#she wanted blood guts and chocolate cake so i gave her

[sartieparty]

Tw/blood

Sweet Sixteen

[jazzmynerule]

Halloween night

Promt: billy and stu instructed y/n to stay home and stay away from stus Halloween party bc they had a ‘bad feeling’ something was going to happen, did y/n listen, no she didn’t and that caused her to find out something she wish she didn’t

Warnings: death, blood, swearing and verbal violence

…………………………………………..

I was sat on my bean bag across from my bed where stu and billy where sitting, they were whispering about something that I wasn’t too focused on until I heard stu speak up “Okay y/n you’re not allowed to come to my fiesta” stu looked at me from his spot on my bed “what why?!” I jumped from my bean bag and gave stu a look of annoyance “we just have a bad feeling something is going to happen and we don’t want you getting hurt” billy said from next to stu “this is so unfair you know, you get to go billy and stu you’re still hosting the party even if you feel like something is going to happen” I paced “I was looking forward to it as well this fucking sucks you know” I rolled my eyes and huffed as I sat back down on my bean bag “we know but we just don’t want something happening to you” stu stood up “we couldn’t live with ourselves if you got hurt” billy came over to me sitting right next to my left knee stu next to my right “okay fine but I’m not happy with you both” they simply laughed and we went on with our math homework till 6 o’clock hit and that’s when they had to leave bc of the party

“Am I really going to listen to them or am I going to get dressed in my sexy little Tiffany Valentine-Ray outfit” I asked myself as I grabbed a piece of chocolate cake from the fridge “no I’m going to this party i don’t care” I jumped up from my place in front of the fridge and ran to go put my costume on, I looked in the mirror with my long tight white dress and my black waist belt and I slipped my bleach leather jacket on and my ankle high full black converses “damn I look good” my makeup was dark and sexy and my long black nails made me feel unstoppable “okay I’m ready” I smiled and walked out of the house and towards my car

I parked my car a street away from stus because there was no parking spots in front of his house and I made my way inside “hey y/n/n” I heard Tatum scream over the music from the living room “Tatum baby” I yelled as I ran towards her “you look so sexy” she giggled “I know, so do you babe” I kissed her cheek “stu is in the kitchen if you wanna go say hi” she smiled “thanks my love” I made my way to the kitchen and I saw stu handing beers out to everybody “thank you Hugh Hefner” I grabbed the beer from his hands and he gave me a look of both surprise and anger “I thought I told you to leave your sexy ass at home” he barked through gritted teeth “I know but I couldn’t resist coming and plus I wanted to show off my costume” I winked “Tiffany Valentine-Ray?” He looked me up and down in amusement “yes” I said proudly “damn you look good” he grinned grabbing my hip pulling me closer to him “stu, Tatum is in the next room” I put my hands on his chest “hey Tatum get me another beer would ya” he yelled “what the hell am I? The beer wrench” she groaned making her way towards the garage “there solved the problem” he winked as I giggled

It’s been like an hour and Tatum is nowhere to be seen, I thought about going to check for her but the feeling in my gut told me to stay with stu so I did just that not thinking twice about it, me and stu made our way towards Sidney near the front door “have you two seen tatum? She said to come find her when I wanted to go home” Sidney smiled “no I haven’t hun last I saw her she was getting stu another beer and she didn’t come back” I gave her a sympathetic look and just as I said that billy scared us from the door “y/n?” He questioned “I thought I told you to stay home” he looked angry “why would you tell her to stay home?” Sidney asked “bc she shouldn’t be out when her parents aren’t home” he lied “oh okay” Sidney didn’t sound convinced and I was weirded out by the fact that he didn’t tell her he had a bad feeling about me being here “billy hmm what are you doing here?” Stu giggled strocking his chin “I wanted to talk to sid, alone” he looked at stu and me “well you can both go up to my parents room and go talk or whatever” stu grinned “subtly stu, look it up” billy warned elbowing him in the gut “ow” he groaned while also laughing “what the hell is leather face doing here” Randy asked popping up out of thin air “he came to make up” stu smirked wiggling his eyebrows “well there goes my chance with sidney” Randy pouted “as if, that’s all I’m saying is as if” stu closed the door and grabbed my hand just as we walked past Randy and stu put a peace sign up to Randy’s lips walking away with a grin “make up? What do you mean?” I asked stu “yk bang in the bed” he winked “ew okay yuck” I giggled, I was sat in the living room with Randy while everybody left to go see our now deceased principles body hanging by a football post “wtf is wrong with people, look behind you!” I screamed at the tv as the girl didn’t turn around and got stabbed “fucken idiots” I huffed as I sat back putting my head on Randy’s shoulder falling asleep

I woke up to nothing absolute silence and then I heard a bang I shot up from my place on the couch and saw billy covered in what I can see is blood and him holding a gun up to Sidney and Randy on the floor with a bullet wound “Randy!” I shouted running towards him but felt a pair of arms hold me back “billy what the fuck is going on?” I cried “y/n doll calm down and listen to what I’m about to say okay” he whispered into my ear gently “you are going to sit on that counter over there and you are going to do/say nothing but watch and listen to me and stu” he wiped the tears from my eyes and pushed my hair away from my face “do you understand gorgeous?” He asked “yes I understand” I sobbed “great” he smiled just as stu came in and Sidney ran towards him “stu we have to leave billy is the killer” she sobbed and with that sentence my legs broke weak and without the hold of billy around my waist I would’ve been on the floor “surprise Sidney” stu held up a device to his lips and smirked “no..NO!” Sidney pushed past him and ran that’s when billy let go of me and towards the other entrance to the kitchen “woah not so fast” he laughed as stu grabbed my hand softly pulling me towards him and into the kitchen, stu chucked the voice changer to billy and he caught it “what’s the matter Sidney look like you’ve seen a ghost” billy smirked holding the device to his lips “fuck you!” Sidney screamed “oh no we’ve already played the game remember ” stu sat me up on the kitchen counter and placed a knife into Billy’s hands “and you lost” he grinned “it’s a fun game Sidney we ask you questions and if you get them wrong BOOGAH! You die” stu giggled as he pointed the gun at Sidney “and if you get them right, you die” billy got in her face “you’ll never get away with this” Sidney sobbed “oh yeah? Tell that to Cotten you wouldn’t believe how easy he was to frame” billy smiled “watch a few movies take a few notes, it was fun” stu made a weird smile, the breathe in my throat has long disappeared and I feel faint I can’t audibly hear the things they are now saying and all I can do is panic, I jumped from my spot on the counter and wobbled my way to the cupboard “what are you doing y/n” billy shouted “water” I wheezed grabbing the cup and turning the tap so I can get some kind of relief from the rapidness of my heart “are you okay?” Stu asked from behind me and I flinched from his touch “yeah I’m fine” I stuttered “you don’t have to be afraid of us y/n we aren’t going to hurt you” he looked like a sad puppy when I gained my Vision again enough to see the hurt in his face from the way I flinched “I know you wouldn’t” I smiled as another gun shot was heard and I looked to see Sidney now on the floor bleeding out “oh my god sid!” I shouted and ran to her side “tell my dad I love him okay please” she cried “I will babe I will” I sobbed holding her shaking figure in my equally shaky hands, I sat with her while the boys took care of gale “I’m tired” she whispered “it’s okay sid go to sleep” I cried harder at the fact that I’m losing my best friend “I love you” she smiled closing her eyes “I love you too” I placed her now lifeless body on the floor and stood up “we need to leave” billy came walked into the kitchen stopping to take in my now shaky and sobbing form “oh love, just know we are doing this for us, me, you and stu can now live happily together” he grabbed me and lifted me up bridal style as stu came running in telling us the cops are outside “are you coming with us?” Stu asked pleadings with his eyes “of course” I sighed smiling

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Never Too Late 1

Warnings: noncon sexual acts (later in series)

This is dark!Steve Rogers and explicit. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: You’re turning forty and life seems to be forging ahead on its one way track, that is until you meet Steve Rogers.

Note: No I don’t know when the next chapter will be up or why I’m posting. The last few days have been some of the worst of my life and everything’s fallen apart.

Thank you. Love you guys!

As always, if you can, please leave some feedback, like and reblog <3

You thought thirty-nine was hard. You remembered it clearly, as if it was yesterday. A whole year. Another year. Gone. You greeted forty as you had every day. At your desk behind the ridiculous protective glass as you renewed licenses and issued permits. 

The same tedious, draining eight hours, the same dull co-workers, the same broken water cooler, the same sign flashing numbers as you beckoned forth the next impatient person. ‘What took you so long?’ ‘This is ridiculous.’ ‘Goddamn pain in the neck.’ 

No one wanted to sit in the old and stiff plastic seats just to get a terrible photo taken and have to wait even longer for the actual card to arrive in the mail. And you didn’t want to help. That became clearer the longer you were there. The job was thankless and dull. Like everything else in your life.

You left as you did every night. You promised yourself it wouldn’t be like your last birthday. No bottle of wine burning in your gut. No splitting headache the next day as you stared into the toilet bowl. Just a little treat that couldn’t possibly turn bitter.

And that was just like you. No risks, no spontaneity. The same old routine. You could hear mother’s voice then. ‘You’re too stubborn. That’s why you never held onto a man. You waited too long. Nothing is ever going to be perfect enough for you… for grandkids.’ Well, she had others. Your sister had a boy and a girl, and your brother was blessed with three daughters. More than enough for her. Unlike you.

It was raining. On your birthday. In the middle of summer. Typical.

You were soaked by the time you got to the train and hesitated to follow through on your planned sojourn. You got off a few stops before yours and climbed up to the street. The downpour slowed to a drizzle. You dipped through the automatic door and the air-conditioned grocer chilled your damp clothing.

You went to the refrigerated glass shelves of pastries and specialty desserts. A whole cake to yourself seemed exorbitant; not just on your stomach but your wallet too. They had single slices of cheesecake but only plain left. You wanted chocolate or strawberry or something that you would slightly regret.

There was a pretty cupcake; chocolate with mocha icing and a drizzle of dolce leche and some garish edible beads sprinkled over. You took the small plastic container and headed for the frozen aisle to grab a pizza; thin crust with cheese. The calories added up along with the years.

You paid for your measly meal and slightly ridiculous dessert and headed back out onto the street. Your flat slipped on the pavement and you steadied yourself with your other foot only for your toe to catch a crack in the pavement. You flailed and fought but in your usual graceless existence, there was little else you could do but resign to fate.

The plastic container was crushed beneath your chest atop the pizza box and your purse fell painfully down your arm as your knees scraped through your wool pants. Just your luck. Just your fucking luck! You cursed in your head and slowly pushed yourself off the mess, chocolate smeared across your blouse.

You wanted to cry. And scream. You wanted to disappear as the apathetic New York rush passed you by. As life passed you by. And the urge only got more intense as a shadow stopped before you. As your eyes glossed over the shoes and followed the long legs up a formidable figure. As the man with the golden hair knelt and helped scrape up the mess onto the pizza box.

“Oh my god,” You grumbled as you took it from him embarrassed. “You don’t have to--”

“Are you okay?” He asked.

“I’d really prefer it that you just…” You shook your head, you could barely look at him. “Just ignore me like everyone else. Please.”

“Come on,” He offered you his hand but you just stared. He grabbed your elbow instead and helped you stand. “I’m sure they have a dozen more--”

“It’s fine.” You swept past him and shoved the box and mess of plastic and icing into the trash. He followed you, barely evading other pedestrians as he did. “ I’m just… Thank you. I’m fine.”

You turned away and he caught your elbow again. He was strong. You turned back, annoyed with him as much as yourself. And now that you looked at him directly, he was familiar. And that was worse. You cringed and wiggled your arm free.

“Hey,” He let go and pointed down. “You’re bleeding.”

You looked and the knee of your pants had soaked through with blood. You sighed and shook your head. 

“It’s just… another nail in the coffin,” You huffed under your breath. “I’ll survive.” You assured him and spun away once more. “Happy birthday to me.” You grumbled.

You heard him behind you then felt him beside you as another New Yorker narrowly avoided him. You were starting to get angry and the humiliation curdled in your chest.

“It’s your birthday?” He asked.

“How--” You glanced over at him. “I...whispered that.”

“I have good ears,” He smiled.

“You would.” You frowned. “Well... Steve Rogers,” You announced as you crossed your arms and stopped again, a snarl hurled in your direction from a passerby. “You saved me. Your work for the day is done.”

“You know who I am?” He mused. 

“I might be clueless but not that clueless,” You said. “Look, thank you. I aready said it once.”

“Let me buy you a cake,” He said. “Then my job is done.”

You squinted at him. Long and hard. No man was ever this nice to you. Not without reason. And this was the Steve Rogers. The Captain America. He was every woman’s dream and every man’s envy. You were a forty year old hermit covered in rain and cupcake.

“Really, you’ve done enough.” You hissed. “I can’t--No.”

You marched away from him but he was relentless. He kept you from the subway as he rounded you and blocked your path.

“You seem like you’re having a bad day. Let me make it better.” He said.

“Why?” You asked. “You don’t know me.”

“Well, you know who I am. So we’re halfway there.” He smiled. “What’s your name?”

You tilted your head as you considered him. If you humoured him, it would be over sooner. You couldn’t imagine what urge drove him to his persistence. Was it a genuine need to be valiant? A compulsion? Pity? Maybe he amused himself with the pathetic missteps of others?

You gave him your name. Begrudgingly.

“There’s a bakery close to here. Established 1934.” He said. “I went to the opening with my mother.”

“You really don’t--”

“The more you insist I don’t, the more I want to,” He interrupted. “So, let me do something nice.”

You stared at him and the mist began to thicken. The rain drops bounced off the awning over the next storefront and ran down the aged brick of the neighbourhood.

“Come on, before you catch cold,” His hand was on your arm again. You let him usher you past the subway entrance; more eager to be out of the rain than anything.

The door rang as you entered. The bell was old and tinny and the inside betrayed its age. Not in a bad way. It was clean and smelled of bread and cloves. The hand painted cards lined before the trays of baked goods and the faded portraits of loaves and bundts were of another time. You felt old and not very all at once.

“Their black forest is good,” Steve said as he shook the rain off his thin jacket; if the rain hadn’t broken the humidity, he’d have been stolid. “Red velvet…” He looked at you. “French Vanilla.”

“Oh, do I seem vanilla to you?” You challenged as you turned to the display and avoided his eyes. 

“It’ll be nice. A treat to take home for the family.” He said. “Husband? Kids?”

You scoffed and bent closer as you read. Your glasses were at the bottom of your purse. A new prescription you were in denial off.

“I’ll take a slice of the cherry chip.” You said to the woman on the other side of the counter. “Please.”

“She’ll take the whole cake.” Steve reached in his pocket and pulled out his wallet. “My treat.” He slid a bill across as you stared at the floor. “No one to share with?”

“My cat died after Christmas,” You shrugged. “I suppose I could bring it in for my co-workers.”

He was quiet as the baker boxed up the cake. The tension between you thickened.

“I know it’s kind of… frowned upon to ask but--”

“Forty,” You interrupted. “A nice, even number, I guess.”

“Ah, a whippersnapper,” He nudged you before he took the cake from the banker with a thanks. “I think I’ve bothered you enough.” He held it out to you. “Happy birthday.” He glanced out the window as you accepted the box. “You should wait this thing out but…” He pulled up his hood and checked his watch. “I got a friend waiting on me and he’s not very patient.” He grinned. “And I was late when I ran into you.”

You watched him go. He swung the door open and the bell rattled again. The rain pattered off his hood as he shoved his hands in his pockets. He glanced at you one last time before he dove into the city crowd and sidestepped the splash of a passing car. You looked down at the dark green box.

Well, at least you could say it hadn’t been an entirely uneventful birthday.

🎂

Break was almost over. You spent your last few minutes in the washroom. You leaned closer to the mirror as you frowned. That made it worse. That new line around your lips… and the crow’s feet. Was that another grey poking through?

Well, it might help if you stopped scowling. You left your reflection behind and returned to your desk. You got settled and punched back in through your computer. The next number flashed across the screen facing the waiting room; G645I. You didn’t watch to see them stand and approach. You grabbed a pen and scribbled on a post-it as the shadow neared.

“And what are we here for today?” You asked as you finally looked up.

“License renewal,” The paper slid through the slot beneath the window as you blinked up at the familiar voice. “Ten years already.”

“Oh,” You took the form and turned to your monitor as you typed. 

Steve Rogers said your name as if to confirm your fears that after a whole two weeks, he still remembered the woman with cake smeared across her front. You bit your lip without thinking as you looked at him.

“Did you enjoy the cake?” He crossed his arms and leaned on the little ledge, as close to the window as he could get. You didn’t miss Gloria’s errant glances as she ignored her own applicant for yours.

“It was good. Thank you.” You focused on inputting his information. You hid your startled realisation as you keyed in 1918. Whatever they had given him, you wanted some. “I think Gary enjoyed it more. He’s just down at counter three.”

“You sure you’re forty?” He asked.

Your lashes flicked up and you rolled your eyes.

“Coming from you…” You muttered.

“Well, I had help.” He chuckled.

You carried on and scribbled across his form.

“I need you to back up to that line. Look at the camera.” You said tersely as you hit a few buttons. “No smiling.”

He couldn’t help a curve of his lips as he backed away but he squared his jaw and wiped away his amusement as he hit the marker. You focused the lens and took the picture quickly. His image appeared before you and you finished up the renewal as he stood at the window.

“Never really thought about Captain America needing a license,” You gathered up his copy and stapled it to the confirmation. You slipped it to him and his fingers somehow brushed yours beneath the glass.

“Even I have rules,” He kidded.

You narrowed your eyes at him and struggled not to shake your head.

“Three to six weeks,” You told him. “It’ll be in the mail. Keep that in your vehicle.”

“And… how was the rest of your birthday?” He asked.

You were quiet. You considered him and swallowed. You could hear the titters of your co-workers. You wondered how he didn’t, or perhaps he had learned to ignore it.

“Better,” You confessed. “Thank you again.”

“No, thank you,” He folded the paper and tapped it on the ledge. “You’re a doll.”

“A doll?” You echoed.

“Forgive me. My age shows.” He laughed. “You have a good day… take care of yourself.”

“You too, Mr. Rogers.” You said stiffly.

“Oh, and… as an elder, can I share with you something I’ve learned over the years?” He paused as his hand rested just on the other side of the glass.

“Sure,” You said.

“Sometimes you gotta break the routine. Do something fun. Something for yourself.” He backed away slowly. “Get a little wild.” Your brows drew together and he winked. “From one geezer to another.”

He turned and strode past the of chairs of impatient applicants. You took a breath and tried to shrug away your discomfort. It felt almost patronizing to have him talk to you like that. Like he knew you. Like he, the laboratory adonis, could relate to the paunch under your waistband or the slowly sagging skin on your arms. It was almost as if he had been rubbing it in.

[diaries-of-a-shut-in]

I Rant About Pizza for Several Paragraphs

Pizza. You know it. You love it. Sauce. Cheese. Bread. The whole damn package. There’s other ways to prepare sauce, cheese and bread, sure. But pizza, there’s nothing like it. If you’re white and in the United States, chances are it was one of the first unhealthy foods you were allowed to eat, right up there with ice cream and pancakes as something that’s been with you you’re whole life you don’t even remember when you started eating it. My adult culinary life is complex and ever-changing, but it could easily be reduced to when I allow myself to eat pizza, and when I tell myself I have to eat something else because I need to eat something other than sauce, cheese, and white bread every day.  But no other dish provides the same comfort. Sure, the Thai place on the main road is always delicious. That burger joint just on the edge of town never fails to hit the spot. But PIZZA? That is the ultimate satisfaction. It’s the kind of food reserved for birthday parties. It’s food of kings; The food that you would constantly beg your parents to let you eat that night when you were little whenever you thought there was even the TINIEST possibility of success. Nothing was better than when you did succeed, either because your parents were too worn down to argue with you, didn’t have time or energy to argue with you, or when they realized that they wanted pizza just as much as you do. Whatever the reason, it was pizza time baby. Even if it was bad pizza, it still reminded you of how good the good pizza tasted.

I ate so much fucking pizza when I was little. Whenever I had pizza in front of me, I would inhale as much as possible. I swear, I could eat 3/4ths of a large pizza and still manage not to throw up most of the time, a skill that has enabled me to continue the self-destructive practice of inhaling a whole day of food in one sitting. It would always taste so good. But afterward, I would also feel really uncomfortable. Yeah, I would be gassy, but my stomach also felt like it was in pain. Like the feeling of being upset was distilled into a physical sensation throughout my stomach. Which of course, made me upset. Which made me act out. I didn’t know what was going on. I was a kid. I didn’t know what was happening and I wasn’t good communicating. That was hard on my parents. They had no idea why I was acting out after they gave me the treat that every kid coveted. This went on for years, and probably went on before I could remember it happening.

Eventually, my mom somehow managed to track down a specialist, who ran some blood tests. It turns out my gut was sensitive to gluten, a protein found in wheat bread. The bread would irritate my gut, which would mess with my head and overall ability to function. Bummer. I was also sensitive to Casein, which is a protein found in dairy products, such as milk and cheese. Double bummer. I had to stop eating both of them. That meant no pizza. Not just that, no ice cream, no grilled cheese sandwiches, no muffins, no cakes, no pancakes, no brownies, no chicken fingers(which were coated in bread), no burgers with the bun, etc. etc. Imagine telling a 9-year old they had to say goodbye to the foods they found so much joy in. It wasn’t easy for me, and it wasn’t easy for my mom to have to enforce it.

My mom worked her ass off to make sure I wasn’t left out of that joy. She made fudge, would find flourless chocolate cakes at the bakery, as well as gluten free cake mixes, gluten free bread, gluten free pancake mix, the whole shebang. Obviously, it wasn’t easy to adjust. I still couldn’t eat the sweets at the school, the gluten free bread just tasted weird,and would crumble instantly if it wasn’t toasted. But the gluten free pancake mix was just as good as the real thing, the gluten free brownie mix were tasty, and my mom managed to make gluten free/dairy free cakes that ended up being some of my favorite.

The casein was nowhere near as destructive as gluten, but I still needed to give up milk in cheese. For cows, anyway. It turned out though, that goat’s milk and goat’s cheese was lower in casein, and there were this super pretentious grocery store in the next town over that sold stuff like goat Gouda, and gluten free pizza crusts made from egg and tapioca starch(and apparently milk but we didn’t see the ingredients when we first tried it out) that crust paired together with goat gouda ended up becoming my favorite pizza, and it ended up being one of the first things I learned how to make growing up.

As I grew up, being gluten free eventually became more and more ubiquitous until practically every store and restaurant has gluten free options or alternatives. my local pizza shop has gluten free pizza, and the crust is pretty good, though nothing will really hold up to my own homemade recipe. But I still frequent it every week and a half or so, and have eaten there on and off ever since it’s been open for business. As I eat there, I’ve made more attempts to make the pizza healthier. It started with green peppers, then progressed to cashew nut cheese so I wouldn’t overload on dairy. What a foolish endeavor it all has been. Pizza is pizza because it’s so unhealthy that it takes a special occasion to justify having some and  feel the joy of unbridled indulgence, even if it does make you feel kinda worse the next morning. You can do stuff to make it healthier, sure. Give it an olive base. Put spinach on it, maybe even broccoli if you have no soul. But then it stops being pizza. Not the one from your childhood, anyway. It’s  just a version bread, sauce and cheese that you sometimes treat yourself too when it’s been a long day and you’re not really in the mood for making dinner. It’s still pleasant, sure. The same way Thai food or burgers are pleasant. But it’s not pizza.

Growing up, you’ve gotta make difficult choices, and a lot of those involve making sure you eat healthy, and making sure you don’t overdo it even when you do decide to treat yourself. I’ll still have the same kind of pizza from my childhood, but I live my life right, it’ll mean allowing myself that childhood joy far less frequently than the child in me begs me to. But that doesn’t mean I won’t still make sure I feel that joy occasionally. Besides, even if I do make my pizza kinda healthy half the time, it’ll still remind me of what real pizza is, right?

P.S. To whoever’s reading this, PLEASE don’t be one of those people that eats Caprese pizzas, okay? I tried one, and I lost respect for myself for letting myself eat most of it. It’s like someone dumped a salad on your pizza, vinagrette included. Just order the salad separately. You’re lying to yourself if you think you can have it both ways by mixing the indulgence of childhood and the healthfulness of adulthood. Just don’t.

[antihero-writings]

The Ghost of Sweetness (Ao3)

Fandom: Vanitas no Carte | The Case Study of Vanitas

Summary: He was screaming again. Oh god, he was screaming again. It filled the room like a faucet someone hadn’t turned off steadily gushing all over the floor.  Soon enough, it would drown them all. || Some Vanitas and Mikhail/Misha hurt/comfort. Written for the prompt “can I please request a misha & vanitas fic…maybe some hurt/comfort during their time at moreau’s lab.“

Notes: For @phmonth2021, vncweek Day 2, prompt: Passion. 

Spoilers for manga Chapter 47+.

I hope you like it!! It would mean a lot to me if you could comment and let me know!!

P.S. Anyone have any better ideas for the title? I don’t like it but I can’t think of anything better XD

P.P.S. Is there really no vnc option on FF.net?!?

*

He was screaming again. Oh god, he was screaming again. It filled the room like a faucet someone hadn’t turned off steadily gushing all over the floor. Soon enough, it would drown them all.

Not the doctors though, no. They could breathe in this water. Or more, this water was like alcohol to them, intoxicating them, making them smile and laugh, and treat innocent children like animals and objects.

Was this all because of the vampires? Because their parents were killed by them? Other orphans got a nice orphanage, a warm bed, a friend or two. Numbers Seventy-One and Sixty-Nine got needles and knives. Was it for the simple distinction that their parents were killed by a creature with teeth, rather than an earthquake or a gunshot?

Number Sixty-Nine could do nothing but shake in his cell, put his hands over his ears, and bite his lip till it bled, and let hate pierce him, infecting him with its poisoned tip.

If this was alcohol, rather, it did nothing but burn and rot and claw at his insides.

This wasn’t what doctors were supposed to do. He’d watched a good one work before.

Hate coiled, curled and flared in him at the sound. How could they do this to him? He didn’t care for himself—(well, he did, but not more than those who would get hurt in his stead). But for the poor boy who had done nothing to them but exist peacefully, and lose his mother to vampires? This was more than cruel.

Vampires. The word was held more bitter tang than the things the doctors forced down their throats.

As abruptly as it started, it stopped. The screaming cut off, and all Sixty-Nine was left with was the fierce beating of his heart—or was it bleeding?

He drew his hands away from his ears and turned to face what they had done—though he couldn’t see much, just the boy strapped to the table, and the color red.

No, it wasn’t silent; the raging faucet had becoming a dripping one, and the tears were almost worse, like hell and defeat.

“He won’t last much longer.” One of the doctors said behind closed hands.

“Oh that’s alright!” Moreau flapped his sleeve at him. “The information he’s given is very useful!”

Sixty-Nine dug his nails into his palm so hard his whole arm shook.

Is that all this poor boy’s screams were to that monster? Information?

No. Sixty-Nine changed position as they came closer, the creaking of the door swinging open like the whimpering of some wounded beast. They threw the boy back in the cell with blood and tears and a cough or two.

He lay on the floor, and the faucet kept dripping.

Mikhail. Misha. The one with the name. They stole that from him, much like they stole everything else.

—(Were ‘they’ the vampires, or the humans?)—

But No. Sixty-Nine would still call him by it.

Misha didn’t get up. He lay on the floor, the sobs quiet and wracking his entire being.

Sixty-Nine wouldn’t shush him or tell him it was okay. He knew it wasn’t. And screams and tears were all they had in this empty place, he wouldn’t take them away from him now.

Those blue eyes flickered open, and they glistened with sadness and loss, but they looked at him like he was the moon and the stars, and everything in between.

Sixty-Nine wasn’t sure he could bear such a burden.

Misha leapt upon Sixty-Nine, wrapping his arms around him and holding him as tight as if, if he didn’t, he’d turn to sand and slip through his fingers.

They were trapped in an hourglass alright.

No. Sixty-Nine leaned his head back against the bar, trying not to listen to the doctors on the other side. He didn’t run his hands through his hair or rub soothing circles on his back, he merely continued to let him cry, and this was mercy and comfort of its own. He let him cry and the sound was flint to the already raging fire of hate inside him, soothed only by the thought that it was into his shirt rather than the palm of the doctors’ hands.

After a while he spoke gently over him:

“Once upon a time…”

Misha raised his head, blinking up at him and sniffing. “What?”

“The other day you were telling me about a story game you came up with, weren’t you?”

Misha nodded slowly.

Sixty-Nine raised an eyebrow as if to say ‘Well…Aren’t you going to play?’

“Oh!” Misha realized what he was saying, and backed up, sitting on his knees.

“Once upon a time…” Misha put a finger to his chin, thinking, “There was a nice prostitute!” He threw his hands in the air, beaming.

Sixty-Nine tried not to let his eyes widen in shock at the word. Misha really had no clue what that meant, and he had no intention of making such things clear to him. He’d already seen far too much for a boy so young.

“…Sure.” He looked away. “A nice prostitute. And she…she liked tarte Tatin.”

“Tarte Tatin?”

“It’s…a dessert. A pastry with apples and…” He exhaled heavily, shutting his eyes. The words curved around his tongue, a ghost of sweetness.

“That sounds amazing! I-I never got to have nice desserts,” he murmured softly.

Sixty-Nine tried not to let that taint his expression.

He envied the boy, in a way: the echoes of the taste on his tongue now was almost worse than never knowing it in the first place.

“So she liked tarte Tatin.” Sixty-Nine repeated. “And one day…”

“One day a nice vampire came by with some!”

Sixty-Nine couldn’t help reacting this time.

“A nice…what?”

“Yeah! Sometimes I saw men bring mom gifts!”

“You said vampire.” The word was venom.

“Well a vampire gave her the loveliest gift of all! Surely they bring other nice gifts too!”

Sixty-Nine tried not to feel sick to his stomach, tried not to shout How could you possibly think that?! Tried not to spit The only gift he gave her is death.

But maybe that was a gift, in a way. Especially to the boy she would hit when he didn’t dress like a girl.

“Okay...” His breath rattled. “And he gave her some…and it was delicious and...he told her that he would be back with more.”

“And he came back the next week with a whole bunch of it!”

Sixty-Nine closed his eyes and spoke softly, “She he said it tasted like all the stars came down and burst in her mouth.” His breath heaved with the weight of the memory of taste.

“And he told her that he would take her away from all this. …Her and her son beneath the bed.

Sixty-Nine’s he turned to look at him. Misha only smiled.

“Y-Yes. Her and her son beneath the bed. And…he did.” He exhaled the words. “He came back with cakes, and tarts, and chocolates…and”—He couldn’t bring himself to the end the story on a kind note towards vampires—“he drank her blood, and he…took her away.”

“Yay!” Misha clapped. “That was a great story! Let’s do it again next time!”

“Yeah,” he sighed.

Misha curled up against him, and after a pause asked softly:

“Do you think he did? Take her away? My mom?”

He swallowed the spit that had gathered in his mouth from the talk of good food, and looked away. “Yes. I do.”

“Do you think she’s in a better place?”

He thought of the church when he’d been with the chasseurs. How they always made grand speeches about Heaven.

He thought of the traveling players, and the general goodness to people he saw there.

He thought of the doctors here, and how sometimes people were cruel.

He thought of the sermons about the evils of sins like prostitution, and their consequences.

He thought of that one story about the prostitute who washed the feet of the son of God.

“I don’t know. …Better than us, probably.”

He stood up and grabbed the blanket from off his bed, wrapping them both in it. Misha leaned against him, and Sixty-Nine thought of how Moreau said he was to be his guardian, and tried to decide if he resented the command. He was never very fond of physical contact as a form of affection, but he knew it was all this boy had, and to take it away would be almost worse than what the doctors did.

“Say…Why do vampires drink blood?” Misha asked.

That hate flared behind his throat. He wanted to say Because they are parasites. He wanted to say Because they suck the life out of innocent for fun.

But then he thought of the doctors, and the needles.

“Did your mom ever drink…alcohol?”

“I saw her drinking stuff from a bottle a lot. It was red. It made her look all red too. She wouldn’t tell me what it was. What that alcohol?”

“Mostly likely.”

“She was always mad. She got even madder when she drank it.”

Sixty-Nine bit his lip, then continued calmly:

“Blood is like that for vampires.”

“But when the vampire drank her blood it made him happy.”

“Yeah, alcohol makes some people happy too.”

“So…he drank my mom’s blood, so he could feel happy?”

Sixty-Nine hesitated. “…Yeah”

He expected Misha to get angry at that, or sad. It certainly returned that burning to Sixty-Nine’s gut to think that human life was nothing more than a good drink to vampires.

“Then I’m glad!” Misha laughed. “I’m glad they could both be happy.”

And Sixty-Nine tried not to let horror affect his gaze.

When he thought of his father, of the gashes in his neck, the red all over everything, he didn’t feel glad at all.

[xelly]

Of Nightmares and Answers

Inspired by @jacquesthepigeon post

I apologize in advance for the long post.

(I suck at titles, sorry)

...

Hawk Moth, Marinette decided, was a jerk with no creativity whatsoever.

She was no villain and the reused ideas made her job considerably easier. An akuma that could travel through screens? Simple, corner them and cut the electricity. One that could fly? That was cake, once she and Chat managed to enclose them. It would get messy, but they always managed.

But this recurring theme of exploiting people's fears was getting pretty messed up pretty quickly. That was just sick.

A year later and she had to deal with Nightmare Adrien once again. At this point it wasn't even scary anymore, so she just simply grabbed him by his shirt and hurled him to the Seine—where he promptly dissolved into a cloud of gliterry smoke so that was enlightening. Marinette knew that it was next to imposible to completely get ros of him, but every second she did not expect subjected to his alphabetized and numerized list of why Kagami was perfect and overall superior than Marinette, was a second she was going to enjoy however short.

Now, she knew there was more to it than a teen crush in that manifestation of her fears, but she wasn't in the mood to stop and think about it too deeply, not when there was an akuma on the loose. Certainly not after.

For Chat Noir his fear was always the same. Condiment, powerlessness. It made her heart break when he showed up late and pale.

Hawk Moth, besides being a boring villain, was a massive jerk and Marinette would punch his teeth out as soon as she got the chance.

“Chat?” she called him, noticing how his eyes got lost.

He shook his head. “I'm fine, I'm fine.” The fact he didn't try cover it with a flirty line or a light-hearted pun spoke for itself.

Yes, Marinette was going to absolutely destroy Hawk Moth. But they had an akuma to catch now, before Paris spiraled down into complete madness. They had already sounded the alarms and many had taken refuge. But there were always stragglers and those found themselves at different levels of panic, sobbing and whimpering and screaming, rocking themselves with their knees pressed to the chest and pulling their hair out.

They had to fix this now.

The only advantage Marinette could think of was that this akuma only seemed to affect people who came into direct contact with her, and that she wasn't as good fighting as she was escaping. It was a tricky, slippery one, but once they cornered her it was over. An ally might have been good, but it was late and she didn't want to expose anyone else to this.

It was one of those akumas.

Suffice to say they didn't even know her name, nor her story. The quiet ones were the most volatile, destructive. Marinette would know.

She simply hoped her Lucky Charm could fix things afterwards, thought she was aware it didn't erase memories.

She sighed, beginning to feel the guilt. As much as Tikki and Chat, and everyone, told her Hakw Moth was the one to blame, she couldn't help the feeling.

That won't help now, thought. So she shook her head and turned to Chat. “Alright, kitten, this is going to be interes—”

A dark laugh cut her off.

They both whirled at the same time, weapons at the ready. There she was, unsettling in her outfit's simplicity. The black suit, the fine-looking cane and the elegant bun at the back of her hair. She seemed like someone they might find on the street. It made her all the more uncomfortable to look at.

“So we meet again,” she said as she gave her a once-over. “I thought I got rid of you, especially you, Chat Noir. You seemed rather distressed in that cage.” He didn't show signs to reply. The akuma clicked her tongue and pursed her lips. “I thought this would be more amusing, but life is so full of disappointments already it shouldn't surprise me.”

She wasted no time in reaching for his pocket and pulling out a fistful of her glittery black dust. She blowed it, two circles forming and smoking between them, swirling and bubbling in unnatural ways. Marinette took a step back as did Chat.

You see, Hawk Moth was a sucker for recycling ideas. But he did know how to twist them just enough to improve them. Where Sandboy had needed to sprinkle his victims, this one simply needed to be in range. People's own fear fed by the dust, the dust fed by people's fear. This was her chance to attack before the dust and smoke took shape.

And she did, but one of the circles shot outwards, into iron bars. Chat lost focus, his pupils contracting. The fear coming off of him was almost palpable.

The akuma hit him with a strength unproper of her appearance, sending him to the ground with a blow to the chest. Marinette worried when he didn't got up immediately. The akuma then proceeded to almost knock her out with a punch to the nose.

There were many things Marinette had done throughout her life, participating in a brawl was not one of them. The hit disoriented her, causing black spots to swarm her vision. She couldn't block the kick to the gut that made her fall.

Stunned, she could only watch the akuma staring down at her. It's over, Marinette thought. But the akuma simple stood there with a cruel intent in her eyes, and left, jumping above the bars before they completely closed.

Marinette wanted to stomp her feet in frustration when her head stopped spinning. She touched her nose, it hurt awfully but she didn't think it was broken. A plan was already forming in her head when she got up. They would have to use Chat's cataclysm first, though, which would only make them lose more time as he would need to recharge adte. Again. In addition to dealing with Nightmare Adrien. Fucking awesome.

She walked up to Chat, who was sitting. She saw the fear reflected in his face as he took in his surroundings, she swore she heard him mutter not again, not again.

“Hey,” Marinette said softly, offering what she hoped was a soothing smile. “Come on, kitten, let's get this over with.”

He took deep breaths before nodding. Marinette offered her hand and he took it. His face remained closed off, as it would be the rest of the day and maybe the rest of the night. She wondered if he'd sleep with his window open, or it he'd sleep at all.

“Cataclysm,” he muttered, the dark energy building up in the pal of his hand.

Marinette often looked away when he summoned his powers. She didn't know when it would stop. Not today, it seemed, as she stared at the humanoid form of her fears.

She readied her yo-yo with a sigh. Earlier, she'd figure it out the more scared someone was, the faster their Nightmares took form. No wonder Chat's had so quickly. Hers was about to, even if she convinced herself that she wasn't afraid of Adrien. That she wasn't terrified of being good enough for him, or for anyone.

She steeled herself as the smoke rippled one last time. But Adrien didn't walk out of it. Not with that white mask and icy mask, not with that twisted, insane, cruel smirk. Her blood chilled, her lip quivered and her yo-yo almost fell from her unsteady hands.

Marinette took a step back as Chat Blanc bared his teeth in way the would have been playful hadn't it been so wicked in its mocking nature. That made him grin wider. “Hello, Marinette.”

He attacked.

...

Marinette never stopped shaking. When she went home her parents didn't about. Her mom only went to make her hot chocolate while her father sat her on his lap, cradling her head like a newborn and running his other hand up and down her back. “Breathe in and out with me, my little one,” he murmured softly.

Marinette tried, she really did, but the shaking never quite left, her heartbeat didn't slow down and when her mom brought her a cup of chocolate, it rattled so much she spilled it onto her dad's pants. “S-Sorry.”

“Shhh, it's okay,” he reassured her. And even when she stopped apologizing, he kept saying it. “It's okay, baby girl.”

It's okay, he said when Marinette wrapped her arms around his neck and buried her face on his shoulder, trying to remember what it was like to breathe again.

...

Chat fell like a sack of potatoes on her roof. Well, maybe not like a sack of potatoes, but loudly enough to make Marinette jump out of her skin with a pathetic squeal.

It was him, or it was the worst thief in Paris trying to break in. The latter sounded more inviting than the former, truth to be told. That was the kind of day she'd had.

Marinette turned to Tikki, slightly—very—panicked to what Tikki only gave her an understanding gaze. She could almost hear her gentle words even though her kwami didn't speak. With a sigh and unsteady gait, she climbed the stairs to her bed and then went out to the roof.

The cold wasn't that bad, seeing as the summer was barely leaving, but she wrapped her arms around herself as she stood in front of Chat Noir.

Chat Noir, she repeated in her head.

He swallowed. “It's nice up here,” he said after a moment of silence.

Marinette nodded, coming to stand with her hand on the railing. “I like to come here people-gazing,” she told him. “It... inspires me.”

Chat stood besides her. The glimpse of his bell made her flinch. Golden, she told herself. His bell is golden, his hair is blond, his suit black and his eyes green. He put distance between them, and for that, for that Marinette swore Hawk Moth would pay. One day.

Marinette swallowed her, the lump in her throat obstructing her breathing. “You must have questions,” she sighed.

Chat glanced at her from the corner of his eyes as she did the same. They both went to stare ahead, repulsed like equal poles. “You could say that,” he muttered. “But I wasn't going to make them tonight.”

“What changed?”

“Nothing, I don't expect answers tonight.” Marinette stared him openly now, doubts in her eyes and arched eyebrows. He sighed. “I have... nightmares.”

Well.

She could relate to that.

“About what?”

It was always risky to pry, even thought he only brought something up only when he was ready to discuss it. But today hadn't been a good day, for either of them. He answered anyway.

“My father is a millionaire.”

On other occasion, Marinette would've berates him for revealing that kind of information but... it didn't matter much now, did it?

“He's obsessed with my safety, ironic, given he doesn't give a shit about me,” Chat went on. “The point is my house is a bunker. And since Sandboy I had this dream, where everything is closed and I'm locked in. I don't have plan or my miraculous, there's no way out. But there's this crack in the blinds. I can see everything from it, but I cannot so much as to put a finger out. There's people always other people at the other side and I scream but they never hear me. There's my friends, there's you. But no one ever hears, and I never get out.”

Marinette felt her eyes sting. “You saw Ladybug?” she asked thickly.

“No. I see you.”

A tear escaped her, and then other, and other. She shouldn't say it. She shouldn't tell him.

“Chat,” Marinette whispered, “something terrible happened.”

And yet she did, knowing it was a mistake.

Tag list:

@jacquesthepigeon @their-destinys-writer @nifflerstorm @technicacloud @scrumptious-shit @lunardrop7 @stillsnowfalling

Hope you enjoy!

[despair-tummy]

if you're still open for requests, maybe syo feeding a really fat byakuya?

Sure, ngl Bya.kuya is fun to write.

[[MORE]]

A Togami was supposed to be the very definition of perfection. Intelligent, sharp, witty, in top physical condition and health, skillful, resourceful and powerful. Byakuya prided himself on not only being the current head of the Togami’s ever-expanding empire but also the youngest male to ever win. He competed against his siblings from his father’s various mistresses and came out on top. Earning his place in the world by meeting and going above and beyond with each expectation placed before him. Indeed, Byakuya Togami was the very definition of what a Togami should be in all aspects...

Well, maybe he was struggling in one aspect more than he would like to admit. It wasn’t intentional, not in the slightest. He couldn’t exactly pinpoint where it started to slip from his hands, but somewhere along the line, he lost control.

It crept up on him, slowly. He was naive and didn’t see it at first, and when he did he refused to acknowledge it. Because acknowledging its existence would mean accepting the fact he was getting fat. That little flab of extra softness on his middle was hardly as concerning as the mystery shrouding the depths of this academy. And his blazer could easily hide it safely from everyone’s view. He was so confident in himself that the little extra weight would go away if he cut back on eating.

Granted, it would have if actually cut back on snacking so unnecessarily. But it was a shameful moment of weakness on his part, to give in to such overindulgence. But as much as he hated to admit it, every man had his weakness. His came in the form of chocolate cake.

It was bad enough Toko and her disgusting lack of hygiene stalked him to such annoying lengths, but her split personality was just as bad, if not worse. Byakuya believed himself to be unbreakable when it came to willpower, but in reality, he was like a block of ice. You wait long enough and it would melt.

If Toko was persistent in following him around like a puppy, Syo took that to new extremes. But much to everyone’s surprise including his own, Syo could be reasoned with. Despite being a serial killer who killed men in a gruesome manner, she too had an array of hobbies aside from murdering and harassing him. Though Syo being as unexpected as she was, she had a completely unexpected hobby... baking.

It would start with the serial killer harassing him with a slice of chocolate cake she made just for him. He refused, many times. But once Syo promised to leave him alone for the rest of the day he begrudgingly gave in. Much to his relief, the cake slice was free from hair, blood or anything else from her horrible smelling body. And to his surprise, the taste wasn’t awful. It certainly didn’t compare to the cakes his personal chefs could make, but it could pass as eatable and wasn’t as dreadful tasting as he originally thought it was going to be.

Sure enough, it became a daily thing, Syo would offer to leave him alone in exchange he had to eat whatever she baked. It didn’t take long for that little extra weight to appear, and for him to spiral out of control from there.

That small pudge just got bigger, and it wasn’t just his midsection that fell victim to the extra weight. One slice of cake eventually grew into two slices, and soon three slices, it wasn’t long before he was basically eating a whole cake a day. And sure enough, his weight skyrocketed.

The floor creaked underneath his feet with every step he took, he tried his hardest not to pant. He was the current head of the Togami cooperation, simply walking from his dorm to the dining room shouldn’t make him winded! But the sweat that dripped from his round face and soaked underarms begged to differ. Every step he took was a struggle given the massive amount of pillowy fat that hung off his legs and uncomfortably rubbed together with each step, making his feet look comically small in comparison.

But it wasn’t just his bottom half that had underwent such a change, the upper half of his body wasn’t faring much better. His stomach hung and sagged, peeking out from under his shirt just enough to expose his navel. It was embarrassing enough having to request Monokuma provide him with attire that fitted before, but he found himself having to do so regularly.

Then there were his arms, they were offering less and less useful as they grew so thick with fat that it hung, resembling a flying squirrel in flight with its sagging skin as oppose to human arms.

His face, rounder from all the weight he piled on and there was that double chin he was sporting. He was far from the slender and intimidating heir that first entered Hope’s Peak Academy, that Byakuya was long gone. Buried in hundreds of pounds of excess weight somewhere, all that remained was his usual cold and to the point demeanour... well, at least that was demeanour he tried to keep. It was hard to appear professional and collective when a button popped off from his already skin-tight suit or when he was out of breath from walking short distances.

He quickly dabbed the sweat off his forehead with the cloth he used to clean his glasses. There, hopefully, he would manage to look someone presentable, like the old Byakuya Togami did a few hundred pounds ago.

He straightened his back, despite the fact it caused the white dress shirt he wore underneath to ride up and expose his pale midsection. But a Togami never slouched, not in the history of his family line. And Byakuya didn’t intend to be the first.

After taking a deep breath, he opened the door. He was the last to arrive, one because he never cared for the morning meetings Kiyotaka tried to get them all to attend. And secondly, it was difficult to get the motivation to walk these days.

“Maaaaster~!” the ever so dreadfully familiar voice of Genocider Syo said in a sickeningly sweet sing-song manner.

There in the middle of the dining hall was Syo, waving him over along to the table which was packed with multiple desserts. He tried his hardest not to show his exhaustion, but the sweat dripping down from his fat redden face was a dead giveaway.

“I got your seat all ready too.” Syo grinned, gesturing to the row that consisted of three seats. Yup, you heard that correctly. It took three chairs for him to be able to sit comfortably.

He remained silent, trying to ignore the gazes collectively on him from the others. He huffed and sat down, all three chairs giving a less than subtle creak as his massively round rear settled into the chairs.

“I woke up extra early to make all of this for yoooou.” Syo sang, tying a napkin around his neck, a miracle he even still had one at this point. “The more you eat, the more time I get to spend with you before I got to go.” she crackled, setting a bowl of chocolate mousse before him. “Now open up,” she used a spoon to scoop a hefty spoonful of mousse.

Normally he would have protested to eating so much, and especially to Syo spoon-feeding him. But that was ages ago, he regretfully became accustomed to this. As well as everyone else, the odd stares from the other students grew fewer and fewer as time went on as they got used to this odd display, but they didn’t completely stop and Byakuya doubted they ever will.

“The things I do for peace and quiet...” Byakuya muttered to himself and allowed Syo to feed him the spoonful with great reluctance.

Sure he could opt for her to feed him somewhere more private, but Byakuya didn’t even want to think of all the crude things Syo were to say if he ate like this with her privately.

An empty bowl later she presented him with a plate full of chocolate truffles. Despite eating an absurd amount of mousse, his stomach let out a barbaric grumble, signalling it wanted more. Much to Byakuya’s embarrassment, eating so much was one thing, but actually craving it was another.

“Don’t worry, I made more than enough!” Syo crackled, popping a few in his mouth following by giving his stomach a pat.

As soon as his teeth broke into the truffles his mouth was coated in a sickeningly sweet layer of milk, dark and white chocolate.

He forced himself to swallow, sure enough, another handful of truffles and another explosion of chocolate in his mouth, and repeat.

Two dishes down, countless more to go. Next up was the one that started this snowballing, chocolate cake. Though instead of single slices like it was the first time, as of late it was whole cakes.

“Open wide,” Syo grinned, bringing a forkful to his lips.

It was a miracle he wasn’t sick of chocolate cake yet or anything chocolate related for that matter. It wasn’t long until the cake was reduced to nothing but a few crumbs.

“Are we done yet?” Byakuya asked, trying and failing to stifle a burp.

Syo just gave one of her deranged laughs before setting a plate before him. Byakuya guessed he was going to be here a while before he eventually got some peace and quiet. Donuts, cupcakes, ice cream, pudding, cookies and everything else you could think of were fed to him, all chocolate flavoured of course to stay with the theme.

The desserts disappeared and were replaced with towers of empty plates stacked on top of each other. As the last chocolate-filled pastry passed his lips, even he didn’t Have enough dignity to hold back a full burp as he leaned back in his seat. His already doughy and wide stomach was extra taut from the sheer amount of food. His suit was already clinging to him tightly like a second skin, but now it seemed to almost magically cling tighter, bringing even more attention to the collection of rolls of fat he had. Making him look more like an overstuffed sausage than a refined man.

He panted, finding himself almost as exhausted as he was when he walked up the flights of stairs to get to the library.

“There, I...I finished your baking.” Byakuya spoke, unable to help but put a hand on his swollen gut and tried to rub the ache of fullness away. “You know the deal, now leave.”

“Awwwww, but master, I have a another course just waiting for you in the kitchen. I couldn’t fit it all on the table.” she poked his soft yet somewhat hard stomach. “Though... if you rather spend the day with little old me, we could-“

“Bring on the second course!” Byakuya answered immediately.

“As you wish.” Syo grinned, happily skipping off to fill the table with dishes of sweets yet again.

[anxiously-going]

Bones- family is more than blood

It’s doesn’t really have to do with April, but I’ve had this one basically done for a while now and I feel like it fills this prompt pretty well. 

A Cure for Homesickness. 

Len was already half-asleep where he stood over his reports. He knew if he sat down he would lose the battle against his exhaustion. A stomach bug was working its way through the crew, and he'd been thrown up on at least twice that shift and three times the shift before. It seemed like the symptoms only lasted a 24 hour cycle, which came as a bit of a relief as it meant people were in and out of the medbay fairly quickly so overcrowding wasn't an issue.

Despite the inconveniences of the day, Len found himself grateful he was a doctor, and not a custodian. Soon enough his reports were done, and he had sent another letter of complaint to Starfleet about the artificial cheese they insisted on stocking each ship with. He was convinced the concoction was the number one cause of constipation within the crew.

That complete, all Len wanted was to sleep for twelve or fifteen hours. He made his way purposefully to his cabin, certain that anyone who stopped him would end up with a less than dignified  sleeping CMO in their arms, or a black eye. As he made his way past one of the rec rooms his doctor instincts kicked in and he heard a soft sniffling noise.

Well, wasn't that just great! On top of half the crew puking their guts up he'd now have to deal with the other half sneezing their faces off all because some dimwitted crewman- the thought cut off instantly. Across the room he saw Chekov staring at him with wide puffy eyes. He'd been crying.

Bones strode deftly across the room. "Chekov, what's wrong?"

The younger man scrambled to his feet and  scrubbed the corner of one eye. "Nusing, sir. I'm fine, sir."

"Son, I'm a doctor, I know what fine looks like. It looks like the exact opposite of what you do right now." Chekov's head dropped. "Let's have a look at ya." Lenoard made a show of putting his wrist to Chekov's forehead then took the boy's face in his hands, and closely examined his puffy eyes. If his youth hadn't been obvious before, it was now. "Well, lucky this is very treatable."

Chekov's eyes widened. "Vhat is it, doctor?"

"Homesickness," Dr. McCoy answered soberly.

Chekov lowered his head again. "I didn't vant anyone to know."

Bones gave a small sigh and folded his arms around Chekov's thin shoulders. The younger man froze.

"Doctor-"

"Best remedy there is for homesickness." Len answered softly. Chekov let himself relax into the hug, and let his head rest against Len’s shoulder. "Y'know what the second best is?" He questioned gently stroking the back of Chekov's head.

"No, sir." Came the muffled reply.

"Talking it out over ice cream." He kept an arm around Chekov's shoulders and they made their way to the galley. From the replicators he ordered a bowl of mint chocolate chip and a two-in-one. Chekov smiled a little as he was handed the ice cream filled cake-cone.

"Sank you, sir -"

"Ah." Bones held up his spoon. "We're off duty. No more 'sir'."

Chekov nodded, his smile growing a little. "Vhat should I call you zen?'

Bones shrugged. "You could call me 'doctor' if you really wanted to, or you could call me by my name. I usually go by Len."

"Zat would be ok?"

"Sure,” the doctor nodded. “Is it ok if I call you 'Pavel'?"

Chekov nodded eagerly. "I vould like zat."

Len smiled in return. "So, what's on your mind tonight, Pavel?"

His smile turned sad and he shook his head. "It iz nusing, si- ehm. Len."

"It didn't seem like nothin' when you were in the rec-room."

Chekov stared at his ice cream. "Tomorrow, it will be three years since I vas assigned to zhe Enterprise. It vould also be my mother's birthday."

"She'd be very proud of you."

Pavel nodded his thanks with a weak smile. "I just…I vish I could hear her say it. She died vhen I vas wery little."

"There's nothin' wrong with missing her. And there’s nothin' wrong with being homesick either."

Pavel shook his head. "Eweryone already sinks zat I am too young to be here. I don't vant to give zhem any more reason to sink zhat."

Bones set down his spoon with a sigh. "Kid, the people who think that, don't get a say, it doesn't matter. You've proven that you belong here. There's no way Jim would let you go now."

"Really?" Pavel asked hopefully.

"Really,” Len assured. “And believe me, kid, the folk on this boat that don't get homesick at all aren't anything to be jealous of."

"Vhy not?"

"Most of the time, it means we don't have a home to go to when we get back to earth, or wherever it is we're from."

Pavel cocked his head to one side. "You do not get homesick? But I sought zhat you hated space."

Bones chuckled. "I don't mind space. It's hurtling myself through it that I don't like."

"But...zhen why do you do it?" The navigator wanted to know.

"You want an honest answer?"

Pavel bit his lip. "I do not vant to intrude..."

"It's ok. I was running away when I joined the Fleet. My marriage had ended in divorce, and I had nothin’ left. So...I joined the Fleet. I met Jim and he became like a brother to me. Then we got assigned here  and the rest of the crew became our family. There's nothing wrong with the crew being your family, Pavel. It's a good thing. But for a lot of us, it's because we don't have any other family."

The young ensign nodded and fiddled with his spoon. "Does it ewer go avay?"

Bones shrugged. "You learn to deal with it better. But there's always gonna be a little part of you that misses home. I mean, there's a lot of white around the ship, so it's gotta be a little bit Russia with all the snow so maybe not that." Pavel laughed a little and that. "Maybe something else. Like those huge parkas, or how cold it gets." Leonard grinned at the younger man who was still laughing. "You're a good kid, Pavel. You're a hard worker, and we're lucky to have you. Don't let people knock ya 'cause you're young. It's ok to still be homesick, it's ok to act your age off shift. If somebody doesn't like it send 'em to me."

Pavel smiled at his ice cream, his cheeks slightly colored from the doctor's praise. "Sank you, Len."

The older man smiled warmly. "Eat your ice cream before it melts."

"Can I ask you a question?"

"Shoot."

"How did you know to order zhis?" Pavel gestured to his two-in-one.

"I may have been born in Georgia, but I've been around the block a few times, kid," he smirked as he fell into Pavel's mother tongue.

Pavel's face lit up, and he answered Len in kind, "You speak Russian!"

Leonard smirked. "I like surprising people. Plus it helps with the homesickness.”

“Your accent is terrible!” Chekov laughed.

Len feigned offence and he put a hand over his heart. “Ah! I'll have you know that I have only been studyin’ Russian for a few months,” he replied in English. “I think I'm allowed a few mistakes.”

Pavel giggled. “It does help. Sank you. Again.”

“Feelin’ better?”

“A little.”

Leonard nodded his understanding. “It's not somethin’ that goes away right away. Talk to me about it though. Or Jim, or Sulu. We're all here for you, kid. We all want the best for you.”

[cagestark]

Could you please write about Tony being jealous after Peter spends too much time sciencing with Bruce?

Sorry if you didn’t want so much angst. Hope this is okay

Read here on AO3.

Warnings: alcoholism. Unhealthy behaviors all around. But it does have a hopeful ending I think. 5.7k

Peter is elbow deep in his paper on NASA’s Fermi Gamma-ray Space Telescope when he gets that tingle, like a finger being dragged up his spine. It sets all his hairs to standing, heart pounding. He is not alone. Keeping perfectly still, he holds his breath to better listen and scans what little of the kitchen he can see without moving his head. But the breaths—so quiet, he can barely hear them—are coming from behind him. The person is still, seated, unthreatening.

He relaxes, twisting on the stool at the island. “Hey, Nat. I didn’t hear you come in.”

She is the picture of poise, perched in the armchair across the room. Peter still isn’t quite used to seeing her like this. In private, she is very different from the woman he first met on the tarmac in Germany with the chic hair and tight, dark outfit. Not relaxed, per se, but maybe as relaxed as the assassin can be, dressed in loungewear, face clear of makeup, her growing hair plaited back. It must be a huge sign of trust for her to show this side of herself, but Peter has been told that he always looks for the best in people.

“Peter,” she greets coolly. Her legs cross, slowly, the dragging of nylon loud. He thinks she might be trying to seduce him. The Avengers already know that he is gay, but maybe old habits die hard. His internal character assessment almost causes him to miss what she says next: “Are you aware of what you’re doing?”

Peter blinks. He points at the paper scrawled with notes. “Actually. Not really. I’m working on this paper for my Physics class, see. But we’ve been discussing gamma-rays and there is something about electromagnetic—”

“I mean with Bruce and Tony,” Natalie says.

His face puckers into a comical expression of confusion, glancing around the kitchen like the two scientists might actually be there without him knowing. “Uh—nothing?”

She looks unimpressed. “You’ve been spending every day with Bruce in his lab or up on the roof.”

Does she think that something is like, going on with Peter and Dr. Banner?

“We’re looking for signs of gamma radiation in thunderclouds. There was a big study last month that found gamma-rays preface some lightning strikes—” Natasha’s flat, unmoved stare stops him before his rambling monologue can truly begin. He swallows, throat dry, feeling some sort of dread in his gut, though he doesn’t know why.

Why is she being so cold to him, right now? It’s reminiscent of the stress dreams he used to have after Tony first offered him the position with the Avengers, dreams where he moved into the tower only for everyone to ostracize him and ignore him, dreams where Tony and Steve would sit down with him and say, Sorry Pete, it isn’t working out, you don’t mesh well with us, and may we please have back your suit?

“What is it?” Peter asks, trying to be brave. “Have I—did I do something?”

Natasha sighs, lifting herself from the armchair gingerly like she is twice or thrice her real age. She crosses the room and he has to force himself not to move away. The tingle is back, and this time, that primal spider-instinct inside him feels threatened, like he is bug beneath an incoming shoe. A large black stiletto maybe, with the Black Widow insignia on the bottom like a target for where his tiny body ideally will be smushed.

But he overrides the instinct and swallows down the fear: this is Natasha. She wouldn’t hurt him.

She does box him in, though, coming into his space and bracketing him with her arms, palms flat on the marble countertop behind him. “Tony doesn’t like me, much, Peter. Surely even you have noticed that. I once broke his confidence in me, and now I work very hard to make that up to him. You could say that a part of my reparations involves looking out for him.”

“That’s really nice of you,” Peter says, polite but firm. “I like to look out for Mr. Stark too. Excuse me—could you give me some space?”

After another moment, she pulls away. “You’re too smart to play dumb. Stop hurting Tony.”

Then she is snatching an apple out of the fruit bowl and strolling out of the room, not even leaving the scent of perfume behind. Peter feels baffled enough by the conversation to wonder if maybe the entire thing hadn’t been a hallucination. There’s no feasible way that Peter could be hurting Mr. Stark—he’s barely seen the man all week, since Peter has been so busy being tutored Bruce for his physics class.

Still, it takes him a long ten minutes for his senses to stop feeling like he’s in danger, and by then, he has completely lost his train of thought for outlining his paper. Sighing, he closes the book.

-

“It’s just going over my head,” Peter admits. It’s the weekend, when any other college student would be out on the town. Not many college students have the option of hanging out with the Avengers though, so. You know. Peter isn’t totally lame. At this time on a Saturday evening, most of the core Avengers are occupying their floor in the Tower. Peter has his own room there, with sheets that are royal blue and soft as silk and a picture on the wall of Tony presenting him with his Stark Industries internship certificate. “Every other aspect of physics is cake to me. Chocolate cake, even.”

“That’s his favorite,” Clint supplies helpfully. He’s playing cards with Nat and Tony at the other end of the island. Natalie is the best bluffer, but Tony can count cards in his sleep, so the odds are pretty evenly stacked, he’d say.

“Yes, it’s my favorite—! But as soon as gamma-rays come in, it’s like my brain shorts out. I failed the quiz over these, and it’s throwing off my curve. If I don’t ace the paper, I’ll freak out.”

“Cheer up, kid,” Tony says. There is an amber glass at his elbow, even though it was whispered very quietly around the tower a few months ago that Mr. Stark was working on getting sober. Peter guesses that it isn’t going well. Now that he looks closely, the man doesn’t look well at all: thinner, grayer, sadder. His dress-shirt collar is rumpled. That’s so not Mr. Stark. His voice is a warm vibrato that Peter feels in his bones: “Take a break. We’ll deal you in. No one is good at everything.”

“What are you bad at?” Natasha asks, maybe flattering him, maybe teasing.

The smile Tony gives her shows too much teeth to be friendly, eyes hidden behind his tinted glasses that he is wearing more often than not these days. “I’m bad at plenty of things, Miss Rushman.”

“He’s right, Peter,” Bruce says. They’re at the other end of the island, both of their shoulders aching from hunching over Peter’s textbooks for the last hour and change. “This is pretty advanced stuff. Difficult enough for scientists who are in this field to grasp. You said that this isn’t the focus of your major? Then I wouldn’t stress over it.”

Peter is stressing though. MIT has been tougher than he thought it would be, and he still worries that his success in high school was just him being a big fish in a small pond. Suddenly the pond is bigger: a fucking ocean. He feels like algae on the waves, tossed to and fro compared to some of his classmates.

Glancing up, he catches Natasha’s eyes. She is watching him, face blank, but he can’t help but feel that there is a silent message in her eyes. Seeing her unfriendly disposition makes him remember the conversation they had the day before—the one where she threatened him, in vague terms. Against his will, his eyes flicker to Tony. The drink beside his chips is empty now. His elbow is propped on the table and his chin rests in it, one shaking thumb running over the edge of his cards. He looks lost in thought. Sad thought.

“Maybe you’re right,” Peter says slowly. He closes his book. “Go ahead and deal me in, Mr. Stark.”

And that makes Tony sit back in his seat in surprise, glasses slipping down his nose to show pleased though bloodshot eyes. He grins—not one of those shark-grins he gave Natasha, but a real one. A smile. It makes butterflies spread their wings in Peter’s gut. God, he’s had a crush on the man for, like, ever. But Mr. Stark is a crush so unobtainable that Peter’s never even had to stress over it. Never had to stress about the juvenile stuff like does he like me back or what can I do to make him notice me. He’s just able to melt in it, enjoy his attraction and idol-worship. It’s all very sexually frustrating and uncomplicated.

Tony pulls back the stool at his side and pats it invitingly. When Peter sits down, he can just barely smell the bourbon on the older man’s breath. Tony then asks: “Bruce, do you want in on this, too?”

There is a difference in the way the billionaire asked Bruce to play when compared to when he asked Peter, but Peter can’t put his finger on what it is. Something about the tone, the inflection... Under the countertop, Tony’s hand comes to rest on Peter’s knee for a moment, squeezing warmly. But then it doesn’t move, just rests there, burning a hole through Peter’s jeans. It prickles, but this is a different kind of danger, he thinks. He’s so busy trying to remember how to accomplish basic human functions like breathing and swallowing that he completely misses Bruce’s response—a kind no thanks. Then Tony’s thumb is moving, brushing the outside of Peter’s leg in a few slow, firm strokes, and Peter feels a dangerous stirring in his pants. The hand starts to slide up his leg—

Then the hand is gone. His blood is still rushing south, propelled by his hammering heart, but it’s like all his senses beside touch come rushing back the moment Tony removes his hand—Clint is dealing, cards whispering over marble as he passes them out, Natasha and Tony are bickering though Peter doesn’t yet have the brainpower to decipher what about. His knee is still burning hot, and it tingles for the rest of the night.

But he doesn’t think it’s his imagination that the entire evening is lighter, smiles and laughter flowing more freely, and when Mr. Stark gets up to get a drink, he comes back with water.

-

From then on, Peter’s image of Mr. Stark begins to change. Mostly thanks to the patchwork of knowledge Natasha feeds him in passing moments—when they encounter each other in the hall going different directions, when she is running on the treadmill beside him in the gym, when she passes behind him at the kitchen island for another apple, or, like today, an orange.

“He only drinks when he’s sad,” she says in his ear.

Peter starts to look for that as an indicator to Mr. Stark’s mood: times when it’s late at night and he walks in on Mr. Stark standing alone by the window looking at the view of the city, shaking hand clutching a drink that rattles when he sets it down to avoid Peter seeing it. Nights when Tony passes through the living area, glancing at the group gathered around (almost always Clint and Nat watching television, and Peter and Bruce talking through Peter’s homework), rejecting their offer for him to join with a quiet, just passing through, before grabbing a bottle from the kitchen and disappearing into the elevator. If Tony drinks when he’s sad, then he is often sad.

Peter thinks it’s safe to assume that when Tony isn’t drinking, he’s happy—or at least neutral. And taking into account the poker tournament from a few weeks before, Peter begins to notice that he himself seems to make Tony happy.

The knowledge weighs down his shoulders…but mostly, it makes him feel full of helium, light and bouncy, liable to lift off the ground and break through the atmosphere should he not hold on to the world around him. Peter makes Tony happy. For some reason.

“Everything he does is for other people,” she pants, trying to keep up with his enhanced abilities in the workout room. Peter himself is sweating from the break-neck pace he’s adopted on the treadmill, but he doesn’t need to focus to run, so instead his mind is far away.

Natasha is absolutely right. The topic is a sore spot. Peter knows that there were cutting words exchanged between Mr. Stark and Captain Rogers at the beginning of their relationship when the super soldier accused him of selfishness. It’s obvious how little they knew each other then, because even now he sees the fondness Steve has in his eyes for Tony, the gratefulness he exudes and goes out of his way to express to the billionaire. Tony funds the entire Avengers Initiative. He lets them live expense free in his home, feeds them, clothes them, patches them up. Scraping by with his Aunt for most of his life in a tiny apartment in Queens has made Peter keenly aware of all the things he has in his life now, solely thanks to Mr. Stark. And the older man doesn’t bat an eye at it.

And alright, Tony is a billionaire. Those expenses probably don’t scrape the surface of his wealth. Yet there are many other ways his altruism is expressed, ways only Tony Stark could express them. When Peter’s suit was malfunctioning in the wetter-than-usual New York springtime, Tony didn’t sleep for three days while working on it. Got to make sure you’re safe, kid, he’d muttered. Wouldn’t get a bit of sleep otherwise. Tony hadn’t even delivered it in person so that Peter could thank him, just left it neatly for him outside his bedroom door.

There were other things, of course. Providing Bruce his own lab and the resources to expand his research. Once he sat for a portrait at Steve’s insistence, and it was the stillest he’s ever seen the billionaire be. Mr. Stark makes it his personal responsibility to enrich the lives of those around him—he even seems to enjoy it—

“Did you hear me, Peter?” Natasha asks.

Peter stops the treadmill, jogging while it slowly decreases the pace. He’s been a thousand miles away, or several stories away, rather, down in the lab with Tony. “Sorry, I didn’t.”

“I said—what does he have for himself? What does he want for himself?”

Then she is gone, ponytail bouncing as she disappears towards the showers, a towel over her shoulder. Tony has everything. He has an inordinate amount of money at his disposal. What he could possibly want for?

The questions haunt Peter for the rest of the night, even as he spends the evening in Bruce’s lab while the man reads over his paper on the Fermi Telescope. Peter is anxiously squeezing a stress ball—carefully, though, because last time he truly squeezed one, it crumbled in his hand—when Tony appears in the doorway. He’s dressed in what Peter knows to be his lab-attire: comfortable, cheap t-shirt, jeans that are wearing through at the knees. The man’s hair is un-styled, free from gel, and it looks so soft—

“Hey, Pete,” Tony says. “Bruce.”

Bruce doesn’t even greet him, still reading Peter’s paper. He does lift a hand though.

“I brought the LVC permits for you, fresh off the government’s press.”

“Thanks, Tony,” Bruce says absently.

“What are you doing up here, Pete?” Tony asks, putting the papers on a nearby lab table. There’s something in the older man’s voice—something. But Peter’s never been good at stuff like that: deciphering looks, or tones, or subtextual clues. On instinct, he scans the man’s face, trying to determine his mood. It doesn’t look promising, the circles dark beneath his eyes, the frown lines deep. Even when he smiles, it looks tired and sad.

“Just having Bruce look over my paper, Mr. Stark.”

“When are you ever going to call me Tony, kid?”

Peter laughs a little. “Never, probably,” he jokes.

Tony doesn’t look like he thought the joke was funny. He gives a half-hearted wave goodbye and then disappears. Peter is at the perfect angle to watch him through the glass door. He stops outside the elevator and hits the button, leans his head forward to press his forehead to the doors, the picture of dejection. There is an uncomfortable knot growing in Peter’s stomach.

What could the man who has everything possibly want?

Bruce glances up ten minutes later after flipping to the last page, glasses a little askew. “Was that Tony I heard?”

-

The days afterwards, Natasha seems more disgusted with him than usual. Her occasional comments about Mr. Stark have stopped, and Peter laments the loss of help, because he feels no closer to understanding what she wants from him or what’s wrong with Mr. Stark.

Peter spends his nights laying in bed, restless, staring up at the ceiling to avoid listening to the distant movements of the Avengers around him in their own respective rooms—he didn’t need to know so much about Steve and Bucky’s after-hour activities, thanks very much—pouring over his interactions with Natasha.

What do you think you’re doing with Bruce and Tony? she had asked. And what was Peter doing? He’d been spending much more time with Bruce lately trying to grasp gamma-rays. Usually his time was spent equally divided between patrolling, school, homework, and spending time down in the lab with Tony. Of those things to take the backburner, it had been his time spent with his idol-cum-crush. Was the man feeling neglected?

Peter rolls out of bed. He’s tempted to put on his suit and go into stealth-mode, but instead, he tiptoes out of his room in his pajama bottoms and t-shirt, using all of his enhanced senses to make sure he doesn’t encounter any other Avenger on his way to Natasha’s room. When she opens the door, she looks like he’s the last person she ever wanted to see on the other side.

“It’s late,” she says. Peter slips through the crack between her and the door anyway, but he figures if she truly wanted to keep him out, she might have tried. You know. At all.  

Her rooms are as large as Peter’s, tastefully decorated. He notes that the only personal decorations in the room involve the Avengers: the group photograph taken of them and a few drawings of Steve’s, framed carefully.

“I’ve been thinking about all of the things you said, and I still don’t get it. I don’t know what’s going on—I see that there’s something wrong but I don’t know why and I don’t know how to fix it.”

Natasha sighs, already opening the door to usher him back out. “Everyone needs everything spelled out for them. It’s late, and I’m tired. Tony likes you. You like Tony. Quit choosing Bruce over him, or I’ll have to spend the next few weeks finding an incredible foreign benefactor willing to sponsor Bruce’s work only if he relocates overseas. That takes a lot of work Peter. A lot of work. Now get out, and fix this mess.”

He doesn’t even hear the real door shut in his face, because he’s too stunned by the metaphorical door that has been shut in his face. He gapes at the hardwood, eyes unseeing, all of his senses growing dim as he focuses his brainpower on the words that just spilled out of Natasha’s mouth.

Tony likes you. You like Tony. Quit choosing Bruce.

Peter lays awake the entire night. He can’t spot Natasha’s angle, can’t determine why she’d want to lie to him that way. Surely she has some sort of motive that Peter can’t see—he’s not a super-secret-spy type. Espionage and subtext aren’t his forte. She could probably run cryptic circles around him, and Tony once jokingly said that Natasha wouldn’t even sneeze unless she wanted someone to say bless you. So what is this? What is she doing to him? Hoping to embarrass him? Maybe she thinks that he’ll make some grand gesture, some romantic monologue to Tony and he’ll be so crushed at the subsequent rejection that he’ll leave the tower and stop Avenging altogether.

When sunlight is coming through the tinted windows of his room, he has not slept a wink, and has the throbbing headache to show it. His paper is due by 11:59 PM, and he still has a few revisions he needs to make. The other quizzes on gamma-rays and other electromagnetic radiations weren’t much better than the first, and all of his hopes for maintaining his perfect grade point average are riding on this one paper.

He dresses, only able to find mismatched socks, and takes the subway to make it to class on time. He’s there until early afternoon, and by the time he arrives back in the Tower, his stomach is growling painfully and he’s emotionally at the end of his rope. Why hadn’t he taken a gap year before starting school like Ned had? Maybe a year older, Peter would be more capable of handling all that is on his plate. As it is, he feels like a waiter balancing one-too-many glasses of water. Failure seems imminent.

As soon as he is in the tower, he cracks open his laptop and begins to finish the revisions Bruce advised him on—but then the word count is just under what the professor asked for, and now Peter is scrambling for extra content. His senses alert him that someone is coming, but he knows the length of the steps to be Tony.

“Hey Pete,” Tony mutters, looking like he just woke even though it is nearly three in the afternoon.

“Hey Mr. Stark,” says Peter. “How are you?”

“Has this coffee been here long?” Tony asks, pointing to the half-full pot. His hand is shaking.

“I’m not sure, to be honest. I just got here.” Peter frowns to himself, fingers hovering over the keyboard even his brain feels like a train stuck on the same track. He has to say something to Mr. Stark. Has to. “Hey—um. I wanted to say. While you’re here—”

His mouth dries up as Tony turns to give him his full attention. The man is always so courteous, stopping whatever he’s doing to listen to what Peter has to say. It’d be impossible not to notice that the man has a problem with interrupting, talking over other people. But it’s never been that way with Peter. He stops. He listens with a kind of single-minded intensity that makes the younger man flushed. That much focus and attention feels like a laser beam directed at him, about to dissolve him into goo.

“—I wanted to say. That I hope we can hang out again soon.”

Tony leans back against the counter, crossing his arms over his chest. For a guy in his 40’s, he’s still fucking fit, biceps thick and strong, core toned. “I hope so too, kid. I’ve—missed you.”

Peter melts, heart aching in equal parts joy and sadness. “Maybe tonight? If you’re free. I could come down to the lab.”

Tony feigns like he’s thinking it over, knuckles rasping against his chin. “What about your—” he waves a vague hand at the laptop on the countertop. “I don’t want to come between you and school, Pete. I’m not very good at being a responsible role-model, but even I know that your education is important. That should be your focus.”

“Don’t worry about it. How does seven sound? I’ll finish this up, get it turned it, and then I’m all yours. I mean—we can—you know. Hang.”

The older man has that look he always gets when Peter’s mouth runs away from the rest of his consciousness: equal parts amusement and endearment and exasperated fondness. “Sounds good. You know where to find me.”

Peter does know. He does. The knowledge weighs on him for the next four hours that he spends staring at his laptop, writing a sentence just to destroy it, flipping frantically through the notes that Bruce gave him. Not meeting the word count means that he will automatically lose 10% of his grade, no matter how good the paper might be. But it’s like his brain is drawing a blank, all cylinders firing emptily.

By the time he is done, it ten PM. The hours ate him up like quicksand. His head aches with exhaustion, eyes burning from staring at the glow of the laptop, but he rushes into the elevator, eyes filling with tears. Surely Tony will understand why Peter is late. But it still makes him feel like shit.

“To the lab please, FRIDAY.”

The elevator moves without any verbal confirmation from the AI. By the time the doors open, he realizes he’s made a mistake. The lab is dark and quiet, lacking the usual soundtrack of classic rock hits. When he grasps the handle, it doesn’t turn. He’s too late. Mr. Stark was probably so angry that he went straight upstairs to the penthouse. If Peter were to follow, the door would probably be locked against him, refusing him entrance—

The door beneath him opens, automatic lock clicking open. Peter nearly falls through as it swings inward, his enhanced senses being his only saving grave. The lab is even more eerie from the inside, because it is all right and all wrong mixed together. The smell is comforting. The darkness is unsettling. He knows this place like the back of his hand when it is lit, but suddenly it is an entirely foreign place as he wanders through, carefully feeling his way, unsure why he hasn’t turned around and left yet.

Lights come up, blue dots like holographic breadcrumbs on the floor. FRIDAY. Where is she leading him, and why?

The lights circle on lab table, and when he comes close his eyes have adjusted enough to the darkness to see why. Mr. Stark is there, slumped over the lab table. Peter would say that he is asleep except for the stench of alcohol and the empty bottles beside him, faceless in the dark. Sad sentinels watching over their king.

“Oh Tony,” he says. His heart feels too heavy for his ribs to hold. He puts a hand on the man’s shoulder, gently trying to rouse him. It doesn’t work. Even when he whispers the man’s name in increasingly louder increments, the man doesn’t stir. Throat closed up tight in the fist of fear, he gently presses two fingers to just under the man’s jaw—

Tony jerks away from the lab table, striking out at Peter. His aim is off, so his knuckles barely glance against the younger man’s chest. The force of the failed punch tips over the chair and Tony nearly falls to the floor—would, if Peter weren’t there to catch him. Still he struggles against a foe he doesn’t recognize.

“Getaway—”

“Mr. Stark—it’s me, Peter.”

Mr. Stark blinks, eyes moonish in the dark. He squints. “Pete?” he asks, voice thick.

“Yeah, it’s me. I’m so sorry that I’m late.” He guides the man back to the chair and searches for one of his own, finds a stool with wheels and rolls it over so they can sit side by side. Tony is swaying dangerously even just sitting.

“’s okay, Pete,” Tony says. “You were with Bruce.”

“What?” Peter cries. “No, I wasn’t. I was working on my paper, remember? Just like I told you in the kitchen? Why would I be with Bruce when I had—” he just barely catches himself before the words a date slip past his lips, “—when I had plans with you?”

The laugh the older man gives is mirthless, slumped over the table. With every shaking breath comes a cloud of acrid liquor. Peter has never understood how Tony could drink that stuff, alcohol with so much burn and no sweetness or sourness. “Why wouldn’ you be with Bruce, kid? I get it.”

“I don’t know what there is to get,” Peter says gently. He knows from his minimal experience with drunk people that drunkenness heightens emotion, and they can be as likely to lash out in anger as they are to burst into tears. Without his suit, Mr. Stark probably couldn’t hurt Peter even sober, but he doesn’t want the man to hurt himself.

“No, no, Bruce ‘s a great guy. He’s a great man. Better man th’n me.”

Peter gapes, even if Mr. Stark isn’t even looking or couldn’t even see him through the darkness. Because, what? Seriously? “Mr. Stark, you’re like the greatest man I know. I don’t—I don’t know anybody who I, I admire or look up to the way that I do you.” That answer is maybe a little too honest, but he can’t help it. This vulnerability, this sheer pain coming from the man who has held Peter’s heart between his palms since he was just a little boy. It’s a terrible thing to witness, and he’d do anything to change it.

“You’re a good kid,” says Tony. He reaches with a hand like he wants to pat Peter on the head but loses strength far before then.

“I’m not a kid anymore, Mr. Stark.”

Tony laughs again in that terrible depreciating way. He rests his forehead in his palm, staring down at the lab table. “Trust me, Pete. I know.”

“Why have you been so upset lately?” Peter asks smally. “I’ve been worried.”

“Didn’t mean to worry you, honey.” The name makes Peter glow, even if its slurred in that terrible, sad voice. “I guess ’ve been—going through some stuff.”

“Like what?”

The exhale he gives is long and loud in the quiet lab. “Adult stuff.”

“What, like, erectile dysfunction?”

The sound Tony makes is indignant. “No you little shit.” It’s said with unbearable tenderness and fondness though, until it almost feels like a caress instead of an insult. “Just, you know, your general everyday average feelings of inadequacy and unbearable loneliness.”

“You’re too hard on yourself Mr. Stark. I mean what I said. You’re the greatest man I know and I—I like you a whole lot. I know you’re having a tough time. But I’m here for you. And I know that you don’t think I’m strong enough, but you can lean on me. I can take it.”

When Tony stirs, lifting his head from his hands long enough to glance at Peter, his cheeks are wet, tracks of tears that just barely catch the light. He could almost mistake it as his mind playing tricks on him, but the man’s shoulders begin to tremble like his hands when he hasn’t had a drink, and Peter gets off of the stool so quickly that it goes rolling in the other direction.

Peter wraps his arms around Tony, pulling his head to his chest like a mother might hold a baby to her breast. There are no sounds, no sobs or whimpers, but the shaking lasts forever it seems. Then all at once the man melts, soft and languid. When he pulls away a hairsbreadth, Peter’s shirt is wet where his face was pressed.

He turns his head and leans in again, this time resting his temple on Peter’s abs. The younger man barely resists carding his fingers through Tony’s hair—just lets one hand gently rub at his back instead. When he speaks Peter can feel the movement on his stomach. “You’re too good f’r me, Pete. I’m so sorry I’m like this. Hated seeing you spend so much time with Bruce ‘cause I’m just a jealous old pervert. A fucking drunk, just like Howard—”

“Don’t say that.”

“’s true, kid.”

Peter swallows, struggling to gather courage. But if he can’t ask questions of Tony now when the man is drunk and possibly unlikely to remember them, when the man is too relaxed to lie, then when can he? “Why—why are you a pervert?”

All the breath seems to go out of Tony in a hot rush of air that Peter can feel through his shirt. “C’mon kid. You have to know.”

It does all make sense then: Tony’s recent behavior, Natasha’s cryptic comments.

What does he want for himself, she had asked.

Carefully—so, so, so carefully—Peter lets his hand drift up the back of Tony’s neck and slide into his hair, dark waves that are soft and free of product. It feels like silk under his fingertips, so fucking intimate. If this is all he gets of Tony, then he’s going to savor it, sear it into his memory. Blunt nails scratch gently at the man’s scalp and he purrs. He groans, the vibrations sinking through cotton and skin and muscle deep into Peter’s bones. “God, Pete,” he says. “Don’t stop. Please don’t stop.”

“I won’t,” Peter gasps. He’s hard, 0 to 60 in the blink of an eye, heart hammering, struggling to draw in breaths. “I won’t, Tony.”

“Never stop,” Tony groans softly. “You are the most important thing in my life, kid.”

And then the man is asleep, snoring breaths into Peter’s abs. It takes a while, listening to the gentle breathing, for Peter to calm down. “FRIDAY,” he croaks. “Unmute.”

“Thank you, Peter,” she says. “May I turn the lights on? I’m afraid boss might need some assistance getting to his room tonight. Would you be of service?”

“Yes. To all counts, FRIDAY. Thanks.”

“You are welcome.” A pause. “And thank you, Peter.”

“Don’t thank me yet,” he mutters, hoisting the heavier man up. There’s no use putting just an arm over his shoulder—Tony is out cold. Instead, Peter scoops him up, grateful for his enhanced strength, and begins the trek to the elevator.

In the morning when Tony wakes, Peter will be there waiting. With some water and aspirin.

Because they need to talk.

[cammi-writes]

Imagine being stuck on a strange planet with Loki;

part: part 1 | part 2

a/n | warnings: sexual themes, mentions of date rape drugs -> I’m very happy that so many people enjoyed part one and I’m very excited to continue the series!!! Also little random tidbit about my life; I’m crying bc I rewatched captain america; the first avenger 😭😭😭

fandom: Marvel

pairing: Loki x Reader

tags: @crescent-night , @drakesfiance , message me if you want to be tagged

~~

You seethed silently as Loki followed behind a servant with you on a glorified leash.

“Here is your room sir” The female creature did not make eye contact as she spoke to Loki.

Loki thanked her and proceeded to drag you into the room as she scurried off somewhere. Once the door was closed you tore the collar from around your neck.

“Your pet?” You dared him to confirm. The evil little smirk that twisted on his lips both angered and excited you.

“Lady Y/n, I promise that I meant no offense. Calling you my pet was for your benefit” Loki’s eyes glinted with mischief. He knew he was pushing your buttons and oh how he enjoyed seeing your face scrunch up in annoyance.

“My benefit?” You scoffed.

“If you had been unclaimed, I can promise you that Khelerath would have claimed you as his own and I would have no say in the matter” Loki explained with a wave of his hand and you sighed. He was right. “Some would rage wars over such a fascinating creature like yourself. So powerful yet so... easily frightened”

“Excuse me?” The annoyance boiled in your stomach.

“You looked like a lost kitten scurrying under my cape like you did” The familiar grin appeared on the gods face.

“I did-“

“Is this really important, Y/n?” Loki cut you off without glancing from the window he stared out of.

“How are we going to get out of here, Loki?” You questioned, realizing the situation you were is was a lot worse than pretending to be Loki’s playtoy.

“We will have to either wait for the caravan or someone to save us” Loki frowned now and turned towards you. The intense look on his face made you gulp. “Y/n we are on a planet where you should not dare to defy me”

“Excuse me?” You questioned.

“This planet is filled with what you midgardians would call ‘sexists’” Loki explained. “Women are property to be used and sold like cattle. They can be killed or broken if they dare disrespect their masters. If you would like to get out of this safely, you must play this game with me”

You knew what he was telling you was probably true but you couldn’t help but feel annoyed. You were now stuck playing a kinky game of master and slave with a particularly hot and dangerous god.

“Y/n do you understand me?” The serious tone in Loki’s voice got to you.

“Yes, yeah I get it. I’m yours until we get out of here” You rolled your eyes at Loki when is eyebrows went up.

“I’ve never seen you this compliant with me Y/n. Is it perhaps because you’re excited for this little game?”

“I just don’t want to die, stupid” You scoffed. Of course he would turn this around and make it seem like you wanted him. If anything he’s the one who initiated this.

“Are you sure darling?” Loki’s eyes glinted as he took a few steps closer to you. “Are you sure you’ve never thought about me in such ways?”

“Such ways?” You muttered sarcastically.

“Sexually. Have you fantasized about me while you lay awake in your bed at night?” Loki continued walking towards you. When your eyes widened in shock he continued. “Have you thought about what it would be like to be my pet? To be my little plaything?”

“Of course not!” You sputtered out in shock. Of course this was a lie but you had never fantasized about him. It was a simple curiosity. Loki had a very dominant vibe that came from him and you couldn’t help but wonder...

“Then why has your blood rushed to your cheeks?” Loki was close enough to run a thumb over your blushing cheeks.

“Because you’re talking about-about-“

“Making you mine?” Loki finished your sentence while gripping onto your chin. Unlike the fear that rushed to your belly when Khelerath did this, another feeling filled your gut. One you did not want to admit to anyone, not even yourself.

Before you could reply, Loki let go of you and did a 360 turn.

“Do not leave the room. I am going to speak with Khelerath about our accommodations” Loki glanced behind him and saw your eyebrows furrow. “You need to eat darling and I doubt your stomach is used to Dicarro delicacies”

And then he was gone, leaving you a mess. 

You squeezed your eyes, trying to hush the thoughts that ran around your mind. This is just a game. When we get back home we can go back to hating each other. Without all of these implications. 

You decided to take in your surroundings. Your room was beautiful. It looked like it was plucked right out of a Disney castle. There was two couches in the corner of the room that looked like they had been stitched with gold. There was only one king sized bed in the room with a beautiful deep red covering on it. There was also a window that gave us a view of Dicarro and the planets off in the distance. It was beautiful. On this planet, unlike Earth, you could see the other planets in this solar system clearly. 

You flickered your eyes up to the ceiling and blushed. The entire ceiling above the bed was a mirror. 

You squeezed your legs together as thoughts of watching yourself come undone under Loki’s pale, body filled your mind. 

“Stop it, Y/n” You muttered to yourself and tried to find something to get your mind off of that topic. “You’ve got to be kidding me”

Your eyes fell on a small cage at the foot of the bed. It looked like a dog cage but there were no dogs on Dicarro. Only sex slaves. 

“Jesus Christ” You ran your fingers through your hair. “He better not think I’m going to be sleeping in that” 

You continued to roam your new living quarters and continued to find sex contraptions everywhere. Like chains in the shower, a stripper pole in what you had thought was a closet and many more things that you knew Loki would tease you about. 

You opened the door to what you once again thought was a closet and a gasp escaped your mouth. 

If this was 50 Shades Of Grey, this was Christian Grey’s game room. So many sex toys and devices. Some looked familiar like the ones you had seen on Earth and some looked completely scary. 

“That looks fun” You flinched at the sound of Loki’s voice. When did he get back? 

You turned to see his familiar mischievous smirk. He had a tray of fruit. But nothing that even remotely looked like it was from Earth.

“They don’t have anything native to Earth here but I picked a few things that I know isn’t poisonous to humans” Loki set the tray down on the coffee table and gestured for you to sit and you obeyed when your stomach began to rubble. 

Stupid Thanos interrupting your breakfast with his creepy plans to rule the universe.

“I’m going to shower. Do not leave the room without me” Loki commanded without looking your way and you rolled your eyes. 

Once the door to the bathroom was shut, you started trying all of the different fruit Loki had brought you and you couldn’t help but groan in satisfaction. How come Earth didn’t have as delicious foods?

Knock, Knock

You hesitantly went to open the door, unsure of what to do. If you ignored it, you may get in trouble. 

Your eyes met Khelerath’s. And suddenly the fear the subsided a while ago was back. 

“Your master allows you to roam free when he is not present?” Khelerath raised what would have been his eyebrow if he had one. 

“I-I” You stuttered, not knowing how to explain that. 

“Have you disobeyed your master, sweet one?” You felt like crying as Khelerath’s hand caressed your cheek. “I brought you something, if you would like to try it. I brought it as a gift for your master” 

Your eyes settled on the beautiful chocolatey goodness in Khelerath’s hand. 

“Come, sit.” You obeyed Khelerath as he lead you to the couch once again. He sat close to you and you wanted to cringe away. “It is harmless to all lifeforms so it should not hurt” 

Khelerath used the fork to cut a piece of the cake and your eyes widened at the melted chocolate that spilled out. “Open” You obeyed and Khelerath shoved the fork into your mouth. You almost moaned at the taste. This was like chocolate on steroids and you wondered why Thor never brought any on his trips to Earth. 

“Y/n -” Loki appeared from the bathroom and your couldn’t help but feel a burning in your abdomen when you saw what he was wearing. Or what he wasn’t wearing. 

There stood Loki, in nothing but a towel loosely wrapped around his waist. His chest bare with water beads dripping down from his hair. You bit your lip to distract you but noticed that Khelerath was staring at you with an expectant look. 

“Yes daddy” Your eyes grew wide along with Loki’s and Khelerath’s. How could you let that slip. You had never told anybody about your daddy kink before...

“Strange” Khelerath whispered. “But interesting.” You watched Khelerath’s hand lift to touch you but he stopped himself. 

“Why are you here?” Loki’s voice sounded accusatory and the power dripping from his tone made you want to moan. 

“I only stopped by to leave a gift but your pet answered the door” Khelerath broke out in an evil smirk. “Pets are not allowed to be left to their own accord, here on Dicarro. You must punish her for breaking the rules” 

That should have struck fear in you but it didn’t. Instead you felt your arousal and your body got hot. 

“We did not know of that rule and I do not believe I should punish her for something she was not aware of” Loki squinted his eyes at Khelerath and you had to dig your nails into your palm to stop yourself from pouncing on him. 

What the hell was happening to you? You’ve never felt this much arousal in your life for anyone, especially not Loki. 

“I am being courteous, Loki. Slaves who break rules, aware or not, usually get punished by the court in ways that are...” Khelerath’s eyes glinted. “dangerous to such a fragile species. But if that is what you want, I’ll gladly take her to my dungeon” 

Loki’s eyes met yours and he was stunned by the obvious arousal leaking off of you. Figuratively of course but he could see it in your eyes and he didn’t know why. But he took that as your consent. 

“Fine” In an instant Loki had you in front of where he sat on the bed. 

You felt nothing but pleasure as Loki’s hands began to unbutton your jeans and pull them down just below your ass. Usually you would have kicked yourself for putting on a thong this morning but for some reason it excited you. 

You noticed that Loki’s eyes were staring into Khelerath’s as he bent you over his lap. 

“Count” You felt Loki’s voice rumble and before your could comprehend what was happening you heard a slap and felt a stinging on your ass. You moaned in response only for Loki to wrap his hand into your hair and pull your head back to look him in his eyes. You expected your eyes to meet angry eyes but instead they looked pleading despite his tone. “I said count” 

One, Two, Three, Four, Five, Six, Seven, Eight, Nine, Ten

You were shaking in Loki’s lap, the mixture of pleasure and pain too much for you to bare. 

“That is enough” Loki spoke, once again to Khelerath but you couldn’t see him through your teary eyes. 

“Enjoy my gift” Khelerath spoke and then the door slammed closed.

“I apologize, Y/n” Loki stood you up in between his legs. “That was better than whatever Khelerath-” 

You cut him off by slamming your lips against his. His body was freezing and contrasted completely with how hot you were. Loki’s hands wrapped around your thighs and you pushed him back so you were straddling him. 

Loki pulled away with hungry eyes and ragged breath. “Why?”

“I want you so bad” You whined and tried to kiss him again but he held you in place. He looked like he was thinking hard about something and then his eyes snapped to where Khelerath had left his gift. 

In an instant you were laying on your back while Loki had stood up, fixing his towel with a disturbed look on his face. 

“Loki” You whined while squirming around on the bed. You needed to feel him on top of you. Inside you. 

“Those are not your feelings” Loki shook his head, still holding that disturbed look. 

“What do you mean?” You felt like crying that is how much you needed him. 

“Khelerath’s gift” Loki glared at the plate. “It’s made with voluptatem” 

“What?” You groaned, unable to process the words coming from his mouth. All you wanted was his mouth on yours.

Loki’s eyes met yours and he looked both annoyed and disappointed. “It enhances your libido. It makes you completely compliant to whoever you see first after it enters your system” 

His eyes turned angry and you moaned at the sight making him run one of his large hands over his face. 

“Khelerath was trying to manipulate you but I interrupted” Loki growled, sending pleasure straight to your core. “Leaving this planet with you is going to be a lot harder than I anticipated” 

“Just fuck me” You basically screamed making Loki’s eyes snap to your body that was sprawled on the bed. 

“No” Loki spoke with no hesitation and for a split second, you felt embarrassed. Of course a god like him wouldn’t want you. But then it was overcome but arousal. “Voluptatem is the equivalent to your planet’s roofies. If I did that, it would be taking advantage of you” 

If you were in the right state of mind you would have thought that what he said was honorable. Some men in his position would jump at the chance. But since your body was telling you that it needed to orgasm, all you felt was disappointment

“Loki please” You begged and for a minute you thought you had convinced him by the way he cupped your face in his hand and shot you a mischievous smirk..

“If you need pleasure, darling, you’re going to have to do it yourself” You literally had tears in your eyes as Loki ran a finger over your bottom lip. “I’m sure you can find something in here to help” 

And then he straightened up and turned on his heel. 

“I am going to find us clean clothing. I’ll be back soon, so please hurry” Loki opened the door before turning back to look at you. “I will lock the door from the outside. Do not open it for anybody”

You watched him close the door and you threw yourself back onto the bed in frustration. 

[aliypop]

Amongst The Butterflies

Wordcount: 4,583

Character Count: 24,811

Warning: Murder

A/N: This is part 4 to Empatia I hope you guys enjoy it! 

"My wife can't find out anything about this.." a man who appeared to be in his '40s said covering the mouth of a young girl who seemed to be no younger than maybe 16 at most, it was a full moon in Baltimore a chilly wind blowing and a particular psychiatrist was on the prowl to hunt for his latest snack, nothing too heavy for palet just something that was easy to catch, but next to him in a tree was a distinctive woman, not too tall and not too short where she would miss her aim,

Drawing back her bow, she could already hear the torturous screams while she envisioned the ripper running after him like the suckling low life pig he was. While in her head, he was just another sinner to be crucified. Letting go of the arrow watching it soar had always made the hunter feel good as if they were playing god, but this time something was different,  "Run rabbit, run.." she mumbled under her breath aiming for the man's ankle. Without a moment due, their rabbit was, sure enough, running for his. Running from tree to tree the hunter, followed the lead of the ripper until they had him front and center where they wanted him to be.

"Please don't kill me, please don't kill me plea-" the gut-wrenching sound of the arrow being lodge between his temple and his skull seemed to have pleased the ripper enough to bring a smile on his face, one the hunter knew all too well. Taking the sedative out from her shoe, she lodged in his neck, giving him enough time to stay alive for the ripper to work his post mortem magic,

"Would you do me the honors?"  he pointed towards the body, watching the hunter evaluate with her grotesque tongue, " Go for the lungs, and leave him open, no stitching him up." She ran off, chasing the 16-year-old girl attaching sedative needles to her arrows. She knew something was off about this girl, from the way that she ran to the way her body language showed that this wasn't her first rodeo. Dropping a chloroform gas bomb in the area, the hunter vanished without any trace left hearing the snap of her neck, while the other body placed next to the young girl remained open, the hunter went to work sewing the teen's lips shut placing a butterfly over it.

"Doctor Lector..." Shanel said in a passive tone, walking towards her office, an ivory necklace around her neck, custom made byLector himself.

"Ms. Mahone," he nodded, watching her walk by in the designer suit he had picked out for, even though he trusted her to make her dissuasions. It was still keen to have a little doll around that he could dress into her image rather than his own, "May I offer you tea, coffee," her heel attached to the door.

" Perhaps during our session.." he smiled. Walking into his ever so bleak office space, library books at the top fireplace behind him, and the knocks of "Franklyn Froideveaux.. please come in." sitting where he always would the leather seat nearest to the window, Franklyn at the most had an obsession with Hannibal to the point that it drove him crazy,

"I hate being this neurotic." he sighed, placing his crumpled tissue on the table next to him, Hannibal, who had the look of disgust plastered on his face, tried to hide it quick enough.

"If you weren't neurotic, Franklyn, you'd be something much worse." he nodded. Watching the way he moved even annoyed him, it made him want to rip Franklyn apart tendon by nerves, to get him away from his office, but for now, obligations came first whether he liked them or not. Shanel, on the other hand, was faced with her favorite person. Big red curls blocked the view of her desk as the smell of whorish perfume wafted into the law firm, it was none other than the Tattler Fredrica Lounds, or Freddie for short, she wasn't one for ethic's which Shanel could excuse, but personal space, however, was a work in progress for the young girl.  

"I heard you were on the Hobbs case, her lawyer correct?" she smiled, sitting on the edge of the desk. Her caked-on making Shanel even laugh,

"Correct, but may I ask why you're here?" Shanel glared, covering up her cases.

"Got something to hide.." she smirked, trying to pry her nose into something else yet again. "If I had something to hide,

I wouldn't have it out in the open.,"  Shanel growled, as Freddie  saw a picture on the lawyer's desk,

"Your mother was aristocratic who later married a mobster, " leaning in closer towards Shanel, she placed a hand on her shoulder, " And gave birth to you a rape victim. How was that, by the way?" Freddie then jumped, hearing the collision of Shanels fist and the desk collide.  "Carl, can you show Ms. Lounds out before I do.." she looked at the intern catching her breath and counting her breathing,

"Everyone has something to hide Mahone," she shouted, Carl, slamming the door in her face as she sat there huffing, and puffing walking down, "She will pay for this.." sporadic curls leading her down the hall to exit. Shanel, who sat at the counter in their shared kitchen with Hannibal, was quiet than usual. "Something the matter," he asked, as she broke her concentration,

"It's that Lounds woman, she's rude and she thinks she knows every thin-" her phone dinged with a text from Will and a link to the latest issue of the Tattler, "If it's about me there will be no promises that I will be kind when I rip her LIMB FROM LIMB!" Hannibal sat down next to her, "I assure you it can't be so bad.." the pair both read the article tears welling in her eyes from sheer anger,  Shanel Mahone, a lawyer, a mob doll, the love toy," Hannibal readout chuckling at the caption,

"She doesn't know you as I do.."  his hand rubbing against hers, calming her down, her head snapped back at him as her eyes gave him the impression for 50 words for murder and she was every one of them, " How long has it been since you've had fava beans and a nice Chianti ? " she asked him watching his eyes glow in joy,

"Since the census taker tried to test me,"

"Wouldn't you like to have a nice meal out of Lounds.."

she whispered in his ear, " Her heart paired with a nice glass of chianti, "

"She would be more useful to us alive than dead... but her time will come, love," plating the dish of Fettucini Alfredo, though it wasn't lavish to him, it did tend to cause comfort to Shanel. Something that he cared much about ever since they had gotten a bit closer and fonder of each other, twirling the noodles with her fork and spoon she moved the pile to the right of her plate uninterested, "We do not play with our food.." he watched her poke at it some more,

"When you do it, however, it is a work of art.," she mumbled, looking away from him, Shanel wasn't one to take pity on liars, but she supposed that for Hannibal her hatred for Lounds would have to subside, for now, the night had only gotten dark and the moon more mysterious. Sitting in the round black marble tub was Shanel, her hair pinned up a glass of wine sitting beside the tub, with a beautiful view, "Must you tease.." she laughed watching the moon reflect in the calming water, watching him untie his tie slowly looking at himself in the mirror almost as if he were in love with himself,

"You almost look like when Narcissus discovered himself," she snickered,

" That makes you the nymph Echo," he turned to look at her. He then smirked, "Are.. you trying to flirt with me?" she asked him, eyes reverting down to look at the slow ripples caused by her fingers. If he were flirting, this would have gone against every wall she had put up against these such things. The three don'ts, don't date, don't fall in love and especially don't kiss back, but clearly, she'd already broken one of those rules, his hands rested on her shoulders as he took in her scent, roses with a hint of chocolate and a smokey desire.  "And if I were, how would you react.," he asked. Feeling a knot of stress on her shoulders massaging it out, he had been warning her lately to be less harsh on her body, but as always, she was very hardheaded.  

"I wouldn't know how to react.," Shanel responded, her lips on the wine glass, "Right there ... that spot has been troubling me.. could be my mattress or the Chiliton.. the other pain in my side." she shrugged, soft lips leaving gentle traces on her back.  Causing her to shiver as she felt more at ease, her guard wall slowly melting away feeling, his hands rub down her arms, collecting the access soap around her fingertips. She looked up at him eyelids fluttering, shut, as she began leaning into his embrace,  into a kiss, the taste of wine swirled onto his tongue like the taste of blood on hers.

"We can't.. we shouldn't I.." she fell back into the grasp of his lips. She did it, broke rule number three, one more strike, and she could never turn back.  

"The original story of Pandora's Box reminds all of man to look into their own, to find the spirit of hope that still shines," he said, handing her a towel.

"As a moral, we can find happiness even during the darkest of times, provided that we look back into the box."  

"What are you getting at .."

"Perhaps i'm your pandora's box," he kissed her hand, watching her march off into his bedroom where she proceeded to get dressed. " We are partners I help with the legal papers, and you tamper with their psychic, there's nothing else between us... " she got in the covers of their now shared bed,

"I do believe you're wrong," he held up a pillow, "Though you hide your emotions very well around others, you're quite messy with them around me... why is that Shanel. Taking the blanket and pillow from him, she shook her head in the way he chose to open the can of worms which was the topic of emotions,

"Well," she sighed, getting closer towards him between the covers "As a child growing up, I was silent and reserved. The perfect child, who never wanted anything and therefore got sent away to boarding school when mommy just wanted a normal LIFE!" she ripped the pillow in half.

"Breathe." he removed what was left, "It's a touchy subject I just wanted .."  

"To make your mother proud of you.." he nodded,

"Have you ever had someone that you wanted to make them so proud of that you'd give your life up to make them understand-"

"That everything I do is for you.." he finished her sentence, Hannibal knew how she felt all too well, especially when it came to sister Mischa, who he loved dearly. He had been in Shanel's shoe's all too many times, he knew what pain was, but he also knew how to hide and be numb to it. Like a monster in a very well-tailored person suit. They hadn't uttered a word at each other just a few conversations with their eyes, and head nods something that they had been doing since they first met. Morning rolled around and, as usual, Shanel had already left out for work. There was a breeze a bit of sun and Jack Crawford sitting in her office chair nearly fuming it seemed.

"Ms. Mahone.." he looked at her, his glare was a look that could kill millions, "You wanna tell me what this is about?" he asked holding the issue of the Tattler in hand.  She rolled her eyes getting him a cup of coffee,

"Is this what you came to my office for?" she slammed the cup on the table agitated at only 8 am, "I'll be asking the questions here," he growled, Jack had the temper of a needle if you pushed him over ever so slightly he'd blow his fuse and be ready to fight god if he came knocking at his door.

"Do you or don't you have ties to the mob," "I have the right to remain silent." she smiled, handing her finished files to one of her interns to file for her,

"That didn't answer my question.." he began gritting his teeth.

"I'm not invading any taxes and cleary you like my work you keep coming back.." she rolled her eyes, handing him the finished decree for Abigal Hobbs.

" I suppose you're going to want to find your next copy cat killer the info's on page three,"  she smirked. Her phone yet again vibrating. "Seems I'll be going your way.." she mumbled, taking her keys from off her desk as Crawford only grew wearier of her. Everyone was a suspect at this point after all, and he was swaying his options. The ride down to the forest was soothing something, that she'd always loved was the beauty of nature. Her mind kept wandering to the night of the crime, the way the victim's faces looked, and how they were after the three days of decay.  

FBI was scattered everywhere on the scene of the crime, cop cars parked, and the two bodies becoming a new color. The foul stench went past everyone's nose, but what they had seen didn't go beyond their eyes. Standing over the bodies were Will Graham, who had his eyes closed envisioning the scene.  

"I follow Howard back to his house.." he said, walking towards the two-story house, "I make sure not to leave any traces of footprints .." he began walking on his toes hiding behind a bush, "he leaves with his next of prey, " picking up a rock as he threw it towards a tree causing them to get distracted, "When the times right I run," the sound of his feet leaving the ground was barely even heard going miles per minute as he soon climbed into a tree,

" I take my bow and arrow I puncture his Achilles tendon."  he smirked, "I then find the girl I  lodge an arrow right between the artery, with a sedative." he sat there watching them die as he placed the butterfly on her lips, "This is my design."

"How'd they do it this time champ," Beverly asked, standing next to Will, "A bit of hunting," he looked at her,

"Seems our killer has a type.." Jack sighed, walking up towards him, Shanel and Hannibal by both sides, Shanel smirked, handing Will over his criminal record, "And what would that be sir," Beverly asked, watching Shanel and Hannibal's reaction.

"Seems your copycat has access to criminal records.." Hannibal suggested taking a glance at Shanel who held the file, "This is the original copy of his records, he was a high school teacher who was.."

"A pedophile... I know." Jack glared at Shanel and her eagerness to help on the case which never used to bother him before, but it was the fact that she had been so pristine and detail-oriented that it scared him,

"As well as a trafficker, there's no telling what his wife doesn't know," Beverly responded looking, over his record. "Maybe this copycat is a vigilante."  she shrugged,

"Batman is a vigilante.. but this.. this is a vendetta a..a sign. His cry for payback." he looked at both Hannibal and Shanel, he knew in some sense that they understood him he never questioned why but the secret would come out one day,  Shanel looked at her watch then at Hannibal,

"I have to get going,"  running towards her car, as she heard the sound of a camera flashing she knew that it had to be nobody else but Lounds. Looking directly towards the clicks, Freddie seized the camera a shiver down her back as her memory went blank. " You didn't have to do that.." she mumbled under her breath, getting inside her car.  " It's getting rather dull eating Alfredo." Hannibal smiled, closing the door for her.  

She smirked, "I agree, your, sauce is a bit dry." pulling out and leaving him there to pout like usual. Walking back into her office she could sense chaos, mostly because Carl jammed the printer, and to top it off one of Hannibal's clients walked into the wrong room,

"You must be Franklyn Doctor Lector should be down the hall..at any moment." she winked at him.

"I just really needed to see him, I got so much in a hurry that I must have panicked, " he said in one breath, being handed a cup of tea. Watching him take a sip from it made the realization as to why Hannibal would come home from sessions with him and want to blow his brains out, Franklyn hadn't shut up about his prestigious crush on Hannibal and how it upset him so that he had to pay to see him, it made her sick and green with envy hearing the way he described him as if he were a god when in fact he was more than just that,

"And then there's Tobias." he blushed.

"Do you like him?" she asked out of curiosity.

"We're best friends."  he looked at his watch, seeing that he practically missed his appointment. It had been a much longer day in the office then what she had anticipated. Hearing the clock tick-tock back and forth nearly drove her insane as her phone began to ring, the sound of a concerned Hannibal on the other line. She had completely forgotten about the sheer fact that he had gotten tickets to the opera, he figured that since he heard sing a little that she'd enjoy it.  "Go on without me." she smiled, phone to her ear as lose hairs came out of her ponytail.

"Are you positive about this?" he asked her, hearing a bit of trouble in her voice.

"I'm sure, trust me .. though be weary trouble lurks." she hung up the call, hearing footsteps come behind her taking, a pen and lodging it in the neck of the unfortunate soul, hearing it stab through the skin as veins and blood gushed around the ballpoint pen.

"Are you sure you're okay?" he asked, hearing her breathe hard.

"On a second note,  I think I'll join you." walking towards the bathroom as she changed into a dark sparkling blue gown and heels to match walking out of her office as she felt something tug her arm, "I'll see you downstairs." she took her razor blade from out her pin curled bun slicing his hand off of her using her nails to gauge his eyeballs out while never spilling any blood on herself, Hannibal waited outside listening to his soothing classical music trying to find the missing piece for something he had been working on with his harpsichord, whenever he did he thought of Shanel sometimes falling deeper into her pool of love and other times how deep her throat was to cut,  

Coming towards him like a dream was Shanel, a dark blue dress matching his tux. He had never been, so breath taken before until he saw her an angel.  Shanel tucked a loose hair behind her hair, sapphire earrings dangling from her ear lobes the sight of her in that very moment made him go completely weak. "Well, don't you look appetizing ." Shanel blushed taking his hand as he ushered her inside the car, "I could say the same for you." she looked at him, his hair slicked back the way she had liked for a gentleman's hair to be when in a tux, he looked like what she daydreamed him to look like,

"First time I've seen you in something that isn't your usual suit." he laughed, closing her door for her driving off. "First time I've seen you in a tux.." she smirked, staring out the window watching the stars pass by in the night sky, reminding her of the things she never did in her childhood like camping or star gazing unless she was with her mother and Milo who at the time was very important of her. He stood as the father figure she had only wish to have. The opera house had been carrying a full house of guests as both Shanel and Hannibal looked at each other. The pair had both seen people that they knew and detested, but when in doubt, personal appearances came first holding onto Hannibal's hand to complete him,  walking through the crowd of his dinner options and her next masterpiece he could smell the rudeness almost radiating off of the big names in the room,  

" Doctor Lector."  a familiar looking lady practically wrapped herself around him.

"Mrs. Walter.." he tried to remove her from his being,  "When are you throwing another dinner, you know I just love the way you cook, it such art!" she squealed a bit pre-show drunk. As she leaned in closer to Hannibal, coming from behind her was Shanel, who looked as prideful as a lion ready to bite her meal.

"Hanni, my love shows going to start." she took him by the hand, giving him a wink.

"Hanni?" the other woman said falling off his arm like a slug to salt, she had seemed so surprised that a woman like her pulled off the definition of a man like Hannibal.

"My Fiance."  he smiled, pulling her close to his side, hearing a short gasp come from her mouth.

"Your Fiance.." Mrs. Walter had looked shocked incredibly broken even, hearing him say that "Pleasure to meet you.." she said almost in a jealous rage. Shanel, who had the grace of her mother, extended her hand out, the one with a ring her mother had given her.

" Shanel Mahone, charmed, you know as Hannibal, and I always say we'd love to have you for dinner.."  she then smirked at Hannibal getting an ingenious idea to embarrass him. Besides she had no idea, he would call her his soon to be bride most men usually went for fake girlfriends in that type of situation, " My darling ." he took her by the hand as they began walking off,

"My Hannikins just loves his opera." she winked, watching him crumble inside from the pet name, "You're welcome by the way.."  she whispered to him a bit upset as to how he didn't act like he appreciated what she had just done for him, "You'll get your thanks soon my dove," he kissed her forehead smelling the pure stench of jealousy radiating off her,  

Sitting down in their seats, Shanel couldn't help but think of the way the music made her feel. The melody of the song always reminded her of herself full of suspense and deadly, but she knew surely things were changing for her, and maybe it was time for it.  Hannibal who like Shanel had too enjoyed the melody until he looked over and saw Franklyn, the man who would stalk Hannibal to the ends of the earth, Shanel felt him stiffing up beside him as she then looked over and saw him,

The other man who they both presumed to be Tobias was also staring, but this time only at Hannibal, looking at each other as the two then, sighed.  "He's staring again," she whispered to him, "I know.. I can feel his wandering eyes from here." he then looked at Shanel, placing her hand inside his own.  He had never appeared to be so uncomfortable before almost vulnerable in a sense.

When the show had ended, the pair tried to rush out as quick as they could, but they didn't make it, both Franklyn and Tobias had spotted them like two flies on the wall with nothing else better in their lives to do.

"Doctor Lector you're here, I mean I didn't think you like opera, but then I guess you do well would and, Tobias this is my psychiatrist and Hannibal Tobias." he smiled, the two men merely staring at each other as Shanel and Franklyn looked at each other and then at Tobias,

"Do you play?" she asked, seeing the calluses on his hand.

"I own a violin shop not far from here," he said, looking at her hands, "Seems it been a long time since you've played.." he smirked a  psychotic look on his face,

"Well, I'll see you tomorrow !" Franklyn grinned.

Sitting downstairs in the living room was Shanel, her chin pressed down on her chin rest as her left hand held the instrument and in her right the bow. Strumming her instrument, she had begun to remember childhood, and the first time she had played Mozarts Lacrimosa, her favorite dramatic piece. As the melody continued to play through, she could hear the sound of a harpsichord joining her, "You play?" she kept her eyes closed knowing. Who was in front of her.  

"I could ask you the same thing," he smiled, keeping up with her violin playing. He was no longer uncertain about what to do with Shanel. At this moment, she was his equal the missing half to his melody that he had been trying to find. She was going to be his symphony, and he would be her conductor.  If only he could get the right melody to pluck the harp of her heart.  The music had stopped playing as stood behind him,

"Bad posture doesn't look good on you.." she commented with her hand on his back, fixing his posture, "Neither does jealousy look good on you." he turned his head to look up at her. She was as radiant as the stars, an ethereal woman a universe. She was the missing venus in the Botticelli painting in his memory palace that he could only hope to find,  motioning for her to sit next to him he scooped her in his arms, "You cannot control with respect to whom you fall in love." he whispered tilting her chin up placing a small kiss right under the skin that made the curve of her lips. He wanted to let it linger let her know that he would be willing to care,

"You're falling hard and so sudden," she whispered back, cupping his face feeling his hands pull her closer towards his body as she gave him a quick peck on the lips. He had wanted to share a moment like this for so long, and he could tell she did too. Leaning in once more their they had met in a tender kiss the type you couldn't say anything to a friend about because it meant you had found the missing happiness in your life.  

"I would not wish any companion in the world but you." he pressed his forehead against her own, the two smiling at each other as if they had once more killed someone,

"If music be the food of love play on.," she smirked, giving him a chuckle.

[disneylanddirectioner123]

Heart-In-A-Box

I could get used to this, instead of saying hello, i just AHOY here and AHOY there. ANYWAYS. This is for  everyone who didn’t get a Valentines Day gift or don’t have a Valentine AT ALL. Don’t worry though, I have some Spidey Spice Doritios and a small thing of Ben & Jerrys if you wanna share with me. I KNOW, I WAS ALONE ON VALENTINES DAY. (Don’t rub it in, I’m emotional :( I’ll change my mind.)

However, I did get a nice smelling bottle of Sea Scrub peel off mask. Now I’ll smell like Ariel!!! :D

I also got a red Birds Of Prey shirt and some small cookie biscuits. BUT. 

I just wanted to make this imagine for everyone who didn’t get the Valentines Day that they wanted, and of course because of the title: IT’S A DADDY PATRICK IMAGINE!!! Brace yourselves! This may get a little bit spoopy!!!

—

IMAGINE #2

Title: Heart-In-A-Box

Pairing: Patrick Hockstetter x Reader

Word Count: 

Theme: Valentine’s Day.

For: Anyone who had a sucky Valentine’s Day, but for this imagine, I’ll put my name: Jae. (You don’t have to put up with my name :) Do what you want! You do you honey!!)

Warnings(?): Anatomy (guts, body parts, blood, etc.) A butchery, Just blood. IMAGINE WILL PROBABLY BE THE CRINGIEST YOU’VE EVER READ IN YOUR LIFE.

Scene: Reader is having a terrible Valentine’s Day. Nobody has given them a Valentine so they’re feeling left out, resulting in them to focus on schoolwork. On a field trip to the local museum for a science class, Reader slowly starts receiving Valentine’s gifts from a green eyed admirer. 

PLAYLIST: 

1. Love Hurts by Nazareth

2. Every Breath You Take by The Police

3. Black Hole Sun by Soundgarden

—

The sound of other students in the hallways of Derry High annoyed Jae.

It was the dreaded day; Valentine's Day.

Pink, white and red littered the entire school and it made her sick. What a way to rub in the pain that she was gonna be YET AGAIN alone on Valentine's Day.

Students, mostly pathetic little middle schoolers wore dumb pink and red outfits as they scurried around, giving each other bouquets of flowers, boxes of chocolates, and cringeworthy love letters.It seemed that someone, probably someone from the student body or arts committee wanted to make Valentine's Day this year special, hence why everyone was wearing either pink or red. Some idiots even came dressed as angels, pretending to shoot people with arrows.

It was disgusting.

Jae was probably the only girl wearing a different colour. As she walked over to her locker, students stared at her and snickered.

"Looks like she has no Valentine." "She'll be a loner forever!" "Happy Valentine's Day Jae!" "What a LOSER." "Don't you mean LOVER?"

She barged through the laughing students, shoving a making out couple off her locker. After opening her locker and scrunching up some hurtful Valentine's Day cards from some neanderthal jocks and prissy skanks, Jae grabbed what she needed for the field trip to the museum. Her anatomy class was going to the museum as a part of an assignment on individual parts of the body.

Jae couldn't wait to get to the museum. As well as getting away from all these morons, it was no secret that Jae took a close interest into anatomy class. Her father was a butcher and her mother was a nurse so it wasn't her first time seeing blood and guts, whether it was a bonus help that she learnt about the nifty things that went on inside the human body, much to the other students' horror and disgust.

"So," An obnoxious voice rang in her ear followed by a loud POP!, "who ripped your heart out?" Greta smirked as she leaned against Jae's locker. Jae rolled her eyes, out of all the days that she didn't want to be tormented, today took the angel cake.

Enough was enough. Jae turned to Greta with a fake sad expression.

"You. When I saw you making out with Sally Mueller in the bathroom," she fake sobbed, "it broke my heart in two. How could you Greta?!"

Gasps erupted throughout the hallway followed by mean and taunting chants of "Greta likes girls." With an angry huff, Greta stormed off with all the attention now focused on her.

Jae's anatomy classmate, Beverly Marsh approached her locker in the direction of where Greta charged from. "Jeez, didn't know you and Greta were-"

"I'm not. I just got sick of her. Thought I might do some rumour spreading of my own. Anyways," Jae changed the subject onto the exciting excursion ahead, "what's your project about?"

"Feet and legs and what makes them work."

Jae nodded, not wanting to continue the discussion, due to her bored and slightly irritated tone. "You?"

"The heart." Jae responds, rolling her eyes at the ironic theme. Beverly gave a small smile before looking behind her. Her face dropped, scurrying off with a quick; "See you on the bus."

Instead of the cliche turn around, Jae shrugged before following Bev out to the bus where her anatomy class were waiting.

If only she did turn would she have met her green eyed admirer that would soon spoil her silly in the weirdest of ways.

---

After the lame presentation which was both interesting yet extremely irrelevant to Jae, the anatomy teacher granted the class permission to do individual exploring, where the students could either get something to eat or explore other parts of the exhibit.

Jae had her eye on the heart exhibit; it was a maze where there were info cards, hanging and touchable props and video diagrams on all walls. It looked like fun.

So, being a lone ranger, Jae headed directly to the heart maze. But she wasn't the only one.

It seemed that a certain someone had his green predatory eyes for Jae. Patrick Hockstetter was fascinated by her. He followed her around town and the idea that she was working on the anatomy of the heart made him fall for her. He loved that she liked what people would call macabre, he loved that she had an IDGAF attitude yet how devoted she was to her anatomy class. He loved that she was an all out badass.

And don't get him started on her beauty. She was SO MUCH prettier than the other girls of Derry. Her hair was so shiny and when he sometimes stepped behind her at the cafeteria and managed to smell her hair, her hair smelt like strawberries and cream and her skin smelt like the seaside.

He always thought of himself as a smooth operator, yet when it came to Jae, he couldn't muster up the balls to ask her out.

Patrick Hockstetter the chicken.

He didn't like the idea of that going around especially in front of his crush.

So since Valentine's Day was today, it was his chance.

He stood a decent feet away and got out the crumpled love note he was gonna pass to her on the bus. In his neatest writing, which was still messy, he wrote;

"WILL YOU BE THE FIRE TO MY LOINS? LOVE P.H"

As disgusting and cringy as it sounded, Patrick tried to be poetic and literate as he had caught Jae reading the novel "Lolita" on regular basis when the teacher forced him to go into the library instead of loitering with the other members of the Bowers Gang behind the gym. Wrapped in the paper was a small animal heart; in particular a chicken heart.

He clenched the paper, trying not to rip it or squish the heart. Patrick wasn't gonna chicken out now.

He scrunched it up and flung it at her. It hit her, the heart fell out of the paper and splatted on the floor and as she turned around, he disappeared into the other entry of the maze.

---

When she got to the heart of the maze, her eyes bulged as she saw a giant squishy heart in the centre that could be touched. She loved the idea of an interactive model. She pulled out her polaroid camera and took a photo of the model as she had been doing so through the maze.

When she checked the picture she noticed a tall figure in the background but it was blurry so she couldn't determine who it was. Right next to the model was an info card, basically explaining the model was a photo opportunity and that it instructed kids to not climb on the model. There were two small plates; one with another heart; this time a dog heart and the other plate with a small heart cake, there was a note attached that said; "Dissect me? P.H"

This was the second note that she had received from 'P.H'. It was probably some stupid jock playing a prank on her. She knelt down at the little block with the info card nailed to it, grabbing her pocket knife and visciously stabbed it, noticing jam bleeding out of it. There was no way she wasn't ruining the dog heart.

"What is it with people today?" She yells, "Why me of all people to prank on Valentine's Day?! I bet you this is how you're gonna get me! You're gonna jump out and say; 'Ha Ha! Just kidding ya!' Well i'm not as dumb as you think, so knock it off!!!"

Patrick was watching the whole sight, obviously amused and a little hurt that she thought he was messing her over. Patrick crouched down next to her, coughing to get her attention. As soon as she looked at him, she pieced everything together;

PH=Patrick Hockstetter. The hearts= Rumors of him kidnapping and killing animals.

When she turned to him, he sat down beside her and pulled out a small heart shaped box. He really wanted to give her this gift but wasn't sure how she'd react to seeing the gift. "I got this," He rasped as he held out the box, "for you."

Cautiously, she took the red box and lifted the lid. Inside was a heart. She picked it up to check if it was real. It was. It was bigger than the dog heart. His next two words made her slightly shudder.

"It's Human."

"Patrick, How'd you get it?" Jae asked, raising an eyebrow. On the inside she felt weak.

Instead of answering her, he lunged at her, planting his lips on hers. His lips were a bit slimy and chapped and although he did have a bit of bad breath but it didn't matter. Jae may or may not have had an attraction to him due to his mystery. She really liked him but everyone always kept her away from him. This was a dream come true.

"Pat," She asked when they departed from their soft kiss,

"Where'd the human heart come from?”

[jooheonspinky]

The Truth Untold - 5

Image Credit: Fake Love (BTS-Fake Love) BTS Comeback Show 180524

Part 5

Word count: 4.3K

Maybe back then

    A little

         Just this much

              If I had the courage to stand before you

                   Would everything be different now

Several weeks have crawled by. Truthfully, Jimin had long since lost count of the true amount of time that had passed. All he knew was torture, hunger and thirst with each new day. He received a few kicks and punches as a method of waking him in the morns. Evenings, before it was time to catch some rest, a new male would proffer him his evening beating. A way to help him sleep, they said. It wasn’t always a lie. Some nights, if they hit him in just the right spot on his temple or if the pain was too much, he would pass out.

Those nights that he was not sent to oblivion, he wished he had been as the throbbing that plagued his body was almost too much to bear and he’d lie awake until the early morn. Sometimes he’d find strength enough to dig into the folds of his cloak in search of the envelope where a blue Smeraldo was tucked inside. Those were Y/N’s favorite. Of all the flowers in the garden he’d grown in that countryside, this was the one she loved most. The cool color, it’s thin fragile petals that appeared to stand firm almost as if by magic.

The flower was a reminder to him of her beauty. Of a love he could have had. As unchecked tears would slip past the corners of his eyes, he’d feel the regret festering in his gut. If only he’d had the courage to tell her the truth. If he’d confessed his feelings and then told her of his past, would things be different? Instead he was here, alone in his despair and crying like a child. Even with the danger that was his life…he still wanted her. Wanted to be her white knight, her protector.

By the time he could push those thoughts and emotions to the back of his mind it would soon be time to wake and he’d be back to his senses, aware of each ache and pain that wracked him from head to toe.

Midday meal. That was the time he looked forward to. That was when he was permitted sustenance. Not much, just a few pieces of cold meats and cheese, or a bit of bread. They would give him a little water as well. Galvin would often remind him that the only reason he lived was because the duke wanted the honor of putting him down himself. Were it not for that, Galvin would have offed him the same day he’d captured him.

The spring showers helped with cleansing himself somewhat. He cupped his hands, splashing the bit of water that collected on his palms gingerly over his face. They had long since unbound his wrists certain now that he would not escape. Without a looking glass, he was unable to see how terrible he truly looked or if he managed to remove the blood and dust that was caked on his skin. Galvin and his crew did not permit him to have a proper bath in the river waters they followed, nor at the various taverns they stopped at. He stunk to high heaven, and he could not muster up the emotion to care anymore.

This was it. Would he even make it to his next birthday? Would he ever look into his mother’s face again? He swallowed the lump that was forming in his throat as Galvin approached. They were resting beneath the branches of a large tree. Bright green leaves had already begun to grow forth from it, providing substantial protection from the light rain that sprinkled down over them.

“Here ya go, boy.”    The man tossed him a sandwich that only had three bites left to it, scraps really, as if he were a mutt. He caught it before it could land on the damp grass. He waited a second or two to see if he would procure him some water, but when his captor continued walking, Jimin knew he would not be given any today.    Eating the bread and meat slowly, he stood, his bones cracking as he did so. Moving from the cover of the trees, he cupped his hands again, though this time he drank of the water that gathered there. It was cool and helped wash the food down.    “Time to get back on the road,” Galvin called to his men. “We should arrive tomorrow before sun down.” Turning to Jimin, whose face had been lifted up to feel the droplets splash against his face, he added, “We’ll soon be turning ye over to the duke. Enjoy your last moments as a living man as I am quite certain these next hours will be your last.”    Tilting his head down, Jimin clenched and unclenched his jaw and merely nodded.    “Up ya go,” Dustin’s gravelly voice came from behind him.    Jimin hoisted himself up onto the chocolate brown horse without protest and Dustin swung himself up behind him. Moments later they were riding swiftly towards their final destination.                                               ༻﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡༺    The sun hung low in the sky as it made its way down to meet the horizon. With the orange orb still providing plenty of light, his surroundings were still distinguishable. Jimin’s lips thinned as he glanced around. He’d been only but a boy of three and ten when he had fled at his mother’s behest, yet now, though nearly ten years have passed, it all was still recognizable to him. Just as it had then, as his eyes fell upon the lavish home sitting at the end of the cobbled path that the horses hooves clicked and clacked over, he felt the hatred burn in his chest for the man that dwelled within it walls.

Galvin dismounted first, his men following suit moments after as the stable boys rushed forward to take the reins of some of the horses. Dustin and Rierden flanked Galvin, Dustin holding Jimin roughly by his upper arm. The remaining men followed the stable boys towards the back of the home to offer rest to the animals.    “Looks like yer time has come to a near end here,” Galvin snickered.    Jimin’s jaw stiffened as he tried to keep his expression as blank as the mask he’d been accustomed to wearing.    The doors swung open before Galvin could rap his knuckles against them.    “The Duke is expecting you,” the housekeeper bowed, her hands trembling slightly at the sight of the men that filled the doorway. “I shall escort you.”    “Thank you, mum,” Galvin nodded politely, surprising Jimin.    Closing the door behind them, she scuttled ahead of them and down the hall of the immense home. Jimin kept his gaze forward as they followed closely behind the housekeeper. At the end, she opened a smaller wooden door, revealing a spiraling staircase that led down into an inky darkness. Jimin heard the sound of flint striking together before a flame puffed forth at the end of a torch ensconced on the wall.    “Her ya go, sir,” she handed the torch to Galvin. “I won’t be accompanying you. Just head down these here stairs. I trust you remember where to go?”    “Aye,” he confirmed. Turning to face his men, he ordered, “Rierden, take the torch and head down first. I’ll take the prisoner. Dustin, take up the rear.”

They began their descent, the housekeeper closing the door as soon as Dustin crossed the threshold. The shuffling of their feet was the only sound as they worked their way down. It wasn’t long before they reached the ground below. Reirden guided them forward and now as they followed the turn in the hallway below, Jimin could hear screams from men being whipped, the squeak of rats as they scurried past for fear of being trampled, and the creak of cages and chains.    A dungeon. The Duke had a dungeon below his home.          Jimin fought a shiver that tickled his spine. While he had thought his demise would be a swift one, now he feared more beatings or perhaps even prolonged torture would be in his cards. The Duke was merciless and it would not surprise Jimin if he kept him down in the cell to die a slow death.    They reached the end, a large table with various succulent dishes displayed on it was the end of their walk. Behind this table sat a man perhaps in his mid-sixties, with thick black hair streaked with silver. His face had many wrinkles and lines slashed across the forehead and around the eyes, most likely due to the constant scowls it bore. Those dark eyes were still sharp even now as they took in the young man before him.    Dustin and Rierden moved aside leaving Galvin and Jimin directly in front. The Duke stood and slowly made his way around. Out of the corner of his eye, Jimin watched as Rierden momentarily lost composure as his own eyes widened at the site of Jimin and the Duke standing face to face. The shock was brief, as he returned to looking stoically ahead, but Jimin caught it none-the-less. This was the reason the Duke had been after him all these years.    Jimin was the spitting image of the man that stood before him now.    “Jimin,” he nearly growled as if the name on his tongue tasted fowl. The words that continue to pour forth matched not his tone. “Tis an absolute pleasure to see you…son.”    Dustin’s jaw clenched to hear the duke’s words. Aye, it is truth that the Duke sired Jimin, but he would never consider him his ‘father’.    Galvin dared interrupt, catching the older man’s attention.    “Sire, here is your dagger.”    The Duke smiled, though it did nothing to soften his features.    “You have done well, Galvin.” He took the offered weapon, lying it on the table. Snatching up a hefty purse that had sat at the table’s edge, he tossed it at Galvin. “I trust this is plenty to ease thy troubles?”    “Was no trouble at all, sire,” Galvin chuckled, pleased with the weight of the purse.    “Thank you for your service,” the Duke drawled. “Namjoon, escort these men to the left.”

A tall, lean young man appeared behind them.

“Step this way,” he called from the center of the hall.

The duke’s men gave him a quick bow before walking towards Namjoon. Stopping, they waited for further direction. Jimin watched as Namjoon reached forward and snatched the purse from Galvin, then pulled down forcefully at a torch on the wall. Before anyone could react, the floor beneath the three men split in the middle and retracted. Jimin’s ears were filled with the terrified screams of Galvin, Dustin and Rierden as they fell to certain death.

Namjoon pulled up on the lever and the floor extended back into place, the seam disappearing, the fit was so exact. Satisfied that all was back in order, he sauntered away, back into the shadows.    “Can’t have anyone know you exist,” the Duke shrugged, drawing Jimin’s attention back to him.    Jimin’s eyes narrowed on the Duke’s face, his jaw clenching. He truly was evil! He could only imagine the same fate awaited the rest of the crew that had gone around to the stables.    “No need to fret, boy,” he laughed. “For ten years you have evaded me.” The Duke paced in front of Jimin as he spoke. “A decade of wondering and doubting if the rumors were in fact true. Did the mercenary fail? Had my bastard son survived? Was he living out there ready to return and steal what was mine?”    “I do not want anything from you,” Jimin gritted out in disgust.    The Duke spun around swiftly, grabbing Jimin tightly at the chin.    Forcing Jimin to look at him, the Duke spat out vehemently, “Don’t you talk back to me you insolent child!” Releasing his grip, he continued his pacing. “As I was saying, I have plans for you. No one will ever know if the stories of a young man with the Duke’s face are true. For when I am done with you, and finally grant you a reprieve…it will only be to end your life and help you onto the other side.”    Jimin’s eyes flit to the floor. So be it. If his last days would include more physical punishment then so be it. He only had one regret and that was that he would not lay eyes upon his mother one last time. One week later

I'm crying

    That’s disappeared

         That’s fallen

             Left alone in this sandcastle

                 Looking at this broken mask

   Jimin lay bleeding on the cold stone floor. He was thirsty and he was hungry. Nay. Make that starving. He’d long lost the need to relieve himself. What was there to come out when there was naught going in? With his cheek scraping across the stone, he winced as he tried to move to a sitting position.    His lips were ashen and cracked, his cheeks sallow as he swayed dizzily. His eyes appeared sunken in, dark blotches surrounded them. What a sight he must be with his body marred with a rainbow of bruising and smears of crimson. He shivered in the chilled air of the dungeon. He was freezing, his fingers and toes tingling, but he refused to pass on.

Jimin refused to give up. Whatever he could do to enrage the Duke the more he would do it until he drew his last breath. That there is what kept his limbs moving. What kept his heart beating, even though sometimes it was just a mere flutter behind his ribcage, were thoughts of Y/N. Though it saddened him that he had never shown himself to her, never truly let her see the real him inside…and outside…Jimin still remembered her blushing smile, her melodical laughter, the smoothness of her skin. It was now, as another shiver wracked his body, that he vowed if he somehow survived this…if he somehow lived… he would return to her and confess all, whether she be wed or a free woman. Y/N deserved to know the true reason why he had never permitted their relationship to become too intimate. Why he’d done what he could to be distant with her.    Footsteps echoed down the hall and Jimin’s head fell back with a thud against the grimy wall. He grimaced, but it was not from the pain. There was no denying who those footfalls belonged to and Jimin struggled to rise to his feet, not wanting to give him the satisfaction of seeing him down on the ground.    With his hand against the wall for purchase, his eyes met the Duke’s head on.    “Still of this world?” he huffed disdainfully. “Not for too much longer. I will be bringing you above, boy, and be honored that it will be I that shall be sending you to hell, where you belong.”    The right corner of Jimin’s lipped twitched as a smirk tried to make its way onto his face. The Duke caught it, even as miniscule as it was.    “You really have lost your mind if you find humor in this.” Folding his hands behind his back and pacing leisurely back and forth, he added, “I have offered you a parting gift. It shall be the ONLY thing besides death that you ever receive from me!”

He glowered at Jimin, but Jimin fought to keep his face neutral. He watched as the dungeon’s guard, Namjoon, unlocked the cell. He grasped Jimin roughly, dragging him out of his cage. Light headed, Jimin flopped about like a rag doll before catching his balance. The Duke snickered as he followed Namjoon up and out of the dungeon.

Through another passage way, the three men walked out towards the back of the home. There, two horses chuffed and lightly pranced as they awaited their passengers in the waning light. Even with the sun beginning its decent, having been underground with nearly no light for such a long period of time, the orange glow that encompassed the outside grounds was too much for Jimin and he was momentarily blinded.

“Hurry up, boy!” The Duke hollered impatiently, kicking Jimin forcefully in the ass.

Were it not for Namjoon, Jimin would have fallen flat on this face. The towering man gripped Jimin’s torn shirt and dirtied britches and essentially threw him onto the horses back before sliding in gracefully behind him. Jimin blinked rapidly, his vision slowly clearing as they shot forward at break-neck speed.

Complete darkness should be arriving in about an hour, Jimin surmised. Looking around he found they were riding through iron gates, hinged to a tall stone wall that protected the rear of the property. Beyond was a creek and then a thick forest not too far from the embankment. As they splashed through the flowing water, the horses were slowed, trotting cautiously through the immense trees.    It wasn’t long before he could make out flames between those trunks. Weeping accompanied the crickets and night bugs that chirped and buzzed all around them. Jimin felt the blood drain from his face even as his heart picked up a thunderous beat forcing the blood to rush back throughout his veins. Dared he hope that it was she? The one person he loved more than anything in this world?

The forest began to thin out and moments later he saw her. She was being held from behind by one of the stable boys he’d seen when he’d first arrived. Tears stained her face. The eyes that were all too familiar were red and puffy, her cheeks rosy. Jimin was unable to hold back his emotions as tears sprang to his own eyes, though they clung to his lashes unable to fall.

“Eomma!”

The word came through raspy, almost muted. But she’d heard. His mother had heard and it was as if it gave her super strength. She wrenched free of the stable boy’s grip and dashed forward.

“My baby boy,” she sobbed. “Oh my sweet sweet Jimin!”

She clutched at his booted feet, hugging them to her desperately.

“Back up so they can dismount, woman!” the Duke commanded.

Reluctantly she took a few steps back allowing space for the men to dismount. As soon as her son’s boots hit the ground, she threw herself into his arms. It was then that Jimin could no longer keep his tears at bay. He let them flow freely now as he held tightly to his mother whom he had not seen since he was just a boy. He had missed her, of that there was no doubt, but with her here embracing him so tightly he hadn’t realized just how much he’d missed her warm hugs.    Leaning away a bit to look up into her son’s face, her voice was shaky as she spoke. “You have grown so much. When you left you had not even reached my shoulders yet. Look at you now.”    The tears came again for them both.    “I am so happy I got to see you one last time, eomma,” Jimin whispered as he kissed her forehead.    “Alright, that’s enough!” the Duke cut in between them. The stable boy again had his mother held in a tight grip.    “No, no please!” she begged.    The Duke turned his back to her, ignoring her pleas.    “The time has come, boy,” he addressed Jimin. “I have decided I wanted to savor this moment, therefore, rather than strike you down immediately, I shall permit you to defend yourself.” Jimin froze, shocked at his words. Could it be that he could survive after all? “Namjoon, give the boy a weapon.”

The dagger that the Duke’s hired men had confiscated from him so many weeks ago was tossed at him. With fumbling fingers he managed to catch it without cutting himself. The Duke snickered, while Namjoon’s stoic expression remained. He could laugh all he wanted. He may have starved Jimin, given him only enough water to keep him alive, beat him, but Jimin was resilient. Just the sight of his eomma had fed his soul, reviving him a little more and clearing his mind.

Jimin watched the Duke get in the ready position. He dared wield the very dagger that had been used to frame him. With his free hand he taunted Jimin, urging him to make the first move. Obeying, he took a few unsteady steps forward. The lack of food truly had him feeling off balance. The Duke darted forward impatiently and Jimin dodged out of the way just as he neared. He was not fast enough and the sharp blade sliced across his side, just above his hip bone.    He dared a glance down as he winced. It stung, but as he peeked through the torn shirt, he found it was nothing life threatening. Looking up, he was met by the cocky stare of his sire. Jimin felt the hatred sizzle beneath the surface of his skin as their eyes locked. He used it as fuel. With a growl, he rushed forward and used the adrenaline that now perked up his senses and jumped into the air executing a spinning heel kick that nailed its target. The Duke’s hand.    The Duke gasped in surprise, completely caught off guard. His grip loosened, not expecting there to be power in the impact, and the dagger slipped from his fingers. Jimin took advantage and brought a cracking punch to the Duke’s jaw. He grunted, stumbling back and Jimin swept his foot behind the Duke’s boot, causing him to lose his footing. The Duke’s arms pin-wheeled, and caught a fistful of Jimin’s loose shirt. Falling backwards, he brought Jimin down with him.    Jimin could hear his mother’s gasps and whimpers close by, but he tried to force them out of his mind. He needed to concentrate if he was going to get out of the Duke’s grasp. Out of the corner of his eye he saw when the Duke gained access to his jeweled dagger. Jimin sucked in a breath and willed strength into his arms to hold back the Duke’s attack, but…    A sharp pain exploded at his temple as the duke brought the handle of the dagger down against Jimin’s head. Dazed and nauseous, Jimin grasped the Dukes wrist tightly with one hand, remembering he still had his own dagger. Jimin was weakened by the blow and was unable to keep his dominant position above the Duke. They rolled and now his own back was pressed against the leaf scattered grass. But there was something wrong.    Jimin felt a tacky warmth clinging to his shirt. And the Duke? He was gasping, eyes wide. It was Namjoon that came forth and pulled the Duke onto his back, leaving Jimin to scramble back and away.

“Jimin!” His eomma screamed and fell in a crumble next to him. “Are you hurt? This blood? Jimin, this blood, is it yours?”

Her panicked insistence forced Jimin to look down. His fingers touched the dark fabric and his fingers came back tinged scarlet. Not getting a quick enough response, his eomma ripped his shirt open and felt around, then sighed in relief when all she found was the cut on his hip.

“I’m ok,” he whispered. With his mother’s help, he stood on his feet and faced Namjoon. “I bested him fair and square,” Jimin informed him, jaw firm, eyes unwavering. “What now?”

The stable boy looked to Namjoon for guidance.

For the first time, Jimin heard Namjoon speak. “You become our master.”

“Just like that?” he asked the skepticism not only evident in his tone, but also in the frown that was etched on his forehead.

“Aye,” Namjoon replied nonchalantly even as his previous master lay bleeding out at his feet.

Namjoon pulled out Jimin’s dagger from the Duke’s chest. He then took a knee and the stable boy followed, the Duke’s gurgled breaths slowing down as he drowned in his own blood. Jimin stared in disbelief for a moment, the blade must have punctured his lung, but then the weight of what it all meant came to realization. Jimin closed his eyes, a knot forming thickly in his throat. Head falling he knew now he was free. Free from the chase, free from the lies. Free to live his life.

The emotions he’d held back for so long came to the for front. As the sun disappeared completely from sight, he fell to his own knees and wept with relief.

                                              ༻﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡༺

Namjoon assisted Jimin through the front entrance. The housekeeper’s face became ruddy at the sight of the young man that was bleeding, bruised and barely able to walk.

“Mum, we need a bath drawn for the duke’s son as well as a doctor to tend to his wounds.”

Her mouth flapped open and closed a few times. To Jimin she appeared like a fish out of the water. It would be quite amusing at any other circumstance, but with the pain he was in, he wasn’t even able to muster up a smile. Namjoon looked on expectantly.

“Right. Yes. As you request.” She scuttled off somewhere to the right, mumbling, “The duke has a son?”

“Is there a…wife?” Jimin rasped. “Children?”

“The Duchess passed two years back. The Duke is…was a widow,” Namjoon supplied. “The Duchess was baron. There are no other offspring.”

“None that we may be aware of,” his eomma huffed. “Perhaps he has murdered those just as he has tried to do the same with my Jimin.”

Though Namjoon’s face held no expression, it spoke volumes. The Duke had been a merciless monster whose only desire was power and Jimin felt not one bit of guilt knowing he was dead. That man would never hurt another person ever again.

                                              ༻﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡༺

Feel free to leave feedback and let me know what you think. Part 6 is coming up.

4 | 5 | 6

[one-trigger-lullaby]

Hair Matted W/ Blood W/ Keith and Protective Hunky-Bear

This is a @badthingshappenbingo prompt requested by @lemonadepluto 

Thank you so much for your patience! This took a little while longer than initially expected and for that I’m very sorry but I hope you like how it turned out and I’m very very appreciative for your patience.

Want to request a prompt? Send me an ask/pm (As long as the prompts aren’t Punctured Lung, Brainwashing, Locked up and Left Behind, or Suffocation)

Also, please note that this is a tinsy bit graphic so read the tags and continue at your own risk.

Enjoy!

~

Love Language

Hunk had a memory locked deep inside the crevices in his mind, covered in spiderwebs and caution tape. He was thirteen, cooking in the kitchen with his mother when he learned to believe in love again.

His mother and father had always been married, were still married, he assumed, and he'd never had any first-hand experience on the 'broken' homes his friends and peers waxed poetic about. His siblings were all alive and well, and none of them had ever had to go without necessities or niceties they enjoyed.

By all means, his childhood was ideal; perfect in a way.

He was seven when he stopped believing in love.

Words weren't and never have been his quote-unquote 'love language'. His temperament was as mild as the tastebuds that sat heavy on his tongue, wrong with his family's heavily cultured cuisine and when his mother tucked him in at night, whispering the sweet trio, he found himself echoing it back to her like an announcer speaking into an empty room. How many times had she heard it? How many times had she believed it?

Falling out of love with love, it turned out, was very easy. Growing up around affection made it difficult for him to understand why he had such a big problem with hearing the words 'I love you' and why he had such a hard time saying them back. He felt like a broken record every time he tried and nobody liked broken records.

Unless, of course, they said what you wanted to hear, even if they were lies.

Falling out of love was like a snowflake breaking in the wind, it was insignificant to the many, to any but the snowflake itself, and many others would follow in its wake, breaking or staying whole at the whims of the chilled winter air. He was a splintered snowflake, balling and melting under the sun and scraping skin that had relied on his dewy softness.

He was fake.

He hugged his mother and father, grinned when his aunt shared old stories. He gave his siblings piggyback rides around the house and played horse with them before he had to go to school, crawling around on his knees and getting his nice, school-designated pants dirty with goldfish crumbs. These were actions of eloquence, well-spoken in a language he didn't understand.

He fell out of love with love once it stopped making sense. Once his friends told him they loved him and then wouldn't let him sit with them at lunch only to decide to switch it up again the following morning. Once his baby sister, only 3, screamed that she hated him more than she screamed anything else, tossing the doll he'd had his mother show him how to stitch up to the ground and leaving it there for the days that would follow.

At the supple age of thirteen, love was completely irrelevant. Until it wasn't, of course. His mother had started to teach him their old family recipes for rich, moist cakes and soft creams that would melt on his tongue. It was something his sensitive tastebuds could handle unlike the chili-ridden foods they ate for dinner once a week and nine times a year. He enjoyed it and, when valentines came around that year, he gave a cake to one of his best friends at the time.

The look she had on her face once she bit into it--that was love. Falling in love. he could remember: it was a raspberry cream cupcake with chocolate and orange shavings dappled on whipped pink topping; a thing of pride, back then.

I love you isn't the only way to express love to someone. People say it in different ways all of the time.

"Are you wearing your seatbelt?"

"Have you eaten?"

"You look a little flushed."

"Here, I don't need it anyway."

"Text me when you get home safe."

~

Hunk's breath was loud in his ears--a thundering symphony in an empty library that no other sound could break through.

Focus, Hunk, focus. He needed to breathe; he needed to be able to hear what was going on around him. He pushed his nausea down his inflamed esophagus, acid burning his insides as it went down.

Around his knees was a thin pool of red-black liquid, dampening the sunny yellows of his paladin armor into crispy oranges and eating up the pristine white in between. He tried not to think too hard about it--about how much there was.

Before him, half of Keith's face was covered in blood. Some of it was drying and flaking around the ears and gluing his unmoving eyelashes together but the rest of it flowed around the sharp angle of his chin, climbing down the curvature of his neck and dripping onto the floor. In a selfish line of thought, Hunk was sort of glad Keith's hair was black. It was matted with blood, some of it flattened or misshapen around the quarter-sized chip taken out of Keith's skull, but if he didn't think about it too much, it would just look like greasy or badly dyed hair.

Yeah, the dirty, unkempt hair of a sleeping teenager. As long as he didn't think about how the wound dipped away from his temple where the baton had bludgeoned him. Didn't think about the bloodied crumble of skull stuck to a strand that was curved towards the ceiling and stiffened with a drenching of blood.

He was going to be sick.

His hands trembled terribly and his lip quaked as he pulled it between his teeth, trying to keep his panicked tears at bay.

Please, please, please.

He hadn't known head wounds bled this much. Objectively, he'd been told, had heard it on television shows, but it was different from seeing it in person. He tried to tell himself that the sheer amount of the stuff. made it look worse than it was. He didn't believe himself.

His neck tingled as his back faced the door of the room, roughly five feet away from him. He felt exposed and watched, a rat running a maze. Sure, no one had come for them yet, but it wouldn't be the first time someone had let them get away and let them wear themselves down before blindsiding them. Logically, he knew it was unlikely. The rest of the team would be occupying the rest of the ship and anyone that knew where they were were dead a floor below them.

They were in a room with no cameras and no lights other than the one Hunk had engineered into the cuff of his armor and one door. He should've chosen a room with an extra exit, but they were in space, where were they going to go?

He worried about crushing Keith's already fragile skull against the hard flooring as he held pressure to the wound and briefly considered shifting his head, but he didn't have anywhere soft to set it. It just added to his concern.

He breathed harshly through his nose. They needed to move. It wasn't a good idea for him to move Keith with such a serious head injury, that much he knew, but it was better than letting him bleed out to death on the floor of an enemy ship.

With this thought in mind, his teeth peeled the skin off of his lips as he gently scooped Keith's body into his arms. Keith's armor scraped clunkily against his own as he tried to delicately pillow Keith's head on the softer hollow of his arm, taking great care in not knocking him around too much.

Keith's body was heavy and made Hunk's legs shake as he tried to stand carefully. His feet shuffled a bit as he regained his balance with the added weight.

The door was a regular door with a smooth handle that slipped in his gloved hand when he bent at the knees and tilted, trying to reach without moving his arms.

The click and creak of the door opening rang through the empty, bright-lit hallway and Hunk swallowed as he looked from one side to the other, finding it to be clear of any other potentially threatening living entities.

He felt hurried, but his movements were anything but. His joints were locked and stiff with anxiousness as he dealt with the push and pull of his gut versus his mind. His gut said that he should run; Keith might've had a better chance if he ran--but his mind. His mind said that he would drop the delicate boy, that slow and steady won the race.

"Hunk?"

The reception was back. Some of his anxiousness left him at the reminder that he wasn't alone. He breathed a sigh. "Lance?"

Lance grunted on the other side. "You good? We lost you two for a second there."

"Keith--" Hunk cut himself off with a short sound. His throat locked up, the heaviness of the situation settling in his chest. Keith was bleeding out in his arms.

"Are you guys hurt?" Lance asked, his voice going tight.

A drop of blood fell on the floor, diminishing the thought that maybe Keith's head had stopped leaking. "Yes. Keith."

There was a brief silence before Lance's voice filtered through again, stronger than before. "Get him out; we'll keep everybody else occupied. I'll cover you."

Ten-year-old Hunk might've doubted him. Eighteen-year-old Hunk had seen Lance sacrifice himself too much to even consider doubting it. He muttered out a quick thanks before he heard Lance's line disconnect.

~

They managed to make it through an entire floor without seeing a soul. Hunk's feet had started moving faster after an explosion had made the ship tilt on an axis, rocking the steady floor beneath his feet. In a fit terror, he'd almost dropped his precious cargo.

Their enemy-less luck ran out eventually, however. And it ran out in the form of one that Hunk clearly hadn't shot well enough beforehand.

The ma--creature was shorter than Hunk, but he was built like a tank on steroids. The creature's height would put Hunk at a disadvantage, putting his enemy closer to the ground, and he was just tall enough to make any of Hunk's movements against him awkward.

Hunk hugged Keith tightly to himself, curving his armored forearm over Keith's delicate temple.

The creature's blood glowed a light gray as its blackness seeped down his chest where Hunk had shot him twice. It'd been enough for his companions, but obviously, this one would need more convincing.

"Let us through." Hunk was proud to say his voice barely trembled, only the slightest skip.

The creature snarled, his teeth so white they glowed. He approached with heavy, lumbering footsteps and Hunk fought the instinct to step back.

He couldn't do anything unless he dropped Keith. But what if there were more? What if they snatched or killed Keith while Hunk's back was turned? His teeth ground together as he thought, his wide eyes locked on the creature that hadn't moved past that first step.

He could run, but he would just dig him and Keith into a deeper hole and that was assuming that he could outrun the thing in the first place.

The creature's back bent as it crouched, his jagged teeth pointing out like spears as his jaw opened. Hunk had a split second to make a decision as it leaped much faster than a thing of its size should've been able to, its mouth poised to bite and it's pristine claws curved outward.

His arms twitched in that second, tightening round Keith before loosening.

Run.

Stay.

Drop your burden.

Fight.

Don't hurt Keith.

Fight.

Run.

Keith.

Fight.

Keith.

Keith.

Protect Keith.

The creature's claws were inches away from him when he turned his back to it. His heart jumped in his chest as he fell to his knees and tucked Keith closely to his chest. His wide frame completely engulfed Keith as he bowed over the small teen.

He nearly bowled over the second the muscled thing crashed into him with a roar, landing claws-first into his back.

Tears pricked his eyes as he heard his armor creak and give way to the sharpness. He felt the claws cut through his thick back like butter, ripping apart corded muscle until it gave way into a sensitive tenderness.

His teeth clenched so hard his jaw trembled but it did little to distract from the burning that spread like wildfire throughout his back. The claws stayed stuck in his back as he felt luxite-sharp teeth graze the sides of his collared neck, gusts of breath displacing the hair at his nape.

His eyes were squinted as he looked down at Keith's blood-encrusted face, tears dripping out of his eyes and onto his cheek. He prayed to whoever was listening that at least Keith would make it out okay, begged the deities to let his team and family know how sorry he was.

Unwittingly, his mind roamed to the faux macademia nut cookies he'd left for Lance on one of the castle's kitchen counters, to their oddly yellow chips. To the look on Sam Holt's face when he gave him a recipe book to take home with him to Earth and the promise that he would be the one to cook for Hunk when they all got back.

He begged himself not to think about the look on Coran's face as he sat at the kitchen counter for one of his late night teas--the ones where he couldn't sleep because he remembered the screams of his people--and realizing that Hunk wouldn't be joining him.

He didn't want to think about it, but more than anything, he hoped his team knew that he loved them with his entire being; that he would do anything and everything for them and that if it were up to him, he'd stay with them forever.

He wanted them to go home, even if he couldn't. He wanted Lance to go home to his sisters and brothers and tell them stories about the embellished grandeur of their life in space.

He wanted Keith and Shiro to get a break in life, to live happily doing whatever they wanted because, man, they deserved it.

He wanted Pidge to go to university as she'd always planned and go home and be with the family she spent so much time longing for.

He wanted someone to tell his parents that he lived. At least for a little while. That he did more than roll on his back and take it like the coward he'd tried so hard not to be.

Maybe it was selfish, but was it so bad to want to be remembered as a hero?

He whimpered low in his throat as the teeth gripped the metal guard covering his neck and bit down, making it creak loudly in his ears. He was scared. Gods, he was so scared.

He'd never felt more like a child than he had at that moment as he covered his dying friend with his body as he was torn to pieces by creatures that weren't even supposed to exist lightyears away from his family and his home. He wanted to be held by his mother just once more before he died. He was only eighteen, was it too much to ask?

He retched a sob as the metal clamped around his neck, giving in to the force. After a moment, he could feel the tips of the creature's teeth grazing his skin.

He leaned his forehead against Keith's ugly sounds coming out of his throat as he awaited his surely painful fate.

The teeth pierced his skin, setting his blood free in smooth rivets.

I love you, Keith. I love you, Lance. I love you, Shiro. I love you, Pidge. I love you, Allura. I love you, Coran. I love all of you so much and I hope you know that.

Pain.

Pain and popping sound that gave Hunk a start, flinching.

Hunk's eyes were wide as he felt a heaviness fall against his back, the teeth loosening into a  hold that lacked the crushing force that had been exhibited previously.

"Hunk?"

Hunk sobbed in relief, cautious to move with the monstrous teeth still so close to his neck. In an instant, the weight and teeth were gone and there was a thump to his left. Hunk's vision was blurred with tears as an emotional-looking Lance kneeled in front of him.

Hunk gave him a wobbly smile, snot running down his lips. Lance patted his shoulder. "Are you okay?"

Shakily, Hunk nodded. He felt that his relief was palpable, filling the air and crushing his lungs in a pleasing force.

Lance took Keith from him with a grimace as the state of the dark-haired teen. "Can you walk with your back like that?"

Hunk winced at the reminder and gently shifted his shoulders. "It's numb."

Concern flooded Lance's face but he gave a hard nod. "Okay, let's hurry."

[hcwlingccmmandcs]

Sweet - Chapter One

Small Business!AU

Pairing: Florist!Bucky Barnes x Baker!Fem Reader

Word Count: 1,037

Warnings: Maybe a few swear words because this me we’re talking about lmao, Liz and Peter bein little shits

A/N: Y’all, I woke up at 2 AM a couple weeks ago with this idea and I’m so for domestic super soldiers and small businesses wow. This is an AU, however, so Steve and Bucky are just super muscular, with no serum in their blood. Also, we’ll learn more about how different their pasts are in later chapters, also about Bucky’s arm (bc it’s not metal in this one). This is also not proofread because I don’t have a beta reader.

Tags: @captainrogerss @bucky-plums-barnes @bionic-buckyb @buckyforbreakfast @cravingmarvel @captain-ariel-barnes (Please let me know if you want to be tagged or if you don’t. No hard feelings if you don’t, I get it.)

It had been a busy day that day, your delivery guy Peter has been in and out of the shop all day, restocking the van with trays of cupcakes and cookies and cakes. The foot traffic in your store was insane as well, your display case running out of almost everything. Your assistant, Liz, was incredibly helpful with the register while you mainly stayed in the back, working on the special orders.

You were so busy that you almost didn’t notice that your normal flower supplier gave you a Queen Anne’s lace bouquet and not baby’s breath flowers. You needed baby’s breath for a three-tiered wedding cake that needed to be on the van in two hours, and your supplier gave you the wrong damn flowers.

What’s worse, the amount you spent on those flowers was ridiculous. It was wedding season, yes, but damn if you weren’t going to get your money back, you would need to find another supplier. And you wouldn’t get your money back. You spent a good forty-five minutes arguing with the customer service lady about those damn flowers, and she wouldn’t give you your money back. So now you were stressed, pissed, and short of a lot of money for stupid flowers.

“Why don’t you run across the street to that flower shop? I can hold down the fort for a couple minutes,” Liz had offered, once you ranted to her about your issue. She gave you a reassuring nod before you practically sprinted out the doors and barged into the flower shop directly on the other side of the street.

You normally wouldn’t care about the smears of frosting on your cheek and arms, or the sugar and flour dusting your tied up hair and your apron, if you didn’t run right into a giant wall of corded muscle. A faint puff of flour was still settling around the two of you from the impact, and the man in front of you had white frosting smudged on the back of his shirt.

“Oof, I’m sorry, doll. I didn’t see you there,” the man in front of you finally spoke, his voice deep and rough. He stepped away from you and turned to make sure you were okay, a small smile on his face.

Oh saints, his face looked like Greek god chiseled it himself, and the chocolate brown locks falling from the bun on his head framed his face perfectly. Icy blue eyes stared you down with the softest gaze and you probably would have melted in your spot, if you hadn’t been so stressed about damn flowers.

“It’s fine. It’s my fault. I just really need flowers,” you said, almost moving to step around the man before your eyes caught on the waist apron he’d been wearing. He’s the florist you’re looking for.

“Oh? What do you need? I’m sure Steve and I can help,” he says with a polite smile, pointing to the blond man near another display of bouquets on the other side of the small store. He sported a canvas apron, which did nothing to hide the sheer side of his chest and broad shoulders. He looked like he was crafted by the gods as well.

“Uh, baby’s breath,” you answered after looking at the man named Steve. The brunet nodded and started walking towards the counter.

“What for?” piped Steve, who followed his coworker to the counter.

“A wedding cake that needs to leave my shop in…” you start before glancing at the small watch on your wrist. “One hour.” Steve blew out an airy chuckle before nodding and disappearing behind a door of plastic strips that probably lead to their back area.

The brunet sat at the stool behind the desk and pulled out a small receipt book. It wasn’t that small, it only looked that way in his large hand. Steve came back out with a bouquet of the flowers you needed and clapped his coworker on the back.

“All yours, hun. No damage done,” he says, waving you off when you started patting down your jeans to find your wallet that wasn’t there. “Maybe Bucky and I will stop by your shop sometime and you can return the favor,” he adds with a grin, handing over the small flowers. You sighed and smiled gratefully at the two of them.

“Thank you so much. Anything in my display case, you can have,” you told them, earning nods from both of them before you darted out of the store.

An hour later, the wedding cake was adorned with the baby’s breath from American Botany was loaded onto your delivery van and Peter drove off to deliver it on time to the reception area of the wedding. You were up front with Liz, talking with each other now that there weren’t many people in your bakery anymore. She was still laughing at you for running straight into the back of one of the florists across the street.

“Liz, come on, it was an accident…”

“But it was hilarious!” she chortles, leaning back and almost falling off her little stool.

“So what? You and Peter run into each other nearly every morning.”

“That’s different. I’m pretty sure Pete does it on purpose now, just so he gets an excuse to talk to me.”

You laugh. “One of you needs to make the first move, and I got a red velvet cupcake saying Petey won’t have the guts,” you tease, and Liz almost pushes you off your own stool.

Just then, Peter walks in, rubbing the sweat from his forehead onto the back of this arm. “What are you two laughing about?” he asks, amused.

“How Y/N ran into one of the hot florists next door,” Liz says almost too quickly. Peter raises an eyebrow as a blush creeps onto your cheeks

“Really? Those big burly men? You think they’re hot?” he asks before his face turns pink. “I-I mean, yeah, of course they are…”

“Y/N said they looked like gods,” Liz giggled.

“I said they looked like they were made by the gods. Not the gods themselves. Big difference,” you sass, trying to defend your honor from these teenagers.

“Hmm, not really.”

“Shut up, Pete.”

Chapter Two >

[strangely-amusing]

Tiramisù

Characters : Jaehyun x You

Genre : Romance, Fluff, CoffeeShop!AU

Wordcount : 1251

Note : Honestly i don’t know what i’m doing :’) This doesn’t even make sense :“”“ 

Please do NOT plagiarize. This is an original story, and if you found any similarities with other writings then it is pure coincidence

The bell hanging above the door jingled as you pushed the door open, the wonderful scent of fresh brewed coffee filling in your nostrils. You grinned as you observed the cozy interior of the coffee shop, slowly walking towards the cash register.

There was no one behind the counter, giving you time to scan the menu before the cashier comes. The weather was pretty cold, so you decided to choose a hot beverage instead of cold ones like you usually order. You scanned the menu a couple of times, still unable to choose what to drink.

“They all seem good… “ You muttered to yourself, unaware of the presence behind the counter.

“Hello, my name is Jaehyun. May i take your order?” the guy greeted cheerfully, his eyes were filled with excitement. You gasped a little before you looked up, startled by his sudden appearance. You blushed immediately as you realized that the cashier was a very, very cute guy.

“O-Oh are you the cashier?” You asked dumbly, not really realizing that the answer was obvious. But to your surprise, he shook his head. “Not exactly. I’m a barista. The cashier, Yuta, accidentally hurt himself so he’s currently resting at the changing room. “

You nodded, processing his words. His smile widened as he looked at you. “So, may i take your order?”

“Oh right.” You immediately snapped out of your thoughts and looked back at the menu. You could hear his chuckles as you looked down, hiding your pink cheeks.

“Are you going to have a cold beverage? Or a hot one?” He asked softly, realizing that you haven’t chose what to have yet. You bit your lips, embarrassed that you took such a long time just to place an order. You looked down and answered him quietly. “Hot”

He chuckled when he caught a glimpse of your blushing cheeks. “You are adorable.”

“Huh?” You looked up abruptly, surprised at his sudden compliment. He shrugged, a coy smile decorating his face. You found yourself blushing even more, unable to think right anymore.

“How about Caramel Latte? Or if you prefer strong coffee, you could have a classic Americano.” He suggested, pointing at the menu. You nodded quickly, agreeing to whatever he suggested. “Caramel Latte sounds lovely.”

Jaehyun grinned and typed in your order. “Caramel Latte it is. Do you want a slice of cake as well? I recommend getting Tiramisù , it’s our best seller and my personal favorite. The bitterness of the coffee syrup compliments the sweet mascarpone cream really well. Fun Fact! Do you know that Tiramisù means pick-me-up?”

You chuckled at his excitement, finding him very cute. “Really?”

Jaehyun nodded, a small smile blooming on his face. “Yes. It originated from the Italian language. Well, makes sense since Tiramisù is an Italian dessert.”

You shook your head, a small smile decorating your face. Jaehyun grinned, happy that he made you smile. “I’m not really sure about the real meaning though, but i think it’s something that brightens your mood. Like coffee as a morning pick-me-up. So the Tiramisu is supposed to brighten your mood.”

You nodded wordlessly, paying attention to his every words.

“Oh If you don’t like strong coffee,  there are other cakes as well. However, I don’t really recommend the Red Velvet one though, our red velvets are basically chocolate cake dyed with red food coloring so….”

You stayed quiet as he kept talking, listening to his heavenly voice. He kept blabbering about his recommendations, until an unfamiliar voice interrupted him.

“Jaehyun-ah, the poor lady is already tired, she needs her drink!” A voice from behind the slightly opened door yelled out, chuckling lightly. Jaehyun then stopped, chuckling sheepishly before muttering a small apology. “Right, you must be thirsty. I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay. Thank you for your recommendation, but i think i’m only going to have the drink for now.” You replied with an apologetic smile, feeling bad because he had been recommending things and you decided not to order anything from his recommendations.

He nodded silently, typing in something into the computer. He then looked up with a small smile. “Can i have your name?”

You nodded, giving him your real name. It was a rare occasion, you usually use a fake name because you think its funnier that way. But this time, your gut told you to give your real name, so you did.

“You have such a beautiful name.” He said nonchalantly, writing your name down on the small piece of paper. Your face heated up once again as you tried to laugh it off. “Thanks, Jaehyun-ssi.”

He looked up, clearly not expecting you to say his name. He then chuckled, leaving you even more flustered. “That would be 4000₩.”

You reached into your purse, pulling out your wallet and giving him the exact amount of money. He accepted the money from your hand, his fingers brushing against yours. Looking at the grin on his face, you knew he was doing it on purpose. And that just made you even more flustered.

“Please take a seat and wait for your name to be called.” He said, giving you a small smile. You nodded and mumbled a small thanks before hurriedly taking a seat in the corner table.

You sighed in relief when you took a seat. The coffee shop was mostly empty, so you were able to choose the corner table, your favorite spot in almost every coffee shops. You stayed quiet, too caught up in your thoughts. You remembered his words from earlier and found your face heating up once again. “He’s too cute.”

“I really hope you’re talking about me.”

You gasped as you automatically looked up to the owner of the voice, finding the barista smirking at you slightly. He was carrying a tray, and you were sure that he was not supposed to do that. He was a barista, not a waiter. You stayed quiet, too shocked that he caught you talking to yourself, and most importantly, saying how cute he was. You were still frozen, even when he put a slice of cake next to your cup of coffee.

You snapped out of your trance when he was about to leave, holding back his sleeve. “Um, i didn’t order the cake though…”

He gave you a smile and shrugged. “But it was ordered under your name, so someone must have ordered it for you.”

You looked at the cake, dumbfounded. He then took a seat in the opposite side of the table, leaving you puzzled.  “Weren’t you about to leave just now?”

“I changed my mind.” He simply stated, grinning widely. You didn’t really know his intention so you shrugged it off.

You then observed the slice of cake, your mouth watering. You immediately recognized the cake as the one that Jaehyun mentioned earlier, the savoiardi and the strong coffee aroma gave it all away. You slowly rotated the cake, mesmerized by the beautiful layers.

You narrowed your eyes at the small piece of paper stuck on the side of the acetate. You carefully peeled it off and brought it closer to your face so you can see the small words clearly.

Your heart skipped a beat as you read the note, the blood rushing to your cheeks. You slowly looked up, and Jaehyun was looking at you with a wide smile on his face and slight pink hue on his cheeks. The corner of your lips curved into a smile, happiness bubbling inside you.

“I would love to.”