#high contrast furnishings

[your-miasma]

Wallpaper in Charleston Photo of a spacious, minimalist bedroom with white walls, a brown floor, and wallpaper

[pumpernickelandcoal]

Charleston Backyard Porch Large transitional stamped concrete screened-in back porch idea with a roof extension

[harryspet]

well kept [3] r. cameron

[warnings] dark!ceo!rafe x reader, size difference, billionaire!older!rafe, shy!reader with low self-esteem, reader is a person who stutters, boss x personal assistant, heavy abuse of power, emotional/mental manipulation, DUBCON, little editing, READ AT YOUR OWN RISK 18+

A/N: Pls reblog and let me know what you think! Thank you so much for all the feedback so far :)

word count: 4.5k

In which it's your first day working from home with Rafe and you have a new lesson to learn.

well kept masterlist

The Cameron residence was fifteen minutes outside of downtown Charlotte and situated in a large neighborhood where hills and huge oak trees hid all the houses. You didn’t really see his house, only what you could tell was large pond, until the driver was at the end of the mile-long driveway.  When you did, you felt woefully underdressed. Assuming that being inside all day meant you could opt for something casual, you’d chosen a cream knit dress. 

Following Rafe’s instructions, you sent him photos of each outfit you tried on, but he hadn’t told you which ones you could return. It was another blow to your confidence. You began to doubt whether he’d even been serious, but the fear that he might mention it the next day kept you from taking any chances.

Stepping out of the black Escalade, your eyes widened as you took in the architectural masterpiece before you. The house was a striking blend of traditional and modern styles, with a light-colored exterior contrasted by dark shutters framing the windows. A stone chimney rose from the roof, and the three-car garage with wooden doors added a rustic touch.

After your car drove away, a tall and impeccably dressed staff member named Anthony guided you up the stone-paved driveway. From your cheat sheet, you recalled that he was the House Manager. Rafe required a full team: Anthony, two housekeepers, a private chef, a driver, a gardener, and now you—his personal assistant. The inside of the house was as intimidating as the exterior. The expansive foyer featured high ceilings and a grand staircase that curved up to the second floor. To the left, you caught a glimpse of the formal dining room. Each room you passed was more impressive than the last. Anthony informed you that there were six bedrooms and eight bathrooms.

“I don’t usually work on Fridays but Mr. Cameron wanted me to give you a tour of the house and show you the ropes of house management. It’ll be important for you to be able to oversee the staff when I’m absent and understand the scheduling.”

Once again, it was all too much to take in. Today was your fifth day working for Rafe, and you’d barely survived until now. 

“I want to clarify that what happened yesterday stays between us. That includes Eleanor. Okay?”

That was all he said about his outburst. There was no apology for groping you, for pinning you down on his office couch, or for taking your virginity. If you were to tell the story, you’d have to mention how your body had betrayed you—not once, but twice. But you had said no. You didn’t want to use the word that described what happened to you. You didn’t want to think about it at all.

And it didn’t happen again—not over the next three days. He continued to be harsh, forcing you to apologize for every small mistake, even those you weren’t aware of.

As you followed Anthony through the expansive kitchen, you couldn't help but marvel at its sheer size and sophistication. The kitchen was a chef's dream, with gleaming marble countertops that seemed to stretch endlessly, state-of-the-art stainless steel appliances, and custom cabinetry in a rich, dark wood finish. An oversized island dominated the center of the room.

At the far end of the kitchen, massive glass-paneled doors stood, offering a glimpse of the world beyond. The porch was furnished with elegant wicker seating with plush cushions. The space was perfect for elegant parties, with enough room to accommodate at least a dozen guests.

Beyond the porch was a stunning infinity pool stretched out towards the horizon. As you walked closer, to the right, you took notice of a garden. You spotted the gardener, Tyler, who Anthony had mentioned earlier. In simple clothes, the young man blended easily into the scenery. 

“This is where Mr. Cameron will typically entertain his guests,” Anthony said, 

The beauty of the outdoor space was undeniable, but so was the control that permeated every aspect of it. You wondered what hand Rafe played in how spotless it looked. You could almost picture him, his jaw clenched and eyes blazing with a harsh intensity, if even the smallest detail were out of place. It was easy to imagine him demanding that every leaf, every petal, every stone be exactly where it belonged. 

Did his staff ever make mistakes? Did he make them beg him forgiveness like he did with you? 

“Shall I show you the study? It’s approaching seven-thirty.”

You nodded, a small smile on your lips. He was kind but part of you didn’t want him to hear your voice shake or your face contort into an uncomfortable position as you struggled to get your words out. 

There would be enough struggling today, you knew that. 

Surprisingly, Rafe’s home office was more quaint than you expected. Dark wood panneling decorated the walls as well as floor-to-celing bookshelves. As you made your way around the room, you took note of the picture frames containing images of what you believed to be his family. Here, it seemed he had a heart. The four of them stood on a dock, sun shining down, and his arms were wrapped a young girl with dark brown hair. His smile was genuine and there was darkness lingering in the blues of his eyes. 

Other than the bookshelves, the room only contained his desk, a set of leather couches and a coffee table. The smaller room still managed to exude sophistication but it was far less imposing than you expected. 

The room almost felt intimate as sunlight trickled in through light colored curtains. You were standing behind his desk, glancing out his office window which faced towards the nearby pond. Beside it, sat a gazebo, although you couldn’t imagine Rafe enjoying it. You wondered if he lived here alone as you saw no traces of the other three people in his family photo. 

“Boo,” You yelped as you heard Rafe’s deep voice. 

You placed a hand over your beating heart as you looked toward where he stood in the doorway. Having been deep in thought, you hadn’t heard the door opened. He knew that much which explained the amused look in his eye.  

Everything flooded back at the sight of him. The air had already left your lungs. You felt his body pressing down on yours, warm breath against your ears, and that pain between your legs. 

The door clicked shut, making you flinch.

“Good morning,” he said, his gaze fixed on you.

It hit you then, you hadn’t greeted him like you were supposed to.

You were taken aback by his appearance. He was wearing gray sweatpants and a plain navy t-shirt, a stark contrast to your heels and carefully applied makeup. You weren’t sure why you were expected to dress up, especially when he looked so casual.

“G-Good morning, Sir,” You crossed the room, his eyes locked on yours. You remembered where he liked you, near the door, ready to greet him and present yourself to him. You hated how your voice always betrayed you, how weak it made you sound. Your only saving grace was that you’d already memorized his schedule for the day, having spent the entire commute looking at your laptop. You recited it to him, including the midday Zoom call he had with Kelce and Topper.

Topper, you had learned, was Eleanor’s husband. Rafe hadn’t ever touched her but the way Eleanor always answered your questions with vague responses made you suspect that her relationship with Topper mirrored your own with Rafe. She hadn’t warned you but now you were suspecting that was because Rafe seemed to always get what he wanted, no matter who got hurt in the process.

You froze the moment his hand reached out to touch you. His fingers curled around your side, hovering just above your stomach but dangerously close to your breasts. His grip was surprisingly gentle as his thumb grazed over the fabric of your dress. You stiffened as his other hand mirrored the first, sliding across to the opposite side of your body. “Eleanor picked this,” he murmured, his brows knitting together as his gaze slowly traveled down your figure. A jolt shot through you as his thumb brushed over your nipple, sending a wave of panic coursing through you.

“Y-You don’t like it?” you stammered, your voice barely above a whisper. 

He clicked his tongue, “Turn around for me.”

You did as he said, “Doesn’t do enough for your figure,” Your heart panged in your chest, suddenly feeling self-conscious of your own shape, “Are you wearing the panties I sent you?”

All you could do was nod. Rafe never commanded you to wear the panties everyday to work but you didn’t risk it. Luckily, they were all comfortable despite the lace and cheekiness. 

“Pull up your dress,” He said next. 

You’d spent the last three days in a fog, trying to make sense of the situation, trying to understand why your body betrayed you. When you were younger, you always asked the universe why you couldn’t speak like the way all your friends at school did. Now you asked the universe why Rafe’s voice made you want to clench your thighs together. Why you had felt empty ever since he’d finished inside of you. Why you wanted to try again, to experience that intimacy again without so much fear. Your life was so simple before but now it felt like it was too late to turn back. 

Your thoughts were too jumbled. Rafe cleared his throat and you realized you were just staring back, “I’m not gonna fuck you, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

“Please-”

He rolled his eyes, “Don’t make me ask again.”

You squared your shoulders. “I’m nnn-nn-not comfortable—”

“Just do it.”

You reached down to the edges of your dress, slowly pulling the fabric to your waist. It was nothing he hadn’t already seen and yet you were shaking, “Turn around. Face the other way.” Like a robot, you obeyed. You’d chosen a light pink color today. 

“Good,” You felt him against you. He pulled your hair back over your shoulder and leaned down against your ear, “Maybe I should make you walk around naked while you’re here, hmm?”

You bit down on your lip, wanting to contain the protest that was about to leave your mouth. You wanted to lean into his touch, to embrace the comfort that would accompany the torture. He brushed past you just as you tilted your head back, “Go make me a coffee,” He commanded. 

He made his way behind his desk and you reached down to move your dress, “Did I say to pull your dress down?”

“N-No, Sir,” You moved your hands quickly to your sides.

“I could make you walk around like that, couldn’t I?” He asked, leaning back in his chair.

He tilted his head and you realized you needed to answer. You gave him a painful look. You could say no but what would it cost you, “I . . . I don’t know,” He wasn’t satisfied by your answer, clearly. It was torture to force the words out, “Y-Yes.”

“Right answer,” He said, “Pull down your dress, sweetheart.”

You couldn’t help but see the irony in the fact that despite that you upgraded to a salaried job, you were still making coffee for the rich and spoiled. The opulent kitchen had an even fancier coffee machine than his office. Your movements as you prepared his steaming mug of coffee were precise despite the turmoil in your mind. 

Searching for solutions, your mind landed on the idea of trying to assert your competence. Sure, you could make a great cup of coffee but the whole point of getting a real job was so that you could have real skills to market yourself. You could be perfect at this job, anticipate his every need, and you could more than an object to look at. 

You re-entered his office quietly after realizing he’d begun his first meeting of the day. Carefully, you set his coffee down on the edge of his desk. He was always so intense, so completely absorbed in his work, and that unwavering focus made you even more anxious. Maybe that’s how you should be, more composed, projecting an air of confidence.

Unsure of where you should settle, you made yourself comfortable on one of the leather couches. You checked your email on your laptop, finding several reminders from Eleanor. You found yourself frustrated by how she picked and chose what information to share with you but you balanced those feelings with the fact that she was often your saving grace. 

She gave you a list of tasks including arranging for a delivery of documents that needed to be signed by Rafe, confirming his dinner reservations for the night, and proofreading the notes you took from yesterday’s meetings. You told yourself by the end of the next week, you’d be able to handle things by yourself, and you wouldn’t have to lean on her so much. You’d have a day, eventually, where Rafe didn’t point out anything you did wrong. 

“I was thinking-” Rafe’s voice cut through the silence. You were so focused that you hand’t realized his meeting had ended. He folded his hands over each other, his eyes on you, “From now on, I want you to wear what I pick for you each day.”

“How …y-you’re not happy with what I’ve been choosing?”

“It’s not about not being happy. Now I have more of an idea of what I like on you,” His voice was smooth and authoritative, “You want to reflect my taste, my standards, yeah?”

You mustered the courage to ask your next question, “Can I-I dress a l-little less … formally when I work at home with you?”

“Less formally?” He tasted the words on his tongue, “You mean, like more casual?”

“Yes, Sss-sir. Like more comfortable.”

“We could experiment with that,” His tone was deceptively light, “On my terms though. Yeah?”

You nodded and were grateful that he hadn’t reacted lightly. He seemed to enjoy that you were asking him for permission.

“You’ll have to wear something different tonight though, for dinner. Eleanor is coming by towards the end of the day to bring you your outfit and take you to get your nails done.” 

“Oh,” Your eyes opened wide, “I-I thh-thhought it was more of a personal-”

“I won’t keep you out forever,” He said, “You got plans or something?”

You shook your head quickly, “No, Sir.”

Rafe worked through lunchtime, so you brought him the meal prepared by his chef, Stevie—an elegant older woman with blonde hair. She had made a pesto pasta salad that looked like it belonged in a gourmet magazine, despite your protests and insistence on eating your own packed lunch. Only after delivering the meal did Rafe grant you permission to take your break elsewhere.

You settled on the outdoor patio by the pool, enjoying the peacefulness of the space despite the distant, steady hum of a lawnmower. For a moment, you didn’t feel out of place. Your dress, though apparently unflattering to your figure, was worth a small fortune, and the gourmet lunch you were now enjoying was a far cry from the PB&J you’d packed.

Thirty minutes later, after finishing your lunch and enjoying a lengthy chat with Stevie, you reluctantly headed back upstairs. Hearing Rafe still on the phone, you decided to explore a bit more. His office was situated in the private wing of his house, and as you meandered through opulent corridors, you couldn’t resist sneaking a glance into the master bedroom. It was cozier than you had anticipated, with tall gray walls that gave it a masculine feel and a plush bed draped in navy linen blanket that created a snug, cocoon-like atmosphere.

Rafe ended his call a minute later and the afternoon wore on. You settled into a rhythm, completing the various tasks that you’d added to your own to do lists and ones he’d assigned to you. You spent some time organizing files in his office. His gaze burned into you, even more when you were turned around, and surprisingly, you were starting to get used to that unnerving feeling. 

He waited for you to make a mistake but you used a hundred-percent of your effort to make sure that didn’t happen. 

The clock inched towards the evening, and the day grew even more quieter, more intimate. “I was looking over your notes from yesterday’s meeting with the board members. I highlighted some sections for you to read back to me,” He waved you over, his voice gruff after a long day of talking. You joined him behind his desk and you moved to lean over and get closer look, but he placed a hand on your hip. The gesture was firm, possessive, leaving no room for hesitation. With effortless strength, like a wolf guiding its prey, he maneuvered you onto his lap, settling you on his thigh. You felt the power in his grip, the unspoken control, and all you could do was comply.

“Rafe–” You started, an desperate attempt at a protest. 

“Start with the first section,” He commanded, his grip tightening. 

“I’ve been working on proofreading them–”

“Sweetheart,” He warned, not needing to add that you were making him angry. You could feel it, the heat coming off of him. 

You took a deep breath and slowly tried to read each sentence. Even if you didn’t have a sentence with a small typo, you still stammered over several of your words. He slid the chair closer to the desk and you yelped. 

“See right here,” He pointed to the screen but that only pressed him into you. You breathed slowly, trying not to hyperventilate, “This whole section needs more detail. I don’t want to have to ask more information.”

You were taken aback when Rafe actually began to instruct you on what you were meant to do. He spent at least ten minutes walking you through each sentence, explaining how to word your report, and deleted all the unnecessary details you added. He was surprisingly patient. 

“Now, your turn,” he said finally, leaning back in the chair. For a moment, you thought he was letting you up, but the pressure of his hand on your waist told you otherwise. “Fix it.”

You swallowed, hesitating as your fingers hovered over the keys. Ever keystroke was amplified in the quiet room. Doing your best to actually use your brain, you carefully made the changes he suggested. He watched you closely, his hands first placed on your hips but soon one wandered between your thighs. 

“Good,” He said. You could do it again, you thought, and not be so scared. His touch was teasing, a reminder of what he could do to you, all the pressure that built inside of you a spilled over. You could impress him, you could be beautiful, and not turn into a crying mess when he was inside of you. You could be more than a fragile thing to be broken.

Each word was a small victory. It was a battle you thought you could win until his fingers slipped inside your panties and his other hand grabbed a handful of one of your breasts. It was unbearable, and as he made small circles, you found your fingers slipping clumsily over the keys. 

You pressed your palms into his desk, your body tilting forward. A frustrated sigh left your lips, you couldn’t contain it, and Rafe’s chuckle rumbled from behind you, “Do you ever touch yourself like this? Be honest with me this time.”

“Y-Yes,” You whispered. 

“How do you do it?” He pulled you away from the desk, pulling your torso against his, “You use a toy?”

“J-Just my fff-fingers,” You admitted. 

“Like this? How do you like it?” Carefully, he switched between different approaches. He rubbed circles over your clit, smaller ones and then slower, bigger ones. Then he stroked you up and down, fingers slipping easily into your warm hole as he wandered lower, “You put those little fingers inside of you?”

“Rafe, please.”

“Tell me,” He kissed the side of your neck, “Or I’ll stop.”

"I-I don't usually put them inside… ," you confessed, your voice barely more than a whisper. "I always use my pillow…”

He hummed against your ear. "See how much better this is when you cooperate? You can be such a good little assistant when you try."

You nodded, unable to speak, and let the feeling consume you. He brought you right to the edge, you were seconds away coming undone, but his movements slowed. Before you could register the feeling as disappointment, Rafe was hoisting you off of his lap. 

Moving with sudden determination, your feet were suddenly off the ground and Rafe was carrying you out of the room in his strong arms, “Rafe!” You clutched his shoulders as he carried you down the hall.

You turned your head as he nudged the bedroom door open with his foot, the heavy thud of the door slamming shut reverberating through the room. With a swift motion, he laid you gently on the bed. The softness beneath you was just as you had imagined, but the thought barely registered. You shot him an incredulous look, your face flushed with a mix of pleasure and frustration.

He leaned over you, grabbing a pillow from behind you and placing it in front of you, “Show me.”

You shook your head instantly and moved to crawl away. Somehow, you could let all of his other sleazy behavior slide by but this was an insane boundary for him to try to cross. He’d already been inside you and yet this was a thousand times more intimate. 

He grabbed ahold of your thigh, “You’re so close, sweetheart. I know you want it,” He challenged you, “Probably feels like you need it.”

“Please,” You tried, your voice threatening to crack. His hands found your hips again, slowly positionin you over the pillow. The soft fabric brushed against your most sensitive spot, the familiar sensation making you bite down on your bottom lip, “Rafe.”

“You saying my name like that just makes me want it more,” Balancing on his knees, he grabbed ahold of your face and leaned in to kiss you. You felt the intensity of his desire, how much he wanted this, and it left you dizzy. 

When he pulled back, he looked over you. Your hips started moving in a familiar motion despite your embarrassment. You trembled from the vulnerability, the pounding in your chest, but you chased that high he gave you. It ignited your fire again, and since you didn’t have the full force of his touch anymore, you focused your eyes on him, “Good girl,” He said again and you whimpered, “Look at me just like that.”

You rolled your hips harder, faster, imagining his kiss, his touch, as the tension coiled tighter inside you. His gaze never left yours, his words a constant stream of encouragement and control.

“Doesn’t that feel good?” 

His words all jumbled together. 

“Just let it happen.”

“I want to see your face when you cum, sweetheart.”

“You look so desperate.”

“So needy.”

“You’re gonna make yourself cum, huh?”

“Just because I told you too.”

“Such a good girl.”

“Look at you.” 

The words pushed you over the edge, finally, and you were able to let go. He watched as you rode out that wave of pleasure and his hands found your body again, his grip grounding you. “Fuck,” You heard him say but you couldn’t respond. 

You were too overwhelmed to respond, your mind unable to fully process what had just happened. All you knew was that you felt good, embarrassed, and strangely satisfied that you'd pleased him, all at once. 

When you manage to look at him again, the doorbell rang. 

Eleanor navigated through the upscale nail salon, a palace of white and silvers, with ease, like she was a regular, and this was just an extension of her universe. You imagined this place as an escape for her, from both Rafe and Topper. She secured side-by-side seats near the back of the salon and you followed her lead as she set down her purse and removed her sandals. Her movements were fluid and assured. 

“Have you thought about what color you want?”

“Oh, um, n-no,” You tried to make yourself comfortable in the pedicure chair, “What d-do you think Rafe would like?”

“Maybe something pastel. You can’t go wrong with a soft pink.”

“Is that what you’re getting?” You asked, unassured, as you glanced around the luxurious setting. It wasns’t like other nail salons you’d been to where the technicians and customers talked at whatever volume they liked. It was quiet and each technician wore matching black uniforms. 

“I’ll tell them you want ballet slipper on your nails and white on your toes.”

You nodded, grateful for her guidance, “Thank you.”

As your pedicures began, the warm lavender-scented water soaking your feet, two technicians took their places by your sides, working silently as they filed your nails. 

“How are you holding up?” Eleanor asked.

“Fff-fine,” You said, “I’m trying to . . . t-to understand him, I guess.”

“You’ll go crazy doing that,” She laughed lightly, flashing a look that said “poor you”. 

“How d-did you meet Topper?” Her face tightened at your question, “I mean, y-you didn’t say.”

“I’m from the same town as them, Rafe and Topper. Not really the same town, my parents didn’t have money growing up. But I worked at the country club they all went to. That’s how I met Topper.”

“And you started dating?”

“Something like that,” She made a small shrug, “I owe everything I have to them.”

You nodded, sensing the weight of her words despite the lack of detail. Another piece to the puzzle you were trying to put together. Maybe the two of them had an attraction to girls struggling to get by.

“It’s not so bad, is it?” She asked and it made you pause.

Your instinct was to mirror her shrug, but you hesitated, wondering if you could trust her with your thoughts. If anyone could understand what you were going through, it had to be Eleanor.  “I-I just ffff-ffeel like I’m doing everything wrong.”

“If it makes you feel any better, I’ve only heard good things.”

“A-About me?” She nodded and your lips parted in shock. 

“Yes. I know you feel uncertain right now, but I think you'll be glad if you can stick it out. Topper… he’s a bastard, but he takes care of me. Rafe likes you too. Maybe he doesn’t know how to show it, but…” She paused, her eyes flickering with something you couldn’t quite place. “He’s filthy rich. That would be enough for me.”

In that moment, her brutal honesty felt almost like reassurance. You weren’t sure if Eleanor truly grasped the extent of Rafe’s inability to show affection, that his pleasure came from humiliating you, from making you cry. Just as you couldn’t fully know what she endured with Topper. Her words weren't necessarily comforting but at least they felt real.

Please reblog WITH your thoughts on the chapter to be added to the taglist for the story :)

[numine]

TENDER MOMENTS

pairing: kinich x reader

cw: not beta read, we die like hillichurls

author notes: some soft fluff i wrote at night while listening to no.1 party anthem hehe

You had been waiting for hours for Kinich to finish his commissions, and evening had settled in. The sofa you had been lying on in Kinich's humble abode had grown uncomfortably warm after hours of dozing to pass the time. Eventually, you sat up and observe the furnishings presented around you, trying to shake off the remnants of sleep and regain your sense of time and reality after hours of drifting away in your dreamscape.

Suddenly, you heard the door handle fumble, followed by the creak of the door on your right. Your senses now on high alert as your head snapped toward the sound curiously. The moonlight poured in, illuminating the familiar silhouette of a certain dark-haired boy you knew so well.

“Kin’? Is that you?” you called out, your gaze fixed on him.

“Hey, I’m home. Did I take too long?” he replied, gently closing the door behind him and setting down his belongings.

You let out a breath of relief—thank the Archons, it was Kinich and not someone with ill intentions. You made your way over, your footsteps echoing softly on the wooden floor.

“I missed you so much, Kin’,” you confessed, wrapping your arms around his neck and giving him a light peck on the cheek.

The gesture caught him off guard, but he quickly returned your embrace, pulling you close.

“I missed you too,” Kinich said, his warm palms gliding over your back in a comforting caress.

You buried your face in the crook of his neck, inhaling his familiar scent and savoring the moment before pulling back. Your eyes met, his gorgeous irises—a blend of amber and chartreuse with hints of orange—piercing through yours. You were momentarily awestruck as he stood there, confused.

Then, a sudden urge to play with his face nagged at you, your hands itching to trace his cheeks. Unable to resist, you cupped his face, your thumb gliding softly over his skin. The warmth of your palm contrasted with the coolness of his cheeks as he leaned into your touch.

You continued to caress his face, relishing the soft curve beneath your fingers. Kinich seemed to enjoy it as much as you did, his eyes fluttering shut in delight, warmth washing over him and sending his heart into a tizzy.

“You’re so adorable, you know that?” you said, watching as he hummed in response, a smile spreading across your face. He looked as if he was melting into your palm, nearly purring with contentment.

“How about we tuck in for the night?” you suggested. He nodded subtly, returning to his senses and reluctantly releasing you from his embrace, though he quickly felt the void left by the absence of your hand on his cheek, he still felt the ghost of your touch.

You both then finally made your way to his bedroom, ready to curl up and escape the chill of the night.

[thatsonemorbidcorvid]

“Women in Britain 2,000 years ago appear to have passed on land and wealth to daughters not sons as communities were built around women's blood lines, according to new research.

Skeletons unearthed in Dorset contained DNA evidence that Celtic men moved to live with their wives' families and communities.

Scientists found evidence of a whole community built around the female line of a family over generations, probably originating with one woman.

"This points to an Iron Age society in Britain where women wielded quite a lot of influence and could shape its trajectory in many ways," says Dr Lara Cassidy at Trinity College, Dublin, lead author of the research…

By tracing mitochondrial DNA, which is only passed on by women, Dr Cassidy found that most women in the community were related by blood dating back generations.

By contrast, there was a lot of diversity in the Y chromosomes, which is passed from father to son, indicating that men from lots of different families married into the community….

Archaeologists Prof Miles Russell and Prof Martin Smith found other evidence that women had high status.

"We find quite elaborately furnished graves with high status objects of wealth. Every time we find that, it occurs in women's graves, so we think wealth was being transferred down the female line," says Prof Martin Smith at Bournemouth university.”

[buneio]

Hotel dreams

High!Honor Arthur Morgan

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Arthur and F!reader stay the night at a hotel after Arthur’s busy day, but due to the price of the hotel F!reader owes him

𓈒ㅤׂ 𝜗𝜚 Word count: 1510 (??)

Content warning(s): NSFW (MDNI/AGELESS), I’m not the best at writing smut (A learning experience), Arthur refers to himself as ‘Daddy’, reader described as tiny if that makes you uncomfortable!

₊•┈┈┈┈୨୧┈┈┈┈•‧₊˚⊹

The rhythmic clatter of horses' hooves on the snow-packed streets mixed with the soft crunch of boots breaking through fresh powder.

Despite the season’s cruelty, the town carried on, its small, bustling streets alive with muted voices and the glow of lanterns casting flickering halos on the snow.

The chime of the hotel bell broke through the din, it's sharp ‘DING’ reverberating in the otherwise quiet lobby. It signaled a service request, but for now, the desk stood unattended.

She stood beside Arthur, shivering despite the warmth of his thick jacket draped over her petite frame. Her teeth threatened to chatter, but she bit down on the sensation, watching the lobby door anxiously for the return of the desk clerk. The cold had sunk deep into her bones, and all she could think about was the promise of heat behind one of those thick wooden doors upstairs.

Guilt nagged at her as she tugged Arthur’s jacket closer around herself. It wasn’t just the cold — it was the sight of him. Exhaustion seemed etched into every line of his rugged face, his broad shoulders slumped slightly under the weight of the gang's constant demands.

She hated how Dutch worked him to the bone, refusing to delegate tasks to others when it was clear Arthur needed rest. She wished she could help somehow, but Arthur was as stubborn as he was selfless, always pushing forward.

Her thoughts were interrupted by the low rumble of his voice. She hadn’t even noticed the clerk's return.

“One room,” Arthur said simply, sliding a small pouch of coins across the counter.

The clerk nodded, his pen scratching against the ledger. “Name, sir?”

“Kilgore,” Arthur replied without hesitation. He glanced at her briefly, his lips twitching in the faintest hint of a frown. “Mr. and Mrs. Kilgore.”

The clerk raised no questions, simply nodding and handing over a small, brass key. “Room 101. First floor, to the right.”

Arthur accepted it with a tired grunt and turned toward her, resting his large hand against the small of her back as he guided her toward the stairs.

The gesture was tender, a contrast to the rough man he appeared to be. Despite his weariness, Arthur always went out of his way to take care of her.

She didn’t miss that he’d chosen a fancier hotel than usual. It was just like him to spoil her when he could, even if money was tight.

Arthur wouldn’t say it, but she knew the gang’s coffers were running dry, and the pressure of it weighed heavily on him.

The room was simple yet elegant, its polished wood furnishings and heavy curtains exuding a sense of warmth. She stepped inside first, the heat from the fireplace immediately wrapping her like a comforting embrace.

Arthur followed, shutting the door behind him with a soft click before heading straight for the bed. He didn’t even bother removing his jacket, collapsing onto the mattress with a groan.

“Since when am I Mrs.Kilgore?” She teased, a playful grin tugging at her lips as she kicked off her boots.

Arthur grunted, propping himself up just enough to glance at her. “Fewer questions that way,” he replied gruffly, tugging at his boots. “Ain’t like I’m tryin’ to play house with ya.”

She pouted, the gesture exaggerated and almost childlike as she crawled onto the bed beside him. “You don’t want to play house with me?” she asked, feigning hurt.

Arthur shot her a flat, unimpressed look. “Not in the mood fer’ games, girl,” he muttered, leaning back against the pillows with a sigh.

She studied him for a moment, her teasing demeanor softening. He looked so tired, the lines of his face deepened by the flickering firelight.

She reached out, resting her small hand on his chest. “You deserve a break, Arthur,” she said softly, her voice barely above a whisper.

His lips quirked into a faint smile, but he said nothing, his eyes slipping closed. The room fell into a comfortable silence, the crackling fire filling the space between them.

For a long moment neither of them said anything, that was until Arthur spoke up again. His voice was low and thick with desire. He pushed himself up, propping himself up with his elbows. “Ya owe me, Doll.”

She gave him a confused look as she tilted her head, wrapping his jacket further around herself. It clicked finally after a few seconds. “O-Oh! Right,” she trailed off. “What do you want… I can pay you back, I promise!” she asked.

”I have a way you can pay me back, sweetheart.” His voice was softer as he slipped his large hand around her smaller hand, guiding it between his legs.

Her face flushed a bright pink hue as she stared at Arthur with a timid expression; she was unsure why she was always so shy around him when it came to sex. They've done it many times before.

She bit down on her lip as she feigned innocence, her heart pounding in her chest. “Are you sure?” she asked, pawing at him through his pants.

Seeing her hesitation, Arthur lifted her and set her down on his lap, nudging his jacket off of her. Gently coaxing her into giving in, “I’m sure,” he assured. “It’s the least ya could do for daddy, mm?” he said softly.

She knew she owed him this, and it was the best way for Arthur to get rid of stress after all.

She reluctantly listened to Arthur and lifted her dress over her small figure, biting down on her lip once again when Arthur grabbed her by the hips.

Tossing her dress to the side, she slipped her panties off and stared up at Arthur, trying to find some sort of approval from him.

She lived for his approval, his praise. She was more loyal to him than most men in the gang were.

She lifted her hips slightly when Arthur tugged his boxers down and let his hard cock spring out, earning a weary breath from the little lady.

“Shhh, shhh… s’okay… good girl, daddy’s got you.” He grunted softly, gripping her hips again, helping her lower herself on his cock, a soft groan escaping his lips.

She gasped in surprise at his size and gripped his shoulders, bouncing slightly until Arthur stopped her for a brief moment before guiding her movements instead.

“Let me do it...” Arthur rasped, gently guiding her up and down on his cock. He could listen to her little whimpers and moans all day if she let him.

She was so little, so small… so easy for him to take as he wanted. A soft grunt escaped his lips at the thought of it. “Good girl… my sweet girl…” he breathed out and sped up, bucking his hips into her.

She squeaked and moaned, her grip on his shoulders tightening as she felt the heat pool in her stomach, her small frame trembling slightly as she felt the pleasure bubble.

His grip on her hips tightened. “Don't shake, don't shake,” he groaned into her ear, burying his face in her neck, nipping at her pulse point in an attempt to claim her more.

The bedroom was filled with the soft squeaking of the bed frame and the mixture of both their moans.

She let out a soft squeak, her words coming out as a breathless whisper, “S-speed up… speed up…” she begged.

Arthur was too worn out from today to argue or manhandle her tonight, so he gave her what she wanted, a loud grunt escaping his lips. “Fuck… yer’ so tiny.”

He could feel his climax building, growing more desperate by the minute. Arthur wanted — no, he needed her. He needed her badly — he was going to have her.

In a swift motion, he flipped her over and slammed into her, gripping her legs and pinning them to stay spread.

She let out a surprised squeal and moaned louder, a soft ‘fuck’ escaping her lips as he rammed deeper into her. Her small frame trembling once again, the knot in her stomach threatening to snap “I—I’m going to….” she squeaked.

She was lucky. Arthur could barely hold on anymore — he picked up his pace and gave her a small nod. “Good girl… good fucking girl, cum fer’ daddy.” He coaxed, his thrusts getting rougher.

She squeaked and squirmed, arching her back as her body convulsed before she slumped against the mattress, exhausted breaths escaping her lips.

Arthur watched her for a moment to make sure she was okay before pulling out and rolling beside her, kissing her forehead. “Sweet girl,” he whispered, holding her close and closing his eyes.

“I love you…” she breathed out, cuddling into his chest and closing her eyes, pulling the blanket over the two of them.

“I love you too,” he grumbled tiredly, drifting off to sleep.

[anthonys237thfreckle]

Love in Oklahoma - Javier ‘Javi’ x F! reader

prompt: javi and his girl bought a small farm in Oklahoma, reworked it and adopted little nancy!

TW: mentions of injury, implications of smut

i saw @tempesttamers make a post about seeing anthony ramos with nancy and they needed a javi fic who has a miniature cow named nancy lol. it was such a cute idea, so thanks for that!

Whenever it wasn’t tornado season down in Oklahoma, the excitement was buzzing for the next one. Everyone round the bonfire of another cheap motel, all the storm chasers would gather and share stories of chasing a twister or two, the failures, close calls, successes… reminiscing the adrenaline high everyone felt in their own way.

But you and Javi had no place to stay apart from those motels. Your homes were far away from the southwest, and though storm season was over, Javi still needed to do a lot of research and analytics for storm patterns, their paths, conditions, humidity levels and even sometimes forecasts. Storm Par was busy all year.

Since he dragged you from your own job in the city down to Tornado Alley, you felt like you belonged down there, among the wheat fields, cheap food, thick humid air and wide skies; you and Javi would stargaze at times, and they seemed brighter down there for two reasons. One, there was no pollution for them to shy away behind and two, Javi was there - the man who seemed to make everything brighter.

So rather than stay basically homeless, Javi saved up some money and bought a little house with a farm. Barely half the size of a football field, it was selling for pretty cheap, so you Javi bought it for the two of you.

It wasn’t grand, but you two loved it very much. A small, simple, two story farmhouse with a porch, wide and welcoming, its wooden steps leading up to the red-brick house. Inside, it was definitely in need of some handiwork, but it was inviting nonetheless. After all, blank walls are nothing but a canvas to store potential. Dark stained wooden floorboards run throughout, giving it a rustic elegance. Though scuffed by generations of footsteps, they were very well polished. The kitchen, an open wide space, the heart of the home, had a traditional water pump basin and sink. You grinned when you saw it, turning to Javi who raised his eyebrows in shock and chuckled quietly, shaking his head in amusement. The sink sat beneath a window with a picturesque view of the backyard. White wooden cabinets adorned the walls, giving the kitchen its own light. Though the house was partially furnished, providing you with a large, rectangular dining table, some vintage pantry cabinets, and some sturdy chairs the previous owners left behind.

The second floor was led by some creaking wooden steps, and after climbing the short flight, you were met with a master bedroom with a large window overlooking the front yard, connected to a bathroom with checkered floor tiles, one of your new favourite things. They had a normal tap unlike the kitchen basin downstairs, and large mirror with some storage units and a shower. The other room, another bedroom, was smaller in comparison, but still had a window and a large bookshelf covering one whole wall. The other bathroom, almost as large as a room itself, was spacious, with two sinks, a rainshower, and bathtub.

Needless to say, you two fell in love with the house.

Once you two moved in, you both started to rework the place a little. Javi invited some close friends from Storm par and you invited Kate and the Tornado Wranglers to held paint the walls. Once that was done, everyone went out for dinner at a local diner, letting the stench of fresh paint air out. 2 weeks of relentless reworking went by, the crew made everything a lot faster; the house was homely, cozy, inviting. A bit of a contrast to the two city people you two were, but all the hard work made it all the more impressive. All your old stuff was shifted in, the crew helping you move all the heavy furniture, then left you two to do your own thing. Once everything was furnished, you both fell asleep on your shared bed upstairs, holding each other close.

After a day of rest, you both spent from sunrise to sunset out on the farm. Javi drove you to the farmer’s market, finding people who sold nearly mature crops with the purpose of repotting. You both bought 3 tomato plants - one in each colour: purple, red and yellow - 2 cucumbers, some Napa cabbage, romaine lettuce, arugula, some raspberry and blueberry shrubs. Once back the sun was high, you both slathered some sunscreen on and spent hours outside, repotting everything into the fertile southwestern soil.

The Tornado Wranglers came over for housewarming, bearing gifts; Kate bought you a pot of flowers, with her own recipe for a fertilizer which wasn’t damaging. Tyler brought a handmade sign saying ‘Not our first farmhouse!’ with the ‘Not’ crossed out in red paint. You accepted it with a laugh, and Javi just rolled his eyes playfully. Boone bought you both a vintage polaroid camera, and you had the idea of taking a photo of everyone who visited this house, and sticking it on the wall near the entrance, as a cute little housewarming idea. Lily brought some food, her famous enchiladas. Dani bought you two a weighted blanket and a toolbox, knowing how handy that can get. Dexter bought you two some encyclopedias and books you two would definitely enjoy. Everyone shared laughs and jokes and memories over dinner, and you both realized how this farmhouse really changed your lives.

You both started living a new life together, which contrasted everything before.

You always had a knack for baking and cooking, but only did so occasionally, because you could always buy bread from the supermarket, and you were busy. Now that you had joined Storm Par (once you cornered Javi and Scott into finding ethical investors) you both worked from home, giving you a lot of time for each other, and equally important, yourselves. Now, not a weekend went by when you went on a baking spree, pulling in Javi to help you out leading to flour fights, stolen chaste kisses where he’d lift you onto the counter, and everything in between. You baked sourdough, focaccia, dinner rolls, peanut butter cookies, muffins with fresh blueberries from the yard.

Javi rarely ate breakfast, mostly because he was too lazy or never had the will to eat anything shitty anyways, so every morning he’d be blessed with a platter of fresh herbed butter on sourdough toast, free range eggs from some chickens you both bought, and crispy organic bacon. Now, he claims breakfast is his second favourite meal, and when you ask what comes first, he just gives you a knowing look, which ends up with him getting flicked on the forehead.

All in all, your lives had changed for the better, but it was only about to get even better.

As you both drove back from the farmer’s market one evening, you saw a little curled up black and white creature on the side of the road

“Hey, baby, look..” you pointed over, and his eyes followed yours.

“Is that-” he slammed the breaks, rushing out of the car, you following behind.

It was a baby cow, or a miniature one, and its leg had a horrible gash on it.

“Its owners probably ditched her, pool gal…” He said softly, stroking the calf’s head when he found no ear tag on her.

You and Javi shared a look, and a silent communication went between you two. You needed to help her out.

You rushed over to your trunk, pouring out some milk and giving her some sustenance in the hopes of earning her trust. After carefully lifting her, making sure she didn’t thrash around, Javi put her in the backseat after you put a blanket down. You sat with her, the animals’ head resting in your lap. You drove a little way out of town for a vet, and after a quick checkup, you were given some ointment, and since the calf was abandoned, you both decided to keep it.

“Come on, Nancy” Javi said soothingly, carrying calf back into the car.

“Nancy?” you chuckled “We’re naming her already?”

“Yeah” Javi said with a chuckle “I like Nancy” he smiled, petting the calf’s head

“So do I” You said after a moment of thought. “Let’s get going”

Once everyone was back home, you brought out a wheelbarrow, and Javi put Nancy in there, the both of you gently bringing her to the barn. Once she was settled on a pile of hay, Javi gently tied her neck to a pole, making sure it wasn’t cutting anything off. You brought a bottle of milk with you, feeding her as her big black eyes got drowsier.

“Can I sleep here with her?” Javi asked you with concern.

“In the barn?” you laughed “Seriously?”

“I’m dead serious, (name)” Javi said, a look of determination you couldn’t fight.

“Alright, let me get the limoncello candle” you said in fake annoyance. Javi smiled, and called out.

“Love you, baby!”

—

Once you came back with the lit limoncello candle to ward off any bugs, setting it in the corner, you brought some sleeping bags and a bottle of water and milk, for you two and Nancy.

“I’m sleeping here with you” You said, handing him a sleeping bag.

“You don’t have to..” Javi said softly, never taking his eyes off Nancy as he stoked her head, tracing the blotches of black on her cream fur.

“I want to” you reassured, settling into the sleeping bag. “G’night, Javi” you murmured after giving him a sweet peck on the lips.

“Love you” he said, watching you over his shoulder as you settled in for the night.

“Love you too” you yawned “You know, if you changed your mind-”

“No” He interrupted you stubbornly “I’m staying here with Nancy” He reinforced.

“Whatever you say, baby” you chuckled, closing your own droopy eyes. “Make sure to actually catch some sleep”

“Yeah, I will. I promise” He nodded. “Goodnight, (name), I love you”

“Love you too, Jalapeño” you chuckled “Goodnight”

Javi chuckled at the nickname you loved using, and watched as you fell asleep. He looked over at a now asleep Nancy and smiled. He was so happy he bought this little home with you. He looked over at you again, then crawled over, unzipping the sleeping bag.

“Javier….” you whined “I was falling asleep!”

“Hold on just a second, baby..” He unzipped the sleeping bag, detached the zippers on his own one, and attached the two bags together and crawled inside, zipping it back up.

“Now we can cuddle!” he grinned, and you shook your head with a chuckle, burying your head in his chest and wrapping your arms around his torso.

“Okay, now really goodnight.” you murmured with mock annoyance.

“Yeah, really” He chuckled, nodding. “Goodnight, love”.

And with that, you both fell asleep in the barn, in each other’s arms, alongside your new companion. Javi dreamt of your lives progressing in this little farmhouse, filling it up with kids, maybe a German Shepherd… ironically, the house did have a white picket fence too, which made everything all the more cliche. But he didn’t care how much of a sap he was around you - since you seemed to love it anyway. Your lives had gotten so much.. lovelier.

If anything, you both found more love here, in Oklahoma.

[germanpostwarmodern]

Although it had its origins in the 1920s and 1930s, the large-scale production of prefabricated housing really took flight after the Second World War. Especially in the Socialist parts of the postwar world the „Plattenbau“ helped remedy the housing shortage but also resulted in often monotonous development areas. Behind the Plattenbau often stood a utopian vision of progress and a new communal life that was diametrically opposed to what the areas turned out to be.

Drawn to the Plattenbau by the contrast between vision and reality photographer Christoph Montebelli set out to document four Plattenbau housing estates on four continents, namely in Berlin, Hong Kong, Havana and Zanzibar. On site Montebelli not only focused on the architecture but also on the inhabitants and the surroundings of each of the estates. What emerges are very lively portraits of architectural visions that despite many similarities significantly differ as Montebelli explains in the brief texts prefacing each photo series: to Zanzibar the Plattenbau came as a diplomatic trade-off between the GDR and President Karume who in exchange for the diplomatic recognition of the East German state received technical assistance in the construction of modern apartment blocks. Although they weren’t made from prefabricated concrete elements but from brick they are referred to in the imported German term and furnished with GDR imports. And as Montebelli’s photographs show they over time have been absorbed by the locals and represent anchor points in their bustling surroundings.

The Berlin Plattenbau estate on the other hand has fared quite differently: while the GDR still existed the housing blocks were occupied by a multifaceted mix of people ranging from workers to teachers, engineers and professors. All of them valued the modern accommodations of the Plattenbau that provided so much more comfort than old buildings and consequently were in high demand. After the fall of the Berlin Wall the situation changed drastically, the social mix dissolved, the „Platte“ fell into disrepair and was partially dismantled. Today the dismantled apartments are badly needed.

In his book „Plattenbau Promenades“, recently published by Kerber, Christoph Montebelli underscores the perseverance of the Plattenbau who easily outlive(d) the visions of their commissioning governments but remain lively cues of the past, emphatically documented in powerful photographs.

[novlr]

how to describe? Houses, rooms, interiors, palaces, etc?

Creating immersive descriptions of indoor spaces is more than just scene setting—it’s an invitation to the reader to step into your world. Describing the interior of buildings with vivid detail can draw readers into your narrative. So let’s explore how to describe interiors using multiple sensory experiences and contexts.

Sights

Lighting: soft glow of lamps, harsh fluorescent lights, or natural light.

Colour and textures; peeling paint, plush velvet, or sleek marble.

Size and scale: is it claustrophobically small or impressively grand?

Architectural features: high ceilings, crown mouldings, or exposed beams.

Furnishings: are they modern, sparse, antique, or cluttered?

Style and decor: what style is represented, and how does it affect the atmosphere?

State of repair: is the space well-kept, neglected, or under renovation?

Perspective and layout: how do spaces flow into each other?

Unique design features: describe sculptural elements, or things that stand out.

Spatial relationships: describe how objects are arranged—what’s next to, across from, or underneath something else?

Sounds

Describe echoes in large spaces or the muffled quality of sound in carpeted or furnished rooms.

Note background noises; is there a persistent hum of an air conditioner, or the tick of a clock?

Describe the sound of footsteps; do they click, scuff, or are they inaudible?

Include voices; are they loud and echoing or soft and absorbed?

Is there music? Is it piped in, coming from a live source, or perhaps drifting in from outside?

Capture the sounds of activity; typing, machinery, kitchen noises, etc.

Describe natural sounds; birds outside the window, or the rustle of trees.

Consider sound dynamics; is the space acoustically lively or deadened?

Include unexpected noises that might be unique to the building.

Consider silence as a sound quality. What does the absence of noise convey?

Smells

Identify cleaning products or air fresheners. Do they create a sterile or inviting smell?

Describe cooking smells if near a kitchen; can you identify specific foods?

Mention natural scents; does the room smell of wood, plants, or stone?

Are there musty or stale smells in less ventilated spaces?

Note the smell of new materials; fresh paint, new carpet, or upholstery.

Point out if there’s an absence of smell, which can be as notable as a powerful scent.

Consider personal scents; perfume, sweat, or the hint of someone’s presence.

Include scents from outside that find their way in; ocean air, city smells, etc.

Use metaphors and similes to relate unfamiliar smells to common experiences.

Describe intensity and layering of scents; is there a primary scent supported by subtler ones?

Activities

Describe people’s actions; are they relaxing, working, hurried, or leisurely?

Does the space have a traditional use? What do people come there to do?

Note mechanical activity; elevators moving, printers printing, etc.

Include interactions; are people talking, arguing, or collaborating?

Mention solitary activities; someone reading, writing, or involved in a hobby.

Capture movements; are there servers bustling about, or a janitor sweeping?

Observe routines and rituals; opening blinds in the morning, locking doors at night.

Include energetic activities; perhaps children playing or a bustling trade floor.

Note restful moments; spaces where people come to unwind or reflect.

Describe cultural or community activities that might be unique to the space.

Decorative style

Describe the overall style; is it minimalist, baroque, industrial, or something else?

Note period influences; does the decor reflect a specific era or design movement?

Include colour schemes and how they play with or against each other.

Mention patterns; on wallpaper, upholstery, or tiles.

Describe textural contrasts; rough against smooth, shiny against matte.

Observe symmetry or asymmetry in design.

Note the presence of signature pieces; a chandelier, an antique desk, or a modern art installation.

Mention thematic elements; nautical, floral, astronomical, etc.

Describe homemade or bespoke items that add character.

Include repetitive elements; motifs that appear throughout the space.

History

Mention historical usage; was the building repurposed, and does it keep its original function?

Describe architectural time periods; identify features that pinpoint the era of construction.

Note changes over time; upgrades, downgrades, or restorations.

Include historical events that took place within or affected the building.

Mention local or regional history that influenced the building’s design or function.

Describe preservation efforts; are there plaques, restored areas, or visible signs of aging?

[fluentmoviequoter]

Family Name

Pairing: Bruce Wayne x reader (reader was in the Army and SWAT in Central City)

Summary: After ten years away, you return to Gotham. When you discover you know the true identity of the Joker, you join Batman's fight to save Gotham.

Warnings: angst, fluff, vague references to several DC Comics movies and timelines, murder (I can't get too specific about the murder warning without spoiling a plot point, but there is a friendly fire aspect and an assassination by a sniper)

Word Count: 6.6k+ words

A/N: This is my first time writing for Bruce Wayne (or at least posting it lol) so he may be OOC. I actually wrote most of this a year ago and just put the finishing touches on it, so I'm not sure if it's worth reading. Feel free to let me know what you think and send any Bruce Wayne requests you have so I can keep practicing for him! (If you want a specific characterization/actor let me know.)

The map that I used as a reference while writing is included at the end!

Masterlist | DC Masterlist | Request Info

Gotham is still cold, wet, and smelly. Some things never change, no matter how hard a certain vigilante tries. It’s been nearly ten years since you last set foot in Gotham, and things have changed. For better or worse? Who can tell?

It is raining as you walk out of the train station on the outer border of Gotham City. You shiver and pull your jacket closer to your body as the cold drizzle starkly contrasts the sunny Central City you came from. You hail a cab and tell the driver the address of your temporary apartment. The news station on the radio catches your attention, and the driver turns it up when you ask.

“After a fearsome showdown last night with the Joker, who is still missing from Arkham Asylum, the Batman has been spotted in downtown Gotham. The GCPD is on high alert following several tips of illegal business at the Iceberg Lounge,” they report.

“You new in town?” the driver asks.

“Not exactly. I haven’t been here in years though,” you explain.

“Then you’re new. This is a whole new Gotham. Just stay on the good side of the Batman and you’ll be fine, kid. This is you.”

After paying the driver and pulling your bags from the trunk, you stand on the sidewalk and look up at the place you now call home. The apartment building is old but in decent condition. Especially considering where it is. As the rain grows heavier, you move inside, climbing the stairs to the third floor and entering your apartment. The unit came furnished, so you only have some clothing to unpack. You start a list of the housewares and cleaning supplies you’ll need to buy. Walking around the living room, you notice the cable is hooked up and turn on the television. The local television channels are either out because of the rain or playing broadcasts of last night’s story. Any background noise will do, you suppose, as you leave a news channel on and begin unpacking and cleaning with what little bit of supplies you have.

After cleaning, you take a break and fall back onto the couch. The news is still on, and a face flashes across the scene, filling you with an odd sense of recognition. You lean forward to get a better view before exclaiming, “No way.”

✯✯✯✯✯

“When did you come back?” someone asks as you enter a small department store.

Looking up, you smile when you see a familiar face. “Barbara, hey! Last night. Been in Central City for too long.”

“Should have stayed there,” she says, laughing humorlessly. “Gotham is quite literally the most crime ridden city in the world now. It’s on the sign and everything. At least in Central you have a vigilante to protect you.”

“So does Gotham,” you point out. “He’s all over the news.”

“Yeah, we do. But for every criminal he puts in Arkham, ten more pop up.”

“Is your dad still a cop?”

“He’s the commissioner now. Actually…” She pulls a card out of her wallet and hands it to you. “Call him if you ever get in trouble. Be careful, okay? This isn’t the Gotham you remember.”

“I will. Thanks.”

You watch her leave before you begin shopping for the items on your list. After shopping, you are back in your apartment, cleaning and organizing. The Gotham News has more showtime than Hannah Montana in the 2000s. You find yourself invested in every story they present. Maybe this isn’t the Gotham you remember, but it is still Gotham and your home. If this city needs help, you'll offer everything you have.

“Citizens of Gotham, I am Police Commissioner James Gordon. Regarding the recent red alert at Arkham Asylum, the GCPD is urging residents to stay indoors, lock doors and windows, and most importantly, stay calm. We are not sure at this time how many, if any, patients escaped the asylum. Anyone with information is encouraged to contact crime stoppers at 800-”

You mute the television and look at your closet. An armour-plated uniform hangs front and centre, practically begging you to put it on and fight for your home. If Barbara doesn’t think Batman can handle all the criminals, maybe he would appreciate a little help.

“Don’t be stupid,” you chastise yourself, still looking at the closet. A few minutes later, you find yourself standing in front of the closet, thinking, “But you have the training.”

✯✯✯✯✯

Gotham looks much darker from a rooftop. You find a lookout spot a few blocks from Arkham, assuming anyone who escaped will have to pass you eventually.

“Oh, sweet Gotham! Riddle me this!” a high-pitched voice calls. A moment later, you see a man dressed in a green suit entering the alley below you.

“Now or never,” you whisper as you move toward the edge.

“The more of it there is, the less of all you see. What is it?” Riddler asks.

“Darkness,” you answer as you grab his shoulders.

You pull him backwards and knock him to the ground. His breath rushes out at the impact, and you bring your elbow down to his face, rendering him unconscious before he can catch his breath. The burner phone you bought earlier is programmed with James Gordon’s number in it.

“Gordon,” he answers.

“Riddler is unconscious in the alley at Tomlinson and Pygall,” you say lowly, hoping your voice is disguised enough, before hanging up.

Your attention is ripped away from the unconscious criminal as a silhouette of a bat floats across the sky.

“There’s hope yet, Gotham,” you say, smiling.

✯✯✯✯✯

It seems as though you are better at vigilantism than you expected. Everywhere you go, Batman is either already there or crosses your path. He has yet to see you, that much is sure. Lurking on a dark rooftop, you hear the telltale sign of his grappling hook and are a second too late in realizing he is moving onto the same roof as you.

“So, you’re the one who’s been stealing half my jobs?” he asks, walking toward you.

“You seem busy, thought you might like some help,” you respond, shrugging as you change your voice again.

“Don’t get me wrong, I appreciate the thought. But you need to go home. This is dangerous and you could get hurt.”

You internally roll your eyes at his obvious arguments. “So could you.”

“Doesn’t matter if I get hurt.”

“Me neither. Any idea how many more of them are out there?”

Batman sighs and turns away from you to look over the city. “One or two,” he answers. “The city got lucky; Joker was in solitary and didn’t get out.”

You nod to yourself, moving toward the edge as you ask, “Why does it seem so easy to escape Arkham?”

“Poor security, not enough staff, an old building. The list is endless. Every time someone tries to strengthen it, a stronger foe comes along and breaks it again.”

“You’ve been doing this a long time.”

“Yet nothing’s changed.”

A sound behind you stops your answer. Turning toward the sound, you launch yourself onto the fire escape, ignoring Batman’s pleas to stop. 

“Whoa,” you breathe, looking at the plants growing in the alley. 

“You’re not the Bat,” Poison Ivy, whose news special aired last night, says. “You’d look much better in green than him.”

“Every plant I’ve ever owned has died. It’s one of my talents,” you taunt before throwing a canister from your belt. 

“It won’t work, Buttercup. I’ve been tear gassed many times.”

“It’s not just tear gas,” you call as the plants begin to wither. “It’s concentrated sulfur dioxide. Deadly to plants and debilitating to people.”

She coughs several times before falling. An arm wraps around your waist, and you are hoisted through the air before landing on a rooftop. 

“What was that?!” Batman demands.

“Sulfur dioxide.”

“That’s not what I mean, and you know it! You can’t just run around taunting criminals in a mask. What if that hadn’t worked and she had hurt you?”

“She didn’t. Besides-“

“No! You don’t get to justify this.” He keeps talking, and you feel like you have heard him before. You watch him closely as he continues berating you. 

“This is not a game. Do you understand that?” Bingo. You smile at him, his chest heaving as he prepares to yell at you again.

“You’re still really protective,” you say lightly. 

Batman turns toward you quickly, shaking his head before asking, “What?”

“In middle school you wouldn’t let me jump from the top of the swing set. Just funny that you’re still so protective when you risk your life every single night.”

“What are you talking about?”

You move toward the edge of the building and look over your shoulder at him. 

“Goodnight, Bruce.”

Batman runs to the edge after you jump, but the alley is empty. 

“Alfred,” he calls into his earpiece. 

“You’ll figure it out, sir. Eventually.”

✯✯✯✯✯

“Didn’t I tell you to stay home?” Batman asks as he walks up behind you. 

“No. You told me I couldn’t run around taunting criminals in a mask. Which, by the way, I have some questions about. Can I walk and taunt criminals in a mask or is it the taunting that’s the problem?” you tease, looking up at him from your crouched position. 

“Ha ha,” he deadpans. “I’ll give you a pass for the other night, but you need to go home. Right now. I’m not letting you get hurt for this.”

“Then don’t. Watch my back and I’ll watch yours.” You extend your hand for a handshake as you stand. 

“No deal. Go home.”

“I’m not going home. So, stay with me and we can help each other or I’m going to go hunt him down on my own.”

He narrows his eyes at you before sighing and shaking your hand. 

“Why are you smiling?” he asks as he releases your hand. 

“We always were a pretty good team.”

You see the moment of recognition as his jaw drops under the cowl. He recovers quickly and points at you. 

“Ground rules. Number one: you don’t engage. Two: stay hidden. Three: run if things go south.”

“Got it. Be boring,” you relay. 

“This is not the time for jokes. Our lives are on the line. You don’t even have a good reason to be here.”

“Yeah I do.”

“Please enlighten me,” Batman prods impatiently. 

You can tell he is mad you were here and are not listening to him. Too bad, Bats, you think. Gotham is your home, too, and you aren’t going to let it fall into the hands of some crazy clown or any other criminal. 

“But before you tell me that, tell me what makes you qualified to be out here.”

“Look at me. Armoured uniform, tear gas, I’m a CCPD jacket short of official.”

“You’re CCPD?”

“I was. SWAT officer for five years after I got out of the Army. But I grew up here and I’m not letting this city go without a fight.”

“Why this fight? The one criminal we haven’t been able to stop for almost a decade?”

“Because...” You look up at him and smile. “I know who he is.”

✯✯✯✯✯

“Thank you, Batman,” Commissioner Gordon says, shaking Batman’s hand. “We’ll get him in solitary.”

“Thanks, Jim,” Batman replies. 

“Who’s your new helper? Everyone at the station is talking about the reaper that popped up and knows how to take them all down.”

“An old friend. Try to keep them in a while longer this time, will you?”

Commissioner Gordon turns around to see Batman is gone. “We’ll try,” he mumbles into the dark. 

✯✯✯✯✯

The next night, Batman is gone. You don’t so much as see his shadow all night. There is only one criminal out; maybe they’re all on vacation, too. Killer Croc used Arkham’s sewer system to escape and pop up downtown. It was a long and tiresome fight, but you got him on the ground, and the GCPD took it from there. You finally reach the rooftop, preparing to cross them to go home, but don't make it far. Hitting the roof, you feel pain shoot through your ribs. After running your hand across the area, your skin is stained red. Great, you think. 

“What were you thinking?!” Batman reprimands you as he appears and kneels beside you, pulling items from his utility belt. 

“Mostly about what I was going to eat for dinner,” you joke, hissing when the antiseptic hits your skin. 

“I’m sorry,” Batman says quietly. “Are you okay?”

“Peachy. At least it wasn’t my neck this time.”

“I told you not to use your belt to traverse the jungle gym,” Batman mumbles. 

“So, you do remember me,” you say happily.

“You’re still an idiot with a death wish.”

“And you’re still Mother Hen Bruce.”

“This’ll help for now,” he says, helping you stand up and hooking his arm under your shoulders. “But I’m taking you back to the cave to get you checked out.”

“Didn’t do enough checking out in high school?” you slur before passing out.

“Alfred, we’re inbound,” he says into his microphone. 

“Glad to see blood loss doesn’t dampen her sarcasm,” Alfred responds, “I’ll be ready.”

✯✯✯✯✯

“What did you mean you know who he is?” Bruce asks. 

You blink several times to make sure you aren’t imagining him. He looks different than the last time you saw him. Without the mask, he’s more like the Bruce you grew up with, just older and barely holding Gotham together.

“You got hot,” you say without thinking. 

“Thanks. Now tell me what you meant.”

“That I know who he is?” you clarify, standing up. 

“Please stay down,” Alfred chides as he returns with tea. 

“Thanks, Alfred. Good to see you again.” You smile as you accept the tea. 

“You as well. Now take it easy. You should be battle ready in a day or two but that’s only if you rest properly.”

“No, you will not be battle ready. There is no more battle for you,” Bruce adds. 

“You know I’m not going to listen and if you tell me no I’ll just do it myself.”

“We’ll have this conversation later. For now, tell me what you know about Joker.”

“Okay. He’s my uncle. Like twice removed, or-“

“There’s no way you’re related to that monster,” Bruce interjects. 

“I’m not, really. We’re related by marriage. His aunt or somebody else married my cousin and I happened to meet him a few times. Fate, I guess.”

“Do you know his name?” 

“No. Everyone in the family called him J. I thought his name started with a J but see now that it’s because he’s cuckoo for cocoa puffs.”

Bruce chuckles and shakes his head before turning serious again. “Are you really okay?”

“I’m great. Thanks for the assist.”

“I’m glad you’re back. Even if you are endangering yourself and ignoring everything I say.”

“Me too.”

“But Alfred’s right. You need some rest. We can finish this conversation later.”

“I can go home,” you say, standing up.

You stumble slightly, and Bruce catches you, holding you upright against him. 

“Can you?” he asks, the ghost of a smile appearing on his face. 

✯✯✯✯✯

“I think I found something,” you cheer when Bruce answers the phone. 

“Where are you?”

“My apartment. It’s by Sacred Heart.”

The line goes silent, so you say Bruce’s name. 

“You’re living by the Narrows? I thought you just went out there to fight.”

“It’s a fine building. I’m not in the Narrows.”

“No but you’re between Crime Alley and Arkham Island. You need to find a new place. Now.”

“I can’t afford anything else, Bruce. It was this or Slaughter Swamp.”

“Pack your essentials. I’ll be there in twenty.”

He hangs up, leaving you with a dozen questions. However, you know he means what he says, so you pack the stuff you can’t live without and are ready to go when he shows up twenty minutes later. 

“You’re staying at Wayne Manor until we find you a new place.”

“That is not necessary.”

“It’s not just that this is close to the Narrows. We’re going after Joker, and I need to know you’re safe.”

“We’re not going after Joker,” you correct, “we’re finishing this.”

✯✯✯✯✯

“Bruce, I can’t find a marriage certificate. They may not have been married; maybe they were just living together or something and didn’t want to explain it to a kid,” you admit, disappointed in your lack of findings. 

“It’s okay. We will find something. And if we don’t, we can do it another way,” he assures. 

✯✯✯✯✯

“This is the fourth Arkham breakout in as many weeks. When do you sleep?” you ask. 

Alfred laughs faintly through the communications system. 

“During Wayne Enterprises meetings, usually,” Bruce answers. 

“I got one. Going dark,” you alert before jumping to meet Captain Boomerang. 

After a short fight which results in your earpiece breaking, Captain Boomerang is unconscious, and you prepare to call Gordon. 

“Ha ha ha ha,” an eerie voice cackles behind you. 

You freeze in place before turning slowly and coming face-to-face with the Joker. He knocks your helmet off in one swift move, and your face is now visible. 

“I remember you. My aunt married your second cousin. Horrible family you have. Or should I say had? Ha ha ha ha.”

“What do you want?”

“Is a family reunion not enough? No, I guess you’re right. I mean, marriages end so are we even related anymore?”

“We never were.”

“Oh, that’s where you’re wrong, Reaper! You know everyone calls you that, don’t ya? Personally, I think it’s a bit morbid but to each their own. I also heard from a little bird that you’re working with the big, bad bat. I had such great hopes for you, and you let me down.”

“What do you want?” you repeat slowly. 

“To be family again,” he answers, smiling as he runs his fingers over your face and hair. 

“What about Harley? Isn’t she your family? You were all she could talk about the other night.”

“Not anymore. She settled for some used piece on her Suicide Suckers. But me and you? Me and you could be the dream team. The family to end all families.”

“I don’t want to be part of your family.”

“When I found out Harley was a harlot, you know what I said? I said I’d peel off her skin and put it on a new body. But I can’t imagine those words coming from her. So, from now on…” he moves his hand to rest in front of your throat as his smile drops. “If Harley wouldn’t say it, you don’t say it.”

✯✯✯✯✯

“Alfred, where is she?” Bruce asks.

“Toxic Acres. She’s still not responding,” Alfred responds, watching your tracker blink in the same place for the fifth consecutive minute.

“I’m going after her,” Bruce declares.

“Be careful, Master Bruce.” Bruce doesn’t respond, and Alfred mutes the private connection as he watches Bruce’s tracker move toward yours. “And don’t do anything you’ll regret.”

✯✯✯✯✯

“You’re making a mistake, J,” you hiss, the pressure of Joker’s hand on your throat making it hard, but not impossible, to breathe.

“No, they made a mistake,” he argues, moving his hand slightly as he steps back to look at you.

“Who?”

“Your family. All families. Everyone who treats people like outsiders.”

“You mean to tell me you’re doing this - all of this - because you never felt like you belonged in a family?”

“No!” Joker yells, leaning his weight against your throat as he smiles in your face. “Because no family has ever accepted me. I know I don’t belong, but everyone expects families to lie, right? Especially their own, but no, poor Joker always got told the truth! ‘You’re too strange,’ ‘You’re dangerous,’ ‘The kids are scared of you,’ yet no one ever offered to help me fit in.”

You raise your hands to his arm and claw at his skin, growing desperate for air as he rants. He looks over when your hits grow weaker and pulls his hand back. You fall to the ground, wheezing, as you try to take deep breaths. 

Holding your neck, you look up at him and ask, “Then what do you want?”

He kneels in front of you and holds a knife out in his hand. “I want you to find a family and make a Joker-sized hole for me to fill.”

Shaking your head, you argue, “I’m not like you. I won’t do that, J.”

He cocks his head as his smile falls. “Harley wouldn’t say that, would she? And, besides, you’re more like me than you think, aren’t you? And what’s more interesting is that I think you know it. We’re the same, you and I, whether you like it or not.” The knife is raised to your throat as he threatens, “Do it, or I will make another hole in your family.”

“Another?” you ask.

The blade presses against your skin, and you close your eyes, unwilling to give him the theatrics and attention he so desperately seeks. A grappling hook sounds somewhere above you just before the blade is removed from your throat. Joker’s words echo in your head, and your eyes stay closed. Someone gently touches your neck and your face, but you don’t open your eyes, in case it’s him trying to trick you. He does that; you remember that too well.

An arm loops around your waist as a hand pulls your arms over broad shoulders. Only when you’re flying through the air and clinging to him are you ready to admit that Bruce is saving you. Opening your eyes, you see Wayne Tower in the distance. You tighten your arms around Bruce’s neck, and his hand squeezes your waist in response. He lands on the roof of Wayne Manor and rushes into the Batcave.

“What did he do to you?” Bruce asks as he sets you on a medical exam table. The same table you sat on when he saved you after the fight with Killer Croc.

Bruce tries to step back, but you cling to him. He’s the only family you have left, and Joker opened an old wound with his talk of carving a hole in a family to fill himself. That’s what he tried to do with your family, but when he still didn’t fit, he kept carving.

“Please don’t leave me,” you whisper into Bruce’s suit.

Bruce’s arms wrap around you, pulling you to the edge of the table as he cups your head to his shoulder.

“I’m right here,” he soothes. “Not going anywhere.”

He holds you for longer than you realize; time slows down in Bruce’s arms. When you pull back, he cups your face in his hands and looks at you intently.

“Want to talk about it?” he asks.

“Not right now,” you whisper.

“That’s okay,” he promises, nodding.

“The guest bedroom has been prepared and dinner is awaiting you, Master Bruce,” Alfred calls, briefly appearing in the doorway of the Batcave.

“Can we talk about it in the morning?” you ask.

“Of course. Whenever you’re ready. And you’re staying here tonight.”

You don’t argue, nodding as you stand and follow Bruce upstairs. He shows you to a guest room with clothes, toiletries, and more books than you can count. Telling you to use whatever you want; he leaves to change before meeting you for dinner.

When you enter the bathroom to change into the clothes you found in the closet, you see yourself in the mirror. Mostly, you see the red line running across your neck. Joker has hurt more than enough people, you decide, and you meant what you told Bruce; you plan to finish this.

✯✯✯✯✯

Bruce sits up suddenly. The sun is coming through the cracks in his curtains, but something feels off. He pulls a shirt over his head and walks down the hall, knocking on the door to the guest room where you’re staying. After a moment of no answer, he lets himself in. There’s a note on the bed in your handwriting.

I can’t let him do it again, especially not to you. Please stay home tonight and let me finish this fight. I should have done it ten years ago, but I was scared and ran. This is my chance to make everything right. Please forgive me.

Bruce takes a deep breath, suppressing his urge to punch a hole in the wall. Alfred wouldn’t appreciate another one. He rereads the note, then goes downstairs for breakfast like everything is fine.

“Where is our guest?” Alfred asks when Bruce enters the dining room. “Resting, I hope.”

“She’s gone. She left in the middle of the night to, quote, finish a fight like she should have done ten years ago.”

Alfred’s eyes widen as he stops moving trays onto the table. “You’re going after her, then?”

“No, Alfred, I am not.”

Bruce picks up the paper, as nonchalant as ever, and more convincing than when he turns on his Brucie Wayne charm.

“Why ever not, sir?”

“She asked me not to. And after her reaction to me last night, I’m inclined to listen to her.”

“You can’t be serious.”

Bruce drops the paper and looks at Alfred. “I am going to do exactly what she said.” When the paper covers his face again, he adds, “For a while.”

“Good man,” Alfred mutters, returning to serving breakfast.

✯✯✯✯✯

Realistically, you know that breaking into Arkham and executing a patient isn’t the best idea, but it would solve the problem. However, there’s the downside of life in prison for first-degree murder that you’d have to contend with. Bruce would surely visit you, but you don’t want to lose him before you get him back.

Perched on a rooftop, you watch Arkham and hope your trap is being laid as planned. The security lights blink on seconds before the alarm sounds. If Arkham Asylum is good for anything, it’s the consistency of frequent breakouts. No matter who breaks out tonight, you’re prepared. All you have to do is convince them to lay a trap for Joker, convincing him that you killed someone, and then you can pounce. Watching the alley below you, you furrow your brows as you lean forward.

“Catwoman?” you ask incredulously.

She looks up, tilting her head at the sight of you. “Reaper?” she asks, sounding far too excited.

“What are you doing here?”

“What do you think I’m doing?”

“Thieving, I presume?” She nods, and you lower yourself onto a fire escape before jumping to meet her. “There’s nothing here worth stealing.”

“Maybe.”

You clench your hands into fists and look down the alley.

“I think the better question is what are you doing here, Reaper? I’m not exactly in your demographic.”

Under your mask, you press your lips together and consider confiding in her. She cares about Batman as far as you can tell, so if you tell her Joker is planning to kill him (though, in reality, Bruce is his likely target), she may be willing to help.

“Batman dump you? He does that,” Catwoman hums.

“What? No, no, we’re not together like that.”

“Yet,” Catwoman interjects.

“Look, Joker is going to try to kill someone that I love. He’s already ruined my family forever.”

“You just moved here, who could you possibly love here? I thought I fell fast.”

“I grew up here, and-“

Your mind races as you remember that you haven’t been seen with Bruce since returning, but Joker has been out since then. Pulling the earpiece from your pocket, you hope someone is in the Batcave.

“Hello?” you ask into it, desperate and terrified for your family. “Take whatever you want,” you tell Catwoman when you don’t get an answer, “heck, take something for me too. But if you see Batman, tell him I’m looking for him?”

“Sure.” You move toward the end of the alley before Catwoman asks, “What should we call you?”

Smiling, you answer, “Reaper is growing on me.”

“Good luck, Reaper.”

You could have taken a grappling hook before you left Wayne Manor last night, but you were more concerned with Bruce’s safety than yours. Getting off of Arkham Island and into Gotham Heights will take too long on foot.

“Batman?” you ask, trying the comm again. “Anybody?”

“You called?”

You slide to a stop, nearly falling over, when you see Batman perched on a roof, looming like a gargoyle. He spreads his cape as he moves to the road before you. Looking down at you, though you can’t see his eyes, you know he’s trying to ensure you’re safe and unharmed.

“He’s going after Barbara. I thought he meant you, but he was out when I saw Barbara.”

“I’ll call Gordon. We need to get to Gotham Heights.”

“We’ll never make it in time. The alarm sounded twenty minutes ago.”

Bruce’s head turns toward you as he presses a button on his utility belt. The Batmobile turns a corner, coming to a stop beside you. Your eyes widen as the top opens, jumping in the passenger seat as you look at everything in awe.

“Barbara is stronger, and knows more than you think, but she can’t hold him off forever.”

You nod, prepared to do whatever you have to do. Even if it means making Bruce hate you.

“And I forgive you. Whatever you do, I understand,” Bruce says quietly. “Just- just remember that your actions affect more people than just you.”

✯✯✯✯✯

It’s a trap. The driveway beside Barbara’s place is decorated like the cookout where you met Joker.

“Go check on Babs, I’m right behind you,” you tell Batman.

He hesitates, noticing exactly where your focus is, before tapping your shoulder and running toward Barbara’s door. When Batman is out of sight, Joker’s laugh surrounds you.

“Did you do it?” Joker asks, stepping out of the shadows.

“No.”

“Whyever not?” he asks with a laugh.

“Because I’m not a killer. We are not the same.”

“Come over here,” he demands. You listen despite your body’s urging to leave. “And give me a real reason,” he adds when you stop across a picnic table from him.

“That is the real answer. I will not do to another family what you did to mine. I’m not a killer.”

“Now, now, now, that’s not true.”

His eyes are fixed on your mask, likely imagining your furrowed brows and scared eyes. “Is the mask necessary, Reaper? We know one another. It’s just family here.”

You swallow as you rip the mask off, levelling your gaze on Joker, determined not to show him how much he is affecting you.

“If you hurt her, I will end you.”

Joker flaps a dismissive hand. “She’s fine. I just needed a reason to celebrate, but you didn’t keep your end of the bargain.”

“I’m not-“

“A killer, yes, so you say. However, there’s a family out there that begs to differ.”

You lick your lips, unsure how he knows this. The record was redacted and eventually destroyed, so no one outside of your team at the time should know.

Joker’s laugh draws your attention back to him. “You are a killer. Just like me.”

Shaking your head, you flinch when Joker slaps his hands onto the table, leaning forward to get closer to you. 

“Joseph,” Joker whispers, smiling widely at your surprised movement.

Someone screams in the distance, and you remember your promise: to protect your home, no matter the cost. Unholstering the gun you hadn’t carried in years, you hold it to Joker’s forehead.

“Do it,” he begs, leaning against the barrel. “Show them how alike we are.”

Your arm shakes as you fight to do it. With a finger on the trigger, Joker should be gone already, but you can’t do it.

Lowering the gun, you sigh, preparing for Joker’s next idea or a surprise dose of his laughing toxin. He watches you until he reaches for something. Before you can lunge forward to stop him, a shot rings out in the Gotham night. You hear it as Joker jerks to the side, slumping to the ground. Turning toward the right, you search the skyline for the shooter. You see a familiar salute and laugh to yourself as the silhouette disappears.

 “Reaper!” Batman yells, rushing toward you. He slows as he sees you standing over Joker.

There’s a note, half blown apart. He took credit. You laugh again, oblivious to Batman’s concerned gaze on the back of your head. The laughter quickly turns to hiccups as you fight to remain composed. You walked out of Wayne Manor prepared to assassinate Joker. Now that you have essentially been an accomplice to his death and reminded of your worst mistake, you’re falling apart.

Bruce whispers your name, a hand on your arm as he turns you away. He raises a hand to your jaw as the first tear rolls down your cheek.

“I killed him,” you admit.

“No, you didn’t. That shot was too far away, no one will blame you.”

“I killed Joseph,” you repeat. “I didn’t see him, and there was so much fog and- I shouldn’t have taken the shot.”

“What are you talking about?”

“I left the Army and joined SWAT because I killed a civilian. I don’t know how Joker knew, but he was right. I am a killer.”

“Hey, hey.” When you don’t respond, Batman summons the Batmobile, whispering to Gordon on the phone as he helps you into the passenger seat.

Once you’re in Wayne Manor, dressed in a pair of sweatpants and one of Bruce’s shirts, he pulls you into his arms.

“You’re not like Joker, and you’re not a killer. Friendly fire is a terrible thing, but it’s not your fault. You can’t keep blaming yourself for that. Saving people has its costs, and if I could take the guilt from you, I would.”

“I don’t even know how it happened,” you confess, “I dream about it all the time, but I don’t remember actually pulling the trigger.”

“You may never know. But either way, you can forgive yourself and move on.”

Wiping under your eyes, you lean against Bruce’s chest as you ask, “What did Gordon say? How’s Babs?””

“Their ballistics team is examining the velocity and angle to find where the shot came from. Barbara didn’t even know anything was happening, she’s fine.”

“The roof of Verdant in The Narrows,” you whisper, laying an open hand over Bruce’s heart.

“That’s too far for a shot like that.”

“Not for Army snipers.”

“Friend of yours?”

“Used to be,” you shrug before adding, “Lawton started killing for money, and I couldn’t support that.”

“Wait,” Bruce interjects, pushing you back slightly, ducking to look into your eyes. “You’re telling me that Deadshot just killed Joker? For free?”

“He doesn’t do anything for free,” you answer, smiling. “But I didn’t pay him if that’s what you think. Besides, he left a calling card of sorts.”

“Not at all. Batman will call Gordon tomorrow and let him know.”

“What’s Batman doing tonight?”

“He’s on vacation,” Bruce sighs, leaning his forehead against yours. “And Bruce Wayne is catching up with an old friend.”

Smiling, you turn sideways to press your chest against Bruce, laying your arms over his shoulders.

“I think that sounds like a great night.”

✯✯✯✯✯

“I found something,” Bruce says, removing his cowl as you enter the Batcave.

“A life?” you joke.

“Ha. No, I had a friend of mine go searching for that destroyed Army record.”

“Why?” you ask quietly, wringing your fingers together.

“Because you didn’t kill Joseph. Your gun never went off, and the shot came from a different direction with a much higher velocity. This looked like sniper.”

“You think it was Lawton?”

“Wouldn’t be surprising.” Bruce tilts your head toward him and looks you in the eye to add, “But the important thing is that you have no reason to keep carrying that burden.”

“Thank you. I don’t know what to say.”

“Come on patrol with me.”

“I thought you didn’t want me to get hurt.”

“You won’t. Not with me around.”

✯✯✯✯✯

“Hey, Bats.”

“Catwoman,” Batman answers.

“Reaper was looking for you a few nights ago.”

“Yeah, we ran into each other. Thanks, though.”

“She said you weren’t together like we were, but I find that very hard to believe.”

“Give them back,” you say, surprising both Catwoman and Batman.

“Give what back?” she parrots.

You hold your hand out. “The pearl necklace and earrings you stole. They’re not worth anything to the woman, but they’re sentimental.”

Catwoman huffs, pulling a small bag from her pouch and tossing it to you. “I chose them for you anyway.”

“What?”

“You said to steal something for you too.”

“I thought my best friend was about to get murdered, I didn’t mean it!”

“And did you mean what you said about not being with Bats here?” She places a hand on her hip, and you take the opportunity to look at Batman before answering.

“He’s just not my type,” you answer, shrugging one shoulder.

You see his jaw twitch before he nods his farewell to Catwoman.

“I didn’t mean it,” you whisper as you walk past him. “And we’ve got a crocodile to catch.”

Batman sighs. “Welcome to Gotham.”

✯✯✯✯✯

“Whose are they?” Bruce asks as you examine the pearl jewellery.

“Mine,” you answer, not looking at him. “What are the chances she’d use my permission to thieve to rob me?”

“Not bad with Sel- Catwoman.”

“Selina Kyle, yeah, I know.”

“Sentimental, huh?”

You turn toward Bruce, passing him the necklace.

“I told your mom that I liked her pearls, like five months before she was killed, and the next day she surprised me. She picked me up from school and told me we were going shopping. They’re the cheapest ones the store had, but I’ve loved them ever since because they came from someone I loved and… I guess they made me feel a bit more like her, and she was amazing.”

When you look back at Bruce, he’s still holding the necklace, but his gaze is on you. He sets the necklace down, stepping toward you. Gripping your waist, he pulls you against him with a wide smile.

“You’re amazing too.”

“Not like her.”

“There’s no one quite like her. But she loved you too, more than you know. Actually, she thought we were going to get married,” Bruce adds, nudging his nose against yours.

“I did too,” you whisper.

Bruce kisses you quickly, pulling back to gauge your reaction.

“Based on the newspapers, I thought you’d be better than that,” you tease.

Bruce clicks his tongue before pulling you into another kiss. While he takes your breath, he fills you with love and hope. His hands keep you as close as possible, one sliding up to hold your head as he deepens the kiss, whispering something against your lips.

“Wait,” you mumble, moving your hands from his jaw to his chest. “What did you say?”

Bruce smirks, the charm that no one gets to see any more on display. “That I love you.”

Your eyes widen, and you grip his shoulders as you rise to kiss him, informing him that you feel the same. “I love you more,” you say against his lips, melting into him as you become one.

“My mom would want you to have her pearls,” Bruce whispers, rubbing his thumb in large sweeping motions against your upper hip. “And she’d want us to see where this goes.”

“Your mom was very smart,” you muse, putty in Bruce’s hands as he moves to the couch, tugging you into his lap.

“Did you love my mom enough to take her last name eventually?”

“This is more important – I love you enough.”

“Finally!” Alfred exclaims as he walks in with a tray of tea and biscuits. “It is about time you officially join the family and take the name.”

[sheerfreesia007]

Adrenaline High

Pairing: Bang Chan x Reader

Word count: 2,210

Content warnings: Violence, choking but he doesn’t tighten his grip

Summary: You’re a respectable person in the light of day but there’s a side to you that you like to indulge every once in a while to capture that adrenaline high. What happens when the house you break into turns out to be the mob boss Bang Chan’s? Will he had mercy on you or punish you for your crime?

The mansion was impressive, a large piece of property with acres of land and an even more massive building that sat dark in the night. You crouched in the bushes that lined the building and smiled widely with excitement and anticipation. You loved this dark side of your life, where you acted without regard to the rules and laws that governed everyone else. It was such a contrast to normal everyday life that it always gave you an adrenaline high whenever you completed a job.

Tonight was no different, you were crouched in the dark damp earth of the flower bed along the far side of the mansion. It had the perfect vantage point to see if anyone would show up while you broke in through the glass paned door along the side of the house. Your brother had told you about the abandoned mansion in the middle of nowhere on the outskirts of the city, he had been so excited to tell you about it and you had to admit he was right it was a perfect spot to hit.

You had started surveillance as soon as he had mentioned the location and it did seem abandoned, within the month of you surveilling the place no one had come in or out of the property and you had made sure to check at each corner of the acreage. All of the furniture and furnishings within the mansion were all still there and while they collected dust they all looked fairly new which worried you a little bit about the owner coming back but your brother had quickly reassured you. He knew that if you felt even just a hint of something going south you wouldn’t do the job. Your actual job as a public defender was worth more than getting your adrenaline high, there were other ways for you to get that high then this way.

There was shifting from behind you and a hand pressed gently against your back, your brother’s signal that they were all ready for this to happen. Taking in a deep breath you stood from your position and moved to stand next to the door, you cocked your elbow back and then slammed it into the singular pane of the glass near the door handle.

The sound of the glass falling to the floor twinkled through the empty house and you breathed a sigh of relief when you didn’t hear an alarm going off. But you knew that the house was alarmed, during your surveillance you had spotted the cameras at every corner so you knew there was some sort of security system.

“Alright get in and grab whatever you want and get out quick. This place is out in the middle of nowhere but it’s still got a security system.” you told them sternly as you unlocked the door and let them all in. 

Your brother had brought a crew of ten with the hopes of being able to grab enough things from the mansion to be able to pay off your family’s debts. You knew your brother had fallen on hard times and no matter how much money you set aside for him and your parents they were never able to keep themselves out of the red. You had told him that this was the last time you would help him out like this, you couldn’t keep risking someone finding out that you did this it was too great of a risk to your job. He understood where you were coming from and had promised this would be the last time.

After they had all entered the mansion you followed them slowly after looking over your shoulder to make sure that there weren’t any flashing lights already. You knew that this county law enforcement’s closest precinct was at least twenty minutes away and there weren’t many units that stuck close to this mansion, as if it was intended that way. Shaking your head slightly you turned and entered the mansion as you set a timer on your watch for ten minutes.

*-*-*-*

Chan yawned widely as he slowly walked through the nearly empty airport, his large black hoodie kept him warm in the air conditioned building while his hood kept him slightly hidden from others around him. He had a pair of earbuds in his ear as he made his way to baggage claim where he knew his men were waiting on him already. The flight had thankfully been easy without any delays or too much turbulence. 

Just as he walked into the baggage claim area his most trusted bodyguard Oliver stepped up to his side and handed him a tablet that had his home’s security system pulled up. Chan frowned as he looked down at the screen and gritted his teeth as anger curled within him. There on the screen was the video feed of his security cameras showing him that ten stocky men had entered his home and were now pilfering a lot of his possessions. But as he was about to swipe to the next camera he watched as a smaller person slowly walked into his home and stared straight up into the camera. Anger courses through him as he watches as the person raises their hand and waves slowly at the camera before walking past the camera.

“Get me home. Now.” Chan hisses out angrily as he stalks away from Oliver with an angry scowl planted on his face.

*-*-*-*

You idly walked around the first floor looking at all the decorations and little knick knacks that the owner had filled his house with. Stopping in a large room that had an extravagant fireplace in the front of the house you move over to it to peer at the pictures and little decorations on the mantle. As your eyes flit over the framed pictures you just do a quick glance over before your eyes land on a breathtaking sculpture of a howling wolf. You’re mesmerized by the detail in the sculpture but there’s something about it that makes the hair on the back of your neck stand on end, down at the base of the sculpture you see two letters engraved, BC.

Your eyes quickly dart back to the framed photos and your blood runs cold as you recognize a man in each photo. Christopher Chahn Bahng, or more well known as Bang Chan. You were in the infamous mob boss Bang Chan’s house. Panic began to flood your system and you quickly grabbed the walkie talkie clipped at your hip.

“We all need to leave. NOW.” you said into the walkie talkie as your wide eyes took in the rest of the photos that were on the mantle.

“Why what’s wrong?” came your brother’s question over the walkie talkie.

“This is Bang Chan’s house.” you say quickly and suddenly you can hear the sound of rushing footsteps throughout the house. Your panic escalates even more when you see headlights flash through the windows of the room that you’re in. You duck down quickly and move through the room hoping to make it to the back of the house before anyone enters the front. But just as you creep through the next room you hear the front door burst open and you halt your movement forward before ducking behind a heavy curtain that’s hung along the wall of windows of this room. Your fingers shake as you try to unlatch the window lock before you have to stop your movement from the loud shout that rings out much closer than you’re comfortable with.

“Find them! I want every one of them caught!” snaps Bang Chan angrily and you feel utter fear crash into you. You hear a loud sigh a lot louder and a lot closer than you want it to be but you slow your breathing as much as you possibly can. You watch with wide eyes as you spot one of your brother’s crew members running across the yard in front of the room you’re in, he’s running at a fast pace but the bodyguard behind him is much quicker and he easily tackles the man to the ground with a sickening crunching sound. 

You flinch visibly at their movements forgetting that you’re trying to hide when suddenly you grabbed around the back of your neck and wrenched backwards causing you to let out a loud surprised cry. The curtain rips away from the curtain rod and you’re cloaked in darkness as you gasp for air at being man handled so violently. “You’re not afraid of the dark are you, sweetheart?” comes Bang Chan’s dark sinister voice and you shiver in his hold causing him to chuckle darkly. “Yeah, I had a feeling you were female. Much smaller than the others and the way your body curves.” he says darkly as his free hand ghosts along your back down to your ass. “Now, let’s see what you look like.”

You fight him valiantly but he’s much too big for you to fight off completely. He manages to unveil you of the curtain before ripping the black mask from your face causing you to gasp loudly of the sting of the material ripping from your face. Chan stares down at you with wide eyes for a brief moment before they narrow down at you as a smirk slips across his lips.

“Well good evening counselor.” he greets you delightedly as his eyes dart around your face. Your eyes widen in surprise that he knows who you are and your mouth hangs open slightly.

“You know who I am?” you ask softly and he smirks deviously as he leans close to your face.

“Of course I do. I keep tabs on all the attorney’s for this city. Never know when I’ll need to buy one.” he says darkly and you shiver in his hold once more. “Besides you’re rising to the top rather quickly or so I’ve heard. What would the bar think if they knew you broke into my home?” he asks darkly and you jerk in his hold causing him to tighten his grip on you. “Ah, ah.” he scolds you softly. “Be a shame if something were to happen to that pretty face of yours.” he taunts darkly and foolishly his words trigger a switch in your brain causing your mouth to open and get you into trouble.

“I’d like to see you try.” you hiss at him and he grins wolfishly at your challenge.

“Oh sweetheart, don’t tempt me with a good time.” he coos sweetly. You struggle in his hold and he tuts softly at you before his other hand comes up to grip around your throat.

“You couldn’t handle me if you tried.” you spit out waspishly at him and watch as his eyes dilate with desire for you as he slams you up against the wall holding you only by your throat as his body falls flush to yours.

“You know, the last person who talked to me like that ended up at the bottom of the river.” he husks out and you scoff at him disgustedly.

“Like those threats mean anything to me.” you snip haughtily at him and he watches you avidly with sharp eyes.

“They should.” he coos and you sneer at him. You can see that your words and reaction to him has made him excited, you can’t lie and deny that you’re excited as well. Something about talking back to the big mean mob boss has your blood heating with adrenaline and desire for him.

“I’ve taken down bigger men than you.” you hiss right in his face and Chan grins almost manically at you before he lunges forward and presses his mouth to yours hungrily. Desire and lust courses through you as you kiss him back just as hungrily while he crowds you up against the wall as his hips thrust against yours.

“Fuck, you’re so hot. No one has ever been able to proudly go against me.” he says between kisses as he moves your head by the hand around your throat to the way he wants it to be so that he can deepen the kiss some more.

Suddenly there’s a knock at the door and you yank your mouth away from his as he scowls over his shoulder at whoever interrupted you.

“We were only able to capture two of the guys.” comes the monotone words and you feel happiness blooming within you before Chan glares at you darkly.

“Leave.” Chan grits out angrily and you’re suddenly left alone in the room with him again. “So how much are you willing to pay me not to spill this little secret of yours counselor?” he asks tauntingly and you grit your teeth at him.

“How much do you want?” you ask cautiously as anger surges through you while you glare at him and he smirks down at you while trailing a finger down the side of your face.

“Your everything.” he husks out sultrily before slanting his lips against yours once more. You knew that you were playing a dangerous game with this man but the rush it gave you was too intoxicating for you to give it up. You just needed one more rush.

SKZ Taglist: @intartaruginha, @kayleefriedchicken, @babigriin

[trocaine]

paint it all in rouge, my dearest

prologue﹕when you have a sweetheart who's willing to assist you during rehearsals, you can't help but see him differently when he lets you powder his nose for the sake of ‘artistic reasoning’.

warnings ⸻ riding position, explicit content, moderate descriptions of the reader's appearance, facesitting, floral usage of metaphors, crying, doggy-like position, cunnilingus.

special word﹔have fun reading. reblogs and interactions are highly appreciated.

“you believed powdering my face like this would help you concentrate better? i look ridiculous, honey.” said the dark-haired man sitting across from you on the push sofa, a faux pout forming on his lips. the furniture itself carried features of a backrest with a dual crest design. the upholstery is a rich yellow fabric tufted with button accents for a luxurious, quilted touch. decorated with plush pillows and a dark-colored throw blanket resting between them. the frame of the furnishing was made from deep-colored wood, carved up with refined techniques, drawing attention to the curving and finely made armrests and legs of the object.

his sun-kissed flesh had been whimsically dusted with lily-white dust, creating a dainty contrast with his lips that were glazed with rich cherry-red hue. and to finish the overall look of this knockout, you had applied a faint layer of soft pink on his cheeks. it had him looking every inch the leading man described in the papers you were holding in your hands. the near-perfect performing buddy ready to help you with today's rehearsal. …if only it weren't for the gleam of mirth that flashes through his yellowish-brown eyes. “fine, fine. i’ll take it more seriously. no need to look at me like that.” he teased, arching an eyebrow upwards as he adjusted his position, leaning ever so slightly closer. reducing the distance between the both of you by the second as if his following words would contain a secret shared with you alone.

‘rhythmically’ was the adequate way to define the sound of the drops of rain, striking the glass of the sleek buildings that made up the majority of the city's intricate layout. long before the pouring rain began on the fourteenth of february, the skies showed an assortment of outstanding blue hues, which were the remains of the previous morning. like ink dabs swirling and twisting in once-pure water, the warm hues had changed to grayish-blue tinges that flowed into the sky by this hour.

by the eye of a potential outsider the current state of the living room could’ve been dismissed as nothing more but a dark, high-ceilinged cave, if it wasn’t for the traditional interior design that elevated the space by bringing an air of elegance. with its curved bay window that had intricate molding and brightly-colored drapery, lavish in material. not so far from the couch, on the stone-made mantelpiece frames an active, warm fireplace. the light spreads far, forcing the shadows to grow larger. an elaborate plasterwork decorated with flamboyant floral and scrollwork patterns adorns the room's ceiling. right in the middle of such, a magnificent chandelier hung. “if you mean by ‘ridiculous’, ridiculously handsome then i’ll have to agree with you. you look wonderful. gorgeous even.” you made a brief, round motion toward his face in a way to place more emphasis behind your words. “and besides, you look perfect as françoise. the blush really brings out your eyes. the extravagant attitude is the only thing lacking here. according to the script, he kind of enjoys being sexy. well, perhaps ‘sexy’ is not the right word…” after pondering for mere minutes you snapped your fingers in realization.

“sensual! provocative! that’s what i’ll need from you, my dear.” your girlish enthusiasm over this overall happening caused for laughter to escape the man⸻a sound that at the same time made your heart flutter and take part of the joyous activity. the disquiet of glee bounced off the garnished walls, blending together harmousily.

him? sensual? provocative? it could be because you had too much confidence in him. jayce hadn’t considered himself to be the suave type. not in the slightest. though, he wasn’t completely out of his depth when it came to taking the lead in a waltz of wits and banter. he could pull off behaving a bit coquettish by being lighthearted, slightly endearing, and finishing it off with a charming smile. yet at his core, jayce is the man who could coax even the most stubborn gears to run their course. he’s the one who stood behind the endless process of weaving of plans, not a dashing prince ready to sweep someone off their feet to a thrilling whirlwind of romance. instead, he thrived in spaces where conjuration, calculations and engineering were placed in the center. a fertile ground that brought his talents to a flourishing point. it was you, however, who had the ability to occasionally elicit those lighthearted impulses from him. to help him understand that both work and play could coexist.

“now i’m starting to believe that you asked this of me just to see me in cosmetics. admit it. your silly secret is safe with me.” those final words were spoken to you in whispers. “maybe i did,” with a smile playing at the edges of your lips, you slouched and leaned back into the couch. “but can you blame me? you’re an absolute vision. so much so that you are distracting me from my original idea, silly goose.” the melodious tapping of the rain has quieted down in the background, becoming a delicate whisper against the pane of glass. the illumination of the chimney brought out the soft creases of his expression. the gentle glow gives him an almost otherworldly appearance. “so now i’m a distraction? i feel wounded.” “yes, you are! and in order for me to begin practicing, i need you to stop being all adorable.” you sat up and cleared your throat. with a glow of resolve shining from your eyes, your braids cascading over your shoulders reflected the essence of what you were saying. “so let's start at scene eight of act one. it should be your dialogue that we begin with.”

“i haven’t taken you to be the kind of woman easily influenced by jealousy, gabrielle.” his head leaned on the palm of his hand, and his eyes swept over your face as it displayed various expressions. the lighthearted atmosphere had vanished as you placed your attention on going through each line written down on the screenplay at hand. you knew that jayce wasn't an actor at heart, this was evident from the way the warmth tinted his skin. the inconsistent eye-contact. yet, it still surprised you how well he tried to fit into the role. his chest was puffed out in pride, how he tilted his head to the side slightly…enough of the fantasizing; you had work to do!

“jealousy? what a dreadful word. all i did was tell our visitor that he could have expressed his gratitude without swooning over you like a puppy. how does that make me the bad guy, my love? how does that make me the bad guy, my love?” he could feel your hands moving behind his ears, up to the back of his head, and tugging on the soft ribbon that was a component of the costume during this little play of make-believe. the fabric became looser by the second. seeing you so comfortable in your element while you waited for him to say his line was making jayce experience a range of emotions.

you not only ‘acted’ what the script instructed you to do, to him, you had a way to embody whatever character got handed to you. let it be a princess, a pauper, pirate⸻a chameleon in human flesh is what you were when you let your passions drive you. and he? an invitation to such a display of talent was always appreciated by him. “wait, wait. give me a second. now you’re the one distracting me.” he threw a quick glance down to the writing before clearing his throat and flashing a confident grin, well, one that was believable enough. “uh-huh, care to explain why you are removing my ribbon then?” with some quick work of your fingers, the fabric had been placed on the small table standing in front of the couch. “can i not help you with preparing for the night?” the feigned ignorance virtually spurted down your tongue as you responded, raising a trained eyebrow. “you know it’s not about that. just as you know that ribbon has been given to me. from someone that isn’t you.” “if only you could see how much better you look now that i’ve removed that horrid atrocity.” your fingers slid beneath his chin, smudging the white powder down on the remaining undefiled skin; you received a gentle gasp from him.

“we will visit the marketplace first thing in the morning. if you want to wear ribbons, at least have it be one that is not only high quality but honestly suits you. whenever it be something as simple as linen or something as soft as silk.” the sudden loss of your touch reminded him sharply that this entire charade was nothing more than a round of practice, and it had left him utterly breathless. and because of how readily you embraced your role, you broke it down just as easily with an air of smugness radiating from you. eyebrows deliberately raised this time. “i totally killed it there, didn’t i? let’s continue practicing. four more pages to go and then i’ll whip the make-up off, darling. we’re on a roll.”

  and each minute was filled with a mix of highs and lows as the hours continued to pass. “françoise! would you mind coming downstairs? i would like you to look into something.” the sound of rustling papers filled the momentary stillness as you both thoroughly flipped over the pages, scene by scene. “what is it, my dear?” your words bounced off the walls like sparks of electricity, and the living room was alive with contagious excitement. each and every word was performed with intensity, shifting from scenes full of heartfelt emotion to exaggerated screaming matches interjected with moments of crocodile tears and raucous laughter. the both of you behaved more and more like the characters you were playing with each line that got delivered. therefore, when you finally reached the pinnacle of the rehearsal, you were exhausted from the intense practicing. you sat there, with the cozy warmth of the fireplace as your blanket, both hands now empty of papers.

your head resting on the side of his shoulder. “i should ask you to be my practice dummy more often, jayce. we’re quite the dynamic duo.” as you intertwine your fingers with his in an act of comfort, a deep, gratifying sigh left you. “you know i would love to help you out like this more often. but, duty calls.” when he puts his head on yours, his darkish, disheveled hairs touch yours, and he sighs quietly. his eyelids briefly close, as though to relish the moment. in a gentle gesture that speaks for itself, his fingertips lightly touch the side of your arm. “...at least not tonight, right?” you questioned. he, in return, answered with: “gods no. especially not tonight. if i have to start on building one more hypothesis and figure that out, i’ll need you to announce to my assistant that i’ve unfortunately caught the ‘sleeping in’ disease. highly contagious.” as soon as he said those words, he drew you close to him and held you in a tight embrace. his lips poured a stream of innocent kisses across your face, compelling you to burst out fits of mellow giggles. “gods you’re such a dramatizer!” without trying to break free from the barrage of affection you were getting, you exclaimed. “it takes one to know another.” he retorted back, as lively as one could be in such a situation.

“well can i propose something to you?” you looked up at him, gauging his reaction, noticing the way he made faint wrinkles at his nose. he, in return, hummed in response to your question. “hm? sure, what’s on your mind?” once more, you sought the script, your fingers touching the papers with a trace of determination. while you flipped, your gaze locked onto the part you sought. but after you had located the part of the text, you gently touched the words with your fingertip. “you see scene four, right? the one with the kiss. i want to practice it one more time.” you admitted, your tone calm yet gentle. “then i promise we’ll wrap this entire thing up.” jayce nodded once again, a charming half-smile spreading across his face. “this is, by far, one of the silliest ways you’ve asked me to kiss you. are you sure you want to practice it again just for…artistic reasons?”

“why else do you think i would’ve asked you, my dear françoise?” your arms began to sneak around his neck, bringing him down closer to your lips. “oh, i don’t know. i have a feeling that tells me that there is more of a reason than ‘just because’, gabrielle.” even the most toothsome sweets couldn't compare to the sweetness of the kiss. you intensified the action by lightly pressing your fingertips against the nape of his neck. you caught a whiff of the white grain that was getting speared all over your lower face while the reddish tint of rouge got smuggled the longer you kept sucking face.

the sides of your noses kept being pressed up against each other as your breaths mingled into one. his lips felt wet to the touch, parted moderately, letting your tongues join together in a waltz, in which the orchestra accompanying said dance, had been influenced by desire. the weight of your clothes began to feel like a bother at this point. you wanted nothing more to have them removed, teared off, disappear⸻‘riiiiiiiip!’ a handful of textiles have found their way on your palms as your chest heaved heavily once you parted lips with the man. the eye contact you’ve shared with each other has remained unbroken up to this point. “...you see what you’ve done to me? how willing i’m to get close to you, jayce?” the slight tremor of excitement in your tone didn’t escape him. it caused electric jolts to rush throughout his muscular frame. not even seconds have gone by for the man to follow a similar trend. now both of you were sitting half-bare across each other.

your hands reached out to feel the outline of his rib cage. there just was something profoundly erotic beneath the act of touching that particular area. how you could feel the faint vibrations of the man's heart thumping quickly against his bones. the caress was continuous and felt like hot wax on his skin. persistent on leaving its mark. you leaned in to press a peck, two pecks, multiple ones all over the surface of his chest. applying a crimson pigment, given to you by the previous kiss you shared, to the swarthy canvas with the level of attention to detail that only a maestro could achieve.

jayce couldn’t even form a proper line of sentences that could adequately describe what you were putting him through. no longer was the want for your affection a sweet and pure feeling. you see, jayce wanted your teeth to puncture his flesh, for his love to stain on your lips. to see you satisfied with all he could⸻no. with everything he would unquestionably give you. even though it may sound grotesque to some, the man hoped that with every fragment and drop of his essence you would want to join him in becoming one. that his cries would fulfill your hunger. that together you would end up morphing into a garbled version of a serenade that was sung in the language of the flesh. this was more than just ‘sex’, where physical attraction was the main attraction; it was the union of souls into a single quaint entity. it was like a fire whose only standard to reach was to mindlessly consume whatever was in its path, rendering anything into dunes of ash. uncaring of its ardent nature and the destruction it left.

the imprint of your teeth were showing up as ruddy patterns once you took a moment to take in his disheveled state. “﹙name﹚…” the weight of your gaze brought a gratifying shiver down his spine. your name clinging to his trembling lips like a benediction. “i need you⸻damn it. i want you to be all over me. just take my clothes off and take me, ﹙name﹚. please.” his pleas sounded as sweet and honeyed as the softest symphony you’ve ever heard. all of the words in those few phrases were honest and tinged with frustration, gripping your senses and pulling onto your heart strings. it was practically impossible to say ‘no’ to the depth of vulnerability in the gleam you caught in his eyes.

with the exception of his socks, which were held up by coffee-colored garters you left on his calves, you kept your hands occupied by undressing the man. there went his shirt, following this belt, accompanied with his pants, ending it with his underwear. there he was⸻ripe for the taking. willingly displayed for the loving massacre that would be brought by your hands, tongue and teeth. grasping the reddish part of his mouth with your lips again, you swallowed whatever sound he made as you did so. “﹙name﹚! mpfh⸻! mhmmm…” his body sank deeper into the softness of the couch you had him lying on his back on, his muscles melting beneath your fingers. sitting on top of his lap, your body felt like a bundle of plumes. it was subtle at first, the flame-like tingle shimmering at the forefront of his mind. turning just as quick into a scorching sensation in his lungs that kept expanding further, the more he selfishly surrendered to the intoxicating sweetness of your lips. preferring them to the simple act of breathing.

he pressed his hand against the back of your head to keep you locked on him while his fingers wove delicately through your intricate braids, each touch gentle and purposeful. ardour intertwined in his actions. your body has been put in its most pristine state, nude, just like him. but eventually you pulled away from him. “jayce just hold on to me, okay? you’re doing wonderful.” you sat up straight and proceeded to move your hips from his lap closer and closer to his face. “you want me to feel good, no?” he managed to grasp onto the thickness of your thighs with his fingers. you got enough of a response from the lust-driven haze that veiled his eyes. that he was as eager for this as you are. “how can you think otherwise?﹙name﹚i can go for hours talking about how much i want to be the one to make you feel beyond great.” “o-ho?” the pads of your fingertips did little to hide the grin curling on your mouth. “...you’re correct. how dare i doubt your enthusiasm? you have always been the kind of guy to give it his all in whatever he puts his mind to,” once you were close enough, you raised your hips to hover just above his mouth. his eyes were so enthralled on the soaked slit of your pussy that he almost lost all attention to what you were saying. “would it be too much to ask for you to give me a reminder so i can’t never ever doubt your enthusiasm again?”

you let out a startled shriek as soon as you felt his arms drag you down his face with quickness. jayce let out a heavy groan as he dragged his tongue across the puffy expanse of your cunt, beginning with the swollen clit. in exchange, the vibrations of his voice caused your lower abdomen to tingle in a pleasant way. the way his mouth was latched onto your nub, adorned by your curly pubic hairs, bruising it up with licks and love bites. it was as plain as day that you were enthralled not only by the maneuvers he executed, but also by the sight of his eyes glittering like a mountain of citrine, and how his words and your groans merged passionately. it ignites a maelstrom of yearning within you. you bucked your hips right onto his mouth, your thighs that were so closely pressed against his ears muffled your following cry of delight: “jayce! oh jayce! you’re doing so fucking great. push it deeper in me!”

whilst he continued to vigorously suck all over your delicious cunt, fucked it all nice and well, more of your nectar was dripping down his neck, coating his mouth, and staining his chin. oh, how charming you appeared up there, seated in your proper place. tears of lusty satisfaction streaming down your swollen cheeks as his hands continued to guide your thrusts farther down his throat. for he would find no death sweeter than beneath you; lechery had completely seized your face, with the somewhat painful string of your palm holding his hair to press him further deeper, if that were even possible in this case. “fuckk yes!”

his cock has been furiously red at the top of the fleshy length during the entire ordeal. with every gasp of contentment that leaves your lips, droplets of precum are slabbering out of the slit of his cockhead, throbbing pitifully for attention. and you could sense the longing from jayce for an attentive caress, a loving touch that he knew only you could give. while your hips kept moving like they had a mind of their own, your hand finally settled around the man's dick's base and squeezed it, giving it a preview at what was about to happen. up and down, up and down, up and down! simple and repetitive was the motion of your hand. however, its simplicity had a profound impact on the man.

you could feel every vein against the palm of your hand, the blood rushing beneath them as you dragged your hand continuously as appreciation for the way jayce had turned your brain into a pinkish mush. dripping over your knuckles and even getting some of the milky white liquid on your wrists. lines of sperm gathered around the crack of your fingers pressed side by side. drenched by your arousal, he felt your felt squeeze his head by your thighs a little tighter. a faint tingle of panic bolting through him for a moment. but just as quick it came, it vanished once he felt your body sag down, swiftly following with a clear substance exiting your cavern of love. he sucked every last bit of your fluids down his throat with sheer gluttony. it triggered his climax as well. ropes of thick, white cum shooting up in the air. most of his spunk landed on his stomach with a firm ‘slosh’, and part of it even landed on your butt cheeks. oh poor little you, you couldn't even pull yourself away from the man's face!

you could feel the tremble coursing through his muscular arms as he brought you off him gently. the rhythmic contractions added on to the spur of the moment. the strength of his grip felt both reassuring and electrifying to you while the scent of his cologne mingled in with the sweltering air. “i thonk thet i moght doi. will...ot wuald bi griet dyong loki thos.” his voice had rendered to a slurred state, heavy with the weight of someone who seem to had continuously drown themselves with liquor. bottle after bottle after bottle. his cheeks were flushed with an orange-red rosiness, jayce looked up at you with a dopey expression. his lips formed a youthful grin, displaying a carefree innocence that seemed a little out of place given his circumstances. he felt your hand tapping against his cheek softly.

“hey, hey. you’re doing alright there, honey?” the deep sound of his lively giggles left you with a fleeting sense of comfort. but the man's distant glance, still swimming in the clouds of pleasure, made you a tad bit concerned. “a'm fanu, i’m fine. i just need⸻sigh. i just need a moment to collect myself here…” his face looked like an absolute mess of color and texture. his lips' vivid rouge had made playful traces on the flesh of the forbidden fruit between your legs, and the white face powder was smudged carelessly. “that sounds like a great idea. and…if you like. we could continue to have another round, hm? you did a good job reminding me. but there's always room for improvement, isn't there?”

“oh absolutely. but now i just want to…” he grabbed your shoulders and pushed you down clemently against his chest. he cuddled your body against his in a way that would indicate that merely touching you wouldn't be sufficient. it just felt…right. his love stained his actions through and through, enveloping you with tenderness and grace; leaving you with the desire of keeping this moment of tranquillity frozen in time. “hold you close to me.” you sigh, cuddling your head closer to his chest and listening to his heartbeat, which had begun to slow as the two of you spent time just laying there, limbs all intertwined with each other. gentle linear motions were being drawn onto your back with his fingers. “you’ve probably wrung me dry back there, sweetie.”

the sound of his laughter sent a wave of solace through the room. you tilted your head up to face jayce. “and what about you?” you shot back. “don’t expect me to not have a few remarks on how you nearly made me faint on your face. your tongue is wicked.” “wicked? you didn’t seem to mind just minutes ago. or am i suddenly misremembering it,﹙name﹚? ‘jayce! oh jayce! you’re doing so fucking great. push it deeper in me!’” you rolled your eyes in exasperation at the playful teasing the man brought. his voice rose to comical, high-pitched intimation of yours. his exaggerated mimicking was a clumsy parody, eliciting a mixture of amusement and annoyance as he overdramatically recited your wanton comments. “cheeky bastard.” “i learned it from the best.” oh, now it was back on.

you stood up straight with your hand firmly against his chest, feeling the fast rise and fall beneath your fingertips. a flash of intense resolve illuminated the fierceness of the moment, glinting in your eyes. he felt as though time had stopped in the ever-present tension between you since it was so engrossing that it briefly took his breath away. the soft hairs of your braids leaving a trail of goosebumps onto his tanned flesh as

you brought yourself to stand onto your haunches⸻you reached out for his lips with your fingers. tracing each curve and line as if you were sketching them with careful exactitude. jayce was a man rather blessed in the department below his waist. not too large to feel pain during the deed. and neither was he unimpressively small. the shape, the color, how it was curved somewhat towards his direction⸻all of it was perfect in your eyes. your voice was comparable with silk-covered steel with the following words that left your mouth. “mocking me, huh? you have the energy to mock me but can you handle the consequences of committing such grave wrongdoing? hm?”

you shook your head mockingly in dismay as you tutted. your breath gliding off his face. “jayce, you like to poke the bear so thoroughly. and then naughtily bat those pretty eyelashes at me as if you don’t understand what you are doing.” twitches of interest rushed through his cock again through your heated confession, the tip poking softly at the flesh of your stomach. “like you believe that the bear won’t bite when provoked enough.” you dragged one of your hands down from his chest, going from the base up to the tip of his hardened prick. holding your palm against his rosy head, you pulled him through the many levels of indulgence, smearing the remnants of his climax on it. your eyes narrowing slightly by the sight of the man who was rapidly getting aroused again underneath your grip. but your gaze didn’t hold any true malice. it was that air of barely controlled appetite that was spurring him on. how it brought a flood of exhilarating zeal in his chest, spreading gradually to the rest of his figure. the hazy clouds of desire fogging up his mind once more.

“then do something about it.” weakly he breathed out his response. “you can go ahead and do something about it. whatever it is,﹙name﹚. just quit talking all big and bad.” his eyes followed your tongue's path across your lips as you lifted your hips and brushed across his sobbing, fat cockhead. the cum that was once again dribbling from the slit of his tip was spread across the inner portions of your pussy. it was aggravating to the man to have the gates of paradise opened just enough to have a peak, but not wide enough to have him access the other side. “me? me talking all ‘big and bad’ as you…gracefully verbalized, is going to be least of your worries, my dear.”

giving the man what he's been waiting for at last, each time his cock pressed against your pressure point, you saw flashes of white, burning ecstasy. in response, your cunt's silky walls grew tighter around the big cock. wetted lips spreading apart like the soft petals of a beauteous flower blooming at the first signs of spring. the gratifying burn his cock left simply encouraged you to keep on moving. “godsdamn⸻!”the light of the fire brought out the beauty of your body even more as he continued on letting his gaze travel over every little detail to be found on your physique. the warmth of the closeness of your body humping up and down his shaft brought a delectable dizziness in jayce’s mind as incoherent words jabbered from his mouth. his hands help your wild movements, his hips jutting upwards in an attempt to gain more of that addictive friction. a torrent of debauched murmurs escaped from his moist lips. “ah! gods! you’re going to make me lose my ever-loving mind. c’mon faster. you can do it.” additionally, he didn't couldn’t find the urge to put some thought in this because he had more important things to focus on than his state of mind; such as the pornographic sounds your cum-coated asscheeks made whenever they returned back on his lap in a rhythmic manner that boarded on resembling something uniquely primal. again and again.

all of his muscles, from his lower abdomen to his thighs, were in a chaotic state, tensing up and relaxing carelessly. your pussy was simultaneously trying to push him away and pull him in. it was the most bizarre feeling, and the man felt as though he would explode if this crazy ride of yours proceeded with its show. as if something mystical was blossoming in his lower groins, threatening to send jayce plummeting into a dungeon of desire. hm? tears? oh, dear, how beautiful he looked. little, shimmering tears are forming at the corners of his eyes, making them damp and blurry. cascading down like tiny crystals. he hadn’t even noticed the waterworks had begun till you reached out to rub them off his face. your digits touched his warm skin, and your touch was anything but harsh.

  “mhpfh, you want me to go faster? goodness, you’re insatiable.” your chuckles were a bit breathy on the tongue. instead of following his request, you slowed down the brain-melting tempo; arching your back beautifully, whining your hips with seductive slowness. you even went so far to drag your hips high enough to give him a good look of his erected length that had been coated properly by your obscenity. the only thing left between your swollen lips was his cockhead, which was translucent with semen. goodness indeed, you were starting to feel the burn of exhaustion knocking at your door. “ah, how about this then? you take the reins and make sure this night ends up to be one of our best, okay? i already gave you a headstart with bouncing on you like some sort of madwoman. surely you can carry this past the finish line, yea?” oh, you’re in for quite the fun missy!

once you had turned your body to the opposite direction with your behind now facing him, your head had been pushed down against the soft stuffing of the couch. his right hand wrapped right around your stomach with the weight of his body resting upon your back. the sensation by itself was comfortable. his teeth and tongue dragging and biting all over the surface of your shoulder. his left hand had its fingers wrapped around your wrist, intertwining your fingers together. the strength within his grip was surely going to leave faint marks on your bronzed skin. not that you mind when you could feel his warm breath tickling your ear, once he pushed through the soft ring of your anus with his dome-shaped knob. each inch sinking through the barrier caused the volume to rise higher. scorching to the touch did the feeling of your spongy walls squeezing around him, causing a shutter of pleasure to surge through his system. it took a few minutes for jayce to regain his composure again. “i’ll start moving okay? gods below, you feel so good around me. nghmff…” his words came out airy and breathless and he began to rock his hips in a forward motion.

the hand on your wrist, dragged on upwards to rest down on your jawline. both his index and middle finger probed around your mouth, in rebuttal, you parted your lips wide enough to have them pressed a good amount of pressure down on your tongue. as you received the gift that had been offered to you, drool poured from the corners of your mouth. you could feel your nearly choke. he could feel your tongue wrapping and flicking across the length as it moved across the side of his nimble fingers. then you took your mouth off his fingers with a wet ‘pop’. you could feel it dragging against every nerve as his long shaft spread you apart so obscenely around his cockhead. his rhythm had changed from a gentle one to one that was quick and frantic, as if he was racing to cross the finish line. as a result, your thighs trembled with excitement as his powerful thrusts rocked your entire body. jayce zeroed in on the way your back arched even deeper than it already was, and how your hips pressed up on him. your taut muscles glistening beneath numerous bodily fluids⸻overtaking his mind entirely. nothing else at that precise moment could rob you of his attention.

his sweeping knob repeatedly kept smothering your depths, like a heavy punch to the gut that knocked the wind out of your lungs. “jayce! oh bloody gods, goingtocum. i’mgoingtocumsofuckinghard⸻fuck!” nonsense. all you could form on your tongue with a mind that was rapidly bugging out was down-right nonsense as the time you needed to take in air grew shorter and shorter. familiar tensions grew more overpowering by the second. you hadn’t even picked up on how the warm hand of the man that had been squeezing your cheeks, leading to your lips to pucker up all pout-like, had shifted down between your legs and drew circles on your plumb nub, flicking it occasionally and squeezing it gently⸻just for extra measure. or simply because that harmless squash led to the straw that broke the camel's back. you were being fucked to utter stupidity by him. “shit!” a wave of heat slammed down with destructive intent.

as lengthy ribbons of cum strewn all over your velvety walls, the quantity of his spunk was astonishing to say the least. leaking from between your crack down to the cum-coated split of your pussy. contentment washed over the both of you; your cunt was squeezing all around his girth, sucking up every last drop he had for you. during the time the afterglow was passing by, the claws of desire were reaching out and penetrating deeper within your core. you felt your head splitting apart, your eyes rolling at the back of your skull, your body reaching searing temperatures.

“oh, jayce…” it was as if blossoms from an idyllic day had erupted from the core of your very own being. a vivid explosion of feelings that had taken you back by complete surprise. that's how overwhelmed he had made you feel. each petal was vibrant with color and brimming with vitality, transforming you into something more alive, something better than before. the sensation was exhilarating. like though you had just woken up from a long, restful slumber. the world around you is whirling wildly. you were clinging to that wave of emotions to never stop. a slight quiver rippled through your hand as you placed it on the back of the man’s neck, drawing him closer to your neck. his breath cascaded against your skin, the intimacy of his presence was making your heart race. you could jayce nuzzling his nose nuzzling into the sensitive curve of your neck, sending delightful shivers down your spine. “i’ll remember for the rest of the week. that’s for sure.”

[ephie-om]

This is not proofread I finished it in ten minutes during my lunch break so if you see a typo no you don't

Day 23: The Demon Lord’s Castle

The royal castle sits high atop a hill, looking out over the kingdom. Its strategic position is unbeatable, and it exudes unquestionable presence. It has a long and storied history stretching out over millennia, such that books describing its original construction can only be found in the castle’s library itself. The castle has gone through many renovations, some from vanity, but mostly out of necessity.

The castle had an entire wing added to it in just three years when Diavolo’s mother took up permanent residence there. His father abjectly refused to let his lover live in anything but luxury, no matter how much she protested. He hired the Devildom’s best architects and engineers to create chambers fit for her, using only the best materials his realm had to offer. Her rooms came alive with rich greens and midnight blues, in contrast to the powerful red adorning the rest of the castle.

The chambers closest to hers were refurbished when she became pregnant. All sharp or heavy objects not tied down were strictly banned. The chandelier hanging from the ceiling was removed in favor of metal candle sconces.The walls were reinforced with steel girders and painted a soft pastel pink. A giant crib with a firm mattress sat in the center of the room, its frame colored a burnished gold. Every square inch of the young prince’s chambers was covered in layers of warding spells, along with his mother’s.

When she died, the only place that still had any trace of her were the prince’s rooms. Her own chambers were draped in black veils and sealed off from the rest of the castle. The king couldn’t stand to acknowledge any part of the wing, so the servants were ordered to avoid it. Years after, the young prince withstood a terrible scolding from his father after trying to venture in. He was fiercely punished and sent outside for hours, and when he came back, he saw the king had repainted his rooms in royal red.

Diavolo’s father knew the signs well. He had known for centuries that this would come. He was suddenly lethargic, and his mind was overcome with a thick fog at times. But he needed to be strong for his son. Strength was everything. So he built the underground chambers in secret, right under Diavolo’s nose. It was incredibly spartan, more like a tomb. No luxuries were needed, no royal symbols or golden decorations, only secrecy. Diavolo found out only five years before his father’s sleep. He had his suspicions, of course. It was hard to hide things from him; he was like his mother like that. Diavolo watched from a distance with a heavy burden of relief in his heart as his father settled his gleaming draconic form on a massive stone pedestal and closed his eyes.

Diavolo spent months making his way through his mother’s chambers. It was like they were frozen in time, left exactly the way they were the day he was born. Many of her things he kept for himself, tucked away in his room. Some of her possessions, like the paintings with his father, he sent away to be stored. It was hard enough ruling the Devildom without two more figures watching over him.

The castle’s grounds near the royal gardens were ripped apart by seven figures crashing into the earth. They had split the clouds with their fury, and Diavolo looked up to see a gaping wound of light seeping into the Devildom. Part of his father’s rooms were quickly converted into a makeshift hospital. In the panic, some of them tried to run, and Diavolo’s servants were ordered to use sleeping spells as liberally as needed. The walls shook with howls of pain and anger, The smallest of the seven had eyes that burned bright green and claws that tore through the flesh of anyone careless enough to get close, spattering the ground with blood.

Diavolo unveiled the freshly furnished room with a flourish. Lucifer’s eyes scanned over the plaque that read “Royal Academy of Diavolo Board and Council Meeting Room”, stifling a snort at the awkward wording. This would have to do until the academy proper was finished. The prince had spared no expense to further his dream, evidenced by the grand table that could seat nearly thirty demons at a time. The chairs were almost thronelike with plush red seats and high backs. The only distinction that the seat at the head of the table was Diavolo’s was the small royal crest embellished onto it.

The guest room closest to Diavolo’s rooms is now kept permanently reserved for the human exchange student just in case. The bathroom is stocked with all manner of human-safe shampoo, conditioner, body wash, lotion, makeup remover, anything they could need. The sheets on the bed and flowers in the vase are refreshed daily in preparation for a visit at any time. It's one of the only rooms in the castle that brings Diavolo joy to see, and he eagerly awaits the next time it's used.

[57sfinest]

also yall we need to step back from the harryvision and understand that kim, at his core, is a loser (affectionate) like everyone else. so much out there wants to portray him as limitless patience, great cook, super organized, good handwriting, nice tasteful living quarters etc and that's fun to contrast him to harry but well i am here to RUIN that we need to take off the du bois glasses and appreciate kim for the weirdguy that he is. he has horrific fits of road rage and harry genuinely fears for his life riding along with him and witnessing the generational curses this man is capable of unleashing upon the stupid little fucks that cut him off on the 8/81. he has never had the time or space or budget to learn to cook so he lives off deli sandwiches and butter noodles and the occasional grab-and-go fruit. he writes so much so frequently with such awful handwriting that he has invented a new form of shorthand and the moralintern is contacting him to create a cipher system for them. he has no resources to furnish and maintain a nice flat so it's like a slightly gentrified r/malelivingspace but with a table for his sewing machine and there's scrap fabric and thread and half-pinned half-hemmed pants strewn about the place. there are absolutely a bunch of shitty mockups of his old wirral character in the backs of his notebooks and he hasn't played it in years but if he ever picks it back up then his minmax high int high dex definitely-not-a-self-insert sidhe artificer is READY. everyone add your weirdguy kim thoughts NOW 👇

[deliciousangelfestival]

Tears In His Ferrari || Chp 3 - Bucky

Character: Bucky Barnes x Farmer!Reader

Words Count: 1,810

Summary: Bucky Barnes, used to a life of luxury, takes on farm challenges in a bet with his father. Mud-stained Ferraris and a rustic farmhouse lead to unexpected personal growth, guided by the stern mentorship of Y/N, a farmer making his city-boy life difficult.

Main Masterlist || If you enjoy my work, please consider buying me a coffee on: Ko-fi

Thank you to anyone who gave a like, reblog, and left a comment. It motivated me to write more. 

Chapters: Chp 1, Chp 2, Chp 3 , Chp 4 , Chp 5 , Chp 6 , Chp 7 , Chp 8 , Chp 9 , Chp 10 , Chp 11 , Chp 12.

Bucky woke with a sore body, the stiffness a stark reminder of the physical toil from the previous day. Accustomed to the luxury of a comfortable bed, high-quality pillows, and a butler ready to attend to his every need, the reality of his new surroundings hit him like a jolt.

Groggily rubbing his eyes, Bucky surveyed the unfamiliar room. The rustic charm of the farmhouse was a far cry from the sleek, modern aesthetic he was accustomed to. The absence of a butler waiting at the ready only added to his disoriented state.

"I miss my old life," Bucky muttered, his voice tinged with a grumpy edge. The absence of the usual pampering he received back home left him feeling out of sorts. His gaze lingered on the simple furnishings, a stark contrast to the opulence he was used to.

As Bucky reluctantly swung his legs over the edge of the bed, he winced at the soreness in his muscles. "What was I thinking?" he mumbled, questioning the wisdom of his impulsive decision to take on the challenges of farm life.

The realization struck him as he stepped onto the cold, creaky floor – no butler, no high-end breakfast awaiting him. In this new chapter of his life, Bucky Barnes was on his own, starting with the most mundane task: preparing breakfast.

Bucky turned on his phone, half-expecting a call from his father. No calls. A sigh of both relief and disappointment escaped his lips. The absence of his father's voice on the other end left a void that forced him to confront the reality of his situation.

Bucky stepped outside with his phone in hand, cradling a warm coffee cup. The aroma wafting from the beverage provided a momentary solace, a small comfort amid the unfamiliarity surrounding him.

Grateful for his ability to make his coffee and his father's provision of a regular coffee maker, Bucky took a sip, savoring the rich flavor that greeted his taste buds.

Intent on enjoying the morning view, Bucky ventured further into the surroundings. The tranquil beauty of the farm at dawn, a stark contrast to the hustle and bustle of city life, began to work its magic on him.

However, his peaceful contemplation was interrupted by an unexpected sight – the familiar farm tractor from the previous day was in motion, navigating the plot he had been tasked with.

Bucky narrowed his eyes, attempting to process the scene. To his surprise, it was Y/N at the wheel, diligently working on planting barley seeds. A grumble escaped Bucky as he checked his watch. "It's still 7 a.m," he remarked, realizing the early hour. Approaching the tractor, he couldn't help but feel a twinge of annoyance.

Y/N halted her work upon spotting him and wasted no time in delivering her verdict. "You're late," she declared, her tone laced with irritation and amusement.

Bucky, taken aback by the unexpected accusation, retorted, "This is the earliest hour I wake up." His attempt at justification fell on deaf ears as Y/N remained unimpressed, making it clear that Bucky was running on a different schedule in the world of farming.

Y/N hopped off the tractor, her boots landing on the soft earth as she faced Bucky. "I've planted some of the barley seeds, and now it's your turn. Show me what you've learned yesterday," she instructed, a no-nonsense tone underscoring her words.

Bucky, feigning surprise, questioned, "You did? Why did you help me?" A playful smirk danced on his lips, a hint of mischief in his eyes.

"So it's quicker for you to go back," Y/N deadpanned, her response devoid of sentiment.

Putting on an exaggerated expression of disappointment, Bucky remarked, "And here I thought you could become my new best friend." His attempt at humor earned a half-hearted eye roll from Y/N.

Seated in the tractor again, Bucky took a deep breath, gearing up for the challenge. As he began driving, Y/N kept a close watch, her gaze assessing his every move.

Bucky, still grappling with the intricacies of the tractor, found himself navigating the field with a mix of uncertainty and determination.

After a few moments of awkward maneuvering, Bucky couldn't suppress his curiosity. "Am I doing it right?" he asked Y/N, seeking validation.

Y/N, maintaining her stern expression, nodded. "Not bad for a beginner," conceded. "But remember, the key is steady hands and focus. Precision is everything in farming."

Bucky, trying to absorb the newfound knowledge, muttered to himself, "Steady hands, focus, precision."

Bucky spent the entire day toiling under the sun, planting the barley seeds row by row until the sun dipped below the horizon. Exhausted but satisfied with his progress, he parked the tractor and surveyed the vast field he had cultivated. Y/N, recognizing that Bucky had successfully handled the task independently, decided to visit him.

To Bucky's surprise, Y/N approached riding a horse, showcasing a side of farm life he hadn't encountered in the city. As she dismounted, Bucky couldn't help but express his awe, "Your horse is cool. Why didn't you tell me you have a horse?"

Y/N, brushing her horse gently, Y/N explained, "This baby is afraid of cars and could kick with her strong legs. Do you want her to destroy your precious Ferrari?"

Realizing the potential danger to his luxury car, Bucky quickly responded, "No, thank you."

Y/N chuckled at his reaction and then pulled something from her bag, handing it to Bucky. "Here, my mother made this for your dinner."

At the mention of 'dinner,' Bucky's stomach betrayed him with a loud growl. He blushed, hoping Y/N hadn't heard it, but she seemed unfazed, pretending not to notice. With a smile and a friendly goodbye, Y/N left Bucky to enjoy the homemade dinner. 

Bucky, feeling rejuvenated after a satisfying dinner and a hot shower, was grateful for the delicious meal Y/N had provided. The exhaustion from the day's farm work seemed to dissipate, replaced by a newfound energy. His phone rang as he changed into fresh clothes, contemplating the slower pace of life in the countryside.

Seeing his best friend Steve's name on the screen, Bucky casually answered, "Hey, Rogers."

With a chuckle, Steve asked Bucky if he had managed to survive his first day. Bucky responded with a dry, "Haha, very funny," acknowledging the stark contrast between his city life and the challenges of farm living.

The conversation between friends continued, with Steve genuinely curious about Bucky's experiences. As they talked, the topic shifted to the practicalities of earning money quickly in the rural setting. Knowing that farming took months and years before yielding profits, Bucky sought advice from Steve.

In response, Steve suggested an unconventional idea. "Why not try live streaming or making a vlog about your daily farm life?" Steve proposed. "You've already got a bunch of followers on social media. It could be a unique angle, and who knows, it might kickstart something."

Bucky's eyes lit up at the suggestion. "That's a good idea! I've got the audience, and people love a good lifestyle change story," he remarked. The prospect of sharing his journey on social media seemed like an exciting venture and a way to leverage his existing platform for financial gain.

As Bucky considered the potential of this new endeavor, he couldn't help but feel a renewed sense of purpose. 

Feeling refreshed on the second day, Bucky decided to up his game for the vlog. He brushed his hair and wore stylish yet comfortable clothes that reflected his city-boy flair adapting to farm life. Armed with the camera, he began recording, using the natural light that enhanced the aesthetic appeal.

A small box caught his attention as he opened the front door to start his vlog. Intrigued, Bucky leaned down and discovered a tiny puppy inside.

The little creature opened its eyes, emitting a soft bark that immediately melted Bucky's heart. He couldn't resist picking up the puppy, cooing at its cuteness while wondering how it ended up in his house.

Picking the puppy gently, Bucky wondered aloud, "How did you end up in my house?" The unexpected gift had melted his heart, and he couldn't fathom who might have left such a cute puppy for him.

Y/N, having just arrived, witnessed the adorable scene. Still holding the puppy, Bucky showed it to her and inquired if she knew anyone in the neighborhood with a dog. Y/N after some contemplation, Y/N glanced at the box and seemingly deduced something.

"If the owner doesn't show up, I'll tell you who it is," Y/N declared.

Bucky, curious, nodded, recognizing that Y/N might have some insights into the matter. However, his attention was diverted when he realized his phone's camera was still rolling. Lifted in his hand, he casually mentioned, "Oh, I'm making a vlog."

Y/N's demeanor tensed visibly, catching Bucky's attention. She sighed, warning as she spoke, "If my face ever gets into the shot, delete it. If not, I'll destroy your phone." 

With that, she left Bucky, who quickly protected his phone. "Geez, what's her deal?" he wondered aloud. Meanwhile, the puppy continued to squirm in his arms, its innocence distracting from the day's farm work.

Bucky gently stroked the soft fur of the puppy, making comforting sounds as he held the small creature close. "Shhh, I will protect you," he whispered soothingly. The puppy, seemingly reassured by Bucky's gentle touch, nestled in his arms, its tiny frame a bundle of warmth and vulnerability.

As Bucky cradled the puppy, he couldn't help but marvel at the unexpected addition to his day. The mystery of the puppy's origin lingered in his thoughts, but for now, he was content to enjoy this newfound companionship. The bond between man and puppy began to form, a silent promise of care and protection exchanged in those quiet moments.

Bucky looked down at the puppy's innocent eyes and chuckled, "Well, looks like it's you and me against the farm adventures, huh?" The puppy responded with a playful wag of its tail, blissfully unaware of the challenges that awaited them.

With the camera still in hand, Bucky contemplated whether to include the puppy in his vlog. He didn't want to upset Y/N, considering her aversion to being on camera, but the irresistibly cute puppy might add a charming touch to his content.

Deciding to tread carefully, Bucky adjusted the camera angle to focus solely on the puppy, ensuring Y/N's face remained out of the shot. He continued to speak to his audience, introducing the unexpected farm companion and sharing the heartwarming story of how the puppy came into his life.

Chapters: Chp 1, Chp 2, Chp 3 , Chp 4 , Chp 5 , Chp 6 , Chp 7 , -

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[accidental-king]

BURYING THE NOT QUITE DEAD: A DISCO ELYSIUM FANFIC

My take on the events after the game featuring a multi-fic HarryKim slowburn. I'm also just a sucker for case fics. This is just a snippet from Chapter 1 but I actually have several chapters written. I'll be posting them on AO3 eventually but I'd like to run it by some beta readers first. Feel free to DM me if you're interested!

SHIVERS - As the sun begins to lower over Jamrock, the dome of an old silk mill shines like brass in the golden light. It's not difficult to see a time in which masses of workers filed in and out of its entrances, and the motor lorries lined up along its western wing to collect their wares. Miles upon miles of lustrous textiles to be shipped across oceans and isolas to glide across the skin and furnishings of those few who can afford it. The Revacholiere will never be one of those people. 

The long and blocky building projects off of either side of the dome like a russet brick ladybird, splitting its chitinous hide and stretching its wings between half-demolished tenements and modern high rises alike. Its masonry tells tales of a time before the deathblow. A time when even the utilitarian still showed a thread of residual vanity in the form of granite steps, sharp stone arches, and molded concrete cornerstones. Original varve clay brick, brown like dried autumn leaves, sit in contrast to newer, coppery replacements, highlighting the scars of war and neglect in cracks, blotches and even an entire end of one wing. Always visible like a reality you can't unsee. 

ESPRIT DE CORPS - It has been a Police Precinct longer now than it was ever a Silk Mill but its old purpose still lingers in the bones of its columns, trusses, and long abandoned smoke stacks.

INLAND EMPIRE - It’s all that you have left.

What’s to the North?

What’s to the South?

What’s to the East?

What’s to the West?

What’s inside this building?

Shudder and blink

YOU - What’s to the North?

SHIVERS - A peninsula. A district left abandoned by its surrounding infrastructure. Bombed out ruins and mountains of shipping crates slowly turning red. The harbor has been locked up tight since shots rang out in the square. Blood and heavy fuel oil paint an old mosaic red and hang in the air like a fog that dares to challenge the sunlight. Motor lorries still sit abandoned in the circle, where you left them. A bookstore is no better now than your last visit, and a hostel is now empty of guests minus a few lucky souls who now grieve their lost brothers in the Union booth.

INLAND EMPIRE - It was your home for the past week.

CONCEPTUALIZATION - It is your birthplace. Born of a drug and drink deluge, on a floor covered in a lifetime of mistakes. 

YOU - And beyond that?

SHIVERS - An islet of crumbling concrete and steel. The wind whistles through water reeds and swathes of tiny white petals that push through the last spring snow. Ashes of a fire long gone out blow out into the sea to be swallowed like the memories of the cause that built it. Its only resident is gone now, taken away for medical treatment and for a prison sentence that will see him to his final days.

What’s to the North?

What’s to the South?

What’s to the East?

What’s to the West?

What’s inside this building?

Shudder and blink

YOU - What’s to the south?

SHIVERS - An apartment building. Mostly stone, though partially the ivy and wisteria that have done their part to claim it in an attempt to reach the heavens. They are a part of one another now; inseparable without either coming to ruin. Inside, a marriage has been strengthened thanks to an unusual discovery made by an unusual officer of the RCM. Husband and wife embrace as they look over the colorful image between them.

YOU - And beyond that?

SHIVERS - A wind whips down the long stretch of Boogie Street that barely contains the buildings and crowds on either side. Neon signs illuminate dark windows that are rattled by the music within. Lively chatter fills the air both inside and out. A young woman walks out with her lover in hand. She presses close to his side to fight against the chill of the spring air as her dark brunette curls whip about her face. The man flashes a charismatic smile and he pulls her in closer to lead her away to a shiny white lacquer motor carriage parked just off the main street. They each know something the other does not.

What’s to the North?

What’s to the south?

What’s to the East?

What’s to the West?

What’s inside this building?

Shudder and blink

YOU - What’s to the east?

SHIVERS - Seemingly endless blocks of brutalist apartment buildings that tower over the residences that survived the revolution 43 years ago. The whole district lies in a millennium old riverbed, leaving it forever in shadow of Jamrock to its west, the GRIH to its north, Grand Couron to its east. Grand Couron and the Old South district maintain their borders with two of La Delta’s canals. 

INLAND EMPIRE - A mark of constant probability. Everyone of Revachol West is just one bad couple of weeks away from moving to the Eminent Domain or the Burnt Out Quarter.

SHIVERS - Across the water, a woman in a satin robe sits with her elderly dog, surrounded by shining white marble as she peers out her 11th story window. The glass leaves the evening in an emerald tint. She would have the Eminent Domain wiped from the face of the Earth if it meant sparing her view. The canal and a financial cushion are all that separates her from the proles.

And beyond that?

SHIVERS - La rivière Espérance and Revachol East

What’s to the North?

What’s to the South?

What’s to the East?

What’s to the West?

What’s inside this building?

Shudder and blink

YOU - What’s to the West?

SHIVERS - A home you will never see again. Trees and underbrush devoured the old hospital and surrounding buildings of the Pox long before you even had a chance to remember it. Stray vagrants find their way through the bombed out ruins, shuffling past abandoned wire bed frames and rusted carts of broken tare. There is nothing left to be found here but a little bit of shelter from the wind. But the Valley of Dogs lurks nearby and most know never to stay unless they’re entirely out of options. This place will likely never be safe again.

What’s to the North?

What’s to the South?

What’s to the East?

What’s to the West?

What’s in this building?

Shudder and blink

YOU - What’s in this building?

SHIVERS - As day begins to fade and the lights begin to slowly begin to blink on across the city, multi-story factory windows will slowly transition from the concealing darkness to exposing illumination of what is no longer the East Insulindic Textiles Company. The loading docs have now become the motor pool for the 41st Precinct of the Revachol Citizens Militia. An old Coupris 40 whirs past a vehicle of a similar model and one of a decidedly newer model as it turns into the garage for the evening. Both MCs it passed do not belong to the 41st.

Inside the building proper, a stern looking man in a well tailored uniform walks toward the elevator at a brisk pace. His left breast is heavily decorated in medals and ribbons. One from the Suzerain, three from the Commune, most from the Moralist International. He bears the weight of the whole city on his shoulders but he carries it with an air of pride and authority. He’s heard tell of some strange happenings and without seeing it for himself, he’s not sure he believes it. 

Across the precinct, in the East wing, tucked into the far end of the first floor an eclectic group of men sit inside a dimly lit Lazareth. Three surround one in a way not too dissimilar from how the interviewee had been earlier in the day.

What’s to the North?

What’s to the South?

What’s to the East?

What’s to the West?

What’s in this building?

Shudder and blink

YOU - A violent shudder passes down your spine and you find yourself suddenly aware that you have been staring off into the ether for about 3 minutes. You are one with your body once more.

PRECINCT 41 - The Lazareth Office of Dr. Nix Gottlieb is small despite the size of the precinct that it maintains. Cabinets and shelves line just about every surface in some manner or capacity. And each and every surface was crammed packed with medical supplies, specimens, and piles upon piles of folders and textbooks. There isn’t much space to move, let alone work. The center of the room is dominated by a surgical table that is currently sporting a flimsy pad that serves as a cushion for your injured ass.

INLAND EMPIRE - This is the closest thing to private healthcare you’ve seen in years.

PHYSICAL INSTRUMENT - Your bullet riddled leg has already been looked over. You’d managed to pull your stitches and partially reopen the injury during your little jaunt about Martinaise and the islet.

PAIN THRESHOLD - You wish you’d been unconscious like the first time you got sewn up. Gottlieb is quick and efficient but he’s merciless in the empathy department. In other words, you cried. And your leg still hurts like a bitch.

EMPATHY - Kim radiated pride and relief behind his subdued expression when the doctor had complimented his work.

ESPRIT DE CORPS - [legendary: failure] He’s just glad it wasn’t worse.

NIX GOTTLIEB - The doctor is a bespeckled elderly man, dressed in civilian clothes, a dark, woven turtle neck covered by a brown blazer that stopped fitting him in the shoulders about 10 years ago. His forehead and brow are permanently creased by stress and a deep look of concentration. His brow deepens when you shake yourself out of the thought. “Welcome back, Detective.”

RHETORIC - That was sarcasm. He doesn’t care.

PERCEPTION [smell] - On his breath, mingled with the scent of Tioumoutiri cigarettes, you catch a whiff of peppermint schnapps.

ELECTROCHEMISTRY - If we play our cards right, maybe he’ll share a belt.

VOLITION - We’ve been clean this week. Don’t fuck this up now.

NIX GOTTLIEB - He scratches at his wispy white hair and beard as he speaks over his shoulder at two other men. “And how long would you say these episodes tend to last?”

KIM KITSURAGI - Your partner of the last seven days looks between you and the blue notebook in his hands, occasionally flipping through its pages. He still stands in his field attire; Orange nylon bomber jacket zipped up to his collar, white crew shirt hidden beneath it, brown aviation mechanic pants tucked neatly into his black boots, and his brown leather driving gloves. 

KIM KITSURAGI - He thumbs over a couple of pages before answering, “Anywhere between a few seconds to several minutes. This… is one of his longer episodes.”

CONCEPTUALIZATION - Wait! Has he been taking notes on you?

LOGIC - [medium: Failure] Of course not. We’ve already established that this is his method of working through his thoughts. This is likely a method of recall for him.

TRANT HEIDELSTAM - A lean blonde man in a tailored suit looks over you from where he stands, with fascination glittering in his hazel eyes. You saw a similar light when you spoke with him in front of the defunct Feld R&D when he spoke of their pre-revolution efforts. He was also one of the only ones in the fishing village who stood up for you against your partners onslaught of insults.

ESPRIT DE CORPS - This man is a special consultant taken onto the Major Crimes Unit in C-Wing. His well-traveled knowledge and personable demeanor has lent itself invaluably to the task force.

AUTHORITY - /Your/ task force.

INLAND EMPIRE - Not anymore. You’ll be lucky if they’ll even let you back into the field as a patrol officer, given the circumstances.

TRANT HEIDELSTAM - “And what do you experience during these… lapses, Harry?”

HALF LIGHT - Don’t. This is a trap.

[RHETORIC - challenging] Explain the skill set

+1 Kim is here -1 Butcher doctor -1 This sounds insane

[VOLITION: legendary] “The city speaks to me sometimes.”

+1 Revelation in the church +1 She loves you -1 This sounds insane

[DRAMA - godly] Convince them your thoughts are normal (lie)

-1 Kim is here -1 Butcher doctor -1 You’re already insane

“A real shit show of internal monologue that drowns out the world around me.” [continue]

Really? Anything else?

YOU - Really? Anything else?

CONCEPTUALIZATION - Nope.

[RHETORIC - challenging] Explain the skill set

RHETORIC [challenging - Failure] What spills forth is a vomited spew of half finished sentences, aborted gestures, and some words you’re pretty sure you’re misusing. You throw in some apologies and self-depreciation for good measure like a dog half-heartedly trying to bury its own shit.

NIX GOTTLIEB - “Try again. But in Vacholian this time.” His arms cross and his fingers drum impatiently on his bicep.

[RHETORIC - challenging] Explain the skill set

[VOLITION - legendary] “The city speaks to me sometimes.”

+1 Revelation in the church +1 She loves you -3 This sounds insane

[DRAMA - godly] Convince them your thoughts are normal (lie)

-1 Kim is here -1 Butcher doctor -3 You’re already insane

“A real shit show of internal monologue that drowns out the world around me.” [continue]

Really? Anything else?

YOU - “Just a real shit show of an internal monologue that drowns out the world around me.”

KIM KITSURAGI - “It’s inconvenient at times, but he often comes through with concepts and ideas I never would have considered. Unorthodox as it may be, it was invaluable to the investigation.”

DRAMA - [Medium: Success] He means it, sire.

EMPATHY - He’s concerned about your well being, but he also doesn’t want to see you misrepresented in the eyes of these men.

+1 Morale