#until then I’m going to wait in the corner for either of the fandoms to burn me at the stake

[cinnamonxbug]

What happens when I allow two of my hyper fixations clash?

You get Shark Bait x Splatoon

Before I get crucified by the respective fandoms, this is my blog and I get to post cringe on it.

Anyways, this was a result of being bored one evening and allowing Shark Bait to be on the brain while I played Splatoon.

I recommend reading “Shark Bait” on Dorian by RoseMagpie!

[trekscribbles]

Backslide Chapter 1

Fandom: Leverage

Cross-Posted: AO3 and FF

Summary:

They stopped Damien Moreau. They put him in jail in San Lorenzo where he'd never be able to hurt anyone else, and Eliot thought he was finally, finally free.

And then Moreau escaped.

And he has one last job for Eliot: to kill his team and anyone else he's gotten close to since leaving.

“Eliot. My dear, dear Eliot. It’s so good to see you.”

The voice came out of the darkness like it always did in Eliot’s dreams, slicking over his skin like blood. It was always the same—Eliot was alone, walking home from the brewpub or one of the others’ apartments, searching for his car in the parking garage, locking up after the last shift. Always just him and the shadows and the voice, pinning him with fear the way Eliot used to do to others.

Eliot said the same thing he always said in his dreams. 

“You’re not here. You’re in jail in San Lorenzo, and you’re never getting out.”

“Did you learn that in therapy?” Moreau chuckled. He took a step out of the shadows, just enough for the hazy streetlights to illuminate his face.

“You’re not here,” Eliot repeated.

A satisfied grin curled at the corners of Moreau’s mouth. “At least you haven’t forgotten me. I wondered when I didn’t get any letters. Not even a postcard.”

This wasn’t possible. Moreau’s incarceration was permanent—was supposed to be permanent. It was over. This had to be another dream. But Eliot was no stranger to nightmares, and he’d learned years ago how to wake himself up when a dream turned dark.

And he wasn’t waking up.

“What do you want?” Eliot said. His voice came out solid and even, but if anyone could detect the hint of a tremor in his words, it would be Moreau.

“I’m here to offer you a job. And before you say no,” Moreau said, cutting off Eliot’s compulsive refusal. “You really ought to hear what it is.”

“What?” Eliot whispered.

The figure before him grinned and spread his hands wide. “Certainly you didn’t expect to get away with your little stunt consequence-free, did you? I know you like to play the fool, my dear Eliot, but you’re much smarter than that. I let you go once before because I figured you’d come back eventually. You know that saying—if you love something, let it go and it will return? I always figured you’d return. But now... now an example must be made. So. The job is to kill your family, your friends, anyone with whom you’ve made the tiniest connection, down to the little old lady you chat with in line at the grocery store. Anyone you have stained with your filthy presence—starting with Nathan Ford and the rest of your little crusaders. Their lives will be your punishment.”

The air inside Eliot’s lungs went cold, seeping into his blood, his brain. “Why are you telling me this?”

“Professional courtesy,” Moreau shrugged. “For old time’s sake. I did like you once, Eliot.”

“I’m not going to—”

“Well, that’s certainly your choice,” Moreau interrupted. “But the job doesn’t go away simply because you refuse it. Either way, anyone with the least connection to you is going to die. I just thought you might want some control over how they died.” 

“You listen to me, Moreau,” Eliot snarled. He surged into the alley, but Moreau stepped back until he was swallowed by shadows once more. Eliot followed, twisting to find the threat like he had thousands of times before, but there was nothing. The alley was empty.

“You have three days, Eliot,” said Moreau’s voice, filling the space like fog. “Then I hire someone else.”

“Moreau!” 

The faint echo of laughter bounced around the alley, but everything else was still. Moreau was gone. Eliot was alone again.

Eliot’s knees hit the pavement before he realized they’d collapsed. He waited to wake up, waited for the chill in his bones to fade, but he stayed there in the damp alley as the minutes ticked by. Three days. He had three days to protect every person he’d ever had any kind of relationship with. He had three days to contact anyone he knew who might take a job from Moreau and beg them to steer clear.

Or he had three days to hunt down Moreau and take care of the problem once and for all.

[georgiapeach30513]

Hi peach ❤️ Mrs pasta checking in

It’s been a long week, huh? If you’re in the USA, like some of us, 😵‍💫 but I’m going to avoid the politics talk.

I hope you are faring well despite everything.

I have no shade to throw today but I do want to remind some people on here in the midst of a lot of toxicity (not politics related). There’s a small group on here that has turned into a hilarious mix of haters/antis/no longer sure what they’re supposed to be but they’re 100% counterproductive. Imagine being that bored with your own life you spend your days torturing yourself following someone you “hate.” But I guess some people like being miserable.

Ramen, try as he might, is not a very good liar and I don’t think he would make a convincing salesman 🤣 but I do think that he filmed a movie in 2022 and it was delayed a year to release, and now that some are feeling extra in their feelings about him, are seeking confirmation through searching the internet for bad reviews on his film so they can project more negativity onto him.

He’s actively worked on three (still working on the third) projects this year. None of these projects have been released and I don’t believe they’ve confirmed any release date for these films either (correct me if I’m wrong).

So if that’s the case, I think it’s wise to wait things out and see how the rest of these projects pan out and whatever he decides to do next. bemoaning and groaning on a movie that was filmed 2 years ago as a yardstick of a person’s current life and career is a bit of an interesting choice. I think most of his fans knew this movie wasn’t going to be an awards darling by any means and especially knowing that the rock and his crew are behind this..how is anyone surprised if it’s a goofy overblown exaggeration of a ride?

Besides, the actors that work on this film are all professionals. They all do this for a living and promoting a silly goofy probably not going to be a hit with critics movie and playing along with the silliness is part of the job.

Marketing. PR. Yes yes it’s all mostly lies and manipulation. A lot of us have tried telling some of you that Hollywood is a business first, and everything else second. If you sit here upset that a celeb would possibly play up or even “lie” about something while promoting a film, then you may want to get out of this fandom and check the rest of the world.

This is not me being mean or invalidating other people’s feelings. I’m just telling you all as someone who works in an industry that’s all about manipulation and selling, myself. I do it because it’s a job. I don’t agree with everything but they pay me. I separate my own personal feelings from my work and then I go home. Life moves on no matter what.

Peach, thank you for being ramen’s shining beacon of support. They really ought to start paying you and anni for the work you both do for this fandom.

😘❤️

Be well

Mrs. Pasta! I was hoping you would drop in this week because what a week we've had! But yes, there's a reason that I avoid politics here, and that's because this is my escape. And like most of us, we're just not in the best place.

Unfortunately it does seem to have a heavy dose of toxicity in our little corner on tumblr. I think there's quite a few groups that are a bit counterproductive instead of just enjoying the plethora of content we've been gifted, but hey ho.

Ramen is one of the worst liars I have seen. And I'm not sure what that means sometimes. This movie was filmed in 2022, and carried on into 2023, and of course, was originally set to released Christmas 2023, but who knows what was going on behind the scenes for it to be delayed until this holiday season. This movie was also never going to be a critical success. Movies like this are meant to be for audience success, but what do I know?

I actually find it quite commendable that he's been able to make himself be so busy this year with work. Compared to what his tone was in the GQ interview fall 2023, this is a stark difference. He's showing that there is work to be had if you want it. He's taking on smaller roles, and he still seems proud of that fact. However, as of yet, there is no release date for any of these projects filmed this year. I suspect Honey, Don't release should be announced soon-ish.

And I think you're right about expectations on Red One. Judging the trailers, I think we're getting exactly what I thought we would be getting. It looks like a fun, goofy, not too serious Christmas movie. And honestly, I love those. Not every movie was meant to be a critical darling, or be awarded. Sometimes you just want to have a good time.

I think if most people would look at Hollywood as a business everyone would be better off. It is just lipstick and rouge, and they show us what they want us to see. Sometimes there's some cracks in the foundation, and we see a bit of the lies and manipulations. And in this case this is a family movie, so to no surprise some people are playing up the family aspect of it all. Interesting, and yet not, all at the same time.

Sometimes you have to pick and choose what you want to see, hear, learn, and you just have to learn it's not that serious at the end of the day. It's entertainment, and when you look at it as such, you have a lot more fun. And honestly, a lot of us have been entertained lately.

Ooh, you got to watch talking about pay on here, it sends the wrong message, and people like to call you the p word. Anne and I, and so many of our mutuals and followers, just want to have fun. Isn't that was a fandom space, such as tumblr is supposed to be about? Not about constant drama and arguing, but enjoying an entertainer? Their work? Getting excited about public appearances? Spreading memes, gifs, and works of fiction?

Mrs. Pasta, as always it's a pleasure. And I look forward to your next drop in. As always, take care!

[takeyourdailydoseofcyanide]

Child Psychology

AO3

Fandom: Soul Eater

Characters: Franken Stein, Minor Original Characters (implied parent, psychologist )

Word Count: 1 525

Tags: Mental Anguish, Mental Health Issues, Mental Instability, Short One Shot, Defragmentation, Minor Original Character(s), Tags Are Hard, something of a therapist’s/psychiatrist’s office, It's Not Paranoia If They're Really Out To Get You, Psychiatric Examination, Minor Character(s)

Summary: A young Stein is pacing around throughout the waiting room and corridor of a psychologist’s office, preparing himself for what is to come. He is taken back for examination. His thoughts ensue.

Notes: The lyric “I get mean when I’m nervous like a bad dog” is from the song Cop Car by the artist Mitski.

I am hoping to be able to write more than what could somewhat be considered defragmentation soon. Is that what it is?

Oh, and while this title was not inspired by the song ‘Child Pscyhology’ by Blackbox Recorded, you should go listen to that if you’d like.

I’m only tagging this as “mental instability” because I know what it is considered to be, and need some tags to utilize.

The off-white walls were decorated with kiddy paintings of cartoon animals; bears, cats, and dogs alike. There was a little shelf in the corner of the room, stacked with children’s books, accompanied by a box of building blocks and a small train set. A white board hung on the wall beside it, a magnetic eraser shoved into its upper left edge, markers stuffed into a holder of sorts, which sat atop the aforementioned shelf.

There was a mother and her daughter sitting in the two seats closest to the check-in counter, a little boy fiddling with his tablet across from them. Stein made sure to steer as far away from those strangers as possible, instead pacing in a continuous circle beginning close to the entrance of the room and into the long corridor outside of it, only stopping cautiously in his tracks when a person would walk by.

He failed to suppress the twitching of his hands, the sharp ticking of his head, the spasms in his facial muscles. The quiet voices acting as grating background noise seemed to either disappear or worsen the gnawing of his bones, or perhaps even both simultaneously. He ignored the glances he’d receive. You’d think they’d be used to it, even unbothered by his supposed “quirks,” given where they all currently were.

How much more time would she take to ramble in her office? He was supposed to partake in testing soon. Though maybe it was a good thing that it was taking so irritatingly long- but what even were they discussing? What aspects of him were being dissected and put on display? What aspects of him were they planning on “treating”- or, truly, attempting to eviscerate, dilute, and poison?

The mere thought seemed to leave him a little more lightheaded than before, a gentle churning in his stomach, a persistent throbbing in between his brows, a ringing, hissing sound in his ears.

His head jerked somewhere to the side, his neck producing a cracking noise.

He’d gladly rip them both apart if it meant keeping himself safe from their deceptive, gaslighting poison.

‘I get mean when I’m nervous like a bad dog,’ the lyrics played in his head repetitiously.

When he got too agitated, he got too impulsive. Not even *he* knew what he’d do in such a state. He was almost entirely unable to control himself.

Let them make one remark. Let them plan right in front of him. Let them say one thing indicative of their true and overt intentions.

Perhaps the willingness to put them to death was a true testament to what they perceived as his ‘schizopathy.’ In their scrutinizing eyes, anyway. It was simply the logical conclusion. Well, until he’d have to go on trial.

He had never once been a sweet, normal child. He’d only be met with scrutiny, for only sweet, normal children were afforded such liberties as patience and understanding, as sweet treatment, as-

“What are you doing over there?” A familiar, conspicuous voice spoke.

“Come on back,” the dreaded one spoke.

He did not speak back.

‘Help.’ What a meaningless term. They did not wish to help, only to hurt. Only to ruin.

The dreaded one seemed to ask him something, though he did not hear it over the volume of his own buzzing, clashing trains.

“Do you remember when you asked me why I didn’t call for help?” Stein blurted out in a low, somewhat shaky voice. It sounded weighted, troubled. It sounded as though speaking came difficult to Stein. His tone was different- they’d ruthlessly point it out to him. It was another one of his involuntary responses towards his own agitation, towards the noise, the gnawing. Almost higher-pitched, lifting, yet low and mumbled. Breathy, even. Strained and filled with struggle.

“Uh, yes. Why?”

“I don’t have that instinct.”

“The instinct to call for help?”

“Yes. I do not possess that same instinct that everyone else seems to.”

And what will she respond with but nothing at all; subtleties so blatant and poorly disguised with useless, pompous academic speech, falsified sympathy, and pseudo-curious jargon. Should he flush the pills they’d give him down the toilet? Would that be rude, given that they cost money? Perhaps he’d fake taking them. No. He’d be much too agitated to be overly calculated. He could do that later on, but at first, he was more likely to put on a show of open rebellion. Truly, would he only be baring his fear for them to witness and utilize to their advantage? Was it even fear?

‘I get mean when I’m nervous like a bad dog.’

They could smell the devouring of his flesh and insides, couldn’t they? They could sense the necrosis. A block and cloud the size of two malignant tumors were wedged somewhere in between his corpus callosum- in between the two hemispheres of the brain he was in possession of.

And while that brain he possessed could be influenced by both genetic and environmental factors, the truest and largest reason as to why he was the way he was happened to be the fact that he simply was not human in any way, shape, or form. He was not connected much to his brain, though his brain and body were clearly interlinked. He was something entirely separate. Not even the consciousness. He was the apparition, mythological-like something. A non-human soul. Or did he not have one? He was not the supposed soul, but only something. He’d grown so close to figuring out what that something was.

“Fran…n?”

Or maybe he was Charlie Brown.

“Franken Stein?”

“Hm?” He hummed distractedly. He was gone. The pot was soon to tip over. At any moment it would. The final straw would surely be the “treatment.”

“Did you hear me?”

He shook his head softly, his chest feeling restricted and stuffed full of nothing at all.

“We’re going to be doing some testing today-“

“I know.”

A slight chuckle came from the other end.

“And you are aware of what all you’re being tested for, correct?”

“Extremely.”

“I’d be worried if you weren’t.”

She flipped through various documents, presumably papers upon papers filled with nothing but prodding, invasive questioning.

“We’re going to have you go ahead and take these in the room down the hall on the left.”

“I remember.” Somehow, and for once.

His head ticked off to the side, his lips involuntarily twitching into a faltering, unsteady grin.

The gnawing was getting to him. He was unable to conceal the effects it had on him. Hopefully, no laughter would be had. But it definitely *will be* had if they so much as bring “treatment” up.

She lead him down the hall, laying the various papers and packets down carefully onto the table at which he sat, handing him two pencils and an eraser, and a sharpener just in case.

“All right, you already know the drill, so, do you need anything before I leave?”

‘To be sedated. Peace and quiet. To be high. To receive acknowledgment for my efforts, whether it’s deserved or not. To be rocked and swayed. To never have “treatment” forced on me. Multiple human subjects to experiment on and dissect. Perhaps even non-human subjects. Dinosaurs are fun. I want to dissect a dinosaur. Imagine dissecting a dreadnoughtus. That would be so fucking fascinating. Imagine how pleasantly long it would take-‘

“Franken? Are you with me?”

“Uhm…”

“Do you need anything before you begin?”

“No.”

“All right, then. Just hand those to the lady at the front desk before you leave.”

‘I know.’

“Okay.”

She politely exited, shutting the door behind her.

Stein was left in a delightful, but likely to be short-lived silence. They never liked it when he was provided with any quiet time, after all.

His head jerked once more, as he scanned the room suspiciously.

He lifted one of the pencils in his hand. His eyes met the words on the first packet he’d grabbed and set directly in front of himself.

He massaged the bridge of his nose rather briefly, suppressing a yawn, rubbing childishly at his watering eyes, and struggling for a moment to understand what he was reading- or, really, failing to focus on.

His thoughts were playing too loudly, and so were their thoughts. They’d serenade him, which didn’t ruin his focus, but the unnerving cadence their whispers possessed more than certainly did.

As he managed eventually to maintain a steady grip on the pencil, managing to scribble in the true or false bubbles, the noisy, gnawing sensation that caused his body to tweak and jerk remained as strong as ever, his chest still floaty and heavy, his breathing patterns a little off, though he was so used to it at this point, it might as well have been his average pattern. Was it difficult to breathe? He couldn’t tell.

Multiple doses of sharp pains in his thoracic and abdominal cavities left him internally groaning to himself.

The pot was to soon spill over. A pot full of boiling water, which would certainly burn anyone in its spreading path, as soon as it fell off of the stovetop.

[mischievouslittlecreature]

Part 3: Bedside Manner

Fandom: The Dark Knight Trilogy

Pairing: Jonathan Crane x OC

Summary: He really does worry about her too much.

Word Count: 3,282

Notes: This is so goddamn fluffy and soft you guys I don’t even know what to say. Takes place after Jonathan and Vanessa have started working at Arkham. For those curious, the exact procedure Vanessa gets in this is a bilateral salpingectomy, which is a removal of the fallopian tubes, often as a method of permanent birth control. I am not a doctor, so apologies for any medical inaccuracies. Warnings for references to surgery and tokophobia.   

Previous Part • Series • Next Part

Jonathan kept an arm firmly around her as they walked up to their apartment building, being mindful of the small incisions in her stomach. Punching the button for the elevator, he rested a hand to her forehead, brows creased with worry.

“Relax, ‘m not gonna fall,” she mumbled, even as she leaned against him gratefully, still a little drowsy and wobbly on her feet from the anesthesia. He didn’t say a word, just pursed his lips and tightened his grip on her, ushering her into the elevator and pushing the number for their floor.

“Are you still dizzy?” he asked as they made their way down the hallway, pulling his keys from his pocket and unlocking the apartment door.

“A little,” she admitted. “Mostly just feel loopy, though.”

“Mm,” he locked the multiple locks on the door once they were inside and herded her towards the couch in the living room, helping her to settle against the cushions, reclining the seat for her and tucking a pillow under her head, grabbing the soft orange blanket folded over the back of the couch to wrap around her. “Are you hungry? Want me to get you something?”

“Not right now,” she yawned. 

“Tea?”

She wasn’t really that thirsty either, but he seemed to need something to do, else he would begin fussing.

“Sure.”

Cuddling the worn blanket closer to her, she watched with quiet fondness as he rushed away into the kitchen, fumbling with the kettle. He really did worry about her too much.

The surgery really wasn’t that big of a deal; and it had been something that she’d wanted to have done for years. To rid herself of the increasing anxiety that came with being riddled with diagnosable tokophobia.

Good-bye, fallopian tubes. You will not be missed.

It had been a thorough pain in the ass convincing someone to actually give her the procedure, but her calculated and carefully curated friendship–okay, friendship was a rather generous term, more like friendly acquaintance–with one of the surgeons who she’d gone to college with had helped her jump the line.

She really was dead lucky. Most people had to wait until they were at least thirty for the doctors to agree to jettison their tubes. Having Jonathan stand sternly in the darkest corner of the room with his most serious face during her consultations had probably helped.       

“Still feeling okay?” he asked, setting a mug of steaming tea carefully onto a coaster on the table next to her.

“Mhm. A little pain in my shoulders, but not too bad.”

“I could go get you a heating pad or something–” he made a move to head towards the hallway where the linen closet was, but she grabbed at the sleeve of his shirt before he could get too far away.

“What I want is to just lay here and nap and watch terrible sitcoms. I’m fine, okay? Don’t fuss. I know that you have work to do. If I need you, I’ll holler,” the office door was quite literally right there. She probably wouldn’t even need to actually yell for him to hear her. But still, Jonathan frowned, eyes looking her up and down. Vanessa sighed good naturedly. “Or, you could go get your work and come sit here next to me. If  that would make you feel better.”

He stroked the back of his hand along her cheek. “Okay.”

She waited until he got settled beside her, case notes on his lap and pen in hand, before she pressed the play button on the remote, snuggling down into the couch.

She was asleep before even thirty minutes had passed.

∗ ∗ ∗ 

She woke up still on the couch. The television was on but outside it was dark. Her blanket was tucked up to her chin, and she was warm.

“Jonathan?” her eyesight was blurry, mind still half asleep. Curled up beside her, he stirred, immediately bending over her.

“You okay? Are you in pain?”

“No, ‘m okay,” she yawned. “A little hungry.”

“I’ll heat something up for you. What do you want?”

“We still have some of that chicken parm soup left?”

“I think so. You want that?”

“Yeah.”

He departed only briefly to get them both some soup, the microwave beeping and whirring as it worked. The soup steamed from the bowls, generous pieces of chicken and pasta floating in the watery red liquid.

“After you’ve eaten you can take your pain meds.”

“Okay,” she hadn’t even realized how ravenous she was until she scooped up the first mouthful, not even caring when she slightly burned her tongue. Her finished bowl was deposited onto the worn coffee table, swallowing her horse pills with a large gulp of water before curling back up onto the couch. Jonathan stretched out beside her.

“Do you want to go to bed?”

“Yeah,” she lifted a hand to cover a yawn, squeaking when in one fluid motion she was off of the couch and cradled securely in his arms, being carried bridal style towards the bedroom. “I can walk!” she laughed, arms looping around his neck.

He settled her down very, very carefully onto the bed, rummaging around, dresser drawers squeaking as he gathered up both of their sets of pajamas. She changed sluggishly, realizing with every required movement just how exhausted and weak she felt. But that was normal; they had told her before the surgery that the first three or so days would be the hardest. Still, the feeling of being so physically vulnerable made her more nervous than she’d care to admit, suddenly incredibly grateful that Jonathan had taken the next several days off of work to take care of her.

“If you’re not tired, or need to get more work done that’s okay…” she mumbled as she got herself situated on the pillows. Jonathan’s eyes narrowed stubbornly, climbing into his spot beside her, long limbs folding gracefully into the bed.

“I’m not going anywhere,”  he tucked a lock of long black hair behind her ear.

“If you’re sure…” the words were spoken even as she inched closer to him, humming as his arm wrapped around her, being careful not to put any pressure on her incisions. 

“Mhm,” he hummed in affirmation.

“Okay, then.”

∗ ∗ ∗ 

“Nessa?”

She whined, head between her knees, legs curled towards her chest. The tile of the bathroom where she was sitting beside the toilet was cold. Jonathan took another cautious step into the little room, kneeling down beside her and gingerly touching her knee. She felt bad for not waking him. It had probably scared him a little; to have woken up without her beside him.

“Nauseous?”

She just nodded, taking a deep breath, as if that would somehow help settle her stomach. “Haven’t actually been sick, though.”

Shifting so that he was sitting beside her, he rubbed her back. “Do you want me to call the doctor?”

“No. It’s not that bad,” squirming a bit, she groaned. “Shoulders hurt more this morning too.”

“I’m sorry.”

She just shrugged. These were all normal side effects, nothing to be too concerned about yet. But they still sucked.

Stretching his head around to check the time on the clock hanging from the wall, Jonathan huffed. “You can’t take your pain meds without eating something.”

She groaned softly at the suggestion of food, stomach writhing. Jonathan increased the circles he was rubbing into her back.

“Once you’re outside of the twenty-four hour window, the nausea should get better. Think you could handle some crackers?”

“I can try.”

“Okay. I’ll be right back,” he kissed her on the top of the head, disappearing in the kitchen and returning with a sleeve of saltines. Suppressing a gag, she took one from him, nibbling on it tentatively. He pressed his warm side up against hers, watching carefully as she slowly ate one cracker after another. The food seemed to actually help, the nausea abating, if only slightly.

They waited until they were confident that she wasn’t going to throw the crackers back up before she took her painkillers.

“Let’s go back to bed. It won’t be good for your pain to sit on the hard floor like this.”

“I might puke on you,” she warned, even as she let him pull her slowly to her feet and guide her back to the bedroom.

“That’s okay.”

She still insisted that he put a trash can next to her side of the bed. Just in case. It took her a long time to fall back to sleep, the nausea and persistent pain in her shoulders from the gas keeping her up. But Jonathan stayed up with her, rubbing her shoulders and kissing her temple until she finally dozed off.

When she woke up, she took one look at Jonathan, who was sitting up in bed beside her, one arm still around her while the other balanced a book in front of him, and promptly burst into tears.

“Vanessa?” the second he heard her sniffling the book was slammed shut and deposited on the bedside table, hand reaching for her as he tried to discern what was wrong. “Are you in pain?”

She just shook her head furiously, burying her head in her hands. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry. I just–” she sniffled. “You’re always so nice to me!” she wailed finally, flinging her arms around his neck and burying her head in his chest. She felt Jonathan stiffen, probably in very much a ‘oh shit, she’s crying what do I do’ type of way, before hesitantly raising his arms to rub her back.

“Okay, um. That’s–uh…it’s no problem?” he stuttered, patting her head awkwardly. Pressing her forehead into his chest, she sniffled, once, taking in a deep, shaking breath–owwww, it hurt to do that–before pulling back enough that she could wipe at her eyes with the back of her hand. As quick as the sudden bout of emotion had come it seemed to be gone.

“Sorry. I don’t–I don’t know where that came from.”

“It’s okay,” his hand was still resting warmly on her back. “Sure you’re alright?”

“Mhm,” blinking, she looked around the room in a daze. “Not nauseous anymore either.”

“That’s good.”

“Well,” she sighed–again, ow–and ran a hand through her hair. “That was weird.”

“Probably just post-op blues.”

“Probably.”

“How’s the pain?”

“More than yesterday, but not that bad.”

“Tomorrow it will likely be the worst.”

“Mm,” she laid her head on his chest. “More fun to look forward to. What were you reading?”

He lifted the book so that she could see the cover.

“Oooo. Nice.”

“Want me to read it to you?” he asked, opening it back up to his bookmark, adjusting his glasses on his nose.

“Actually, yeah.”   

 Cheek warm thanks to being pillowed against his chest, she let the sound of his voice settle her, working like a balm over her aching bones. 

∗ ∗ ∗ 

Just as Jonathan had predicted, she woke up on the third day in agony.

“Jonathan,” she barely managed to get his name out, nearly doubling over. He was still asleep beside her. Whimpering, she pawed at his chest desperately. “Jonathan.”

He woke up fast, asleep one moment and all but shooting up, eyes open wide, in the next.

“What is it?” he bent over her, hands cupping her face.

“Hurts,” was all she managed to get out. He was up and out of bed in a second, rushing to the kitchen and returning with another sleeve of crackers, the bottle of painkillers, and a glass of water.

“Here,” he gave her the crackers first, shaking a pill out into his palm as she shoved a few in her mouth. While she swallowed it down he checked her incisions under her loose pajama shirt, then climbed back in beside her. “It’s okay,” he soothed, gathering her up into his chest, letting her cling to him as they both waited for the pain to subside. “It’s okay.”

But she could hear his heart hammering fast as a hummingbird’s wings in his chest, and she couldn’t help but wonder which of them in that moment was more scared.

∗ ∗ ∗ 

She managed to sleep through most of the third day, and woke up on the fourth feeling much better. And while Jonathan still insisted on doing most things for her–cooking food, fetching water, and god forbid he catch her trying to lift something even moderately heavy–she felt far more capable than she had the previous few days. The pain in her belly and shoulders was manageable, and even the feelings of exhaustion and weakness were starting to abate. A good thing, too, since once the weekend was over he would have to go back to work. She still had another week off to recover, but she would have to fend for herself while he was away during the day.

That shouldn’t be a problem, so long as she continued to improve. 

∗ ∗ ∗ 

He was going to drive her insane.

Okay, more insane than she already was.

Because despite her consistent improvements each day that passed from the surgery, Jonathan wouldn’t let her do anything. No matter how much she insisted that she felt fine, he insisted on remaining close to her, checking her vitals regularly and fussing over every little thing.

“What are you doing up?”

Oh, come on.

“I was just getting a glass of water–”

“You’re supposed to be resting,” he swooped over, plucking the empty glass from her hands.

“I don’t think that walking the three steps from the living room to the kitchen is gonna cause me to keel over, babe.”

He pointed to the couch sternly. “Go lay back down.”

“Okay, okay, geez,” she shuffled back to the couch, plopping down and pouting. “Dr. Crane is mean.”

“He wouldn’t need to be if Dr. Sullivan wasn’t known for overexerting herself.”

“Oh my god, that was one time–”

“You tried to go to the kickboxing gym one day after you were diagnosed with a concussion.”

Huffing dramatically, she pulled her blanket back up to her chin. “Your bedside manner needs work.”

“My bedside manner is excellent.” 

“Jonathan, we did our residencies together. I’ve seen you interact with difficult patients.”

He came over to the couch with her water. “Name one time that I was unreasonable when working with patients.”

“You prescribed high dosage sedatives for a woman because she kept flirting with you!”

“Nes, that was you.”

She blinked. “Oh, was it? Damn.”

He chuckled and kissed her forehead.

“Okay, but I know it was you who gave one of the patients a hallucinogen because he sneezed on you.”

Jonathan shrugged. “I was just teaching him basic manners. You cover your nose when you sneeze, everyone knows that.”

Vanessa snorted out a giggle, reaching back to cup his face and kiss him chastely on the lips. When they parted, she huffed, blowing a raspberry. He raised a questioning eyebrow. “I’m bored.”

“You have your book.”

“I finished it already,” she grumbled, glancing at the well loved copy of ‘Salem’s Lot on the coffee table. “I miss work.”

“You remember what the surgeon said…”

“Yeah, I know. I know,” she slumped back onto the couch, looking around her at the pile of finished books, her sketchbook open to a half finished, detailed still life drawing of a pumpkin, and the dozens of tiny little paper origami cranes, boats, and flowers scattered around her. Jonathan slipped carefully into the spot beside her on the couch, wrapping his arm around her shoulder. She snuggled into his side, pouting.

“Maybe…when I go back to the asylum, I can bring you some of your case notes to work on,” he suggested. Vanessa tilted her head up to look at him.

“Really?”

He shrugged. “Sure.”

Stretching up, she pecked his cheek. “Thank you.”

He looked down, blushing and stuttering. It was cute how even after how long they’d been together, he still got so flustered sometimes when she showered him with her affection.  

∗ ∗ ∗ 

The discomfort was mostly minimal now. She didn’t need the painkillers prescribed by the doctor anymore, ibuprofen more than sufficient in treating her pain. Assuming that everything remained fine, she would probably be able to return to work the next week.

Jonathan had gone back to work two days ago, confident enough that she could fend for herself for the hours he was gone without dying. Though he’d still been all nervous and jittery about leaving her alone the first day. Truth be told, she’d missed him when he was gone, insistent fussing and all.

He’d brought her some of her case notes to work on, finally providing a bit of relief from the boredom of being bound to the couch all hours of the day.

She had her legs curled up underneath her, pen twirling absentmindedly in her hand as she looked over the papers spread out in front of her. At the sound of keys sliding into the door her head perked up, lips tugging upwards as Jonathan pushed his way into the apartment, clicking the locks into place behind him and dropping his briefcase down by the door before coming over to the couch to kiss her.

“Hi.”

“Hey. Is it raining outside?” she asked, taking note of the slight dampness coating his hair.

“Only a little,” he lifted the bag he had dangling from one hand. “I brought food.”

Stacking her notes into a neat pile, she tossed them onto the coffee table. “I love you.”

Jonathan chuckled, placing another kiss to her cheek and leaving the food with her to be unwrapped as he shucked off his suit jacket, tossing it over the back of a chair, loosening his tie and tossing that away as well, rolling up his shirt sleeves to his elbows. Vanessa bit her lip, silently lamenting that she was banned from any funny business for at least another week or so. 

As soon as he was on the couch, she handed him his food, settling her own container from the bag in her lap and scooting closer to him, cozying up to his side.

“I missed you,” her lips pressed insistently to his cheek, where a dimple sometimes appeared when he smiled. Jonathan shot her a look that she could only describe as soft, leaning into her touch.

“I missed you too,” his hand stroked over her thigh. “How are you feeling?”

“Good. Still a little tired, I guess.”

“Hm,” he hummed, reclining back against the couch, pulling her with him until she was nestled close to his side.

“How was work?” she asked around a mouthful of her pasta, twisting another helping carefully around her fork.

“Alright. A few people asked about you. Johnson had another episode and almost swallowed his own tongue. They’re keeping him in the infirmary for a while.”

“Oh, well. At least he didn’t die, the paperwork would have been a nightmare.”

His snicker sounded low and deep in his chest, hand stroking through the long, loose locks of her hair. They switched on the TV, eating in comfortable silence as they listened to the gentle hum of the voices from the speakers. Containers of food discarded, she ended up with her arms wrapped around his ribs, her head pillowed on his chest as they just lounged, eyelids growing heavy.

“Jonathan?” she poked him suddenly in the shoulder, rousing him from the slight doze he had slipped into.

“What?”

Tracing nonsense patterns into his chest, she shrugged. “Thank you for taking such good care of me.”

His thumb stroked along her jaw, tilting her head upwards so that he could peck her on the lips. 

“Always.”

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[middleearthpixie]

Promise Me ~ Chapter Ten

Summary: Friends since childhood, Gabriella has long held back her feelings where Boromir is concerned, as she did not want to risk losing his friendship if he didn't feel the same. But, then he is summoned to Rivendell, and the night before he is to leave, he stuns Gabriella by confessing his feelings for her as well. 

But, war is coming and he cannot put off what he knows must be done. All Gabriella can do is wait for him and pray for his safe return. 

Fandom: The Lord of the Rings (AU, Boromir lives)

Pairing: Boromir x ofc Gabriella

Characters: Gabriella, Boromir, Aron

Warnings: None

Rating: T

Word Count: 3.5k

Tag List: @sotwk @fizzyxcustard @evenstaredits @way-too-addicted-to-fandoms @emmyspov @finnofamerica @lathalea @ass-deep-in-demons @quiall321 @mistofstars @justfollowtheroad @guardianofrivendell @glassgulls

If you’d like to be added (or removed) to the tag list, please just let me know!

Previous chapters can be found here.

Gabriella didn't look back as she stormed away from Boromir’s apartment because if she did, she knew she’d turn around and go back and finish the fight with him and that was the last thing she wished to do. But at the same time, she knew something troubled him, something weighed so heavily upon his mind, it had to, for him to lash out the way he did. The Boromir she knew was no pushover, but he was at his core, a gentle man. Despite his training, and despite all the weight he carried upon his broad shoulders, he was not hard and cold, like his father. He was no dreamer, like Faramir could be, but he was not made of stone, either. 

But what was it that troubled him so greatly and why did he feel he had to carry that weight alone? 

Instead of marching all the way back to the tavern, she instead went to the infirmary, where she found Dory at the back of the main room. “Do you have a moment?”

Dory looked up. “What is it? What’s wrong? You look upset, Gab.”

“I am upset.” She looked about at the crowded room. It didn't seem anyone was straining to listen in on what she had to say, but of course that didn't mean nobody was trying to at all. “But not here. Perhaps we might go out in the courtyard?”

“Of course. We’ve everything under control here, more or less, so I don't think Ioreth will mind.” Dory slipped her arm through Gabriella’s and steered her toward the doors that opened onto the sun splashed courtyard. There were few people out there, patients well enough to sit up and take in the sunlight, but Dory didn't stop near them. Instead, she directed Gabriella toward the far back corner, where along the white stone wall ringing the courtyard, stood a small table and chairs of wrought iron. 

They settled in the chairs and Dory said, “So, give over and tell me, Gab, what happened? What has you so upset? You look ready to spit nails.”

“I do believe I’ve agree to marry a jackanapes.”

“Wait…” Dory’s eyes went wide. “Do you mean that Boromir… and you… wait… he proposed?”

“That is exactly what I mean and at the moment, I could cheerfully throttle him blue.”

“Wait… slow down and go back to the beginning. When did he propose?”

“Last eve. Or perhaps it was early this morning, I’m not exactly certain what time it was. But that hardly matters, so—”

Dory leaned closer, her eyes bright as she whispered, “Do you mean to tell me you were with him last eve?”

“I just said I was, didn't I?”

“Well, yes, but I didn’t—did you sleep with him?”

“Dory!”

“What?” Dory was all innocence as she smiled. “You promised me details. Or, at least, some details. Remember?”

Gabriella sighed softly. “Yes,” she nodded, “I do remember and yes, he is the sort of man who just knows what to do and how to do it and was not be happy until he made my eyes cross and my heart threaten to leap right out of my chest.”

“So, what happened between the eye-crossing and this morning?”

“That’s just it, Dor, I have no idea. Everything was fine and then… and then it wasn’t.”

“What do you mean, it wasn’t?”

“I don't know what upset him so, but it had something to do with a halfling who’s here. With both of them, I think, but especially the one who wasn't hurt.”

“Pippin.”

“You know who he is?”

Dory nodded. “He sang for Denethor before he—well, before—and he has a beautiful voice. Boromir knows him?”

“Apparently. Someone came up to Boromir’s chambers to ask if this Pippin could come and pay a call on him and—”

“What did he say when he saw you in Boromir’s bed?”

She rolled her eyes. “He didn’t see me. And Boromir said I had nothing to worry about, so I assume the man had no idea I was there, but that really isn’t important, you know.”

“So, tell me what happened.”

Gabriella fought down the rising urge to scream. “I’m trying to tell you.”

“Sorry.” Dory looked contrite. “Do go on.”

“I asked him about Pippin, about how he knew him and whether or not he was with Boromir when he was wounded and things of that nature and he… I don't know, Dor, he just grew furious with me over it.”

“It sounds like they were with him.”

“That’s what I thought, but he just refuses to discuss what happened, all he says is he cannot recall what happened.”

“He was struck with three arrows and doesn’t remember it?”

“Exactly!” Gabriella nodded. “It’s odd, isn’t it?”

“I do know some of the men who’ve come through here cannot recall everything that happened, but they remember some of it. Does he remember anything?”

“He won’t say. He simply refuses to talk about it.”

“Perhaps he was witness to something terrible, Gab. Do you even know what he was doing, traveling with a halfling?”

“No.” She sighed, combing her hair from her face with her fingers as the breeze stirred. Spring had not come entirely to Gondor yet, but it was definitely closer, judging by the hints of warmth in the air. “I only know is that there were four of them. Pippin, Merry, one called Frodo and one whose name he’s not told me. I know not what they were doing or where they were going. But…”

“But what?”

Gabriella hesitated, looking up at the buildings around them. She could not see where his apartment windows were, but he was up there somewhere, sitting down with a halfling called Pippin and she had no idea why he was so important to Boromir, and she hated that she didn't know, and that she might never know.

“He talks about Frodo. In his sleep. I—I think he dreams of him and they are not pleasant dreams at all. He thrashes about and—and—“ 

Swears he would not have harmed him. 

She swallowed hard as she looked from Dory back to the fortress. What had Boromir done, that he had nightmares about a halfling named Frodo?

“Gab?”

“I have to talk to him, Dory. I need to let him know that it’s all right.”

“That what is?”

Gabriella rose, shaking her head. “I don't know. But it doesn’t matter. He has to know. Excuse me.”

“Gab, wait, what do you mean?”

“I can’t explain it. I think he just needs to hear it.”

“Needs to hear what?”

“We’ll talk later, all right?” Gabriella strode back toward the fortress and hurried up to Boromir’s chambers, where she stood at the door, just staring at it for a long moment, then knocked.

“Ah, Pippin, I—” The rest of Boromir’s words died on his lips as he stared down at her. “Gabby?”

“I think we need to talk,” she told him.

“Not now. I’ve no time for—”

“Yes, now,” she cut him off, pushing past him to step into his apartments. “I don't know who Frodo is or why you were with him, but I do know you would never harm anyone intentionally. You simply wouldn’t. And I don't know what happened to you out there—” She gestured off toward the north—“but I know you, Boromir, and no one in your company is ever in any danger from you. Not man, not woman, not halfling.”

He just stared down at her, arms folded across his broad chest, eyes and face impassive. “You know not of which you speak Gabby, and I’ll thank you to remember your place.”

“My place?” She stared up at him, unable to believe his words actually came from his lips. “Are you trying to push me away? Are you trying to make me angry with you? To make me walk away from you?”

“What I am trying to do is to make you understand that not everything is your concern, Gabby. And this is definitely not your concern, so I’ll ask only once for you to leave off.”

“Leave off? Boromir, do you know you talk in your sleep?”

He just stared at her, his eyes going wide. “What?”

“You do. And I’ve heard the name Frodo pass your lips more than once. It did when you were with fever in the infirmary and it did last night, when you should have been dreaming things far more pleasant.” 

He said nothing, but she didn't miss how his shoulders stiffened as she took a step closer and continued, “You apologize to him, Boromir. Insist you would never harm him. What happened? What made him think that you would hurt him? What did you do? What did you say to him?”

“Leave me be, Gabby.” He turned away, shaking his head. “It does not concern you.”

“Boromir,” she took a deep breath and stepped up to ease her arms about his waist, ignoring how he stiffened against her, how he made no move to touch her, “as I said, you are one of the gentlest men I have ever known. You would never harm anyone without just cause.”

“You don't know that.”

“I do know that.”

“No.” He pulled free of her, shaking his head. “You don’t. You might think to do, but you are wrong, Gabriella. I could most definitely harm someone without any cause but my own blind greed and lust for glory!”

His voice rose with each word until it seemed to reverberate throughout the apartments. His eyes flashed with emerald fire and his fury was one she’d never seen before. “You see who you wish me to be, Gabby, and you always have. But that is not who I am and I am utterly capable of betraying the greatest of trust. And yes, I do harm people without just cause!”

“Who? Who did you do this to?”

“You needn’t worry—”

“I do worry, Boromir. I see whatever guilt it is you carry is tearing you up. Please, tell me what happened.”

“You do not—”

“If you tell me I need not worry about it or I shouldn’t worry one more time, Boromir, I swear upon my eyes I will stab you with your own blasted sword!”

“Gabby, you couldn't possibly understand.”

“Oh, so certain of that are you? Think you know me so well, do you?”

“Gabby, I—” A heavy sigh rose to his lips as he sank onto the sofa, his hands dangling between his knees and his head hanging forward. “You couldn’t possibly understand,” he murmured again, shaking his head. 

She moved around to crouch before him, her hand coming to rest on his knee. “Try me, love. You would be amazed at what I understand.”

He looked over at her, his eyes even more brilliantly green than now. A slow shake of his head and he whispered, “You cannot. You would never look at me the same way.”

“Boromir,” she gave his knee a gentle squeeze. “I love you, you know. And I have for a very long time and I do not think there is anything you could tell me that would cause me to look at you as anything other than the man I’ve loved for over half my life.”

“You say that now, but if you knew—”

She squeezed his knee again. He was close to unburdening himself and she braced herself for it even as she whispered, “I say it because it is true. I know you and I like to think I know you well.”

“No,” he shook his head, “you are wrong.”

“Do you trust me?”

He looked up. “What?”

“Do you trust me? Because if you do, then you know you can tell me.” She loosened her grip on him. “But if you don’t, then… well… we need to talk about that as well.”

“Gabby, you…” He met her gaze and her heart ached at the pain swirling in his green eyes. He visibly swallowed and shook his head again. “I—I was not myself and I would not have harmed him, but I—”

“Boromir?” An unfamiliar voice floated through the door.

“Boromir, don’t—” she reached for him as he stood—“don't answer it.”

“I must.”

He stepped beyond her reach, skirting the opposite side of the sofa to leave her crouched beside an empty cushion. Unfortunately, he’d dressed and so was no longer in the robe, which would have made him easier to snag. 

She sighed as she sank onto the floor and heard him say, “Pippin… how are you?”

“I have had better, to be honest. And you?”

“Same. Come, walk with me a moment.”

The door closed and she leaned her head against the sofa, eyes closing as a sense of hopelessness rose within. How did she prove to him that he could trust her with whatever deep, dark secret he carried? How did she prove to him that, short of his confessing to having lied about his feelings for her in order to woo her into his bed, there was nothing he could tell her that would change how she felt about him?

Nothing came to mind and that made her want to cry.

 With a low sigh, she rose and turned to see his cloak draped over the back of the armchair. She hadn’t realized it prior to now but it wasn't the one he normally wore. This one was far more finely made—almost beautiful in its craftsmanship, the fabric thick but light and the color was impossible to determine. As she held it, it looked dark green, but as a glint of something caught her eye and she shifted the garment for a better look, the dark green became gray. Then brown. Then a combination of all three.

The glint was the brooch that would hold the hooded cloak closed, and like the cloak itself, it was a work of art. Jade fashioned into a leaf, the veins and edges gleamed silver. It was so light, she could barely feel it as she unfastened it and let it rest in the palm of her hand. The light glinted off the silver, made the jade look as if the leaf was real. It was almost jewelry, the delicate clasp. 

Where did he come across such items? 

Had they belonged to Frodo?

She refolded the cloak, slipped the brooch back where it had been pinned when she’d picked it up, and let her fingers linger as they slipped over the fine fabric for the last time. 

The tavern had been closed for business since the fighting had reached the Pelennor Fields and as she stood in the taproom, Gabriella sneezed from the dust swirling through the air from the breeze that blew through upon her opening the door. 

Sunlight filtered through the dusty windows and she sneezed with each pane she wiped clean. Inventory was pathetically low, with no end to the shortages in sight.

Still, she needed something to do, something to take her mind off Boromir, off whatever it was he refused to tell her, to take her mind off everything, and the tavern was the perfect something. So she spent the remainder of that afternoon dusting and cleaning and washing glassware and taking inventory. The latter was depressing at best, as she saw just how low her stores were, but she would make up the orders, try to contact vendors, and do her best to get the tavern up and running as soon as possible. 

As the sun sank low in the distance, she lit candles and kept working. No one knocked on the door to see if the establishment was open. Not even Dory came down to see how she fared, not that she expected her to. Ioreth kept her busy enough in the Houses of Healing and Dory actually was quite skilled as well, so perhaps she’d found her calling as a healer instead. 

She didn’t mind, however. The solitude suited her far more than the infirmary ever had. Here, nothing made her sick, nothing made her stomach roil and her hands shake, nothing made a cold sweat break out along her back, or made her feel stupid and inept. She could not say the same about working with Ioreth breathing down her neck.

This was her calling. A glorified barmaid. How was it possible that Boromir, heir to the stewardship of Gondor—no, no longer the heir but instead thesteward—wanted to be with her? What did she have to offer him? No bloodline. Her family was not wealthy or powerful. They owned a tavern that brought them a moderately comfortable life. 

But it had always been enough.

The front door handles rattled, but since it was locked, it remained closed. She ignored it, assuming it was someone thinking the tavern was open.

But the rattling continued and then she heard, “Gabby? Open the door, love… please…”

Her heart sped up at the soft pleading in Boromir’s voice and she crossed over to the front doors to twist the key, then pulled one open. “What are you doing here?”

“I did not like how we left things,” he said. “May I come in?”

She nodded, then stepped aside. “Of course.”

He brushed by her, coming fully into the taproom. Water beaded his elegant gray-green-brown cloak and she frowned as she peered out to find it pouring. “When did the rain begin?”

“Around supper.” He whisked the cloak from his shoulders to drape over the back of a barstool. “Have you eaten?”

“No. I’ve been so busy here, I forgot.”

“We can go and find something, I think—”

“Boromir, why are you here?”

He offered up a sheepish smile. “I owe you an apology, Gabby. For many things, but mostly for this morning.”

She looked up at him. “I’m worried about you and I know you couldn't possibly have returned from whatever journey it was you had undertaken unscathed, but… I’m worried.”

He stepped up to her, cupping her face in his large hands. “I did not mean for you to worry, love. Not at all.”

“But I do worry. You talk in your sleep, and you thrash about and you sound so… so raw…”

“I am fine.”

“And when I press, you grow angry with me.”

His thumbs swept along her cheeks. “You need not worry. I promise you, I am fine.”

“But—” 

He leaned in then and his lips pressed to hers, soft and teasingly gentle, and she caught his wrists as he tilted her head slightly and his tongue slipped between her lips to stroke along hers. 

She let him kiss her, let him tease her that way for a long moment, then pulled back to whisper, “Please tell me…”

He drew back, his eyes heavy with sadness, with a fear she’d never seen before. Releasing his wrists, it was her turn to catch his face in her hands. His goatee was neat once more, his cheeks bare and smooth, and she let her thumbs do as his so often did to her face as she whispered, “There is nothing you can tell me that will change how I feel about you, Boromir. I promise you. Please, just trust me.”

“Gabby, I cannot—”

“You can.” She brushed her thumbs along his cheekbones. “You spoke with Pippin, did you not? Did he cast you aside? He was with you when you did whatever it was you did, wasn't he?”

“Yes, he was and no, he didn’t, but—” He pulled back, away from her, and caught her by the hands—“he was not the target.”

“Frodo was, wasn't he? I know he was, so you might as well just tell me yes.”

“Gabby—”

“You thought to harm him for some reason, and I know you, I know it was not just because you turned cold and cruel, at least, not without an extenuating reason. What was it? What happened?”

He stepped back, letting go of her. “You will not look at me the same way.”

“You don't know that and I will not keep arguing it. Either you trust me or not, and if you don’t, then why are you here?”

He raked a hand through his hair, a myriad of expressions moving across his face. She held her breath, her heart hammering her ribs, as she waited for him to decide whether or not he trusted her.  

“Gabriella, there is no one in all of Middle Earth I trust more than you. Not even those I traveled with, upon leaving Rivendell and I relied on them for survival. We relied on each other for it.”

“Then tell me.”

“I am.” He drew out one of the barstools. “Sit and I will tell you what happened. But, I warn you, you will not like it.”

“Perhaps, but I also will not hold it against you.”

A hint of pain flashed through his eyes. “Promise me.”

She nodded. “I promise you, Boromir. It does not matter what it is. I will not hold it against you.”

[alittlefrenchtree]

I understand that Nick is now working on something else and promoting something else and it's absolutely normal that he can't talk during his promo and focus only on a film that he has made, I absolutely did not share the drama of these days however I also don't understand the whole "he doesn't owe us anything, he's busy" for the possibility that he doesn't post it of the vote like others.

Yes, ok I understand everything but it always seems like everyone has this idea of Nick too far gone now and couldn't even take a second to post a single story for the nomination for a movie that HE MADE and I'm not even saying I want to see him do it or that he has to do it at any cost, he probably won't but it's weird to see how with Taylor they are all "oh look he loves the film so much he, like us, can't let it go" but for Nick even if people just "hopes" to see only a story they are like "stop, he doesn't owe us anything he has other things to think now"

>For context, this ask has been sent after Taylor shared stories about the vote for the glaad awards but before the The Awardist Podcast.>

I’m so sorry I’ve been a bit slow to answer to that. By the time I had time to answer, the podcast happened and I wanted to stay in that mood for a bit, then I have been so very tired and now that I’m a bit rested, I’ve been trying to find a way to answer to you.

I’m not exactly sure what you’re saying exactly actually. It’s not a criticism, I just don’t know where to start my answer. 

As for the specific exemple of the vote for the glaad awards (vote!!!), I’m sure everybody has noticed by now that Bottoms is also nominated so it’s difficult for Nick to say anything about either. Even asking to vote for both is counter-productive as it will be only one winner so not to say anything looks like the best solution for me.

Like you, I think the idea of Nick being "too far gone" for RWRB is absolutely ridiculous.

And even if Taylor not letting go of the movie is more positively oriented, he’s doing almost nothing out of the ordinary. Walking the award circuit as a lead of a movie with a chance to get nomination is very normal (whining bc you can’t sign books while being drunk is less common, but that just makes him even more special 💜).

I’m still not sure where I’m going with this answer but I’m going to keep writing until I feel like it’s coherent enough.

It’s tricky to react to what you say without context or knowing the people who are saying these things. The Internet these days is a lot about overreacting and what could have been a meaningless joke or thought at start can become heavy with repetition and numbers. Like reading "he can’t let go of the movie" is cute the first time but maybe feels a bit more like he's being desperate the hundredth time. "He has other things to do" sounds normal the first time but maybe too close to "he doesn’t care" the hundredth. But the reality hasn’t changed in the meantime, they both still have very normal behavior doing what they’re doing as actor. What I’m trying to say is that it’s fandom stuff happening inside the fandom and to fans mostly and it's mostly about perception. (Am I making any sense? (no))

I also feel like a part of that can be related to expectations (and too many of them) inside a fandom and fans wanting to preserve of protect their actor from it. Expectations, whether they’re expressed on a corner on the Internet or directly to famous people in DMs, often creates frustration and disappointment on the long run. For example, I don’t share most of the asks only waiting or asking for news on Taylor’s next project anymore. There’s nothing wrong with them and I get they come from a place of support but I feel like it would start to sound weird at some point. We’ll know when we’ll know and he’ll tell the story if he feels like it.

I had the same feeling with an ask that were mentioning a semi-hope for Taylor to share something on Alex’s birthday. I thought it was unlikely but I didn’t want to piss on someone’s else fun. But I didn’t want to entertain something I didn’t believe in either (firstly, because I hate lies but mostly because) I didn’t want to create or nourish an expectation that would most likely end up in frustration or disappointment for people reading. So I ended up not posting it at all.

All of that to say that sometimes maybe the "he doesn’t owe us anything" comes from a similar place than that, only in a harsher way to say it.

None of this is actually coherent but if I’m not posting now I’m going to end up deleting everything so let’s not do that. If I’ve completely missed the point of your original message, please say so? I don’t know 😅

[arleniansdoodles]

Your gow fic has genuinely been a joy to watch evolve. I'm not even really in the fandom atm but i still come back here every so often to either see how its going or to read back through all the posts. Hope you aren't suffering burnout too badly but i am genuinely so so so excited for this!

Hope you have a wonderful day♡

Awww thank you so much, anon! It really made my day to read your comment <333 Rest assured I'm not too burnt out yet, I just need to get back in the flow of writing for GoW ^^;; Everything was so much easier back in the day when Atreus and Calliope were gallivanting across Greece and Rome! lmaoo

I hope you have a wonderful day too, anon! Here, let me share a snippet from the Rome arc with y'all; it's nothing too fancy, just a slice-of-life section of Atreus and Calliope getting cleaned up in a public bathhouse XDD Hope you enjoy! :DDD

(For context, Aelia is a bathhouse servant tasked to guide them around since this is Atreus' first time in a place like this)

After a few moments, Aelia took them through the large doors on the right of the tepidarium. They were immediately met with a gust of hot, steamy air. A large, circular bath filled the centre of the hall, sunk down into the floor, with citizens already lounging inside it. There were other smaller baths in the four corners of the hall. There were two small doorways to the left and right, and by the look of the steam escaping from under those doors, they likely led to hot-air baths.

“Hoc est caldarium,” Aelia announced.

“The hot room?” Atreus repeated in Greek, startled. A delighted grin spread over Calliope’s face.

“Vis frigidarium?” Aelia asked Atreus.

He turned to Calliope. “What kind of baths did you have in Sparta?”

“Hot air!” she said immediately. “They are very steamy and warm.” She pointed excitedly to the side doors. “Are those hot-air baths? Can we go there first?”

Atreus looked like he didn’t know whether to freeze or flee, but he nodded and turned to Aelia with the question. Aelia gestured for them to follow and moved to the left, passing by the hot pools and entering one of the side rooms.

It was empty, thank goodness. Steam rose up from a coal fire built into the centre of the floor, in turn heating the basin of water on top, releasing steam. Calliope hurried over to the stone benches that lined the walls, and sat down, swinging her feet. “Sit, Atreus!”

He sat down beside her. Aelia inclined her head to them and said something. Atreus replied, “Gratias tibi,” and Aelia departed from the room.

“She’ll be back in a quarter hour,” he said to Calliope. “We’re supposed to wait until we start sweating before going out to the water baths.”

“Yes,” Calliope agreed. “Then we can cool down after.”

Atreus leaned back against the frescoed wall. His skin was already starting to flush pink, and not from his earlier embarrassment. He reached up to undo his braid. “So … this is a hot-air bath, huh?”

“Do you like it?” Calliope asked eagerly. “Mother brought me to these all the time. It is very common in Sparta. Father told me he would go with his soldiers to the hot-air baths.”

“Really?” Atreus said, surprised. “All of them together?”

“Yes!” Calliope peered closer at Atreus’ red face. She giggled. “Are you shy?”

“What? No! It’s just, um, not what I’m used to. It’s pretty hot here, too.”

“Do you use hot water in your homeland?”

“Yeah. We have to heat it manually, since it’s usually cold to start with. But it’s never this hot, I think. Y’know, I’ve also taken some very cold baths.”

“How cold?”

“Like getting into a frozen lake.”

“No!”

“Yep! Felt like knives all over me. Father just stood on the banks and grunted.”

Calliope shivered at the thought despite the heat of the room. “Aelia mentioned a cold room,” she remembered. “Maybe you will like those more?”

Atreus laughed lightly. “I mean, I don’t like being too cold or too hot. It’s just something I had to do when we didn’t have time to heat up the water.”

[psychewritesbs]

HI ! another anon here, unfortunately I saw many (or not many but very vocal) express joy at the possibility of Megumi being completely erased by Sukuna. And I don't know if I'm simply in denial but I refuse to believe that this is the ending that Gege would give his deuteragonist, and leaving pending points like? not even a closure like he has even given to side characters? Megumi is my fav, I know there is a possibility that he dies, but not like this, not now. u still have positivity? :')

HOLA dearest Another Anon, 

I mean... what can I say. I was, quite literally, boasting about wanting to see Megumi suffer like the massive idiot that I am. I even busted out with the tacky Mexican telenovela villainess laughter. 

Seriously, I am insufferable... 

... And then I saw what Gege did... it broke my heart because I wasn’t expecting it to be so damn cruel. Gege. is. a. fucking. sadist. Just you wait you damn cursed cat, I’m coming for you just so that I can ask you how poetic it is to have “Victoria” carved on your forehead. I'll be your Goddess of Victory alright.

That said, I can see why someone would be overjoyed at seeing Sukuna overpower and obliterate Megumi’s consciousness. Either they don’t care about Megumi or they are excited by the implications. 

But for us Megumi-lovers... I totally get it. Not only is it hard to ignore that Gege has killed off or “put in the corner” so many important/major characters already, but if “Megumi” is gone and only his body remains with a different consciousness within it... well, even if he looks like it, he’s not really Megumi any longer, is he? 

And honestly, this whole experience made me realize that, as much as I love JJK in general, I’m here for Megumi and Megumi’s growth as a character. 

Anyways. Yeah. I am cautiously optimistic under the cut for several reasons, but mostly because Gege gives meaning...

I am cautiously optimistic

Cautiously optimistic because as much as my brain can’t help itself, I don’t want to try to predict JJK anymore. I think some of my headcanons have come to pass in a different expression of what I had in mind. But that’s the thing with “Archetypes”, Archetypes are an empty shell until they are given meaning.

So at this point I just want to enjoy what’s left of this roller coaster ride. Read this to mean that I’ll probably won’t be able to help myself and will continue trying to guess how things progress.

JJK is beautifully unpredictable even with all of the foreshadowing that Gege dropped along the way.

I’m also cautiously optimistic because Gege has shown us at least a couple of times that the original body’s consciousness can still awaken and take over.

Finally, I am cautiously optimistic because the kanji in Megumi’s name can be said to symbolize a light in the darkest of shadows. A blessing in a cursed world.

After all, does light not shine brightest in the darkness? 

I personally HOPE that this poetic justice comes back into play later on. The power of names is a trope after all.

There’s also thoughts that have been shared with me by others...

Like ma 🍒, who keeps reminding me that we don’t know how this is going to play out yet and that there’s details we can keep in mind that might mean that this isn’t the end for Megumi.

I think moving forward you might also start hearing more evidence about why this is just temporary because, as has been largely theorized, Sukuna just needs Megumi’s cursed technique to make him a new body. 

Another thing to keep in mind is that...

Gege is good at manipulating emotions

Like... reeeeeal good.

Just look at the current state of the Megumi fandom or how any time Nobara is mentioned the fandom goes into an uproar. 

This is a culmination point and it has been beautifully executed in the sense that it’s got you and me and millions of other people lamenting whether this is “it” for Megumi.

So the way events flowed could all very well have been crafted for the sake of emotional impact.

But we simply won’t know for some time.

This is a call to trust the process. We have no choice but to let the cat cook.

If this is, indeed, temporary, then we will get our closure.

If this is “it”, however... well...

I have to say there’s something larger at play here, and that is “the kind of story Gege is writing” and “the kind of writer Gege is”.

So keep in mind that...

Gege is an existentialist

To your point about how unsatisfying Megumi’s death would feel if this is “it”... yeah. Totally. 

So that should tell you that you have to think of Gege as either an existentialist or a nihilist mangaka.

Since I’m not sure whether you understand what these concepts mean, what I’ll say is that life is what you make of it. It’s up to you to decide whether life is inherently meaningless and chaotic, or whether there is meaning and order to the chaos that is life.

An existentialist author is someone who writes about characters navigating the meaninglessness of the chaos that is life, and who seek to give meaning and purpose to said chaos.

On the other end of the spectrum you have nihilism--the belief that life is meaningless.

SO... if Gege was feeling pretty nihilistic on the day he came up with Megumi’s death and the JJK ending, then we can expect that Megumi’s death is indeed anticlimactic like a certain someone’s death...

Not sure if you read my response to Recurring Anon about JJK’s writing in which I confess that I am not a fan of Chainsaw Man’s brand of existentialism because it feels a bit too much on the “navel gazing” end of the existential spectrum, and anti-climatic to boot because it’s nihilistic at the core.

Similarly, CLAMP’s writing is also existential, anti-climatic, and can err on the nihilist end of the spectrum too. i.e. I understand that the art style and overall lack of screen tones in xxxHolic is meant to reflect and evoke a sense of vacancy and emptiness because that is how the mc experiences the world. Something like that.

My other beloved existentialist is Shinichiro Watanabe who will shred your heart to bits and pieces with inconclusive but optimistic existential angst.  

Bang. See you space cowboy.

You can watch a Watanabe ending and walk away both heartbroken and inspired. The man is a genius. 

I bring up all of these examples because you can more or less organize these authors into neat little boxes.

If I had to compare mangaka, I’d say Fujimoto and CLAMP are nihilists, whereas Gege is more like Watanabe, an existentialist who chooses to give meaning. That’s why Gege’s character’s deaths have always felt very poetic despite how brutal they can be--there’s meaning to them.

Megumi’s “death” in the larger JJK-scheme of things, with the rather limited information we have right now, feels nihilistic af. 

So let’s assume for a minute that he doesn’t come back... like yeah, I’m in denial and cautiously optimistic, but we have to prepare for the worst because Gege is unpredictable af and I wouldn’t put it past him to have killed Megumi because that’s how he rolls. SO...

If Megumi doesn’t come back, what meaning will Gege give to Megumi’s death?

How will the events that follow create meaning around Megumi’s death?

I think what worries me right now is that Megumi has a bit of a nihilistic view of life. And if Gege is the kind of author who lets the characters write themselves because he wants his characters to be true to their nature, then... this death is fitting. It’s just as meaningless as Megumi believes the world to be.

Makes sense, right?

Honestly, existentialism is hard to explain, so hopefully this makes sense. But right now any mental gymnastics I do to delude myself that Megumi is getting out alive all hinge on Gege being a tortured existentialist who seeks to give meaning.

After all, as a piece of literature, JJK is underscored with a sense of poetic justice that is everything but devoid of meaning.

So basically yeah... This is the tiny bit of positivity I was able to share with you? :') Hopefully it helps!

idk what kind of ending we’ll get. I am picturing something very meta from Gege but don’t ask me to elaborate. I just feel like something very spiritual and big is coming.

But I do hope we get a Watanabe type ending from Gege...

Because the truth is... I don’t believe in happy endings. I believe in Watanabe endings because Watanabe endings capture the existential dread at the core of life simply moving on, with or without you.

And if the ending turns out to be super meaningless and nihilistic, know that there’s only 5k miles between Los Angeles and Tokyo and if we start swimming now we might arrive by the time JJK ends. 

Thanks for stopping by!!!

[daylander1000]

I know a lot of people like Rhaenrya and Daemon but I don’t for many reasons, the biggest reason is that daemon groomed rhaenrya and ruined her reputation, but people think he loves her which is so funny to me. Rhaenrya has shown signs of being a spoiled brat many times she’s the time that doesn’t like the rules and doesn’t follow them but expect everyone else to do so, being the queen doesn’t give you freedom you carry the burden of responsibility of the seven kingdoms and Visersys told her that and how daemon isn’t a person who can handle that, but what does she do? Fucks him at his wife’s funeral and then marries him, and people are surprised that he choked her?? BFFR! I’m not the biggest fan of alicent but I understand her way more, she didn’t want to be queen she just followed her father’s choice and truly did believe rhaenyra would have been a great queen but rhaenyra then lied to alicent which gets her father fired (but he kinda deserved it) and even when Rhaenyra gave birth to her sons, she’s putting her self on a ship of thin ice. If ONE of Alicent’s kids came out with Brown hair even if that’s alicent’s hair color y’all know they would’ve killed her. I don’t like the double standard that Rhaenyra and Daemon and Visersys have, I’m not a team green or a black but I have more respect for the greens, not saying aegon would be a great king because he’s not but Rhaenyra isn’t the best option either. Another thing is if Viserys never was going to name aegon as king, why did he remarry and have more children if he was always going to up hold Rhaenyra?? I love Rhaena and Aemond I feel like if they were betrothed then this whole greens and blacks would end, but of course Daemon can only think of himself and a way to make his way to the throne. He doesn’t care for his family the way people think he does, he wants the throne. Wish more people would wake up and realize that. Sorry for the rant but I had to let that out.

Lol, no problem.

I didn't read F&B so I don't get the fandom war. I'm not on any team myself. If I had to pick one though, it would be the greens. Mostly because I nearly always root for the underdogs, but also because you sort of just have to go with the lesser evil if forced to choose?

I liked Rhaenyra well enough until she called for Aemond to be interrogated and fussed about her arm being scratched while Aemond was sitting there maimed for life with eye stitches.

Viserys... I think he just wanted a young girl in his bed immediately and didn't want to wait the two years for Laena to turn 14. Better the child you watched grow up alongside your daughter than some random 12 year old your cousin is trying to set you up with.

I don't have much thoughts about Daemon other than that he reminds me too much of Damon from vampire diaries. Lol. He killed his wife, got exiled for being creepy with his young niece, and then ran off to Pentos with an actual child who was 3 years younger than Rhaenyra. Like, I just imagine Laena as this girl who probably saw him as her father's cool friend from their whole Crabfeeder war, so yeah, he's just some pedo groomer wife-killer imo.

I get the need to rant. After they killed Vaemond, I was livid, but it helps to just avoid interacting with the parts of the fandom you don't enjoy. There's something about GRRM books that just brings out the worst in some people. I'm not into the whole "Targ nation"/ "Valyrian supremacy"/ "racial purity" thing, so I just stick to my little corner of AO3 and block the tags and the weirdos. 😅

Life is too short and precious to spend time being upset with shippers. HotD is not a show worth losing your peace over.

[arlaina28]

The Girlfriend Experience- First Date- JHope Version

Fandom- BTS

Relationship- JHope/Reader

Rated- PG

I’ve been here for a week and I already couldn’t imagine not having Hobi in my life. He’s so full of happiness and joy it fills everyone else with it. I’ve spent everyday watching him work, either with dances or lyrics, from early in the morning until late at night. Today is the first day off the guys have had so I’m still in bed too.

“Morning!” Hobi’s voice calls as he comes into my room. “I brought you breakfast.”

“Thought it was your day off?” I ask sleepily, sitting up in bed.

“It is. I’m going shopping with JK and Jimin so we get up early. I was hoping you would come too.” He grins at me, placing a tray on my legs.

“Sounds fun. Thank you.” I smile back at him.

“Hurry up then.” He grins and rushes out, making me chuckle at his energy.

I quickly eat my breakfast and then get ready. By the time I head downstairs the guys were waiting for me.

“Ready?” Hobi asks me with his usual smile.

“Yes.” I grin back.

I follow them outside and we get into a car that they have obviously ordered. We get in the back and the driver heads off. My stomach drops as we pull up outside the most expensive store in the city though. I don’t say anything though, not wanting to ruin the guys day off. Plus, surely there has to be one thing in there I can afford?

The guys get out and Hobi helps me out with a smile. I smile back and thank him and he kisses my hand like an old time gentleman, making me giggle. He leads me into the store, holding my hand, and I see the place is empty. There are staff members waiting for us but they ignore me after a slight flick of their eyes, deciding I’m not important.

“I’m going to look over there.” JK says excitedly, rushing over to one corner of the store.

“It’s so empty.” I say softly to Hobi.

“We paid for them to close for a couple of hours. So we don’t get swamped by fans.” Hobi replies, looking a little ashamed about it.

“Makes sense.” I smile at him, hoping to reassure him.

He grins at me happily and releases my hand to look at some clothes. I wander off a little bit and see some gorgeous bits I would love but after seeing the price tags I realise I could never afford them. I do however find a lovely bracelet that I can afford. I take it to the till and get served by a snotty woman who looks down her nose at me.

“I’ll add it to the tab.” She says stiffly.

“Oh no! I’m paying. Myself.” I gasp, correcting her quickly.

“Oh?” She asks with a smirk.

“Don’t be silly. Of course you can add it to the tab.” Hobi says happily from behind me.

“Oh no, honestly, I don’t want to spend your money.” I gasp, frantically gesturing my hands.

“Don’t be silly. It’s my treat. It’s not a date if the man doesn’t treat.” He chuckles at me.

“A date?” I whisper, eyes going wide.

“Yes.” He laughs. “Did I not say that?”

“No.” I chuckle as his eyes go wide and he blushes.

“Sorry.” He says, looking at the floor sheepishly.

I laugh and hug him, feeling the cashier giving me an evil look.

“Add it to the tab, along with these please.” Hobi says to her, placing all the items I’d looked at on the counter.

“Hobi! No! That’s too much! You don’t have to buy things for me!” I choke out in horror at how much that will cost him.

“Don’t argue with him, you’re wasting your breath.” Jimin says as he approaches the counter too.

“Hobi loves buying things for people he cares about. He’s paying for us too.” JK laughs, shaking his head.

I just stare in despair as all the items get rung up.

“We know you’re not after his money but buying things for people makes him happy.” Jimin says quietly to me.

I smile gratefully at him and he gives me a quick hug before grabbing his now bagged up items. I laugh but notice Hobi giving me a sharp look and I frown in worry. He smiles at me suddenly again and I relax, smiling back. We head out to the car again and get in.

“Lunch?” Hobi asks me, holding my hand again.

“Sure.” I smile at him, butterflies in my stomach at the feel of his hand on mine.

We go to one of the guys favourite restaurants and have a wonderful lunch together, joking and laughing and chatting. People are respectful of the boys, no autograph requests or photos or anything which must be nice for them. Once we’re done, Hobi pays again and we head outside.

“You guys go ahead in the car. We’ll walk.” Hobi says to the younger men.

They nod and leave and Hobi takes my hand, leading me along to a gorgeous park.

“You don’t mind do you? I just thought it would be nice to be alone for some of our date?” Hobi asks shyly, looking away.

“I don’t mind at all. I like being with you and the scenery is gorgeous.” I say softly, smiling at him and squeezing his hand slightly.

He smiles at me and we wander along at a leisurely pace. I take in the views, enjoying the peace and beauty. I notice Hobi staring at me occasionally and each time I smile at him, making him blush at being caught. I can’t help the giggle that comes out when I catch him again and he playfully tugs my arm.

“You think it’s funny to make me blush?” He asks me with a slight smirk.

I feel arousal swirl at the time of his voice but I push it away. That’s not what our arrangement is about.

“It’s cute.” I shrug, poking my tongue out at him.

“Cute?” He growls playfully and I bite my lip to cover a moan.

“Yes. Like a baby animal.” I tease.

His eyes narrow on me and suddenly I’m in the air and over his shoulder. I squeal and grip the back of his top as he spanks me harshly once. I can’t help the whine that comes out at the contact and when he puts me down again I’m sure I must be bright red from blushing. He looks like he’s thinking about something as he looks at me smugly.

“I’m not a baby.” He whispers in my ear, making me shiver.

I can’t reply, too lost in his dark eyes. I gulp and he watches my throat before grinning in satisfaction. I blush and look at the floor as he takes my hand again and we continue walking home. By the time we get back the sun is setting and we head to the roof to watch it go down fully, the city looking gorgeous bathed in the red and pink of the sunset. He hasn’t let go of my hand the entire time.

Once it gets dark we head inside and I go to my room to put the things he bought me away. My hand plays over the jewellery and fabrics, marvelling at the feel and detail. I can’t believe he bought these for me, that he noticed me looking at them and bought them. I wish I could repay him somehow but I do t have that sort of money. I put the items away, choosing to wear a choker that he bought me. I play with some strings that I have in a drawer for crafting and smile as I make an old fashioned friendship bracelet in rainbow colours. I hum as I do it, sure he’ll pretend to like it even though it’s worthless but still wanting to put some thought into something for him.

When I’m done I head downstairs for dinner. He smiles as he sees me and his eyes roam over the choker, making his eyes darken and him to bite his lip for some reason. I blush again and walk over to him, glad the other members are too busy eating and talking to notice me.

“I-I made you this. I know it’s not very good and it’s not worth anything but I wanted to say thank you.” I say softly, placing the bracelet I made on his wrist.

“It’s perfect.” He hums with a huge grin.

I blush and look away, sure he’s just humouring me. I sit down and start eating, Hobi sitting next to me. I get drawn into the groups conversation and we have fun. After dinner I decide I’m going to shower and head to bed early. As I step out of my shower there’s a knock on my door. I put on a robe and open the door, smiling up at Hobi.

“I wanted to say goodnight.” He smiles at me.

“Goodnight Hobi.” I smile back at him.

“Did you have a good time today?” He asks softly, looking unsure suddenly.

“It was brilliant.” I grin at him, meaning it completely.

“You look good with that choker on.” He hums, frowning slightly when he notices I’m not wearing it now.

“Thank you for buying it for me. You really didn’t have to.” I say softly.

“I wanted to and it looks good around your throat. Makes it look like you’re owned by me.” He whispers harshly, eyes dark again as his fingers trace my neck.

I gulp to wet my suddenly dry throat and he smirks slightly. He leans down and I tilt my head up, eyes closing as his lips land on mine. He kisses me for a long moment, nothing more than his lips pressing on mine but it’s enough to have me rubbing my thighs together for friction.

“Goodnight.” He hums, smirking at me.

“Goodnight.” I whisper back.

When he turns and walks away I feel a sudden sense of loss. I fight the urge to call out to him or chase him and close my door again. I get into bed but I know I’m not going to be sleeping well tonight.

[doewhiteauthor]

Title: Sugar Daddy

Fandom: Bullet Train

Pairings: Tangerine x Reader

Summary: Tangerine isn't your sugar daddy, but he sure acts like it.

Age Rating: 18+

Word Count: 1,072

I am happy to take requests so please do let me know! I also do have Patreon options where people can order 100% customised fics as well! 

You stared at the dress in the mirror, running your hands along the skirt, the material soft beneath your fingers.

‘Don’t ya like it?’ the male voice behind you caught your attention, looking at the reflection in the mirror, you could see Tangerine lounging in the chair behind you.

‘It’s beautiful.’ you smiled, but out of the corner of your eye, you could see the price tag. ‘But it’s so expensive.’ you whispered. Behind you, Tangerine rolled his eyes. 

‘I told ya, don’t look at those silly price tags. You ain’t paying for it.’ he got up from the chair and moved to stand behind you. 

‘But you are. I’m not a gold digger and you are not my sugar daddy.’ you tried to stay serious, but Tangerine wrapped his arm around your waist and pulled you back to him, leaning down to nuzzle your neck. 

‘I know your not either of those things. But am I not allowed to shower my girlfriend in fancy clothes and gifts?’ he spoke into your neck, his words vibrating against your skin as he began to sway the two of you. ‘I think this dress is beautiful. Perfect for dancing.’ he pulled away from you and grabbed your hand, twirling you around. 

You couldn’t help but laugh, your cheeks heating up as other people in the store stared. 

‘Go and try on the other dresses, we’re definitely getting this one.’ he pressed a kiss to your cheek and pushed you towards the changing room. The shop you were in was fancy, with salon-type doors that locked in the changing rooms rather than plain old curtains. As you fiddled with the zipper on your dress, Tangerine waited outside, peering over the top of the door. 

‘Unlock the door…’ he whispered, his eyes scanning your half-naked body, rolling your eyes, you unlocked the door and he quickly slipped in. Thankfully the dressing room was private and you both were the only ones there. Tangerine locked the door behind him and turned to you, a devilish smirk across his lips. 

‘These rooms are only meant for one.’ you tried to remain serious, but you couldn’t help but smile at him as he wrapped his arms around your waist. 

‘Are you sure?’ he asked, pretending to look around, ‘looks pretty roomy in here.’ he stepped closer to you, leaning down to feather kisses along your jaw.

‘Someone might come…’ you tried to argue, but your words trailed off as he reached the sweet spot under your ear. 

‘I’ve flashed enough cash ‘round ‘ere that no one will come until we ring the bell.’ he mumbled into your neck, sucking small marks across your skin. ‘And you expected this, otherwise, you wouldn’t have worn this sexy set.’ he motioned towards the lace bra and panties you were wearing.

‘Laundry day…’ you joked, a squeal passing your lips as Tangerine grabbed your thighs and hoisted you upwards, throwing you into the wall and holding you there with his body. You quickly wrapped your legs around his waist. 

‘Fuckin’ laundry day.’ he mumbled, pressing his lips to yours in a passionate kiss. While his lips were on yours, your fingers began to unbutton his shirt, his blazer left somewhere outside and his shirt only getting in your way. The bottom of his shirt was tucked in, out of frustration you tugged at the bottom half, ripping off the buttons and sending them flying. Tangerine looked down and rolled his eyes.

‘I liked this shirt.’ he whispered, your hands moved across his chest, leaning forward to nuzzle his cheek. 

‘But you like this more,’ you moaned, biting gently on his ear. Tangerine let out a low growl and thrust his hips to meet your panty-clad pussy. You could feel his hard-on straining through his trousers. 

‘You know I do…’ He pulled you up the wall slightly and pushed his body against yours, holding you against the wall as his hands left you to unbutton his belt and trousers. He pushed his trousers halfway down his thighs, his cock springing upwards. With one hand he began to slowly pump his cock, with his other he squeezed your ass, moving forward to grab your panties, pulling them to the side and sliding his fingers along your folders.

‘Already so fucking wet…’ he chuckled, ‘so fucking good.’ he parted your folds and lined his cock up with you, pulling his body away to allow you to drop down onto his cock, pulling a long moan from your lips as he did. 

As soon as he felt your pussy against his pelvis, he pulled his hips back, pulling out of you almost completely before thrusting back in. He repeated this as he began the rough pace, his chest pressed against yours and his lips on your neck, sucking dark marks into your skin as your eyes rolled back in pleasure. The position was almost perfect, his thrusts building the pleasure slowly, all you would need to send you over the edge was the slightest change in the angle… 

As if he had read your mind, Tangerine changed the angle of his thrusts, sending you over the edge and making you see stars. You gripped onto Tangerine's shoulders burying your face into his neck as you came. But Tangerine was quick, wrapping his fingers into your locks and pulling your head back. 

‘Don’t you fucking look away from me, I want to see your face as you cum all over my cock.’ he growled, fucking you through your orgasm until he came himself, his fingers digging into your thigh as he came. 

His body pressed against yours, his chest rising and falling quickly as he tried to catch his breath. You ran your fingers through his hair, smiling lazily until his cock softened inside you and he pulled away. Setting you down gently, he kept his arm wrapped around your waist to keep you steady on your feet and pressed a kiss to your forehead. He redressed himself and smirked as he saw his cum running down between your legs. He grabbed your hand, running his thumb over your knuckles. 

‘I wonder if you’d still look like a gold digger with a diamond ring on your finger?’ he asked, analysing your ring finger. 

‘What?!’ you choked out, was he asking you what you thought he was asking you?

‘Get dressed, we need to head to a jewellery store.’

[wanna-do-bad-things]

Poor Little You.

Summary: With Defending Jacob filming underway and Chris on set for most of the week, you’re left with little more than your imagination. One little video is sent, one that you cannot get out of your head and though you’d like to think of yourself in control, you’re anything but.  Words: 2614 Type: RPF. Chris Evans x (undescribed) reader Warnings: mentions of masturbation/edging, oral sex (f), light nipple play, dirty talk, demanding Chris, light asphyxiation, unprotected sex. 

Not me re-appearing and slinking away again out of shame... but, this was written for @andy--barber who encouraged me to post it here to give a little more content to the Chris fandom. Please be kind as it’s the first time I’m posting him here, but likes/reblogs/asks are welcomed to ease my nervous heart :) all of my girls are undescribed, though if something stands out making it otherwise, please let me know and I’ll amend this. 

A big, big thank you to my Lisey for being my BETA and giving this piece the much needed check over before posting. 

_

“You can’t just walk back in here like that and not expect me not to do anything,” you say, straddling Chris’s thighs as your hands wrap around his wrists, placing them on either side of his head. 

“Walk in like what?” he tries his wrists, giving them a little tug to see how much give you’re prepared to allow him. 

“With that swagger,” you lightly kiss him, “and that smirk,” another kiss, “wearing that aftershave you know I can’t resist on you,” a slightly deeper kiss this time, “That suit.” 

“I thought you wanted me home as soon as possible?” he asks, desperate to cup the back of your head and roll you onto your back, but he’s having fun watching you think that you’re in charge. You both know he can flip you over and be on top of you within seconds if he wants to but the anticipation of when he will do it only excites you further. 

“I got my wish it seems.”

“But at what cost?” 

Only your dignity, but he doesn’t need you to admit that. You both know it with the way you pounced on him the second he stepped through the door. He’d barely finished shrugging out of his outer coat when your fingers were touching his tie, seconds away from undoing it when he’d given you a look. He’d picked you up, hands securing you beneath your ass as he’d carried you to the bedroom. 

The suit he’d worn on set still covered his body, crisp shirt hugging his figure perfectly, biceps flexing with each motion as he’d pulled off the suit jacket after laying you down on the bed and threw it to the chair that sat near the corner. His fingers worked the button at his wrist before switching to the other, eyes locked on yours with each second that it took to undo them and push up the sleeves to his elbow, revealing his forearms and the thick Rolex watch that pressed against his wrist.

“What am I going to do with you?” He’d asked, seconds before you’d taken matters into your own hands. You’d pull him towards you, twisting your bodies as you had done so, making it so that he falls backwards onto the bed, giving you the opportunity to climb onto him. 

“Are you going to be a good boy and keep them there, if I take one hand off?” you ask him. 

“Until you decide my hands could be placed somewhere more satisfying, yes,” he nods, your eyes not moving from his mouth as he speaks,  You dip your head and press your lips to his as your right hand pulls away from his wrists and strokes over his bearded cheek. Chris is no stranger to growing out a beard, but there is just something about him taking the role of Andy Barber that corrupts your senses. 

Watching him rehearse his lines, listening to the powerful tones that he uses and visiting him on set has done nothing but fuel your desire for him. Many would say that this is the perks of being newlyweds, where everything is fresh and new again, but you’ve never lost that sexual spark with Chris. More often than not, your visits to the film sets would result in you waiting for him in very little in his trailer or hotel room with a wet pussy and eager mouth. 

He sent you a recording from one of the screens of one of the scenes he filmed today, where he’d taken a tool from the trunk and closed the gap between his car and one that had been trailing Andy’s family for a while. The sight of him prepared to use it, telling the owner of the car to back off and leave them alone had remained with you for the rest of the afternoon. You’ve edged yourself all day, fingers stroking over your damp panties, fingertips lightly tracing over your clothed clit until you could feel your orgasm building, only for you to purposely stop yourself until a little while later. On and off you’d done this for several hours, your mind barely focusing on work and by the time Chris had come home, you’d given up entirely. Looking over spreadsheets was doing very little to distract you from the thoughts of Chris’s fingers deep inside your cunt as his tongue lapped at your clit. You longed to wet his beard, feel your orgasm pool beneath your ass before begging him to fuck you. 

Your kiss is as light as your fingertips as they move down his throat, over his collarbones and smooth over his covered chest. You can feel the light chest hair through the fabric before your fingertips begin to work open his tie, not stopping until it’s fully loosened and you’re able to pull it from his shirt and discard it. They then begin to open his shirt, popping the buttons through the holes slowly, one by one. With each newly opened section, you kiss him a little harder, deepening the kiss more and more until his shirt is fully open. 

Your lips leave his, only to reapply them to his chest. Slow, open mouthed kisses which leaves his breathing coming out in soft pants. When he makes no attempt to pull his arms down, you leave his wrists unmanned. Instead, smoothing them over his skin as you kiss around a nipple, tongue flicking over the hardening bud and you hear the chuckle that sounds from him. 

“I know you’re not about to start teasing me.”

“Why? You teased me, did you not?”

“You teased yourself,” he states but his voice now has a whining edge to the tone and this makes your lips curve. “Is that funny to you?” He questions, any previous sign of crack in his armour strengthens and the look in his eye tells you that your game is over. 

One arm wraps around your back, pulling you close to his chest while the other arm pushes his body up and over, flipping you onto your back to enable him to cover your body with his own. You’re pressed beneath him, any attempts at moving are futile but you try it anyway just to see if there is any give way at all - there isn’t. 

“Is this what you wanted? When you were picturing taking control of me, is this what you were hoping for? I know you were waiting for me to react,” he speaks into your skin as he presses kisses over your neck as his hand wanders up your inner thigh and you regret now wearing something which gives him easy access. You can feel the curve of his smile when he reaches your soaked panties and know the smart remark is coming before he has a chance to. “And oh baby, it feels like you’ve reacted.”

Your cheeks flush with shame. You hadn’t needed to feel his fingers pressing to your juices and feeling your panties sticking to you to know that you were as wet as you are. They haven’t been dry all day and you’ve changed them once prior to this moment already. He knees your thighs apart even more, leaning his body into your open legs to make sure you can’t close them as he continues to stroke you over the material. 

You’re about to whine when he kisses you, tongue pressing against yours within seconds to silence you. His fingers stroke over your swollen clit, the fabric adding a thin layer of a sensitivity barrier that makes you want to buck your hips but you can’t. Instead, you’re forced to lay there and take everything that he gives to you. He rubs small circles over you before pushing down your covered slit and pushes his finger ever so slightly into your soaked hole. Your underwear doesn’t allow him to enter you too far but just the feeling of having him there is enough to mewl into his kiss. 

“Bet I could fuck you right now without having to do much else. How easily would you say your pussy could take me?”

“Chris, please.”

“Please what?” He asks, nibbling on your bottom lip now as he waits for the answer. His teeth dig in just enough, his tongue swiping over it to soothe the stinging pain but your pussy is already clenching, desperate to be filled by him. 

“Please fuck me,” you’re able to mumble with your lip still between his teeth. Had you been able to, you’d have been rocking your pussy against his thigh for some reprieve but he’s anticipated this and you secretly hate him for it. 

“Once more with feeling doll,” he says after pulling away from your mouth. He kneels before you, body now upright as he pulls off his shirt and discards it. his trousers jut away from his body at the waist, the thick head of his cock straining against the material, making you want to reach out to stroke him through his trousers but he slaps your hand away before you can. “I want you naked before I fuck you, and I want to hear you beg for it before my cock goes anywhere near your pussy.”

He moves away from you just enough to allow you to draw your knees up to your chest, and hook your fingers  under the sides of your shorts and panties, pulling them up your thighs and off your ankles. Doing so though exposes your dripping core to him and as you’re momentarily distracted, he wastes no time in lowering himself to the bed, hands on your hips and pulls your body closer to his face. His mouth is against your folds, tongue darting between them and he licks you from clit to hole. 

His name falls from your lips before you can stop it, but repeating it when his tongue rolls oh so perfectly over you? That’s a choice. He takes everything you give him and demands more. With each lick and suckle to your bead, your wetness increases and becomes audible. Your thighs try to fall apart, resting on either side of his body but his arms keep them locked together and your core tight. Each flick of his tongue against you is torture, but he doesn’t stop until your legs are trembling and he can feel your clit pulsing against his tongue, stopping just before you come. 

Your legs collapse against the bedding as he moves away, and you pant out expletives as you try to get your breathing back. “I was seconds away from that orgasm,” you hiss at him, eyes set on him like you’re murderous. He says nothing, smirk in place as he strips himself, leaving him nude as he lowers his gaze to your covered torso. 

“And I said naked.”

“You didn’t give me the chance.” Your words come out in a snap which only amuses him more. He watches as you pull your shirt above your head and throw it to the floor, leaving you fully naked before him. 

“I’m sorry baby,” he quietens his voice, softens the tone of it and though it could have fooled anyone else, you know this is a slip into acting mode. He isn’t sorry at all, his expression amused as he pushes open your thighs again and admires the mess that he’s created. “You didn’t deserve that, did you?” he asks, tone slightly patronising but you go with it. 

You nod in agreement, forcing your most innocent expression and look up at him. “No, I didn’t.” 

“Poor little you.” He says it so softly and so tenderly that it almost sounds like a compliment. “Still want me inside this pretty, little pussy?”

“I thought you wanted me to beg?” You feel foolish for bringing it up and not just doing it, but the way the corners of his lips twitch makes you swallow hard. 

“Oh, you will. Just not yet.” He runs the tip of his cock up and down your slit, coating himself in your wetness before  pushing just inside of you. You give a sharp intake of breath and hum as he begins to stretch you open, relaxing your body as much as possible as he sinks into your wet heat. He’s very much in control, feeling the way your walls close around him, sucking him in deeper as he begins to thrust. 

A low, primal growl forms in his throat when he feels how easy it is to fully enter you. “You like that? Knowing how wet I am for you?” you taunt him as one leg locks over the back of his knee while the other hooks over his waist, heel of your foot seated at the bottom of his back. 

“Don’t think I don’t know you played with yourself,” Chris hisses, resting his weight into one forearm while the hand of the free arm grips you by the throat, just enough for you to feel the way his fingers close around your neck and the thumb to push your face up to look at him and he takes his time with you, pulling out several inches and sinking back in again. 

“Didn’t come. Needed you to do that for me,” you mewl, lust dripping through into your tone of voice. 

He inhales deeply while he thrusts, the pressure remaining at your throat ensures you remain tight around him, and that’s how he keeps you for a while. Staring down at your face as he thrusts into you with an even slow pace, hand still around your throat, he keeps this pace up until you’re a whining mess. 

“Please fuck me Chris,” you beg, your hand closing over his and pushes his hand higher until his thumb grazes over your lips. Parting them just enough to press a kiss to it before you suck it between your lips. While he fucks your pussy, you suck his thumb in a similar way that you’d take the tip of his cock, keeping eye contact the whole time. 

This is exactly what he needs to make his hips buck faster, to barely pull out half way before pushing back into you. The way he takes you makes his necklace swing forward with every thrust and drags over your tits as he pulls back, it would almost be hypnotic if you could keep your eyes focused as he takes you with everything he has. The only thing you can do is moan and beg him to continue by panting “yes” repeatedly. 

When his necklace hits your chin, he slows his pace to catch the necklace and bites down on it as his hips snap back to yours. “Come for me,” you tell him. “Come for me baby.” You arch your back, contract your pussy walls around him with each thrust until he fucks into you in such a way that you know he’s close. You can barely feel where one thrust ends and another starts, the pleasure surges through you until you’re letting out one endless moan until he buries himself completely within you, stopping once every inch of him is inside of you and he empties himself, painting your walls creamy white and filling you up with everything he can give you. 

When he eventually lifts his head from your shoulder, cock still pulsing inside of you, he gives a breathless chuckle. You give him a soft smile as your senses clear and you slump against the softness of the bed. Your hand strokes over his cheek, fingertips lightly tracing his beard covered jaw. “Gonna miss you in that suit.” you tell him and earn a real laugh from him. 

[duskamethyst]

mistakes.

a/n: totally for self indulgence... don’t know how is this gonna do though since i’m not sure if a lot of people has caught up with the manga but i’m pretty sure the fandom has seen him at least once and instantly thirst for him. so, idk what colour his eyes are (i can see blue but fanwiki says green so i stuck with that and in between). this comes with a package of me pointing out how big and buff he is and idc if you’ll get annoyed over it.

word count: 6.1k

genre: AU, nsfw, smut, angst if you squint

warnings: DARK – NONCON, coercion, corruption kink, daddy kink, size kink, choking, mind break, breeding, face fucking, slight dacryphilia, spitting, age gap, degradation, virgin reader, dilf toji manhandling reader

pairing: toji x f!reader

languages available: vietnamese.

summary: you want to surprise your bestie, megumi upon his arrival home from college but things take a terrible turn.

one.

heavy rain starts pouring as soon as you’ve reached the front doorstep of the fushiguro’s household. it was a dumb idea to not bring an umbrella with you despite the sky already starting to get dark when you left home earlier, but you were willing to push your luck and started sprinting once you felt prickles of droplets landing on your skin. with a stroke of luck, you managed to escape the heavy downpour from soaking your clothes.

drawing a deep and relieved sigh, you take a moment to regain control over your breathing before knocking the big front door. aware of the aftermath of the run, you fix your hair with your hands as you wait for megumi to come and greet you. 

college made you and the male to part ways until phones were the only thing that kept you both up to date with each other’s lives. ironically enough, that’s the thing you forgot to bring when you left home in a rush and excitement to surprise your dear friend since he’s coming home today. you can vividly remember the last text you read; he was at the train station and you had to estimate the time of his arrival and the time he would be at home instead of asking him.

however, you’re caught slightly off guard when a different man opens the door for you instead. nonetheless, your lips curl to a sweet smile and there’s a brief of awkward silence before he speaks. you know him, but he doesn’t seem to remember you at all.

“you’re..?” with a tilt of his head, he looks down at you with a curious brow. 

“it’s me, mr. fushiguro!” you offer your name, scrutinizing the expression on his face as his forehead crinkles while he jogs through his memories. then he glances at you and away in thought and back at you again with wide eyes when he finally recalls.

“oh, it’s you!” he ruffles your hair, a bit too enthusiastic in spite of his usual character that you were always familiar with. “i haven’t seen you in a while.”

you let out a little laugh, “yeah. i think i was fourteen the last time i saw you, mr. fushiguro. but it’s nice to see you again.”

“ah, yes. i had to go out of town and overseas for business a lot.” toji explains, rubbing the back of his neck, slightly bashful that he didn’t recognize the girl– no, woman before him even when you both have met plenty of times back when you often came to play with his son since you both were still little. 

but can anyone blame him? time works wonders and now the little girl he used to know has grown to be much more mature and gorgeous and so... demure.

“yeah, megumi told me. speaking of him, is he home?” you finally inquire, bringing up the reason why you’re here in the first place. 

two.

“why don’t you come in first? it’s cold outside.” he says before immediately turning around without answering your question. you close the door behind you and follow him closely, also somewhat intimidated when you realize how tall and huge he is– the tight fitting shirt stretches over his wide back and accentuating his physique even more. his arms are toned and popping with veins, not the way you used to remember at least, but you’ve never cared to notice. you’re not certain of his age either, but you’re pretty sure you’d be surprised if you find out.

“do you want coffee or tea?” toji suddenly breaks the silence as you nervously stand in the middle of the room to take a glimpse around the kitchen like it’s your first time being there, completely heedless over his gaze lingering up and down your curves, observing the figure of a girl who just freshly went through her womanhood and your lascivious beauty before he quickly turns around to grab two mugs from the cabinet. 

“anything is fine.” you politely reply, fear of sounding somewhat demanding if you choose your preference despite being offered with choices. 

“come on, you’re giving a man a hard time.” he jokes. “and sit down.”

he’s trying to extend his invitation though intentionally sounding assertive, but when he sees that you are quick to comply and scramble to your seat, he finds it to be... stimulating. at least he knows that you’re docile and he wonders if he could put it to the test. well, doesn’t matter. he will.

“coffee is good.” you smile, interrupting his train of thoughts and he pours the coffee from the pot before walking over to hand you your mug. 

“unfortunately,” he sits down on the chair next to you. “megumi isn’t home right now.” toji puts his lips between the warm mug and softly blows before sipping his coffee. “he wanted to take a short trip to the store but i think he’s going to be stuck there for a while.” he looks out the window to only see pitch black staring back at him along with roaring thunder from the skies.

“oh.” you mutter, taking a careful sip of the hot brew. a little disappointed that you couldn’t see megumi yet, but his dad is right– it’s nearly a disaster outside but you find no point hanging around any longer either.

“is it too bitter? you don’t like it?” his voice laces with concern when he notices your face involuntarily scrunches up at the bitter taste. 

you quickly shake your head, “no, no. it’s fine!” you reassure, afraid that he’ll take offense from the coffee he personally made. “besides, if megumi isn’t here, i–”

three.

“oh, it’s fine if you wait here for him.” he cuts you off. “unfortunately, we don’t have an extra umbrella.” the corners of his lips tug into a comforting smile and you are quick to relax into it. 

you’ve always found toji to be quite frightening when you were young. he seemed like someone who never smiled, always had a sombre and intense vibe to him that no child would be too fond of.  there was no exchange of words between you two, except for your constant brief hello and a smile that you did out of courtesy whenever you bump into him inside his house, even though he never replied anything back. not even a crack on the lips to return the smile. 

but today is different. probably because he finds it easier for him to talk to an adult than a child and you’re relieved that you’re able to humor him in some way.

“so, are you and megumi a thing?” he abruptly asks and glances at you as he sips his coffee.

“no, we’re not!” you titter, waving a hand in dismissal as you bring up the mug to hide your face from embarrassment.

“oh?” a glint of amusement and surprise shines in his green eyes. “are you sure?”

you blink at the question as heat warms your cheeks from the thought of dating your best friend. “yes, megumi and i are just friends. really.” 

“why? because you have a boyfriend?” toji pries, uncaring if he sounds intrusive to you and you only assume that he’s trying to strike up a conversation in some old fashioned way.

you just shake your head and laugh, “it’s not that, either.” 

“hmm,” he props his elbow on the table leisurely, head resting on his fist as he looks at you intently, as if in search of something. “you’re pretty hard to figure out.” 

“what do you mean? i don’t think so.” you smile, bringing up the mug to cover your face again so you can shy away from his intense gaze yet he thinks that it’s endearing and he finds himself grinning unwillingly. 

toji notices how you always try to look away when you get so shy over some simple questions. you’re just oozing with purity and innocence of a maiden and something dark and twisted inside him is craving to violate every part of it. 

“for a start, i can’t figure out why you don’t have one.” he says, tapping his fingertips on the table as his mind is running with sinful thoughts. 

“hmm, maybe because i haven’t found anyone interesting yet.” you finally lock your eyes with his as you answer, not wanting to come off as rude if you keep on talking without looking directly at the man.

“isn’t my son good for you?” he couldn’t care less to be honest; he only plans to test the waters and is even more aroused to learn that you’ve never been touched by a man before and he feels like a wolf that’s just ready to pounce on a lost, little lamb.

“oh, no, no!” why do you have to get so bashful? he’ll fuck you on this table if you don’t stop. “we just don’t see each other that way.”

he’s so lost in his thoughts and carnal desires that whatever you’re babbling seems to go in one ear and out the other.

“then, what do you think of me?” he asks nonchalantly with a smirk plastered across his face.

you blink at him once, twice. “uhh, what?” is he suddenly getting self-conscious? 

“you heard me. what do you think of me?” yet he doesn’t seem like it either.

“umm,” you ponder for a moment as you think of every adjective you can find in your head that wouldn’t come out offensive if you’re going to be honest with him. why would he even ask you such a thing anyways? and why would it matter to him? there’s nothing nice about him that you could exactly pinpoint from the past except for ‘scary’, ‘serious’ and some other things revolving around those.

“i thought that you were kinda... scary?” you blurt unsurely, mentally slapping yourself for even daring to say such a thing to him. unless it’s a vibe that he was going for, then you’d be relieved. 

it isn’t exactly what toji wants to hear but he laughs heartily, “really?” a shiver runs down your spine when he looks at you again, his eyes glimmering with daunt. “but are you still scared of me?”

“uh, no.” you laugh. “you’re actually really nice, mr. fushiguro.” 

“oh, that makes me feel better.” another grin etches on his scarred lips as he draws his gaze to your hands that are tensing and fiddling with your sleeves and your leg is bouncing; a perfect depiction of a trembling lamb cornered in his den– and he’s fucking starving. 

has he got you on edge? are you nervous? good. “but i think you should.”

a lump catches in your throat and your heart drops, “i- what?”

the chair emits a screeching sound and it stumbles backwards as toji abruptly stands up from his seat. sheer panic causes you to rise on your feet too, and your eyes dart to the chair, and the male, back and forth as your mind tries to get a grasp on the situation.

“mr. fushiguro..?” you whisper meekly, taking a step away and around the table as you notice him taking a careful yet threatening inch closer. 

“no, no. i’m not gonna hurt you.” toji (barely) reassures you as he continues creeping on his feet. but the sinister smile on his lips takes out every last bit of faith you had in him and the loud voice in your head keeps telling you to run for the door and never look back– fuck the rain.

 as if he can read through your thoughts, he warns. “but i will, if you run.” 

the smile on toji’s face turns smug when he sees you freeze in place upon his threat. being trapped under the unpleasant situation triggers your fight or flight responses and rapid heartbeat drums in your ears as you stand in trance and trepidation.

“that’s a good girl.” he coos, taking another step forward before you decide to throw a mug at him and dash towards the door as fast as you can. you assume that toji has pushed the table to the floor when you hear a loud thud, followed by his hasty footsteps as he catches up quickly behind you. 

the door that is finally within arm’s reach suddenly changes into a mirage when a strong pair of arms grabs you by the waist and your body floats as it lifts onto his shoulder. the huge contrast between the size of your body and his should let you know; no matter how much you try to resist, he will never budge. yet, your arms and legs still flail around in an attempt to punch and kick him and you’re screaming for him to let you down and just hope that anyone is able to hear your cries in spite of the thunderstorm. 

well, so much for luck.

“ah, ah. you don’t wanna do that.” there’s a mocking and amusing tone in his voice as he advises you. “you should save that energy later. juuust in a bit.” 

“mr. fushiguro– stop–!” you sob, watching your only escape slowly disappears out of sight when he turns to a corner and into a dark room. your body bounces onto a mattress before toji’s huge, ripped figure swiftly looms above yours and ties your hands together with a belt and onto the headboard. at this point, the illuminating lights through the windows are the only thing that aids your vision and you have to rely more on your senses.

“shh,” he shushes you with a finger against your trembling lips. “the neighbors will hear. and if they do, i want it to be because you’re getting fucked so good. so be a good little girl for daddy, okay?”

regardless of being terrified, you find yourself cringing over the nickname he refers to himself. hopefully, he won’t ask you to call him that either. “mr. fushiguro– i– please don’t do this. i- i won’t tell anyone.” 

toji tsks, taking his sweet time to admire your smaller body underneath his– the exposed, soft skin on your neck waiting to be bruised, chest heaving as your breath comes deep and short, and legs pressing together to secure your modesty; though will prove to be futile later. 

“i know you won’t.” his thumb grazes against your lips, mesmerized by its plushness as he imagines it wrapped prettily around his throbbing cock. “are you a virgin?”

you only nod your head, eyes wavering as you look at his darker ones before catching it shine with interest. 

“never had anything inside here?” he asks again, pressing your cunt against the fabric of your pants with his fingers. the dark room makes it hard to see, but your cheeks are turning red from humiliation and you look away before shaking your head no.

“are you sure?” toji’s thumb presses down on your clit and causes your body to shudder apprehensively.

“o-only my finger.” you audibly whisper through the white noise outside. 

oh, how exhilarating. guess the innocent looking ones can be lewd too. don’t you know that a cock would make you feel better? a big cock like his is definitely what you need. just a finger wouldn’t be enough to satisfy you! poor little thing. 

“then i got to teach you a few things, right? it’ll come handy later. boys love girls with experiences.” he promptly strips you off from your pants before carelessly throws it to the ground and kneels between your legs to keep you wide and open for him.

“you like to be touched here?” his finger reaches down to ghost over your clothed clit, observing you with lust filled eyes while you turn away from his gaze and remain unresponsive. “daddy is a very impatient person so i suggest you answer me.”

toji pinches your clit, and your body squirms with an elicited yelp. you can only guess (and hope) that he wasn’t referring to him touching you there but you answer anyway, “y-yes.”

he hums in satisfaction, moving down until his head stops between your thighs and in front of your sex. toji grabs your thigh and spreads them apart before flattening his warm tongue against your clothed bud, causing a shiver to run down your spine and it quickly draws your attention to him.

your face heats up in embarrassment when you see toji’s head dipped in front of your pussy, but he’s only calm and teasing as his jade eyes stare up to lock with yours to look for a reaction.

“you’ve never felt a tongue over here either, hm?” he sneers, rubbing circles on your clit with his thumb and you mentally curse yourself for feeling slightly aroused over his ministrations. 

“just let me go, please.” you try to close your legs, but to no avail when his rough hands push them away.

“you know, if you keep asking for ridiculous things,” toji tuts and grasps your supple thighs hard, nails digging painfully on your skin. “i might have to get rough on you. but you’re a smart girl and you wouldn’t like that, right?” 

“n-no.” you choke and fidget.

“good. because i only want you to feel good.” he offers a gentle smile and kisses the dented mark on your thigh. “so, let’s start over. you haven’t answered me.”

you nibble your lip hesitantly and look anywhere but him, “no.”

“see? all the more reason for me to show you what you’ve been missing out.” he chuckles, tugging your underwear to the side impatiently.

“fuck. such a pretty pussy.” he growls at the sight of your bare cunt. there isn’t a lot of slick yet, but it’s fine, he’ll make you get there. that’s the point of this whole ordeal, right?

your body quivers naturally once you feel the foreign sensation; wet, warm muscle prodding your puffy folds up to your clit and circling on it with the tip of his tongue teasingly as he observes you from below. 

your eyes are screwed shut and your lips are caught between your teeth as you try to restrict your whines from the undeniable pleasure rushing in your veins and he doesn’t stop– your pathetic attempt to deny him and your sentiments only drives him to push you over the edge even more. 

with a harsh suck on your clit, he manages to get you to squeal and you can feel him smirking underneath you. toji flattens his tongue and laps off your juices again before he takes you by surprise when he suddenly slides a finger inside your tight, wet cunt. 

“shh. it’ll feel good, baby girl.” he comforts when he hears you whimper at the pain inflicted and true enough, it soon begins to feel good. you’ve fingered yourself plenty of times before, but it feels different when he does it for you– his finger is thick and long that it reaches deeper than you’ve ever been able to.

toji notices you start to become quiet so he slides in another digit, eliciting yet another sob from you. the warm and moist cunny makes his cock twitch and he finds himself getting eager. your back arches from the bed when toji curls his fingers to stroke the bumpy tissues of your g-spot with every drag.

“feels good, yeah?” he grins arrogantly as your legs tremble under his hold. your breathing has turned erratic and your toes are curling as your mouth gapes in pitiful, broken cries that are just music to his ears. 

“answer me, sweetheart.” he presses down a thumb on your neglected clit, reminding you that he is not keen on being ignored and disputed. 

“y-yes.” you finally choke through pants and shame. though the answer comes out in hesitance, your body is more honest– pussy sopping and eliciting obscene squelches and it’s enough to satisfy him for now. 

your head thrashes side to side as you feel yourself about to tip over but you still refuse to beg toji for a release. 

“hah– fuck!” you whimper loudly when toji oh-so-generously sucks your clit again, fingers pumping faster inside your cunt, making your body feel even more tense with overbearing stimulation before finally pushing you over the edge and you break into a silent scream.

toji laps off your slick before he pulls out his finger into his mouth and licks them clean. 

“that’s a good girl. why don’t you taste yourself?” he climbs on top of you while you gasp for air from the intense orgasm and he easily pulls you into a fervour, sloppy kiss. you can feel the wet slick on his chin and you can taste yourself at the same time as he intertwines his tongue with yours. 

four.

out of spite and vexation, you found courage to bite his tongue hard and toji instantly pushes himself from you, his dark eyes express astonishment and agitation.

“fucking bitch.” he curses as his eyes narrow at you displeasingly before he takes off his pants and briefs to release his cock from its confinements. his cock is throbbing and thick, and you can almost see a trickle of precum on its head. you crumple at the sight as regret and anxiety washes over you.

“don’t worry, it’ll fit.” he says cockily upon the worrisome look on your face. “but since you like it rough, i’m sure you want to choke on it first.” 

“no– i’m sorry!” you shake your head but toji only lets out a scornful laugh as he disregards your pleas and props himself on the knees and over your neck.

toji slaps the tip of his cock on your lips, gesturing you to open your mouth but you purse them into a flat, thin line and refuse to obey. 

“open up. it’s a part of your lesson after all.” he snaps before squeezing your cheeks together. “it’ll get worse if you don’t listen to me.” 

“d-don’t wa-ant to– flea-shh.” you whimper and toji emits a long, deep sigh as he releases his grip. 

“i don’t like repeating myself.” his voice is laced with malice and chills crawls up your spine as his eyes look down at you demeaningly before you slowly open your mouth trepidatiously and wait for his next order. 

“no teeth. i think you’d know that much.” he patronizes before sliding his cock inside your mouth and he hisses as the warmth engulfs his throbbing cock. “that’s it. now, suck.”

and you have no choice but to obey submissively. you slightly lift your head and struggle to take his length as much as you can before running your tongue around to feel each prominent vein.

“i said suck, whore.” he commands through gritted teeth. you hollow your cheeks, compressing his fat cock tight between them as you bop your head up and down. 

“fuuuck, just like that.” toji groans as his hand reaches the top of your head and caresses you softly. you start to pick up the pace, slobbering his dick with so much saliva that it begins to seep from the corners of your mouth and it’s so wet and obscene– just the way he likes it. 

“it almost makes me think that this isn’t your first time.” his head falls back and hips begin to jerk until the tip hits the back of your throat, forcing you to take more than you could. you choke as tears start to well up in your eyes and the bedhead shakes when you try to tug your wrists. 

“what’s wrong? can’t take my fat cock?” he scoffs arrogantly. “you gotta work on your gag reflex, sweetheart.”

the muffles from your throat vibrate against his dick and toji groans in pleasure that he subconsciously rocks his hips, slapping your chin with his balls. your vision has become blurry and breathing becomes harder as you let him abuse your throat and your jaws ache before he abruptly pulls out and you can finally gasp for precious air.

“look at you,” his cock twitches with excitement when he sees the tears rolling down your cheeks from your doe eyes and he wipes them away with his thumb, making you flinch slightly, “are you sorry for making daddy mad?” 

toji always tries to articulate each word with appease. it’s never soothing per se when you can sense the threat entwining in his voice and it’s fucking you psychologically.

and it deems to be successful when you’re already trembling in fear underneath him. 

you’re uncertain whether he prefers you to speak or not, but your throat is sore so you meekly nod your head in response. it’s better than nothing, to be honest.

“good. open your mouth.”

your mouth is already parted for air but you assume that he wants to put his cock in again. submissively, yet dreadfully, you open your mouth wider and await for him to shove his cock back in but you’re surprised when toji spits in your mouth instead. 

it’s warm and disgusting; you’re just left gaping and repelled, and you want to spit it out but toji squeezes your cheeks together.

“swallow.” he orders. you quickly brace yourself and close your eyes before cringing as you gulp down the mix of saliva in your mouth and toji releases his grip once he’s certain that you’ve ingested. 

“i could’ve made you swallow my cum but i’d feel bad,” he chuckles sardonically. “what do you have to say?” 

“t-thank you.” you whisper vaguely and he accustoms his face to a simper. 

“good girl.” toji smashes his lips onto yours, yet his eyes are locked with yours ominously for a brief second– a telltale that he expects you not to pull up another stunt before they close as he deepens the kiss. 

obviously, nothing would benefit you whether you comply or defy, not until you’ve catered for his insatiable lechery. but you’ve learned your lesson and although you’re compelled, you finally relent as every ounce of resistance begins to drift from you. 

toji breaks the kiss and shifts lower, peppering greedy kisses on your neck before he catches the soft, chaste skin between his teeth to suck and form purplish bruising marks. he lifts up your shirt over your head and hastily unclasps your bra, causing you to shudder once the cold air hits your exposed breasts. 

large, calloused hands press your mounds before his mouth latches on one perky tit, while the other is tweaked with his fingers. experienced tongue draws circles and sucks punishingly, alternating with the other nipple. the headboard rattles as you keen over the stimulation and your eyes open in dismay when you feel something hard prodding your clit. 

he moves lower and spits on your cunt before propping on his knees to take off his tight shirt– through subdued glow, you can make out the outline of his toned abs and broad chest as his large build towers menacingly in front of you; even when he’s not standing on his feet.

“listen. daddy is going to release the binds, but do you promise to be good?” he asks, smearing the saliva with his cockhead and against your slit.

“yes. i- i promise.” you murmur appallingly; as if you have a choice in the matter.

toji leans over to unrestrain you then he observes you, expecting you to put up a fight but instead, you just remain still underneath him. 

he grins in satisfaction, getting off to the fact that you’ve fallen into submission before he shifts back into his prior position and bends your knees up to line his cock with your hole. a feeling of triumph stirs inside him when he’s reminded that he’s the ‘chosen’ one to defile your innocence.

“stop! it hurts–!” you wail and your hands clench the sheets when you feel toji’s thick cock stretching your virgin cunt slowly, but he ignores you, groaning at the warmth that engulfs him and the tight walls that clenches him as he selfishly pushes through. 

it burns. so bad. your chest heaves rapidly and you screw your eyes shut as your face twists to express pain and uncomfort. “please, please–! i can’t–”

“yes, you can.” his tone is indifferent as he holds you down since your body keeps on wincing until he finally fills you to the brim and he can see a bulge poking on your tummy. 

“fuck. haven’t been inside a virgin cunt for a while.” he mutters under his breath. “now, i know it hurts but i promise you’ll enjoy it. it’s just too bad that you get to have a big cock as your first.” he snickers nonchalantly and leans down closer to your face, making you jolt when you feel it inching deeper.

“if it makes you feel better– you’re fucking tight. just the way daddy likes it.” toji whispers in your ear but you can only freeze in fear and agony.

toji hovers above you, his hands firmly grip the headboard in front of him and he begins to move his hips; thrusting in and out of your pussy. 

your fists clench the sheets harder as a loud cry rips from your throat, “no! it hurts! please!”

but toji doesn’t seem to mind, his cyan orbs stare down at you coldly yet in focus as he relishes over the plush walls clamping down on his cock. 

“stop! stop– i- i don’t want–!” you continuously wail as you writhe in anguish before he suddenly stops pounding and he wraps his hand around your neck instead, instantly drawing your attention to him as he applies pressure in his hold. 

“if you don’t stop whining like a bitch in heat, i will fucking breed you like one.” he warns through gritted teeth, clearly agitated over your act of defiance. 

“you want this. you’re going to love this.” his words are sick endeavours to coerce you into another round of complete submission. 

but what else can you do? toji’s hand is so large that his middle finger and thumb almost reach each other as it clasps around your frail neck and you know he can easily crush your windpipes if he wants to.

“say it. you. want. this.” he seethes.

“i. want. this.” you barely croak each word and they’re slowly influencing your cloudy mind. as soon as he releases you, you soothe the pain around your throat with your hand as you gasp for air.

“fuck. don’t think i didn’t feel you clenching around my cock just now.” he sneers and situates himself again before ruthlessly and steadily continuing where he left off. 

you only close your eyes and bite your lips hard to stop whimpering as you mentally comfort yourself and dissolve every inch of your sanity; i’m going to enjoy it, it’s going to feel good soon, i want this, i want this.

soon enough, toji notices that your muscles have relaxed– suggesting that you’ve finally caved in as pleasure overtakes you so he fucks you deeper and faster before he falls on his elbows and you can feel his bangs tickling your face.

“that’s it, baby. you make daddy feel so fucking good.” he praises between grunts. you can feel the veins on his cock dragging against your walls and he’s right, it feels so good and your lips open in breathless pants.

you find your arms to loosely wrap around his neck and your legs around his waist as if clinging onto him for dear life as toji ruts into your cunny like a feral beast. 

“you like it, yeah? this is what you want, isn’t it?” 

through hazy mind, you can only manage to whimper an audible ‘yes’ as you feel an odd, yet almost familiar knot twisting in your lower stomach begging to snap and your nails dig into the skin of his broad back upon the intense sensation shooting through your body. 

a low, deep guttural sound leaves his throat when he feels your nails sinking and scratching his back– it prompts him to quicken his pace and you can feel the tip of his cock kissing your cervix over and over, causing your back to arch simultaneously. 

“i’m– i’m gonna–!” you keen as your body trembles in anticipation and your sopping cunt is clenching on his throbbing cock like a vice. 

“fuck yeah. cum on daddy’s cock.” toji urges and nips on the sensitive skin of your neck to tip you over the edge and your pupils blow wide as you break into a scream. despite being your second orgasm for the night, an overwhelming euphoria washes over you for the first time of your life; is this what it feels like? you don’t know, you’ve never had one (at least not from a cock) and your pussy is just fluttering, pulsing and creaming around his cock. 

“hah– fuck. good girl.” 

toji remains to snap his hips, fucking you through your high as you’re left in daze from your orgasm. toji can feel his balls tensing and his thrusts are turning sporadic as he inches closer to his climax. your whines and nonsense babbles are drowned by the feeling of pleasure that’s enveloping him and he doesn’t even have the resolution to listen to you gibbering when your cunny is just milking him, sucking him in like it doesn’t want to let go and he just wants to give what your greedy pussy asks for; to fill it up with his thick load until it’s full and leaking out of you. 

and daddy knows best, after all.

“shit– i won’t be able to hold it any longer. say you want daddy’s cum.” he grunts.

you’ve partly snapped out of your daze when you hear his voice again, and though you can’t see his face that’s already buried next to your head, you’re petrified and it’s making you feel dizzy and suffocated. 

“i– n-no. please not–” you sob through your raw throat.

but toji doesn’t listen and you don’t know if you’re relieved or not because if he does, you know that it’ll tick him off and it’s going to do you more harm than good– but you’re scared and it hurts, that you unwillingly start to snivel again.

“shut up. you’re gonna take it like a good cumslut.” he shoves two long fingers in your mouth, causing you to choke on them.

“daddy’s gonna cum in this pretty pussy and you’re gonna fucking take it.” 

toji’s grunts ring in your ears and you’re able to feel his cock twitching inside you before he finally releases hot ropes of cum– filling up and defiling your womb.

“y-you came inside..” you mumble once he takes out his fingers as you’re left entirely devastated and stupefied. 

“fucking did.” he pants, lifting his body up from you and pulls out his cock to shove back the dribbling cum that’s leaking from your abused cunny with his finger. you would wince but your mind is already numb and your body is sore that you can do nothing but burn holes through the ceiling above.

“don’t look so sad.” the room resonates with his chuckles and he gets off the bed to put back on his pants. toji walks over to the nightstand where a pack of cigarettes await him and he puts one between his lips and you can hear the flicking sounds of a lighter as he tries to burn the tip. 

“i can promise you that other guys wouldn’t be rough as me but one thing’s for sure,” he inhales the tobacco and exhales in a gratifying manner, “that will stay as the best fuck of your life.”

fat tears stream down your cheeks and you curl on your side, protecting your now-ruined-body as you quietly sob and your mind takes you back from how the ordeal even started and causes you to end up where you are right now– and it only makes you cry harder.

toji only lets out an exasperated sigh. he grabs his shirt from the floor and throws it on his shoulder before reaching the door.

“megumi won’t be coming home ‘til tomorrow. he said something about the train and the weather, so you can leave when you’re done. you know your way out.”

you hear the door close shut behind him and you’re left in the dark with nothing but the smell of his tobacco and the sounds of the drizzling rain accompanying you as you drown in your thoughts and griefs. 

how many mistakes have you made today? four? five? or more? 

you’ve lost count and you question yourself over again until you’re no longer able to care.

what’s done is done.

duskamethyst © 2020 • do not modify, translate or repost anywhere.

enjoyed this work? wanna buy me coffee? :)

[fandom-smut-shots]

Striker x Reader - Picking Up Trash and Calling It Treasure

Chapter 2

You know Striker is bad news.  You know he's not boyfriend material. You know he's a killer. But that doesn't stop him from sweet-talking his way into your heart. Just how far will you let yourself fall for that rattlesnake bastard before you decide enough is enough?

My first fic of this fandom! I knew it was only a matter of time. I've recently developed a crush on Striker and have found very little fulfilling Striker content so I wrote my own. This story is written with a female reader in mind but until the smut happens it could be read either way if you don't mind mentally changing pronouns. If you'd like me to write some male!reader x Helluva Boss, you're more than welcome to request some. Let me know what y'all think!

         “You know he’s bad news, right?”

         You rolled your eyes as you lifted your drink to your lips, taking a swallow. Across from you sat Millie for your weekly Girls Night Out, her expression a combination of disbelief and concern for your mental state.

         “Yes, Mills, I know,” you nodded, scanning your eyes across the bar. Unless he’d gotten better at hiding (unlikely), this was the first Girls Night where Blitzø hadn’t trailed the two of you. For the first few weeks, you or Millie would spot him hiding rather poorly in a corner booth or behind a bigger demon, struggling to eavesdrop on your conversations in case either of you were talking shit about him. After the last time, when he’d hidden in the shadows of the women’s restroom, you’d given him a very private, very personal threat of what would happen should he follow the two of you again.

         You were pleased to see that he could follow directions.

         “He’s an assassin for hire, (y/n)!”

         A laugh bubbled in your throat. “The fuck does that make us, Millie?

         “We kill humans,” she argued, as though that was somehow holier than Striker’s chosen profession. “He kills demons. He could kill you.”

         “And I could kill him,” you countered, finishing your drink. “Hell, he’d probably like it.”

         She groaned loudly, falling forward until her head hit the table with a thump. You took your empty glass as well as hers and sauntered up to the bar, sliding the glasses across the surface and flagging down the bartender for another round. After a nod of confirmation, you made your way back to your seat, giggling at the irritation on your best friend’s face.

         “It’s not like I’m gonna do anything,” you offered, knowing that she wouldn’t believe you. “He’s just nice to look at, is all. I know he’s not boyfriend material.”

         “Who’s not boyfriend material?” came a low, gravelly voice twinged with a southern accent.

         Your brow lifted as you turned your head to see the subject of your conversation standing beside your table, looking far more attractive than he had any legal right to. From the corner of your eye, you could see Millie glaring daggers into your non-existent soul, so you offered the demon-killing cowboy a flirtatious grin.

         “Blitzø,” you lied easily. “He’s a little too chaotic for my taste, but he’s kinda cute.”

         “Too chaotic, huh?” Striker chuckled, and you may or may not have crossed your legs to quell the tingling sensation between them. “I could see that. Your boss man is a little high-strung. I bet a lady like you could use a night under the stars, unwind from all that time in the living world.”

         “Sounds like a good time,” you purred, gnawing at your lower lip as you looked up at him. Millie slumped in her seat, groaning loudly in disapproval, though you both ignored her.

         “It’s a date, then,” Striker grinned. “I’ll pick you up tomorrow night.”

         “You’re on,” you replied as he walked away. Once he was out of view, you turned to face Millie, who had her arms crossed over her chest.

         “Not boyfriend material, remember?” she growled.

         “Going on one date doesn’t make him my boyfriend,” you giggled. A whistle to your right informed you that your drinks were waiting at the bar, so you rose from your seat to retrieve them. Returning to the table, you slid Millie’s towards her, laughing as she took hold of the glass and downed half of its contents in one drink.

         “Thirsty?” you teased, sipping at your own drink.

         “I need a lot more alcohol if I’m gonna listen to you talk about that snake all night,” she defended.

         “What was I supposed to do, Mills? You saw him!”

         “Yeah, I saw him, and you were supposed to tell him off, not agree to a date.”

         “He’s hot though,” you groaned. “I can’t help it. I like my men like I like my alcohol – deliciously terrible for my health.”

         “This is gonna blow up in your face,” Millie stated, finishing off her drink.

         "Oh, definitely," you nodded in agreement. “But the orgasm will be worth it.”

         The imp made a face at you, her nose scrunched up in disgust while her eyes narrowed in disappointment. You giggled in response, downing the rest of your drink.

           “What do you mean, you’re not celebrating with us?” Blitzø exclaimed, his signature pout on his lips as he stared at you.

         “Exactly what I said,” you replied, packing up your weaponry. “I have plans tonight.”

         “But we always go out together after a successful job!” your boss whined dramatically, earning a scoff from Millie and an eyeroll from Moxxie.

         “Not true, sir,” Moxxie countered. “Millie and I have blown you off countless times.”

         “Besides,” Millie grumbled, “she has a date.”

         You closed your eyes, inhaling as you waited for the explosion.

         “A DATE?!”

         You opened your eyes to find Blitzø staring at you, eyes wide, mouth agape, arms flailing helplessly. “Since when do you have a date? Who is he? Or she? Why is this the first time I’m hearing about this?!”

         “Because it just happened last night,” you rolled your eyes, slinging the strap of your weapons case over your shoulder. “It’s not a big deal. It’s one date.”

         “With a psychopath,” Millie added, crossing her arms. You leveled her with a glare as Blitzø sprang to life, animatedly asking more personal questions.

         “Please don’t tell me you’re going out with Striker after he tried to kill all of us,” Moxxie commented, mentally putting the pieces together and pinching what would be the bridge of his nose.

         You fell quiet, refusing to meet any of their gazes, and Blitzø exhaled a loud shriek.

         “Striker? Seriously?” he demanded, eyes narrowing into angry slits. “What the fuck do you think you’re doing going out with Striker?!”

         “It’s just one date,” you reminded the trio, “and it’s really none of your business. Now, if y’all don’t mind, I have a date to get ready for.”

         Without listening to any of their complaints, you made your way out of the office, allowing the door to slam closed behind you.

           Back at home, you stood before your full-length mirror, twisting left and right to determine whether or not your outfit was acceptable. You didn’t want to appear desperate, as though you were trying to get the cowboy’s attention, but you wanted to look hotter than you did on a regular basis. You opted for tight jeans that hugged the curve of your ass, a (f/c) button-up shirt that you tied up around your waist, and high-heeled combat boots.

         As you waited for Striker to arrive, you sat on your bed, the reality of the night finally caught up with you. You were going on a date with a very dangerous imp, and that was the majority of the information you had on him. You knew he was from Wrath, that he was an assassin for hire, that he was more narcissistic than Blitzø, that he was the hottest imp you’d ever seen, and that his southern drawl made you weak in the knees.

         An hour passed as you sat on your bed, your gaze occasionally flicking towards the door. You knew he traveled by horse, though that didn’t stop your heart from skipping a beat every time a car slowed down outside of your apartment complex. You didn’t have any way to contact him, not having exchanged numbers. It dawned on you that he may not even know where you lived, and that asking you out may have just been a spontaneous joke.

         Anger, embarrassment, and disappointment fought for top billing in your heart as you sat on your bed, hands balled into fists, pressing into your thighs. The hour grew later and later, without a single text or knock, not even from your friends. You lasted until midnight before you decided he wasn’t going to show, and you stripped out of your clothes, throwing on a tank top and shorts to sleep in. You scrubbed the makeup off of your face and threw your hair into a bun, angrily crawling under the covers and snuggling into your favorite pillow. If tears stained the fabric beneath your head, you sure as fuck weren’t going to tell anyone about it.

[mischievouslittlecreature]

Bedside Manner

Fandom: The Dark Knight Trilogy

Pairing: Jonathan Crane x OC

Summary: He really does worry about her too much.

Series: Part 3 of The Shadow Game  

Word Count: 3,276

Notes: This is so goddamn fluffy and soft you guys I don’t even know what to say. Takes place after Jonathan and Vanessa have started working at Arkham. For those curious, the exact procedure Vanessa gets in this is a bilateral salpingectomy, which is a removal of the fallopian tubes, often as a method of permanent birth control. I am not a doctor, so apologies for any medical inaccuracies. Warnings for mention of surgery, tokophobia, nausea (but no actual vomiting), and pain.   

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Jonathan kept an arm firmly around her as they walked up to their apartment building, being mindful of the small incisions in her stomach. Punching the button for the elevator, he rested a hand to her forehead, brows creased with worry.

“Relax, ‘m not gonna fall,” she mumbled, even as she leaned against him gratefully, still a little drowsy and wobbly on her feet from the anesthesia. He didn’t say a word, just pursed his lips and tightened his grip on her, ushering her into the elevator and pushing the number for their floor.

“Are you still dizzy?” he asked as they made their way down the hallway, pulling his keys from his pocket and unlocking the apartment door.

“A little,” she admitted. “Mostly just feel loopy, though.”

“Mm,” he locked the multiple locks on the door once they were inside and herded her towards the couch in the living room, helping her to settle against the cushions, reclining the seat for her and tucking a pillow under her head, grabbing the soft orange blanket folded over the back of the couch to wrap around her. “Are you hungry? Want me to get you something?”

“Not right now,” she yawned. 

“Tea?”

She wasn’t really that thirsty either, but he seemed to need something to do, else he would begin fussing.

“Sure.”

Cuddling the worn blanket closer to her, she watched with quiet fondness as he rushed away into the kitchen, fumbling with the kettle. He really did worry about her too much.

The surgery really wasn’t that big of a deal; and it had been something that she’d wanted to have done for years. To rid herself of the increasing anxiety that came with being riddled with diagnosable tokophobia.

Good-bye, fallopian tubes. You will not be missed.

It had been a thorough pain in the ass convincing someone to actually give her the procedure, but her calculated and carefully curated friendship–okay, friendship was a rather generous term, more like friendly acquaintance–with one of the surgeons who she’d gone to college with had helped her jump the line.

She really was dead lucky. Most people had to wait until they were at least thirty for the doctors to agree to jettison their tubes. Having Jonathan stand sternly in the darkest corner of the room with his most serious face during her consultations had probably helped.       

“Still feeling okay?” he asked, setting a mug of steaming tea carefully onto a coaster on the table next to her.

“Mhm. A little pain in my shoulders, but not too bad.”

“I could go get you a heating pad or something–” he made a move to head towards the hallway where the linen closet was, but she grabbed at the sleeve of his shirt before he could get too far away.

“What I want is to just lay here and nap and watch terrible sitcoms. I’m fine, okay? Don’t fuss. I know that you have work to do. If I need you, I’ll holler,” the office door was quite literally right there. She probably wouldn’t even need to actually yell for him to hear her. But still, Jonathan frowned, eyes looking her up and down. Vanessa sighed good naturedly. “Or, you could go get your work and come sit here next to me. If  that would make you feel better.”

He stroked the back of his hand along her cheek. “Okay.”

She waited until he got settled beside her, case notes on his lap and pen in hand, before she pressed the play button on the remote, snuggling down into the couch.

She was asleep before even thirty minutes had passed.

She woke up still on the couch. The television was on but outside it was dark. Her blanket was tucked up to her chin, and she was warm.

“Jonathan?” her eyesight was blurry, mind still half asleep. Curled up beside her, he stirred, immediately bending over her.

“You okay? Are you in pain?”

“No, ‘m okay,” she yawned. “A little hungry.”

“I’ll heat something up for you. What do you want?”

“We still have some of that chicken parm soup left?”

“I think so. You want that?”

“Yeah.”

He departed only briefly to get them both some soup, the microwave beeping and whirring as it worked. The soup steamed from the bowls, generous pieces of chicken and pasta floating in the watery red liquid.

“After you’ve eaten you can take your pain meds.”

“Okay,” she hadn’t even realized how ravenous she was until she scooped up the first mouthful, not even caring when she slightly burned her tongue. Her finished bowl was deposited onto the worn coffee table, swallowing her horse pills with a large gulp of water before curling back up onto the couch. Jonathan stretched out beside her.

“Do you want to go to bed?”

“Yeah,” she lifted a hand to cover a yawn, squeaking when in one fluid motion she was off of the couch and cradled securely in his arms, being carried bridal style towards the bedroom. “I can walk!” she laughed, arms looping around his neck.

He settled her down very, very carefully onto the bed, rummaging around, dresser drawers squeaking as he gathered up both of their sets of pajamas. She changed sluggishly, realizing with every required movement just how exhausted and weak she felt. But that was normal; they had told her before the surgery that the first three or so days would be the hardest. Still, the feeling of being so physically vulnerable made her more nervous than she’d care to admit, suddenly incredibly grateful that Jonathan had taken the next several days off of work to take care of her.

“If you’re not tired, or need to get more work done that’s okay…” she mumbled as she got herself situated on the pillows. Jonathan’s eyes narrowed stubbornly, climbing into his spot beside her, long limbs folding gracefully into the bed.

“I’m not going anywhere,”  he tucked a lock of long black hair behind her ear.

“If you’re sure…” the words were spoken even as she inched closer to him, humming as his arm wrapped around her, being careful not to put any pressure on her incisions. 

“Mhm,” he hummed in affirmation.

“Okay, then.”

“Nessa?”

She whined, head between her knees, legs curled towards her chest. The tile of the bathroom where she was sitting beside the toilet was cold. Jonathan took another cautious step into the little room, kneeling down beside her and gingerly touching her knee. She felt bad for not waking him. It had probably scared him a little; to have woken up without her beside him.

“Nauseous?”

She just nodded, taking a deep breath, as if that would somehow help settle her stomach. “Haven’t actually been sick, though.”

Shifting so that he was sitting beside her, he rubbed her back. “Do you want me to call the doctor?”

“No. It’s not that bad,” squirming a bit, she groaned. “Shoulders hurt more this morning too.”

“I’m sorry.”

She just shrugged. These were all normal side effects, nothing to be too concerned about yet. But they still sucked.

Stretching his head around to check the time on the clock hanging from the wall, Jonathan huffed. “You can’t take your pain meds without eating something.”

She groaned softly at the suggestion of food, stomach writhing. Jonathan increased the circles he was rubbing into her back.

“Once you’re outside of the twenty-four hour window, the nausea should get better. Think you could handle some crackers?”

“I can try.”

“Okay. I’ll be right back,” he kissed her on the top of the head, disappearing in the kitchen and returning with a sleeve of saltines. Suppressing a gag, she took one from him, nibbling on it tentatively. He pressed his warm side up against hers, watching carefully as she slowly ate one cracker after another. The food seemed to actually help, the nausea abating, if only slightly.

They waited until they were confident that she wasn’t going to throw the crackers back up before she took her painkillers.

“Let’s go back to bed. It won’t be good for your pain to sit on the hard floor like this.”

“I might puke on you,” she warned, even as she let him pull her slowly to her feet and guide her back to the bedroom.

“That’s okay.”

She still insisted that he put a trash can next to her side of the bed. Just in case. It took her a long time to fall back to sleep, the nausea and persistent pain in her shoulders from the gas keeping her up. But Jonathan stayed up with her, rubbing her shoulders and kissing her temple until she finally dozed off.

When she woke up, she took one look at Jonathan, who was sitting up in bed beside her, one arm still around her while the other balanced a book in front of him, and promptly burst into tears.

“Vanessa?” the second he heard her sniffling the book was slammed shut and deposited on the bedside table, hand reaching for her as he tried to discern what was wrong. “Are you in pain?”

She just shook her head furiously, burying her head in her hands. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry. I just–” she sniffled. “You’re always so nice to me!” she wailed finally, flinging her arms around his neck and burying her head in his chest. She felt Jonathan stiffen, probably in very much a ‘oh shit, she’s crying what do I do’ type of way, before hesitantly raising his arms to rub her back.

“Okay, um. That’s–uh…it’s no problem?” he stuttered, patting her head awkwardly. Pressing her forehead into his chest, she sniffled, once, taking in a deep, shaking breath–owwww, it hurt to do that–before pulling back enough that she could wipe at her eyes with the back of her hand. As quick as the sudden bout of emotion had come it seemed to be gone.

“Sorry. I don’t–I don’t know where that came from.”

“It’s okay,” his hand was still resting warmly on her back. “Sure you’re alright?”

“Mhm,” blinking, she looked around the room in a daze. “Not nauseous anymore either.”

“That’s good.”

“Well,” she sighed–again, ow–and ran a hand through her hair. “That was weird.”

“Probably just post-op blues.”

“Probably.”

“How’s the pain?”

“More than yesterday, but not that bad.”

“Tomorrow it will likely be the worst.”

“Mm,” she laid her head on his chest. “More fun to look forward to. What were you reading?”

He lifted the book so that she could see the cover.

“Oooo. Nice.”

“Want me to read it to you?” he asked, opening it back up to his bookmark, adjusting his glasses on his nose.

“Actually, yeah.”   

 Cheek warm thanks to being pillowed against his chest, she let the sound of his voice settle her, working like a balm over her aching bones. 

Just as Jonathan had predicted, she woke up on the third day in agony.

“Jonathan,” she barely managed to get his name out, nearly doubling over. He was still asleep beside her. Whimpering, she pawed at his chest desperately. “Jonathan.”

He woke up fast, asleep one moment and all but shooting up, eyes open wide, in the next.

“What is it?” he bent over her, hands cupping her face.

“Hurts,” was all she managed to get out. He was up and out of bed in a second, rushing to the kitchen and returning with another sleeve of crackers, the bottle of painkillers, and a glass of water.

“Here,” he gave her the crackers first, shaking a pill out into his palm as she shoved a few in her mouth. While she swallowed it down he checked her incisions under her loose pajama shirt, then climbed back in beside her. “It’s okay,” he soothed, gathering her up into his chest, letting her cling to him as they both waited for the pain to subside. “It’s okay.”

But she could hear his heart hammering fast as a hummingbird’s wings in his chest, and she couldn’t help but wonder which of them in that moment was more scared.

She managed to sleep through most of the third day, and woke up on the fourth feeling much better. And while Jonathan still insisted on doing most things for her–cooking food, fetching water, and god forbid he catch her trying to lift something even moderately heavy–she felt far more capable than she had the previous few days. The pain in her belly and shoulders was manageable, and even the feelings of exhaustion and weakness were starting to abate. A good thing, too, since once the weekend was over he would have to go back to work. She still had another week off to recover, but she would have to fend for herself while he was away during the day.

That shouldn’t be a problem, so long as she continued to improve. 

He was going to drive her insane.

Okay, more insane than she already was.

Because despite her consistent improvements each day that passed from the surgery, Jonathan wouldn’t let her do anything. No matter how much she insisted that she felt fine, he insisted on remaining close to her, checking her vitals regularly and fussing over every little thing.

“What are you doing up?”

Oh, come on.

“I was just getting a glass of water–”

“You’re supposed to be resting,” he swooped over, plucking the empty glass from her hands.

“I don’t think that walking the three steps from the living room to the kitchen is gonna cause me to keel over, babe.”

He pointed to the couch sternly. “Go lay back down.”

“Okay, okay, geez,” she shuffled back to the couch, plopping down and pouting. “Dr. Crane is mean.”

“He wouldn’t need to be if Dr. Sullivan wasn’t known for overexerting herself.”

“Oh my god, that was one time–”

“You tried to go to the kickboxing gym one day after you were diagnosed with a concussion.”

Huffing dramatically, she pulled her blanket back up to her chin. “Your bedside manner needs work.”

“My bedside manner is excellent.” 

“Jonathan, we did our residencies together. I’ve seen you interact with difficult patients.”

He came over to the couch with her water. “Name one time that I was unreasonable when working with patients.”

“You prescribed high dosage sedatives for a woman because she kept flirting with you!”

“Nes, that was you.”

She blinked. “Oh, was it? Damn.”

He chuckled and kissed her forehead.

“Okay, but I know it was you who gave one of the patients a hallucinogen because he sneezed on you.”

Jonathan shrugged. “I was just teaching him basic manners. You cover your nose when you sneeze, everyone knows that.”

Vanessa snorted out a giggle, reaching back to cup his face and kiss him chastely on the lips. When they parted, she huffed, blowing a raspberry. He raised a questioning eyebrow. “I’m bored.”

“You have your book.”

“I finished it already,” she grumbled, glancing at the well loved copy of ‘Salem’s Lot on the coffee table. “I miss work.”

“You remember what the surgeon said…”

“Yeah, I know. I know,” she slumped back onto the couch, looking around her at the pile of finished books, her sketchbook open to a half finished, detailed still life drawing of a pumpkin, and the dozens of tiny little paper origami cranes, boats, and flowers scattered around her. Jonathan slipped carefully into the spot beside her on the couch, wrapping his arm around her shoulder. She snuggled into his side, pouting.

“Maybe…when I go back to the asylum, I can bring you some of your case notes to work on,” he suggested. Vanessa tilted her head up to look at him.

“Really?”

He shrugged. “Sure.”

Stretching up, she pecked his cheek. “Thank you.”

He looked down, blushing and stuttering. It was cute how even after how long they’d been together, he still got so flustered sometimes when she showered him with her affection.  

The discomfort was mostly minimal now. She didn’t need the painkillers prescribed by the doctor anymore, ibuprofen more than sufficient in treating her pain. Assuming that everything remained fine, she would probably be able to return to work the next week.

Jonathan had gone back to work two days ago, confident enough that she could fend for herself for the hours he was gone without dying. Though he’d still been all nervous and jittery about leaving her alone the first day. Truth be told, she’d missed him when he was gone, insistent fussing and all.

He’d brought her some of her case notes to work on, finally providing a bit of relief from the boredom of being bound to the couch all hours of the day.

She had her legs curled up underneath her, pen twirling absentmindedly in her hand as she looked over the papers spread out in front of her. At the sound of keys sliding into the door her head perked up, lips tugging upwards as Jonathan pushed his way into the apartment, clicking the locks into place behind him and dropping his briefcase down by the door before coming over to the couch to kiss her.

“Hi.”

“Hey. Is it raining outside?” she asked, taking note of the slight dampness coating his hair.

“Only a little,” he lifted the bag he had dangling from one hand. “I brought food.”

Stacking her notes into a neat pile, she tossed them onto the coffee table. “I love you.”

Jonathan chuckled, placing another kiss to her cheek and leaving the food with her to be unwrapped as he shucked off his suit jacket, tossing it over the back of a chair, loosening his tie and tossing that away as well, rolling up his shirt sleeves to his elbows. Vanessa bit her lip, silently lamenting that she was banned from any funny business for at least another week or so. 

As soon as he was on the couch, she handed him his food, settling her own container from the bag in her lap and scooting closer to him, cozying up to his side.

“I missed you,” her lips pressed insistently to his cheek, where a dimple sometimes appeared when he smiled. Jonathan shot her a look that she could only describe as soft, leaning into her touch.

“I missed you too,” his hand stroked over her thigh. “How are you feeling?”

“Good. Still a little tired, I guess.”

“Hm,” he hummed, reclining back against the couch, pulling her with him until she was nestled close to his side.

“How was work?” she asked around a mouthful of her pasta, twisting another helping carefully around her fork.

“Alright. A few people asked about you. Johnson had another episode and almost swallowed his own tongue. They’re keeping him in the infirmary for a while.”

“Oh, well. At least he didn’t die, the paperwork would have been a nightmare.”

His snicker sounded low and deep in his chest, hand stroking through the long, loose locks of her hair. They switched on the TV, eating in comfortable silence as they listened to the gentle hum of the voices from the speakers. Containers of food discarded, she ended up with her arms wrapped around his ribs, her head pillowed on his chest as they just lounged, eyelids growing heavy.

“Jonathan?” she poked him suddenly in the shoulder, rousing him from the slight doze he had slipped into.

“What?”

Tracing nonsense patterns into his chest, she shrugged. “Thank you for taking such good care of me.”

His thumb stroked along her jaw, tilting her head upwards so that he could peck her on the lips. 

“Always.”

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Series: Part 3 of The Shadow Game  

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