#no more screaming through the trunk lid

[letitbehurt]

I love when Whumpees are beaten if they make too much noise back there.

I love when whumpees are shoved into the trunks of cars

[lokisgoodgirl]

No Mercy [Loki x Female Reader]

A Link to my Masterlist is HERE Summary: Loki interrogates you....sexually. Warnings. 18+ Minors DNI. Smut. Ceremonial erotica. Fun & Games. Soft! Dom Loki. Established relationship. Light bondage. Denial. (w/c 1.8k)

“Do you plead mercy, little one?” Loki’s voice is terrifyingly calm. If it weren’t for the violently hard erection pressed against his thigh beneath those tight, slutty trousers you might actually believe you were in danger. Deny me, you’d challenged him. Make me break. And he has. And he’s close.

“You’ll never make me talk,” you say defiantly. The layer of fear in your voice is fake, but the tremble isn’t.

It feels like you’re dripping on the bed, knees together, folded to the side, hands tied to the posts. Loki’s eyes flicker to the sheets beneath you as you squirm and a slight narrow of his eyes confirms that yes, you are in fact, dripping on the bed.

You’ve been at this for almost an hour. He’s barely touched you. Just a graze of his tactfully deployed fingers, a blindfold, the targeted skim of his breath and the devastation of his carefully chosen words.

Now the blindfold runs between his fingers as he tilts his head, thinking. “My interrogation requires a little more...finesse, then,” he says, making the blindfold disappear in a flash of green. “A touch more...pressure.’ You whine, yanking the thick leather binds wrapped around your wrists. The manufactured innocence on your face is like blood to a free-wolf and Loki’s lips curl in a wicked smile.

“I’ve been doing this a long, long time,” he says imperiously as he unbuttons a cuff. His long fingers make slow work of folding the sleeve up the meat of his forearm. “I may be a Prince, but an Interrogator of the Crown was my calling, I think. Don’t you?” Your chin rises and you nail him with your stare, hoping your tits look as great as you think they do. You arch valiantly towards his quiet wrath and with a deep breath, you deploy your best 50's starlet impression. “You’ll never break me….Loki Laufeyson.” He releases an exaggerated growl that makes new arousal well between your tightly closed thighs. “Is that right?”

A golden flicker licks from his forehead, the horned diadem unfurling from nothing at all. He’s working on the other sleeve as he swaggers to the side of the bed, taking his time. An oil of sweat has formed on your chest and you squirm for real, trying to break free. “You know how I feel about the horns, oh god-” you mutter, breaking character, clenching as another devilish smile stretches his lips. He stands by your head, crotch inches from your face. So close you can see his cock throb through the fabric. So close you can smell the earthy sweetness of his pre-cum. A low rumble of laughter penetrates the air. “I think you’re closer to defeat than you let on, little one,” he says, drawing a cool finger down your cheek. “Desperate to yield to me, desperate to give in to my demands; to furnish me with the carnal knowledge of your body that I require…that the realm requires.” Against every instinct screaming in your body, you yank your face away. “Perhaps not,” he says bitterly. A wave of dark sandalwood fills your nostrils as the mattress dips and Loki mounts the bed one impossibly long leg at a time.

He spreads his knees while he spreads yours. His face is bladed and angular in shadow, smouldering eyes sparkling beneath his battle-crown of gold.

The god reaches forward and runs his huge palms up the front of your thighs. His touch is electric. You buck up, feeling a web of arousal stick against the bedsheets. Loki glances at it through half-lidded eyes, his trunk heaving with heavy, silent breaths. “You bring this on yourself,” he whispers coldly as a strange object appears in his hand. It looks like a little bell with a round, tapered tip. But heavy. It looks heavy. There's a slight amber tint that warms in the low light.

“My seal,” he explains with an air of condescension. He swings it between his thumb and forefinger. “You will submit to me...one way or another.” He leans closer, dragging the cool golden seal over the curve of your breast and a violent shiver wrenches down your spine. “They always do,' he says. "And I have come prepared.” His eyes follow the metal seal’s descent over the dip of your waist, enjoying the shudders of overstimulation they cause. The graze of his raised markings harden your nipples and you strain your neck to the ceiling as he runs a line down the centre of your stomach and pauses at the top of your mound. The weight between your legs is unbearable; it’s an emptiness only Loki’s cock can fill. “Are you sure you don’t want to talk?” he murmurs sweetly with those dark brows peaked. But it’s an act, trying to trick you – of course. Oh god, he’s so fucking hot, it’s terrible. Every urge screams to cry mercy and have him fuck you like a victorious king; ride him as you hang onto those horns and make him see double. “Do it,” you spit, clenching your teeth. You yank the leather ropes again. “Pervert.” Loki’s brows rise in genuine surprise, a flash of mirth you recognise skating across his face before his features harden again. Role play with Loki is like nothing else. The king of your heart, but king of the performance too. “Very well,” he says, and the cool roll of metal slips against your cunt. He toys with it, pressing its ridged base against your clit and rubbing it in slow, maddening circles. “This seal has started wars,” he says in the same calm, even tone, “ended them, too.” Your stifle a groan of pleasure as the curved tip dips inside your pussy. Its sharp bite seems to melt inside the heat of your slit. “But you may be my greatest challenge,” he purrs as he slides it from the hole. You whimper as he brings it to his lips, rolling it, moaning in a low inhumane frequency. “And since I have just now claimed you with my crest...perhaps your conscience will allow me to claim you with my cock.” Your will to resist is fading fast. Loki tsk’s with feigned irritation as the seal vanishes and his attention turns to the mess beneath your legs. Arousal sticks to your inner thighs in a glistening sheet.

You groan as he flexes his fingers in front of his face, thick veins standing to attention on the back of his hands. He folds all but two, sucking them between his lips and hollowing his cheekbones in the process like an absolute whore. Without a pause, he curls them inside you and the air dissolves from your lungs in a strangled moan of his name. “Doesn’t count…” he warns. You look at him with your mouth open, brow a map of twitching lines. "You have to say it."

Loki kneels between your legs, as cool as Jotunheim ice, pumping his fingers slowly inside your slippery cunt, thumb sliding against your swollen clit with an arrogant smirk on his face. Your hips rise to meet him on every thrust of his palm. Breath comes in short bursts as you clench around his fingers, back arching into his touch as orgasm threatens to ruin you- He slips them out. “Loki!”

The frustration is real - no need to act. The god’s eyes widen in a shameless caricature of innocence. “I have given you every opportunity to yield to me, I have I not?” He pushes the rolled sleeves of his perfectly fitted shirt higher in a targeted attack. Your legs have begun to tremble at the loss of his touch. “And at every opportunity," he continues, "you have stayed true to your loyalties...which I respect."

The ceremonial sincerity in his voice is sickeningly erotic as he hooks his hands beneath your knees. “But pleasure...true pleasure...is a privilege reserved for those who yield to me.”

The sharp cool of his metal diadem stings your flesh as he kisses your inner thigh. He draws closer to your desperate sex, so close you can feel his breath cool against it as he says, “So cry mercy darling, and it will be yours.” He’s really dialled the drama up to eleven tonight. Instinctually you try and lurch your arms forward to grab the curve of his horns and press him deep into your pussy; mad for the feel of his tongue flat and flawless moving against it. “Oh god,” you whimper, fighting yourself. “Good girl,” he purrs, grazing his parted lips over your swollen labia. It’s too much. “Oh god, Loki…” “Good girl, say it...beg for it,” he spits as he falls back on his haunches and reaches for the button of his suit trousers. He looks so fucking mean.

The beat in your chest has turned to syrupy thumps as your legs straighten and contract on either side of him. “You want to be my good girl…” A pop echoes and his cock suddenly weighs in his hand like a weapon. You’re salivating...actually salivating. He pumps slowly back and forth, jaw clenching, his eyes hard as flints. “Don’t make me finish myself on your traitorous face.”

“Mercy,” you gasp. Loki’s grin widens and it touches his eyes. He licks his lips. “Do you want me to stay in character?” he asks quietly as his clothes disappear- everything but the horned diadem on his head.

His shoulders roll and every muscle in his torso tightens, thighs bulging as he clenches against the punishing grip of his fist. You bite your lip, nodding. His eyes flash. “Well chosen,” Interrogator Loki says. The hard edge in his voice has returned with a vengeance and he melts the leather binds holding you with a wave of his hand. “I trust my faith in your repentance is not misplaced,” he says as he crawls up your body with intent. Loki’s hair swings around your jaw, the scent of him, the weight of him. His length presses like metal against your throbbing clit and you buck your hips, trying to catch him. Every thought in your head evaporates as Loki of Asgard buries himself inside you with a shuddering exhale. Your legs wrap around his hips, forcing his ass down, pushing him deeper.

There’s a thud, and then another one; the curve of his horns beating against the headboard. Loki deploys a wolfish smile as his fingers curl around your wrists. “Can’t take any chances with my minx of a prisoner,” he whispers against your cheek. “No mercy,” you moan into his open mouth. It’s a request he understands as he delivers another targeted roll of his hips. “No mercy,” he replies.

A/N - Have I told you guys how much I love you recently? Because I really do. I hope you know that. x

Tags ( in comments - all of you, soz. Normal way is not workinnng)

[shotmrmiller]

currently doing one of my most hated chores which is laundry and it got me thinking.

It's bloody laundry day again. You've got no extra clothes to really wear apart from a loose, grey, too thin pajama shirt and the shorts it came with.

Tragic, but not the end of the world. No one goes to wash their clothes looking like they're right off the runway. And it's also far too early for the laundromat to be packed.

You'll survive.

Slamming your trunk closed, you straighten and wipe the sweat that's beaded on your forehead. Damn muggy air. Even at this hour, the weather chooses violence.

Pulling the door open, you step inside and hiss out a breath through your teeth. In here it's not any better. And there's only one big fan on, out of the many that are in here.

God you hate laundry day.

At least it looks empty.

Tucking your hair away in a makeshift, sloppy bun, you drag your dirty clothes basket to a washer and throw them in.

Next is your detergent and when you pick up the fabric softener, it's almost empty.

God fucking damnit.

And the person that sells stuff isn't in behind the desk.

Slamming the lid closed, you kick your hamper into against the washer and walk toward the cursed fan that probably only circulates the hot ass air in here. But with the way your pathetic shirt is turning damp and sheer from the sweat, and short strands of hair that are starting to glue themselves to the back of your neck, worse is nothing.

And then you're standing in the corner of the laundromat, getting hot air weakly blown into your flushed face. "Goddamn it's hot. Useless fucking fan is just here for decor, i think."

"Ah think so too."

You choke back a scream and spin on the balls of your feet to the deep, accented voice behind you.

A muscular pretty boy with hair the color of damp soil and blue eyes that sparkle brightly, even under the dim light of the place sits with his back to a washer that's currently going.

Devastatingly handsome. And you've been throwing a hissy fit for the past half hour, only to appear in front of him resembling a drowned rat.

Flatlining right now would be great.

"Damned hot in here, alrigh'. Isnae tha' so, Simon?"

Who? Oh no.

How you missed that behemoth is beyond you, but he rises from the ground like a slumbering giant. Ash brown choppy hair and dark, sharp eyes with the rest of his face covered by a black cloth mask. 6'4 at least, and built like bloody fridge.

Someone kill you now.

"Johnny."

His piercing eyes cut to you before flicking back to the man on the floor.

"Get the detergent."

"Aye." Scottish, it sounds like.

You briskly walk away from them two, face burning with embarrassment, back to the washer you're using.

Today of all days, you come across these two. You could cry, honestly.

They're there for as long as you are, and you've long since gotten past your self-consciousness. If you have to melt in this stifling heat for one more second, you just might scream.

You grab your clothes from the dryer with haste, haphazardly throwing them in your basket and with a quick, 'Have a good day!', you're out the door.

As you're about to get in your car, the scot comes bustling out the front door of the laundromat.

"Lass! Ah think these're yers."

What he holds in his hands has tears springing into your eyes.

Undergarments. Why the hell is he-

You can see the tall brit leaning on a machine, with his arms crossed and he's looking right at you.

The walk of shame to the pretty one is almost unbearable. Your trembling hand reaches for your garment. "Thank you."

He chuckles under his breath. "Anytime. See ye around."

How mortifying.

[cursedcupcakemaster]

can I order a Poison apple pie and candy violets with and get Spider Cider. With a ghost!reader , this is the same person who requested the other Spider Cider, hope you have a nice day❤️

Of course so we are looking for a deadly friendship with Skully are we ?

Order; Poison apple pie with a side of candy violets and a glass of spider cider

Notes; I do not own twisted wonderland, Skully or the reader,Skully and Twst belong to Disney as well as the brilliant mind of Yana Toboso, reader belongs to themselves, this is just my interpretation of how this would go with the character, reader isn't neccesarily Yuu but if you want to imagine they are you're welcome to, y/n, reader is you

Warnings;yandere, Skully may or may not have killed a few people, implied death

Yandere Skully J. X ghost reader

🪦Best friends forever🪦

You could hardly remember what happened to get you where you are now

A spirit haunting a house that hardly anyone would pass by except for one boy

He was tall and quite pale wjth a rather pleasant smile and sharply dressed at that

Skully would always come to visit you every day when the sun went down and would talk with you about the outside world that you couldn't explore much due to being bound to the house

It always made your afterlife feel just a bit easier to deal with and there was something about Skully that seemed familiar to you but it wasn't really clear what

Sometimes Skully would ask to bury things in the back of the house and you allowed him to but he never really told you what was in the yard

It just made you happy to have some company in your lonely house that wasn't the spiders weaving their pretty webs or the rats scuttling about

Skully would sometimes bring things for you, like teddies or dolls so you could possess it or little trinkets you seemed to like such as music boxes or books that you seemed interested in after he told you about them

The one thing he never really seemed to want to let you see were newspapers

It was odd but you shrugged it off its not as if much of it could really effect you considering you weren't alive

Another peculiar thing was that he seemed to know your house better than even yourself, particularly the attic

There was something about it that kind of unnerved you

Particularly a trunk in the corner of the room, it was a charcoal black and when you tried to phase through it you couldn't do it

It was rather shocking to yiu considering there weren't many objects you couldn't get through but the last time you tried Skully seemed a bit upset and yelled that there was nothing for you go see in there

He quickly changed his tune when he saw the look on your face before

The only other time you saw him act like this was when some punks came in to wreck the place, they smashed photos, the windows, and all the nicer things that Skully had brought into the house

He told you to not show yourself to them and that he'd take care of it

Doing as he said the last thing you heard of those punks were their screams before Skully came up smiling letting you know everything was fine

When you thanked him he said "it's really no problem, you're my best friend after all"

Somehow those words meant something to you, like you'd heard them before

After this incident a few more holes were dug in the back yard

One night Skully dropped something on his way out, it was a small skeletal key and the lock seemed to fit the shape of the odd trunk

Fitting it inside and lifting the lid you saw several things including photos of you, only you were....alive and you had a family

Beside you was a boy who looked an awful lot like Skully both of you wore friendship necklaces in the shape of a skull with heart shaped eyesockets

The photos weren't the only the only odd thing, there were some news clippings including "Teenagers missing" and "Mysterious deaths of local family "

There was one last object and it was a shovel

Going outside you took the shovel with you and began digging

What you found only made you feel ill and grateful you didn't have organs any longer

There were the corpses of the punks that tried to destroy your home, the people that were once your family and finally your own bones, you knew it was yours thanks to the friendship necklace shaped like a skull with heart shaped eye sockets

You felt a chill before you turned and saw Skully and he did not look the least bit pleased

"You finally saw it huh" he murmured

"W-why why would you do this?" You asked your voice dripping with fear at the boy who was once your friend

It seemed your question made him smile at you

"They were going to take you away from me. I couldn't let that happen, as for those other ones they deserved it for ruining our house"

Skully took a step toward yoh making you float backwards until you were cornered against the wall as he spoke again

"Don't you see, I did this all for you that's what friends are for~ and we're best friends forever"

You knew he wouldn't likely stop with his sinister projects unless you agreed to what he wanted

"Skully, please no more ,no more killing if you're really my friend please no more"

Ectoplasmic tears ran down your cheeks making him look at you with his face softening before wiping your tears with his thumbs

"Will you stay with me forever then?" He asked

"Best friends till the end" you replied before the skeleton like boy pressed his lips to your own cold ones

[rebelliousstories]

Somebody Knows

Relationship: Spencer Reid x Reader

Fandom: Criminal Minds

Request: No

Warnings: Angst, Light Fluff, Mentions of Violence and Pregnancy

Word Count: 1,465

Main Masterlist: Here

Criminal Minds Masterlist: Here

Part One: Did You Know?// Part Two: I Know Now// Part Four: What We Know

Summary: As soon as he thinks he has her back, she is snatched away at the last second.

“I vow to fiercely love you in all your forms, now and forever. I promise to never forget that this is a once in a lifetime love.” Leo (The Vow)

Spencer tried to call his wife, and was sent to voicemail once more. The SUV pulled up to the women’s correctional facility and his heart began to race. All he wanted was to wrap his wife up in his arms and keep her there; and here he was being denied that privilege. All he could do was hope that she used the FBI part of her brain again, and kept the both of them alive.

It was dark in the trunk of the car. She could not see any light,but she could feel Diana behind her shaking. The duct tape on their mouths and hands made it difficult for her to comfort her mother-in-law, but that did not stop her from trying to provide some indication that she was alive.

However, her brain kept circling back to the “nurse” that had kidnapped them. Even with all her previous training, she was not immune to being put into a dangerous situation like this. The face of the young girl did not trigger any recognition in her, but maybe it did with someone else. Maybe Spencer would know, if he was ever allowed out of prison to help on the case.

The car that she was shoved into was stopped, and she could faintly smell gasoline. They had to be at a gas station of some sort. She did not know how long they had been stopped, but Diana was starting to wake up again and make some noise. Not too long afterwards, a gunshot was muffled through the lid of the trunk, and then bright lights. It was nighttime out, but the contrast between neon lights and the darkness of the trunk blinded her.

“Get out.” The girl in front of her demanded, pointing a gun at her. Cautiously, she struggled to pull herself up and out of the trunk. Apparently the girl with the gun thought that she was taking too long, and cocked the weapon with a demand to hurry up. In what she may have come to regret, Mrs. Reid tried to remove the gun from the woman’s hands. The struggle ended up on the ground, but she had yet to disengage the weapon. She had to give it to the girl; she knew what she was doing with that.

Before she could move, another gunshot rang out. This time that bang was loud, but the screams of pain from behind the duct tape were louder. A bullet was lodged inside her thigh. All she could hope for was that it missed the bones and artery. Her hair was pulled by a small fist to another vehicle where she was dumped unceremoniously. Diana followed shortly after, and she saw the flames encompass the previous car that she had spent time in.

After that, it was a blur. She did not know if it was the blood loss, adrenaline, or pure exhaustion. It was probably a mixture of all three. This was why she went into being a professor after the bureau. Her hands rubbed soothing circles on her stomach and thought back to when she found out.

She remembered it like it was yesterday. The day prior, she had watched her husband with desperate eyes being escorted out of the court room in handcuffs. Today, she was sitting in their shared bathroom while her mother-in-law slept in her bed, staring down at the little blue line in her hands.

It was a relief to know that their dream was coming true, but what would happen if Spencer lost his case? Could she raise a child alone, while having her career and taking care of his ailing mother? There were so many questions to be answered, but none of them would be answered. She just knew that if Spencer were here, he would be nervously rambling off facts as he tried to contain his excitement.

Making her way to the living room, she tucked herself upon their couch, and pulled a book to read. But she just sat there rereading the same page over and over again. Her brain was racing a million miles an hour until Diana came to her.

“What’s eating at you, kid?” Turning her head, the younger Reid let her mother-in-law sit down next to her as she shut the book.

“Just something I wish I was able to tell Spencer before he was left. But I’m hoping he’ll be back soon so I can.” It was better to go with whatever state of mind she was in right now, as confusing her would just lead to another problem for her to stress about.

“Well, whatever it is, you two will make the best decision you two can. Both of you are so smart, and very clever. You’ll have time to tell him when he gets back.” Diana patted her hand, before she got her own book out to read.

But there might not be another time to tell him. The blood loss from her leg meant that she had to be carried inside by some big man that she could not even remember the face of. Her brain was so foggy and was blurring constantly. There was some comfort in knowing that if she had clipped her femoral artery, she would be dead by now.

The sight of her husband’s team bursting through the door provided some comfort in her hazed mind. She could not process that there was something important going on with the woman who had kidnapped her and, was that Emily? Yeah, Emily was here. She would be okay. Someone ran over and checked her pulse while yelling for an ambulance. They patted her face to bring her focus back to them, and that is when she saw the comforting face of David Rossi right next to her.

“Hey, hey bella, you need to keep your eyes on me. We’re going to get you out of here and to the kid. Okay? But you have to stay awake.” The Italian pleaded, but she was starting to phase in and out once more.

“Rossi? Where’s Diana? Is she okay?” Those were her first questions, scratch that, her first words since this had all happened.

“She’s fine. She’s being checked out by the EMT. Which you also need, but you’re going to stay awake, stay with me, and stay here while they get ready for you so you can go home to Spencer.” Rossi held her hand in one of his, while the other rested gently on her face. Eventually, he did have to give way to the medics so they were able to do their work, but he was riding in the back of the ambulance the entire way to the hospital. She tried to keep her eyes open, but pain, exhaustion, and the loss of blood meant that her eyes eventually slipped shut despite everyone’s protests.

This night would forever go down as the night where she could not remember, but she couldn’t not forget. There were such large gaps of time missing, and still so many questions. By the time she came to, bright lights and a sterile smell greeted her. Her eyes were squinted in the blinding lights, but there was a warmth next to her that was difficult to explain. Looking to her right, she noticed that her tall, lanky husband was hunched over uncomfortably in the thinly cushioned chair next to her bed in the hospital.

Picking p her left hand, she twirled a curl on his head in a comforting gesture which caused the man to be woken. He looked to her with an impossibly wide smile, and held her hands in his. Pressing a kiss to them, Spencer looked deeply into her eyes.

“You’re here.” He whispered with gravel in his voice.

“You’re here.” Sounding equally as rough, the couple leaned in and just rested their heads against one another’s.

“Spence, I’ve gotta tell you something,” came her words. But the man just cut her off with a quiet shush.

“It’s alright. I figured it out. Plus the doctors told me. We can talk later. You need rest, okay?” He argued, leaning her back down where she laid. The husband and wife did not speak for a long while. They just sat in silence as the events of the last few hours weighed heavily on them. But they both knew that with the other, they could make it through.

Ngina Otiende said, “Marriage is meant to keep people together, not just when things are good, but particularly when they are not. That’s why we take marriage vows, not wishes.”

[alexandria-thornton]

A recounting of events preceding my return:

--- I ---

Flurries of snow cascaded around the Countess’ robes. Any surface upward-facing enough to catch the falling flakes was covered in it, stark, blotchy patches of white striped across her scarlet folds. This blizzard would soon have taken any mortal who dared brave the treacherous conditions, but it is very hard to kill someone who is already dead.

Her heavy-lidded eyes, pupils arterial red against the blanket of white narrowed in an effort to pierce through it. Any shape, no matter how faint it was, could be a sign of her beloved, and time was of the essence. She winced, thinking of Alexandria and her stubbornness, how her beloved would grit her teeth and bear anything, and recoiled at the thought of those teeth bared in a permanent, frozen grimace in some backwater Arctic forest.

The vampire glanced down at her phone again, reading and rereading the coordinates slowly. Her slender finger, cold as the grave, flicked trails of ice from the dim screen.

“This should be the place.” Sybil worriedly told herself, in a hollow, discomforting confirmation. “She has to be here.”

“Alex!” poured out of her lungs like a dam bursting. Tears formed in her eyes, froze, and sparkled briefly as they fell into anonymity in the blizzard.

“Please! I'm here! I'm right here! Alex!”

Her voice was trembling now. The snow yielded no response, the wind indifferent as it continued howling. It wasn't supposed to end like this. She had thirty, maybe forty years to prepare for this. To love a mortal was to accept this eventuality. The unthinkable reality unfolding before her burrowed deep into her soul like a parasite.

“It can't end this way”, she mourned silently to herself as her voice continued to bellow the name of her beloved into the endless white.

“It can't. I won't let it. I have to find her. It doesn't end like this.”

She shouted again. The elements ignored her. There was nothing there to listen, no one there to hold her gently, offer warm blood to soothe her hoarse voice. The cold wouldn't take her. The wind would pay no heed, and the snow would muffle her distant scream. The tragedy standing before her gnawed at her soul, its hot breath irradiating her core and chilling her deeper than any winter ever could. Its eyes glared into hers, through her eyelids and into the very core of her being.

She couldn't look away. The painful truth her sire beat into her all those years ago replayed in her mind’s eye like an unwanted guest entering uninvited.

“Obsession, not sunlight or the stake and crucifix, is the end of every Kindred.”

She pondered lying down on the snow and not getting up. Letting the sun take its course would be quick and leave behind no evidence. Another, more stubborn part of her scorned this notion, noting with indignance that similar actions led to the tragic end of Romeo and Juliet.

She fell to her knees; the snow cushioned the impact but provided no comfort. As the sobs heaved her body, her tears froze and joined the surrounding snowfall. It was all she could do, or think to do. The seconds became minutes, which felt like hours, for the Countess had eternity to grieve.

She knelt there, weeping, widowed before she could even give her beloved the ring.

--- II ---

Had hours passed by now? Her hands were frozen solid to her face. She wrenched them off, uncaring for potential damage. The pain, a vague suggestion from a dead body long overdue for cremation, barely meant anything now. Soon the sun would be up, and her life extinguished.

Heat washed over her back in waves. Sybil closed her eyes and inhaled a deep breath. She could be free now, join Alex in the void beyond death, that mysterious sleep from which none wake. Warmth beyond warmth covered the nape of her neck, as pressure wrapped its way around her torso and held her firmly…

The sun wasn't furry.

Her eyes darted downward. Two heavy trunks of white fur squeezed her loose robes around her waist, clawed hands gently rested on either side. She turned around, albeit with difficulty in the embrace, and buried her face in the wolf’s chest. The rhythm of her sobs escalated to a full crescendo of gasping wails. Alexandria’s arms squeezed her tighter. The wolf was trembling, which only seemed to worsen as she pulled Sybil closer.

“Alex… I'm here, love.” she choked between sobs.

“You were cold.” the wolf growled in response.

“The cold doesn't -”

“You are cold. I will warm you up.”

"Alex! You're going to die out here!”

The wolf was shivering. She felt the heaving beast’s body quiver and stiffen against cold gusts of wind.

“Darling, please! You have to worry about yourself!” the Countess wailed over the wind. “I can't lose you!”

--- III ---

Sybil slipped out of her robes. The vampire's bare, pale flesh was nearly the color of the snow. Her fingers found purchase on Alex's chest fur, and she pulled the beast down with no tact whatsoever, wrapping the oversized crimson garment around the werewolf’s trembling bulk. She took Alex's enormous clawed hand.

“Let's go home, darling.”

“I can't.”

“You must.” she softly said, gazing back at her scarlet-clad wolf.

“After what I've done? They had families.”

“So did the people they killed.”

“And that justifies this?”

Sybil paused for a moment, then pulled Alexandria down to eye level. “No, but I'm telling you that it's not your fault.”

“I killed all of them, Sybil.”

“And if you hadn't? The kids wouldn't be here. Ambrose wouldn't have lost.”

“They died for no reason.”

“They died for what they believed in and who they chose to ally themselves with. What's done is done. They knew the risks that came with their devotion to Ambrose.”

The beast snarled and broke free of Sybil's grip. The snow parted for her large, clawed feet, leaving prints as she stepped back from the Countess, bringing her full height to bear.

“Would they say the same of us?” Alexandria roared. “Would they admit wrongdoing? Or did fifty-seven of their own family get slaughtered in cold blood?”

“They were willing to fight and die for him.’

“The kids would have fought and died for their friends, too.” Alex growled. “The bloodshed was unnecessary. I should have stopped them.”

“You were willing to fight and die for those kids, too.”

“They shouldn't have risked their lives that way. It should have been me.”

Sybil's hand softly stroked the wolf's fur, fingers digging thin rows in the snow that had settled there.

“Darling, I've been on this earth for years. Far longer than you. I've seen multiple wars, and what it does to those who fight them. Wondering if you made the right decision will never compare to forgiving yourself for the choice you made, no matter how flawed.”

“How could I? After all that has occurred?”

“Because, Alexandria, my love,” she said, smiling, “despite your insistence to the contrary, you're only human.”

[shiorihyugawrites]

The Legendary Black Cat

Selena de la Rosa, known across Marley as the Legendary Black Cat, is the world's deadliest assassin—a master of agility, precision, and deception. When Marley turns against her, she is shipped to Paradis as a living weapon, chained and drugged, with her survival all but assured to be short-lived. But Selena is no ordinary prisoner.

Bound by no one, loyal to none, Selena plots her next move, determined to seize her freedom by any means necessary. Yet, her plans are complicated by the Scouts who captured her, particularly Captain Levi Ackerman—the so-called Humanity's Strongest Soldier. Selena is intrigued by his strength and reputation, but her pride refuses to acknowledge him as her equal.

Caught between Levi’s unrelenting gaze, Selena plays a dangerous game of manipulation. She’s biding her time, but when the moment comes, will her calculated escape bring her freedom—or will her path collide violently with Levi’s unwavering resolve?

The Black Cat has always landed on her feet, but for the first time, she might meet her match. (Levi x OC)

Chapter Eleven

Selena perched herself high in the nearest tree, the familiar cradle of branches offering her a small semblance of safety and solace. She leaned back against the trunk, her knees drawn up as her mind swirled with memories she’d rather forget. Levi's probing questions lingered in her thoughts like an irritating itch she couldn’t scratch. She could tell that he wasn’t going to let this go—and that thought alone made her stomach twist.

But it wasn’t just Levi’s interrogation that bothered her; it was what he was prying into. Kwasi. Salamander. Her past.

Selena let out a sharp exhale, gripping the bark beneath her fingers. She didn’t need to close her eyes to summon the memories. They came on their own, flooding her mind like a relentless tide.

She had been just fourteen the first time Marley truly tested her. It was one of her earliest missions, one meant to strip away whatever innocence she had left. The target was an entire noble family of a country they wanted to conquer—parents, children, even the elderly grandmother who could barely walk. General Calvi had made the orders clear: no survivors. Selena had gone in alongside Power and Salamander. They were a bit older, more experienced, and had no hesitation.

But Selena… she had frozen.

She remembered the trembling old woman looking up at her with wide, tear-streaked eyes, begging for mercy. Her blade had hovered mid-air, her breath stuck in her throat. She couldn’t do it.

Kwasi had stepped in. His blade didn’t hesitate. It slashed through the air, taking out the target Selena couldn’t bring herself to harm. The aftermath had been a bloodbath, and though Selena made it out alive, the real punishment came later.

She shivered, her hand moving instinctively to her throat, as if feeling the cold water creeping up again. The tank.

The punishment tank was a tool Marley used to instill terror in their assassins. A confined space, barely large enough to move, filled with freezing water that slowly rose, threatening to drown whoever was unfortunate enough to be thrown in. There was only a small air hole at the top, and even reaching it required strength and endurance.

Selena had been shoved into the tank after the mission, her failure marked with grim finality. The lid clamped shut, and the sound of water trickling in haunted her ears. For twenty-four hours, she had fought to keep herself afloat, her muscles screaming as exhaustion set in. Her legs cramped, her throat burned from gasping for air, and the frigid water turned her skin icy.

Not all children made it out of the tank alive. She had almost drowned that day. But she didn’t. Somehow, through sheer willpower and the fear of what awaited her if she failed again, Selena survived.

When they dragged her out, shivering and barely conscious, it was Kwasi who sat by her side. He didn’t say much, but his presence had been enough. In that moment, he had been the only one who understood what she had endured. The only one who didn’t look at her like she was weak.

Selena rubbed her arms, trying to banish the chill creeping into her bones. "That stupid tank," she muttered under her breath, though the curse was directed more at the memory than the object itself. That day had changed her. It had forged her into what she was now—cold, efficient, and unyielding. It had also been the start of something… complicated.

Kwasi had been her ally, her rock in the storm of Marley’s hellish training. For a time, she had even trusted him. Their relationship started innocently enough, a friendship born from shared trauma and survival. But as the missions grew bloodier and the weight of their actions bore down on them, Kwasi changed. He became more aggressive, his anger bubbling over into violence.

Selena had always fought back. She wasn’t one to back down, even when Kwasi’s punches felt like fireballs slamming into her ribs. She was agile, quick, and determined never to let him have the last word—or the last strike. Their fights had become so brutal that one day they’d nearly killed each other, their battered bodies lying in the dirt as Calvi had his soldiers drag them apart like feral animals.

Selena let out a bitter laugh, her eyes scanning the forest floor below. She knew what Calvi had thought of her and Kwasi. He hadn’t liked Kwasi marring her body. The Black Cat was a prized asset, after all, and Calvi had always viewed her as something more than just a tool. His lecherous gaze, the way he lingered too close… Selena’s stomach churned at the thought.

The idea of Kwasi being sent after her wasn’t just a tactical concern—it was personal. She had survived him once, escaped his grasp more times than she cared to count. But she wasn’t naive. If Kwasi came for her again, it wouldn’t be like their old fights. It would be to the death.

Then there was Aoi. Hummingbird. Fast, lethal, and methodical, Aoi was the only one who surpassed Selena’s speed. The thought of facing her and Kwasi at the same time sent a chill down Selena’s spine.

"Two assassins," Selena murmured, her voice barely above a whisper. "Both of them will come for me."

She clenched her fists, her nails digging into her palms. This wasn’t over. Marley wouldn’t stop until she was dead, and now the Survey Corps were caught in the crossfire.

Levi’s sharp eyes followed her as she shifted on the branch. He could tell she was lost in thought, but he had his suspicions about what—or who—was occupying her mind. He didn’t trust her, not yet. And her reaction when Salamander was mentioned… it told him everything he needed to know.

"She’s hiding something," Levi muttered to himself. "And I’ll figure out what it is."

His eyes narrowed as he watched Selena perched high above. Her posture was casual, one leg dangling over the branch and her head tilted as if she had all the time in the world. But he wasn’t blind—he could see the tension in her shoulders, the tight set of her jaw. He knew the questions about Salamander had struck a nerve. He hadn’t meant to dredge up bad memories, but this wasn’t about sparing feelings. It was about knowing what they were up against.

“Get down,” Levi ordered sharply, crossing his arms and glaring up at her.

Selena didn’t move. She leaned back against the trunk, crossing her arms in an almost mocking imitation of Levi’s stance. “No, gracias,” she replied coolly, her voice tinged with defiance.

Levi’s eyebrow twitched. “This isn’t optional. Get. Down.”

Selena lazily raised a hand and flipped him off, her smirk growing when she saw his jaw tighten. “Make me, Capitán.”

Hange, who had wandered over with Erwin, let out a stifled laugh. “Oh, she’s got some fight in her, doesn’t she?”

Erwin simply sighed, rubbing his temples. 

Levi’s patience snapped. Without another word, he launched himself up the tree using his ODM gear, his blades glinting as he closed the distance between them in seconds. Selena’s eyes widened slightly, but her reflexes kicked in. By the time Levi reached her branch, she had already leapt down, landing silently and gracefully on the balls of her feet. She straightened, dusting herself off as if nothing had happened.

Levi gritted his teeth, gripping the branch tightly before dropping down to the ground with practiced ease. He landed a few feet from Selena, his gaze narrowing into a deadly glare. “I don’t tolerate insubordination.”

Selena shrugged, completely unbothered. “Maybe you shouldn’t give orders to people who don’t work for you yet, huh?” She gave him an exaggerated wink. “I’m still a free agent, technically.”

Levi stepped closer, his imposing presence cutting through her playful attitude. “Not for long. And when you’re on my team, you follow my orders. No exceptions.”

Selena met his glare with a mischievous grin, her green eyes gleaming with challenge. “Guess we’ll see about that.”

Hange couldn’t hold back her laughter any longer. “This is fascinating,” she declared, clapping her hands. “I mean, Levi, you’ve never had anyone talk back to you like this. And Selena, you’re so... fiery! This dynamic—”

“Shut up, Hange,” Levi snapped, not even glancing her way.

Erwin watched the scene unfold with a faint smile. He had seen enough battles to know that trust wasn’t built in a day, but something about the way Selena and Levi interacted intrigued him. They were more alike than either of them would admit, though he doubted Levi would ever acknowledge that observation willingly.

He glanced at Hange, lowering his voice. “With time, they could be an unstoppable duo.”

Hange grinned, leaning closer. “Oh, absolutely. Can you imagine them fighting side by side? Poetry in motion.”

Erwin hummed in agreement but didn’t say more. He had a feeling Levi would carve them both up if he heard them speculating about his compatibility with Selena.

Levi turned to Selena again, his tone sharper this time. “Enough games. You still have to meet the rest of the scouts.”

Selena rolled her eyes but pushed herself off the tree trunk. “Fine. Lead the way, Capitán.” Her lips curved into a sly smile. “But only because I’m curious to see how your bunch of amatuers will react to me.”

Levi glared at her one last time before walking off, muttering under his breath about insubordinate stray cats. Selena followed behind, her grin widening. Teasing Levi was becoming her favorite distraction. For now, it was keeping the thoughts of Kwasi and Marley at bay, and for that, she was grateful.

As they approached the main tent, the assembled scouts straightened, their attention immediately locking on the new arrival. Selena stepped in behind Levi and Erwin, her entrance casual yet striking. Gone was the wild, disheveled look she had sported during her capture and escape. Now, clad in clean Survey Corps-issued clothes that fit her like a glove, her sleek hair tied back to reveal sharp features and poison-green eyes, Selena looked every bit the deadly assassin she was reputed to be.

The reaction was immediate.

Jean and Connie, standing at the back, froze, their faces turning red as they exchanged wide-eyed looks. “She’s… uh…” Connie whispered, clearly at a loss for words.

“Kinda hot now that she cleaned up ,” Jean finished in a hushed tone, earning a sharp elbow in the ribs from Mikasa.

“Get a grip,” Mikasa snapped, her voice low and annoyed. “She attacked us. Did you forget that?”

Jean scratched the back of his neck awkwardly but couldn’t quite tear his eyes away. “I mean, yeah, but… she’s different now, right? Commander Erwin wouldn’t bring her here otherwise.”

Eren, standing near Armin, crossed his arms and frowned. His sharp green eyes studied Selena as she stood beside Levi, looking entirely at ease despite the wary stares directed at her. “I still don’t trust her,” he muttered. “She could be playing us.”

Armin, ever the diplomat, spoke more softly. “She did help Captain and the others fight off those Marleyan assassins. That has to count for something.”

Eren grumbled but didn’t argue further, though he couldn’t help the faint chill that ran down his spine when Selena’s gaze flickered to him, her lips curving into a knowing smirk. She was terrifying, and he hated how much she knew it.

Erwin stepped forward, his commanding voice cutting through the tense atmosphere. “Scouts, this is Selena De La Rosa. She will be joining us as a new member of the Survey Corps. Her skills and knowledge are invaluable to our cause, and she has agreed to assist us in the fight against Marley.”

The scouts exchanged uncertain glances. Sasha leaned toward Connie and whispered, “Do you think she’s really on our side?”

“I don’t know,” Connie replied, his voice barely audible. “But did you see how she landed on her feet earlier? Like a freakin’ cat.”

Erwin continued, his tone unwavering. “I understand there may be apprehension, but I expect you all to treat her as an ally. Trust will take time, but I have no doubt Selena will prove herself.”

Selena smirked, stepping forward to address the group. “Don’t worry, niños,” she said, her voice light but laced with sarcasm. “I promise I won’t bite. Unless, of course, you deserve it.”

The scouts visibly stiffened at her words, and Hange stifled a laugh. Levi, standing beside Selena, pinched the bridge of his nose. “Can you stop scaring them for five seconds?” he muttered.

Selena turned to him with a playful glint in her eye. “Where’s the fun in that, Capitán?”

Jean coughed, his face still flushed. “Uh, so, welcome, I guess,” he said awkwardly, earning another glare from Mikasa.

Eren folded his arms tighter, his expression guarded. “I’ll believe she’s on our side when I see it.”

Selena’s sharp eyes darted to Eren, and her smile widened. “I’ll make a believer out of you soon enough, chico,” she said with a wink, causing Eren to stiffen slightly, though he quickly masked his reaction with a scowl.

Erwin watched the interactions unfold with a calm expression, though inwardly, he was pleased. It would take time, but Selena’s introduction to the scouts was already laying the groundwork for the trust they needed to build.

Levi then spoke, his tone flat but commanding. “We’ve confirmed from Selena that Marley isn’t done with her. They’ll send others. The assassins Hummingbird and Salamander are the ones we need to watch out for.”

At the mention of the assassins’ codenames, the room stiffened. Mikasa’s brows furrowed, her distrust clear as she cut through the silence. “And why don’t we just let them take her out?”

The bluntness of the question hung in the air, and several heads turned toward Mikasa, her sharp gaze locked on Erwin. “Instead of risking our lives to protect her, why not let Marley deal with their own problem? If she’s so dangerous, wouldn’t it be better if she wasn’t here at all?”

Selena’s lips quirked into a smirk, though her green eyes narrowed slightly at Mikasa. “You’ve got guts, niña,” she remarked, her tone deceptively light. “But let me tell you something—if Marley sends Hummingbird and Salamander, they’re not just coming for me. They’ll kill anyone in their way, including you.”

“That’s exactly my point,” Mikasa countered, her voice calm but edged with steel. “Why put the rest of us at risk for her?”

Erwin stepped forward, his imposing presence silencing the murmurs that threatened to ripple through the group. “Because Selena is an asset of unparalleled skill,” he said, his tone firm and resolute. “She was Marley's best. She knows their tactics, their strategies, their weaknesses. She’s invaluable to us.”

Mikasa’s expression didn’t waver, but she remained silent, waiting for more.

Erwin continued, his voice unwavering. “But it’s not just about what she can offer. I asked Selena to join us, and she accepted. She is one of us now. Period.” He looked around the room, his piercing gaze meeting each scout’s eyes. “And we don’t leave our own behind.”

The words hit the room like a thunderclap. There was no room for argument in Erwin’s declaration, and the scouts exchanged uneasy glances. Even Eren, who had been leaning against a table with his arms crossed, straightened slightly at the conviction in Erwin’s voice.

Selena blinked, her smirk fading as she processed his words. For a moment, her sharp features softened, and an unfamiliar warmth flickered in her chest. She was used to being a tool—something to be wielded and discarded. Erwin’s intentions were clear: he saw her as an asset, but there was a respect in his tone that she hadn’t expected. He respected her as a person.

Her voice, when she finally spoke, was quieter than usual but no less firm. “You don’t have to sugarcoat it, Commander,” she said, meeting his gaze. “I know I’m a weapon to you. But… at least you’re honest about it. That’s more than I can say for most.”

Erwin gave her a small nod. “I respect your skills, Selena. But I also respect the person behind those skills. You made a choice to be here, and that choice means something.”

Levi watched the exchange closely, his sharp gray eyes flicking between Selena and Erwin. He could tell Selena was caught off guard by Erwin’s words. She hadn’t expected this level of straightforwardness or acknowledgment. It wasn’t just a calculated move on Erwin’s part—it was genuine, and Levi knew that was why it worked.

Levi shifted his stance, crossing his arms. “Don’t let it get to your head,” he said, his tone dry. “You might be one of us now, but that doesn’t mean everyone’s going to trust you right away.”

Selena’s smirk returned, her usual confidence sliding back into place like armor. “Oh, don’t worry, Capitán. I don’t need everyone to trust me.” She cast a playful glance at Levi. “Just you.”

Hange snorted, barely suppressing a laugh, while Levi’s expression darkened. “Don’t push your luck,” he muttered.

Eren leaned toward Armin and whispered, “She’s so… bold. I don’t even know how to deal with someone like that.”

“Bold is one way to put it,” Armin murmured back, his gaze flicking toward Selena with equal parts awe and unease.

Erwin, meanwhile, glanced at Hange. “We’ll need to coordinate a strategy. If Marley sends their assassins, we can’t afford to be unprepared.”

Hange nodded eagerly. “I’ve got a few ideas already. And Selena can help fill in the gaps. Right, Selena?”

Selena straightened, her smirk softening into something more serious. “I’ll give you everything you need. Trust me, you’re going to want to know exactly what you’re dealing with when it comes to Hummingbird and Salamander.”

The room was quiet for a moment, the tension lingering but not as heavy as before. Selena looked around at the scouts, meeting their gazes head-on. She could see the skepticism, the fear, but also a flicker of curiosity and grudging respect.

Maybe, just maybe, this could work.

As the scouts gathered around, Selena began recounting everything she knew about Salamander and Hummingbird. She stood at the center, her arms crossed, exuding confidence, but her tone was deadly serious.

“Hummingbird—real name Fujisaki Aoi,” Selena began, her piercing green eyes scanning the group. “She’s faster than anyone you’ve ever seen. Faster than me, even. If she gets close, she’s lethal. Her speed isn’t just physical; her reflexes and reaction time are on another level. She prefers lightweight weapons—daggers, short swords—but don’t let her size or choice of weapon fool you. She’s ruthless and has a knack for striking weak points.”

The younger scouts exchanged uneasy glances. Jean muttered under his breath, “Faster than her? That’s insane.”

Selena smirked but continued. “Then there’s Salamander. His real name is Kwasi Ngozi. He’s ranked second for a reason. The man is a tank. His strength is his greatest weapon, and he knows how to use it. His punches… they’re like fireballs. He’s trained to disarm and disable enemies with sheer brute force.”

She paused, her expression briefly hardening. “And he’s not just strong physically—he’s relentless. Once he sets his sights on a target, he doesn’t stop. Ever.”

Mikasa narrowed her eyes. “And what about their weaknesses?”

Selena tilted her head, feigning casualness. “Aoi’s speed is impressive, but it also means she relies on quick strikes and evasive maneuvers. If you can corner her and keep her from moving freely, she’s at a disadvantage. As for Kwasi…” Her voice faltered almost imperceptibly before she quickly recovered. “He relies on his strength, but that means he’s not as agile. If you’re faster or more strategic, you can outmaneuver him.”

Levi’s sharp eyes narrowed. He didn’t miss the slight hesitation in her voice when she spoke about Kwasi. She was hiding something.

Once Selena had finished, Erwin nodded, his expression thoughtful. “Good. That’s all we need for now. Scouts, you’re dismissed.”

The scouts filed out of the tent, though a few cast lingering glances at Selena. Mikasa, still wary, was the last to leave, her gaze cold and assessing.

Once they were alone, Erwin turned to Selena. “If anything else comes to mind about them—or anything else that might help us—tell me or Levi immediately.”

Selena nodded but didn’t respond verbally. She wasn’t planning on sharing her personal connection to Kwasi unless absolutely necessary.

Erwin continued, his tone shifting slightly. “If you’re truly going to be one of us, Selena, you’ll need to learn how to fight like a scout.”

Selena raised an eyebrow. “I think I’ve proven I can fight.”

“Not like this,” Erwin replied firmly. “You need to learn how to use ODM gear and our weapons. You may be skilled in your own techniques, but the battlefield demands adaptability.”

Levi’s expression darkened as he crossed his arms. He had a sinking feeling about where this was headed.

“Levi,” Erwin said, turning to his captain, “you’ll be her teacher.”

“What?” Levi’s voice was sharp, his irritation clear. “You want me to babysit her?”

Erwin met his gaze with unyielding calm. “I want you to train her. She’s joining us, Levi. She needs to be ready, and there’s no one better to teach her.”

Selena’s face lit up with an almost mischievous grin. “Well, well, Capitán,” she purred, “looks like we’re going to be spending a lot of time together.”

Levi pinched the bridge of his nose, muttering under his breath. “This is a waste of time.”

Selena ignored his annoyance and sauntered closer, her green eyes sparkling with playful intent. “Don’t worry, Capitán. I’ll be a very attentive student. Maybe you’ll even learn a thing or two from me.”

Hange, who had been lingering in the background, couldn’t help but laugh. “This is going to be fun to watch.”

Erwin’s lips twitched in the barest hint of a smile. “Levi, I trust you’ll handle this appropriately.”

Levi shot him a glare. “Appropriate would’ve been letting her figure it out on her own.”

Selena smirked, leaning slightly toward Levi. “Oh, don’t be so grumpy. You might even enjoy this.”

Levi stepped back, his expression deadpan. “Doubt it.”

Hange clapped her hands together. “All right, then! First lesson starts tomorrow, right? This is going to be fascinating!”

Levi muttered something unintelligible, but Selena just grinned wider. This was going to be interesting indeed.

~

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[shywhumpauthor]

The Merry Whump of May—Day 21

“Devil’s advocate”

Tome | Desperation | Hiking Trail

This doesn’t fit the prompt, like, art all but that’s too damn bad

Masterlist

Cw: kidnapping, manhandling/abuse, blood, beating, restraints

Sidekick let out a grunt as the car hit a pothole, their head slamming against the floor of the trunk hard enough to draw tears to their eyes. Pain pulsed like a heartbeat through their skull, stabbing deeper with each labored breath.

Their chest felt tight, unnaturally so, a sharp sting shooting up their side every time they breathed a little too deep, keeping their inhales shallow.

Their hands were secured behind them, two cable zip ties tugged tight enough that they bit into the flesh. Sidekick’s fingertips were beginning to go numb, feeling unnaturally swollen. Their legs bound at the thighs and ankles with a coil of nylon rope, keeping them awkwardly folded behind them. The strain of the position was wearing away at their muscles already, and the rough turns the car kept making wasn’t much help to their bruised body.

With a squeal of the brakes, Sidekick was thrown against the trunk’s interior, their nose smashing against the rugged divide between the boot and the backseat.

Blood began to flow down their face, thick in their throat. With their position, they couldn’t do anything but try to spit it out and not choke to death on the metallic taste.

The bastard was doing it on purpose. They fucking knew it.

They hadn’t been gagged nor blindfold, but that didn’t give them any vantage. The trunk was about the same size they were in their awkward position, if not a bit smaller, leaving them to tuck their chin down or pull their legs up. It was too shallow for them to roll over in, and though they were now practically flush against the inside, they could feel the lid of the trunk not two inches from touching their back.

For the first maybe two minutes into the ride, Sidekick had screamed. They knew that no one would be able to hear their cries for help, not on the road from the inside of an insulated car trunk. More so to annoy their kidnapper, which they had counted as a small success when their assailant turned the car’s radio up so loud Sidekick could feel the bass vibrations.

Superhero would be worried. Sidekick had an evening patrol with them tonight, hell, that must have been hours ago, for how long it’d felt they’ve been driving. First, they’d be mad, probably thinking Sidekick had ditched them. Which was a valid assumption, seeing as it wouldn’t have been the first time they had decided some menial task such as paperwork was more important than watching over empty streets. But then they’d check up on Sidekick’s office at the agency, see they weren’t there. Then they’d go to their apartment, after their three texts and a call went unanswered. After that, Sidekick wasn’t sure what they would do, it had never escalated farther than that. Maybe they’d track Sidekick’s phone, or their watch, and find them smashed in some alleyway dumpster.

After that, they’d probably send an alert to all the heroes connected to the agency, just telling them to keep their eyes out. After two days, they’d probably go searching on their own, cornering villains and conducting some informal… questioning.

The car slammed heavily on the breaks, but this time Sidekick was able to duck their head, preventing them from crashing face-first into the interior of the trunk again. They expected it to accelerate again, but instead they heard the car shift into park, suddenly going quiet as the ignition was twisted off and the radio went out.

Sidekick felt a prick of fear twine through their chest, but paired with it was a heavy sense of anger. The fuck did this asshole want with them?

Then fear overtook them again as they heard a door slam shut. Whoever this was, they’d attacked them from behind. Hit them in the back of the head with some sort of hard beam, roughed them up a good deal, before restraining them and dumping them in the trunk. Sidekick hadn’t managed to catch a glimpse of their face.

What if it was a criminal? What if it was Supervillain? Shit, they’d be as good as damn dead. Awful flashes of torture and gore spun through their mind as they heard the muffled crunch of gravel circle around the car. They’d skin them alive, dissect them piece by piece until there was nothing left but a pile of carnage. Supervillain had done worse, Sidekick knew. They’d worked some of their cases.

But when the trunk flipped open, and Sidekick craned back to look over their shoulder, squinting against the light, they realized it wasn’t Supervillain.

One hand resting on the boot’s lid as they leaned over, teeth glinting sharp, the shadows on their face stoic and intense, as Hero grinned down at them.

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@themerrywhumpofmay

[selunesdreams]

Chapter 27: Don't Make Me Hate You

Chapter from ongoing fic Forms of Imprisonment. Full chapter/story on AO3.

Pairing: Spawn Astarion (post-tadpole) x OFC

Word Count: 1.7k

Warnings: 18+. This chapter is mild, but the rest of the story contains explicit themes. manipulation, poisoning (if you squint?), preexisting relationship, part of a series (that is generally explicit). See other chapters or AO3 for chapter-specific warnings please, and be gentle, please. I do my best.

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“If this goes wrong, I could kill everyone on this block.”

Rolan’s hand trembles on the Tear of Selûne as Astarion holds it out to him, enveloping it within its velvet cloth, as if he would catch fire if it touched his skin. The Tear radiates a soft blue glow, casting a gentle light that warms his hands under the fabric.

“I hear some wizards do their best work under pressure,” Astarion remarks, his tone laced with sarcasm. He had kept his promise to meet Rolan here, fulfilling the second half of their deal: Astarion allows the wizard to use a once-in-a-lifetime magical artifact, and in return, Rolan does the vampire one last favor.

Rolan’s focus drifts upwards towards his target. “Let’s hope you’re right.”

The world stills around them, followed by a faint rustling, like footsteps on dry leaves. 

Astarion wasn’t sure what he’d expected. Something loud, screaming, perhaps. Instead, he watches as his late master’s palace disintegrates, the once imposing structure crumbling to dust from the top down, until all that remains are ashes scattered across the ground. As if it had never existed at all.

But despite the destruction of the palace, the scars on Astarion’s back, the bloodroot hangover lingering in his body, over a decade of shame and torture and degradation - those don’t disappear with the palace. Cazador and Artor’s only remaining legacies.

Dust blows in the nighttime breeze, revealing the scars of the palace’s foundation. Astarion realizes that beneath the grand facade, the hollowed out tunnels underneath the castle reveal nothing more now than dirt and stone. A gaping hole, a void waiting to be filled by the next bureaucratic monstrosity that would inevitably replace it.

It was the easiest revenge Astarion ever taken, and yet, it felt strangely passive. Like a trick played by fate.

“So that’s... it,” Rolan whispers, wonder-struck. “Gods .”

“You’ll have to tell me how the papers explain this...” Astarion mutters, carefully tucking the Tear of Selûne back into his pack. 

“Let’s get out of here.”

————————————

It’s still dark when Celeste stirs, certain it had all been a bad dream until one hand brushes against the metal of the sword Astarion had given her, the other feeling for him in the dark, only to find the unoccupied space on his side of the bed. Panic surges through her and she lurches forward, taking in the room, bathed in shadows that dance across the walls as the trees sway outside the balcony window. 

No, no, gods, please no. 

Celeste throws herself from the mattress and runs to the neighboring room, her bare feet hammering against the floorboards. When she bursts through the doors, her companions are sound asleep, oblivious to what she was certain Astarion had done. 

She reaches Gale’s bunk where he and Shadowheart are asleep, their limbs tangled beneath the sheets, and falls to her knees in horror, clamping her hand over her mouth, as she finds the trunk’s lock picked open, the lid lifted to bare the emptiness within. As if Astarion had left it for her to find this way.

As if he wanted her to know it was him. 

She chokes back a scream of despair. 

“Celeste?” Gale squints at her as he wakes, sitting up and gently easing Shadowheart’s head off of his bare chest. She groans in her sleep and stirs, groggily rubbing at her eyes. “Are you alright?”

“It’s gone. He’s …gone.”

“Who’s gone?” Gale swings his legs over the side of the bed and pulls on a shirt, before he freezes, Celeste’s tear-stained face drawing his attention to the empty trunk.

“What’s going on?” Shadowheart mutters, pulling the sheets around herself as she crawls out of bed behind him. Silent tears roll down Celeste’s cheeks and her eyes finally leave the empty chest to meet the cleric’s, an unspoken understanding settling between them. 

“Astarion.” Shadowheart scowls, his name like a curse on her tongue. She goes to Celeste, kneeling at her side, wrapping her arms around the Moonborn to comfort her. Celeste doesn’t fight the embrace, leaning into it.

“He poisoned me, I fell asleep…” Celeste croaks into her shoulder, shaking her head in disbelief. 

If she hadn’t just woken up, hadn’t just felt his absence or the ache of her knees when they hit the ground, she’d swear this was a nightmare.

Gale drags a hand across his face, his palm lingering over his lips as he stares ahead. “Surely there’s a reason…”

“There’s no reason, Gale!” Shadowheart snaps, “No more excuses for your project. You can’t fix him. He can’t be redeemed. Not after this.” 

“Shads,” Karlach says softly, her expression grim as she appears from her bunk. Minthara lingers behind her, one hand hanging on the top of the partition, assessing. “he’s our friend. Maybe the way he’s gone about this is all wrong but, this is Astarion, we should give him a chance… ”

“How many second chances has he thrown away, only to prove himself as impulsive, selfish, and untrustworthy as we thought he was from the start? Every time you defend him, he lets you down.”

Gale opens his mouth in protest. “Not every-”

“ Enough .” Minthara’s authoritative voice cuts over their argument, “We’re wasting time.”

“He wouldn’t try to use the Tear alone,” Gale muses, his brow furrowed as he contemplates.

“No,” Celeste says icily, rising to her feet. “He’d need someone magically inclined. Someone who owes him a favor.”

—————————————————————

Rolan draws open a portal, its edges illuminating his entire office with its shimmering border. Astarion can see the dark waters of the docks visible through the portal, feel the misty, salt breeze drifting into the room, disheveling his curls. With caution, he eases one foot through, feeling the slight resistance against his leg, as if stepping through a door, one foot in Waterdeep and the other still planted firmly on the fibrous rug in Rolan’s office. There would be no sensation of falling for miles or breaking apart and being pieced together in a new location.

“Thank you, Rolan.” Astarion says with sincerity as he hesitates in the portal’s mouth, gentle warmth emanating from the magical gateway and he holds the wizard’s gaze.

“They’ll have questions, you know. It will be obvious you didn’t act alone. What am I supposed to tell them?” Rolan asks.

Astarion’s face contorts with grief as he responds. “Tell them-”

“Don’t you fucking dare .” 

He freezes as Celeste and his friends emerge through another portal on the opposite side of Rolan’s office. Astarion’s eyes are drawn to the sword strapped to Celeste’s back, and he wonders if she’s planning on using it on him.

“Close that portal, Rolan, now ,” she commands.

The tiefling balks, his voice wavering. “I can’t, Celeste, not with him standing in it- “

“Then I’ll drag him out of it!” She snarls. As she charges forward, Karlach intercepts her, gripping her by the arms and pulling her back, stalling her. The tiefling murmurs something in her ear, but Celeste doesn’t seem receptive to it.

“Whatever you’re planning, Astarion, it’s not too late to stop. Don’t take this into your own hands. Please, we should do this together…” Gale pleads as he takes a step forward. He and Karlach are the only ones amongst Astarion’s companions who possibly have a shred of faith left in him. Gale’s eyes meet Astarion’s with a glimmer of hope and a flicker of doubt.

Astarion shakes his head, avoiding the look of betrayal from the friend who’d defended him over and over, his disappointment like a physical blow. “I can’t do that, Gale.”

“What plan could you possibly execute on your own, vampire?” Minthara cuts in, her voice dripping with disdain. “You’ve never been one for strategy. This is foolish, impulsive -”

Her words are cut short by Celeste slipping from Karlach’s grasp and rushing towards Astarion, stopping just a breath away, one hand on the hilt of her sword, the other drifting towards her necklace before faltering, reaching out in front of her instead. She stills, lingering as if she’s afraid he’ll disappear if she takes another step.

“The Tear is the only thing left of my family,” Celeste says, her voice trembling with desperation. “This is my decision, my life , and you’re taking it away from me.”

Astarion swallows as her voice cracks. 

“Don’t make me hate you,” she whispers, a tear trailing down her cheek. “If you love me, don’t make me hate you.”

Somewhere below the surface, he sees it. She still loves him, and he’s about to ruin it. Gale’s words from weeks ago flicker into his mind. 

“Celeste’s known suffering, intense suffering, but not that type of betrayal.”

Astarion blinks slowly, struggling to maintain a composed facade. His eyes drift past her to Gale, hoping the wizard can comprehend his intentions.

Please see it. Please see that this time I’m doing the right thing. Not the conventional thing, or the selfish thing, but the right thing.

Thankfully, Gale acquiesces, seeming to understand, to trust him. Despite everything.

As Celeste lunges for Astarion, realization dawning on her, he swiftly steps through the portal, and it seals shut just beyond her fingertips. The anguish etched on her face pierces his heart, knowing that it will haunt him relentlessly, every second he’s away from her. Perhaps forever.

The damp wood of the docks creaks beneath his boots, a soft groan resonating through the fog-laden air, as if the worn planks might give way and plunge into the murky depths below with each step he takes. Astarion absorbs the desolate landscape, the crashing waves echoing in his ears, the scent of decay mingling with the salty sea air of the Dock Ward. A sense of loss engulfs him, amplified by his arrival in Waterdeep’s most repugnant district.

Suddenly, a woman’s voice cuts through the mist, teasing him with a hint of amusement.

“I’m impressed. Are you adding vampire slayer to your resume as well, spawn? Just under ‘Destroyer of the Absolute’?”

Astarion inhales shakily, feeling the weight of his actions as he turns towards her, trying not to think of how he’s possibly lost Celeste forever in a last-ditch effort to save her life. 

“Hello, Aylin.”

Thanks for reading! Please like/reblog/kudos/follow/interact on AO3/whatever if you did? It helps so much!

[saw3amanda]

There was no change in how Clark felt about Bruce at nineteen than he did when he was eight, except he has a name for it now. (The realization came as a warm molasses trickle throughout Clark when he was sixteen. There was no eureka! moment. Only a defining phrase, like Clark had finally figured out the name of a color he had seen all his life.)

After a disappointing trip to visit Bruce in college, Clark returns home, dejected. Bruce wants to rectify that.

read a snippet below!

Before the door creaked shut, Clark was already reaching for the center console. The green box sat patient, expectant, as he reached for it. Clark flipped the lid open and shut (open and shut) and he cast his eyes past grey cloth seats, a dead radio, and gum-wrappered cup holders until they fell upon a green plastic lighter.

Flipping the lid of the box one last time, Clark drew out a cigarette.

(Clark Kent had started smoking a year prior. It had begun at a dorm party, the LED-lit, crowded kind. He had been decently drunk, enough so that the beat of the music, which had once been a steady heartbeat, became suffocating. Clark had stumbled out of the room and through the outside door to soothe the heat-slick from his skin. Once in the crisp air, he noticed an acrid smell and turned to follow it. A girl with heavy eyeliner and red hair stood ten paces away from the door, her edges outlined by the yellow glow of a street lamp. She held a cigarette loosely between her fingers and took a drag.

Clark watched blue tendrils escape the glowing end, saw the line of the girl’s shoulders fall as she exhaled. He looked down to his trembling hands and rapidly rising chest, and made a split second decision.

“Mind if I bum one?” He asked, hoping he didn’t sound too naive. The girl gave a huff of a laugh. “First time, isn’t it?” She said, already reaching into her pocket and retrieving a sage and white box. “No one actually says that outside of movies.” She beckoned him closer, hand already outstretched with a cigarette. The orange glow softened her edges, shadows stretching, arm reaching as if to Adam. And Clark reached right back.)

Clark had rules about smoking, rules that he recited to himself as he lifted the papers to his mouth.

No more than five a week, he thought and grabbed his lighter from his dashboard.

No more than two a day, as he flicked and sparked the end of his cigarette.

Always keep hand sanitizer and gum near and he inhaled deeply.

He held the smoke deep in his chest and leaned back in his seat. Closing his eyes, he exhaled and tried to not shake too violently.

Two more inhale, exhale and then one more, and Clark let the cig hang from his mouth as he opened the car door again. A soft bump from the door sent his suitcase, which had been right outside of the drivers’ side, rolling gently. He stood up and looked around at the airport parking lot for a second, letting soft billows drift around his face, before opening his trunk and placing his case inside.

Clark was exhausted. He had been traveling for upwards of twelve hours (a flight, layover, and another flight filled with a copious amount of screaming infants) and had slept poorly the night before. Had slept in Bruce’s apartment , he thought, rotating the thought gently in his mind as one might do to a Rubik’s cube before solving it. Had slept on an air mattress on Bruce’s floor, and gazed at his limp hand falling over the side of the bed. Had foolishly, wantingly reached out to touch it, just once..

A sharp ringing sounded from inside of his car.

“Shit,” he mumbled around a mouthful. He had forgotten to call his mother when he landed, something she made him promise to do whenever he flew. He quickly dropped and stepped on his cigarette, reminding himself to pick it up after, and opened his car to find his phone.

It rumbled urgently in the passenger and Clark sighed, already anticipating putting on a cheery voice for his mother. The screen lit up once and flashed B.

Clark lit another cigarette and pressed decline.

[spyvstailor]

Burn, Baby, Burn - Chapter Two

I guess this is a thing now? @acapelladitty what do you think? Should this be a thing? Is it cursed just right for public viewing or should I kill it in the cradle?

It's the Firefly and Baby Doll buddy comedy that no one asked for, but y'all get to suffer through it with me. Enjoy!

Chapter Two

“Hello and welcome to It's A Pool, Pool Summer Water Park and Amusements, can I rent you a flutter board for the slide or perhaps some swimming gear? Do you have any small fries with you that will need arm floaties or a life vest?”

Why did it seem like only the freaks came to water parks?

Garfield was working his mandatory parole job a couple of days later, still feeling hung over from his bender and having to explain to his parole officer why he missed his shift.

It had taken him a couple months before he realized that them sticking him in a tiny hut, at the side of the Small Fry pool, next door to the Small Fry Shack and Soda Shop, was like punishment straight out of hell.

So much water, and noise, and children screaming and splashing.

Not to mention the mandatory uniform of swim shorts that came straight out of the 70's and a whistle. Why a whistle? He wasn't sure, it wasn't like he was a certified life guard. Maybe it looked more official in the world of swimmers and pools.

He got to blow it once, when a father was choking on an Orca Dog and he needed an actual guard to come, since he wasn't allowed to leave his sweltering shack.

Water, water everywhere and nothing to set ablaze.

“Jesus, is this where they got you working?” The customer in line behind the mother who had just left said, dropping her sunglasses to look him in the eye.

He felt the hangover wash over him instantly and swallowed thickly. “Mary Louise, you shouldn't be here. You're a triggering person.”

She laughed and hopped onto the counter, it was a bit of a struggle as she barely cleared it standing up. “Did they really put you here surrounded by water?” She laughed almost cruelly. “That's funny.”

He leaned over the counter. “It's a long way back down.”

“You need a tan and some manscaping,” she ignored him, motioning to his pale, hairy chest. “Because this...is not working for you.”

“I thought I did manscape,” he replied glancing down.

“With a leaf blower?”

“Are you looking to rent anything?”

“No, I just came to laugh at you in your dumb booth.”

“Then go.”

She crossed her arms. “I'm not going anywhere. You promised me.”

“I promised you what?” He inquired, blood already running cold.

“The orb? You said you'd get it for me. Or help me get it, but let's face it here, only one of us is a thief.”

“I'm a pyro, not a thief.”

“You've thieved before, thoven even.”

Garfield exhaled. “I can't break parole...and I don't remember anything about an orb.”

“Fink!” She declared, reaching in her beach bag and pulling out her phone. “I knew you'd say that.”

He was already fucked and he knew it.

There on the screen as she turned it to him, was a very drunk him, looking deep into the camera with unfocused, half lidded eyes.

“I don't even care, I'll burn that fucking place down and the orb will just be in the rubble, just in the rubble and embers. Can't destroy an orb of challengings. No, listen...I promise...we'll get that thing.”

Mary Louise tucked her phone away proudly as he crossed his arms.

“That's fine, won't hold up in criminal court.” He stated.

She nodded. “Ok, you want to walk that back...fine...”

Garfield watched with horror as she slipped down on his side of the counter, immediately knowing where this was going by the evil glint in her eye.

“Where's the candy, mister?!” She asked loud enough for anyone who walked up to hear. Thankfully no one was coming yet as her hand reached for his trunks. “Should I keep looking before mommy comes?”

“Oh, you little bitch,” he growled, slapping her hand away. “Fine, stop that!”

She stepped back, giggling.

“Oh, you bitch...” he murmured. “I...I can't help you directly and break parole, but I can connect you with someone who will.”

“Why do you care so much about parole?” She demanded. “Just be bad, you were cooler when you were Firefly.”

“I burned buildings in bike leathers with thermal wings on my back, Mary Louise.”

“Yeah, and a flamethrower in your hands, it was fucking cool. Look at you now, you look like my father at the Cape.” She said looking him up and down. “Come on, don't you wanna be sexy Firefly again? In those leathers? Not with one ball hanging out the bottom of his swimtrunks in a dumb shack by the kiddie pool?”

He looked down and quickly tucked his ball back into the short, swim shorts. “Fuck.”

“It's okay,” she said.

“It happens a lot,” he admitted sheepishly. “They don't have good netting. But I'm back here so no one really notices..."

“I wasn't talking about the shorts. I meant, it's okay to be bad, if being bad is in your nature. But...maybe stick to the meds though, be bad, but not crazy. That's the most dangerous baddie of them all, the sensible one.”

“If criminals were mentally healthy, I don't think they'd choose a life of crime, Mary Louise.”

She shrugged. “Maybe...or maybe it's just who we are.”

“Look,” he began. “I have to get back to work, meet me at the Iceberg tonight, around 8?”

She nodded. “Ok. You better be there!”

“I will be.”

Mary Louise opened the door to get out, but stopped and turned to him, saying sincerely. “Not bad though. Needs work, but not bad for an old man pushing 60.”

“Come on,” he pleaded glancing down. He thought he looked good for pushing 40. “That's unnecessary.”

She giggled and left.

He showed up late in another old man sweater, huddled in on himself from the cold, and Mary Louise was already there, chatting amiably with a man who was stroking her cheek.

“Such lovely skin,” he was purring as Garfield moved to stand behind him, waiting his turn to speak with Baby Doll.

“Thanks!”

It wasn't until the man went on in his soft, purr of a voice, that Garfield felt that heat of anger flare up deep inside him.

“How would you like to come model for me? I really like your skin,” Dollmaker cooed. “It shines so brightly, like gold under these lights.”

Grasping Dollmaker by the scruff of his suit jacket, Garfield yanked him off his stool and shoved the man onto his ass on the floor.

“She's not going anywhere with you, Barton,” Garfield said, moving to take the man's stool calmly, not at all worried about minding his back. He may be pushing 40 but he was fairly certain he could knock Barton Mathis out cold with just a single punch.

“Aw, jealous?” Mary Louise asked with a grin as Barton slunk away.

“He's a notorious deflesher, Mary Louise.” He replied ordering a soda from the bartender.

“Yeah, I know, but there's no harm in getting a few compliments.” She replied. “So? What's the plan?”

“The plan is I enjoy my soda, then we hit the sewers.”

Mary Louise was quiet for a moment, before saying, “sorry?”

“I only know two criminals who can help you get that orb thing you want. Ratcatcher and Magpie, Magpie is locked up currently, so...we hit the sewers.”

“Gross, ew, no!”

Garfield turned a calm, steady eye on her, not backing down.

Mary Louise didn't once falter. “Do you know how nice these shoes of mine are? Do you know that the sewers...are just...filled with nasty germs and stuff?”

He continued to stare at her evenly.

“And...no! I'm not going there. You bring him to me!”

He wasn't sure if it was the flame that was ignited from Dollmaker, or if he was nearing the end of his rope with patience for Baby Doll, but Garfield reached over, took a calm sip of his soda and then rolled his neck, working out the kinks in it. Maybe Baby Doll was right, it was easier for him to be the bad guy than it was for him to play nice, because as he slipped momentarily back into Firefly he felt a great weight leave his shoulders.

“Get me a matchbook,” he ordered the bartender calmly, even his voice falling into the lower register of Firefly.

When he looked back over at Mary Louise, Firefly instantly fell back into the dark hole Garfield kept him in when he spied the slight fear in her eyes, he knew she could see the change that had swept over him too.

“C-can we stop at my apartment so I can change?” She asked meekly.

“Of course,” he replied, somewhat ashamed that he had allowed the slip. Firefly should never come out again, he knew that, on the meds he knew that Firefly was meant to be kept in that hole he had gouged out for him, deep, deep down inside himself.

When the matchbook came, Mary Louise reached out with a slightly shaky hand and took it before he could, tucking it away in her sock.

They walked the streets of Gotham City side by side.

The night air was probably refreshing to most, but to him it was frigid and unbearably cold, he huddled in on himself, knowing full well he looked like a junkie after a hit, but not caring at all because he was too fucking cold to care.

“That was dark back there,” Mary Louise finally spoke, her old self back as she spoke clearly and a little obnoxiously.

“Yeah, sorry.” He said, considering it for a moment, before adding. “On top of pyromania I have an anger problem, who knew?”

They walked for a ways in silence once more, before she said, “they said I have body dysmorphic disorder.”

“Did they give you anything for it?”

Mary Louise was quiet, before shrugging. “Supposed to be on meds and therapy, but I can't afford it. Shit's expensive when you're trying to be law abiding, you know? Besides,” she added a little lighter in tone. “If we can get this orb, it will change me and I won't need the meds, because I'll be different looking. Mature. I'll look my age.”

Garfield studied her quickly, eyes on her face, reading it for sincerity. He didn't think she would ever be happy, but...it wasn't his place to say anything. If Baby Doll wanted to get some tits and an ass, maybe grow a few more inches in height in order to feel like the 30-year-old she was, who was he to question it?

“Now,” he began gravely as he lugged the manhole cover off with a crowbar they had bought at a hardware store nearby, “I shouldn't have to warn you about this, but...there will be rats down there.”

Mary Louise nodded. “I know. Figured with a dude named Ratcatcher we're gonna see some weird shit, but rats don't bother me as much as spiders do.”

Garfield studied the dark hole, he was fairly sure there would probably be a metric fuckton of spiders down there too, but instead he nodded and clapped her shoulder, “then you're in luck, it's too wet down there for spiders.”

Dressed in a yellow rainslicker and boots, and looking like she was ready to 'float' down there with the best of them, Mary Louise nodded and said, “you first, techie.”

Garfield turned on the small flashlight he had bought and began his descent into the putrid sewers beneath Gotham.

[thescarletmansion]

They reached the final floor of the dollhouse they had been trapped inside, the room utterly barren and devoid of anything useful or helpful. Not even an exit. Not a single window or door that could be obvious at first sight.

As each of them came up, a panic could be felt among them, discovering the final room that would supposedly lead them to 'freedom'.

Below, the monstrosity of dolls was climbing, coming higher and higher. They spoke as one, their shrill voices calling out to them. To her.

"̷̨̍̅͠Ÿ̵̖̹́̄Ö̷̬́̇̿Ṳ̷̱̂̆ ̶̍͐͜W̵̧̓O̸̯̥̔̽N̸͓̬͊̽̒'̶̦̦͓́̅̕T̴͎̼͉͒ ̴̫̯͖͂̑̂E̴͈̠̰͆S̵͚̖̓̍͑C̷̩̗͑Ḁ̶̱̕͠͠P̴̲̖͋Ę̶̛̞͓̈́ ̶͉̈́̈́M̴̼̳̭͐̓̅E̵̛̞̔̚Ẻ̸͙̱̲E̷͙̥͒É̴͔͖̋͝E̷͙̋̽̆Ĕ̷͔̈ͅ!̷͙̥̀̀͘͜"̷̺̝̀̔̏

All they could see was the hand, coming to bear down on them, about to strike.

But it was at this point, the door appeared.

Slamming open within the final room, brilliant, radiant light shone out almost aggressively upon the monster trying to catch them. Hundreds of voices screamed out in agony and pain, starting to crumble in the holy light spilling out from the door. Falling apart and becoming dust and broken pieces that tumbled down into the bottomless chest.

Yuri, seeing this called for everyone to go through the door while they could -- and nobody argued with her. One by one, filing through the door, towards freedom --

The door of the master bedroom opened up and the explorers tumbled back out in their proper sizes. They had to be careful not to trip over each other as they made their escape. Imagine a bunch of adults just rushing out like in a badly planned fire drill, exhausted and with tunnel vision, the urge to escape higher than ever. The towering doll house collapsed, falling and sinking into the depths of the trunk at the end of the bed, the lid then slamming shut by Larry once it all went away.

Sigh.

It was...done.

When everyone was out, the door that led from that other reality closed, before opening once more. Beyond the threshold it was the safe room once more, appearing to them, the soft refrains of a song resonating invitingly. Bedrolls lining the floor, a mirror sitting on the corner table. There was a bag inside, sitting there innocuously with a name tag attached to it, belonging to someone. The room was inviting them to a safer refuge, if only for a time.

The chase was over, but the night was still young.

REST PHASE

Rest up explorers!

[kaphyr]

The Long Defeat Chapter 42 | Excerpt

“It’s like you’re on a swing ride in an amusement park. At first, you’re there waiting for things to happen, and for gravity to mess up with you. After a while of waiting, it starts working, and slowly you’re reaching a frightening height. And it’s not like you have a phobia, but you certainly feel things as your chest starts tightening, you think it’d explode. Then, it’s swinging and you just want to scream or jump or whatever, but you can’t do that. You’re tied and scared and there is no way you’d reach solid ground.” ― Nesrine Benahmed, Metanoia: Different Shades of Life

Katsuki and Deku go to the rankings. There’s a lot of talking. Part 2.

Fic Link: The Long Defeat

Excerpt | BKDK

“Get comfortable,” Katsuki says; he’s found exactly what he wants.

CW: under-negotiated bondage kink, dubious consent, and (unsafe) bondage.

When he goes back to the bed, Deku’s still in the bathrobe so Katsuki fights him out of it. Once he’s out of one sleeve, Deku accepts his fate. He lets Katsuki lay him down flat, pillow out from under his head, arms raised―Katsuki tries not to look at the scars crawling up his right arm.

He shakes his head and tries to focus back on Deku’s face, his half-lidded eyes.

The silk scarf whispers soft as he wraps it again and again around one leg―shin to thigh. It’s soft and cold but when Katsuki puts his hand over it, over where the cloth cuts and the flesh spills, Deku’s so warm. Katuski tightens the scarf some more, watches it cut deeper and then knots it off like one of those emergency knots.

He keeps going, making sure Deku’s legs can’t unbend, scarves and ties pinching at his thighs and shins and ankles. Tight enough that he can’t even slip a finger through.

Fuck.

And he does it all over again. Slip. Knot. Slip. Tight. He pulls so hard on one tie it nearly tears and Deku whines like he needs him.

Fuuuuck. Katsuki reaches for another scarf but there’s nothing left. He grinds his teeth but it’s fine. Even if he can’t bind Deku’s arms, his chest, this already has them both hard as fuck.

Katsuki grabs his thigh―high, where there’s nothing but unmarked skin―and squeezes hard enough to leave a print and it’s… so good. He doesn’t quite look like the girls in the mags. This feels too messy, too random, but it’s fucking gorgeous and he knows the marks it’ll leave later will be even more beautiful.

Deku’s legs spread a little and they stay bent just how Katsuki left him. He drags one leg to the side and Deku just lets him, lets himself be seen.

Now that he’s all exposed, Katsuki can’t help but grab his ass, feel him tense up as he moans and then relax as Katsuki massages deep. His legs tremble but don’t get in the way.

“Hold.” Katsuki makes him keep his hands on the pillow, up above him, and steps back to admire.

Deku blinks slowly, cheeks flushed pink, lips stained red, chest rising and falling with deep breaths. His legs are spread wide and his cock is fully hard, tip glistening. “Kacchan~! Are you gonna fuck me, please? ‘M ready, just need to be opened up a little.”

Katsuki goes back to his luggage and gets some gloves and a fresh pair of underwear. “Open your mouth.”

Deku giggles but obeys so Katsuki puts two fingers in his mouth―a small indulgence. He pets his tongue, feels it lick up his knuckles. Once he’s slobbered all over his fingers, Katsuki takes them out and replaces them with his balled up underwear.

Deku’s face gets even redder as he breathes heavily from his nose.

Katsuki trails his wet fingers over Deku’s chest, his pebbled nipples, his twitching abs, his navel―bypasses his dick, earning him a whine―and then rubs at his hole. “Don’t you want me here?”

Deku grumbles around his trunks, raising his hips, cock flopping from side to side.

“What, want me to play with this thing?” Katsuki points at his cock and Deku raises his hips again, gets his cock to brush against Katsuki’s hands. “You sure?” He dips a finger in and Deku is so very tight. Katsuki pushes one of Deku’s legs up to his chest and spits on his hole―to Deku’s indignant fussing―and slips the finger to the second knuckle.

Deku tenses, mumbling.

“Open.” Katsuki smacks his thigh so hard he leaves a faint, red print. “I’ll get the lotion, but first, open up for me.”

Deku frowns but then his hole doesn’t feel like it’s fighting him just as hard and Katsuki can sink it fully in. He’s hot there, burning. And his cock looks so hard and red and Deku moans in that plaintive tone.

Katsuki slips out to fetch some lotion―there was no way to get actual lube without someone seeing the package or him getting recognized in the pharmacy and he wasn’t about to ask Pikachu and let him be insufferable in his DMs.

He coats his fingers then the outside of Deku’s hole. When he puts a finger back in, the slide is smooth and Deku’s moaning happily.

Katsuki immediately adds another finger, smiles as Deku’s dick jumps and drools. He fucks in slow, makes sure to turn his fingers, let him feel his fingers go deep. And every time Deku rolls his hips, Katsuki meets him with just as much intensity, his other hand squeezing one asscheeks.

Right as Deku plants his feet on the bed, trying his best to fuck himself on Katsuki’s fingers, Katsuki puts a hand on his dick. When he starts to cum, Katsuki holds him, makes sure to point his dick so he cums onto his own stomach.

When his hips fall back to the bed, his chest heaves and his eyes are dazed. Katsuki takes him more firmly in hand and places his thumb at the slit. He rubs there once and Deku’s legs close around him.

Fuck. He can’t stop. Katsuki rubs a little faster, focusing on that head flushed as red as Deku’s cheeks.

Deku reaches down, grabbing his wrist.

Katsuki lets go, takes his fingers out of his hole. “Put your hands back up.”

Deku keeps his eyes on him, eyebrows furrowed the way they are when he’s outraged Katsuki doesn’t treat everyone with kid gloves.

“Up,” Katsuki says, voice stern. He pinches Deku on the inside of his thigh and Deku twitches but doesn’t squeeze.

Deku keeps frowning but obeys.

Katsuki spreads his legs again―as far as they’ll go―and gives a hard smack to the bare skin; Deku grunts against the underwear but stays where he’s been put. “Good.” And then, he adds a bit more lotion and this time, he puts three fingers in.

They slide in easily and Deku rolls his hips in tandem―even if Katsuki starts playing with his dick too. He pumps him slow, fucks his fingers in even faster and when Deku closes his legs around him, Katsuki goes faster, harder until Deku’s groaning against his underwear like a fucking slut.

This time, Deku throws his head back and doesn’t fight the hand that strips his dick until he’s coming and even past that.

Katsuki swallows. Fuck.

Deku looks tortured, shaking his head, screaming into the gag, clawing at the pillows, legs trying and failing to move Katsuki off his dick―and Katsuki can’t stop.

This is better than the magazines, better than being sucked off, better than the fucking wet dreams. Just having Deku looking at him with tears in his eyes as his pathetic dick shrivels and twitches. Deku comes, dick completely soft. It just dribbles out of him and he cries, muffled and pitiful. Fucking sobs, toes all scrunched up.

Katsuki rips the underwear from his mouth, dying to kiss him.

“K-Ka-Kacchan,” Deku cries, takes deep breaths. “Wanna―Kacchan please. Need―”

Katsuki kisses him and Deku grabs at his shoulders, fingers clawing at his back. Katsuki squeezes Deku’s dick and he fucking screams in his mouth.

Katsuki’s half-surprised when Deku puts a hand on his cock and he finds himself so hard he might cum just from that. He gives him one stroke and Katsuki pushes Deku back, disentangles from his hands that pull at him. He kneels by Deku’s head so he can fit his cock there.

The moment Deku has his lips wrapped around his cock, Katsuki grabs him by the neck and cums. He groans through it, lazily thrusting his hips as Deku drinks his cum, hand squeezing Deku’s neck for those sweet, little gurgles and gags.

Katsuki takes a breath, watching Deku’s body. His pink dick. His flushed chest. His lips still wrapped around his cock.

“Gonna sleep here?” Katsuki asks.

Deku tries to mumble around his cock but when it’s clear Katsuki’s gonna keep him on his cock as long as he wants, he rolls his eyes and nods.

“Good.” He pulls his cock out but keeps it at Deku’s lips. “Lick me clean.”

“K’cchan’s so demandin’,” Deku croaks out.

Katsuki tugs sharply at his hair but he just moans and diligently sticks his tongue out to dispense his own little torture.

Like this? The you might like the Dekubowl fic it came from: The Long Defeat! And if you really like it, I am open to commission <3

[music-despite-everything]

Happy birthday, Adrienne Rich!

Adrienne Cecile Rich, born May 16, 1929, in Baltimore, Maryland, and died March 27, 2012, in Santa Cruz, California, was an American poet, essayist, and feminist. She was called "one of the most widely read and influential poets of the second half of the 20th century", and was credited with bringing "the oppression of women and lesbians to the forefront of poetic discourse." Rich criticized rigid forms of feminist identities and valorized what she coined the "lesbian continuum," which is a female continuum of solidarity and creativity that impacts and fills women's lives.

Her first collection of poetry, A Change of World, was selected by renowned poet W. H. Auden for the Yale Series of Younger Poets Award. Auden went on to write the introduction to the published volume. She famously declined the National Medal of Arts, protesting the vote by House Speaker Newt Gingrich to end funding for the National Endowment for the Arts.

---

Snapshots of a Daughter-in-Law, 1963

1

You, once a belle in Shreveport, with henna-colored hair, skin like a peach bud, still have your dresses copied from that time, and play a Chopin prelude called by Cortot: "Delicious recollections float like perfume through the memory." Your mind now, moldering like wedding-cake, heavy with useless experience, rich with suspicion, rumor, fantasy, crumbling to pieces under the knife-edge of mere fact. In the prime of your life. Nervy, glowering, your daughter wipes the teaspoons, grows another way. 2 Banging the coffee-pot into the sink she hears the angels chiding, and looks out past the raked gardens to the sloppy sky. Only a week since They said: Have no patience. The next time it was: Be insatiable. Then: Save yourself; others you cannot save. Sometimes she's let the tap stream scald her arm, a match burn to her thumbnail, or held her hand above the kettle's snout right in the woolly steam. They are probably angels, since nothing hurts her anymore, except each morning's grit blowing into her eyes.

3 A thinking woman sleeps with monsters. The beak that grips her, she becomes. And Nature, that sprung-lidded, still commodious steamer-trunk of tempora and mores gets stuffed with it all: the mildewed orange-flowers, the female pills, the terrible breasts of Boadicea beneath flat foxes' heads and orchids. Two handsome women, gripped in argument, each proud, acute, subtle, I hear scream across the cut glass and majolica like Furies cornered from their prey: The argument ad feminam, all the old knives that have rusted in my back, I drive in yours, ma semblable, ma soeur! 4 Knowing themselves too well in one another: their gifts no pure fruition, but a thorn, the prick filed sharp against a hint of scorn... Reading while waiting for the iron to heat, writing, My Life had stood--a Loaded Gun-- in that Amherst pantry while the jellies boil and scum, or, more often, iron-eyed and beaked and purposed as a bird, dusting everything on the whatnot every day of life.

5 Dulce ridens, dulce loquens, she shaves her legs until they gleam like petrified mammoth-tusk. 6 When to her lute Corinna sings neither words nor music are her own; only the long hair dipping over her cheek, only the song of silk against her knees and these adjusted in reflections of an eye. Poised, trembling and unsatisfied, before an unlocked door, that cage of cages, tell us, you bird, you tragical machine-- is this fertillisante douleur? Pinned down by love, for you the only natural action, are you edged more keen to prise the secrets of the vault? has Nature shown her household books to you, daughter-in-law, that her sons never saw?

7 "To have in this uncertain world some stay which cannot be undermined, is of the utmost consequence." Thus wrote a woman, partly brave and partly good, who fought with what she partly understood. Few men about her would or could do more, hence she was labeled harpy, shrew and whore. 8 "You all die at fifteen," said Diderot, and turn part legend, part convention. Still, eyes inaccurately dream behind closed windows blankening with steam. Deliciously, all that we might have been, all that we were--fire, tears, wit, taste, martyred ambition-- stirs like the memory of refused adultery the drained and flagging bosom of our middle years. 9 Not that it is done well, but that it is done at all? Yes, think of the odds! or shrug them off forever. This luxury of the precocious child, Time's precious chronic invalid,-- would we, darlings, resign it if we could? Our blight has been our sinecure: mere talent was enough for us-- glitter in fragments and rough drafts. Sigh no more, ladies. Time is male and in his cups drinks to the fair. Bemused by gallantry, we hear our mediocrities over-praised, indolence read as abnegation, slattern thought styled intuition, every lapse forgiven, our crime only to cast too bold a shadow or smash the mold straight off. For that, solitary confinement, tear gas, attrition shelling. Few applicants for that honor. 10 Well, she's long about her coming, who must be more merciless to herself than history. Her mind full to the wind, I see her plunge breasted and glancing through the currents, taking the light upon her at least as beautiful as any boy or helicopter, poised, still coming, her fine blades making the air wince but her cargo no promise then: delivered palpable ours.

[ask-wren-zhang]

Her hands move over her frothing pot, wand nested in one palm. She scatters touches of thyme at the brew with all the steady ease of sprinkling pinches of salt. And mixed among the herbs and empty vials, tucked between her tools, are arrays of medicinal elixirs she’s to administer yet, and labelled pouches of herbs as small as rolls of bread: Dittany, Wormwood, Feverfew, Goldenrod.

As another vial of Salamander Blood is poured into her decoction for the fifth time in the last half hour, Wren recounts the past week’s events and wonders how in Merlin’s name she lands herself up on this situation - crouching by a window of the Hospital Wing, hovering over a cauldron resting on her trunk, in the dead of night. Glancing at her companion, she knows the answer is obvious, but refrains from acknowledging the reason.

The manner William settles himself down onto the bed tonight feels clumsy, bearing an air of unease. His frame screams of his hidden fatigue, of which Wren almost never associates with the audacious Slytherin. At the sight of the dark semi-circles under his eyes, she can’t help but a twinge of guilt for her teasing earlier. That the man can’t seem to even muster the energy to argue, a girl has to wonder who, or what had Will so rattled just now, albeit Wren has an inkling, if her friend jumping onto his bed in an ostentatious fighting stance whilst shrilling the word “PICKLE!” beyond curfew has to do with it.

“Don’t worry yourself with Nurse Blainey. She and I have already discussed the appropriate points for our efforts. You just focus on being a person, instead of a prefect, even only for one night.” Wren chastises, catches a whiff of citrus and spicy undertones fill the air and quickly stores away the freshly brewed Pepperup Potions for use later.

And the little scrunch of his freckled nose doesn’t escape her, nor does a devious flicker in his eyes, in spite of her eyes zeroed in on the brew before her. Seeing Will musing on another pretty boy, being confined to bed, Wren watches him, eyes softening in relief at William’s old self returning as he treads the steady road to recovery.

“Oh, Meech is fine. It wasn’t his first broken nose, and doubtless will not be his last!” She snickers fondly as she recalls Demetrius setting foot in the healing wing, perched on the edge of a bed, more concerned about the bleeding than the pain; frankly she’s surprised Meech’s nose hasn’t fallen off by now. “Personally, I think he ought to thank the fella. It looked to be an improvement. It brings his…death-or-glory propensity to the fore quite well.”

It takes a moment for Will to knock back the Calming Draught. “And of course it’s well-made! I wouldn’t be caught dead brewing a second-rate potion! To say nothing of a dreadful waste of resources.“ she half-jests, a tad insulted that Will would even suspect otherwise. A comforting silence stretches as Wren carries on stirring, as Will tucks himself deeper into the bed, grumbling on about Elland and his little knees.

Through the evening, Wren traverses across the Hospital Wing, never straying too far from her cauldron at Will’s bedside; the Ravenclaw can be seen distributing an assortment of potions - from Burn Healing Paste to simple tonics - to a few ailing first years roused awake from their prior banter. The room occasionally echoes with her exchanged cordial whispers, of comfort and encouragement.

What William says next takes Wren utterly off guard. His utterance unusually candid and open, relinquishing the amorous mask he often dons. She feels invasive, almost. Wren looks at her friend, whose restless eyes bore into hers, gleaming with unfamiliar vulnerability and it rouses her own.

Wren ponders for a moment as she tidies up, her wand motioning over her cauldron. In an instant, her containers, notes, herbs and glassware slot themselves neatly before the lid of her small trunk closing in on its own. “I’ve still a few tasks to go before I can retreat to the Common Room. It may take an hour or so.” She replies. “Should I stay here a bit longer?”

𝒲𝒾𝓁𝓁𝒾𝒶𝓂…

B̷̢̪͉̆̅͘Ė̵̤̯͇ ̴̹̪̈́͗͘͜Ḣ̷̛̬̣́͗͆̐̐́A̵̙̗͊̂͂̾P̶̣̩͕̳̳̘̦̹̥̄̿̌͆͜P̷͔̼̗͍̉͒̊̂̋̌̆̕͝Ẏ̵̢̯̣̤̼̞̺͎͉͌͂͌̕͜͝͝

—🥒☺️—

It is midnight. Still at the Hospital Wing, William is woken up by some rustling and a voice the source of which he cannot quite pinpoint in the dark. It is the prefect's last night here, his recovery going well: friends coming by, keeping him company, explaining that the booper has nothing to do with the pickle and is quite friendly. Elland managed to confiscate whatever pickles were brought in as a joke before they even made their way into the Hospital Wing.

Sebastian came to visit a couple of times with some books concerning very important research on haunted objects. William's mind, withering with nothing to pick his brains about and the lingering phantom sensation of the pickle juices on his face, was beyond himself with joy at finding a protection ward charm against such cursed objects. Will's nights after that felt much safer leading to the Slytherin finally looking at everything that has happened to him with some humour, thinking clearly.

Upon breathing in the familiar pickle smell and realizing the meaning of the whispers, William sighs. He is a bit nervous but he had a trick for that, something he used to do as a little kid when he was afraid of some made-up boggarts in his closet. Will grabs his wand, gets on top of the bed, and whispers so as not to wake up anyone else in the infirmary.

"I am not afraid of YOU. Begone, pickle!" He strikes a rather dramatic pose when he says that and in case the whispers continue he casts a general silencing charm on the area around his bed. Nothing will disturb his sleep tonight. Nothing!

[prettyinpink350]

Pocket sized lies

Summary: Bucky Barnes was a good man…… maybe a little too good. You gave him your all, but all he gave you in return was pocket-sized lies that painted another woman's lips red. 

Warnings include: cheating, pregnancy, pregnant fem reader, bucky is a jerk, hint of future reader x andy barber, divorce, crying, some cuss words, and mention is sex

    November 23rd… 

Distant was the word that came to mind when you thought of your husband Jamie. Why? You didn't know. Why was he all of a sudden so secretive? Why did he hide his phone from you? Why was he going out on weekends and leaving you home to hang out with friends and not come till Monday? Why did you have this nagging feeling in your gut whenever he was around you?

He wasn't always like this, see once he was charming coming home on time, weekends were your favorite because every Saturday the two of you would go on a date not leave you home. He was there and the question of why never really was a question back then. 

   Another day where he was gone and you waited…waited for him to come but he never did. Today was supposed to be a great day it was Saturday and you had two great things to share with him! You were so excited to tell him when you found out on Monday. You said that he needed to be home on Saturday and it was necessary -but yet again your here in a pretty black sundress, with dinner on the table, and it's cold. 

   Hope was not something you felt towards bucky anymore it was like your body was screaming at you, telling you that something was going to change and it would not be good. You got up from the dinner table not even bothering to throw away the cold food just leaving it there. Your shoulders sugged at another failed night of your husband not coming home. You went upstairs to fold laundry. 

   Sitting on your bed with a pair was Bucky’s jeans in hand you found something in his pocket. You rolled your eyes how many times did you have to tell him to check his pockets before he put them in the wash? Red. red lipstick. You didn't own red lipstick you thought it didn't look good on you. And with the red lipstick was a condom wrapper. 

   The heartbreak hit you full force. Why? The question came into your head once again like an old song stuck skipping in a C.D player. Why did he do this when you were right here? Waiting for him. Loving him. Missing him. Pleading him. Begging him to come home. Then anger took over the swirl of emotions filling up every pore in your body you took the red lipstick and opened the cap. Walking into the bathroom with it you wrote “cheating pig” on the mirror so every time he looked in it that's what he would see as a reminder of what he is. A cheating selfish pig. Putting the red lipstick lid back on you marched into your closet putting clothes into your bags. 

   You took everything, all your clothes, make-up, and skincare and most of you nick nacks with you. Putting it all into your car, looking at the time seeing it was now 11:30 pm you slammed your trunk and back seat doors closed and drove away. You left the lights on in the house, dinner on the table, pots, and dishes in the sink from cooking and a little box with a pink ribbon there waiting for him. You drove hours to your beach house and when the sun come up you called your lawyer andy. 

   Monday is when he walked through the door “hey sunshine! I’m home!” after a crazy sexy weekend with Sharon he wanted to come home to his loving and unknowing wife. Yet when he walked into the kitchen to dirty dishes he rolled his eyes -god how many times did he have to tell you to do the dishes after cooking?

Then he saw the dining table two untouched plates of food sat there with a little pink box in the middle of the table. More annoyance flooded through him good after an awesome sex-filled weekend he had to come home to this.

"y/n! Get down here!” he yelled. “y/n, I swear to god get down here now!” he yelled once again pissed now. He marched up the stairs going straight to your and his bedroom to see it was enmity but his clothes unfolded on the bed.

“Why didn't you fold the clothes? Now my fucking jeans are wrinkled!"

"y/N get your ass out here! Now!” he yelled face now red with anger but yet again he was met with no response. He walked into the bathroom and saw the mirror and lipstick. You didn't wear red lipstick he knew that.

“y/n! Sunshine come on out I can explain” he said tears running down his eyes as he ran into the closet all your things were gone.

“y/n baby please!” bucky ran through the whole house calling for you and noticing all your books and things were gone with you too. Regret hit him but he didn't know if it was because he realized his mistake how much he missed his wife or if he was just sorry for getting caught.

Bucky now sat at the dining table with the pink box in hand, sobs came from him when he saw what was inside. 

   

   Dear bucky, I know you've been caught up in work and how hard you work, and I'm so proud of you! I know we haven't had a lot of time for each other but I'm pregnant! I know that we haven’t touched each other like that in a while and I'm sorry for meeting your needs.

I waited this long to tell you because one, you’ve been so busy I mean you're barely home and two I wanted you to know that we’re having a girl! Just like you wanted! Remember when we first started to date and you and I were shopping for my friend's baby shower and you couldn't stop talking about how you wanted to get married to me and have a daughter? While here it is! This is it. I love you honey so much, I know you're a busy CFO but please come home. 

          Love your sunshine and soon to be little star <3

More sobs and cries came from him. Why? Why did he do this? Why did he have to cheat? Not come home to the beam of light he had waiting for him. You did meet his needs, he loved to make love to you.

You were sweet and sexy you were the love of his life. The first time he cheated was after an argument the two of you had gotten into, it wasn't even that big so simple and now that he looks back on it he was in the wrong. But after he needed a break from what he didn't know? Because he couldn't get enough of you.

He went to a bar and Sharon one of his old high school friends was meeting him up there one thing lead to another and they had sex. But it wasn't the kind the two of you had that was filled with love, intimacy, and a lifetime of feeling that he knew he would feel even after death that was his love for you and your love for him.

It was rough, with no kisses or love just hard rough sex that he found himself missing. He missed the nostalgia of his young years of being single. The one-night stands that went nowhere passed sex. He was a horrible person. 

   

   6 months later…

Elouise Effy Barnes was welcomed to the world. The two of you got a divorce Bucky swore that watching you sign those papers was his dying breath.

As he was about to pull away and out of the parking lot he saw you sitting in your car crying and he cried to as he drove away. He used to dream about marrying you and having a daughter, holding you all through out your pregnancy being a loving family.

And that dream is still there just a little different. In his dream he didnt cheat that he was a good enough human and husband to not betray you, you and him raise Elouise and many more kids and every night he dreads having to wake up and have it all disappear like smoke. 

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