#i wish i looked like him so bad its nauseating.

[muttmoxley]

every day i look at jacob drawfee and want to throw up and die. why cant that be me

[seireiteihellbutterfly]

If You'll Have Me

A/N: Finally, this is here. Got this request back in March I think so anon, here ya go, sorry it took so long. Pairing: Megumi x Fem! Reader *(Both are 21 here) Warnings: Angst, breakup, pregnancy

It rained the day Megumi broke up with you. He sat there on your sofa, looking detached and apologetic, and you felt like your heart might choke you to death, the way it pounded frantically in your chest.

“I gave you everything!” You whispered furiously. “I supported you! Waited long hours for you to get home, without knowing what may have happened to you! I looked after Tsumiki when she became bedridden!”

“I know. I’m sorry.” Megumi’s eyes are like dark tunnels, with not a trace of warmth or emotion in them. “With everything that’s happened…I don’t feel like I’m worthy of you.”

“Oh, how noble of you!” You spat, feeling utterly humiliated. “I suppose you’ll say it’s not me, it's you?” 

“It is me. I see the fear in your eyes whenever I leave you for a mission. I hear the pain in your voice when I tell you I’m coming home late. I hate being the person that makes you feel that way. You’re such a good person. That’s why I think you’d be better off without me.”

“Get out.” You managed to squeeze the words past your tightening throat, your eyes stinging painfully, tears spilling from them. Wordlessly, Megumi gets up and walks towards the door.

Perhaps you’d been daring him to go because your heart stopped for a second as he got to the door. Part of you wished he’d stop, look at you, and gather you close, saying he couldn’t live without you. You’re begging him with your being to not throw this away. 

He’s supposed to stop, isn’t he? He’s supposed to realize he’s being irrational, that there’s no one better than him for you? You were a pair, meant to be. His look haunts you as he turns the doorknob.

“I’m sorry,” he says brokenly, before disappearing into the rain. 

You stood there, watching the downpour, feeling your heart crack and splinter, like a delicate teacup that had fallen from a shelf, no safe hands ready to catch it and prevent it from falling to its doom. 

.・。.・゜✭・.

A month later, you feel exhausted, more than usual. Getting out of bed feels like a chore. Your back and feet hurt, and nothing stays in your stomach. You try everything. Soup, saltine crackers, toast, applesauce. Whatever you ate made you nauseated and dizzy. 

You started worrying you had caught a really persistent form of the flu, but when your period didn’t start, you felt a wave of dread. 

Now, as you stared at the positive pregnancy test in your hands, you felt like someone had torn your body open, invisible wounds reopening and stinging afresh, chaotically spilling your feelings everywhere. 

“You need to tell him.” Gojo leans back in his chair, assessing you critically. You look at him coldly, cursing his six-eyes technique.

“I do not. And it’s none of your fucking business.”

“It is. Believe me when I say Megumi will not shirk his duties as a father. It would devastate him if he ever gets to know he has a child and that he was absent from its life.”

“How can you possibly assume that?” You cross your arms over your still flat belly and glare at him. Like it wasn’t bad enough that you were Megumi’s ex, now you were knocked up with his baby. “He wanted nothing to do with me. That man was barely able to keep promises to me as his girlfriend. What makes you think he’s going to step up and be a father to a child he probably doesn't want?”

“Because he knows what it’s like to be that child,” Gojo says the words quietly but with a firm edge that had you staring at him in disbelief.

“What?”

“Has Megumi ever told you about his dad?” Your silence says it all and Gojo narrows his eyes. “He’ll probably want my head if he ever finds out I told you this but I think it’s necessary.” Gojo sighs deeply and continues.

“Megumi’s dad loved him. But he simply wasn’t fit to be a parent. He abandoned Megumi and Tsumiki. Megumi was 7 years old at the time.”

You blink back tears as Gojo continues. “Megumi grew up as my ward. I don’t pretend to be his dad, but I can’t just let this slide. I understand you probably harbor resentment towards him, but cutting him out of this decision isn’t the right way to go about it.”

“I don’t want him to feel like he has any obligations towards me because of the baby. That’s the only reason he’d try to get in touch with me now, right?” You can’t forgive him for deciding to walk out of your life just yet, no matter what his childhood was like. 

“How long do you think you can keep this a secret? Megumi might not be around that much anymore, but you’ll start to show soon enough. If not me, someone else will tell him.”

Your expression hardens and you stand up with steely resolution coursing in your veins. “Thank you for your opinion. But the last I checked, though it takes two to make a baby, it only takes one to raise it.”

You pack your belongings and urgently move out of Tokyo by the end of the week.

.・。.・゜✭・.

Surprisingly, no one comes to bother you. You start over and manage to find work at a small accounting firm as a secretary. Your boss is sympathetic to your situation and doesn’t give you a hard time about needing maternity leave. Everything is going well despite the constant worry about running into someone from the jujutsu world but so far, nothing has happened. Your tummy swells and grows, the baby healthy and full of life. It brings you joy, knowing you carry this little being inside you.

One night, you wake up with a strange feeling inside your abdomen. Worried that the stress was getting to you as you entered your eighth month of pregnancy, you restlessly forced yourself out of bed and tried walking around the small apartment to ease your nerves.

It was a curious sensation, like something unseen was flowing through your veins, not sinister but a little unsettling. You place a hand on your swollen middle in hopes of soothing the baby then freeze when you feel the flow of cursed energy in your womb. 

You’d heard it wasn’t uncommon for sorcerer babies to begin regulating and channeling their cursed energy in utero, but it filled you with awe at how familiar the energy signature was to Megumi’s, vitality coursing under your fingertips as you felt it kick and turn. 

A soft rustling has you turning in panic, a gasp escaping your lips as you see 2 dog-like figures padding over to you from nowhere, their eyes glowing in the dark. Up close, you recognize them as Megumi’s divine dogs, their tails wagging as they approach you.

Motherly instinct has you clutching your stomach and angling away from them. Had Megumi finally figured out the truth? But the dogs’ demeanor didn’t seem to match that scenario. If anything, they looked curious and friendly. One of them finally gets close enough to nose your belly with its snout, before nuzzling the bump affectionately, which the other one mirrors. You watch in silent fascination, then feel a surge of energy from your womb. 

The baby was responding to the dogs. 

They recognized it as their owner. The dogs weren’t here because of Megumi. The baby had subconsciously summoned them. With a shaky hand, you pet both of them, seeing their eyes close happily. They bring back memories of Megumi and your eyes fill with tears.

“Does he want to be a father?” You ask them. They look at you with intense yellow eyes and before you can say anything else, vanish in a blink. 

.・。.・゜✭・.

The day the baby arrives is one of the happiest and emotionally draining days of your life. You lay on the labor bed, gripping the sheets as the contractions relentlessly come and go, each more painful than the last. 

You almost scream, not from the pain but in shock, as something noses your hand. Turning, you see the divine dogs at the side of the bed, unseen to the normal humans. You could’ve wept with relief, knowing you weren’t quite alone. You pet them and grip their fur as you finally deliver your baby boy into the world. 

The small pink bundle was a miniature of Megumi, the beautiful black hair plastered to its little head, screaming with the rage of life. With shaky hands you accept him, your heart so full of love you feel like it could burst. You’re so occupied that you don’t notice the divine dogs quietly padding outside, tails wagging, as someone lingers near the door.

Megumi has tears in his eyes as he hides just outside the room. He sees his child, and you, the person he loves and cherishes. You’re cooing at the baby, getting him settled down to suckle, his little hand wrapped around your finger so tightly.

Megumi balls his hands into fists feeling his fingernails dig into his palm, emotions raging through him. He’s so glad the two of you are healthy, and there’s regret for his mistakes of the past. He understands why you left Tokyo. You were a proud woman, independent, determined to not need him after he’d broken up with you. It wasn’t like you to grovel or beg. He was sure if the baby hadn’t summoned the divine dogs by accident, he would’ve never found you. 

Yet he felt like an intruder, an outsider, unworthy of entering the room. He understands what he broke the day he left and it eats away at his soul knowing that he was the reason you didn’t come to him after finding out you were pregnant. It had taken so long for you to let your walls down, to learn to depend on him finally, and in an instant, he had taken that away from you, the one thing you had avoided for so long; the need to rely on others.

It was that which drove you, the shattered dependability, and he remembered how long it had taken to reassure you to be less guarded on that front. He was awful, no better than his own father. But he had to try. He knocks on the door.

You turn, breath catching when you see him in the doorway.

“Hi.” He tries to not let his tears show, but when your eyes fill, he can’t contain himself. He closes the gap and embraces both of you as you sob uncontrollably into his shoulder.  

.・。.・゜✭・.

Megumi sleeps on the sofa, taking care of his child with such tenderness and love. He relearns everything about you, appreciating all that you are. It takes time but the relationship rebuilds steadily.

“How did Gojo not rat me out?” you ask one evening as Megumi cooks dinner while you cuddle the baby on the sofa. 

Megumi pauses, and looks over uncertainly. “He did.”

“He did?” 

“Yeah.” Megumi’s voice is low. “He told me and said I’d regret it if I didn’t try to find you. I was a coward.” He turns the stove burner off and faces you. “I never stopped thinking about you. You were the best thing to ever happen to me. I still believe I’m not your equal, and I never will be. You were my home base. The single person holding my life together. How much more could I ask you to do?”

He joins you on the sofa, taking his son into his arms, rocking him softly as he starts to doze off. “I was so scared to ask you to forgive me. I felt like a hypocrite, reassuring you all these years that it’s ok to depend on me, and then taking that security away from you. I was the worst kind of asshole. But I knew I couldn’t be a deadbeat father. I looked for you. But you did such a good job covering up your tracks. Honestly, if the baby hadn’t summoned the divine dogs, I probably would have never caught on.”

The baby yawns and drifts off to sleep in his arms. Megumi stares at the little face, unable to forgive himself for what he almost missed out on.

“I want us to be all right. I want us to be a family. Can we?” He looks at you with doubt, knowing if you said no, it was well within your right.

You take the baby from his arms, carefully settling him down in the portable bassinet next to the sofa, and take Megumi’s face in between your hands.

“Yes,” you whisper, your voice choking up. 

Megumi pulls you against him tightly. “I love you so much. I’ll spend the rest of my life making sure to live up to being your equal.”

You nod, letting your tears flow freely.

“I love you too.”

all dividers and banners by @/ cafekitsune

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[werepuppy-steve]

Between discovering the Russian bunker under Starcourt, discovering their plans to get into the Upside Down, being caught by said Russians and tortured, after making sure Dustin and Erica got out of there, Steve was confident that this was an isolated incident.

Hopper had assured them that El had closed the gate at Hawkins Lab, saw it with his own eyes. So maybe if they (he, Robin, Dustin, and Erica) dealt with this one on their own, it wouldn’t be so bad. There were no monsters this time, at least.

Steve had naive hope that the others wouldn’t have to get involved.

But as the four of them are chased through the mall by a big guy with a gun, Steve and Robin still coming down from a truth serum high, his hope turns into dread.

Because a show car is suddenly flung from the floor and into the group of Russians that have them cornered behind a counter in the food court, and there’s only one person he knows with the ability to do that.

They all slowly peer over the counter, and sure enough, El is standing at the forefront, her hand extended in front of her and her nose bleeding. The other kids plus Nancy, Jonathan, and Eddie are with her. Steve’s stomach drops and the nauseating feeling from earlier is back, but it’s not from the drugs this time.

Eddie makes a beeline toward him and Robin while Dustin greets the others with enthusiasm, Erica a little starstruck over El.

“What the hell happened?” Eddie demands, eyes flitting frantically all over Steve’s face and taking in the worst of the damage. Steve knows he must look like shit– he can’t see that great out of his left eye and that whole side of his face has gone numb.

Billy bashing his face in last year has nothing on the pain he’s feeling now.

“It’s a long story,” Steve says as he leans heavily into Eddie’s space. Eddie’s hands land on his shoulders and he holds him gently, like he’s afraid of hurting him even more. “I’ll tell you after this is all over.”

“Steve–”

“Teddy.” Steve pulls back and looks him in the eye, as well as he can. He must have not puked everything out of his system like Robin thought because he still feels a little giddy when he reaches up and taps Eddie on the nose. “Later. I promise.”

There’s really no time to say anything else because Robin and Erica need to be brought up to speed about everything and he and Dustin need to be caught up on what’s happening now, and when they are, Steve desperately wishes that it was just the Russians they had to deal with.

Help comes in the form of Hopper, Ms. Byers, and a balding man that Steve’s never met. While they’re all squabbling and trying to come up with a half baked plan, Eddie finds a first aid kit in one of the kitchens and makes Steve sit on a counter so he can try to patch him up. They don’t speak, but Steve grips Eddie’s unoccupied hand while Eddie stands close between his legs.

There isn’t much time between then and everybody splitting off into groups. Scoops Troop plus Eddie all pile into the TODFTHR (“You sure you’re her daddy, sweetheart?” Eddie teases with a smirk and Steve’s glad the bruising hides his blush.)

Everything gets a little fuzzy after they leave the kids at Weathertop. When he’s asked later, he’ll say he remembers hearing that song from that one movie, but he’s not sure if it actually happened. He’s so hyped up on adrenaline, it’s probably the only thing keeping him conscious.

Steve doesn’t remember making the decision to t-bone Billy’s car, but he does remember the horrific scene inside the mall; the Mindflayer screeching and its tentacle-like appendages swinging this way and that. He remembers pelting it with explosives to distract it from attacking El. He looks down and his stomach lurches when he sees the monster go straight through Billy’s chest.

He hears Eddie let out a strangled curse beside him and Steve has to ignore the bile rising in his throat. He knows there’s been casualties; Barb in ‘83, Ms. Byers’ boyfriend last year, however many people the Mindflayer had killed this year.

This is the first death he’s ever seen in person.

He’s still reeling from it when Owens and the military swarm the building once the monster is finally defeated. They’re all pulled in separate directions for medical attention and questioning. Steve feels downright miserable, sitting in the back of an ambulance with Robin, a shock blanket over his shoulders. He squeezes her hand and gives her a small smile.

“I’m sorry you got dragged into this,” he says.

Robin takes a shaky breath. “Yeah. I’m still trying to wrap my head around all of it. I think for once in my life, I’m speechless.”

Eddie finds them after he’s been looked over and Steve opens his arms to pull him in for a hug, wrapping both of them in the blanket. Eddie presses a kiss to his forehead and Steve sags against him. They take a moment to breathe each other in, basking in the fact that they’re both alive.

“They want to take us to the hospital,” Steve says. “They’re pretty sure I have a concussion but they want to run tests to make sure there isn’t any other damage.” He nods to Robin. “And they wanna keep us under 24 hour observation 'cause of the drugs.”

“Jesus Christ,” Eddie breathes, eyes sliding shut.

Steve frowns and uses the corner of the blanket to brush against Eddie’s cheek comfortingly. “I’m sorry,” he apologizes with a grimace. “This probably wasn’t how you were expecting to spend your birthday.”

Eddie turns his head and kisses his fingers. “No, baby,” he says. “Absolutely nothin’ for you to be sorry about. Had me and Wayne worried sick when you didn’t come home last night, though. I was close to callin’ Hopper when Lucas started screaming code red over the radio.”

Steve doesn’t want to think about how that probably worried them even more. “Your present’s in my car,” he says instead. “You can’t have it until I’m discharged, though. I wanna see your face when you open it.”

Eddie raises an eyebrow. “That just makes me even more curious, sweetheart.”

He pinches Steve’s side playfully, but gently. Steve stifles a giggle and leans into him more, very aware of how Robin’s watching them like a hawk.

“No peeking,” Steve warns, pointing a finger in Eddie’s face. “It’s a surprise.”

Eddie only nips at his finger. Steve doesn’t even blink. Sighing, Eddie releases his finger and marks a cross over his heart. “I promise I won’t do any snooping.”

Steve pats his cheek. “Anyone ever tell you you’re a shit liar, Munson?”

They break into giggles, their heads bent forward, and Eddie would’ve leaned in for a kiss if it weren’t for Robin clearing her throat rather loudly. Steve curls into Eddie’s front, Eddie’s arm going around his shoulders. God, he’d give anything to be at home and asleep in their bed.

“I’m still very confused about this whole thing,” Robin says, waving a hand in their direction. “I just fought a monster from a whole other dimension, but this is probably the biggest shocker of my life.”

“Strange things follow this group around like a shadow,” Eddie says, like it’s the most casual thing in the world. And for him, it is. “You better get used to it, Buckley, 'cause you’re one of us now.”

written and originally posted for @flowercrowngods birthday 🤍 dio is an absolute treasure and a great friend to have and is my #1 gseb stan. happy belated birthday!!! 💙

🥐☕💕 buy me a coffee?

[le-chevalier-au-lion]

#FF0000: rosquez [t]

Valentino had been—thinking. He is having fun, really, this season despite Jorge’s general existence a few meters away. And he likes races in the US, its plastic artificiality, people’s way, way, way too white teeth and loud laughs and exaggerated sports passion. Bringing home a podium is always good.

A little less now, sure, because he knows he can win again. Knows he’s going to, eventually; it isn’t like he can do anything else with Yamaha. But Valentino won’t forget Ducati kicking his legs from under him—wishing that the bike would just fucking work for one weekend over two fucking years.

So, he’s happy. Enjoying himself, even if the club is gritty and cheap and stuffed, sweat sticking to his throat and dripping down his back to his underwear, his beer lukewarm.

Until he catches Marc weaving through the crowd, that is.

Getting up is a split-second decision. One moment, Valentino is sitting with his mechanics, ignoring them shouting over the music. The next, he’s prowling, drink abandoned, his crew calling after him.

He ends up catching Marc close to the bar. Grabs him by the wrist. Marc’s skin is fever hot, and he sways in place when he swings around to look at him.

“Honda is being stingy with you. This place is shit,” Valentino says, flashing a smirk.

Marc—honest to God—cackles, and the pulsing lights wash over his face, over the ugly openness of his honking laugh. Like this, Valentino can see him, really see him. The fritz of champagne and beer sizzles in his stomach, heavy out of nowhere.

Marc had been with a girl, is the thing. Maybe more than one. It’s there, on his bottom lip, on his chin—smeared lipstick. Red and very bright. Bit waxy.

Cheap, probably.

“No, no, it is fine,” Marc leans in to shout into his ear. “We’re barhopping!”

He says it in English, clumsy, his accent rolling each r hard, cutting sharp on the ing. It’s, frankly, ridiculous.

And his breath is hot, damp. Reeks with alcohol where it brushes against his cheek. Marc is swinging with the beat of whatever shitty synth pop they’re playing, so Valentino needs to steady him, a hand on the small of his back, fingers hooked on his belt loops. He feels mean, though—suddenly. Not a pleasant sensation.

His smile turns harsh. It’s like holding a knife between his teeth.

“Are you even old enough to drink here?”

Valentino wants Marc wrong-footed, wants to prod at him until he winces or—well. But Marc only shakes his head, beaming, crucially still covered in lipstick. There’s some on his collar too. And another drippy, blurred mark on his throat.

“Nope! But Honda, ah—” He makes an exaggerated gesture for passing money around, almost trips over himself.

Marc ends up knocking into Valentino, all wild-eyed, sloppy with drink. Their chests are brushing. Valentino—it hasn’t moved an inch, that prickly, unkind feeling, thorns going down his throat when he swallows.

This close, he can smell Marc—sweat, champagne, something sticky and too sweet and overly feminine. It’s cloying. Nauseating along the stench of way too many people packed together, writhing or dancing

It grates on Valentino’s nerves for the first time in his life, that there are so many people out on a Sunday night—Monday morning, whatever, it’s even worse if it’s already Monday. He has no idea why.

“Ah, ah, underage drinking, bribery?” Valentino waggles his eyebrows in mock reproach, counting on his fingers. Marc immediately straightens—tries to, at least. Christ, alright. “You’re being bad. Very naughty.”

There’s something about Marc, in his too shiny eyes, in the stubborn way he juts out his jaw. His bottom lip wobbles, though. “It’s my first win.”

“First time going out without your dad too, I guess.”

He mouths along Valentino’s words before they dawn on him. Blinks. Scowls.

Valentino doesn’t give him time to answer. It’s easy now, to try and make him squirm. “Allora, did you sneak out of your hotel room? Told your dad you’d stay with your brother—what’s his name—and play video games?”

Marc ducks his head to the side, lips pressed together. It’s hard to say for sure, but Valentino thinks he’s flustered. Blushing. A nice, girlish pink—a lot more proper than the red on his mouth. Goes along with his tanned skin better.

It needles under Valentino’s skin. Everything does—Marc, and lipstick, and the club, and the girl, maybe girls, and Marc again. He can feel his hands prickling.

“Can’t miss out, hm?” He slides his tongue over his teeth, watches Marc watch him with his usual shamelessness. “When will you get the chance to get sucked off in a dirty restroom again, right? The smell of piss is, ah, an experience.”

Marc warbles in a breath. “It isn’t like that,” he protests weakly.

Valentino raises an eyebrow. It is very much like that—he remembers Donington Park well enough, in 2000, how he’d crawled back to his hotel room at 8 in the morning horribly, horribly smug.

He reaches down between them. Marc jolts, sucks in his stomach on an instinct, his eyes huge, like a baby deer’s. His belt is done all wrong, crooked, too loose, the lip hanging out. The button of his jeans is open. At least, he thinks, less amused than he makes himself look, he remembered to zipper up.

Valentino tsks. “I think it is,” he says, shaking his head, pretending to be oh so disappointed. “You’re being reckless. What will the journalists say when they catch you like this? You don’t want a scandal.”

Marc is frozen in place. Valentino catches his throat bobbing when he plays his button hole, threading his finger into it.

“You’re making fun of me,” he manages to say. It’s a reedy, sullen thing.

He barks out a laugh. “Not too much, you’re still here.”

Maybe it’s the waste of it all getting to him, scratching under his skin. Marc is heavier than him, already more muscular. With the right bra, he might look like he has a nice pair of tits. And there’re his eyes, almost demure, long lashes fanning over his cheeks. And his mouth, too—pretty, insolent. Stained with some random girl’s lipstick.

So Valentino thought about it. Only a bit, in his defense. Hard to not, when you have something so eager one step lower than you on the podium. All that adoration…

The cut of his jaw is too sharp, and his voice too deep, but if you look at him right, or gag him with something, it’s just like fucking a woman in the ass.

Valentino clicks his tongue. Taps low on Marc’s stomach, feeling it jump under his touch. “Am I making too much fun of you?”

He speaks slowly, almost thoughtfully. Whiplash hits Marc like a slap on the face, and he hesitates for a moment, scrambling for words. His gaze keeps sliding down, to where Valentino is touching him. It’s not hard, to figure out what he wants.

“No, it’s—I’m having fun,” he says, almost too quiet to hear.

The words are scorching against the side of Valentino’s face.

“Odd idea of fun.”

Marc laughs again, like Valentino is absolutely hilarious. Or like he’s drunk. Valentino isn’t—drunk, that is—but he isn’t thinking, either.

He licks his thumb, then has do it again—his mouth tastes dry, like something has died inside it. Marc stops laughing. It’s the easiest thing in the world, to brush away the sloppy kiss mark on the hollow of his throat. Straighten his collar. Rub at his chin until it’s clean too.

The lipstick was cheap. It comes off just like that.

“What are you doing?” He asks, breathlessly, in a rattle of Spanish.

Doesn’t move one inch away, of course. Valentino grins.

“You had a little something on your face,” he shrugs, “I’m looking out for you.”

“Thanks,” Marc manages to croak out.

But there’s still—on his mouth proper. He wonders, idly, out of his own body, how easy it would be to wipe that off too. With his tongue, maybe. How easy it would be to go from that to getting his hand inside Marc’s jeans right there.

He doesn’t want to. In this light, now that it isn’t so smudged, Marc could be in makeup. Really. The waxy red glints.

“There.” Marc is trembling in his hold, like a live wire. Valentino trails his finger over his lips, too light. “You don’t want to meet Honda looking like a whore, do you?”

Marc makes a strangled noise—Valentino thinks he does. He can barely hear anything through the pound of blood of in his ears, over the thrumming line of heat between the pad of his thumb and his cock.

“I—”

“You should go. Enjoy your night,” Valentino cuts him off, very magnanimously. “It is your first win, no?”

Marc nods, dazed. Maybe—maybe when he wins again.

[ravenkinnie]

Bruce's relationship with Cass in Batgirl (2000) really is fascinating, and it's kind of the perfect antidote to the nauseating "cuddly Bat-dad" Wayne Family Adventures shit. He really does try with Cass — he's patient and even tender with her in a way he's just not with the others — but he's not only repeating this weird PG-13 version of her biodad's turbo-mega-abuse, he's also reinforcing the most unhealthy part of that cycle, which is the idea that in some twisted way Cain did all that shit to her out of love. Bruce recognizes what Cain did and how it impacts Cass, but he keeps doing the same shit while thinking he's having all these breakthroughs — he really believes it when he tells Barbara it's working, which is possibly the craziest thing he's ever said.

It's one of the few modern Batbook runs I can recall that acknowledges that Bruce's tendency to gruffly push people away is not his only problem. Even when he's acting out of compassion, he just does not have any reference points for what normal relationships ought to look like, which makes him an *incredibly* bad parent. It's kind of amazing.

I also loved the scene where Babs says everyone hates their parents when they're 18 and Bruce pouts so hard about it that she has to apologize.

I'm so serious it's my fave batfam relationship, it's just so batshit. I fucking hate fluffy fanon Bruce and in cass' case especially its just so insulting to them both to completely remove WHY they connect, fanon just makes it that she's simply the purest soul to ever exist and THATS NOT THE CASE THEY WORK BECAUSE THEY ARE BOTH MENTALLY ILL IN THE SAME WAY

he does care and as the story goes on you see it more and more but there's also this whole layer where he just understands her because he projects himself on her so much - and that does both harm and good because cass isn't him and he shouldn't expect her to respond to everything like he would

but she is A LOT like him and its part of why she admires him so much but.also I thimk its part of why he's able to connect to her the way babs might struggle - they are both someone cass needs, the person who will push for her to have it better and do better and also someone who gets where she is at now and who she is

it's v cool - and I wish we got more of it - that a lot of cass - bruce dynamics in her solo and in the issues before her solo like gotham knights #2 is about them figuring each other out. like his crazy ways don't work to make her better but they do work in a sense that she needs to know someone in her life is as crazy as she is and to have that person be a figure she can admire

but the fact that Bruce is so lacking in normal thoughts and expressions makes such a good dynamic with babs because she is the other figure cass needs but she doesn't necessarily get her all the time because she has no frame of reference for that insanity

and his face fucking kills me here

also not sorry to all the robins but cass and bruce just serve the most cunt together

[deluxewhump]

Fishhook

Adjacent to this piece

CW: accidental hand injury, nausea and dizziness response (vasovagal syncope I suppose), wound tending, max + lo talk about pet whump universe and their relationship to each other in it

@distinctlywhumpthing -you requested some lines on this :))

The fishhook caught Carlo’s hand like a surgical tool and buried itself to its glinting base in no more than a second.

Adrenaline almost made him try to pull it out, but he hesitated. Instinct told him it was in too deep, the hook too curved. It took a moment of staring down at it to even believe what he’d just done. How had he allowed such a careless thing to happen? He wished to return to the previous minute and pay attention. That was Max’s oft repeated advice when they were out traipsing the woods: just pay attention. He glanced at his new keeper, fishing in the sunshine twenty yards away and oblivious to Carlo’s mistake.

It was the same hand he’d broken his finger on. It seemed like another lifetime he’d gone onto his master’s back porch cradling it, unsure what to do. Erik had helped him, hadn’t even faulted him for provoking Keith. He remembered sleeping for a long time in a pleasant medicated daze, his finger in a splint and throbbing mildly. Being unable to bring this new mistake to Erik for help wrung him breathless with homesickness. The adrenaline flagged from the first time since he’d realized what he’d done, and in its absence he finally felt the pain.

“Max?” he croaked, and coughed to clear his throat. He wished again he could just pull it out himself, but didn’t dare.

“Max!” he called, louder this time. Starlings sang in the autumn trees above their heads, and where their branches broke was a strip of blue sky like a mirror of the river. Upstream, Max turned to him.

“I…” it was too stupid to say out loud. His voice shook. After he trailed off, Max put it together by the way he was holding his injured hand, or the thin line of blood making its way slowly to his wrist. Either way, he set down his fishing rod. Even with his eyes dropped back to his hand, Carlo heard the urgency in Max’s approach from his boots on the rocky riverbed.

“It’s okay,” were the first words out of his mouth— spoken so surely, like a man who had seen a dozen fish hooks in hands just this week. He touched the sides of Carlo’s arms. “It’s okay. Can I see?”

He lifted his hand between them. Max hissed in sympathy. “Really got that in there, huh?”

As he took hold of his wrist to better inspect the accident, Carlo became aware of a rising dizziness that had gripped him some moments ago, only now becoming severe enough to warrant his attention. He took a deep inhale through his nose to try to gain control of it. His face felt impossibly hot. Max’s eyes lifted from his hand to meet his.

“Sit down.” He guided down him to the rocks. “Don’t look at it. Look at the opposite shore over there. Take another deep breath. You’re gonna be fine. How’s the pain?”

“Not bad. It’s just really… weird that there’s a hook in my hand.”

Max knelt down to his level and took his hand again to inspect. “I know. It’s enough to make anyone a little squeamish. Don’t look— that’ll make it worse. Keep looking over at the other side of the river. I’ve got you.”

“I’m so sorry. I wasn’t paying enough attention. It’s so stupid. I didn’t—”

“Shh,” Max hushed, busy cutting the still-attached fishing line with his knife without tugging on the hook. If he hadn’t already been lightheaded, Carlo thought the gentle shushing he’d just been given would’ve done it alone.

He was more than happy to keep quiet. Opening his mouth made him nauseated, if his new keeper wasn’t the type to ask how he could be so fucking stupid, he wasn’t going to address it either.

“It might be in the meat of your thumb here,” Max said. “That’s just the hook doing its job, unfortunately. Hey, don’t look at it. Look at me. You’re gonna be good, we just need to get this removed safely. Maybe take you to a doctor.”

Carlo recalled the opening lines of a poem from some dusty anthology in his old home with perfect clarity, clearer than the red trees or blue sky. What a thrill— My thumb instead of an onion. The top quite gone.

“Can you just do it? With your knife?”

Max blinked at him. The river was on their left, and for a moment Carlo thought maybe he hadn’t heard him over the sound of the water running over the rocks in the shallows.

“No,” he said after a strange beat of silence, looking back down at his task. He’d heard perfectly fine. “Hands are delicate, I don’t need to be digging around near tendons. You want to be able to use it after, right?”

That last was meant to be lighthearted, but Carlo caught the moment of disbelief on Max’s face when he’d asked him to do it himself. The request translated to an unmistakable display of trust.

Now that he knew Max had heard his plea for what it was, he was embarrassed for showing his cards like that. Like an animal bearing its neck.

“I don’t want to go to an emergency room,” he said quietly. A fact, not a request. He had plenty of practice in quietly exerting his own wishes without sounding demanding, spoiled, or insolent. Keith picked up on any of those attitudes immediately, and he always paid for it. Erik had more patience for it, on account of the affection he had for him. He might be annoyed by perceived insolence one day and mildly amused by it the next. Of course, Keith would’ve punished him for this kind of mistake by squeezing his hand with the hook in it, or letting the men yank him around with a line attached to it as a joke on their break.

“Mr Holstrom always had a doctor visit me at the house.”

Max was still studying the angle of the hook. He made as if to touch a part of it and hesitated. “Shit,” he muttered. “I have bait and god-knows-what all over my hands.”

“He always called a doctor to the house…” he continued, concerned that Max didn’t know about the lax protocols of pet treatment in US hospitals. “I can’t go to the regular ER.”

“Anyone can go to the ER,” Max replied, distracted. “I don’t have pet insurance, but they’ll just bill me.”

“No, it’s…” he felt tears of frustration prick the backs of his eyes.

Max lifted his head. “It’s what?” he asked, attentive now.

“It’s not a good place for me.”

He could tell Max was skeptical. Did he really not know the way of the world? Erik said most people don’t realize, or don’t want to. Many of us don’t like to dwell on problems we can’t fix in an hour, he said. It’s not our nature.

“Well, I think I can get this out for you anyway. But it has to stay clean. Don’t touch it. First aid kit is in the truck. Can you walk with me, or do you want me to go get it?”

He insisted he could walk. When they finally got back to the truck, Max insisted on lifting him up to the open tailgate and set his first aid kit beside him. On the side of the dirt access road, he put on a pair of latex gloves before gently probing the eye of the hook. Carlo winced and looked over his left shoulder at the line of birch and pine trees. Visualizing the hook moving under his skin made him feel lightheaded all over again.

“I know it’s going to hurt regardless, but tell me if it’s too much.”

“Okay,” he breathed, and took a deep breath through his nose to keep the dizziness at bay.

“It’s not as deep as I initially thought, it’s just a weird angle.”

He whimpered as Max slowly dragged the straight end of the metal out, along his skin, until the hooked part caught and Carlo flinched.

“I know, I’m sorry,” he said in that hushing tone Carlo was beginning to listen for like a key in the door.

One gloved finger held the base of the hook in place as he searched something on his cellphone with the other hand.

“Hang tight. There’s a trick for this, I just can’t remember exactly how it goes.”

Soon he was looping a piece of fishing line around the curve of the hook, right where it went into his skin, like threading a needle.

“I’m going to coax it out at an angle so I don’t cause any more damage. I’ll push on this side and pull the line at the same time, and it will come out the same angle it went in.”

The pain doubled when Max pulled the fishing line, and he could feel a warm trickle of blood oozing from the site. He bit the inside of his cheek, and in a moment felt the sudden, blissful absence of the hook.

Max applied pressure to the bleeding. “Move your thumb for me? Good. Just checking.”

Whatever he put on the wound when he lifted the gauze stung fiercely, but that sort of pain was far preferable to the nauseating feeling of metal moving under his skin.

“Need to keep a close eye on it for infection.”

Carlo watched him place a bandage and tape it down. He liked the sound of Max’s voice, and watching his hands as he worked. Usually this was on something other than him, and Max had rarely stood so close to him for any reason.

“I’m sorry,” Carlo said, just to cover his bases.

“Don’t be. It happens.”

“Thank you. For taking it out.”

Max began packing up the first aid box. “‘Course.”

“We can go back out now…” he offered, still cringing at the thought of derailing the weekend activities.

Max smiled knowingly as he latched the kit shut. “We can also go home.” He took his time choosing his next words, and Carlo’s anxiety doubled with every second that passed in silence. He deserved a reprimand, but it would still sting from someone he’d been trying so hard to please these last few weeks.

“You’re a little too good at being a pet, you know that? You’ve got experience at this. I don’t. You should take advantage of that. I’m like the substitute teacher you can convince there wasn’t any homework.”

Carlo looked away, down at the offending fish hook on the tailgate of the truck. It was wet with his blood.

“I’m teasing, Carlo. I’m sorry. I just mean… you don’t have to try so hard. I know this is all really strange for you, probably even more than it is for me, but you’re doing fine. I’m not gonna make you go sit by the river all day with a hurt hand when home is a half hour away. That’s not.. normal. I know it’s hard, but just… just roll with it, okay? I’ll never try to test you, or trick you. I mean what I say. If I need you to do something or behave a certain way… I’ll just tell you.”

He nodded, both chastised and relieved. “I’m trying,” he said, hoping it sounded more like willingness to collaborate than defensiveness.

“I know.” Max put a brief hand on his knee and Carlo resisted the urge to lean forward and put his forehead on his chest. “I’m just going for clarity between you and me. That’s all. Come on. Careful.” He offered his arm to help him jump down from the tailgate. “Let’s go home.”

[sadstrever]

so a lot has happened lately. i lost ALL the christmas break weight from being forced to eat everyday (a whole 2 weeks)! it only took me a week but i'm back down to 109lbs.

anyways i have a kinda non-exclusive(at least for me)boyfriend now and i hate it. i hate it so much. having a boyfriend who enables you sucks ESPECIALLY when you have an eating disorder AND a drxg addiction. he wants me to think that he cares. every day he asks me if i ate and even when i lie he pretends not to know the truth. he encourages me to go to the gym even though he must know how tired i feel and how empty i am. he loves doing drxgs and even when he sees me start to lose control he offers me more. i love it though. he asks me if i want food when we've already spent the whole day getting high and drinking together, knowing that my answer will be no, and he wont mind that. he acts like he cares when he notices im thinner but i know he likes it. he might even like it so much that he wishes i was even thinner. hes underweight too, naturally. he might even be skinnier than me, despite weighing more, he's way taller than me.

i try not to think about how fat he might see me as. i don't even know if he finds me beautiful even though i work so hard to be. he'll kiss me and tell me that i'm perfect but then he wont look at me when i change. i danced around in my underwear and bra in front of him when i was drunk, looking in the mirror i felt beautiful, thin, free, but then i looked over at him and he seemed soooo fucking unfazed. i feel so unloveable and we just started dating again. for fucks sakes like i know im not ugly. i know im not ugly but i feel fraudulently beautiful. im not beautiful. im a fucking skinwalker or something this isnt me or my body-its fabricated. i dont know how to explain it. i just feel non-existent. like when you blow a fat smoke cloud and its so beautiful for a second but then it just disappears and no one notices because its not supposed to last. the scent lingers but becomes nauseating when you have too much of it. its only supposed to be temporary.

i want to be beautiful. i want him to think im the thinnest most effortlessly beautiful girl, but he never will because i try so fucking hard.

i hate myself. i need to stop drinking. i need to start using my fucking brain again. i need to never eat again. i need to go sober before i lose my mind. maybe if i lost my mind though i wouldn't think so much, and would that really be so bad?

anyways, im planning/hoping to burn 1000 calories tomorrow, ill start tonight with a few workouts before bed so that i dont feel so terribly fucking ugly in the morning. drink water at night so you pee it out by morning and look skinnier lol.

[i-am-too-sick]

Feeling Not So Jolly St. Nick

Did I start another new fic without finishing the last two I mentioned? You bet I did! But I actually finished this one, so here ya go!

Warning: implied food poisoning

This was the last time Toby didn't anything out of the goodness of his heart.

Sure, he got paid for it, and the second income was nice for the holidays, but there had to be other ways than volunteering to be a mall Santa.

He loved kids, or at least he thought he did, but he learned quickly that maybe that love extended only towards his little sister.

These kids—these kids were like wild animal at the zoo or literal hellions from the underworld. The crying and screaming and questioning and demanding things of him soon became more cumbersome than it was worth.

Today was exceptionally bad, because on top of everything else, Toby felt like absolute shit.

The mall was crowded with everyone trying to fit in their last minute shopping, and of course, have their kids take a picture with Santa.

Toby felt like he was suffocating. His suit was much too hot, and the fake beard prickled his skin uncomfortably. Having a kid sit on his lap only reaffirmed how sensitive his skin was and sent chills down his spine.

His food court lunch sat heavy in his gut and every hug from an innocent tyke threatened to send his orange chicken and rice pouring into his lap. He knew it had tasted funny, but the idea of finishing his shift without a meal seemed far worse at the time than the possible consequences of soiled food. Of course, he sorely regretted that decision now:

One little girl, very attuned to Santa's predicament, actually asked him if he was okay. Toby, in an attempt at a hearty chuckle, quickly brought a fist to his lips and stifled a nauseated burp.

That was the turning point.

Right after the little girl hopped off his lap, he wished her a rather lame Merry Christmas, and signaled that he needed a break.

The photographer did not show their frustration well—after all, they'd just breaked for lunch not long ago—but Toby figured they'd be even more upset if he ruined the magic of Christmas by vomiting all over himself in front of the entire mall. Now wouldn't that be the perfect Christmas picture?

He slipped into the nearest employee bathroom, ripped the fake beard from his face, and immediately started gagging. However, other than some acidic saliva and burps that tasted vaguely of Mountain Dew, Toby wasn't able to bring anything up. It seemed that whatever was curdling the inside of his stomach was content to stay there and make him miserable.

Groaning, he splashed some cold water on his face, donned his disguise, and headed back into the mall. One of the photographers helpers, dressed like an elf, manhandled his askew beard back into its proper place, while Toby readied himself to fake some over the top holiday cheer.

An hour passed, or maybe more. Time was a construct Toby couldn't even begin to comprehend, especially not with the feeling of his stomach contents slowly trying to worm their way up his esophagus. Several times the photographer reminded him to sit up straight and to stop hunching forward. Toby was sure several families would look back on their Christmas photos and wonder why Santa had an arm wrapped protectively around his belly.

He'd stopped actually listening to the kids as they read from their Christmas lists, replying instead with a few well-placed "uh huhs" and "yeahs," though a couples times all that came out were sick groans.

He could not ever remember being this nauseous. He felt lightheaded from trying to keep himself together, and he was so unbearably warm. He wore his own clothes beneath the Santa suit, and his T-shirt was sticky with sweat, unpleasantly clinging against his skin.

How long was this shift again? He could hardly think, let alone try to pretend that he gave a damn about Timmy wanting a puppy or Susie requesting a baby doll that made noises when you cared for it.

"And I want a pony, and a..."

Toby's mouth started to water. Shit.

"I also want a..."

"Okay, very good," he replied, swallowing, trying to lift the kid from his lap. "Next!"

"But I'm not done," the kid pouted.

"But I am," Toby said. In hindsight, being a jerk while dressed as Santa was probably not doing this kid any favors, but he didn't have a choice. His breath hitched. He was about to barf. "Next!"

The surprised mom came to collect her kid, and Toby signaled the photographer by making a T with his hands.

"Again?" The photographer rolled their eyes, miffed.

Toby responded with a wet belch, loud enough that the nearest helper elf squeaked and jumped back in surprise.

He sprang up from his seat, his hand clamped over his mouth. In his haste to escape Winter Wonderland, he nearly tripped on a string of Christmas lights, nearly impaling himself on the antler of a plastic reindeer.

He tore through the mall, finding the closest bathroom, for employees or not. He stumbled upon one of the family ones, and as he slammed the door shut and fumbled with the lock, he was grateful for the small bit of privacy he'd have.

Even as he felt his stomach begin to lurch, he started ripping off his costume, desperate to feel less strangled. The hat went first, then the beard, the sash around his waist. He just managed to pull his second arm out of the jacket sleeve when his cheeks puffed with an impending retch, and he angled himself over the toilet as a rush of vomit cascaded from his mouth.

The force of his heave was so great, that his vomit splattered all around the rim of the toilet. He barely had time to wonder if any landed on his shoes before another geyser shot from him, splashing loudly into the water.

He tasted soda and egg roll, fried rice and broccoli. His mouth was sticky with the sauce from his orange chicken.

He burped, chunks from his undigested lunch joining the thick slurry in the bowl. Every heave brought up a mouthful of sick, and he was dizzy from the effort of trying to catch his breath.

His stomach was making all kinds of noises, piercing his ears and echoing off the tiled bathroom walls. A sick, guttural belch erupted from him, followed by another torrent of vomit.

Even as the heaves began to space out enough for him to catch his breath, and the amount of sick he brought up became less and less, Toby still didn't feel any better.

He was shaky and warm all over, tears running down his face from exertion. He was almost certain he had a fever, and there was still a mess churning in his stomach.

He burped into the bowl, spitting the tendrils of saliva dangling from his lips.

He needed to go home. He needed Quinn.

He knew his boyfriend had gone home for the holidays—Toby had planned to return to his family as well after his Santa gig—but the thought of waiting in the cold, getting on a bus overcrowded with holiday shoppers, and then trying to make it home alone in this condition was far more than he could bear.

Not caring the least about germs in that moment, Toby set his phone on speaker and laid it down on the floor. He felt like he was going to be sick again and he didn't want to risk dropping his phone and then having to fish it out of the toilet. That thought alone made him gag again.

"Quinn..." he whimpered when his boyfriend picked up on the third ring. He hated how teary and nauseous his voice sounded. "Can you come pick me up?"

[one-annon]

2. orderlyshipping!!!!! typical hallway crush idea you love so much. maybe a little zep imagination moment :3 im giving you freedom there

"That's pretty punk."

-- SHEPARD "ZEP" HINDLE X DAVID RADFORD - ORDERLYSHIPPING

--

part two of the razzle dazzle series! i really need to get these out faster this is like 80% zep angst and 20% orderlyshipping my bad i also like did not follow the prompt but we talked about it HAHHA

shepard always had a habit of biting his nails. it wasnt something he was aware he was doing half the time, it was pure instinct by this point. he had started wearing medical gloves around work so he wouldnt be gnawing his fingers while he was checking in, it was just a sanitary precaution. he didnt want his patients to get the wrong idea or anything. he seemed to care more about his patients than other people.

usually, with his patients, he was working in the oncology section. he was mostly helping out doctor gordon where he needed him, but today, since the doctor was gone due to something with his daughter, he was placed in the er. not totally unusual, hes been there before. it wasnt his favorite place to be, too fast paced for his paranoia, but its whatever. he got paid either way.

all day, he couldnt help the creeping feeling of something being wrong. something was going to go wrong and he didnt know what. all day he's been blaming it on his paranoia, wishing he could just go home and sleep the feeling away. he didnt know why he was feeling this way, he took his medication and everything but it just..wouldnt leave him alone. which sucked when you work in a place where you have to remain relatively calm.

of course, nothing had gone wrong. the night was going by smoothly. zep's nails remained unbitten. until he heard a voice he was all too familiar with.

he had been talking with a doctor about one of the patients when he heard it. "i need a doctor!” they shouted. the voice was one of a patient he knew well. his head snapped around, seeing two people - the only two people who have ever treated him with such kindness. john kramer and his wife. he knew john from his visits with lawrence. zep had been the one to check on him when he needed it. oh fuck.

suddenly, he was panicked. what was wrong? he noticed the blood. zep didnt get nauseated at the sight of blood. hes seen too much of it for it to bother him anymore, but he couldnt help the feeling of wanting to either vomit or faint when he saw the blood on jill. he was the first to her side when the nurse called for an orderly.

he started hitting them with panicked questions. what had happened? being the main one he wanted an answer to. when he looked down at the woman, he noticed his own hands. his hands that had no gloves. he swallowed hard, trying to regain his breaking composure. he knew about jills pregnancy. john had told him. zep couldnt help but feel excitement from it. his two favorite patients were having a child, and now he looked down at jill and realized that wouldnt be happening.

it was a long night. the baby was deemed dead. shepard stayed by their side for a long while. he couldn't help but notice how distressed they both looked - understandably so. the feeling of bile rised up in his throat but he stayed. he kept a hand on johns shoulder, explained to them how awfully sorry he was. eventually, shepard decided to leave them be. the child wasnt his to mourn, even if he did feel like he, too, had lost the poor thing.

he had ended up in the break room, one hand holding his head up and the other with it's thumb tucked between his teeth, nibbling and peeling away the skin near his nail. zep was alone for what felt like hours. it felt just how it did before he met the kramers. he had no one to comfort him at the moment. shepard didnt lift his head when he heard the door open, and honestly, he barely heard that. his mind was full of thoughts - none of them any good to help him.

"shep?" the quiet voice calmed him immensely. he knew who that belonged to. maybe he wasnt as alone as he thought.

he forced his head up, watching as his fellow orderly take a seat next to him. david was always there for him. he made zep fell less alone. he actually called him by his name. that in itself was a miracle. david made him feel wanted. it was insane to him that someone as cool as david would even think of befriending him. he was pathetic. zep wouldnt admit the slight crush he had on the man.

david's hand on his back helped him relax. which was usually a good thing, but when you're holding back tears, relaxing meant the waterworks were let loose. he refused to cry in front of the other. crying in front of david meant embarrassing himself, which meant being seen as a loser, which meant david would leave him alone. he didnt want to be left alone again.

his voice was quiet, loving. "you alright, big guy? something happen?"

shepard couldnt hold back. he told david how connected he felt with john and jill. how they treated him so well and he was so agitated about the way they lost the baby, how angry he felt that their baby was killed rather than lost. jill had told john what happened at the clinic with zep in the room. he wouldve left if he didnt need to check a few vitals on the woman. she said she trusted him enough to be okay with him listening too. she trusted him.

the first thing the punk noticed about shepard was the way he bit his nails as he sobbed. perhaps it was to quiet his cries, perhaps it was a nervous habit, maybe even an angry one, but he didnt like it. david hated seeing zep in pain, even more so, he hated seeing him hurt himself. even if zep wasnt fully conscious he was doing it in the first place. he lifted his hands, slowly taking zep's wrist between his fingers and tugging his hand downward.

david kept his hand away from his mouth, letting him finish his sentence before he asked, "would you like it if i distracted you? i wouldnt mind. i can help you with your biting problem too.

he offered a lopsided smile, which made zep's heart flutter when he pulled away from his shoulder to see it. davids smile was always so pretty to the other. it took him a long moment to regain his senses, to remind himself where he is. he shouldnt be acting like this at work, its unprofessional, is it not? whatever. shep took a deep breath, wiping his eyes of salty tears. he nods, the corner of his mouth lifting just slightly. "yeah," he replied, "that would be nice..thank you."

dave shrugged. "its nothing, really. just here to help a friend out."

as he dug through his bag, zep couldnt help but smile more. friend? david considered him a friend? he was worried the boy was getting sick and tired of him but hes willing to label zep as his friend. it wasnt very often zep gained a friend. when he first arrived at the hospital, he considered dr. gordon to be his friend, but once he realized how the man dehumanized his patients, dehumanized shepard himself, it made him feel awful. he was disgusted and repulsed by the blonde.

his eyes followed davids movements. after a moment or two, he lifted himself back up, setting black nail polish on the table. now that zep takes a look at his hands (like he does every hour), he noticed some new scars. maybe a fist fight or something. he also noticed davids nails were newly painted. was he going to get his nails painted? hes always thought about having black nails.

"you always seem to have your fingers in your mouth." david chuckled. his words had no bite to them, especially not when he smiled at zep like that. "i thought we could paint them? i did it for my cousin and it seemed to work."

shepard's head moves faster than it ever has in his life to nod. david "super cool punk guy who zep has a huge hallway crush on" radford-stanheight is wanting to paint his nails? fuck yeah! zep would take all the contact he can get from the guy. plus, it might do as david states and help him with his nail chewing.

it was better than constantly wearing gloves, in his opinion.

zep held his hand out, watching at david shook the bottle. the cap put up just a slight bit of fight, even if the polish was new. shepard didnt miss the way the veins in davids hand bulged just slightly for a moment as he twisted. he always noticed little things about david. he noticed when he cuts his hair, when he lets his scruff grow out just a little from neglect, when he changes to slightly taller platformed boots. everything.

to say he was obsessed with david was a smidge degrading but whatever. it was the right word anyway. a jolt of electricity went through his nervous system as dave took his hand and rested his four fingers over his own, his thumb resting just above the nails to hold his hands in the perfect position. he seemed like a professional nail tech, though they both knew he wasnt.

watching david paint his nails felt a little odd. zep didnt usually indulge himself in self care like this. was it considered self care? he did feel more relaxed - wasnt that the point of most self care routines? he didnt know. he barely cared for himself, even in the shower. hell he used a fucking 3 in 1. was that bad enough? it didnt matter to him, really.

the brush felt a little weird against his nail, and the polish was a tad cold. zep didnt mind. just having david in his mere vicinity made him feel comforted. he doesnt know what it is about david but he felt so safe with him around. maybe it was the fact that david was able to stick up for himself and zep needed the comfort of having someone to stand up for him. zep wasnt the type to be able to defend himself. he just took what he was given.

he enjoyed watching his nails get painted. occasionally he would look up at dave, make sure he was still there, and the pure concentration on his face was wonderful. seeing him to focused on zep and zep alone has his head spinning. the touch, the attention. it made him dizzy with some feeling.

the feeling which hes felt around david before. he wasnt a stranger to it, unfortunately.

he knew there was no chance of david and he being an item. whatever, he can fantasize. having him here, so dedicated to making shepard feel better, was enough. david was enough. he was a wonderful person and yet he just couldnt see that. zep wasnt aware david thought the same about him. to david, zep was a wonder. a curious little thing he wanted to study. how can one be so utterly pathetic and utterly beautiful at the same time?

they stayed silent as david switched hands, allowing the first to dry properly. the color was lovely. dark, like ink, but not as shiny. zep didnt mind the matte coloring, in fact, he preferred it. his eyes wouldnt catch the color as often when the lights shined on it. and, as much as he wanted to remember this moment and keep it in his mental david files forever, he had to stay focus on some of his own tasks.

it was a treat watching him work on something other than cleaning up around the hospital. zep knew david hated his job. he wished the other would quit to go pursue a job he would actually enjoy, he wished the other would stay so he could see him almost every shift. he couldnt decide what he wanted. as much as he wanted david to be happy with his life, he couldnt bare to think about him leaving.

david finished his nails, that cute look on his face slowly relaxing into his usual cool guy state. a pleased smile graced his face. shepard couldnt have been more grateful for this moment. he felt so blissful and almost wanted to thank whatever deity was watching for making jill lose her baby. oh goodness, that sounded awful. deity watching them, he takes that back. he said almost, it doesnt count.

the punk leaned back, examining his work. "nice." he commented with a smile. "that's pretty punk."

something about hearing that made zep's stomach turn. not that he was going to puke, but that he was nervous. he was the total opposite of punk and yet david, who did his nails, is saying hes punk? well, he wasnt saying shepard as a person was punk, merely his newly painted nails. either way, it made him feel that feeling again. it was a mix of nervousness, embarrassment, and excitement.

shepard wouldnt realize it until his punk went missing, but he was feeling love. he loved david and it was stupid and shameful and he couldnt help it. david made him feel important, even just by spending time with him. he was pathetic. so stupidly pathetic. and in love. jesus fucking christ, get a grip, shepard!

by the end of his shift, zep felt ten times better. david made him feel better in every way ever. when he visited the kramers again the next day, he brought up his nails, happily showing them off. jill complimented him, saying they looked nice. of course they did, david did them! john, on the other hand, just stared. sure, he gave a slight nod of acknowledgment, but he said nothing. zep wasnt offended. the man was probably just processing everything.

even when he was nervous later on, zep didnt bite his nails. they stayed painted for a while. david painted them again when they would chip. he kept them painted when he saw john the next two times, one being for a screening and the other being another er visit, this time from a suicide attempt. he wanted to bite his nails, but he refrained.

until 2003. that fateful day that david was deemed missing. he couldnt help it. like many things in life, shepard went back to his old habits, biting at his nails and destroying davids work. he would always be a nail biter, even to the day he dies.

[erabundus]

❝  ...  you  wouldn't  know  it's such  an  ISSUE from the outside looking in,  but  people actually  get  topographic  and  topological  confused  more  often  than  you  think.  ❞

❝ i see.  ❞

❝  you  get  it!  you're  sooo  smart,  ren  —  of  course  you  do!  but  this  government  lady  who  hired  us  had  no  idea  what  she  was  talking  about.  there  was  this  one  time ...  ❞

the  streamer  drowns  out  the  rest  of  his  words  until  they  become  little  more  than  an  indistinct  blur.  (  white  noise,  humming  along  in  the  background.  )  he  traces  the  edge  of  his  glass  with  one  painted  nail.  the  drink  inside  is  a  dark  shade  of  red  like  pooled  blood  —  it  tastes  like  SOUR  CHERRIES  and  makes  his  mouth  go  a  bit  numb.  not  bad,  but  not  nearly  enough  to  give  him  the  buzz  he's  looking  for,  even  after  two  of  them.  it's  been  ages  since  ren  last  went  to  THE ABYSS;  long  enough  that  the  cocktail menu  is  entirely  different.  he  wishes  he  could  remember  what  his  usual  order  was  called,  but  he's  fairly  certain  the  name  has  been  changed  to  something  unrecognizably  pretentious ... assuming it hasn't been scrapped entirely.

ren  raises  the  glass  to  his  lips  and  takes  a  shallow  sip.  this  was  a  bad  idea;  he  wants  to  go  HOME.

it's  a  bit  funny  how  difficult  that  word  is  to  define  these  days.  is  home  niwa's  house  —  and  the  guest  room  he's  so  selfishly  set  his  roots  in?  is  home  the  apartment,  hollow  and  lonely  like  the  tomb  he  spent  his  childhood  languishing  about?  if  home  is  some  fantastical  thing  that  could  be  found  within  ANOTHER  PERSON,  he  thinks  he's  probably  been  evicted.  it  was  only  a  matter  of  time  —  and  that  house  turned  out  to  be  a  great  deal  colder  than  its  inviting  exterior  made  it  out  to  be.  the  ceiling  leaked  when  it  rained  and  the  hot  water  ran  out  too  quickly,  but  it's  hard  to  say  whether  it's  worse  than  being  stuck  out  on  the  streets.  (  alone  and  shivering.  )  perhaps  he  was  simply  so  enamored  with  the  idea  of  having  a  roof  over  his  head  that  he  was  willing  to  take  ANYTHING.  he  isn't  sure.  he  isn't  going  to  try  to  pretend  he's  been  close  to  perfect  —  but  he  doesn't  think  the  lion's  share  of  the  blame  rests  on  his  shoulders ...  for  once.

it's  around  that  time  the  streamer  realizes  the  background  chatter  has  come  to  an  abrupt  stop.  cartographer  guy  (  because  he  still  REFUSES  to  learn  his  name  )  is  looking  at  him  expectantly,  and  ren  slowly lowers  his  glass  in  response.  ❝  um.  what?  ❞

❝  oh!  i'm  sorry,  did  you  not  hear  me?  ❞  ugh.  why  is  he  so  fucking  nice.  it's  nauseating.   ❝  so  far,  i've  been  the one doing  all  the  chatting ...  but  i  invited  you  out  to  catch  up!  ❞   he  flashes  an  awkward  little  smile  that  the streamer  does  not  reciprocate.  ❝  how  have  you  been?  ❞

... oh.  perfect.  talking  about  himself.  as  if  this  entire  conversation  wasn't  miserable  enough  already.   ❝  great.  ❞  he  replies  tersely.  ❝  just  great. doing fine.  ❞

❝  yikes ...  that  badly,  huh?  ❞  the  glare  ren  shoots  his  way  has  him  holding  up  both  hands  in  faux-surrender.  ❝  sorry,  sorry!  geez,  if  looks  could  kill ...  ❞   words  trail  off  with  a  faint  laugh.   ❝  um ...  listen,  i  know  we  barely  know  each  other,  but  even  i  could  tell  there  was  something  STRANGE  about  how  quickly  you  agreed  to  this.  don't  get  me  wrong  —  i'm  thrilled  to  be  here!  ❞  the  streamer  arches  a  skeptical  brow.  ❝  really.  and  i'm also  sorry  if  i'm  crossing  a  line  by  saying  this,  but  —  !  ❞

❝ you are.  ❞

❝  but!  ❞  he  raises  a  finger.  ❝  it  seems  to  me  like  maybe  you're  just  looking  for  a  DISTRACTION.  ❞   and  something  about  the  look  on  ren's  (  traitorously  expressive  )  face  must  CONFIRM  that  theory,  because  it  gives  the  cartographer  the  confidence  to  continue.  ❝  if  something  is  bothering  you,  i'm  willing  to  shut  up  and  listen.  i've  heard  it  can  be  pretty  cathartic  —  you  know,  venting?  ❞

venting.  the  streamer's  gaze  flicks  down  to  his  drink.  he  tilts  it  to  and  fro,  watching  the  single  cherry  swimming  around  its  crimson  contents  sway  from  the  movement.   ❝  you  really  don't  want  to.  ❞  he  says  flatly.  ❝  i'm  a little above  your  pay  grade.  ❞

❝  aw,  c'mon!  i  might  surprise  you!  ❞  a  disbelieving  sigh.  ❝  okay,  well.  how  often  do  we  actually  meet  face  to  face  like  this?  or  talk  —  at  all?  ❞   that  much  is  at  least  enough  to  have  ren  look  back  up  again.  ❝  see?  this  is  basically  as  close  as  completely  anonymous  as  you're  going  to  get.  nooo  strings  attached.  ❞   he  wiggles  his  fingers  as  if  to  EMPHASIZE  the  absence  of  these  imaginary  strings. ❝ i can't promise i'll be able to dispense some sagely advice in return, but it has to be better than keeping everything BOTTLED UP inside! right? ... no pun intended.  ❞ 

he  swallows  back  the  compulsion  to  ask  what  the  aforementioned  pun  actually  is.  ❝  if  you  tell  anyone,  i'll  kill  you.  ❞

❝ sure!  ❞ ... disgustingly chipper.

❝  ...  ❞  ren  stares  into  his  drink  for  a  moment,  expression  wrought  with  indecision.  he's  reluctant  to  open  up  to  anyone  —  even  the  few  he  finds  himself  feeling  particularly  CLOSE  with.  much  less  a  stranger  with  an  apparent  propensity  for  meddling  in  matters  far  beyond  what  he  has  any  right  to.  nosy  bastard,  the  streamer  thinks,  brow  furrowing  in  wordless  disdain.  at  the  same  time,  he  would  have  SHOT  DOWN  the  offer  long  ago  if  it  wasn't  tempting.  at  least,  tempting  enough  to  warrant  serious  consideration.  his  thoughts  are  a  tangled  mess  and  his  emotions  ugly  and  obscure  enough  to  confuse  even  ren  himself.  he  doesn't  want  to  subject  anyone  in  their  ragtag  social  circle  to  what  poison  steeps  in  the  depths  of  his  consciousness.  frankly,  if  the streamer  could  exit  his  own  head  as  easily  as  he  could  a  car,  he knows he  would  do  so  in  an  INSTANT.  ❝  ... fine.  ❞  fine.  against  his  better  judgement.  he  downs  the  rest  of  his  drink  in  one  go  to  the  sound  of  an  impressed  hum.

❝ ... but buy me something STRONGER than this — i'm going to need it.  ❞

[crystalsblogcorner]

Requested on AO3 by Baney_Stinson, part 1 of the request series!

Tw: vore, protective vore, gentle pred, shrinking potions

Characters: Tommy(human, niki(deer centaur)

Request guidelines can be requested here!!

Sibling Bonding

“Hey niki, I got your message, you alright?” Tommy said as he walked into the clearing niki told Tommy to come to, specifically saying to make sure no one followed him. Niki sat in the middle of the clearing, her centaur legs curled underneath her equine deer build.  

 “Hey Tommy,” she said as her head rose to meet tommys eyes, her cherry blossom pink eyes meeting Caribbean sea blue made both feel a type of bond between them, almost family-like. She pats the grass beside her before asking, “why don't you come sit with me, hang out for a bit.” Tommy nods before walking over and sitting next to Niki, only a few inches from her deer body. She looks at tommy a few moments before asking, “ so, what have you been doing lately?” 

  “Nothing much, but I thought about pranking some people after this, maybe even pranking bad and skeppy’s house. Niki huffed a bit at this answer before pulling out an aqua filled bottle, the liquid looking almost honey-like.

  “Well if your gonna do that, take this at least, drink it now so the effects kick in when you actually leave,” she hands him the bottle and smiles slightly when he takes it from her hand.  

 “This better not be a prank of your own, or I'll prank you so hard, you'll wish you didn't mess with me,” Tommy said jokingly as he popped the cork out and gave it a sniff, the potion smelling pungent and sweet. He takes a few gulps of it and his face looks disgusted at the taste, its smell being the exact opposite of the taste, it being gooey and sour. He sets the potion down beside him before exclaiming, “that does not taste what I thought it would taste like.” Immediately after that sentence he feels dizzy and nauseated, the world around him beginning to spin and distort until it mellowed out. He rubs his eyes before realizing he's smaller than a blade of grass, Niki towering over him like he's nothing.    

Before he could even run, Niki picks him up by the collar of his shirt and brings him up to her face. “Well I guess you won't be running off after all,” she says as she opens her mouth and drops him in, earning a small yell from the human.

    “Niki! We can talk about this-,” tommy says but gets interrupted by nikis tongue swiping over his face, his clothes and skin being covered with saliva instantly. She chuckles a bit before tilting her head back and nudging Tommy towards the back of the throat. Tommys fight or flight response kicks in, choosing to fight by kicking the back of nikis throat his his shoe, hearing a low groan afterwards.

Tommy continues to kick Niki, but his stuggling doesn't stop from her swallowing tommy, causing him to slip into her throat, and another swallow is fate was sealed.  Tommy struggles the entirety of the descent, his body beginning to feel exhausted when it opens up to a small chamber, the plush walks cradling his small figure as he sits in a pool of liquid. Tommy uses the last of his strength to kick niki again as he hoarsely yells, “f-fuck you!”

   “Would you cut it out! You're safe, I put you in my safe stomach, it's only filled with saliva,” niki says as she gets up and begins to walk to the winding road towards the underground. Tommy stops thrashing at those words, finally laying against the plush wall that surrounds him.

   Niki feels Tommy lay on the stomach wall nearest to the skin, the bond between them strengthens as she begins to rub soothing circles where Tommy's figure is as she walks into the underground and into her room. She walked over to her bed of pillows and curled her legs up underneath her.

  “I'll let you out later Tommy,” niki says as she waits for an answer, but realizes when he's asleep due to the rhythmic breathing and heartbeat. She smiles slightly as she closes her eyes and falls asleep, the thought of their sibling bond being on both minds.

Hope you enjoyed!

[spinningbuster98]

Mega Man X7 Part 3

And we’re back!

Snipe Anteator’s stage is borderline nauseating, what with the camera constantly spinning around everytime you enter a warp point (meaning every 5 seconds) and with said camera being stuck on your ass preventing you from seeing jack shit while you’re trying to navigate the upside down portion of the stage.

Anteator himself is the worst of the 8 Mavericks, he’s like Infinity Mijinion in that he’s such a clusterfuck of shit being flung at you with no rhyme or reason, making the best strategy just shooting at him hoping he dies before you do.

And don’t ask me about using the weakness: X7′s weapons are so atrocious that they don’t even wprk properly against the bosses they’re supposed to be used against, either because it’s incredibly awkward to hit the boss with one or they don’t do all that much damage but rather simply stun the boss for a few seconds.

Wind Crowrang is probably the most infamous level of the game and it’s all because of the first part, with the planes to be used as platforms over a bottomless pit. A combination of X7′s worthless camera preventing you from not only seeing more than 3 feet ahead of you but also from having decent depth perception, and of this game’s clunky controls (and hitboxes) makes this segment a goddamn chore: the best part is if you die you have to rewatch that intro cutscene every single time.

Vanishing Gungaroo’s stage wants to be Ride Armor centric, too bad the Ride Armors are slower than a turtle that’s had its legs broken and a 10 ton weight strapped onto its shell, and they control very stiff of course, so I mostly just ignore them and try to get through the level as quickly as I can except at the end it wants you to destroy a number of Ride Armors before fighting the boss, like it’s Sonic Heroes or something.

So we got the Glide Armor! Look at X’s gliding animation: super stiff, not even really animated at all and lacking any graphical effect indicating any sort of gliding technology, I’m surprised he’s not horizontally T-posing while gliding.

Dr.Light’s lines convince me that the devs were not really familiar with the series, because it’s pretty clear that he’s just a recorded message here, despite X4-5-6 pretty explicitly having him speak and interact directly with the characters. Not even X1-2-3 had him say things like “I wish I could give these parts myself”, which made the possible retcon of him actually being an AI surprisingly easy to swallow. X7 just didn’t get the memo.

Speaking of shitty plot wanna talk about Red?

So Red is supposed to be this rough, “charismatic” leader of a band of dangerous vigilantes, someone who’s supposedly pretty perceptive...

and yet Sigma can just casually approach him from the shadows, clad in a blatantly evil black cloack, offer him a way to make him and his men more powerful that involved hurting innocent people, not demand ANYTHING in return....and he FALLS for it!?

What’s funnier is that he seemingly didn’t even realise that’s Sigma! As we’ll see later on Red Alert simply called him “The Professor”.

How?

No really.

At least Wily had to put on a fake beard and some sunglasses, Sigma’s face is clearly visible!!

You mean to tell me that Red didn’t recognise the face of the world feared terrorist!? The guy who’s tried to rule the world several times in the past!?

How can Red, the guy in charge of a vigilante group aimed at hunting down Mavericks, NOT RECOGNISE THE FUCKING LEADER OF ALL MAVERICKS!?

Ladies and gentlemen. We have found a new king of stupid

Moreso than Knuckles in SA1 or Silver in Sonic 06

To you, Red, I award this:

[vizthedatum]

Food aversions and radical changes in preferences, as I’m currently living it

Written around 7:33 on a plane today.

—

Regardless of what’s happening, I will aim to describe my health as holistically (in a narrative way) as I can.

For the past 2 years or so, I’ve been consciously unmasking my autism and adhd as much as possible.

I am burnt out, and I’m tired of lying to myself while performing… life.

But that’s only a part of the puzzle for me.

—

Today I’m going on a solo trip for my mental health and self fulfillment. I’m also figuring out what’s going on with my body.

—

Usually on planes, I ask for “ginger ale, no ice.” Apart from Dr. Pepper - ginger ale is one of my other comfort pop drinks. And it’s my go to drink for flying .

And besides I’ve just been perpetually nauseated and while there is no proof really that ginger ale helps that much because of its sugar content, it helps mentally.

Today, ginger ale tasted like vomit. What the actual fuck??? I tried some from another can - disgusting. (Should I collect more data? Was it just these particular cans???)

—

Earlier today, when visiting with my brother, I asked him to order things I knew I would like - I ate out of a need to nourish my body in some way (including mental nourishment).

It was easier to eat with another person - harder to eat alone it seems.

It’s been so hard to eat since the beginning of this month. And the fatigue that happens is so cyclical with it (if I don’t eat, I’m fatigued; if I do eat, I’m fatigued - really high amounts)

I just started a course of antibiotics last night (X-safe antibiotics) - and like okay? I’ve been on and off antibiotics for MOST OF MY LIFE - I know what the nausea from that feels like - this is not that. This isn’t an allergy either.

Besides I have been feeling nauseated for weeks.

I’m so sad about this because I love food. I love eating.

It’s also weird because (only using this as a comparative example) when I was with my ex-spouse, I was nauseated in a very different way (I chronically threw up nearly daily for an extended period of time due to a mix of chronic pain and overdoing recreational and medical cannabis - it was a huge problem - I was perpetually stressed and manipulated and blah blah (see my other posts).)

THIS DOES NOT FEEL LIKE THAT.

—

I can smell things so much more acutely. Almost like a cursed superpower. I’m so glad I’m masking (physical face mask!) because it limits how much I smell.

—

All the while my breasts (so conflicted about them from a trans/dysphoric perspective) and lower abdomen ache and pound. (Also in a different way than the usual period/PCOS/IC/endo way… similar, very similar, but so different)

I’m also sad because I need to re-do AND intentionally figure out my entire nutrition plan. Sigh.

THERE ARE SO MANY THINGS I MUST DO. And I’m trying my best to ask for help but I do *feel* like a burden even though I know I’m not. If it were my friend, I would help - so I know that this is ok.

I haven’t looked this up but is there any guidebook for newly unmasked autistics who may or may not be dealing with an unplanned X (lol sorry I know it’s obvious - I won’t get direct confirmation until later) who already have multiple pelvic and reproductive chronic health issues?!?!

*laughcry* even with all my knowledge, even with me working at an institute specifically for reproductive health, even with everything… it’s like a fucking mystery.

—

And I wish my mom was actually the type of person who could help me out, because… I fucking need a familial mentor who has gone through this to help me EMOTIONALLY. But she barely has any empathy even though I love her. And we aren’t talking. I did see her, in all her beauty, today when she dropped my brother off… we didn’t speak according to my boundaries.

—

AND OMFG THE PERSON NEXT TO ME JUST GOT COFFEE AND I CANNOT HANDLE THE SMELL

coffee

It smells so bad

I used to love the smell of coffee

—

*tries not to meltdown and visibly be a frazzled queer coded autistic on a full flight*

*goes to bathroom and breathes*

[nightmare-fredbear]

how would you rank every fnaf game?

terrible question to ask me because unfortunately me and my tastes are Annoying. all personal opinion. obviously.

not going to include games i didn't play, for the most part. gave little explanations as to why i placed them where i did because i'm annoying. sorry anon

1- fnaf 1 nostalgia blind but i think it has the most solid gameplay loop w/o being overwhelming and i like the general ugly grungy aesthetic. i think it works best in the series as a horror game and has the best atmosphere. i wish freddy himself had more of a presence in-game.

2- fnaf 2 i think the gamplay is honestly cluttered but the game is iconic. i also think it has some of my fav character designs in the whole series. too chaotic to be even remotely scary however. atmosphere kinda sucks. i think seeing the animatronics down the hall w/ no door fucking rules.

3- fnaf 3 honestly i barely remember the gameplay loop but i remember liking it at the time even if im still of the opinion springtrap should've been a freddy suit. the ending screens still make me a little emotional. i think i am the only person in the world who thinks the phantoms are cool.

4- controversial take. fnaf world look fnaf world is Bad but i am paradoxically endeared to it. i think the designs is cute and im fond of the repetitive gameplay, even if the effects of the game are nauseating and its gameplay is bland. i love to do occasional challenge runs of fnaf world. help me.

5- fnaf 4 i could get into how i feel abt the soft reset of fnaf lore here but i wont. i have trouble processing sound so this game was literally unplayable for me. i found the designs of the animatronics to be over the top to the point of goofiness but i'm endeared to them regardless. mostly higher up bc of nostalgia. nightmare's jumpscare is cool however.

6- ultimate custom night i only played it very briefly but it does what it wants to do just fine so its alright. i don't find the humour very funny but i like hearing some of the voices and i appreciate the concept, i guess.

7- sister location did not like sister location. sorry. the designs are fun though, it was nice to see some humanoid animatronics. this is the point where i jumped ship bc i didnt like the direction the games were going anymore.

8- security breach sorry i lied i didnt play this one but i was exceptionally disappointed with its execution. some of the designs are fun but i am significantly less endeared to its quirks than others. i can at the very least appreciate the actual design of the map and some of the sound work. the clanking footsteps of the animatronics is very satisfying to me for some reason.

i didn't play pizza sim bc i jumped ship at SL so i dont really have any opinions on it other than i predicted porkpatch's existence and i really like him. also didnt play vr bc i don't have access to vr.

[imaginedreamwrite]

Lion’s Den: Part 3

A/N: trigger warnings apply for physical abuse and physical trauma, use caution

Your exhaustion from the night after leaving the club had bled into a moment that should have been relieving, a moment where you should’ve been able to take a load off. Instead, when you had gotten back to the two-bedroom apartment you’d shared with your older sister, a trickle of unease and discomfort had rippled down your spine, and the image of a dog raising its hackles had indeed been the epitome of how you had felt.

You weren’t even into your apartment, yet you felt yourself growing more weary and ragged now than you had been all day. From where you were standing, you could smell the stench of booze. The sickly tainted smell of cheap beer that only your sister’s boyfriend drank, and the overpowering and nauseating cloud of axe body spray he seemed to like drowning himself in, had hit you heavy the moment you pushed open the door.

You could see him lounging on the couch with a beer in one hand, and the other shoved down your sister’s sweats as she fondled her breasts.

“What the hell is he doing here?” You had wished it wasn’t such a common occurrence, seeing your sister’s deadbeat boyfriend laying on your couch with his hand down her pants. However, it was all too common to see.

“It’s my apartment too,” your sister looked over her shoulder, a certain cloudiness cast over her eyes. “He’s my boyfriend-“

“It’s my name on the lease! And it’s my DEPOSIT!”

“Is that how you thank an alpha who got you a job?” He grunted and sat up, his eyes growing darker as he started you down. “I should hear a thank you.”

You looked past him to an envelope sitting under the couch cushion; your familiar handwriting scrawled across the top, your notes written in black ink. You knew it was yours; you knew the money inside was yours.

And so had he. He knew what he had done; he knew that he had found your stash of money hidden and squirrelled away, and there was a distinct lack of shame as he smirked and leaned forward, biting your sister’s exposed abdomen lightly while he looked directly at you.

“You gave it to your sister.” He growled under his breath; the weak attempt to alpha command you were as pathetic as the man trying to use it. He was trying to get you to back down, to push you back into a submissive place as he attempted to gain control of your sister and yourself.

“No,” you growled back, neither recognizing him as your alpha or an alpha worth knowing, and the inherent lack of respect was not softened as you bit back at him, “I damn well didn’t. Put it back where you found it.”

“Someone not getting fucked enough? You need help with that?” He spoke like it was a promise, yet it felt more like a threat, and it had sent chills coursing through you. He had withdrawn his hand from your sister’s sweats and had begun shifting on the couch, dropping his boot-clad feet to the floor with a heavy thud. The heat, the hate flashing across his face, would surely spell bad news for you. If you hadn’t already been hyperaware of how dangerous he was, even if he was an incapable, pathetic excuse for an alpha, you knew either he needed to leave. Or you did.

“You need to leave. Now.” You metaphorically dug your heels in a while, backing up and giving more space between you and him.

“No,” your sister jerked away from him, setting herself between you and him, “he doesn’t need to leave. Leave her alone.”

“You should be more appreciative-“ your sisters boyfriend started to speak, jumped back on his big alpha bullshit, and the tension, the renewed feeling of imminent danger you’d gotten off him, made you want to tuck tail and run.

“You need to leave! This is my apartment, and you’re-“

“What’re you going to do about it? Going to kick me out? Hmm? You going to try and act tough in front of an alpha like me?” Your sister’s boyfriend stepped around her, the natural dark undertones of his eyes viscerally taking control until his irises were closer to black. “You snotty little omega bitch…you would be lucky to fuck an alpha like me.”

You stepped back, you increased the distance between the aggressive alpha becoming more unhinged as time passed, and your sister, who was looking on, frozen and unable to move given how submissive she was to him and you. You were terrified and remiss in giving in to that fear. You were remiss to admit that you were in an awful place, and dealing with him like this, was not what you imagined doing when you had finished your shift.

“Marcus-“

“Shut up!” He growled the command toward your sister, and even if he was a pathetic alpha, the command was still accepted, and once he was done screaming at her, he turned to you. “Where are you going, baby? You scared? Hmm?”

“Stay away from me.” You stepped away, only a few feet from your room. “Stay away from me.”

“Marcus!” Your sister screamed at him, begging for him to come back to her.

“I said shut up!” He ordered again, and there was tentative silence that bubbled beneath the surface as your sister grappled with the desire to yell out again or watch what was going to happen. “Your sister has a nice cunt, but I could always use two omegas to fuck. You want to be my second whore, baby? You wanna fuck my cock until you’re crying?”

“I mean it.” You reached behind you, your fingertips grazing against the doorknob. “Stay the hell away from me.”

“Don’t go.” He grinned and drew closer, looking you up and down hungrily. “Don’t go in there; we’re having fun.”

You had just twisted the doorknob and started to push it in when he had taken you by surprise and managed to dig his nails into your arm, yanking you back from your bedroom. You had little time to react as he slammed your back against the wall and pressed himself against you, one hand on your neck and the other started to grasp at your dress’s hemline.

“Get off me! Get off me!” You thrashed to the best of your ability, that fight temporarily being squandered when he had yanked his hand off your neck, and the centre of his palm made contact with your cheek. The sharp and startled cry that had escaped your mouth that had been ripped from you with the brash amount of violence had only added and aided the amount of surging fear and anxiety that was attempting to stir the fight in you again. You knew you needed to get out of this situation; you knew you needed to get out of here.

“Marcus! Stop it!” Your sister’s plea was battling against her willingness to follow her alphas command. “You wanna fuck someone? Come fuck me!”

“I said in a goddamn minute!” When he had returned his hand to your neck and started squeezing hard enough to leave a bruise, you had felt that instinct kick in.

You turned your head as best as you could and latched onto his hand, clamping your teeth down on his palm and fingers, grinding your teeth into him. The pained cry, the sharp abrasion of your teeth on him, had made him let you go; however, in the motion of you dropping, you had been hurt in the process. His knee had been driven into your abdomen, and while you had been torn between feeling the pain and reacting to it and getting the hell out of there, your flight or fight had retaken hold.

Marcus had been holding his hand, screaming profanities at you before he came barreling toward you, his heavy feet and rage making him stumble once or twice. You had picked yourself up off the ground and ducked under his arm, first running to the couch to grab the envelope he’d taken from you and then to the kitchen.

You grabbed a knife from the block and wrapped your fingers around the handle, holding it out in front of you defensively, your eyes burning with the need to cry that you had not given into. You held the handle and took a step toward the door as Marcus had closed in, your attention flicking toward your sister and her evil gaze.

“You did this! This is your fault!” You could see the unspoken message in her evil eyes; her glare and her anger were seeping from her. She would and always had defended the shit excuses of men she went with, and you were the one who always let her in because she was family, and all you had was each other.

“Put the knife down-“

“Fuck you.” You spat at Marcus and then your sister. “And fuck you too, keep the damn apartment. Keep everything. If you ever come near me again-“

“Y/N!” Your sister hissed, only to be silenced by Marcus’ hand slamming over her mouth.

“Let the stuck-up bitch go. She wants to go her go. Everything is ours now.” Marcus sneered and watched you back out of the apartment, using your foot to grab your bag and yank it out with you. As you stepped out, the door slammed in your face, and you heard the sharp click of the door as it locked, and you were left in the hallway, bruised with nowhere to go.

“Don’t touch the girls.” Tom had winced at the sight of you, winced at the image of that back and blue handprint that had shown up around your neck and the unsightly bruise of another handprint on your cheek. There was an innate sense of protectiveness that had settled within him as alpha. However, he knew that the real danger, the honest violent reactions, would come from his bosses.

“That doesn’t include what happens outside,” you hissed as he dabbed at the minor cuts with antiseptic, cleaning the abrasions caused by the grapple that you hadn’t even realized had been there, “this happened. At my apartment.”

“That alpha your sister is screwing is one of their runners. Marcus-“ Tom slid back on the office chair and turned, grabbing another wipe before he glanced back at you, studying the superficial cuts in your lip and your tear-stained cheeks before he spoke again. “-works for them. You work for them; you are their business.”

“So what?” You slapped his hand away, your eyes narrowing in his direction. “I just…I have nowhere to go. I don’t want to get on their radar.”

“It’s too late for that,” Tom admitted, dabbing the new antiseptic wipe against your cuts as he cleaned you up. “The night you left, they had gotten hold of your scent.”

“That wasn’t them.” You drew yourself away. “It wasn’t-“

You had waited a day between you leaving your apartment and coming to seek out Tom. You had waited a day between first getting the scent of the two alphas that were more powerful and afflicting than you had ever come across before and now.

“It was a day between-“

“And they have never come across, and omega whose scent affected them as much as yours did.” Tom had dropped the used wipe in the trash and then sat back to cross his arms over his chest.

“How did they even know it was me? How did they even know-“ You hesitated, unsure if you wanted to know.

Steve Rogers and Bucky Barnes owned the city. If they wanted to find your scent and who you were, it wouldn’t take long. It would take a conversation with Tom; it would only take a single glance at the employment records or the security cameras to figure out who you were and where you were coming from.

“Look, I appreciate the help, but I can leave. I can-“ You tried to reach for your bag, only to groan and whimper at the surge of pain that shot through you.

“You can’t.” Tom cut you off, resting his hand upon your own, stilling you. “You are going to have to talk to Steve and Bucky about what happened-“

“I am not-!” Your protest fell short when the doorknob had started to turn, and the room was breached by the two alphas whose scent had affected you so significantly the night you left, the night that Marcus had attacked you. It was a single passing day between the night you caught their scent and now, and yet you were still just as terrified, maybe even more so.

“I don’t know them.” You whispered under your breath. “Please don’t do this.”

“I’m not doing anything.” Tom countered, glancing between you and the two men who had now closed the door, locking you in the office with them.

“I won’t say anything! I won’t do anything! I promise!” You were trapped in the chair you were sitting in, trapped under the weight of their gazes and their scents, unable to move or think with them getting closer appropriately.

“Marcus,” Tom spoke the name as he rose from his seat, and the brunette had taken his place, his blue eyes vibrant, almost crystalline.

“Omega,” his voice was deep, and you had squeaked in response as he reached out to brush his fingertips against your chin, gently turning your head to get a good look at you, “my name is Bucky.”

“Steve.” He spoke gruffly, his thick arms crossed over his chest and his blue-green eyes darkening by the second, his jaw clenching as he looked you over.

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry, I promise I won’t-“

“Shh,” the alpha before you had silenced you with a soft croon as he tilted your head the other way, his eyes burning into you, “quiet.”

You opened your mouth to speak and snapped it shut immediately after, averting your eyes when you thought you had been staring too long. He had kept his fingers resting against your chin, and you had shuddered when you felt his thumb brush against your jaw.

“You’re not in trouble.” The blonde, Steve, had grunted a response that seemed contradictory to what he was saying. There was such tenseness in his voice, such aggression in the tone; it had you shivering where you sat.

“Steve, you’re scaring her.” Bucky’s voice was quiet, controlled and soft as he spoke to you, letting go of your chin as he reached behind him as grabbed a small icepack from the first aid kit and a cloth, wrapping the ice pack in the clock before he snapped the metal disk inside. “Marcus, he’s your sister’s boyfriend?”

“I know he works for you, and I swear I won’t-“ You started to speak again, and again you had cut yourself short with a single look from the alpha before you as he pressed the cloth and ice pack to your cheek, holding it against your skin with a tenderness you didn’t think an alpha like him, could exude.

“Marcus did this to you?” Bucky questioned, and you had answered quietly, shifting slowly in your seat.

“I…confronted him. He…stole money I’d hid away in my room, in my apartment that I share with my sister.” Their scents were simultaneously comforting and thrilling, just as equally powerful as they were soothing.

“Did Marcus say anything else about money had come across?” It was Steve who had spoken, and it was Steve who was remaining on that aggressive high as he stood before the door with his arms crossed and his jaw still clenched.

“I avoid him. I avoid him as much as I can.” You had to look away; you couldn’t handle the intense look of his blue eyes or his defined jaw and the way his brown hair seemed to fall out of place from the styled coif.

“It’s okay.” Bucky had soothed you; he crooned softly as he lowered his hand and the ice pack and looked over his shoulder, his eyes meeting Steve’s. There was a look that was passed between them, a solid and silent communication that hadn’t eased the tension in the room, nor had it given you any clarity as to what was going on or what would happen to you. It was another minute of silence before Steve had dropped his arms down to his side and rolled his shoulders back, the significant blonde alpha no less terrifying now that there was a sense of resolve hanging around him.

“I’ll be in the car.” Steve had addressed Bucky, and then he was gone, the door closing softly behind him.

“You’re going to need to rest a few days.” Bucky had returned his hand to your chin, like he first had, and turned your head to the left and the right before he had clicked his tongue against his teeth and shook his head. “Tom’s gonna take you home.”

“I don’t…I can’t go back there.” You stuttered, inhaling sharply when Bucky had leaned in, his face entirely too close to yours as he smirked, then leaned in to brush his lips against the tip of your nose.

“You’re going to be trouble for us, aren’t you?” He pulled away and stood, turning sharply on his heel, stopping only to address the only other alpha in the room. “Take her home; make sure she has something to eat. Have Nat bring her clothes.”

“The protocol?” Tom questioned without hesitation, another way of communicating that had gone completely over your head.

“Two at all times.” Bucky glanced back at you, the hard lines of his face softening as he studied you and grinned. “You’re going to be okay, kitten.”

[lokislastlove]

Treasure (Dark!Zemo x Reader)

Summary: Your boss forces everyone to participate in a Valentines Day themed treasure hunt.

Warnings: Noncon, smut, fingering, bondage.

Notes: I took the leap to attempt a little Zemo thanks to this awesome writing challenge (lovetochallengeyourself)! Thanks for hosting @cockslut-padalecki and @sweeterthanthis !! I loved this whole idea so much!!! ❤️❤️❤️

🌹

“Are you ready for today?” Your coworker, Millie, giggles excitedly as she sits on your desk.

“They don’t really give us a choice,” you purse your lips and lean back, raising a brow at her hot pink mini dress. “The outfit is a bit much, isn’t it?”

“Hey! Don’t be such a Scrooge. Besides, it’s time away from the gallery, what’s not to like?”

“Scrooge doesn’t like Christmas,” you deadpan, “Plenty of people hate Valentines Day. But you’re right, I just wish that the whole party thing was optional. I spend enough of my day fake smiling and pretending to enjoy myself.”

She scoffs with feigned offense, bringing her hand to her chest dramatically, “you don’t enjoy your time with me?”

You crack a smile and roll your eyes, “oh shut up. You know I love you.”

She smiles smugly, “I know.”

You both turn at the sound of footsteps coming down the hall and smile politely at the man beaming back at you. His long brown peacoat flutters behind him as he saunters over and tucks his hands in the pockets of his pressed black slacks. He always looks like he just stepped off a runway, not a speck of dirt to be seen or a single hair out of place.

“I came to fetch you. It seems your boss has started without you in the staff lounge,” he announces with a subtle accent and chivalrous bow, gesturing to the hallway he just emerged from.

“What?!” Millie shrieks and rushes off, the sound of her heels fading fast as she disappears from view.

You gawk at her sudden departure and tighten your smile as he stands there watching you. His brown eyes sparkle in the bright gallery lights as you meet his eye and clear your throat.

“Thank you, sir… for thinking of us,” you say as you pack up your things and lock away the office laptop.

“Zemo,” he corrects kindly.

You stand and push in your chair, smiling at his request, knowing there is no way your boss will allow you to be so informal with such an important client. Its well known that the Baron accounts for a large portion of the pieces your company restores, as well as being a close personal friend of your boss.

“Well, I better get going,” you mutter, inching toward the hall. “Oh, are you going to the… um, event?” You inquire curiously as he moves to follow you.

His thin lips curve beneath his well groomed beard and he looks down as he walks beside you.“I’m afraid I will not be relishing in Ellen’s latest… event,” he smirks, “but, I do sincerely hope you enjoy the festivities.”

“Of course, I shouldn’t have assumed – you probably have better things to do than attend some silly Valentine’s Day office party,” you laugh in embarrassment.

“You are not fond of the celebration?” He asks, with a tone that implies he knows the answer.

“Well let’s just say my love life has hardly been something to celebrate,” you laugh.

He hums in thought and nods, “a shame. I’m certain that won’t be the case forever. Perhaps this year will be different.”

He stops as you reach the employee lounge door and you hear your boss’s pitchy voice twitter through the cracks. You offer him a genuine smile, and whisper an obligatory thanks before sneaking in through the door. You doubt his optimism, some people just aren’t that lucky.

“Okay now for the fun part!” Your boss, Ellen, squeals from atop the small kitchenette counter.

Thankfully, it looks like you just miss the long annual lecture about love, specifically about how she met her “beau”. Same nauseating story, different bullshit ‘employee-bonding-event’. Last year it was a rave at a roller rink, and who could have predicted roller skates and excessive amounts of booze would be a bad idea. God only knows what you’ll be subjected to this year.

“Hope you guys brought your thinking caps today, because you’ll be going on a treasure hunt! And I wish you all good luck because I wrote the clues myself. Now, don’t worry, you can’t work together if you want,” she winks at the room full of people. “It’s simple, follow the clues, collect the prizes along the way and the first one to make it to the party with each scavenged item gets a special surprise!” She claps her hands, her Botox features tugged into a sharp expression.

Great. Even worse. Now you have to do more than just show up, no way around this one. You sigh and put on your usual fake smile when Millie bumps your elbow and beams in excitement. Well, best to try to enjoy it as much as you can, Millie is right, at least it’s a day away from the front desk.

“So now that we all know what to do…” Ellen scans the crowd, the anticipation growing along with her grin, “…seek out the office that pays you your dues, it is there you will find the first of your clues.”

There is a pause in the crowd as people process the childish riddle and a mutter rumbles thought the crowd.

“H.R.” you hear before someone yells, “Mary’s office!”

The room erupts as all sixty of the employees cheer and rush for the door in a frenzy. You get pushed against the wall as your zeal fails to surpass theirs. A blur of people squeal excitedly past you and you can’t help but laugh. You find yourself at the back of the pack already, though it hardly bothers you. All this commotion over something that is likely a crappy regift that Ellen doesn’t want to keep in her house. Not even Millie waits for you, though you can’t blame her, you’ve always envied her vivacity.

“Try to remember to have fun,” Ellen calls after you as you follow the crowd out the door. You shoot her a smile and a nod before pattering down the hall to Mary’s office.

As the crowd thins you are left alone to decipher the first clue, “come here to meet me and I’ll give you a boost, your next clue awaits where we all go to get juiced.”

You sigh and turn on your heal, the clue is obviously referring to the juice, tea and coffee cafe around the corner. Nearly every employee is addicted, so much so that Ellen pays extra to supply the break room with coffee and treats that you pick up every morning. Despite her over the top personality, you admit that she makes a good boss, always goes the extra mile to make sure her employees are happy and cared for.

“Hey Joel,” you greet the lanky blond barista as you hold the door open for the last few of your coworkers to scramble out.

“Well, that was fun,” he chuckles, looking a little frazzled.

“Now you know how I feel everyday,” you smirk.

“They are always like that?” He inquires with a glazed look fixed on the door.

You laugh, “well maybe a bit more than usual today, but they are a competitive bunch.” You lean up against the counter, tapping your finger as you scan for what they found that you are clearly missing. “Want to help me out? Got a clue for me or something?”

“Oh shit, yeah. Umm, here,” he pulls over the last to-go cup and slides it to you with a smile.

“Thanks,” you smile and read the hand written note on the paper sleeve. “Do you remember our last dance? I’d do it again if given the Chance,” you quote aloud dryly and scoff. “That isn’t even clever. Chance is literally the name of the club we went to for our company Christmas party.”

You roll your eyes and Joel chuckles, “your boss takes you to a club for Christmas? Where the hell do you work again?”

“It’s a private art gallery, we also do restorations too… or they do. I just work the front desk.”

“That sounds cool,” he nods.

“Yeah, I thought so too,” you return, smile not quite reaching your eyes. “Well, I’ll see ya Monday.”

You step out into the warming afternoon air, not a single coworker in sight as you take the nearby subway to the club a few blocks away. As you get off the train you see a few groups of your coworkers already rushing back down the stairs on their way to the next clue. Your lack of urgency is setting you farther behind, and yet you can’t convince yourself to care.

You climb the stairs and cross the street to the big metal door, thankful you knew it’s location as the darken neon sign above does little to mark it. You find the club owner, another friend of Ellen’s named Lyndon, waiting for you with your next clue.

“Thought you might have gotten lost there, little one,” he chuckles, a half-smoked cigar bouncing between his full lips. “Here you go, sweetheart, keep this on, you’ll need it later. Happy Valentine’s Day.”

He waves you forward with his pudgy hand and holds up a wristband. He clasps it together easily and let’s his moist hand linger on your soft skin, causing you to snag your hand away.

“Thank you,” you offer meekly and head back out onto the street.

You unroll the piece of paper neatly wrapped around the thickest part of the wristband and read the inscription to yourself, “to find your next step forward you must first recall the past, look where your boss found a love made to last.”

Another easy one, it’s the story she tells every year on Valentines Day. A blind date with an asshole, saved by a stranger who bought her a big cotton candy and took her ice skating in Central Park. They married a year later, a cute story but hardly worth the twenty minutes of exasperating details.

Another ten minute subway trip has you walking around the stone pathway along the outside of the large ice rink surrounded by the leafless trees of the sunny park. You spot a lone cotton candy cart near the entrance to the rink and make your way over to it. Seems the likely location. The man behind the cart watches you the entire way, adjusting his hat almost nervously as he waits for you to near.

“Hi,” you greet with a polite smile. “Do you by chance have a clue for me? My boss has me on this scavenger hunt.”

His eyes flick down your body, his cheek twitching, “what’s your name, gorgeous?”

You hesitate but give him your first name and he nods with a hum. “Yeah, I got a special little something for you right here.”

You hide your grimace at his suggestive tone as he ducks under the cart and pulls out a small blue cotton candy. He hands it over with a wink and waves away your attempt to tip him, assuring you he’s been paid well for the trouble.

“Thanks,” you mutter as you turn away, eager to get away from his knowing smirk and unnerving gaze.

God you hope this shit is almost over. A small bite of the fluffy spun sugar lifts your spirits as you read the next clue. You tug the small tag off the stick and pause at the short line of print, no rhyme or jaunty riddle this time, just an address. You type it into your phone to discover it’s the location of an expensive boutique within walking distance.

“Jesus, I draw the line at costumes,” you grumble and follow the map on your phone.

The bell dings as the the door opens and you take a tentative step inside the high end dress store. The white floors glow as the sunshine streams through the large windows and mirrors cover every inch of wall space. A rainbow assortment of dresses hang neatly spaced on the metal bars while glass cases house expensive purses and accessories. It’s all very chic, and it makes you uncomfortable. This is well outside of your price range, but if Ellen’s paying, who are you to refuse?

“Hello,” sings a man, his orange ensemble flashing in your periphery. “May I help you?”

“I hope so,” you return as he pulls your attention away from the rack of sequined cocktail dresses. “My company is doing this sort of Valentines Day scavenger hunt and I got this address…”

He smiles and gently taps your hand to stop you, “I know exactly who you are, honey. I have your dress back here waiting for you.”

“Dress?” You inquire as you follow his heeled footsteps down the hall to a round mirrored dressing area. He points you to a door with a red dress hanging from it and ushers you inside to put it on.

“It fits perfectly,” you say in wonder as you exit the stall and turn to look at yourself in the mirrors.

“Well of course, honey. Nothing but the best here,” he laughs and grins as he watches you spin.

“Ok. But now what? Am I supposed to just wear this out of the store? I don’t even know where I’m supposed to go next…” you note.

“It would be a literal crime to NOT wear this dress the rest of the day… well, until you find your special someone to take it off for you,” he winks. “And now I’m supposed to pass you off to Miss Wendy next door.”

“Next door?” You ask puzzled as he escorts you out the front door and points you to the conveniently located shoe store a few paces away. “Oh.”

“Have fun, girl! Don’t forget to thank me when you meet that hottie tonight,” he wiggles his fingers with a playful wink before shutting the door behind him.

“Yeah, right,” you sigh.

You smooth your hands down the intricate detailing of the expensive fabric, the lace hem brushing lightly against your knees. Well at least it isn’t some crazy costume, it’s a tasteful choice, something you wouldn’t expect from someone like Ellen.

The second store goes by quickly. Wendy the sweet older woman who owns the store is just as prepared for your arrival, fitting you with a pair of matching red heels.

“You look beautiful, dear,” her voice shakes slightly as she strains to stand.

She offers you a sweet smile before pointing out the window to the black Sudan parked outside. A man leans against the passenger door and perks up when he spots her waving at him.

“This is your last stop, sweetie. You go and have fun now,” she pats your arm as you step toward the stranger at the door.

“Uh, did everyone get private cars to the party? Seems slightly excessive,” you admit nervously to Wendy as you eye him.

“This is Carl,” Wendy chuckles away your reticence, “he’s going to escort you. Go. Have fun, be young and enjoy yourself.”

Her endearing motherly energy soothes you and you take a deep breath, “thanks Wendy, I’ll try.”

“Good,” she returns with a satisfied smile.

You follow Carl outside and let him open the car door for you. He doesn’t say much, his answers to your questions are short and vague but polite. He smiles quietly the whole way, even as he pulls over near Rockefeller center and gestures you toward the building. He waves over someone to take the car and leads you inside, nodding to security guards who quickly let you both pass. The further you go the more anxious you get. Something feels wrong.

“Carl?” You mutter quietly as you wait outside a small elevator and he hums in acknowledgement. “Are you sure this is where my work party is?”

He hesitates, measuring his words carefully, “I would never take you where you aren’t supposed to be, Miss.”

Your brow pinches as the doors open and you step inside. He presses the button for the seventh floor and you bite your lip as your stomach knots in anticipation.

“I’m not feeling so good,” you mutter shakily as the elevator doors open.

“Follow me miss, the fresh air will help,” Carl pushes open a door and what little breath you have is stolen by the sight before you.

A beautiful green lawn and manicured garden is surrounded by towering walls of city skyscrapers with the gothic St. Patrick’s Cathedral as the crowning jewel. It glows with precisely placed spotlights, offers the most jaw dropping backdrop to the already stunning view. Candles in white tin lanterns litter the grass along with sprinkles of red rose petals, creating a magazine-worthy Valentines Day scene. You get lost in the beauty of it until the door clicks behind you.

Carl is gone and the silence of the rooftop descends upon you like a dark cloud. No loud coworkers, no exuberant boss, just you and a mysterious figure on the other side of the garden with his back turned to you.

You wet your lips and pull your faux-fur coat tightly around you as you follow the pavers across the garden. Soft romantic music plays from hidden speakers and your heart thumps loudly in your ears as you near the stranger.

“Hello?” You call, hesitant to get too close, as though subconsciously giving yourself room to run.

You’re unsure if he hears you until you see his arm raise and he flicks two of his fingers to gesture you closer. You swallow and take a step forward, craning your neck to get a better look at him. You admire his expensive black suit, his dark hair slicked back neatly as he stares over the ledge of the building.

Your heels clack against the stone floor, only a few feet away from him now when he finally speaks, “this view is one of my favorites in the city. Always takes my breath away, no matter how many times I see it,” he praises.

You recognize that faint accent and the scent of his cologne on the breeze. He shakes his head softly, and you notice his neat beard hiding a small smile as he turns to look at you.

“But you, my Beauty. You,” he pauses as he drinks you in and your heart skips a beat, “…outshine it all.”

You stand there in shock, but mostly confusion, “Sir?”

“I know, it’s ok. Take a moment to process, I will wait,” he says calmly, bringing a crystal glass of whiskey to his lips as he watches you.

“Is this a prank or something? Did Ellen put you up to this?” you look around, half expecting to see your coworkers giggling from the bushes at your expense.

“I assure you the only motivation I have for bringing you here is my own,” he smiles reassuringly.

“You brought me here? But what about the office party?” You worry, the last thing you need is for Ellen to think you bailed.

“Don’t worry, I will handle Ellen,” he chuckles. “But tell me, are you truly satisfied with your position? I admit you caught my eye the first time I saw you and I got curious. Though you were always too shy to realize my interest, even after months.”

Your mouth opens but no words come out so he continues, “so imagine my surprise when I go digging and discover Ellen has been hiding her biggest talent behind a front desk,” he tuts his disappointment. “I find it hard to believe this is what you moved out here to do.”

“Well, I…” you stutter, dazed by his intense stare and unnerving insight. “I wanted to be a painter, but Ellen said I needed more experience, that I’d be better talking to people in the art world first.”

He smiles and lets out a short breath through his nose, sensing your reservation to speak your truth, “and you agree?”

“I think I’m lucky to have a job that pays me well, and I get to work in an industry I love. And hopefully one day I will get to use the connections I’ve made here to have the opportunity to share my work.”

“Mmm,” he nods. “Very sensible.”

He turns away to admire the view around you and you take the opportunity to do that same. There is a tension in the air as you wait for him to explain. Is this a test? Is he going to offer you a job or try to get you to leave Ellen to work for him? You bite your lip and study his pensive expression, hoping to guess what he’s thinking.

“I chose this spot because it reminds me of you. It’s unique, understated, and beautiful… but it’s hidden, only to be enjoyed by a privileged few.”

You gulp, trying to control your nervous shifting, hands gripping the collar of your coat tightly as your heart beat quickens. His calm demeanor is ironically unsettling.

“Sir, why did you bring me here?” You mutter nervously.

His serene smile falls and he turns back to you with tight lips, “it’s Valentines Day, and I got you all dressed up to have a private gourmet dinner, on a romantic garden rooftop, in the middle of New York City,” he pauses to let his eyes rove down your body and you shiver. “I would think my intentions are rather obvious.”

Your chest tightens in fear. Fuck. What do you do? How do you politely put him down without insulting him? You know a blunt rejection can possibly lead to losing your job, but you don’t want to mislead him either.

“Sir?” You squeak.

“It’s Zemo, my beauty. No need to play coy any longer,” he reaches over to brush a knuckle along your heated cheek and you flinch.

“Look, I’m very flattered. Honestly. I never imagined a man like you would notice a nobody like me, but… I really think I should go find my coworkers,” you step back to get some distance as it feels like the towering buildings might swallow you whole.

He brings his finger to his lips, pressing against them as he hums thoughtfully. “How about you stay for dinner and if by the end of the meal I have not persuaded you, then I will return you to your little office party.”

“Okay,” you acquiesce after a moment.

“Shall we?” He holds out his arm to the silk tent set with a table for two inside.

You near one of the chairs and he’s there to pull it out for you. You mutter a quiet thanks and sit rigidly on the cool seat as he settles across the small table. The intimacy of the setting is hard to avoid, no matter how you wish to keep it professional. His dark penetrating eyes follow your every move and it puts you on edge.

His hand slowly reaches across the table and your eyes widen, until he stops and grips a small silver bell, ringing it lightly. The corner of his lip curls as he watches you relax as he retracts his hand and a waiter rushes over with a tray out of the darkness.

The metal tin covers are removed with a flare and the Baron smiles sweetly at the waiter, “thank you. You may leave the bottle and go enjoy the rest of your evening. I do not think we’ll be here long.”

You relax a bit at his words, grateful that he doesn’t want to drag this out. “Thank you,” you offer to the waiter before he disappears into the shadows and you hear the click of the door across the lawn.

You pick up your fork and poke at the overpriced entrée, your appetite lost as your nerves buzz with quiet impatience. You wish he would just let you leave.

He takes a bite and hums in satisfaction as he watches you, “delicious.”

Your eyes flick up to him as he licks his lip and dabs the corner of his mouth with a napkin. He chuckles when you quickly look away from his lecherous grin.

“I admit, I am not used to demure women. As a youth from a noble family I rarely had to seek attention, women would typically come to me,” his eye twinkles. “And though the military offered little of such comforts, the women I did meet were always experienced, confident beasts. But you…my beauty… you are something else.”

He leans forward, eyes dipping down to drink in your nervous figure, “Sir, thank you for the dinner, but I think I should go.”

“Ellen will never promote you, you know,” he smirks as you look up sharply. “I have known her quite some time and though she may be generous in many aspects, she doesn’t like to share praise.”

You frown, “that’s not –.”

“I can offer you the life you want,” he interrupts. “No more fruitless days spent dealing with haughty customers. Your art deserves to be seen.”

He holds your gaze with his dark eyes, his voice deep and unchallengeable. Your face heats with his flattery but it’s matched with an icy shiver down your spine.

“I – I think I should go,” you stammer.

He sighs, “I am afraid that is not an option.”

“But you said..”

“I am used to getting what I want… and what I want is for us to enjoy this evening together and for you to wake up next to me in the morning with a bright new future ahead of you.”

You gape at him, irritation bubbling into anger as you scoff and push out your chair, but you barely make it to your feet. The click of a safety makes you freeze and your chest tightens as he gently sets a pistol on the table, pointed threateningly in your direction.

“Sit down,” he orders softly and you lower yourself back onto your chair.

He purses his lips as he taps his finger on the handle, thinking. You quake, muscles tense as you try not to move, afraid to set him off.

“Zemo,” you quaver.

He fixes his attention back on you, his pinched brow and tight lips revealing his ire, “take off the coat.”

Your lip trembles and you glance at his finger slowly petting the trigger, with a shaky breath you shimmy out of your coat.

“Mmm. Beautiful, just as I pictured.”

Your eyes close as you fight to keep still, awaiting his next order. If you humor him maybe you’ll get out of here unscathed.

He tilts his head, “open your legs.”

You blanch, biting the inside of your lip as you grip the chair and slowly separate your knees.

“Show me,” he demands, raising his brow in warning when you look up at him in question.

You let out a breath and reach down to lift your dress, exposing your lace panties.

“Take them off.”

“Sir, please. Don’t make…,”

“You refuse my dinner, refuse my galant proposals, are you sure you want to refuse me on this?” He warns, his hand curling around the gun as he raises a brow.

You gulp and stand to wiggle out of your underwear before he has you move the chair around to sit beside him. You sit back down, your bare ass sticking to the hard surface as you resume your instructed position.

He takes another bite, chewing slowly as leans back to watch the show, “don’t be shy. Entertain me.”

“Wha? How?” you tremble, afraid to hear it out loud.

“Pleasure yourself,” he suggests casually, sipping his wine.

You shake your head and bite your lip as you close your eyes, the humiliation heating your cheeks and stinging your eyes. You just can’t get yourself to do it, your fingers clinging to the hem of your dress in resistance.

“You do it… or I will,” he threatens darkly and you swallow the dry lump in your throat.

You pry your hand off your dress and let it fall lazily into your lap, drifting reluctantly between your thighs. Your fingers dance over your sensitive skin, open and exposed to the cool air and his unwavering gaze. You hear his satisfied hums and low groans as he eats and watches you, but you close your eyes, trying to forget he’s there.

You fall into your usual rhythm, relying on muscle memory in place of desire. You rub gentle circles around your clit, trying not to hit anything that could make it look like you are enjoying this. But after several quiet moments the clatter of silverware has your eyes opening to see Zemo as he leans forward to get a closer look.

He tuts and catches your eye, “it is far worse than I thought. Not only do you lack direction, but passion as well.”

Your ministrations halt at his words and a tear finally escapes, rolling down your cheek as your lip trembles, “I just want to go home.”

“You don’t know what you want,” he growls and stands, looming over you.

You flinch at the sudden movement and he grips the back of your neck to keep you from escaping. With his free arm he swipes the table clean, the fine China falling to the ground with a sharp crash. He pulls you to your feet and bends you over the satin tablecloth as you shriek in surprise.

“No!” You cry as you try to push yourself up.

He holds you down with a hand on your back, his hips pinning yours as he uses his other to unclasp his belt buckle. The familiar whizz of leather through a belt loop has you struggling more until he collects your wrists and wraps them tightly together. You cry and plead for him to stop as he flips up your skirt and sighs at the sight of your ass.

“Oh, my beauty,” he groans, as he slowly opens his trousers and lets his hard cock rest between the cleft of your ass.

It’s warm and from the feel of it, much larger than you feared. He hums and lets it slide back and forth, admiring the sight of him framed by your round cheeks as he squeezes them and pushes them around himself.

“Had I known you’d be this perfect, I’d have stolen you away long ago,” he coos as his fingers dip down your slit and poke at your moistening entrance. “Perfect indeed,” he whispers as he pushes two fingers in, making you whimper.

“Please, stop,” you breathe as your eyes threaten to roll.

“I’m going to show you what you truly need,” he says huskily. “What is that expression… the tortured artist?” He jokes as he spreads his fingers, scissoring your walls until you cry out weakly.

Your body betrays you, arousal pooling around his fingers until he pulls them out slowly and uses your slick to coat his leaking tip. Your head drops to the table and you kick out your feet when you feel the smooth hot tip of his cock pushing into your dripping cunt.

“No,” you shake your head as he pushes in completely, stealing away your breath.

“Yes,” he hisses victoriously, savoring the way you clench around him.

You tug at your restraints, your shoulders aching as he begins to thrust in and out. His heavy breaths are punctuated with flowery speeches and praise. The man clearly loves the sound of his own voice, his vigor increasing as your squeaks turn to quiet moans and gasps of delight.

“Zemo,” you moan as he pushes you closer to the edge, intent on getting him to stop, but all it does is make him pound harder.

“Yes, say it again, I’m so close,” he grunts, squeezing your ass, using it to anchor himself to you.

“Zemo!” You squeak, your voice peaking as you reach your high. Waves of pleasure make your body tense until he finally comes with a broken moan and you slump bonelessly against the table.

“I think this may be my new favorite American holiday,” he chuckles as he pulls out and falls back into the chair behind you. He spreads open your cheeks and hums as he watches his seed leak from your swollen cunt, “but this is definitely my new favorite view.”

Tags: @darkficsyouneveraskedfor @caffiend-queen @threeminutesoflife @queenoftheworldisdead @buttercupfangirl @needleandhammer @thiskindahotkindamusic @lokiswildheartcantbebroken @emberenchanted