch. a very beautiful one. it was shimmering under the dinning room light, a light white silver with simple but detailed engravings on the band of the watch. it was beautiful and it definitely wasn't the cheapest, you don't remember how much it was exactly since you had bought it the same day junho had told you about his brothers birthday..but you knew it was enough to make you wince at the receipt. "I left the receipt folded under the cloth Incase it isn't to your li-" you were cut off by inhos voice, it was calm, not as cold as it was before..it was rather soothing even.. "no. its perfect." he put the watch on, adjusting it so it fit his wrist perfectly. you felt your lips creep into a wide smile, you were so glad this day was going perfectly. "wow, that's such a pretty watch! it must've costed you a lot." their mother interrupted the two of you, staring at the watch that sat on inhos wrist and then at you. "inho, say thank you! be polite." she hit the back of his head harshly, as if she were scolding a little kid... you laughed at the scene, mothers truly see their children as their babies forever. "no- its okay miss don't wo-" it seemed like today was full of interruptions and cut offs as inho did just it again. "thank you y/n, I appreciate it a lot." his face was blank again, no readable expression was there.. but based off his passed reactions..you felt he was being sincere. . . . "thank you miss, thank you inho." you bowed at the both of them while you stood at the front door with junho, showing your gratitude for their kindness and patience with you and your boyfriend. "of course honey, please come back any time you want." junho's mother grabbed your hand one more time, inho nodded along with her. he wasn't a man of many words but it seemed his scary demeanor had vanished. maybe it was never even there and you were just nervous..either way you were glad you didn't leave the house with a weird feeling about your boyfriends brother. juho's mother then shoo'd the two of you away, telling you it was late and you shouldn't stay up so late at such a young age... you felt happy. a warm feeling sat in your heart and stomach, it was like you had just found your second family.

time skip (5 years)

there you sat in the police station, its been days since youve last seen your husband. you were sobbing into the palm of your hands, the salty liquid dripped onto your long dress as you drained ever drop of water from your body. you were terrified. what happened to him?? where was he?? what had he gotten into? you were devastated to say the least, you explained with a shaky and quaky voice that your husband had just told you he was off to investigate his brothers vanishment and would be back by the night..like always! so when you woke up and he wasn't there you just felt dread. you texted him and texted him all day to no response. when he didn't come back for the second day you reported him missing. you reported this story to the police about 9 times already, everyday since you reported him missing you came to the police station for any clues or help..an obviously everyday they told you the same thing...that they had nothing. the only reason they didn't push you off to the side when you came in was well..because your husband worked for them. he was a police officer under them, it'd feel disrespectful to you and junho if they just told you to give up hope on finding your husband. maybe you'd stop after another week or two..you'd realize whatever fate inho had found was the same junho ended to aswell... and not only that but you were pretty, kind and in obvious distress over your husband. they'd feel like they just kicked a sick puppy in the stomach if they told you to go away. so every day, at 8am you come in. usually in a pretty sundress but your state of mind isn't as pretty. your eye bags were prominent and you seemed to constantly be in a state of dissociation.... "you promise there's nothing? please double check! please..I need my husband back. you don't understand" your words were exasperated and rushed, you wanted answers, your husband, closure, anything! your breaths were getting heavy as you reached your delicate hand to the tissue box on the desk infront of you. you felt yourself breaking down, more and more, every. day. the police officer let out a breathy sigh, he was trying his very best to not tell you off. to tell you to go back to your home and cry there or something. to stop wasting his time every single fucking day.. but he couldn't. and he wouldn't. not when your state was some of the worst he's seen in his years of being an officer. "listen ma'am, there seems to be a dead end a-" you slammed your hand onto the table, one still holding the now damp tissue as you started to cry harder. you shook your head violently, indicating a very obvious no...or in this case obvious denial. "no. there..there isn't a dead end. he's alive and he needs your help!! please..please keep searching i-i'll.." you started to dig into your purse, the same one junho had gifted you for your 5th anniversary not long before this whole ordeal. when you felt what you were looking for you snatched it out your bag, like it was grabbing it, stealing it from your grasp. "h-here..d-dont stop searching please. I'll give you this..p-please.." in between words you started to cry more, tears streaming down your cheeks and dripping off your skin. your head was lowered and you were looking at your lap. you didn't want to stop looking for him. you wouldn't stop until you knew he was safe. "ma'am...you don't have to give me money for doing my job." he slid the stack of money that you had taken from your purse back to you and shook his head in disapproval. "listen.. sigh we're trying our best okay? we arent just laying around doing nothing, he was our coworker and we want to find him as much as you do.." he looked away from your depressing state, you were catching your breath and shaking, your fists were curled into balls. it was clear, even though he was an officer that he didn't want to find junho nearly as much as you did..he didn't think it would even be possible to. "just..take a break. you're overwhelming yourself and it isn't good for you. junho is strong and you know this, so just believe in him and his ability to live..."

the officer opened a drawer that was next to his seat, it was a little pile of candies.. he grabbed a handful and handed you a few. with a shaky hand you took the candies, your eyes were red and puffy. it was painfully obvious that you had just broken down in tears. you didnt want to speak but it was obvious by the way you acted, that all you wanted right now was for your husband to come back into your embrace. "if you want I can step out and let you calm down." the officer stares at you, awaiting the answer that would leave your lips. "no..its okay.. i-...whatever. thank you, I will take a break to calm down and compose myself. please have a good day." you mumbled the first few words, like a scared child who had just gotten caught with their hand in the cookie jar and is now making up an excuse. you let out a loud sigh before you stood up from your chair, rubbing your tired, sore eyes before fixing your hair and grabbing your bag. you turned around right as you were in front of the office door, you bowed at the officer to show your gratitude as you proceeded to touch the cold metal handle of the door and creaked it open. with a click of the door closing you were walking away from the room you had just broken down in.

there you were, sitting on the edge of the bed you and your husband shared. it felt cold every time you sunk your body into the soft mattress..cold and empty. you weren't used to this, you were used to your husband coming home from work and giving you a kiss. slipping into the soft blankets together as you worked as heaters for each other's bodies. you didn't like this. you didn't want this. you flopped your upper torso onto the bed, causing it to make a squeaking sound to the sudden pressure. your legs were dangling off the side of the bed as you stared up into the ceiling. the world around you felt hazy, like everything that surrounded your body was just an empty void of nothingness. the world was meaningless without junho. you felt your eyes getting heavier and heavier...until they had finally closed shut.

knock... knock... knock you jolted up from your bed, who was here at this time? it's like 2am... you stared at the closed bedroom door, thinking about if it was a good idea to open the doorm. you're a young woman alone at her house at 2am...what if it was a sex trafficker trying to kidnap and rape you!!?? knock... knock... knock the loud but slow knocks echoed throughout the house, the knocks took a 3 second pause inbetween..it was so creepy.. it made your skin crawl.. bu...what if...what if the police have clues about junho and came to talk to you about it they heard of it!! or..what if junho had finally come home..... these thoughts rand through your head, you were scared of what might be behind of that door. but not scared enough to not open it. you slowly got up from your bed, making it squeak under the pressure of your body. your soft slippers made a swooshing sound against the wooden floors as you shuffled your way to the front door... knock... knock.... knock there it was...the knocking. you couldn't help but feel this dry lump from in your throat, but you had to do it...you needed to make sure... if it was some stranger you'd just slam the door on them and go and hide in a closet or something.. your swallowed the lump in your throat and placed your palm on the cold metal of the handle, unlocking it with a small click and turning it clockwise so that it opened the door.. you didn't open it alot, just enough to see who was on the other side. your eyes stared at the dark soulless eyes In front of you, it was a random man. you had no idea why he was here or what he wanted..but he looked very familiar..maybe he was an off duty cop that just wanted to check up on you..? "h-hello..? how can I help you..." your voice was small and quiet, barely above a whisper as you used the door as some kind of shield from the strange man. "yes. you can." you stared up at the man with confused puppy dog eyes, what did that even mean?? you furrowed your eyebrows and squinted your eyes as you stared at him..you were about to close the door on the strange man until something clicked inside of you. you recognized where he was from.. "inho?! w-what? what are you.." your judgmental facial expression quickly changed into one of shook and worry, was he here to see junho? how would you break the news that his brother was now missing too?? you raised your small hand to your mouth, covering it in shock..you didn't even know what to do....what should you say..? your eyes started to water and tear up, you were reminded of the harsh reality junho was in..he was seriously missing and now the person he went missing looking for was In front of you...it seemed like everyone was just against you. mocking the disappearance of your husband. "what...are you doing here? a-are you here for junho..he's.." you let out choked sighs after every other word, taking your hands from your mouth to your entire face. you were a crying mess In front of a man you barely knew, it was so embarrassing. you were so pathetic and sad. everyone's been telling you to just get over it but here you are, sobbing for what felt like the 6th time today. a loud sigh snapped you out of your saddened state,, but...it wasn't a sigh of disapproval or frustration...it was like a sigh of...desire. like he was getting off to the sight your sobbing, scared and fragile body. "you're doing this on purpose, you have to be." you stared up at inho with confusion. you eyebrow was raised, as if asking him what the fuck he meant by that. before you could even mutter a word he pushed you, really harshly. you went flying back into your home, head hitting the hard wood. you felt yourself getting dizzier and dizzier for a few seconds...you felt like you couldn't move, speak or even see anymore...your head was spinning and alarms were ringing from the inside of your head..until you were passed out.

you woke up... you were sitting in the middle of the dining room, it seemed like someone had moved the table and other chairs out the way as it was literally only you. you and the chair you were sitting on. the room was barely lit up, you could only see some of your surroundings due to the singular light that was on. the ligh that bulb was right on top of you..it felt like you were about to get interrogated for murder,,you were terrified. for you wanted to scream, cry and just run away from what was happening. but you couldn't. your ankles were tied onto the legs of the chair. your arms and torso were bounded to the chair itself with a thick rope., it was digging into your skin hard..it hurt. alot.. you wanted to squirm around and get yourself free but you knew you'd just end up knocking the chair down and you'd be stuck in an awkward position..you tried to start screaming but you couldnt, you were confused..it was like your mouth was glued shut.....your eyes darted around the room, looking for anyone, anything to help you. it took you a second for you to put the pieces together but.. once you did you realized.. your mouth was duck taped shut. you didn't know what to do, you were overwhelmed and you just wanted your husband back to you. you closed your eyes shut as warm salty tears fell from your eyes. your eyes just couldn't catch a break, could they? they were tired and sore. even when you werent sleepy it hurt to open and close the..a result of crying for days.. you just wanted to feel happiness again. but clearly that wasn't going to happen soon. was your fate going to be the same as your husbands? were his kidnappers after you to sew your mouth shut?? you didn't want to die..at least not because you got closure.. "you shouldn't cry Infront of me. its a bad idea. I have a thing for little girls that look pretty when they cry." your head jumped forward, looking at the figure that had stepped out the shadows surrounding you.. your eyes widened, remembering that inho had been the one that knocked you over and caused you to black out. the same man that had gone missing 5 years ago, the same man that your brother went missing looking for.. what was he doing here? was he here to kill you? to keep you silent? to assault you? thoughts rand through your head as he took large, slow steps towards you. as if he was mocking your frightened state. he reached his right hand out towards you, your eyes landed on the silver watch he was wearing. it seemed so similar to the one you had gifted all those years ago..but no way he would still be wearing it, right? before you could even process another thought his hand gripped at your hair, pulling your head back and forcing you to literally stare up at him. the roughness of his grip made you wince in pain..he didn't come here with intentions of being nice and if you didn't realize that person you definitely realized that now. you tried to scream and kick your feet, you knew the tape and rope would stop your attempts and make them useless but you still tried. your screams just came out as diluted, muffled noises. the tape had stopped you from making any loud noises... the chair under your only shook a little but it wasn't enough to lighten the grip inho had on your hair. his dark, soulless eyes stared you down. they were like black orbs, nothing behind them. he grinned at you, like he was watching a cartoon and a character had did something funny. he was laughing at you. he thought this was funny. "you look so stupid, you do know that the tape will just silence all your screams, right? or are you too young and dumb to understand that yet." he tilted his head at you and gave you a mockingly confused expression. he was having the time of his fucking life while you were here, scared for your damn life. you glared at him, trying to intimidate him..doing anything to scare him...trying to find the little humanity in him that feels sympathy was clearly never going to happen. so you had to try another approach..even if it wasn't going to work either... and your suspicions were right ..

he just smiled at you, another mockingly fake smile... he released his hand from the grip he had on your hair and pinched your cheeks, just as roughly as he did with your hair. leaving a red mark when he let go... it was like he was treating you like you were a pouting child, stomping your feet because your mom didn't let you buy the comically huge lollipop you really wanted. "youre not scary sweetie." the pet name made you want to throw up in your mouth. he knew well you were his sister in law but here he was, calling you pet names with his disgusting voice. " you know..ive had my eyes on you since i met you...you're just so gorgeous..and delicate." he took a short but slow walk around u and stopped to stand behind you. his cold hands reached to your face and covered your eyes. you couldn't see anything but you knew he was leaned up in your ear...you could feel his hot breath making you unnervingly uncomfortable. "I just wanna ruin you." your breathe hitched in your throat, he was going to rape you. you know it, you had to fight back, you had to. you couldn't let a man that wasn't your husband put his dick inside you. inho took his cold hands away from your face and walked back in front of you. you glanced down at his crotch and...there was a bulge...he was getting off to your scared shape. he truly was an emotionless sadist.. he held up his index finger to your covered lips. "shh. make any noise and I wont think twice about killing you and your husband." your eyes widened as you heard the last part...that meant your husband was alive..and he knew where he was. you nodded slowly, complying with his words. he ripped the piece of tape off your mouth, causing you to let out a yelp in pain. you stared at him with a frightened face, you realized you had just made a loud sound...you didn't want to die you didn't..you didn't want your husband to die! "I said. be quiet." the truth with inho was, he had already killed your husband..at least he thought he did. only a day ago did he shot junho, causing him to fall off the side of the island...he probably drowned and is floating lifeless in the sea right now.. but you didnt need to know that...and it was clear you weren't even aware. your mouth was shut and you tried to silence your heavy rapid breathing....you really did love your husband..he wanted to steal that love from junhos grasp. he leaned down, his face was now perfectly aligned with yours... you wanted to say something, you wanted to scream and cry but if you did he'd kill you...you knew he would... his left hand started to rub your cheek, it was gentle and warm but it just made you hate it even more...his fake kindness. you hated it. his lips connected with yours, at first it seemed like he was trying to be gentle but it was obvious he had quickly gotten bored of it before he got rough. your teeth were clashing with each other as he shoved his tongue into your mouth. exploring every inch of it before he started to nip at your lips...he was aggressive and messy. everything junho wasn't.. this wasn't the kind of kiss you wanted or craved. you felt like your eyes were sewn shut the way you refused to open them, you didn't want to stare at inho. you just wanted this to end..maybe once it did you'd finally have your husband back. after what felt like hours of making out he has finally took his chapped lips off of your soft ones. a string of saliva connected the two of you as he caught his breath. you opened your eyes to stare at him, they were watery..your tears were pricking at the corners of your eyes as you caught your breath. to inho you eyes were like glass marbles...and he wanted to shatter them into pieces. you took deep breaths in an attempt to calm down. if you were calm it wouldn't be as bad. you read this inside your mind over and over and over again. you just prayed he would use you quickly and then leave... "you know, that day..the day where junho has brought you to our mothers house for my birthday.." his eyes wandered away from you, as if he were recalling the day in exact detail, scene by scene...

his eyes snapped back to yours, holding intense eye contact until he continued his sentence... "when I asked you what you loved most about junho you told me you loved his kindness. you said he was a soft person..an angel in your eyes." he crouched down, staring at you with intense eyes. his sharp features were like daggers, stabbing one by one into your heart. "you told me you loved something about him that I lacked. I'm not a kind person. and right now..you probably think I'm the devil instead of an angel like my brother.." he smiled at you, it was a cold, fake smile. if you touched his face right now it'd probably be ice cold.. "thats how I knew someone like you would never willingly be with a man like me.. but it's okay, I'll just force myself onto you." you started to cry, the salty liquid streamed down from your cheeks to your chin. your eyes were red and puffy, you didn't know what to do. you didn't want to be with this man, you didn't want this. inhos left head reached to your face, this time he squeezed the both of your cheeks so that your lips were puckered at him. "got it, princess?" he leaned in to kiss you again, this time he went aggressive right away. forcing his tongue into your mouth, some of your tears dripped onto his mouth. letting him taste the saltiness of your sadness. and it was delicious.

there you sat, he had freed your ankles from the restraints on the chair. nipping and licking at your clit. you hated this, you couldn't stop crying. you felt disgusting, a man that wasn't your husband was licking and eating your pussy out. why would you let this happen? at this point death felt better than breaking your husbands heart. you lets out cries and soft no's as he slurped your juices. you hated that it felt good, you hated that he knew what he was doing. your moans and mewls filled the room, followed with wet sloppy sounds of spit and cum mixed together. he's been eating you out for what felt like hours, you've probably came like 3 times already. you were getting tired..your legs were shaky, trying to close in on themselves but inhos arms kept them wide open for you. "p-please stop. I don't like thi-this...ah...please..let me go already..please.." you were begging with him, your eyes were shaky, your face was flushed and your lips were wet from his aggressive kisses. god. the scene of you begging for him to stop as he abused your clit was one he wanted engraved in his mind forever. he let go of your pussy with a loud pop, your juices and his spit was all over his mouth and chin. he looked like a wild animal that had just eaten his prey alive. with his sleeve he wiped off the liquid on his face. 'ruining' his all black jacket. "you want me to stop but your cum is all over my face and lips. you want me to stop but you keep moaning. just admit you're a slut for me." you close your eyes shut, shaking your head viciously, you don't want him. you don't want this. you just want your husband to be safe. that's all you want... inho scoffs at you, as if you were lying to his face. maybe he truly did believe you wanted this..that you wanted him.. but you knew it wasn't true, you knew that you loved junho and that you werent fighting back back because you just wanted him back.. you'd break down in tears in his arms once he comes home, you'll explain it when he's home. he'd understand..right..? you were lost in your thoughts, but reality snapped you out of them.. 2 long fingers were inside of your core, curling and pumping in and out... it hurt so much. it was nothing like you were used to, slow paced and gentle..no..it was fast and rough. you let out a cry, you were in so much pain it made you want to go insane. the rope that was still tied around your arms and waist dug into your skin, burning you as you struggled under the restraints..trying to find a way out. it felt like inhos was trying to split you in half, the rough skin on his finger pads only made it worse. but ofcoourse it had to feel good, because he knew what he was doing. even if it was messy, even if it was rough, even if you didn't like it..he knew how to make a woman feel good past all the pain. he tilted his head up towards you, his dark almond eyes burned holes into yours. "you gonna cum?" instead of a question, it felt like a demand. demanding you to answer yes, scaring you into saying yes.. but you didn't say yes, you said no. you shook your head and mouthed no to inho, not daring to say it out loud..and it obviously made him upset. he sneered at you before grabbing is free hand and pinching your clit before speeding the pace of his fingers. this was something you've never felt before, the pleasure finally overshadowed the pain and it felt like he had just forced your orgasm out of your body. your cum coated his digits, leaving a slightly milky white color on them.. you were catching your breath, it was hard to breath..the pain, anxiety and fear were catching up to you...you felt your throat slowly closing on you..you felt like you couldn't even breath enough air to supply your lungs are this point.. you were so caught up in your own world that you didn't even realize how he was pressing against the bulge that was begging to be freed from his trousers..he stared at you with bleak eyes, there was nothing behind them...nothing but desire and want..you were scared witless of what he would do to your poor body next. and whatever it was, you didn't want it

the bed was creaking under you, the same bed you and juho slept in everyday... you legs were pressing onto your stomach, the skin rubbing against each other. inho was slamming his cock in and out of you.. touching spots you didn't even know could be reached before this. you felt horrible for feeling so good. but you didn't want this. you were a crying moaning mess. your nails were digging onto his hands, the ones that were pressing you down. you were begging for him to stop, you didn't want this..you felt like you were being forced into this. with the life of your husband on the line.. inho let go of your left thigh and reached to your neck. his freezing hand sending shivers through your body as he started to choke you whilst pounding in and out of you..destroying your gummy insides. he lowered his face to you and scoffed, you looked so pathetic. crying and sobbing acting like you weren't enjoying his fat cock. why wouldn't you just admit you liked it for once? "acting like youre the victim while my cocks deep inside of you. is this all women do? complain about everything..just admit you like it. I wont tell." you felt so degrading. you were getting fucked by a man you barely knew on the bed your missing husband and you slept on every day at somepoint. using his life against you and now he's blaming you? was it really your fault? could you have just turned him away and still gotten junho back? was that an option that you weren't told about? you started crying, your weak arms pushing against his chest with no avail. you just wanted it to stop, you were in pain and now you're being told its your fault you're in this situation. you can never win. you began to sob louder, begging him to let you go, louder and louder until you were wailing like a stupid baby. your hand grasped at the tight grip he had on your neck, then to his chest to push him away again. "shut up." he snarled before taking off his hand from your neck, he had left a bruise from how hard he was gripping...with the same hand he harshly slapped you. shutting your cries up quickly. a red spot started to quickly form, your skin was now irritated in what felt like every place on your body.. "you're such a slut. taking the dick of a man 20 years older than you on the very bed your husband would sleep on. do you not feel ashamed? hmm?" he hummed at you, waiting for your reply. but you didn't even mutter a word, nothing. you decided you'll just take it with no noise, if you stay quiet up maybe it'll end faster?.. it should...shouldn't it..you were trying to comfort yourself in your head.. "you can keep trying to tell yourself otherwise but youre nothing but a dirty cheater. taking dick like a good girl. this probably isn't the first time youve done this huh?" he laughed at your now soulless face, he was right when he said he wanted to ruin you. he was doing that, and it got worse with every second that passed. "ffuck I'm close. you better cum or else I'll js' keep on using you until you do." you started to tear up, your clit twitching and your hole began to clench around his cock. you felt good, but terrible at the same time..you doubted he was cumming because he thought you felt good though, it was a factor but it was probably your shape that made him so horny. you were sad, in pain...tired... he got off to it so bad. you let out quiet pants and moans, indicating to inho that you were close too. he started to get sloppy, his pace getting even faster as the wet slapping sound of skin filled your ears to the brim. you felt your clit pulsating, begging for release...once you came you'd be free..you'd be...you'd be....be.. "a-aa.. fuck fuck fuckfck fuck! ouOUGH~" you let out loud, filthy moans. probably for the first time that night, instead of your cries it was your moans and whimpers that the room was now brimming with. inho loved the sound of your noises, your cries, moans, everything. God it made him so horny...once he felt you cum all over his cock he let his go through as well. fucking his orgasm into you deeper, and deeper with a loud groan..

he kept moving slowly, fucking you through your orgasm as your breathes calmed down.. "I want to ruin every inch of kindness and hope for humanity you have left in you. you're so perfect. perfect to corrupt.." his hand raised to your cheek and started to rub it 'lovingly'. you had a feeling he wasn't going to let you go like he had told you he would.

...

Another not: I FINALLY FINISHED YAY took me like all day again but ....yay!! I hope u guys liked it. I'm pretty proud of it but idk if its ooc or not... but SMASH THE LIKE BUTTON N HIT SUBSCRIBE 4 MORE..!!!!!!!

TAGLIST: @pollys-doublelife @gongyoosgf

[contact-guy]

okay I wanna talk about writing this a little bit!

-In the last lines of the comic, Holmes is recalling this conversation.

-There's a part in Granada Holmes (The Hound of the Baskervilles) where Holmes takes off his glove to shake Watson's hand. There was something so intimate about it, I wanted to capture that when he writes the letter.

-For that drawing of Watson standing looking out at the Falls, I kept thinking of a line from Lord of the Rings. It's when Samwise thinks that Frodo has died. He leaves the body, determined to carry on his mission, but stops for a moment to look back. "He peered out at that high stony place where all his life had fallen in ruin." There may be one or two commonalities between the things I like okay?!??

-Also for that drawing, that canon line "who was to tell us what had happened then?" shook me to my core when I first read this story. I knew I had to work it in somehow. What happens to the narrator when his protagonist dies?

-More canon lines - Moriarty talking about an "engine tearing itself to pieces" and "the days of the great cases have passed" are things that Holmes says himself.

-There's an instinct to drawing comics that makes me love making them more than any other medium. When a character is going to go through something complex, first I make sure that I can draw them experiencing that emotion. If I can't draw it, then there's probably something wrong and I need to write a bit more. Here are some sketches I did as I was ideating (which ended up being used in the comic):

-I was agonizing a few months ago about how to do this story, how to bring Holmes to the brink of the cliff and then bring him back. Sometimes when I'm stuck I just freewrite to see what comes up, trying to step through things from the character's perspective and see what makes sense. Here's some of this that I kinda think slaps:

When he survives…

He didn’t expect it. He was fully prepared to die. And he almost steps over that cliff, he does. Because he’s written himself into the end of the story. He’s written John the perfect ending.

But he doesn’t. Some animal part of his starved and neglected body, the part that kept him from falling in the first place, that kept him fighting. Is it the part that was loved and nurtured by watson? Some lingering love keeps him from following Moriarty. Hands that touched him in tenderness and love, now holding him back.

So everything since then has been trying to portray that in the most effective way possible. thank you for reading!

THE FINAL PROBLEM - part 9

This update comes with a content warning, which you can read here if you're so inclined.

THE FINAL PROBLEM - part 9 of a few more - part 1 - part 2 - part 3 - part 4 - part 5 - part 6 - part 7 - part 8.

This is in the Watson's Sketchbook series!

[souljahwwitch]

PINK HAIRED SWEETHEART!

;hc’s for thanos and reader with pink hair who hate eachother

“i fucking hate that pink haired sweetheart”

۫ ꣑ৎ; thanos who immediately noticed you, pink hair and doe eyes—everyone noticed you two, the unusal hair color making you two stand out in amidst of 456 players

۫ ꣑ৎ; thanos who, of course, first flirted with you and, of course, got his ego hurt because you just ignored him—you were here to win, not get distracted by stupid rappers.

۫ ꣑ৎ; thanos who actually saved your life in the very first game, unusally so—he pulled you behind him as people in the row started to slip before the doll turned around

“you look like you’ve seen a ghost, sweetheart—need me to make it all better hm?”

۫ ꣑ৎ; thanos who-when the game was over, approached you with confidence, saying “i saved your life, i think i deserve a little kiss—don’t i?” with that cocky voice of his

“oh fuck off—i just got caught off guard and you were there.” you said—and that’s when the hatred started.

۫ ꣑ৎ; thanos who got offended after you said that-because how could him pulling you behind him be ‘no biggie’ he totally didn’t do that to get in your pants!!!

۫ ꣑ৎ; thanos who would start mocking you, pulling you by your hair everytime you pass by him, throwing your lunch on the ground—everything, and him being actually struck by your pretty eyes, even though you annoyed him so fucking much, he didn’t mind one bit when you yelled at him—in fact, he found it cute.

“stop fucking pulling my hair!” you’d yell—but he’d just smirk

“relax, angel—would be a shame if i actually ruined your pretty pink hair, wouldn’t it?” he’d coo in that annoying tone of his, and you’d just hiss at him, walking away as he watched you with annoyance in his eyes—nam-gyu just watching you two in disbelief

۫ ꣑ৎ; thanos who’d watch you actually being sweet to others, trying to help everyone around you—except him, and that annoyed him to no end, why would you be sweet to those losers when he was right there!!

“man you need to stop looking at her like that.” nam-gyu said as they both watched you sparing your lunch and giving it to some scared boy

“i fucking hate that pink haired sweetheart.”

۫ ꣑ৎ; thanos who, once in this whole time, took a pity on you when he saw you on your bed—hugging your knees and hiding your face in them as you sniffled, too scared of watching people die around you—and him being him, he approached you—his voice uncharacteristically gentle.

“y’know it’s not your fault, right? i know you wanna help everyone but you’re not some kind of savior.” he says to you, but he sees that it doesn’t make it any better

“you know—i fucking hate you, but when we get out of here with shit ton of money, we’re gonna go to some pretty little cafe, and the soda’s on me, deal?” he says, and that actually makes you smile—so you nod in acceptance, and it makes his heart skip a beat

۫ ꣑ৎ; thanos who, in the game mingle, as soon as the number that was shouted was two, he pulled you by your wrist and ran with you to a room, he didn’t know why he did it, he hates you—you hate him. but it’s something you two are gonna talk about when you get out of here.

[not-neverland06]

𝙲𝚘𝚟𝚎𝚝𝚘𝚞𝚜 𝙷𝚎𝚊𝚛𝚝𝚜

Pairing ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ Arthur Morgan x fem!reader

Next Part - Hell Hath No Fury Series

A/N: my stupid poor-people photo editing app stopped working so now my cropping is all off and I'm sad. My aesthetic 😭

Summary: Something brews between you and Arthur, but as always, the camp comes first. Despite the growing tension, Arthur must leave to rescue one of the gang who'd been separated in Blackwater. Jealously brews as a loud-mouth Irishman returns to camp and sets his sights on you.

Micah’s cough echoes through the camp and you wince at the sound. “He needs to see a doctor before he gets the rest of us sick.”

Arthur shakes his head and sighs, “Caught somethin’ from the Downes fella in town.” He passes you some coffee which you take eagerly. It’s part of a strange morning ritual you’d begun with him a few weeks ago. Just after the hunting trip, you’d taken to having breakfast with him if he happened to be in camp that morning. It’s become your favorite way to start the day.

You smirk slightly and nudge his side. “You’re welcome.”

He laughs and shakes his head at you, “I’m sorry?”

“Well,” you start with a teasing tone. “If I hadn’t needed a gentlemanly escort into town for some shopping, it would have been you calling in on those loans.”

He opens his mouth to argue but it stays hanging as you see the cogs turning in his head. He snaps his jaw shut with a reluctant sigh, “Suppose you’re right.”

“I always am,” you tell him like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. Arthur just laughs, passing you some bread. You hear a familiar set of footprints pacing outside the tent and roll your eyes, turning towards the entrance. 

Sure enough, Mrs. Grimshaw paces around the perimeter of Arthur’s tent like a cougar. She sniffs when she catches your eye and turns her nose to the air, wholly pretending she hasn’t been stalking you. 

“Shoo!” Arthur shouts, waving her off. 

You let out a bewildered laugh, smacking his arm. “Arthur, stop,” you hiss, but you don’t sound very stern as you giggle at Mrs. Grimshaw’s affronted look. 

“Go on,” he keeps going, pushing her further. “Get,” he snaps like he’s talking to a wild animal. Mrs. Grimshaw says something you can’t quite catch and stomps her foot once before running off. 

You press a hand over your mouth, fingers pinching your lips to try and stop yourself from laughing. Arthur looks at you for approval and you only shake your head. “Come on,” he tries, “she’s been botherin’ us all mornin’. What was I supposed to do?”

“She’s not a dog, Arthur.”

“You sure ‘bout that?” He teases and you swat at his arm again. 

You shake your head, letting out a heavy sigh. “I truly think she hates me,” you whisper, pouring yourself a little more coffee. 

“She don’t hate you,” he reassures. You tilt your head with a deadpan look and he chuckles. “Well, maybe just a little.”

You sigh and shake your head, “Just because I married rich doesn’t mean I had an easy life.”

“I know that,” he objects. 

You look up from your mug and furrow your brows. “Do you? You think I don’t see the way you look at me? You see the same softness they do. I just can’t figure out whether you like it or resent me for it.”

The playfulness of the morning is long gone. You seem to have a knack for ruining the moment. This question, though, has been haunting you for a while. Dutch is passive in his disdain for your upbringing—snide comments here and there but nothing quite so obvious. 

A few of the girls question you about the privileges of being a lady a little too long for comfort. Then, the conversation will end with one of them sniffing and saying, “Must have been a nice life. Too bad you’re stuck with us now.” 

There are always small moments like that to break the ridiculous idea you’ve got in your head, that you belong. No matter how hard you try to tell them, they don’t seem to understand that this freedom is better than anything money could have bought you. Your life hasn't been your own since the moment you were born. Sure, being on the run from the law and fighting for every penny wasn’t fun. But moments like these with Arthur would never happen if you were back at your estate. 

With the others, it’s easy enough to see their resentment. But Arthur’s better at keeping his cards close to his chest. It took a while for you both to settle into something easy like this. Most of the time you don’t spend more than half an hour together a day. You don’t have a good enough read on him to determine whether or not he holds your past against you. 

Sometimes, you think you might see just a hint of bitterness when he catches a glimpse of the smooth skin of your palms. But you never know if that’s real or something your paranoid mind has conjured up. 

Arthur swirls his mug in his hand, a bit of the coffee splashing over the edge as it does. You squirm uncomfortably in your spot beside him. The sun has begun to heat up the canvas tent, but you know that’s not why you’re sweating. 

He gives you a gentle smile that eases some of the dread building up in your chest. “I don’t care either way. And you shouldn't give a damn what the rest of these fools think. It’s what you’ve done with your life, with your money, that matters.”

You chuckle and shake your head, “You mean my father's money, and then my husband’s money. It was never mine. That’s why I care what they think. I’m dealing with their judgments every damn day and they know nothing about the truth of it all. I was a commodity, practically cattle to those men.”

Arthur’s brows furrow in that familiar way they do whenever you talk about the men of your old life. It doesn’t bother you to talk about them because you’re used to it and they’re gone. But you know it makes Arthur angry to think about it. 

You’ve grown comfortable with each other, but it’s still a cold shock when he casually touches you. You glance down, eyes wide, as you see his palm covering your own. You look back up with a soft smile. “You’re smart, Arthur. Smarter than half the people here give you credit for. And far kinder than anyone I’ve ever met. " Your heart kicks up a beat when you see the way he refuses to meet your eye. 

You’ll compliment him a million times a day if only to get him to start believing you. And maybe so you can keep watching that pink flush on his cheeks. 

“That’s enough of that,” his voice is gruff with something you can’t quite name. Having enough sense to know when to stop you hold your hands up in surrender. 

“Only saying the truth,” but you never can seem to stop yourself from pushing just a little bit further. Arthur shoots you a sharp look and you bite your lip to keep from laughing at him. You can see him start to wind up and prepare yourself for the brief scolding you’re about to receive. Once he’s done with that, maybe you’ll do what you’ve wanted for so long and ask him to accompany you to Strawberry. 

You’ve been trying to work up the nerve as your last two outings haven’t gone wonderfully. You’re hoping a redo might help the both of you grow just a little closer. Besides, being away from camp seems to be beneficial to you both. 

Approaching footsteps bring your conversation to an awkward halt. They’re not the heavy foot of Mrs. Grimshaw. This is someone else, someone much more welcome. You turn and smile at Charles as he hovers at the entrance of Arthur’s tent. Arthur scoffs and mutters something under his breath that you don’t quite make out, but it makes Charles grin. 

Charles gives you a brief nod but his intentions are meant for Arthur. “Whaddya want?” Arthur snaps impatiently. 

“Trelawney came back,” Charles answers shortly and your face pinches in confusion. Trelawney? You roll the name around in your mind but you don’t think you’ve ever heard anyone in camp mention him. 

Arthur’s head perks up, the frown on his face softening just ever so slightly, but it's replaced by something more bitter. Curiosity or nosiness, you’re not sure, but rather than give in to the rules of common decency you don’t leave them to finish their conversation alone.  

You try to lean back, pretending you’re not there so they’ll keep talking. “The hell did he want?” Arthur barks, tone still rudely short. You wonder what happened between him and Charles, they seemed to get along well enough a few weeks ago. 

Charles's gaze darts briefly to you but he continues, “He’s got news about Sean. Says he knows where to find him.” Now, that name you know, if only through vague mentions. You know Karen does her damndest to keep a mention of Sean out of everyone’s mouths. And that he made it out of Blackwater alive but got separated from the rest of the gang. Other than that, you don’t know much about him. 

Arthur gets to his feet and Charles backs away a few paces, leaving the two of you relatively alone again. Arthur looks down at you, something like disappointment on his face. “You need to go,” you assume before he can say anything. 

He nods and you give him an expectant smile, “Then you better get moving, cowboy. I’ll be here when you get back.” He lingers for a moment like there’s more he wants to say. But your mornings together have always been short, you can’t imagine why that would have changed today.

He sucks in a sharp breath before nodding and heading towards Charles. You watch him go, your plans for the day being tucked away. You’ll ask him to town another time. As long as it’s anywhere but Valentine. 

A prissy throat clears behind you and your head sinks between your shoulders with a heavy sigh. “Time to get movin’,” Mrs. Grimshaw commands, with far too much glee in her voice. 

You’re sitting on an overturned bucket, running someone’s pants across the washboard. You hate doing this, especially in the brisk of the early morning. Your fingers have already pruned up from the frigid water and you can barely feel them anymore. 

Your gaze drifts to your right, where the heaping pile of laundry lies, and you consider running off with Lady. You know whatever other chores Mrs. Grimshaw would come up with in retaliation would be a million times worse, but it almost seems worth it at this point. 

You dismiss the idea, deciding to honor the unspoken rule of ladies staying in camp, and continue scrubbing. You think this might be Arthur’s blue shirt. You notice a few fraying edges and holes and make a note to fix them up for him once it’s dry. You only hope you don’t stumble across Uncle’s clothes while you’re doing this. That man has got stains in places that make you want to throw them in the fire, rather than wash them. 

“Never gonna get used to a sight like this,” Sadie calls out as she walks up behind you. She kicks a crate over and throws herself down beside you. 

“You will soon enough,” you let out a bitter chuckle and shake your head, “Mrs. Grimshaw’s got some vendetta against me.”

Sadie shrugs and picks at some dirt under her nails. The sun seems to crest just perfectly over her head, almost making her blonde hair glow. She seems to be getting better. She’s put some space between her and the O’Driscolls and has found a place in camp just a little easier than you. 

Still, you know she’s struggling. She wants the freedom that your friendship with Arthur and Charles has granted you. You know she’s feeling cooped up here at camp. You’ll have to invite her for a ride sometime and see if that will help ease some of her anxiety. 

“Nah, it’s not just you. That old hag hates me too. She thinks I’ve got ideas above my station.” You and Sadie turn, glaring at the back of Mrs. Grimshaw who is fussing at Lenny. You shake your head with a huff of laughter and turn back to the laundry in hand. 

“I miss Jake,” Sadie suddenly blurts out. You freeze, hand still partially submerged in water as you debate how to approach this. Sadie’s always preferred the blunt way of going about life. You don’t think she wants simpering sympathy right now. 

“Which parts of him do you miss?” You ask, trying to keep your tone light as you toss the shirt into the basket beside you. 

“The non-controlling parts.” Sadie nudges your side with a laugh, “Relax, I’m not gonna start cryin’ on ya. I just miss runnin’ my own house, not being bossed around by a son of a bitch like that,” she says, motioning vaguely towards Mrs. Grimshaw. 

“She’s not much better than my husband was,” you grouse, trying to drown out the woman’s voice. 

“Ooh,” Sadie groans, tone laced with long-held resentment. “Forgive me for sayin’ it, but he was a real pain in my ass.”

You can’t help the grin that curls at your lips as you straighten up, momentarily abandoning the laundry. “You’re not my employee anymore, Sadie. Say whatever you want.”

“Right,” she shrugs, “He was a real bastard and I hope he became wolf meat.” Your lips pull back into something resembling a smile, but it's not fully there. You imagine the blood of your husband on your hands and it doesn’t fill you with the usually stifling nausea. Instead, it’s like a distant ache. You’re either growing numb to it or finally accepting that you’ve done the world a favor. 

You suck in a deep breath and nod, “I hope the same.” Sadie lingers for a little while longer, not helping with the clothes, but keeping you company. You don’t talk about anything of much substance. Mainly her irritations with everyone in camp and you echoing the sentiment. She doesn’t like Pearson always trying to force her to cook with him and you hate being his taste tester. It doesn’t matter how much seasoning he adds, he doesn’t know how to make even half-decent stew. 

When Sadie eventually leaves to finish her chores and you’re left all alone with your thoughts, you realize just how painfully slow the day passes by. You almost find yourself dragging the laundry out just to provide you some distraction from waiting for Arthur to come back. 

You’ve both been lingering on the edge of something. You need to see if it’s all in your head or if there might actually be hope for the both of you yet. 

You glare down at the basket of laundry at your feet and let out a heavy sigh. You reach for another shirt and begin scrubbing, keeping a careful eye on the camp’s entrance. 

It’s not until the sky is illuminated with glowing swirls of orange and pink that Arthur and the others come riding back into camp. You’d run out of chores a long while ago and had just been restlessly pacing since then. Every time you so much as approached Lady someone would come by and distract you with some meaningless task. 

You’d been sitting in the tent for the past hour, barely reading a book as you pray time moved faster. You stand now, hearing the cheers and whistles of the others. You move around the canvas, smiling when you see Arthur leading the men back into camp. 

There’s a man on the back of Diablo, a loud-mouthed redhead that you’ve never seen before. You can only assume this is the infamous Sean they’d been after. Judging by the look on Arthur’s face, you imagine he’s been running his mouth the entire time since they rescued him. 

He looks about ready to put a bullet in the young man as he drives him into camp. You see the others all taking notice of their return, Dutch being the loudest of them all. “Sean MacGuire!” He approaches Arthur’s horse, giving the boy a hand down and grinning widely. “Welcome back, son!”

His thick Irish accent catches you off guard, “Oh, ‘appy to be back, Dutch! ‘appy to be back,” he responds eagerly, a large smile on his face.  

You hesitate by the fire, waiting for Dutch to finish before you go darting off towards Arthur. “I do think a return like this requires a celebration!” Dutch calls out to the rest of the gang. They whistle and cheer for him, Bill already rushing off to break out the alcohol. The gleefulness of the moment catches up to you, it eases away some of the anxiety balling up in your gut and you find yourself cheering along with the others. 

Dutch keeps Sean tucked under his arm and begins to parade him through camp. You know this is a win for all of them. Even if someone here hadn’t liked Sean, getting one over on some bounty hunters is always a morale booster. Whatever your opinions on Dutch may be, you have to admit that he knows how to lead his people. 

Even if you happen to think manipulate is a better word for what he does. 

You watch Sean interact with everyone in camp, drawn into the boisterous energy he wraps himself in. It’s clear some of them are already beginning to find him a little annoying. But even his smart comments can’t seem to put a damper on the spirits of the night. 

Your mouth ticks up slightly when you see Lenny slug him in the shoulder, yelling at him for letting himself get caught. You divert your attention away from the interaction, looking for Arthur. You feel a little bit of the giddiness give way to disappointment when you realize you’ve lost sight of him. 

He’s no longer by the horses, Diablo having been hitched long enough to already start grazing the grass. You peer around the women’s tent and then take a few steps towards Arthur’s but he’s nowhere to be found. 

Just as soon as you let yourself be disappointed by this, you also chastise yourself for becoming so infatuated. You’ve always had a bad habit of getting in your head and boosting your hopes up over something mundane. You’ve only just begun forming a friendship with the man and already you’re starting to fret over him. You’re not a schoolgirl anymore, you’ll have to grow out of this at some point. 

You rub a tired hand over your face and suck in a deep breath. The aromas of camp rush over you in a wave. You can still smell the remnants of burnt morning coffee amidst the ever-present scent of the campfire and the fragrance of laundry that lingers on your hands. You can no longer tell if the mingling of odors comforts or irritates you. 

You look up to the shining stars above and pray for a semblance of sense. Wrapping your shawl tighter around your shoulders you resolve to get over this infatuation with Arthur and just enjoy the night. If anything is meant to happen, it will do so naturally. 

Dutch walks towards you as you begin to head towards the domino table. You force yourself to stop when you see the expectant look on his face. Sean trails along behind him now, already seeming to have found his way into some of the liquor. 

 “Mrs. Rowe!” Dutch calls out loudly, you give him a polite smile and he motions towards Sean. “I don’t believe you’ve met my good friend, Sean MacGuire. Mouthiest gunman in the west,” he adds with a smarmy grin.

You shake your head and hold your hand out to the boy. “Can’t say I’ve had the pleasure. And please, no need to be so formal.” You give him your name, and he perks up. Stumbling forward and attempting to shake the drunkenness off, he turns your palm and kisses the back of your hand instead of shaking it. 

You can’t help but laugh a little at his performance. Molly suddenly calls for Dutch across camp and the three of you turn to face her. “Dutch, over here for a moment!” She waves him forward and Dutch lets out a long-suffering sigh with an easy smile. 

“Duty calls, I believe the two of you can entertain each other for a little while.” He turns towards Molly, arms wide as he calls out, “Now, Miss O’Shea, what ever can I do for you?”

Sean quickly snags your attention again and you realize that he’s yet to let go of your hand. “Not a missus, eh?” He asks, his eyebrows waggling with what his drunken mind must think is seductiveness. 

You stifle a giggle and shake your head no. “‘Fraid not. He’s not been gone long, but I’m happier for it.”

“Oh, and so am I, fair lady.” You shake your head with amusement. He’s nearly charming with all of his limitless swagger. “Now, I’ve just been cooped up in a camp with about fifty men with mugs nearly as ugly as these,” he motions towards the gang and you let out another unbidden laugh. “Would you care to dance with me?”

Your brows furrow, a disbelieving smile on your face. Leaning in, as though you’re sharing a secret, you tell him, “There’s no music.”

He pulls a little bit back from you, meeting your eyes as your breaths mingle with proximity. “Are you sure?” He asks, a mischievous look on his face. 

You find yourself frowning in confusion, and then, almost as though they had planned it, Dutch puts a record on. It’s scratchy on his worn player, but the music fills the camp as he leads Molly into a sway. 

Your lips part in astonishment and you forget for a moment just how close the two of you are. If anyone else saw, they’d think you were going to kiss. “How did you know he was going to do that?”

He waves you off and leans back. “Magician can’t reveal and all that,” he dismisses. “Now, a dance?”

You’re charmed by him, as much as you hate to admit it. Perhaps he doesn’t have quite the same effect on you as Arthur. But he’s handsome in his own way. Besides, who are you to deny a magic man a dance?

You let him lead you towards the fire and he draws you close. You’re surprised when his hand stays firmly on your waist and he keeps a nearly respectable distance between you both. You’re still what modern society would call a scandal, but this is nothing for a gang of outlaws. 

“I’m sure I’ve never met you before. Where did they find you?” Sean spins you out and then twirls you back into his arms with a flourish that makes you breathless. You almost ask him where he learned to dance before you remember to answer his question. 

“Up in the mountains. Some O’Driscolls came through, killed my friend’s husband, and kept us in a cellar.” You’re no longer surprised how easy it is for you to admit something like that. You’ve become desensitized to situations like your own the longer you’ve been in camp. 

“O’Driscolls,” Sean’s face twists up with distaste and he shakes his head. “Nasty business.”

You scoff, “You’re telling me.” Sean’s gaze drifts behind you and the little color on his pale skin drains. It makes the freckles speckling his cheeks stand out remarkably. “Are you feeling alright?”

“Cutting in, MacGuire,” a rough voice calls out from behind you. Your feet still from where they’d been following Sean’s lead and you risk a glance over your shoulder. Arthur paints a fearsome portrait against the night sky. Impassioned by the sight of him, with the brim of his hat tipped low and the fire casting shadows across him, you hastily drop Sean’s hands and step back from him.  “I’d go find your lady if I were you,” Arthur instructs Sean.

Confusion swirls through you before you spot a very angry, very drunk Karen walking past. “Rotten Irish bastard,” she mutters under her breath, shooting both you and Sean a nasty look. Sean chases, taking quick steps towards Karen without another word to you. 

“Karen, it meant nothing, sweetheart. I only wanted a dance!” You let out a loud laugh as you watch him scramble after her. 

“He’s a damn fool,” Arthur says through a chuckle, walking closer towards you. You smile, turning around and flicking the brim of his hat up so he doesn’t seem so imposing. 

“You stole my dance partner, Mr. Morgan.” You accuse lightly, pretending to be cross with him. 

He rolls his eyes with an attitude you rarely see from him. “I did you a favor. You don’t want to get involved with Sean.”

“No,” you tell him, “of course I don’t. I was only dancing. Can’t do that anymore now, can I?”

Arthur’s mouth opens and closes before he lets out a huff. “Well, you two seemed awful close. I thought that-” he cuts himself off and you frown. 

You were only teasing him. Had he actually thought you were interested in pursuing Sean? You’d barely known the boy an hour. You pause, taking a step back and really getting a good look at Arthur. His shoulders are tense, though, not as tense as they had been a moment ago. The anger on his face, when he approached, had been real and not just the fire playing tricks. 

The pieces connect one by one and you find yourself astonished. Arthur Morgan had been jealous over you. 

That had to mean something. You couldn’t be reading into something like this. You might be a little desperate, but you weren’t a fool. You feel a flutter in your stomach and swallow down nerves. “Dance with me?” You ask, in a breathy whisper, sounding much more confident than you are. 

His eyes widen and he grimaces, rubbing the back of his neck. “I don’t know, sweetheart. I’m no good at stuff like that.”

You bite down your smile and lean forward, taking his hand in your own. They’re rough against the smooth surface of your palms but you relish in the feeling. “Neither am I. It was the one class I never managed to get the hang of in finishing school.”

You coax him forward slowly, drawing him into you and guiding his hand a little lower on your waist than you should. He takes your other hand in his own and leads you into a slow dance. It’s barely anything more than a sway, but you still feel exhilarated. 

Even with the warning, it’s still a little surprising how awful you both are at dancing. “Even if you're stepping on my toes Arthur, I’m still much happier to be dancing with you,” you tell him, sincerity coating your throat like honey. 

He looks away from you and sighs. “Don’t have to say that.”

Your brows furrow and you tilt your head, catching his eye. “Why would I lie?” He doesn’t respond, caught off guard by the question. 

“Well,” he starts slowly, finally facing you again. He laughs a little at himself and shakes his head, “I don’t know why you would.”

“Because I wouldn’t,” you retort. “I don’t want to dance with anyone else, Arthur.” You know that sometimes he doesn’t always catch the hidden meaning, but you’re hoping he understands this time. You don't know if you could be any more brazen than you currently are.

His brows furrow and you can practically see the dots connecting when you begin to hear it. Low grunting noises, something almost like a whimper, slip out of the closed flap of John’s tent. You both pick up on it at the same time, movements slowing until you come to a complete stop. You stand, tucked into Arthur’s chest, and listen to what seems to be two people having a lot of fun. 

“Is that-”

You’re cut off by a very loud, “Sean!” You gasp, hand covering your mouth as your eyes widen. 

“Oh, Karen,” he sounds on the verge of tears and you practically have to bite your tongue to not laugh. You bury your face in Arthur’s chest, feeling it shake as he lets out a loud chuckle. “I’ve missed you so much!” You hear him begin to cry and force yourself to turn away before they hear you both laughing at them. 

“Oh,” Arthur’s face screws up with disgust but he’s still laughing. “That’s just awful. Come on,” he keeps your hand in his, tucking you under his arm as he leads you away from the tent. He snags a bottle of something off a nearby crate as he guides you toward the trees bordering the camp. 

“Where are we going?”

“Somewhere we don’t have to listen to that,” he mutters, nodding back toward the sinful tent. You clench your eyes shut, trying not to picture what the two of them are doing. 

You feel your feet sink a little, mud lifting around the edges of your boot. You reach to lift your skirts, out of instinct, before you remember you’ve got your new pants on. It makes you smile a little, living without the weight of your old clothes. 

“Arthur,” you stumble into his back as you trip over a branch and he quickly rights you. “Were you jealous?” You don't give much lead-up, hoping to shock the truth out of him. 

He pauses and turns back to look at you. You smile a little impishly at him and he lets out a long-suffering sigh. “This way, woman,” he grumbles, tugging you towards a thinner patch of trees. You find yourself squeezing his hand absentmindedly, liking the comfort of holding it.

The moon illuminates your path forward and you feel your heart jump up to your throat. He’s led you to a small cliff face, a spot just large enough for the both of you, that feels incredibly intimate. The moon almost creates a halo around the area, lighting it up more than anywhere else in the forest. 

Arthur lets go of you to tug off his coat. He places it on the ground and motions for you to sit. So used to fending for yourself and always being the last priority, something as simple as that has your heart skipping. “You didn’t answer my question,” you tell him as you take a seat. 

He sits beside you, knee brushing against your thigh as he pops open the bottle of whiskey he’d swiped. He twirls it around in his hand for a moment before he places it down beside himself. Your stomach dips when he turns towards you, eyes intensely meeting your eyes. 

You almost want to look away, the blue of them too intense to face. There’s honesty in his gaze and an intention you can’t recognize that forms a lump in your throat. “Yes. I was.”

Your lips twitch and you shake your head, slightly bewildered by how easily he admitted that. “I’m jealous every day I don’t get to call you mine,” he adds.

You used to be someone else’s. First, you were your father’s toy and then your husband's. When they called you theirs it was always with the intention of owning and using you. But it feels different with Arthur. It feels like handing him your bruised heart and knowing he’ll keep it safe. He says those words, and finally, you know that someone other than yourself is looking out for you. 

His hand comes up, gently brushing some hair off your cheek and drifting down to the nape of your neck. You lean forward, following his guidance, as his head dips down. Your lips meet, and the warmth emanating from him makes you realize this is truly happening. 

Cold from the stone below you seeps through his jacket and chills your legs. The feeling only further intensifies the startling realization that this is real. This isn’t one of your silly little fantasies. He’s kissing you and you aren’t doing anything.  

You sit before him, stiff as a stone, not kissing him back or showing him any sign you’re enjoying this. He picks up on that and you can already taste the apology on his lips as he begins to pull back from you. So you dart forward, clumsily pushing your lips up against his before you completely ruin your chance. 

He laughs against your eager lips, but you feel his relief in the way his shoulders slump and he relaxes back into you. One of his hands drifts down towards your waist, tugging you slightly closer, and you could melt into the feeling of him holding you. 

He tightens his hold around you, drawing you back ever so slightly, his forehead resting against yours. “You sure you want to get involved with me? It ain’t gonna be easy.”

Unwilling to part for so long, you close the distance between the both of you and finally, let yourself give in to the sensations of this moment. His palm drifts into your hair and he tilts his head to deepen the kiss. 

Perhaps due to his gruff outlaw exterior, you’d had the misguided notion that he wouldn’t be a good kisser. Men like himself seem like the type not to enjoy something as simple as a kiss. They’re used to just getting right to the point. You’re happy to discover just how wrong you were. 

Those romance books Mary-Beth devours always describe something fleeting. There’s always fireworks going off as the two people you’ve been reading about finally kiss. This isn’t like that, there isn’t a spark that reignites a cold heart. You feel safe and comforted, like you’re finally coming home. This feels real, not like some passionate moment shared between two people that will never last.

Arthur pulls back, reluctantly, and you both catch your breath. “We should probably head back soon,” he whispers, eyes trained on your lips.

You nod your head, “Probably.” Neither of you goes to move, instead you tighten your hold on one another, basking in the moment of finally having what you’ve been coveting for so long.

Next Part end. — I do not own the characters or the game Red Dead Redemption 1/2, but this writing is my own all rights reserved © not-neverland06 2025. do not copy, repost, translate & recommend elsewhere.

Hell Hath No Fury Taglist: @buckysblondie @littlebirdgot @heloixe @summerdazed @committingcrimes-2047

@m1stea @pokiona

[mimiii-3]

saboteur has been on my mind recently and lives rent free.. What will happen IF batsib escapes with darling to spite the batfam for neglecting them? Like get rid of every tracker, remove all traces that they were there, move to a place far away that they won't be able to find both of them? Like a far away country or something..

I like the way you think!

…

Saboteur: Two Most Wanted

Yandere Platonic Batfam x GN Neglected Reader

Notes: typical yandere themes, platonic friend/sibling relationship between darling and batsib

…

What if batsib, reeling from the family confrontation, snuck darling out of the manor…

🦇

Being the least favorite Wayne has its perks. You can snoop around the bat cave, explore the manor grounds, and more without a single glance your way. That includes finding the weak point in the manor’s security system.

You slip through a small pass tucked between a dying tree and a thorn-covered shrub. You duck your head and run across the inembellished yard. You stop just below a barred window, the yellow light peeking between the iron rods.

You reach down and grab a small handful of pebbles to throw at the window. Each pebble ricochets lightly off the window, falling to the damp grass below.

It isn’t until the eighth stone that you see movement behind the window. Darling, a meek little thing, peers down at you from their prison. Their eyes light up when they see your face.

“Good,” you think. Bruce and the others must not have told them what you did. You raise your hand and point to the nearest back door of the manor.

Darling nods in excitement before disappearing from view. You briskly walk to the back door that nears the East side of the manor. You crouch behind a potted plant and wait for Darling.

Darling approaches the door and waves excitedly. You return their smile before holding up a pair of garden shears. Darling nods and readies their hand on the doorknob.

Darling wears a collar with a tracker in it. You’ll have a small window of about thirty seconds to cut the collar off before Tim is alerted. The bat boys kept the collar breakable in case of an emergency.

You breathe out slowly then mouth ‘now’ to Darling. Darling throws open the door and slips a finger between the collar and their neck. The shears easily cut the collar and you toss it back into entryway.

“Thankyouthankyouthankyou!” Darling squeals in delight before hugging you. You shush them quickly and grab their hand. The two of you dart across the yard, back to the opening you found.

You drag Darling through the dense wood behind the manor. Your car sits on the side of the road, nearly invisible sitting in the dark of night. You usher Darling into the passenger seat then make your way to the driver’s.

The car roars to life as you turn the key in the ignition. You press your foot against the gas pedal and fly down the empty road.

Darling turns to you, tears brimming in their youthful eyes. “Why did you save me?” Darling sniffles pathetically, “Tim said that you left me.”

You can’t help but roll your eyes at Tim’s blatant manipulation. You were gone less than a day and he already tried to ruin your friendship with Darling. You gather your thoughts before pacifying Darling, “No, Button. You know I would never leave you. I just…needed to get away for a little. That’s all.”

You watch them visibly perk up after hearing the nickname you gave them. Darling wipes their eyes with the sleeve of their oversized sweater. “Well now that I know you still like me, where do we go from here?” Darling reaches for your hand on the armrest and holds it in theirs.

A mischievous smile makes its way across your face as the car merges onto the highway. You peek at Darling out of the corner of your eye, “What do you think about Metropolis?”

…

Extra Notes: batsib has a friend (or love interest????) in metropolis they think might help🤭

[simmplerussiangirl]

Her Princess

Part one

Ambessa Medarda x Reader

Synopsis: The only daughter of the Ras family is exchanged with the Medard clan for a peace treaty. Thanks to her pride and the hard core inside her, she doesn't falls into despair and continues to live. She continues to live to take revenge on her family for literally selling her to a clan of enemies.

word count: 1.6k

cw: selfharm, hatred, aggression, death, defiant behavior, Ambressa is a sweet bun.

Part One

- Princess Ras, you are invited to the throne room.

 I knew this was going to happen. I was informed about this three nights ago, but my heart still did not believe that my own family would do this to me. Of course, we were not an ideal family, but rather the most ordinary, aristocratic one. With an infinitely angry and indifferent mother who hated her daughter, with a tyrannical father who, like the mother, did not participate in the child's life in any way because of his busy schedule and unwillingness. It seemed to me that we were not a bad family anyway. I guess I was just imagining it.

 I got out of bed, straightening my clothes.

I was wearing a light burgundy dress, the hems of which moved from any wind current, it was spectacular, just the kind I needed. And also, more importantly, it was in the colors of the Medard clan. I wanted my parents to realize that I knew. I knew what was going to happen today. But, nevertheless, I forced them to make that cherished speech on their own, looking straight into my eyes.

As I walked along the corridor, I took one last look around my ancestral mansion. There was no fear inside, I knew I wouldn't be killed or tortured. Firstly, I am quite a valuable exhibit because of my abilities. Secondly, I would kill myself faster than anyone would want to bring me harm. I will not allow myself to die at the hands of the Medard clan. Never in my life will I allow it. I will not give such joy.

 A flame of hatred burned inside me with every step I took. Each heel strike against the marble floor was accompanied by a strengthening of inner resolve.

 Disappointment at what they'd done to me. It hardened me even more, preventing me from crying or fleeing. Rather, it pushed me to think of new ideas for revenge.

 I felt more and more confident, clutching the amulet around my neck that I'd inherited from my late grandmother. It carried no magical potential, but when I touched it, I felt myself fill with the strength to go on. To go on, no matter what. 

Already standing at the door, I was brimming with determination. No blade, no arrow, no word could break me, shake my confidence.

-Princess Ros. - I entered the hall with my head held high and shoulders squared. I wore a mask of infinite calm on my face.

 The room was quiet. There were no whispers, no sighs. There was no sound at all, even the ever-noisy clock mechanism was silent, and no candles crackled in the candelabra. Everything froze, as if at a funeral.

 The clack of my heels was like a hammer hammering nails into a coffin lid. I stopped in front of my parents, who were now sitting on the throne. But this time I didn't bow, just stared at them as if they were dirt under my feet. In fact, they were now. I had lost all respect for them, and even the thought of bowing to them made me gag. From this moment on, they were no longer my family.

 Behind me I felt Medard's warriors, led by Umbressa herself. I could almost physically feel their gaze. Uncomprehending, even stunned by my antics. I wanted to shrink and cower under the oppression, but I could not allow myself to do so.

 I looked at my father, who opened and closed his mouth, staring at my clothes in shock. It was beautiful. Watching the echoes of realization appear on his face. That I knew everything. Just waiting for him to ruin his daughter's life with his own hands. When he literally sells her out.

- "In the war with Noxus," his trembling voice broke the silence of the hall, and I saw him wince at his own weakness, "we lost too many soldiers, too many civilians, too many resources. And we made the decision to retreat, to sit down at the negotiating table. And we came to the conclusion that we would end the war and sign a peace treaty. On the condition that we give Clan Medard something of extraordinary value. Something that could replace our territories.

  My father stared at me unblinkingly as I stood there, smirking in his face. But what was going on inside of me...A storm of emotions, my chest tightening, tugging as if I were about to pass out. I wanted to cuddle up to someone and cry at how painful and hurtful it was to hear those words. To realize that they see me as a resource to be exchanged for something.

-Ambressa,- my father finally took his gaze off me and looked somewhere behind me. - I'm handing you my only daughter, Sophie. She is naturally endowed with an extraordinary gift of magic. I am sure she will be useful in your future operations.

 I heard measured footsteps behind me. Soon two of Medard's warriors appeared beside me and were about to take me under their arms so that I would not run away, but I just looked calmly into the eyes of one of them and shook my head slightly. They immediately lowered their hands without touching me.

 Ambressa stood a little ahead of me, her back covered in a multitude of scars that stood out strongly in white stripes on her skin. I looked at her with mild interest, for this was the first time I had ever seen someone so strong, much less a girl. I smirked at the thought that she could take on our soldiers by herself and not even get tired. Surprisingly, I felt nothing for her. No emotion whatsoever.

-I accept this...an offering of sorts. It was an interesting negotiation, glad we all got what we wanted. As of this moment, the peace treaty is now in effect. Have a good day.

 Without bowing, the girl turned and walked away from the hall. One of the warriors gently touched my shoulder, hinting that it was time to leave. But I had something else to do.

-Can I say goodbye to my parents? - I turned my head to the side, looking at the wall instead of at the general. My pride wouldn't let me turn around to look her in the eye.

-Of course we'll wait. Family is sacred.

Ambressa laughed a little at the comicality of the statement. I, too, smiled a little and began to slowly and quietly climb up to my parents, who were sitting on the throne. As soon as I reached a flat surface, my mother approached me.

-It's best for all of us, - she said dryly and unemotionally as always. Mother pressed me lightly against her, patting me on the back and pushing me away, as if my embrace and closeness might stain her.

-Absolutely.

It hurt to hear that, but I buried it deep inside me, not letting any emotion come out. Someday I'll cry about it. Someday, but not now.

My father came over to me, pulling me quickly against him. I smiled a bloodthirsty smile, anticipating my actions.

-I want you to know, - I spoke softly in his ear, hugging his back, - I've wanted this for the past few years. I've literally dreamed about it. - I knew my father didn't know what I was talking about yet, but that was just for now. - Remember when you told me that everything in the world boomerangs back?

 Quickly using my magic I created a fiery dagger that was suspended in the air. I heard a commotion nearby and sharply plunged the dagger into my father's heart. The man instantly collapsed in my arms and I threw him to the floor, a small trickle of blood flowed from his mouth, quickly drenching the expensive uniform, the floor and the hem of my dress. I instantly created an air shield around me and my father, which helped me protect myself from my mother, who was already running to her beloved husband in tears. Either wanting to kill me or spend the last seconds of her life next to him, looking into his eyes.

-So your boomerang didn't go as far as you thought.

 I saw the light of life go out in his eyes, but he couldn't even say goodbye to his wife because I wouldn't let him.

-I hope you burn in hell.

I felt my mother begin to thrash into my shield and saw my mother take her last hoarse breath and close her eyes. I, still remaining infinitely calm, got to my feet and took small steps down the stairs. I walked with my head held high, hearing my own mother's curses and hysterics behind me. I walked straight toward Ambessa, who stood with an impenetrable face. The girl might not have expected something like this, but at least she didn't show it.

 As I approached her, she held out her hand to help me down the stairs. I put my hand in hers.

 My life has changed 180 degrees in just a few minutes. I was traded for a peace treaty, I killed my own father, and I'm going after the girl who ruined my life. This is not how I envisioned my future.

I would be very grateful for feedback, as English is a language I am only practicing. I accept criticism in a milder form, do not break my heart, pls.

[violenteconomics]

FRESHMEN 101 FOR ASPIRING UPPERCLASSMEN

today’s lesson: proper communication and translation 🗣️

azul: greetings! i am your professor, azul ashengrotto! welcome to "freshmen 101 for aspiring upperclassmen" at night raven college! the only class that will you teach how to effectively handle those little brats— I MEAN loveable new faces you see around your dorm!

riddle: today, we will focus on how to properly communicate with your first-years. some of the things they say may be confusing and/or contradictory, so it's important to know how to translate their sentences into coherent language you understand.

vil: we have set up a variety of examples with our fellow co-professors and fellow seniors to guide you along this journey.

^

epel: vil, do you think i’d look better with a tattoo?

vil: translation: i am entering my rebellious phase and also want to ruin my delicate skin with a glorified paint job that i will most definitely regret in the future and will make me wish i had listened to my housewarden more. also, i have no hope of a happy future and will live out my days as a gangster on the streets.

epel: …what?

^

ortho: big brother, can you help me with a cosmetics alteration to my gear?

idia: big brother, i want to be the sparkliest, prettiest, most drop-dead gorgeous, most attractive, most charming, 5-star-reviewed, no notes, darling, glamorous, talented, brilliant, incredible, show-stopping, spectacular, never the same, totally unique, stunning, bewitching, adorbs, graceful, beguiling, smashing, knock-out, irresistible person in the classroom tomorrow.

ortho: yay~! 😀

^

deuce: sorry i was out past curfew, trey… i’m a little tired, so is it okay if i skip brushing my teeth tonight?

trey: translation: i have a secret boyfriend that i don’t want you to know about because he coerces me to engage in illegal underground boxing rings and convinces me that brushing my teeth is for losers. please get involved and maybe call the police and also never let me out of the dorm again until i’ve properly relearned the benefits of proper dental hygiene!

deuce: …huh?

^

sebek: silver, i think… i would like to make some friends with the people in our dorm. could you… mayhaps give me some advice?

silver: translation: i am a strikingly realistic imposter of your actual friend. i do not love nor care for you, and in fact, am very frightened by your presence, so i will gather allies from other places in an elaborate scheme to destroy you, the liege you’ve sworn your life to, your father, and your friend, whom i’ve already killed and whose body i have hidden in the basement. please end me.

sebek: pardon? what— what are you— why are you carrying around a camera— NO! NO NO NO NONONONO SILVER IF I’VE OFFENDED YOU I DEEPLY APOLOGIZE— SILVER PUT THE SWORD DOWN—

^

yuu: everyday, i’m scared that everything i’ve worked so hard to build in this world, all the friends i’ve made… all of it will just— slip through my fingers like sand… kalim? azul? what are your biggest fears?

kalim: translation: wow, things sure have been getting a little upsetti spaghetti around here! let’s throw a huge party in the mostro lounge with food and games and bright lights and elephants and and invite all of our friends to lighten up the atmosphere! the more, the merrier!

azul: translation: and while we’re at it, please don’t forget the mostro lounge’s limited time “part of your world” event, which offers authentic drinks, food, and even little trinkets from all around the world, for 20% off its original price!

yuu: guys pls

^

ace: hey, riddle? i, uh… i need help with smth.

riddle: translation: i have gotten into some very serious trouble and am about to lure you into a death trap that will get us both severely injured in all likelihood, and i am coming to you, specifically, about this, because i know you care deeply for me and couldn’t say no if you honestly thought my life was in danger, and i am going to exploit it for my own ends. what is it, ace?

ace: …ok, u lil bitch i see how it is

^

jack: hey, leona? ruggie? do you… do you love me?

leona: 

ruggie: 

leona: 

ruggie: 

ruggie: translation: give me food!

jack: …would it help if i said it first?

leona: 

ruggie: 

leona: 

ruggie: 

leona: …no, wait— i think maybe he said “give me sliced pears on a plate”... not sure, tho.

ruggie: that does sound right...

jack: oh my seven.

[graveyardgremlins]

WIP ALERT WIP ALERT

What makes death so special that everyone seems so scared to talk about it? It is not as if, in this universe, it’s the end of the line. Not really. If anything, it felt more like the beginning of something.

Now, routine feels like the end of it all. Even when you’re a vigilante and everyday is a surprise, it still feels like slowly withering away. Like, if you stop moving you’re going to start rotting on the spot. But for some reason, people love routine and hate death.

Dick, for example, constantly looks terrified. It’s not obvious, as no feeling in our faces is ever obvious, but I can tell it’s there. He once said, mournfully, that we would bury Bruce like he is now, with jet black hair. The thought upset him, but I still don’t understand why. It’s not as if Bruce cares. Sometimes it feels like he is trying to speed up the process.

And sure, it would suck not to be able to see someone you care about ever again. But if Dick truly is so scared of missing Bruce, he can go knocking on Constantine’s door — or Zatanna’s, or Madame Xanadu’s, or Doctor Fate’s, or Jason Blood’s, or… you get my point — and ask for a seance. Besides, it’s not as if you can say the guy wasted his life. No one on this Earth has more accomplishments under his belt than Batman himself.

So why the long face?

Like, sure I get why they look weird every time I bring up my past death. I was a kid and all that. But they seriously need to stop looking at me like I’m planning to kill myself everytime I bring up my future death. I’m not planning to die any time soon, but what if I do? Are they going to lose their shit again?

I mean, Tim literally cloned his best friend as a manner to bring him back from the dead because he couldn’t cope with him being gone. Not to say I’m terribly worried about the Imposter missing me so much as to clone me, but still. What if I die? Are they going to try to bring me back? Because I don’t think I want that.

Death was easy, you know? It was awful up until the point where it wasn’t. I don’t remember much, but I remember being warm and embraced. And then someone dragged me back screaming and kicking. Then I woke up boiling alive, with the skin falling off my bones in the middle of the Assassin’s League Headquarters.

I’m not particularly excited about being boiled alive again.

No one in this family knows how to let go and Bruce is the worst one. I used to be so mad that his grief wasn’t enough to make him kill the Joker. I wanted him to prove that he loved me like he said he did. But I was a recently deceased and resurrected teenager. I firmly believe that the only reason Jesus reacted better to being murdered is because he was already thirty three. Now, as an adult, I’m less mad.

Bruce deals with grief like this: he doesn’t. He lets it eat him away. I think he likes it, the feeling of rotting from the inside out. Maybe that’s why he likes routine too. I think he has a lot of love inside of him that, instead of showing it, he reschedules it. Like he thinks “tomorrow I’ll show it” and then never does. And when I died, maybe he didn’t have anywhere to put that love anymore. There wouldn’t be any more “tomorrows.” So he just rotted.

It’s why I try not to be jealous about how endlessly patient and affectionate he is with Damian. Or how careful he is with Tim. Or how much interest he takes in everything Duke does. Or how he always listens when Steph talks. Or how he always comes when Cass calls him. At least, I served to teach him a lesson. 

So, yeah, when I got an invitation to a Ghost Ball, I didn’t tell anyone. Because they don’t understand why I linger in the cemetery. They don’t understand why I kill, when they believe I should be the first one to be against death. They don’t understand why I keep talking about dying over and over and over. They just don’t get it.

Also, they would totally ruin this moment for me. I’m sure of it.

How many times do you get invited to a ball? Not those shitass galas the Waynes always go to. A real authentic 1800’s ball. With the lettering cursive invitation, sprayed with some kind of perfume, sealed with a gold wax coat of arms. Not only that! To what was an official celebration to the Ghost King’s 21th birthday.

I didn’t even know there was a Ghost King!

Sure, it’s probably a trap. This kind of thing is always a trap. But they had addressed the invitation to “The Red Knight of Gotham, Avenger of the Damned, Cursebreaker, Three Times Born, Wielder of the All-Blades, the Darkest Star” and, if I am to be honest, flattery will get you everywhere with me.

I’m not entirely sure what the “Darkest Star” was in reference to, but it’s the least of my concern. The theme of the ball was Black, White and Neon Green, which completely fucks up my aesthetic. The last time I wore green I was a Robin and I’m particularly inclined to never wear it again. I’m also not wearing a tuxedo. Maybe a black suit over the armor instead of the usual jacket and a neon green handkerchief.

Now the problem is getting fitted for a suit like that. Every rich motherfucker knows that just sending your measurements to a tailor that never met you in person before is the recipe for a disaster. And sure as hell there is not a single tailor in the Crime Alley. Not that I know of. And there is no way in hell, or heaven or wherever the flying fuck the Infinity Realms were, I’m showing up to a real ball looking anything short of dreamy.

So, I did the reasonable thing and texted Alfred.

If you could come by the Manor, Master Jason, I will see what can be done. He texted back.

There is a theory going around the midst of superheroes that says that the one thing all of the bats have in common is how stubborn we are. It’s true, but I don’t think we learned that from Bruce. I’m pretty sure that’s just the Pennyworth in all of us. That man clearly only still works as a butler at 65 and calls us all “master”, “miss”, “mister” and “ma’am” out of pure stubbornness. I have no evidence of this, but I’m working on the theory that someone at some point betted that he would crack eventually, which is why he hasn’t. That I know of.

So, I showed up at the Manor like he asked me to.

“What the fuck are you doing here?” Tim asked.

“I live here,” I answered.

“No, you don’t.”

“Unless someone touched my room, which I doubt, then yes, I do.”

“When was the last time you were here?”

“Last week. I dropped by to move all your furniture 1 inch to the left counterclockwise.”

“I knew it! I knew someone was touching my stuff! Steph said I was crazy!”

“You are, but I touched your stuff. Like all of it. Including your Monster collection. You should really clean that, by the way. It’s disgusting.”

“Fuck you.”

Someone cleaned their throat and we both turned around to see Alfred standing in the hallway, looking less than impressed. I’m pretty sure we learned that from him too.

“Sorry, Alfred,” Tim said.

Alfred sighed and then turned his frown towards me.

“What? I didn’t curse.”

He raised one pointed eyebrow and that’s all it took.

“Sorry for touching your stuff, Timberlake,” I said and turned to Alfred again. “Happy?”

“I suppose that will suffice.”

“Yeah, fine,” Tim agreed and moved out of the way to let me in. “Just never do it again.”

“Oh, I’m definitely doing it again.”

“Why?!”

“Dick told me to stop whining and start getting on that, and I quote, ‘big brother grind’, so you and the Demon brat are going to have to endure it.”

“Why not Duke?”

“He is obviously my favorite.”

Tim just groaned and followed us to one of the upstairs closet.

“What are we doing anyway?”

“We are doing nothing. You weren’t invited.”

“Master Jason is getting fitted for a new suit,” Alfred said, ignoring me.

“Why?” Tim asked.

“What are you? A Toddler? Why do you think?”

“Well, you sure as hell aren’t going to the galas—”

“Damn right, I won’t.”

“And you’re definitely not going on a date—”

“Wait, why?”

“Because.”

I turned around to fully face him. “What do you mean ‘because’?”

“Just because,” Tim made a vague gesture with his hand. “You know.”

“No. As a matter of fact, I don’t know.”

“You know,” He gestured again. “Because.”

“Because what?”

“You’re chronically single.”

“What?!”

Tim threw himself on one of the sofas that was turned towards the closet and sank into it. “Chronically single. Chronically, meaning in a persistent and recurring—”

“I know what chronically single means!”

“Then you know.”

“I’m not chronically single!”

“How long ago was your last relationship and how long did it last?”

“That does not mean I’m chronically single! I get bitches all the time!”

“Perhaps, Master Jason, refraining from referring to your partners in a demeaning manner might be the first step to improving your romantic aptitudes.”

“I don’t– I’m not– Ugh!”

“Try this suit on. I think it will be the closest to your current measurements.”

I took the suit from his hand and closed the closet door behind me.

“So,” Tim said, “If you’re not going to a gala, you’re not going to a date, then where are you going?”

“None of your business.”

“It’s not a birthday, because I’m pretty sure none of your friends is an Aquarius–”

He kept talking and I tuned him out. The pants were a bit too tight around the knees, so they would have to fix that, and the jacket sleeves were a little too short. Besides that, I liked the red lining inside, as well as the flower pattern that almost disappeared into the black. It wasn’t very on the theme, and I would risk looking a bit christmassy, but it would be worth it. I did need a neon green handkerchief, though.

“It can’t be Two-Face, because he is still in Arkham and also not your usual target. Black Mask has been quiet, so maybe him,” Tim was, somehow, still talking.

“What are you talking about?” I asked, opening the closet door to let Alfred take a look.

“People you might be planning to make a move against in a place where a suit might be necessary.”

“Maybe I just want a suit, ever thought of that?”

“You’re fitting it over armor,” Tim pointed out.

“Touché.”

“Tt, it’s too tight around your knees,” Alfred commented.

“Yeah,” I agreed. “Oh, Alfred? Do you by any chance have a neon green handkerchief?”

Alfred made a face. “I do not own any monstrosity of that sort, Master Jason. Why do you ask?”

“Because the theme is Black, White and Neon Green.”

“Wait, you’re actually crashing a party?”

Alfred sighed and made another disgusted face. “In that case… This suit won’t do.”

“Sorry, Alfred. I didn’t write the dress code.”

“Of course not, Master Jason. I would expect that you would have a better sense for fashion than that.”

“And for your information, I’m not crashing a party. I was invited. Not that you know what that’s like, Stalker.”

“Who would invite you to anything?!”

“Not telling.”

“C’mon!”

“Perhaps the Zegna will look less… clown-like with a neon green handkerchief than the Armani,” Alfred said, mostly to himself.

“Did I hear, Armani?” Selina’s honey-dripping voice came from the corridor, and she poked her head inside the room. “What are you boys doing hiding here?”

“I’m getting fitted for a suit.”

“He is going to a party and I’m trying to figure out which one,” Tim answered at the same time as me.

“Oh! That sounds fun! Do you need help, Alfred?” She asked and slid into the sofa next to Tim.

“I’m afraid I am at a loss, Miss Kyle. The theme of the evening is Black, White and, ugh, Neon Green.”

She made a face very much like Alfred’s own. “Where are you going, Kit Kat? The Riddler’s birthday isn’t until July.”

“Not telling you, either.”

She pouted and pulled Tim’s face near her own, he understood what she was doing a minute later and pouted too. “Please?” They said, like children.

“Nope. Not happening.”

Selina shrugged it off, not particularly bothered, but Tim seemed to still be fixated on the issue. 

“Have you tried that Slim-fit Hugo Boss brown suit, Alfred? I think it will make him look distinguished amongst the neon green aberration,” she said.

“Is it a winter party of some kind?” Tim asked.

“Not giving you any tips, Timmy.”

“Actually, Master Jason, that could help us find a better suit.”

I sighed. “I don’t think it is specifically a winter party. I think it's just a coincidence.”

“So it is a celebration of some kind!”

“I’m. Not. Telling. You.”

“No need. I will find out eventually.”

Alfred brought out the Hugo Boss brown suit and held it up for Selina to see. 

“I think it will clash, Miss Kyle,” he said.

“I think you’re right, Alfred,” She tapped one manicured finger to her lips. “This party is not of someone we know. Is it, Kit Kat?”

I shrugged.

“Why do you say that, Selina?” Tim asked.

“Motherly instincts.”

The door behind them opened again, this time to reveal a mildly disgruntled looking Bruce. His hair was a mess and he was wearing a sweater and sweatpants. He was definitely sick.

“What are you guys doing here?”

“Are you sick, old man?”

He sniffed. “Seasonal allergies.”

“Jason is getting fitted for a suit,” Selina answered.

“Oh?”

“And I’m trying to find out why.”

“Oh.”

“You guys are nosy,” I said.

Alfred brought out another slim-fit suit and both Selina and Bruce made a face. “Yes, I imagined so,” Alfred said, disappointed.

“What kind of party is it, chum?”

“Not telling.”

“The theme is Black, White and Neon Green,” Selina said, and both her, Alfred and Bruce grimaced.

“Jason, please tell me you’re not going to the Riddler’s birthday party.”

“Of course, he isn’t, silly. The Riddler’s birthday is July 21st.”

“Oh! Should I send a present?”

“It would be very polite,” Alfred said and Selina agreed.

“If this party is of someone we don’t know then it must be someone you met recently or a very long time ago. But if it was from someone you used to know, you probably wouldn’t be using an expensive suit, and if it was someone new we would have heard of it already,” Tim said.

“What makes you think it is someone we don’t know?” Bruce asked.

Selina raised her hand with a cheeky smile. “If we knew them already, little Kit Kat wouldn’t be so worried about imprrrressing them. We would have embarrassed him already.”

“I’m not worried about impressing anyone.”

“You’re getting fitted for a suit,” she pointed out.

“Yes, because I outgrew all my other suits and I can’t wear them with the armor. It’s not as if I’m buying a new one,” I rolled my eyes.

“If you’re wearing your armor are you worried about being attacked?” Bruce asked.

“Is it a mission then?” Tim asked. “Otherwise, why would you be going to a place where you might be attacked?”

“Good point, champ.”

“I’m not answering any of those questions.”

Bruce pondered for a second. “Have you tried the gray Kiton wool suit? It might null a bit of the neon green.”

“Ooh. Good idea, love.”

“Let’s see if you’re correct, Master Bruce.”

“I’m texting Dick to see if he knows anything.”

“Jesus Christ.”

“Father, have you seen Alfred Jr?” Damian’s voice rang from the corridor.

“Not really, Dami.”

“He is probably in that warm spot in the library where the sun hits just right,” Selina said and stretched as if she could feel the warmth from here.

“Thank you, miss Kyle,” Damian poked his head inside. “What are you doing here?”

“You’re welcome, Damian.”

“I live here.”

“Do you?” Bruce asked.

“Do you?” Damian asked, fully walking into the room.

You see? This is why I can’t tell them anything about this ball. Or else they will want to come with, they are nosy like that, I’d have to explain to every cute person I meet why I brought my entire family with me when the invitation didn’t even have ‘plus one’ on it.

Jesus, maybe Selina was right.

“Master Jason is getting fitted for a new suit, Master Damian,” Alfred said and held the gray wool suit.

“Yeah, that doesn’t do it either,” Selina said.

“What is wrong with the suit?”

“The theme is Black, White and Neon Green.” Everyone grimaced at that. They really needed to stop repeating the same thing over and over.

“What is the occasion?”

“Kit Kat won’t tell us.”

“Nope.”

“I’ve talked to Dick!” Tim announced. “He has no idea who could be, but his best guest is someone Jason met with the Outlaws! So I’m going to text Cass, so she can text Artemis and see if she was invited to anything.”

Damian sat on the opposite arm of the sofa and pondered.

“How much have you narrowed it down?”

“Someone we don’t know, someone dangerous, possibly on a mission, not a winter party,” Bruce said.

“Birthday?”

“No gift.”

“Maybe it’s someone I don’t know enough to buy a gift to,” I said, just to throw them off.

The three of them narrowed their eyes at me.

“Yup, talked to Artemis. She doesn’t know anything,” Tim said. “Also Dick is calling.”

He put it on speaker so everyone could suffer together.

“Hey, guys!”

“Hey, chum.”

“Hello.”

“Hey, birdie.”

“Sup?”

“Jesus Christ,” I rubbed my temples. I could feel a migraine coming up.

“Jason! The man, the myth, the legend! Will you tell your big bro where exactly you’re going? I promise to keep it a secret.”

“Not even on your deathbed.”

Alfred brought out another suit. It was also gray and it still did not match neon green.

“C’mon, Little Wing! Don’t be like that! It can be that bad for us to know.”

“It’s out of principle.”

“That reminds me,” Tim said. “Dick, go screw yourself.”

Alfred made a face at that, but didn’t comment anything.

“Wait, why? What did I do?”

“Why did you tell Jason to ‘act like a big brother’? He touched all of my stuff!”

“I’m sure he didn’t touch all of it.”

“Oh, I didn’t look under the bed, but besides that? It will be very funny when you start finding the glitter.”

“What?!”

“Ah, is that why Jon found a lot of superboy merch I did not buy in my closet?” Damian asked. “Well, I must say that is not a good prank. I’m not embarrassed to say I’m my best friend’s biggest fan. Though, he did cry.”

“You say that now, because you haven’t found the bees.”

“What bees?”

I simply smiled. This wouldn’t work on most of my siblings, but Damian was small enough to be fooled and once he believed it, the others would follow.

“I swear to God, Jason. If I find glitter on my clothes I’m putting a skunk inside your house,” Tim said.

There was also no glitter, but now he would check everything first. Forever.

“Why would you do that to a poor innocent animal?” I said, to be contrary.

“Yeah, Tim. Leave the animals alone! It’s not their fault Little Wing started a prank war.”

“Yes, Drake. I’m disappointed you’d even think about this.”

Alfred brought out a deep blue suit. Selina sighed and slumped down the sofa and Bruce shook his head.

“Hey, Dick,” I asked. “Do you have any suits that might fit me and that will look good with neon green?”

“Why do you ask? Don’t tell me Poison Ivy is your plus one.”

“Alright, I won’t.”

“Poison Ivy is light green, not neon,” Tim said.

“And Ivy is too old for you,” Bruce said, pointedly. I rolled my eyes.

“I don’t think I’d have anything either way.”

There was a moment of silence while everyone considered, perhaps the color neon green or perhaps Poison Ivy.

“I figured it out!” Damian shouted suddenly. Selina flinched from the noise, and he apologized quickly. “Sorry. But I have figured it out.”

“What?” Everyone asked. I wasn’t particularly worried, it’s very hard for the little brat to have known about a King I wasn’t even aware of. Though, maybe Ra’s did know it before me.

“Regular-fit Dark Grey Virgin Wool Serge from Hugo Boss,” Damian said profoundly.

“What?” Tim asked.

“The suit that will go with neon green.”

Alfred, Selina and Bruce thought it out. “Yes, I believe that might work, Master Damian.”

“Good job, son,” Bruce said, making my insides twist painfully.

Selina simply raised her hand over Tim’s head so Damian could high five her.

“That still doesn’t answer where he is going!”

“Who would do a Neon Green party? Besides the Riddler, his birthday isn’t until July.”

“How do you even– No, actually, I don’t want to know. Thanks for the help, Demon Brat.”

“You’re welcome. Now tell us where you’re going.”

Fair enough. “To a birthday party,”

“Goddammit! It was the first thing I crossed off!”

“Of whom?”

“None of your business, old man.”

“C’mon, tell us Little Wing.”

“What are we trying to find out?” Duke asked, walking into the room. “And why is everyone here?”

“Jason is going to a birthday party and he won’t tell us who's is jt,” Tim said.

“Oh?”

“And I’m getting a suit fitted.”

“Oh.”

“Don’t worry, though. I’ll tell you whose birthday it is later.”

“Hey!”

“Wait, why?”

“Yes, why him?”

“Oh, Duke is my favorite.”

Duke smiled innocently at all the people in the room and did a little twirl.

“That’s not fair!”

“Hey, this is your fault. You told me to be an older sibling.”

“Older siblings don’t pick favorites!”

“Of course they do. Damian is your favorite, I’m Cass’ favorite, Duke is my favorite, and Tim is no one’s favorite.”

“Screw you!”

“Don’t worry. When Bruce adopts another one you can be their favorite.”

“I’m not adopting anyone.”

Everyone in the room raised an eyebrow at that — yet another thing they got from Alfred — and Selina patted his hand. “Whatever you say, love.”

Alfred fitted the suit perfectly, to the point where that one guy on twitter that talks about male clothing would applaud. And he did find a neon green handkerchief, though he would only buy it if I promised to burn it afterwards, which I swiftly agreed to. I considered bringing a present, but something I learned from the filthy rich is that it’s always better to look like an asshole rather than a fool.

And so the suit saga ends and the ball saga begins.

One would think that an interdimensional being called the Ghost King would think of better ways to direct his guests towards his party than a set of coordinates and another number, which I quickly realized to be the hour in military time. Of course, one would be wrong. So me, my bike, my beautiful suit and my weapons directed ourselves to the middle of bumfuck nowhere, literally in the middle of Nevada's desert.

God, I am going to arrive at this party covered in sand.

[sirxlla]

I Need You Like Water

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

Warnings:

Prompt: Friends who shower together

Notes: gender of reader, italics are actions and thoughts.

-With that said it's all under the cut-

Showering with Damian with nothing new especially after a really long night on patrol. Normally, the both of you could barely stand up so having someone else to watch you while you we're showering was something that blossomed out of worry rather than anything else. Tonight, fortunately was not one of those nights but the normality of showering with your best friend was still routine.

Wet skin slipped and slided against itself, yours against his. It had all become overly comfortable and vulnerable. He was so surprisingly kind and soft when no one was around. Damian washed your hair, the bubbles frothing up between his fingers as you leaned back onto him.

"You should be more careful, you can't be taking hits the way you are." The vibration of his voice poured into you from behind. His chest was warm against your back.

"I take the hits so you don't have to." Peering back at him with a bit of a teasing smirk as you bite your lip. You were feeling playful tonight and he was being rather nice. Spinning around, you face twords him looking into his green eyes.

"Can't have my Booty-ful Badass Bestie getting hit cause then I lose my eye candy." You teased and he tried to hide a smile as he tilted your head back to rinse your hair.

"You're trouble, that's all you are and I only keep you around cause you look like a baby kitten but act like a damn cheetah. My Little Trojan Horse." Damian jokes his mouth dipping down to press gentle kisses to the bruise on your cheek, you took it as a opportunity to boldly kiss him. Bringing your lips to his you kissed him softly like a butterfly landing on the delicate flower that is his lips.

Your kiss is soft and careful of his almost fully healed busted lip, your left hand finding his cheek and your other playing with the hair at the nape of his neck.

He groaned as your nails naked through his hair, a secret weakness to such a strong man. His arms wrapped around you, one of his hands moving to your lower back pressing his body into yours.

You could feel his hardness against your leg but didn't think twice of it because it's a natural reaction, it didnt 100% meant he wanted to go any further and unless he actually indicated he wanted to go further you weren't going to push him to.

"If you and I weren't friends I'd have you up against the shower glass." He moaned the words into your lips.

"Us being friends stops us how?" Your mouth partially against his as you spoke.

"Wouldn't it ruin this? Like- complicate this?" His dark wet hair stuck against his forehead, he looked cute as he rubbed your hips absentmindedly.

"No...Not if you don't want it to be...Dami, I- I'm okay if you want less or more or casual. I just want you in my life, okay?" You say as your fingers barely caress his wet jaw. His confidence comes back up quickly as he pushes you against the tile and pins your hands above your head.

"You sure, Amai Tenshi?" He spoke to you in one of his various languages he knew, being his recent favorite Japanese and French. He'd had been calling you "Amai Tenshi" in Japanese and "Mon Cheri" in French a lot more often. It was easy to know what Mon Cheri meant but Amai Tenshi was harder to figure out. You didnt wanna ask cause you didnt want him to get embarressed or stop saying it but you knew in the tone in which he said it, it was sweet.

You responded with a nod and your lips already trying to chase his. He lowered his lips to your neck once more but now he was kissing, sucking and biting much more freely. Your wrists and body were pinned to the cool tile behind you as the shower kept hot water pouring onto you both.

His right hand massaged your breast as his left held your wrists in place while his mouth didnt quit prompting you to moan and lean your head back a bit more if that was possible. Damian's hand slowly moved down your body massaging and squeezing as it moved down to pull your thigh over his hip.

"You're sure?" He asks again, he sorta knew the answer by how you were reacting so far and the heat between your thighs raditating into his skin but he was always thorough.

"Oh my fuckin god, yes." You smiled and pulled your hands from his grasp and grabbed his face pulling his face to yours with need and desire, a clear smile upon your lips.

One of his hands found itself in your soaked hair and the other holding up your thighbas he grinded himself into you. He was needy and felt that same ache for you that you felt for him.

You grinded your wet skin against his, he wanted to make sure you were ready before he slipped in so he guided your body against his and once he knew you were ready he pushed his way in, stretching your walls that was entirely everything but unwelcome. Your lips found his again as he started to push his hips against yours which made a moan leave your lips.

Your hips moved with a slow rhythm, a natural feel to them, following his guidance and meeting his pace. Damian's mouth moved to explore your neck and chest leaving a trail of kisses and bites as he went, not leaving any part untouched.

"You feel so good, Mon Cheri." He groaned into your neck as he placed his head there and breathed in deep, taking in your scent as he moved in and out of you. Your hand moved to hold the back of his head, holding him against your skin encouraging him as you pant and smile.

His hips moved faster, moving a hand down your back and to your ass to squeeze as he guided your hips. You eyes fell closes as you moaned on cloud nine.

You could feel the heat of his body against yours, His hands seemed to be everywhere all at once, pulling and guiding your body to move for him and only him.

"You're mine, Amai Tenshi. Say you're mine. Please." He groaned, pleaded and demanded all at once as he spoke into your neck, his lips finding the sensitive skin there leaving a dark bruise.

His movements became more erratic as your walls fluttered and milked at him, your body craving his touch as you held onto him tightly. Your hands gripped his shoulders, nails digging into his skin trying to pull him closer to you.

"Oh, f-fuck. You're- You're close aren't you?" He groaned his head coming up so his forehead was resting against yours. He said as he looked into your eyes, his gaze holding yours captive in his.

"Yeah- Fu- Fuck, Beloved." you responded as your breath comes out in small gasps as he kept his quick and deep pace. His movements hit you just right, bringing you right to where he wanted you. Calling him "Beloved" was sacred to him and meant the world in his mind. You felt your eyes start to tear up as he hit you just right once more.

"C'mere-" Damian spoke softly gently held your face. He reached down and rubbed your clit, his eyes gazing deeply into yours. He chased his high and wss nearing it with you.

"Relax, I've got you. I'm right here. Come for me." He panted out before his hips deeped their movement against yours, he picked up his pace even more. Damian's lips found yours once more, his tongue slipped into your mouth. He groaned against your lips as he neared the edge, his hands holding yours as he squeezed them, coming as he felt you do as well.

Both of you panting against one another in the now cooling water. Water dripped off the both of you.

"I think the hot water's out." Damian almost laughed as he slowly pulled out.

You groaned as he did so, still trying to catch your breath and keep yourself up, your knees feeling weak and jelly-like. He lowered your thigh and used the showerhead to clean the mess between your thighs before picking you up and taking you to his bed. He laid you down and dried you off.

"You alright, Amai Tenshi?" He said sweetly as he climbed in beside you and pulled you to his front side. You nodded, he had taken ever last little bit of energy you had from crimefighting and used it to it's last drop.

"Get some sleep." He rubbed your thighs lovingly and turned out the lights.

"Do- Do we have to stay friends?" You asked half asleep.

"Let's talk in the morning, okay? Get some sleep" He whispered as he gently kissed the back of your neck.

-> Masterlist <-

[tkwrites]

Welcome Home - Nico Hischier x ofc

gif from turbolainen

Title: Welcome Home

Part VI in the It Doesn’t Matter AU

It Doesn't Matter Masterlist

Author: Tory / @tkwrites 

Relationship: Nico Hischier x Lena (ofc)

Summary: Lena welcomes Nico home from a road trip in a way he's only dreamed of.

Warnings: Smut (18+ Only!), heavy nipple play, unprotected p in v (wrap it up unless you’re in a consenting relationship!)

Word count: 1,800

Comments: I had no intention of posting another Nico and Lena piece so soon, but this came to me last night and practically wrote itself. I was half asleep through part of it, so please forgive any mistakes. In many ways, it's extremely self indulgent, but I think you'll enjoy it, too.

Nico and Lena continue to be my spiciest AU. They just can't keep their hands off each other.

If you did enjoy this fic, please consider letting me know by commenting, reblogging, or sending in an ask. Your encouragement and comments truly inspire me to keep writing. 

Welcome Home

Hey, I’m sorry but I’m in the middle of something. Can you catch a ride home with Jack and Luke? 

This message should have been his first clue Lena was up to something. She never bailed on plans like this. He’d been looking forward to her picking him up after the road trip. Not just because it meant he got to see her sooner, but because part of him really liked being seen with her, now that the guys knew they were together. 

She wouldn’t bail without reason, though. So, he swallowed his disappointment down and responded, Sure. See you soon. 

When Nico opened the apartment door, he’d expected to find Lena at her easel, working on a painting, having asked him to ride with Jack because she wasn’t in a good stopping place. She did that occasionally before bed, staying up to get it just right. 

Instead, she was casually leaning her butt against the back of the couch, wearing nothing but a red silk slip with delicate black lace at the neck and hem.

“I wanted to welcome you home,” she said with a sultry smile. 

“I…” he couldn’t even form words. Speech was for greater men than him. He could barely even think. 

“Didn’t want to ruin the surprise by picking you up in this,” she teased, pulling at the hem. 

He nodded, dumbly, reveling in the knowledge that she'd done this just for him.

One of the seven nights he was gone, they were talking on the phone when she’d asked him what kind of lingerie he liked. He’d told her he didn’t really know (anything would look incredible on her), but he’d always dreamed of coming home from a roadie to his girlfriend waiting for him in lingerie. It hadn’t even crossed his mind that she would ask him to ride with Jack so she could make it a reality.

Relishing the way his eyes raked over her again, Lena smiled. It was so easy to fulfill this fantasy, especially when she already had this nightie in Devils colors. She’d only worn it for someone once before but wore it on her own plenty. She loved the feel of it - the brush of the silk against her nipples turned her knees to jello nearly every time.  

“I missed you,” she said, taking slow steps toward him. 

The way the fabric lifted slightly with each sway of her hips made his mouth water. God, she was so beautiful. 

“I missed you, too,” he managed to say. 

This fantasy she was bringing to life had his heart banging in his chest. 

“Yeah?” she asked. “How much?” 

“So much,” he moaned, finally reaching out to touch her. The silk was just as soft as it looked. 

“You wanna show me how much?” she asked, a teasing glint in her eyes. 

Licking his lips, he nodded. 

She leaned up to brush her lips over his - barely even touching. His mouth buzzed in anticipation. “Come show me then,” she said before turning to walk down the hall.

He swore in German and then in French before finally saying, “you’re fucking incredible.” 

She glanced over her shoulder and met his eyes, “coming?” 

It was all the prompting he needed. He ran to follow her. By the time he got into their room, she was climbing up on the bed, giving him a perfect view of her ass. A desperate noise crawled up his throat. 

He waited for her to get comfortable, sitting up on the bed before he asked, “what did you have in mind?”

“You’re showing me how much you missed me, remember?” 

Nodding, he tore at his clothes, stripping off the hoodie and shorts until he stood before her in nothing but boxer briefs. 

“Off or on?” she asked, pulling the lace hem of her nighty up her thigh. 

“On,” he panted, eyes dragging over her again. He wanted to be the one to take it off.

Her smile let him know he'd made the right choice. 

“This is incredible,” he said, running a finger under one of the straps as he brought his body closer to hers. 

“I like how it feels,” she admitted. And before she could stop herself, she continued, “I’m about 96 percent sure you could get me off just by playing with my nipples through it.” 

His eyes were drawn down to them automatically. They seemed to pebble under his gaze, poking against the fabric. “Yeah?” he asked, voice gone husky. 

“I had an ex who almost got me there but moved on right before I was about to come,” she said, rolling her eyes.

Nico wrinkled his nose. “Was he blind?” She wasn’t difficult to read. She always moaned and rocked her hips up three or four times when she was about to crest. 

“Something like that,” she giggled. In reality, he’d mistaken her groan of frustration as one of desire and slid into her, shooting off before she  even had the chance to come. 

“Do you want me to try?”

She bit her lip and nodded, looking up at him through her lashes. 

“Where?” he asked.

“Where?” she repeated, confused. Hadn't they just talked about where she wanted to he touched? 

“Where do you want to be?” he clarified, gesturing to his lap as an example. “What position?” He could not be relied upon to communicate well when she was wearing this for him. 

“Oh,” she blushed. As she closed her eyes, trying to envision what would feel best, one of her hands drifted up, fondling herself through the silk. Her core throbbed to life between her legs. The fact that Nico wanted to do this for her turned her on nearly as much as the caress of her own fingers. 

Her face softened, and Nico groaned. He flirted with the idea of letting her continue, wanting to see her get herself off like this. On the other hand, he was supposed to be showing her. And he wanted to touch her. He always wanted to touch her.

Reaching forward, he knocked her hand out of the way so he could tweak her nipple instead. 

Her head fell back, and she moaned, “lighter.”

“Hu?”

“I want you to touch lighter,” she said, “like this.” She reached up, gently pinching one of the sensitive nubs before dragging the silk over the tip. It felt so good — slippery and cool. A whisper on her sensitive skin.

He took her instruction, relaxing his touch.

Her back arched, pressing closer as his thumb lightly circled the peak. “Oh my god. That feels so good,” she breathed. “Don't stop.”

His left hand came up to join the right, repeating the treatment on her other breast. 

“Fuck, Nico. Oh, yes.”

Her chest heaved a deep breath, and her hips began to roll. 

“Here,” Nico said, momentarily abandoning his mission so he could get them in a better position.

She whined at the loss but cut herself off when he sat against the headboard and pulled her into his lap.

Quick as a flash, she was all over him, kissing him deeply as she brought her hips closer to his.

She was already soaked, leaving a trail of arousal on his skin. 

Groaning, his hands slipped back up to her breasts, gently pinching and rotating his fingers.

“Oh,” she keened. It felt incredible. Each tweak and twirl of her nipples shot a rocket of pleasure straight to her clit. She was sure if he so much as brushed the sensitive pearl, she would fall apart, receptive to even the slightest touch. 

“Come on,” he urged, touching the pad of his thumbs to the peaks and rubbing them in small circles.

“Oh,” she groaned, hips rocking as her back arched, “oh fuck Nico.”

His left hand went back to pinching and rolling the pebble between his thumb and forefinger as the right continued the gentle circles. 

The sudden force of his dual stimulation exploded in her veins. 

Hips pressed fully to him, she only had to roll once before her clit brushed his stomach, catching his happy trail, and pleasure exploded into her body. 

Nico kept going, tender and steady while she chanted his name. He was mesmerized that this simple touch could bring so much out of her. 

Gently, he pulled on one of the tender peaks, and, head thrown back, she cried out as heat blazed anew inside her. 

“Lena,” he groaned, leaning down to suck one nipple into his mouth, straight through the fabric. 

She writhed atop him. 

With his hand free, he pushed his boxers out of the way and urged her to sink onto his hard cock.  

Feeling him slip inside her as her orgasm raged was a breathtaking new sensation she would never forget. 

God, she felt incredible around him, urging him deeper. 

When the haze of pleasure slipped from Lena’s mind, an overwhelming urge to blow his mind took its place. He'd just given her two (three?) earth shattering orgasms in a row. Before the first one stopped, he did something new to begin again. She needed him to feel the same way.

Pushing him back gently, his mouth reluctantly popped off her breast as he was forced to lean back against the headboard. 

“Let me,” she said, rocking her hips with a little more insistence. 

Nico gulped and nodded, looking up at her with those big, brown eyes.

In all the times he'd imagined being with her, his mind had never come up with a scenario like this. Reality really was better than any kind of dream. 

In his partially reclined position, it was easier for her to touch him. Her hands slipped up his stomach, and as they found a new home on his chest, she softly circled his nipples with her thumbs, grazing over top every few passes. 

He moaned. He'd known nipple play was a thing. Lena liked her nipples played with nearly as much as her clit, and, even though she'd touched him there before, he'd never felt anything like this. It was like she built some kind of pleasure highway from his chest to his dick and each time she touched him, sensation rushed between the two.

He groaned her name, back arching and hips thrusting to meet each of her movements. 

Lena relished making him feel this way, eating up the shaky way he drew breath and the flutter of his lashes as his eyes rolled back. 

Feeling him spill into her as he shouted his pleasure sparked a sense of intense satisfaction inside Lena until it was glowing bright within her. 

“Oh my God,” he gasped as she lay over him, taking care to keep him seated inside her.

“Thank you,” she said, propping herself on one elbow so she could look into his face. “That was even better than I dreamed.”

A cocky smile ticked his lips up. “I'm glad,” he mumbled, pulling her in for a kiss. “I'll do that anytime you want.” 

It Doesn't Matter Masterlist

To read all my fics, check out the Fanfiction Masterlist

[noctuadora]

Okay so I just woke up from a 4hr nap wanting to talk about Leon for a bit. Emphasis on just woke up, so expect my thoughts to be jumbled.

To be honest, the more I think about this specific post (and the quotes that came with it) the more I don’t get how people can say that Leon is a “MEAN guy who’s actually corrupt and morally grey” when in fact…

He didn’t hesitate to protect Ada from getting shot. He was gentle with her—despite revealing later that he did not trust her that much—and mourned her ‘death’ even after she pointed her gun and betrayed him. He only knew her for a day.

He sacrificed himself and started working for the government in order to protect Sherry. He didn’t have a choice, but he also said that he didn’t regret it. He only knew her for a day as well.

He comforted Ashley after seeing how terrified she was from being controlled by the virus. It must’ve been scary for him as well, realizing the unpredictability of the Los Plagas infection, but nevertheless he prioritized in making her feel safe and reassured. She was his mission, but he didn’t treat her like a mission—he was warm and friendly with her.

He mourned Luis’ death. He lit up his last cigarette and patiently listened to him talk about his regrets. He held his hand tightly. Despite knowing he worked for Umbrella—the very company that ruined his life—he sympathised with him.

He refused to give the chip to Claire in order to protect her. Some think that his decision was made because he wanted to ‘protect the government’, but it doesn’t take much to understand that he knew and understood (ex. Shen May’s situation) that Claire’s life will be in danger if he gives the chip. She is his dear friend—one of the only people who understood what he’d been through in Raccoon City—he couldn’t bear to lose her.

(Extra: I haven’t read the Infinite Darkness comic but this post mentioned that Leon made time to visit an injured detective he barely knew in the hospital and even asked the condition of two other guards.)

There are a lot more instances in other installments that showed Leon’s unwavering kindness, but I’ll stop here since it’s almost 4AM and I need to get ready for work.

Resident Evil isn’t particularly known for its story and writing, and there are a lot of inconsistencies and shit, but one of the things that stayed consistent all throughout the franchise is Leon Kennedy’s need to protect the people around him. It didn’t matter if he only met them for a day or they’ve wronged him. If he could just save one more life, he’d gladly push himself to the limit (and that is his biggest strength… and flaw).

Some people love to perceive him as either: a lovestruck fool who is a puppy for someone, or a man who is a corrupted mean jerk… but all I see is a man whose heart is so wounded yet continues to fight and give protection to those who need it. He may be working for the government now, yes, but that genuine part of him hasn’t changed, and will not change.

[ilysungho]

you did THE BEST writing the sub leehan drabble and i can't stop thinking about how ihan would be if he suddenly found out he had mommy kink...

as if you were touching him after he has been needing you all afternoon since he couldn't see you and as a result of the pleasure, out of nowhere he is calling you mommy and whining like a baby pleading for more

I think that even he would be surprised by what he says but he couldn't stop begging OH GOD IT DRIVES ME CRAZY RNNN I NEED IT

If you can do something like that I would really appreciate it 🥲🥲

pd: I really love your work, you are one of my favorite writers ily😭😭♡

a/n: you’re so sweet thank you so much for loving my work, it makes me so happy to hear that 🥹 honestly i’ve been warming up to mommy kinks (just jaehyun and taesan so far) so i tried… also this might've turned out to be way longer than intended so enjoy cutie 💗 wc: 1k contains: sub!leehan x dom!reader, implied switch!leehan, mommy kink leehan, marking, handjob, riding, penetration (p in v), unprotected sex (don't!), creampie, lowercase intended

almost a month passed by without seeing your boyfriend around. practice ran late into the night, leehan just staying at the dorms for the time being. he had to be up early, barely getting any sleep, and had no time to talk to you. so when he was able to finally finish with performances, of course he clung to you like a baby koala.

you played with his hair while softly kissing the top of his head, leehan nuzzling into you under your touch. questions and answers about how life had been got exchanged, with him closing his eyes at your voice. he found comfort in the warmth of your tone, one that he missed the sound of so dearly. and as he started to feel sleepy, his answers eventually turned into mumbles of soft hmm-s and mhm-s.

at the lack of responses, you stopped practically interrogating him, instead resorting to kissing his face. your lips touched every part of him so softly as you faced him to show your love. he smiled his signature smile, the one where his eyes scrunch into crescents, resembling the moon in a beautiful night sky. as much as he loved to make you feel special, he loved to be taken care of. so he let you do as you wanted, to help him fill up on the love he'd been deprived of.

the kisses never stopped, trailing down to his jawline as your hands reached behind his back to rub it gently. he could feel every touch to his core, slowly but surely starting to get needy for you. it was when you kissed down his neck onto his sweet spot that he said it: “mommy…”

his voice was quiet by firm, but you let go of your position to stare at him. “what did you say?”

the sudden change in the atmosphere had the two of you confused but also… excited. he was never one to call you by said term, but at the moment it felt so right. but if you didn’t like it, then he just might’ve ruined the mood…

“n-nothing, don’t worry.” his embarrassed face came on as he tried to deny in, but you took his hand to intertwine your fingers. leaning down to kiss that spot once again, you muttered, “‘s ok, say whatever you wanna.”

the indirect acceptance of the new nickname had him going. to describe it, he felt like it was the only right term to use at the moment, and he surprisingly liked how it sounded out of his mouth. but you did have to get used to it, and what better way than to have him call you so for now?

your kissing turned into marking, leaving pink hues on the pale canvas. the tug of your teeth on his sensitive skin made him whimper, scared to call you by the name again. you kept going though, wanting to hear him call you so, sucking a bit harder to leave deeper reds.

“take your shirt off baby.” you got up to take your own shirt off, him following suit. he bit his lips as you pushed him back down on the bed, going back to marking his now revealed chest. your free hand moved up to his nipples, touching over them and causing him to gasp.

you looked up at him as your lips reached down to the other nipple, kissing around it. he nervously returned the eye contact, scared for what will happen next. your mouth wrapped around it now, licking and sucking on the new territory. this had leehan squirming under you, the sensitivity hitting him at once as he moaned out once again.

“mommy…” you smirked against his chest as you played with his nipples, something he’d always do when the roles were reversed. your continued attention on his sensitive buds had him whining under you until you let go, sitting up beside him.

“come put your head here, my good boy.” leehan gasped at the nickname as he watched you pat on your lap, inching closer to obey your order. he nervously watched as you raised an eyebrow and pushed down the bra cups to show your boobs, slightly leaning down for him. “now suck.”

his tongue immediately wrapped around your nipple, hands flying to engulf you in a hug. your one hand stayed on leehan’s hair to stroke it as your other removed the rest of his clothes for him. lying naked while sucking your boobs, your leehan looked really cute while being all desperate for you. you hummed out praises for him continuously while also stroking his dick now. and every now and then, leehan would let go to let out the softest yet most exasperated sighs accompanied by calling you mommy.

“you’re being such a good boy for mommy, hanie.” smiling down at him, he hid his face between your chest while nodding, blushing at how you called yourself so. your thumb slid across his slit, hissing following suit. fingers tangled in his blond locks as you slowly rubbed him, his throat now leaving moans of desperation freely. your boyfriend jerked against your hand as he sucked your nipples once again. all the shame and shyness left his body at this point, not caring what he did or said. and all he needed was you to take control.

"mommy please, i need more..." he moaned softly while continuing his actions. a hum followed, with you moving him to get up and on top of him. your sweet smile accompanied by your not-so-sweet actions made leehan squirm under you as you held onto his dick. the slick between the two of you formed quite enough to help him ease into you, causing both lovers to gasp in unison. you moved slowly at first, bottoming out every time before getting back up and going down on him once again.

leehan whimpered as he caught onto your hand, the pleasure getting to his emotions as his eyes teared up. any and every kind of sound erupted from his chest, louder than the previous as he begged you for more. he let out hymns of "faster please mommy," "please, harder mommy, please," "mommy please," "mommy, mommy, mommy!" until he came undone in you, his seed spilling out as you kept riding his pretty cock, which is just for his mommy.

[emmg]

first line or page or whatever

I was tagged by lovely @starfleetteddybear

And now I'm tagging everyone I can think of because you all already know I adore being a fly on the wall, continually being fed by yalls lips @heylittleriotact @lavenderprose @caffeinatedmunchkin @aldisobey @fenharel-babe @lafaiette and everyone else (seriously, I am so serious, so super serious, freaking tag me to read it)

I don't write in order so this isn't technically "first page or first sentence" or whatever, but it is the first thing in the document. It's not edited or anything, so yeah

I'm not working on anything in particular at the moment, but this is from a Emmlich x Rook creepy, not-happy, definitely morbid one-shot

---

Her hand dangles from her wrist like an afterthought, a relic of some forgotten desecration. Hours ago, it was ordinary: warm, alive, unremarkable. Now, the skin stretches taut and shiny, the color of old wax, fissured at the knuckles, crisp and lifeless. The nails are beginning their exodus, retreating one by one, and the bones beneath flex with a quiet, unnatural creak, like a poorly oiled hinge. Each movement elicits a sound, a faint, unbearable crackle, as though the hand itself is trying to speak, trying to beg for stillness. 

Her arm betrays her further, holding onto the hand as though it remains unchanged, blind to the ruin at its end. The arm insists there is nothing wrong, and for a moment she wishes she could share in its delusion. 

"You have done well, Bellara. Thank you for bringing her here. You may leave," Emmrich says, his voice drifting through the fog of her horror. 

She blinks, her gaze slipping downward. His feet. They look normal. His voice, so calm, so kind, as if nothing in the world had shifted. But when he touches her hand she sees the wrappings around his fingers, the frayed edges of fabric, and something inside her mind explodes, splinters into a thousand jagged shards. 

The sound that escapes her lips is not quite a scream. Her lungs are too hollow for that. It is a keening, a whimper, the noise of a wounded animal, ribs already shattered, being struck again. She cannot look at his hand, and yet she does, helpless, dragged to the sight as though by hooks lodged in her skull. Even as the glamour rushes back around him like a second skin, summoned hastily to soothe her panic, she sees it. Beneath the wrappings, beneath the illusion. She sees what lies hidden, what should never be seen. She does not need to see it clearly. She has seen it before.

She imagines the layers of herself peeled away in the same manner: skin slipping like the rind of a fruit plunged into boiling water, sloughing off to reveal raw muscle, wet and glistening. The muscle stripped clean, sinew unwound like thread, veins plucked and discarded, the bone beneath polished to a gleam until it is no longer hers, until it is no longer anything but a thing that must be hidden, bound, wrapped. Her hand, no longer her hand, becoming his hand. Becoming him.

She stumbles backward, choking on her terror, pushing, pleading, begging—away, away, away.

"Oh, no, no," Emmrich murmurs, soft and quick, catching her wrist before she can fully recoil. His fingers press into her, their texture wrong despite the illusion of skin. The glamour is seamless, his hand as it once was: warm, familiar. It looks right, yes, but the feel of it betrays him. 

"My darling, my darling," he coos. "It is but a malfunction, nothing more. I will fix it." 

And he does. She does not know how, does not understand the spell he weaves, the threads of magic pulled like a puppeteer’s strings. She only knows the sensation: the slowing of time as though the world itself hesitates to watch. The veins in her hand reinflate, blood coursing sluggishly, obediently. The yellowed, parchment-thin skin blushes pink again, fat plumping her fingertips, the flesh regaining its softness. 

The medallion stops its maddening thrumming at last, silent after being stirred to life by Bellara’s cursed artifact. Silent, but still there, still pulsing faintly against the edge of her mind. 

Emmrich smiles at her then, the smile he no longer has, the one the glamour keeps for him. It is a lie, but a convincing one. She realizes, distantly, that she has stopped crying. 

"It just needs a few adjustments," he says, lifting the medallion from between her breasts to rub its surface idly, reverently, like a craftsman tending to his finest tool. "Simple as that."

[sunflower1experiment]

Another mouthwashing analysis

I feel like people forget that Jimmy’s character is important because it forces us to see his crimes and while it is uncomfortable and feels unnecessary.

That is the whole point of the game, what he did was unnecessary and it proves how unreliable he is and how realistic the story is. We have people like him in real life that cause these types of problems, hurt others like he did to Anya and Curly because in his pov he views them as useless or someone to clean up his mess whether he indirectly or directly caused it.

What he did to Anya, he blamed Curly, he’s blaming Curly for his crime against her. When Anya can’t handle feeding Curly the pills, she gets nauseous and upset. And there is a symbolic point in two ways, Jimmy getting angry at her for not handling/cleaning up HIS INDIRECT MESS and the fact that he expects her to act normally after Sa’ing her. Because he doesn’t see the problem, only when she asks for help or gets worried about the baby causing him problems so he runs away from the baby and belittles/ antagonizes her as if that was her fault he crashed it.

Now here’s the symbolism, Anya and Curly symbolizing each other because they both had to fawn and or ended up with flight/freeze. Because of Jimmy, Curly is not perfect or a good person and what happened to him isn’t karma.

The only karma he gets is being forced to watch Jimmy cause all of this chaos and then watching Jimmy crawl back to him and practically cannibalize Curly just because Curly isn’t here to clean up his mess.

Anya is young, so is Daisuke, they were both failed we got that bit but we also forget the part that Curly sort of symbolizes what it would be like for Anya if she had the baby with her abuser still roaming around.

Which causes her to get more depressed, his whole plan was to literally kill her and then he lies saying Curly crashed but we all know thats not true which where the irony comes in and my personal theory. Anya and Swansea probably knew especially when Anya told Swansea, and Swansea told Anya his plan.

Anya basically is giving up meanwhile Swansea was too busy getting drunk to take action when it was needed.

Now we all know this dance and repeated it many times but as a fandom we have to understand that Jimmy shows the worst in everyone as Anya said “Our worst moments don’t make us monsters” Jimmy was in his worst moment and he was portraying everyone in their worst moments meanwhile he was the monster of it all.

And he tries to repeat this quote but Polle (aka Anya) stops him. Because if that were true why did he SA her? Why did he think that he had nothing to lose? Why did he ruin Anya and Curly’s potential relationship/friendship just for a power stroke?

Because he saw Anya as an object and sees Curly as an airhead “Good Captain” whom Jimmy knows well because he was able to analyze Curly’s psych evaluation meanwhile Curly was barely able to analyze Jimmy.

They were never friends, Jimmy took advantage of Curly’s kindness and deems him this airhead, heart on the sleeve Captain. But he forgets that being a Captain comes all the stress.

Which cracks me up when he gets angry at having to do four tasks. This should’ve told everyone how useless he is, he didn’t even do anything for the past 2 months and made sure to blank that out until Anya asked for help, they saw the mouthwash and he was expecting everything to be normal.

No Jimmy, Anya is human, Swansea is human and Daisuke is human. You ruined a future doctor’s life, took a father/husband from his family and ruined a young man’s life. Because you couldn’t take responsibility.

He doesn’t even take responsibility for practically making everyone out to be people that they’re not. As he said and I quote “Pain is what makes one know you’re living.”

……..Anyone who hates him, I do not blame you, folks who like him, I still don’t blame you or anyone.

As long as folks aren’t toxic and bashing others about it, I don’t care.

We just gotta understand that when it comes to each pilot’s perspective. Jimmy’s is super unreliable meanwhile Curly’s is somewhat but he also fails terribly at being Captain. He keeps trying to be friend and Captain at the same time which is impossible unless you know how to juggle the responsibility of one of the crewmates acting out to challenge your authority.

Which is what Jimmy did twice….

And let’s also not forget that he was super selfish the whole time and when it came to judgement day. Him putting Curly in the cryopod and taking the cowardly way out, still selfish and doesn’t make him a hero. Instead it sorta makes him worse, he has all the potential to change as it shows in Swansea’s speech but doesn’t. Because he believes everything he is doing, is right.

Thats all I just wanted to rant because I always think about how he says “I’ll take care of it” he says it to Curly and practically ruins everyone’s life then says it to Anya twice and them proceeds to abuse Curly.

Then when Anya gets the chance to have her own authority, it’s to end it all. Which sucks for her because that’s how depressed she was and how stressful it was and Jimmy once again tries to make it seem like she breaks down all the time. When for 2-4 months she’s been handling Curly’s pills.

Meanwhile he broke down at having to do 5 tasks….which is actually crazy. The tasks sorta represent the months, just saying. He never did a single thing for those past months besides correct folks and talk about how he’s Captain now.

Okay Jimmy, and you can’t even be Captain. Under qualified as a pilot and under qualified as a Captain.

[psychslvt]

teacher bf teacher bf teacher bf !!!!!

no matter how hard i try in this class i just keep failing :( i study for hours every night but i guess i just don't understand the material. but my teacher offered to help me! hes so sweet and he tutors me after school and im so relieved to have a support figure in my life that i ignore when he touches me weird and stares at me. until one day he tells me to come over to his house for tutoring instead of meeting in his office and suddenly im sitting on his couch with my homework on the table in front of me and his hand around my waist, resting slightly on top of my upper thigh. he tells me that hes gonna help me with memorization and takes my flashcards, telling me about a game he plays with students to help them retain memory. i get a little confused when he makes me close my eyes and maneuvers me into a more vulnerable position but i go along with it because i really need this grade. the minute his fingers touch my cunt over my underwear my mind goes blank. i whine and open my eyes, confused about what hes doing as he asks the first question. i stutter and try to remember whats going on as he pushes my panties away and shoves a finger inside me. i moan and then catch myself and gasp as i struggle to realize whats actually happening. 

"whats the answer huh? cmon we went over this i know you remember it somewhere."

he starts to slowly move his finger in and out of me as i whimper.

stopp it i dont knowww this is so weird and wrong stop touching me !!!

"ill stop once you tell me the answer. thats how this works."

and he keeps fingering me while i get more and more braindead do my best to babble different answers but i cant even remember the question anymore, much less the answer. one finger turns into two turns into his dick while my soft protests turn into moans and whimpers. he fucks me there on the couch, where he told me he'd help me understand my schoolwork but now spits insults into my ear about how im just a stupid whore and if i wanted better grades i should have just asked for his dick in the first place. he tells me all about how if this gets out he can ruin my academic record and my life will be over so my only option is to become his personal toy if i want to pass this grade.

[fall0utmind]

Medical Leak AU pt 12

Hi friends!!

Finally got around to finishing this chapter - after almost a full rewrite - I hope you like it. Thank you sooooo much to everyone who has shown me love, appreciation and support for my works. I feel v lucky x

Anyways I hope this lovely almost 6k chapter makes up for the delay. It's very very angsty - finally all that Vale guilt you wanted.

TW// Suicide (more graphic than anything else I have written) - crashes - death - injury

Probably about 2-3 more chapters left!!!!!

Love you all - ch below cut

AO3

https://archiveofourown.org/works/59751640/chapters/158547442

CH 12 - REGRET

Valentino gets home late on Monday evening with a million thoughts in his head and the heavy weight of exhaustion clinging to him. The beginnings of a headache are throbbing behind his temples, an indicator of a long weekend of overthinking. Despite this, Valentino cannot rest, too wired from a weekend full of mistakes and surprises. It has categorically been one of the worst weekends of Vale’s life. From finding out about Marc’s past and watching him fall apart in front of his eyes, to somehow making it even worse by opening his mouth. In hindsight, he realises that historical emotions with no place in the present fuelled their exchanges, lighting the spark for an inevitable detonation. He let his ego rule his mind, took it out on Marc and was disbelieving even as he stared down the truth. Not his finest moments. It has taken too many years to realise that he loves Marc and now he is faced with the incomprehensible fact that he might lose him altogether if he can’t make amends.

He used to know Marc so well; he doesn’t know when he stopped understanding every intricacy and started attributing them all to some form of evil. But somewhere along the way, every little thing Marc did was labelled as corrupt and dangerous in his mind. It costs his pride to set the habitual instinct aside, knowing he has made mistakes along the way. He is now going against years of conditioning intended to forget the affection he once felt for Marc. And yet here he is sitting in his kitchen, back at square one, after years of messing things up for both himself and Marc, with that same affection reignited and his heart shattered by his own mistakes.

Despite a greater acceptance of his shortcomings in the past years, Valentino struggles to swallow the realisation that this was his fault. Somewhere deep inside, a stubborn part of him protests the concept; it is the same fragment which is still bitter about 2015 and the loss of his tenth title. When Valentino allows himself to think about it, he still feels some frustration about the 2015 season, both with himself and Marc. But he can also look back and realise that he was a grown adult and Marc was 22; one of them should have known better, and it wasn’t Marc. Moreover, instead of choking down his anger at the time, and talking to Marc privately, Valentino decided to air it out to the world at large. He tries to push the feelings down and bottle them up, unwilling to let something as fragile as an ego ruin this. Valentino’s ego destroyed their relationship last time- a combination of his self-importance and visceral need to win. Alongside, there was a self-doubt which niggled at the back of his mind for years until he let it engulf him. He began to doubt Marc’s loyalty and trustworthiness, even though Marc looked at him like he held the sun. He can now identify that his feelings were a combination of the dread that Marc could be better than him and the fear of his overwhelming and undeniably romantic feelings for the younger man.

It's all irrelevant now. Valentino has spent a decade screwing it up and denying his feelings. Now, he must weigh up whether Marc, the continuation of his legacy as the best, or his pride are more important.

(The choice is surprisingly easy)

Valentino takes a deep breath, blowing it out between his teeth and screwing his eyes shut. He needs a plan. And yet, he’s still at a loss about how to get Marc back. He has tried begging, reasoning, and telling the truth but none have worked.

 Albeit, he thinks bitterly, after each attempt, he promptly screwed it up again. He imagines it might take time for Marc to come around. It had taken Valentino years to destroy him and almost a decade to realise his own stupidity - he should give Marc time now. But patience has never been Valentino’s virtue, and he reckons he can speed up the process a little – some more positive interviews, or some flowers and much sweet talking. Nothing too overbearing, but Marc has always had a bit of a thing for praise, especially from Valentino.

No matter how hard he tries though, it is uncertain whether Marc will ever be able to trust him again. After everything that has happened between them, it feels like a far-off prospect. It doesn’t help that Marc had physically run away from him in Misano, fleeing his motorhome and leaving Vale standing there like an idiot, feeling bereft.

Now he almost wishes that he stayed, waiting for Marc to come back. He doesn’t focus too much on the small voice saying that he probably deserved to be abandoned by Marc. Thankfully, he didn’t have a long drive afterwards, and it was even quicker when he had barely paid attention to the road, too tied up in his thoughts. He was glad that the winding roads had been almost deserted, allowing him to follow the route by muscle memory, barely twitching at the occasional set of oncoming headlights.

His thoughts are running away from him, spinning off on tangents like what his journey home was like, rather than the task at hand. It is a solid indicator of his fatigue. The next time he looks at the clock, it’s almost midnight, signifying that he’s been sitting in one position for far too long. He groans as he hauls himself out of his chair, his knees cracking. He feels like this weekend has aged him. He pops his back and stretches his arms above his head, shifting as he tries to gather the will to move to his bedroom.

Exhaustion weighs heavily on him whilst he half heartedly brushes his teeth, skipping along shower until tomorrow.  He shucks his clothes off before throwing himself into bed, feeling overwhelmingly grateful that he has the money for the fancy mattresses he adores. He falls asleep quickly, his overactive mind shutting down to give him a brief respite. Before he retired, sleeping used to be tough after a race weekend fuelled by adrenaline, now though he usually sleeps like a baby.  Dreams come in hazy wisps of half-formed scenes. A young Marc giggles at something Valentino has said, an older version of him studiously avoiding his eyes. A flash of tanned skins and thundering engines. The harsh words which were cruelly spat at each other all those years ago. He is thrown from dream to dream, his imagination running wild.

Valentino sleeps until the sun is already high in the sky. He is endlessly grateful for mornings in bed on Mondays. The joys of retiring early. He showers quickly, perfunctory, and avoids thinking of Marc or his perfect face and plush lips lest his body betrays him. He towels himself down in much the same way and sets to start his day. He’s already written off a productive week, content to relax and wallow in self-pity after the shit show of a weekend. He putters around the kitchen for a bit, making himself some breakfast and a coffee, taking the time to do it in the fancy way that he usually brushes off as too excessive. Clutching his mug and plate, he wanders into the living room, laying his breakfast on the coffee table. He grabs his laptop and settles on the sofa. Now that he has returned to the safety of his own home, Valentino has plans to go online to read watch and consume every piece of literature about Marc Marquez that he had missed over the last decade. Thankfully, he already knows plenty: his rookie years, family, and success he is intimately familiar with. But he’s shied away from much of it: the crashes, his recovery, relationships, and the recent news. He has to start somewhere – for some reason, he thinks the crashes (and there are many) might be easiest.

Before he even consciously thinks about it, the video of Jerez is loading on his laptop – go big or go home and all of that. He watches in a half-daze and winces when Marc is thrown off the bike; the high side seems to happen in slow motion as he is flung through the air before slamming back into the earth. Valentino’s sharp gaze focuses on how Marc grits his teeth, his arm hanging limply by his side. He knows it was bad; he was there. He hadn’t seen the actual crash, and it is different now seeing it as it happened. He remembers that day, his bitter and forced indifference at the time. The vicious kind of vindication that Marc could not finish after Vale’s race had ended prematurely. Looking back now, it was fairly indicative of Valentino’s not-normal feelings. Afterwards, when he became aware of the surgery, an odd combination of panic and pleasure coursed through him. It was one less championship to Marc’s name, but Valentino also dedicated himself to researching the surgery and ensuring the doctors were the very best that money could buy. He had stopped looking into Marc's treatment after the second surgery, attempting to distance himself and by surgery number four, he thought Marc would retire – he didn’t know how to feel about that.

The video loops. He rewatches it until he can memorise the exact second Marc lost the bike, the angle at which it bucks, and the pain on his face when he thinks the cameras are no longer watching. Marc looks like he wants to scream in agony every time. Valentino wants to burn the circuit to the ground. The next time through, Valentino doesn’t click replay, staring numbly at the screen, the vision of Marc falling seared behind his eyelids. The next video loads before he can stop it. It’s a clip of Marc talking to a camera, a distant look in his eyes; it’s from that stupid documentary - the one Valentino has been avoiding for years. He hums thoughtfully, if he wants to get to know Marc again, this might be a good idea. How bad could it be? A quick Google search tells him where to watch it and it’s all too easy to set it up on his too-large TV and press play.

Valentino didn’t expect it to be so excruciating, seeing it so clearly laid out in front of his eyes. It’s difficult to watch. Whenever Valentino is mentioned, Marc’s face shutters slightly and Valentino finds himself physically recoiling from the pain in Marc’s voice. He trains his eyes on the screen, no matter how much he wants to look away. Surprisingly, the documentary cements that Marc is willing to rip himself apart to win, sinking his teeth into success and clutching on for dear life. Although Valentino already knew this; he didn’t realise Marc was willing to show everyone else. What he didn’t know is that, before it all fell apart, every time Marc did something wildly impressive, he looked to Valentino after, as if to seek his approval. In this light, Marc looks unbearably enamoured and so keen to please. He can see how Marc tore his heart open to keep Vale, only to be left with the tattered remains of their relationship – it aches. Unsurprisingly, there is also venom in Marc’s family’s descriptions of Valentino. Watching Roser talk about throwing his merchandise away after their fallout makes him wince. He remembers the smugness he felt when he lied to the Italian media as if he didn’t see the awe in Marc’s eyes. He remembers the first time he met a young Marc and the startling clarity that he was Marc’s world back then. (He remembered then too). Guilt engulfs him. He turns off the documentary and closes his eyes, unable to continue. His coffee is cold.

The rest of the morning passes in a blur, he organises his bookcase and then his room. He ambles around the track and rewatches some races from before Marc’s premier class debut. He locks himself in his office, passing the time by organising and doing trivial admin tasks which he has been putting off for months. He doesn’t feel like eating but forces himself to choke down a slice of plain toast, it still makes him nauseous. By the time he’s settled on the sofa again, the clock has struck nine and the light has faded to a pale dusk. The TV feels like it’s taunting him, its red light winking threateningly. He stares at the black screen.

A memory springs to life from the depth of his mind, unbidden. Marc, baby-faced and eager in 2013, in some shitty bar God knows where. He was drunk, absolutely hammered, his phone clutched in his hand as he waved it around, showing Valentino the pictures of his childhood room, full of old merch (most of it was Valentino’s). He remembers being unbearably fond, incredibly old, and slightly embarrassed on Marc’s behalf. A strangled noise erupts from the back of his throat. He had lied, to everyone; he had always known Marc had idolised him and he had taken that vulnerability and stabbed him in the back. Valentino feels sick, a vivid picture of Marc’s mum in the documentary, her disapproval clear to the world, even as Marc had remained hopeful.

Valentino can’t bring himself to turn the TV back on. He is a coward. He stumbles to his feet and fills a tumbler from the kitchen with whiskey - the expensive shit that Pecco got him last Christmas. He doesn’t want to think about it, about Marc, and he certainly doesn’t want to feel anything. So, he does what he does best and ignores it all, playing melancholy music through his too-expensive sound speaker and drinking away his sorrows and regrets. He doesn’t think of anything, or maybe he does – it all passes in a blur. The remnant shred of his sanity takes charge after three drinks, reminding him that alcohol is not actually the solution to all his problems. He leaves the glass on the side, promising himself that he will wash it up tomorrow. Staggering to his bedroom is an unwelcome reminder that he is far too old to be drinking alone in his empty house, he suddenly feels strangely lonely. He avoids looking the single toothbrush in the holder and the shower which only contains one set of body wash and shampoo. He ignores the thought that he wishes there were two. By the time he has finished in the ensuite and crossed the room to his bed, his eyes are already drooping. Valentino falls into a dreamless sleep the minute he hits the mattress.

*

The next day, Vale plans to watch the 2015 season from start to finish, and then study the replays of all the worst races across their time as competitors - Sepang, Argentina, Jerez, and Philip Island, the ones Valentino considers the turning points for their relationship. He is determined to pick apart the catalysts of their supernova implosion. It is a strange sensation to watch the worsening of their relationship as an outsider on the screen. He can barely bring himself to watch Sepang, too embarrassed by his childish and unsportsmanlike behaviour. He didn’t like Marc’s behaviour that year and didn’t enjoy losing (he never had). But the lies were atrocious, let alone thinking of what they led to. He turns it off before the press conference. He remembers how Marc had looked all too well, how he looked amused at first like it was all some elaborate joke before his face fell and shock took over.

He watches some of the better ones too, where he would pull Marc close in parc fermé and spray him with champagne on the podium. Marc looked so happy, so young, and in awe of Valentino. A startling difference from the Marc he now knows, to the one he created. His current Marc ignores Vale, putting up his walls whenever they interact, so much so that Valentino can barely recognise the real him. In his head, he can’t seem to reconcile all the Marcs, the real and the fake, the ones he knows and doesn’t. Valentino wonders which Marc is real, which Alex gets, and which Dovi gets. Is there even a real one, is it all an act, or is he all the Marcs in one?

It is a testament to how little Valentino knows Marc because, as much as he doesn’t want to think about it, apparently, he also relied on painkillers and was so hurt after everything that happened that he tried to end his life (twice). And even though he was there to witness it all, Valentino hadn't even realised. Marc fears vulnerability (he didn’t before), keeps his cards close to his chest, and doesn’t let anyone in; it makes him want to scream. He doesn’t understand how he missed it. He watches the end of the 2015 season particularly closely, searching for an indicator that Marc was feeling so low, any slip of his mask to see the true feelings beneath. He tries to find the clues that he missed, back then, the hints that Marc was struggling, if only he had looked. It hurts, watching, seeing Marc go from joyful and naive to guarded over a year is so obvious now that he is not overwhelmed by resentment. The pain wrenches at his gut, pulling painfully like a fishhook and making unnamed emotions rise within him. To the rest of the world, Marc is indifferent, a jokester, portraying a happy persona despite his internal turbulence, just like he was before Valentino. It is almost unfathomable that he didn’t notice him shutting down, the way his face would fall when Valentino was cruel or blasé. In the early years, of 2015 and 16, Marc hadn’t learnt how to throw up his walls quickly enough and his eyes betrayed him, if you knew what to look for. Over time he got better, or maybe he just stopped caring and became numb to it all.  He did this, he hurt Marc in unspeakable ways. He thinks that if he were Marc, he would never forgive himself.

For a split second, he pauses and wonders why he is doing this to himself, putting himself through all this pain. But then he considers the pain he caused for Marc, how his face had crumbled at the press conference of Friday, and the awful truth of the past which stares him down. Marc deserves better, and Valentino wants to give him that. He imagines his face after winning, looking so alive, his beautiful smile which lights up a room, and his ability to overcome anything. So, Valentino mentally prepares himself, turns on the documentary and wades his way through the rest of the programme, for Marc. Occasionally, he must tear his eyes away when it becomes too much, and Marc’s pain becomes too apparent. He feels sick at the end of it, sick and wrung out. So weighed down by his guilt that he doesn’t think he will ever stand up again.

Valentino’s curious though, wondering quite how bad it all was medically, how much he fucked up. He opens his phone, searching for every article he can find about Marc’s extensive injuries and hospital records. It is like one of those sick fascinations where he doesn’t want to keep reading, to torture himself, but he cannot help it, he wants to know more. He reads it all until it’s tattooed on his brain. The surgeries, the failed attempts at recovery, mainly due to Marc’s frankly stupid plan to get onto a bike again so soon. The man has always had a death wish, unafraid of falling, throwing himself into the deep end. Fall or win – die or live. Marc ran on a scale of dichotomy. He looks at the scars marring Marc’s skin, how they transform him into something unbearably more attractive, determination written on his skin. The medical records are difficult to digest. Of course, he has already seen them, but this time he imagines, feels, and believes it (he still feels guilty about that too). He is shocked that the descriptions are so… vivid. He puts himself in Marc’s shoes, well as much as he can, and considers how he would feel if suddenly everyone knew his secrets, an intimately private part of his life. Evidently, the whole arm situation isn’t new, but Valentino doesn’t think that anyone knew Marc experienced chronic pain – every day. He must admit, riding through that is incredibly impressive, but also terrifying. He can’t believe that Marc hides it so well, the fact that he is constantly in agony is chilling.

Valentino reads on. He didn’t know about the medication, but why would he? The word addiction haunts him. He doesn’t think too much about the suicide, he just reads. If he does it will break him. He might already be broken. At some point, he switches from putting himself in Marc’s shoes to imagining if he was there. What if he had been the one to find Marc and not Alex? If he and Marc were still friends, would Marc fall asleep on him as he does with Dovi? Would he trust Marc to give him the right dose of painkillers when he needs them? The more he thinks about it, he realises that he wants to be the person Marc turns to when his arm aches; the one to massage it and look after Marc when he’s on the strong shit that they give you for this kind of pain. The domesticity of the fantasy shocks him, it was never like this before. He wishes he could turn back time, to be that person, but instead, he is sitting alone in his empty house, reading about the man he used to adore because he has been too busy lamenting in hatred to care.

Valentino gives up on functioning afterwards, devastated by the loss of the life and love he could have had if he had opened his eyes. He cries until he can’t produce another tear. He gets drunk on an expensive bottle of wine and wrecks his kitchen in a fit of anger. He flits between despair, rage, and depression. He sobs into his hands, before he throws his glass against the wall, spilling red wine everywhere, staining the floor. It’ll be a bitch to clean. He doesn’t care, not when he’s staring into the face of a reality where he almost lost Marc. His Marc, who overdosed twice because of Valentino's stupid actions and his belief that it was a God-given right for him to win a tenth title. He doesn’t think Marc was wholly right, even now, for what he did back then, for how he raced. But he never needed to react the way he did, to cause a stir and turn everyone against him. He let them break into Marc’s home, threatening him and his family. At the time, he had thought it was funny, now he recognises the concealed fear and anger in Marc’s eyes. Upset. Not for himself, but for his family, especially his little brother. He imagines if it was him in Marc’s position. If it was Luca. His stomach sinks. Suddenly he is filled with an overwhelming sense of self-hatred. The most painful part is his own failings- that he wasn’t there for Marc when he needed it most, that he caused it. If it wasn’t for his own stubborn misconceptions or his overinflated ego, this might have all been prevented. Guilt eats him alive. He is a horrible person, he hates himself. He does not deserve Marc.

The dreams start that night. He begins to have nightmares, screaming himself awake at 2 am as he once again watches Marc hit the gravel and fall still, lying motionless on the ground. Lifeless, like he had thought for a heart-stopping moment on Saturday. He sits bolt upright, drenched in sweat and panting like a dog. He has to make himself tea to calm down. After, he sits in bed, with the light on, staring at the wall for an undetermined amount of time. By the time he settles, it’s 4 am and the first cracks of dawn are rising – he doesn’t sleep again.

The next night is the same, this time an endless montage of Marc screaming in pain after Jerez, of him high siding so severely that he gets double vision again, or shatters both arms, an ambulance taking him away on a stretcher as he shouts himself hoarse. It shifts into something different, darker. It starts okay, a normal race weekend, except Valentino is on the bike again and he kicks out at Marc, who goes flying. He doesn’t move again after that, dead or paralysed or some other awful fate. He shouts himself awake in the middle of the night once more. There is a soft, wet nose pushing against his leg – one of the dogs. He must have woken them. He shifts, moving to the side of the bed and letting his toes dig into the soft rug, trying to ground himself. He stands quietly and pads down into the kitchen. He has only slept a few hours, but the thought of going back to bed makes him feel sick. He makes a coffee and goes outside. He walks until the sun is rising and his feet hurt. He is aware he must look crazy, in sleep clothes and hair mused. He is glad no one else can see.

When he gets back, he looks in the cupboard for food but then he imagines Marc, still as a statue, and promptly loses his appetite. He doesn’t know what he does that day, time is thick and sticky, moving slowly as he simply exists. He dreams again at night, Valentino is stuck in the garage, unable to move or help as Marc slips from his bike, high sides, and crashes. Again, and again. Misano, Jerez, Silverstone, Sepang, Malaysia.  It turns fuzzy after the 30th crash, the 30th time he watches Marc die. This time he is in an unfamiliar home, empty and quiet. He calls out but gets no answer, so he begins to wander. The house is huge, cavernous and bare – all stark whites and polished surfaces. It feels vaguely familiar, certain items on the sides that tickle his memory. He pushes a door open, there’s an unmade bed and a helmet on the side. It clicks - Marc’s house. Valentino wants to run, but he also wants to stay. Curiosity gets the best of him. Marc’s room is the only part of the house which looks like him, it is strange to have such exuberance and such a boring house. He pushes open the adjoining door, opposite the bed, it leads to an ensuite – he sees the gigantic shower head. Then he sees the body. It’s Marc’s body with blood pooled around him and soaking his clothes, the source unidentifiable. There is an empty box of pills and a half-full vodka bottle next to him. Valentino dry heaves. He bends down, touching Marc’s face, searching for a pulse. Valentino screams.

He's crying when he opens his eyes, tears that roll down his cheek and turn into big, gasping sobs. He can barely breathe and he’s shaking. Getting his legs steady enough to walk into his ensuite takes nearly half an hour. He looks at the shower and automatically scans the floor. Almost immediately he is bent over the toilet, throwing up the minimal food he has eaten recently. He doesn’t look at the floor again, he is smart enough not to make the same mistake twice. When he looks in the mirror, he doesn’t recognise himself. There are dark purple bags under his eyes and his cheeks look gaunt. His face looks puffy and red from crying. He washes his face and cleans his teeth without meeting his gaze. It's like déjà vu, silently tiptoeing down his hallway to the kitchen before the sun has risen for the third time in as many days. They have blurred together into a montage of his own imagination. Between daytime and nighttime, he is plagued by horrible thoughts. He imagines Marc not recovering after Jerez or 2015, a life without Marc, and MotoGP without Marc. He doesn’t sleep again.

It’s Pecco who finds him, maybe 4 days later, barely functioning and no longer sleeping at all. He doesn’t know what day it is, and his only indicator of time is the sun in the sky. His house is a mess, and he doesn’t remember the last time he ate, let alone cooked. There is still glass on the floor from when he smashed it. Pecco looks at him with barely disguised panic which melts into sympathy when Vale feels tears burn in his eyes. Valentino guesses there's something rather off-putting about seeing your mentor in such a state. He watches in a daze as Pecco begins to tidy before ordering Valentino to shower. He finds new clothes out of his dresser, wincing when he realises how disgusting he is. The shower is nice, he turns up the heat as high as it will go, almost scorching, trying to burn the feelings out of him. Once he’s out of the shower, feeling slightly more human, he wanders back into the living after. Luca is pushing through the front door simultaneously, his eyes wide as he takes in the messy house and Valentino’s appearance.

“Oh, Vale” he whispers, striding forward and pulling his big brother into a hug. Valentino lets go, sobbing into Luca’s shoulder and letting the younger man haul him to the sofa. He clutches onto his little brother’s hoodie, shoving his face into the crook between his shoulder and neck. He tries to quieten his crying, but still ends up gasping in between sobs, it is slightly mortifying. At some point, he must fall asleep because the next thing he knows a glass of water is being pushed into his hands and a bowl of soup placed on the table. The washing machine is humming in the background, the curtains have been opened, letting in midmorning light, and the room is much tidier. Luce is standing over him, with Pecco loitering over his shoulder.

“When did you last eat?” Pecco asks, his trepidation apparent.

“Um, I’m not sure”, Valentino answers under his breath, embarrassed.

Luca sighs but does not reply, pushing the bowl towards Vale and staring at him expectantly until he begins eating. He hums appreciatively. It’s good, probably home cooked, and he is a little hungry. He knows once he’s finished, they’ll try to talk to him, he’s endlessly grateful to them for helping but it’s humiliating; he’s 46, and he should have his life under control. Pecco and Luca continue to tidy the house and feed him as if he is in his twenties and not them – he did not think he would ever sink so low. Once they are done, and Valentino has finished eating, they come back into the room, sitting on the opposite sofa and observing Vale in silence. He clears his throat awkwardly; it makes Luca sigh.

“You can’t keep doing this to yourself.” He starts, “you are going have to talk to him at some point, rather than wallowing in self-pity”.

Valentino stares at the floor, gulping a deep breath before he speaks.

“Did you know? About Marc, the surgeries, chronic pain, the suicide.” He asks; it is unclear whether he is directing the question at Luca or Pecco.

Pecco shakes his head, trying to catch Valentino’s eyes to convey his earnestness.

“No, not the suicide, or the painkillers – I don’t think anyone had any idea, apart from Alex. Dovi said he didn’t know either.” Pecco whispers. At the mention of Dovi, Vale whips his head towards Pecco.

“You spoke to Dovi?” Valentino questions, he knows his voice is doing something funny, the now familiar feeling of jealousy stirring within. Luca groans.

 “On Sunday, after the race. I knew about the pain, Marc never quite rode the same since Jerez, I asked him about it ages ago but knew that he was lying – I pieced together the rest myself.” Pecco reveals. “He hides it well, I am not sure how he does it, considering everything that we now know”

Luca interrupts him, “Vale, what happened?”

Valentino sighs, telling them about the past few days – researching Marc, freaking out, the nightmares. By the time he is done, they have established that it is Saturday, 3pm. Luca suggests that he should contact Marc, get some closure to it all or try again, but Valentino immediately vetoes the idea, countering that now is not the right time. Luca rolls his eyes, muttering under his breath about it never being the right time and then he changes tact. He suggests that the boys should come over, they could stay a few nights, maybe practice. Even though Valentino knows it is to keep an eye on him (because he's incapable of being an adult), he doesn’t protest. Some company sounds nice right now, he doesn’t want to be alone with his thoughts at the moment, and maybe it could also distract him from Marc.

(Wishful thinking)