#would the red string be long enough to get tangled you say? I don't care

[hischierlovebot]

Red string of fate au where one of them doesn't believe in soulmates and after the string gets tangled in his skates one too many times, he cuts it off

[katsukikitten]

Time spent with Todoroki.

Warnings: This is a Pro Hero aged up AU, think late twenties. Adult themes such as sex are to follow. Please enjoy

Shoto was by far your favorite sugar daddy. He showered you in lavish gifts and gave you the pipe often. He checked your bank account and made sure it never fell below a certain amount and paraded you around town like the Princess you were. But most importantly he was stoic. Doing nothing more than wiping you up with a warm rag once the two of you were finished, never clinging to you with desperate hands like many other sugar daddies had. Hoping their money would make you giddy and buy your love. Maybe it would have, had you not already run out of love for people. Your heart broken one too many times by a long term relationship causing you to vow that money was your only love. 

People were just too disappointing. 

Your contracts with Shoto were medium in length, anywhere between three to five months mostly because he likes to keep his "options open." Which filled you with pure lust for him, knowing you could get away with your kinks without worrying over some man falling for you. 

Still, it was difficult for the Pro hero not to fall for you, at first he had no interest in love. Having sworn it off mostly for fear of failure thanks to his dysfunctional family. It was the main reason he started looking into sugar baby websites, he saw your profile picture and your bolded No strings attached. He liked the idea of that, loved it really and yet, he became tangled in you after the renewal of your second contract. He tried to suppress the warm feeling in his chest, he found it difficult more times than not. 

Especially now, with you on your knees with his guicci jacket spread out on the tile of the bathroom floor as your lipstick clad lips wrap around his cock. Your cheeks hollowed and your eyes looking up at him with enchanting lust. He fists your hair shoving you further on his cock. Your eyes water as you gag softly and Todoroki is just thankful your makeup is waterproof. 

The sight and the sounds make him groan while your manicured nails dig into his bare thigh. You rub your thighs for friction, moaning around his cock, it's enough to send Shoto over the edge. Hot ropes of cum hit the back of your throat as his grip on your styled hair tightens. 

"Fuck Princess…." He moans bucking into your mouth, sharp eyes look down at you. Seeing a powerful man come undone for you is enough to keep you content for now. 

"Sir will take care of you after the gala okay?" His cheeks are still a little red as he runs his hand over your hair. Lifting you off the floor before fixing himself. He gives you a light spin, making sure nothing scuffed your gorgeous designer dress before he exits the stall. Pushing back his long hair while you retouch your lipstick with a knowing smirk. 

The two of you waltz back to the party, sans his jacket, abandoning the designer garment without a second thought. The price of it was barely a drop in his bucket. It could have been half of his bucket for all he cared, his mind always swimming with thoughts of you.  He places his hand on the small of your back as he guides you back to the table, dinner half forgotten once your hand wandered towards his crotch for a tease. 

"F...find the bar okay?' Izuku asks as you take your seat, your sly hand going for your wine. Uraraka blushes when you give her a wink. 

"Just fine." Shoto says sipping his whisky. 

"So who's won awards so far?" You ask with gleaming eyes, Izuku smiles. 

"Kaachan for most villains caught. Kirishima for the safest feeling hero, myself for rescue ratio." He holds up his small little trophy, "And you, Shouto, for most mysterious." 

"What about the rankings? Did we miss that?" 

"No they are about to announce it!" Uraraka exclaims, eyes glittering with excitement and wine. Her chestnut eyes slide over to her emerald eye date, hoping for the best for him. 

The announcer steps to the stage, his sapphire blue suit catching everyone's eye as he takes the center. 

"Ladies and gentlemen, it has been a night filled with congratulations and cheer but now is the moment you've been waiting for, tonight we will reveal the top three heroes. Voted in by a strenuous board appointed by the fans, we finally present the BIG THREE!" 

Some tables erupt in cheers while the host takes his dramatic pause, when the sound dies down the host brandishes the golden envelope. 

As he announces your hand wanders again, playing with your favorite toy, Shouto's face gives way nothing as the host drags out the awards. Explaining how long the winner's speeches should be. Soon Shouto cannot ignore your hands creeping on his clothed cock that throbs beneath your fingers. He knows he can't wait through what's bound to be a half an hour. He rises excusing himself dragging you with him before you're being cornered against a wall in some random closet. 

"So impatient, princess." He bites out, kissing your throat, sliding down to your exposed collar bone while his hand ventures between your thighs. Calloused pads circling your puffy clit as you let out a loud moan that's swallowed by the cheering of the gala room. Impatient himself he undoes his pants, stroking himself with his free hand while you cum on his fingers. 

After the coil in your stomach snaps for a third time he's satisfied, kissing you as he aligns the tip of his dick to your quivering entrance.

"Fuck, Shouto. Fuck me please, sir!" You beg, making his head spin, alcohol mingling in the small dark space. 

"Be patient kitten. Sir will fuck you right baby." He grunts, sheathing himself into your soaking core.  You cry out, clawing at his back through his shirt. The smell of biting cold hair mingling with the hearty smoke of a bonfire engulfs you as you press your face into his chest. He lifts both of your legs, strong hands grabbing onto thick thighs as he fucks into you with a deadly pace. Slapping skin and lewd wet sounds echo back to the two of you, encouraging his pistoning hips. 

"Listen to those sounds Princess, your pussy sounds so pretty." He bites at your ear as you endlessly moan and whimper into his chest. Cunt clenching as he drives over your spongy spot, the head of his cock going deeper with each thrust. Soon it all becomes too much, your vision spots panting as you cry out in ecstasy, body ridged and arching to meet him. 

"Cumming on my cock already?" He coos, fucking you through your next orgasim as your legs shake around him. Toes pointed in your red bottoms as you attempt to hold onto him for dear life. 

"S..sir! You cry out, "I'm gonna...nnngghhh." 

He ruts into you, pressing you further into the wall as he frees up one hand to play with your throbbing clit. Rubbing harsh circles as he loses focus on his precise thrusts that turn sloppy. His eyes too focused on you as you cum, milking his cock. Your eyes flutter, desperately attempting to hold eye contact as one hand palms your breast and the other scratches at the skin at the nape of his neck. Your tongue lulls out just a bit as your mouth makes a sinful O shape, a few tears of over stimulation fall down your cheeks as he continues to fuck into your wet cunt. The sight makes him explode into you, warm spurts of cum causing you to whimper and clench in delight as he ruts until he is done.  He sets his sweaty forehead against yours, panting as words claw up his throat. 

"I love..." He whispers, catching himself just in time, "Your tight cunt." 

He kisses you, hoping you don't think anything more of it. 

After a few minutes, and Shouto's cock softens, he withdraws. Wiping you up with a wipe from your purse as the two of you check the other for fluids. A drunken cat smile plastered on your lips as you reapply your lipstick, wiping away the stains on his dark grey shirt and collar. 

The two of you step into the hall just in time as the doors start to open. Quickly and calmly you grab for your pack of cigarettes, your normal alabi, placing the stick in your mouth. Shouto, much like a gentleman, lights it as you inhale to keep the tip a burning ember. Gently blowing the smoke over his clothes, careful to avoid his face as you waft the burning stick around yourself as if it were an incense. Knowing good and well the smell of smoke always hides the salty smell of sex. Quickly you extinguish it on an ice cube that Todoroki provides, you toss the cube in the closet and the half of a smoke into your burkin slamming it shut just as a small group of sidekicks approach. 

"Shouto! Wow! I can't believe it was a three way tie this year! Congrats to you, Deku and Dynamight!" They drunkenly cheer, "It's crazy how that happened." 

"You're so secretive, your manager accepted the award on your behalf even though you were here tonight!"

A stream of people dot on your date as you cling to his muscular arm while you harbor a secret of your own. Cum dribbles between your thighs as you think of his sweaty head against yours. It feels good to be a Pro hero sugar baby. 

"You staying the night again?" Shouto asks as he presses a cold water bottle to your palm, your body covered in a sheen of post sex sweat from a week's worth of fun. You give him a small smile as you sit up, tits bouncing as you readjust entirely. You can feel his icy hot gaze as it rakes over your body, feeling the goose flesh prick along your skin as it does with the threat of an oncoming summer storm. 

"I wanna discuss the renewal of our contract. Plus we have a final date per the expiring one." He says as he rises, heading towards the luxurious ensuite to start a shower for you both. 

"Hmmm guess I could. How much longer do we have left?" You never really paid attention to this things, always being satisfied with whatever Shouto gave you. 

"Two weeks." He returns back from the bathroom, grabbing his wallet from his bedside table. Pulling out his onyx black card, he places it in your hand. His eyes holding yours, you give a devilish grin. 

"Sir has a lot of paperwork for the agency to do today. Buy a dress I want to fuck you in and anything else you want to match okay baby girl?" He leans down to give your forehead a kiss while you giggle. Unable to hide the giddy that bubbles beneath your skin, you wrap your arms around him. 

"Thank you sir!" You exclaim, pepper his cheeks with kisses as you pull back, "Do I get to pick the date again?"

"Mmhmm." He encourages, running his hand up your bare bare as you squeal with delight.  You rush to the bathroom before he slowly follows behind. While under the hot stream the two of you make out for far too long, tongues fighting as the two of you exchange laughs before you add a playful statement that stays with the two toned hair man as he sits in his boring home office. 

"I'm going to get a dress so classy and sinful you'll fuck me on the spot!" 

His eyes wander to the photo on his desk, the one of your first date. The one you insisted the two of you take after a month of late booty calls since he paid for the "girlfriend" package. The two of you are bundled in warm coats, you cling to his firey side as you laugh and he just barely smirks. 

Looking back he thinks this is when he started to fall for you. You had never been ice skating before and insisted on going while the two of you were in NYC for important PR interviews for the cold and mysterious hero. Because that's what people did in the movies while in NYC, put on their skates at the Rockefeller rink to glide along the ice beneath the sparkling lights of the giant Christmas tree. It was busy, he opted for no skates, as he did better without but he helped you lace yours. Being ginger for the first time in his life as he helped you onto the ice, after demanding a moment of independence you had fallen straight onto your ass. Giving Shouto second hand embarrassment but instead of yelling, crying out or giving up, you laughed. Genuinely laughed as you reached for his steady hand, captivating the whole rink for a moment. It felt like magic had washed over the ice, as snow slowly danced into your hair and the colorful lights danced across your eyes. Just like that the spell was broken with a flash of light. A stranger approached to give you a small tip on how to skate and the polaroid he had taken. You thanked them with a smile placing the photo into your coat pocket leaning into Shoto to share a secret. 

"Now we have our first 'date' immortalized!"  You had giggled, gliding across the ice as if you were ethereal, hands outstretched for Shoto to join you. 

He wonders how you're doing at the shops. He occasionally gets a text or two from you. Sexy pictures of you in the changing room as you obviously buy lingerie as well. 

He fists his cock enough times he gets no work done and by the time he convinces himself enough is enough you come home. 

Wearing that damned devilish smirk. 

And so another week passes in the four walls of his bedroom. Your bank account as stuffed as your pussy as you bounce on his heating and cooling cock. 

"Fuck, baby fuck." Is all Todoroki can say as you chase your own high. His blunt nails clawing at your thighs as your tits bounce. Your mouth opens into that gorgeous O as you seek out that delicious friction on your clit. The coil in your stomach snaps as your humping becomes erratic and sloppy but still enough for your tight cunt to spasm wonderfully over Todoroki. So nice is the sight, sound and smell of you that Todoroki pumps his hips up into you twice before he paints your velvety walls, his eyes focused on you. 

"Fuck." He presses his sweaty head into the silk of his pillow case. Two toned hair clinging to his forehead. You lean over and kiss his cheek. 

"Thanks for the ride Pro hero." You wink before you dismount. Stretching towards the sky once your feet hit the warmed hardwoods, you begin to make your way towards the bathroom. Phone in hand. 

"I wanted to talk about extending your contract." Todoroki says, staring after you, "At dinner tonight." 

"It expired tonight right?" You say, looking over your shoulder while your phone lights up with an alert, "No need for dinner." 

"What do you mean?" He calls to you as you start the shower. 

"I mean, I think we should let the contract expire. Keep things fresh you know? Keep our options open?" 

He jumps to his feet and begs the urgency to die in his step. Calmly with somber steps making his way to the ensuite. He finds you already in the shower, water washes away the smell of sweat. The smell of him as your phone glares up at him. He taps the screen and your recent notifications wave at him as he stares down. 

Reading one of them in horror. 

Todoroki isn't sure why he feels this way as he looks at your phone on his vanity. As if the world fell from beneath his feet. His throat burns as he stares at the illuminated glass, spiraling as steam clouds his vision that begins to blur. He knew what he signed up for, he wanted this. 

This detached, heart hidden exchange in hopes of choking down the loneliness 

But he never expected that when this ended it would feel as if his heart had been ripped out, stepped on and crushed beneath the heel of one of your red bottomed shoes. 

"Come on aren't you joining me for our last shower iced cutie?" 

"Uh yes I'm coming." He steps into the shower as the push alert on your phone burns into his brain. 

"Kirishima Eijirou has put in an offer." 

[kaiparker-avengerssmut]

Their Doll 12

Home again

B.Barnes x Stark!Reader, S.Rogers x Stark!Reader

series synopsis:  y/n Stark, all records of her non existent, and yet Hydra still find her. When she is kidnapped by a certain super-soldier and no one believes her, she finds herself searching for unexpected familiarity in her not-so-distant past.

Series Warnings: smut, violence, torture, swearing

Chapter Summary: y/n returns home

Warnings: steve almost cries, swearing maybe, kissing, mentions of violence and scars

A/n: The timeline in this has been altered, as there I things I wanted to include but I also wanted this fic to follow the storyline/timeline of Winter Soldier and Civil war.So for purposes of this fanfic, Peter Parker was discovered by Tony at a much younger age - when he was bitten - and has been an intern with him since, almost like a protégée.(For the purposes of this story Peter was bitten much younger too - more like when he was 9 or ten rather than 14/15)

Masterlist | Series Masterlist

Steve was distraught. He sat completely still, head buried in his hands as his mind whirred. I string hand on his shoulder caused the man to look up, blue eyes meeting Tony's brown ones which were filled with sorrow and pity.

"I know you love her, but it's over Steve. They have her there's-" a crack in his voice made the billionaire pause, "there's nothing we can do this time."

"But I left her, Tony!" Steve shouted, standing up abruptly. "I could've saved her, and I didn't!" Steve's face was red, Tony's face taken aback. "She's your daughter and I didn't even save her..."

"Hey, stop." Tony snapped, pulling Steve's attention to him instantly. "I know she's my daughter but I also know that you love her enough that you wouldn't give up on her if you did t have too!" Tony wanted to shout, to scream at his friend.

"He's right, Steve. Well all know you love her." Nat smirked, arms crossed over her chest as she now leant in the doorway.

"How long have you been standing there?" Steve asked and Nat simply quirked a brow. Steve nodded and realised she'd most probably been there the entire time. "And how do you know...?"

"That your in love with y/n?" Nat clarified. Steve nodded. "It's obvious, Capsicle. You literally give her heart eyes whenever she's not looking and you always fidget when you're around her. But my favourite part," Nat pushed off the door frame, walking into the room, "is that you act like you hate her. I new you didn't have great experience with women, but I didn't know it was that bad." She remarked and Steve made to protest but was cut off.

"She's right, y'know. There's no way in hell a girl's gonna ask you out if you critique every last thing about her and give her the evil eyes every time she looks at you." Tony added, making Steve shut his mouth and stare at the ground again.

"B-but it's been weeks." Steve stuttered. "What's if she's... what if they killed her, Tony? I think that's on my. Her blood would be on my hands." He rambled, and Tony was about to reply when Bruce appeared at the door.

"You guys might want to come downstairs." He said quietly, and the three avengers already in the room looked at each other, confused. Steve quickly swiped the threatening tears from his eyes, him and Tony making their way down the stairs as fast as they could.

...

I burst through the doors, immediately met with the sight of Tony pointing to some papers the person next to him was holding and discussing something with them. My face broke out into the biggest smile, the sight of my dad after the hell I'd been through like a shelter from the rain.

I waved frantically, already breaking into a run towards him, his head snapping up at the wild movement and his face morphing into one of shock and relief, his arms held open.

"Lil?" His voice was full of concern as my arms wrapped around his neck when we collided, my legs wrapping around his waist and his hands finding their place on my back. "Oh my god, Lil, you scared us so much, scared me." He whispered into my hair, pulling back enough to cup my face in his hands. "It's you." I smiled.

I nodded my head furiously, burying my wet face into his shoulder, jumping down from the embrace.

"Lily?" The unsure voice from the edge of the room caught my attention, a grin spreading on his lips seeing me. I held back tears looking at him, my smile still wide. He walked towards me, enveloping me in a hug so tight it could crush a normal person. "I'm sorry. I'm so so sorry." He kept saying, his hand tangled in my hair.

I shook my head, sorrow filling my eyes as in stared at the man that had engulfed me with his body. He pulled back, looking sternly into my eyes.

"I know you think I hate you. But, I wouldn't wish what happened to you on anyone, Lily. Not even my worst enemy." Steve whispered, his eyes clouded with pity.

"Well that's new." Tony remarked seeing us hug, confusion lacing his tone. "Hey, kid, what's with the mute?" He pondered as I gave no verbal reply, Steve now looking deeply concerned for me too.

I sighed through my nose, pulling back the collar of the jacket to reveal the long, vermillion scar across my neck.

"You should go see the others, they'll be happy to know you're back." Tony said with a pitiful smile.

...

A million warm embraces later, tears shared and hearty laughs exchanged, I was just about ready to fall asleep and never wake up. I was about to excuse myself when someone tapped my shoulder. I turned to see Steve, a stoic expression on his face.

"Can we talk?" He asked, nodding his head towards the door. I nodded, following him out into the hallway. I laid my shoulder against the wall, observing Steve's constant pacing.

So what's up?

I quickly jotted down, handing the small electronic device Tony had retrieved for me to Steve, raising a brow. He stopped, looking me in the eye. He swallowed thickly, his Adam's apple bobbing.

"I can't tell you how sorry I am, I let him do that to you. It's my fault. I don't even know how to live with myself, I should've come looking for you, or-" I cut him off with a tap on the shoulder as I handed him the pad.

Cap, it's fine. I'm fine.

I stressed, writing in italics. The man read it with furrowed brows. cleared my throat before continuing.

I just don't know how long I can keep pretending to be happy, I just want to die.

I finally confessed, vision blurred and screen obscured with tears. A tear rolled down my cheek.

I don't know how to go on, every tome I close my eyes all I see him, what he did

My gaze averted from his as he read.

"Hey, hey. You're strong, you can do this. Let's go get you cleaned up." Steve suggested, looking at my through his lashes and placing a careful hand on my shoulder, which I flinched away from. I gulped.

Steve, there's a reason he let me go

I wrote down, finally meeting his gaze. His eyes were full of questions he didn't dare ask.

He let me go to send a message. He said that if we interfere with him again what happened to me will be child's play compared to what will happen.

His face dropped.

If a few days of torture is child's play, what does he have planned?

I asked, sobbing now.

"Lily, you were gone for three weeks." Steve added quietly, making me look up from where I'd been starting at the floor to meet his eyes. My eyes widened. Steve grimaced, nodding solemnly.

"Go have a shower, I'll grab you some fresh clothes and a towel. We'll talk more when you're feeling warmer and cleaner." He suggested again, and was met with a nod from me this time.

We reached my room, Steve holding the door opening for me and me giving a tiny smile that said 'thanks' as I walked in. I headed straight for the bathroom, taking my time in peeling the ripped tank top from my body and throwing the muddied shorts on the floor with them. Just then, the door opened, Steve walking in with a towel and some cloths folded on top. His eyes widened and he instantly apologised.

"Sorry, lily, I thought you'd be in the shower by now." But before he could walk out his eyes finally locked on me. His eyes raked over me, his eyes surveying my wrists, which were rubbed red-raw from chains and ropes; my neck, which was red and violently bruised; my bruised upper arms; my waist that was covered with finger-shaped bruises; my thighs, that were also bruised and finally my back that starred at him in the mirror. It was a mess of diagonal cuts, which were not longer bleeding but were still a blood red colour. I looked down at my feet nervously, feeling weird under his gaze.

"He did this to you?" Steve asked, tears in his eyes. I nodded, slowly looking back up at him. Before he could say anything else I cupped his face in my hands, smashing my lips to his in a kiss that conveyed everything I could never say out loud. After a moment, his hands reached for my face, returning the kiss. Our lips welded together, his tongue poking at my lower lip, begging for entrance that I granted. His tongue rolled over mine in languid stroked, soothing. I pulled back first, turning and pulling the shower curtain open. I climbed in, turning on the water and getting lost in the warmth and steam that swallowed me.

...

I walked out the bathroom, clad in one of Steve's T-shirt he grabbed for me, some shorts and fresh underwear. He must've noticed that I liked stealing Tony's shirts and given me one of his instead. Rubbing my hair dry with a towel, I dumped it on a near-by chair when my hair was only damp. Steve instantly stood from where he was sat on the edge of my bed when he saw me, looking at me with an unreadable expression.

I began writing, but before I could finish his lips were on mine and the little device was dropped to the floor. It was less desperate that the last time, more passionate and slow. It expressed everything we needed to say, and that was enough. My arms hooked around his neck, my fingers playing with the hairs at the base of his neck, whilst one of his tangled in my hair, the other resting on my cheek.

"You talk too much." He mumbled against my lips and we both let out a breath meant to be a laugh. "Too soon?" He asked before leaning in for another, our lips locking together. He pulled back and looked in my eyes, his hand running through my dampened hair.

He cleared his throat, stepping back from me, his gaze flitting from the door before landing back on me.

"I should go." He spoke, heading for the door. As he placed his hand on the door knob he froze at when I tapped on his broad back.

Don't.

The little device said. He had a hopeful look in his eyes.

Go. Don't go. Please.

I wrote , looking at him with pleading eyes. He nodded, walking back over to me.

I don't think I can be alone tonight.

I stated before climbing into my bed and patting the spot next to me. Steve hesitantly climes in beside me, laying behind me and draping his arm over my waist, pulling me into his firm chest. His body heat radiated over me and sleep soon took over as I sunk into him, his hand playing with my hair.

...

"Lil? Lily? Lily!" I shot up, panting hard and sweat covering my forehead. I slowly look to the side where Tony sat, a concerned look filling his eyes. My gaze looked at the door, where Steve stood, looking over me with what looked like fear, before going back to Tony. "Hey, kiddo, what happed?" He asked, stoking my hair. I swallowed thickly, breathing calmed down.

"You were restless, moving about in your sleep." Steve clarifies from the door, not wearing what he was before. He must've left after I fell asleep. I motioned for Tony to pass me the device which sat on the bedside table and he handed to to me.

I was back there. He was

I couldn't finish writing, the device falling from my shaking hand onto the duvet as I bit back tears, sinking into the embrace Tony held me in.

[chunhua-s]

davi dabi dude 🤍 big fat congrats on reaching 200!! i bet you will very soon hit even more milestones and i'll be coming back to get a taste of your beautiful fics for myself👉🏼👈🏼

as you may or may not know my favourite boy is atsumu and you wrote this beautiful soulmate au for me, which also happens to be my favourite au🥺🥺

so uhm ah... what do i do soulmate au eith atsumu part two but hit me with some toothrotting fluff?😳

anyways, don't divorce me, i love you🦊

runa suna bro 🥺 thank you for requesting bb!! and thanks for always brainrotting with me, i love swapping braincells with you over these men 😌💕 and pleasepleaseplease, bb, know that if anything else, i absolutely adore you, okay??? you’re such an amazing person and you deserve the entire universe and if i could i would give it to you! i know peachy and nona feel the same as well — we value your time and company, never doubt that for a second! anyways here’s your fluff!! i literally spent all of today thinking about this and i hope you’ll like it! this time it’ll be from tsumu’s perspective, and though it’s not necessary to read it, the first part of this request would provide some background if ever anyone wanted it. i’ll leave a link for you guys to see! 🥰 ily runa bb — and as always, i hope you and everyone will enjoy reading this!

WRAPPED UP IN YOUR ARMS ➽ ATSUMU MIYA x READER

genre: fluff (with a smidgeon of comfort)

au: soulmates (part two of with our fates tangled together — although you don’t need to read it first before reading this!)

warnings: implied sexual content towards the end

some days, atsumu thinks, are easier than others. the days when he can make you laugh, when your smiles shine brighter than any star in the night sky, he treasures them like tiny little gems, collects them in the palm of his hands and holds them close to his heart. those are the days where he can feel his chest soaring on such an intense feeling of happiness that his brown eyes will shine on diamond tears as he holds you in his arms and kisses the top of your head. those are the days that write their poems along his skin underneath your touch and kiss him with a tenderness he can’t imagine coming from anywhere else but you.

but the truth of the matter still stands: atsumu knows that he’s hurt you before. he can see it in the way your gaze sometimes fall from his face, lips pressed together as you suddenly pull away from him as if you’d been burned. he sees it in the way your hands tangle themselves in your red string, how your fingers twist together with the insecurities that he’d torn into your skin over the years. you haven’t fully healed, it’s painfully obvious to him, and it fills him with a kind of regret that causes his food to turn sour and for every breath he takes to taste like poison.

today, you’re curled up in his living room, wrapped up beneath one of the blankets he’d bought for you. your eyes are glazed over, unseeing as you fiddle with the red chord tied around your pinky finger: each tug of it pulls on his own end so that he can hear the worries of your heart on secret whispers. the sight of you is a hand around his neck, clawing at his skin and drawing blood from searing wounds. every pluck on your string is a second that tightens like a vice until he can’t breathe, and all that’s left in atsumu’s body is the dull echoes of doubt and fear that you unknowingly give to him — fear that perhaps he’d soon cast you aside like he once did, doubt that your bond wouldn’t last long, and that the happiness you feel would crumble apart and vanish like sand between your fingers.

atsumu forces himself to breathe under the hands around his neck, shuts his eyes for one, two, three beats of his heart, before he moves himself forward — slow, careful steps disappear beneath the grey carpet, as if any sudden noise would violently tear you from your pedestal and cast you down to shatter like fine china. and so, when he’s close enough, he gently reaches his hand to hold yours, lets his fingers tangle up in your own and with the little web you managed to make between them. he watches your eyes light up when you see him, just like the moon riding over the still surface of the ocean, it’s as if the sight of him restored your oxygen and taught you how to breathe again.

“atsumu,” he hears you whisper on a breathless sigh, a smile blossoming tenderly on your lips as you hold his hand between your own, letting his warmth sink into your cold skin. he returns your affections with a gentle press of his lips to your forehead, a hand brushes away the pieces of hair that fell over your face like a curtain as he gently tilts your chin upwards to meet your gaze. you’re glowing under a golden light, radiant in your image and burning your place into his heart with an insistence he could never ignore.

“c’mere,” he gently urges, pulling you to your feet so that he can hold you closely to his chest with one hand: the other reaches into the pocket of his pants so that he can grab his phone. you can’t see him opening the youtube app with your own arms wrapping entirely around his midsection, the fluttering of your heart traveling down the red string that binds the both of you together and making itself at home right in atsumu’s throat — like the beginnings of a melody he only hears when he’s with you.

he wants to listen to that melody for the rest of his life.

“you remember that song you sent me last week?” when he looks down at you, he sees your face falling into that cute little pout you get whenever you’re thinking of something — and gods, he’s told you so many times how adorable you look when you get like this — before you slowly nod, lifting your gaze to find his. he smiles down at you as his thumb presses the video he was looking for, before he places his phone down on the coffee table and wraps his arms around your body, just in time for the familiar strumming of the guitar to fill up his living room on the evening breeze. he watches your expression melt into one of adoration and what he can only describe as unadulterated happiness as your eyes meet his. “i’ve been listening to it all week,” he confesses on a soft chuckle, it rumbles in his chest and courses through your lungs like liquid gold as he pulls you into him and rests his chin on the crown of your head. slowly, he sways his body with yours, gently rocking the both of you back and forth to the melody that surrounds him and you.

“telll me what stopped you, what led you, what touched you, what turned you on?”

atsumu drags in another long breath before he speaks next, the words so quiet that you might not have heard them had you not been so close to him. “i’m so sorry for how i treated you before...”

he feels your pull back slightly to look up at his faces, but he doesn’t meet your gaze. he can’t, because he knows that he’ll see nothing but understanding and forgiveness in your eyes — he can’t look at you and accept those sentiments when he doesn’t believe he deserves them. you should be angry with him. you should hate him, call him out on his selfish behaviour and hurt him just like he did to you: the words churn in his head and burn his throat like vodka — they sting and leave a horrible taste in his mouth.

“you don’t have to say sorry to me anymore, atsumu.” your voice is filled with all the tenderness in the world: it causes atsumu’s eyes to burn with tears hen desperately tries to fight away. but when your palm comes to rest on his cheek and his brown eyes — the brown of his cinnamon scent, of autumn leaves and warm cups of coffee — it becomes harder to hold them back. they fall from his lashes and draw lines down your skin, and on those marks, you’re able to see every single shard of regret that stabs his heart and every thorn that tears his skin. “none of that matters anymore, hm?” you hum, “we’re fine now — we have each other. we’re together now.”

atsumu falls apart.

he brings your face to his with both of his hands and melts against your lips, tries to pour every ounce of affection he feels so that it envelops you with angel wings and teaches you to soar above the clouds. your lips are so soft against his that he feels his own heart calling out for you, chanting your name on an endless mantra that fills up every thought in his mind and forbids you from ever turning away from him. i love you, i love you, i love you— it’s all unsaid between his lips, but he feels you returning it all to him when your fingers sink into his hair and when your hands pull him closer. i love you, i love you, i love you— it marks his skin as he pushes you down against the sofa and climbs on top of you before returning his lips to yours, devouring you with a desperation that can only be satisfied by your touch. and you, you’re more than happy to give yourself to him. you give to him every cry of his name, every kiss across his skin, every reverent touch of your fingers as he collapses into you. in the throes of your devotion and love for him, you seal your fates together and become reborn, so that your bodies intertwine and fill the quiet night with the songs of adoration and pleasure.

that night, the two of you become one, and you learn to let go of your hurt as atsumu forgives himself for hurting you.

davi hits 200 followers — haikyuu!! au writing event! 💕

general taglist: @aiiishiiiteru @bootylikepeachy @tsumue

send an ask to be added!

[deliahscrush2003]

As a thank you for all the lovely asks you've sent my way, I'm sending a few of my own. 🤗

For your Harry Potter OCs, 43 from Ask Game 4: What do people notice first about them, as far as their appearance goes?

I am so sorry it's taken me so long to get around to answering your asks, @lilac-lemonade! I don't want you to think I'm ungrateful because I truly am, for everything - your support, your interactions, your encouragement and enthusiasm for my OCs, it truly means the world to me so thank you so much 🛐

Please enjoy the rest of your holidays and I hope to interact with your more in the new year, my friend 😊💕

Harry Potter OCs: What Do People Notice First?

Cecilia "Cecily" Malfoy

Cecily has a very unnatural appearance, even by wizarding standards. She shares the white-blonde hair of the Malfoy family, with porcelain skin that shimmers in both candle light and camera light. Her eyes are not the silver grey of her cousin Draco but rather, a silvery blue of melted snow.

However, it is her bone structure with its sharp symmetry that captures people's attention. She looks like a statue come to life, animated perfection - as Rita Skeeter put it.

This superficial beauty allowed the misconception that she was no more than just a pretty face and Cecily liked to take advantage of that from time to time, finding that a pearly white smile here and a subtle incline of her head there could distract people long enough for her to get away with anything - even stealing your heart.

Ariel McKinnon

Ariel would not describe herself as pretty or lovely. Nothing so soft or inherently feminine as that, but rather fierce and fearsome. Something to behold when she stormed past like a woman on a mission, looking the world like nothing could stop her in her path. Some say that she looked the spitting image of her late mother, Marlene and that was enough to make people do a double take.

However, the first thing you would notice about her would not be the unruly tangle of blonde curls that looked as if gold was spun, or the natural healthy tan glow of her skin despite the gloomy weather.

It was her expression, the pursed full lips painted fire engine red, the indomitable arch of her brow and the flames that burned in her eyes with a passion for any emotion she felt at that one moment, made abruptly and obviously apparent to any and all her saw her.

Bethany Meadowes

Bethany radiates goodness and creativity, a colourful personality in the hallways of Hogwarts. It is only natural that her appearance enhances the unique experience of meeting her, from her glittering golden eyes to her smile that curved up in a way that gave others the strangest feeling of having their secrets known.

However, there was a signature to Bethany's look and that was her hair, which was always in the most elegant, intrinsic hairstyles and usually braided with brightly coloured bits of ribbon, beads and string in purple, green, red and yellow neons.

She looked after her hair, was very attentive to its care and displayed her locks proudly by draping them over her shoulder or letting them halo her head like a crown. She never wore the same style twice in a week. She was very much like a lion in that lone pride that she allowed herself, and she was asked by many of her female peers - even the Slytherins - for help on cultivating their own styles and haircare.

Sapphire Etoile

Sapphire was not known as a jewel for nothing. Ever since she was born, her beauty has been a renown fixture to her name. She made a rather striking figure in Beauxbatons and some whispered that she might possess the blood of a Veela (although these rumours proved false in time).

Her beauty can mostly be credited to her sapphire blue eyes, of which she was named. They were a dark, deep and vibrant blue that was considered so beautiful, it was almost off-putting. Almost.

Most can't hold her stare, as even a fleeting look can cause the breath to catch for even the most charming of folk. She had a way of making others crack under pressure, of making them spill their truths, of coaxing stories and hardships from those usually reserved and cautious.

🌺 WHAT TO KNOW MORE? HERE ARE SIXTY MORE OC ASKS 🌺

[yandere-wishes]

Eight Tries //Obey  Me Yandere! Asmodeus x reader //

Thank you so so much for this wonderful prompt @feedmestraycats​. Icon made by the lovly @bbelphie​!

TW: attempted suicide, mention of rape/noncon, gore, murder, cheating

This was getting old, he still wasn't home and there was no point in pretending that he was just running late. No, you knew that your husband was not coming back home tonight, maybe if you were lucky you would find him passed out on the couch sometime in the late afternoon once you returned from the marketplace. 

There was no reason to spend the dreary and dull night alone. If that spoiled hero you called a husband could be spending such a gorgeous night, out with some prostitute from the slums then you could also be having some naughty fun~

--To call your current like a nightmare was an understatement. People awake from nightmares, they could open their eyes and be back in the safety of their warm beds, next to the person they loved. But the second your eyes opened you entered a hell on earth, there wasn't any escape, no freedom...and the worst part was that there was not a single soul to comfort you--

Five red candles set in a circle each one a blase with a tiny passionate flame. Two twigs inserted parallel to one another, caging in the dried corpse of a scorpion. Next is the demon's sacred seal written in the summoner's blood, elegantly and delicately. Sprinkle it with salt and state the ungodly words. "Oh, great Asmodeus lord of love, aviator of lust, I become thee come forth to me, I offer you my body and soul"

--You had been born to a noble family in a small and rather poor town. Despite the town economical standpoint, the natives were tremendously kind and neighborly. Everyone shared whatever little of anything they may have had. Your family, in particular, was the most charitable. Giving and giving as much as humanly possible. When it came time for you to chose a husband, your father requested you marry someone from the town, someone you truly loved disregarding how poor or wealthy they may be. Marry for love he insisted but keep it in the family. Regardless to say that's what you did. You found a man and fell in love, married a month later in a joyous celebration in which the whole town had been invited to....but then HE came along--

The circle in front of you puffed with a cloud of thick pink smoke. It invaded your sense, plunging into your mind and sending waves of ecstasy. It was a rush pure lust was infected into your entire body...

but then it stopped, neglecting your corpse and leaving you you confused and sweaty. It was in that eerie moment that the demon decided to manifest himself. He stood tall in all his glory, petite bat wings spread out. If it weren't for the dark shadow and uncharacteristic bitter frown spread thinly across his face, he would have looked as beautiful and perfect as the first miserable night you played eyes on him.

--In the dead of night Asmodeus had murdered your husband in clod blood. He had made you watch as he shredded your lover's corps leaving only a messy pile of blood and organs on the bed. But that had not been enough for the lord of lust. On that same blood-soaked bed he had defiled you,  raped you and stolen what was meant for the man who's blood you now laid in, a weeping mess reeking of that demon's stench. Your parents had found you the following day. They were sent into an accentuated frenzy. How could such a horrifying thing happen? By the following year, you'd been wed again, only for Asmodeus to return on the night of your marriage and decimate your new husband. By the fourth accurations, the townsfolk had deemed you cursed, at first they tried all that they could to save you from this dreadful beast. But all too soon it had turned into a competition. "Who could marry the nobleman's daughter and survive the next day." Desperate to wed you off your parents accepted any challenger who arrived....and each was dead by the morning of your marriage. By the sixth time, the townsfolk had already tried to kill you on multiple occasions. The sweet and caring town you knew had been annihilated replaced by this bitter, angry village of unkind and untrusting residents. And Asmodeus? Well, he'd made a game out of this, each time he'd find a new grisly way to slaughter your new husband and a new repugnant way to rape you. By the seventh husband, you'd already attempted four suicides. All resulting in fallierur, by some black miracle that dreadful demon was always able to save you and keep you alive. All hope was lost or so it seemed.--

"He's out again..." Was there any need to explain why you'd summons him. Over the last two years since your wedding to the "hero", these summonings had been almost routine. 

"Of course he is darling~ did you really think you were enough to satisfy him? hm?"

The words stabbed your heart like a million needles at once, the reality was all too fragile and could come crumbling down at any given time. You had never been enough, this was a well-known fact at this point. You had never been enough for your lovers, parents or town's people and now you weren't even enough for your own husband, the man that had saved you from all your miseries. 

"Love, he's a hero. Hero's don't settle down and live domestic lives with their loved ones and children. They need the torture of missions and anguish of journeys to feel alive. When they leave it all behind they wind up as hollow husks filling out the rest of their existence with alcohol and street women."

--After having prayed to God for too many days and nights to count, he's finally sent you a hero. Tobias was sent to vanquish the demon Asmodeus and merry you as a reward. At the time you'd all thought he had succeeded, that the avatar of lust was really dead. The thought had brought you joyous days and depressing nights. A part of you was beyond thankful that he was finally gone. The other half missed and longed for his lips on yours, for his hands brushing against your skin, the feel of his honey-colored lock tangled in between your fingers. You missed your tormentor...

At first, you and Tobias had been like any young couple so in love to notice the conflict of the world around you, so in love to disregard each other's sharp edges. So in love, until you were no longer. The first year had been sweet and peacful, every day was a harmonious dream...but then Tobias started coming home late, neglecting your presence. Some nights he wouldn't return at all and you'd run into town finding him in some pub drunk and with some random woman clinging to him. You spent those nights crying yourself into fitful revolting dreams of happiness and death. The old pre-suicidal habits had returned. One night the blade slipped and slashed a vain to deep, mentally exhausted you simply laid there waiting for the blood to run out. That's when you saw him again. Over the years he hadn't changed one bit, flirty smile and reddish-yellow eyes still playful and dark. He'd brought you back again and stayed with you until morning. The occurrence repeated it's self like clockwork until one night it was no longer dying and talking but summoning and...more. It felt right to feel him all over you again. His toxic presence made you feel complete, filling up holes in your soul.--

Asmodeus stalked closer, arms slinging in that all too causal way. You didn't dare take a step back, having played this game enough times to know every result before it even sprouted. 

"(Y/N) why won't you listen to me! How dense do you have to be to repeat the same mistake eight times! Eight freaking times before it dawns on you that you are wrong! You will always be wrong! No worthless human or "holy hero" can ever love you as I do. I'm the only one. I'll always be the only one!" 

Your brain screamed that he was wrong, that you could have had a prouspoures, dazzling life had he not killed your first husband or second or even third. Ir was his fault that your beloved town had been plagued with riots and corruption. He taught your people to sin, to ignore the words of God and his angels! Yet your cracked heart knew that he was right, no man would ever love you again... hey all married you for some selfish obligation or another. And Tobias....Tobias was the worst of all. He was forced to marry you by the holy on. Thrust into a loveless marriage with the suicidal "beauty" he was forced to save. Why couldn't God have just killed you all those years ago? Given the poor "Miss wanna die" her sole wish. He was right, this MONSTER was had always been right! No one loved you. You were less than the rubble under people's feet. Even noble god had turned his back on you...but he, this evil demon...Asmodeus had always come back for you. Hw stole your innocence, your purity, your life! your destiny was forever ruled by him. Maybe that's what you were so constantly in pain and isolation. You were trying to outrun your furutre. Why? What was the point of escaping your inevitable faith? Let it go, submit,  your miserable life would finally become less of a burden. Give up, hand over the crumpled misery you called life to Asmodeus, let him take over. It would all finally be over. No more pain, loneliness, the misery would come to a sweet end!

In a daring, insanity driven moment you lunged yourself forward gripping Asmodeus' toned shoulders with all your strenghth. Fingernails digging deeper and deeper into his creamy skin. Crashing your lips onto his, trying to let the kiss speak for you. Begging he would comprehend your actions, praying he would accept your submission. In no time he took over, dominating the kiss, slipping his wet muscle into your mouth. Running his larger hands to your lower back. Dipping lower and lower, squeezing anything he could get his hand on. He was the one to (shockinly) break the kiss. He slowly pulled away leaving behind a thin string of saliva. His lush lips were pulled into a smug smirk, his eyes were lightening up with the most joy you'd ever seen. Forcefully he pulled you closer to his chest. Holding your head where his heart would have been. 

[sierracolorstheworldofwords]

If requests are open, could I request Dark trying to convince the reader to eat something after they didn't eat all day? sorry if requests aren't open or if you don't want to write it

Hey Annon! I just wrote your fic! I hope this is okay! This is my first tumblr request, so I hope I gave you enough fluff and Darky goodness! 

The last remains of sunlight, like delicate spider webs, streamed into your small office through the window, creating tangled lines of light upon your slumped head. Your computer monitor, a white beacon among the growing darkness, was opened to a word document.

Your stomach grumbled. 

A sigh, like a burst of angry wind escaped your lips as you sat up, stretching and cracking your back. Your eyes burned as you glanced at the bright screen in front of you. You’d been working all day, on and off your feet, going round the building and back again, carrying papers, boxes, delivering coffees and editing papers. It was hard being a new reporter! Dark had managed to pull some strings, giving you a job with Wilford. Who, surprisingly, was a strict boss.He liked his coffee a certain way, his news articles written a certain way, his research and interviews done in a certain way. He interviewed certain people, only used certain resources-- he was a pain to work with, to say the least. You hated to admit it was hard to keep up, since you practically begged your boyfriend to help you get the job.

 Another sigh escaped your lips as you stared at the stupid article you were editing-- something about an MLM scam. You didn’t really know anymore, and you really didn’t care, but you knew you had to get it done. Your hand hovered above the keyboard, as you reluctantly began to type. One finger hit a key and you dragged your hand to the next letter.. Just a few more words, just a few more-- and then you’d be done.Just a few more.

Your stomach growled.

NO YOU HAD WORK to do! 

You could feel how hungry you were, how you wanted to eat-- but you couldn’t! You had work! You hadn’t been able to eat all day because of it, waking up early and rushing to get things done didn’t exactly give you time for a nice breakfast. Your lunch break was spent working, since you had multiple articles due! You managed to get them all done except the one you worked on. So, you could eat later. 

Soon enough, the sun fully set, and you were drowned in complete darkness, your only company the constant clacking of the keyboard, and the light it monitor provided. You had work to do. You needed to get it done. Even though your stomach grumbled and twisted, hungry for food, almost starving, you hadn’t been.. Eating lately. But that was okay! As long as you got your work done on time then everything would be fine and--Your phone startled you. Vibrating against your wooden desk, drawing your attention away from the computer screen. You looked at the contact name, Dark. 

You picked it up quickly, answering with a tired, hollow, “Hello?”

“Darling, where are you?”

You sighed softly, “I’m at the office, I’m almost done with this article--”

“Did you eat today?”

Your cheeks flushed, “Well, no..’

“The article can wait.”

“But Dark! I’m almost done!”

“It can wait.”

“No, it can’t.”

“Yes! Yes it can! I can’t just stand by and let you forget to take care of yourself! I’m coming over in five minutes, and I suggest you have that article of yours done by then or you can work on it tomorrow. We are going home, and going to order takeout from your favorite restaurant.” 

He hung up before you could respond.

You frowned, feeling a mixture of irritation and guilt, wondering if you should be feeling that way. You sighed, starting to type once again, your fingers and stomach aching as you did. Five minutes passed, and before you could protest, Dark was already behind you, watching you type the last two words of your article.

“Go ahead and send it to Wilford.”

You pouted, knowing protesting would be useless. You grudgingly tried to hide the smile on your lips-- who would’ve known Dark could be so caring? And about you, of all people? Typing of the email, your frustration melted as Dark carefully watched. He just wanted to take care of you, after all, since sometimes, you didn’t take care of yourself. Now, you couldn’t help but smile as you sent off the email and turned off the computer. 

As you got up, he took your hand gently, leading you out the office and to his black SUV. He then drove the both of you home, ordering food along the way, as soon as you got there, the food arrived. Dark paid, guided you inside, and handed you a fork, telling you to eat. You opened up the carton, your mouth watering at the smell, and dug in. He watched you for a second, before grabbing a box himself, and doing the same.

“You have to eat.” He said suddenly, “If you don’t.. You might get sick, or worse-- I don’t want that to happen to you, (Y/n). I.. I know I don’t say it often, but I do love you, and I hate it when you don’t take care of yourself. You’re so precious to me, and I don’t want to lose you.”

You couldn’t help but blush, a smile crossing your features as tears gathered in your eyes, how could you have been mad? He was just trying to help! 

“Okay, Darky,” You said, “I’ll try my best to take care of myself, okay? I’ll do my best because I love you too.”

You chuckled softly as a blush, a surprising bright red, spread across his cheeks, you leaned your head on his shoulder, sighing in contentment, finally taking a rest from the busy day you had. Soft lights surrounded you, glowing cozily as you ate, making you feel warm, safe and loved.

[wegoinncthardhours]

Crave you

Summary: Reader is needy in public but Mark refuses to touch her. Gives it to her just right when they get home.

Pairing: Mark Lee/Female reader

Tws/warnings: My bad writing, slight dom/sub undertones.

Word count: Around 2000 (will update exact count)

Almost in trance you watch Mark where he sits next to you. Closely observing his every movement, following his every gesture. He's deeply engaged in the conversation at the table but you find yourself distracted and you've been ever since he came to pick you up. Because he looks so good in that shirt that hugs his broad shoulders and lean torso just right, but you know he looks even better undressed. And you love to hear him get philosophical, talking about his music, the meaning of life and such but right now you would rather have him spitting filthy things in your ear. A bit less poetic yes, but way more primal. Besides, you're not really in the mood for poetic tonight.

You let your thoughts wander as you watch him. Scenarios plays out in your head; how those pretty fingers currently fidgeting with the salt tray would feel exploring your curves, how those pretty pink lips would look as they fall open to moan your name. And Mark must have caught you staring because now he's looking at you with curious eyes. Reaching out to gently caress your cheek, a soft "Hey, you good?" on his lips. So overwhelmed by all the sudden attention you don't manage to form a sentence, so Mark just chuckles at the confused expression on your face as he returns his attention to the conversation between the boys at the table. 

Not knowing what he's doing, not aware of how on edge you are right now, he rubs your thigh under the table. The small sign of affection is nothing new and would be innocent enough if your mind wasn't so clouded with these dirty thoughts. So your pulse rises, breath hitches when his fingers make contact with your skin and Mark definitely felt that because now he's looking at you again. He let's his fingers travel a bit further up your leg as he watches your cheeks turn red and your eyes flick down to the floor. By the amusement evident in his eyes you can tell that he's figured it out now. Figured out why you've seemed so off tonight. 

In the back of your mind you register Johnny saying something about ordering dessert and Haechan urging Mark to tag along. He tells them to go ahead, promising to "be there in a sec" and all of a sudden you find yourself alone with Mark. He keeps tracing circles on your skin as he speaks "What's going on tonight? Tell me what's on your mind, baby."  And that's almost cruel of him, because you know that he knows, but apparently he wants you to say it, wants to play the game. But you're beyond the game at this point and he knows this too, so you look up at him with pleading eyes, mouthing a "please.." and he just smirks. Because he loves it when you get like this. Desperate and needy for him. But he won't give in that easily. Mark retrieves his hand as he leans back, running it through his hair and then weaving it together with his other one behind his neck. His takes up a lot of space like this, thighs spread wide apart as well. He looks proud, powerful, like he owns the place.

Knows what he's doing to you when you whine at the loss of contact, your thigh still burning from his touch. He locks you down with his hungry gaze, surely undressing you in his mind and for a moment you wonder if the people around you are aware of the little game going on between you and Mark. You take a deep breath as you cross your legs, voice a little shaky as you speak "Please Mark, I want.." you interrupt yourself as you rub your thighs together, searching for some kind of friction. "Touch me." You whisper. And he almost gives in, because you look so pretty right now. Eyes wide and shiny with lust, pink lips slightly parted and chin a little tilted upwards, exposing your neck; an unconscious invitation. But Mark shakes his head "Right here? 'S too risky, sweetheart. You want me that bad, huh?" And his words makes you flustered, frustrated, because yes, you want him that bad and no, right now you don't care who sees because currently he's the only one who can put an end to your misery. So you keep rubbing your thighs together, craving his touch, feeling the heat that starts to pool between your legs and your pulse that keeps on rising until Mark groans. It's a warning. "You better stop it with those noises, baby. Don't want the whole place to know how bad you need it.." He mutters, causing you to harshly bite down on the soft flesh of your bottom lip, not having realized you were being vocal. He watches in amusement as you throw a quick look over your shoulder, making sure no one has heard your soft sighs. You see the boys making their way back to your table, laughing and talking loudly while their at it. You return your gaze to Mark "Please, let's get out of here."

And now you're here, outside of Marks flat. Said flat-owner is currently busy fumbling with the keys, almost as impatient as you now. When he finally unlocks the door you stumble in, almost tripping as you quickly remove your shoes and jacket. You're not sure where on the floor it ends up because finally Marks hands are on you, all over you.

He pushes you against the wall. Greedily squeezing the plush flesh of your ass, gripping your waist, tugging at your top as he mumbles "off". And you obey, immediately of course, so eager to finally feel his body against yours, just skin on skin. Your lips connect in an open-mouthed kiss, teeth colliding as you manage a small "y-you too". Marks shirt accompanies your top and jacket somewhere on the floor and you can't decide between leaning back to admire his body or leaning in for another kiss, cause God, this man is a work of art; every inch of skin, every muscle, every single bone so beautifully carved and chiseled. But he wastes no time as he dives in to kiss your neck, nibbling at the skin, rolling it slightly between his pretty, sharp teeth. You mewl and squirm, perhaps in pain but surely in pleasure too and your pretty sounds spur Mark on further. A groan is ripped from his throat. "What was with you tonight? You were all over me.." he mumbles into your neck. He nudges your legs apart with his knee. "Ready to let me touch you in front of everyone. Bet you'd love that, me fingering you right there under the table. So fucking needy, God..." And you just nod, only managing a soft whine in response. His hand makes it's way up your thigh and you gasp once, twice as his digits move closer to your core, throbbing by now. And it may seem a little dramatic of you to behave like this, to be so ridiculously responsive, but you've been craving this for hours and Mark knows this. Still he has to roll his eyes and mutter "I'm not even touching, calm down." As his hand moves up, up finally just ghosting his fingers over your center. "Jeez, you're fucking soaked." He murmurs, the grin on his face evident in his voice. And a string of pleas spills from your lips as you're close to desperation now, begging for him to finally give you what you need. Suddenly Mark abruptly removes his hand and you let out a confused whine when he spins you around and pushes your chest flush against the wall, back arched. And you're a little breathless because Mark just manhandled you like that and now he's lifting your skirt as you hear him unzip his pants and you let out a relieved sigh because finally, he'll give you what you've been waiting for. 

You moan when he presses up against you. You feel his erection against your ass and instinctively you push back even further against him, desperate noises falling from your lips. He tangles his hand in your hair as he mumbles praises in your ear, telling you how beautiful you look, filthy promises of how good he'll make you feel as he grinds up against you. And you can't take it anymore, all this teasing. "Mark, please just fuck me.." You manage, a little surprised by yourself as you're usually shy with expressing these things verbally. And he chuckles in your ear as he starts sliding your panties down your legs, you're quick to help him, rushed hands fumbling with the piece of fabric now soaked with your essence. You spread your legs wider, arch your back further and you can't help but moan when he dips a finger between your folds. And he groans in approval of how wet you are, how ready you are for him. Suddenly he plunges two long digits into your core and you gasp, so very sensitive. Your body's on fire, and you moan loudly when he starts thrusting his fingers into you. He whispers right in your ear "You look so fucking pretty right now, begging to be fucked. God you'll feel so good around my cock." His words make you shudder and would want to tell him to just get on with it then, but right now you're not really able to form a sentence. 

His fingers are replaced with the blunt head of his cock and you try to push back against him, but he tuts and holds you in place. Runs the tip between your folds, collecting your juices that are almost dripping down your legs right now. "P-please.." You beg and at last he complies; pushing his lenght into you all the way, your lips falling apart in a silent moan. He stays there for a moment and you gasp, so overwhelmed with the feeling of him stretching you out, of him filling you. You can feel how he's throbbing and twitching inside of you as he snakes an arm around your body, kneading the soft flesh of your breast.

You're writhing before him, just able to take it as he thrusts into you. He hisses when he feels you clench around him, thrusting into you even rougher. Your moans are accompanied with the obscenely errotic sound of skin slapping together and the wet sounds when his cock enters your center repeatedly. "You're so wet, baby. Take my cock so well." He praises, voice husky and dark with lust. 

You're a mess as he fills you again and again and it's almost too much, the way he fucks into you, his cock hitting that spot that makes you see stars with every thrust and you writhe before him, barely able to hold yourself up. You could be embarrassed, because you're already so close to coming but frankly you don't care because Mark is taking you apart with his cock right now and judging by his moans and the rhythm of his hips, he's getting close as well. 

He tilts his hips, just changing the angle of his thrusts slightly and your lips falls open at that, eyes wide and almost rolling back because you can really feel it now. Your orgasm is approaching quickly and you beg him to "Please, keep going. God, right there." So desperate to reach your high. Mark can tell by your breathless voice and the way you're squirming. "Yeah, you feel good baby? Are you gonna cum?" And you just manage a small "yeah" before your voice wobbles into a whine. Your mind goes blank as your orgasm is punched into you. Completely lost in pleasure, your legs shake and you moan uncontrollably, body thrashing as Mark holds you still while he keeps fucking you through it. "Oh yeah, baby, just like that." he murmurs in your ear. And you're slack in his arms now as he plunges his length deep inside of you, one hand thrown around your waist. The other tangled in your hair, yanking your head back roughly, and you know he's about to come undone too because he only let's himself get this animal when he's close to desperation. He thrusts harshly a few more times before spilling his cum inside of you. You feel how his cock twitches as his hot seed coats your clenching walls. He groans into your neck and you whimper and sigh at that. Leaning your head back against his shoulder, a blissful look on your face as Mark squeezes you tightly.

[litpit9000]

Glimadora Oneshot: Confused Feelings

Word Count: 1596

Glimmer POV

I lie awake in my bed, restless. My sleep schedule had always been messed up, but now that I had a crush, it was terrible. Every night, when I closed my eyes, all I could think about was her. The way her blonde hair flows when she's in battle, the sparkle in her eyes when we go to festivals, and that isn't even mentioning when she turned into the ancient warrior, She-Ra. The only word to describe her like that was, well, hot.

I let out an exasperated sigh as I rolled over, putting my pillow over my head. Her cute little smiley face wouldn't leave my thoughts alone, and like I had done several times, I slightly lifted the pillow to see my clock. 3:10 A.M., great. Looks like I'll just pull an all-nighter, or maybe I'll be able to sleep. Sitting up, I ruffle my already messy hair, sending sparkles flying everywhere. They were more than usual, mainly because of my crush thoughts, but they flew freely around me until they dispersed into thin air.

Suddenly, I hear the slight creak my bedroom door makes. Terror strikes through me as possible scenarios play through my head. But I eventually work up the courage to look down from my, thankfully, high floating bed. The room was fairly dark, especially since I turned off my string fairy lights a couple hours ago, but I could make out a shadow that went to my doorway, and soon to my step platforms. Upon closer inspection, I saw signature blonde hair, a long sleeved white shirt, and the glistening of tears. It was Adora.

Teleporting as fast as I could, I made my way down to her, wrapped my arms around her, and got back up to my bed. Even when we made it back up, I didn't let go of her, and she ended up wrapping her arms around my neck, crying into my shoulder. Must be another bad nightmare, and I don't think they've ever been this bad. But, she is really soft, not to mention warm. Ugh, focus Glimmer, she needs your help! After snapping myself out of my gay thoughts, I let her steady her breathing before thinking about asking her anything.

"I-I thought I l-l-lost y-you Glimmer. I w-was so scared.." She only hugged me tighter, nuzzling her head into me even more. I, admittedly, blushed at this action, but I knew I had to keep it together. For her sake. "Shh, it's ok....it was only a nightmare. I'm right here, see?" I push her back, letting her look at me. She gave a light smile, warming my heart to no end. I took my hand and began wiping her tears away from her face, my palms on her cheeks. In her eyes, I could see a little shimmer, though I soon realizing that I was letting off so many sparkles, that I might as well have been a walking night light.

Through sniffles, Adora began to giggle at me, making my face grow red out of embarrassment. I try to shoo them away, but nothing was working. I just ran a hand through my hair and gave up, giving out a breath filled laugh. Her laugh is amazing... After we were finished laughing, I decided it would be best to ask her about the dream, since it always seemed to help her in times like this. "So, you ok to tell me what happened in this dream?"

Her smile turned into a fine line that went across her face, making the happy atmosphere shift. She moved uncomfortably, looking down at her fidgeting hands. "Well, it started with me, you, Bow, and the rest of the princesses just hanging out. Then the horde came. They took everybody, well, everybody except y-you. Then Catra came out, and went next to you. T-then she...s-she...." More tears formed in her eyes as she latched onto me once again. Though not crying as much, I could still hear her breath hitch as her back went up and down. One of my hands made circles on her back, while the other stroked her hair. I admired how soft it was, and how well kept she had it.

Feeling Adora pull back from this long, warm hug, I looked at her. She looked away, her face slightly pink. "W-well, I'm glad y-you're ok, I don't know what I would do if you were g-gone." This genuine words would never leave my mind, just knowing that she cared about me this much was amazing. "Heh, it's happening again..." She was now rubbing her face, with a hand on her stomach. This worried me, thinking that something bad going on once again.

"What's wrong Adora?" I put a hand on hers, the one on her face. She moved it slightly, uncovering her gorgeous face. "Promise you won't think I'm weird..?" She made eye contact again, making the world seem to stop around us. "Promise." I responded, giving her a light smile. She did the same, knowing that I would never judge her, no matter what weird thing she was about to tell me. I wonder what it is.

She took a deep breath, then began to tell me everything she was feeling. "Alright, so around the first week I joined the rebellion, I started feeling...different. When I was around...a certain person, my heart would beat so fast I thought I was sick. Also, my face would get all red and I felt like I was going to puke. But, it didn't feel bad, it only made me want to get closer and closer to them. Not only physically, but emotionally. And I don't know what to do about it!"

Was I...was I hearing this right? Did she just say she had a crush on someone? All the while she was saying this, she broke our eye contact, obviously embarrassed. I tried to calm her, keeping my voice light and gentle. "W-we'll, who is this 'person'? Don't worry, you can tell me." More glitter fragments appeared around me, my excitement growing. I put my hand onto her shoulder, trying to calm her down. Adora took a deep breath before letting the word escape her mouth:

"You."

I froze, not prepared for what she just said. My mouth went completely dry, and I felt like passing out from pure joy. "I-it's called a c-crush." Was all I could push out, until her words completely processed. "Be right back." I teleported away, to somewhere in the Whispering Woods, and began squealing. I spun around, almost tripping, but I caught myself on a tree.

Everything dissipated into shining lights as I teleported back to my bed, a huge, goofy smile still stuck to my face. Adora looked back at me, confused but patient for answers. I once again looked her in those eyes of hers and began telling her what her feelings mean. "It's called a crush. It means that you want to be in a relationship with them. It's like being their friend, but with kissing and cuddling, calling each other cute names, and generally wanting to spend your time with the other person. That's the best I can explain it, because when you are in one, things just feel...right." Near the end, I could feel my neck and ears light up, and a light show go off around me.

Though, the girl in front of me seemed relieved, but also a bit worried at the same time. "Oh...hen this is probably weird for you. I'll just...go back to my room if you feel uncomfortable with-" She was about to get off my bed, but I grabbed her arm and cut her words off. A look of surprised flashed on her face as I did. "No! I-I mean...I actually feel the same way. For a while now actually, heh. Here, you can sleep here for the night. If y-you want, that is." I sheepishly trail my sentence off, and let out a breathy laugh.

Her arm moved away, scaring me for a bit, until I felt her fingers interlock with mine. "C-can I do this, then?" The embarrasses look she gave along with her flushed face made the fluttering in my stomach worse. I squeezed her hand for reassurance before lightly pulling her towards the head of my bed. Putting my head on the pillow, I signal her to do the same. She does, at the same time bringing herself closer. Her head finds itself in the crook of my neck, out arms around each other's waist, and our legs touching but not yet tangled.

"You comfy?" I asked, trying to not upset her, or rush this in any way she didn’t like. I could feel her nod as she nuzzled closer to me. A light smile played at my lips as I felt her breath on my neck, and her back come up and down with each calming breath she took. I began to feel drowsy, like her presence was enough to lull me to sleep. And it did, making my vision fade to black and that warm feeling in my chest still lingering.

You can request stuff here in my ask box or on my Wattpad for Glimadora. I will do AU stuff and if you want anything else just ask

Ok bye :))

https://my.w.tt/5lHzAmdndS

[supertransural]

My Bloody Valentine, what the hell

Okay. I know I'm probably not writing a hot take with this one, but I just needed to get all my tangled up thoughts out in the form of coherent strings of words ("coherent" is debatable as you'll probably find out if you read this entire thing).

So here I was, watching a random commentary video, and this scene from 5x14 My Bloody Valentine was included in it:

Now that. That's a bi flag. We know how much care set designers put into the details of the scenes we see. This is an episode centered around love. The cupid here talks about "Love", as in, the broad term. The "all-encompassing" term, if you will. He also says he "loves love", which I personally interpret as "in all its shapes and forms", and I don't believe that interpretation of what the cupid is saying is that far-fetched, after all, he kind of is Love (with a capital L). So what does that scene mean?

Let's find out.

First of all, I just feel like I should mention that I think pansexuality would be a better way to "represent" that sort of sentiment around what Love is, but if I'm not mistaken, the pansexual flag was created after this episode aired, and even if the word "pansexual" has existed for a pretty long time in various studies and areas (usually in psychology, if I understand correctly?), and has been used in LGBTQ+ spaces for a while too, it's still not as "commonly known" in the day-to-day life of cishet people, at least not in the same way that being bi is.

That being said, here's one more little nugget before I do a quick analysis of the scene. The idea of being bi is probably the closest thing that any not-very-informed-but-supportive-ish cishet person could think of if they wanted to relate the concept of "love for the sheer sake of love, having love for anyone, love of the masses" to actual characters and how they're able to love their peers (or more accurately, which peers). It's not so surprising to me that this would be the flag chosen by set designers when trying to pass on the message of "this interaction is about love as a general concept, this cupid is love, this cupid loves everyone, and will bless any couple, and yeah in that scene two out of the three characters (other than the cupid himself) stand in front of that light, no reason haha". It makes sense.

Now, onto the actual substance of this.

First of all, because it's funny, Dean why are you literally staring at this cupid's dick, honestly, what the fuck, Sam is averting his eyes (good call), Cas looks like he's only interested in analyzing the cupid's face (more on that later) and nothing else, why are you staring downwards why why why and why (hello, jacting choices). Second of all, because it's funny too, why do you look slightly flustered, in an oh-god-this-is-not-a-drill-shit-oh-god-fuck-embarrassed way? I mean Sam looks like he's been to hell and back, but not flustered.

It's also specifically interesting to see both Cas and Dean being the ones standing together in front of that light. It happens just a little while before, right here:

They're. Staring at a cupid, whose job it is to bless couples, who's Love incarnate, he hugged these two idiots first before getting to Sam, which means something and I'm not exactly sure what but, if you still have braincells (unlike me) please tell me what you conclude of those facts compiled together.

In this particular scene, I don't think the flag is actually a pointer to specific characters being bi, I think it's more of a broad "yeah these guys love a little different" kind of thing. For example, we see Cas in front of that light a lot.

This is season 5, he's barely starting to understand what emotions are, but he's already faithful to Dean and his cause, he's beginning to get what liking things, what caring means. He doesn't figure it all out until way later (in my personal opinion, that is. And I mean... 15x18 anyone?) no, at that point he's driven by things like want, need, yeah, I'll say it, lust, or simple candid curiosity. But that ties into the idea that right now, in that episode, Cas' understanding of "Love" is very broad. He doesn't understand details yet, the only detail he knows is Dean vs the World, and all he gets about that is "the world matters to Dean, there's probably a reason for that, if I follow him around enough I'll probably discover it, and I trust him enough to lead me there". He's still an angel, fairly through and through. He's curious, though.

Refer back to that previous gif, Cas is watching with acute interest what that cupid is doing. Prior to this scene, he's known the "mission" that cupids uphold for thousands of years, but I doubt he's ever really looked at it with the help of the lens of actual humans (read: Dean). He's interested, this cupid's job is to create love, and that seems to be something inherently tied to what makes his charge... himself. That much he knows. Again, probably not in detail, probably not that precisely, but he's got a sense that this cupid represents something he doesn't know and hasn't felt before, yet something Dean and Sam are accustomed to, and driven by. So yeah, he's curious.

Now here's the thing. We see Dean standing in front of that light, both alone, with the cupid, and with Cas. On several occasions.

(something something something bi flag in the background something something something character centered around love something something something the word "dick" something something something what the fuck CW)

We see the cupid standing in front of the light (scroll back up), and we see Cas in front of the light, with the cupid, alone, and with Dean. What about Sam?

...Yeah, no. I replayed that scene several times and I didn't find one instance where we see Sam even remotely lighted by that flag. And when I say remotely, I mean like this:

The light being somewhat noticeable in the background. Even when we see Sam after he moves a bit, like so:

The light is nowhere to be seen. That's after the cupid's left too, so it makes sense the flag wouldn't be relevant anymore: the entity that it represents isn't there to give it meaning anymore. I mean, during that entire scene Sam's a bit (gross understatement, I know) of a background character, but that's simply because he's not the main focus of what the cupid and the flag mean.

Dean though. Dean's a focus alright. No one can ever convince me otherwise, he's bi. That's just a fact at this point. But that's not all the flag and the cupid mean when relating to him here. He's beginning to form a type of bond with Cas, albeit small. He's starting to open up a door that he's never really noticed before: the one that lets people other than blood relatives (or close runner-ups like Bobby) in. And he's facing that head on, like how he's facing the cupid. Both he and Cas do that actually, in their own way. They're looking straight into the eyes of the unknown (Cas literally looks into the eyes of the cupid): for Cas it's this strange foreign thing called emotion, and for Dean it's letting a known emotion be directed at someone new. They're the ones that talk to the cupid, not Sam, because they have things to be curious or apprehensive about, in the context of love (or different love).

They stand in the highlight of that flag, because they're the ones discovering new things (hello, 10x16 speech, yes I'm relating a random scene with a funny light to a speech 5 seasons later, leave me be, I'm insane) and not Sam, who's for one: human, so he already knows what love is, and two: way more in touch with his feelings than his brother. Basically, the concept of Love being something strange, unknown, new, different, scary, worth punching it in the face for, deserving of focused study, take your pick, doesn't really apply to him.

How could I relate this to destiel you ask? Very easily, I say. This, theydies and gentlethems, is a representation of the first step both Cas and Dean take towards each other. A toe in the waters of a frightening and captivating new thing. And again, they face it in a really direct manner.

That is... Right up until the cupid mentions John and Mary. That's when it goes downhill and we understand that whatever Dean and Cas have going on is about to take years of work and a million steps still need to be taken.

Exhibit a:

Look at Cas' face, when the cupid mentions the Big Plan. He starts by studying the cupid (again, curiosity), then looks at Dean, then Dean briefly looks back (perhaps back at Cas but that's debatable), and that's when Cas looks down, embarrassed. I read that as: "Ah yes, as interesting of a concept this cupid is, as fascinating as these two humans' perspective on his mission is, it's still dictated by Heaven, and they're not going to like that. I'm still dictated by Heaven (as I should (???)) and... He's not going to like that. (???)".

Annnnd then Dean punches the cupid in the face, which... Good point, Cas, he indeed doesn't "like that".

So what are those steps highlighted by the ending of that scene? Well, Cas is an angel. Dean is clueless about so many things. He doesn't have faith. Cas isn't exactly free. It's just always about the plan and the mission, whatever comes up in their tumultuous adventures together, it always brings them right back to the core of why there's still such a long way to go: who they are.

All in all, that scene is just. Imagery there, imagery here, reference after reference, big red arrows (yes, I'm using "arrows" in the context of a cupid episode, I fully intend this sentence to have a double meaning) pointing at Dean and at Cas and at them both together. It's not necessarily a direct reference at either of them being bi, although for obvious reasons that's not exactly off the table either, it's sort of a piece of foreshadowing for what's to come, both in that season itself, and the rest of their relationship (here I use "relationship" as a term meaning something like "friendship-that-evolves-into-something-more-later-on").

In short, I'd like to conclude (you can use that as a TL;DR) by quoting my brain when I first saw that flag and connected a couple dots:

"lol bi".

[audreycritter]

Sooo, you said you don't mind having a list of flash fics and trauma asks to work through... This is kind of both; What do you think of a flash fic that's *about* trauma? ((I'd just absolutely adore one that goes into a little detail about Tim and your idea that the oft-made-fun-of coffee habit actually predates his time as Robin-- but if you've got lots of Tim requests, anybody, really! I love your take on the Batfam and their psyches.))

um so I couldn’t stop thinking about this and I ended up writing a REALLY LONG AND REALLY SAD THING.Gen/Family/Backstory~6700 WordsTim Drake, Janet Drake, Jack DrakeMild canon divergence/much canon inclusion

Shut Eye (AO3 Link)

Timothy Jackson Drake was the kind of baby that defied parenting books. He was not a particularly active infant, but he craved motion instead of sleep. He exhausted every chapter of sleep advice while he exhausted himself, Janet Drake, and the three nannies that had come and gone by the time he was seven months old.

During the day, when the doctors and psychologists and parents who had penned the books said he was supposed to be kept awake, he was content to gaze at toys or attempt to roll over or gum on his chubby hands. He did not nap, except those places or times it was inconvenient– the ten minute drive to the pediatrician, Jack’s shoulder right before he had to leave for a meeting.

In theory, he should have been exhausted by the time bedtime rolled around (nine, then eight, then seven, on the dot, because the books said schedule was important, the books said maybe he was overtired and earlier was better), and he was exhausted– exhausted enough to let his eyes close with the swaying motion of being carried to his crib.

But in the gap between arms and mattress, his eyes would snap open and he would shriek and wail as if hurt or gravely offended. Once, on a new book’s recommendation, they tried to let him cry it out. Three hours of screaming ended with a sweaty, red-faced, furious baby vomiting all over his sheets.

They tried everything.

Music, white noise, fan, night light, blackout blinds, organic cotton sheets, warm pajamas, no pajamas, extra formula, sensitive formula, a teddy bear.

Nothing worked.

“He hates sleep,” Janet said more than once, eyes ringed with deep circles even make-up couldn’t cover anymore.

“Maybe,” Jack agreed absently, looking over stock reports.

“He hates me,” she complained, when walking the halls to lull Timothy to sleep resulted in him screaming in her ear when he realized she was walking toward his bedroom. Somehow, he knew.

“He doesn’t hate you,” Jack said without looking up.

Timothy arched his back and howled at the world.

Nanny after nanny quit when it was clear that their job involved no naptime breaks to pee or eat and hours of carrying around a miserable, tired baby who jerked his head up every time he suspected his eyes might be closing.

“He’ll grow into it,” the pediatrician said.

But if anything, he was getting more resistant to sleep, more aware of their methods.

Things that had once worked for brief hours, like driving in circles with him strapped into the car seat, backfired and before long he cried in shrill suspicion anytime they had to drive anywhere.

One by one, their meager methods faded and he would crawl, then toddle, around the house in staggering fatigue until he finally slumped over somewhere around one in the morning with Janet or a half-asleep nanny trailing after him. Sometimes they’d risk moving him if it seemed especially uncomfortable, like halfway down from a dining room chair, but other times if he was on carpet or the couch or even once inside the piano bench, they’d leave him. Moving him often woke him up, and once he was out they only had until five in the morning or so, anyway.

Then Timothy Drake discovered books and his temper, in the same few week span.

Janet Drake, desperate for some relief and maybe, maybe a solid three hours of sleep and a nanny who wouldn’t quit, found her world flip-flopped.

Now Timothy was angry about everything. Nothing made him happy. He threw and bit and pulled and roared his way through every day, upsetting sippy cups and plastic plates of cheerios and her fragile sense of well-being.

But at night, he’d sit in his crib and happily hum to himself while his fat little fingers turned thin pages with impossible care. She guessed he still stayed awake until one or two in the morning, but she slept through all of it, because at least he wasn’t screaming and at least he was staying in his crib (he had taught himself how to climb out the same week he learned to pull himself to standing, and would fling himself toward the floor and crawl away while indignantly crying).

“Is that really something we should indulge?” Jack asked once, looking at the video monitor from their master bathroom.

“Shut up, Jack,” Janet had murmured, almost asleep already. “At least he’s quiet.”

It wasn’t that she didn’t love Timothy. It was just that loving Timothy was so exhausting and she wasn’t entirely sure, despite Jack’s insistence, that Timothy liked her very much in return.

“Just wait until he says mama,” one mother advised her at one of the only playgroup meetings she attended. “It changes everything.”

The mother doling out this advice bounced a smiling toddler in her own arms, who demanded a kiss in childish babbling a second later.

Janet looked across the room where Timothy was sitting, surrounded by the chaos of playing children, studying a book about wild lions. Another boy stumbled on him and Timothy screamed and hit the round-cheeked face of the other boy with the book.

They didn’t go back to that playgroup.

But the other mother had been right, in a way.

Timothy’s temper, so volatile and constant, dropped off almost in the course of a single day. His wordless shrieking and chattering was just beginning to worry her– the books said he should have a vocabulary of close to two dozen words now, and until that day she didn’t think he had any.

That day, he picked up a cup full of watered down apple juice and held it aloft like he was going to pitch it onto the floor, his face already flushing red with fury, and he paused with it clutched in his tiny hands. Then he looked at Janet and held the cup out, and said so clearly she didn’t process it at first, “No, I want milk.”

“Please,” she promoted automatically, in a stupor, staring at him.

“Please, I want milk. Where is it?” he said, blinking at her calmly.

And just like that, with rare exceptions, his temper had vanished.

The nanny had been with them for four months (a record), Timothy was speaking in full sentences and looking at picture encyclopedias until he passed out at night.

Jack suggested they take a vacation.

Without Timothy.

Janet only felt a twinge of guilt when she agreed.

“I love you,” she said to him, kissing his head, the morning they left.

“I love you,” he echoed, while watching a butterfly as they stood in the driveway, the nanny clutching his hand.

She wasn’t sure if he was speaking to her or the winged insect. Her consolation was that when she picked him up and hugged him, his arms snaked around her neck and squeezed. His little body was warm and limp against her, trusting and cuddly. He pulled back and looked at her face.

“Mom,” he said, bypassing the traditional repetitive syllables. He twisted in her arms and pointed. “A painted lady.”

She was fairly certain he was talking about the butterfly that time.

They fell into a routine. Jack had missed her traveling with him and she had missed it, too. It seemed unfair to put Timothy through the red eye flights and different hotel rooms and gauntlet of available foods, and every nanny they hired promised he never seemed very distressed at their absence.

Janet wasn’t sure if this was comforting or wounding.

“He’s such a good baby, so quiet,” one nanny said. “So polite.”

Janet wondered if maybe she was talking to the wrong nanny.

They’d come home and Timothy would tear around the house, whooping like a banshee, while Janet talked about the places they’d gone. She didn’t know how much he heard while he was standing on his head, tangled in the living room curtains. But he asked questions that were, if strange or specific, on topic. She couldn’t answer half of them.

Once, when he was three, they came back from Argentina and she’d gotten a book to read with him. It had been a while since they’d sat and read, but Janet assumed from his overflowing bookshelves that the nanny kept them both busy. Timothy snuggled up next to her, happily enough, but half a page in he put a hand right over the text.

“This is not real,” he said firmly.

“No,” she agreed. “It’s fiction.”

“Spiders do not talk,” he said peevishly, jabbing an accusing finger at the next page.

Janet’s heart skipped a beat when she realized he was reading, and reading ahead of her. His little face was a pinched picture of disgust.

“Spiders do not talk,” he repeated, as if scolding her. He slid off the couch and darted to the bookshelf. He came back with an orange bound field guide and climbed up next to her again and opened it, pointed to a microphotography image of a garden spider. “This is a real spider,” he said.

Janet put the storybook away and spent the rest of the hour pointing to words, amusing herself and not testing him.

She was testing him.

She was also proud.

“Jack, did you know Timothy can read?” she asked when he walked into the room.

“Good,” he said, tearing open an envelope. “He’ll get into a good preschool. I thought we could go to the circus tonight. A good one is in town.”

“Elephants!” Timothy shouted, standing on the couch. Janet made a mental note to look into preschools before they left again. It was probably overdue– she kept forgetting how quickly he was growing up.

At the circus that night, Jack pulled strings and they met the acrobats and the elephants before the show. Janet snapped a picture of Timothy on the shoulders of a young, dark-haired acrobat. She didn’t think she’d ever been good with children at that age, but the acrobat had Timothy giggling within seconds.

Once in their seats, Timothy had watched everything, sometimes covering his ears when the announcements or music pumped through the speakers grew too loud. Jack had gotten them good seats, and Timothy stood on his with Janet’s arm around his waist for safety. Their neighbor, Bruce Wayne, sat a dozen seats away and it was the first time Janet had seen him since the Christmas party at his house two years before.

Timothy’s attention was fixed on the circus with a patience that belied his age, his eyes wide and his little spine rigid under her hand. He watched the elephants, the clowns, the lions, the firebreather, the acrobats, the plunge to their deaths.

Half the crowd screamed and the other half gasped, all in unison; it was a wrenching sound mingled with the bodies hitting the hard, packed ground and it lingered in Janet’s dreams for years after. Everyone was so focused on not looking, or looking for help, or moving to or away, that it was several minutes before she heard Jack snap, “Godammit,” and she realized Timothy was looking straight at the bodies with a blank expression as he gradually comprehended it wasn’t part of the show.

“Dead,” he announced calmly, as Jack swept him off the seat and over his shoulder.

Janet followed, turning her head from the pools of blood when they walked toward the exit. She put her hand over Timothy’s eyes just as they swept out of the tent; too late, she knew, because he’d tracked the bodies as they moved through the crowd.

For the first time since he’d begun lulling himself to sleep with books, he woke crying that night.

“Dead,” he kept saying when she picked him up to bounce him on her hip. “Dead. Dead.”

After the fourth night like it, she took him to the pediatrician. She asked about seeing a child psychologist, but the doctor seemed more interested in the fact that Timothy could read and was putting a model of the human eye together on the exam table after taking it apart with his nimble, chubby hands.

“He’s a little young for conversational therapy,” the doctor said, leaning back on his stool. “But I think you might find some help if you have some intelligence screenings done.”

“He’s very smart,” Janet said defensively.

“He is. He’s very bright. It might help to see if he’s dealing with autism or–”

“He’s not autistic,” Janet snapped. “He’s fine. Aren’t you listening to me? He saw two people, well,” Janet noticed that Timothy’s fingers had stopped adjusting pieces. She made a vague downward motion with her hand and raised an meaningful eyebrow at the doctor.

“Does he have friends?” the doctor pressed.

“Friends?” Janet demanded. “He’s three. His friends are the Kratt brothers and Elmo. He makes eye contact. He hugs me and Jack. He talks to us. He doesn’t mind new places. He’s fine.”

“Hmm,” the doctor said noncommittally.

“I’m signing him up for preschool,” Janet said as a last defense, feeling attacked. “If his teachers notice anything, they’ll say something.”

“Alright,” the doctor said, standing. “It was nice to see you, Timothy.”

“Tim,” the boy corrected, holding up the reconstructed model eye. “Look. The pupil is in half.”

They left the pediatrician’s and within ten days, Tim was enrolled in preschool, Janet had found a new pediatrician, and his nightmares had stopped. She didn’t bother looking for a child psychologist, figuring his young mind had rebounded after given enough time.

Tim took to preschool like a fish to water and, satisfied he was adjusting well, Janet resumed traveling with Jack. The nannies never complained about him anymore, except laughing updates that he asked too many questions. They still couldn’t seem to keep a nanny longer than six months, but now it was always external things and not Tim himself. Family illness, finished college, another job opportunity, cancer.

When Tim was six, they came back with presents that had very different outcomes. Janet brought him an encyclopedia of planes she’d found and set aside time between lunch and her chiropractor’s appointment to look at it with him. When he opened it, he flipped slowly through the first few pages and though he was trying hard to smile she could tell he was disappointed.

“What’s wrong?” she asked, wrapping an arm around him. He stiffened. “It’s okay if it’s boring right now. Maybe you’ll like planes later.”

“I have this one,” Tim said, as if admitting it pained him. “I got it when I was four. It’s…it’s good though.”

“Oh,” Janet said, taking the book in her hands. “We can exchange it.”

This was a lie and he knew it. She’d purchased it in the English section of a bookstore in Germany.

“What are you reading now?” she asked, trying to keep him talking, to show she wasn’t upset. Or, wasn’t very upset.

“Harry Potter,” he said, retrieving the book and sitting down. He was halfway through the second one, or so she guessed from the number on the spine.

“I thought you didn’t like fiction,” she said.

“I’m not a baby,” he rolled his eyes.

“You’re six,” she said, looking over his thin shoulder at the dense block of text.

“I’m glad you noticed,” he said, sounding suddenly bitter and moody.

“I told you, I’m sorry we missed your birthday,” she said, guilt washing over her all over again. “You said it was a good party, though.”

“I’m trying to read.”

She got up.

“Timmy-boy!” Jack’s voice boomed through the room. He missed Janet’s warning glance and headshake. “I got you a camera. Thought you might like playing with it.”

Rather than insist he was reading, Tim abandoned the book in the blink of an eye to take the heavy, black digital camera from Jack.

It was too large, too expensive, too complicated for a child and Janet had tried to tell Jack so, but he’d refused to listen. Tim struggled to hold it up but flipped through the buttons like he’d been doing it all his life.

“It has manual focus,” he said, sounding excited.

“You can use autofocus for now,” Janet said, trying to avoid the eventual meltdown over blurry pictures.

“Don’t discourage him,” Jack said easily, grinning at his own success. He posed for a picture.

He fiddled with the settings all afternoon and Janet felt both justified in her worry and heartsick with the aptness of it, when she caught Tim in the hallway outside the dining room thumbing through pictures and muttering, “Stupid, stupid. All blurry. Stupid.”

When she tried to talk to him, his face went blank and he shrugged, turning the camera off and letting it hang from the strap around his neck. It was too large, the leather band spanning from his nape where his hair curled all the way down to the collar of his science day-camp shirt.

“It’s fine,” he said, brushing past her.

She caught him again, ten minutes later, sniffling and rubbing his eyes while he talked to the nanny in the kitchen. The woman was flipping organic salmon filets in a skillet and Tim didn’t have her full attention, but maybe he preferred it that way, Janet thought with a pang. She was suddenly jealous of the woman but Tim was all smiles again by dinner, so she let it go.

Late that night, Tim climbed onto her bed with the camera. She was sipping a glass of wine while Jack yelled at someone on his cellphone from the walk-in closet. She’d already taken her makeup off and let her hair down, so when Tim pointed the camera at her she laughed.

“Not now,” she said, putting a hand over her face.

“Don’t miss my birthday party next year,” he said, kneeling on the bed with the camera held up. He said it simply, without malice or hurt, like he was giving instructions for delivering a package or ordering food.

Janet dropped her hand and let him take the picture, the wine glass near her mouth while she smiled for him.

“Okay,” she said, the smile fading after the shutter clicked.

Tim crawled off the bed and opened the closet door to take a picture of Jack with his arm thrown in the air, his face flushed as he shouted at someone about a contract falling through.

Janet never saw either picture. She assumed he deleted them, but she also didn’t say “I told you so,” to Jack about the camera. She went to sleep accepting that she’d been wrong, again, about Tim, and woke up to him already outside on the back lawn climbing a tree to take pictures of the house. The nanny was on the patio in a bathrobe, yawning and drinking coffee, and Janet wasn’t entirely certain that Tim had ever gone to bed that night.

But saying anything to Tim about sleep was pointless, so she didn’t bother. She helped him set up an email account so he could send her pictures when she and Jack flew out again at the end of the week. Rather, she stood next to him, giving him permission, while he pecked at the keys one finger at a time and set up an email account for himself.

Even though they weren’t there long that time, it wasn’t like Janet was never home. She came home for a month, sometimes two, at a time and left again with Jack for business or sightseeing. Her trips away always started as one week, or two weeks, and turned into six or seven or nine. Three months, even with stellar reports from the nanny, was her limit.

But at home, Tim had school and computer club and LEGO Robotics club and photography class and after school science camp and swim lessons and soccer practice, and it seemed selfish to interrupt his education to do…nothing. So she saw him between dinner and bedtime, and sometimes in the morning he’d creep into her curtained bedroom and tell her goodbye before he left for school.

And Janet had lunch dates and appointments and gym classes and meetings of her own, and if Tim was dissatisfied with this arrangement he rarely showed it.

She did come home from India for his seventh birthday, with Jack.

She came home from Hong Kong for his eighth birthday, without Jack, but with his apologies and an expensive traditional film camera.

Tim had a gift for her, too, and it made her feel guilty about how badly the rest of the time at home went, because it was only the second time Janet had been forced to fire a nanny and it just figured that it would be a nanny Tim was particularly attached to.

The trouble started when Tim walked in to give her the photography book he’d put together as a gift, the printed album in one hand and a mug of coffee in the other. She accepted the book and reached for the coffee, but Tim pulled it back smoothly, quickly, and frowned at her as if disappointed.

“Tim, I’ll look at the book,” she promised. “Right now. You don’t have to tease.”

“I’m not,” he said, sounding irritated. He sipped the coffee. “I can get you a cup if you want some.”

“You’re seven,” she said.

“Eight, since this morning,” he answered, sitting down on the couch. His feet dangled over the edge of the cushion. He’d always been small for his age and it made the mug he held seem even more ridiculous.

“Eight is too young for coffee,” she said sternly. “Go dump it out.”

“I have a cup every morning,” he protested, whining, holding the mug more closely to his chest. “Look at the book I made you.”

“Letitia,” Janet called sharply to the nanny, straightening her posture.

“Mrs. Drake?” the woman answered, coming into the room with an armful of Tim’s laundry.

“How long have you allowed Tim to drink coffee?”

“Oh,” the woman said, bewildered. She seemed more confused by Janet’s tone than anything else. She made eye contact with Tim. “Two months, ago, now?” Her gaze shifted back to Janet. “He has trouble sleeping and coffee always makes me sleepy, so we tried it.”

“It doesn’t help,” Tim said. “But I like how it tastes.”

“Of course it doesn’t help,” Janet snapped. “You’re a child. It’s full of caffeine and can stunt your growth.”

“Myth,” Tim said, patting the book she was holding. “I did research. Are you going to look at the book?”

Janet closed her eyes for a moment and said, “No more coffee, Tim. That will be all, Letitia.”

Tim threw himself back against the couch, scowling, and then looked straight at her and took a long drink of his coffee. Janet sighed and flipped open the book. Maybe she could try to reason with him later, when he wasn’t already mad at her.

The pictures were good– photography class and his personal drive had paid off. But she noticed a bothersome trend only three pictures in. The pictures were all black and white: a smiling homeless man, the jutting and crumbling gargoyle of a downtown bank, a crowd of stony-faced teenagers with spiked hair and skateboards.

“Tim,” Janet said, her voice scared and hard at once, “Tim, where did you take these?”

“That’s Charlie,” he said quickly and excitedly, leaning forward and tapping the picture of the grizzled, toothless man. “He’s nice. I buy him hot chocolate sometimes.”

“Tim,” Janet said again.

“I don’t know their names,” Tim said dismissively of the teens, “but they were excited about the pictures. I printed some at the Walgreen’s for them.”

“Tim,” Janet hissed.

“Gotham,” he said casually, as if it were obvious. The problem was that it was obvious and he was eight years old and should not have pictures like the work of a fucking Gotham Times’ journalist’s side project about poverty and the city.

Janet was too shocked to summon any other words for a moment. She turned another page.

It was a building at night, clouds in the distance, the silhouette of a distant figure with points on his head like animal ears.

“Look!” Tim shouted, “It’s Batman! It’s the best one I got of him.” He reached over and flipped the page for her. The next page was a blurred picture of a boy in a bright uniform, soaring through the air. “I had to zoom in a bunch but this is the best one of Robin.”

“Timothy Drake,” Janet snapped so fiercely that Tim jumped, his coffee sloshing in the mug. “How did you get these pictures?”

“I took them,” he said, his little brow creasing.

Janet stood and paced for a moment while Tim shrank back on the couch, his mug pressed against his chin.

“Letitia!” she shouted and the nanny reappeared, this time with a backpack and a washcloth in her hands. Janet waved the album in the air and demanded, “Why the hell are you taking my eight year old child into downtown Gotham?”

“She’s not!” Tim protested, at the same time Letitia said, “Mrs. Drake, I don’t know what–”

Janet whirled on Tim.

“She doesn’t take me,” Tim said, standing and reaching for the book. Janet held it out of his reach. “I’ve been skipping Science Explorers after school. And soccer at the YMCA at night.”

“Why?” Janet asked, a cold pit of fear warring with anger and bafflement alike. “I thought you liked science.”

“It’s too easy,” Tim said, a little desperately. “It’s all stuff I know. But downtown is interesting.”

“It’s not safe,” Janet snapped. “And it has to stop, right now.”

Tim’s face twisted in fury and then went blank, impassive and unreadable.

“Letitia, you’re fired,” Janet said, pinching the bridge of her nose.

“Yes, ma’am,” the woman said quietly. “I’ll go pack my things.”

“No!” Tim shouted, standing on the couch, the blankness falling away into sheer rage.

“Yes,” Janet said firmly, tucking the book under her arm. She felt a pang of regret that this, and not praise for his artwork, had to take the precedent, but his safety was more important than feelings about pictures. “It’s not your fault, Tim, that she wasn’t watching you more carefully, but coffee? Trips alone into the city? No. This is why we have a nanny, to keep you safe, and she’s not doing her job. I’m not mad at you, baby, but you need to let me be a good mommy right now.”

Tim was still standing on the couch and he glared at her and then his expression shifted to something cold. He stretched out his arm and before she could order him not to, he tipped his mug and dumped the entire remainder of his coffee straight onto the brushed suede couch. It splashed across the fabric and splattered the white carpet beneath.

“You little shit,” Janet gasped, clapping a hand over her mouth right after. “I’m sorry, Tim, that…I shouldn’t have said that. I think we both need time to calm down.”

It was lunchtime when she went to find him and could hear him crying in his bedroom. It was locked and she knocked gently.

“Go away,” he snarled from inside.

He just needed more time. She let him have it.

She found another nanny. She gave strict instructions that he was to be accompanied to all his classes and clubs and that coffee was absolutely off-limits. He was still angry at her two weeks later and with resignation, she decided that giving him more space might help. She joined Jack in Tokyo.

The next time she went home, it had been five months. Tim had come to join them for a month in the middle of that, so she didn’t feel too guilty about being away so long. Tim chatted with her like nothing had ever happened while with them in Europe and happily took pictures and added things to their itinerary.

But once she came home, it was to more problems. She was beginning to dread going home.

There was a stack of notes from teachers, praising Tim’s intelligence and expressing concern that, while he made friends easily enough, seemed to have trouble maintaining long-term friendships. He was often distracted or fell asleep in class, he conversed easily with adults but ignored most children his own age with the exception of a few. None of the notes had ever been forward to her, all the envelopes neatly sliced open. Tim had opened them.

The nanny was a woman she didn’t recognize even though they’d texted a few times about Tim and scheduling and plans. When Janet pressed, she got it out of Tim that the other woman had resigned quickly and that he had hired another nanny without ever letting Janet find out. His resourcefulness both impressed and frightened her and she dreaded to ask, because she had to ask and she already knew the answer, what he’d been doing in his spare time.

His answer was casual but his body was tense and it was then that Janet realized, with the sharp sensation of nausea, that Tim was both a remarkable child and nearly an absolute stranger to her. And he was afraid of her, afraid of her disapproval, and fiercely defensive of his own freedom all the same.

“Taking pictures,” he’d said vaguely at first.

“Downtown, but I’m careful,” he added after a moment.

“I know where all the police stations are,” he said helpfully, almost an hour later, when he approached her again.

“I take a taxi, so I’m with a grownup,” he said at dinner, as if this constituted responsible childcare.

Janet couldn’t even think of what to say to him. She wasn’t afraid that he would hurt her– he was, and remained for the most part, a gentle and quiet boy. He was so careful and precise and she watched him that same day rescue a spider and put it outside before taking pictures. There was a steel in him that she recognized, a hardness that surely came from Jack and would maybe benefit him in business someday, and he was stubborn and independent, but he wasn’t violent. More than anything, she was afraid of losing his waning affection.

“You have to talk to him,” she told Jack, passing the buck. “He’s your son. It isn’t safe.”

“Damn straight, it’s not safe!” Jack had thundered, when she finally filled him in on all the details she’d kept back for the past year. “Tim!”

After Jack yelled at him, her plan turned out to be a failure. Tim was furious at both of them and did not seek her out for solace.

Jack tried to confiscate his cameras, but Tim produced another one within hours. She didn’t know if he’d hidden it or purchased it somehow. Jack took that one, too, and the next morning they woke to ten identical cameras in boxes on the porch while a chipper-looking delivery man waited for a signature. Tim had ordered them online the night before, using Jack’s card, and Jack threw his hands in the air and let the boy keep them.

They fired the nanny and hired a new one. Janet stayed behind when Jack left for Australia, determined for once that she could be more obstinate than her sour child and was pleased to find success. Tim’s ire faded quickly and she let some smaller things slide in favor of connecting with him. They didn’t have a traditional relationship, exactly, but he joined her in the morning for coffee when he wasn’t at school, he was happy and even excited to come to her with projects and ideas. He wasn’t sneaking out of club meetings, as far as she could tell, and after two months she was satisfied that he’d adjusted and found a healthy, age-appropriate medium.

If he sometimes seemed a little sad or reserved, she chalked that up to his age– he was getting close to surging hormones and it was an area where she was lost. She’d have Jack talk to him again. She went to the school and had him moved to more advanced classes and several of his issues at school seemed to disappear.

Halfway through her third month at home, Tim was doing well and Janet was growing bored. The long hours he spent in school and in class, with a nanny to take care of the details, left her with nothing to do after she’d exhausted lunch and manicure dates with friends who seemed caught up in their own on-going lives. Plus, Jack kept calling and asking when she’d join him again and he was, after all, her husband. So she made plans to join him and Tim had accepted her announcement with that same impassive expression he had that could mean any of a dozen things. They were doing better, more attached, so she decided if it bothered him, he’d certainly say something.

And he did.

But he waited until ten minutes before she left for the airport.

“I don’t want you to go,” he’d said, tears in his eyes before he ducked his head.

“Tim,” she’d said, her voice strained. “It’s a little late. Your dad is expecting me.”

“So, call him,” Tim said, almost pleading but not quite.

“I mean, if you really need me,” Janet said slowly, considering. She was torn, so torn– she’d missed Jack and he was so busy, but Tim wanting her– needing her– felt like something she’d been waiting years for him to admit.

“No, never mind,” he said quickly, rubbing at his eyes. “I’m fine. I’ll be fine. I just had a weird night.”

“Are you sure?” Janet asked, knowing she’d drop her plans if he said the word.

“Yeah, I’m sure. Tell Dad I said hi.”

Janet kissed his forehead and hugged him and went out to the waiting car. She felt a little disappointed but guilty about it, because it was good that he was alright.

She was barely out of the front drive when he came tearing out of the house, crying.

“Mom, mom,” he said, rapping his hand against the window while she rolled it down. “Mom, please, stay. Please stay.”

And maybe it was the stress of being late for her flight, but Janet felt suddenly annoyed with him. He was almost nine years old and had known her travel plans for five days.

“Tim,” she said, trying nonetheless to keep her voice soft and calm, “you don’t need to be so dramatic. It isn’t like you. I’ll come home in a week, baby. Just a week.”

He hiccuped and put his arm across his face and she waited. After a moment, he nodded and turned from the car.

“Love you!” she called after him.

“Love you,” he answered, his voice muffled through his sleeve.

When she called a week later to check on him, he sounded fine. He didn’t say anything about expecting her home, which was a relief since Jack had made plans without asking her first, and Tim was already excited about an experiment he’d been working on. She listened patiently while he talked about it and then he had to go to an evening class.

His ninth birthday came and went and Janet came and went from the house, over and over. Tim fluctuated between giddy and morose, but never at such sharp spikes or with such pronouncement that she grew worried. The one time she did feel a slight pang of concern, Jack soothed her worries with the acknowledgment that Tim was a boy and whatever he was dealing with was probably normal.

Janet really didn’t know so she trusted Jack.

They fell into routines and Janet was now long-used to Tim being awake when she fell asleep and also when she woke up. She wasn’t sure when exactly he slept but he was responsible enough to take naps in the afternoon sometimes, and if it was unusual that he drank coffee he made up for it by brewing extra for her when she was home, better than she could make for herself.

And as he grew, he became increasingly private, or guarded, sometimes even locking his room when he was away.

When she mentioned this to Jack, he snorted once and waved a hand, saying, “I don’t know any twelve year old who wants his mother to find his dirty magazines. I would’ve wanted to kill myself.”

And Tim wasn’t defensive or angry in conversation, but rather gave off an aura of near-constant worry. Janet resigned herself to his growing sense of self-determination and need for privacy, suspecting she was crowding him, and went to Paris with Jack.

They came home sometime in the middle of his thirteenth year to find his worried frown vanished and the basement outfitted with gym equipment. Jack, though he never worked out if he could help it, seemed exceedingly proud of Tim’s newfound hobby as if his pointed insistence on soccer during Tim’s elementary years had something to do with it.

“This is great,” he said to Janet while surveying the equipment. “Maybe I’ll start exercising. It’s great for him.”

Janet couldn’t even find anything to be anxious about. Tim had gone from pushing hard for adulthood to nearly adult, seemingly overnight. He carried himself like he knew where he was going, and his moments of obvious self-doubt or hesitancy were dwindling.

And if Tim, when he did talk to them, spoke often of Bruce Wayne, who was she to deny the boy another mentor? God knew Jack was home even less than she was, and Tim clearly looked up to their long-time neighbor. When she insisted on asking some questions, just to make sure Tim was…safe, was not being ‘taken advantage of’ as she put in mildly, afraid to put ideas into his head if nothing was going on, it turned out that Bruce Wayne shared a fondness for photography and computers. Tim had been caught sneaking onto the property to take pictures and when Janet expressed horror at his trespassing, she’d been introduced to the butler and felt much better afterward.

So, when Tim gently suggested that perhaps, at nearly fourteen and with a responsible neighbor and a busy school schedule, that he no longer needed a nanny, Jack was all too ready to cut it out of the budget and give the boy his freedom.

“He’s a responsible kid,” he assured Janet after letting the nanny go. “He’ll be fine.”

Tim barely slept.

Tim inhaled pots of coffee.

Tim worked in the gym for hours, arranged his own trip overseas the following year, kept his door locked, taught himself how to drive, emailed her regular updates that she always read but didn’t always know what to reply.

And at least he wasn’t using drugs or vandalizing property or throwing parties in the house while they were gone. Her friends were now dealing with such behavior in their children, and two of them had already dealt with arrests and one had a son in rehab– rehab at fourteen.

If she had any remaining reservations about their new arrangement, they were not discussed with Jack. After years of happily traveling and working together, things had taken a bitter turn between them and when they weren’t fighting about each other, the last thing she wanted to do was fight about Tim.

And Tim was, like Jack said, fine.

He emailed her pictures that she looked at on her phone while waiting with Jack to board the plane to Haiti. For a moment, she considered sharing them with Jack but he was in a bad mood and stressed about a delayed boarding time.

She opened an email to reply to Tim, to admire the pictures and tell him she loved him, but their seating section was suddenly called and she turned the phone off. Tim knew, like Tim knew nearly everything. She’d never known such a smart kid and it was more obvious the older he got, the more children she met.

Tim was fine.

Janet was not.

They arrived to muggy weather in Haiti and she saved the email to Tim in her drafts and in the end, it was never sent.

Janet Drake went home three weeks later, an unusually short absence.

The problem was that she went home in a coffin.

[existentialstatesofmind]

Opening Up

Clare: wanted him to be able to trust her. She might talk to his brothers but she wouldn’t do it behind his back and if Kota was uncomfortable or they overshared, Clare would stop. “I think they’re confused.” She didn’t say anything else on the subject. Prying only lead to being shut out. He had all the time in the world to tell her if and when he was ready. Clare looked away soon as she saw Kota’s bad reaction to the home movies. How could she have known to say no? She still felt shocked about Makayla. Technically the accident was years ago. For her, it was like it just happened. Clare didn’t imagine Kota wanted her to think of Makayla as some girl in a story. Watching the DVD changed that. Makayla became real. Her personality was preserved in the video. Clare thought she could talk to her without feeling stupid now. She had to know who she was addressing because Clare didn’t believe someone’s spirit was really in an urn. Soon as you died, you parted ways with your earthly body. She liked to think you could still be heard by people in heaven though. Clare glanced at Kota when he sat back down because the second part came on. Maybe he hadn’t watched all of it before. Her eyes immediately returned to the TV. Clare stared intensely at the screen like she had during the birthday party taking everything in. She laughed when Makayla said Kota could go to college. “What was so bad about that? I already knew how freakishly smart you are.” Clare teased. “It was just kids being kids.” She thought the spooning was sweet because they were only ten. If Clare had to watch Kota doing that NOW with another girl she’d be hurt. There were limitations placed on their physical intimacy so it took on greater importance to her. She leaned in close to Kota and added quietly so only he could hear. “Of course my mom never would’ve allowed me to sleep in the same bed with a boy much less filmed it. We have a family friend Jake, and she used to separate Darcy and me from him at naptime.” She rolled her eyes and smiled. “You can get back at me for watching the DVD by winning my parents over. Then you’ll have access to Clare: the awkward years. All fifteen of them.” Clare put her hand on top of Kota’s. “I’m happy I got meet Makayla for real.” She said inclining her head towards the TV. “What did she want to do after high school? If it’s okay to ask that. You weren’t going to leave at age ten obviously but have you ever thought about going to college early?” Clare asked curiously. Of course Emi couldn’t live in a dorm. So whenever Kota went he’d have to live off campus.

Kota: looked at Clare when she mentioned his brothers. "They are, they don't know who Makayla was and I never told them about her, nor did my mom. Dom met Stacy before Makayla and I met, everyone made fun of him at home. I used to get made fun of all the time, I didn't need to add Makayla to the list, still don't." he said honestly knowing he'd still be made fun of. After the movie when Clare started to ask questions Kota smiled at her. "She didn't tell me or anyone for that matter and she hid her diary, we still can't find it. Actually I've been going to college, TU to be exact. I've been attending various classes online since I was ten. Teachers are starting to tell me to pick a degree or multiple degrees for that matter and I recently took Emi with me to register my major in business. I'll be taking those classes starting this summer. I also attend actual classes at TU too, that started when I was ten as well. My mom told me if I wanted to she'll take me to TU on the weekends when Makayla was busy and I can sit in. I was eight or nine at the time. It was strange sitting in a classroom full of adults and walking around campus at about three foot tall with everyone towering over you asking if you were lost. I was soon asked by one of the adults if I can tutor them so we ate lunch in his dorm as I tutored multiple adults. I'm still asked to tutor now, but it's hard finding the time so when I'm able to I'll Skype with them. It's kind of why I fall asleep in classes at Degrassi and also why some of the teachers don't care. Come to think of it, I used to tutor Kelly too, all of her friends were jealous she's my sister because she had the advantage. I stopped going on weekends when I was told about Emi." he explained as he put in another DVD, this one was of them at the age of five sitting in the beach building sand castles. "Who discobered Jupiter's four moons?" Makayla asked as both patted sand on a mound. "Galileo in 1610, but he didn't know they were moons. He thought they were stars, did you know stars are just giant balls of gas radiating light eons and lightyears away from Earth?" he asked and Makayla made a confused face trying to understand. "Where do you know all this stuff?" She asked curiously. "I learned it from an astronomy book I got from the library my big sister and my mom took me to. Astronomy is the study of the stars and space." he explained. "And what about things called soulmates that grown ups talk about?" she asked him. "It's said to believe us, humans have an unconnected counter part or someone they're meant to have a family and live happily with called soulmates. Plato, not play-dough clay we have at home, was an Ancient Greek Philosopher who believed that a long time ago we were born with two faces, four arms, and four legs. Zeus, a Greek God, got jealous of their power and split us in half, condemning us to spend our life trying to find out who completes us. My favorite out is all is the String of Fate formed in Asia, it's said that we are all born with a red string tied to our pinkie finger and the other end is connected to the person we're meant to be with. The string may get tangled, twisted, and knotted as we try to look for that person, but it never breaks no matter how tangled it gets." he explained as they continued to put more and more sand on their mound. "I don't think this looks like our sandcastle." Makayla said making a sour face. "It stopped being a sandcastle a while ago, but it's nice talking and building whatever this is." Kota smiled and Makayla started to pat sand back onto whatever they were building and he taught her things he learned. "The red string of fate is still my favorite theory, though I read a manga where this girl fell in love with a Shinigami. A Shinigami is the Japanese God of Death, there are many theories about them too from how they look, how they know when and how we die, to how rules they have." he stated and looked at Clare. "Makayla also loved when I taught her things. It made me happy even though she couldn't connect with me on the same level, she tried and remembered most of it. I once tried to explain to her Steven Hawkings' Theory Of Relativity, but she didn't really understand it until the accident. I tutored her too." he explained and looked around before leaning over to kiss her chastely. "Do you want to watch another one or is two enough?"