#you think i look NICE? youre fucking insane. but i trust his judgment

[bingobongobonko]

sorry for stupidposting at 1 am but jeez yk i feel like i hit the lottery, like im really realizing. ive only ever had one boyfriend and fact is, i dont see myself havin anybody else. like its just. what? What lol. fym i have a boyfriend. and hes really sweet and funny and cool, like im. What? Does he have me mixed up with somebody else, im confused. Lol. i really do wanna spend my life with this guy and it makes me feel cringe to say but its so sincere i dont even feel weird saying it, im genuinely like. this is my best friend. like i dont want to be with anybody else like this, its already a little hard cuz im aro and everything but i really do love him and its like. waow. oh wow. im so lucky

[heartnanase]

in my dreams you love me back

gojo angst

FUN FACT MOST OF THIS IS A FROM A FEW MONTHS AGO DIARY ENTRY

“look i found a four leaf clover!” gojo pointed. oh how you truly hated being with him because he meant so much to you that it drove you insane. you hated that when you’d tell him something stupid and weird, he’d never judge you, in-fact he’d say something weirder. you hate that when you purposely try and hurt him, he still doesn’t argue. you hate that when you’re mean to him, he tolerates it. “oh yeah whatever nice, i’m going head home.” you hate that you trusted him more than your own best friend, you trusted gojo’s judgment more than anyone else you’ve ever known in my whole life. it bothers you so much that he’s everything to you when you’re nothing to him. he doesn’t get mad, he doesn’t try and argue because he doesn’t care. he doesn’t bother communicating he doesn’t bother setting boundaries, because he doesn’t care.

it haunts you, if you tell him a secret it’s because you trust him. but if he told you a secret it’s because he doesn’t care about it anymore or told countless of people. it’s never specific to you. gojo chuckles as he looks at you in thought “wait? so early? i need to tell you something” knowing him, he’d obviously try and change your mind and act like he cares about you. because that’s just how he is, he’s just a good person. but he’s just a good person, so sometimes you cant believe any compliments or just any good thing he tries to say. he meant so much to you, you shut out everyone who wasn’t him, because you thought he was all you needed. he is the friend you’ve been looking for your whole life, and you hate that you are going to destroy what you had with your feelings. “can i say something first?” you said while you fidgeted with your fingers.

he rips the four leaf clover from the ground. “yeah, what’s up?” you just stared at him in silence. this is a good decision right? it’s just your feelings over…. your friendship. fuck. “i think i-“ he stared at your slightly vibrating pocket where you left your phone, oh your friend called. it took a lot of thought in those 5 seconds, ruin the friendship, bottle up your feelings or... “i think i… i like your bestfriend!” he’s not even phased, he looks like he’s always knew. but the worst part is that it’s not even true. you swear that probably geto even knows you’re in-love with gojo. “i could set you up with him” you cant even read his expression. he looks pretty happy about it actually, maybe it was a good thing you didn’t confess. “alright i’ll text you later, bye!” he smiles at your words until you turn around.

he waves as he slowly he crumbles up the love letter he hid behind his back as he watched you walk away.

[highwayorgantrade]

An Echo In The Dark (Part I)

Pairing: König x Female!Reader x Ghost

Request: No request no thoughts just big scary men

Summary: On a recon mission gone horribly wrong, you, Ghost, and Konig are subject to an experimental drug created by the enemy.

Word Count: 3.3k

Song inspo: IN MY MOUTH - Black Dresses

Warnings: Oh my god i am so sorry, sex pollen, (dub-con because of said sex pollen.), degradation, praise double penetration, anyone wanna go to Paris?, oral (m and f receiving), mention of drinking, mention of war, cursing, mentions of drugs (it's the "pollen."), choking, minor mention of a tummy bulge if you squint and assume.

Author's note: Genuinely, for once I don't know what to tell y'all, I just... I don't know. Oh! My best friend @quizzyisdone helped me come up with this! She's an astounding author and if you like what I write, you'll LOVE what she writes. Reader's code name is Echo (again).

When Laswell had called you to inform you of a new mission, excitement bit at your stomach. You liked your job, you liked (most) of the people you worked with, and you liked the adrenaline. The feeling died down as you eyed the bar across the street. This was definitely the address she gave you, a random location in London. It was kind of nice - not a dive, but not too fancy that you would stand out. Smart.

As soon as you opened the door, you were greeted by Laswell's face glancing up at you, and Ghost and König leaned over the table, untouched drinks in front of them.

"Hey, what can I get ya?" The bartender smiled widely at you, and the thought that he didn't know of the people in the room made you smile back.

"Jack and Coke, please." He nodded, and you took your place at the table.

"Jack and Coke? You have the taste of a 50 year old man." Ghost greeted you, keeping his hands crossed on the table. König stood when you approached, and sat back down wordlessly. You knew he was a shy person from the training grounds, so the action didn't offend you too terribly.

"Hello Ghost, still judgmental as ever." You narrowed your eyes at him, but a smile still crossed your face. "König, all good?"

"I'm happy to see you're still alive."

"Echo, we have kind of... a situation." Laswell leaned in to you. "We have intel of something in the Kangal mountains."

"Intel of 'something'? That doesn't sound too promising." You raised your eyebrow. "You know I'm in." Laswell took a breath, and held it as the bartender placed the drink in front of you.

"All I know definitively is that the location has been mostly abandoned, but something in there is a major security threat."

"Mostly abandoned?" König glanced at Laswell. "So it's lightly guarded? Is there another location?"

"If there is, we need to find where. I genuinely do not know anything else." She looked frustrated at the lack of information.

"And what of your informant? How do they know there's 'something' here? It sounds like a trap." Ghost leaned back in his chair and shook his head slightly.

"My informant is to be highly trusted, and their identity is confidential." She took a deep breath. "I requested the three of you because I know that your personalities together is... quite the force. Ghost - You think things through. You're analytical. König - you're damn good with a gun, and your skills are top notch."

"You can be our muscle." You grinned at him and kicked his foot under the table.

"Echo's talent is that she's fucking insane." He shot back at you and returned the kick, causing your chair to shake. Laswell shrugged.

"In layman's terms, yeah." You shot her a look of playful disbelief.

"Alright." Ghost stood, sighing. "I'm in."

"I will see you in the mountains." König nodded at you and Ghost.

"This is gonna be fucking awesome."

"The room you're looking for is going to be on the north corner of the building. Let me know when you think you've got it." Laswell's voice crackled in your ear, a slight comfort that you were still connected to her in the large facility. Your eyes met with Ghost, and he nodded at you, wordlessly confirming that he heard the direction. The building was spooky, there was no doubt about it, and every so often, you had to resist the urge to shiver, even underneath your uniform and gear. You felt as though you were walking straight into darkness - you didn't know exactly what you were looking for, and you didn't know who was behind it.

"10-4. Approaching location now." König's rough whisper came through your earpiece, and seconds later, he appeared behind Ghost soundlessly, looking even more threatening in the dim lighting of the hallway. Ghost turned to see König behind him, and jumped at the sight of him.

"Fuck, mate, you're creepy." Although the comment was under his breath, it still felt loud compared to the silence around you.

"Could say the same about you, skull-face." You were quick to come to König's defense. Although your personalities were best for the job, they could clash, a little more often than not. And while you never talked about it, you could tell that König's size was an insecurity of his. Ghost glared at you from behind his mask, and huffed. "Let's get a move on, then."

Hallway after hallway, your stomach jumped at the possibility of somebody standing in your way. Or multiple somebodies. However, there was never a soul. It seemed like even the rats and cockroaches deemed this place condemned. Eventually, a door came into view with a language written on it that you couldn't understand. 'Коркунуч - Ачпаңыз. Кошумча химиялык заттар'. That's not Russian.

"Uh, Laswell, we're on the north side. I got a black door with some fuckin' words on it. None I can recognize." You spoke quietly in the radio, hoping that she would have a translation for you.

"That's it. Nice job. Search the room and report anything that looks suspicious or out of place."

"10-4."

"I'm gonna kick in the door. Be prepared if someone hears." Ghost took a deep breath and braced himself, but was stopped by König's hand on his shoulder. He reached for the door handle, and to your surprise, it was unlocked.

"That was easy." You chuckled at Ghost's glowering, his eyes narrowed at the door, like it was the door's fault for being unlocked. Quickly, you raised your weapon, and shouldered into the room, quickly scanning the corners for any immediate dangers. "Clear."

Ghost and König filed in behind you, closing the door behind them. The room was dark, save for a dim fluorescent imbedded in the ceiling. Dust was settled on everything, and it was clear that nobody had been in this room for ages. File cabinets upon file cabinets lined the walls, and a table sat in the middle of the room, papers and manila folders littered the top, and the desk in the corner didn't look any more organized.

"Ghost, set in on the desk and see if there's anything. König, search the table, and I'll work on these cabinets." He nodded at your direction, and began flipping through papers, trying to find anything he could understand. König ripped his hood off, and leaned over the table.

The cabinets all looked in the same state of disrepair, save for one that looked just slightly out of place. Okay, you've been flying on sheer dumb luck all the way up to now, why stop? You pulled open a drawer, and the cabinet jolted at the force, a lock preventing your progress. You were met with a simple black screen with a keypad. Fuck, there's a code?

"Hey, see if any of you can find me a 4 digit code." You called, giving a light kick to the bottom of the cabinet.

"Try 1992, it's on this newspaper." Ghost tossed the paper at you, and you looked it over. Is that...

"Hey, is this Bill Clinton shaking hands with this guy?" You stared at the paper harder, trying to place the location.

"Yeah, that's the UN HQ in New York. What country joined the UN in 1992?" Ghost looked at you, and you shrugged.

"Must not have been very happy about it, I guess. Come look." You tilted your head toward the cabinet, and König joined you and Ghost. "Let's pop this bitch open." You mumbled, and typed in the code. A click sounded through the room as the drawer was unlocked. "I'm so fuckin' good." You grinned to yourself, and Ghost nudged you with his boot, reminding you that he was the one who gave you the code. Whatever. Your paychecks would all be the same. Hopefully.

As soon as you pulled the drawer open, a grey gas filled the room, and you could only think about Ghost's comment earlier.

"It sounds like a trap."

Before you could react, the gas filled your lungs, and the expectation of pain filled you, weighing heavy in your chest. Despite every single danger alert going off in your body, your couldn't bring yourself to move. It was like your legs refused to work, and panic filled your mind. Was this lethal? Was this one of the gases you learned about, where it would destroy you from the inside out?

"God fucking damn it!" Ghost roared, and bolted for the door, attempting to air the room out. König grabbed your arm, and it felt like he had just touched you with a branding iron. Even through his gloves, his touch was burning.

"Ow, fuck König, that hurts, fucking stop!" You screamed at him through your haze, but he only ignored you. Your mind was fuzzy, and you could barely comprehend that you were being moved outside the room. When the wall met your back, you heard the slamming of the door and the coughing of the two men next to you, trying to clear out whatever the hell had just infected you all.

"Echo, she got the worst of it." Ghost struggled for air, and his shaking hands reached for his canteen while he crouched next to you. You couldn't feel the cold air anymore, and you felt like you were on fire, and there was a feeling of... Want? You wanted something? Yeah, you wanted to not fucking die. Panic rose in your throat, and you hastily ripped your gear off in a desperate attempt to try and get as much non-contaminated air as you could.

"Echo, what's going on?" König appeared at the other side of you, taking steady, deep breaths in an effort to calm himself. "Talk to us, what's happening?"

The feeling was unbearable, and any breath you took to try and speak was cut short by a fit of coughing.

"Focus." Ghost growled, and put the canteen up to your lips, forcing you to drink. "Don't cough. Just take it."

The command made you widen your eyes, and the burning cooled down, from a death sentence to a serious discomfort.

"Good, good. You're doing so good." König's eyes were still wild, worried. You didn't mean to choke at his words, but it felt like your chest tightened just at the praise. The desire in the pit of your stomach grew stronger. "Come, we need to get out of this hallway. There's a different room up here. Can you walk?" You nodded your head, but you were unsure. If you couldn't manage to distance yourself from being sprayed with a mysterious gas, how could you walk? "Up you go, then."

You can walk because he's telling you to walk.

What the fuck? No. You can walk on your own accord. When you stood, the hallway spun slightly until you could reorient yourself to your surroundings. Ghost stood at the entrance of the room König referenced, and before you could react, König wrapped his arm around your back, and picked you up, supporting your legs with his other arm.

Being this close to him was calming the pain in your body, and replacing it with pure euphoria. You had never thought about König in that way before this. Sure, he was attractive, and the sheer size of him made you wonder if you could see the bulge of his-.

"Lay her on the table. I don't want her moving by herself until we can figure out exactly what the hell that was." Ghost's voice modulator was rough, and it sent shocks straight through you. When König set you down, you gripped at his shirt, desperate to keep the feeling alive.

"It's hot. I'm fucking hot." You groaned when he pulled away, and pouted at the loss of contact. This room was almost the same as the other one, but there were no file cabinets, only a folder placed on a desk, the table you were placed on, and a few scattered chairs.

"I know." König shook his head and leaned against the wall, his eyes clenched shut. "Ghost?"

"Right there with you." He fingered through the file, reading whatever was in it. "König." Ghost's tone had completely shifted, but you couldn't be bothered to pick your head up to look at him, you were focused on a point on the wall, trying to keep your imagination from wandering at Ghost's voice. König met Ghost at the desk, bent so he could read whatever was on that paper. You trusted that whatever you needed to know, they would tell you.

"Does that mean-?" König's voice was soft, a harsh contrast to Ghost's.

"Echo, stay here. König and I need to talk." And with that, they both exited the room swiftly.

The only thing on your mind was seeing Ghost and König together, and the thought caused another jump in your lower stomach. The feeling of König's hard chest against your body returned to you, and you were only reminded of the heat that seemed to be radiating out of your body. On instinct, your legs pressed together, and it appeared that any rational thought you had was left in the room you were poisoned in.

God, it was really was hot in there. The hushed, and sometimes harsh whispers of your team were barely registered in your brain, as something in you had become animalistic - powerful, hungry, and downright scary. The only thought swimming in your mind - If it's so hot, take off your top. Ghost and König wouldn't mind. They said they were hot too. It would be fine. The scraping of the door opening had interrupted your action, leaving your uniform top half-buttoned.

König's hands grasped at the straps of his gear, and Ghost's eyes never left yours, even in your partial state of undress. It would be a lie if you said you didn't enjoy how affected the pair looked.

"Echo, what are you doing?" König's voice sounded strained and low, and the rasp went straight through you.

"'It's hot." You whined, a smile pulling at the corners of your lips. The animal was circling now - you were toying with your prey. Teasing it.

"Yeah, we, uh," König cleared his throat. "We know it's hot. It's- scheiße, it's intolerable." He looked seriously uncomfortable, and Ghost's silence wasn't helping to ease your tension. "The gas we were sprayed with was a... Drug, of sorts."

A drug? That's what this mystery enemy was hiding in the middle of nowhere?

"In short, the drug was being tested for use for the purpose of..." He hesitated, struggling to find the words he was looking for, and König only seemed to get more nervous as he was met silence.

"Repopulation. Dying country." Ghost finally spoke up, and you just barely caught his eyes flicking down to the exposed skin of your chest before they met yours again. "The heat, that feeling that you've got - that we've all got - it won't go away. Not unless we-" He took a stuttering breath, his hands clasped together. "Complete the objective."

The tension in silence combined with the way they were staring at you, it's like they were expecting you to blow up any second. König was clearly nervous, his eyes jumped between you and the floor, and Ghost's eyes were unreadable. The creature that was clawing at your throat, circling König and Ghost, begging you to give the command - was now uncontrollable.

This would be easy.

"Ghost, does König look... scared to you?" You could barely recognize your own voice. That low, purring tone was unrecognizable. Ghost blinked, taken aback by your question, before he snuck a glance over at the man beside him.

"He looks fuckin' terrified." He leaned against the desk, arms crossed against his chest.

"I don't know why. I don't bite. Do I look like I bite, Ghost?" You hopped off the table, talking to Ghost, but walking toward König, cocking your head to the side. A slight smile tugged at your lips when you approached him, stopping just before him.

"You might." Ghost was entertained, watching the way you toyed with the man in front of you, like you didn't have to crane your neck to look up at him. You weren't as tall as either one of them, but you had König wrapped around your finger.

König's chest was rising and falling rapidly, and the grip on his gear had tightened, threatening to snap the harness that clung to his torso.

"Do you want to find out, König?" You stretched out his name, the meaning of the word not lost on you. The heat inside you was growing stronger again, and the want was turning into pure need. You needed them, and this pull was unlike any other desire you've ever had.

Your hand reached up to the back of König's head, his eyes were wide as he made purposeful eye contact again, asking you one last time if this is what you wanted. His head leaned down next to yours, your lips next to his ear.

"I want you to find out." You whispered, and your low voice sending shivers down his spine was the breaking point for him. König ripped the earpiece out, and threw it on the ground before gripping your hips and pushing you back onto the table, his lips meeting yours aggressively. The grip he had on you was nearly bruising, but you didn't care. In fact, you wanted more. Your fingers twisted in König's hair, pulling him closer to you - you knew the sound of his moan would stay implanted in your brain forever.

When the back of your thighs met the table, his hands slid from your hips to the bottom of your thighs, sitting you on top of the table. You couldn't help but feel a sense of pride when you arched your chest into him, feeling his erratic breathing and the low vibrations of his groaning.

"God, please, König." Your voice was low and breathy, and the outline of his length against his pants was driving you absolutely crazy. A dark laugh interrupted your thought process, and you looked over to see Ghost watching you intently. König took this opportunity to start going in on your neck, leaving dark bruises in his path.

"You haven't even touched her, and she's still begging for it." Ghost's remark was snide, but you could barely focus past the feel of König unbuttoning your shirt in a frenzy, his hands shaking in the adrenaline. You glared at Ghost, your eyes half-lidded, and leaned back, giving König more access to your chest.

"If you want something, you're gonna have to speak up." Your tone matched his mockingly, and he rolled his eyes at you before flicking them back down at König pulling at your boots and tossing them... Somewhere? It didn't matter right now. Ghost cocked his head at you, his arms still tightly crossed around his chest.

"Could say the same for you, love." He pushed off the desk with his hip, your eyes following him until he walked behind you. Fuck. You wanted to keep looking at him. The feeling of König's mouth on you was gone, and when you looked down at him in irritation, his hands hovered above the belt of your pants, staring up at... Not you, but the figure that now stood behind you.

A gloved hand snaked its way around your neck, and fingers tilted your head back to see Ghost leaned over you, his gaze intense. You could see why people were intimidated by him now that he was standing above you, his chest rising and falling. His thumb toyed with your bottom lip, and you finally got it.

They weren't your prey.

You were theirs.

[iamthecomet]

OKAY HEAR ME OUT IF YOURE STILL TAKING FICLET REQUESTS

GHOULETTE BODY WORSHIP, BUT WAIT WAIT WAIT!!! GHOULETTE RECEIVING THE BODY WORSHIP HAS BODY HAIR AND IS SELF CONSCIOUS‐ BUT IT JUST ADDS TO THE WORSHIP

alright, have a nice day, bye, mwah

Ok ok ok. I know this was probably supposed to be ghoulette/ghoulette and I was GOING to do that. But then @miasmaghoul and I had a conversation about Dew/Cumulus (CumDrop!) facesitting that I have not been able to get out of my brain. So uhhhh. That's what you're getting.

Dewdrop isn't shy about going after what he wants. So when he plants himself between Cumulus' legs during their nightly movie and nuzzles his warm face against her thigh--she already knows exactly what he's thinking. She thinks about deterring him. Waxing day is tomorrow. She has loose rules about which pack members can see her when it's this close. Which ones she trusts with her body in its most natural state. Dewdrop is not one of them. But the way he looks up at her as he nuzzles against her sets something on fire deep in her gut. Her body betrays her, her stomach clenches. His eyes dart up to hers. His nostril flare and the corner of his mouth tips up into a smirk that turns her insides to jelly. And for a brief, insane, moment she can't remember why she was afraid of Dew seeing her like this. And that's how she got here. A momentary lapse in judgment. A pretty angular face staring up at her from between her legs breaking her resolve. And now Dew's in her room, the door locked behind them. And she can't look up at that face now that it's within kissing distance.

Dew presses two boney fingers under her chin to tip her head up to look at him. He wraps the other arm around her waist and hauls her in to press her body against his. He's stronger than he has any right to be.

He doesn't say anything, she watches his eyes dart between hers, brow furrowing as he sees the anxiety warring with arousal behind her eyes.

If he was Mountain or Aether, he'd ask her about it. But he isn't. He's Dewdrop. So he kisses her instead. Slotting hot lips over hers and gentling her plush mouth open with his tongue. Dewdrop always kisses to claim. Open-mouthed, deep, thorough. Dew doesn't do anything halfway--especially not like this. He slips his hand around to the back of her head to lace in her mess of curls to hold her where he wants her. Dew undresses her as he kisses her, dragging calloused fingers over every inch of newly exposed skin. Reaching down to cup an ample breast as he drags her t-shirt over her head and tosses it somewhere. "Fucking incredible," he breathes as he looks at her. One hand teasing a nipple, the other working at the hem of her sweatpants, pushing them down her thighs. He bends to slide them down further and catches the opposite nipple between his teeth.

Cumulus gasps, gripping his shoulders for support as he helps her step out of her pants. The feeling of his hands on her is devastating. They're gentle, as gentle as Dew ever is, and reverent in their exploration. If he notices or cares that she's hairy when she's usually sleek and smooth, he doesn't say anything. He dips his fingers between her legs and finds the damp curls there. He groans as his teeth worry her nipple.

"I can't wait to get my mouth on you," he growls as he pulls away. He dips his fingers deeper, slipping between her already slick folds. He presses a soft kiss to her lips before he pulls away entirely, backing up toward her bed. He shoves the fingers that were just between her legs into his mouth, eyes fluttering at the taste. His eyes rove over her. Hungry. The drag over her frame. Over the darker hair on her thighs, her calves. Over the trail of hair on her stomach that she usually pretends doesn't exist. Dew's eyes meet hers as he sprawls himself out on her dusky blue comforter. He pulls his shirt off and tosses it on the floor near her pile of discarded clothing. He tucks one of his arms under his head. And grins at her. He pulls his fingers from his mouth and uses those slick digits to beckon her closer. "Lus," he says crooking one finger forward and back in a lewd imitation of what he'd like to do inside of her body. "C'mere."

She hesitates. She smooths her hands down her belly like doing that will make her the version of herself she likes better. As if just doing that will remove the stubbled hair leading from her belly button to the curls between her legs. "Lus," Dew says again, his voice a little firmer. Her eyes snap up to his. There is no denying his arousal. Pupils wide, cock straining against his sweatpants, a wet spot already starting to seep through.

"I'm sorry--" she starts. Not sure exactly what she's apologizing for. The hesitation? Her appearance. Dew doesn't let her figure it out. "No," Dew scoffs shaking his head. "You're not allowed to apologize." He reaches for her, grabbing her hand and pulling her towards the bed until she comes. He settles her onto his lap, pressing her bare ass back into the hard line of his cock. "You don't usually see me like this," she says, quiet. A little worried that by saying the words he'll suddenly realize he isn't into her like this.

"You think I give a shit?" He grips her thighs stroking his thumb up over them. "I fuck Swiss, remember? You think I'm turned off by a little hair?"

He rolls his eyes at her, but there's no menace in it. He's pulling her closer as he does it, lacing his fingers in her hair again to pull her down for another kiss.

"I just know it's--"

"Sexy as fuck," Dew finishes for her. "Now get up here." Cumulus hesitates again. This always takes a little coaxing from him, even when she's on her game. It has taken her years to find confidence in her body. But there are still hang-ups, of course there are. And no matter how much she loves it, straddling Dew's face is always going to be one of them. She looks at him and alarm bells ring. He's too small, she'll crush him. But Dew doesn't seem to have those same concerns. He acts like he'd be happy to drown between her thighs. She rolls her hips back, pressing against his cock again. She revels in the gasp it drags from him, in the way his fingers flex on her thighs. "Please, Lus," Dew breathes, "wanna make you feel as good as you look." When she finally listens to him, shifting up to settle her knees on either side of his head, he wraps one arm fully around her and drags her down to him fully. He buries his nose in the hair on her pubic mound and curls his tongue around her clit. Flicking over it with gentle licks to ease her into it.

She bows forward with a high-pitched whine. She braces herself against the top of her headboard. She fits her claws into the well-worn groves dug in from a thousand moments just like this one. Dew digs his fingers into her thighs hard and drags his tongue through her folds. Sucking her lips into his mouth. Dipping his tongue inside of her to fully taste her.

He growls in pleasure. She feels the vibration in her bones. She'll wear bruises from his fingers for days. Ones she'll press her own fingers to when she's alone in her room with her hand between her legs. Dew always makes quick work of her. Singularly focused on making her cum as many times as he can. Her thighs shake in minutes. Pleasure uncurls hot and insistent in her gut. It sparks up her spine with each skilled press of his tongue. He pulls her clit into his mouth and sucks, and she wails with it. Her hips twitch forward. She tries to keep from grinding down on him. He tips his head back enough so he can talk. "Use me," he pants, eyes glassy, "take what you need." He dives back in, and she does. Rolling her hips over his mouth, putting him where she needs him. Chasing the pleasure rolling through her body. She closes her eyes as builds, her body going taut. His fingers clench harder on her thighs. The sharp bite of pain only serves to push her over the edge faster. She cums with a ragged shout, her claws digging hard into her headboard. Dew works her through it. Then pauses to give her a minute to breathe. But the tight hold he keeps on her thighs tells her he's nowhere near done. He slides one hand up her body to press between her breasts, coaxing her upright. She sits up on her knees a little, pulling her oversensitive flesh away from his hungry mouth.

He turns his head and catches supple flesh between his teeth, worrying the skin of her inner thigh until blood pools under the surface, dying the pale gray flesh a lovely violet. Then he looks up at her. She can't recall ever being looked at like this. Dew wears all of his thoughts on his face, no mask, no filter. And the only things she can see on that pretty face right now are awe, love, devotion. He slips his hand down her body, trailing his fingers over the course hair between her belly and pubic hair. He digs a fang into his lip as he takes her in. "Could look at you forever." "Even like this?" she asks. She can't help it. Dew licks his lips he huffs out a small laugh. He fights an eye roll, but it wins in the end. "Especially like this," he whispers. "Now come back down here. I'm nowhere near done with you."

[royallyprincesslilly]

Title: Quarantine: A Love Story{23}

Chris Evans x Reader

Warning: Cursing, Heavy Angst, Plot Heavy, Slight NSFW

Words: 4.3k

Note: Italic text signifies a past memory/conversation.

*Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction. FICTION! Think twice before you come @ me.

I hope you guys enjoy this. If you enjoyed this LIKE, COMMENT, REBLOG.

As always, thank you for reading!!! ❤️❤️

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-Quarantine Week Thirteen-

-Chris-

 “Knock, knock, room service.”

 Groaning, he lifted his head, squinting at the sun that was shining through the window.

 “What the fuck?”

 “Knock, knock, room service,” came the voice again.

 His head was pounding, and the light was not helping. Rolling onto his back, he used his hand to shield the sun before he rubbed his face hoping to clear the haziness in his eyes and head. When he felt steady enough to stand, he walked across the room to the door. Once there, he realized he was naked. Grabbing a discarded towel off a nearby chair, he wrapped it around his waist then cracked the door enough to see who it was. No one was there, just a room service cart. Poking his head out, he looked from side to side, still not seeing anyone.

 “Did I order room service?”

 Not wanting someone to happen to come out of their room and see him, he quickly rolled the cart inside his room, leaving it just before the bed. As he dropped onto the bed, he took the notecard wedged between the coffee mugs.

 I let you sleep in yesterday and work through whatever it was that you were going through, but today is business as usual. We have meetings.

-M

 Groaning, he dropped back onto the bed and stared at the ceiling before closing his eyes. As soon as he did, it was your face he saw. Memories of your last night together flooded him like always. They always came when he had more than ten minutes to himself. So nights were sleepless, showers were torture, and getting any work done was next to impossible. He’d left because there was nothing else to do. He’d been getting plenty of emails about possible work in London and meetings to take, but he’d pushed them back time and time again. One reason was the pandemic that was still ravaging the world, but the other reason was you. He wanted to be near you, learn more about you, begin building with you. That didn’t look to be what you wanted, though.

 He groaned again and rubbed his face hoping to stop the onslaught. It didn’t work. Your voice echoed in his head, and he swore he could feel your hands on him. God, he wanted you here. He wanted to still be in his cabin with you still resting your head on his chest. He wanted to be breathing in your scent, coconut oil, flowers, brown sugar, and pineapples. Your scent was seared to his memory.

 “Fuck!”

 His shout echoed in the hotel room. He sat up and stared at the cart with the breakfast spread. He’d done everything he could.

 “She just doesn’t want me.”

 With that, he stood and began getting himself ready for his meetings. He had three in total, and that itself told him it would be a long day.

 Sure enough, by two in the afternoon, he was still busy and hadn’t had the time even to get lunch. The first meeting went on for three hours, and now he’d taken an unplanned zoom one regarding his project with Mark and Joe. Things were always moving behind the scenes, and though the last few weeks were a nice vacation of sorts, it was time for him to get his head back into the game, no matter how difficult it was posing to be.

 As two meetings turned to three, then four, he found himself running on empty, and the longer that went by without you reaching out to him in any way, the angrier and more bitter he became. Never in his life had he been in this situation. He’d pursued plenty of women, but they all were receptive. They all showed interest of some sort. They all wanted him. he may not have wanted them on the level they wanted him, but there was a minimal basic understanding. With you, he felt he was always the one chasing you. It was disconcerting.

 When he got in for the night, he was exhausted and ready for a shower and sleep. The ringing of his phone said it was not to be.

 “Yes, Meg.”

 “Did you look over that proposal I sent earlier?”

 Sighing, he sat and hung his head back. “What proposal?”

 “Hear me out before you shoot it down. What do you know about Letecia Jemison?”

 “Who?”

 “The model turned actress,” Meg clarified.

 He sighed again, then put the phone on speaker and typed in the name into his Google search. In seconds images of who Meg was talking about populated.

 “She’s pretty, right.”

 “Meg, what’re ya doing?”

 “Nothing, just listen. Her team has been in contact with me, and I know her publicist. We've come up with a way to help both of you. With quarantine, everyone has reverted to a home-based lifestyle. This means maybe some names aren’t on tongues, and that means the roles are slowing.”

 Already he didn’t like the way this was going.

 “Meg--,” he began.

 “It’s just a few photo ops. The press will get a few pictures, people will start talking, and the rest it easy. Plus, I think you two would hit it off; maybe this will jumpstart a relationship.”

 “Oh god. Meg. I am not in the market for a relationship.”

 “Chris, you’re a good looking guy. Quarantine has been going on for weeks. Not to be invasive, but when was the last time you were in the company of someone who wasn’t family?”

 He scoffed and sat back while scrolling through the pictures.

 “Meg. I don’t think this is a good idea.”

 “It’s harmless. One or two dates, you get to blow off steam and maybe get something more,” Meg finished.

 The picture on his screen was of this Leticia woman in a figure-hugging dress that accentuated her figure. She wasn’t bad to look at; he had to admit.

 “And what does she have to say about all this?”

 “According to Mike, he said she sounds open to it. If the idea of a photo op sounds deceiving, think of it as a date or spending time with a friend. You can never have too many contacts in this business.”

 Meg always knew how to spin things. Her goal was to keep him relevant for as long as it was in his interest, or he decided to remain in the business.

 “We have to talk first, Meg. Set up a facetime or zoom, or something,” he suggested.

 “All right. I’ll text you. Get some rest.”

 After ending the conversation, he stared out the window and immediately thought of you. Even a conversation for a meet up felt wrong to him. Weeks ago, he wouldn’t have cared.

 “Unbelievable.”

 Standing, he walked to the bathroom, determined to find some peace for the night.

  ~~~~~~~~

 -Y/N-

Staring at the cabin, it looked the same, but it felt different. Whereas it felt warm and inviting before, now it felt cold and so far away. It had been three days, and you couldn’t believe he’d just up and left without so much as a goodbye or see you later.

 “Of course he left. Why would he stay?”

 “Because he’s in love with you.”

 Spinning, you saw Ms. Lisa standing there. You sighed and looked back at the cabin. The last three days, her, Shanna, nor Carly brought up the elephant in the room. They didn’t treat you any differently, but you saw the questions in their eyes. You thought they would just let it be one of those things people brushed to the side and ignored, but seeing her here you knew it would not be that. When she stood beside you, you glanced at her.

 “Let’s take a walk to the beach,” Lisa suggested.

 You walked in silence through the wooded area from the cabin, around the guesthouse, and down the steps to the sand. Once there, you both kicked off your shoes and walked down the beach until you sat. You dug your toes into the hot on the surface but cold underneath sand and sighed out.

 “How are you doing?”

 You couldn’t help but laugh. What was supposed to be a quick chuckle turned into an elaborate laugh that went on for a full minute. She probably thought you were insane. You felt insane. When you stopped, you sighed then swallowed the lump in your throat.

 “I’m fine.”

 “Are you as fine as Chris is?” Your eyes met, but you were the first to look away back to the waves. “I can see just how fine he is.”

 “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean for any of this to happen. I didn’t plan it, and I’m sorry you found out the way you did, and I’m sorry if I broke your trust,” you rushed out. Lisa grabbed your hand and held it in her warmer ones.

 “Y/N, no, no, no. You didn’t break my trust at all, and you certainly have nothing to apologize to me for. You are a grown woman, a beautiful grown woman at that. Honestly, I saw this coming years ago.”

 You snapped your head to her, giving her a quizzical look. “What? How?”

 Lisa smiled and rubbed the back of your hand. “I know Chris and all my children like the back of my hand. I raised them and have paid close attention throughout the years. While it’s more difficult to understand him now than it used to be, I do. He’s always been drawn to you. From day one, and against your better judgment, you’ve also been drawn to him.”

 You sighed again, looking away from her kind face and back out to the ocean.

 “You never understood it until these last few weeks. You saw his apprehensiveness and labeled it as hate. This quarantine has allowed you to see past that, see him on a level you probably weren’t ready for. You also weren’t prepared to like that side of him.”

 She was spot on, but you were not going to admit that, not out loud at least.

 “I’m here for you, Y/N. If you want to talk or not talk, I’m here. I’m not going to judge you or chastise you. It is not my place, and truly Y/N, I love you like you were part of my family.”

 A tear slid down your cheek, making you roll your eyes. “Oh great,” you groaned.

 Lisa put her arm around your shoulder and slide closer, but she didn’t speak again. She was letting you decide what you needed rather than her coaxing you in one direction or the other. You didn’t know how long stretched with only the sounds of the waves crashing on the shore, but she didn’t seem to care. As the sun was beginning to set, you opened up to her, letting her know about your past and its effect on you. You steered clear of recent events with Chris or even the fact that of the two of you becoming intimate. Once you began, it felt like you were letting something go that you’d been holding on to for such a long time—shame. That feeling of unburdening shifted to you, spilling your guts telling her things you probably shouldn’t have.

 You told her how much you’d hated her son for the first year, then told her how much he confused you and had you doubting yourself by the first have of the second year. Then you admitted that that hate and confusion turned to you being annoyed that you thought about him and even liked seeing him when you did. Your diarrhea of the mouth went further when you admitted that you’d probably thought about sleeping with him long before it actually happened. Still, Lisa didn’t speak. She let you say all you had to, and it turned out you had a lot to say.

 You expressed your remorse over lying and sneaking around the last few weeks but admitted you weren’t sorry about it. That was when you felt able to confess that you loved all the conversations you and Chris had, you loved learning new things, loved seeing the vulnerable and soft side of him that he never showed. You even felt comfortable enough to voice your fears.

 “I’m afraid if I let him in like I let Thro in that he’ll destroy me worse than he ever could. I was stupid with Theo. The signs were there, but I bypassed them. I didn’t listen to my gut, and by doing that, it cost me more than I ever dreamed. I am not the same person I was then. Everywhere I go, no matter who I am with, I have this barrier between them and me, and Chris is the only one who has ever been able to get behind that barrier. There are so many things that take me away and make it impossible for me to allow him to remain behind this barrier.”

 You sniffled and wiped your cheeks while trying to get a hold of yourself.

 “Do you want him behind the barrier?”

 “It doesn’t matter what I want. The question is, can I afford for him to be behind it, especially with everything I have going on and this new bullshit. It’s a lot.”

 Lisa nodded. “That’s where you’re wrong. It matters. We have one life to live, Y/N. Tomorrow or the next is not guaranteed. This one existence is what we have. Our only purpose is to live a happy life, one that is fulfilling, rewarding, truthful, and full of love. To do that, we all have to find our truth, and we have to live in it. We have to unravel who we are, come face to face with our weaknesses, fears, strengths, and live unapologetically in all that glory. You have to do that. If you can’t, would you really want to look back on your death bed with nothing but regrets and no time to make it right?”

 You hated how right she was. She wasn’t saying anything your mother hadn’t told you time and time again. She’d tried to drill this into your head after Connecticut, but you weren’t listening—you couldn’t. You still couldn’t. Everything in your life was now pointing in one direction, and you still couldn’t bask in it. Your past still gripped you and hovered over your head.

 “Remember,” Lisa began drawing your attention to her. she wiped your cheek with the back of her hand the way only a mother could do. “Nothing and no one can keep two people apart who are meant to be. No matter how much time has passed, and no matter what plans are formed against them or promises are made. I guarantee when it’s the one, Y/N, you’ll have no hesitations. You might fight it, but it won’t change anything. No amount of fighting off what’s meant to be will make an ounce of difference.”

 You snorted because you remembered her saying the same thing a few weeks ago on this very beach. She’d known all along. She must have known you knew because her smile was warm.

 “It’s a sixth or seventh sense. You’ll see when you become a mother whenever that may be, sooner or later, or sooner.”

 You busted out laughing so loud that your laughter carried in the wind and out to sea.

 “All I’m saying is he can’t do any better than you,” Lisa added, making you laugh harder, a laugh she joined in on.

 ~~~~~~~~

-Chris-

After another sleepless night, he was in a shit mood and feeling like he was going through some form of withdrawals. He’d grown so accustomed to seeing your face every day or rolling over and bumping into your body that not doing it felt strange, incomplete sort of. When he recognized those feelings, he began to feel angry. He didn’t know what he was angry at, the fact that you’d rejected him or the fact that you hadn’t even given him a chance. He knew you felt something. You had to. Every time he looked into your eyes, he saw something there. You spoke very little about your feelings, but he remembered the words you had said that last night when he’d asked you what you were thinking.

 “You. Always only you.”

 Maybe he was grasping at straws, but that meant more than what it sounded like. He felt it.

 “I told you that you’d like her,” Megan’s voice infiltrated his thoughts.

 “Sorry, what?”

 “Where are you? For the last few days, you’ve been here but not here.”

 He rubbed the back of his neck, then shrugged. “I’m here.”

 “Okay. Have some fun tonight. It’s not really work,” Meg advised.

 He sighed and looked himself over in the mirror. After a Zoom call with Letecia that lasted about thirty minutes, he was able to get a better feel for her. She was beautiful and funny. After thirty minutes, he wasn’t rushing off the call, so he bit the bullet and suggested dinner that night, all with the ideology there was no harm in a meal in mind.

 “It’s just a quick dinner, Meg. No one is putting rings on fingers.”

 “Don’t rule it out,” Meg sing songed.

 It still felt disingenuous, and maybe that was why he wasn’t thrilled with the idea, but he’d made a commitment, and he was a man of his word if anything.

 “The car will be downstairs in about ten minutes, so knock em’ dead,” Meg said, winking at him as she walked out of his room.

 Once alone, he was finally able to take a breath. Hitching his hands on his hips, he hung his head low and sighed again. “Get your head in the game, ya’ clown.”

 He heard the ringing of his phone, and he felt it was someone from his team or even Meg trying to pump him up. When he looked at the screen, it was a number he didn’t recognize.

 “Hello?”

 Silence.

 “Hello?”

 He wasn’t in the mood for some robocall. Just as he was going to hang up, he heard sniffles.

 “Who is this?”

 “I’m sorry.”

 He’d recognize your voice anywhere. The war within him began. Part of him wanted to console you and push aside any hurt he felt to make you feel better, but the other half was what kept him quiet. He didn’t want to make this any easier. He supposed it was a little of that resentment seeping through. The silence stretched from minute to minute until neither of you had spoken for a full five. Every minute the war within him waged.

 “What do you want?”

 “I—I--,” you stuttered before sighing and sniffling some more. No words actually came out.

 Another minute of silence passed, and it was his anger and annoyance that piqued, not his sympathy.

 “Y/N, what!?”

 “I fucked up,” you shouted, then immediately got silent again.

 “I fucked up bad, and I’m—I’m sorry.”

 He took a slow breath in and tried to get control over the part of him that wanted to yell. As a child, Mary-Go-Rounds were his least favorite carnival ride, and nothing had changed.

 “Did you hear me, Chris?”

 “I heard you. I’m just—what do you want from me, Y/N?”

 He walked to the seat by the window and dropped his head in his hand.

 “I don’t know what you want from me. I let you bring me as close as you want, then you tell me to back off and give you space. I am kind and respectful to you, and you push me away and tell me about my whorish ways. I treat you with nothing but care and love, and you tell me to shut up pretty much. I don’t—what do you want from me?”

 “I have a lot going on right now. I, there’s so much you don’t know and understand about me and my life, and I--.”

 “—So tell me. I don’t know where along this path you thought that all I care about is sex, but that’s wrong. It’s never been about sex with me—us. Tell me what the fuck is going on.”

 Silence. The only thing he heard was the return of your sniffles. A few moments later, you cleared your throat.

 “I care--about you.”

 The hiss of his breath slipped out, but it was an accurate depiction of his frustrations.

 “Care about me? Wo--Okay. Has the last few weeks meant anything to you?”

 “Chris,” you whispered.

 “See, I don’t even need you to say the words back. A few days ago, I was wrapped up on that, but tonight it’s not—I felt that maybe I’d been rushing you, and I didn’t even mean to say them, but more and more, I just feel like a fucking idiot when it comes to you. I’ve been this—open book to you, and you’ve shown me next to nothing. So I guess I need to know once and for all, plain as day. Has the last few weeks meant anything to you?”

 This time your silence was louder than anything he’d heard. After ten seconds, he should have hung up, but he sat there for a minute, then two, all the while, his heart just broke.

 “They do mean something,” you whispered.

 He felt like a contestant on some gut-wrenching game show, and he was on the edge of his seat and filled with so much anxiety.

 “Do you want me, Y/N?”

 You sighed loudly, then whispered his name.

 “All you have to do is choose me like I’m choosing you,” he finished.

 There was rustling and muffled voices that he couldn’t quite make out. What he could make out was your last name, and the words “case” and “update.”

 “I gotta go. I can’t do this right now; I really can’t.” You were crying.

 Then the call ended. He sat there for several long minutes going through so many different emotions, pain, sadness, confusion, hope, then anger. That was the emotion he left his room with, anger. Long gone were the words of his mother’s text from earlier, “Don’t make permanent decisions with temporary hurt feelings.”

 At dinner, Letecia was great. She was funny, charismatic, sweet, and flirtatious. They talked about each of their experiences in the business, which led to talk about what different directors and producers were like, which led to joking about them. The conversation easily flowed from one thing to the next with little to no awkwardness. Still, his mind was distracted. He kept replaying the conversation he’d had with you barely an hour ago. When his brain couldn’t make sense of it, he moved on to comparing you to Letecia.

 He compared your voices. Hers was more high pitched, yours softer. He compared your smiles, yours more genuine and bright, hers looked freer. He compared your eyes. He liked yours better. He compared your scents. They were both pleasant, yours won out, but he was not against hers. By the time dinner was finished, he knew Letecia didn’t stack up to you. He knew it with every fiber of his being, but there was something in him that had him progressing with the night. He could see her attraction to him, and he had to admit that he liked being wanted.

 When they left the restaurant, they climbed into the waiting car together and laughed the entire way back to his hotel, a suggestion of hers he hadn’t objected to. Once they pulled up to the hotel and began walking to the entrance, Letecia leaned to his ear and whispered something flirty that told him where the night was headed. As soon as they’d gotten comfortable in his room, he got her a drink, and they talked a little more before she’d made a move to climb on top of him. Letecia pulled him into a flirtatious kiss, one he didn’t pull away from. She took his hand and placed it on her ass, taking the lead. It was like this was a first for him. His actions were slow and delayed. Nothing felt natural, and he hated it only felt that way with you.

 As if to prove something to himself, he held Letecia’s head steady and kissed her with intent to forget your face. Her moans filled the room, and soon she was sliding odd his lap to sit on the floor between his legs. He watched as she unbuckled his pants and helped him lower his pants. Once the garment was at his ankles, Letecia wasted no time lowering her mouth onto his shaft. A groan escaped him as he watched her bob on his length, all the while slurping against his skin. It took him several minutes to get into the groove of what she was doing because his focus shifted perilously between her and you. No matter what, you resided in his head.

 The feeling of doing something wrong constantly nagged him, distracting him from feeling much of anything though Letecia tried her best to draw a reaction. He dropped his head back, hoping that maybe not looking at her would help matters. It didn’t. His memories fluctuated between you doing the same things to a different reaction and the reality before him. He tried to forcibly get his head right, reminding himself that he’d done this plenty of times, and it shouldn’t have been hard. Even that didn’t help.

 When Letecia stood before him to remove her burgundy dress, he skimmed her body, taking in every detail. It was underwhelming when he thought back to you, and the sight of her, while beautiful, didn’t excite him. She came closer and kissed him teasingly before walking behind him. When he looked back, he saw her crawl onto his bed then lie down to spread her legs, showing him what he could have. It was decision time.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

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***There are a few that are bold that I tried to tag but your @ wasn’t coming up. I’m not sure why. I’m sorry.***

[the-hopeless-haze]

A Dwindling, Mercurial High

Pairing: Elliot Stabler/reader

A/N: Okay so I had a dream about Stabler the other night and he’s my original SVU crush (sorry Barba) and I had “Illicit Affairs” stuck in my head the whole day after so I had to write this. Thank you to @caked-crusader​ and @detective-giggles​ for encouraging my insanity lol!

Content Warning: NSFW due to sex. Brief mentions of cases that Elliot is working on. Infidelity.

The first time you met Elliot, it was because Dickie had a bad asthma attack and had to be hospitalized overnight. You were fresh out of nursing school, more anxious than confident, and it was a night from hell in that pediatric ward, maybe the worst you’d seen in the couple months since you’d started working. The charge nurse could only start one thing before she was asked to help with something else, two nurses called out and only one could cover, and everyone had at least a three-patient assignment. Suffice it to say tensions were high on that floor, and because Dickie wasn’t the sickest of your patients, you didn’t get to see him as often as you should have. Doing your best felt akin to doing nothing, and every time you came in the room, you apologized you hadn’t been able to come in fifteen minutes ago.

Elliot and Kathy told you it was okay and that they’d been through this before and knew what to expect. But it wasn’t really okay, you knew that. No one wanted to think that their nurse was too busy taking care of other sick children to pay attention to theirs.

Needless to say, you were far too busy that night to pay much attention to Elliot that night, but it wouldn’t be the last time you saw him, so maybe it didn’t matter. Still, sometimes you want to remember that glance that started everything because you have so little to hold onto.

You nearly have a heart attack the next week when your nurse manager says an NYPD detective needs to speak with you, and you nearly have another when you see Elliot’s face. You’ll remember the glance vividly this time; you look down at the linoleum hospital floor before finally sweeping your eyes across his face. He’s not mad; you can tell he’s the kind of man who’d let you know if he was angry, so you try to still your shaking hands.

“I just wanted to let you know Dickie’s doing a lot better,” he says, the hint of a smile on his lips. “Thank you.”

“Um, you’re welcome. I’m sorry I couldn’t have been more help—"

“Don’t beat yourself up, kid. It was a madhouse in here that night. Besides, I know it was you who got the doctor to switch his meds. They’re working a lot better now. He can actually sleep through the night.”

“Well, that’s great!” you say brightly, genuinely feeling a lot better about that night now. “Did you really come out all this way just to tell me?”

He chuckles, shakes his head. “No. I’m working. Victim’s getting a rape kit done here, so I thought I’d see if I could find you while I wait.”

“Oh,” you say, your eyes widening. “What unit do you work on?”

“Special Victims. I’d say I hope I see you around, but I really don’t want my work to bring me to this floor.”

“Me neither. I sincerely hope I never see you again,” you say, smiling, and he smiles back, claps you on the shoulder and thanks you again before leaving.

“He was hot,” Tammy, your best friend on the ward, says as she comes over. “And he came back to see you. Maybe you should ask him out?”

“Well, he’s married,” you laugh. “All the DILFs are. Wives don’t wanna let that go.”

And you really thought that was that. You did have your fair share of DILFs come through that floor, and on slower shifts you’d fantasize about what it would be like to be the other woman, especially when couples would argue to the point of tears. Sure, tensions were always high when children were ill, but those screaming matches were always the result of a more systemic issue within their relationship. Some marriages were destined to fall apart, and sometimes it was exhilarating to dream about being the catalyst, even if you’d never actually act on it. No harm done in imagining yourself with a man you’d only see once in your life.

But you’d see Elliot again in a few months when his job did in fact bring him to your floor. He’s accompanied by a brunette woman, who you later learn is his partner, Olivia. You have no idea how they do their jobs. Sick kids you could handle, but children that had been abused, that were put into that hospital bed, not by the hands of a virus or disease process but by the hands of an adult... it was enough to turn your stomach. But now, at least, you had a direct line to call whenever you thought something iffy was going on between a family, as Elliot gave you his card. He said he trusts your judgment. You tried to suppress your heart fluttering. You’re too young to be having palpitations, but you can’t help staring at him longingly the whole time he’s there talking to the doctor, and you hope neither he nor Olivia notices. He just cared so much, and there’s nothing that gets the ovaries into action like seeing a man that protective over children.

You have to realize, though, that he was just being nice, and he just wanted another set of eyes out there to make sure no one got away with hurting children. You were all too happy to fill that role, anyway. It was a noble one. It had nothing to do with you specifically, and you had to be okay with that.

But fate is a funny thing, because even though you dated around throughout the next couple years, even though you had plenty of other things to occupy your time... Elliot always came back into your life somehow. Just when you thought you forgot about him, it seemed like he was waltzing onto your floor, or, god forbid, there was a child’s family you wanted him to speak to and make sure was alright.

Most times he came empty-handed and almost every time he came with Olivia, but on occasion, he’d show up by himself and with two coffees. And you grew up a little in those couple of years, even if you never grew past harboring your little crush on Elliot. You lost your anxiety that came with being a fledgling nurse and enrolled in a nurse practitioner program. You had your heart broken a few times and you broke a few hearts of your own. You moved out of your parent’s apartment and got your own place.

As for Elliot? Those years didn’t treat him as kindly. He wasn’t growing up as much as he was going down. Kathy wanted to leave him, he felt like he was losing touch with his kids, and his career path only fueled the anger that gnawed at him day after day and night after night. How the hell did his life get this fucked?

Of course, you weren’t privy to this information until he punched a hospital wall. It was a long night, and one of the children he rode on the ambulance with didn’t make it. You were upset, too, of course, even though he wasn’t your patient, and you couldn’t wait to get out of here and cry over a bottle of wine. But when Elliot’s fist connected with the wall, you knew your night was going to end much differently.

“(Y/n)! Are you busy? I need you to take your cop friend out of here. We don’t want the parents seeing that. Go! Clean up his hand and make sure he’s billed for that wall,” the doctor barks at you. “You gonna move?”

“Yeah, yeah, I’m on it, Doc,” you murmur, but you’re frozen in place at the nurse’s station. You can’t help staring at Elliot as he steps out of the room, with his chest heaving, his hand bloodied, his blue eyes ablaze. Eventually, your legs cooperate with you again, and you nod at him, motioning for him to follow you down the hallway. You grab some gauze and alcohol from the supply closet on the way and lead him into an empty room, taking his hand in yours. “Can you make a fist for me? I need to see if it’s broken.”

Elliot doesn’t say anything; he barely even looks at you, but he does as you ask.

“Okay. Good. You're just gonna be a little sore. You can relax it now. The alcohol is going to sting—“

“I know,” he says hollowly.

“I’m sorry. You’re the oldest patient I’ve had since I was in school,” you say, feeling your face flush as you grab the alcohol and wipe his knuckles. "This isn't the first time you've attacked a wall, then, hm?"

Elliot shoots you a withering look and you swallow thickly. Was he going to yell at you now? Thankfully, he sighs and the anger in his eyes fades. "Listen. I'm sorry you had to be here for that.”

"It's alright. I've seen worse. And I know it's tough, Elliot," you say. "Everyone handles grief differently."

"It ever get any easier for you?"

"No," you whisper, letting your hair fall in front of your eyes so he can't see them well up with tears as you lean over to bandage his hand. "Guess it never does. I don't get angry; I just get depressed. You don't want to get desensitized to it, though. I'd rather see people punch walls than not care."

Your breath catches in your throat as he pushes your hair back with his good hand, and he keeps it there on the side of your cheek. All this time, in the four years of knowing this man, and he'd never touched you like this. Come to think of it, you never exactly stood this close to him, either. Your relationship was always professional, despite all the times you wished it wasn't. Wasn't there a reason you two kept ending up in the same rooms? Wasn't there a reason you ended up in this one, alone? And you could get drunk off his scent, couldn’t you? The slight musk of sweat from his earlier exertion, the woodsy headiness of his cologne, the hint of spearmint on his breath from his mouthwash... it was all too much, and it’s all you have in you to not lean into his touch, to not lean over and press your mouth to his...

“Elliot—“

"Don't talk," he murmurs. "Unless you want to stop me. Do you?”

You wouldn’t dare.

When your lips finally do connect, it's electric, even though the only thing running through the back of your mind is how you'd probably be fired if anyone stepped into the room at this moment. You can't very well deny yourself what you've been wanting on and off for years, though, even if it’s wrong. His hands grab your waist and yours find purchase on his shoulders, feeling the muscles flex underneath you as he moves you to straddle his thigh. You have to try very hard not to search for that friction your whole body aches for, not yet, not when you don’t know how far he wants to take this and when you’re still on the clock.

“When do you get off?” he asks, and you both chuckle at the unintended double-entendre.

“At eleven.”

“Come have a drink with me.”

“I don’t want a drink. I want to continue this,” you purr, getting off his lap to fix the bandage and tape it down.

“You sure?”

“Elliot, I thought you’d never ask me. I would’ve been sure four years ago,” you say, feeling slightly guilty at that, but it was true. The more you saw of him without his wife and children the easier it was to forget that they were the reason you met him in the first place. And if at any time he kissed you like that? You know you’d be putty in his hands just like you were now. “You don’t need to go back to the precinct?” You don’t dare ask about home. Selfishly, you don’t want that to cross his mind.

“I’ll be back here by eleven.”

It’s another breathless kiss before you’re out the door, heading back to finish your shift.

“The hell are you all red for, (y/n)?” Tammy asks as you round the corner.

“Nothing,” you say. “Just ran up here. You need anything?”

“Ran up here? Weren’t you taking care of... oh. You’re playing with fire, girl,” she says, smirking.

“Shut up,” you say, but you can’t force your cheeks to cool down. “Nothing happened.”

“Mm. Be careful. He’s still married, isn’t he?”

You wouldn’t listen. You were only after chasing that high, even if it was only born to die in front of your eyes. —- You’re straining against your handcuffs, and you can’t see Elliot at all through the blindfold, but you can feel his hands and his mouth, hot and heavy, touching you everywhere. You have no clue where to focus, and you still can’t quite believe he’s here in your apartment. Part of you expected him to stand you up and realize that he should be going home instead of taking you to bed. But he either didn’t have that epiphany or he didn’t care - and you were desperate enough for him that you’d take either - and so began your first illicit meeting.

“I told you to stop pulling at those, baby,” Elliot says, his tone stern. “You’re going to make yourself bleed.”

“Maybe if you gave me what I wanted, I wouldn’t have to—“

He cuts you off with a firm kiss, and you can feel his cock hard against your thigh, and not being able to see only heightens the sensation. “You gonna give me attitude, baby? I don’t think so. Why don’t you relax? I’m gonna take care of you. Gonna take my time though. Been four years of seeing your ass in those tight scrubs and not being able to do fucking anything about it.”

“You noticed me…. Like that?”

“You think I’d be here if I didn’t? Don’t act innocent now. You know what you do to me.”

Of course, you had noticed him looking at you sometimes, but you never let yourself read into it, but now, everything was coming back to you and… oh, fuck, finally he slips two fingers into your entrance and you’re drawn out of your thoughts, arching your back as he drags his fingers across your walls, painstakingly slow.

“You’re fucking soaking, baby girl,” he grunts. “You think you can take three? Mm. Gonna stretch you out a little.”

His bandaged hand comes to still your hips and you can’t believe he’s fucking you this good with his non-dominant hand, his thumb flicking against your clit every so often, those little shocks of pleasure bringing you closer to the million little deaths you deserved. Sometimes you’d feel his mouth where you’d least expect it, too, his tongue licking a trail up your stomach to take your nipple in his mouth or his teeth and tongue working on leaving a mark on your collarbone.

“Please. So close, El,” you pant, rolling your hips in vain.

“That’s it, that’s it, that’s it, come on, let go, baby,” Elliot growls in your ear. “Just let go.”

And you do, falling apart with his name on your lips before he kisses you again, swallowing down all your moans and whimpers, his hands leaving your lower body to find purchase in your hair.

“You good?” he asks, barely pulling away from your mouth.

“So good,” you gasp, straining upward to press your lips to his again.

“Gonna fuck you now, baby, that okay?”

“More than okay.”

You’re so wet he doesn’t meet much resistance, but you’re still sensitive from your orgasm so soon before, and combined with the fact that you can’t see or touch him - it was almost too much at once.

“Oh fucking hell,” Elliot grunts. “You good?”

“Yes. Please start fucking moving,” you whine. “Fuck me hard.”

You can tell he needs that; he needs to let go of all his pent-up anger and frustration, and you didn’t really care if at the expense of that you couldn’t walk tomorrow. You’d do anything, anything for just the chance to occupy a sliver of his life.

And God, once given permission, he doesn’t hold back at all. He sets a brutal pace, the bed shaking and moving in tandem with the force of his thrusts. You can’t see him, obviously, but you can feel the weight on the bed shift and his angle change as he grips the headboard, driving into you so roughly you think you might black out. He starts grunting softly with every thrust, and then, oh - you feel him move back down, his lips catching yours and his hands cupping your breasts and it’s all you can do to fight with your body not to come yet; you want to come with him, experience this high together.

“Fuck, (y/n), so good,” he groans, his tongue running over the bruise he’d sucked onto your skin earlier, and you whimper in response. “So fucking good for me, taking my cock so good. Knew you’d be fucking amazing.”

If his dirty talk wasn’t enough to send you over the edge, well, he adjusts his angle with a particularly strong thrust of his hips and you’re pulling on the handcuffs again, the sting as they slice into your wrists a sharp contrast to the impending pleasure - if you could just hold on - and thankfully, Elliot’s panting brusquely in your ear that he’s close, that you should let go again. Coming together is a beautiful euphoria - one that was desperately needed after the night you had, after the four years of longing stares that neither of you, apparently, knew was reciprocated until now. But like the end of all highs, you have to come down at some point. Elliot lifts the blindfold and looking into his eyes for the first time since he stripped you naked, you can’t help but feel like a fucking mess. But you know you’d do it again, and again, and again...

“I told you not to pull at those,” he tsks, leaning over to unlock the handcuffs and free your wrists. “You’re bleeding, (y/n).”

And, like some bad deja vu, Elliot’s cleaning your wounds with alcohol like you did for him only hours prior.

And after, he stays and talks with you a little, mentions vaguely his marriage is going downhill, which you could have easily figured out yourself, and when you wake up in the morning, he’s gone without a trace. You had to expect that he couldn’t stay, and you wonder what lie he fed his wife. You wonder if she believed it. Was this just a one time thing? Maybe you just both needed to get this out of your system, as almost half a decade of sexual tension needed to be dealt with somehow.

But no. Like always, you see him again, and on most occasions, now, he ends up tangled in your bedsheets. It feels like you’re always competing with other women for Elliot’s attention, whether it be Kathy or Olivia. But you take solace in the fact that you’re the only one he’s going to fuck like this. Olivia’s his partner, and that relationship is already too close for comfort to bring sex into. And if he came home with handcuffs and a blindfold to his wife, she’d drag his ass to therapy. You’re the only woman in his life that he can use for this, and that thought alone could get you high, could get you off. And sometimes, that feels like all he’s using you for, a sense of release for the moments when he doesn’t want to be at home and he can’t be at work. But other times - he lets you in, tells you jokes, tells you stories - and in some ways you’ve never felt this close to another person. He played such a different role in all the other areas of his life - but with you - he didn't have to play one, and sometimes you caught a glimpse of the man he was before all his burdens were placed onto his shoulders. You know you’ll never have a relationship like this with anyone else.

And for that reason, you’ll always answer the phone when he calls, even if you ruin yourself every time. You would for him. You always would for him.

[decayandfanfics]

The great book of sayings

PAIRINGS: Tomura Shigaraki x FemReader

SUMMARY: He looks at you, his scarlet eyes fixed on yours, burning a hole through your head, every bit the predator he is, but you are as tough as it gets, so, against your better judgment and any well-founded logic, you answer his silent threat, the animalistic look he gives you with nothing less than a fearless smirk, irises burrowing into his pupils.A clever girl. He thinks, finally labeling you inside his head, cursing himself in the very moment he allows his brain to think of you as more than an asset. He is sure (he knows himself enough to know) he’ll think of this moment many times from now on.A clever pretty girl.

Reader is a typical college student until she gets herself tangled with the league of villains. 

WARNINGS: Unhealthy/complicated relationships, violence, Tomura being Tomura, mentions of murder, heroes’ abuse of power, smut later. 

A/N: I’m trying so hard to write crusty boy here really in character. At least after AfO is taken.  Any misspelled words, english is not my native language so i’m trying Helen. 

_________________________________________________________

The road to hell is paved with good intentions.

It takes about ten seconds to screw up your whole life.

Well, in theory.

College is a monstruous violent thing that feeds on your happiness and lets you sharp and scrawny, both physically and mentally. Medical school was brutal, you knew it before even applying, though you didn’t think it would be this exhausting. But you are a responsible person above everything else, so you use your sharpness and the power machine that is your brain, forcing yourself to do it. So, here you are, four years into it, stress flowing through you like blood, embedded in your system like is normal. You are fine with it, at peace with your constant nail chewing and the tics in your brow. It is fine, you went completely insane in the meantime, but it was worth it.

You see, there are many ways of being a hero, and with a quirk like yours, it would be nothing but almost impossible to follow the traditional path, so you take a side path, another form of saving lives (the true form in your experience) and with a head like yours, becoming a doctor is the natural way. Thinking about finals, your succulents and rent, you walk the path that leads to your little apartment in a quiet part of the city when you hear the soft whimper behind the trash cans in an alleyway. It would be wise to keep walking, but you believe in helping others and curiosity it’s been a main trait since childhood, besides, the soft hum of your quirk sings inside your chest like a promise of safety, so you turn and get close to it, prudence before you take another step.

“is anybody here? I heard a cry” you keep walking, measuring the distance between you and the street in case you need to run back “do you need help?”

You see him. A young man, grabbing his head between his hands, his body clutched against the wall. “Sir, are you okay? Can I help you?”

“My head…I’m going to split! It’s me! It’s me! No! it’s not! I can’t!”

You look carefully around you, making sure no one else is watching, then your eyes flare with your quirk relaxing him softly, easing his tensed muscles as you get close.

“hey…what’s the matter? i want to help you.” You decide the best option is to put yourself to his level, before speaking sweetly, your activated quirk shining subtly red in the dark.

“My mask” he says with teared eyes “I lost my mask. I’m going to split without it.”

It some kind of psychotic episode, you know that much, but he seems to be harmless otherwise. Concluding that if dangerous he would already lash out, you decide to look for something in your backpack.

“Does this serve you?” you ask handing him a red beanie you keep with you in winter.

He takes it with trembling hands and covers his head completely with it.

“Oh…thanks. That’s better. I feel better now. Thank you, miss, thank you!”

“You have a name?”

“I’m Jin. My name is Jin.”

“You have a family, Jin? Someone to call? Maybe a home?”

“my…yes, i. I…my phone is dead. I need to call Toga-chan.”

The moment he stands you see it. A big bloody gash at his side in desperate need for some stitches.

“Omg…you are hurt. Careful. Let me help you. We need to take you to the hospital.”

“No. No! No! I cannot get caught; they’ll lock me up if…yes, they will, no they don’t, yes, they will!”

“okay, okay. No hospitals. But i need to see that injure. It looks awful.”

“It hurts, no it doesn’t. But, yes. It hurts.”

“Let me take care of it. I’m a doctor…I mean, I’m on it, but I can take care of your wound.”

You take him home, thinking that maybe he’s been hospitalized before. You know how psychiatric patients tend to be caged up when no one looks for them, often tied up to the beds, sedated so they don’t bother anyone. It is cruel and you don’t want that. Besides, he says something about his friend Toga, something about someone called Dabi and Compress, so you just assume he actually has someone to look over him.

That’s how Jin ends seated in your kitchen, eating some leftovers, freshly patched as his phone charges in a corner of your living room.

“thank you again…you’ve been so nice to me, yes you are.”

“is nothing. I’m glad I found you. That wound wasn’t deep, but it could get infected very easily.”

You let him stay the night, trusting in your gut and the power of your quirk to keep you safe. He seems thankful and kind. His ways are soft, a hint of naivety and simplicity when he speaks, so even when you stay careful, you really don’t think he’ll be a problem truly.

Next morning and after some phone calls, Jin says goodbye to you between tears and wholehearted thanks. Your beanie still in his head, two holes where the eyes should go.

You watch him go from your window, waving your hand and a smile plastered across your face, hoping he stays with someone who cares for him, because he’s clearly in a vulnerable state. A blond girl takes his hand rushing across the street, watching every direction before disappearing in a nearby alleyway, but you think nothing of it.

You thought nothing of it when you got a basket full of candy by your door.

You thought nothing of it when you heard your neighbor talking about a strange man waiting for someone in the main hall of the building.

You thought nothing of it when you receive a letter from Jin naming you a great good friend of his, saying he would be your friend forever.

That’s why you think it’s kinda your own fault when the entire group of homeless people makes its appearance at your door one night at two am in the middle of your well-deserved vacations. (a month after your little encounter with Jin.)

Fear shoots through you like a bullet so quickly you forget how to breathe the moment you see the hands and a bunch of costumes for clothing.  

You’ve seen the tv, you know who they are, yet you just cannot fathom why the fuck are they standing outside your apartment, covered in dirt, starving and distressed; at least, not until you hear his voice again.

“Hello! I know this is unexpected, but you are my friend! Look, Shigaraki! She is the one who helped me when I was about to split! The doctor one. She was so good to me! Is my friend! Could you help us, please? I know it’s late, but please.”

You are livid.

Jin Is no other than Twice.

This is no other than the League of fucking Villains.

Chapter 2

[nothisis-ridiculous]

Take Me Home Now: Chapter Twelve

Chapter Twelve: In Your Head, In Your Head, They are Dyin'

Set after the events of ME3.

A rewrite. Ao3.

FemShepxKaidan

Geez, open my big fucking mouth much? Oh Jane, could you go to the Citadel? But why shouldn't you? You said you had spent time there; you're the one person who knows how to get around. She half-assedly kicked at the locker at the foot of her cot, besides, Rogers is too green. We need someone with experience leading the team. It would be best if you kept busy; civilian life doesn't agree with you.

They couldn't order her around.

Jane craned her head, taking in the entirety of the beam that would catapult her into the Citadel. A frown was the sole betrayal of her panicked nervous system, she would never be ready to go back there. But this was not the time for fear, not when Biotic's Division looked to her guidance. At least she could hide the apprehension- they looked like they could piss themselves at any moment. Jane knew the beam wouldn't lead to death but they were not so confident. It seemed insane, she got it.

Roy and Helen talked amongst the students, leaving Jane some time to collect herself. The last time she had approached the beam the entirety of Hammer had died to get her here, it seemed too easy now that it was a simple jaunt down a hill.

"You sure this thing won't vaporize us?" Roger's question interrupted her solitude.

"I'm not saying it's going to be pleasant, or you'll like what we're going to find-" distress crossed the 2nd lieutenant's face, this was the wrong approach, "if Anderson's team could make it to activate the Crucible, I think we will be fine. Besides, think of the bragging rights- being the one to restore communications with the Citadel, and eventually with the rest of the galaxy. It's not a small thing."

"But I'm not leading the operation," Rogers's hadn't taken the forced deference to the Recruit well.

"Believe me, kid, you'll be glad for all the calls you didn't have to make." She had refused to lead on principle, even after several others had tried to guilt her for refusing the mission. Jane wouldn't have stepped up if not for a series of harsh conversations from Mr. Alenko, most of them implying he would take the mantle if she would not, "get the team into place, we leave in two."

Roy and Helen naturally separated from the group, not away from the mass of students but toward her. Roy led a step ahead and Helen fixing her with the usual judgmental stare from behind her husband.

"I'll be fine," the woman snapped the M-77 into a ready form, "it should be easy."

"Be careful."

How many times had she heard that? To boot, in the same somber tone. The last time, so physically close to where they stood now. It was an odd irony that his father stood closer to the beam than Kaidan had managed to get.

"Thank you," regret was a hell of a thing, so unprompted she grasped his hand unflinching under that whiskey-hued gaze. For a blip of a moment, she looked forward to coming back. Hope returned in a microdose.

The students lined up as ordered, each reaction as individual as the person who stood before the blue light while they wouldn't argue with the mission: it didn't mean they had to trust it. Jane would question flinging herself blindly into the beam, she had at a couple of points. On Illos, she at least had the Mako to give her the illusion of safety, here for the second time only experience made her undaunted besides the emotional toll.

"Alright, the mission is simple. Meet with Bailey or whoever is left in charge. After that, we worry about setting up the long-range commlink," it was better to put this off as a simple run, when things got complicated, they would deal with it then, "on arrival, where exactly we'll end up is a mystery. This functions much like a Mass Relay, so small groups and make sure your ass is out of the way."

Jane nodded to Rogers and the female that stood beside him, "anyone else want to go first?"

She didn't wait for a reaction before sauntering brazenly into the beam.

The Spectre had thought she was used to running into the unexpected. She had made a career of dealing with the strange, but awe of circumstance truly never went away. This time it was far more physical than expected. Pulling herself over the lip and onto the metal path, water violently expelling from her nose and mouth. If she were a little more with it, she would have pulled a gun on the Keeper scuttling by- but she was a little more focused on breathing. The next concern was the two in line behind her; one was lucky and ended up straddled over the railing the next erupted from the water much in the way she had.

Once it was clear all was fine, Jane rolled onto her back. Dark laughter barking from her diaphragm. It was a far cry from the body-lined hallways and corridors she had dreamed up, the relay monument looked down on her. God, she felt nauseous. Her sides didn't stop seizing until all breath left her body, eyes stinging with tears. Rolling to all fours, then finally upright the world swirled into sudden clarity.

This was the Presidium. Behind her, the partially broken statue that honored the krogan. A white spire jutting into the sky, a brave blue flower standing tall, heat speckled metal walkways, and the white-walled building. Her fingers raked through a tangle of wet hair, shook out her pistol, pulled Rogers from the railing, and tightly squeezed her fist until the twang of her muscles bid for release. The relay fired again, splashing followed, and the approach of footsteps came from her right side. The tepid water running down her face made pinpointing smells impossible, but she could sure taste the strange flavor of the unfiltered liquid.

"Holy shit."

"See, you should have never doubted me."

The Lieutenant did not find it quite so humourous.

"Lighten up, Kid," she remarked blithely, turning her attention to the squad that corralled them into the center of the walkway, "it's nice to see C-Sec arrive promptly."

The turian officer scoffed but lowered his weapon, "Bailey will want to see you."

"Good, we're looking for him."

~~~ ~~~ ~~~

"How is it always you?" Bailey hardly looked up at her, "but I've got to admit, nobody else is crazy enough to walk through a beam on foot."

The man was one of the few who could recognize her immediately, even with grown-out and natural hair. He had seen the scarring left behind after the Lazarus Project before they had faded for the first time. It took only a little imagination to see past the more extensive facial scars.

"The first or second time?"

Bailey's head craned up, concern crossing his face, "Com-"

Jane waved a hand, "please, Bailey, that person is gone. Let her die with her crew."

The concern grew behind the glow of his omnitool "if anyone ever asks, you waved your Spectre status in my face. But I don't think you are here to catch up."

"No, I am not."

The team back on Earth had tried to reconnect with the Citadel, but all attempts to reach them had failed. So a mission to the station became necessary. Bailey attempted to skirt the subject, but life on the Citadel was not easy. Slowly some peace was restored but at a snail's pace. Whatever jammed the comms slowed any hope of a unified force on the station. It also explained their failure to find a tech expert who might fix the issue and perhaps the lack of a Spectre or someone of a higher rank to authorize it—security measures as usual were great until they hindered progress.

"I'll need you before you try and disappear again," Bailey warned, swirling the scotch in his lowball glass. He figured this was special occasion enough, even if the hero returned as little more than a ghost.

"I'll consider it my retirement party," she mused, finishing off the bitter liquid, "seems easy compared to a Reaper invasion."

"Nothing with you is ever simple."

"Hell, this could all be a dream... for both of us." It felt a little cold for a dream, but it was all surreal. For now, she put it off as walking old hallways and the memories of the companions that haunted the place.

"The scotch must be hitting you hard."

"I haven't hit the hard stuff since-" the statement crossed into territory painful for both of them, "but I say there is no time like the present. Must be driving my squad nuts waiting."

~~~ ~~~ ~~~

"Shepard before-"

Jane flinched, and Bailey retracted for a moment. Equal parts confusion and frustration with the jumpy woman. Perhaps it was time, untold horrors of war, or the alcohol that made her weird, if not mentioning the other multitude of reasons the Spectre seemed off her game. She went by a different name to the men she led, and it was becoming apparent the problem was far out of his wheelhouse.

"I have to give it to you plain, we found Anderson's body in here. It looked like he was shot."

"I know."

She had shot him after all. For a long time, she had tried reasoning that it was not her fault; after all, the Illusive Man had made her do it. Those strange cybernetic eyes had stared at her in her dreams, one of the thousands of voices taunting her. Those blue eyes had found her again as she walked the hallways to the Council Chambers.

"He must have activated the Crucible before he died, it's funny because we all assumed you had done it."

Jane hadn't activated the Crucible. That was true. Maybe Mary had; it was all a little foggy.

"We gave him the best funeral we could, I can take you there later if you like," Bailey offered, trying to rouse her with a touch.

Jane shook her head, "another time, this is enough."

Too much.

Bailey nodded, falling behind a few paces so she could absorb the room. Mentally, she remarked on little other than it had become a bit overgrown in disuse and that she liked it better without the constant trickle of running water.

"Nothing unusual up here, Ma'am," buzzed the comm.

"Roger, roger."

"It wasn't funny, even when the Major did it."

Fine, "hold position, I want eyes on anything that could go wrong. I'll place the shunt."

Jane moved slowly across the catwalk, the face staring at her accusingly grew clearer as she approached. The simple frame wreathed in upkept foilage, plants, and candles of all sorts making up an altar. She tried to move through littered petals and papers with reverence, but some wound up disturbed fluttering into the pit below. Jane crouched to cradle the picture gently, "Admiral."

Her blue eyes scanned upwards, resting on the bloody handprint covering the virtual interface sensor.

The total weight of another being crashed onto her, attempting to wrestle her from the catwalk. Even after weeks without combat, Jane dislodged the man with ease throwing him over the unprotected edge. The unnatural steel blue eyes, shocked with bright blue patterns, brimming with fury. Quickly as they had entered her vision, the figure went still and dark.

Coldly, empty, she returned the broken frame to its spot. Her complete attention turning to the console that lit up at her presence. The only break from her attention was the dramatic slam of her fists on the sides of the railing behind the console- it wasn't working.

Before she could release her temper upon the undeserving railing again, a keeper nudged her aside. Compiling the necessary commands with ease, the sudden noise of a system erupting in a blastwave. As quickly as the creature arrived, it scuttled back away. Leaving Jane to complete her task.

Bailey looked over the ledge, approaching the woman slowly once he was satisfied.

"Commander Bailey, you should have access to all Citadel systems," her bright blue eyes turned to him with a terrifying hollowness, "don't make me regret it."

"You- but, he," Bailey swallowed, running a hand over his cropped hair, "it's never simple with you."

He grabbed her arm before she slipped by him, "take this."

"I should go."

"Don't worry, you weren't here," he called after the stumbling figure.

Jane didn't recall stumbling back through the relay, or for that matter, picking her way back to the mall. Or the time she had left, or if she had bothered to warn anyone in the meantime. Reality was a persnickety thing at the moment, failing to anchor her securely to the present.

It was dark, the mechs hadn't stopped her, and not even her body was warning her of exhaustion. It was all instinct.

The room she stole into, that was not so much a call of instinct but of desperation. Her world grew colder, and it was beginning to tumble at a speed that she could barely withstand.

"Rahna."

Nothing.

"Rahna."

"Jane?"

[wovenstarlight]

YWBK update: chapter 26 + liner notes

yesterday will be kinder has updated! you can read chapter 26 here, or start from the beginning here

as always, commentary below the cut

Yoojin🐉😊

watch this space....

In preparation for it, Han Hyunjae temporarily requisitions Yoojin’s laptop and combs through the internet looking for photos of the Hunters that he thinks his family should know about in advance. He goes down one too many internet rabbit-holes, takes way too many screenshots, transcribes a summary of the notes in his future diary, then painstakingly puts everything together into a neat little presentation for them.

picture HHJ reading his fifth article wondering where the sung family heir has disappeared to and being like 👁️👁️👁️👁️

had a little giggle to myself about “future diary” that phrasing was definitely on purpose. will exclusively be referring to it as this now

“Right,” he starts, clapping his hands together, after Yerim’s been sent off to play with Hohyoung.

LHH is so much of a background figure.... i want to see more of himself but he likes his privacy.... he’s got his girlfriend and his baby sister and yoojin who’s wormed his way into his good graces by way of Living In Same House but that’s kinda it....... he’s always lurking in the background instead of showing up on screen. come here hohyoung oppa i just wanna talk

Even if Yoojin’s right, Han Hyunjae still has to protest. [...] But he can’t keep it up when Jiyeon looks at him like that.

KJY has the world’s best Stern Mom Voice and Disappointed Mom Glare and to her great delight they work even on fellow adult HHJ. she will use this power For Evil

The other S-ranks are Moon Hyuna, leader of Breaker Guild, and Bak Mingyu of Hanshin Guild.

OK FOR THIS PART I STRAIGHT FORGOT ABOUT HANSHIN GUILD AND I WAS COUNTING UP ON MY FINGERS LIKE WAIT... IF YERIM WAS THE EIGHTH KOREAN S-RANK WHO WERE THE SEVEN BEFORE HER.... (for those curious they were 1. sung hyunjae, 2. han yoohyun, 3. moon hyuna, 4. song taewon, 5. bak mingyu of hanshin, 6. choi sukwon of MKC, and 7. yoon kyeongsoo of soodam. but. i forgot about the last three altogether.)

“Oh, blond guy,” Yoojin says, unimpressed. “Yeah, I’ve seen him on the news and stuff.”

Top 10 Funny Yoojin Moments (I JUST THINK IT’D BE REALLY FUNNY IF HAN “HAVE I MENTIONED IN THE LAST 5 MINUTES HOW HANDSOME SUNG HYUNJAE IS” YOOJIN DID NOT GIVE TWO SHITS ABOUT HIM IN THIS TIMELINE....)

Han Hyunjae takes a moment to double-check that he really doesn’t have Noise Resistance (L), and looks back in time to see Yoojin rubbing at his eyes and glaring at the screen. 

HEHEHE...... A SECRET TOOL THAT WILL HELP US LATER

“Hyunjae-yah,” Jiyeon says, looking at the photo of Sung Hyunjae on screen, “this man looks—” “LIKE A PIECE OF WHITE BREAD,” Yoojin bellows. [...] “HYUNG THINKS HE LOOKS GOOD? [...] Oh, god, he kinda does, [...] but like, in a trashy romance novel cover way.” [... Jiyeon] gives the computer screen an assessing once-over. “He looks like the models in cologne advertisements.”

this part of the chapter was planned waaaay back in august 2020 and i actually crowdfunded these descriptions from the s-class server dshblksjdfkblsdfb. the original suggestions (thanks to server members for these):

“bland whitie potato with a slap-on seme personality”

“tacky valentine’s day/mom’s cologne advertisement”

“the face of the dude on the cover of all my mom’s trashy romance novels”

and tbh HYJ does think he genuinely looks good but like, disgustingly good, you know... also Hyung Likes Him so [19 gun emojis]

also me handwaving moment of mild homophobia because like. jiyeon doesn’t know yet AND homophobia is a thing in this world BUT i don’t really wanna do, All That (we already did it with HYJ once), so.

“Do S-ranks get rich?” Yerim asks as she enters, because apparently everyone’s coming for his life today. Han Hyunjae closes his eyes and lies down on the bed while Yoohyun calls out an affirmation over his head. “Then I think— oh! He looks nice!” He cracks open an eye just in time to see her nod. “I think ahjussi should marry him for the eye candy and the money.” She beams very wide. Han Hyunjae closes his eyes again and tunes out the loud conversation going on around him. And wishes, not for the first time, that he’d picked literally any other name when he first got here.

yerim says gay rights cuz she’s like 12 rn and she straight up does not really care. but says it in, like, the most frustrating way possible.

sometimes you just need to lie down even as the world keeps throwing shit at you. just lie down and nap for a little bit. especially when the shit in question is the alias regret you had literally back in chapter one of your 25+ chapter story. this is gonna come back to bite you in the ass Very Fucking Soon babe!!!!

You Oh this is like the 17th one I got wrong I swear this course is trying to kill me

me, flicking on that EPSON brand projector,

(i have. been having a Time of it.)

[Yoojin🐉😊 called you (21:35)]

that’s minutes and seconds babey... you can pretty much guess the content of call from context :(

well, uh. most of call. some internal plot and Realizations happening right at the end of those 21 minutes, 35 seconds. namely:

Yoojin🐉❤️

:-)

or i dunno you can be my roommate and we can both leech off my rich and prosperous baby brother!

[extremely sad voice] heehoo... they... care each other....

YMW’s parents are kinda shit ngl. they care about him, but unfortunately, that does not show through in their care for him, ykwim? if they just paid attention to what he was actually talented at and encouraged him in his efforts.................

well, he wouldn’t have met HYJ in canon. but he would also have been a lot happier!! and YMW deserves to be happy!!!!!!!! YMW fucking rights!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

You When you came with me to drop off Jihui’s standee. 

they finally remembered her name sjfbklsjdfbl

Yoojin🐉❤️ OH right i was talking to one of my new commissioners about their piece realized they were an old friend of hyung’s

HEEHOO.... HONKS MY LITTLE CLOWN NOSE yoojin forgot to ask about pronouns but that’s okay they’re figuring that stuff out still

Yoojin🐉❤️ it’s getting late the kids are going to bed i have to turn off the lights 

you can take the caregiver out the role of caregiving but he will still think of his baby siblings as his kids

Part of that is changing his behaviour. Hyunjae and Yoojin sit side by side and watch as Suk Simyeong gently coaches Yoohyun on how to interact with others and present a neutral, if not friendly, exterior.

[same voice as ingredience] neurodivergence.....

try and look them in the eye, or at least look somewhere on or near their face, if eye contact is too much

yoohyun, who’s the type to look people in the eye without blinking until they inevitably look away because then they don’t try that eye contact shit again later:

tbh i kinda made up shit for the Training In Formality section i don’t know shit about being Formal and Polite. hope i got it right :pensive:

“He’s not good with touch,” Hyunjae cuts in. [...] “Sorry,” [Yoojin] says apologetically to Suk Simyeong, crossing the room and gently pressing a hand against Yoohyun’s back. The kid slowly stops rocking and leans into the touch as he talks.

he’s not good with touch, Usually..... there are exceptions :-) every time i think about this being canon i go insane. wow. love and trust and faith.

Suk Simyeong nods understandingly, giving the closed door a considering look. “If that’s the case, perhaps he can take over part of the preparations,” he offers.

SSM who’s frothing at the mouth wanting to know more about this dude who apparently did some killer business deal with the head of Dungeon Task Force who all the dungeon people are gossiping about on their phone calls while they cart around unassuming A-rank businessmen: PLEEAAASEE fucking involve him PLEEEEASE make him involve himself in business with me

Still, Yoojin’s work is fairly repetitive and boring, so Hyunjae and the women pull out a pack of UNO cards from somewhere and start playing while he works, not paying much attention to either of the boys.

plugging my Han/Bak family playing UNO art here, please reblog like and subscribe,

He stares down at Yoohyun’s hair. Yoohyun’s wavy hair sits there judgmentally. Yoojin bemoans his budding career as a stylist and admits, “This… isn’t working.”

i’m sorry sweetie... hair isn’t your forte :( you can still do fashion if you try really hard

(fun fact about this whole scene, yoohyun not being able to straighten his hair until he could control flame resistance is Certified Canon!)

“No, shit, don’t get up.” Yoojin flaps his free hand at him distractedly. Hyunjae and his need to do everything himself, jeez. “I mean, like. The iron is not. Straightening.”

“hyunjae and his need to do everything” says the man who a few paragraphs ago wanted to be hair makeup clothing and management all in one

“Okay, but why is it not working, though? Is the iron not turned on?” Wow. Wow! Yoojin wonders suddenly if Yoohyun ever felt as homicidal towards him as Yoojin’s currently feeling towards his big brother. If he ever had, then it’s frankly stunning Yoojin’s survived as long as he did. “Do you think I’m stupid,” he snaps. “It’s plugged in.” “Yeah, but did you turn it on.” “You know what, why don’t you touch it and see?” Yoojin unplugs the straightening iron for a minute so that he can take it over to Hyunjae, presenting it to him with a flourish. The heat will hold on for the few seconds this takes. “Come on, touch it right now. I dare you.”

zmur put this into words better than i can, she described this part as “the feeling when elder siblings doubt your intelligence”--

“What if you used a regular iron. Like for clothes,” Hyunjae says, completely ignoring Yoohyun. Yoojin hums thoughtfully.

--and this part as “THEY ARE RIGHT TO DOUBT IT !”

“Killjoy,” Hyunjae mutters so only he and Yoojin can hear.

(should doubt your elder sibling’s intelligence too, once in a while. keep them on their toes.)

“HAN YOOHYUN YOU TAKE YOUR HAND OFF THAT RIGHT NOW,” Yoojin and Hyunjae and Jiyeon holler in perfect unison.

parental instinct for particular phrasings of commands

“Flame Resistance,” Yoohyun reads out. “S-rank.” It’s not heat resistance, but it’s pretty close, so it probably still applies.

hum hum the flame skill works on heat as well, huh

Yoojin’s watching Hyunjae idly when the flickers start up at the edge of his vision again. He blinks, rubbing his eyes idly, and looks back up in time to see, just for a split second— 

HEHEHEHEHEHEHEHEHE VISION PROBLEMS WAS IT? RUBBING HIS EYES WAS IT??

“Eh? It didn’t? I’ll… I’ll try it again, one second.” Nothing, for a second— but no, there is, pale flashes here and there. Yoojin shakes his head and blinks. They die down, then start up again. Fainter, this time. Why? 

gonna say this here because i accidentally set it up as a Thing there’s. there’s no reason. whether the message shows up or not is pretty much random error.

“Ahjussi has an L-rank skill?” Yerim demands. “That’s so cool!” Jiyeon and Yoohyun and Yoojin stare at Hyunjae in silence as he returns Yerim’s eager high-five. He cowers when he notices them.

these three are already so mad and they don’t know that between S and L there’s SS and SSS. they’re gonna be SOOOOO mad. anyway yerim remains the chillest in the room

“So, say you needed to cauterize a wound in an emergency, and you didn’t have access to healing items or Hunters. You could drop the Resistance there, set it on fire, and just… sear it shut.” Yoohyun blinks, an intrigued look coming into his eyes, and looks down at his own forearm. “That’s true, I could probably…” “Yeah, food for thought, I suppose.” “What the hell?!” Yerim yelps. “Though it’s up to you if you want to try it. I still think your hair is fine as is, we don’t have to—” “That’s horrifying,” Yoojin blurts. “No, I should know how. In case something happens like you said. How do I do it?” “Now hold on a second,” Jiyeon says, voice rapidly rising in pitch.

sometimes i think about how dungeon stuff made yoojin significantly more chill with violence and murder and self mutilation in some cases. and how he comments specifically (i think this might be in a slightly later chapter, possibly unreleased) that people like myeongwoo who don’t have those extra years of immersion in the dungeon culture still reject and avoid violence and killing whenever possible. really makes you think

anyway! i saved some extra commentary for those okay with spoilers. continue reading at your own risk. extra large warning in case you’re skilling

SPOILER WARNING FOR THE BELOW CONTENT!!!! IT DRAWS ON INFO FROM UNTRANSLATED CHAPTERS, POST-170S AT LEAST!

“How many of these people did you personally know?” “Not many!” “So one, then,” Yoojin concludes. “You don’t know that!”

HE DIDN’T SAY THAT YOOJIN WAS RIGHT, THOUGH..............

“Why did you pick his name out of everyone’s! I thought you weren’t in touch with S-ranks. I thought you picked a friend’s name!”

:)

they wanted some kind of bedroom decoration for a family member, counting sheep or something, i forget 

a sheep, for a family member of one of han hyunjae’s old acquaintances, is it

[faecaptainofdreams]

I do not own Marvel. Yes, Wade drew this with crayon. Marvel HC: www.deviantart.com/foxdragonlo… Peter HC: www.deviantart.com/foxdragonlo… Wade HC: www.deviantart.com/foxdragonlo… If you don't like this ship i don't care. Don't talk to me about it, find something you do enjoy. If you're into it, then thanks for stopping by! --------------------------------------------------------------------------- TW: strong language, mature themes ~~Humble Start~~ When Peter was 19, he met 25-year-old Wade in January when the merc was teaming up with the Avengers to help him find his target, who happened to be involved in something the Avengers were trying to undo. When the men first shook hands and Peter introduced himself, he removed his mask, to which Wade suddenly replied "Hot DAMN! What are you, a Disney prince?!" Peter, startled, backed away, and Tony urged Peter to put his mask back on. As it was, Spiderman and Deadpool got along. Before they all parted ways (with the problem resolved and Deadpool having gotten his man), the latter thought it might be fun to pop in once in a while and visit the Avengers. While the others drily insisted that he don't do that, Spidey thought Deadpool could be a potentially good friend. Despite Tony's aversion to it, Peter gave Wade his number and suggested they hang out sometime. Wade showed up a couple weeks later after having texted Peter off and on. Still shy about his appearance and preferring to not be seen at a lower profile, he came to the facility wearing fingerless gloves, concealing clothing, and his Deadpool mask. After he and Peter hung out the first couple of times, the younger of them asked if Wade would let him see his face. With lots of self-deprecating jokes, Wade said no. Sometimes Peter would go meet up with Wade and go mess around with him, and soon enough he introduced the assassin to his friends, Ned and MJ. They all talked to each other regularly, forming a tight little friend group. Wade sometimes felt like he didn't belong with them, like he was too old to be their friend, but they all had the same childish sense of humor. And given how intelligent the younger trio was, they felt mature to him. Many times, Wade forgot that he was older, even if it was only by a couple of years. As months passed, the Avengers got used to Wade's presence and didn't take much issue with Peter hanging out with him. It was innocent (although Tony loathed the sex jokes and vulgarity, especially when it was directed at his boy). It was clear that Peter had a vastly different moral compass and a much more sensible head on his shoulders, and was not going to be influenced by Wade's mercenary ways. He was trusted with the friendship. ~~The Crush~~ Wade fancied Peter from the start. The second the mask had come off, Wade was smitten, but he figured it would go away or just stay stagnant. He'd been attracted to and thirsted after people loads of times (hence all his sexual escapades), but he was never the settle-down type. He joked about Peter being attractive and sexy and made all kinds of quips, but given he was so crass by nature, Peter never took it too seriously. He did believe Wade thought he was attractive, but he knew he was like this with multiple people and figured it was harmless. Which it was, but he didn't understand that it was serious. The more Wade stuck around and the more he got to know the Spiderman, the more his feelings grew. He eventually had to face facts and accept that he didn't just like Peter for his body -- he liked his character. The boy was an absolute magnet; bright and sunny, happy, forgiving, generous, kind, merciful, hilarious, intelligent, and non-judgmental. He was the ultimate package. Wade also knew he was bisexual and knew that if he really worked up to it, asking Peter out wasn't out of the question or too far-fetched. What was far-fetched, to his mind, was the idea that Peter would ever say "yes." And even if he did say yes, was that fair to the Ironman's golden child? Wade was a self-sustaining disaster with baggage so heavy even Spiderman couldn't pick it up. As far as he was concerned, it was best to keep his feelings to himself and spare Peter the misery. What he didn't realize was Peter was starting to notice him, too. By Autumn, Wade sorely opened up to Weasel about his feelings. ---        "Ew, do you like...love him?" "Maybe."        "Gross. What are you gonna do?" Wade shrugged. "Nothing, same as usual. He doesn't need my insanity in his life, he's too kind and innocent."        "But you wanna fuck him, right? Maybe just try to do that." "No, Jesus! Are you even listening? Peter's not that kind of guy, and even if he was into it, I can't take advantage of him like that." Weasel's face scrunched in mild disgust.        "God, you have it bad for him..." "Yeah. It's like, he's a total bro, but fuckable. He's soft but strong, masculine but feminine, fierce but graceful."        "   " "He's the kind of guy you take on like fifteen dates, buy flowers and candy, get one of those stupid little Hallmark cards with some sappy bullshit saying how much the sender loves him. Then, you fuck him. Not at your place, but at his place, so he's more comfortable, and only after you've made him spaghetti and chocolate-covered strawberries, by candle light. You fuck gently. Passionately, but with strength, but you don't wanna hurt him. But he's secretly a sex tiger under the sheets, and it kinda scares you, but you love it, but you're still afraid to fuck him any other way than gently."        "I feel like this is a fantasy you've had for a while." "No, of course not."        "So...he's your friend, you want to fuck him, but you don't wanna just fuck him because that would be taking advantage of him. Because you'd rather have a relationship with him, but you don't wanna have a relationship with him because you think he deserves better, but you're gonna keep hanging out with him and torture yourself. Is that... I mean, am I close?" "Like a Hawkeye arrow through a nutsack with a target drawn on it."        "Ow. I think my left testicle just rose back inside of me in fear." "Balls are very perceptive."        "Okay, well here's my advice." Wade learned forward.        "... You're fucked." "Thanks, I totally needed help figuring that out."        "Who is the guy, anyway?" "...Peter Parker..."        "Pete-- like Spiderman Peter Parker?" "Yup."        "How the fuck...?" "I know."        "I feel like I saw his face on the news last year when he got all discovered, but I don't remember. You got a picture?" "Yeah," Wade grumbled while reaching in his pocket for his phone.       "Heh, 'course you do, you sick-o." After glaring at his friend, Wade pulled up a picture of Peter and zoomed in on his smiling face.       "WHOA, holy MOSES, that guy is good looking!" "I know."        "He looks like a stallion and a buck had sex with an Irish setter!" "Yeah, told ya. Fierce, but graceful."        "I've always been a pussy-man, but I gotta say... He's making me question my sexuality." "He has that affect on people."        "That is MAJORLY out of your league." "Thank you." Wade put his phone away.       "How old is he?" "Nineteen."        "Whoooa, a little on the young side, huh?" "Just a little, but he's mature for his age."        "..." "...That sounded a little creepy, I take that back." --- Wade began an off-and-on effort of keeping Peter at arm's length. He went through periods of texting and hanging out with him less, but whenever it was clear that Peter could tell something was up, he snapped back into the picture. He couldn't bear to make Peter worry or feel as though he'd done something wrong. This went on for a couple of months. Peter too, was beginning to feel a little bit of romantic sting. Wade hooked up with a couple of people over the months, including Vanessa. There was a brief period where the two of them copulated like rabbits, and that was with the ex-prostitute knowing that Wade had feelings for someone. In the merc's mind, maybe he could get his needs out of his system, but it didn't work. If anything, he felt emptier after each fling. Peter was attracted to Wade before he even realized he was. Always seeking him out, making sure their friendship was solid, feeling a constant need to have a hand on him in one way or another. He also played into some of Wade's lewd jokes and would tease him. Then there was the dancing and singing, of course, which only got more intense as time went on (a natural instinct of the jumping spider to try and woo a mate through display). Tony and Steve began to notice the men getting closer, and Tony was very unhappy. Steve convinced him to stay quiet and let Peter figure it out. In late Fall, Peter turned 20. Wade was there for his party, as were Ned and MJ. It was a lot of fun! Come December, Wade turned 26. He'd tried another couple of times to get away from Peter again, but the boy wouldn't let him go. They were like a binary system of stars, unable to pull away from each other, constantly drawn back into one another's path by an unseen force. For how long could this go on before they collided? And when they did, would they blow up and break apart, or make one bigger, more beautiful star? ~~Spoken Interest~~ By January, Peter came to terms with his own crush, and secretly told Ned about it. For the next month and a half, the boys gabbed about it, and Ned found it adorable and kind of funny. Peter said he wanted to ask Wade out, but was nervous that Wade wouldn't be interested. "Well you're not gonna know unless you ask," said Ned. Peter flirted a little more with Wade, but it mostly came across awkwardly. It basically felt like he was just humiliating himself over and over again, but Wade was noticing the difference in him. Regardless, he tried to respect the space, and refused to give himself up. In February, Peter asked Wade to hang out with him at a park somewhere and "people watch," since Wade enjoyed that activity. He felt it would be a nice, serene setting to keep Wade's attention and finally admit his feelings. He told Ned about his plan; the latter was exhilarated at the thought, and said he'd be standing by. Peter put on a warm but nice outfit and drove off to their spot to talk. Even though it was casual as always, they could both sense tension. They sat and chatted for a while, and with a racing heart, Peter finally found the right moment to confess. ---        "Hey, so... I've kinda been wanting to talk to you about something." "Hamburgers."        "I... What?" "Hamburgers! They're weird, right? I mean, ham comes from pigs, and beef comes from cows. Hamburgers are made with cow meat, but we call them ham-burgers." Wade threw his hands up, head rolling about. "The fuck is up with that??"        "O-oh, hah, I guess it sounds more appealing than...beef...burgers...?" Wade nodded thoughtfully. "Hm. Yeah, sounds kinda naughty." Peter could hear Wade's grin, and he stifled a laugh. His own smile was more earnest, but his desire flitted behind it. "Like beef curtain, or beef stick--"        "Wade." "Yeah?"        "Look, um..." He turned to face his company better, now getting nervous.       "You and I are...really good friends, right?" "Why yes, broski dear."        "Hah, well... It's just... Ahh, I don't wanna say anything and...mess that up." "...Well, what do you wanna say...?" There was a long silence.        "...Okay -- okay, total honesty... Wade, I..." He drew in a deep breath.       "I like you..." They stared at each other. After a long silence, the older male playfully slapped Peter's arm. "I like you too, beef buddy! ... Yikes, wow, see? Beef is just a naughty word." Peter blinked, thoughts spinning in his head a mile a minute. Wade knew what he really meant, but he couldn't begin to believe that in its suddenness. He was bracing for Peter to call him out on his own crush and possibly disown him, but this threw him for a loop.        "N... N-no, no Wade, I mean... I like you...as more than a buddy, or a bro..." He swallowed.       "Or a friend..." He rubbed his hands together, slowly and tensely, brown orbs wide while looking at Wade. The cold white eyes of Wade's mask pierced back at him. "...Oh..."        "A-and... I just thought, m-maybe, if...you don't think it's weird, or if -- I don't know, if maybe you liked me too, we could...date...?" There was another long pause. This time, Wade understood for certain. When he looked forward to contemplate, stunned expression hidden by the mask, Peter looked off and around, his heart sinking. There were times when Wade was genuinely difficult to read, and this was one of them. Wade was getting his wish, it was like the start of his fantasy had come true! All he had to do was agree to it. "Uh, I don't think we should do that." He regretted it the second he said it. Peter felt his heart drop, and his face begin to turn red with shock and embarrassment.        "Oh," he croaked while looking down at his lap. Wade's answer stunned him. When the merc spoke, he tried to bring it back to a place of casualty in the hopes of removing the heavy feeling from the air. "Look, don't get me wrong, you've heard me talk about ya. You're precious, and I'd be beside myself to fuck your brains out." Peter almost smiled, but the desperation for answers overpowered the natural response to do so. Wade continued. "But you're romantic, you need stability. I'm a one-night stand kind of guy, friends-with-benefits and all that. You're not really about that life, right? I mean, come on. You wouldn't sleep with me without getting to know me, right?" Peter swallowed something dry and thick. Looking away, the hope for this to go anywhere withdrew from his gaze, and he shook his head.        "No..." Even Wade was at a loss for words for a moment. He may have turned his head away, but out of the corner of his eye, he could see Peter's heart breaking. He saw his red cheeks, his pinkish eyes. He could feel the sadness, and a lot of it was coming from himself, too. But he pulled it together again and lightly slapped the back of his hand against Peter's shoulder. "Eyyy, come on, this doesn't change anything, right? We're still pals." Peter quickly nodded. He was polite as ever, but the sensation that he had just gotten hit by a train was easy to read.       "No -- yeah, yeah yeah yeah, it's -- it's just... It's a little embarrassing, aha, I mean... You know, I..." "Nah, it's not so bad. It's adorable! Like I said, doesn't change a thing. Now when we get past this, I can tease you about thinking I'm a hot piece of ass." Peter did finally crack a small, broken smile and shook his head. He was glad that Wade wanted to be friends, but the damage was done. "...I mean you still wanna be friends, right?"        "Absolutely! I just... It's kind of a hard pill to swallow..." "Yeah, I know. You put yourself out there, then get shot down..." With genuine remorse and a strong but hidden wave of self-loathing, Wade laid a hand on Peter's shoulder. "I'm sorry." Peter nodded again and closed his eyes. He felt emotional, but why? Did it really mean that much to him? Staying strong, he glanced at Wade, mustering a hurt smile.        "Don't be sorry, you know I prefer honesty. I mean it'd be really stupid to say 'yes' when you don't want that, right?" As if Wade's heart couldn't sink any further. "Yeah..."        "Look man, um... It's -- I'm not like mad or anything, you didn't do anything wrong, but... I think I should go home, and just, like...try to process it--" "Yeah! Nothing wrong with that. I'll give you a couple days to uh...reel."        "Yeah, I think that sounds good." When they rose to their feet, they both chuckled sadly. In their awkwardness, Peter offered his hand to shake, which Wade accepted uneasily, but eventually pulled Peter into a side hug. "It'll be fine, we'll get past it. You take your time."        "K-ay..." With one last hurt smile, Peter left Wade's company. On the way back to his car, he finally let the tears roll. Wade watched him go until his car was out of sight, stunned by his own foolishness. He wasn't stupid; he knew he had made Peter cry. He knew he'd broken his heart, and he hated himself for it. When Wade got to his apartment, he took out his anger on his environment, taking to breaking a lot of things in his living space. --- Peter did his best to get most of his emotions out before he got home, but the sadness and hurt would linger. When he got inside he pretended everything was okay, but it was obvious his mind was elsewhere. Not too long after getting in, he went to his room and called Ned. ---    "Hey, what's up? Did you talk to him?"        "Yeah."    "...Uh-oh. What did he say?"        "He said 'no.'..."    "Awww man, Peter, I'm sorry. Did he say why?" Peter tried to keep his sniffles quiet, but Ned could hear them anyway.       "Yeah, u-um... He said that...you know, he's a one-night-stand kind of guy, and that I'm -- we're -- ... He doesn't...think it would be a good idea, because he just...likes sex, and I'm romantic, so..."    "That really sucks, I'm sorry."        "Me too..."    "...Hey, I rigged my GTA 4 game to get Carmageddon on the 360." Peter continued to hold back his emotions, but only half-cared about Ned's random statement.       "Y-eah...?"    "Yeah, it's really funny! Can I come over and show you? It should work on your 360." Now understanding, Peter smiled a little.       "Yeah, that sounds cool. We could, um... I could make...popcorn, or something."    "Awesome! Is now good?"        "Sure, uh -- lemme ask Tony first, just to be sure."    "Okay. Text me." --- After they said goodbye and hung up, Peter got confirmation from Tony that having Ned over for a few hours would be fine. While on his way to go prepare everything, May found Peter and insisted he tell her what was wrong, as she could tell something was up. Although he'd wanted to keep it hidden from his elders, Peter (naturally) trusted May and knew it was confidential, so he came clean. Seeing her nephew's broken heart, May consoled him and offered a little advice about how to heal up from it, and insisted that they would, yes, go back to being friends in time. ~~SpideyPool~~ In the days passing, Peter and Wade refrained from messaging each other. Peter went about his usual life, including going on regular patrols. He took down a couple of small criminals, helped a few people in minor danger. This always felt good; even the littlest of ways he could help people made his day brighter and his heart fuller. Wade, meanwhile, had spent the days since the rejection in sorrow and self-hatred. He'd smashed a lot of the stuff in his apartment and all but shredded the couch, laying face-down on the tattered furniture in a mess of stuffing, old food scraps, alcohol and the same outfit he'd had on when he last talked to Peter (minus the coat, boots and mask). It had been five days. But on this fifth day, Colossus happened to pop in. He knocked. ---   "Wade? You are playing Elvis again. Are you all right?" "AwwwWWW!! I'm not in the mood, Sputnik! Fuck the shit off!" Colossus opened the door and hunched in, turning off Wade's music.    "You should really lock door. Wade, you are a mess; what is wrong?" The merc answered him with his face still down and pressed to the couch. "What's wrong is this big metal dildo man keeps showing up at my door even after I tell him to fuck. the. shit. OFF." Colossus looked around, ignoring him.   "How do you live like this..." "I'm not living, I'm existing."    "Clearly. Is this another episode? Perhaps I should take you back to the mansion again." Wade lifted his head, tired eyes closed. "GOD, no! No more bland-coated walls with old white men all over them and every other X-Man acting like the studio couldn't afford to pay them to even just walk around and pretend they live there." Colossus raised a brow, but ignored him, as he was so used to doing.   "Well, if this is not episode, then what is it?" Wade's face flopped back into the couch, pressing in harder than earlier. "Imn mm bmng m thnntl dmshm."    "What?" With a heavy groan of aggravation, he sat up entirely, allowing small bags of food trash to spill onto the floor from its position under his body. Colossus winced at the crinkling and crumbs. "It's me being a total dipshit..." "What did you do," he asked tiredly while folding his arms. "I told you I liked some guy, right? Well... Turns out, he liked me, too."    "That is good news." "Yeah, it was, until he told me he liked me and I shot him down like a retarded clay pigeon in a Guantanamo Bay shooting range."    "..." "I swear to god, it's like while I wasn't looking, the cancer snuck into my brain and made me even stupider."    "Why did you turn him down?" "Because -- he's nice, okay? I don't just wanna get in his pants, I want to date him. I want to have a relationship, but he's not the person I should be trying that out with on account of how fucked sideways with a cactus my head is."    "On inside, or outside?" When Wade glared up at him, Colossus chuckled. Squinting, Wade lowered his voice. "Are you The Moby? 'Cos I haven't even taken The Great American Challenge yet, and I feel like you're stretching my ass WIDE open."    "Eugh! Listen..." Colossus softened up and sat beside him carefully.   "You are...different, very rough around the edges. You are afraid that this guy is too good for you." "No, I KNOW he's too good for me. I can't risk screwing up his life."    "How do you know that would happen?" "Uh, do I not ruin everything everywhere I go?"    "Only when you really mean to. But he likes you too, yes?" "He says he does... I'm not sure why."    "Maybe because, in your own strange way, you are charming man. You have a big heart, you care about people -- most of all, him, it seems." "That's why I gotta stay away from him."    "No, that is why you must go to him." Wade glanced up at his company.    "You must go tell him the truth, give it a second chance. He deserves to know what you are thinking, does he not?" "... No, I don't want to make him more miserable."    "If he is miserable, it is only because you have not been honest with him." "...You really think I should do this? You really think I should go over there and just...tell him how I feel?"    "Absolutely." "...Just admit that you want me, Colossus." Colossus sighed. "I don't know,..."    "Trust me, if you don't do this, then you will never know what could be. You will spend the rest of your life wondering what could have been, your soul will forever be restless." "..."    "...Who is it that you are pining for so badly?" Wade's voice almost cracked. "P-eter Parker..."    "Peter Parker?? You mean Spiderman???" "Yeah."    "OH, he is a VERY good young man... Erh...over eighteen, yes?" "He's twenty."    "OH, good." "Like you said, he's very good. He's not...he doesn't deserve all my shit."    "You will never know, Wade. Not unless you take risk." "..."    "If you try your best, if you let love in, and it is real, then your messy life will work itself out." Wade looked up at Colossus, who then put a caring, large metal hand on his shoulder.   "Maximum effort." "...Okay... Maximum effort." --- When Colossus left, Wade showered and started cleaning up. On the sixth morning after their last conversation, Wade called Peter, but the latter was around other people while in the facility. Not wanting to talk to him in front of anyone, he declined the call, but texted Wade saying "Hang on i'll call in a sec." He went to his room and did as was promised, calling Wade back while sitting on his bed. --- "Hey, Spidey!"        "Hey, Wade." He sounded a little tired, but was kind and open-minded. "What's up?"        "Uhh not much, I was with Tony and Wanda and didn't want to talk in front of them. Just...sitting in my room, now." "Gotcha."        "So...did you want something?" "Aww, you're still upset about the other day," he said with an audible smile. Peter sat up, voice more peppy.       "No, no, I mean I'm not upset, I'm just... It... 'Upset' is just such a harsh word, um... I'm just kinda sad, you know? It's -- I'm still just trying to...make sense of it all, figure out what's...going on in my head." "I understand."        "I'm sorry..." "Why are you sorry?"        "I don't know, I just feel bad, I mean this can't be fun for you, either. I just feel really stuck. And -- I told May, but only because she could tell how down I was." "May is nice."        "She's the best..." "...I miss you, Pete."        "Me too... Ned...rigged his GTA 4 disk to run Carmageddon on the 360." "What?! That's sick as FUCK!"       "Yeah... Maybe sometime we could hang out and play it together. It's really funny..." "I'd like that. Or... I could just come hang out with ya right now!" Peter sat up a little more.       "Oh, Wade, I don't know, I... I think I still need a little more time to process everything. It's -- I'm still not mad or anything, you're still my friend, it's just kinda hard..." "Oh... Well that's too bad, 'cos I'm right outside your window."        "--What??" After Wade's shadow cast onto the wall and got Peter's attention, he quickly looked to the left and saw Wade in the window, waving happily at him before putting the phone back to his ear. Peter tossed his phone down in shock and ran to the window.       "Wade!" He opened the glass pane, shivering at the freezing air.       "What are you doing?!" "Just felt I needed to come by and clear things up with you." After realizing he was talking pointlessly into his phone, Wade shrugged and tossed it.       "Wha--" Peter quickly fired a web at the little computer, snatching it and yanking it into his hand. Wade crawled into Peter's room through the window, and then the latter closed it and handed Wade his phone.       "Why would you throw this??" Wade took his phone back and chuckled. "Ewww, now it has webs on it...!"        "That's better than being broken!" Wade shrugged the snow off his shoulders. He was in full suit with a beanie on his head over his mask, and a fur coat. "Plungers make really good building-climbing tools, did you know that?"        "Eugh, you -- you used plungers to get up here?" "They're all new, it's fine. Well -- except for the one for my right foot, I wouldn't touch that one." Wade slid off his coat and beanie.       "Wade, what are you doing here...?" "I wanted to talk to you about the other day." Peter motioned for him to be quiet, then stepped over and locked his door. Turning back to face him, he kept his voice low, and so his visitor did the same.        "Okay?" "Look... The thing is, I like you, too. A LOT. I've had it bad for you from the start, Petey, but... It's like I said the other day; you're a nice guy, and--"        "Wait, let me just stop you there." He waited.       "I know that you like to sleep around, and that's okay. Some people are romantic, and some people aren't, and there's nothing wrong with that. I'm not judging you, I think what you do is totally fine." Wade nodded.       "But... I'm still not that guy, you know? I still need those things, I'm -- I want a relationship. It's okay that you don't want that, you don't have to explain yourself. But if this is a request to just...fool around, um... I'm...not game for that, I'm sorry." "...Aww, you're so cute," he said happily before roughing Peter's hair lovingly. Peter stood in blank confusion, having no response to that. "I'm not here because I want to have sex with you. I mean, I'd like to, but not like...right now, I mean like in the future, when we've been seeing each other for a little while."        "..." "When you asked me out, I said no because I didn't think I was right for you. I still don't, honestly, I mean you should really, just...turn around and run while you have the chance. Because I'm about to ask you something, and I don't have a lot of patience, and I might just blurt it, cut and dry."        "Wade, what the hell are you trying to say?" "I'm saying... Will you go out with me...?" Peter stood in total shock, staring blankly at Wade. "......Is that a 'no'? That's probably a wise choice, but I'm gonna...need verbal confirmation. I mean if it's not 'yes,' it's 'no,' because basic principle, but ya know. ...?" He finally blinked and shook his head a little, making an effort to make sure he kept his voice low.        "Okay, wait... You do want to go out with me...?" "Yeah. I've wanted to since like, last June."        "FFFFFFFF-- Wade...?!?!?" "Yeah... Pathetic, I know."        "So why did you say 'no' the other day??" "I told you, because I don't think I'm right for you. I'm super fucked up and you're really nice! You're --"        "Shh...!" He lowered his voice to something of a shouting whisper. "You have your whole life ahead of you to meet fucked up people, you should at least have some normal, healthy relationships first...!"        "Wade, that's up to me to decide, and I know you think you're like the worst person ever, but you're actually really a good guy...!" "Why are we whispering...?!"        "Because if Tony finds out we're even discussing dating he'll throw you to the moon...!" "That would suck...!"        "I know...!" They both stood a little taller, each sighing some and looking off before focusing again. They stopped whispering, but remained quiet.        "So..." "I'm just saying... I've got a lot of baggage, and problems, and a whirlwind of mind shit that falls out of its little shit-filled cabinet whenever it feels like it. I have LOVED being your friend, but I'm..."        "...Yes...?" "...I'm scared of hurting you..." Peter relaxed and took a step towards him.        "You're not gonna hurt me." "You don't know that."        "And you don't know that you will. But if you think that, but you still had the nerve to come tell me how you feel and ask me out..." Wade looked up at him cautiously.       "...Then you must have some sort of faith in it being okay, right?" "..." Peter started to smile.        "What if we just tried it? Why don't we just...date...? And if it doesn't work out, then that's okay. We can just be friends. I mean that's what we were working up to being again anyway, right?" "That's how it would have to be. I can't lose you, Spidey, you mean a lot to me."        "..." "You're like ice on a burn. You have...the BEST heart. I don't wanna hurt it."        "Stuff's gonna hurt me, Wade. That's life, it's okay. If you hurt me, we can get past it." "...You promise?" Peter smiled bigger.        "I promise. Hey, who knows? Maybe I'll hurt you or something, pfft." Peter couldn't see it, but Wade was smiling, too.        "If you're serious, and this isn't you feeling guilty about saying 'no' or asking for a one night stand... I would love to go out with you. PLEASE, let me go out with you." --- And so it was, they secretly began dating. Wade made arrangements to take Peter out that very afternoon. After Wade left through the window, taking his plungers with him, Peter called Ned in a slight panic. He excitedly explained what happened and told him he needed to prepare himself for the date, and they hung up. When it came to Tony, Peter had to keep quiet. Like before, he didn't tell anyone, including May; he just didn't want anyone to know yet. The first date was just spent with the boys wandering around a nice part of the city, discussing how they liked each other and how long each of them have felt it. Wade explained that he was a mess for the days following his rejection of Peter, and that it took Colossus busting into his apartment and yanking him onto his feet to get him to go talk. He also confessed to having slept with a couple of people, including Vanessa, which Peter was more than fine with. But, he emphasized, Wade really needed to look into STI testing just to be safe. The first date didn't end with kissing or anything randy, and Wade still didn't show Peter his face. Instead, they hugged, and Peter drove back home. The dates following were very similar, with food as part of the equation. They even had a "parkour date," where both got in full suit and leaped around the city, showing their abilities to one another for the sheer sport of it. Peter even held Wade and swung around the city with him on his hip. According to Wade, this was terrifying but romantic. By this time, Peter told May and MJ. After a few weeks, Peter and Wade felt relatively steady. Tony and Steve could tell something was different with Peter when it came to Wade, and Tony had his suspicions from the start. Peter knew that Tony could sense something unusual, but he played around it and acted casually. Tony chose to stay quiet about it. During a date one late afternoon when Peter and Wade were on a harbor, in suit, the sun out after a light rain (yes, it must be that specific), Peter pressed a little harder to see Wade's face. He understood why Wade was shy about it, but kindly argued that it was difficult to date someone he'd known for over a year while still not having a clue what he looked like. Feeling that Peter's reaction could really make or break the potential of their relationship, Wade finally conceded and removed the mask. To his surprise, there was no horror or tension, or even the slightest bit of disgust. He looked a little surprised, briefly raising his eyebrows with a blink, and studied him. He said "Wow," and that was about it. Wade started to make jokes about himself, to which Peter put his arms around Wade and told him he wasn't allowed to insult himself whenever he was in the Spiderman's arms. This became a new theme with them. After a minute of talking, and with Wade allowing his new partner to lightly touch his scarred cheeks, he asked if Peter had anymore requests before the mask went back on. ---       "...You could kiss me..." Wade stared at him in light disbelief.        "...Or -- or not, it's totally optional. Just a suggest--" As the cliche stands, Wade kissed him, cutting off his sentence. When he pulled away, Peter was stunned and glowing.        "O-ohhoh... Okay, I-I don't have a lot of reference, but... That was really good..." "I agree." --- Wade put his mask back on, and the two were smitten. A few days after their first kiss, Peter finally sat down with Tony and Steve and came clean about his recent dating situation. Steve didn't love the idea, and Tony hated it, but the former offered support and simply asked that Peter be careful and trust his instincts. Tony was a tad more chilly with his honesty, but when Peter became insecure, he emphasized that he wasn't angry. He just didn't trust Wade on a romantic level, and feared Peter getting hurt. This gave Peter the opportunity to remind Tony that he was a big boy now, and he could handle making his own mistakes, and was willing to face the consequences of his decisions. It ended on a positive note, but Tony couldn't hide the lack of thrill he had over the new relationship. Weeks turned into months, and things when steady. In their time together, Peter got permission from Tony to make his very own original suit. Given how comfortable he was with Wade, and with the relationship also recently going public, Peter felt the desire to start fresh and switch up his look with a lot more blue. For one thing, the blue complimented Deadpool's vast red and helped him stand out.~ That May, when they'd been going out for about three months, Peter started becoming more bold in his physical interest in Wade. He'd been to the merc's apartment several times as well, and had actually managed to convince him to start cleaning the place up and get some new furniture. He wasn't judgmental; he merely worried for Wade's state of mind and the health hazards, insisting that he might feel better and more confident if he lived in better conditions. This conversation brought Wade to inadvertently mention how he was desensitized to the squalor due to being forced to sit in his own waste and vomit for a while when he had gotten ill at the Mutant Factory. This was one of the most serious things Wade brought up right off the bat, but upon seeing Peter's face stricken with shock and concern, he clammed up. Peter assured him that there was nothing to be ashamed of, and that he appreciated Wade talking to him. The conversation helped Wade feel better, much to his shock, and he agreed that it might be good for him to clean up the apartment. So he did just that. It wasn't spectacular, but the improvement was great, and Wade actually found himself wanting better for how he lived. In June, Peter's physical interests were more clear. They'd discussed sex, but Peter was shy, and Wade was never one to push. But finally, while making out one day, Peter came to the conclusion that he was ready to be intimate. They each went home and planned for Peter to go to Wade's. They each wanted to shower and prepare for it first. Peter brought a small bag with a movie and his suit in it (just in case). He told Tony that they were just going to have a movie date. Tony didn't like it, and insisted Peter also take his iron suit (which is tightly compact into a small shape when dormant like the Ironman suit). Peter obeyed, willing to do anything to help Tony feel more comfortable about him being out and about. At Wade's apartment, the pair chilled for a little while, but Wade was eager to show his company how he'd prepared the bedroom. He led Peter to his room, revealing soft pink and orange shaded string lights pinned up around the walls, nice bedding, and an overall sense of warmth. Needless to say, Peter was very impressed, letting Wade know he did not expect this, and didn't require it in the future. But yes, he absolutely loved it, and knew he would have a good time. When they were done, they both fell asleep in Wade's bed. Tony called around 1 in the morning, asking where Peter was. He was a little upset, but nothing Peter couldn't work around. He apologized and said they were both tired from watching the movie and then playing some video games, so Peter crashed on the couch and forgot to tell Tony he was staying the night. After a little back and forth, Peter reassured him that everything was all right and encouraged him to go back to sleep. He promised to come home early in the morning with a box of donuts as an apology. Tony hesitantly agreed, and left him alone. Once more, the next day, Peter made a point to tell Ned about his escapades. The next few times Peter went to Wade's house, he ended up spending the night. And again, he lied his ass off to Tony, saying they just had a new routine of playing video games until they crashed. Tony knew better, and Peter knew that, but neither were willing to give on the subject. By this time, Peter quietly told aunt May that his relationship with Wade was now very serious. She was excited for him, proud and happy and double checked that he was being safe. Embarrassed and a little exasperated, he confirmed this, and just like that May was back in fun mode. She was able to accept that Peter was grown now, and she was glad to try and guide him through this very impressionable period in his life. The morning after Peter's fifth time with Wade, Colossus visited unexpectedly while the boys were still sleeping. Wade got up and addressed him, completely naked, while Peter stayed back and hurriedly put his clothes on before meekly coming out to greet the metal man. He was shy but thrilled to meet the infamous X-Man. After Peter convinced Wade to at least put on some underwear, they all sat down together and had a chat. Colossus was happy to finally meet Spiderman, and when Peter got home, he told his family about how funny it was to wake up and meet Colossus. Later that day, Tony finally pulled Peter aside and broke down, having a serious discussion with him about the relationship. He asked for full honesty on whether they had become physical, and Peter answered honestly. The talk was civil, as Tony loved Peter too much to ever take out any frustration on him, but his concern was clear. He told Peter he respected that, that Peter didn't need to feel bad about it; he was just making sure everything was okay. Not that it was any of his business, but he considered his family to be his business. Peter didn't mind, so long as Tony stayed cool. The Ironman did confirm that Peter understood the fact that he wasn't going to invite Wade to live with them. Peter agreed. When Tony asked if Peter was thinking about living with Wade, the latter said "no." "So what are you gonna do?" Tony asked. Peter told him that he would just keep doing as they had been; dating, hanging out, and if they wanted to have personal time, Peter would go to Wade's. He told Tony he felt he really loved Wade, and was okay with the fact that he was, in Tony's words, "super fucked up." He understood that he wasn't responsible for Wade's mental health, but that he enjoyed helping him through some of his issues. He understood that trauma like this was a long-haul, and he was willing to at least try. After all, everyone he knew was traumatized, himself included. The conversation helped clear the air a lot for the father-and-son pair, and Tony grew a greater respect for the relationship. A week or so after that conversation, Tony ended up having a talk with Wade. The merc shocked him with his raw honesty about his feelings for Peter, revealing his only intention was to be happy with him without weighing him down. He loved him, and he would do anything for him, including whatever he could to please his family. He understood why everyone flocked to shield Peter; he was different, special. It was then that Tony finally saw an ounce of what Peter saw in Wade, and his respect grew. In August, Peter turned 21 and in December, Wade turned 27. In that time frame, Peter began sneaking Wade into his room sometimes to get physical.~ Not long after Wade's birthday, Tony finally came to grips with the reality that Wade wasn't going anywhere. His relationship with Peter was incredibly strong and steady, and despite Peter having his job, his family and friends and Wade, he'd managed to make it all work. They were mature, and mature together, and Tony wanted Peter to have every opportunity possible to make things a little easier. So as a surprise, he told Peter he was going to allow Wade to move into the facility, even though he wasn't being offered any Avenger titles. He even said he didn't mind if Wade and him shared his bedroom, so long as they weren't mindless sex idiots and kept everyone awake all the time. Stunned, Peter was beyond grateful. Together, everyone gathered up and invited Wade to the facility to make the offer. Wade was uncertain at first, asking if they wanted him to be an Avenger. "GOD no," said Sam. Peter informed him that this had no strings attached, and asked if he was ready to move in with him. Wade said yes, and accepted this very unexpected, beautiful birthday present. In being offered to move in, this was the Avengers fully embracing Wade and adopting him into their weird, messed up family. In time, they would learn to see that Wade was in fact, a good man with a big heart, and become used to his mouth. ~~Love Forever After~~ Living together, it was a dream come true. For the first time in Wade's life, things finally seemed to be on a steady path, and he would do anything to keep it that way. He was happy, he wanted to stay happy, and most of all, he wanted to do well for Peter. With them being together (even before Wade had moved in), Peter helped Wade open up about his past and his feelings. He wasn't judgmental, he wasn't off-put by Wade's mannerisms, weirdness, strange coping habits, random emotional moments, nightmares, or even the nastiest of content regarding his past. He just listened and consoled, and even shielded Wade from the harshness of others. With a guy as wonderful as the friendly neighborhood Spiderman, even though he wasn't perfect, Wade had a tough time feeling like he could give back enough. What he didn't tend to understand was Peter already felt Wade did give back. Wade was a passionate, attentive, caring, thorough lover, and exceedingly generous. He did anything and everything he could for Peter. Aside from just being the best mate he could be, he couldn't think of much else, but it was more than enough. Peter needed him, too. And when Peter had problems, his heart was heavy or he had his own traumatic episodes, Wade was there for him. He applied the very things he'd learned from his love and gave back. After some months living with Peter, Wade had his first serious emotional breakdown related to his trauma. Deadpool, Spiderman, Ironman, Scarlet Witch, and War Machine were out on a mission one night. On a rooftop, after the mission was finished and they had regrouped, Peter was wrapping some things up when a casual conversation started between Wade and the others. The Mutant Factory got brought up, which Wade appeared fine with. He joked casually about what he went through, and the others listened. But at a certain point, after making a comment about his torture that initially caused him to laugh, his laughter suddenly turned to tears. At first the others just went along with it, used to Wade's emotional switches at this point and figuring it would be fine. But when the merc's weeps became sobs and he could no longer stand up, everyone finally realized something was wrong. James stood by Wade and Wanda knelt beside him, clueless as to how to help or what exactly was happening. Tony called Peter to their gathering on the rooftop, and when the Spiderman saw his partner in a heavy heap of tears, he sprung into action. Wanda and James backed away to give Peter the space to console him. He was understandably confused and alarmed by the development, but stayed calm. Tony had an idea of what was happening, cluing Peter in with a reminder of how he had suddenly felt okay enough to grieve his uncle when the time came. It clicked; Wade finally felt safe and comfortable enough in his life that his mind was ready to start the healing process. Peter carried Wade away from the group, who let them have their space. He removed his mask, and convinced Wade to let him take his off, and he held him. Wade announced that he didn't understand what was going on and that he couldn't stop, so Peter told him not to stop. He told him that this was a good thing even though it didn't feel like it, and that it wouldn't last forever. After a while, when Wade was calm enough, Peter took him home. He explained to him what he thought was happening. From that point on, Wade was much more prone to having harder breakdowns, but at that point they seemed to happen at more appropriate times. He also had an easier time talking about it, even if it did hurt like all hell. Thankfully, for Wade's sake, his primary trauma response now is sobbing and nightmares. And when it happens, someone is always there to help him. Of course he still has his random weepy moments at weird things, but Peter has always been understanding of that and never judged him. If anything, he only ever helped Wade feel validated. When Peter was 22 and Wade was 28, the Trial of the Gods ensued. This was hard on Wade, and revealed he had a host of dependency issues with Peter. It led to them having a serious but gentle talk, where Peter offered to work with him on easing his mind about the fact that bad things happen, and if anything bad ever happened to Peter, he needed the peace of mind that Wade would take care of himself. Stay clean, healthy, surround himself with his friends, continue to do good things. If not for himself, then for Peter, because he would want that. Wade agreed, even though the conversation was hard. Ultimately, Wade's mind never reached any peace until he went on a mission and secretly killed himself in order to get to The Realm of Silence, Interitus's realm of the dead. After having a quick conversation wherein Wade asked the elk god if he would ever die for good, Interitus told him 'yes.' He said that Wade would not live forever, that his time would come when it was right, and in death he would be with his beloved. This gave Wade all the peace he needed. Someday, Wade and Peter will get married. How, when and under what circumstances remain a mystery. For now, they're just loving life together. ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

[writingblock101]

The Billionaire and the Basketcase (Jason Todd x Reader)

I did it! A one-part Jason Todd fic. Geeze, it��s funny because I usually hate the two-part fics, but I’ve written two now. Oh well. Anyways, this is a request done for an anonymous. Hope you like it! 

Summary: Life is weird when your dad is Tony Stark, your boyfriend is Red Hood, and you are a Gotham vigilante, but somehow, life still found a way to throw one hell of a curveball. 

Word Count: 3,900

You’re not fully sure how your parents met, but you do know you’re the product of a one night stand. Despite the surprising circumstances which resulted in your birth, your parents love you dearly, even if your dad isn’t present in your daily life. 

Tony Stark is not a conventional father. Between his own emotional constipation and strained relationship with his parents, the path to fatherhood came with one hell of a learning curve, but he provided in the ways he knew how to: you went to nice schools, lived in a nice house with your mom, and you never needed anything. He always made an effort to know you and be involved in your life. 

Being a Stark isn’t the only source of insanity in your life. A few years ago, you began donning a mask to protect children in abusive homes after the murder of your best friend at the hand of her abusive mother. Funny enough, it’s how you met your boyfriend Jason, who’s life is stranger than yours. 

Tony helped you design a suit that was both light and agile, and protective, fitted with thrusters that allow you to fly and blast enemies. Your mom, on the other hand, wasn’t as excited about your extracurricular activities. While she understood your drive, she wished you would help others in a less unorthodox way, but that doesn’t matter anymore, you suppose. 

Even with all the money in the world, Tony Stark couldn’t keep cancer from claiming your mom’s life two years ago. Those things were in the past and they formed you into who you are today, for better or for worse. 

Despite the strange circumstances in your life, somehow, life still found a way to throw one hell of a curveball. 

                                                         . . . 

You wake up to a phone ringing. Jason groans, blindly stretching out to turn off his phone. The room is silent again and you curl into his chest, one of his arms wrapping around your back. Just as you begin nodding off again, his phone rings again. Jason groans loudly, ready to silence it again. 

“You should answer it,” You murmur to him. 

“It can wait,” He grumbles, silencing it again. 

“What if it’s important?” 

“It can still wait,” Jason relaxes again, shifting to kiss your head then lay back on his pillow.  

You chuckle, knowing his phone is going to ring again. Thirty seconds later, his phone rings again. He groans again but this time answers it. 

“What the fuck do you want, Bruce?” 

You laugh at Jason’s greeting to his adopted father, then resettle on his chest. He absent-mindedly runs his fingers through your hair and down your back while talking to Bruce and you doze off again. 

“Yeah, okay, bye,” Jason tosses his phone back on the nightstand and wraps both arms around you. 

“What did Bruce want?” You ask. 

“Apparently Ivy is in Gotham and he asked us to go after her.”

“Mm, sounds fun,” You hum. “We should go shower.” 

“Or we could just stay in bed,” Jason counters, he tilts your chin up and gives you a long kiss, running his hands up your shirt. 

“I like that idea,” You grin, tossing your leg over Jason to straddle him and kissing him deeply.

                                                          . . . 

You roll out of the way as one of Poison Ivy’s plant’s roots shoots past your face then blast the root with your thrusters. You leap over the root and dodge another, but as you hit the ground, another root shoots out and hits you in the face. 

You fly backward, slamming into the wall as half of your helmet crumbles, revealing part of your face. 

“Ouch,” You groan, then two more roots break through the wall and begin wrapping around you. 

You activate the electrocution feature in your body armor, frying the roots and quickly roll to your feet. Another root is blasted out of the air, right before it would’ve hit you. You glance over to see Red Hood who nods then dodges another root that comes flying at him. 

Ivy is in the middle of the room, controlling the plants. If you can get to her, the plants will die. Your face hardens then you dodge one root and use another as a springboard to launch yourself into the air and dive toward Ivy’s back. 

She senses you coming and sends another root shooting out of the ground that wraps around your neck, holding you in midair. You blast the root but three more shoot out, wrapping around your neck and both arms. Ivy turns to face you, her eyes widening in surprise. 

“Wow, you are a carbon copy of your mother,” She observes. 

You stop struggling for a moment, confused. 

“What the hell are you talking about?” You demand. 

She tilts her head. 

“You don’t know, do you?” 

“Know what?” You growl. 

“Your mother.” 

“What?” 

“You don’t know who your true mother is.” 

You narrow your eyes. What kind of game is Ivy trying to play? 

“You don’t know what the hell you’re talking about,” You growl, activating the electrocution in your armor and blasting the roots away. 

You tackle Ivy, pinning her arms down and snap the power disabling collar on her neck. Around you, the plants wither and die while you tie up Ivy. 

“There’s no denying it,” She tells you. “You look just like her.” 

“Shut up,” You mutter. 

“They’ve been lying to you,” Ivy insists. 

You pull tighter on her restraints, your jaw tightening then stand up and walk away, not even entertaining her with a response. 

                                                         . . . 

Later that evening, you sit on a roof, holding your broken helmet in your hands and running your fingers over the jagged break. You’ll have to ask your dad to repair it, but your mind isn’t on your helmet. They’ve been lying to you. 

“Half of your helmet is broken, yet there isn’t a cut on your face,” Jason greets, sitting down next to you. “I dunno, maybe your dad does know what he’s doing.” 

“I’d be careful, he upgraded that helmet you’re wearing himself,” You tease, poking at Jason’s helmet. 

“Yeah, I gotta say, that’s a first. A girlfriend’s dad that actually tries to keep me from dying.” 

You chuckle half-heartedly then frown at your helmet again. 

“Everything okay?” Jason asks. 

“Did you hear what Ivy said?” You ask, glancing over at him. “About my mom?” 

He raises his eyebrows. 

“About not knowing who she is?” 

“Yeah…” You trail off. “That was weird… right?” 

“Yeah,” Jason agrees. “Especially considering your mom is dead.” 

“Exactly! She was just trying to get into my head…” 

“You don’t sound convinced.” 

“It’s just… It’s a weirdly specific thing to say to try to intimidate me, you know? And it wasn’t even a threat! She just said I look like my mom, but there is no way in hell Ivy knew my mom.” 

Jason shrugs. 

“We’re talking about someone who tries to take over Gotham via plants. She’s not exactly the definition of normal.” 

You chuckle. 

“Yeah, you’re right. It was just weird.” 

Jason nudges your shoulder. 

“She was just trying to get under your skin. Don’t let her get to you.” 

And you really tried not to. You tried to shove the thought down and ignore but it kept coming back. They’re lying to you. What if they were? That would be ridiculous, right? Your mom raised you! If anyone, Tony Stark being your dad would be the lie! 

And your mom is dead. This is a closed deal. 

Or it should be. 

Yet, here you are, three days later, sitting in front of the computer in the Batcave, running a DNA test. You chew your thumbnail, waiting for Bruce to come downstairs and tell you you’re being ridiculous because you were! This whole paranoia is based on the words of a criminal! Why are you even entertaining this thought? 

You would leave. You should leave, but you just need to see your mom’s picture pop up on the screen with the words genetic match then you’ll be fine again. This stupid paranoia will go away and life will continue. 

It must be stress. That’s the only reasonable explanation as to why you’re even entertaining this idea because any rational person would not trust the word of a criminal--

The computer beeps. The test is done. Your heart drops. 

You don’t know why your heart drops because you know what’s going to be on the screen when you click view results. It’ll be your file, your dad’s file, and your mom’s file. There won’t be anyone else because you’re not being lied to because that would be ridiculous.  

You click view results. On the right side of the screen is your file. On the left side of the screen is your dad’s file and a file belonging to Dr. Harleen Frances Quinzel. 

Harley Quinn. 

That’s not your mom. You feel your stomach drop and your face drain of all color as you stare at the screen in shock. It must be wrong. The test screwed up. Your mother is not Harley Quinn. 

You scramble to set up a new test with shaking hands when a voice startles you. 

“The test isn’t wrong,” Bruce says. 

You whip around and stare at him wide-eyed. 

“Excuse me?” You demand in a dangerously low voice. 

“The test isn’t wrong,” He repeats. 

Your face hardens. 

“What do you mean the test isn’t wrong?” You growl, standing up. “Because if the test isn’t wrong then that means one thing,” You point at the screen. “You’ve been fucking lying to me.” 

"Y/N--" Bruce begins but you interrupt him sharply. 

"Don't start with me! How long have you known?" 

He stares at you for a long minute then sighs. 

"Since before we met." 

You huff and cross your arms. 

"So, when Jason brought me around, you already knew who I was?" 

"Yes." 

“Must’ve been a real “oh shit” moment for you,” You hiss. “Your back from the dead son was now dating the daughter of one of Gotham’s most notorious criminals!” 

“No, it was never about that.” 

"So why didn’t you tell me?!" You demand, gesturing to the screen. "What, did you think I didn't deserve to know who my actual mother was? Did you think that I would be compromised?! That my judgment would be clouded?! Or did you think I would end up like her?!” 

"No! God, no--," Bruce rubs his face, trying to explain himself. 

"Then why?! Why did you lie to me?!" Your eyes filled with tears. "You were at my mother's funeral. You were there when I was taking her to treatment. Why did you lie to me?” 

“It’s complicated--” 

“That’s a bullshit answer,” You snarl. 

Bruce sighs. 

“Y/N, it wasn’t my knowledge to tell you.” 

He’s right. Despite the odd relationship you have with your boyfriend’s adopted father, it isn’t his place to tell you who your biological mother is. 

“You’re right,” You agree, calmly snapping your thrusters on. “It wasn’t,” Then you turn, walking toward the door, but Bruce catches your arm. 

“Where are you going?” He demands. 

“You’re the world’s greatest detective,” You hiss, snatching your arm from his grip. “Figure it out,” Then you storm out the door. 

                                                         . . . 

“Y/N!” Your dad greets in surprise as he opens the door. “I didn’t know you were stopping by!” 

“We need to talk,” You tell him shortly then walk down the front steps of his porch. 

“Okay,” Tony frowns but follows you. “What’s up?” He asks. 

“You lied to me,” You begin, crossing your arms. 

He tucks his hands into his pockets. 

“About what?” 

You roll your eyes. 

“Oh, nothing big,” You remark sarcastically. “Just the fact that Harley Quinn is my birth mother.” 

Tony’s shoulders slump. 

“Oh…” He begins dumbly. “You found out.” 

“Yeah, I found out!” You throw your hands up. “Bet you didn’t plan on that happening, did you?!” You hiss. “So, where should we start? Maybe about why you lied about who my mother is or how I had to find out from fucking Poison Ivy?!” 

“Y/N, you can’t trust--” 

“Already took a DNA test. At the Batcave. You done lying yet?” 

Tony sighs, rubbing his face. 

“I’m sorry,” He begins. “I’m sorry I lied to you, especially about something this big.” 

“Were you ever planning on telling me?” You ask. 

Tony stays quiet, staring at the ground. 

“You weren’t, were you?!” 

“No!” He insists. “I was! I was going to. I kept telling myself I needed to, especially after your mom died… But I didn’t know how to.” 

“Didn’t know how to,” You nod along, fuming. “So, if you didn’t know how you were going to tell me the truth, why did you lie to me in the first place?” 

“Because…” Tony sighs, running his hand through his hair. “Because I had a kid with Harley Quinn! And she’s not exactly mom material! The last thing I needed was to make a kid that was somehow more fucked up than I was.” 

“So, lying about who my mother is for my whole life seemed like the best option for my own mental stability?” You narrow your eyes. “Did that really help you sleep better at night?!” 

“No! I knew I should’ve told you, especially after your mom died and I’m sorry this is how you found out, but I…” He trails off. 

“You’re still not answering my question,” You growl. 

Tony sighs again. 

“I lied, we lied because we needed to protect you.” 

“We?” You raise your eyebrows. “As in you and my mom or as in you and Harley Quinn…?” 

“All three of us. When Harley found out she was pregnant, she came to me scared out of her mind. I’m sure you’re well-acquainted with The Joker since you protect Gotham, so you can imagine what kind of reaction he’d have if he found out his girlfriend cheated on him and had a kid.” 

You stay silent, but he takes that as his sign to continue. 

“Harley knew she couldn’t raise you and God knew I definitely couldn’t so we started screening people to raise you and found your mom.” 

“Unbelievable,” You scoff. 

“Y/N, I’m sorry we didn’t tell you--” 

“You told me you weren’t going to lie to me,” Your eyes fill with tears. “You promised to always tell me the truth.” 

“I know I did, and I’m sorry,” Tony pleads. “This was just so… You watched your mom die for a long time, but after she passed, it was like a weight had been lifted from your shoulders and I didn’t want to take that away from you.” 

You shake your head. 

“That wasn’t your decision. I had a right to know,” Then you start walking away. 

“Wait, Y/N,” Tony calls after you. “Please, I’m sorry! Where are you going?” 

“I need space,” You growl, then take off, flying back to Gotham. 

                                                         . . . 

Jason finds you perched on the tallest building in Gotham, staring over the edge. 

“Hey,” He sits down next to you, taking his helmet off. 

You didn’t even bother to wear yours since it’s still broken from your fight with Ivy.  

“He wasn’t even going to tell me,” You mutter to Jason then shake your head. “He wasn’t even going to fucking tell me.” 

“Well, it’s not something you can exactly bring up over lunch,” Jason points out. 

“Yeah, well he should’ve thought of that before he decided to lie to me about my mother,” You snap. 

“Your mom is Harley Quinn who is constantly racking it up with Joker. You didn’t need that chaos in your life.” 

“Why are you siding with him?” You demand, growing irritated with your boyfriend. 

“Because it makes sense why he didn’t tell you,” Jason stares you back down. “Yeah it’s fucked up that he lied for as long as he did and that you had to find out from Poison Ivy, but if Joker knew about you, he would’ve killed you.” 

“I can handle myself,” You growl. 

“Yeah, now. You really think Joker would’ve waited until you were a trained vigilante?”

Your shoulders slump, all fight draining out of you. 

“Jason, my mom is Harley Quinn. Can you believe that? Harley Quinn!” 

He chuckles, wrapping an arm around your shoulders and pulls you close. 

“Your life has never traveled the simple route for anything.” 

“Ain’t that the truth,” You mutter. “What the hell am I going to do?” 

“You don’t have to do anything.” 

“Yeah, I kind of do. My mom is Harley Quinn.” 

“So? She didn’t raise you, she didn’t take care of you, and love you. Harley is not your mom. Your mom is still your mom and no amount of DNA or blood tests is going to change that. Blood doesn’t make you family.” 

“I feel like I have to do something.” 

“Do you want to do something?” 

“I don’t know! Maybe?” You trail off, staring at your legs for a moment. “I’m scared.” 

“Of Joker?” Jason asks. 

“No, that clown can go to hell,” You grumble, making Jason chuckle. “I’m scared I’m going to end up like her.” 

“Oh, God!” Jason sarcastically remarks, pulling back from you and pretending to take your temperature. “Maybe you are going crazy!” 

“Jason, I’m serious!” You insist. “What if I’m more psychologically prone to…” 

“Insanity?” Jason asks with a quirk of his eyebrow.

“Yeah! I have the genetics!” You weakly argue. 

“Well, you are dating me so maybe you are a little crazy.” 

“Jason.” 

He turns to you and cradles your face with both his hands. 

“You’re not going to end up like Harley,” He promises. “Okay?” 

“You don’t know that,” You argue.

“Yes, I do because you care way too much about others to end up like Harley. You are your own person. You are you.” 

“What if it’s not enough?” 

“It is. Trust me, okay?” 

“Okay,” You quietly repeat back. 

“You’re still you,” He promises. “You’re still the girl I fell in love with.” 

You smile.

“Thanks, Jay.” 

He kisses you softly then you shift, leaning on his shoulder, his arm around your waist as you stare down at Gotham. 

Jason’s right. You haven’t changed, but there’s one last conversation that needs to happen before you feel content again. 

                                                         . . . 

You sit on a roof, suited up in your body armor, minus the helmet. It’s not like Harley doesn’t know who you are. Jason watches from another roof, far away enough to give you privacy, but close enough to intervene if things go sideways. 

“I’m sorry this is the way we’re finally meetin’,” A familiar drawl begins from behind you.

You turn to see Harley Quinn tentatively emerging from the shadows with a guilty look. 

“I’ve always wanted to meet you…” She trails off, shly playing with her fingers. “You’re so beautiful.” 

You smile at the compliment and gesture to the ledge next to you.

“Ivy said I look a lot like you.” 

Harley sits down next to you, smiling at you for a moment then averts her eyes. 

“I’ve always watched you and kept an eye on you. You’re so smart, like your daddy.” 

“Ah come on, we both know all of that didn’t come from him,” You joke, trying to ease the tension. 

Harley giggles. 

“He’s a bit of a mess, ain’t he? But I guess I can’t really say much either.” 

“Have you met my boyfriend? None of us are really batting a thousand when it comes to mental stability.” 

“He sure is handsome though,” Harley smiles. 

“Yeah, he is,” You smile at the thought of Jason, knowing he’s keeping a protective eye over you. “He makes me happy.” 

“And he treats you right?” Harley asks, looking slightly apprehensive.

“Yeah, he does,” You nod. 

“Good. I don’t want you to end up in the situation I’m in…” She looks down with a sigh. “I’m sorry I’m not a mama you can be proud of.” 

You frown, unsure of what to say. Harley’s right. You fight crime. You stand for justice. You arrest criminals, people who hurt others… People like Harley. She’s not a mom you are proud of, but some things can never be easy. 

“Were you okay with giving me up?” You finally asks. 

“Not at first,” Harley sighs. “But I knew Mista J wouldn’t like it and I didn’t want anything to happen to you. Between me and your daddy, we were both paintin’ a pretty big target on your back.” 

“Yeah… That’s what dad said…” You trail off. “Why didn’t you just leave the Joker?” 

Harley frowns, staring into Gotham. 

“It’s complicated,” She admits. “I know I should leave him, but somethin’ always brings me back to him.” 

You suppose the Joker is responsible for Harley becoming who she is so it kind of makes sense, but… 

“Not even me being born could change your mind?” 

Her shoulders slump. 

“Pumpkin, you didn’t need me to raise you. I wouldn’t have been a good mama.” 

“You never even let yourself find out if you would be,” You point out softly. 

Harley smiles, tucking a loose strand of your hair behind your ear. 

“It doesn’t matter anymore. Besides, your mama took very good care of you. I’m sorry she passed.” 

“Thanks,” You say quietly to your lap, her death stinging a little more than usual in the moment. 

“Y/N, no matter the circumstances, just know your daddy and I care about you very much.

You smile, looking down at your lap. You’re not sure where to go from here because Harley is right. The two of you are very different. Your lives have taken both of you nearly opposite directions. How do you two proceed?

“I know this is a big adjustment,” Harley begins. “But I want you to know that you control how our relationship will proceed, even if this means this is the last time we talk to each other.” 

Harley isn’t your true mother and she seems to know that. Your true mother died and like Jason said, no amount of DNA or blood is going to take that title away from her. She raised you, loved you, and formed you into the person you are today. 

It would be so easy to pretend Harley wasn’t your mother and never speak to her again. It would be so easy to pretend everything was as it was and allow your relationship with Harley to be black and white again. She’s a bad guy. You’re not. 

But it doesn’t feel right. 

“It’s a lot,” You finally admit. “And I’m still processing.” 

You don’t miss the way Harley’s face falls. 

“But I don’t think I want this to be the last time we speak.” 

Her face lights up. 

“We move at your command,” She promises. 

“Okay…” You agree, slowly standing up. “Thanks… for talking with me.” 

“Thank you for lettin’ me,” Harley smiles. 

You smile back, then fly to the building Jason is watching from. 

“How did it go?” He asks, pulling off his own helmet. 

“It went well,” You walk forward, wrapping your arms around him. 

He hugs you back, wrapping his arms around you tightly.  

“It was weird,” You admit. “But it wasn’t bad.” 

He chuckles then kisses you. 

“Yeah, well finding out your mom is Harley Quinn when your dad is already Tony Stark is kind of weird.” 

“Yeah,” You snort. “The billionaire and the basketcase. Who would’ve known?” 

Hope you enjoyed! I’ve got a request for Damian to do next, so keep an eye out! 

[thattimdrakeguy]

Ruthless as in he doesn’t mince words and tells the people that annoy him to fuck off. I’m mostly thinking about Tim and Damian’s relationship where people think he needs to be a doormat to him when in actuality he can stand up for himself.

Oh that.

I normally just ignore the Tim and Damian relationship, because I think it’s a freaking mess that’s just been mangled by writers not treating it like it has any importance and just makes nearly every time they’re together a bit unbearable. Almost nearly each time something's just off about it and I don’t care to pretend like it’s as important as others do.

Only time I can recall where Tim was like--a dick to Damian is during that one time he attacked him for putting him on a list of contingency plan people. Which the writer have Damian think, or at least going off the way it was written, that Tim specifically didn’t trust him, or thought of him as a villain. Despite Justice League members being on the same list as him, and Damian giving Tim evidence as to why Tim shouldn’t trust him just by seemingly attempting to potentially kill him. Which just ends up making Damian look like an idiot to me, because I feel like Damian would be able to comprehend what the list was about enough just by having his profile near other super heroes, one being Tim’s old Young Justice babysitter. Although I think we’re supposed to take it serious going off the writing. 

But I genuinely think FabNic’s writing can be straight up ridiculous and a wee bit pretentious at times. If you want Damian to be offended by having to be seen as needing a contingency plan after trying hard, then write it with a bit of nuance so the character’s don’t come off as acting to absurd for what it’s worth. You can’t go “Damian learned to be better” while showing how he has not. You’re contradicting, and ruining it.

Or that time Tomasi wrote Tim just to be a bully to Damian, which also felt off the mark for them, because Tim’s normally either nice (or at the very least not rude) to him (even if you can tell Tim’s just gritting his teeth together cause he still doesn’t necessarily like him) or acts out when Damian’s doing something or at least thinks he is. So he just makes Tim look like a one dimensional jerk. Maybe there’s a few times were Tim says something mean before to Damian, but I don’t ever recall him just coming off as a bully before. It was written as more of a genuine frustration because, ya know, life was insanely messed up with them, and events did not go well. Like how he’s so out of the blue just being rude and judgmental for no reason with no spawn point during this whole thing makes Tim just a bully. Then during this whole thing he also has Damian try to attack both Tim and Jason over it to prove he’s the best or something? Which I feel regressed him to an extent, because he’s at least certainly past that by the time Bruce is his Batman. Or else it’s just Damian doing something he knows is wrong but still does anyway. Which I guess follows a lot of writing with Damian. But that’s a discussion no one wants to have in a serious manner.

I’m using this just to ramble, but gosh their relationship is absolutely wasted. I don’t want to see Tim be Damian’s big brother. I just do not see that in him, and I feel like that’s really freaking forcing it into forced sentimentality rather than natural progression. But making Damian look like an idiot at best and momentarily regressed at worst, and Tim a bully or a fiend just isn’t what was set up and just makes it hard for me to take that relationship like it’s important very seriously when it’s handled about as well as an obscure feud most people don’t know anything about.

I know this has like, nothing to do with your ask thing, but I’m just a bit bitter today. I woke up feeling sick and I’m bleeding out of my ankle cause I accidentally messed with a scab while itching my ankle and I’m a bit crabby at the moment. So I’m genuinely sorry, but just, ugh. It’s an ugh kind of day today.

[eldri-sv]

11 - Aizawa

Kaori Shinsou has always been fascinated by people's minds. She is one of the best students in her Criminal Psychology course at U.A. and - being the lucky girl she is - her professor is not only one handsome dude, but is also working on the case of the serial killer Stain - a case that has been going on for years. As she is about to become Professor Aizawa's TA during the next term, a lot of other interesting cases start popping up all over the country... AU, OC x Aizawa

Trigger warnings: nothing really?

(possibly incomplete, if you’d like something added, please let me know)

The city's ours until the fall

(Halsey - New Americana)

Shouta Aizawa did not enjoy having lunch in the cafeteria. The place was loud, there were always a bunch of annoying kids around and people would just randomly approach him and talk to him, when all he wanted was some peace and quiet. But with all his injuries right now, he didn't really have the energy to prepare some lunch at home, before he left in the morning. And the lunch in the cafeteria was insanely good, so that somewhat made up for everything else.

He was sitting on a table with a bunch of other teachers, not because he wanted to, but because there was no table available where he could sit on his own. And sitting with one of his students would just be plain weird.

At the moment Yamada and Kayama were having a heated debate about whether Kombucha tasted good or not and whether it was worth trying for the health benefit. Kayama was absolutely in favour of it and was showing off her home-made Kombucha that she had brought to school. Yamada had never tried it and was convinced it couldn't be healthy AND good.

At the moment Kayama was forcefully trying to get Yamada to try some of her Kombucha. Yamada protested wildly, which was unfortunate for Aizawa, as he was sitting right next to him. He was keeping a close eye on him, just so he could dodge any accidental attacks from Yamada.

"Oh, come on! At least try it! One tiny sip?" Kayama asked. Aizawa gulped down some orange juice. He had to switch to that from coffee. The doctors told him to stay away from alcohol, caffeine, nicotine and anything else for at least two weeks. Which wasn't too bad, because in two weeks they would have the U.A. Sports Festival, which was a big thing within the national police force.

A lot of people from different divisions across the country came to see it and to scout out people for internships later on. Of course anyone who was not in basic training (or really athletic and in some other course like Criminology) would have a rough time trying to intern with the actual police force. A lot of the other people just turned to forensic laboratories, prisons, courts and so on to get their internships done.

Aizawa had done his one-week internship at a prison during his first year. Thankfully he had been able to kick ass during his second year and had started working with the local Naruhata police department. That's where he and his best friend Shirakumo had been spending most of their days away from university. Aizawa smiled a little, as he remembered his friend, but the smile quickly faded.

"What do YOU think, Shouta? Should he try it or not?" Kayama asked, taking him out of his thoughts. Aizawa glanced at Yamada who was shaking his head dramatically while grimacing.

"I don't really care, Nemuri. Why do you need him to drink it so badly?" he replied with a shrug.

"I made it myself and I'm proud of it! Plus, he's never even tried it and keeps saying that it'll taste bad. I just want him to try, before he'll start judging." Kayama said and sighed melodramatically.

"Why don't you try it then, Yamada? It hasn't killed Nemuri so far, it most likely won't kill you." Aizawa suggested, hoping to be left alone. He wasn't going to be so lucky. Yamada was shaking his head violently.

"Nuh uh. She's a toxicologist, dude, she could be telling me anything while trying to poison me. And she'd be getting away with it, too!"

"I can't believe you're accusing me of trying to poison you! Yamada, we've been friends for how long now?"

"Maybe you're just playing the long game, who knows..."

Aizawa sighed. His head had started hurting again and he really couldn't deal with the two of them arguing about petty shit like that right now. He grabbed the bottle out of Kayama's hands, opened it and took a big sip. He gulped it all down, as he put the bottle back down on the table.

It was nasty. It smelled foul and a bit like vinegar. And it tasted just the same, with a slight hint of sweetness. It took everything out of Aizawa not to make a weird face. And all that just because he wanted Yamada to suffer just as much as he did. If he drank the stuff, Yamada would have to, as well.

"How... how is it?" Yamada asked, giving him a worried look, as if Kayama had actually been poisoning it. Aizawa shrugged again.

"It's alright. You should try it, I think you might like it." he replied, knowing full well that Yamada would trust his judgment without questioning. Aizawa seriously didn't know why Yamada would still trust him, but maybe he was just one of those people that simply didn't learn.

Yamada grabbed the bottle, still eyeing it suspiciously, but finally getting over himself and taking a sip of it. It took a while to hit him, but then he quickly put the bottle down and pushed it away from himself.

"This tastes like ass! What the fuck, Shou?" he exclaimed. Aizawa grinned a little. Sure, Yamada was his friend, but it made him kind of happy to see him suffer right now. He was coughing and drinking loads of water to get the taste out of his mouth.

"Yeah, I know. It's really not my thing, Nemuri, and I think that one has been standing for too long. Now, if you'll all excuse me, I'm going to get some more orange juice, because that was truly disgusting." Aizawa said, as he got up with the glass in his hand. Kayama was shaking her head.

"You all just don't have taste..." she mumbled and packed away her Kombucha again. Yamada looked disappointed.

"I can't believe you've done me dirty like this, Shou." he said. Aizawa shrugged and gave him a wide grin.

"Again, I have no idea why you still trust me, Zashi. Anyway, I'm off to get something to drink and then I'll probably take a nap before my next lesson, so I'll see you all later." he replied and walked off.

I passed a few tables with students, some of them I knew. There was one table with a group of first years in basic training, their names were Todoroki, Midoriya, Uraraka, Iida and Asui. It was incredibly obvious that Uraraka was crushing hard on Midoriya. How he didn't realize it was completely beyond me.

At another table there was Nishiyama and her entourage. She always had a crowd of people around her and most of them kept changing all the time. Nishiyama was probably the true drama queen of this university. Most people who weren't stuck in high school anymore were not paying much attention to her, thankfully. She was a pain in the ass, but Aizawa had to admit that she usually had very good grades, although that was probably due to her learning all the notes by heart just before the exams.

The last table he passed was literally right beside the place where all the drinks were. Aizawa recognized Kaori Shinsou and her brother. Kaori was picking at her food, as if she wasn't hungry. She probably felt sick due to the painkillers. Aizawa felt a little pang in his heart, seeing her with the bandages around her forehead, knowing that it was his fault, because she was trying to save him.

Her brother looked like he had just seen a ghost and was whispering to her. I could see Kaori raise an eyebrow and give her brother an amused smile.

"What, you mean Pikachu?" she said loudly. Her brother looked around in a panic and then quickly gestured for her to be quiet.

Aizawa who had been watching this exchange was wondering who they were talking about. There was only one person he knew and he would describe as Pikachu and that was Denki Kaminari. He somewhat doubted that Hitoshi Shinsou knew Kaminari. From what he knew they had little in common, except that they were both first years. Well, it wasn't really his business anyway.

He poured himself a glass of orange juice and squinted at it. There seemed to be a few tiny bits in it, probably because someone had been swirling the jug and not letting it settle properly. Shouta Aizawa absolutely hated bits in his orange juice. Or any juice, to be fair. Things he was drinking or eating should be one consistent texture. Anyone who said otherwise was a potential psychopath.

"Well, forget about your crush on coffee boy for a second and let's talk about the plan for this evening. I've had this desire to watch Aristocats all day, are you with me?" he heard Kaori ask. Aizawa stopped squinting at his orange juice and froze. He loved that movie. It was one of his favourite childhood movies. It was his guilty pleasure whenever he felt stressed out or sad or overwhelmed by life and work and everything else. And no one - no one - could ever know about it.

"Yes! Absolutely! We haven't watched that movie in ages!" Hitoshi Shinsou exclaimed. Kaori laughed.

"I know, right? We should just get all wrapped up in blankets, get some nice, fancy ice cream and watch that movie. It's even raining outside, it's the perfect day for that. Plus, you can take your mind off the Sports Festival for once."

"Let's do it."

Shouta Aizawa decided he had been creepy listening in on his students' conversation for long enough. He took his orange juice and made his way back to the table with his colleagues. It looked like he hadn't missed much, since Yamada still seemed to be complaining about the Kombucha. What a fucking nerd.

[ianite-simp]

dark!karl pt. 5

finally here boys, it’s a good bit longer than the other parts, but that’s cause things are going down :)

The strange black cat was back again. It seemed to follow Karl around his island, sneaking closer whenever he wasn’t looking, always just out of the corner of his eye. If Jordan hadn’t mentioned it when he stopped by one day, he would have been sure he was hallucinating. Cats never showed up on his island. And it was a fairly long swim from Tom or Jordan’s places - so its appearance was really just a total mystery to Karl. It was a cute cat, he’d have to admit. But he was too occupied with his purge preparations to pay it much attention - he only had a few days, after all, to get ready for it. Apparently it was a tradition the others had in their other dimensions, and Karl was determined to do his absolute best - at least, not get completely destroyed by the others.

It was quite convenient for him, the timing of the purge. Any time Tom, Jordan, or even Dec approached him about the results of the judgments, he could just make up an excuse about being behind in his preparations and bolt off. Especially given his physical condition - the strange, cracking pattern had spread across most of his face and was covering his neck and shoulders. Doing simple tasks grew excruciating as tiny chips flaked off with his every move. Luckily he had gotten his hands on a bandanna that he could tie around his face instead of the itchy scarf he used to use (though Tom found the look hilarious, and constantly called him Cowboy Karl). But because of the spreading condition, sleeping became entirely out of the question. As such, he had spent numerous sleepless nights thinking about his judgment. It just didn’t seem right. He was just as loyal to Mianite as Jordan was to Ianite, and definitely more loyal than Tom was to Ianite. So why did it decide he was with the Darkness? Had his doubts of Mianite’s strength really given the Darkness that much power over him? 

Is it really a bad thing if that’s the case? He couldn’t stop pondering that question. Mianite was a totally different creature from what he had once been, suddenly seeming incredibly self centered and a bit of a snitch. He was nothing like the welcoming, strong god that Karl had once been proud to call his. 

Hello, Karl.

Without so much as a flinch (the sudden voice and hair-raising chill he associated with the Darkness had grown quite familiar to him at that point ) Karl raised a hand in the air greeting. He trusted the Darkness was able to see it, the sneaking thing he was. He was occupied with trying to calculate the amount of spare supplies he’d need on hand for the purge; a frustrating task, given that he’d never participated in anything like it, as far as he knew. 

You haven’t acknowledged my presence these past few days, Karl.

A sceptical look crossed Karl’s face. “You didn’t talk to me, I’m not going to be talking to thin air like an idiot just to get your attention.”

The Darkness let out a laugh - strangely, it was a warm laugh, almost sweet. I’ve been here the entire time Karl, trying to get your attention. Just turn around.

Feeling slightly bemused, Karl obliged them, turning to look behind him. All he saw was the odd black cat sitting primly atop one of his bookshelves. “What exactly am I - oh, for fuck’s sake, don’t tell me you’ve been spying on me as a bloody cat.” He rolled his eyes, hoping his exasperated tone was evident enough.

I haven’t been spying on you Karl, the Darkness reprimanded as the cat’s eyes narrowed slightly, I’ve been watching over you, and your preparations. The cat stood up, arching its back to stretch before it hopped to the ground, strolling over to the chests. It paused alongside one, rubbing against it with a faint purr. I think you’ll find something to help you if you’d spare a moment to check.

“Must be a trap or something,” Karl muttered, still walking over to the designated chest. He nudged the cat to the side with his foot, lifting the lid of the chest to check inside. It was entirely empty, with only a violently red potion sitting in a small flask at the bottom. Pulling it out, he scanned the label on the side. “Potion of darkness… this is absolutely insane.” His eyes widened as he read the effects listed. One sip of that thing and he’d be practically invincible. “Wait, I can’t even use this during the purge. Potions aren’t allowed.”

I’m sure you’ll find a use for it, the Darkness said mildly. Consider it a gesture of goodwill. 

Karl held the potion in his hand for a long moment, the cool glass bottle heavy in his palm. “Right then,” he mumbled, tucking it back into the chest for safekeeping. It was just a potion, after all. It couldn’t be a bad idea to hold onto it, at least for a little while.

The morning of the purge arrived quickly, the five individuals participating in the challenge loosely huddled on the beach of Tom’s island. Karl felt like his entire body was trembling with nerves as he stood alongside the others, drumming his fingers on the sheath of his sword as Declan went over the rules a final time. “The gods will revive you when you are on the point of death, only that will qualify as a kill. One kill equals one point, and…” Tuning out what Dec was saying, Karl shifted his shoulders slightly, his infected skin stinging painfully from the pressure. He had spent nearly an hour that morning, carefully adjusting every piece of his armour to cover every bit of exposed skin on his torso. The strange, creeping infection had almost reached his waist, his fingertips the only healthy skin remaining on his hands. He had resorted to constantly downing health potions, the only things that offered temporary relief to the burning pain he endured every time he moved.

As Dec finished his short speech, he presented them with the swords of their gods. Karl took the new blade he was offered, eyes wide as he studied the shining blue weapon. 

Come now, Karl. You don’t need something like that.

Ignoring the low voice in his head, Karl slipped the sword under his belt for temporary safe keeping. It didn’t seem much stronger than his own, but it was a gift from the gods. He couldn’t toss something like that away. 

At the sound of a wailing siren, the group split apart, each person picking their own direction. Karl bolted for the boat he had left at the shore, determined to put some distance between himself and the others. He climbed in, using broad pulls of his oars until the currents began to pull him along, and he could rest his already tiring arms. Glancing back, a faint feeling of dismay set in as he spotted Jordan and Declan not too far behind. By the looks of it, though, Jordan was faltering slightly, as Dec scored hit after hit - Tom only adding to the problem by firing arrows from the shoreline. Jordan had practically reached his boat by that point, it would be the work of a moment to draw his sword, lunge forward, and sink it deep into the Ianitee’s chest.

That was precisely what Karl chose to do. Jordan’s eyes widened with shock as he let out a strangled gasp and splashed back into the water, his limp body vanishing within the moment as he was revived. Ignoring the faint whoops and cheers from Tom and Dec, Karl grabbed his oars, pulling with all his strength to get as far away as he could. Within a few moments he was halfway between his own island and Tom’s, his small boat bobbing gently in the calm waves.

A strong wave of pride and adrenaline washed over him as he sat, taking deep breaths to calm his racing pulse. He had managed to get the first kill, despite it all. That meant something, surely.

Congratulations, Karl. I knew I chose you for a reason. The familiar rasp of the Darkness rang in his ears. A faint smile crossed his face. Despite it coming from what everyone thought to be the embodiment of pure chaos, the praise was nice.

“I’m still not working for you, you know,” he remarked, sliding the sword of Mianite out from where he had stashed it in the boat, resting the heavy blade across his knees.

You wouldn’t be working for me if you joined me, Karl. I’ve been trying to explain this to you. The voice was calm, patient. That’s the difference between myself and those godlings. You can’t lie to yourself, Karl. You and Mianite were never equals.

Karl shifted uncomfortably, his eyes rising from the sword he held to the horizon, scanning for any signs of the others getting near. “Never said I thought that, man.” That was a lie. He knew it was. All the times he had spent talking with MIanite, the god had given him his undivided attention. He always made Karl feel at ease when he spoke to him, joked with him. But when he remembered the scorn that had filled the god’s face when he last saw him…

You deserve better, Karl. Someone who actually values you, cares for you. The Darkness’ voice softened reassuringly. All I ask is that you trust me.

Karl was silent for a while, completely still as his thoughts wandered through the mess of emotions the past few weeks had been. He knew the choice he was going to make. It didn’t seem like he had any better options. But a small part of him still questioned it, the part that still wanted to be loyal to Mianite, his god. No, he couldn’t refer to Mianite as that. He had lost the connection to the god the moment he put on that armour. He couldn’t go back on this decision.

“I trust you.” 

The potion. He knew what he had to do, even as the Darkness spoke. Before he could change his mind, he stood, and dropped Mianite’s sword over the edge. It only made a faint splash, before sinking silently beneath the waves.

It hardly took five minutes for Karl to row to his island, ascend the elevator, peel off his armor, and open the chest where the potion rested. He felt something push against his legs as he scooped the delicate bottle into his hands. He glanced down, and met the eyes of the cat. It was purring, and seemed almost pleased to see him. Popping the cork out of the potion, Karl took a deep breath before he quickly downed it in one go. A faintly bitter taste lingered in his mouth as he swiped a stray drop from his chin. For nearly a minute he stood there, unsure if anything was actually going to happen. Then it hit him, fullforce.

An excruciating pain filled him, forcing him to first his knees, then into a crumpled heap on the ground. His skin burning, his insides churning as though they had been coated in lava, everything hurt.. It felt as though his eyes had been ripped from his skull, his head throbbing with the waves of pain that just kept coming, and coming, and coming. He felt himself convulse, his head flying back, his limbs twitching sporadically. Make it stop, make it stop, make it stop. He wanted to peel himself from his own body, to fall unconscious, anything that would just make it stop,

And then it did. It took a long moment for him to force his eyes open, to realize the pain was gone. His throat felt raw, his mouth dry. He must have been screaming, cursing, without even realizing it. But otherwise, he felt fine. He felt even better than fine. The weight that always seemed to drag him down was gone, he felt positively light. Slowly, he rose to his feet, holding onto the chest beside him for support as his strength slowly returned. It was incredible, he could move ease, without putting any thought into it. He looked down at himself. He didn’t look significantly stronger but oh, god, he wasn’t himself any longer. Every bit of skin he could see had taken on the cracked texture, darkened to a dusky grey. He could feel something wet on his cheeks. Some black substance as dark as the void, he found, when he wiped at his eyes with the back of his hand. It seemed to flow steadily, soft plips barely audible as it slipped from his cheeks to the floor. Experimentally, he flexed his hand, causing a small dusting of the flaking skin to detach and drift downwards. He felt nothing. None of the burning, none of the aches, none of it. He felt normal.

I’m glad you’ve joined me properly, my friend. The voice of the Darkness, rather than giving him the faint chill he was so accustomed to, made him feel almost warm. We will achieve many great things together, so long as you continue to trust me.

Karl smiled as he reached down to scoop the cat into his arms. The others were always underestimating him, but it wouldn’t happen any longer. No, with the Darkness at his side, he would be unstoppable, undefeatable.

He would be happy.

[theplumsoldier]

PREMIERE NIGHT

Request: Anonymous asked: So if you have time and motivation and like my prompt could you write a fic where y/n joins the Avengers cast to play young Black Widow maybe? and she’s in her early 20s but she’s got this massive crush on Chris Evans but is too proud to make the first move because she’s scared of rejection but he likes her too, and then there’s a party with all MCU members - maybe the Oscars or A4 premiere afterparty, where they get drunk and make out in front of everybody and then maybe smut ensues? Please xx

A/N: i cant see endgame until tuesday i hate myself. the people tagged are from various captain america or chris evans taglists of mine, hope none that did not want to be tagged were and if so, feel free to dm me so i can remove you from the list (:

Pairing: chris evans x reader

Word count: 2478

Warnings: smut, explicit scenes, vulgar language.

His admiration for you was enormous and quite difficult to describe. Before the fourth and final Avengers movie, you had only ever done small theatrical shows and minor close to dispensable roles, so when you were cast to play a young version of Black Widow it was utterly impressive you came and stole the show with your undeniable skills, even if your overall screen time was just about 10 minutes.

However, even with no more than little screen time, you had to undergo an insane training program and take ballet classes—even if that had been your own decision. Your dedication to make your time worth was evident and you took all the advice you could, always listening to directors and coworkers to make the best of your performance. This was one of those “once in a lifetime opportunities” people always spoke about and considering you had never attended any acting schools for it was a miracle you had even landed the role, and at the ripe age of 23.

Set was amazing in spite of the long hours as the dynamic was beyond magical. There was no question whether these guys were professionals, which should have put you off and feel a tad out of place, only they never failed to make you feel part of the MCU family—one man in particular.

It was nonsensical to think just two years ago you had been at the verge of giving up on acting and went to carry on the family business. The flower boutique had always been like a second home but in your final years of school, you had sworn if you were to spend another minute in that godforsaken place you would blow it up and your head with it.

Now instead with no hands nor brains in your ablaze childhood home, you stood with a drink in your hand and a huge grin on your face, greeting Scarlett Johansson for the first time since your last on-set encounter.

“So, what will our next movie be?” asked she and you grinned at her overt hint.

"Well, Feige has yet to turn down a Black Widow solo, soo. . .” responded you, dragging out the ‘so’ for obvious reasons. Nudging her lightly, you earned a laugh and she lifted her hands as if to say “one never might know,” but her sparkly eyes told you otherwise. One might know. “You have no idea how nervous I was when my faced showed up on that screen.”

“Oh, you had no reason to be,” dismissed Scarlett with a wave of the hand. “This is about the best family you could have landed yourself in.”

“I know that now! But, you know, the fans are so dedicated and I figured that would mean either they would love my portrayal, or like—absolutely fucking hate it, you know?” chuckled you nervously and sipped from your drink, eyes scanning across the room.

Scarlett laughed, “well, all I have to say is that I’m glad about the casting director’s choice, getting a new face. I cannot tell you who you were up against, but—trust me when I say, you trumped her in every way.”

Your eyes lit up with both joy and curiousness. “Oh, now you have to tell me!”

Hours had passed and you had never been showered with more compliments and good wishes in your entire life, the fact that they all came from successful personas made you think this was not the last the world had seen of you.

On several occasions had you had your shot at doing something about the immense crush you had on the infamous man of your dreams, however, both worry, perturbation and pride took away what courage the alcohol had built up the entirety of the evening. All you had ever managed to come up with, was your gratitude which was more modest than self-assured as your usual kind of flirting would sound.

Your weak knees and flushed skin was nothing that made you wonder; you knew very well why you were vulnerable to such, and you could only think that the man exposing you to the affection, knew it as well. At least, when your cheeks would burn red at his comments or touch, he seemed pleased with himself.

It was an unusual feel and one you did not like much, contrary to the butterflies fighting in your stomach telling you otherwise. His mere voice took away what confidence was only habitual to your customary tone and the scrunch of his nose when he would laugh never failed to take away your breath. The stunning suit he was clad in assured that even if you managed to hide your uncertain stance, you would show in other ways and some that made you shift just a bit too often. How you should have worn a pantsuit rather than a dress.

Some had kids and some had families, others had varying excuses but the truth was you had nothing awaiting you at home. You did not even have a home to return to for you were going straight back to your hotel after this. However, you did not mind, the thought of sharing a life with someone was nice, surely, only the truth was you did not long to leave. The night had been filled with such happiness, which to you was not wonted; how could you want to leave that behind? If so, it was for the reason to take care of your untamed amorous state.

Troubled with your own thoughts, you had yet to recognize it had been Chris to move beside you until he spoke up.

“No one to go home to?”

You could recognize the kindness in his eyes anywhere. With a soft chuckle, your finger traced the stem of the wine glass and blinked at him. “That should only be if room service's waiting for me. If not, then sadly, no.”

His eyes glistened in the dim lightening from the bar, the bright ones behind his head contributing to the lit glory hovering above him. With a smile, Chris sat down, the halo vanishing as he did. “You’re still checked in on the hotel?”

Nodding in affirmation, you raised the glass to meet your lips, your eyes never leaving his blue ones. It was funny how they seemed prettier than ever in this uncertain state. Against common sense and acumen, your judgment decided upon speaking freely, picking what topic you never would have thought yourself to feel confident enough to. Whether it was because you had had enough of being lonely or it simply was the alcohol taking a toll on you, allowing more candidness than needed, you did not know. However, you felt a sudden urge and the words escaped.

“You know I like you, right?”

Chris’ face remained its joyous, laid back look, only the corner of his mouth puckering up. He could not say he was surprised. At least not with your admitted feelings, however, your frankness was something else. Undeniably, he was aware and saying those particular feelings were not reciprocated, would be about the fattest lie of the evening.

“You only say that because you’re drunk.”

“Yes,” drawled you and confessed. “It’s still true though. I shouldn’t have drunk this much.”

“You have been nervous tonight—why?” wondered Chris, thinking of the observation of the night. Whenever spoken, talked or even as little as share momentary eye contact from opposites sides of the room, you had taken another sip from your glass.

With a sudden puff of discomfort, you felt all the more self-conscious. Now, this was awkward.

“I haven’t. Or I have—but, uh. . .” You had no idea how to respond, and from his insoluble expression and soft, awaiting eyes you were forced to find the right words. “I’m not usually like this. Drunk—I, it’s really your fault—”

“That you’re drunk?”

“No—that’s my poor sagacity. You make me nervous,” divulged you, not finding the courage in you to look up for the reaction you so longed for. Instead, your head fell back, sucking in a deep breath and you found him through the corner of your eye. “I guess I wanted to build up the courage to. . . I don’t know, I was afraid this was the last time I would see you.”

“Nonsense. You’re in the Marvel-family now—”

“I know, I know and it’s great, I just—I really like you.”

Silence imbued, the tension you felt pent up completely locking out any signs of the ongoing party behind you. Good thing you were sat on a stool otherwise you might just have fallen to the ground as you knees were about as weak as your sense of vaunt. This man shot you all the way back to your high school years and for making you all hot and bothered, you tried to convince you did not like him. But truly, what was there not to like. With a heart of gold and always decent presentation, sense of humor and bearing soul, he was the one.

“So if I kissed you right now, you would not mind?”

One of your eyebrows bounced in surprise and Chris stifled his chuckle, how glorious you looked tonight. “Right here?”

Giving you no time to contemplate, he leaned in and in a split-second, your lips were connected in a sweet kiss. Being what you had only ever dreamed of, you melted under his enchantment. He tasted sweet and fresh, his cologne lingering to your nostrils and you could only worry of what strong liquor he might sense. But it did not make him stop and careless to what eyes might lurk from behind, he pulled you closer by the neck and parted his lips, deepening the kiss. At his touch, his large hand forcing you closer to him, you hummed into his mouth, reaching up to rest your hand by his beard as you allowed his tongue to dance with your own. Sweet with a pinch of sourness, you lost track of time and only departed when you had completely abated the intensity of your surroundings.

Retreating, you distanced yourself with only a minuscule amount of space left between you, catching your breath.

“Perhaps this is not the best place to do this,” admitted you, a grin playing on your lip and a glimpse flashed in your eye.

“So we leave then,” proposed he and stood up, almost to fast and your eyes grew big for a moment, knowing what he implied. Was this real?

Holding out his hand, you did not hesitate for more than what seconds the stun took and you were then on your way. Pace steady and moderate, something you could keep up with in your heels and you held your head down as you exited and cameras flashed. Out of instinct, you went to retrieve your hand, thinking Chris, too, was not keen on being seen like this. But he did not let go. His grip even tightened and casting a fleeting look across his shoulder, he offered you a sincere smile.

Up in your hotel room, little time was left to settle or even wriggle out of your dress, for the second the door was closed, your lips were once again touching. Chuckling to yourself, you were pleased to know you had not been the only one longing for this moment.

Reaching behind to fondle with the zipper, you managed to pull it down and with the help of Chris, you were freed from its clutching grip on you. Pooling down by your feet, Chris' hands slid up the backside of your legs. On his knees, he peppered kisses, trailing up, closer and closer to your sex, ensuring you would drip the second he removed your panties.

With a final flicker of his eyes, he found you watching him closely with soft and lustful eyes, bottom lip tugged between your teeth and how the pleasure pulled at your features only made him harder in his pants. Taking the encouraging hum you emitted as consent, he rid you of the remaining garment. Licking his lips, he pushed you back to sit on the bed and adored the sight of you. So wet and all for him.

Moving his hands back down your legs, Chris lifted them over his shoulders and dug right in between your legs. His tongue blending with you arousal was enough to elicit a dulcet sound from you, moan after moan escaping as he took care of you.

His facial hair nuzzling where you were most sensitive as he licked long strokes, draining you from what you could offer, you knew he would have you shaken in a matter of seconds. Aching for more friction, his hand came to the rescue, thump grazing past your clit, earning an upward thrust from your hips. His other hand came around you and retiring for just a moment you bucked up to find what sensation had become vague, but when he inserted two fingers in you, the wait was worth it.

At a modest pace he began, just enough pleasure for you to adjust to his two fingers pumping in and out of your cunt, and when first the velocity increased, Chris’ tempo was adequate to make you cum hard right then and there.

The room resonated with your moans and you had to cover your mouth in order to quiet yourself, slightly embarrassed he had you wrapped around his finger like that. But soon his hand removed your own, wanting to hear you more than anything, desperate to hear what he did to you. It had been all too long since he felt this powerful and you gave him everything you wanted by allowing him to eat you like to the likeness of a starving animal. The vibrations, the shameless, guttural groans, the tremors—it was all in the mix of pushing you over the edge and your clawing in his hair as he continued drawing moans from you.

Upon your culmination, you finally released on his tongue, mellow same as wanton sounds escaping you in the process. Riding out your orgasm, you ground your sex against him, pulsating around his fingers and when you finally came down from your high, but Chris did not yield. Continuing, he merciless rammed into you, groaning loudly at the feel of you clenching around his fingers.

Cleaning you with his mouth, Chris relished in your juices and first then he parted from you, only to stand tall before you and his hands fiddled with his black tie. Dark eyes and glinting beard, loosened knot and then the sound of his belt clanging rang in your ears. He nodded down at you, a desiring shade peaking behind the blue in his eyes. “Turn around for me.”

TAGLIST: @patzammit @derekxsammy @woodworthti666  @littledeadrottinghood @littlemissirish @figure8ght @metalarmlover @athiestangel @ihclipse @denzmallows @crist1216 @tinageekandtraveler @mustbeaweasleyginger @feysandmaraudersdramatic @marshyymello @astrid345 @schilj79 @idiosadeoro @justtrynasurvivelife @pixiehex1985 @writing-parker @exuberantqueer @sodonutnutnut @lilymdonaldson

[let-it-raines]

Have you heard of that number neighbors thing? I think that would be a really cute CS story!

lol. No, nonnie, I hadn’t heard of it, but then you sent me this and @blowmiakisscolin sent me the picture above and asked for a prompt. So here we are with this short little thing💙

-/-

Captain: I’m currently being forced into spending time with my mates and eating a burned chicken pot pie.

Birdie: Ugh. I’m starving. I’m stuck at work late. I’m supposed to be getting dinner with friends too.

Captain: Hopefully it’s not burned food.

Birdie: With my friend’s cooking, I’d bet that it was. I’ll probably stop and get something on the way and guiltily eat it in my car.

Captain: That’s what I’m going to do when I leave here.

Birdie: This is only making me hungrier.

Emma moves to text back only for her to see Mrs. Moscowitz move from inside of her building to the street, a dark-haired man behind her. They kiss before the man walks away, and she snaps a picture of it, proof that she’s cheating. A pit forms in her stomach that Mr. Moscowitz was right about his wife, but she’s used to this. Being a private investigator means she mostly finds out about a lot of indiscretions and affairs, not really giving her a lot of faith in committed relationships, but then sometimes the person is wrong and their spouse is simply doing some kind of surprise.

Then again, that means one spouse doesn’t trust the other, and that doesn’t instill a lot of confidence either. But she’s not doing this job for some kind of hope in relationships. She’s doing it because she likes having a roof over her head and food in her stomach and flexible enough hours to not have to be at work before eight in the morning.

After tidying things up with the Moscowitz file, texting Mr. Moscowtiz that she’ll meet him tomorrow, she puts her car in drive and runs through a McDonald’s, not at all caring about her arteries as she eats fries and heads to Mary Margaret and David’s apartment for whatever kind of dinner they’re hosting. They have them all the time, nearly every week, but she doesn’t always make them depending on her work.

(And because the cooking is not always great.)

When she pulls into their building’s parking garage, maneuvering into the guest section, she finishes her fries, stuffing them into her mouth and wishing she had something to drink as the salt gets on her tongue. She’s got a few text messages that have popped up since she started driving, and she quickly responds to Ruby and Elsa before opening up her text conversation with the Captain.

That’s still the most stupid name, and she cannot believe that as a grown adult, she is texting someone she doesn’t know under a nickname. Stranger danger and all that jazz is screaming at her, but she’s probably never going to meet him even if she talks to him more than she talks to most people in her life.

He’s her number neighbor.

That is also the most stupid thing in the world, something she had never heard of, but then she got a text seven months ago describing some kind of new trend on Twitter where you text the person with the number next to yours. For some insane reason, she answered the text.

And then answered the next one.

And then kept answering it.

Like a crazy person, right?

It’s basically turned into some kind anonymous pen pal thing, and she most definitely does not have some kind of feelings for the man on the other side of the screen. That would be crazy and stupid and completely and totally ridiculous for a woman who doesn’t even like talking to some of the people that are in front of her.

Then again, maybe that’s perfect for someone who isn’t too fond of people.

The Captain (a name he chose for himself) is in his thirties and also lives here in Boston. He’s got a thing for boats (obviously) and goes out sailing with his brother on the weekends. Several times he’s offered to take her out sailing, but she’s simply not comfortable with that. Maybe one day if they reveal names and she does a thorough background check, but the sailing will have to wait for that day. When he’s not sailing, he spends his days as a professor at Boston College. He didn’t tell her what subject so she couldn’t look him up, and as much as that annoyed her, she also appreciated that he thought that through.

But she really doesn’t care about any of those surface things when she knows that he’s witty as hell and can make her laugh simply by his choice of words and whatever gifs he chooses to send. He’s quick on his feet, always one step ahead of her, and even though he can be far too flirtatious, he’s actually pretty comfortable to have a conversation with, whether it be about how shitty their childhoods were or about how much they both love pizza.

How could anyone not when it’s good pizza?

(He does like pineapple on his pizza, which she thinks is an abomination, but whatever.)

It’s…nice. The way they met is ridiculous, but it’s nice to have someone to talk to and complain about work and her friends and everything else in between without fear of judgment or having her private life spread around.

Captain: I could eat an entire pizza right now.

See? Pizza lovers are the best lovers.

Wait. No. that’s the wrong thought. She doesn’t know this man. She’s not thinking about him as a lover.

Birdie: Wish me luck. Going in to see my friends now. I hope I don’t smell like I was just eating fries.

Captain: I’m sure you smell delicious.

Captain: Because of the fries, I mean.

And sometimes he’s a bit of a dork, and she kind of loves that. In real life, he’s probably all swagger and confidence and flirtatious jokes, and as nice as those things can be, she kind of likes that nerdiness and the odd jokes. It makes everything more…real.

It takes three minutes to get up to the Nolans’ apartment, and she doesn’t bother knocking, simply letting herself in only to come face to face with Killian Jones and his stupid blue eyes and stupid dark jeans and really stupid white smile.

Why can she not think of any other word but stupid?

Probably because he’s an asshole whose mere presence makes her want to burn down whatever building he’s in. That’s arson and murder and all kinds of awful things, but she has hated him for five years and isn’t about to stop now.

That’s what he gets for hitting on her the night that they met only to proceed to go home with another blonde woman who was dressed eerily the same and then not even bring it up the next time that he saw her. He pretended that it never happened when it most definitely did. It’s not that she’s mad he went home with someone else. He can do whatever the hell he wants. She’s mad that he seems to think that there are no consequences to his actions and that he never acknowledged that he was an asshole to her that night and all of the days following.

Is it a little petty to still hate him? Yes.

Does she care? No.

“Swan,” he greats, doing a little bow that has her rolling her eyes. He only does it because he says that she acts like she’s some kind of royalty on her high horse, which is not at all true. “Nice of you to finally join us.”

“I’m sure you were waiting on baited breath for me to show up.”

He dips his head to get in her eyeline because he’s always getting in her space like that, and she scoffs at the way that he flashes her a pearly white grin, his eyes crinkling. “You have no idea. I’m always excited to see you.”

“Well, you do like blondes.”

“Aye, I do.”

Her jaw clenches, but she will not take any more of his bait, so she steps around him so that she can walk into the kitchen where David and Mary Margaret are sitting at the island while Ruby talks on the phone, Graham at her side continuously pointing towards a piece of paper.

“What’s going on here?”

“Mary Margaret burned the chicken pot pie she was making,” David explains as he slides a basket of rolls across the counter. She picks one up and stuffs it in her mouth. Those fries are good, but totally not filling for the amount of calories in them. “So we’re ordering pizza.”

“Oh my God,” she groans, “pizza sounds so much better than that.”

“Hey,” Mary Margaret huffs. “My chicken pot pie is good.”

“Honey,” David soothes, rubbing her back, “you either undercook it or overcook it every single time. Neither of us are good cooks, and I think that’s something we’re just going to have to live with.”

The Nolans: perfect in every way except for their cooking.

“Ruby, order the pineapple.”

“I am not putting pineapple on pizza, Graham. You know my policy on this.”

“It’s what Killian and I want. Just get a small.”

“No, I refuse. It’s the principle of the thing.”

“You’re infuriating.”

“How long until they sleep together, do you think?” she asks David and Mary Margaret, knowing that Ruby and Graham aren’t listening because they’re too caught up in their arguing.

“Probably about the same time that you and I do, love,” Killian adds in.

She’s nearly forgotten about him, but that was probably mostly wishful thinking that he’d just up and disappear from the apartment.

“Fuck off, Jones.”

“That’s what I’m talking about.”

She tosses a roll at him, only for him to catch it, ever the athlete. It’s infuriating that he’s so good at nearly everything.

Ruby finally puts in the pizza order, even though she and Graham are still arguing about it, and Emma opens up a cabinet to get a wine bottle out and pour herself a very healthy glass. If she’s going to make it through tonight, she’s going to need it. Leaving the married couple and the might-as-well-be-married-couple in the kitchen, she steps into the living room and settles down in her preferred armchair before pulling her phone out and scrolling through all of the things she missed while working. There’s not much there, so she opens up her texts again to text the Captain.

Birdie: You should be jealous of me because I’m about to eat pizza.

It takes twenty seconds for her to get a text back.

Captain: Funny, so am I.

Birdie: You caved and ordered some?

Captain: We did, yeah. Though I’m not sure about what type I’m going to be getting. The person who ordered it has a thing against pineapple on pizza.

Birdie: As she should.

Captain: I’ll never understand your prejudice against it. Let me like what I like, love.

Birdie: Never.

Emma looks up to see Killian settle down across from her, his phone in hand with his fingers flying across the screen. She has no interest in his life or who he’s texting, and yet she finds herself curious. Which is, as Killian makes her think whenever she’s around him, stupid.

She keeps texting the Captain for a little while, the two of them arguing back and forth over pizza choices and food choices in general (he’s a much healthier eater than she is), and she finds herself relaxing into it so that she doesn’t really focus on anyone else around her. They’re all wrapped up in their own conversations anyways, so it’s fine that she’s doing this.

Absolutely fine.

Until she feels a heavy presence over her shoulder and there’s a clattering of a phone falling to the ground, the glass probably breaking. He should have bought a case.

“What the hell?”

“What the hell, Jones?”

She turns to see Killian standing above her, his mouth gaping open as he blinks more times than any human being should in such a short time span. What is wrong with him? Why is he standing over her having some kind of weird reaction? Can’t he just mind his own business?

“Jones, what the hell are you doing?”

“Trying to figure out how in the world the woman who hates me is the same woman who I also talk to all day long?”

“I’m sorry…what?”

He’s lost it. Seriously. Whatever screw is loose in his head has completely come undone.

Killian waves his hands at her phone, his mouth still unable to close, and she has never seen him this flustered in her entire life. “You’re Birdie.”

And that’s when her entire world flips on its head and crashes down around her in the most dramatic fall in the history of ever.  

She stands up, unable to sit down, and moves around the chair so that they can have a little space in between them as her mind comes to the last conclusion she ever wanted it to come to.

“No,” she starts, putting her phone in her back pocket and holding her hands up. “No, no, no, no, no. You’re the Captain?”

“Aye.”

“What the hell are you two talking about?” Ruby yells from the kitchen.

“Nothing,” they both yell back at the same time.

She is not cluing her friends in on this. No way. She’ll never hear the end of it.

“This cannot be happening.”

“Well it is, love.”

“I don’t believe you. Prove that you’re him.”

He rolls his eyes, completely and totally exasperated with her. “We are both at a dinner tonight where there is a burned chicken pot pie. Our friends are ordering pizza but Ruby won’t order pineapple pizza. What are the odds of that happening to two different people in Boston?”

Oh.

Oh wow.

Oh shit.

Killian Jones lives in Boston.

Killian Jones is a World History professor at Boston College.

Killian Jones likes to sail with his brother on the weekends.

Killian Jones likes pineapple on his pizza.

Holy shit.

Her number neighbor is Killian freaking Jones.

One of her closest friends is also the man she’s hated for half of a decade.

Holy whiplash, Batman.

“So,” he grins, that white smile making an appearance again, “I bet you don’t hate me so much now.”

“Oh no,” she protests as her mind starts to calm down, the hatred and fondness she feels for his two personas somehow mixing together. “I definitely still hate you. I just don’t hate the Captain. That’s a stupid name by the way. So is texting your ‘number neighbor.’”

He smiles, and her heart does not flutter. Not at all.

“You sure do like to use that word a lot to describe me, Birdie.”

“Well, you make me think a lot of incredibly stupid things.”

“Hopefully one day you won’t think I’m so stupid.”

-/-

Three months later she admits that she is stupid in love with Killian Jones.

In person. Not over text. They do that now.

They never do agree on pizza toppings.