Poison_Vines

2008 Here to write for my enjoyment (& when I feel like it) Fics will range from fluff, angst, and some smut

[po1s0nv1nes]

Just found out that there's going to be "ai school" in towns in Oklahoma.

2 hours of kids being taught by ai, then taken outside and taught by a random ass person to do things outside.

$40,000 - $41,000 a year for said school.

What the actual fuck has our society come to?🫩

[formerlyluckymanticore]

Reblog if you will never. Ever. Use AI in your writing.

[po1s0nv1nes]

Take away my writing devices if I do🫩

[jellyfishforest135]

Rest in peace Sam Neill. Thank you for the awe and wonder you brought to us.

[po1s0nv1nes]

Unexpected Gentleness

Taglist atm: @prizzylicious @weasleyswizarding-wheezes @monkeerangerfan

Warnings: Brief language, not much

Note: I decided to add more to chapter three because I felt it was too short, so I hope you enjoy the updated version.

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The kindest people are usually the most violent.

The light in the bedroom was dim, but the Brooklyn cityscape managed to keep it light enough that the shadows of past transgressions didn't dare show their rattling tails. The duvet had grown uncomfortable against Sophia's skin, and at some point while she was sleeping, the cotton had been kicked off of her until it lay mangled at her feet. It wasn't an unusual movement for her, but the movement that did have her nerves prickling with unease was the presence in the corner of the room.

Stirring lightly, Sophia carefully peeled her eyes open, exhaustion deciding to cling to her like a lifeline before death, and subtly glanced over at the leather armchair James had been sat in hours earlier. The figure that occupied the space was just as built as James, but slimmer towards the waistline of his slacks; his head was titled to the left a little, his temple resting on his left fist while his eyes stayed on the bed.

"Your breathing changed, I can tell you're awake, Sophia." A deep, almost disappointed grumbled sigh echoed between the walls of the room.

Okay… Definitely not creeping or stalker-ish at all!

Sophia cleared her throat, shifting carefully in bed as to not jostle her left side, and angled her head to where the armchair was positioned. The little bit of light from the city below was just enough to tell the man had piercing eyes, same as James', yet not as soul seeking—if that made sense to anyone.

She blinked slowly, willing her tiredness to fly away so she could have a coherent conversation with the sentient guardian in the corner, "Do I want to ask why you're sitting menacingly in the corner, or shall I assume James sent you here to watch me because some indiscussible mobster work arose?" The comeback was harmless, it carried more of a teasing lull than any accusation.

A low vibrating chuckle seeped from the mystery man's chest, his head straightening so he could level her with a look—though the reason was unknown to Sophia as to why he needed to glare at her.

"Best bet would be the second option." He stated, a lightness covering his tone, but there was still a wariness hanging to it, "James wanted someone watching you because he'd be out until late in the morning, and wanted to make sure someone would be there if you woke up hurting."

"Oh?" Her tone held questions, but she knew that this kind of business wasn't easily spoken of among civilians, or non-mafia oriented persons.

"He told me to tell you that if you wanted to order something to eat, then you could. Said, and I quote, 'Sophia can get whatever she wants or needs, nobody is to say otherwise.'"

"That's…" Sophia's voice trailed off, confusion crossing her face as her brows furrowed.

I'm literally just a random girl some mob boss found, and decided to take pity on. Why in the hell is he letting me have free reign? What the fuck is happening with my life right now!?

"You seem perplexed that James has decided to give you free will in his penthouse," The man commented, cocking his head to the right, and squinting his eyes as if trying to figure out why this concept was difficult to understand.

"Well, I mean, I'm just some girl he found in a club, I don't see why I'm so special." Sophia replied, then all thoughts of James being unreasonably kind got clouded over by the fact that she had no idea who was sitting across from her. "One thing, first, who are you, and why did James trust you so much to 'guard' me?"

The man's lips tipped up in a smirk, a soft, huffed out laugh escaping from his nose, "My name's Steve, sweetheart, and I'm one of the people James trusts the most with things in his personal life."

"So you're like his best friend?" She quipped back, her tone holding more questions.

Steve inclined his head a little, his shoulders raising in a shrug in the most nonchalant way, "You could say that,"

Great, another man who gives vague answers for a fucking living.

When silence had blanketed the room, Sophia shifted her legs so she was sitting with her legs tucked under her. It wasn't an uncomfortable silence, but more one that felt loaded, yet not dangerous—it was all so weirdly wired.

A ping from Sophia's phone on the nightstand was what broke the silence. Steve's eyes moved from analyzing her in the queen sized bed to where her phone lay on the dark wood of the nightstand.

"You should probably check that," Steve mumbled, leaning back in the armchair, and inclining his right ankle over his left knee, demonstrating a form of complete indifference.

Sophia blinked at him, and the way he sat told her he wasn't moving until James came back. Heaving a sigh, she reached over to the side table, and grabbed her phone. The screen blinded her for a moment before she adjusted the brightness, but what had her heart thumping harder against the walls of her ribcage was the text from boss himself.

James: I see you haven't ordered anything, so I took the liberty of doing it. Peter will bring it up to the main floor of the penthouse, please go down there and eat. I should be back sometime tomorrow morning, but if you feel like leaving, have Steve drop you off.

Her eyes scanned over the words again, and once more for the feeling that coursed through her veins.

He bought me food because I didn't eat.. Okay, genuinely what the hell?

Sophia: You didn't have to do that, James, but thank you. Also, maybe tell your underboss to not sit in the shadows, then randomly announce himself.

James: He's doing his job, I assume? He hasn't moved from the armchair, has he?

Sophia: No?

James: Good. Now, go downstairs and eat.

Sophia sat there, staring dumbfounded at her screen as her brain worked to make sense of this whole situation.

"Come on, Sophia, let's get some food into your system," Steve said, slowly standing from the armchair, and tucking his phone back into the pocket of his slacks.

Her eyes moved from her phone up to where Steve was standing, and if James wasn't the first mobster she had seen, Steve would of definitely taken the fucking cake. He stood about the same height as James did, but his form was slimmer towards the waist. The white button-up he wore seemed too small for his biceps and chest, like he purposefully chose that specific shirt due to ripping his others.

"Yo, earth to Sophia…" Steve's voice seemed to connect with her brain a moment later because the blush on her cheeks from checking him out was more than evident in the dark of the room.

"I wasn't…" Her voice died when her eyes moved to the cocky smirk tugging his lips up, and if her face wasn't already red, it would've been now.

"Sure, sure." He chuckled, tucking his hands into the pockets of his black slacks, his shirt flexing around his shoulders with movement, "Come on, Peter should be downstairs by now."

He stepped up to the side of the bed, his left hand retracting from his pocket to offer help up. Sophia placed her palm into his, and carefully pulled herself up, her phone gripped in her other hand; her side ached a little, but it wasn't as painful to move around like it had been when Dr. Banner was examining her, so that was good.

Once she was braced against Steve's hand, Sophia slowly followed beside him, her movements cautious so she didn't pull any stitches, or make her side ache. They made their way down the hallway of the upper level of the penthouse, and descended downstairs where Peter was waiting near the kitchen with a bag labeled "Dante's Italian Restaurant" across the front, and the smell of pasta seemed to grab a hold of her stomach because she was suddenly very hungry for anything.

As they ate—more Steve sitting next to her at the island, Peter standing near the sink, and Sophia twirling the chicken parmesan pasta onto a fork—she felt like she was home. There wasn't any hustle to finish her food, no worries about bills, or how much longer she had to work as a stripper. She wasn't a freeloader by any means, but it was nice to be able get take out, have a secure roof over your head, and not have any panic attacks at night because rent was due within a week.

But she couldn't stay here. She wouldn't. It wouldn't be right to live off of James' generous actions just because she couldn't pay her bills. This would be the last time she slept in that bed, the last time she saw James' face, because when she woke up in the morning, she needed to leave. Her side didn't hurt as bad anymore, and she had responsibilites she had to take care of.

But for now, she'd enjoy this pasta, and the company of the two men James trusted to be around her.

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Note: I'm pretty sure my inbox is open, so if anyone wants to request a one-shot, a different character's story, or anything along those line--or just send me a message, feel free to!

[cerleansky]

The legacies people leave behind in you.

My handwriting is the same style as the teacher’s who I had when I was nine. I’m now twenty one and he’s been dead eight years but my i’s still curve the same way as his.

I watched the last season of a TV show recently but I started it with my friend in high school. We haven’t spoken in four years.

I make lentil soup through the recipe my gran gave me.

I curl my hair the way my best friend showed me.

I learned to love books because my father loved them first.

How terrifying, how excruciatingly painful to acknowledge this. That I am a jigsaw puzzle of everyone I have briefly known and loved. I carry them on with me even if I don’t know it. How beautiful.

[speaklavenderthoughts-deactivat]

absolutely obsessed with these tags

[po1s0nv1nes]

Second chapter of Her Darkened Fate!!

I just finished completing it, and it's currently 12:43 AM, so if it's a little wonky, ignore it😭

Anyways! @prizzylicious here's the next part!😁

The Light on the Horizon

Warnings: a slight explanation to the previously mentioned SA attempt, and a little language, but nothing overly violent

Note: Enjoy this chapter, and I will try and continue conjuring up plot points for following chapters

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Sophia blinked as she felt something shuffling around her, and when she looked around, all she could see was a dark oak covered bedroom.

"Good morning, ma'am," an unfamiliar, and slightly startling voice, had her eyes snapping to the person off to the side of the bed. A doctor by the looks of his stethoscope, and medical supplies on the night stand.

"Hi..." Sophia mumbled back, pushing herself up, but stopped short when the doctor ushered her to lay back down.

"I'm not sure if you know this, and I would absolutely hate to have you find out by sitting up, but you have a bruised rib, and some other nasty injuries. Mr. Barnes has ordered me to instruct you to stay in bed until you're healed."

Sophia's eyes narrowed, and she went to push herself up again, yet stopped short again when a piercing pain struck her left side.

"I don't think you should be moving, Sophia." A voice mumbled out from the corner, and when Sophia glanced over to the source, her eyes widened.

Sitting in a dark brown, leather armchair was one of the most well known men in all of New York City. James Buchanan Barnes.

Shit.

Dressed in a clean white shirt, with the top two buttons undone, his left leg propped up by his ankle on his right knee, and his entire posture both calming yet absolutely fucking terrifying. What the fuck happened that made her show up here in his bed!? She didn't think she owed him any money... or anything.

"I can see the confusion written all over your face, girl. You don't owe me anything, don't worry your pretty, little head," His voice was low, comforting. But Sophia still got tense at just hearing him speak. "Thank you for your assistance, Bruce."

Bruce stood up with a smile, and nodded towards him, "Have a good day, Mr. Barnes."

Watching the bedroom door close, James slowly stood up from the armchair that sat in front of the large windows that showed off Brooklyn. It was gorgeous, but Sophia was too preoccupied by the powerful man coming to sit on the bed next to her.

"How are you feeling, Sophia?" James asked gently, turning just a little to prop his left leg up on the bed, and to be facing her.

"I'm okay, besides my side... um, can I ask why I'm in your bed?... I didn't do anything wrong, did I?.." Sophia whispered, her eyes round with silent fear. She hadn't noticed he sat down on the bed, but it was oddly comforting? If that's what she'd call it.

James chuckled, running a hand through his hair. He realized he did so, and internally cursed himself for letting his body go through with one of his nervous ticks. Clearing his throat, he looked over at her with a soft smile, "No, you didn't do anything wrong. But I do want to ask, do you remember what happened at the Card-Stack?"

Sophia angled her eyes down as she thought back, searching for an answer to give him, but everything from last night was foggy, except for James carrying her in his arms. "I don't, I'm sorry, Mr. Barnes.."

James' heart ached when he saw her wince when she couldn't come up with an answer. God, she didn't have to be afraid of him.

"That's okay, no need to worry," he mumbled, reaching over to tilt her chin up with his left hand, "you're not gonna get hurt on my watch, okay? Are you hungry? I can have Miles fix you something, or I can get Sam to get you something if you want order out!"

Sophie felt heat creep up her neck, and she fought off a genuine smile. Why was he being nice? Wasn't she a burden? Didn't he have a wife or something to worry about? Another girl? Why was he looking at her like she hung the moon!?

"I... um.." she stuttered out, feeling incredibly out of place, and in the wrong, "I don't really understand why I'm here or how I got here, Mr. Barnes.."

"James, please." He interrupted, forcing his voice to soften towards the end.

"James.." Sophia whispered back, feeling her stomach tie itself into knots and pull. "How long am I staying here? I don't want to burden you or any other women you have... in here..."

One second James was watching her with a concerned look on his face, and the next he was laughing. Fucking laughing! What was his problem now!?

"The only women I have in my home are ones that I have grown up around or ones that I find myself concerned about." James exhaled heavily, wiping at his eyes from laughing so hard.

Sophia felt her lips part, and her head nodding slowly, a soft "oh" flowing from her mouth.

"You look confused, dove. What's the matter?" He asked, genuinely complexed on why she was confused at his kind gestures.

"I-..." Sophia started, but held off from answering, and turned to look down at the bed sheets. Was James only being nice because he was planning something for her? Was he actually being kind? "Why am I here?"

Her voice must've been stern or mean sounding when she asked because James blinked a couple of times before shaking his head, and letting out a soft breath, "I'm not keeping you here under any circumstance besides you being beaten last night in one of the back rooms at Stark's club. After I get you something to eat, and some clean clothes, if you'd like to leave, I won't stop you." He answered honestly, slightly sidestepping the question, but giving her some answers.

Sophia felt her blood run cold for a second, her brain racing a marathon to try and collect the memories from the night before. Her chest felt tight, but not like she'd have a panic attack, just a sudden ache that had her body jumping at the realization of what had happened.

She was working her shift for the night, wearing one of her favorite purple colored bodysuits, her hair done up in two pigtails—that's the hairstyle they liked, and the more money she could rack in, the better. It was about 11:30 after she had done her routine on stage, and one of the regulars had requested a dance from her, so she accepted; again, more money for her.

It wasn't that the dude was drunk or high, maybe a little drugged? Who was she to say what he did before he showed up. But by the time they had gotten to the back room, he was acting pretty violent. That was one of Stark's most enforced rules: you injure one of his girls, your banned, and your name's added to James' list.

They had set up this pact when Tony wanted to set up a club in James' home territory.

Sophia blinked, realizing she had been staring off into space while James waited for a response, "Mr. Barnes-... James, thank you, but that didn't answer my question completely." She whispered, glancing up at him, only seeing a gentle expression on the man's face.

"Well," James exhaled slowly, clasping his hands together in his lap, "after I saw what kind of condition you were in, I couldn't let some random doctors look you over, then release you without a proper examination. After all, you did have a pretty bad bruised rib, nearly broken from what Bruce could tell, and some cuts that needed stitches. I would rather have you be throwing things at me for bringing you here than be passed off as fine when you're in pain."

James' words comforted her, more than he could tell. She carefully lifted her right hand, and brushed it through her hair that she noticed was down—he must have taken them out after he put her in the bed.

"Thank you, James..." Sophia trailed off, her cheeks tinting a light pink at the protective gestures he had made. It was weird feeling cared for, and having someone who wanted her safe.

James smiled at her in the softest way she had ever seen. It was like he was smiling at a baby, good god, it had her heart tripping over itself.

"Anything for you, dove. Would you like anything to eat? Or do you want to rest?" James offered, spitting out his words because to be honest, Sophia was the prettiest, most breathtaking women he had ever set his eyes on. "Or you could explore the penthouse, if you'd like. That way you're not lost if you choose to stay while your recovering..."

It seemed like his voice died, his excitement crippling into a dust of disappointment. Sophia didn't understand it, but she didn't want him feeling like she was gonna up and leave.

She tilted her head to the right a little, her hazel eyes doing a once over of his attire. It look rumpled, wrinkles where you'd think the fabric would be ironed at, and his hair looked a mess. She didn't doubt hers did, either, but it was an anomaly to see such a put together man sporting slight disturbances to his attire.

"I think I might lay back down for a bit, sleep off some of the pain. Do I have to take any medications?" Sophia asked, her face twitching in a wince as she shifted to get a bit more comfortable.

"I don't believe Bruce assigned you anything, but I can definitely get you something if the pain is too much," James gave her a tiny smile, his eyes gentle.

His eyes were never gentle. What was wrong with him!?

"Thank you," She breathed out, her body carefully sliding back under the soft cotton duvets, "for everything. The guy was a regular, he had never been violent.."

The confusion was so evident in her tone that James' brows furrowed, and an unnatural spark of fire burst in his chest. This never happened. What did this girl have in her soul that seemed to connect so well with his?

"I don't like or condone women being beat, regardless of the reasoning. It's all stupid. Men are usually stupid." He huffed a breathy laugh from his lips, his body relaxing when Sophia seemed to relax as well.

James stood up from the bed slowly, his 6'2" self unfolding from the edge of the mattress with an ease that seemed both angelic and devilish. He glanced at the nightstand, his blue eyes full of questions, but now wasn't the time to ask them.

"I will let you rest, if you need me.." he trailed off, his brows furrowing once more before he pulled out a phone from his back pocket, his fingers typing across the screen, "you can text me or call, I input my number into your phone."

The screen flashed towards her, and Sophia could, almost immediately, tell that it was indeed her phone. How had he'd gotten it? It was in her bag, which was back in the private rooms backstage that Stark supplied his club girls. But the haziness of exhaustion fogged her mind slowly, and she couldn't care less about how he had gotten it.

"Okay.." she whispered, her nose nuzzling the other pillows that lined the headboard, and her eyes fluttering closed.

Before James could even register what he was doing, he placed both hands on the edge of the mattress, and placed a quick, barely there, kiss to the crown of her head. Once he stood up, a disgruntled growl at himself ripped from his chest.

Instead of thinking rationally, he lightly dropped Sophia's phone onto the nightstand, then stomped towards the bedroom door. It didn't slam, but it closed with a force that said everything.

This girl was fucking with his head, in someway only the universe knew how.

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I don't mind feedback, I hope you enjoyed!

[po1s0nv1nes]

This is the first chapter of "Her Darkened Fate", my Bucky Barnes mafia AU. It might be a bit strange, but oh well🤷🏻‍♀️

The Grim Wisher

Warnings: 18+ language, violence (one slap, nondescript mention of childhood abuse, and non detailed of Bucky reigning down hell on someone with his fists), short smut scene (partial blowjob, hair pulling, Bucky putting the tip of his shoe between a girl's thighs, and slight restraint—he holds the girl's wrists together for like a second), and the slightest mention of an attempt to SA (nothing described or on-page!!!)

Note: I'm trying to find a way to spread my writing, though it is mostly fanfic right now. I enjoy writing, so if people see it, that's great for me :)

Hope you enjoy, and if I missed any triggers, PLEASE let me know!

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After you die, you learn why the Grim Reaper is portrayed holding a scythe.

It's not to harvest you, but to protect you from something on your journey.

The dark red lights overhead seemed to make the room seem smaller than it was, but to James, it didn't matter. He had a job to do tonight, had lots of better things to do, but, of course, Sam just had to point out that this small little strip club wasn't up to par with their money.

"I told you that if you didn't have the money by the end of the week, you would be dealt with, Travis. Now... where's the money?" James rumbled lowly, his icy blue eyes on fire when he looked down at the man shaking in his chair.

As easy as this sounded, these types of people always kept their mouths closed unless they were forced to talk, and James was dangerously close to ripping this man's tongue out and shoving it down his throat, but he couldn't act too rash with his "legacy" on the line. It wasn't necessarily his legacy, but in order to keep his head, he had to protect it.

"I-I swear I don't..." the man started, but was harshly slapped across the face, blood boiling up from his bottom lip where he had bitten it.

"I've told you before that I don't like my money being late. Or is this the first time you're fucking ears are working?" James snapped suddenly, discreetly wiping the pathetic guy's blood off his fingertips, curling his lip ever so slightly in disgust.

"I swear, Mr. Barnes! I have no idea where the money went, I had it in the safe, a-and when I checked it this morning, the money was gone! I didn't take it, sir, I promise." Travis babbled, his green eyes blown wide with terror, quickly dashing around him, watching James' men closely.

"Right..." James scoffed with a curt nod, but angled his eyes up to Johnson, his right-hand man, and then angled his eyes back to Travis, "Dispose of him quietly. I don't need the feds snooping around again."

"Yes, sir." Johnson nodded before grabbing the back of the chair Travis was tied to, and dragged it down a dark hallway.

James sighed heavily, standing from the rickety, wooden chair he was sitting in, "I need a stiff drink, and a chick to squeeze," he muttered, running a hand through his short, brown hair.

"The Townsend or the Rock-Star, Mr. Barnes?" Adrian, James' driver, asked with a soft smirk, glancing in his boss's direction as he made his way to the front door of Travis' business.

"Not in the mood for greasy assholes. How about The Card-Stack ?" James quipped, giving his driver a smirk back.

"Right on it, sir." He nodded, holding open James' door for him before walking over to the driver side of the SUV.

James' childhood wasn't the best, per say. His parents were harder on him than most parents would be on their son. His father wanted him to follow in his own footsteps, but James didn't want that. He didn't like the cruelness of the job, though with a few beatings from his father, and some slaps to the back of the head from his father's right-hand-man when James came along to money stops, he finally accepted his fate of being a mobsters' son.

The low, muted vibration of James' phone grabbed his attention away from the backseat window. A confused sound left his lips, and he quirked an eyebrow up as he stared at the message.

Unknown: Babyyyy... Where are you?? I've been in bed all day waiting on you, Jamieeeeee

The random message from the unknown number had his eye twitching, but that's what happened when he had one night stands. They always found a way to get his number. Pulling up Noah's—his tech wiz—he sent the kid a quick text.

Barnes: Need you to get rid of my numbers from this chicks phone. And send Barton up to get her out of my house.

Noah: Right on it, sir.

James' clicked his phone off, and slipped it back into his pocket, looking back out the window to see they had arrived at the Card-Stack. His men had always been good at listening, it was a relief somewhere in the back of his mind.

"Be ready to leave before 12." James instructed, nodding his head to his driver, who returned the instruction with a nod and a smirk.

The air felt heavy around him, the clouds overhead were casting more of a dark tension over the night, and something in James' body told him to be ready for anything. It was usually one thing after the other in his life, one more person to worry about, two more employees to dump off the side of the road, more rivals invading his territory because they clearly didn't understand the rules of the city. One thing right after the other.

The worn door of the club squeaked as James pushed it open, almost instantly met with the strong scent of musk, alcohol, and weed. The Card-Stack on it's usual busy night. Groups of people scattered around the space in the booths and tables, then some groups sitting at the bar. It was busier than usual, so that was something James wasn't expecting after having to dispose of one of his most loyal people.

"James!" A voice hollered from the far side of the bar, tucked into the corner and surrounded by girls.

"Tony.." James sighed heavily, dropping his head and rubbing a hand over his face before lifting his head back up, and putting on a charming smile.

Through the years, Tony and James never got along. They had their companies, and their own rules that they had for themselves. Occasionally, Tony would overstep his boundaries on communicating with James, and it would end up in a heated dispute that Steve or Sam had to step in on. Not great business partners, but they worked when they wanted to.

"My friend... How are you?" Tony asked, taking a swig of his stout, Italian imported liquor, the scent of it hitting James' nose in an instant when he got closer to the table.

"Doing okay, I say. Business is running smoothly. How about you, Tony?" James responded, forcing his lips up into a tighter smile to keep his act up. All the man wanted to do was get a strong whiskey, perhaps a Yamazaki.

"Everything is going great! As much as I like running a tech business, you can't go wrong with owning a few clubs around this part of town, now can you, Mr. Barnes!" Tony chuckled, laying his arms out along the back of the booth's back, resting his head back and sighing.

"Got any new dancers?" James quipped, cocking a brow as he sat down across from Tony, "Been a hell of a night, and I'm in the mood for some good ass."

Tony chuckled, dropping his arms from the couch, and resting them on the table, "It'll cost ya, you know that."

James rolled his eyes, slipping his hand into his coat pocket, and pulling out a stack of hundred dollar bills; nice, clean, and crisp. Tony had always been this way, wanting money for dances with his girls—which James wasn't going to fight, it was business. But the more he got into the club business, the more Tony got greedy, and arrogant it seemed. Though through the years, James had learned to keep his mouth shut around affairs that weren't his, so he kept his trap shut when it came to bargaining against Stark.

"Rhodey! Get Angel for me, please. Make sure she's in that pretty, baby blue set that everyone likes." Tony waved down one of his men, Rhodes, and he came walking over to the table.

"Yes, sir. Mr. Barnes." Rhodey nodded towards James before walking off to the back where the girls had their private rooms. Sure Tony ran a strip club, but he wasn't one that made them be around each other 24/7.

"How's Pepper?" James asked, starting small talk even if he didn't like it. Tony was an okay guy to be around when he wasn't rolling in his own money, or spouting his mouth off like a drunk dumbass.

"She's good. Been 4 years now, I believe. Sure I run the club and I'm around the girls all the time, but that doesn't mean I don't love my wife. Best thing to ever happen to me," Tony breathed out, taking a drink of his Amaretto as he silently reminisced on all the nights he spent with Pepper, and how she had made his life better.

"That's good." James breathed out gruffly, shoving his jealousy for having a good relationship back into the depths of his soul.

By the fourth scan around the room, Rhodey was walking back to the table, followed by a dark brunette, a soft, baby blue lingerie set encased her body, but it was like this every other night James came to the Card-Stack. Girls that needed the money to pay something off, reluctantly throwing themselves at men—adult man children with a sick amount of money—just so they got paid. Some girls liked it, most of them didn't, and James knew it.

"Hello, Mr. Stark," The brunette smiled sweetly towards Tony, which he disregarded like a loyal man would, but when she looked towards James, her smile faltered, "Mr-... Mr. Barnes.."

Tony glanced at James before turning his attention towards Angel, "My dear, why don't you give James here the special? He's had a bad night, and needs some... relief."

"Of course, Mr. Stark," Angel giggled, batting her lashes at James before taking a few steps back so he could get out of the booth.

"Later, Stark." James nodded towards his acquaintance, and followed after Angel.

The lowly lit corridor leading to the private rooms smelled of weed, sex, and an overuse of cologne, which made James crinkle his nose up, but kept a stoic look on his face regardless of how low he felt about doing this. What would his mother think? If anything, she'd have a right to be disappointed in him if she saw him here. But she wasn't here, and he didn't want to have another one night stand with an annoying girl in the morning. Tony was always reliable, one way or another, so it helped to keep a clean record.

They stopped before a black painted door, and Angel opened it before stepping inside, then gesturing for James to enter. When he did, the light surrounding the room had it glowing in a sensational way. Regardless of how he felt about the brightness of the color, it made him feel empowered in a way, as if nothing could hurt him even if he did get stabbed in the back.

"What would you like me to do, Mr. Barnes? I'm a good pole dancer," Angel spoke up, tearing James back to reality. She had her hands tracing down his chest, her strawberry scented breath ran down his neck as she waited for his answer.

James towered over her, and with an easy movement, his right hand had her hair in his fist while his left had her wrists in a firm grasp, "No touching, understand, Angel?" he whispered into her ear before dropping his hands from her.

He walked over to the maroon colored couch to the right of them, and sat down, spreading his legs as he ran his hands down the rough fabric of his Brioni suit. With a simple curl of his fingers, Angel proceeded to slowly walk up to him, her hips swaying along with her legs. Her green eyes piercing through him, but holding that shimmer of submission, something that James took great pleasure in having.

"Tony said you'd give me the special, and I'm wanting something to take my bad day away," James' voice was low, stern. His eyes weren't much different, but his thoughts never strayed to far from him; the money he lost today, his messy lifestyle, the god forsaken drinks that seemed to take over his life, it was all over loading.

"Of course, sir. Anything for you..." Angel's voice trailed off as she slowly sank to her knees, her eyes round and filled with lust.

Her hands slowly crept up his thighs from his knees, and eventually got to his belt buckle. With the slow movements, James got more impatient, and he wasn't having it. A subtle movement from him had his foot wedged between her legs, the toe of his shoe was pressing firmly against her cunt, but not enough to hurt.

"Enough with the slow movements, girl. I have other things I need to get to, and you're taking too long."

"I'm sorry, sir... I was just trying to please you. Isn't that what you wanted?"

Her voice seemed to aggravate James more, but with a few breaths, he has his right hand back into her hair, and dragging her closer while his left hand is unbuckling and unzipping his Brioni slacks. A moment later, he had her mouth on him, gagging on his length.

Soft groans slip through his lips, and he fucks her face with rough push and pulls, yet it's not doing the fucking job like he wants.

"Come on, Angel, I know you can do better than that," James huffs, a ragged breath following shortly after, along with his softened thrusts.

It was more than aggravating to not get any pleasure in getting sucked off, and with men riding up his ass, the day had only gotten worse. With a reluctant sigh, James pulled Angel off of him, and let her go, retracting his foot from between her thighs, then tucking his softening cock back into his slacks.

"Go clean yourself up, Angel. I apologize for the aggressive behavior," He exhaled heavily, raising a hand to pinch the bridge of his nose, "You're a good girl.."

James' voice trailed off, and he stood from the couch, irritation crawling up the corners of his mind, and stabbing into his spine. Sticking a hand into his suit jacket, he pulled out three hundred dollar bills, and held them out to her.

"Get yourself a better job. Don't waist your life on greedy, dirty men." James stated softly, though his expression was firm still.

"Mr. Barnes?" Angel asked, her facial expression was one of confusion, but she slowly stood to be slightly level with him.

"You heard me. Make your life what you want."

With a gentle shove, James stuck the bills into her hands, and stalked out of the room. The scent of this entire fucking club was grating his nerves. He needed quiet. Peace. Solitude.

Pulling his phone out of the inside pocket of his dress shirt, James dialed Adrian.

"Is that James Buchanan my eyes see!?" A loud voice pronounced with shocked joy.

Great.

With a steadying breath, James cut the call to Adrian off, and turned to be greeted by one of the loudest partners he'd ever had the chance to work with. Alexi Shostakov.

"Alexi." James greeted stiffly, grimacing when the boisterous Russian stepped closer, opening his arms in an over the top, friendly greeting. James took a few steps back, his body stiffening at the overbearing scent of vodka. 'Fucking Russians..'

"How have you been, old friend? You know, I've missed having someone to talk to..."

Alexi's voice faded out as James' ears caught something else. No. Not something. Someone. Someone who didn't want to be touched by the sounds of it.

James shoved past Alexi, ignoring the man's protests. His feet carried him swiftly over to the hallway of rooms he had just come from. Stopping just outside of one of the doors that was ajar, James peeked inside, and his blood runs cold.

The next few moments are nothing but a bloody, and torturous scene. Someone's whimpering from an arm that's bent the wrong way, blood staining his knuckles, and his chest heaving heavier than it usually did when he inflicted pain. But the feeling of being pulled back by someone, James finally lets go of the rat he had in his bloodied hand.

"James, Jesus Christ! The fuck do you think you're doing!?" Tony's voice was the first James' brain picked up.

Shoving off whoever had a hold on him, James turned to the corner, and everything in him suddenly softened. Huddled in the corner, knees curled to her bare chest, her entire form trembling was a women no older than 25. Fuck, why did this hurt his chest so damn much?

Carefully walking over to her, James squatted down and took a breath, "I'm not going to hurt you, sweetheart. Are you okay?" He asked, his voice as soft as a feather.

The girl just stared at him like a deer caught in headlights. Fuck.

"Get that bastard away from my slut!" A gurgle of words filled the room, and James let out a low, threatening snarl.

"Stark, I think it's wise you get that fucker out of here before I rip his limp dick from his body, along with his other organs."

"Right, right!" Tony muttered, knowing not to test James when he was tense like this. He did once, and it ended up with him being in the hospital for a month or so. Never again.

Waiting about four minutes for Tony's security to get the dude out of the room, James stood up slowly, and grabbed a blanket from the couch.

"I'm gonna wrap this around you, then pick you up, alright? I'm gonna take you back to my place until the morning, then I'll call a doctor to come check on you," his voice softened by a lot, and his eyes silently watched her fear-ridden movements.

Slowly walking up to her, and kneeling beside her, James carefully wrapped the black throw around the girl's body. His right arm slowly slid under her knees, while his left slid around her lower back, holding her with a secure grip.

"Sophia..." her voice was broken, cracked like a vase that had just been smashed to pieces.

"We can worry about your name, later," James mumbled, hugging her closer to make her feel secured, "just breath, and I'll let you have space when we get back to my penthouse, okay?"

The girl just nodded her head, weakly sinking into James' left shoulder. It was nice. A man coming to her rescue...

🌧️🌧️🌧️🌧️🌧️🌧️🌧️🌧️🌧️🌧️🌧️🌧️🌧️🌧️🌧️🌧️🌧️

If you enjoyed this, thank you for reading!

[itskhali]

if my man dies in the next marvel movie i'm gonna make it everyone's problem i'm gonna go to JAIL

[my-secret-shame]

[all-things-hobbit]

Ask and you shall receive. More stupid Sponge Bob audios as Hobbit clips. I make myself laugh so much.

@whenyoucantwritesoyoudrawinstead @lovestruckelf You wanted more, so here you go.

[majflodder]

Touching grass isn't enough I need to move to the shire and live in a hobbit hole

[leavesonthetrees]

You Could’ve Told Me…At Any Point! (Not a Bloody Clue Pt.2)

CW - Blood and Injury (Minor)

Summary - After Bilbo falls ill after their daring escape from Mirkwood, he’s told that he and Thorin have been courting for the last month! He would’ve appreciated being told.

A/N - I just want to say thank you for all the love and support I’ve received on my last post. I’m genuinely kicking my little feet and giggling. I honestly thought my writing was awful but to see some of the tags that people are reposting with and the sweetest of comments makes me feel like Bilbo getting to kiss Thorin for the first time. Thank you so so much everyone!

Surprisingly Bilbo’s braids hold steady through most of Mirkwood but the impromptu river ride in the rapids down to Laketown does leave Bilbo’s curls completely sodden and stuck to his face and neck. He drags himself out of the river, his whole body feels sluggish and uncoordinated. Behind him, the dwarves pull and push their way out of their respective barrels. Fili is gagging, bent over with his hands on his knees, moaning about how he never wants to look at an apple ever again. Poor Bifur is being helped by his cousins because his axe had gotten stuck in the side of his barrel after a particularly rough turn.

Bilbo glances around, definitely not looking for Thorin and attributes the blurriness at the edges of his vision to exhaustion and water clinging to his eyelashes. Thorin is helping Kili out of his barrel, blood flowing freely down his leg, the arrowhead still lodged in his knee. Thorin’s brow is creased with concern although he’s trying not to show it, to be the strong uncle Kili needs right now. Kili clings to him with a white knuckled grip, soft noises of pain escaping him, suddenly seeming like a small child, scared and in pain in the arms of his uncle. Bilbo takes one step towards them and nearly lands headfirst in the river.

“Blasted hobbit!” Dwalin curses loudly enough while ringing out his shirt for all to hear. Bilbo whips round and glares at Dwalin.

“And what was your plan then? None of you helped at all! You sat on your arses in that dungeon and practically got a lovely holiday out of that.” Bilbo spits. He takes a step towards Dwalin, wobbling slightly. Despite coming out of an ice-cold river, it’s awfully warm, in fact, he’s sweating.

“You had regular food and beds while you waited for me to do all the leg work and yet you have the nerve- the absolute nerve to stand there and criticise me! Not one of you, not one of you has thanked me! For anything I’ve done for the last couple of weeks! So don’t you dare stand there and curse my name when you were content to sit idle!” Bilbo’s chest is heaving when he’s finished and Dwalin’s mouth is agape. He’s trembling slightly with rage…no, no this isn’t rage, these are tremors. All of a sudden, Bilbo doesn’t feel very well. He makes a strange sort of noise before his knees buckle and he drops like a sack of potatoes face-first into the water. He deliriously notes that he can’t breathe, probably because he’s lying face down in the river. The few seconds feel like an eternity before strong hands are pulling him from the river and sweet, sweet oxygen fills his lungs in a great gasp.

Thorin’s face swims into view, his mouth is moving and there’s sound coming out but it’s beyond Bilbo whatever he’s saying. Bilbo gives him a gentle smile and reaches up to pat Thorin’s cheek. Thorin’s eyes look very blue from this angle, a piercing blue and watery like the sea. Oh he’s crying, why is he crying? Bilbo frowns, he likes Thorin a lot, something in his chest hurts at the sight and he doesn’t want Thorin to cry, why is he sad? Thorin’s hand feels lovely and cool against Bilbo’s far too warm cheek and he closes his eyes, savouring the feeling. He can almost pretend the tenderness in the gesture is love.

Bilbo’s mouth tastes like shit. It’s also uncomfortably dry, as if he’d ordered a tankard of sand instead of ale. There’s a warm weight against his hand, slightly damp too. Bilbo manages to crack his eyes open with what feels like a monumental amount of effort. Thorin, bless his heart, is asleep with his head resting on Bilbo’s hand. He looks like he’s been to a Took birthday party to put it lightly, his hair in disarray, dark circles that almost look like bruises, dried tear tracks on his cheeks.

“Thorin?” This is what Bilbo tries to say but instead what comes out is a lung-wrenching coughing fit. The dwarf in question’s head snaps up and is pushing a glass of water into Bilbo’s hand with one hand and leaning over to support Bilbo’s head with the other, his fingers splaying across his skull, trembling slightly with relief.

“Oin!” Thorin roars, his voice rough with sleep and emotion as he helps Bilbo to drink the water without choking on it. The room becomes a flurry of activity as the rest of the company comes flooding in. Oin is checking his temperature whilst Fili and Kili sit on the other side of the bed trying to get a close as they can to him, chattering at a million miles an hour.

“Thought we’d lost our new Irak'Adad,” Fili says with a relieved smile. Bilbo wants to ask what it means but he was told at the beginning of the quest not to ask the meanings of Khudzul words as it was sacred to dwarrow culture, instead he settles for a gentle smile.

“How are you Kili? How’s the knee?” Kili grins back at him.

“Be right as rain sooner than you know it.”

Oin pulls a stethoscope from his bag.

“Need ye to breathe in laddie, need to check yer breathin’.”

Bilbo inhales as deeply as he can before choking slightly as his breath catches and he winds himself with the resultant coughing fit. Thorin rubs soothing circles on his back and hands the empty glass to Fili to refill. Oin nods his head, looks satisfied.

“Much better, a few more days of bed rest and yer’ll be back on yer feet.”

“W-what? No, you can’t leave me behind. I signed a contract.” Bilbo says, absolutely horrified.

“We’re not leaving you here.” Thorin reassures him, lightly running his hand across Bilbo’s shoulders, his eyes full of sincerity.

“We have another week before Durin’s day, we will wait.” Bilbo nods and slumps back against the pillows behind him.

Bombur sets down a tray consisting of a bowl of light broth, a soft bread roll that has been buttered and some apple because of which Fili has to quickly excuse himself looking rather green around the gills. Bilbo could’ve kissed Bombur in that moment, he would sell all the gold in Erebor if it meant he could have something to eat. The soup is gone in the blink of an eye and he’s sat there devouring the bread roll like a sickly, feral hedgehog. Bilbo would’ve thought any chance of him and Thorin being together sat quite squarely with their chances of actually defeating the dragon after watching his nearly pornographic performance with his food; but strangely enough, Thorin is looking at him like he’s hung the moon and stars in the sky. Satiated, he nibbles at the apple slices and runs a hand through his hair which has fallen into his face. The sheer panic hits him like a wave when the little bead he’s become so used to doesn’t catch on his fingers.

“Oh Yavanna! The bead! I’ve lost the bead! Oh gods Thorin, I’m so sorry.” Bilbo scrambles to get out of bed to look for it even though he has no idea where it is. Thorin’s chuckle reverberates through his chest as he gently guides his hobbit back into bed.

“Peace Halwûn, I have it. I removed your braids during the time you were ill.” A bashful blush colours Thorin’s cheeks and ears.

“May I be permitted to rebraid them in again?”

“Oh yes, yes of course.” Bilbo says with no small amount of relief, scooting forward to allow Thorin to sit behind him. At some point, probably while he was downing his broth, everyone else had left the room, leaving the two of them alone together. Thorin settles behind him and starts combing Bilbo’s hair, humming a sweet little tune. It would’ve been very romantic if Bilbo could hold a tune but alas his musical skills start and end at drunken caterwauling.

“It is only because you are ill that I have managed to secure us time alone together. It would never be allowed otherwise.” Thorin murmurs into his ear, breath tickling the skin. Bilbo shivers slightly, he could blame it on still being ill and not the indecent thoughts running rampant through his mind.

“Oh? Are we not allowed to spend time together without a chaperone now?” He teases a little breathlessly. Thorin gives him an amused but fond look, clambering off the bed and settling in front of him to do the little braid at his temple.

“Well not really Amrâlimê, it would be seen as improper but considering the circumstances on the quest, we have not courted in a proper fashion to begin with.”

Bilbo nods along, listening to that lovely, smooth and rich baritone-…did he just say courting?

“Sorry, did you just say courted?” Bilbo’s voice a little high-pitched and strangled.

Thorin looks a little puzzled at that.

“Yes. In Beorn’s house I offered to braid your hair, you accepted and I gave you one of my beads.”

Bilbo feels like the bottom has fallen out of his world.

“What?”

Thorin looks heartbroken, his voice hoarse as he says barely above a whisper.

“I thought you were happy. You even said I could wash your hair. Do you wish to break off the courtship?” Bilbo is still sitting there, mouth open.

“For over a month? We have been courting for over a month? How? I-…you never said.”

“Well, I assumed you knew.”

“You assumed? I told you hair held no significant meaning to hobbits. How would I assume that?” Bilbo folds his arms, giving Thorin The Disapproving look ™, while Thorin looks a conflicting mix of sheepish and defensive.

“Well I always served you food before myself-

“Only for about a week before you all got captured.”

“Well, I use terms of endearment for you all the time!”

“In Khudzul! I don’t speak Khudzul and before you ask why I didn’t ask what you were saying, Balin told me that Khudzul was a sacred part of dwarrow culture which isn’t shared with outsiders!”

Thorin deflates slightly at that.

“Why didn’t you just ask me?” Bilbo throws his hands in the air.

“Because I had no bloody clue that you were courting me for the last month! None at all! You could have said…at any point!”

The silence hangs in the air between them, Bilbo is panting slightly before coughing again and Thorin is pressing the refilled glass of water into his hands. He drinks deeply while Thorin fiddles with the ring on his hand. Thorin straightens himself, visibly building his walls up again.

“You wish to break off the courtship then?” His voice is cool and detached, preparing himself for the hurt.

“When did I say that?” Bilbo puts the glass of water down a little firmer than necessary.

“This is very new to me and don’t get me wrong, I am very cross that you didn’t have the common sense to think that hobbits and dwarves court differently and I would have no way of knowing but…”

He reaches out a tender hand and cups Thorin’s face, bringing those downcast blue eyes to meet his own. He smiles gently, full of affection and warmth.

“I accept your suit.”

The smile that Thorin gives him in return could rival the brightest dawn. Thorin leans forward to press their foreheads together, eyes fluttering shut.

“Thorin?”

“Yes, Lukhdel?”

“I swear if you ever want to get married, make sure I’m aware.”